The Works of E. P. Roe

VOLUME ELEVEN

TAKEN ALIVEAND OTHER STORIESWITH AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

ILLUSTRATED

CONTENTS

"A NATIVE AUTHOR CALLED ROE"

TAKEN ALIVE: I. SOMETHING BEFORE UNKNOWN II. A VISITOR AT THE MINE III. THWARTED IV. TAKEN ALIVE V. WHAT BRANDT SAW CHRISTMAS EVE

FOUND YET LOST: I. LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS II. LOVE AT HOME III. "DISABLED" IV. MARTINE SEEKS AN ANTIDOTE V. SECOND BLOOM VI. MORE THAN REWARD VII. YANKEE BLANK VIII. "HOW CAN I?" IX. SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS X. "YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND" XI. MR. KEMBLE'S APPEAL XII. "YOU MUST REMEMBER" XIII. "I'M HELEN" XIV. "FORWARD! COMPANY A"

QUEEN OF SPADES

AN UNEXPECTED RESULT

A CHRISTMAS-EVE SUIT

THREE THANKSGIVING KISSES

SUSIE ROLLIFFE'S CHRISTMAS

JEFF'S TREASURE: I. ITS DISCOVERY II. ITS INFLUENCE

CAUGHT ON THE EBB-TIDE

CHRISTMAS EVE IN WAR TIMES

A BRAVE LITTLE QUAKERESS

"A NATIVE AUTHOR CALLED ROE"

An Autobiography

Two or three years ago the editor of "Lippincott's Magazine" askedme, with many others, to take part in the very interesting"experience meeting" begun in the pages of that enterprisingperiodical. I gave my consent without much thought of the effortinvolved, but as time passed, felt slight inclination to complywith the request. There seemed little to say of interest to thegeneral public, and I was distinctly conscious of a certain senseof awkwardness in writing about myself at all. The question, Whyshould I? always confronted me. 

When this request was again repeated early in the current year, Iresolved at least to keep my promise. This is done with lessreluctance now, for the reason that floating through the press Imeet with paragraphs concerning myself that are incorrect, andoften absurdly untrue. These literary and personal notes, togetherwith many questioning letters, indicate a certain amount of publicinterest, and I have concluded that it may be well to give thefacts to those who care to know them. 

It has been made more clear to me that there are many who honestlydo care. One of the most prized rewards of my literary work is theever-present consciousness that my writings have drawn around me acircle of unknown yet stanch friends, who have stood by meunfalteringly for a number of years. I should indeed be lacking ifmy heart did not go out to them in responsive friendliness andgoodwill. If I looked upon them merely as an aggregation ofcustomers, they would find me out speedily. A popular mood is avery different thing from an abiding popular interest. If onecould address this circle of friends only, the embarrassmentattendant on a certain amount of egotism would be banished by theassurance of sympathetic regard. Since, from the nature ofcircumstances, this is impossible, it seems to me in better tasteto consider the "author called Roe" in an objective, rather thanin a friendly and subjective sense. In other words, I shall try tolook at him from the public point of view, and free myself fromsome predisposition in his favor shared by his friends. I supposeI shall not succeed in giving a colorless statement of fact, but Imay avoid much special pleading in his behalf. 

Like so many other people, I came from a very old family, one fromwhich there is good proof of an unbroken line through the DarkAges, and all ages, to the first man. I have never given any timeto tracing ancestry, but have a sort of quiet satisfaction thatmine is certainly American as far as it well can be. Myforefathers (not "rude, " to my knowledge) were among the firstsettlers on the Atlantic seaboard. My paternal and maternalgrandfathers were stanch Whigs during the Revolution, and had thecourage of their convictions. My grandmother escaped with herchildren from the village of Kingston almost as the Britishentered it, and her home was soon in ashes. Her husband, JamesRoe, was away in the army. My mother died some years before Iattained my majority, and I cannot remember when she was not aninvalid. Such literary tendencies as I have are derived from her, but I do not possess a tithe of her intellectual power. Her story-books in her youth were the classics; and when she was but twelveyears of age she knew "Paradise Lost" by heart. In myrecollections of her, the Bible and all works tending to elucidateits prophecies were her favorite themes of study. Theretentiveness of her memory was very remarkable. If any onerepeated a verse of the New Testament, she could go on and finishthe chapter. Indeed, she could quote the greater part of the Biblewith the ease and accuracy of one reading from the printed page. The works of Hugh Miller and the Arctic Explorations of Dr. Kaneafforded her much pleasure. Confined usually to her room, she tookunfailing delight in wandering about the world with the greattravellers of that day, her strong fancy reproducing the scenesthey described. A stirring bit of history moved her deeply. Welldo I remember, when a boy, of reading to her a chapter fromMotley's "Dutch Republic, " and of witnessing in her flushed cheeksand sparkling black eyes proof of an excitement all too great forone in her frail health. She had the unusual gift of relating inan easy, simple way what she read; and many a book far tooabstruse and dull for my boyish taste became an absorbing storyfrom her lips. One of her chief characteristics was the love offlowers. I can scarcely recall her when a flower of some kind, usually a rose, was not within her reach; and only periods ofgreat feebleness kept her from their daily care, winter andsummer. Many descendants of her floral pets are now blooming in mygarden. 

My father, on the other hand, was a sturdy man of action. His lovefor the country was so strong that he retired from business in NewYork as soon as he had won a modest competence. For forty-oddyears he never wearied in the cultivation of his little valleyfarm, and the square, flower-bordered garden, at one side of whichran an unfailing brook. In this garden and under his tuition Iacquired my love of horticulture--acquired it with many abackache--heartache too, on days good for fishing or hunting; but, taking the bitter with the sweet, the sweet predominated. I findnow that I think only of the old-fashioned roses in the borders, and not of my hands bleeding from the thorns. If I groaned overthe culture of many vegetables, it was much compensation to a boythat the dinner-table groaned also under the succulent dishes thusprovided. I observed that my father's interest in his garden andfarm never flagged, thus proving that in them is to be found apleasure which does not pall with age. During the last summer ofhis life, when in his eighty-seventh year, he had the delight of achild in driving over to my home in the early morning, long beforeI was up, and in leaving a basket of sweet corn or some othervegetable which he knew would prove his garden to be ahead ofmine. 

My father was very simple and positive in his beliefs, alwaysopenly foremost in the reform movements of his day and in hisneighborhood, yet never, to my knowledge, seeking or taking anyoffice. His house often became a station of the "undergroundrailroad" in slavery times, and on one night in the depth ofwinter he took a hotly-pursued fugitive in his sleigh and drovehim five miles on the ice, diagonally across the Hudson, toFishkill, thence putting the brave aspirant for freedom on the wayto other friends. He incurred several risks in this act. It israrely safe to drive on the river off the beaten tracks at night, for there are usually air-holes, and the strong tides arecontinually making changes in the ice. When told that he might besent to jail for his defiance of the Fugitive Slave Law, hequietly answered, "I can go to jail. " The thing he could not dowas to deny the man's appeal to him for help. Before the war hewas known as an Abolitionist--after it, as a Conservative, hissympathy with and for the South being very strong. During thedraft riots in 1863 the spirit of lawlessness was on the point ofbreaking out in the river towns. I happened to be home fromVirginia, and learned that my father's house was among thosemarked for burning on a certain night. During this night the hordegathered; but one of their leaders had received such empatheticwarning of what would happen the following day should outrages beperpetrated, that he persuaded his associates to desist. I sat upthat night at my father's door with a double-barrelled gun, moreimpressed with a sense of danger than at any other time in myexperience; he, on the contrary, slept as quietly as a child. 

He often practiced close economy in order to give his sons a goodeducation. The one act of my life which I remember with unalloyedpride and pleasure occurred while I was at boarding-school inVermont, preparing for college. I learned through my mother thatmy father had denied himself his daily newspaper; and I knew wellhow much he would miss it. We burned wood in the large stoneseminary building. Every autumn great ranks of hard maple werepiled up, and students who wished to earn a little money were paida dollar a cord for sawing it into three lengths. I applied fornine cords, and went at the unaccustomed task after study hours. My back aches yet as I recall the experiences of subsequent weeks, for the wood was heavy, thick, and hard as bone. I eventually hadthe pleasure of sending to my father the subscription price of hispaper for a year. If a boy reads these lines, let me assure himthat he will never know a sweeter moment in his life than when hereceives the thanks of his parents for some such effort in theirbehalf. No investment can ever pay him better. 

In one of my books, "Nature's Serial Story, " my father and motherappear, slightly idealized. 

Toward the close of my first year in Williams College a misfortuneoccurred which threatened to be very serious. Studying bydefective light injured my eyes. They quickly became so sensitivethat I could scarcely endure lamplight or the heat of a stove, only the cold out-door air relieving the pain; so I spent muchtime in wandering about in the boisterous weather of early springin Williamstown. At last I became so discouraged that I went toPresident Hopkins and told him that I feared I must give up thepurpose of acquiring an education. Never can I forget how thatgrand old man met the disheartened boy. Speaking in the wise, friendly way which subdued the heart and strengthened the will, hemade the half-hour spent with him the turning-point of my life. Inconclusion, he advised me to enter the Senior class the followingfall, thus taking a partial course of study. How many men areliving to-day who owe much of the best in their lives to thatdivinely inspired guide and teacher of youth!

I next went to another man great in his sphere of life--Dr. Agnew, the oculist. He gave my eyes a thorough examination, told me thathe could do nothing for them; that rest and the vigor acquiredfrom out-door life would restore them. He was as kind andsympathetic in his way as the college president, and charged but atrifle, to relieve me from the sense of taking charity. Dr. Agnew's words proved correct; and the following autumn I enteredthe class of '61, and spent a happy year. Some of my classmateswere very kind in reading aloud to me, while Dr. Hopkins'sinstruction was invaluable. By the time I entered AuburnTheological Seminary, my eyes were quite restored, and I was ableto go through the first year's course of study without difficulty. In the summer of 1862 I could no longer resist the call for men inthe army. Learning that the Second New York (Harris's Light)Cavalry was without a chaplain, I obtained the appointment to thatposition. General Kilpatrick was then lieutenant-colonel, and incommand of the regiment. In December, 1862, I witnessed the bloodyand disastrous battle of Fredericksburg, and can never forget theexperiences of that useless tragedy. I was conscious of asensation which struck me as too profound to be merely awe. Earlyin the morning we crossed the Rappahannock on a pontoon bridge andmarched up the hill to an open plain. The roar of the battle wassimply terrific, shading off from the sharp continuous thunderimmediately about us to dull, heavy mutterings far to the rightand left. A few hundred yards before us, where the ground began toslope up to the fatal heights crowned with Confederate works andordnance, were long lines of Union batteries. From their ironmouths puffs of smoke issued incessantly, followed by tremendousreverberations. Back of these batteries the ground was coveredwith men lying on their arms, that they might present a lessobvious target. Then a little further to the rear, on the levelground above the bluff, stood our cavalry. Heavy guns on bothsides of the river were sending their great shrieking shells backand forth over our heads, and we often "ducked" instinctively whenthe missile was at least forty feet above us. Even our horsesshuddered at the sound. 

I resolved to learn if the men were sharing in my emotions--inbrief, what effect the situation had upon them--and rode slowlydown our regimental line. So vivid was the impression of that longarray of awed, pallid faces that at this moment I can recall themdistinctly. There were strange little touches of mingled pathosand humor. Meadow-larks were hemmed in on every side, toofrightened to fly far beyond the rude alarms. They would flutterup into the sulphurous air with plaintive cries, then drop againinto the open spaces between the troops. At one time, while wewere standing at our horses' heads, a startled rabbit ran to usfor cover. The poor little creature meant a dinner to thefortunate captor on a day when a dinner was extremelyproblematical. We engaged in a sharp scramble, the prize being wonby the regimental surgeon, who kindly shared his game with me. 

General Bayard, commanding our brigade, was mortally wounded, anddied like a hero. He was carried to a fine mansion near which hehad received his injury. Many other desperately wounded men werebrought to the spacious rooms of this abode of Southern luxury, and the surgeons were kept busy all through the day and night. Itwas here I gained my first experience in hospital work. Thisextemporized hospital on the field was so exposed as to bespeedily abandoned. In the morning I recrossed the Rappahannockwith my regiment, which had been ordered down the river on picketduty. Soon after we went into winter quarters in a muddycornfield. In February I resigned, with the purpose of completingmy studies, and spent the remainder of the term at the UnionTheological Seminary of New York. My regiment would not getanother chaplain, so I again returned to it. In November Ireceived a month's leave of absence, and was married to Miss AnnaP. Sands, of New York City. Our winter quarters in 1864 were atStevensburg, between the town of Culpeper and the Rapidan River. During the pleasant days of late February several of the officerswere enjoying the society of their wives. Mrs. Roe havingexpressed a willingness to rough it with me for a week, I sent forher, and one Saturday afternoon went to the nearest railroadstation to meet her. The train came, but not my wife; and, muchdisappointed, I found the return ride of five miles a dreary onein the winter twilight. I stopped at our colonel's tent to say tohim and his wife that Mrs. Roe had not come, then learned for thefirst time very startling tidings. 

"Chaplain, " said the colonel, "we are going to Richmond to-morrow. We are going to wade right through and past everything in a neck-or-nothing ride, and who will come out is a question. "

His wife was weeping in her private tent, and I saw that for thefirst time in my acquaintance with him he was downcast. He was oneof the bravest of men, yet now a foreboding of evil oppressed him. The result justified it, for he was captured during the raid, andnever fully rallied after the war from the physical depressioncaused by his captivity. He told me that on the morrow GeneralKilpatrick would lead four thousand picked cavalry men in a raidon Richmond, having as its special object the release of ourprisoners. I rode to the headquarters of the general, whoconfirmed the tidings, adding, "You need not go. Non-combatantsare not expected to go. "

It was most fortunate that my wife had not come. I had recentlybeen appointed chaplain of Hampton Hospital, Virginia, byPresident Lincoln, and was daily expecting my confirmation by theSenate. I had fully expected to give my wife a glimpse of armylife in the field, and then to enter on my new duties. To go ornot to go was a question with me that night. The raid certainlyoffered a sharp contrast with the anticipated week's outing withmy bride. I did not possess by nature that kind of courage whichis indifferent to danger; and life had never offered moreattractions than at that time. I have since enjoyed Southernhospitality abundantly, and hope to again, but then its prospectwas not alluring. Before morning, however, I reached the decisionthat I would go, and during the Sunday forenoon held my lastservice in the regiment. I had disposed of my horse, and so had totake a sorry beast at the last moment, the only one I couldobtain. 

In the dusk of Sunday evening four thousand men were masked in thewoods on the banks of the Rapidan. Our scouts opened the way bywading the stream and pouncing upon the unsuspecting picket oftwenty Confederates opposite. Then away we went across a cold, rapid river, marching all that night through the dim woods andopenings in a country that was emphatically the enemy's. Lee'sentire army was on our right, the main Confederate cavalry forceon our left. The strength of our column and its objective pointcould not remain long unknown. 

In some unimportant ways I acted as aid for Kilpatrick. A fewhundred yards in advance of the main body rode a vanguard of twohundred men, thrown forward to warn us should we strike anyconsiderable number of the enemy's cavalry. As is ever the case, the horses of a small force will walk away from a much largerbody, and it was necessary from time to time to send word to thevanguard, ordering it to "slow up. " This order was occasionallyintrusted to me. I was to gallop over the interval between the twocolumns, then draw up by the roadside and sit motionless on myhorse till the general with his staff came up. The slightestirregularity of action would bring a shot from our own men, whilethe prospect of an interview with the Johnnies while thus isolatedwas always good. I saw one of our officers shot that night. He hadridden carelessly into the woods, and rode out again just beforethe head of the column, without instantly accounting for himself. As it was of vital importance to keep the movement secret as longas possible, the poor fellow was silenced in sad error as to hisidentity. 

On we rode, night and day, with the briefest possible halts. Atone point we nearly captured a railroad train, and might easilyhave succeeded had not the station and warehouses been in flames. As it was, the train approached us closely, then backed, theshrieking engine itself giving the impression of being startled tothe last degree. 

On a dreary, drizzling, foggy day we passed a milestone on whichwas lettered, "Four miles to Richmond. " It was still "on toRichmond" with us what seemed a long way further, and then came aconsiderable period of hesitancy, in which the command was drawnup for the final dash. The enemy shelled a field near usvigorously, but fortunately, or unfortunately, the fog was sodense that neither party could make accurate observations or domuch execution. 

For reasons that have passed into history, the attack was notmade. We withdrew six miles from the city and went into camp. 

I had scarcely begun to enjoy much-needed rest before theConfederates came up in the darkness and shelled us out of suchquarters as we had found. We had to leave our boiling coffeebehind us--one of the greatest hardships I have ever known. Thenfollowed a long night-ride down the Peninsula, in driving sleetand rain. 

The next morning the sun broke out gloriously, warming and dryingour chilled, wet forms. Nearly all that day we maintained a lineof battle confronting the pursuing enemy. One brigade would take adefensive position, while the other would march about five milesto a commanding point, where it in turn would form a line. Thefirst brigade would then give way, pass through the second, andtake position well to the rear. Thus, although retreating, we werealways ready to fight. At one point the enemy pressed us closely, and I saw a magnificent cavalry charge down a gentle descent inthe road. Every sabre seemed tipped with fire in the brilliantsunshine. 

In the afternoon it became evident that there was a body of troopsbefore us. Who or what they were was at first unknown, and for atime the impression prevailed that we should have to cut our waythrough by a headlong charge. We soon learned, however, that theforce was a brigade of colored infantry, sent up to cover ourretreat. It was the first time we had seen negro troops, but asthe long line of glistening bayonets and light-blue uniforms cameinto view, prejudices, if any there were, vanished at once, and acheer from the begrimed troopers rang down our line, waking theechoes. It was a pleasant thing to march past that array of faces, friendly though black, and know we were safe. They represented theF. F. V. 's of Old Virginia, we then wished to see. On the last dayof the march my horse gave out, compelling me to walk and leadhim. 

On the day after our arrival at Yorktown, Kilpatrick gave medespatches for the authorities at Washington. President Lincoln, learning that I had just returned from the raid, sent for me, andI had a memorable interview with him alone in his private room. Heexpressed profound solicitude for Colonel Dahlgren and his party. They had been detached from the main force, and I could give noinformation concerning them. We eventually learned of the death ofthat heroic young officer, Colonel Dahlgren. Although partiallyhelpless from the loss of a leg, he led a daring expedition at thecost of his life. 

I expressed regret to the President that the object of the raidhad not been accomplished. "Pick the flint, and try it again, "said Mr. Lincoln, heartily. I went out from his presence awed bythe courage and sublime simplicity of the man. While he gave theimpression that he was bearing the nation on his heart, one wasmade to feel that it was also large enough for sympathy with allstriving with him in the humblest way. 

My wife joined me in Washington, and few days later accompanied meto the scene of my new labors at Hampton Hospital, near FortressMonroe. There were not many patients at that time (March, 1864) inthe large barrack wards; but as soon as the Army of the Potomacbroke through the Wilderness and approached our vicinity, transports in increasing numbers, laden with desperately woundedmen, came to our wharf. During the early summer the woodenbarracks were speedily filled, and many tent wards were added. Duty became constant and severe, while the scenes witnessed wereoften painful in the last degree. More truly than on the field, the real horrors of war are learned from the long agonies in thehospital. While in the cavalry service, I gained in vigor daily;in two months of hospital work I lost thirty pounds. On one day Iburied as many as twenty-nine men. Every evening, till the dutybecame like a nightmare, I followed the dead-cart, filled up withcoffins, once, twice, and often thrice, to the cemetery. Eventually an associate chaplain was appointed, who relieved me ofthis task. 

Fortunately, my tastes led me to employ an antidote to my dailywork as useful to me as to the patients. Surrounding the hospitalwas much waste land. This, with the approval of the surgeon incharge, Dr. Ely McMillan, and the aid of the convalescents, Itransformed into a garden, and for two successive seasons sent tothe general kitchen fresh vegetables by the wagon-load. If rewardwere needed, the wistful delight with which a patient from thefront would regard a raw onion was ample; while for me the care ofthe homely, growing vegetables and fruit brought a diversion ofmind which made life more endurable. 

One of the great needs of the patients who had to fight thewinning or losing battle of life was good reading, and I speedilysought to obtain a supply. Hearts and purses at the Northresponded promptly and liberally; publishers threw off fifty percent from their prices; and I was eventually able to collect, bygift and purchase, about three thousand volumes. In gathering thislibrary, I provided what may be distinctly termed religiousreading in abundance; but I also recognized the need of diversion. Long wards were filled with men who had lost a leg or an arm, andwho must lie in one position for weeks. To help them get throughthe time was to help them to live. I therefore made the libraryrich in popular fiction and genial books of travel and biography. Full sets of Irving, Cooper, Dickens, Thackeray, Scott, Marryat, and other standard works were bought; and many a time I have seena poor fellow absorbed in their pages while holding his stump lestthe jar of a footstep should send a dart of agony to the point ofmutilation. My wife gave much assistance in my hospital duties, often reaching and influencing those beyond me. I recall one poorfellow who was actually six months in dying from a very painfulwound. Profanity appeared to be his vernacular, and in bitterprotest at his fate, he would curse nearly every one andeverything. Mrs. Roe's sympathy and attentions changed him verymuch, and he would listen quietly as long as she would read tohim. Some of the hospital attendants, men and women, had goodvoices, and we organized a choir. Every Sunday afternoon we wentfrom ward to ward singing familiar hymns. It was touching to seerough fellows drawing their blankets over their heads to hide theemotion caused by words and melodies associated, in manyinstances, with home and mother. 

Northern generosity, and, in the main, convalescent labor enabledme to build a large commodious chapel and to make greatimprovements in the hospital farm. The site of the hospital andgarden is now occupied by General Armstrong's Normal andAgricultural Institute for Freedmen, and the chapel was occupiedas a place of worship until very recently. Thus a noble and mostuseful work is being accomplished on the ground consecrated by thelife-and-death struggles of so many Union soldiers. 

In 1865 the blessed era of peace began, bringing its many changes. In October the hospital became practically empty, and I resigned. The books were sent to Fortress Monroe for the use of thegarrison, and I found many of them there long years after, almostworn out from use. 

After a little rest and some candidating for a church, I took asmall parish at Highland Falls, about a mile from West Point, NewYork, entering on my labors in January, 1866. In this village mywife and I spent nine very happy years. They were full of trialand many cares, but free from those events which bring the deepshadows into one's life. We soon became engaged in building a newstone church, whose granite walls are so thick, and hard-woodfinish so substantial that passing centuries should add only themellowness of age. The effort to raise funds for this enterpriseled me into the lecture-field and here I found my cavalry-raid andarmy life in general exceedingly useful. I looked around for apatch of garden-ground as instinctively as a duck seeks water. Thesmall plot adjoining the parsonage speedily grew into about threeacres, from which eventually came a book entitled "Play and Profitin my Garden. "

Up to the year 1871 I had written little for publication beyondoccasional contributions to the New York "Evangelist, " nor had Iseriously contemplated a literary life. I had always beenextremely fond of fiction, and from boyhood had formed a habit ofbeguiling the solitary hours in weaving crude fancies aroundpeople who for any reason interested me. I usually had a mentalserial running, to which I returned when it was my mood; but I hadnever written even a short story. In October, 1871, I was asked topreach for a far uptown congregation in New York, with thepossibility of a settlement in view. On Monday following theservices of the Sabbath, the officers of the church were kindenough to ask me to spend a week with them and visit among thepeople. Meantime, the morning papers laid before us the startlingfact that the city of Chicago was burning and that its populationwere becoming homeless. The tidings impressed me powerfully, waking the deepest sympathy. I said to myself, "Here is a phase oflife as remarkable as any witnessed during the war. " I obeyed theimpulse to be on the scene as soon as possible, stated my purposeto my friends, and was soon among the smoking ruins, finding anabiding-place with throngs of others in a partially finishedhotel. For days and nights I wandered where a city had been, andamong the extemporized places of refuge harboring all classes ofpeople. Late one night I sat for a long time on the steps ofRobert Collyer's church and watched the full moon through theroofless walls and shattered steeple. There was not an evidence oflife where had been populous streets. It was there and then, asnearly as I can remember, that the vague outlines of my firststory, "Barriers Burned Away, " began to take form in my mind. Isoon returned home, and began to dream and write, giving duringthe following year such hours as could be withdrawn from manyother duties to the construction of the story. I wrote when andwhere I could--on steamboats, in railway cars, and at all oddhours of leisure, often with long breaks in the work ofcomposition, caused by the pressure of other affairs, againgetting up a sort of white heat from incessantly dwelling uponscenes and incidents that had become real to me. In brief, thestory took possession of my mind, and grew as naturally as a plantor a weed in my garden. 

It will thus be obvious that at nearly middle age, and inobedience to an impulse, I was launched as an author; that I hadvery slight literary training; and that my appearance as anovelist was quite as great a surprise to myself as to any of myfriends. The writing of sermons certainly does not prepare one forthe construction of a novel; and to this day certain criticscontemptuously dismiss my books as "preaching. " During nearly fouryears of army life, at a period when most young men are formingstyle and making the acquaintance of literature, I scarcely had achance to read at all. The subsequent years of the pastorate weretoo active, except for an occasional dip into a favorite author. 

While writing my first story, I rarely thought of the public, thecharacters and their experiences absorbing me wholly. When mynarrative was actually in print, there was wakened a very deepinterest as to its reception. I had none of the confidenceresulting from the gradual testing of one's power or fromassociation with literary people, and I also was aware that, whenpublished, a book was far away from the still waters of whichone's friends are the protecting headlands. That I knew my work tobe exceedingly faulty goes without saying; that it was utterlybad, I was scarcely ready to believe. Dr. Field, noted for hispure English diction and taste, would not publish an irredeemablestory, and the constituency of the New York "Evangelist" is wellknown to be one of the most intelligent in the country. Friendlyopinions from serial readers were reassuring as far as they went, but of course the great majority of those who followed the storywere silent. A writer cannot, like a speaker, look into the eyesof his audience and observe its mental attitude toward histhought. If my memory serves me, Mr. R. R. Bowker was the earliestcritic to write some friendly words in the "Evening Mail;" but atfirst my venture was very generally ignored. Then some unknownfriend marked an influential journal published in the interior ofthe State and mailed it so timely that it reached me on Christmaseve. I doubt if a book was ever more unsparingly condemned thanmine in that review, whose final words were, "The story isabsolutely nauseating. " In this instance and in my salad days Itook pains to find out who the writer was, for if his view wascorrect I certainly should not engage in further efforts to makethe public ill. I discovered the reviewer to be a gentleman forwhom I have ever had the highest respect as an editor, legislator, and honest thinker. My story made upon him just the impression heexpressed, and it would be very stupid on my part to blink thefact. Meantime, the book was rapidly making for itself friends andpassing into frequent new editions. Even the editor who condemnedthe work would not assert that those who bought it were anaggregation of asses. People cannot be found by thousands who willpay a dollar and seventy-five cents for a dime novel or areligious tract. I wished to learn the actual truth more sincerelythan any critic to write it, and at last I ventured to take a copyto Mr. George Ripley, of the New York "Tribune. " "Here is a man, "I thought, "whose fame and position as a critic are recognized byall. If he deigns to notice the book, he will not only say what hethinks, but I shall have much reason to think as he does. " Mr. Ripley met the diffident author kindly, asked a few questions, andtook the volume. A few weeks later, to my great surprise, he gaveover a column to a review of the story. Although not blind to itsmany faults, he wrote words far more friendly and inspiring than Iever hoped to see; it would seem that the public had sanctionedhis verdict. From that day to this these two instances have beentypes of my experience with many critics, one condemning, anothercommending. There is ever a third class who prove theirsuperiority by sneering at or ignoring what is closely related tothe people. Much thought over my experience led to a conclusionwhich the passing years confirm: the only thing for a writer is tobe himself and take the consequences. Even those who regard me asa literary offender of the blackest dye have never named imitationamong my sins. 

As successive books appeared, I began to recognize more and moreclearly another phase of an author's experience. A writergradually forms a constituency, certain qualities in his bookappealing to certain classes of minds. In my own case, I do notmean classes of people looked at from the social point of view. Awriter who takes any hold on popular attention inevitably learnsthe character of his constituency. He appeals, and minds andtemperaments in sympathy respond. Those he cannot touch go ontheir way indifferently; those he offends may often strike back. This is the natural result of any strong assertion ofindividuality. Certainly, if I had my choice, I would rather writea book interesting to the young and to the common people, whomLincoln said "God must love, since He made so many of them. " Theformer are open to influence; the latter can be quickened andprepared for something better. As a matter of fact, I find thatthere are those in all classes whom my books attract, others whoare repelled, as I have said. It is perhaps one of the pleasantestexperiences of an author's life to learn from letters and in otherways that he is forming a circle of friends, none the lessfriendly because personally unknown. Their loyalty is both asafeguard and an inspiration. On one hand, the writer shrinks fromabusing such regard by careless work; on the other, he isstimulated and encouraged by the feeling that there is a group inwaiting who will appreciate his best endeavor. While I clearlyrecognize my limitations, and have no wish to emulate the frog inthe fable, I can truthfully say that I take increasing pains witheach story, aiming to verify every point by experience--my own orthat of others. Not long since, a critic asserted that changes inone of my characters, resulting from total loss of memory, werepreposterously impossible. If the critic had consulted Ribot's"Diseases of Memory, " or some experienced physician, he might havewritten more justly. I do not feel myself competent to form avaluable opinion as to good art in writing, and I cannot helpobserving that the art doctors disagree wofully among themselves. Truth to nature and the realities, and not the following of anyschool or fashion, has ever seemed the safest guide. I sometimesventure to think I know a little about human nature. My activelife brought me in close contact with all kinds of people; therewas no man in my regiment who hesitated to come to my tent or totalk confidentially by the campfire, while scores of dying menlaid bare to me their hearts. I at least know the nature thatexists in the human breast. It may be inartistic, or my use of itall wrong. That is a question which time will decide, and I shallaccept the verdict. Over twelve years ago, certain oracles, withthe voice of fate, predicted my speedy eclipse and disappearance. Are they right in their adverse judgment? I can truthfully saythat now, as at the first, I wish to know the facts in the case. The moment an author is conceited about his work, he becomesabsurd and is passing into a hopeless condition. If worthy towrite at all, he knows that he falls far short of his ideals; ifhonest, he wishes to be estimated at his true worth, and to castbehind him the mean little Satan of vanity. If he walks under aconscious sense of greatness, he is a ridiculous figure, forbeholders remember the literary giants of other days and of hisown time, and smile at the airs of the comparatively little man. On the other hand, no self-respecting writer should ape the falsedeprecating "'umbleness" of Uriah Heep. In short, he wishes topass, like a coin, for just what he is worth. Mr. Matthew Arnoldwas ludicrously unjust to the West when he wrote, "The WesternStates are at this moment being nourished and formed, we hear, onthe novels of a native author called Roe. " Why could not Mr. Arnold have taken a few moments to look into the bookstores of thegreat cities of the West, in order to observe for himself how thedemand of one of the largest and most intelligent reading publicsin the world is supplied? He would have found that the works ofScott and Dickens were more liberally purchased and generally readthan in his own land of "distinction. " He should have discoveredwhen in this country that American statesmen (?) are so solicitousabout the intelligence of their constituents that they givepublishers so disposed every opportunity to steal novelsdescribing the nobility and English persons of distinction; thattons of such novels have been sold annually in the West, athousand to one of the "author called Roe. " The simple truth inthe case is that in spite of this immense and cheap competition, my novels have made their way and are being read among multitudesof others. No one buys or reads a book under compulsion; and ifany one thinks that the poorer the book the better the chance ofits being read by the American people, let him try the experiment. When a critic condemns my books, I accept that as his judgment;when another critic and scores of men and women, the peers of thefirst in cultivation and intelligence, commend the books, I do notcharge them with gratuitous lying. My one aim has become to do mywork conscientiously and leave the final verdict to time and thepublic. I wish no other estimate than a correct one; and when thepublic indicate that they have had enough of Roe, I shall neitherwhine nor write. 

As a rule, I certainly stumble on my stories, as well as stumblethrough them perhaps. Some incident or unexpected impulse is thebeginning of their existence. One October day I was walking on acountry road, and a chestnut burr lay in my path. I said tomyself, "There is a book in that burr, if I could get it out. "With little volition on my part, the story "Opening a ChestnutBurr" took form and was written. 

One summer evening, when in New York, I went up to Thomas'sGarden, near Central Park, to hear the delicious music he waseducating us to appreciate. At a certain point in the programme Inoticed that the next piece would be Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, and I glanced around with a sort of congratulatory impulse, asmuch as to say, "Now we shall have a treat. " My attention wasimmediately arrested and fixed by a young girl who, with thegentleman escorting her, was sitting near by. My first impressionof her face was one of marvellous beauty, followed by a sense ofdissatisfaction. Such was my distance that I could not annoy herby furtive observation; and I soon discovered that she wouldregard a stare as a tribute. Why was it that her face was sobeautiful, yet so displeasing? Each feature analyzed seemedperfection, yet the general effect was a mocking, ill-keptpromise. The truth was soon apparent. The expression was not evil, but frivolous, silly, unredeemed by any genuine womanly grace. Shegiggled and flirted through the sublime symphony, till inexasperation I went out into the promenade under the open sky. Inless than an hour I had my story "A Face Illumined. " I imagined anartist seeing what I had seen and feeling a stronger vexation inthe wounding of his beauty loving nature; that he learned duringthe evening that the girl was a relative of a close friend, andthat a sojourn at a summer hotel on the Hudson was in prospect. Onhis return home he conceives the idea of painting the girl'sfeatures and giving them a harmonious expression. Then the fancytakes him that the girl is a modern Undine and has not yetreceived her woman's soul. The story relates his effort tobeautify, illumine the face itself by evoking a mind. I neverlearned who was the actual girl with the features of an angel andthe face of a fool. 

In the case of "He Fell in Love with His Wife, " I merely saw aparagraph in a paper to the effect that a middle-age widower, having found it next to impossible to carry on his farm with hiredhelp, had gone to the county poorhouse and said "If there's adecent woman here, I'll marry her. " For years the homely itemremained an ungerminating seed in my mind, then started to grow, and the story was written in two months. 

My war experience has naturally made the picturesque phase of theGreat Conflict attractive material. In the future I hope to availmyself still further of interesting periods in American history. 

I find that my love of horticulture and outdoor life has grownwith the years. I do not pretend to scientific accuracy orknowledge. On the contrary, I have regarded plants and birdsrather as neighbors, and have associated with them. When giving tomy parish, I bought a place in the near vicinity of the housewhich I had spent my childhood. The front windows of our housecommand a noble view of the Hudson, while on the east and souththe Highlands are within rifle-shot. For several years I hesitatedto trust solely to literary work for support. As I have said, nota few critics insisted that my books should not be read, and wouldsoon cease to be read. But whether the prediction should provetrue or not, I knew in any case that the critics themselves wouldeat my strawberries; so I made the culture of small fruits thesecond string to my bow. This business speedily took the form ofgrowing plants for sale, and was developing rapidly, whenfinancial misfortune led to my failure and the devotion of myentire time to writing. Perhaps it was just as well in the end, for my health was being undermined by too great and conflictingdemands on my energy. In 1878, at Dr. Holland's request, I wrote aseries of papers on small fruits for "Scribner's Magazine"--papersthat were expanded into a book entitled "Success with SmallFruits. " I now aim merely at an abundant home supply of fruits andvegetables, but in securing this, find pleasure and profit intesting the many varieties catalogued and offered by nurserymenand seedsmen. About three years ago the editor of "Harper'sMagazine" asked me to write one or two papers entitled "One Acre, "telling its possessor how to make the most and best of it. Whenentering on the task, I found there was more in it than I had atfirst supposed. Changing the title to "The Home Acre, " I decidedto write a book or manual which might be useful in many ruralhomes. There are those who have neither time nor inclination toread the volumes and journals devoted to horticulture, who yethave gardens and trees in which they are interested. They wish tolearn in the shortest, clearest way just what to do in order tosecure success, without going into theories, whys, and wherefores, or concerning themselves with the higher mysteries of garden-lore. This work is now in course of preparation. In brief, my aim is tohave the book grow out of actual experience, and not merely myown, either. As far as possible, well-known experts andauthorities are consulted on every point. As a naturalconsequence, the book is growing, like the plants to which itrelates. It cannot be written "offhand" or finished "on time" tosuit any one except Dame Nature, who, being feminine, is ofteninscrutable and apparently capricious. The experience of oneseason is often reversed in the next, and the guide in gardeningof whom I am most afraid is the man who is always sure he isright. It was my privilege to have the late Mr. Charles Downing asone of my teachers, and well do I remember how that honest, sagacious, yet docile student of nature would "put on the brakes"when I was passing too rapidly to conclusions. It has always beenone of my most cherished purposes to interest people in thecultivation of the soil and rural life. My effort is to "boildown" information to the simplest and most practical form. Lastspring, hundreds of varieties of vegetables and small fruits wereplanted. A carefully written record is being kept from the time ofplanting until the crop is gathered. 

My methods of work are briefly these: I go into my studyimmediately after breakfast--usually about nine o'clock--and writeor study until three or four in the afternoon, stopping only for alight lunch. In the early morning and late afternoon I go aroundmy place, giving directions to the men, and observing thecondition of vegetables, flowers, and trees, and the generalaspect of nature at the time. After dinner, the evening is devotedto the family, friends, newspapers, and light reading. In formeryears I wrote at night, but after a severe attack of insomnia thispractice was almost wholly abandoned. As a rule, the greater partof a year is absorbed in the production of a novel, and I am oftengathering material for several years in advance of writing. 

For manuscript purposes I use bound blankbooks of cheap paper. Mysheets are thus kept securely together and in place--importantconsiderations in view of the gales often blowing through my studyand the habits of a careless man. This method offers peculiaradvantages for interpolation, as there is always a blank pageopposite the one on which I am writing. After correcting themanuscript, it is put in typewriting and again revised. There arealso two revisions of the proof. While I do not shirk the taskswhich approach closely to drudgery, especially since my eyesightis not so good as it was, I also obtain expert assistance. I findthat when a page has become very familiar and I am rather tired ofit, my mind wanders from the close, fixed attention essential tothe best use of words. Perhaps few are endowed with both theinventive and the critical faculty. A certain inner sense enablesone to know, according to his lights, whether the story itself istrue or false; but elegance of style is due chiefly to training, to a cultivation like that of the ear for music. Possibly we areentering on an age in which the people care less for form, forphraseology, than for what seems to them true, real--for what, asthey would express it, "takes hold of them. " This is no plea orexcuse for careless work, but rather a suggestion that the day ofprolix, fine, flowery writing is passing. The immense number ofwell-written books in circulation has made success with careless, slovenly manuscripts impossible. Publishers and editors will noteven read, much less publish them. Simplicity, lucidity, strength, a plunge in medias res, are now the qualities and conditionschiefly desired, rather than finely turned sentences in which itis apparent more labor has been expended on the vehicle than onwhat it contains. The questions of this eager age are, What has heto say? Does it interest us? As an author, I have felt that myonly chance of gaining and keeping the attention of men and womenwas to know, to understand them, to feel with and for them in whatconstituted their life. Failing to do this, why should a line ofmy books be read? Who reads a modern novel from sense of duty?There are classics which all must read and pretend to enjoywhether capable of doing so or not. No critic has ever been sodaft as to call any of my books a classic. Better books are unreadbecause the writer is not en rapport with the reader. The time haspassed when either the theologian, the politician, or the criticcan take the American citizen metaphorically by the shoulder andsend him along the path in which they think he should go. He hasbecome the most independent being in the world, good-humoredlytolerant of the beliefs and fancies of others, while reserving, asa matter of course, the right to think for himself. 

In appealing to the intelligent American public, choosing foritself among the multitude of books now offered, it is my creedthat an author should maintain completely and thoroughly his ownindividuality, and take the consequences. He cannot conjurestrongly by imitating any one, or by representing any school orfashion. He must do his work conscientiously, for his readers knowby instinct whether or not they are treated seriously and withrespect. Above all, he must understand men and women sufficientlyto interest them; for all the "powers that be" cannot compel themto read a book they do not like. 

My early experience in respect to my books in the BritishDominions has been similar to that of many others. My firststories were taken by one or more publishers without saying "byyour leave, " and no returns made of any kind. As time passed, Messrs. Ward, Locke & Co. , more than any other house, showed adisposition to treat me fairly. Increasing sums were given forsuccessive books. Recently Mr. George Locke visited me, andoffered liberal compensation for each new novel. He also agreed togive me five per cent copyright on all my old books published byhim, no matter how obtained, in some instances revoking agreementswhich precluded the making of any such request on my part. In thecase of many of these books he has no protection, for they arepublished by others; but he takes the simple ground that he willnot sell any of my books without giving me a share in the profit. Such honorable action should tend to make piracy more odious thanever, on both sides of the sea. Other English firms have offeredme the usual royalty, and I now believe that in spite of our Houseof Mis-Representatives at Washington, the majority of the Britishpublishers are disposed to deal justly and honorably by Americanwriters. In my opinion, the LOWER House in Congress has libelledand slandered the American people by acting as if theirconstituents, with thievish instincts, chuckled over pennies savedwhen buying pirated books. This great, rich, prosperous nation hasbeen made a "fence, " a receiver of stolen goods, and shamelesslycommitted to the crime for which poor wretches are sent to jail. Truly, when history is written, and it is learned that the wholepower and statesmanship of the government were enlisted in behalfof the pork interest, while the literature of the country and theliterary class were contemptuously ignored, it may be that thepresent period will become known as the Pork Era of the Republic. It is a strange fact that English publishers are recognizing ourrights in advance of our own lawmakers. 

In relating his experience in the pages of this magazine, Mr. Julian Hawthorne said in effect that one of the best rewards ofthe literary life was the friends it enabled the writer to make. When giving me his friendship, he proved how true this is. In myexperience the literary class make good, genial, honest friends, while their keen, alert minds and knowledge of life in many of itsmost interesting aspects give an unfailing charm to their society. One can maintain the most cordial and intimate relations witheditors of magazines and journals if he will recognize that suchrelations should have no influence whatever in the acceptance ordeclination of manuscripts. I am constantly receiving letters fromliterary aspirants who appear to think that if I will use a littleinfluence their stories or papers would be taken and paid for. Ihave no such influence, nor do I wish any, in regard to my ownwork. The conscientious editor's first duty is to his periodicaland its constituents, and he would and should be more scrupulousin accepting a manuscript from a friend than from a stranger. Toshow resentment because a manuscript is returned is absurd, however great may be our disappointment. 

Perhaps one of the most perplexing and often painful experiencesof an author comes from the appeals of those who hope through himto obtain immediate recognition as writers. One is asked to readmanuscripts and commend them to publishers, or at least to give anopinion in regard to them, often to revise or even to rewritecertain portions. I remember that during one month I was asked todo work on the manuscripts of strangers that would require about ayear of my time. The maker of such request does not realize thathe or she is but one among many, and that the poor author wouldhave to abandon all hope of supporting his family if he tried tocomply. The majority who thus appeal to one know next to nothingof the literary life or the conditions of success. They write tothe author in perfect good faith, often relating circumstanceswhich touch his sympathies; yet if you tell them the truth abouttheir manuscript, or say you have not time to read it, adding thatyou have no influence with editors or publishers beyond securing acareful examination of what is written, you feel that you areoften set down as a churl, and your inability to comply with theirwishes is regarded as the selfishness and arrogance of success. The worried author has also his own compunctions, for while he hastried so often and vainly to secure the recognition requested, till he is in despair of such effort, he still is haunted by thefear that he may overlook some genius whom it would be a delightto guide through what seems a thorny jungle to the inexperienced. 

In recalling the past, one remembers when he stood in such soreneed of friends that he dislikes even the appearance of passing byon the other side. There are no riches in the world like stanchfriends who prove themselves to be such in your need, youradversity, or your weakness. I have some treasured lettersreceived after it had been telegraphed throughout the land that Iwas a bankrupt and had found myself many thousands of dollarsworse off than nothing. The kindly words and looks, the cordialgrasp of the hand, and the temporary loan occasionally, of thosewho stood by me when scarcely sane from overwork, trouble, and, worse than all, from insomnia, can never be forgotten while atrace of memory is left. Soon after my insolvency there came adate when all my interests in my books then published must be soldto the highest bidder. It seemed in a sense like putting mychildren up at auction; and yet I was powerless, since myinterests under contracts were a part of my assets. These rightshad been well advertised in the New York and county papers, as thestatute required, and the popularity of the books was well known. Any one in the land could have purchased these books from meforever. A friend made the highest bid and secured the property. My rights in my first nine novels became his, legally andabsolutely. There was even no verbal agreement between us--nothingbut his kind, honest eyes to reassure me. He not only paid the sumhe had bidden, but then and there wrote a check for a sum which, with my other assets, immediately liquidated my personal debts, principal and interest. The children of my fancy are again mychildren, for they speedily earned enough to repay my friend andto enable him to compromise with the holders of indorsed notes ina way satisfactory to them. It so happened that most of thesecreditors resided in my immediate neighborhood. I determined tofight out the battle in their midst and under their dailyobservation, and to treat all alike, without regard to their legalclaims. Only one creditor tried to make life a burden; but he didhis level best. The others permitted me to meet my obligations inmy own time and way, and I am grateful for their consideration. When all had received the sum mutually agreed upon, and I hadshaken hands with them, I went to the quaint and quiet little cityof Santa Barbara, on the Pacific coast, for a change and partialrest. While there, however, I wrote my Charleston story, "TheEarth Trembled. " In September, 1887, I returned to my home atCornwall-on-the-Hudson, and resumed my work in a region made dearby the memories of a lifetime. Just now I am completing a Southernstory entitled "Miss Lou. "

It so happens in my experience that I have discovered one whoappears willing to stick closer to me than a brother, and even topass as my "double, " or else he is so helplessly in the hands ofhis publishers as to be an object of pity. A certain "Edward R. Roe" is also an author, and is suffering cruelly in reputationbecause his publishers so manage that he is identified with me. Bystrange coincidence, they hit upon a cover for his book which isalmost a facsimile of the cover of my pamphlet novel, "An OriginalBelle, " previously issued. The R in the name of this unfortunateman has been furnished with such a diminutive tail that it passesfor a P, and even my friends supposed that the book, offeredeverywhere for sale, was mine. In many instances I have asked atnews stands, "Whose book is that?" The prompt and invariableanswer has been, "E. P. Roe's. " I have seen book notices in whichthe volume was ascribed to me in anything but flattering terms. Adistinguished judge, in a carefully written opinion, is souncharitable as to characterize the coincidence in cover as a"fraud, " and to say, "No one can look at the covers of the twopublications and fail to see evidence of a design to deceive thepublic and to infringe upon the rights of the publisher andauthor"--that is, the rights of Messrs. Dodd, Mead would be well, as a rule, for other writers to begin with reputable, honorablepublishers and to remain with them. A publisher can do more andbetter with a line of books than with isolated volumes. When anauthor's books are scattered, there is not sufficient inducementfor any one to push them strongly, nor, as in the case aboverelated, to protect a writer against a "double, " should oneappear. Authors often know little about business, and should dealwith a publisher who will look after their interests as truly ashis own. Unbusinesslike habits and methods are certainly nottraits to be cultivated, for we often suffer grievously from theirexistence; yet as far as possible the author should be free fromdistracting cares. The novelist does his best work when abstractedfrom the actual world and living in its ideal counterpart whichfor the time he is imagining. When his creative work is completed, he should live very close to the real world, or else he will beimagining a state of things which neither God nor man had any handin bringing about. 

TAKEN ALIVE AND OTHER STORIES

TAKEN ALIVE

CHAPTER I

SOMETHING BEFORE UNKNOWN

Clara Heyward was dressed in deep mourning, and it was evidentthat the emblems of bereavement were not worn merely in compliancewith a social custom. Her face was pallid from grief, and her darkbeautiful eyes were dim from much weeping. She sat in the littleparlor of a cottage located in a large Californian city, andlistened with apathetic expression as a young man pleaded for thegreatest and most sacred gift that a woman can bestow. RalphBrandt was a fine type of young vigorous manhood; and we mighteasily fancy that his strong, resolute face, now eloquent withdeep feeling, was not one upon which a girl could look withindifference. Clara's words, however, revealed the apparenthopelessness of his suit. 

"It's of no use, Ralph, " she said; "I'm in no mood for suchthoughts. "

"You don't believe in me; you don't trust me, " he resumed sadly. "You think that because I was once wild, and even worse, that I'llnot be true to my promises and live an honest life. Have I notbeen honest when I knew that being so might cost me dear? Have Inot told you of my past life and future purposes when I might haveconcealed almost everything?"

"It's not that, Ralph. I do believe you are sincere; and if thedreadful thing which has broken me down with sorrow had nothappened, all might have been as you wish. I should have quite asmuch confidence in a young man who, like you, has seen evil andturned resolutely away from it, as in one who didn't know muchabout the world or himself either. What's more, father--"

At the word "father" her listless manner vanished, and she gaveway to passionate sobs. "His foul murder is always before me, " shewailed. "Oh, we were so happy! he was so kind, and made me hiscompanion! I don't see how I can live without him. I can't thinkof love and marriage when I remember how he died, and that thevillain who killed him is at large and unpunished. What right haveI to forget this great wrong and to try to be happy? No, no! theknife that killed him pierced my heart; and it's bleeding all thetime. I'm not fit to be any man's wife; and I will not bring mygreat sorrow into any man's home. "

Brandt sprang up and paced the room for a few moments, his browcontracted in deep thought. Then, apparently coming to a decision, he sat down by his companion and took her cold, unresisting hand. 

"My poor little girl, " he said, kindly, "you don't half understandme yet. I love you all the more because you are heart-broken andpale with grief. That is the reason I have spoken so earnestly to-night. You will grieve yourself to death if left alone; and whatgood would your death do any one? It would spoil my life. Believeme, I would welcome you to my home with all your sorrow--all themore because of your sorrow; and I'd be so kind and patient thatyou'd begin to smile again some day. That's what your father wouldwish if he could speak to you, and not that you should grieve awayyour life for what can't be helped now. But I have a plan. It'sright in my line to capture such scoundrels as the man whomurdered your father; and what's more, I know the man, or rather Iused to in old times. I've played many a game of euchre with himin which he cheated me out of money that I'd be glad to have now;and I'm satisfied that he does not know of any change in me. I wasaway on distant detective duty, you know, when your father waskilled. I won't ask you to go over the painful circumstances; Ican learn them at the prison. I shall try to get permission tosearch out Bute, desperate and dangerous as he is--"

"Oh, Ralph, Ralph, " cried the girl, springing up, her eyesflashing through her tears, "if you will bring my father'smurderer to justice, if you will prevent him from destroying otherlives, as he surely will, you will find that I can refuse younothing. "

Then she paused, shook her head sadly, and withdrew the hand shehad given him. "No, " she resumed, "I shouldn't ask this; I don'task it. As you say, he is desperate and dangerous; and he wouldtake your life the moment he dreamed of your purpose. I shouldonly have another cause for sorrow. "

Brandt now smiled as if he were master of the situation. "Why, Clara, " he exclaimed, "don't you know that running down andcapturing desperadoes is now part of my business?"

"Yes; but you can get plenty of work that isn't so dangerous. "

"I should be a nice fellow to ask you to be my wife and yet show Iwas afraid to arrest your father's murderer. You needn't ask me todo this; you are not going to be responsible for my course in theleast. I shall begin operations this very night, and have no doubtthat I can get a chance to work on the case. Now don't burden yourheart with any thoughts about my danger. I myself owe Bute as biga grudge as I can have against any human being. He cheated me andled me into deviltry years ago, and then I lost sight of him untilhe was brought to the prison of which your father was one of thekeepers. I've been absent for the last three months, you know; butI didn't forget you or your father a day, and you remember I wroteyou as soon as I heard of your trouble. I think your father sortof believed in me; he never made me feel I wasn't fit to see youor to be with you, and I'd do more for him living or dead than forany other man. "

"He did believe in you, Ralph, and he always spoke well of you. Oh, you can't know how much I lost in him! After mother died hedid not leave me to the care of strangers, but gave me most of histime when off duty. He sent me to the best schools, bought mebooks to read, and took me out evenings instead of going off byhimself, as so many men do. He was so kind and so brave; oh, oh!you know he lost his life by trying to do his duty when anotherman would have given up. Bute and two others broke jail. Fathersaw one of his assistants stabbed, and he was knocked downhimself. He might have remained quiet and escaped with a fewbruises; but he caught Bute's foot, and then the wretch turned andstabbed him. He told me all with his poor pale lips before hedied. Oh, oh! when shall I forget?"

"You can never forget, dear; I don't ask anything contrary tonature. You were a good daughter, and so I believe you will be agood wife. But if I bring the murderer to justice, you will feelthat a great wrong has been righted--that all has been done thatcan be done. Then you'll begin to think that your father wouldn'twish you to grieve yourself to death, and that as he tried to makeyou happy while he was living, so he will wish you to be happy nowhe's gone. "

"It isn't a question of happiness. I don't feel as if I could everbe happy again; and so I don't see how I can make you or any oneelse happy. "

"That's my lookout, Clara. I'd be only too glad to take you as youare. Come, now, this is December. If I bring Bute in by Christmas, what will you give me?"

She silently and eloquently gave him her hand; but her lipsquivered so she could not speak. He kissed her hand as gallantlyas any olden-time knight, then added a little brusquely:

"See here, little girl, I'm not going to bind you by anything thatlooks like a bargain. I shall attempt all I've said; and then onChristmas, or whenever I get back, I'll speak my heart to youagain just as I have spoken now. "

"When a man acts as you do, Ralph, any girl would find it hard tokeep free. I shall follow you night and day with my thoughts andprayers. "

"Well, I'm superstitious enough to believe that I shall be saferand more successful on account of them. Clara, look me in the eyesbefore I go. "

She looked up to his clear gray eyes as requested. 

"I don't ask you to forget one who is dead; but don't you see howmuch you are to one who is living? Don't you see that in spite ofall your sorrow you can still give happiness? Now, be as generousand kind as you can. Don't grieve hopelessly while I'm gone. That's what is killing you; and the thought of it fills me withdread. Try to think that you still have something and some one tolive for. Perhaps you can learn to love me a little if you try, and then everything won't look so black. If you find you can'tlove me, I won't blame you--, and if I lose you as my wife, youwon't lose a true, honest friend. "

For the first time the girl became vaguely conscious of, thepossibility of an affection, a tie superseding all others; shebegan to see how it was possible to give herself to this man, notfrom an impulse of gratitude or because she liked him better thanany one else, but because of a feeling, new, mysterious, whichgave him a sort of divine right in her. Something in theexpression of his eyes had been more potent than his words;something subtle, swift as an electric spark had passed from himto her, awakening a faint, strange tumult in the heart she thoughtso utterly crushed. A few moments before, she could have promisedresolutely to be his wife; she could have permitted his embracewith unresponsive apathy. Now she felt a sudden shyness. A faintcolor stole into her pale face, and she longed to be alone. 

"Ralph, " she faltered, "you are so generous, I--I don't know whatto say. "

"You needn't say anything till I come back. If possible, I will behere by Christmas, for you shouldn't be alone that day with yourgrief. Good-by. "

The hand she gave him trembled, and her face was averted now. 

"You will try to love me a little, won't you?"

"Yes, " she whispered. 

CHAPTER II

A VISITOR AT THE MINE

Ralph Brandt was admirably fitted for the task he had undertaken. With fearlessness he united imperturbable coolness and unweariedpatience in pursuit of an object. Few knew him in his character ofdetective, and no one would have singled him out as an expert inhis calling. The more difficult and dangerous the work, the morecareless and indifferent his manner, giving the impression tosuperficial observers of being the very last person to beintrusted with responsible duty. But his chief and others on theforce well knew that beneath Brandt's careless demeanor wasconcealed the relentless pertinacity of a bloodhound on track ofits victim. With the trait of dogged pursuit all resemblance tothe bloodthirsty animal ceased, and even the worst of criminalsfound him kind-hearted and good-natured AFTER they were within hispower. Failure was an idea not to be entertained. If the man to becaught existed, he could certainly be found, was the principle onwhich our officer acted. 

He readily obtained permission to attempt the capture of theescaped prisoner, Bute; but the murderer had disappeared, leavingno clew. Brandt learned that the slums of large cities and severalmining camps had been searched in vain, also that the trainsrunning east had been carefully watched. We need not try to followhis processes of thought, nor seek to learn how he soon came tothe conclusion that his man was at some distant mining stationworking under an assumed name. By a kind of instinct his mind keptreverting to one of these stations with increasing frequency. Itwas not so remote in respect to mere distance; but it wasisolated, off the lines of travel, with a gap of seventy milesbetween it and what might be termed civilization, and wassuspected of being a sort of refuge for hard characters andfugitives from justice. Bute, when last seen, was making for themountains in the direction of this mine. Invested with ampleauthority to bring in the outlaw dead or alive, Brandt followedthis vague clew. 

One afternoon, Mr. Alford, the superintendent of the mine, wasinformed that a man wished to see him. There was ushered into hisprivate office an elderly gentleman who appeared as if he might bea prospecting capitalist or one of the owners of the mine. Thesuperintendent was kept in doubt as to the character of thevisitor for a few moments while Brandt sought by general remarksand leading questions to learn the disposition of the man whomust, from the necessities of the case, become to some extent hisally in securing the ends of justice. Apparently the detective wassatisfied, for he asked, suddenly:

"By the way, have you a man in your employ by the name of Bute?"

"No, sir, " replied Mr. Alford, with a little surprise. 

"Have you a man, then, who answers to the following description?"He gave a brief word photograph of the criminal. 

"You want this man?" Mr. Alford asked in a low voice. 

"Yes. "

"Well, really, sir, I would like to know your motive, indeed, Imay add, your authority, for--"

"There it is, " Brand smilingly remarked, handing thesuperintendent a paper. 

"Oh, certainly, certainly, " said Mr. Alford, after a moment. "Thisis all right; and I am bound to do nothing to obstruct you in theperformance of your duty. " He now carefully closed the door andadded, "What do you want this man for?"

"It's a case of murder. "

"Phew! Apparently he is one of the best men on the force. "

"Only apparently; I know him well. "

Mr. Alford's brow clouded with anxiety, and after a moment hesaid, "Mr. --how shall I address you?"

"You had better continue to call me by the name under which I wasintroduced--Brown. "

"Well, Mr. Brown, you have a very difficult and hazardous task, and you must be careful how you involve me in your actions. Ishall not lay a straw in your way, but I cannot openly help you. It is difficult for me to get labor here at best; and it isunderstood that I ask no questions and deal with men on the basissimply of their relations to me. As long as I act on thisunderstanding, I can keep public sentiment with me and enforcesome degree of discipline. If it were known that I was aiding orabetting you in the enterprise you have in hand, my life would notbe worth a rush. There are plenty in camp who would shoot me, justas they would you, should they learn of your design. I fear you donot realize what you are attempting. A man like yourself, elderlyand alone, has no better chance of taking such a fellow as youdescribe Bute to be than of carrying a ton of ore on his back downthe mountain. In all sincerity, sir, I must advise you to departquietly and expeditiously, and give no one besides myself a hintof your errand. "

"Will you please step into the outer office and make sure that noone is within earshot?" said Brandt, quietly. 

When Mr. Alford returned, the elderly man apparently haddisappeared, and a smiling smooth-faced young fellow with shortbrown hair sat in his place. His host stared, the transformationwas so great. 

"Mr. Alford, " said the detective, "I understand my business andthe risks it involves. All I ask of you is that I may not beinterfered with so far as you are concerned; and my chief objectin calling is to prevent you being surprised by anything you maysee or hear. About three miles or thereabouts from here, on theroad running east, there is a fellow who keeps a tavern. Do youknow him?"

"I know no good of him. He's the worst nuisance I have to contendwith, for he keeps some of my men disabled much of the time. "

"Well, I knew Bute years ago, and I can make him think I am nowwhat I was then, only worse; and I will induce him to go with meto raid that tavern. If this plan fails, I shall try another, forI am either going to take Bute alive or else get ample proof thathe is dead. There may be some queer goings-on before I leave, andall I ask is that you will neither interfere nor investigate. Youmay be as ignorant and non-committal as you please. I shall reportprogress to you, however, and may need your testimony, but willsee to it that it is given by you as one who had nothing to dowith the affair. Now please show me your quarters, so that I canfind you at night if need be; also Bute's sleeping-place and thelay of the land to some extent. You'll find that I can takeeverything in mighty quick. See, I'm the elderly gentleman again, "and he resumed his disguise with marvellous celerity. 

Mr. Alford led the way through the outer office; and the twoclerks writing there saw nothing to awaken the slightestsuspicion. The superintendent's cottage stood on the road leadingto the mine and somewhat apart from the other buildings. On theopposite side of the highway was a thicket of pines which promisedcover until one plunged into the unbroken forest that covered themountain-side. 

Brandt observed this, and remarked, "I've studied the approachesto your place a little at I came along; but I suppose I shall haveto give a day or two more to the work before making my attempt. "

"Well, " rejoined Mr. Alford, who was of rather a social turn andfelt the isolation of his life, "why not be my guest for a time?I'll take the risk if you will remain incog. , and keep aloof fromthe men. "

"That I should do in any event till ready to act. Thank you foryour kindness, for it may simplify my task very much. I will seeto it that I do not compromise you. When I'm ready to snare mybird, you can dismiss me a little ostentatiously for New York. "

Brandt's horse was now ordered to the stable. The two men enteredthe cottage, and soon afterward visited the different points ofinterest, Mr. Alford giving the natural impression that he wasshowing an interested stranger the appliances for working themine. At one point he remarked in a low tone, "That's Bute'slodging-place. A half-breed, named Apache Jack, who speaks littleEnglish lives with him. "

Brandt's seemingly careless and transitory glance rested on alittle shanty and noted that it was separated from others of itsclass by a considerable interval. 

"Bute, you say, is on the day-shift. "

"Yes, he won't be up till six o'clock. "

"I'll manage to see him then without his knowing it. "

"Be careful. I take my risk on the ground of your good faith andprudence. "

"Don't fear. "

CHAPTER III

THWARTED

Brandt maintained his disguise admirably. His presence causedlittle comment, and he was spoken of as a visiting stockholder ofthe mine. During his walk with Mr. Alford he appeared interestedonly in machinery, ores, etc. , but his trained eyes made atopographical map of surroundings, and everything centred aboutBute's shanty. In the evening, he amply returned his host'shospitality by comic and tragic stories of criminal life. The nextday he began to lay his plans carefully, and disappeared soonafter breakfast with the ostensible purpose of climbing a heightat some distance for the sake of the prospect. He soon doubledround, noting every covert approach to Bute's lodgings. His eyeand ear were as quick as an Indian's; but he still maintained, incase he was observed, the manner of an elderly stranger strollingabout to view the region. 

By noon he felt that he had the immediate locality by heart. Hisafternoon task was to explore the possibilities of a stream thatcrossed the mine road something over a mile away, and for thispurpose he mounted his horse. He soon reached the shallow ford, and saw that the water was backed up for a considerable distance, and that the shallows certainly extended around a high, juttingrock which hid the stream from that point and beyond from theroad. The bed appeared smooth, firm, and sandy, and he waded hishorse up the gentle current until he was concealed from thehighway. A place, however, was soon reached where the water cametumbling down over impassable rocks; and he was compelled toascend the wooded shore. This he did on the side nearest to themine house, and found that with care he could lead his horse to apoint that could not be, he thought, over half a mile from thesuperintendent's cottage. Here there was a little dell aroundwhich the pines grew so darkly and thickly that he determined tomake it his covert should he fail in his first attempt. His objectnow was to see if his estimate of proximity to the mine wascorrect; and leaving his horse, he pushed up the mountain-side. Atlast he reached a precipitous ledge. Skirting this a shortdistance, he found a place of comparatively easy ascent, and soonlearned with much satisfaction that he was not over two hundredyards from the thicket opposite Mr. Alford's quarters. Thesediscoveries all favored possible future operations; and heretraced his steps, marking his returning path by bits of whitepaper, held in place by stones against the high prevailing winds. Near the spot where he had left his horse he found a nook amongthe rocks in which a fire would be well hidden. Having marked theplace carefully with his eye and obtained his bearings, he led hishorse back to the stream and reached the unfrequented road againwithout being observed. 

His next task was to discover some kind of a passageway from themine road to a point on the main highway, leading to the west andout of the mountains. He found no better resource than to strikedirectly into the forest and travel by points of the compass. Fortunately, the trees were lofty and comparatively open, and heencountered no worse difficulties than some steep and ruggeddescents, and at last emerged on the post road at least a mile tothe west of the tavern, which stood near its intersection with themine road; Returning, he again marked out a path with paper as hehad before. The sun was now low in the sky; and as he trottedtoward the mine, he had but one more precaution to take, and thatwas to find a place where the trees were sufficiently open topermit him to ride into their shade at night in case he wished toavoid parties upon the road. Having indicated two or three suchspots by a single bit of paper that would glimmer in themoonlight, he joined Mr. Alford at supper, feeling that hispreparations were nearly complete. When they were alone, he toldhis host that it would be best not to gratify his curiosity, forthen he could honestly say that he knew nothing of any detective'splans or whereabouts. 

