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JACK O-LANTERN
MARY: T. WAGGAMAN


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JACK-O-LANTERN.
MARY T. WAGGAMAN.

2
.00
BENZIGER BROTHERS
New York, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO :
BENZIGER BROTHERS,
[019499


THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LICZARY
13473B
ASTOR, LOX AND
TILDEN FODATIONS
B
1941 L
Coryniast, s899 BY BENZIOER BROTHERS
Printed in the United States of America.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER L
A Pront...
CHAPTER II.
HEATHERTON HALL......
.......
81
CHAPTER III.
JACK-O'-LANTERN.-.
CHAPTER IV.
LIGHT AND SHADOW .......... .................
45
- PAROTID APR 161941
CHAPTER V.
A KRIENDLY GHOST............................
07
CHAPTER VL.
A TRIP TO ROXTON........


Contents.
CHAPTER VII.
OLD MES.........
CHAPTER VIII.
LITTLE MINS HEATHERTON...........
CHAPTER IX.
Two LITTLE TRUANTS.
103
.......................
CHAPTER X.
THROUGH THE STORM.
...... 122
CHAPTER XI.
A GOLDEN SUNSET....
.
.
CHAPTER XIL
“THE ONE EWE LAMB"....................... 146
CHAPTER XIII.
CONCLUSION............
................ 183


JACK-O'-LANTERN.
CHAPTER I.
Å FLIGHT.
“ MOUNTAIN air,” said Doctor Doane, as
he scribbled the prescription-paper on his
broad knee-“Mountain air is what the boy
needs, madam. You may give him this mix-
ture three times a day," and the great medical
oracle handed the bit of folded wisdom to the
anxious mother; “but it is not physic the
youngster wants. It is mountain air, and
ous atmosphere during the heated term-well,
you must take the consequences.” And the
famous doctor rose with the air of a man who
knows his time to be worth a dollar a minute;
and patting Dickie's golden head, hurried


A Flight.
away quite regardless of the knell he had left
sounding in the loving mother's ear-the icy
chill of fear he had sent to her loving heart.
Mountain air! The doctor talked as if it
could be bought at sixpence a bottle. Moun-
tain air 1 when the great breezy peaks over
which swept the life-giving elixir were one
hundred miles away; when, besides Dickie,
there were four sturdy, active young Lind-
says bursting buttons and outgrowing frocko
in a way that kept mamma's fingers busy from
morning until night, while their healthy ap-
petites made papa’s monthly bills very serious
mathematical problems indeed. Mountain
air ! when this pretty little bird-box of a
house was leased for three years, and there
were just twenty dollars cash in the family
purse for possible contingencies.
“Is consequences bad to take, mamma ?”
asked blue-eyed Dickie, evidently reflecting
on the doctor's parting words. “Is it worse
than cod-liver oil ?”
“Oh, yes, my baby, my baby!” answered
his mother, clasping him to her breast and
hiding her face for a moment in his curls.
For Dickie had been ailing weeks now, and
the blue eyes had a starry light, the little face


lo
A Flight.
And dropping on her knees by the sleeping
child, she buried her face on his pillows and
wept softly and unrestrainedly, as she prayed
that God would spare her darling.
But quiet prayers and tears are luxuries
not reserved for the mothers of five.
Screened by the woollen table-cover under
which he had retired to surreptitiously demol-
ish the last new magazine, Rogue Robin
surveyed the pitiful scene with wide-open
eyes of dismay. Rogue Robin was just six,
with a tangle of auburn curls falling over a
milk-white brow, and the face of an adoring
angel.
Yet not undeservedly had Rogue Robin
received his pet name. Behind that cherubic
visage lurked the veriest imp of mischief that
ever ran rampant in a household. There was
little that Rogue Robin had not tried within
his brief but active career. He had been
rescued from a polar exploration on the roof
of the house, dragged by the heels from the
nursery chimney, caught by the waistband as
he was making a downward flight from a
third-story window, and extracted by a be-
nevolent bachelor's umbrella-hook from the
neighboring sewer.


A Flight
So often had he been “ brought back" by
the friendly grip of the law from fights, fires,
funerals, circuses, and all public functions at-
tended with horses or music, that Officer
Magee at the corner was on most cordial and
paternal terms with him.
“Kape to your bate, Rogue Robin. I've
got me eye on ye,” was the cheery remin-
der.
But roar, fight, and shout as the Rogue
could and did in all emergencies, he never
cried. Therefore as he peered out of his hid-
ing-place to-day with the last page of the
demolished magazine in his hand, and saw
mamma, whose unfailing smile made the sun-
shine of the home, in tears by Dickie's side,
terror seized upon him. He scurried unseen
from the room and slid down the banisters
just in time to thump into sixteen-year-old
Fred as he came rushing in to lunch.
“Look out, there! What's the matter with
you, Rogue ?”
“ Dickie's dead," piped Rogue Robin
mournfully.
“What ?” gasped Fred, his rosy cheek pal-
ing.
“ Dickie's 'most dead,” repeated the Rogue,


12
A Flight
inserting a saving doubt. “And mamma's
a-praying and a-crying awful."
" Why--why he was up this morning,”
said Fred. “What has happened ?”
“I don't know," said Rogue Robin gravely.
“The doctor came and said he must have
mountain air, and I guess he can't get it.
And he won't eat baked apples or cream or
anything, and mamma is crying, and he must
be going to die. I say, Fred, do you think
they'll take me to the funeral ?”
“ Hush up that, you little scoundrel, or I'll
shake the life out of you !” said Fred fiercely.
“Where are Tess and Lou?”
“ Down in the dining-room. Fred, will
Dickie have a hearse with white ponies ? ”
“ You'll have a thrashing in about two
minutes if you don't let up that ghoul talk,"
said Fred, collaring his small brother wrath-
fully and swinging him into the dining-room,
where his pretty sisters, Tess and Lou, stood
in solemn conclave with Mam' Patsy; for the
doctor's fiat had thrilled through the family
like an electric shock, and Dickie-bird was
the darling of all.
“ Jes' wat I ben telling yo' mar all 'long,"
said Mam' Patsy, who, having " nussed ” all


