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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a9bea99 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62942 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62942) diff --git a/old/62942-0.txt b/old/62942-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 476b2ab..0000000 --- a/old/62942-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14195 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Modern Short Stories, by Various - -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: Modern Short Stories - -Author: Various - -Release Date: August 16, 2020 [EBook #62942] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN SHORT STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by deaurider, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - -[Illustration: - - They all stood round and laughed at him -] - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - MODERN SHORT STORIES - - A BOOK FOR HIGH SCHOOLS - - - - - EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES - - BY - - FREDERICK HOUK LAW, Ph.D. - - Lecturer in English in New York University, and Head of - the Department of English in the Stuyvesant - High School, New York City - - - - Publisher’s Logo - - - - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1921 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Copyright, 1918, by - THE CENTURY CO. - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - PREFACE - - -For many years high school teachers have wished for books of short -stories edited for high school use. They have known that most novels, -however interesting, are too long to hold attention, and that too few -novels can be read to give proper appreciation of form in narration. The -essay, as seen in _The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers_, and in Irving’s -_Sketch Book_, has been a poor substitute for the short story. High -school students have longed for action, for quickness, for life, for -climax, for something new and modern. Instead, they have had hundreds of -pages, long expositions, descriptions, leisurely treatment, and material -drawn from the past. They have read such material because they must, and -have turned, for relief, to short stories in the cheaper magazines. - -The short story is to-day our most common literary product. It is read -by everyone. Not every boy or girl will read novels after leaving -school, but every boy or girl is certain to read short stories. It is -important in the high school to guide taste and appreciation in short -story reading, so that the reading of days when school life is over will -be healthful and upbuilding. This important duty has been recognized in -all the most recent suggestions for high school reading. The short story -is just beginning to take its important place in the high school course. -To make use of a book of short stories in high school work is to fall in -line with the most modern developments in the teaching of literature in -the high school. - -Most collections of short stories that have been prepared, for school -use, up to the present, are more or less alike in drawing much of their -material from the past. Authors and content alike are dead. Here is a -collection that is entirely modern. The authors represented are among -the leading authors of the day, the stories are principally stories of -present-day life, the themes are themes of present-day thought. The -students who read this book will be more awake to the present, and will -be better citizens of to-day. - -The great number of stories presented has given opportunity to -illustrate different types of short story writing. What could not be -done by the class study of many novels may be accomplished by the study -of the different stories in this book. The student will gain a knowledge -of types, of ways of construction, of style, that he could not gain -otherwise except by long-continued study. Class study of the short story -leads inevitably to keen appreciation of artistic effects in fiction. - -The introductory material, biographies, explanations, and notes, have -been made purely for high school students, in order to help those who -may have read comparatively little, so that,—instead of being turned -aside forever by a dry-as-dust treatment,—they may wish to proceed -further in their study. - -It is always pure delight to teach the short story to high school -classes, but it is even more delightful when the material is especially -fitted for high school work. This book, we hope, will aid both teachers -and pupils to come upon many happy hours in the class room. - -The editor acknowledges, with thanks, the kindly permissions to use -copyright material that have been granted by the various authors and -publishers. Complete acknowledgments appear in the table of contents. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - PREFACE iii - INTRODUCTION - - I Our National Reading vii - - II The Definition vii - - III The Family Tree of the Short Story ix - - IV A Good Story xi - - V What Shall I Do with This Book? xiii - - VI Where to Find Some Good Short xv - Stories - - VII Some Interesting Short Stories xvi - - VIII What to Read about the Short Story xix - - THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA — 3 - _Joel Chandler Harris_ From “Daddy - Jake and the Runaways.” - - THE CROW-CHILD — _Mary Mapes Dodge_ 9 - From “The Land of Pluck.” - - THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL — _Lafcadio 17 - Hearn_ From “Some Chinese Ghosts.” - - THE TEN TRAILS — _Ernest Thompson Seton_ 22 - From “Woodmyth and Fable.” - - WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO — 23 - _Count Leo Tolstoi_ From “Tales and - Parables.” - - WOOD-LADIES — _Perceval Gibbon_ From 38 - “Scribner’s Magazine.” - - ON THE FEVER SHIP — _Richard Harding 53 - Davis_ From “The Lion and the - Unicorn.” - - A SOURCE OF IRRITATION — _Stacy 69 - Aumonier_ From “The Century Magazine.” - - MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER — _Rudyard Kipling_ 84 - From “Plain Tales from the Hills.” - - GULLIVER THE GREAT — _Walter A. Dyer_ 92 - From “Gulliver the Great and Other - Stories.” - - SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’ — _Ruth McEnery 105 - Stuart_ From “Sonny, a Christmas - Guest.” - - HER FIRST HORSE SHOW — _David Gray_ From 117 - “Gallops 2.” - - MY HUSBAND’S BOOK — _James Matthew 135 - Barrie_ From “Two of Them.” - - WAR — _Jack London_ From “The 141 - Night-Born.” - - THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS — _Morgan 147 - Robertson_ From “Where Angels Fear to - Tread.” - - A DILEMMA — _S. Weir Mitchell_ From 160 - “Little Stories.” - - THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE — _A. Conan Doyle_ 166 - From “Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.” - - ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK — _Owen Johnson_ 192 - From “Murder in Any Degree.” - - A RETRIEVED REFORMATION — _O. Henry_ 212 - From “Roads of Destiny.” - - BROTHER LEO — _Phyllis Bottome_ From 221 - “The Derelict and Other Stories.” - - A FIGHT WITH DEATH — _Ian Maclaren_ 238 - From “Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush.” - - THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN — _Fiona Macleod_ From 248 - “The Dominion of Dreams, Under the - Dark Star.” - - NOTES AND COMMENTS 275 - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR CLASS USE 296 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - INTRODUCTION - - - I - - OUR NATIONAL READING - -Is there anyone who has not read a short story? Is there anyone who has -not stopped at a news-stand to buy a short-story magazine? Is there -anyone who has not drawn a volume of short stories from the library, or -bought one at the book-store? Short stories are everywhere. There are -bed-time stories and fairy stories for little children; athletic -stories, adventure stories, and cheerful good-time stories for boys and -girls; humorous stories for those who like to laugh, and serious stories -for those who like to think. The World and his Wife still say, “Tell me -a story,” just as they did a thousand years ago. Our printing presses -have fairly roared an answer, and, at this moment, are busy printing -short stories. Even the newspapers, hardly able to find room for news -and for advertisements, often give space to re-printing short stories. -Our people are so fond of soda water that some one has laughingly called -it our national drink. Our people of every class, young and old, are so -fond of short stories that, with an equal degree of truth, we may call -the short story our national reading. - - - II - - THE DEFINITION - -The short story and the railroad are about equally old,—or, rather, -equally new, for both were perfected in distinctly recent times. The -railroad is the modern development of older ways of moving people and -goods from one place to another,—of litters, carts, and wagons. The -short story is the modern development of older ways of telling what -actually had happened, or might happen, or what might be imagined to -happen,—of tales, fables, anecdotes, and character studies. A great -number of men led the way to the locomotive, but it remained for the -nineteenth century, in the person of George Stephenson, to perfect it. -In like manner, many authors led the way to the short story of to-day, -but it remained for the nineteenth century, and particularly for Edgar -Allan Poe, to perfect it, and give it definition. - -Before Poe’s time the short story had sometimes been written well, and -sometimes poorly. It had often been of too great length, wandering, and -without point. Poe wrote stories that are different from many earlier -stories in that they are all comparatively short. Another difference is -that Poe’s stories do not wander, producing now one effect, and now -another. Like a Roman road, every one goes straight to the point that -the maker had in mind at the beginning, and produces one single effect. -In the older stories the writers often turned from the principal subject -to introduce other matter. Poe excluded everything,—no matter how -interesting,—that did not lead directly to the effect he wished to -produce. The earlier stories often ended inconclusively. The reader felt -that more might be said, or that some other ending might be possible. -Poe tried to write so that the story should be absolutely complete, and -its ending the one necessary ending, with no other ending even to be -thought of. With it all, he tried to write so that,—no matter how -improbable the story really might be,—it should, at least, seem entirely -probable,—as real as though it had actually happened. - -In general, Poe’s definition of the short story still holds true. There -are many kinds of stories to-day,—just as there are many kinds of -engines,—but the great fundamental principles hold true in both. We may -still define the modern short story as: - - - 1. A narrative that is short enough to be read easily at a single - sitting; - - 2. That is written to produce a single impression on the mind of the - reader; - - 3. That excludes everything that does not lead to that single - impression; - - 4. That is complete and final in itself; - - 5. That has every indication of reality. - - - III - - THE FAMILY TREE OF THE SHORT STORY - - Everyone knows his father and mother. Very few, except those of noble - descent, know even the names of their great-great grandparents. As if - of the noblest, even of royal descent, the short story knows its - family tree. Its ancestry, like that of the American people, goes back - to Europe; draws strength from many races, and finally loses itself - somewhere in the prehistoric East,—in ancient Greece, India, or Egypt. - - In the royal galleries kings look at pictures of their great - ancestors, and somewhat realize remote the past. Many of the ancestors - of the short story still live. They drank of the fountain of youth, - and are as strong and full of life as ever. Such immortal ancestors of - the short story of to-day are _The Story of Polyphemus_ (ninth - century, B.C.), _The Story of Pandora and her Box_ (ninth century, - B.C.), _The Book of Esther_ (second century, B.C.), _The City Mouse - and the Country Mouse_ (first century, B.C.), and _The Fables of Æsop_ - (third century, A. D.). There are still existing many Egyptian short - stories, some of which are of the most remote antiquity, the _Tales of - the Magicians_ going back to 4000 B.C. - - All the stories just named,—and many others equally familiar, drawn - from every ancient land,—affected the short story in English. - - In the earliest days in England, in the fifth and in a few succeeding - centuries, the priests made collections of short stories from which - they could select illustrative material for the instruction of their - hearers. They drew many such stories from Latin, which, in turn, had - drawn them from still more ancient sources. Then, or a little later, - came folk stories, romantic stories of adventure, and other stories - for mere amusement. - - In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the Italians became very - skilful in telling short stories, or “novelle.” Their “new” tales had - a lasting effect on short story telling in English. - - Chaucer’s _Canterbury Tales_, in the fourteenth century, although in - verse, told in a most delightfully realistic way all kinds of stories - from all kinds of sources, particularly from the literatures of Italy - and of France. Chaucer told his stories so remarkably well, with such - humor and reality, that he is one of the great forces in the history - of the short story in English. - - In the sixteenth century stories from France, Spain, and other lands, - also gave new incentives to the development of the short story in - English. - - In the eighteenth century Addison’s _Spectator_ published very short - realistic narratives that often presented closely drawn character - studies. These are hardly to be called short stories, but they - influenced the short story form. - - About the beginning of the nineteenth century, partly because of - German influence, it became the fashion to write stories of mystery - and horror, such as many of those by Irving, Hawthorne, and Poe. - Irving softened such stories by the touch of realistic humor; - Hawthorne gave them artistic form and nobility; Poe developed the full - value of the short story as a literary type, and pointed out the five - principles named above. The genius of these men led the way to the - modern short story. - - Since their time the short story has moved on in its development, - including every kind of subject, tending to speak more and more - realistically of persons and places, but not losing its romantic - nature. Popular short stories of to-day are closely localized, and are - frequently quick, incisive, and emphatic. - - to-day there are all kinds of short stories,—folk-lore tales, local - color stories, animal stories, humorous stories, stories of society, - of satire, of science, of character, of atmosphere, and scores of - other types, all virile, interesting, and profitable. - - However well-dressed the modern short story may be in form and style, - it is worth little, unless, like its immortal ancestors, it has the - soul of goodness, truth, and beauty, and does something to reveal - nobility in the life of man. - - - IV - - A GOOD STORY - - With houses and stories it is much the same. As any one may build a - hut, so any one may compose a short story. In both cases the materials - may be common and cheap, and the construction careless. The one may - give shelter from the storm, and the other may hold attention for a - moment. Neither may be worth much. Somewhat better are the ordinary - house, and the ordinary story. Both are good, and fairly well - constructed, but the material is frequently commonplace, and the - general characteristics ordinary. To lift either a house or a story - out of the ordinary there must be fine material, artistic workmanship, - close and tender association with life,—something beautiful, or good, - or true. For the highest beauty there is need of something other than - obedience to rule in construction. Any architect can tell how to build - a beautiful house, but there is a fine beauty no mere architect can - give, a beauty that comes with years, or the close touch of human joys - and sorrows. It is the same with stories. We can not analyze the finer - quality, but we can, at least, tell some of the characteristics that - make short stories good. - - As Poe said, the best short story is short enough to be read at a - sitting, so that it produces a single effect. It includes nothing that - does not lead to that effect, and it produces the effect as inevitably - as an arrow flies to its mark. The ending is necessary, the one - solution to which everything has moved from the beginning. In some way - the story is close to life, and is so realistically told that the - reader is drawn into its magic, and half believes it real. - - It has a combination of plot and characters,—the nature of the - characters making the action, and the action affecting the persons - involved. - - Without action of some sort there would, of course, be no story, but - the action,—usually built up of two opposing forces,—must be woven - into plot, that is, into a combination of events that lead to a - definite result, perhaps not known at first by the reader, but known - from the beginning by the author. The plot is somewhat simple, for the - story is too short to allow of much complexity. The action and the - characters are based on some experience, imaginary or otherwise, and - are honestly presented. In the best short story there is no pronounced - artificiality or posing. - - There is always a certain harmony of content, so that plot and - characters work together naturally, every detail strictly in keeping - with the nature of the story. - - The best story has an underlying idea,—not necessarily a moral,—a - thought or theme, very often concerned with ideals of conduct, that - can be expressed in a sentence. - - Closely associated with everything is an indefinable something, that - rises from the story somewhat as the odor of sandalwood rises from an - oriental box, a sort of fragrance, or charm, a deeply appealing - characteristic that we call “atmosphere.” - - Some stories may emphasize one point, and others another,—the plot, - the characters, the setting, the theme, or the atmosphere. As they - vary thus they reveal new lights, colors, and effects. - - Still more do they vary in the charm that comes from apt choice of - words, and originality or beauty of phrasing. - - Altogether, the best short story is truly an artistic product. The old - violins made in Cremona by Antonius Stradivarius have such perfect - harmony of material and form, and were made with such loving skill, - that they are vibrant with tenderly beautiful over-tones. So the best - short story is perfectly harmonious in every part, is made from chosen - material, is put together with sympathetic care, and is rich with the - over-tones of love, and laughter, and sorrow. - - - V - - WHAT SHALL I DO WITH THIS BOOK? - - Here is a book of more than twenty excellent short stories, not one of - which was written with the slightest thought that any one would ever - wish to study it as part of school work. Every story was written (1) - because its author had a story to tell, (2) because he had a definite - aim in telling the story, (3) because he felt that by certain methods - of form and style he could interest and delight his readers. The - magician opens his box, and holds the ring of spectators enthralled. - Here is no place for study. One must simply stand in the circle, and - look, and wonder, enjoy to his utmost, and applaud the entertainer - when he makes his final bow. But the spectator is always privileged to - look, not only idly but also as sharply as he pleases. So the reader - is entitled to notice in every case the three reasons for writing the - story. - - The best way, then, to study this book is not to “study” it. It is not - a geography, nor a book of rules, nor any kind of book to be - memorized. It is a book to be read with an appreciative mind and a - sympathetic heart. Read the stories one by one in the order in which - they are printed. Read with the expectation of having a good - time,—that is what every author intended you to have. But keep your - eyes open. Make sure you really know the story the author is telling. - One way of testing your understanding is to tell the story in a very - few words, either orally or in writing, so that some friend, who has - not read it, may know the bare story, and know it clearly. If you find - yourself confused, or if you lose yourself in details and can not tell - the story briefly, you have not found the story the author has to - tell. - - A second test is to tell in one sentence, or in one very short - paragraph, exactly what purpose the writer had in telling the story. - This will be more difficult but it will need little thought if you - really have understood and appreciated the story. Do not make the - mistake of thinking that a purpose must be a moral. A man who makes a - chair, a clown in a circus, an artist, a violinist, a boy playing a - game,—all have purposes in what they do, but the purpose is not - primarily moral. If you are puzzled in finding the purpose of the - story you should look the story over until its purpose flashes upon - you. - - Thirdly, you should see if you can put into four or five unconnected - sentences, either oral or written, the methods of form and style by - which the author has interested you, and pleased you. These methods - will include means of awakening interest, means of presenting the - action, preparation for the climax, way of telling the climax, and way - of ending the story. They will also include choice of words, use of - language effects, and the means of producing atmosphere in the story. - - If it happens that there are words that are not familiar, look them up - in the dictionary. You can not hope to understand a story until you - understand its language. - - A good way to test your appreciation of story telling as an art,—and - to help you to appreciate even more keenly,—is to write short stories - of your own. Try, in every case, to imitate some method employed in a - particular story by a well-known author. Do not imitate too much. Be - original. Be yourself. If some of our best short story writers had - done nothing but imitate they would never have succeeded. Make your - short stories different from those by anyone else in your class. Write - your story in such a way that no one will draw pictures, or look out - of the window, or whisper to his neighbor, when it comes your turn to - read. There are three ways to bring that about: - - - 1. Write about something that you, and your class, know about, and - like to hear about. - - 2. Think of a good, emphatic, or surprising climax, and then make a - plot that will lead to the climax with absolute certainty. - - 3. Tell your story in a way that will be different from the way - employed by any of your classmates. - - - In general, the stories in this book are to be read and enjoyed, - worked over, and talked about, in a simple manner, as one might - discuss stories at a reading club. To treat the stories in any other - way would be to make displeasing work out of what should be pure - pleasure. - - In the back of the book is a small amount of biographical and - explanatory material, such as a friendly teacher might tell to his - class. There are also a few questions that will help you to - appreciate and enjoy the best effects in every story. The notes have - been given merely for reference, as if they were contained in a sort - of handy encyclopedia. They are not for hard, systematic study. - - A class studying this book should forget that it is a class in - school, and resolve itself into a reading club, whose - object,—written in its constitution, in capital letters,—is pure - enjoyment of all that is best in short stories, and in short story - telling. - - - VI - - WHERE TO FIND SOME GOOD SHORT STORIES - - - Baldwin, Charles American Short - Sears Stories - - Cody, Sherwin The World’s Best - Short Stories - - Dawson, W. J. and C. Great English Short - W. Story Writers - - Esenwein, Joseph Short Story - Berg Masterpieces - - Firkins, I. T. E. Index to Short - Stories - - Hawthorne, Julian Library of the - World’s Best - Mystery and - Detective Stories - - Jessup, Alexander Little French - Masterpieces - - Jessup, A. and The Book of the - Canby, H. S. Short Story - - Matthews, Brander The Short Story - - Patten, William Great Short Stories - - Patten, William Short Story Classics - - Charles Scribner’s Stories by American - Sons Authors - - Charles Scribner’s Stories by English - Sons Authors - - Charles Scribner’s Stories by Foreign - Sons Authors - - - VII - - SOME INTERESTING SHORT STORIES - - R. H. Davis: The Bar Sinister; Washington Irving: The Rose of the - Alhambra; The Legend of Sleepy Hollow; Rip Van Winkle; The Three - Beautiful Princesses; Rudyard Kipling: Garm, A Hostage; The Arabian - Nights: Aladdin; Ali Baba; Annie Trumbull Slosson: Butterneggs; Ruth - McEnery Stuart: Sonny’s Diploma; Frederick Remington: How Order No. - 6 Went Through; Mark Twain: The Jumping Frog; Henry Van Dyke: The - First Christmas Tree. - - H. C. Andersen: The Ugly Duckling; Grimm Brothers: Little Briar - Rose; Rudyard Kipling: Mowgli’s Brothers; Toomai of the Elephants; - Her Majesty’s Servants; Æsop: The Country Mouse and the City Mouse; - Joel Chandler Harris: The Wonderful Tar Baby Story; How Black Snake - Caught the Wolf; Brother Mud Turtle’s Trickery; A French Tar Baby; - George Ade: The Preacher Who Flew His Kite. - - Henry Van Dyke: The Other Wise Man; Nathaniel Hawthorne: Rapaccini’s - Daughter; David Swan; The Snow Image; The Great Stone Face; Lady - Eleanor’s Mantle; The Minister’s Black Veil; The Birth Mark; E. A. - Poe: William Wilson; Rudyard Kipling: The Ship that Found Herself; - Henry James: The Madonna of the Future; R. L. Stevenson: Will o’ the - Mill; Joseph Addison: The Vision of Mirza. - - Howard Pyle: The Ruby of Kishmore; Rudyard Kipling: The Man Who - Would Be King; Drums of the Fore and Aft; Tiger, Tiger; Kaa’s - Hunting; R. H. Davis: Gallegher; Van Bibber’s Burglar; R. L. - Stevenson: The Sire de Maletroit’s Door; Joseph Conrad: Youth; E. A. - Poe: The Pit and the Pendulum; F. R. Stockton: My Terminal Moraine; - Jesse Lynch Williams: The Stolen Story. - - Henry Van Dyke: Messengers at the Window; M. R. S. Andrews: A - Messenger; Bulwer Lytton: The Haunted and the Haunters; FitzJames - O’Brien: The Diamond Lens; What Was It?; M. E. Wilkins Freeman: - Shadows on the Wall; R. W. Chambers: The Tree of Heaven; Marion - Crawford: The Upper Berth; H. W. Jacobs: The Monkey’s Paw; Rudyard - Kipling: At the End of the Passage; The Brushwood Boy; They; Prosper - Merimee: The Venus of Ille. - - E. A. Poe: The Gold Bug; The Purloined Letter; Conan Doyle: The - Dancing Men; the Speckled Band; Henry Van Dyke: The Night Call; - FitzJames O’Brien: The Golden Ingot; Anton Chekhoff: The Safety - Match; R. L. Stevenson: The Pavillion on the Links; Egerton Castle: - The Baron’s Quarry; Wilkie Collins: The Dream Woman; Rudyard - Kipling: The Sending of Dana Da. - - G. B. McCutcheon: The Day of the Dog; H. C. Bunner: The Love Letters - of Smith; A Sisterly Scheme; O. Henry: The Ransom of Red Chief; - While the Auto Waits; Samuel Minturn Peck: The Trouble at St. James; - T. B. Aldrich: Goliath; R. M. S. Andrews: A Good Samaritan; The - Grandfathers of Bob; E. P. Butler: Pigs is Pigs; Josephine Dodge - Daskam: Edgar, the Choir Boy Uncelestial; T. A. Janvier: The Passing - of Thomas; Myra Kelly: A Christmas Present for a Lady; Ruth McEnery - Stuart: The Woman’s Exchange of Simpkinsville. - - F. Hopkinson Smith: The Veiled Lady of Stamboul; Stuart Edward - White: The Life of the Winds of Heaven; T. B. Aldrich: Père - Antoine’s Date Palm; Booth Tarkington: Monsieur Beaucaire; R. H. - Davis: The Princess Aline; Alice Brown: A Map of the Country; M. R. - S. Andrews: The Bishop’s Silence; Honoré de Balzac: A Passion in the - Desert; Nathaniel Hawthorne: The White Old Maid. - - Irvin Cobb: Up Clay Street; M. E. Wilkins Freeman: The Revolt of - Mother; A Humble Romance; Prosper Merimee: Mateo Falcone; Alphonse - Daudet: The Last Class; G. W. Cable: Belles Demoiselles Plantation; - Bret Harte: The Luck of Roaring Camp; Ruth McEnery Stuart: The - Widder Johnsing; Owen Wister: Specimen Jones; T. A. Janvier: The - Sage Brush Hen. - - T. B. Aldrich: Marjory Daw; Mademoiselle Olimpe Zabriskie; Miss - Mehetabel’s Son; O. Henry: The Gift of the Magi; The Cop and the - Anthem; The Whirligig of Life; Guy de Maupassant: The Diamond - Necklace; F. R. Stockton: The Lady or the Tiger; John Fox, Jr.: The - Purple Rhododendron; R. W. Chambers: A Young Man in a Hurry; E. A. - Poe: Three Sundays in a Week; Ambrose Bierce: The Man and the Snake; - FitzJames O’Brien: The Bohemian; Frank Norris: A Deal in Wheat. - - Mark Twain: A Dog’s Tale; W. D. Howells: Editha; E. T. Seton: The - Biography of a Grizzly; Brander Matthews: The Story of a Story; - Björnstjerne Björnson: The Father; Nathaniel Hawthorne: The - Ambitious Guest; Jacob A. Riis: The Burgomaster’s Christmas; Charles - Dickens: A Christmas Carol; Henry Van Dyke: The Mansion; E. E. Hale: - The Man Without a Country. - - M. R. S. Andrews: The Perfect Tribute; François Coppee: The - Substitute; J. B. Connolly: Sonny Boy’s People; S. O. Jewett: The - Queen’s Twin; James Lane Allen: King Solomon of Kentucky; Bret - Harte: Tennessee’s Partner; Jack London: The God of His Fathers; - John Galsworthy: Quality. - - Thomas Nelson Page: Marse Chan; Meh Lady; R. L. Stevenson: The Merry - Men; E. A. Poe: The Masque of the Red Death; The Fall of the House - of Usher; Irvin Cobb: White and Black; F. J. Stimson: Mrs. Knollys; - John Fox, Jr.: Christmas Eve on Lonesome; H. G. Dwight: In the - Pasha’s Garden; Honoré de Balzac: An Episode Under the Terror; Jack - London: Thanksgiving on Slav Creek; Charles Lamb: Dream Children; H. - C. Brunner: Our Aromatic Uncle. - - Bret Harte: The Outcasts of Poker Flat; R. L. Stevenson: Markheim; - Guy de Maupassant: A Piece of String; A Coward; E. A. Poe: The Cask - of Amontillado; Edith Wharton: The Bolted Door; A Journey; Henry Van - Dyke: A Lover of Music; S. R. Crockett: Elsie’s Dance for Her Life; - Jack London: The White Silence. - - - VIII - - WHAT TO READ ABOUT THE SHORT STORY - - - Albright, Evelyn May The Short Story, its - Principles and - Structure - - Barrett, Charles R. Short Story Writing - - Buck, Gertrude, and A Course in Narrative - Morris, Elizabeth Writing - Woodbridge - - Canby, Henry Seidel The Short Story in - English - - Cody, Sherwin Story Writing and - Journalism - - Dye, Charity The Story Teller’s Art - - Esenwein, Joseph Berg Writing the Short Story - - Hamilton, Clayton Materials and Methods of - Fiction - - Matthews, Brander The Philosophy of the - Short Story - - Perry, Bliss A Study of Prose Fiction - - Pitkin, Walter B. Short Story Writing - - Wells, Carolyn The Technique of the - Mystery Story - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - MODERN SHORT STORIES - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - THE - MODERN SHORT STORY - - - - - THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA[1] - By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS - - -Footnote 1: - - It may be of interest to those who approach Folk-Lore stories from - the scientific side, to know that this story was told to one of my - little boys three years ago by a negro named John Holder. I have - since found a variant (or perhaps the original) in Theal’s “Kaffir - Folk-Lore.” - - Joel Chandler Harris, 1889. - - “I got one tale on my min’,” said Uncle Remus to the little boy one - night. “I got one tale on my min’ dat I ain’t ne’er tell you; I - dunner how come; I speck it des kaze I git mixt up in my idees. Deze - is busy times, mon, en de mo’ you does de mo’ you hatter do, en w’en - dat de case, it ain’t ter be ’spected dat one ole broke-down nigger - kin ’member ’bout eve’ything.” - - “What is the story, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked. - - “Well, honey,” said the old man, wiping his spectacles, “hit sorter - run dis away: One time dey wuz a man w’at had a mighty likely - daughter.” - - “Was he a white man or a black man?” the little boy asked. - - “I ’clar’ ter gracious, honey!” exclaimed the old man, “you er - pushin’ me mos’ too close. Fer all I kin tell you, de man mout er - bin ez w’ite ez de driven snow, er he mout er bin de blackes’ - Affi’kin er de whole kit en bilin’. I’m des tellin’ you de tale, en - you kin take en take de man en whitewash ’im, or you kin black ’im - up des ez you please. Dat’s de way I looks at it. - - “Well, one time dey wuz a man, en dish yer man he had a mighty - likely daughter. She wuz so purty dat she had mo’ beaus dan w’at you - got fingers en toes. But de gal daddy, he got his spishuns ’bout all - un um, en he won’t let um come ’roun’ de house. But dey kep’ on - pesterin’ ’im so, dat bimeby he give word out dat de man w’at kin - clear up six acres er lan’ en roll up de logs, en pile up de bresh - in one day, dat man kin marry his daughter. - - “In co’se, dis look like it unpossible, en all de beaus drap off - ’ceppin’ one, en he wuz a great big strappin’ chap w’at look like he - kin knock a steer down. Dis chap he wuz name Simon, en de gal, she - wuz name Susanna. Simon, he love Susanna, en Susanna, she love - Simon, en dar it went. - - “Well, sir, Simon, he went ter de gal daddy, he did, en he say dat - ef anybody kin clear up dat lan’, he de one kin do it, least’ways he - say he gwine try mighty hard. De ole man, he grin en rub his han’s - terge’er, he did, en tole Simon ter start in in de mornin’. Susanna, - she makes out she wuz fixin’ sumpin in de cubberd, but she tuck ’n - kiss ’er han’ at Simon, en nod ’er head. Dis all Simon want, en he - went out er dar des ez happy ez a jay-bird atter he done robbed a - sparrer-nes’. - - “Now, den,” Uncle Remus continued, settling himself more comfortably - in his chair, “dish yer man wuz a witch.” - - “Why, I thought a witch was a woman,” said the little boy. - - The old man frowned and looked into the fire. - - “Well, sir,” he remarked with some emphasis, “ef you er gwine ter - tu’n de man into a ’oman, den dey won’t be no tale, kaze dey’s - bleege ter be a man right dar whar I put dis un. Hit’s des like I - tole you ’bout de color er de man. Black ’im er whitewash ’im des ez - you please, en ef you want ter put a frock on ’im ter boot, hit - ain’t none er my business; but I’m gwine ter ’low he wuz a man ef - it’s de las’ ac’.” - - The little boy remained silent, and Uncle Remus went on: - - “Now, den, dish yer man was a witch. He could cunjer folks, mo’ - ’speshually dem folks w’at ain’t got no rabbit foot. He bin at his - cunjerments so long, dat Susanna done learn mos’ all his tricks. So - de nex’ mornin’ w’en Simon come by de house fer ter borry de ax, - Susanna she run en got it fer ’im. She got it, she did, en den she - sprinkles some black san’ on it, en say, ‘Ax, cut; cut, ax.’ Den she - rub ’er ha’r ’cross it, en give it ter Simon. He tuck de ax, he did, - en den Susanna say: - - “‘Go down by de branch, git sev’n w’ite pebbles, put um in dis - little cloth bag, en whenever you want the ax ter cut, shake um up.’ - - “Simon, he went off in de woods, en started in ter clearin’ up de - six acres. Well, sir, dem pebbles en dat ax, dey done de work—dey - did dat. Simon could ’a’ bin done by de time de dinner-horn blowed, - but he hung back kaze he ain’t want de man fer ter know dat he doin’ - it by cunjerments. - - “W’en he shuck de pebbles de ax ’ud cut, en de trees ’ud fall, en de - lim’s ’ud drap off, en de logs ’ud roll up terge’er, en de bresh ’ud - pile itself up. Hit went on dis away twel by de time it wuz two - hours b’ sun, de whole six acres wuz done cleaned up. - - “’Bout dat time de man come ’roun’, he did, fer ter see how de work - gittin’ on, en, mon! he wuz ’stonish’. He ain’t know w’at ter do er - say. He ain’t want ter give up his daughter, en yit he ain’t know - how ter git out ’n it. He walk ’roun’ en ’roun’, en study, en study, - en study how he gwine rue de bargain. At las’ he walk up ter Simon, - he did, en he say: - - “‘Look like you sort er forehanded wid your work.’ - - “Simon, he ’low: ‘Yasser, w’en I starts in on a job I’m mighty - restless twel I gits it done. Some er dis timber is rough en tough, - but I bin had wuss jobs dan dis in my time.’ - - “De man say ter hisse’f: ‘W’at kind er folks is dis chap?’ - - Den he say out loud: ‘Well, sence you er so spry, dey’s two mo’ - acres ’cross de branch dar. Ef you’ll clear dem up ’fo’ supper you - kin come up ter de house en git de gal.’ - - “Simon sorter scratch his head, kaze he dunner whedder de pebbles - gwine ter hol’ out, yit he put on a bol’ front en he tell de man dat - he’ll go ’cross dar en clean up de two acres soon ez he res’ a - little. - - “De man he went off home, en soon’s he git out er sight, Simon went - ’cross de branch en shook de pebbles at de two acres er woods, en ’t - want no time skacely ’fo’ de trees wuz all cut down en pile up. - - “De man, he went home, he did, en call up Susanna, en say: - - “‘Daughter, dat man look like he gwine git you, sho’.’ - - “Susanna, she hang ’er head, en look like she fretted, en den she - say she don’t keer nuthin’ fer Simon, nohow.” - - “Why, I thought she wanted to marry him,” said the little boy. - - “Well, honey, w’en you git growed up, en git whiskers on yo’ chin, - en den atter de whiskers git gray like mine, you’ll fin’ out sump’n - ’n’er ’bout de wimmin folks. Dey ain’t ne’er say ’zackly w’at dey - mean, none er um, mo’ ’speshually w’en dey er gwine on ’bout gittin’ - married. - - “Now, dar wuz dat gal Susanna what I’m a-tellin’ you ’bout. She - mighty nigh ’stracted ’bout Simon, en yit she make ’er daddy b’lieve - dat she ’spize ’im. I ain’t blamin’ Susanna,” Uncle Remus went on - with a judicial air, “kase she know dat ’er daddy wuz a witch en a - mighty mean one in de bargain. - - “Well, atter Susanna done make ’er daddy b’lieve dat she ain’t - keerin’ nothin’ ’t all ’bout Simon, he ’gun ter set his traps en fix - his tricks. He up ’n tell Susanna dat atter ’er en Simon git married - dey mus’ go upsta’rs in de front room, en den he tell ’er dat she - mus’ make Simon go ter bed fus’. Den de man went upsta’rs en tuck ’n - tuck all de slats out’n de bedstid ceppin one at de head en one at - de foot. Atter dat he tuck ’n put some foot-valances ’roun’ de - bottom er de bed—des like dem w’at you bin see on yo’ gran’ma bed. - Den he tuck ’n sawed out de floor und’ de bed, en dar wuz de trap - all ready. - - “Well, sir, Simon come up ter de house, en de man make like he - mighty glad fer ter see ’im, but Susanna, she look like she mighty - shy. No matter ’bout dat; atter supper Simon en Susanna got married. - Hit ain’t in de tale wedder dey sont fer a preacher er wedder dey - wuz a squire browsin’ ’roun’ in de neighborhoods, but dey had cake - wid reezins in it, en some er dish yer silly-bug w’at got mo’ foam - in it dan dey is dram, en dey had a mighty happy time. - -[Illustration: - - Simon shakes the pebbles -] - - “W’en bedtime come, Simon en Susanna went upsta’rs, en w’en dey got - in de room, Susanna kotch ’im by de han’, en helt up her finger. Den - she whisper en tell ’im dat ef dey don’t run away fum dar dey bofe - gwine ter be kilt. Simon ax ’er how come, en she say dat ’er daddy - want ter kill ’im kase he sech a nice man. Dis make Simon grin; yit - he wuz sorter restless ’bout gittin’ ’way fum dar. But Susanna, she - say wait. She say: - - “‘Pick up yo’ hat en button up yo’ coat. Now, den, take dat stick er - wood dar en hol’ it ’bove yo’ head.’ - - “W’iles he stan’in’ dar, Susanna got a hen egg out’n a basket, den - she got a meal-bag, en a skillet. She ’low: - - “‘Now, den, drap de wood on de bed.’ - - “Simon done des like she say, en time de wood struck de bed de tick - en de mattruss went a-tumblin’ thoo de floor. Den Susanna tuck Simon - by de han’ en dey run out de back way ez hard ez dey kin go. - - “De man, he wuz down dar waitin’ fer de bed ter drap. He had a big - long knife in he han’, en time de bed drapped, he lit on it, he did, - en stobbed it scan’lous. He des natchully ripped de tick up, en w’en - he look, bless gracious, dey ain’t no Simon dar. I lay dat man wuz - mad den. He snorted ’roun’ dar twel blue smoke come out’n his nose, - en his eye look red like varmint eye in de dark. Den he run upsta’rs - en dey ain’t no Simon dar, en nudder wuz dey any Susanna. - - “Gentermens! den he git madder. He rush out, he did, en look ’roun’, - en ’way off yander he see Simon en Susanna des a-runnin’, en - a-holdin’ one nudder’s han’.” - - “Why, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “I thought you said it was - night?” - - “Dat w’at I said, honey, en I’ll stan’ by it. Yit, how many times - dis blessed night is I got ter tell you dat de man wuz a witch? En - bein’ a witch, co’se he kin see in de dark. - - “Well, dish yer witch-man, he look off en he see Simon en Susanna - runnin’ ez hard ez dey kin. He put out atter um, he did, wid his - knife in his han’, an’ he kep’ on a gainin’ on um. Bimeby, he got so - close dat Susanna say ter Simon: - - “‘Fling down yo’ coat.’ - - “Time de coat tech de groun’, a big thick woods sprung up whar it - fell. But de man, he cut his way thoo it wid de knife, en kep’ on - a-pursuin’ atter um. - - “Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de egg on de groun’, en - time it fell a big fog riz up fum de groun’, en a little mo’ en de - man would a got los’. But atter so long a time fog got blowed away - by de win’, en de man kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um. - - “Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de meal-sack, en a great - big pon’ er water kivered de groun’ whar it fell. De man wuz in sech - a big hurry dat he tried ter drink it dry, but he ain’t kin do dis, - so he sot on de bank en blow’d on de water wid he hot breff, en - atter so long a time de water made hits disappearance, en den he - kep’ on atter um. - - “Simon en Susanna wuz des a-runnin’, but run ez dey would, de man - kep’ a-gainin’ on um, en he got so close dat Susanna drapped de - skillet. Den a big bank er darkness fell down, en de man ain’t know - which away ter go. But atter so long a time de darkness lif’ up, en - de man kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um. Mon, he made up fer los’ time, - en he got so close dat Susanna say ter Simon: - - “‘Drap a pebble.’ - - “Time Simon do dis a high hill riz up, but de man clum it en kep’ on - atter um. Den Susanna say ter Simon: - - “‘Drap nudder pebble.’ - - “Time Simon drap de pebble, a high mountain growed up, but de man - crawled up it en kep’ on atter um. Den Susanna say: - - “‘Drap de bigges’ pebble.’ - - “No sooner is he drap it dan a big rock wall riz up, en hit wuz so - high dat de witch-man can’t git over. He run up en down, but he - can’t find no end, en den, atter so long a time, he turn ’roun’ en - go home. - - “On de yuther side er dis high wall, Susanna tuck Simon by de han’, - en say: - - “‘Now we kin res’.’ - - “En I reckon,” said the old man slyly, “dat we all better res’.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE CROW-CHILD - By MARY MAPES DODGE - - - MIDWAY between a certain blue lake and a deep forest there once - stood a cottage, called by its owner “The Rookery.” - - The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the ground, - breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until only a few little - pieces lay scattered about. But the broad lake invited all the rays - to come and rest upon her, so that sometimes she shone from shore to - shore, and the sun winked and blinked above her, as though dazzled - by his own reflection. The cottage, which was very small, had sunny - windows and dark windows. Only from the roof could you see the - mountains beyond, where the light crept up in the morning and down - in the evening, turning all the brooks into living silver as it - passed. - - But something brighter than sunshine used often to look from the - cottage into the forest, and something even more gloomy than shadows - often glowered from its windows upon the sunny lake. One was the - face of little Ruky Lynn; and the other was his sister’s when she - felt angry or ill-tempered. - - They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the cottage with - an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called her—was nearly sixteen - years old, but her brother had seen the forest turn yellow only four - times. She was, therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The - little fellow was her companion night and day. Together they ate and - slept, and—when Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they - rambled in the wood, or floated in their little skiff upon the lake. - - Ruky had bright, dark eyes, and the glossy blackness of his hair - made his cheeks look even rosier than they were. He had funny ways - for a boy, Cora thought. The quick, bird-like jerks of his - raven-black head, his stately baby gait, and his habit of pecking at - his food, as she called it, often made his sister laugh. Young as he - was, the little fellow had learned to mount to the top of a - low-branching tree near the cottage, though he could not always get - down alone. Sometimes when, perched in the thick foliage, he would - scream, “Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!” his sister would answer, as - she ran out laughing, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming.” - - Perhaps it was because he reminded her of a crow that Cora called - him her little bird. This was when she was good-natured and willing - to let him see how much she loved him. But in her cloudy moments, as - the uncle called them, Cora was another girl. Everything seemed ugly - to her, or out of tune. Even Ruky was a trial; and, instead of - giving him a kind word, she would scold and grumble until he would - steal from the cottage door, and, jumping lightly from the - door-step, seek the shelter of his tree. Once safely perched among - its branches he knew she would finish her work, forget her - ill-humor, and be quite ready, when he cried “Cor! Cor!” to come - from the cottage with a cheery, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming! I’m - coming!” - - No one could help loving Ruky, with his quick, affectionate ways; - and it seemed that Ruky, in turn, could not help loving every person - and thing around him. He loved his silent old uncle, the bright - lake, the cool forest, and even his little china cup with red - berries painted upon it. But more than all, Ruky loved his - golden-haired sister, and the great dog, who would plunge into the - lake at the mere pointing of his chubby little finger. In fact, that - finger and the commanding baby voice were “law” to Nep at any time. - - Nep and Ruky often talked together, and though one used barks and - the other words, there was a perfect understanding between them. Woe - to the straggler that dared to rouse Nep’s wrath, and woe to the - bird or rabbit that ventured too near!—those great teeth snapped at - their prey without even the warning of a growl. But Ruky could - safely pull Nep’s ears or his tail, or climb his great shaggy back, - or even snatch away the untasted bone. Still, as I said before, - every one loved the child; so, of course, Nep was no exception. - - One day Ruky’s “Cor! Cor!” had sounded oftener than usual. His rosy - face had bent saucily to kiss Cora’s upturned forehead, as she - raised her arms to lift him from the tree; but the sparkle in his - dark eyes had seemed to kindle so much mischief in him that his - sister’s patience became fairly exhausted. - - “Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon _you_?” she cried, “and - nothing to listen to but your noise and your racket? You shall go to - bed early to-day, and then I shall have some peace.” - - “No, no, Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the stars come. Ruky wants - to see the stars.” - - “Hush! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whipping when Uncle comes back - from town.” - - Nep growled. - - “Ha! ha!” laughed Ruky, jerking his head saucily from side to side; - “Nep says ‘No!’” - - Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and poor Ruky was - undressed, with many a hasty jerk and pull. - - “You hurt, Cor!” he said, plaintively. “I’m going to take off my - shoes my own self.” - - “No, you’re not,” cried Cora, almost shaking him; and when he cried - she called him naughty, and said if he did not stop he should have - no supper. This made him cry all the more, and Cora, feeling in her - angry mood that he deserved severe punishment, threw away his supper - and put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s low - sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she sat knitting, - with her back to him. - - He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with tears, and his - plaintive “Cor! Cor!” had reached his sister’s ears in vain. She - never once looked up from those gleaming knitting-needles, nor even - gave him his good-night kiss. - - It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora, sulky and - weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her candle, and lay down - beside her brother. - - The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but she was - too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered, “Cor, Cor!” He - even touched her hand over and over again with his lips, hoping she - would turn toward him, and, with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, - “Good night, little bird.” - - Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying: - - “Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you were a crow in - earnest, and then I’d have some peace.” - - After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within him as he - wondered what this “peace” was that his sister wished for so often, - and why he must go away before it could come to her. - - Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard a strange - fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight a dark object - circle once or twice in the air above her, then dart suddenly - through the open window. - - Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight at the strange - visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear, she turned to see if he - had fallen asleep. - - No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,—Ruky was not there! - - His empty place was still warm; perhaps he had slid softly from the - bed. With trembling haste she lighted the candle, and peered into - every corner. The boy was not to be found! - - Then those fearful words rang in her ears: - - “_I wish you were a crow in earnest!_” - - Cora rushed to the door, and, with straining gaze, looked out into - the still night. - - “Ruky! Ruky!” she screamed. - - There was a slight stir in the low-growing tree. - - “Ruky, darling, come back!” - - “Caw, caw!” answered a harsh voice from the tree. Something black - seemed to spin out of it, and then, in great sweeping circles, - sailed upward, until finally it settled upon one of the loftiest - trees in the forest. - - “Caw, caw!” it screamed, fiercely. - - The girl shuddered, but, with outstretched arms, cried out: - - “Oh, Ruky, if it is _you_, come back to poor Cor!” - - “Caw, caw!” mocked hundreds of voices, as a shadow like a - thunder-cloud rose in the air. It was an immense flock of crows. She - could distinguish them plainly in the starlight, circling higher and - higher, then lower and lower, until, with their harsh “Caw, caw!” - they sailed far off into the night. - - “Oh, Ruky, answer me!” she cried. - - Nep growled, the forest trees whispered softly together, and the - lake, twinkling with stars, sang a lullaby as it lifted its weary - little waves upon the shore: there was no other sound. - - It seemed that daylight never would come; but at last the trees - turned slowly from black to green, and the lake put out its stars, - one by one, and waited for the new day. - - Cora, who had been wandering restlessly in every direction, now went - weeping into the cottage. “Poor boy!” she sobbed; “he had no - supper.” Then she scattered breadcrumbs near the doorway, hoping - that Ruky would come for them; but only a few timid little songsters - hovered about, and, while Cora wept, picked up the food daintily, as - though it burned their bills. When she reached forth her hand, - though there were no crows among them, and called “Ruky! Ruky!” they - scattered and flew away in an instant. - - Next she went to the steep-roofed barn, and, bringing out an - apronful of grain, scattered it all around his favorite tree. Before - long, to her great joy, a flock of crows came by. They spied the - grain, and soon were busily picking it up with their short, - feathered bills. One even came near the mound where she sat. Unable - to restrain herself longer, she fell upon her knees with an - imploring cry: - - “Oh, Ruky! is this you?” - - Instantly the entire flock set up an angry “caw,” and, surrounding - the crow, who was hopping closer and closer to Cora, hurried him - off, until they all looked like mere specks against the summer sky. - - Every day, rain or shine, she scattered the grain, trembling with - dread lest Nep should leap among the hungry crows, and perhaps kill - her “little bird” first. But Nep knew better; he never stirred when - the noisy crowd settled around the cottage, excepting once, when one - of them pounced upon his back. Then he started up, wagging his tail, - and barking with uproarious delight. The crow flew off in a flutter, - and did not venture near him again. - - Poor Cora felt sure that this could be no other than Ruky. Oh, if - she only could have caught him then! Perhaps with kisses and prayers - she might have won him back to Ruky’s shape; but now the chance was - lost. - - There was no one to help her; for the nearest neighbor dwelt miles - away, and her uncle had not yet returned. - - After a-while she remembered the little cup, and, filling it with - grain, stood it upon a grassy mound. When the crows came, they - fought and struggled for its contents with many an angry cry. One of - them made no effort to seize the grain. He was content to peck at - the berries painted upon its sides, as he hopped joyfully around it - again and again. Nep lay very quiet. Only the tip of his tail - twitched with an eager, wistful motion. But Cora sprang joyfully - toward the bird. - - “It _is_ Ruky!” she cried, striving to catch it. - - Alas! the cup lay shattered beneath her hand, as, with a taunting - “caw, caw,” the crow joined its fellows and flew away. - - Next, gunners came. They were looking for other birds; but they - hated the crows, Cora knew, and she trembled for Ruky. She heard the - sharp crack of fowling-pieces in the forest, and shuddered whenever - Nep, pricking up his ears, darted with an angry howl in the - direction of the sound. She knew, too, that her uncle had set traps - for the crows, and it seemed to her that the whole world was against - the poor birds, plotting their destruction. - - Time flew by. The leaves seemed to flash into bright colors and fall - off almost in a day. Frost and snow came. Still the uncle had not - returned, or, if he had, she did not know it. Her brain was - bewildered. She knew not whether she ate or slept. Only the terrible - firing reached her ears, or that living black cloud came and went - with its ceaseless “caw.” - - At last, during a terrible night of wind and storm, Cora felt that - she must go forth and seek her poor bird. - - “Perhaps he is freezing—dying!” she cried, springing frantically - from the bed, and casting her long cloak over her night-dress. - - In a moment, she was trudging barefooted through the snow. It was so - deep she could hardly walk, and the sleet was driving into her face; - still she kept on, though her numbed feet seemed hardly to belong to - her. All the way she was praying in her heart; promising never, - never to be passionate again, if she only could find her bird—not - Ruky the boy, but whatever he might be. She was willing to accept - her punishment. Soon a faint cry reached her ear. With eager haste, - she peered into every fold of the drifted snow. A black object - caught her eye. It was a poor storm-beaten crow, lying there - benumbed and stiff. - - For Ruky’s sake she folded it closely to her bosom, and plodded back - to the cottage. The fire cast a rosy light on its glossy wing as she - entered, but the poor thing did not stir. Softly stroking and - warming it, she wrapped the frozen bird in soft flannel and blew - into its open mouth. Soon, to her great relief, it revived, and even - swallowed a few grains of wheat. - - Cold and weary, she cast herself upon the bed, still folding the - bird to her heart. “It may be Ruky! It is all I ask,” she sobbed. “I - dare not ask for more.” - - Suddenly she felt a peculiar stirring. The crow seemed to grow - larger. Then, in the dim light, she felt its feathers pressing - lightly against her cheek. Next, something soft and warm wound - itself tenderly about her neck, and she heard a sweet voice saying: - - “Don’t cry, Cor,—I’ll be good.” - - She started up. It was, indeed, her own darling! The starlight shone - into the room. Lighting her candle, she looked at the clock. - - It was just two hours since she had uttered those cruel words! - Sobbing, she asked: - - “Have I been asleep, Ruky, dear?” - - “I don’t know, Cor. Do people cry when they’re asleep?” - - “Sometimes, Ruky,” clasping him very close. - - “Then you have been asleep. But Cor, please don’t let Uncle whip - Ruky.” - - “No, no, my little bird—I mean, my brother. Good night, darling!” - - “Good night.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL[2] - By LAFCADIO HEARN - - _She hath spoken, and her words still resound in his ears._ - - _Hao-Khieou-Tchouan: c. ix._ - - -Footnote 2: - - From _Some Chinese Ghosts_. Copyright, 1887, by Little, Brown & - Company. - - THE water-clock marks the hour in the _Ta-chung sz’_,—in the Tower - of the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite the lips of the - metal monster,—the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the - sacred _Fa-hwa-King_, from the chapters of the holy _Ling-yen-King_! - Hear the great bell responding!—how mighty her voice, though - tongueless!—_KO-NGAI!_ All the little dragons on the high-tilted - eaves of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails - under that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble - on their carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas - quiver with desire to speak. _KO-NGAI_!—all the green-and-gold tiles - of the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are - writhing against the sky; the uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over - the heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense! - _KO-NGAI!_—What a thunder tone was that! All the lacquered goblins - on the palace cornices wriggle their fire-colored tongues! And after - each huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden - moan and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the - immense tone faints away in broken whispers of silver,—as though a - woman should whisper, “_Hiai!_” Even so the great bell hath sounded - every day for well-nigh five hundred years,—_Ko-Ngai_: first with - stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with - silver murmuring of “_Hiai!_” And there is not a child in all the - many-colored ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the - story of the great bell,—who cannot tell you why the great bell says - _Ko-Ngai_ and _Hiai!_ - - * * * * * - - Now, this is the story of the great bell in the Ta-chung sz’, as the - same is related in the _Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue_, written by the learned - Yu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu. - - Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of - Heaven, Yong-Lo, of the “Illustrious,” or Ming dynasty, commanded - the worthy official, Kouan-Yu, that he should have a bell made of - such size that the sound thereof might be heard for one hundred - _li_. And he further ordained that the voice of the bell should be - strengthened with brass, and deepened with gold, and sweetened with - silver; and that the face and the great lips of it should be graven - with blessed sayings from the sacred books, and that it should be - suspended in the centre of the imperial capital, to sound through - all the many-colored ways of the City of Pe-king. - - Therefore the worthy mandarin, Kouan-Yu, assembled the - master-moulders and the renowned bellsmiths of the empire, and all - men of great repute and cunning in foundry work; and they measured - the materials for the alloy, and treated them skilfully, and - prepared the moulds, the fires, the instruments, and the monstrous - melting-pot for fusing the metal. And they labored exceedingly, like - giants,—neglecting only rest and sleep and the comforts of life; - toiling both night and day in obedience to Kouan-Yu, and striving in - all things to do the behest of the Son of Heaven. - - But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated - from the glowing casting, it was discovered that, despite their - great labor and ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for - the metals had rebelled one against the other,—the gold had scorned - alliance with the brass, the silver would not mingle with the molten - iron. Therefore the moulds had to be once more prepared, and the - fires rekindled, and the metal remelted, and all the work tediously - and toilsomely repeated. The Son of Heaven heard, and was angry, but - spake nothing. - - A second time the bell was cast, and the result was even worse. - Still the metals obstinately refused to blend one with the other; - and there was no uniformity in the bell, and the sides of it were - cracked and fissured, and the lips of it were slagged and split - asunder; so that all the labor had to be repeated even a third time, - to the great dismay of Kouan-Yu. And when the Son of Heaven heard - these things, he was angrier than before; and sent his messenger to - Kouan-Yu with a letter, written upon lemon-colored silk, and sealed - with the seal of the Dragon, containing these words:— - - ... “_From the Mighty Yong-Lo, the Sublime Tait-Sung, the - Celestial and August,—whose reign is called ‘Ming,’—to - Kouan-Yu the Fuh-yin: Twice thou hast betrayed the trust we - have deigned graciously to place in thee; if thou fail a - third time in fulfilling our command, thy head shall be - severed from thy neck. Tremble, and obey!_” - - Now, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness, whose - name—Ko-Ngai—was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose heart was - even more beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved her father with - such love that she had refused a hundred worthy suitors rather than - make his home desolate by her absence; and when she had seen the - awful yellow missive, sealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away - with fear for her father’s sake. And when her senses and her - strength returned to her, she could not rest or sleep for thinking - of her parent’s danger, until she had secretly sold some of her - jewels, and with the money so obtained had hastened to an - astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by what means - her father might be saved from the peril impending over him. So the - astrologer made observations of the heavens, and marked the aspect - of the Silver Stream (which we call the Milky Way), and examined the - signs of the Zodiac,—the _Hwang-tao_, or Yellow Road,—and consulted - the table of the Five _Hin_, or Principles of the Universe, and the - mystical books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he made - answer to her, saying: “Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock, - silver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh of a maiden be - melted in the crucible; until the blood of a virgin be mixed with - the metals in their fusion.” So Ko-Ngai returned home sorrowful at - heart; but she kept secret all that she had heard, and told no one - what she had done. - - * * * * * - - At last came the awful day when the third and last effort to cast - the great bell was to be made; and Ko-Ngai, together with her - waiting-woman, accompanied her father to the foundry, and they took - their places upon a platform over-looking the toiling of the - moulders and the lava of liquefied metal. All the workmen wrought - their tasks in silence; there was no sound heard but the muttering - of the fires. And the muttering deepened into a roar like the roar - of typhoons approaching, and the blood-red lake of metal slowly - brightened like the vermilion of a sunrise, and the vermilion was - transmuted into a radiant glow of gold, and the gold whitened - blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon. Then the workers - ceased to feed the raving flame, and all fixed their eyes upon the - eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to give the signal to cast. - - But ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his - head; and all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai sounding sharply sweet as a - bird’s song above the great thunder of the fires,—“_For thy sake, O - my Father_!” And even as she cried, she leaped into the white flood - of metal; and the lava of the furnace roared to receive her, and - spattered monstrous flakes of flame to the roof, and burst over the - verge of the earthen crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of - many-colored fires, and subsided quakingly, with lightnings and with - thunders and with mutterings. - - Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped - in after her, but that strong men held him back and kept firm grasp - upon him until he had fainted away and they could bear him like one - dead to his home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and - speechless for pain, stood before the furnace, still holding in her - hands a shoe, a tiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and - flowers,—the shoe of her beautiful mistress that was. For she had - sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by the foot as she leaped, but had only been - able to clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; - and she continued to stare at it like one gone mad. - - * * * * * - - But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and - August had to be obeyed, and the work of the moulders to be - finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal - seemed purer and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the - beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the ponderous - casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was - found that the bell was beautiful to look upon, and perfect in form, - and wonderful in color above all other bells. Nor was there any - trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for it had been totally absorbed - by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended brass and - gold, with the intermingling of the silver and iron. And when they - sounded the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and - mightier than the tones of any other bell,—reaching even beyond the - distance of one hundred _li_, like a pealing of summer thunder; and - yet also like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman’s name,—the - name of Ko-Ngai! - - * * * * * - - And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning - heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and - complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, “_Hiai!_” And - still, when the people hear that great golden moan they keep - silence; but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and - the sobbing of “_Hiai!_” then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in - all the many-colored ways of Pe-king whisper to their little ones: - “_Listen! that is Ko-Ngai crying for her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai - calling for her shoe!_” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE TEN TRAILS - By ERNEST THOMPSON SETON - - - ONCE there were two Indians who went out together to hunt. Hapeda - was very strong and swift and a wonderful bowman. Chatun was much - weaker and carried a weaker bow; but he was very patient. - - As they went through the hills they came on the fresh track of a - small Deer. Chatun said: “My brother, I shall follow that.” - - But Hapeda said: “You may if you like, but a mighty hunter like me - wants bigger game.” - - So they parted. - - Hapeda went on for an hour or more and found the track of ten large - Elk going different ways. He took the trail of the largest and - followed for a long way, but not coming up with it, he said: “That - one is evidently traveling. I should have taken one of the others.” - - So he went back to the place where he first found it, and took up - the trail of another. After a hunt of over an hour in which he - failed to get a shot, he said: “I have followed another traveler. - I’ll go back and take up the trail of one that is feeding.” - - But again, after a short pursuit, he gave up that one to go back and - try another that seemed more promising. Thus he spent a whole day - trying each of the trails for a short time, and at night came back - to camp with nothing, to find that Chatun, though his inferior in - all other ways, had proved wiser. He had stuck doggedly to the trail - of the one little Deer, and now had its carcass safely in camp. - - MORAL: _The Prize is always at the end of the trail._ - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO[3] - By COUNT LEO TOLSTOI - - -Footnote 3: - - Reprinted from the Everyman Edition of Tolstoi’s _Tales and - Parables_, by special permission of the publishers. Copyright by - E. P. Dutton & Company. - - IN a certain town there lived a shoemaker named Martin Avdeitch. He - lived in a basement room which possessed but one window. This window - looked onto the street, and through it a glimpse could be caught of - the passers-by. It is true that only their legs could be seen, but - that did not matter, as Martin could recognize people by their boots - alone. He had lived here for a long time, and so had many - acquaintances. There were very few pairs of boots in the - neighbourhood which had not passed through his hands at least once, - if not twice. Some he had resoled, others he had fitted with - side-pieces, others, again, he had resewn where they were split, or - provided with new toe-caps. Yes, he often saw his handiwork through - that window. He was given plenty of custom, for his work lasted - well, his materials were good, his prices moderate, and his word to - be depended on. If he could do a job by a given time it should be - done; but if not, he would warn you beforehand rather than - disappoint you. Everyone knew Avdeitch, and no one ever transferred - his custom from him. He had always been an upright man, but with the - approach of old age he had begun more than ever to think of his - soul, and to draw nearer to God. - - His wife had died while he was still an apprentice, leaving behind - her a little boy of three. This was their only child, indeed, for - the two elder ones had died previously. At first Martin thought of - placing the little fellow with a sister of his in the country, but - changed his mind, thinking: “My Kapitoshka would not like to grow up - in a strange family, so I will keep him by me.” Then Avdeitch - finished his apprenticeship, and went to live in lodgings with his - little boy. But God had not seen fit to give Avdeitch happiness in - his children. The little boy was just growing up and beginning to - help his father and to be a pleasure to him, when he fell ill, was - put to bed, and died after a week’s fever. - - Martin buried the little fellow and was inconsolable. Indeed, he was - so inconsolable that he began to murmur against God. His life seemed - so empty that more than once he prayed for death and reproached the - Almighty for taking away his only beloved son instead of himself, - the old man. At last he ceased altogether to go to church. - - Then one day there came to see him an ancient peasant-pilgrim—one - who was now in the eighth year of his pilgrimage. To him Avdeitch - talked, and then went on to complain of his great sorrow. - - “I no longer wish to be a God-fearing man,” he said. “I only wish to - die. That is all I ask of God. I am a lonely, hopeless man.” - - “You should not speak like that, Martin,” replied the old pilgrim. - “It is not for us to judge the acts of God. We must rely, not upon - our own understanding, but upon the Divine wisdom. God saw fit that - your son should die and that you should live. Therefore it must be - better so. If you despair, it is because you have wished to live too - much for your own pleasure.” - - “For what, then, should I live?” asked Martin. - - “For God alone,” replied the old man. “It is He who gave you life, - and therefore it is He for whom you should live. When you come to - live for Him you will cease to grieve, and your trials will become - easy to bear.” - - Martin was silent. Then he spoke again. - - “But how am I to live for God?” he asked. - - “Christ has shown us the way,” answered the old man. “Can you read? - If so, buy a Testament and study it. You will learn there how to - live for God. Yes, it is all shown you there.” - - These words sank into Avdeitch’s soul. He went out the same day, - bought a large-print copy of the New Testament, and set himself to - read it. - - At the beginning Avdeitch had meant only to read on festival days, - but when he once began his reading he found it so comforting to the - soul that he came never to let a day pass without doing so. On the - second occasion he became so engrossed that all the kerosene was - burnt away in the lamp before he could tear himself away from the - book. - - Thus he came to read it every evening, and, the more he read, the - more clearly did he understand what God required of him, and in what - way he could live for God; so that his heart grew ever lighter and - lighter. Once upon a time, whenever he had lain down to sleep, he - had been used to moan and sigh as he thought of his little - Kapitoshka; but now he only said—“Glory to Thee, O Lord! Glory to - Thee! Thy will be done!” - - From that time onwards Avdeitch’s life became completely changed. - Once he had been used to go out on festival days and drink tea in a - tavern, and had not denied himself even an occasional glass of - _vodka_. This he had done in the company of a boon companion, and, - although no drunkard, would frequently leave the tavern in an - excited state and talk much nonsense as he shouted and disputed with - this friend of his. But now he had turned his back on all this, and - his life had become quiet and joyous. Early in the morning he would - sit down to his work, and labor through his appointed hours. Then he - would take the lamp down from a shelf, light it, and sit down to - read. And the more he read, the more he understood, and the clearer - and happier he grew at heart. - - * * * * * - - It happened once that Martin had been reading late. He had been - reading those verses in the sixth chapter of the Gospel of St. Luke - which run: - - “And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the - other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid not to take thy - coat also. Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that - taketh away thy goods ask them not again. And as ye would that men - should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.” - - Then, further on, he had read those verses where the Lord says: - - “And why call ye Me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say? - Whosoever cometh to Me and heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I - will show you to whom he is like: He is like a man which built an - house, and digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock: and when - the flood arose, the storm beat vehemently upon that house, and - could not shake it: for it was founded upon a rock. But he that - heareth and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built - an house upon the earth; against which the stream did beat - vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was - great.” - - Avdeitch read these words, and felt greatly cheered in soul. He took - off his spectacles, laid them on the book, leaned his elbows upon - the table, and gave himself up to meditation. He set himself to - measure his own life by those words, and thought to himself: - - “Is my house founded upon a rock or upon sand? It is well if it be - upon a rock. Yet it seems so easy to me as I sit here alone. I may - so easily come to think that I have done all that the Lord has - commanded me, and grow careless and—sin again. Yet I will keep on - striving, for it is goodly so to do. Help Thou me, O Lord.” - - Thus he kept on meditating, though conscious that it was time for - bed; yet he was loathe to tear himself away from the book. He began - to read the seventh chapter of St. Luke, and read on about the - centurion, the widow’s son, and the answer given to John’s - disciples; until in time he came to the passage where the rich - Pharisee invited Jesus to his house, and the woman washed the Lord’s - feet with her tears and He justified her. So he came to the - forty-fourth verse and read: - - “And He turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this - woman? I entered into thine house, and thou gavest Me no water for - My feet: but she hath washed My feet with tears, and wiped them with - the hairs of her head. Thou gavest Me no kiss: but this woman since - the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss My feet. My head with oil - thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed My feet with - ointment.” - - He read these verses and thought: - - “‘Thou gavest Me no water for My feet’ ... ‘Thou gavest Me no kiss’ - ... ‘My head with oil thou didst not anoint’ ...”—and once again he - took off his spectacles, laid them on the book, and became lost in - meditation. - - “I am even as that Pharisee,” he thought to himself. “I drink tea - and think only of my own needs. Yes, I think only of having plenty - to eat and drink, of being warm and clean—but never of entertaining - a guest. And Simon too was mindful only of himself, although the - guest who had come to visit him was—who? Why, even the Lord Himself! - If, then, He should come to visit _me_, should I receive Him any - better?”—and, leaning forward upon his elbows, he was asleep almost - before he was aware of it. - - “Martin!” someone seemed to breathe in his ear. - - He started from his sleep. - - “Who is there?” he said. He turned and looked towards the door, but - could see no one. Again he bent forward over the table. Then - suddenly he heard the words: - - “Martin, Martin! Look thou into the street to-morrow, for I am - coming to visit thee.” - - Martin roused himself, got up from the chair, and rubbed his eyes. - He did not know whether it was dreaming or awake that he had heard - these words, but he turned out the lamp and went to bed. - - The next morning Avdeitch rose before daylight and said his prayers. - Then he made up the stove, got ready some cabbage soup and porridge, - lighted the _samovar_, slung his leather apron about him, and sat - down to his work in the window. He sat and worked hard, yet all the - time his thoughts were centred upon last night. He was in two ideas - about the vision. At one moment he would think that it must have - been his fancy, while the next moment he would find himself - convinced that he had really heard the voice. “Yes, it must have - been so,” he concluded. - - As Martin sat thus by the window he kept looking out of it as much - as working. Whenever a pair of boots passed with which he was - acquainted he would bend down to glance upwards through the window - and see their owner’s face as well. The doorkeeper passed in new - felt boots, and then a water-carrier. Next, an old soldier, a - veteran of Nicholas’ army, in old, patched boots, and carrying a - shovel in his hands, halted close by the window. Avdeitch knew him - by his boots. His name was Stepanitch, and he was kept by a - neighboring tradesman out of charity, his duties being to help the - doorkeeper. He began to clear away the snow from in front of - Avdeitch’s window, while the shoemaker looked at him and then - resumed his work. - - “I think I must be getting into my dotage,” thought Avdeitch with a - smile. “Just because Stepanitch begins clearing away the snow I at - once jump to the conclusion that Christ is about to visit me. Yes, I - am growing foolish now, old greybeard that I am.” - - Yet he had hardly made a dozen stitches before he was craning his - neck again to look out of the window. He could see that Stepanitch - had placed his shovel against the wall, and was resting and trying - to warm himself a little. - - “He is evidently an old man now and broken,” thought Avdeitch to - himself. “He is not strong enough to clear away snow. Would he like - some tea, I wonder? That reminds me that the _samovar_ must be ready - now.” - - He made fast his awl in his work and got up. Placing the _samovar_ - on the table, he brewed the tea, and then tapped with his finger on - the window-pane. Stepanitch turned round and approached. Avdeitch - beckoned to him, and then went to open the door. - - “Come in and warm yourself,” he said. “You must be frozen.” - - “Christ requite you!” answered Stepanitch. “Yes, my bones are almost - cracking.” - - He came in, shook the snow off himself, and, though tottering on his - feet, took pains to wipe them carefully, that he might not dirty the - floor. - - “Nay, do not trouble about that,” said Avdeitch. “I will wipe your - boots myself. It is part of my business in this trade. Come you here - and sit down, and we will empty this tea-pot together.” - - He poured out two tumblerfuls, and offered one to his guest; after - which he emptied his own into the saucer, and blew upon it to cool - it. Stepanitch drank his tumblerful, turned the glass upside down, - placed his crust upon it, and thanked his host kindly. But it was - plain that he wanted another one. - - “You must drink some more,” said Avdeitch, and refilled his guest’s - tumbler and his own. Yet, in spite of himself, he had no sooner - drunk his tea than he found himself looking out into the street - again. - - “Are you expecting anyone?” asked his guest. - - “Am—am I expecting anyone? Well, to tell the truth, yes. That is to - say, I am, and I am not. The fact is that some words have got fixed - in my memory. Whether it was a vision or not I cannot tell, but at - all events, my old friend, I was reading in the Gospels last night - about Our Little Father Christ, and how He walked this earth and - suffered. You have heard of Him, have you not?” - - “Yes, yes, I have heard of Him,” answered Stepanitch; “but we are - ignorant folk and do not know our letters.” - - “Well, I was reading of how He walked this earth, and how He went to - visit a Pharisee, and yet received no welcome from him at the door. - All this I read last night, my friend, and then fell to thinking - about it—to thinking how some day I too might fail to pay Our Little - Father Christ due honor. ‘Suppose,’ I thought to myself, ‘He came to - me or to anyone like me? Should we, like the great lord Simon, not - know how to receive Him and not go out to meet Him?’ Thus I thought, - and fell asleep where I sat. Then as I sat sleeping there I heard - someone call my name; and as I raised myself the voice went on (as - though it were the voice of someone whispering in my ear): ‘Watch - thou for me to-morrow, for I am coming to visit thee.’ It said that - twice. And so those words have got into my head, and, foolish though - I know it to be, I keep expecting _Him_—the Little Father—every - moment.” - - Stepanitch nodded and said nothing, but emptied his glass and laid - it aside. Nevertheless Avdeitch took and refilled it. - - “Drink it up; it will do you good,” he said. “Do you know,” he went - on, “I often call to mind how when Our Little Father walked this - earth, there was never a man, however humble, whom He despised, and - how it was chiefly among the common people that He dwelt. It was - always with _them_ that He walked; it was from among _them_—from - among such men as you and I—from among sinners and working folk—that - He chose His disciples. ‘Whosoever,’ He said, ‘shall exalt himself, - the same shall be abased; and whosoever shall abase himself, the - same shall be exalted.’ ‘You,’ He said again, ‘call me Lord; yet - will I wash your feet.’ ‘Whosoever,’ He said, ‘would be chief among - you, let him be the servant of all. Because,’ He said, ‘blessed are - the lowly, the peacemakers, the merciful, and the charitable.’” - - Stepanitch had forgotten all about his tea. He was an old man, and - his tears came easily. He sat and listened, with the tears rolling - down his cheeks. - - “Oh, but you must drink your tea,” said Avdeitch; yet Stepanitch - only crossed himself and said the thanksgiving, after which he - pushed his glass away and rose. - - “I thank you, Martin Avdeitch,” he said. “You have taken me in, and - fed both soul and body.” - - “Nay, but I beg of you to come again,” replied Avdeitch. “I am only - too glad of a guest.” - - So Stepanitch departed, while Martin poured out the last of the tea - and drank it. Then he cleaned the crockery, and sat down again to - his work by the window—to the stitching of a back-piece. He stitched - away, yet kept on looking through the window—looking for Christ, as - it were—and ever thinking of Christ and His works. Indeed, Christ’s - many sayings were never absent from Avdeitch’s mind. - - * * * * * - - Two soldiers passed the window, the one in military boots, and the - other in civilian. Next, there came a neighboring householder, in - polished goloshes; then a baker with a basket. All of them passed - on. Presently a woman in woollen stockings and rough country shoes - approached the window, and halted near the buttress outside it. - Avdeitch peered up at her from under the lintel of his window, and - could see that she was a plain-looking, poorly-dressed woman and had - a child in her arms. It was in order to muffle the child up more - closely—little though she had to do it with!—that she had stopped - near the buttress and was now standing there with her back to the - wind. Her clothing was ragged and fit only for summer, and even from - behind his window-panes Avdeitch could hear the child crying - miserably and its mother vainly trying to soothe it. Avdeitch rose, - went to the door, climbed the steps, and cried out: “My good woman, - my good woman!” - - She heard him and turned round. - - “Why need you stand there in the cold with your baby?” he went on. - “Come into my room, where it is warm, and where you will be able to - wrap the baby up more comfortably than you can do here. Yes, come in - with you.” - - The woman was surprised to see an old man in a leather apron and - with spectacles upon his nose calling out to her, yet she followed - him down the steps, and they entered his room. The old man led her - to the bedstead. - - “Sit you down here, my good woman,” he said. “You will be near the - stove, and can warm yourself and feed your baby.” - - “Ah,” she replied. “I have had nothing to eat this morning.” - Nevertheless she put the child to her breast. - - Avdeitch nodded his head approvingly, went to the table for some - bread and a basin, and opened the stove door. From the stove he took - and poured some soup into the basin, and drew out also a bowl of - porridge. The latter, however, was not yet boiling, so he set out - only the soup, after first laying the table with a cloth. - - “Sit down and eat, my good woman,” he said, “while I hold your baby. - I have had little ones of my own, and know how to nurse them.” - - The woman crossed herself and sat down, while Avdeitch seated - himself upon the bedstead with the baby. He smacked his lips at it - once or twice, but made a poor show of it, for he had no teeth left. - Consequently the baby went on crying. Then he bethought him of his - finger, which he wriggled to and fro towards the baby’s mouth and - back again—without, however, actually touching the little one’s - lips, since the finger was blackened with work and sticky with - shoemaker’s wax. The baby contemplated the finger and grew - quiet—then actually smiled. Avdeitch was delighted. Meanwhile the - woman had been eating her meal, and now she told him, unasked, who - she was and whither she was going. - - “I am a soldier’s wife,” she said, “but my husband was sent to a - distant station eight months ago, and I have heard nothing of him - since. At first I got a place as cook, but when the baby came they - said they could not do with it and dismissed me. That was three - months ago, and I have got nothing since, and have spent all my - savings. I tried to get taken as a nurse, but no one would have me, - for they said I was too thin. I have just been to see a tradesman’s - wife where our grandmother is in service. She had promised to take - me on, and I quite thought that she would, but when I arrived to-day - she told me to come again next week. She lives a long way from here, - and I am quite worn out and have tired my baby for nothing. Thank - Heaven, however, my landlady is good to me, and gives me shelter for - Christ’s sake. Otherwise I should not have known how to bear it - all.” - - Avdeitch sighed and said: “But have you nothing warm to wear?” - - “Ah, sir,” replied the woman, “although it is the time for warm - clothes I had to pawn my last shawl yesterday for two - _grivenki_.”[4] - -Footnote 4: - - The grivenka = 10 copecks = about five cents. - - Then the woman returned to the bedstead to take her baby, while - Avdeitch rose and went to a cupboard. There he rummaged about, and - presently returned with an old jacket. - - “Here,” he said. “It is a poor old thing, but it will serve to cover - you.” - - The woman looked at the jacket, and then at the old man. Then she - took the jacket and burst into tears. Avdeitch turned away, and went - creeping under the bedstead, whence he extracted a box and pretended - to rummage about in it for a few moments; after which he sat down - again before the woman. - - Then the woman said to him: “I thank you in Christ’s name, good - grandfather. Surely it was He Himself who sent me to your window. - Otherwise I should have seen my baby perish with the cold. When I - first came out the day was warm, but now it has begun to freeze. But - He, Our Little Father, had placed you in your window, that you might - see me in my bitter plight and have compassion upon me.” - - Avdeitch smiled and said: “He did indeed place me there: yet, my - poor woman, it was for a special purpose that I was looking out.” - - Then he told his guest, the soldier’s wife, of his vision, and how - he had heard a voice foretelling that to-day the Lord Himself would - come to visit him. - - “That may very well be,” said the woman as she rose, took the - jacket, and wrapped her baby in it. Then she saluted him once more - and thanked him. - - “Also, take this in Christ’s name,” said Avdeitch, and gave her a - two-_grivenka_ piece with which to buy herself a shawl. The woman - crossed herself, and he likewise. Then he led her to the door and - dismissed her. - - When she had gone Avdeitch ate a little soup, washed up the crockery - again, and resumed his work. All the time, though, he kept his eye - upon the window, and as soon as ever a shadow fell across it he - would look up to see who was passing. Acquaintances of his came - past, and people whom he did not know, yet never anyone very - particular. - - * * * * * - - Then suddenly he saw something. Opposite his window there had - stopped an old pedlar-woman, with a basket of apples. Only a few of - the apples, however, remained, so that it was clear that she was - almost sold out. Over her shoulder was slung a sack of shavings, - which she must have gathered near some new building as she was going - home. Apparently, her shoulder had begun to ache under their weight, - and she therefore wished to shift them to the other one. To do this, - she balanced her basket of apples on the top of a post, lowered the - sack to the pavement, and began shaking up its contents. As she was - doing this, a boy in a ragged cap appeared from somewhere, seized an - apple from the basket, and tried to make off. But the old woman, who - had been on her guard, managed to turn and seize the boy by the - sleeve, and although he struggled and tried to break away, she clung - to him with both hands, snatched his cap off, and finally grasped - him by the hair. Thereupon the youngster began to shout and abuse - his captor. Avdeitch did not stop to make fast his awl, but threw - his work down upon the floor, ran to the door, and went stumbling up - the steps—losing his spectacles as he did so. Out into the street he - ran, where the old woman was still clutching the boy by the hair and - threatening to take him to the police, while the boy, for his part, - was struggling in the endeavor to free himself. - - “I never took it,” he was saying. “What are you beating me for? Let - me go.” - - Avdeitch tried to part them as he took the boy by the hand and said: - - “Let him go, my good woman. Pardon him for Christ’s sake.” - - “Yes, I will pardon him,” she retorted, “but not until he has tasted - a new birch-rod. I mean to take the young rascal to the police.” - - But Avdeitch still interceded for him. - - “Let him go, my good woman,” he said. “He will never do it again. - Let him go for Christ’s sake.” - - The old woman released the boy, who was for making off at once had - not Avdeitch stopped him. - - “You must beg the old woman’s pardon,” he said, “and never do such a - thing again. I saw you take the apple.” - - The boy burst out crying, and begged the old woman’s pardon as - Avdeitch commanded. - - “There, there,” said Avdeitch. “Now I will give you one. Here you - are,”—and he took an apple from the basket and handed it to the boy. - “I will pay you for it, my good woman,” he added. - - “Yes, but you spoil the young rascal by doing that,” she objected. - “He ought to have received a reward that would have made him glad to - stand for a week.” - - “Ah, my good dame, my good dame,” exclaimed Avdeitch. “That may be - _our_ way of rewarding, but it is not God’s. If this boy ought to - have been whipped for taking the apple, ought not we also to receive - something for our sins?” - - The old woman was silent. Then Avdeitch related to her the parable - of the master who absolved his servant from the great debt which he - owed him, whereupon the servant departed and took his own debtor by - the throat. The old woman listened, and also the boy. - - “God has commanded us to pardon one another,” went on Avdeitch, “or - _He_ will not pardon us. We ought to pardon all men, and especially - the thoughtless.” - - The old woman shook her head and sighed. - - “Yes, that may be so,” she said, “but these young rascals are so - spoilt already!” - - “Then it is for us, their elders, to teach them better,” he replied. - - “That is what I say myself at times,” rejoined the old woman. “I had - seven of them once at home, but have only one daughter now.” And she - went on to tell Avdeitch where she and her daughter lived, and how - they lived, and how many grandchildren she had. - - “I have only such strength as you see,” she said, “yet I work hard, - for my heart goes out to my grandchildren—the bonny little things - that they are! No children could run to meet me as they do. - Aksintka, for instance, will go to no one else. ‘Grandmother,’ she - cries, ‘dear grandmother, you are tired’”—and the old woman became - thoroughly softened. “Everyone knows what boys are,” she added - presently, referring to the culprit. “May God go with him!” - - She was raising the sack to her shoulders again when the boy darted - forward and said: - - “Nay, let me carry it, grandmother. It will be all on my way home.” - - The old woman nodded assent, gave up the sack to the boy, and went - away with him down the street. She had quite forgotten to ask - Avdeitch for the money for the apple. He stood looking after them, - and observing how they were talking together as they went. - - Having seen them go, he returned to his room, finding his - spectacles—unbroken—on the steps as he descended them. Once more he - took up his awl and fell to work, but had done little before he - found it difficult to distinguish the stitches, and the lamplighter - had passed on his rounds. “I too must light up,” he thought to - himself. So he trimmed the lamp, hung it up, and resumed his work. - He finished one boot completely, and then turned it over to look at - it. It was all good work. Then he laid aside his tools, swept up the - cuttings, rounded off the stitches and loose ends, and cleaned his - awl. Next he lifted the lamp down, placed it on the table, and took - his Testament from the shelf. He had intended opening the book at - the place which he had marked last night with a strip of leather, - but it opened itself at another instead. The instant it did so, his - vision of last night came back to his memory, and, as instantly, he - thought he heard a movement behind him as of someone moving towards - him. He looked round and saw in the shadow of a dark corner what - appeared to be figures—figures of persons standing there, yet could - not distinguish them clearly. Then the voice whispered in his ear: - - “Martin, Martin, dost thou not know me?” - - “Who art Thou?” said Avdeitch. - - “Even I!” whispered the voice again. “Lo, it is I!”—and there - stepped from the dark corner Stepanitch. He smiled, and then, like - the fading of a little cloud, was gone. - - “It is I!” whispered the voice again—and there stepped from the same - corner the woman with her baby. She smiled, and the baby smiled, and - they were gone. - - “And it is I!” whispered the voice again—and there stepped forth the - old woman and the boy with the apple. They smiled, and were gone. - - Joy filled the soul of Martin Avdeitch as he crossed himself, put on - his spectacles, and set himself to read the Testament at the place - where it had opened. At the top of the page he read: - - “For I was an hungred, and ye gave Me meat: I was thirsty, and ye - gave Me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took Me in.” - - And further down the page he read: - - “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my - brethren ye have done it unto Me.” - - Then Avdeitch understood that the vision had come true, and that his - Saviour had in very truth visited him that day, and that he had - received Him. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - WOOD-LADIES[5] - By PERCEVAL GIBBON - - -Footnote 5: - - By permission of the author. Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons. - - THE pine-trees of the wood joined their branches into a dome of - intricate groinings over the floor of ferns where the children sat, - sunk to the neck in a foam of tender green. The sunbeams that - slanted in made shivering patches of gold about them. Joyce, the - elder of the pair, was trying to explain why she had wished to come - here from the glooms of the lesser wood beyond. - - “I wasn’t ’zactly frightened,” she said. “I knew there wasn’t any - lions or robbers, or anything like that. But——” - - “Tramps?” suggested Joan. - - “No! You know I don’t mind tramps, Joan. But as we was going along - under all those dark bushes where it was so quiet, I kept feeling as - if there was—something—behind me. I looked round and there wasn’t - anything, but—well, it felt as if there was.” - - Joyce’s small face was knit and intent with the efforts to convey - her meaning. She was a slim erect child, as near seven years of age - as makes no matter, with eyes that were going to be gray, but had - not yet ceased to be blue. Joan, who was a bare five, a mere huge - baby, was trying to root up a fern that grew between her feet. - - “I know,” she said, tugging mightily. The fern gave suddenly, and - Joan fell over on her back, with her stout legs sticking up stiffly. - In this posture she continued the conversation undisturbed. “I know, - Joy. It was wood-ladies!” - - “Wood-ladies!” Joyce frowned in faint perplexity as Joan rolled - right side up again. Wood-ladies were dim inhabitants of the woods, - being of the order of fairies and angels and even vaguer, for there - was nothing about them in the story-books. Joyce, who felt that she - was getting on in years, was willing to be sceptical about them, but - could not always manage it. In the nursery, with the hard clean - linoleum underfoot and the barred window looking out on the lawn and - the road, it was easy; she occasionally shocked Joan, and sometimes - herself, by the license of her speech on such matters; but it was a - different affair when one came to the gate at the end of the garden, - and passed as through a dream portal from the sunshine and frank sky - to the cathedral shadows and great whispering aisles of the wood. - There the dimness was like the shadow of a presence; as babies they - had been aware of it, and answered their own questions by inventing - wood-ladies to float among the trunks and people the still green - chambers. Now, neither of them could remember how they had first - learned of wood-ladies. - - “Wood-ladies,” repeated Joyce, and turned with a little shiver to - look across the ferns to where the pines ended and the lesser wood, - dense with undergrowth, broke at their edge like a wave on a steep - beach. It was there, in a tunnel of a path that writhed beneath - overarching bushes, that she had been troubled with the sense of - unseen companions. Joan, her fat hands struggling with another fern, - followed her glance. - - “That’s where they are,” she said casually. “They like being in the - dark.” - - “Joan!” Joyce spoke earnestly. “Say truly—truly, mind!—do you think - there _is_ wood-ladies at all?” - - “’Course there is,” replied Joan cheerfully. “Fairies in fields and - angels in heaven and dragons in caves and wood-ladies in woods.” - - “But,” objected Joyce, “nobody ever sees them.” - - Joan lifted her round baby face, plump, serene, bright with - innocence, and gazed across at the tangled trees beyond the ferns. - She wore the countenance with which she was wont to win games, and - Joyce thrilled nervously at her certainty. Her eyes, which were - brown, seemed to seek expertly; then she nodded. - - “There’s one now,” she said, and fell to work with her fern again. - - Joyce, crouching among the broad green leaves, looked tensely, dread - and curiosity—the child’s avid curiosity for the supernatural—alight - in her face. In the wood a breath of wind stirred the leaves; the - shadows and the fretted lights shifted and swung; all was vague - movement and change. Was it a bough that bent and sprang back or a - flicker of draperies, dim and green, shrouding a tenuous form that - passed like a smoke-wreath? She stared with wide eyes, and it seemed - to her that for an instant she saw the figure turn and the pallor of - a face, with a mist of hair about it, sway toward her. There was an - impression of eyes, large and tender, of an infinite grace and - fragility, of a coloring that merged into the greens and browns of - the wood; and as she drew her breath it was all no more. The trees, - the lights and shades, the stir of branches were as before, but - something was gone from them. - - “Joan,” she cried, hesitating. - - “Yes,” said Joan, without looking up. “What?” - - The sound of words had broken a spell. Joyce was no longer sure that - she had seen anything. - - “I thought, just now, I could see something,” she said. “But I - s’pose I didn’t.” - - “I did,” remarked Joan. - - Joyce crawled through the crisp ferns till she was close to Joan, - sitting solid and untroubled and busy upon the ground, with broken - stems and leaves all round her. - - “Joan,” she begged. “Be nice. You’re trying to frighten me, aren’t - you?” - - “I’m not,” protested Joan. “I did see a wood-lady. Wood-ladies - doesn’t hurt you; wood-ladies are _nice_. You’re a coward, Joyce.” - - “I can’t help it,” said Joyce, sighing. “But I won’t go into the - dark parts of the wood any more.” - - “Coward,” repeated Joan absently, but with a certain relish. - - “You wouldn’t like to go there by yourself,” cried Joyce. “If I - wasn’t with you, you’d be a coward too. You know you would.” - - She stopped, for Joan had swept her lap free of débris and was - rising to her feet. Joan, for all her plumpness and infantile - softness, had a certain deliberate dignity when she was put upon her - mettle. She eyed her sister with a calm and very galling - superiority. - - “I’m going there now,” she answered; “all by mineself.” - - “Go, then,” retorted Joyce angrily. - - Without a further word, Joan turned her back and began to plough her - way across the ferns toward the dark wood. Joyce, watching her, saw - her go, at first with wrath, for she had been stung, and then with - compunction. The plump baby was so small in the brooding solemnity - of the pines, thrusting indefatigably along, buried to the waist in - ferns. Her sleek brown head had a devoted look; the whole of her - seemed to go with so sturdy an innocence toward those peopled and - uncanny glooms. Joyce rose to her knees to call her back. - - “Joan!” she cried. The baby turned. “Joan! Come back; come back an’ - be friends!” - - Joan, maintaining her offing, replied only with a gesture. It was a - gesture they had learned from the boot-and-knife boy, and they had - once been spanked for practising it on the piano-tuner. The - boot-and-knife boy called it “cocking a snook,” and it consisted in - raising a thumb to one’s nose and spreading the fingers out. It was - defiance and insult in tabloid form. Then she turned and plodded on. - The opaque wall of the wood was before her and over her, but she - knew its breach. She ducked her head under a droop of branches, - squirmed through, was visible still for some seconds as a gleam of - blue frock, and then the ghostly shadows received her and she was - gone. The wood closed behind her like a lid. - - Joyce, squatting in her place, blinked a little breathlessly to - shift from her senses an oppression of alarm, and settled down to - wait for her. At least it was true that nothing ever happened to - Joan; even when she fell into a water-butt she suffered no damage; - and the wood was a place to which they came every day. - - “Besides,” she considered, enumerating her resources of comfort; - “besides, there can’t be such things as wood-ladies _really_.” - - But Joan was a long time gone. The dome of pines took on an uncanny - stillness; the moving patches of sun seemed furtive and unnatural; - the ferns swayed without noise. In the midst of it, patient and - nervous, sat Joyce, watching always that spot in the bushes where a - blue overall and a brown head had disappeared. The undernote of - alarm which stirred her senses died down; a child finds it hard to - spin out a mood; she simply sat, half-dreaming in the peace of the - morning, half-watching the wood. Time slipped by her and presently - there came mother, smiling and seeking through the trees for her - babies. - - “Isn’t there a clock inside you that tells you when it’s - lunch-time?” asked mother. “You’re ever so late. Where’s Joan?” - - Joyce rose among the ferns, delicate and elfin, with a shy - perplexity on her face. It was difficult to speak even to mother - about wood-ladies without a pretence of scepticism. - - “I forgot about lunch,” she said, taking the slim cool hand which - mother held out to her. “Joan’s in there.” She nodded at the bushes. - - “Is she?” said mother, and called aloud in her singing-voice, that - was so clear to hear in the spaces of the wood. “Joan! Joan!” - - A cheeky bird answered with a whistle and mother called again. - - “She _said_,” explained Joyce—“she _said_ she saw a wood-lady and - then she went in there to show me she wasn’t afraid.” - - “What’s a wood-lady, chick?” asked mother. “The rascal!” she said, - smiling, when Joyce had explained as best she could. “We’ll have to - go and look for her.” - - They went hand in hand, and mother showed herself clever in parting - a path among the bushes. She managed so that no bough sprang back to - strike Joyce and without tearing or soiling her own soft white - dress; one could guess that when she had been a little girl she, - too, had had a wood to play in. They cut down by the Secret Pond, - where the old rhododendrons were, and out to the edge of the fields; - and when they paused mother would lift her head and call again, and - her voice rang in the wood like a bell. By the pond, which was a - black water with steep banks, she paused and showed a serious face; - but there were no marks of shoes on its clay slopes, and she shook - her head and went on. But to all the calling there was no answer, no - distant cheery bellow to guide them to Joan. - - “I wish she wouldn’t play these tricks,” said mother. “I don’t like - them a bit.” - - “I expect she’s hiding,” said Joyce. “There aren’t wood-ladies - really, are there, mother?” - - “There’s nothing worse in these woods than a rather naughty baby,” - mother replied. “We’ll go back by the path and call her again.” - - Joyce knew that the hand which held hers tightened as they went and - there was still no answer to mother’s calling. She could not have - told what it was that made her suddenly breathless; the wood about - her turned desolate; an oppression of distress and bewilderment - burdened them both. “Joan, Joan!” called mother in her strong - beautiful contralto, swelling the word forth in powerful music, and - when she ceased the silence was like a taunt. It was not as if Joan - were there and failed to answer; it was as if there were no longer - any Joan anywhere. They came at last to the space of sparse trees - which bordered their garden. - - “We mustn’t be silly about this,” said mother, speaking as much to - herself as to Joyce. “Nothing can have happened to her. And you must - have lunch, chick.” - - “Without waiting for Joan?” asked Joyce. - - “Yes. The gardener and the boot-boy must look for Joan,” said - mother, opening the gate. - - The dining-room looked very secure and home-like, with its big - window and its cheerful table spread for lunch. Joyce’s place faced - the window, so that she could see the lawn and the hedge bounding - the kitchen garden; and when mother had served her with food, she - was left alone to eat it. Presently the gardener and the boot-boy - passed the window, each carrying a hedge-stake and looking warlike. - There reached her a murmur of voices; the gardener was mumbling - something about tramps. - - “Oh, I don’t think so,” replied mother’s voice. - - Mother came in presently and sat down, but did not eat anything. - Joyce asked her why. - - “Oh, I shall have some lunch when Joan comes,” answered mother. “I - sha’n’t be hungry till then. Will you have some more, my pet?” - - When Joyce had finished, they went out again to the wood to meet - Joan when she was brought back in custody. Mother walked quite - slowly, looking all the time as if she would like to run. Joyce held - her hand and sometimes glanced up at her face, so full of wonder and - a sort of resentful doubt, as though circumstances were playing an - unmannerly trick on her. At the gate they came across the boot-boy. - - “I bin all acrost that way,” said the boot-boy, pointing with his - stumpy black forefinger, “and then acrost _that_ way, an’ Mister - Jenks”—Jenks was the gardener—“’e’ve gone about in rings, ’e ’ave. - And there ain’t sign nor token, mum—not a sign there ain’t.” - - From beyond him sounded the voice of the gardener, thrashing among - the trees. “Miss Joan!” he roared. “Hi! Miss Jo-an! You’re - a-frightin’ your ma proper. Where are ye, then?” - - “She must be hiding,” said mother. “You must go on looking, Walter. - You must go on looking till you find her.” - - “Yes, ’m,” said Walter. “If she’s in there, us’ll find her, soon or - late.” - - He ran off, and presently his voice was joined to Jenks’s, calling - Joan—calling, calling, and getting no answer. - - Mother took Joyce’s hand again. - - “Come,” she said. “We’ll walk round by the path, and you must tell - me again how it all happened. Did you really see something when Joan - told you to look?” - - “I expect I didn’t,” replied Joyce dolefully. “But Joan’s always - saying there’s a fairy or something in the shadows and I always - think I see them for a moment.” - - “It couldn’t have been a live woman—or a man—that you saw?” - - “Oh, no!” Joyce was positive of that. Mother’s hand tightened on - hers understandingly and they went on in silence till they met - Jenks. - - Jenks was an oldish man with bushy gray whiskers, who never wore a - coat, and now he was wet to the loins with mud and water. - - “That there ol’ pond,” he explained. “I’ve been an’ took a look at - her. Tromped through her proper, I did, an’ I’ll go bail there ain’t - so much as a dead cat in all the mud of her. Thish yer’s a mistry, - mum, an’ no mistake.” - - Mother stared at him. “I can’t bear this,” she said suddenly. “You - must go on searching, Jenks, and Walter must go on his bicycle to - the police-station at once. Call him, please!” - - “Walter!” roared Jenks obediently. - - “Coming!” answered the boot-boy and burst forth from the bushes. In - swift, clear words, which no stupidity could mistake or forget, - mother gave him his orders, spoken in a tone that meant urgency. - Walter went flying to execute them. - - “Oh, mother, where do you think Joan can be?” begged Joyce when - Jenks had gone off to resume his search. - - “I don’t know,” said mother. “It’s all so absurd.” - - “If there _was_ wood-ladies, they wouldn’t hurt a baby like Joan,” - suggested Joyce. - - “Oh, who could hurt her!” cried mother, and fell to calling again. - Her voice, of which each accent was music, alternated with the harsh - roars of Jenks. - - Walter on his bicycle must have hurried, in spite of his permanently - punctured front tire, for it was a very short time before bells rang - in the steep lane from the road and Superintendent Farrow himself - wheeled his machine in at the gate, massive and self-possessed, a - blue-clad minister of comfort. He heard mother’s tale, which - embodied that of Joyce, with a half-smile lurking in his mustache - and his big chin creased back against his collar. Then he nodded, - exactly as if he saw through the whole business and could find Joan - in a minute or two, and propped his bicycle against the fence. - - “I understand then,” he said, “that the little girl’s been missing - for rather more than an hour. In that case, she can’t have got far. - I sent a couple o’ constables round the roads be’ind the wood before - I started, an’ now I’ll just ’ave a look through the wood myself.” - - “Thank you,” said mother. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but——” - - “Very natural, ma’am,” said the big superintendent comfortingly, and - went with them to the wood. - - It was rather thrilling to go with him and watch him. Joyce and - mother had to show him the place from which Joan had started and the - spot at which she had disappeared. He looked at them hard, frowning - a little and nodding to himself, and went stalking mightily among - the ferns. “It was _’ere_ she went?” he inquired, as he reached the - dark path, and being assured that it was, he thrust in and commenced - his search. The pond seemed to give him ideas, which old Jenks - disposed of, and he marched on till he came out to the edge of the - fields, where the hay was yet uncut. Joan could not have crossed - them without leaving a track in the tall grass as clear as a - cart-rut. - - “We ’ave to consider the possibilities of the matter,” said the - superintendent. “Assumin’ that the wood ’as been thoroughly - searched, where did she get out of it?” - - “Searched!” growled old Jenks. “There ain’t a inch as I ’aven’t - searched an’ seen—not a inch.” - - “The kidnappin’ the’ry,” went on the superintendent, ignoring him - and turning to mother, “I don’t incline to. ’Owever, we must go to - work in order, an’ I’ll ’ave my men up ’ere and make sure of the - wood. All gypsies an’ tramps will be stopped and interrogated. I - don’t think there’s no cause for you to feel anxious, ma’am. I ’ope - to ’ave some news for you in the course of the afternoon.” - - They watched him free-wheel down the lane and shoot round the - corner. - - “Oh, dear,” said mother then; “why doesn’t the baby come? I wish - daddy weren’t away.” - - Now that the police had entered the affair, Joyce felt that there - remained nothing to be done. Uniformed authority was in charge of - events; it could not fail to find Joan. She had a vision of the - police at work, stopping straggling families of tramps on distant - by-roads, looking into the contents of their dreadful bundles, - flashing the official bull’s-eye lantern into the mysterious - interior of gypsy caravans, and making ragged men and slatternly - women give an account of their wanderings. No limits to which they - would not go; how could they fail? She wished their success seemed - as inevitable to her mother as it did to her. - - “They’re sure to bring her back, mother,” she repeated. - - “Oh, chick,” said mother, “I keep telling myself so. But I wish—I - wish——” - - “What, mother?” - - “I wish,” said mother, in a sudden burst of speech, as if she were - confessing something that troubled her—“I wish you hadn’t seen that - wood-lady.” - - The tall young constables and the plump fatherly sergeant annoyed - old Jenks by searching the wood as though he had done nothing. It - was a real search this time. Each of them took a part of the ground - and went over it as though he were looking for a needle which had - been lost, and no less than three of them trod every inch of the - bottom of the Secret Pond. They took shovels and opened up an old - fox’s earth; and a sad-looking man in shabby plain clothes arrived - and walked about smoking a pipe—a detective! Up from the village, - too, came the big young curate and the squire’s two sons, civil and - sympathetic and eager to be helpful; they all thought it natural - that mother should be anxious, but refused to credit for an instant - that anything could have happened to Joan. - - “That baby!” urged the curate. “Why, my dear lady, Joan is better - known hereabouts than King George himself. No one could take her a - mile without having to answer questions. I don’t know what’s keeping - her, but you may be sure she’s all right.” - - “’Course she is,” chorused the others, swinging their sticks - light-heartedly. “’Course she’s all right.” - - “Get her for me, then,” said mother. “I don’t want to be silly and - you’re awfully good. But I must have her; I must have her. I—I want - her.” - - The squire’s sons turned as if on an order and went toward the wood. - The curate lingered a moment. He was a huge youth, an athlete and a - gentleman, and his hard, clean-shaven face could be kind and - serious. - - “We’re sure to get her,” he said, in lower tones. “And you must help - us with your faith and courage. Can you?” - - Mother’s hand tightened on that of Joyce. - - “We are doing our best,” she said, and smiled—she smiled! The curate - nodded and went his way to the wood. - - A little later in the afternoon came Colonel Warden, the lord and - master of all the police in the county, a gay, trim soldier whom the - children knew and liked. With him, in his big automobile, were more - policemen and a pair of queer liver-colored dogs, all baggy skin and - bleary eyes—blood-hounds! Joyce felt that this really must settle - it. Actual living blood-hounds would be more than a match for Joan. - Colonel Warden was sure of it too. - - “Saves time,” he was telling mother, in his high snappy voice. - “Shows us which way she’s gone, you know. Best hounds in the - country, these two; never known ’em fail yet.” - - The dogs were limp and quiet as he led them through the wood, - strange ungainly mechanisms which a whiff of a scent could set in - motion. A pinafore which Joan had worn at breakfast was served to - them for an indication of the work they had to do; they snuffed at - it languidly for some seconds. Then the colonel unleashed them. - - They smelled round and about like any other dogs for a while, till - one of them lifted his great head and uttered a long moaning cry. - Then, noses down, the men running behind them, they set off across - the ferns. Mother, still holding Joyce’s hand, followed. The hounds - made a straight line for the wood at the point at which Joan had - entered it, slid in like frogs into water, while the men dodged and - crashed after them. Joyce and mother came up with them at a place - where the bushes stood back, enclosing a little quiet space of turf - that lay open to the sky. The hounds were here, one lying down and - scratching himself, the other nosing casually and clearly without - interest about him. - - “Dash it all,” the colonel was saying; “she can’t—she simply can’t - have been kidnapped in a balloon.” - - They tried the hounds again and again, always with the same result. - They ran their line to the same spot unhesitatingly, and then gave - up as though the scent went no further. Nothing could induce them to - hunt beyond it. - - “I can’t understand this,” said Colonel Warden, dragging at his - mustache. “This is queer.” He stood glancing around him as though - the shrubs and trees had suddenly become enemies. - - The search was still going on when the time came for Joyce to go to - bed. It had spread from the wood across the fields, reinforced by - scores of sturdy volunteers, and automobiles had puffed away to - thread the mesh of little lanes that covered the country-side. Joyce - found it all terribly exciting. Fear for Joan she felt not at all. - - “I know inside myself,” she told mother, “right down deep in the - middle of me, that Joan’s all right.” - - “Bless you, my chick,” said poor mother. “I wish I could feel like - that. Go to bed now, like a good girl.” - - There was discomfort in the sight of Joan’s railed cot standing - empty in the night nursery, but Joyce was tired and had scarcely - begun to be touched by it before she was asleep. She had a notion - that during the night mother came in more than once, and she had a - vague dream, too, all about Joan and wood-ladies, of which she could - not remember much when she woke up. Joan was always dressed first in - the morning, being the younger of the pair, but now there was no - Joan and nurse was very gentle with Joyce and looked tired and as if - she had been crying. - - Mother was not to be seen that morning; she had been up all night, - “till she broke down, poor thing,” said nurse, and Joyce was bidden - to amuse herself quietly in the nursery. But mother was about again - at lunch-time when Joyce went down to the dining-room. She was very - pale and her eyes looked black and deep, and somehow she seemed - suddenly smaller and younger, more nearly Joyce’s age, than ever - before. They kissed each other and the child would have tried to - comfort. - - “No,” said mother, shaking her head. “No, dear. Don’t let’s be sorry - for each other yet. It would be like giving up hope. And we haven’t - done that, have we?” - - “_I_ haven’t,” said Joyce. “I _know_ it’s all right.” - - After lunch—again mother said she wouldn’t be hungry till Joan came - home—they went out together. There were no searches now in the wood - and the garden was empty; the police had left no inch unscanned and - they were away, combing the country-side and spreading terror among - the tramps. The sun was strong upon the lawn and the smell of the - roses was heavy on the air; across the hedge the land rolled away to - clear perspectives of peace and beauty. - - “Let’s walk up and down,” suggested mother. “Anything’s better than - sitting still. And don’t talk, chick—not just now.” - - They paced the length of the lawn, from the cedar to the gate which - led to the wood, perhaps a dozen times, hand in hand and in silence. - It was while their backs were turned to the wood that they heard the - gate click, and faced about to see who was coming. A blue-sleeved - arm thrust the gate open and there advanced into the sunlight, - coming forth from the shadow as from a doorway—Joan! Her round baby - face, with the sleek brown hair over it, the massive infantile body, - the sturdy bare legs, confronted them serenely. Mother uttered a - deep sigh—it sounded like that—and in a moment she was kneeling on - the ground with her arms round the baby. - - “Joan, Joan,” she said, over and over again. “My little, little - baby!” - - Joan struggled in her embrace till she got an arm free and then - rubbed her eyes drowsily. - - “Hallo!” she said. - - “But where have you been?” cried mother. “Baby-girl, where have you - been all this time?” - - Joan made a motion of her head and her free arm toward the wood, the - wood which had been searched a dozen times over like a pocket. “In - there,” she answered carelessly. “Wiv the wood-ladies. I’m hungry!” - - “My darling!” said mother, and picked her up and carried her into - the house. - - In the dining-room, with mother at her side and Joyce opposite to - her, Joan fell to her food in her customary workman-like fashion, - and between helpings answered questions in a fashion which only - served to darken the mystery of her absence. - - “But there aren’t any wood-ladies really, darling,” remonstrated - mother. - - “There is,” said Joan. “There’s lots. They wanted to keep me but I - wouldn’t stay. So I comed home, ’cause I was hungry.” - - “But,” began mother, “where did they take you to?” she asked. - - “I don’t know,” said Joan. “The one what I went to speak to gave me - her hand and tooked me to where there was more of them. It was a - place in the wood wiv grass to sit on and bushes all round, and they - gave me dead flowers to play wiv. Howwid old dead flowers!” - - “Yes?” said mother. “What else?” - - “There was anuvver little girl there,” went on Joan. “Not a - wood-lady, but a girl like me, what they’d tooked from somewhere. - She was wearing a greeny sort of dress like they was, and they - wanted me to put one on too. But I wouldn’t.” - - “Why wouldn’t you?” asked Joyce. - - “’Cause I didn’t want to be a wood-lady,” replied Joan. - - “Listen to me, darling,” said mother. “Didn’t these people whom you - call wood-ladies take you away out of the wood? We searched the - whole wood, you know, and you weren’t there at all.” - - “I was,” said Joan. “I was there all the time an’ I heard Walter an’ - Jenks calling. I cocked a snook at them an’ the wood-ladies laughed - like leaves rustling.” - - “But where did you sleep last night?” - - “I didn’t sleep,” said Joan, grasping her spoon anew. “I’se very - sleepy now.” - - She was asleep as soon as they laid her in bed, and mother and Joyce - looked at each other across her cot, above her rosy and unconscious - face. - - “God help us,” said mother, in a whisper. “What is the truth of - this?” - - There was never any answer, any hint of a solution, save Joan’s. And - she, as soon as she discovered that her experiences amounted to an - adventure, began to embroider them, and now she does not even know - herself. She has reached the age of seven, and it is long since she - has believed in anything so childish as wood-ladies. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ON THE FEVER SHIP[6] - By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS - - -Footnote 6: - - From _The Lion and the Unicorn_. Copyright, 1899, by Charles - Scribner’s Sons. - - THERE were four rails around the ship’s sides, the three lower ones - of iron and the one on top of wood, and as he looked between them - from the canvas cot he recognized them as the prison-bars which held - him in. Outside his prison lay a stretch of blinding blue water - which ended in a line of breakers and a yellow coast with ragged - palms. Beyond that again rose a range of mountain-peaks, and, stuck - upon the loftiest peak of all, a tiny block-house. It rested on the - brow of the mountain against the naked sky as impudently as a - cracker-box set upon the dome of a great cathedral. - - As the transport rode on her anchor-chains, the iron bars around her - sides rose and sank and divided the landscape with parallel lines. - From his cot the officer followed this phenomenon with severe, - painstaking interest. Sometimes the wooden rail swept up to the very - block-house itself, and for a second of time blotted it from sight. - And again it sank to the level of the line of breakers, and wiped - them out of the picture as though they were a line of chalk. - - The soldier on the cot promised himself that the next swell of the - sea would send the lowest rail climbing to the very top of the - palm-trees or, even higher, to the base of the mountains; and when - it failed to reach even the palm-trees he felt a distinct sense of - ill use, of having been wronged by some one. There was no other - reason for submitting to this existence save these tricks upon the - wearisome, glaring landscape; and now, whoever it was who was - working them did not seem to be making this effort to entertain him - with any heartiness. - - It was most cruel. Indeed, he decided hotly, it was not to be - endured; he would bear it no longer, he would make his escape. But - he knew that this move, which could be conceived in a moment’s - desperation, could only be carried to success with great strategy, - secrecy, and careful cunning. So he fell back upon his pillow and - closed his eyes, as though he were asleep, and then opening them - again, turned cautiously, and spied upon his keeper. As usual, his - keeper sat at the foot of the cot turning the pages of a huge paper - filled with pictures of the war printed in daubs of tawdry colors. - His keeper was a hard-faced boy without human pity or consideration, - a very devil of obstinacy and fiendish cruelty. To make it worse, - the fiend was a person without a collar, in a suit of soiled khaki, - with a curious red cross bound by a safety-pin to his left arm. He - was intent upon the paper in his hands; he was holding it between - his eyes and his prisoner. His vigilance had relaxed, and the moment - seemed propitious. With a sudden plunge of arms and legs, the - prisoner swept the bed-sheet from him, and sprang at the wooden rail - and grasped the iron stanchion beside it. He had his knee pressed - against the top bar and his bare toes on the iron rail beneath it. - Below him the blue water waited for him. It was cool and dark and - gentle and deep. It would certainly put out the fire in his bones, - he thought; it might even shut out the glare of the sun which - scorched his eyeballs. - - But as he balanced for the leap, a swift weakness and nausea swept - over him, a weight seized upon his body and limbs. He could not lift - the lower foot from the iron rail, and he swayed dizzily and - trembled. He trembled. He who had raced his men and beaten them up - the hot hill to the trenches of San Juan. But now he was a baby in - the hands of a giant, who caught him by the wrist and with an iron - arm clasped him around his waist and pulled him down, and shouted, - brutally, “Help, some of youse, quick! he’s at it again. I can’t - hold him.” - - More giants grasped him by the arms and by the legs. One of them - took the hand that clung to the stanchion in both of his, and pulled - back the fingers one by one, saying, “Easy now, Lieutenant—easy.” - - The ragged palms and the sea and block-house were swallowed up in a - black fog, and his body touched the canvas cot again with a sense of - home-coming and relief and rest. He wondered how he could have cared - to escape from it. He found it so good to be back again that for a - long time he wept quite happily, until the fiery pillow was moist - and cool. - - The world outside of the iron bars was like a scene in a theater set - for some great event, but the actors were never ready. He remembered - confusedly a play he had once witnessed before that same scene. - Indeed, he believed he had played some small part in it; but he - remembered it dimly, and all trace of the men who had appeared with - him in it was gone. He had reasoned it out that they were up there - behind the range of mountains, because great heavy wagons and - ambulances and cannon were emptied from the ships at the wharf above - and were drawn away in long lines behind the ragged palms, moving - always toward the passes between the peaks. At times he was - disturbed by the thought that he should be up and after them, that - some tradition of duty made his presence with them imperative. There - was much to be done back of the mountains. Some event of momentous - import was being carried forward there, in which he held a part; but - the doubt soon passed from him, and he was content to lie and watch - the iron bars rising and falling between the block-house and the - white surf. - - If they had been only humanely kind, his lot would have been - bearable, but they starved him and held him down when he wished to - rise; and they would not put out the fire in the pillow, which they - might easily have done by the simple expedient of throwing it over - the ship’s side into the sea. He himself had done this twice, but - the keeper had immediately brought a fresh pillow already heated for - the torture and forced it under his head. - - His pleasures were very simple, and so few he could not understand - why they robbed him of them so jealously. One was to watch a green - cluster of bananas that hung above him from the awning, twirling on - a string. He could count as many of them as five before the bunch - turned and swung lazily back again, when he could count as high as - twelve; sometimes when the ship rolled heavily he could count to - twenty. It was a most fascinating game, and contented him for many - hours. But when they found this out they sent for the cook to come - and cut them down, and the cook carried them away to his galley. - - Then, one day, a man came out from the shore, swimming through the - blue water with great splashes. He was a most charming man, who - spluttered and dove and twisted and lay on his back and kicked his - legs in an excess of content and delight. It was a real pleasure to - watch him; not for days had anything so amusing appeared on the - other side of the prison-bars. But as soon as the keeper saw that - the man in the water was amusing his prisoner, he leaned over the - ship’s side and shouted, “Sa-ay, you, don’t you know there’s sharks - in there?” - - And the swimming man raced back to the shore like a porpoise with - great lashing of the water, and ran up the beach half-way to the - palms before he was satisfied to stop. Then the prisoner wept again. - It was so disappointing. Life was robbed of everything now. He - remembered that in a previous existence soldiers who cried were - laughed at and mocked. But that was so far away and it was such an - absurd superstition that he had no patience with it. For what could - be more comforting to a man when he is treated cruelly than to cry. - It was so obvious an exercise, and when one is so feeble that one - cannot vault a four-railed barrier it is something to feel that at - least one is strong enough to cry. - - He escaped occasionally, traversing space with marvellous rapidity - and to great distances, but never to any successful purpose; and his - flight inevitably ended in ignominious recapture and a sudden - awakening in bed. At these moments the familiar and hated palms, the - peaks, and the block-house were more hideous in their reality than - the most terrifying of his nightmares. - - These excursions afield were always predatory; he went forth always - to seek food. With all the beautiful world from which to elect and - choose, he sought out only those places where eating was studied and - elevated to an art. These visits were much more vivid in their - detail than any he had ever before made to these same resorts. They - invariably began in a carriage, which carried him swiftly over - smooth asphalt. One route brought him across a great and beautiful - square, radiating with rows and rows of flickering lights; two - fountains splashed in the center of the square, and six women of - stone guarded its approaches. One of the women was hung with wreaths - of mourning. Ahead of him the late twilight darkened behind a great - arch, which seemed to rise on the horizon of the world, a great - window into the heavens beyond. At either side strings of white and - colored globes hung among the trees, and the sound of music came - joyfully from theaters in the open air. He knew the restaurant under - the trees to which he was now hastening, and the fountain beside it, - and the very sparrows balancing on the fountain’s edge; he knew - every waiter at each of the tables, he felt again the gravel - crunching under his feet, he saw the _maître d’hôtel_ coming forward - smiling to receive his command, and the waiter in the green apron - bowing at his elbow, deferential and important, presenting the list - of wines. But his adventure never passed that point, for he was - captured again and once more bound to his cot with a close burning - sheet. - - Or else, he drove more sedately through the London streets in the - late evening twilight, leaning expectantly across the doors of the - hansom and pulling carefully at his white gloves. Other hansoms - flashed past him, the occupant of each with his mind fixed on one - idea—dinner. He was one of a million of people who were about to - dine, or who had dined, or who were deep in dining. He was so - famished, so weak for food of any quality, that the galloping horse - in the hansom seemed to crawl. The lights of the Embankment passed - like the lamps of a railroad station as seen from the window of an - express; and while his mind was still torn between the choice of a - thin or thick soup or an immediate attack upon cold beef, he was at - the door, and the _chasseur_ touched his cap, and the little - _chasseur_ put the wicker guard over the hansom’s wheel. As he - jumped out he said, “Give him half-a-crown,” and the driver called - after him, “Thank you, sir.” - - It was a beautiful world, this world outside of the iron bars. - Everyone in it contributed to his pleasure and to his comfort. In - this world he was not starved nor man-handled. He thought of this - joyfully as he leaped up the stairs, where young men with grave - faces and with their hands held negligently behind their backs bowed - to him in polite surprise at his speed. But they had not been - starved on condensed milk. He threw his coat and hat at one of them, - and came down the hall fearfully and quite weak with dread lest it - should not be real. His voice was shaking when he asked Ellis if he - had reserved a table. The place was all so real, it must be true - this time. The way Ellis turned and ran his finger down the list - showed it was real, because Ellis always did that, even when he knew - there would not be an empty table for an hour. The room was crowded - with beautiful women; under the light of the red shades they looked - kind and approachable, and there was food on every table, and iced - drinks in silver buckets. It was with the joy of great relief that - he heard Ellis say to his underling, “_Numéro cinq, sur la terrace, - un couvert_.” It was real at last. Outside, the Thames lay a great - gray shadow. The lights of the Embankment flashed and twinkled - across it, the tower of the House of Commons rose against the sky, - and here, inside, the waiter was hurrying toward him carrying a - smoking plate of rich soup with a pungent, intoxicating odor. - - And then the ragged palms, the glaring sun, the immovable peaks, and - the white surf stood again before him. The iron rails swept up and - sank again, the fever sucked at his bones, and the pillow scorched - his cheek. - - One morning for a brief moment he came back to real life again and - lay quite still, seeing everything about him with clear eyes and for - the first time, as though he had but just that instant been lifted - over the ship’s side. His keeper, glancing up, found the prisoner’s - eyes considering him curiously, and recognized the change. The - instinct of discipline brought him to his feet with his fingers at - his sides. - - “Is the Lieutenant feeling better?” - - The Lieutenant surveyed him gravely. - - “You are one of our hospital stewards.” - - “Yes, Lieutenant.” - - “Why aren’t you with the regiment?” - - “I was wounded, too, sir. I got it same time you did, Lieutenant.” - - “Am I wounded? Of course, I remember. Is this a hospital ship?” - - The steward shrugged his shoulders. “She’s one of the transports. - They have turned her over to the fever cases.” - - The Lieutenant opened his lips to ask another question; but his own - body answered that one, and for a moment he lay silent. - - “Do they know up North that I—that I’m all right?” - - “Oh, yes, the papers had it in—there were pictures of the Lieutenant - in some of them.” - - “Then I’ve been ill some time?” - - “Oh, about eight days.” - - The soldier moved uneasily, and the nurse in him became uppermost. - - “I guess the Lieutenant hadn’t better talk any more,” he said. It - was his voice now which held authority. - - The Lieutenant looked out at the palms and the silent gloomy - mountains and the empty coastline, where the same wave was rising - and falling with weary persistence. - - “Eight days,” he said. His eyes shut quickly, as though with a - sudden touch of pain. He turned his head and sought for the figure - at the foot of the cot. Already the figure had grown faint and was - receding and swaying. - - “Has anyone written or cabled?” the Lieutenant spoke, hurriedly. He - was fearful lest the figure should disappear altogether before he - could obtain his answer. “Has anyone come?” - - “Why, they couldn’t get here, Lieutenant, not yet.” - - The voice came very faintly. “You go to sleep now, and I’ll run and - fetch some letters and telegrams. When you wake up, maybe I’ll have - a lot for you.” - - But the Lieutenant caught the nurse by the wrist, and crushed his - hand in his own thin fingers. They were hot, and left the steward’s - skin wet with perspiration. The Lieutenant laughed gayly. - - “You see, Doctor,” he said, briskly, “that you can’t kill me. I - can’t die. I’ve got to live, you understand. Because, sir, she said - she would come. She said if I was wounded, or if I was ill, she - would come to me. She didn’t care what people thought. She would - come anyway and nurse me—well, she will come.” - - “So, Doctor—old man—” He plucked at the steward’s sleeve, and - stroked his hand eagerly, “old man—” he began again, beseechingly, - “you’ll not let me die until she comes, will you? What? No, I know I - won’t die. Nothing made by man can kill me. No, not until she comes. - Then, after that—eight days, she’ll be here soon, any moment? What? - You think so, too? Don’t you? Surely, yes, any moment. Yes, I’ll go - to sleep now, and when you see her rowing out from shore you wake - me. You’ll know her; you can’t make a mistake. She is like—no, there - is no one like her—but you can’t make a mistake.” - - That day strange figures began to mount the sides of the ship, and - to occupy its every turn and angle of space. Some of them fell on - their knees and slapped the bare deck with their hands, and laughed - and cried out, “Thank God, I’ll see God’s country again!” Some of - them were regulars, bound in bandages; some were volunteers, dirty - and hollow-eyed, with long beards on boys’ faces. Some came on - crutches; others with their arms around the shoulders of their - comrades, staring ahead of them with a fixed smile, their lips drawn - back and their teeth protruding. At every second step they stumbled, - and the face of each was swept by swift ripples of pain. - - They lay on cots so close together that the nurses could not walk - between them. They lay on the wet decks, in the scuppers and along - the transoms and hatches. They were like shipwrecked mariners - clinging to a raft, and they asked nothing more than that the ship’s - bow be turned toward home. Once satisfied as to that, they relaxed - into a state of self-pity and miserable oblivion to their - environment, from which hunger nor nausea nor aching bones could - shake them. - - The hospital steward touched the Lieutenant lightly on the shoulder. - - “We are going North, sir,” he said. “The transport’s ordered North - to New York, with these volunteers and the sick and the wounded. Do - you hear me, sir?” - - The Lieutenant opened his eyes. “Has she come?” he asked. - - “Gee!” exclaimed the hospital steward. He glanced impatiently at the - blue mountains and the yellow coast, from which the transport was - rapidly drawing away. - - “Well, I can’t see her coming just now,” he said. “But she will,” he - added. - - “You let me know at once when she comes.” - - “Why, cert’nly, of course,” said the steward. - - Three trained nurses came over the side just before the transport - started North. One was a large, motherly looking woman, with a - German accent. She had been a trained nurse, first in Berlin, and - later in the London Hospital in Whitechapel, and at Bellevue. The - nurse was dressed in white, and wore a little silver medal at her - throat; and she was strong enough to lift a volunteer out of his cot - and hold him easily in her arms, while one of the convalescents - pulled his cot out of the rain. Some of the men called her “nurse”; - others, who wore scapulars around their necks, called her “Sister”; - and the officers of the medical staff addressed her as Miss Bergen. - - Miss Bergen halted beside the cot of the Lieutenant and asked, “Is - this the fever case you spoke about, Doctor—the one you want moved - to the officers’ ward?” She slipped her hand up under his sleeve and - felt his wrist. - - “His pulse is very high,” she said to the steward. “When did you - take his temperature?” She drew a little morocco case from her - pocket and from that took a clinical thermometer, which she shook up - and down, eying the patient meanwhile with a calm, impersonal - scrutiny. The Lieutenant raised his head and stared up at the white - figure beside his cot. His eyes opened and then shut quickly, with a - startled look, in which doubt struggled with wonderful happiness. - His hand stole out fearfully and warily until it touched her apron, - and then, finding it was real, he clutched it desperately, and - twisting his face and body toward her, pulled her down, clasping her - hands in both of his, and pressing them close to his face and eyes - and lips. He put them from him for an instant, and looked at her - through his tears. - - “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “sweetheart, I knew you’d come.” - - As the nurse knelt on the deck beside him, her thermometer slipped - from her fingers and broke, and she gave an exclamation of - annoyance. The young Doctor picked up the pieces and tossed them - overboard. Neither of them spoke, but they smiled appreciatively. - The Lieutenant was looking at the nurse with the wonder and hope and - hunger of soul in his eyes with which a dying man looks at the cross - the priest holds up before him. What he saw where the German nurse - was kneeling was a tall, fair girl with great bands and masses of - hair, with a head rising like a lily from a firm, white throat, set - on broad shoulders above a straight back and sloping breast—a tall, - beautiful creature, half-girl, half-woman, who looked back at him - shyly, but steadily. - - “Listen,” he said. - - The voice of the sick man was so sure and so sane that the young - Doctor started, and moved nearer to the head of the cot. “Listen, - dearest,” the Lieutenant whispered. “I wanted to tell you before I - came South. But I did not dare; and then I was afraid something - might happen to me, and I could never tell you, and you would never - know. So I wrote it to you in the will I made at Baiquiri, the night - before the landing. If you hadn’t come now, you would have learned - it in that way. You would have read there that there never was - anyone but you; the rest were all dream people, foolish, silly—mad. - There is no one else in the world but you; you have been the only - thing in life that has counted. I thought I might do something down - here that would make you care. But I got shot going up a hill, and - after that I wasn’t able to do anything. It was very hot, and the - hills were on fire; and they took me prisoner, and kept me tied down - here, burning on these coals. I can’t live much longer, but now that - I’ve told you I can have peace. They tried to kill me before you - came; but they didn’t know I loved you, they didn’t know that men - who love you can’t die. They tried to starve my love for you, to - burn it out of me; they tried to reach it with their knives. But my - love for you is my soul, and they can’t kill a man’s soul. Dear - heart, I have lived because you lived. Now that you know—now that - you understand—what does it matter?” - - Miss Bergen shook her head with great vigor. “Nonsense,” she said, - cheerfully. “You are not going to die. As soon as we move you out of - this rain, and some food cook——” - - “Good God!” cried the young Doctor, savagely. “Do you want to kill - him?” - - When she spoke, the patient had thrown his arms heavily across his - face, and had fallen back, lying rigid on the pillow. - - The Doctor led the way across the prostrate bodies, apologizing as - he went. “I am sorry I spoke so quickly,” he said, “but he thought - you were real. I mean he thought you were some one he really knew——” - - “He was just delirious,” said the German nurse, calmly. The Doctor - mixed himself a Scotch and soda and drank it with a single gesture. - - “Ugh!” he said to the ward-room. “I feel as though I’d been opening - another man’s letters.” - - * * * * * - - The transport drove through the empty seas with heavy, clumsy - upheavals, rolling like a buoy. Having been originally intended for - the freight-carrying trade, she had no sympathy with hearts that - beat for a sight of their native land, or for lives that counted - their remaining minutes by the throbbing of her engines. - Occasionally, without apparent reason, she was thrown violently from - her course; but it was invariably the case that when her stern went - to starboard, something splashed in the water on her port side and - drifted past her, until, when it had cleared the blades of her - propeller, a voice cried out, and she was swung back on her - home-bound track again. - - The Lieutenant missed the familiar palms and the tiny block-house; - and seeing nothing beyond the iron rails but great wastes of gray - water, he decided he was on board a prison-ship, or that he had been - strapped to a raft and cast adrift. People came for hours at a time - and stood at the foot of his cot, and talked with him and he to - them—people he had loved and people he had long forgotten, some of - whom he had thought were dead. One of them he could have sworn he - had seen buried in a deep trench, and covered with branches of - palmetto. He had heard the bugler, with tears choking him, sound - “taps”; and with his own hand he had placed the dead man’s campaign - hat on the mound of fresh earth above the grave. Yet here he was - still alive, and he came with other men of his troop to speak to - him; but when he reached out to them they were gone—the real and the - unreal, the dead and the living—and even She disappeared whenever he - tried to take her hand, and sometimes the hospital steward drove her - away. - - “Did that young lady say when she was coming back again?” he asked - the steward. - - “The young lady! What young lady?” asked the steward, wearily. - - “The one who has been sitting there,” he answered. He pointed with - his gaunt hand at the man in the next cot. - - “Oh, that young lady. Yes, she’s coming back. She’s just gone below - to fetch you some hard-tack.” - - The young volunteer in the next cot whined grievously. - - “That crazy man gives me the creeps,” he groaned. “He’s always - waking me up, and looking at me as though he was going to eat me.” - - “Shut your head,” said the steward. “He’s a better man crazy than - you’ll ever be with the little sense you’ve got. And he has two - Mauser holes in him. Crazy, eh? It’s a good thing for you that there - was about four thousand of us regulars just as crazy as him, or - you’d never seen the top of the hill.” - - One morning there was a great commotion on deck, and all the - convalescents balanced themselves on the rail, shivering in their - pajamas, and pointed one way. The transport was moving swiftly and - smoothly through water as flat as a lake, and making a great noise - with her steam-whistle. The noise was echoed by many more - steam-whistles; and the ghosts of out-bound ships and tugs and - excursion steamers ran past her out of the mist and disappeared, - saluting joyously. All of the excursion steamers had a heavy list to - the side nearest the transport, and the ghosts on them crowded to - that rail and waved handkerchiefs and cheered. The fog lifted - suddenly, and between the iron rails the Lieutenant saw high green - hills on either side of a great harbor. Houses and trees and - thousands of masts swept past like a panorama; and beyond was a - mirage of three cities, with curling smoke-wreaths, and sky-reaching - buildings, and a great swinging bridge, and a giant statue of woman - waving a welcome home. - - The Lieutenant surveyed the spectacle with cynical disbelief. He was - far too wise and far too cunning to be bewitched by it. In his heart - he pitied the men about him, who laughed wildly, and shouted, and - climbed recklessly to the rails and ratlines. He had been deceived - too often not to know that it was not real. He knew from cruel - experience that in a few moments the tall buildings would crumble - away, the thousands of columns of white smoke that flashed like snow - in the sun, the busy, shrieking tug-boats, and the great statue - would vanish into the sea, leaving it gray and bare. He closed his - eyes and shut the vision out. It was so beautiful that it tempted - him: but he would not be mocked, and he buried his face in his - hands. They were carrying the farce too far, he thought. It was - really too absurd; for now they were at a wharf which was so real - that, had he not known by previous suffering, he would have been - utterly deceived by it. And there were great crowds of smiling, - cheering people, and a waiting guard of honor in fresh uniforms, and - rows of police pushing the people this way and that; and these men - about him were taking it all quite seriously and making ready to - disembark, carrying their blanket-rolls and rifles with them. - - A band was playing joyously, and the man in the next cot, who was - being lifted to a stretcher, said, “There’s the Governor and his - staff; that’s him in the high hat.” It was really very well done. - The Custom-house and the Elevated Railroad and Castle Garden were as - like to life as a photograph, and the crowd was as well handled as a - mob in a play. His heart ached for it so that he could not bear the - pain, and he turned his back on it. It was cruel to keep it up so - long. His keeper lifted him in his arms, and pulled him into a dirty - uniform which had belonged, apparently, to a much larger man—a man - who had been killed probably, for there were dark-brown marks of - blood on the tunic and breeches. When he tried to stand on his feet, - Castle Garden and the Battery disappeared in a black cloud of night, - just as he knew they would; but when he opened his eyes from the - stretcher, they had returned again. It was a most remarkably vivid - vision. They kept it up so well. Now the young Doctor and the - hospital steward were pretending to carry him down a gangplank and - into an open space; and he saw quite close to him a long line of - policemen, and behind them thousands of faces, some of them women’s - faces—women who pointed at him and then shook their heads and cried, - and pressed their hands to their cheeks, still looking at him. He - wondered why they cried. He did not know them, nor did they know - him. No one knew him; these people were only ghosts. - - There was a quick parting in the crowd. A man he had once known - shoved two of the policemen to one side, and he heard a girl’s voice - speaking his name, like a sob; and She came running out across the - open space and fell on her knees beside the stretcher, and bent down - over him, and he was clasped in two young, firm arms. - - “Of course it is not real, of course it is not She,” he assured - himself. “Because She would not do such a thing. Before all these - people She would not do it.” - - But he trembled and his heart throbbed so cruelly that he could not - bear the pain. - - She was pretending to cry. - - “They wired us you had started for Tampa on the hospital ship,” She - was saying, “and Aunt and I went all the way there before we heard - you had been sent North. We have been on the cars a week. That is - why I missed you. Do you understand? It was not my fault. I tried to - come. Indeed, I tried to come.” - - She turned her head and looked up fearfully at the young Doctor. - - “Tell me, why does he look at me like that?” she asked. “He doesn’t - know me. Is he very ill? Tell me the truth.” She drew in her breath - quickly. “Of course you will tell me the truth.” - - When she asked the question he felt her arms draw tight about his - shoulders. It was as though she was holding him to herself, and from - someone who had reached out for him. In his trouble he turned to his - old friend and keeper. His voice was hoarse and very low. - - “Is this the same young lady who was on the transport—the one you - used to drive away?” - - In his embarrassment, the hospital steward blushed under his tan, - and stammered. - - “Of course it’s the same young lady,” the Doctor answered, briskly. - “And I won’t let them drive her away.” He turned to her, smiling - gravely. “I think his condition has ceased to be dangerous, Madam,” - he said. - - People who, in a former existence, had been his friends, and Her - brother, gathered about his stretcher and bore him through the crowd - and lifted him into a carriage filled with cushions, among which he - sank lower and lower. Then She sat beside him, and he heard Her - brother say to the coachman, “Home, and drive slowly and keep on the - asphalt.” - - The carriage moved forward, and She put her arm about him, and his - head fell on her shoulder, and neither of them spoke. The vision had - lasted so long now that he was torn with the joy that after all it - might be real. But he could not bear the awakening if it were not, - so he raised his head fearfully and looked up into the beautiful - eyes above him. His brows were knit, and he struggled with a great - doubt and an awful joy. - - “Dearest,” he said, “is it real?” - - “Is it real?” she repeated. - - Even as a dream, it was so wonderfully beautiful that he was - satisfied if it could only continue so, if but for a little while. - - “Do you think,” he begged again, trembling, “that it is going to - last much longer?” - - She smiled, and bending her head slowly, kissed him. - - “It is going to last—always,” she said. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A SOURCE OF IRRITATION - By STACY AUMONIER - - - TO look at old Sam Gates you would never suspect him of having - nerves. His sixty-nine years of close application to the needs of - the soil had given him a certain earthy stolidity. To observe him - hoeing, or thinning out a broad field of turnips, hardly attracted - one’s attention, he seemed so much part and parcel of the whole - scheme. He blended into the soil like a glorified swede. - Nevertheless, the half-dozen people who claimed his acquaintance - knew him to be a man who suffered from little moods of irritability. - - And on this glorious morning a little incident annoyed him - unreasonably. It concerned his niece, Aggie. She was a plump girl - with clear, blue eyes, and a face as round and inexpressive as the - dumplings for which the county was famous. She came slowly across - the long sweep of the downland and, putting down the bundle wrapped - in a red handkerchief which contained his breakfast and dinner, she - said: - - “Well, Uncle, is there any noos?” - - Now, this may not appear to the casual reader to be a remark likely - to cause irritation, but it affected old Sam Gates as a very silly - and unnecessary question. It was, moreover, the constant repetition - of it which was beginning to anger him. He met his niece twice a - day. In the morning she brought his bundle of food at seven, and - when he passed his sister’s cottage on the way home to tea at five - she was invariably hanging about the gate, and she always said in - the same voice: - - “Well, Uncle, is there any noos?” - - Noos! What noos should there be? For sixty-nine years he had never - lived farther than five miles from Halvesham. For nearly sixty of - those years he had bent his back above the soil. There were, indeed, - historic occasions. Once, for instance, when he had married Annie - Hachet. And there was the birth of his daughter. There was also a - famous occasion when he had visited London. Once he had been to a - flower-show at Market Roughborough. He either went or didn’t go to - church on Sundays. He had had many interesting chats with Mr. James - at the Cowman, and three years ago had sold a pig to Mrs. Way. But - he couldn’t always have interesting noos of this sort up his sleeve. - Didn’t the silly zany know that for the last three weeks he had been - hoeing and thinning out turnips for Mr. Hodge on this very same - field? What noos could there be? - - He blinked at his niece, and didn’t answer. She undid the parcel and - said: - - “Mrs. Goping’s fowl got out again last night.” - - “Ah,” he replied in a non-committal manner and began to munch his - bread and bacon. His niece picked up the handkerchief and, humming - to herself, walked back across the field. - - It was a glorious morning, and a white sea mist added to the promise - of a hot day. He sat there munching, thinking of nothing in - particular, but gradually subsiding into a mood of placid content. - He noticed the back of Aggie disappear in the distance. It was a - mile to the cottage and a mile and a half to Halvesham. Silly - things, girls. They were all alike. One had to make allowances. He - dismissed her from his thoughts, and took a long swig of tea out of - a bottle. Insects buzzed lazily. He tapped his pocket to assure - himself that his pouch of shag was there, and then he continued - munching. When he had finished, he lighted his pipe and stretched - himself comfortably. He looked along the line of turnips he had - thinned and then across the adjoining field of swedes. Silver - streaks appeared on the sea below the mist. In some dim way he felt - happy in his solitude amidst this sweeping immensity of earth and - sea and sky. - - And then something else came to irritate him: it was one of “these - dratted airyplanes.” “Airyplanes” were his pet aversion. He could - find nothing to be said in their favor. Nasty, noisy, disfiguring - things that seared the heavens and made the earth dangerous. And - every day there seemed to be more and more of them. Of course “this - old war” was responsible for a lot of them, he knew. The war was a - “plaguy noosance.” They were short-handed on the farm, beer and - tobacco were dear, and Mrs. Steven’s nephew had been and got wounded - in the foot. - - He turned his attention once more to the turnips; but an “airyplane” - has an annoying genius for gripping one’s attention. When it appears - on the scene, however much we dislike it, it has a way of taking the - stage-center. We cannot help constantly looking at it. And so it was - with old Sam Gates. He spat on his hands and blinked up at the sky. - And suddenly the aëroplane behaved in a very extraordinary manner. - It was well over the sea when it seemed to lurch drunkenly and - skimmed the water. Then it shot up at a dangerous angle and - zigzagged. It started to go farther out, and then turned and made - for the land. The engines were making a curious grating noise. It - rose once more, and then suddenly dived downward, and came plump - down right in the middle of Mr. Hodge’s field of swedes. - - And then, as if not content with this desecration, it ran along the - ground, ripping and tearing up twenty-five yards of good swedes, and - then came to a stop. - - Old Sam Gates was in a terrible state. The aëroplane was more than a - hundred yards away, but he waved his arms and called out: - - “Hi, you there, you mustn’t land in they swedes! They’re Mister - Hodge’s.” - - The instant the aëroplane stopped, a man leaped out and gazed - quickly round. He glanced at Sam Gates, and seemed uncertain whether - to address him or whether to concentrate his attention on the - flying-machine. The latter arrangement appeared to be his ultimate - decision. He dived under the engine and became frantically busy. Sam - had never seen any one work with such furious energy; but all the - same it was not to be tolerated. It was disgraceful. Sam started out - across the field, almost hurrying in his indignation. When he - appeared within earshot of the aviator he cried out again: - - “Hi! you mustn’t rest your old airyplane here! You’ve kicked up all - Mr. Hodge’s swedes. A noice thing you’ve done!” - - He was within five yards when suddenly the aviator turned and - covered him with a revolver! And speaking in a sharp, staccato - voice, he said: - - “Old Grandfather, you must sit down. I am very much occupied. If you - interfere or attempt to go away, I shoot you. So!” - - Sam gazed at the horrid, glittering little barrel and gasped. Well, - he never! To be threatened with murder when you’re doing your duty - in your employer’s private property! But, still, perhaps the man was - mad. A man must be more or less mad to go up in one of those crazy - things. And life was very sweet on that summer morning despite - sixty-nine years. He sat down among the swedes. - - The aviator was so busy with his cranks and machinery that he hardly - deigned to pay him any attention except to keep the revolver handy. - He worked feverishly, and Sam sat watching him. At the end of ten - minutes he appeared to have solved his troubles with the machine, - but he still seemed very scared. He kept on glancing round and out - to sea. When his repairs were complete he straightened his back and - wiped the perspiration from his brow. He was apparently on the point - of springing back into the machine and going off when a sudden mood - of facetiousness, caused by relief from the strain he had endured, - came to him. He turned to old Sam and smiled, at the same time - remarking: - - “Well, old Grandfather, and now we shall be all right, isn’t it?” - - He came close up to Sam, and then suddenly started back. - - “_Gott!_” he cried, “Paul Jouperts!” - - Bewildered, Sam gazed at him, and the madman started talking to him - in some foreign tongue. Sam shook his head. - - “You no roight,” he remarked, “to come bargin’ through they swedes - of Mr. Hodge’s.” - - And then the aviator behaved in a most peculiar manner. He came up - and examined Sam’s face very closely, and gave a sudden tug at his - beard and hair, as if to see whether they were real or false. - - “What is your name, old man?” he said. - - “Sam Gates.” - - The aviator muttered some words that sounded something like “mare - vudish,” and then turned to his machine. He appeared to be dazed and - in a great state of doubt. He fumbled with some cranks, but kept - glancing at old Sam. At last he got into the car and strapped - himself in. Then he stopped, and sat there deep in thought. At last - he suddenly unstrapped himself and sprang out again and, approaching - Sam, said very deliberately: - - “Old Grandfather, I shall require you to accompany me.” - - Sam gasped. - - “Eh?” he said. “What be talkin’ about? ’Company? I got these ’ere - loines o’ turnips—I be already behoind—” - - The disgusting little revolver once more flashed before his eyes. - - “There must be no discussion,” came the voice. “It is necessary that - you mount the seat of the car without delay. Otherwise I shoot you - like the dog you are. So!” - - Old Sam was hale and hearty. He had no desire to die so - ignominiously. The pleasant smell of the Norfolk downland was in his - nostrils; his foot was on his native heath. He mounted the seat of - the car, contenting himself with a mutter: - - “Well, that be a noice thing, I must say! Flyin’ about the country - with all they turnips on’y half thinned!” - - He found himself strapped in. The aviator was in a fever of anxiety - to get away. The engines made a ghastly splutter and noise. The - thing started running along the ground. Suddenly it shot upward, - giving the swedes a last contemptuous kick. At twenty minutes to - eight that morning old Sam found himself being borne right up above - his fields and out to sea! His breath came quickly. He was a little - frightened. - - “God forgive me!” he murmured. - - The thing was so fantastic and sudden that his mind could not grasp - it. He only felt in some vague way that he was going to die, and he - struggled to attune his mind to the change. He offered up a mild - prayer to God, Who, he felt, must be very near, somewhere up in - these clouds. Automatically he thought of the vicar at Halvesham, - and a certain sense of comfort came to him at the reflection that on - the previous day he had taken a “cooking of runner beans” to God’s - representative in that village. He felt calmer after that, but the - horrid machine seemed to go higher and higher. He could not turn in - his seat and he could see nothing but sea and sky. Of course the man - was mad, mad as a March hare. Of what earthly use could _he_ be to - any one? Besides, he had talked pure gibberish, and called him Paul - something, when he had already told him that his name was Sam. The - thing would fall down into the sea soon, and they would both be - drowned. Well, well, he had almost reached three-score years and - ten. He was protected by a screen, but it seemed very cold. What on - earth would Mr. Hodge say? There was no one left to work the land - but a fool of a boy named Billy Whitehead at Dene’s Cross. On, on, - on they went at a furious pace. His thoughts danced disconnectedly - from incidents of his youth, conversations with the vicar, hearty - meals in the open, a frock his sister wore on the day of the - postman’s wedding, the drone of a psalm, the illness of some ewes - belonging to Mr. Hodge. Everything seemed to be moving very rapidly, - upsetting his sense of time. He felt outraged, and yet at moments - there was something entrancing in the wild experience. He seemed to - be living at an incredible pace. Perhaps he was really dead and on - his way to the kingdom of God. Perhaps this was the way they took - people. - - After some indefinite period he suddenly caught sight of a long - strip of land. Was this a foreign country, or were they returning? - He had by this time lost all feeling of fear. He became interested - and almost disappointed. The “airyplane” was not such a fool as it - looked. It was very wonderful to be right up in the sky like this. - His dreams were suddenly disturbed by a fearful noise. He thought - the machine was blown to pieces. It dived and ducked through the - air, and things were bursting all round it and making an awful din, - and then it went up higher and higher. After a while these noises - ceased, and he felt the machine gliding downward. They were really - right above solid land—trees, fields, streams, and white villages. - Down, down, down they glided. This was a foreign country. There were - straight avenues of poplars and canals. This was not Halvesham. He - felt the thing glide gently and bump into a field. Some men ran - forward and approached them, and the mad aviator called out to them. - They were mostly fat men in gray uniforms, and they all spoke this - foreign gibberish. Some one came and unstrapped him. He was very - stiff and could hardly move. An exceptionally gross-looking man - punched him in the ribs and roared with laughter. They all stood - round and laughed at him, while the mad aviator talked to them and - kept pointing at him. Then he said: - - “Old Grandfather, you must come with me.” - - He was led to an iron-roofed building and shut in a little room. - There were guards outside with fixed bayonets. After a while the mad - aviator appeared again, accompanied by two soldiers. He beckoned him - to follow. They marched through a quadrangle and entered another - building. They went straight into an office where a very - important-looking man, covered with medals, sat in an easy-chair. - There was a lot of saluting and clicking of heels. The aviator - pointed at Sam and said something, and the man with the medals - started at sight of him, and then came up and spoke to him in - English. - - “What is your name? Where do you come from? Your age? The name and - birthplace of your parents?” - - He seemed intensely interested, and also pulled his hair and beard - to see if they came off. So well and naturally did he and the - aviator speak English that after a voluble examination they drew - apart, and continued the conversation in that language. And the - extraordinary conversation was of this nature: - - “It is a most remarkable resemblance,” said the man with medals. - “_Unglaublich!