"I cannot help feeling, " said Mr. Alford, "that you are playingwith fire over a powder magazine. Now that I know you better, Ihate to think of the risk that you are taking. It has troubled meterribly all day. I feel as if we were on the eve of a tragedy. You had better leave quietly in the morning and bring a forcelater that would make resistance impossible, or else give it upaltogether. Why should you throw away your life? I tell you againthat if the men get a hint of your character or purpose they willhunt you to death. "

"It's a part of my business to incur such risks, " replied Brandt, quietly. "Besides, I have a motive in this case which would leadme to take a man out of the jaws of hell. "

"That's what you may find you are attempting here. Well, we're infor it now, I suppose, since you are so determined. "

"I don't think you will appear involved in the affair at all. Inthe morning you give me a sack of grain for my horse and someprovisions for myself, and then bid farewell to Mr. Brown in themost open and natural manner possible. You may not see me again. It is possible I may have to borrow a horse of you it my schemeto-night don't work. It will be returned or paid for very soon. "

"Bute has a pony. He brought it with him, and he and Apache Jackbetween them manage to keep it. They stable it nights in a littleshed back of their shanty. "

"I had discovered this, and hope to take the man away on his pony. I understand why Bute keeps the animal. He knew that he might haveto travel suddenly and fast. "

The next morning Mr. Alford parted with Brandt as had beenarranged, the latter starting ostensibly for the nearest railwaystation. All day long the superintendent was nervous and anxious;but he saw no evidences of suspicion or uneasiness among those inhis employ. 

Brandt rode at a sharp canter as long as he was in sight, and thenapproached the stream slowly and warily. When satisfied that hewas unobserved, he again passed up its shallow bed around theconcealing rock, and sought his hiding-place on the mountain-side. Aware that the coming nights might require ceaseless activity, hisfirst measure was to secure a few hours of sound sleep; and he hadso trained himself that he could, as it were, store up restagainst long and trying emergencies. The rocks sheltered himagainst the wind, and a fire gave all the comfort his hardy framerequired, as he reposed on his couch of pine-needles. Early in theafternoon he fed his horse, took a hearty meal himself, andconcealed the remaining store so that no wild creatures could getat it. At early twilight he returned by way of the stream and hidhis horse well back in the woods near the mine. To this he nowwent boldly, and inquired for Tim Atkins, Bute's assumed name. Hewas directed to the shanty with which he had already made himselfso familiar. 

Bute was found alone, and was much surprised at sight of his oldgambling acquaintance of better days, for his better days werethose of robbery before he had added the deeper stain of murder. Brandt soon allayed active fears and suspicions by giving theimpression that in his descensus he had reached the stage ofrobbery and had got on the scent of some rich booty in themountains. "But how did you know I was here?" demanded Bute. 

"I didn't know it, " replied Brandt, adopting his old vernacular;"but I guessed as much, for I knew there was more'n one shadyfeller in this gang, and I took my chances on findin' you, for, says I to myself, if I can find Bute, I've found the right man tohelp me crack a ranch when there's some risk and big plunder. "

He then disclosed the fact of hearing that the keeper of thetavern had accumulated a good sum of hard money, and was lookingout for a chance to send it to a bank. "We can save him thetrouble, yer know, " he concluded, facetiously. 

"Well, " said Bute, musingly, "I'm gittin' tired of this dog'slife, and I reckon I'll go snacks with yer and then put out ferparts unknown. I was paid t'other day, and there ain't much owin'me here. I guess it'll be safer fer me ter keep movin' on, too. "

"You may well say that, Bute. I heard below that there was goin'to be some investigations inter this gang, and that there wasmore'n one feller here whose pictur was on exhibition. "

"That so?" said Bute, hastily. "Well, I'll go with yer ter-night, fer it's time I was movin'. I kin tell yer one thing, though--there'll be no investigations here unless a fair-sized regimentmakes it. Every man keeps his shooter handy. "

"Hanged if we care how the thing turns out. You and me'll be farenough away from the shindy. Now make your arrangements prompt, for we must be on the road by nine o'clock, so we can get throughearly in the night and have a good start with the swag. My plan isto ambush the whiskey shop, go and demand drinks soon aftereverybody is gone, and then proceed to business. "

"Can't we let my mate, Apache Jack, in with us? I'll stand forhim. "

"No, no, I don't know anything about Apache Jack; and I can trustyou. We can manage better alone, and I'd rather have one-half thanone-third. "

"Trust me, kin you? you--fool, " thought Bute. "So ye thinks I'llsit down and divide the plunder socially with you when I kin giveyer a quiet dig in the ribs and take it all. One more man nowwon't matter. I'm a-goin' ter try fer enough ter-night ter take mewell out of these parts. "

Bute's face was sinister enough to suggest any phase of evil, andBrandt well knew that he was capable of what he meditated. It wasnow the policy of both parties, however, to be very friendly, andBute was still further mellowed by a draught of liquor fromBrandt's flask. 

They had several games of cards in which it was managed thatBute's winnings should be the larger; and at nine in the eveningthey started on what was to Bute another expedition of robbery andmurder. Mr. Alford, who was on the alert, saw them depart with adeep sigh of relief. The night was cloudy, but the moon gaveplenty of light for travelling. Brandt soon secured his horse, andthen appeared to give full rein to his careless, reckless spirit. 

As they approached the stream, he remarked, "I say, Bute, it's toobad we can't use the pasteboards while on the jog; but I can win afive out of you by an old game of ours. I bet you I can empty myrevolver quicker 'n you can. "

"We'd better save our amernition and make no noise. "

"Oh, pshaw! I always have better luck when I'm free and carelesslike. It's your sneaking fellers that always get caught. Besides, who'll notice? This little game is common enough all through themountains, and everybody knows that there's no mischief in suchkind of firing. I want to win back some of my money. "

"Well, then, take you up; go ahead. "

Instantly from Brandt's pistol there were six reports followingone another so quickly that they could scarcely be distinguished. 

"Now beat that if you can!" cried Brandt, who had a second andconcealed revolver ready for an emergency. 

"The fool!" thought Bute, "to put himself at the marcy of any man. I can pluck him to-night like a winged pa'tridge;" but he toofired almost as quickly as his companion. 

"You only used five ca'tridges in that little game, my friend, "said Brandt. 

"Nonsense! I fired so quick you couldn't count 'em. "

"Now see here, Bute, " resumed Brandt, in an aggrieved tone, "you've got to play fair with me. I've cut my eye-teeth since youused to fleece me, and I'll swear you fired only five shots. Let'sload and try again. "

"What the use of sich ---- nonsense? You'll swar that you fired thequickest; and of course I'll swar the same, and there's nobodyhere ter jedge. What's more, Ralph Brandt, I wants you and everyman ter know that I always keeps a shot in reserve, and that Inever misses. So let's load and jog on, and stop foolin'. "

"That scheme has failed, " thought Brandt, as he replaced theshells with cartridges. 

His purpose was to find a moment when his companion was completelyin his power, and it came sooner than he expected. When they drewnear the brook, it was evident that Bute's pony was thirsty, forit suddenly darted forward and thrust its nose into the water. Therefore, for an instant, Bute was in advance with his backtoward the detective. Covering the fellow with his revolver, Brandt shouted:

"Bute, throw up your hands; surrender, or you are a dead man!"

Instantly the truth flashed through the outlaw's mind. Instead ofcomplying, he threw himself forward over the pony's neck and urgedthe animal forward. Brandt fired, and Bute fell with a splash intothe water. At that moment three miners, returning from the tavern, came shouting to the opposite side of the stream. The frightenedpony, relieved of its burden, galloped homeward. Brandt alsowithdrew rapidly toward the mine for some distance, and then rodeinto the woods. Having tied his horse well back from the highway, he reconnoitred the party that had so inopportunely interferedwith his plans. He discovered that they were carrying Bute, who, from his groans and oaths, was evidently not dead, though he mightbe mortally wounded. His rescuers were breathing out curses andthreats of vengeance against Brandt, now known to be an officer ofthe law. 

"The job has become a little complicated now, " muttered Brandt, after they had passed; "and I must throw them off the scent. Therewill be a dozen out after me soon. "

He remounted his horse, stole silently down the road, crossed thestream, and then galloped to the tavern, and calling out thekeeper, asked if there was any shorter road out of the mountainsthan the one leading to the west. Being answered in the negative, he rode hastily away. On reaching the place where he had struckthis road the previous day, he entered the woods, followed therugged trail that he had marked by bits of paper, and slowlyapproached the mine road again near the point where the streamcrossed it. He then reconnoitred and learned that there wasevidently a large party exploring the woods between the stream andthe mine. 

At last they all gathered at the ford for consultation, and Brandtheard one say:

"We're wastin' time beatin' round here. He'd naterly put fer thelowlands as soon as he found he was balked in takin' his man. Imove we call on Whiskey Bob, and see if a man's rode that way ter-night. "

A call on Whiskey Bob was apparently always acceptable; and theparty soon disappeared down the road--some on horses and more onfoot. Brandt then quietly crossed the road and gained his retreaton the mountain-side. 

"I must camp here now till the fellow dies, and I can prove it, oruntil I can get another chance, " was his conclusion as he rubbeddown and fed his horse. 

CHAPTER IV

TAKEN ALIVE

After taking some refreshment himself, Brandt decided to go to thethicket opposite the superintendent's house for a littleobservation. He soon reached this outlook, and saw that somethingunusual was occurring in the cottage. At last the door opened, andBute was assisted to his shanty by two men. They had scarcelydisappeared before Brandt darted across the road and knocked foradmittance. 

"Great Scott! you here?" exclaimed Mr. Alford. 

"Yes, and here I'm going to stay till I take my man, " replied thedetective, with a laugh. "Don't be alarmed. I shall not remain inyour house, but in the neighborhood. "

"You are trifling with your life, and, I may add, with mine. "

"Not at all. Come up to your bedroom. First draw the curtainsclose, and we'll compare notes. I won't stay but a few moments. "

Mr. Alford felt that it was best to comply, for some one mightcome and find them talking in the hall. When Brandt entered theapartment, he threw himself into a chair and laughed in his lowcareless style as he said, "Well, I almost bagged my game to-night, and would have done so had not three of your men, returningfrom the tavern, interfered. "

"There's a party out looking for you now. "

"I know it; but I've put them on the wrong trail. What I want tolearn is, will Bute live?"

"Yes; your shot made a long flesh-wound just above his shoulders. A little closer, and it would have cut his vertebrae and finishedhim. He has lost a good deal of blood, and could not be moved forsome days except at some risk. "

"You are sure of that?"

"Yes. "

"Well, he may have to incur the risk. I only wish to be certainthat he will not take it on his own act at once. You'll soon misshim in any event. "

"The sooner the better. I wish your aim had been surer. "

"That wasn't my good luck. Next time I'll have to shoot closer orelse take him alive. "

"But you can't stay in this region. They will all be on the alertnow. "

"Oh, no. The impression will be general to-morrow that I've madefor the lowlands as fast as my horse could carry me. Don't youworry. Till I move again, I'm safe enough. All I ask of you now isto keep Bute in his own shanty, and not to let him have more thanone man to take care of him if possible. Good-night. You may notsee me again, and then again you may. "

"Well, now that you are here, " said the superintendent, who wasnaturally brave enough, "spend an hour or two, or else stay tilljust before daylight. I confess I am becoming intensely interestedin your adventure, and would take a hand in it if I could; but youknow well enough that if I did, and it became known, I would haveto find business elsewhere very suddenly--that is, if given thechance. "

"I only wish your passive co-operation. I should be glad, however, if you would let me take a horse, if I must. "

"Certainly, as long as you leave my black mare. "

Brandt related what had occurred, giving a comical aspect toeverything, and then, after reconnoitring the road from a darkenedwindow, regained his cover in safety. He declined to speak of hisfuture plans or to give any clew to his hiding-place, to which henow returned. 

During the few remaining hours of darkness and most of the nextday, he slept and lounged about his fire. The next night was toobright and clear for anything beyond a reconnoissance, and he sawevidences of an alertness which made him very cautious. He did notseek another interview with Mr. Alford, for now nothing was to begained by it. 

The next day proved cloudy, and with night began a violent stormof wind and rain. Brandt cowered over his fire till nine o'clock, and then taking a slight draught from his flask, chuckled, "Thisis glorious weather for my work. Here's to Clara's luck thistime!"

In little over an hour he started for the mine, near which heconcealed his horse. Stealing about in the deep shadows, he soonsatisfied himself that no one was on the watch, and thenapproaching the rear of Bute's shanty, found to his joy that thepony was in the shed. A chink in the board siding enabled him tolook into the room which contained his prey; he started as he sawApache Jack, instantly recognizing in him another criminal forwhom a large reward was offered. 

"Better luck than I dreamed of, " he thought. "I shall take themboth; but I now shall have to borrow a horse of Alford;" and heglided away, secured an animal from the stable, and tied it nearhis own. In a short time he was back at his post of observation. It had now become evident that no one even imagined that there wasdanger while such a storm was raging. The howling wind would drownall ordinary noises; and Brandt determined that the two men in theshanty should be on their way to jail that night. When he againput his eye to the chink in the wall, Bute was saying:

"Well, no one will start fer the mountings while this storm lasts, but, wound or no wound, I must get out of this as soon as it'sover. There's no safety fer me here now. "

"Ef they comes fer you, like enough they'll take me, " repliedApache Jack, who, now that he was alone with his confederate, could speak his style of English fast enough. His character ofhalf-breed was a disguise which his dark complexion had suggested. "Ter-morrer night, ef it's clar, we'll put out fer the easterd. Iknow of a shanty in the woods not so very fur from here in whichwe kin put up till yer's able ter travel furder. Come, now, take aswig of whiskey with me and then we'll sleep; there's no need ofour watchin' any longer on a night like this. I'll jest step outan' see ef the pony's safe; sich a storm's 'nuff ter scare him offter the woods. "

"Well, jest lay my shooter on the cha'r here aside me 'fore yougo. I feel safer with the little bull-dog in reach. "

This the man did, then putting his own revolver on the table, thatit might not get wet, began to unbar the door. Swift as a shadowBrandt glided out of the shed and around on the opposite side ofthe shanty. 

An instant later Bute was paralyzed by seeing his enemy enter theopen door. Before the outlaw could realize that Brandt was not afeverish vision induced by his wound, the detective had capturedboth revolvers, and was standing behind the door awaiting ApacheJack's return. 

"Hist!" whispered Brandt, "not a sound, or you will both be deadin two minutes. "

Bute's nerves were so shattered that he could scarcely havespoken, even if he had been reckless enough to do so. He felthimself doomed; and when brutal natures like his succumb, theyusually break utterly. Therefore, he could do no more than shiverwith unspeakable dread as if he had an ague. 

Soon Apache Jack came rushing in out of the storm, to be instantlyconfronted by Brandt's revolver. The fellow glanced at the table, and seeing his own weapon was gone, instinctively half drew a longknife. 

"Put that knife on the table!" ordered Brandt, sternly. "Do youthink I'd allow any such foolishness?"

The man now realized his powerlessness, and obeyed; and Brandtsecured this weapon also. 

"See here, Apache Jack, or whatever your name is, don't you runyour head into a noose. You know I'm empowered to arrest Bute, andyou don't know anything about the force I have at hand. All you'vegot to do is to obey me, an officer of the law, like a goodcitizen. If you don't, I'll shoot you; and that's all there isabout it. Will you obey orders?"

"I no understan'. "

"Stop lying! You understand English as well as I do, and I'llsuspect YOU if you try that on again. Come, now! I've no time tolose. It's death or obedience!"

"You can't blame a feller fer standin' by his mate, " was thesullen yet deprecatory reply. 

"I can blame any man, and arrest or shoot him too, who obstructsthe law. You must obey me for the next half-hour, to prove thatyou are not Bute's accomplice. "

"He's only my mate, and our rule is ter stand by each other; but, as you say, I can't help myself, and there's no use of my goin'ter jail. "

"I should think not, " added Brandt, appealing to the fellow'sselfish hope of escaping further trouble if Bute was taken. "Nowget my prisoner out of bed and dress him as soon as possible. "

"But he ain't able ter be moved. The superintendent said hewasn't. "

"That's my business, not yours. Do as I bid you. "

"Why don't yer yell fer help?" said Bute, in a hoarse whisper. 

"Because he knows I'd shoot him if he did, " remarked Brandt, coolly. 

"Come, old man, " said Jack, "luck's agin yer. Ef there's anyhollerin' ter be done, yer's as able ter do that as I be. "

"Quick, quick! jerk him out of bed and get him into his clothes. Iwon't permit one false move. "

Jack now believed that his only means of safety was to be asexpeditious as possible, and that if Bute was taken safely hewould be left unmolested. People of their class rarely keep faithwith one another when it is wholly against their interests to doso. Therefore, in spite of the wounded man's groans, he wasquickly dressed and his hands tied behind him. As he opened hismouth to give expression to his protests, he found himselfsuddenly gagged by Brandt, who stood behind him. Then a strap wasbuckled about his feet, and he lay on the floor helpless andincapable of making a sound. 

"Now, Jack, " said Brandt, "go before me and bridle and saddle thepony; then bring him to the door. "

Jack obeyed. 

"Now put Bute upon him. I'll hold his head; but remember I'mcovering you with a dead bead all the time. "

"No need of that. I'm civil enough now. "

"Well, you know we're sort of strangers, and it's no more thanprudent for me to be on the safe side till we part company. That'sright, strap his feet underneath. Now lead the pony in suchdirections as I say. Don't try to make off till I'm through withyou, or you'll be shot instantly. I shall keep within a yard ofyou all the time. "

They were not long in reaching the horse that Brandt had borrowed, and Jack said, "I s'pose I kin go now. "

"First untie Bute's hands so he can guide the pony. "

As the fellow attempted to do this, and his two hands were closetogether, Brandt slipped a pair of light steel handcuffs over hiswrists, and the man was in his power. Almost before the newprisoner could recover from his surprise, he was lifted on theborrowed horse, and his legs also tied underneath. 

"This ain't fa'r. You promised ter let me go when you got Buteoff. "

"I haven't got him off yet. Of course I can't let you go rightback and bring a dozen men after us. You must be reasonable. "

The fellow yelled for help; but the wind swept the sound away. 

"If you do that again, I'll gag you too, " said Brandt. "I tell youboth once more, and I won't repeat the caution, that your livesdepend on obedience. " Then he mounted, and added, "Bute, I'm goingto untie your hands, and you must ride on ahead of me. I'll leadJack's horse. "

In a moment he had his prisoners in the road, and was leaving themine at a sharp pace. Bute was so cowed and dazed with terror thathe obeyed mechanically. The stream was no longer a shallow brook, but a raging torrent which almost swept them away as Brandt urgedthem relentlessly through it. The tavern was dark and silent asthey passed quickly by it. Then Brandt took the gag from Bute'smouth, and he groaned, cursed, and pleaded by turns. Hour afterhour he urged them forward, until at last Bute gave out and fellforward on the pony's neck. Brandt dismounted and gave theexhausted man a draught from his flask. 

"Oh, shoot me and have done with it!" groaned Bute; "I'd rather beshot than hanged anyhow. "

"Couldn't think of it, " replied the detective, cheerily. "My ruleis to take prisoners alive, so that they can have a fair trial andbe sure that they get justice. I'd take you the rest of the way ina bed if I could, but if you can't sit up, I'll have to tie youon. We'll reach a friend of mine by daylight, and then you canride in a wagon, so brace up. "

This the outlaw did for a time, and then he gave out utterly andwas tied more securely to the pony. Out of compassion, Brandtthereafter travelled more slowly; and when the sun was an hourhigh, he led his forlorn captives to the house of a man whom heknew could be depended upon for assistance. After a restsufficient to give Bute time to recover somewhat, the remainder ofthe journey was made without any incident worth mentioning, andthe prisoners were securely lodged in jail on the evening of the24th of December. 

CHAPTER V

WHAT BRANDT SAW CHRISTMAS EVE

Brandt's words and effort had had their natural effect on the mindof Clara Heyward. They proved an increasing diversion of herthoughts, and slowly dispelled the morbid, leaden grief underwhich she had been sinking. Her new anxiety in regard to herlover's fortune and possible fate was a healthful counter-irritant. Half consciously she yielded to the influence of hisstrong, hopeful spirit, and almost before she was aware of it, shetoo began to hope. Chief of all, his manly tenderness andunbargaining love stole into her heart like a subtle balm; andresponsive love, the most potent of remedies, was renewing herlife. She found herself counting the days and then the hours thatmust intervene before the 25th. On Christmas eve her woman'snature triumphed, and she instinctively added such little gracesto her toilet as her sombre costume permitted. She also arrangedher beautiful hair in the style which she knew he admired. Hemight come; and she determined that his first glance should revealthat he was not serving one who was coldly apathetic to his braveendeavor and loyalty. 

Indeed, even she herself wondered at the changes that had takenplace during the brief time which had elapsed since their parting. There was a new light in her eyes, and a delicate bloom tinged hercheeks. 

"Oh, " she murmured, "it's all so different now that I feel that Ican live for him and make him happy. "

She was sure that she could welcome him in a way that would assurehim of the fulfilment of all his hopes; but when he did come withhis eager, questioning eyes, she suddenly found herself under astrange restraint, tongue-tied and embarrassed. She longed to puther arms about his neck and tell him all--the new life, the newhope which his look of deep affection had kindled; and in effortfor self-control, she seemed to him almost cold. He thereforebecame perplexed and uncertain of his ground, and took refuge inthe details of his expedition, meanwhile mentally assuring himselfthat he must keep his word and put no constraint on the girlcontrary to the dictates of her heart. 

As his mind grew clearer, his keen observation began to revealhopeful indications. She was listening intently with approval, andsomething more in her expression, he dared to fancy. Suddenly heexclaimed, "How changed you are for the better, Clara! You arelovelier to-night than ever you were. What is it in your face thatis so sweet and bewildering? You were a pretty girl before; nowyou are a beautiful woman. "

The color came swiftly at his words, and she faltered as sheaverted her eyes, "Please go on with your story, Ralph. You havescarcely begun yet. I fear you were in danger. "

He came and stood beside her. "Clara, " he pleaded, "look at me. "

Hesitatingly she raised her eyes to his. 

"Shall I tell you what I hope I see?"

The faintest suggestion of a smile hovered about her tremblinglips. 

"I hope I see what you surely see in mine. Come, Clara, you shallchoose before you hear my story. Am I to be your husband orfriend? for I've vowed that you shall not be without a loyalprotector. "

"Ralph, Ralph, " she cried, springing up and hiding her face on hisshoulder, "I have no choice at all. You know how I loved papa; butI've learned that there's another and different kind of love. Ididn't half understand you when you first spoke; now I do. Youwill always see in my eyes what you've seen to-night. "

FOUND YET LOST

CHAPTER I

LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS

Hopeless indeed must that region be which May cannot clothe withsome degree of beauty and embroider with flowers. On the 5th dayof the month the early dawn revealed much that would charm theeyes of all true lovers of nature even in that section of Virginiawhose characteristics so grimly correspond with its name--TheWilderness. The low pines and cedars, which abound everywhere, hadtaken a fresh green; the deciduous trees, the tangled thickets, impenetrable in many places by horse or man, were putting forth anew, tender foliage, tinted with a delicate semblance of autumnhues. Flowers bloomed everywhere, humbly in the grass close to thesoil as well as on the flaunting sprays of shrubbery and vines, filling the air with fragrance as the light touched and expandedthe petals. Wood-thrushes and other birds sang as melodiously andcontentedly as if they had selected some breezy upland forest fortheir nesting-place instead of a region which has become a synonymfor gloom, horror, and death. 

Lonely and uninhabited in its normal condition, this forbiddingwilderness had become peopled with thousands of men. The Army ofthe Potomac was penetrating and seeking to pass through it. Vigilant General Lee had observed the movement, and withcharacteristic boldness and skill ordered his troops from theirstrong intrenchments on Mine Run toward the Union flank. On thismemorable morning the van of his columns wakened from their briefrepose but a short distance from the Federal bivouac. Both partieswere unconscious of their nearness, for with the exception of afew clearings the dense growth restricted vision to a narrowrange. The Union forces were directed in their movements by thecompass, as if they were sailors on a fog-enshrouded sea; but theywell knew that they were seeking their old antagonist, the Army ofNorthern Virginia, and that the stubborn tug-of-war might begin atany moment. 

When Captain Nichol shook off the lethargy of a brief troubledsleep, he found that the light did not banish his gloomyimpressions. Those immediately around him were still slumbering, wrapped in their blankets. Few sounds other than the voices of theawakening birds broke the silence. After a little thought he drewhis notebook from his pocket and wrote as follows:

"MY DARLING HELEN--I obey an impulse to write to you this morning. It is scarcely light enough to see as yet; but very soon we shallbe on the move again to meet--we known not what, certainly heavy, desperate fighting. I do not know why I am so sad. I have facedthe prospect of battles many times before, and have passed throughthem unharmed, but now I am depressed by an unusual foreboding. Naturally my thoughts turn to you. There was no formal engagementbetween us when I said those words (so hard to speak) of farewell, nor have I sought to bind you since. Every month has made moreclear the uncertainty of life in my calling; and I felt that I hadno right to lay upon you any restraint other than that of your ownfeelings. If the worst happened you would be free as far as I wasconcerned, and few would know that we had told each other of ourlove. I wish to tell you of mine once more--not for the last time, I hope, but I don't know. I do love you with my whole heart andsoul; and if I am to die in this horrible wilderness, where somany of my comrades died a year ago, my last thoughts will be ofyou and of the love of God, which your love has made more real tome. I love you too well to wish my death, should it occur, tospoil your young life. I do not ask you to forget me--that wouldbe worse than death, but I ask you to try to be happy and to makeothers happy as the years pass on. This bloody war will come to anend, will become a memory, and those who perish hope to beremembered; but I do not wish my memory to hang like a cloud overthe happy days of peace. I close, my darling, in hope, not fear--hope for you, hope for me, whatever may happen to-day or on comingdays of strife. It only remains for me to do my duty. I trust thatyou will also do yours, which may be even harder. Do not give wayto despairing grief if I cannot come back to you in this world. Let your faith in God and hope of a future life inspire andstrengthen you in your battles, which may require more courage andunselfishness than mine. 

"Yours, either in life or death, ALBERT NICHOL. "

He made another copy of this letter, put both in envelopes, andaddressed them, then sought two men of his company who came fromhis native village. They were awake now and boiling their coffee. The officer and the privates had grown up as boys together withlittle difference of social standing in the democratic town. Whenoff duty, there still existed much of the old familiarity andfriendly converse, but when Captain Nichol gave an order, histownsmen immediately became conscious that they were separatedfrom him by the iron wall of military discipline. Thischaracteristic did not alienate his old associates. One of the menhit the truth fairly in saying: "When Cap speaks as Cap, he's ashard and sharp as a bayonet-point; but when a feller is sick andworn out 'tween times you'd think your granny was coddlin' yer. "

It was as friend and old neighbor that Nichol approached Sam andJim Wetherby, two stalwart brothers who had enlisted in hiscompany. "Boys, " he said, "I have a favor to ask of you. The Lordonly knows how the day will end for any of us. We will take ourchances and do our duty, as usual. I hope we may all boil coffeeagain to-night; but who knows? Here are two letters. If I shouldfall, and either or both of you come out all right, as I trust youwill, please forward them. If I am with you again to-night, returnthem to me. "

"Come, Captain, " said Jim, heartily, "the bullet isn't molded thatcan harm you. You'll lead us into Richmond yet. "

"It will not be from lack of goodwill if I don't. I like yourspirit; and I believe the army will get there this time whetherI'm with it or not. Do as I ask. There is no harm in providingagainst what may happen. Make your breakfast quickly, for ordersmay come at any moment;" and he strode away to look after thegeneral readiness of his men. 

The two brothers compared the address on the letters and laughed alittle grimly. "Cap is a-providing, sure enough, " Sam Wetherbyremarked. "They are both written to the pretty Helen Kemble thathe used to make eyes at in the singing-school. I guess he thinksthat you might stop a bullet as well as himself, Jim. "

"It's clear he thinks your chances for taking in lead are just asgood, " replied Jim. "But come, I'm one of them fellows that'snever hit till I am hit. One thing at a time, and now it'sbreakfast. "

"Well, hanged if I want to charge under the lead of any othercaptain!" remarked Sam, meditatively sipping his coffee. "If thatgirl up yonder knows Cap's worth, she'll cry her eyes out ifanything happens to him. "

A few moments later the birds fled to the closest cover, startledby the innumerable bugles sounding the note of preparation. Soonthe different corps, divisions, and brigades were upon theirprescribed lines of march. No movement could be made withoutrevealing the close proximity of the enemy. Rifle-reports fromskirmish lines and reconnoitring parties speedily followed. AConfederate force was developed on the turnpike leading southwestfrom the old Wilderness Tavern; and the fighting began. At abouteight o'clock Grant and Meade came up and made their headquartersbeneath some pine-trees near the tavern. General Grant couldscarcely believe at first that Lee had left his strongintrenchments to give battle in a region little better than ajungle; but he soon had ample and awful proof of the fact. Practically unseen by each other, the two armies grappled likegiants in the dark. So thick were the trees and undergrowth that asoldier on a battle line could rarely see a thousand men on eitherside of him, yet nearly two hundred thousand men matched theirdeadly strength that day. Hundreds fell, died, and were hiddenforever from human eyes. 

Thinking to sweep away the rear-guard of Lee's retreating army, Grant ordered a strong advance on the pike in the afternoon. Atfirst it was eminently successful, and if it had been followed upvigorously and steadily, as it undoubtedly would have been if thecommander had known what was afterward revealed, it might haveresulted in severe disaster to the Confederates. The enemy waspressed back rapidly; and the advancing Union forces were filledwith enthusiasm. Before this early success culminated, genuinesorrow saddened every one in Captain Nichol's company. With hisface toward the enemy, impetuously leading his men, he suddenlydropped his sword and fell senseless. Sam and Jim Wetherby heard ashell shrieking toward them, and saw it explode directly overtheir beloved leader. They rushed to his side; blood was pouringover his face, and it also seemed to them that a fragment of theshell had fatally wounded him in the forehead. 

"Poor Cap, poor, brave Cap!" ejaculated Sam. "He didn't give usthose letters for nothing. "

"A bad job, an awfully bad job for us all! curse the eyes thataimed that shell!" growled practical Jim. "Here, take hold. We'llput him in that little dry ditch we just passed, and bury himafter the fight, if still on our pins. We can't leave him here tobe tramped on. "

This they did, then hastily rejoined their company, which hadswept on with the battle line. Alas! that battle line and othersalso were driven back with terrible slaughter before the dayclosed. Captain Nichol was left in the ditch where he had beenplaced, and poor Sam Wetherby lay on his back, staring with eyesthat saw not at a shattered bird's nest in the bushes above hishead. The letter in his pocket mouldered with him. 

Jim's begrimed and impassive face disguised an aching heart as heboiled his coffee alone that night. Then, although wearied almostto exhaustion, he gave himself no rest until he had found whatpromised to be the safest means of forwarding the letter in hispocket. 

CHAPTER II

LOVE AT HOME

Long years before the war, happy children were growing in thevillage of Alton. They studied the history of wars much as theyconned their lessons in geography. Scenes of strife belonged tothe past, or were enacted among people wholly unlike any who dweltin their peaceful community. That Americans should ever fight eachother was as undreamed of as that the minister should have apitched battle in the street with his Sunday-schoolsuperintendent. They rejoiced mildly when in their progressthrough the United States history they came to pages descriptiveof Indian wars and the Revolutionary struggle, since they foundtheir lessons then more easily remembered than the wordy disputesand little understood decisions of statesmen. The first skating onthe pond was an event which far transcended in importance anythingrelated between the green covers of the old history book, while toAlbert Nichol the privilege of strapping skates on the feet oflittle Helen Kemble, and gliding away with her over the smoothice, was a triumph unknown by any general. He was the son of aplain farmer, and she the daughter of the village banker. Thus, even in childhood, there was thrown around her the glamour ofposition and reputed wealth--advantages which have their valueamong the most democratic folk, although slight outward deferencemay be paid to their possessors. It was the charming little faceitself, with its piquant smiles and still more piquant pouts, which won Albert's boyish admiration. The fact that she was thebanker's daughter only fired his ambition to be and to dosomething to make her proud of him. 

Hobart Martine, another boy of the village, shared all hisschoolmate's admiration for pretty Nellie, as she was usuallycalled. He had been lame from birth, and could not skate. He couldonly shiver on the bank or stamp around to keep himself warm, while the athletic Al and the graceful little girl passed andrepassed, quite forgetting him. There was one thing he could do;and this pleasure he waited for till often numb with cold. Hecould draw the child on his sled to her home, which adjoined hisown. 

When it came his turn to do this, and he limped patiently throughthe snow, tugging at the rope, his heart grew warm as well as hischilled body. She was a rather imperious little belle with theother boys, but was usually gentle with him because he was lameand quiet. When she thanked him kindly and pleasantly at her gate, he was so happy that he could scarcely eat his supper. Then hismother would laugh and say, "You've been with your littlesweetheart. " He would flush and make no reply. 

How little did those children dream of war, even when studyingtheir history lessons! Yet Albert Nichol now lay in the Wildernessjungle. He had done much to make his little playmate proud of him. The sturdy boy developed into a manly man. When he responded tohis country's call and raised a company among his old friends andneighbors, Helen Kemble exulted over him tearfully. She gave himthe highest tribute within her power and dearest possession--herheart. She made every campaign with him, following him with love'suntiring solicitude through the scenes he described, until at lastthe morning paper turned the morning sunshine into mockery and thesongs of the birds into dirges. Captain Nichol's name was on thelist of the killed. 

With something of the same jealousy, developed and intensified, which he had experienced while watching Albert glide away on theice with the child adored in a dumb, boyish way, Hobart had seenhis old schoolmate depart for the front. Then his rival took thegirl from him; now he took her heart. Martine's lameness kept himfrom being a soldier. He again virtually stood chilled on thebank, with a cold, dreary, hopeless feeling which he believedwould benumb his life. He did not know, he was not sure that hehad lost Helen beyond hope, until those lurid days when men onboth sides were arming and drilling for mutual slaughter. She wasalways so kind to him, and her tones so gentle when she spoke, that in love's fond blindness he had dared to hope. He eventuallylearned that she was only sorry for him. He did not, could not, blame her, for he needed but to glance at Nichol's stalwart form, and recall the young soldier's record, in order to know that itwould be strange indeed if the girl had chosen otherwise. He wouldhave been more than human if there had not been some bitterness inhis heart; but he fought it down honestly, and while pursuing hispeaceful avocations engaged in what he believed would be alifelong battle. He smiled at the girl across the garden fence andcalled out his cheery "Good-morning. " He was her frequentcompanion by the fireside or on the piazza, according to theseason; and he alone of the young men was welcome, for she hadlittle sympathy for those who remained at home without his excuse. He was so bravely her friend, keeping his great love so sternlyrepressed that she only felt it like a genial warmth in his tonesand manner, and believed that he was becoming in truth what heseemed, merely a friend. 

On that terrible May morning he was out in the garden and heardher wild, despairing cry as she read the fatal words. He knew thata heavy battle had been begun, and was going down to the gate forhis paper, which the newsboy had just left. There was no need ofopening it, for the bitter cry he had heard made known to him theone item of intelligence compared with which all else for the timebecame insignificant. Was it the Devil that inspired a great throbof hope in his heart? At any rate he thought it was, and groundhis heel into the gravel as if the serpent's head was beneath it, then limped to Mr. Kemble's door. 

The old banker came out to meet him, shaking his gray head andholding the paper in his trembling hand. "Ah!" he groaned, "I'vefeared it, I've feared it all along, but hoped that it would notbe. You've seen Nichol's name--" but he could not finish thesentence. 

"No, I have seen nothing; I only heard Helen's cry. That told thewhole story. "

"Yes. Well, her mother's with her. Poor girl! poor girl! God grantit isn't her death-blow too. She has suffered too much under thislong strain of anxiety. "

A generous resolve was forming in Martine's mind, and he saidearnestly, "We must tide her through this terrible shock. Theremay be some mistake; he may be only wounded. Do not let her giveup hope absolutely. I'll drop everything and go to the battlefieldat once. If the worst has in truth happened, I can bring home hisremains, and that would be a comfort to her. A newspaper report, made up hastily in the field, is not final. Let this hope breakthe cruel force of the blow, for it is hard to live without hope. "

"Well, Hobart, you ARE a true friend. God bless and reward you! Ifnothing comes of it for poor Nichol, as I fear nothing will, yourjourney and effort will give a faint hope to Nellie, and, as yousay, break the force of the blow. I'll go and tell her. "

Martine went into the parlor, which Helen had decorated withmementoes of her soldier lover. He was alone but a few momentsbefore he heard hasty steps. Helen entered with hot, tearless eyesand an agonized, imploring expression. 

"What!" she cried, "is it true that you'll go?"

"Yes, Helen, immediately. I do not think there's reason fordespair. "

"Oh, God bless you! friend, friend! I never knew what the wordmeant before. Oh, Hobart, no sister ever lavished love on abrother as I will love you if you bring back my Albert;" and inthe impulse of her overwhelming gratitude she buried her face onhis shoulder and sobbed aloud. Hope already brought the relief oftears. 

He stroked the bowed head gently, saying, "God is my witness, Helen, that I will spare no pains and shrink from no danger intrying to find Captain Nichol. I have known of many instanceswhere the first reports of battles proved incorrect;" and he ledher to a chair. 

"It is asking so much of you, " she faltered. 

"You have asked nothing, Helen. I have offered to go, and I AMgoing. It is a little thing for me to do. You know that mylameness only kept me from joining Captain Nichol's company. Nowtry to control your natural feelings like a brave girl, while Iexplain my plans as far as I have formed them. "

"Yes, yes! Wait a few moments. Oh, this pain at my heart! I thinkit would have broken if you hadn't come. I couldn't breathe; Ijust felt as if sinking under a weight. "

"Take courage, Helen. Remember Albert is a soldier. "

"IS, IS! Oh, thanks for that little word! You do not believe thathe is gone and lost to me?"

"I cannot believe it yet. We will not believe it. Now listenpatiently, for you will have your part to do. "

"Yes, yes; if I could only do something! That would help me somuch. Oh, if I could only go with you!"

"That would not be best or wise, and might defeat my efforts. Imust be free to go where you could not--to visit places unsafe foryou. My first step must be to get letters to our State Senator. Your father can write one, and I'll get one or two others. TheSenator will give me a letter to the Governor, who in turn willaccredit me to the authorities at Washington and the officer incommand on the battlefield. You know I shall need passes. Thosewho go to the extreme front must be able to account forthemselves. I will keep in telegraphic communication with you, andyou may receive additional tidings which will aid me in my search. Mr. Kemble!" he concluded, calling her father from his perturbedpacing up and down the hall. 

"Ah!" said the banker, entering, "this is a hundred-fold betterthan despairing, useless grief. I've heard the gist of what Hobarthas said, and approve it. Now I'll call mother, so that we may alltake courage and get a good grip on hope. "

They consulted together briefly, and in the prospect of action, Helen was carried through the first dangerous crisis in herexperience. 

CHAPTER III

"DISABLED"

Mrs. Martine grieved over her son's unexpected resolve. In herestimation he was engaging in a very dangerous and doubtfulexpedition. Probably mothers will never outgrow a certain jealousywhen they find that another woman has become first in the heartsof their sons. The sense of robbery was especially strong in thiscase, for Mrs. Martine was a widow, and Hobart an only andidolized child. 

The mother speedily saw that it would be useless to remonstrate, and tearfully aided him in his preparations. Before he departed, he won her over as an ally. "These times, mother, are bringingheavy burdens to very many, and we should help each other bearthem. You know what Helen is to me, and must be always. That issomething which cannot be changed. My love has grown with mygrowth and become inseparable from my life. I have my times ofweakness, but think I can truly say that I love her so well that Iwould rather make her happy at any cost to myself. If it is withinmy power, I shall certainly bring Nichol back, alive or dead. Prove your love to me, mother, by cheering, comforting, andsustaining that poor girl. I haven't as much hope of success as Itried to give her, but she needs hope now; she must have it, orthere is no assurance against disastrous effects on her health andmind. I couldn't bear that. "

"Well, Hobart, if he is dead, she certainly ought to reward yousome day. "

"We must not think of that. The future is not in our hands. We canonly do what is duty now. "

Noble, generous purposes give their impress to that index ofcharacter, the human face. When Martine came to say good-by toHelen, she saw the quiet, patient cripple in a new light. He nolonger secured her strong affection chiefly on the basis ofgentle, womanly commiseration. He was proving the possession ofthose qualities which appeal strongly to the feminine nature; hewas showing himself capable of prompt, courageous action, and hisplain face, revealing the spirit which animated him, became thatof a hero in her eyes. She divined the truth--the love so strongand unselfish that it would sacrifice itself utterly for her. Hewas seeking to bring back her lover when success in his missionwould blot out all hope for him. The effect of his action was mostsalutary, rousing her from the inertia of grief and despair. "If amere friend, " she murmured, "can be so brave and self-forgetful, Ihave no excuse for giving away utterly. "

She revealed in some degree her new impressions in parting. "Hobart, " she said, holding his hand in both of hers, "you havedone much to help me. You have not only brought hope, but you havealso shown a spirit which would shame me out of a selfish grief. Icannot now forget the claims of others, of my dear father andmother here, and I promise you that I will try to be brave likeyou, like Albert. I shall not become a weak, helpless burden, Ishall not sit still and wring idle hands when others areheroically doing and suffering. Good-by, my friend, my brother. God help us all!"

He felt that she understood him now as never before; and theknowledge inspired a more resolute purpose, if this were possible. That afternoon he was on his way. There came two or three days ofterrible suspense for Helen, relieved only by telegrams fromMartine as he passed from point to point. The poor girl struggledas a swimmer breasts pitiless waves intervening between him andthe shore. She scarcely allowed herself an idle moment; but hereffort was feverish and in a measure the result of excitement. Thepapers were searched for any scrap of intelligence, and the dailymail waited for until the hours and minutes were counted beforeits arrival. 

One morning her father placed Nichol's letter in her hands. Theyso trembled in the immense hope, the overwhelming emotion whichswept over her at sight of the familiar handwriting, that at firstshe could not open it. When at last she read the propheticmessage, she almost blotted out the writing with her tears, moaning, "He's dead, he's dead!" In her morbid, overwroughtcondition, the foreboding that had been in the mind of the writerwas conveyed to hers; and she practically gave up hope foranything better than the discovery and return of his remains. Herfather, mother, and intimate friends tried in vain to rally her;but the conviction remained that she had read her lover's farewellwords. In spite of the most pathetic and strenuous effort, shecould not keep up any longer, and sobbed till she slept in utterexhaustion. 

On the following day, old Mr. Wetherby came into the bank. Thelines about his mouth were rigid with suppressed feeling. Hehanded Mr. Kemble a letter, saying in a husky voice, "Jim sentthis. He says at the end I was to show it to you. " The scrawl gavein brief the details about Captain Nichol already known to thereader, and stated also that Sam Wetherby was missing. "All I knowis, " wrote the soldier, "that we were driven back, and bulletsflew like hail. The brush was so thick I couldn't see five yardseither way when I lost sight of Sam. "

The colonel of the regiment also wrote to Captain Nichol's father, confirming Private Wetherby's letter. The village had been throwninto a ferment by the tidings of the battle and its disastrousconsequences. There was bitter lamentation in many homes. Perhapsthe names of Captain Nichol and Helen were oftenest repeated inthe little community, for the fact of their mutual hopes was nolonger a secret. Even thus early some sagacious people noddedtheir heads and remarked, "Hobart Martine may have his chanceyet. " Helen Kemble believed without the shadow of a doubt that allthe heart she had for love had perished in the wilderness. 

The facts contained in Jim Wetherby's letter were telegraphed toMartine, and he was not long in discovering confirmation of themin the temporary hospitals near the battlefield. He found a man ofCaptain Nichol's company to whom Jim had related thecircumstances. For days the loyal friend searched laboriously thehorrible region of strife, often sickened nearly unto death by thescenes he witnessed, for his nature had not been rendered callousby familiarity with the results of war. Then instead of returninghome, he employed the influence given by his letters and passes, backed by his own earnest pleading, to obtain permission for avisit to Nichol's regiment. He found it under fire; and longafterward Jim Wetherby was fond of relating how quietly the lamecivilian listened to the shells shrieking over and explodingaround him. Thus Martine learned all that could be gathered ofNichol's fate, and then, ill and exhausted, he turned his facenorthward. He felt that it would be a hopeless task to renew hissearch on the battlefield, much of which had been burned over. Healso had the conviction it would be fatal to him to look upon itsunspeakable horrors, and breathe again its pestilential air. 

He was a sick man when he arrived at home, but was able to relatemodestly in outline the history of his efforts, softening andconcealing much that he had witnessed. In the delirium of feverwhich followed, they learned more fully of what he had endured, ofhow he had forced himself to look upon things which, reproduced inhis ravings, almost froze the blood of his watchers. 

Helen Kemble felt that her cup of bitterness had been filled anew, yet the distraction of a new grief, in which there was a certainremorseful self-reproach, had the effect of blunting the sharpedge of her first sorrow. In this new cause for dread she wascompelled in some degree to forget herself. She saw the intensesolicitude of her father and mother, who had been so readilyaccessory to Martine's expedition; she also saw that his mother'sheart was almost breaking under the strain of anxiety. Hisincoherent words were not needed to reveal that his effort hadbeen prompted by his love. She was one of his watchers, patientlyenduring the expressions of regret which the mother in her sharpagony could not repress. Nichol's last letter was now known byheart, its every word felt to be prophetic. She had indeed beencalled upon to exercise courage and fortitude greater than hecould manifest even in the Wilderness battle. Although she oftenfaltered, she did not fail in carrying out his instructions. Whenat last Martine, a pallid convalescent, could sit in the shade onthe piazza, she looked older by years, having, besides, theexpression seen in the eyes of some women who have suffered much, and can still suffer much more. In the matter relating to theirdeepest consciousness, no words had passed between them. She feltas if she were a widow, and hoped he would understand. His fullrecognition of her position, and acceptance of the fact that shedid and must mourn for her lover, his complete self-abnegation, brought her a sense of peace. 

The old clock on the landing of the stairway measured off thehours and days with monotonous regularity. Some of the hours anddays had been immeasurably longer than the ancient timekeeper hadindicated; but in accordance with usual human experiences, theybegan to grow shorter. Poignant sorrow cannot maintain itsseverity, or people could not live. Vines, grasses, and flowerscovered the graves in Virginia; the little cares, duties, andamenities of life began to screen at times the sorrows that werenevertheless ever present. 

"Hobart, " Helen said one day in the latter part of June, "do youthink you will be strong enough to attend the commemorativeservices next week? You know they have been waiting for you. "

"Yes, " he replied quietly; "'and they should not have delayed themso long. It is very sad that so many others have been addedsince--since--"

"Well, you have not been told, for we have tried to keep everydepressing and disquieting influence from you. Dr. Barnes said itwas very necessary, because you had seen so much that you shouldtry to forget. Ah, my friend, I can never forget what you sufferedfor me! Captain Nichol's funeral sermon was preached while youwere so ill. I was not present--I could not be. I've been to seehis mother often, and she understands me. I could not havecontrolled my grief, and I have a horror of displaying my mostsacred feelings in public. Father and the people also wish you tobe present at the general commemorative services, when our Senatorwill deliver a eulogy on those of our town who have fallen; but Idon't think you should go if you feel that it will have a badeffect on you. "

"I shall be present, Helen. I suppose my mind has been weak likemy body; but the time has come when I must take up life again andaccept its conditions as others are doing. You certainly aresetting me a good example. I admit that my illness has left apeculiar repugnance to hearing and thinking about the war; it allseemed so very horrible. But if our brave men can face the thingitself, I should be weak indeed if I could not listen to a eulogyof their deeds. "

"I am coming to think, " resumed Helen, thoughtfully, "that thebattle line extends from Maine to the Gulf, and that quiet peoplelike you and me are upon it as truly as the soldiers in the field. I have thought that perhaps the most merciful wounds are oftenthose which kill outright. "

"I can easily believe that, " he said. 

His quiet tone and manner did not deceive her, and she looked athim wistfully as she resumed, "But if they do not kill, the painmust be borne patiently, even though we are in a measuredisabled. "

"Yes, Helen; and you are disabled in your power to give me what Ican never help giving you. I know that. I will not misjudge orpresume upon your kindness. We are too good friends to affect anyconcealments from each other. "

"You have expressed my very thought. When you spoke of acceptingthe conditions of life, I hoped you had in mind what you havesaid--the conditions of life as they ARE, as we cannot help orchange them. We both have got to take up life under newconditions. "

"You have; not I, Helen. "

Tears rushed to her eyes as she faltered, "I would betransparently false should I affect not to know. What I wish youto feel through the coming months and years is that I cannot--thatI am disabled by my wound. "

"I understand, Helen. We can go on as we have begun. You havelost, as I have not, for I have never possessed. You will be thegreater sufferer; and it will be my dear privilege to cheer andsustain you in such ways as are possible to a simple friend. "

She regarded him gratefully, and for the first time since thatterrible May morning the semblance of a smile briefly illuminedher face. 

CHAPTER IV

MARTINE SEEKS AN ANTIDOTE

It can readily be understood that Martine in his expedition to theSouth had not limited his efforts solely to his search for CaptainNichol. Wherever it had been within his power he had learned allthat he could of other officers and men who had come from hisnative region; and his letters to their relatives had been in someinstances sources of unspeakable comfort. In his visit to thefront he had also seen and conversed with his fellow-townsmen, some of whom had since perished or had been wounded. As he grewstronger, Helen wrote out at his dictation all that he couldremember concerning these interviews; and these accounts becameprecious heirlooms in many families. 

On the Fourth of July the commemorative oration was delivered bythe Senator, who proved himself to be more than senator by hisdeep, honest feeling and good taste. The "spread eagle" elementwas conspicuously absent in his solemn, dignified, yet hopefulwords. He gave to each their meed of praise. He grew eloquent overthe enlisted men who had so bravely done their duty without theincentive of ambition. When he spoke of the honor reflected on thevillage by the heroism of Captain Nichol, the hearts of the peopleglowed with gratitude and pride; but thoughts of pity came to allas they remembered the girl, robed in black, who sat with bowedhead among them. 

"I can best bring my words to a close, " said the Senator, "byreading part of a letter written by one of your townsmen, aprivate in the ranks, yet expressive of feelings inseparable fromour common human nature:

"DEAR FATHER--You know I ain't much given to fine feelings or finewords. Poor Sam beat me all holler in such things; but I want youand all the folks in Alton to know that you've got a regularsoldier at home. Of course we were all glad to see Bart Martine;and we expected to have a good-natured laugh at his expense whenthe shells began to fly. Soldiers laugh, as they eat, every chancethey get, 'cause they remember it may be the last one. Well, weknew Bart didn't know any more about war than a chicken, and weexpected to see him get very nervous and limp off to the rear onthe double quick. He didn't scare worth a cent. When a shellscreeched over our heads, he just waited till the dinged noise wasout of our ears and then went on with his questions about poor Capand Sam and the others from our town. We were supporting abattery, and most of us lying down. He sat there with us a goodhour, telling about the folks at home, and how you were allfollowing us with your thoughts and prayers, and how you allmourned with those who lost friends, and were looking after thechildren of the killed and wounded. Fact is, before we knew it wewere all on our feet cheering for Alton and the folks at home andthe little lame man, who was just as good a soldier as any of us. I tell you he heartened up the boys, what's left of us. I'm sorryto hear he's so sick. If he should die, bury him with a soldier'shonors. JAMES WETHERBY. "

"These plain, simple, unadorned words, " concluded the Senator, "need no comment. Their force and significance cannot be enhancedby anything I can say. I do not know that I could listen quietlyto shrieking and exploding shells while I spoke words of courageand good cheer; but I do know that I wish to be among the foremostto honor your modest, unassuming townsman, who could do all thisand more. "

Martine was visibly distressed by this unexpected feature in theoration and the plaudits which followed. He was too sad, too weakin body and mind, and too fresh from the ghastly battlefield, notto shrink in sensitive pain from personal and public commendation. He evaded his neighbors as far as possible and limped hastilyaway. 

He did not see Helen again till the following morning, for herwound had been opened afresh, and she spent the remainder of theday and evening in the solitude of her room. Martine was troubledat this, and thought she felt as he did. 

In the morning she joined him on the piazza. She was pale from herlong sad vigil, but renewed strength and a gentle patience wereexpressed in her thin face. 

"It's too bad, Helen, " he broke out in unwonted irritation. "Iwouldn't have gone if I had known. It was a miserable letting downof all that had gone before--that reference to me. "

Now she smiled brightly as she said, "You are the only one presentwho thought so. Has this been worrying you?"

"Yes, it has. If the speaker had seen what I saw, he would haveknown better. His words only wounded me. "

"He judged you by other men, Hobart. His words would not havewounded very many. I'm glad I heard that letter--that I havelearned what I never could from you. I'm very proud of my friend. What silly creatures women are, anyway! They want their friends tobe brave, yet dread the consequences of their being so beyondwords. "

"Well, " said Martine, a little grimly, "I'm going to my office to-morrow. I feel the need of a long course of reading inBlackstone. "

"You must help keep me busy also, " was her reply. 

"I've thought about that; yes, a great deal. You need somewholesome, natural interest that is capable of becoming somewhatabsorbing. Is it strange that I should recommend one phase of myhobby, flowers? You know that every tree, shrub, and plant on ourlittle place is a sort of a pet with me. You are fond of flowers, but have never given much thought to their care, leaving that toyour gardener. Flowers are only half enjoyed by those who do notcultivate them, nurse, or pet them. Then there is such an infinitevariety that before you know it your thoughts are pleasantlyoccupied in experimenting with even one family of plants. It is aninterest which will keep you much in the open air and bring youclose to Mother Nature. "

The result of this talk was that the sad-hearted girl first byresolute effort and then by a growing fondness for the tasks, began to take a personal interest in the daily welfare of herplants. Martine and her father were always on the look-out forsomething new and rare; and as winter approached, the former had asmall conservatory built on the sunny side of the house. They alsogave her several caged song-birds, which soon learned to recognizeand welcome her. From one of his clients Martine obtained a droll-looking dog that seemed to possess almost human intelligence. Inthe daily care of living things and dependent creatures that couldbloom or be joyous without jarring upon her feelings, as wouldhuman mirth or gayety, her mind became wholesomely occupied partof each day; she could smile at objects which did not know, whichcould not understand. 

Still, there was no effort on her part to escape sad memories orthe acts and duties which revived them. A noble monument had beenerected to Captain Nichol, and one of her chief pleasures was todecorate it with the flowers grown under her own care. Few dayspassed on which she did not visit one of the families who were orhad been represented at the front, while Mrs. Nichol felt that ifshe had lost a son she had in a measure gained a daughter. As themonths passed and winter was wellnigh spent, the wise gossips ofthe village again began to shake their heads and remark, "HelenKemble and Bart Martine are very good friends; but I guess that'sall it will amount to--all, at any rate, for a long time. "

All, for all time, Helen had honestly thought. It might easilyhave been for all time had another lover sought her, or if Martinehimself had become a wooer and so put her on her guard. It was hispatient acceptance of what she had said could not be helped, hisself-forgetfulness, which caused her to remember his need--a needgreatly increased by a sad event. In the breaking up of winter hismother took a heavy cold which ended in pneumonia and death. 

The gossips made many plans for him and indulged in many surmisesas to what he would do; but he merely engaged the services of anold woman as domestic, and lived on quietly as before. Perhaps hegrew a little morbid after this bereavement and clung more closelyto his lonely hearth. 

This would not be strange. Those who dwell among shadows becomeill at ease away from them. Helen was the first to discover thistendency, and to note that he was not rallying as she had hoped hewould. He rarely sought their house except by invitation, and thenoften lapsed into silences which he broke with an evident effort. He never uttered a word of complaint or consciously appealed forsympathy, but was slowly yielding to the steady pressure ofsadness which had almost been his heritage. She would have beenless than woman if, recalling the past and knowing so well theunsatisfied love in his heart, she had not felt for him daily alarger and deeper commiseration. When the early March windsrattled the casements, or drove the sleety rain against thewindows, she saw him in fancy sitting alone brooding, alwaysbrooding. 

One day she asked abruptly, "Hobart, what are you thinking aboutso deeply when you are looking at the fire?"

A slow, deep flush came into his face, and he hesitated in hisanswer. At last he said, "I fear I'm getting into a bad mood, andthink I must do something decided. Well, for one thing, thecontinuance of this war weighs upon my spirit. Men are getting soscarce that I believe they will take me in some capacity. Now thatmother is not here, I think I ought to go. "

"Oh, Hobart, we would miss you so!" she faltered. 

He looked up with a smile. "Yes, Helen, I think you would--notmany others, though. You have become so brave and strong that youdo not need me any more. "

"I am not so brave and strong as I seem. If I were, how did Ibecome so? With the tact and delicacy of a woman, yet with thestrength of a man, you broke the crushing force of the first blow, and have helped me ever since. "

"You see everything through a very friendly medium. At any rate Icould not have been content a moment if I had not done all in mypower. You do not need me any longer; you have become a source ofstrength to others. I cannot help seeing crowded hospital wards;and the thought pursues me that in one of them I might dosomething to restore a soldier to his place in the field or savehim for those at home. I could at least be a hospital nurse, and Ibelieve it would be better for me to be doing some such work. "

"I believe it would be better for me also, " she answered, her eyesfull of tears. 

"No, Helen--no, indeed. You have the higher mission of healing theheart-wounds which the war is making in your own vicinity. Youshould not think of leaving your father and mother in their oldage, or of filling their days with anxiety which might shortentheir lives. "

"It will be very hard for us to let you go. Oh, I did not think Iwould have to face this also!"

He glanced at her hastily, for there was a sharp distress in hertone, of which she was scarcely conscious herself. Then, as ifrecollecting himself, he reasoned gently and earnestly: "You werenot long in adopting the best antidote for trouble. In comfortingothers, you have been comforted. The campaign is opening inVirginia; and I think it would be a good and wholesome thing forme to be at work among the wounded. If I can save one life, itwill be such a comfort after the war is over. "

"Yes, " she replied, softly; "the war will be over some day. Albert, in his last letter, said the war would cease, and thathappy days of peace were coming. How they can ever be happy daysto some I scarcely know; but he seemed to foresee the future whenhe wrote. "

"Helen, I'm going. Perhaps the days of peace will be a littlehappier if I go. "

CHAPTER V

SECOND BLOOM

Martine carried out his purpose almost immediately, seeking thetemporary and most exposed hospitals on the extreme left ofGrant's army before Petersburg. Indeed, while battles were stillin progress he would make his way to the front and become thesurgeon's tireless assistant. While thus engaged, even under theenemy's fire, he was able to render services to Jim Wetherby whichprobably saved the soldier's life. Jim lost his right arm, butfound a nurse who did not let him want for anything till thedanger point following amputation had passed. Before many weeks hewas safe at home, and from him Helen learned more of Martine'squiet heroism than she could ever gather from his letters. In JimWetherby's estimation, Cap and Bart Martine were the two heroes ofthe war. 

The latter had found the right antidote. Not a moment was left formorbid brooding. On every side were sharp physical distress, deadly peril to life and limb, pathetic efforts to hold groundagainst diseases or sloughing wounds. In aiding such endeavor, ingiving moral support and physical care, Martine forgot himself. Helen's letters also were an increasing inspiration. He couldscarcely take up one of them and say, "Here her words begin tohave a warmer tinge of feeling;" but as spring advanced, imperceptibly yet surely, in spite of pauses and apparentretrogressions, just so surely she revealed a certain warmth ofsympathy. He was engaged in a work which made it easy for her toidealize him. His unselfish effort to help men live, to keepbitter tears from the eyes of their relatives, appealed mostpowerfully to all that was unselfish in her nature, and she wasbeginning to ask, "If I can make this man happier, why should Inot do so?" Nichol's letter gained a new meaning in the light ofevents: "I do not ask you to forget me--that would be worse thandeath--but I ask you to try to be happy and to make others happy. "

"A noble, generous nature prompted those words, " she now oftenmused. "How can I obey their spirit better than in rewarding theman who not only has done so much for me, but also at every costsought to rescue him?"

In this growing disposition she had no innate repugnance toovercome, nor the shrinking which can neither be defined norreasoned against. Accustomed to see him almost daily fromchildhood, conscious for years that he was giving her a love thatwas virtually homage, she found her heart growing verycompassionate and ready to yield the strong, quiet affection whichshe believed might satisfy him. This had come about through noeffort on her part, from no seeking on his, but was the result ofcircumstances, the outgrowth of her best and most unselfishfeelings. 

But the effect began to separate itself in character from itscauses. All that had gone before might explain why she waslearning to love him, and be sufficient reason for this affection, but a woman's love, even that quiet phase developing in Helen'sheart, is not like a man's conviction, for which he can give hisclear-cut reasons. It is a tenderness for its object--a wish toserve and give all in return for what it receives. 

Martine vaguely felt this change in Helen long before heunderstood it. He saw only a warmer glow of sisterly affection, too high a valuation of his self-denying work, and a more generousattempt to give him all the solace and support within her power. 

One day in July, when the war was well over and the fieldhospitals long since broken up, he wrote from Washington, where hewas still pursuing his labors:

"My work is drawing to a close. Although I have not accomplished atithe of what I wished to do, and have soon so much left undone, Iam glad to remember that I have alleviated much pain and, I think, saved some lives. Such success as I have had, dear Helen, haslargely been due to you. Your letters have been like manna. You donot know--it would be impossible for you to know--the strengththey have given, the inspiration they have afforded. I amnaturally very weary and worn physically, and the doctors say Imust soon have rest; but your kind words have been life-giving tomy soul. I turn to them from day to day as one would seek a cool, unfailing spring. I can now accept life gratefully with theconditions which cannot be changed. How fine is the influence of awoman like you! What deep springs of action it touches! Whenwaiting on the sick and wounded, I try to blend your womanlynature with my coarser fibre. Truly, neither of us has suffered invain if we learn better to minister to others. I cannot tell youhow I long to see the home gardens again; and it now seems thatjust to watch you in yours will be unalloyed happiness. "

Helen smiled over this letter with sweet, deep meanings in hereyes. 

One August evening, as the Kemble family sat at tea, he gave thema joyous surprise by appearing at the door and asking in a matter-of-fact voice, "Can you put an extra plate on the table?"

There was no mistaking the gladness of her welcome, for it was asgenuine as the bluff heartiness of her father and the gentlesolicitude of her mother, who exclaimed, "Oh, Hobart, how thin andpale you are!"

"A few weeks' rest at home will remedy all that, " he said. "Theheat in Washington was more trying than my work. "

"Well, thank the Lord! you ARE at home once more, " cried thebanker. "I was thinking of drawing on the authorities atWashington for a neighbor who had been loaned much too long. "

"Helen, " said Martine, with pleased eyes, "how well you look! Itis a perfect delight to see color in your cheeks once more. Theyare gaining, too, their old lovely roundness. I'm going to saywhat I think right out, for I've been with soldiers so long thatI've acquired their bluntness. "

"It's that garden work you lured me into, " she explained. "I hopeyou won't think your plants and trees have been neglected. "

"Have you been keeping my pets from missing me?"

"I guess they have missed you least of all. Helen has seen to itthat they were cared for first, " said Mrs. Kemble, emphatically. 

"You didn't write about that;" and he looked at the girlgratefully. 

"Do you think I could see weeds and neglect just over the fence?"she asked, with a piquant toss of her head. 

"Do you think I could believe that you cared for my garden onlythat your eyes might not be offended?"

"There, I only wished to give you a little surprise. You havetreated us to one by walking in with such delightfulunexpectedness, and so should understand. I'll show you when youare through supper. "

"I'm through now;" and he rose with a promptness most pleasing toher. His gladness in recognizing old and carefully nurturedfriends, his keen, appreciative interest in the new candidates forfavor that she had planted, rewarded her abundantly. 

"Oh, " he exclaimed, "what a heavenly exchange from the close, fetid air of hospital wards! Could the first man have been morecontent in his divinely planted garden?"