A Fligh..
13
five young Lindsays, was high and infallible
authority. "I says pintedly, ‘Miss Nell, dat
ar chile is a peaking Dachally away. Folks
may talk as dey please, but I nebber seen a
boy wif a blue vein ober his nose rizzed yet."
“And has Dickie & blue vein over his
nose ? " asked Tess breathlessly.
“ Dat he has, chile, dat he has," said Mam'
Patsy, nodding ruefully, “and more'n dat, he
nebber tumbled out of bed in his life--jest lay
quiet and easy, even wif dat ar Rogue Robin
rolling plumb ober him. It's de wustest kind
ob luck when a chile won't fall out ob bed
nohow. I allus felt easy about Rogue Robin,
fer he turned ober his cradle three times, be-
sides tumbling out ob his ma's bed and break-
ing his collar-bone. You, Rogue, you”-
Mam' Patsy suddenly broke off in her remem-
brances“ Lord bless dat chile; if he ain't
eatin' ebbery bit of Dickie's apple !” and she
made a dive into the kitchen after the small
marauder, who was smilingly licking his
creamy lips after the last stolen spoonful.
“ You horrid little wretch !” said Lou in-
dignantly.
“ When your poor darling little brother is
dying up-stairs," said Tess tearfully.


14
A Flight.
“Oh, let up, girls !” growled Fred, feeling
that the clouds were getting altogether too
heavy for boyish endurance. “What's the
good of croaking like ravens ? Dickie isn't
dead by a long shot, and he isn't going to die
either. If the doctor says he wants mountain
air, why, he has got to have it."
“But how ?” asked the girls.
“Oh, well, somehow," answered Fred
vaguely. “When a thing has to be done, why,
then, you just have to go and do it.”
“We'll pray,” said blue-eyed Tess softly.
“Let us go 'round to the convent chapel, Lou,
this evening and pray. And maybe,”
added Tess, who had sweet, wise fancies all
her own, “St. Joseph will show us some way
to 'fly into Egypt,' as he did, and save our
little Dickie."
“He will have to show us a pocketful of
money as well,” said black-eyed Lou, with a
nod. And Fred's heart sank again as he
agreed with her.
Altogether it was a dreary luncheon, for a
shadow rested upon the little household that
seemed to chill their sunlit sky.
Far away indeed, as yet, but still above their
happy home, hovered that mighty, dark.


A Flight.
winged angel whom mortals know and fear as
Death.
“Mountain air !” thought Fred as, clap-
ping on his hat at last, he turned out again
into the hot, baking streets. “Gee whiz !
this feels like it.”
For the July sun was blazing down like
the midsummer tyrant that he was, and the
trees stood up like still, painted things against
the glaring blue of the sky. Not a twig or
leaf stirred; not a roving cloud dared show
itself; the fierce sun-king was ruling with
despotic sway. Even the great office-rooms
of Judson & Judson, where Fred earned a
little money by doing odd job work during
the summer vacation, felt still and breathless
to-day, and the clerks loosened their neckties
and mopped their brows as they bent over
rent-rolls and titles.
“You can tick off the ads. this evening,
Freddy,” said Mr. Chumleigh, motioning to
the typewriter. “ Dixon's got an incipient
sunstroke and gone home. Twenty new ad-
vertisements for the morning papers, so drive
ahead, my boy."
Fred took his place and began to tick at


A Flight
17
« Take the job-take care of Heatherton
Hall.".
“You ! ” exclaimed his neighbor. “ Look
here, you haven't been getting sunstruck too,
Freddy, have you ?”
“No," answered Fred, “nor moonstruck
either. But I've got a little brother at home
who is pretty sick, and the doctor says he
must have mountain air; and-and-well,
father isn't a rich man, you know, and can't
gite it to him. But if it's twenty dollars to
take care of the house"
“It's just that,” said Mr. Chumleigh. “I
only wish it were forty. Lay the advertise
ment over and see your father about it, my
boy, and if you want Heatherton Hall to-mor-
row, it's yours. Half the roof is off, I be-
lieve, and half the chimney's down. Ghosts,
wildcats, and moonshiners form the moun-
tain society, and it's twenty miles from a
railroad. Cut if you want mountain air'
you'll get the genuine, unadulterated, double-
X article, as freely as if you paid five dollars
a day at a fashionable hotel for it.”
“Does it cost much to get up there?”
asked Fred.
“Well, I don't know," answered Chum-


A Flight.
19
wagon slowly creaked up the mountain side.
Higher and higher and higher, until the tree-
tops were waving below, and the river could
be seen winding through the valley like a
thread of silver; and the trains puffing over
the trestles, twenty miles away, seemed swing-
ing in spider-webs over the rocky gorges be-
low; and still the wagon journeyed upward
with Mam' Patsy's boy, Black Ben, on the
driver's seat and Fred beside him, Rogue
Robin held firmly between his knees, and
Tess and Lou and mamma and Mam' Patsy
behind; while Dickie-bird, nestling in shawls
and rugs and robes and cushions, laughed
aloud in glee as the breeze tossed his golden
curls.
Mr. Lindsay was obliged to remain at his
business, so Fred commanded the little party
that was storming the heights in Love's
name.
“There it is, at last,” said Fred, pointing to
a great pine-shaded house rising grim and
gray against the setting sun.
“Oh, isn't it big ! " exclaimed Tess breath-
lessly.
“ And isn't it awfully lonesome !" cried
Lou.


A Flight.
“The front steps are gone," chirped Rogue
Robin delightedly.
“And de kitchen chimbly tumbled down,"
gasped Mam' Patsy. “De Lor' I Miss Nell,
what you and all dese chilluns gwine to do
in an old roost like dis ? "
“ Live and love," answered mamma as she
caught Dickie-bird in her arms and saw the
faint color the breeze had already kissed into
his cheeks.
“ Live and love, Mam' Patsy, live and
Love ! *


Heatherton Hall
girl walking out of the corner to meet her was
her own pretty self.
True, the porch steps were down and the
kitchen “chimbly" and most of the kitchen
roof; but the main house stood staunch and
firm as an old fortress; and when Black Ben
had made a cooking department in a big
storeroom, and the dust was blown from the
furniture, and the sunlight lit on the
diamond-paned windows, and little voices
were chirping on the staircase, and little feet
pattering through the ball, the old “ roost”
was a “nest” again, full of warm young life
and love.
Then there was a delightful old wilderness
of a garden that must once have been a very
aristocratic affair indeed; for it went tip-
toeing down the mountain-side in a succes-
sion of stone terraces, with late berries ripen-
ing on the hedges, and peach and plum trees
trained against the south walls, while a noisy
little brook that had once filled the fountain
leaped away in & foaming waterfall as if
laughing “You'll never catch me again”
to the poor little broken-nosed Cupid who
stood ruefully watching his empty urn.
Mam' Patsy did the marketing at the back