_ But what do you want me to do with him, Hausemann?” - - “The idea came to me suddenly, Excellency,” replied the aviator, - “and you may consider it worthless. It is just this. The resemblance - is so amazing. Paul Jouperts has given us more valuable information - than any one at present in our service, and the English know that. - There is an award of five thousand francs on his head. Twice they - have captured him, and each time he escaped. All the company - commanders and their staff have his photograph. He is a serious - thorn in their flesh.” - - “Well?” replied the man with the medals. - - The aviator whispered confidentially: - - “Suppose, your Excellency, that they found the dead body of Paul - Jouperts?” - - “Well?” replied the big man. - - “My suggestion is this. To-morrow, as you know, the English are - attacking Hill 701, which for tactical reasons we have decided to - evacuate. If after the attack they find the dead body of Paul - Jouperts in, say, the second lines, they will take no further - trouble in the matter. You know their lack of thoroughness. Pardon - me, I was two years at Oxford University. And consequently Paul - Jouperts will be able to prosecute his labors undisturbed.” - - The man with the medals twirled his mustache and looked thoughtfully - at his colleague. - - “Where is Paul at the moment?” he asked. - - “He is acting as a gardener at the Convent of St. Eloise, at - Mailleton-en-haut, which, as you know, is one hundred meters from - the headquarters of the British central army staff.” - - The man with the medals took two or three rapid turns up and down - the room, then he said: - - “Your plan is excellent, Hausemann. The only point of difficulty is - that the attack started this morning.” - - “This morning?” exclaimed the other. - - “Yes; the English attacked unexpectedly at dawn. We have already - evacuated the first line. We shall evacuate the second line at - eleven-fifty. It is now ten-fifteen. There may be just time.” - - He looked suddenly at old Sam in the way that a butcher might look - at a prize heifer at an agricultural show and remarked casually: - - “Yes, it is a remarkable resemblance. It seems a pity not to—do - something with it.” - - Then, speaking in German, he added: - - “It is worth trying. And if it succeeds, the higher authorities - shall hear of your lucky accident and inspiration, Herr Hausemann. - Instruct _Ober-lieutenant_ Schultz to send the old fool by two - orderlies to the east extremity of Trench 38. Keep him there till - the order of evacuation is given, then shoot him, but don’t - disfigure him, and lay him out face upward.” - - The aviator saluted and withdrew, accompanied by his victim. Old Sam - had not understood the latter part of the conversation, and he did - not catch quite all that was said in English; but he felt that - somehow things were not becoming too promising, and it was time to - assert himself. So he remarked when they got outside: - - “Now, look ’ee ’ere, Mister, when am I goin’ to get back to my - turnips?” - - And the aviator replied, with a pleasant smile: - - “Do not be disturbed, old Grandfather. You shall get back to the - soil quite soon.” - - In a few moments he found himself in a large gray car, accompanied - by four soldiers. The aviator left him. The country was barren and - horrible, full of great pits and rents, and he could hear the roar - of artillery and the shriek of shells. Overhead, aëroplanes were - buzzing angrily. He seemed to be suddenly transported from the - kingdom of God to the pit of darkness. He wondered whether the vicar - had enjoyed the runner beans. He could not imagine runner beans - growing here; runner beans, aye, or anything else. If this was a - foreign country, give him dear old England! - - _Gr-r-r! bang!_ Something exploded just at the rear of the car. The - soldiers ducked, and one of them pushed him in the stomach and - swore. - - “An ugly-looking lout,” he thought. “If I wor twenty years younger, - I’d give him a punch in the eye that ’u’d make him sit up.” - - The car came to a halt by a broken wall. The party hurried out and - dived behind a mound. He was pulled down a kind of shaft, and found - himself in a room buried right underground, where three officers - were drinking and smoking. The soldiers saluted and handed them a - type-written dispatch. The officers looked at him drunkenly, and one - came up and pulled his beard and spat in his face and called him “an - old English swine.” He then shouted out some instructions to the - soldiers, and they led him out into the narrow trench. One walked - behind him, and occasionally prodded him with the butt-end of a gun. - The trenches were half full of water and reeked of gases, powder, - and decaying matter. Shells were constantly bursting overhead, and - in places the trenches had crumbled and were nearly blocked up. They - stumbled on, sometimes falling, sometimes dodging moving masses, and - occasionally crawling over the dead bodies of men. At last they - reached a deserted-looking trench, and one of the soldiers pushed - him into the corner of it and growled something, and then - disappeared round the angle. Old Sam was exhausted. He leaned - panting against the mud wall, expecting every minute to be blown to - pieces by one of those infernal things that seemed to be getting - more and more insistent. The din went on for nearly twenty minutes, - and he was alone in the trench. He fancied he heard a whistle amidst - the din. Suddenly one of the soldiers who had accompanied him came - stealthily round the corner, and there was a look in his eye old Sam - did not like. When he was within five yards the soldier raised his - rifle and pointed it at Sam’s body. Some instinct impelled the old - man at that instant to throw himself forward on his face. As he did - so he was aware of a terrible explosion, and he had just time to - observe the soldier falling in a heap near him, and then he lost - consciousness. - - His consciousness appeared to return to him with a snap. He was - lying on a plank in a building, and he heard some one say: - - “I believe the old boy’s English.” - - He looked round. There were a lot of men lying there, and others in - khaki and white overalls were busy among them. He sat up, rubbed his - head, and said: - - “Hi, Mister, where be I now?” - - Some one laughed, and a young man came up and said: “Well, old man, - you were very nearly in hell. Who are you?” - - Some one came up, and two of them were discussing him. One of them - said: - - “He’s quite all right. He was only knocked out. Better take him in - to the colonel. He may be a spy.” - - The other came up, touched his shoulder, and remarked: - - “Can you walk, Uncle?” - - He replied: - - “Aye, I can walk all roight.” - - “That’s an old sport!” - - The young man took his arm and helped him out of the room into a - courtyard. They entered another room, where an elderly, kind-faced - officer was seated at a desk. The officer looked up and exclaimed: - - “Good God! Bradshaw, do you know who you’ve got there?” - - The younger one said: - - “No. Who, sir?” - - “It’s Paul Jouperts!” exclaimed the colonel. - - “Paul Jouperts! Great Scott!” - - The older officer addressed himself to Sam. He said: - - “Well, we’ve got you once more, Paul. We shall have to be a little - more careful this time.” - - The young officer said: - - “Shall I detail a squad, sir?” - - “We can’t shoot him without a court-martial,” replied the kind-faced - senior. - - Then Sam interpolated: - - “Look ’ee ’ere, sir, I’m fair’ sick of all this. My name bean’t - Paul. My name’s Sam. I was a-thinnin’ a loine o’ turnips—” - - Both officers burst out laughing, and the younger one said: - - “Good! Good! Isn’t it amazing, sir, the way they not only learn the - language, but even take the trouble to learn a dialect!” - - The older man busied himself with some papers. - - “Well, Sam,” he remarked, “you shall be given a chance to prove your - identity. Our methods are less drastic than those of your _Boche_ - masters. What part of England are you supposed to come from? Let’s - see how much you can bluff us with your topographical knowledge.” - - “I was a-thinnin’ a loine o’ turnips this mornin’ at ’alf-past seven - on Mr. Hodge’s farm at Halvesham when one o’ these ’ere airyplanes - come down among the swedes. I tells ’e to get clear o’ that, when - the feller what gets out o’ the car ’e drahs a revowlver and ’e - says, ‘You must ’company I—’” - - “Yes, yes,” interrupted the senior officer; “that’s all very good. - Now tell me—where is Halvesham? What is the name of the local vicar? - I’m sure you’d know that.” - - Old Sam rubbed his chin. - - “I sits under the Reverend David Pryce, Mister, and a good, - God-fearin’ man he be. I took him a cookin’ o’ runner beans on’y - yesterday. I works for Mr. Hodge, what owns Greenway Manor and ’as a - stud-farm at Newmarket, they say.” - - “Charles Hodge?” asked the young officer. - - “Aye, Charlie Hodge. You write and ask un if he knows old Sam - Gates.” - - The two officers looked at each other, and the older one looked at - Sam more closely. - - “It’s very extraordinary,” he remarked. - - “Everybody knows Charlie Hodge,” added the young officer. - - It was at that moment that a wave of genius swept over old Sam. He - put his hand to his head, and suddenly jerked out: - - “What’s more, I can tell ’ee where this yere Paul is. He’s actin’ a - gardener in a convent at—” He puckered up his brows, fumbled with - his hat, and then got out, “Mighteno.” - - The older officer gasped. - - “Mailleton-en-haut! Good God! what makes you say that, old man?” - - Sam tried to give an account of his experience and the things he had - heard said by the German officers; but he was getting tired, and he - broke off in the middle to say: - - “Ye haven’t a bite o’ somethin’ to eat, I suppose, Mister; or a - glass o’ beer? I usually ’as my dinner at twelve o’clock.” - - Both the officers laughed, and the older said: - - “Get him some food, Bradshaw, and a bottle of beer from the mess. - We’ll keep this old man here. He interests me.” - - While the younger man was doing this, the chief pressed a button and - summoned another junior officer. - - “Gateshead,” he remarked, “ring up the G.H.Q. and instruct them to - arrest the gardener in that convent at the top of the hill and then - to report.” - - The officer saluted and went out, and in a few minutes a tray of hot - food and a large bottle of beer were brought to the old man, and he - was left alone in the corner of the room to negotiate this welcome - compensation. And in the execution he did himself and his county - credit. In the meanwhile the officers were very busy. People were - coming and going and examining maps, and telephone bells were - ringing furiously. They did not disturb old Sam’s gastric - operations. He cleaned up the mess tins and finished the last drop - of beer. The senior officer found time to offer him a cigarette, but - he replied: - - “Thank ’ee kindly, sir, but I’d rather smoke my pipe.” - - The colonel smiled and said: - - “Oh, all right; smoke away.” - - He lighted up, and the fumes of the shag permeated the room. Some - one opened another window, and the young officer who had addressed - him at first suddenly looked at him and exclaimed: - - “Innocent! You couldn’t get shag like that anywhere but in Norfolk.” - - It must have been an hour later when another officer entered and - saluted. - - “Message from the G.H.Q., sir,” he said. - - “Well?” - - “They have arrested the gardener at the convent of St. Eloise, and - they have every reason to believe that he is the notorious Paul - Jouperts.” - - The colonel stood up, and his eyes beamed. He came over to old Sam - and shook his hand. - - “Mr. Gates,” he said, “you are an old brick. You will probably hear - more of this. You have probably been the means of delivering - something very useful into our hands. Your own honor is vindicated. - A loving Government will probably award you five shillings or a - Victoria Cross or something of that sort. In the meantime, what can - I do for you?” - - Old Sam scratched his chin. - - “I want to get back ’ome,” he said. - - “Well, even that might be arranged.” - - “I want to get back ’ome in toime for tea.” - - “What time do you have tea?” - - “Foive o’clock or thereabouts.” - - “I see.” - - A kindly smile came into the eyes of the colonel. He turned to - another officer standing by the table and said: - - “Raikes, is any one going across this afternoon with dispatches?” - - “Yes, sir,” replied the other officer. “Commander Jennings is - leaving at three o’clock.” - - “You might ask him if he could see me.” - - Within ten minutes a young man in a flight-commander’s uniform - entered. - - “Ah, Jennings,” said the colonel, “here is a little affair which - concerns the honor of the British army. My friend here, Sam Gates, - has come over from Halvesham, in Norfolk, in order to give us - valuable information. I have promised him that he shall get home to - tea at five o’clock. Can you take a passenger?” - - The young man threw back his head and laughed. - - “Lord!” he exclaimed, “what an old sport! Yes, I expect I can manage - it. Where is the forsaken place?” - - A large ordnance-map of Norfolk (which had been captured from a - German officer) was produced, and the young man studied it closely. - - At three o’clock precisely old Sam, finding himself something of a - hero and quite glad to escape from the embarrassment which this - position entailed upon him, once more sped skyward in a “dratted - airyplane.” - - At twenty minutes to five he landed once more among Mr. Hodge’s - swedes. The breezy young airman shook hands with him and departed - inland. Old Sam sat down and surveyed the familiar field of turnips. - - “A noice thing, I must say!” he muttered to himself as he looked - along the lines of unthinned turnips. He still had twenty minutes, - and so he went slowly along and completed a line which he had begun - in the morning. He then deliberately packed up his dinner-things and - his tools and started out for home. - - As he came round the corner of Stillway’s meadow and the cottage - came in view, his niece stepped out of the copse with a basket on - her arm. - - “Well, Uncle,” she said, “is there any noos?” - - It was then that old Sam really lost his temper. - - “Noos!” he said. “Noos! Drat the girl! What noos should there be? - Sixty-nine year’ I live in these ’ere parts, hoein’ and weedin’ and - thinnin’, and mindin’ Charlie Hodge’s sheep. Am I one o’ these ’ere - story-book folk havin’ noos ’appen to me all the time? Ain’t it - enough, ye silly, dab-faced zany, to earn enough to buy a bite o’ - some’at to eat and a glass o’ beer and a place to rest a’s head - o’night without always wantin’ noos, noos, noos! I tell ’ee it’s - this that leads ’ee to ’alf the troubles in the world. Devil take - the noos!” - - And turning his back on her, he went fuming up the hill. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER - By RUDYARD KIPLING - - - ONCE upon a time there was a coffee-planter in India who wished to - clear some forest land for coffee-planting. When he had cut down all - the trees and burned the underwood the stumps still remained. - Dynamite is expensive and slow fire slow. The happy medium for - stump-clearing is the lord of all beasts, who is the elephant. He - will either push the stump out of the ground with his tusks, if he - has any, or drag it out with ropes. The planter, therefore, hired - elephants by ones and twos and threes, and fell to work. The very - best of all the elephants belonged to the very worst of all the - drivers or mahouts; and the superior beast’s name was Moti Guj. He - was the absolute property of his mahout, which would never have been - the case under native rule: for Moti Guj was a creature to be - desired by kings; and his name, being translated, meant the Pearl - Elephant. Because the British government was in the land, Deesa, the - mahout, enjoyed his property undisturbed. He was dissipated. When he - had made much money through the strength of his elephant, he would - get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with a tent-peg over - the tender nails of the forefeet. Moti Guj never trampled the life - out of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating - was over, Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and call him his - love and his life and the liver of his soul, and give him some - liquor. Moti Guj was very fond or liquor—arrack for choice, though - he would drink palm-tree toddy if nothing better offered. Then Deesa - would go to sleep between Moti Guj’s forefeet, and as Deesa - generally chose the middle of the public road, and as Moti Guj - mounted guard over him and would not permit horse, foot, or cart to - pass by, traffic was congested till Deesa saw fit to wake up. - - There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter’s clearing: the - wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on Moti Guj’s neck and gave - him orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the stumps—for he owned a - magnificent pair of tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope—for he had - a magnificent pair of shoulders, while Deesa kicked him behind the - ears and said he was the king of elephants. At evening time Moti Guj - would wash down his three hundred pounds’ weight of green food with - a quart of arrack, and Deesa would take a share and sing songs - between Moti Guj’s legs till it was time to go to bed. Once a week - Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river, and Moti Guj lay on his side - luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesa went over him with a coir - swab and a brick. Moti Guj never mistook the pounding blow of the - latter for the smack of the former that warned him to get up and - turn over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at his feet, - examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his mighty ears in case - of sores or budding ophthalmia. After inspection, the two would - “come up with a song from the sea,” Moti Guj all black and shining, - waving a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa - knotting up his own long wet hair. - - It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return of the - desire to drink deep. He wished for an orgy. The little draughts - that led nowhere were taking the manhood out of him. - - He went to the planter, and “My mother’s dead,” said he, weeping. - - “She died on the last plantation two months ago, and she died once - before that when you were working for me last year,” said the - planter, who knew something of the ways of nativedom. - - “Then it’s my aunt, and she was just the same as a mother to me,” - said Deesa, weeping more than ever. “She has left eighteen small - children entirely without bread, and it is I who must fill their - little stomachs,” said Deesa, beating his head on the floor. - - “Who brought you the news?” said the planter. - - “The post,” said Deesa. - - “There hasn’t been a post here for the past week. Get back to your - lines!” - - “A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and all my wives - are dying,” yelled Deesa, really in tears this time. - - “Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa’s village,” said the planter. - “Chihun, has this man got a wife?” - - “He!” said Chihun. “No. Not a woman of our village would look at - him. They’d sooner marry the elephant.” - - Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and bellowed. - - “You will get into a difficulty in a minute,” said the planter. “Go - back to your work!” - - “Now I will speak Heaven’s truth,” gulped Deesa, with an - inspiration. “I haven’t been drunk for two months. I desire to - depart in order to get properly drunk afar off and distant from this - heavenly plantation. Thus I shall cause no trouble.” - - A flickering smile crossed the planter’s face. “Deesa,” said he, - “you’ve spoken the truth, and I’d give you leave on the spot if - anything could be done with Moti Guj while you’re away. You know - that he will only obey your orders.” - - “May the light of the heavens live forty thousand years. I shall be - absent but ten little days. After that, upon my faith and honor and - soul, I return. As to the inconsiderable interval, have I the - gracious permission of the heaven-born to call up Moti Guj?” - - Permission was granted, and in answer to Deesa’s shrill yell, the - mighty tusker swung out of the shade of a clump of trees where he - had been squirting dust over himself till his master should return. - - “Light of my heart, protector of the drunken, mountain of might, - give ear!” said Deesa, standing in front of him. - - Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his trunk. “I am going away,” - said Deesa. - - Moti Guj’s eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts as well as his master. One - could snatch all manner of nice things from the roadside then. - - “But you, you fussy old pig, must stay behind and work.” - - The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look delighted. He hated - stump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his teeth. - - “I shall be gone for ten days, O delectable one. Hold up your near - forefoot and I’ll impress the fact upon it, warty toad of a dried - mud-puddle.” Deesa took a tent-peg and banged Moti Guj ten times on - the nails. Moti Guj grunted and shuffled from foot to foot. - - “Ten days,” said Deesa, “you will work and haul and root the trees - as Chihun here shall order you. Take up Chihun and set him on your - neck!” Moti Guj curled the tip of his trunk, Chihun put his foot - there and was swung on to the neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy - _ankus_—the iron elephant goad. - - Chihun thumped Moti Guj’s bald head as a paver thumps a curbstone. - - Moti Guj trumpeted. - - “Be still, hog of the backwoods! Chihun’s your mahout for ten days. - And now bid me good-by, beast after mine own heart. Oh, my lord, my - king! Jewel of all created elephants, lily of the herd, preserve - your honored health; be virtuous. Adieu!” - - Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him into the air - twice. This was his way of bidding him good-by. - - “He’ll work now,” said Deesa to the planter. “Have I leave to go?” - - The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. Moti Guj went - back to haul stumps. - - Chihun was very kind to him, but he felt unhappy and forlorn for all - that. Chihun gave him a ball of spices, and tickled him under the - chin, and Chihun’s little baby cooed to him after work was over, and - Chihun’s wife called him a darling; but Moti Guj was a bachelor by - instinct, as Deesa was. He did not understand the domestic emotions. - He wanted the light of his universe back again—the drink and the - drunken slumber, the savage beatings and the savage caresses. - - None the less he worked well, and the planter wondered. Deesa had - wandered along the roads till he met a marriage procession of his - own caste and, drinking, dancing, and tippling, had drifted with it - past all knowledge of the lapse of time. - - The morning of the eleventh day dawned, and there returned no Deesa. - Moti Guj was loosed from his ropes for the daily stint. He swung - clear, looked round, shrugged his shoulders, and began to walk away, - as one having business elsewhere. - - “Hi! ho! Come back, you,” shouted Chihun. “Come back and put me on - your neck, misborn mountain! Return, splendor of the hillsides! - Adornment of all India, heave to, or I’ll bang every toe off your - fat forefoot!” - - Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. Chihun ran after him with - a rope and caught him up. Moti Guj put his ears forward, and Chihun - knew what that meant, though he tried to carry it off with high - words. - - “None of your nonsense with me,” said he. “To your pickets, - devil-son.” - - “Hrrump!” said Moti Guj, and that was all—that and the forebent - ears. - - Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chewed a branch for a - toothpick, and strolled about the clearing, making fun of the other - elephants, who had just set to work. - - Chihun reported the state of affairs to the planter, who came out - with a dog-whip and cracked it furiously. Moti Guj paid the white - man the compliment of charging him nearly a quarter of a mile across - the clearing and “Hrrumping” him into his veranda. Then he stood - outside the house chuckling to himself, and shaking all over with - the fun of it, as an elephant will. - - “We’ll thrash him,” said the planter. “He shall have the finest - thrashing ever elephant received. Give Kala Nag and Nazim twelve - foot of chain apiece, and tell them to lay on twenty blows.” - - Kala Nag—which means Black Snake—and Nazim were two of the biggest - elephants in the lines, and one of their duties was to administer - the graver punishments, since no man can beat an elephant properly. - - They took the whipping-chains and rattled them in their trunks as - they sidled up to Moti Guj, meaning to hustle him between them. Moti - Guj had never, in all his life of thirty-nine years, been whipped, - and he did not intend to begin a new experience. So he waited, - waving his head from right to left, and measuring the precise spot - in Kala Nag’s fat hide where a blunt tusk would sink deepest. Kala - Nag had no tusks; the chain was the badge of his authority; but for - all that, he swung wide of Moti Guj at the last minute, and tried to - appear as if he had brought the chain out for amusement. Nazim - turned round and went home early. He did not feel fighting fit that - morning, and so Moti Guj was left standing alone with his ears - cocked. - - That decided the planter to argue no more, and Moti Guj rolled back - to his inspection of the clearing. An elephant who will not work, - and is not tied up, is about as manageable as an eighty-one-ton gun - loose in a heavy seaway. He slapped old friends on the back and - asked them if the stumps were coming away easily; he talked nonsense - concerning labor and the inalienable rights of elephants to a long - “nooning”; and, wandering to and fro, he thoroughly demoralized the - garden till sundown, when he returned to his pickets for food. - - “If you won’t work, you shan’t eat,” said Chihun angrily. “You’re a - wild elephant, and no educated animal at all. Go back to your - jungle.” - - Chihun’s little brown baby was rolling on the floor of the hut, and - stretching out its fat arms to the huge shadow in the doorway. Moti - Guj knew well that it was the dearest thing on earth to Chihun. He - swung out his trunk with a fascinating crook at the end, and the - brown baby threw itself shouting upon it. Moti Guj made fast and - pulled up till the brown baby was crowing in the air twelve feet - above his father’s head. - - “Great Lord!” said Chihun. “Flour cakes of the best, twelve in - number, two feet across, and soaked in rum, shall be yours on the - instant, and two hundred pounds’ weight of fresh-cut young - sugar-cane therewith. Deign only to put down safely that - insignificant brat who is my heart and my life to me.” - - Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfortably between his forefeet, - that could have knocked into toothpicks all Chihun’s hut, and waited - for his food. He ate it, and the brown baby crawled away. Moti Guj - dozed, and thought of Deesa. One of many mysteries connected with - the elephant is that his huge body needs less sleep than anything - else that lives. Four or five hours in the night suffice—two just - before midnight, lying down on one side; two just after one o’clock, - lying down on the other. The rest of the silent hours are filled - with eating and fidgeting and long grumbling soliloquies. - - At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode out of his pickets, for a - thought had come to him that Deesa might be lying drunk somewhere in - the dark forest with none to look after him. So all that night he - chased through the undergrowth, blowing and trumpeting and shaking - his ears. He went down to the river and blared across the shallows - where Deesa used to wash him, and there was no answer. He could not - find Deesa, but he disturbed all the other elephants in the lines, - and nearly frightened to death some gypsies in the woods. - - At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. He had been very drunk - indeed, and he expected to get into trouble for outstaying his - leave. He drew a long breath when he saw that the bungalow and the - plantation were still uninjured, for he knew something of Moti Guj’s - temper, and reported himself with many lies and salaams. Moti Guj - had gone to his pickets for breakfast. The night exercise had made - him hungry. - - “Call up your beast,” said the planter, and Deesa shouted in the - mysterious elephant language, that some mahouts believe came from - China at the birth of the world, when elephants and not men were - masters. Moti Guj heard and came. Elephants do not gallop. They move - from places at varying rates of speed. If an elephant wished to - catch an express train he could not gallop, but he could catch the - train. So Moti Guj was at the planter’s door almost before Chihun - noticed that he had left his pickets. He fell into Deesa’s arms - trumpeting with joy, and the man and beast wept and slobbered over - each other, and handled each other from head to heel to see that no - harm had befallen. - - “Now we will get to work,” said Deesa. “Lift me up, my son and my - joy.” - - Moti Guj swung him up and the two went to the coffee-clearing to - look for difficult stumps. - - The planter was too astonished to be very angry. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - GULLIVER THE GREAT - By WALTER A. DYER - - - IT was a mild evening in early spring, and the magnolias were in - bloom. We motored around the park, turned up a side street, and - finally came to a throbbing standstill before the Churchwarden Club. - - There was nothing about its exterior to indicate that it was a - clubhouse at all, but within there was an indefinable atmosphere of - early Victorian comfort. There was something about it that suggested - Mr. Pickwick. Old prints of horses and ships and battles hung upon - the walls, and the oak was dark and old. There seemed to be no - decorative scheme or keynote, and yet the atmosphere was utterly - distinctive. It was my first visit to the Churchwarden Club, of - which my quaint, old-fashioned Uncle Ford had long been a member, - and I was charmed. - - We dined in the rathskeller, the walls of which were completely - covered with long churchwarden pipes, arranged in the most intricate - and marvelous patterns; and after our mutton-chop and ale and plum - pudding, we filled with the choicest of tobaccos the pipes which the - old major-domo brought us. - - Then came Jacob R. Enderby to smoke with us. - - Tall and spare he was, with long, straight, black hair, large, - aquiline nose, and piercing eyes. I disgraced myself by staring at - him. I didn’t know that such a man existed in New York, and yet I - couldn’t decide whether his habitat should be Arizona or Cape Cod. - - Enderby and Uncle Ford were deep in a discussion of the - statesmanship of James G. Blaine, when a waiter summoned my uncle to - the telephone. - - I neglected to state that my uncle, in his prosaic hours, is a - physician; and this was a call. I knew it the moment I saw the - waiter approaching. I was disappointed and disgusted. - - Uncle Ford saw this and laughed. - - “Cheer up!” said he. “You needn’t come with me to visit the sick. - I’ll be back in an hour, and meanwhile Mr. Enderby will take care of - you; won’t you, Jake?” - - For answer Enderby arose, and refilling his pipe took me by the arm, - while my uncle got into his overcoat. As he passed us on the way out - he whispered in my ear: - - “Talk about dogs.” - - I heard and nodded. - - Enderby led me to the lounge or loafing-room, an oak-paneled - apartment in the rear of the floor above, with huge leather chairs - and a seat in the bay window. Save for a gray-haired old chap dozing - over a copy of _Simplicissimus_, the room was deserted. - - But no sooner had Enderby seated himself on the window-seat than - there was a rush and a commotion, and a short, glad bark, and - Nubbins, the steward’s bull-terrier, bounded in and landed at - Enderby’s side with canine expressions of great joy. - - I reached forward to pat him, but he paid absolutely no attention to - me. - - At last his wriggling subsided, and he settled down with his head on - Enderby’s knee, the picture of content. Then I recalled my uncle’s - parting injunction. - - “Friend of yours?” I suggested. - - Enderby smiled. “Yes,” he said, “we’re friends, I guess. And the - funny part of it is that he doesn’t pay any attention to any one - else except his master. They all act that way with me, dogs do.” And - he pulled Nubbins’s stubby ears. - - “Natural attraction, I suppose,” said I. - - “Yes, it is,” he answered, with the modest frankness of a big man. - “It’s a thing hard to explain, though there’s a sort of reason for - it in my case.” - - I pushed toward him a little tobacco-laden teak-wood stand - hopefully. He refilled and lighted. - - “It’s an extraordinary thing, even so,” he said, puffing. “Every dog - nowadays seems to look upon me as his long-lost master, but it - wasn’t always so. I hated dogs and they hated me.” - - Not wishing to say “Really” or “Indeed” to this big, outdoor man, I - simply grunted my surprise. - - “Yes, we were born enemies. More than that, I was afraid of dogs. A - little fuzzy toy dog, ambling up to me in a room full of company, - with his tail wagging, gave me the shudders. I couldn’t touch the - beast. And as for big dogs outdoors, I feared them like the plague. - I would go blocks out of my way to avoid one. - - “I don’t remember being particularly cowardly about other things, - but I just couldn’t help this. It was in my blood, for some reason - or other. It was the bane of my existence. I couldn’t see what the - brutes were put into the world for, or how any one could have - anything to do with them. - - “And the dogs reciprocated. They disliked and distrusted me. The - most docile old Brunos would growl and show their teeth when I came - near.” - - “Did the change come suddenly?” I asked. - - “Quite. It was in 1901. I accepted a commission from an importing - and trading company to go to the Philippines to do a little quiet - exploring, and spent four months in the sickly place. Then I got the - fever, and when I recovered I couldn’t get out of there too soon. - - “I reached Manila just in time to see the mail steamer disappearing - around the point, and I was mad. There would be another in six days, - but I couldn’t wait. I was just crazy to get back home. - - “I made inquiries and learned of an old tramp steamer, named the - _Old Squaw_, making ready to leave for Honolulu on the following day - with a cargo of hemp and stuff, and a bunch of Moros for some show - in the States, and I booked passage on that. - - “She was the worst old tub you ever saw. I didn’t learn much about - her, but I verily believe her to have been a condemned excursion - boat. She wouldn’t have been allowed to run to Coney Island. - - “She was battered and unpainted, and she wallowed horribly. I don’t - believe she could have reached Honolulu much before the next regular - boat, but I couldn’t wait, and I took her. - - “I made myself as comfortable as possible, bribed the cook to insure - myself against starvation, and swung a hammock on the forward deck - as far as possible from the worst of the vile smells. - - “But we hadn’t lost sight of Manila Bay when I discovered that there - was a dog aboard—and such a dog! I had never seen one that sent me - into such a panic as this one, and he had free range of the ship. A - Great Dane he was, named Gulliver, and he was the pride of the - captain’s rum-soaked heart. - - “With all my fear, I realized he was a magnificent animal, but I - looked on him as a gigantic devil. Without exception, he was the - biggest dog I ever saw, and as muscular as a lion. He lacked some - points that show judges set store by, but he had the size and the - build. - - “I have seen Vohl’s Vulcan and the Wurtemburg breed, but they were - fox-terriers compared with Gulliver. His tail was as big around as - my arm, and the cook lived in terror of his getting into the galley - and wagging it; and he had a mouth that looked to me like the crater - of Mauna Loa, and a voice that shook the planking when he spoke. - - “I first caught sight of him appearing from behind a huge coil of - cordage in the stern. He stretched and yawned, and I nearly died of - fright. - - “I caught up a belaying-pin, though little good that would have done - me. I think he saw me do it, and doubtless he set me down for an - enemy then and there. - - “We were well out of the harbor, and there was no turning back, but - I would have given my right hand to be off that boat. I fully - expected him to eat me up, and I slept with that belaying-pin - sticking into my ribs in the hammock, and with my revolver loaded - and handy. - - “Fortunately, Gulliver’s dislike for me took the form of sublime - contempt. He knew I was afraid of him, and he despised me for it. He - was a great pet with the captain and crew, and even the Moros - treated him with admiring respect when they were allowed on deck. I - couldn’t understand it. I would as soon have made a pet of a hungry - boa-constrictor. - - “On the third day out the poor old boiler burst and the _Old Squaw_ - caught fire. She was dry and rotten inside and she burned like - tinder. No attempt was made to extinguish the flames, which got into - the hemp in the hold in short order. - - “The smoke was stifling, and in a jiffy all hands were struggling - with the boats. The Moros came tumbling up from below and added to - the confusion with their terrified yells. - - “The davits were old and rusty, and the men were soon fighting among - themselves. One boat dropped stern foremost, filled, and sank - immediately, and the _Old Squaw_ herself was visibly settling. - - “I saw there was no chance of getting away in the boats, and I - recalled a life-raft on the deck forward near my hammock. It was a - sort of catamaran—a double platform on a pair of hollow, - water-tight, cylindrical buoys. It wasn’t twenty feet long and about - half as broad, but it would have to do. I fancy it was a forgotten - relic of the old excursion-boat days. - - “There was no time to lose, for the _Old Squaw_ was bound to sink - presently. Besides, I was aft with the rest, and the flames were - licking up the deck and running-gear in the waist of the boat. - - “The galley, which was amidships near the engine-room, had received - the full force of the explosion, and the cook lay moaning in the lee - scuppers with a small water-cask thumping against his chest. I - couldn’t stop to help the man, but I did kick the cask away. - - “It seemed to be nearly full, and it occurred to me that I should - need it. I glanced quickly around, and luckily found a tin of - biscuits that had also been blown out of the galley. I picked this - up, and rolling the cask of water ahead of me as rapidly as I could, - I made my way through the hot, stifling smoke to the bow of the - boat. - - “I kicked at the life-raft; it seemed to be sound, and I lashed the - biscuits and water to it. I also threw on a coil of rope and a piece - of sail-cloth. I saw nothing else about that could possibly be of - any value to me. I abandoned my trunk for fear it would only prove - troublesome. - - “Then I hacked the raft loose with my knife and shoved it over to - the bulwark. Apparently no one had seen me, for there was no one - else forward of the sheet of flame that now cut the boat in two. - - “The raft was a mighty heavy affair, but I managed to raise one end - to the rail. I don’t believe I would ever have been able to heave it - over under any circumstances, but I didn’t have to. - - “I felt a great upheaval, and the prow of the _Old Squaw_ went up - into the air. I grabbed the ropes that I had lashed the food on with - and clung to the raft. The deck became almost perpendicular, and it - was a miracle that the raft didn’t slide down with me into the - flames. Somehow it stuck where it was. - - “Then the boat sank with a great roar, and for about a thousand - years, it seemed to me, I was under water. I didn’t do anything. I - couldn’t think. - - “I was only conscious of a tremendous weight of water and a feeling - that I would burst open. Instinct alone made me cling to the raft. - - “When it finally brought me to the surface I was as nearly dead as I - care to be. I lay there on the thing in a half-conscious condition - for an endless time. If my life had depended on my doing something, - I would have been lost. - - “Then gradually I came to, and began to spit out salt water and gasp - for breath. I gathered my wits together and sat up. My hands were - absolutely numb, and I had to loosen the grip of my fingers with the - help of my toes. Odd sensation. - - “Then I looked about me. My biscuits and water and rope were safe, - but the sail-cloth had vanished. I remember that this annoyed me - hugely at the time, though I don’t know what earthly good it would - have been. - - “The sea was fairly calm, and I could see all about. Not a human - being was visible, only a few floating bits of wreckage. Every man - on board must have gone down with the ship and drowned, except - myself. - - “Then I caught sight of something that made my heart stand still. - The huge head of Gulliver was coming rapidly toward me through the - water! - - “The dog was swimming strongly, and must have leaped from the _Old - Squaw_ before she sank. My raft was the only thing afloat large - enough to hold him, and he knew it. - - “I drew my revolver, but it was soaking wet and useless. Then I sat - down on the cracker-tin and gritted my teeth and waited. I had been - alarmed, I must admit, when the boiler blew up and the panic began, - but that was nothing to the terror that seized me now. - - “Here I was all alone on the top of the Pacific Ocean with a - horrible demon making for me as fast as he could swim. My mind was - benumbed, and I could think of nothing to do. I trembled and my - teeth rattled. I prayed for a shark, but no shark came. - - “Soon Gulliver reached the raft and placed one of his forepaws on it - and then the other. The top of it stood six or eight inches above - the water, and it took a great effort for the dog to raise himself. - I wanted to kick him back, but I didn’t dare to move. - - “Gulliver struggled mightily. Again and again he reared his great - shoulders above the sea, only to be cast back, scratching and - kicking, at a lurch of the raft. - - “Finally a wave favored him, and he caught the edge of the under - platform with one of his hind feet. With a stupendous effort he - heaved his huge bulk over the edge and lay sprawling at my feet, - panting and trembling.” - - Enderby paused and gazed out of the window with a big sigh, as - though the recital of his story had brought back some of the horror - of his remarkable experience. - - Nubbins looked up inquiringly, and then snuggled closer to his - friend, while Enderby smoothed the white head. - - “Well,” he continued, “there we were. You can’t possibly imagine how - I felt unless you, too, have been afflicted with dog-fear. It was - awful. And I hated the brute so. I could have torn him limb from - limb if I had had the strength. But he was vastly more powerful than - I. I could only fear him. - - “By and by he got up and shook himself. I cowered on my cracker-tin, - but he only looked at me contemptuously, went to the other end of - the raft, and lay down to wait patiently for deliverance. - - “We remained this way until nightfall. The sea was comparatively - calm, and we seemed to be drifting but slowly. We were in the path - of ships likely to be passing one way or the other, and I would have - been hopeful of the outcome if it had not been for my feared and - hated companion. - - “I began to feel faint, and opened the cracker-tin. The biscuits - were wet with salt water, but I ate a couple, and left the cover of - the tin open to dry them. Gulliver looked around, and I shut the tin - hastily. But the dog never moved. He was not disposed to ask any - favors. By kicking the sides of the cask and prying with my knife, I - managed to get the bung out and took a drink. Then I settled myself - on the raft with my back against the cask, and longed for a smoke. - - “The gentle motion of the raft produced a lulling effect on my - exhausted nerves, and I began to nod, only to awake with a start, - with fear gripping at my heart. I dared not sleep. I don’t know what - I thought Gulliver would do to me, for I did not understand dogs, - but I felt that I must watch him constantly. In the starlight I - could see that his eyes were open. Gulliver was watchful too. - - “All night long I kept up a running fight with drowsiness. I dozed - at intervals, but never for long at a time. It was a horrible night, - and I cannot tell you how I longed for day and welcomed it when it - came. - - “I must have slept toward dawn, for I suddenly became conscious of - broad daylight. I roused myself, stood up, and swung my arms and - legs to stir up circulation, for the night had been chilly. Gulliver - arose, too, and stood silently watching me until I ceased for fear. - When he had settled down again I got my breakfast out of the - cracker-tin. Gulliver was restless, and was evidently interested. - - “‘He must be hungry,’ I thought, and then a new fear caught me. I - had only to wait until he became very hungry and then he would - surely attack me. I concluded that it would be wiser to feed him, - and I tossed him a biscuit. - - “I expected to see him grab it ravenously, and wondered as soon as I - had thrown it if the taste of food would only serve to make him more - ferocious. But at first he would not touch it. He only lay there - with his great head on his paws and glowered at me. Distrust was - plainly visible in his face. I had never realized before that a - dog’s face could express the subtler emotions. - - “His gaze fascinated me, and I could not take my eyes from his. The - bulk of him was tremendous as he lay there, and I noticed the big, - swelling muscles of his jaw. At last he arose, sniffed suspiciously - at the biscuit, and looked up at me again. - - “‘It’s all right; eat it!’ I cried. - - “The sound of my own voice frightened me. I had not intended to - speak to him. But in spite of my strained tone he seemed somewhat - reassured. - - “He took a little nibble, and then swallowed the biscuit after one - or two crunches, and looked up expectantly. I threw him another and - he ate that. - - “‘That’s all,’ said I. ‘We must be sparing of them.’ - - “I was amazed to discover how perfectly he understood. He lay down - again and licked his chops. - - “Late in the forenoon I saw a line of smoke on the horizon, and soon - a steamer hove into view. I stood up and waved my coat frantically, - but to no purpose. Gulliver stood up and looked from me to the - steamer, apparently much interested. - - “‘Too far off,’ I said to Gulliver. ‘I hope the next one will come - nearer.’ - - “At midday I dined, and fed Gulliver. This time he took the two - biscuits quite without reserve and whacked his great tail against - the raft. It seemed to me that his attitude was less hostile, and I - wondered at it. - - “When I took my drink from the cask, Gulliver showed signs of - interest. - - “‘I suppose dogs get thirsty, too,’ I said aloud. - - “Gulliver rapped with his tail. I looked about for some sort of - receptacle, and finally pulled off my shoe, filled it with water, - and shoved it toward him with my foot. He drank gratefully. - - “During the afternoon I sighted another ship, but it was too distant - to notice me. However, the sea remained calm and I did not despair. - - “After we had had supper, I settled back against my cask, resolved - to keep awake, for still I did not trust Gulliver. The sun set - suddenly and the stars came out, and I found myself strangely - lonesome. It seemed as though I had been alone out there on the - Pacific for weeks. The miles and miles of heaving waters, almost on - a level with my eye, were beginning to get on my nerves. I longed - for some one to talk to, and wished I had dragged the half-breed - cook along with me for company. I sighed loudly, and Gulliver raised - his head. - - “‘Lonesome out here, isn’t it?’ I said, simply to hear the sound of - my own voice. - - “Then for the first time Gulliver spoke. He made a deep sound in his - throat, but it wasn’t a growl, and with all my ignorance of dog - language I knew it. - - “Then I began to talk. I talked about everything—the people back - home and all that—and Gulliver listened. I know more about dogs now, - and I know that the best way to make friends with a dog is to talk - to him. He can’t talk back, but he can understand a heap more than - you think he can. - - “Finally Gulliver, who had kept his distance all this time, arose - and came toward me. My words died in my throat. What was he going to - do? To my immense relief he did nothing but sink down at my feet - with a grunt and curl his huge body into a semicircle. He had - dignity, Gulliver had. He wanted to be friendly, but he would not - presume. However, I had lost interest in conversation, and sat - watching him and wondering. - - “In spite of my firm resolution, I fell asleep at length from sheer - exhaustion, and never woke until daybreak. The sky was clouded and - our craft was pitching. Gulliver was standing in the middle of the - raft, looking at me in evident alarm. I glanced over my shoulder, - and the blackness of the horizon told me that a storm was coming, - and coming soon. - - “I made fast our slender provender, tied the end of a line about my - own waist for safety, and waited. - - “In a short time the storm struck us in all its tropical fury. The - raft pitched and tossed, now high up at one end, and now at the - other, and sometimes almost engulfed in the waves. - - “Gulliver was having a desperate time to keep aboard. His blunt - claws slipped on the wet deck of the raft, and he fell and slid - about dangerously. The thought flashed across my mind that the storm - might prove to be a blessing in disguise, and that I might soon be - rid of the brute. - - “As I clung there to the lashings, I saw him slip down to the - further end of the raft, his hind quarters actually over the edge. A - wave swept over him, but still he clung, panting madly. Then the - raft righted itself for a moment, and as he hung there he gave me a - look I shall never forget—a look of fear, of pleading, of reproach, - and yet of silent courage. And with all my stupidity I read that - look. Somehow it told me that I was the master, after all, and he - the dog. I could not resist it. Cautiously I raised myself and - loosened the spare rope I had saved. As the raft tipped the other - way Gulliver regained his footing and came sliding toward me. - - “Quickly I passed the rope around his body, and as the raft dived - again I hung on to the rope with one hand, retaining my own hold - with the other. Gulliver’s great weight nearly pulled my arm from - its socket, but he helped mightily, and during the next moment of - equilibrium I took another turn about his body and made the end of - the rope fast. - - “The storm passed as swiftly as it had come, and though it left us - drenched and exhausted, we were both safe. - -[Illustration: - - Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful -] - - “That evening Gulliver crept close to me as I talked, and I let him. - Loneliness will make a man do strange things. - - “On the fifth day, when our provisions were nearly gone, and I had - begun to feel the sinking dullness of despair, I sighted a steamer - apparently coming directly toward us. Instantly I felt new life in - my limbs and around my heart, and while the boat was yet miles away - I began to shout and to wave my coat. - - “‘I believe she’s coming, old man!’ I cried to Gulliver; ‘I believe - she’s coming!’ - - “I soon wearied of this foolishness and sat down to wait. Gulliver - came close and sat beside me, and for the first time I put my hand - on him. He looked up at me and rapped furiously with his tail. I - patted his head—a little gingerly, I must confess. - - “It was a big, smooth head, and it felt solid and strong. I passed - my hand down his neck, his back, his flanks. He seemed to quiver - with joy. He leaned his huge body against me. Then he bowed his head - and licked my shoe. - - “A feeling of intense shame and unworthiness came over me, with the - realization of how completely I had misunderstood him. Why should - this great, powerful creature lick my shoe? It was incredible. - - “Then, somehow, everything changed. Fear and distrust left me, and a - feeling of comradeship and understanding took their place. We two - had been through so much together. A dog was no longer a frightful - beast to me; he was a dog! I cannot think of a nobler word. And - Gulliver had licked my shoe! Doubtless it was only the fineness of - his perception that had prevented him from licking my hand. I might - have resented that. I put my arms suddenly around Gulliver’s neck - and hugged him. I loved that dog! - - “Slowly, slowly, the steamer crawled along, but still she kept to - her course. When she was about a mile away, however, I saw that she - would not pass as near to us as I had hoped; so I began once more my - waving and yelling. She came nearer, nearer, but still showed no - sign of observing us. - - “She was abreast of us and passing. I was in a frenzy! - - “She was so near that I could make out the figure of the captain on - the bridge, and other figures on the deck below. It seemed as though - they must see us, though I realized how low in the water we stood, - and how pitifully weak and hoarse my voice was. I had been a fool to - waste it. Then an idea struck me. - - “‘Speak!’ I cried to Gulliver, who stood watching beside me. ‘Speak, - old man!’ - - “Gulliver needed no second bidding. A roar like that of all the - bulls of Bashan rolled out over the blue Pacific. Again and again - Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful. His great sides heaved - with the mighty effort, his red, cavernous mouth open, and his head - raised high. - - “‘Good, old man!’ I cried. ‘Good!’ And again that magnificent voice - boomed forth. - - “Then something happened on board the steamer. The figures came to - the side. I waved my coat and danced. Then they saw us. - - “I was pretty well done up when they took us aboard, and I slept for - twenty-four hours straight. When I awoke there sat Gulliver by my - bunk, and when I turned to look at him he lifted a great paw and put - it on my arm.” - - Enderby ceased, and there was silence in the room save for the light - snoring of Nubbins. - - “You took him home with you, I suppose?” I asked. - - Enderby nodded. - - “And you have him still?” I certainly wanted to have a look at that - dog. - - But he did not answer. I saw an expression of great sadness come - into his eyes as he gazed out of the window, and I knew that Jacob - Enderby had finished his story. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’ - By RUTH McENERY STUART - - A Monologue - - - WELL, sir, we’re tryin’ to edjercate him—good ez we can. Th’ ain’t - never been a edjercational advantage come in reach of us but we’ve - give it to him. Of co’se he’s all we’ve got, that one boy is, an’ - wife an’ me, why, we feel the same way about it. - - They’s three schools in the county, an’ we send him to all three. - - Sir? Oh, yas, sir; he b’longs to all three schools—to _fo’_, for - that matter, countin’ the home school. - - You see, Sonny he’s purty ticklish to handle, an’ a person has to - know thess how to tackle him. Even wife an’ me, thet’s been knowin’ - him f’om the beginnin’, not only knowin’ his traits, but how he - _come_ by ’em,—though some is hard to trace to their so’ces,—why, - sir, even we have to study sometimes to keep in with him, an’ of - co’se a teacher—why, it’s thess hit an’ miss whether he’ll take the - right tack with him or not; an’ sometimes one teacher’ll strike it - one day, an’ another nex’ day; so by payin’ schoolin’ for him right - along in all three, why, of co’se, ef he don’t feel like goin’ to - one, why, he’ll go to another. - - Once-t in a while he’ll git out with the whole of ’em, an’ that was - how wife come to open the home school for him. She was determined - his edjercation shouldn’t be interrupted ef she could help it. She - don’t encour’ge him much to go to her school, though, ’cause it - interrupts her in her housekeepin’ consider’ble, an’ she’s had extry - quilt-patchin’ on hand ever since he come. She’s patchin’ him a set - ’ginst the time he’ll marry. - - An’ then I reckon he frets her a good deal in school. Somehow, seems - like he thess picks up enough in the other schools to be able to - conterdic’ her ways o’ teachin’. - - F’ instance, in addin’ up a colume o’ figgers, ef she comes to a - aught—which some calls ’em naughts—she’ll say, “Aught’s a aught,” - an’ Sonny ain’t been learned to say it that a-way; an’ so maybe when - she says, “Aught’s a aught,” he’ll say, “Who said it wasn’t?” an’ - that puts her out in countin’. - - He’s been learned to thess pass over aughts an’ not call their - names; and once-t or twice-t, when wife called ’em out that a-way, - why, he got so fretted he thess gethered up his things an’ went to - another school. But seem like she’s added aughts that a-way so long - she can’t think to add ’em no other way. - - I notice nights after she’s kept school for Sonny all day she talks - consider’ble in her sleep, an’ she says, “Aught’s a aught” about ez - often ez she says anything else. - - Oh, yas, sir; he’s had consider’ble fusses with his teachers, one - way an’ another, but they ever’ one declare they think a heap of - ’im. - - Sir? Oh, yas, sir; of co’se they all draw their reg’lar pay whether - he’s a day in school du’in’ the month or not. That’s right enough, - ’cause you see they don’t know what day he’s li’ble to drop in on - ’em, an’ it’s worth the money thess a-keepin’ their nerves strung - for ’im. - - Well, yas, sir; ’t is toler’ble expensive, lookin’ at it one way, - but lookin’ at it another, it don’t cost no mo’ ’n what it would to - edjercate three child’en, which many poor families have to do—_an’ - more_—which in our united mind Sonny’s worth ’em all. - - Yas, sir; ’t is confusin’ to him in some ways, goin’ to all three - schools at once-t. - - F’ instance, Miss Alviry Sawyer, which she’s a single-handed maiden - lady ’bout wife’s age, why, of co’se, she teaches accordin’ to the - old rules; an’ in learnin’ the child’en subtraction, f’ instance, - she’ll tell ’em, ef they run short to borry one f’om the nex’ lef’ - han’ top figur’, an’ pay it back to the feller underneath him. - - Well, this didn’t suit Sonny’s sense o’ jestice _no way_, borryin’ - from one an’ payin’ back to somebody else; so he thess up an’ argued - about it—told her thet fellers thet borried nickels f’om one another - couldn’t pay back that a-way; an’ of co’se she told him they was - heap o’ difference ’twix’ money and ’rithmetic——which I wish’t they - was more in my experience; an’ so they had it hot and heavy for a - while, till at last she explained to him thet that way of doin’ - subtraction _fetched the answer_, which, of co’se, ought to satisfy - any school-boy; an’ I reckon Sonny would soon ’a’ settled into that - way ’ceptin’ thet he got out o’ patience with that school in sev’al - ways, an’ he left an’ went out to Sandy Crik school, and it thess - happened that he struck a subtraction class there the day he got in, - an’ they was workin’ it the _other_ way—borry one from the top - figur’ an’ never pay it back at all, thess count it off (that’s the - way I’ve worked my lifelong subtraction, though wife does hers - payin’ back), an’ of co’se Sonny was ready to dispute this way, an’ - he didn’t have no mo’ tac’ than to th’ow up Miss Alviry’s way to the - teacher, which of co’se he wouldn’t stand, particular ez Miss - Alviry’s got the biggest school. So they broke up in a row, - immejate, and Sonny went right along to Miss Kellog’s school down - here at the cross-roads. - - She’s a sort o’ reformed teacher, I take it; an’ she gets at her - subtraction by a new route altogether—like ez ef the first feller - thet had any surplus went sort o’ security for them thet was short, - an’ passed the loan down the line. But I noticed he never got his - money back, for when they come to him, why, they docked him. I - reckon goin’ security is purty much the same in an out o’ books. She - passes the borryin’ along some way till it gits to headquarters, an’ - writes a new row o’ figur’s over the heads o’ the others. Well, my - old brain got so addled watchin’ Sonny work it thet I didn’t seem to - know one figur’ f’om another ’fo’ he got thoo; but when I see the - answer come, why, I was satisfied. Ef a man can thess git his - answers right all his life, why nobody ain’t a-goin’ to pester him - about how he worked his figur’s. - - I did try to get Sonny to stick to one school for each rule in - ’rithmetic, an’ havin’ thess fo’ schools, why he could learn each o’ - the fo’ rules by one settled plan. But he won’t promise nothin’. - He’ll quit for lessons one week, and maybe next week somethin’ - else’ll decide him. (He’s quit ever’ one of ’em in turn when they - come to long division.) He went thoo a whole week o’ disagreeable - lessons once-t at one school ’cause he was watchin’ a bird-nest on - the way to that school. He was determined them young birds was to be - allowed to leave that nest without bein’ pestered, an’ they stayed - so long they purty nigh run him into long division ’fo’ they did - fly. Ef he’d ’a’ missed school one day he knowed two sneaky chaps - thet would ’a’ robbed that nest, either goin’ or comin’. - - Of co’se Sonny goes to the exhibitions an’ picnics of all the - schools. Last summer we had a time of it when it come picnic season. - Two schools set the same day for theirs, which of co’se wasn’t no - ways fair to Sonny. He payin’ right along in all the schools, of - co’se he was entitled to all the picnics; so I put on my Sunday - clo’es, an’ I went down an’ had it fixed right. They all wanted - Sonny, too, come down to the truth, ’cause besides bein’ fond of - him, they knowed thet Sonny always fetched a big basket. - - Trouble with Sonny is thet he don’t take nothin’ on nobody’s say-so, - don’t keer who it is. He even commenced to dispute Moses one Sunday - when wife was readin’ the Holy Scriptures to him, tell of co’se she - made him understand thet that wouldn’t do. Moses didn’t intend to - _be_ conterdicted. - - An’ ez to secular lessons, he ain’t got no respec’ for ’em - whatsoever. F’ instance, when the teacher learned him thet the world - was round, why he up an’ told him _’t warn’t so_, less’n we was on - the inside an’ it was blue-lined, which of co’se teacher he insisted - thet we was _on the outside_, walkin’ over it, all feet todes the - center—a thing I’ve always thought myself was mo’ easy said than - proved. - - Well, sir, Sonny didn’t hesitate to deny it, an’ of co’se teacher he - commenced by givin’ him a check—which is a bad mark—for - conterdictin’. An’ then Sonny he ’lowed thet he didn’t conterdic’ to - _be_ a-conterdictin’, but he _knowed_ ’t warn’t so. He had walked - the whole len’th o’ the road ’twix’ the farm an’ the school-house, - an’ they warn’t _no bulge in it_; an’ besides, he hadn’t never saw - over the edges of it. - - An’ with that teacher he give him another check for speakin’ out o’ - turn. An’ then Sonny, says he, “Ef a man was tall enough he could - see around the edges, couldn’t he?” “No,” says the teacher; “a man - couldn’t grow that tall,” says he; “he’d be deformed.” - - An’ Sonny, why, he spoke up again, an’ says he, “But I’m thess - a-sayin’ _ef_,” says he. “An’ teacher,” says he, “we ain’t - a-studyin’ _efs_; we’re studyin’ geoger’phy.” And then Sonny they - say he kep’ still a minute, an’ then he says, says he, “Oh, maybe he - couldn’t see over the edges, teacher, ’cause ef he was tall enough - his head might reach up into the flo’ o’ heaven.” And with that - teacher he give him another check, an’ told him not to dare to mix - up geoger’phy an’ religion, which was a sackerlege to both studies; - an’ with that Sonny gethered up his books an’ set out to another - school. - - I think myself it ’u’d be thess ez well ef Sonny wasn’t quite so - quick to conterdic’; but it’s thess his way of holdin’ his p’int. - - Why, one day he faced one o’ the teachers down thet two an’ two - didn’t _haf_ to make _fo’_, wh’er or no. - - This seemed to tickle the teacher mightily, an’ so he laughed an’ - told him he was goin’ to give him rope enough to hang hisself now, - an’ then he dared him to show him any two an’ two thet didn’t make - fo’, and Sonny says, says he, “Heap o’ two an’ twos don’t make four, - ’cause they’re kep’ sep’rate,” says he. - - “An’ then,” says he, “I don’t want my two billy-goats harnessed up - with nobody else’s two billys to make fo’ billys.” - - “But,” says the teacher, “suppose I _was_ to harness up yo’ two - goats with Tom Deems’s two, there’d be fo’ goats, I reckon, whether - you wanted ’em there or not.” - - “No they wouldn’t,” says Sonny. “They wouldn’t be but two. ’T - wouldn’t take my team more ’n half a minute to butt the life out o’ - Tom’s team.” - - An’ with that little Tommy Deems, why, he commenced to cry, an’ - ’stid o’ punishin’ him for bein’ sech a cry-baby, what did the - teacher do but give Sonny another check, for castin’ slurs on - Tommy’s animals, an’ gettin’ Tommy’s feelin’s hurted! Which I ain’t - a-sayin’ it on account o’ Sonny bein’ my boy, but it seems to me was - a mighty unfair advantage. - - No boy’s feelin’s ain’t got no right to be that tender—an’ a goat is - the last thing on earth thet could be injured by a word of mouth. - - Sonny’s pets an’ beasts has made a heap o’ commotion in school one - way an’ another, somehow. Ef ’t ain’t his goats it’s somethin’ else. - - Sir? Sonny’s pets? Oh, they’re all sorts. He ain’t no ways - partic’lar thess so a thing is po’ an’ miser’ble enough. That’s - about all he seems to require of anything. - - He don’t never go to school hardly ’thout a garter-snake or two or a - lizard or a toad-frog somewheres about him. He’s got some o’ the - little girls at school that nervous thet if he thess shakes his - little sleeve at ’em they’ll squeal, not knowin’ what sort o’ live - critter’ll jump out of it. - - Most of his pets is things he’s got by their bein’ hurted some way. - - One of his toad-frogs is blind of a eye. Sonny rescued him from the - old red rooster one day after he had nearly pecked him to death, an’ - he had him hoppin’ round the kitchen for about a week with one eye - bandaged up. - - When a hurted critter gits good an’ strong he gen’ally turns it - loose ag’in; but ef it stays puny, why he reg’lar ’dopts it an’ - names it Jones. That’s thess a little notion o’ his, namin’ his pets - the family name. - - The most outlandish thing he ever ’dopted, to my mind, is that old - yaller cat. That was a miser’ble low-down stray cat thet hung round - the place a whole season, an’ Sonny used to vow he was goin’ to kill - it, ’cause it kep’ a-ketchin’ the birds. - - Well, one day he happened to see him thess runnin’ off with a young - mockin’-bird in his mouth, an’ he took a brickbat an’ he let him - have it, an’ of co’se he dropped the bird an’ tumbled over—stunted. - The bird it got well, and Sonny turned him loose after a few days; - but that cat was hurted fatal. He couldn’t never no mo’ ’n drag - hisself around from that day to this; an’ I reckon ef Sonny was - called on to give up every pet he’s got, that cat would be ’bout the - last thing he’d surrender. He named him Tommy Jones, an’ he never - goes to school of a mornin’, rain or shine, till Tommy Jones is fed - f’om his own plate with somethin’ he’s left for him special. - - Of co’se Sonny he’s got his faults, which anybody’ll tell you; but - th’ ain’t a dumb brute on the farm but’ll foller him around—an’ - Dicey, why, she thinks they never was such another boy born into the - world—that is, not no human child. - - An’ wife an’ me— - - But of co’se he’s ours. - - I don’t doubt thet he ain’t constructed thess exac’ly ez the - school-teachers would have him, ef they had their way. Sometimes I - have thought I’d like his disposition eased up a little, myself, - when he taken a stand ag’in my jedgment or wife’s. - - Takin’ ’em all round, though, the teachers has been mighty patient - with him. - - At one school the teacher did take him out behind the school-house - one day to whup him; an’ although teacher is a big strong man, - Sonny’s mighty wiry an’ quick, an’ some way he slipped his holt, an’ - ’fo’ teacher could ketch him ag’in he had clumb up the lightnin’-rod - on to the roof thess like a cat. An’ teacher he felt purty shore of - him then, ’cause he ’lowed they wasn’t no other way to git down - (which they wasn’t, the school bein’ a steep-sided buildin’), an’ - he’d wait for him. - - So teacher he set down close-t to the lightnin’-rod to wait. He - wouldn’t go back in school without him, cause he didn’t want the - child’en to know he’d got away. So down he set; but he hadn’t no mo’ - ’n took his seat sca’cely when he heerd the child’en in school - roa’in’ out loud, laughin’ fit to kill theirselves. - - He ’lowed at first thet like ez not the monitor was cuttin’ up some - sort o’ didoes, the way monitors does gen’ally, so he waited - a-while; but it kep’ a-gittin’ worse, so d’rectly he got up, an’ he - went in to see what the excitement was about; an’ lo and beholt! - Sonny had slipped down the open chimbly right in amongst ’em—come - out a-grinnin’, with his face all sooted over, an’, says he, “Say, - fellers,” says he, “I run up the lightnin’-rod, an’ he’s a-waitin’ - for me to come down.” An’ with that he went an’ gethered up his - books, deliberate, an’ fetched his hat, an’ picked up a nest o’ - little chimbly-swallows he had dislodged in comin’ down (all this - here it happened thess las’ June), an’ he went out an’ harnessed up - his goat-wagon, an’ got in. An’ thess ez he driv’ out the - school-yard into the road the teacher come in, an’ he see how things - was. - - Of co’se sech conduct ez that is worrisome, but I don’t see no, to - say, bad principle in it. Sonny ain’t got a bad habit on earth, not - a-one. They’ll ever’ one o’ the teachers tell you that. He ain’t - never been knowed to lie, an’ ez for improper language, why he - wouldn’t know how to select it. An’ ez to tattlin’ at home about - what goes on in school, why, he never has did it. The only way we - knowed about him comin’ down the school-house chimbly was wife went - to fetch his dinner to him, an’ she found it out. - - She knowed he had went to that school in the mornin’, an’ when she - got there at twelve o’clock, why he wasn’t there, an’ of co’se she - questioned the teacher, an’ he thess told her thet Sonny had been - present at the mornin’ session, but thet he was now absent. An’ the - rest of it she picked out o’ the child’en. - - Oh, no, sir; she don’t take his dinner to him reg’lar—only some days - when she happens to have somethin’ extry good, or maybe when she - ’magines he didn’t eat hearty at breakfast. The school-child’en they - always likes to see her come, because she gen’ally takes a extry lot - o’ fried chicken thess for him to give away. He don’t keer much for - nothin’ but livers an’ gizzards, so we have to kill a good many to - get enough for him; an’ of co’se the fryin’ o’ the rest of it is - mighty little trouble. - - Sonny is a bothersome child one way: he don’t never want to take his - dinner to school with him. Of co’se thess after eatin’ breakfas’ he - don’t feel hungry, an’ when wife does coax him to take it, he’ll - seem to git up a appetite walkin’ to school, an’ he’ll eat it up - ’fo’ he gits there. - - Sonny’s got a mighty noble disposition, though, take him all round. - - Now, the day he slipped down that chimbly an’ run away he wasn’t a - bit flustered, an’ he didn’t play hookey the balance of the day - neither. He thess went down to the crik, an’ washed the soot off his - face, though they say he didn’t no more ’n smear it round, an’ then - he went down to Miss Phœbe’s school, an’ stayed there till it was - out. An’ she took him out to the well, an’ washed his face good for - him. But nex’ day he up an’ went back to Mr. Clark’s school—walked - in thess ez pleasant an’ kind, an’ taken his seat an’ said his - lessons—never th’owed it up to teacher at all. Now, some child’en, - after playin’ off on a teacher that a-way would a’ took advantage, - but he never. It was a fair fight, an’ Sonny whupped, an’ that’s all - there was to it; an’ he never put on no air about it. - - Wife did threaten to go herself an’ make the teacher apologize for - gittin’ the little feller all sooted up an’ sp’ilin’ his clo’es; but - she thought it over, an’ she decided thet she wouldn’t disturb - things ez long ez they was peaceful. An’, after all, he didn’t - exac’ly send him down the chimbly nohow, though he provoked him to - it. - - Ef Sonny had ’a’ fell an’ hurted hisself, though, in that chimbly, - I’d ’a’ helt that teacher responsible, shore. - - Sonny says hisself thet the only thing he feels bad about in that - chimbly business is thet one o’ the little swallers’ wings was broke - by the fall. Sonny’s got him yet, an’ he’s li’ble to keep him, cause - he’ll never fly. Named him Swally Jones, an’ reg’lar ’dopted him - soon ez he see how his wing was. - - Sonny’s the only child I ever see in my life thet could take young - chimbly-swallers after their fall an’ make ’em live. But he does it - reg’lar. They ain’t a week passes sca’cely but he fetches in some - hurted critter an’ works with it. Dicey says thet half the time - she’s afeered to step around her cookstove less’n she’ll step on - some critter thet’s crawled back to life where he’s put it under the - stove to hatch or thaw out, which she bein’ bare-feeted, I don’t - wonder at. - - An’ he has did the same way at school purty much. It got so for - a-while at one school thet not a child in school could be hired to - put his hand in the wood-box, not knowin’ ef any piece o’ bark or - old wood in it would turn out to be a young alligator or toad-frog - thawin’ out. Teacher hisself picked up a chip, reckless, one day, - an’ it hopped up, and knocked off his spectacles. Of co’se it wasn’t - no chip. Hopper-toad frog an’ wood-bark chips, why, they favors - consider’ble—lay ’em same side up. - - It was on account o’ her takin’ a interest in all his little beasts - an’ varmints thet he first took sech a notion to Miss Phœbe Kellog’s - school. Where any other teacher would scold about sech things ez - he’d fetch in, why, she’d encourage him to bring ’em to her; an’ - she’d fix a place for ’em, an’ maybe git out some book tellin’ all - about ’em, an’ showin’ pictures of ’em. - - She’s had squir’l-books, an’ bird-books, an’ books on nearly every - sort o’ wild critter you’d think too mean to _put_ into a book, at - that school, an’ give the child’en readin’-lessons on ’em an’ - drawin’-lessons an’ clay-moldin’ lessons. - - Why, Sonny has did his alligator so nach’l in clay thet you’d most - expec’ to see it creep away. An’ you’d think mo’ of alligators - forever afterward, too. An’ ez to readin’, he never did take no - interest in learnin’ how to read out ’n them school-readers, which - he declares don’t no more ’n git a person interested in one thing - befo’ they start on another, an’ maybe start _that_ in the middle. - - The other teachers, they makes a heap o’ fun o’ Miss Phœbe’s way o’ - school-teachin’, ’cause she lets the child’en ask all sorts of - outlandish questions, an’ make pictures in school hours, an’ she - don’t requi’ ’em to fold their arms in school, neither. - - Maybe she is foolin’ their time away. I can’t say ez I exac’ly see - how she’s a workin’ it to edjercate ’em that a-way. I had to set - with my arms folded eight hours a day in school when I was a boy, to - learn the little I know, an’ wife she got her edjercation the same - way. An’ we went clean thoo f’om the _a-b abs_ an’ _e-b ebs_ clair - to the end o’ the blue-back speller. - - An’ we learned to purnounce a heap mo’ words than either one of us - has ever needed to know, though there has been times, sech ez when - my wife’s mother took the phthisic an’ I had the asthma, thet I was - obligated to write to the doctor about it, thet I was thankful for - my experience in the blue-back speller. Them was our brag-words, - phthisic and asthma was. They’s a few other words I’ve always hoped - to have a chance to spell in the reg’lar co’se of life, sech ez - y-a-c-h-t, yacht, but I suppose, livin’ in a little inland town, - which a yacht is a boat, a person couldn’t be expected to need sech - a word—less’n he went travelin’. - - I’ve often thought thet ef at the Jedgment the good Lord would only - examine me an’ all them thet went to school in my day, in the old - blue-back speller ’stid o’ tacklin’ us on the weak p’ints of our - pore mortal lives, why, we’d stand about ez good a chance o’ gettin’ - to heaven ez anybody else. An’ maybe He will—who knows? - - But ez for book-readin’, wife an’ me ain’t never felt called on to - read no book save an’ exceptin’ the Holy Scriptures—an’, of co’se, - the seed catalogues. - - An’ here Sonny, not quite twelve year old, has read five books thoo, - an’ some of ’em twice-t an’ three times over. His _Robinson Crusoe_ - shows mo’ wear ’n tear ’n what my Testament does, I’m ashamed to - say. I’ve done give Miss Phœbe free license to buy him any book she - wants him to have, an’ he’s got ’em all ’ranged in a row on the end - o’ the mantel-shelf. - - Quick ez he’d git thoo readin’ a book, of co’se wife she’d be for - dustin’ it off and puttin’ up on the top closet shelf where a book - nach’ally belongs; but seem like Sonny he wants to keep ’em in - sight. So wife she’s worked a little lace shelf-cover to lay under - ’em, an’ we’ve hung our framed marriage-c’tificate above ’em, an’ - the corner looks right purty, come to see it fixed up. - - Sir? Oh, no; we ain’t took him from none o’ the other schools yet. - He’s been goin’ to Miss Phœbe’s reg’lar now—all but the exhibition - an’ picnic days in the other schools—for nearly five months, not - countin’ off-an’-on days he went to her befo’ he settled down to it - stiddy. - - He says he’s a-goin’ there reg’lar from this time on, an’ I b’lieve - he will; but wife an’ me we talked it over, an’ we decided we’d let - things stand, an’ keep his name down on all the books till sech a - time ez he come to long division with Miss Kellog. - - An’ ef he stays thoo that, we’ll feel free to notify the other - schools thet he’s quit. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - HER FIRST HORSE SHOW - By DAVID GRAY - - - SHE folded the program carefully for preservation in her - memory-book, and devoured the scene with her eyes. It was hard to - believe, but unquestionably Angelica Stanton, in the flesh, was in - Madison Square Garden at the horse show. The great arena was - crowded; the band was playing, and a four-in-hand was swinging - around the tan-bark ring. - - What had been her dream since she put away her dolls and the - flea-bitten pony was realized. The pony had been succeeded by Lady - Washington, and with Lady Washington opened the epoch when she began - to hunt with the grown-up people and to reflect upon the outside - world. From what she had gathered from the men in the hunting-field, - the outside world seemed to center in the great horse show, and most - of what was interesting and delightful in life took place there. - - Besides the obvious profit of witnessing this institution, there had - arisen, later on, more serious considerations which led Angelica to - take an interest in it. Since the disappearance of Lady Washington - and the failure to trace her, Angelica’s hope was in the show. - - One of the judges who had visited Jim had unwittingly laid the bases - of this hope. “All the best performers in America are exhibited - there,” he had said in the course of an interminable discussion upon - the great subject. And was not Lady Washington probably the best? - Clearly, therefore, soon or late Lady Washington would be found - winning blue ribbons at Madison Square Garden. - - To this cheering conclusion the doubting Thomas within her replied - that so desirable a miracle could never be; and she cherished the - doubt, though rather to provoke contrary fate into refuting it than - because it embodied her convictions. She knew that some day Lady - Washington must come back. - - After Jim had sold Lady Washington, he had been informed by Chloe, - the parlor-maid, how Angelica felt, and he repented his act. He had - tried to buy the mare back, but the man to whom he had sold her had - sold her to a dealer, and he had sold her to somebody who had gone - abroad, and no one knew what this person had done with her. So Lady - Washington had disappeared, and Angelica mourned for her. Two years - passed, two years that were filled with doubt and disappointment. - Each autumn Jim went North with his horses, but never suggested - taking Angelica. As for Angelica, the subject was too near her heart - for her to broach it. Thus it seemed that life was slipping away, - harshly withholding opportunity. - - That November, for reasons of his own, Jim decided to take Angelica - along with him. When he told her of his intention, she gasped, but - made no demonstration. On the threshold of fulfilling her hope she - was afraid to exult: she knew how things are snatched away the - moment one begins to count upon them; but inwardly she was happy to - the point of apprehension. On the trip North she “knocked wood” - scrupulously every time she was lured into a day-dream which - pictured the finding of Lady Washington, and thus she gave the evil - forces of destiny no opening. - - The first hour of the show overwhelmed her. It was too splendid and - mystifying to be comprehended immediately, or to permit a divided - attention. Even Lady Washington dropped out of her thoughts, but - only until the jumping classes began. The first hunter that trotted - across the tan-bark brought her back to her quest. - - But after two days the mystery was no more a mystery, and the - splendor had faded out. The joy of it had faded out, too. For two - days she had pored over the entry-lists and had studied every horse - that entered the ring; but the search for Lady Washington had been a - vain one. Furthermore, all the best horses by this time had appeared - in some class, and the chances of Lady Washington’s turning up - seemed infinitesimal. Reluctantly she gave up hope. She explained it - to herself that probably there had been a moment of vainglorious - pride when she had neglected to “knock wood.” She would have liked - to discuss it with somebody; but Chloe and her colored mammy, who - understood such matters, were at the “Pines” in Virginia, and Jim - would probably laugh at her; so she maintained silence and kept her - despair to herself. - - It was the evening of the third day, and she was at the show again, - dressed in her habit, because she was going to ride. Her brother was - at the other end of the Garden, hidden by a row of horses. He was - waiting to show in a class of park hacks. There was nothing in it - that looked like Lady Washington, and she turned her eyes away from - the ring with a heavy heart. The band had stopped playing, and there - was no one to talk to but her aunt’s maid, and this maid was not - companionable. She fell to watching the people in the boxes; she - wished that she knew some of them. There was a box just below her - which looked attractive. There were two pretty women in it, and some - men who looked as if they were nice; they were laughing and seemed - to be having a good time. She wished she was with them, or home, or - anywhere else than where she was. - - Presently the music struck up again; the hum of the innumerable - voices took a higher pitch. The ceaseless current of promenaders - staring and bowing at the boxes went slowly around and around. - Nobody paid any attention to the horses, but all jostled and - chattered and craned their necks to see the people. When her - brother’s Redgauntlet took the blue ribbon in the heavy-weight - green-hunter class, not a person in the whole Garden applauded - except herself. She heard a man ask, “What took the blue?” And she - heard his friend answer, “Southern horse, I believe; don’t know the - owner.” They didn’t even know Jim! She would have left the place and - gone back to her aunt’s for a comfortable cry, but she was going to - ride Hilda in the ladies’ saddle class, which came toward the end of - the evening. - - The next thing on the program were some qualified hunters which - might be expected to show some good jumping. This was something to - be thankful for, and she turned her attention to the ring. - - “I think I’ll go down on the floor,” she said to the maid. “I’m - tired of sitting still.” - - In theory Miss Angelica Stanton was at the horse show escorted by - her brother; but in fact she was in the custody of Caroline, the - maid of her aunt Henrietta Cushing, who lived in Washington Square. - Miss Cushing was elderly, and she disapproved of the horse show - because her father had been a charter member of the Society for the - Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and because to go to it in the - afternoon interfered with her drive and with her tea, while to go to - it in the evening interfered with her whist, and that was not to be - thought of. Consequently, when Angelica arrived, the horse show - devolved upon Caroline, who accepted the situation not altogether - with resignation. She had done Miss Cushing’s curls for twenty - years, and had absorbed her views. - - Angelica would have preferred stopping at the hotel with Jim; but - that, he said, was out of the question. Jim admitted that Aunt - Henrietta was never intentionally entertaining, but he said that - Angelica needed her womanly influence. Jim had brought up Angelica, - and the problem sometimes seemed a serious one. She was now sixteen, - and he was satisfied that she was going to be a horsewoman, but at - times he doubted whether his training was adequate in other - respects, and that was why he had brought her to the horse show and - had incarcerated her at Aunt Henrietta’s. - - The girl led Caroline through the crowd, and took a position at the - end, between the first and last jumps. As the horses were shown, - they went round the ring, came back, and finished in front of them. - It was the best place from which to watch, if one wished to see the - jumping. - - Angelica admitted to herself that some of the men rode pretty well, - but not as well as some of the men rode at their out-of-door shows - at home; and the tan-bark was not as good as turf. It was a large - class, and after eight or ten had been shown, a striking-looking - black mare came out of the line and started plunging and rearing - toward the first jump. Her rider faced her at the bars, and she - minced reluctantly forward. Just before they reached the wings the - man struck her. She stopped short and whirled back into the ring. - - From the time the black mare appeared Angelica’s heart almost - stopped beating. “I’m sure of it, I’m sure of it!” she gasped. - “Three white feet and the star. Caroline,” she said, “that’s Lady - Washington. He oughtn’t to strike her. He mustn’t!” - - “Hush, miss,” said Caroline. “We’ll be conspicuous.” - - The man was bringing the mare back toward the jump. As before, he - used his whip, intending to drive her into the wings, and, as - before, she stopped, reared angrily, wheeled about, and came back - plunging. The man quieted her after a little, and turned her again - toward the hurdle. It was his last chance. She came up sulkily, - tossing her head and edging away from the bars. As he got near the - wings he raised his whip again. Then the people in that part of the - Garden heard a girl’s shrill, excited voice cry out: “You mustn’t - hit her! Steady, Lady Washington! Drop your curb!” The black mare’s - ears went forward at the sound of the voice. The young man on her - back put down his uplifted whip and loosened the rein on the bit. He - glanced around with an embarrassed smile, and the next instant he - was over the jump, and the mare was galloping for the hurdle beyond. - - Suddenly Angelica became conscious that several thousand people were - staring at her with looks of wonder and amusement. Caroline clutched - her arm and dragged her away from the rail. The girl colored, and - shook herself free. - - “I don’t care,” she said. “He shouldn’t have hit her. She can jump - anything if she’s ridden right. I knew we’d find her,” she muttered - excitedly. “I knew it!” - - Caroline struggled desperately through the crowd with her charge. - - “Whatever will Miss Cushing say!” she gasped. - - Angelica forgot the crowd. “I don’t care,” she said. “If Aunt - Henrietta had ever owned Lady Washington she’d have done the same - thing. And if you tell her I’ll pay you back. She’ll know that you - let me leave my seat, and she told you not to.” This silenced - Caroline. - - “There! He’s fussed her mouth again,” she went on. The black mare - had refused, and was rearing at the jump next the last. The girl - stood on tiptoe and watched impatiently for a moment. - - “There she goes,” she murmured, with a sigh. The judges had ordered - the horse out. - - Angelica tagged along disconsolately through the crowd till a - conversation between two men who were leaning against the rail - caught her ear. - - “I wonder who that little girl was,” said one. “The mare seemed to - know her voice, but Reggie doesn’t call her Lady Washington.” - - “No—Hermione,” said the other. “He may have changed it, though,” he - added. “He gives them all names beginning with H.” - - “You’ll have an easy time beating him in the five-foot-six jumps,” - said the first man. “It’s a good mare, but he can’t ride her.” - - Angelica wondered who they were, but they turned around just then, - and she dropped her eyes and hurried after Caroline. - - As they made their way through the crowd, a nudge from the maid took - her thoughts from Lady Washington. She had been wondering how she - would find the young man who had ridden her. She looked up and saw - that a man was bowing to her. It was Mr. “Billy” Livingstone. Mr. - Livingstone was nearly sixty, but he had certain qualities of - permanent youth which made him “Billy” to three generations. - - “Hello, Angelica!” he exclaimed. “When did you turn up? How you’ve - grown!” - - “I came up North with Jim,” she replied. - - “You should have let me know,” he said. “You know Jim never writes - any one. This is the first time I’ve been here. I’m just back from - the country. Where’s your box—that is, who are you with?” - - “I’m here with my maid,” said Angelica, with a somewhat conscious - dignity. “Jim is with the horses.” - - Livingstone looked from the slender girl to the substantial - Caroline, and the corners of his mouth twitched. - - “I prefer to be alone this way,” she explained. “It’s more - independent.” - - Mr. Livingstone thought a moment. “Of course that’s so,” he said. - “But I think I’ve got a better plan; let’s hunt up Mrs. Dicky - Everett.” - - “Is she an old woman?” asked Angelica. - - “Not so terribly old,” said Mr. Livingstone. “I suppose you’d call - her middle-aged.” - - “Thirty?” asked Angelica. - - “Near it, I’m afraid,” he answered. - - “Well, I don’t know,” said Angelica. “That’s pretty old. She won’t - have anything to say to me.” - - “She knows something about a horse,” said Livingstone, “though, of - course, she can’t ride the way you do. If you find her stupid, I’ll - take you away; but I want you to come because she will be very nice - to me for bringing you.” - - He turned to Caroline. “I’m a friend of Miss Stanton’s brother. Go - to your seat, and I’ll bring Miss Stanton back to you.” - - Then he led the way up the stairs, and Angelica followed, wondering - what sort of person Mrs. “Dicky” Everett might be. - - She cheered herself with the thought that she could not be any older - or more depressing than Aunt Henrietta, and if she was fond of - horses she might know who owned Lady Washington. - - Livingstone consulted his program. “It’s down on this side,” he - said. She followed him mechanically, with her eyes wandering toward - the ring, till presently they stopped. - - “Hello!” she heard them call to Livingstone, as he stepped in ahead - of her, and the next moment she realized that she was in the very - box which she had watched from her seat among the chairs. - - “I want to present you to my friend Miss Stanton,” Livingstone said. - He repeated the names, but they made no impression upon her, because - there, standing in front of her, was the young man who had ridden - Lady Washington. - - “You seem to know each other,” said Livingstone. “Am I wasting my - breath? Is this a joke?” - - He looked at Angelica. She was speechless with mixed joy and - embarrassment. - - “Come here, my dear,” said one of the two pretty women, “and sit - down beside me. Miss Stanton,” she went on to Livingstone, “very - kindly tried to teach Reggie how to ride Hermione, and we are glad - to have the chance to thank her.” - - “I don’t understand at all,” said Livingstone. “But there are so - many things that I shall never understand that one more makes no - difference.” - - Angelica’s self-confidence began to come back. - - “Why, he was riding Lady Washington with a whip,” she explained. - “And I just called out to him not to. You remember Lady - Washington,—she was a four-year-old when you were at the Pines,—and - you know you never could touch her with a whip.” - - “I remember very well,” said Livingstone. “You flattered me by - offering to let me ride her, an offer which, I think, I declined. - When did you sell her?” - - “Two years ago,” said Angelica. - - Then the other young woman spoke. “But how did you recognize the - horse?” she asked. “You haven’t seen it for two years.” - - “Recognize her!” exclaimed Angelica. “I guess if you had ever owned - Lady Washington you would have recognized her. I broke her as a - two-year-old, and schooled her myself. Jim says she’s the best mare - we ever had.” Angelica looked at the woman pityingly. She was - sweet-looking and had beautiful clothes, but she was evidently a - goose. - - “Miss Stanton won the high jump with the mare,” Livingstone - remarked, “at their hunt show down in Virginia.” - - “It was only six feet,” said the girl, “but she can do better than - that. Jim wouldn’t let me ride her at anything bigger.” - - “I should hope not,” said the lady by whose side she was sitting. - Then she asked suddenly, “You are not Jimmie Stanton’s sister?” - - “Yes,” said Angelica. - - “I’d like to know why he hasn’t brought you to see me!” - - “He’s awfully busy with the horses,” the girl replied. “He has to - stop at the Waldorf and see about the show with the men, and he - makes me stay with Aunt Henrietta Cushing.” She stopped abruptly. - She was afraid that what she had said might sound disloyal. “I like - to stop with Aunt Henrietta,” she added solemnly. “Besides, I’ve - been busy looking for Lady Washington.” - - The young man whom they called Reggie, together with Mr. Livingstone - and the lady beside Angelica, laughed openly at this allusion to - Miss Cushing. - - “Do you know her?” asked Angelica. - - “Oh, everybody knows your Aunt Henrietta,” said the lady. - - “And loves her,” added Livingstone, solemnly. - - The lady laughed a little. “You see, she’s connected with nearly - everybody. She’s a sort of connection of Reggie’s and mine, so I - suppose we’re sort of cousins of yours. I hope you will like us.” - - “I don’t know much about my relations on my mother’s side,” Angelica - observed. The distinction between connections and relatives had - never been impressed upon her. She was about to add that Jim said - that his New York relatives tired him, but caught herself. She - paused uneasily. - - “Please excuse me,” she said, “but I didn’t hear Mr. Livingstone - introduce me to you.” - - “Why,” said Livingstone, who overheard, “this is Mrs. Everett. I - told you we were coming into her box. - - “I thought she must have stepped out,” said Angelica. “You told me - she was middle-aged.” - - A peal of laughter followed. - - “Angelica! Angelica!” Livingstone exclaimed. - - “But you did,” said Angelica. “I asked you if she was an old lady, - and you said, ‘Not so terribly old—middle-aged.’ And she’s not; - she’s young.” - - “Things can never be as they were before,” said Livingstone, - mournfully, as the laughter died away. - - “No,” said Mrs. Everett. - - There was a pause, and one of the men turned to Reggie. “What are - you going to do about the five-foot-six jumps?” - - “Let it go,” said Reggie. - - “It’s a pity,” said the other. “If you had met Miss Stanton earlier - in the evening, I think she could have taught you to ride that mare. - I wanted to see you win your bet.” - - “Bet?” said Livingstone. - - “Reggie’s such an idiot,” said Mrs. Everett. “He bet Tommy Post that - Hermione would beat his chestnut in the five-foot-six jumps, and - Reggie can’t make Hermione jump at all, so he’s lost.” - - “Not yet; I’ve got a chance,” said Reggie, good-naturedly. “Perhaps - I’ll go in, after all.” The other men laughed. - - “I should think you had made monkey enough of yourself for one - evening,” observed Palfrey, who was his best friend and could say - such things. - - “Five feet six would be easy for Lady Washington,” said Angelica. “I - can’t get used to calling her by that new name.” She hesitated a - moment with embarrassment, and then she stammered: “Why don’t you - let _me_ ride her?” - - The people in the box looked aghast. - - “I’m afraid it wouldn’t do,” said Reggie, seriously. “It’s awfully - good of you, but, you see, it wouldn’t look well to put a lady on - that horse. Suppose something should happen?” - - “Good of me!” the girl exclaimed. “I’d love it! I want to ride her - again so much!” - - “Well,” said Reggie, “I’ll have her at the park for you tomorrow - morning. You can ride her whenever you like.” - - A low cry of alarm ran through the Garden, and the conversation in - the box hushed. A tandem cart had tipped over, and the wheeler was - kicking it to pieces. - - “I don’t like that sort of thing,” said Mrs. Everett, with a - shudder. - - They finally righted the trap, and the driver limped off to show - that he was not hurt. The great crowd seemed to draw a long breath - of relief, and the even hum of voices went on again. The judges - began to award the ribbons, and Angelica looked down at her program. - - “Dear me!” she exclaimed. “The saddle class I’m going to ride in is - next. I’m afraid I’ll be late. Good-by.” - - “Good-by,” they all replied. - - “Don’t you come,” she said to Livingstone. “It’s just a step.” - - “I must keep my word with Caroline,” he answered, and he took her to - her seat. - - “She’s immense, isn’t she?” he said, as he came back. “I’m glad - Reggie didn’t let her ride that brute. She will be killed one of - these days.” - - “She’s going to be a great beauty,” said Mrs. Everett. - - “She looks like her blessed mother,” said Livingstone. “I was very - fond of her mother. I think that if it hadn’t been for Stanton—” - - “Stop!” interrupted Mrs. Everett. “Your heart-tragedies are too - numerous. Besides, if you _had_ married her you wouldn’t be here - trying to tell us why you didn’t.” And they all laughed, and - cheerfully condemned the judging of the tandem class. - - * * * * * - - The negro groom who had come up with the Stanton horses met Angelica - as she was going down-stairs into the basement where the stalls - were. Jim had not appeared, so Angelica and Caroline had started off - alone. - - “Hilda’s went lame behind, Miss Angie,” the man said. “She must have - cast huhself. They ain’t no use to show huh.” - - Ordinarily this calamity would have disturbed Angelica, but the - discovery of Lady Washington was a joy which could not be dimmed. - - “Have you told my brother?” she asked. - - “Yes, Miss Angie,” said the man. “He was gwine to tell you.” - - “I want to see her,” said Angelica, and they went on toward the - stall. But what Angelica most wanted was to get among the horses and - look for a certain black mare. - - Hilda was very lame, and there was fever in the hock. Angelica - patted her neck, and turned away with a side glance at Caroline, - who, she feared, would rebel at being led through the horses’ - quarters. She walked down the row of stalls till she came to the - corner, then up through another passage till she stopped at a big - box-stall over the side of which stretched a black head set on a - long, thoroughbred-looking neck. - - The small, fine ears, the width between the eyes, the square little - muzzle, were familiar; and there was a white star on the forehead. - But Angelica did not enumerate these things. Horses to her had - personalities and faces, just as people had them. She recognized - Lady Washington as she had recognized Mr. Livingstone. She made a - little exclamation, and, standing on tiptoe, put her arms about the - mare’s neck, and kissed it again and again. - - “The dear! She remembers me!” the girl said, wiping her eyes. “It’s - Lady Washington,” she explained to Caroline. She reached up to - fondle the little muzzle, and the mare nipped playfully. - - “Look out, miss,” called the stable-boy, who was sitting on a - soap-box; “she’s mean.” - - “She’s no such thing,” said the girl. - - “Oh, ain’t she?” said the boy. - - “Well, if she is, you made her so,” retorted Angelica. - - The boy grinned. “I ain’t only been in the stable two weeks,” he - said. “She caught me on the second day and nigh broke me leg. You - see her act in the ring? Mr. Haughton says he won’t ride her no - more, and she’s entered in the five-foot-six jumps.” - - The girl looked thoughtfully at the boy and then at the horse. An - idea had come to her. She was reflecting upon the last words Mr. - Haughton had spoken before she left the box: “_You can ride her - whenever you like_.” - - “I know,” she said aloud. “I’m going to ride her in that class. I’m - Miss Stanton. I used to own her, you know. My saddle is down there - with Mr. Stanton’s horses, and I want you to go and get it.” - - “Oh, never, Miss Angelica!” exclaimed Caroline. “Dear me, not that!” - - “You hush,” said Angelica. - - The stable-boy looked at her incredulously. “I ain’t had no orders, - miss,” he said. “I’ll have to see William. Did Mr. Haughton say you - might?” - - “Of course he said I might,” she replied. - - The boy said no more and went off after William. - - “Of course he said I might,” she repeated half aloud. “Didn’t he say - I might ride her ‘whenever I wanted to’? ‘Whenever’ is any time, and - I want to now.” She fortified herself behind this sophistry, but she - was all in a flutter lest Jim or Mr. Haughton should appear. The - thought, however, of being on Lady Washington’s back, and showing - people that she wasn’t sulky and bad-tempered, was a temptation too - strong to be resisted. - - The boy came back with the head groom, to whom he had explained the - matter. - - “Why, miss,” said William, “she’d kill you. I wouldn’t want to show - her myself. Mr. Haughton, miss, must have been joking. Honest, miss, - you couldn’t ride Hermione.” The man was respectful but firm. - - “Think what Miss Cushing would say,” said Caroline. - - “But I tell you I can,” retorted Angelica. She paid no attention to - Caroline; her temper flashed up. “You don’t seem to understand. I - owned that mare when she was Lady Washington, and broke her all - myself, and schooled her, too. Mr. Haughton hasn’t any ‘hands,’ and - he ought to know better than to raise a whip on her.” - - William grinned at the unvarnished statement about his master’s - “hands.” - - “Are you the young lady what called out to him in the ring?” he - asked. - - “Yes, I am,” said Angelica. “And if he’d done what I told him to she - would have won. Here’s our Emanuel,” she went on. “He’ll tell you I - can ride her. Emanuel,” she demanded, as the negro approached, - “haven’t I ridden Lady Washington?” - - “You jest have, Miss Angie,” said Emanuel. “Why,” said he, turning - to William, “this heah young lady have rode that maah ovah six feet. - She done won the high jump at ouah hunt show. That’s Lady Washington - all right,” he went on, looking at the head poked out over the - stall. “I got huh maahk on mah ahm foh to remembah huh.” - - The stable-boy grinned. - - “Well, she never bit me,” said Angelica. - - “The young lady,” said William, doubtfully, “wants to ride her in - the five-foot-six class. She says Mr. Haughton said she might.” - - “Oh, Miss Angelica,” interposed Caroline, “you’ll be kilt!” - - “You’re a goose,” said Angelica. “I’ve ridden her hundreds of - times.” - - “I don’t know how Mistah Jim would like it,” said Emanuel; “but she - could ride that maah all right, you jest bet.” - - William was getting interested. He was not so concerned about Mr. - Stanton’s likes as he was that his stable should take some ribbons. - - “Mr. Haughton said you might ride her?” he repeated. - - “Of course he did,” said Angelica; “I just left him in Mrs. - Everett’s box, and I’ve got my own saddle and everything.” - - “All right, miss,” said William. “Get the saddle, Tim.” - - William did not believe that Mr. Haughton had given any such orders, - but he had gotten into trouble not long before by refusing to give a - mount to a friend of Haughton’s whom he did not know and who came - armed only with verbal authority. He knew that if any harm was done - he could hide behind that occurrence. - - “I want a double-reined snaffle,” said Angelica. “Emanuel,” she - added, “you have the bit I used to ride her with. Bring my own - bridle.” - - “I’m afraid you won’t be able to hold her, miss,” muttered William; - “but it’s as you say. Hurry up with that saddle,” he called to the - stable-boy. “We ain’t got no time to lose. They’re callin’ the class - now. You’re number two, miss; I’ll get your number for you.” - - “You’ll be kilt! You’ll be kilt!” said Caroline, dolefully. “Think - what Miss Cushing will say!” - - “Caroline,” said Angelica, “you don’t know anything about horses, so - you hush.” And then she added under her breath, “If I can only get - started before Jim sees me!” - - * * * * * - - In the Everett box they were waiting for the five-foot-six class to - begin. They called it the five-foot-six class because there were - four jumps that were five feet six inches high; the others were an - even five feet. It was the “sensational event” of the evening. Thus - far the show had been dull. - - “Those saddle-horses were an ordinary lot,” observed Reggie. - - “This isn’t opening very well, either,” said Palfrey. The first - horse had started out by refusing. Then he floundered into the jump - and fell. - - “Let’s not wait,” said Mrs. Everett. But the words were hardly - spoken when, with a quick movement, she turned her glasses on the - ring. Something unusual was going on at the farther end. A ripple of - applause came down the sides of the Garden, and then she saw a black - horse, ridden by a girl, come cantering toward the starting-place. - - “It’s that child on Hermione! You must stop it, Reggie!” she - exclaimed excitedly. - - Before any one could move, Angelica had turned the horse toward the - first jump. It looked terribly high to Mrs. Everett. It was almost - even with the head of the man who was standing on the farther side - ready to replace the bars if they should be knocked down. - - Tossing her head playfully, the black mare galloped steadily for the - wings, took off in her stride, and swept over the jump in a long - curve. She landed noiselessly on the tan-bark, and was on again. - Around the great ring went the horse and the girl, steadily, not too - fast, and taking each jump without a mistake. The great crowd - remained breathless and expectant. Horse and rider finished in front - of the Everett box, and pulled up to a trot, the mare breathing hard - with excitement, but well-mannered. - - Then a storm of cheers and hand-clapping burst, the like of which - was never heard at a New York horse show before. - - As the applause died away, Reggie rose and hurried out. “Let’s all - go,” said Mrs. Everett. - - Before they got through the crowd the judges had awarded the - ribbons. There were only three other horses that went over all the - jumps, and none of them made a clean score. There was no question - about which was first. The judges ran their hands down the mare’s - legs in a vain search for lumps. She was short-coupled, with a - beautiful shoulder and powerful quarters. She had four crosses of - thoroughbred, and showed it. - - “She’s a picture mare,” said one of the judges, and he tied the blue - rosette to her bridle himself. Then the great crowd cheered and - clapped again, and Angelica rode down to the entrance as calmly as - if she were in the habit of taking blue ribbons daily. But inside - she was not calm. - - “I’ve got to cry or something,” she thought. - - At the gate some one came out of the crowd and took the mare by the - head. Angelica looked down, and there were her brother and Reggie - and Mrs. Everett’s party. The Garden began to swim. - - “Oh, Jim!” she murmured, “help me down. It’s Lady Washington.” Then - she threw her arms around his neck and wept. - - * * * * * - - They were at supper in the old Waldorf Palm Room before Angelica was - quite certain whether actual facts had been taking place or whether - she had been dreaming. It seemed rather too extraordinary and too - pleasant to be true. Still, she was sure that she was there, because - the people stared at her when she came in dressed in her habit, and - whispered to each other about her. Furthermore, a party of judges - came over and asked Mrs. Everett to present them. - - There never before was quite such an evening. It was after twelve, - at least, and nobody had suggested that she ought to be in bed. One - pleasant thing followed another in quick succession, and there - seemed no end to them. She was absorbed in an edible rapture which - Mrs. Everett called a “café parfait” when she became aware that - Reggie’s friend, Mr. Palfrey, had started to address the party. She - only half listened, because she was wondering why every one except - Mrs. Everett and herself had denied himself this delightful sweet. - Grown-up people had strange tastes. - - Mr. Palfrey began by saying that he thought it was time to propose a - toast in honor of Miss Stanton, which might also rechristen Reggie’s - mare by her first and true name, “Lady Washington.” He said that it - was plain to him that the mare had resented a strange name out of - Greek mythology, and in future would go kindly, particularly if - Reggie never tried to ride her again. - - He went on with his remarks, and from time to time the people - interrupted with laughter; but it was only a meaningless sound in - Angelica’s ears. The words “Reggie’s mare” had come like a blow in - the face. She had forgotten about that. Her knees grew weak and a - lump swelled in her throat. It was true, of course, but for the time - being it had passed out of her mind. And now that Lady Washington - had won the five-foot-six class and was so much admired, probably - Jim could not afford to buy her back. It was doubtful if Mr. - Haughton would sell her at any price. - - Presently she was aroused by a remark addressed directly to her. - - “I think that’s a good idea,” said Reggie. “Don’t you?” - - She nodded; but she did not know what the idea was, and she did not - trust her voice to ask. - - “Only,” he continued, turning to Palfrey, “it isn’t my mare any - more; it’s Miss Stanton’s. Put that in, Palfrey.” - - Angelica’s mouth opened in wonderment and her heart stood still. She - looked about the table blankly. - - “It’s so,” said Reggie; “she’s yours.” - - “But I can’t take her,” she said falteringly. “She’s too valuable. - Can I, Jim?” - - “But Jim’s bought her,” said Reggie, hurriedly. - - Angelica’s eyes settled on her brother’s face; he said nothing, but - began to smile; Reggie was kicking him under the table. - - “Yes,” said Reggie; “when I saw you ride Lady Washington, that - settled it with me. I’m too proud to stand being beaten by a girl; - so I made Jim buy her back and promise to give her to you.” - - “Do you mean it?” said Angelica. “Is Lady Washington really mine?” - - “Yes,” he said. - - She dropped her hands in her lap and sighed wearily. “It doesn’t - seem possible,” she murmured. She paused and seemed to be running - over the situation in her mind. Presently she spoke as if unaware - that the others were listening. “I knew it would happen, though,” - she said. “I knew it. I reckon I prayed enough.” She smiled as a - great thrill of happiness ran through her, and glancing up, saw that - all the rest were smiling, too. - - “I’m so happy,” she said apologetically. Then she bethought herself, - and furtively reached down and tapped the frame of her chair with - her knuckles. - - “Well, here’s the toast,” said Mr. Palfrey, rising. “To the lady and - Lady Washington.” And they all rose and drank it standing. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - MY HUSBAND’S BOOK[7] - By James Matthew Barrie - - -Footnote 7: - - From _Two of Them_. Copyright, 1893, by the United States Book Co. - - LONG before I married George I knew that he was dreadfully - ambitious. We were not yet engaged when he took me into his - confidence about his forthcoming great book, which was to take the - form of an inquiry into the Metaphysics of Ethics. “I have not begun - it yet,” he always said, “but I shall be at it every night once the - winter sets in.” In the daytime George is only a clerk, though a - much-valued one, so that he has to give the best hours of his life - to a ledger. - - “If you only had more time at your disposal,” I used to say, when he - told me of the book that was to make his name. - - “I don’t complain,” he said, heartily, like the true hero he always - is, except when he has to take medicine. “Indeed, you will find that - the great books have nearly always been written by busy men. I am - firmly of opinion that if a man has original stuff in him it will - come out.” - - He glowed with enthusiasm while he spoke in this inspiriting strain, - and some of his ardor passed into me. When we met we talked of - nothing but his future; at least he talked while I listened with - clasped hands. It was thus that we became engaged. George was no - ordinary lover. He did not waste his time telling me that I was - beautiful, or saying “Beloved!” at short intervals. No, when we were - alone he gave me his hand to hold, and spoke fervently of the - Metaphysics of Ethics. - - Our engagement was not of a very long duration, for George coaxed me - into marriage thus—“I cannot settle down to my book,” he said, - “until we are married.” - - His heart was so set on that book that I yielded. We wandered all - over London together buying the furniture. There was a settee that I - particularly wanted, but George, with his usual thoughtfulness, - said: - - “Let us rather buy a study table. It will help me at my work, and - once the book is out we shall be able to afford half a dozen - settees.” - - Another time he went alone to buy some pictures for the - drawing-room. - - “I got a study chair instead,” he told me in the evening. “I knew - you would not mind, my darling, for the chair is the very thing for - writing a big book in.” - - He even gave thought to the ink-bottle. - - “In my room,” he said, “I am constantly discovering that my - ink-bottle is empty, and it puts me out of temper to write with - water and soot. I therefore think we ought to buy one of those large - ink-stands with two bottles.” - - “We shall,” I replied, with the rapture of youth, “and mine will be - the pleasant task of seeing that the bottles are kept full.” - - “Dearest!” he said, fondly, for this was the sort of remark that - touched him most. - - “Every evening,” I continued, encouraged by his caressing tones, - “you will find your manuscripts lying on the table waiting for you, - and a pen with a new nib in it.” - - “What a wife you will make!” he exclaimed. - - “But you mustn’t write too much,” I said. “You must have fixed - hours, and at a certain time, say at ten o’clock, I shall insist on - your ceasing to write for the night.” - - “That seems a wise arrangement. But sometimes I shall be too - entranced in the work, I fancy, to leave it without an effort.” - - “Ah,” I said, “I shall come behind you, and snatch the pen from your - hand!” - - “Every Saturday night,” he said, “I shall read to you what I have - written during the week.” - - No wonder I loved him. - - We were married on a September day, and the honeymoon passed - delightfully in talk about the book. Nothing proved to me the depth - of George’s affection so much as his not beginning the great work - before the honeymoon was over. So I often told him, and he smiled - fondly in reply. The more, indeed, I praised him the better pleased - he seemed to be. The name for this is sympathy. - - Conceive us at home in our dear little house in Clapham. - - “Will you begin the book at once?” I asked George the day after we - arrived. - - “I have been thinking that over,” he said. “I needn’t tell you that - there is nothing I should like so much, but, on the whole, it might - be better to wait a week.” - - “Don’t make the sacrifice for my sake,” I said, anxiously. - - “Of course it is for your sake,” he replied. - - “But it is such a pity to waste any more time,” I said. - - “There is no such hurry,” he answered, rather testily. - - I looked at him in surprise. - - “What I mean,” he said, “is that I can be thinking the arrangement - of the book over.” - - We had, of course, a good many callers at this time, and I told most - of them about the book. For reasons to be seen by and by I regret - this now. - - When the week had become a fortnight, I insisted on leaving George - alone in the study after dinner. He looked rather gloomy, but I - filled the ink-bottles, and put the paper on the desk, and handed - him his new pen. He took it, but did not say “thank you.” - - An hour afterward I took him a cup of tea. He was still sitting by - the fire, but the pen had fallen from his hands. - - “You are not sleeping, George?” I asked. - - “Sleeping!” he cried, as indignantly as if I had charged him with - crime. “No, I’m thinking.” - - “You haven’t written any yet?” - - “I was just going to begin when you came in. I’ll begin as soon as - I’ve drunk this tea.” - - “Then I’ll leave you to your work, dear.” - - I returned to the study at nine o’clock. He was still in the same - attitude. - - “I wish you would bring me a cup of tea,” he said. - - “I brought you one hours ago.” - - “Eh? Why didn’t you tell me?” - - “Oh, George! I talked with you about it. Why, here it is on the - table, untouched.” - - “I declare you never mentioned it to me. I must have been thinking - so deeply that I never noticed you. You should have spoken to me.” - - “But I did speak, and you answered.” - - “My dear, I assure you I did nothing of the sort. This is very - vexing, for it has spoiled my evening’s work.” - - The next evening George said that he did not feel in the mood for - writing, and I suppose I looked disappointed, for he flared up. - - “I can’t be eternally writing,” he growled. - - “But you haven’t done anything at all yet.” - - “That is a rather ungenerous way of expressing it.” - - “But you spoke as if the work would be a pleasure.” - - “Have I said that it is not a pleasure? If you knew anything of - literary history, you would be aware that there are occasions when - the most industrious writers cannot pen a line.” - - “They must make a beginning some time, though!” - - “Well, I shall make a beginning to-morrow.” - - Next evening he seemed in no hurry to go into the study. - - “I’ll hang the bedroom pictures,” he said. - - “No, no, you must get begone to your book.” - - “You are in a desperate hurry to see me at that book.” - - “You spoke as if you were so anxious to begin it.” - - “So I am. Did I say I wasn’t?” - - He marched off to the study, banging the drawing-room door. An hour - or so afterward I took him his tea. He had left his study door open - so that I could see him on the couch before I entered the room. When - he heard the rattle of the tea-things he jumped up and strode to the - study table, where, when I entered, he pretended to be busy writing. - - “How are you getting on, dear?” I asked, with a sinking at the - heart. - - “Excellently, my love, excellently.” - - I looked at him so reproachfully that he blushed. - - “I think,” said he, when he had drunk the tea, “that I have done - enough for one night. I mustn’t overdo it.” - - “Won’t you let me hear what you have written?” - - He blushed again. - - “Wait till Saturday,” he said. - - “Then let me put your papers away,” I said, for I was anxious to see - whether he had written anything at all. - - “I couldn’t think of it,” he replied, covering the paper with his - elbows. - - Next morning I counted the clean sheets of paper. They were just as - I had put them on the table. So it went on for a fortnight or more, - with this difference. He either suspected that I counted the sheets, - or thought that I might take it into my head to do so. To allay my - suspicions, therefore, he put away what he called his manuscript in - a drawer, which he took care to lock. I discovered that one of my - own keys opened this drawer, and one day I examined the manuscripts. - They consisted of twenty-four pages of paper, without a word written - on them. Every evening he added two more clean pages to the contents - of the drawer. This discovery made me so scornful that I taxed him - with the deceit. At first he tried to brazen it out, but I was - merciless, and then he said: - - “The fact is that I can’t write by gas-light. I fear I shall have to - defer beginning the work until spring.” - - “But you used to say that the winter was the best season for - writing.” - - “I thought so at the time, but I find I was wrong. It will be a - great blow to me to give up the work for the present, but there is - no help for it.” - - When spring came I reminded him that now was his opportunity to - begin the book. - - “You are eternally talking about that book,” he snarled. - - “I haven’t mentioned it for a month.” - - “Well, you are always looking at me as if I should be at it.” - - “Because you used to speak so enthusiastically about it.” - - “I am as enthusiastic as ever, but I can’t be forever writing at the - book.” - - “We have now been married seven months, and you haven’t written a - line yet.” - - He banged the doors again, and a week afterward he said that spring - was a bad time for writing a book. - - “One likes to be out-of-doors,” he said, “in spring, watching the - trees become green again. Wait till July, when one is glad to be - indoors. Then I’ll give four hours to the work every evening.” - - Summer came, and then he said: - - “It is too hot to write books. Get me another bottle of iced - soda-water. I’ll tackle the book in the autumn.” - - We have now been married more than five years, but the book is not - begun yet. As a rule, we now shun the subject, but there are times - when he still talks hopefully of beginning. I wonder if there are - any other husbands like mine. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - WAR - By JACK LONDON - - - HE was a young man, not more than twenty-four or five, and he might - have sat his horse with the careless grace of his youth had he not - been so catlike and tense. His black eyes roved everywhere, catching - the movements of twigs and branches where small birds hopped, - questing ever onward through the changing vistas of trees and brush, - and returning always to the clumps of undergrowth on either side. - And as he watched, so did he listen, though he rode on in silence, - save for the boom of heavy guns from far to the west. This had been - sounding monotonously in his ears for hours, and only its cessation - would have aroused his notice. For he had business closer to hand. - Across his saddle-bow was balanced a carbine. - - So tensely was he strung, that a bunch of quail, exploding into - flight from under his horse’s nose, startled him to such an extent - that automatically, instantly, he had reined in and fetched the - carbine half-way to his shoulder. He grinned sheepishly, recovered - himself, and rode on. So tense was he, so bent upon the work he had - to do, that the sweat stung his eyes unwiped, and unheeded rolled - down his nose and spattered his saddle pommel. The band of his - cavalryman’s hat was fresh-stained with sweat. The roan horse under - him was likewise wet. It was high noon of a breathless day of heat. - Even the birds and squirrels did not dare the sun, but sheltered in - shady hiding places among the trees. - - Man and horse were littered with leaves and dusted with yellow - pollen, for the open was ventured no more than was compulsory. They - kept to the brush and trees, and invariably the man halted and - peered out before crossing a dry glade or naked stretch of upland - pasturage. He worked always to the north, though his way was - devious, and it was from the north that he seemed most to apprehend - that for which he was looking. He was no coward, but his courage was - only that of the average civilized man, and he was looking to live, - not die. - - Up a small hillside he followed a cowpath through such dense scrub - that he was forced to dismount and lead his horse. But when the path - swung around to the west, he abandoned it and headed to the north - again along the oak-covered top of the ridge. - - The ridge ended in a steep descent—so steep that he zigzagged back - and forth across the face of the slope, sliding and stumbling among - the dead leaves and matted vines and keeping a watchful eye on the - horse above that threatened to fall down upon him. The sweat ran - from him, and the pollen-dust, settling pungently in mouth and - nostrils, increased his thirst. Try as he would, nevertheless the - descent was noisy, and frequently he stopped, panting in the dry - heat and listening for any warning from beneath. - - At the bottom he came out on a flat, so densely forested that he - could not make out its extent. Here the character of the woods - changed, and he was able to remount. Instead of the twisted hillside - oaks, tall straight trees, big-trunked and prosperous, rose from the - damp fat soil. Only here and there were thickets, easily avoided, - while he encountered winding, park-like glades where the cattle had - pastured in the days before war had run them off. - - His progress was more rapid now, as he came down into the valley, - and at the end of half an hour he halted at an ancient rail fence on - the edge of a clearing. He did not like the openness of it, yet his - path lay across to the fringe of trees that marked the banks of the - stream. It was a mere quarter of a mile across that open, but the - thought of venturing out in it was repugnant. A rifle, a score of - them, a thousand, might lurk in that fringe by the stream. - - Twice he essayed to start, and twice he paused. He was appalled by - his own loneliness. The pulse of war that beat from the west - suggested the companionship of battling thousands; here was naught - but silence, and himself, and possible death-dealing bullets from a - myriad ambushes. And yet his task was to find what he feared to - find. He must go on, and on, till somewhere, some time, he - encountered another man, or other men, from the other side, - scouting, as he was scouting, to make report, as he must make - report, of having come in touch. - - Changing his mind, he skirted inside the woods for a distance, and - again peeped forth. This time, in the middle of the clearing, he saw - a small farmhouse. There were no signs of life. No smoke curled from - the chimney, not a barnyard fowl clucked and strutted. The kitchen - door stood open, and he gazed so long and hard into the black - aperture that it seemed almost that a farmer’s wife must emerge at - any moment. - - He licked the pollen and dust from his dry lips, stiffened himself, - mind and body, and rode out into the blazing sunshine. Nothing - stirred. He went on past the house, and approached the wall of trees - and bushes by the river’s bank. One thought persisted maddeningly. - It was of the crash into his body of a high-velocity bullet. It made - him feel very fragile and defenseless, and he crouched lower in the - saddle. - - Tethering his horse in the edge of the wood, he continued a hundred - yards on foot till he came to the stream. Twenty feet wide it was, - without perceptible current, cool and inviting, and he was very - thirsty. But he waited inside his screen of leafage, his eyes fixed - on the screen on the opposite side. To make the wait endurable, he - sat down, his carbine resting on his knees. The minutes passed, and - slowly his tenseness relaxed. At last he decided there was no - danger; but just as he prepared to part the bushes and bend down to - the water, a movement among the opposite bushes caught his eye. - - It might be a bird. But he waited. Again there was an agitation of - the bushes, and then, so suddenly that it almost startled a cry from - him, the bushes parted and a face peered out. It was a face covered - with several weeks’ growth of ginger-colored beard. The eyes were - blue and wide apart, with laughter-wrinkles in the corners that - showed despite the tired and anxious expression of the whole face. - - All this he could see with microscopic clearness, for the distance - was no more than twenty feet. And all this he saw in such brief - time, that he saw it as he lifted his carbine to his shoulder. He - glanced along the sights, and knew that he was gazing upon a man who - was as good as dead. It was impossible to miss at such point blank - range. - - But he did not shoot. Slowly he lowered the carbine and watched. A - hand, clutching a water-bottle, became visible and the ginger beard - bent downward to fill the bottle. He could hear the gurgle of the - water. Then arm and bottle and ginger beard disappeared behind the - closing bushes. A long time he waited, when, with thirst unslaked, - he crept back to his horse, rode slowly across the sun-washed - clearing, and passed into the shelter of the woods beyond. - - - II - - Another day, hot and breathless. A deserted farmhouse, large, with - many outbuildings and an orchard, standing in a clearing. From the - woods, on a roan horse, carbine across pommel, rode the young man - with the quick black eyes. He breathed with relief as he gained the - house. That a fight had taken place here earlier in the season was - evident. Clips and empty cartridges, tarnished with verdigris, lay - on the ground, which, while wet, had been torn up by the hoofs of - horses. Hard by the kitchen garden were graves, tagged and numbered. - From the oak tree by the kitchen door, in tattered, weather-beaten - garments, hung the bodies of two men. The faces, shriveled and - defaced, bore no likeness to the faces of men. The roan horse - snorted beneath them, and the rider caressed and soothed it and tied - it farther away. - - Entering the house, he found the interior a wreck. He trod on empty - cartridges as he walked from room to room to reconnoiter from the - windows. Men had camped and slept everywhere, and on the floor of - one room he came upon stains unmistakable where the wounded had been - laid down. - - Again outside, he led the horse around behind the barn and invaded - the orchard. A dozen trees were burdened with ripe apples. He filled - his pockets, eating while he picked. Then a thought came to him, and - he glanced at the sun, calculating the time of his return to camp. - He pulled off his shirt, tying the sleeves and making a bag. This he - proceeded to fill with apples. - - As he was about to mount his horse, the animal suddenly pricked up - its ears. The man, too, listened, and heard, faintly, the thud of - hoofs on soft earth. He crept to the corner of the barn and peered - out. A dozen mounted men, strung out loosely, approaching from the - opposite side of the clearing, were only a matter of a hundred yards - or so away. They rode on to the house. Some dismounted, while others - remained in the saddle as an earnest that their stay would be short. - They seemed to be holding a council, for he could hear them talking - excitedly in the detested tongue of the alien invader. The time - passed, but they seemed unable to reach a decision. He put the - carbine away in its boot, mounted, and waited impatiently, balancing - the shirt of apples on the pommel. - - He heard footsteps approaching, and drove his spurs so fiercely into - the roan as to force a surprised groan from the animal as it leaped - forward. At the corner of the barn he saw the intruder, a mere boy - of nineteen or twenty for all of his uniform, jump back to escape - being run down. At the same moment the roan swerved, and its rider - caught a glimpse of the aroused men by the house. Some were - springing from their horses, and he could see the rifles going to - their shoulders. He passed the kitchen door and the dried corpses - swinging in the shade, compelling his foes to run around the front - of the house. A rifle cracked, and a second, but he was going fast, - leaning forward, low in the saddle, one hand clutching the shirt of - apples, the other guiding the horse. - - The top bar of the fence was four feet high, but he knew his roan - and leaped it at full career to the accompaniment of several - scattered shots. Eight hundred yards straight away were the woods, - and the roan was covering the distance with mighty strides. Every - man was now firing. They were pumping their guns so rapidly that he - no longer heard individual shots. A bullet went through his hat, but - he was unaware, though he did know when another tore through the - apples on the pommel. And he winced and ducked even lower when a - third bullet, fired low, struck a stone between his horse’s legs and - ricochetted off through the air, buzzing and humming like some - incredible insect. - - The shots died down as the magazines were emptied, until, quickly, - there was no more shooting. The young man was elated. Through that - astonishing fusillade he had come unscathed. He glanced back. Yes, - they had emptied their magazines. He could see several reloading. - Others were running back behind the house for their horses. As he - looked, two already mounted, came back into view around the corner, - riding hard. And at the same moment, he saw the man with the - unmistakable ginger beard kneel down on the ground, level his gun, - and coolly take his time for the long shot. - - The young man threw his spurs into the horse, crouched very low, and - swerved in his flight in order to distract the other’s aim. And - still the shot did not come. With each jump of the horse, the woods - sprang nearer. They were only two hundred yards away, and still the - shot was delayed. - - And then he heard it, the last thing he was to hear, for he was dead - ere he hit the ground in the long crashing fall from the saddle. And - they, watching at the house, saw him fall, saw his body bounce when - it struck the earth, and saw the burst of red-cheeked apples that - rolled about him. They laughed at the unexpected eruption of apples, - and clapped their hands in applause of the long shot by the man with - the ginger beard. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS - By Morgan Robertson - - - EXTRACT from hospital record of the case of John Anderson, patient - of Dr. Brown, Ward 3, Room 6: - - August 3. Arrived at hospital in extreme mental distress, - having been bitten on the wrist three hours previously by - dog known to have been rabid. Large, strong man, - full-blooded and well nourished. Sanguine temperament. Pulse - and temperature higher than normal, due to excitement. - Cauterized wound at once (2 P.M.) and inoculated with - antitoxin. - - As patient admits having recently escaped, by swimming - ashore, from lately arrived cholera ship, now at quarantine, - he has been isolated and clothing disinfected. Watch for - symptoms of cholera. - - August 3, 6 P.M. Microscopic examination of blood - corroborative of Metschnikoff’s theory of fighting - leucocytes. White corpuscles gorged with bacteria. - - --- - - He was an amphibian, and, as such, undeniably beautiful; for the - sunlight, refracted and diffused in the water, gave his translucent, - pearl-blue body all the shifting colors of the spectrum. Vigorous - and graceful of movement, in shape he resembled a comma of three - dimensions, twisted, when at rest, to a slight spiral curve; but in - traveling he straightened out with quick successive jerks, each one - sending him ahead a couple of lengths. Supplemented by the - undulatory movement of a long continuation of his tail, it was his - way of swimming, good enough to enable him to escape his enemies; - this, and riding at anchor in a current by his cable-like appendage, - constituting his main occupation in life. The pleasure of eating was - denied him; nature had given him a mouth, but he used it only for - purposes of offense and defense, absorbing his food in a most - unheard-of manner—through the soft walls of his body. - - Yet he enjoyed a few social pleasures. Though the organs of the five - senses were missing in his economy, he possessed an inner sixth - sense which answered for all and also gave him power of speech. He - would converse, swap news and views, with creatures of his own and - other species, provided that they were of equal size and prowess; - but he wasted no time on any but his social peers. Smaller creatures - he pursued when they annoyed him; larger ones pursued him. - - The sunlight, which made him so beautiful to look at, was - distasteful to him; it also made him too visible. He preferred a - half-darkness and less fervor to life’s battle—time to judge of - chances, to figure on an enemy’s speed and turning-circle, before - beginning flight or pursuit. But his dislike of it really came of a - stronger animus—a shuddering recollection of three hours once passed - on dry land in a comatose condition, which had followed a - particularly long and intense period of bright sunlight. He had - never been able to explain the connection, but the awful memory - still saddened his life. - - And now it seemed, as he swam about, that this experience might be - repeated. The light was strong and long-continued, the water - uncomfortably warm, and the crowd about him denser—so much so as to - prevent him from attending properly to a social inferior who had - crossed his bow. But just as his mind grasped the full imminence of - the danger, there came a sudden darkness, a crash and vibration of - the water, then a terrible, rattling roar of sound. The social - inferior slipped from his mouth, and with his crowding neighbors was - washed far away, while he felt himself slipping along, bounding and - rebounding against the projections of a corrugated wall which showed - white in the gloom. There was an unpleasant taste to the water, and - he became aware of creatures in his vicinity unlike any he had - known,—quickly darting little monsters about a tenth as large as - himself,—thousands of them, black and horrid to see, each with - short, fish-like body and square head like that of a dog; with - wicked mouth that opened and shut nervously; with hooked flippers on - the middle part, and a bunch of tentacles on the fore that spread - out ahead and around. A dozen of them surrounded him menacingly; but - he was young and strong, much larger than they, and a little - frightened. A blow of his tail killed two, and the rest drew off. - - The current bore them on until the white wall rounded off and was - lost to sight beyond the mass of darting creatures. Here was slack - water, and with desperate effort he swam back, pushing the small - enemies out of his path, meeting some resistance and receiving a few - bites, until, in a hollow in the wall, he found temporary refuge and - time to think. But he could not solve the problem. He had not the - slightest idea where he was or what had happened—who and what were - the strange black creatures, or why they had threatened him. - - His thoughts were interrupted. Another vibrant roar sounded, and - there was pitch-black darkness; then he was pushed and washed away - from his shelter, jostled, bumped, and squeezed, until he found - himself in a dimly lighted tunnel, which, crowded as it was with - swimmers, was narrow enough to enable him to see both sides at once. - The walls were dark brown and blue, broken up everywhere into - depressions or caves, some of them so deep as to be almost like - blind tunnels. The dog-faced creatures were there—as far as he could - see; but besides them, now, were others, of stranger shape—of - species unknown to him. - - A slow current carried them on, and soon they entered a larger - tunnel. He swam to the opposite wall, gripped a projection, and - watched in wonder and awe the procession gliding by. He soon noticed - the source of the dim light. A small creature with barrel-like body - and innumerable legs or tentacles, wavering and reaching, floated - past. Its body swelled and shrank alternately, with every swelling - giving out a phosphorescent glow, with every contraction darkening - to a faint red color. Then came a group of others; then a second - living lamp; later another and another: they were evenly - distributed, and illumined the tunnel. - - There were monstrous shapes, living but inert, barely pulsing with - dormant life, as much larger than himself as the dog-headed kind - were smaller—huge, unwieldy, disk-shaped masses of tissue, light - gray at the margins, dark red in the middle. They were in the - majority, and blocked the view. Darting and wriggling between and - about them were horrible forms, some larger than himself, others - smaller. There were serpents, who swam with a serpent’s motion. Some - were serpents in form, but were curled rigidly into living - cork-screws, and by sculling with their tails screwed their way - through the water with surprising rapidity. Others were barrel-or - globe-shaped, with swarming tentacles. With these they pulled - themselves along, in and out through the crowd, or, bringing their - squirming appendages rearward,—each an individual snake,—used them - as propellers, and swam. There were creatures in the form of long - cylinders, some with tentacles by which they rolled along like a log - in a tide-way; others, without appendages, were as inert and - helpless as the huge red-and-gray disks. He saw four ball-shaped - creatures float by, clinging together; then a group of eight, then - one of twelve. All these, to the extent of their volition, seemed to - be in a state of extreme agitation and excitement. - - The cause was apparent. The tunnel from which he had come was still - discharging the dog-faced animals by the thousand, and he knew now - the business they were on. It was war—war to the death. They flung - themselves with furious energy into the parade, fighting and biting - all they could reach. A hundred at a time would pounce on one of the - large red-and-gray creatures, almost hiding it from view; then, and - before they had passed out of sight, they would fall off and - disperse, and the once living victim would come with them, in parts. - The smaller, active swimmers fled, but if one was caught, he - suffered; a quick dart, a tangle of tentacles, an embrace of the - wicked flippers, a bite—and a dead body floated on. - - And now into the battle came a ponderous engine of vengeance and - defense. A gigantic, lumbering, pulsating creature, white and - translucent but for the dark, active brain showing through its - walls, horrible in the slow, implacable deliberation of its - movements, floated down with the current. It was larger than the - huge red-and-gray creatures. It was formless, in the full irony of - the definition—for it assumed all forms. It was long—barrel-shaped; - it shrank to a sphere, then broadened laterally, and again extended - above and below. In turn it was a sphere, a disk, a pyramid, a - pentahedron, a polyhedron. It possessed neither legs, flippers, nor - tentacles; but out from its heaving, shrinking body it would send, - now from one spot, now from another, an active arm, or feeler, with - which it swam, pulled, or pushed. An unlucky invader which one of - them touched made few more voluntary movements; for instantly the - whole side of the whitish mass bristled with arms. They seized, - crushed, killed it, and then pushed it bodily through the living - walls to the animal’s interior to serve for food. And the gaping - fissure healed at once, like the wounds of Milton’s warring angels. - - The first white monster floated down, killing as he went; then came - another, pushing eagerly into the fray; then came two, then three, - then dozens. It seemed that the word had been passed, and the army - of defense was mustering. - - Sick with horror, he watched the grim spectacle from the shelter of - the projection, until roused to an active sense of danger to - himself—but not from the fighters. He was anchored by his tail, - swinging easily in the eddy, and now felt himself touched from - beneath, again from above. A projection down-stream was extending - outward and toward him. The cave in which he had taken refuge was - closing on him like a great mouth—as though directed by an - intelligence behind the wall. With a terrified flirt of his tail he - flung himself out, and as he drifted down with the combat the walls - of the cave crunched together. It was well for him that he was not - there. - - The current was clogged with fragments of once living creatures, and - everywhere, darting, dodging, and biting, were the fierce black - invaders. But they paid no present attention to him or to the small - tentacled animals. They killed the large, helpless red-and-gray - kind, and were killed by the larger white monsters, each moment - marking the death and rending to fragments of a victim, and the - horrid interment of fully half his slayers. The tunnel grew larger, - as mouth after mouth of tributary tunnels was passed; but as each - one discharged its quota of swimming and drifting creatures, there - was no thinning of the crowd. - - As he drifted on with the inharmonious throng, he noticed what - seemed the objective of the war. This was the caves which lined the - tunnel. Some were apparently rigid, others were mobile. A large - red-and-gray animal was pushed into the mouth of one of the latter, - and the walls instantly closed; then they opened, and the creature - drifted out, limp and colorless, but alive; and with him came - fragments of the wall, broken off by the pressure. This happened - again and again, but the large creature was never quite - killed—merely squeezed. The tentacled non-combatants and the large - white fighters seemed to know the danger of these tunnel mouths, - possibly from bitter experiences, for they avoided the walls; but - the dog-faced invaders sought this death, and only fought on their - way to the caves. Sometimes two, often four or more, would launch - themselves together into a hollow, but to no avail; their united - strength could not prevent the closing in of the mechanical maw, and - they were crushed and flung out, to drift on with other debris. - - Soon the walls could not be seen for the pushing, jostling crowd, - but everywhere the terrible, silent war went on until there came a - time when fighting ceased; for each must look out for himself. They - seemed to be in an immense cave, and the tide was broken into - cross-currents rushing violently to the accompaniment of rhythmical - thunder. They were shaken, jostled, pushed about and pushed - together, hundreds of the smaller creatures dying from the pressure. - Then there was a moment of comparative quiet, during which fighting - was resumed, and there could be seen the swiftly flying walls of a - large tunnel. Next they were rushed through a labyrinth of small - caves with walls of curious, branching formation, sponge-like and - intricate. It required energetic effort to prevent being caught in - the meshes, and the large red-and-gray creatures were sadly torn and - crushed, while the white ones fought their way through by main - strength. Again the flying walls of a tunnel, again a mighty cave, - and the cross-currents, and the rhythmical thunder, and now a wild - charge down an immense tunnel, the wall of which surged outward and - inward, in unison with the roaring of the thunder. - - The thunder died away in the distance, though the walls still - surged—even those of a smaller tunnel which divided the current and - received them. Down-stream the tunnel branched again and again, and - with the lessening of the diameter was a lessening of the current’s - velocity, until, in a maze of small, short passages, the invaders, - content to fight and kill in the swifter tide, again attacked the - caves. - - But to the never-changing result: they were crushed, mangled, and - cast out, the number of suicides, in this neighborhood, largely - exceeding those killed by the white warriors. And yet, in spite of - the large mortality among them, the attacking force was increasing. - Where one died two took his place; and the reason was soon made - plain—they were reproducing. A black fighter, longer than his - fellows, a little sluggish of movement, as though from the - restrictive pressure of a large, round protuberance in his middle, - which made him resemble a snake which had swallowed an egg, was - caught by a white monster and instantly embraced by a multitude of - feelers. He struggled, bit, and broke in two; then the two parts - escaped the grip of the astonished captor, and wriggled away, the - protuberance becoming the head of the rear portion, which - immediately joined the fight, snapping and biting with unmistakable - jaws. This phenomenon was repeated. - - And on went the battle. Illumined by the living lamps, and watched - by terrified noncombatants, the horrid carnival continued with - never-slacking fury and ever-changing background—past the mouths of - tributary tunnels which increased the volume and velocity of the - current and added to the fighting strength, on through widening - archways to a repetition of the cross-currents, the thunder, and the - sponge-like maze, down past the heaving walls of larger tunnels to - branched passages, where, in comparative slack water, the siege of - the caves was resumed. For hour after hour this went on, the - invaders dying by hundreds, but increasing by thousands and ten - thousands, as the geometrical progression advanced, until, with - swimming-spaces nearly choked by their bodies, living and dead, - there came the inevitable turn in the tide of battle. A white - monster was killed. - - Glutted with victims, exhausted and sluggish, he was pounced upon by - hundreds, hidden from view by a living envelop of black, which - pulsed and throbbed with his death-throes. A feeler reached out, to - be bitten off; then another, to no avail. His strength was gone, and - the assailants bit and burrowed until they reached a vital part, - when the great mass assumed a spherical form and throbbed no more. - They dropped off, and, as the mangled ball floated on, charged on - the next enemy with renewed fury and courage born of their victory. - This one died as quickly. - - And as though it had been foreseen, and a policy arranged to meet - it, the white army no longer fought in the open, but lined up along - the walls to defend the immovable caves. They avoided the working - jaws of the other kind, which certainly needed no garrison, and - drifting slowly in the eddies, fought as they could, with decreasing - strength and increasing death-rate. And thus it happened that our - conservative noncombatant, out in midstream, found himself - surrounded by a horde of black enemies who had nothing better to do - than attack him. - - And they did. As many as could crowd about him closed their wicked - jaws in his flesh. Squirming with pain, rendered trebly strong by - his terror, he killed them by twos and threes as he could reach them - with his tail. He shook them off with nervous contortions, only to - make room for more. He plunged, rolled, launched himself forward and - back, up and down, out and in, bending himself nearly double, then - with lightning rapidity throwing himself far into the reverse curve. - He was fighting for his life, and knew it. When he could, he used - his jaws, only once to an enemy. He saw dimly at intervals that the - white monsters were watching him; but none offered to help, and he - had not time to call. - - He thought that he must have become the object of the war; for from - all sides they swarmed, crowding about him, seeking a place on which - to fasten their jaws. Little by little the large red-and-gray - creatures, the noncombatants, and the phosphorescent animals were - pushed aside, and he, the center of an almost solid black mass, - fought, in utter darkness, with the fury of extreme fright. He had - no appreciation of the passing of time, no knowledge of his distance - from the wall, or the destination of this never-pausing current. But - finally, after an apparently interminable period, he heard dimly, - with failing consciousness, the reverberations of the thunder, and - knew momentary respite as the violent cross-currents tore his - assailants away. Then, still in darkness, he felt the crashing and - tearing of flesh against obstructing walls and sharp corners, the - repetition of thunder and the roar of the current which told him he - was once more in a large tunnel. An instant of light from a - venturesome torch showed him to his enemies, and again he fought, - like a whale in his last flurry, slowly dying from exhaustion and - pain, but still potential to kill—terrible in his agony. There was - no counting of scalps in that day’s work; but perhaps no devouring - white monster in all the defensive army could have shown a - death-list equal to this. From the surging black cloud there was a - steady outflow of the dead, pushed back by the living. - - Weaker and weaker, while they mangled his flesh, and still in - darkness, he fought them down through branching passages to another - network of small tunnels, where he caught a momentary view of the - walls and the stolid white guard, thence on to what he knew was open - space. And here he felt that he could fight no more. They had - covered him completely, and, try as he might with his failing - strength, he could not dislodge them. So he ceased his struggles; - and numb with pain, dazed with despair, he awaited the end. - - But it did not come. He was too exhausted to feel surprise or joy - when they suddenly dropped away from him; but the instinct of - self-preservation was still in force, and he swam toward the wall. - The small creatures paid him no attention; they scurried this way - and that, busy with troubles of their own, while he crept stupidly - and painfully between two white sentries floating in the eddies,—one - of whom considerately made room for him,—and anchored to a - projection, luckily choosing a harbor that was not hostile. - - “Any port in a storm, eh, neighbor?” said the one who had given him - room, and who seemed to notice his dazed condition. “You’ll feel - better soon. My, but you put up a good fight, that’s what you did!” - - He could not answer, and the friendly guard resumed his vigil. In a - few moments, however, he could take cognizance of what was going on - in the stream. There was a new army in the fight, and reinforcements - were still coming. A short distance above him was a huge rent in the - wall, and the caves around it, crushed and distorted, were grinding - fiercely. Protruding through the rent and extending half-way across - the tunnel was a huge mass of some strange substance, roughly shaped - to a cylindrical form. It was hollow, and out of it, by thousands - and hundred thousands, was pouring the auxiliary army, from which - the black fighters were now fleeing for dear life. - - The newcomers, though resembling in general form the creatures they - pursued, were much larger and of two distinct types. Both were light - brown in color; but while one showed huge development of head and - jaw, with small flippers, the other kind reversed these attributes, - their heads being small, but their flippers long and powerful. They - ran their quarry down in the open, and seized them with outreaching - tentacles. No mistakes were made—no feints or false motions; and - there was no resistance by the victims. Where one was noticed he was - doomed. The tentacles gathered him in—to a murderous bite or a - murderous embrace. - - At last, when the inflow had ceased,—when there must have been - millions of the brown killers in the tunnel,—the great hollow - cylinder turned slowly on its axis and backed out through the rent - in the wall, which immediately closed, with a crushing and - scattering of fragments. Though the allies were far down-stream now, - the war was practically ended; for the white defenders remained near - the walls, and the black invaders were in wildest panic, each one, - as the resistless current rushed him past, swimming against the - stream, to put distance between himself and the destroyer below. But - before long an advance-guard of the brown enemy shot out from the - tributaries above, and the tide of retreat swung backward. Then came - thousands of them, and the massacre was resumed. - - “Hot stuff, eh?” said his friendly neighbor to him. - - “Y-y-y-es—I guess so,” he answered, rather vacantly; “I don’t know. - I don’t know anything about it. I never saw such doings. What is it - all for? What does it mean?” - - “Oh, this is nothing; it’s all in a lifetime. Still, I admit it - might ha’ been serious for us—and you, too—if we hadn’t got help.” - - “But who are they, and what? They all seem of a family, and are - killing each other.” - - “Immortal shade of Darwin!” exclaimed the other sentry, who had not - spoken before. “Where were you brought up? Don’t you know that - variations from type are the deadliest enemies of the parent stock? - These two brown breeds are the hundredth or two-hundredth cousins of - the black kind. When they’ve killed off their common relative, and - get to competing for grub, they’ll exterminate each other, and we’ll - be rid of ’em all. Law of nature. Understand?” - - “Oh, y-yes, I understand, of course; but what did the black kind - attack me for? And what do they want, anyway?” - - “To follow out their destiny, I s’pose. They’re the kind of folks - who have missions. Reformers, we call ’em—who want to enforce their - peculiar ideas and habits on other people. Sometimes we call them - expansionists—fond of colonizing territory that doesn’t belong to - them. They wanted to get through the cells to the lymph-passages, - thence on to the brain and spinal marrow. Know what that means? - Hydrophobia.” - - “What’s that?” - - “Oh, say, now! You’re too easy.” - - “Come, come,” said the other, good-naturedly; “don’t guy him. He - never had our advantages. You see, neighbor, we get these points - from the subjective brain, which knows all things and gives us our - instructions. We’re the white corpuscles,—phagocytes, the scientists - call us,—and our work is to police the blood-vessels, and kill off - invaders that make trouble. Those red-and-gray chumps can’t take - care of themselves, and we must protect ’em. Understand? But this - invasion was too much for us, and we had to have help from outside. - You must have come in with the first crowd—think I saw you—in at the - bite. Second crowd came in through an inoculation tube, and just in - time to pull you through.” - - “I don’t know,” answered our bewildered friend. “In at the bite? - What bite? I was swimming round comfortable-like, and there was a - big noise, and then I was alongside of a big white wall, and then—” - - “Exactly; the dog’s tooth. You got into bad company, friend, and - you’re well out of it. That first gang is the microbe of rabies, not - very well known yet, because a little too small to be seen by most - microscopes. All the scientists seem to have learned about ’em is - that a colony a few hundred generations old—which they call a - culture, or serum—is death on the original bird; and that’s what - they sent in to help out. Pasteur’s dead, worse luck, but sometime - old Koch’ll find out what we’ve known all along—that it’s only - variation from type.” - - “Koch!” he answered eagerly and proudly. “Oh, I know Koch; I’ve met - him. And I know about microscopes, too. Why, Koch had me under his - microscope once. He discovered my family, and named us—the comma - bacilli—the Spirilli of Asiatic Cholera.” - - In silent horror they drew away from him, and then conversed - together. Other white warriors drifting along stopped and joined the - conference, and when a hundred or more were massed before him, they - spread out to a semi-spherical formation and closed in. - - “What’s the matter?” he asked nervously. “What’s wrong? What are you - going to do? I haven’t done anything, have I?” - - “It’s not what you’ve done, stranger,” said his quondam friend, “or - what we’re going to do. It’s what you’re going to do. You’re going - to die. Don’t see how you got past quarantine, anyhow?” - - “What—why—I don’t want to die. I’ve done nothing. All I want is - peace and quiet, and a place to swim where it isn’t too light nor - too dark. I mind my own affairs. Let me alone—you hear me—let me - alone!” - - They answered him not. Slowly and irresistibly the hollow formation - contracted—individuals slipping out when necessary—until he was - pushed, still protesting, into the nearest movable cave. The walls - crashed together and his life went out. When he was cast forth he - was in five pieces. - - And so our gentle, conservative, non-combative cholera microbe, who - only wanted to be left alone to mind his own affairs, met this - violent death, a martyr to prejudice and an unsympathetic - environment. - - * * * * * - - Extract from hospital record of the case of John Anderson: - - August 18. As period of incubation for both cholera and - hydrophobia has passed and no initial symptoms of either - disease have been noticed, patient is this day discharged, - cured. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A DILEMMA - By S. WEIR MITCHELL - - - I WAS just thirty-seven when my Uncle Philip died. A week before - that event he sent for me; and here let me say that I had never set - eyes on him. He hated my mother, but I do not know why. She told me - long before his last illness that I need expect nothing from my - father’s brother. He was an inventor, an able and ingenious - mechanical engineer, and had made much money by his improvement in - turbine-wheels. He was a bachelor; lived alone, cooked his own - meals, and collected precious stones, especially rubies and pearls. - From the time he made his first money he had this mania. As he grew - richer, the desire to possess rare and costly gems became stronger. - When he bought a new stone, he carried it in his pocket for a month - and now and then took it out and looked at it. Then it was added to - the collection in his safe at the trust company. - - At the time he sent for me I was a clerk, and poor enough. - Remembering my mother’s words, his message gave me, his sole - relative, no new hopes; but I thought it best to go. - - When I sat down by his bedside, he began, with a malicious grin: - - “I suppose you think me queer. I will explain.” What he said was - certainly queer enough. “I have been living on an annuity into which - I put my fortune. In other words, I have been, as to money, - concentric half of my life to enable me to be as eccentric as I - pleased the rest of it. Now I repent of my wickedness to you all, - and desire to live in the memory of at least one of my family. You - think I am poor and have only my annuity. You will be profitably - surprised. I have never parted with my precious stones; they will be - yours. You are my sole heir. I shall carry with me to the other - world the satisfaction of making one man happy. - - “No doubt you have always had expectations, and I desire that you - should continue to expect. My jewels are in my safe. There is - nothing else left.” - - When I thanked him he grinned all over his lean face, and said: - - “You will have to pay for my funeral.” - - I must say that I never looked forward to any expenditure with more - pleasure than to what it would cost me to put him away in the earth. - As I rose to go, he said: - - “The rubies are valuable. They are in my safe at the trust company. - Before you unlock the box, be very careful to read a letter which - lies on top of it; and be sure not to shake the box.” I thought this - odd. “Don’t come back. It won’t hasten things.” - - He died that day week, and was handsomely buried. The day after, his - will was found, leaving me his heir. I opened his safe and found in - it nothing but an iron box, evidently of his own making, for he was - a skilled workman and very ingenious. The box was heavy and strong, - about ten inches long, eight inches wide and ten inches high. On it - lay a letter to me. It ran thus: - - “DEAR TOM: This box contains a large number of very fine - pigeon-blood rubies and a fair lot of diamonds; one is - blue—a beauty. There are hundreds of pearls—one the famous - green pearl and a necklace of blue pearls, for which any - woman would sell her soul—or her affections.” I thought of - Susan. “I wish you to continue to have expectations and - continuously to remember your dear uncle. I would have left - these stones to some charity, but I hate the poor as much as - I hate your mother’s son,—yes, rather more. - - “The box contains an interesting mechanism, which will act - with certainty as you unlock it, and explode ten ounces of - my improved, supersensitive dynamite—no, to be accurate, - there are only nine and a half ounces. Doubt me, and open - it, and you will be blown to atoms. Believe me, and you will - continue to nourish expectations which will never be - fulfilled. As a considerate man, I counsel extreme care in - handling the box. Don’t forget your affectionate - - “UNCLE.” - - I stood appalled, the key in my hand. Was it true? Was it a lie? I - had spent all my savings on the funeral, and was poorer than ever. - - Remembering the old man’s oddity, his malice, his cleverness in - mechanic arts, and the patent explosive which had helped to make him - rich, I began to feel how very likely it was that he had told the - truth in this cruel letter. - - I carried the iron box away to my lodgings, set it down with care in - a closet, laid the key on it, and locked the closet. - - Then I sat down, as yet hopeful, and began to exert my ingenuity - upon ways of opening the box without being killed. There must be a - way. - - After a week of vain thinking I bethought me, one day, that it would - be easy to explode the box by unlocking it at a safe distance, and I - arranged a plan with wires, which seemed as if it would answer. But - when I reflected on what would happen when the dynamite scattered - the rubies, I knew that I should be none the richer. For hours at a - time I sat looking at that box and handling the key. - - At last I hung the key on my watch-guard; but then it occurred to me - that it might be lost or stolen. Dreading this, I hid it, fearful - that some one might use it to open the box. This state of doubt and - fear lasted for weeks, until I became nervous and began to dread - that some accident might happen to that box. A burglar might come - and boldly carry it away and force it open and find it was a wicked - fraud of my uncle’s. Even the rumble and vibration caused by the - heavy vans in the street became at last a terror. - - Worst of all, my salary was reduced, and I saw that marriage was out - of the question. - - In my despair I consulted Professor Clinch about my dilemma, and as - to some safe way of getting at the rubies. He said that, if my uncle - had not lied, there was none that would not ruin the stones, - especially the pearls, but that it was a silly tale and altogether - incredible. I offered him the biggest ruby if he wished to test his - opinion. He did not desire to do so. - - Dr. Schaff, my uncle’s doctor, believed the old man’s letter, and - added a caution, which was entirely useless, for by this time I was - afraid to be in the room with that terrible box. - - At last the doctor kindly warned me that I was in danger of losing - my mind with too much thought about my rubies. In fact, I did - nothing else but contrive wild plans to get at them safely. I spent - all my spare hours at one of the great libraries reading about - dynamite. Indeed, I talked of it until the library attendants, - believing me a lunatic or a dynamite fiend, declined to humor me, - and spoke to the police. I suspect that for a while I was “shadowed” - as a suspicious, and possibly criminal, character. I gave up the - libraries, and, becoming more and more fearful, set my precious box - on a down pillow, for fear of its being shaken; for at this time - even the absurd possibility of its being disturbed by an earthquake - troubled me. I tried to calculate the amount of shake needful to - explode my box. - - The old doctor, when I saw him again, begged me to give up all - thought of the matter, and, as I felt how completely I was the slave - of one despotic idea, I tried to take the good advice thus given me. - - Unhappily, I found, soon after, between the leaves of my uncle’s - Bible, a numbered list of the stones with their cost and much - beside. It was dated two years before my uncle’s death. Many of the - stones were well known, and their enormous value amazed me. - - Several of the rubies were described with care, and curious - histories of them were given in detail. One was said to be the - famous “Sunset ruby,” which had belonged to the Empress-Queen Maria - Theresa. One was called the “Blood ruby,” not, as was explained, - because of the color, but on account of the murders it had - occasioned. Now, as I read, it seemed again to threaten death. - - The pearls were described with care as an unequalled collection. - Concerning two of them my uncle had written what I might call - biographies,—for, indeed, they seemed to have done much evil and - some good. One, a black pearl, was mentioned in an old bill of sale - as—She—which seemed queer to me. - - It was maddening. Here, guarded by a vision of sudden death, was - wealth “beyond the dreams of avarice.” I am not a clever or - ingenious man; I know little beyond how to keep a ledger, and so I - was, and am, no doubt, absurd about many of my notions as to how to - solve this riddle. - - At one time I thought of finding a man who would take the risk of - unlocking the box, but what right had I to subject any one else to - the trial I dared not face? I could easily drop the box from a - height somewhere, and if it did not explode could then safely unlock - it; but if it did blow up when it fell, good-by to my rubies. - _Mine_, indeed! I was rich, and I was not. I grew thin and morbid, - and so miserable that, being a good Catholic, I at last carried my - troubles to my father confessor. He thought it simply a cruel jest - of my uncle’s, but was not so eager for another world as to be - willing to open my box. He, too, counselled me to cease thinking - about it. Good heavens! I dreamed about it. Not to think about it - was impossible. Neither my own thought nor science nor religion had - been able to assist me. - - Two years have gone by, and I am one of the richest men in the city, - and have no more money than will keep me alive. - - Susan said I was half cracked like Uncle Philip, and broke off her - engagement. In my despair I have advertised in the “Journal of - Science,” and have had absurd schemes sent me by the dozen. At last, - as I talked too much about it, the thing became so well known that - when I put the horror in a safe, in bank, I was promptly desired to - withdraw it. I was in constant fear of burglars, and my landlady - gave me notice to leave, because no one would stay in the house with - that box. I am now advised to print my story and await advice from - the ingenuity of the American mind. - - I have moved into the suburbs and hidden the box and changed my name - and my occupation. This I did to escape the curiosity of the - reporters. I ought to say that when the government officials came to - hear of my inheritance, they very reasonably desired to collect the - succession tax on my uncle’s estate. - - I was delighted to assist them. I told the collector my story, and - showed him Uncle Philip’s letter. Then I offered him the key, and - asked for time to get half a mile away. That man said he would think - it over and come back later. - - This is all I have to say. I have made a will and left my rubies and - pearls to the Society for the Prevention of Human Vivisection. If - any man thinks this account a joke or an invention, let him coldly - imagine the situation: - - Given an iron box, known to contain wealth, said to contain - dynamite, arranged to explode when the key is used to unlock it—what - would any sane man do? What would he advise? - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE[8] - By A. CONAN DOYLE - - -Footnote 8: - - By permission of Harper & Brothers. - - I HAD called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the - autumn of last year, and found him in deep conversation with a very - stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman, with fiery red hair. With an - apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled - me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me. - - “You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,” - he said, cordially. - - “I was afraid that you were engaged.” - - “So I am. Very much so.” - - “Then I can wait in the next room.” - - “Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and - helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that - he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also.” - - The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of - greeting, with a quick, little, questioning glance from his small, - fat-encircled eyes. - - “Try the settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-chair and - putting his finger-tips together, as was his custom when in judicial - moods. “I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that - is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of - everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm - which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my - saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little - adventures.” - - “Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” I - observed. - - “You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we - went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, - that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go - to life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of - the imagination.” - - “A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.” - - “You did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, - for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you, until - your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. - Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this - morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the - most singular which I have listened to for some time. You have heard - me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often - connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and - occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any - positive crime has been committed. As far as I have heard it is - impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of - crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among the most - singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you - would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask - you, not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the - opening part, but also because the peculiar nature of the story - makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips. As a - rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course of - events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar - cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced - to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique.” - - The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some - little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the - inside pocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down the - advertisement column, with his head thrust forward, and the paper - flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man, and - endeavored, after the fashion of my companion, to read the - indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance. - - I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor - bore every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, - obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd’s check - trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the - front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a - square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed - top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay - upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was - nothing remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the - expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features. - - Sherlock Holmes’s quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his - head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. “Beyond the - obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he - takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and - that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can - deduce nothing else.” - - Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon - the paper, but his eyes upon my companion. - - “How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. - Holmes?” he asked. “How did you know, for example, that I did manual - labor? It’s as true as gospel, for I began as a ship’s carpenter.” - - “Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger - than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more - developed.” - - “Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?” - - “I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that, - especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you - use an arc-and-compass breastpin.” - - “Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?” - - “What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for - five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow - where you rest it upon the desk?” - - “Well, but China?” - - “The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist - could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of - tattoo marks, and have even contributed to the literature of the - subject. That trick of staining the fishes’ scales a delicate pink - is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin - hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple.” - - Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said he. “I - thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see that - there was nothing in it, after all.” - - “I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a mistake in - explaining. ‘_Omne ignotum pro magnifico_,’ you know, and my poor - little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so - candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?” - - “Yes, I have got it now,” he answered, with his thick, red finger - planted half-way down the column. “Here it is. This is what began it - all. You just read it for yourself, sir.” - - I took the paper from him, and read as follows: - - “TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the - late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U.S.A., there is now - another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League - to a salary of £4 a week for purely nominal services. All - red-headed men who are sound in body and mind, and above the - age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on - Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of - the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.” - - “What on earth does this mean?” I ejaculated, after I had twice read - over the extraordinary announcement. - - Holmes chuckled, and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in - high spirits. “It is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” said - he. “And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch, and tell us all - about yourself, your household, and the effect which this - advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note, - doctor, of the paper and the date.” - - “It is _The Morning Chronicle_, of April 27, 1890. Just two months - ago.” - - “Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?” - - “Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” - said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; “I have a small - pawnbroker’s business at Coburg Square, near the city. It’s not a - very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than just - give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but now - I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him, but that he is - willing to come for half wages, so as to learn the business.” - - “What is the name of this obliging youth?” asked Sherlock Holmes. - - “His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, either. - It’s hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. - Holmes; and I know very well that he could better himself, and earn - twice what I am able to give him. But, after all, if he is - satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?” - - “Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employé who comes - under the full market price. It is not a common experience among - employers in this age. I don’t know that your assistant is not as - remarkable as your advertisement.” - - “Oh, he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “Never was such a - fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to - be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a - rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main - fault; but, on the whole, he’s a good worker. There’s no vice in - him.” - - “He is still with you, I presume?” - - “Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple - cooking, and keeps the place clean—that’s all I have in the house, - for I am a widower, and never had any family. We live very quietly, - sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads, and pay our - debts, if we do nothing more. - - “The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, - he came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this - very paper in his hand, and he says: - - “‘I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.’ - - “‘Why that?’ I asks. - - “‘Why,’ says he, ‘here’s another vacancy in the League of the - Red-headed Men. It’s worth quite a little fortune to any man who - gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there - are men, so that the trustees are at their wits’ end what to do with - the money. If my hair would only change color, here’s a nice little - crib all ready for me to step into.’ - - “‘Why, what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very - stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having - to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over - the door-mat. In that way I didn’t know much of what was going on - outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news. - - “‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?’ he - asked, with his eyes open. - - “‘Never.’ - - “‘Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of - the vacancies.’ - - “‘And what are they worth?’ I asked. - - “‘Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and - it need not interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’ - - “Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for - the business has not been over-good for some years, and an extra - couple of hundred would have been very handy. - - “‘Tell me all about it,’ said I. - - “‘Well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can see for - yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address - where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, - the League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, - who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he - had a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so, when he died, it - was found that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of - trustees, with instructions to apply the interest to the providing - of easy berths to men whose hair is of that color. From all I hear - it is splendid pay, and very little to do.’ - - “‘But,’ said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who would - apply.’ - - “‘Not so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘You see it is - really confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had - started from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old - town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your - applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but - real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. - Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth - your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a few - hundred pounds.’ - - “Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that - my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me - that, if there was to be any competition in the matter, I stood as - good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding - seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might prove - useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for the day, - and to come right away with me. He was very willing to have a - holiday, so we shut the business up, and started off for the address - that was given us in the advertisement. - - “I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From - north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his - hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet - Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope’s Court looked like - a coster’s orange barrow. I should not have thought there were so - many in the whole country as were brought together by that single - advertisement. Every shade of color they were—straw, lemon, orange, - brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were - not many who had the real vivid flame-colored tint. When I saw how - many were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but - Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, - but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got me through the - crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the office. There was - a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some - coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could, and soon - found ourselves in the office.” - - “Your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked Holmes, - as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of - snuff. “Pray continue your very interesting statement.” - - “There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a - deal table, behind which sat a small man, with a head that was even - redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came - up, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which - would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a - very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn came, the little - man was much more favorable to me than to any of the others, and he - closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word - with us. - - “‘This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing - to fill a vacancy in the League.’ - - “‘And he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘He has - every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so - fine.’ He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and - gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he - plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my - success. - - “‘It would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You will, however, I - am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ With that he - seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the - pain. ‘There is water in your eyes,’ said he, as he released me. ‘I - perceive that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for - we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell - you tales of cobbler’s wax which would disgust you with human - nature.’ He stepped over to the window, and shouted through it at - the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of - disappointment came up from below, and the folk all trooped away in - different directions, until there was not a red head to be seen - except my own and that of the manager. - - “‘My name,’ said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the - pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a - married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?’ - - “I answered that I had not. - - “His face fell immediately. - - “‘Dear me!’ he said, gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! I am - sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the - propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their - maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a - bachelor.’ - - “My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was - not to have the vacancy after all; but, after thinking it over for a - few minutes, he said that it would be all right. - - “‘In the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be fatal, - but we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such a head of - hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new - duties?’ - - “‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ said - I. - - “‘Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spaulding. ‘I - shall be able to look after that for you.’ - - “‘What would be the hours?’ I asked. - - “‘Ten to two.’ - - “Now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. - Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before - pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the - mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that - he would see to anything that turned up. - - “‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’ - - “‘Is £4 a week.’ - - “‘And the work?’ - - “‘Is purely nominal.’ - - “‘What do you call purely nominal?’ - - “‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, - the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position - forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You don’t comply - with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time.’ - - “‘It’s only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,’ - said I. - - “‘No excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross; ‘neither sickness nor - business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your - billet.’ - - “‘And the work?’ - - “‘Is to copy out the “Encyclopædia Britannica.” There is the first - volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and - blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be - ready to-morrow?’ - - “‘Certainly,’ I answered. - - “‘Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once - more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough - to gain.’ He bowed me out of the room, and I went home with my - assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my - own good fortune. - - “Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in - low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole - affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object - might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that - any one could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum - for doing anything so simple as copying out the ‘Encyclopædia - Britannica.’ Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but - by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in - the morning I determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a - penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of - foolscap paper, I started off for Pope’s Court. - - “Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as - possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross - was there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon - the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to - time to see that all was right with me. At two o’clock he bade me - good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had written, and - locked the door of the office after me. - - “This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager - came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work. - It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every - morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By - degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, - and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, - I never dared to leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure - when he might come, and the billet was such a good one, and suited - me so well, that I would not risk the loss of it. - - “Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots - and Archery and Armor and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with - diligence that I might get on to the B’s before very long. It cost - me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf - with my writings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an - end.” - - “To an end?” - - “Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as - usual at ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a - little square of card-board hammered on to the middle of the panel - with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself.” - - He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet of - note-paper. It read in this fashion: - - - “THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE - - is - - DISSOLVED. - - _October 9, 1890._” - - - Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful - face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely - overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a - roar of laughter. - - “I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client, - flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothing - better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.” - - “No, no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which - he had half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. - It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my - saying so, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps - did you take when you found the card upon the door?” - - “I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at - the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about - it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on - the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had - become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of - any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered - that the name was new to him. - - “‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’ - - “‘What, the red-headed man?’ - - “‘Yes.’ - - “‘Oh,’ said he, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor, - and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new - premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.’ - - “‘Where could I find him?’ - - “‘Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King - Edward Street, near St. Paul’s.’ - - “I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a - manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard - of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.” - - “And what did you do then?” asked Holmes. - - “I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my - assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say - that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good - enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a - struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough to give - advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away to - you.” - - “And you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is an exceedingly - remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you - have told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang - from it than might at first sight appear.” - - “Grave enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why, I have lost four pound - a week.” - - “As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Holmes, “I do not - see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. - On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £30, to - say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every - subject which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by - them.” - - “No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and - what their object was in playing this prank—if it was a prank—upon - me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two - and thirty pounds.” - - “We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And, first, one - or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first - called your attention to the advertisement—how long had he been with - you?” - - “About a month then.” - - “How did he come?” - - “In answer to an advertisement.” - - “Was he the only applicant?” - - “No, I had a dozen.” - - “Why did you pick him?” - - “Because he was handy, and would come cheap.” - - “At half wages, in fact.” - - “Yes.” - - “What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?” - - “Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, - though he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his - forehead.” - - Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I thought as - much,” said he. “Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced - for earrings?” - - “Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he was a - lad.” - - “Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “He is still with - you?” - - “Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.” - - “And has your business been attended to in your absence?” - - “Nothing to complain of, sir. There’s never very much to do of a - morning.” - - “That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion - upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, - and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.” - - “Well, Watson,” said Holmes, when our visitor had left us, “what do - you make of it all?” - - “I make nothing of it,” I answered, frankly. “It is a most - mysterious business.” - - “As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the less - mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless - crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the - most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.” - - “What are you going to do, then?” I asked. - - “To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three-pipe problem, and I - beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” He curled himself - up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, - and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe - thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the - conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding - myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of - a man who has made up his mind, and put his pipe down upon the - mantel-piece. - - “Sarasate plays at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” he - remarked. “What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you - for a few hours?” - - “I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing.” - - “Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the city first, - and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a - good deal of German music on the program which is rather more to my - taste than Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to - introspect. Come along!” - - We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short - walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story - which we had listened to in the morning. It was a pokey, little, - shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick - houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of - weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard - fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt - balls and a brown board with “JABEZ WILSON” in white letters, upon a - corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client - carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with - his head on one side, and looked it all over, with his eyes shining - brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, - and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the - houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker’s, and, having thumped - vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he - went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a - bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in. - - “Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you how you would go - from here to the Strand.” - - “Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant, promptly, - closing the door. - - “Smart fellow, that,” observed Holmes, as we walked away. “He is, in - my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am - not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something - of him before.” - - “Evidently,” said I, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal - in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you - inquired your way merely in order that you might see him.” - - “Not him.” - - “What then?” - - “The knees of his trousers.” - - “And what did you see?” - - “What I expected to see.” - - “Why did you beat the pavement?” - - “My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We - are spies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg - Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.” - - The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner - from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to - it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the - main arteries which convey the traffic of the city to the north and - west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce - flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the foot-paths - were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult - to realize as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately - business premises that they really abutted on the other side upon - the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted. - - “Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner, and glancing - along the line, “I should like just to remember the order of the - houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of - London. There is Mortimer’s, the tobacconist, the little newspaper - shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the - Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane’s carriage-building depot. That - carries us right on to the other block. And now, doctor, we’ve done - our work, so it’s time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of - coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and - delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to vex us - with their conundrums.” - - My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a - very capable performer, but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the - afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect - happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the - music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes - were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the - relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was - possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature - alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and - astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction - against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally - predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from extreme - languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so - truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in - his arm-chair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions. - Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him, - and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of - intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would - look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of - other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the - music at St. James’s Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming - upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down. - - “You want to go home, no doubt, doctor,” he remarked, as we emerged. - - “Yes, it would be as well.” - - “And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This - business at Coburg Square is serious.” - - “Why serious?” - - “A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to - believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being - Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help - to-night.” - - “At what time?” - - “Ten will be early enough.” - - “I shall be at Baker Street at ten.” - - “Very well. And, I say, doctor, there may be some little danger, so - kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.” He waved his hand, - turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd. - - I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I was always - oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with - Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what - he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw - clearly not only what had happened, but what was about to happen, - while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As - I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from - the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the - “Encyclopædia” down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the - ominous words with which he had parted from me. What was this - nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were we - going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that this - smooth-faced pawnbroker’s assistant was a formidable man—a man who - might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in - despair, and set the matter aside until night should bring an - explanation. - - It was a quarter past nine when I started from home and made my way - across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two - hansoms were standing at the door, and, as I entered the passage, I - heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found - Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I - recognized as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the - other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and - oppressively respectable frock-coat. - - “Ha! our party is complete,” said Holmes, buttoning up his - pea-jacket, and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. - “Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me - introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in - to-night’s adventure.” - - “We’re hunting in couples again, doctor, you see,” said Jones, in - his consequential way. “Our friend here is a wonderful man for - starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the - running down.” - - “I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,” - observed Mr. Merryweather, gloomily. - - “You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,” said the - police agent, loftily. “He has his own little methods, which are, if - he won’t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and - fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not - too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the - Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct - than the official force.” - - “Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,” said the stranger, - with deference. “Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the - first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had - my rubber.” - - “I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that you will play - for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that - the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake - will be some £30,000, and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon - whom you wish to lay your hands.” - - “John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He’s a young - man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and - I would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in - London. He’s a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather - was a royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His - brain is as cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him - at every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He’ll - crack a crib in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an - orphanage in Cornwall the next. I’ve been on his track for years, - and have never set eyes on him yet.” - - “I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. - I’ve had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I - agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past - ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two will take - the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the second.” - - Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive, - and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the - afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit - streets until we emerged into Farringdon Street. - - “We are close there now,” my friend remarked. “This fellow - Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the - matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a - bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He has - one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bull-dog, and as tenacious - as a lobster if he gets his claws upon any one. Here we are, and - they are waiting for us.” - - We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found - ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following - the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage - and through a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a - small corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also - was opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which - terminated at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to - light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling - passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or - cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes. - - “You are not very vulnerable from above,” Holmes remarked, as he - held up the lantern and gazed about him. - - “Nor from below,” said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the - flags which lined the floor. “Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!” - he remarked, looking up in surprise. - - “I must really ask you to be a little more quiet,” said Holmes, - severely. “You have already imperilled the whole success of our - expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down - upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?” - - The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a - very injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his - knees upon the floor, and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, - began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few - seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again, - and put his glass in his pocket. - - “We have at least an hour before us,” he remarked; “for they can - hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. - Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work - the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at present, - doctor—as no doubt you have divined—in the cellar of the city branch - of one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the - chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there are - reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take a - considerable interest in this cellar at present.” - - “It is our French gold,” whispered the director. “We have had - several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.” - - “Your French gold?” - - “Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources, - and borrowed, for that purpose, 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of - France. It has become known that we have never had occasion to - unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The - crate upon which I sit contains 2000 napoleons packed between layers - of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than - is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have - had misgivings upon the subject.” - - “Which were very well justified,” observed Holmes. “And now it is - time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour - matters will come to a head. In the mean time, Mr. Merryweather, we - must put the screen over that dark lantern.” - - “And sit in the dark?” - - “I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I - thought that, as we were a _partie carrée_, you might have your - rubber after all. But I see that the enemy’s preparations have gone - so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of - all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men, and though - we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm - unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you - conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon - them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunction - about shooting them down.” - - I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind - which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his - lantern, and left us in pitch darkness—such an absolute darkness as - I have never before experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to - assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a - moment’s notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of - expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the - sudden gloom, and in the cold, dank air of the vault. - - “They have but one retreat,” whispered Holmes. “That is back through - the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I - asked you, Jones?” - - “I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.” - - “Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and - wait.” - - What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an - hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have - almost gone, and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary - and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my nerves were - worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so - acute that I could not only hear the gentle breathing of my - companions, but I could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of - the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director. - From my position I could look over the case in the direction of the - floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light. - - At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it - lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any - warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared; a - white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the center of the - little area of light. For a minute or more the hand, with its - writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn - as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the single - lurid spark which marked a chink between the stones. - - Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, - tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its - side, and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the - light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish - face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either - side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, - until one knee rested upon the edge. In another instant he stood at - the side of the hole, and was hauling after him a companion, lithe - and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red - hair. - - “It’s all clear,” he whispered. “Have you the chisel and the bags? - Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I’ll swing for it!” - - Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the - collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of - rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed - upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes’s hunting crop came down - on the man’s wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone floor. - - “It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes, blandly. “You have no chance - at all.” - - “So I see,” the other answered, with the utmost coolness. “I fancy - that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails.” - - “There are three men waiting for him at the door,” said Holmes. - - “Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must - compliment you.” - - “And I you,” Holmes answered. “Your red-headed idea was very new and - effective.” - - “You’ll see your pal again presently,” said Jones. “He’s quicker at - climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the - derbies.” - - “I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,” remarked - our prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. “You may - not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, - also, when you address me always to say ‘sir’ and ‘please.’” - - “All right,” said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. “Well, would - you please, sir, march up-stairs, where we can get a cab to carry - your highness to the police-station?” - - “That is better,” said John Clay, serenely. He made a sweeping bow - to the three of us, and walked quietly off in the custody of the - detective. - - “Really Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather, as we followed them from - the cellar, “I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. - There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most - complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery - that have ever come within my experience.” - - “I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. - John Clay,” said Holmes. “I have been at some small expense over - this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond - that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many - ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the - Red-headed League.” - - * * * * * - - “You see, Watson,” he explained, in the early hours of the morning, - as we sat over a glass of whiskey-and-soda in Baker Street, “it was - perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of - this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, - and the copying of the ‘Encyclopædia,’ must be to get this not - over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every - day. It was a curious way of managing it, but, really, it would be - difficult to suggest a better. The method was no doubt suggested to - Clay’s ingenious mind by the color of his accomplice’s hair. The £4 - a week was a lure which must draw him, and what was it to them, who - were playing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, one rogue - has the temporary office, the other rogue incites the man to apply - for it, and together they manage to secure his absence every morning - in the week. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come - for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive - for securing the situation.” - - “But how could you guess what the motive was?” - - “Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a mere - vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The man’s - business was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which - could account for such elaborate preparations, and such an - expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something out of the - house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant’s fondness for - photography, and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! - There was the end of this tangled clue. Then I made inquiries as to - this mysterious assistant, and found that I had to deal with one of - the coolest and most daring criminals in London. He was doing - something in the cellar—something which took many hours a day for - months on end. What could it be, once more? I could think of nothing - save that he was running a tunnel to some other building. - - “So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I - surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was - ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It - was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the - assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had never - set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face. His - knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how - worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours of - burrowing. The only remaining point was what they were burrowing - for. I walked round the corner, saw that the City and Suburban Bank - abutted on our friend’s premises, and felt that I had solved my - problem. When you drove home after the concert I called upon - Scotland Yard, and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the - result that you have seen.” - - “And how could you tell that they would make their attempt - to-night?” I asked. - - “Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that - they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson’s presence—in other - words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential - that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the - bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than any - other day, as it would give them two days for their escape. For all - these reasons I expected them to come to-night.” - - “You reasoned it out beautifully,” I exclaimed, in unfeigned - admiration. “It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true.” - - “It saved me from ennui,” he answered, yawning. “Alas! I already - feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to - escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little problems - help me to do so.” - - “And you are a benefactor of the race,” said I. - - He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, perhaps, after all, it is of some - little use,” he remarked. “_‘L’homme c’est rien—l’œuvre c’est - tout_,’ as Gustave Flaubert wrote to Georges Sand.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK - By Owen Johnson - - - THEY were discussing languidly, as such groups do, seeking from each - topic a peg on which to hang a few epigrams that might be retold in - the lip currency of the club—Steingall, the painter, florid of - gesture, and effete, foreign in type, with black-rimmed glasses and - trailing ribbon of black silk that cut across his cropped beard and - cavalry mustaches; De Gollyer, a critic, who preferred to be known - as a man about town, short, feverish, incisive, who slew platitudes - with one adjective and tagged a reputation with three; Rankin, the - architect, always in a defensive, explanatory attitude, who held his - elbows on the table, his hands before his long sliding nose, and - gestured with his fingers; Quinny, the illustrator, long and gaunt, - with a predatory eloquence that charged irresistibly down on any - subject, cut it off, surrounded it, and raked it with enfilading wit - and satire; and Peters, whose methods of existence were a mystery, a - young man of fifty, who had done nothing and who knew every one by - his first name, the club postman, who carried the tittle-tattle, the - _bon mots_ and the news of the day, who drew up a petition a week - and pursued the house committee with a daily grievance. - - About the latticed porch, which ran around the sanded yard with its - feeble fountain and futile evergreens, other groups were eying one - another, or engaging in desultory conversation, oppressed with the - heaviness of the night. - - At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he devoured - the conversation, having routed Steingall on the Germans and - archæology and Rankin on the origins of the Lord’s Prayer, had - seized a chance remark of De Gollyer’s to say: - - “There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like everything - that’s true it isn’t true.” He waved his long, gouty fingers in the - direction of Steingall, who, having been silenced, was regarding him - with a look of sleepy indifference. “What is more to the point, is - the small number of human relations that are so simple and yet so - fundamental that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and - reinterpreted in every language, in every age, and yet remain - inexhaustible in the possibility of variations.” - - “By George, that is so,” said Steingall, waking up. “Every art does - go back to three or four notes. In composition it is the same thing. - Nothing new—nothing new since a thousand years. By George, that is - true! We invent nothing, nothing!” - - “Take the eternal triangle,” said Quinny hurriedly, not to surrender - his advantage, while Rankin and De Gollyer in a bored way continued - to gaze dreamily at a vagrant star or two. “Two men and a woman, or - two women and a man. Obviously it should be classified as the first - of the great original parent themes. Its variations extend into the - thousands. By the way, Rankin, excellent opportunity, eh, for some - of our modern, painstaking, unemployed jackasses to analyze and - classify.” - - “Quite right,” said Rankin without perceiving the satirical note. - “Now there’s De Maupassant’s _Fort comme la Mort_—quite the most - interesting variation—shows the turn a genius can give. There the - triangle is the man of middle age, the mother he has loved in his - youth and the daughter he comes to love. It forms, you might say, - the head of a whole subdivision of modern continental literature.” - - “Quite wrong, Rankin, quite wrong,” said Quinny, who would have - stated the other side quite as imperiously. “What you cite is a - variation of quite another theme, the Faust theme—old age longing - for youth, the man who has loved longing for the love of his youth, - which is youth itself. The triangle is the theme of jealousy, the - most destructive and, therefore, the most dramatic of human - passions. The Faust theme is the most fundamental and inevitable of - all human experiences, the tragedy of life itself. Quite a different - thing.” - - Rankin, who never agreed with Quinny unless Quinny maliciously took - advantage of his prior announcement to agree with him, continued to - combat this idea. - - “You believe then,” said De Gollyer after a certain moment had been - consumed in hair splitting, “that the origin of all dramatic themes - is simply the expression of some human emotion. In other words, - there can exist no more parent themes than there are human - emotions.” - - “I thank you, sir, very well put,” said Quinny with a generous wave - of his hand. “Why is the _Three Musketeers_ a basic theme? Simply - the interpretation of comradeship, the emotion one man feels for - another, vital because it is the one peculiarly masculine emotion. - Look at Du Maurier and _Trilby_, Kipling in _Soldiers Three_—simply - the _Three Musketeers_.” - - “The _Vie de Bohème_?” suggested Steingall. - - “In the real Vie de Bohème, yes,” said Quinny viciously. “Not in the - concocted sentimentalities that we now have served up to us by - athletic tenors and consumptive elephants!” - - Rankin, who had been silently deliberating on what had been left - behind, now said cunningly and with evident purpose: - - “All the same, I don’t agree with you men at all. I believe there - are situations, original situations, that are independent of your - human emotions, that exist just because they are situations, - accidental and nothing else.” - - “As for instance?” said Quinny, preparing to attack. - - “Well, I’ll just cite an ordinary one that happens to come to my - mind,” said Rankin, who had carefully selected his test. “In a group - of seven or eight, such as we are here, a theft takes place; one man - is the thief—which one? I’d like to know what emotion that - interprets, and yet it certainly is an original theme, at the bottom - of a whole literature.” - - This challenge was like a bomb. - - “Not the same thing.” - - “Detective stories, bah!” - - “Oh, I say, Rankin, that’s literary melodrama.” - - Rankin, satisfied, smiled and winked victoriously over to Tommers, - who was listening from an adjacent table. - - “Of course your suggestion is out of order, my dear man, to this - extent,” said Quinny, who never surrendered, “in that I am talking - of fundamentals and you are citing details. Nevertheless, I could - answer that the situation you give, as well as the whole school it - belongs to, can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions, - curiosity; and that the story of _Bluebeard_ and _The Moonstone_ are - to all purposes identically the same.” - - At this Steingall, who had waited hopefully, gasped and made as - though to leave the table. - - “I shall take up your contention,” said Quinny without pause for - breath, “first, because you have opened up one of my pet topics, - and, second, because it gives me a chance to talk.” He gave a - sidelong glance at Steingall and winked at De Gollyer. “What is the - peculiar fascination that the detective problem exercises over the - human mind? You will say curiosity. Yes and no. Admit at once that - the whole art of a detective story consists in the statement of the - problem. Any one can do it. I can do it. Steingall even can do it. - The solution doesn’t count. It is usually banal; it should be - prohibited. What interests us is, can we guess it? Just as an - able-minded man will sit down for hours and fiddle over the puzzle - column in a Sunday balderdash. Same idea. There you have it, the - problem—the detective story. Now why the fascination? I’ll tell you. - It appeals to our curiosity, yes—but deeper to a sort of - intellectual vanity. Here are six matches, arrange them to make four - squares; five men present, a theft takes place—who’s the thief? Who - will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior - cleverness—see? That’s all—that’s all there is to it.” - - “Out of all of which,” said De Gollyer, “the interesting thing is - that Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply of detective - fiction is inexhaustible. It does all come down to the simplest - terms. Seven possibilities, one answer. It is a formula, ludicrously - simple, mechanical, and yet we will always pursue it to the end. The - marvel is that writers should seek for any other formula when here - is one so safe, that can never fail. Be George, I could start up a - factory on it.” - - “The reason is,” said Rankin, “that the situation does constantly - occur. It’s a situation that any of us might get into any time. As a - matter of fact, now, I personally know two such occasions when I was - of the party; and very uncomfortable it was too.” - - “What happened?” said Steingall. - - “Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake had been - made, and the other time the real thief was detected by accident a - year later. In both cases only one or two of us knew what had - happened.” - - De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, after - reflection, related another that had happened to a friend. - - “Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen,” said Quinny impatiently, - for he had been silent too long, “you are glorifying commonplaces. - Every crime, I tell you, expresses itself in the terms of the - picture puzzle that you feed to your six-year-old. It’s only the - variation that is interesting. Now quite the most remarkable turn of - the complexities that can be developed is, of course, the well-known - instance of the visitor at a club and the rare coin. Of course every - one knows that? What?” - - Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others protested - their ignorance. - - “Why, it’s very well known,” said Quinny lightly. “A distinguished - visitor is brought into a club—dozen men, say, present, at dinner, - long table. Conversation finally veers around to curiosities and - relics. One of the members present then takes from his pocket what - he announces as one of the rarest coins in existence—passes it - around the table. Coin travels back and forth, every one examining - it, and the conversation goes to another topic, say the influence of - the automobile on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely - intellectual club topic—you know? All at once the owner calls for - his coin. - - “The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at every one else. - First, they suspect a joke. Then it becomes serious—the coin is - immensely valuable. Who has taken it? - - “The owner is a gentleman—does the gentlemanly idiotic thing, of - course, laughs, says he knows some one is playing a practical joke - on him and that the coin will be returned to-morrow. The others - refuse to leave the situation so. One man proposes that they all - submit to a search. Every one gives his assent until it comes to the - stranger. He refuses, curtly, roughly, without giving any reason. - Uncomfortable silence—the man is a guest. No one knows him - particularly well—but still he is a guest. One member tries to make - him understand that no offense is offered, that the suggestion was - simply to clear the atmosphere, and all that sort of bally rot, you - know. - - “‘I refuse to allow my person to be searched,’ says the stranger, - very firm, very proud, very English, you know, ‘and I refuse to give - my reason for my action.’ - - “Another silence. The men eye him and then glance at one another. - What’s to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette—that magnificent - inflated balloon. The visitor evidently has the coin—but he is their - guest and etiquette protects him. Nice situation, eh? - - “The table is cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit and there - under the ledge of the plate where it had been pushed—is the coin. - Banal explanation, eh? Of course. Solutions always should be. At - once every one in profouse apologies! Whereupon the visitor rises - and says: - - “‘Now I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched. There - are only two known specimens of the coin in existence, and the - second happens to be here in my waistcoat pocket.’” - - “Of course,” said Quinny with a shrug of his shoulders, “the story - is well invented, but the turn to it is very nice—very nice indeed.” - - “I did know the story,” said Steingall, to be disagreeable; “the - ending, though, is too obvious to be invented. The visitor should - have had on him not another coin, but something absolutely - different, something destructive, say, of a woman’s reputation, and - a great tragedy should have been threatened by the casual misplacing - of the coin.” - - “I have heard the same story told in a dozen different ways,” said - Rankin. - - “It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening,” - said Steingall. - - “I know one extraordinary instance,” said Peters, who up to the - present, secure in his climax, had waited with a professional smile - until the big guns had been silenced. “In fact, the most - extraordinary instance of this sort I have ever heard.” - - “Peters, you little rascal,” said Quinny with a sidelong glance, “I - perceive you have quietly been letting us dress the stage for you.” - - “It is not a story that will please every one,” said Peters, to whet - their appetite. - - “Why not?” - - “Because you will want to know what no one can ever know.” - - “It has no conclusion then?” - - “Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, quite the most - remarkable woman I have ever met, the story is complete. As for the - rest, it is what it is, because it is one example where literature - can do nothing better than record.” - - “Do I know the woman?” asked De Gollyer, who flattered himself on - passing through every class of society. - - “Possibly, but no more than any one else.” - - “An actress?” - - “What she has been in the past I don’t know—a promoter would better - describe her. Undoubtedly she has been behind the scenes in many an - untold intrigue of the business world. A very feminine woman, and - yet, as you shall see, with an unusual instantaneous masculine power - of decision.” - - “Peters,” said Quinny, waving a warning finger, “you are destroying - your story. Your preface will bring an anti-climax.” - - “You shall judge,” said Peters, who waited until his audience was in - strained attention before opening his story. “The names are, of - course, disguises.” - - * * * * * - - Mrs. Rita Kildair inhabited a charming bachelor-girl studio, very - elegant, of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings just off - Central Park West. She knew pretty nearly every one in that - indescribable society in New York that is drawn from all levels, and - that imposes but one condition for membership—to be amusing. She - knew every one and no one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest - rumors her history or her means. No one had ever heard of a Mr. - Kildair. There was always about her a certain defensive reserve the - moment the limits of acquaintanceship had been reached. She had a - certain amount of money, she knew a certain number of men in Wall - Street affairs, and her studio was furnished with taste and even - distinction. She was of any age. She might have suffered everything - or nothing at all. In this mingled society her invitations were - eagerly sought, her dinners were spontaneous, and the discussions, - though gay and usually daring, were invariably under the control of - wit and good taste. - - On the Sunday night of this adventure she had, according to her - invariable custom, sent away her Japanese butler and invited to an - informal chafing-dish supper seven of her more congenial friends, - all of whom, as much as could be said of any one, were habitués of - the studio. - - At seven o’clock, having finished dressing, she put in order her - bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between the studio and - a small dining room to the kitchen beyond. Then, going into the - studio, she lit a wax taper and was in the act of touching off the - brass candlesticks that lighted the room when three knocks sounded - on the door and a Mr. Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, - well groomed, entered with the informality of assured acquaintance. - - “You are early,” said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise. - - “On the contrary, you are late,” said the broker, glancing at his - watch. - - “Then be a good boy and help me with the candles,” she said, giving - him a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers. - - He obeyed, asking nonchalantly: - - “I say, dear lady, who’s to be here to-night?” - - “The Enos Jacksons.” - - “I thought they were separated.” - - “Not yet.” - - “Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have thought of - serving us a couple on the verge.” - - “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” - - “Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?” - - “Through the Warings. Jackson’s a rather doubtful person, isn’t he?” - - “Let’s call him a very sharp lawyer,” said Flanders defensively. - “They tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of the market—in - deep.” - - “And you?” - - “Oh, I? I’m a bachelor,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, “and - if I come a cropper it makes no difference.” - - “Is that possible?” she said, looking at him quickly. - - “Probable even. And who else is coming?” - - “Maude Lille—you know her?” - - “I think not.” - - “You met her here—a journalist.” - - “Quite so, a strange career.” - - “Mr. Harris, a clubman, is coming, and the Stanley Cheevers.” - - “The Stanley Cheevers!” said Flanders with some surprise. “Are we - going to gamble?” - - “You believe in that scandal about bridge?” - - “Certainly not,” said Flanders, smiling. “You see I was present. The - Cheevers play a good game, a well united game, and have an unusual - system of makes. By-the-way it’s Jackson who is very attentive to - Mrs. Cheever, isn’t it?” - - “Quite right.” - - “What a charming party,” said Flanders flippantly. “And where does - Maude Lille come in?” - - “Don’t joke. She is in a desperate way,” said Mrs. Kildair, with a - little sadness in her eyes. - - “And Harris?” - - “Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken.” - - “Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of - respectability.” - - “Of what?” - - She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping his - glance. - - “Don’t be an ass with me, my dear Flanders.” - - “By George, if this were Europe I’d wager you were in the secret - service, Mrs. Kildair.” - - “Thank you.” - - She smiled appreciatively and moved about the studio, giving the - finishing touches. The Stanley Cheevers entered, a short fat man - with a vacant fat face and a slow-moving eye, and his wife, voluble, - nervous, overdressed and pretty. Mr. Harris came with Maude Lille, a - woman, straight, dark, Indian, with great masses of somber hair held - in a little too loosely for neatness, with thick, quick lips and - eyes that rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The - Enos Jacksons were late and still agitated as they entered. His - forehead had not quite banished the scowl, nor her eyes the scorn. - He was of the type that never lost his temper, but caused others to - lose theirs, immovable in his opinions, with a prowling walk, a - studied antagonism in his manner, and an impudent look that fastened - itself unerringly on the weakness in the person to whom he spoke. - Mrs. Jackson, who seemed fastened to her husband by an invisible - leash, had a hunted, resisting quality back of a certain desperate - dash, which she assumed rather than felt in her attitude toward - life. One looked at her curiously and wondered what such a nature - would do in a crisis, with a lurking sense of a woman who carried - with her her own impending tragedy. - - As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity of the - selection had been perceived, a smile of malicious anticipation ran - the rounds, which the hostess cut short by saying: - - “Well, now that every one is here, this is the order of the night: - You can quarrel all you want, you can whisper all the gossip you can - think of about one another, but every one is to be amusing! Also - every one is to help with the dinner—nothing formal and nothing - serious. We may all be bankrupt to-morrow, divorced or dead, but - to-night we will be gay—that is the invariable rule of the house!” - - Immediately a nervous laughter broke out and the company, - chattering, began to scatter through the rooms. - - Mrs. Kildair, stopping in her bedroom, donned a Watteaulike cooking - apron, and slipping her rings from her fingers fixed the three on - her pincushion with a hatpin. - - “Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful,” said the low voice of - Maude Lille, who, with Harris and Mrs. Cheever, was in the room. - - “There’s only one that is very valuable,” said Mrs. Kildair, - touching with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost, two - large diamonds, flanking a magnificent sapphire. - - “It is beautiful—very beautiful,” said the journalist, her eyes - fastened to it with an uncontrollable fascination. She put out her - fingers and let them rest caressingly on the sapphire, withdrawing - them quickly as though the contact had burned them. - - “It must be very valuable,” she said, her breath catching a little. - Mrs. Cheever, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring. - - “It cost five thousand six years ago,” said Mrs. Kildair, glancing - down at it. “It has been my talisman ever since. For the moment, - however, I am cook; Maude Lille, you are scullery maid; Harris is - the chef, and we are under his orders. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever - peel onions?” - - “Good Heavens, no!” said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling. - - “Well, there are no onions to peel,” said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. - “All you’ll have to do is to help set the table. On to the kitchen!” - - Under their hostess’s gay guidance the seven guests began to - circulate busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping the - chairs, opening bottles, and preparing the material for the chafing - dishes. Mrs. Kildair, in the kitchen, ransacked the ice box, and - with her own hands chopped the _fines herbes_, shredded the chicken - and measured the cream. - - “Flanders, carry this in carefully,” she said, her hands in a towel. - “Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the salad bowl on the - table. Everything ready, Harris? All right. Every one sit down. I’ll - be right in.” - - She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her apron hung - it in the closet. Then going to her dressing table she drew the - hatpin from the pincushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her - fingers. All at once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. - Only two rings were there, the third ring, the one with the sapphire - and the two diamonds, was missing. - - “Stupid,” she said to herself, and returned to her dressing table. - All at once she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the - pin through the three rings. - - She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving, - her fingers drumming slowly on the table, her head to one side, her - lip drawn in a little between her teeth, listening with a frown to - the babble from the outer room. Who had taken the ring? Each of her - guests had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she - had been busy in the kitchen. - - “Too much time before the mirror, dear lady,” called out Flanders - gaily, who from where he was seated could see her. - - “It is not he,” she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. “Why not? - He is clever—who knows? Let me think.” - - To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her head - bowed, her thumb between her teeth. - - “Who has taken it?” - - She ran over the characters of her guests and their situations as - she knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped upon some - reason that might explain a sudden temptation. - - “I shall find out nothing this way,” she said to herself after a - moment’s deliberation; “that is not the important thing to me just - now. The important thing is to get the ring back.” - - And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her - clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her - journey. - - Five minutes later, as Harris, installed _en maître_ over the - chafing dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs. Kildair - came into the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been - made with scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware - of it at the same moment, with a little nervous start. - - “Heavens, dear lady,” exclaimed Flanders, “you come in on us like a - Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a surprise?” - - As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing her forehead - together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line. - - “I have something to say to you,” she said in a sharp, businesslike - manner, watching the company with penetrating eagerness. - - There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. Harris - extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish clumsily with a - discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Enos Jackson - swung about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while - the men imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy - shuffling of the feet. - - “Mr. Enos Jackson?” - - “Yes, Mrs. Kildair.” - - “Kindly do as I ask you.” - - “Certainly.” - - She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was - almost an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his eyebrows a little - in surprise. - - “Go to the door,” she continued, shifting her glance from him to the - others. “Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the key.” - - He executed the order without bungling, and returning stood before - her, tendering the key. - - “You’ve locked it?” she said, making the words an excuse to bury her - glance in his. - - “As you wished me to.” - - “Thanks.” - - She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise locked - the door into her bedroom through which she had come. - - Then transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of - Jackson, who still awaited her further commands, her eyes studied a - moment the possibilities of the apartment. - - “Mr. Cheever?” she said in a low voice. - - “Yes, Mrs. Kildair.” - - “Blow out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table.” - - “Put out the lights, Mrs. Kildair?” - - “At once.” - - Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of - questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the hostess. - - “But, my dear Mrs. Kildair,” said Mrs. Jackson with a little nervous - catch of her breath, “what is it? I’m getting terribly worked up! My - nerves—” - - “Miss Lille?” said the voice of command. - - “Yes.” - - The journalist, calmer than the rest, had watched the proceedings - without surprise, as though fore-warned by professional instinct - that something of importance was about to take place. Now she rose - quietly with an almost stealthy motion. - - “Put the candelabrum on this table—here,” said Mrs. Kildair, - indicating a large round table on which a few books were grouped. - “No, wait. Mr. Jackson, first clear off the table. I want nothing on - it.” - - “But, Mrs. Kildair—” began Mrs. Jackson’s shrill voice again. - - “That’s it. Now put down the candelabrum.” - - In a moment, as Mr. Cheever proceeded methodically on his errand, - the brilliant crossfire of lights dropped in the studio, only a few - smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high room seemed to - grow more distant as it came under the sole dominion of the three - candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table. - - “Now listen!” said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice had in it a cold - note. “My sapphire ring has just been stolen.” - - She said it suddenly, hurling the news among them and waiting - ferret-like for some indications in the chorus that broke out. - - “Stolen!” - - “Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair!” - - “Stolen—by Jove!” - - “You don’t mean it!” - - “What! Stolen here—to-night?” - - “The ring has been taken within the last twenty minutes,” continued - Mrs. Kildair in the same determined, chiseled tone. “I am not going - to mince words. The ring has been taken and the thief is among you.” - - For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp and a - sudden turning and searching, then suddenly Cheever’s deep bass - broke out: - - “Stolen! But, Mrs. Kildair, is it possible?” - - “Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt,” said Mrs. Kildair. - “Three of you were in my bedroom when I placed my rings on the - pincushion. Each of you has passed through there a dozen times - since. My sapphire ring is gone, and one of you has taken it.” - - Mrs. Jackson gave a little scream, and reached heavily for a glass - of water. Mrs. Cheever said something inarticulate in the outburst - of masculine exclamation. Only Maude Lille’s calm voice could be - heard saying: - - “Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The sapphire - ring was on top.” - - “Now listen!” said Mrs. Kildair, her eyes on Maude Lille’s eyes. “I - am not going to mince words. I am not going to stand on ceremony. - I’m going to have that ring back. Listen to me carefully. I’m going - to have that ring back, and until I do, not a soul shall leave this - room.” She tapped on the table with her nervous knuckles. “Who has - taken it I do not care to know. All I want is my ring. Now I’m going - to make it possible for whoever took it to restore it without - possibility of detection. The doors are locked and will stay locked. - I am going to put out the lights, and I am going to count one - hundred slowly. You will be in absolute darkness; no one will know - or see what is done. But if at the end of that time the ring is not - here on this table I shall telephone the police and have every one - in this room searched. Am I quite clear?” - - Suddenly she cut short the nervous outbreak of suggestions and in - the same firm voice continued: - - “Every one take his place about the table. That’s it. That will do.” - - The women, with the exception of the inscrutable Maude Lille, gazed - hysterically from face to face; while the men, compressing their - fingers, locking them or grasping their chins, looked straight ahead - fixedly at their hostess. - - Mrs. Kildair, having calmly assured herself that all were ranged as - she wished, blew out two of the three candles. - - “I shall count one hundred, no more, no less,” she said. “Either I - get back that ring or every one in this room is to be searched, - remember.” - - Leaning over, she blew out the remaining candle and snuffed it. - - “One, two, three, four, five—” - - She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a clock’s - ticking. - - In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, the - grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man. - - “Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—” - - She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her - voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the - company. A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the - verge of hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his - throat. - - “Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven—” - - Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure - the slightest, only the sound became more metallic. - - “Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy—” - - Some one had sighed. - - “Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, - seventy-seven—” - - All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the - table was heard a slight metallic note. - - “The ring!” - - It was Maude Lille’s quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. Kildair - continued to count. - - “Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one—” - - The tension became unbearable. Two or three voices protested against - the needless prolonging of the torture. - - “Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine and one - hundred.” - - A match sputtered in Mrs. Kildair’s hand and on the instant the - company craned forward. In the center of the table was the sparkling - sapphire and diamond ring. Candles were lit, flaring up like - searchlights on the white accusing faces. - - “Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me,” said Mrs. Kildair. She held - out her hand without trembling, a smile of triumph on her face, - which had in it for a moment an expression of positive cruelty. - - Immediately she changed, contemplating with amusement the horror of - her guests, staring blindly from one to another, seeing the - indefinable glance of interrogation that passed from Cheever to Mrs. - Cheever, from Mrs. Jackson to her husband, and then without emotion - she said: - - “Now that that is over we can have a very gay little supper.” - - * * * * * - - When Peters had pushed back his chair, satisfied as only a trained - raconteur can be by the silence of a difficult audience, and had - busied himself with a cigar, there was an instant outcry. - - “I say, Peters, old boy, that is not all!” - - “Absolutely.” - - “The story ends there?” - - “That ends the story.” - - “But who took the ring?” - - Peters extended his hands in an empty gesture. - - “What! It was never found out?” - - “Never.” - - “No clue?” - - “None.” - - “I don’t like the story,” said De Gollyer. - - “It’s no story at all,” said Steingall. - - “Permit me,” said Quinny in a didactic way; “it is a story, and it - is complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it has none of - the banalities of a solution and leaves the problem even more - confused than at the start.” - - “I don’t see—” began Rankin. - - “Of course you don’t, my dear man,” said Quinny crushingly. “You do - not see that any solution would be commonplace, whereas no solution - leaves an extraordinary intellectual problem.” - - “How so?” - - “In the first place,” said Quinny, preparing to annex the topic, - “whether the situation actually happened or not, which is in itself - a mere triviality, Peters has constructed it in a masterly way, the - proof of which is that he has made _me_ listen. Observe, each person - present might have taken the ring—Flanders, a broker, just come a - cropper; Maude Lille, a woman on the ragged side of life in - desperate means; either Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, suspected of being - card sharps—very good touch that, Peters, when the husband and wife - glanced involuntarily at each other at the end—Mr. Enos Jackson, a - sharp lawyer, or his wife about to be divorced; even Harris, - concerning whom, very cleverly, Peters has said nothing at all to - make him quite the most suspicious of all. There are, therefore, - seven solutions, all possible and all logical. But beyond this is - left a great intellectual problem.” - - “How so?” - - “Was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when - threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildair’s clever - expedient of throwing the room into darkness made detection - impossible? Was it a woman who lacked the necessary courage to - continue, or was it a man who repented his first impulse? Is a man - or is a woman the greater natural criminal?” - - “A woman took it, of course,” said Rankin. - - “On the contrary, it was a man,” said Steingall, “for the second - action was more difficult than the first.” - - “A man, certainly,” said De Gollyer. “The restoration of the ring - was a logical decision.” - - “You see,” said Quinny triumphantly, “personally I incline to a - woman for the reason that a weaker feminine nature is peculiarly - susceptible to the domination of her own sex. There you are. We - could meet and debate the subject year in and year out and never - agree.” - - “I recognize most of the characters,” said De Gollyer with a little - confidential smile toward Peters. “Mrs. Kildair, of course, is all - you say of her—an extraordinary woman. The story is quite - characteristic of her. Flanders, I am not sure of, but I think I - know him.” - - “Did it really happen?” asked Rankin, who always took the - commonplace point of view. - - “Exactly as I have told it,” said Peters. - - “The only one I don’t recognize is Harris,” said De Gollyer - pensively. - - “Your humble servant,” said Peters, smiling. - - The four looked up suddenly with a little start. - - “What!” said Quinny, abruptly confused. “You—you were there?” - - “I was there.” - - The four continued to look at him without speaking, each absorbed in - his own thoughts, with a sudden ill ease. - - A club attendant, with a telephone slip on a tray, stopped by - Peters’ side. He excused himself and went along the porch, nodding - from table to table. - - “Curious chap,” said De Gollyer musingly. - - “Extraordinary.” - - The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who continued - watching Peters’ trim, disappearing figure in silence, without - looking at one another—with a certain ill ease. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A RETRIEVED REFORMATION[9] - By O. HENRY - - -Footnote 9: - - From _Roads of Destiny_. Published by permission of the - publishers. Copyright, 1909, by Doubleday, Page & Co. - - A GUARD came to the prison shoe-shop, where Jimmy Valentine was - assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the front office. - There the warden handed Jimmy his pardon, which had been signed that - morning by the governor. Jimmy took it in a tired kind of way. He - had served nearly ten months of a four-year sentence. He had - expected to stay only about three months, at the longest. When a man - with as many friends on the outside as Jimmy Valentine had is - received in the “stir” it is hardly worth while to cut his hair. - - “Now, Valentine,” said the warden, “you’ll go out in the morning. - Brace up, and make a man of yourself. You’re not a bad fellow at - heart. Stop cracking safes, and live straight.” - - “Me?” said Jimmy, in surprise. “Why, I never cracked a safe in my - life.” - - “Oh, no,” laughed the warden. “Of course not. Let’s see, now. How - was it you happened to get sent up on that Springfield job? Was it - because you wouldn’t prove an alibi for fear of compromising - somebody in extremely high-toned society? Or was it simply a case of - a mean old jury that had it in for you? It’s always one or the other - with you innocent victims.” - - “Me?” said Jimmy, still blankly virtuous. “Why, warden, I never was - in Springfield in my life!” - - “Take him back, Cronin,” smiled the warden, “and fix him up with - outgoing clothes. Unlock him at seven in the morning, and let him - come to the bull-pen. Better think over my advice, Valentine.” - - At a quarter past seven on the next morning Jimmy stood in the - warden’s outer office. He had on a suit of the villainously fitting, - ready-made clothes and a pair of the stiff, squeaky shoes that the - state furnishes to its discharged compulsory guests. - - The clerk handed him a railroad ticket and the five-dollar bill with - which the law expected him to rehabilitate himself into good - citizenship and prosperity. The warden gave him a cigar, and shook - hands. Valentine, 9762, was chronicled on the books “Pardoned by - Governor,” and Mr. James Valentine walked out into the sunshine. - - Disregarding the song of the birds, the waving green trees, and the - smell of the flowers, Jimmy headed straight for a restaurant. There - he tasted the first sweet joys of liberty in the shape of a broiled - chicken and a bottle of white wine—followed by a cigar a grade - better than the one the warden had given him. From there he - proceeded leisurely to the depot. He tossed a quarter into the hat - of a blind man sitting by the door, and boarded his train. Three - hours set him down in a little town near the state line. He went to - the café of one Mike Dolan and shook hands with Mike, who was alone - behind the bar. - - “Sorry we couldn’t make it sooner, Jimmy, me boy,” said Mike. “But - we had that protest from Springfield to buck against, and the - governor nearly balked. Feeling all right?” - - “Fine,” said Jimmy. “Got my key?” - - He got his key and went up-stairs, unlocking the door of a room at - the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. There on the floor - was still Ben Price’s collar-button that had been torn from that - eminent detective’s shirt-band when they had overpowered Jimmy to - arrest him. - - Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a panel in - the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suit-case. He opened this - and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar’s tools in the East. - It was a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest - design in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and - augers, with two or three novelties, invented by Jimmy himself, in - which he took pride. Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to - have made at ——, a place where they make such things for the - profession. - - In half an hour Jimmy went down stairs and through the café. He was - now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his - dusted and cleaned suit-case in his hand. - - “Got anything on?” asked Mike Dolan, genially. - - “Me?” said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. “I don’t understand. I’m - representing the New York Amalgamated Short Snap Biscuit Cracker and - Frazzled Wheat Company.” - - This statement delighted Mike to such an extent that Jimmy had to - take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. He never touched “hard” drinks. - - A week after the release of Valentine, 9762, there was a neat job of - safe-burglary done in Richmond, Indiana, with no clue to the author. - A scant eight hundred dollars was all that was secured. Two weeks - after that a patented, improved, burglar-proof safe in Logansport - was opened like a cheese to the tune of fifteen hundred dollars, - currency; securities and silver untouched. That began to interest - the rogue-catchers. Then an old-fashioned bank-safe in Jefferson - City became active and threw out of its crater an eruption of - bank-notes amounting to five thousand dollars. The losses were now - high enough to bring the matter up into Ben Price’s class of work. - By comparing notes, a remarkable similarity in the methods of the - burglaries was noticed. Ben Price investigated the scenes of the - robberies, and was heard to remark: - - “That’s Dandy Jim Valentine’s autograph. He’s resumed business. Look - at that combination knob—jerked out as easy as pulling up a radish - in wet weather. He’s got the only clamps that can do it. And look - how clean those tumblers were punched out! Jimmy never has to drill - but one hole. Yes, I guess I want Mr. Valentine. He’ll do his bit - next time without any short-time or clemency foolishness.” - - Ben Price knew Jimmy’s habits. He had learned them while working up - the Springfield case. Long jumps, quick get-aways, no confederates, - and a taste for good society—these ways had helped Mr. Valentine to - become noted as a successful dodger of retribution. It was given out - that Ben Price had taken up the trail of the elusive cracksman, and - other people with burglar-proof safes felt more at ease. - - One afternoon Jimmy Valentine and his suit-case climbed out of the - mail-hack in Elmore, a little town five miles off the railroad down - in the black-jack country of Arkansas. Jimmy, looking like an - athletic young senior just home from college, went down the board - side-walk toward the hotel. - - A young lady crossed the street, passed him at the corner and - entered a door over which was the sign “The Elmore Bank.” Jimmy - Valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what he was, and became - another man. She lowered her eyes and colored slightly. Young men of - Jimmy’s style and looks were scarce in Elmore. - - Jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the bank as if - he were one of the stockholders, and began to question him about the - town, feeding him dimes at intervals. By and by the young lady came - out, looking royally unconscious of the young man with the - suit-case, and went her way. - - “Isn’t that young lady Miss Polly Simpson?” asked Jimmy, with - specious guile. - - “Naw,” said the boy. “She’s Annabel Adams. Her pa owns this bank. - What’d you come to Elmore for? Is that a gold watch-chain? I’m going - to get a bulldog. Got any more dimes?” - - Jimmy went to the Planters’ Hotel, registered as Ralph D. Spencer, - and engaged a room. He leaned on the desk and declared his platform - to the clerk. He said he had come to Elmore to look for a location - to go into business. How was the shoe business, now, in the town? He - had thought of the shoe business. Was there an opening? - - The clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of Jimmy. He, - himself, was something of a pattern of fashion to the thinly gilded - youth of Elmore, but he now perceived his shortcomings. While trying - to figure out Jimmy’s manner of tying his four-in-hand he cordially - gave information. - - Yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line. There wasn’t - an exclusive shoe-store in the place. The dry-goods and general - stores handled them. Business in all lines was fairly good. Hoped - Mr. Spencer would decide to locate in Elmore. He would find it a - pleasant town to live in, and the people very sociable. - - Mr. Spencer thought he would stop over in the town a few days and - look over the situation. No, the clerk needn’t call the boy. He - would carry up his suit-case, himself; it was rather heavy. - - Mr. Ralph Spencer, the phœnix that arose from Jimmy Valentine’s - ashes—ashes left by the flame of a sudden and alterative attack of - love—remained in Elmore, and prospered. He opened a shoe-store and - secured a good run of trade. - - Socially he was also a success, and made many friends. And he - accomplished the wish of his heart. He met Miss Annabel Adams, and - became more and more captivated by her charms. - - At the end of a year the situation of Mr. Ralph Spencer was this: he - had won the respect of the community, his shoe-store was - flourishing, and he and Annabel were engaged to be married in two - weeks. Mr. Adams, the typical, plodding, country banker, approved of - Spencer. Annabel’s pride in him almost equalled her affection. He - was as much at home in the family of Mr. Adams and that of Annabel’s - married sister as if he were already a member. - - One day Jimmy sat down in his room and wrote this letter, which he - mailed to the safe address of one of his old friends in St. Louis: - - DEAR OLD PAL: - - I want you to be at Sullivan’s place, in Little Rock, next - Wednesday night, at nine o’clock. I want you to wind up some - little matters for me. And, also, I want to make you a - present of my kit of tools. I know you’ll be glad to get - them—you couldn’t duplicate the lot for a thousand dollars. - Say, Billy, I’ve quit the old business—a year ago. I’ve got - a nice store. I’m making an honest living, and I’m going to - marry the finest girl on earth two weeks from now. It’s the - only life, Billy—the straight one. I wouldn’t touch a dollar - of another man’s money now for a million. After I get - married I’m going to sell out and go West, where there won’t - be so much danger of having old scores brought up against - me. I tell you, Billy, she’s an angel. She believes in me; - and I wouldn’t do another crooked thing for the whole world. - Be sure to be at Sully’s, for I must see you. I’ll bring the - tools with me. - - Your old friend, - - JIMMY. - - On the Monday night after Jimmy wrote this letter, Ben Price jogged - unobtrusively into Elmore in a livery buggy. He lounged about town - in his quiet way until he found out what he wanted to know. From the - drug-store across the street from Spencer’s shoe-store he got a good - look at Ralph D. Spencer. - - “Going to marry the banker’s daughter are you, Jimmy?” said Ben to - himself, softly. “Well, I don’t know!” - - The next morning Jimmy took breakfast at the Adamses. He was going - to Little Rock that day to order his wedding-suit and buy something - nice for Annabel. That would be the first time he had left town - since he came to Elmore. It had been more than a year now since - those last professional “jobs,” and he thought he could safely - venture out. - - After breakfast quite a family party went downtown together—Mr. - Adams, Annabel, Jimmy, and Annabel’s married sister with her two - little girls, aged five and nine. They came by the hotel where Jimmy - still boarded, and he ran up to his room and brought along his - suit-case. Then they went on to the bank. There stood Jimmy’s horse - and buggy and Dolph Gibson, who was going to drive him over to the - railroad station. - - All went inside the high, carved oak railings into the - banking-room—Jimmy included, for Mr. Adams’s future son-in-law was - welcome anywhere. The clerks were pleased to be greeted by the - good-looking, agreeable young man who was going to marry Miss - Annabel. Jimmy set his suit-case down. Annabel, whose heart was - bubbling with lively youth, put on Jimmy’s hat, and picked up the - suit-case. “Wouldn’t I make a nice drummer?” said Annabel. “My! - Ralph, how heavy it is? Feels like it was full of gold bricks.” - - “Lot of nickel-plated shoe-horns in there,” said Jimmy, coolly, - “that I’m going to return. Thought I’d save express charges by - taking them up. I’m getting awfully economical.” - - The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. Mr. Adams was - very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by every one. The - vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented door. It fastened - with three solid steel bolts thrown simultaneously with a single - handle, and had a time-lock. Mr. Adams beamingly explained its - workings to Mr. Spencer, who showed a courteous but not too - intelligent interest. The two children, May and Agatha, were - delighted by the shining metal and funny clock and knobs. - - While they were thus engaged Ben Price sauntered in and leaned on - his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. He told the - teller that he didn’t want anything; he was just waiting for a man - he knew. - - Suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a commotion. - Unperceived by the elders, May, the nine-year-old girl, in a spirit - of play, had shut Agatha in the vault. She had then shot the bolts - and turned the knob of the combination as she had seen Mr. Adams do. - - The old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a moment. - “The door can’t be opened,” he groaned. “The clock hasn’t been wound - nor the combination set.” - - Agatha’s mother screamed again, hysterically. - - “Hush!” said Mr. Adams, raising his trembling hand. “All be quiet - for a moment. Agatha!” he called as loudly as he could. “Listen to - me.” During the following silence they could just hear the faint - sound of the child wildly shrieking in the dark vault in a panic of - terror. - - “My precious darling!” wailed the mother. “She will die of fright! - Open the door! Oh, break it open! Can’t you men do something?” - - “There isn’t a man nearer than Little Rock who can open that door,” - said Mr. Adams, in a shaky voice. “My God! Spencer, what shall we - do? That child—she can’t stand it long in there. There isn’t enough - air, and, besides, she’ll go into convulsions from fright.” - - Agatha’s mother, frantic now, beat the door of the vault with her - hands. Somebody wildly suggested dynamite. Annabel turned to Jimmy, - her large eyes full of anguish, but not yet despairing. To a woman - nothing seems quite impossible to the powers of the man she - worships. - - “Can’t you do something, Ralph—_try_, won’t you?” - - He looked at her with a queer, soft smile on his lips and in his - keen eyes. - - “Annabel,” he said, “give me that rose you are wearing, will you?” - - Hardly believing that she heard him aright, she unpinned the bud - from the bosom of her dress, and placed it in his hand. Jimmy - stuffed it into his vest-pocket, threw off his coat and pulled up - his shirt-sleeves. With that act Ralph D. Spencer passed away and - Jimmy Valentine took his place. - - “Get away from the door, all of you,” he commanded, shortly. - - He set his suit-case on the table, and opened it out flat. From that - time on he seemed to be unconscious of the presence of any one else. - He laid out the shining, queer implements swiftly and orderly, - whistling softly to himself as he always did when at work. In a deep - silence and immovable, the others watched him as if under a spell. - - In a minute Jimmy’s pet drill was biting smoothly into the steel - door. In ten minutes—breaking his own burglarious record—he threw - back the bolts and opened the door. - - Agatha, almost collapsed, but safe, was gathered into her mother’s - arms. - - Jimmy Valentine put on his coat, and walked outside the railings - toward the front door. As he went he thought he heard a far-away - voice that he once knew call “Ralph!” But he never hesitated. - - At the door a big man stood somewhat in his way. - - “Hello, Ben!” said Jimmy, still with his strange smile “Got around - at last, have you? Well, let’s go. I don’t know that it makes much - difference, now.” - - And then Ben Price acted rather strangely. - - “Guess you’re mistaken, Mr. Spencer,” he said. “Don’t believe I - recognize you. You’re buggy’s waiting for you, ain’t it?” - - And Ben Price turned and strolled down the street. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - BROTHER LEO - By PHYLLIS BOTTOME - - - IT was a sunny morning, and I was on my way to Torcello. Venice lay - behind us a dazzling line, with towers of gold against the blue - lagoon. All at once a breeze sprang up from the sea; the small, - feathery islands seemed to shake and quiver, and, like leaves driven - before a gale, those flocks of colored butterflies, the - fishing-boats, ran in before the storm. Far away to our left stood - the ancient tower of Altinum, with the island of Burano a bright - pink beneath the towering clouds. To our right, and much nearer, was - a small cypress-covered islet. One large umbrella-pine hung close to - the sea, and behind it rose the tower of the convent church. The two - gondoliers consulted together in hoarse cries and decided to make - for it. - - “It is San Francesco del Deserto,” the elder explained to me. “It - belongs to the little brown brothers, who take no money and are very - kind. One would hardly believe these ones had any religion, they are - such a simple people, and they live on fish and the vegetables they - grow in their garden.” - - We fought the crooked little waves in silence after that; only the - high prow rebelled openly against its sudden twistings and turnings. - The arrowy-shaped gondola is not a structure made for the rough - jostling of waves, and the gondoliers put forth all their strength - and skill to reach the tiny haven under the convent wall. As we did - so, the black bars of cloud rushed down upon us in a perfect deluge - of rain, and we ran speechless and half drowned across the tossed - field of grass and forget-me-nots to the convent door. A shivering - beggar sprang up from nowhere and insisted on ringing the bell for - us. - - The door opened, and I saw before me a young brown brother with the - merriest eyes I have ever seen. They were unshadowed, like a - child’s, dancing and eager, and yet there was a strange gentleness - and patience about him, too, as if there was no hurry even about his - eagerness. - - He was very poorly dressed and looked thin. I think he was charmed - to see us, though a little shy, like a hospitable country hostess - anxious to give pleasure, but afraid that she has not much to offer - citizens of a larger world. - - “What a tempest!” he exclaimed. “You have come at a good hour. - Enter, enter, Signore! And your men, will they not come in?” - - We found ourselves in a very small rose-red cloister; in the middle - of it was an old well under the open sky, but above us was a - sheltering roof spanned by slender arches. The young monk hesitated - for a moment, smiling from me to the two gondoliers. I think it - occurred to him that we should like different entertainment, for he - said at last: - - “You men would perhaps like to sit in the porter’s lodge for a - while? Our Brother Lorenzo is there; he is our chief fisherman, with - a great knowledge of the lagoons; and he could light a fire for you - to dry yourselves by—Signori. And you, if I mistake not, are - English, are you not, Signore? It is probable that you would like to - see our chapel. It is not much. We are very proud of it, but that, - you know, is because it was founded by our blessed father, Saint - Francis. He believed in poverty, and we also believe in it, but it - does not give much for people to see. That is a misfortune, to come - all this way and to see nothing.” Brother Leo looked at me a little - wistfully. I think he feared that I should be disappointed. Then he - passed before me with swift, eager feet toward the little chapel. - - It was a very little chapel and quite bare; behind the altar some - monks were chanting an office. It was clean, and there were no - pictures or images, only, as I knelt there, I felt as if the little - island in its desert of waters had indeed secreted some vast - treasure, and as if the chapel, empty as it had seemed at first, was - full of invisible possessions. As for Brother Leo, he had stood - beside me nervously for a moment; but on seeing that I was prepared - to kneel, he started, like a bird set free, toward the altar steps, - where his lithe young impetuosity sank into sudden peace. He knelt - there so still, so rapt, so incased in his listening silence, that - he might have been part of the stone pavement. Yet his earthly - senses were alive, for the moment I rose he was at my side again, as - patient and courteous as ever, though I felt as if his inner ear - were listening still to some unheard melody. - - We stood again in the pink cloister. “There is little to see,” he - repeated. “We are _poverelli_; it has been like this for seven - hundred years.” He smiled as if that age-long, simple service of - poverty were a light matter, an excuse, perhaps, in the eyes of the - citizen of a larger world for their having nothing to show. Only the - citizen, as he looked at Brother Leo, had a sudden doubt as to the - size of the world outside. Was it as large, half as large, even, as - the eager young heart beside him which had chosen poverty as a - bride? - - The rain fell monotonously against the stones of the tiny cloister. - - “What a tempest!” said Brother Leo, smiling contentedly at the sky. - “You must come in and see our father. I sent word by the porter of - your arrival, and I am sure he will receive you; that will be a - pleasure for him, for he is of the great world, too. A very learnèd - man, our father; he knows the French and the English tongue. Once he - went to Rome; also he has been several times to Venice. He has been - a great traveler.” - - “And you,” I asked—“have you also traveled?” - - Brother Leo shook his head. - - “I have sometimes looked at Venice,” he said, “across the water, and - once I went to Burano with the marketing brother; otherwise, no, I - have not traveled. But being a guest-brother, you see, I meet often - with those who have, like your Excellency, for instance, and that is - a great education.” - - We reached the door of the monastery, and I felt sorry when another - brother opened to us, and Brother Leo, with the most cordial of - farewell smiles, turned back across the cloister to the chapel door. - - “Even if he does not hurry, he will still find prayer there,” said a - quiet voice beside me. - - I turned to look at the speaker. He was a tall old man with white - hair and eyes like small blue flowers, very bright and innocent, - with the same look of almost superb contentment in them that I had - seen in Brother Leo’s eyes. - - “But what will you have?” he added with a twinkle. “The young are - always afraid of losing time; it is, perhaps, because they have so - much. But enter, Signore! If you will be so kind as to excuse the - refectory, it will give me much pleasure to bring you a little - refreshment. You will pardon that we have not much to offer?” - - The father—for I found out afterward that he was the superior - himself—brought me bread and wine, made in the convent, and waited - on me with his own hands. Then he sat down on a narrow bench - opposite to watch me smoke. I offered him one of my cigarettes, but - he shook his head, smiling. - - “I used to smoke once,” he said. “I was very particular about my - tobacco. I think it was similar to yours—at least the aroma, which I - enjoy very much, reminds me of it. It is curious, is it not, the - pleasure we derive from remembering what we once had? But perhaps it - is not altogether a pleasure unless one is glad that one has not got - it now. Here one is free from things. I sometimes fear one may be a - little indulgent about one’s liberty. Space, solitude, and love—it - is all very intoxicating.” - - There was nothing in the refectory except the two narrow benches on - which we sat, and a long trestled board which formed the table; the - walls were white-washed and bare, the floor was stone. I found out - later that the brothers ate and drank nothing except bread and wine - and their own vegetables in season, a little macaroni sometimes in - winter, and in summer figs out of their own garden. They slept on - bare boards, with one thin blanket winter and summer alike. The fish - they caught they sold at Burano or gave to the poor. There was no - doubt that they enjoyed very great freedom from “things.” - - It was a strange experience to meet a man who never had heard of a - flying-machine and who could not understand why it was important to - save time by using the telephone or the wireless-telegraphy system; - but despite the fact that the father seemed very little impressed by - our modern urgencies, I never have met a more intelligent listener - or one who seized more quickly on all that was essential in an - explanation. - - “You must not think we do nothing at all, we lazy ones who follow - old paths,” he said in answer to one of my questions. “There are - only eight of us brothers, and there is the garden, fishing, - cleaning, and praying. We are sent for, too, from Burano to go and - talk a little with the people there, or from some island on the - lagoons which perhaps no priest can reach in the winter. It is easy - for us, with our little boat and no cares.” - - “But Brother Leo told me he had been to Burano only once,” I said. - “That seems strange when you are so near.” - - “Yes he went only once, said the father, and for a moment or two he - was silent, and I found his blue eyes on mine, as if he were - weighing me. - - “Brother Leo,” said the superior at last, “is our youngest. He is - very young, younger perhaps than his years; but we have brought him - up altogether, you see. His parents died of cholera within a few - days of each other. As there were no relatives, we took him, and - when he was seventeen he decided to join our order. He has always - been happy with us, but one cannot say that he has seen much of the - world.” He paused again, and once more I felt his blue eyes - searching mine. “Who knows?” he said finally. “Perhaps you were sent - here to help me. I have prayed for two years on the subject, and - that seems very likely. The storm is increasing, and you will not be - able to return until to-morrow. This evening, if you will allow me, - we will speak more on this matter. Meanwhile I will show you our - spare room. Brother Lorenzo will see that you are made as - comfortable as we can manage. It is a great privilege for us to have - this opportunity; believe me, we are not ungrateful.” - - It would have been of no use to try to explain to him that it was - for us to feel gratitude. It was apparent that none of the brothers - had ever learned that important lesson of the worldly - respectable—that duty is what other people ought to do. They were so - busy thinking of their own obligations as to overlook entirely the - obligations of others. It was not that they did not think of others. - I think they thought only of one another, but they thought without a - shadow of judgment, with that bright, spontaneous love of little - children, too interested to point a moral. Indeed, they seemed to me - very like a family of happy children listening to a fairy-story and - knowing that the tale is true. - - After supper the superior took me to his office. The rain had - ceased, but the wind howled and shrieked across the lagoons, and I - could hear the waves breaking heavily against the island. There was - a candle on the desk, and the tiny, shadowy cell looked like a - picture by Rembrandt. - - “The rain has ceased now,” the father said quietly, “and to-morrow - the waves will have gone down, and you, Signore, will have left us. - It is in your power to do us all a great favor. I have thought much - whether I shall ask it of you, and even now I hesitate; but - Scripture nowhere tells us that the kingdom of heaven was taken by - precaution, nor do I imagine that in this world things come oftenest - to those who refrain from asking. - - “All of us,” he continued, “have come here after seeing something of - the outside world; some of us even had great possessions. Leo alone - knows nothing of it, and has possessed nothing, nor did he ever wish - to; he has been willing that nothing should be his own, not a flower - in the garden, not anything but his prayers, and even these I think - he has oftenest shared. But the visit to Burano put an idea in his - head. It is, perhaps you know, a factory town where they make lace, - and the people live there with good wages, many of them, but also - much poverty. There is a poverty which is a grace, but there is also - a poverty which is a great misery, and this Leo never had seen - before. He did not know that poverty could be a pain. It filled him - with a great horror, and in his heart there was a certain rebellion. - It seemed to him that in a world with so much money no one should - suffer for the lack of it. - - “It was useless for me to point out to him that in a world where - there is so much health God has permitted sickness; where there is - so much beauty, ugliness; where there is so much holiness, sin. It - is not that there is any lack in the gifts of God; all are there, - and in abundance, but He has left their distribution to the soul of - man. It is easy for me to believe this. I have known what money can - buy and what it cannot buy; but Brother Leo, who never has owned a - penny, how should he know anything of the ways of pennies? - - “I saw that he could not be contented with my answer; and then this - other idea came to him—the idea that is, I think, the blessèd hope - of youth: that this thing being wrong, he, Leo, must protest against - it, must resist it! Surely, if money can do wonders, we who set - ourselves to work the will of God should have more control of this - wonder-working power? He fretted against his rule. He did not permit - himself to believe that our blessèd father, Saint Francis, was - wrong, but it was a hardship for him to refuse alms from our kindly - visitors. He thought the beggars’ rags would be made whole by gold; - he wanted to give them more than bread, he wanted, _poverino!_ to - buy happiness for the whole world.” - - The father paused, and his dark, thought-lined face lighted up with - a sudden, beautiful smile till every feature seemed as young as his - eyes. - - “I do not think the human being ever has lived who has not thought - that he ought to have happiness,” he said. “We begin at once to get - ready for heaven; but heaven is a long way off. We make haste - slowly. It takes us all our lives, and perhaps purgatory, to get to - the bottom of our own hearts. That is the last place in which we - look for heaven, but I think it is the first in which we shall find - it.” - - “But it seems to me extraordinary that, if Brother Leo has this - thing so much on his mind, he should look so happy,” I exclaimed. - “That is the first thing I noticed about him.” - - “Yes, it is not for himself that he is searching,” said the - superior. “If it were, I should not wish him to go out into the - world, because I should not expect him to find anything there. His - heart is utterly at rest; but though he is personally happy, this - thing troubles him. His prayers are eating into his soul like flame, - and in time this fire of pity and sorrow will become a serious - menace to his peace. Besides, I see in Leo a great power of sympathy - and understanding. He has in him the gift of ruling other souls. He - is very young to rule his own soul, and yet he rules it. When I die, - it is probable that he will be called to take my place, and for that - it is necessary he should have seen clearly that our rule is right. - At present he accepts it in obedience, but he must have more than - obedience in order to teach it to others; he must have a personal - light. - - “This, then, is the favor I have to ask of you, Signore. I should - like to have you take Brother Leo to Venice to-morrow, and, if you - have the time at your disposal, I should like you to show him the - towers, the churches, the palaces, and the poor who are still so - poor. I wish him to see how people spend money, both the good and - the bad. I wish him to see the world. Perhaps then it will come to - him as it came to me—that money is neither a curse nor a blessing in - itself, but only one of God’s mysteries, like the dust in a - sunbeam.” - - “I will take him very gladly; but will one day be enough?” I - answered. - - The superior arose and smiled again. - - “Ah, we slow worms of earth,” he said, “are quick about some things! - You have learned to save time by flying-machines; we, too, have - certain methods of flight. Brother Leo learns all his lessons that - way. I hardly see him start before he arrives. You must not think I - am so myself. No, no. I am an old man who has lived a long life - learning nothing, but I have seen Leo grow like a flower in a tropic - night. I thank you, my friend, for this great favor. I think God - will reward you.” - - Brother Lorenzo took me to my bedroom; he was a talkative old man, - very anxious for my comfort. He told me that there was an office in - the chapel at two o’clock, and one at five to begin the day, but he - hoped that I should sleep through them. - - “They are all very well for us,” he explained, “but for a stranger, - what cold, what disturbance, and what a difficulty to arrange the - right thoughts in the head during chapel! Even for me it is a great - temptation. I find my mind running on coffee in the morning, a thing - we have only on great feast-days. I may say that I have fought this - thought for seven years, but though a small devil, perhaps, it is a - very strong one. Now, if you should hear our bell in the night, as a - favor pray that I may not think about coffee. Such an imperfection! - I say to myself, the sin of Esau! But he, you know, had some excuse; - he had been hunting. Now, I ask you—one has not much chance of that - on this little island; one has only one’s sins to hunt, and, alas! - they don’t run away as fast as one could wish! I am afraid they are - tame, these ones. May your Excellency sleep like the blessèd saints, - only a trifle longer!” - - I did sleep a trifle longer; indeed, I was quite unable to assist - Brother Lorenzo to resist his coffee devil during chapel-time. I did - not wake till my tiny cell was flooded with sunshine and full of the - sound of St. Francis’s birds. Through my window I could see the - fishing-boats pass by. First came one with a pair of lemon-yellow - sails, like floating primroses; then a boat as scarlet as a dancing - flame, and half a dozen others painted some with jokes and some with - incidents in the lives of patron saints, all gliding out over the - blue lagoon to meet the golden day. - - I rose, and from my window I saw Brother Leo in the garden. He was - standing under St. Francis’s tree—the old gnarled umbrella-pine - which hung over the convent-wall above the water by the island’s - edge. His back was toward me, and he was looking out over the blue - stretch of lagoon into the distance, where Venice lay like a moving - cloud at the horizon’s edge; but a mist hid her from his eyes, and - while I watched him he turned back to the garden-bed and began - pulling out weeds. The gondoliers were already at the tiny pier when - I came out. - - “_Per Bacco, Signore!_” the elder explained. “Let us hasten back to - Venice and make up for the Lent we have had here. The brothers gave - us all they had, the holy ones—a little wine, a little bread, cheese - that couldn’t fatten one’s grandmother, and no macaroni—not so much - as would go round a baby’s tongue! For my part, I shall wait till I - get to heaven to fast, and pay some attention to my stomach while I - have one.” And he spat on his hands and looked toward Venice. - - “And not an image in the chapel!” agreed the younger man. “Why, - there is nothing to pray to but the Signore Dio Himself! - _Veramente_, Signore, you are a witness that I speak nothing but the - truth.” - - The father superior and Leo appeared at this moment down the path - between the cypresses. The father gave me thanks and spoke in a - friendly way to the gondoliers, who for their part expressed a very - pretty gratitude in their broad Venetian patois, one of them saying - that the hospitality of the monks had been like paradise itself, and - the other hasting to agree with him. - - The two monks did not speak to each other, but as the gondolier - turned the huge prow toward Venice, a long look passed between - them—such a look as a father and son might exchange if the son were - going out to war, while his father, remembering old campaigns, was - yet bound to stay at home. - - It was a glorious day in early June; the last traces of the storm - had vanished from the serene, still waters; a vague curtain of heat - and mist hung and shimmered between ourselves and Venice; far away - lay the little islands in the lagoon, growing out of the water like - strange sea-flowers. Behind us stood San Francesco del Deserto, with - long reflections of its one pink tower and arrowy, straight - cypresses, soft under the blue water. - - The father superior walked slowly back to the convent, his - brown-clad figure a shining shadow between the two black rows of - cypresses. Brother Leo waited till he had disappeared, then turned - his eager eyes toward Venice. - -[Illustration: - - He was looking out over the blue stretch of lagoon into the distance - where Venice lay -] - - As we approached the city the milky sea of mist retreated, and her - towers sprang up to greet us. I saw a look in Brother Leo’s eyes - that was not fear or wholly pleasure; yet there was in it a certain - awe and a strange, tentative joy, as if something in him stretched - out to greet the world. He muttered half to himself: - - “What a great world, and how many children _il Signore Dio_ has!” - - When we reached the piazzetta, and he looked up at the amazing - splendor of the ducal palace, that building of soft yellow, with its - pointed arches and double loggias of white marble, he spread out - both hands in an ecstasy. - - “But what a miracle!” he cried. “What a joy to God and to His - angels! How I wish my brothers could see this! Do you not imagine - that some good man was taken to paradise to see this great building - and brought back here to copy it?” - - “_Chi lo sa?_” I replied guardedly, and we landed by the column of - the Lion of St. Mark’s. That noble beast, astride on his pedestal, - with wings outstretched, delighted the young monk, who walked round - and round him. - - “What a tribute to the saint!” he exclaimed. “Look, they have his - wings, too. Is not that faith?” - - “Come,” I said, “let us go on to Saint Mark’s. I think you would - like to go there first; it is the right way to begin our - pilgrimage.” - - The piazza was not very full at that hour of the morning, and its - emptiness increased the feeling of space and size. The pigeons - wheeled and circled to and fro, a dazzle of soft plumage, and the - cluster of golden domes and sparkling minarets glittered in the - sunshine like flames. Every image and statue on St. Mark’s wavered - in great lines of light like a living pageant in a sea of gold. - - Brother Leo said nothing as he stood in front of the three great - doorways that lead into the church. He stood quite still for a - while, and then his eyes fell on a beggar beside the pink and cream - of the new campanile, and I saw the wistfulness in his eyes suddenly - grow as deep as pain. - - “Have you money, Signore?” he asked me. That seemed to him the only - question. I gave the man something, but I explained to Brother Leo - that he was probably not so poor as he looked. - - “They live in rags,” I explained, “because they wish to arouse pity. - Many of them need not beg at all.” - - “Is it possible?” asked Brother Leo, gravely; then he followed me - under the brilliant doorways of mosaic which lead into the richer - dimness of St. Mark’s. - - When he found himself within that great incrusted jewel, he fell on - his knees. I think he hardly saw the golden roof, the jeweled walls, - and the five lifted domes full of sunshine and old gold, or the dark - altars, with their mysterious, rich shimmering. All these seemed to - pass away beyond the sense of sight; even I felt somehow as if those - great walls of St. Mark’s were not so great as I had fancied. - Something greater was kneeling there in an old habit and with bare - feet, half broken-hearted because a beggar had lied. - - I found myself regretting the responsibility laid on my shoulders. - Why should I have been compelled to take this strangely innocent, - sheltered boy, with his fantastic third-century ideals, out into the - shoddy, decorative, unhappy world? I even felt a kind of anger at - the simplicity of his soul. I wished he were more like other people; - I suppose because he had made me wish for a moment that I was less - like them. - - “What do you think of Saint Mark’s?” I asked him as we stood once - more in the hot sunshine outside, with the strutting pigeons at our - feet and wheeling over our heads. - - Brother Leo did not answer for a moment, then he said: - - “I think Saint Mark would feel it a little strange. You see, I do - not think he was a great man in the world, and the great in - paradise—” He stooped and lifted a pigeon with a broken foot nearer - to some corn a passer-by was throwing for the birds. “I cannot - think,” he finished gravely, “that they care very much for palaces - in paradise; I should think every one had them there or - else—nobody.” - - I was surprised to see the pigeons that wheeled away at my approach - allow the monk to handle them, but they seemed unaware of his touch. - - “_Poverino!_” he said to the one with the broken foot. “Thank God - that He has given you wings!” - - Brother Leo spoke to every child he met, and they all answered him - as if there was a secret freemasonry between them; but the grown-up - people he passed with troubled eyes. - - “It seems strange to me,” he said at last, “not to speak to these - brothers and sisters of ours, and yet I see all about me that they - do not salute one another.” - - “They are many, and they are all strangers,” I tried to explain. - - “Yes, they are very many,” he said a little sadly. “I had not known - that there were so many people in the world, and I thought that in a - Christian country they would not be strangers.” - - I took another gondola by the nearest bridge, and we rowed to the - Frari. I hardly knew what effect that great church, with its famous - Titian, would have upon him. A group of tourists surrounded the - picture. I heard a young lady exclaiming: - - “My! but I’d like her veil! Ain’t she cute, looking round it that - way?” - - Brother Leo did not pause; he passed as if by instinct toward the - chapel on the right which holds the softest, tenderest of Bellinis. - There, before the Madonna with her four saints and two small - attendant cherubs, he knelt again, and his eyes filled with tears. I - do not think he heard the return of the tourists, who were rather - startled at seeing him there. The elder lady remarked that he might - have some infectious disease, and the younger that she did not think - much of Bellini, anyway. - - He knelt for some time, and I had not the heart to disturb him; - indeed, I had no wish to, either, for Bellini’s “Madonna” is my - favorite picture, and that morning I saw in it more than I had ever - seen before. It seemed to me as if that triumphant, mellow glow of - the great master was an eternal thing, and as if the saints and - their gracious Lady, with the stalwart, standing Child upon her - knee, were more real than flesh and blood, and would still be more - real when flesh and blood had ceased to be. I never have recaptured - the feeling; perhaps there was something infectious about Brother - Leo, after all. He made no comment on the Madonna, nor did I expect - one, for we do not need to assert that we find the object of our - worship beautiful; but I was amused at his calm refusal to look upon - the great Titian as a Madonna at all. - - “No, no,” he said firmly. “This one is no doubt some good and - gracious lady, but the Madonna! Signore, you jest. Or, if the - painter thought so, he was deceived by the devil. Yes, that is very - possible. The father has often told us that artists are exposed to - great temptations: their eyes see paradise before their souls have - reached it, and that is a great danger.” - - I said no more, and we passed out into the street again. I felt - ashamed to say that I wanted my luncheon, but I did say so, and it - did not seem in the least surprising to Brother Leo; he merely drew - out a small wallet and offered me some bread, which he said the - father had given him for our needs. - - I told him that he must not dream of eating that; he was to come and - dine with me at my hotel. He replied that he would go wherever I - liked, but that really he would prefer to eat his bread unless - indeed we were so fortunate as to find a beggar who would like it. - However, we were not so fortunate, and I was compelled to eat my - exceedingly substantial five-course luncheon while my companion sat - opposite me and ate his half-loaf of black bread with what appeared - to be appetite and satisfaction. - - He asked me a great many questions about what everything in the room - was used for and what everything cost, and appeared very much - surprised at my answers. - - “This, then,” he said, “is not like all the other houses in Venice? - Is it a special house—perhaps for the English only?” - - I explained to him that most houses contained tables and chairs; - that this, being a hotel, was in some ways even less furnished than - a private house, though doubtless it was larger and was arranged - with a special eye to foreign requirements. - - “But the poor—they do not live like this?” Leo asked. I had to own - that the poor did not. “But the people here are rich?” Leo - persisted. - - “Well, yes, I suppose so, tolerably well off,” I admitted. - - “How miserable they must be!” exclaimed Leo, compassionately. “Are - they not allowed to give away their money?” - - This seemed hardly the way to approach the question of the rich and - the poor, and I do not know that I made it any better by an - after-dinner exposition upon capital and labor. I finished, of - course, by saying that if the rich gave to the poor to-day, there - would still be rich and poor to-morrow. It did not sound very - convincing to me, and it did nothing whatever to convince Brother - Leo. - - “That is perhaps true,” he said at last. “One would not wish, - however, to give all into unready hands like that poor beggar this - morning who knew no better than to pretend in order to get more - money. No, that would be the gift of a madman. But could not the - rich use their money in trust for the poor, and help and teach them - little by little till they learned how to share their labor and - their wealth? But you know how ignorant am I who speak to you. It is - probable that this is what is already being done even here now in - Venice and all over the world. It would not be left to a little one - like me to think of it. What an idea for the brothers at home to - laugh at!” - - “Some people do think these things,” I admitted. - - “But do not all?” asked Brother Leo, incredulously. - - “No, not all,” I confessed. - - “_Andiamo!_” said Leo, rising resolutely. “Let us pray to the - Madonna. What a vexation it must be to her and to all the blessèd - saints to watch the earth! It needs the patience of the Blessèd One - Himself, to bear it.” - - In the Palazzo Giovanelli there is one of the loveliest of - Giorgiones. It is called “His Family,” and it represents a beautiful - nude woman with her child and her lover. It seemed to me an outrage - that this young brother should know nothing of the world, of life. I - was determined that he should see this picture. I think I expected - Brother Leo to be shocked when he saw it. I know I was surprised - that he looked at it—at the serene content of earth, its exquisite - ultimate satisfaction—a long time. Then he said in an awed voice: - - “It is so beautiful that it is strange any one in all the world can - doubt the love of God who gave it.” - - “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful; do you believe there is - anything more beautiful?” I asked rather cruelly. - - “Yes,” said Brother Leo, very quietly; “the love of God is more - beautiful, only that cannot be painted.” - - After that I showed him no more pictures, nor did I try to make him - understand life. I had an idea that he understood it already rather - better than I did. - - When I took him back to the piazza, it was getting on toward sunset, - and we sat at one of the little tables at Florian’s, where I drank - coffee. We heard the band and watched the slow-moving, good-natured - Venetian crowd, and the pigeons winging their perpetual flight. - - All the light of the gathered day seemed to fall on the great golden - church at the end of the piazza. Brother Leo did not look at it very - much; his attention was taken up completely in watching the faces of - the crowd, and as he watched them I thought to read in his face what - he had learned in that one day in Venice—whether my mission had been - a success or a failure; but, though I looked long at that simple and - childlike face, I learned nothing. - - What is so mysterious as the eyes of a child? - - But I was not destined to part from Brother Leo wholly in ignorance. - It was as if, in his open kindliness of nature, he would not leave - me with any unspoken puzzle between us. I had been his friend and he - told me, because it was the way things seemed to him, that I had - been his teacher. - - We stood on the piazzetta. I had hired a gondola with two men to row - him back; the water was like beaten gold, and the horizon the - softest shade of pink. - - “This day I shall remember all my life,” he said, “and you in my - prayers with all the world—always, always. Only I should like to - tell you that that little idea of mine, which the father told me he - had spoken to you about, I see now that it is too large for me. I am - only a very poor monk. I should think I must be the poorest monk God - has in all His family of monks. If He can be patient, surely I can. - And it came over me while we were looking at all those wonderful - things, that if money had been the way to save the world, Christ - himself would have been rich. It was stupid of me. I did not - remember that when he wanted to feed the multitude, he did not empty - the great granaries that were all his, too; he took only five loaves - and two small fishes; but they were enough. - - “We little ones can pray, and God can change His world. _Speriamo!_” - He smiled as he gave me his hand—a smile which seemed to me as - beautiful as anything we had seen that day in Venice. Then the - high-prowed, black gondola glided swiftly out over the golden waters - with the little brown figure seated in the smallest seat. He turned - often to wave to me, but I noticed that he sat with his face away - from Venice. - - He had turned back to San Francesco del Deserto, and I knew as I - looked at his face that he carried no single small regret in his - eager heart. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A FIGHT WITH DEATH[10] - By IAN MACLAREN - - -Footnote 10: - - From _Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush_. Copyright, 1894, by Dodd, - Mead & Company. - - WHEN Drumsheugh’s grieve was brought to the gates of death by fever, - caught, as was supposed, on an adventurous visit to Glasgow, the - London doctor at Lord Kilspindie’s shooting lodge looked in on his - way from the moor, and declared it impossible for Saunders to live - through the night. - - “I give him six hours, more or less; it is only a question of time,” - said the oracle, buttoning his gloves and getting into the brake. - “Tell your parish doctor that I was sorry not to have met him.” - - Bell heard this verdict from behind the door, and gave way utterly, - but Drumsheugh declined to accept it as final, and devoted himself - to consolation. - - “Dinna greet like that, Bell, wumman, sae lang as Saunders is still - livin’; a’ll never give up houp, for ma pairt, till oor ain man says - the word. - - “A’ the doctors in the land dinna ken as muckle aboot us as Weelum - MacLure, an’ he’s ill tae beat when he’s tryin’ tae save a man’s - life.” - - MacLure, on his coming, would say nothing, either weal or woe, till - he had examined Saunders. Suddenly his face turned into iron before - their eyes, and he looked like one encountering a merciless foe. For - there was a feud between MacLure and a certain mighty power which - had lasted for forty years in Drumtochty. - - “The London doctor said that Saunders wud sough awa’ afore mornin’, - did he? Weel, he’s an’ authority on fevers an’ sic like diseases, - an’ ought tae ken. - - “It’s may be presumptuous o’ me tae differ frae him, and it wudna be - verra respectfu’ o’ Saunders tae live aifter this opeenion. But - Saunders wes aye thraun an’ ill tae drive, an’ he’s as like as no - tae gang his ain gait. - - “A’m no meanin’ tae reflect on sae clever a man, but he didna ken - the seetuation. He can read fevers like a buik, but he never cam’ - across sic a thing as the Drumtochty constitution a’ his days. - - “Ye see, when onybody gets as low as puir Saunders here, it’s a - juist a hand-to-hand wrastle atween the fever and his constitution, - an’ of coorse, if he hed been a shilpit, stuntit, feckless effeegy - o’ a cratur, fed on tea an’ made dishes and pushioned wi’ bad air, - Saunders wud hae nae chance; he wes boond tae gae oot like the snuff - o’ a candle. - - “But Saunders has been fillin’ his lungs for five and thirty year - wi’ strong Drumtochty air, an’ eatin’ naethin’ but kirny aitmeal, - and drinkin’ naethin’ but fresh milk frae the coo, an’ followin’ the - ploo through the new-turned, sweet-smellin’ earth, an’ swingin’ the - scythe in haytime and harvest, till the legs an’ airms o’ him were - iron, an’ his chest wes like the cuttin’ o’ an oak tree. - - “He’s a waesome sicht the nicht, but Saunders wes a buirdly man - aince, and wull never lat his life be taken lichtly frae him. Na, - na; he hesna sinned against Nature, and Nature ’ill stand by him noo - in his oor o’ distress. - - “A’ daurna say yea, Bell, muckle as a’ wud like, for this is an evil - disease, cunnin’ an’ treacherous as the deevil himsel’, but a’ winna - say nay, sae keep yir hert frae despair. - - “It wull be a sair fecht, but it ’ill be settled one wy or anither - by six o’clock the morn’s morn. Nae man can prophecee hoo it ’ill - end, but ae thing is certain, a’ll no see Deith tak a Drumtochty man - afore his time if a’ can help it. - - “Noo, Bell, ma wumman, yir near deid wi’ tire, an’ nae wonder. Ye’ve - dune a’ ye cud for yir man an’ ye ’ill lippen (trust) him the nicht - tae Drumsheugh an’ me; we ’ill no fail him or you. - - “Lie doon an’ rest, an’ if it be the wull o’ the Almichty a’ll - wauken ye in the mornin’ tae see a livin’, conscious man, an’ if it - be itherwise a’ll come for ye the suner, Bell,” and the big red hand - went out to the anxious wife. “A’ gie ye ma word.” - - Bell leant over the bed, and at the sight of Saunders’ face a - superstitious dread seized her. - - “See, doctor, the shadow of deith is on him that never lifts. A’ve - seen it afore, on ma father an’ mither. A’ canna leave him; a’ canna - leave him!” - - “It’s hoverin’, Bell, but it hesna fallen; please God it never wull. - Gang but and get some sleep, for it’s time we were at oor wark. - - “The doctors in the toons hae nurses an’ a’ kinds o’ handy - apparatus,” said MacLure to Drumsheugh when Bell had gone, “but you - an’ me ’ill need tae be nurse the nicht, an’ use sic things as we - hev. - - “It ’ill be a lang nicht and anxious wark, but a’ wud raither hae - ye, auld freend, wi’ me than ony man in the Glen. Ye’re no feared - tae gie a hand?” - - “Me feared? No likely. Man, Saunders cam’ tae me a haflin, an’ hes - been on Drumsheugh for twenty years, an’ though he be a dour chiel, - he’s a faithfu’ servant as ever lived. It’s waesome tae see him - lyin’ there moanin’ like some dumb animal frae mornin’ to nicht, an’ - no able tae answer his ain wife when she speaks. - - “Div ye think, Weelum, he hes a chance?” - - “That he hes, at ony rate, and it ’ill no be your blame or mine if - he hesna mair.” - - While he was speaking, MacLure took off his coat and waistcoat and - hung them on the back of the door. Then he rolled up the sleeves of - his shirt and laid bare two arms that were nothing but bone and - muscle. - - “It gar’d ma very blood rin faster tae the end of ma fingers juist - tae look at him,” Drumsheugh expatiated afterwards to Hillocks, “for - a’ saw noo that there was tae be a stand-up fecht atween him an’ - Deith for Saunders, and when a’ thocht o’ Bell an’ her bairns, a’ - kent wha wud win. - - “‘Aff wi’ yir coat, Drumsheugh,’ said MacLure; ‘ye ’ill need tae - bend yir back the nicht; gither a’ the pails in the hoose and fill - them at the spring, an’ a’ll come doon tae help ye wi’ the - carryin’.’” - - It was a wonderful ascent up the steep pathway from the spring to - the cottage on its little knoll, the two men in single file, - bareheaded, silent, solemn, each with a pail of water in either - hand, MacLure limping painfully in front, Drumsheugh blowing behind; - and when they laid down their burden in the sick room, where the - bits of furniture had been put to a side and a large tub held the - centre, Drumsheugh looked curiously at the doctor. - - “No, a’m no daft; ye needna be feared; but yir tae get yir first - lesson in medicine the nicht, an’ if we win the battle ye can set up - for yersel’ in the Glen. - - “There’s twa dangers—that Saunders’ strength fails, an’ that the - force o’ the fever grows; and we have juist twa weapons. - - “Yon milk on the drawers’ head an’ the bottle of whisky is tae keep - up the strength, and this cool caller water is tae keep doon the - fever. - - “We ’ill cast oot the fever by the virtue o’ the earth an’ the - water.” - - “Div ye mean tae pit Saunders in the tub?” - - “Ye hiv it noo, Drumsheugh, and that’s hoo a’ need yir help.” - - “Man, Hillocks,” Drumsheugh used to moralise, as often as he - remembered that critical night, “it wes humblin’ tae see how low - sickness can bring a pooerfu’ man, an’ ocht tae keep us frae pride. - - “A month syne there wesna a stronger man in the Glen than Saunders, - an’ noo he wes juist a bundle o’ skin and bone, that naither saw nor - heard, nor moved nor felt, that kent naethin’ that was dune tae him. - - “Hillocks, a’ wudna hae wished ony man tae hev seen Saunders—for it - wull never pass frae before ma een as long as a’ live—but a’ wish a’ - the Glen hed stude by MacLure kneelin’ on the floor wi’ his sleeves - up tae his oxters and waitin’ on Saunders. - - “Yon big man wes as pitifu’ an’ gentle as a wumman, and when he laid - the puir fallow in his bed again, he happit him ower as a mither dis - her bairn.” - - Thrice it was done, Drumsheugh ever bringing up colder water from - the spring, and twice MacLure was silent; but after the third time - there was a gleam in his eye. - - “We’re haudin’ oor ain; we’re no bein’ maistered, at ony rate; mair - a’ canna say for three oors. - - “We ’ill no need the water again, Drumsheugh; gae oot and tak a - breath o’ air; a’m on gaird masel’.” - - It was the hour before daybreak, and Drumsheugh wandered through the - fields he had trodden since childhood. The cattle lay sleeping in - the pastures; their shadowy forms, with a patch of whiteness here - and there, having a weird suggestion of death. He heard the burn - running over the stones; fifty years ago he had made a dam that - lasted till winter. The hooting of an owl made him start; one had - frightened him as a boy so that he ran home to his mother—she died - thirty years ago. The smell of ripe corn filled the air; it would - soon be cut and garnered. He could see the dim outlines of his - house, all dark and cold; no one he loved was beneath the roof. The - lighted window in Saunders’ cottage told where a man hung between - life and death, but love was in that home. The futility of life - arose before this lonely man, and overcame his heart with an - indescribable sadness. What a vanity was all human labor; what a - mystery all human life! - - But while he stood, a subtle change came over the night, and the air - trembled round him as if one had whispered. Drumsheugh lifted his - head and looked eastward. A faint gray stole over the distant - horizon, and suddenly a cloud reddened before his eyes. The sun was - not in sight, but was rising, and sending forerunners before his - face. The cattle began to stir, a blackbird burst into song, and - before Drumsheugh crossed the threshold of Saunders’ house, the - first ray of the sun had broken on a peak of the Grampians. - - MacLure left the bedside, and as the light of the candle fell on the - doctor’s face, Drumsheugh could see that it was going well with - Saunders. - - “He’s nae waur; an’ it’s half six noo; it’s ower sune tae say mair, - but a’m houpin’ for the best. Sit doon and take a sleep, for ye’re - needin’ ’t, Drumsheugh, an’, man, ye hae worked for it.” - - As he dozed off, the last thing Drumsheugh saw was the doctor - sitting erect in his chair, a clenched fist resting on the bed, and - his eyes already bright with the vision of victory. - - He awoke with a start to find the room flooded with the morning - sunshine, and every trace of last night’s work removed. - - The doctor was bending over the bed, and speaking to Saunders. - - “It’s me, Saunders; Doctor MacLure, ye ken; dinna try tae speak or - move; juist let this drap milk slip ower—ye ’ill be needin’ yir - breakfast, lad—and gang tae sleep again.” - - Five minutes, and Saunders had fallen into a deep, healthy sleep, - all tossing and moaning come to an end. Then MacLure stepped softly - across the floor, picked up his coat and waistcoat, and went out at - the door. - - Drumsheugh arose and followed him without a word. They passed - through the little garden, sparkling with dew, and beside the byre, - where Hawkie rattled her chain, impatient for Bell’s coming, and by - Saunders’ little strip of corn ready for the scythe, till they - reached an open field. There they came to a halt, and Dr. MacLure - for once allowed himself to go. - - His coat he flung east and his waistcoat west, as far as he could - hurl them, and it was plain he would have shouted had he been a - complete mile from Saunders’ room. Any less distance was useless for - adequate expression. He struck Drumsheugh a mighty blow that - well-nigh levelled that substantial man in the dust, and then the - doctor of Drumtochty issued his bulletin. - - “Saunders wesna tae live through the nicht, but he’s livin’ this - meenut, an’ like to live. - - “He’s got by the warst clean and fair, and wi’ him that’s as good as - cure. - - “It ’ill be a graund waukenin’ for Bell; she ’ill no be a weedow - yet, nor the bairnies fatherless. - - “There’s nae use glowerin’ at me, Drumsheugh, for a body’s daft at a - time, an’ a’ canna contain masel’, and a’m no gaein’ tae try.” - - Then it dawned upon Drumsheugh that the doctor was attempting the - Highland fling. - - “He’s ill made, tae begin wi’,” Drumsheugh explained in the kirkyard - next Sabbath, “and ye ken he’s been terrible mishannelled by - accidents, sae ye may think what like it wes, but, as sure as deith, - o’ a’ the Hielan’ flings a’ ever saw yon wes the bonniest. - - “A’ hevna shaken ma ain legs for thirty years, but a’ confess tae a - turn masel’. Ye may lauch an’ ye like, neeburs, but the thocht o’ - Bell an’ the news that wes waitin’ her got the better o’ me.” - - Drumtochty did not laugh. Drumtochty looked as if it could have done - quite otherwise for joy. - - “A’ wud hae made a third gin a’ hed been there,” announced Hillocks - aggressively. - - “Come on, Drumsheugh,” said Jamie Soutar, “gie’s the end o’t; it wes - a michty mornin’.” - - “‘We’re twa auld fules,’ says MacLure tae me, as he gaithers up his - claithes. ‘It wud set us better tae be tellin’ Bell.’ - - “She was sleepin’ on the top o’ her bed wrapped in a plaid, fair - worn oot wi’ three weeks’ nursin’ o’ Saunders, but at the first - touch she was oot upon the floor. - - “‘Is Saunders deein’, doctor?’ she cries. ‘Ye promised tae wauken - me; dinna tell me it’s a’ ower.’ - - “There’s nae deein’ aboot him, Bell; ye’re no tae lose yir man this - time, sae far as a’ can see. Come ben an’ jidge for yersel’." - - “Bell lookit at Saunders, and the tears of joy fell on the bed like - rain. - - “‘The shadow’s lifted,’ she said; ‘he’s come back frae the mooth o’ - the tomb. - - “‘A’ prayed last nicht that the Lord wud leave Saunders till the - laddies cud dae for themselves, an’ thae words came intae ma mind, - “Weepin’ may endure for a nicht, but joy cometh in the mornin’.” - - “‘The Lord heard ma prayer, and joy hes come in the mornin’,’ an’ - she gripped the doctor’s hand. - - “‘Ye’ve been the instrument, Doctor MacLure. Ye wudna gie him up, - and ye did what nae ither cud for him, an’ a’ve ma man the day, and - the bairns hae their father.’ - - “An’ afore MacLure kent what she was daein’, Bell lifted his hand to - her lips an’ kissed it.” - - “Did she, though?” cried Jamie. “Wha wud hae thocht there wes as - muckle spunk in Bell?” - - “MacLure, of coorse, was clean scandalised,” continued Drumsheugh, - “an’ pooed awa’ his hand as if it hed been burned. - - “Nae man can thole that kind o’ fraikin’, and a’ never heard o’ sic - a thing in the parish, but we maun excuse Bell, neeburs; it wes an - occasion by ordinar,” and Drumsheugh made Bell’s apology to - Drumtochty for such an excess of feeling. - - “A’ see naethin’ tae excuse,” insisted Jamie, who was in great - fettle that Sabbath; “the doctor hes never been burdened wi’ fees, - and a’m judgin’ he coonted a wumman’s gratitude that he saved frae - weedowhood the best he ever got.” - - “A’ gaed up tae the Manse last nicht,” concluded Drumsheugh, “an’ - telt the minister hoo the doctor focht aucht oors for Saunders’ - life, an’ won, an’ ye never saw a man sae carried. He walkit up an’ - doon the room a’ the time, and every other meenut he blew his nose - like a trumpet. - - “‘I’ve a cold in my head to-night, Drumsheugh,’ says he; ‘never mind - me.’” - - “A’ve hed the same masel’ in sic circumstances; they come on - sudden,” said Jamie. - - “A’ wager there ’ill be a new bit in the laist prayer the day, an’ - somethin’ worth hearin’.” - - And the fathers went into kirk in great expectation. - - “We beseech Thee for such as be sick, that Thy hand may be on them - for good, and that Thou wouldst restore them again to health and - strength,” was the familiar petition of every Sabbath. - - The congregation waited in a silence that might be heard, and were - not disappointed that morning, for the minister continued: - - “Especially we tender Thee hearty thanks that Thou didst spare Thy - servant who was brought down into the dust of death, and hast given - him back to his wife and children, and unto that end didst - wonderfully bless the skill of him who goes out and in amongst us, - the beloved physician of this parish and adjacent districts.” - - “Didna a’ tell ye, neeburs?” said Jamie, as they stood at the - kirkyard gate before dispersing, “there’s no a man in the coonty cud - hae dune it better. ‘Beloved physician,’ an’ his ‘skill,’ tae, an’ - bringing in ‘adjacent districts’; that’s Glen Urtach; it wes - handsome, and the doctor earned it, ay, every word. - - “It’s an awfu’ peety he didna hear yon; but dear knows whar he is - the day, maist likely up——” - - Jamie stopped suddenly at the sound of a horse’s feet, and there, - coming down the avenue of beech trees that made a long vista from - the kirk gate, they saw the doctor and Jess. - - One thought flashed through the minds of the fathers of the - commonwealth. - - It ought to be done as he passed, and it would be done if it were - not Sabbath. Of course it was out of the question on Sabbath. - - The doctor is now distinctly visible, riding after his fashion. - - There was never such a chance, if it were only Saturday; and each - man read his own regret in his neighbour’s face. - - The doctor is nearing them rapidly; they can imagine the shepherd’s - tartan. - - Sabbath or no Sabbath, the Glen cannot let him pass without some - tribute of their pride. - - Jess has recognised friends, and the doctor is drawing rein. - - “It hes tae be dune,” said Jamie desperately, “say what ye like.” - Then they all looked towards him, and Jamie led. - - “Hurrah!” swinging his Sabbath hat in the air, “hurrah!” and once - more, “hurrah!” Whinnie Knowe, Drumsheugh, and Hillocks joining - lustily, but Tammas Mitchell carrying all before him, for he had - found at last an expression for his feelings that rendered speech - unnecessary. - - It was a solitary experience for horse and rider, and Jess bolted - without delay. But the sound followed and surrounded them, and as - they passed the corner of the kirkyard, a figure waved his college - cap over the wall and gave a cheer on his own account. - - “God bless you, doctor, and well done!” - - “If it isna the minister,” cried Drumsheugh, “in his goon an’ bans; - tae think o’ that; but a’ respeck him for it.” - - Then Drumtochty became self-conscious and went home in confusion of - face and unbroken silence, except Jamie Soutar, who faced his - neighbours at the parting of the ways without shame. - - “A’ wud dae it a’ ower again if a’ hed the chance; he got naethin’ - but his due.” - - It was two miles before Jess composed her mind, and the doctor and - she could discuss it quietly together. - - “A’ can hardly believe me ears, Jess, an’ the Sabbath tae; their - verra jidgment hes gane frae the fouk o’ Drumtochty. - - “They’ve heard about Saunders, a’m thinkin’, wumman, and they’re - pleased we brocht him roond; he’s fairly on the mend, ye ken, noo. - - “A’ never expeckit the like o’ this, though, and it wes juist a wee - thingie mair than a’ cud hae stude. - - “Ye hev yir share in’t tae, lass; we’ve hed mony a hard nicht and - day thegither, an’ yon wes oor reward. No mony men in this warld - ’ill ever get a better, for it cam’ from the hert o’ honest fouk.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN[11] - By FIONA MACLEOD - - -Footnote 11: - - From _The Dominion of Dreams, Under the Dark Star_. By permission - of Mrs. William Sharp. Copyright, 1910, by Duffield & Company. - - WHEN Anne Gillespie, that was my friend in Eilanmore, left the - island after the death of her uncle, the old man Robert Achanna, it - was to go far west. - - Among the men of the Outer Isles who for three summers past had been - at the fishing off Eilanmore there was one named Mànus MacCodrum. He - was a fine lad to see, but though most of the fisher-folk of the - Lews and North Uist are fair, either with reddish hair and grey - eyes, or blue-eyed and yellow-haired, he was of a brown skin with - dark hair and dusky brown eyes. He was, however, as unlike to the - dark Celts of Arran and the Inner Hebrides as to the northmen. He - came of his people, sure enough. All the MacCodrums of North Uist - had been brown-skinned and brown-haired and brown-eyed: and herein - may have lain the reason why, in by-gone days, this small clan of - Uist was known throughout the Western Isles as the _Sliochd non - Ròn_, the offspring of the Seals. - - Not so tall as most of the men of North Uist and the Lews, Mànus - MacCodrum was of a fair height, and supple and strong. No man was a - better fisherman than he, and he was well liked of his fellows, for - all the morose gloom that was upon him at times. He had a voice as - sweet as a woman’s when he sang, and he sang often, and knew all the - old runes of the islands, from the Obb of Harris to the Head of - Mingulay. Often, too, he chanted the beautiful _orain spioradail_ of - the Catholic priests and Christian Brothers of South Uist and Barra, - though where he lived in North Uist he was the sole man who adhered - to the ancient faith. - - It may have been because Anne was a Catholic too, though, sure, the - Achannas were so also, notwithstanding that their forebears and - kindred in Galloway were Protestant (and this because of old Robert - Achanna’s love for his wife, who was of the old Faith, so it is - said)—it may have been for this reason, though I think her lover’s - admiring eyes and soft speech and sweet singing had more to do with - it, that she pledged her troth to Mànus. It was a south wind for him - as the saying is; for with her rippling brown hair and soft, grey - eyes and cream-white skin, there was no comelier lass in the isles. - - So when Achanna was laid to his long rest, and there was none left - upon Eilanmore save only his three youngest sons, Mànus MacCodrum - sailed northeastward across the Minch to take home his bride. Of the - four eldest sons, Alasdair had left Eilanmore some months before his - father died, and sailed westward, though no one knew whither or for - what end or for how long, and no word had been brought from him, nor - was he ever seen again in the island which had come to be called - Eilan-nan-Allmharachain, the Isle of the Strangers; Allan and - William had been drowned in a wild gale in the Minch; and Robert had - died of the white fever, that deadly wasting disease which is the - scourge of the isles. Marcus was now “Eilanmore,” and lived there - with Gloom and Seumas, all three unmarried, though it was rumoured - among the neighbouring islanders that each loved Marsail nic - Ailpean,[12] in Eilean-Rona of the Summer Isles hard by the coast of - Sutherland. - -Footnote 12: - - Marsail nic Ailpean is the Gaelic of which an English translation - would be Marjory MacAlpine. _Nic_ is a contraction for _nighean - mhic_, “daughter of the line of.” - - When Mànus asked Anne to go with him she agreed. The three brothers - were ill-pleased at this, for apart from their not wishing their - cousin to go so far away, they did not want to lose her, as she not - only cooked for them and did all that a woman does, including - spinning and weaving, but was most sweet and fair to see, and in the - long winter nights sang by the hour together, while Gloom played - strange wild airs upon his _feadan_, a kind of oaten pipe or flute. - - She loved him, I know; but there was this reason also for her going, - that she was afraid of Gloom. Often upon the moor or on the hill she - turned and hastened home, because she heard the lilt and fall of - that feadan. It was an eerie thing to her, to be going through the - twilight when she thought the three men were in the house, smoking - after their supper, and suddenly to hear beyond and coming toward - her the shrill song of that oaten flute, playing “The Dance of the - Dead,” or “The Flow and Ebb,” or “The Shadow-Reel.” - - That, sometimes at least, he knew she was there was clear to her, - because, as she stole rapidly through the tangled fern and gale, she - would hear a mocking laugh follow her like a leaping thing. - - Mànus was not there on the night when she told Marcus and his - brothers that she was going. He was in the haven on board the - _Luath_, with his two mates, he singing in the moonshine as all - three sat mending their fishing gear. - - After the supper was done, the three brothers sat smoking and - talking over an offer that had been made about some Shetland sheep. - For a time, Anne watched them in silence. They were not like - brothers, she thought. Marcus, tall, broad-shouldered, with yellow - hair and strangely dark blue-black eyes and black eyebrows; stern, - with a weary look on his sun-brown face. The light from the peats - glinted upon the tawny curve of thick hair that trailed from his - upper lip, for he had the _caisean-feusag_ of the Northmen. Gloom, - slighter of build, dark of hue and hair, but with hairless face; - with thin, white, long-fingered hands that had ever a nervous - motion, as though they were tide-wrack. There was always a frown on - the centre of his forehead, even when he smiled with his thin lips - and dusky, unbetraying eyes. He looked what he was, the brain of the - Achannas. Not only did he have the English as though native to that - tongue, but could and did read strange unnecessary books. Moreover, - he was the only son of Robert Achanna to whom the old man had - imparted his store of learning, for Achanna had been a school-master - in his youth, in Galloway, and he had intended Gloom for the - priesthood. His voice, too, was low and clear, but cold as - pale-green water running under ice. As for Seumas, he was more like - Marcus than Gloom, though not so fair. He had the same brown hair - and shadowy hazel eyes, the same pale and smooth face, with - something of the same intent look which characterised the long-time - missing, and probably dead, eldest brother, Alasdair. He, too, was - tall and gaunt. On Seumas’s face there was that indescribable, as to - some of course imperceptible, look which is indicated by the phrase - “the dusk of the shadow,” though few there are who know what they - mean by that, or, knowing, are fain to say. - - Suddenly, and without any word or reason for it, Gloom turned and - spoke to her. - - “Well, Anne, and what is it?” - - “I did not speak, Gloom.” - - “True for you, _mo cailinn_. But it’s about to speak you were.” - - “Well, and that is true. Marcus, and you Gloom, and you Seumas, I - have that to tell which you will not be altogether glad for the - hearing. ’Tis about—about—me and—and Mànus.” - - There was no reply at first. The three brothers sat looking at her - like the kye at a stranger on the moorland. There was a deepening of - the frown on Gloom’s brow, but when Anne looked at him his eyes fell - and dwelt in the shadow at his feet. Then Marcus spoke in a low - voice: - - “Is it Mànus MacCodrum you will be meaning?” - - “Ay, sure.” - - Again silence. Gloom did not lift his eyes, and Seumas was now - staring at the peats. Marcus shifted uneasily. - - “And what will Mànus MacCodrum be wanting?” - - “Sure, Marcus, you know well what I mean. Why do you make this thing - hard for me? There is but one thing he would come here wanting. And - he has asked me if I will go with him; and I have said yes; and if - you are not willing that he come again with the minister, or that we - go across to the kirk in Berneray of Uist in the Sound of Harris, - then I will not stay under this roof another night, but will go away - from Eilanmore at sunrise in the _Luath_, that is now in the haven. - And that is for the hearing and knowing, Marcus and Gloom and - Seumas!” - - Once more, silence followed her speaking. It was broken in a strange - way. Gloom slipped his feadan into his hands, and so to his mouth. - The clear, cold notes of the flute filled the flame-lit room. It was - as though white polar birds were drifting before the coming of snow. - - The notes slid in to a wild, remote air: cold moonlight on the dark - o’ the sea, it was. It was the _Dàn-nan-Ròn_. - - Anne flushed, trembled, and then abruptly rose. As she leaned on her - clenched right hand upon the table, the light of the peats showed - that her eyes were aflame. - - “Why do you play _that_, Gloom Achanna?” - - The man finished the bar, then blew into the oaten pipe, before, - just glancing at the girl, he replied: - - “And what harm will there be in _that_, Anna-ban?” - - “Do you know why Gloom played the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’?” - - “Ay, and what then, Anna-ban?” - - “What then? Are you thinking I don’t know what you mean by playing - the ‘Song o’ the Seals’?” - - With an abrupt gesture Gloom put the feadan aside. As he did so, he - rose. - - “See here, Anne,” he began roughly, when Marcus intervened. - - “That will do just now, Gloom. Anne-à-ghraidh, do you mean that you - are going to do this thing?” - - “Ay, sure.” - - “Do you know why Gloom played the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’?” - - “It was a cruel thing.” - - “You know what is said in the isles about—about—this or that man, - who is under _gheasan_, who is spell-bound and—and—about the seals—” - - “Yes, Marcus, it is knowing it that I am: ‘_Tha iad a’ cantuinn gur - h-e daoine fo gheasan a th’ anns no roin._’” - - “‘_They say that seals_,’” he repeated slowly. “‘_They say that - seals are men under magic spells._’ And have you ever pondered that - thing, Anne, my cousin?” - - “I am knowing well what you mean.” - - “Then you will know that the MacCodrums of North Uist are called the - _Sliochd-nan-Ròn_?” - - “I have heard.” - - “And would you be for marrying a man that is of the race of the - beasts, and himself knowing what that _geas_ means, and who may any - day go back to his people?” - - “Ah, now, Marcus, sure it is making a mock of me you are. Neither - you nor any here believe that foolish thing. How can a man born of a - woman be a seal, even though his _sinnsear_ were the offspring of - the sea-people, which is not a saying I am believing either, though - it may be; and not that it matters much, whatever, about the - far-back forebears.” - - Marcus frowned darkly, and at first made no response. At last he - answered, speaking sullenly: - - “You may be believing this or you may be believing that, - Anna-nic-Gilleasbuig, but two things are as well known as that the - east wind brings the blight and the west wind the rain. And one is - this: that long ago a Seal-man wedded a woman of North Uist, and - that he or his son was called Neil MacCodrum; and that the sea-fever - of the seal was in the blood of his line ever after. And this is the - other: that twice within the memory of living folk, a MacCodrum has - taken upon himself the form of a seal, and has so met his death, - once Neil MacCodrum of Ru’ Tormaid, and once Anndra MacCodrum of - Berneray in the Sound. There’s talk of others, but these are known - of us all. And you will not be forgetting now that Neildonn was the - grandfather, and that Anndra was the brother of the father of Mànus - MacCodrum?” - - “I am not caring what you say, Marcus. It is all foam of the sea.” - - “There’s no foam without wind or tide, Anne, an’ it’s a dark tide - that will be bearing you away to Uist, and a black wind that will be - blowing far away behind the East, the wind that will be carrying his - death-cry to your ears.” - - The girl shuddered. The brave spirit in her, however, did not quail. - - “Well, so be it. To each his fate. But, seal or no seal, I am going - to wed Mànus MacCodrum, who is a man as good as any here, and a true - man at that, and the man I love, and that will be my man, God - willing, the praise be His!” - - Again Gloom took up the feadan, and sent a few cold, white notes - floating through the hot room, breaking, suddenly, into the wild, - fantastic, opening air of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn.” - - With a low cry and passionate gesture Anne sprang forward, snatched - the oat-flute from his grasp, and would have thrown it in the fire. - Marcus held her in an iron grip, however. - - “Don’t you be minding Gloom, Anne,” he said quietly, as he took the - feadan from her hand and handed it to his brother: “sure he’s only - telling you in _his_ way what I am telling you in mine.” - - She shook herself free, and moved to the other side of the table. On - the opposite wall hung the dirk which had belonged to old Achanna. - This she unfastened. Holding it in her right hand, she faced the - three men.