She looked at him shyly and thought, "Perhaps when you taste ofthe fruit of knowledge the old story will have a new and bettermeaning. "

She now regarded him with a new and wistful interest, no longerseeing him through the medium of friendship only. His face, thinand spiritualized, revealed his soul without disguise. It was thecountenance of one who had won peace through the divine path ofministry--healing others, himself had been healed. She saw alsohis unchanged, steadfast love shining like a gem over which flowsa crystal current. Its ray was as serene as it was undimmed. Ithad taken its place as an imperishable quality in his character--aplace which it would retain without vicissitude unless some signfrom her called it into immediate and strong manifestation. Shewas in no haste to give this. Time was touching her kindly; thesharp, cruel outlines of the past were softening in the distance, and she was content to remember that the treasure was hers whenshe was ready for it--a treasure more valued daily. 

With exultation she saw him honored by the entire community. Fewdays passed without new proofs of the hold he had gained on thedeepest and best feelings of the people. She who once had pitiednow looked up to him as the possessor of that manhood which themost faultless outward semblance can only suggest. 

Love is a magician at whose touch the plainest features take onnew aspects. Helen's face had never been plain. Even in itsanguish it had produced in beholders the profound commiserationwhich is more readily given when beauty is sorrowful. Now that anew life at heart was expressing itself, Martine, as well asothers, could not fail to note the subtile changes. While the dewyfreshness of her girlish bloom was absent, the higher and morewomanly qualities were now revealing themselves. Her nature hadbeen deepened by her experiences, and the harmony of her life wasall the sweeter for its minor chords. 

To Martine she became a wonderful mystery, and he almostworshipped the woman whose love he believed buried in an unknowngrave, but whose eyes were often so strangely kind. He resumed hisold life, but no longer brooded at home, when the autumn windsbegan to blow. He recognized the old danger and shunned itresolutely. If he could not beguile his thoughts from Helen, itwas but a step to her home, and her eyes always shone with aluminous welcome. Unless detained by study of the legal points ofsome case in hand, he usually found his way over to the Kemblefireside before the evening passed, and his friends encouraged himto come when he felt like it. The old banker found the young manexceedingly companionable, especially in his power to discussintelligently the new financial conditions into which the countrywas passing. Helen would smile to herself as she watched the twomen absorbed in questions she little understood, and observed hermother nodding drowsily over her knitting. The scene was sopeaceful, so cheery, so hopeful against the dark background of thepast, that she could not refrain from gratitude. Her heart nolonger ached with despairing sorrow, and the anxious, troubledexpression had faded out of her parents' faces. 

"Yes, " she would murmur softly to herself, "Albert was right; thebloody war has ceased, and the happy days of peace are coming. Heaven has blessed him and made his memory doubly blessed, in thathe had the heart to wish them to be happy, although he could notlive to see them. Unconsciously he took the thorns out of the pathwhich led to his friend and mine. How richly father enjoysHobart's companionship! He will be scarcely less happy--when heknows--than yonder friend, who is such a very scrupulous friend. Indeed, how either is ever going to know I scarcely see, unless Imake a formal statement. "

Suddenly Martine turned, and caught sight of her expression. 

"All I have for your thoughts! What wouldn't I give to know them!"

Her face became rosier than the firelight warranted as she laughedoutright and shook her head. 

"No matter, " he said; "I am content to hear you laugh like that. "

"Yes, yes, " added the banker; "Helen's laugh is sweeter to me thanany music I ever heard. Thank God! we all can laugh again. I amgetting old, and in the course of nature must soon jog on to thebetter country. When that time comes, the only music I want tohear from earth is good, honest laughter. "

"Now, papa, hush that talk right away, " cried Helen, withglistening eyes. 

"What's the matter?" Mrs. Kemble asked, waking up. 

"Nothing, my dear, only it's time for us old people to go to bed. "

"Well, I own that it would be more becoming to sleep there than toreflect so unfavorably on your conversation. Of late years talkabout money matters always puts me to sleep. "

"That wasn't the case, was it, my dear, when we tried to stretch athousand so it would reach from one January to another?"

"I remember, " she replied, smiling and rolling up her knitting, "that we sometimes had to suspend specie payments. Ah, well, wewere happy. "

When left alone, it was Helen's turn to say, "Now your thoughtsare wool-gathering. You don't see the fire when you look at itthat way. "

"No, I suppose not, " replied Martine. "I'll be more frank thanyou. Your mother's words, 'We were happy, ' left an echo in mymind. How experience varies! It is pleasant to think that thereare many perfectly normal, happy lives like those of your fatherand mother. "

"That's one thing I like in you, Hobart. You are so perfectlywilling that others should be happy. "

"Helen, I agree with your father. Your laugh WAS music, thesweetest I ever heard. I'm more than willing that you should behappy. Why should you not be? I have always felt that what he saidwas true--what he said about the right to laugh after sorrow--butit never seemed so true before. Who could wish to leave blightingsorrow after him? Who could sing in heaven if he knew that he hadleft tears which could not be dried on earth?"

"You couldn't, " she replied with bowed head. 

"Nor you, either; nor the brave man who died, to whom I only dojustice in believing that he would only be happier could he hearyour laugh. Your father's wholesome, hearty nature should teach usto banish every morbid tendency. Let your heart grow as light asit will, my friend. Your natural impulses will not lead youastray. Good-night. "

"You feel sure of that?" she asked, giving him a hand thatfluttered in his, and looking at him with a soft fire in her eyes. 

"Oh, Helen, how distractingly beautiful you are! You are bloomingagain like your Jack-roses when the second growth pushes them intoflower. There; I must go. If I had a stone in my breast instead ofa heart--Good-night. I won't be weak again. "

CHAPTER VI

MORE THAN REWARD

Helen Kemble's character was simple and direct She was one wholived vividly in the passing hour, and had a greater capacity fordeep emotions than for retaining them. The reputation forconstancy is sometimes won by those incapable of strongconvictions. A scratch upon a rock remains in all its sharpness, while the furrow that has gone deep into the heart of a field iseventually almost hidden by a new flowering growth. The truth wasfully exemplified in Helen's case; and a willingness to marry herlifelong lover, prompted at first by a spirit of self-sacrifice, had become, under the influence of daily companionship, more thanmere assent. While gratitude and the wish to see the light of agreat, unexpected joy come into his eyes remained her chiefmotives, she had learned that she could attain a happinessherself, not hoped for once, in making him happy. 

He was true to his word, after the interview described in thepreceding chapter. He did not consciously reveal the unappeasedhunger of his heart, but her intuition was never at fault amoment. 

One Indian-summer-like morning, about the middle of October, hewent over to her home and said, "Helen, what do you say to a longday's outing? The foliage is at its brightest, the air soft asthat of June. Why not store up a lot of this sunshine for winteruse?"

"Yes, Helen, go, " urged her mother. "I can attend to everything. "

"A long day, did you stipulate?" said the girl in ready assent;"that means we should take a lunch. I don't believe you everthought of that. "

"We could crack nuts, rob apple-orchards, or if driven toextremity, raid a farmhouse. "

"You have heard too much from the soldiers about living off thecountry. I'd rather raid mamma's cupboard before we start. I'll beready as soon as you are. "

He soon appeared in his low, easy phaeton; and she joined him withthe presentiment that there might be even greater gladness in hisface by evening than it now expressed. While on the way to thebrow of a distant hill which would be their lunching place, theyeither talked with the freedom of old friends or lapsed into longsilences. 

At last he asked, "Isn't it a little odd that when with you thesense of companionship is just as strong when you are nottalking?"

"It's a comfort you are so easily entertained. Don't you think I'ma rather moderate talker for a woman?"

"Those that talk the most are often least entertaining. I'vethought a good deal about it--the unconscious influence of peopleon one another. I don't mean influence in any moral sense, but inthe power to make one comfortable or uncomfortable, and to producea sense of restfulness and content or to make one ill at ease andnervously desirous of escape. "

"And you have actually no nervous desire to escape, no castingsaround in your mind for an excuse to turn around and drive home?"

"No one could give a surer answer to your question than yourself. I've been thinking of something pleasanter than my enjoyment. "

"Well?"

"That your expression has been a very contented one during thelast hour. I am coming to believe that you can accept myfriendship without effort. You women are all such mysteries! Onegets hold of a clew now and then. I have fancied that if you hadstarted out in the spirit of self-sacrifice that I might have apleasant time, you would be more conscious of your purpose. Evenyour tact might not have kept me from seeing that you wereexerting yourself; but the very genius of the day seems to possessyou. Nature is not exerting herself in the least. No breath of airis stirring; all storms are in the past or the future. With asmile on her face, she is just resting in serene content, as youwere, I hope. She is softening and obscuring everything distant byan orange haze, so that the sunny present may be all the morereal. Days like these will do you good, especially if your faceand manner reveal that you can be as truly at rest as Nature. "

"Yet what changes may soon pass over the placid scene!"

"Yes, but don't think of them. "

"Well, I won't--not now. Yes, you are becoming very penetrating. Iam not exerting myself in the least to give you a pleasant time. Iam just selfishly and lazily content. "

"That fact gives me so much more than content that it makes mehappy. "

"Hobart, you are the most unselfish man I ever knew. "

"Nonsense!"

They had reached their picnic-ground--the edge of a grove whosebright-hued foliage still afforded a grateful shade. The horse wasunharnessed and picketed so that he might have a long range forgrazing. Then Martine brought the provision basket to the foot ofa great oak, and sat down to wait for Helen, who had wandered awayin search of wild flowers. At last she came with a handful oflate-blooming closed gentians. 

"I thought these would make an agreeable feature in your lunch. "

"Oh, you are beginning to exert yourself. "

"Yes, I have concluded to, a little. So must you, to the extent ofmaking a fire. The rest will be woman's work. I propose to drinkyour health in a cup of coffee. "

"Ah, this is unalloyed, " he cried, sipping it later on. 

"The coffee?"

"Yes, and everything. We don't foresee the bright days any morethan the dark ones. I did not dream of this in Virginia. "

"You are easily satisfied. The coffee is smoky, the lunch is cold, winter is coming, and--"

"And I am very happy, " he said. 

"It would be a pity to disturb your serenity. "

"Nothing shall disturb it to-day. Peace is one of the rarestexperiences in this world. I mean only to remember that our armiesare disbanded and that you are at rest, like Nature. "

She had brought a little book of autumn poems, and after lunchread to him for an hour, he listening with the same expression ofquiet satisfaction. As the day declined, she shivered slightly inthe shade. He immediately arose and put a shawl around her. 

"You are always shielding me, " she said gently. 

"One can do so little of that kind of thing, " he replied, "notmuch more than show intent. "

"Now you do yourself injustice. " After a moment's hesitancy sheadded, "I am not quite in your mood to-day, and even Nature, asyour ally, cannot make me forget or even wish to forget. "

"I do not wish you to forget, but merely cease to remember for alittle while. You say Nature is my ally. Listen: already the windis beginning to sigh in the branches overhead. The sound is lowand mournful, as if full of regret for the past and forebodingsfor the future. There is a change coming. All that I wished orcould expect in you was that this serene, quiet day would give youa respite--that complete repose in which the wounded spirit ismore rapidly healed and strengthened for the future. "

"Have you been strengthened? Have you no fears for the future?"

"No fears, Helen. My life is strong in its negation. The man whois agitated by hopes and fears, who is doomed to disappointments, is the one who has not recognized his limitations, who has notaccepted well-defined conditions. "

"Hobart, I'm going to put you on your honor now. Remember, and donot answer hastily, " and her gaze into his face was searching. Although quiet and perfectly self-controlled, the rich colormounted to her very brow. 

"Well, Helen, " he asked wonderingly. 

"Imagine it possible, " she continued with the same earnest gaze, "that you were a woman who has loved as I have loved, and lost asI have. The circumstances are all known, and you have only torecall them. If a man had loved you as you have loved me--"

"But, Helen, can you not believe in a love so strong that it doesnot ask--"

By a gesture she checked him and repeated, "But if a man had lovedyou as you have loved me--remember now, on your honor--would youpermit him to love with no better reward than the consciousness ofbeing a solace, a help, a sort of buffer between you and the illsof life?"

"But, Helen, I am more than that: I am your friend. "

"Indeed you are, the best a woman ever had, or I could not speakas I am doing. Yet what I say is true. From the first it has beenyour sleepless aim to stand between me and trouble. What have Iever done for you?"

"In giving me your friendship--"

Again she interrupted him, saying, "That virtually means givingyou the chance for continued self-sacrifice. Any man or woman inthe land would give you friendship on such terms, YOUR terms withme. But you do not answer my question; yet you have answered itover and over again. Were you in my place with your unselfishnature, you could not take so very much without an inevitablelonging to return all in your power. "

He was deeply agitated. Burying his face in his hands, he saidhoarsely, "I must not look at you, or my duty may be too hard. Ah, you are banishing peace and serenity now with a vengeance! Irecognize your motive--whither your thoughts are tending. Yourconscience, your pity, your exaggerated gratitude are driving youto contemplate a self-sacrifice compared with which mine is asnothing. Yet the possibility of what you suggest is so sweet, so--oh, it is like the reward of heaven for a brief life!" Then hebowed his head lower and added slowly, as if the words were forcedfrom him, "No, Helen, you shall not reward me. I cannot take aspay, or 'return, ' as you express it, the reward that you aremeditating. I must not remember in after years that my efforts inyour behalf piled up such a burdensome sense of obligation thatthere was but one escape from it. "

She came to his side, and removing his hands from his face, retained one of them as she said, gently, "Hobart, I am no longera shy girl. I have suffered too deeply, I have learned toothoroughly how life may be robbed of happiness, and for a time, almost of hope, not to see the folly of letting the years slipaway, unproductive of half what they might yield to you and me. Iunderstand you; you do not understand me, probably because yourideal is too high. You employed an illustration in the narrowestmeaning. Is heaven given only as a reward? Is not every true giftan expression of something back of the gift, more than the gift?"

"Helen!"

"Yes, Hobart, in my wish to make you happier I am not bent onunredeemed self-sacrifice. You have been the most skilful ofwooers. "

"And you are the divinest of mysteries. How have I wooed you?"

"By not wooing at all, by taking a course which compelled my heartto plead your cause, by giving unselfish devotion so unstintedlythat like the rain and dew of heaven, it has fostered a new lifein my heart, different from the old, yet sweet, real, andprecious. I have learned that I can be happier in making youhappy. Oh, I shall be no martyr. Am I inconstant because time andyour ministry have healed the old wound--because the steady warmthand glow of your love has kindled mine?"

He regarded her with a gaze so rapt, so reverent, so expressive ofimmeasurable gratitude that her eyes filled with tears. "I thinkyou do understand me, " she whispered. 

He kissed her hand in homage as he replied, "A joy like this isalmost as hard to comprehend at first as an equally great sorrow. My garden teaches me to understand you. A perfect flower-stalk issuddenly and rudely broken. Instead of dying, it eventually sendsout a little side-shoot which gives what bloom it can. "

"And you will be content with what it can give?"

"I shall be glad with a happiness which almost terrifies me. OnlyGod knows how I have longed for this. "

That evening the old banker scarcely ceased rubbing his hands ingeneral felicitation, while practical, housewifely Mrs. Kemblealready began to plan what she intended to do toward establishingHelen in the adjoining cottage. 

Now that Martine believed his great happiness possible, he waseager for its consummation. At his request the 1st of December wasnamed as the wedding day. "The best that a fireside and eveninglamp ever suggested will then come true to me, " ha urged. "Sincethis can be, life is too short that it should not be soon. "

Helen readily yielded. Indeed, they were all so absorbed inplanning for his happiness as to be oblivious of the rising storm. When at last the girl went to her room, the wind sighed and wailedso mournfully around the house as to produce a feeling ofdepression and foreboding. 

CHAPTER VII

YANKEE BLANK

The wild night storm which followed the most memorable day of hislife had no power to depress Martine. In the wavy flames andglowing coals of his open fire he saw heavenly pictures of thefuture. He drew his mother's low chair to the hearth, and hiskindled fancy placed Helen in it. Memory could so reproduce herlovely and familiar features that her presence became almost areality. In a sense he watched her changing expression and heardher low, mellow tones. The truth that both would express anaffection akin to his own grew upon his consciousness like theincoming of a sun-lighted tide. The darkness and storm withoutbecame only the background of his pictures, enhancing everyprophetic representation. The night passed in ecstatic wakingdreams of all that the word "home" suggests when a woman, loved ashe loved Helen, was its architect. 

The days and weeks which followed were filled with divineenchantment; the prosaic world was transfigured; the intricaciesof the law were luminous with the sheen of gold, becoming thequartz veins from which he would mine wealth for Helen; the plantsin his little rose-house were cared for with caressing tendernessbecause they gave buds which would be worn over the heart nowthrobbing for him. Never did mortal know such unalloyed happinessas blessed Martine, as he became daily more convinced that Helenwas not giving herself to him merely from the promptings ofcompassion. 

At times, when she did not know he was listening, he heard herlow, sweet laugh; and it had a joyous ring and melody whichrepeated itself like a haunting refrain of music. He would saysmilingly, "It is circumstantial evidence, equivalent to directproof. "

Helen and her mother almost took possession of his house while hewas absent at his office, refurnishing and transforming it, yetretaining with reverent memory what was essentially associatedwith Mrs. Martine. The changing aspects of the house did notbanish the old sense of familiarity, but were rather like theapple-tree in the corner of the garden when budding into newfoliage and flower. The banker's purse was ever open for all thisrenovation, but Martine jealously persisted in his resolve to meetevery expense himself. Witnessing his gladness and satisfaction, they let him have his way, he meanwhile exulting over Helen'sabsorbed interest in the adornment of her future home. 

The entire village had a friendly concern in the approachingwedding; and the aged gossips never tired of saying, "I told youso, " believing that they understood precisely how it had all comeabout. Even Mrs. Nichol aquiesced with a few deep sighs, assuringherself, "I suppose it's natural. I'd rather it was Bart Martinethan anybody else. "

A few days before the 1st of December, Martine received a telegramfrom an aged uncle residing in a distant State. It conveyed arequest hard to comply with, yet he did not see how it could beevaded. The despatch was delivered in the evening while he was atthe Kembles', and its effect upon the little group was like a boltout of a clear sky. It ran:

"Your cousin dangerously ill at----Hospital, Washington. Go to himat once, if possible, and telegraph me to come, if necessary. "

Hobart explained that this cousin had remained in the army fromchoice, and that his father, old and feeble, naturally shrank froma journey to which he was scarcely equal. "My hospitalexperience, " he concluded, "leads him to think that I am just theone to go, especially as I can get there much sooner than he. Isuppose he is right. Indeed, I do not know of any one else whom hecould call upon. It certainly is a very painful duty at thistime. "

"I can't endure to think of it, " Helen exclaimed. 

"It's a clear question of conscience, Helen, " he replied gently. "Many years have passed since I saw this cousin, yet he, and stillmore strongly his father, have the claims of kinship. If anythingshould happen which my presence could avert, you know we shouldboth feel bad. It would be a cloud upon our happiness. If thisrequest had come before you had changed everything for me, youknow I would have gone without a moment's hesitation. Verygratitude should make me more ready for duty;" yet he signeddeeply. 

"But it may delay the wedding, for which the invitations have goneout, " protested Mrs. Kemble. 

"Possibly it may, if my cousin's life is in danger. " Then, brightening up, he added: "Perhaps I shall find that I can leavehim in good care for a short time, and then we can go toWashington on our wedding trip. I would like to gain associationswith that city different from those I now have. "

"Come now, " said the banker, hopefully, "if we must face thisthing, we must. The probabilities are that it will turn out asHobart says. At worst it can only be a sad interruption andepisode. Hobart will be better satisfied in the end if he doeswhat he now thinks his duty. "

"Yours is the right view, " assented the young man, firmly. "Ishall take the midnight train, and telegraph as soon as I haveseen my cousin and the hospital surgeon. "

He went home and hastily made his preparations; then, with valisein hand, returned to the Kembles'. The old people bade himGodspeed on his journey, and considerately left him with hisaffianced. 

"Hobart, " Helen entreated, as they were parting, "be more thanordinarily prudent. Do not take any risks, even the most trivial, unless you feel you must. Perhaps I'm weak and foolish, but I'mpossessed with a strange, nervous dread. This sudden call of duty--forso I suppose I must look upon it--seems so inopportune;" and she hidher tears on his shoulder. 

"You are taking it much too seriously, darling, " he said, gentlydrawing her closer to him. 

"Yes, my reason tells me that I am. You are only going on a briefjourney, facing nothing that can be called danger. Yet I speak asI feel--I cannot help feeling. Give me glad reassurance byreturning quickly and safely. Then hereafter I will laugh atforebodings. "

"There, you need not wait till I reach Washington. You shall hearfrom me in the morning, and I will also telegraph when I haveopportunity on my journey. "

"Please do so, and remember that I could not endure to have mylife impoverished again. "

Late the following evening, Martine inquired his way to thebedside of his cousin, and was glad indeed to find himconvalescent. His own experienced eyes, together with thestatement of the sick man and wardmaster, convinced him that thedanger point was well passed. In immense relief of mind he saidcheerily, "I will watch to-night"; and so it was arranged. 

His cousin, soothed and hushed in his desire to talk, soon droppedinto quiet slumber, while Martine's thronging thoughts banishedthe sense of drowsiness. A shaded lamp burned near, making acircle of light and leaving the rest of the ward dim and shadowy. The scene was very familiar, and it was an easy effort for hisimagination to place in the adjoining cots the patients with whom, months before, he had fought the winning or losing battle of life. While memory sometimes went back compassionately to thosesufferers, his thoughts dwelt chiefly upon the near future, withits certainty of happiness--a happiness doubly appreciated becausehis renewed experience in the old conditions of his life made thehome which awaited him all the sweeter from contrast. He couldscarcely believe that he was the same man who in places like thishad sought to forget the pain of bereavement and of denial of hisdearest wish--he who in the morning would telegraph Helen that thewedding need not even be postponed, or any change made in theirplans. 

The hours were passing almost unnoted, when a patient beyond thecircle of light feebly called for water. Almost mechanicallyHobart rose to get it, when a man wearing carpet slippers and anold dressing-gown shuffled noiselessly into view. 

"Captain Nichol!" gasped Martine, sinking back, faint andtrembling, in his chair. 

The man paid no attention, but passed through the circle of lightto the patient, gave him a drink, and turned. Martine stared withthe paralysis of one looking upon an apparition. 

When the figure was opposite to him, he again ejaculated hoarsely, "Captain Nichol!"

The form in slippers and gray ghostly dressing-gown turned sleepyeyes upon him without the slightest sign of recognition, passedon, and disappeared among the shadows near the wardmaster's room. 

A blending of relief and fearful doubt agitated Martine. He knewhe had been wide awake and in the possession of every faculty--that his imagination had been playing him no tricks. He was noteven thinking of Nichol at the time; yet the impression that hehad looked upon and spoken to his old schoolmate, to Helen's deadlover, had been as strong as it was instantaneous. When the manhad turned, there had been an unnatural expression, which in ameasure dispelled the illusion. After a moment of thought whichscorched his brain, he rose and followed the man's steps, and wasin time to see him rolling himself in his blanket on the cotnearest the door. From violent agitation, Martine unconsciouslyshook the figure outlined in the blanket roughly, as he asked, "What's your name?"

"Yankee Blank, doggone yer! Kyant you wake a feller 'thout yankin''im out o' baid? What yer want?"

"Great God!" muttered Hobart, tottering back to his seat besidehis sleeping cousin, "was there ever such a horrible, mockingsuggestion of one man in another? Yankee Blank--what a name!Southern accent and vernacular, yet Nichol's voice! Suchsimilarity combined with such dissimilarity is like a nightmare. Of course it's not Nichol. He was killed nearly two years ago. I'dbe more than human if I could wish him back now; but never in mylife have I been so shocked and startled. This apparition mustaccount for itself in the morning. "

But he could not wait till morning; he could not control himselffive minutes. He felt that he must banish that horrible semblanceof Nichol from his mind by convincing himself of its absurdity. 

He waited a few moments in order to compose his nerves, and thenreturned. The man had evidently gone to sleep. 

"What a fool I am!" Martine again muttered. "Let the poor fellowsleep. The fact that he doesn't know me is proof enough. The ideaof wanting any proof! I can investigate his case in the morning, and, no doubt, in broad light that astonishing suggestion ofNichol will disappear. "

He was about to turn away when the patient who had called forwater groaned slightly. As if his ears were as sensitive to suchsounds as those of a mother who hears her child even when itstirs, the man arose. Seeing Martine standing by him, he asked inslight irritation, "What yer want? Why kyant yer say what yer wanten have done 'th it? Lemme 'tend ter that feller yander firs'. Weuns don't want no mo' stiffs;" and he shuffled with a peculiar, noiseless tread to the patient whose case seemed on his mind. Martine followed, his very hair rising at the well-rememberedtones, and the mysterious principle of identity again revealedwithin the circle of light. 

"This is simply horrible!" he groaned inwardly, "and I must havethat man account for himself instantly. "

"Now I'll 'tend ter yer, but yer mout let a feller sleep when hekin. "

"Don't you know me?" faltered Martine, overpowered. 

"Naw. "

"Please tell me your real name, not your nickname. "

"Ain' got no name 'cept Yankee Blank. What's the matter with yer, anyhow?"

"Didn't you ever hear of Captain Nichol?"

"Reckon not. Mout have. I've nussed mo' cap'ins than I kinreckerlect. "

"Are you a hospital nurse?"

"Sorter 'spect I am. That's what I does, anyhow. Have you anythingagin it? Don't yer come 'ferin' round with me less yer a doctor, astin' no end o' questions. Air you a new doctor?"

"My name is Hobart Martine, " the speaker forced himself to say, expecting fearfully a sign of recognition, for the impression thatit was Nichol grew upon him every moment, in spite of apparentproof to the contrary. 

"Hump! Hob't Ma'tine. Never yeared on yer. Ef yer want ter chinmo' in the mawnin', I'll be yere. "

"Wait a moment, Yan--"

"Yankee Blank, I tole yer. "

"Well, here's a dollar for the trouble I'm making you, " andMartine's face flushed with shame at the act, so divided was hisimpression about the man. 

Yankee Blank took the money readily, grinned, and said, "Now I'llchin till mawnin' ef yer wants hit. "

"I won't keep you long. You remind me of--of--well, of CaptainNichol. "

"He must 'a' been a cur'ous chap. Folks all say I'm a cur'ouschap. "

"Won't you please tell me all that you can remember aboutyourself?"

"'Tain't much. Short hoss soon curried. Allus ben in hospitals. Had high ole jinks with a wound on my haid. Piece o' shell, theysez, cut me yere, " and he pointed to a scar across his forehead. "That's what they tole me. Lor'! I couldn't mek much out o' thegibberish I firs' year, en they sez I talked gibberish too. But Isoon got the hang o' the talk in the hospital. Well, ez I wuzsayin', I've allus been in hospitals firs' one, then anuther. Igot well, en the sojers call me Yankee Blank en set me waitin' onsick uns en the wounded. That's what I'm a-doin' now. "

"You were in Southern hospitals?"

"I reckon. They called the place Richman. "

"Why did you come here?"

"Kaze I wuz bro't yere. They said I was 'changed. "

"Exchanged, wasn't it?"

"Reckon it was. Anyhow I wuz bro't yere with a lot o' sickfellers. I wuzn't sick. For a long time the doctors kep' a-pesterin' me with questions, but they lemme 'lone now. I 'spectedyou wuz a new doctor, en at it agin. "

"Don't you remember the village of Alton?"

The man shook his head. 

"Don't you--" and Martine's voice grew husky--"don't you rememberHelen Kemble?"

"A woman?"

"Yes. "

"Never yeared on her. I only reckerlect people I've seen inhospitals. Women come foolin' roun' some days, but Lor'! I kinbeat any on 'em teekin' keer o' the patients; en wen they dies, Ikin lay 'em out. You ast the wardmaster ef I kant lay out a stiffwith the best o' 'em. "

"That will do. You can go to sleep now. "

"All right, Doc. I call everybody doc who asts sech a lot o'questions. " He shuffled to his cot and was soon asleep. 

CHAPTER VIII

"HOW CAN I?"

Martine sank into his chair again. Although the conversation hadbeen carried on in low tones, it was the voice of Nichol that hehad heard. Closer inspection of the slightly disfigured faceproved that, apart from the scar on the forehead, it was thecountenance of Nichol. A possible solution of the mystery wasbeginning to force itself in Hobart's reluctant mind. When Nicholhad fallen in the Wilderness, the shock of his injury had renderedhim senseless and caused him to appear dead to the hasty scrutinyof Sam and Jim Wetherby. They were terribly excited and had notime for close examination. Nichol might have revived, have beengathered up with the Confederate wounded, and sent to Richmond. There was dire and tremendous confusion at that period, whenwithin the space of two or three days tens of thousands wereeither killed or disabled. In a Southern hospital Nichol mighthave recovered physical health while, from injury to the brain, suffering complete eclipse of memory. In this case he would haveto begin life anew, like a child, and so would pick up thevernacular and bearing of the enlisted men with whom he wouldchiefly associate. 

Because he remembered nothing and know nothing, he may at firsthave been tolerated as a "cur'ous chap, " then employed as he hadexplained. He could take the place of a better man where men weregreatly needed. 

This theory could solve the problem; and Martine's hospitalexperience prepared his mind to understand what would be ahopeless mystery to many. He was so fearfully excited that becould not remain in the ward. The very proximity to this strangebeing, who had virtually risen from the dead and appeared to himof all others, was a sort of torture in itself. 

What effect would this discovery have on his relations to Helen?He dared not think yet he must think. Already the temptation ofhis life was forming in his mind. His cousin was sleeping; andwith a wild impatience to escape, to get away from all his kind, he stole noiselessly out into the midnight and deserted streets. On, on he went, limping he knew not, cared not where, for hispassion and mental agony drove him hither and thither like a leafbefore a fitful gale. 

"No one knows of this, " he groaned. "I can still return and marryHelen. But oh, what a secret to carry!"

Then his heart pleaded. "This is not the lover she lost--only ahorrible, mocking semblance. He has lost his own identity; he doesnot even know himself--would not know her. Ah! I'm not sure ofthat. I would be dead indeed if her dear features did not kindlemy eyes in recognition. It may be that the sight of her face isthe one thing essential to restore him. I feel this would be truewere it my case. But how can I give her up now? How can?--how canI? Oh, this terrible journey! No wonder Helen had forebodings. Sheloves me; she is mine. No one else has so good a right. We were tobe married only a few hours hence. Then she whom I've loved fromchildhood would make my home a heaves on earth. And yet--and yet--" Even in the darkness he buried his face in his hands, shuddered, moaned, writhed, and grated his teeth in the torment of theconflict. 

Hour after hour he wavered, now on the point of yielding, thenstung by conscience into desperate uncertainty. The night wascold, the howling wind would have chilled him at another time, butduring his struggle great drops of sweat often poured from hisface. Only the eye of God saw that battle, the hardest that wasfought and won during the war. 

At last, when well out of the city, he lifted his agonized eyesand saw the beautiful hues of morning tingeing the east. Unconsciously, he repeated the sublime, creative words, "Let therebe light. " It came to him. With the vanishing darkness, herevolted finally against the thought of any shadows existingbetween him and Helen. She should have all the light that he had, and decide her own course. He had little hope that she would wedhim, even if she did not marry Nichol in his present condition--acondition probably only temporary and amenable to skilfultreatment. 

Wearily he dragged his lame foot back to a hotel in the populousparty of the city, and obtained food and wine, for he was terriblyexhausted. Next he telegraphed Mr. Kemble:

"Arrived last evening. The wedding will have to be postponed. Willexplain later. "

"It's the best I can do now, " he muttered. "Helen will think it isall due to my cousin's illness. " Then he returned to the hospitaland found his relative in a state of wonderment at his absence, but refreshed from a good night's rest. Yankee Blank was nowhereto be seen. 

"Hobart, " exclaimed his cousin, "you look ill--ten years olderthan you did last night. "

"You see me now by daylight, " was the quiet reply. "I am not verywell. "

"It's a perfect shame that I've been the cause of so much trouble, especially when it wasn't necessary. "

"Oh, my God!" thought Martine, "there was even no need of thisfatal journey. " But his face had become grave and inscrutable, andthe plea of ill-health reconciled his cousin to the necessity ofimmediate return. There was no good reason for his remaining, forby a few additional arrangements his relative would do very welland soon be able to take care of himself. Martine felt that hecould not jeopardize his hard-won victory by delay, which was astorturing as the time intervening between a desperate surgicaloperation and the knowledge that it is inevitable. 

After seeing that his cousin made a good breakfast, he sought aprivate interview with the wardmaster. He was able to extract butlittle information about Yankee Blank more than the man had givenhimself. "Doctors say he may regain his memory at any time, or itmay be a long while, and possibly never, " was the conclusion. 

"I think I know him, " said Martine. "I will bring physician fromthe city to consult this morning with the surgeon in charge. "

"I'm glad to hear it, " was the reply. "Something would have to bedone soon. He is just staying on here and making himself useful tosome extent. "

When Martine re-entered the ward, Yankee Blank appeared, grinned, and said affably, "Howdy. " Alas! a forlorn, miserable hope that hemight have been mistaken was banished from Hobart's mind now thathe saw Nichol in the clear light of day. The scar across hisforehead and a change of expression, denoting the eclipse of fine, cultivated manhood, could not disguise the unmistakable features. There was nothing to be done but carry out as quickly as possiblethe purpose which had cost him so dear. 

He first telegraphed his uncle to dismiss further anxiety, andthat his son would soon be able to visit him. Then the heavy-hearted man sought a physician whom he knew well by reputation. 

The consultation was held, and Nichol (as he may be more properlynamed hereafter) was closely questioned and carefully examined. The result merely confirmed previous impressions. It wasexplained, as far as explanation can be given of the mysteriousfunctions of the brain, that either the concussion of theexploding shell or the wound from a flying fragment had paralyzedthe organ of memory. When such paralysis would cease, if ever, noone could tell. The power to recall everything might return at anymoment or it might be delayed indefinitely. A shock, a familiarface, might supply the potency required, or restoration comethrough the slow, unseen processes of nature. Martine believedthat Helen's face and voice would accomplish everything. 

He was well known to the medical authorities and had no difficultyin securing belief that he had identified Nichol. He also promisedthat abundant additional proof should be sent on from Alton, suchcertainty being necessary to secure the officer's back pay andproper discharge from the service. The surgeon then addressed theman so strangely disabled, "You know I'm in charge of thishospital?"

"I reckon, " replied Nichol, anxiously, for the brief experiencewhich he could recall had taught him that the authority of thesurgeon-in-chief was autocratic. 

"Well, first, you must give up the name of Yankee Blank. Your namehereafter is Captain Nichol. "

"All right, Doctor. I'll be a gin'ral ef you sez so. "

"Very well; remember your name is Captain Nichol. Next, you mustobey this man and go with him. You must do just what he says inall respects. His name is Mr. Hobart Martine. "

"Yes, he tole me las' night, Hob't Ma'tine. He took on mightycur'ous after seein' me. "

"Do you understand that you are to mind, to obey him in allrespects just as you have obeyed me?"

"I reckon. Will he tek me to anuther hospital?"

"He will take you where you will be well cared for and treatedkindly. " Having written Nichol's discharge from the hospital, thesurgeon turned to other duties. 

Martine informed his cousin, as far as it was essential, of thediscovery he had made and of the duties which it imposed, thentook his leave. Nichol readily accompanied him, and with theexception of a tendency to irritation at little things, exhibitedmuch of the good-natured docility of a child. Martine took him toa hotel, saw that he had a bath, put him in the hands of a barber, and then sent for a clothier. When dressed in clean linen and adark civilian suit, the appearance of the man was greatlyimproved. Hobart had set his teeth, and would entertain no thoughtof compromise with his conscience. He would do by Nichol as hewould wish to be done by if their relations were reversed. Helenshould receive no greater shock than was inevitable, nor shouldNichol lose the advantage of appearing before her in the outwardaspect of a gentleman. 

Martine then planned his departure so that he would arrive atAlton in the evening--the evening of the day on which he was tohave been married. He felt that Mr. Kemble should see Nichol firstand hear the strange story; also that the father must break thenews to the daughter, for he could not. It was a terrible journeyto the poor fellow, for during the long hours of inaction he wascompelled to face the probable results of his discovery. The sightof Nichol and his manner was intolerable; and in addition, he wasalmost as much care as a child. Everything struck him as new andstrange, and he was disposed to ask numberless questions. Hisvernacular, his alternations of amusement and irritation, and theoddity of his ignorance concerning things which should be simpleor familiar to a grown man, attracted the attention of his fellow-passengers. It was with difficulty that Martine, by his stern, sadface and a cold, repelling manner, kept curiosity from intrudingat every point. 

At last, with heart beating thickly, he saw the lights of Altongleaming in the distance. It was a train not often used by thevillagers, and fortunately no one had entered the car who knewhim; even the conductor was a stranger. Alighting at the depot, hehastily took a carriage, and with his charge was driven to theprivate entrance of the hotel. Having given the hackman an extradollar not to mention his arrival till morning, he took Nicholinto the dimly-lighted and deserted parlor and sent for the well-known landlord. Mr. Jackson, a bustling little man, who, betweenthe gossip of the place and his few guests, never seemed to have amoment's quiet, soon entered. "Why, Mr. Martine, " he exclaimed, "we wasn't a-lookin' for you yet. News got around somehow thatyour cousin was dyin' in Washington and that your weddin' was putoff too--Why! you look like a ghost, even in this light, " and heturned up the lamp. 

Martine had told Nichol to stand by a window with his back to thedoor. He now turned the key, pulled down the curtain, then drewhis charge forward where the light fell clear upon his face, andasked, "Jackson, who is that?"

The landlord stared, his jaw fell from sheer astonishment, as hefaltered, "Captain Nichol!"

"Yes, " said Nichol, with a pleased grin, "that's my new name! Jes'got it, like this new suit o' clo's, bes' I ever had, doggoned efthey ain't. My old name was Yankee Blank. "

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Jackson; "is he crazy?"

"Look yere, " cried Nichol; "don' yer call me crazy or I'll lighton yer so yer won't fergit it. "

"There, there!" said Martine, soothingly, "Mr. Jackson doesn'tmean any harm. He's only surprised to see you home again. "

"Is this home? What's home?"

"It's the town where you were brought up. We'll make youunderstand about it all before long. Now you shall have somesupper. Mr. Jackson is a warm friend of yours, and will see thatyou have a good one. "

"I reckon we'll get on ef he gives me plenty o' fodder. Bring ittoreckly, fer I'm hungry. Quit yer starin', kyant yer?" "Don't youknow me, Captain Nichol? Why, I--"

"Naw. Never seed ner yeared on yer. Did I ever nuss yer in ahospital? I kyant reckerlect all on 'em. Get we uns some supper. "

"That's the thing to do first, Jackson, " added Martine, "Show usupstairs to a private room and wait on us yourself. Please saynothing of this till I give you permission. "

They were soon established in a suitable apartment, in which afire was kindled. Nichol took a rocking-chair and acquiesced inMartine's going out on the pretext of hastening supper. 

The landlord received explanations which enabled him to co-operatewith Martine. "I could not, " said the latter, "take him to his ownhome without first preparing his family. Neither could I take himto mine for several reasons. "

"I can understand some of 'em, Mr. Martine. Why, great Scott! Howabout your marriage, now that--"

"We won't discuss that subject. The one thing for you to keep inmind is that Nichol lost his memory at the time of his wound. Hedon't like to be stared at or thought strange. You must humor himmuch as you would a child. Perhaps the sight of familiar faces andscenes will restore him. Now copy this note in your handwritingand send it to Mr. Kemble. Tell your messenger to be sure to putit into the banker's hands and no other's, " and he tore from hisnote-book a leaf on which was pencilled the following words:

"MR. KEMBLE:

"DEAR SIR--A sick man at the hotel wishes to see you on importantbusiness. Don't think it's bad news about Mr. Martine, because itisn't. Please come at once and oblige, HENRY JACKSON. "

CHAPTER IX

SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS

This first day of winter, her fatal wedding-day, was a sad andstrange one to Helen Kemble. The sun was hidden by dark clouds, yet no snow fell on the frozen ground. She had wakened in themorning with a start, oppressed by a disagreeable yet forgottendream. Hastily dressing, she consoled herself with the hope of along letter from Martine, explaining everything and assuring herof his welfare; but the early mail brought nothing. As the morningadvanced, a telegram from Washington, purposely delayed, merelyinformed her that her affianced was well and that full informationwas on its way. 

"He has evidently found his cousin very low, and needing constantcare, " she had sighingly remarked at dinner. 

"Yes, Nellie, " said the banker, cheerily, "but it is a comfort heis well. No doubt you are right about his cousin, and it hasturned out as Hobart feared. In this case it is well he went, forhe would always have reproached himself if he had not. The eveningmail will probably make all clear. "

"It has been so unfortunate!" complained Mrs. Kemble. "If it hadonly happened a little earlier, or a little later! To have allone's preparations upset and one's plans frustrated isexasperating. Were it not for that journey, Helen would have beenmarried by this time. People come ostensibly to express sympathy, but in reality to ask questions. "

"I don't care about people, " said Helen, "but the day has been sodifferent from what we expected that it's hard not to yield to apresentiment of trouble. It is so dark and gloomy that we almostneed a lamp at midday. "

"Well, well, " cried hearty Mr. Kemble, "I'm not going to cross anybridges till I come to them. That telegram from Hobart is all weneed, to date. I look at things as I do at a bank-bill. If itsface is all right, and the bill itself all right, that's enough. You women-folks have such a lot of moods and tenses! Look at thismatter sensibly. Hobart was right in going. He's doing his duty, and soon will be back with mind and conscience at rest. It isn'tas if he were ill himself. "

"Yes, papa, that's just the difference; we women feel, and you menreason. What you say, though, is a good wholesome antidote. I fearI'm a little morbid to-day. "

After dinner she and her mother slipped over to the adjoiningcottage, which had been made so pretty for her reception. WhileMrs. Kemble busied herself here and there, Helen kindled a fire onthe hearth of the sitting-room and sat down in the low chair whichshe knew was designed for her. The belief that she would occupy itdaily and be at home, happy herself and, better far, makinganother, to whom she owed so much, happy beyond even his fondesthope, brought smiles to her face as she watched the flickeringblaze. 

"Yes, " she murmured, "I can make him happier even than he dreams. I know him so well, his tastes, his habits, what he most enjoys, that it will be an easy task to anticipate his wishes and enrichhis life. Then he has been such a faithful, devoted friend! Heshall learn that his example had not been lost on me. "

At this moment the wind rose in such a long mournful, human-likesigh about the house that she started up and almost shuddered. When the evening mail came and brought no letter, she found ithard indeed not to yield to deep depression. In vain her fatherreasoned with her. "I know all you say sounds true to the ear, "she said, "but not to my heart. I can't help it; but I amoppressed with a nervous dread of some impending trouble. "

They passed the early hours of the evening as best they could, seeking to divert each other's thoughts. It had been long sincethe kind old banker was so garrulous, and Helen resolved to rewardhim by keeping up. Indeed, she shrank from retiring, feeling thatthrough the sleepless night she would be the prey of all sorts ofwretched fancies. Never once did her wildest thoughts suggest whathad happened, or warn her of the tempest soon to rage in herbreast. 

Then came the late messenger with the landlord's copied note. Shesnatched it from the bearer's hand before he could ring the bell, for her straining ears had heard his step even on the gravel walk. Tremblingly she tore open, the envelope in the hall withoutlooking at the address. 

"Mr. Jackson said how I was to give it to your father, " protestedthe messenger. 

"Well, well, " responded Mr. Kemble, perturbed and anxious, "I'mhere. You can go unless there's an answer required. '

"Wasn't told nothin' 'bout one, " growled the departing errand-boy. 

"Give the note to me, Helen, " said her father. "Why do you stareat it so?"

She handed it to him without a word, but looked searchingly in hisface, and so did his wife, who had joined him. 

"Why, this is rather strange, " he said. 

"I think it is, " added Helen, emphatically. 

Mrs. Kemble took the note and after a moment ejaculated: "Well, thank the Lord! it isn't about Hobart. "

"No, no, " said the banker, almost irritably. "We've all worriedabout Hobart till in danger of making fools of ourselves. As ifpeople never get sick and send for relatives, or as if letterswere never delayed! Why, bless me! haven't we heard to-day that hewas well? and hasn't Jackson, who knows more about other people'sbusiness than his own, been considerate enough to say that hisrequest has nothing to do with Hobart? It is just as he says, someone is sick and wants to arrange about money matters beforebanking hours to-morrow. There, it isn't far. I'll soon be back. "

"Let me go with you, father, " pleaded Helen. "I can stay with Mrs. Jackson or sit in the parlor till you are through. "

"Oh, no, indeed. "

"Papa, I AM going with you, " said Helen, half-desperately. "Idon't believe I am so troubled for nothing. Perhaps it's amerciful warning, and I may be of use to you. "

"Oh, let her go, father, " said his wife. "She had better be withyou than nervously worrying at home. I'll be better satisfied ifshe is with you. "

"Bundle up well, then, and come along, you silly little girl. "

Nichol was too agreeably occupied with his supper to miss Hobart, who watched in the darkened parlor for the coming of Mr. Kemble. At last he saw the banker passing through the light streaming froma shop-window, and also recognized Helen at his side. His ruse insending a note purporting to come from the landlord had evidentlyfailed; and here was a new complication. He was so exhausted inbody and mind that he felt he could not meet the girl now withoutgiving way utterly. Hastily returning to the room in which wereNichol and Jackson, he summoned the latter and said, "Unfortunately, Miss Kemble is coming with her father. Keep yourcounsel; give me a light in another private room; detain the younglady in the parlor, and then, bring Mr. Kemble to me. "

"Ah, glad to see you, Mr. Kemble, " said the landlord, a moment ortwo later, with reassuring cheerfulness; "you too, Miss Helen. That's right, take good care of the old gentleman. Yes, we have asick man here who wants to see you, sir. Miss Helen, take a seatin the parlor by the fire while I turn up the lamp. Guess youwon't have to wait long. "

"Now, Helen, " said her father, smiling at her significantly, "canyou trust me out of your sight to go upstairs with Mr. Jackson?"

Much relieved, she smiled in return and sat down to wait. 

"Who is this man, Jackson?" Mr. Kemble asked on the stairs. 

"Well, sir, he said he would explain everything. "

A moment later the banker needed not Martine's warning gestureenjoining silence, for he was speechless with astonishment. 

"Mr. Jackson, " whispered Martine, "will you please remain in theother room and look after your patient?"

"Hobart, " faltered Mr. Kemble, "in the name of all that's strange, what does this mean?"

"It is indeed very strange, sir. You must summon all your nerveand fortitude to help us through. Never before were your strengthand good strong common-sense more needed. I've nearly reached theend of my endurance. Please, sir, for Helen's sake, preserve yourself-control and the best use of all your faculties, for you mustnow advise. Mr. Kemble, Captain Nichol is alive. "

The banker sank into a chair and groaned. "This would have beenglad news to me once; I suppose it should be so now. But how, howcan this be?"

"Well, sir, as you say, it should be glad news; it will be to alleventually. I am placed in a very hard position; but I have triedto do my duty, and will. "

"Why, Hobart, my boy, you look more worn than you did after yourillness. Merciful Heaven! what a complication!"

"A far worse one than you can even imagine. Captain Nicholwouldn't know you. His memory was destroyed at the time of theinjury. All before that is gone utterly;" and Martine rapidlynarrated what is already known to the reader, concluding, "I'msorry Helen came with you, and I think you had better get her homeas soon as possible. I could not take him to my home for severalreasons, or at least I thought it best not to. It is my beliefthat the sight of Helen, the tones of her voice, will restore him;and I do not think it best for him to regain his consciousness ofthe past in a dwelling prepared for Helen's reception as my wife. Perhaps later on, too, you will understand why I cannot see himthere. I shall need a home, a refuge with no such associations. Here, on this neutral ground, I thought we could consult, and ifnecessary send for his parents to-night. I would have telegraphedyou, but the case is so complicated, so difficult. Helen must begradually prepared for the part she must take. Cost me what itmay, Nichol must have his chance. His memory may come backinstantly and he recall everything to the moment of his injury. What could be more potent to effect this than the sight and voiceof Helen? No one here except Jackson is now aware of hiscondition. If she can restore him, no one else, not even hisparents, need know anything about it, except in a general way. Itwill save a world of disagreeable talk and distress. At any rate, this course seemed the best I could hit upon in my distractedcondition. "

"Well, Hobart, my poor young friend, you have been tried as byfire, " said Mr. Kemble, in a voice broken by sympathy; "God helpyou and guide us all in this strange snarl! I feel that the firstthing to be done is to get Helen home. Such tidings as yoursshould be broken to her in that refuge only. "

"I agree with you most emphatically, Mr. Kemble. In the seclusionof her own home, with none present except yourself and her mother, she should face this thing and nerve herself to act her part, themost important of all. If she cannot awaken Captain Nichol'smemory, it is hard to say what will, or when he will be restored. "

"Possibly seeing me, so closely associated with her, may have thesame effect, " faltered the banker. 

"I doubt it; but we can try it. Don't expect me to speak while inthe hallway. Helen, no doubt, is on the alert, and I cannot meether to-night. I am just keeping up from sheer force of will. Youmust try to realize it. This discovery will change everything forme. Helen's old love will revive in all-absorbing power. I'vefaced this in thought, but cannot in reality NOW--I simply CANNOT. It would do no good. My presence would be an embarrassment to her, and I taxed beyond mortal endurance. You may think me weak, but Icannot help it. As soon as possible I must put you, and if youthink best, Captain Nichol's father, in charge of the situation. Jackson can send for his father at once if you wish. "

"I do wish it immediately. I can't see my way through this. Iwould like Dr. Barnes' advice and presence also. "

"I think it would be wise, sir. The point I wish to make is that Ihave done about all that I now can in this affair. My furtherpresence is only another complication. At any rate, I must have arespite--the privilege of going quietly to my own home as soon aspossible. "

"Oh, Hobart, my heart aches for you; it just ACHES for you. Youhave indeed been called upon to endure a hundredfold too much inthis strange affair. How it will all end God only knows. Iunderstand you sufficiently. Leave the matter to me now. We willhave Dr. Barnes and Mr. And Mrs. Nichol here as soon as can be. Isuppose I had better see the captain a few moments and then takeHelen home. "

Martine led the way into the other apartment, where Nichol, rendered good-natured by his supper and a cigar, was conversingsociably with the landlord. Mr. Kemble fairly trembled as he cameforward, involuntarily expecting that the man so well known to himmust give some sign of recognition. 

Nichol paid no heed to him. He had been too long accustomed to seestrangers coming and going to give them either thought orattention. 

"I say, Hob't Ma'tine, " he began, "don' yer cuss me fer eatin' allthe supper. I 'lowed ter this Jackson, as yer call 'im, that yer'dget a bite somewhar else, en he 'lowed yer would. "

"All right, Nichol; I'm glad you had a good supper. "

"I say, Jackson, this Ma'tine's a cur'ous chap--mo cur'ous than Ibe, I reckon. He's been actin' cur'ous ever since he seed me inthe horspital. It's all cur'ous. 'Fore he come, doctors en folkswas trying ter fin' out 'bout me, en this Ma'tine 'lows he knowsall 'bout me. Ef he wuzn't so orful glum, he'd be a good chapanuff, ef he is cur'ous. Hit's all a-changin' somehow, en yet'tisn't. Awhile ago nobody knowd 'bout me, en they wuz allus a-pesterin' of me with questions. En now Ma'tine en you 'low youknow 'bout me, yet you ast questions jes' the same. Like anuffthis man yere, " pointing with his cigar to Mr. Kemble, who waslistening with a deeply-troubled face, "knows 'bout me too, yetwants to ast questions. I don' keer ef I do say it, I had bettertimes with the Johnnies that call me Yankee Blank than I ever hadsence. Well, ole duffer [to Mr. Kemble], ast away and git yer loadoff'n yer mind. I don't like glum faces roun' en folks jes'nachelly bilin' over with questions. "

"No, Captain Nichol, " said the banker, gravely and sadly, "I've noquestions to ask. Good-by for the present. "

Nichol nodded a careless dismissal and resumed his reminiscenceswith Jackson, whose eager curiosity and readiness to laugh weremuch more to his mind. 

Following the noise made by closing the door, Helen's voice rangup from the hall below, "Papa!"

"Yes, I'm coming, dear, " he tried to answer cheerily. Then hewrung Martine's hand and whispered, "Send for Dr. Barnes. Godknows you should have relief. Tell Jackson also to have a carriagego for Mr. Nichol at once. After the doctor comes you may leaveall in our hands. Good-by. "

Martine heard the rustle of a lady's dress and retiredprecipitately. 

CHAPTER X

"YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND"

With an affectation of briskness he was far from feeling, Mr. Kemble came down the stairs and joined his daughter in the hall. He had taken pains to draw his hat well over his eyes, anticipating and dreading her keen scrutiny, but, strange to say, his troubled demeanor passed unnoticed. In the interval of waitingHelen's thoughts had taken a new turn. "Well, papa, " she began, asthey passed into the street, "I am curious to know about the sickman. You stayed an age, but all the same I'm glad I came with you. Forebodings, presentiments, and all that kind of thing seemedabsurd the moment I saw Jackson's keen, mousing little visage. Hisvery voice is like a ray of garish light entering a dusky, hauntedroom. Things suggesting ghosts and hobgoblins become ridiculouslyprosaic, and you are ashamed of yourself and your fears. "

"Yes, yes, " replied Mr. Kemble, yielding to irritation in his deepperplexity, "the more matter-of-fact we are the better we're off. I suppose the best thing to do is just to face what happens andtry to be brave. "

"Well, papa, what's happened to annoy you to-night? Is this sickman going to make you trouble?"

"Like enough. I hope not. At any rate, he has claims which I mustmeet. "

"Don't you think you can meet them?" was her next anxious query, her mind reverting to some financial obligation. 

"We'll see. You and mother'll have to help me out, I guess. I'lltell you both when we get home;" and his sigh was so deep as to bealmost a groan. 

"Papa, " said Helen, earnestly pressing his arm, "don't worry. Mamma and I will stand by you; so will Hobart. He is the last onein the world to desert one in any kind of trouble. "

"I know that, no one better; but I fear he'll be in deeper troublethan any of us. The exasperating thing is that there should be anytrouble at all. If it had only happened before--well, well, Ican't talk here in the street. As you say, you must stand by me, and I'll do the best I can by you and all concerned. "

"Oh, papa, there was good cause for my foreboding. "

"Well, yes, and no. I don't know. I'm at my wits' end. If you'llbe brave and sensible, you can probably do more than any of us. "

"Papa, papa, something IS the matter with Hobart, " and she drewhim hastily into the house, which they had now reached. 

Mrs. Kemble met them at the door. Alarmed at her husband'stroubled face, she exclaimed anxiously, "Who is this man? What didhe want?"

"Come now, mother, give me a chance to get my breath. We'll closethe doors, sit down, and talk it all over. "

Mrs. Kemble and her daughter exchanged an apprehensive glance andfollowed with the air of being prepared for the worst. 

The banker sat down and wiped the perspiration from his brow, thenlooked dubiously at the deeply anxious faces turned toward him. "Well, " he said, "I'm going to tell you everything as far as Iunderstand it. Now I want to see if you two can't listen calmlyand quietly and not give way to useless feeling. There's much tobe done, and you especially, Helen, must be in the right conditionto do it. "

"Oh, papa, why torture me so? Something HAS happened to Hobart. Ican't endure this suspense. "

"Something has happened to us all, " replied her father, gravely. "Hobart has acted like a hero, like a saint; so must you. He is aswell and able to go about as you are. I've seen him and talkedwith him. "

"He saw you and not me?" cried the girl, starting up. 

"Helen, I entreat, I command you to be composed and listenpatiently. Don't you know him well enough to be sure he had goodreasons--"

"I can't imagine a reason, " was the passionate reply, as she pacedthe floor. "What reason could keep me from him? Merciful Heaven!father, have you forgotten that I was to marry him to-day? Well, "she added hoarsely, standing before him with hands clinched in hereffort at self-restraint, "the reason?"

"Poor fellow! poor fellow! he has not forgotten it, " groaned Mr. Kemble. "Well, I might as well out with it. Suppose Captain Nicholwas not killed after all?"

Helen sank into a chair as if struck down as Nichol had beenhimself. "What!" she whispered; and her face was white indeed. 

Mrs. Kemble rushed to her husband, demanding, "Do you mean to tellus that Captain Nichol is alive?"

"Yes; that's just the question we've got to face. "

"It brings up another question, " replied his wife, sternly. "Ifhe's been alive all this time, why did he not let us know? As faras I can make out, Hobart has found him in Washington--"

"Helen, " cried her father to the trembling girl, "for Heaven'ssake, be calm!"

"He's alive, ALIVE!" she answered, as if no other thought couldexist in her mind. Her eyes were kindling, the color coming intoher face, and her bosom throbbed quickly as if her heart wouldburst its bonds. Suddenly she rushed to her father, exclaiming, "He was the sick man. Oh, why did you not let me see him?"

"Well, well!" ejaculated Mr. Kemble, "Hobart was right, poorfellow! Yes, Helen, Captain Nichol is the sick man, notdangerously ill, however. You are giving ample reason why youshould not see him yet; and I tell you plainly you can't see himtill you are just as composed as I am. "

She burst into a joyous, half-hysterical laugh as she exclaimed, "That's not asking much. I never saw you so moved, papa. Littlewonder! The dead is alive again! Oh, papa, papa, you don'tunderstand me at all! Could I hear such tidings composedly--I whohave wept so many long nights and days over his death? I must giveexpression to overwhelming feeling here where it can do no harm, but if I had seen him--when I do see him--ah! he'll receive noharm from me. "

"But, Helen, think of Hobart, " cried Mrs. Kemble, in sharpdistress. 

"Mother, mother, I cannot help it. Albert is alive, ALIVE! The oldfeeling comes back like the breaking up of the fountains of thegreat deep. You cannot know, cannot understand; Hobart will. I'msorry, SORRY for him; but he will understand. I thought Albert wasdead; I wanted to make Hobart happy. He was so good and kind anddeserving that I did love him in a sincere, quiet way, but notwith my first love, not as I loved Albert. I thought my love wasburied with him; but it has burst the grave as he has. Papa, papa, let me go to him, now, NOW! You say he is sick; it is my place tonurse him back to life. Who has a better right? Why do you notbring him here?"

"Perhaps it will be best, since Helen feels so, " said Mr. Kemble, looking at his wife. 

"Well, I don't know, " she replied with a deep sigh. "We certainlydon't wish the public to be looking on any more than we can help. He should be either here or at his own home. "

"There's more reason for what you say than you think, " Mr. Kemblebegan. 

"There, papa, " interrupted Helen, "I'd be more or less than humanif I could take! this undreamed-of news quietly, I can see howperplexed and troubled you've been, and how you've kindly tried toprepare me for the tidings. You will find that I have strength ofmind to meet all that is required of me. It is all simpler to methan to you, for in a matter of this kind the heart is the guide, indeed, the only guide. Think! If Albert had come back months ago;if Hobart had brought him back wounded and disabled--how would wehave acted? Only our belief in his death led to what has happenedsince, and the fact of life changes everything back to--"

"Now, Helen, stop and listen to me, " said her father, firmly. "Inone sense the crisis is over, and you've heard the news which Iscarcely knew how to break to you. You say you will have strengthof mind to meet what is required of you. I trust you may. But it'stime you understood the situation as far as I do. Mother's wordsshow she's off the track in her suspicion. Nichol is not to blamein any sense. He is deserving of all sympathy, and yet--oh, dear, it is such a complication!" and the old man groaned as he thoughtof the personality who best knew himself as Yankee Blank. "Thefact is, " he resumed to his breathless listeners, "Nichol is notill at all physically. His mind is affected--"

Mrs. Kemble sank back in her chair, and Helen uttered a cry ofdismay. 

"Yes, his mind is affected peculiarly. He remembers nothing thathappened before he was wounded. You must realize this, Helen; youmust prepare yourself for it. His loss of memory is much more sadthan if he had lost an arm or a leg. He remembers only what he haspicked up since his injury. "

"Then, then, he's not insane?" gasped Helen. 

"No, no, I should say not, " replied her father, dubiously; "yethis words and manner produce much the same effect as if he were--even a stronger effect. "

"Oh, this is dreadful!" cried his wife. 

"Dreadful indeed, but not hopeless, you know. Keep in mind doctorssay that his memory may come back at any time; and Hobart has thebelief that the sight and voice of Helen will bring it back. "

"God bless Hobart, " said Helen, with a deep breath, "and God helphim! His own love inspired that belief. He's right; I know he'sright. "

"Well, perhaps he is. I don't know. I thought Nichol wouldrecognize me; but there wasn't a sign. "

"Oh, papa, " cried Helen, smiling through her tears, "there aresome things which even your experience and wisdom fail in. Albertwill know me. We have talked long enough; now let us act. "

"You don't realize it all yet, Helen; you can't. You must rememberthat Nichol regained consciousness in a Southern hospital. He haslearned to talk and act very much like such soldiers as wouldassociate with him. "

"The fact that he's alive and that I now may restore him isenough, papa. "

"Well, I want Dr. Barnes present when you meet him. "

"Certainly; at least within call. "

"I must stipulate too, " said Mrs. Kemble. "I don't wish the comingscenes to take place in a hotel, and under the eyes of thatgossip, Jackson. I don't see why Hobart took him there. "

"I do, " said Mr. Kemble, standing up for his favorite. "Hobart hasalready endured more than mortal man ought, yet he has been mostdelicately considerate. No one but Jackson and Dr. Barnes knowabout Nichol and his condition. I have also had Nichol's fatherand mother sent for on my own responsibility, for they should taketheir share of the matter. Hobart believes that Helen can restoreNichol's memory. This would simplify everything and save manypainful impressions. You see, it's such an obscure trouble, andthere should be no ill-advised blundering in the matter. Thedoctors in Washington told Hobart that a slight shock, or thesight of an object that once had the strongest hold upon histhoughts--well, you understand. "

"Yes, " said Helen, "I DO understand. Hobart is trying to giveAlbert the very best chance. Albert wrote that his last earthlythoughts would be of me. It is but natural that my presence shouldkindle those thoughts again. It was like Hobart, who is almostdivine in his thoughtfulness of others, to wish to shield Albertfrom the eyes of even his own father and mother until he couldknow them, and know us all. He was only taken to the hotel that weall might understand and be prepared to do our part. Papa, bringAlbert here and let his father and mother come here also. Heshould be sacredly shielded in his infirmity, and give a everychance to recover before being seen by others; and please, papa, exact from Jackson a solemn promise not to tattle about Albert. "

"Yes, yes; but we have first a duty to perform. Mother, pleaseprepare a little lunch, and put a glass of your old currant wineon the tray. Hobart must not come to a cold, cheerless home. I'llgo and have his old servant up and ready to receive him. "

"No, mamma, that is still my privilege, " said Helen, with a rush, of tears. "Oh, I'm so sorry, SORRY for him! but neither he nor Ican help or change what is, what's true. "

When the tray was ready, she wrote and sealed these words:

"God bless you, Hobart; God reward you! You have made me feel to-night that earth is too poor, and only heaven rich enough toreward you. 

"HELEN. "

CHAPTER XI

MR. KEMBLE'S APPEAL

It often happens that the wife's disposition is an antidote to herhusband: and this was fortunately true of Mrs. Jackson. She wasneither curious nor gossiping, and with a quick instinct thatprivacy was desired by Martine, gave at an early hour her ordersto close the house for the night. The few loungers, knowing thatshe was autocratic, slouched off to other resorts. The man andmaids of all work were kept out of the way, while she and herhusband waited on their unexpected guests. After Mr. Kemble'sdeparture, the errand-boy was roused from his doze behind thestove and seat for Dr. Barnes; then Jackson wrote another note atMartine's dictation:

"MR. WILLIAM NICHOL:

"DEAR SIR--A relative of yours is sick at my house. He came on theevening train. You and your wife had better come at once in thecarriage. "

Martine retired to the room in which he had seen Mr. Kemble, thathe might compose himself before meeting the physician. The soundof Helen's voice, the mere proximity of the girl who at this hourwas to have been his wife had not "old chaos" come again for him, were by no means "straws" in their final and crushing weight. Motionless, yet with mind verging on distraction, he sat in thecold, dimly lighted room until aroused by the voice of Dr. Barnes. 

"Why, Hobart!" cried his old friend, starting at the bloodshoteyes and pallid face of the young man, "what is the matter? Youneed me, sure enough, but why on earth are you shivering in thiscold room at the hotel?"

Martine again said to Jackson: "Don't leave him, " and closed thedoor. Then, to the physician: "Dr. Barnes, I am ill and worn-out. I know it only too well. You must listen carefully while I inbrief tell you why you were sent for; then you and others musttake charge and act as you think best. I'm going home. I must haverest and a respite. I must be by myself;" and he rapidly began tosketch his experiences in Washington. 

"Hold!" said the sensible old doctor, who indulged in only a fewstrong exclamations of surprise, which did not interrupt thespeaker, "hold! You say you left the ward to think it over, afterbeing convinced that you had discovered Nichol. Did you think itover quietly?"