Heatherton Hall.
23
door, where grave-faced women in “slab”
sunbonnets, and bare-legged, solemn-eyed
children, brought milk, butter, eggs, chickens,
honey, and vegetables every day.
“A chicken for a dime, Mam' Patsy !” ex-
claimed Mrs. Lindsay, as she was conferring
with her faithful factotum. “You must be
mistaken."
“De Lor', Miss Nell, dey'd gib 'em fur a
nickel ef I jewed 'em down," chuckled Mam'
Patsy. “What 'count's chickens up hyah ?
What good is dimes up hyah ? Got no
churches or s'cieties or nuffin. Nebber hab
eben camp-meetings," said Mam' Patsy scorn-
fully.
“ Cal Jones don't know who Our Lord is,"
piped Rogue Robin, who was perched on the
window-sill, nibbling a corncake.
« Oh, Robbie !” said his shocked mother.
“He don't,” repeated Robbie. “He said I
was talking about the man that kept the store
at Mill Creek.”
“I dun tell you bout dese hyah po' white
trash,” said Mam' Patsy. “ Jes' nachally don't
know muffin. Didn't dat ar pumpkin-face
gal, Maria Jane, dat come up hyah 'lowing
she knowed how to wash, raw-starch all my


24
Heatherton Hall
sheets and pillow-cases till dey could 'most
stan' alone ?"
“And she chewed tobacco," chirped Rogue
Robin delightedly. “She gave me a piece to
try.”
“ Jes' let me ketch you a-trying it," said
Mam' Patsy, turning fiercely on her pet nurs-
ling, who being at once the pride and torment
of her life came in for an extra share of atten-
tion. “Let me ketch you at any of dat fool-
ing for you in dis fire dat will make you sing.
dat boy, Miss Nell,” continued Mam' Patsy,
as Rogue Robin made a somersault out of the
window and bounded away. “He's gwine to
place."
“We must watch him," said Mrs. Lindsay,
anxiously feeling that “Skyland” had its dis-
advantages. “He's too young to go round
here alone.”
“Watch him!” repeated Mam' Patsy
grimly. “Don't do to stop at watching
Rogue Robin ! Didn't I hab him tied to de
table-leg all yester mawring and de minnit
my back was turned de little rascal cut de


Heatherton Hall
rope wif de knife I left on de table, and
clipped de Lord knows whar. Ain't Black
Ben a-telling him all de time 'bout de wolves
and bears dat's waiting up in de woods to
eat him? Lor," chuckled Mam' Patsy, “ you
can't skeer dat boy nohow, you nebber could;
he jest nachally out breaking."
"He must be kept at home, around the
garden at least," said Mrs. Lindsay resolutely;
and for a day or two the Rogue, held sternly
within bounds, was a very household angel;
then he disappeared again, to be brought
home perched on Cal Jones's sturdy shoulder
& forlorn little figure dripping to the skin.
“Pulled him outen the river,” explained
the young mountain giant briefly.
“ Just went a-fishing, mamma," said the
small prodigal, mournfully displaying a spool
of thread and a bent pin; “'cause to-morrow is
Friday, and I caught 'em, too,” said Robbie
triumphantly. “ Caught 'em in my hand,"
and diving into his wet pocket he brought out
two tadpoles. “Ain't they nice, mamma ?
Dickie can have 'em for tea."
A faint smile flickered over Cal's face, that
usually looked as if carved of wood, so
changeless was every feature. They were not


Heatherton Hall.
27
« 'Twan't nuthing,” said Cal, “only you
bean't a-going to thrash him, be you?”
“Oh, no, no !” answered Mrs. Lindsay.
“I thought mebbe you mout,” said Cal, in
a relieved tone. “And he is so little and so
pretty and peart, I wouldn't like to hev him
hurt."
“ You need not fear,” said Robbie's mother,
smiling at the rude tenderness of the appeal.
“ And if you won't change your clothes you
must sit down by the fire and get dry, while
I make you a nice cup of hot coffee. I can-
not let Robbie's kind friend catch cold.”
Nothing loath, Cal took the chair given to
him, and stared around him in evident ad-
miration.
The improvised “kitchen” was rather a
cheery place with its big hearth full of blaz-
ing logs, Mam' Patsy's pots and pans shining
in the firelight, great loaves of bread baking
in the Dutch oven, Lou and Tess slicing ham
and gingerbread for lunch.
“You uns got it right nice up here," he
said slowly to Fred.
“Well, tolerable,” said the young head of
the house, who was swinging his legs from
the kitchen table. “ If there is a way of


Heatherton Hall.
“ The house is old enough, goodness knows,
to have a family skeleton in every closet.
And I guess the old Heathertons were a
pretty hard lot, weren't they ?”
Again the curious glint came into Cal's
dull eyes. “You ain't a-knowing of 'em ?”
he asked. “You ain't enny sort of kin ?"
“No, don't know anything about them, ex-
cept that there is a Colonel Hcatherton in
Paris who let us have the house."
“That's young Jim," said Cal, with a nod.
“There war two on 'em, young Jim and
young Joe; and old Jim, the Jedge, was their
dad. An' they had a split 'way back in war-
times, and old Jim he kicked out young Joe
neck and heels, fur wanting to jine the Rebs.
And he never come back.”
“Killed ?” asked Fred eagerly.
« Dunno," answered Cal stolidly. “Thar's
folks ez says he wuz, and thar's folks ez says
he wuzn't. An' thar's folks ez says after the
old Jedge cut him outen everything, his mind
turned an' he died a-calling young Joe back.
An' thar's folks ez says he will never rest till
he comes."
“So it is the old Judge who 'walks,” said
Fred dryly. “I am glad you told us, Cal; it


30
Heatherton Hall.
will be pleasanter, in case he visits us, to know
his name and address.”
“An' thar's folks ez says," continued Cal,
as if he had been a wooden clock wound up
for a certain time and had not quite run
down, “that thar's been a cuss on Heathera
ton ever since it's been in young Jim's hands.
Dad says thar's allus a cuss when ha’nts walk,
The old place won't sell, and won't rent, and
won't do nuthing but stan' here and dry-rot.”
“ Can't we lay the Judge, somehow ?”
asked Fred, whose eyes were twinkling with
fun at Cal's solemn narration. “Pity to have
a fine piece of property like this spoiled by
such an unpleasant tenant. Keep your eyes
open for a night or two, girls, and if you see
any shadowy old gentleman patrolling the
premises, inform him there is a live real-
estate man on the spot ready to negotiate a
quit claim at two per cent."
“Fred, Fred,” interrupted his mother, in
gentle reproof. “Death and the mystery be-
yond are no subjects for jest, my son.”
"And it's awful to think of living in a
house with a curse on it,” said Lon, who had
never found Heatherton Hall altogether to
her taste.