— - - “On the cross of the dirk I swear I will be the woman of Mànus - MacCodrum.” - - The brothers made no response. They looked at her fixedly. - - “And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if any man come between - me and Mànus, this dirk will be for his remembering in a certain - hour of the day of the days.” - - As she spoke, she looked meaningly at Gloom, whom she feared more - than Marcus or Seumas. - - “And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if evil come to Mànus, - this dirk will have another sheath, and that will be my milkless - breast; and by that token I now throw the old sheath in the fire.” - - As she finished, she threw the sheath on to the burning peats. Gloom - quietly lifted it, brushed off the sparks of flame as though they - were dust, and put it in his pocket. - - “And by the same token, Anne,” he said, “your oaths will come to - nought.” - - Rising, he made a sign to his brothers to follow. When they were - outside he told Seumas to return, and to keep Anne within, by peace - if possible, by force if not. Briefly they discussed their plans, - and then separated. While Seumas went back, Marcus and Gloom made - their way to the haven. - - Their black figures were visible in the moonlight, but at first they - were not noticed by the men on board the _Luath_, for Mànus was - singing. - - When the islesman stopped abruptly, one of his companions asked him - jokingly if his song had brought a seal alongside, and bid him - beware lest it was a woman of the sea-people. - - His face darkened, but he made no reply. When the others listened - they heard the wild strain of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn” stealing through the - moonshine. Staring against the shore, they could discern the two - brothers. - - “What will be the meaning of that?” asked one of the men, uneasily. - - “When a man comes instead of a woman,” answered Mànus, slowly, “the - young corbies are astir in the nest.” - - So, it meant blood. Aulay MacNeil and Donull Macdonull put down - their gear, rose, and stood waiting for what Mànus would do. - - “Ho, there!” he cried. - - “Ho-ro!” - - “What will you be wanting, Eilanmore?” - - “We are wanting a word of you, Mànus MacCodrum. Will you come - ashore?” - - “If you want a word of me, you can come to me.” - - “There is no boat here.” - - “I’ll send the _bàta-beag_.” - - When he had spoken, Mànus asked Donull, the younger of his mates, a - lad of seventeen, to row to the shore. - - “And bring back no more than one man,” he added, “whether it be - Eilanmore himself or Gloom-mhic-Achanna.” - - The rope of the small boat was unfastened, and Donull rowed it - swiftly through the moonshine. The passing of a cloud dusked the - shore, but they saw him throw a rope for the guiding of the boat - alongside the ledge of the landing place; then the sudden darkening - obscured the vision. Donull must be talking, they thought, for two - or three minutes elapsed without sign, but at last the boat put off - again, and with two figures only. Doubtless the lad had had to argue - against the coming of both Marcus and Gloom. - - This, in truth, was what Donull had done. But while he was speaking - Marcus was staring fixedly beyond him. - - “Who is it that is there?” he asked, “there, in the stern?” - - “There is no one there.” - - “I thought I saw the shadow of a man.” - - “Then it was my shadow, Eilanmore.” - - Achanna turned to his brother. - - “I see a man’s death there in the boat.” - - Gloom quailed for a moment, then laughed low. - - “I see no death of a man sitting in the boat, Marcus, but if I did I - am thinking it would dance to the air of the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn,’ which is - more than the wraith of you or me would do.” - - “It is not a wraith I was seeing, but the death of a man.” - - Gloom whispered, and his brother nodded sullenly. The next moment a - heavy muffler was round Donull’s mouth; and before he could resist, - or even guess what had happened, he was on his face on the shore, - bound and gagged. A minute later the oars were taken by Gloom, and - the boat moved swiftly out of the inner haven. - - As it drew near Mànus stared at it intently. - - “That is not Donull that is rowing, Aulay!” - - “No: it will be Gloom Achanna, I’m thinking.” - - MacCodrum started. If so, that other figure at the stern was too big - for Donull. The cloud passed just as the boat came alongside. The - rope was made secure, and then Marcus and Gloom sprang on board. - - “Where is Donull MacDonull?” demanded Mànus sharply. - - Marcus made no reply, so Gloom answered for him. - - “He has gone up to the house with a message to - Anne-nic-Gilleasbuig.” - - “And what will that message be?” - - “That Mànus MacCodrum has sailed away from Eilanmore, and will not - see her again.” - - MacCodrum laughed. It was a low, ugly laugh. - - “Sure, Gloom Achanna, you should be taking that feadan of yours and - playing the _Cod-hail-nan-Pairtean_, for I’m thinkin’ the crabs are - gathering about the rocks down below us, an’ laughing wi’ their - claws.” - - “Well, and that is a true thing,” Gloom replied slowly and quietly. - “Yes, for sure I might, as you say, be playing the ’meeting of the - Crabs.’ Perhaps,” he added, as by a sudden afterthought, “perhaps, - though it is a calm night, you will be hearing the _comh-thonn_. The - ‘Slapping of the Waves’ is a better thing to be hearing than the - ’meeting of the Crabs.’” - - “If I hear the _comh-thonn_ it is not in the way you will be - meaning, Gloom-mhic-Achanna. ’Tis not the ‘Up Sail and Good-bye’ - they will be saying, but ‘Home wi’ the Bride.’” - - Here Marcus intervened. - - “Let us be having no more words, Mànus MacCodrum. The girl Anne is - not for you. Gloom is to be her man. So get you hence. If you will - be going quiet, it is quiet we will be. If you have your feet on - this thing, then you will be having that too which I saw in the - boat.” - - “And what was it you saw in the boat, Achanna?” - - “The death of a man.” - - “So—. And now” (this after a prolonged silence, wherein the four men - stood facing each other, “is it a blood-matter if not of peace?” - - “Ay. Go, if you are wise. If not, ’tis your own death you will be - making.” - - There was a flash as of summer lightning. A bluish flame seemed to - leap through the moonshine. Marcus reeled, with a gasping cry; then, - leaning back, till his face blenched in the moonlight, his knees - gave way. As he fell, he turned half round. The long knife which - Mànus had hurled at him had not penetrated his breast more than an - inch at most, but as he fell on the deck it was driven into him up - to the hilt. - - In the blank silence that followed, the three men could hear a sound - like the ebb-tide in sea-weed. It was the gurgling of the bloody - froth in the lungs of the dead man. - - The first to speak was his brother, and then only when thin - reddish-white foam-bubbles began to burst from the blue lips of - Marcus. - - “It is murder.” - - He spoke low, but it was like the surf of breakers in the ears of - those who heard. - - “You have said one part of a true word, Gloom Achanna. It is - murder—that you and he came here for!” - - “The death of Marcus Achanna is on you, Mànus MacCodrum.” - - “So be it, as between yourself and me, or between all of your blood - and me; though Aulay MacNeil, as well as you, can witness that - though in self-defence I threw the knife at Achanna, it was his own - doing that drove it into him.” - - “You can whisper that to the rope when it is round your neck.” - - “And what will _you_ be doing now, Gloom-mhic-Achanna?” - - For the first time Gloom shifted uneasily. A swift glance revealed - to him the awkward fact that the boat trailed behind the _Luath_, so - that he could not leap into it, while if he turned to haul it close - by the rope he was at the mercy of the two men. - - “I will go in peace,” he said quietly. - - “Ay,” was the answer, in an equally quiet tone, “in the white - peace.” - - Upon this menace of death the two men stood facing each other. - - Achanna broke the silence at last. - - “You’ll hear the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’ the night before you die, Mànus - MacCodrum, and lest you doubt it you’ll hear it again in your - death-hour.” - - “_Ma tha sin an Dàn_—if that be ordained.” Mànus spoke gravely. His - very quietude, however, boded ill. There was no hope of clemency; - Gloom knew that. - - Suddenly he laughed scornfully. Then, pointing with his right hand - as if to some one behind his two adversaries, he cried out: “Put the - death-hand on them, Marcus! Give them the Grave!” Both men sprang - aside, the heart of each nigh upon bursting. The death-touch of the - newly slain is an awful thing to incur, for it means that the wraith - can transfer all its evil to the person touched. - - The next moment there was a heavy splash. Mànus realised that it was - no more than a ruse, and that Gloom had escaped. With feverish haste - he hauled in the small boat, leaped into it, and began at once to - row so as to intercept his enemy. - - Achanna rose once, between him and the _Luath_. MacCodrum crossed - the oars in the thole-pins and seized the boat-hook. - - The swimmer kept straight for him. Suddenly he dived. In a flash, - Mànus knew that Gloom was going to rise under the boat, seize the - keel, and upset him, and thus probably be able to grip him from - above. There was time and no more to leap; and, indeed, scarce had - he plunged into the sea ere the boat swung right over, Achanna - clambering over it the next moment. - - At first Gloom could not see where his foe was. He crouched on the - upturned craft, and peered eagerly into the moonlit water. All at - once a black mass shot out of the shadow between him and the smack. - This black mass laughed—the same low, ugly laugh that had preceded - the death of Marcus. - - He who was in turn the swimmer was now close. When a fathom away he - leaned back and began to tread water steadily. In his right hand he - grasped the boat-hook. The man in the boat knew that to stay where - he was meant certain death. He gathered himself together like a - crouching cat. Mànus kept treading the water slowly, but with the - hook ready so that the sharp iron spike at the end of it should - transfix his foe if he came at him with a leap. Now and again he - laughed. Then in his low sweet voice, but brokenly at times between - his deep breathings, he began to sing: - - The tide was dark, an’ heavy with the burden that it bore; - I heard it talkin’, whisperin’, upon the weedy shore; - Each wave that stirred the sea-weed was like a closing door; - ’Tis closing doors they hear at last who hear no more, no more. - My Grief, - No more! - - The tide was in the salt sea-weed, and like a knife it tore; - The wild sea-wind went moaning, sooing, moaning o’er and o’er; - The deep sea-heart was brooding deep upon its ancient lore— - I heard the sob, the sooing sob, the dying sob at its core, - My Grief, - Its core! - - The white sea-waves were wan and gray its ashy lips before, - The yeast within its ravening mouth was red with streaming gore; - O red sea-weed, O red sea-waves, O hollow baffled roar, - Since one thou hast, O dark dim Sea, why callest thou for more, - My Grief, - For more! - - In the quiet moonlight the chant, with its long, slow cadences, sung - as no other man in the isles could sing it, sounded sweet and remote - beyond words to tell. The glittering shine was upon the water of the - haven, and moved in waving lines of fire along the stone ledges. - Sometimes a fish rose, and split a ripple of pale gold; or a - sea-nettle swam to the surface, and turned its blue or greenish - globe of living jelly to the moon dazzle. - - The man in the water made a sudden stop in his treading and listened - intently. Then once more the phosphorescent light gleamed about his - slow-moving shoulders. In a louder chanting voice came once again: - - Each wave that stirs the sea-weed is like a closing door; - ’Tis closing doors they hear at last who hear no more—no more, - My Grief, - No more! - - Yes, his quick ears had caught the inland strain of a voice he knew. - Soft and white as the moonshine came Anne’s singing as she passed - along the corrie leading to the haven. In vain his travelling gaze - sought her; she was still in the shadow, and, besides, a slow - drifting cloud obscured the moonlight. When he looked back again a - stifled exclamation came from his lips. There was not a sign of - Gloom Achanna. He had slipped noiselessly from the boat, and was now - either behind it, or had dived beneath it, or was swimming under - water this way or that. If only the cloud would sail by, muttered - Mànus, as he held himself in readiness for an attack from beneath or - behind. As the dusk lightened, he swam slowly toward the boat, and - then swiftly round it. There was no one there. He climbed on to the - keel, and stood, leaning forward, as a salmon-leisterer by - torchlight, with his spear-pointed boat-hook raised. Neither below - nor beyond could he discern any shape. A whispered call to Aulay - MacNeil showed that he, too, saw nothing. Gloom must have swooned, - and sunk deep as he slipped through the water. Perhaps the dog-fish - were already darting about him. - - Going behind the boat Mànus guided it back to the smack. It was not - long before, with MacNeil’s help, he righted the punt. One oar had - drifted out of sight, but as there was a sculling-hole in the stern - that did not matter. - - “What shall we do with it?” he muttered, as he stood at last by the - corpse of Marcus. - - “This is a bad night for us, Aulay!” - - “Bad it is; but let us be seeing it is not worse. I’m thinking we - should have left the boat.” - - “And for why that?” - - “We could say that Marcus Achanna and Gloom Achanna left us again, - and that we saw no more of them nor of our boat.” - - MacCodrum pondered a while. The sound of voices, borne faintly - across the water, decided him. Probably Anne and the lad Donull were - talking. He slipped into the boat, and with a sail-knife soon ripped - it here and there. It filled, and then, heavy with the weight of a - great ballast-stone which Aulay had first handed to his companion, - and surging with a foot-thrust from the latter, it sank. - - “We’ll hide the—the man there—behind the windlass, below the spare - sail, till we’re out at sea, Aulay. Quick, give me a hand!” - - It did not take the two men long to lift the corpse, and do as Mànus - had suggested. They had scarce accomplished this, when Anne’s voice - came hailing silver-sweet across the water. - - With death-white face and shaking limbs, MacCodrum stood holding the - mast, while with a loud voice, so firm and strong that Aulay MacNeil - smiled below his fear, he asked if the Achannas were back yet, and - if so for Donull to row out at once, and she with him if she would - come. - - It was nearly half an hour thereafter that Anne rowed out toward the - _Luath_. She had gone at last along the shore to a creek where one - of Marcus’s boats was moored and returned with it. Having taken - Donull on board, she made way with all speed, fearful lest Gloom or - Marcus should intercept her. - - It did not take long to explain how she had laughed at Seumas’s vain - efforts to detain her, and had come down to the haven. As she - approached, she heard Mànus singing, and so had herself broken into - a song she knew he loved. Then, by the water-edge she had come upon - Donull lying upon his back, bound and gagged. After she had released - him they waited to see what would happen, but as in the moonlight - they could not see any small boat come in, bound to or from the - smack, she had hailed to know if Mànus were there. - - On his side he said briefly that the two Achannas had come to - persuade him to leave without her. On his refusal they had departed - again, uttering threats against her as well as himself. He heard - their quarrelling voices as they rowed into the gloom, but could not - see them at last because of the obscured moonlight. - - “And now, Ann-mochree,” he added, “is it coming with me you are, and - just as you are? Sure, you’ll never repent it, and you’ll have all - you want that I can give. Dear of my heart, say that you will be - coming away this night of the nights! By the Black Stone on - Icolmkill I swear it, and by the Sun, and by the Moon, and by - Himself!” - - “I am trusting you, Mànus dear. Sure it is not for me to be going - back to that house after what has been done and said. I go with you, - now and always, God save us.” - - “Well, dear lass o’ my heart, it’s farewell to Eilanmore it is, for - by the Blood of the Cross I’ll never land on it again!” - - “And that will be no sorrow to me, Mànus, my home!” - - * * * * * - - And this was the way that my friend, Anne Gillespie, left Eilanmore - to go to the isles of the west. - - It was a fair sailing, in the white moonshine, with a whispering - breeze astern. Anne leaned against Mànus, dreaming her dream. The - lad Donull sat drowsing at the helm. Forward, Aulay MacNeil, with - his face set against the moonshine to the west, brooded dark. - - Though no longer was land in sight, and there was peace among the - deeps of the quiet stars and upon the sea, the shadow of fear was - upon the face of Mànus MacCodrum. - - This might well have been because of the as yet unburied dead that - lay beneath the spare sail by the windlass. The dead man, however, - did not affright him. What went moaning in his heart, and sighing - and calling in his brain, was a faint falling echo he had heard, as - the _Luath_ glided slow out of the haven. Whether from the water or - from the shore he could not tell, but he heard the wild, fantastic - air of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn,” as he had heard it that very night upon - the feadan of Gloom Achanna. - - It was his hope that his ears had played him false. When he glanced - about him, and saw the sombre flame in the eyes of Aulay MacNeil, - staring at him out of the dusk, he knew that which Oisìn the son of - Fionn cried in his pain: “his soul swam in mist.” - - - II - - For all the evil omens, the marriage of Anne and Mànus MacCodrum - went well. He was more silent than of yore, and men avoided rather - than sought him; but he was happy with Anne, and content with his - two mates, who were now Callum MacCodrum and Ranald MacRanald. The - youth Donull had bettered himself by joining a Skye skipper who was - a kinsman, and Aulay MacNeil had surprised every one, except Mànus, - by going away as a seaman on board one of the _Loch_ line of ships - which sail for Australia from the Clyde. - - Anne never knew what had happened, though it is possible she - suspected somewhat. All that was known to her was that Marcus and - Gloom Achanna had disappeared, and were supposed to have been - drowned. There was now no Achanna upon Eilanmore, for Seumas had - taken a horror of the place and his loneliness. As soon as it was - commonly admitted that his two brothers must have drifted out to - sea, and been drowned, or at best picked up by some ocean-going - ship, he disposed of the island-farm, and left Eilanmore forever. - All this confirmed the thing said among the islanders of the west, - that old Robert Achanna had brought a curse with him. Blight and - disaster had visited Eilanmore over and over in the many years he - had held it, and death, sometimes tragic or mysterious, had - overtaken six of his seven sons, while the youngest bore upon his - brows the “dusk of the shadow.” True, none knew for certain that - three out of the six were dead, but few for a moment believed in the - possibility that Alasdair and Marcus and Gloom were alive. On the - night when Anne had left the island with Mànus MacCodrum, he, - Seumas, had heard nothing to alarm him. Even when, an hour after she - had gone down to the haven, neither she nor his brothers had - returned, and the _Luath_ had put out to sea, he was not in fear of - any ill. Clearly, Marcus and Gloom had gone away in the smack, - perhaps determined to see that the girl was duly married by priest - or minister. - - He would have perturbed himself a little for days to come, but for a - strange thing that happened that night. He had returned to the house - because of a chill that was upon him, and convinced, too, that all - had sailed in the _Luath_. He was sitting brooding by the peat-fire, - when he was startled by a sound at the window at the back of the - room. A few bars of a familiar air struck painfully upon his ear, - though played so low that they were just audible. What could it be - but the “Dàn-nan-Ròn,” and who would be playing that but Gloom? What - did it mean? Perhaps after all, it was fantasy only, and there was - no feadan out there in the dark. He was pondering this when, still - low but louder and sharper than before, there rose and fell the - strain which he hated, and Gloom never played before him, that of - the _Dàvsa-na mairv_, the “Dance of the Dead.” Swiftly and silently - he rose and crossed the room. In the dark shadows cast by the byre - he could see nothing, but the music ceased. He went out, and - searched everywhere, but found no one. So he returned, took down the - Holy Book, with awed heart, and read slowly till peace came upon - him, soft and sweet as the warmth of the peat-glow. - - But as for Anne, she had never even this hint that one of the - supposed dead might be alive, or that, being dead, Gloom might yet - touch a shadowy feadan into a wild remote air of the grave. - - When month after month went by, and no hint of ill came to break - upon their peace, Mànus grew light-hearted again. Once more his - songs were heard as he came back from the fishing, or loitered - ashore mending his nets. A new happiness was nigh to them, for Anne - was with child. True, there was fear also, for the girl was not well - at the time when her labor was near, and grew weaker daily. There - came a day when Mànus had to go to Loch Boisdale in South Uist: and - it was with pain and something of foreboding that he sailed away - from Berneray in the Sound of Harris, where he lived. It was on the - third night that he returned. He was met by Katreen MacRanald, the - wife of his mate, with the news that on the morrow after his going - Anne had sent for the priest who was staying at Loch Maddy, for she - had felt the coming of death. It was that very evening she died, and - took the child with her. - - Mànus heard as one in a dream. It seemed to him that the tide was - ebbing in his heart, and a cold, sleety rain falling, falling - through a mist in his brain. - - Sorrow lay heavily upon him. After the earthing of her whom he - loved, he went to and fro solitary: often crossing the Narrows and - going to the old Pictish Towre under the shadow of Ban Breac. He - would not go upon the sea, but let his kinsman Callum do as he liked - with the _Luath_. - - Now and again Father Allan MacNeil sailed northward to see him. Each - time he departed sadder. “The man is going mad, I fear,” he said to - Callum, the last time he saw Mànus. - - The long summer nights brought peace and beauty to the isles. It was - a great herring-year, and the moon-fishing was unusually good. All - the Uist men who lived by the sea-harvest were in their boats - whenever they could. The pollack, the dog-fish, the otters, and the - seals, with flocks of sea-fowl beyond number, shared in the common - joy. Mànus MacCodrum alone paid no heed to herring or mackerel. He - was often seen striding along the shore, and more than once had been - heard laughing; sometimes, too, he was come upon at low tide by the - great Reef of Berneray, singing wild strange runes and songs, or - crouching upon a rock and brooding dark. - - The midsummer moon found no man on Berneray except MacCodrum, the - Rev. Mr. Black, the minister of the Free Kirk, and an old man named - Anndra McIan. On the night before the last day of the middle month, - Anndra was reproved by the minister for saying that he had seen a - man rise out of one of the graves in the kirkyard, and steal down by - the stone-dykes towards Balnahunnur-sa-mona,[13] where Mànus - MacCodrum lived. - -Footnote 13: - - _Baille-’na-aonar’sa mhonadh_, “the solitary farm on the - hill-slope.” - - “The dead do not rise and walk, Anndra.” - - “That may be, maigstir, but it may have been the Watcher of the - Dead. Sure it is not three weeks since Padruig McAlistair was laid - beneath the green mound. He’ll be wearying for another to take his - place.” - - “Hoots, man, that is an old superstition. The dead do not rise and - walk, I tell you.” - - “It is right you may be, maigstir, but I heard of this from my - father, that was old before you were young, and from his father - before him. When the last-buried is weary with being the Watcher of - the Dead he goes about from place to place till he sees man, woman, - or child with the death-shadow in the eyes, and then he goes back to - his grave and lies down in peace, for his vigil it will be over - now.” - - The minister laughed at the folly, and went into his house to make - ready for the Sacrament that was to be on the morrow. Old Anndra, - however, was uneasy. After the porridge, he went down through the - gloaming to Balnahunnur-sa-mona. He meant to go in and warn Mànus - MacCodrum. But when he got to the west wall, and stood near the open - window, he heard Mànus speaking in a loud voice, though he was alone - in the room. - - “_B’ionganntach do ghràdh dhomhsa, a’ toirt barrachd air gràdh nam - ban!_”...[14] - -Footnote 14: - - “Thy love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.” - - This, Mànus cried in a voice quivering with pain. Anndra stopped - still, fearful to intrude, fearful also, perhaps, to see some one - there beside MacCodrum, whom eyes should not see. Then the voice - rose into a cry of agony. - - “_Aoram dhuit, ay andéigh dhomh fàs aosda!_”[15] - -Footnote 15: - - “I shall worship thee, ay, even after I have become old.” - - With that, Anndra feared to stay. As he passed the byre he started, - for he thought he saw the shadow of a man. When he looked closer he - could see nought, so went his way, trembling and sore troubled. - - It was dusk when Mànus came out. He saw that it was to be a cloudy - night; and perhaps it was this that, after a brief while, made him - turn in his aimless walk and go back to the house. He was sitting - before the flaming heart of the peats, brooding in his pain, when - suddenly he sprang to his feet. - - Loud and clear, and close as though played under the very window of - the room, came the cold, white notes of an oaten flute. Ah, too well - he knew that wild, fantastic air. Who could it be but Gloom Achanna, - playing upon his feadan; and what air of all airs could that be but - the “Dàn-nan-Ròn”? - - Was it the dead man, standing there unseen in the shadow of the - Grave? Was Marcus beside him, Marcus with the knife still thrust up - to the hilt, and the lung-foam upon his lips? Can the sea give up - its dead? Can there be strain of any feadan that ever was made of - man, there in the Silence? - - In vain Mànus MacCodrum tortured himself thus. Too well he knew that - he had heard the “Dàn-nan-Ròn,” and that no other than Gloom Achanna - was the player. - - Suddenly an access of fury wrought him to madness. With an abrupt - lilt the tune swung into the _Davsà-na mairv_, and thence, after a - few seconds, and in a moment, into that mysterious and horrible - _Codhail-nan-Pairtean_ which none but Gloom played. - - There could be no mistake now, nor as to what was meant by the - muttering, jerking air of the “Gathering of the Crabs.” - - With a savage cry Mànus snatched up a long dirk from its place by - the chimney, and rushed out. - - There was not the shadow of a sea-gull even in front; so he sped - round by the byre. Neither was anything unusual discoverable there. - - “Sorrow upon me,” he cried; “man or wraith, I will be putting it to - the dirk!” - - But there was no one; nothing; not a sound. - - Then, at last, with a listless droop of his arms, MacCodrum turned - and went into the house again. He remembered what Gloom Achanna had - said: “_You’ll hear the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’ the night before you die, - Mànus MacCodrum, and lest you doubt it, you’ll hear it in your - death-hour._” - - He did not stir from the fire for three hours; then he rose, and - went over to his bed and lay down without undressing. - - He did not sleep, but lay listening and watching. The peats burned - low, and at last there was scarce a flicker along the floor. Outside - he could hear the wind moaning upon the sea. By a strange rustling - sound he knew that the tide was ebbing across the great reef that - runs out from Berneray. By midnight the clouds had gone. The moon - shone clear and full. When he heard the clock strike in its - worm-eaten, rickety case, he sat up, and listened intently. He could - hear nothing. No shadow stirred. Surely if the wraith of Gloom - Achanna were waiting for him it would make some sign, now, in the - dead of night. - - An hour passed. Mànus rose, crossed the room on tiptoe, and - soundlessly opened the door. The salt wind blew fresh against his - face. The smell of the shore, of wet sea-wrack and pungent - bog-myrtle, of foam and moving water, came sweet to his nostrils. He - heard a skua calling from the rocky promontory. From the slopes - behind, the wail of a moon-restless lapwing rose and fell - mournfully. - - Crouching, and with slow, stealthy step, he stole round by the - seaward wall. At the dyke he stopped, and scrutinised it on each - side. He could see for several hundred yards, and there was not even - a sheltering sheep. Then, soundlessly as ever, he crept close to the - byre. He put his ear to chink after chink: but not a stir of a - shadow even. As a shadow, himself, he drifted lightly to the front, - past the hay-rick; then, with swift glances to right and left, - opened the door and entered. As he did so, he stood as though - frozen. Surely, he thought, that was a sound as of a step, out there - by the hay-rick. A terror was at his heart. In front, the darkness - of the byre, with God knows what dread thing awaiting him; behind, a - mysterious walker in the night, swift to take him unawares. The - trembling that came upon him was nigh overmastering. At last, with a - great effort, he moved towards the ledge, where he kept a candle. - With shaking hand he struck a light. The empty byre looked ghostly - and fearsome in the flickering gloom. But there was no one, nothing. - He was about to turn, when a rat ran along a loose-hanging beam, and - stared at him, or at the yellow shine. He saw its black eyes shining - like peat-water in moonlight. - - The creature was curious at first, then indifferent. At last, it - began to squeak, and then made a swift scratching with its - fore-paws. Once or twice came an answering squeak; a faint rustling - was audible here and there among the straw. - - With a sudden spring Mànus seized the beast. Even in the second in - which he raised it to his mouth and scrunched its back with his - strong teeth, it bit him severely. He let his hands drop, and groped - furtively in the darkness. With stooping head he shook the last - breath out of the rat, holding it with his front teeth, with - back-curled lips. The next moment he dropped the dead thing, - trampled upon it, and burst out laughing. There was a scurrying of - pattering feet, a rustling of straw. Then silence again. A draught - from the door had caught the flame and extinguished it. In the - silence and darkness MacCodrum stood, intent, but no longer afraid. - He laughed again, because it was so easy to kill with the teeth. The - noise of his laughter seemed to him to leap hither and thither like - a shadowy ape. He could see it; a blackness within the darkness. - Once more he laughed. It amused him to see the _thing_ leaping about - like that. - - Suddenly he turned, and walked out into the moonlight. The lapwing - was still circling and wailing. He mocked it, with loud shrill - _pēē-wēēty, pēē-wēēty, pēē-wēēt_. The bird swung waywardly, alarmed: - its abrupt cry, and dancing flight aroused its fellows. The air was - full of the lamentable crying of plovers. - - A sough of the sea came inland. Mànus inhaled its breath with a sigh - of delight. A passion for the running wave was upon him. He yearned - to feel green water break against his breast. Thirst and hunger, - too, he felt at last, though he had known neither all day. How cool - and sweet, he thought, would be a silver haddock, or even a - brown-backed liath, alive and gleaming, wet with the sea-water still - bubbling in its gills. It would writhe, just like the rat; but then - how he would throw his head back, and toss the glittering thing up - into the moonlight, catch it on the downwhirl just as it neared the - wave on whose crest he was, and then devour it with swift voracious - gulps! - - With quick, jerky steps he made his way past the landward side of - the small, thatch-roofed cottage. He was about to enter, when he - noticed that the door, which he had left ajar, was closed. He stole - to the window and glanced in. - - A single, thin, wavering moonbeam flickered in the room. But the - flame at the heart of the peats had worked its way through the ash, - and there was now a dull glow, though that was within the - “smooring,” and threw scarce more than a glimmer into the room. - - There was enough light, however, for Mànus MacCodrum to see that a - man sat on the three-legged stool before the fire. His head was - bent, as though he were listening. The face was away from the - window. It was his own wraith, of course; of that, Mànus felt - convinced. What was it doing there? Perhaps it had eaten the Holy - Book, so that it was beyond his putting a _rosad_ on it! At the - thought he laughed loud. The shadow-man leaped to his feet. - - The next moment MacCodrum swung himself on to the thatched roof, and - clambered from rope to rope, where these held down the big stones - which acted as dead-weight for the thatch, against the fury of - tempests. Stone after stone he tore from its fastenings and hurled - to the ground over beyond the door. Then with tearing hands he began - to burrow an opening in the thatch. All the time he whined like a - beast. - - He was glad the moon shone full upon him. When he had made a big - enough hole, he would see the evil thing out of the grave that sat - in his room, and would stone it to death. - - Suddenly he became still. A cold sweat broke out upon him. The - thing, whether his own wraith, or the spirit of his dead foe, or - Gloom Achanna himself, had begun to play, low and slow, a wild air. - No piercing, cold music like that of the feadan! Too well he knew - it, and those cool, white notes that moved here and there in the - darkness like snowflakes. As for the air, though he slept till - Judgment Day and heard but a note of it amidst all the clamor of - heaven and hell, sure he would scream because of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn.” - - The “Dàn-nan-Ròn!” The _Roin_! the Seals! Ah, what was he doing - there, on the bitter-weary land! Out there was the sea. Safe would - he be in the green waves. - - With a leap he was on the ground. Seizing a huge stone, he hurled it - through the window. Then, laughing and screaming, he fled towards - the Great Reef, along whose sides the ebb-tide gurgled and sobbed, - with glistening white foam. - - He ceased screaming or laughing as he heard the “Dàn-nan-Ròn” behind - him, faint, but following; sure, following. Bending low, he raced - towards the rock-ledges from which ran the reef. - - When at last he reached the extreme ledge he stopped abruptly. Out - on the reef he saw from ten to twenty seals, some swimming to and - fro, others clinging to the reef, one or two making a curious - barking sound, with round heads lifted against the moon. In one - place there was a surge and lashing of water. Two bulls were - fighting to the death. - - With swift, stealthy movements Mànus unclothed himself. The damp had - clotted the leathern thongs of his boots, and he snarled with curled - lip as he tore at them. He shone white in the moonshine, but was - sheltered from the sea by the ledge behind which he crouched. “What - did Gloom Achanna mean by that?” he muttered savagely, as he heard - the nearing air change into the “Dance of the Dead.” For a moment - Mànus was a man again. He was nigh upon turning to face his foe, - corpse or wraith or living body; to spring at this thing which - followed him, and tear it with hands and teeth. Then, once more, the - hated “Song of the Seals” stole mockingly through the night. - - With a shiver he slipped into the dark water. Then with quick, - powerful strokes he was in the moon-flood, and swimming hard against - it out by the leeside of the reef. - - So intent were the seals upon the fight of the two great bulls that - they did not see the swimmer, or if they did, took him for one of - their own people. A savage snarling and barking and half-human - crying came from them. Mànus was almost within reach of the nearest, - when one of the combatants sank dead, with torn throat. The victor - clambered on the reef, and leaned high, swaying its great head and - shoulders to and fro. In the moonlight its white fangs were like red - coral. Its blinded eyes ran with gore. - - There was a rush, a rapid leaping and swirling, as Mànus surged in - among the seals, which were swimming round the place where the slain - bull had sunk. - - The laughter of this long, white seal terrified them. - - When his knees struck against a rock, MacCodrum groped with his - arms, and hauled himself out of the water. - - From rock to rock and ledge to ledge he went, with a fantastic, - dancing motion, his body gleaming foam-white in the moonshine. - - As he pranced and trampled along the weedy ledges, he sang snatches - of an old rune—the lost rune of the MacCodrums of Uist. The seals on - the rocks crouched spell-bound; those slow-swimming in the water - stared with brown unwinking eyes, with their small ears strained - against the sound: - - It is I, Mànus MacCodrum, - I am telling you that, you, Anndra of my blood, - And you, Neil my grandfather, and you, and you, and you! - Ay, ay, Mànus my name is, Mànus MacMànus! - It is I myself, and no other. - Your brother, O Seals of the Sea! - Give me blood of the red fish, - And a bite of the flying _sgadan_: - The green wave on my belly, - And the foam in my eyes! - I am your bull-brother, O Bulls of the Sea, - Bull—better than any of you, snarling bulls! - Come to me, mate, seal of the soft, furry womb, - White am I still, though red shall I be, - Red with the streaming red blood if any dispute me! - Aoh, aoh, aoh, arò, arò, ho-rò! - A man was I, a seal am I, - My fangs churn the yellow foam from my lips: - Give way to me, give way to me, Seals of the Sea; - Give way, for I am fëy of the sea - And the sea-maiden I see there, - And my name, true, is Mànus MacCodrum, - The bull-seal that was a man, Arà! Arà! - - By this time he was close upon the great black seal, which was still - monotonously swaying its gory head, with its sightless eyes rolling - this way and that. The sea-folk seemed fascinated. None moved, even - when the dancer in the moonshine trampled upon them. - - When he came within arm-reach he stopped. - - “Are you the Ceann-Cinnidh?” he cried. - - “Are you the head of this clan of the sea-folk?” - - The huge beast ceased its swaying. Its curled lips moved from its - fangs. - - “Speak, Seal, if there’s no curse upon you! Maybe, now, you’ll be - Anndra himself, the brother of my father! Speak! _H’st—are you - hearing that music on the shore?_ ’Tis the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’! Death o’ - my soul, it’s the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’! - - “Aha, ’tis Gloom Achanna out of the Grave. Back, beast, and let me - move on!” - - With that, seeing the great bull did not move, he struck it full in - the face with clenched fist. There was a hoarse, strangling roar, - and the seal champion was upon him with lacerating fangs. - - Mànus swayed this way and that. All he could hear now was the - snarling and growling and choking cries of the maddened seals. As he - fell, they closed in upon him. His screams wheeled through the night - like mad birds. With desperate fury he struggled to free himself. - The great bull pinned him to the rock; a dozen others tore at his - white flesh, till his spouting blood made the rocks scarlet in the - white shine of the moon. - - For a few seconds he still fought savagely, tearing with teeth and - hands. Once, a red irrecognisable mass, he staggered to his knees. A - wild cry burst from his lips, when from the shore-end of the reef - came loud and clear the lilt of the rune of his fate. - - The next moment he was dragged down and swept from the reef into the - sea. As the torn and mangled body disappeared from sight, it was - amid a seething crowd of leaping and struggling seals, their eyes - wild with affright and fury, their fangs red with human gore. - - And Gloom Achanna, turning upon the reef, moved swiftly inland, - playing low on his feadan, as he went. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - CRITICAL COMMENT - - - THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA - By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS - - - NO one knows when story telling began. It is as old as the human - race. It goes beyond history into the unknown darkness of the past. - Some of the stories we still read originated far back in primitive - life. Such stories, that have been told for many years, and are - common to the race, we call “Folk-Lore” stories. - - Every Folk-Lore story probably began in the simplest form. Something - happened,—and someone tried to tell about the event. If the story - was interesting enough to repeat, it gradually became exaggerated. - Thus the germ of _The Adventures of Simon and Susanna_ is the - common-enough story of a successful elopement in which the - cleverness of the young people,—of the girl in particular,—eluded - the pursuing father. Their means of making their escape must have - been quite ordinary, but when the story was told again and again,—if - this really is a Folk-Lore story, the cleverness was exaggerated and - gradually turned into magic. - - In reading this story we come into close touch with the origin of - all story telling. We see one man, a common, ignorant man, telling a - story to an interested listener, and undoubtedly “putting in a few - extra touches” to make the story more wonderful. The primitive - stories must always have been presented orally, and at first to few - listeners. Then came the days of story tellers for the crowd, and - finally the written story. - - The author of _The Adventures of Simon and Susanna_, Joel Chandler - Harris, retold many folk-lore stories. He was born in Georgia in - 1848, and died there in 1908. He devoted all his mature life to - journalism and literature. His many books about Uncle Remus - presented that person so clearly that the good-natured negro story - teller has almost ceased to be merely a book-character, and has - become a living reality. - - Every story that Mr. Harris wrote has plot interest, but it also has - pith and wisdom. - - - THE CROW-CHILD - By MARY MAPES DODGE - - The ordinary “Fairy Story” is a developed form of the “Folk-Lore” - story. Instead of having the roughness, and naïve simplicity - characteristic of primitive ways of story telling it has polish, and - definite literary or moral purpose. It is not a mere wonder story - told in the first person by some definite individual, and made by - the exaggeration of an actual event. It is a written rather than a - spoken story, based, in the remote past, on some actual event, but - now told in the third person, and directed strongly to an artistic, - literary purpose,—frequently to a moral purpose. In every way the - best type of “Fairy Story” is a distinct advance towards developed - story telling. - - _The Crow Child_ is not an actual “Fairy Story,” but it illustrates - remarkably well the way in which “Fairy Stories” developed. Every - event in _The Crow Child_ is strictly true, but much of the story - appears to be based on magic. A true story of this sort, told in - primitive times, and retold again and again, with new emphasis - placed on the elements of wonder, would have developed into a pure - story of wonder,—a “Fairy Story.” - - The author of this original, and modern, “Fairy Story,” Mary Mapes - Dodge, was born in New York in 1838. For many years she was the - efficient editor of _St. Nicholas_, a young people’s magazine of the - highest type. In addition to her editorial work she wrote many books - for young people, the most famous being _Hans Brinker, or the Silver - Skates_. She died in 1905. - - - THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL - By LAFCADIO HEARN - - Very often the earliest stories are not crude accounts of ordinary - events, exaggerated enough to be worthy of note. They are poetic - narratives founded on matters of deep significance in the life of a - people. All primitive people are poetic, because they see the world - through the eyes of emotion rather than of scientific understanding. - They also have an instinctive recognition of fundamental nobility. - Therefore we have such stories as the legends of Hiawatha, in which - an ideal man is presented, bringing benefit to his kind. Any story - that is handed down from generation to generation, and that presents - as facts matters that have no other verification, is legendary. The - highest type of legendary story is one that presents high ideals. - - The Chinese, whose literature is exceedingly ancient, have always - been an idealistic people. It is not surprising that they should - create such an appealing legendary tale as _The Soul of the Great - Bell_. Although the elements are quite simple the story has been - turned from being a simple account of tragic self-sacrifice, and has - become an explanation of the music of the bell, as well as an - example of filial devotion. The preservation of such stories shows - natural appreciation of short story values. - - The present rendering of _The Soul of the Great Bell_ undoubtedly - far surpasses the Chinese version. The story has been appropriately - introduced, amplified and given added poetic and dramatic effect by - careful choice of words, descriptive passages, suspense, - onomatopœia, and climax. - - Lafcadio Hearn was born in 1850, of Irish and Greek parentage, in - Leucadia, of the Greek Ionian Islands. At 19 he came to America and - engaged in newspaper work, living at various times in New Orleans - and in New York. From 1891 until his death in 1904 he made his home - in Japan, where he became a Buddhist and a naturalized Japanese - citizen under the name of Yakumo Koizumi. He learned to know the - oriental peoples as few others have known them. His literary work is - marked by poetic treatment, and an atmosphere of the Orient. He - wrote _Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan_, _Out of the East_, _Some - Chinese Ghosts_, and many other books on oriental subjects. - - - =Ta-chung sz’.= Temple of the Bell. A building in Pekin, holding the - bell that is the subject of the story. The bell was made in the - reign of Yong-lo, about 1406 A. D. It weighs over 120,000 pounds, - and is the largest bell known to be in actual use. - - =Kwang-chan-fu.= The Broad City. Canton. - - - THE TEN TRAILS - By ERNEST THOMPSON SETON - - The fable and the proverb are much alike in that both are highly - condensed, and both are told to instruct. The short, direct, applied - narratives known as “Fables” are among the oldest ancestors of the - short story. Even in the most ancient times there were fables, those - of Æsop having been told perhaps as early as the sixth century, B.C. - Many familiar fables have animals for their characters, their known - characteristics needing no comment. Thus the fox and the wolf appear - frequently, their mere names suggesting traits of character. The - fable, as a type of wisdom literature, is always short, simple, and - emphatic. It always emphasizes marked human characteristics, and - usually ends with a “moral” that adds to the emphasis. The influence - of the fable helped to make the story short, condensed, vivid, - pointed, and based on character. - - _The Ten Trails_ is a modern imitation of older fables. Its - directness, simplicity, clear story, and appended moral are - characteristic of the type. - - Ernest Thompson Seton, born in England in 1860, has written many - stories in which he presents animal life with appealing sympathy. He - has devoted himself particularly to cultivating a love for outdoors - life, and for animate nature. _Wild Animals I Have Known_, _The - Biography of a Grizzly_, and similar books, are full of original - interest. - - - WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO - By COUNT LEO TOLSTOI - - An allegory is a story that has an underlying meaning or moral. It - is in some ways an expanded fable, with the meaning understood - rather than presented. The chief difference between the “Fable” and - the “Allegory” lies in length and complexity of treatment, and in - the way of presenting the underlying meaning. The “Fable” is short - and usually appends the moral. The “Allegory” is usually long, and - tells the story in such a way that the reader is sure to grasp the - meaning without further comment. The purpose, as in the “Fable,” is - double,—to tell a story, and to teach a truth. All literatures have - numerous allegories, Spenser’s _Faerie Queene_, Bunyan’s _Pilgrim’s - Progress_, and Tennyson’s _Idylls of the King_ being notable - examples in English literature. - - _Where Love Is, There God Is Also_ is an allegorical story of a - pleasing type that is often found in our present-day literature. The - story has such evident good humor, appreciation of the needs of - humble life, and such an unselfish spirit of sympathy that it - appeals to any reader. Its strong realism, effective plan, and - clear, emphatic presentation make the story one of the best of its - kind. - - Count Leo Tolstoi, born at Yasnaya Polyana, in Russia, in 1828, and - dying at Astapovo in 1910, is one of the greatest and most - interesting figures in all modern literature. The story of his - career, with its surprising changes from the life of a nobleman to - that of a peasant, from a life given over to pleasure to a life - devoted to the moral uplift of a whole people, is even more - astonishing than any of the stories he told in his many works of - fiction. Student, soldier, traveler, lover of social life, - philosopher, reformer, and self-sacrificing idealist, he developed a - personality unique in the extreme, and became a world-wide influence - for good. His best known novels are _War and Peace_, and _Anna - Karenina_. In them, as in all that he wrote, the notable qualities - are realism, dramatic force, original thought, and courageous - expression of beliefs. - - - =Grivenki.= A grivenka is 10 copecks, or about five cents. - - - WOOD-LADIES - By PERCEVAL GIBBON - - There is a strange fascination about the supernatural, for men of - all races instinctively believe that they are surrounded by a world - of good and evil that lies just beyond their touch. Some have - thought the woods and mountains peopled with unseen divinities; - others have believed in strange gnomes and dwarfs who are thought to - live in the depths of the earth; some have believed in pale ghosts, - specters that move by night, haunting the scenes of unattoned crime. - One of the most pleasing beliefs is that in fairies, or “Little - Folk,”—unseen, beautiful, and usually beneficent beings who live in - woodland places and are endowed with all powers of magic. - - Stories of the unseen world that may lie about us have appeared in - all ages. Sometimes such stories have been beautiful and fanciful, - and sometimes filled with the spirit of fear. In the latter part of - the eighteenth century and the first of the nineteenth it became - quite the fashion to tell stories of ghosts and strange terrors. - Ernst Hoffmann and Ludwig Tieck in Germany set an example that was - followed by Washington Irving, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Edgar Allan - Poe in this country, as well as by many other writers since their - time. - - There is another and more healthful attitude of mind. Instead of the - horror of Gothic romance it presents the fancy of Celtic thought. In - stories of this gentler type one does not feel that the unseen world - is wholly to be feared. - - Such a story is _Wood-Ladies_, in which the spirit of Celtic fancy - has found full play. In this story everything is woodsy, delicate, - half-seen, as though one were treading the very edges of fairyland - without knowing it. Mother-love fills the whole story and gives it a - noble beauty. And yet, in a certain sense, the child, conscious of - another world, is wiser than the mother. A story of this sort, - dealing with the supernatural, rests the mind like sweet music. - - Perceval Gibbon was born in Carmarthenshire in South Wales, in 1870. - He has spent much time in the merchant service on British, French, - and American vessels. He has done unusual work as war correspondent. - Among his literary works are _Souls in Bondage_, _The Adventures of - Miss Gregory_, _The Second Class Passenger_, and a collection of - Poems. His work is marked by originality, and a clever mastery of - technique. - - - ON THE FEVER SHIP - By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS - - Love is so essential a part of life that it must also be a part of - literature; therefore romantic love has been a leading literary - theme for centuries. Some of the world’s greatest stories of love - flash into our minds when we repeat the names of Juliet, Rosalind, - Portia, Elaine, and Evangeline. Such stories suggest depth of - emotion, charm, womanly worth, pure and innocent love, or a love - that lasts beyond the years. In the days of chivalry the knight bore - his lady’s token, and fought in her honor. to-day men love just as - deeply, and fight for land and hearth and sweetheart just as truly - as men did in the long ago. - - _On the Fever Ship_ is the story of a modern knight,—a soldier who - went into his country’s war, bearing in his heart the memory of one - he loved. When he is wounded, and lies fever-stricken on the deck of - a transport, he does not think at all of himself but only of the one - who is far away. That is the story, an abiding love in absence, with - dreams at last made true. - - The author makes the story notably strong and tender. Without formal - introduction he presents the realistic picture of the fever - ship,—the inexplicable monotony, the dream-world, the child-likeness - of the wounded man’s life. Old scenes and faces come before the - wounded soldier in tantalizing dreams. Little by little the author - draws us closer into sympathy with the central figure. He makes us - share in the man’s intensity of feeling. We feel the force of the - strong episode of the somewhat unfeeling nurse, and become indignant - in the man’s behalf. Finally, lifted by the power of the story, we - rise with it into full comprehension of the depth of the hero’s - love. Then, quickly and with artistic effect, the story comes to an - end. Simply, surely, strongly, with real sentiment instead of - sentimentality, it has made us realize the all-powerful force of - love. - - The story is written with much sympathy and evident tenderness of - spirit, and is so touched with real pathos, that it comes to us as a - transcription of some real story the author had found in his work as - war correspondent. - - Richard Harding Davis was one of the most romantic figures in recent - literary life. As war correspondent he saw fighting in the - Spanish-American War, the Boer War, the Japanese-Russian War, and - the Great War. He traveled in all parts of Europe, in Central and in - South America, and in the little-visited districts of the Congo in - Africa. He saw the magnificent coronation ceremonies of the King of - Spain, the King of England, and the Czar of Russia. He attended - gorgeous state occasions in various lands. He also lived the hard - field and camp life of a soldier and an explorer. - - He wrote a number of extraordinarily good short stories, several - stirring novels,—among which are _The King’s Jackal_, _Ransom’s - Folly_, _The White Mice_, and _The Princess Aline_,—several plays, - and a number of works of travel and war correspondence. - - Richard Harding Davis was born in Philadelphia in 1864, and died in - New York in 1916. - - - =San Juan.= A fortified hill position in Cuba, near Santiago de - Cuba, captured in the Spanish-American War by the United States - soldiers July 1, 1898. - - =Maitre d’hotel.= Chief attendant—head-waiter. - - =Embankment.= The Thames Embankment, a noted part of London. - - =Chasseur.= Footman. - - =Numero cinq, sur la terrace, un couvert.= Number five, on the - terrace, one place. - - =Baiquiri.= A landing place in Cuba near Santiago de Cuba. The - United States soldiers landed here, June 21-23, 1898. - - =Tampa.= A seaport in Florida. - - - A SOURCE OF IRRITATION - By STACY AUMONIER - - An interesting type of story shows an ordinary person in an - extraordinary situation. In _Robinson Crusoe_, for example, an - ordinary Englishman is left alone on an uninhabited island; in - Stockton’s _The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine_ two - good old New England women with little worldly experience are - wrecked on a mysterious island in the Pacific; in Howard Pyle’s _The - Ruby of Kishmore_ a peace-loving Philadelphia Quaker is suddenly - involved in a series of bloody encounters in the West Indies. Such - stories always arouse interest or develop humor by the astonishing - contrast between setting and characters, and they always emphasize - character by showing how it acts in unusual circumstances. Thus - _Robinson Crusoe_ at once attracts our interest and awakens - admiration for the hero. - - _A Source of Irritation_ is especially clever in every way. There - could be no greater contrast than that between old Sam Gates’ usual - hum-drum, eventless life, and the sudden transfer to an aeroplane, a - foreign land, the trenches, battle, and the search for a spy. Very - rarely, too, is a character presented so emphatically as this - 69-year-old gardener, with his irritable moods, his insistence on - the habits of a life-time, his stolidity, and his real manliness. - Equally rare is a story told so effectively, with just the proper - combination of realism and romance, with quick touches of comedy and - of tragedy, with a closeness to life that is indisputable, and a - romance that is unusual. In its every part the story is a - masterpiece of construction. - - Stacy Aumonier is an Englishman of Huguenot descent. - - =Swede.= A Swedish turnip. - - =Shag.= A fine-cut tobacco. - - “=Mare vudish.=” Merkwürdig, remarkable. - - =A fearful noise.= The English made an attack on the German - aeroplane. - - =Uglaublich.= Incredible. - - =A foreign country.= Evidently Flanders. - - =Boche.= German. - - =G.H.Q.= General Head Quarters. - - =Norfolk.= One of the eastern counties of England, bordering on the - North Sea. - - - MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER - By RUDYARD KIPLING - - One of the pleasures of life is to travel and see the world. If we - are unable to travel far in reality we may at least see much of - strange lands through short stories of distant places and ways of - life different from the ordinary. - - _Moti Guj—Mutineer_ is a story of life in India, of elephants and - mahouts and strange events. It has all the atmosphere of India, - given by half-humorous realistic touches that transport us from the - land of everyday. It is a story of animal life, told with an - intimate knowledge that shows close familiarity with “elephanthood.” - Beyond that, it has what every story must have,—close relation to - human character as we see it in any land at any time. Even the - elephant is made to act and to think as if he were a human being. - The humorous style, and the quickness with which the story is told, - as well as the vivid pictures it gives, are typical of its author’s - work. - - Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, India, in 1865. After education - in England he became a sub-editor of a paper published in Lahore, - India, where he lived for some years, becoming intimate with all the - life of the land. He has lived at various times in India, the United - States, South Africa, and England. He has written a great number of - astonishingly clever stories, poems, and novels, all in quick, - vigorous style, with freedom from restraint, with rough realism, and - with genuine humor and pathos. Among his most notable books are: - _Plain Tales from the Hills_, _The Jungle Book_, _Captains - Courageous_, _The Day’s Work_, and _Puck of Pook’s Hill_. - - - =Arrack.= A fermented drink. - - =Coir-swab.= A mop made from cocoanut fiber. - - - GULLIVER THE GREAT - By WALTER A. DYER - - There is a wonderfully close sympathy between man and the animal - world,—a sympathy that is especially strong in the case of either - the horse or the dog, animals that are the close associates of man. - Ancient literature,—_The Bible_ and _The Odyssey_,—tell of the - faithfulness of the dog, man’s friend and protector. In recent times - writers have turned to the whole world of nature for subjects,—the - stag, the grizzly bear, the wolf, and other animals, but stories of - dogs still awaken interest and sympathy, and will continue to do so - as long as the faithfulness of dogs endures,—which is forever. - - _Gulliver the Great_ is told in an interestingly suggestive manner, - every part of the story being rich with hints on which our - imaginations build. The pleasant calm of the setting adds much to - the effect. The man’s character is emphasized from the start, making - the story he tells have full meaning. The story is dramatic, but its - power rests far more on sympathy than on events. The art of the - story is in the clever way in which the almost human soul of the dog - is revealed, acting upon the soul of the man. - - Walter A. Dyer was born in Massachusetts in 1878. Since his - graduation from Amherst College in 1900 he has been engaged in - editorial and other literary work. His natural fondness for dogs has - led to such books as _Pierrot: Dog of Belgium_, and _Gulliver the - Great_. - - - =Early Victorian comforts.= The comforts characteristic of the first - part of the reign of Queen Victoria of England, before city life - and commercial life were highly developed. - - =Mr. Pickwick.= The humorous hero of Charles Dickens’ famous novel, - _Pickwick Papers_. - - =James G. Blaine.= An American statesman, 1830-1893. He held many - high offices, and was once candidate for the Presidency. - - =Simplicissimus.= A humorous and satirical German periodical. - - =Brunos.= From the Latin “brunus”—brown. A name frequently given to - dogs. - - =Moros.= The Malay inhabitants of certain islands of the - Philippines. - - =Great Dane.= A type of dog noted for great size and graceful build. - - =Vohl’s Vulcan.= A famous dog. - - =Wurtemburg breed.= A well-known breed of dogs. - - =Mauna Loa.= A noted Hawaiian volcano nearly 14,000 feet in height. - - =Bulls of Bashan.= _The Bible_ makes frequent mention of the bulls - of Bashan, a section of Palestine east of the valley of the - Jordan. - - - SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’ - By RUTH McENERY STUART - - Laughter is a legitimate part of life, especially when it clarifies - the mind. The short story has seized upon all the elements of humor - and made them its own, especially the anecdote. Some writers have - used whimsical humor to give relief from sombre tales, or have told - stories lightly and fancifully humorous, like several in this book. - Others have written with broader effects. Every one of the many - types of humorous story is good.—the unusual situation, the - surprising climax, the fantastic character, the utter absurdity,—but - every type must follow the dictates of good taste. Humor need never - be coarse, or vulgar, or in any way aimed at personal satire. It may - criticize, but it must do so with friendly good will. - - _Sonny’s Schoolin’_ is a series of connected anecdotes, told in - monologue. The humor of the anecdotes lies in their absurdity—in the - presence of Sonny every one is so helpless! Any modern teacher would - deal with Sonny in a way that he would understand. The humor of the - narration lies partly in the events, partly in the speaker’s naïve, - unconscious exposition of self, and partly in the amusing dialect. - Two qualities illuminate the story: one, the gradual presentation of - Sonny’s really lovable nature, seen to better advantage by the - father-and-mother-love behind it; the other, the gradual criticism - of the older system of education, and the suggestion of a type well - adapted to quick, active, original minds like Sonny’s. - - Ruth McEnery Stuart, a native of Louisiana, contributed to our best - periodicals, and wrote many amusing, and wholly sympathetic, stories - of southern life, such as _Holly and Pizen_, _Napoleon Jackson_, - _Sonny_, and _Sonny’s Father_. She died in 1917. - - - HER FIRST HORSE SHOW - By DAVID GRAY - - Every side of life contributes short story material,—the deeds of - people in strange surroundings, unusual acts of heroism in war or in - peace, the lives of the poor, and the lives of the rich. Since men’s - characters are independent of either wealth or poverty, the story of - society life, when written effectively, may awaken as deep feelings - of sympathy or brotherhood as the story of humble life. Any story is - worthy if it broadens the understanding of life and presents its - material in artistic form. - - On the surface _Her First Horse Show_ is a story of society life, of - rich people who delight in the fashionable horse show, and in dining - at the Waldorf. Fundamentally, it is a story of human understanding, - cleverness, and daring, in which the charm of a girl, and the - thoroughbred qualities of a horse, play leading parts. Quick, - suggestive conversation makes the story vividly interesting, and - clear arrangement leads effectively to the climax. - - David Gray was born in Buffalo, New York, in 1870. He has done - editorial work on various papers, and has written a large number of - interesting “horse stories” collected in such books as _Gallops I_, - _Gallops II_, and _Mr. Carteret and Others_. In 1899 Mr. Gray - entered the legal profession. - - - =Doubting Thomas.= A reference to the Bible story of St. Thomas, who - at first doubted the resurrection of Jesus. See John: 20: 25. - - “=Hands.=” Much of the skill in riding high-spirited horses depends - upon the use of the hands in holding the reins. - - - MY HUSBAND’S BOOK - By JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE - - Sometimes the short story is used as an effective means of satire of - a type resembling that employed by Addison in _The Spectator - Papers_. Satire can be given in so few words, and in the very speech - and actions of the persons satirized, that it is well adapted as - material for the short story. It should be the aim of all satirical - short stones of the milder sort to follow Addison’s rule, and point - out little follies rather than great wickednesses, and to aim at a - thousand people rather than at one. - - _My Husband’s Book_ is an admirable example of ideal satire of the - lighter type. The husband is typical—of whom?—of every one who puts - off until tomorrow what he should do to-day. The wife is presented - whimsically as altogether adoring, but as somewhat persistently and - mischievously suspicious. At no time does the husband become aware - of his real defect of character, nor the wife lose all her loving - faith. Kindly satire like this is playful in nature, the sort to be - expected from the author of _Peter Pan_. We laugh good-naturedly at - the husband—and see ourselves in him! - - Sir James Matthew Barrie was born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in 1860. - His delightfully romantic _Auld Licht Idylls_, _A Window in Thrums_, - and especially _The Little Minister_, made him known to all the - English-speaking world. His remarkably original and fanciful plays, - _Quality Street_, _Peter Pan_, _What Every Woman Knows_, and - numerous other dramatic works have added to his already great - reputation. He is one of the leading English writers of the present - time. - - - WAR - By JACK LONDON - - The short story often rises beyond the light and the commonplace to - act as a stern critic of world conditions. With vivid, realistic - touches it points at reality. By focussing every light upon a single - human figure who compellingly commands sympathy it arouses in us a - sense of kinship with all who suffer. Short stories of this type - have teaching force that is all powerful. - - _War_ is such a story. Although little more than a vivid sketch it - presents the brutality of war in all its horror,—not by picturing - the slaughter of thousands, but by showing a boy,—shrinking, eager - to perform his full duty, loving life, fearing death, stopping to - gather apples in a boyish way,—a boy whose instinctive and noble - hesitation to kill rebounds on himself, as if in irony, and causes - his own death. In a certain sense, the boy with his kindly manhood - and generous motives represents the American spirit. The opposite - type of spirit, the love of war for war’s sake, brutality for the - sake of brutality, is shown in the boy’s enemies,—harsh foreigners - who hang men to trees, who shoot at the boy as at a target, and - laugh at his death. The story individualizes war, and thereby gives - emphasis to its horror. Such a story demands on the part of the - author a heartfelt interest in his theme, an intense love of life, - and the ability to write in realistic style. - - Jack London was deeply interested in the world of men. Far from - being a recluse, he lived an active life with his fellows. He left - his college class in order to go with other adventurers into the - Klondike; he went to Japan, and seal hunting in the Behring Sea as a - sailor before the mast; he tramped about the country; he traveled as - a war correspondent, and went on an adventurous voyage into the - South Seas in a 55-foot yacht. He wrote a great number of books, all - of which show a quick understanding of the needs of humanity. Some - of his works are thoughtful studies of social conditions. His best - known books are: _The Call of the Wild_, _The Sea Wolf_, and _The - Mutiny of the Elsinore_. He was born in San Francisco in 1876, and - died in 1916. - - - THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS - By MORGAN ROBERTSON - - In this day when science plays so great a part in life it is only - natural that many stories should be based on scientific knowledge. - Since such stories must almost always more or less distort - scientific truth in order to make the facts have story-interest they - are usually called “pseudo-scientific,” that is, falsely scientific. - - Edgar Allan Poe, who did so much for the short story, was one of the - first to write pseudo-scientific stories, his _Descent into the - Maelström_, and _A Tale of the Ragged Mountains_ being good examples - of his peculiar power. - - _The Battle of the Monsters_ is a wonderfully clever - pseudo-scientific story. In it we enter the minute world of the - microscope, every character being infinitesimally small. - - The story tells how a microbe of Asiatic cholera enters the veins of - John Anderson at the same moment when he is bitten by a rabid dog. - The “white, corrugated wall” is the dog’s tooth; the army of - dog-faced creatures is composed of the microbes of rabies, or - hydrophobia. The vibrant roar heard from time to time, is the beat - of the man’s heart. In the veins the cholera microbe finds the red - corpuscles and other cells and microbes that exist in the blood, and - also the white corpuscles that, according to Metschnikoff, act as - destroyers of the microbes of disease. We go with the cholera - microbe through the series of blood vessels into the heart and - thence back into the arteries and veins, all the time seeing the - struggle between the beneficent white corpuscles and the deadly - microbes of rabies. We see the desperate efforts to keep the - microbes of rabies from entering the cells and finding their way to - the brain. As the microbes of rabies reproduce they begin to win the - battle. The cholera microbe, himself fighting the hosts of rabies, - is about to be overcome, when the physician’s injection of antitoxin - brings a new army to fight the dog-faced creatures. Now that the - danger of rabies has been overcome attention is paid to the hero of - the story, who declares himself to be the microbe of Asiatic - cholera. At once the police guardians of the blood, the white - corpuscles, close on him and destroy him. Thus John Anderson escapes - all danger from rabies and from cholera, to both of which he had - been exposed. The battle, if microscopic, had been real, had been on - a grand scale, and had been of tremendous importance. - - The pseudo-scientific story could have no better illustration. Every - detail is clear, vivid with action, and tense with interest. There - is no turning aside to give scientific information—nothing that is - dry-as-dust. The microbes and corpuscles, without losing their - essential characteristics, speak and act in ways that we can - understand. That is why the story is so successful. It is a human - story, based upon human interest. Familiar language, familiar ways - of thought, events that we can understand, convey to us information - on a learned scientific subject—the work of the white blood - corpuscles. - - Morgan Robertson, 1861-1915, was born in Oswego, N. Y. From 1877 to - 1886 he lived the life of a sailor at sea. Gifted with natural - literary ability he turned to writing, and wrote a number of - distinctly original stories, most of them about the sea, such as - _Spun Yarn_, _Masters of Men_, _Shipmates_, and _Down to the Sea_. - - - =Metschnikoff’s theory.= The great Russian physiologist, Iliya - Metschnikoff, 1845-1916, taught that the white blood corpuscles - act as destroyers of disease microbes. - - =The wounds of Milton’s warring angels.= In Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ - the angels, wounded in the war in heaven, at once recovered. - - =Darwin.= Charles Darwin, 1809-1882. The great English naturalist, - founder of the “Darwinian Theory” of evolution from lower forms. - - =Pasteur.= Louis Pasteur, 1822-1895. The great French microscopist, - and student of hydrophobia. He was the first to inoculate for - hydrophobia. - - =Koch.= Robert Koch, 1843-1910. A great German physician who - discovered the bacilli of tuberculosis and of cholera. - - - A DILEMMA - By S. WEIR MITCHELL - - A popular type of story leaves the reader, at the conclusion, to - choose one of two endings, either of which is open to objections. - Such a story sets the reader’s mind at work, leads him to review - every part of the story, and leaves a peculiarly lasting impression - of construction and emphasis. In stories of this sort there is - careful exclusion of everything that does not tend to lead to, or to - increase, the difficulty. - - _A Dilemma_ makes complete preparation for the final puzzle by - giving all the necessary facts, and all the motives for possible - action, or non-action. When the reader reviews all that has been - said, and sees how cleverly the story is constructed, he finds that - the difficulty of solution appears even greater than at first. - - Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, 1829-1914, was born in Philadelphia, and there - spent most of his life. As a physician he wrote many medical books, - and became one of the most distinguished neurologists in the world. - His unusual ability led to his becoming member of many learned - scientific societies in this country and in Europe. In spite of his - active medical work he found time for much writing of a purely - literary nature. Such books as _Hugh Wynne_, _The Adventures of - François_, and _Dr. North and His Friends_, are distinctly original - American contributions, and made their author unusually popular. - - - =Empress-Queen Maria Theresa=. Maria Theresa, 1717-1780. Archduchess - of Austria, Queen of Hungary, and wife of Emperor Francis I of - Austria. One of the most interesting and notable women in history. - - - THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE - By A. CONAN DOYLE - - Edgar Allan Poe was the first author to succeed in the “detective - story.” His _Murders in the Rue Morgue_, _The Mystery of Marie - Roget_, and _The Purloined Letter_ are among the first stories of - their type. Since Poe’s time there have been all sorts of detective - stories,—good, bad, and indifferent,—from cheap penny-dreadfuls to - elaborate novels. Poe’s method has been followed in nearly every - one, whether written in this country, or abroad, as by Sir Arthur - Conan Doyle in England, Émile Gaboriau in France, or Anton Chekhov - in Russia. - - Of all the thousands who have tried their hands in writing detective - stories Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has won the most pleasing success. - His Sherlock Holmes is a world-known character. - - The _Red-Headed League_ is an admirable example of the author’s - method. The story is told by the hero’s friend, Dr. Watson, allowing - opportunity for close appearance of reality, and for unstinted - praise. The problem is introduced at first hand, apparently with - every detail. To a certain degree we are allowed to enter the series - of deductive reasonings pursued by Sherlock Holmes. We are given a - brilliant series of events, and then the final solution. Occasional - hints at other work performed by Sherlock Holmes tend to awaken - further interest. There is such closeness to life, realistic - character drawing, good humor, and natural conversation, that the - story,—like all the four books of the Sherlock Holmes series,—is - most attractive. - - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh in 1859. Both his - father and grandfather achieved fame as artists. Sir Arthur began - life as a physician and surgeon, but soon found his real work in - letters. He has written a number of our best historical novels, _The - White Company_, _Micah Clarke_, _The Refugees_, _Sir Nigel_, etc., - and four books of stories about Sherlock Holmes, as well as much - other work both in prose and in verse. - - - =Omne ignotum pro magnifico.= Whatever is unknown is thought to be - magnificent. - - =Sarasate.= A famous Spanish violinist, 1844—. - - =Partie carrée.= A party of four. - - “=L’homme c’est rien—l’œuvre c’est tout.=“ The man is nothing—the - work is everything. - - =Gustave Flaubert.= 1821-1880. One of the greatest French novelists. - - =George Sand.= The pseudonym of the Baroness Dudevant, 1804-1876, a - great French novelist and playwright. - - - ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK - By OWEN JOHNSON - - In _One Hundred in the Dark_ Owen Johnson makes one of the - characters say that the peculiar fascination of the detective story - lies more in the statement of the problem than in the solution. “The - solution doesn’t count. It is usually banal; it should be - prohibited. What interests us is, can we guess it?” - - _One Hundred in the Dark_ illustrates that type of detective story - that presents a problem but gives no solution. Giving all the - information that one could be expected to have, it presents a - problem with several different solutions possible. At the end of the - story the problem is left unsolved—the reader is “in the dark,” but, - because his mind has been awakened, he is fascinated. The author has - gone further than usual, for he gives the story as if told in a club - at the conclusion of a conversation in which several persons have - taken part. The story is followed by further conversation that - suggests a second problem—what did the members of the club think of - the person who told the story? The result is that the author has - cleverly established a definite setting, has aroused interest in the - type of story to be told, and has emphasized the problem by giving - it a new interest in the light of the question: What part did the - members of the club think Peters played in the story that he himself - told? - - Owen Johnson was born in New York in 1878. He turned his college - life at Yale into literary account in his interesting novel, _Stover - at Yale_. He is the author of numerous short stories and plays. - - - =Bon mots.= Bright sayings. - - =De Maupassant.= Guy de Maupassant, 1850-1893. A celebrated French - novelist and poet. In _Fort comme la Mort_ (Strong as Death) he - tells of the life of fashionable society. - - =The Faust theme.= A reference to the great tragedy of _Faust_ by - the German poet, Goethe, 1749-1832. Faust personifies humanity - with all its longings. - - =The Three Musketeers, etc.= _The Three Musketeers_, by Alexander - Dumas, père, 1803-1870; _Trilby_, by George du Maurier, 1834-1896, - and _Soldiers Three_, by Rudyard Kipling, 1865-, all tell stories - of the close comradeship of three men. - - =Vie de Bohème.= _Scènes de la vie de Bohème_ by Henri Murger. The - opera _La Bohème_ is based upon this book. - - =Bluebeard and The Moonstone.= In the stories of _Bluebeard_, and - _The Moonstone_, a famous mystery story by Wilkie Collins, - 1824-1889, curiosity plays a leading part. - - =Watteaulike.= A reference to the conventional pictures of - shepherdesses by Jean Antoine Watteau, a celebrated French - painter, 1684-1721. - - =Fines herbes.= Vegetable greens. - - =En maître.= As master. - - - A RETRIEVED REFORMATION - By O. HENRY - - The story of self-sacrifice has appealed to people in all times, - whether it appears in history,—as in the partly legendary story of - Arnold von Winkelried, who gathered the Austrian spears against his - breast in order that his comrades might make a way through the ranks - of the enemy,—or in fiction, as in Dickens’ _A Tale of Two Cities_. - Such a story is particularly fascinating, when, as in the story of - Sidney Carton, it combines the idea of self-sacrifice with that of - fundamental change in character. - - In _A Retrieved Reformation_ O. Henry has told, in a convincingly - brilliant way, how a man—always really good at heart,—even when set - in evil ways—was led through love to develop his better self. The - greatness of Jimmy Valentine’s soul is made clear by his instant - willingness to sacrifice every hope he had,—to lay everything on the - altar of love and manliness. - - The quick, realistic, kindly-humorous characterizations, the clear, - logical arrangement of opposing forces, the dramatic situation at - the climax, and the instant solution,—for which every step has - inevitably prepared,—point alike to a master hand in story telling. - - William Sidney Porter, 1867-1910,—better known by the name, “O. - Henry,” which he chose humorously because it is so easy to write - “O,” and because he happened to see “Henry” as a last name in a - newspaper account,—achieved as much popularity as any short story - writer could desire. He was born in North Carolina, and brought up - in Texas, where he gained the little schooling that fell to his lot. - He became a sort of rolling stone, working on various periodicals, - living in South America, working in Texas as a drug clerk, engaging - fully in literary work in New Orleans, and finally coming to New - York City where he sold stories as fast as he could write them—and - his powers of production were most astonishing. He was only 42 when - he died, but, in spite of his wandering life, he had made himself, - with almost careless ease, the master of the short story. He wrote - quite untrammeled by convention or custom, using slang, coining - words, writing in any way he pleased, but always, in reality, - following the best principles of story telling, making his plots - clear, convincing, and full of the unexpected humors of life. With - it all he wrote with a spirit of gentleness and often touched real - pathos. His favorite method was to surprise the reader by bringing - him to a most unexpected climax. - - - BROTHER LEO - By PHYLLIS BOTTOME - - The world is so full of selfishness, and resulting misery, that - every one more or less often thinks how different life would be if - every individual were to be ideal. Somewhere, somehow, we think, - must be a Utopia where everything is as it should be. - - _Brother Leo_ is not a fantastic dream of some unreal place. It is a - simply beautiful story of a monk who had known no other life than - that in his monastic retreat on an island near Venice. There, in a - sort of heaven on earth, in a life of extreme simplicity, the young - man, untouched by the world, developed all that should characterize - us in our daily lives. For one day he goes out into the city, comes - into touch with its veneer and dishonesty, and goes back joyfully, - without the slightest regret, into his calm retreat. - - The story, or character sketch, has no startling event. The young - monk moves in the soft light of kindliness, a beautiful, dream-like - figure presented to us with sufficient realism to give - verisimilitude. How much better to show this modern, idealistic - figure in modern surroundings than to picture some one in the - distant past, or in the still more distant future! - - Phyllis Bottome was born in England. Her father was an American - clergyman and her mother an English woman. She has spent most of her - life in England, although she has lived in America, France and - Italy. She has written many short stories, some of which have been - collected in a volume called _The Derelict_. - - - =Torcello.= An island six miles northeast of Venice. - - =Saint Francis.= Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226. The founder of the - monastic order of Franciscans. - - =Poverelli.= Poor people. - - =Rembrandt.= 1607-1669. A great Dutch painter. Some of his - pictures,—especially _The Night Watch_,—show wonderful light - effects. - - =Poverino.= Poor little fellow. - - =The sin of Esau.= See the Bible story in _Genesis_ 25: 27-34. Esau - sold his birthright in order to satisfy his hunger. - - =St. Francis’ birds.= St. Francis loved all animate and inanimate - nature, and once preached to the birds as if they could understand - him. - - =Per Bacco, Signore.= By Bacchus, Sir! - - =Signore Dio.= Lord God. - - =Veramente.= Truly. - - =Il Signore Dio.= The Lord God. - - =Piazzetta.= An open square near the landing place in Venice. - - =The ducal palace.= The palace of the Doges of Venice, built in the - fifteenth century. - - =Chi lo sa?= Who knows? - - =The column of the Lion of St. Mark’s.= A column in the Piazzetta - bearing a winged lion, the emblem of St. Mark. - - =Saint Mark’s.= One of the most famous and beautiful church - buildings in the world, originally founded in 830. Its attractive - Byzantine architecture and its wonderful mosaics have always given - delight. - - =The Piazza.= The chief business and pleasure center of Venice. - - =The new Campanile.= A new tower that takes the place of the fallen - Campanile begun in the ninth century. - - =Frari.= A great Venetian church built for the Franciscan Friars, - 1250-1350. - - =Titian.= 1477-1576. The most famous of all Venetian painters. One - of the greatest artists the world has known. - - =Bellinis.= Pictures by Giovanni Bellini, 1427(?)-1516, a great - Venetian painter, and the instructor of Titian. - - =Andiamo.= Let us go. - - =Palazzo Giovanelli.= A Venetian palace containing a small but - beautiful collection of paintings. - - =Giorgiones.= Pictures by Giorgione, 1477-1511, a pupil of Bellini, - much noted for color effects. - - =Florian’s.= A famous Venetian café, some 200 years old. - - =Speriamo.= We hope. - - - A FIGHT WITH DEATH - By IAN MACLAREN - - Heroism is as great in daily life as in battle. We live beside - heroic figures perhaps not recognizing their greatness. Plain, - simple surroundings, daily scenes, everyday people, the accustomed - language of daily life, may all take on noble proportions. - - _A Fight with Death_ is a local color story, for it gives the - dialect, the way of life, the character, of certain people in a - remote part of Scotland. It is a story of noble type, presenting a - character ideal—a country doctor fighting for the life of a humble - patient. - - The world will always appreciate any story that finds the ideal in - the actual; it will appreciate it all the sooner if it is written, - as in this case, with plenty of action, vivid character drawing, - natural, everyday language, and touches of pathos and of humor, all - so combined that the story rises to climax, and wakens sympathy. - - _A Fight with Death_ is the third of a series of five simple, - exquisitely pathetic stories of Scotch life, entitled _A Doctor of - the Old School_, printed in the collection of stories called _Beside - the Bonnie Brier Bush_, by Ian Maclaren,—the pseudonym of Rev. John - Watson. The author was born in Manningtree, Essex, in 1850. He - gained a large part of his education in Edinburgh University, and - has spent many years in intimate touch with Scotch life. In addition - to _Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush_ Dr. Watson has written a number of - books, the most notable being _Days of Auld Lang Syne_, _The Upper - Room_, and _The Mind of the Master_. - - - =Drumsheugh’s grieve.= Drumsheugh is tenant of a large farm. The - “grieve” is his farm manager. - - =Greet.= Cry. - - =A certain mighty power.= Death. - - =Sough.= Breathe. - - =Thraun.= Perverse. - - =Shilpit.= Weak. - - =Feckless.= Spiritless. - - =Pushioned.= Poisoned. - - =Kirny aitmeal.= Oatmeal with full kernels. - - =Buirdly.= Strong. - - =Fecht.= Fight. - - =Haflin.= A stripling,—half-grown. - - =Dour chiel.= Stubborn fellow. - - =Caller.= Fresh. - - =Oxters.= Armpits. - - =Grampians.= Mountains in central Scotland. - - =Byre.= Cow-barn. - - =Thole.= Endure,—permit. - - =Fraikin’.= Disgraceful action. - - =Glen Urtach.= A valley in the highlands. - - =Jess.= The doctor’s old horse. - - =Goon and bans.= Gown and bands,—clerical robes. - - - THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN - By FIONA MACLEOD - - Are there strange, mystical forces in the world that affect us in - spite of ourselves? Or do our own actions rebound upon us and make - life “heaven or hell” as the case may be? These questions that we - ask when we read _Macbeth_ come to us when we read Fiona Macleod’s - _Dàn-Nan-Ròn_. - - _The Dàn-Nan-Ròn_ is not wholly a story of mysticism built on the - idea that the weird flute-“song o’ the seals” could so thrill one - who, perhaps, drew his ancestry from the seals, that he would go out - into the wild waters to live or die with his ancestral folk. The - story suggests all that. It hints at strange descent, magic - melodies, wraiths of the dead, and weird powers beyond man. This, no - doubt, combined with unusual setting, frequent use of the - little-understood Gaelic, weirdly musical verse, and romantic - action, gives the story an unusual atmosphere of gloom and shadow. - At heart, in plain fact, the story is psychological. A man on whose - soul hangs the memory of a crime, maddened by grief at the death of - a fervently loved wife, tormented in his evil hour by a deadly human - foe who subtly, with compelling music, plays upon his superstitions, - plunges, in the violence of his madness, into the sea. From that - point of view the man’s own soul scourged him to his death. - - The whole combination of weird atmosphere, tragedy, grief, - conscience, and superstition, is brought together in an artistic - form that leads to a grimly startling catastrophe—the final mad - fight with the seals. This is no common story of sensational event. - It is a great human tragedy of grief and conscience, played to the - weird music of the north as if by a Gaelic minstrel endowed with - mystic powers. - - There is something mystic indeed in Fiona Macleod. William Sharp, - 1856-1905, the Scottish poet, editor, novelist, biographer, and - critic, lived a successful life as man of letters. He did more, for, - beginning in 1894, he used the name, “Fiona Macleod,” not as a - pseudonym but as that of the actual author of the most unusual, - brilliant, and altogether original series of poems and stories ever - written. Not until Mr. Sharp’s death was it found that Fiona Macleod - and William Sharp were one and the same person. The whole story is - apparently one of dual personality. All this adds to the strange - fascination of Fiona Macleod’s stories and poems. - - - =Eilanmore.= An island west of Scotland. - - =The Outer Isles.= The Hebrides, or Western Isles, west of Scotland. - - =The Lews and North Uist.= Islands of the Hebrides. - - =Arran.= An island west of Ireland. - - =Inner Hebrides.= Islands of the Hebrides group, not far from the - coast of Scotland. - - =Runes.= Mystical songs. - - =From the Obb of Harris to the Head of Mingulay.= From one end of - the Hebrides to the other. - - =Orain spioradail.= Spiritual song. - - =Barra.= A southern island of the Hebrides. - - =Galloway.= The extreme southwestern coast of Scotland. - - =The Minch.= The strait between the Hebrides and Scotland. - - =Caisean-feusag.= Moustache. - - =Mo cailinn.= My girl. - - =Kye.= Cattle. - - =Berneray of Uist.= A small island north of North Uist in the - Hebrides. - - =The Sound of Harris.= The sound between North Uist and Harris in - the Hebrides. - - =Anna-ban.= Fair Anna. - - =Anne-à-ghraidh.= Anna, my dear. - - =Gheasan.= A charm, magic spell. - - =Geas.= Charm. - - =Sinnsear.= Ancestors. - - =Anna-nic-Gilleasbuig.= Anna, daughter of the line of Gilleasbuig. - - =Ru’ Tormaid.= A place in the Hebrides. - - =Corbies.= Ravens. - - =Bàta-beag.= Small boat. - - =Corrie.= A hollow in the side of a hill. - - =Ann-mochree.= Ann, my tantalizer. - - =The black stone of Icolmkill.= A famous stone at Icolmkill in the - Hebrides. - - =Oisin the son of Fionn.= A character named in Gaelic legends. - - =Skye.= A large island close to the western shore of Scotland. - - =The Clyde.= The great estuary of the river Clyde, in the - southwestern part of Scotland, one of the most important shipping - centers of Great Britain. - - =Byre.= A cow house. - - =Loch Boisdale.= An inlet of South Uist in the Hebrides. - - =Loch Maddy.= A small inlet in the Hebrides. - - =Pictish Towre.= An ancient stone construction. - - =Ban Breac.= The Spotted Hill. - - =Maigstir.= Master. - - =Skua.= A large sea bird something like a gull. - - =Liath.= A small fish. - - =Smooring.= The fireplace. - - =Rosad.= A charm. - - =Sgadan.= Herrings. - - =Fey.= Doomed. - - =Ceann-Cinnidh.= Head of the Clan. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR CLASS USE - - - THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA - - - 1. What is the advantage of having the two characters,—Uncle Remus - and the little boy? - - 2. What makes the introduction effective? - - 3. What advantages are gained by the little boy’s criticisms? - - 4. Show how the story maintains its interest. - - 5. What character distinctions are made in the story? - - 6. Show how the story is made harmonious in every detail. - - 7. Write a story in which you present an ignorant man of some - familiar type telling to a neighbor an exaggerated story founded - on a somewhat ordinary event. - - - THE CROW CHILD - - - 1. Show that the language of _The Crow Child_ is superior to the - language of _The Adventures of Simon and Susanna_. - - 2. What distinctly literary effects does the author produce? - - 3. Make a list of the words by which the author prepares the reader - for Ruky’s transformation. - - 4. What is the purpose of the story? - - 5. Make an outline that will show the principal divisions of the - story. - - 6. Show that every division of the story is necessary. - - 7. Write an original story in which you transmute a real experience - into a wonder story with a moral effect. - - - THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL - - - 1. How does the story show itself to be a legendary tale? - - 2. How is the simple story given movement and force? - - 3. Show how the interest is focussed on the bell rather than on the - girl. - - 4. How does the author make the various sounds of the bell effective - in the story? - - 5. Point out the poetic elements in the story. - - 6. Write, in poetic form, some legend of America, “The Indian Bride - of Niagara,” for example. - - - THE TEN TRAILS - - - 1. Show in what way the story is highly condensed. - - 2. Expand any part of the story into the full form it might have if - not told in the form of a fable. - - 3. How might the story have been told differently if it had not - aimed at a moral? - - 4. When is it of advantage to write fables? - - 5. Write an original fable, no longer than _The Ten Trails_, about - high school students. - - - WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO - - - 1. Make an outline that will show the structure of the story. - - 2. Why did the author have Avdeitch help more than one person? - - 3. Show how the use of realistic detail helps the story. - - 4. What characteristics make the story interesting? - - 5. Make a list of the epigrammatic expressions that occur in the - story. How do they add to the effect? - - 6. What is the principal lesson taught by the story? - - 7. Compare this story with Eliot’s _Silas Marner_, Leigh Hunt’s - _Abou Ben Adhem_, Lowell’s _The Vision of Sir Launfal_, - Longfellow’s _The Legend Beautiful_, and Henry Van Dyke’s _The - Other Wise Man_. - - 8. Write an allegorical story of some length, using realistic - characters from daily life, leading to an effective climax, and - presenting a high ideal of conduct. - - - WOOD LADIES - - - 1. Point out the different steps in the action. - - 2. What different persons take up the search? What is the effect of - the constant additions to the number of searchers? - - 3. Why did the author have little children, five and seven years - old, play principal parts? - - 4. Trace the emotions of the mother from the beginning of the story. - - 5. How did the mother, at different times, explain the child’s - absence? - - 6. Why does the author narrate nothing that is impossible? - - 7. Point out passages that suggest the supernatural. - - 8. Tell the story of the little girl in the “greeny sort of dress.” - - 9. What is the effect of the setting? What gives occasional relief - from the setting and thereby emphasizes it all the more? - - 10. How does the style of the story add to the effect? - - 11. Show in what ways the story expresses delicate fancy. - - 12. What is the truth of the story? - - 13. Write an original story of supernatural beings, using suggestion - rather than statement, and avoiding harsh and horrifying events. - - - ON THE FEVER SHIP - - - 1. Show the steps by which the author makes us realize the soldier’s - mental condition. His physical condition. - - 2. By what means does the author present the setting? The principal - plot elements? - - 3. What previous events are indicated but not told? Why are they - merely indicated? - - 4. Trace the steps by which we are led into full sympathy with the - love story. - - 5. What means does the author take to increase the interest of the - story as it nears the end? - - 6. Characterize the different subordinate characters introduced in - the story. Tell why every one is introduced. - - 7. Show that the ending of the story is entirely appropriate. How is - it made emphatic? - - 8. Write a story in which you show the moving effect of any deep - love, such as love for parents, brothers, sisters, or children; - or else write a somewhat restrained story of romantic love. - - - A SOURCE OF IRRITATION - - - 1. What effect is given by the question: “Well, uncle, is there any - noos?” at the beginning and at the ending of the story? - - 2. Show how the character of old Sam Gates is essential in the - story. - - 3. Show how every part of the story is possible and probable. - - 4. Why did the aviator take Sam Gates with him? - - 5. Point out the characteristics of Sam’s captors. - - 6. Show that Sam’s character and actions are consistent. - - 7. Show that realism and local color give important contributions to - the story. - - 8. How is Sam unknowingly made an important person? What is the - value of this importance as a part of the story? - - 9. Why should Sam so quietly resume work on his return home? - - 10. Write a story in which some person of quiet, secluded life is - suddenly placed in an unusual setting and in unusual - circumstances. - - - MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER - - - 1. Point out all that contributes to local color. - - 2. Point out all that shows ultimate knowledge of elephants. - - 3. Show how the author has made the work humorous. - - 4. Show that the story has a definite course of action that leads to - a climax. - - 5. Show in what ways the story is highly original. - - 6. Write an original story in which you use local color as a - background for a story of animal life. You may write about a - horse, or cat, or dog, but in any case you must make your story - have action and lead to climax. - - - GULLIVER THE GREAT - - - 1. What advantage is gained by having the story told in the club? - - 2. How is the dog made the central figure? - - 3. What is the climax of the story? - - 4. Give the steps in the presentation of the dog’s character. - - 5. Tell how we are made to sympathize with the dog. - - 6. What suggestive effect is gained at the end of the story? - - 7. Write a story in which you awaken sympathy for some dumb animal - by suggesting that it has almost human emotions. - - - SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’ - - - 1. What is the advantage of the monologue form? - - 2. How is conversation indicated? - - 3. Point out the separate incidents that make up the story. - - 4. What advantage is gained by the use of dialect? - - 5. Point out elements of goodness in Sonny. - - 6. What is the character of the father? How is it presented? - - 7. Tell why Miss Phoebe Kellog’s school was superior to all the - others. - - 8. Show in what way the author has produced humorous effects. - - 9. Write an original story in which you tell what happened to Sonny - when he came to your school. - - - HER FIRST HORSE SHOW - - - 1. Why does the author introduce us to his characters in the midst - of the horse show? - - 2. How does the author, in the beginning of the story, make the - situation entirely clear? - - 3. What speeches and actions in the early part of the story serve to - make the action in the latter part of the story seem natural? - - 4. How is the girl’s daring act emphasized? - - 5. In what ways does the author make it seem probable that the girl - could gain opportunity to ride the high-spirited horse at the - horse show? - - 6. Show in what ways the conclusion is particularly effective. - - 7. Write an original story concerning a school athletic meet or - contest in which one of the students, by unexpected skill and - courage, wins the day. - - - MY HUSBAND’S BOOK - - - 1. What is the character of the husband (a) as seen by himself? (b) - as seen by the wife? (c) as seen by the reader? - - 2. What is the character of the wife? - - 3. What produces the humor of the story? - - 4. What is the advantage of having the wife so slow to see her - husband’s real weakness? - - 5. What is the effect of the last sentence? - - 6. At what is the satire directed? - - 7. Write an original story in which you satirize, in a kindly - manner, some common failing in high school boys or girls. - - - WAR - - - 1. How are we made to sympathize with the young man? - - 2. What is the effect of the detailed description? - - 3. How is the emotion of the story presented? - - 4. How does the author make the story increase in emphasis? - - 5. Why is the incident of the apples introduced? - - 6. Why is “the man with the ginger beard” brought into the story? - - 7. What impression does the story leave upon the reader? - - 8. Write a story in which you arouse indignation at some great world - evil by making the reader realize its effect on one individual. - - - THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS - - - 1. What is the purpose of the physician’s notes at the beginning and - at the ending of the story? - - 2. Show how the author has given story-interest to scientific - material. - - 3. Point out the characteristics of the different characters. - - 4. Trace the development of the story to its climax. - - 5. By what means does the author make his scientific material clear? - - 6. How does the author arouse our sympathy? - - 7. Point out the ways in which this story differs from most others. - - 8. Write an original story in which you turn some scientific - information into story form by making definite characters - perform a series of actions that lead to a climax. You may - choose something as simple as the pumping of water from a well, - the action of electricity in lighting a lamp, or the burning of - a piece of coal. - - - A DILEMMA - - - 1. Point out all the ways in which the author prepares for the - puzzle at the end of the story. - - 2. Show in what way the author makes the story seem reasonable. - - 3. Show in what way character description adds to the interest of - the story. - - 4. How does the author emphasize the puzzle? - - 5. Write a sequel to the story, giving a solution for opening the - box, but leading to a new problem as difficult as the first. - - - THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE - - - 1. How does the opening lead one to think the story has unusual - interest? - - 2. Show how the author manages to keep the mystery to the end. - - 3. Outline the parts of the story. - - 4. Point out touches of unusual originality. - - 5. What are the characteristics of Sherlock Holmes? - - 6. What is the author’s method in telling the story? - - 7. Show how the author uses conversation. - - 8. Write an original story involving mystery, leading, with - sufficient action, to a climax, and depending upon the use of - deductive reasoning. - - - ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK - - - 1. Point out the advantages derived from the setting. - - 2. How much of the story depends upon character? - - 3. What is your opinion of the literary theories presented? - - 4. How does this story differ from _A Dilemma_? - - 5. How many separate stories are contained in _One Hundred in the - Dark_? - - 6. Give the several possible solutions of the principal story. - - 7. What part did Peters play in the principal story? - - 8. Of what value are the hearers’ comments on the story? - - 9. How does the story differ from most other stories? - - 10. Write a story of school life, presenting a problem capable of - several solutions, but leaving the reader to make the final - solution. - - - A RETRIEVED REFORMATION - - - 1. Show in what way the first few paragraphs give an unusual amount - of information in small space. - - 2. What is our first impression of Jimmy Valentine? - - 3. What are Jimmy Valentine’s good characteristics as seen in the - early part of the story? - - 4. What are the characteristics of Ben Price? - - 5. By what method does the author give the characteristics of the - minor characters? - - 6. How do you account for Jimmy Valentine’s reformation? - - 7. How did Ben Price find where Jimmy Valentine lived? - - 8. How does the author give the impression of a contest? - - 9. Why did Jimmy Valentine ask for Annabel’s rose? - - 10. What forces are brought into full play at the end of the story? - - 11. Why do we admire both Ben Price and Jimmy Valentine? - - 12. Write an original story in which you show the full establishment - of naturally good characteristics, and the development of a - spirit of sacrifice. Make your story rise to a surprising - conclusion. - - - BROTHER LEO - - - 1. In what way is the style appropriate to the theme? - - 2. Show how the author has gained unity. - - 3. What makes the story seem true to life? - - 4. How does Brother Leo differ from other men? - - 5. What ideals does the story present? - - 6. Why did the author make the events of the story so simple? - - 7. Write a character study of some person who has unworldly - ideals,—an old lady, a sister of charity, a member of the - Salvation Army, a missionary, or a devoted scientist. - - - A FIGHT WITH DEATH - - - 1. What advantage is gained by the use of dialect? - - 2. How is the story made to appeal to our sympathies? - - 3. How is the country doctor made heroic? - - 4. Point out all the ways in which the doctor’s character is - emphasized. - - 5. How much of the worth of the story is due to local color? - - 6. Point out examples of pathos; of humor. Why have both been used? - - 7. Write a story of heroism in ordinary life. Use the slang, or the - dialect of daily life as you have actually heard it, as a means - of increasing the effect. Be sure to make your story tell of - action as well as of character. Make it rise to a climax. - - - THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN - - - 1. Why is personal appearance emphasized in the beginning of the - story? - - 2. Point out examples of poetic fancy. - - 3. Show how the author’s style of writing contributes to the effect - the story produces. - - 4. Show how great a part belief in the supernatural is made to play. - - 5. How much of the story depends upon character? - - 6. What is the effect of the verse? - - 7. What keeps the story from being merely sensational? - - 8. What part does madness play in the story? - - 9. What is the author’s purpose in using so much Gaelic? - - 10. Show in what ways the story is true to ordinary mental action. - - 11. How do you account for all the events that take place? - - 12. How does the author give the strong atmospheric effects? - - 13. In what ways is the story unusual? - - 14. What gives the story its great power? - - 15. How does the story affect you? - - 16. Write an original story in which you make conscience play a - great part, especially when spurred on by superstitious fears. - - - THE END - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. - ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only - when a predominant form was found in this book. - ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores - (_italics_); text that was bold by “equal” signs (=bold=). - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Modern Short Stories, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN SHORT STORIES *** - -***** This file should be named 62942-0.txt or 62942-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/4/62942/ - -Produced by deaurider, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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: Modern Short Stories - -Author: Various - -Release Date: August 16, 2020 [EBook #62942] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN SHORT STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by deaurider, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p><span class='small'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c000' /> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i000.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>They all stood round and laughed at him</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div> - <h1 class='c002'>MODERN SHORT STORIES</h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c000'> - <div>A BOOK FOR HIGH SCHOOLS</div> - <div class='c003'>EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES</div> - <div class='c000'>BY</div> - <div class='c000'>FREDERICK HOUK LAW, Ph.D.</div> - <div class='c000'>Lecturer in English in New York University, and Head of</div> - <div>the Department of English in the Stuyvesant</div> - <div>High School, New York City</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id003'> -<img src='images/publogo.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div>NEW YORK</div> - <div>THE CENTURY CO.</div> - <div>1921</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div>Copyright, 1918, by</div> - <div><span class='sc'>The Century Co.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c003' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_iii'>iii</span> - <h2 class='c004'>PREFACE</h2> -</div> -<p class='c005'>For many years high school teachers have wished for books -of short stories edited for high school use. They have known -that most novels, however interesting, are too long to hold -attention, and that too few novels can be read to give proper -appreciation of form in narration. The essay, as seen in <i>The -Sir Roger de Coverley Papers</i>, and in Irving’s <i>Sketch Book</i>, -has been a poor substitute for the short story. High school -students have longed for action, for quickness, for life, for -climax, for something new and modern. Instead, they have -had hundreds of pages, long expositions, descriptions, leisurely -treatment, and material drawn from the past. They have -read such material because they must, and have turned, for -relief, to short stories in the cheaper magazines.</p> - -<p class='c006'>The short story is to-day our most common literary product. -It is read by everyone. Not every boy or girl will read novels -after leaving school, but every boy or girl is certain to read -short stories. It is important in the high school to guide -taste and appreciation in short story reading, so that the -reading of days when school life is over will be healthful -and upbuilding. This important duty has been recognized -in all the most recent suggestions for high school reading. -The short story is just beginning to take its important place -in the high school course. To make use of a book of short -stories in high school work is to fall in line with the most -modern developments in the teaching of literature in the -high school.</p> - -<p class='c006'>Most collections of short stories that have been prepared, -for school use, up to the present, are more or less alike in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_iv'>iv</span>drawing much of their material from the past. Authors and -content alike are dead. Here is a collection that is entirely -modern. The authors represented are among the leading -authors of the day, the stories are principally stories of -present-day life, the themes are themes of present-day thought. -The students who read this book will be more awake to the -present, and will be better citizens of to-day.</p> - -<p class='c006'>The great number of stories presented has given opportunity -to illustrate different types of short story writing. -What could not be done by the class study of many novels -may be accomplished by the study of the different stories in -this book. The student will gain a knowledge of types, of -ways of construction, of style, that he could not gain otherwise -except by long-continued study. Class study of the short -story leads inevitably to keen appreciation of artistic effects in -fiction.</p> - -<p class='c006'>The introductory material, biographies, explanations, and -notes, have been made purely for high school students, in -order to help those who may have read comparatively little, -so that,—instead of being turned aside forever by a dry-as-dust -treatment,—they may wish to proceed further in their -study.</p> - -<p class='c006'>It is always pure delight to teach the short story to high -school classes, but it is even more delightful when the material -is especially fitted for high school work. This book, -we hope, will aid both teachers and pupils to come upon many -happy hours in the class room.</p> - -<p class='c006'>The editor acknowledges, with thanks, the kindly permissions -to use copyright material that have been granted by -the various authors and publishers. Complete acknowledgments -appear in the table of contents.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span> - <h2 class='c004'>CONTENTS</h2> -</div> -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='88%' /> -<col width='11%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c007'> </td> - <td class='c008'>PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Preface</span></td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_iii'>iii</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c007'><span class='sc'>Introduction</span></td> - <td class='c008'> </td> - </tr> -</table> -<table class='table1' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='13%' /> -<col width='75%' /> -<col width='11%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>I</td> - <td class='c010'>Our National Reading</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_vii'>vii</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>II</td> - <td class='c010'>The Definition</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_vii'>vii</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>III</td> - <td class='c010'>The Family Tree of the Short Story</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_ix'>ix</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>IV</td> - <td class='c010'>A Good Story</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_xi'>xi</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>V</td> - <td class='c010'>What Shall I Do with This Book?</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_xiii'>xiii</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>VI</td> - <td class='c010'>Where to Find Some Good Short Stories</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_xv'>xv</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>VII</td> - <td class='c010'>Some Interesting Short Stories</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_xvi'>xvi</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c009'>VIII</td> - <td class='c010'>What to Read about the Short Story</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_xix'>xix</a></td> - </tr> -</table> -<table class='table1' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='88%' /> -<col width='11%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>The Adventures of Simon and Susanna</span> — <i>Joel Chandler Harris</i> From “Daddy Jake and the Runaways.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_3'>3</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>The Crow-Child</span> — <i>Mary Mapes Dodge</i> From “The Land of Pluck.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_9'>9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>The Soul of the Great Bell</span> — <i>Lafcadio Hearn</i> From “Some Chinese Ghosts.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_17'>17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>The Ten Trails</span> — <i>Ernest Thompson Seton</i> From “Woodmyth and Fable.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_22'>22</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Where Love is, There God is Also</span> — <i>Count Leo Tolstoi</i> From “Tales and Parables.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_23'>23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Wood-Ladies</span> — <i>Perceval Gibbon</i> From “Scribner’s Magazine.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_38'>38</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>On the Fever Ship</span> — <i>Richard Harding Davis</i> From “The Lion and the Unicorn.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_53'>53</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='pageno' id='Page_vi'>vi</span><span class='sc'>A Source of Irritation</span> — <i>Stacy Aumonier</i> From “The Century Magazine.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_69'>69</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Moti Guj—Mutineer</span> — <i>Rudyard Kipling</i> From “Plain Tales from the Hills.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_84'>84</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Gulliver the Great</span> — <i>Walter A. Dyer</i> From “Gulliver the Great and Other Stories.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_92'>92</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Sonny’s Schoolin’</span> — <i>Ruth McEnery Stuart</i> From “Sonny, a Christmas Guest.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_105'>105</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Her First Horse Show</span> — <i>David Gray</i> From “Gallops 2.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_117'>117</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>My Husband’s Book</span> — <i>James Matthew Barrie</i> From “Two of Them.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_135'>135</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>War</span> — <i>Jack London</i> From “The Night-Born.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_141'>141</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>The Battle of the Monsters</span> — <i>Morgan Robertson</i> From “Where Angels Fear to Tread.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_147'>147</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>A Dilemma</span> — <i>S. Weir Mitchell</i> From “Little Stories.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>The Red-Headed League</span> — <i>A. Conan Doyle</i> From “Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_166'>166</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>One Hundred in the Dark</span> — <i>Owen Johnson</i> From “Murder in Any Degree.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_192'>192</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>A Retrieved Reformation</span> — <i>O. Henry</i> From “Roads of Destiny.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_212'>212</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Brother Leo</span> — <i>Phyllis Bottome</i> From “The Derelict and Other Stories.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_221'>221</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>A Fight with Death</span> — <i>Ian Maclaren</i> From “Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_238'>238</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>The Dàn-nan-Ròn</span> — <i>Fiona Macleod</i> From “The Dominion of Dreams, Under the Dark Star.”</td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_248'>248</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Notes and Comments</span></td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_275'>275</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'><span class='sc'>Suggestive Questions for Class Use</span></td> - <td class='c008'><a href='#Page_296'>296</a></td> - </tr> -</table> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_vii'>vii</span> - <h2 class='c004'>INTRODUCTION</h2> -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>I<br /> <br />OUR NATIONAL READING</h3> - -<p class='c011'>Is there anyone who has not read a short story? Is there -anyone who has not stopped at a news-stand to buy a short-story -magazine? Is there anyone who has not drawn a volume -of short stories from the library, or bought one at the book-store? -Short stories are everywhere. There are bed-time -stories and fairy stories for little children; athletic stories, -adventure stories, and cheerful good-time stories for boys and -girls; humorous stories for those who like to laugh, and -serious stories for those who like to think. The World and -his Wife still say, “Tell me a story,” just as they did a -thousand years ago. Our printing presses have fairly roared -an answer, and, at this moment, are busy printing short -stories. Even the newspapers, hardly able to find room for -news and for advertisements, often give space to re-printing -short stories. Our people are so fond of soda water that -some one has laughingly called it our national drink. Our -people of every class, young and old, are so fond of short -stories that, with an equal degree of truth, we may call the -short story our national reading.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>II<br /> <br />THE DEFINITION</h3> - -<p class='c011'>The short story and the railroad are about equally old,—or, -rather, equally new, for both were perfected in distinctly -recent times. The railroad is the modern development of -older ways of moving people and goods from one place to another,—of -litters, carts, and wagons. The short story is the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_viii'>viii</span>modern development of older ways of telling what actually -had happened, or might happen, or what might be imagined -to happen,—of tales, fables, anecdotes, and character studies. -A great number of men led the way to the locomotive, but it -remained for the nineteenth century, in the person of George -Stephenson, to perfect it. In like manner, many authors led -the way to the short story of to-day, but it remained for the -nineteenth century, and particularly for Edgar Allan Poe, -to perfect it, and give it definition.</p> - -<p class='c006'>Before Poe’s time the short story had sometimes been -written well, and sometimes poorly. It had often been of -too great length, wandering, and without point. Poe wrote -stories that are different from many earlier stories in that they -are all comparatively short. Another difference is that Poe’s -stories do not wander, producing now one effect, and now another. -Like a Roman road, every one goes straight to the -point that the maker had in mind at the beginning, and -produces one single effect. In the older stories the writers -often turned from the principal subject to introduce other -matter. Poe excluded everything,—no matter how interesting,—that -did not lead directly to the effect he wished to -produce. The earlier stories often ended inconclusively. The -reader felt that more might be said, or that some other ending -might be possible. Poe tried to write so that the story -should be absolutely complete, and its ending the one necessary -ending, with no other ending even to be thought of. -With it all, he tried to write so that,—no matter how improbable -the story really might be,—it should, at least, seem -entirely probable,—as real as though it had actually happened.</p> - -<p class='c006'>In general, Poe’s definition of the short story still holds -true. There are many kinds of stories to-day,—just as there -are many kinds of engines,—but the great fundamental principles -hold true in both. We may still define the modern -short story as:</p> -<p class='c012'><span class='pageno' id='Page_ix'>ix</span>1. A narrative that is short enough to be read easily at a -single sitting;</p> -<p class='c013'>2. That is written to produce a single impression on the -mind of the reader;</p> -<p class='c013'>3. That excludes everything that does not lead to that -single impression;</p> -<p class='c013'>4. That is complete and final in itself;</p> -<p class='c013'>5. That has every indication of reality.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>III<br /> <br />THE FAMILY TREE OF THE SHORT STORY</h3> - -<p class='c014'>Everyone knows his father and mother. Very few, except -those of noble descent, know even the names of their great-great -grandparents. As if of the noblest, even of royal descent, -the short story knows its family tree. Its ancestry, -like that of the American people, goes back to Europe; draws -strength from many races, and finally loses itself somewhere -in the prehistoric East,—in ancient Greece, India, or -Egypt.</p> - -<p class='c015'>In the royal galleries kings look at pictures of their great -ancestors, and somewhat realize remote the past. Many of -the ancestors of the short story still live. They drank of the -fountain of youth, and are as strong and full of life as ever. -Such immortal ancestors of the short story of to-day are <i>The -Story of Polyphemus</i> (ninth century, <span class='fss'>B.C.</span>), <i>The Story of -Pandora and her Box</i> (ninth century, <span class='fss'>B.C.</span>), <i>The Book of -Esther</i> (second century, <span class='fss'>B.C.</span>), <i>The City Mouse and the Country -Mouse</i> (first century, <span class='fss'>B.C.</span>), and <i>The Fables of Æsop</i> -(third century, <span class='fss'>A. D.</span>). There are still existing many Egyptian -short stories, some of which are of the most remote -antiquity, the <i>Tales of the Magicians</i> going back to 4000 <span class='fss'>B.C.</span></p> - -<p class='c015'>All the stories just named,—and many others equally -familiar, drawn from every ancient land,—affected the short -story in English.</p> - -<p class='c015'>In the earliest days in England, in the fifth and in a few -succeeding centuries, the priests made collections of short -stories from which they could select illustrative material for -the instruction of their hearers. They drew many such stories -from Latin, which, in turn, had drawn them from still more -<span class='pageno' id='Page_x'>x</span>ancient sources. Then, or a little later, came folk stories, -romantic stories of adventure, and other stories for mere -amusement.</p> - -<p class='c015'>In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the Italians -became very skilful in telling short stories, or “novelle.” -Their “new” tales had a lasting effect on short story telling -in English.</p> - -<p class='c015'>Chaucer’s <i>Canterbury Tales</i>, in the fourteenth century, -although in verse, told in a most delightfully realistic way all -kinds of stories from all kinds of sources, particularly from -the literatures of Italy and of France. Chaucer told his -stories so remarkably well, with such humor and reality, that -he is one of the great forces in the history of the short story -in English.</p> - -<p class='c015'>In the sixteenth century stories from France, Spain, and -other lands, also gave new incentives to the development of -the short story in English.</p> - -<p class='c015'>In the eighteenth century Addison’s <i>Spectator</i> published -very short realistic narratives that often presented closely -drawn character studies. These are hardly to be called -short stories, but they influenced the short story form.</p> - -<p class='c015'>About the beginning of the nineteenth century, partly because -of German influence, it became the fashion to write -stories of mystery and horror, such as many of those by Irving, -Hawthorne, and Poe. Irving softened such stories by -the touch of realistic humor; Hawthorne gave them artistic -form and nobility; Poe developed the full value of the short -story as a literary type, and pointed out the five principles -named above. The genius of these men led the way to the -modern short story.</p> - -<p class='c015'>Since their time the short story has moved on in its development, -including every kind of subject, tending to speak -more and more realistically of persons and places, but not -losing its romantic nature. Popular short stories of to-day -are closely localized, and are frequently quick, incisive, and -emphatic.</p> - -<p class='c015'>to-day there are all kinds of short stories,—folk-lore tales, -local color stories, animal stories, humorous stories, stories of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_xi'>xi</span>society, of satire, of science, of character, of atmosphere, and -scores of other types, all virile, interesting, and profitable.</p> - -<p class='c015'>However well-dressed the modern short story may be in -form and style, it is worth little, unless, like its immortal ancestors, -it has the soul of goodness, truth, and beauty, and does -something to reveal nobility in the life of man.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>IV<br /> <br />A GOOD STORY</h3> - -<p class='c014'>With houses and stories it is much the same. As any one -may build a hut, so any one may compose a short story. In -both cases the materials may be common and cheap, and the -construction careless. The one may give shelter from the -storm, and the other may hold attention for a moment. -Neither may be worth much. Somewhat better are the ordinary -house, and the ordinary story. Both are good, and -fairly well constructed, but the material is frequently commonplace, -and the general characteristics ordinary. To lift -either a house or a story out of the ordinary there must be fine -material, artistic workmanship, close and tender association -with life,—something beautiful, or good, or true. For the -highest beauty there is need of something other than obedience -to rule in construction. Any architect can tell how to -build a beautiful house, but there is a fine beauty no mere -architect can give, a beauty that comes with years, or the -close touch of human joys and sorrows. It is the same with -stories. We can not analyze the finer quality, but we can, at -least, tell some of the characteristics that make short stories -good.</p> - -<p class='c015'>As Poe said, the best short story is short enough to be read -at a sitting, so that it produces a single effect. It includes -nothing that does not lead to that effect, and it produces -the effect as inevitably as an arrow flies to its mark. The -ending is necessary, the one solution to which everything has -moved from the beginning. In some way the story is close to -life, and is so realistically told that the reader is drawn into -its magic, and half believes it real.</p> - -<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xii'>xii</span>It has a combination of plot and characters,—the nature -of the characters making the action, and the action affecting -the persons involved.</p> - -<p class='c015'>Without action of some sort there would, of course, be no -story, but the action,—usually built up of two opposing forces,—must -be woven into plot, that is, into a combination of -events that lead to a definite result, perhaps not known at -first by the reader, but known from the beginning by the -author. The plot is somewhat simple, for the story is too -short to allow of much complexity. The action and the -characters are based on some experience, imaginary or -otherwise, and are honestly presented. In the best short -story there is no pronounced artificiality or posing.</p> - -<p class='c015'>There is always a certain harmony of content, so that plot -and characters work together naturally, every detail strictly -in keeping with the nature of the story.</p> - -<p class='c015'>The best story has an underlying idea,—not necessarily a -moral,—a thought or theme, very often concerned with ideals -of conduct, that can be expressed in a sentence.</p> - -<p class='c015'>Closely associated with everything is an indefinable something, -that rises from the story somewhat as the odor of -sandalwood rises from an oriental box, a sort of fragrance, or -charm, a deeply appealing characteristic that we call “atmosphere.”</p> - -<p class='c015'>Some stories may emphasize one point, and others another,—the -plot, the characters, the setting, the theme, or the -atmosphere. As they vary thus they reveal new lights, colors, -and effects.</p> - -<p class='c015'>Still more do they vary in the charm that comes from apt -choice of words, and originality or beauty of phrasing.</p> - -<p class='c015'>Altogether, the best short story is truly an artistic product. -The old violins made in Cremona by Antonius Stradivarius -have such perfect harmony of material and form, and were -made with such loving skill, that they are vibrant with tenderly -beautiful over-tones. So the best short story is perfectly -harmonious in every part, is made from chosen material, -is put together with sympathetic care, and is rich -with the over-tones of love, and laughter, and sorrow.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_xiii'>xiii</span> - <h3 class='c002'>V<br /> <br />WHAT SHALL I DO WITH THIS BOOK?</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c014'>Here is a book of more than twenty excellent short stories, -not one of which was written with the slightest thought that -any one would ever wish to study it as part of school work. -Every story was written (1) because its author had a story -to tell, (2) because he had a definite aim in telling the story, -(3) because he felt that by certain methods of form and -style he could interest and delight his readers. The magician -opens his box, and holds the ring of spectators enthralled. -Here is no place for study. One must simply stand in the -circle, and look, and wonder, enjoy to his utmost, and applaud -the entertainer when he makes his final bow. But the spectator -is always privileged to look, not only idly but also as -sharply as he pleases. So the reader is entitled to notice -in every case the three reasons for writing the story.</p> - -<p class='c015'>The best way, then, to study this book is not to “study” -it. It is not a geography, nor a book of rules, nor any kind -of book to be memorized. It is a book to be read with an appreciative -mind and a sympathetic heart. Read the stories -one by one in the order in which they are printed. Read -with the expectation of having a good time,—that is what -every author intended you to have. But keep your eyes -open. Make sure you really know the story the author is -telling. One way of testing your understanding is to tell -the story in a very few words, either orally or in writing, so -that some friend, who has not read it, may know the bare -story, and know it clearly. If you find yourself confused, or -if you lose yourself in details and can not tell the story -briefly, you have not found the story the author has to tell.</p> - -<p class='c015'>A second test is to tell in one sentence, or in one very -short paragraph, exactly what purpose the writer had in -telling the story. This will be more difficult but it will need -little thought if you really have understood and appreciated -the story. Do not make the mistake of thinking that a purpose -must be a moral. A man who makes a chair, a clown in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_xiv'>xiv</span>a circus, an artist, a violinist, a boy playing a game,—all have -purposes in what they do, but the purpose is not primarily -moral. If you are puzzled in finding the purpose of the -story you should look the story over until its purpose flashes -upon you.</p> - -<p class='c015'>Thirdly, you should see if you can put into four or five -unconnected sentences, either oral or written, the methods -of form and style by which the author has interested you, and -pleased you. These methods will include means of awakening -interest, means of presenting the action, preparation for -the climax, way of telling the climax, and way of ending -the story. They will also include choice of words, use of language -effects, and the means of producing atmosphere in the -story.</p> - -<p class='c015'>If it happens that there are words that are not familiar, look -them up in the dictionary. You can not hope to understand -a story until you understand its language.</p> - -<p class='c015'>A good way to test your appreciation of story telling as an -art,—and to help you to appreciate even more keenly,—is to -write short stories of your own. Try, in every case, to imitate -some method employed in a particular story by a well-known -author. Do not imitate too much. Be original. -Be yourself. If some of our best short story writers had done -nothing but imitate they would never have succeeded. Make -your short stories different from those by anyone else in -your class. Write your story in such a way that no one will -draw pictures, or look out of the window, or whisper to his -neighbor, when it comes your turn to read. There are three -ways to bring that about:</p> -<p class='c016'>1. Write about something that you, and your class, know -about, and like to hear about.</p> -<p class='c017'>2. Think of a good, emphatic, or surprising climax, and -then make a plot that will lead to the climax with absolute -certainty.</p> -<p class='c017'>3. Tell your story in a way that will be different from the -way employed by any of your classmates.</p> - -<p class='c018'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xv'>xv</span>In general, the stories in this book are to be read and enjoyed, -worked over, and talked about, in a simple manner, as -one might discuss stories at a reading club. To treat the -stories in any other way would be to make displeasing work -out of what should be pure pleasure.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In the back of the book is a small amount of biographical -and explanatory material, such as a friendly teacher might -tell to his class. There are also a few questions that will -help you to appreciate and enjoy the best effects in every -story. The notes have been given merely for reference, as if -they were contained in a sort of handy encyclopedia. They -are not for hard, systematic study.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A class studying this book should forget that it is a class -in school, and resolve itself into a reading club, whose object,—written -in its constitution, in capital letters,—is pure enjoyment -of all that is best in short stories, and in short story -telling.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>VI<br /> <br />WHERE TO FIND SOME GOOD SHORT STORIES</h3> -<table class='table2' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='50%' /> -<col width='50%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Baldwin, Charles Sears</td> - <td class='c020'>American Short Stories</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Cody, Sherwin</td> - <td class='c020'>The World’s Best Short Stories</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Dawson, W. J. and C. W.</td> - <td class='c020'>Great English Short Story Writers</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Esenwein, Joseph Berg</td> - <td class='c020'>Short Story Masterpieces</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Firkins, I. T. E.</td> - <td class='c020'>Index to Short Stories</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Hawthorne, Julian</td> - <td class='c020'>Library of the World’s Best Mystery and Detective Stories</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Jessup, Alexander</td> - <td class='c020'>Little French Masterpieces</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Jessup, A. and Canby, H. S.</td> - <td class='c020'>The Book of the Short Story</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Matthews, Brander</td> - <td class='c020'>The Short Story</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Patten, William</td> - <td class='c020'>Great Short Stories</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Patten, William</td> - <td class='c020'>Short Story Classics</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Charles Scribner’s Sons</td> - <td class='c020'>Stories by American Authors</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Charles Scribner’s Sons</td> - <td class='c020'>Stories by English Authors</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Charles Scribner’s Sons</td> - <td class='c020'>Stories by Foreign Authors</td> - </tr> -</table> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_xvi'>xvi</span> - <h3 class='c002'>VII<br /> <br />SOME INTERESTING SHORT STORIES</h3> -</div> - -<p class='c021'>R. H. Davis: The Bar Sinister; Washington Irving: The -Rose of the Alhambra; The Legend of Sleepy Hollow; Rip Van -Winkle; The Three Beautiful Princesses; Rudyard Kipling: -Garm, A Hostage; The Arabian Nights: Aladdin; Ali Baba; -Annie Trumbull Slosson: Butterneggs; Ruth McEnery -Stuart: Sonny’s Diploma; Frederick Remington: How Order -No. 6 Went Through; Mark Twain: The Jumping Frog; -Henry Van Dyke: The First Christmas Tree.</p> - -<p class='c019'>H. C. Andersen: The Ugly Duckling; Grimm Brothers: Little -Briar Rose; Rudyard Kipling: Mowgli’s Brothers; Toomai -of the Elephants; Her Majesty’s Servants; Æsop: The Country -Mouse and the City Mouse; Joel Chandler Harris: The -Wonderful Tar Baby Story; How Black Snake Caught the -Wolf; Brother Mud Turtle’s Trickery; A French Tar Baby; -George Ade: The Preacher Who Flew His Kite.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Henry Van Dyke: The Other Wise Man; Nathaniel Hawthorne: -Rapaccini’s Daughter; David Swan; The Snow -Image; The Great Stone Face; Lady Eleanor’s Mantle; The -Minister’s Black Veil; The Birth Mark; E. A. Poe: William -Wilson; Rudyard Kipling: The Ship that Found Herself; -Henry James: The Madonna of the Future; R. L. Stevenson: -Will o’ the Mill; Joseph Addison: The Vision of Mirza.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Howard Pyle: The Ruby of Kishmore; Rudyard Kipling: -The Man Who Would Be King; Drums of the Fore and Aft; -Tiger, Tiger; Kaa’s Hunting; R. H. Davis: Gallegher; Van -Bibber’s Burglar; R. L. Stevenson: The Sire de Maletroit’s -Door; Joseph Conrad: Youth; E. A. Poe: The Pit and the -Pendulum; F. R. Stockton: My Terminal Moraine; Jesse -Lynch Williams: The Stolen Story.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Henry Van Dyke: Messengers at the Window; M. R. S. -Andrews: A Messenger; Bulwer Lytton: The Haunted and -the Haunters; FitzJames O’Brien: The Diamond Lens; What -Was It?; M. E. Wilkins Freeman: Shadows on the Wall; -R. W. Chambers: The Tree of Heaven; Marion Crawford: -<span class='pageno' id='Page_xvii'>xvii</span>The Upper Berth; H. W. Jacobs: The Monkey’s Paw; Rudyard -Kipling: At the End of the Passage; The Brushwood -Boy; They; Prosper Merimee: The Venus of Ille.</p> - -<p class='c019'>E. A. Poe: The Gold Bug; The Purloined Letter; Conan -Doyle: The Dancing Men; the Speckled Band; Henry Van -Dyke: The Night Call; FitzJames O’Brien: The Golden Ingot; -Anton Chekhoff: The Safety Match; R. L. Stevenson: The -Pavillion on the Links; Egerton Castle: The Baron’s Quarry; -Wilkie Collins: The Dream Woman; Rudyard Kipling: The -Sending of Dana Da.</p> - -<p class='c019'>G. B. McCutcheon: The Day of the Dog; H. C. Bunner: The -Love Letters of Smith; A Sisterly Scheme; O. Henry: The -Ransom of Red Chief; While the Auto Waits; Samuel Minturn -Peck: The Trouble at St. James; T. B. Aldrich: Goliath; -R. M. S. Andrews: A Good Samaritan; The Grandfathers of -Bob; E. P. Butler: Pigs is Pigs; Josephine Dodge Daskam: -Edgar, the Choir Boy Uncelestial; T. A. Janvier: The Passing -of Thomas; Myra Kelly: A Christmas Present for a Lady; -Ruth McEnery Stuart: The Woman’s Exchange of Simpkinsville.</p> - -<p class='c019'>F. Hopkinson Smith: The Veiled Lady of Stamboul; Stuart -Edward White: The Life of the Winds of Heaven; T. B. -Aldrich: Père Antoine’s Date Palm; Booth Tarkington: Monsieur -Beaucaire; R. H. Davis: The Princess Aline; Alice -Brown: A Map of the Country; M. R. S. Andrews: The -Bishop’s Silence; Honoré de Balzac: A Passion in the Desert; -Nathaniel Hawthorne: The White Old Maid.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Irvin Cobb: Up Clay Street; M. E. Wilkins Freeman: The -Revolt of Mother; A Humble Romance; Prosper Merimee: -Mateo Falcone; Alphonse Daudet: The Last Class; G. W. -Cable: Belles Demoiselles Plantation; Bret Harte: The Luck -of Roaring Camp; Ruth McEnery Stuart: The Widder Johnsing; -Owen Wister: Specimen Jones; T. A. Janvier: The Sage -Brush Hen.</p> - -<p class='c019'>T. B. Aldrich: Marjory Daw; Mademoiselle Olimpe Zabriskie; -Miss Mehetabel’s Son; O. Henry: The Gift of the -Magi; The Cop and the Anthem; The Whirligig of Life; -Guy de Maupassant: The Diamond Necklace; F. R. Stockton: -<span class='pageno' id='Page_xviii'>xviii</span>The Lady or the Tiger; John Fox, Jr.: The Purple -Rhododendron; R. W. Chambers: A Young Man in a Hurry; -E. A. Poe: Three Sundays in a Week; Ambrose Bierce: The -Man and the Snake; FitzJames O’Brien: The Bohemian; -Frank Norris: A Deal in Wheat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mark Twain: A Dog’s Tale; W. D. Howells: Editha; E. -T. Seton: The Biography of a Grizzly; Brander Matthews: -The Story of a Story; Björnstjerne Björnson: The Father; -Nathaniel Hawthorne: The Ambitious Guest; Jacob A. Riis: -The Burgomaster’s Christmas; Charles Dickens: A Christmas -Carol; Henry Van Dyke: The Mansion; E. E. Hale: The -Man Without a Country.</p> - -<p class='c019'>M. R. S. Andrews: The Perfect Tribute; François Coppee: -The Substitute; J. B. Connolly: Sonny Boy’s People; S. O. -Jewett: The Queen’s Twin; James Lane Allen: King Solomon -of Kentucky; Bret Harte: Tennessee’s Partner; Jack London: -The God of His Fathers; John Galsworthy: Quality.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Thomas Nelson Page: Marse Chan; Meh Lady; R. L. Stevenson: -The Merry Men; E. A. Poe: The Masque of the Red -Death; The Fall of the House of Usher; Irvin Cobb: White -and Black; F. J. Stimson: Mrs. Knollys; John Fox, Jr.: -Christmas Eve on Lonesome; H. G. Dwight: In the Pasha’s -Garden; Honoré de Balzac: An Episode Under the Terror; -Jack London: Thanksgiving on Slav Creek; Charles Lamb: -Dream Children; H. C. Brunner: Our Aromatic Uncle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Bret Harte: The Outcasts of Poker Flat; R. L. Stevenson: -Markheim; Guy de Maupassant: A Piece of String; A -Coward; E. A. Poe: The Cask of Amontillado; Edith Wharton: -The Bolted Door; A Journey; Henry Van Dyke: A Lover -of Music; S. R. Crockett: Elsie’s Dance for Her Life; Jack -London: The White Silence.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_xix'>xix</span> - <h3 class='c002'>VIII<br /> <br />WHAT TO READ ABOUT THE SHORT STORY</h3> -</div> -<table class='table3' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='50%' /> -<col width='50%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Albright, Evelyn May</td> - <td class='c020'>The Short Story, its Principles and Structure</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Barrett, Charles R.</td> - <td class='c020'>Short Story Writing</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Buck, Gertrude, and Morris, Elizabeth Woodbridge</td> - <td class='c020'>A Course in Narrative Writing</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Canby, Henry Seidel</td> - <td class='c020'>The Short Story in English</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Cody, Sherwin</td> - <td class='c020'>Story Writing and Journalism</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Dye, Charity</td> - <td class='c020'>The Story Teller’s Art</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Esenwein, Joseph Berg</td> - <td class='c020'>Writing the Short Story</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Hamilton, Clayton</td> - <td class='c020'>Materials and Methods of Fiction</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Matthews, Brander</td> - <td class='c020'>The Philosophy of the Short Story</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Perry, Bliss</td> - <td class='c020'>A Study of Prose Fiction</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Pitkin, Walter B.</td> - <td class='c020'>Short Story Writing</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010'>Wells, Carolyn</td> - <td class='c020'>The Technique of the Mystery Story</td> - </tr> -</table> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c022'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_xxi'>xxi</span><span class='xlarge'>MODERN SHORT STORIES</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c003' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c023'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span><span class='xxlarge'>THE</span></div> - <div><span class='xxlarge'>MODERN SHORT STORY</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c004'>THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA<a id='r1' /><a href='#f1' class='c024'><sup>[1]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f1'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. </span>It may be of interest to those who approach Folk-Lore stories from -the scientific side, to know that this story was told to one of my little -boys three years ago by a negro named John Holder. I have since -found a variant (or perhaps the original) in Theal’s “Kaffir Folk-Lore.”</p> -<div class='c028'>Joel Chandler Harris, 1889.</div> -</div> -<p class='c019'>“I got one tale on my min’,” said Uncle Remus to the -little boy one night. “I got one tale on my min’ dat I ain’t -ne’er tell you; I dunner how come; I speck it des kaze I git -mixt up in my idees. Deze is busy times, mon, en de mo’ you -does de mo’ you hatter do, en w’en dat de case, it ain’t ter be -’spected dat one ole broke-down nigger kin ’member ’bout -eve’ything.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What is the story, Uncle Remus?” the little boy asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, honey,” said the old man, wiping his spectacles, -“hit sorter run dis away: One time dey wuz a man w’at -had a mighty likely daughter.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Was he a white man or a black man?” the little boy -asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I ’clar’ ter gracious, honey!” exclaimed the old man, -“you er pushin’ me mos’ too close. Fer all I kin tell you, de -man mout er bin ez w’ite ez de driven snow, er he mout er bin -de blackes’ Affi’kin er de whole kit en bilin’. I’m des tellin’ -you de tale, en you kin take en take de man en whitewash ’im, -or you kin black ’im up des ez you please. Dat’s de way I -looks at it.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>“Well, one time dey wuz a man, en dish yer man he had -a mighty likely daughter. She wuz so purty dat she had -mo’ beaus dan w’at you got fingers en toes. But de gal daddy, -he got his spishuns ’bout all un um, en he won’t let um come -’roun’ de house. But dey kep’ on pesterin’ ’im so, dat bimeby -he give word out dat de man w’at kin clear up six acres er -lan’ en roll up de logs, en pile up de bresh in one day, dat man -kin marry his daughter.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“In co’se, dis look like it unpossible, en all de beaus drap -off ’ceppin’ one, en he wuz a great big strappin’ chap w’at -look like he kin knock a steer down. Dis chap he wuz name -Simon, en de gal, she wuz name Susanna. Simon, he love -Susanna, en Susanna, she love Simon, en dar it went.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, sir, Simon, he went ter de gal daddy, he did, en he -say dat ef anybody kin clear up dat lan’, he de one kin do it, -least’ways he say he gwine try mighty hard. De ole man, -he grin en rub his han’s terge’er, he did, en tole Simon ter -start in in de mornin’. Susanna, she makes out she wuz fixin’ -sumpin in de cubberd, but she tuck ’n kiss ’er han’ at Simon, -en nod ’er head. Dis all Simon want, en he went out er dar -des ez happy ez a jay-bird atter he done robbed a sparrer-nes’.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now, den,” Uncle Remus continued, settling himself more -comfortably in his chair, “dish yer man wuz a witch.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, I thought a witch was a woman,” said the little -boy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The old man frowned and looked into the fire.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, sir,” he remarked with some emphasis, “ef you er -gwine ter tu’n de man into a ’oman, den dey won’t be no tale, -kaze dey’s bleege ter be a man right dar whar I put dis un. -Hit’s des like I tole you ’bout de color er de man. Black ’im -er whitewash ’im des ez you please, en ef you want ter put a -frock on ’im ter boot, hit ain’t none er my business; but I’m -gwine ter ’low he wuz a man ef it’s de las’ ac’.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The little boy remained silent, and Uncle Remus went on:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now, den, dish yer man was a witch. He could cunjer -folks, mo’ ’speshually dem folks w’at ain’t got no rabbit foot. -He bin at his cunjerments so long, dat Susanna done learn -mos’ all his tricks. So de nex’ mornin’ w’en Simon come by -<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>de house fer ter borry de ax, Susanna she run en got it fer -’im. She got it, she did, en den she sprinkles some black san’ -on it, en say, ‘Ax, cut; cut, ax.’ Den she rub ’er ha’r ’cross -it, en give it ter Simon. He tuck de ax, he did, en den -Susanna say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Go down by de branch, git sev’n w’ite pebbles, put um in -dis little cloth bag, en whenever you want the ax ter cut, -shake um up.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Simon, he went off in de woods, en started in ter clearin’ -up de six acres. Well, sir, dem pebbles en dat ax, dey done -de work—dey did dat. Simon could ’a’ bin done by de time -de dinner-horn blowed, but he hung back kaze he ain’t want -de man fer ter know dat he doin’ it by cunjerments.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“W’en he shuck de pebbles de ax ’ud cut, en de trees ’ud -fall, en de lim’s ’ud drap off, en de logs ’ud roll up terge’er, -en de bresh ’ud pile itself up. Hit went on dis away twel -by de time it wuz two hours b’ sun, de whole six acres wuz -done cleaned up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“’Bout dat time de man come ’roun’, he did, fer ter see -how de work gittin’ on, en, mon! he wuz ’stonish’. He ain’t -know w’at ter do er say. He ain’t want ter give up his daughter, -en yit he ain’t know how ter git out ’n it. He walk ’roun’ -en ’roun’, en study, en study, en study how he gwine rue de -bargain. At las’ he walk up ter Simon, he did, en he say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Look like you sort er forehanded wid your work.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Simon, he ’low: ‘Yasser, w’en I starts in on a job I’m -mighty restless twel I gits it done. Some er dis timber is -rough en tough, but I bin had wuss jobs dan dis in my time.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“De man say ter hisse’f: ‘W’at kind er folks is dis chap?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>Den he say out loud: ‘Well, sence you er so spry, dey’s two -mo’ acres ’cross de branch dar. Ef you’ll clear dem up ’fo’ -supper you kin come up ter de house en git de gal.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Simon sorter scratch his head, kaze he dunner whedder -de pebbles gwine ter hol’ out, yit he put on a bol’ front en he -tell de man dat he’ll go ’cross dar en clean up de two acres -soon ez he res’ a little.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“De man he went off home, en soon’s he git out er sight, -Simon went ’cross de branch en shook de pebbles at de two -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>acres er woods, en ’t want no time skacely ’fo’ de trees wuz all -cut down en pile up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“De man, he went home, he did, en call up Susanna, en say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Daughter, dat man look like he gwine git you, sho’.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Susanna, she hang ’er head, en look like she fretted, en -den she say she don’t keer nuthin’ fer Simon, nohow.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, I thought she wanted to marry him,” said the little -boy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, honey, w’en you git growed up, en git whiskers on -yo’ chin, en den atter de whiskers git gray like mine, you’ll -fin’ out sump’n ’n’er ’bout de wimmin folks. Dey ain’t ne’er -say ’zackly w’at dey mean, none er um, mo’ ’speshually w’en -dey er gwine on ’bout gittin’ married.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now, dar wuz dat gal Susanna what I’m a-tellin’ you -’bout. She mighty nigh ’stracted ’bout Simon, en yit she -make ’er daddy b’lieve dat she ’spize ’im. I ain’t blamin’ -Susanna,” Uncle Remus went on with a judicial air, “kase she -know dat ’er daddy wuz a witch en a mighty mean one in de -bargain.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, atter Susanna done make ’er daddy b’lieve dat she -ain’t keerin’ nothin’ ’t all ’bout Simon, he ’gun ter set his -traps en fix his tricks. He up ’n tell Susanna dat atter ’er en -Simon git married dey mus’ go upsta’rs in de front room, en -den he tell ’er dat she mus’ make Simon go ter bed fus’. Den -de man went upsta’rs en tuck ’n tuck all de slats out’n de bedstid -ceppin one at de head en one at de foot. Atter dat he -tuck ’n put some foot-valances ’roun’ de bottom er de bed—des -like dem w’at you bin see on yo’ gran’ma bed. Den he -tuck ’n sawed out de floor und’ de bed, en dar wuz de trap all -ready.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, sir, Simon come up ter de house, en de man make like -he mighty glad fer ter see ’im, but Susanna, she look like she -mighty shy. No matter ’bout dat; atter supper Simon en -Susanna got married. Hit ain’t in de tale wedder dey sont -fer a preacher er wedder dey wuz a squire browsin’ ’roun’ in -de neighborhoods, but dey had cake wid reezins in it, en some -er dish yer silly-bug w’at got mo’ foam in it dan dey is dram, -en dey had a mighty happy time.</p> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i006a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>Simon shakes the pebbles</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>“W’en bedtime come, Simon en Susanna went upsta’rs, -en w’en dey got in de room, Susanna kotch ’im by de han’, en -helt up her finger. Den she whisper en tell ’im dat ef dey -don’t run away fum dar dey bofe gwine ter be kilt. Simon ax -’er how come, en she say dat ’er daddy want ter kill ’im kase -he sech a nice man. Dis make Simon grin; yit he wuz sorter -restless ’bout gittin’ ’way fum dar. But Susanna, she say -wait. She say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Pick up yo’ hat en button up yo’ coat. Now, den, take -dat stick er wood dar en hol’ it ’bove yo’ head.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“W’iles he stan’in’ dar, Susanna got a hen egg out’n a -basket, den she got a meal-bag, en a skillet. She ’low:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Now, den, drap de wood on de bed.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Simon done des like she say, en time de wood struck de -bed de tick en de mattruss went a-tumblin’ thoo de floor. Den -Susanna tuck Simon by de han’ en dey run out de back way ez -hard ez dey kin go.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“De man, he wuz down dar waitin’ fer de bed ter drap. -He had a big long knife in he han’, en time de bed drapped, -he lit on it, he did, en stobbed it scan’lous. He des natchully -ripped de tick up, en w’en he look, bless gracious, dey ain’t -no Simon dar. I lay dat man wuz mad den. He snorted -’roun’ dar twel blue smoke come out’n his nose, en his eye -look red like varmint eye in de dark. Den he run upsta’rs -en dey ain’t no Simon dar, en nudder wuz dey any Susanna.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Gentermens! den he git madder. He rush out, he did, -en look ’roun’, en ’way off yander he see Simon en Susanna -des a-runnin’, en a-holdin’ one nudder’s han’.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, Uncle Remus,” said the little boy, “I thought -you said it was night?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Dat w’at I said, honey, en I’ll stan’ by it. Yit, how -many times dis blessed night is I got ter tell you dat de man -wuz a witch? En bein’ a witch, co’se he kin see in de dark.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, dish yer witch-man, he look off en he see Simon -en Susanna runnin’ ez hard ez dey kin. He put out atter -um, he did, wid his knife in his han’, an’ he kep’ on a gainin’ -on um. Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna say ter Simon:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Fling down yo’ coat.’</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>“Time de coat tech de groun’, a big thick woods sprung -up whar it fell. But de man, he cut his way thoo it wid de -knife, en kep’ on a-pursuin’ atter um.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de egg on de -groun’, en time it fell a big fog riz up fum de groun’, en a -little mo’ en de man would a got los’. But atter so long a -time fog got blowed away by de win’, en de man kep’ on -a-pursuin’ atter um.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Bimeby, he got so close dat Susanna drap de meal-sack, -en a great big pon’ er water kivered de groun’ whar it fell. -De man wuz in sech a big hurry dat he tried ter drink it dry, -but he ain’t kin do dis, so he sot on de bank en blow’d on -de water wid he hot breff, en atter so long a time de water -made hits disappearance, en den he kep’ on atter um.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Simon en Susanna wuz des a-runnin’, but run ez dey -would, de man kep’ a-gainin’ on um, en he got so close dat -Susanna drapped de skillet. Den a big bank er darkness fell -down, en de man ain’t know which away ter go. But atter -so long a time de darkness lif’ up, en de man kep’ on a-pursuin’ -atter um. Mon, he made up fer los’ time, en he got -so close dat Susanna say ter Simon:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Drap a pebble.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Time Simon do dis a high hill riz up, but de man clum -it en kep’ on atter um. Den Susanna say ter Simon:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Drap nudder pebble.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Time Simon drap de pebble, a high mountain growed -up, but de man crawled up it en kep’ on atter um. Den -Susanna say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Drap de bigges’ pebble.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No sooner is he drap it dan a big rock wall riz up, en hit -wuz so high dat de witch-man can’t git over. He run up en -down, but he can’t find no end, en den, atter so long a time, he -turn ’roun’ en go home.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“On de yuther side er dis high wall, Susanna tuck Simon -by de han’, en say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Now we kin res’.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“En I reckon,” said the old man slyly, “dat we all better -res’.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span> - <h2 class='c004'>THE CROW-CHILD<br /><span class='c025'>By MARY MAPES DODGE</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>Midway</span> between a certain blue lake and a deep forest -there once stood a cottage, called by its owner “The Rookery.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the -ground, breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until only -a few little pieces lay scattered about. But the broad lake -invited all the rays to come and rest upon her, so that sometimes -she shone from shore to shore, and the sun winked and -blinked above her, as though dazzled by his own reflection. -The cottage, which was very small, had sunny windows and -dark windows. Only from the roof could you see the mountains -beyond, where the light crept up in the morning and -down in the evening, turning all the brooks into living silver -as it passed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But something brighter than sunshine used often to look -from the cottage into the forest, and something even more -gloomy than shadows often glowered from its windows upon -the sunny lake. One was the face of little Ruky Lynn; and -the other was his sister’s when she felt angry or ill-tempered.</p> - -<p class='c019'>They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the -cottage with an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called -her—was nearly sixteen years old, but her brother had seen -the forest turn yellow only four times. She was, therefore, -almost mother and sister in one. The little fellow was her -companion night and day. Together they ate and slept, and—when -Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they -rambled in the wood, or floated in their little skiff upon the -lake.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Ruky had bright, dark eyes, and the glossy blackness of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>his hair made his cheeks look even rosier than they were. -He had funny ways for a boy, Cora thought. The quick, -bird-like jerks of his raven-black head, his stately baby gait, -and his habit of pecking at his food, as she called it, often made -his sister laugh. Young as he was, the little fellow had -learned to mount to the top of a low-branching tree near the -cottage, though he could not always get down alone. Sometimes -when, perched in the thick foliage, he would scream, -“Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!” his sister would answer, -as she ran out laughing, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Perhaps it was because he reminded her of a crow that -Cora called him her little bird. This was when she was -good-natured and willing to let him see how much she loved -him. But in her cloudy moments, as the uncle called them, -Cora was another girl. Everything seemed ugly to her, or -out of tune. Even Ruky was a trial; and, instead of giving -him a kind word, she would scold and grumble until he -would steal from the cottage door, and, jumping lightly from -the door-step, seek the shelter of his tree. Once safely perched -among its branches he knew she would finish her work, forget -her ill-humor, and be quite ready, when he cried “Cor! -Cor!” to come from the cottage with a cheery, “Yes, little -Crow! I’m coming! I’m coming!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>No one could help loving Ruky, with his quick, affectionate -ways; and it seemed that Ruky, in turn, could not help -loving every person and thing around him. He loved his -silent old uncle, the bright lake, the cool forest, and even -his little china cup with red berries painted upon it. But -more than all, Ruky loved his golden-haired sister, and the -great dog, who would plunge into the lake at the mere pointing -of his chubby little finger. In fact, that finger and the -commanding baby voice were “law” to Nep at any time.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Nep and Ruky often talked together, and though one -used barks and the other words, there was a perfect understanding -between them. Woe to the straggler that dared -to rouse Nep’s wrath, and woe to the bird or rabbit that ventured -too near!—those great teeth snapped at their prey -<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>without even the warning of a growl. But Ruky could -safely pull Nep’s ears or his tail, or climb his great shaggy -back, or even snatch away the untasted bone. Still, as I -said before, every one loved the child; so, of course, Nep -was no exception.</p> - -<p class='c019'>One day Ruky’s “Cor! Cor!” had sounded oftener than -usual. His rosy face had bent saucily to kiss Cora’s upturned -forehead, as she raised her arms to lift him from the -tree; but the sparkle in his dark eyes had seemed to kindle -so much mischief in him that his sister’s patience became -fairly exhausted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon <i>you</i>?” she cried, -“and nothing to listen to but your noise and your racket? -You shall go to bed early to-day, and then I shall have -some peace.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, no, Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the stars come. -Ruky wants to see the stars.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hush! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whipping when -Uncle comes back from town.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Nep growled.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ha! ha!” laughed Ruky, jerking his head saucily from -side to side; “Nep says ‘No!’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and poor -Ruky was undressed, with many a hasty jerk and pull.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You hurt, Cor!” he said, plaintively. “I’m going to -take off my shoes my own self.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, you’re not,” cried Cora, almost shaking him; and -when he cried she called him naughty, and said if he did -not stop he should have no supper. This made him cry all -the more, and Cora, feeling in her angry mood that he -deserved severe punishment, threw away his supper and -put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s -low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she -sat knitting, with her back to him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with tears, -and his plaintive “Cor! Cor!” had reached his sister’s ears in -vain. She never once looked up from those gleaming knitting-needles, -nor even gave him his good-night kiss.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora, -sulky and weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her -candle, and lay down beside her brother.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but -she was too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered, -“Cor, Cor!” He even touched her hand over and over -again with his lips, hoping she would turn toward him, and, -with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, “Good night, little -bird.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you -were a crow in earnest, and then I’d have some peace.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within -him as he wondered what this “peace” was that his sister -wished for so often, and why he must go away before it -could come to her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard -a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight -a dark object circle once or twice in the air above her, then -dart suddenly through the open window.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight at the -strange visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear, she turned -to see if he had fallen asleep.</p> - -<p class='c019'>No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,—Ruky -was not there!</p> - -<p class='c019'>His empty place was still warm; perhaps he had slid -softly from the bed. With trembling haste she lighted the -candle, and peered into every corner. The boy was not to -be found!</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then those fearful words rang in her ears:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>I wish you were a crow in earnest!