"Quietly!" repeated Martine, with intense bitterness. "Would aman, not a mummy, think over such a thing quietly? Judge me as youplease, but I was tempted as I believe never man was before. Ifought the Devil till morning. "

"I thought as much, " said the doctor, grasping Martine's hand, then slipping a finger on his pulse. "You fought on foot too, didn't you?"

"Yes, I walked the streets as if demented. "

"Of course. That in part accounts for your exhaustion. Have youslept much since?"

"Oh, Doctor, let me get through and go home!"

"No, Hobart, you can't get through with me till I am with you. Mydear fellow, do you think that I don't understand and sympathizewith you? There's no reason why you should virtually risk yourlife for Captain Nichol again. Take this dose of quinine at once, and then proceed. I can catch on rapidly. First answer, how muchhave you slept since?"

"The idea of sleep! You can remedy this, Doctor, after my part inthis affair is over. I must finish now. Helen may return, and Icannot meet her, nor am I equal to seeing Mr. And Mrs. Nichol. Myhead feels queer, but I'll get through somehow, if the strain isnot kept up too long;" and he finished in outline his story. Inconclusion he said, "You will understand that you are now to havecharge of Nichol. He is prepared by his experience to obey you, for he has always been in hospitals, where the surgeon's will islaw. Except with physicians, he has a sort of rough waywardness, learned from the soldiers. "

"Yes, I understand sufficiently now to manage. You put him in mycharge, then go home, and I'll visit you as soon as I can. "

"One word more, Doctor. As far as you think best, enjoin reticenceon Jackson. If the sight of Helen restores Nichol, as I believe itwill, little need ever be said about his present condition. Jackson would not dare to disobey a physician's injunction. "

"Don't you dare disobey them, either. I'll manage him too. Come. "

Nichol had slept a good deal during the latter part of hisjourney, and now was inclined to wakefulness--a tendency muchincreased by his habit of waiting on hospital patients at night. In the eager and curious Jackson he had a companion to his mind, who stimulated in him a certain child-like vanity. 

"Hello, Ma'tine, " he said, "ye're gittin' tired o' me, I reckon, ye're off so much. I don't keer. This yere Jackson's a livelycuss, en I 'low we'll chin till mawnin'. "

"Yes, Nichol, Mr. Jackson is a good friend of yours; and here isanother man who is more than a friend. You remember what thesurgeon at the hospital said to you?"

"I reckon, " replied Nichol, anxiously. "Hain't I minded yertetotally?"

"Yes, you have done very well indeed--remarkably well, since youknew I was not a doctor. Now this man is a doctor--the doctor Iwas to bring you to. You won't have to mind me any more, but youmust mind this man, Dr. Barnes, in all respects, just as you didthe doctors in the hospitals. As long as you obey him carefully hewill be very good to you. "

"Oh, I'll mind, Doctor, " said Nichol, rising and assuming therespectful attitude of a hospital nurse. "We uns wuz soon larnedthat't wuzn't healthy to go agin the doctor. When I wuz YankeeBlank, 'fo' I got ter be cap'n, I forgot ter give a Johnny a dozeo' med'cine, en I'm doggoned ef the doctor didn't mek me tek itmyse'f. Gee wiz! sech a time ez I had! Hain't give the doctors notrouble sence. "

"All right, Captain Nichol, " said Dr. Barnes, quietly, "Iunderstand my duties, and I see that you understand yours. As yousay, doctors must be obeyed, and I already see that you won't makeme or yourself any trouble. Good-night, Hobart, I'm in chargenow. "

"Good-night, Doctor. Mr. Jackson, I'm sure you will carry out Dr. Barnes' wishes implicitly. "

"Yer'd better, Jackson, " said Nichol, giving him a wink. "A doctorkin give yer high ole jinks ef ye're not keerful. "

Martine now obeyed the instinct often so powerful in the humanbreast as well as in dumb animals, and sought the covert, therefuge of his home, caring little whether he was to live or die. When he saw the lighted windows of Mr. Kemble's residence, hemoaned as if in physical pain. A sudden and immeasurable longingto see, to speak with Helen once before she was again irrevocablycommitted to Nichol, possessed him. He even went to her gate tocarry out his impulse, then curbed himself and returned resolutelyto his dwelling. As soon as his step was on the porch, the dooropened and Mr. Kemble gave him the warm grasp of friendship. Without a word, the two men entered the sitting-room, sat down bythe ruddy fire, and looked at each other, Martine with intense, questioning anxiety in his haggard face. The banker nodded gravelyas he said, "Yes, she knows. "

"It's as I said it would be?" Martine added huskily, after amoment or two. 

"Well, my friend, she said you would understand her better thanany one else. She wrote you this note. "

Martine's hands so trembled that he could scarcely break the seal. He sat looking at the tear-blurred words some little time, andgrew evidently calmer, then faltered, "Yes, it's well to rememberGod at such a time. He has laid heavy burdens upon me. He isresponsible for them, not I. If I break, He also will beresponsible. "

"Hobart, " said Mr. Kemble, earnestly, "you must not break underthis, for our sake as well as your own. I have the presentimentthat we shall all need you yet, my poor girl perhaps most of all. She doesn't, she can't realize it. Now, the dead is alive again. Old girlish impulses and feelings are asserting themselves. As isnatural, she is deeply excited; but this tidal wave of feelingwill pass, and then she will have to face both the past andfuture. I know her well enough to be sure she could never be happyif this thing wrecked you. And then, Hobart, " and the old man sankhis voice to a whisper, "suppose--suppose Nichol continues thesame. "

"He cannot, " cried Martine, almost desperately. "Oh, Mr. Kemble, don't suggest any hope for me. My heart tells me there is none, that there should not be any. No, she loved him as I have lovedher from childhood. She is right. I do understand her so well thatI know what the future will be. "

"Well, " said Mr. Kemble, firmly, as he rose, "she shall nevermarry him as he is, with my consent. I don't feel your confidenceabout Helen's power to restore him. I tell you, Hobart, I'm insore straits. Helen is the apple of my eye. She is the treasure ofour old age. God knows I remember what you have done for her andfor us in the past; and I feel that we shall need you in thefuture. You've become like a son to mother and me, and you muststand by us still. Our need will keep you up and rally you betterthan all Dr. Barnes' medicine. I know you well enough to knowthat. But take the medicine all the same; and above all things, don't give way to anything like recklessness and despair. As yousay, God has imposed the burden. Let him give you the strength tobear it, and other people's burdens too, as you have in the past. I must go now. Don't fail me. "

Wise old Mr. Kemble had indeed proved the better physician. Hismisgivings, fears, and needs, combined with his honest affection, had checked the cold, bitter flood of despair which had beenoverwhelming Martine. The morbid impression that he would be onlyanother complication, and of necessity an embarrassment to Helenand her family, was in a measure removed. Mere words of generalcondolence would not have helped him; an appeal like that to theexhausted soldier, and the thought that the battle for him was notyet over, stirred the deep springs of his nature and slowlykindled the purpose to rally and be ready. He rose, ate a littleof the food, drank the wine, then looked around the beautifulapartment prepared for her who was to have been his wife, "I havegrown weak and reckless, " he said. "I ought to have known her wellenough--I do know her so well--as to be sure that I would cloudher happiness if this thing destroyed me. "

CHAPTER XII

"YOU MUST REMEMBER"

Mr. And Mrs. Nichol wonderingly yet promptly complied with therequest for their presence, meantime casting about in their mindsas to the identity of the relative who had summoned them sounexpected. Mr. Kemble arrived at the hotel at about the samemoment as they did, and Jackson was instructed to keep thecarriage in waiting. "It was I who sent for you and your wife, "said the banker. "Mr. Martine, if possible, would have given youcause for a great joy only; but I fear it must be tempered with ananxiety which I trust will not be long continued;" and he led theway into the parlor. 

"Is it--can it be about Albert?" asked Mrs. Nichols trembling, andsinking into a chair. 

"Yes, Mrs. Nichol. Try to keep your fortitude, for perhaps hiswelfare depends upon it. "

"Oh, God be praised! The hope of this never wholly left me, because they didn't find his body. "

Dr. Barnes came down at once, and with Mr. Kemble tried to soothethe strong emotions of the parents, while at the same timeenlightening them as to their son's discovery and condition. 

"Well, " said Mr. Nichol, in strong emphasis; "Hobart Martine isone of a million. "

"I think he ought to have brought Albert right to me first, " Mrs. Nichol added, shaking her head and wiping her eyes. "After all, amother's claim--"

"My dear Mrs. Nichol, " interrupted Dr. Barnes, "there was nothought of undervaluing your claim on the part of our friendHobart. He has taken what he believed, and what physicians led himto believe, was the best course to restore your son. Besides, Mr. Martine is a very sick man. Even now he needs my attention morethan Captain Nichol. You must realize that he was to have marriedMiss Kemble to-day; yet he brings back your son, sends for Mr. Kemble in order that his daughter, as soon as she can realize thestrange truth, may exert her power. He himself has not seen thegirl who was to have been his bride. "

"Wife, wife, " said Mr. Nichol, brokingly, "no mortal man could domore for us than Hobart Martine, God bless him!"

"Mrs. Nichol, " began Mr. Kemble, "my wife and Helen both unite inthe request that you and your husband bring your son at once toour house; perhaps you would rather meet him in the privacy--"

"Oh, no, no!" she cried, "I cannot wait. Please do not think I aminsensible to all this well-meant kindness; but a mother's heartcannot wait. He'll know ME--me who bore him and carried him on mybreast. "

"Mrs. Nichol, you shall see him at once, " said the doctor. "I hopeit will be as you say; but I'm compelled to tell you that you maybe disappointed. There's no certainty that this trouble will passaway at once under any one's influence. You and your husband comewith me. Mr. Kemble, I will send Jackson down, and so secure theprivacy which you would kindly provide. I will be present, for Imay be needed. "

He led the way, the mother following with the impetuosity andabandon of maternal love, and the father with stronger andstranger emotions than he had ever known, but restrained in amanner natural to a quiet, reticent man. They were about to greetone on whom they had once centred their chief hopes and affection, yet long mourned as dead. It is hard to imagine the wild tumult oftheir feelings. Not merely by words, but chiefly by impulse, immediate action, could they reveal how profoundly they weremoved. 

With kindly intention, as he opened the door of the apartment, thedoctor began, "Mr. Jackson, please leave us a few--"

Mrs. Nichol saw her son and rushed upon him, crying, "Albert, Albert!" It was enough at that moment that she recognized him; andthe thought that he would not recognize her was banished. With anintuition of heart beyond all reasoning, she felt that he who haddrawn his life from her must know her and respond to nature'sfirst strong tie. 

In surprise, Nichol had risen, then was embarrassed to find anelderly woman sobbing on his breast and addressing him in broken, endearing words by a name utterly unfamiliar. He lookedwonderingly at his father, who stood near, trembling and regardinghim through tear-dimmed eyes with an affectionate interest, impressive even to his limited perceptions. 

"Doctor, " he began over his mother's head, "what in thunder doesall this here mean? Me 'n' Jackson was chinnin' comf't'bly, whensud'n you uns let loose on me two crazy old parties I never seedner yeared on. Never had folks go on so 'bout me befo'. Beats eventhat Hob't Ma'tine, " and he showed signs of rising irritation. 

"Albert, Albert!" almost shrieked Mrs. Nichol, "don't you knowme--ME, your own mother?"

"Naw. "

At the half-indignant, incredulous tone, yet more than all at thestrange accent and form of this negative, the poor woman wasalmost beside herself. "Merciful God!" she cried, "this cannotbe;" and she sank into a chair, sobbing almost hysterically. 

For reasons of his own, Dr. Barnes did not interfere. Nature inpowerful manifestations was actuating the parents; and he decided, now that things had gone so far, to let the entire energy ofuncurbed emotion, combined with all the mysterious affinity of theclosest kinship, exert its influence on the clogged brain of hispatient. 

For a few moments Mrs. Nichol was too greatly overcome tocomprehend anything clearly; her husband, on the other hand, wassimply wrought up to his highest capacity for action. His oldinstinct of authority returned, and he seized his son's hand andbegan, "Now, see here, Albert, you were wounded in your head--"

"Yes, right yere, " interrupted Nichol, pointing to his scar. "Iknows all 'bout that, but I don't like these goin's on, ez ef Iwuz a nachel-bawn fool, en had ter bleve all folks sez. I've beentaken in too often. When I wuz with the Johnnies they'd say terme, 'Yankee Blank, see that ar critter? That's a elephant. ' WhenI'd call it a elephant, they'd larf an' larf till I flattened outone feller's nose. I dunno nothin' 'bout elephants; but thecritter they pinted at wuz a cow. Then one day they set me terscrubbin' a nigger to mek 'im white, en all sech doin's, till thehead-doctor stopped the hull blamed nonsense. S'pose I be acur'ous chap. I ain't a nachel-bawn ijit. When folks begin ter goon, en do en say things I kyant see through, then I stands off ensez, 'Lemme 'lone. ' The hospital doctors wouldn't 'low any foolin'with me 't all. "

"I'm not allowing any fooling with you, " said Dr. Barnes, firmly. "I wish you to listen to that man and woman, and believe all theysay. The hospital doctors would give you the same orders. "

"All right, then, " assented Nichol, with a sort of grimace ofresignation. "Fire away, old man, an' git through with yer yarn soJackson kin come back. I wish this woman wouldn't take on so. Hitmakes me orful oncomf't'ble, doggoned ef hit don't. "

The rapid and peculiar utterance, the seemingly unfeeling words ofhis son, stung the father into an ecstasy of grief akin to anger. A man stood before him, as clearly recognized as his own image ina mirror. The captain was not out of his mind in any familiarsense of the word; he remembered distinctly what had happened formonths past. He must recall, he must be MADE to recollect thevital truths of his life on which not only his happiness but thatof others depended. Although totally ignorant of what the wisestcan explain but vaguely, Mr. Nichol was bent on restoring his sonby the sheer force of will, making him remember by telling himwhat he should and must recall. This he tried to do with strong, eager insistence. "Why, Albert, " he urged, "I'm your father; andthat's your mother. "

Nichol shook his head and looked at the doctor, who added gravely, "That's all true. "

"Yes, " resumed Mr. Nichol, with an energy and earnestness ofutterance which compelled attention. "Now listen to reason. As Iwas saying, you were wounded in the head, and you have forgottenwhat happened before you were hurt. But you must remember, youmust, indeed, or you will break your mother's heart and mine, too. "

"But I tell yer, I kyant reckerlect a thing befo' I kinder wakedup in the hospital, en the Johnnies call me Yankee Blank. I jes'wish folks would lemme alone on that pint. Hit allus bothers me enmakes me mad. How kin I reckerlect when I kyant?" and he began toshow signs of strong vexation. 

Dr. Barnes was about to interfere when Mrs. Nichol, who had growncalmer, rose, took her son's hand, and said brokenly: "Albert, look me in the face, your mother's face, and try, TRY with allyour heart and soul and mind. Don't you remember ME?"

It was evident that her son did try. His brow wrinkled in theperplexed effort, and he looked at her fixedly for a moment ormore; but no magnetic current from his mother's hand, nosuggestion of the dear features which had bent over him inchildhood and turned toward him in love and pride throughsubsequent years found anything in his arrested consciousnessanswering to her appeal. 

The effort and its failure only irritated him, and he broke out:"Now look yere, I be as I be. What's the use of all these goin'son? Doctor, if you sez these folks are my father and mother, so beit. I'm learning somethin' new all the time. This ain't no mo'quar, I s'pose, than some other things. I've got to mind a doctor, for I've learned that much ef I hain't nuthin' else, but I wantyou uns to know that I won't stan' no mo' foolin'. Doctors don'tfool me, en they've got the po'r ter mek a feller do ez they sez, but other folks is got ter be keerful how they uses me. "

Mrs. Nichol again sank into her chair and wept bitterly; herhusband at last remained silent in a sort of inward, impotent rageof grief. There was their son, alive and in physical health, yetbetween him and them was a viewless barrier which they could notbreak through. 

The strange complications, the sad thwartings of hope which mustresult unless he was restored, began to loom already in thefuture. 

Dr. Barnes now came forward and said: "Captain Nichol, you are asyou are at this moment, but you must know that you are not whatyou were once. We are trying to restore you to your old self. You'd be a great deal better off if we succeed. You must help usall you can. You must be patient, and try all the time torecollect. You know I am not deceiving you, but seeking to helpyou. You don't like this. That doesn't matter. Didn't you seedoctors do many things in hospitals which the patients didn'tlike?"

"I reckon, " replied Nichol, growing reasonable at once whenbrought on familiar ground. 

"Well, you are my patient. I may have to do some disagreeablethings, but they won't hurt you. It won't be like taking off anarm or a leg. You have seen that done, I suppose?"

"You bet!" was the eager, proud reply. "I used to hold the fellowswhen they squirmed. "

"Now hold yourself. Be patient and good-natured. While we areabout it, I want to make every appeal possible to your lostmemory, and I order you to keep on trying to remember till I say:'Through for the present. ' If we succeed, you'll thank me all thedays of your life. Anyhow, you must do as I say. "

"Oh, I know that. "

"Well, then, your name is Captain Nichol. This is Mr. Nichol, yourfather; this lady is your mother. Call them father and mother whenyou speak to them. Always speak kindly and pleasantly. They'lltake you to a pleasant home when I'm through with you, and youmust mind them. They'll be good to you everyway. "

Nichol grinned acquiescence and said: "All right, Doctor. "

"Now you show your good sense. We'll have you sound and happyyet. " The doctor thought a moment and then asked: "Mr. Nichol, Isuppose that after our visit to Mr. Kemble, you and your wifewould prefer to take your son home with you?"

"Certainly, " was the prompt response. 

"I would advise you to do so. After our next effort, however itresults, we all will need rest and time for thought. Captain, remain here a few moments with your father and mother. Listengood-naturedly and answer pleasantly to whatever they may say toyou. I will be back soon. "

CHAPTER XIII

"I'M HELEN"

Dr. Barnes descended the stairs to the parlor where Mr. Kembleimpatiently awaited him. "Well?" said the banker, anxiously. 

"I will explain while on the way to your house. The carriage isstill ready, I suppose?" to Jackson. 

"Yes, " was the eager reply; "how did he take the meeting of hisparents?"

"In the main as I feared. He does not know them yet. Mr. Jackson, you and I are somewhat alike in one of our duties. I never talkabout my patients. If I did, I ought to be drummed out of the towninstead of ever being called upon again. Of course you feel thatyou should not talk about your guests. You can understand why theparties concerned in this matter would not wish to have itdiscussed in the village. "

"Certainly, Doctor, certainly, " replied Jackson, reddening, for heknew something of his reputation for gossip. "This is no ordinarycase. "

"No, it is not. Captain Nichol and his friends would never forgiveany one who did not do right by them now. In about fifteen minutesor so I will return. Have the carriage wait for me at Mr. Kemble'still again wanted. You may go back to the captain and do your bestto keep him wide-awake. "

Jackson accompanied them to the conveyance and said to the man onthe box: "Obey all Dr. Barnes's orders. "

As soon as the two men were seated, the physician began: "Ourfirst test has failed utterly;" and he briefly narrated what hadoccurred, concluding, "I fear your daughter will have no bettersuccess. Still, it is perhaps wise to do all we can, on the theorythat these sudden shocks may start up the machinery of memory. Nichol is excited; such powers as he possesses are stimulated totheir highest activity, and he is evidently making a strong effortto recall the past, I therefore now deem it best to increase thepressure on his brain to the utmost. If the obstruction does notgive way, I see no other course than to employ the skill ofexperts and trust to the healing processes of time. "

"I am awfully perplexed, Doctor, " was the reply. "You must be firmwith me on one point, and you know your opinion will have greatweight. Under no sentimental sense of duty, or even of affection, must Helen marry Nichol unless he is fully restored and given timeto prove there is no likelihood of any return of this infirmity. "

"I agree with you emphatically. There is no reason for such self-sacrifice on your daughter's part. Nichol would not appreciate it. He is not an invalid; on the contrary, a strong, muscular man, abundantly able to take care of himself under the management ofhis family. "

"He has my profound sympathy, " continued Mr. Kemble, "but givingthat unstintedly is a very different thing from giving him my onlychild. "

"Certainly. Perhaps we need not say very much to Miss Helen onthis point at present. Unless he becomes his old self she willfeel that she has lost him more truly than if he were actuallydead. The only deeply perplexing feature in the case is itsuncertainty. He may be all right before morning, and he may neverrecall a thing that happened before the explosion of that shell. "

The carriage stopped, and Mr. Kemble hastily led the way to hisdwelling. Helen met them at the door. "Oh, how long you havebeen!" she protested; "I've just been tortured by suspense. "

Dr. Barnes took her by the hand and led her to the parlor. "MissHelen, " he said gravely, "if you are not careful you will beanother patient on my hands. Sad as is Captain Nichol's case, heat least obeys me implicitly; so must you. Your face is flushed, your pulse feverish, and--"

"Doctor, " cried the girl, "you can't touch the disease till youremove the cause. Why is he kept so long from me?"

"Helen, child, you MUST believe that the doctor--that we all--aredoing our best for you and Nichol, " said Mr. Kemble, anxiously. "His father and mother came to the hotel. It was but natural thatthey should wish to see him at once. How would we feel?"

"Come, Helen, dear, you must try to be more calm, " urged themother, gently, with her arm around her daughter's neck. "Doctor, can't you give her something to quiet her nerves?"

"Miss Helen, like the captain, is going to do just as I say, aren't you? You can do more for yourself than I can do for you. Remember, you must act intelligently and cooperate with me. Hisfather, and especially his mother, exhibited the utmost degree ofemotion and made the strongest appeals without effect. Now we musttry different tactics. All must be quiet and nothing occur toconfuse or irritate him. "

"Ah, how little you all understand me! The moment you give me achance to act I can be as calm as you are. It's this waiting, thistorturing suspense that I cannot endure. Hobart would not havepermitted it. He knows, he understands. Every effort will failtill Albert sees me. It will be a cause for lasting gratitude tous both that I should be the one to restore him. Now let memanage. My heart will guide me better than your science. "

"What will you do?" inquired her father, in deep solicitude. 

"See, here's his picture, " she replied, taking it from a tablenear--"the one he gave me just before he marched away. Let himlook at that and recall himself. Then I will enter. Oh, I'veplanned it all! My self-control will be perfect. Would I deservethe name of woman if I were weak or hysterical? No, I would do mybest to rescue any man from such a misfortune, much more Albert, who has such sacred claims. "

"That's a good idea of yours about the photograph. Well, I guess Imust let Nature have her own way again, only in this instance Iadvise quiet methods. "

"Trust me, Doctor, and you won't regret it. "

"Nerve yourself then to do your best, but prepare to bedisappointed for the present. I do not and cannot share in yourconfidence. "

"Of course you cannot, " she said, with a smile which illuminatedher face into rare beauty. "Only love and faith could create myconfidence. "

"Miss Helen, " was the grave response, "would love and faithrestore Captain Nichol's right arm if he had lost it?"

"Oh, but that's different, " she faltered. 

"I don't know whether it is or not. We are experimenting. Theremay be a physical cause obstructing memory which neither you norany one can now remove. Kindness only leads me to temper yourhope. "

"Doctor, " she said half-desperately, "it is not hope; it isbelief. I could not feel as I do if I were to be disappointed. "

"Ah, Miss Helen, disappointment is a very common experience. Imust stop a moment and see one who has learned this truth prettythoroughly. Then I will bring Nichol and his parents at once. "

Tears filled her eyes. "Yes, I know, " she sighed; "my heart justbleeds for him, but I cannot help it. Were I not sure that Hobartunderstands me better than any one else, I should be almostdistracted. This very thought of him nerves me. Think what he didfor Albert from a hard sense of duty. Can I fail? Good-by, andplease, PLEASE hasten. "

Martine rose to greet the physician with a clear eye and aresolute face. "Why, why!" cried Dr. Barnes, cheerily, "you look ahundred per cent better. That quinine--"

"There, Doctor, I don't undervalue your drugs; but Mr. Kemble hasbeen to see me and appealed to me for help--to still be on hand ifneeded. Come, I've had my hour for weakness. I am on the up-gradenow. Tell me how far the affair has progressed. "

"Haven't time, Hobart. Since Mr. Kemble's treatment is soefficacious, I'll continue it. You will be needed, you willindeed, no matter how it all turns out. I won't abandon my drugs, either. Here, take this. "

Martine took the medicine as administered. "Now when you feeldrowsy, go to sleep, " added the doctor. 

"Tell me one thing--has she seen him yet?"

"No; his father and mother have, and he does not know them. It'sgoing to be a question of time, I fear. "

"Helen will restore him. "

"So she believes, or tries to. I mercifully shook her faith alittle. Well, she feels for you, old fellow. The belief that youunderstand her better than any one has great sustaining power. "

"Say I won't fail her; but I entreat that you soon let me know theresult of the meeting. "

"I'll come in, " assented the doctor, as he hastily departed. Thenhe added sotto voce, "If you hear anything more under twelve orfifteen hours, I'm off my reckoning. "

Re-entering the carriage, he was driven rapidly to the hotel. Jackson had played his part, and had easily induced Nichol torecount his hospital experience in the presence of his parents, who listened in mingled wonder, grief, and impotent protest. 

"Captain, put on your overcoat and hat and come with me, " said thedoctor, briskly. "Your father and mother will go with us. "

"Good-by, Jackson, " said Nichol, cordially. "Ye're a lively cuss, en I hopes we'll have a chaince to chin agin. "

With a blending of hope and of fear, his parents followed him. Theterrible truth of his sensibility to all that he should recognizeand remember became only the more appalling as they comprehendedit. While it lost none of its strangeness, they were compelled toface and to accept it as they could not do at first. 

"Now, Captain, " said the doctor, after they were seated in thecarriage, "listen carefully to me. It is necessary that you recallwhat happened before you were wounded. I tell you that you must doit if you can, and you know doctors must be obeyed. "

"Look yere, Doctor, ain't I a-tryin'? but I tell yer hit's liketryin' ter lift myself out o' my own boots. "

"Mind, now, I don't say you must remember, only try your best. Youcan do that?"

"I reckon. "

"Well, you are going to the house of an old friend who knew youwell before you were hurt. You must pay close heed to all she saysjust as you would to me. You must not say any rude, bad words, such as soldiers often use, but listen to every word she says. Perhaps you'll know her as soon as you see her. Now I've preparedyou. I won't be far off. "

"Don't leave me, Doctor. I jes' feels nachelly muxed up en madwhen folks pester me 'bout what I kyant do. "

"You must not get angry now, I can tell you. That would never doat all. I FORBID it. "

"There, there now, Doctor, I won't, doggone me ef I will, " Nicholprotested anxiously. 

Mr. Kemble met them at the door, and the captain recognized himinstantly. 

"Why, yere's that sensible ole feller what didn't want to ast noquestions, " he exclaimed. 

"You are right, Captain Nichol, I have no questions to ask. "

"Well, ef folks wuz all like you I'd have a comf't'ble time"

"Come with me, Captain, " said the physician, leading the way intothe parlor. Mr. Kemble silently ushered Mr. And Mrs. Nichol intothe sitting-room on the opposite side of the hall and placed themin the care of his wife. He then went into the back parlor inwhich was Helen, now quiet as women so often are in emergencies. Through a slight opening between the sliding-door she looked, withtightly clasped hands and parted lips, at her lover. At first shewas conscious of little else except the overwhelming truth thatbefore her was one she had believed dead. Then again surged upwith blinding force the old feeling which had possessed her whenshe saw him last--when he had impressed his farewell kiss upon herlips. Remembering the time for her to act was almost at hand, shebecame calm--more from the womanly instinct to help him than fromthe effort of her will. 

Dr. Barnes said to Nichol, "Look around. Don't you think you haveseen this room before? Take your time and try to remember. "

The captain did as he was bidden, but soon shook his head. "Hit'sright purty, but I don't reckerlect. "

"Well, sit down here, then, and look at that picture. Who is it?"

"Why, hit's me--me dressed up as cap'n, " ejaculated Nichol, delightedly. 

"Yes, that was the way you looked and dressed before you werewounded. "

"How yer talk! This beats anythin' I ever yeared from theJohnnies. "

"Now, Captain Nichol, you see we are not deceiving you. We calledyou captain. There's your likeness, taken before you were hurt andlost your memory, and you can see for yourself that you were acaptain. You must think how much there is for you to try toremember. Before you went to the war, long before you got hurt, you gave this likeness of yourself to a young lady that youthought a great deal of. Can't you recall something about it?"

Nichol wrinkled his scarred forehead, scratched his head, andhitched uneasily in his chair, evidently making a vain effort topenetrate the gloom back of that vague awakening in the Southernhospital. At last he broke out in his usual irritation, "Naw, Ikyant, doggon--"

"Hush! you must not use that word here. Don't be discouraged. Youare trying; that's all I ask, " and the doctor laid a soothing handon his shoulder. "Now, Captain, I'll just step in the next room. You think quietly as you can about the young lady to whom you gavethat picture of yourself. "

Nichol was immensely pleased with his photograph, and looked at itin all its lights. While thus gratifying a sort of childishvanity, Helen entered noiselessly, her blue eyes, doubly luminousfrom the pallor of her face, shining like sapphires. So intent washer gaze that one might think it would "kindle a soul under theribs of death. "

At last Nichol became conscious of her presence and started, exclaiming, "Why, there she is herself. "

"OH, Albert, you DO know me, " cried the girl, rushing toward himwith outstretched hand. 

He took it unhesitatingly, saying with a pleased wonder, "Well, Ireckon I'm comin' round. Yer the young lady I give this pictureto?"

"I'm Helen, " she breathed, with an indescribable accent oftenderness and gladness. 

"Why, cert'ny. The doctor tole me 'bout you. "

"But you remember me yourself?" she pleaded. "You remember whatyou said to me when you gave me this picture?" and she looked intohis eyes with an expression which kindled even his dull senses. 

"Oh, shucks!" he said slowly, "I wish I could. I'd like ter 'bligeyer, fer ye're right purty, en I am a-tryin' ter mind the doctor. "

Such a sigh escaped her that one might think her heart and hopewere going with it. The supreme moment of meeting had come andgone, and he did not know her; she saw and felt in her inmost soulthat he did not. The brief and illusive gleam into the past wasprojected only from the present, resulting from what he had beentold, not from what he recalled. 

She withdrew her hand, turned away, and for a moment or two herform shook with sobs she could not wholly stifle. He looked onperplexed and troubled, then broke out, "I jes' feels ez ef I'dsplit my blamed ole haid open--"

She checked him by a gesture. "Wait, " she cried, "sit down. " Shetook a chair near him and hastily wiped her eyes. "Perhaps I canhelp you remember me. You will listen closely, will you not?"

"I be dog--oh, I forgot, " and he looked toward the back parlorapprehensively. "Yes, mees, I'll do anythin' yer sez. "

"Well, once you were a little boy only so high, and I was a littlegirl only so high. We both lived in this village and we went toschool together. We studied out of the same books together. Atthree o'clock in the afternoon school was out, and then we put ourbooks in our desks and the teacher let us go and play. There was apond of water, and it often froze over with smooth black ice. Youand I used to go together to that pond; and you would fasten myskates on my feet--"

"Hanged ef I wouldn't do it agin, " he cried, greatly pleased. "Yerbeats 'em all. Stid o' astin' questions, yer tells me all 'boutwhat happened. Why, I kin reckerlect it all ef I'm tole oftenanuff. "

With a sinking heart she faltered on, "Then you grew older andwent away to school, and I went away to school. We had vacations;we rode on horseback together. Well, you grew to be as tall as youare now; and then came a war and you wore a captain's uniform, like--like that you see in your likeness, and--and--" she stopped. Her rising color became a vivid flush; she slowly rose as thethought burned its way into her consciousness that she wasvirtually speaking to a stranger. Her words were bringing nogleams of intelligence into his face; they were throwing nobetter, no stronger light upon the past than if she were tellingthe story to a great boy. Yet he was not a boy. A man's face wasmerely disfigured (to her eyes) by a grin of pleasure instead of apleased smile; and a man's eyes were regarding her with anunwinking stare of admiration. She was not facing her oldplaymate, her old friend and lover, but a being whose onlyconsciousness reached back but months, through scenes, associations coarse and vulgar like himself. She felt this with anintuition that was overwhelming. She could not utter anothersyllable, much less speak of the sacred love of the past. "O God!"she moaned in her heart, "the man has become a living grave inwhich his old self is buried. Oh, this is terrible, terrible!"

As the truth grew upon her she sprang away, wringing her hands andlooking upon him with an indescribable expression of pity anddread. "Oh, " she now moaned aloud, "if he had only come back to memutilated in body, helpless! but this change--"

She fled from the room, and Nichol stared after her in perplexedconsternation. 

CHAPTER XIV

"FORWARD! COMPANY A"

When Mrs. Kemble was left alone with Captain Nichol's parents inthe sitting-room, she told them of Helen's plan of employing thephotograph in trying to recall their son to himself. It struckthem as an unusually effective method. Mrs. Kemble saw that theiranxiety was so intense that it was torture for them to remain insuspense away from the scene of action. It may be added that herown feelings also led her to go with them into the back parlor, where all that was said by Nichol and her daughter could be heard. Her solicitude for Helen was not less than theirs for their son;and she felt the girl might need both motherly care and counsel. She was opposed even more strenuously than her husband to anycommittal on the daughter's part to her old lover unless he shouldbecome beyond all doubt his former self. At best, it would be aheavy cross to give up Martine, who had won her entire affection. Helen's heart presented a problem too deep for solution. Whatwould--what could--Captain Nichol be to her child in his presentcondition, should it continue?

It was but natural, therefore, that she and her husband shouldlisten to Helen's effort to awaken memories of the past withprofound anxiety. How far would she go? If Nichol were able torespond with no more appreciative intelligence than he had thusfar manifested, would a sentiment of pity and obligation carry herto the point of accepting him as he was, of devoting herself toone who, in spite of all their commiseration and endeavors totolerate, might become a sort of horror in their household! It waswith immense relief that they heard her falter in her story, forthey quickly divined that there was nothing in him which respondedto her effort. When they heard her rise and moan, "If he had onlycome back to me mutilated in body, helpless! but this change--"they believed that she was meeting the disappointment as theycould wish. 

Mr. And Mrs. Nichol heard the words also, and while in a measurecompelled to recognize their force, they conveyed a meaning hardto accept. The appeal upon which so much hope had been built hadfailed. In bitterness of soul, the conviction grew stronger thattheir once brave, keen-minded son would never be much better thanan idiot. 

Then Helen appeared among them as pale, trembling, and overwhelmedas if she had seen a spectre. In strong reaction from her effortand blighted hope she was almost in a fainting condition. Hermother's arms received her and supported her to a lounge; Mrs. Nichol gave way to bitter weeping; Mr. Kemble wrung the father'shand in sympathy, and then at his wife's request went forrestoratives. Dr. Barnes closed the sliding-doors and prudentlyreassured Nichol: "You have done your best, Captain, and that isall I asked of you. Remain here quietly and look at your picturefor a little while, and then you shall have a good long rest. "

"I did try, Doctor, " protested Nichol, anxiously. "Gee wiz! Ireckon a feller orter try ter please sech a purty gyurl. She toleme lots. Look yere, Doctor, why kyan't I be tole over en over tillI reckerlect it all?"

"Well, we'll see, Captain. It's late now, and we must all have arest. Stay here till I come for you. "

Nichol was so pleased with his photograph that he was well contentin its contemplation. The physician now gave his attention toHelen, who was soon so far restored as to comprehend her utterfailure. Her distress was great indeed, and for a few momentsdiverted the thoughts of even Mr. And Mrs. Nichol from their ownsad share in the disappointment. 

"Oh, oh!" sobbed Helen, "this is the bitterest sorrow the war hasbrought us yet. "

"Well, now, friends, " said Dr. Barnes, "it's time I had my say andgave my orders. You must remember that I have not shared veryfully in your confidence that the captain could be restored by theappeals you have made; neither do I share in this abandonment togrief now. As the captain says, he is yet simply unable torespond. We must patiently wait and see what time and medicalskill can do for him. There is no reason whatever for giving uphope. Mrs. Kemble, I would advise you to take Miss Helen to herroom, and you, Mr. Nichol, to take your wife and son home. I willcall in the morning, and then we can advise further. "

His counsel was followed, the captain readily obeying when told togo with his parents. Then the physician stepped over to Martine'scottage and found, as he supposed, that the opiate and exhaustednature had brought merciful oblivion. 

It was long before Helen slept, nor would she take anything toinduce sleep. She soon became quiet, kissed her mother, and saidshe wished to be alone. Then she tried to look at the problem inall its aspects, and earnestly asked for divine guidance. Thedecision reached in the gray dawn brought repose of mind and body. 

It was late in the afternoon when Martine awoke with a dull painin his head and heart. As the consciousness of all that hadhappened returned, he remembered that there was good reason forboth. His faithful old domestic soon prepared a dainty meal, whichaided in giving tone to his exhausted system. Then he sat down byhis fire to brace himself for the tidings he expected to hear. Helen's chair was empty. It would always be hers, but hope wasgone that she would smile from it upon him during the long winterevenings. Already the room was darkening toward the early Decembertwilight, and he felt that his life was darkening in like manner. He was no longer eager to hear what had occurred. The mental andphysical sluggishness which possessed him was better than sharppain; he would learn all soon enough--the recognition, thebeginning of a new life which inevitably would drift further andfurther from him. His best hope was to get through the time, toendure patiently and shape his life so as to permit as little ofits shadow as possible to fall upon hers. But as he looked aroundthe apartment and saw on every side the preparations for one whohad been his, yet could be no longer, his fortitude gave way, andhe buried his face in his hands. 

So deep was his painful revery that he did not hear the entranceof Dr. Barnes and Mr. Kemble. The latter laid a hand upon hisshoulder and said kindly, "Hobart, my friend, it is just as I toldyou it would be. Helen needs you and wishes to see you. "

Martine started up, exclaiming, "He must have remembered her. "

Mr. Kemble shook his head. "No, Hobart, " said the doctor, "she wasas much of a stranger to him as you were. There were, of course, grounds for your expectation and hers also, but we prosaicphysiologists have some reason for our doubtings as well as youfor your beliefs. It's going to be a question of time with Nichol. How are you yourself? Ah, I see, " he added, with his finger on hispatient's pulse. "With you it's going to be a question of tonics. "

"Yes, I admit that, " Martine replied, "but perhaps of tonics otherthan those you have in mind. You said, sir [to Mr. Kemble], thatHelen wished to see me?"

"Yes, when you feel well enough. "

"I trust you will make yourselves at home, " said Martine, hastilypreparing to go out. 

"But don't you wish to hear more about Nichol?" asked the doctor, laughing. 

"Not at present. Good-by. "

Yet he was perplexed how to meet the girl who should now have beenhis wife; and he trembled with strange embarrassment as he enteredthe familiar room in which he had parted from her almost on theeve of their wedding. She was neither perplexed nor embarrassed, for she had the calmness of a fixed purpose. She went swiftly tohim, took his hand, led him to a chair, then sat down beside him. He looked at her wonderingly and listened sadly as she asked, "Hobart, will you be patient with me again?"

"Yes, " he replied after a moment, yet he sighed deeply inforeboding. 

Tears came into her eyes, yet her voice did not falter as shecontinued: "I said last night that you would understand me betterthan any one else; so I believe you will now. You will sustain andstrengthen me in what I believe to be duty. "

"Yes, Helen, up to the point of such endurance as I have. Onecan't go beyond that. "

"No, Hobart, but you will not fail me, nor let me fail. I cannotmarry Captain Nichol as he now is"--there was an irrepressibleflash of joy in his dark eyes--"nor can I, " she added slowly andsadly, "marry you. " He was about to speak, but she checked him andresumed. "Listen patiently to me first. I have thought and thoughtlong hours, and I think I am right. You, better than I, knowCaptain Nichol's condition--its sad contrast to his former nobleself. The man we once knew is veiled, hidden, lost--how can weexpress it? But he exists, and at any time may find and revealhimself. No one, not even I, can revolt at what he is now as hewill revolt at it all when his true consciousness returns. He hasmet with an immeasurable misfortune. He is infinitely worse offthan if helpless--worse off than if he were dead, if thiscondition is to last; but it may not last. What would he think ofme if I should desert him now and leave him nothing to rememberbut a condition of which he could only think with loathing? I willhide nothing from you, Hobart, my brave, true friend--you who havetaught me what patience means. If you had brought him back utterlyhelpless, yet his old self in mind, I could have loved him andmarried him, and you would have sustained me in that course. Now Idon't know. My future, in this respect, is hidden like his. Theshock I received last night, the revulsion of feeling whichfollowed, leaves only one thing clear. I must try to do what isright by him; it will not be easy. I hope you will understand. While I have the deepest pity that a woman can feel, I shrink fromhim NOW, for the contrast between his former self and his presentis so terrible. Oh, it is such a horrible mystery! All Dr. Barnes's explanations do not make it one bit less mysterious anddreadful. Albert took the risk of this; he has suffered this forhis country. I must suffer for him; I must not desert him in hissad extremity. I must not permit him to awake some day and learnfrom others what he now is, and that I, the woman he loved, of allothers, left him to his degradation. The consequences might bemore fatal than the injury which so changed him. Such action on mypart might destroy him morally. Now his old self is buried astruly as if he had died. I could never look him in the face againif I left him to take his chances in life with no help from me, still less if I did that which he could scarcely forgive. He couldnot understand all that has happened since we thought him dead. Hewould only remember that I deserted him in his present pitiableplight. Do you understand me, Hobart?"

"I must, Helen. "

"I know how hard it is for you. Can you think I forget this for amoment? Yet I send for you to help, to sustain me in a purposewhich changes our future so greatly. Do you not remember what yousaid once about accepting the conditions of life as they are? Wemust do this again, and make the best of them. "

"But if--suppose his memory does not come back. Is there to be nohope?"

"Hobart, you must put that thought from you as far as you can. Doyou not see whither it might lead? You would not wish CaptainNichol to remain as he is?"

"Oh, " he cried desperately, "I'm put in a position that would taxany saint in the calendar. "

"Yes, you are. The future is not in our hands. I can only appealto you to help me do what I think is right NOW. "

He thought a few moments, took his resolve, then gave her his handsilently. She understood him without a word. 

The news of the officer's return and of his strange condition wassoon generally known in the village; but his parents, aided by thephysician, quickly repressed those inclined to call from merecuriosity. At first Jim Wetherby scouted the idea that his oldcaptain would not know him, but later had to admit the fact with awonder which no explanations satisfied. Nichol immediately took afancy to the one-armed veteran, who was glad to talk by the hourabout soldiers and hospitals. 

Before any matured plan for treatment could be adopted Nicholbecame ill, and soon passed into the delirium of fever. "Thetrouble is now clear enough, " Dr. Barnes explained. "The captainhas lived in hospitals and breathed a tainted atmosphere so longthat his system is poisoned. This radical change of air hasdeveloped the disease. "

Indeed, the typhoid symptoms progressed so rapidly as to show thatthe robust look of health had been in appearance only. Theinjured, weakened brain was the organ which suffered most, and inspite of the physician's best efforts his patient speedily enteredinto a condition of stupor, relieved only by low, unintelligiblemutterings. Jim Wetherby became a tireless watcher, and greatlyrelieved the grief-stricken parents. Helen earnestly entreatedthat she might act the part of nurse also, but the doctor firmlyforbade her useless exposure to contagion. She drove daily to thehouse, yet Mrs. Nichol's sad face and words could scarcelydissipate the girl's impression that the whole strange episode wasa dream. 

At last it was feared that the end was near. One night Dr. Barnes, Mr. And Mrs. Nichol, and Jim Wetherby were watching in the hope ofa gleam of intelligence. He was very low, scarcely more thanbreathing, and they dreaded lest there might be no sign before theglimmer of life faded out utterly. 

Suddenly the captain seemed to awake, his glassy eyes kindled, anda noble yet stern expression dignified his visage. In a thickvoice he said, "For--" Then, as if all the remaining forces oflife asserted themselves, he rose in his bed and exclaimed loudly, "Forward! Company A. Guide right. Ah!" He fell back, now dead invery truth. 

"Oh!" cried Jim Wetherby, excitedly, "them was the last words Iheard from him just before the shell burst, and he looks now justas he did then. "

"Yes, " said Dr. Barnes, sadly and gravely, "memory came back tohim at the point where he lost it. He has died as we thought atfirst--a brave soldier leading a charge. "

The stern, grand impress of battle remained upon the officer'scountenance. Friends and neighbors looked upon his ennobled visagewith awe, and preserved in honored remembrance the real man thattemporarily had been obscured. Helen's eyes, when taking herfarewell look, were not so blinded with tears but that sherecognized his restored manhood. Death's touch had been morepotent than love's appeal. 

In the Wilderness, upon a day fatal to him and so many thousands, Captain Nichol had prophesied of the happy days of peace. Theycame, and he was not forgotten. 

One evening Dr. Barnes was sitting with Martine and Helen at theirfireside. They had been talking about Nichol, and Helen remarkedthoughtfully, "It was so very strange that he should have regainedhis memory in the way and at the time he did. "

"No, " replied the physician, "that part of his experience does notstrike me as so very strange. In typhoid cases a lucid interval isapt to precede death. His brain, like his body, was depleted, shrunken slightly by disease. This impoverishment probably removedthe cerebral obstruction, and the organ of memory renewed itsaction at the point where it had been arrested. My theory explainshis last ejaculation, 'Ah!' It was his involuntary exclamation ashe again heard the shell burst. The reproduction in his mind ofthis explosion killed him instantly after all. He was tooenfeebled to bear the shock. If he had passed from delirium intoquiet sleep--ah, well! he is dead, and that is all we can knowwith certainty. "

"Well, " said Martine, with a deep breath, "I am glad he had everychance that it was possible for us to give him. "

"Yes, Hobart, " added his wife, gently, "you did your whole duty, and I do not forget what it cost you. "

QUEEN OF SPADES

"Mother, " remarked Farmer Banning, discontentedly, "Susie ismaking a long visit. "

"She is coming home next week, " said his cheery wife. She haddrawn her low chair close to the air-tight stove, for a late Marchsnowstorm was raging without. 

"It seems to me that I miss her more and more. "

"Well, I'm not jealous. "

"Oh, come, wife, you needn't be. The idea! But I'd be jealous ifour little girl was sorter weaned away from us by this visit intown. "

"Now, see here, father, you beat all the men I ever heard of inscolding about farmers borrowing, and here you are borrowingtrouble. "

"Well, I hope I won't have to pay soon. But I've been thinkingthat the old farmhouse may look small and appear lonely after hergay winter. When she is away, it's too big for me, and a suspicionlonely for us both. I've seen that you've missed her more than Ihave. "

"I guess you're right. Well, she's coming home, as I said, and wemust make home seem home to her. The child's growing up. Why, she'll be eighteen week after next. You must give her somethingnice on her birthday. "

"I will, " said the farmer, his rugged, weather-beaten facesoftening with memories. "Is our little girl as old as that? Why, only the other day I was carrying her on my shoulder to the barnand tossing her into the haymow. Sure enough, the 10th of Aprilwill be her birthday. Well, she shall choose her own present. "

On the afternoon of the 5th of April he went down the long bill tothe station, and was almost like a lover in his eagerness to seehis child. He had come long before the train's schedule time, butwas rewarded at last. When Susie appeared, she gave him a kissbefore every one, and a glad greeting which might have satisfiedthe most exacting of lovers. He watched her furtively as they rodeat a smart trot up the hill. Farmer Banning kept no old nags forhis driving, but strong, well-fed, spirited horses that sometimesdrew a light vehicle almost by the reins. "Yes, " he thought, "shehas grown a little citified. She's paler, and has a certain air orstyle that don't seem just natural to the hill. Well, thank theLord! she doesn't seem sorry to go up the hill once more. "

"There's the old place, Susie, waiting for you, " he said. "Itdoesn't look so very bleak, does it, after all the fine cityhouses you've seen?"

"Yes, father, it does. It never appeared so bleak before. "

He looked at his home, and in the late gray afternoon, saw it in ameasure with her eyes--the long brown, bare slopes, a few gauntold trees about the house, and the top boughs of the apple-orchardbehind a sheltering hill in the rear of the dwelling. 

"Father, " resumed the girl, "we ought to call our place the BleakHouse. I never so realized before how bare and desolate it looks, standing there right in the teeth of the north wind. "

His countenance fell, but he had no time for comment. A momentlater Susie was in her mother's arms. The farmer lifted the trunkto the horse-block and drove to the barn. "I guess it will be theold story, " he muttered. "Home has become 'Bleak House. ' I supposeit did look bleak to her eyes, especially at this season. Well, well, some day Susie will go to the city to stay, and then it willbe Bleak House sure enough. "

"Oh, father, " cried his daughter when, after doing his eveningwork, he entered with the shadow of his thoughts still upon hisface--"oh, father, mother says I can choose my birthday present!"

"Yes, Sue; I've passed my word. "

"And so I have your bond. My present will make you open youreyes. "

"And pocket-book too, I suppose. I'll trust you, however, not tobreak me. What is it to be?"

"I'll tell you the day before, and not till then. "

After supper they drew around the stove. Mrs. Banning got out herknitting, as usual, and prepared for city gossip. The farmerrubbed his hands over the general aspect of comfort, andespecially over the regained presence of his child's bright face. "Well, Sue, " he remarked, "you'll own that this room IN the housedoesn't look very bleak?"

"No, father, I'll own nothing of the kind. Your face and mother'sare not bleak, but the room is. "

"Well, " said the farmer, rather disconsolately, "I fear the oldplace has been spoiled for you. I was saying to mother before youcame home--"

"There now, father, no matter about what you were saying. LetSusie tell us why the room is bleak. "

The girl laughed softly, got up, and taking a billet of wood fromthe box, put it into the air-tight. "The stove has swallowed itjust as old Trip did his supper. Shame! you greedy dog, " sheadded, caressing a great Newfoundland that would not leave her amoment. "Why can't you learn to eat your meals like a gentleman?"Then to her father, "Suppose we could sit here and see the flamescurling all over and around that stick. Even a camp in the woodsis jolly when lighted up by a flickering blaze. "

"Oh--h!" said the farmer; "you think an open fire would take awaythe bleakness?"

"Certainly. The room would be changed instantly, and mother's facewould look young and rosy again. The blue-black of this sheet-ironstove makes the room look blue-black. "

"Open fires don't give near as much heat, " said her father, meditatively. "They take an awful lot of wood; and wood is gettingscarce in these parts. "

"I should say so! Why don't you farmers get together, appoint acommittee to cut down every tree remaining, then make it a State-prison offence ever to set out another? Why, father, you cutnearly all the trees from your lot a few years ago and sold thewood. Now that the trees are growing again, you are talking ofclearing up the land for pasture. Just think of the comfort wecould get out of that wood-lot! What crop would pay better? Allthe upholsterers in the world cannot furnish a room as an openhardwood fire does; and all the produce of the farm could not buyanything else half so nice. "

"Say, mother, " said her father, after a moment, "I guess I'll getdown that old Franklin from the garret to-morrow and see if itcan't furnish this room. "

The next morning he called rather testily to the hired man, whowas starting up the lane with an axe, "Hiram, I've got other workfor you. Don't cut a stick in that wood-lot unless I tell you. "

The evening of the 9th of April was cool but clear, and the farmersaid, genially, "Well, Sue, prospects good for fine weather onyour birthday. Glad of it; for I suppose you will want me to go totown with you for your present, whatever it is to be. "

"You'll own up a girl can keep a secret now, won't you?"

"He'll have to own more'n that, " added his wife; "he must own thatan ole woman hasn't lost any sleep from curiosity. "

"How much will be left me to own to-morrow night?" said thefarmer, dubiously. "I suppose Sue wants a watch studded withdiamonds, or a new house, or something else that she darsn't speakof till the last minute, even to her mother. "

"Nothing of the kind. I want only all your time tomorrow, and allHiram's time, after you have fed the stock. "

"All our time!

"Yes, the entire day, in which you both are to do just what Iwish. You are not going gallivanting to the city, but will have towork hard. "

"Well, I'm beat! I don't know what you want any more than I did atfirst. "

"Yes, you do--your time and Hiram's. "

"Give it up. It's hardly the season for a picnic. We might gofishing--"

"We must go to bed, so as to be up early, all hands. "

"Oh, hold on, Sue; I do like this wood-fire. If it wouldn't makeyou vain, I'd tell you how--"

"Pretty, father. Say it out. "

"Oh, you know it, do you? Well, how pretty you look in thefirelight. Even mother, there, looks ten years younger. Keep yourlow seat, child, and let me look at you. So you're eighteen? My!my! how the years roll around! It WILL be Bleak House for motherand me, in spite of the wood-fire, when you leave us. "

"It won't be Bleak House much longer, " she replied with asignificant little nod. 

The next morning at an early hour the farmer said, "All ready, Sue. Our time is yours till night; so queen it over us. " And blackHiram grinned acquiescence, thinking he was to have an easy time. 

"Queen it, did you say?" cried Sue, in great spirits. "Well, then, I shall be queen of spades. Get 'em, and come with me. Bring apickaxe, too. " She led the way to a point not far from thedwelling, and resumed: "A hole here, father, a hole there, Hiram, big enough for a small hemlock, and holes all along the northeastside of the house. Then lots more holes, all over the lawn, foroaks, maples, dogwood, and all sorts to pretty trees, especiallyevergreens. '

"Oh, ho!" cried the farmer; "now I see the hole where thewoodchuck went in. "

"But you don't see the hole where he's coming out. When that isdug, even the road will be lined with trees. Foolish old father!you thought I'd be carried away with city gewgaws, fine furniture, dresses, and all that sort of thing. You thought I'd be pining forwhat you couldn't afford, what wouldn't do you a particle of good, nor me either, in the long run. I'm going to make you set outtrees enough to double the value of your place and take all thebleakness and bareness from this hillside. To-day is only thebeginning. I did get some new notions in the city which made mediscontented with my home, but they were not the notions you wereworrying about. In the suburbs I saw that the most costly houseswere made doubly attractive by trees and shrubbery, and I knewthat trees would grow for us as well as for millionaires--Myconscience! if there isn't--" and the girl frowned and bit herlips. 

"Is that one of the city beaux you were telling us about?" askedher father, sotto voce. 

"Yes; but I don't want any beaux around to-day. I didn't thinkhe'd be so persistent. " Then, conscious that she was not dressedfor company, but for work upon which she had set her heart, sheadvanced and gave Mr. Minturn a rather cool greeting. 

But the persistent beau was equal to the occasion. He had enduredSue's absence as long as he could, then had resolved on a longday's siege, with a grand storming-onset late in the afternoon. 

"Please, Miss Banning, " he began, "don't look askance at me forcoming at this unearthly hour. I claim the sacred rites ofhospitality. I'm an invalid. The doctor said I needed country air, or would have prescribed it if given a chance. You said I mightcome to see you some day, and by playing Paul Pry I found out, youremember, that this was your birthday, and--"

"And this is my father, Mr. Minturn. "

Mr. Minturn shook the farmer's hand with a cordiality calculatedto awaken suspicions of his designs in a pump, had its handle beenthus grasped. "Mr. Banning will forgive me for appearing with thelark, " he continued volubly, determining to break the ice. "Onecan't get the full benefit of a day in the country if he starts inthe afternoon. "

The farmer was polite, but nothing more. If there was one thingbeyond all others with which he could dispense, it was a beau forSue. 

Sue gave her father a significant, disappointed glance, whichmeant, "I won't get my present to day"; but he turned and said toHiram, "Dig the hole right there, two feet across, eighteen inchesdeep. " Then he started for the house. While not ready for suitors, his impulse to bestow hospitality was prompt. 

The alert Mr. Minturn had observed the girl's glance, and knewthat the farmer had gone to prepare his wife for a guest. Hedetermined not to remain unless assured of a welcome. "Come, MissBanning, " he said, "we are at least friends, and should be frank. How much misunderstanding and trouble would often be saved ifpeople would just speak their thought! This is your birthday--YOURDAY. It should not be marred by any one. It would distress mekeenly if I were the one to spoil it. Why not believe me literallyand have your way absolutely about this day? I could come anothertime. Now show that a country girl, at least, can speak her mind. "

With an embarrassed little laugh she answered, "I'm half inclinedto take you at your word; but it would look so inhospitable. "

"Bah for looks! The truth, please. By the way, though, you neverlooked better than in that trim blue walking-suit. "

"Old outgrown working-suit, you mean. How sincere you are!"

"Indeed I am. Well, I'm de trop; that much is plain. You will letme come another day, won't you?"

"Yes, and I'll be frank too and tell you about THIS day. Father'sa busy man, and his spring work is beginning, but as my birthday-present he has given me all his time and all Hiram's yonder. Well, I learned in the city how trees improved a home; and I had plannedto spend this long day in setting out trees--planned it ever sincemy return. So you see--"

"Of course I see and approve, " cried Minturn. "I know now why Ihad such a wild impulse to come out here to-day. Why, certainly. Just fancy me a city tramp looking for work, and not praying Iwon't find it, either. I'll work for my board. I know how to setout trees. I can prove it, for I planted those thrifty fellowsgrowing about our house in town. Think how much more you'llaccomplish, with another man to help--one that you can orderaround to your heart's content. "

"The idea of my putting you to work!"

"A capital idea! and if a man doesn't work when a woman puts himat it he isn't worth the powder--I won't waste time even inoriginal remarks. I'll promise you there will be double the numberof trees out by night. Let me take your father's spade and showyou how I can dig. Is this the place? If I don't catch up withHiram, you may send the tramp back to the city. " And before shecould remonstrate, his coat was off and he at work. 

Laughing, yet half in doubt, she watched him. The way he made theearth fly was surprising. "Oh, come, " she said after a fewmoments, "you have shown your goodwill. A steam-engine could notkeep it up at that rate. "

"Perhaps not; but I can. Before you engage me, I wish you to knowthat I am equal to old Adam, and can dig. "

"Engage you!" she thought with a little flutter of dismay. "Icould manage him with the help of town conventionalities; but howwill it be here? I suppose I can keep father and Hiram withinearshot, and if he is so bent on--well, call it a lark, since hehas referred to that previous bird, perhaps I might as well have alark too, seeing it's my birthday. " Then she spoke. "Mr. Minturn!"

"I'm busy. "

"But really--"

"And truly tell me, am I catching up with Hiram?"

"You'll get down so deep that you'll drop through if you're notcareful. "

"There's nothing like having a man who is steady working for you. Now, most fellows would stop and giggle at such little amusingremarks. "

"You are soiling your trousers. "

"Yes, you're right. They ARE mine. There; isn't that a regulationhole? 'Two feet across and eighteen deep. '"

"Yah! yah!" cackled Hiram; "eighteen foot deep! Dat ud be a well. "

"Of course it would, and truth would lie at its bottom. Can Istay, Miss Banning?"

"Did you ever see the like?" cried the farmer, who had appeared, unnoticed. 

"Look here, father, " said the now merry girl, "perhaps I wasmistaken. This--"

"Tramp--" interjected Minturn. 

"Says he's looking for work and knows how to set out trees. "

"And will work all day for a dinner, " the tramp promptly added. 

"If he can dig holes at that rate, Sue, " said her father, catchingtheir spirit, "he's worth a dinner. But you're boss to-day; I'monly one of the hands. "

"I'm only another, " said Minturn, touching his hat. 

"Boss, am I? I'll soon find out. Mr. Minturn, come with me and dona pair of overalls. You shan't put me to shame, wearing thatspick-and-span suit, neither shall you spoil it. Oh, you're in forit now! You might have escaped, and come another day, when I couldhave received you in state and driven you out behind father'sfrisky bays. When you return to town with blistered hands andaching bones, you will at least know better another time. "

"I don't know any better this time, and just yearn for thoseoveralls. "

"To the house, then, and see mother before you become a wreck. "

Farmer Banning looked after him and shook his head. Hiram spokehis employer's thought, "Dar ar gem'lin act like he gwine ter sethisself out on dis farm. "

Sue had often said, "I can never be remarkable for anything; but Iwon't be commonplace. " So she did not leave her guest in theparlor while she rushed off for a whispered conference with hermother. The well-bred simplicity of her manner, which oftenstopped just short of brusqueness, was never more apparent thannow. "Mother!" she called from the parlor door. 

The old lady gave a few final directions to her maid-of-all-work, and then appeared. 

"Mother, this is Mr. Minturn, one of my city friends, of whom Ihave spoken to you. He is bent on helping me set out trees. "

"Yes, Mrs. Banning, so bent that your daughter found that shewould have to employ her dog to get me off the place. "

Now, it had so happened that in discussing with her mother theyoung men whom she had met, Sue had said little about Mr. Minturn;but that little was significant to the experienced matron. Wordshad slipped out now and then which suggested that the girl didmore thinking than talking concerning him; and she always referredto him in some light which she chose to regard as ridiculous, butwhich had not seemed in the least absurd to the attentivelistener. When her husband, therefore, said that Mr. Minturn hadappeared on the scene, she felt that an era of portentous eventshad begun. The trees to be set out would change the old placegreatly, but a primeval forest shading the door would be asnothing compared with the vicissitude which a favored "beau" mightproduce. But mothers are more unselfish than fathers, and aretheir daughters' natural allies unless the suitor isobjectionable. Mrs. Banning was inclined to be hospitable ongeneral principles, meantime eager on her own account to seesomething of this man, about whom she had presentiments. So shesaid affably, "My daughter can keep her eye on the work which sheis so interested in, and yet give you most of her time. --Susan, Iwill entertain Mr. Minturn while you change your dress. "

She glanced at her guest dubiously, receiving for the moment theimpression that the course indicated by her mother was the correctone. The resolute admirer knew well what a fiasco the day would beshould the conventionalities prevail, and so said promptly: "Mrs. Banning, I appreciate your kind intentions, and I hope some dayyou may have the chance to carry them out. To-day, as your husbandunderstands, I am a tramp from the city looking for work. I havefound it, and have been engaged. --Miss Banning, I shall hold youinflexibly to our agreement--a pair of overalls and dinner. "

Sue said a few words of explanation. Her mother laughed, buturged, "Do go and change your dress. "

"I protest!" cried Mr. Minturn. "The walking-suit and overalls gotogether. "

"Walking-suit, indeed!" repeated Sue, disdainfully. "But I shallnot change it. I will not soften one feature of the scrape youhave persisted in getting yourself into. "

"Please don't. "

"Mr. Minturn, " said the matron, with smiling positiveness, "Susieis boss only out of doors; I am, in the house. There is a fresh-made cup of coffee and some eggs on toast in the dining-room. Having taken such an early start, you ought to have a lunch beforebeing put to work. "

"Yes, " added Sue, "and the out-door boss says you can't go to workuntil at least the coffee is sipped. "

"She's shrewd, isn't she, Mrs. Banning? She knows she will gettwice as much work out of me on the strength of that coffee. Please get the overalls. I will not sip, but swallow the coffee, unless it's scalding, so that no time may be lost. Miss Banningmust see all she had set her heart upon accomplished to-day, and agreat deal more. "

The matron departed on her quest, and as she pulled out theoveralls, nodded her head significantly. "Things will be serioussure enough if he accomplishes all he has set his heart on, " shemuttered. "Well, he doesn't seem afraid to give us a chance to seehim. He certainly will look ridiculous in these overalls, but notmuch more so than Sue in that old dress. I do wish she wouldchange it. "

The girl had considered this point, but with characteristicdecision had thought: "No; he shall see us all on the plainestside of our life. He always seemed a good deal of an exquisite intown, and he lives in a handsome house. If to-day's experience atthe old farm disgusts him, so be it. My dress is clean and tidy, if it is outgrown and darned; and mother is always neat, no matterwhat she wears. I'm going through the day just as I planned; andif he's too fine for us, now is the time to find it out. He mayhave come just for a lark, and will laugh with his folks to-nightover the guy of a girl I appear; but I won't yield even to theputting of a ribbon in my hair. "

Mrs. Banning never permitted the serving of cold slops for coffee, and Mr. Minturn had to sip the generous and fragrant beverageslowly. Meanwhile, his thoughts were busy. "Bah! for the oldsaying, 'Take the goods the gods send, '" he mused. "Go after yourgoods and take your pick. I knew my head was level in coming out. All is just as genuine as I supposed it would be--simple, honest, homely. The girl isn't homely, though, but she's just as genuineas all the rest, in that old dress which fits her like a glove. Noshams and disguises on this field-day of my life. And her mother!A glance at her comfortable amplitude banished my one fear. There's not a sharp angle about her. I was satisfied about MissSue, but the term 'mother-in-law' suggests vague terrors to anyman until reassured. --Ah, Miss Banning, " he said, "this coffeewould warm the heart of an anchorite. No wonder you are inspiredto fine things after drinking such nectar. "

"Yes, mother is famous for her coffee. I know that's fine, and youcan praise it; but I'll not permit any ironical remarks concerningmyself. "

"I wouldn't, if I were you, especially when you are mistress ofthe situation. Still, I can't help having my opinion of you. Whyin the world didn't you choose as your present something stylishfrom the city?"