CHAPTER III.
JACK-O'-LANTERN.
“SUTHING'S got to be done,” said Man'
Patsy, as she surveyed her pet nursling swad-
dled in flannel and turpentine on the sitting-
room sofa. “Suthing's got to be done 'bout
that boy before he kills hißself for good and
stream had proved too much for the sturdy
little fisherman, and Rogue Robin was re-
covering from a three days' attack of croup.
Illness always reduced him to mournful sub
mission, and it seemed a captive angel that
lay in the sitting-room, where a log fire blazed
on the hearth, and mamma dosed, and Mam'
Patsy watched, and the little prodigal with
fever-flushed cheeks and starry eyes was an
“Don't you skeer about dat boy, chile,"
said Mam' Patsy reassuringly to tearful Tess.
“ He gwine to lib to eat de sheep dat grazes


34
Jack-o'-Lantern.
on your grave, and mine too. De Lord nebber
takes out breaking chillun like dat. I knows
Rogue Robin. He's lying dar steddying up
some new mischief now.”
“Mam'," said Rogue Robin, when they
were alone after one of these periods of sus-
picious quiet,“ did Cal Jones get the croup
too ?”
“S’pect he got wuss than croup," answered
Mam' Patsy grimly; "ain't seen him sence he
fotched you home. You orter to bress de
Lord you didn't get wuss too. I tell you
'bout fooling 'roun' dis hyah place, you
dunno what's a-gwine to ketch you. Didn't
Miss Tess read you outen dat pictoor-book
tu-day 'bout de boy dat climbed up er bean-
stalk to skyland, and come near being biled
for dinner when he got dar ? An' you's a heap
higher up hyah dan any bean-stalk could
fotch you, I kin tell you dat.”
“Do you think there are any giants up
here ?" asked Robbie breathlessly.
“ Dat dere is,” said Mam' Patsy, whose
knowledge of giants was necessarily very lim-
ited, but who caught an encouraging tremor
in Robbie's voice, “and de berry wust kind
too."


Jack-o'-Lantern.
“ Has—has anybody ever seen one, Mam'?”
asked her patient skeptically.
“ 'Deed dey has," replied Mam' Patsy, with
a nod, “and skeered enough dey is of him,
too. I hears de folks talking when dey comes
to de back door wif dere butter and eggs and
garden sass. Dey ain't letting dere boys go
skooting roun' dese skylands all ’lone. I
hears what dey talking 'bout under dem slab
sunbonnets,” added Mam' Patsy, with dark
significance.
“What do they say, Mam'?" asked Robbie,
who had risen from his sofa-cushions in awe-
struck interest.
“ All 'bout dis hyah Jack-o'-Lantern," con-
tinued Mam' Patsy, getting her story-book
names slightly mixed.
“Is that the giant's name ?” asked Robbie,
with wide-open eyes.
“Dat's his name, chile,” went on Mam'
Patsy, feeling she had gone too far to retreat
now," and a monstrous bad name it is. Dey
calls him Jack-o'-Lantern long ob de light he
kerries 'roun' ob nights a-hunting fur stray
chillun. I’se seen it a-glimmering up on de
rocks many a time from dat garret window ob
mine. Not dat he don't hunt in de daytime,


36
Jack-o'-Lantern.
too,” added Mam? Patsy hastily, “but he
hides hisself den in de bushes wif a big bag in
his hand and waits for 'em to come.”
“And has he a castle and a harp, and a 'hen
that lays golden eggs, like the story-book
says ? ” asked Robbie, who had never lost his
infantile faith in “Mammy's" knowledge and
wisdom.
“Got 'em all,” answered Mam' Patsy, feel-
ing it unwise to depart too far from story-
book lines. “Got ebberyting-hens and
geese and sheep and hogs and-ebberyting.
But he got dat mean, res'less sort ob mind, he
ain't satisfied nohow. Jes' keeps a-hongering
and a-hunting fur a boy to bile in his big
soup-pot, like de book Miss Tess was a-read-
ing to you says. He's a turrible fellow,
dis Jack-o'-Lantern, I kin tell you dat.
Skeered him dis time," chuckled Mam'
Patsy to herself as she saw the look in Rob-
bie's face. “Skeered him dis time-shuah."
And her success was even greater than she
dreamed, for twice that night the family were
roused by the fevered boy's shrieks, and
Rogue Robin was found wide-eyed and trem-
bling in fear of Jack-o'-lantern and his bag.
“Don't you tell him no better, Miss Nell,"


Jack-o'-Lantern.
“Won't he ever get sick or die ? " asked
Robbie, with a vague hope that a constant
diet of “small boy” would prove too much
for Jack's digestion.
“Never; at least not while that spring
lasts," answered Fred decidedly. “He's about
two or three hundred years old now and likely
to live two or three hundred more.”
Altogether the family coalition on Jack-o'-
Lantern proved a strategic success, and Rogue
Robin confined his wanderings to grove and
garden, where he and Dickie swung in the
pine-trees and scampered down the terraced
walks, while the mountain breeze tossed their
curls, and painted their cheeks, and made
their pulses throb with strength and health
and hardy young life again.
A rough, rollicking playmate indeed was
this mountain breeze-snatching their hats
and sending them flying into the treetops,
whisking off Mam' Patsy's snowy “wash”
from bleaching-ground and line, shouting
hoarsely over the rocks, and whistling down
the chimneys, and teasing the little brook
until, in a flurry of wrath, it fairly boiled
down the hill. Many were the moods and
antics of the mountain breeze. Sometimes it