</i>”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Cora rushed to the door, and, with straining gaze, looked -out into the still night.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ruky! Ruky!” she screamed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was a slight stir in the low-growing tree.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ruky, darling, come back!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Caw, caw!” answered a harsh voice from the tree. Something -black seemed to spin out of it, and then, in great sweeping -<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>circles, sailed upward, until finally it settled upon one -of the loftiest trees in the forest.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Caw, caw!” it screamed, fiercely.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The girl shuddered, but, with outstretched arms, cried out:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, Ruky, if it is <i>you</i>, come back to poor Cor!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Caw, caw!” mocked hundreds of voices, as a shadow like -a thunder-cloud rose in the air. It was an immense flock -of crows. She could distinguish them plainly in the starlight, -circling higher and higher, then lower and lower, until, -with their harsh “Caw, caw!” they sailed far off into -the night.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, Ruky, answer me!” she cried.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Nep growled, the forest trees whispered softly together, -and the lake, twinkling with stars, sang a lullaby as it lifted -its weary little waves upon the shore: there was no other -sound.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It seemed that daylight never would come; but at last the -trees turned slowly from black to green, and the lake put out -its stars, one by one, and waited for the new day.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Cora, who had been wandering restlessly in every direction, -now went weeping into the cottage. “Poor boy!” she -sobbed; “he had no supper.” Then she scattered breadcrumbs -near the doorway, hoping that Ruky would come for -them; but only a few timid little songsters hovered about, -and, while Cora wept, picked up the food daintily, as though -it burned their bills. When she reached forth her hand, -though there were no crows among them, and called “Ruky! -Ruky!” they scattered and flew away in an instant.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Next she went to the steep-roofed barn, and, bringing out -an apronful of grain, scattered it all around his favorite tree. -Before long, to her great joy, a flock of crows came by. They -spied the grain, and soon were busily picking it up with -their short, feathered bills. One even came near the mound -where she sat. Unable to restrain herself longer, she fell upon -her knees with an imploring cry:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, Ruky! is this you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Instantly the entire flock set up an angry “caw,” and, -surrounding the crow, who was hopping closer and closer to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>Cora, hurried him off, until they all looked like mere specks -against the summer sky.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Every day, rain or shine, she scattered the grain, trembling -with dread lest Nep should leap among the hungry crows, -and perhaps kill her “little bird” first. But Nep knew -better; he never stirred when the noisy crowd settled around -the cottage, excepting once, when one of them pounced upon -his back. Then he started up, wagging his tail, and barking -with uproarious delight. The crow flew off in a flutter, and -did not venture near him again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Poor Cora felt sure that this could be no other than Ruky. -Oh, if she only could have caught him then! Perhaps with -kisses and prayers she might have won him back to Ruky’s -shape; but now the chance was lost.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was no one to help her; for the nearest neighbor dwelt -miles away, and her uncle had not yet returned.</p> - -<p class='c019'>After a-while she remembered the little cup, and, filling -it with grain, stood it upon a grassy mound. When the -crows came, they fought and struggled for its contents with -many an angry cry. One of them made no effort to seize the -grain. He was content to peck at the berries painted upon -its sides, as he hopped joyfully around it again and again. -Nep lay very quiet. Only the tip of his tail twitched with -an eager, wistful motion. But Cora sprang joyfully toward -the bird.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It <i>is</i> Ruky!” she cried, striving to catch it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Alas! the cup lay shattered beneath her hand, as, with a -taunting “caw, caw,” the crow joined its fellows and flew -away.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Next, gunners came. They were looking for other birds; -but they hated the crows, Cora knew, and she trembled -for Ruky. She heard the sharp crack of fowling-pieces -in the forest, and shuddered whenever Nep, pricking up his -ears, darted with an angry howl in the direction of the -sound. She knew, too, that her uncle had set traps for the -crows, and it seemed to her that the whole world was against -the poor birds, plotting their destruction.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Time flew by. The leaves seemed to flash into bright colors -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>and fall off almost in a day. Frost and snow came. Still the -uncle had not returned, or, if he had, she did not know it. -Her brain was bewildered. She knew not whether she ate or -slept. Only the terrible firing reached her ears, or that living -black cloud came and went with its ceaseless “caw.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>At last, during a terrible night of wind and storm, Cora -felt that she must go forth and seek her poor bird.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Perhaps he is freezing—dying!” she cried, springing -frantically from the bed, and casting her long cloak over her -night-dress.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In a moment, she was trudging barefooted through the -snow. It was so deep she could hardly walk, and the sleet -was driving into her face; still she kept on, though her numbed -feet seemed hardly to belong to her. All the way she was -praying in her heart; promising never, never to be passionate -again, if she only could find her bird—not Ruky the boy, -but whatever he might be. She was willing to accept her -punishment. Soon a faint cry reached her ear. With eager -haste, she peered into every fold of the drifted snow. A black -object caught her eye. It was a poor storm-beaten crow, lying -there benumbed and stiff.</p> - -<p class='c019'>For Ruky’s sake she folded it closely to her bosom, and -plodded back to the cottage. The fire cast a rosy light on -its glossy wing as she entered, but the poor thing did not stir. -Softly stroking and warming it, she wrapped the frozen bird -in soft flannel and blew into its open mouth. Soon, to her -great relief, it revived, and even swallowed a few grains of -wheat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Cold and weary, she cast herself upon the bed, still folding -the bird to her heart. “It may be Ruky! It is all I -ask,” she sobbed. “I dare not ask for more.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly she felt a peculiar stirring. The crow seemed -to grow larger. Then, in the dim light, she felt its feathers -pressing lightly against her cheek. Next, something soft -and warm wound itself tenderly about her neck, and she -heard a sweet voice saying:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Don’t cry, Cor,—I’ll be good.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She started up. It was, indeed, her own darling! The -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>starlight shone into the room. Lighting her candle, she -looked at the clock.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was just two hours since she had uttered those cruel -words! Sobbing, she asked:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Have I been asleep, Ruky, dear?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t know, Cor. Do people cry when they’re asleep?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sometimes, Ruky,” clasping him very close.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then you have been asleep. But Cor, please don’t let -Uncle whip Ruky.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, no, my little bird—I mean, my brother. Good night, -darling!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Good night.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span> - <h2 class='c004'>THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL<a id='r2' /><a href='#f2' class='c024'><sup>[2]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By LAFCADIO HEARN</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c023'> - <div><i>She hath spoken, and her words still resound in his ears.</i></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='c028'><i>Hao-Khieou-Tchouan: c. ix.</i></div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f2'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r2'>2</a>. </span>From <i>Some Chinese Ghosts</i>. Copyright, 1887, by Little, Brown & -Company.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>The</span> water-clock marks the hour in the <i>Ta-chung sz’</i>,—in -the Tower of the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite -the lips of the metal monster,—the vast lips inscribed with -Buddhist texts from the sacred <i>Fa-hwa-King</i>, from the chapters -of the holy <i>Ling-yen-King</i>! Hear the great bell responding!—how -mighty her voice, though tongueless!—<i>KO-NGAI!</i> -All the little dragons on the high-tilted eaves -of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails under -that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble -on their carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the -pagodas quiver with desire to speak. <i>KO-NGAI</i>!—all the -green-and-gold tiles of the temple are vibrating; the wooden -goldfish above them are writhing against the sky; the uplifted -finger of Fo shakes high over the heads of the worshippers -through the blue fog of incense! <i>KO-NGAI!</i>—What a thunder -tone was that! All the lacquered goblins on the palace -cornices wriggle their fire-colored tongues! And after each -huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great -golden moan and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the -ears when the immense tone faints away in broken whispers -of silver,—as though a woman should whisper, “<i>Hiai!</i>” -Even so the great bell hath sounded every day for well-nigh -five hundred years,—<i>Ko-Ngai</i>: first with stupendous clang, -then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with silver murmuring -of “<i>Hiai!</i>” And there is not a child in all the many-colored -ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the -story of the great bell,—who cannot tell you why the great -bell says <i>Ko-Ngai</i> and <i>Hiai!</i></p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>Now, this is the story of the great bell in the Ta-chung sz’, -as the same is related in the <i>Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue</i>, written by -the learned Yu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the -Son of Heaven, Yong-Lo, of the “Illustrious,” or Ming -dynasty, commanded the worthy official, Kouan-Yu, that he -should have a bell made of such size that the sound thereof -might be heard for one hundred <i>li</i>. And he further ordained -that the voice of the bell should be strengthened with brass, -and deepened with gold, and sweetened with silver; and that -the face and the great lips of it should be graven with -blessed sayings from the sacred books, and that it should -be suspended in the centre of the imperial capital, to sound -through all the many-colored ways of the City of Pe-king.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Therefore the worthy mandarin, Kouan-Yu, assembled the -master-moulders and the renowned bellsmiths of the empire, -and all men of great repute and cunning in foundry work; -and they measured the materials for the alloy, and treated -them skilfully, and prepared the moulds, the fires, the instruments, -and the monstrous melting-pot for fusing the metal. -And they labored exceedingly, like giants,—neglecting only -rest and sleep and the comforts of life; toiling both night and -day in obedience to Kouan-Yu, and striving in all things to -do the behest of the Son of Heaven.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould -separated from the glowing casting, it was discovered that, -despite their great labor and ceaseless care, the result was -void of worth; for the metals had rebelled one against the -other,—the gold had scorned alliance with the brass, the silver -would not mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the moulds -had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and -the metal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely -repeated. The Son of Heaven heard, and was angry, but -spake nothing.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>A second time the bell was cast, and the result was even -worse. Still the metals obstinately refused to blend one with -the other; and there was no uniformity in the bell, and the -sides of it were cracked and fissured, and the lips of it were -slagged and split asunder; so that all the labor had to be -repeated even a third time, to the great dismay of Kouan-Yu. -And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was -angrier than before; and sent his messenger to Kouan-Yu with -a letter, written upon lemon-colored silk, and sealed with the -seal of the Dragon, containing these words:—</p> - -<p class='c030'>... “<i>From the Mighty Yong-Lo, the Sublime Tait-Sung, the -Celestial and August,—whose reign is called ‘Ming,’—to -Kouan-Yu the Fuh-yin: Twice thou hast betrayed the trust -we have deigned graciously to place in thee; if thou fail a -third time in fulfilling our command, thy head shall be severed -from thy neck. Tremble, and obey!</i>”</p> - -<p class='c021'>Now, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness, whose -name—Ko-Ngai—was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose -heart was even more beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved -her father with such love that she had refused a hundred -worthy suitors rather than make his home desolate by her absence; -and when she had seen the awful yellow missive, -sealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away with fear -for her father’s sake. And when her senses and her strength -returned to her, she could not rest or sleep for thinking of -her parent’s danger, until she had secretly sold some of her -jewels, and with the money so obtained had hastened to an -astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by what -means her father might be saved from the peril impending -over him. So the astrologer made observations of the heavens, -and marked the aspect of the Silver Stream (which we call -the Milky Way), and examined the signs of the Zodiac,—the -<i>Hwang-tao</i>, or Yellow Road,—and consulted the table of the -Five <i>Hin</i>, or Principles of the Universe, and the mystical -books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he made -answer to her, saying: “Gold and brass will never meet in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>wedlock, silver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh -of a maiden be melted in the crucible; until the blood of a -virgin be mixed with the metals in their fusion.” So Ko-Ngai -returned home sorrowful at heart; but she kept secret all -that she had heard, and told no one what she had done.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>At last came the awful day when the third and last effort -to cast the great bell was to be made; and Ko-Ngai, together -with her waiting-woman, accompanied her father to the -foundry, and they took their places upon a platform over-looking -the toiling of the moulders and the lava of liquefied -metal. All the workmen wrought their tasks in silence; there -was no sound heard but the muttering of the fires. And the -muttering deepened into a roar like the roar of typhoons approaching, -and the blood-red lake of metal slowly brightened -like the vermilion of a sunrise, and the vermilion was transmuted -into a radiant glow of gold, and the gold whitened -blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon. Then the -workers ceased to feed the raving flame, and all fixed their -eyes upon the eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to -give the signal to cast.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his -head; and all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai sounding sharply -sweet as a bird’s song above the great thunder of the fires,—“<i>For -thy sake, O my Father</i>!” And even as she cried, she -leaped into the white flood of metal; and the lava of the -furnace roared to receive her, and spattered monstrous flakes -of flame to the roof, and burst over the verge of the earthen -crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of many-colored fires, -and subsided quakingly, with lightnings and with thunders -and with mutterings.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have -leaped in after her, but that strong men held him back and -kept firm grasp upon him until he had fainted away and they -could bear him like one dead to his home. And the serving-woman -of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for pain, stood before -the furnace, still holding in her hands a shoe, a tiny, dainty -shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers,—the shoe of her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai -by the foot as she leaped, but had only been able to -clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; -and she continued to stare at it like one gone mad.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial -and August had to be obeyed, and the work of the -moulders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet -the glow of the metal seemed purer and whiter than before; -and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been -entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and -lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the -bell was beautiful to look upon, and perfect in form, and -wonderful in color above all other bells. Nor was there any -trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for it had been totally -absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended -brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver -and iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were -found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones -of any other bell,—reaching even beyond the distance of one -hundred <i>li</i>, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also -like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman’s name,—the -name of Ko-Ngai!</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low -moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of -sobbing and complaining, as though a weeping woman should -murmur, “<i>Hiai!</i>” And still, when the people hear that great -golden moan they keep silence; but when the sharp, sweet -shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of “<i>Hiai!</i>” -then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-colored -ways of Pe-king whisper to their little ones: “<i>Listen! -that is Ko-Ngai crying for her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai calling -for her shoe!</i>”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span> - <h2 class='c004'>THE TEN TRAILS<br /><span class='c025'>By ERNEST THOMPSON SETON</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>Once</span> there were two Indians who went out together to -hunt. Hapeda was very strong and swift and a wonderful -bowman. Chatun was much weaker and carried a weaker -bow; but he was very patient.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As they went through the hills they came on the fresh -track of a small Deer. Chatun said: “My brother, I shall -follow that.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>But Hapeda said: “You may if you like, but a mighty -hunter like me wants bigger game.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>So they parted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Hapeda went on for an hour or more and found the track -of ten large Elk going different ways. He took the trail -of the largest and followed for a long way, but not coming -up with it, he said: “That one is evidently traveling. I -should have taken one of the others.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>So he went back to the place where he first found it, and -took up the trail of another. After a hunt of over an hour -in which he failed to get a shot, he said: “I have followed -another traveler. I’ll go back and take up the trail of one -that is feeding.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>But again, after a short pursuit, he gave up that one to go -back and try another that seemed more promising. Thus he -spent a whole day trying each of the trails for a short time, -and at night came back to camp with nothing, to find that -Chatun, though his inferior in all other ways, had proved -wiser. He had stuck doggedly to the trail of the one little -Deer, and now had its carcass safely in camp.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>Moral</span>: <i>The Prize is always at the end of the trail.</i></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span> - <h2 class='c004'>WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO<a id='r3' /><a href='#f3' class='c024'><sup>[3]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By COUNT LEO TOLSTOI</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f3'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r3'>3</a>. </span>Reprinted from the Everyman Edition of Tolstoi’s <i>Tales and Parables</i>, -by special permission of the publishers. Copyright by E. P. Dutton & -Company.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>In</span> a certain town there lived a shoemaker named Martin -Avdeitch. He lived in a basement room which possessed but -one window. This window looked onto the street, and through -it a glimpse could be caught of the passers-by. It is true that -only their legs could be seen, but that did not matter, as -Martin could recognize people by their boots alone. He had -lived here for a long time, and so had many acquaintances. -There were very few pairs of boots in the neighbourhood -which had not passed through his hands at least once, if not -twice. Some he had resoled, others he had fitted with side-pieces, -others, again, he had resewn where they were split, -or provided with new toe-caps. Yes, he often saw his handiwork -through that window. He was given plenty of custom, -for his work lasted well, his materials were good, his prices -moderate, and his word to be depended on. If he could do a -job by a given time it should be done; but if not, he would -warn you beforehand rather than disappoint you. Everyone -knew Avdeitch, and no one ever transferred his custom -from him. He had always been an upright man, but with -the approach of old age he had begun more than ever to think -of his soul, and to draw nearer to God.</p> - -<p class='c019'>His wife had died while he was still an apprentice, leaving -behind her a little boy of three. This was their only child, -indeed, for the two elder ones had died previously. At first -Martin thought of placing the little fellow with a sister of -his in the country, but changed his mind, thinking: “My -<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>Kapitoshka would not like to grow up in a strange family, so -I will keep him by me.” Then Avdeitch finished his apprenticeship, -and went to live in lodgings with his little boy. -But God had not seen fit to give Avdeitch happiness in his -children. The little boy was just growing up and beginning -to help his father and to be a pleasure to him, when he fell ill, -was put to bed, and died after a week’s fever.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Martin buried the little fellow and was inconsolable. Indeed, -he was so inconsolable that he began to murmur against -God. His life seemed so empty that more than once he prayed -for death and reproached the Almighty for taking away his -only beloved son instead of himself, the old man. At last he -ceased altogether to go to church.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then one day there came to see him an ancient peasant-pilgrim—one -who was now in the eighth year of his pilgrimage. -To him Avdeitch talked, and then went on to complain -of his great sorrow.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I no longer wish to be a God-fearing man,” he said. “I -only wish to die. That is all I ask of God. I am a lonely, -hopeless man.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You should not speak like that, Martin,” replied the old -pilgrim. “It is not for us to judge the acts of God. We -must rely, not upon our own understanding, but upon the -Divine wisdom. God saw fit that your son should die and -that you should live. Therefore it must be better so. If you -despair, it is because you have wished to live too much for -your own pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“For what, then, should I live?” asked Martin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“For God alone,” replied the old man. “It is He who -gave you life, and therefore it is He for whom you should live. -When you come to live for Him you will cease to grieve, and -your trials will become easy to bear.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Martin was silent. Then he spoke again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But how am I to live for God?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Christ has shown us the way,” answered the old man. -“Can you read? If so, buy a Testament and study it. You -will learn there how to live for God. Yes, it is all shown you -there.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>These words sank into Avdeitch’s soul. He went out the -same day, bought a large-print copy of the New Testament, -and set himself to read it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At the beginning Avdeitch had meant only to read on -festival days, but when he once began his reading he found -it so comforting to the soul that he came never to let a day -pass without doing so. On the second occasion he became so -engrossed that all the kerosene was burnt away in the lamp -before he could tear himself away from the book.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Thus he came to read it every evening, and, the more he -read, the more clearly did he understand what God required -of him, and in what way he could live for God; so that his -heart grew ever lighter and lighter. Once upon a time, whenever -he had lain down to sleep, he had been used to moan and -sigh as he thought of his little Kapitoshka; but now he only -said—“Glory to Thee, O Lord! Glory to Thee! Thy will -be done!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>From that time onwards Avdeitch’s life became completely -changed. Once he had been used to go out on festival days -and drink tea in a tavern, and had not denied himself even an -occasional glass of <i>vodka</i>. This he had done in the company -of a boon companion, and, although no drunkard, would frequently -leave the tavern in an excited state and talk much nonsense -as he shouted and disputed with this friend of his. But -now he had turned his back on all this, and his life had become -quiet and joyous. Early in the morning he would sit -down to his work, and labor through his appointed hours. -Then he would take the lamp down from a shelf, light it, and -sit down to read. And the more he read, the more he understood, -and the clearer and happier he grew at heart.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>It happened once that Martin had been reading late. He -had been reading those verses in the sixth chapter of the -Gospel of St. Luke which run:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer -also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid -not to take thy coat also. Give to every man that asketh -of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye -also to them likewise.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then, further on, he had read those verses where the Lord -says:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And why call ye Me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things -which I say? Whosoever cometh to Me and heareth my sayings, -and doeth them, I will show you to whom he is like: He is -like a man which built an house, and digged deep, and laid the -foundation on a rock: and when the flood arose, the storm beat -vehemently upon that house, and could not shake it: for it -was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth and doeth not, -is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon -the earth; against which the stream did beat vehemently, and -immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Avdeitch read these words, and felt greatly cheered in -soul. He took off his spectacles, laid them on the book, -leaned his elbows upon the table, and gave himself up to -meditation. He set himself to measure his own life by those -words, and thought to himself:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is my house founded upon a rock or upon sand? It is -well if it be upon a rock. Yet it seems so easy to me as I -sit here alone. I may so easily come to think that I have -done all that the Lord has commanded me, and grow careless -and—sin again. Yet I will keep on striving, for it is goodly -so to do. Help Thou me, O Lord.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Thus he kept on meditating, though conscious that it was -time for bed; yet he was loathe to tear himself away from -the book. He began to read the seventh chapter of St. Luke, -and read on about the centurion, the widow’s son, and the -answer given to John’s disciples; until in time he came to the -passage where the rich Pharisee invited Jesus to his house, and -the woman washed the Lord’s feet with her tears and He -justified her. So he came to the forty-fourth verse and read:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And He turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, -Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, and thou -gavest Me no water for My feet: but she hath washed My -feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. -Thou gavest Me no kiss: but this woman since the time I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>came in hath not ceased to kiss My feet. My head with -oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed My -feet with ointment.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He read these verses and thought:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Thou gavest Me no water for My feet’ ... ‘Thou gavest -Me no kiss’ ... ‘My head with oil thou didst not anoint’ -...”—and once again he took off his spectacles, laid them on -the book, and became lost in meditation.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I am even as that Pharisee,” he thought to himself. “I -drink tea and think only of my own needs. Yes, I think -only of having plenty to eat and drink, of being warm and -clean—but never of entertaining a guest. And Simon too -was mindful only of himself, although the guest who had come -to visit him was—who? Why, even the Lord Himself! If, -then, He should come to visit <i>me</i>, should I receive Him any -better?”—and, leaning forward upon his elbows, he was -asleep almost before he was aware of it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Martin!” someone seemed to breathe in his ear.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He started from his sleep.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Who is there?” he said. He turned and looked towards -the door, but could see no one. Again he bent forward over -the table. Then suddenly he heard the words:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Martin, Martin! Look thou into the street to-morrow, -for I am coming to visit thee.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Martin roused himself, got up from the chair, and rubbed -his eyes. He did not know whether it was dreaming or -awake that he had heard these words, but he turned out the -lamp and went to bed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The next morning Avdeitch rose before daylight and said -his prayers. Then he made up the stove, got ready some -cabbage soup and porridge, lighted the <i>samovar</i>, slung his -leather apron about him, and sat down to his work in the -window. He sat and worked hard, yet all the time his -thoughts were centred upon last night. He was in two -ideas about the vision. At one moment he would think that -it must have been his fancy, while the next moment he would -find himself convinced that he had really heard the voice. -“Yes, it must have been so,” he concluded.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>As Martin sat thus by the window he kept looking out of -it as much as working. Whenever a pair of boots passed with -which he was acquainted he would bend down to glance upwards -through the window and see their owner’s face as well. -The doorkeeper passed in new felt boots, and then a water-carrier. -Next, an old soldier, a veteran of Nicholas’ army, in -old, patched boots, and carrying a shovel in his hands, halted -close by the window. Avdeitch knew him by his boots. His -name was Stepanitch, and he was kept by a neighboring -tradesman out of charity, his duties being to help the doorkeeper. -He began to clear away the snow from in front of -Avdeitch’s window, while the shoemaker looked at him and -then resumed his work.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I think I must be getting into my dotage,” thought -Avdeitch with a smile. “Just because Stepanitch begins -clearing away the snow I at once jump to the conclusion that -Christ is about to visit me. Yes, I am growing foolish now, -old greybeard that I am.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Yet he had hardly made a dozen stitches before he was -craning his neck again to look out of the window. He could -see that Stepanitch had placed his shovel against the wall, -and was resting and trying to warm himself a little.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He is evidently an old man now and broken,” thought -Avdeitch to himself. “He is not strong enough to clear -away snow. Would he like some tea, I wonder? That reminds -me that the <i>samovar</i> must be ready now.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He made fast his awl in his work and got up. Placing the -<i>samovar</i> on the table, he brewed the tea, and then tapped with -his finger on the window-pane. Stepanitch turned round and -approached. Avdeitch beckoned to him, and then went to -open the door.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Come in and warm yourself,” he said. “You must be -frozen.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Christ requite you!” answered Stepanitch. “Yes, my -bones are almost cracking.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He came in, shook the snow off himself, and, though tottering -on his feet, took pains to wipe them carefully, that he -might not dirty the floor.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>“Nay, do not trouble about that,” said Avdeitch. “I will -wipe your boots myself. It is part of my business in this -trade. Come you here and sit down, and we will empty -this tea-pot together.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He poured out two tumblerfuls, and offered one to his -guest; after which he emptied his own into the saucer, and -blew upon it to cool it. Stepanitch drank his tumblerful, -turned the glass upside down, placed his crust upon it, and -thanked his host kindly. But it was plain that he wanted -another one.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You must drink some more,” said Avdeitch, and refilled -his guest’s tumbler and his own. Yet, in spite of himself, he -had no sooner drunk his tea than he found himself looking out -into the street again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Are you expecting anyone?” asked his guest.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Am—am I expecting anyone? Well, to tell the truth, -yes. That is to say, I am, and I am not. The fact is that -some words have got fixed in my memory. Whether it was -a vision or not I cannot tell, but at all events, my old friend, -I was reading in the Gospels last night about Our Little -Father Christ, and how He walked this earth and suffered. -You have heard of Him, have you not?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, yes, I have heard of Him,” answered Stepanitch; -“but we are ignorant folk and do not know our letters.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, I was reading of how He walked this earth, and -how He went to visit a Pharisee, and yet received no welcome -from him at the door. All this I read last night, my -friend, and then fell to thinking about it—to thinking how -some day I too might fail to pay Our Little Father Christ due -honor. ‘Suppose,’ I thought to myself, ‘He came to me or -to anyone like me? Should we, like the great lord Simon, not -know how to receive Him and not go out to meet Him?’ Thus -I thought, and fell asleep where I sat. Then as I sat sleeping -there I heard someone call my name; and as I raised myself -the voice went on (as though it were the voice of someone -whispering in my ear): ‘Watch thou for me to-morrow, -for I am coming to visit thee.’ It said that twice. And -so those words have got into my head, and, foolish though I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>know it to be, I keep expecting <i>Him</i>—the Little Father—every -moment.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Stepanitch nodded and said nothing, but emptied his glass -and laid it aside. Nevertheless Avdeitch took and refilled it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Drink it up; it will do you good,” he said. “Do you -know,” he went on, “I often call to mind how when Our -Little Father walked this earth, there was never a man, however -humble, whom He despised, and how it was chiefly among -the common people that He dwelt. It was always with <i>them</i> -that He walked; it was from among <i>them</i>—from among such -men as you and I—from among sinners and working folk—that -He chose His disciples. ‘Whosoever,’ He said, ‘shall -exalt himself, the same shall be abased; and whosoever shall -abase himself, the same shall be exalted.’ ‘You,’ He said -again, ‘call me Lord; yet will I wash your feet.’ ‘Whosoever,’ -He said, ‘would be chief among you, let him be the -servant of all. Because,’ He said, ‘blessed are the lowly, the -peacemakers, the merciful, and the charitable.’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Stepanitch had forgotten all about his tea. He was an old -man, and his tears came easily. He sat and listened, with -the tears rolling down his cheeks.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, but you must drink your tea,” said Avdeitch; yet -Stepanitch only crossed himself and said the thanksgiving, -after which he pushed his glass away and rose.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I thank you, Martin Avdeitch,” he said. “You have -taken me in, and fed both soul and body.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Nay, but I beg of you to come again,” replied Avdeitch. -“I am only too glad of a guest.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>So Stepanitch departed, while Martin poured out the last -of the tea and drank it. Then he cleaned the crockery, and -sat down again to his work by the window—to the stitching -of a back-piece. He stitched away, yet kept on looking -through the window—looking for Christ, as it were—and ever -thinking of Christ and His works. Indeed, Christ’s many -sayings were never absent from Avdeitch’s mind.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>Two soldiers passed the window, the one in military boots, -and the other in civilian. Next, there came a neighboring -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>householder, in polished goloshes; then a baker with a basket. -All of them passed on. Presently a woman in woollen stockings -and rough country shoes approached the window, and -halted near the buttress outside it. Avdeitch peered up at -her from under the lintel of his window, and could see that -she was a plain-looking, poorly-dressed woman and had a -child in her arms. It was in order to muffle the child up -more closely—little though she had to do it with!—that she -had stopped near the buttress and was now standing there -with her back to the wind. Her clothing was ragged and -fit only for summer, and even from behind his window-panes -Avdeitch could hear the child crying miserably and its mother -vainly trying to soothe it. Avdeitch rose, went to the door, -climbed the steps, and cried out: “My good woman, my -good woman!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She heard him and turned round.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why need you stand there in the cold with your baby?” -he went on. “Come into my room, where it is warm, and -where you will be able to wrap the baby up more comfortably -than you can do here. Yes, come in with you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The woman was surprised to see an old man in a leather -apron and with spectacles upon his nose calling out to her, yet -she followed him down the steps, and they entered his room. -The old man led her to the bedstead.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sit you down here, my good woman,” he said. “You will -be near the stove, and can warm yourself and feed your baby.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah,” she replied. “I have had nothing to eat this morning.” -Nevertheless she put the child to her breast.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Avdeitch nodded his head approvingly, went to the table -for some bread and a basin, and opened the stove door. From -the stove he took and poured some soup into the basin, and -drew out also a bowl of porridge. The latter, however, was -not yet boiling, so he set out only the soup, after first laying -the table with a cloth.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sit down and eat, my good woman,” he said, “while I -hold your baby. I have had little ones of my own, and know -how to nurse them.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The woman crossed herself and sat down, while Avdeitch -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>seated himself upon the bedstead with the baby. He smacked -his lips at it once or twice, but made a poor show of it, for he -had no teeth left. Consequently the baby went on crying. -Then he bethought him of his finger, which he wriggled to -and fro towards the baby’s mouth and back again—without, -however, actually touching the little one’s lips, since the finger -was blackened with work and sticky with shoemaker’s wax. -The baby contemplated the finger and grew quiet—then actually -smiled. Avdeitch was delighted. Meanwhile the woman -had been eating her meal, and now she told him, unasked, who -she was and whither she was going.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I am a soldier’s wife,” she said, “but my husband was -sent to a distant station eight months ago, and I have heard -nothing of him since. At first I got a place as cook, but when -the baby came they said they could not do with it and dismissed -me. That was three months ago, and I have got nothing -since, and have spent all my savings. I tried to get taken -as a nurse, but no one would have me, for they said I was -too thin. I have just been to see a tradesman’s wife where -our grandmother is in service. She had promised to take -me on, and I quite thought that she would, but when I arrived -to-day she told me to come again next week. She lives a long -way from here, and I am quite worn out and have tired my -baby for nothing. Thank Heaven, however, my landlady is -good to me, and gives me shelter for Christ’s sake. Otherwise -I should not have known how to bear it all.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Avdeitch sighed and said: “But have you nothing warm to -wear?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah, sir,” replied the woman, “although it is the time for -warm clothes I had to pawn my last shawl yesterday for two -<i>grivenki</i>.”<a id='r4' /><a href='#f4' class='c024'><sup>[4]</sup></a></p> - -<div class='footnote c031' id='f4'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r4'>4</a>. </span>The grivenka = 10 copecks = about five cents.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'>Then the woman returned to the bedstead to take her baby, -while Avdeitch rose and went to a cupboard. There he rummaged -about, and presently returned with an old jacket.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Here,” he said. “It is a poor old thing, but it will serve -to cover you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The woman looked at the jacket, and then at the old man. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>Then she took the jacket and burst into tears. Avdeitch -turned away, and went creeping under the bedstead, whence -he extracted a box and pretended to rummage about in it -for a few moments; after which he sat down again before the -woman.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then the woman said to him: “I thank you in Christ’s -name, good grandfather. Surely it was He Himself who sent -me to your window. Otherwise I should have seen my baby -perish with the cold. When I first came out the day was -warm, but now it has begun to freeze. But He, Our Little -Father, had placed you in your window, that you might see -me in my bitter plight and have compassion upon me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Avdeitch smiled and said: “He did indeed place me there: -yet, my poor woman, it was for a special purpose that I was -looking out.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then he told his guest, the soldier’s wife, of his vision, and -how he had heard a voice foretelling that to-day the Lord Himself -would come to visit him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That may very well be,” said the woman as she rose, took -the jacket, and wrapped her baby in it. Then she saluted him -once more and thanked him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Also, take this in Christ’s name,” said Avdeitch, and gave -her a two-<i>grivenka</i> piece with which to buy herself a shawl. -The woman crossed herself, and he likewise. Then he led her -to the door and dismissed her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When she had gone Avdeitch ate a little soup, washed up the -crockery again, and resumed his work. All the time, though, -he kept his eye upon the window, and as soon as ever a shadow -fell across it he would look up to see who was passing. Acquaintances -of his came past, and people whom he did not -know, yet never anyone very particular.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>Then suddenly he saw something. Opposite his window -there had stopped an old pedlar-woman, with a basket of -apples. Only a few of the apples, however, remained, so that -it was clear that she was almost sold out. Over her shoulder -was slung a sack of shavings, which she must have gathered -near some new building as she was going home. Apparently, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>her shoulder had begun to ache under their weight, and she -therefore wished to shift them to the other one. To do this, -she balanced her basket of apples on the top of a post, lowered -the sack to the pavement, and began shaking up its contents. -As she was doing this, a boy in a ragged cap appeared from -somewhere, seized an apple from the basket, and tried to make -off. But the old woman, who had been on her guard, managed -to turn and seize the boy by the sleeve, and although he -struggled and tried to break away, she clung to him with both -hands, snatched his cap off, and finally grasped him by the -hair. Thereupon the youngster began to shout and abuse his -captor. Avdeitch did not stop to make fast his awl, but threw -his work down upon the floor, ran to the door, and went stumbling -up the steps—losing his spectacles as he did so. Out -into the street he ran, where the old woman was still clutching -the boy by the hair and threatening to take him to the police, -while the boy, for his part, was struggling in the endeavor -to free himself.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I never took it,” he was saying. “What are you beating -me for? Let me go.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Avdeitch tried to part them as he took the boy by the -hand and said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let him go, my good woman. Pardon him for Christ’s -sake.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, I will pardon him,” she retorted, “but not until he -has tasted a new birch-rod. I mean to take the young rascal -to the police.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>But Avdeitch still interceded for him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let him go, my good woman,” he said. “He will never do -it again. Let him go for Christ’s sake.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The old woman released the boy, who was for making off -at once had not Avdeitch stopped him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You must beg the old woman’s pardon,” he said, -“and never do such a thing again. I saw you take the -apple.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The boy burst out crying, and begged the old woman’s -pardon as Avdeitch commanded.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There, there,” said Avdeitch. “Now I will give you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>one. Here you are,”—and he took an apple from the basket -and handed it to the boy. “I will pay you for it, my good -woman,” he added.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, but you spoil the young rascal by doing that,” she -objected. “He ought to have received a reward that would -have made him glad to stand for a week.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah, my good dame, my good dame,” exclaimed Avdeitch. -“That may be <i>our</i> way of rewarding, but it is not God’s. If -this boy ought to have been whipped for taking the apple, -ought not we also to receive something for our sins?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The old woman was silent. Then Avdeitch related to her -the parable of the master who absolved his servant from the -great debt which he owed him, whereupon the servant departed -and took his own debtor by the throat. The old woman -listened, and also the boy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“God has commanded us to pardon one another,” went on -Avdeitch, “or <i>He</i> will not pardon us. We ought to pardon all -men, and especially the thoughtless.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The old woman shook her head and sighed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, that may be so,” she said, “but these young rascals -are so spoilt already!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then it is for us, their elders, to teach them better,” he -replied.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That is what I say myself at times,” rejoined the old -woman. “I had seven of them once at home, but have only -one daughter now.” And she went on to tell Avdeitch where -she and her daughter lived, and how they lived, and how many -grandchildren she had.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have only such strength as you see,” she said, “yet I -work hard, for my heart goes out to my grandchildren—the -bonny little things that they are! No children could run to -meet me as they do. Aksintka, for instance, will go to no one -else. ‘Grandmother,’ she cries, ‘dear grandmother, you are -tired’”—and the old woman became thoroughly softened. -“Everyone knows what boys are,” she added presently, -referring to the culprit. “May God go with him!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She was raising the sack to her shoulders again when the -boy darted forward and said:</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>“Nay, let me carry it, grandmother. It will be all on my -way home.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The old woman nodded assent, gave up the sack to the -boy, and went away with him down the street. She had quite -forgotten to ask Avdeitch for the money for the apple. He -stood looking after them, and observing how they were talking -together as they went.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Having seen them go, he returned to his room, finding his -spectacles—unbroken—on the steps as he descended them. -Once more he took up his awl and fell to work, but had done -little before he found it difficult to distinguish the stitches, and -the lamplighter had passed on his rounds. “I too must light -up,” he thought to himself. So he trimmed the lamp, hung -it up, and resumed his work. He finished one boot completely, -and then turned it over to look at it. It was all good work. -Then he laid aside his tools, swept up the cuttings, rounded off -the stitches and loose ends, and cleaned his awl. Next he -lifted the lamp down, placed it on the table, and took his -Testament from the shelf. He had intended opening the book -at the place which he had marked last night with a strip of -leather, but it opened itself at another instead. The instant it -did so, his vision of last night came back to his memory, and, as -instantly, he thought he heard a movement behind him as of -someone moving towards him. He looked round and saw in -the shadow of a dark corner what appeared to be figures—figures -of persons standing there, yet could not distinguish -them clearly. Then the voice whispered in his ear:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Martin, Martin, dost thou not know me?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Who art Thou?” said Avdeitch.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Even I!” whispered the voice again. “Lo, it is I!”—and -there stepped from the dark corner Stepanitch. He -smiled, and then, like the fading of a little cloud, was gone.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is I!” whispered the voice again—and there stepped -from the same corner the woman with her baby. She smiled, -and the baby smiled, and they were gone.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And it is I!” whispered the voice again—and there -stepped forth the old woman and the boy with the apple. -They smiled, and were gone.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>Joy filled the soul of Martin Avdeitch as he crossed himself, -put on his spectacles, and set himself to read the Testament at -the place where it had opened. At the top of the page he -read:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“For I was an hungred, and ye gave Me meat: I was -thirsty, and ye gave Me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took -Me in.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And further down the page he read:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these -my brethren ye have done it unto Me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then Avdeitch understood that the vision had come true, -and that his Saviour had in very truth visited him that day, -and that he had received Him.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span> - <h2 class='c004'>WOOD-LADIES<a id='r5' /><a href='#f5' class='c024'><sup>[5]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By PERCEVAL GIBBON</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f5'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r5'>5</a>. </span>By permission of the author. Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>The</span> pine-trees of the wood joined their branches into a -dome of intricate groinings over the floor of ferns where the -children sat, sunk to the neck in a foam of tender green. The -sunbeams that slanted in made shivering patches of gold about -them. Joyce, the elder of the pair, was trying to explain why -she had wished to come here from the glooms of the lesser wood -beyond.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I wasn’t ’zactly frightened,” she said. “I knew there -wasn’t any lions or robbers, or anything like that. But——”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Tramps?” suggested Joan.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No! You know I don’t mind tramps, Joan. But as we -was going along under all those dark bushes where it was so -quiet, I kept feeling as if there was—something—behind me. -I looked round and there wasn’t anything, but—well, it felt -as if there was.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joyce’s small face was knit and intent with the efforts to -convey her meaning. She was a slim erect child, as near seven -years of age as makes no matter, with eyes that were going to -be gray, but had not yet ceased to be blue. Joan, who was a -bare five, a mere huge baby, was trying to root up a fern that -grew between her feet.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I know,” she said, tugging mightily. The fern gave suddenly, -and Joan fell over on her back, with her stout legs -sticking up stiffly. In this posture she continued the conversation -undisturbed. “I know, Joy. It was wood-ladies!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Wood-ladies!” Joyce frowned in faint perplexity as Joan -rolled right side up again. Wood-ladies were dim inhabitants -of the woods, being of the order of fairies and angels and even -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>vaguer, for there was nothing about them in the story-books. -Joyce, who felt that she was getting on in years, was willing -to be sceptical about them, but could not always manage it. -In the nursery, with the hard clean linoleum underfoot and -the barred window looking out on the lawn and the road, it -was easy; she occasionally shocked Joan, and sometimes herself, -by the license of her speech on such matters; but it was -a different affair when one came to the gate at the end of the -garden, and passed as through a dream portal from the sunshine -and frank sky to the cathedral shadows and great whispering -aisles of the wood. There the dimness was like the -shadow of a presence; as babies they had been aware of it, -and answered their own questions by inventing wood-ladies -to float among the trunks and people the still green chambers. -Now, neither of them could remember how they had first -learned of wood-ladies.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Wood-ladies,” repeated Joyce, and turned with a little -shiver to look across the ferns to where the pines ended and -the lesser wood, dense with undergrowth, broke at their edge -like a wave on a steep beach. It was there, in a tunnel of a -path that writhed beneath overarching bushes, that she had -been troubled with the sense of unseen companions. Joan, -her fat hands struggling with another fern, followed her -glance.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That’s where they are,” she said casually. “They like -being in the dark.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Joan!” Joyce spoke earnestly. “Say truly—truly, -mind!—do you think there <i>is</i> wood-ladies at all?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“’Course there is,” replied Joan cheerfully. “Fairies in -fields and angels in heaven and dragons in caves and wood-ladies -in woods.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But,” objected Joyce, “nobody ever sees them.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joan lifted her round baby face, plump, serene, bright with -innocence, and gazed across at the tangled trees beyond the -ferns. She wore the countenance with which she was wont -to win games, and Joyce thrilled nervously at her certainty. -Her eyes, which were brown, seemed to seek expertly; then she -nodded.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>“There’s one now,” she said, and fell to work with her -fern again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joyce, crouching among the broad green leaves, looked -tensely, dread and curiosity—the child’s avid curiosity for the -supernatural—alight in her face. In the wood a breath of -wind stirred the leaves; the shadows and the fretted lights -shifted and swung; all was vague movement and change. Was -it a bough that bent and sprang back or a flicker of draperies, -dim and green, shrouding a tenuous form that passed like a -smoke-wreath? She stared with wide eyes, and it seemed to -her that for an instant she saw the figure turn and the pallor -of a face, with a mist of hair about it, sway toward her. -There was an impression of eyes, large and tender, of an -infinite grace and fragility, of a coloring that merged into the -greens and browns of the wood; and as she drew her breath -it was all no more. The trees, the lights and shades, the stir -of branches were as before, but something was gone from -them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Joan,” she cried, hesitating.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes,” said Joan, without looking up. “What?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The sound of words had broken a spell. Joyce was no -longer sure that she had seen anything.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I thought, just now, I could see something,” she said. -“But I s’pose I didn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I did,” remarked Joan.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joyce crawled through the crisp ferns till she was close -to Joan, sitting solid and untroubled and busy upon the -ground, with broken stems and leaves all round her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Joan,” she begged. “Be nice. You’re trying to -frighten me, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’m not,” protested Joan. “I did see a wood-lady. -Wood-ladies doesn’t hurt you; wood-ladies are <i>nice</i>. You’re -a coward, Joyce.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I can’t help it,” said Joyce, sighing. “But I won’t go -into the dark parts of the wood any more.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Coward,” repeated Joan absently, but with a certain -relish.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>“You wouldn’t like to go there by yourself,” cried Joyce. -“If I wasn’t with you, you’d be a coward too. You know -you would.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She stopped, for Joan had swept her lap free of débris and -was rising to her feet. Joan, for all her plumpness and infantile -softness, had a certain deliberate dignity when she was -put upon her mettle. She eyed her sister with a calm and -very galling superiority.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’m going there now,” she answered; “all by mineself.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Go, then,” retorted Joyce angrily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Without a further word, Joan turned her back and began -to plough her way across the ferns toward the dark wood. -Joyce, watching her, saw her go, at first with wrath, for she -had been stung, and then with compunction. The plump -baby was so small in the brooding solemnity of the pines, -thrusting indefatigably along, buried to the waist in ferns. -Her sleek brown head had a devoted look; the whole of her -seemed to go with so sturdy an innocence toward those -peopled and uncanny glooms. Joyce rose to her knees to call -her back.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Joan!” she cried. The baby turned. “Joan! Come -back; come back an’ be friends!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joan, maintaining her offing, replied only with a gesture. -It was a gesture they had learned from the boot-and-knife -boy, and they had once been spanked for practising it on the -piano-tuner. The boot-and-knife boy called it “cocking a -snook,” and it consisted in raising a thumb to one’s nose and -spreading the fingers out. It was defiance and insult in -tabloid form. Then she turned and plodded on. The opaque -wall of the wood was before her and over her, but she knew -its breach. She ducked her head under a droop of branches, -squirmed through, was visible still for some seconds as a gleam -of blue frock, and then the ghostly shadows received her and -she was gone. The wood closed behind her like a lid.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joyce, squatting in her place, blinked a little breathlessly to -shift from her senses an oppression of alarm, and settled down -to wait for her. At least it was true that nothing ever happened -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>to Joan; even when she fell into a water-butt she suffered -no damage; and the wood was a place to which they -came every day.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Besides,” she considered, enumerating her resources of -comfort; “besides, there can’t be such things as wood-ladies -<i>really</i>.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>But Joan was a long time gone. The dome of pines took on -an uncanny stillness; the moving patches of sun seemed -furtive and unnatural; the ferns swayed without noise. In -the midst of it, patient and nervous, sat Joyce, watching always -that spot in the bushes where a blue overall and a -brown head had disappeared. The undernote of alarm which -stirred her senses died down; a child finds it hard to spin -out a mood; she simply sat, half-dreaming in the peace of -the morning, half-watching the wood. Time slipped by her -and presently there came mother, smiling and seeking through -the trees for her babies.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Isn’t there a clock inside you that tells you when it’s -lunch-time?” asked mother. “You’re ever so late. Where’s -Joan?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joyce rose among the ferns, delicate and elfin, with a shy -perplexity on her face. It was difficult to speak even to -mother about wood-ladies without a pretence of scepticism.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I forgot about lunch,” she said, taking the slim cool hand -which mother held out to her. “Joan’s in there.” She -nodded at the bushes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is she?” said mother, and called aloud in her singing-voice, -that was so clear to hear in the spaces of the wood. -“Joan! Joan!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>A cheeky bird answered with a whistle and mother called -again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She <i>said</i>,” explained Joyce—“she <i>said</i> she saw a wood-lady -and then she went in there to show me she wasn’t -afraid.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What’s a wood-lady, chick?” asked mother. “The -rascal!” she said, smiling, when Joyce had explained as best -she could. “We’ll have to go and look for her.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>They went hand in hand, and mother showed herself -<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>clever in parting a path among the bushes. She managed -so that no bough sprang back to strike Joyce and without -tearing or soiling her own soft white dress; one could guess -that when she had been a little girl she, too, had had a wood -to play in. They cut down by the Secret Pond, where the -old rhododendrons were, and out to the edge of the fields; -and when they paused mother would lift her head and call -again, and her voice rang in the wood like a bell. By the -pond, which was a black water with steep banks, she paused -and showed a serious face; but there were no marks of shoes -on its clay slopes, and she shook her head and went on. But -to all the calling there was no answer, no distant cheery -bellow to guide them to Joan.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I wish she wouldn’t play these tricks,” said mother. -“I don’t like them a bit.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I expect she’s hiding,” said Joyce. “There aren’t -wood-ladies really, are there, mother?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There’s nothing worse in these woods than a rather -naughty baby,” mother replied. “We’ll go back by the -path and call her again.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joyce knew that the hand which held hers tightened as -they went and there was still no answer to mother’s calling. -She could not have told what it was that made her suddenly -breathless; the wood about her turned desolate; an oppression -of distress and bewilderment burdened them both. -“Joan, Joan!” called mother in her strong beautiful contralto, -swelling the word forth in powerful music, and when -she ceased the silence was like a taunt. It was not as if -Joan were there and failed to answer; it was as if there were -no longer any Joan anywhere. They came at last to the -space of sparse trees which bordered their garden.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We mustn’t be silly about this,” said mother, speaking -as much to herself as to Joyce. “Nothing can have happened -to her. And you must have lunch, chick.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Without waiting for Joan?” asked Joyce.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes. The gardener and the boot-boy must look for Joan,” -said mother, opening the gate.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The dining-room looked very secure and home-like, with its -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>big window and its cheerful table spread for lunch. Joyce’s -place faced the window, so that she could see the lawn and -the hedge bounding the kitchen garden; and when mother -had served her with food, she was left alone to eat it. Presently -the gardener and the boot-boy passed the window, each -carrying a hedge-stake and looking warlike. There reached -her a murmur of voices; the gardener was mumbling something -about tramps.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, I don’t think so,” replied mother’s voice.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mother came in presently and sat down, but did not eat -anything. Joyce asked her why.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, I shall have some lunch when Joan comes,” answered -mother. “I sha’n’t be hungry till then. Will you have -some more, my pet?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>When Joyce had finished, they went out again to the wood to -meet Joan when she was brought back in custody. Mother -walked quite slowly, looking all the time as if she would like -to run. Joyce held her hand and sometimes glanced up at -her face, so full of wonder and a sort of resentful doubt, as -though circumstances were playing an unmannerly trick on -her. At the gate they came across the boot-boy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I bin all acrost that way,” said the boot-boy, pointing with -his stumpy black forefinger, “and then acrost <i>that</i> way, an’ -Mister Jenks”—Jenks was the gardener—“’e’ve gone about -in rings, ’e ’ave. And there ain’t sign nor token, mum—not -a sign there ain’t.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>From beyond him sounded the voice of the gardener, -thrashing among the trees. “Miss Joan!” he roared. “Hi! -Miss Jo-an! You’re a-frightin’ your ma proper. Where -are ye, then?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She must be hiding,” said mother. “You must go on -looking, Walter. You must go on looking till you find her.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, ’m,” said Walter. “If she’s in there, us’ll find -her, soon or late.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He ran off, and presently his voice was joined to Jenks’s, -calling Joan—calling, calling, and getting no answer.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mother took Joyce’s hand again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Come,” she said. “We’ll walk round by the path, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>you must tell me again how it all happened. Did you really -see something when Joan told you to look?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I expect I didn’t,” replied Joyce dolefully. “But Joan’s -always saying there’s a fairy or something in the shadows -and I always think I see them for a moment.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It couldn’t have been a live woman—or a man—that you -saw?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, no!” Joyce was positive of that. Mother’s hand -tightened on hers understandingly and they went on in silence -till they met Jenks.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Jenks was an oldish man with bushy gray whiskers, who -never wore a coat, and now he was wet to the loins with mud -and water.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That there ol’ pond,” he explained. “I’ve been an’ -took a look at her. Tromped through her proper, I did, an’ -I’ll go bail there ain’t so much as a dead cat in all the mud -of her. Thish yer’s a mistry, mum, an’ no mistake.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mother stared at him. “I can’t bear this,” she said -suddenly. “You must go on searching, Jenks, and Walter -must go on his bicycle to the police-station at once. Call -him, please!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Walter!” roared Jenks obediently.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Coming!” answered the boot-boy and burst forth from -the bushes. In swift, clear words, which no stupidity could -mistake or forget, mother gave him his orders, spoken in a -tone that meant urgency. Walter went flying to execute them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, mother, where do you think Joan can be?” begged -Joyce when Jenks had gone off to resume his search.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t know,” said mother. “It’s all so absurd.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“If there <i>was</i> wood-ladies, they wouldn’t hurt a baby like -Joan,” suggested Joyce.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, who could hurt her!” cried mother, and fell to calling -again. Her voice, of which each accent was music, alternated -with the harsh roars of Jenks.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Walter on his bicycle must have hurried, in spite of his -permanently punctured front tire, for it was a very short -time before bells rang in the steep lane from the road and -Superintendent Farrow himself wheeled his machine in at -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>the gate, massive and self-possessed, a blue-clad minister of -comfort. He heard mother’s tale, which embodied that of -Joyce, with a half-smile lurking in his mustache and his big -chin creased back against his collar. Then he nodded, exactly -as if he saw through the whole business and could find Joan -in a minute or two, and propped his bicycle against the -fence.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I understand then,” he said, “that the little girl’s been -missing for rather more than an hour. In that case, she can’t -have got far. I sent a couple o’ constables round the roads -be’ind the wood before I started, an’ now I’ll just ’ave a -look through the wood myself.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Thank you,” said mother. “I don’t know why I’m so -nervous, but——”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Very natural, ma’am,” said the big superintendent comfortingly, -and went with them to the wood.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was rather thrilling to go with him and watch him. -Joyce and mother had to show him the place from which Joan -had started and the spot at which she had disappeared. He -looked at them hard, frowning a little and nodding to himself, -and went stalking mightily among the ferns. “It was -<i>’ere</i> she went?” he inquired, as he reached the dark path, and -being assured that it was, he thrust in and commenced his -search. The pond seemed to give him ideas, which old Jenks -disposed of, and he marched on till he came out to the edge -of the fields, where the hay was yet uncut. Joan could not -have crossed them without leaving a track in the tall grass as -clear as a cart-rut.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We ’ave to consider the possibilities of the matter,” said -the superintendent. “Assumin’ that the wood ’as been thoroughly -searched, where did she get out of it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Searched!” growled old Jenks. “There ain’t a inch as -I ’aven’t searched an’ seen—not a inch.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The kidnappin’ the’ry,” went on the superintendent, ignoring -him and turning to mother, “I don’t incline to. -’Owever, we must go to work in order, an’ I’ll ’ave my men -up ’ere and make sure of the wood. All gypsies an’ tramps -will be stopped and interrogated. I don’t think there’s no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>cause for you to feel anxious, ma’am. I ’ope to ’ave some -news for you in the course of the afternoon.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>They watched him free-wheel down the lane and shoot -round the corner.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, dear,” said mother then; “why doesn’t the baby -come? I wish daddy weren’t away.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Now that the police had entered the affair, Joyce felt that -there remained nothing to be done. Uniformed authority was -in charge of events; it could not fail to find Joan. She had a -vision of the police at work, stopping straggling families of -tramps on distant by-roads, looking into the contents of their -dreadful bundles, flashing the official bull’s-eye lantern into -the mysterious interior of gypsy caravans, and making ragged -men and slatternly women give an account of their wanderings. -No limits to which they would not go; how could -they fail? She wished their success seemed as inevitable -to her mother as it did to her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“They’re sure to bring her back, mother,” she repeated.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, chick,” said mother, “I keep telling myself so. -But I wish—I wish——”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What, mother?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I wish,” said mother, in a sudden burst of speech, as if -she were confessing something that troubled her—“I wish -you hadn’t seen that wood-lady.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The tall young constables and the plump fatherly sergeant -annoyed old Jenks by searching the wood as though he had -done nothing. It was a real search this time. Each of -them took a part of the ground and went over it as though -he were looking for a needle which had been lost, and no less -than three of them trod every inch of the bottom of the -Secret Pond. They took shovels and opened up an old fox’s -earth; and a sad-looking man in shabby plain clothes arrived -and walked about smoking a pipe—a detective! Up from -the village, too, came the big young curate and the squire’s -two sons, civil and sympathetic and eager to be helpful; they -all thought it natural that mother should be anxious, but -refused to credit for an instant that anything could have -happened to Joan.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>“That baby!” urged the curate. “Why, my dear lady, -Joan is better known hereabouts than King George himself. -No one could take her a mile without having to answer questions. -I don’t know what’s keeping her, but you may be sure -she’s all right.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“’Course she is,” chorused the others, swinging their sticks -light-heartedly. “’Course she’s all right.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Get her for me, then,” said mother. “I don’t want to -be silly and you’re awfully good. But I must have her; -I must have her. I—I want her.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The squire’s sons turned as if on an order and went toward -the wood. The curate lingered a moment. He was a huge -youth, an athlete and a gentleman, and his hard, clean-shaven -face could be kind and serious.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We’re sure to get her,” he said, in lower tones. “And -you must help us with your faith and courage. Can you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mother’s hand tightened on that of Joyce.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We are doing our best,” she said, and smiled—she smiled! -The curate nodded and went his way to the wood.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A little later in the afternoon came Colonel Warden, the -lord and master of all the police in the county, a gay, trim soldier -whom the children knew and liked. With him, in his big -automobile, were more policemen and a pair of queer liver-colored -dogs, all baggy skin and bleary eyes—blood-hounds! -Joyce felt that this really must settle it. Actual living blood-hounds -would be more than a match for Joan. Colonel Warden -was sure of it too.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Saves time,” he was telling mother, in his high snappy -voice. “Shows us which way she’s gone, you know. Best -hounds in the country, these two; never known ’em fail yet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The dogs were limp and quiet as he led them through the -wood, strange ungainly mechanisms which a whiff of a scent -could set in motion. A pinafore which Joan had worn at -breakfast was served to them for an indication of the work -they had to do; they snuffed at it languidly for some seconds. -Then the colonel unleashed them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>They smelled round and about like any other dogs for a -while, till one of them lifted his great head and uttered a long -<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>moaning cry. Then, noses down, the men running behind -them, they set off across the ferns. Mother, still holding -Joyce’s hand, followed. The hounds made a straight line for -the wood at the point at which Joan had entered it, slid in like -frogs into water, while the men dodged and crashed after -them. Joyce and mother came up with them at a place where -the bushes stood back, enclosing a little quiet space of turf -that lay open to the sky. The hounds were here, one lying -down and scratching himself, the other nosing casually and -clearly without interest about him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Dash it all,” the colonel was saying; “she can’t—she -simply can’t have been kidnapped in a balloon.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>They tried the hounds again and again, always with the -same result. They ran their line to the same spot unhesitatingly, -and then gave up as though the scent went no further. -Nothing could induce them to hunt beyond it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I can’t understand this,” said Colonel Warden, dragging -at his mustache. “This is queer.” He stood glancing around -him as though the shrubs and trees had suddenly become -enemies.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The search was still going on when the time came for Joyce -to go to bed. It had spread from the wood across the fields, -reinforced by scores of sturdy volunteers, and automobiles -had puffed away to thread the mesh of little lanes that covered -the country-side. Joyce found it all terribly exciting. -Fear for Joan she felt not at all.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I know inside myself,” she told mother, “right down -deep in the middle of me, that Joan’s all right.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Bless you, my chick,” said poor mother. “I wish I -could feel like that. Go to bed now, like a good girl.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was discomfort in the sight of Joan’s railed cot -standing empty in the night nursery, but Joyce was tired and -had scarcely begun to be touched by it before she was asleep. -She had a notion that during the night mother came in -more than once, and she had a vague dream, too, all about -Joan and wood-ladies, of which she could not remember -much when she woke up. Joan was always dressed first in -the morning, being the younger of the pair, but now there was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>no Joan and nurse was very gentle with Joyce and looked -tired and as if she had been crying.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mother was not to be seen that morning; she had been up -all night, “till she broke down, poor thing,” said nurse, and -Joyce was bidden to amuse herself quietly in the nursery. -But mother was about again at lunch-time when Joyce went -down to the dining-room. She was very pale and her eyes -looked black and deep, and somehow she seemed suddenly -smaller and younger, more nearly Joyce’s age, than ever before. -They kissed each other and the child would have tried -to comfort.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No,” said mother, shaking her head. “No, dear. Don’t -let’s be sorry for each other yet. It would be like giving -up hope. And we haven’t done that, have we?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>I</i> haven’t,” said Joyce. “I <i>know</i> it’s all right.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>After lunch—again mother said she wouldn’t be hungry till -Joan came home—they went out together. There were no -searches now in the wood and the garden was empty; the police -had left no inch unscanned and they were away, combing -the country-side and spreading terror among the tramps. -The sun was strong upon the lawn and the smell of the roses -was heavy on the air; across the hedge the land rolled away -to clear perspectives of peace and beauty.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let’s walk up and down,” suggested mother. “Anything’s -better than sitting still. And don’t talk, chick—not -just now.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>They paced the length of the lawn, from the cedar to the -gate which led to the wood, perhaps a dozen times, hand in -hand and in silence. It was while their backs were turned -to the wood that they heard the gate click, and faced about to -see who was coming. A blue-sleeved arm thrust the gate -open and there advanced into the sunlight, coming forth from -the shadow as from a doorway—Joan! Her round baby face, -with the sleek brown hair over it, the massive infantile body, -the sturdy bare legs, confronted them serenely. Mother uttered -a deep sigh—it sounded like that—and in a moment -she was kneeling on the ground with her arms round the -baby.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>“Joan, Joan,” she said, over and over again. “My little, -little baby!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joan struggled in her embrace till she got an arm free and -then rubbed her eyes drowsily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hallo!” she said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But where have you been?” cried mother. “Baby-girl, -where have you been all this time?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Joan made a motion of her head and her free arm toward -the wood, the wood which had been searched a dozen times -over like a pocket. “In there,” she answered carelessly. -“Wiv the wood-ladies. I’m hungry!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“My darling!” said mother, and picked her up and carried -her into the house.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In the dining-room, with mother at her side and Joyce -opposite to her, Joan fell to her food in her customary workman-like -fashion, and between helpings answered questions -in a fashion which only served to darken the mystery of her -absence.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But there aren’t any wood-ladies really, darling,” remonstrated -mother.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There is,” said Joan. “There’s lots. They wanted to -keep me but I wouldn’t stay. So I comed home, ’cause I -was hungry.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But,” began mother, “where did they take you to?” she -asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t know,” said Joan. “The one what I went to -speak to gave me her hand and tooked me to where there -was more of them. It was a place in the wood wiv grass to -sit on and bushes all round, and they gave me dead flowers to -play wiv. Howwid old dead flowers!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes?” said mother. “What else?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There was anuvver little girl there,” went on Joan. -“Not a wood-lady, but a girl like me, what they’d tooked -from somewhere. She was wearing a greeny sort of dress like -they was, and they wanted me to put one on too. But I -wouldn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why wouldn’t you?” asked Joyce.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“’Cause I didn’t want to be a wood-lady,” replied Joan.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>“Listen to me, darling,” said mother. “Didn’t these -people whom you call wood-ladies take you away out of the -wood? We searched the whole wood, you know, and you -weren’t there at all.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was,” said Joan. “I was there all the time an’ I -heard Walter an’ Jenks calling. I cocked a snook at them -an’ the wood-ladies laughed like leaves rustling.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But where did you sleep last night?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I didn’t sleep,” said Joan, grasping her spoon anew. -“I’se very sleepy now.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She was asleep as soon as they laid her in bed, and mother -and Joyce looked at each other across her cot, above her rosy -and unconscious face.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“God help us,” said mother, in a whisper. “What is the -truth of this?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was never any answer, any hint of a solution, save -Joan’s. And she, as soon as she discovered that her experiences -amounted to an adventure, began to embroider them, -and now she does not even know herself. She has reached -the age of seven, and it is long since she has believed in anything -so childish as wood-ladies.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span> - <h2 class='c004'>ON THE FEVER SHIP<a id='r6' /><a href='#f6' class='c024'><sup>[6]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f6'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r6'>6</a>. </span>From <i>The Lion and the Unicorn</i>. Copyright, 1899, by Charles Scribner’s -Sons.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>There</span> were four rails around the ship’s sides, the three -lower ones of iron and the one on top of wood, and as he -looked between them from the canvas cot he recognized them -as the prison-bars which held him in. Outside his prison lay -a stretch of blinding blue water which ended in a line of -breakers and a yellow coast with ragged palms. Beyond that -again rose a range of mountain-peaks, and, stuck upon the -loftiest peak of all, a tiny block-house. It rested on the brow -of the mountain against the naked sky as impudently as a -cracker-box set upon the dome of a great cathedral.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As the transport rode on her anchor-chains, the iron bars -around her sides rose and sank and divided the landscape -with parallel lines. From his cot the officer followed this -phenomenon with severe, painstaking interest. Sometimes the -wooden rail swept up to the very block-house itself, and for -a second of time blotted it from sight. And again it sank to -the level of the line of breakers, and wiped them out of the -picture as though they were a line of chalk.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The soldier on the cot promised himself that the next swell -of the sea would send the lowest rail climbing to the very top -of the palm-trees or, even higher, to the base of the mountains; -and when it failed to reach even the palm-trees he felt -a distinct sense of ill use, of having been wronged by some -one. There was no other reason for submitting to this existence -save these tricks upon the wearisome, glaring landscape; -and now, whoever it was who was working them did -not seem to be making this effort to entertain him with any -heartiness.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>It was most cruel. Indeed, he decided hotly, it was not to -be endured; he would bear it no longer, he would make his -escape. But he knew that this move, which could be conceived -in a moment’s desperation, could only be carried to -success with great strategy, secrecy, and careful cunning. -So he fell back upon his pillow and closed his eyes, as though -he were asleep, and then opening them again, turned cautiously, -and spied upon his keeper. As usual, his keeper sat -at the foot of the cot turning the pages of a huge paper filled -with pictures of the war printed in daubs of tawdry colors. -His keeper was a hard-faced boy without human pity or -consideration, a very devil of obstinacy and fiendish cruelty. -To make it worse, the fiend was a person without a collar, in a -suit of soiled khaki, with a curious red cross bound by a -safety-pin to his left arm. He was intent upon the paper in -his hands; he was holding it between his eyes and his prisoner. -His vigilance had relaxed, and the moment seemed propitious. -With a sudden plunge of arms and legs, the prisoner swept -the bed-sheet from him, and sprang at the wooden rail and -grasped the iron stanchion beside it. He had his knee pressed -against the top bar and his bare toes on the iron rail beneath -it. Below him the blue water waited for him. It was cool -and dark and gentle and deep. It would certainly put out -the fire in his bones, he thought; it might even shut out the -glare of the sun which scorched his eyeballs.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But as he balanced for the leap, a swift weakness and -nausea swept over him, a weight seized upon his body and -limbs. He could not lift the lower foot from the iron rail, -and he swayed dizzily and trembled. He trembled. He who -had raced his men and beaten them up the hot hill to the -trenches of San Juan. But now he was a baby in the hands -of a giant, who caught him by the wrist and with an iron arm -clasped him around his waist and pulled him down, and -shouted, brutally, “Help, some of youse, quick! he’s at it -again. I can’t hold him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>More giants grasped him by the arms and by the legs. -One of them took the hand that clung to the stanchion in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>both of his, and pulled back the fingers one by one, saying, -“Easy now, Lieutenant—easy.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The ragged palms and the sea and block-house were swallowed -up in a black fog, and his body touched the canvas cot -again with a sense of home-coming and relief and rest. He -wondered how he could have cared to escape from it. He -found it so good to be back again that for a long time he -wept quite happily, until the fiery pillow was moist and -cool.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The world outside of the iron bars was like a scene in a -theater set for some great event, but the actors were never -ready. He remembered confusedly a play he had once witnessed -before that same scene. Indeed, he believed he had -played some small part in it; but he remembered it dimly, and -all trace of the men who had appeared with him in it was -gone. He had reasoned it out that they were up there behind -the range of mountains, because great heavy wagons and -ambulances and cannon were emptied from the ships at the -wharf above and were drawn away in long lines behind the -ragged palms, moving always toward the passes between the -peaks. At times he was disturbed by the thought that he -should be up and after them, that some tradition of duty -made his presence with them imperative. There was much -to be done back of the mountains. Some event of momentous -import was being carried forward there, in which he held a -part; but the doubt soon passed from him, and he was content -to lie and watch the iron bars rising and falling between the -block-house and the white surf.</p> - -<p class='c019'>If they had been only humanely kind, his lot would have -been bearable, but they starved him and held him down when -he wished to rise; and they would not put out the fire in the -pillow, which they might easily have done by the simple expedient -of throwing it over the ship’s side into the sea. He -himself had done this twice, but the keeper had immediately -brought a fresh pillow already heated for the torture and -forced it under his head.</p> - -<p class='c019'>His pleasures were very simple, and so few he could not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>understand why they robbed him of them so jealously. One -was to watch a green cluster of bananas that hung above him -from the awning, twirling on a string. He could count as -many of them as five before the bunch turned and swung -lazily back again, when he could count as high as twelve; -sometimes when the ship rolled heavily he could count to -twenty. It was a most fascinating game, and contented him -for many hours. But when they found this out they sent -for the cook to come and cut them down, and the cook carried -them away to his galley.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then, one day, a man came out from the shore, swimming -through the blue water with great splashes. He was a most -charming man, who spluttered and dove and twisted and lay -on his back and kicked his legs in an excess of content and -delight. It was a real pleasure to watch him; not for days -had anything so amusing appeared on the other side of the -prison-bars. But as soon as the keeper saw that the man in -the water was amusing his prisoner, he leaned over the ship’s -side and shouted, “Sa-ay, you, don’t you know there’s sharks -in there?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And the swimming man raced back to the shore like a -porpoise with great lashing of the water, and ran up the -beach half-way to the palms before he was satisfied to stop. -Then the prisoner wept again. It was so disappointing. -Life was robbed of everything now. He remembered that -in a previous existence soldiers who cried were laughed at -and mocked. But that was so far away and it was such an -absurd superstition that he had no patience with it. For -what could be more comforting to a man when he is treated -cruelly than to cry. It was so obvious an exercise, and when -one is so feeble that one cannot vault a four-railed barrier -it is something to feel that at least one is strong enough to -cry.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He escaped occasionally, traversing space with marvellous -rapidity and to great distances, but never to any successful -purpose; and his flight inevitably ended in ignominious recapture -and a sudden awakening in bed. At these moments -the familiar and hated palms, the peaks, and the block-house -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>were more hideous in their reality than the most terrifying -of his nightmares.</p> - -<p class='c019'>These excursions afield were always predatory; he went -forth always to seek food. With all the beautiful world from -which to elect and choose, he sought out only those places -where eating was studied and elevated to an art. These -visits were much more vivid in their detail than any he had -ever before made to these same resorts. They invariably began -in a carriage, which carried him swiftly over smooth -asphalt. One route brought him across a great and beautiful -square, radiating with rows and rows of flickering lights; -two fountains splashed in the center of the square, and six -women of stone guarded its approaches. One of the women -was hung with wreaths of mourning. Ahead of him the late -twilight darkened behind a great arch, which seemed to rise -on the horizon of the world, a great window into the heavens -beyond. At either side strings of white and colored globes -hung among the trees, and the sound of music came joyfully -from theaters in the open air. He knew the restaurant under -the trees to which he was now hastening, and the fountain -beside it, and the very sparrows balancing on the fountain’s -edge; he knew every waiter at each of the tables, he felt -again the gravel crunching under his feet, he saw the <i>maître -d’hôtel</i> coming forward smiling to receive his command, and -the waiter in the green apron bowing at his elbow, deferential -and important, presenting the list of wines. But his adventure -never passed that point, for he was captured again and -once more bound to his cot with a close burning sheet.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Or else, he drove more sedately through the London streets -in the late evening twilight, leaning expectantly across the -doors of the hansom and pulling carefully at his white gloves. -Other hansoms flashed past him, the occupant of each with -his mind fixed on one idea—dinner. He was one of a million -of people who were about to dine, or who had dined, or who -were deep in dining. He was so famished, so weak for food -of any quality, that the galloping horse in the hansom seemed -to crawl. The lights of the Embankment passed like the -lamps of a railroad station as seen from the window of an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>express; and while his mind was still torn between the choice -of a thin or thick soup or an immediate attack upon cold -beef, he was at the door, and the <i>chasseur</i> touched his cap, and -the little <i>chasseur</i> put the wicker guard over the hansom’s -wheel. As he jumped out he said, “Give him half-a-crown,” -and the driver called after him, “Thank you, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a beautiful world, this world outside of the iron -bars. Everyone in it contributed to his pleasure and to -his comfort. In this world he was not starved nor man-handled. -He thought of this joyfully as he leaped up the -stairs, where young men with grave faces and with their hands -held negligently behind their backs bowed to him in polite -surprise at his speed. But they had not been starved on -condensed milk. He threw his coat and hat at one of them, -and came down the hall fearfully and quite weak with dread -lest it should not be real. His voice was shaking when he -asked Ellis if he had reserved a table. The place was all so -real, it must be true this time. The way Ellis turned and -ran his finger down the list showed it was real, because Ellis -always did that, even when he knew there would not be an -empty table for an hour. The room was crowded with beautiful -women; under the light of the red shades they looked -kind and approachable, and there was food on every table, -and iced drinks in silver buckets. It was with the joy of -great relief that he heard Ellis say to his underling, “<i>Numéro -cinq, sur la terrace, un couvert</i>.” It was real at last. Outside, -the Thames lay a great gray shadow. The lights of the -Embankment flashed and twinkled across it, the tower of the -House of Commons rose against the sky, and here, inside, the -waiter was hurrying toward him carrying a smoking plate of -rich soup with a pungent, intoxicating odor.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And then the ragged palms, the glaring sun, the immovable -peaks, and the white surf stood again before him. The iron -rails swept up and sank again, the fever sucked at his bones, -and the pillow scorched his cheek.</p> - -<p class='c019'>One morning for a brief moment he came back to real life -again and lay quite still, seeing everything about him with -clear eyes and for the first time, as though he had but just -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>that instant been lifted over the ship’s side. His keeper, -glancing up, found the prisoner’s eyes considering him curiously, -and recognized the change. The instinct of discipline -brought him to his feet with his fingers at his sides.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is the Lieutenant feeling better?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Lieutenant surveyed him gravely.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You are one of our hospital stewards.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, Lieutenant.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why aren’t you with the regiment?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was wounded, too, sir. I got it same time you did, -Lieutenant.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Am I wounded? Of course, I remember. Is this a hospital -ship?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The steward shrugged his shoulders. “She’s one of the -transports. They have turned her over to the fever cases.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Lieutenant opened his lips to ask another question; -but his own body answered that one, and for a moment he lay -silent.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do they know up North that I—that I’m all right?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, yes, the papers had it in—there were pictures of the -Lieutenant in some of them.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then I’ve been ill some time?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, about eight days.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The soldier moved uneasily, and the nurse in him became -uppermost.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I guess the Lieutenant hadn’t better talk any more,” he -said. It was his voice now which held authority.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Lieutenant looked out at the palms and the silent -gloomy mountains and the empty coastline, where the same -wave was rising and falling with weary persistence.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Eight days,” he said. His eyes shut quickly, as though -with a sudden touch of pain. He turned his head and -sought for the figure at the foot of the cot. Already the -figure had grown faint and was receding and swaying.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Has anyone written or cabled?” the Lieutenant spoke, -hurriedly. He was fearful lest the figure should disappear -altogether before he could obtain his answer. “Has anyone -come?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>“Why, they couldn’t get here, Lieutenant, not yet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The voice came very faintly. “You go to sleep now, and -I’ll run and fetch some letters and telegrams. When you -wake up, maybe I’ll have a lot for you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>But the Lieutenant caught the nurse by the wrist, and -crushed his hand in his own thin fingers. They were hot, and -left the steward’s skin wet with perspiration. The Lieutenant -laughed gayly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You see, Doctor,” he said, briskly, “that you can’t kill -me. I can’t die. I’ve got to live, you understand. Because, -sir, she said she would come. She said if I was wounded, or -if I was ill, she would come to me. She didn’t care what -people thought. She would come anyway and nurse me—well, -she will come.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“So, Doctor—old man—” He plucked at the steward’s -sleeve, and stroked his hand eagerly, “old man—” he began -again, beseechingly, “you’ll not let me die until she comes, -will you? What? No, I know I won’t die. Nothing made -by man can kill me. No, not until she comes. Then, after -that—eight days, she’ll be here soon, any moment? What? -You think so, too? Don’t you? Surely, yes, any moment. -Yes, I’ll go to sleep now, and when you see her rowing out -from shore you wake me. You’ll know her; you can’t make -a mistake. She is like—no, there is no one like her—but you -can’t make a mistake.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>That day strange figures began to mount the sides of the -ship, and to occupy its every turn and angle of space. Some -of them fell on their knees and slapped the bare deck with -their hands, and laughed and cried out, “Thank God, I’ll see -God’s country again!” Some of them were regulars, bound -in bandages; some were volunteers, dirty and hollow-eyed, -with long beards on boys’ faces. Some came on crutches; -others with their arms around the shoulders of their comrades, -staring ahead of them with a fixed smile, their lips drawn -back and their teeth protruding. At every second step they -stumbled, and the face of each was swept by swift ripples of -pain.</p> - -<p class='c019'>They lay on cots so close together that the nurses could -<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>not walk between them. They lay on the wet decks, in the -scuppers and along the transoms and hatches. They were -like shipwrecked mariners clinging to a raft, and they asked -nothing more than that the ship’s bow be turned toward -home. Once satisfied as to that, they relaxed into a state of -self-pity and miserable oblivion to their environment, from -which hunger nor nausea nor aching bones could shake them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The hospital steward touched the Lieutenant lightly on the -shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We are going North, sir,” he said. “The transport’s -ordered North to New York, with these volunteers and the -sick and the wounded. Do you hear me, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Lieutenant opened his eyes. “Has she come?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Gee!” exclaimed the hospital steward. He glanced impatiently -at the blue mountains and the yellow coast, from -which the transport was rapidly drawing away.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, I can’t see her coming just now,” he said. “But -she will,” he added.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You let me know at once when she comes.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, cert’nly, of course,” said the steward.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Three trained nurses came over the side just before the -transport started North. One was a large, motherly looking -woman, with a German accent. She had been a trained nurse, -first in Berlin, and later in the London Hospital in Whitechapel, -and at Bellevue. The nurse was dressed in white, -and wore a little silver medal at her throat; and she was -strong enough to lift a volunteer out of his cot and hold him -easily in her arms, while one of the convalescents pulled his -cot out of the rain. Some of the men called her “nurse”; -others, who wore scapulars around their necks, called her -“Sister”; and the officers of the medical staff addressed her -as Miss Bergen.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Miss Bergen halted beside the cot of the Lieutenant and -asked, “Is this the fever case you spoke about, Doctor—the -one you want moved to the officers’ ward?” She slipped her -hand up under his sleeve and felt his wrist.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“His pulse is very high,” she said to the steward. “When -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>did you take his temperature?” She drew a little morocco -case from her pocket and from that took a clinical thermometer, -which she shook up and down, eying the patient meanwhile -with a calm, impersonal scrutiny. The Lieutenant -raised his head and stared up at the white figure beside his -cot. His eyes opened and then shut quickly, with a startled -look, in which doubt struggled with wonderful happiness. -His hand stole out fearfully and warily until it touched her -apron, and then, finding it was real, he clutched it desperately, -and twisting his face and body toward her, pulled her -down, clasping her hands in both of his, and pressing them -close to his face and eyes and lips. He put them from him -for an instant, and looked at her through his tears.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “sweetheart, I knew you’d -come.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>As the nurse knelt on the deck beside him, her thermometer -slipped from her fingers and broke, and she gave an exclamation -of annoyance. The young Doctor picked up the pieces -and tossed them overboard. Neither of them spoke, but they -smiled appreciatively. The Lieutenant was looking at the -nurse with the wonder and hope and hunger of soul in his -eyes with which a dying man looks at the cross the priest -holds up before him. What he saw where the German nurse -was kneeling was a tall, fair girl with great bands and masses -of hair, with a head rising like a lily from a firm, white -throat, set on broad shoulders above a straight back and -sloping breast—a tall, beautiful creature, half-girl, half-woman, -who looked back at him shyly, but steadily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Listen,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The voice of the sick man was so sure and so sane that the -young Doctor started, and moved nearer to the head of the -cot. “Listen, dearest,” the Lieutenant whispered. “I -wanted to tell you before I came South. But I did not dare; -and then I was afraid something might happen to me, and I -could never tell you, and you would never know. So I wrote -it to you in the will I made at Baiquiri, the night before the -landing. If you hadn’t come now, you would have learned -it in that way. You would have read there that there never -<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>was anyone but you; the rest were all dream people, foolish, -silly—mad. There is no one else in the world but you; you -have been the only thing in life that has counted. I thought -I might do something down here that would make you care. -But I got shot going up a hill, and after that I wasn’t able -to do anything. It was very hot, and the hills were on fire; -and they took me prisoner, and kept me tied down here, -burning on these coals. I can’t live much longer, but now -that I’ve told you I can have peace. They tried to kill me -before you came; but they didn’t know I loved you, they -didn’t know that men who love you can’t die. They tried -to starve my love for you, to burn it out of me; they tried to -reach it with their knives. But my love for you is my soul, -and they can’t kill a man’s soul. Dear heart, I have lived -because you lived. Now that you know—now that you understand—what -does it matter?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Miss Bergen shook her head with great vigor. “Nonsense,” -she said, cheerfully. “You are not going to die. As soon -as we move you out of this rain, and some food cook——”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Good God!” cried the young Doctor, savagely. “Do you -want to kill him?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>When she spoke, the patient had thrown his arms heavily -across his face, and had fallen back, lying rigid on the pillow.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Doctor led the way across the prostrate bodies, apologizing -as he went. “I am sorry I spoke so quickly,” he said, -“but he thought you were real. I mean he thought you were -some one he really knew——”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He was just delirious,” said the German nurse, calmly. -The Doctor mixed himself a Scotch and soda and drank it -with a single gesture.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ugh!” he said to the ward-room. “I feel as though I’d -been opening another man’s letters.”</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>The transport drove through the empty seas with heavy, -clumsy upheavals, rolling like a buoy. Having been originally -intended for the freight-carrying trade, she had no sympathy -with hearts that beat for a sight of their native land, or for -lives that counted their remaining minutes by the throbbing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>of her engines. Occasionally, without apparent reason, she -was thrown violently from her course; but it was invariably -the case that when her stern went to starboard, something -splashed in the water on her port side and drifted past her, -until, when it had cleared the blades of her propeller, a -voice cried out, and she was swung back on her home-bound -track again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Lieutenant missed the familiar palms and the tiny -block-house; and seeing nothing beyond the iron rails but -great wastes of gray water, he decided he was on board a -prison-ship, or that he had been strapped to a raft and cast -adrift. People came for hours at a time and stood at the -foot of his cot, and talked with him and he to them—people -he had loved and people he had long forgotten, some of whom -he had thought were dead. One of them he could have sworn -he had seen buried in a deep trench, and covered with -branches of palmetto. He had heard the bugler, with tears -choking him, sound “taps”; and with his own hand he had -placed the dead man’s campaign hat on the mound of fresh -earth above the grave. Yet here he was still alive, and he -came with other men of his troop to speak to him; but when -he reached out to them they were gone—the real and the unreal, -the dead and the living—and even She disappeared -whenever he tried to take her hand, and sometimes the hospital -steward drove her away.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Did that young lady say when she was coming back -again?” he asked the steward.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The young lady! What young lady?” asked the steward, -wearily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The one who has been sitting there,” he answered. He -pointed with his gaunt hand at the man in the next cot.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, that young lady. Yes, she’s coming back. She’s -just gone below to fetch you some hard-tack.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The young volunteer in the next cot whined grievously.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That crazy man gives me the creeps,” he groaned. “He’s -always waking me up, and looking at me as though he was -going to eat me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Shut your head,” said the steward. “He’s a better man -<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>crazy than you’ll ever be with the little sense you’ve got. -And he has two Mauser holes in him. Crazy, eh? It’s a -good thing for you that there was about four thousand of us -regulars just as crazy as him, or you’d never seen the top of -the hill.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>One morning there was a great commotion on deck, and -all the convalescents balanced themselves on the rail, shivering -in their pajamas, and pointed one way. The transport -was moving swiftly and smoothly through water as flat as a -lake, and making a great noise with her steam-whistle. The -noise was echoed by many more steam-whistles; and the -ghosts of out-bound ships and tugs and excursion steamers -ran past her out of the mist and disappeared, saluting joyously. -All of the excursion steamers had a heavy list to the -side nearest the transport, and the ghosts on them crowded -to that rail and waved handkerchiefs and cheered. The fog -lifted suddenly, and between the iron rails the Lieutenant -saw high green hills on either side of a great harbor. Houses -and trees and thousands of masts swept past like a panorama; -and beyond was a mirage of three cities, with curling smoke-wreaths, -and sky-reaching buildings, and a great swinging -bridge, and a giant statue of woman waving a welcome home.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Lieutenant surveyed the spectacle with cynical disbelief. -He was far too wise and far too cunning to be bewitched -by it. In his heart he pitied the men about him, -who laughed wildly, and shouted, and climbed recklessly to -the rails and ratlines. He had been deceived too often not -to know that it was not real. He knew from cruel experience -that in a few moments the tall buildings would crumble away, -the thousands of columns of white smoke that flashed like -snow in the sun, the busy, shrieking tug-boats, and the great -statue would vanish into the sea, leaving it gray and bare. -He closed his eyes and shut the vision out. It was so beautiful -that it tempted him: but he would not be mocked, and -he buried his face in his hands. They were carrying the -farce too far, he thought. It was really too absurd; for now -they were at a wharf which was so real that, had he not known -by previous suffering, he would have been utterly deceived by -<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>it. And there were great crowds of smiling, cheering people, -and a waiting guard of honor in fresh uniforms, and rows of -police pushing the people this way and that; and these men -about him were taking it all quite seriously and making ready -to disembark, carrying their blanket-rolls and rifles with -them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A band was playing joyously, and the man in the next -cot, who was being lifted to a stretcher, said, “There’s the -Governor and his staff; that’s him in the high hat.” It was -really very well done. The Custom-house and the Elevated -Railroad and Castle Garden were as like to life as a photograph, -and the crowd was as well handled as a mob in a -play. His heart ached for it so that he could not bear the -pain, and he turned his back on it. It was cruel to keep it -up so long. His keeper lifted him in his arms, and pulled -him into a dirty uniform which had belonged, apparently, -to a much larger man—a man who had been killed probably, -for there were dark-brown marks of blood on the tunic and -breeches. When he tried to stand on his feet, Castle Garden -and the Battery disappeared in a black cloud of night, just -as he knew they would; but when he opened his eyes from -the stretcher, they had returned again. It was a most remarkably -vivid vision. They kept it up so well. Now the -young Doctor and the hospital steward were pretending to -carry him down a gangplank and into an open space; and -he saw quite close to him a long line of policemen, and behind -them thousands of faces, some of them women’s faces—women -who pointed at him and then shook their heads and -cried, and pressed their hands to their cheeks, still looking at -him. He wondered why they cried. He did not know them, -nor did they know him. No one knew him; these people -were only ghosts.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was a quick parting in the crowd. A man he had -once known shoved two of the policemen to one side, and he -heard a girl’s voice speaking his name, like a sob; and She -came running out across the open space and fell on her knees -beside the stretcher, and bent down over him, and he was -clasped in two young, firm arms.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>“Of course it is not real, of course it is not She,” he assured -himself. “Because She would not do such a thing. -Before all these people She would not do it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>But he trembled and his heart throbbed so cruelly that he -could not bear the pain.</p> - -<p class='c019'>She was pretending to cry.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“They wired us you had started for Tampa on the hospital -ship,” She was saying, “and Aunt and I went all the way -there before we heard you had been sent North. We have -been on the cars a week. That is why I missed you. Do you -understand? It was not my fault. I tried to come. Indeed, -I tried to come.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She turned her head and looked up fearfully at the young -Doctor.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Tell me, why does he look at me like that?” she asked. -“He doesn’t know me. Is he very ill? Tell me the truth.” -She drew in her breath quickly. “Of course you will tell me -the truth.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>When she asked the question he felt her arms draw tight -about his shoulders. It was as though she was holding him -to herself, and from someone who had reached out for him. -In his trouble he turned to his old friend and keeper. His -voice was hoarse and very low.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is this the same young lady who was on the transport—the -one you used to drive away?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>In his embarrassment, the hospital steward blushed under -his tan, and stammered.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course it’s the same young lady,” the Doctor answered, -briskly. “And I won’t let them drive her away.” -He turned to her, smiling gravely. “I think his condition -has ceased to be dangerous, Madam,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>People who, in a former existence, had been his friends, and -Her brother, gathered about his stretcher and bore him -through the crowd and lifted him into a carriage filled with -cushions, among which he sank lower and lower. Then She -sat beside him, and he heard Her brother say to the coachman, -“Home, and drive slowly and keep on the asphalt.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The carriage moved forward, and She put her arm about -<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>him, and his head fell on her shoulder, and neither of them -spoke. The vision had lasted so long now that he was torn -with the joy that after all it might be real. But he could -not bear the awakening if it were not, so he raised his head -fearfully and looked up into the beautiful eyes above him. -His brows were knit, and he struggled with a great doubt -and an awful joy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Dearest,” he said, “is it real?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is it real?” she repeated.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Even as a dream, it was so wonderfully beautiful that he -was satisfied if it could only continue so, if but for a little -while.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do you think,” he begged again, trembling, “that it is -going to last much longer?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She smiled, and bending her head slowly, kissed him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is going to last—always,” she said.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span> - <h2 class='c004'>A SOURCE OF IRRITATION<br /><span class='c025'>By STACY AUMONIER</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>To</span> look at old Sam Gates you would never suspect him of -having nerves. His sixty-nine years of close application to -the needs of the soil had given him a certain earthy stolidity. -To observe him hoeing, or thinning out a broad field of turnips, -hardly attracted one’s attention, he seemed so much part -and parcel of the whole scheme. He blended into the soil -like a glorified swede. Nevertheless, the half-dozen people -who claimed his acquaintance knew him to be a man who -suffered from little moods of irritability.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And on this glorious morning a little incident annoyed him -unreasonably. It concerned his niece, Aggie. She was a -plump girl with clear, blue eyes, and a face as round and -inexpressive as the dumplings for which the county was -famous. She came slowly across the long sweep of the downland -and, putting down the bundle wrapped in a red handkerchief -which contained his breakfast and dinner, she said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, Uncle, is there any noos?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Now, this may not appear to the casual reader to be a -remark likely to cause irritation, but it affected old Sam Gates -as a very silly and unnecessary question. It was, moreover, -the constant repetition of it which was beginning to anger him. -He met his niece twice a day. In the morning she brought -his bundle of food at seven, and when he passed his sister’s -cottage on the way home to tea at five she was invariably hanging -about the gate, and she always said in the same voice:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, Uncle, is there any noos?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Noos! What noos should there be? For sixty-nine years -he had never lived farther than five miles from Halvesham. -For nearly sixty of those years he had bent his back above -the soil. There were, indeed, historic occasions. Once, for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>instance, when he had married Annie Hachet. And there was -the birth of his daughter. There was also a famous occasion -when he had visited London. Once he had been to a flower-show -at Market Roughborough. He either went or didn’t -go to church on Sundays. He had had many interesting chats -with Mr. James at the Cowman, and three years ago had sold a -pig to Mrs. Way. But he couldn’t always have interesting -noos of this sort up his sleeve. Didn’t the silly zany know -that for the last three weeks he had been hoeing and thinning -out turnips for Mr. Hodge on this very same field? What -noos could there be?</p> - -<p class='c019'>He blinked at his niece, and didn’t answer. She undid the -parcel and said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mrs. Goping’s fowl got out again last night.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah,” he replied in a non-committal manner and began to -munch his bread and bacon. His niece picked up the handkerchief -and, humming to herself, walked back across the field.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a glorious morning, and a white sea mist added to -the promise of a hot day. He sat there munching, thinking of -nothing in particular, but gradually subsiding into a mood of -placid content. He noticed the back of Aggie disappear in -the distance. It was a mile to the cottage and a mile and a -half to Halvesham. Silly things, girls. They were all alike. -One had to make allowances. He dismissed her from his -thoughts, and took a long swig of tea out of a bottle. Insects -buzzed lazily. He tapped his pocket to assure himself that -his pouch of shag was there, and then he continued munching. -When he had finished, he lighted his pipe and stretched himself -comfortably. He looked along the line of turnips he had -thinned and then across the adjoining field of swedes. Silver -streaks appeared on the sea below the mist. In some dim way -he felt happy in his solitude amidst this sweeping immensity -of earth and sea and sky.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And then something else came to irritate him: it was one of -“these dratted airyplanes.” “Airyplanes” were his pet -aversion. He could find nothing to be said in their favor. -Nasty, noisy, disfiguring things that seared the heavens and -made the earth dangerous. And every day there seemed to be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>more and more of them. Of course “this old war” was responsible -for a lot of them, he knew. The war was a “plaguy -noosance.” They were short-handed on the farm, beer and -tobacco were dear, and Mrs. Steven’s nephew had been and -got wounded in the foot.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He turned his attention once more to the turnips; but an -“airyplane” has an annoying genius for gripping one’s attention. -When it appears on the scene, however much we dislike -it, it has a way of taking the stage-center. We cannot help -constantly looking at it. And so it was with old Sam Gates. -He spat on his hands and blinked up at the sky. And suddenly -the aëroplane behaved in a very extraordinary manner. -It was well over the sea when it seemed to lurch drunkenly -and skimmed the water. Then it shot up at a dangerous angle -and zigzagged. It started to go farther out, and then turned -and made for the land. The engines were making a curious -grating noise. It rose once more, and then suddenly dived -downward, and came plump down right in the middle of Mr. -Hodge’s field of swedes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And then, as if not content with this desecration, it ran -along the ground, ripping and tearing up twenty-five yards -of good swedes, and then came to a stop.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Old Sam Gates was in a terrible state. The aëroplane was -more than a hundred yards away, but he waved his arms and -called out:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hi, you there, you mustn’t land in they swedes! -They’re Mister Hodge’s.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The instant the aëroplane stopped, a man leaped out and -gazed quickly round. He glanced at Sam Gates, and seemed -uncertain whether to address him or whether to concentrate -his attention on the flying-machine. The latter arrangement -appeared to be his ultimate decision. He dived under the -engine and became frantically busy. Sam had never seen any -one work with such furious energy; but all the same it was -not to be tolerated. It was disgraceful. Sam started out -across the field, almost hurrying in his indignation. When -he appeared within earshot of the aviator he cried out again:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hi! you mustn’t rest your old airyplane here! You’ve -<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>kicked up all Mr. Hodge’s swedes. A noice thing you’ve -done!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He was within five yards when suddenly the aviator turned -and covered him with a revolver! And speaking in a sharp, -staccato voice, he said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Old Grandfather, you must sit down. I am very much -occupied. If you interfere or attempt to go away, I shoot -you. So!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sam gazed at the horrid, glittering little barrel and gasped. -Well, he never! To be threatened with murder when you’re -doing your duty in your employer’s private property! But, -still, perhaps the man was mad. A man must be more or less -mad to go up in one of those crazy things. And life was very -sweet on that summer morning despite sixty-nine years. He -sat down among the swedes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The aviator was so busy with his cranks and machinery that -he hardly deigned to pay him any attention except to keep the -revolver handy. He worked feverishly, and Sam sat watching -him. At the end of ten minutes he appeared to have -solved his troubles with the machine, but he still seemed very -scared. He kept on glancing round and out to sea. When his -repairs were complete he straightened his back and wiped the -perspiration from his brow. He was apparently on the point -of springing back into the machine and going off when a -sudden mood of facetiousness, caused by relief from the strain -he had endured, came to him. He turned to old Sam and -smiled, at the same time remarking:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, old Grandfather, and now we shall be all right, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He came close up to Sam, and then suddenly started back.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>Gott!</i>” he cried, “Paul Jouperts!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Bewildered, Sam gazed at him, and the madman started -talking to him in some foreign tongue. Sam shook his head.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You no roight,” he remarked, “to come bargin’ through -they swedes of Mr. Hodge’s.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And then the aviator behaved in a most peculiar manner. -He came up and examined Sam’s face very closely, and gave a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>sudden tug at his beard and hair, as if to see whether they were -real or false.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What is your name, old man?” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sam Gates.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The aviator muttered some words that sounded something -like “mare vudish,” and then turned to his machine. He -appeared to be dazed and in a great state of doubt. He -fumbled with some cranks, but kept glancing at old Sam. At -last he got into the car and strapped himself in. Then he -stopped, and sat there deep in thought. At last he suddenly -unstrapped himself and sprang out again and, approaching -Sam, said very deliberately:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Old Grandfather, I shall require you to accompany me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sam gasped.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Eh?” he said. “What be talkin’ about? ’Company? I -got these ’ere loines o’ turnips—I be already behoind—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The disgusting little revolver once more flashed before his -eyes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There must be no discussion,” came the voice. “It is -necessary that you mount the seat of the car without delay. -Otherwise I shoot you like the dog you are. So!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Old Sam was hale and hearty. He had no desire to die so -ignominiously. The pleasant smell of the Norfolk downland -was in his nostrils; his foot was on his native heath. He -mounted the seat of the car, contenting himself with a -mutter:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, that be a noice thing, I must say! Flyin’ about the -country with all they turnips on’y half thinned!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He found himself strapped in. The aviator was in a fever -of anxiety to get away. The engines made a ghastly splutter -and noise. The thing started running along the ground. -Suddenly it shot upward, giving the swedes a last contemptuous -kick. At twenty minutes to eight that morning old Sam -found himself being borne right up above his fields and out to -sea! His breath came quickly. He was a little frightened.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“God forgive me!” he murmured.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The thing was so fantastic and sudden that his mind could -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>not grasp it. He only felt in some vague way that he was -going to die, and he struggled to attune his mind to the change. -He offered up a mild prayer to God, Who, he felt, must be -very near, somewhere up in these clouds. Automatically he -thought of the vicar at Halvesham, and a certain sense of comfort -came to him at the reflection that on the previous day he -had taken a “cooking of runner beans” to God’s representative -in that village. He felt calmer after that, but the horrid -machine seemed to go higher and higher. He could not turn -in his seat and he could see nothing but sea and sky. Of -course the man was mad, mad as a March hare. Of what -earthly use could <i>he</i> be to any one? Besides, he had talked -pure gibberish, and called him Paul something, when he had -already told him that his name was Sam. The thing would -fall down into the sea soon, and they would both be drowned. -Well, well, he had almost reached three-score years and ten. -He was protected by a screen, but it seemed very cold. What -on earth would Mr. Hodge say? There was no one left to -work the land but a fool of a boy named Billy Whitehead at -Dene’s Cross. On, on, on they went at a furious pace. His -thoughts danced disconnectedly from incidents of his youth, -conversations with the vicar, hearty meals in the open, a frock -his sister wore on the day of the postman’s wedding, the -drone of a psalm, the illness of some ewes belonging to Mr. -Hodge. Everything seemed to be moving very rapidly, upsetting -his sense of time. He felt outraged, and yet at moments -there was something entrancing in the wild experience. -He seemed to be living at an incredible pace. Perhaps he was -really dead and on his way to the kingdom of God. Perhaps -this was the way they took people.</p> - -<p class='c019'>After some indefinite period he suddenly caught sight of a -long strip of land. Was this a foreign country, or were -they returning? He had by this time lost all feeling of fear. -He became interested and almost disappointed. The “airyplane” -was not such a fool as it looked. It was very wonderful -to be right up in the sky like this. His dreams were suddenly -disturbed by a fearful noise. He thought the machine -was blown to pieces. It dived and ducked through the air, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>and things were bursting all round it and making an awful -din, and then it went up higher and higher. After a while -these noises ceased, and he felt the machine gliding downward. -They were really right above solid land—trees, fields, -streams, and white villages. Down, down, down they glided. -This was a foreign country. There were straight avenues of -poplars and canals. This was not Halvesham. He felt the -thing glide gently and bump into a field. Some men ran forward -and approached them, and the mad aviator called out -to them. They were mostly fat men in gray uniforms, and -they all spoke this foreign gibberish. Some one came and unstrapped -him. He was very stiff and could hardly move. An -exceptionally gross-looking man punched him in the ribs and -roared with laughter. They all stood round and laughed at -him, while the mad aviator talked to them and kept pointing -at him. Then he said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Old Grandfather, you must come with me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He was led to an iron-roofed building and shut in a little -room. There were guards outside with fixed bayonets. After -a while the mad aviator appeared again, accompanied by two -soldiers. He beckoned him to follow. They marched through -a quadrangle and entered another building. They went -straight into an office where a very important-looking man, -covered with medals, sat in an easy-chair. There was a lot of -saluting and clicking of heels. The aviator pointed at Sam -and said something, and the man with the medals started at -sight of him, and then came up and spoke to him in English.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What is your name? Where do you come from? Your -age? The name and birthplace of your parents?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He seemed intensely interested, and also pulled his hair -and beard to see if they came off. So well and naturally did -he and the aviator speak English that after a voluble examination -they drew apart, and continued the conversation in that -language. And the extraordinary conversation was of this -nature:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is a most remarkable resemblance,” said the man with -medals. “<i>Unglaublich!</i> But what do you want me to do -with him, Hausemann?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>“The idea came to me suddenly, Excellency,” replied the -aviator, “and you may consider it worthless. It is just this. -The resemblance is so amazing. Paul Jouperts has given us -more valuable information than any one at present in our -service, and the English know that. There is an award of -five thousand francs on his head. Twice they have captured -him, and each time he escaped. All the company commanders -and their staff have his photograph. He is a serious thorn in -their flesh.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well?” replied the man with the medals.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The aviator whispered confidentially:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Suppose, your Excellency, that they found the dead body -of Paul Jouperts?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well?” replied the big man.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“My suggestion is this. To-morrow, as you know, the English -are attacking Hill 701, which for tactical reasons we -have decided to evacuate. If after the attack they find the -dead body of Paul Jouperts in, say, the second lines, they will -take no further trouble in the matter. You know their lack -of thoroughness. Pardon me, I was two years at Oxford -University. And consequently Paul Jouperts will be able to -prosecute his labors undisturbed.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The man with the medals twirled his mustache and looked -thoughtfully at his colleague.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Where is Paul at the moment?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He is acting as a gardener at the Convent of St. Eloise, -at Mailleton-en-haut, which, as you know, is one hundred -meters from the headquarters of the British central army -staff.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The man with the medals took two or three rapid turns up -and down the room, then he said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Your plan is excellent, Hausemann. The only point of -difficulty is that the attack started this morning.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“This morning?” exclaimed the other.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes; the English attacked unexpectedly at dawn. We -have already evacuated the first line. We shall evacuate the -second line at eleven-fifty. It is now ten-fifteen. There may -be just time.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>He looked suddenly at old Sam in the way that a butcher -might look at a prize heifer at an agricultural show and remarked -casually:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, it is a remarkable resemblance. It seems a pity not -to—do something with it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then, speaking in German, he added:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is worth trying. And if it succeeds, the higher authorities -shall hear of your lucky accident and inspiration, Herr -Hausemann. Instruct <i>Ober-lieutenant</i> Schultz to send the -old fool by two orderlies to the east extremity of Trench 38. -Keep him there till the order of evacuation is given, then -shoot him, but don’t disfigure him, and lay him out face upward.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The aviator saluted and withdrew, accompanied by his -victim. Old Sam had not understood the latter part of the -conversation, and he did not catch quite all that was said in -English; but he felt that somehow things were not becoming -too promising, and it was time to assert himself. So he -remarked when they got outside:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now, look ’ee ’ere, Mister, when am I goin’ to get back to -my turnips?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And the aviator replied, with a pleasant smile:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do not be disturbed, old Grandfather. You shall get -back to the soil quite soon.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>In a few moments he found himself in a large gray car, -accompanied by four soldiers. The aviator left him. The -country was barren and horrible, full of great pits and rents, -and he could hear the roar of artillery and the shriek of -shells. Overhead, aëroplanes were buzzing angrily. He -seemed to be suddenly transported from the kingdom of God -to the pit of darkness. He wondered whether the vicar had -enjoyed the runner beans. He could not imagine runner -beans growing here; runner beans, aye, or anything else. -If this was a foreign country, give him dear old England!</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>Gr-r-r! bang!</i> Something exploded just at the rear of the -car. The soldiers ducked, and one of them pushed him in the -stomach and swore.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“An ugly-looking lout,” he thought. “If I wor twenty -<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>years younger, I’d give him a punch in the eye that ’u’d -make him sit up.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The car came to a halt by a broken wall. The party hurried -out and dived behind a mound. He was pulled down a kind -of shaft, and found himself in a room buried right underground, -where three officers were drinking and smoking. The -soldiers saluted and handed them a type-written dispatch. -The officers looked at him drunkenly, and one came up and -pulled his beard and spat in his face and called him “an old -English swine.” He then shouted out some instructions to -the soldiers, and they led him out into the narrow trench. -One walked behind him, and occasionally prodded him with -the butt-end of a gun. The trenches were half full of water -and reeked of gases, powder, and decaying matter. Shells -were constantly bursting overhead, and in places the trenches -had crumbled and were nearly blocked up. They stumbled on, -sometimes falling, sometimes dodging moving masses, and -occasionally crawling over the dead bodies of men. At last -they reached a deserted-looking trench, and one of the soldiers -pushed him into the corner of it and growled something, and -then disappeared round the angle. Old Sam was exhausted. -He leaned panting against the mud wall, expecting every -minute to be blown to pieces by one of those infernal things -that seemed to be getting more and more insistent. The din -went on for nearly twenty minutes, and he was alone in the -trench. He fancied he heard a whistle amidst the din. Suddenly -one of the soldiers who had accompanied him came -stealthily round the corner, and there was a look in his eye -old Sam did not like. When he was within five yards the -soldier raised his rifle and pointed it at Sam’s body. Some -instinct impelled the old man at that instant to throw himself -forward on his face. As he did so he was aware of a terrible -explosion, and he had just time to observe the soldier falling in -a heap near him, and then he lost consciousness.</p> - -<p class='c019'>His consciousness appeared to return to him with a snap. -He was lying on a plank in a building, and he heard some one -say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I believe the old boy’s English.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>He looked round. There were a lot of men lying there, and -others in khaki and white overalls were busy among them. He -sat up, rubbed his head, and said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hi, Mister, where be I now?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Some one laughed, and a young man came up and said: -“Well, old man, you were very nearly in hell. Who are -you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Some one came up, and two of them were discussing him. -One of them said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He’s quite all right. He was only knocked out. Better -take him in to the colonel. He may be a spy.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The other came up, touched his shoulder, and remarked:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Can you walk, Uncle?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He replied:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Aye, I can walk all roight.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That’s an old sport!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The young man took his arm and helped him out of the room -into a courtyard. They entered another room, where an -elderly, kind-faced officer was seated at a desk. The officer -looked up and exclaimed:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Good God! Bradshaw, do you know who you’ve got -there?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The younger one said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No. Who, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s Paul Jouperts!” exclaimed the colonel.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Paul Jouperts! Great Scott!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The older officer addressed himself to Sam. He said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, we’ve got you once more, Paul. We shall have to -be a little more careful this time.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The young officer said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Shall I detail a squad, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We can’t shoot him without a court-martial,” replied the -kind-faced senior.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then Sam interpolated:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Look ’ee ’ere, sir, I’m fair’ sick of all this. My name -bean’t Paul. My name’s Sam. I was a-thinnin’ a loine o’ -turnips—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Both officers burst out laughing, and the younger one said:</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>“Good! Good! Isn’t it amazing, sir, the way they not -only learn the language, but even take the trouble to learn -a dialect!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The older man busied himself with some papers.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, Sam,” he remarked, “you shall be given a chance to -prove your identity. Our methods are less drastic than those -of your <i>Boche</i> masters. What part of England are you supposed -to come from? Let’s see how much you can bluff us -with your topographical knowledge.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was a-thinnin’ a loine o’ turnips this mornin’ at ’alf-past -seven on Mr. Hodge’s farm at Halvesham when one o’ -these ’ere airyplanes come down among the swedes. I tells ’e -to get clear o’ that, when the feller what gets out o’ the car -’e drahs a revowlver and ’e says, ‘You must ’company I—’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, yes,” interrupted the senior officer; “that’s all very -good. Now tell me—where is Halvesham? What is the name -of the local vicar? I’m sure you’d know that.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Old Sam rubbed his chin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I sits under the Reverend David Pryce, Mister, and a good, -God-fearin’ man he be. I took him a cookin’ o’ runner beans -on’y yesterday. I works for Mr. Hodge, what owns Greenway -Manor and ’as a stud-farm at Newmarket, they say.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Charles Hodge?” asked the young officer.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Aye, Charlie Hodge. You write and ask un if he knows -old Sam Gates.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The two officers looked at each other, and the older one -looked at Sam more closely.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s very extraordinary,” he remarked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Everybody knows Charlie Hodge,” added the young -officer.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was at that moment that a wave of genius swept over old -Sam. He put his hand to his head, and suddenly jerked out:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What’s more, I can tell ’ee where this yere Paul is. He’s -actin’ a gardener in a convent at—” He puckered up his -brows, fumbled with his hat, and then got out, “Mighteno.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The older officer gasped.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mailleton-en-haut! Good God! what makes you say that, -old man?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>Sam tried to give an account of his experience and the -things he had heard said by the German officers; but he was -getting tired, and he broke off in the middle to say:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ye haven’t a bite o’ somethin’ to eat, I suppose, Mister; -or a glass o’ beer? I usually ’as my dinner at twelve -o’clock.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Both the officers laughed, and the older said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Get him some food, Bradshaw, and a bottle of beer from -the mess. We’ll keep this old man here. He interests me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>While the younger man was doing this, the chief pressed a -button and summoned another junior officer.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Gateshead,” he remarked, “ring up the G.H.Q. and -instruct them to arrest the gardener in that convent at the -top of the hill and then to report.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The officer saluted and went out, and in a few minutes a -tray of hot food and a large bottle of beer were brought to the -old man, and he was left alone in the corner of the room to -negotiate this welcome compensation. And in the execution -he did himself and his county credit. In the meanwhile the -officers were very busy. People were coming and going and -examining maps, and telephone bells were ringing furiously. -They did not disturb old Sam’s gastric operations. He -cleaned up the mess tins and finished the last drop of beer. -The senior officer found time to offer him a cigarette, but he -replied:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Thank ’ee kindly, sir, but I’d rather smoke my pipe.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The colonel smiled and said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, all right; smoke away.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He lighted up, and the fumes of the shag permeated the -room. Some one opened another window, and the young -officer who had addressed him at first suddenly looked at him -and exclaimed:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Innocent! You couldn’t get shag like that anywhere -but in Norfolk.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It must have been an hour later when another officer entered -and saluted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Message from the G.H.Q., sir,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>“They have arrested the gardener at the convent of St. -Eloise, and they have every reason to believe that he is the -notorious Paul Jouperts.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The colonel stood up, and his eyes beamed. He came over to -old Sam and shook his hand.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mr. Gates,” he said, “you are an old brick. You will -probably hear more of this. You have probably been the -means of delivering something very useful into our hands. -Your own honor is vindicated. A loving Government will -probably award you five shillings or a Victoria Cross or something -of that sort. In the meantime, what can I do for you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Old Sam scratched his chin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I want to get back ’ome,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, even that might be arranged.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I want to get back ’ome in toime for tea.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What time do you have tea?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Foive o’clock or thereabouts.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I see.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>A kindly smile came into the eyes of the colonel. He turned -to another officer standing by the table and said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Raikes, is any one going across this afternoon with -dispatches?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, sir,” replied the other officer. “Commander Jennings -is leaving at three o’clock.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You might ask him if he could see me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Within ten minutes a young man in a flight-commander’s -uniform entered.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah, Jennings,” said the colonel, “here is a little affair -which concerns the honor of the British army. My friend -here, Sam Gates, has come over from Halvesham, in Norfolk, -in order to give us valuable information. I have promised -him that he shall get home to tea at five o’clock. Can you -take a passenger?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The young man threw back his head and laughed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Lord!” he exclaimed, “what an old sport! Yes, I expect -I can manage it. Where is the forsaken place?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>A large ordnance-map of Norfolk (which had been captured -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>from a German officer) was produced, and the young man -studied it closely.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At three o’clock precisely old Sam, finding himself something -of a hero and quite glad to escape from the embarrassment -which this position entailed upon him, once more sped -skyward in a “dratted airyplane.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>At twenty minutes to five he landed once more among Mr. -Hodge’s swedes. The breezy young airman shook hands with -him and departed inland. Old Sam sat down and surveyed -the familiar field of turnips.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A noice thing, I must say!” he muttered to himself as he -looked along the lines of unthinned turnips. He still had -twenty minutes, and so he went slowly along and completed -a line which he had begun in the morning. He then deliberately -packed up his dinner-things and his tools and started -out for home.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As he came round the corner of Stillway’s meadow and the -cottage came in view, his niece stepped out of the copse with -a basket on her arm.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, Uncle,” she said, “is there any noos?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was then that old Sam really lost his temper.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Noos!” he said. “Noos! Drat the girl! What noos -should there be? Sixty-nine year’ I live in these ’ere parts, -hoein’ and weedin’ and thinnin’, and mindin’ Charlie Hodge’s -sheep. Am I one o’ these ’ere story-book folk havin’ noos -’appen to me all the time? Ain’t it enough, ye silly, dab-faced -zany, to earn enough to buy a bite o’ some’at to eat -and a glass o’ beer and a place to rest a’s head o’night without -always wantin’ noos, noos, noos! I tell ’ee it’s this that leads -’ee to ’alf the troubles in the world. Devil take the noos!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And turning his back on her, he went fuming up the hill.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span> - <h2 class='c004'>MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER<br /><span class='c025'>By RUDYARD KIPLING</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>Once</span> upon a time there was a coffee-planter in India who -wished to clear some forest land for coffee-planting. When he -had cut down all the trees and burned the underwood the -stumps still remained. Dynamite is expensive and slow fire -slow. The happy medium for stump-clearing is the lord of all -beasts, who is the elephant. He will either push the stump out -of the ground with his tusks, if he has any, or drag it out -with ropes. The planter, therefore, hired elephants by ones -and twos and threes, and fell to work. The very best of all the -elephants belonged to the very worst of all the drivers or -mahouts; and the superior beast’s name was Moti Guj. He -was the absolute property of his mahout, which would never -have been the case under native rule: for Moti Guj was a -creature to be desired by kings; and his name, being translated, -meant the Pearl Elephant. Because the British government -was in the land, Deesa, the mahout, enjoyed his property -undisturbed. He was dissipated. When he had made -much money through the strength of his elephant, he would -get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with a tent-peg -over the tender nails of the forefeet. Moti Guj never -trampled the life out of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew -that after the beating was over, Deesa would embrace his trunk -and weep and call him his love and his life and the liver of his -soul, and give him some liquor. Moti Guj was very fond or -liquor—arrack for choice, though he would drink palm-tree -toddy if nothing better offered. Then Deesa would go to sleep -between Moti Guj’s forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose -the middle of the public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard -<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>over him and would not permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, -traffic was congested till Deesa saw fit to wake up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter’s clearing: -the wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat on Moti -Guj’s neck and gave him orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the -stumps—for he owned a magnificent pair of tusks; or pulled -at the end of a rope—for he had a magnificent pair of shoulders, -while Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said he was -the king of elephants. At evening time Moti Guj would wash -down his three hundred pounds’ weight of green food with a -quart of arrack, and Deesa would take a share and sing songs -between Moti Guj’s legs till it was time to go to bed. Once -a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river, and Moti Guj -lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesa went -over him with a coir swab and a brick. Moti Guj never -mistook the pounding blow of the latter for the smack of the -former that warned him to get up and turn over on the other -side. Then Deesa would look at his feet, examine his eyes, -and turn up the fringes of his mighty ears in case of sores or -budding ophthalmia. After inspection, the two would “come -up with a song from the sea,” Moti Guj all black and shining, -waving a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and -Deesa knotting up his own long wet hair.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return of -the desire to drink deep. He wished for an orgy. The little -draughts that led nowhere were taking the manhood out of -him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He went to the planter, and “My mother’s dead,” said he, -weeping.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She died on the last plantation two months ago, and she -died once before that when you were working for me last -year,” said the planter, who knew something of the ways of -nativedom.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then it’s my aunt, and she was just the same as a mother -to me,” said Deesa, weeping more than ever. “She has left -eighteen small children entirely without bread, and it is I -who must fill their little stomachs,” said Deesa, beating his -head on the floor.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>“Who brought you the news?” said the planter.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The post,” said Deesa.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There hasn’t been a post here for the past week. Get -back to your lines!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and all -my wives are dying,” yelled Deesa, really in tears this time.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa’s village,” said the -planter. “Chihun, has this man got a wife?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He!” said Chihun. “No. Not a woman of our village -would look at him. They’d sooner marry the elephant.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and bellowed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You will get into a difficulty in a minute,” said the -planter. “Go back to your work!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now I will speak Heaven’s truth,” gulped Deesa, with an -inspiration. “I haven’t been drunk for two months. I desire -to depart in order to get properly drunk afar off and distant -from this heavenly plantation. Thus I shall cause no -trouble.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>A flickering smile crossed the planter’s face. “Deesa,” -said he, “you’ve spoken the truth, and I’d give you leave on -the spot if anything could be done with Moti Guj while you’re -away. You know that he will only obey your orders.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“May the light of the heavens live forty thousand years. I -shall be absent but ten little days. After that, upon my faith -and honor and soul, I return. As to the inconsiderable interval, -have I the gracious permission of the heaven-born to call -up Moti Guj?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Permission was granted, and in answer to Deesa’s shrill yell, -the mighty tusker swung out of the shade of a clump of trees -where he had been squirting dust over himself till his master -should return.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Light of my heart, protector of the drunken, mountain of -might, give ear!” said Deesa, standing in front of him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj gave ear, and saluted with his trunk. “I am -going away,” said Deesa.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj’s eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts as well as his -master. One could snatch all manner of nice things from the -roadside then.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>“But you, you fussy old pig, must stay behind and work.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look delighted. -He hated stump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his teeth.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I shall be gone for ten days, O delectable one. Hold up -your near forefoot and I’ll impress the fact upon it, warty -toad of a dried mud-puddle.” Deesa took a tent-peg and -banged Moti Guj ten times on the nails. Moti Guj grunted -and shuffled from foot to foot.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ten days,” said Deesa, “you will work and haul and root -the trees as Chihun here shall order you. Take up Chihun -and set him on your neck!” Moti Guj curled the tip of his -trunk, Chihun put his foot there and was swung on to the -neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy <i>ankus</i>—the iron elephant -goad.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Chihun thumped Moti Guj’s bald head as a paver thumps -a curbstone.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj trumpeted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Be still, hog of the backwoods! Chihun’s your mahout -for ten days. And now bid me good-by, beast after mine own -heart. Oh, my lord, my king! Jewel of all created elephants, -lily of the herd, preserve your honored health; be virtuous. -Adieu!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him into -the air twice. This was his way of bidding him good-by.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He’ll work now,” said Deesa to the planter. “Have I -leave to go?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. Moti -Guj went back to haul stumps.