"Something, I suppose you mean, in harmony with my very stylishsurroundings and present appearance. "

"I didn't mean anything of the kind, and fancy you know it. Ah!here are the overalls. Now deeds, not words. I'll leave my coat, watch, cuffs, and all impedimenta with you, Mrs. Banning. Am I nota spectacle to men and gods?" he added, drawing up the garment, which ceased to be nether in that it reached almost to hisshoulders. 

"Indeed you are, " cried Sue, holding her side from laughing. Mrs. Banning also vainly tried to repress her hilarity over the absurdguy into which the nattily-dressed city man had transformedhimself. 

"Come, " he cried, "no frivolity! You shall at least say I kept myword about the trees to-day. " And they started at once for thescene of action, Minturn obtaining on the way a shovel from thetool-room. 

"To think she's eighteen years old and got a beau!" muttered thefarmer, as he and Hiram started two new holes. They were dug andothers begun, yet the young people had not returned. "That's theway with young men nowadays--'big cry, little wool. ' I thought Iwas going to have Sue around with me all day. Might as well getused to it, I suppose. Eighteen! Her mother's wasn't much olderwhen--yes, hang it, there's always a WHEN with these likely girls. I'd just like to start in again on that day when I tossed her intothe haymow. "

"What are you talking to yourself about, father?"

"Oh! I thought I had seen the last of you to-day. "

"Perhaps you will wish you had before night. "

"Well, now, Sue! the idea of letting Mr. Minturn rig himself outlike that! There's no use of scaring the crows so long beforecorn-planting. " And the farmer's guffaw was quickly joined byHiram's broad "Yah! yah!"

She frowned a little as she said, "He doesn't look any worse thanI do. "

"Come, Mr. Banning, Solomon in all his glory could not so takeyour daughter's eye to-day as a goodly number of trees standingwhere she wants them. I suggest that you loosen the soil with thepickaxe, then I can throw it out rapidly. Try it. "

The farmer did so, not only for Minturn, but for Hiram also. Thelightest part of the work thus fell to him. "We'll change about, "he said, "when you get tired. "

But Minturn did not get weary apparently, and under this newdivision of the toil the number of holes grew apace. 

"Sakes alive, Mr. Minturn!" ejaculated Mr. Banning, "one wouldthink you had been brought up on a farm. "

"Or at ditch-digging, " added the young man. "No; my profession isto get people into hot water and then make them pay roundly to getout. I'm a lawyer. Times have changed in cities. It's there you'llfind young men with muscle, if anywhere. Put your hand here, sir, and you'll know whether Miss Banning made a bad bargain in hiringme for the day. "

"Why!" exclaimed the astonished farmer, "you have the muscle of ablacksmith. "

"Yes, sir; I could learn that trade in about a month. "

"You don't grow muscle like that in a law-office?"

"No, indeed; nothing but bills grow there. A good fashion, if notabused, has come in vogue, and young men develop their bodies aswell as brains. I belong to an athletic club in town, and couldtake to pugilism should everything else fail. "

"Is there any prospect of your coming to that?" Sue askedmischievously. 

"If we were out walking, and two or three rough fellows gave youimpudence--" He nodded significantly. 

"What could you do against two or three? They'd close on you. "

"A fellow taught to use his hands doesn't let men close on him. "

"Yah, yah! reckon not, " chuckled Hiram. One of the farm householdhad evidently been won. 

"It seems to me, " remarked smiling Sue, "that I saw several youngmen in town who appeared scarcely equal to carrying their canes. "

"Dudes?"

"That's what they are called, I believe. "

"They are not men. They are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, but thebeginning of the great downward curve of evolution. Men came upfrom monkeys, it's said, you know, but science is in despair overthe final down-comes of dudes. They may evolute intograsshoppers. "

The farmer was shaken with mirth, and Sue could not help seeingthat he was having a good time. She, however, felt that notranquilly exciting day was before her, as she had anticipated. What wouldn't that muscular fellow attempt before night? Hepossessed a sort of vim and cheerful audacity which made hertremble, "He is too confident, " she thought, "and needs a lesson. All this digging is like that of soldiers who soon mean to droptheir shovels. I don't propose to be carried by storm just when hegets ready. He can have his lark, and that's all to-day. I want agood deal of time to think before I surrender to him or any oneelse. "

During the remainder of the forenoon these musings prevented theslightest trace of sentimentality from appearing in her face orwords. She had to admit mentally that Minturn gave her no occasionfor defensive tactics. He attended as strictly to business as didHiram, and she was allowed to come and go at will. At first shemerely ventured to the house, to "help mother, " as she said. Then, with growing confidence, she went here and there to select sitesfor trees; but Minturn dug on no longer "like a steam-engine, " yetin an easy, steady, effective way that was a continual surprise tothe farmer. 

"Well, Sue, " said her father at last, "you and mother ought tohave an extra dinner; for Mr. Minturn certainly has earned one. "

"I promised him only a dinner, " she replied; "nothing was saidabout its being extra. "

"Quantity is all I'm thinking of, " said Minturn. "I have the saucewhich will make it a feast. "

"Beckon it's gwine on twelve, " said Hiram, cocking his eye at thesun. "Hadn't I better feed de critters?"

"Ah, old man! own up, now; you've got a backache, " said Minturn. 

"Dere is kin' ob a crik comin'--"

"Drop work, all hands, " cried Sue. "Mr. Minturn has a 'crik' also, but he's too proud to own it. How you'll groan for this to-morrow, sir!"

"If you take that view of the case, I may be under the necessityof giving proof positive to the contrary by coming out to-morrow. "

"You're not half through yet. The hardest part is to come. "

"Oh, I know that, " he replied; and he gave her such a humorouslyappealing glance that she turned quickly toward the house to hidea conscious flush. 

The farmer showed him to the spare-room, in which he found hisbelongings. Left to make his toilet, he muttered, "Ah, better andbetter! This is not the regulation refrigerator into which guestsare put at farmhouses. All needed for solid comfort is here, evento a slight fire in the air-tight. Now, isn't that rosy old lady ajewel of a mother-in-law? She knows that a warm man shouldn't getchilled just as well as if she had studied athletics. Miss Sue, however, is a little chilly. She's on the fence yet. Jupiter! I AMtired. Oh, well, I don't believe I'll have seven years of thiskind of thing. You were right, though, old man, if your Rachel waslike mine. What's that rustle in the other room? She's dressingfor dinner. So must I; and I'm ready for it. If she has romanticideas about love and lost appetites, I'm a goner. "

When he descended to the parlor, his old stylish self again, Suewas there, robed in a gown which he had admired before, revealingthe fact to her by approving glances. But now he said, "You don'tlook half so well as you did before. "

"I can't say that of you, " she replied. 

"A man's looks are of no consequence. "

"Few men think so. "

"Oh, they try to please such critical eyes as I now am meeting. "

"And throw dust in them too sometimes. "

"Yes; gold dust, often. I haven't much of that. "

"It would be a pity to throw it away if you had. "

"No matter how much was thrown, I don't think it would blind you, Miss Banning. "

The dining-room door across the hall opened, and the host andhostess appeared. "Why, father and mother, how fine you look!"

"It would be strange indeed if we did not honor this day, " saidMrs. Banning. "I hope you have not so tired yourself, sir, thatyou cannot enjoy your dinner. I could scarcely believe my eyes asI watched you from the window. "

"I am afraid I shall astonish you still more at the table. I amsimply ravenous. "

"This is your chance, " cried Sue. "You are now to be paid in thecoin you asked for. "

Sue did remark to herself by the time they reached dessert andcoffee, "I need have no scruples in refusing a man with such anappetite; he won't pine. He is a lawyer, sure enough. He is justwinning father and mother hand over hand. "

Indeed, the bosom of good Mrs. Banning must have been environedwith steel not to have had throbs of goodwill toward one whoshowed such hearty appreciation of her capital dinner. But Suebecame only the more resolved that she was not going to yield soreadily to this muscular suitor who was digging and eating his waystraight into the hearts of her ancestors, and she proposed to beunusually elusive and alert during the afternoon. She was a littlesurprised when he resumed his old tactics. 

After drinking a second cup of coffee, he rose, and said, "As anhonest man, I have still a great deal to do after such a dinner. "

"Well, it has just done me good to see you, " said Mrs. Banning, smiling genially over her old-fashioned coffee-pot. "I feel highlycomplimented. "

"I doubt whether I shall be equal to another such complimentbefore the next birthday. I hope, Miss Susie, you have observed myefforts to do honor to the occasion?"

"Oh, " cried the girl, "I naturally supposed you were trying to geteven in your bargain. "

"I hope to be about sundown. I'll get into those overalls at once, and I trust you will put on your walking-suit. "

"Yes, it will be a walking-suit for a short time. We must walk tothe wood-lot for the trees, unless you prefer to ride. --Father, please tell Hiram to get the two-horse wagon ready. "

When the old people were left alone, the farmer said, "Well, mother, Sue HAS got a suitor, and if he don't suit her--" And thenhis wit gave out. 

"There, father, I never thought you'd come to that. It's well shehas, for you will soon have to be taken care of. "

"He's got the muscle to do it. He shall have my law-business, anyway. "

"Thank the Lord, it isn't much; but that's not saying he shallhave Sue. "

"Why, what have you against him?"

"Nothing so far. I was only finding out if you had anythingagainst him. "

"Lawyers, indeed! What would become of the men if women turnedlawyers. Do you think Sue--"

"Hush!"

They all laughed till the tears came when Minturn again appeareddressed for work; but he nonchalantly lighted a cigar and wasentirely at his ease. 

Sue was armed with thick gloves and a pair of pruning-nippers. Minturn threw a spade and pickaxe on his shoulder, and Mr. Banning, whom Sue had warned threateningly "never to be far away, "tramped at their side as they went up the lane. Apparently therewas no need of such precaution, for the young man seemed whollybent on getting up the trees, most of which she had selected andmarked during recent rambles. She helped now vigorously, pullingon the young saplings as they loosened the roots, then trimmingthem into shape. More than once, however, she detected glances, and his thoughts were more flattering than she imagined. "Whatvigor she has in that supple, rounded form! Her very touch oughtto put life into these trees; I know it would into me. How youngshe looks in that comical old dress which barely reaches herankles! Yes, Hal Minturn; and remember, that trim little ankle canput a firm foot down for or against you--so no blundering. "

He began to be doubtful whether he would make his grand attackthat day, and finally decided against it, unless a very favorableopportunity occurred, until her plan of birthday-work had beencarried out and he had fulfilled the obligation into which he hadentered in the morning. He labored on manfully, seconding all herwishes, and taking much pains to get the young trees up with anabundance of fibrous roots. At last his assiduity induced her torelent a little, and she smiled sympathetically as she remarked, "I hope you are enjoying yourself. Well, never mind; some otherday you will fare better. "

"Why should I not enjoy myself?" he asked in well-feignedsurprise. "What condition of a good time is absent? Even an Aprilday has forgotten to be moody, and we are having unclouded, genialsunshine. The air is delicious with springtime fragrance. Wereever hemlocks so aromatic as these young fellows? They come out ofthe ground so readily that one would think them aware of theirproud destiny. Of course I'm enjoying myself. Even the robins andsparrows know it, and are singing as if possessed. "

"Hadn't you better give up your law-office and turn farmer?"

"This isn't farming. This is embroidery-work. "

"Well, if all these trees grow they will embroider the old place, won't they?"

"They'll grow, every mother's son of 'em. "

"What makes you so confident?"

"I'm not confident. That's where you are mistaken. " And he gaveher such a direct, keen look that she suddenly found something todo elsewhere. 

"I declare!" she exclaimed mentally, "he seems to read my verythoughts. "

At last the wagon was loaded with trees enough to occupy the holeswhich had been dug, and they started for the vicinity of thefarmhouse again. Mr. Banning had no match-making proclivitieswhere Sue was concerned, as may be well understood, and had neverbeen far off. Minturn, however, had appeared so single-minded inhis work, so innocent of all designs upon his daughter, that theold man began to think that this day's performance was only atentative and preliminary skirmish, and that if there were dangerit lurked in the unknown future. He was therefore inclined to beless vigilant, reasoning philosophically, "I suppose it's got tocome some time or other. It looks as if Sue might go a good dealfurther than this young man and fare worse. But then she's onlyeighteen, and he knows it. I guess he's got sense enough not toplant his corn till the sun's higher. He can see with half an eyethat my little girl isn't ready to drop, like an over-ripe apple. "Thus mixing metaphors and many thoughts, he hurried ahead to openthe gate for Hiram. 

"I'm in for it now, " thought Sue, and she instinctively assumed anindifferent expression and talked volubly of trees. 

"Yes, Miss Banning, " he said formally, "by the time your hair istinged with gray the results of this day's labor will be seen farand wide. No passenger in the cars, no traveller in the valley, but will turn his eyes admiringly in this direction. "

"I wasn't thinking of travellers, " she answered, "but of making anattractive home in which I can grow old contentedly. Some day whenyou have become a gray-haired and very dignified judge you maycome out and dine with us again. You can then smoke your cigarunder a tree which you helped to plant. "

"Certainly, Miss Banning. With such a prospect, how could youdoubt that I was enjoying myself? What suggested the judge? Mypresent appearance?"

The incongruity of the idea with his absurd aspect and a certaindegree of nervousness set her off again, and she startled therobins by a laugh as loud and clear as their wild notes. 

"I don't care, " she cried. "I've had a jolly birthday, and amaccomplishing all on which I had set my heart. "

"Yes, and a great deal more, Miss Banning, " he replied with aformal bow. "In all your scheming you hadn't set your heart on mycoming out and--does modesty permit me to say it?--helping alittle. "

"Now, you HAVE helped wonderfully, and you must not think I don'tappreciate it. "

"Ah, how richly I am rewarded!"

She looked at him with a laughing and perplexed little frown, butonly said, "No irony, sir. "

By this time they had joined her father and begun to set out therow of hemlocks. To her surprise, Sue had found herself a littledisappointed that he had not availed himself of his oneopportunity to be at least "a bit friendly" as she phrased it. Itwas mortifying to a girl to be expecting "something awkward tomeet" and nothing of the kind take place. "After all, " shethought, "perhaps he came out just for a lark, or, worse still, isamusing himself at my expense; or he may have come on an exploringexpedition and plain old father and mother, and the plain littlefarmhouse, have satisfied him. Well, the dinner wasn't very plain, but he may have been laughing in his sleeve at our lack of stylein serving it. Then this old dress! I probably appear to him aperfect guy. " And she began to hate it, and devoted it to the rag-bag the moment she could get it off. 

This line of thought, once begun, seemed so rational that shewondered it had not occurred to her before. "The idea of my beingso ridiculously on the defensive!" she thought. "No, it wasn'tridiculous either, as far as my action went, for he can never sayI ACTED as if I wanted him to speak. My conceit in expecting himto speak the moment he got a chance WAS absurd. He has begun to bevery polite and formal. That's always the way with men when theywant to back out of anything. He came out to look us over, and mein particular; he made himself into a scarecrow just because Ilooked like one, and now will go home and laugh it all over withhis city friends. Oh, why did he come and spoil my day? Even hesaid it WAS my day, and he has done a mean thing in spoiling it. Well, he may not carry as much self-complacency back to town as hethinks he will. Such a cold-blooded spirit, too!--to come upon usunawares in order to spy out everything, for fear he might gettaken in! You were very attentive and flattering in the city, sir, but now you are disenchanted. Well, so am I. "

Under the influence of this train of thought she grew more andmore silent. The sun was sinking westward in undimmed splendor, but her face was clouded. The air was sweet, balmy, well adaptedto sentiment and the setting out of trees, but she was growingfrosty. 

"Hiram, " she said shortly, "you've got that oak crooked; let mehold it. " And thereafter she held the trees for the old coloredman as he filled in the earth around them. 

Minturn appeared as oblivious as he was keenly observant. At firstthe change in Sue puzzled and discouraged him; then, as his acutemind sought her motives, a rosy light began to dawn upon him. "Imay be wrong, " he thought, "but I'll take my chances in acting asif I were right before I go home. "

At last Hiram said: "Reckon I'll have to feed de critters again;"and he slouched off. 

Sue nipped at the young trees further and further away from theyoung man who must "play spy before being lover. " The spy helpedMr. Banning set out the last tree. Meantime, the complacent farmerhad mused: "The little girl's safe for another while, anyhow. Never saw her more offish; but things looked squally about dinner-time. Then, she's only eighteen; time enough years hence. " At lasthe said affably, "I'll go in and hasten supper, for you've earnedit if ever a man did, Mr. Minturn. Then I'll drive you down to theevening train. " And he hurried away. 

Sue's back was toward them, and she did not hear Minturn's stepuntil he was close beside her. "All through, " he said; "every treeout. I congratulate you; for rarely in this vale of tears areplans and hopes crowned with better success. "

"Oh, yes, " she hastened to reply; "I am more than satisfied. Ihope that you are too. "

"I have no reason to complain, " he said. "You have stood by yourmorning's bargain, as I have tried to. "

"It was your own fault, Mr. Minturn, that it was so one-sided. ButI've no doubt you enjoy spicing your city life with a little larkin the country. "

"It WAS a one-sided bargain, and I have had the best of it. "

"Perhaps you have, " she admitted. "I think supper will be ready bythe time we are ready for it. " And she turned toward the house. Then she added, "You must be weary and anxious to get away. "

"You were right; my bones DO ache. And look at my hands. I knowyou'll say they need washing; but count the blisters. "

"I also said, Mr. Minturn, that you would know better next time. So you see I was right then and am right now. "

"Are you perfectly sure?"

"I see no reason to think otherwise. " In turning, she had faced ayoung sugar-maple which he had aided her in planting early in theafternoon. Now she snipped at it nervously with her pruning-shears, for he would not budge, and she felt it scarcely polite toleave him. 

"Well, " he resumed, after an instant, "it has a good look, hasn'tit, for a man to fulfil an obligation literally?"

"Certainly, Mr. Minturn, " and there was a tremor in her tone; "butyou have done a hundred-fold more than I expected, and never wereunder any obligations. "

"Then I am free to begin again?"

"You are as free now as you have been all day to do what youplease. " And her shears were closing on the main stem of themaple. He caught and stayed her hand. "I don't care!" she criedalmost passionately. "Come, let us go in and end this foolishtalk. "

"But I do care, " he replied, taking the shears from her, yetretaining her hand in his strong grasp. "I helped you plant thistree, and whenever you see it, whenever you care for it, when, intime, you sit under its shade or wonder at its autumn hues, I wishyou to remember that I told you of my love beside it. Dear littlegirl, do you think I am such a blind fool that I could spend thislong day with you at your home and not feel sorry that I must evergo away? If I could, my very touch should turn the sap of thismaple into vinegar. To-day I've only tried to show how I can workfor you. I am eager to begin again, and for life. "

At first Sue had tried to withdraw her hand, but its tensenessrelaxed. As he spoke, she turned her averted face slowly towardhim, and the rays of the setting sun flashed a deeper crimson intoher cheeks. Her honest eyes looked into his and were satisfied. Then she suddenly gathered the young tree against her heart andkissed the stem she had so nearly severed. "This maple is witnessto what you've said, " she faltered. "Ah! but it will be a sugar-maple in truth; and if petting will make it live--there, now!behave! The idea! right out on this bare lawn! You must wait tillthe screening evergreens grow before--Oh, you audacious--I haven'tpromised anything. "

"I promise everything. I'm engaged, and only taking my retaining-fees. "

"Mother, " cried Farmer Banning at the dining-room window, "justlook yonder!"

"And do you mean to say, John Banning, that you didn't expect it?"

"Why, Sue was growing more and more offish. "

"Of course! Don't you remember?"

"Oh, this unlucky birthday! As if trees could take Sue's place!"

"Yah!" chuckled Hiram from the barn door, "I knowed dat ar gem'linwas a-diggin' a hole fer hisself on dis farm. "

"Mr. Minturn--" Sue began as they came toward the house arm inarm. 

"Hal--" he interrupted. 

"Well, then, Mr. Hal, you must promise me one thing in deadearnest. I'm the only chick father and mother have. You must bevery considerate of them, and let me give them as much of my timeas I can. This is all that I stipulate; but this I do. "

"Sue, " he said in mock solemnity, "the prospects are that you'llbe a widow. "

"Why do you make such an absurd remark?"

"Because you have struck amidships the commandment with thepromise, and your days will be long in the land. You'll outliveeverybody. "

"This will be no joke for father and mother. "

So it would appear. They sat in the parlor as if waiting for theworld to come to an end--as indeed it had, one phase of it, tothem. Their little girl, in a sense, was theirs no longer. 

"Father, mother, " said Sue, demurely, "I must break some news toyou. "

"It's broken already, " began Mrs. Banning, putting herhandkerchief to her eyes. 

Sue's glance renewed her reproaches for the scene on the lawn; butMinturn went promptly forward, and throwing his arm around thematron's plump shoulders, gave his first filial kiss. 

"Come, mother, " he said, "Sue has thought of you both; and I'vegiven her a big promise that I won't take any more of her awaythan I can help. And you, sir, " wringing the farmer's hand, "willoften see a city tramp here who will be glad to work for hisdinner. These overalls are my witness. "

Then they became conscious of his absurd figure, and the sceneended in laughter that was near akin to tears. 

The maple lived, you may rest assured; and Sue's children saidthere never was such sugar as the sap of that tree yielded. 

All the hemlocks, oaks, and dogwood thrived as if conscious thattheirs had been no ordinary transplanting; while Minturn's half-jesting prophecy concerning the travellers in the valley was amplyfulfilled. 

AN UNEXPECTED RESULT

"Jack, she played with me deliberately, heartlessly. I can neverforgive her. "

"In that case, Will, I congratulate you. Such a girl isn't worth asecond thought, and you've made a happy escape. "

"No congratulations, if you please. You can talk coolly, becausein regard to such matters you are cool, and, I may add, a triflecold. Ambition is your mistress, and a musty law-book has moreattractions for you than any woman living. I'm not so tempered. Iam subject to the general law of nature, and a woman's love andsympathy are essential to success in my life and work. "

"That's all right; but there are as good fish--"

"Oh, have done with your trite nonsense, " interrupted Will Munson, impatiently. "I'd consult you on a point of law in preference tomost of the gray-beards, but I was a fool to speak of this affair. And yet as my most intimate friend--"

"Come, Will, I'm not unfeeling;" and John Ackland rose and put hishand on his friend's shoulder. "I admit that the subject is remotefrom my line of thought and wholly beyond my experience. If theaffair is so serious I shall take it to heart. "

"Serious! Is it a slight thing to be crippled for life?"

"Oh, come, now, " said Ackland, giving his friend a hearty andencouraging thump, "you are sound in mind and limb; what matters ascratch on the heart to a man not twenty-five?"

"Very well; I'll say no more about it. When I need a lawyer I'llcome to you. Good-by; I sail for Brazil in the morning. "

"Will, sit down and look me in the eyes, " said Ackland, decisively. "Will, forgive me. You are in trouble. A man's eyesusually tell me more than all his words, and I don't like theexpression of yours. There is yellow fever in Brazil. "

"I know it, " was the careless reply. 

"What excuse have you for going?"

"Business complications have arisen there, and I promptlyvolunteered to go. My employers were kind enough to hesitate andwarn me, and to say that they could send a man less valuable tothem, but I soon overcame their objections. "

"That is your excuse for going. The reason I see in your eyes. Youare reckless, Will. "

"I have reason to be. "

"I can't agree with you, but I feel for you all the same. Tell meall about it, for this is sad news to me. I had hoped to join youon the beach in a few days, and to spend August with you and mycousin. I confess I am beginning to feel exceedingly vindictivetoward this pretty little monster, and if any harm comes to you Ishall be savage enough to scalp her. "

"The harm has come already, Jack. I'm hit hard. She showed me amirage of happiness that has made my present world a desert. I amreckless; I'm desperate. You may think it is weak and unmanly, butyou don't know anything about it. Time or the fever may cure me, but now I am bankrupt in all that gives value to life. A womanwith an art so consummate that it seemed artless, deliberatelyevoked the best there was in me, then threw it away asindifferently as a cast-off glove. "

"Tell me how it came about. "

"How can I tell you? How can I in cold blood recall glances, words, intonations, the pressure of a hand that seemed alive withreciprocal feeling? In addition to her beauty she had theirresistible charm of fascination. I was wary at first, but sheangled for me with a skill that would have disarmed any man whodid not believe in the inherent falseness of woman. The childrenin the house idolized her, and I have great faith in a child'sintuitions. "

"Oh, that was only a part of her guile, " said Ackland, frowningly. 

"Probably; at any rate she has taken all the color and zest out ofmy life. I wish some one could pay her back in her own coin. Idon't suppose she has a heart; but I wish her vanity might bewounded in a way that would teach her a lesson never to beforgotten. "

"It certainly would be a well-deserved retribution, " said Ackland, musingly. 

"Jack, you are the one, of all the world, to administer thepunishment. I don't believe a woman's smiles ever quickened yourpulse one beat. "

"You are right, Will, it is my cold-bloodedness--to put yourthought in plain English--that will prove your best ally. "

"I only hope that I am not leading you into danger. You will needan Indian's stoicism. "

"Bah! I may fail ignominiously, and find her vanity invulnerable, but I pledge you my word that I will avenge you if it be withinthe compass of my skill. My cousin, Mrs. Alston, may prove auseful ally. I think you wrote me that the name of this siren wasEva Van Tyne?"

"Yes; I only wish she had the rudiments of a heart, so that shemight feel in a faint, far-off way a little of the pain she hasinflicted on me. Don't let her make you falter or grow remorseful, Jack. Remember that you have given a pledge to one who may be deadbefore you can fulfil it. "

Ackland said farewell to his friend with the fear that he mightnever see him again, and a few days later found himself at a NewEngland seaside resort, with a relentless purpose lurking in hisdark eyes. Mrs. Alston did unconsciously prove a useful ally, forher wealth and elegance gave her unusual prestige in the house, and in joining her party Ackland achieved immediately all thesocial recognition he desired. 

While strolling with this lady on the piazza he observed theobject of his quest, and was at once compelled to make moreallowance than he had done hitherto for his friend's discomfiture. Two or three children were leaning over the young girl's chair, and she was amusing them by some clever caricatures. She was notso interested, however, but that she soon noted the new-comer, andbestowed upon him from time to time curious and furtive glances. That these were not returned seemed to occasion her some surprise, for she was not accustomed to be so utterly ignored, even by astranger. A little later Ackland saw her consulting the hotelregister. 

"I have at least awakened her curiosity, " he thought. 

"I've been waiting for you to ask me who that pretty girl is, "said Mrs. Alton, laughing; "you do indeed exceed all men inindifference to women. "

"I know all about that girl, " was the grim reply. "She has playedthe very deuce with my friend Munson. "

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Alston, indignantly, "it was the most shamefulpiece of coquetry I ever saw. She is a puzzle to me. To thechildren and the old people in the house she is consideration andkindness itself; but she appears to regard men of your years aslegitimate game and is perfectly remorseless. So beware! She isdangerous, invulnerable as you imagine yourself to be. She willpractice her wiles upon you if you give her half a chance, and herart has much more than her pretty face to enforce it. She isunusually clever. "

Ackland's slight shrug was so contemptuous that his cousin wasnettled, and she thought, "I wish the girl could disturb hiscomplacent equanimity just a little. It vexes one to see a man soindifferent; it's a slight to woman;" and she determined to giveMiss Van Tyne the vantage-ground of an introduction at the firstopportunity. 

And this occurred before the evening was over. To her surpriseAckland entered into an extended conversation with the enemy. "Well, " she thought, "if he begins in this style there will soonbe another victim. Miss Van Tyne can talk to as bright a man as heis and hold her own. Meanwhile she will assail him in a hundredcovert ways. Out of regard for his friend he should have shownsome disapproval of her; but there he sits quietly talking in thepublicity of the parlor. "

"Mrs. Alston, " said a friend at her elbow, "you ought to forewarnyour cousin and tell him of Mr. Munson's fate. "

"He knows all about Mr. Munson, " was her reply. "Indeed, thelatter is his most intimate friend. I suppose my cousin isindulging in a little natural curiosity concerning this destroyerof masculine peace, and if ever a man could do so in safety hecan. "

"Why so?"

"Well, I never knew so unsusceptible a man. With the exception ofa few of his relatives, he has never cared for ladies' society. "

Mrs. Alston was far astray in supposing that curiosity wasAckland's motive in his rather prolonged conversation with MissVan Tyne. It was simply part of his tactics, for he proposed towaste no time in skirmishing or in guarded and gradual approaches. He would cross weapons at once, and secure his object by a sharpand aggressive campaign. His object was to obtain immediately someidea of the calibre of the girl's mind, and in this respect he wasagreeably surprised, for while giving little evidence of thorougheducation, she was unusually intelligent and exceedingly quick inher perceptions. He soon learned also that she was gifted withmore than woman's customary intuition, that she was watching hisface closely for meanings that he might not choose to express inwords or else to conceal by his language. While he feared that histask would be far more difficult than he expected, and that hewould have to be extremely guarded in order not to reveal hisdesign, he was glad to learn that the foe was worthy of his steel. Meanwhile her ability and self-reliance banished all compunction. He had no scruples in humbling the pride of a woman who was atonce so proud, so heartless, and so clever. Nor would the effortbe wearisome, for she had proved herself both amusing andinteresting. He might enjoy it quite as much as an intricate lawcase. 

Even prejudiced Ackland, as he saw her occasionally on thefollowing day, was compelled to admit that she was more thanpretty. Her features were neither regular nor faultless. Her mouthwas too large to be perfect, and her nose was not Grecian; but hereyes were peculiarly fine and illumined her face, whose chiefcharm lay in its power of expression. If she chose, almost all herthoughts and feelings could find their reflex there. The troublewas that she could as readily mask her thought and express whatshe did not feel. Her eyes were of the darkest blue and her hairseemed light in contrast. It was evident that she had studiedgrace so thoroughly that her manner and carriage appearedunstudied and natural. She never seemed self-conscious, and yet noone had ever seen her in an ungainly posture or had known her tomake an awkward gesture. This grace, however, like a finishedstyle in writing, was tinged so strongly with her ownindividuality that it appeared original as compared with thefashionable monotony which characterized the manners of so many ofher age. She could not have been much more than twenty; and yet, as Mrs. Alston took pains to inform her cousin, she had long beenin society, adding, "Its homage is her breath of life, and fromall I hear your friend Munson has had many predecessors. Be onyour guard. "

"Your solicitude in my behalf is quite touching, " he replied. "Whois this fair buccaneer that has made so many wrecks and exacts soheavy a revenue from society? Who has the care of her and what areher antecedents?"

"She is an orphan, and possessed, I am told, of considerableproperty in her own name. A forceless, nerveless maiden aunt isabout the only antecedent we see much of. Her guardian has beenhere once or twice, but practically she is independent. "

Miss Van Tyne's efforts to learn something concerning Ackland wereapparently quite as casual and indifferent and yet were made withutmost skill. She knew that Mrs. Alston's friend was something ofa gossip; and she led her to speak of the subject of her thoughtswith an indirect finesse that would have amused the young manexceedingly could he have been an unobserved witness. When shelearned that he was Mr. Munson's intimate friend and that he wasaware of her treatment of the latter, she was somewhatdisconcerted. One so forewarned might not become an easy prey. Butthe additional fact that he was almost a woman-hater put her uponher mettle at once, and she felt that here was a chance for aconquest such as she had never made before. She now believed thatshe had discovered the key to his indifference. He was readyenough to amuse himself with her as a clever woman, but knew hertoo well to bestow upon her even a friendly thought. 

"If I can bring him to my feet it will be a triumph indeed, " shemurmured exultantly; "and at my feet he shall be if he gives mehalf a chance. " Seemingly he gave her every chance that she coulddesire, and while he scarcely made any effort to seek her society, she noted with secret satisfaction that he often appeared as ifaccidentally near her, and that he ever made it the easiest andmost natural thing in the world for her to join him. Hisconversation was often as gay and unconventional as she couldwish; but she seldom failed to detect in it an uncomfortableelement of satire and irony. He always left her dissatisfied withherself and with a depressing consciousness that she had made noimpression upon him. 

His conquest grew into an absorbing desire; and she unobtrusivelybrought to bear upon him every art and fascination that shepossessed. Her toilets were as exquisite as they were simple. Thechildren were made to idolize her more than ever; but Ackland wascandid enough to admit that this was not all guile on her part, for she was evidently in sympathy with the little people, who canrarely be imposed upon by any amount of false interest. Indeed, hesaw no reason to doubt that she abounded in good-nature toward allexcept the natural objects of her ruling passion; but the veryskill and deliberateness with which she sought to gratify thispassion greatly increased his vindictive feeling. He saw hownaturally and completely his friend had been deceived and howexquisite must have been the hopes and anticipations so falselyraised. Therefore he smiled more grimly at the close of eachsucceeding day, and was more than ever bent upon theaccomplishment of his purpose. 

At length Miss Van Tyne changed her tactics and grew quiteoblivious to Ackland's presence in the house; but she found himapparently too indifferent to observe the fact. She then permittedone of her several admirers to become devoted; Ackland did notoffer the protest of even a glance. He stood, as it were, justwhere she had left him, ready for an occasional chat, stroll, orexcursion, if the affair came about naturally and without mucheffort on his part. She found that she could neither induce him toseek her nor annoy him by an indifference which she meant shouldbe more marked than his own. 

Some little time after there came a windy day when the surf was soheavy that there were but few bathers. Ackland was a good swimmer, and took his plunge as usual. He was leaving the water when MissVan Tyne ran down the beach and was about to dart through thebreakers in her wonted fearless style. 

"Be careful, " he said to her; "the undertow is strong, and the manwho has charge of the bathing is ill and not here. The tide ischanging--in fact, running out already, I believe. " But she wouldnot even look at him, much less answer. As there were othergentlemen present, he started for his bath-house, but hadproceeded but a little way up the beach before a cry brought himto the water's edge instantly. 

"Something is wrong with Miss Van Tyne, " cried half a dozenvoices. "She ventured out recklessly, and it seems as if shecouldn't get back. "

At that moment her form rose on the crest of a wave, and above thethunder of the surf came her faint cry, "Help!"

The other bathers stood irresolute, for she was dangerously farout, and the tide had evidently turned. Ackland, on the contrary, dashed through the breakers and then, in his efforts for speed, dived through the waves nearest to the shore. When he reached theplace where he expected to find her he saw nothing for a moment ortwo but great crested billows that every moment were increasing inheight under the rising wind. For a moment he feared that she hadperished, and the thought that the beautiful creature had met herdeath so suddenly and awfully made him almost sick and faint. Aninstant later, however, a wave threw her up from the trough of thesea into full vision somewhat on his right, and a few strongstrokes brought him to her side. 

"Oh, save me!" she gasped. 

"Don't cling to me, " he said sternly. "Do as I bid you. Strike outfor the shore if you are able; if not, lie on your back andfloat. "

She did the latter, for now that aid had reached her sheapparently recovered from her panic and was perfectly tractable. He placed his left hand under her and struck out quietly, awarethat the least excitement causing exhaustion on his part mightcost both of them their lives. 

As they approached the shore a rope was thrown to them, andAckland, who felt his strength giving way, seized it--desperately. He passed his arm around his companion with a grasp that almostmade her breathless, and they were dragged half suffocated throughthe water until strong hands on either side rushed them throughthe breakers. 

Miss Van Tyne for a moment or two stood dazed and panting, thendisengaged herself from the rather warm support of the devotedadmirer whom she had tried to play against Ackland, and tried towalk, but after a few uncertain steps fell senseless on the sand, thus for the moment drawing to herself the attention of theincreasing throng. Ackland, glad to escape notice, was staggeringoff to his bath-house when several ladies, more mindful of hispart in the affair than the men had been, overtook him with a fireof questions and plaudits. 

"Please leave me alone, " he said almost savagely, without lookingaround. 

"What a bear he is! Any one else would have been a littlecomplacent over such an exploit, " they chorused, as they followedthe unconscious girl, who was now being carried to the hotel. 

Ackland locked the door of his little apartment and sank pantingon the bench. "Maledictions on her!" he muttered. "At one timethere was a better chance of her being fatal to me than to Munsonwith his yellow-fever tragedy in prospect. Her recklessness to-daywas perfectly insane. If she tries it again she may drown for allthat I care, or at least ought to care. " His anger appeared to actlike a tonic, and he was soon ready to return to the house. Adozen sprang forward to congratulate him, but they found suchimpatience and annoyance at all reference to the affair that withmany surmises the topic was dropped. 

"You are a queer fellow, " remarked his privileged cousin, as hetook her out to dinner. "Why don't you let people speak naturallyabout the matter, or rather, why don't you pose as the hero of theoccasion?"

"Because the whole affair was most unnatural, and I am deeplyincensed. In a case of necessity I am ready to risk my life, although it has unusual attractions for me; but I'm nomelodramatic hero looking for adventures. What necessity was therein this case? It is the old story of Munson over again in anotherguise. The act was that of an inconsiderate, heartless woman whofollows her impulses and inclinations, no matter what may be theconsequences. " After a moment he added less indignantly, "I mustgive her credit for one thing, angry as I am--she behaved well inthe water, otherwise she would have drowned me. "

"She is not a fool. Most women would have drowned you. "

"She is indeed not a fool; therefore she's the more to blame. Ifshe is ever so reckless again, may I be asleep in my room. Ofcourse one can't stand by and see a woman drown, no matter who orwhat she is. "

"Jack, what made her so reckless?" Mrs. Alston asked, with asudden intelligence lighting up her face. 

"Hang it all! How should I know? What made her torture Munson? Shefollows her impulses, and they are not always conducive to anyone's well-being, not even her own. "

"Mark my words, she has never shown this kind of recklessnessbefore. "

"Oh, yes, she has. She was running her horse to death the otherhot morning and nearly trampled on a child;" and he told of anunexpected encounter while he was taking a rather extended ramble. 

"Well, " exclaimed Mrs. Alston, smiling significantly, "I think Iunderstand her symptoms better than you do. If you are as cold-blooded as you seem, I may have to interfere. "

"Oh, bah!" he answered impatiently. "Pardon me, but I shoulddespise myself forever should I become sentimental, knowing what Ido. "

"Jack, had you no compunctions when fearing that such a beautifulgirl might perish? We are going to have an awful night. Hear thewind whistle and moan, and the sky is already black with clouds. The roar of the surface grows louder every hour. Think of thatlovely form being out in those black angry waves, darted at andpreyed upon by horrible slimy monsters. Oh, it fairly makes myflesh creep!"

"And mine too, " he said with a strong gesture of disgust;"especially when I remember that I should have kept her company, for of course I could not return without her. I confess that whenat first I could not find her I was fairly sick at the thought ofher fate. But remember how uncalled for it all was--quite as muchso as that poor Will Munson is on his way to die with the yellowfever, like enough. "

"Jack, " said his cousin, affectionately, laying her hand on hisarm, "blessings on your courage to-day! If what might havehappened so easily had occurred, I could never have looked uponthe sea again without a shudder. I should have been tormented by ahorrible memory all my life. It was brave and noble--"

"Oh, hush!" he said angrily. "I won't hear another word about iteven from you. I'm not brave and noble. I went because I wascompelled to go; I hated to go. I hate the girl, and have morereason now than ever. If we had both drowned, no doubt there wouldhave been less trouble in the world. There would have been onelawyer the less, and a coquette extinguished. Now we shall bothprey on society in our different ways indefinitely. "

"Jack, you are in an awful mood to-day. "

"I am; never was in a worse. "

"Having so narrowly escaped death, you ought to be subdued andgrateful. "

"On the contrary, I'm inclined to profanity. Excuse me; don't wishany dessert. I'll try a walk and a cigar. You will now be glad tobe rid of me on any terms. "

"Stay, Jack. See, Miss Van Tyne has so far recovered as to comedown. She looked unutterable things at you as she entered. "

"Of course she did. Very few of her thoughts concerning me orother young men would sound well if uttered. Tell your friends tolet this topic alone, or I shall be rude to them, " and without aglance toward the girl he had rescued he left the dining-room. 

"Well, well, " murmured Mrs. Alston, "I never saw Jack in such amood before. It is quite as unaccountable as Miss Tyne'srecklessness. I wonder what is the matter with HIM. "

Ackland was speedily driven back from his walk by the rain, whichfact he did not regret, for he found himself exhausted anddepressed. Seeking a retired piazza in order to be alone, he satdown with his hat drawn over his eyes and smoked furiously. Beforevery long, however, he was startled out of a painful revery by atimid voice saying:

"Mr. Ackland, won't you permit me to thank you?"

He rose. Miss Van Tyne stood before him with outstretched hand. Hedid not notice it, but bowing coldly, said:

"Please consider that you have thanked me and let the subjectdrop. "

"Do not be so harsh with me, " she pleaded. "I cannot help it ifyou are. Mr. Ackland, you saved my life. "

"Possibly. "

"And possibly you think that it is scarcely worth saving. "

"Possibly your own conscience suggested that thought to you. "

"You are heartless, " she burst out indignantly. He began to laugh. "That's a droll charge for you to make, " he said. 

She looked at him steadfastly for a moment, and then murmured:"You are thinking of your friend, Mr. Munson. "

"That would be quite natural. How many more can you think of?"

"You are indeed unrelenting, " she faltered, tears coming into hereyes; "but I cannot forget that but for you _I_ should now be outthere"--and she indicated the sea by a gesture, then covered herface with her hands, and shuddered. 

"Do not feel under obligations. I should have been compelled to doas much for any human being. You seem to forget that I stood aneven chance of being out there with you, and that there was nomore need of the risk than there was that my best friend's lifeshould be blight--"

"You--you out there?" she cried, springing toward him and pointingto the sea. 

"Certainly. You cannot suppose that having once found you, I couldcome ashore without you. As it was, my strength was rapidly givingway, and were it not for the rope--"

"Oh, forgive me, " she cried passionately, seizing his hand inspite of him. "It never entered my mind that you could drown. Isomehow felt that nothing could harm you. I was reckless--I didn'tknow what I was doing--I don't understand myself any more. Please--please forgive me, or I shall not sleep to-night. "

"Certainly, " he said lightly, "if you will not refer to our littleepisode again. "

"Please don't speak in that way, " she sighed, turning away. 

"I have complied with your request. "

"I suppose I must be content, " she resumed sadly. Then turning herhead slowly toward him she added hesitatingly: "Will you forgiveme for--for treating your friend--"

"No, " he replied, with such stern emphasis that she shrank fromhim and trembled. 

"You are indeed heartless, " she faltered, as she turned to leavehim. 

"Miss Van Tyne, " he said indignantly, "twice you have charged mewith being heartless. Your voice and manner indicate that I wouldbe unnatural and unworthy of respect were I what you charge. Inthe name of all that's rational what does this word 'heartless'mean to you? Where was your heart when you sent my friend away sowretched and humbled that he is virtually seeking the death fromwhich you are so glad to escape?"

"I did not love him, " she protested faintly. 

He laughed bitterly, and continued, "Love! That's a word which Ibelieve has no meaning for you at all, but it had for him. You area remarkably clever woman, Miss Van Tyne. You have brains inabundance. See, I do you justice. What is more, you are beautifuland can be so fascinating that a man who believed in you mighteasily worship you. You made him believe in you. You tried tobeguile me into a condition that with my nature would be ruinindeed. You never had the baby plea of a silly, shallow woman. Itook pains to find that out the first evening we met. In your artof beguiling an honest, trusting man you were as perfect as youwere remorseless, and you understood exactly what you were doing. "

For a time she seemed overwhelmed by his lava-like torrent ofwords, and stood with bowed head and shrinking, trembling form;but when he ceased she turned to him and said bitterly andemphatically:

"I did NOT understand what I was doing, nor would my brain havetaught me were I all intellect like yourself. I half wish you hadleft me to drown, " and with a slight, despairing gesture sheturned away and did not look back. 

Ackland's face lighted up with a sudden flash of intelligence anddeep feeling. He started to recall her, hesitated, and watched herearnestly until she disappeared; then looking out on the scowlingocean, he took off his hat and exclaimed in a deep, low tone:

"By all that's divine, can this be? Is it possible that throughthe suffering of her own awakening heart she is learning to knowthe pain she has given to others? Should this be true, the affairis taking an entirely new aspect, and Munson will be avenged asneither of us ever dreamed would be possible. "

He resumed his old position and thought long and deeply, thenrejoined his cousin, who was somewhat surprised to find that hisbitter mood had given place to his former composure. 

"How is this, Jack?" she asked. "As the storm grows wilderwithout, you become more serene. "

"Only trying to make amends for my former bearishness, " he saidcarelessly, but with a little rising color. 

"I don't understand you at all, " she continued discontentedly. "Isaw you sulking in that out-of-the-way corner, and I saw Miss VanTyne approach you hesitatingly and timidly, with the purpose, nodoubt, of thanking you. Of course I did not stay to watch, but alittle later I met Miss Van Tyne, and she looked white and rigid. She has not left her room since. "

"You take a great interest in Miss Van Tyne. It is well you arenot in my place. "

"I half wish I was and had your chances. You are more pitilessthan the waves from which you saved her. "

"I can't help being just what I am, " he said coldly. "Good-night. "And he too disappeared for the rest of the evening. 

The rain continued to fall in blinding torrents, and the buildingfairly trembled under the violence of the wind. The guests drewtogether in the lighted rooms, and sought by varied amusements topass the time until the fierceness of the storm abated, few caringto retire while the uproar of the elements was so great. 

At last as the storm passed away, and the late-rising moon threw asickly gleam on the tumultuous waters, Eva looked from her windowwith sleepless eyes, thinking sadly and bitterly of the past andfuture. Suddenly a dark figure appeared on the beach in the trackof the moonlight. She snatched an opera-glass, but could notrecognize the solitary form. The thought would come, however, thatit was Ackland; and if it were, what were his thoughts and whatplace had she in them? Why was he watching so near the spot thatmight have been their burial-place?

"At least he shall not think that I can stolidly sleep after whathas occurred, " she thought, and she turned up her light, openedher window, and sat down by it again. Whoever the unseasonablerambler might be, he appeared to recognize the gleam from herwindow, for he walked hastily down the beach and disappeared. After a time she darkened her room again and waited in vain forhis return. "If it were he, he shuns even the slightestrecognition, " she thought despairingly; and the early dawn was notfar distant when she fell into an unquiet sleep. 

For the next few days Miss Van Tyne was a puzzle to all exceptMrs. Alston. She was quite unlike the girl she had formerly been, and she made no effort to disguise the fact. In the place of herold exuberance of life and spirits, there was lassitude and greatdepression. The rich color ebbed steadily from her face, and darklines under her eyes betokened sleepless nights. She saw the manycurious glances in her direction, but apparently did not care whatwas thought or surmised. Were it not that her manner to Acklandwas so misleading, the tendency to couple their names togetherwould have been far more general. She neither sought nor shunnedhis society; in fact, she treated him as she did the othergentlemen of her acquaintance. She took him at his word. He hadsaid he would forgive her on condition that she would not speak ofwhat he was pleased to term that "little episode, " and she neverreferred to it. 

Her aunt was as much at fault as the others, and one dayquerulously complained to Mrs. Alston that she was growing anxiousabout Eva. "At first I thought she was disappointed over theindifference of that icy cousin of yours; but she does not appearto care a straw for him. When I mention his name she speaks of himin a natural, grateful way, then her thoughts appear to wander offto some matter that is troubling her. I can't find out whether sheis ill or whether she has heard some bad news of which she willnot speak. She never gave me or any one that I know of much of herconfidence. "

Mrs. Alston listened but made no comments. She was sure she wasright in regard to Miss Van Tyne's trouble, but her cousinmystified her. Ackland had become perfectly inscrutable. As far asshe could judge by any word or act of his he had simply lost hisinterest in Miss Van Tyne, and that was all that could be said;and yet a fine instinct tormented Mrs. Alston with the doubt thatthis was not true, and that the young girl was the subject of asedulously concealed scrutiny. Was he watching for his friend orfor his own sake, or was he, in a spirit of retaliation, enjoyingthe suffering of one who had made others suffer? His reserve wasso great that she could not pierce it, and his caution baffledeven her vigilance. But she waited patiently, assured that thelittle drama must soon pass into a more significant phase. 

And she was right. Miss Van Tyne could not maintain the line ofaction she had resolved upon. She had thought, "I won't try toappear happy when I am not. I won't adopt the conventional mask ofgayety when the heart is wounded. How often I have seen through itand smiled at the transparent farce--farce it seemed then, but Inow fear it was often tragedy. At any rate there was neitherdignity nor deception in it. I have done with being false, and soshall simply act myself and be a true woman. Though my heart breaka thousand times, not even by a glance shall I show that it isbreaking for him. If he or others surmise the truth, they may; letthem. It is a part of my penance; and I will show the higher, stronger pride of one who makes no vain, useless pretence to happyindifference, but who can maintain a self-control so perfect thateven Mrs. Alston shall not see one unmaidenly advance oroverture. "

She succeeded for a time, as we have seen, but she overrated herwill and underrated her heart, that with deepening intensitycraved the love denied her. With increasing frequency she said toherself, "I must go away. My only course is to hide my weaknessand never see him again. He is inflexible, yet his very obduracyincreases my love a hundred-fold. "

At last after a lonely walk on the beach she concluded, "Myguardian must take me home on Monday next. He comes to-night tospend Sunday with us, and I will make preparations to go at once. "

Although her resolution did not fail her, she walked forward moreand more slowly, her dejection and weariness becoming almostoverpowering. As she was turning a sharp angle of rocks thatjutted well down to the water she came face to face with Acklandand Mrs. Alston. She was off her guard; and her thoughts of himhad been so absorbing that she felt he must be conscious of them. She flushed painfully and hurried by with slight recognition anddowncast face, but she had scarcely passed them when, acting undera sudden impulse, she stopped and said in a low tone:

"Mr. Ackland--"

He turned expectantly toward her. For a moment she found itdifficult to speak, then ignoring the presence of Mrs. Alston, resolutely began:

"Mr. Ackland, I must refer once more to a topic which you have ina sense forbidden. I feel partially absolved, however, for I donot think you have forgiven me anything. At any rate I must askyour pardon once more for having so needlessly and foolishlyimperilled your life. I say these words now because I may not haveanother opportunity; we leave on Monday. " With this she raised hereyes to his with an appeal for a little kindness which Mrs. Alstonwas confident could not be resisted. Indeed, she was sure that shesaw a slight nervous tremor in Ackland's hands, as if he found ithard to control himself. Then he appeared to grow rigid. Liftinghis hat, he said gravely and unresponsively:

"Miss Van Tyne, you now surely have made ample amends. Pleaseforget the whole affair. "

She turned from him at once, but not so quickly but that both heand his cousin saw the bitter tears that would come. A momentlater she was hidden by the angle of the rock. As long as she wasvisible Ackland watched her without moving, then he slowly turnedto his cousin, his face as inscrutable as ever. She walked at hisside for a few moments in ill-concealed impatience, then stoppedand said decisively:

"I'll go no further with you to-day. I am losing all respect foryou. "

Without speaking, he turned to accompany her back to the house. His reticence and coldness appeared to annoy her beyond endurance, for she soon stopped and sat down on a ledge of the rocks thatjutted down the beach where they had met Miss Van Tyne. 

"John, you are the most unnatural man I ever saw in my life, " shebegan angrily. 

"What reason have you for so flattering an opinion, " he askedcoolly. 

"You have been giving reason for it every day since you camehere, " she resumed hotly. "I always heard it said that you had noheart; but I defended you and declared that your course towardyour mother even when a boy showed that you had, and that youwould prove it some day. But I now believe that you areunnaturally cold, heartless, and unfeeling. I had no objection toyour wounding Miss Van Tyne's vanity and encouraged you when thatalone bid fair to suffer. But when she proved she had a heart andthat you had awakened it, she deserved at least kindness andconsideration on your part. If you could not return her affection, you should have gone away at once; but I believe that you havestayed for the sole and cruel purpose of gloating over hersuffering. "

"She has not suffered more than my friend, or than I would if--"

"You indeed! The idea of your suffering from any such cause! Ihalf believe you came here with the deliberate purpose of avengingyour friend, and that you are keeping for his inspection a diaryin which the poor girl's humiliation to-day will form the hatefulclimax. "

They did not dream that the one most interested was near. Miss VanTyne had felt too faint and sorely wounded to go further withoutrest. Believing that the rocks would hide her from those whoseeyes she would most wish to shun, she had thrown herself downbeyond the angle and was shedding the bitterest tears that she hadever known. Suddenly she heard Mrs. Alston's words but a shortdistance away, and was so overcome by their import that shehesitated what to do. She would not meet them again for the world, but felt so weak that she doubted whether she could drag herselfaway without being discovered, especially as the beach trended offto the left so sharply a little further on that they mightdiscover her. While she was looking vainly for some way of escapeshe heard Ackland's words and Mrs. Alston's surmise in reply thathe had come with the purpose of revenge. She was so stung by theirapparent truth that she resolved to clamber up through an openingof the rocks if the thing were possible. Panting and exhausted shegained the summit, and then hastened to an adjacent grove, as somewounded, timid creature would run to the nearest cover. Acklandhad heard sounds and had stepped around the point of the rocksjust in time to see her disappearing above the bank. Returning toMrs. Alston, he said impatiently:

"In view of your opinions my society can have no attractions foryou. Shall I accompany you to the hotel?"

"No, " was the angry reply. "I'm in no mood to speak to you againto-day. "

He merely bowed and turned as if to pursue his walk. The momentshe was hidden, however, he also climbed the rocks in time to seeMiss Van Tyne entering the grove. With swift and silent tread hefollowed her, but could not at once discover her hiding-place. Atlast passionate sobs made it evident that she was concealed behinda great oak a little on his left. Approaching cautiously, he heardher moan:

"Oh, this is worse than death! He makes me feel as if even God hadno mercy for me. But I will expiate my wrong; I will, at thebitterest sacrifice which a woman can make. "

She sprang up to meet Ackland standing with folded arms beforeher. She started violently and leaned against the tree forsupport. But the weakness was momentary, for she wiped the tearsfrom her eyes, and then turned to him so quietly that only herextreme pallor proved that she realized the import of her words. 

"Mr. Ackland, " she asked, "have you Mr. Munson's address?"

It was his turn now to start, but he merely answered: "Yes. "

"Do--do you think he still cares for me?"

"Undoubtedly. "

"Since then you are so near a friend, will you write to him that Iwill try"--she turned away and would not look at him as, after amoment's hesitation, she concluded her sentence--"I will try tomake him as happy as I can. "

"Do you regret your course?" he asked with a slight tremor in hisvoice. 

"I regret that I misled--that I wronged him beyond all words. I amwilling to make all the amends in my power. "

"Do you love him?"

She now turned wholly away and shook her head. 

"And yet you would marry him?"

"Yes, if he wished it, knowing all the truth. "

"Can you believe he would wish it?" he asked indignantly. "Can youbelieve that any man--"

"Then avenge him to your cruel soul's content, " she exclaimedpassionately. "Tell him that I have no heart to give to him or toany one. Through no effort or fault of mine I overheard Mrs. Alston's words and yours. I know your design against me. Assuageyour friend's grief by assuring him of your entire success, ofwhich you are already so well aware. Tell him how you triumphedover an untaught, thoughtless girl who was impelled merely by thelove of power and excitement, as you are governed by ambition anda remorseless will. I did not know--I did not understand how cruelI was, although now that I do know I shall never forgive myself. But if you had the heart of a man you might have seen that youwere subjecting me to torture. I did not ask or expect that youshould care for me; but I had a right to hope for a littlekindness, a little manly and delicate consideration, a littlehealing sympathy for the almost mortal wound that you have made. But I now see that you have stood by and watched like a grandinquisitor. Tell your friend that you have transformed thethoughtless girl into a suffering woman. I cannot go to Brazil. Icannot face dangers that might bring rest. I must keep my place insociety--keep it too under a hundred observant and curious eyes. You have seen it all of late in this house; I was too wretched tocare. It was a part of my punishment, and I accepted it. I wouldnot be false again even in trying to conceal a secret which it islike death to a woman to reveal. I only craved one word ofkindness from you. Had I received it, I would have gone away insilence and suffered in silence. But your course and what I haveheard have made me reckless and despairing. You do not leave meeven the poor consolation of self-sacrifice. You are my stony-hearted fate. I wish you had left me to drown. Tell your friendthat I am more wretched than he ever can be, because I am a woman. Will he be satisfied?"

"He ought to be, " was the low, husky reply. 

"Are you proud of your triumph?"

"No, I am heartily ashamed of it; but I have kept a pledge thatwill probably cost me far more than it has you. "

"A pledge?"

"Yes, my pledge to make you suffer as far as possible as hesuffered. "

She put her hand to her side as if she had received a wound, andafter a moment said wearily and coldly:

"Well, tell him that you succeeded, and be content;" and sheturned to leave him. 

"Stay, " he cried impetuously. "It is now your turn. Take yourrevenge. "

"My revenge?" she repeated in unfeigned astonishment. 

"Yes, your revenge. I have loved you from the moment I hoped youhad a woman's heart, yes, and before--when I feared I might not beable to save your life. I know it now, though the very thought ofit enraged me then. I have watched and waited more to be sure thatyou had a woman's heart than for aught else, though a false senseof honor kept me true to my pledge. After I met you on the beach Idetermined at once to break my odious bond and place myself atyour mercy. You may refuse me in view of my course--you probablywill; but every one in that house there shall know that yourefused me, and your triumph shall be more complete than mine. "

She looked into his face with an expression of amazement anddoubt; but instead of coldness, there was now a devotion andpleading that she had never seen before. 

She was too confused and astounded, however, to comprehend hiswords immediately, nor could the impression of his hostility passaway readily. 

"You are mocking me, " she faltered, scarcely knowing what shesaid. 

"I cannot blame you that you think me capable of mocking the noblecandor which has cost you so dear, as I can now understand. Icannot ask you to believe that I appreciate your heroic impulse ofself-sacrifice--your purpose to atone for wrong by inflictingirreparable wrong on yourself. It is natural that you should thinkof me only as an instrument of revenge with no more feeling thansome keen-edged weapon would have. This also is the inevitablepenalty of my course. When I speak of my love I cannot complain ifyou smile in bitter incredulity. But I have at least proved that Ihave a resolute will and that I keep my word; and I again assureyou that it shall be known this very night that you have refusedme, that I offered you my hand, that you already had my heart, where your image is enshrined with that of my mother, and that Ientreated you to be my wife. My cousin alone guessed my miserabletriumph; all shall know of yours. "

As he spoke with impassioned earnestness, the confusion passedfrom her mind. She felt the truth of his words; she knew that herambitious dream had been fulfilled, and that she had achieved theconquest of a man upon whom all others had smiled in vain. But howimmeasurably different were her emotions from those which she hadonce anticipated! Not her beauty, not her consummate skill infascination had wrought this miracle, but her woman's heart, awakened at last; and it thrilled with such unspeakable joy thatshe turned away to hide its reflex in her face. He was misled bythe act into believing that she could not forgive him, and yet wasperplexed when she murmured with a return of her old piquanthumor:

"You are mistaken, Mr. Ackland; it shall never be known that Irefused you. "

"How can you prevent it?"

"If your words are sincere, you will submit to such terms as Ichoose to make. "

"I am sincere, and my actions shall prove it; but I shall permitno mistaken self-sacrifice on your part, nor any attempt to shieldme from the punishment I well deserve. "

She suddenly turned upon him a radiant face in which he read hishappiness, and faltered:

"Jack, I do believe you, although the change seems wrought by someheavenly magic. But it will take a long time to pay you up. I hopeto be your dear torment for a lifetime. "

He caught her in such a strong, impetuous embrace that she gasped:

"I thought you were--cold to our sex. "

"It's not your sex that I am clasping, but you--YOU, my Eve. Likethe first man, I have won my bride under the green trees andbeneath the open sky. "

"Yes, Jack; and I give you my whole heart as truly as did thefirst woman when there was but one man in all the world. That isMY REVENGE. "

This is what Will Munson wrote some weeks later:

"Well, Jack, I've had the yellow fever, and it was the mostfortunate event of my life. I was staying with a charming family, and they would not permit my removal to a hospital. One of mybravest and most devoted nurses has consented to become my wife. Ihope you punished that little wretch Eva Van Tyne as shedeserved. "

"Confound your fickle soul!" muttered Ackland. "I punished her asshe did not deserve; and I risked more than life in doing so. Ifher heart had not been as good as gold and as kind as Heaven shenever would have looked at me again. "

Ackland is quite as indifferent to the sex as ever, but Eva hasnever complained that he was cold to her. 

A CHRISTMAS-EVE SUIT

The Christmas holidays had come, and with them a welcome vacationfor Hedley Marstern. Although as yet a briefless young lawyer, hehad a case in hand which absorbed many of his thoughts--theconflicting claims of two young women in his native village on theHudson. It must not be imagined that the young women were pressingtheir claims except as they did so unconsciously, by virtue oftheir sex and various charms. Nevertheless, Marstern was not thefirst lawyer who had clients over whom midnight oil was burned, they remaining unaware of the fact. 

If not yet a constitutional attorney, he was at leastconstitutionally one. Falling helplessly in love with one girlsimplifies matters. There are no distracting pros and cons--nothing required but a concentration of faculties to win theenslaver, and so achieve mastery. Marstern did not appear amenableto the subtle influences which blind the eyes and dethrone reason, inspiring in its place an overwhelming impulse to capture afortuitous girl because (to a heated imagination) she surpassesall her sex. Indeed, he was level-headed enough to believe that hewould never capture any such girl; but he hoped to secure one whopromised to make as good a wife as he would try to be a husband, and with a fair amount of self-esteem, he was conscious ofimperfections. Therefore, instead of fancying that any of his fairacquaintances were angels, he had deliberately and, as some maythink, in a very cold-blooded fashion, endeavored to discover whatthey actually were. He had observed that a good deal of prosefollowed the poetry of wooing and the lunacy of the honeymoon; andhe thought it might be well to criticise a little before marriageas well as after it. 

There were a number of charming girls in the social circle of hisnative town; and he had, during later years, made himself quiteimpartially agreeable to them. Indeed, without much effort on hispart he had become what is known as a general favorite. He hadbeen too diligent a student to become a society man, but was readyenough in vacation periods to make the most of every countryfrolic, and even on great occasions to rush up from the city andreturn at some unearthly hour in the morning when his partners inthe dance were not half through their dreams. While on theseoccasions he had shared in the prevailing hilarity, henevertheless had the presentiment that some one of the laughing, light-footed girls would one day pour his coffee and send him tohis office in either a good or a bad mood to grapple with theproblems awaiting him there. He had in a measure decided that whenhe married it should be to a girl whom he had played with inchildhood and whom he knew a good deal about, and not to a chanceacquaintance of the world at large. So, beneath all hisdiversified gallantries he had maintained a quiet little policy ofobservation, until his thoughts had gradually gathered around twoof his young associates who, unconsciously to themselves, as wehave said, put in stronger and stronger claims every time he sawthem. They asserted these claims in the only way in which he wouldhave recognized them--by being more charming, agreeable, and, ashe fancied, by being better than the others. He had not made themaware, even by manner, of the distinction accorded to them; and asyet he was merely a friend. 

But the time had come, he believed, for definite action. While heweighed and considered, some prompter fellows might take the caseout of his hands entirely; therefore he welcomed this vacation andthe opportunities it afforded. 

The festivities began with what is termed in the country a "largeparty"; and Carrie Mitchell and Lottie Waldo were both there, resplendent in new gowns made for the occasion. Marstern thoughtthem both charming. They danced equally well and talked nonsensewith much the same ease and vivacity. He could not decide whichwas the prettier, nor did the eyes and attentions of others affordhim any aid. They were general favorites, as well as himself, although it was evident that to some they might become more, should they give encouragement. But they were apparently in theheyday of their girlhood, and thus far had preferred miscellaneousadmiration to individual devotion. By the time the evening wasover Marstern felt that if life consisted of large parties hemight as well settle the question by the toss of a copper. 

It must not be supposed that he was such a conceited prig as toimagine that such a fortuitous proceeding, or his best effortsafterward, could settle the question as it related to the girls. It would only decide his own procedure. He was like an oldmarauding baron, in honest doubt from which town he can carry offthe richest booty--that is, in case he can capture any one ofthem. His overtures for capitulation might be met with the "slingsand arrows of outrageous fortune" and he be sent limping off thefield. Nevertheless, no man regrets that he must take theinitiative, and he would be less than a man who would fear to doso. When it came to this point in the affair, Marstern shruggedhis shoulders and thought, "I must take my chances like the rest. "But he wished to be sure that he had attained this point, and notlay siege to one girl only to wish afterward it had been theother. 

His course that evening proved that he not only had a legal castof mind but also a judicial one. He invited both Miss Mitchell andMiss Waldo to take a sleigh-ride with him the following evening, fancying that when sandwiched between them in the cutter he couldimpartially note his impressions. His unsuspecting clientslaughingly accepted, utterly unaware of the momentous character ofthe trial scene before them. 