Jack-o'-Lantern.
sang such sweet lullabies in the grove that
Dickie nodded off in the midst of his play,
and mamma would find him fast asleep on
the pine-needles, with the breeze softly fan-
ning his brow. Sometimes it would sulk far
up on the heights in the noontide stillness,
and then would burst forth in fierce fury, ter-
rible to hear and see. For the trees would
bend and shiver, and windows shake, and
doors rattle, and a thunder of falling rocks
and rending boughs would echo through the
woods, while the poor little brook would leap
away in a very foam of fright. And then like
a naughty child the breeze would begin to
sob penitently, and the sun would break out
through the black, frowning storm-clouds,
and a rainbow span the mountain, and Dickie,
running out to see it, would find his playmate
merrily shaking the rain-drops from the
pines as if nothing at all unpleasant had
occurred.
Then, too, besides the breeze, there was the
mountain mist with its vagaries. At first it
was rather a startling experience to awake in
the morning and find the world had alto-
gether disappeared and Heatherton Hall was
apparently adrift in the clouds without pilot


Jack-o'-Lantern.
or rudder. But after one or two alarms the
children got used to the tricks of the mist.
Tess in particular loved to stand at her high
dormer-window and watch the white cloud-
sea shimmer into pink and gold, while peak
and treetop and rock gradually rose out of
its depths, until, as if it had snatched a veil
from its face, the mountain was laughing in
the glory of the sunrise.
“It's lovely to see so far, isn't it ?” said
Tess one morning, as she looked across miles
and miles of waving greenery and saw the
white thread of smoke left by the far-off
train sweeping on its dizzy way.
“I don't know," answered Lou. “I think
I'd rather see just across the street. Of
course we had to come here for Dickie's sake,
and it has done him lots of good, but I'm dead
homesick sometimes, Tess."
“Homesick !” echoed Tess wonderingly.
“Why, isn't this home now, Lou ? "
“No, it isn't,” answered Lou decidedly.
« Thank Heaven, too, for I don't want any
such great barn with a dead Judge walking
around it for my home. And the girls are
having such lovely times in town. Cal Jones
brought me a long letter from Gracie Dort


Jack-o'-Lantern.
last night. It had been a week at Roxton.
Nobody knew who we were or what we were,
until Cal went down and Fred told him to
ask at the post-office if there were any letters
for Heatherton Hall. You know papa sends
his to the other office, and they let a boy bring
them up twice a week. But Gracie did not
know that.”
" And, oh, what did the letter say, Lou ? "
asked Tess eagerly.
“Oh! lots of things," sighed Lon.
“Father John has had a festival, and all the
girls went and wore their commencement
dresses, and had the loveliest sort of time.
And Janet is going to the seashore and has
lots of new clothes and is awfully stuck up.
And all our crowd met at Fan Wylie's the
other night and made caramels. And Gracie's
Aunt Mollie has gone to the convent.”
“Oh, has she?” interrupted Tess. “The
pretty one with golden hair, that was so full
of fun ? "
“Yes, that's the kind that always goes,"
said Lou. “I never saw a long-faced nun,
did you? If you keep on chirping about
everything as you do now, you'll land in a
convent yourself, miss, see if you don't,” con-


Jack-o'-Lantern.
cluded Lou with a nod of solemn warning.
“It doesn't stir your soul a bit to think of
our white swiss dresses folded away up-stairs
with never a chance to shake out a ruffle.”
“No, it doesn't,” said Tess, laughing.
“Nor of Fan Wylie's birthday party we are
going to miss," continued Lou; "and Gracie
says she is going to have the ice-cream in
moulds, and a black waiter. And here we are
with no stores, no company, no church-
nothing. We might as well be in a heathen
land at once.”
“That is true,” said Tess thoughtfully.
“ It seems as if we ought to do something,
Lou. Be sort of missionaries, you know."
“Missionaries ! ” said Lou, staring.
“Don't you remember when Sister Angela
read us about Father Brébeuf ?”
“Ugh, yes !” said Lou, with a shiver.
“Don't talk about it, Tess, it makes my flesh
creep. Oh, I'd never make a martyr, I know.
I'd break right down when it came to hot
irons and knives.”
“Well, you know Sister Angela said we
would never be called upon to suffer things
like that, but we all might be little mission-
aries in other ways. She said we had our


Jack-o'-Lantern
little brothers and sisters and servants to
teach by word and example. And don't you
remember, Lou, the copy she set on the
blackboard that day: ‘So let your light
shine before men that, seeing it, they may
glorify your Father who is in heaven'? And
here we are at heaven's door almost," and
T'ess looked up to the arching skies," and
heathens around us who scarcely know God's
holy name. Lou, it seems as if somehow we
ought to make our light shine here."
“We might have a Sunday-school,” sug-
gested Lou, evidently impressed by her
sister's sweet earnestness. “But I don't think
any one up here knows when Sunday comes.
If mamma did not gather us all for Mass-
prayers I would forget, myself.”
“We might call it singing-school,” said
Tessie; “ you have such a lovely voice, Lou.
I know these poor children never heard any-
thing like it. And I am sure mamma would
let me make some ginger cookies for them,
and then we could tell stories in the garden
afterwards—true stories, you know, about
Our Lord and His Blessed Mother. I think
if we make it very pleasant they will like to
come.”