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Chihun was very kind to him, but he felt unhappy and -forlorn for all that. Chihun gave him a ball of spices, and -tickled him under the chin, and Chihun’s little baby cooed to -him after work was over, and Chihun’s wife called him a -darling; but Moti Guj was a bachelor by instinct, as Deesa -was. He did not understand the domestic emotions. He -wanted the light of his universe back again—the drink and -the drunken slumber, the savage beatings and the savage -caresses.</p> - -<p class='c019'>None the less he worked well, and the planter wondered. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>Deesa had wandered along the roads till he met a marriage -procession of his own caste and, drinking, dancing, and tippling, -had drifted with it past all knowledge of the lapse of -time.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The morning of the eleventh day dawned, and there returned -no Deesa. Moti Guj was loosed from his ropes for the -daily stint. He swung clear, looked round, shrugged his -shoulders, and began to walk away, as one having business -elsewhere.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hi! ho! Come back, you,” shouted Chihun. “Come back -and put me on your neck, misborn mountain! Return, splendor -of the hillsides! Adornment of all India, heave to, or -I’ll bang every toe off your fat forefoot!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. Chihun ran -after him with a rope and caught him up. Moti Guj put -his ears forward, and Chihun knew what that meant, though -he tried to carry it off with high words.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“None of your nonsense with me,” said he. “To your -pickets, devil-son.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hrrump!” said Moti Guj, and that was all—that and the -forebent ears.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chewed a branch for -a toothpick, and strolled about the clearing, making fun of the -other elephants, who had just set to work.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Chihun reported the state of affairs to the planter, who -came out with a dog-whip and cracked it furiously. Moti -Guj paid the white man the compliment of charging him -nearly a quarter of a mile across the clearing and “Hrrumping” -him into his veranda. Then he stood outside the house -chuckling to himself, and shaking all over with the fun of it, -as an elephant will.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We’ll thrash him,” said the planter. “He shall have the -finest thrashing ever elephant received. Give Kala Nag and -Nazim twelve foot of chain apiece, and tell them to lay on -twenty blows.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Kala Nag—which means Black Snake—and Nazim were two -of the biggest elephants in the lines, and one of their duties -<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>was to administer the graver punishments, since no man can -beat an elephant properly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>They took the whipping-chains and rattled them in their -trunks as they sidled up to Moti Guj, meaning to hustle him -between them. Moti Guj had never, in all his life of thirty-nine -years, been whipped, and he did not intend to begin a new -experience. So he waited, waving his head from right to left, -and measuring the precise spot in Kala Nag’s fat hide where -a blunt tusk would sink deepest. Kala Nag had no tusks; the -chain was the badge of his authority; but for all that, he -swung wide of Moti Guj at the last minute, and tried to appear -as if he had brought the chain out for amusement. Nazim -turned round and went home early. He did not feel fighting -fit that morning, and so Moti Guj was left standing alone with -his ears cocked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>That decided the planter to argue no more, and Moti Guj -rolled back to his inspection of the clearing. An elephant who -will not work, and is not tied up, is about as manageable as -an eighty-one-ton gun loose in a heavy seaway. He slapped -old friends on the back and asked them if the stumps were -coming away easily; he talked nonsense concerning labor and -the inalienable rights of elephants to a long “nooning”; and, -wandering to and fro, he thoroughly demoralized the garden -till sundown, when he returned to his pickets for food.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“If you won’t work, you shan’t eat,” said Chihun angrily. -“You’re a wild elephant, and no educated animal at all. Go -back to your jungle.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Chihun’s little brown baby was rolling on the floor of the -hut, and stretching out its fat arms to the huge shadow in -the doorway. Moti Guj knew well that it was the dearest -thing on earth to Chihun. He swung out his trunk with a fascinating -crook at the end, and the brown baby threw itself -shouting upon it. Moti Guj made fast and pulled up till the -brown baby was crowing in the air twelve feet above his -father’s head.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Great Lord!” said Chihun. “Flour cakes of the best, -twelve in number, two feet across, and soaked in rum, shall be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>yours on the instant, and two hundred pounds’ weight of -fresh-cut young sugar-cane therewith. Deign only to put -down safely that insignificant brat who is my heart and my -life to me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfortably between his -forefeet, that could have knocked into toothpicks all Chihun’s -hut, and waited for his food. He ate it, and the brown baby -crawled away. Moti Guj dozed, and thought of Deesa. One -of many mysteries connected with the elephant is that his huge -body needs less sleep than anything else that lives. Four or -five hours in the night suffice—two just before midnight, -lying down on one side; two just after one o’clock, lying down -on the other. The rest of the silent hours are filled with -eating and fidgeting and long grumbling soliloquies.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode out of his pickets, -for a thought had come to him that Deesa might be lying -drunk somewhere in the dark forest with none to look after -him. So all that night he chased through the undergrowth, -blowing and trumpeting and shaking his ears. He went down -to the river and blared across the shallows where Deesa used -to wash him, and there was no answer. He could not find -Deesa, but he disturbed all the other elephants in the lines, -and nearly frightened to death some gypsies in the woods.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. He had been -very drunk indeed, and he expected to get into trouble for -outstaying his leave. He drew a long breath when he saw -that the bungalow and the plantation were still uninjured, for -he knew something of Moti Guj’s temper, and reported himself -with many lies and salaams. Moti Guj had gone to his pickets -for breakfast. The night exercise had made him hungry.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Call up your beast,” said the planter, and Deesa shouted -in the mysterious elephant language, that some mahouts -believe came from China at the birth of the world, when elephants -and not men were masters. Moti Guj heard and came. -Elephants do not gallop. They move from places at varying -rates of speed. If an elephant wished to catch an express -train he could not gallop, but he could catch the train. So -Moti Guj was at the planter’s door almost before Chihun -<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>noticed that he had left his pickets. He fell into Deesa’s -arms trumpeting with joy, and the man and beast wept and -slobbered over each other, and handled each other from head to -heel to see that no harm had befallen.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now we will get to work,” said Deesa. “Lift me up, -my son and my joy.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Moti Guj swung him up and the two went to the coffee-clearing -to look for difficult stumps.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The planter was too astonished to be very angry.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span> - <h2 class='c004'>GULLIVER THE GREAT<br /><span class='c025'>By WALTER A. DYER</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a mild evening in early spring, and the magnolias -were in bloom. We motored around the park, turned up -a side street, and finally came to a throbbing standstill before -the Churchwarden Club.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was nothing about its exterior to indicate that it -was a clubhouse at all, but within there was an indefinable -atmosphere of early Victorian comfort. There was something -about it that suggested Mr. Pickwick. Old prints of -horses and ships and battles hung upon the walls, and the -oak was dark and old. There seemed to be no decorative -scheme or keynote, and yet the atmosphere was utterly distinctive. -It was my first visit to the Churchwarden Club, -of which my quaint, old-fashioned Uncle Ford had long been -a member, and I was charmed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>We dined in the rathskeller, the walls of which were completely -covered with long churchwarden pipes, arranged in -the most intricate and marvelous patterns; and after our -mutton-chop and ale and plum pudding, we filled with the -choicest of tobaccos the pipes which the old major-domo -brought us.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then came Jacob R. Enderby to smoke with us.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Tall and spare he was, with long, straight, black hair, large, -aquiline nose, and piercing eyes. I disgraced myself by staring -at him. I didn’t know that such a man existed in New -York, and yet I couldn’t decide whether his habitat should -be Arizona or Cape Cod.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Enderby and Uncle Ford were deep in a discussion of the -statesmanship of James G. Blaine, when a waiter summoned -my uncle to the telephone.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I neglected to state that my uncle, in his prosaic hours, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>is a physician; and this was a call. I knew it the moment I -saw the waiter approaching. I was disappointed and disgusted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Uncle Ford saw this and laughed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Cheer up!” said he. “You needn’t come with me to -visit the sick. I’ll be back in an hour, and meanwhile Mr. -Enderby will take care of you; won’t you, Jake?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>For answer Enderby arose, and refilling his pipe took me -by the arm, while my uncle got into his overcoat. As he -passed us on the way out he whispered in my ear:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Talk about dogs.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I heard and nodded.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Enderby led me to the lounge or loafing-room, an oak-paneled -apartment in the rear of the floor above, with huge -leather chairs and a seat in the bay window. Save for a -gray-haired old chap dozing over a copy of <i>Simplicissimus</i>, -the room was deserted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But no sooner had Enderby seated himself on the window-seat -than there was a rush and a commotion, and a short, glad -bark, and Nubbins, the steward’s bull-terrier, bounded in and -landed at Enderby’s side with canine expressions of great -joy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I reached forward to pat him, but he paid absolutely no attention -to me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At last his wriggling subsided, and he settled down with -his head on Enderby’s knee, the picture of content. Then I -recalled my uncle’s parting injunction.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Friend of yours?” I suggested.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Enderby smiled. “Yes,” he said, “we’re friends, I guess. -And the funny part of it is that he doesn’t pay any attention -to any one else except his master. They all act that way -with me, dogs do.” And he pulled Nubbins’s stubby ears.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Natural attraction, I suppose,” said I.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, it is,” he answered, with the modest frankness of a -big man. “It’s a thing hard to explain, though there’s a -sort of reason for it in my case.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I pushed toward him a little tobacco-laden teak-wood stand -hopefully. He refilled and lighted.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>“It’s an extraordinary thing, even so,” he said, puffing. -“Every dog nowadays seems to look upon me as his long-lost -master, but it wasn’t always so. I hated dogs and they -hated me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Not wishing to say “Really” or “Indeed” to this big, outdoor -man, I simply grunted my surprise.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, we were born enemies. More than that, I was afraid -of dogs. A little fuzzy toy dog, ambling up to me in a room -full of company, with his tail wagging, gave me the shudders. -I couldn’t touch the beast. And as for big dogs outdoors, I -feared them like the plague. I would go blocks out of my -way to avoid one.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t remember being particularly cowardly about other -things, but I just couldn’t help this. It was in my blood, for -some reason or other. It was the bane of my existence. I -couldn’t see what the brutes were put into the world for, or -how any one could have anything to do with them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And the dogs reciprocated. They disliked and distrusted -me. The most docile old Brunos would growl and show their -teeth when I came near.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Did the change come suddenly?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Quite. It was in 1901. I accepted a commission from an -importing and trading company to go to the Philippines to -do a little quiet exploring, and spent four months in the -sickly place. Then I got the fever, and when I recovered -I couldn’t get out of there too soon.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I reached Manila just in time to see the mail steamer -disappearing around the point, and I was mad. There would -be another in six days, but I couldn’t wait. I was just crazy -to get back home.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I made inquiries and learned of an old tramp steamer, -named the <i>Old Squaw</i>, making ready to leave for Honolulu -on the following day with a cargo of hemp and stuff, and a -bunch of Moros for some show in the States, and I booked -passage on that.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She was the worst old tub you ever saw. I didn’t learn -much about her, but I verily believe her to have been a condemned -<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>excursion boat. She wouldn’t have been allowed to -run to Coney Island.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She was battered and unpainted, and she wallowed horribly. -I don’t believe she could have reached Honolulu much -before the next regular boat, but I couldn’t wait, and I took -her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I made myself as comfortable as possible, bribed the cook -to insure myself against starvation, and swung a hammock -on the forward deck as far as possible from the worst of the -vile smells.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But we hadn’t lost sight of Manila Bay when I discovered -that there was a dog aboard—and such a dog! I had never -seen one that sent me into such a panic as this one, and he had -free range of the ship. A Great Dane he was, named Gulliver, -and he was the pride of the captain’s rum-soaked heart.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“With all my fear, I realized he was a magnificent animal, -but I looked on him as a gigantic devil. Without exception, -he was the biggest dog I ever saw, and as muscular as a lion. -He lacked some points that show judges set store by, but he -had the size and the build.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have seen Vohl’s Vulcan and the Wurtemburg breed, but -they were fox-terriers compared with Gulliver. His tail was -as big around as my arm, and the cook lived in terror of his -getting into the galley and wagging it; and he had a mouth -that looked to me like the crater of Mauna Loa, and a voice -that shook the planking when he spoke.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I first caught sight of him appearing from behind a huge -coil of cordage in the stern. He stretched and yawned, and -I nearly died of fright.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I caught up a belaying-pin, though little good that would -have done me. I think he saw me do it, and doubtless he -set me down for an enemy then and there.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We were well out of the harbor, and there was no turning -back, but I would have given my right hand to be off that -boat. I fully expected him to eat me up, and I slept with that -belaying-pin sticking into my ribs in the hammock, and with -my revolver loaded and handy.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>“Fortunately, Gulliver’s dislike for me took the form of -sublime contempt. He knew I was afraid of him, and he -despised me for it. He was a great pet with the captain and -crew, and even the Moros treated him with admiring respect -when they were allowed on deck. I couldn’t understand it. -I would as soon have made a pet of a hungry boa-constrictor.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“On the third day out the poor old boiler burst and the -<i>Old Squaw</i> caught fire. She was dry and rotten inside and -she burned like tinder. No attempt was made to extinguish -the flames, which got into the hemp in the hold in short order.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The smoke was stifling, and in a jiffy all hands were -struggling with the boats. The Moros came tumbling up -from below and added to the confusion with their terrified -yells.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The davits were old and rusty, and the men were soon -fighting among themselves. One boat dropped stern foremost, -filled, and sank immediately, and the <i>Old Squaw</i> herself -was visibly settling.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I saw there was no chance of getting away in the boats, -and I recalled a life-raft on the deck forward near my hammock. -It was a sort of catamaran—a double platform on a -pair of hollow, water-tight, cylindrical buoys. It wasn’t -twenty feet long and about half as broad, but it would have -to do. I fancy it was a forgotten relic of the old excursion-boat -days.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There was no time to lose, for the <i>Old Squaw</i> was bound -to sink presently. Besides, I was aft with the rest, and the -flames were licking up the deck and running-gear in the waist -of the boat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The galley, which was amidships near the engine-room, -had received the full force of the explosion, and the cook lay -moaning in the lee scuppers with a small water-cask thumping -against his chest. I couldn’t stop to help the man, but I -did kick the cask away.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It seemed to be nearly full, and it occurred to me that -I should need it. I glanced quickly around, and luckily -found a tin of biscuits that had also been blown out of the -galley. I picked this up, and rolling the cask of water ahead -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>of me as rapidly as I could, I made my way through the hot, -stifling smoke to the bow of the boat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I kicked at the life-raft; it seemed to be sound, and I -lashed the biscuits and water to it. I also threw on a coil of -rope and a piece of sail-cloth. I saw nothing else about -that could possibly be of any value to me. I abandoned my -trunk for fear it would only prove troublesome.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then I hacked the raft loose with my knife and shoved -it over to the bulwark. Apparently no one had seen me, for -there was no one else forward of the sheet of flame that now -cut the boat in two.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The raft was a mighty heavy affair, but I managed to -raise one end to the rail. I don’t believe I would ever have -been able to heave it over under any circumstances, but I -didn’t have to.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I felt a great upheaval, and the prow of the <i>Old Squaw</i> -went up into the air. I grabbed the ropes that I had lashed -the food on with and clung to the raft. The deck became almost -perpendicular, and it was a miracle that the raft didn’t -slide down with me into the flames. Somehow it stuck where -it was.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then the boat sank with a great roar, and for about a -thousand years, it seemed to me, I was under water. I didn’t -do anything. I couldn’t think.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was only conscious of a tremendous weight of water and -a feeling that I would burst open. Instinct alone made me -cling to the raft.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“When it finally brought me to the surface I was as nearly -dead as I care to be. I lay there on the thing in a half-conscious -condition for an endless time. If my life had depended -on my doing something, I would have been lost.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then gradually I came to, and began to spit out salt -water and gasp for breath. I gathered my wits together and -sat up. My hands were absolutely numb, and I had to loosen -the grip of my fingers with the help of my toes. Odd sensation.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then I looked about me. My biscuits and water and -rope were safe, but the sail-cloth had vanished. I remember -<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>that this annoyed me hugely at the time, though I don’t know -what earthly good it would have been.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The sea was fairly calm, and I could see all about. Not -a human being was visible, only a few floating bits of wreckage. -Every man on board must have gone down with the -ship and drowned, except myself.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then I caught sight of something that made my heart -stand still. The huge head of Gulliver was coming rapidly -toward me through the water!</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The dog was swimming strongly, and must have leaped -from the <i>Old Squaw</i> before she sank. My raft was the -only thing afloat large enough to hold him, and he knew -it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I drew my revolver, but it was soaking wet and useless. -Then I sat down on the cracker-tin and gritted my teeth -and waited. I had been alarmed, I must admit, when the -boiler blew up and the panic began, but that was nothing -to the terror that seized me now.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Here I was all alone on the top of the Pacific Ocean with -a horrible demon making for me as fast as he could swim. -My mind was benumbed, and I could think of nothing to do. -I trembled and my teeth rattled. I prayed for a shark, but -no shark came.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Soon Gulliver reached the raft and placed one of his forepaws -on it and then the other. The top of it stood six or -eight inches above the water, and it took a great effort for -the dog to raise himself. I wanted to kick him back, but I -didn’t dare to move.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Gulliver struggled mightily. Again and again he reared -his great shoulders above the sea, only to be cast back, scratching -and kicking, at a lurch of the raft.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Finally a wave favored him, and he caught the edge of -the under platform with one of his hind feet. With a stupendous -effort he heaved his huge bulk over the edge and lay -sprawling at my feet, panting and trembling.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Enderby paused and gazed out of the window with a big -sigh, as though the recital of his story had brought back -some of the horror of his remarkable experience.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>Nubbins looked up inquiringly, and then snuggled closer -to his friend, while Enderby smoothed the white head.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well,” he continued, “there we were. You can’t possibly -imagine how I felt unless you, too, have been afflicted with -dog-fear. It was awful. And I hated the brute so. I could -have torn him limb from limb if I had had the strength. -But he was vastly more powerful than I. I could only fear -him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“By and by he got up and shook himself. I cowered on -my cracker-tin, but he only looked at me contemptuously, went -to the other end of the raft, and lay down to wait patiently -for deliverance.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We remained this way until nightfall. The sea was -comparatively calm, and we seemed to be drifting but slowly. -We were in the path of ships likely to be passing one way or -the other, and I would have been hopeful of the outcome if it -had not been for my feared and hated companion.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I began to feel faint, and opened the cracker-tin. The -biscuits were wet with salt water, but I ate a couple, and -left the cover of the tin open to dry them. Gulliver looked -around, and I shut the tin hastily. But the dog never moved. -He was not disposed to ask any favors. By kicking the sides -of the cask and prying with my knife, I managed to get the -bung out and took a drink. Then I settled myself on the raft -with my back against the cask, and longed for a smoke.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The gentle motion of the raft produced a lulling effect on -my exhausted nerves, and I began to nod, only to awake with -a start, with fear gripping at my heart. I dared not sleep. I -don’t know what I thought Gulliver would do to me, for I -did not understand dogs, but I felt that I must watch him constantly. -In the starlight I could see that his eyes were open. -Gulliver was watchful too.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“All night long I kept up a running fight with drowsiness. -I dozed at intervals, but never for long at a time. It was a -horrible night, and I cannot tell you how I longed for day and -welcomed it when it came.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I must have slept toward dawn, for I suddenly became -conscious of broad daylight. I roused myself, stood up, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>swung my arms and legs to stir up circulation, for the night -had been chilly. Gulliver arose, too, and stood silently watching -me until I ceased for fear. When he had settled down -again I got my breakfast out of the cracker-tin. Gulliver was -restless, and was evidently interested.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘He must be hungry,’ I thought, and then a new fear -caught me. I had only to wait until he became very hungry -and then he would surely attack me. I concluded that it -would be wiser to feed him, and I tossed him a biscuit.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I expected to see him grab it ravenously, and wondered -as soon as I had thrown it if the taste of food would only -serve to make him more ferocious. But at first he would -not touch it. He only lay there with his great head on his -paws and glowered at me. Distrust was plainly visible in his -face. I had never realized before that a dog’s face could express -the subtler emotions.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“His gaze fascinated me, and I could not take my eyes -from his. The bulk of him was tremendous as he lay there, -and I noticed the big, swelling muscles of his jaw. At last he -arose, sniffed suspiciously at the biscuit, and looked up at -me again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘It’s all right; eat it!’ I cried.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The sound of my own voice frightened me. I had not intended -to speak to him. But in spite of my strained tone he -seemed somewhat reassured.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He took a little nibble, and then swallowed the biscuit -after one or two crunches, and looked up expectantly. I threw -him another and he ate that.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘That’s all,’ said I. ‘We must be sparing of them.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was amazed to discover how perfectly he understood. -He lay down again and licked his chops.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Late in the forenoon I saw a line of smoke on the horizon, -and soon a steamer hove into view. I stood up and waved my -coat frantically, but to no purpose. Gulliver stood up and -looked from me to the steamer, apparently much interested.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Too far off,’ I said to Gulliver. ‘I hope the next one -will come nearer.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“At midday I dined, and fed Gulliver. This time he took -<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>the two biscuits quite without reserve and whacked his great -tail against the raft. It seemed to me that his attitude was -less hostile, and I wondered at it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“When I took my drink from the cask, Gulliver showed -signs of interest.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘I suppose dogs get thirsty, too,’ I said aloud.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Gulliver rapped with his tail. I looked about for some -sort of receptacle, and finally pulled off my shoe, filled it with -water, and shoved it toward him with my foot. He drank -gratefully.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“During the afternoon I sighted another ship, but it was -too distant to notice me. However, the sea remained calm and -I did not despair.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“After we had had supper, I settled back against my cask, -resolved to keep awake, for still I did not trust Gulliver. The -sun set suddenly and the stars came out, and I found myself -strangely lonesome. It seemed as though I had been alone out -there on the Pacific for weeks. The miles and miles of heaving -waters, almost on a level with my eye, were beginning to -get on my nerves. I longed for some one to talk to, and -wished I had dragged the half-breed cook along with me for -company. I sighed loudly, and Gulliver raised his head.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Lonesome out here, isn’t it?’ I said, simply to hear the -sound of my own voice.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then for the first time Gulliver spoke. He made a deep -sound in his throat, but it wasn’t a growl, and with all my -ignorance of dog language I knew it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then I began to talk. I talked about everything—the -people back home and all that—and Gulliver listened. I know -more about dogs now, and I know that the best way to make -friends with a dog is to talk to him. He can’t talk back, but -he can understand a heap more than you think he can.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Finally Gulliver, who had kept his distance all this time, -arose and came toward me. My words died in my throat. -What was he going to do? To my immense relief he did nothing -but sink down at my feet with a grunt and curl his huge -body into a semicircle. He had dignity, Gulliver had. He -wanted to be friendly, but he would not presume. However, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>I had lost interest in conversation, and sat watching him and -wondering.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“In spite of my firm resolution, I fell asleep at length from -sheer exhaustion, and never woke until daybreak. The sky -was clouded and our craft was pitching. Gulliver was standing -in the middle of the raft, looking at me in evident alarm. -I glanced over my shoulder, and the blackness of the horizon -told me that a storm was coming, and coming soon.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I made fast our slender provender, tied the end of a line -about my own waist for safety, and waited.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“In a short time the storm struck us in all its tropical fury. -The raft pitched and tossed, now high up at one end, and now -at the other, and sometimes almost engulfed in the waves.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Gulliver was having a desperate time to keep aboard. His -blunt claws slipped on the wet deck of the raft, and he fell -and slid about dangerously. The thought flashed across my -mind that the storm might prove to be a blessing in disguise, -and that I might soon be rid of the brute.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“As I clung there to the lashings, I saw him slip down to -the further end of the raft, his hind quarters actually over -the edge. A wave swept over him, but still he clung, panting -madly. Then the raft righted itself for a moment, and as -he hung there he gave me a look I shall never forget—a look -of fear, of pleading, of reproach, and yet of silent courage. -And with all my stupidity I read that look. Somehow it -told me that I was the master, after all, and he the dog. I -could not resist it. Cautiously I raised myself and loosened -the spare rope I had saved. As the raft tipped the other -way Gulliver regained his footing and came sliding toward -me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Quickly I passed the rope around his body, and as the -raft dived again I hung on to the rope with one hand, retaining -my own hold with the other. Gulliver’s great weight -nearly pulled my arm from its socket, but he helped mightily, -and during the next moment of equilibrium I took another -turn about his body and made the end of the rope fast.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The storm passed as swiftly as it had come, and though -it left us drenched and exhausted, we were both safe.</p> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i102a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>“That evening Gulliver crept close to me as I talked, and -I let him. Loneliness will make a man do strange things.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“On the fifth day, when our provisions were nearly gone, -and I had begun to feel the sinking dullness of despair, I -sighted a steamer apparently coming directly toward us. Instantly -I felt new life in my limbs and around my heart, and -while the boat was yet miles away I began to shout and to -wave my coat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘I believe she’s coming, old man!’ I cried to Gulliver; -‘I believe she’s coming!’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I soon wearied of this foolishness and sat down to wait. -Gulliver came close and sat beside me, and for the first -time I put my hand on him. He looked up at me and rapped -furiously with his tail. I patted his head—a little gingerly, -I must confess.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It was a big, smooth head, and it felt solid and strong. I -passed my hand down his neck, his back, his flanks. He -seemed to quiver with joy. He leaned his huge body against -me. Then he bowed his head and licked my shoe.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A feeling of intense shame and unworthiness came over -me, with the realization of how completely I had misunderstood -him. Why should this great, powerful creature lick -my shoe? It was incredible.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then, somehow, everything changed. Fear and distrust -left me, and a feeling of comradeship and understanding -took their place. We two had been through so much together. -A dog was no longer a frightful beast to me; he was a dog! -I cannot think of a nobler word. And Gulliver had licked -my shoe! Doubtless it was only the fineness of his perception -that had prevented him from licking my hand. I might have -resented that. I put my arms suddenly around Gulliver’s -neck and hugged him. I loved that dog!</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Slowly, slowly, the steamer crawled along, but still she -kept to her course. When she was about a mile away, however, -I saw that she would not pass as near to us as I had -hoped; so I began once more my waving and yelling. She -came nearer, nearer, but still showed no sign of observing us.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She was abreast of us and passing. I was in a frenzy!</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>“She was so near that I could make out the figure of the -captain on the bridge, and other figures on the deck below. It -seemed as though they must see us, though I realized how low -in the water we stood, and how pitifully weak and hoarse my -voice was. I had been a fool to waste it. Then an idea struck -me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Speak!’ I cried to Gulliver, who stood watching beside -me. ‘Speak, old man!’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Gulliver needed no second bidding. A roar like that of -all the bulls of Bashan rolled out over the blue Pacific. Again -and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful. His -great sides heaved with the mighty effort, his red, cavernous -mouth open, and his head raised high.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Good, old man!’ I cried. ‘Good!’ And again that -magnificent voice boomed forth.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then something happened on board the steamer. The -figures came to the side. I waved my coat and danced. Then -they saw us.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was pretty well done up when they took us aboard, and -I slept for twenty-four hours straight. When I awoke there -sat Gulliver by my bunk, and when I turned to look at him -he lifted a great paw and put it on my arm.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Enderby ceased, and there was silence in the room save for -the light snoring of Nubbins.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You took him home with you, I suppose?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Enderby nodded.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And you have him still?” I certainly wanted to have a -look at that dog.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But he did not answer. I saw an expression of great sadness -come into his eyes as he gazed out of the window, and I -knew that Jacob Enderby had finished his story.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span> - <h2 class='c004'>SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’<br /><span class='c025'>By RUTH McENERY STUART<br /> <br />A Monologue</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>Well</span>, sir, we’re tryin’ to edjercate him—good ez we can. -Th’ ain’t never been a edjercational advantage come in reach -of us but we’ve give it to him. Of co’se he’s all we’ve got, -that one boy is, an’ wife an’ me, why, we feel the same way -about it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>They’s three schools in the county, an’ we send him to all -three.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sir? Oh, yas, sir; he b’longs to all three schools—to <i>fo’</i>, -for that matter, countin’ the home school.</p> - -<p class='c019'>You see, Sonny he’s purty ticklish to handle, an’ a person -has to know thess how to tackle him. Even wife an’ me, -thet’s been knowin’ him f’om the beginnin’, not only knowin’ -his traits, but how he <i>come</i> by ’em,—though some is hard -to trace to their so’ces,—why, sir, even we have to study sometimes -to keep in with him, an’ of co’se a teacher—why, it’s -thess hit an’ miss whether he’ll take the right tack with him -or not; an’ sometimes one teacher’ll strike it one day, an’ another -nex’ day; so by payin’ schoolin’ for him right along in -all three, why, of co’se, ef he don’t feel like goin’ to one, -why, he’ll go to another.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Once-t in a while he’ll git out with the whole of ’em, an’ -that was how wife come to open the home school for him. -She was determined his edjercation shouldn’t be interrupted -ef she could help it. She don’t encour’ge him much to go to -her school, though, ’cause it interrupts her in her housekeepin’ -consider’ble, an’ she’s had extry quilt-patchin’ on -hand ever since he come. She’s patchin’ him a set ’ginst the -time he’ll marry.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ then I reckon he frets her a good deal in school. Somehow, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>seems like he thess picks up enough in the other schools -to be able to conterdic’ her ways o’ teachin’.</p> - -<p class='c019'>F’ instance, in addin’ up a colume o’ figgers, ef she comes -to a aught—which some calls ’em naughts—she’ll say, -“Aught’s a aught,” an’ Sonny ain’t been learned to say it -that a-way; an’ so maybe when she says, “Aught’s a aught,” -he’ll say, “Who said it wasn’t?” an’ that puts her out in -countin’.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He’s been learned to thess pass over aughts an’ not call -their names; and once-t or twice-t, when wife called ’em out -that a-way, why, he got so fretted he thess gethered up his -things an’ went to another school. But seem like she’s added -aughts that a-way so long she can’t think to add ’em no other -way.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I notice nights after she’s kept school for Sonny all day -she talks consider’ble in her sleep, an’ she says, “Aught’s -a aught” about ez often ez she says anything else.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Oh, yas, sir; he’s had consider’ble fusses with his teachers, -one way an’ another, but they ever’ one declare they think a -heap of ’im.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sir? Oh, yas, sir; of co’se they all draw their reg’lar -pay whether he’s a day in school du’in’ the month or not. -That’s right enough, ’cause you see they don’t know what -day he’s li’ble to drop in on ’em, an’ it’s worth the money -thess a-keepin’ their nerves strung for ’im.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Well, yas, sir; ’t is toler’ble expensive, lookin’ at it one -way, but lookin’ at it another, it don’t cost no mo’ ’n what -it would to edjercate three child’en, which many poor families -have to do—<i>an’ more</i>—which in our united mind Sonny’s -worth ’em all.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Yas, sir; ’t is confusin’ to him in some ways, goin’ to all -three schools at once-t.</p> - -<p class='c019'>F’ instance, Miss Alviry Sawyer, which she’s a single-handed -maiden lady ’bout wife’s age, why, of co’se, she -teaches accordin’ to the old rules; an’ in learnin’ the child’en -subtraction, f’ instance, she’ll tell ’em, ef they run short to -borry one f’om the nex’ lef’ han’ top figur’, an’ pay it back -to the feller underneath him.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>Well, this didn’t suit Sonny’s sense o’ jestice <i>no way</i>, -borryin’ from one an’ payin’ back to somebody else; so he -thess up an’ argued about it—told her thet fellers thet borried -nickels f’om one another couldn’t pay back that a-way; -an’ of co’se she told him they was heap o’ difference ’twix’ -money and ’rithmetic——which I wish’t they was more in my -experience; an’ so they had it hot and heavy for a while, till -at last she explained to him thet that way of doin’ subtraction -<i>fetched the answer</i>, which, of co’se, ought to satisfy any -school-boy; an’ I reckon Sonny would soon ’a’ settled into -that way ’ceptin’ thet he got out o’ patience with that school -in sev’al ways, an’ he left an’ went out to Sandy Crik school, -and it thess happened that he struck a subtraction class there -the day he got in, an’ they was workin’ it the <i>other</i> way—borry -one from the top figur’ an’ never pay it back at all, -thess count it off (that’s the way I’ve worked my lifelong -subtraction, though wife does hers payin’ back), an’ of co’se -Sonny was ready to dispute this way, an’ he didn’t have -no mo’ tac’ than to th’ow up Miss Alviry’s way to the teacher, -which of co’se he wouldn’t stand, particular ez Miss Alviry’s -got the biggest school. So they broke up in a row, immejate, -and Sonny went right along to Miss Kellog’s school down -here at the cross-roads.</p> - -<p class='c019'>She’s a sort o’ reformed teacher, I take it; an’ she gets at -her subtraction by a new route altogether—like ez ef the -first feller thet had any surplus went sort o’ security for them -thet was short, an’ passed the loan down the line. But I noticed -he never got his money back, for when they come to him, -why, they docked him. I reckon goin’ security is purty much -the same in an out o’ books. She passes the borryin’ along -some way till it gits to headquarters, an’ writes a new row o’ -figur’s over the heads o’ the others. Well, my old brain got -so addled watchin’ Sonny work it thet I didn’t seem to know -one figur’ f’om another ’fo’ he got thoo; but when I see the -answer come, why, I was satisfied. Ef a man can thess git his -answers right all his life, why nobody ain’t a-goin’ to pester -him about how he worked his figur’s.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I did try to get Sonny to stick to one school for each rule -<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>in ’rithmetic, an’ havin’ thess fo’ schools, why he could learn -each o’ the fo’ rules by one settled plan. But he won’t -promise nothin’. He’ll quit for lessons one week, and maybe -next week somethin’ else’ll decide him. (He’s quit ever’ -one of ’em in turn when they come to long division.) He -went thoo a whole week o’ disagreeable lessons once-t at one -school ’cause he was watchin’ a bird-nest on the way to that -school. He was determined them young birds was to be allowed -to leave that nest without bein’ pestered, an’ they stayed -so long they purty nigh run him into long division ’fo’ they -did fly. Ef he’d ’a’ missed school one day he knowed two -sneaky chaps thet would ’a’ robbed that nest, either goin’ or -comin’.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Of co’se Sonny goes to the exhibitions an’ picnics of all the -schools. Last summer we had a time of it when it come picnic -season. Two schools set the same day for theirs, which of -co’se wasn’t no ways fair to Sonny. He payin’ right along -in all the schools, of co’se he was entitled to all the picnics; -so I put on my Sunday clo’es, an’ I went down an’ had it -fixed right. They all wanted Sonny, too, come down to the -truth, ’cause besides bein’ fond of him, they knowed thet -Sonny always fetched a big basket.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Trouble with Sonny is thet he don’t take nothin’ on nobody’s -say-so, don’t keer who it is. He even commenced to -dispute Moses one Sunday when wife was readin’ the Holy -Scriptures to him, tell of co’se she made him understand thet -that wouldn’t do. Moses didn’t intend to <i>be</i> conterdicted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ ez to secular lessons, he ain’t got no respec’ for ’em -whatsoever. F’ instance, when the teacher learned him thet -the world was round, why he up an’ told him <i>’t warn’t so</i>, -less’n we was on the inside an’ it was blue-lined, which of -co’se teacher he insisted thet we was <i>on the outside</i>, walkin’ -over it, all feet todes the center—a thing I’ve always thought -myself was mo’ easy said than proved.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Well, sir, Sonny didn’t hesitate to deny it, an’ of co’se -teacher he commenced by givin’ him a check—which is a bad -mark—for conterdictin’. An’ then Sonny he ’lowed thet he -didn’t conterdic’ to <i>be</i> a-conterdictin’, but he <i>knowed</i> ’t -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>warn’t so. He had walked the whole len’th o’ the road -’twix’ the farm an’ the school-house, an’ they warn’t <i>no -bulge in it</i>; an’ besides, he hadn’t never saw over the edges -of it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ with that teacher he give him another check for speakin’ -out o’ turn. An’ then Sonny, says he, “Ef a man was tall -enough he could see around the edges, couldn’t he?” “No,” -says the teacher; “a man couldn’t grow that tall,” says he; -“he’d be deformed.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ Sonny, why, he spoke up again, an’ says he, “But I’m -thess a-sayin’ <i>ef</i>,” says he. “An’ teacher,” says he, “we -ain’t a-studyin’ <i>efs</i>; we’re studyin’ geoger’phy.” And then -Sonny they say he kep’ still a minute, an’ then he says, says -he, “Oh, maybe he couldn’t see over the edges, teacher, -’cause ef he was tall enough his head might reach up into -the flo’ o’ heaven.” And with that teacher he give him another -check, an’ told him not to dare to mix up geoger’phy -an’ religion, which was a sackerlege to both studies; an’ with -that Sonny gethered up his books an’ set out to another school.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I think myself it ’u’d be thess ez well ef Sonny wasn’t -quite so quick to conterdic’; but it’s thess his way of holdin’ -his p’int.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Why, one day he faced one o’ the teachers down thet two -an’ two didn’t <i>haf</i> to make <i>fo’</i>, wh’er or no.</p> - -<p class='c019'>This seemed to tickle the teacher mightily, an’ so he laughed -an’ told him he was goin’ to give him rope enough to hang -hisself now, an’ then he dared him to show him any two an’ -two thet didn’t make fo’, and Sonny says, says he, “Heap o’ -two an’ twos don’t make four, ’cause they’re kep’ sep’rate,” -says he.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“An’ then,” says he, “I don’t want my two billy-goats -harnessed up with nobody else’s two billys to make fo’ billys.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But,” says the teacher, “suppose I <i>was</i> to harness up yo’ -two goats with Tom Deems’s two, there’d be fo’ goats, I -reckon, whether you wanted ’em there or not.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No they wouldn’t,” says Sonny. “They wouldn’t be -but two. ’T wouldn’t take my team more ’n half a minute -to butt the life out o’ Tom’s team.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>An’ with that little Tommy Deems, why, he commenced -to cry, an’ ’stid o’ punishin’ him for bein’ sech a cry-baby, -what did the teacher do but give Sonny another check, for -castin’ slurs on Tommy’s animals, an’ gettin’ Tommy’s feelin’s -hurted! Which I ain’t a-sayin’ it on account o’ Sonny bein’ -my boy, but it seems to me was a mighty unfair advantage.</p> - -<p class='c019'>No boy’s feelin’s ain’t got no right to be that tender—an’ -a goat is the last thing on earth thet could be injured by -a word of mouth.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sonny’s pets an’ beasts has made a heap o’ commotion in -school one way an’ another, somehow. Ef ’t ain’t his goats -it’s somethin’ else.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sir? Sonny’s pets? Oh, they’re all sorts. He ain’t no -ways partic’lar thess so a thing is po’ an’ miser’ble enough. -That’s about all he seems to require of anything.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He don’t never go to school hardly ’thout a garter-snake or -two or a lizard or a toad-frog somewheres about him. He’s -got some o’ the little girls at school that nervous thet if he -thess shakes his little sleeve at ’em they’ll squeal, not knowin’ -what sort o’ live critter’ll jump out of it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Most of his pets is things he’s got by their bein’ hurted -some way.</p> - -<p class='c019'>One of his toad-frogs is blind of a eye. Sonny rescued him -from the old red rooster one day after he had nearly pecked -him to death, an’ he had him hoppin’ round the kitchen for -about a week with one eye bandaged up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When a hurted critter gits good an’ strong he gen’ally turns -it loose ag’in; but ef it stays puny, why he reg’lar ’dopts -it an’ names it Jones. That’s thess a little notion o’ his, -namin’ his pets the family name.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The most outlandish thing he ever ’dopted, to my mind, is -that old yaller cat. That was a miser’ble low-down stray cat -thet hung round the place a whole season, an’ Sonny used to -vow he was goin’ to kill it, ’cause it kep’ a-ketchin’ the birds.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Well, one day he happened to see him thess runnin’ off with -a young mockin’-bird in his mouth, an’ he took a brickbat -an’ he let him have it, an’ of co’se he dropped the bird an’ -tumbled over—stunted. The bird it got well, and Sonny -<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>turned him loose after a few days; but that cat was hurted -fatal. He couldn’t never no mo’ ’n drag hisself around from -that day to this; an’ I reckon ef Sonny was called on to give -up every pet he’s got, that cat would be ’bout the last thing -he’d surrender. He named him Tommy Jones, an’ he never -goes to school of a mornin’, rain or shine, till Tommy Jones is -fed f’om his own plate with somethin’ he’s left for him -special.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Of co’se Sonny he’s got his faults, which anybody’ll tell -you; but th’ ain’t a dumb brute on the farm but’ll foller him -around—an’ Dicey, why, she thinks they never was such another -boy born into the world—that is, not no human child.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ wife an’ me—</p> - -<p class='c019'>But of co’se he’s ours.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I don’t doubt thet he ain’t constructed thess exac’ly ez the -school-teachers would have him, ef they had their way. Sometimes -I have thought I’d like his disposition eased up a little, -myself, when he taken a stand ag’in my jedgment or wife’s.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Takin’ ’em all round, though, the teachers has been mighty -patient with him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At one school the teacher did take him out behind the school-house -one day to whup him; an’ although teacher is a big -strong man, Sonny’s mighty wiry an’ quick, an’ some way he -slipped his holt, an’ ’fo’ teacher could ketch him ag’in he -had clumb up the lightnin’-rod on to the roof thess like a cat. -An’ teacher he felt purty shore of him then, ’cause he ’lowed -they wasn’t no other way to git down (which they wasn’t, -the school bein’ a steep-sided buildin’), an’ he’d wait for -him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>So teacher he set down close-t to the lightnin’-rod to wait. -He wouldn’t go back in school without him, cause he didn’t -want the child’en to know he’d got away. So down he set; -but he hadn’t no mo’ ’n took his seat sca’cely when he heerd -the child’en in school roa’in’ out loud, laughin’ fit to kill -theirselves.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He ’lowed at first thet like ez not the monitor was cuttin’ -up some sort o’ didoes, the way monitors does gen’ally, so he -waited a-while; but it kep’ a-gittin’ worse, so d’rectly he got -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>up, an’ he went in to see what the excitement was about; an’ -lo and beholt! Sonny had slipped down the open chimbly -right in amongst ’em—come out a-grinnin’, with his face all -sooted over, an’, says he, “Say, fellers,” says he, “I run up -the lightnin’-rod, an’ he’s a-waitin’ for me to come down.” -An’ with that he went an’ gethered up his books, deliberate, -an’ fetched his hat, an’ picked up a nest o’ little chimbly-swallows -he had dislodged in comin’ down (all this here it happened -thess las’ June), an’ he went out an’ harnessed up his -goat-wagon, an’ got in. An’ thess ez he driv’ out the school-yard -into the road the teacher come in, an’ he see how things -was.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Of co’se sech conduct ez that is worrisome, but I don’t see -no, to say, bad principle in it. Sonny ain’t got a bad habit on -earth, not a-one. They’ll ever’ one o’ the teachers tell you -that. He ain’t never been knowed to lie, an’ ez for improper -language, why he wouldn’t know how to select it. An’ ez -to tattlin’ at home about what goes on in school, why, he -never has did it. The only way we knowed about him comin’ -down the school-house chimbly was wife went to fetch his -dinner to him, an’ she found it out.</p> - -<p class='c019'>She knowed he had went to that school in the mornin’, an’ -when she got there at twelve o’clock, why he wasn’t there, an’ -of co’se she questioned the teacher, an’ he thess told her -thet Sonny had been present at the mornin’ session, but thet -he was now absent. An’ the rest of it she picked out o’ the -child’en.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Oh, no, sir; she don’t take his dinner to him reg’lar—only -some days when she happens to have somethin’ extry good, or -maybe when she ’magines he didn’t eat hearty at breakfast. -The school-child’en they always likes to see her come, because -she gen’ally takes a extry lot o’ fried chicken thess for him -to give away. He don’t keer much for nothin’ but livers an’ -gizzards, so we have to kill a good many to get enough for him; -an’ of co’se the fryin’ o’ the rest of it is mighty little trouble.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sonny is a bothersome child one way: he don’t never want -to take his dinner to school with him. Of co’se thess after -<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>eatin’ breakfas’ he don’t feel hungry, an’ when wife does -coax him to take it, he’ll seem to git up a appetite walkin’ to -school, an’ he’ll eat it up ’fo’ he gits there.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sonny’s got a mighty noble disposition, though, take him -all round.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Now, the day he slipped down that chimbly an’ run away -he wasn’t a bit flustered, an’ he didn’t play hookey the -balance of the day neither. He thess went down to the crik, -an’ washed the soot off his face, though they say he didn’t -no more ’n smear it round, an’ then he went down to Miss -Phœbe’s school, an’ stayed there till it was out. An’ she took -him out to the well, an’ washed his face good for him. But -nex’ day he up an’ went back to Mr. Clark’s school—walked in -thess ez pleasant an’ kind, an’ taken his seat an’ said his -lessons—never th’owed it up to teacher at all. Now, some -child’en, after playin’ off on a teacher that a-way would a’ -took advantage, but he never. It was a fair fight, an’ Sonny -whupped, an’ that’s all there was to it; an’ he never put on -no air about it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Wife did threaten to go herself an’ make the teacher apologize -for gittin’ the little feller all sooted up an’ sp’ilin’ his -clo’es; but she thought it over, an’ she decided thet she -wouldn’t disturb things ez long ez they was peaceful. An’, -after all, he didn’t exac’ly send him down the chimbly nohow, -though he provoked him to it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Ef Sonny had ’a’ fell an’ hurted hisself, though, in that -chimbly, I’d ’a’ helt that teacher responsible, shore.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sonny says hisself thet the only thing he feels bad about -in that chimbly business is thet one o’ the little swallers’ wings -was broke by the fall. Sonny’s got him yet, an’ he’s li’ble -to keep him, cause he’ll never fly. Named him Swally Jones, -an’ reg’lar ’dopted him soon ez he see how his wing was.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sonny’s the only child I ever see in my life thet could take -young chimbly-swallers after their fall an’ make ’em live. -But he does it reg’lar. They ain’t a week passes sca’cely -but he fetches in some hurted critter an’ works with it. Dicey -says thet half the time she’s afeered to step around her cookstove -<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>less’n she’ll step on some critter thet’s crawled back -to life where he’s put it under the stove to hatch or thaw out, -which she bein’ bare-feeted, I don’t wonder at.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ he has did the same way at school purty much. It -got so for a-while at one school thet not a child in school could -be hired to put his hand in the wood-box, not knowin’ ef any -piece o’ bark or old wood in it would turn out to be a young -alligator or toad-frog thawin’ out. Teacher hisself picked up -a chip, reckless, one day, an’ it hopped up, and knocked off his -spectacles. Of co’se it wasn’t no chip. Hopper-toad frog -an’ wood-bark chips, why, they favors consider’ble—lay ’em -same side up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was on account o’ her takin’ a interest in all his little -beasts an’ varmints thet he first took sech a notion to Miss -Phœbe Kellog’s school. Where any other teacher would scold -about sech things ez he’d fetch in, why, she’d encourage him -to bring ’em to her; an’ she’d fix a place for ’em, an’ maybe -git out some book tellin’ all about ’em, an’ showin’ pictures -of ’em.</p> - -<p class='c019'>She’s had squir’l-books, an’ bird-books, an’ books on nearly -every sort o’ wild critter you’d think too mean to <i>put</i> into a -book, at that school, an’ give the child’en readin’-lessons on -’em an’ drawin’-lessons an’ clay-moldin’ lessons.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Why, Sonny has did his alligator so nach’l in clay thet -you’d most expec’ to see it creep away. An’ you’d think -mo’ of alligators forever afterward, too. An’ ez to readin’, he -never did take no interest in learnin’ how to read out ’n them -school-readers, which he declares don’t no more ’n git a person -interested in one thing befo’ they start on another, an’ maybe -start <i>that</i> in the middle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The other teachers, they makes a heap o’ fun o’ Miss -Phœbe’s way o’ school-teachin’, ’cause she lets the child’en -ask all sorts of outlandish questions, an’ make pictures in -school hours, an’ she don’t requi’ ’em to fold their arms in -school, neither.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Maybe she is foolin’ their time away. I can’t say ez I -exac’ly see how she’s a workin’ it to edjercate ’em that a-way. -I had to set with my arms folded eight hours a day in school -when I was a boy, to learn the little I know, an’ wife she got -<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>her edjercation the same way. An’ we went clean thoo f’om -the <i>a-b abs</i> an’ <i>e-b ebs</i> clair to the end o’ the blue-back speller.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ we learned to purnounce a heap mo’ words than either -one of us has ever needed to know, though there has been -times, sech ez when my wife’s mother took the phthisic an’ I -had the asthma, thet I was obligated to write to the doctor -about it, thet I was thankful for my experience in the blue-back -speller. Them was our brag-words, phthisic and asthma -was. They’s a few other words I’ve always hoped to have a -chance to spell in the reg’lar co’se of life, sech ez y-a-c-h-t, -yacht, but I suppose, livin’ in a little inland town, which a -yacht is a boat, a person couldn’t be expected to need sech a -word—less’n he went travelin’.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I’ve often thought thet ef at the Jedgment the good Lord -would only examine me an’ all them thet went to school in my -day, in the old blue-back speller ’stid o’ tacklin’ us on the -weak p’ints of our pore mortal lives, why, we’d stand about -ez good a chance o’ gettin’ to heaven ez anybody else. An’ -maybe He will—who knows?</p> - -<p class='c019'>But ez for book-readin’, wife an’ me ain’t never felt called -on to read no book save an’ exceptin’ the Holy Scriptures—an’, -of co’se, the seed catalogues.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ here Sonny, not quite twelve year old, has read five -books thoo, an’ some of ’em twice-t an’ three times over. His -<i>Robinson Crusoe</i> shows mo’ wear ’n tear ’n what my Testament -does, I’m ashamed to say. I’ve done give Miss Phœbe -free license to buy him any book she wants him to have, an’ -he’s got ’em all ’ranged in a row on the end o’ the mantel-shelf.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Quick ez he’d git thoo readin’ a book, of co’se wife she’d -be for dustin’ it off and puttin’ up on the top closet shelf -where a book nach’ally belongs; but seem like Sonny he wants -to keep ’em in sight. So wife she’s worked a little lace shelf-cover -to lay under ’em, an’ we’ve hung our framed marriage-c’tificate -above ’em, an’ the corner looks right purty, come -to see it fixed up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sir? Oh, no; we ain’t took him from none o’ the other -schools yet. He’s been goin’ to Miss Phœbe’s reg’lar now—all -<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>but the exhibition an’ picnic days in the other schools—for -nearly five months, not countin’ off-an’-on days he went to her -befo’ he settled down to it stiddy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He says he’s a-goin’ there reg’lar from this time on, an’ I -b’lieve he will; but wife an’ me we talked it over, an’ we decided -we’d let things stand, an’ keep his name down on all the -books till sech a time ez he come to long division with Miss -Kellog.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An’ ef he stays thoo that, we’ll feel free to notify the other -schools thet he’s quit.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span> - <h2 class='c004'>HER FIRST HORSE SHOW<br /><span class='c025'>By DAVID GRAY</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>She</span> folded the program carefully for preservation in her -memory-book, and devoured the scene with her eyes. It was -hard to believe, but unquestionably Angelica Stanton, in the -flesh, was in Madison Square Garden at the horse show. The -great arena was crowded; the band was playing, and a four-in-hand -was swinging around the tan-bark ring.</p> - -<p class='c019'>What had been her dream since she put away her dolls and -the flea-bitten pony was realized. The pony had been succeeded -by Lady Washington, and with Lady Washington -opened the epoch when she began to hunt with the grown-up -people and to reflect upon the outside world. From what she -had gathered from the men in the hunting-field, the outside -world seemed to center in the great horse show, and most of -what was interesting and delightful in life took place there.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Besides the obvious profit of witnessing this institution, -there had arisen, later on, more serious considerations which -led Angelica to take an interest in it. Since the disappearance -of Lady Washington and the failure to trace her, Angelica’s -hope was in the show.</p> - -<p class='c019'>One of the judges who had visited Jim had unwittingly laid -the bases of this hope. “All the best performers in America -are exhibited there,” he had said in the course of an interminable -discussion upon the great subject. And was not Lady -Washington probably the best? Clearly, therefore, soon or -late Lady Washington would be found winning blue ribbons -at Madison Square Garden.</p> - -<p class='c019'>To this cheering conclusion the doubting Thomas within her -replied that so desirable a miracle could never be; and she -cherished the doubt, though rather to provoke contrary fate -into refuting it than because it embodied her convictions. She -knew that some day Lady Washington must come back.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>After Jim had sold Lady Washington, he had been informed -by Chloe, the parlor-maid, how Angelica felt, and he repented -his act. He had tried to buy the mare back, but the man to -whom he had sold her had sold her to a dealer, and he had sold -her to somebody who had gone abroad, and no one knew what -this person had done with her. So Lady Washington had disappeared, -and Angelica mourned for her. Two years passed, -two years that were filled with doubt and disappointment. -Each autumn Jim went North with his horses, but never suggested -taking Angelica. As for Angelica, the subject was too -near her heart for her to broach it. Thus it seemed that life -was slipping away, harshly withholding opportunity.</p> - -<p class='c019'>That November, for reasons of his own, Jim decided to take -Angelica along with him. When he told her of his intention, -she gasped, but made no demonstration. On the threshold -of fulfilling her hope she was afraid to exult: she knew how -things are snatched away the moment one begins to count -upon them; but inwardly she was happy to the point of apprehension. -On the trip North she “knocked wood” scrupulously -every time she was lured into a day-dream which pictured -the finding of Lady Washington, and thus she gave the -evil forces of destiny no opening.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The first hour of the show overwhelmed her. It was too -splendid and mystifying to be comprehended immediately, or -to permit a divided attention. Even Lady Washington -dropped out of her thoughts, but only until the jumping -classes began. The first hunter that trotted across the tan-bark -brought her back to her quest.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But after two days the mystery was no more a mystery, and -the splendor had faded out. The joy of it had faded out, too. -For two days she had pored over the entry-lists and had -studied every horse that entered the ring; but the search for -Lady Washington had been a vain one. Furthermore, all the -best horses by this time had appeared in some class, and the -chances of Lady Washington’s turning up seemed infinitesimal. -Reluctantly she gave up hope. She explained it to herself -that probably there had been a moment of vainglorious -pride when she had neglected to “knock wood.” She would -<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>have liked to discuss it with somebody; but Chloe and her -colored mammy, who understood such matters, were at the -“Pines” in Virginia, and Jim would probably laugh at -her; so she maintained silence and kept her despair to herself.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was the evening of the third day, and she was at the show -again, dressed in her habit, because she was going to ride. -Her brother was at the other end of the Garden, hidden by a -row of horses. He was waiting to show in a class of park -hacks. There was nothing in it that looked like Lady Washington, -and she turned her eyes away from the ring with a -heavy heart. The band had stopped playing, and there was no -one to talk to but her aunt’s maid, and this maid was not companionable. -She fell to watching the people in the boxes; she -wished that she knew some of them. There was a box just -below her which looked attractive. There were two pretty -women in it, and some men who looked as if they were nice; -they were laughing and seemed to be having a good time. She -wished she was with them, or home, or anywhere else than -where she was.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Presently the music struck up again; the hum of the innumerable -voices took a higher pitch. The ceaseless current of -promenaders staring and bowing at the boxes went slowly -around and around. Nobody paid any attention to the horses, -but all jostled and chattered and craned their necks to see the -people. When her brother’s Redgauntlet took the blue ribbon -in the heavy-weight green-hunter class, not a person in -the whole Garden applauded except herself. She heard a man -ask, “What took the blue?” And she heard his friend -answer, “Southern horse, I believe; don’t know the owner.” -They didn’t even know Jim! She would have left the place -and gone back to her aunt’s for a comfortable cry, but she was -going to ride Hilda in the ladies’ saddle class, which came -toward the end of the evening.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The next thing on the program were some qualified hunters -which might be expected to show some good jumping. This -was something to be thankful for, and she turned her attention -to the ring.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>“I think I’ll go down on the floor,” she said to the maid. -“I’m tired of sitting still.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>In theory Miss Angelica Stanton was at the horse show -escorted by her brother; but in fact she was in the custody of -Caroline, the maid of her aunt Henrietta Cushing, who lived -in Washington Square. Miss Cushing was elderly, and she -disapproved of the horse show because her father had been a -charter member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty -to Animals, and because to go to it in the afternoon interfered -with her drive and with her tea, while to go to it in -the evening interfered with her whist, and that was not to -be thought of. Consequently, when Angelica arrived, the -horse show devolved upon Caroline, who accepted the -situation not altogether with resignation. She had done -Miss Cushing’s curls for twenty years, and had absorbed her -views.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica would have preferred stopping at the hotel with -Jim; but that, he said, was out of the question. Jim admitted -that Aunt Henrietta was never intentionally entertaining, -but he said that Angelica needed her womanly influence. Jim -had brought up Angelica, and the problem sometimes seemed -a serious one. She was now sixteen, and he was satisfied that -she was going to be a horsewoman, but at times he doubted -whether his training was adequate in other respects, and that -was why he had brought her to the horse show and had -incarcerated her at Aunt Henrietta’s.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The girl led Caroline through the crowd, and took a position -at the end, between the first and last jumps. As the horses -were shown, they went round the ring, came back, and finished -in front of them. It was the best place from which to watch, -if one wished to see the jumping.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica admitted to herself that some of the men rode -pretty well, but not as well as some of the men rode at their -out-of-door shows at home; and the tan-bark was not as good -as turf. It was a large class, and after eight or ten had been -shown, a striking-looking black mare came out of the line and -started plunging and rearing toward the first jump. Her -rider faced her at the bars, and she minced reluctantly forward. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>Just before they reached the wings the man struck her. -She stopped short and whirled back into the ring.</p> - -<p class='c019'>From the time the black mare appeared Angelica’s heart -almost stopped beating. “I’m sure of it, I’m sure of it!” -she gasped. “Three white feet and the star. Caroline,” she -said, “that’s Lady Washington. He oughtn’t to strike her. -He mustn’t!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hush, miss,” said Caroline. “We’ll be conspicuous.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The man was bringing the mare back toward the jump. As -before, he used his whip, intending to drive her into the wings, -and, as before, she stopped, reared angrily, wheeled about, -and came back plunging. The man quieted her after a little, -and turned her again toward the hurdle. It was his last -chance. She came up sulkily, tossing her head and edging -away from the bars. As he got near the wings he raised his -whip again. Then the people in that part of the Garden -heard a girl’s shrill, excited voice cry out: “You mustn’t -hit her! Steady, Lady Washington! Drop your curb!” -The black mare’s ears went forward at the sound of the -voice. The young man on her back put down his uplifted -whip and loosened the rein on the bit. He glanced around -with an embarrassed smile, and the next instant he was over -the jump, and the mare was galloping for the hurdle beyond.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly Angelica became conscious that several thousand -people were staring at her with looks of wonder and amusement. -Caroline clutched her arm and dragged her away from -the rail. The girl colored, and shook herself free.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t care,” she said. “He shouldn’t have hit her. -She can jump anything if she’s ridden right. I knew we’d -find her,” she muttered excitedly. “I knew it!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Caroline struggled desperately through the crowd with her -charge.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Whatever will Miss Cushing say!” she gasped.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica forgot the crowd. “I don’t care,” she said. “If -Aunt Henrietta had ever owned Lady Washington she’d have -done the same thing. And if you tell her I’ll pay you back. -She’ll know that you let me leave my seat, and she told you -not to.” This silenced Caroline.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>“There! He’s fussed her mouth again,” she went on. -The black mare had refused, and was rearing at the jump next -the last. The girl stood on tiptoe and watched impatiently -for a moment.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There she goes,” she murmured, with a sigh. The judges -had ordered the horse out.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica tagged along disconsolately through the crowd till -a conversation between two men who were leaning against the -rail caught her ear.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I wonder who that little girl was,” said one. “The mare -seemed to know her voice, but Reggie doesn’t call her Lady -Washington.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No—Hermione,” said the other. “He may have changed -it, though,” he added. “He gives them all names beginning -with H.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You’ll have an easy time beating him in the five-foot-six -jumps,” said the first man. “It’s a good mare, but he can’t -ride her.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica wondered who they were, but they turned around -just then, and she dropped her eyes and hurried after Caroline.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As they made their way through the crowd, a nudge from -the maid took her thoughts from Lady Washington. She had -been wondering how she would find the young man who had -ridden her. She looked up and saw that a man was bowing -to her. It was Mr. “Billy” Livingstone. Mr. Livingstone -was nearly sixty, but he had certain qualities of permanent -youth which made him “Billy” to three generations.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hello, Angelica!” he exclaimed. “When did you turn -up? How you’ve grown!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I came up North with Jim,” she replied.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You should have let me know,” he said. “You know Jim -never writes any one. This is the first time I’ve been here. -I’m just back from the country. Where’s your box—that is, -who are you with?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’m here with my maid,” said Angelica, with a somewhat -conscious dignity. “Jim is with the horses.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>Livingstone looked from the slender girl to the substantial -Caroline, and the corners of his mouth twitched.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I prefer to be alone this way,” she explained. “It’s -more independent.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mr. Livingstone thought a moment. “Of course that’s so,” -he said. “But I think I’ve got a better plan; let’s hunt up -Mrs. Dicky Everett.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is she an old woman?” asked Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Not so terribly old,” said Mr. Livingstone. “I suppose -you’d call her middle-aged.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Thirty?” asked Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Near it, I’m afraid,” he answered.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, I don’t know,” said Angelica. “That’s pretty old. -She won’t have anything to say to me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She knows something about a horse,” said Livingstone, -“though, of course, she can’t ride the way you do. If you -find her stupid, I’ll take you away; but I want you to come -because she will be very nice to me for bringing you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He turned to Caroline. “I’m a friend of Miss Stanton’s -brother. Go to your seat, and I’ll bring Miss Stanton back -to you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then he led the way up the stairs, and Angelica followed, -wondering what sort of person Mrs. “Dicky” Everett might -be.</p> - -<p class='c019'>She cheered herself with the thought that she could not be -any older or more depressing than Aunt Henrietta, and if she -was fond of horses she might know who owned Lady Washington.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Livingstone consulted his program. “It’s down on this -side,” he said. She followed him mechanically, with her eyes -wandering toward the ring, till presently they stopped.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hello!” she heard them call to Livingstone, as he stepped -in ahead of her, and the next moment she realized that she -was in the very box which she had watched from her seat -among the chairs.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I want to present you to my friend Miss Stanton,” Livingstone -said. He repeated the names, but they made no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>impression upon her, because there, standing in front of her, -was the young man who had ridden Lady Washington.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You seem to know each other,” said Livingstone. “Am I -wasting my breath? Is this a joke?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He looked at Angelica. She was speechless with mixed joy -and embarrassment.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Come here, my dear,” said one of the two pretty women, -“and sit down beside me. Miss Stanton,” she went on to -Livingstone, “very kindly tried to teach Reggie how to ride -Hermione, and we are glad to have the chance to thank her.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t understand at all,” said Livingstone. “But there -are so many things that I shall never understand that one -more makes no difference.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica’s self-confidence began to come back.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, he was riding Lady Washington with a whip,” she -explained. “And I just called out to him not to. You -remember Lady Washington,—she was a four-year-old when -you were at the Pines,—and you know you never could touch -her with a whip.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I remember very well,” said Livingstone. “You flattered -me by offering to let me ride her, an offer which, I -think, I declined. When did you sell her?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Two years ago,” said Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then the other young woman spoke. “But how did you -recognize the horse?” she asked. “You haven’t seen it for -two years.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Recognize her!” exclaimed Angelica. “I guess if you had -ever owned Lady Washington you would have recognized her. -I broke her as a two-year-old, and schooled her myself. Jim -says she’s the best mare we ever had.” Angelica looked at -the woman pityingly. She was sweet-looking and had beautiful -clothes, but she was evidently a goose.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Miss Stanton won the high jump with the mare,” Livingstone -remarked, “at their hunt show down in Virginia.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It was only six feet,” said the girl, “but she can do better -than that. Jim wouldn’t let me ride her at anything bigger.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I should hope not,” said the lady by whose side she was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>sitting. Then she asked suddenly, “You are not Jimmie Stanton’s -sister?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes,” said Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’d like to know why he hasn’t brought you to see me!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He’s awfully busy with the horses,” the girl replied. -“He has to stop at the Waldorf and see about the show with -the men, and he makes me stay with Aunt Henrietta Cushing.” -She stopped abruptly. She was afraid that what she -had said might sound disloyal. “I like to stop with Aunt -Henrietta,” she added solemnly. “Besides, I’ve been busy -looking for Lady Washington.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The young man whom they called Reggie, together with -Mr. Livingstone and the lady beside Angelica, laughed openly -at this allusion to Miss Cushing.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do you know her?” asked Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, everybody knows your Aunt Henrietta,” said the -lady.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And loves her,” added Livingstone, solemnly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The lady laughed a little. “You see, she’s connected with -nearly everybody. She’s a sort of connection of Reggie’s -and mine, so I suppose we’re sort of cousins of yours. I hope -you will like us.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t know much about my relations on my mother’s -side,” Angelica observed. The distinction between connections -and relatives had never been impressed upon her. She -was about to add that Jim said that his New York relatives -tired him, but caught herself. She paused uneasily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Please excuse me,” she said, “but I didn’t hear Mr. Livingstone -introduce me to you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why,” said Livingstone, who overheard, “this is Mrs. -Everett. I told you we were coming into her box.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I thought she must have stepped out,” said Angelica. -“You told me she was middle-aged.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>A peal of laughter followed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Angelica! Angelica!” Livingstone exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But you did,” said Angelica. “I asked you if she was an -old lady, and you said, ‘Not so terribly old—middle-aged.’ -And she’s not; she’s young.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>“Things can never be as they were before,” said Livingstone, -mournfully, as the laughter died away.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No,” said Mrs. Everett.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was a pause, and one of the men turned to Reggie. -“What are you going to do about the five-foot-six jumps?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let it go,” said Reggie.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s a pity,” said the other. “If you had met Miss Stanton -earlier in the evening, I think she could have taught you -to ride that mare. I wanted to see you win your bet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Bet?” said Livingstone.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Reggie’s such an idiot,” said Mrs. Everett. “He bet -Tommy Post that Hermione would beat his chestnut in the -five-foot-six jumps, and Reggie can’t make Hermione jump at -all, so he’s lost.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Not yet; I’ve got a chance,” said Reggie, good-naturedly. -“Perhaps I’ll go in, after all.” The other men laughed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I should think you had made monkey enough of yourself -for one evening,” observed Palfrey, who was his best friend -and could say such things.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Five feet six would be easy for Lady Washington,” said -Angelica. “I can’t get used to calling her by that new -name.” She hesitated a moment with embarrassment, and -then she stammered: “Why don’t you let <i>me</i> ride her?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The people in the box looked aghast.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’m afraid it wouldn’t do,” said Reggie, seriously. -“It’s awfully good of you, but, you see, it wouldn’t look well -to put a lady on that horse. Suppose something should happen?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Good of me!” the girl exclaimed. “I’d love it! I want -to ride her again so much!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well,” said Reggie, “I’ll have her at the park for you tomorrow -morning. You can ride her whenever you like.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>A low cry of alarm ran through the Garden, and the conversation -in the box hushed. A tandem cart had tipped over, -and the wheeler was kicking it to pieces.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t like that sort of thing,” said Mrs. Everett, with a -shudder.</p> - -<p class='c019'>They finally righted the trap, and the driver limped off to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>show that he was not hurt. The great crowd seemed to draw -a long breath of relief, and the even hum of voices went on -again. The judges began to award the ribbons, and Angelica -looked down at her program.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Dear me!” she exclaimed. “The saddle class I’m going -to ride in is next. I’m afraid I’ll be late. Good-by.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Good-by,” they all replied.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Don’t you come,” she said to Livingstone. “It’s just a -step.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I must keep my word with Caroline,” he answered, and he -took her to her seat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She’s immense, isn’t she?” he said, as he came back. -“I’m glad Reggie didn’t let her ride that brute. She will be -killed one of these days.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She’s going to be a great beauty,” said Mrs. Everett.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She looks like her blessed mother,” said Livingstone. “I -was very fond of her mother. I think that if it hadn’t been -for Stanton—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Stop!” interrupted Mrs. Everett. “Your heart-tragedies -are too numerous. Besides, if you <i>had</i> married her you -wouldn’t be here trying to tell us why you didn’t.” And -they all laughed, and cheerfully condemned the judging of the -tandem class.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>The negro groom who had come up with the Stanton horses -met Angelica as she was going down-stairs into the basement -where the stalls were. Jim had not appeared, so Angelica -and Caroline had started off alone.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hilda’s went lame behind, Miss Angie,” the man said. -“She must have cast huhself. They ain’t no use to show -huh.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Ordinarily this calamity would have disturbed Angelica, but -the discovery of Lady Washington was a joy which could not -be dimmed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Have you told my brother?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, Miss Angie,” said the man. “He was gwine to tell -you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I want to see her,” said Angelica, and they went on -<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>toward the stall. But what Angelica most wanted was to get -among the horses and look for a certain black mare.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Hilda was very lame, and there was fever in the hock. -Angelica patted her neck, and turned away with a side glance -at Caroline, who, she feared, would rebel at being led through -the horses’ quarters. She walked down the row of stalls till -she came to the corner, then up through another passage till -she stopped at a big box-stall over the side of which stretched -a black head set on a long, thoroughbred-looking neck.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The small, fine ears, the width between the eyes, the square -little muzzle, were familiar; and there was a white star on the -forehead. But Angelica did not enumerate these things. -Horses to her had personalities and faces, just as people had -them. She recognized Lady Washington as she had recognized -Mr. Livingstone. She made a little exclamation, and, -standing on tiptoe, put her arms about the mare’s neck, and -kissed it again and again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The dear! She remembers me!” the girl said, wiping her -eyes. “It’s Lady Washington,” she explained to Caroline. -She reached up to fondle the little muzzle, and the mare -nipped playfully.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Look out, miss,” called the stable-boy, who was sitting on -a soap-box; “she’s mean.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She’s no such thing,” said the girl.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, ain’t she?” said the boy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, if she is, you made her so,” retorted Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The boy grinned. “I ain’t only been in the stable two -weeks,” he said. “She caught me on the second day and nigh -broke me leg. You see her act in the ring? Mr. Haughton -says he won’t ride her no more, and she’s entered in the five-foot-six -jumps.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The girl looked thoughtfully at the boy and then at the -horse. An idea had come to her. She was reflecting upon -the last words Mr. Haughton had spoken before she left the -box: “<i>You can ride her whenever you like</i>.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I know,” she said aloud. “I’m going to ride her in that -class. I’m Miss Stanton. I used to own her, you know. My -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>saddle is down there with Mr. Stanton’s horses, and I want -you to go and get it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, never, Miss Angelica!” exclaimed Caroline. “Dear -me, not that!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You hush,” said Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The stable-boy looked at her incredulously. “I ain’t had -no orders, miss,” he said. “I’ll have to see William. Did -Mr. Haughton say you might?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course he said I might,” she replied.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The boy said no more and went off after William.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course he said I might,” she repeated half aloud. -“Didn’t he say I might ride her ‘whenever I wanted to’? -‘Whenever’ is any time, and I want to now.” She fortified -herself behind this sophistry, but she was all in a flutter lest -Jim or Mr. Haughton should appear. The thought, however, -of being on Lady Washington’s back, and showing people -that she wasn’t sulky and bad-tempered, was a temptation -too strong to be resisted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The boy came back with the head groom, to whom he had -explained the matter.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, miss,” said William, “she’d kill you. I wouldn’t -want to show her myself. Mr. Haughton, miss, must have -been joking. Honest, miss, you couldn’t ride Hermione.” -The man was respectful but firm.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Think what Miss Cushing would say,” said Caroline.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But I tell you I can,” retorted Angelica. She paid no -attention to Caroline; her temper flashed up. “You don’t -seem to understand. I owned that mare when she was Lady -Washington, and broke her all myself, and schooled her, too. -Mr. Haughton hasn’t any ‘hands,’ and he ought to know -better than to raise a whip on her.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>William grinned at the unvarnished statement about his -master’s “hands.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Are you the young lady what called out to him in the -ring?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, I am,” said Angelica. “And if he’d done what I -told him to she would have won. Here’s our Emanuel,” she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>went on. “He’ll tell you I can ride her. Emanuel,” she -demanded, as the negro approached, “haven’t I ridden Lady -Washington?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You jest have, Miss Angie,” said Emanuel. “Why,” -said he, turning to William, “this heah young lady have rode -that maah ovah six feet. She done won the high jump at -ouah hunt show. That’s Lady Washington all right,” he -went on, looking at the head poked out over the stall. “I -got huh maahk on mah ahm foh to remembah huh.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The stable-boy grinned.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, she never bit me,” said Angelica.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The young lady,” said William, doubtfully, “wants to -ride her in the five-foot-six class. She says Mr. Haughton -said she might.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, Miss Angelica,” interposed Caroline, “you’ll be kilt!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You’re a goose,” said Angelica. “I’ve ridden her hundreds -of times.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t know how Mistah Jim would like it,” said -Emanuel; “but she could ride that maah all right, you jest -bet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>William was getting interested. He was not so concerned -about Mr. Stanton’s likes as he was that his stable should take -some ribbons.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mr. Haughton said you might ride her?” he repeated.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course he did,” said Angelica; “I just left him in Mrs. -Everett’s box, and I’ve got my own saddle and everything.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“All right, miss,” said William. “Get the saddle, Tim.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>William did not believe that Mr. Haughton had given any -such orders, but he had gotten into trouble not long before by -refusing to give a mount to a friend of Haughton’s whom he -did not know and who came armed only with verbal authority. -He knew that if any harm was done he could hide behind that -occurrence.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I want a double-reined snaffle,” said Angelica. “Emanuel,” -she added, “you have the bit I used to ride her with. -Bring my own bridle.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’m afraid you won’t be able to hold her, miss,” muttered -William; “but it’s as you say. Hurry up with that saddle,” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>he called to the stable-boy. “We ain’t got no time to lose. -They’re callin’ the class now. You’re number two, miss; -I’ll get your number for you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You’ll be kilt! You’ll be kilt!” said Caroline, dolefully. -“Think what Miss Cushing will say!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Caroline,” said Angelica, “you don’t know anything -about horses, so you hush.” And then she added under her -breath, “If I can only get started before Jim sees me!”</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>In the Everett box they were waiting for the five-foot-six -class to begin. They called it the five-foot-six class because -there were four jumps that were five feet six inches high; the -others were an even five feet. It was the “sensational event” -of the evening. Thus far the show had been dull.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Those saddle-horses were an ordinary lot,” observed -Reggie.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“This isn’t opening very well, either,” said Palfrey. The -first horse had started out by refusing. Then he floundered -into the jump and fell.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let’s not wait,” said Mrs. Everett. But the words were -hardly spoken when, with a quick movement, she turned her -glasses on the ring. Something unusual was going on at the -farther end. A ripple of applause came down the sides of -the Garden, and then she saw a black horse, ridden by a girl, -come cantering toward the starting-place.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s that child on Hermione! You must stop it, Reggie!” -she exclaimed excitedly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Before any one could move, Angelica had turned the horse -toward the first jump. It looked terribly high to Mrs. -Everett. It was almost even with the head of the man who -was standing on the farther side ready to replace the bars if -they should be knocked down.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Tossing her head playfully, the black mare galloped steadily -for the wings, took off in her stride, and swept over the jump -in a long curve. She landed noiselessly on the tan-bark, and -was on again. Around the great ring went the horse and the -girl, steadily, not too fast, and taking each jump without a -mistake. The great crowd remained breathless and expectant. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>Horse and rider finished in front of the Everett box, and -pulled up to a trot, the mare breathing hard with excitement, -but well-mannered.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then a storm of cheers and hand-clapping burst, the like of -which was never heard at a New York horse show before.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As the applause died away, Reggie rose and hurried out. -“Let’s all go,” said Mrs. Everett.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Before they got through the crowd the judges had awarded -the ribbons. There were only three other horses that went -over all the jumps, and none of them made a clean score. -There was no question about which was first. The judges ran -their hands down the mare’s legs in a vain search for lumps. -She was short-coupled, with a beautiful shoulder and powerful -quarters. She had four crosses of thoroughbred, and -showed it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She’s a picture mare,” said one of the judges, and he -tied the blue rosette to her bridle himself. Then the great -crowd cheered and clapped again, and Angelica rode down to -the entrance as calmly as if she were in the habit of taking -blue ribbons daily. But inside she was not calm.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’ve got to cry or something,” she thought.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At the gate some one came out of the crowd and took the -mare by the head. Angelica looked down, and there were -her brother and Reggie and Mrs. Everett’s party. The Garden -began to swim.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, Jim!” she murmured, “help me down. It’s Lady -Washington.” Then she threw her arms around his neck and -wept.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>They were at supper in the old Waldorf Palm Room before -Angelica was quite certain whether actual facts had been -taking place or whether she had been dreaming. It seemed -rather too extraordinary and too pleasant to be true. Still, -she was sure that she was there, because the people stared at -her when she came in dressed in her habit, and whispered to -each other about her. Furthermore, a party of judges came -over and asked Mrs. Everett to present them.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>There never before was quite such an evening. It was after -twelve, at least, and nobody had suggested that she ought to -be in bed. One pleasant thing followed another in quick succession, -and there seemed no end to them. She was absorbed -in an edible rapture which Mrs. Everett called a “café parfait” -when she became aware that Reggie’s friend, Mr. Palfrey, -had started to address the party. She only half listened, -because she was wondering why every one except Mrs. Everett -and herself had denied himself this delightful sweet. -Grown-up people had strange tastes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mr. Palfrey began by saying that he thought it was time to -propose a toast in honor of Miss Stanton, which might also -rechristen Reggie’s mare by her first and true name, “Lady -Washington.” He said that it was plain to him that the mare -had resented a strange name out of Greek mythology, and in -future would go kindly, particularly if Reggie never tried to -ride her again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He went on with his remarks, and from time to time the -people interrupted with laughter; but it was only a meaningless -sound in Angelica’s ears. The words “Reggie’s mare” -had come like a blow in the face. She had forgotten about -that. Her knees grew weak and a lump swelled in her throat. -It was true, of course, but for the time being it had passed out -of her mind. And now that Lady Washington had won the -five-foot-six class and was so much admired, probably Jim -could not afford to buy her back. It was doubtful if Mr. -Haughton would sell her at any price.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Presently she was aroused by a remark addressed directly -to her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I think that’s a good idea,” said Reggie. “Don’t -you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She nodded; but she did not know what the idea was, and -she did not trust her voice to ask.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Only,” he continued, turning to Palfrey, “it isn’t my -mare any more; it’s Miss Stanton’s. Put that in, Palfrey.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica’s mouth opened in wonderment and her heart -stood still. She looked about the table blankly.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>“It’s so,” said Reggie; “she’s yours.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But I can’t take her,” she said falteringly. “She’s too -valuable. Can I, Jim?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But Jim’s bought her,” said Reggie, hurriedly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Angelica’s eyes settled on her brother’s face; he said nothing, -but began to smile; Reggie was kicking him under the -table.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes,” said Reggie; “when I saw you ride Lady Washington, -that settled it with me. I’m too proud to stand being -beaten by a girl; so I made Jim buy her back and promise to -give her to you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do you mean it?” said Angelica. “Is Lady Washington -really mine?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>She dropped her hands in her lap and sighed wearily. “It -doesn’t seem possible,” she murmured. She paused and -seemed to be running over the situation in her mind. Presently -she spoke as if unaware that the others were listening. -“I knew it would happen, though,” she said. “I knew it. -I reckon I prayed enough.” She smiled as a great thrill of -happiness ran through her, and glancing up, saw that all the -rest were smiling, too.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’m so happy,” she said apologetically. Then she bethought -herself, and furtively reached down and tapped the -frame of her chair with her knuckles.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, here’s the toast,” said Mr. Palfrey, rising. “To -the lady and Lady Washington.” And they all rose and -drank it standing.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span> - <h2 class='c004'>MY HUSBAND’S BOOK<a id='r7' /><a href='#f7' class='c024'><sup>[7]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By James Matthew Barrie</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f7'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r7'>7</a>. </span>From <i>Two of Them</i>. Copyright, 1893, by the United States Book Co.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>Long</span> before I married George I knew that he was dreadfully -ambitious. We were not yet engaged when he took me -into his confidence about his forthcoming great book, which -was to take the form of an inquiry into the Metaphysics of -Ethics. “I have not begun it yet,” he always said, “but I -shall be at it every night once the winter sets in.” In the -daytime George is only a clerk, though a much-valued one, -so that he has to give the best hours of his life to a ledger.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“If you only had more time at your disposal,” I used to say, -when he told me of the book that was to make his name.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t complain,” he said, heartily, like the true hero he -always is, except when he has to take medicine. “Indeed, -you will find that the great books have nearly always been -written by busy men. I am firmly of opinion that if a man -has original stuff in him it will come out.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He glowed with enthusiasm while he spoke in this inspiriting -strain, and some of his ardor passed into me. When we met -we talked of nothing but his future; at least he talked while I -listened with clasped hands. It was thus that we became engaged. -George was no ordinary lover. He did not waste his -time telling me that I was beautiful, or saying “Beloved!” at -short intervals. No, when we were alone he gave me his hand -to hold, and spoke fervently of the Metaphysics of Ethics.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Our engagement was not of a very long duration, for George -coaxed me into marriage thus—“I cannot settle down to my -book,” he said, “until we are married.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>His heart was so set on that book that I yielded. We wandered -all over London together buying the furniture. There -<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>was a settee that I particularly wanted, but George, with his -usual thoughtfulness, said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let us rather buy a study table. It will help me at my -work, and once the book is out we shall be able to afford half a -dozen settees.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Another time he went alone to buy some pictures for the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I got a study chair instead,” he told me in the evening. -“I knew you would not mind, my darling, for the chair is the -very thing for writing a big book in.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He even gave thought to the ink-bottle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“In my room,” he said, “I am constantly discovering that -my ink-bottle is empty, and it puts me out of temper to write -with water and soot. I therefore think we ought to buy one of -those large ink-stands with two bottles.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We shall,” I replied, with the rapture of youth, “and -mine will be the pleasant task of seeing that the bottles are -kept full.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Dearest!” he said, fondly, for this was the sort of remark -that touched him most.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Every evening,” I continued, encouraged by his caressing -tones, “you will find your manuscripts lying on the table -waiting for you, and a pen with a new nib in it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What a wife you will make!” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But you mustn’t write too much,” I said. “You must -have fixed hours, and at a certain time, say at ten o’clock, I -shall insist on your ceasing to write for the night.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That seems a wise arrangement. But sometimes I shall -be too entranced in the work, I fancy, to leave it without an -effort.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah,” I said, “I shall come behind you, and snatch the pen -from your hand!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Every Saturday night,” he said, “I shall read to you -what I have written during the week.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>No wonder I loved him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>We were married on a September day, and the honeymoon -passed delightfully in talk about the book. Nothing proved -to me the depth of George’s affection so much as his not beginning -<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>the great work before the honeymoon was over. So I -often told him, and he smiled fondly in reply. The more, -indeed, I praised him the better pleased he seemed to be. -The name for this is sympathy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Conceive us at home in our dear little house in Clapham.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Will you begin the book at once?” I asked George the -day after we arrived.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have been thinking that over,” he said. “I needn’t -tell you that there is nothing I should like so much, but, on -the whole, it might be better to wait a week.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Don’t make the sacrifice for my sake,” I said, anxiously.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course it is for your sake,” he replied.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But it is such a pity to waste any more time,” I said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There is no such hurry,” he answered, rather testily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I looked at him in surprise.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What I mean,” he said, “is that I can be thinking the -arrangement of the book over.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>We had, of course, a good many callers at this time, and -I told most of them about the book. For reasons to be seen -by and by I regret this now.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When the week had become a fortnight, I insisted on leaving -George alone in the study after dinner. He looked rather -gloomy, but I filled the ink-bottles, and put the paper on the -desk, and handed him his new pen. He took it, but did not -say “thank you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>An hour afterward I took him a cup of tea. He was still -sitting by the fire, but the pen had fallen from his hands.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You are not sleeping, George?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sleeping!” he cried, as indignantly as if I had charged -him with crime. “No, I’m thinking.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You haven’t written any yet?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was just going to begin when you came in. I’ll begin -as soon as I’ve drunk this tea.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then I’ll leave you to your work, dear.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I returned to the study at nine o’clock. He was still in -the same attitude.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I wish you would bring me a cup of tea,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I brought you one hours ago.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>“Eh? Why didn’t you tell me?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, George! I talked with you about it. Why, here -it is on the table, untouched.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I declare you never mentioned it to me. I must have -been thinking so deeply that I never noticed you. You should -have spoken to me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But I did speak, and you answered.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“My dear, I assure you I did nothing of the sort. This is -very vexing, for it has spoiled my evening’s work.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The next evening George said that he did not feel in the -mood for writing, and I suppose I looked disappointed, for -he flared up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I can’t be eternally writing,” he growled.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But you haven’t done anything at all yet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That is a rather ungenerous way of expressing it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But you spoke as if the work would be a pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Have I said that it is not a pleasure? If you knew anything -of literary history, you would be aware that there are -occasions when the most industrious writers cannot pen a -line.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“They must make a beginning some time, though!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, I shall make a beginning to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Next evening he seemed in no hurry to go into the study.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’ll hang the bedroom pictures,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, no, you must get begone to your book.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You are in a desperate hurry to see me at that book.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You spoke as if you were so anxious to begin it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“So I am. Did I say I wasn’t?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He marched off to the study, banging the drawing-room -door. An hour or so afterward I took him his tea. He had -left his study door open so that I could see him on the couch -before I entered the room. When he heard the rattle of the -tea-things he jumped up and strode to the study table, where, -when I entered, he pretended to be busy writing.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“How are you getting on, dear?” I asked, with a sinking -at the heart.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Excellently, my love, excellently.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I looked at him so reproachfully that he blushed.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>“I think,” said he, when he had drunk the tea, “that I -have done enough for one night. I mustn’t overdo it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Won’t you let me hear what you have written?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He blushed again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Wait till Saturday,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then let me put your papers away,” I said, for I was -anxious to see whether he had written anything at all.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I couldn’t think of it,” he replied, covering the paper -with his elbows.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Next morning I counted the clean sheets of paper. They -were just as I had put them on the table. So it went on for -a fortnight or more, with this difference. He either suspected -that I counted the sheets, or thought that I might take -it into my head to do so. To allay my suspicions, therefore, -he put away what he called his manuscript in a drawer, which -he took care to lock. I discovered that one of my own keys -opened this drawer, and one day I examined the manuscripts. -They consisted of twenty-four pages of paper, without a word -written on them. Every evening he added two more clean -pages to the contents of the drawer. This discovery made -me so scornful that I taxed him with the deceit. At first -he tried to brazen it out, but I was merciless, and then he said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The fact is that I can’t write by gas-light. I fear I shall -have to defer beginning the work until spring.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But you used to say that the winter was the best season for -writing.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I thought so at the time, but I find I was wrong. It will -be a great blow to me to give up the work for the present, -but there is no help for it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>When spring came I reminded him that now was his opportunity -to begin the book.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You are eternally talking about that book,” he snarled.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I haven’t mentioned it for a month.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, you are always looking at me as if I should be at -it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Because you used to speak so enthusiastically about it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I am as enthusiastic as ever, but I can’t be forever writing -at the book.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>“We have now been married seven months, and you haven’t -written a line yet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He banged the doors again, and a week afterward he said -that spring was a bad time for writing a book.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“One likes to be out-of-doors,” he said, “in spring, watching -the trees become green again. Wait till July, when one -is glad to be indoors. Then I’ll give four hours to the work -every evening.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Summer came, and then he said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is too hot to write books. Get me another bottle of iced -soda-water. I’ll tackle the book in the autumn.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>We have now been married more than five years, but the -book is not begun yet. As a rule, we now shun the subject, -but there are times when he still talks hopefully of beginning. -I wonder if there are any other husbands like mine.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span> - <h2 class='c004'>WAR<br /><span class='c025'>By JACK LONDON</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>He</span> was a young man, not more than twenty-four or five, -and he might have sat his horse with the careless grace of his -youth had he not been so catlike and tense. His black eyes -roved everywhere, catching the movements of twigs and -branches where small birds hopped, questing ever onward -through the changing vistas of trees and brush, and returning -always to the clumps of undergrowth on either side. And -as he watched, so did he listen, though he rode on in silence, -save for the boom of heavy guns from far to the west. This -had been sounding monotonously in his ears for hours, and -only its cessation would have aroused his notice. For he had -business closer to hand. Across his saddle-bow was balanced -a carbine.</p> - -<p class='c019'>So tensely was he strung, that a bunch of quail, exploding -into flight from under his horse’s nose, startled him to such -an extent that automatically, instantly, he had reined in and -fetched the carbine half-way to his shoulder. He grinned -sheepishly, recovered himself, and rode on. So tense was -he, so bent upon the work he had to do, that the sweat stung -his eyes unwiped, and unheeded rolled down his nose and -spattered his saddle pommel. The band of his cavalryman’s -hat was fresh-stained with sweat. The roan horse under him -was likewise wet. It was high noon of a breathless day of -heat. Even the birds and squirrels did not dare the sun, but -sheltered in shady hiding places among the trees.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Man and horse were littered with leaves and dusted with -yellow pollen, for the open was ventured no more than was -compulsory. They kept to the brush and trees, and invariably -the man halted and peered out before crossing a dry glade or -naked stretch of upland pasturage. He worked always to -the north, though his way was devious, and it was from the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>north that he seemed most to apprehend that for which he -was looking. He was no coward, but his courage was only -that of the average civilized man, and he was looking to live, -not die.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Up a small hillside he followed a cowpath through such -dense scrub that he was forced to dismount and lead his -horse. But when the path swung around to the west, he -abandoned it and headed to the north again along the oak-covered -top of the ridge.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The ridge ended in a steep descent—so steep that he zigzagged -back and forth across the face of the slope, sliding and -stumbling among the dead leaves and matted vines and keeping -a watchful eye on the horse above that threatened to -fall down upon him. The sweat ran from him, and the pollen-dust, -settling pungently in mouth and nostrils, increased his -thirst. Try as he would, nevertheless the descent was noisy, -and frequently he stopped, panting in the dry heat and listening -for any warning from beneath.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At the bottom he came out on a flat, so densely forested that -he could not make out its extent. Here the character of the -woods changed, and he was able to remount. Instead of the -twisted hillside oaks, tall straight trees, big-trunked and prosperous, -rose from the damp fat soil. Only here and there -were thickets, easily avoided, while he encountered winding, -park-like glades where the cattle had pastured in the days -before war had run them off.</p> - -<p class='c019'>His progress was more rapid now, as he came down into -the valley, and at the end of half an hour he halted at an -ancient rail fence on the edge of a clearing. He did not like -the openness of it, yet his path lay across to the fringe of -trees that marked the banks of the stream. It was a mere -quarter of a mile across that open, but the thought of venturing -out in it was repugnant. A rifle, a score of them, -a thousand, might lurk in that fringe by the stream.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Twice he essayed to start, and twice he paused. He was -appalled by his own loneliness. The pulse of war that beat -from the west suggested the companionship of battling thousands; -here was naught but silence, and himself, and possible -<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>death-dealing bullets from a myriad ambushes. And yet -his task was to find what he feared to find. He must go on, -and on, till somewhere, some time, he encountered another -man, or other men, from the other side, scouting, as he was -scouting, to make report, as he must make report, of having -come in touch.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Changing his mind, he skirted inside the woods for a distance, -and again peeped forth. This time, in the middle -of the clearing, he saw a small farmhouse. There were no -signs of life. No smoke curled from the chimney, not a -barnyard fowl clucked and strutted. The kitchen door stood -open, and he gazed so long and hard into the black aperture -that it seemed almost that a farmer’s wife must emerge at -any moment.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He licked the pollen and dust from his dry lips, stiffened -himself, mind and body, and rode out into the blazing sunshine. -Nothing stirred. He went on past the house, and -approached the wall of trees and bushes by the river’s bank. -One thought persisted maddeningly. It was of the crash -into his body of a high-velocity bullet. It made him feel very -fragile and defenseless, and he crouched lower in the saddle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Tethering his horse in the edge of the wood, he continued -a hundred yards on foot till he came to the stream. Twenty -feet wide it was, without perceptible current, cool and inviting, -and he was very thirsty. But he waited inside his screen -of leafage, his eyes fixed on the screen on the opposite side. -To make the wait endurable, he sat down, his carbine resting -on his knees. The minutes passed, and slowly his tenseness -relaxed. At last he decided there was no danger; but just as -he prepared to part the bushes and bend down to the water, -a movement among the opposite bushes caught his eye.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It might be a bird. But he waited. Again there was an -agitation of the bushes, and then, so suddenly that it almost -startled a cry from him, the bushes parted and a face peered -out. It was a face covered with several weeks’ growth of -ginger-colored beard. The eyes were blue and wide apart, -with laughter-wrinkles in the corners that showed despite -the tired and anxious expression of the whole face.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>All this he could see with microscopic clearness, for the -distance was no more than twenty feet. And all this he saw -in such brief time, that he saw it as he lifted his carbine to his -shoulder. He glanced along the sights, and knew that he -was gazing upon a man who was as good as dead. It was -impossible to miss at such point blank range.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But he did not shoot. Slowly he lowered the carbine and -watched. A hand, clutching a water-bottle, became visible -and the ginger beard bent downward to fill the bottle. He -could hear the gurgle of the water. Then arm and bottle -and ginger beard disappeared behind the closing bushes. A -long time he waited, when, with thirst unslaked, he crept back -to his horse, rode slowly across the sun-washed clearing, and -passed into the shelter of the woods beyond.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>II</h3> - -<p class='c021'>Another day, hot and breathless. A deserted farmhouse, -large, with many outbuildings and an orchard, standing in -a clearing. From the woods, on a roan horse, carbine across -pommel, rode the young man with the quick black eyes. He -breathed with relief as he gained the house. That a fight -had taken place here earlier in the season was evident. Clips -and empty cartridges, tarnished with verdigris, lay on the -ground, which, while wet, had been torn up by the hoofs of -horses. Hard by the kitchen garden were graves, tagged and -numbered. From the oak tree by the kitchen door, in tattered, -weather-beaten garments, hung the bodies of two men. -The faces, shriveled and defaced, bore no likeness to the faces -of men. The roan horse snorted beneath them, and the rider -caressed and soothed it and tied it farther away.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Entering the house, he found the interior a wreck. He -trod on empty cartridges as he walked from room to room -to reconnoiter from the windows. Men had camped and -slept everywhere, and on the floor of one room he came upon -stains unmistakable where the wounded had been laid down.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Again outside, he led the horse around behind the barn -and invaded the orchard. A dozen trees were burdened with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>ripe apples. He filled his pockets, eating while he picked. -Then a thought came to him, and he glanced at the sun, calculating -the time of his return to camp. He pulled off his -shirt, tying the sleeves and making a bag. This he proceeded -to fill with apples.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As he was about to mount his horse, the animal suddenly -pricked up its ears. The man, too, listened, and heard, -faintly, the thud of hoofs on soft earth. He crept to the -corner of the barn and peered out. A dozen mounted men, -strung out loosely, approaching from the opposite side of -the clearing, were only a matter of a hundred yards or so -away. They rode on to the house. Some dismounted, while -others remained in the saddle as an earnest that their stay -would be short. They seemed to be holding a council, for he -could hear them talking excitedly in the detested tongue of -the alien invader. The time passed, but they seemed unable -to reach a decision. He put the carbine away in its boot, -mounted, and waited impatiently, balancing the shirt of -apples on the pommel.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He heard footsteps approaching, and drove his spurs so -fiercely into the roan as to force a surprised groan from the -animal as it leaped forward. At the corner of the barn he -saw the intruder, a mere boy of nineteen or twenty for all -of his uniform, jump back to escape being run down. At the -same moment the roan swerved, and its rider caught a glimpse -of the aroused men by the house. Some were springing from -their horses, and he could see the rifles going to their shoulders. -He passed the kitchen door and the dried corpses -swinging in the shade, compelling his foes to run around the -front of the house. A rifle cracked, and a second, but he was -going fast, leaning forward, low in the saddle, one hand -clutching the shirt of apples, the other guiding the horse.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The top bar of the fence was four feet high, but he knew -his roan and leaped it at full career to the accompaniment of -several scattered shots. Eight hundred yards straight away -were the woods, and the roan was covering the distance with -mighty strides. Every man was now firing. They were -pumping their guns so rapidly that he no longer heard individual -<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>shots. A bullet went through his hat, but he was -unaware, though he did know when another tore through -the apples on the pommel. And he winced and ducked even -lower when a third bullet, fired low, struck a stone between -his horse’s legs and ricochetted off through the air, buzzing -and humming like some incredible insect.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The shots died down as the magazines were emptied, until, -quickly, there was no more shooting. The young man was -elated. Through that astonishing fusillade he had come unscathed. -He glanced back. Yes, they had emptied their -magazines. He could see several reloading. Others were -running back behind the house for their horses. As he looked, -two already mounted, came back into view around the corner, -riding hard. And at the same moment, he saw the man -with the unmistakable ginger beard kneel down on the ground, -level his gun, and coolly take his time for the long shot.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The young man threw his spurs into the horse, crouched -very low, and swerved in his flight in order to distract the -other’s aim. And still the shot did not come. With each -jump of the horse, the woods sprang nearer. They were -only two hundred yards away, and still the shot was delayed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And then he heard it, the last thing he was to hear, for he -was dead ere he hit the ground in the long crashing fall from -the saddle. And they, watching at the house, saw him fall, -saw his body bounce when it struck the earth, and saw the -burst of red-cheeked apples that rolled about him. They -laughed at the unexpected eruption of apples, and clapped -their hands in applause of the long shot by the man with the -ginger beard.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span> - <h2 class='c004'>THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS<br /><span class='c025'>By Morgan Robertson</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>Extract</span> from hospital record of the case of John Anderson, -patient of Dr. Brown, Ward 3, Room 6:</p> - -<p class='c030'>August 3. Arrived at hospital in extreme mental distress, having -been bitten on the wrist three hours previously by dog known to -have been rabid. Large, strong man, full-blooded and well nourished. -Sanguine temperament. Pulse and temperature higher than -normal, due to excitement. Cauterized wound at once (2 <span class='fss'>P.M.</span>) and -inoculated with antitoxin.</p> - -<p class='c032'>As patient admits having recently escaped, by swimming ashore, -from lately arrived cholera ship, now at quarantine, he has been -isolated and clothing disinfected. Watch for symptoms of cholera.</p> - -<p class='c032'>August 3, 6 <span class='fss'>P.M.</span> Microscopic examination of blood corroborative -of Metschnikoff’s theory of fighting leucocytes. White corpuscles -gorged with bacteria.</p> -<hr class='c033' /> -<p class='c019'>He was an amphibian, and, as such, undeniably beautiful; -for the sunlight, refracted and diffused in the water, gave his -translucent, pearl-blue body all the shifting colors of the -spectrum. Vigorous and graceful of movement, in shape he -resembled a comma of three dimensions, twisted, when at rest, -to a slight spiral curve; but in traveling he straightened out -with quick successive jerks, each one sending him ahead a -couple of lengths. Supplemented by the undulatory movement -of a long continuation of his tail, it was his way of -swimming, good enough to enable him to escape his enemies; -this, and riding at anchor in a current by his cable-like appendage, -constituting his main occupation in life. The pleasure -of eating was denied him; nature had given him a mouth, -but he used it only for purposes of offense and defense, absorbing -his food in a most unheard-of manner—through the -soft walls of his body.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>Yet he enjoyed a few social pleasures. Though the organs -of the five senses were missing in his economy, he possessed an -inner sixth sense which answered for all and also gave him -power of speech. He would converse, swap news and views, -with creatures of his own and other species, provided that they -were of equal size and prowess; but he wasted no time on -any but his social peers. Smaller creatures he pursued when -they annoyed him; larger ones pursued him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The sunlight, which made him so beautiful to look at, was -distasteful to him; it also made him too visible. He preferred -a half-darkness and less fervor to life’s battle—time to -judge of chances, to figure on an enemy’s speed and turning-circle, -before beginning flight or pursuit. But his dislike of -it really came of a stronger animus—a shuddering recollection -of three hours once passed on dry land in a comatose -condition, which had followed a particularly long and intense -period of bright sunlight. He had never been able to -explain the connection, but the awful memory still saddened -his life.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And now it seemed, as he swam about, that this experience -might be repeated. The light was strong and long-continued, -the water uncomfortably warm, and the crowd about him -denser—so much so as to prevent him from attending properly -to a social inferior who had crossed his bow. But just as his -mind grasped the full imminence of the danger, there came -a sudden darkness, a crash and vibration of the water, then a -terrible, rattling roar of sound. The social inferior slipped -from his mouth, and with his crowding neighbors was washed -far away, while he felt himself slipping along, bounding and -rebounding against the projections of a corrugated wall -which showed white in the gloom. There was an unpleasant -taste to the water, and he became aware of creatures in his -vicinity unlike any he had known,—quickly darting little -monsters about a tenth as large as himself,—thousands of -them, black and horrid to see, each with short, fish-like body -and square head like that of a dog; with wicked mouth that -opened and shut nervously; with hooked flippers on the middle -part, and a bunch of tentacles on the fore that spread out -<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>ahead and around. A dozen of them surrounded him menacingly; -but he was young and strong, much larger than they, -and a little frightened. A blow of his tail killed two, and -the rest drew off.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The current bore them on until the white wall rounded off -and was lost to sight beyond the mass of darting creatures. -Here was slack water, and with desperate effort he swam -back, pushing the small enemies out of his path, meeting -some resistance and receiving a few bites, until, in a hollow -in the wall, he found temporary refuge and time to think. -But he could not solve the problem. He had not the slightest -idea where he was or what had happened—who and what -were the strange black creatures, or why they had threatened -him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>His thoughts were interrupted. Another vibrant roar -sounded, and there was pitch-black darkness; then he was -pushed and washed away from his shelter, jostled, bumped, -and squeezed, until he found himself in a dimly lighted tunnel, -which, crowded as it was with swimmers, was narrow -enough to enable him to see both sides at once. The walls -were dark brown and blue, broken up everywhere into depressions -or caves, some of them so deep as to be almost like -blind tunnels. The dog-faced creatures were there—as far as -he could see; but besides them, now, were others, of stranger -shape—of species unknown to him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A slow current carried them on, and soon they entered a -larger tunnel. He swam to the opposite wall, gripped a projection, -and watched in wonder and awe the procession gliding -by. He soon noticed the source of the dim light. A small -creature with barrel-like body and innumerable legs or tentacles, -wavering and reaching, floated past. Its body swelled -and shrank alternately, with every swelling giving out a -phosphorescent glow, with every contraction darkening to a -faint red color. Then came a group of others; then a second -living lamp; later another and another: they were evenly -distributed, and illumined the tunnel.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There were monstrous shapes, living but inert, barely pulsing -with dormant life, as much larger than himself as the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>dog-headed kind were smaller—huge, unwieldy, disk-shaped -masses of tissue, light gray at the margins, dark red in the -middle. They were in the majority, and blocked the view. -Darting and wriggling between and about them were horrible -forms, some larger than himself, others smaller. There were -serpents, who swam with a serpent’s motion. Some were -serpents in form, but were curled rigidly into living cork-screws, -and by sculling with their tails screwed their way -through the water with surprising rapidity. Others were -barrel-or globe-shaped, with swarming tentacles. With these -they pulled themselves along, in and out through the crowd, -or, bringing their squirming appendages rearward,—each an -individual snake,—used them as propellers, and swam. -There were creatures in the form of long cylinders, some -with tentacles by which they rolled along like a log in a tide-way; -others, without appendages, were as inert and helpless -as the huge red-and-gray disks. He saw four ball-shaped -creatures float by, clinging together; then a group of eight, -then one of twelve. All these, to the extent of their volition, -seemed to be in a state of extreme agitation and excitement.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The cause was apparent. The tunnel from which he had -come was still discharging the dog-faced animals by the thousand, -and he knew now the business they were on. It was -war—war to the death. They flung themselves with furious -energy into the parade, fighting and biting all they could -reach. A hundred at a time would pounce on one of the -large red-and-gray creatures, almost hiding it from view; -then, and before they had passed out of sight, they would fall -off and disperse, and the once living victim would come with -them, in parts. The smaller, active swimmers fled, but if -one was caught, he suffered; a quick dart, a tangle of tentacles, -an embrace of the wicked flippers, a bite—and a dead -body floated on.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And now into the battle came a ponderous engine of vengeance -and defense. A gigantic, lumbering, pulsating creature, -white and translucent but for the dark, active brain showing -through its walls, horrible in the slow, implacable deliberation -of its movements, floated down with the current. It was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>larger than the huge red-and-gray creatures. It was formless, -in the full irony of the definition—for it assumed all -forms. It was long—barrel-shaped; it shrank to a sphere, -then broadened laterally, and again extended above and below. -In turn it was a sphere, a disk, a pyramid, a pentahedron, -a polyhedron. It possessed neither legs, flippers, nor -tentacles; but out from its heaving, shrinking body it would -send, now from one spot, now from another, an active arm, -or feeler, with which it swam, pulled, or pushed. An unlucky -invader which one of them touched made few more voluntary -movements; for instantly the whole side of the whitish -mass bristled with arms. They seized, crushed, killed it, -and then pushed it bodily through the living walls to the -animal’s interior to serve for food. And the gaping fissure -healed at once, like the wounds of Milton’s warring angels.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The first white monster floated down, killing as he went; -then came another, pushing eagerly into the fray; then came -two, then three, then dozens. It seemed that the word had -been passed, and the army of defense was mustering.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sick with horror, he watched the grim spectacle from the -shelter of the projection, until roused to an active sense of -danger to himself—but not from the fighters. He was -anchored by his tail, swinging easily in the eddy, and now -felt himself touched from beneath, again from above. A projection -down-stream was extending outward and toward him. -The cave in which he had taken refuge was closing on him -like a great mouth—as though directed by an intelligence -behind the wall. With a terrified flirt of his tail he flung -himself out, and as he drifted down with the combat the -walls of the cave crunched together. It was well for him -that he was not there.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The current was clogged with fragments of once living creatures, -and everywhere, darting, dodging, and biting, were the -fierce black invaders. But they paid no present attention -to him or to the small tentacled animals. They killed the -large, helpless red-and-gray kind, and were killed by the -larger white monsters, each moment marking the death and -rending to fragments of a victim, and the horrid interment -<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>of fully half his slayers. The tunnel grew larger, as mouth -after mouth of tributary tunnels was passed; but as each -one discharged its quota of swimming and drifting creatures, -there was no thinning of the crowd.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As he drifted on with the inharmonious throng, he noticed -what seemed the objective of the war. This was the caves -which lined the tunnel. Some were apparently rigid, others -were mobile. A large red-and-gray animal was pushed into -the mouth of one of the latter, and the walls instantly closed; -then they opened, and the creature drifted out, limp and -colorless, but alive; and with him came fragments of the wall, -broken off by the pressure. This happened again and again, -but the large creature was never quite killed—merely -squeezed. The tentacled non-combatants and the large white -fighters seemed to know the danger of these tunnel mouths, -possibly from bitter experiences, for they avoided the walls; -but the dog-faced invaders sought this death, and only fought -on their way to the caves. Sometimes two, often four or -more, would launch themselves together into a hollow, but to -no avail; their united strength could not prevent the closing -in of the mechanical maw, and they were crushed and flung -out, to drift on with other debris.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Soon the walls could not be seen for the pushing, jostling -crowd, but everywhere the terrible, silent war went on until -there came a time when fighting ceased; for each must look -out for himself. They seemed to be in an immense cave, and -the tide was broken into cross-currents rushing violently to -the accompaniment of rhythmical thunder. They were -shaken, jostled, pushed about and pushed together, hundreds -of the smaller creatures dying from the pressure. Then -there was a moment of comparative quiet, during which fighting -was resumed, and there could be seen the swiftly flying -walls of a large tunnel. Next they were rushed through a -labyrinth of small caves with walls of curious, branching -formation, sponge-like and intricate. It required energetic -effort to prevent being caught in the meshes, and the large -red-and-gray creatures were sadly torn and crushed, while -the white ones fought their way through by main strength. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>Again the flying walls of a tunnel, again a mighty cave, and -the cross-currents, and the rhythmical thunder, and now a -wild charge down an immense tunnel, the wall of which surged -outward and inward, in unison with the roaring of the thunder.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The thunder died away in the distance, though the walls -still surged—even those of a smaller tunnel which divided -the current and received them. Down-stream the tunnel -branched again and again, and with the lessening of the -diameter was a lessening of the current’s velocity, until, in -a maze of small, short passages, the invaders, content to fight -and kill in the swifter tide, again attacked the caves.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But to the never-changing result: they were crushed, -mangled, and cast out, the number of suicides, in this neighborhood, -largely exceeding those killed by the white warriors. -And yet, in spite of the large mortality among them, the -attacking force was increasing. Where one died two took his -place; and the reason was soon made plain—they were reproducing. -A black fighter, longer than his fellows, a little -sluggish of movement, as though from the restrictive pressure -of a large, round protuberance in his middle, which made -him resemble a snake which had swallowed an egg, was caught -by a white monster and instantly embraced by a multitude of -feelers. He struggled, bit, and broke in two; then the two -parts escaped the grip of the astonished captor, and wriggled -away, the protuberance becoming the head of the rear portion, -which immediately joined the fight, snapping and biting -with unmistakable jaws. This phenomenon was repeated.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And on went the battle. Illumined by the living lamps, -and watched by terrified noncombatants, the horrid carnival -continued with never-slacking fury and ever-changing background—past -the mouths of tributary tunnels which increased -the volume and velocity of the current and added to the -fighting strength, on through widening archways to a repetition -of the cross-currents, the thunder, and the sponge-like -maze, down past the heaving walls of larger tunnels to -branched passages, where, in comparative slack water, the -siege of the caves was resumed. For hour after hour this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>went on, the invaders dying by hundreds, but increasing by -thousands and ten thousands, as the geometrical progression -advanced, until, with swimming-spaces nearly choked by their -bodies, living and dead, there came the inevitable turn in the -tide of battle. A white monster was killed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Glutted with victims, exhausted and sluggish, he was -pounced upon by hundreds, hidden from view by a living -envelop of black, which pulsed and throbbed with his death-throes. -A feeler reached out, to be bitten off; then another, -to no avail. His strength was gone, and the assailants bit -and burrowed until they reached a vital part, when the great -mass assumed a spherical form and throbbed no more. They -dropped off, and, as the mangled ball floated on, charged on -the next enemy with renewed fury and courage born of their -victory. This one died as quickly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And as though it had been foreseen, and a policy arranged -to meet it, the white army no longer fought in the open, but -lined up along the walls to defend the immovable caves. -They avoided the working jaws of the other kind, which certainly -needed no garrison, and drifting slowly in the eddies, -fought as they could, with decreasing strength and increasing -death-rate. And thus it happened that our conservative noncombatant, -out in midstream, found himself surrounded by a -horde of black enemies who had nothing better to do than -attack him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And they did. As many as could crowd about him closed -their wicked jaws in his flesh. Squirming with pain, rendered -trebly strong by his terror, he killed them by twos -and threes as he could reach them with his tail. He shook -them off with nervous contortions, only to make room for -more. He plunged, rolled, launched himself forward and -back, up and down, out and in, bending himself nearly double, -then with lightning rapidity throwing himself far into the -reverse curve. He was fighting for his life, and knew it. -When he could, he used his jaws, only once to an enemy. He -saw dimly at intervals that the white monsters were watching -him; but none offered to help, and he had not time to call.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He thought that he must have become the object of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>war; for from all sides they swarmed, crowding about him, -seeking a place on which to fasten their jaws. Little by little -the large red-and-gray creatures, the noncombatants, and the -phosphorescent animals were pushed aside, and he, the center -of an almost solid black mass, fought, in utter darkness, with -the fury of extreme fright. He had no appreciation of the -passing of time, no knowledge of his distance from the wall, or -the destination of this never-pausing current. But finally, -after an apparently interminable period, he heard dimly, with -failing consciousness, the reverberations of the thunder, and -knew momentary respite as the violent cross-currents tore his -assailants away. Then, still in darkness, he felt the crashing -and tearing of flesh against obstructing walls and sharp -corners, the repetition of thunder and the roar of the current -which told him he was once more in a large tunnel. An -instant of light from a venturesome torch showed him to his -enemies, and again he fought, like a whale in his last flurry, -slowly dying from exhaustion and pain, but still potential -to kill—terrible in his agony. There was no counting of -scalps in that day’s work; but perhaps no devouring white -monster in all the defensive army could have shown a death-list -equal to this. From the surging black cloud there was a -steady outflow of the dead, pushed back by the living.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Weaker and weaker, while they mangled his flesh, and -still in darkness, he fought them down through branching -passages to another network of small tunnels, where he caught -a momentary view of the walls and the stolid white guard, -thence on to what he knew was open space. And here he -felt that he could fight no more. They had covered him -completely, and, try as he might with his failing strength, -he could not dislodge them. So he ceased his struggles; and -numb with pain, dazed with despair, he awaited the end.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But it did not come. He was too exhausted to feel surprise -or joy when they suddenly dropped away from him; -but the instinct of self-preservation was still in force, and he -swam toward the wall. The small creatures paid him no attention; -they scurried this way and that, busy with troubles -of their own, while he crept stupidly and painfully between -<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>two white sentries floating in the eddies,—one of whom considerately -made room for him,—and anchored to a projection, -luckily choosing a harbor that was not hostile.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Any port in a storm, eh, neighbor?” said the one who had -given him room, and who seemed to notice his dazed condition. -“You’ll feel better soon. My, but you put up a good -fight, that’s what you did!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He could not answer, and the friendly guard resumed his -vigil. In a few moments, however, he could take cognizance -of what was going on in the stream. There was a new army -in the fight, and reinforcements were still coming. A short -distance above him was a huge rent in the wall, and the caves -around it, crushed and distorted, were grinding fiercely. -Protruding through the rent and extending half-way across -the tunnel was a huge mass of some strange substance, roughly -shaped to a cylindrical form. It was hollow, and out of it, -by thousands and hundred thousands, was pouring the auxiliary -army, from which the black fighters were now fleeing for -dear life.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The newcomers, though resembling in general form the -creatures they pursued, were much larger and of two distinct -types. Both were light brown in color; but while one -showed huge development of head and jaw, with small flippers, -the other kind reversed these attributes, their heads -being small, but their flippers long and powerful. They -ran their quarry down in the open, and seized them with outreaching -tentacles. No mistakes were made—no feints or -false motions; and there was no resistance by the victims. -Where one was noticed he was doomed. The tentacles gathered -him in—to a murderous bite or a murderous embrace.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At last, when the inflow had ceased,—when there must have -been millions of the brown killers in the tunnel,—the great -hollow cylinder turned slowly on its axis and backed out -through the rent in the wall, which immediately closed, with -a crushing and scattering of fragments. Though the allies -were far down-stream now, the war was practically ended; -for the white defenders remained near the walls, and the -black invaders were in wildest panic, each one, as the resistless -<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>current rushed him past, swimming against the stream, -to put distance between himself and the destroyer below. -But before long an advance-guard of the brown enemy shot -out from the tributaries above, and the tide of retreat swung -backward. Then came thousands of them, and the massacre -was resumed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hot stuff, eh?” said his friendly neighbor to him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Y-y-y-es—I guess so,” he answered, rather vacantly; “I -don’t know. I don’t know anything about it. I never saw -such doings. What is it all for? What does it mean?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, this is nothing; it’s all in a lifetime. Still, I admit -it might ha’ been serious for us—and you, too—if we hadn’t -got help.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But who are they, and what? They all seem of a family, -and are killing each other.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Immortal shade of Darwin!” exclaimed the other sentry, -who had not spoken before. “Where were you brought up? -Don’t you know that variations from type are the deadliest -enemies of the parent stock? These two brown breeds are the -hundredth or two-hundredth cousins of the black kind. When -they’ve killed off their common relative, and get to competing -for grub, they’ll exterminate each other, and we’ll be rid -of ’em all. Law of nature. Understand?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, y-yes, I understand, of course; but what did the -black kind attack me for? And what do they want, anyway?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“To follow out their destiny, I s’pose. They’re the kind -of folks who have missions. Reformers, we call ’em—who -want to enforce their peculiar ideas and habits on other people. -Sometimes we call them expansionists—fond of colonizing -territory that doesn’t belong to them. They wanted to -get through the cells to the lymph-passages, thence on to the -brain and spinal marrow. Know what that means? Hydrophobia.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, say, now! You’re too easy.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Come, come,” said the other, good-naturedly; “don’t guy -him. He never had our advantages. You see, neighbor, we -<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>get these points from the subjective brain, which knows all -things and gives us our instructions. We’re the white corpuscles,—phagocytes, -the scientists call us,—and our work is -to police the blood-vessels, and kill off invaders that make -trouble. Those red-and-gray chumps can’t take care of themselves, -and we must protect ’em. Understand? But this invasion -was too much for us, and we had to have help from -outside. You must have come in with the first crowd—think -I saw you—in at the bite. Second crowd came in through an -inoculation tube, and just in time to pull you through.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t know,” answered our bewildered friend. “In at -the bite? What bite? I was swimming round comfortable-like, -and there was a big noise, and then I was alongside of a -big white wall, and then—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Exactly; the dog’s tooth. You got into bad company, -friend, and you’re well out of it. That first gang is the -microbe of rabies, not very well known yet, because a little -too small to be seen by most microscopes. All the scientists -seem to have learned about ’em is that a colony a few hundred -generations old—which they call a culture, or serum—is -death on the original bird; and that’s what they sent in -to help out. Pasteur’s dead, worse luck, but sometime old -Koch’ll find out what we’ve known all along—that it’s -only variation from type.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Koch!” he answered eagerly and proudly. “Oh, I know -Koch; I’ve met him. And I know about microscopes, too. -Why, Koch had me under his microscope once. He discovered -my family, and named us—the comma bacilli—the -Spirilli of Asiatic Cholera.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>In silent horror they drew away from him, and then conversed -together. Other white warriors drifting along stopped -and joined the conference, and when a hundred or more were -massed before him, they spread out to a semi-spherical formation -and closed in.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What’s the matter?” he asked nervously. “What’s -wrong? What are you going to do? I haven’t done anything, -have I?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s not what you’ve done, stranger,” said his quondam -<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>friend, “or what we’re going to do. It’s what you’re going -to do. You’re going to die. Don’t see how you got past -quarantine, anyhow?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What—why—I don’t want to die. I’ve done nothing. -All I want is peace and quiet, and a place to swim where it -isn’t too light nor too dark. I mind my own affairs. Let me -alone—you hear me—let me alone!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>They answered him not. Slowly and irresistibly the hollow -formation contracted—individuals slipping out when necessary—until -he was pushed, still protesting, into the nearest -movable cave. The walls crashed together and his life went -out. When he was cast forth he was in five pieces.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And so our gentle, conservative, non-combative cholera -microbe, who only wanted to be left alone to mind his own -affairs, met this violent death, a martyr to prejudice and an -unsympathetic environment.</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>Extract from hospital record of the case of John Anderson:</p> - -<p class='c030'>August 18. As period of incubation for both cholera and hydrophobia -has passed and no initial symptoms of either disease have -been noticed, patient is this day discharged, cured.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span> - <h2 class='c004'>A DILEMMA<br /><span class='c025'>By S. WEIR MITCHELL</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>I was</span> just thirty-seven when my Uncle Philip died. A -week before that event he sent for me; and here let me say -that I had never set eyes on him. He hated my mother, but -I do not know why. She told me long before his last illness -that I need expect nothing from my father’s brother. He was -an inventor, an able and ingenious mechanical engineer, and -had made much money by his improvement in turbine-wheels. -He was a bachelor; lived alone, cooked his own meals, and -collected precious stones, especially rubies and pearls. From -the time he made his first money he had this mania. As he -grew richer, the desire to possess rare and costly gems became -stronger. When he bought a new stone, he carried it in -his pocket for a month and now and then took it out and -looked at it. Then it was added to the collection in his safe -at the trust company.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At the time he sent for me I was a clerk, and poor enough. -Remembering my mother’s words, his message gave me, his -sole relative, no new hopes; but I thought it best to go.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When I sat down by his bedside, he began, with a malicious -grin:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I suppose you think me queer. I will explain.” What -he said was certainly queer enough. “I have been living on -an annuity into which I put my fortune. In other words, I -have been, as to money, concentric half of my life to enable -me to be as eccentric as I pleased the rest of it. Now I -repent of my wickedness to you all, and desire to live in the -memory of at least one of my family. You think I am poor -and have only my annuity. You will be profitably surprised. -I have never parted with my precious stones; they will be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>yours. You are my sole heir. I shall carry with me to the -other world the satisfaction of making one man happy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No doubt you have always had expectations, and I desire -that you should continue to expect. My jewels are in my -safe. There is nothing else left.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>When I thanked him he grinned all over his lean face, -and said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You will have to pay for my funeral.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I must say that I never looked forward to any expenditure -with more pleasure than to what it would cost me to put -him away in the earth. As I rose to go, he said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The rubies are valuable. They are in my safe at the -trust company. Before you unlock the box, be very careful -to read a letter which lies on top of it; and be sure not to -shake the box.” I thought this odd. “Don’t come back. -It won’t hasten things.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He died that day week, and was handsomely buried. The -day after, his will was found, leaving me his heir. I opened -his safe and found in it nothing but an iron box, evidently -of his own making, for he was a skilled workman and very -ingenious. The box was heavy and strong, about ten inches -long, eight inches wide and ten inches high. On it lay a -letter to me. It ran thus:</p> - -<p class='c030'>“<span class='sc'>Dear Tom</span>: This box contains a large number of very -fine pigeon-blood rubies and a fair lot of diamonds; one is -blue—a beauty. There are hundreds of pearls—one the famous -green pearl and a necklace of blue pearls, for which any -woman would sell her soul—or her affections.” I thought of -Susan. “I wish you to continue to have expectations and -continuously to remember your dear uncle. I would have -left these stones to some charity, but I hate the poor as much -as I hate your mother’s son,—yes, rather more.</p> - -<p class='c032'>“The box contains an interesting mechanism, which will -act with certainty as you unlock it, and explode ten ounces -of my improved, supersensitive dynamite—no, to be accurate, -there are only nine and a half ounces. Doubt me, and open -it, and you will be blown to atoms. Believe me, and you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>will continue to nourish expectations which will never be -fulfilled. As a considerate man, I counsel extreme care in -handling the box. Don’t forget your affectionate</p> -<div class='c034'>“<span class='sc'>Uncle</span>.”</div> - -<p class='c021'>I stood appalled, the key in my hand. Was it true? Was -it a lie? I had spent all my savings on the funeral, and was -poorer than ever.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Remembering the old man’s oddity, his malice, his cleverness -in mechanic arts, and the patent explosive which had -helped to make him rich, I began to feel how very likely it -was that he had told the truth in this cruel letter.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I carried the iron box away to my lodgings, set it down -with care in a closet, laid the key on it, and locked the -closet.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then I sat down, as yet hopeful, and began to exert my -ingenuity upon ways of opening the box without being killed. -There must be a way.</p> - -<p class='c019'>After a week of vain thinking I bethought me, one day, -that it would be easy to explode the box by unlocking it at a -safe distance, and I arranged a plan with wires, which seemed -as if it would answer. But when I reflected on what would -happen when the dynamite scattered the rubies, I knew -that I should be none the richer. For hours at a time I sat -looking at that box and handling the key.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At last I hung the key on my watch-guard; but then it -occurred to me that it might be lost or stolen. Dreading this, -I hid it, fearful that some one might use it to open the box. -This state of doubt and fear lasted for weeks, until I became -nervous and began to dread that some accident might happen -to that box. A burglar might come and boldly carry it away -and force it open and find it was a wicked fraud of my uncle’s. -Even the rumble and vibration caused by the heavy vans in -the street became at last a terror.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Worst of all, my salary was reduced, and I saw that marriage -was out of the question.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In my despair I consulted Professor Clinch about my -dilemma, and as to some safe way of getting at the rubies. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>He said that, if my uncle had not lied, there was none that -would not ruin the stones, especially the pearls, but that it -was a silly tale and altogether incredible. I offered him the -biggest ruby if he wished to test his opinion. He did not -desire to do so.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Dr. Schaff, my uncle’s doctor, believed the old man’s letter, -and added a caution, which was entirely useless, for by this -time I was afraid to be in the room with that terrible box.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At last the doctor kindly warned me that I was in danger -of losing my mind with too much thought about my rubies. -In fact, I did nothing else but contrive wild plans to get at -them safely. I spent all my spare hours at one of the great -libraries reading about dynamite. Indeed, I talked of it until -the library attendants, believing me a lunatic or a dynamite -fiend, declined to humor me, and spoke to the police. -I suspect that for a while I was “shadowed” as a suspicious, -and possibly criminal, character. I gave up the libraries, -and, becoming more and more fearful, set my precious box -on a down pillow, for fear of its being shaken; for at this -time even the absurd possibility of its being disturbed by an -earthquake troubled me. I tried to calculate the amount -of shake needful to explode my box.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The old doctor, when I saw him again, begged me to give -up all thought of the matter, and, as I felt how completely -I was the slave of one despotic idea, I tried to take the good -advice thus given me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Unhappily, I found, soon after, between the leaves of my -uncle’s Bible, a numbered list of the stones with their cost -and much beside. It was dated two years before my uncle’s -death. Many of the stones were well known, and their -enormous value amazed me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Several of the rubies were described with care, and curious -histories of them were given in detail. One was said to be -the famous “Sunset ruby,” which had belonged to the Empress-Queen -Maria Theresa. One was called the “Blood -ruby,” not, as was explained, because of the color, but on account -of the murders it had occasioned. Now, as I read, it -seemed again to threaten death.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>The pearls were described with care as an unequalled collection. -Concerning two of them my uncle had written what -I might call biographies,—for, indeed, they seemed to have -done much evil and some good. One, a black pearl, was mentioned -in an old bill of sale as—She—which seemed queer -to me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was maddening. Here, guarded by a vision of sudden -death, was wealth “beyond the dreams of avarice.” I am -not a clever or ingenious man; I know little beyond how to -keep a ledger, and so I was, and am, no doubt, absurd about -many of my notions as to how to solve this riddle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At one time I thought of finding a man who would take -the risk of unlocking the box, but what right had I to subject -any one else to the trial I dared not face? I could easily -drop the box from a height somewhere, and if it did not explode -could then safely unlock it; but if it did blow up when -it fell, good-by to my rubies. <i>Mine</i>, indeed! I was rich, and -I was not. I grew thin and morbid, and so miserable that, -being a good Catholic, I at last carried my troubles to my -father confessor. He thought it simply a cruel jest of my -uncle’s, but was not so eager for another world as to be willing -to open my box. He, too, counselled me to cease thinking -about it. Good heavens! I dreamed about it. Not to think -about it was impossible. Neither my own thought nor science -nor religion had been able to assist me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Two years have gone by, and I am one of the richest men -in the city, and have no more money than will keep me alive.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Susan said I was half cracked like Uncle Philip, and broke -off her engagement. In my despair I have advertised in the -“Journal of Science,” and have had absurd schemes sent me -by the dozen. At last, as I talked too much about it, the -thing became so well known that when I put the horror in -a safe, in bank, I was promptly desired to withdraw it. I -was in constant fear of burglars, and my landlady gave me -notice to leave, because no one would stay in the house with -that box. I am now advised to print my story and await -advice from the ingenuity of the American mind.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I have moved into the suburbs and hidden the box and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>changed my name and my occupation. This I did to escape -the curiosity of the reporters. I ought to say that when the -government officials came to hear of my inheritance, they very -reasonably desired to collect the succession tax on my uncle’s -estate.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I was delighted to assist them. I told the collector my story, -and showed him Uncle Philip’s letter. Then I offered him -the key, and asked for time to get half a mile away. That -man said he would think it over and come back later.</p> - -<p class='c019'>This is all I have to say. I have made a will and left my -rubies and pearls to the Society for the Prevention of Human -Vivisection. If any man thinks this account a joke or an -invention, let him coldly imagine the situation:</p> - -<p class='c019'>Given an iron box, known to contain wealth, said to contain -dynamite, arranged to explode when the key is used to -unlock it—what would any sane man do? What would he -advise?</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span> - <h2 class='c004'>THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE<a id='r8' /><a href='#f8' class='c024'><sup>[8]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By A. CONAN DOYLE</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f8'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r8'>8</a>. </span>By permission of Harper & Brothers.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>I had</span> called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day -in the autumn of last year, and found him in deep conversation -with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman, with -fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was -about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the -room and closed the door behind me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You could not possibly have come at a better time, my -dear Watson,” he said, cordially.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was afraid that you were engaged.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“So I am. Very much so.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then I can wait in the next room.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my -partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and -I have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in -yours also.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a -bob of greeting, with a quick, little, questioning glance from -his small, fat-encircled eyes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Try the settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-chair -and putting his finger-tips together, as was his custom when -in judicial moods. “I know, my dear Watson, that you share -my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and -humdrum routine of everyday life. You have shown your -relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to -chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to -embellish so many of my own little adventures.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to -me,” I observed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You will remember that I remarked the other day, just -<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>before we went into the very simple problem presented by -Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary -combinations we must go to life itself, which is always -far more daring than any effort of the imagination.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You did, doctor, but none the less you must come round -to my view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact -on you, until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges -me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has -been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin -a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular -which I have listened to for some time. You have heard me -remark that the strangest and most unique things are very -often connected not with the larger but with the smaller -crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for -doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As -far as I have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the -present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of -events is certainly among the most singular that I have ever -listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great -kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you, not -merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the -opening part, but also because the peculiar nature of the story -makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your -lips. As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of -the course of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands -of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In -the present instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, -to the best of my belief, unique.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of -some little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper -from the inside pocket of his great-coat. As he glanced down -the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward, and -the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at -the man, and endeavored, after the fashion of my companion, -to read the indications which might be presented by his dress -or appearance.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace -British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather -baggy gray shepherd’s check trousers, a not over-clean black -frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with -a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal -dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded -brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair -beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing -remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the -expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sherlock Holmes’s quick eye took in my occupation, and -he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning -glances. “Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time -done manual labor, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, -that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable -amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger -upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, -Mr. Holmes?” he asked. “How did you know, for example, -that I did manual labor? It’s as true as gospel, for I began -as a ship’s carpenter.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size -larger than your left. You have worked with it, and the -muscles are more developed.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read -that, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, -you use an arc-and-compass breastpin.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very -shiny for five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch -near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, but China?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your -right wrist could only have been done in China. I have made -a small study of tattoo marks, and have even contributed to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>the literature of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes’ -scales a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in -addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, -the matter becomes even more simple.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said -he. “I thought at first that you had done something clever, -but I see that there was nothing in it, after all.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a -mistake in explaining. ‘<i>Omne ignotum pro magnifico</i>,’ you -know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer -shipwreck if I am so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, -Mr. Wilson?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, I have got it now,” he answered, with his thick, red -finger planted half-way down the column. “Here it is. This -is what began it all. You just read it for yourself, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I took the paper from him, and read as follows:</p> - -<p class='c030'>“<span class='sc'>To the Red-headed League</span>: On account of the bequest -of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U.S.A., -there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member -of the League to a salary of £4 a week for purely nominal -services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and -mind, and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply -in person on Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, -at the offices of the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.”</p> - -<p class='c021'>“What on earth does this mean?” I ejaculated, after I had -twice read over the extraordinary announcement.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Holmes chuckled, and wriggled in his chair, as was his -habit when in high spirits. “It is a little off the beaten -track, isn’t it?” said he. “And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go -at scratch, and tell us all about yourself, your household, and -the effect which this advertisement had upon your fortunes. -You will first make a note, doctor, of the paper and the -date.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is <i>The Morning Chronicle</i>, of April 27, 1890. Just two -months ago.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>“Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock -Holmes,” said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; “I have -a small pawnbroker’s business at Coburg Square, near the -city. It’s not a very large affair, and of late years it has not -done more than just give me a living. I used to be able to -keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would -have a job to pay him, but that he is willing to come for half -wages, so as to learn the business.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What is the name of this obliging youth?” asked Sherlock -Holmes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, -either. It’s hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter -assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could -better himself, and earn twice what I am able to give him. -But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his -head?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an -employé who comes under the full market price. It is not a -common experience among employers in this age. I don’t -know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “Never -was such a fellow for photography. Snapping away with a -camera when he ought to be improving his mind, and then -diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop -his pictures. That is his main fault; but, on the -whole, he’s a good worker. There’s no vice in him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He is still with you, I presume?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of -simple cooking, and keeps the place clean—that’s all I have -in the house, for I am a widower, and never had any family. -We live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof -over our heads, and pay our debts, if we do nothing more.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. -Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight -weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed -man.’</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>“‘Why that?’ I asks.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Why,’ says he, ‘here’s another vacancy in the League of -the Red-headed Men. It’s worth quite a little fortune to any -man who gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies -than there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits’ -end what to do with the money. If my hair would only -change color, here’s a nice little crib all ready for me to step -into.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Why, what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I -am a very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me -instead of my having to go to it, I was often weeks on end -without putting my foot over the door-mat. In that way I -didn’t know much of what was going on outside, and I was -always glad of a bit of news.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed -Men?’ he asked, with his eyes open.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Never.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for -one of the vacancies.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘And what are they worth?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is -slight, and it need not interfere very much with one’s other -occupations.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my -ears, for the business has not been over-good for some years, -and an extra couple of hundred would have been very handy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Tell me all about it,’ said I.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can -see for yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is -the address where you should apply for particulars. As far as -I can make out, the League was founded by an American -millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his -ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great sympathy -for all red-headed men; so, when he died, it was found -that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, -with instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy -berths to men whose hair is of that color. From all I hear it -is splendid pay, and very little to do.’</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>“‘But,’ said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men -who would apply.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Not so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘You -see it is really confined to Londoners, and to grown men. -This American had started from London when he was young, -and he wanted to do the old town a good turn. Then, again, -I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is light -red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery red. -Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk -in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put -yourself out of the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, -that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed -to me that, if there was to be any competition in the matter, I -stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. -Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I -thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered him to put -up the shutters for the day, and to come right away with me. -He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business -up, and started off for the address that was given us in the -advertisement.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. -From north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade -of red in his hair had tramped into the city to answer the -advertisement. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, -and Pope’s Court looked like a coster’s orange barrow. I -should not have thought there were so many in the whole -country as were brought together by that single advertisement. -Every shade of color they were—straw, lemon, orange, -brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there -were not many who had the real vivid flame-colored tint. -When I saw how many were waiting, I would have given it up -in despair; but Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did -it I could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted -until he got me through the crowd, and right up to the steps -which led to the office. There was a double stream upon the -stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>but we wedged in as well as we could, and soon found ourselves -in the office.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked -Holmes, as his client paused and refreshed his memory -with a huge pinch of snuff. “Pray continue your very -interesting statement.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden -chairs and a deal table, behind which sat a small man, with a -head that was even redder than mine. He said a few words -to each candidate as he came up, and then he always managed -to find some fault in them which would disqualify them. Getting -a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, -after all. However, when our turn came, the little man was -much more favorable to me than to any of the others, and he -closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private -word with us.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is -willing to fill a vacancy in the League.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘And he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. -‘He has every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen -anything so fine.’ He took a step backward, cocked his head -on one side, and gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. -Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated -me warmly on my success.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘It would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You will, -however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ -With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and -tugged until I yelled with the pain. ‘There is water in your -eyes,’ said he, as he released me. ‘I perceive that all is as it -should be. But we have to be careful, for we have twice been -deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales of -cobbler’s wax which would disgust you with human nature.’ -He stepped over to the window, and shouted through it at the -top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment -came up from below, and the folk all trooped -away in different directions, until there was not a red head to -be seen except my own and that of the manager.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>“‘My name,’ said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself -one of the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble -benefactor. Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you -a family?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I answered that I had not.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“His face fell immediately.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Dear me!’ he said, gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! -I am sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, -for the propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for -their maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you -should be a bachelor.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought -that I was not to have the vacancy after all; but, after -thinking it over for a few minutes, he said that it would be -all right.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘In the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be -fatal, but we must stretch a point in favor of a man with such -a head of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter -upon your new duties?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ -said I.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent -Spaulding. ‘I shall be able to look after that for you.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘What would be the hours?’ I asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Ten to two.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, -Mr. Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, -which is just before pay-day; so it would suit me very well -to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my -assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything -that turned up.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Is £4 a week.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘And the work?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Is purely nominal.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘What do you call purely nominal?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the -building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole -<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. -You don’t comply with the conditions if you budge from the -office during that time.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘It’s only four hours a day, and I should not think of -leaving,’ said I.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘No excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross; ‘neither -sickness nor business nor anything else. There you must -stay, or you lose your billet.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘And the work?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Is to copy out the “Encyclopædia Britannica.” There -is the first volume of it in that press. You must find your -own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide this table -and chair. Will you be ready to-morrow?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Certainly,’ I answered.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate -you once more on the important position which you -have been fortunate enough to gain.’ He bowed me out of -the room, and I went home with my assistant, hardly knowing -what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good -fortune.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I -was in low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself -that the whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, -though what its object might be I could not imagine. It -seemed altogether past belief that any one could make such -a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything -so simple as copying out the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica.’ -Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by -bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, -in the morning I determined to have a look at it anyhow, -so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, -and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for -Pope’s Court.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right -as possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. -Duncan Ross was there to see that I got fairly to work. He -started me off upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he -would drop in from time to time to see that all was right with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>me. At two o’clock he bade me good-day, complimented me -upon the amount that I had written, and locked the door of -the office after me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday -the manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns -for my week’s work. It was the same next week, and -the same the week after. Every morning I was there at ten, -and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan -Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, -after a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never -dared to leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure -when he might come, and the billet was such a good one, -and suited me so well, that I would not risk the loss -of it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written -about Abbots and Archery and Armor and Architecture and -Attica, and hoped with diligence that I might get on to the -B’s before very long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I -had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And then -suddenly the whole business came to an end.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“To an end?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my -work as usual at ten o’clock, but the door was shut and -locked, with a little square of card-board hammered on to the -middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read -for yourself.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a -sheet of note-paper. It read in this fashion:</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c023'> - <div>“<span class='sc'>The Red-headed League</span></div> - <div class='c000'><span class='small'>is</span></div> - <div class='c000'><span class='sc'>Dissolved</span>.</div> - <div class='c000'><i>October 9, 1890.</i>”</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c018'>Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement -and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that -we both burst out into a roar of laughter.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried -our client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “If -you can do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair -from which he had half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your -case for the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But -there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a -little funny about it. Pray what steps did you take when -you found the card upon the door?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then -I called at the offices round, but none of them seemed to -know anything about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who -is an accountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him -if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed -League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. -Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered -that the name was new to him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘What, the red-headed man?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Yes.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a -solicitor, and was using my room as a temporary convenience -until his new premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Where could I find him?’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, -17 King Edward Street, near St. Paul’s.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address -it was a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it -had ever heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan -Ross.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And what did you do then?” asked Holmes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice -of my assistant. But he could not help me in any way. -He could only say that if I waited I should hear by post. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>But that was not quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not -wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as I had -heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk -who were in need of it, I came right away to you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is -an exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look -into it. From what you have told me I think that it is possible -that graver issues hang from it than might at first sight -appear.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Grave enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why, I have -lost four pound a week.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked -Holmes, “I do not see that you have any grievance against this -extraordinary league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, -richer by some £30, to say nothing of the minute knowledge -which you have gained on every subject which comes -under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who -they are, and what their object was in playing this prank—if -it was a prank—upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for -them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We shall endeavor to clear up these points for you. And, -first, one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of -yours who first called your attention to the advertisement—how -long had he been with you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“About a month then.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“How did he come?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“In answer to an advertisement.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Was he the only applicant?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, I had a dozen.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why did you pick him?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Because he was handy, and would come cheap.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“At half wages, in fact.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his -face, though he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of -acid upon his forehead.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I -thought as much,” said he. “Have you ever observed that -his ears are pierced for earrings?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him -when he was a lad.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “He -is still with you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And has your business been attended to in your absence?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Nothing to complain of, sir. There’s never very much to -do of a morning.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you -an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. -To-day is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may -come to a conclusion.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, Watson,” said Holmes, when our visitor had left us, -“what do you make of it all?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I make nothing of it,” I answered, frankly. “It is a -most mysterious business.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the -less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, -featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace -face is the most difficult to identify. But I must -be prompt over this matter.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three-pipe -problem, and I beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” -He curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees -drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes -closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of -some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that he -had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he -suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man -who has made up his mind, and put his pipe down upon the -mantel-piece.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sarasate plays at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” he -remarked. “What do you think, Watson? Could your patients -spare you for a few hours?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>“I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very -absorbing.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then put on your hat and come. I am going through -the city first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I -observe that there is a good deal of German music on the -program which is rather more to my taste than Italian or -French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. Come -along!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; -and a short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene -of the singular story which we had listened to in the morning. -It was a pokey, little, shabby-genteel place, where four -lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out into a -small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a -few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against -a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls -and a brown board with “<span class='sc'>Jabez Wilson</span>” in white letters, -upon a corner house, announced the place where our red-headed -client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes -stopped in front of it with his head on one side, and looked -it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between puckered -lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down -again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally -he returned to the pawnbroker’s, and, having thumped vigorously -upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, -he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly -opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who -asked him to step in.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you -how you would go from here to the Strand.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant, -promptly, closing the door.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Smart fellow, that,” observed Holmes, as we walked away. -“He is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, -and for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be -third. I have known something of him before.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Evidently,” said I, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant counts for a -good deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am -<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you -might see him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Not him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What then?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The knees of his trousers.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And what did you see?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What I expected to see.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why did you beat the pavement?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for -talk. We are spies in an enemy’s country. We know something -of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts -which lie behind it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round -the corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as -great a contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the -back. It was one of the main arteries which convey the -traffic of the city to the north and west. The roadway was -blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a -double tide inward and outward, while the foot-paths were -black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult -to realize as we looked at the line of fine shops and -stately business premises that they really abutted on the -other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we had -just quitted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner, and -glancing along the line, “I should like just to remember the -order of the houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an -exact knowledge of London. There is Mortimer’s, the tobacconist, -the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the -City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and -McFarlane’s carriage-building depot. That carries us right -on to the other block. And now, doctor, we’ve done our -work, so it’s time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup -of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness -and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients -to vex us with their conundrums.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself -not only a very capable performer, but a composer of no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>ordinary merit. All the afternoon he sat in the stalls -wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his -long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently -smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike -those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, -keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible -to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature alternately -asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astuteness -represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against -the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated -in him. The swing of his nature took him from -extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, -he was never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, -he had been lounging in his arm-chair amid his improvisations -and his black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of -the chase would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant -reasoning power would rise to the level of intuition, -until those who were unacquainted with his methods would -look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not -that of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so -enwrapped in the music at St. James’s Hall I felt that an -evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himself -to hunt down.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You want to go home, no doubt, doctor,” he remarked, -as we emerged.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, it would be as well.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And I have some business to do which will take some -hours. This business at Coburg Square is serious.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why serious?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every -reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day -being Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want -your help to-night.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“At what time?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ten will be early enough.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Very well. And, I say, doctor, there may be some little -danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>He waved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in -an instant among the crowd.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I -was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my -dealings with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he -had heard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from his -words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what had -happened, but what was about to happen, while to me the -whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove -home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from -the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the “Encyclopædia” -down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and -the ominous words with which he had parted from me. What -was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? -Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the -hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker’s assistant -was a formidable man—a man who might play a deep -game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair, -and set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a quarter past nine when I started from home and -made my way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street -to Baker Street. Two hansoms were standing at the door, -and, as I entered the passage, I heard the sound of voices -from above. On entering his room I found Holmes in animated -conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized -as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other was -a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and -oppressively respectable frock-coat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ha! our party is complete,” said Holmes, buttoning up -his pea-jacket, and taking his heavy hunting crop from the -rack. “Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland -Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is -to be our companion in to-night’s adventure.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We’re hunting in couples again, doctor, you see,” said -Jones, in his consequential way. “Our friend here is a -wonderful man for starting a chase. All he wants is an old -dog to help him to do the running down.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>“I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our -chase,” observed Mr. Merryweather, gloomily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, -sir,” said the police agent, loftily. “He has his own little -methods, which are, if he won’t mind my saying so, just a -little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of -a detective in him. It is not too much to say that once -or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the -Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the -official force.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,” said the -stranger, with deference. “Still, I confess that I miss my -rubber. It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty -years that I have not had my rubber.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that you -will play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done -yet, and that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. -Merryweather, the stake will be some £30,000, and for you, -Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to lay your -hands.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. -He’s a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of -his profession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him -than on any criminal in London. He’s a remarkable man, is -young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he -himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as -cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at -every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. -He’ll crack a crib in Scotland one week, and be raising money -to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next. I’ve been on -his track for years, and have never set eyes on him yet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you -to-night. I’ve had one or two little turns also with Mr. John -Clay, and I agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. -It is past ten, however, and quite time that we -started. If you two will take the first hansom, Watson and -I will follow in the second.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>long drive, and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which -he had heard in the afternoon. We rattled through an endless -labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into Farringdon -Street.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We are close there now,” my friend remarked. “This -fellow Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested -in the matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with -us also. He is not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile -in his profession. He has one positive virtue. He is as -brave as a bull-dog, and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets -his claws upon any one. Here we are, and they are waiting -for us.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which -we had found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, -and, following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we -passed down a narrow passage and through a side door, which -he opened for us. Within there was a small corridor, which -ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was opened, -and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated -at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped -to light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling -passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a -huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with crates and -massive boxes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You are not very vulnerable from above,” Holmes remarked, -as he held up the lantern and gazed about him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Nor from below,” said Mr. Merryweather, striking his -stick upon the flags which lined the floor. “Why, dear me, -it sounds quite hollow!” he remarked, looking up in surprise.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I must really ask you to be a little more quiet,” said -Holmes, severely. “You have already imperilled the whole -success of our expedition. Might I beg that you would have -the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes, and not -to interfere?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a -crate, with a very injured expression upon his face, while -Holmes fell upon his knees upon the floor, and, with the lantern -and a magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficed to satisfy -him, for he sprang to his feet again, and put his glass in his -pocket.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We have at least an hour before us,” he remarked; “for -they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is -safely in bed. Then they will not lose a minute, for the -sooner they do their work the longer time they will have for -their escape. We are at present, doctor—as no doubt you -have divined—in the cellar of the city branch of one of the -principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman -of directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons -why the more daring criminals of London should take a considerable -interest in this cellar at present.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is our French gold,” whispered the director. “We -have had several warnings that an attempt might be made -upon it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Your French gold?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen -our resources, and borrowed, for that purpose, 30,000 napoleons -from the Bank of France. It has become known that -we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that -it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sit -contains 2000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. -Our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually -kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had -misgivings upon the subject.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Which were very well justified,” observed Holmes. “And -now it is time that we arranged our little plans. I expect -that within an hour matters will come to a head. In the -mean time, Mr. Merryweather, we must put the screen over -that dark lantern.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And sit in the dark?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my -pocket, and I thought that, as we were a <i>partie carrée</i>, you -might have your rubber after all. But I see that the enemy’s -preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence -of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our positions. -These are daring men, and though we shall take them -<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are -careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal -yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon -them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunction -about shooting them down.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden -case behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across -the front of his lantern, and left us in pitch darkness—such -an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced. -The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light -was still there, ready to flash out at a moment’s notice. To -me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there -was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, -and in the cold, dank air of the vault.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“They have but one retreat,” whispered Holmes. “That -is back through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope -that you have done what I asked you, Jones?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front -door.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must -be silent and wait.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards -it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that -the night must have almost gone, and the dawn be breaking -above us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to -change my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the -highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that I -could not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, -but I could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the -bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director. -From my position I could look over the case in the direction -of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. -Then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and -then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open -and a hand appeared; a white, almost womanly hand, which -felt about in the center of the little area of light. For a minute -or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out -<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, -and all was dark again save the single lurid spark -which marked a chink between the stones.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a -rending, tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned -over upon its side, and left a square, gaping hole, through -which streamed the light of a lantern. Over the edge there -peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, -and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself -shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon -the edge. In another instant he stood at the side of the -hole, and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small -like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s all clear,” he whispered. “Have you the chisel and -the bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I’ll swing -for it!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder -by the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard -the sound of rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. -The light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes’s -hunting crop came down on the man’s wrist, and the pistol -clinked upon the stone floor.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes, blandly. “You -have no chance at all.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“So I see,” the other answered, with the utmost coolness. -“I fancy that my pal is all right, though I see you have got -his coat-tails.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There are three men waiting for him at the door,” said -Holmes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. -I must compliment you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And I you,” Holmes answered. “Your red-headed idea -was very new and effective.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You’ll see your pal again presently,” said Jones. “He’s -quicker at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out -while I fix the derbies.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,” -remarked our prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>wrists. “You may not be aware that I have royal blood in -my veins. Have the goodness, also, when you address me always -to say ‘sir’ and ‘please.’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“All right,” said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. “Well, -would you please, sir, march up-stairs, where we can get a cab -to carry your highness to the police-station?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That is better,” said John Clay, serenely. He made a -sweeping bow to the three of us, and walked quietly off in the -custody of the detective.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Really Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather, as we followed -them from the cellar, “I do not know how the bank can -thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have -detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of -the most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever -come within my experience.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle -with Mr. John Clay,” said Holmes. “I have been at some -small expense over this matter, which I shall expect the bank -to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had -an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing -the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League.”</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>“You see, Watson,” he explained, in the early hours of the -morning, as we sat over a glass of whiskey-and-soda in Baker -Street, “it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only -possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement -of the League, and the copying of the ‘Encyclopædia,’ -must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of -the way for a number of hours every day. It was a curious -way of managing it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest -a better. The method was no doubt suggested to Clay’s ingenious -mind by the color of his accomplice’s hair. The £4 a -week was a lure which must draw him, and what was it to -them, who were playing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, -one rogue has the temporary office, the other -rogue incites the man to apply for it, and together they manage -to secure his absence every morning in the week. From -the time that I heard of the assistant having come for half -<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive -for securing the situation.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But how could you guess what the motive was?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected -a mere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the -question. The man’s business was a small one, and there -was nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate -preparations, and such an expenditure as they were at. -It must, then, be something out of the house. What could it -be? I thought of the assistant’s fondness for photography, -and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There -was the end of this tangled clue. Then I made inquiries as -to this mysterious assistant, and found that I had to deal with -one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London. He -was doing something in the cellar—something which took -many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once -more? I could think of nothing save that he was running a -tunnel to some other building.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of -action. I surprised you by beating upon the pavement with -my stick. I was ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out -in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, -and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had -some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other -before. I hardly looked at his face. His knees were what I -wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how worn, -wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours -of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they were -burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw that the City -and Suburban Bank abutted on our friend’s premises, and felt -that I had solved my problem. When you drove home after -the concert I called upon Scotland Yard, and upon the chairman -of the bank directors, with the result that you have -seen.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And how could you tell that they would make their attempt -to-night?” I asked.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, when they closed their League offices that was a -sign that they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson’s presence—in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span> other words, that they had completed their tunnel. -But it was essential that they should use it soon, as it might -be discovered, or the bullion might be removed. Saturday -would suit them better than any other day, as it would give -them two days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected -them to come to-night.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You reasoned it out beautifully,” I exclaimed, in unfeigned -admiration. “It is so long a chain, and yet every -link rings true.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It saved me from ennui,” he answered, yawning. “Alas! -I already feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one -long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. -These little problems help me to do so.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And you are a benefactor of the race,” said I.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, perhaps, after all, it is -of some little use,” he remarked. “<i>‘L’homme c’est rien—l’œuvre -c’est tout</i>,’ as Gustave Flaubert wrote to Georges -Sand.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span> - <h2 class='c004'>ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK<br /><span class='c025'>By Owen Johnson</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>They</span> were discussing languidly, as such groups do, seeking -from each topic a peg on which to hang a few epigrams that -might be retold in the lip currency of the club—Steingall, -the painter, florid of gesture, and effete, foreign in type, with -black-rimmed glasses and trailing ribbon of black silk that -cut across his cropped beard and cavalry mustaches; De -Gollyer, a critic, who preferred to be known as a man about -town, short, feverish, incisive, who slew platitudes with one -adjective and tagged a reputation with three; Rankin, the -architect, always in a defensive, explanatory attitude, who -held his elbows on the table, his hands before his long sliding -nose, and gestured with his fingers; Quinny, the illustrator, -long and gaunt, with a predatory eloquence that charged -irresistibly down on any subject, cut it off, surrounded it, -and raked it with enfilading wit and satire; and Peters, whose -methods of existence were a mystery, a young man of fifty, -who had done nothing and who knew every one by his first -name, the club postman, who carried the tittle-tattle, the <i>bon -mots</i> and the news of the day, who drew up a petition a week -and pursued the house committee with a daily grievance.</p> - -<p class='c019'>About the latticed porch, which ran around the sanded -yard with its feeble fountain and futile evergreens, other -groups were eying one another, or engaging in desultory conversation, -oppressed with the heaviness of the night.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he -devoured the conversation, having routed Steingall on the -Germans and archæology and Rankin on the origins of the -Lord’s Prayer, had seized a chance remark of De Gollyer’s to -say:</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>“There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like -everything that’s true it isn’t true.” He waved his long, -gouty fingers in the direction of Steingall, who, having been -silenced, was regarding him with a look of sleepy indifference. -“What is more to the point, is the small number of -human relations that are so simple and yet so fundamental -that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and reinterpreted -in every language, in every age, and yet remain inexhaustible -in the possibility of variations.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“By George, that is so,” said Steingall, waking up. -“Every art does go back to three or four notes. In composition -it is the same thing. Nothing new—nothing new since -a thousand years. By George, that is true! We invent nothing, -nothing!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Take the eternal triangle,” said Quinny hurriedly, not -to surrender his advantage, while Rankin and De Gollyer in -a bored way continued to gaze dreamily at a vagrant star or -two. “Two men and a woman, or two women and a man. -Obviously it should be classified as the first of the great -original parent themes. Its variations extend into the thousands. -By the way, Rankin, excellent opportunity, eh, for -some of our modern, painstaking, unemployed jackasses to -analyze and classify.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Quite right,” said Rankin without perceiving the satirical -note. “Now there’s De Maupassant’s <i>Fort comme la Mort</i>—quite -the most interesting variation—shows the turn a -genius can give. There the triangle is the man of middle -age, the mother he has loved in his youth and the daughter he -comes to love. It forms, you might say, the head of a whole -subdivision of modern continental literature.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Quite wrong, Rankin, quite wrong,” said Quinny, who -would have stated the other side quite as imperiously. -“What you cite is a variation of quite another theme, the -Faust theme—old age longing for youth, the man who has -loved longing for the love of his youth, which is youth itself. -The triangle is the theme of jealousy, the most destructive -and, therefore, the most dramatic of human passions. The -Faust theme is the most fundamental and inevitable of all -<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>human experiences, the tragedy of life itself. Quite a different -thing.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Rankin, who never agreed with Quinny unless Quinny -maliciously took advantage of his prior announcement to -agree with him, continued to combat this idea.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You believe then,” said De Gollyer after a certain moment -had been consumed in hair splitting, “that the origin of -all dramatic themes is simply the expression of some human -emotion. In other words, there can exist no more parent -themes than there are human emotions.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I thank you, sir, very well put,” said Quinny with a generous -wave of his hand. “Why is the <i>Three Musketeers</i> a -basic theme? Simply the interpretation of comradeship, the -emotion one man feels for another, vital because it is the one -peculiarly masculine emotion. Look at Du Maurier and -<i>Trilby</i>, Kipling in <i>Soldiers Three</i>—simply the <i>Three Musketeers</i>.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The <i>Vie de Bohème</i>?” suggested Steingall.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“In the real Vie de Bohème, yes,” said Quinny viciously. -“Not in the concocted sentimentalities that we now have -served up to us by athletic tenors and consumptive elephants!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Rankin, who had been silently deliberating on what had -been left behind, now said cunningly and with evident purpose:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“All the same, I don’t agree with you men at all. I believe -there are situations, original situations, that are independent -of your human emotions, that exist just because they -are situations, accidental and nothing else.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“As for instance?” said Quinny, preparing to attack.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, I’ll just cite an ordinary one that happens to come -to my mind,” said Rankin, who had carefully selected his -test. “In a group of seven or eight, such as we are here, a -theft takes place; one man is the thief—which one? I’d like -to know what emotion that interprets, and yet it certainly -is an original theme, at the bottom of a whole literature.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>This challenge was like a bomb.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Not the same thing.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>“Detective stories, bah!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, I say, Rankin, that’s literary melodrama.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Rankin, satisfied, smiled and winked victoriously over to -Tommers, who was listening from an adjacent table.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course your suggestion is out of order, my dear man, -to this extent,” said Quinny, who never surrendered, “in that -I am talking of fundamentals and you are citing details. -Nevertheless, I could answer that the situation you give, as -well as the whole school it belongs to, can be traced back to -the commonest of human emotions, curiosity; and that the -story of <i>Bluebeard</i> and <i>The Moonstone</i> are to all purposes -identically the same.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>At this Steingall, who had waited hopefully, gasped and -made as though to leave the table.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I shall take up your contention,” said Quinny without -pause for breath, “first, because you have opened up one of -my pet topics, and, second, because it gives me a chance to -talk.” He gave a sidelong glance at Steingall and winked at -De Gollyer. “What is the peculiar fascination that the detective -problem exercises over the human mind? You will -say curiosity. Yes and no. Admit at once that the whole -art of a detective story consists in the statement of the problem. -Any one can do it. I can do it. Steingall even can do -it. The solution doesn’t count. It is usually banal; it -should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we guess it? -Just as an able-minded man will sit down for hours and -fiddle over the puzzle column in a Sunday balderdash. Same -idea. There you have it, the problem—the detective story. -Now why the fascination? I’ll tell you. It appeals to our -curiosity, yes—but deeper to a sort of intellectual vanity. -Here are six matches, arrange them to make four squares; -five men present, a theft takes place—who’s the thief? Who -will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior cleverness—see? -That’s all—that’s all there is to it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Out of all of which,” said De Gollyer, “the interesting -thing is that Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply -of detective fiction is inexhaustible. It does all come down -to the simplest terms. Seven possibilities, one answer. It -<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>is a formula, ludicrously simple, mechanical, and yet we -will always pursue it to the end. The marvel is that writers -should seek for any other formula when here is one so safe, -that can never fail. Be George, I could start up a factory -on it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The reason is,” said Rankin, “that the situation does -constantly occur. It’s a situation that any of us might get -into any time. As a matter of fact, now, I personally know -two such occasions when I was of the party; and very uncomfortable -it was too.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What happened?” said Steingall.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake -had been made, and the other time the real thief was -detected by accident a year later. In both cases only one -or two of us knew what had happened.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, -after reflection, related another that had happened to a -friend.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen,” said Quinny -impatiently, for he had been silent too long, “you are glorifying -commonplaces. Every crime, I tell you, expresses itself -in the terms of the picture puzzle that you feed to your six-year-old. -It’s only the variation that is interesting. Now -quite the most remarkable turn of the complexities that can -be developed is, of course, the well-known instance of the -visitor at a club and the rare coin. Of course every one -knows that? What?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others -protested their ignorance.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why, it’s very well known,” said Quinny lightly. “A -distinguished visitor is brought into a club—dozen men, say, -present, at dinner, long table. Conversation finally veers -around to curiosities and relics. One of the members present -then takes from his pocket what he announces as one of the -rarest coins in existence—passes it around the table. Coin -travels back and forth, every one examining it, and the conversation -goes to another topic, say the influence of the automobile -on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>intellectual club topic—you know? All at once the owner -calls for his coin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at -every one else. First, they suspect a joke. Then it becomes -serious—the coin is immensely valuable. Who has taken it?</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The owner is a gentleman—does the gentlemanly idiotic -thing, of course, laughs, says he knows some one is playing a -practical joke on him and that the coin will be returned to-morrow. -The others refuse to leave the situation so. One -man proposes that they all submit to a search. Every one -gives his assent until it comes to the stranger. He refuses, -curtly, roughly, without giving any reason. Uncomfortable -silence—the man is a guest. No one knows him particularly -well—but still he is a guest. One member tries to make him -understand that no offense is offered, that the suggestion was -simply to clear the atmosphere, and all that sort of bally rot, -you know.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘I refuse to allow my person to be searched,’ says the -stranger, very firm, very proud, very English, you know, ‘and -I refuse to give my reason for my action.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Another silence. The men eye him and then glance at -one another. What’s to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette—that -magnificent inflated balloon. The visitor evidently -has the coin—but he is their guest and etiquette protects -him. Nice situation, eh?</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The table is cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit and -there under the ledge of the plate where it had been pushed—is -the coin. Banal explanation, eh? Of course. Solutions -always should be. At once every one in profouse apologies! -Whereupon the visitor rises and says:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Now I can give you the reason for my refusal to be -searched. There are only two known specimens of the coin -in existence, and the second happens to be here in my waistcoat -pocket.’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course,” said Quinny with a shrug of his shoulders, -“the story is well invented, but the turn to it is very nice—very -nice indeed.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I did know the story,” said Steingall, to be disagreeable; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>“the ending, though, is too obvious to be invented. The visitor -should have had on him not another coin, but something -absolutely different, something destructive, say, of a woman’s -reputation, and a great tragedy should have been threatened -by the casual misplacing of the coin.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have heard the same story told in a dozen different -ways,” said Rankin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually -happening,” said Steingall.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I know one extraordinary instance,” said Peters, who up -to the present, secure in his climax, had waited with a professional -smile until the big guns had been silenced. “In -fact, the most extraordinary instance of this sort I have ever -heard.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Peters, you little rascal,” said Quinny with a sidelong -glance, “I perceive you have quietly been letting us dress the -stage for you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is not a story that will please every one,” said Peters, -to whet their appetite.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Because you will want to know what no one can ever -know.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It has no conclusion then?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, quite the -most remarkable woman I have ever met, the story is complete. -As for the rest, it is what it is, because it is one example -where literature can do nothing better than record.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do I know the woman?” asked De Gollyer, who flattered -himself on passing through every class of society.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Possibly, but no more than any one else.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“An actress?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What she has been in the past I don’t know—a promoter -would better describe her. Undoubtedly she has been behind -the scenes in many an untold intrigue of the business world. -A very feminine woman, and yet, as you shall see, with an -unusual instantaneous masculine power of decision.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Peters,” said Quinny, waving a warning finger, “you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>are destroying your story. Your preface will bring an anti-climax.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You shall judge,” said Peters, who waited until his audience -was in strained attention before opening his story. -“The names are, of course, disguises.”</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>Mrs. Rita Kildair inhabited a charming bachelor-girl -studio, very elegant, of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings -just off Central Park West. She knew pretty nearly -every one in that indescribable society in New York that is -drawn from all levels, and that imposes but one condition -for membership—to be amusing. She knew every one and -no one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest rumors -her history or her means. No one had ever heard of a Mr. -Kildair. There was always about her a certain defensive -reserve the moment the limits of acquaintanceship had been -reached. She had a certain amount of money, she knew a -certain number of men in Wall Street affairs, and her studio -was furnished with taste and even distinction. She was of -any age. She might have suffered everything or nothing at -all. In this mingled society her invitations were eagerly -sought, her dinners were spontaneous, and the discussions, -though gay and usually daring, were invariably under the -control of wit and good taste.</p> - -<p class='c019'>On the Sunday night of this adventure she had, according -to her invariable custom, sent away her Japanese butler and -invited to an informal chafing-dish supper seven of her more -congenial friends, all of whom, as much as could be said of -any one, were habitués of the studio.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At seven o’clock, having finished dressing, she put in order -her bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between -the studio and a small dining room to the kitchen beyond. -Then, going into the studio, she lit a wax taper and was in -the act of touching off the brass candlesticks that lighted the -room when three knocks sounded on the door and a Mr. -Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed, -entered with the informality of assured acquaintance.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>“You are early,” said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“On the contrary, you are late,” said the broker, glancing -at his watch.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then be a good boy and help me with the candles,” she -said, giving him a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He obeyed, asking nonchalantly:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I say, dear lady, who’s to be here to-night?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The Enos Jacksons.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I thought they were separated.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Not yet.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have -thought of serving us a couple on the verge.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s interesting, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Through the Warings. Jackson’s a rather doubtful person, -isn’t he?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let’s call him a very sharp lawyer,” said Flanders defensively. -“They tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of -the market—in deep.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, I? I’m a bachelor,” he said with a shrug of his -shoulders, “and if I come a cropper it makes no difference.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is that possible?” she said, looking at him quickly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Probable even. And who else is coming?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Maude Lille—you know her?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I think not.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You met her here—a journalist.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Quite so, a strange career.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mr. Harris, a clubman, is coming, and the Stanley -Cheevers.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The Stanley Cheevers!” said Flanders with some surprise. -“Are we going to gamble?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You believe in that scandal about bridge?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Certainly not,” said Flanders, smiling. “You see I was -present. The Cheevers play a good game, a well united -game, and have an unusual system of makes. By-the-way -it’s Jackson who is very attentive to Mrs. Cheever, isn’t -it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>“Quite right.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What a charming party,” said Flanders flippantly. -“And where does Maude Lille come in?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Don’t joke. She is in a desperate way,” said Mrs. Kildair, -with a little sadness in her eyes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And Harris?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the -element of respectability.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of what?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping -his glance.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Don’t be an ass with me, my dear Flanders.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“By George, if this were Europe I’d wager you were in -the secret service, Mrs. Kildair.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Thank you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She smiled appreciatively and moved about the studio, giving -the finishing touches. The Stanley Cheevers entered, a -short fat man with a vacant fat face and a slow-moving eye, -and his wife, voluble, nervous, overdressed and pretty. Mr. -Harris came with Maude Lille, a woman, straight, dark, Indian, -with great masses of somber hair held in a little too -loosely for neatness, with thick, quick lips and eyes that -rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The -Enos Jacksons were late and still agitated as they entered. -His forehead had not quite banished the scowl, nor her eyes -the scorn. He was of the type that never lost his temper, -but caused others to lose theirs, immovable in his opinions, -with a prowling walk, a studied antagonism in his manner, -and an impudent look that fastened itself unerringly on the -weakness in the person to whom he spoke. Mrs. Jackson, who -seemed fastened to her husband by an invisible leash, had -a hunted, resisting quality back of a certain desperate dash, -which she assumed rather than felt in her attitude toward -life. One looked at her curiously and wondered what such a -nature would do in a crisis, with a lurking sense of a woman -who carried with her her own impending tragedy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>of the selection had been perceived, a smile of -malicious anticipation ran the rounds, which the hostess cut -short by saying:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, now that every one is here, this is the order of the -night: You can quarrel all you want, you can whisper all -the gossip you can think of about one another, but every one -is to be amusing! Also every one is to help with the dinner—nothing -formal and nothing serious. We may all be bankrupt -to-morrow, divorced or dead, but to-night we will be gay—that -is the invariable rule of the house!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Immediately a nervous laughter broke out and the company, -chattering, began to scatter through the rooms.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mrs. Kildair, stopping in her bedroom, donned a Watteaulike -cooking apron, and slipping her rings from her fingers -fixed the three on her pincushion with a hatpin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful,” said the low -voice of Maude Lille, who, with Harris and Mrs. Cheever, -was in the room.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There’s only one that is very valuable,” said Mrs. Kildair, -touching with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost, -two large diamonds, flanking a magnificent sapphire.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is beautiful—very beautiful,” said the journalist, her -eyes fastened to it with an uncontrollable fascination. She -put out her fingers and let them rest caressingly on the sapphire, -withdrawing them quickly as though the contact had -burned them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It must be very valuable,” she said, her breath catching -a little. Mrs. Cheever, moving forward, suddenly looked at -the ring.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It cost five thousand six years ago,” said Mrs. Kildair, -glancing down at it. “It has been my talisman ever since. -For the moment, however, I am cook; Maude Lille, you are -scullery maid; Harris is the chef, and we are under his orders. -Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Good Heavens, no!” said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, there are no onions to peel,” said Mrs. Kildair, -laughing. “All you’ll have to do is to help set the table. -On to the kitchen!”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>Under their hostess’s gay guidance the seven guests began -to circulate busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping -the chairs, opening bottles, and preparing the material -for the chafing dishes. Mrs. Kildair, in the kitchen, ransacked -the ice box, and with her own hands chopped the <i>fines herbes</i>, -shredded the chicken and measured the cream.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Flanders, carry this in carefully,” she said, her hands in -a towel. “Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the -salad bowl on the table. Everything ready, Harris? All -right. Every one sit down. I’ll be right in.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her -apron hung it in the closet. Then going to her dressing table -she drew the hatpin from the pincushion and carelessly -slipped the rings on her fingers. All at once she frowned -and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were there, -the third ring, the one with the sapphire and the two diamonds, -was missing.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Stupid,” she said to herself, and returned to her dressing -table. All at once she stopped. She remembered quite -clearly putting the pin through the three rings.</p> - -<p class='c019'>She made no attempt to search further, but remained without -moving, her fingers drumming slowly on the table, her -head to one side, her lip drawn in a little between her teeth, -listening with a frown to the babble from the outer room. -Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests had had a -dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been -busy in the kitchen.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Too much time before the mirror, dear lady,” called out -Flanders gaily, who from where he was seated could see her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is not he,” she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. -“Why not? He is clever—who knows? Let me think.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her -head bowed, her thumb between her teeth.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Who has taken it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She ran over the characters of her guests and their situations -as she knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind -stopped upon some reason that might explain a sudden temptation.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>“I shall find out nothing this way,” she said to herself -after a moment’s deliberation; “that is not the important -thing to me just now. The important thing is to get the ring -back.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, -her clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of -her journey.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Five minutes later, as Harris, installed <i>en maître</i> over the -chafing dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs. -Kildair came into the room like a lengthening shadow. Her -entrance had been made with scarcely a perceptible sound, -and yet each guest was aware of it at the same moment, with -a little nervous start.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Heavens, dear lady,” exclaimed Flanders, “you come in -on us like a Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a -surprise?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing -her forehead together until the eyebrows ran in a straight -line.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have something to say to you,” she said in a sharp, -businesslike manner, watching the company with penetrating -eagerness.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. -Harris extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish -clumsily with a discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever -and Mrs. Enos Jackson swung about abruptly, Maude Lille -rose a little from her seat, while the men imitated these movements -of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the feet.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mr. Enos Jackson?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, Mrs. Kildair.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Kindly do as I ask you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Certainly.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness -that was almost an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his -eyebrows a little in surprise.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Go to the door,” she continued, shifting her glance from -him to the others. “Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the -key.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>He executed the order without bungling, and returning -stood before her, tendering the key.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You’ve locked it?” she said, making the words an excuse -to bury her glance in his.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“As you wished me to.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Thanks.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise -locked the door into her bedroom through which she had -come.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly -unaware of Jackson, who still awaited her further commands, -her eyes studied a moment the possibilities of the apartment.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mr. Cheever?” she said in a low voice.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, Mrs. Kildair.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Blow out all the candles except the candelabrum on the -table.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Put out the lights, Mrs. Kildair?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“At once.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and -the look of questioning and wonder that passed did not escape -the hostess.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But, my dear Mrs. Kildair,” said Mrs. Jackson with a -little nervous catch of her breath, “what is it? I’m getting -terribly worked up! My nerves—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Miss Lille?” said the voice of command.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The journalist, calmer than the rest, had watched the proceedings -without surprise, as though fore-warned by professional -instinct that something of importance was about to -take place. Now she rose quietly with an almost stealthy -motion.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Put the candelabrum on this table—here,” said Mrs. Kildair, -indicating a large round table on which a few books -were grouped. “No, wait. Mr. Jackson, first clear off the -table. I want nothing on it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But, Mrs. Kildair—” began Mrs. Jackson’s shrill voice -again.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>“That’s it. Now put down the candelabrum.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>In a moment, as Mr. Cheever proceeded methodically on his -errand, the brilliant crossfire of lights dropped in the studio, -only a few smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the -high room seemed to grow more distant as it came under the -sole dominion of the three candles bracketed in silver at the -head of the bare mahogany table.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now listen!” said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice had in it a -cold note. “My sapphire ring has just been stolen.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She said it suddenly, hurling the news among them and -waiting ferret-like for some indications in the chorus that -broke out.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Stolen!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Stolen—by Jove!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You don’t mean it!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What! Stolen here—to-night?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The ring has been taken within the last twenty minutes,” -continued Mrs. Kildair in the same determined, chiseled tone. -“I am not going to mince words. The ring has been taken -and the thief is among you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp -and a sudden turning and searching, then suddenly Cheever’s -deep bass broke out:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Stolen! But, Mrs. Kildair, is it possible?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt,” said Mrs. -Kildair. “Three of you were in my bedroom when I placed -my rings on the pincushion. Each of you has passed through -there a dozen times since. My sapphire ring is gone, and one -of you has taken it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mrs. Jackson gave a little scream, and reached heavily for a -glass of water. Mrs. Cheever said something inarticulate in -the outburst of masculine exclamation. Only Maude Lille’s -calm voice could be heard saying:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. -The sapphire ring was on top.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now listen!” said Mrs. Kildair, her eyes on Maude Lille’s -eyes. “I am not going to mince words. I am not going to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>stand on ceremony. I’m going to have that ring back. Listen -to me carefully. I’m going to have that ring back, and -until I do, not a soul shall leave this room.” She tapped on -the table with her nervous knuckles. “Who has taken it I -do not care to know. All I want is my ring. Now I’m going -to make it possible for whoever took it to restore it without -possibility of detection. The doors are locked and will stay -locked. I am going to put out the lights, and I am going to -count one hundred slowly. You will be in absolute darkness; -no one will know or see what is done. But if at the end of -that time the ring is not here on this table I shall telephone -the police and have every one in this room searched. Am I -quite clear?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly she cut short the nervous outbreak of suggestions -and in the same firm voice continued:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Every one take his place about the table. That’s it. -That will do.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The women, with the exception of the inscrutable Maude -Lille, gazed hysterically from face to face; while the men, -compressing their fingers, locking them or grasping their -chins, looked straight ahead fixedly at their hostess.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mrs. Kildair, having calmly assured herself that all were -ranged as she wished, blew out two of the three candles.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I shall count one hundred, no more, no less,” she said. -“Either I get back that ring or every one in this room is to -be searched, remember.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Leaning over, she blew out the remaining candle and snuffed -it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“One, two, three, four, five—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a -clock’s ticking.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, -the grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing -of a man.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying -note of her voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to -affect the company. A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>almost on the verge of hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously -clearing his throat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary -her measure the slightest, only the sound became more metallic.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Some one had sighed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, -seventy-seven—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of -the table was heard a slight metallic note.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The ring!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was Maude Lille’s quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. -Kildair continued to count.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The tension became unbearable. Two or three voices protested -against the needless prolonging of the torture.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine and one -hundred.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>A match sputtered in Mrs. Kildair’s hand and on the instant -the company craned forward. In the center of the -table was the sparkling sapphire and diamond ring. Candles -were lit, flaring up like searchlights on the white accusing -faces.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me,” said Mrs. Kildair. -She held out her hand without trembling, a smile of triumph -on her face, which had in it for a moment an expression of -positive cruelty.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Immediately she changed, contemplating with amusement -the horror of her guests, staring blindly from one to another, -seeing the indefinable glance of interrogation that passed -from Cheever to Mrs. Cheever, from Mrs. Jackson to her husband, -and then without emotion she said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now that that is over we can have a very gay little supper.”</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>When Peters had pushed back his chair, satisfied as only a -trained raconteur can be by the silence of a difficult audience, -and had busied himself with a cigar, there was an instant -outcry.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I say, Peters, old boy, that is not all!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Absolutely.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The story ends there?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That ends the story.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But who took the ring?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Peters extended his hands in an empty gesture.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What! It was never found out?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Never.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No clue?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“None.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t like the story,” said De Gollyer.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s no story at all,” said Steingall.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Permit me,” said Quinny in a didactic way; “it is a story, -and it is complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it -has none of the banalities of a solution and leaves the problem -even more confused than at the start.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I don’t see—” began Rankin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Of course you don’t, my dear man,” said Quinny crushingly. -“You do not see that any solution would be commonplace, -whereas no solution leaves an extraordinary intellectual -problem.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“How so?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“In the first place,” said Quinny, preparing to annex the -topic, “whether the situation actually happened or not, which -is in itself a mere triviality, Peters has constructed it in a -masterly way, the proof of which is that he has made <i>me</i> -listen. Observe, each person present might have taken the -ring—Flanders, a broker, just come a cropper; Maude Lille, a -woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means; either -Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, suspected of being card sharps—very -good touch that, Peters, when the husband and wife glanced -involuntarily at each other at the end—Mr. Enos Jackson, a -sharp lawyer, or his wife about to be divorced; even Harris, -concerning whom, very cleverly, Peters has said nothing at -<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>all to make him quite the most suspicious of all. There are, -therefore, seven solutions, all possible and all logical. But -beyond this is left a great intellectual problem.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“How so?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the -ring when threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildair’s -clever expedient of throwing the room into darkness -made detection impossible? Was it a woman who lacked the -necessary courage to continue, or was it a man who repented -his first impulse? Is a man or is a woman the greater natural -criminal?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A woman took it, of course,” said Rankin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“On the contrary, it was a man,” said Steingall, “for the -second action was more difficult than the first.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A man, certainly,” said De Gollyer. “The restoration of -the ring was a logical decision.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You see,” said Quinny triumphantly, “personally I incline -to a woman for the reason that a weaker feminine nature -is peculiarly susceptible to the domination of her own sex. -There you are. We could meet and debate the subject year -in and year out and never agree.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I recognize most of the characters,” said De Gollyer with -a little confidential smile toward Peters. “Mrs. Kildair, of -course, is all you say of her—an extraordinary woman. The -story is quite characteristic of her. Flanders, I am not sure -of, but I think I know him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Did it really happen?” asked Rankin, who always took -the commonplace point of view.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Exactly as I have told it,” said Peters.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The only one I don’t recognize is Harris,” said De Gollyer -pensively.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Your humble servant,” said Peters, smiling.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The four looked up suddenly with a little start.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What!” said Quinny, abruptly confused. “You—you -were there?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I was there.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The four continued to look at him without speaking, each -absorbed in his own thoughts, with a sudden ill ease.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>A club attendant, with a telephone slip on a tray, stopped -by Peters’ side. He excused himself and went along the -porch, nodding from table to table.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Curious chap,” said De Gollyer musingly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Extraordinary.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who -continued watching Peters’ trim, disappearing figure in silence, -without looking at one another—with a certain ill ease.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span> - <h2 class='c004'>A RETRIEVED REFORMATION<a id='r9' /><a href='#f9' class='c024'><sup>[9]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By O. HENRY</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f9'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r9'>9</a>. </span>From <i>Roads of Destiny</i>. Published by permission of the publishers. -Copyright, 1909, by Doubleday, Page & Co.</p> -</div> -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>A guard</span> came to the prison shoe-shop, where Jimmy Valentine -was assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the -front office. There the warden handed Jimmy his pardon, -which had been signed that morning by the governor. Jimmy -took it in a tired kind of way. He had served nearly ten -months of a four-year sentence. He had expected to stay -only about three months, at the longest. When a man with -as many friends on the outside as Jimmy Valentine had is -received in the “stir” it is hardly worth while to cut his hair.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Now, Valentine,” said the warden, “you’ll go out in the -morning. Brace up, and make a man of yourself. You’re -not a bad fellow at heart. Stop cracking safes, and live -straight.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Me?” said Jimmy, in surprise. “Why, I never cracked -a safe in my life.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Oh, no,” laughed the warden. “Of course not. Let’s -see, now. How was it you happened to get sent up on that -Springfield job? Was it because you wouldn’t prove an alibi -for fear of compromising somebody in extremely high-toned -society? Or was it simply a case of a mean old jury that had -it in for you? It’s always one or the other with you innocent -victims.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Me?” said Jimmy, still blankly virtuous. “Why, warden, -I never was in Springfield in my life!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Take him back, Cronin,” smiled the warden, “and fix -him up with outgoing clothes. Unlock him at seven in the -morning, and let him come to the bull-pen. Better think over -my advice, Valentine.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>At a quarter past seven on the next morning Jimmy stood -in the warden’s outer office. He had on a suit of the villainously -fitting, ready-made clothes and a pair of the stiff, -squeaky shoes that the state furnishes to its discharged compulsory -guests.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The clerk handed him a railroad ticket and the five-dollar -bill with which the law expected him to rehabilitate himself -into good citizenship and prosperity. The warden gave him -a cigar, and shook hands. Valentine, 9762, was chronicled on -the books “Pardoned by Governor,” and Mr. James Valentine -walked out into the sunshine.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Disregarding the song of the birds, the waving green trees, -and the smell of the flowers, Jimmy headed straight for a -restaurant. There he tasted the first sweet joys of liberty in -the shape of a broiled chicken and a bottle of white wine—followed -by a cigar a grade better than the one the warden -had given him. From there he proceeded leisurely to the -depot. He tossed a quarter into the hat of a blind man sitting -by the door, and boarded his train. Three hours set him -down in a little town near the state line. He went to the -café of one Mike Dolan and shook hands with Mike, who -was alone behind the bar.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sorry we couldn’t make it sooner, Jimmy, me boy,” said -Mike. “But we had that protest from Springfield to buck -against, and the governor nearly balked. Feeling all right?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Fine,” said Jimmy. “Got my key?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He got his key and went up-stairs, unlocking the door of -a room at the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. -There on the floor was still Ben Price’s collar-button that had -been torn from that eminent detective’s shirt-band when they -had overpowered Jimmy to arrest him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back -a panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suit-case. -He opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar’s -tools in the East. It was a complete set, made of specially -tempered steel, the latest design in drills, punches, braces -and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three -novelties, invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took pride. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made -at ——, a place where they make such things for the profession.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In half an hour Jimmy went down stairs and through the -café. He was now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, -and carried his dusted and cleaned suit-case in his hand.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Got anything on?” asked Mike Dolan, genially.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Me?” said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. “I don’t understand. -I’m representing the New York Amalgamated Short -Snap Biscuit Cracker and Frazzled Wheat Company.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>This statement delighted Mike to such an extent that Jimmy -had to take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. He never touched -“hard” drinks.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A week after the release of Valentine, 9762, there was a -neat job of safe-burglary done in Richmond, Indiana, with -no clue to the author. A scant eight hundred dollars was -all that was secured. Two weeks after that a patented, improved, -burglar-proof safe in Logansport was opened like -a cheese to the tune of fifteen hundred dollars, currency; securities -and silver untouched. That began to interest the -rogue-catchers. Then an old-fashioned bank-safe in Jefferson -City became active and threw out of its crater an eruption -of bank-notes amounting to five thousand dollars. The losses -were now high enough to bring the matter up into Ben Price’s -class of work. By comparing notes, a remarkable similarity -in the methods of the burglaries was noticed. Ben Price investigated -the scenes of the robberies, and was heard to remark:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That’s Dandy Jim Valentine’s autograph. He’s resumed -business. Look at that combination knob—jerked out as easy -as pulling up a radish in wet weather. He’s got the only -clamps that can do it. And look how clean those tumblers -were punched out! Jimmy never has to drill but one hole. -Yes, I guess I want Mr. Valentine. He’ll do his bit next -time without any short-time or clemency foolishness.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Ben Price knew Jimmy’s habits. He had learned them -while working up the Springfield case. Long jumps, quick -get-aways, no confederates, and a taste for good society—these -<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>ways had helped Mr. Valentine to become noted as a -successful dodger of retribution. It was given out that Ben -Price had taken up the trail of the elusive cracksman, and -other people with burglar-proof safes felt more at ease.</p> - -<p class='c019'>One afternoon Jimmy Valentine and his suit-case climbed -out of the mail-hack in Elmore, a little town five miles off the -railroad down in the black-jack country of Arkansas. Jimmy, -looking like an athletic young senior just home from college, -went down the board side-walk toward the hotel.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A young lady crossed the street, passed him at the corner -and entered a door over which was the sign “The Elmore -Bank.” Jimmy Valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what -he was, and became another man. She lowered her eyes and -colored slightly. Young men of Jimmy’s style and looks -were scarce in Elmore.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the -bank as if he were one of the stockholders, and began to -question him about the town, feeding him dimes at intervals. -By and by the young lady came out, looking royally unconscious -of the young man with the suit-case, and went her -way.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Isn’t that young lady Miss Polly Simpson?” asked -Jimmy, with specious guile.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Naw,” said the boy. “She’s Annabel Adams. Her pa -owns this bank. What’d you come to Elmore for? Is that -a gold watch-chain? I’m going to get a bulldog. Got any -more dimes?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Jimmy went to the Planters’ Hotel, registered as Ralph -D. Spencer, and engaged a room. He leaned on the desk and -declared his platform to the clerk. He said he had come to -Elmore to look for a location to go into business. How was -the shoe business, now, in the town? He had thought of the -shoe business. Was there an opening?</p> - -<p class='c019'>The clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of -Jimmy. He, himself, was something of a pattern of fashion -to the thinly gilded youth of Elmore, but he now perceived -his shortcomings. While trying to figure out Jimmy’s manner -of tying his four-in-hand he cordially gave information.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>Yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line. -There wasn’t an exclusive shoe-store in the place. The dry-goods -and general stores handled them. Business in all lines -was fairly good. Hoped Mr. Spencer would decide to locate -in Elmore. He would find it a pleasant town to live in, and -the people very sociable.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mr. Spencer thought he would stop over in the town a few -days and look over the situation. No, the clerk needn’t call -the boy. He would carry up his suit-case, himself; it was -rather heavy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mr. Ralph Spencer, the phœnix that arose from Jimmy Valentine’s -ashes—ashes left by the flame of a sudden and alterative -attack of love—remained in Elmore, and prospered. He -opened a shoe-store and secured a good run of trade.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Socially he was also a success, and made many friends. -And he accomplished the wish of his heart. He met Miss -Annabel Adams, and became more and more captivated by -her charms.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At the end of a year the situation of Mr. Ralph Spencer was -this: he had won the respect of the community, his shoe-store -was flourishing, and he and Annabel were engaged to be married -in two weeks. Mr. Adams, the typical, plodding, country -banker, approved of Spencer. Annabel’s pride in him almost -equalled her affection. He was as much at home in the family -of Mr. Adams and that of Annabel’s married sister as if he -were already a member.</p> - -<p class='c019'>One day Jimmy sat down in his room and wrote this letter, -which he mailed to the safe address of one of his old friends -in St. Louis:</p> - -<p class='c035'><span class='sc'>Dear Old Pal</span>:</p> -<p class='c032'>I want you to be at Sullivan’s place, in Little Rock, next Wednesday -night, at nine o’clock. I want you to wind up some little matters -for me. And, also, I want to make you a present of my kit of -tools. I know you’ll be glad to get them—you couldn’t duplicate -the lot for a thousand dollars. Say, Billy, I’ve quit the old business—a -year ago. I’ve got a nice store. I’m making an honest living, -and I’m going to marry the finest girl on earth two weeks from now. -It’s the only life, Billy—the straight one. I wouldn’t touch a dollar -of another man’s money now for a million. After I get married -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>I’m going to sell out and go West, where there won’t be so much -danger of having old scores brought up against me. I tell you, -Billy, she’s an angel. She believes in me; and I wouldn’t do another -crooked thing for the whole world. Be sure to be at Sully’s, -for I must see you. I’ll bring the tools with me.</p> -<p class='c036'>Your old friend,</p> -<p class='c037'><span class='sc'>Jimmy</span>.</p> - -<p class='c021'>On the Monday night after Jimmy wrote this letter, Ben -Price jogged unobtrusively into Elmore in a livery buggy. -He lounged about town in his quiet way until he found out -what he wanted to know. From the drug-store across the -street from Spencer’s shoe-store he got a good look at Ralph -D. Spencer.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Going to marry the banker’s daughter are you, Jimmy?” -said Ben to himself, softly. “Well, I don’t know!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The next morning Jimmy took breakfast at the Adamses. -He was going to Little Rock that day to order his wedding-suit -and buy something nice for Annabel. That would be the -first time he had left town since he came to Elmore. It had -been more than a year now since those last professional -“jobs,” and he thought he could safely venture out.</p> - -<p class='c019'>After breakfast quite a family party went downtown -together—Mr. Adams, Annabel, Jimmy, and Annabel’s married -sister with her two little girls, aged five and nine. They -came by the hotel where Jimmy still boarded, and he ran up -to his room and brought along his suit-case. Then they went -on to the bank. There stood Jimmy’s horse and buggy and -Dolph Gibson, who was going to drive him over to the railroad -station.</p> - -<p class='c019'>All went inside the high, carved oak railings into the -banking-room—Jimmy included, for Mr. Adams’s future son-in-law -was welcome anywhere. The clerks were pleased to -be greeted by the good-looking, agreeable young man who was -going to marry Miss Annabel. Jimmy set his suit-case down. -Annabel, whose heart was bubbling with lively youth, put on -Jimmy’s hat, and picked up the suit-case. “Wouldn’t I make -a nice drummer?” said Annabel. “My! Ralph, how heavy it -is? Feels like it was full of gold bricks.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>“Lot of nickel-plated shoe-horns in there,” said Jimmy, -coolly, “that I’m going to return. Thought I’d save express -charges by taking them up. I’m getting awfully -economical.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. -Mr. Adams was very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection -by every one. The vault was a small one, but it had a new, -patented door. It fastened with three solid steel bolts thrown -simultaneously with a single handle, and had a time-lock. -Mr. Adams beamingly explained its workings to Mr. Spencer, -who showed a courteous but not too intelligent interest. The -two children, May and Agatha, were delighted by the shining -metal and funny clock and knobs.</p> - -<p class='c019'>While they were thus engaged Ben Price sauntered in and -leaned on his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. -He told the teller that he didn’t want anything; he was -just waiting for a man he knew.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a -commotion. Unperceived by the elders, May, the nine-year-old -girl, in a spirit of play, had shut Agatha in the vault. She -had then shot the bolts and turned the knob of the combination -as she had seen Mr. Adams do.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a -moment. “The door can’t be opened,” he groaned. “The -clock hasn’t been wound nor the combination set.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Agatha’s mother screamed again, hysterically.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hush!” said Mr. Adams, raising his trembling hand. -“All be quiet for a moment. Agatha!” he called as loudly as -he could. “Listen to me.” During the following silence -they could just hear the faint sound of the child wildly -shrieking in the dark vault in a panic of terror.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“My precious darling!” wailed the mother. “She will die -of fright! Open the door! Oh, break it open! Can’t you -men do something?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There isn’t a man nearer than Little Rock who can open -that door,” said Mr. Adams, in a shaky voice. “My God! -Spencer, what shall we do? That child—she can’t stand it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>long in there. There isn’t enough air, and, besides, she’ll -go into convulsions from fright.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Agatha’s mother, frantic now, beat the door of the vault -with her hands. Somebody wildly suggested dynamite. Annabel -turned to Jimmy, her large eyes full of anguish, but not -yet despairing. To a woman nothing seems quite impossible -to the powers of the man she worships.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Can’t you do something, Ralph—<i>try</i>, won’t you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He looked at her with a queer, soft smile on his lips and in -his keen eyes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Annabel,” he said, “give me that rose you are wearing, -will you?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Hardly believing that she heard him aright, she unpinned -the bud from the bosom of her dress, and placed it in his -hand. Jimmy stuffed it into his vest-pocket, threw off his -coat and pulled up his shirt-sleeves. With that act Ralph -D. Spencer passed away and Jimmy Valentine took his -place.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Get away from the door, all of you,” he commanded, -shortly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He set his suit-case on the table, and opened it out flat. -From that time on he seemed to be unconscious of the presence -of any one else. He laid out the shining, queer implements -swiftly and orderly, whistling softly to himself as he -always did when at work. In a deep silence and immovable, -the others watched him as if under a spell.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In a minute Jimmy’s pet drill was biting smoothly into the -steel door. In ten minutes—breaking his own burglarious -record—he threw back the bolts and opened the door.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Agatha, almost collapsed, but safe, was gathered into her -mother’s arms.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Jimmy Valentine put on his coat, and walked outside the -railings toward the front door. As he went he thought he -heard a far-away voice that he once knew call “Ralph!” -But he never hesitated.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At the door a big man stood somewhat in his way.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hello, Ben!” said Jimmy, still with his strange smile -<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>“Got around at last, have you? Well, let’s go. I don’t -know that it makes much difference, now.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And then Ben Price acted rather strangely.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Guess you’re mistaken, Mr. Spencer,” he said. “Don’t -believe I recognize you. You’re buggy’s waiting for you, -ain’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And Ben Price turned and strolled down the street.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span> - <h2 class='c004'>BROTHER LEO<br /><span class='c025'>By PHYLLIS BOTTOME</span></h2> -</div> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a sunny morning, and I was on my way to Torcello. -Venice lay behind us a dazzling line, with towers of gold -against the blue lagoon. All at once a breeze sprang up from -the sea; the small, feathery islands seemed to shake and quiver, -and, like leaves driven before a gale, those flocks of colored -butterflies, the fishing-boats, ran in before the storm. Far -away to our left stood the ancient tower of Altinum, with the -island of Burano a bright pink beneath the towering clouds. -To our right, and much nearer, was a small cypress-covered -islet. One large umbrella-pine hung close to the sea, and -behind it rose the tower of the convent church. The two -gondoliers consulted together in hoarse cries and decided to -make for it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is San Francesco del Deserto,” the elder explained to -me. “It belongs to the little brown brothers, who take no -money and are very kind. One would hardly believe these -ones had any religion, they are such a simple people, and they -live on fish and the vegetables they grow in their garden.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>We fought the crooked little waves in silence after that; -only the high prow rebelled openly against its sudden twistings -and turnings. The arrowy-shaped gondola is not a structure -made for the rough jostling of waves, and the gondoliers put -forth all their strength and skill to reach the tiny haven -under the convent wall. As we did so, the black bars of -cloud rushed down upon us in a perfect deluge of rain, and -we ran speechless and half drowned across the tossed field of -grass and forget-me-nots to the convent door. A shivering -beggar sprang up from nowhere and insisted on ringing the -bell for us.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The door opened, and I saw before me a young brown -<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>brother with the merriest eyes I have ever seen. They were -unshadowed, like a child’s, dancing and eager, and yet there -was a strange gentleness and patience about him, too, as if -there was no hurry even about his eagerness.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He was very poorly dressed and looked thin. I think he -was charmed to see us, though a little shy, like a hospitable -country hostess anxious to give pleasure, but afraid that she -has not much to offer citizens of a larger world.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What a tempest!” he exclaimed. “You have come at a -good hour. Enter, enter, Signore! And your men, will they -not come in?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>We found ourselves in a very small rose-red cloister; in -the middle of it was an old well under the open sky, but above -us was a sheltering roof spanned by slender arches. The -young monk hesitated for a moment, smiling from me to the -two gondoliers. I think it occurred to him that we should like -different entertainment, for he said at last:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You men would perhaps like to sit in the porter’s lodge for -a while? Our Brother Lorenzo is there; he is our chief fisherman, -with a great knowledge of the lagoons; and he could -light a fire for you to dry yourselves by—Signori. And you, -if I mistake not, are English, are you not, Signore? It is -probable that you would like to see our chapel. It is not -much. We are very proud of it, but that, you know, is -because it was founded by our blessed father, Saint Francis. -He believed in poverty, and we also believe in it, but it does -not give much for people to see. That is a misfortune, to -come all this way and to see nothing.” Brother Leo looked -at me a little wistfully. I think he feared that I should be -disappointed. Then he passed before me with swift, eager -feet toward the little chapel.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a very little chapel and quite bare; behind the altar -some monks were chanting an office. It was clean, and there -were no pictures or images, only, as I knelt there, I felt as if -the little island in its desert of waters had indeed secreted some -vast treasure, and as if the chapel, empty as it had seemed at -first, was full of invisible possessions. As for Brother Leo, he -had stood beside me nervously for a moment; but on seeing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>that I was prepared to kneel, he started, like a bird set free, -toward the altar steps, where his lithe young impetuosity -sank into sudden peace. He knelt there so still, so rapt, so -incased in his listening silence, that he might have been part -of the stone pavement. Yet his earthly senses were alive, for -the moment I rose he was at my side again, as patient and -courteous as ever, though I felt as if his inner ear were listening -still to some unheard melody.</p> - -<p class='c019'>We stood again in the pink cloister. “There is little to -see,” he repeated. “We are <i>poverelli</i>; it has been like this -for seven hundred years.” He smiled as if that age-long, -simple service of poverty were a light matter, an excuse, -perhaps, in the eyes of the citizen of a larger world for their -having nothing to show. Only the citizen, as he looked at -Brother Leo, had a sudden doubt as to the size of the world -outside. Was it as large, half as large, even, as the eager -young heart beside him which had chosen poverty as a bride?</p> - -<p class='c019'>The rain fell monotonously against the stones of the tiny -cloister.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What a tempest!” said Brother Leo, smiling contentedly -at the sky. “You must come in and see our father. I sent -word by the porter of your arrival, and I am sure he will -receive you; that will be a pleasure for him, for he is of the -great world, too. A very learnèd man, our father; he knows -the French and the English tongue. Once he went to Rome; -also he has been several times to Venice. He has been a great -traveler.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And you,” I asked—“have you also traveled?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Brother Leo shook his head.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have sometimes looked at Venice,” he said, “across the -water, and once I went to Burano with the marketing brother; -otherwise, no, I have not traveled. But being a guest-brother, -you see, I meet often with those who have, like your Excellency, -for instance, and that is a great education.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>We reached the door of the monastery, and I felt sorry -when another brother opened to us, and Brother Leo, with the -most cordial of farewell smiles, turned back across the cloister -to the chapel door.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>“Even if he does not hurry, he will still find prayer there,” -said a quiet voice beside me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I turned to look at the speaker. He was a tall old man -with white hair and eyes like small blue flowers, very bright -and innocent, with the same look of almost superb contentment -in them that I had seen in Brother Leo’s eyes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But what will you have?” he added with a twinkle. -“The young are always afraid of losing time; it is, perhaps, -because they have so much. But enter, Signore! If you will -be so kind as to excuse the refectory, it will give me much -pleasure to bring you a little refreshment. You will pardon -that we have not much to offer?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The father—for I found out afterward that he was the superior -himself—brought me bread and wine, made in the convent, -and waited on me with his own hands. Then he sat -down on a narrow bench opposite to watch me smoke. I -offered him one of my cigarettes, but he shook his head, -smiling.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I used to smoke once,” he said. “I was very particular -about my tobacco. I think it was similar to yours—at least -the aroma, which I enjoy very much, reminds me of it. It is -curious, is it not, the pleasure we derive from remembering -what we once had? But perhaps it is not altogether a -pleasure unless one is glad that one has not got it now. Here -one is free from things. I sometimes fear one may be a little -indulgent about one’s liberty. Space, solitude, and love—it -is all very intoxicating.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was nothing in the refectory except the two narrow -benches on which we sat, and a long trestled board which -formed the table; the walls were white-washed and bare, the -floor was stone. I found out later that the brothers ate and -drank nothing except bread and wine and their own vegetables -in season, a little macaroni sometimes in winter, and in summer -figs out of their own garden. They slept on bare boards, -with one thin blanket winter and summer alike. The fish they -caught they sold at Burano or gave to the poor. There was no -doubt that they enjoyed very great freedom from “things.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a strange experience to meet a man who never had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>heard of a flying-machine and who could not understand why -it was important to save time by using the telephone or the -wireless-telegraphy system; but despite the fact that the -father seemed very little impressed by our modern urgencies, -I never have met a more intelligent listener or one who seized -more quickly on all that was essential in an explanation.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You must not think we do nothing at all, we lazy ones who -follow old paths,” he said in answer to one of my questions. -“There are only eight of us brothers, and there is the garden, -fishing, cleaning, and praying. We are sent for, too, from -Burano to go and talk a little with the people there, or from -some island on the lagoons which perhaps no priest can reach -in the winter. It is easy for us, with our little boat and no -cares.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But Brother Leo told me he had been to Burano only -once,” I said. “That seems strange when you are so near.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes he went only once, said the father, and for a -moment or two he was silent, and I found his blue eyes -on mine, as if he were weighing me.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Brother Leo,” said the superior at last, “is our youngest. -He is very young, younger perhaps than his years; but we -have brought him up altogether, you see. His parents died -of cholera within a few days of each other. As there were no -relatives, we took him, and when he was seventeen he decided -to join our order. He has always been happy with us, but one -cannot say that he has seen much of the world.” He paused -again, and once more I felt his blue eyes searching mine. -“Who knows?” he said finally. “Perhaps you were sent here -to help me. I have prayed for two years on the subject, and -that seems very likely. The storm is increasing, and you -will not be able to return until to-morrow. This evening, if -you will allow me, we will speak more on this matter. Meanwhile -I will show you our spare room. Brother Lorenzo will -see that you are made as comfortable as we can manage. It -is a great privilege for us to have this opportunity; believe -me, we are not ungrateful.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It would have been of no use to try to explain to him that -it was for us to feel gratitude. It was apparent that none of -the brothers had ever learned that important lesson of the -worldly respectable—that duty is what other people ought to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>do. They were so busy thinking of their own obligations as -to overlook entirely the obligations of others. It was not -that they did not think of others. I think they thought only -of one another, but they thought without a shadow of judgment, -with that bright, spontaneous love of little children, too -interested to point a moral. Indeed, they seemed to me very -like a family of happy children listening to a fairy-story and -knowing that the tale is true.</p> - -<p class='c019'>After supper the superior took me to his office. The rain -had ceased, but the wind howled and shrieked across the -lagoons, and I could hear the waves breaking heavily against -the island. There was a candle on the desk, and the tiny, -shadowy cell looked like a picture by Rembrandt.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The rain has ceased now,” the father said quietly, “and -to-morrow the waves will have gone down, and you, Signore, -will have left us. It is in your power to do us all a great -favor. I have thought much whether I shall ask it of you, -and even now I hesitate; but Scripture nowhere tells us that -the kingdom of heaven was taken by precaution, nor do I -imagine that in this world things come oftenest to those who -refrain from asking.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“All of us,” he continued, “have come here after seeing -something of the outside world; some of us even had great -possessions. Leo alone knows nothing of it, and has possessed -nothing, nor did he ever wish to; he has been willing that -nothing should be his own, not a flower in the garden, not anything -but his prayers, and even these I think he has oftenest -shared. But the visit to Burano put an idea in his head. -It is, perhaps you know, a factory town where they make -lace, and the people live there with good wages, many of them, -but also much poverty. There is a poverty which is a grace, -but there is also a poverty which is a great misery, and this -Leo never had seen before. He did not know that poverty -could be a pain. It filled him with a great horror, and in his -heart there was a certain rebellion. It seemed to him that in -a world with so much money no one should suffer for the lack -of it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It was useless for me to point out to him that in a world -<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>where there is so much health God has permitted sickness; -where there is so much beauty, ugliness; where there is so -much holiness, sin. It is not that there is any lack in the gifts -of God; all are there, and in abundance, but He has left their -distribution to the soul of man. It is easy for me to believe -this. I have known what money can buy and what it cannot -buy; but Brother Leo, who never has owned a penny, how -should he know anything of the ways of pennies?</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I saw that he could not be contented with my answer; and -then this other idea came to him—the idea that is, I think, the -blessèd hope of youth: that this thing being wrong, he, Leo, -must protest against it, must resist it! Surely, if money can -do wonders, we who set ourselves to work the will of God -should have more control of this wonder-working power? He -fretted against his rule. He did not permit himself to believe -that our blessèd father, Saint Francis, was wrong, but it was -a hardship for him to refuse alms from our kindly visitors. -He thought the beggars’ rags would be made whole by gold; -he wanted to give them more than bread, he wanted, <i>poverino!</i> -to buy happiness for the whole world.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The father paused, and his dark, thought-lined face lighted -up with a sudden, beautiful smile till every feature seemed as -young as his eyes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I do not think the human being ever has lived who has not -thought that he ought to have happiness,” he said. “We -begin at once to get ready for heaven; but heaven is a long -way off. We make haste slowly. It takes us all our lives, -and perhaps purgatory, to get to the bottom of our own hearts. -That is the last place in which we look for heaven, but I think -it is the first in which we shall find it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But it seems to me extraordinary that, if Brother Leo has -this thing so much on his mind, he should look so happy,” I -exclaimed. “That is the first thing I noticed about him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, it is not for himself that he is searching,” said the -superior. “If it were, I should not wish him to go out into -the world, because I should not expect him to find anything -there. His heart is utterly at rest; but though he is personally -happy, this thing troubles him. His prayers are eating -<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>into his soul like flame, and in time this fire of pity and sorrow -will become a serious menace to his peace. Besides, I see -in Leo a great power of sympathy and understanding. He has -in him the gift of ruling other souls. He is very young to -rule his own soul, and yet he rules it. When I die, it is probable -that he will be called to take my place, and for that it -is necessary he should have seen clearly that our rule is -right. At present he accepts it in obedience, but he must have -more than obedience in order to teach it to others; he must -have a personal light.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“This, then, is the favor I have to ask of you, Signore. I -should like to have you take Brother Leo to Venice to-morrow, -and, if you have the time at your disposal, I should like you to -show him the towers, the churches, the palaces, and the poor -who are still so poor. I wish him to see how people spend -money, both the good and the bad. I wish him to see the -world. Perhaps then it will come to him as it came to me—that -money is neither a curse nor a blessing in itself, but only -one of God’s mysteries, like the dust in a sunbeam.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I will take him very gladly; but will one day be enough?” -I answered.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The superior arose and smiled again.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah, we slow worms of earth,” he said, “are quick about -some things! You have learned to save time by flying-machines; -we, too, have certain methods of flight. Brother -Leo learns all his lessons that way. I hardly see him start -before he arrives. You must not think I am so myself. No, -no. I am an old man who has lived a long life learning nothing, -but I have seen Leo grow like a flower in a tropic night. I -thank you, my friend, for this great favor. I think God will -reward you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Brother Lorenzo took me to my bedroom; he was a talkative -old man, very anxious for my comfort. He told me that -there was an office in the chapel at two o’clock, and one at -five to begin the day, but he hoped that I should sleep through -them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“They are all very well for us,” he explained, “but for a -stranger, what cold, what disturbance, and what a difficulty -<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>to arrange the right thoughts in the head during chapel! -Even for me it is a great temptation. I find my mind running -on coffee in the morning, a thing we have only on great -feast-days. I may say that I have fought this thought for -seven years, but though a small devil, perhaps, it is a very -strong one. Now, if you should hear our bell in the night, as -a favor pray that I may not think about coffee. Such an imperfection! -I say to myself, the sin of Esau! But he, you -know, had some excuse; he had been hunting. Now, I ask -you—one has not much chance of that on this little island; one -has only one’s sins to hunt, and, alas! they don’t run away as -fast as one could wish! I am afraid they are tame, these ones. -May your Excellency sleep like the blessèd saints, only a trifle -longer!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I did sleep a trifle longer; indeed, I was quite unable to -assist Brother Lorenzo to resist his coffee devil during chapel-time. -I did not wake till my tiny cell was flooded with sunshine -and full of the sound of St. Francis’s birds. Through -my window I could see the fishing-boats pass by. First came -one with a pair of lemon-yellow sails, like floating primroses; -then a boat as scarlet as a dancing flame, and half a dozen -others painted some with jokes and some with incidents in -the lives of patron saints, all gliding out over the blue lagoon -to meet the golden day.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I rose, and from my window I saw Brother Leo in the garden. -He was standing under St. Francis’s tree—the old -gnarled umbrella-pine which hung over the convent-wall above -the water by the island’s edge. His back was toward me, -and he was looking out over the blue stretch of lagoon into -the distance, where Venice lay like a moving cloud at the -horizon’s edge; but a mist hid her from his eyes, and while I -watched him he turned back to the garden-bed and began pulling -out weeds. The gondoliers were already at the tiny pier -when I came out.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>Per Bacco, Signore!</i>” the elder explained. “Let us -hasten back to Venice and make up for the Lent we have had -here. The brothers gave us all they had, the holy ones—a -little wine, a little bread, cheese that couldn’t fatten one’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>grandmother, and no macaroni—not so much as would go -round a baby’s tongue! For my part, I shall wait till I get -to heaven to fast, and pay some attention to my stomach while -I have one.” And he spat on his hands and looked toward -Venice.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And not an image in the chapel!” agreed the younger -man. “Why, there is nothing to pray to but the Signore Dio -Himself! <i>Veramente</i>, Signore, you are a witness that I -speak nothing but the truth.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The father superior and Leo appeared at this moment down -the path between the cypresses. The father gave me thanks -and spoke in a friendly way to the gondoliers, who for their -part expressed a very pretty gratitude in their broad Venetian -patois, one of them saying that the hospitality of the monks -had been like paradise itself, and the other hasting to agree -with him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The two monks did not speak to each other, but as the gondolier -turned the huge prow toward Venice, a long look passed -between them—such a look as a father and son might exchange -if the son were going out to war, while his father, remembering -old campaigns, was yet bound to stay at home.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a glorious day in early June; the last traces of the -storm had vanished from the serene, still waters; a vague -curtain of heat and mist hung and shimmered between ourselves -and Venice; far away lay the little islands in the lagoon, -growing out of the water like strange sea-flowers. Behind us -stood San Francesco del Deserto, with long reflections of its -one pink tower and arrowy, straight cypresses, soft under the -blue water.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The father superior walked slowly back to the convent, his -brown-clad figure a shining shadow between the two black rows -of cypresses. Brother Leo waited till he had disappeared, -then turned his eager eyes toward Venice.</p> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i230a.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>He was looking out over the blue stretch of lagoon into the distance where Venice lay</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p class='c019'>As we approached the city the milky sea of mist retreated, -and her towers sprang up to greet us. I saw a look in Brother -Leo’s eyes that was not fear or wholly pleasure; yet there -was in it a certain awe and a strange, tentative joy, as if -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>something in him stretched out to greet the world. He muttered -half to himself:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What a great world, and how many children <i>il Signore -Dio</i> has!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>When we reached the piazzetta, and he looked up at the -amazing splendor of the ducal palace, that building of soft -yellow, with its pointed arches and double loggias of white -marble, he spread out both hands in an ecstasy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But what a miracle!” he cried. “What a joy to God and -to His angels! How I wish my brothers could see this! Do -you not imagine that some good man was taken to paradise to -see this great building and brought back here to copy it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>Chi lo sa?</i>” I replied guardedly, and we landed by the -column of the Lion of St. Mark’s. That noble beast, astride -on his pedestal, with wings outstretched, delighted the young -monk, who walked round and round him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What a tribute to the saint!” he exclaimed. “Look, they -have his wings, too. Is not that faith?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Come,” I said, “let us go on to Saint Mark’s. I think -you would like to go there first; it is the right way to begin -our pilgrimage.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The piazza was not very full at that hour of the morning, -and its emptiness increased the feeling of space and size. -The pigeons wheeled and circled to and fro, a dazzle of soft -plumage, and the cluster of golden domes and sparkling -minarets glittered in the sunshine like flames. Every image -and statue on St. Mark’s wavered in great lines of light like -a living pageant in a sea of gold.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Brother Leo said nothing as he stood in front of the three -great doorways that lead into the church. He stood quite -still for a while, and then his eyes fell on a beggar beside the -pink and cream of the new campanile, and I saw the wistfulness -in his eyes suddenly grow as deep as pain.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Have you money, Signore?” he asked me. That seemed -to him the only question. I gave the man something, but I -explained to Brother Leo that he was probably not so poor as -he looked.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>“They live in rags,” I explained, “because they wish to -arouse pity. Many of them need not beg at all.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is it possible?” asked Brother Leo, gravely; then he followed -me under the brilliant doorways of mosaic which lead -into the richer dimness of St. Mark’s.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When he found himself within that great incrusted jewel, -he fell on his knees. I think he hardly saw the golden roof, -the jeweled walls, and the five lifted domes full of sunshine -and old gold, or the dark altars, with their mysterious, rich -shimmering. All these seemed to pass away beyond the sense -of sight; even I felt somehow as if those great walls of St. -Mark’s were not so great as I had fancied. Something -greater was kneeling there in an old habit and with bare feet, -half broken-hearted because a beggar had lied.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I found myself regretting the responsibility laid on my -shoulders. Why should I have been compelled to take this -strangely innocent, sheltered boy, with his fantastic third-century -ideals, out into the shoddy, decorative, unhappy -world? I even felt a kind of anger at the simplicity of his -soul. I wished he were more like other people; I suppose -because he had made me wish for a moment that I was less -like them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What do you think of Saint Mark’s?” I asked him as we -stood once more in the hot sunshine outside, with the strutting -pigeons at our feet and wheeling over our heads.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Brother Leo did not answer for a moment, then he said:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I think Saint Mark would feel it a little strange. You -see, I do not think he was a great man in the world, and the -great in paradise—” He stooped and lifted a pigeon with a -broken foot nearer to some corn a passer-by was throwing for -the birds. “I cannot think,” he finished gravely, “that they -care very much for palaces in paradise; I should think every -one had them there or else—nobody.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I was surprised to see the pigeons that wheeled away at -my approach allow the monk to handle them, but they seemed -unaware of his touch.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>Poverino!</i>” he said to the one with the broken foot. -“Thank God that He has given you wings!”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>Brother Leo spoke to every child he met, and they all -answered him as if there was a secret freemasonry between -them; but the grown-up people he passed with troubled eyes.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It seems strange to me,” he said at last, “not to speak to -these brothers and sisters of ours, and yet I see all about me -that they do not salute one another.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“They are many, and they are all strangers,” I tried to -explain.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, they are very many,” he said a little sadly. “I had -not known that there were so many people in the world, and -I thought that in a Christian country they would not be -strangers.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I took another gondola by the nearest bridge, and we rowed -to the Frari. I hardly knew what effect that great church, -with its famous Titian, would have upon him. A group of -tourists surrounded the picture. I heard a young lady exclaiming:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“My! but I’d like her veil! Ain’t she cute, looking round -it that way?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Brother Leo did not pause; he passed as if by instinct -toward the chapel on the right which holds the softest, tenderest -of Bellinis. There, before the Madonna with her four -saints and two small attendant cherubs, he knelt again, and -his eyes filled with tears. I do not think he heard the return -of the tourists, who were rather startled at seeing him there. -The elder lady remarked that he might have some infectious -disease, and the younger that she did not think much of -Bellini, anyway.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He knelt for some time, and I had not the heart to disturb -him; indeed, I had no wish to, either, for Bellini’s “Madonna” -is my favorite picture, and that morning I saw in it -more than I had ever seen before. It seemed to me as if that -triumphant, mellow glow of the great master was an eternal -thing, and as if the saints and their gracious Lady, with the -stalwart, standing Child upon her knee, were more real than -flesh and blood, and would still be more real when flesh and -blood had ceased to be. I never have recaptured the feeling; -perhaps there was something infectious about Brother Leo, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>after all. He made no comment on the Madonna, nor did I -expect one, for we do not need to assert that we find the -object of our worship beautiful; but I was amused at his calm -refusal to look upon the great Titian as a Madonna at all.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, no,” he said firmly. “This one is no doubt some -good and gracious lady, but the Madonna! Signore, you jest. -Or, if the painter thought so, he was deceived by the devil. -Yes, that is very possible. The father has often told us that -artists are exposed to great temptations: their eyes see paradise -before their souls have reached it, and that is a great -danger.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I said no more, and we passed out into the street again. I -felt ashamed to say that I wanted my luncheon, but I did say -so, and it did not seem in the least surprising to Brother Leo; -he merely drew out a small wallet and offered me some bread, -which he said the father had given him for our needs.</p> - -<p class='c019'>I told him that he must not dream of eating that; he was -to come and dine with me at my hotel. He replied that he -would go wherever I liked, but that really he would prefer -to eat his bread unless indeed we were so fortunate as to find -a beggar who would like it. However, we were not so fortunate, -and I was compelled to eat my exceedingly substantial -five-course luncheon while my companion sat opposite me and -ate his half-loaf of black bread with what appeared to be appetite -and satisfaction.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He asked me a great many questions about what everything -in the room was used for and what everything cost, and appeared -very much surprised at my answers.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“This, then,” he said, “is not like all the other houses in -Venice? Is it a special house—perhaps for the English -only?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>I explained to him that most houses contained tables and -chairs; that this, being a hotel, was in some ways even less -furnished than a private house, though doubtless it was larger -and was arranged with a special eye to foreign requirements.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But the poor—they do not live like this?” Leo asked. I -had to own that the poor did not. “But the people here are -rich?” Leo persisted.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>“Well, yes, I suppose so, tolerably well off,” I admitted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“How miserable they must be!” exclaimed Leo, compassionately. -“Are they not allowed to give away their money?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>This seemed hardly the way to approach the question of the -rich and the poor, and I do not know that I made it any better -by an after-dinner exposition upon capital and labor. I -finished, of course, by saying that if the rich gave to the poor -to-day, there would still be rich and poor to-morrow. It did -not sound very convincing to me, and it did nothing whatever -to convince Brother Leo.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That is perhaps true,” he said at last. “One would not -wish, however, to give all into unready hands like that poor -beggar this morning who knew no better than to pretend in -order to get more money. No, that would be the gift of a -madman. But could not the rich use their money in trust for -the poor, and help and teach them little by little till they -learned how to share their labor and their wealth? But you -know how ignorant am I who speak to you. It is probable -that this is what is already being done even here now in Venice -and all over the world. It would not be left to a little one -like me to think of it. What an idea for the brothers at home -to laugh at!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Some people do think these things,” I admitted.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But do not all?” asked Brother Leo, incredulously.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, not all,” I confessed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>Andiamo!</i>” said Leo, rising resolutely. “Let us pray to -the Madonna. What a vexation it must be to her and to all -the blessèd saints to watch the earth! It needs the patience -of the Blessèd One Himself, to bear it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>In the Palazzo Giovanelli there is one of the loveliest of -Giorgiones. It is called “His Family,” and it represents a -beautiful nude woman with her child and her lover. It -seemed to me an outrage that this young brother should know -nothing of the world, of life. I was determined that he -should see this picture. I think I expected Brother Leo to -be shocked when he saw it. I know I was surprised that he -looked at it—at the serene content of earth, its exquisite ultimate -satisfaction—a long time. Then he said in an awed voice:</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>“It is so beautiful that it is strange any one in all the world -can doubt the love of God who gave it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful; do you believe -there is anything more beautiful?” I asked rather -cruelly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes,” said Brother Leo, very quietly; “the love of God -is more beautiful, only that cannot be painted.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>After that I showed him no more pictures, nor did I try -to make him understand life. I had an idea that he understood -it already rather better than I did.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When I took him back to the piazza, it was getting on -toward sunset, and we sat at one of the little tables at -Florian’s, where I drank coffee. We heard the band and -watched the slow-moving, good-natured Venetian crowd, and -the pigeons winging their perpetual flight.</p> - -<p class='c019'>All the light of the gathered day seemed to fall on the -great golden church at the end of the piazza. Brother Leo -did not look at it very much; his attention was taken up completely -in watching the faces of the crowd, and as he watched -them I thought to read in his face what he had learned in -that one day in Venice—whether my mission had been a success -or a failure; but, though I looked long at that simple and -childlike face, I learned nothing.</p> - -<p class='c019'>What is so mysterious as the eyes of a child?</p> - -<p class='c019'>But I was not destined to part from Brother Leo wholly in -ignorance. It was as if, in his open kindliness of nature, he -would not leave me with any unspoken puzzle between us. I -had been his friend and he told me, because it was the way -things seemed to him, that I had been his teacher.</p> - -<p class='c019'>We stood on the piazzetta. I had hired a gondola with two -men to row him back; the water was like beaten gold, and the -horizon the softest shade of pink.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“This day I shall remember all my life,” he said, “and you -in my prayers with all the world—always, always. Only I -should like to tell you that that little idea of mine, which the -father told me he had spoken to you about, I see now that it -is too large for me. I am only a very poor monk. I should -think I must be the poorest monk God has in all His family of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>monks. If He can be patient, surely I can. And it came over -me while we were looking at all those wonderful things, that -if money had been the way to save the world, Christ himself -would have been rich. It was stupid of me. I did not remember -that when he wanted to feed the multitude, he did not -empty the great granaries that were all his, too; he took only -five loaves and two small fishes; but they were enough.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We little ones can pray, and God can change His world. -<i>Speriamo!</i>” He smiled as he gave me his hand—a smile -which seemed to me as beautiful as anything we had seen -that day in Venice. Then the high-prowed, black gondola -glided swiftly out over the golden waters with the little brown -figure seated in the smallest seat. He turned often to wave -to me, but I noticed that he sat with his face away from -Venice.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He had turned back to San Francesco del Deserto, and I -knew as I looked at his face that he carried no single small -regret in his eager heart.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span> - <h2 class='c004'>A FIGHT WITH DEATH<a id='r10' /><a href='#f10' class='c024'><sup>[10]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By IAN MACLAREN</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f10'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r10'>10</a>. </span>From <i>Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush</i>. Copyright, 1894, by Dodd, -Mead & Company.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>When</span> Drumsheugh’s grieve was brought to the gates of -death by fever, caught, as was supposed, on an adventurous -visit to Glasgow, the London doctor at Lord Kilspindie’s shooting -lodge looked in on his way from the moor, and declared it -impossible for Saunders to live through the night.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I give him six hours, more or less; it is only a question -of time,” said the oracle, buttoning his gloves and getting -into the brake. “Tell your parish doctor that I was sorry -not to have met him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Bell heard this verdict from behind the door, and gave way -utterly, but Drumsheugh declined to accept it as final, and -devoted himself to consolation.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Dinna greet like that, Bell, wumman, sae lang as Saunders -is still livin’; a’ll never give up houp, for ma pairt, till -oor ain man says the word.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ the doctors in the land dinna ken as muckle aboot us as -Weelum MacLure, an’ he’s ill tae beat when he’s tryin’ tae -save a man’s life.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>MacLure, on his coming, would say nothing, either weal or -woe, till he had examined Saunders. Suddenly his face -turned into iron before their eyes, and he looked like one -encountering a merciless foe. For there was a feud between -MacLure and a certain mighty power which had lasted -for forty years in Drumtochty.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The London doctor said that Saunders wud sough awa’ -afore mornin’, did he? Weel, he’s an’ authority on fevers -an’ sic like diseases, an’ ought tae ken.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>“It’s may be presumptuous o’ me tae differ frae him, and it -wudna be verra respectfu’ o’ Saunders tae live aifter this -opeenion. But Saunders wes aye thraun an’ ill tae drive, -an’ he’s as like as no tae gang his ain gait.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’m no meanin’ tae reflect on sae clever a man, but he -didna ken the seetuation. He can read fevers like a buik, but -he never cam’ across sic a thing as the Drumtochty constitution -a’ his days.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ye see, when onybody gets as low as puir Saunders here, -it’s a juist a hand-to-hand wrastle atween the fever and his -constitution, an’ of coorse, if he hed been a shilpit, stuntit, -feckless effeegy o’ a cratur, fed on tea an’ made dishes and -pushioned wi’ bad air, Saunders wud hae nae chance; he wes -boond tae gae oot like the snuff o’ a candle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“But Saunders has been fillin’ his lungs for five and thirty -year wi’ strong Drumtochty air, an’ eatin’ naethin’ but kirny -aitmeal, and drinkin’ naethin’ but fresh milk frae the coo, an’ -followin’ the ploo through the new-turned, sweet-smellin’ -earth, an’ swingin’ the scythe in haytime and harvest, till -the legs an’ airms o’ him were iron, an’ his chest wes like the -cuttin’ o’ an oak tree.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He’s a waesome sicht the nicht, but Saunders wes a -buirdly man aince, and wull never lat his life be taken lichtly -frae him. Na, na; he hesna sinned against Nature, and -Nature ’ill stand by him noo in his oor o’ distress.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ daurna say yea, Bell, muckle as a’ wud like, for this is -an evil disease, cunnin’ an’ treacherous as the deevil himsel’, -but a’ winna say nay, sae keep yir hert frae despair.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It wull be a sair fecht, but it ’ill be settled one wy or -anither by six o’clock the morn’s morn. Nae man can -prophecee hoo it ’ill end, but ae thing is certain, a’ll no see -Deith tak a Drumtochty man afore his time if a’ can help it.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Noo, Bell, ma wumman, yir near deid wi’ tire, an’ nae -wonder. Ye’ve dune a’ ye cud for yir man an’ ye ’ill lippen -(trust) him the nicht tae Drumsheugh an’ me; we ’ill no fail -him or you.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Lie doon an’ rest, an’ if it be the wull o’ the Almichty a’ll -wauken ye in the mornin’ tae see a livin’, conscious man, an’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>if it be itherwise a’ll come for ye the suner, Bell,” and the -big red hand went out to the anxious wife. “A’ gie ye ma -word.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Bell leant over the bed, and at the sight of Saunders’ face -a superstitious dread seized her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“See, doctor, the shadow of deith is on him that never lifts. -A’ve seen it afore, on ma father an’ mither. A’ canna leave -him; a’ canna leave him!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s hoverin’, Bell, but it hesna fallen; please God it -never wull. Gang but and get some sleep, for it’s time we -were at oor wark.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The doctors in the toons hae nurses an’ a’ kinds o’ handy -apparatus,” said MacLure to Drumsheugh when Bell had -gone, “but you an’ me ’ill need tae be nurse the nicht, an’ -use sic things as we hev.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It ’ill be a lang nicht and anxious wark, but a’ wud raither -hae ye, auld freend, wi’ me than ony man in the Glen. Ye’re -no feared tae gie a hand?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Me feared? No likely. Man, Saunders cam’ tae me a -haflin, an’ hes been on Drumsheugh for twenty years, an’ -though he be a dour chiel, he’s a faithfu’ servant as ever -lived. It’s waesome tae see him lyin’ there moanin’ like some -dumb animal frae mornin’ to nicht, an’ no able tae answer his -ain wife when she speaks.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Div ye think, Weelum, he hes a chance?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That he hes, at ony rate, and it ’ill no be your blame or -mine if he hesna mair.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>While he was speaking, MacLure took off his coat and waistcoat -and hung them on the back of the door. Then he rolled -up the sleeves of his shirt and laid bare two arms that were -nothing but bone and muscle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It gar’d ma very blood rin faster tae the end of ma fingers -juist tae look at him,” Drumsheugh expatiated afterwards to -Hillocks, “for a’ saw noo that there was tae be a stand-up -fecht atween him an’ Deith for Saunders, and when a’ -thocht o’ Bell an’ her bairns, a’ kent wha wud win.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Aff wi’ yir coat, Drumsheugh,’ said MacLure; ‘ye ’ill -need tae bend yir back the nicht; gither a’ the pails in the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>hoose and fill them at the spring, an’ a’ll come doon tae help -ye wi’ the carryin’.’