As Marstern smoked a cigar before retiring that night, he admittedto himself that it was rather a remarkable court that was about tobe held. He was the only advocate for the claims of each, andfinally he proposed to take a seat on the bench and judge betweenthem. Indeed, before he slept he decided to take that augustposition at once, and maintain a judicial impartiality whilenoting his impressions. 

Christmas Eve happened to be a cold, clear, star-lit night; andwhen Marstern drove to Miss Waldo's door, he asked himself, "Coulda fellow ask for anything daintier and finer" than the red-lipped, dark-eyed girl revealed by the hall-lamp as she tripped lightlyout, her anxious mamma following her with words of unheededcaution about not taking cold, and coming home early. He had nottraversed the mile which intervened between the residences of thetwo girls before he almost wished he could continue the driveunder the present auspices, and that, as in the old times, hecould take toll at every bridge, and encircle his companion withhis arm as they bounced over the "thank-'ee mams. " The frosty airappeared to give keenness and piquancy to Miss Lottie's wit, andthe chime of the bells was not merrier or more musical than hervoice. But when a little later he saw blue-eyed Carrie Mitchell inher furs and hood silhouetted in the window, his old dilemmabecame as perplexing as ever. Nevertheless, it was the mostdelightful uncertainty that he had ever experienced; and he had apresentiment that he had better make the most of it, since itcould not last much longer. Meanwhile, he was hedged about withblessings clearly not in disguise, and he gave utterance to thistruth as they drove away. 

"Surely there never was so lucky a fellow. Here I am kept warm andhappy by the two finest girls in town. "

"Yes, " said Lottie; "and it's a shame you can't sit on both sidesof us. "

"I assure you I wish it were possible. It would double mypleasure. "

"I'm very well content, " remarked Carrie, quietly, "as long as Ican keep on the right side of people--"

"Well, you are not on the right side to-night, " interruptedLottie. 

"Good gracious!" thought Marstern, "she's next to my heart. Iwonder if that will give her unfair advantage;" but Carrieexplained:

"Of course I was speaking metaphorically. "

"In that aspect of the case it would be a shame to me if any sideI have is not right toward those who have so honored me, " hehastened to say. 

"Oh, Carrie has all the advantage--she is next to your heart. "

"Would you like to exchange places?" was the query flashed back byCarrie. 

"Oh, no, I'm quite as content as you are. "

"Why, then, since I am more than content--exultant, indeed--itappears that we all start from excellent premises to reach a happyconclusion of our Christmas Eve, " cried Marstern. 

"Now you are talking shop, Mr. Lawyer--Premises and Conclusions, indeed!" said Lottie; "since you are such a happy sandwich, youmust be a tongue sandwich, and be very entertaining. "

He did his best, the two girls seconding his efforts so geniallythat he found himself, after driving five miles, psychologicallyjust where he was physically--between them, as near to one in histhoughts and preferences as to the other. 

"Let us take the river road home, " suggested Lottie. 

"As long as you agree, " he answered, "you both are sovereignpotentates. If you should express conflicting wishes, I shouldhave to stop here in the road till one abdicated in favor of theother, or we all froze. "

"But you, sitting so snugly between us, would not freeze, " saidLottie. "If we were obstinate we should have to assume ourpleasantest expressions, and then you could eventually take ushome as bits of sculpture. In fact, I'm getting cold already. "

"Are you also, Miss Carrie?"

"Oh, I'll thaw out before summer. Don't mind me. "

"Well, then, mind me, " resumed Lottie. "See how white and smooththe river looks. Why can't we drive home on the ice? It will savemiles--I mean it looks so inviting. "

"Oh, dear!" cried Carrie, "I feel like protesting now. The longestway round may be both the shortest and safest way home. "

"You ladies shall decide. This morning I drove over the route wewould take to-night, and I should not fear to take a ton of coalover it. "

"A comparison suggesting warmth and a grate-fire. I vote for theriver, " said Lottie, promptly. 

"Oh, well, Mr. Marstern, if you've been over the ice so recently--I only wish to feel reasonably safe. "

"I declare!" thought Marstern, "Lottie is the braver and morebrilliant girl; and the fact that she is not inclined to foregothe comfort of the home-fire for the pleasure of my company, reveals the difficulty of, and therefore incentive to, the suit Imay decide to enter upon before New Year's. "

Meanwhile, his heart on Carrie's side began to grow warm andalert, as if recognizing an affinity to some object not far off. Granting that she had not been so brilliant as Lottie, she hadbeen eminently companionable in a more quiet way. If there had notbeen such bursts of enthusiasm at the beginning of the drive, herenjoyment appeared to have more staying powers. He liked her nonethe less that her eyes were often turned toward the stars or thedark silhouettes of the leafless trees against the snow. She didnot keep saying, "Ah, how lovely! What a fine bit that is!" but hehad only to follow her eyes to see something worth looking at. 

"A proof that Miss Carrie also is not so preoccupied with thepleasure of my company that she has no thoughts for other things, "cogitated Marstern. "It's rather in her favor that she prefersNature to a grate fire. They're about even yet. "

Meanwhile the horse was speeding along on the white, hard expanseof the river, skirting the west shore. They now had only about amile to drive before striking land again; and the scene was sobeautiful with the great dim outlines of the mountains before themthat both the girls suggested that they should go leisurely for atime. 

"We shouldn't hastily and carelessly pass such a picture as that, any more than one would if a fine copy of it were hung in agallery, " said Carrie. "The stars are so brilliant along the browof that highland yonder that they form a dia--oh, oh! what IS thematter?" and she clung to Marstern's arm. 

The horse was breaking through the ice. 

"Whoa!" said Marstern, firmly. Even as he spoke, Lottie was out ofthe sleigh and running back on the ice, crying and wringing herhands. 

"We shall be drowned, " she almost screamed hysterically. 

"Mr. Marstern, what SHALL we do? Can't we turn around and go backthe way we came?"

"Miss Carrie, will you do what I ask? Will you believe me when Isay that I do not think you are in any danger?"

"Yes, I'll do my best, " she replied, catching her breath. She grewcalm rapidly as he tried to reassure Lottie, telling her thatwater from the rising of the tide had overflowed the main ice andthat thin ice had formed over it, also that the river at the mostwas only two or three feet deep at that point. But all was of noavail; Lottie stood out upon the ice in a panic, declaring that henever should have brought them into such danger, and that he mustturn around at once and go back as they came. 

"But, Miss Waldo, the tide is rising, and we may find wet placesreturning. Besides, it would bring us home very late. Now, MissCarrie and I will drive slowly across this place and then returnfor you. After we have been across it twice you surely won'tfear. "

"I won't be left alone; suppose you two should break through anddisappear, what would become of ME?"

"You would be better off than we, " he replied, laughing. 

"I think it's horrid of you to laugh. Oh, I'm so cold andfrightened! I feel as if the ice were giving way under my feet. "

"Why, Miss Lottie, we just drove over that spot where you stand. Here, Miss Carrie shall stay with you while I drive back and forthalone. "

"Then if you were drowned we'd both be left alone to freeze todeath. "

"I pledge you my word you shall be by that grate-fire within lessthan an hour if you will trust me five minutes. "

"Oh, well, if you will risk your life and ours too; but Carriemust stay with me. "

"Will YOU trust me, Miss Carrie, and help me out of this scrape?"

Carrie was recovering from her panic, and replied, "I have givenyou my promise. "

He was out of the sleigh instantly, and the thin ice broke withhim also. "I must carry you a short distance, " he said. "I cannotallow you to get your feet wet. Put one arm around my neck, so;now please obey as you promised. "

She did so without a word, and he bore her beyond the water, inwardly exulting and blessing that thin ice. His decision wascoming with the passing seconds; indeed, it had come. Returning tothe sleigh he drove slowly forward, his horse making a terriblecrunching and splashing, Lottie meanwhile keeping up a staccatoaccompaniment of little shrieks. 

"Ah, my charming creature, " he thought, "with you it was only, 'What will become of ME?' I might not have found out until it wastoo late the relative importance of 'me' in the universe had wenot struck this bad crossing; and one comes to plenty of badplaces to cross in a lifetime. "

The area of thin ice was not very narrow, and he was becoming buta dim and shadowy outline to the girls. Lottie was now screamingfor his return. Having crossed the overflowed space and absolutelyassured himself that there was no danger, he returned more rapidlyand found Carrie trying to calm her companion. 

"Oh, " sobbed Lottie, "my feet are wet and almost frozen. The iceunderneath may have borne you, but it won't bear all three of us. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't--I wish I was home; and I feel as if I'dnever get there. "

"Miss Lottie, I assure you that the ice will hold a ton, but I'lltell you what I'll do. I shall put you in the sleigh, and MissCarrie will drive you over. You two together do not weigh muchmore than I do. I'll walk just behind you with my hands on theback of the sleigh, and if I see the slightest danger I'll liftyou out of the sleigh first and carry you to safety. "

This proposition promised so well that she hesitated, and helifted her in instantly before she could change her mind, thenhelped Carrie in with a quiet pressure of the hand, as much as tosay, "I shall depend on you. "

"But, Mr. Marstern, you'll get your feet wet, " protested Carrie. 

"That doesn't matter, " he replied good-naturedly. "I shall be noworse off than Miss Lottie, and I'm determined to convince her ofsafety. Now go straight ahead as I direct. "

Once the horse stumbled, and Lottie thought he was going down headfirst. "Oh, lift me out, quick, quick!" she cried. 

"Yes, indeed I will, Miss Lottie, as soon as we are opposite thatgrate fire of yours. "

They were soon safely over, and within a half-hour reachedLottie's home. It was evident she was a little ashamed of herbehavior, and she made some effort to retrieve herself. But shewas cold and miserable, vexed with herself and still more vexedwith Marstern. That a latent sense of justice forbade the latterfeeling only irritated her the more. Individuals as well ascommunities must have scapegoats; and it is not an unusual impulseon the part of some to blame and dislike those before whom theyhave humiliated themselves. 

She gave her companions a rather formal invitation to come in andget warm before proceeding further; but Marstern said verypolitely that he thought it was too late, unless Miss Carrie wascold. Carrie protested that she was not so cold but that she couldeasily wait till she reached her own fireside. 

"Well, good-night, then, " and the door was shut a trifleemphatically. 

"Mr. Marstern, " said Carrie, sympathetically, "your feet must bevery cold and wet after splashing through all that ice-water. "

"They are, " he replied; "but I don't mind it. Well, if I had triedfor years I could not have found such a test of character as wehad to-night. "

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, you two girls did not behave exactly alike. I liked theway you behaved. You helped me out of a confounded scrape. "

"Would you have tried for years to find a test?" she asked, concealing the keenness of her query under a laugh. 

"I should have been well rewarded if I had, by such a finecontrast, " he replied. 

Carrie's faculties had not so congealed but that his words set herthinking. She had entertained at times the impression that she andLottie were his favorites. Had he taken them out that nighttogether in the hope of contrasts, of finding tests that wouldhelp his halting decision? He had ventured where the intuitions ofa girl like Carrie Mitchell were almost equal to second-sight; andshe was alert for what would come next. 

He accepted her invitation to come in and warm his feet at theglowing fire in the grate, which Carrie's father had made beforeretiring. Mrs. Mitchell, feeling that her daughter was with an oldfriend and playmate, did not think the presence of a chaperonessential, and left the young people alone. Carrie bustled about, brought cake, and made hot lemonade, while Marstern stretched hisfeet to the grate with a luxurious sense of comfort andcomplacency, thinking how homelike it all was and how paradisiacallife would become if such a charming little Hebe presided over hishome. His lemonade became nectar offered by such hands. 

She saw the different expression in his eyes. It was now homage, decided preference for one and not mere gallantry to two. Outwardly she was demurely oblivious and maintained simply herwonted friendliness. Marstern, however, was thawing in more sensesthan one, and he was possessed by a strong impulse to begin anopen siege at once. 

"I haven't had a single suit of any kind yet, Carrie, " he said, dropping the prefix of "Miss, " which had gradually been adopted asthey had grown up. 

"Oh, well, that was the position of all the great lawyers once, "she replied, laughing. Marstern's father was wealthy, and all knewthat he could afford to be briefless for a time. 

"I may never be great; but I shall work as hard as any of them, "he continued. "To tell you the honest truth, however, this wouldbe the happiest Christmas Eve of my life if I had a downright suiton my hands. Why can't I be frank with you and say I'd like tobegin the chief suit of my life now and here--a suit for thislittle hand? I'd plead for it as no lawyer ever pleaded before. Isettled that much down on the ice. "

"And if I hadn't happened to behave on the ice in a manneragreeable to your lordship, you would have pleaded with the othergirl?" she remarked, withdrawing her hand and looking him directlyin the eyes. 

"What makes you think so?" he asked somewhat confusedly. 

"You do. "

He sprang up and paced the room a few moments, then confronted herwith the words, "You shall have the whole truth. Any woman that Iwould ask to be my wife is entitled to that, " and he told her justwhat the attitude of his mind had been from the first. 

She laughed outright, then gave him her hand as she said, "Yourhonesty insures that we can be very good friends; but I don't wishto hear anything more about suits which are close of kin tolawsuits. "

He looked very dejected, feeling that he had blundered fatally inhis precipitation. 

"Come now, Hedley, be sensible, " she resumed, half laughing, halfserious. "As you say, we can be frank with each other. Why, onlythe other day we were boy and girl together coasting downhill onthe same sled. You are applying your legal jargon to a deepexperience, to something sacred--the result, to my mind, of adivine instinct. Neither you nor I have ever felt for each otherthis instinctive preference, this subtle gravitation of the heart. Don't you see? Your head has been concerned about me, and onlyyour head. By a kindred process you would select one bale ofmerchandise in preference to another. Good gracious! I've faultsenough. You'll meet some other girl that will stand some othertest far better than I. I want a little of what you call sillyromance in my courtship. See; I can talk about this suit as coollyand fluently as you can. We'd make a nice pair of lovers, about asfrigid as the ice-water you waded through so good-naturedly;" andthe girl's laugh rang out merrily, awakening echoes in the oldhouse. Mr. And Mrs. Mitchell might rest securely when theirdaughter could laugh like that. It was the mirth of a genuineAmerican girl whose self-protection was better than the care of athousand duennas. 

He looked at her with honest admiration in his eyes, then rosequietly and said, "That's fine, Carrie. Your head's worth two ofmine, and you'd make the better lawyer. You see through a casefrom top to bottom. You were right--I wasn't in love with you; Idon't know whether I'm in love with you now, and you haven't aninfinitesimal spark for me. Nevertheless, I begin my suit here andnow, and I shall never withdraw it till you are engaged to anotherfellow. So there!"

Carrie looked rather blank at this result of her reductio adabsurdum process; and he did not help her by adding, "A fellowisn't always in love. There must be a beginning; and when I arriveat this beginning under the guidance of reason, judgment, andobservation, I don't see as I'm any more absurd than the fellowwho tumbles helplessly in love, he doesn't know why. What becomesof all these people who have divine gravitations? You and I bothknow of some who had satanic repulsions afterward. They used theireyes and critical faculties after marriage instead of before. Theromance exhaled like a morning mist; and the facts came outdistinctly. They learned what kind of man and woman they actuallywere, and two idealized creatures were sent to limbo. Because Idon't blunder upon the woman I wish to marry, but pick her out, that's no reason I can't and won't love her. Your analysis andjudgment were correct only up to date. You have now to meet a suithonestly, openly announced. This may be bad policy on my part; yetI have so much faith in you and respect for you that I don'tbelieve you will let my precipitation create a prejudice. Give mea fair hearing; that's all I ask. "

"Well, well, I'll promise not to frown, even though some finerparagon should throw me completely in the shade. "

"You don't believe in my yet, " he resumed, after a moment ofthought. "I felt that I had blundered awfully a while ago; but Idoubt it. A girl of your perceptions would soon have seen it all. I've not lost anything by being frank from the start. Be just tome, however. It wasn't policy that led me to speak, but thishomelike scene, and you appearing like the good genius of a home. "

He pulled out his watch, and gave a low whistle as he held ittoward her. Then his manner suddenly became grave and gentle. "Carrie, " he said, "I wish you, not a merry Christmas, but a happyone, and many of them. It seems to me it would be a greatprivilege for a man to make a woman like you happy. "

"Is this the beginning of the suit?" she asked with a laugh thatwas a little forced. 

"I don't know. Perhaps it is; but I spoke just as I felt. Good-night. "

She would not admit of a trace of sentiment on her part. "Good-night, " she said. "Merry Christmas! Go home and hang up yourstocking. "

"Bless me!" she thought, as she went slowly up the stairs, "Ithought I was going to be through with him for good and all, except as a friend; but if he goes on this way--"

The next morning a basket of superb roses was left at her home. There was no card, and mamma queried and surmised; but the girlknew. They were not displeasing to her, and somehow, before theday was over, they found their way to her room; but she shook herhead decidedly as she said, "He must be careful not to send meother gifts, for I will return them instantly. Flowers, inmoderation, never commit a girl. "

But then came another gift--a book with pencillings here andthere, not against sentimental passages, but words that made herthink. It was his manner in society, however, that at onceannoyed, perplexed, and pleased her. On the first occasion theymet in company with others, he made it clear to every one that hewas her suitor; yet he was not a burr which she could not shakeoff. He rather seconded all her efforts to have a good time withany and every one she chose. Nor did he, wallflower fashion, mopein the meanwhile and look unutterable things. He added to thepleasure of a score of others, and even conciliated Lottie, yet atthe same time surrounded the girl of his choice with an atmosphereof unobtrusive devotion. She was congratulated on her conquest--rather maliciously so by Lottie. Her air of courteous indifferencewas well maintained; yet she was a woman, and could not help beingflattered. Certain generous traits in her nature were touched alsoby a homage which yielded everything and exacted nothing. 

The holidays soon passed, and he returned to his work. She learnedincidentally that he toiled faithfully, instead of mooning around. At every coigne of vantage she found him, or some token of hisceaseless effort. She was compelled to think of him, and to thinkwell of him. Though mamma and papa judiciously said little, it wasevident that they liked the style of lover into which he wasdeveloping. 

Once during the summer she said: "I don't think it's right to letyou go on in this way any longer. "

"Are my attentions so very annoying?"

"No, indeed. A girl never had a more agreeable or useful friend. "

"Are you engaged to some other fellow?"

"Of course not. You know better. "

"There is no 'of course not' about it. I couldn't and wouldn't laya straw in the way. You are not bound, but I. "

"You bound?"

"Certainly. You remember what I said. "

"Then I must accept the first man that asks me--"

"I ask you. "

"No; some one else, so as to unloose your conscience and give youa happy deliverance. "

"You would leave me still bound and hopeless in that case. I loveyou now, Carrie Mitchell. "

"Oh, dear! you are incorrigible. It's just a lawyer's persistencein winning a suit. "

"You can still swear on the dictionary that you don't love me atall?"

"I might--on the dictionary. There, I won't talk about such thingsany more, " and she resolutely changed the subject. 

But she couldn't swear, even on the dictionary. She didn't knowwhere she stood or how it would all end; but with increasingfrequency the words, "I love you now, " haunted her waking anddreaming hours. 

The holidays were near again, and then came a letter fromMarstern, asking her to take another sleigh-ride with him onChristmas Eve. His concluding words were: "There is no other womanin the world that I want on the other side of me. " She kissedthese words, then looked around in a startled, shamefaced manner, blushing even in the solitude of her room. 

Christmas Eve came, but with it a wild storm of wind and sleet. She was surprised at the depth of her disappointment. Would heeven come to call through such a tempest?

He did come, and come early; and she said demurely: "I did notexpect you on such a night as this. "

He looked at her for a moment, half humorously, half seriously, and her eyes drooped before his. "You will know better what toexpect next time, " was his comment. 

"When is next time?"

"Any and every time which gives me a chance to see you. Who shouldknow that better than you?"

"Are you never going to give up?" she asked with averted face. 

"Not till you become engaged. "

"Hush! They are all in the parlor. "

"Well, they ought to know as much, by this time, also. "

She thought it was astonishing how he made himself at home in thefamily circle. In half an hour there was scarcely any restraintleft because a visitor was present. Yet, as if impelled by somemysterious influence, one after another slipped out; and Carriesaw with strange little thrills of dismay that she would soon bealone with that indomitable lawyer. She signalled to her mother, but the old lady's eyes were glued to her knitting. 

At last they were alone, and she expected a prompt and powerfulappeal from the plaintiff; but Marstern drew his chair to theopposite side of the hearth and chatted so easily, naturally, andkindly that her trepidation passed utterly. It began to grow late, and a heavier gust than usual shook the house. It appeared towaken him to the dire necessity of breasting the gale, and he roseand said:

"I feel as if I could sit here forever, Carrie. It's just theimpression I had a year ago to-night. You, sitting there by thefire, gave then, and give now to this place the irresistible charmof home. I think I had then the decided beginning of the divinegravitation--wasn't that what you called it?--which has beengrowing so strong ever since. You thought then that the ice-waterI waded was in my veins. Do you think so now? If you do I shallhave to take another year to prove the contrary. Neither am Iconvinced of the absurdity of my course, as you put it then. Istudied you coolly and deliberately before I began to love you, and reason and judgment have had no chance to jeer at my love. "

"But, Hedley, " she began with a slight tremor in her tones, "youare idealizing me as certainly as the blindest. I've plenty offaults. "

"I haven't denied that; so have I plenty of faults. What righthave I to demand a perfection I can't offer? I have known peopleto marry who imagined each other perfect, and then come to courtfor a separation on the ground of incompatibility of temperament. They learned the meaning of that long word too late, and werescarcely longer about it than the word itself. Now, I'm satisfiedthat I could cordially agree with you on some points and lovinglydisagree with you on others. Chief of all it's your instinct tomake a home. You appear better at your own fireside than when infull dress at a reception. You--"

"See here, Hedley, you've got to give up this suit at last. I'mengaged, " and she looked away as if she could not meet his eyes. 

"Engaged?" he said slowly, looking at her with startled eyes. 

"Well, about the same as engaged. My heart has certainly gone fromme beyond recall. " He drew a long breath. "I was foolish enough tobegin to hope, " he faltered. 

"You must dismiss hope to-night, then, " she said, her face stillaverted. 

He was silent and she slowly turned toward him. He had sunk into achair and buried his face in his hands, the picture of dejecteddefeat. 

There was a sudden flash of mirth through tear-gemmed eyes, aglance at the clock, then noiseless steps, and she was on herknees beside him, her arm about his neck, her blushing face nearhis wondering eyes as she breathed:

"Happy Christmas, Hedley! How do you like your first gift; andwhat room is there now for hope?"

THREE THANKSGIVING KISSES

It was the day before Thanksgiving. The brief cloudy Novemberafternoon was fast merging into early twilight. The trees, nowgaunt and bare, creaked and groaned in the passing gale, clashingtheir icy branches together with sounds sadly unlike theslumberous rustle of their foliage in June. And that same foliagewas now flying before the wind, swept hither and thither, likeexiles driven by disaster from the moorings of home, at timesfinding a brief abiding-place, and then carried forward to partsunknown by circumstances beyond control. The street leading intothe village was almost deserted; and the few who came and wenthastened on with fluttering garments, head bent down, and ashivering sense of discomfort. The fields were bare and brown; andthe landscape on the uplands rising in the distance would havebeen utterly sombre had not green fields of grain, like childlikefaith in wintry age, relieved the gloomy outlook and prophesied ofthe sunshine and golden harvest of a new year and life. 

But bleak November found no admittance in Mrs. Alford's coseyparlor. Though, as usual, it was kept as the room for stateoccasions, it was not a stately room. It was furnished withelegance and good taste; but what was better, the genial homeatmosphere from the rest of the house had invaded it, and one didnot feel, on entering it from the free-and-easy sitting-room, asif passing from a sunny climate to the icebergs of the Pole. Therefore I am sure my reader will follow me gladly out of thebiting, boisterous wind into the homelike apartment, and as westand in fancy before the glowing grate, we will make theacquaintance of the May-day creature who is its sole occupant. 

Elsie Alford, just turning seventeen, appeared younger than heryears warranted. Some girls carry the child far into their teens, and Head the mirthful innocence of infancy with the richer, fullerlife of budding womanhood. This was true of Elsie. Hers was notthe forced exotic bloom of fashionable life; but rather one of thenative blossoms of her New England home, having all the delicacyand at the same time hardiness of the windflower. She was also asshy and easily agitated, and yet, like the flower she resembled, well rooted among the rocks of principle and truth. She was theyoungest and the pet of the household, and yet the "petting" wasnot of that kind that develops selfishness and wilfulness, butrather a genial sunlight of love falling upon her as a focus fromthe entire family. They always spoke of her as "little Sis, " orthe "child. " And a child it seemed she would ever be, with herkittenish ways, quick impulses, and swiftly alternating moods. Asshe developed into womanly proportions, her grave, businesslikefather began to have misgivings. After one of her wild sallies atthe table, where she kept every one on the qui vive by herunrestrained chatter, Mr. Alford said:

"Elsie, will you ever learn to be a woman?"

Looking mischievously at him through her curls, she replied, "Yes;I might if I became as old as Mrs. Methuselah. "

They finally concluded to leave Elsie's cure to care and trouble--two certain elements of earthly life; and yet her experience ofeither would be slight indeed, could their love shield her. 

But it would not be exactly care or trouble that would sober Elsieinto a thoughtful woman, as our story will show. 

Some of the November wind seemed in her curling hair upon thisfateful day; but her fresh young April face was a pleasantcontrast to the scene presented from the window, to which she keptflitting with increasing frequency. It certainly was not thedismal and darkening landscape that so intensely interested her. The light of a great and coming pleasure was in her face, and hermanner was one of restless, eager expectancy. Little wonder. Herpet brother, the one next older than herself, a promising youngtheologue, was coming home to spend Thanksgiving. It was time heappeared. The shriek of the locomotive had announced the arrivalof the train; and her ardent little spirit could scarcely endurethe moments intervening before she would almost concentrateherself into a rapturous kiss and embrace of welcome, for thefavorite brother had been absent several long months. 

Her mother called her away for a few moments, for the good oldlady was busy indeed, knowing well that merely full hearts wouldnot answer for a New England Thanksgiving. But the moment Elsiewas free she darted back to the window, just in time to catch aglimpse, as she supposed, of her brother's well-remembered dark-gray overcoat, as he was ascending the front steps. 

A tall, grave-looking young man, an utter stranger to the placeand family, had his hand upon the doorbell; but before he couldring it, the door flew open, and a lovely young creatureprecipitated herself on his neck, like a missile fired fromheavenly battlements, and a kiss was pressed upon his lips that heafterward admitted to have felt even to the "toes of his boots. "

But his startled manner caused her to lift her face from under hisside-whiskers; and though the dusk was deepening, she could seethat her arms were around an utter stranger. She recoiled from himwith a bound, and trembling like a windflower indeed, her largeblue eyes dilating at the intruder with a dismay beyond words. Howthe awkward scene would have ended it were hard to tell had notthe hearty voice of one coming up the path called out:

"Hi, there, you witch! who is that you are kissing, and thenstanding off to see the effect?"

There was no mistake this time; so, impelled by love, shame, andfear of "that horrid man, " she fled, half sobbing, to his arms. 

"No, he isn't a 'horrid man, ' either, " whispered her brother, laughing. "He is a classmate of mine. Why, Stanhope, how are you?I did not know that you and my sister were so well acquainted, " headded, half banteringly and half curiously, for as yet he did notfully understand the scene. 

The hall-lamp, shining through the open door, had revealed thefeatures of the young man (whom we must now call Mr. Stanhope), sothat his classmate had recognized him. His first impulse had beento slip away in the darkness, and so escape from his awkwardpredicament; but George Alford's prompt address prevented this andbrought him to bay. He was painfully embarrassed, but managed tostammer: "I was taken for you, I think. I never had the pleasure--honor of meeting your sister. "

"Oh, ho! I see now. My wild little sister kissed before shelooked. Well, that was your good-fortune. I could keep twoThanksgiving days on the strength of such a kiss as that, " criedthe light-hearted student, shaking the diffident, shrinking Mr. Stanhope warmly by the hand. "You will hardly need a formalintroduction now. But, bless me, where is she? Has the Novemberwind blown her away?"

"I think your sist--the lady passed around to the side entrance. Ifear I have annoyed her sadly. "

"Nonsense! A good joke--something to tease the little witch about. But come in. I'm forgetting the sacred rites. "

And before the bewildered Mr. Stanhope could help himself, he washalf dragged into the lighted hall, and the door shut between himand escape. 

In the meantime, Elsie, like a whirlwind, had burst into thekitchen, where Mrs. Alford was superintending some savory dishes. 

"Oh, mother, George has come and has a horrid man with him, whonearly devoured me. "

And, with this rather feminine mode of stating the case, shedarted into the dusky, fire-lighted parlor, from whence, unseen, she could reconnoitre the hall. Mr. Stanhope was just saying:

"Please let me go. I have stood between you and your welcome longenough. I shall only be an intruder; and besides, as an utterstranger, I have no right to stay. " To all of which Elsie devoutlywhispered to herself, "Amen. "

But Mrs. Alford now appeared, and after a warm, motherly greetingto her son, turned in genial courtesy to welcome his friend, asshe supposed. 

George was so happy that he wished every one else to be the same. The comical episode attending Mr. Stanhope's unexpected appearancejust hit his frolicsome mood, and promised to be a source ofendless merriment if he could only keep his classmate over thecoming holiday. Moreover, he long had wished to become betteracquainted with this young man, whose manner at the seminary haddeeply interested him. So he said:

"Mother, this is Mr. Stanhope, a classmate of mine. I wish youwould help me persuade him to stay. "

"Why, certainly, I supposed you expected to stay with us, ofcourse, " said Mrs. Alford, heartily. 

Mr. Stanhope looked ready to sink through the floor, his facecrimson with vexation. 

"I do assure you, madam, " he urged, "it is all a mistake. I am notan invited guest. I was merely calling on a little matter ofbusiness, when--" and there he stopped. George exploded into ahearty, uncontrollable laugh; while Elsie, in the darkness, shookher little fist at the stranger, who hastened to add, "Please letme bid you good-evening, I have not the slightest claim on yourhospitality. "

"Where are you staying?" asked Mrs. Alford, a little mystified. "We would like you to spend at least part of the time with us. "

"I do not expect to be here very long. I have a room at thehotel. "

"Now, look here, Stanhope, " cried George, barring all egress byplanting his back against the door, "do you take me, a half-fledged theologue, for a heathen? Do you suppose that I could besuch a churl as to let a classmate stay at our dingy, forlornlittle tavern and eat hash on Thanksgiving Day? I could never lookyou in the face at recitation again. Have some consideration formy peace of mind, and I am sure you will find our home quite asendurable as anything Mr. Starks can provide. "

"Oh! as to that, from even the slight glimpse that I have had, this seems more like a home than anything I have known for manyyears; but I cannot feel it right that I, an unexpected stranger--"

"Come, come! No more of that! You know what is written about'entertaining strangers;' so that is your strongest claim. Moreover, that text works both ways sometimes, and the strangerangel finds himself among angels. My old mother here, if she doesweigh well on toward two hundred, is more like one than anything Ihave yet seen, and Elsie, if not an angel, is at least part witchand part fairy. But you need not fear ghostly entertainment frommother's larder. As you are a Christian, and not a Pagan, no moreof this reluctance. Indeed, nolens volens, I shall not permit youto go out into this November storm to-night;" and Elsie, to herdismay, saw the new-comer led up to the "spare room" with a sortof hospitable violence. 

With flaming cheeks and eyes half full of indignant tears, she nowmade onslaught on her mother, who had returned to the kitchen, where she was making preparations for a supper that might almostanswer for the dinner the next day. 

"Mother, mother, " she exclaimed, "how could you keep thatdisagreeable stranger! He will spoil our Thanksgiving. "

"Why, child, what is the matter?" said Mrs. Alford, raising hereyes in surprise to her daughter's face, that looked like a redmoon through the mist of savory vapors rising from the amplecooking-stove. "I don't understand you. Why should not yourbrother's classmate add to the pleasure of our Thanksgiving?"

"Well, perhaps if we had expected him, if he had come in someother way, and we knew more about him--"

"Bless you, child, what a formalist you have become. You stand ona fine point of etiquette, as if it were the broad foundation ofhospitality; while only last week you wanted a ragged tramp, whohad every appearance of being a thief, to stay all night. Yourbrother thinks it a special providence that his friend should haveturned up so unexpectedly. "

"Oh, dear!" sighed Elsie. "If that is what the doctrine of specialprovidence means, I shall need a new confession of faith. " Then, asudden thought occurring to her, she vanished, while her mothersmiled, saying:

"What a queer child she is, to be sure!"

A moment later Elsie gave a sharp knock at the spare room door, and in a second was in the further end of the dark hall. Georgeput his head out. 

"Come here, " she whispered. "Are you sure it's you?" she added, holding him off at arm's-length. 

His response was such a tempest of kisses and embraces that in hernervous state she was quite panic-stricken. 

"George, " she gasped, "have mercy on me!"

"I only wished to show you how he felt, so you would have somesympathy for him. "

"If you don't stop, " said the almost desperate girl, "I will shutmyself up and not appear till he is gone. I will any way, if youdon't make me a solemn promise. "

"Leave out the 'solemn. '"

"No, I won't. Upon your word and honor, promise never to tell whathas happened--my mistake, I mean. "

"Oh, Elsie, it's too good to keep, " laughed George. 

"Now, George, if you tell, " sobbed Elsie, "you'll spoil myholiday, your visit, and everything. "

"If you feel that way, you foolish child, of course I won't tell. Indeed, I suppose I should not, for Stanhope seems half frightenedout of his wits also. "

"Serves him right, though I doubt whether he has many to lose, "said Elsie, spitefully. 

"Well, I will do my best to keep in, " said George, soothingly, andstroking her curls. "But you will let it all out; you see. Theidea of your keeping anything with your April face!"

Elsie acted upon the hint, and went to her room in order to removeall traces of agitation before the supper-bell should summon herto meet the dreaded stranger. 

In the meantime, Mr. Alford and James, the second son, had come upfrom the village, where they had a thriving business. They greetedGeorge's friend so cordially that it went some way toward puttingthe diffident youth at his ease; but he dreaded meeting Elsieagain quite as much as she dreaded meeting him. 

"Who is this Mr. Stanhope?" his parents asked, as they drew Georgeaside for a little private talk after his long absence. 

"Well, he is a classmate with whom I have long wished to getbetter acquainted; but he is so shy and retiring that I have madelittle progress. He came from another seminary, and entered ourclass in this the middle year. No one seems to know much abouthim; and indeed he has shunned all intimacies and devotes himselfwholly to his books. The recitation-room is the one place where heappears well--for there he speaks out, as if forgetting himself, or rather, losing himself in some truth under contemplation. Sometimes he will ask a question that wakes up both class andprofessor; but at other times it seems difficult to pierce theshell of his reserve or diffidence. And yet, from little things Ihave seen, I know that he has a good warm heart; and the workingof his mind in the recitation-room fascinates me. Further thanthis I know little about him, but have just learned, from hisexplanation as to his unexpected appearance at our door, that heis very poor, and purposed to spend his holiday vacation as agentfor a new magazine that is offering liberal premiums. I think hispoverty is one of the reasons why he has so shrunk fromcompanionship with the other students. He thinks he ought to goout and continue his efforts tonight. "

"This stormy night!" ejaculated kind Mrs. Alford. "It would bebarbarous. "

"Certainly it would, mother. We must not let him. But you must allbe considerate, for he seems excessively diffident and sensitive;and besides--but no matter. "

"No fear but that we will soon make him at home. And it's apleasure to entertain people who are not surfeited with attention. I don't understand Elsie, however, for she seems to have formed aviolent prejudice against him. From the nature of her announcementof his presence I gathered that he was a rather forward youngman. "

There was a twinkle in George's eye; but he merely said:

"Elsie is full of moods and tenses; but her kind little heart isalways the same, and that will bring her around all right. "

They were soon after marshalled to the supper-room. Elsie slippedin among the others, but was so stately and demure, and with hercurls brushed down so straight that you would scarcely have knownher. Her father caught his pet around the waist, and was about tointroduce her, when George hastened to say with the solemnity ofan undertaker that Elsie and Mr. Stanhope had met before. 

Elsie repented the promise she had wrung from her brother, for anyamount of badinage would be better than this depressing formality. She took her seat, not daring to look at the obnoxious guest; andthe family noticed with surprise that they had never seen thelittle maiden so quenched and abashed before. But George good-naturedly tried to make the conversation general, so as to givethem time to recover themselves. 

Elsie soon ventured to steal shy looks at Mr. Stanhope, and withher usual quickness discovered that he was more in terror of herthan she of him, and she exulted in the fact. 

"I'll punish him well, if I get a chance, " she thought with acertain phase of the feminine sense of justice. But the sadness ofhis face quite disarmed her when her mother, in well-meantkindness, asked:

"Where is your home located, Mr. Stanhope?"

"In the seminary, " he answered in rather a low tone. 

"You don't mean to say that you have no better one than a forlorncell in Dogma Hall?" exclaimed George, earnestly. 

Mr. Stanhope crimsoned, and then grew pale, but tried to saylightly, "An orphan of my size and years is not a very movingobject of sympathy; but one might well find it difficult not tobreak the Tenth Commandment while seeing how you are surrounded. "

Elsie was vexed at her disposition to relent toward him; she sohardened her face, however, that James rallied her:

"Why, Puss, what is the matter? Yours is the most unpromisingThanksgiving phiz I have seen today. 'Count your marcies. '"

Elsie blushed so violently, and Mr. Stanhope looked so distressedthat James finished his supper in puzzled silence, thinking, however, "What has come over the little witch? For a wonder, sheseems to have met a man that she is afraid of: but the joke is, heseems even more afraid of her. "

In the social parlor some of the stiffness wore off; but Elsie andMr. Stanhope kept on opposite sides of the room and had verylittle to say to each other. Motherly Mrs. Alford drew the youngman out sufficiently, however, to become deeply interested in him. 

By the next morning time for thought had led him to feel that hemust trespass on their hospitality no longer. Moreover, he plainlyrecognized that his presence was an oppression and restraint uponElsie; and he was very sorry that he had stayed at all. But whenhe made known his purpose the family would not listen to it. 

"I should feel dreadfully hurt if you left us now, " said Mrs. Alford, so decidedly that he was in a dilemma, and stole a timidlook toward Elsie, who at once guessed his motive in going away. Her kind heart got the better of her; and her face relented in asudden reassuring smile. Then she turned hastily away. Only Georgesaw and understood the little side scene and the reason Mr. Stanhope was induced to remain. Then Elsie, in her quickly varyingmoods, was vexed at herself, and became more cold and distant thanever. "He will regard me as only a pert, forward miss, but I willteach him better, " she thought; and she astonished the family moreand more by a stateliness utterly unlike herself. Mr. Stanhopesincerely regretted that he had not broken away, in spite of theothers; but in order not to seem vacillating he resolved to staytill the following morning, even though he departed burdened withthe thought that he had spoiled the day for one of the family. Things had now gone so far that leaving might only lead toexplanations and more general annoyances, for George had intimatedthat the little mistake of the previous evening should remain asecret. 

And yet he sincerely wished she would relent toward him, for shecould not make her sweet little face repellent. The kiss she hadgiven him still seemed to tingle in his very soul, while her lastsmile was like a ray of warmest sunshine. But her face, neverdesigned to be severe, was averted. 

After having heard the affairs of the nation discussed in a sound, scriptural manner, they all sat down to a dinner such as had neverblessed poor Mr. Stanhope's vision before. A married son anddaughter returned after church, and half a dozen grandchildrenenlivened the gathering. There was need of them, for Elsie, usually in a state of wild effervescence upon such occasions, wasnow demure and comparatively silent. The children, with whom shewas accustomed to romp like one of them, were perplexed indeed;and only the intense excitement of a Thanksgiving dinner divertedtheir minds from Aunt Elsie, so sadly changed. She was consciousthat all were noting her absent manner, and this embarrassed andvexed her more; and yet she seemed under a miserable paralysisthat she could neither explain nor escape. 

"If we had only laughed it off at first, " she groaned to herself;"but now the whole thing grows more absurd and disagreeable everymoment. "

"Why, Elsie, " said her father, banteringly, "you doubted the otherday whether Mrs. Methuselah's age would ever sober you; and yet Ithink that good old lady would have looked more genial onThanksgiving Day. What is the matter?"

"I was thinking of the sermon, " she said. 

Amid the comic elevation of eyebrows, George said slyly:

"Tell us the text. "

Overwhelmed with confusion, she darted a reproachful glance at himand muttered:

"I did not say anything about the text. "

"Well, tell us about the sermon then, " laughed James. 

"No, " said Elsie, sharply. "I'll quote you a text: 'Eat, drink, and be merry, ' and let me alone. "

They saw that for some reason she could not bear teasing, and thatsuch badinage troubled Mr. Stanhope also. George came gallantly tothe rescue, and the dinner-party grew so merry that Elsie thawedperceptibly and Stanhope was beguiled into several witty speeches. At each one Elsie opened her eyes in wider and growingappreciation. At last, when they rose from their coffee, she cometo the surprising conclusion--

"Why, he is not stupid and bad-looking after all. "

George was bent on breaking the ice between them, and so proposedthat the younger members of the family party should go up aswollen stream and see the fall. But Elsie flanked herself with asister-in-law on one side and a niece on the other, while Stanhopewas so diffident that nothing but downright encouragement wouldbring him to her side. So George was almost in despair. Elsie'seyes had been conveying favorable impressions to her reluctantmind throughout the walk. She sincerely regretted that such anabsurd barrier had grown up between her and Stanhope, but couldnot for the life of her, especially before others, do anything tobreak the awkward spell. 

At last they were on their return, and were all grouped togetheron a little bluff, watching the water pour foamingly through anarrow gorge. 

"Oh, see, " cried Elsie, suddenly pointing to the opposite bank, "what beautiful moss that is over there! It is just the kind Ihave been wanting. Oh, dear! there isn't a bridge within half amile. "

Stanhope glanced around a moment, and then said gallantly, "I willget you the moss, Miss Alford. " They saw that in someinconceivable way he intended crossing where they stood. The gorgewas much too wide for the most vigorous leap, so Elsie exclaimedeagerly:

"Oh, please don't take any risk! What is a little moss?"

"I say, Stanhope, " remonstrated George, seriously, "it would be nolaughing matter if you should fall in there. "

But Stanhope only smiled, threw off his overcoat, and buttoned hisundercoat closely around him. George groaned to himself, "Thiswill be worse than the kissing scrape, " and was about to lay arestraining grasp upon his friend. But he slipped away, andlightly went up hand-over-hand a tall, slender sapling on the edgeof the bank, the whole party gathering round in breathlessexpectation. Having reached its slender, swaying top, he threwhimself out on the land side. The tree bent at once to the groundwith his weight, but without snapping, showing that it was toughand fibrous. Holding firmly to the top, he gave a strong spring, which, with the spring of the bent sapling, sent him well over thegorge on the firm ground beyond. 

There was a round of applause from the little group he had justleft, in which Elsie joined heartily. Her eyes were glowing withadmiration, for when was not power and daring captivating to awoman? Then, in sudden alarm and forgetfulness of her formercoolness, she exclaimed:

"But how will you get back?"

"This is my bridge, " he replied, smiling brightly across to her, and holding on to the slender young tree. "You perceive that I wasbrought up in the country. "

So saying, he tied the sapling down to a root with a handkerchief, and then proceeded to fill another with moss. 

As George saw Elsie's face while she watched Stanhope gather thecoveted trifle, he chuckled to himself--

"The ice is broken between them now. "

But Stanhope had insecurely fastened the sapling down. The strainupon the knot was too severe, and suddenly the young tree flew upand stood erect but quivering, with his handkerchief fluttering inits top as a symbol of defeat. There was an exclamation of dismayand Elsie again asked with real anxiety in her tone:

"How will you get back now?"

Stanhope shrugged his shoulders. 

"I confess I am defeated, for there is no like sapling on thisside; but I have the moss, and can join you at the bridge below, if nothing better offers. "

"George, " said Elsie, indignantly, "don't go away and leave Mr. Stanhope's handkerchief in that tree. "

"Bless you, child, " cried George, mischievously, and leading theway down the path, "I can't climb anymore than a pumpkin. You willhave to go back with him after it, or let it wave as a memento ofhis gallantry on your behalf. "

"If I can only manage to throw them together without anyembarrassing third parties present, the ridiculous restraint theyare under will soon vanish, " he thought; and so he hastened hissteps. The rest trooped after him, while Stanhope made his waywith difficulty on the opposite bank, where there was no path. Hisprogress therefore was slow; and Elsie saw that if she did notlinger he would be left behind. Common politeness forbade this, and so she soon found herself alone, carrying his overcoat on onebank, and he keeping pace with her on the other. She comfortedherself at first with the thought that with the brawling, deafening stream between them, there would be no chance forembarrassing conversation. But soon her sympathies became aroused, as she saw him toilsomely making his way over the rocks andthrough the tangled thickets: and as she could not speak to him, she smiled her encouragement so often that she felt it would beimpossible to go back to her old reserve. 

Stanhope now came to a little opening in the brush. The clearedground sloped evenly down to the stream, and its current wasdivided by a large rock. He hailed the opportunity here offeredwith delight, for he was very anxious to speak to her before theyshould join the others. So he startled Elsie by walking out intothe clearing, away from the stream. 

"Well, I declare; that's cool, to go and leave me alone without aword, " she thought. 

But she was almost terror-stricken to see him turn and dart to thetorrent like an arrow. With a long flying leap, he landed on therock in the midst of the stream, and then, without a second'shesitation, with the impetus already acquired, sprang for thesolid ground where she stood, struck it, wavered, and would havefallen backward into the water had not she, quick as thought, stepped forward and given him her hand. 

"You have saved me from a ducking, if not worse, " he said, givingthe little rescuing hand a warm pressure. 

"Oh!" exclaimed she, panting, "please don't do any more dreadfulthings. I shall be careful how I make any wishes in your hearingagain. "

"I am sorry to hear you say that, " he replied. And then there wasan awkward silence. 

Elsie could think of nothing better than to refer to thehandkerchief they had left behind. 

"Will you wait for me till I run and get it?" he asked. 

"I will go back with you, if you will permit me, " she saidtimidly. 

"Indeed, I could not ask so much of you as that. "

"And yet you could about the same as risk your neck to gratify awhim of mine, " she said more gratefully than she intended. 

"Please do not think, " he replied earnestly, "that I have beenpracticing cheap heroics. As I said, I was a country boy, and inmy early home thought nothing of doing such things. " But even thebrief reference to that vanished home caused him to sigh deeply, and Elsie gave him a wistful look of sympathy. 

For a few moments they walked on in silence. Then Mr. Stanhopeturned, and with some hesitation said:

"Miss Alford, I did very wrong to stay after--after last evening. But my better judgment was borne down by invitations so cordialthat I hardly knew how to resist them. At the same time I nowrealize that I should have done so. Indeed, I would go away atonce, would not such a course only make matters worse. And yet, after receiving so much kindness from your family, more than hasblessed me for many long years--for since my dear mother died Ihave been quite alone in the world--I feel I cannot go awaywithout some assurance or proof that you will forgive me for beingsuch a kill-joy in your holiday. "

Elsie's vexation with herself now knew no bounds. She stopped inthe path, determining that she would clear up matters, cost whatit might. 

"Mr. Stanhope, " she said, "will you grant a request that willcontain such assurance, or rather, will show you that I amheartily ashamed of my foolish course? Will you not spend nextThanksgiving with us, and give me a chance to retrieve myself fromfirst to last?"

His face brightened wonderfully as he replied, "I will only be tooglad to do so, if you truly wish it. "

"I do wish it, " she said earnestly. "What must you think of me?"(His eyes then expressed much admiration; but hers were fixed onthe ground and half filled with tears of vexation. ) Then, with apretty humility that was exquisite in its simplicity andartlessness, she added:

"You have noticed at home that they call me 'child'--and indeed, Iam little more than one--and now see that I have behaved like avery silly and naughty one toward you. I have trampled on everyprinciple of hospitality, kindness, and good-breeding. I have nopatience with myself, and I wish another chance to show that I cando better. I--"

"Oh, Miss Alford, please do not judge yourself so harshly andunjustly, " interrupted Stanhope. 

"Oh, dear!" sighed Elsie, "I'm so sorry for what happened lastnight. We all might have had such a good time. "

"Well, then, " said Stanhope, demurely, "I suppose I ought to bealso. "

"And do you mean to say that you are not?" she asked, turningsuddenly upon him. 

"Oh, well, certainly, for your sake, " he said with rising color. 

"But not for your own?" she asked with almost the naivete of achild. 

He turned away with a perplexed laugh and replied: "Really, MissAlford, you are worse than the Catechism. "

She looked at him with a half-amused, half-surprised expression, the thought occurring to her for the first time that it might nothave been so disagreeable to him after all; and somehow thisthought was quite a relief to her. But she said: "I thought youwould regard me as a hoyden of the worst species. "

"Because you kissed your brother? I have never for a momentforgotten that it was only your misfortune that I was not he. "

"I should have remembered that it was not your fault. But here isyour handkerchief, flying like a flag of truce; so let bygones bebygones. My terms are that you come again another year, and giveme a chance to entertain my brother's friend as a sister ought. "

"I am only too glad to submit to them, " he eagerly replied, andthen added, so ardently as to deepen the roses already in hercheeks, "If such are your punishments, Miss Alford, how deliciousmust be your favors!"

By common consent the subject was dropped; and with tonguesreleased from awkward restraint, they chatted freely together, till in the early twilight they reached her home. The moment theyentered George exultingly saw that the skies were serene. 

But Elsie would never be the frolicsome child of the past again. As she surprised the family at dinner, so now at supper they couldscarcely believe that the elegant, graceful young lady was thewitch of yesterday. She had resolved with all her soul to try towin some place in Mr. Stanhope's respect before he departed, andnever did a little maiden succeed better. 

In the evening they had music; and Mr. Stanhope pleased them allwith his fine tenor, while Elsie delighted him by her clear, birdlike voice. So the hours fled away. 

"You think better of the 'horrid man, ' little Sis, " said George, as he kissed her good-night. 

"I was the horrid one, " said Elsie, penitently. "I can neverforgive myself my absurd conduct. But he has promised to comeagain next Thanksgiving, and give me a chance to do better; sodon't you fail to bring him. "

George gave a long, low whistle, and then said: "Oh! ah! Seems tome you are coming on, for an innocent. Are we to get mixed upagain in the twilight?"

"Nonsense!" said Elsie, with a peony face, and she slammed herdoor upon him. 

The next morning the young man took his leave, and Elsie's lastwords were:

"Mr. Stanhope, remember your promise. "

And he did remember more than that, for this brief visit hadenshrined a sweet, girlish face within his heart of hearts, and heno longer felt lonely and orphaned. He and George became theclosest friends, and messages from the New England home came tohim with increasing frequency, which he returned with prodigalinterest. It also transpired that he occasionally wrote for thepapers, and Elsie insisted that these should be sent to her; whilehe of course wrote much better with the certainty that she wouldbe his critic. Thus, though separated, they daily became betteracquainted, and during the year George found it not very difficultto induce his friend to make several visits. 

But it was with joy that seemed almost too rich for earthlyexperience that he found himself walking up the village streetwith George the ensuing Thanksgiving Eve. Elsie was at the door;and he pretended to be disconsolate that his reception was not thesame as on the previous year. Indeed she had to endure not alittle chaffing, for her mistake was a family joke now. 

It was a peerless Thanksgiving eve and day--one of the sun-lightedheights of human happiness. 

After dinner they all again took a walk up the brawling stream, and Stanhope and Elsie became separated from the rest, though notso innocently as on the former occasion. 

"See!" cried Elsie, pointing to the well-remembered sapling, whichshe had often visited. "There fluttered our flag of truce lastyear. "

Stanhope seized her hand and said eagerly: "And here I again breakthe truce, and renew the theme we dropped at this place. Oh, Elsie, I have felt that kiss in the depths of my heart every hoursince; and in that it led to my knowing and loving you, it hasmade every day from that time one of thanksgiving. If you couldreturn my love, as I have dared to hope, it would be a happinessbeyond words. If I could venture to take one more kiss, as a tokenthat it is returned, I could keep Thanksgiving forever. "

Her hand trembled in his, but was not withdrawn. Her blushing facewas turned away toward the brawling stream; but she saw not itsfoam, she heard not its hoarse murmurs. A sweeter music was in herears. She seemed under a delicious spell, but soon becameconscious that a pair of dark eyes were looking down eagerly, anxiously for her answer. Shyly raising hers, that now were likedewy violets, she said, with a little of her old witchery:

"I suppose you will have to kiss me this Thanksgiving, to makethings even. "

Stanhope needed no broader hint. 

"I owe you a heavy grudge, " said Mr. Alford, in the evening. "Ayear ago you robbed me of my child, for little, kittenish Elsiebecame a thoughtful woman from the day you were here; and now youare going to take away the daughter of my old age. "

"Yes, indeed, husband. Now you know how my father felt, " said Mrs. Alford, at the same time wiping something from the corner of hereye. 

"Bless me, are you here?" said the old gentleman, wheeling roundto his wife. "Mr. Stanhope, I have nothing more to say. "

"I declare, " exulted George, "that 'horrid man' will devour Elsieyet. "

"Haw! haw! haw!" laughed big-voiced, big-hearted James. "The ideaof our little witch of an Elsie being a minister's wife!"

 * * * * * * *

It is again Thanksgiving Eve. The trees are gaunt, the fields bareand brown, with dead leaves whirling across them; but a sweeterthan June sunshine seems filling the cosey parlor where Elsie, aradiant bride, is receiving her husband's first kiss almost on themoment that she with her lips so unexpectedly kindled the sacredfire, three years before. 

SUSIE ROLLIFFE'S CHRISTMAS

Picnicking in December would be a dreary experience even if onecould command all the appliances of comfort which outdoor lifepermitted. This would be especially true in the latitude of Bostonand on the bleak hills overlooking that city and its environingwaters. Dreary business indeed Ezekiel Watkins regarded it as heshivered over the smoky camp-fire which he maintained withdifficulty. The sun was sinking into the southwest so early in theday that he remarked irritably: "Durned if it was worth while forit to rise at all. "

Ezekiel Watkins, or Zeke, as he was generally known among hiscomrades, had ceased to be a resident on that rocky hillside frompleasure. His heart was in a Connecticut valley in more sensesthan one; and there was not a more homesick soldier in the army. It will be readily guessed that the events of our story occurredmore than a century ago. The shots fired at Bunker Hill had echoedin every nook and corner of the New England colonies, and theheart of Zeke Watkins, among thousands of others, had been firedwith military ardor. With companions in like frame of mind he hadtrudged to Boston, breathing slaughter and extermination againstthe red-coated instruments of English tyranny. To Zeke theexpedition had many of the elements of an extended bear-hunt, muchexalted. There was a spice of danger and a rich promise of noveltyand excitement. The march to the lines about Boston had been acontinuous ovation; grandsires came out from the wayside dwellingsand blessed the rustic soldiers; they were dined profusely by thehousewives, and if not wined, there had been slight stint in NewEngland rum and cider; the apple-cheeked daughters of the landgave them the meed of heroes in advance, and abated somewhat oftheir ruddy hues at the thought of the dangers to be incurred. Zeke was visibly dilated by all this attention, incense, andmilitary glory; and he stepped forth from each village and hamletas if the world were scarcely large enough for the prowess ofhimself and companions. Even on parade he was as stiff as hislong-barrelled flintlock, looking as if England could hope for noquarter at his hands; yet he permitted no admiring glances frombright eyes to escape him. He had not traversed half the distancebetween his native hamlet and Boston before he was abundantlysatisfied that pretty Susie Rolliffe had made no mistake inhonoring him among the recruits by marks of especial favor. Hewore in his squirrel-skin cap the bit of blue ribbon she had givenhim, and with the mien of a Homeric hero had intimated darkly thatit might be crimson before she saw it again. She had clasped herhands, stifled a little sob, and looked at him admiringly. Heneeded no stronger assurance than her eyes conveyed at thatmoment. She had been shy and rather unapproachable before, soughtby others than himself, yet very chary of her smiles and favors toall. Her ancestors had fought the Indians, and had bequeathed tothe demure little maiden much of their own indomitable spirit. Shehad never worn her heart on her sleeve, and was shy of her rusticadmirers chiefly because none of them had realized her ideals ofmanhood created by fireside stories of the past. 

Zeke's chief competitor for Susie's favor had been Zebulon Jarvis;and while he had received little encouragement, he laid hisunostentatious devotion at her feet unstintedly, and she knew it. Indeed, she was much inclined to laugh at him, for he wassingularly bashful, and a frown from her overwhelmed him. Unsophisticated Susie reasoned that any one who could be so afraidof HER could not be much of a man. She had never heard of hisdoing anything bold and spirited. It might be said, indeed, thatthe attempt to wring a livelihood for his widowed mother and forhis younger brothers and sisters from the stumpy, rocky farmrequired courage of the highest order; but it was not of a kindthat appealed to the fancy of a romantic young girl. Nothing fineror grander had Zebulon attempted before the recruiting officercame to Opinquake, and when he came, poor Zeb appeared to hangback so timorously that he lost what little place he had inSusie's thoughts. She was ignorant of the struggle taking place inhis loyal heart. More intense even than his love for her was thepatriotic fire which smouldered in his breast; yet when otheryoung men were giving in their names and drilling on the villagegreen, he was absent. To the war appeals of those who sought him, he replied briefly. "Can't leave till fall. "

"But the fighting will be over long before that, " it was urged. 

"So much the better for others, then, if not for me. "

Zeke Watkins made it his business that Susie should hear thisreply in the abbreviated form of, "So much the better, then. "

She had smiled scornfully, and it must be added, a littlebitterly. In his devotion Zeb had been so helpless, so diffidentlyunable to take his own part and make advances that she, from oddlittle spasms of sympathy, had taken his part for him, andlaughingly repeated to herself in solitude all the fine speecheswhich she perceived he would be glad to make. But, as has beenintimated, it seemed to her droll indeed that such a greatstalwart fellow should appear panic-stricken in her diminutivepresence. In brief, he had been timidity embodied under herdemurely mischievous blue eyes; and now that the recruitingofficer had come and marched away with his squad without him, shefelt incensed that such a chicken-hearted fellow had dared to lifthis eyes to her. 

"It would go hard with the Widow Jarvis and all those children ifZeb 'listed, " Susie's mother had ventured in half-hearted defence, for did she not look upon him as a promising suitor. 

"The people of Opinquake wouldn't let the widow or the childrenstarve, " replied Susie, indignantly. "If I was a big fellow likehim, my country would not call me twice. Think how grandfatherleft grandma and all the children!"

"Well, I guess Zeb thinks he has his hands full wrastling withthat stony farm. "

"He needn't come to see me any more, or steal glances at me 'tweenmeetings on Sunday, " said the girl, decisively. "He cuts a sorryfigure beside Zeke Watkins, who was the first to give in his name, and who began to march like a soldier even before he left us. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Rolliffe; "Zeke was very forward. If he holds outas he began--Well, well, Zeke allus was a little forward, and ableto speak for himself. You are young yet, Susan, and may learnbefore you reach my years that the race isn't allus to the swift. Don't be in haste to promise yourself to any of the young men. "

"Little danger of my promising myself to a man who is afraid evenof me! I want a husband like grandfather. He wasn't afraid to faceanything, and he honored his wife by acting as if she wasn'tafraid either. "

Zeb gave Susie no chance to bestow the rebuffs she hadpremeditated. He had been down to witness the departure of theOpinquake quota, and had seen Susie's farewell to Zeke Watkins. How much it had meant he was not sure--enough to leave no hope orchance for him, he had believed; but he had already fought hisfirst battle, and it had been a harder one than Zeke Watkins orany of his comrades would ever engage in. He had returned andworked on the stony farm until dark. From dawn until dark hecontinued to work every secular day till September. 

His bronzed face grew as stern as it was thin; and since he wouldno longer look at her, Susie Rolliffe began to steal an occasionaland wondering glance at him "'tween meetings. "

No one understood the young man or knew his plans except hispatient, sad-eyed mother, and she learned more by her intuitionsthan from his spoken words. She idolized him, and he loved andrevered her: but the terrible Puritan restraint paralyzedmanifestations of affection. She was not taken by surprise whenone evening he said quietly, "Mother, I guess I'll start in a dayor two. "

She could not repress a sort of gasping sob however, but after afew moments was able to say steadily, "I supposed you werepreparing to leave us. "

"Yes, mother, I've been a-preparing. I've done my best to gatherin everything that would help keep you and the children and thestock through the winter. The corn is all shocked, and the olderchildren can help you husk it, and gather in the pumpkins, thebeans, and the rest. As soon as I finish digging the potatoes Ithink I'll feel better to be in the lines around Boston. I'd haveliked to have gone at first, but in order to fight as I ought I'dwant to remember there was plenty to keep you and the children. "

"I'm afraid, Zebulon, you've been fighting as well as working sohard all summer long. For my sake and the children's, you've beenletting Susan Rolliffe think meanly of you. "

"I can't help what she thinks, mother; I've tried not to actmeanly. "

"Perhaps the God of the widow and the fatherless will shield andbless you, my son. Be that as it may, " she added with a heavysigh, "conscience and His will must guide in everything. If Hesays go forth to battle, what am I that I should stay you?"Although she did not dream of the truth, the Widow Jarvis was adisciplined soldier herself. To her, faith meant unquestioningsubmission and obedience; she had been taught to revere a jealousand an exacting God rather than a loving one. The heroism withwhich she pursued her toilsome, narrow, shadowed pathway was assublime as it was unrecognized on her part. After she had retiredshe wept sorely, not only because her eldest child was going todanger, and perhaps death, but also for the reason that her heartclung to him so weakly and selfishly, as she believed. With atenderness of which she was half-ashamed she filled his walletwith provisions which would add to his comfort, then, both to hissurprise and her own, kissed him good-by. He left her and theyounger brood with an aching heart of which there was littleoutward sign, and with no loftier ambition than to do his duty;she followed him with deep, wistful eyes till he, and next thelong barrel of his rifle, disappeared in an angle of the road, andthen her interrupted work was resumed. 

Susie Rolliffe was returning from an errand to a neighbor's whenshe heard the sound of long rapid steps. 

A hasty glance revealed Zeb in something like pursuit. Her heartfluttered slightly, for he had looked so stern and sad of latethat she had felt a little sorry for him in spite of herself. Butsince he could "wrastle" with nothing more formidable than a stonyfarm, she did not wish to have anything to say to him, or meet theembarrassment of explaining a tacit estrangement. She was glad, therefore, that her gate was so near, and passed in as if she hadnot recognized him. She heard his steps become slower and pause atthe gate, and then almost in shame in being guilty of too markeddiscourtesy, she turned to speak, but hesitated in surprise, fornow she recognized his equipment as a soldier. 

"Why, Mr. Jarvis, where are you going?" she exclaimed. 

A dull red flamed through the bronze of his thin cheeks as hereplied awkwardly, "I thought I'd take a turn in the lines aroundBoston. "

"Oh, yes, " she replied, mischievously, "take a turn in the lines. Then we may expect you back by corn-husking?"

He was deeply wounded, and in his embarrassment could think of noother reply than the familiar words, "'Let not him that girdeth onhis harness boast himself as he that putteth it off. '"

"I can't help hoping, Mr. Jarvis, that neither you nor others willput it off too soon--not, at least, while King George claims to beour master. When we're free I can stand any amount of boasting. "

"You'll never hear boasting from me, Miss Susie;" and then anawkward silence fell between them. 

Shyly and swiftly she raised her eyes. He looked so humble, deprecatory, and unsoldier-like that she could not repress alaugh. "I'm not a British cannon, " she began, "that you should beso fearful. "

His manhood was now too deeply wounded for further endurance evenfrom her, for he suddenly straightened himself, and throwing hisrifle over his shoulder, said sternly, "I'm not a coward. I neverhung back from fear, but to keep mother from charity, so I couldfight or die as God wills. You may laugh at the man who never gaveyou anything but love, if you will, but you shall never laugh atmy deeds. Call that boasting or not as you please, " and he turnedon his heel to depart. 

His words and manner almost took away the girl's breath, sounexpected were they, and unlike her idea of the man. In thatbrief moment a fearless soldier had flashed himself upon herconsciousness, revealing a spirit that would flinch at nothing--that had not even quailed at the necessity of forfeiting heresteem, that his mother might not want. Humiliated and conscience-stricken that she had done him so much injustice, she rushedforward, crying, "Stop, Zebulon; please do not go away angry withme! I do not forget that we have been old friends and playmates. I'm willing to own that I've been wrong about you, and that's agood deal for a girl to do. I only wish I were a man, and I'd gowith you. "

Her kindness restored him to his awkward self again, and hestammered, "I wish you were--no, I don't--I merely stopped, thinking you might have a message; but I'd rather not take any toZeke Watkins--will, though, if you wish. It cut me all up to haveyou think I was afraid, " and then he became speechless. 