CHAPTER IV.
LIGHT AND SHADOW.
“THERE,” said Tess as she filled up the
sixth plate of cookies and set them on the side
table, “I think that will be enough, Lou. We
want half a dozen more chairs; bring them
out of the dining-room, Fred, that's a dear
boy, while I run up-stairs for the music-book.
The old melodeon is a little squeaky, but
mamma says if we play softly it will sound
right well."
Very festal indeed looked the big parlor as
it stood prepared for the “ singing-school.”
The six windows were thrown open to the
sunshine, the queer Chinese vases were filled
with fresh flowers, the great chimney-place
was made into a very Christmas bower with
pine boughs, while the old Heatherton
portraits blinked down wonderingly from the
walls on the unaccustomed scene.
“When does this revival, or whatever it
may be termed, begin ?” asked Fred, seating


Light and Shadow.
himself astride a chair and helping himself
liberally to cookies.
“ Just as soon as the children come. And
oh, Fred, don't make fun, please.”
“Who is making fun ? " asked Fred. “I
am as solemn as the Judge himself. I tell you
the old gentleman is around, girls. I heard
him last night.”
“Where ? ” gasped Lou excitedly.
“Now, Fred, you know you are talking
nonsense,” said wiser Tess reproachfully.
“I think he was in the library," continued
Fred, his eyes twinkling. “ There was the
tap, tap, tap of a ghostly cane up and down
the floor, as if the old gentleman were trou-
bled in his mind and walking it off. Perhaps
he has heard that the moonshiners are back
on the Ridge.”
“What are the moonshiners ?” asked both
girls eagerly.
“Moonshiners, my innocents,” said Fred,
who, as the eldest of the family, was thor-
oughly imbued with a sense of his own su-
perior worldly knowledge-“moonshiners are
gentlemen who do business by moonlight.”
“What kind of business ? " asked Lou with
wide-open eyes.


Light and Shador.
« Various sorts," answered Fred evasively.
“And as they have a preference for doing it
in their own way and not according to Uncle
Sam's laws, he is down on them-or rather
up after them—whenever he hears they are at
work. Colonel Heatherton, who was sheriff,
routed them off the Ridge about six years
ago. Old Squire White told me about it
when I was over at his place yesterday. He
says they had a big fight up on the rocks, and
there were two men killed and about half a
dozen captured. The Squire says they are
back again, he understands, with a fierce old
outlaw at their head, who swears he will hold
that Ridge against Jim Heatherton until one
or the other of them drops dead. Amiable
sort of neighbors to have,” added Fred
grimly.
“Oh, let us go home right away !” said
Lou, her face blanching. “I am afraid to stay
here another night. The moonshiners may
come after us."
“No danger,” answered Fred coolly. “We
have done nothing to them. They may have
a grudge against the Colonel, but he is safe in
Paris, and we are not going to trouble them,
I am sure, if they moonshine the whole sum-


50
Light arul Shadow.
a sweet little birdlike soprano, that was usu-
ally almost lost in her sister's fuller notes.
But Lou had abandoned the missionary
field, so Tess must do her best alone.
Turning over the music to her favorite
“Fading, still fading,” she began her “ little
pipe,” as Fred teasingly called it.
But scarcely had she finished the first verse,
when a rich, deep tenor took up the strain.
Was it Cal singing ? Poor Cal with his clay-
colored face and dull eyes and wooden feat-
ures ? Cal who was pouring forth that word-
less melody, strong and sweet as an organ's
swell ? For a moment Tess was struck almost
dumb with surprise, then she took breath
again and sang as she had never sung before,
for that deep voice seemed to upbear hers as
the great ocean wave upbears its silvery crest.
“Fading, still fading,
The last beam is shining,
Ave Maria !
Day is declining;
Safety and innocence,
Fly with the light,
Temptation and danger
Walk forth in the night."
“Oh, Cal!” said Tess, whirling round


Light and Shadow.
63
to work. And he got ter school 'twixt whiles,
and larned lots-figooring and reading, and
I heern he did say he could write his name,
but I reckon that was jest brag. But he
larned so much, ennyhow, that he went off,
and Meg didn't get no more good outen him.
Dad says that's wot larning does makes
folks sassy and lazy and good fur nothing at
all.”
“And-and-do you mean that no one up
here can read or write or do anything ?” ex-
claimed Tess, almost dumb with pity and dis-
may. “Oh, Cal, this is dreadful ! Wouldn't
you like to learn ? Won't you let me teach
you, Cal ?”
“Kin you ?” he asked, staring at the
pretty little speaker in wonder.
“Why, of course I can !” she answered
gayly. .
"Real, rig'lar schoolmarm teaching ?” he
asked again, in a tone of doubt.
“Regular schoolmarm," affirmed Tess, with
a decided nod.“ Just try me. Come to-mor-
row and we will begin.”.
“You bet I will !” said Cal, and the dull
glow that kindled his face spoke louder than
words of his delight at the chance. “I ain't


Light and Shadow.
skeering, not if ole Meg screeches her spells
after me every day. I'll come if dad thrashes
me fur it.”
And thereafter Cal did come “rigʻlar."
What social or domestic persecution it
brought upon him he never told, though
more than once a black eye or a bruised head
showed that the path of knowledge had its
perils for him.
Mrs. Lindsay, who could never forget the
mother debt she owed the rough young
mountaineer, made no objection to Tess's
scholar, and every afternoon the two could
be seen seated on the garden terrace, Cal pled.
ding laboriously through the mysteries of
Robbie's primer, under his young teacher's
earnest guidance.
It was slow work. Cal, who knew the leaf
of every mountain tree, the song of every
mountain bird, found the queer signs that
stand for human thought and human speech
altogether bewildering, while Tess, who had
read ever since she could remember, could not
understand the blank stare with which her
pupil, after all her efforts, confronted the
printed page. “Ba, be, bi, bo, bu ” were
after a while triumphantly mastered; then


Light and Shadow.
came abstrasities for which Tess was not pre-
pared.
“Now, b-o-y. What does that spell, Cal ?"
asked the little teacher encouragingly.
“B-o, bo,” answered Cal confidently, sur.
veying the familiar combination.
“Oh, no, Cal. B-o-y? " asked Tess again.
“You've been a-telling me b-o were bo. I
wuz saying it all last night so I wouldn't fur-
get,” said Cal, with a touch of reproach in his
tone.
“But this is b-o-y," said Tess. “Put a y
to it, Cal. Don't you see ? just a y."
“B-o, bo,” spelled Cal again. “Wy—bom
wy. It don't appear to hitch right.”
And Tess would make another effort to ex-
plain the mysteries of pronunciation, and Cal
would stare at hja “b-o, bo," more hopelessly
than before.
But if letters did not “hitch right,” the
little teacher's stories were complete successes.
After the daily struggle with refractory
sounds and syllables Cal would fling himself
comfortably down upon the grassy terrace at
Tess's feet, and then, while the birds sang
overhead and the little stream rippled and
foamed merrily beside them, lessons were


66
Light and Shadow.
given that reached far deeper than the
primer's.
For the first time Cal learned of Our
Father in heaven, His care and His love; of
the little Babe of Bethlehem; of the gentle
Boy of Nazareth; the divine Master who
walked the hills and waves of Galilee.
Tess had brought her hard-won Christian
Doctrine prize with her a beautiful Bible
History profusely illustratedand " pictoors”
that Cal could understand verified her words.
And as the boy looked and listened, his dull
eyes kindled and the heavy wooden features
seemed to break into softer lines. The Light
was dawning for Cal-slowly indeed, but
surely-as the heavy August mist that veiled
the mountain flushed faintly under Tess's
window with the rosy glow of the unseen sun.