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a wonderful ascent up the steep pathway from the -spring to the cottage on its little knoll, the two men in single -file, bareheaded, silent, solemn, each with a pail of water in -either hand, MacLure limping painfully in front, Drumsheugh -blowing behind; and when they laid down their burden in -the sick room, where the bits of furniture had been put to a -side and a large tub held the centre, Drumsheugh looked curiously -at the doctor.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No, a’m no daft; ye needna be feared; but yir tae get yir -first lesson in medicine the nicht, an’ if we win the battle ye -can set up for yersel’ in the Glen.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There’s twa dangers—that Saunders’ strength fails, an’ -that the force o’ the fever grows; and we have juist twa -weapons.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yon milk on the drawers’ head an’ the bottle of whisky -is tae keep up the strength, and this cool caller water is tae -keep doon the fever.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We ’ill cast oot the fever by the virtue o’ the earth an’ -the water.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Div ye mean tae pit Saunders in the tub?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ye hiv it noo, Drumsheugh, and that’s hoo a’ need yir -help.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Man, Hillocks,” Drumsheugh used to moralise, as often -as he remembered that critical night, “it wes humblin’ tae see -how low sickness can bring a pooerfu’ man, an’ ocht tae keep -us frae pride.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A month syne there wesna a stronger man in the Glen than -Saunders, an’ noo he wes juist a bundle o’ skin and bone, that -naither saw nor heard, nor moved nor felt, that kent naethin’ -that was dune tae him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hillocks, a’ wudna hae wished ony man tae hev seen Saunders—for -it wull never pass frae before ma een as long as a’ -live—but a’ wish a’ the Glen hed stude by MacLure kneelin’ -on the floor wi’ his sleeves up tae his oxters and waitin’ on -Saunders.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yon big man wes as pitifu’ an’ gentle as a wumman, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>when he laid the puir fallow in his bed again, he happit him -ower as a mither dis her bairn.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Thrice it was done, Drumsheugh ever bringing up colder -water from the spring, and twice MacLure was silent; but -after the third time there was a gleam in his eye.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We’re haudin’ oor ain; we’re no bein’ maistered, at -ony rate; mair a’ canna say for three oors.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We ’ill no need the water again, Drumsheugh; gae oot and -tak a breath o’ air; a’m on gaird masel’.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was the hour before daybreak, and Drumsheugh wandered -through the fields he had trodden since childhood. The -cattle lay sleeping in the pastures; their shadowy forms, -with a patch of whiteness here and there, having a weird -suggestion of death. He heard the burn running over the -stones; fifty years ago he had made a dam that lasted till -winter. The hooting of an owl made him start; one had -frightened him as a boy so that he ran home to his mother—she -died thirty years ago. The smell of ripe corn filled the -air; it would soon be cut and garnered. He could see the dim -outlines of his house, all dark and cold; no one he loved was -beneath the roof. The lighted window in Saunders’ cottage -told where a man hung between life and death, but love was -in that home. The futility of life arose before this lonely -man, and overcame his heart with an indescribable sadness. -What a vanity was all human labor; what a mystery all -human life!</p> - -<p class='c019'>But while he stood, a subtle change came over the night, and -the air trembled round him as if one had whispered. Drumsheugh -lifted his head and looked eastward. A faint gray -stole over the distant horizon, and suddenly a cloud reddened -before his eyes. The sun was not in sight, but was rising, -and sending forerunners before his face. The cattle began to -stir, a blackbird burst into song, and before Drumsheugh -crossed the threshold of Saunders’ house, the first ray of the -sun had broken on a peak of the Grampians.</p> - -<p class='c019'>MacLure left the bedside, and as the light of the candle fell -on the doctor’s face, Drumsheugh could see that it was going -well with Saunders.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>“He’s nae waur; an’ it’s half six noo; it’s ower sune tae -say mair, but a’m houpin’ for the best. Sit doon and take a -sleep, for ye’re needin’ ’t, Drumsheugh, an’, man, ye hae -worked for it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>As he dozed off, the last thing Drumsheugh saw was the -doctor sitting erect in his chair, a clenched fist resting on -the bed, and his eyes already bright with the vision of victory.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He awoke with a start to find the room flooded with the -morning sunshine, and every trace of last night’s work removed.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The doctor was bending over the bed, and speaking to -Saunders.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s me, Saunders; Doctor MacLure, ye ken; dinna try -tae speak or move; juist let this drap milk slip ower—ye ’ill -be needin’ yir breakfast, lad—and gang tae sleep again.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Five minutes, and Saunders had fallen into a deep, healthy -sleep, all tossing and moaning come to an end. Then MacLure -stepped softly across the floor, picked up his coat and -waistcoat, and went out at the door.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Drumsheugh arose and followed him without a word. -They passed through the little garden, sparkling with dew, -and beside the byre, where Hawkie rattled her chain, impatient -for Bell’s coming, and by Saunders’ little strip of corn -ready for the scythe, till they reached an open field. There -they came to a halt, and Dr. MacLure for once allowed himself -to go.</p> - -<p class='c019'>His coat he flung east and his waistcoat west, as far as he -could hurl them, and it was plain he would have shouted had -he been a complete mile from Saunders’ room. Any less distance -was useless for adequate expression. He struck Drumsheugh -a mighty blow that well-nigh levelled that substantial -man in the dust, and then the doctor of Drumtochty issued his -bulletin.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Saunders wesna tae live through the nicht, but he’s livin’ -this meenut, an’ like to live.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He’s got by the warst clean and fair, and wi’ him that’s -as good as cure.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>“It ’ill be a graund waukenin’ for Bell; she ’ill no be a -weedow yet, nor the bairnies fatherless.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There’s nae use glowerin’ at me, Drumsheugh, for a -body’s daft at a time, an’ a’ canna contain masel’, and a’m -no gaein’ tae try.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then it dawned upon Drumsheugh that the doctor was -attempting the Highland fling.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He’s ill made, tae begin wi’,” Drumsheugh explained in -the kirkyard next Sabbath, “and ye ken he’s been terrible -mishannelled by accidents, sae ye may think what like it wes, -but, as sure as deith, o’ a’ the Hielan’ flings a’ ever saw yon -wes the bonniest.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ hevna shaken ma ain legs for thirty years, but a’ confess -tae a turn masel’. Ye may lauch an’ ye like, neeburs, -but the thocht o’ Bell an’ the news that wes waitin’ her got -the better o’ me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Drumtochty did not laugh. Drumtochty looked as if it -could have done quite otherwise for joy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ wud hae made a third gin a’ hed been there,” announced -Hillocks aggressively.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Come on, Drumsheugh,” said Jamie Soutar, “gie’s the -end o’t; it wes a michty mornin’.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘We’re twa auld fules,’ says MacLure tae me, as he -gaithers up his claithes. ‘It wud set us better tae be tellin’ -Bell.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“She was sleepin’ on the top o’ her bed wrapped in a plaid, -fair worn oot wi’ three weeks’ nursin’ o’ Saunders, but at the -first touch she was oot upon the floor.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Is Saunders deein’, doctor?’ she cries. ‘Ye promised tae -wauken me; dinna tell me it’s a’ ower.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There’s nae deein’ aboot him, Bell; ye’re no tae lose yir -man this time, sae far as a’ can see. Come ben an’ jidge for -yersel’."</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Bell lookit at Saunders, and the tears of joy fell on the -bed like rain.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘The shadow’s lifted,’ she said; ‘he’s come back frae -the mooth o’ the tomb.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘A’ prayed last nicht that the Lord wud leave Saunders -<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>till the laddies cud dae for themselves, an’ thae words came -intae ma mind, “Weepin’ may endure for a nicht, but joy -cometh in the mornin’.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘The Lord heard ma prayer, and joy hes come in the -mornin’,’ an’ she gripped the doctor’s hand.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘Ye’ve been the instrument, Doctor MacLure. Ye wudna -gie him up, and ye did what nae ither cud for him, an’ a’ve ma -man the day, and the bairns hae their father.’</p> - -<p class='c019'>“An’ afore MacLure kent what she was daein’, Bell lifted -his hand to her lips an’ kissed it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Did she, though?” cried Jamie. “Wha wud hae thocht -there wes as muckle spunk in Bell?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“MacLure, of coorse, was clean scandalised,” continued -Drumsheugh, “an’ pooed awa’ his hand as if it hed been -burned.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Nae man can thole that kind o’ fraikin’, and a’ never -heard o’ sic a thing in the parish, but we maun excuse Bell, -neeburs; it wes an occasion by ordinar,” and Drumsheugh -made Bell’s apology to Drumtochty for such an excess of feeling.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ see naethin’ tae excuse,” insisted Jamie, who was in -great fettle that Sabbath; “the doctor hes never been burdened -wi’ fees, and a’m judgin’ he coonted a wumman’s -gratitude that he saved frae weedowhood the best he ever -got.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ gaed up tae the Manse last nicht,” concluded Drumsheugh, -“an’ telt the minister hoo the doctor focht aucht oors -for Saunders’ life, an’ won, an’ ye never saw a man sae carried. -He walkit up an’ doon the room a’ the time, and every -other meenut he blew his nose like a trumpet.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘I’ve a cold in my head to-night, Drumsheugh,’ says he; -‘never mind me.’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ve hed the same masel’ in sic circumstances; they come -on sudden,” said Jamie.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ wager there ’ill be a new bit in the laist prayer the -day, an’ somethin’ worth hearin’.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>And the fathers went into kirk in great expectation.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We beseech Thee for such as be sick, that Thy hand may -<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>be on them for good, and that Thou wouldst restore them -again to health and strength,” was the familiar petition of -every Sabbath.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The congregation waited in a silence that might be heard, -and were not disappointed that morning, for the minister continued:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Especially we tender Thee hearty thanks that Thou -didst spare Thy servant who was brought down into the dust -of death, and hast given him back to his wife and children, -and unto that end didst wonderfully bless the skill of him who -goes out and in amongst us, the beloved physician of this -parish and adjacent districts.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Didna a’ tell ye, neeburs?” said Jamie, as they stood at -the kirkyard gate before dispersing, “there’s no a man in the -coonty cud hae dune it better. ‘Beloved physician,’ an’ his -‘skill,’ tae, an’ bringing in ‘adjacent districts’; that’s Glen -Urtach; it wes handsome, and the doctor earned it, ay, every -word.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It’s an awfu’ peety he didna hear yon; but dear knows -whar he is the day, maist likely up——”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Jamie stopped suddenly at the sound of a horse’s feet, and -there, coming down the avenue of beech trees that made a long -vista from the kirk gate, they saw the doctor and Jess.</p> - -<p class='c019'>One thought flashed through the minds of the fathers of -the commonwealth.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It ought to be done as he passed, and it would be done if -it were not Sabbath. Of course it was out of the question -on Sabbath.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The doctor is now distinctly visible, riding after his fashion.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was never such a chance, if it were only Saturday; -and each man read his own regret in his neighbour’s face.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The doctor is nearing them rapidly; they can imagine the -shepherd’s tartan.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sabbath or no Sabbath, the Glen cannot let him pass without -some tribute of their pride.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Jess has recognised friends, and the doctor is drawing -rein.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It hes tae be dune,” said Jamie desperately, “say what -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>ye like.” Then they all looked towards him, and Jamie led.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hurrah!” swinging his Sabbath hat in the air, “hurrah!” -and once more, “hurrah!” Whinnie Knowe, Drumsheugh, and -Hillocks joining lustily, but Tammas Mitchell carrying all -before him, for he had found at last an expression for his -feelings that rendered speech unnecessary.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a solitary experience for horse and rider, and Jess -bolted without delay. But the sound followed and surrounded -them, and as they passed the corner of the kirkyard, a figure -waved his college cap over the wall and gave a cheer on his -own account.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“God bless you, doctor, and well done!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“If it isna the minister,” cried Drumsheugh, “in his goon -an’ bans; tae think o’ that; but a’ respeck him for it.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then Drumtochty became self-conscious and went home in -confusion of face and unbroken silence, except Jamie Soutar, -who faced his neighbours at the parting of the ways without -shame.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ wud dae it a’ ower again if a’ hed the chance; he got -naethin’ but his due.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was two miles before Jess composed her mind, and the -doctor and she could discuss it quietly together.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ can hardly believe me ears, Jess, an’ the Sabbath tae; -their verra jidgment hes gane frae the fouk o’ Drumtochty.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“They’ve heard about Saunders, a’m thinkin’, wumman, -and they’re pleased we brocht him roond; he’s fairly on the -mend, ye ken, noo.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“A’ never expeckit the like o’ this, though, and it wes -juist a wee thingie mair than a’ cud hae stude.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ye hev yir share in’t tae, lass; we’ve hed mony a hard -nicht and day thegither, an’ yon wes oor reward. No mony -men in this warld ’ill ever get a better, for it cam’ from the -hert o’ honest fouk.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span> - <h2 class='c004'>THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN<a id='r11' /><a href='#f11' class='c024'><sup>[11]</sup></a><br /><span class='c025'>By FIONA MACLEOD</span></h2> -</div> -<div class='footnote c026' id='f11'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r11'>11</a>. </span>From <i>The Dominion of Dreams, Under the Dark Star</i>. By permission -of Mrs. William Sharp. Copyright, 1910, by Duffield & Company.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'><span class='sc'>When</span> Anne Gillespie, that was my friend in Eilanmore, -left the island after the death of her uncle, the old man Robert -Achanna, it was to go far west.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Among the men of the Outer Isles who for three summers -past had been at the fishing off Eilanmore there was one -named Mànus MacCodrum. He was a fine lad to see, but -though most of the fisher-folk of the Lews and North Uist -are fair, either with reddish hair and grey eyes, or blue-eyed -and yellow-haired, he was of a brown skin with dark -hair and dusky brown eyes. He was, however, as unlike -to the dark Celts of Arran and the Inner Hebrides as to the -northmen. He came of his people, sure enough. All the -MacCodrums of North Uist had been brown-skinned and -brown-haired and brown-eyed: and herein may have lain the -reason why, in by-gone days, this small clan of Uist was -known throughout the Western Isles as the <i>Sliochd non Ròn</i>, -the offspring of the Seals.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Not so tall as most of the men of North Uist and the -Lews, Mànus MacCodrum was of a fair height, and supple and -strong. No man was a better fisherman than he, and he was -well liked of his fellows, for all the morose gloom that was -upon him at times. He had a voice as sweet as a woman’s -when he sang, and he sang often, and knew all the old runes of -the islands, from the Obb of Harris to the Head of Mingulay. -Often, too, he chanted the beautiful <i>orain spioradail</i> of the -Catholic priests and Christian Brothers of South Uist and -Barra, though where he lived in North Uist he was the sole -man who adhered to the ancient faith.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It may have been because Anne was a Catholic too, though, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>sure, the Achannas were so also, notwithstanding that their -forebears and kindred in Galloway were Protestant (and this -because of old Robert Achanna’s love for his wife, who was -of the old Faith, so it is said)—it may have been for this -reason, though I think her lover’s admiring eyes and soft -speech and sweet singing had more to do with it, that she -pledged her troth to Mànus. It was a south wind for him -as the saying is; for with her rippling brown hair and soft, -grey eyes and cream-white skin, there was no comelier lass -in the isles.</p> - -<p class='c019'>So when Achanna was laid to his long rest, and there was -none left upon Eilanmore save only his three youngest sons, -Mànus MacCodrum sailed northeastward across the Minch -to take home his bride. Of the four eldest sons, Alasdair -had left Eilanmore some months before his father died, and -sailed westward, though no one knew whither or for what -end or for how long, and no word had been brought from -him, nor was he ever seen again in the island which had come -to be called Eilan-nan-Allmharachain, the Isle of the -Strangers; Allan and William had been drowned in a wild -gale in the Minch; and Robert had died of the white fever, that -deadly wasting disease which is the scourge of the isles. -Marcus was now “Eilanmore,” and lived there with Gloom -and Seumas, all three unmarried, though it was rumoured -among the neighbouring islanders that each loved Marsail nic -Ailpean,<a id='r12' /><a href='#f12' class='c024'><sup>[12]</sup></a> in Eilean-Rona of the Summer Isles hard by the -coast of Sutherland.</p> - -<div class='footnote c031' id='f12'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r12'>12</a>. </span>Marsail nic Ailpean is the Gaelic of which an English translation -would be Marjory MacAlpine. <i>Nic</i> is a contraction for <i>nighean mhic</i>, -“daughter of the line of.”</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'>When Mànus asked Anne to go with him she agreed. The -three brothers were ill-pleased at this, for apart from their not -wishing their cousin to go so far away, they did not want to -lose her, as she not only cooked for them and did all that a -woman does, including spinning and weaving, but was most -sweet and fair to see, and in the long winter nights sang by -the hour together, while Gloom played strange wild airs -upon his <i>feadan</i>, a kind of oaten pipe or flute.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>She loved him, I know; but there was this reason also -for her going, that she was afraid of Gloom. Often upon -the moor or on the hill she turned and hastened home, because -she heard the lilt and fall of that feadan. It was an -eerie thing to her, to be going through the twilight when she -thought the three men were in the house, smoking after their -supper, and suddenly to hear beyond and coming toward -her the shrill song of that oaten flute, playing “The Dance of -the Dead,” or “The Flow and Ebb,” or “The Shadow-Reel.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>That, sometimes at least, he knew she was there was clear -to her, because, as she stole rapidly through the tangled fern -and gale, she would hear a mocking laugh follow her like a -leaping thing.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mànus was not there on the night when she told Marcus and -his brothers that she was going. He was in the haven on -board the <i>Luath</i>, with his two mates, he singing in the moonshine -as all three sat mending their fishing gear.</p> - -<p class='c019'>After the supper was done, the three brothers sat smoking -and talking over an offer that had been made about some -Shetland sheep. For a time, Anne watched them in silence. -They were not like brothers, she thought. Marcus, tall, -broad-shouldered, with yellow hair and strangely dark blue-black -eyes and black eyebrows; stern, with a weary look on -his sun-brown face. The light from the peats glinted upon -the tawny curve of thick hair that trailed from his upper lip, -for he had the <i>caisean-feusag</i> of the Northmen. Gloom, -slighter of build, dark of hue and hair, but with hairless face; -with thin, white, long-fingered hands that had ever a nervous -motion, as though they were tide-wrack. There was always -a frown on the centre of his forehead, even when he smiled -with his thin lips and dusky, unbetraying eyes. He looked -what he was, the brain of the Achannas. Not only did he -have the English as though native to that tongue, but could -and did read strange unnecessary books. Moreover, he was -the only son of Robert Achanna to whom the old man had -imparted his store of learning, for Achanna had been a school-master -in his youth, in Galloway, and he had intended Gloom -<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>for the priesthood. His voice, too, was low and clear, but -cold as pale-green water running under ice. As for Seumas, -he was more like Marcus than Gloom, though not so fair. -He had the same brown hair and shadowy hazel eyes, the -same pale and smooth face, with something of the same intent -look which characterised the long-time missing, and probably -dead, eldest brother, Alasdair. He, too, was tall and -gaunt. On Seumas’s face there was that indescribable, as -to some of course imperceptible, look which is indicated by -the phrase “the dusk of the shadow,” though few there are -who know what they mean by that, or, knowing, are fain -to say.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly, and without any word or reason for it, Gloom -turned and spoke to her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, Anne, and what is it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I did not speak, Gloom.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“True for you, <i>mo cailinn</i>. But it’s about to speak you -were.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, and that is true. Marcus, and you Gloom, and you -Seumas, I have that to tell which you will not be altogether -glad for the hearing. ’Tis about—about—me and—and -Mànus.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was no reply at first. The three brothers sat looking -at her like the kye at a stranger on the moorland. There was -a deepening of the frown on Gloom’s brow, but when Anne -looked at him his eyes fell and dwelt in the shadow at his feet. -Then Marcus spoke in a low voice:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Is it Mànus MacCodrum you will be meaning?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ay, sure.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Again silence. Gloom did not lift his eyes, and Seumas was -now staring at the peats. Marcus shifted uneasily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And what will Mànus MacCodrum be wanting?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sure, Marcus, you know well what I mean. Why do you -make this thing hard for me? There is but one thing he -would come here wanting. And he has asked me if I will go -with him; and I have said yes; and if you are not willing -that he come again with the minister, or that we go across to -the kirk in Berneray of Uist in the Sound of Harris, then I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>will not stay under this roof another night, but will go away -from Eilanmore at sunrise in the <i>Luath</i>, that is now in the -haven. And that is for the hearing and knowing, Marcus -and Gloom and Seumas!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Once more, silence followed her speaking. It was broken -in a strange way. Gloom slipped his feadan into his hands, -and so to his mouth. The clear, cold notes of the flute filled -the flame-lit room. It was as though white polar birds were -drifting before the coming of snow.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The notes slid in to a wild, remote air: cold moonlight on -the dark o’ the sea, it was. It was the <i>Dàn-nan-Ròn</i>.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Anne flushed, trembled, and then abruptly rose. As she -leaned on her clenched right hand upon the table, the light -of the peats showed that her eyes were aflame.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Why do you play <i>that</i>, Gloom Achanna?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The man finished the bar, then blew into the oaten pipe, -before, just glancing at the girl, he replied:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And what harm will there be in <i>that</i>, Anna-ban?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do you know why Gloom played the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ay, and what then, Anna-ban?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What then? Are you thinking I don’t know what you -mean by playing the ‘Song o’ the Seals’?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>With an abrupt gesture Gloom put the feadan aside. As -he did so, he rose.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“See here, Anne,” he began roughly, when Marcus intervened.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That will do just now, Gloom. Anne-à-ghraidh, do you -mean that you are going to do this thing?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ay, sure.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Do you know why Gloom played the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It was a cruel thing.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You know what is said in the isles about—about—this -or that man, who is under <i>gheasan</i>, who is spell-bound and—and—about -the seals—”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Yes, Marcus, it is knowing it that I am: ‘<i>Tha iad a’ -cantuinn gur h-e daoine fo gheasan a th’ anns no roin.</i>’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“‘<i>They say that seals</i>,’” he repeated slowly. “‘<i>They say -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>that seals are men under magic spells.</i>’ And have you ever -pondered that thing, Anne, my cousin?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I am knowing well what you mean.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then you will know that the MacCodrums of North Uist -are called the <i>Sliochd-nan-Ròn</i>?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I have heard.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And would you be for marrying a man that is of the race -of the beasts, and himself knowing what that <i>geas</i> means, -and who may any day go back to his people?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ah, now, Marcus, sure it is making a mock of me you are. -Neither you nor any here believe that foolish thing. How -can a man born of a woman be a seal, even though his <i>sinnsear</i> -were the offspring of the sea-people, which is not a saying I -am believing either, though it may be; and not that it matters -much, whatever, about the far-back forebears.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Marcus frowned darkly, and at first made no response. -At last he answered, speaking sullenly:</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You may be believing this or you may be believing that, -Anna-nic-Gilleasbuig, but two things are as well known as -that the east wind brings the blight and the west wind the -rain. And one is this: that long ago a Seal-man wedded a -woman of North Uist, and that he or his son was called Neil -MacCodrum; and that the sea-fever of the seal was in the -blood of his line ever after. And this is the other: that twice -within the memory of living folk, a MacCodrum has taken -upon himself the form of a seal, and has so met his death, -once Neil MacCodrum of Ru’ Tormaid, and once Anndra -MacCodrum of Berneray in the Sound. There’s talk of -others, but these are known of us all. And you will not be -forgetting now that Neildonn was the grandfather, and that -Anndra was the brother of the father of Mànus MacCodrum?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I am not caring what you say, Marcus. It is all foam of -the sea.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There’s no foam without wind or tide, Anne, an’ it’s -a dark tide that will be bearing you away to Uist, and a -black wind that will be blowing far away behind the East, -the wind that will be carrying his death-cry to your ears.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>The girl shuddered. The brave spirit in her, however, did -not quail.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, so be it. To each his fate. But, seal or no seal, -I am going to wed Mànus MacCodrum, who is a man as good -as any here, and a true man at that, and the man I love, and -that will be my man, God willing, the praise be His!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Again Gloom took up the feadan, and sent a few cold, white -notes floating through the hot room, breaking, suddenly, into -the wild, fantastic, opening air of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>With a low cry and passionate gesture Anne sprang forward, -snatched the oat-flute from his grasp, and would have -thrown it in the fire. Marcus held her in an iron grip, -however.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Don’t you be minding Gloom, Anne,” he said quietly, as -he took the feadan from her hand and handed it to his -brother: “sure he’s only telling you in <i>his</i> way what I am -telling you in mine.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>She shook herself free, and moved to the other side of the -table. On the opposite wall hung the dirk which had belonged -to old Achanna. This she unfastened. Holding it in her -right hand, she faced the three men.—</p> - -<p class='c019'>“On the cross of the dirk I swear I will be the woman of -Mànus MacCodrum.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The brothers made no response. They looked at her fixedly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if any man -come between me and Mànus, this dirk will be for his remembering -in a certain hour of the day of the days.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>As she spoke, she looked meaningly at Gloom, whom she -feared more than Marcus or Seumas.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And by the cross of the dirk I swear that if evil come to -Mànus, this dirk will have another sheath, and that will be -my milkless breast; and by that token I now throw the old -sheath in the fire.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>As she finished, she threw the sheath on to the burning -peats. Gloom quietly lifted it, brushed off the sparks of -flame as though they were dust, and put it in his pocket.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And by the same token, Anne,” he said, “your oaths will -come to nought.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>Rising, he made a sign to his brothers to follow. When -they were outside he told Seumas to return, and to keep -Anne within, by peace if possible, by force if not. Briefly -they discussed their plans, and then separated. While -Seumas went back, Marcus and Gloom made their way to the -haven.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Their black figures were visible in the moonlight, but at -first they were not noticed by the men on board the <i>Luath</i>, for -Mànus was singing.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When the islesman stopped abruptly, one of his companions -asked him jokingly if his song had brought a seal alongside, -and bid him beware lest it was a woman of the sea-people.</p> - -<p class='c019'>His face darkened, but he made no reply. When the others -listened they heard the wild strain of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn” -stealing through the moonshine. Staring against the shore, -they could discern the two brothers.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What will be the meaning of that?” asked one of the men, -uneasily.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“When a man comes instead of a woman,” answered Mànus, -slowly, “the young corbies are astir in the nest.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>So, it meant blood. Aulay MacNeil and Donull Macdonull -put down their gear, rose, and stood waiting for what Mànus -would do.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ho, there!” he cried.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ho-ro!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What will you be wanting, Eilanmore?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We are wanting a word of you, Mànus MacCodrum. -Will you come ashore?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“If you want a word of me, you can come to me.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There is no boat here.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I’ll send the <i>bàta-beag</i>.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>When he had spoken, Mànus asked Donull, the younger of -his mates, a lad of seventeen, to row to the shore.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And bring back no more than one man,” he added, -“whether it be Eilanmore himself or Gloom-mhic-Achanna.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The rope of the small boat was unfastened, and Donull -rowed it swiftly through the moonshine. The passing of a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>cloud dusked the shore, but they saw him throw a rope for -the guiding of the boat alongside the ledge of the landing place; -then the sudden darkening obscured the vision. -Donull must be talking, they thought, for two or three minutes -elapsed without sign, but at last the boat put off again, -and with two figures only. Doubtless the lad had had to -argue against the coming of both Marcus and Gloom.</p> - -<p class='c019'>This, in truth, was what Donull had done. But while he -was speaking Marcus was staring fixedly beyond him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Who is it that is there?” he asked, “there, in the stern?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“There is no one there.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I thought I saw the shadow of a man.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Then it was my shadow, Eilanmore.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Achanna turned to his brother.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I see a man’s death there in the boat.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Gloom quailed for a moment, then laughed low.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I see no death of a man sitting in the boat, Marcus, but -if I did I am thinking it would dance to the air of the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn,’ -which is more than the wraith of you or me would -do.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is not a wraith I was seeing, but the death of a man.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Gloom whispered, and his brother nodded sullenly. The -next moment a heavy muffler was round Donull’s mouth; and -before he could resist, or even guess what had happened, he -was on his face on the shore, bound and gagged. A minute -later the oars were taken by Gloom, and the boat moved -swiftly out of the inner haven.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As it drew near Mànus stared at it intently.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That is not Donull that is rowing, Aulay!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“No: it will be Gloom Achanna, I’m thinking.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>MacCodrum started. If so, that other figure at the stern -was too big for Donull. The cloud passed just as the boat -came alongside. The rope was made secure, and then Marcus -and Gloom sprang on board.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Where is Donull MacDonull?” demanded Mànus sharply.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Marcus made no reply, so Gloom answered for him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“He has gone up to the house with a message to Anne-nic-Gilleasbuig.”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>“And what will that message be?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That Mànus MacCodrum has sailed away from Eilanmore, -and will not see her again.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>MacCodrum laughed. It was a low, ugly laugh.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sure, Gloom Achanna, you should be taking that feadan -of yours and playing the <i>Cod-hail-nan-Pairtean</i>, for I’m -thinkin’ the crabs are gathering about the rocks down below -us, an’ laughing wi’ their claws.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, and that is a true thing,” Gloom replied slowly -and quietly. “Yes, for sure I might, as you say, be playing -the ’meeting of the Crabs.’ Perhaps,” he added, as by a -sudden afterthought, “perhaps, though it is a calm night, you -will be hearing the <i>comh-thonn</i>. The ‘Slapping of the Waves’ -is a better thing to be hearing than the ’meeting of the -Crabs.’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“If I hear the <i>comh-thonn</i> it is not in the way you will -be meaning, Gloom-mhic-Achanna. ’Tis not the ‘Up Sail and -Good-bye’ they will be saying, but ‘Home wi’ the Bride.’”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Here Marcus intervened.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Let us be having no more words, Mànus MacCodrum. -The girl Anne is not for you. Gloom is to be her man. So -get you hence. If you will be going quiet, it is quiet we will -be. If you have your feet on this thing, then you will be -having that too which I saw in the boat.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And what was it you saw in the boat, Achanna?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The death of a man.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“So—. And now” (this after a prolonged silence, wherein -the four men stood facing each other, “is it a blood-matter if -not of peace?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ay. Go, if you are wise. If not, ’tis your own death -you will be making.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was a flash as of summer lightning. A bluish flame -seemed to leap through the moonshine. Marcus reeled, with -a gasping cry; then, leaning back, till his face blenched in -the moonlight, his knees gave way. As he fell, he turned -half round. The long knife which Mànus had hurled at him -had not penetrated his breast more than an inch at most, but -as he fell on the deck it was driven into him up to the hilt.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>In the blank silence that followed, the three men could -hear a sound like the ebb-tide in sea-weed. It was the gurgling -of the bloody froth in the lungs of the dead man.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The first to speak was his brother, and then only when thin -reddish-white foam-bubbles began to burst from the blue -lips of Marcus.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is murder.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He spoke low, but it was like the surf of breakers in the -ears of those who heard.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You have said one part of a true word, Gloom Achanna. -It is murder—that you and he came here for!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“The death of Marcus Achanna is on you, Mànus MacCodrum.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“So be it, as between yourself and me, or between all of -your blood and me; though Aulay MacNeil, as well as you, can -witness that though in self-defence I threw the knife at -Achanna, it was his own doing that drove it into him.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You can whisper that to the rope when it is round your -neck.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And what will <i>you</i> be doing now, Gloom-mhic-Achanna?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>For the first time Gloom shifted uneasily. A swift glance -revealed to him the awkward fact that the boat trailed behind -the <i>Luath</i>, so that he could not leap into it, while if he turned -to haul it close by the rope he was at the mercy of the two -men.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“I will go in peace,” he said quietly.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Ay,” was the answer, in an equally quiet tone, “in the -white peace.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>Upon this menace of death the two men stood facing each -other.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Achanna broke the silence at last.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“You’ll hear the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’ the night before you die, -Mànus MacCodrum, and lest you doubt it you’ll hear it -again in your death-hour.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>Ma tha sin an Dàn</i>—if that be ordained.” Mànus spoke -gravely. His very quietude, however, boded ill. There was -no hope of clemency; Gloom knew that.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly he laughed scornfully. Then, pointing with his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>right hand as if to some one behind his two adversaries, he -cried out: “Put the death-hand on them, Marcus! Give -them the Grave!” Both men sprang aside, the heart of each -nigh upon bursting. The death-touch of the newly slain is an -awful thing to incur, for it means that the wraith can transfer -all its evil to the person touched.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The next moment there was a heavy splash. Mànus realised -that it was no more than a ruse, and that Gloom had -escaped. With feverish haste he hauled in the small boat, -leaped into it, and began at once to row so as to intercept -his enemy.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Achanna rose once, between him and the <i>Luath</i>. MacCodrum -crossed the oars in the thole-pins and seized the boat-hook.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The swimmer kept straight for him. Suddenly he dived. -In a flash, Mànus knew that Gloom was going to rise under -the boat, seize the keel, and upset him, and thus probably be -able to grip him from above. There was time and no more -to leap; and, indeed, scarce had he plunged into the sea ere -the boat swung right over, Achanna clambering over it the -next moment.</p> - -<p class='c019'>At first Gloom could not see where his foe was. He -crouched on the upturned craft, and peered eagerly into the -moonlit water. All at once a black mass shot out of the -shadow between him and the smack. This black mass laughed—the -same low, ugly laugh that had preceded the death of -Marcus.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He who was in turn the swimmer was now close. When -a fathom away he leaned back and began to tread water -steadily. In his right hand he grasped the boat-hook. The -man in the boat knew that to stay where he was meant certain -death. He gathered himself together like a crouching -cat. Mànus kept treading the water slowly, but with the -hook ready so that the sharp iron spike at the end of it -should transfix his foe if he came at him with a leap. Now -and again he laughed. Then in his low sweet voice, but -brokenly at times between his deep breathings, he began -to sing:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c038'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>The tide was dark, an’ heavy with the burden that it bore;</div> - <div class='line'>I heard it talkin’, whisperin’, upon the weedy shore;</div> - <div class='line'>Each wave that stirred the sea-weed was like a closing door;</div> - <div class='line'>’Tis closing doors they hear at last who hear no more, no more.</div> - <div class='line in44'>My Grief,</div> - <div class='line in44'>No more!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The tide was in the salt sea-weed, and like a knife it tore;</div> - <div class='line'>The wild sea-wind went moaning, sooing, moaning o’er and o’er;</div> - <div class='line'>The deep sea-heart was brooding deep upon its ancient lore—</div> - <div class='line'>I heard the sob, the sooing sob, the dying sob at its core,</div> - <div class='line in44'>My Grief,</div> - <div class='line in44'>Its core!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The white sea-waves were wan and gray its ashy lips before,</div> - <div class='line'>The yeast within its ravening mouth was red with streaming gore;</div> - <div class='line'>O red sea-weed, O red sea-waves, O hollow baffled roar,</div> - <div class='line'>Since one thou hast, O dark dim Sea, why callest thou for more,</div> - <div class='line in44'>My Grief,</div> - <div class='line in44'>For more!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c021'>In the quiet moonlight the chant, with its long, slow -cadences, sung as no other man in the isles could sing it, -sounded sweet and remote beyond words to tell. The glittering -shine was upon the water of the haven, and moved -in waving lines of fire along the stone ledges. Sometimes a -fish rose, and split a ripple of pale gold; or a sea-nettle swam -to the surface, and turned its blue or greenish globe of living -jelly to the moon dazzle.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The man in the water made a sudden stop in his treading -and listened intently. Then once more the phosphorescent -light gleamed about his slow-moving shoulders. In a louder -chanting voice came once again:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c038'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Each wave that stirs the sea-weed is like a closing door;</div> - <div class='line'>’Tis closing doors they hear at last who hear no more—no more,</div> - <div class='line in44'>My Grief,</div> - <div class='line in44'>No more!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c021'>Yes, his quick ears had caught the inland strain of a voice -he knew. Soft and white as the moonshine came Anne’s -singing as she passed along the corrie leading to the haven. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>In vain his travelling gaze sought her; she was still in the -shadow, and, besides, a slow drifting cloud obscured the moonlight. -When he looked back again a stifled exclamation came -from his lips. There was not a sign of Gloom Achanna. He -had slipped noiselessly from the boat, and was now either -behind it, or had dived beneath it, or was swimming under -water this way or that. If only the cloud would sail by, -muttered Mànus, as he held himself in readiness for an attack -from beneath or behind. As the dusk lightened, he swam -slowly toward the boat, and then swiftly round it. There was -no one there. He climbed on to the keel, and stood, leaning -forward, as a salmon-leisterer by torchlight, with his spear-pointed -boat-hook raised. Neither below nor beyond could -he discern any shape. A whispered call to Aulay MacNeil -showed that he, too, saw nothing. Gloom must have swooned, -and sunk deep as he slipped through the water. Perhaps the -dog-fish were already darting about him.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Going behind the boat Mànus guided it back to the smack. -It was not long before, with MacNeil’s help, he righted the -punt. One oar had drifted out of sight, but as there was a -sculling-hole in the stern that did not matter.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“What shall we do with it?” he muttered, as he stood at -last by the corpse of Marcus.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“This is a bad night for us, Aulay!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Bad it is; but let us be seeing it is not worse. I’m thinking -we should have left the boat.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And for why that?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“We could say that Marcus Achanna and Gloom Achanna -left us again, and that we saw no more of them nor of our -boat.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>MacCodrum pondered a while. The sound of voices, borne -faintly across the water, decided him. Probably Anne and -the lad Donull were talking. He slipped into the boat, and -with a sail-knife soon ripped it here and there. It filled, and -then, heavy with the weight of a great ballast-stone which -Aulay had first handed to his companion, and surging with -a foot-thrust from the latter, it sank.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>“We’ll hide the—the man there—behind the windlass, -below the spare sail, till we’re out at sea, Aulay. Quick, -give me a hand!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>It did not take the two men long to lift the corpse, and -do as Mànus had suggested. They had scarce accomplished -this, when Anne’s voice came hailing silver-sweet across the -water.</p> - -<p class='c019'>With death-white face and shaking limbs, MacCodrum stood -holding the mast, while with a loud voice, so firm and strong -that Aulay MacNeil smiled below his fear, he asked if the -Achannas were back yet, and if so for Donull to row out at -once, and she with him if she would come.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was nearly half an hour thereafter that Anne rowed out -toward the <i>Luath</i>. She had gone at last along the shore to -a creek where one of Marcus’s boats was moored and returned -with it. Having taken Donull on board, she made way with -all speed, fearful lest Gloom or Marcus should intercept her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It did not take long to explain how she had laughed at -Seumas’s vain efforts to detain her, and had come down to -the haven. As she approached, she heard Mànus singing, and -so had herself broken into a song she knew he loved. Then, -by the water-edge she had come upon Donull lying upon his -back, bound and gagged. After she had released him they -waited to see what would happen, but as in the moonlight -they could not see any small boat come in, bound to or from -the smack, she had hailed to know if Mànus were there.</p> - -<p class='c019'>On his side he said briefly that the two Achannas had come -to persuade him to leave without her. On his refusal they -had departed again, uttering threats against her as well as -himself. He heard their quarrelling voices as they rowed -into the gloom, but could not see them at last because of the -obscured moonlight.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And now, Ann-mochree,” he added, “is it coming with -me you are, and just as you are? Sure, you’ll never repent -it, and you’ll have all you want that I can give. Dear of -my heart, say that you will be coming away this night of -the nights! By the Black Stone on Icolmkill I swear it, and -by the Sun, and by the Moon, and by Himself!”</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>“I am trusting you, Mànus dear. Sure it is not for me -to be going back to that house after what has been done and -said. I go with you, now and always, God save us.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Well, dear lass o’ my heart, it’s farewell to Eilanmore -it is, for by the Blood of the Cross I’ll never land on it -again!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“And that will be no sorrow to me, Mànus, my home!”</p> - -<hr class='c029' /> - -<p class='c019'>And this was the way that my friend, Anne Gillespie, left -Eilanmore to go to the isles of the west.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was a fair sailing, in the white moonshine, with a whispering -breeze astern. Anne leaned against Mànus, dreaming her -dream. The lad Donull sat drowsing at the helm. Forward, -Aulay MacNeil, with his face set against the moonshine to the -west, brooded dark.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Though no longer was land in sight, and there was peace -among the deeps of the quiet stars and upon the sea, the -shadow of fear was upon the face of Mànus MacCodrum.</p> - -<p class='c019'>This might well have been because of the as yet unburied -dead that lay beneath the spare sail by the windlass. The -dead man, however, did not affright him. What went moaning -in his heart, and sighing and calling in his brain, was a -faint falling echo he had heard, as the <i>Luath</i> glided slow out -of the haven. Whether from the water or from the shore -he could not tell, but he heard the wild, fantastic air of the -“Dàn-nan-Ròn,” as he had heard it that very night upon the -feadan of Gloom Achanna.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was his hope that his ears had played him false. When -he glanced about him, and saw the sombre flame in the eyes -of Aulay MacNeil, staring at him out of the dusk, he knew -that which Oisìn the son of Fionn cried in his pain: “his -soul swam in mist.”</p> -<h3 class='c002'>II</h3> - -<p class='c021'>For all the evil omens, the marriage of Anne and Mànus -MacCodrum went well. He was more silent than of yore, -and men avoided rather than sought him; but he was happy -with Anne, and content with his two mates, who were now -<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>Callum MacCodrum and Ranald MacRanald. The youth -Donull had bettered himself by joining a Skye skipper who -was a kinsman, and Aulay MacNeil had surprised every one, -except Mànus, by going away as a seaman on board one of -the <i>Loch</i> line of ships which sail for Australia from the Clyde.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Anne never knew what had happened, though it is possible -she suspected somewhat. All that was known to her was -that Marcus and Gloom Achanna had disappeared, and were -supposed to have been drowned. There was now no Achanna -upon Eilanmore, for Seumas had taken a horror of the place -and his loneliness. As soon as it was commonly admitted -that his two brothers must have drifted out to sea, and been -drowned, or at best picked up by some ocean-going ship, he -disposed of the island-farm, and left Eilanmore forever. All -this confirmed the thing said among the islanders of the -west, that old Robert Achanna had brought a curse with -him. Blight and disaster had visited Eilanmore over and -over in the many years he had held it, and death, sometimes -tragic or mysterious, had overtaken six of his seven sons, -while the youngest bore upon his brows the “dusk of the -shadow.” True, none knew for certain that three out of the -six were dead, but few for a moment believed in the possibility -that Alasdair and Marcus and Gloom were alive. On the -night when Anne had left the island with Mànus MacCodrum, -he, Seumas, had heard nothing to alarm him. Even when, -an hour after she had gone down to the haven, neither she -nor his brothers had returned, and the <i>Luath</i> had put out to -sea, he was not in fear of any ill. Clearly, Marcus and Gloom -had gone away in the smack, perhaps determined to see that -the girl was duly married by priest or minister.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He would have perturbed himself a little for days to come, -but for a strange thing that happened that night. He had -returned to the house because of a chill that was upon him, -and convinced, too, that all had sailed in the <i>Luath</i>. He was -sitting brooding by the peat-fire, when he was startled by a -sound at the window at the back of the room. A few bars of -a familiar air struck painfully upon his ear, though played -so low that they were just audible. What could it be but the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>“Dàn-nan-Ròn,” and who would be playing that but Gloom? -What did it mean? Perhaps after all, it was fantasy only, -and there was no feadan out there in the dark. He was pondering -this when, still low but louder and sharper than before, -there rose and fell the strain which he hated, and Gloom -never played before him, that of the <i>Dàvsa-na mairv</i>, the -“Dance of the Dead.” Swiftly and silently he rose and -crossed the room. In the dark shadows cast by the byre he -could see nothing, but the music ceased. He went out, and -searched everywhere, but found no one. So he returned, -took down the Holy Book, with awed heart, and read slowly -till peace came upon him, soft and sweet as the warmth of -the peat-glow.</p> - -<p class='c019'>But as for Anne, she had never even this hint that one of -the supposed dead might be alive, or that, being dead, Gloom -might yet touch a shadowy feadan into a wild remote air of -the grave.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When month after month went by, and no hint of ill came -to break upon their peace, Mànus grew light-hearted again. -Once more his songs were heard as he came back from the -fishing, or loitered ashore mending his nets. A new happiness -was nigh to them, for Anne was with child. True, there -was fear also, for the girl was not well at the time when -her labor was near, and grew weaker daily. There came -a day when Mànus had to go to Loch Boisdale in South Uist: -and it was with pain and something of foreboding that he -sailed away from Berneray in the Sound of Harris, where he -lived. It was on the third night that he returned. He was -met by Katreen MacRanald, the wife of his mate, with the -news that on the morrow after his going Anne had sent for -the priest who was staying at Loch Maddy, for she had felt -the coming of death. It was that very evening she died, -and took the child with her.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mànus heard as one in a dream. It seemed to him that -the tide was ebbing in his heart, and a cold, sleety rain falling, -falling through a mist in his brain.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sorrow lay heavily upon him. After the earthing of her -whom he loved, he went to and fro solitary: often crossing the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>Narrows and going to the old Pictish Towre under the shadow -of Ban Breac. He would not go upon the sea, but let his -kinsman Callum do as he liked with the <i>Luath</i>.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Now and again Father Allan MacNeil sailed northward to -see him. Each time he departed sadder. “The man is going -mad, I fear,” he said to Callum, the last time he saw Mànus.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The long summer nights brought peace and beauty to the -isles. It was a great herring-year, and the moon-fishing was -unusually good. All the Uist men who lived by the sea-harvest -were in their boats whenever they could. The pollack, -the dog-fish, the otters, and the seals, with flocks of sea-fowl -beyond number, shared in the common joy. Mànus MacCodrum -alone paid no heed to herring or mackerel. He was -often seen striding along the shore, and more than once had -been heard laughing; sometimes, too, he was come upon at -low tide by the great Reef of Berneray, singing wild strange -runes and songs, or crouching upon a rock and brooding dark.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The midsummer moon found no man on Berneray except -MacCodrum, the Rev. Mr. Black, the minister of the Free -Kirk, and an old man named Anndra McIan. On the night -before the last day of the middle month, Anndra was reproved -by the minister for saying that he had seen a man rise -out of one of the graves in the kirkyard, and steal down by -the stone-dykes towards Balnahunnur-sa-mona,<a id='r13' /><a href='#f13' class='c024'><sup>[13]</sup></a> where Mànus -MacCodrum lived.</p> - -<div class='footnote c031' id='f13'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r13'>13</a>. </span><i>Baille-’na-aonar’sa mhonadh</i>, “the solitary farm on the hill-slope.”</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'>“The dead do not rise and walk, Anndra.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“That may be, maigstir, but it may have been the Watcher -of the Dead. Sure it is not three weeks since Padruig McAlistair -was laid beneath the green mound. He’ll be wearying -for another to take his place.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Hoots, man, that is an old superstition. The dead do not -rise and walk, I tell you.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>“It is right you may be, maigstir, but I heard of this from -my father, that was old before you were young, and from his -father before him. When the last-buried is weary with being -the Watcher of the Dead he goes about from place to -place till he sees man, woman, or child with the death-shadow -<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>in the eyes, and then he goes back to his grave and -lies down in peace, for his vigil it will be over now.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The minister laughed at the folly, and went into his house -to make ready for the Sacrament that was to be on the -morrow. Old Anndra, however, was uneasy. After the -porridge, he went down through the gloaming to Balnahunnur-sa-mona. -He meant to go in and warn Mànus MacCodrum. -But when he got to the west wall, and stood near -the open window, he heard Mànus speaking in a loud voice, -though he was alone in the room.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>B’ionganntach do ghràdh dhomhsa, a’ toirt barrachd air -gràdh nam ban!</i>”...<a id='r14' /><a href='#f14' class='c024'><sup>[14]</sup></a></p> - -<div class='footnote c031' id='f14'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r14'>14</a>. </span>“Thy love to me was wonderful, surpassing the love of women.”</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'>This, Mànus cried in a voice quivering with pain. Anndra -stopped still, fearful to intrude, fearful also, perhaps, to see -some one there beside MacCodrum, whom eyes should not see. -Then the voice rose into a cry of agony.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“<i>Aoram dhuit, ay andéigh dhomh fàs aosda!</i>”<a id='r15' /><a href='#f15' class='c024'><sup>[15]</sup></a></p> - -<div class='footnote c031' id='f15'> -<p class='c027'><span class='label'><a href='#r15'>15</a>. </span>“I shall worship thee, ay, even after I have become old.”</p> -</div> - -<p class='c019'>With that, Anndra feared to stay. As he passed the byre -he started, for he thought he saw the shadow of a man. When -he looked closer he could see nought, so went his way, trembling -and sore troubled.</p> - -<p class='c019'>It was dusk when Mànus came out. He saw that it was to -be a cloudy night; and perhaps it was this that, after a brief -while, made him turn in his aimless walk and go back to the -house. He was sitting before the flaming heart of the peats, -brooding in his pain, when suddenly he sprang to his feet.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Loud and clear, and close as though played under the very -window of the room, came the cold, white notes of an oaten -flute. Ah, too well he knew that wild, fantastic air. Who -could it be but Gloom Achanna, playing upon his feadan; and -what air of all airs could that be but the “Dàn-nan-Ròn”?</p> - -<p class='c019'>Was it the dead man, standing there unseen in the shadow of -the Grave? Was Marcus beside him, Marcus with the knife -still thrust up to the hilt, and the lung-foam upon his lips? -Can the sea give up its dead? Can there be strain of any -feadan that ever was made of man, there in the Silence?</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>In vain Mànus MacCodrum tortured himself thus. Too -well he knew that he had heard the “Dàn-nan-Ròn,” and that -no other than Gloom Achanna was the player.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly an access of fury wrought him to madness. With -an abrupt lilt the tune swung into the <i>Davsà-na mairv</i>, and -thence, after a few seconds, and in a moment, into that mysterious -and horrible <i>Codhail-nan-Pairtean</i> which none but -Gloom played.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There could be no mistake now, nor as to what was meant by -the muttering, jerking air of the “Gathering of the Crabs.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>With a savage cry Mànus snatched up a long dirk from its -place by the chimney, and rushed out.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was not the shadow of a sea-gull even in front; so he -sped round by the byre. Neither was anything unusual discoverable -there.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Sorrow upon me,” he cried; “man or wraith, I will be -putting it to the dirk!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>But there was no one; nothing; not a sound.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Then, at last, with a listless droop of his arms, MacCodrum -turned and went into the house again. He remembered what -Gloom Achanna had said: “<i>You’ll hear the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’ -the night before you die, Mànus MacCodrum, and lest you -doubt it, you’ll hear it in your death-hour.</i>”</p> - -<p class='c019'>He did not stir from the fire for three hours; then he rose, -and went over to his bed and lay down without undressing.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He did not sleep, but lay listening and watching. The -peats burned low, and at last there was scarce a flicker along -the floor. Outside he could hear the wind moaning upon the -sea. By a strange rustling sound he knew that the tide was -ebbing across the great reef that runs out from Berneray. -By midnight the clouds had gone. The moon shone clear and -full. When he heard the clock strike in its worm-eaten, -rickety case, he sat up, and listened intently. He could hear -nothing. No shadow stirred. Surely if the wraith of Gloom -Achanna were waiting for him it would make some sign, now, -in the dead of night.</p> - -<p class='c019'>An hour passed. Mànus rose, crossed the room on tiptoe, -and soundlessly opened the door. The salt wind blew fresh -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>against his face. The smell of the shore, of wet sea-wrack and -pungent bog-myrtle, of foam and moving water, came sweet to -his nostrils. He heard a skua calling from the rocky promontory. -From the slopes behind, the wail of a moon-restless lapwing -rose and fell mournfully.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Crouching, and with slow, stealthy step, he stole round by -the seaward wall. At the dyke he stopped, and scrutinised -it on each side. He could see for several hundred yards, and -there was not even a sheltering sheep. Then, soundlessly as -ever, he crept close to the byre. He put his ear to chink after -chink: but not a stir of a shadow even. As a shadow, himself, -he drifted lightly to the front, past the hay-rick; then, with -swift glances to right and left, opened the door and entered. -As he did so, he stood as though frozen. Surely, he thought, -that was a sound as of a step, out there by the hay-rick. A -terror was at his heart. In front, the darkness of the byre, -with God knows what dread thing awaiting him; behind, a -mysterious walker in the night, swift to take him unawares. -The trembling that came upon him was nigh overmastering. -At last, with a great effort, he moved towards the ledge, where -he kept a candle. With shaking hand he struck a light. The -empty byre looked ghostly and fearsome in the flickering -gloom. But there was no one, nothing. He was about to -turn, when a rat ran along a loose-hanging beam, and stared at -him, or at the yellow shine. He saw its black eyes shining like -peat-water in moonlight.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The creature was curious at first, then indifferent. At last, -it began to squeak, and then made a swift scratching with its -fore-paws. Once or twice came an answering squeak; a -faint rustling was audible here and there among the straw.</p> - -<p class='c019'>With a sudden spring Mànus seized the beast. Even in the -second in which he raised it to his mouth and scrunched its -back with his strong teeth, it bit him severely. He let his -hands drop, and groped furtively in the darkness. With -stooping head he shook the last breath out of the rat, holding -it with his front teeth, with back-curled lips. The next moment -he dropped the dead thing, trampled upon it, and burst -out laughing. There was a scurrying of pattering feet, a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>rustling of straw. Then silence again. A draught from the -door had caught the flame and extinguished it. In the silence -and darkness MacCodrum stood, intent, but no longer afraid. -He laughed again, because it was so easy to kill with the -teeth. The noise of his laughter seemed to him to leap hither -and thither like a shadowy ape. He could see it; a blackness -within the darkness. Once more he laughed. It amused -him to see the <i>thing</i> leaping about like that.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly he turned, and walked out into the moonlight. -The lapwing was still circling and wailing. He mocked it, -with loud shrill <i>pēē-wēēty, pēē-wēēty, pēē-wēēt</i>. The bird -swung waywardly, alarmed: its abrupt cry, and dancing -flight aroused its fellows. The air was full of the lamentable -crying of plovers.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A sough of the sea came inland. Mànus inhaled its breath -with a sigh of delight. A passion for the running wave -was upon him. He yearned to feel green water break against -his breast. Thirst and hunger, too, he felt at last, though he -had known neither all day. How cool and sweet, he thought, -would be a silver haddock, or even a brown-backed liath, alive -and gleaming, wet with the sea-water still bubbling in its -gills. It would writhe, just like the rat; but then how he -would throw his head back, and toss the glittering thing up -into the moonlight, catch it on the downwhirl just as it neared -the wave on whose crest he was, and then devour it with swift -voracious gulps!</p> - -<p class='c019'>With quick, jerky steps he made his way past the landward -side of the small, thatch-roofed cottage. He was about to -enter, when he noticed that the door, which he had left ajar, -was closed. He stole to the window and glanced in.</p> - -<p class='c019'>A single, thin, wavering moonbeam flickered in the room. -But the flame at the heart of the peats had worked its way -through the ash, and there was now a dull glow, though that -was within the “smooring,” and threw scarce more than a -glimmer into the room.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was enough light, however, for Mànus MacCodrum to -see that a man sat on the three-legged stool before the fire. -His head was bent, as though he were listening. The face -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>was away from the window. It was his own wraith, of course; -of that, Mànus felt convinced. What was it doing there? -Perhaps it had eaten the Holy Book, so that it was beyond his -putting a <i>rosad</i> on it! At the thought he laughed loud. The -shadow-man leaped to his feet.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The next moment MacCodrum swung himself on to the -thatched roof, and clambered from rope to rope, where these -held down the big stones which acted as dead-weight for the -thatch, against the fury of tempests. Stone after stone he -tore from its fastenings and hurled to the ground over beyond -the door. Then with tearing hands he began to burrow an -opening in the thatch. All the time he whined like a beast.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He was glad the moon shone full upon him. When he had -made a big enough hole, he would see the evil thing out of the -grave that sat in his room, and would stone it to death.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Suddenly he became still. A cold sweat broke out upon -him. The thing, whether his own wraith, or the spirit of his -dead foe, or Gloom Achanna himself, had begun to play, low -and slow, a wild air. No piercing, cold music like that of the -feadan! Too well he knew it, and those cool, white notes that -moved here and there in the darkness like snowflakes. As -for the air, though he slept till Judgment Day and heard but -a note of it amidst all the clamor of heaven and hell, sure he -would scream because of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The “Dàn-nan-Ròn!” The <i>Roin</i>! the Seals! Ah, what -was he doing there, on the bitter-weary land! Out there was -the sea. Safe would he be in the green waves.</p> - -<p class='c019'>With a leap he was on the ground. Seizing a huge stone, -he hurled it through the window. Then, laughing and screaming, -he fled towards the Great Reef, along whose sides the ebb-tide -gurgled and sobbed, with glistening white foam.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He ceased screaming or laughing as he heard the “Dàn-nan-Ròn” -behind him, faint, but following; sure, following. -Bending low, he raced towards the rock-ledges from which ran -the reef.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When at last he reached the extreme ledge he stopped -abruptly. Out on the reef he saw from ten to twenty seals, -some swimming to and fro, others clinging to the reef, one or -<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>two making a curious barking sound, with round heads lifted -against the moon. In one place there was a surge and lashing -of water. Two bulls were fighting to the death.</p> - -<p class='c019'>With swift, stealthy movements Mànus unclothed himself. -The damp had clotted the leathern thongs of his boots, and -he snarled with curled lip as he tore at them. He shone white -in the moonshine, but was sheltered from the sea by the ledge -behind which he crouched. “What did Gloom Achanna mean -by that?” he muttered savagely, as he heard the nearing air -change into the “Dance of the Dead.” For a moment Mànus -was a man again. He was nigh upon turning to face his foe, -corpse or wraith or living body; to spring at this thing which -followed him, and tear it with hands and teeth. Then, once -more, the hated “Song of the Seals” stole mockingly through -the night.</p> - -<p class='c019'>With a shiver he slipped into the dark water. Then with -quick, powerful strokes he was in the moon-flood, and swimming -hard against it out by the leeside of the reef.</p> - -<p class='c019'>So intent were the seals upon the fight of the two great -bulls that they did not see the swimmer, or if they did, took -him for one of their own people. A savage snarling and barking -and half-human crying came from them. Mànus was -almost within reach of the nearest, when one of the combatants -sank dead, with torn throat. The victor clambered on the -reef, and leaned high, swaying its great head and shoulders -to and fro. In the moonlight its white fangs were like red -coral. Its blinded eyes ran with gore.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There was a rush, a rapid leaping and swirling, as Mànus -surged in among the seals, which were swimming round the -place where the slain bull had sunk.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The laughter of this long, white seal terrified them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When his knees struck against a rock, MacCodrum groped -with his arms, and hauled himself out of the water.</p> - -<p class='c019'>From rock to rock and ledge to ledge he went, with a fantastic, -dancing motion, his body gleaming foam-white in the -moonshine.</p> - -<p class='c019'>As he pranced and trampled along the weedy ledges, he sang -snatches of an old rune—the lost rune of the MacCodrums -<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>of Uist. The seals on the rocks crouched spell-bound; those -slow-swimming in the water stared with brown unwinking -eyes, with their small ears strained against the sound:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c038'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>It is I, Mànus MacCodrum,</div> - <div class='line'>I am telling you that, you, Anndra of my blood,</div> - <div class='line'>And you, Neil my grandfather, and you, and you, and you!</div> - <div class='line'>Ay, ay, Mànus my name is, Mànus MacMànus!</div> - <div class='line'>It is I myself, and no other.</div> - <div class='line'>Your brother, O Seals of the Sea!</div> - <div class='line'>Give me blood of the red fish,</div> - <div class='line'>And a bite of the flying <i>sgadan</i>:</div> - <div class='line'>The green wave on my belly,</div> - <div class='line'>And the foam in my eyes!</div> - <div class='line'>I am your bull-brother, O Bulls of the Sea,</div> - <div class='line'>Bull—better than any of you, snarling bulls!</div> - <div class='line'>Come to me, mate, seal of the soft, furry womb,</div> - <div class='line'>White am I still, though red shall I be,</div> - <div class='line'>Red with the streaming red blood if any dispute me!</div> - <div class='line'>Aoh, aoh, aoh, arò, arò, ho-rò!</div> - <div class='line'>A man was I, a seal am I,</div> - <div class='line'>My fangs churn the yellow foam from my lips:</div> - <div class='line'>Give way to me, give way to me, Seals of the Sea;</div> - <div class='line'>Give way, for I am fëy of the sea</div> - <div class='line'>And the sea-maiden I see there,</div> - <div class='line'>And my name, true, is Mànus MacCodrum,</div> - <div class='line'>The bull-seal that was a man, Arà! Arà!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c021'>By this time he was close upon the great black seal, which -was still monotonously swaying its gory head, with its sightless -eyes rolling this way and that. The sea-folk seemed fascinated. -None moved, even when the dancer in the moonshine -trampled upon them.</p> - -<p class='c019'>When he came within arm-reach he stopped.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Are you the Ceann-Cinnidh?” he cried.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Are you the head of this clan of the sea-folk?”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The huge beast ceased its swaying. Its curled lips moved -from its fangs.</p> - -<p class='c019'>“Speak, Seal, if there’s no curse upon you! Maybe, now, -you’ll be Anndra himself, the brother of my father! Speak! -<i>H’st—are you hearing that music on the shore?</i> ’Tis the -‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’! Death o’ my soul, it’s the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’!</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>“Aha, ’tis Gloom Achanna out of the Grave. Back, beast, -and let me move on!”</p> - -<p class='c019'>With that, seeing the great bull did not move, he struck it -full in the face with clenched fist. There was a hoarse, -strangling roar, and the seal champion was upon him with -lacerating fangs.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Mànus swayed this way and that. All he could hear now -was the snarling and growling and choking cries of the maddened -seals. As he fell, they closed in upon him. His -screams wheeled through the night like mad birds. With -desperate fury he struggled to free himself. The great bull -pinned him to the rock; a dozen others tore at his white flesh, -till his spouting blood made the rocks scarlet in the white -shine of the moon.</p> - -<p class='c019'>For a few seconds he still fought savagely, tearing with teeth -and hands. Once, a red irrecognisable mass, he staggered to -his knees. A wild cry burst from his lips, when from the -shore-end of the reef came loud and clear the lilt of the rune -of his fate.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The next moment he was dragged down and swept from the -reef into the sea. As the torn and mangled body disappeared -from sight, it was amid a seething crowd of leaping and struggling -seals, their eyes wild with affright and fury, their fangs -red with human gore.</p> - -<p class='c019'>And Gloom Achanna, turning upon the reef, moved swiftly -inland, playing low on his feadan, as he went.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span> - <h2 class='c004'>CRITICAL COMMENT</h2> -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA<br /> By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS</h3> -<p class='c018'><span class='sc'>No</span> one knows when story telling began. It is as old as the human -race. It goes beyond history into the unknown darkness of the -past. Some of the stories we still read originated far back in primitive -life. Such stories, that have been told for many years, and are -common to the race, we call “Folk-Lore” stories.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Every Folk-Lore story probably began in the simplest form. -Something happened,—and someone tried to tell about the event. -If the story was interesting enough to repeat, it gradually became -exaggerated. Thus the germ of <i>The Adventures of Simon and -Susanna</i> is the common-enough story of a successful elopement in -which the cleverness of the young people,—of the girl in particular,—eluded -the pursuing father. Their means of making their escape -must have been quite ordinary, but when the story was told again -and again,—if this really is a Folk-Lore story, the cleverness was -exaggerated and gradually turned into magic.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In reading this story we come into close touch with the origin of all -story telling. We see one man, a common, ignorant man, telling a -story to an interested listener, and undoubtedly “putting in a few -extra touches” to make the story more wonderful. The primitive -stories must always have been presented orally, and at first to few -listeners. Then came the days of story tellers for the crowd, and -finally the written story.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The author of <i>The Adventures of Simon and Susanna</i>, Joel -Chandler Harris, retold many folk-lore stories. He was born in -Georgia in 1848, and died there in 1908. He devoted all his mature -life to journalism and literature. His many books about Uncle -Remus presented that person so clearly that the good-natured negro -story teller has almost ceased to be merely a book-character, and -has become a living reality.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Every story that Mr. Harris wrote has plot interest, but it also has -pith and wisdom.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE CROW-CHILD<br /><span class='c025'>By MARY MAPES DODGE</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>The ordinary “Fairy Story” is a developed form of the “Folk-Lore” -story. Instead of having the roughness, and naïve simplicity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>characteristic of primitive ways of story telling it has polish, and -definite literary or moral purpose. It is not a mere wonder story -told in the first person by some definite individual, and made by the -exaggeration of an actual event. It is a written rather than a -spoken story, based, in the remote past, on some actual event, but -now told in the third person, and directed strongly to an artistic, -literary purpose,—frequently to a moral purpose. In every way -the best type of “Fairy Story” is a distinct advance towards developed -story telling.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>The Crow Child</i> is not an actual “Fairy Story,” but it illustrates -remarkably well the way in which “Fairy Stories” developed. -Every event in <i>The Crow Child</i> is strictly true, but much of the story -appears to be based on magic. A true story of this sort, told in -primitive times, and retold again and again, with new emphasis -placed on the elements of wonder, would have developed into a pure -story of wonder,—a “Fairy Story.”</p> - -<p class='c019'>The author of this original, and modern, “Fairy Story,” Mary -Mapes Dodge, was born in New York in 1838. For many years she -was the efficient editor of <i>St. Nicholas</i>, a young people’s magazine of -the highest type. In addition to her editorial work she wrote many -books for young people, the most famous being <i>Hans Brinker, or -the Silver Skates</i>. She died in 1905.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL<br /><span class='c025'>By LAFCADIO HEARN</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>Very often the earliest stories are not crude accounts of ordinary -events, exaggerated enough to be worthy of note. They are poetic -narratives founded on matters of deep significance in the life of a -people. All primitive people are poetic, because they see the world -through the eyes of emotion rather than of scientific understanding. -They also have an instinctive recognition of fundamental nobility. -Therefore we have such stories as the legends of Hiawatha, in which -an ideal man is presented, bringing benefit to his kind. Any story -that is handed down from generation to generation, and that presents -as facts matters that have no other verification, is legendary. -The highest type of legendary story is one that presents high ideals.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The Chinese, whose literature is exceedingly ancient, have always -been an idealistic people. It is not surprising that they should create -such an appealing legendary tale as <i>The Soul of the Great Bell</i>. -Although the elements are quite simple the story has been turned -from being a simple account of tragic self-sacrifice, and has become -an explanation of the music of the bell, as well as an example of -filial devotion. The preservation of such stories shows natural appreciation -of short story values.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>The present rendering of <i>The Soul of the Great Bell</i> undoubtedly -far surpasses the Chinese version. The story has been appropriately -introduced, amplified and given added poetic and dramatic effect by -careful choice of words, descriptive passages, suspense, onomatopœia, -and climax.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Lafcadio Hearn was born in 1850, of Irish and Greek parentage, -in Leucadia, of the Greek Ionian Islands. At 19 he came to America -and engaged in newspaper work, living at various times in New -Orleans and in New York. From 1891 until his death in 1904 he -made his home in Japan, where he became a Buddhist and a naturalized -Japanese citizen under the name of Yakumo Koizumi. He -learned to know the oriental peoples as few others have known them. -His literary work is marked by poetic treatment, and an atmosphere -of the Orient. He wrote <i>Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan</i>, <i>Out of -the East</i>, <i>Some Chinese Ghosts</i>, and many other books on oriental -subjects.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Ta-chung sz’.</b> Temple of the Bell. A building in Pekin, holding the -bell that is the subject of the story. The bell was made in the reign -of Yong-lo, about 1406 <span class='fss'>A. D.</span> It weighs over 120,000 pounds, and is -the largest bell known to be in actual use.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Kwang-chan-fu.</b> The Broad City. Canton.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>THE TEN TRAILS<br /><span class='c025'>By ERNEST THOMPSON SETON</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>The fable and the proverb are much alike in that both are highly -condensed, and both are told to instruct. The short, direct, applied -narratives known as “Fables” are among the oldest ancestors of the -short story. Even in the most ancient times there were fables, -those of Æsop having been told perhaps as early as the sixth century, -B.C. Many familiar fables have animals for their characters, -their known characteristics needing no comment. Thus the fox and -the wolf appear frequently, their mere names suggesting traits of -character. The fable, as a type of wisdom literature, is always -short, simple, and emphatic. It always emphasizes marked human -characteristics, and usually ends with a “moral” that adds to the -emphasis. The influence of the fable helped to make the story -short, condensed, vivid, pointed, and based on character.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>The Ten Trails</i> is a modern imitation of older fables. Its directness, -simplicity, clear story, and appended moral are characteristic -of the type.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Ernest Thompson Seton, born in England in 1860, has written -many stories in which he presents animal life with appealing sympathy. -He has devoted himself particularly to cultivating a love -for outdoors life, and for animate nature. <i>Wild Animals I Have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>Known</i>, <i>The Biography of a Grizzly</i>, and similar books, are full of -original interest.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO<br /><span class='c025'>By COUNT LEO TOLSTOI</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>An allegory is a story that has an underlying meaning or -moral. It is in some ways an expanded fable, with the meaning -understood rather than presented. The chief difference between -the “Fable” and the “Allegory” lies in length and complexity -of treatment, and in the way of presenting the underlying meaning. -The “Fable” is short and usually appends the moral. The “Allegory” -is usually long, and tells the story in such a way that the -reader is sure to grasp the meaning without further comment. The -purpose, as in the “Fable,” is double,—to tell a story, and to teach -a truth. All literatures have numerous allegories, Spenser’s -<i>Faerie Queene</i>, Bunyan’s <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>, and Tennyson’s <i>Idylls -of the King</i> being notable examples in English literature.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>Where Love Is, There God Is Also</i> is an allegorical story of a -pleasing type that is often found in our present-day literature. The -story has such evident good humor, appreciation of the needs of -humble life, and such an unselfish spirit of sympathy that it appeals -to any reader. Its strong realism, effective plan, and clear, emphatic -presentation make the story one of the best of its kind.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Count Leo Tolstoi, born at Yasnaya Polyana, in Russia, in 1828, -and dying at Astapovo in 1910, is one of the greatest and most interesting -figures in all modern literature. The story of his career, -with its surprising changes from the life of a nobleman to that of a -peasant, from a life given over to pleasure to a life devoted to the -moral uplift of a whole people, is even more astonishing than any -of the stories he told in his many works of fiction. Student, soldier, -traveler, lover of social life, philosopher, reformer, and self-sacrificing -idealist, he developed a personality unique in the extreme, and -became a world-wide influence for good. His best known novels are -<i>War and Peace</i>, and <i>Anna Karenina</i>. In them, as in all that he -wrote, the notable qualities are realism, dramatic force, original -thought, and courageous expression of beliefs.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Grivenki.</b> A grivenka is 10 copecks, or about five cents.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>WOOD-LADIES<br /><span class='c025'>By PERCEVAL GIBBON</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>There is a strange fascination about the supernatural, for men of -all races instinctively believe that they are surrounded by a world -<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>of good and evil that lies just beyond their touch. Some have -thought the woods and mountains peopled with unseen divinities; -others have believed in strange gnomes and dwarfs who are thought -to live in the depths of the earth; some have believed in pale -ghosts, specters that move by night, haunting the scenes of unattoned -crime. One of the most pleasing beliefs is that in fairies, or -“Little Folk,”—unseen, beautiful, and usually beneficent beings -who live in woodland places and are endowed with all powers of -magic.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Stories of the unseen world that may lie about us have appeared -in all ages. Sometimes such stories have been beautiful and fanciful, -and sometimes filled with the spirit of fear. In the latter -part of the eighteenth century and the first of the nineteenth it -became quite the fashion to tell stories of ghosts and strange terrors. -Ernst Hoffmann and Ludwig Tieck in Germany set an example -that was followed by Washington Irving, Nathaniel Hawthorne, -and Edgar Allan Poe in this country, as well as by many other -writers since their time.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There is another and more healthful attitude of mind. Instead -of the horror of Gothic romance it presents the fancy of Celtic -thought. In stories of this gentler type one does not feel that the -unseen world is wholly to be feared.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Such a story is <i>Wood-Ladies</i>, in which the spirit of Celtic fancy -has found full play. In this story everything is woodsy, delicate, -half-seen, as though one were treading the very edges of fairyland -without knowing it. Mother-love fills the whole story and gives it a -noble beauty. And yet, in a certain sense, the child, conscious of -another world, is wiser than the mother. A story of this sort, dealing -with the supernatural, rests the mind like sweet music.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Perceval Gibbon was born in Carmarthenshire in South Wales, -in 1870. He has spent much time in the merchant service on British, -French, and American vessels. He has done unusual work as -war correspondent. Among his literary works are <i>Souls in Bondage</i>, -<i>The Adventures of Miss Gregory</i>, <i>The Second Class Passenger</i>, -and a collection of Poems. His work is marked by originality, and -a clever mastery of technique.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>ON THE FEVER SHIP<br /><span class='c025'>By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>Love is so essential a part of life that it must also be a part -of literature; therefore romantic love has been a leading literary -theme for centuries. Some of the world’s greatest stories of -love flash into our minds when we repeat the names of Juliet, -Rosalind, Portia, Elaine, and Evangeline. Such stories suggest -<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>depth of emotion, charm, womanly worth, pure and innocent love, -or a love that lasts beyond the years. In the days of chivalry -the knight bore his lady’s token, and fought in her honor. to-day -men love just as deeply, and fight for land and hearth and -sweetheart just as truly as men did in the long ago.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>On the Fever Ship</i> is the story of a modern knight,—a soldier -who went into his country’s war, bearing in his heart the memory -of one he loved. When he is wounded, and lies fever-stricken on -the deck of a transport, he does not think at all of himself but -only of the one who is far away. That is the story, an abiding -love in absence, with dreams at last made true.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The author makes the story notably strong and tender. Without -formal introduction he presents the realistic picture of the -fever ship,—the inexplicable monotony, the dream-world, the child-likeness -of the wounded man’s life. Old scenes and faces come -before the wounded soldier in tantalizing dreams. Little by little -the author draws us closer into sympathy with the central figure. -He makes us share in the man’s intensity of feeling. We feel -the force of the strong episode of the somewhat unfeeling nurse, -and become indignant in the man’s behalf. Finally, lifted by the -power of the story, we rise with it into full comprehension -of the depth of the hero’s love. Then, quickly and with artistic -effect, the story comes to an end. Simply, surely, strongly, with -real sentiment instead of sentimentality, it has made us realize the -all-powerful force of love.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The story is written with much sympathy and evident tenderness -of spirit, and is so touched with real pathos, that it comes -to us as a transcription of some real story the author had found -in his work as war correspondent.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Richard Harding Davis was one of the most romantic figures in -recent literary life. As war correspondent he saw fighting in the -Spanish-American War, the Boer War, the Japanese-Russian War, -and the Great War. He traveled in all parts of Europe, in Central -and in South America, and in the little-visited districts of the -Congo in Africa. He saw the magnificent coronation ceremonies -of the King of Spain, the King of England, and the Czar of -Russia. He attended gorgeous state occasions in various lands. -He also lived the hard field and camp life of a soldier and an -explorer.</p> - -<p class='c019'>He wrote a number of extraordinarily good short stories, several -stirring novels,—among which are <i>The King’s Jackal</i>, <i>Ransom’s -Folly</i>, <i>The White Mice</i>, and <i>The Princess Aline</i>,—several plays, and -a number of works of travel and war correspondence.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Richard Harding Davis was born in Philadelphia in 1864, and -died in New York in 1916.</p> -<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span></div> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>San Juan.</b> A fortified hill position in Cuba, near Santiago de Cuba, -captured in the Spanish-American War by the United States soldiers -July 1, 1898.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Maitre d’hotel.</b> Chief attendant—head-waiter.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Embankment.</b> The Thames Embankment, a noted part of London.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Chasseur.</b> Footman.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Numero cinq, sur la terrace, un couvert.</b> Number five, on the terrace, -one place.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Baiquiri.</b> A landing place in Cuba near Santiago de Cuba. The United -States soldiers landed here, June 21-23, 1898.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Tampa.</b> A seaport in Florida.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>A SOURCE OF IRRITATION<br /><span class='c025'>By STACY AUMONIER</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>An interesting type of story shows an ordinary person in an extraordinary -situation. In <i>Robinson Crusoe</i>, for example, an ordinary -Englishman is left alone on an uninhabited island; in Stockton’s -<i>The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine</i> two good -old New England women with little worldly experience are wrecked -on a mysterious island in the Pacific; in Howard Pyle’s <i>The Ruby of -Kishmore</i> a peace-loving Philadelphia Quaker is suddenly involved -in a series of bloody encounters in the West Indies. Such stories -always arouse interest or develop humor by the astonishing contrast -between setting and characters, and they always emphasize character -by showing how it acts in unusual circumstances. Thus <i>Robinson -Crusoe</i> at once attracts our interest and awakens admiration for the -hero.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>A Source of Irritation</i> is especially clever in every way. There -could be no greater contrast than that between old Sam Gates’ usual -hum-drum, eventless life, and the sudden transfer to an aeroplane, -a foreign land, the trenches, battle, and the search for a spy. Very -rarely, too, is a character presented so emphatically as this 69-year-old -gardener, with his irritable moods, his insistence on the habits of -a life-time, his stolidity, and his real manliness. Equally rare is a -story told so effectively, with just the proper combination of realism -and romance, with quick touches of comedy and of tragedy, with a -closeness to life that is indisputable, and a romance that is unusual. -In its every part the story is a masterpiece of construction.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Stacy Aumonier is an Englishman of Huguenot descent.</p> - -<div> - -<p class='c017'><b>Swede.</b> A Swedish turnip.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Shag.</b> A fine-cut tobacco.</p> -<p class='c017'>“<b>Mare vudish.</b>” Merkwürdig, remarkable.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>A fearful noise.</b> The English made an attack on the German aeroplane.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Uglaublich.</b> Incredible.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>A foreign country.</b> Evidently Flanders.</p> -<p class='c017'><span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span><b>Boche.</b> German.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>G.H.Q.</b> General Head Quarters.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Norfolk.</b> One of the eastern counties of England, bordering on the -North Sea.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER<br /><span class='c025'>By RUDYARD KIPLING</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>One of the pleasures of life is to travel and see the world. If we -are unable to travel far in reality we may at least see much of -strange lands through short stories of distant places and ways of life -different from the ordinary.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>Moti Guj—Mutineer</i> is a story of life in India, of elephants and -mahouts and strange events. It has all the atmosphere of India, -given by half-humorous realistic touches that transport us from the -land of everyday. It is a story of animal life, told with an intimate -knowledge that shows close familiarity with “elephanthood.” Beyond -that, it has what every story must have,—close relation to human -character as we see it in any land at any time. Even the elephant -is made to act and to think as if he were a human being. The -humorous style, and the quickness with which the story is told, as -well as the vivid pictures it gives, are typical of its author’s work.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, India, in 1865. After -education in England he became a sub-editor of a paper published in -Lahore, India, where he lived for some years, becoming intimate -with all the life of the land. He has lived at various times in India, -the United States, South Africa, and England. He has written a -great number of astonishingly clever stories, poems, and novels, all -in quick, vigorous style, with freedom from restraint, with rough -realism, and with genuine humor and pathos. Among his most notable -books are: <i>Plain Tales from the Hills</i>, <i>The Jungle Book</i>, <i>Captains -Courageous</i>, <i>The Day’s Work</i>, and <i>Puck of Pook’s Hill</i>.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Arrack.</b> A fermented drink.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Coir-swab.</b> A mop made from cocoanut fiber.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>GULLIVER THE GREAT<br /><span class='c025'>By WALTER A. DYER</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>There is a wonderfully close sympathy between man and the -animal world,—a sympathy that is especially strong in the case -of either the horse or the dog, animals that are the close associates -of man. Ancient literature,—<i>The Bible</i> and <i>The Odyssey</i>,—tell of -the faithfulness of the dog, man’s friend and protector. In recent -times writers have turned to the whole world of nature for subjects,—the -stag, the grizzly bear, the wolf, and other animals, but stories -<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>of dogs still awaken interest and sympathy, and will continue to do -so as long as the faithfulness of dogs endures,—which is forever.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>Gulliver the Great</i> is told in an interestingly suggestive manner, -every part of the story being rich with hints on which our imaginations -build. The pleasant calm of the setting adds much to the -effect. The man’s character is emphasized from the start, making -the story he tells have full meaning. The story is dramatic, but -its power rests far more on sympathy than on events. The art of -the story is in the clever way in which the almost human soul of -the dog is revealed, acting upon the soul of the man.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Walter A. Dyer was born in Massachusetts in 1878. Since his -graduation from Amherst College in 1900 he has been engaged in -editorial and other literary work. His natural fondness for dogs -has led to such books as <i>Pierrot: Dog of Belgium</i>, and <i>Gulliver the -Great</i>.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Early Victorian comforts.</b> The comforts characteristic of the first part -of the reign of Queen Victoria of England, before city life and commercial -life were highly developed.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Mr. Pickwick.</b> The humorous hero of Charles Dickens’ famous novel, -<i>Pickwick Papers</i>.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>James G. Blaine.</b> An American statesman, 1830-1893. He held many -high offices, and was once candidate for the Presidency.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Simplicissimus.</b> A humorous and satirical German periodical.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Brunos.</b> From the Latin “brunus”—brown. A name frequently given -to dogs.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Moros.</b> The Malay inhabitants of certain islands of the Philippines.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Great Dane.</b> A type of dog noted for great size and graceful build.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Vohl’s Vulcan.</b> A famous dog.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Wurtemburg breed.</b> A well-known breed of dogs.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Mauna Loa.</b> A noted Hawaiian volcano nearly 14,000 feet in height.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Bulls of Bashan.</b> <i>The Bible</i> makes frequent mention of the bulls of -Bashan, a section of Palestine east of the valley of the Jordan.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’<br /><span class='c025'>By RUTH McENERY STUART</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>Laughter is a legitimate part of life, especially when it clarifies -the mind. The short story has seized upon all the elements of humor -and made them its own, especially the anecdote. Some writers -have used whimsical humor to give relief from sombre tales, or -have told stories lightly and fancifully humorous, like several in -this book. Others have written with broader effects. Every one -of the many types of humorous story is good.—the unusual situation, -the surprising climax, the fantastic character, the utter absurdity,—but -every type must follow the dictates of good taste. Humor -need never be coarse, or vulgar, or in any way aimed at personal -satire. It may criticize, but it must do so with friendly good will.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span><i>Sonny’s Schoolin’</i> is a series of connected anecdotes, told in monologue. -The humor of the anecdotes lies in their absurdity—in the -presence of Sonny every one is so helpless! Any modern teacher -would deal with Sonny in a way that he would understand. The -humor of the narration lies partly in the events, partly in the speaker’s -naïve, unconscious exposition of self, and partly in the amusing -dialect. Two qualities illuminate the story: one, the gradual presentation -of Sonny’s really lovable nature, seen to better advantage -by the father-and-mother-love behind it; the other, the gradual -criticism of the older system of education, and the suggestion of a -type well adapted to quick, active, original minds like Sonny’s.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Ruth McEnery Stuart, a native of Louisiana, contributed to our -best periodicals, and wrote many amusing, and wholly sympathetic, -stories of southern life, such as <i>Holly and Pizen</i>, <i>Napoleon Jackson</i>, -<i>Sonny</i>, and <i>Sonny’s Father</i>. She died in 1917.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>HER FIRST HORSE SHOW<br /><span class='c025'>By DAVID GRAY</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>Every side of life contributes short story material,—the deeds of -people in strange surroundings, unusual acts of heroism in war or in -peace, the lives of the poor, and the lives of the rich. Since men’s -characters are independent of either wealth or poverty, the story of -society life, when written effectively, may awaken as deep feelings -of sympathy or brotherhood as the story of humble life. Any story -is worthy if it broadens the understanding of life and presents its -material in artistic form.</p> - -<p class='c019'>On the surface <i>Her First Horse Show</i> is a story of society life, -of rich people who delight in the fashionable horse show, and in -dining at the Waldorf. Fundamentally, it is a story of human -understanding, cleverness, and daring, in which the charm of a girl, -and the thoroughbred qualities of a horse, play leading parts. -Quick, suggestive conversation makes the story vividly interesting, -and clear arrangement leads effectively to the climax.</p> - -<p class='c019'>David Gray was born in Buffalo, New York, in 1870. He has -done editorial work on various papers, and has written a large number -of interesting “horse stories” collected in such books as <i>Gallops -I</i>, <i>Gallops II</i>, and <i>Mr. Carteret and Others</i>. In 1899 Mr. Gray -entered the legal profession.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Doubting Thomas.</b> A reference to the Bible story of St. Thomas, who -at first doubted the resurrection of Jesus. See John: 20: 25.</p> -<p class='c017'>“<b>Hands.</b>” Much of the skill in riding high-spirited horses depends upon -the use of the hands in holding the reins.</p> - -</div> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span> - <h3 class='c002'>MY HUSBAND’S BOOK<br /><span class='c025'>By JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE</span></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c021'>Sometimes the short story is used as an effective means of satire -of a type resembling that employed by Addison in <i>The Spectator -Papers</i>. Satire can be given in so few words, and in the very -speech and actions of the persons satirized, that it is well adapted -as material for the short story. It should be the aim of all satirical -short stones of the milder sort to follow Addison’s rule, and point -out little follies rather than great wickednesses, and to aim at a -thousand people rather than at one.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>My Husband’s Book</i> is an admirable example of ideal satire of -the lighter type. The husband is typical—of whom?—of every one -who puts off until tomorrow what he should do to-day. The wife -is presented whimsically as altogether adoring, but as somewhat -persistently and mischievously suspicious. At no time does the -husband become aware of his real defect of character, nor the wife -lose all her loving faith. Kindly satire like this is playful in nature, -the sort to be expected from the author of <i>Peter Pan</i>. We laugh -good-naturedly at the husband—and see ourselves in him!</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sir James Matthew Barrie was born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in -1860. His delightfully romantic <i>Auld Licht Idylls</i>, <i>A Window in -Thrums</i>, and especially <i>The Little Minister</i>, made him known to all -the English-speaking world. His remarkably original and fanciful -plays, <i>Quality Street</i>, <i>Peter Pan</i>, <i>What Every Woman Knows</i>, and -numerous other dramatic works have added to his already great reputation. -He is one of the leading English writers of the present -time.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>WAR<br /><span class='c025'>By JACK LONDON</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>The short story often rises beyond the light and the commonplace -to act as a stern critic of world conditions. With vivid, realistic -touches it points at reality. By focussing every light upon a single -human figure who compellingly commands sympathy it arouses in -us a sense of kinship with all who suffer. Short stories of this -type have teaching force that is all powerful.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>War</i> is such a story. Although little more than a vivid sketch it -presents the brutality of war in all its horror,—not by picturing -the slaughter of thousands, but by showing a boy,—shrinking, eager -to perform his full duty, loving life, fearing death, stopping to -gather apples in a boyish way,—a boy whose instinctive and noble -hesitation to kill rebounds on himself, as if in irony, and causes his -own death. In a certain sense, the boy with his kindly manhood -<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>and generous motives represents the American spirit. The opposite -type of spirit, the love of war for war’s sake, brutality for the sake -of brutality, is shown in the boy’s enemies,—harsh foreigners who -hang men to trees, who shoot at the boy as at a target, and laugh -at his death. The story individualizes war, and thereby gives -emphasis to its horror. Such a story demands on the part of the -author a heartfelt interest in his theme, an intense love of life, and -the ability to write in realistic style.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Jack London was deeply interested in the world of men. Far -from being a recluse, he lived an active life with his fellows. He -left his college class in order to go with other adventurers into the -Klondike; he went to Japan, and seal hunting in the Behring Sea as -a sailor before the mast; he tramped about the country; he traveled -as a war correspondent, and went on an adventurous voyage into the -South Seas in a 55-foot yacht. He wrote a great number of books, -all of which show a quick understanding of the needs of humanity. -Some of his works are thoughtful studies of social conditions. His -best known books are: <i>The Call of the Wild</i>, <i>The Sea Wolf</i>, and -<i>The Mutiny of the Elsinore</i>. He was born in San Francisco in 1876, -and died in 1916.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS<br /><span class='c025'>By MORGAN ROBERTSON</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>In this day when science plays so great a part in life it is only -natural that many stories should be based on scientific knowledge. -Since such stories must almost always more or less distort scientific -truth in order to make the facts have story-interest they are usually -called “pseudo-scientific,” that is, falsely scientific.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Edgar Allan Poe, who did so much for the short story, was one -of the first to write pseudo-scientific stories, his <i>Descent into the -Maelström</i>, and <i>A Tale of the Ragged Mountains</i> being good examples -of his peculiar power.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>The Battle of the Monsters</i> is a wonderfully clever pseudo-scientific -story. In it we enter the minute world of the microscope, -every character being infinitesimally small.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The story tells how a microbe of Asiatic cholera enters the veins of -John Anderson at the same moment when he is bitten by a rabid -dog. The “white, corrugated wall” is the dog’s tooth; the army of -dog-faced creatures is composed of the microbes of rabies, or hydrophobia. -The vibrant roar heard from time to time, is the beat -of the man’s heart. In the veins the cholera microbe finds the -red corpuscles and other cells and microbes that exist in the blood, -and also the white corpuscles that, according to Metschnikoff, act as -destroyers of the microbes of disease. We go with the cholera -<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>microbe through the series of blood vessels into the heart and thence -back into the arteries and veins, all the time seeing the struggle -between the beneficent white corpuscles and the deadly microbes of -rabies. We see the desperate efforts to keep the microbes of rabies -from entering the cells and finding their way to the brain. As the -microbes of rabies reproduce they begin to win the battle. The -cholera microbe, himself fighting the hosts of rabies, is about to be -overcome, when the physician’s injection of antitoxin brings a new -army to fight the dog-faced creatures. Now that the danger of -rabies has been overcome attention is paid to the hero of the story, -who declares himself to be the microbe of Asiatic cholera. At once -the police guardians of the blood, the white corpuscles, close on -him and destroy him. Thus John Anderson escapes all danger -from rabies and from cholera, to both of which he had been exposed. -The battle, if microscopic, had been real, had been on a -grand scale, and had been of tremendous importance.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The pseudo-scientific story could have no better illustration. Every -detail is clear, vivid with action, and tense with interest. There -is no turning aside to give scientific information—nothing that is -dry-as-dust. The microbes and corpuscles, without losing their essential -characteristics, speak and act in ways that we can understand. -That is why the story is so successful. It is a human story, based -upon human interest. Familiar language, familiar ways of thought, -events that we can understand, convey to us information on a learned -scientific subject—the work of the white blood corpuscles.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Morgan Robertson, 1861-1915, was born in Oswego, N. Y. From -1877 to 1886 he lived the life of a sailor at sea. Gifted with natural -literary ability he turned to writing, and wrote a number of distinctly -original stories, most of them about the sea, such as <i>Spun -Yarn</i>, <i>Masters of Men</i>, <i>Shipmates</i>, and <i>Down to the Sea</i>.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Metschnikoff’s theory.</b> The great Russian physiologist, Iliya Metschnikoff, -1845-1916, taught that the white blood corpuscles act as destroyers -of disease microbes.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The wounds of Milton’s warring angels.</b> In Milton’s <i>Paradise Lost</i> the -angels, wounded in the war in heaven, at once recovered.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Darwin.</b> Charles Darwin, 1809-1882. The great English naturalist, -founder of the “Darwinian Theory” of evolution from lower forms.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Pasteur.</b> Louis Pasteur, 1822-1895. The great French microscopist, -and student of hydrophobia. He was the first to inoculate for -hydrophobia.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Koch.</b> Robert Koch, 1843-1910. A great German physician who discovered -the bacilli of tuberculosis and of cholera.</p> - -</div> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span> - <h3 class='c002'>A DILEMMA<br /><span class='c025'>By S. WEIR MITCHELL</span></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c021'>A popular type of story leaves the reader, at the conclusion, to -choose one of two endings, either of which is open to objections. -Such a story sets the reader’s mind at work, leads him to review -every part of the story, and leaves a peculiarly lasting impression -of construction and emphasis. In stories of this sort there is careful -exclusion of everything that does not tend to lead to, or to -increase, the difficulty.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>A Dilemma</i> makes complete preparation for the final puzzle by -giving all the necessary facts, and all the motives for possible action, -or non-action. When the reader reviews all that has been said, and -sees how cleverly the story is constructed, he finds that the difficulty -of solution appears even greater than at first.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, 1829-1914, was born in Philadelphia, and -there spent most of his life. As a physician he wrote many medical -books, and became one of the most distinguished neurologists in the -world. His unusual ability led to his becoming member of many -learned scientific societies in this country and in Europe. In spite -of his active medical work he found time for much writing of a -purely literary nature. Such books as <i>Hugh Wynne</i>, <i>The Adventures -of François</i>, and <i>Dr. North and His Friends</i>, are distinctly -original American contributions, and made their author unusually -popular.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Empress-Queen Maria Theresa</b>. Maria Theresa, 1717-1780. Archduchess -of Austria, Queen of Hungary, and wife of Emperor Francis -I of Austria. One of the most interesting and notable women in -history.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE<br /><span class='c025'>By A. CONAN DOYLE</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>Edgar Allan Poe was the first author to succeed in the “detective -story.” His <i>Murders in the Rue Morgue</i>, <i>The Mystery of Marie -Roget</i>, and <i>The Purloined Letter</i> are among the first stories of their -type. Since Poe’s time there have been all sorts of detective -stories,—good, bad, and indifferent,—from cheap penny-dreadfuls -to elaborate novels. Poe’s method has been followed in nearly -every one, whether written in this country, or abroad, as by Sir -Arthur Conan Doyle in England, Émile Gaboriau in France, or -Anton Chekhov in Russia.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Of all the thousands who have tried their hands in writing -detective stories Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has won the most pleasing -success. His Sherlock Holmes is a world-known character.</p> - -<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>The <i>Red-Headed League</i> is an admirable example of the author’s -method. The story is told by the hero’s friend, Dr. Watson, allowing -opportunity for close appearance of reality, and for unstinted -praise. The problem is introduced at first hand, apparently with -every detail. To a certain degree we are allowed to enter the -series of deductive reasonings pursued by Sherlock Holmes. We -are given a brilliant series of events, and then the final solution. -Occasional hints at other work performed by Sherlock Holmes -tend to awaken further interest. There is such closeness to life, -realistic character drawing, good humor, and natural conversation, -that the story,—like all the four books of the Sherlock Holmes -series,—is most attractive.</p> - -<p class='c019'>Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh in 1859. Both -his father and grandfather achieved fame as artists. Sir Arthur -began life as a physician and surgeon, but soon found his real -work in letters. He has written a number of our best historical -novels, <i>The White Company</i>, <i>Micah Clarke</i>, <i>The Refugees</i>, <i>Sir -Nigel</i>, etc., and four books of stories about Sherlock Holmes, as -well as much other work both in prose and in verse.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Omne ignotum pro magnifico.</b> Whatever is unknown is thought to be -magnificent.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Sarasate.</b> A famous Spanish violinist, 1844—.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Partie carrée.</b> A party of four.</p> -<p class='c017'>“<b>L’homme c’est rien—l’œuvre c’est tout.</b>“ The man is nothing—the -work is everything.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Gustave Flaubert.</b> 1821-1880. One of the greatest French novelists.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>George Sand.</b> The pseudonym of the Baroness Dudevant, 1804-1876, a -great French novelist and playwright.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK<br /><span class='c025'>By OWEN JOHNSON</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>In <i>One Hundred in the Dark</i> Owen Johnson makes one of the -characters say that the peculiar fascination of the detective story -lies more in the statement of the problem than in the solution. -“The solution doesn’t count. It is usually banal; it should be -prohibited. What interests us is, can we guess it?”</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>One Hundred in the Dark</i> illustrates that type of detective story -that presents a problem but gives no solution. Giving all the -information that one could be expected to have, it presents a -problem with several different solutions possible. At the end of -the story the problem is left unsolved—the reader is “in the dark,” -but, because his mind has been awakened, he is fascinated. The -author has gone further than usual, for he gives the story as if -told in a club at the conclusion of a conversation in which several -<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>persons have taken part. The story is followed by further conversation -that suggests a second problem—what did the members -of the club think of the person who told the story? The result -is that the author has cleverly established a definite setting, has -aroused interest in the type of story to be told, and has emphasized -the problem by giving it a new interest in the light of the question: -What part did the members of the club think Peters played -in the story that he himself told?</p> - -<p class='c019'>Owen Johnson was born in New York in 1878. He turned his -college life at Yale into literary account in his interesting novel, -<i>Stover at Yale</i>. He is the author of numerous short stories and -plays.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Bon mots.</b> Bright sayings.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>De Maupassant.</b> Guy de Maupassant, 1850-1893. A celebrated French -novelist and poet. In <i>Fort comme la Mort</i> (Strong as Death) he -tells of the life of fashionable society.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Faust theme.</b> A reference to the great tragedy of <i>Faust</i> by the -German poet, Goethe, 1749-1832. Faust personifies humanity with -all its longings.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Three Musketeers, etc.</b> <i>The Three Musketeers</i>, by Alexander Dumas, -père, 1803-1870; <i>Trilby</i>, by George du Maurier, 1834-1896, and <i>Soldiers -Three</i>, by Rudyard Kipling, 1865-, all tell stories of the close -comradeship of three men.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Vie de Bohème.</b> <i>Scènes de la vie de Bohème</i> by Henri Murger. The -opera <i>La Bohème</i> is based upon this book.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Bluebeard and The Moonstone.</b> In the stories of <i>Bluebeard</i>, and <i>The -Moonstone</i>, a famous mystery story by Wilkie Collins, 1824-1889, -curiosity plays a leading part.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Watteaulike.</b> A reference to the conventional pictures of shepherdesses -by Jean Antoine Watteau, a celebrated French painter, 1684-1721.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Fines herbes.</b> Vegetable greens.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>En maître.</b> As master.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>A RETRIEVED REFORMATION<br /><span class='c025'>By O. HENRY</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>The story of self-sacrifice has appealed to people in all times, -whether it appears in history,—as in the partly legendary story of -Arnold von Winkelried, who gathered the Austrian spears against -his breast in order that his comrades might make a way through the -ranks of the enemy,—or in fiction, as in Dickens’ <i>A Tale of Two -Cities</i>. Such a story is particularly fascinating, when, as in the -story of Sidney Carton, it combines the idea of self-sacrifice with -that of fundamental change in character.</p> - -<p class='c019'>In <i>A Retrieved Reformation</i> O. Henry has told, in a convincingly -brilliant way, how a man—always really good at heart,—even when -<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>set in evil ways—was led through love to develop his better self. -The greatness of Jimmy Valentine’s soul is made clear by his instant -willingness to sacrifice every hope he had,—to lay everything on the -altar of love and manliness.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The quick, realistic, kindly-humorous characterizations, the clear, -logical arrangement of opposing forces, the dramatic situation at -the climax, and the instant solution,—for which every step has -inevitably prepared,—point alike to a master hand in story telling.</p> - -<p class='c019'>William Sidney Porter, 1867-1910,—better known by the name, -“O. Henry,” which he chose humorously because it is so easy to -write “O,” and because he happened to see “Henry” as a last name -in a newspaper account,—achieved as much popularity as any short -story writer could desire. He was born in North Carolina, and -brought up in Texas, where he gained the little schooling that fell -to his lot. He became a sort of rolling stone, working on various -periodicals, living in South America, working in Texas as a drug -clerk, engaging fully in literary work in New Orleans, and finally -coming to New York City where he sold stories as fast as he could -write them—and his powers of production were most astonishing. -He was only 42 when he died, but, in spite of his wandering life, he -had made himself, with almost careless ease, the master of the short -story. He wrote quite untrammeled by convention or custom, using -slang, coining words, writing in any way he pleased, but always, in -reality, following the best principles of story telling, making his -plots clear, convincing, and full of the unexpected humors of life. -With it all he wrote with a spirit of gentleness and often touched -real pathos. His favorite method was to surprise the reader by -bringing him to a most unexpected climax.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>BROTHER LEO<br /><span class='c025'>By PHYLLIS BOTTOME</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>The world is so full of selfishness, and resulting misery, that -every one more or less often thinks how different life would be if -every individual were to be ideal. Somewhere, somehow, we think, -must be a Utopia where everything is as it should be.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>Brother Leo</i> is not a fantastic dream of some unreal place. It is -a simply beautiful story of a monk who had known no other life -than that in his monastic retreat on an island near Venice. There, -in a sort of heaven on earth, in a life of extreme simplicity, the -young man, untouched by the world, developed all that should -characterize us in our daily lives. For one day he goes out into the -city, comes into touch with its veneer and dishonesty, and goes -back joyfully, without the slightest regret, into his calm retreat.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The story, or character sketch, has no startling event. The young -<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>monk moves in the soft light of kindliness, a beautiful, dream-like -figure presented to us with sufficient realism to give verisimilitude. -How much better to show this modern, idealistic figure in modern -surroundings than to picture some one in the distant past, or in the -still more distant future!</p> - -<p class='c019'>Phyllis Bottome was born in England. Her father was an American -clergyman and her mother an English woman. She has spent -most of her life in England, although she has lived in America, -France and Italy. She has written many short stories, some of -which have been collected in a volume called <i>The Derelict</i>.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Torcello.</b> An island six miles northeast of Venice.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Saint Francis.</b> Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226. The founder of the -monastic order of Franciscans.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Poverelli.</b> Poor people.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Rembrandt.</b> 1607-1669. A great Dutch painter. Some of his pictures,—especially -<i>The Night Watch</i>,—show wonderful light effects.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Poverino.</b> Poor little fellow.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The sin of Esau.</b> See the Bible story in <i>Genesis</i> 25: 27-34. Esau sold -his birthright in order to satisfy his hunger.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>St. Francis’ birds.</b> St. Francis loved all animate and inanimate nature, -and once preached to the birds as if they could understand him.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Per Bacco, Signore.</b> By Bacchus, Sir!</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Signore Dio.</b> Lord God.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Veramente.</b> Truly.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Il Signore Dio.</b> The Lord God.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Piazzetta.</b> An open square near the landing place in Venice.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The ducal palace.</b> The palace of the Doges of Venice, built in the fifteenth -century.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Chi lo sa?</b> Who knows?</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The column of the Lion of St. Mark’s.</b> A column in the Piazzetta bearing -a winged lion, the emblem of St. Mark.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Saint Mark’s.</b> One of the most famous and beautiful church buildings -in the world, originally founded in 830. Its attractive Byzantine -architecture and its wonderful mosaics have always given delight.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Piazza.</b> The chief business and pleasure center of Venice.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The new Campanile.</b> A new tower that takes the place of the fallen -Campanile begun in the ninth century.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Frari.</b> A great Venetian church built for the Franciscan Friars, 1250-1350.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Titian.</b> 1477-1576. The most famous of all Venetian painters. One -of the greatest artists the world has known.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Bellinis.</b> Pictures by Giovanni Bellini, 1427(?)-1516, a great Venetian -painter, and the instructor of Titian.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Andiamo.</b> Let us go.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Palazzo Giovanelli.</b> A Venetian palace containing a small but beautiful -collection of paintings.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Giorgiones.</b> Pictures by Giorgione, 1477-1511, a pupil of Bellini, much -noted for color effects.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Florian’s.</b> A famous Venetian café, some 200 years old.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Speriamo.</b> We hope.</p> - -</div> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span> - <h3 class='c002'>A FIGHT WITH DEATH<br /><span class='c025'>By IAN MACLAREN</span></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c021'>Heroism is as great in daily life as in battle. We live beside -heroic figures perhaps not recognizing their greatness. Plain, simple -surroundings, daily scenes, everyday people, the accustomed -language of daily life, may all take on noble proportions.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>A Fight with Death</i> is a local color story, for it gives the dialect, -the way of life, the character, of certain people in a remote part of -Scotland. It is a story of noble type, presenting a character -ideal—a country doctor fighting for the life of a humble patient.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The world will always appreciate any story that finds the ideal -in the actual; it will appreciate it all the sooner if it is written, as -in this case, with plenty of action, vivid character drawing, natural, -everyday language, and touches of pathos and of humor, all so combined -that the story rises to climax, and wakens sympathy.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>A Fight with Death</i> is the third of a series of five simple, exquisitely -pathetic stories of Scotch life, entitled <i>A Doctor of the Old -School</i>, printed in the collection of stories called <i>Beside the Bonnie -Brier Bush</i>, by Ian Maclaren,—the pseudonym of Rev. John Watson. -The author was born in Manningtree, Essex, in 1850. He -gained a large part of his education in Edinburgh University, and -has spent many years in intimate touch with Scotch life. In addition -to <i>Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush</i> Dr. Watson has written a number -of books, the most notable being <i>Days of Auld Lang Syne</i>, <i>The -Upper Room</i>, and <i>The Mind of the Master</i>.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Drumsheugh’s grieve.</b> Drumsheugh is tenant of a large farm. The -“grieve” is his farm manager.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Greet.</b> Cry.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>A certain mighty power.</b> Death.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Sough.</b> Breathe.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Thraun.</b> Perverse.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Shilpit.</b> Weak.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Feckless.</b> Spiritless.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Pushioned.</b> Poisoned.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Kirny aitmeal.</b> Oatmeal with full kernels.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Buirdly.</b> Strong.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Fecht.</b> Fight.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Haflin.</b> A stripling,—half-grown.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Dour chiel.</b> Stubborn fellow.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Caller.</b> Fresh.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Oxters.</b> Armpits.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Grampians.</b> Mountains in central Scotland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Byre.</b> Cow-barn.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Thole.</b> Endure,—permit.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Fraikin’.</b> Disgraceful action.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Glen Urtach.</b> A valley in the highlands.</p> -<p class='c017'><span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span><b>Jess.</b> The doctor’s old horse.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Goon and bans.</b> Gown and bands,—clerical robes.</p> - -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN<br /><span class='c025'>By FIONA MACLEOD</span></h3> - -<p class='c021'>Are there strange, mystical forces in the world that affect us in -spite of ourselves? Or do our own actions rebound upon us and -make life “heaven or hell” as the case may be? These questions -that we ask when we read <i>Macbeth</i> come to us when we read Fiona -Macleod’s <i>Dàn-Nan-Ròn</i>.</p> - -<p class='c019'><i>The Dàn-Nan-Ròn</i> is not wholly a story of mysticism built on the -idea that the weird flute-“song o’ the seals” could so thrill one -who, perhaps, drew his ancestry from the seals, that he would go out -into the wild waters to live or die with his ancestral folk. The story -suggests all that. It hints at strange descent, magic melodies, -wraiths of the dead, and weird powers beyond man. This, no doubt, -combined with unusual setting, frequent use of the little-understood -Gaelic, weirdly musical verse, and romantic action, gives the story -an unusual atmosphere of gloom and shadow. At heart, in plain -fact, the story is psychological. A man on whose soul hangs the -memory of a crime, maddened by grief at the death of a fervently -loved wife, tormented in his evil hour by a deadly human foe who -subtly, with compelling music, plays upon his superstitions, plunges, -in the violence of his madness, into the sea. From that point of -view the man’s own soul scourged him to his death.</p> - -<p class='c019'>The whole combination of weird atmosphere, tragedy, grief, conscience, -and superstition, is brought together in an artistic form that -leads to a grimly startling catastrophe—the final mad fight with the -seals. This is no common story of sensational event. It is a great -human tragedy of grief and conscience, played to the weird music -of the north as if by a Gaelic minstrel endowed with mystic powers.</p> - -<p class='c019'>There is something mystic indeed in Fiona Macleod. William -Sharp, 1856-1905, the Scottish poet, editor, novelist, biographer, -and critic, lived a successful life as man of letters. He did more, -for, beginning in 1894, he used the name, “Fiona Macleod,” not as a -pseudonym but as that of the actual author of the most unusual, -brilliant, and altogether original series of poems and stories ever -written. Not until Mr. Sharp’s death was it found that Fiona Macleod -and William Sharp were one and the same person. The whole -story is apparently one of dual personality. All this adds to the -strange fascination of Fiona Macleod’s stories and poems.</p> -<div class='fs09'> - -<p class='c016'><b>Eilanmore.</b> An island west of Scotland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Outer Isles.</b> The Hebrides, or Western Isles, west of Scotland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Lews and North Uist.</b> Islands of the Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span><b>Arran.</b> An island west of Ireland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Inner Hebrides.</b> Islands of the Hebrides group, not far from the coast -of Scotland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Runes.</b> Mystical songs.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>From the Obb of Harris to the Head of Mingulay.</b> From one end of the -Hebrides to the other.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Orain spioradail.</b> Spiritual song.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Barra.</b> A southern island of the Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Galloway.</b> The extreme southwestern coast of Scotland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Minch.</b> The strait between the Hebrides and Scotland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Caisean-feusag.</b> Moustache.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Mo cailinn.</b> My girl.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Kye.</b> Cattle.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Berneray of Uist.</b> A small island north of North Uist in the Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Sound of Harris.</b> The sound between North Uist and Harris in -the Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Anna-ban.</b> Fair Anna.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Anne-à-ghraidh.</b> Anna, my dear.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Gheasan.</b> A charm, magic spell.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Geas.</b> Charm.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Sinnsear.</b> Ancestors.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Anna-nic-Gilleasbuig.</b> Anna, daughter of the line of Gilleasbuig.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Ru’ Tormaid.</b> A place in the Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Corbies.</b> Ravens.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Bàta-beag.</b> Small boat.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Corrie.</b> A hollow in the side of a hill.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Ann-mochree.</b> Ann, my tantalizer.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The black stone of Icolmkill.</b> A famous stone at Icolmkill in the -Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Oisin the son of Fionn.</b> A character named in Gaelic legends.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Skye.</b> A large island close to the western shore of Scotland.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>The Clyde.</b> The great estuary of the river Clyde, in the southwestern -part of Scotland, one of the most important shipping centers of -Great Britain.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Byre.</b> A cow house.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Loch Boisdale.</b> An inlet of South Uist in the Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Loch Maddy.</b> A small inlet in the Hebrides.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Pictish Towre.</b> An ancient stone construction.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Ban Breac.</b> The Spotted Hill.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Maigstir.</b> Master.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Skua.</b> A large sea bird something like a gull.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Liath.</b> A small fish.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Smooring.</b> The fireplace.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Rosad.</b> A charm.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Sgadan.</b> Herrings.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Fey.</b> Doomed.</p> -<p class='c017'><b>Ceann-Cinnidh.</b> Head of the Clan.</p> - -</div> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span> - <h2 class='c004'>SUGGESTIVE QUESTIONS FOR CLASS USE</h2> -</div> -<h3 class='c002'>THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. What is the advantage of having the two characters,—Uncle -Remus and the little boy?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. What makes the introduction effective?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. What advantages are gained by the little boy’s criticisms?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Show how the story maintains its interest.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. What character distinctions are made in the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Show how the story is made harmonious in every detail.</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Write a story in which you present an ignorant man of some -familiar type telling to a neighbor an exaggerated story -founded on a somewhat ordinary event.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE CROW CHILD</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Show that the language of <i>The Crow Child</i> is superior to the -language of <i>The Adventures of Simon and Susanna</i>.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. What distinctly literary effects does the author produce?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Make a list of the words by which the author prepares the -reader for Ruky’s transformation.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. What is the purpose of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Make an outline that will show the principal divisions of the -story.</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Show that every division of the story is necessary.</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Write an original story in which you transmute a real experience -into a wonder story with a moral effect.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. How does the story show itself to be a legendary tale?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. How is the simple story given movement and force?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Show how the interest is focussed on the bell rather than on -the girl.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. How does the author make the various sounds of the bell -effective in the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Point out the poetic elements in the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Write, in poetic form, some legend of America, “The Indian -Bride of Niagara,” for example.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span> - <h3 class='c002'>THE TEN TRAILS</h3> -</div> -<p class='c039'>1. Show in what way the story is highly condensed.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Expand any part of the story into the full form it might have -if not told in the form of a fable.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. How might the story have been told differently if it had not -aimed at a moral?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. When is it of advantage to write fables?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Write an original fable, no longer than <i>The Ten Trails</i>, about -high school students.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Make an outline that will show the structure of the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Why did the author have Avdeitch help more than one person?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Show how the use of realistic detail helps the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. What characteristics make the story interesting?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Make a list of the epigrammatic expressions that occur in the -story. How do they add to the effect?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. What is the principal lesson taught by the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Compare this story with Eliot’s <i>Silas Marner</i>, Leigh Hunt’s -<i>Abou Ben Adhem</i>, Lowell’s <i>The Vision of Sir Launfal</i>, -Longfellow’s <i>The Legend Beautiful</i>, and Henry Van Dyke’s -<i>The Other Wise Man</i>.</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Write an allegorical story of some length, using realistic characters -from daily life, leading to an effective climax, and -presenting a high ideal of conduct.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>WOOD LADIES</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Point out the different steps in the action.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. What different persons take up the search? What is the effect -of the constant additions to the number of searchers?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Why did the author have little children, five and seven years -old, play principal parts?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Trace the emotions of the mother from the beginning of the -story.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. How did the mother, at different times, explain the child’s -absence?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Why does the author narrate nothing that is impossible?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Point out passages that suggest the supernatural.</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Tell the story of the little girl in the “greeny sort of dress.”</p> -<p class='c040'>9. What is the effect of the setting? What gives occasional relief -from the setting and thereby emphasizes it all the more?</p> -<p class='c040'>10. How does the style of the story add to the effect?</p> -<p class='c040'><span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>11. Show in what ways the story expresses delicate fancy.</p> -<p class='c040'>12. What is the truth of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>13. Write an original story of supernatural beings, using suggestion -rather than statement, and avoiding harsh and horrifying -events.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>ON THE FEVER SHIP</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Show the steps by which the author makes us realize the -soldier’s mental condition. His physical condition.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. By what means does the author present the setting? The principal -plot elements?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. What previous events are indicated but not told? Why are they -merely indicated?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Trace the steps by which we are led into full sympathy with -the love story.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. What means does the author take to increase the interest of the -story as it nears the end?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Characterize the different subordinate characters introduced in -the story. Tell why every one is introduced.</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Show that the ending of the story is entirely appropriate. -How is it made emphatic?</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Write a story in which you show the moving effect of any -deep love, such as love for parents, brothers, sisters, or children; -or else write a somewhat restrained story of romantic -love.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>A SOURCE OF IRRITATION</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. What effect is given by the question: “Well, uncle, is there -any noos?” at the beginning and at the ending of the -story?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Show how the character of old Sam Gates is essential in the -story.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Show how every part of the story is possible and probable.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Why did the aviator take Sam Gates with him?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Point out the characteristics of Sam’s captors.</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Show that Sam’s character and actions are consistent.</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Show that realism and local color give important contributions -to the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>8. How is Sam unknowingly made an important person? What -is the value of this importance as a part of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>9. Why should Sam so quietly resume work on his return home?</p> -<p class='c040'>10. Write a story in which some person of quiet, secluded life is -suddenly placed in an unusual setting and in unusual circumstances.</p> -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span> - <h3 class='c002'>MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER</h3> -</div> -<p class='c039'>1. Point out all that contributes to local color.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Point out all that shows ultimate knowledge of elephants.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Show how the author has made the work humorous.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Show that the story has a definite course of action that leads to -a climax.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Show in what ways the story is highly original.</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Write an original story in which you use local color as a background -for a story of animal life. You may write about a -horse, or cat, or dog, but in any case you must make your -story have action and lead to climax.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>GULLIVER THE GREAT</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. What advantage is gained by having the story told in the -club?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. How is the dog made the central figure?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. What is the climax of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Give the steps in the presentation of the dog’s character.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Tell how we are made to sympathize with the dog.</p> -<p class='c040'>6. What suggestive effect is gained at the end of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Write a story in which you awaken sympathy for some dumb -animal by suggesting that it has almost human emotions.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. What is the advantage of the monologue form?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. How is conversation indicated?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Point out the separate incidents that make up the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. What advantage is gained by the use of dialect?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Point out elements of goodness in Sonny.</p> -<p class='c040'>6. What is the character of the father? How is it presented?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Tell why Miss Phoebe Kellog’s school was superior to all the -others.</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Show in what way the author has produced humorous effects.</p> -<p class='c040'>9. Write an original story in which you tell what happened to -Sonny when he came to your school.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>HER FIRST HORSE SHOW</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Why does the author introduce us to his characters in the midst -of the horse show?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. How does the author, in the beginning of the story, make the -situation entirely clear?</p> -<p class='c040'><span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>3. What speeches and actions in the early part of the story serve -to make the action in the latter part of the story seem -natural?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. How is the girl’s daring act emphasized?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. In what ways does the author make it seem probable that the -girl could gain opportunity to ride the high-spirited horse at -the horse show?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Show in what ways the conclusion is particularly effective.</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Write an original story concerning a school athletic meet or -contest in which one of the students, by unexpected skill and -courage, wins the day.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>MY HUSBAND’S BOOK</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. What is the character of the husband (a) as seen by himself? -(b) as seen by the wife? (c) as seen by the reader?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. What is the character of the wife?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. What produces the humor of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. What is the advantage of having the wife so slow to see her -husband’s real weakness?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. What is the effect of the last sentence?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. At what is the satire directed?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Write an original story in which you satirize, in a kindly -manner, some common failing in high school boys or girls.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>WAR</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. How are we made to sympathize with the young man?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. What is the effect of the detailed description?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. How is the emotion of the story presented?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. How does the author make the story increase in emphasis?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Why is the incident of the apples introduced?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Why is “the man with the ginger beard” brought into the -story?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. What impression does the story leave upon the reader?</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Write a story in which you arouse indignation at some great -world evil by making the reader realize its effect on one individual.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. What is the purpose of the physician’s notes at the beginning -and at the ending of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Show how the author has given story-interest to scientific material.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Point out the characteristics of the different characters.</p> -<p class='c040'><span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>4. Trace the development of the story to its climax.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. By what means does the author make his scientific material -clear?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. How does the author arouse our sympathy?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Point out the ways in which this story differs from most others.</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Write an original story in which you turn some scientific information -into story form by making definite characters perform -a series of actions that lead to a climax. You may -choose something as simple as the pumping of water from a -well, the action of electricity in lighting a lamp, or the burning -of a piece of coal.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>A DILEMMA</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Point out all the ways in which the author prepares for the -puzzle at the end of the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Show in what way the author makes the story seem reasonable.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Show in what way character description adds to the interest -of the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. How does the author emphasize the puzzle?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. Write a sequel to the story, giving a solution for opening the -box, but leading to a new problem as difficult as the first.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. How does the opening lead one to think the story has unusual -interest?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Show how the author manages to keep the mystery to the end.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Outline the parts of the story.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Point out touches of unusual originality.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. What are the characteristics of Sherlock Holmes?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. What is the author’s method in telling the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Show how the author uses conversation.</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Write an original story involving mystery, leading, with -sufficient action, to a climax, and depending upon the use of -deductive reasoning.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Point out the advantages derived from the setting.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. How much of the story depends upon character?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. What is your opinion of the literary theories presented?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. How does this story differ from <i>A Dilemma</i>?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. How many separate stories are contained in <i>One Hundred in -the Dark</i>?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Give the several possible solutions of the principal story.</p> -<p class='c040'><span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>7. What part did Peters play in the principal story?</p> -<p class='c040'>8. Of what value are the hearers’ comments on the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>9. How does the story differ from most other stories?</p> -<p class='c040'>10. Write a story of school life, presenting a problem capable of -several solutions, but leaving the reader to make the final -solution.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>A RETRIEVED REFORMATION</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Show in what way the first few paragraphs give an unusual -amount of information in small space.</p> -<p class='c040'>2. What is our first impression of Jimmy Valentine?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. What are Jimmy Valentine’s good characteristics as seen in the -early part of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. What are the characteristics of Ben Price?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. By what method does the author give the characteristics of the -minor characters?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. How do you account for Jimmy Valentine’s reformation?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. How did Ben Price find where Jimmy Valentine lived?</p> -<p class='c040'>8. How does the author give the impression of a contest?</p> -<p class='c040'>9. Why did Jimmy Valentine ask for Annabel’s rose?</p> -<p class='c040'>10. What forces are brought into full play at the end of the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>11. Why do we admire both Ben Price and Jimmy Valentine?</p> -<p class='c040'>12. Write an original story in which you show the full establishment -of naturally good characteristics, and the development -of a spirit of sacrifice. Make your story rise to a surprising -conclusion.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>BROTHER LEO</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. In what way is the style appropriate to the theme?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Show how the author has gained unity.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. What makes the story seem true to life?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. How does Brother Leo differ from other men?</p> -<p class='c040'>5. What ideals does the story present?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Why did the author make the events of the story so simple?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Write a character study of some person who has unworldly -ideals,—an old lady, a sister of charity, a member of the -Salvation Army, a missionary, or a devoted scientist.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>A FIGHT WITH DEATH</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. What advantage is gained by the use of dialect?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. How is the story made to appeal to our sympathies?</p> -<p class='c040'>3. How is the country doctor made heroic?</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Point out all the ways in which the doctor’s character is emphasized.</p> -<p class='c040'><span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>5. How much of the worth of the story is due to local color?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. Point out examples of pathos; of humor. Why have both been -used?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. Write a story of heroism in ordinary life. Use the slang, or -the dialect of daily life as you have actually heard it, as a -means of increasing the effect. Be sure to make your story -tell of action as well as of character. Make it rise to a -climax.</p> -<h3 class='c002'>THE DÀN-NAN-RÒN</h3> -<p class='c039'>1. Why is personal appearance emphasized in the beginning of the -story?</p> -<p class='c040'>2. Point out examples of poetic fancy.</p> -<p class='c040'>3. Show how the author’s style of writing contributes to the effect -the story produces.</p> -<p class='c040'>4. Show how great a part belief in the supernatural is made to -play.</p> -<p class='c040'>5. How much of the story depends upon character?</p> -<p class='c040'>6. What is the effect of the verse?</p> -<p class='c040'>7. What keeps the story from being merely sensational?</p> -<p class='c040'>8. What part does madness play in the story?</p> -<p class='c040'>9. What is the author’s purpose in using so much Gaelic?</p> -<p class='c040'>10. Show in what ways the story is true to ordinary mental action.</p> -<p class='c040'>11. How do you account for all the events that take place?</p> -<p class='c040'>12. How does the author give the strong atmospheric effects?</p> -<p class='c040'>13. In what ways is the story unusual?</p> -<p class='c040'>14. What gives the story its great power?</p> -<p class='c040'>15. How does the story affect you?</p> -<p class='c040'>16. Write an original story in which you make conscience play a -great part, especially when spurred on by superstitious fears.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c023'> - <div>THE END</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c001' /> -</div> -<p class='c019'> </p> -<div class='tnbox'> - - <ul class='ul_1 c001'> - <li>Transcriber’s Notes: - <ul class='ul_2'> - <li>Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - </li> - <li>Typographical errors were silently corrected. - </li> - <li>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant - form was found in this book. - </li> - </ul> - </li> - </ul> - -</div> -<p class='c019'> </p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Modern Short Stories, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN SHORT STORIES *** - -***** This file should be named 62942-h.htm or 62942-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/4/62942/ - -Produced by deaurider, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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