"But you acted as if you were afraid of me, and that seemed soridiculous. "

He looked at her a moment so earnestly with his dark, deep-seteyes that hers dropped. "Miss Susie, " he said slowly, and speakingwith difficulty, "I AM afraid of you, next to God. I don't supposeI've any right to talk to you so, and I will say good-by. I wasreckless when I spoke before. Perhaps--you'll go and see mother. My going is hard on her. "

His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, as if he were taking hislast look, then he turned slowly away. 

"Good-by, Zeb, " she called softly. "I didn't--I don't understand. Yes, I will go to see your mother. "

Susie also watched him as he strode away. He thought he couldcontinue on steadfastly without looking back, but when the roadturned he also turned, fairly tugged right about by his loyalheart. She stood where he had left her, and promptly waved herhand. He doffed his cap, and remained a moment in an attitude thatappeared to her reverential, then passed out of view. 

The moments lapsed, and still she stood in the gateway, lookingdown the vacant road as if dazed. Was it in truth awkward, bashfulZeb Jarvis who had just left her? He seemed a new and distinctbeing in contrast to the youth whom she had smiled at and in ameasure scoffed at. The little Puritan maiden was not a reasoner, but a creature of impressions and swift intuitions. Zeb had notset his teeth, faced his hard duty, and toiled that long summer invain. He had developed a manhood and a force which in one briefmoment had enabled him to compel her recognition. 

"He will face anything, " she murmured. "He's afraid of only Godand me; what a strange thing to say--afraid of me next to God!Sounds kind of wicked. What can he mean? Zeke Watkins wasn't a bitafraid of me. As mother said, he was a little forward, and I wasfool enough to take him at his own valuation. Afraid of me! How hestood with his cap off. Do men ever love so? Is there a kind ofreverence in some men's love? How absurd that a great strong, brave man, ready to face cannons, can bow down to such a little--"Her fragmentary exclamations ended in a peal of laughter, buttears dimmed her blue eyes. 

Susie did visit Mrs. Jarvis, and although the reticent woman saidlittle about her son, what she did say meant volumes to the girlwho now had the right clew in interpreting his action andcharacter. She too was reticent. New England girls rarely gushedin those days, so no one knew she was beginning to understand. Hereyes, experienced in country work, were quick, and her mindactive. "It looks as if a giant had been wrestling with this stonyfarm, " she muttered. 

Zeb received no ovations on his lonely tramp to the lines, and thevision of Susie Rolliffe waving her hand from the gateway wouldhave blinded him to all the bright and admiring eyes in the world. He was hospitably entertained, however, when there was occasion;but the advent of men bound for the army had become an old story. Having at last inquired his way to the position occupied by theConnecticut troops, he was assigned to duty in the same companywith Zeke Watkins, who gave him but a cool reception, and soughtto overawe him by veteran-like airs. At first poor Zeb was awkwardenough in his unaccustomed duties, and no laugh was so scornful asthat of his rival. Young Jarvis, however, had not been many daysin camp before he guessed that Zeke's star was not in theascendant. There was but little fighting required, but muchdigging of intrenchments, drill, and monotonous picket duty. Zekedid not take kindly to such tasks, and shirked them when possible. He was becoming known as the champion grumbler in the mess, and noone escaped his criticism, not even "Old Put"--as General Putnam, who commanded the Connecticut quota, was called. Jarvis, on theother hand, performed his military duties as he had worked thefarm, and rapidly acquired the bearing of a soldier. IndomitablePutnam gave his men little rest, and was ever seeking to draw hislines nearer to Boston and the enemy's ships. He virtually foughtwith pick and shovel, and his working parties were often exposedto fire while engaged in fortifying the positions successivelyoccupied. The Opinquake boys regarded themselves as well seasonedto such rude compliments, and were not a little curious to see howZeb would handle a shovel with cannon-balls whizzing uncomfortablynear. The opportunity soon came. Old Put himself could not havebeen more coolly oblivious than the raw recruit. At last a ballsmashed his shovel to smithereens; he quietly procured another andwent on with his work. Then his former neighbors gave him a cheer, while his captain clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Promoteyou to be a veteran on the spot!"

The days had grown shorter, colder, and drearier, and thediscomforts of camp-life harder to endure. There were few tentseven for the officers, and the men were compelled to improvisesuch shelter as circumstances permitted. Huts of stone, wood, andbrush, and barricades against the wind, lined the hillside, andthe region already was denuded of almost everything that wouldburn. Therefore, when December came, Zeke Watkins found that evena fire was a luxury not to be had without trouble. He had becomethoroughly disgusted with a soldier's life, and the military glorywhich had at first so dazzled him now wore the aspect of thewintry sky. He had recently sought and attained the only promotionfor which his captain now deemed him fitted--that of cook forabout a dozen of his comrades; and the close of the December dayfound him preparing the meagre supper which the limited rationspermitted. By virtue of his office, Zeke was one of the best-fedmen in the army, for if there were any choice morsels he couldusually manage to secure them; still, he was not happy. KingGeorge and Congress were both pursuing policies inconsistent withhis comfort, and he sighed more and more frequently for the widekitchen-hearth of his home, which was within easy visitingdistance of the Rolliffe farmhouse. His term of enlistment expiredsoon, and he was already counting the days. He was not alone inhis discontent, for there was much homesickness and disaffectionamong the Connecticut troops. Many had already departed, unwillingto stay an hour after the expiration of their terms; and not a fewhad anticipated the periods which legally released them from duty. The organization of the army was so loose that neither appeals northreats had much influence, and Washington, in deep solicitude, saw his troops melting away. 

It was dark by the time the heavy tramp of the working party washeard returning from the fortifications. The great mess-pot, partly filled with pork and beans, was bubbling over the fire;Zeke, shifting his position from time to time to avoid the smokewhich the wind, as if it had a spite against him, blew in hisface, was sourly contemplating his charge and his lot, bent ongrumbling to the others with even greater gusto than he hadcomplained to himself. His comrades carefully put away theirintrenching tools, for they were held responsible for them, andthen gathered about the fire, clamoring for supper. 

"Zeke, you lazy loon, " cried Nat Atkinson, "how many pipes haveyou smoked to-day? If you'd smoke less and forage and dun thecommissary more, we'd have a little fresh meat once in a hundredyears. "

"Yes, just about once in a hundred years!" snarled Zeke. 

"YOU find something to keep fat on, anyhow. We'll broil you somecold night. Trot out your beans if there's nothing else. "

"Growl away, " retorted Zeke. "'Twon't be long before I'll beeating chickens and pumpkin-pie in Opinquake, instead of cookingbeans and rusty pork for a lot of hungry wolves. "

"You'd be the hungriest wolf of the lot if you'd 'a' been pickingand shovelling frozen ground all day. "

"I didn't 'list to be a ditch-digger!" said Zeke. "I thought I wasgoing to be a soldier. "

"And you turned out a cook!" quietly remarked Zeb Jarvis. 

"Well, my hero of the smashed shovel, what do you expect to be--Old Put's successor? You know, fellows, it's settled that you'reto dig your way into Boston, tunnel under the water when you cometo it. Of course Put will die of old age before you get halfthere. Zeb'll be the chap of all others to command a division ofshovellers. I see you with a pickaxe strapped on your side insteadof a sword. "

"Lucky I'm not in command now, " replied Zeb, "or you'd shovel dirtunder fire to the last hour of your enlistment. I'd give grumblerslike you something to grumble about. See here, fellows, I'm sickof this seditious talk in our mess. The Connecticut men aregetting to be the talk of the army. You heard a squad of NewHampshire boys jeer at us to-day, and ask, 'When are ye going hometo mother?' You ask, Zeke Watkins, what I expect to be. I expectto be a soldier, and obey orders as long as Old Put and GeneralWashington want a man. All I ask is to be home summers long enoughto keep mother and the children off the town. Now what do youexpect to be after you give up your cook's ladle?"

"None o' your business. "

"He's going home to court Susie Rolliffe, " cried Nat Atkinson. "They'll be married in the spring, and go into the chickenbusiness. That'd just suit Zeke. "

"It would not suit Susie Rolliffe, " said Zeb, hotly. "A braver, better girl doesn't breathe in the colonies, and the man that saysa slurring word against her's got to fight me. "

"What! Has she given Zeke the mitten for your sake, Zeb?" pipedlittle Hiram Woodbridge. 

"She hasn't given me anything, and I've got no claim; but she isthe kind of girl that every fellow from Opinquake should stand upfor. We all know that there is nothing chicken-hearted about her. "

"Eight, by George--George W. , I mean, and not the king, " respondedHiram Woodbridge. "Here's to her health, Zeb, and your success! Ibelieve she'd rather marry a soldier than a cook. "

"Thank you, " said Zeb. "You stand as good a chance as I do; butdon't let's bandy her name about in camp any more'n we would ourmother's. The thing for us to do now is to show that the men fromConnecticut have as much backbone as any other fellows in thearmy, North or South. Zeke may laugh at Old Put's digging, butyou'll soon find that he'll pick his way to a point where he cangive the Britishers a dig under the fifth rib. We've got the bestgeneral in the army. Washington, with all his Southern style, believes in him and relies on him. Whether their time's up or not, it's a burning shame that so many of his troops are sneaking offhome. "

"It's all very well for you to talk, Zeb Jarvis, " growled Zeke. "You haven't been here very long yet; and you stayed at home whenothers started out to fight. Now that you've found that diggingand not fighting is the order of the day, you're just suited. It'sthe line of soldiering you are cut out for. When fighting men andnot ditch-diggers are wanted, you'll find me---"

"All right, Watkins, " said the voice of Captain Dean from withoutthe circle of light. "According to your own story you are just thekind of man needed to-night--no ditch-digging on hand, butdangerous service. I detail you, for you've had rest compared withthe other men. I ask for volunteers from those who've been at workall day. "

Zeb Jarvis was on his feet instantly, and old Ezra Stokes alsobegan to rise with difficulty. "No, Stokes, " resumed the officer, "you can't go. I know you've suffered with the rheumatism all day, and have worked well in spite of it. For to-night's work I wantyoung fellows with good legs and your spirit. How is it you'rehere anyhow Stokes? Your time's up. "

"We ain't into Boston yet, " was the quiet reply. 

"So you want to stay?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then you shall cook for the men till you're better. I won't keepso good a soldier, though, at such work any longer than I canhelp. Your good example and that of the gallant Watkins hasbrought out the whole squad. I think I'll put Jarvis in command, though; Zeke might be rash, and attempt the capture of Bostonbefore morning;" and the facetious captain, who had once been aneighbor, concluded, "Jarvis, see that every man's piece is primedand ready for use. Be at my hut in fifteen minutes. " Then hepassed on to the other camp-fires. 

In a few minutes Ezra Stokes was alone by the fire, almostroasting his lame leg, and grumbling from pain and the necessityof enforced inaction. He was a taciturn, middle-age man, and hadbeen the only bachelor of mature years in Opinquake. Although herarely said much, he had been a great listener, and no one hadbeen better versed in neighborhood affairs. In brief, he had beenthe village cobbler, and had not only taken the measure of SusieRolliffe's little foot, but also of her spirit. Like herself hehad been misled at first by the forwardness of Zeke Watkins andthe apparent backwardness of Jarvis. Actual service had changedhis views very decidedly. When Zeb appeared he had watched thecourse of this bashful suitor with interest which had rapidlyripened into warm but undemonstrative goodwill. The young fellowhad taken pains to relieve the older man, had carried his toolsfor him, and more than once with his strong hands had almostrubbed the rheumatism out of the indomitable cobbler's leg. He hadreceived but slight thanks, and had acted as if he didn't care forany. Stokes was not a man to return favors in words; be broodedover his gratitude as if it were a grudge. "I'll get even withthat young Jarvis yet, " he muttered, as he nursed his leg over thefire. "I know he worships the ground that little Rolliffe girltreads on, though she don't tread on much at a time. She nevertrod on me nuther, though I've had her foot in my hand more'nonce. She looked at the man that made her shoes as if she wouldlike to make him happier. When a little tot, she used to say Icould come and live with her when I got too old to take care ofmyself. Lame as I be, I'd walk to Opinquake to give her a hint inher choosin'. Guess Hi Woodbridge is right, and she wouldn't belong in making up her mind betwixt a soger and a cook--a mightypoor one at that. Somehow or nuther I must let her know beforeZeke Watkins sneaks home and parades around as a soldier 'boveditch-digging. I've taken his measure. 

"He'll be putting on veteran airs, telling big stories of whathe's going to do when soldiers are wanted, and drilling such foolsas believe in him. Young gals are often taken by such strutters, and think that men like Jarvis, who darsn't speak for themselves, are of no account. But I'll put a spoke in Zeke's wheel, if I haveto get the captain to write. "

It thus may be gathered that the cobbler had much to say tohimself when alone, though so taciturn to others. 

The clouds along the eastern horizon were stained with red beforethe reconnoitring party returned. Stokes had managed, by hobblingabout, to keep up the fire and to fill the mess-kettle with theinevitable pork and beans. The hungry, weary men therefore gavetheir new cook a cheer when they saw the good fire and provisionawaiting them. A moment later, however, Jarvis observed how lameStokes had become; he took the cobbler by the shoulder and sat himdown in the warmest nook, saying, "I'll be assistant cook untilyou are better. As Zeke says, I'm a wolf sure enough; but assoon's the beast's hunger is satisfied, I'll rub that leg of yourstill you'll want to dance a jig;" and with the ladle wrung fromStokes's reluctant hand, he began stirring the seething contentsof the kettle. 

Then little Hi Woodbridge piped in his shrill voice, "Anothercheer for our assistant cook and ditch-digger! I say, Zeke, wouldn't you like to tell Ezra that Zeb has showed himself fit forsomething more than digging? You expressed your opinion very plainlast night, and may have a different one now. "

Zeke growld something inaudible, and stalked to his hut in orderto put away his equipments. 

"I'm cook-in-chief yet, " Stokes declared; "and not a bean will anyone of you get till you report all that happened. "

"Well, " piped Hi, "you may stick a feather in your old cap, Ezra, for our Opinquake lad captured a British officer last night, andOld Put is pumping him this blessed minute. "

"Well, well, that is news. It must have been Zeke who did thatneat job, " exclaimed Stokes, ironically; "he's been a-pining forthe soldier business. "

"No, no; Zeke's above such night scrimmages. He wants to swim thebay and walk right into Boston in broad daylight, so everybody cansee him. Come, Zeb, tell how it happened. It was so confoundeddark, no one can tell but you. "

"There isn't much to tell that you fellows don't know, " was Zeb'slaconic answer. "We had sneaked down on the neck so close to theenemy's lines---"

"Yes, yes, Zeb Jarvis, " interrupted Stokes, "that's the kind ofsneaking you're up to--close to the enemy's lines. Go on. "

"Well, I crawled up so close that I saw a Britisher going theround of the sentinels, and I pounced on him and brought him outon the run, that's all. "

"Oho! you both ran away, then? That wasn't good soldiering either, was it, Zeke?" commented Stokes, in his dry way. 

"It's pretty good soldiering to stand fire within an inch of yournose, " resumed Hi, who had become a loyal friend and adherent ofhis tall comrade. "Zeb was so close on the Britisher when he firedhis pistol that we saw the faces of both in the flash; and a lotof bullets sung after us, I can sell you, as we dusted out ofthose diggin's. "

"Compliments of General Putnam to Sergeant Zebulon Jarvis, " saidan orderly, riding out of the dim twilight of the morning. "Thegeneral requests your presence at headquarters. "

"Sergeant! promoted! Another cheer for Zeb!" and the Opinquakeboys gave it with hearty goodwill. 

"Jerusalem, fellows! I'd like to have a chance at those beansbefore I go!" but Zeb promptly tramped off with the orderly. 

When he returned he was subjected to a fire of questions by thetwo or three men still awake, but all they could get out of himwas that he had been given a good breakfast. From Captain Dean, who was with the general at the time of the examination, it leakedout that Zeb was in the line of promotion to a rank higher thanthat of sergeant. 

The next few days passed uneventfully; and Zeke was compelled toresume the pick and shovel again. Stokes did his best to fulfilhis duties, but it had become evident to all that the exposure ofcamp would soon disable him utterly. Jarvis and Captain Deanpersuaded him to go home for the winter, and the little squadraised a sum which enabled him to make the journey in a stage. Zeke, sullen toward his jeering comrades, but immensely elated insecret, had shaken the dust--snow and slush rather--of camp-lifefrom his feet the day before. He had the grace to wait till thetime of his enlistment expired, and that was more than could besaid of many. 

It spoke well for the little Opinquake quota that only two othersbesides Zeke availed themselves of their liberty. Poor Stokes wasalmost forced away, consoled by the hope of returning in thespring. Zeb was sore-hearted on the day of Zeke's departure. Hisheart was in the Connecticut Valley also. No message had come tohim from Susie Rolliffe. Those were not the days of swift andfrequent communication. Even Mrs. Jarvis had written but seldom, and her missives were brief. Mother-love glowed through the fewquaint and scriptural phrases like heat in anthracite coals. Allthat poor Zeb could learn from them was that Susie Rolliffe hadkept her word and had been to the farm more than once; but thegirl had been as reticent as the mother. Zeke was now on his wayhome to prosecute his suit in person, and Zeb well knew howforward and plausible he could be. There was no deed of daringthat he would not promise to perform after spring opened, and Zebreasoned gloomily that a present lover, impassioned andimportunate, would stand a better chance than an absent one whohad never been able to speak for himself. 

When it was settled that Stokes should return to Opinquake, Zebdetermined that he would not give up the prize to Zeke without onedecisive effort; and as he was rubbing the cobbler's leg, hestammered, "I say Ezra, will you do me a turn? 'Twon't be so much, what I ask, except that I'll like you to keep mum about it, andyou're a good hand at keeping mum. "

"I know what yer driving at, Zeb. Write yer letter and I'lldeliver it with my own hands. "

"Well, now, I'm satisfied, I can stay on and fight it out with aclear mind. When Zeke marched away last summer, I thought it wasall up with me; and I can tell you that any fighting that's to doabout Boston will be fun compared with the fighting I did whilehoeing corn and mowing grass. But I don't believe that SusieRolliffe is promised to Zeke Watkins, or any one else yet, and I'mgoing to give her a chance to refuse me plump. "

"That's the way to do it, Zeb, " said the bachelor cobbler, with anemphasis that would indicate much successful experience. "Asking agirl plump is like standing up in a fair fight. It gives the girla chance to bowl you over, if that's her mind, so there can't beany mistake about it; and it seems to me the women-folks ought tohave all the chances that in any way belong to them. They have gotfew enough anyhow. "

"And you think it'll end in my being bowled over?"

"How should I know, or you either, unless you make a square trial?You're such a strapping, fighting feller that nothing but acannon-ball or a woman ever will knock you off your pins. "

"See here, Ezra Stokes, the girl of my heart may refuse me just asplump as I offer myself; and if that's her mind she has a right todo it. But I don't want either you or her to think I won't standon my feet. I won't even fight any more recklessly than my dutyrequires. I have a mother to take care of, even if I never have awife. "

"I'll put in a few pegs right along to keep in mind what you say;and I'll give you a fair show by seeing to it that the girl getsyour letter before Zeke can steal a march on you. "

"That's all I ask, " said Zeb, with compressed lips. "She shallchoose between us. It's hard enough to write, but it will be asight easier than facing her. Not a word of this to another soul, Ezra; but I'm not going to use you like a mail-carrier, but afriend. After all, there are few in Opinquake, I suppose, but knowI'd give my eyes for her, so there isn't much use of my putting onsecret airs. "

"I'm not a talker, and you might have sent your letter by a worsemessenger'n me, " was the laconic reply. 

Zeb had never written a love-letter, and was at a loss how tobegin or end it. But time pressed, and he had to say what wasuppermost in his mind. It ran as follows:

"I don't know how to write so as to give my words weight. I cannotcome home; I will not come as long as mother and the children canget on without me. And men are needed here; men are needed. Thegeneral fairly pleads with the soldiers to stay. Stokes would stayif he could. We're almost driving him home. I know you will bekind to him, and remember he has few to care for him. I cannotspeak for myself in person very soon, if ever. Perhaps I could notif I stood before you. You laugh at me; but if you knew how I loveyou and remember you, how I honor and almost worship you in myheart, you might understand me better. Why is it strange I shouldbe afraid of you? Only God has more power over me than you. Willyou be my wife? I will do anything to win you that YOU can ask. Others will plead with you in person. Will you let this letterplead for the absent?"

Zeb went to the captain's quarters and got some wax with which toseal this appeal, then saw Stokes depart with the feeling that hisdestiny was now at stake. 

Meanwhile Zeke Watkins, with a squad of homeward-bound soldiers, was trudging toward Opinquake. They soon began to look into oneanother's faces in something like dismay. But little provision wasin their wallets when they had started, for there was little todraw upon, and that furnished grudgingly, as may well be supposed. Zeke had not cared. He remembered the continuous feasting that hadattended his journey to camp, and supposed that he would only haveto present himself to the roadside farmhouses in order to enjoythe fat of the land. This hospitality he proposed to repayabundantly by camp reminiscences in which it would not bedifficult to insinuate that the hero of the scene was present. 

In contrast to these rose-hued expectations, doors were slammed intheir faces, and they were treated little better than tramps. "Isuppose the people near Boston have been called on too often andimposed on, too, " Zeke reasoned rather ruefully. "When we once getover the Connecticut border we'll begin to find ourselves athome;" and spurred by hunger and cold, as well as hope, theypushed on desperately, subsisting on such coarse provisions asthey could obtain, sleeping in barns when it stormed, and notinfrequently by a fire in the woods. At last they passed theConnecticut border, and led by Zeke they urged their way to alarge farmhouse, at which, but a few months before, the table hadgroaned under rustic dainties, and feather-beds had luxuriouslyreceived the weary recruits bound to the front. They approachedthe opulent farm in the dreary dark of the evening, and pursued bya biting east wind laden with snow. Not only the weather, but thevery dogs seemed to have a spite against them; and the family hadto rush out to call them off. 

"Weary soldiers ask for shelter, " began Zeke. 

"Of course you're bound for the lines, " said the matronlyhousewife. "Come in. "

Zeke thought they would better enter at once before explaining;and truly the large kitchen, with a great fire blazing on thehearth, seemed like heaven. The door leading into the familysitting-room was open, and there was another fire, with the red-cheeked girls and the white-haired grandsire before it, their eyesturned expectantly toward the new-comers. Instead of heartywelcome, there was a questioning look on every face, even on thatof the kitchen-maid. Zeke's four companions had a sort of hang-doglook--for they had been cowed by the treatment received along theroad; but he tried to bear himself confidently, and began with aninsinuating smile, "Perhaps I should hardly expect you to rememberme. I passed this way last summer---"

"Passed this way last summer?" repeated the matron, her facegrowing stern. "We who cannot fight are ready and glad to shareall we have with those who fight for us. Since you carry arms wemight very justly think you are hastening forward to use them. "

"These are our own arms; we furnished them ourselves, " Zekehastened to say. 

"Oh, indeed, " replied the matron, coldly; "I supposed that notonly the weapons, but the ones who carry them, belonged to thecountry. I hope you are not deserting from the army. "

"I assure you we are not. Our terms of enlistment have expired. "

"And your country's need was over at the same moment? Are youhastening home at this season to plow and sow and reap?"

"Well, madam, after being away so long we felt like having alittle comfort and seeing the folks. We stayed a long as weagreed. When spring opens, or before, if need be---"

"Pardon me, sir; the need is now. The country is not to be savedby men who make bargains like day-laborers, and who quit when thehour is up, but by soldiers who give themselves to their countryas they would to their wives and sweethearts. My husband and sonsare in the army you have deserted. General Washington has writtento our governor asking whether an example should not be made ofthe men who have deserted the cause of their country at thiscritical time when the enemy are receiving re-enforcements. We aretold that Connecticut men have brought disgrace on our colony andhave imperilled the whole army. You feel like taking comfort andseeing the folks. The folks do not feel like seeing you. Myhusband and the brave men in the lines are in all the more dangerbecause of your desertion, for a soldier's time never expires whenthe enemy is growing stronger and threatening every home in theland. If all followed your example, the British would soon be uponyour heels, taking from us our honor and our all. We are notignorant of the critical condition of our army; and I can tellyou, sir, that if many more of our men come home, the women willtake their places. "

Zeke's companions succumbed to the stern arraignment, and after abrief whispered consultation one spoke for the rest. "Madam, " hesaid, "you put it in a way that we hadn't realized before. We'llright-about-face and march back in the morning, for we feel thatwe'd rather face all the British in Boston than any moreConnecticut women. "

"Then, sirs, you shall have supper and shelter and welcome, " wasthe prompt reply. 

Zeke assumed an air of importance as he said: "There are reasonswhy I must be at home for a time, but I not only expect to return, but also to take many back with me. "

"I trust your deeds may prove as large as your words, " was thechilly reply; and then he was made to feel that he was barelytolerated. Some hints from his old associates added to thedisfavor which the family took but little pains to conceal. Therewas a large vein of selfish calculation in Zeke's nature, and hewas not to be swept away by any impulses. He believed he couldhave a prolonged visit home, yet manage so admirably that when hereturned he would be followed by a squad of recruits, and chief ofall he would be the triumphant suitor of Susie Rolliffe. Hermanner in parting had satisfied him that he had made go deep animpression that it would be folly not to follow it up. He trudgedthe remainder of the journey alone, and secured tolerabletreatment by assuring the people that he was returning forrecruits for the army. He reached home in the afternoon ofChristmas; and although the day was almost completely ignored inthe Puritan household, yet Mrs. Watkins forgot country, Popery, and all, in her mother love, and Zeke supped on the finest turkeyof the flock. Old Mr. Watkins, it is true, looked rather grim, butthe reception had been reassuring in the main; and Zeke hadresolved on a line of tactics which would make him, as hebelieved, the military hero of the town. After he had satisfied anappetite which had been growing ever since he left camp, hestarted to call on Susie in all the bravery of his best attire, filled with sanguine expectations inspired by memories of the pastand recent potations of cider. 

Meanwhile Susie had received a guest earlier in the day. The stagehad stopped at the gate where she had stood in the Septembersunshine and waved her bewildered farewell to Zeb. There was nobewilderment or surprise now at her strange and unwontedsensations. She had learned why she had stood looking after himdazed and spellbound. Under the magic of her own light irony shehad seen her drooping rustic lover transformed into the ideal manwho could face anything except her unkindness. She had guessed thedeep secret of his timidity. It was a kind of fear of which shehad not dreamed, and which touched her innermost soul. 

When the stage stopped at the gate, and she saw the driver helpingout Ezra Stokes, a swift presentiment made her sure that she wouldhear from one soldier who was more to her than all the generals. She was soon down the walk, the wind sporting in her light-goldhair, supporting the cobbler on the other side. 

"Ah, Miss Susie!" he said, "I am about worn out, sole and upper. It breaks my heart, when men are so sorely needed, to be thrownaside like an old shoe. "

The girl soothed and comforted him, ensconced him by the fireside, banishing the chill from his heart, while Mrs. Rolliffe warmed hisblood by a strong, hot drink. Then the mother hastened away to getdinner, while Susie sat down near, nervously twisting anduntwisting her fingers, with questions on her lips which she darednot utter, but which brought blushes to her cheeks. Stokes lookedat her and sighed over his lost youth, yet smiled as he thought:"Guess I'll get even with that Zeb Jarvis to-day. " Then he asked, "Isn't there any one you would like to hear about in camp?"

She blushed deeper still, and named every one who had gone fromOpinquake except Zeb. At last she said a little ironically: "Isuppose Ezekiel Watkins is almost thinking about being a generalabout this time?"

"Hasn't he been here telling you what he is thinking about?"

"Been here! Do you mean to say he has come home?"

"He surely started for home. All the generals and a yoke of oxencouldn't 'a' kept him in camp, he was so homesick--lovesick too, Iguess. Powerful compliment to you, Miss Susie, " added the politiccobbler, feeling his way, "that you could draw a man straight fromhis duty like one of these 'ere stump-extractors. "

"No compliment to me at all!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Helittle understands me who seeks my favor by coming home at a timelike this. The Connecticut women are up in arms at the way our menare coming home. No offence to you, Mr. Stokes. You're sick, andshould come; but I'd like to go myself to show some of the strongyoung fellows what we think of them. "

"Coming home was worse than rheumatism to me, and I'm going backsoon's I kin walk without a cane. Wouldn't 'a' come as 'tis, ifthat Zeb Jarvis hadn't jes' packed me off. By Jocks! I thought youand he was acquainted, but you don't seem to ask arter him. "

"I felt sure he would try--I heard he was doing his duty, " shereplied with averted face. 

"Zeke Watkins says he's no soldier at all--nothing but a dirt-digger. "

For a moment, as the cobbler had hoped, Susie forgot her blushesand secret in her indignation. "Zeke Watkins indeed!" sheexclaimed. "He'd better not tell ME any such story. I don'tbelieve there's a braver, truer man in the--Well, " she added insudden confusion, "he hasn't run away and left others to dig theirway into Boston, if that's the best way of getting there. "

"Ah, I'm going to get even with him yet, " chuckled Stokes tohimself. "Digging is only the first step, Miss Susie. When Old Putgets good and ready, you'll hear the thunder of the guns a'most inOpinquake. "

"Well, Mr. Stokes, " stammered Susie, resolving desperately on ashort cut to the knowledge she craved, "you've seen Mr. Jarvis a-soldiering. What do you think about it?"

"Well, now, that Zeb Jarvis is the sneakin'ist fellow---"

"What?" cried the girl, her face aflame. 

"Wait till I get in a few more pegs, " continued Stokes, coolly. "The other night he sneaked right into the enemy's lines andcarried off a British officer as a hawk takes a chicken. TheBritisher fired his pistol right under Zeb's nose; but, law! hedidn't mind that any more'n a 'sketer-bite. I call thatsoldiering, don't you? Anyhow, Old Put thought it was, and sentfor him 'fore daylight, and made a sergeant of him. If I had asgood a chance of gettin' rid of the rheumatiz as he has of bein'captain in six months, I'd thank the Lord. "

Susie sat up very straight, and tried to look severely judicial;but her lip was quivering and her whole plump little formtrembling with excitement and emotion. Suddenly she dropped herface in her hands and cried in a gust of tears and laughter: "He'sjust like grandfather; he'd face anything!"

"Anything in the 'tarnal universe, I guess, 'cept you, Miss Susie. I seed a cannon-ball smash a shovel in his hands, and he gotanother, and went on with his work cool as a cucumber. Then I seedhim writin' a letter to you, and his hand trembled---"

"A letter to me!" cried the girl, springing up. 

"Yes; 'ere it is. I was kind of pegging around till I got to that;and you know---"

But Susie was reading, her hands trembling so she could scarcelyhold the paper. "It's about you, " she faltered, making one moredesperate effort at self-preservation. "He says you'd stay if youcould; that they almost drove you home. And he asks that I be kindto you, because there are not many to care for you--and--and---"

"Oh, Lord! never can get even with that Zeb Jarvis, " groaned Ezra. "But you needn't tell me that's all the letter's about. "

Her eyes were full of tears, yet not so full but that she saw theplain, closing words in all their significance. Swiftly the letterwent to her lips, then was thrust into her bosom, and she seizedthe cobbler's hand, exclaiming: "Yes, I will! I will! You shallstay with us, and be one of us!" and in her excitement she put herleft hand caressingly on his shoulder. 

"SUSAN!" exclaimed Mr. Rolliffe, who entered at that moment, andlooked aghast at the scene. 

"Yes, I WILL!" exclaimed Susie, too wrought up now for restraint. 

"Will what?" gasped the mother. 

"Be Zebulon Jarvis's wife. He's asked me plump and square like asoldier; and I'll answer as grandma did, and like grandma I'llface anything for his sake. "

"WELL, this IS suddent!" exclaimed Mrs. Rolliffe, dropping into achair. "Susan, do you think it is becoming and seemly for a youngwoman---"

"Oh, mother dear, there's no use of your trying to make a primPuritan maiden of me. Zeb doesn't fight like a deacon, and I can'tlove like one. Ha! ha! ha! to think that great soldier is afraidof little me, and nothing else! It's too funny and heavenly---"

"Susan, I am dumfounded at your behavior!"

At this moment Mr. Rolliffe came in from the wood-lot, and he wasdazed by the wonderful news also. In his eagerness to get evenwith Zeb, the cobbler enlarged and expatiated till he was hoarse. When he saw that the parents were almost as proud as the daughterover their prospective son-in-law, he relapsed into his oldtaciturnity, declaring he had talked enough for a month. 

Susie, the only child, who apparently had inherited all the fireand spirit of her fighting ancestors, darted out, and soonreturned with her rosebud of a face enveloped in a great calyx ofa woollen hood. 

"Where are you going?" exclaimed her parents. 

"You've had the news. I guess Mother Jarvis has the next right. "And she was off over the hills with almost the lightness andswiftness of a snowbird. 

In due time Zeke appeared, and smiled encouragingly on Mrs. Rolliffe, who sat knitting by the kitchen fire. The matron did notrise, and gave him but a cool salutation. He discussed thecoldness of the weather awkwardly for a few moments, and thenventured: "Is Miss Susan at home?"

"No, sir, " replied Mrs. Rolliffe; "she's gone to make a visit toher mother-in-law that is to be, the Widow Jarvis. Ezra Stokes issittin' in the next room, sent home sick. Perhaps you'd like totalk over camp-life with him. "

Not even the cider now sustained Zeke. He looked as if a cannon-ball had wrecked all his hopes and plans instead of a shovel. "Good-evening, Mrs. Rolliffe, " he stammered; "I guess I'll--I'll--go home. "

Poor Mrs. Jarvis had a spiritual conflict that day which she neverforgot. Susie's face had flashed at the window near which she hadsat spinning, and sighing perhaps that Nature had not providedfeathers or fur for a brood like hers; then the girl's arms wereabout her neck, the news was stammered out--for the letter couldnever be shown to any one--in a way that tore primness to tatters. The widow tried to act as if it were a dispensation of Providencewhich should be received in solemn gratitude; but before she knewit she was laughing and crying, kissing her sweet-faced daughter, or telling how good and brave Zeb had been when his heart wasalmost breaking. 

Compunction had already seized upon the widow. "Susan, " she began, "I fear we are not mortifyin' the flesh as we ought---"

"No mortifying just yet, if you please, " cried Susie. "The mostimportant thing of all is yet to be done. Zeb hasn't heard thenews; just think of it! You must write and tell him that I'll helpyou spin the children's clothes and work the farm; that we'll faceeverything in Opinquake as long as Old Put needs men. Where is theink-horn? I'll sharpen a pen for you and one for me, and SUCH newsas he'll get! Wish I could tell him, though, and see the greatfellow tremble once more. Afraid of me! Ha! ha! ha! that's thefunniest thing--Why, Mother Jarvis, this is Christmas Day!"

"So it is, " said the widow, in an awed tone. "Susie, my heartmisgives me that all this should have happened on a day of whichPopery has made so much. "

"No, no, " cried the girl. "Thank God it IS Christmas! andhereafter I shall keep Christmas as long as love is love and Godis good. "

JEFF'S TREASURE

CHAPTER I

ITS DISCOVERY

Jeff, the hero of my tale, was as truly a part of the SouthernConfederacy as the greater Jeff at Richmond. Indeed, were it notfor the humbler Jeff and the class he represented, the other Jeffwould never have attained his eminence. 

Jeff's prospects were as dark as himself. He owned nothing, noteven himself, yet his dream of riches is the motive of my tale. Regarded as a chattel, for whom a bill of sale would have beenmade as readily as for a bullock, he proved himself a man andbrother by a prompt exhibition of traits too common to humannature when chance and some heroism on his part gave into hishands the semblance of a fortune. 

Jeff was a native Virginian and belonged to an F. F. V. In a certainpractical, legal sense which thus far had not greatly disturbedhis equanimity. His solid physique and full shining face showedthat slavery had brought no horrors into his experience. He hadindulged, it is true, in vague yearnings for freedom, but thesehad been checked by hearing that liberty meant "working forYankees"--appalling news to an indolent soul. He was house-servantand man-of-all-work in a family whose means had always beenlimited, and whose men were in the Confederate army. His "missus"evinced a sort of weary content when he had been scolded orthreatened into the completion of his tasks by nightfall. He thengave her and her daughters some compensation for their trials withhim by producing his fiddle and making the warm summer eveningresonant with a kind of music which the negro only can evoke. Jeffwas an artist, and had a complacent consciousness of the fact. Hewas a living instance of the truth that artists are born, notmade. No knowledge of this gifted class had ever suggestedkinship; he did not even know what the word meant, but when hischeek rested lovingly against his violin he felt that he was madeof different clay from other "niggahs. " During the day he indulgedin moods by the divine right and impulse of genius, imitating hisgifted brothers unconsciously. In waiting on the table, washingdishes, and hoeing the garden, he was as great a laggard asPegasus would have been if compelled to the labors of a cart-horse; but when night came, and uncongenial toil was over, hissoul expanded. His corrugated brow unwrinkled itself; his greatblack fingers flew back and forth over the strings as if driven byelectricity; and electric in effect were the sounds produced byhis swiftly-glancing bow. 

While the spirit of music so filled his heart that he could playto the moon and silent stars, an audience inspired him withtenfold power, especially if the floor was cleared or a smoothsward selected for a dance. Rarely did he play long before all whocould trip a measure were on their feet, while even thesuperannuated nodded and kept time, sighing that they were old. His services naturally came into great demand, and he was catholicin granting them--his mistress in good-natured tolerance accedingto requests which promised many forgetful hours at a time when theland was shadowed by war. So it happened that Jeff was often atthe more pretending residences of the neighborhood, sometimesfiddling in the detached kitchen of a Southern mansion to theshuffle of heavy feet, again in the lighted parlor, especiallywhen Confederate troops were quartered near. It was then that hisstrains took on their most inspiring and elevated character. Hegave wings to the dark-eyed Southern girls; their feet scarcelytouched the floor as they whirled with their cavaliers in gray, orthreaded the mazes of the cotillon then and there in vogue. 

Nor did he disdain an invitation to a crossroads tavern, frequented by poor whites and enlisted men, or when the nightswere warm, to a moonlit sward, on which he would invite hisaudience to a reel which left all breathless. While there was arollicking element in the strains of his fiddle which a deaconcould not resist, he, with the intuition of genius, adaptedhimself to the class before him. In the parlor, he called off thefigures of a quadrille with a "by-yer-leave-sah" air, selecting, as a rule, the highest class of music that had blessed his ears, for he was ear-taught only. He would hold a half-washed dishsuspended minutes at a time while listening to one "ob de youngmissys at de pianny. Dat's de way I'se pick up my most scrumptiouspieces. Dey cyant play nuffin in de daytime dat I cyant 'prove onin de ebenin';" and his vanity did not lead him much astray. Butwhen with those of his own color, or with the humbler classes, hegave them the musical vernacular of the region--rude traditionalquicksteps and songs, strung together with such variations of hisown as made him the envy and despair of all other fiddlers in thevicinity. Indeed, he could rarely get away from a great housewithout a sample of his powers in this direction, and thenblending with the rhythmical cadence of feet, the rustle ofgarments, would be evoked ripples of mirth and bursts of laughterthat were echoed back from the dim pine-groves without. Finally, when with his great foot beating time on the floor and everymuscle of his body in motion, he ended with an originalarrangement of "Dixie, " the eyes of the gentlest maiden wouldflash as she joined the chorus of the men in gray, who werescarcely less excited for the moment than they would have been ina headlong cavalry charge. 

These were moments of glory for Jeff. In fact, on all similaroccasions he had a consciousness of his power; he made the slaveforget his bondage, the poor whites their poverty, maidens theabsence of their fathers, brothers, and lovers, and the soldierthe chances against his return. 

At last there came a summer day when other music than that ofJeff's fiddle resounded through that region. Two armies met andgrappled through the long sultry hours. Every moment death woundswere given and received, for thick as insects in woods, grove, andthicket, bullets whizzed on their fatal mission; while from everyeminence the demoniacal shells shrieked in exultation over thehavoc they wrought. 

Jeff's home was on the edge of the battlefield, and as he trembledin the darkest corner of the cellar, he thought, "Dis yer beatsall de thunder-gusts I eber heered crack, run togedder in one bighurricane. "

With the night came silence, except as it was broken by the groansand cries of wounded men; and later the contending forcesdeparted, having accorded to the fallen such poor burial as wasgiven them when life was cheap and death the chief harvester inVirginia. 

For a day or two Jeff's conscience was active, and the memory ofthe resolutions inspired by the din of war gave to his thin visagea preternatural seriousness. Dishes were washed in such brief timeand so thoroughly, and such havoc made in the garden-weeds thatthe world might make a note of Jeff's idea of reform (to itsadvantage). In the evening his fiddle wailed out psalm-tunes tothe entire exclusion of its former carnal strains. 

It must be admitted, however, that Jeff's grace was like the earlydew. On the third evening, "Ole Dan Tucker" slipped in among thehymns, and these were played in a time scarcely befitting theircharacter. Then came a bit of news that awakened a whollydifferent train of thought and desire. A colored boy, moreventurous than himself, was said to have picked up some "Linkum"money on the battlefield. This information shed on the wild woodedtract where the war trumpet had raged the most fiercely a lightmore golden than that of the moon then at its full; and Jeffresolved that with the coming night he also would explore a regionwhich, nevertheless, had nameless terrors for him. 

"Ef dere's spooks anywhere dey's dereaway, " he muttered over hishoe; "but den, ki! dey woan 'fere wid dis yer niggah. What habI'se got ter do wid de wah and de fighten an de jabbin'? De spookscyant lay nuffin ter me eben ef ole marse an' de res' am a-fightenter keep dere slabes, as folks say. "

Having thus satisfied himself that the manes of the dead thousandscould have no controversy with him, Jeff mustered sufficientresolution to visit the field that night. He took no one into hisconfidence, fearing if he discovered treasures of any kind hecould not be left in undisturbed possession. During the day therudiments of imagination which made him a musician had beenconjuring up the possible results of his expedition. 

"De ting fer dis cullud pusson ter do is ter p'ramberlate ter deLinkum lines. Ki! I doan wan' what drap outen OUR sogers' pockets. I kin git Virginny leaf widouten runnin' 'mong de spooks arter it. De place fer a big fine is whar de brush is tick and de Linkum mencrawl away so dey woan be tromp on. Who knows but I kin fine aplace whar a ginral hide hisself? Ob cose if he hab a lot of golehe'd stick it in de bush or kiver it right smart, so dat odersmoutn't get it foh he could helf hisself. "

Jeff thought he had reasoned himself into such a valorous statethat he could walk across the deserted battlefield withnonchalance; but as he entered on a deeply shadowed dirt-road longsince disused to any extent, he found strange creeping sensationsrunning up and down his back. The moonlight filtered through theleaves with fantastic effects. A young silver poplar lookedghastly in the distance; and now and then a tree out off by a shotlooked almost human in its mutilation. 

He had not gone very far before he saw what appeared to be thebody of a man lying across the road. With a sudden chill of bloodhe stopped and stared at the object. Gradually it resolved itselfinto a low mound in the dim light. Approaching cautiously, hediscovered with a dull sense of horror that a soldier had beenburied where he had fallen, but covered so slightly that thetumulus scarcely more than outlined his form. 

"Ob cose I knowed I d hab ter see dese tings foh I started. What Isuch a fool fer? De Feds nor de Yanks am' a-gwine ter bodder me ifI am' steppin' on 'em or ober 'em. " And he went scrupulously onthe other side of the road. 

By and by, however, he came to a part of the wood-lane where menhad fallen by the score, and bodies had been covered in twos, threes, and dozens. His head felt as if his very wool werestraightening itself out, as he wound here and there and zigzaggedin all directions lest he should step on or over a grave. A breezestirred the forest as if all the thousands buried in its shadeshad heaved a long deep sigh. With chattering teeth Jeff stopped tolisten, then, reassured, continued to pick his tortuous way. Suddenly there was an ominous rustling in a thicket just behind. He broke into a headlong flight across and over everything, whenthe startled grunt of a hog revealed the prosaic nature of thisspook. Scarcely any other sound could have been more reassuring. The animal suggested bacon and hominy and hoe-cake, everythingexcept the ghostly. He berated himself angrily:

"Ki! you niggah! dat ar hog got mo' co'age dan you. He know he habnuffin mo' ter do wid de spooks dan you hab. De run ain' far, andwhen I gits ober dat de spooks on de side dis way cyant crossarter me;" and he hastened toward the spot where he supposed theFederals had been massed the most heavily, crossing an open fieldand splashing through a shallow place in the river, that theirghost-ships might be reminded of running water. 

On the further slope were the same sad evidences of poormortality, graves here and there and often all too shallow, brokenmuskets, bullet perforated canteens and torn knapsacks--the debrisof a pitched battle. Many trees and shrubs were so lacerated thattheir foliage hung limp and wilting, while boughs with shrivelledleaves strewed the ground. Nature's wounds indicated that men hadfought here and been mutilated as ruthlessly. 

For a time nothing of value rewarded Jeff's search, and he beganto succumb to the grewsome associations of the place. At last heresolved to examine one more thicket that bordered an old rail-fence, and then make a long detour rather than go back by thegraveyard road over which he had come. Pushing the bushes aside, he peered among their shadows for some moments, and then utteredan exclamation of surprise and terror as he bounded backward. There was no mistake this time; he had seen the figure of a manwith a ray of moonlight filtering through the leaves on a ghastlybullet-hole in his temple. He sat with his back against the fence, and had not moved after receiving the shock. At his feet, droppedevidently from his nerveless hand, lay a metal box. All hadflashed almost instantaneously on Jeff's vision. 

For some moments he was in doubt whether to take to his heelshomeward or reconnoitre again. The soldier sat in such a lifelikeattitude that while Jeff knew the man must be dead, taking the boxseemed like robbing the living. Yes, worse than that, for, to thesuperstitious negro, the dead soldier appeared to be watching histreasure. 

Jeff's cupidity slowly mastered his fears. Cautiously approachingthe figure, he again pushed aside the screening boughs, and withchattering teeth and trembling limbs, looked upon the silentguardian of the treasure, half expecting the dead man to raise hishead, and warn him off with a threatening gesture. Since thefigure remained motionless, Jeff made a headlong plunge, clutchedthe box, then ran half a mile without thinking to look back. 

Not for his life would he cross the battlefield again; so it waslate when by wide circuit he approached the dwelling of hismistress. His panic had gradually subsided, and as he notedfamiliar objects, he felt that he was beyond the proper range ofthe unjust spirits of the dead. 

The soldier he had left sitting against the fence troubled him, itis true; and he was not quite sure that he was through with one sopalpably robbed. That he had not been followed appeared certain;that the question of future ownership of the treasure could besettled was a matter of superstitious belief. There was only oneway--he must hide the box in a secret nook, and if it remainedundisturbed for a reasonable length of time, he might hope for itsundisturbed enjoyment. Accordingly he stole into a dense copse andburied his booty at the foot of a persimmon-tree, then gained hishumble quarter and slept so late and soundly that he had to bedragged almost without the door the next morning before he shookoff his lethargy. 

CHAPTER II

ITS INFLUENCE

With the exception of aptitude which enabled Jeff to catch and fixa tune in his mind with a fair degree of correctness, his mentalprocesses were slow. Moreover, whether he should ever have anytrouble with "spooks" or not, one thing was true of him, as ofmany others in all stations of life, he was haunted by the ghostof a conscience. This uneasy spirit suggested to him with annoyingiteration that his proceedings the night before had been of veryunusual and doubtful character. When at last fully awake, hesought to appease the accusing voice by unwonted diligence in allhis tasks, until the fat cook, a devout Baptist, took more thanone occasion to say, "You'se in a promisin' frame, Jeff. Ef I'seony shoah dat yer hole out long anuff ter get 'mersed, I'd habhopes on yer, but, law! yer'll be a-fiddlin' de debil's tunes 'fo'de week is out. I'se afeared dat dere must be an awful prov'dence, like a battle or harricane, onst a week, ter keep yer ser'ous;"and the old woman sniffed down at him with ill-concealed disdainfrom her superior spiritual height. 

Jeff was as serious as could have been wished all that day, forthere was much on his mind. Perplexing questions tinged withsupernatural terrors tormented him. Passing over those having amoral point, the most urgent one was, "S'pose dat ar soger misshim box an come arter it ternight. Ki! If I go ter see, I mout runright on ter de spook. I'se a-gwine ter gib 'im his chance, an'den take mine. " So that evening Jeff fortified himself andincreased the cook's hope by a succession of psalm-tunes in whichthere was no lapse toward the "debil's" music. 

Next morning, after a long sleep, Jeff's nerves were stronger, andhe began to take a high hand with conscience. 

"Dat ar soger has hab his chance, " he reasoned. "Ef he want de boxhe mus' 'a' com arter it las' night. I'se done bin fa'r wid him, an' now ter-night, ef dat ar box ain' 'sturbed, I'se a-gwine tersee de 'scription an' heft on it. Toder night I was so 'fuscateddat I couldn't know nuffin straight. "

When all were sleeping, he stole to the persimmon-tree and waselated to find his treasure where he had slightly buried it. Thelittle box seemed heavy, and was wholly unlike anything he everseen before. 

"Ob cose it's got money in it, " Jeff reasoned. "Nuffin else 'ud bedone up to tight and strong. I'se woan open it jes' yet, feared demissus or de colored boys 'spec' someting. Ki! I isn't a-gwine terbe tied up, an' hab dat box whip out in me. I'll tink how I kinhide an' spen' de money kine of slowcution like. " With this herestored the prize to its shallow excavation and covered it withleaves that no trace of fresh earth might be visible. 

Jeff's deportment now began to evince a new evolution in mentaland moral process. The influence of riches was quite as markedupon him as upon so many of his white brothers and sisters, proving their essential kinship. To-day he began to sniffdisdainfully at his menial tasks; and in the evening "Ole DanTucker" resounded from his fiddle with a rollicking abandon overwhich the cook groaned in despair, "Dat ar niggah's 'ligion dropoff ob 'im like a yaller pig from de bush. 'Ligion dat's skeertinter us hain't no 'count anyhow. "

During the next few days it was evident that Jeff was falling fromgrace rapidly. Never had he been so slow and careless in histasks. More than once the thought crossed his mind that he hadbetter take his box and "cut stick" for Washington, where hebelieved that wealth and his fiddle would give him prominence overhis race. For prudential and other reasons he was in no haste toopen the box, preferring rather to gloat over it and to think howhe could spend the money to the greatest advantage. He had beenpaying his court to a girl as black as himself on a neighboringplantation; but he now regarded that affair as preposterous. 

"She ain' good nuff fer me no mo', " he reasoned. "I'se a-gwine tershine up ter dat yeller Suky dat's been a-holdin' her head so highober ter Marse Perkins's. I'se invited ter play ober dar ter-night, an' I'll make dat gal open her eye. Ki! she tinks no culledgemmen in dese parts fit ter hole a cannle when she braid her longstraight ha'r, but when she see de ribbin I kin git her ter tiedat ha'r up wid, an' de earrings I kin put in her ears, she larfon toder side ob her face. 'Fo' I go I'se a-gwine ter buy dat argole ring ob Sam Milkins down at de tavern. S'pose it does takeall I'se been sabin' up, I'se needn't sabe any mo'. Dat ar box gotnuff in it ter keep me like a lawd de rest ob my life. I'd open itter-night if I wasn't goin' ter Marse Perkins's. "

Jeff carried out his high-handed measures and appeared thatevening at "Marse Perkins's" with a ring of portentous sizesqueezed on the little finger of his left hand. It had somethingof the color of gold, and that is the best that can be said of it;but it had left its purchaser penniless. This fact sat lightly onJeff's mind, however, as he remembered the box at the foot of thepersimmon-tree; and he stalked into the detached kitchen, where adusky assemblage were to indulge in a shuffle, with the air of onewho intends that his superiority shall be recognized at once. 

"Law sakes, Jeff!" said Mandy, his hitherto ebon flame, "yer comesin like a turkey gobbler. Doesn't yer know me?"

"Sartin I know yer, Mandy. You'se a good gal in you'se way, but, law! you'se had yer spell. A culled gemmen kin change his min'when he sees dat de 'finity's done gone. "

"Look here, Jeff Wobbles, does yer mean ter give me de sack?"

"I mean ter gib yer good-ebenin', Miss Mandy Munson. Yer kyant'spec' a gemmen to be degaged in de music an' a gal at de sametime, " replied Jeff, with oppressive gravity. 

"Mister Johnsing, I'se tank yer fo' yer arm, " said Mandy to a mannear, with responsive dignity. "Yer wait on me here, an' yer kinwait on me home. I'se 'shamed on mysef dat I took up wid a loutdat kin do nuffin but fiddle; but I was kine ob sorry fer him, hesich a fool. "

"Go 'long, " remarked Jeff, smiling mysteriously. "Ef yer knowed, yer 'ud be wringin' yer han's wuss dan yer did at de las' 'tractedmeetin'. Ah, Miss Suky, dat you?" and Jeff for the first timedoffed his hat. 

"Wat's in de win', Jeff, dat yer so scrumptious an' bumptious likedis ebenin'?" Suky asked a trifle scornfully. 

"Wen de 'freshments parse 'roun', I'se 'steem it a oblergation terme ef yer'll let me bring yer de cake an' cider. I'se sumpin feryer. Gemmen an' ladies, took yer places, " he added in a stentorianvoice; "I ax yer' sideration fer bein' late, cose I had 'portantbusiness; now, "Bow dar, scrape dar; Doan hang about de doah. Shine up ter de pretty gals, An' lead 'em on de floah"--

his fiddle seconding his exhortation with such inciting strainsthat soon there was not a foot but was keeping time. 

Suky observed that the musician had eyes for her only, and thattoward all others he maintained his depressing superiority. Invain did Mandy lavish tokens of favor on "Mister Johnsing. " Jeffdid not lose his sudden and unexpected indifference; while thegreat ring glistening on his finger added to the mystery. Therewere many whispered surmises; but gradually the conjecture that hehad "foun' a heap ob Linkum money" was regarded as the bestexplanation of the marked change in his bearing. 

Curiosity soon became more potent than Jeff's fiddle, and the"'freshments" were hurried up. So far from resenting this, Jeffput his violin under his arm and stalked across the improvisedball-room to Miss Suky, oblivious of the fact that she had asuitor on either side. 

"Gemmen, " he remarked with condescension, "dis lady am degaged terme durin' de 'freshments period, '" and he held out his arm in sucha way that the massive ring glittered almost under Suky's nose. The magnet drew. His arm was taken in spite of the protests of theenamored swains. 

"Permit me de suggestation, " continued Jeff, "dat ter a lady obyer 'finement, dis place am not fit ter breve in. Wha's mo', Idoan 'cline ter hab dese yer common niggahs a-whisperin' an' a-pintin' an' a-'jecturin' about us. Lemme yet yer a seat under delite ob de risin' moon. De dusk'll obscuate yer loveleness so I'sedar' tell all de news. "

Suky, mystified and expectant, but complacent over anotherconquest, made no objections to these whispered "suggestations, "and was led to a seat under the shadow of a tree. A chorus of notvery flattering remarks broke out, ceasing as suddenly when Jeffreturned for a portion of the cake and cider. 

"Mister Wobbles, yer's prettin' on high de airs ter-night, " Sukyremarked, with an interrogation point in her voice. 

"Here's ter de health ob Mrs. Wobbles, " he answered, lifting thecider to his lips. 

"I'se no 'jections ter dat. Who is she ter be?" replied Suky, veryinnocently. 

"It's not my 'tention ter go furder and far' wuss. Dis am a casewha de presen' company am not 'cepted. "

"No, not axcepted jes' yet, Mr. Wobbles, if yer'se 'dressin' yerremarks ter me. Yer is goin' on jes' a little too far. "

"P'raps a little far; but yer'll soon catch up wid me. Yer'se alady dat got a min' ob her own, I hope?"

"It's mine yet, anyhow. "

"An' yer kin keep as mum as a possum w'en de cawn is in de milk?"

"Dat 'pends. "

"Ob cose it does. But I'll trus' yer; yer ain' de one ter bite yerown nose off. Does yer see dat ar ring, Suky? Law! how pretty datlook on yer degaged finger!"

"'Tain' dar yet. "

"Lemme put it dar. Ki! wouldn't dey look an' gape an' pint in daryonder w'en yer come a-sailin' in wid dat ring on?"

"Yes; dey tink me a big fool ter be captivated by a ring--brass, too, like anuff. "

"No, Suky, it's gole--yallow gole, di 'plexion ob yer own fairhan'. But, law! dis ain' nuffin ter what I'se 'll git yer. Yer'seshall hab rings an' dresses an' jules till yer 'stinguish de odergals like de sun put out de stars. "

"What yer foun', Jeff Wobbles?"

"I'se foun' what'll make yer a lady if yer hab sense. I'se gib yerde compliment ob s'lecting yer ter shar' my fine if yer'll lemmeput dis ring on yer degaged finger. "

"Yer doan say nuffin 'bout lub in dis yer 'rangement, " Sukysimpered, sidling up to him. 

"Oh, dat kind ob sent'ment 'll do fer common niggahs, " Jeffexplained with dignity. "I'se hurd my missus talk 'bout 'liances'twixt people of quality. Ki! Suky, I'se in a'sition now ter makea 'liance wid yer. Yer ain' like dat low gal, Mandy. What MisterJohnsing ebber hab ter gib her but a lickin' some day? I'se donewid dat common class; I may fiddle fur 'em now an' den, jes' tersee dem sport deysefs, while I'se lookin' on kin' ob s'periurlike, yer know. But den, dey ain' our kin' ob folks. Yer'se gotqulities dat'll shine like de risin' moon dar. " Then in a whisperhe added, "De Linkum sogers is off dar ter the east'erd. Onenight's trabel an' dey'd sen' us on ter Washin'on. Onst yer gitdar, an' hab all de jules an' dresses dat I gib yer, dar's not aculled gemmen dereaway but 'ud bow down ter yer. "

Here was a dazzling vista that Suky could not resist. Her ideas offreedom, like those of Jeff, were not very exalted. At thatperiod, slave property in the vicinity of the Union lines was fastmelting away; and scarcely a night elapsed but some one wasmissing, the more adventurous and intelligent escaping first, andothers following as opportunity and motive pointed the way. Theregion under consideration had not yet been occupied by theFederals, and there was still no slight risk involved in flight. Suky did not realize the magnitude of the project. She was not thefirst of her sex to be persuaded by a cavalier and promised goldto take a leap into the dark. 

As a result of Jeff's representations the "'liance" was made thereand then, secrecy promised, and an escape to Washington agreedupon as soon as circumstances permitted--Suky's mind, I regret tosay, dwelling more on "gemmen bowing down" to her than on thedevotion of the allied suitor. 

No lady of rank in Timbuctoo could have sailed into the kitchenball-room with greater state than Suky now after the compact hadbeen made, Jeff supporting her on his arm with the conscious airof one who has taken the prize from all competitors. With theassurance of a potentate he ensconced himself in the orchestracorner and called the dancers to their feet. 

But the spirit of mutiny was present. Eager eyes noted that thering on his bow-hand was gone. Then it was seen glistening onSuky's hand as she ostentatiously fanned herself. The clamor brokeout, "Mister Johnsing, " incited by Mandy and the two swainsbetween whom Suky had been sandwiched, leading the revolt againstJeff's arrogance and success. 

There were many, however, who had no personal wrongs to right, andwho did not relish being made a cat's-paw by the disaffected. These were bent on the natural progression and conclusion of thedance. In consequence of the wordy uproar the master of thepremises appeared and cleared them all out, sending his ownservants to their quarters. 

Jeff nearly came to grief that night, for a party of themalcontents followed him on his homeward walk. Suspecting theirpurpose, he dodged behind some shrubbery, heard their threats tobreak his head and smash his fiddle, and then went back to a trystwith Suky. 

That sagacious damsel had been meditating on the proposedalliance. Even in her rather sophisticated mind she had regarded asemblance of love as essential; but since Jeff had put everythingon such superior grounds, she felt that she should prove herselffit for new and exalted conditions of life by seeing to it that hemade good all his remarkable promises. She remembered that he hadnot yet opened the box of money, and became a little sceptical asto its contents. Somebody might have watched Jeff, and havecarried it off. 

True, she had the ring, but that was not the price of her hand. Nothing less than had been promised would answer now; and when shestole out to meet Jeff she told him so. Under the witchingmoonlight he began to manifest tendencies to sentiment andtenderness. Her response was prompt: "Go 'long! what dese commonniggah ways got ter do wid a 'liance? Yer show me de gole in datbox--dat's de bargain. Den de 'liance hole me fas', an' I'll helpyer spen' de money in Washin'on. We'll hab a weddin' scrumptiousas white folks. But, law sakes! Jeff Wobbles, 't ain' no kin' ob'liance till I see dat gole an' hab some ob it too!"

Jeff had to succumb like many a higher-born suitor before him, with the added chagrin of remembering that he had first suggestedthe purely businesslike aspect of his motive. 

"Berry well; meet me here ter-morrer night when I whistle like awhip-o'-will. But yer ain' so smart as yer tink yer are, Suky. Yer'se made it cl'ar ter me dat I'se got ter keep de han'lin' obdat gole or you'll be a-carryin' dis 'liance business too far! IfI gib yer gole, I expec' yer ter shine up an be 'greeable-like terme ebbery way yer know how. Dat's only fa'r, doggoned ef it ain'!"and Jeff spoke in a very aggrieved tone. 

Wily Suky chucked him under the chin, saying: "Show me de color obde gole an' de 'liance come out all right. " Then she retired, believing that negotiations had proceeded far enough for thepresent. 

Jeff went home feeling that he had been forewarned and forearmed. Since her heart responded to a golden key only, he would keep thatkey and use it judiciously. 

During the early hours of the following night Jeff was very waryand soon discovered that he was watched. He coolly slipped thecollar from a savage dog, and soon there was a stampede from aneighboring grove. An hour after, when all had become quiet again, he took the dog and, armed with an axe, started out, fullyresolved on breaking the treasure-box which he had been hoarding. 

The late moon had risen, giving to Jeff a gnome-like aspect as hedug at the root of the persimmon-tree. The mysterious box soongleamed with a pale light in his hand, like the leaden casket thatcontained Portia's radiant face. Surely, when he struck the "opensesame" blow, that beauty which captivates young and old alikewould dazzle his eyes. With heart now devoid of all compunction, and exultant in anticipation, he struck the box, shaving off theend he held furthest from him. An "ancient fish-like smell" filledthe air; Jeff sank on the ground and stared at sardines and rancidoil dropping instead of golden dollars from his treasure-box. Theyscarcely touched the ground before the dog snapped them all up. 

The bewildered negro knew not what to think. Had fish been theoriginal contents of the box, or had the soldier's spooktransformed the gold into this horrid mess? One thing, however, was clear--he had lost, not only Suky, but prestige. The yellowgirl would scorn him, and tell of his preposterous promises. Mandyhad been offended beyond hope, and he would become the laughing-stock and byword of all the colored boys for miles around. 

"Dar's nuffin lef fer me but ter put out fer freedom, " hesoliloquized; "ki! I'se a-gwine ter git eben wid dat yallar galyet. I'll cut stick ter-morrer night and she'll tink I 'scondedalone, totin' de box wid me, and dat she was too sharp in dat'liance business. "

So it turned out; Jeff and his fiddle vanished, leaving nothing tosustain Suky under the gibes of her associates except the ring, which she eventually learned was as brazen as her own ambition. 

Jeff wandered into the service of a Union officer whose patiencehe tried even more than that of his tolerant Southern mistress;but when by the camp-fire he brought out his violin, all hisshortcomings were condoned. 

CAUGHT ON THE EBB-TIDE

The August morning was bright and fair, but Herbert Scofield'sbrow was clouded. He had wandered off to a remote part of thegrounds of a summer hotel on the Hudson, and seated in the shadeof a tree, had lapsed into such deep thought that his cigar hadgone out and the birds were becoming bold in the vicinity of hismotionless figure. 

It was his vacation time and he had come to the country ostensiblyfor rest. As the result, he found himself in the worst state ofunrest that he had ever known. Minnie Madison, a young lady he hadlong admired, was the magnet that had drawn him hither. Herarrival had preceded his by several weeks; and she had smiled alittle consciously when in looking at the hotel register late oneafternoon his bold chirography met her eye. 

"There are so many other places to which he might have gone, " shemurmured. 