CHAPTER V.
A FRIENDLY GHOST.
THE mountain was in its midsummer
bloom. Tangles of flowering vines hid the
frown of the cliffs, the gray, jagged rocks
were feathered with hardy blossoms, and
high up in the trees the trumpet-flowers
blazed in crimson and gold.
"Oh, I must have some of them !” said
Lou, who was making an herbarium that had
relieved the ennui of her mountain exile won-
derfully. Gentle Sister Angela had suggested
to her scattered pupils this method of im-
proving their summer holiday. Each little
classmate was to make a collection of the
flowers, ferns, or seaweed within her reach,
and the specimens were to be bound hand-
somely for exhibition in the convent museum.
“I must have & spray of those lovely
trumpet-flowers before a wind scatters them,"
said the enthusiastic little botanist. “Como,


38
A Friendly Ghost.
Rogue Robin, let us go up the mountain-path
and get some of those pretty red flowers.”
“You'd better not,” said Rogue Robin,
gravely shaking his curly head. “They are
Jack-o'-Lantern's flowers. Mam' says so."
“Oh, pshaw ! I am not afraid of Jack-o'-
Lantern. Come on," answered Lou.
“ Doesn't he catch girls ? " asked Rogue.
“Never," replied his sister positively.
“And he won't catch you either while I am
with you. So come along, and climb the tree
for me. I am afraid the flowers are too high
for me to reach.” And nothing loath, the
small prodigal, who had grown rather weary
of the narrow bounds enforced by the dreaded
Jack, put his chubby hand in his sister's, and
they began to ascend the mountain path.
“Wouldn't you be afraid if you saw Jack-
oʻ-Lantern, Lou ?” he asked, evidently pon-
dering still on the perplexing question.
“Not a bit,” was his sister's reply.
“What—what would you say to him ?”
continued the questioner breathlessly.
“I'd say, Good-evening, Mr. Jack. I've
come to get some of your pretty flowers," "
answered Lou gayly.
There was another pause. Rogue Robin


A Friendly Ghost.
seemed striving to reconcile this feminine
recklessness with his previous estimate of his
sister's character.
“You were awfully scared when that cater-
pillar got on your neck yesterday,” he said.
“Ugh! yes. I nearly fainted,” acknowl.
edged Lou.
“And you jump on the table and scream
whenever a mouse runs out of his hole,” con-
tinued Robbie.
“Of course I do. Who wouldn't ?” queried
his sister.
“Jack-o'-Lantern is a heap worse than
mice or caterpillars," said Rogue Robin.
“Black Ben says so. Black Ben says if he
were to see him he guessed he'd be so scared
he would turn white."
“Then I'd keep out of his way as long as I
could, for if I could not face him courageously I
certainly should not want to die of plain fright.”
And so encouraging was Lou's cheerfulness
that Rogue Robin began to look about him
less fearfully, and soon the charms of the
mountain almost dispelled the terrors of the
mysterious Jack. For not only were there
flowers galore on every side, but the great
knotted vines swinging from tree to tree were


A Friendly Ghost.
“Shake hands, then, and be sure that I am
solid flesh and blood," said Father Xavier as
he extended his hand first to one and then
to another of the family group.
“Ah, my children, you need not fear the
dead. They are in God's keeping and subject
in all things to His holy will. Though, as we
older people know, dear madam, all of us are
ghosts in a way—the ghosts of our dead selves.
I feel very much like such a ghost to-night.
Is it possible that I find Catholics in posses-
sion of Heatherton Hall ?”
“ Only temporarily, father," answered Mrs.
Lindsay. “We are spending the summer
here for the benefit of our little one's health.
And we must claim you as our guest for to-
night, at least, for it is late and you must be
far from home.”
“Home ? " echoed Father Xavier, with a
sad smile. “That word has no earthly mean-
ing for the missionary, my child. But if you
will kindly give me and my good horse, who
stands in the road without, shelter for the
night I will be grateful, as I am fully twenty
miles from my headquartersFather Stone's,
at Pinesville. I returned about a month ago,
after long years of service abroad, and was


A Friendly Ghost.
“ But so was the little maid Jeanne who led
the armies of France, my child. So was the
little Bernadette, whose voice gave the world
Lourdes with all its holy beauties and won-
and thousands of others whose names the
Church honors. And so was She, the purest,
the holiest of all, whose praises I heard you
singing to-night. Only a girl! Ah, my
child, girls have done much in this world of
ours. If they knew the power of their gen-
tleness they could do more, far more.”
“Not up here, father," said Fred, the in-
corrigible; “ Tess did all she could. Half a
peck of ginger-cakes and a cracked melodeon
were held forth as attractions, but the
heathen of these mountains look darkly upon
us, and evidently suspected a trap."
“And yet I understand that some of the
lawless characters up in the heights are by
birth and doubtless baptism Catholics,” said
Father Xavier. “It was this information
that led me through this part of the moun-
'tain region on a tour of investigation. I
thought if we could establish a station some-
where in the locality these outlaws might be
attracted, and perhaps some spark of faith


68
A Friendly Ghost.
manded, the children gathered around Father
Xavier's chair and listened with breathless
interest to his stories of life in those far-off
Pacific isles where for twenty years his lot
had been cast. Stories as wonderful and
beautiful as any they had ever read in books:
of wanderings in strange tropical forests, and
hair-breadth escapes from savage captors;
daring journeys through hostile lands; hiding
amid rocks and swamps; Masses said in ocean
caverns, and sweet miracles of grace wrought
in breasts that seemed scarcely human in
their ferocity, until God touched them, and
these barbarians became submissive as little
children to His word and will.
And when Father Xavier told of the first-
communion day of his dark-skinned flock,
when the little bark chapel was carpeted with
woven blossoms, and the two rival chiefs
whose fierce warfare had decimated the little
island knelt hand in hand and vowed peace
and good-will before their new-found God,
Tess could restrain her enthusiasm no
longer.
“Oh, father,” she said with flushed cheeks
and sparkling eyes, “why couldn't we do
something like that up here? We could have