Her smile, however, was a doubtful one, not expressive of gladnessand entire satisfaction. In mirthful, saucy fashion her thoughtsran on: "The time has come when he might have a respite frombusiness. Does he still mean business by coming here? I'm not surethat I do, although the popular idea seems to be that a girlshould have no vacation in the daily effort to find a husband. Icontinually disappoint the good people by insisting that thehusband must find me. I have a presentiment that Mr. Scofield islooking for me; but there are some kinds of property which cannotbe picked up and carried off, nolens volens, when found. "

Scofield had been animated by no such clearly defined purpose ashe was credited with when he sought the summer resort graced byMiss Madison. His action seemed to him tentative, his motive ill-defined even in his own consciousness, yet it had been strongenough to prevent any hesitancy. He knew he was weary from a longyear's work. He purposed to rest and take life very leisurely, andhe had mentally congratulated himself that he was doing a wisething in securing proximity to Miss Madison. She had evoked hisadmiration in New York, excited more than a passing interest, buthe felt that he did not know her very well. In the unconventionallife now in prospect he could see her daily and permit hisinterest to be dissipated or deepened, as the case might be, whilehe remained, in the strictest sense of the world, uncommitted. Itwas a very prudent scheme and not a bad one. He reasoned justly:"This selecting a wife is no bagatelle. A man wishes to knowsomething more about a woman than he can learn in a drawing-roomor at a theatre party. "

But now he was in trouble. He had been unable to maintain thisjudicial aspect. He had been made to understand at the outset thatMiss Madison did not regard herself as a proper subject fordeliberate investigation, and that she was not inclined to aid inhis researches. So far from meeting him with engaging franknessand revealing her innermost soul for his inspection, he found heras elusive as only a woman of tact can be when so minded, even ata place where people meet daily. It was plain to him from thefirst that he was not the only man who favored her with admiringglances; and he soon discovered that young Merriweather and hisfriend Hackley had passed beyond the neutral ground of non-committal. He set himself the task of learning how far thesesuitors had progressed in her good graces; he would not be guiltyof the folly of giving chase to a prize already virtuallycaptured. This too had proved a failure. Clearly, would he knowwhat Mr. Merriweather and Mr. Hackley were to Miss Madison he mustacquire the power of mind reading. Each certainly appeared to be avery good friend of hers--a much better friend than he could claimto be, for in his case she maintained a certain unapproachablenesswhich perplexed and nettled him. 

After a week of rest, observation, and rather futile effort tosecure a reasonable share of Miss Madison's society and attention, he became assured that he was making no progress whatever so faras she was concerned, but very decided progress in a condition ofmind and heart anything but agreeable should the affair continueso one-sided. He had hoped to see her daily, and was notdisappointed. He had intended to permit his mind to receive suchimpressions as he should choose; and now his mind asked nopermission whatever, but without volition occupied itself with herimage perpetually. He was not sure whether she satisfied hispreconceived ideals of what a wife should be or not, for shemaintained such a firm reticence in regard to herself that hecould put his finger on no affinities. She left no doubt as to herintelligence, but beyond that she would not reveal herself to him. He was almost satisfied that she discouraged him utterly and thatit would be wiser to depart before his feelings became more deeplyinvolved. At any rate he had better do this or else make love indead earnest. Which course should he adopt?

There came a day which brought him to a decision. 

A party had been made up for an excursion into the Highlands, MissMadison being one of the number. She was a good pedestrian andrarely missed a chance for a ramble among the hills. Scofield'stwo rivals occasionally got astray with her in the perplexingwood-roads, but he never succeeded in securing such good-fortune. On this occasion, as they approached a woodchopper's cottage (orrather, hovel), there were sounds of acute distress within--thepiercing cries of a child evidently in great pain. There was amoment of hesitancy in the party, and then Miss Madison's gracefulindifference vanished utterly. As she ran hastily to the cabin, Scofield felt that now probably was a chance for more than mereobservation, and he kept beside her. An ugly cur sought to barentrance; but his vigorous kick sent it howling away. She gave hima quick pleased look as they entered. A slatternly woman wastrying to soothe a little boy, who at all her attempts onlywrithed and shrieked the more. "I dunno what ails the young one, "she said. "I found him a moment ago yellin' at the foot of a tree. Suthin's the matter with his leg. "

"Yes, " cried Miss Madison, delicately feeling of the member--anoperation which, even under her gentle touch, caused increasedoutcry, "it is evidently broken. Let me take him on my lap;" andScofield saw that her face had softened into the tenderest pity. 

"I will bring a surgeon at the earliest possible moment, "exclaimed Scofield, turning to go. 

Again she gave him an approving glance which warmed his heart. "The ice is broken between us now, " he thought, as he brokethrough the group gathering at the open door. 

Never before had he made such time down a mountain, for he had acertain kind of consciousness that he was not only going after thedoctor, but also after the girl. Securing a stout horse and wagonat the hotel, he drove furiously for the surgeon, explained theurgency, and then, with the rural healer at his side, almostkilled the horse in returning. 

He found his two rivals at the cabin door, the rest of the partyhaving gone on. Miss Madison came out quickly. An evanescent smileflitted across her face as she saw his kindled eyes and thereeking horse, which stood trembling and with bowed head. Hisardor was a little dampened when she went directly to the poorbeast and said, "This horse is a rather severe indictment againstyou, Mr. Scofield. There was need of haste, but--" and she pausedsignificantly. 

"Yes, " added the doctor, springing out, "I never saw such driving!It's lucky our necks are not broken"

"You are all right, Doctor, and ready for your work, " Scofieldremarked brusquely. "As for the horse, I'll soon bring himaround;" and he rapidly began to unhitch the over-driven animal. 

"What are you going to do?" Miss Madison asked curiously. 

"Rub him into as good shape as when he started. "

She turned away to hide a smile as she thought, "He has waked upat last. "

The boy was rendered unconscious, and his leg speedily put in theway of restoration. "He will do very well now if my directions arecarried out strictly, " the physician was saying when Scofieldentered. 

Mr. Merriweather and Mr. Hackley stood rather helplessly in thebackground and were evidently giving more thought to the fairnurse than to the patient. The mother was alternating betweenlamentations and invocations of good on the "young leddy's" head. Finding that he would come in for a share of the latter, Scofieldretreated again. Miss Madison walked quietly out, and lookingcritically at the horse, remarked, "You have kept your word verywell, Mr. Scofield. The poor creature does look much improved. "She evidently intended to continue her walk with the two men inwaiting, for she said demurely with an air of dismissal, "You willhave the happy consciousness of having done a good deed thismorning. "

"Yes, " replied Scofield, in significant undertone; "you, of allothers, Miss Madison, know how inordinately happy I shall be inriding back to the village with the doctor. "

She raised her eyebrows in a little well-feigned surprise at hiswords, then turned away. 

During the remainder of the day he was unable to see her alone fora moment, or to obtain any further reason to believe that the icewas in reality broken between them. But his course was no longernoncommittal, even to the most careless observer. The other guestsof the house smiled; and Mr. Merriweather and Mr. Hackley lookedaskance at one who threw their assiduous attentions quite into theshade. Miss Madison maintained her composure, was oblivious as faras possible, and sometimes when she could not appear blind, lookeda little surprised and even offended. 

He had determined to cast prudence and circumlocution to thewinds. On the morning following the episode in the mountains hewas waiting to meet her when she came down to breakfast. "I'veseen that boy, Miss Madison, and he's doing well. "

"What! so early? You are a very kind-hearted man, Mr. Scofield. "

"About as they average. That you are kind-hearted I know--at leastto every one except me--for I saw your expression as you examinedthe little fellow's injury yesterday. You thought only of thechild--"

"I hope you did also, Mr. Scofield, " she replied with anexasperating look of surprise. 

"You know well I did not, " he answered bluntly. "I thought itwould be well worth while to have my leg broken if you would lookat me in the same way. "

"Truly, Mr. Scofield, I fear you are not as kind-hearted as Isupposed you to be;" and then she turned to greet Mr. Merriweather. 

"Won't you let me drive you up to see the boy?" interposedScofield, boldly. 

"I'm sorry, but I promised to go up with the doctor this morning. "

And so affairs went on. He thought at times her color quickened alittle when he approached suddenly; he fancied that heoccasionally surprised a half-wistful, half-mirthful glance, butwas not sure. He knew that she was as well aware of his intentionsand wishes as if he had proclaimed them through a speaking-trumpet. His only assured ground of comfort was that neither Mr. Merriweather nor Mr. Hackley had yet won the coveted prize, thoughthey evidently were receiving far greater opportunities to pushtheir suit than he had been favored with. 

At last his vacation was virtually at an end. But two more dayswould elapse before he must be at his desk again in the city. Andnow we will go back to the time when we found him that earlymorning brooding over his prospects, remote from observation. Whatshould he do--propose by letter? "No, " he said after muchcogitation. "I can see that little affected look of surprise withwhich she would read my plain declaration of what she knows sowell. Shall I force a private interview with her? The very word'force, ' which I have unconsciously used, teaches me the folly ofthis course. She doesn't care a rap for me, and I should haverecognized the truth long ago. I'll go back to the hotel and acttoward her precisely as she has acted toward me. I can then atleast take back to town a little shred of dignity. "

He appeared not to see her when she came down to breakfast. Afterthe meal was over he sat on the piazza engrossed in the morningpaper. An excursion party for the mountains was forming. He merelybowed politely as she passed him to join it, but he ground histeeth as he saw Merriweather and Hackley escorting her away. Whenthey were out of sight he tossed the paper aside and went down tothe river, purposing to row the fever out of his blood. He wasalready satisfied how difficult his tactics would be should hecontinue to see her, and he determined to be absent all day, to sotire himself out that exhaustion would bring early sleep on hisreturn. 

Weary and leaden-spirited enough he was, as late in the afternoonhe made his way back, but firm in sudden resolve to depart on anearly train in the morning and never voluntarily to see theobdurate lady of his affections again. 

Just as the sun was about sinking he approached a small woodedisland about half a mile from the boat-house, and was surprised tonotice a rowboat high and dry upon the beach. "Some one hasforgotten that the tide is going out, " he thought, as he passed;but it was no affair of his. 

A voice called faintly, "Mr. Scofield!"

He started at the familiar tones, and looked again. Surely thatwas Miss Madison standing by the prow of the stranded skiff! Heknew well indeed it was she; and he put his boat about with anenergy not in keeping with his former languid strokes. Then, recollecting himself, he became pale with the self-control hepurposed to maintain, "She is in a scrape, " he thought; "and callsupon me as she would upon any one else to get her out of it. "

Weariness and discouragement inclined him to be somewhat recklessand brusque in his words and manner. Under the compulsion ofcircumstances she who would never graciously accord himopportunities must now be alone with him; but as a gentleman, hecould not take advantage of her helplessness, to plead his cause, and he felt a sort of rage that he should be mocked with anapparent chance which was in fact no chance at all. 

His boat stranded several yards from the shore. Throwing down hisoars, he rose and faced her. Was it the last rays of the settingsun which made her face so rosy, or was it embarrassment?

"I'm in a dilemma, Mr. Scofield, " Miss Madison began hesitatingly. 

"And you would rather be in your boat, " he added. 

"That would not help me any, seeing where my boat is. I have donesuch a stupid thing! I stole away here to finish a book, and--well--I didn't notice that the tide was running out. I'm sure Idon't know what I'm going to do. "

Scofield put his shoulder to an oar and tried to push his craft towhat deserved the name of shore, but could make little headway. Hewas glad to learn by the effort, however, that the black mud wasnot unfathomable in depth. Hastily reversing his action, he beganpushing his boat back in the water. 

"Surely, Mr. Scofield, you do not intend to leave me, " began MissMadison. 

"Surely not, " he replied; "but then, since you are so averse to mycompany, I must make sure that my boat does not become as fast asyours on this ebb-tide, otherwise we should both have to wait tillthe flood. "

"Oh, beg pardon! I now understand. But how can you reach me?"

"Wade, " he replied coolly, proceeding to take off his shoes andstockings. 

"What! through that horrid black mud?"

"I couldn't leap that distance, Miss Madison. "

"It's too bad! I'm so provoked with myself! The mud may be verydeep, or there may be a quicksand or something. "

"In which case I should merely disappear a little earlier;" and hesprang overboard up to his knees, dragged the boat till it wassufficiently fast in the ooze to be stationary, then he wadedashore. 

"Well, " she said with a little deprecatory laugh, "it's a comfortnot to be alone on a desert island. "

"Indeed! Can I be welcome under any circumstances?"

"Truly, Mr. Scofield, you know that you were never more welcome. It's very kind of you. "

"Any man would be glad to come to your aid. It is merely yourmisfortune that I happen to be the one. "

"I'm not sure that I regard it as a very great misfortune. Youproved in the case of that little boy that you can act veryenergetically. "

"And get lectured for my intemperate zeal. Well, Miss Madison, Icannot make a very pleasing spectacle with blackamoor legs, andit's time I put my superfluous energy to some use. Suppose you getin your boat, and I'll try to push it off"

She complied with a troubled look in her face. He pushed till theveins knotted on his forehead. At this she sprang out, exclaiming, "You'll burst a blood-vessel. "

"That's only a phase of a ruptured heart, and you are used to suchphenomena. "

"It's too bad for you to talk in that way, " she cried. 

"It certainly is. I will now attend strictly to business. "

"I don't see what you can do. "

"Carry you out to my boat--that is all I can do. "

"Oh, Mr. Scofield!"

"Can you suggest anything else?"

She looked dubiously at the intervening black mud, and was silent. 

"I could go up to the hotel and bring Mr. Merriweather and Mr. Hackley. "

She turned away to hide her tears. 

"Or I could go after a brawny boatman; but delay is serious, forthe tide is running out fast and the stretch of mud growing wider. Can you not imagine me Mike or Tim, or some fellow of that sort. "

"No, I can't. "

"Then perhaps you wish me to go for Mike or Tim?"

"But the tide is running out so fast, you said. "

"Yes, and it will soon be dark. "

"Oh, dear!" and there was distress in her tones. 

He now said kindly, "Miss Madison, I wish that like Sir WalterRaleigh I had a mantle large enough for you to walk over. You canat least imagine that I am a gentleman, that you may soon be atthe hotel, and no one ever be any the wiser that you had to choosebetween me and the deep--ah, well--mud. "

"There is no reason for such an allusion, Mr. Scofield. "

"Well, then, that you had no other choice. "

"That's better. But how in the world can you manage it?"

"You will have to put your arm around my neck. "

"Oh!"

"You would put your arm around a post, wouldn't you?" he askedwith more than his old brusqueness. 

"Yes-s; but--"

"But the tide is going out. My own boat will soon be fast. Dinnerwill grow cold at the hotel, and you are only the longer indispensing with me. You must consider the other direalternatives. "

"Ob, I forgot that you were in danger of losing a warm dinner. "

"You know I have lost too much to think of that or much else. Butthere is no need of satire, Miss Madison. I will do whatever youwish. That truly is carte blanche enough even for this occasion. "

"I didn't mean to be satirical. I--I--Well, have your own way. "

"Not if you prefer some other way. "

"You have shown that practically there isn't any other way. I'msorry that my misfortune, or fault rather, should also be yourmisfortune. You don't know how heavy--"

"I soon will, and you must endure it all with such grace as youcan. Put your arm round my neck, so--oh, that will never do! Well, you'll hold tight enough when I'm floundering in the mud. "

Without further ado he picked her up, and started rapidly for hisboat. Stepping on a smooth stone he nearly fell, and her arm didtighten decidedly. 

"If you try to go so fast, " she said, "you will fall. "

"I was only seeking to shorten your ordeal, but for obviousreasons must go slowly;" and he began feeling his way. 

"Mr. Scofield, am I not very heavy?" she asked softly. 

"Not as heavy as my heart, and you know it. "

"I'm sure I--"

"No, you are not to blame. Moths have scorched their wings beforenow, and will always continue to do so. "

Her head rested slightly against his shoulder; her breath fannedhis cheek; her eyes, soft and lustrous, sought his. But he lookedaway gloomy and defiant, and she felt his grasp tighten vise-likearound her. "I shall not affect any concealment of the feelingswhich she has recognized so often, nor shall I ask any favors, " hethought. "There, " he said, as he placed her in his boat, "you aresafe enough now. Now go aft while I push off. "

When she was seated he exerted himself almost as greatly asbefore, and the boat gradually slid into the water. He sprang inand took the oars. 

"Aren't you going to put on your shoes and stockings?"

"Certainly, when I put you ashore. "

"Won't that be a pretty certain way of revealing the plight inwhich you found me?"

"Pardon my stupidity; I was preoccupied with the thought ofrelieving you from the society which you have hitherto avoided sosuccessfully;" and bending over his shoes he tied them almostsavagely. 

There was a wonderful degree of mirth and tenderness in her eyesas she watched him. They had floated by a little point; and as heraised his head he saw a form which he recognized as Mr. Merriweather rowing toward them. "There comes one of yourshadows, " he said mockingly. "Be careful how you exchange boatswhen he comes along-side. I will give you no help in such a case. "

She looked hastily over her shoulder at the approaching oarsman. "I think it will be safer to remain in your boat, " she said. 

"Oh, it will be entirely safe, " he replied bitterly. 

"Mr. Merriweather must have seen you carrying me. "

"That's another thing which I can't help. "

"Mr. Scofield, " she began softly. 

He arrested his oars, and turned wondering eyes to hers. They weresparkling with mirth as she continued, "Are you satisfied that acertain young woman whom you once watched very narrowly isentirely to your mind?"

He caught her mirthful glance and misunderstood her. With dignityhe answered, "I'm not the first man who blundered to his cost, though probably it would have made no difference. You must do methe justice, however, to admit that I did not maintain the role ofobserver very long--that I wooed you so openly that every one wasaware of my suit. Is it not a trifle cruel to taunt me after I hadmade such ample amends?"

"I was thinking of Mr. Merriweather--"

"Undoubtedly"

"Since he has seen me with my arm around your neck--you know Icouldn't help it--perhaps he might row the other way if--if--well, if he saw you--what shall I say--sitting over here--by me--or--Somehow I don't feel very hungry, and I wouldn't mind spendinganother hour--"

Scofield nearly upset the boat in his precipitous effort to gain aseat beside her--and Mr. Merriweather did row another way. 

CHRISTMAS EVE IN WAR TIMES

It was the beginning of a battle. The skirmish line of the Unionadvance was sweeping rapidly over a rough mountainous region inthe South, and in his place on the extreme left of this line wasPrivate Anson Marlow. Tall trees rising from underbrush, rocks, bowlders, gulches worn by spring torrents, were thecharacteristics of the field, which was in wild contrast with theparade-grounds on which the combatants had first learned thetactics of war. The majority, however, of those now in the rankshad since been drilled too often under like circumstances, andwith lead and iron shotted guns, not to know their duty, and thelines of battle were as regular as the broken country allowed. Sofar as many obstacles permitted, Marlow kept his proper distancefrom the others on the line and fired coolly when he caughtglimpses of the retreating Confederate skirmishers. They wereretiring with ominous readiness toward a wooded height which theenemy occupied with a force of unknown strength. That strength wassoon manifested in temporary disaster to the Union forces, whichwere driven back with heavy loss. 

Neither the battle nor its fortunes are the objects of our presentconcern, but rather the fate of Private Marlow. The tide of battledrifted away and left the soldier desperately wounded in a narrowravine, through which babbled a small stream. Excepting the voicesof his wife and children no music had ever sounded so sweetly inhis ears. With great difficulty he crawled to a little bubblingpool formed by a tiny cascade and encircling stones, and partiallyslaked his intolerable thirst. 

He believed he was dying--bleeding to death. The very thoughtblunted his faculties for a time; and he was conscious of littlebeyond a dull wonder. Could it be possible that the tragedy of hisdeath was enacting in that peaceful, secluded nook? Could Naturebe so indifferent or so unconscious if it were true that he wassoon to lie there DEAD? He saw the speckled trout lying motionlessat the bottom of the pool, the gray squirrels sporting in theboughs over his head. The sunlight shimmered and glinted throughthe leaves, flecking with light his prostrate form. He dipped hishand in the blood that had welled from his side, and it fell inrubies from his fingers. Could that be his blood--his life-blood;and would it soon all ooze away? Could it be that death was comingthrough all the brightness of that summer afternoon?

From a shadowed tree further up the glen, a wood-thrush suddenlybegan its almost unrivalled song. The familiar melody, heard sooften from his cottage-porch in the June twilight, awoke him tothe bitter truth. His wife had then sat beside him, while hislittle ones played here and there among the trees and shrubbery. They would hear the same song to-day; he would never hear itagain. That counted for little; but the thought of their sittingbehind the vines and listening to their favorite bird, springafter spring and summer after summer, and he ever absent, overwhelmed him. 

"Oh, Gertrude, my wife, my wife! Oh, my children!" he groaned. 

His breast heaved with a great sigh; the blood welled afresh fromhis wound; what seemed a mortal weakness crept over him; and hethought he died. 

 * * * * * * *

"Say, Eb, is he done gone?"

"'Clar to grashus if I know. 'Pears mighty like it. " These wordswere spoken by two stout negroes, who had stolen to thebattlefield as the sounds of conflict died away. 

"I'm doggoned if I tink dat he's dead. He's only swoonded, "asserted the man addressed as Eb. "'Twon't do to lebe 'im here todie, Zack. "

"Sartin not; we'd hab bad luck all our days. "

"I reckon ole man Pearson will keep him; and his wife's a po'fulnuss. "

"Pearson orter; he's a Unioner. "

"S'pose we try him; 'tain't so bery fur off. "

 * * * * * * *

On the morning of the 24th of December, Mrs. Anson Marlow sat inthe living-room of her cottage, that stood well out in the suburbsof a Northern town. Her eyes were hollow and full of trouble thatseemed almost beyond tears, and the bare room, that had beenstripped of nearly every appliance and suggestion of comfort, buttoo plainly indicated one of the causes. Want was stamped on herthin face, that once had been so full and pretty; poverty in itsbitter extremity was unmistakably shown by the uncarpeted floor, the meagre fire, and scanty furniture. It was a period ofdepression; work had been scarce, and much of the time she hadbeen too ill and feeble to do more than care for her children. Away back in August her resources had been running low; but shehad daily expected the long arrears of pay which her husband wouldreceive as soon as the exigencies of the campaign permitted. Instead of these funds, so greatly needed, came the tidings of aUnion defeat, with her husband's name down among the missing. Beyond that brief mention, so horrible in its vagueness, she hadnever heard a word from the one who not only sustained her home, but also her heart. Was he languishing in a Southern prison, or, mortally wounded, had he lingered out some terrible hours on thatwild battlefield, a brief description of which had been so dweltupon by her morbid fancy that it had become like one of the scenesin Dante's "Inferno"? For a long time she could not and would notbelieve that such an overwhelming disaster had befallen her andher children, although she knew that similar losses had come tothousands of others. Events that the world regards as not onlypossible but probable are often so terrible in their personalconsequences that we shrink from even the bare thought of theiroccurrence. 

If Mrs. Marlow had been told from the first that her husband wasdead, the shock resulting would not have been so injurious as thesuspense that robbed her of rest for days, weeks, and months. Shehaunted the post-office, and if a stranger was seen coming up thestreet toward her cottage she watched feverishly for his turningin at her gate with the tidings of her husband's safety. Nightafter night she Jay awake, hoping, praying that she might hear hisstep returning on a furlough to which wounds or sickness hadentitled him. The natural and inevitable result was illness andnervous prostration. 

Practical neighbors had told her that her course was all wrong;that she should be resigned and even cheerful for her children'ssake; that she needed to sleep well and live well, in order thatshe might have strength to provide for them. She would makepathetic attempts to follow this sound and thrifty advice, butsuddenly when at her work or in her troubled sleep, that awfulword "missing" would pierce her heart like an arrow, and she wouldmoan, and at times in the depths of her anguish cry out, "Oh, where is he? Shall I ever see him again?"

But the unrelenting demands of life are made as surely upon thebreaking as upon the happy heart. She and her children must havefood, clothing, and shelter. Her illness and feebleness at lasttaught her that she must not yield to her grief, except so far asshe was unable to suppress it; that for the sake of those nowseemingly dependent upon her, she must rally every shattered nerveand every relaxed muscle. With a heroism far beyond that of herhusband and his comrades in the field, she sought to fight thewolf from the door, or at least to keep him at bay. Although thestruggle seemed a hopeless one, she patiently did her best fromday to day, eking out her scanty earnings by the sale or pawningof such of her household goods as she could best spare. She feltthat she would do anything rather than reveal her poverty oraccept charity. Some help was more or less kindly offered, butbeyond such aid as one neighbor may receive of another, she hadsaid gently but firmly, "Not yet. "

The Marlows were comparative strangers in the city where they hadresided. Her husband had been a teacher in one of its publicschools, and his salary small. Patriotism had been his motive forentering the army, and while it had cost him a mighty struggle toleave his family, he felt that he had no more reason to hold backthan thousands of others. He believed that he could still providefor those dependent upon him, and if he fell, those for whom hedied would not permit his widow and children to suffer. But thefirst popular enthusiasm for the war had largely died out; thecity was full of widows and orphans; there was depression ofspirit, stagnation in business, and a very general disposition onthe part of those who had means, to take care of themselves, andprovide for darker days that might be in the immediate future. Sensitive, retiring Mrs. Marlow was not the one to push her claimsor reveal her need. Moreover, she could never give up the hopethat tidings from her husband might at any time bring relief andsafety. 

But the crisis had come at last; and on this dreary December dayshe was face to face with absolute want. The wolf, with his gaunteyes, was crouched beside her cold hearth. A pittance owed to herfor work had not been paid. The little food left in the house hadfurnished the children an unsatisfying breakfast; she had eatennothing. On the table beside her lay a note from the agent of theestate of which her home was a part, bidding her call thatmorning. She knew why--the rent was two months in arrears. Itseemed like death to leave the house in which her husband hadplaced her, and wherein she had spent her happiest days. It stoodwell away from the crowded town. The little yard and garden, withtheir trees, vines, and shrubbery, some of which her husband hadplanted, were all dear from association. In the rear there was agrove and open fields, which, though not belonging to the cottage, were not forbidden to the children; and they formed a wonderlandof delight in spring, summer, and fall. Must she take her active, restless boy Jamie, the image of his father, into a crowdedtenement? Must golden-haired Susie, with her dower of beauty, beimprisoned in one close room, or else be exposed to the evil ofcorrupt association just beyond the threshold?

Moreover, her retired home had become a refuge. Here she couldhide her sorrow and poverty. Here she could touch what he hadtouched, and sit during the long winter evenings in his favoritecorner by the fire. Around her, within and without, were thelittle appliances for her comfort which his hands had made, flowcould she leave all this and live? Deep in her heart also the hopewould linger that he would come again and seek her where he hadleft her. 

"O God!" she cried suddenly. "Thou wouldst not, couldst not permithim to die without one farewell word, " and she buried her face inher hands and rocked back and forth, while hard, dry sobs shookher slight, famine-pinched form. 

The children stopped their play and came and leaned upon her lap. 

"Don't cry, mother, " said Jamie, a little boy of ten. "I'll soonbe big enough to work for you; and I'll get rich, and you shallhave the biggest house in town. I'll take care of you if papadon't come back. "

Little Sue knew not what to say, but the impulse of her love washer best guide. She threw her arms around her mother's neck withsuch an impetuous and childlike outburst of affection that thepoor woman's bitter and despairing thoughts were banished for atime. The deepest chord of her nature, mother love, was touched;and for her children's sake she rose up once more and faced thehard problems of her life. Putting on her bonnet and thin shawl(she had parted with much that she now so sorely needed), she wentout into the cold December wind. The sky was clouded like herhopes, and the light, even in the morning hours, was dim andleaden-hued. 

She first called on Mr. Jackson, the agent from whom she rentedher home, and besought him to give her a little more time. 

"I will beg for work from door to door, " she said. "Surely in thisChristian city there must be those who will give me work; and thatis all I ask. "

The sleek, comfortable man, in his well-appointed office, wastouched slightly, and said in a voice that was not so gruff as heat first had intended it should be:

"Well, I will wait a week or two longer. If then you cannot paysomething on what is already due, my duty to my employers willcompel me to take the usual course. You have told me all alongthat your husband would surely return, and I have hated to say aword to discourage you; but I fear you will have to bring yourselfto face the truth and act accordingly, as so many others havedone. I know it's very hard for you, but I am held responsible bymy employer, and at my intercession he has been lenient, as youmust admit. You could get a room or two in town for half what youmust pay where you are. Good-morning. "

She went out again into the street, which the shrouded sky madesombre in spite of preparations seen on every side for the chieffestival of the year. The fear was growing strong that like Him inwhose memory the day was honored, she and her little ones mightsoon not know where to lay their heads. She succeeded in gettingthe small sum owed to her and payment also for some sewing justfinished. More work she could not readily obtain, for every onewas busy and preoccupied by the coming day of gladness. 

"Call again, " some said kindly or carelessly, according to theirnature. "After the holidays are over we will try to have or makesome work for you. "

"But I need--I must have work now, " she ventured to say whenevershe had the chance. 

In response to this appeal there were a few offers of charity, small indeed, but from which she drew back with an instinct sostrong that it could not be overcome. On every side she heard thesame story. The times were very hard; requests for work and aidhad been so frequent that purses and patience were exhausted. Moreover, people had spent their Christmas money on theirhouseholds and friends, and were already beginning to feel poor. 

At last she obtained a little work, and having made a fewpurchases of that which was absolutely essential, she was about todrag her weary feet homeward when the thought occurred to her thatthe children would want to hang up their stockings at night; andshe murmured: "It may be the last chance I shall ever have to puta Christmas gift in them. Oh, that I were stronger! Oh, that Icould take my sorrow more as others seem to take theirs! But Icannot, I cannot! My burden is greater than I can bear. The coldof this awful day is chilling my very heart, and my grief, as hopedies, is crushing my soul. Oh, he must be dead, he must be dead!That is what they all think. God help my little ones! Oh, whatwill become of them if I sink, as I fear I shall! If it were notfor them I feel as if I would fall and die here in the street. Well, be our fate what it may, they shall owe to me one more gleamof happiness;" and she went into a confectioner's shop and boughta few ornamented cakes. These were the only gifts she couldafford, and they must be in the form of food. 

Before she reached home the snow was whirling in the frosty air, and the shadows of the brief winter day deepening fast. With asmile far more pathetic than tears she greeted the children, whowere cold, hungry, and frightened at her long absence; and they, children-like, saw only the smile, and not the grief it masked. They saw also the basket which she had placed on the table, andwere quick to note that it seemed a little fuller than of late. 

"Jamie, " she said, "run to the store down the street for some coaland kindlings that I bought, and then we will have a good fire anda nice supper;" and the boy, at such a prospect, eagerly obeyed. 

She was glad to have him gone, that she might hide her weakness. She sank into a chair, so white and faint that even little Susieleft off peering into the basket, and came to her with a troubledface. 

"It's nothing, dearie, " the poor creature said. "Mamma's only alittle tired. See, " she added, tottering to the table, "I havebrought you a great piece of gingerbread. "

The hungry child grasped it, and was oblivious and happy. 

By the time Jamie returned with his first basket of kindling andcoal, the mother had so far rallied from her exhaustion as to meethim smilingly again and help him replenish the dying fire. 

"Now you shall rest and have your gingerbread before going foryour second load, " she said cheerily; and the boy took what wasambrosia to him, and danced around the room in joyous reactionfrom the depression of the long weary day, during which, lonelyand hungry, he had wondered why his mother did not return. 

"So little could make them happy, and yet I cannot seem to obtaineven that little, " she sighed. "I fear--indeed, I fear--I cannotbe with them another Christmas; therefore they shall remember thatI tried to make them happy once more, and the recollection maysurvive the long sad days before them, and become a part of mymemory. "

The room was now growing dark, and she lighted the lamp. Then shecowered shiveringly over the reviving fire, feeling as if shecould never be warm again. 

The street-lamps were lighted early on that clouded, stormyevening, and they were a signal to Mr. Jackson, the agent, toleave his office. He remembered that he had ordered a holidaydinner, and now found himself in a mood to enjoy it. He hadscarcely left his door before a man, coming up the street withgreat strides and head bent down to the snow-laden blast, brushedroughly against him. The stranger's cap was drawn over his eyes, and the raised collar of his blue army overcoat nearly concealedhis face. The man hurriedly begged pardon, and was hastening onwhen Mr. Jackson's exclamation of surprise caused him to stop andlook at the person he had jostled. 

"Why, Mr. Marlow, " the agent began, "I'm glad to see you. It's apleasure I feared I should never have again. "

"My wife, " the man almost gasped, "she's still in the house Irented of you?"

"Oh, certainly, " was the hasty reply. "It'll be all right' now. "

"What do you mean? Has it not been all right?"

"Well, you see, " said Mr. Jackson, apologetically, "we have beenvery lenient to your wife, but the rent has not been paid for overtwo months, and--"

"And you were about to turn her and her children out-of-doors inmidwinter, " broke in the soldier, wrathfully. "That is the way yousleek, comfortable stay-at-home people care for those fightingyour battles. After you concluded that I was dead, and that therent might not be forthcoming, you decided to put my wife into thestreet. Open your office, sir, and you shall have your rent. "

"Now, Mr. Marlow, there's no cause for pitching into me in thisway. You know that I am but an agent, and--"

"Tell your rich employer, then, what I have said, and ask him whathe would be worth to-day were there not men like myself, who arewilling to risk everything and suffer everything for the Union. But I've no time to bandy words. Have you seen my wife lately?"

"Yes, " was the hesitating reply; "she was here to-day, and I--"

"How is she? What did you say to her?"

"Well, she doesn't look very strong. I felt sorry for her, andgave her more time, taking the responsibility myself--"

"How much time?"

"I said two weeks, but no doubt I could have had the timeextended. "

"I have MY doubts. Will you and your employer please accept myhumble gratitude that you had the grace not to turn her out-of-doors during the holiday season? It might have caused remark; butthat consideration and some others that I might name are not to beweighed against a few dollars and cents. I shall now remove thestrain upon your patriotism at once, and will not only payarrears, but also for two months in advance. "

"Oh, there's no need of that to-day. "

"Yes, there is. My wife shall feel to-night that she has a home. She evidently has not received the letter I wrote as soon as Ireached our lines, or you would not have been talking to her abouttwo weeks more of shelter. "

The agent reopened his office and saw a roll of bills extractedfrom Marlow's pocket that left no doubt of the soldier's abilityto provide for his family. He gave his receipt in silence, feelingthat words would not mend matters, and then trudged off to hisdinner with a nagging appetite. 

As Marlow strode away he came to a sudden resolution--he wouldlook upon his wife and children before they saw him; he wouldfeast his eyes while they were unconscious of the love that wasbeaming upon them. The darkness and storm favored his project, andin brief time he saw the light in his window. Unlatching the gatesoftly, and with his steps muffled by the snow that alreadycarpeted the frozen ground, he reached the window, the blinds ofwhich were but partially closed. His children frolicking about theroom were the first objects that caught his eye, and he almostlaughed aloud in his joy. Then, by turning another blind slightly, he saw his wife shivering over the fire. 

"Great God!" he muttered, "how she has suffered!" and he was aboutto rush in and take her into his arms. On the threshold herestrained himself, paused, and said, "No, not jet; I'll break thenews of my return in my own way. The shock of my sudden appearancemight be too great for her;" and he went back to the window. Thewife's eyes were following her children with such a wistfultenderness that the boy, catching her gaze, stopped his sport, came to her side, and began to speak. They were but a few feetaway, and Marlow caught every word. 

"Mamma, " the child said, "you didn't eat any breakfast, and Idon't believe you have eaten anything to-day. You are alwaysgiving everything to us. Now I declare I won't eat another bitunless you take half of my cake;" and he broke off a piece andlaid it in her lap. 

"Oh, Jamie, " cried the poor woman, "you looked so like your fatherwhen you spoke that I could almost see him;" and she caught him inher arms and covered him with kisses. 

"I'll soon be big enough to take care of you. I'm going to grow upjust like papa and do everything for you, " the boy said proudly asshe released him. 

Little Susie also came and placed what was left of her cake in hermother's lap, saying:

"I'll work for you, too, mamma; and to-morrow I'll sell the dollSanta Claus gave me last Christmas, and then we'll all have plentyto eat. "

Anson Marlow was sobbing outside the window as only a man weeps;and his tears in the bitter cold became drops of ice before theyreached the ground. 

"My darlings!" the mother cried. "Oh, God spare me to you andprovide some way for us! Your love should make me rich though Ilack all else. There, I won't cry any more, and you shall have ashappy a Christmas as I can give you. Perhaps He who knew what itwas to be homeless and shelterless will provide for our need; sowe'll try to trust Him and keep His birthday. And now, Jamie, goand bring the rest of the coal, and then we will make the dearhome that papa gave us cheery and warm once more. If he were onlywith us we wouldn't mind hunger or cold, would we? Oh, myhusband!" she broke out afresh, "if you could only come back, eventhough crippled and helpless, I feel that I could live and growstrong from simple gladness. "

"Don't you think, mamma, " Jamie asked, "that God will let papacome down from heaven and spend Christmas with us? He might behere like the angels, and we not see him. "

"I'm afraid not, " the sad woman replied, shaking her head andspeaking more to herself than to the child. "I don't see how hecould go back to heaven and be happy if he knew all. No, we mustbe patient and try to do our best, so that we can go to him. Gonow, Jamie, before it gets too late. I'll get supper, and thenwe'll sing a Christmas hymn; and you and Susie shall hang up yourstockings, just as you did last Christmas, when dear papa was withus. We'll try to do everything he would wish, and then by and bywe shall see him again. "

As the boy started on his errand his father stepped back out ofthe light of the window, then followed the child with a greatyearning in his heart. He would make sure the boy was safe at homeagain before he carried out his plan. From a distance he saw thelittle fellow receive the coal and start slowly homeward with theburden, and he followed to a point where the light of the street-lamps ceased, then joined the child, and said in a gruff voice, "Here, little man, I'm going your way. Let me carry your basket;"and he took it and strode on so fast that the boy had to run tokeep pace with him. Jamie shuffled along through the snow as wellas he could, but his little legs were so short in comparison withthose of the kindly stranger that he found himself graduallyfalling behind. So he put on an extra burst of speed and managedto lay hold of the long blue skirt of the army overcoat. 

"Please, sir, don't go quite so fast, " he panted. 

The stranger slackened his pace, and in a constrained tone ofvoice, asked:

"How far are you going, little man?"

"Only to our house--mamma's. She's Mrs. Marlow, you know. "

"Yes, I know--that is, I reckon I do. How much further is it?"

"Oh, not much; we're most half-way now. I say, you're a soldier, aren't you?"

"Yes, my boy, " said Marlow, with a lump in his throat. "Why?"

"Well, you see, my papa is a soldier, too, and I thought you mightknow him. We haven't heard from him for a good while, and--"choking a bit--"mamma's afraid he is hurt, or taken prisoner orsomething. " He could not bring himself to say "killed. "

Jamie let go the overcoat to draw his sleeve across his eyes, andthe big man once more strode on faster than ever, and Jamie beganto fear lest the dusky form might disappear in the snow anddarkness with both basket and coal; but the apparent stranger sofar forgot his part that he put down the basket at Mrs. Marlow'sgate, and then passed on so quickly that the panting boy had nottime to thank him. Indeed, Anson Marlow knew that if he lingeredbut a moment he would have the child in his arms. 

"Why, Jamie, " exclaimed his mother, "how could you get back sosoon with that heavy basket? It was too heavy for you, but youwill have to be mamma's little man mow. "

"A big man caught up with me and carried it. I don't care if hedid have a gruff voice, I'm sure he was a good kind man. He knewwhere we lived too, for he put the basket down at our gate beforeI could say a word, I was so out of breath, and then he was out ofsight in a minute. " Some instinct kept him from saying anythingabout the army overcoat. 

"It's some neighbor that lives further up the street, I suppose, and saw you getting the coal at the store, " Mrs. Marlow said, "Yes, Jamie, it was a good, kind act to help a little boy, and Ithink he'll have a happier Christmas for doing it. "

"Do you really think he'll have a happier Christmas, mamma?"

"Yes, I truly think so. We are so made that we cannot do a kindact without feeling the better for it. "

"Well, I think he was a queer sort of a man if he was kind. Inever knew any one to walk so fast. I spoke to him once, but hedid not answer. Perhaps the wind roared so he couldn't hear me. "

"No doubt he was hurrying home to his wife and children, " she saidwith a deep sigh. 

When his boy disappeared within the door of the cottage, Marlowturned and walked rapidly toward the city, first going to thegrocery at which he had been in the habit of purchasing hissupplies. The merchant stared for a moment, then stepped forwardand greeted his customer warmly. 

"Well, " he said, after his first exclamations of surprise wereover, "the snow has made you almost as white as a ghost; but I'mglad you're not one. We scarce ever thought to see you again. "

"Has my wife an open account here now?" was the brief response. 

"Yes, and it might have been much larger. I've told her so too. She stopped taking credit some time ago, and when she's had adollar or two to spare she's paid it on the old score. She boughtso little that I said to her once that she need not go elsewhereto buy; that I' d sell to her as cheap as any one: that I believedyou'd come back all right, and if you didn't she could pay me whenshe could. What do you think she did? Why, she burst out crying, and said, 'God bless you, sir, for saying my husband will comeback! So many have discouraged me. ' I declare to you her feelingwas so right down genuine that I had to mop my own eyes. But shewouldn't take any more credit, and she bought so little that I'vebeen troubled. I'd have sent her something, but your wife somehowain't one of them kind that you can give things to, and--"

Marlow interrupted the good-hearted, garrulous shopman by sayingsignificantly, "Come with me to your back-office"; for the soldierfeared that some one might enter who would recognize him and carrythe tidings to his home prematurely. 

"Mr. Wilkins, " he said rapidly, "I wanted to find out if you toohad thriftily shut down on a soldier's wife. You shall not regretyour kindness. "

"Hang it all!" broke in Wilkins, with compunction, "I haven't beenvery kind. I ought to have gone and seen your wife and found outhow things were; and I meant to, but I've been so confoundedlybusy--"

"No matter now; I've not a moment to spare. You must help me tobreak the news of my return in my own way. I mean they shall havesuch a Christmas in the little cottage as was never known in thistown. You could send a load right over there, couldn't you?"

"Certainly, certainly, " said Wilkins, under the impulse of bothbusiness thrift and goodwill; and a list of tea, coffee, sugar, flour, bread, cakes, apples, etc. , was dashed off rapidly; andMarlow had the satisfaction of seeing the errand-boy, the twoclerks, and the proprietor himself busily working to fill theorder in the shortest possible space of time. 

He next went to a restaurant, a little further down the street, where he had taken his meals for a short time before he broughthis family to town, and was greeted with almost equal surprise andwarmth. Marlow cut short all words by his almost feverish haste. Ahuge turkey had just been roasted for the needs of the comingholiday, and this with a cold ham and a pot of coffee was orderedto be sent in a covered tray within a quarter of an hour. Then atoy-shop was visited, and such a doll purchased! for tears cameinto Marlow's eyes whenever he thought of his child's offer tosell her dolly for her mother's sake. 

After selecting a sled for Jamie, and directing that they shouldbe sent at once, he could restrain his impatience no longer, andalmost tore back to his station at the cottage window. His wifewas placing the meagre little supper on the table, and how poorand scanty it was!

"Is that the best the dear soul can do on Christmas Eve?" hegroaned. "Why, there's scarcely enough for little Sue. Thank God, my darling, I will sit down with you to a rather different supperbefore long!"

He bowed his head reverently with his wife as she asked God'sblessing, and wondered at her faith. Then he looked and listenedagain with a heart-hunger which had been growing for months. 

"Do you really think Santa Claus will fill our stockings to-night?" Sue asked. 

"I think he'll have something for you, " she replied. "There are somany poor little boys and girls in the city that he may not beable to bring very much to you. "

"Who is Santa Claus, anyway?" questioned Jamie. 

Tears came into the wife's eyes as she thought of the one who hadalways remembered them so kindly as far as his modest meanspermitted. 

She hesitated in her reply; and before she could decide upon ananswer there was a knock at the door. Jamie ran to open it, andstarted back as a man entered with cap, eyebrows, beard, andshaggy coat all white with the falling snow. He placed two greatbaskets of provisions on the floor, and said they were for Mrs. Anson Marlow. 

"There is some mistake, " Mrs. Marlow began; but the children, after staring a moment, shouted, "Santa Claus! Santa Claus!"

The grocer's man took the unexpected cue instantly, and said, "Nomistake, ma'am. They are from Santa Claus;" and before anotherword could be spoken he was gone. The face of the grocer's man wasnot very familiar to Mrs. Marlow, and the snow had disguised himcompletely. The children had no misgivings and pounced upon thebaskets and with, exclamations of delight drew out such articlesas they could lift. 

"I can't understand it, " said the mother, bewildered and almostfrightened. 

"Why, mamma, it's as plain as day, " cried Jamie. "Didn't he lookjust like the pictures of Santa Claus--white beard and whiteeyebrows? Oh, mamma, mamma, here is a great paper of red-cheekedapples!" and he and Susie tugged at it until they dragged it overthe side of the basket, when the bottom of the bag came out, andthe fruit flecked the floor with red and gold. Oh, the bliss ofpicking up those apples; of comparing one with another; of runningto the mother and asking which was the biggest and which thereddest and most beautifully streaked!

"There must have been some mistake, " the poor woman kept murmuringas she examined the baskets and found how liberal and varied wasthe supply, "for who could or would have been so kind?"

"Why, mommie, " said little Sue, reproachfully, "Santa Clausbrought 'em. Haven't you always told us that Santa Claus liked tomake us happy?"

The long-exiled father felt that he could restrain himself but afew moments longer, and he was glad to see that the rest of hispurchases were at the door. With a look so intent, and yearningconcentration of thought so intense that it was strange that theycould not feel his presence, he bent his eyes once more upon ascene that would imprint itself upon his memory forever. 

But while he stood there, another scene came before his mentalvision. Oddly enough his thought went back to that far-offSouthern brookside, where he had lain with his hands in the coolwater. He leaned against the window-casing, with the Northern snowwhirling about his head; but he breathed the balmy breath of aSouthern forest, the wood-thrush sang in the trees overhead, andhe could--so it seemed to him--actually feel the water-wornpebbles under his palms as he watched the life-blood ebbing fromhis side. Then there was a dim consciousness of rough but kindlyarms bearing him through the underbrush, and more distinctly thememory of weary weeks of convalescence in a mountaineer's cabin. All these scenes of peril, before he finally reached the Unionlines, passed before him as he stood in a species of trance besidethe window of his home. 

The half-grown boys sent from the restaurant and toy-shop couldnot be mistaken for Santa Claus even by the credulous fancy of thechildren, and Mrs. Marlow stepped forward eagerly and said:

"I am sure there is some mistake. You are certainly leaving thesearticles at the wrong house. " The faces of the children began togrow anxious and troubled also, for even their faith could notaccept such marvellous good-fortune. Jamie looked at the sled witha kind of awe, and saw at a glance that it was handsomer than anyin the street "Mr. Lansing, a wealthy man, lives a little furtheron, " Mrs. Marlow began to urge; "and these things must be meant--"

"Isn't your name Mrs. Anson Marlow?" asked the boy from therestaurant. 

"Yes. "

"Then I must do as I've been told;" and he opened his tray andplaced the turkey, the ham, and the coffee on the table. 

"If he's right, I'm right too, " said he of the toy-shop. "Them wasmy directions;" and they were both about to depart when the womansprang forward and gasped: "Stay!"

She clasped her hands and trembled violently. 

"Who sent these things?" she faltered. 

"Our bosses, mum, " replied the boy from the restaurant, hesitatingly. 

She sprang toward him, seized his arm, and looked imploringly intohis face. "Who ordered them sent?" she asked in a low, passionatevoice. 

The young fellow began to smile, and stammered awkwardly, "I don'tthink I'm to tell. "

She released his arm and glanced around with a look of intenseexpectation. 

"Oh, oh!" she gasped with quick short sobs, "can it be--" Then shesprang to the door, opened it, and looked out into the black, stormy night. What seemed a shadow rushed toward her; she feltherself falling, but strong arms caught and bore her, halffainting, to a lounge within the room. 

Many have died from sorrow, but few from joy. With her husband'sarms around her Mrs. Marlow's weakness soon passed. In response tohis deep, earnest tones of soothing and entreaty, she speedilyopened her eyes and gave him a smile so full of content andunutterable joy that all anxiety in her behalf began to pass fromhis mind. 

"Yes, " she said softly, "I can live now. It seems as if a new andstronger life were coming back with every breath. "

The young fellows who had been the bearers of the gifts were sotouched that they drew their rough sleeves across their eyes asthey hastened away, closing the door on the happiest family in thecity. 

A BRAVE LITTLE QUAKERESS

A TRADITION OF THE REVOLUTION

Not very far from the Highlands of the Hudson, but at aconsiderable distance from the river, there stood, one hundredyears ago, a farmhouse that evidently had been built as much forstrength and defence as for comfort. The dwelling was one storyand a half in height, and was constructed of hewn logs, fittedclosely together, and made impervious to the weather by old-fashioned mortar, which seems to defy the action of time. Twoentrances facing each other led to the main or living room, andthey were so large that a horse could pass through them, draggingin immense back-logs. These, having been detached from a chainwhen in the proper position, were rolled into the huge fireplacethat yawned like a sooty cavern at the farther end of theapartment. A modern housekeeper, who finds wood too dear anarticle for even the air-tight stove, would be appalled by thisfireplace. Stalwart Mr. Reynolds, the master of the house, couldeasily walk under its stony arch without removing his broad-brimmed Quaker hat. From the left side, and at a convenient heightfrom the hearth, a massive crane swung in and out; while highabove the centre of the fire was an iron hook, or trammel, fromwhich by chains were suspended the capacious iron pots used inthose days for culinary or for stock-feeding purposes. Thistrammel, which hitherto had suggested only good cheer, wasdestined to have in coming years a terrible significance to thehousehold. 

When the blaze was moderate, or the bed of live coals not tooample, the children could sit on either side of the fireplace andwatch the stars through its wide flue; and this was a favoriteamusement of Phebe Reynolds, the eldest daughter of the house. 

A door opened from the living-room into the other apartments, furnished in the old massive style that outlasts many generations. All the windows were protected by stout oaken shutters which, whenclosed, almost transformed the dwelling into a fortress, givingsecurity against any ordinary attack. There were no loopholes inthe walls through which the muzzle of the deadly rifle could bethrust and fired from within. This feature, so common in theprimitive abodes of the country, was not in accordance with JohnReynolds's Quaker principles. While indisposed to fight, it wasevident that the good man intended to interpose between himselfand his enemies all the passive resistance that his stout littledomicile could offer. 

And he knew that he had enemies of the bitterest and mostunscrupulous character. He was a stanch Whig, loyal to theAmerican cause, and, above all, resolute and active in themaintenance of law and order in those lawless times. He thus hadmade himself obnoxious to his Tory neighbors, and an object ofhate and fear to a gang of marauders, who, under the pretence ofacting with the British forces, plundered the country far andnear. Claudius Smith, the Robin Hood of the Highlands and theterror of the pastoral low country, had formerly been theirleader; and the sympathy shown by Mr. Reynolds with all theefforts to bring him to justice which finally resulted in hiscapture and execution, and awakened among his former associates anintense desire for revenge. This fact, well known to the farmer, kept him constantly on his guard, and filled his wife and daughterPhebe with deep apprehension. 

At the time of our story, Phebe was only twelve years of age, butwas mature beyond her years. There were several younger children, and she had become almost womanly in aiding her mother in theircare. Her stout, plump little body had been developed rather thanenfeebled by early toil, and a pair of resolute and often mirthfulblue eyes bespoke a spirit not easily daunted. She was a nativegrowth of the period, vitalized by pure air and out-of-doorpursuits, and she abounded in the shrewd intelligence and demurerefinement of her sect to a degree that led some of theirneighbors to speak of her as "a little old woman. " When alone withthe children, however, or in the woods and fields, she would doffher Quaker primness, and romp, climb trees, and frolic with thewildest. 

But of late, the troublous times and her father's peril hadbrought unwonted thoughtfulness into her blue eyes, and more thanQuaker gravity to the fresh young face, which, in spite ofexposure to sun and wind, maintained much of its inheritedfairness of complexion. Of her own accord she was becoming avigilant sentinel, for a rumor had reached Mr. Reynolds thatsooner or later he would have a visit from the dreaded mountaingang of hard riders. Two roads leading to the hills converged onthe main highway not far from his dwelling; and from an adjacentknoll Phebe often watched this place, while her father, with a ladin his employ, completed their work about the barn. When theshadows deepened, all was made as secure as possible without andwithin, and the sturdy farmer, after committing himself and hishousehold to the Divine protection, slept as only brave men sleepwho are clear in conscience and accustomed to danger. 

His faith was undoubtedly rewarded; but Providence in theexecution of its will loves to use vigilant human eyes and ready, loving hands. The guardian angel destined to protect the good manwas his blooming daughter Phebe, who had never thought of herselfas an angel, and indeed rarely thought of herself at all, as isusually the case with those who do most to sweeten and brightenthe world. She was a natural, wholesome, human child, with all achild's unconsciousness of self. She knew she could not protecther father like a great stalwart son, but she could watch and warnhim of danger, and as the sequel proved, she could do far more. 

The farmer's habits were well known, and the ruffians of themountains were aware that after he had shut himself in he was muchlike Noah in his ark. If they attempted to burn him out, theflames would bring down upon them a score of neighbors nothampered by Quaker principles. Therefore they resolved upon asudden onslaught before he had finished the evening labors of thefarm. This was what the farmer feared; and Phebe, like a vigilantoutpost, was now never absent from her place of observation untilcalled in. 

One spring evening she saw two mounted men descending one of theroads which led from the mountains. Instead of jogging quietly outon the highway, as ordinary travellers would have done, theydisappeared among the trees. Soon afterward she caught a glimpseof two other horsemen on the second mountain road. One of thesesoon came into full view, and looked up and down as if to see thatall was clear. Apparently satisfied, he gave a low whistle, whenthree men joined him. Phebe waited to see no more, but sped towardthe house, her flaxen curls flying from her flushed and excitedface. 

"They are coming, father! Thee must be quick!" she cried. 

But a moment or two elapsed before all were within the dwelling, the doors banged and barred, the heavy shutters closed, and thehome-fortress made secure. Phebe's warning had come none too soon, for they had scarcely time to take breath before the tramp ofgalloping horses and the oaths of their baffled foes were heardwithout. The marauders did not dare make much noise, for fear thatsome passing neighbor might give the alarm. Tying their horsesbehind the house, where they would be hidden from the road, theytried various expedients to gain an entrance, but the logs andheavy planks baffled them. At last one of the number suggestedthat they should ascend the roof and climb down the wide flue ofthe chimney. This plan was easy of execution, and for a fewmoments the stout farmer thought that his hour had come. With aheroism far beyond that of the man who strikes down his assailant, he prepared to suffer all things rather than take life with hisown hands. 

But his wife proved equal to this emergency. She had been makingover a bed, and a large basket of feathers was within reach. Therewere live coals on the hearth, but they did not give out enoughheat to prevent the ruffians from descending. Two of them werealready in the chimney, and were threatening horrible vengeance ifthe least resistance was offered. Upon the coals on the hearth thehousewife instantly emptied her basket of feathers; and a greatvolume of pungent, stifling smoke poured up the chimney. Thethreats of the men, who by means of ropes were cautiouslydescending, were transformed into choking, half-suffocated sounds, and it was soon evident that the intruders were scrambling out asfast as possible. A hurried consultation on the roof ensued, andthen, as if something had alarmed them, they galloped off. Withthe exception of the cries of the peepers, or hylas, in anadjacent swamp, the night soon grew quiet around the closed anddarkened dwelling. Farmer Reynolds bowed in thanksgiving overtheir escape, and then after watching a few hours, slept as didthousands of others in those times of anxiety. 

But Phebe did not sleep. She grew old by moments that night as doother girls by months and years; as never before she understoodthat her father's life was in peril. How much that life meant toher and the little brood of which she was the eldest! How much itmeant to her dear mother, who was soon again to give birth to alittle one that would need a father's protection and support! Asthe young girl lay in her little attic room, with dilated eyes andears intent on the slightest sound, she was ready for any heroicself-sacrifice, without once dreaming that she was heroic. 

The news of the night-attack spread fast, and there was a periodof increased vigilance which compelled the outlaws to lie close intheir mountain fastnesses. But Phebe knew that her father'senemies were still at large with their hate only stimulatedbecause baffled for a time. Therefore she did not in the leastrelax her watchfulness; and she besought their nearest neighborsto come to their assistance should any alarm be given. 

When the spring and early summer passed without further trouble, they all began to breathe more freely, but one July night JohnReynolds was betrayed by his patriotic impulses. He was awakenedby a loud knocking at his door. Full of misgiving, he rose andhastily dressed himself: Phebe, who had slipped on her clothes atthe first alarm, joined him and said earnestly:

"Don't thee open the door, father, to anybody, at this time ofnight;" and his wife, now lying ill and helpless on a bed in theadjoining room, added her entreaty to that of her daughter. Inanswer, however, to Mr. Reynolds's inquiries a voice from without, speaking quietly and seemingly with authority, asserted that theywere a squad from Washington's forces in search of deserters, andthat no harm would ensue unless he denied their lawful request. Conscious of innocence, and aware that detachments were oftenabroad on such authorized quests, Mr. Reynolds unbarred his door. The moment he opened it he saw his terrible error; not soldiers, but the members of the mountain gang, were crouched like wildbeasts ready to spring upon him. 

"Fly, father!" cried Phebe. "They won't hurt us;" but before thebewildered man could think what to do, the door flew open from thepressure of half a dozen wild-looking desperadoes, and he waspowerless in their grasp. They evidently designed murder, but nota quick and merciful "taking off"; they first heaped upon theirvictim the vilest epithets, seeking in their thirst for revenge toinflict all the terrors of death in anticipation. The good man, however, now face to face with his fate, grew calm and resigned. Exasperated by his courage, they began to cut and torture him withtheir swords and knives. Phebe rushed forward to interpose herlittle form between her father and the ruffians, and was dashed, half stunned, into a corner of the room. Even for the sake of hissick wife, the brave farmer could not refrain from uttering groansof anguish which brought the poor woman with faltering steps intohis presence. After one glance at the awful scene she sank, halffainting, on a settee near the door. 

When the desire for plunder got the better of their fiendishcruelty, one of the gang threw a noosed rope over Mr. Reynolds'shead, and then they hanged him to the trammel or iron hook in thegreat chimney. 

"You can't smoke us out this time, " they shouted. "You've now gotto settle with the avengers of Claudius Smith; and you and someothers will find us ugly customers to settle with. "

They then rushed off to rob the house, for the farmer was reputedto have not a little money in his strong box. The moment they weregone Phebe seized a knife and cut her father down. Terror andexcitement gave her almost supernatural strength, and with the aidof the boy in her father's service she got the poor man on a bedwhich he had occupied during his wife's illness. Her revivingmother was beginning to direct her movements when the ruffiansagain entered; and furious with rage, they again seized and hangedher father, while one, more brutal than the others, whipped thepoor child with a heavy rope until he thought she was disabled. The girl at first cowered and shivered under the blows, and thensank as if lifeless on the floor. But the moment she was left toherself she darted forward and once more cut her father down. Therobbers then flew upon the prostrate man and cut and stabbed himuntil they supposed he was dead. Toward his family they meditateda more terrible and devilish cruelty. After sacking the house andtaking all the plunder they could carry, they relieved the horror-stricken wife and crying, shrieking children of their presence. Their further action, however, soon inspired Phebe with a new andmore awful fear, for she found that they had fastened the doors onthe outside and were building a fire against one of them. 

For a moment an overpowering despair at the prospect of their fatealmost paralyzed her. She believed her father was dead. The boywho had aided her at first was now dazed and helpless from terror. If aught could be done in this supreme moment of peril she sawthat it must be done by her hands. The smoke from the kindlingfire without was already curling in through the crevices aroundthe door. There was not a moment, not a second to be lost. Theruffians' voices were growing fainter and she heard the sounds oftheir horses' feet. Would they go away in time for her toextinguish the fire? She ran to her attic room and cautiouslyopened the shutter. Yes, they were mounting; and in the faintlight of the late-rising moon she saw that they were taking herfather's horses. A moment later, as if fearing that the blazemight cause immediate pursuit, they dashed off toward themountains. 

The clatter of their horses' hoofs had not died away before theintrepid girl had opened the shutter of a window nearest theground, and springing lightly out with a pail in her hand sherushed to the trough near the barn, which she knew was full ofwater. Back and forth she flew between the fire and the convenientreservoir with all the water that her bruised arms and backpermitted her to carry. Fortunately the night was a little damp, and the stout thick door had kindled slowly. To her intense joyshe soon gained the mastery of the flames, and at lastextinguished them. 

She did not dare to open the door for fear that the robbers mightreturn, but clambering in at the window, made all secure as hadbeen customary, for now it was her impulse to do just as herfather would have done. 

She found her mother on her knees beside her father, who wouldindeed have been a ghastly and awful object to all but the eyes oflove. 

"Oh, Phebe, I hope--I almost believe thy father lives!" cried thewoman. "Is it my throbbing palm, or does his heart still beat?"

"I'm sure it beats, mother!" cried the girl, putting her littlehand on the gashed and mangled body. 

"Oh, then there's hope! Here, Abner, " to the boy, "isn't there anyman in thee? Help Phebe get him on the bed, and then we must stopthis awful bleeding. Oh, that I were well and strong! Phebe, theemust now take my place. Thee may save thy father's life. I cantell thee what to do if thee has the courage. "

Phebe had the courage and with deft hands did her mother'sbidding. She stanched the many gaping wounds; she gave spirits atfirst drop by drop, until at last the man breathed and wasconscious. Even before the dawn began to brighten over the dreadedHighlands which their ruthless enemies were already climbing, Phebe was flying, bare-headed, across the fields to their nearestneighbor. The good people heard of the outrage with horror andindignation. A half-grown lad sprang on the bare back of a younghorse and galloped across the country for a surgeon. A few momentslater the farmer, equipped for chase and battle, dashed away atheadlong pace to alarm the neighborhood. The news sped from houseto house and hamlet to hamlet like fire in prairie grass. The sunhad scarcely risen before a dozen bronzed and stern-browed menwere riding into John Reynolds's farm-yard under the lead of youngHal June--the best shot that the wars had left in the region. Thesurgeon had already arrived, and before he ceased from his laborshe had dressed thirty wounds. 

The story told by Phebe had been as brief as it was terrible--forshe was eager to return to her father and sick mother. She had notdreamed of herself as the heroine of the affair, and had not givenany such impression, although more than one had remarked that shewas "a plucky little chick to give the alarm before it was light. "But when the proud mother faintly and tearfully related theparticulars of the tragedy, and told how Phebe had saved herfather's life and probably her mother's--for, "I was too sick toclimb out of a window, " she said; when she told how the childafter a merciless whipping had again cut her father down from thetrammel-hook, had extinguished the fire, and had been nursing herfather back to life, while all the time in almost agony herselffrom the cruel blows that had been rained upon her--Phebe wasdazed and bewildered at the storm of applause that greeted her. And when the surgeon, in order to intensify the general desire forvengeance, showed the great welts and scars on her arms and neck, gray-bearded fathers who had known her from infancy took her intotheir arms and blessed and kissed her. For once in his life youngHal June wished he was a gray-beard, but his course was much moreto the mind of Phebe than any number of caresses would have been. Springing on his great black horse, and with his dark eyes burningwith a fire that only blood could quench, he shouted:

"Come, neighbors, it's time for deeds. That brave little womanought to make a man of every mother's son of us;" and he dashedaway so furiously that Phebe thought with a strange little tremorat her heart that he might in his speed face the robbers allalone. The stout yeomen clattered after him; the sound of theirpursuit soon died away; and Phebe returned to woman's work ofnursing, watching, and praying. 

The bandits of the hills, not expecting such prompt retaliation, were overtaken, and then followed a headlong race over the roughmountain roads--guilty wretches flying for life, and stern menalmost reckless in the burning desire to avenge a terrible wrong. Although the horses of the marauders were tired, their riders wereso well acquainted with the fastnesses of the wilderness that theyled the pursuers through exceedingly difficult and dangerouspaths. At last, June ever in the van, caught sight of a man'sform, and almost instantly his rifle awoke a hundred echoes amongthe hills. When they reached the place, stains of blood marked theground, proving that at least a wound had been given. Just beyond, the gang evidently had dispersed, each one for himself, leavingbehind everything that impeded their progress. The region wasalmost impenetrable in its wildness except by those who knew allits rugged paths. The body of the man whom June had wounded, however, was found, clothed in a suit of Quaker drab stolen fromMr. Reynolds. The rest of the band with few exceptions met withfates that accorded with their deeds. 

Phebe had the happiness of nursing her father back to health, andalthough maimed and disfigured, he lived to a ripe old age. If thebud is the promise of the flower, Phebe must have developed awomanhood that was regal in its worth; at the same time I believethat she always remained a modest, demure little Quakeress, andnever thought of her virtues except when reminded of them in plainEnglish. 

NOTE--In the preceding narrative I have followed almost literallya family tradition of events which actually occurred. 

THE END