A Friendly Ghost.
Mass right in this house. It would be so
lovely; and even if no one else came".
“Our Lord would find one loving little
heart, I am sure," concluded Father Xavier,
his eyes resting on the pretty, eager face.
“If your good mother wishes it, I do not
know anything that would give me greater
happiness than to say Mass in this house."
“We would all be delighted, father," said
Mrs. Lindsay, “but I fear it would be impos-
sible to obtain what is necessary in a wilder-
ness like this.”
“Leave that to an old missionary,” said
Father Xavier, smiling. “I will make all ar-
rangements; and if we cannot bring the
sheep from the wilderness, at least there will
be the ' ninety-nine in the fold.'”
And so it was settled. And when, his
pleasant visit over, Father Xavier bade them
good-by next morning, he told them to ex-
pect him back in a week or ten days at most.
“Pretty clever sort of ghost that you raised
last night, Lou,” said Fred as they all stood
on the broken porch and watched their guest
ride away through the pines. “ Though, by
George! when you look at him hard there is a
likeness to the family spook. When he stood


70
A Friendly Ghost.
under the portrait in the hall this morning
giving us his blessing, you could almost have
fancied the old Judge had put on a Roman
collar and stepped down from his frame."
“I don't see a bit of likeness," said Tess
indignantly. “Father Xavier looks like a
saint." And every one agreed with her.


CHAPTER VI.
A TRIP TO ROXTON..
“ OFF for Roxton!” shouted Fred through
the broad ball. “Mother, Tess, Lou, any
more orders ? Speak now, or for the next
two weeks hold your peace.”
For Squire White's big wagon, that twice
a month lumbered across the mountain side,
and with rustic courtesy rolled three miles
out of its way to pass Heatherton Hall, was
at the gate with Lem White in the driver's
seat; while wicker crates of quacking and
clucking poultry, kegs of butter, jars of
honey, barrels of early apples, boxes of
peaches and melons were heaped promiscu-
ously behind him. The White farm was far
down the west mountain side, its fertile fields
stretching low into the river valley; but the
Squire's boats came to Roxton wharves, and
the Roxton store was the trading-place of all


72
A Trip to Roxton.
the mountains, hence the semi-monthly con-
nections between farm and town. A fat,
ruddy, jolly old farmer was Squire White,
whose keen, twinkling eyes, it was whispered,
had blinked good-humoredly at many things
it behooves a justice of the peace to investi-
gate. But “taming the mountain” the
Squire felt, required a stronger hand than his,
so he made the best of things, and let his wild
neighbors “ gang their ain gait” untroubled.
Two of his boys were making their own
way in the world; the third, Lem, a hardy,
long-limbed fellow of sixteen, was still at
home, his father's right-hand map in every-
thing.
Fred, who had found weeks of fishing and
lounging about Heatherton rather tiresome,
had struck up a long-distance friendship with
Lem; and despite the five miles between the
places tramped frequently down to White's,
where Lem, though too busy about farm and
stables to be much of a boon companion, al-
ways welcomed the bright city youth cor-
dially.
The fortnightly trip to Roxton was there-
fore a gala day to both; for Lem, attired in
store clothes, with a trusted son's control over


174
A Trip to Roxton.
mother dear, and don't worry if I am a little
late, for Lem says we may have to wait for.
the Squire's boat to come in, with his new
cutting machine.”
And kissing his mother and sisters, Fred
sprang to the seat beside Lem, and the big
wagon lumbered slowly away.
The summer was nearly gone; already there
was a chilly touch in the evening air that
made great log fires snapping on the hearth
pleasant to look upon; the trees had begun to
trick themselves out in autumn finery of
crimson and gold; while high upon the rock
the sumach flaunted its red leaves and berries
like a conquering flag.
" It's my last trip, I guess, with you, Lem,
old fellow," said Fred. “We leave the first of
September.”
“Sorry to hear it,” answered Lem. “ I'll
miss you lots. But I reckon you'll be glad
enough to get back to town. It's slow up here
for you."
“Well, yes," answered Fred frankly.
“Still I've had a first-rate time in a quiet
way.”
“We ain't so quiet up here always,” said
Lem, iecking his horses into a trot as they


A Trip to Roston
75
reached a level stretch, “ you've been in luck.
Father says you could have knocked him down
with a feather when he heard you all were
at Heatherton Hall. He said there was no
use in making you feel uncomfortable, so we
didn't say anything about it, but now that
all has been quiet and you are going away so
soon, I don't mind telling you that there's
not a family within fifty miles would have
been paid to stay there a week. It's a bad
thing to be in with the Heathertons, anyway,
up here. The folks up on the Ridge are dead
set against them; and to say nothing of the
men, who are bad enough, that old hag, Meg
Watkins, has sworn vengeance on all the
Heatherton kith and kin, and would as lief
put a match to the house as not. And they are
all so stupid they can't understand you folks
coming up to a battered uld place like this,
unless Squire Heatherton had something to
do with it. You've taken big risks without
knowing it," continued Lem, “but luckily it
has turned out all right. Mother says babies
always bring luck, 80 perhaps your little kids
kept the boys quiet. There will be trouble
before long, I am afraid, for I heard a lot of
anuggled liquor had been captured down the


76
A Trip to Roxton.
canal, and the officers are on its track. But
you will be off before the row comes."
“Yes," said Fred, a trifle regretfully.
“ Though if it were not for mother and the
rest of them, I'd like to be here when the row
comes and see the fun."
“Fun !” echoed Lem grimly. “If that's
the sort of fun you like, just try climbing up
those rocks after nightfall," and he nodded
towards the fir-clad peaks around which the
road curved. “You would find all the fun
yon wanted. They are guarded like a fortress
after sundown.”
“Is that so ? " asked Fred. “ Gee! I'd like
to try it, but father's orders were not to leave
mother and the girls unprotected after dark,
80 I've kept to the house."
“It was well you did,” said level-headed
Lem. “The boys on the Ridge are not to be
fooled with, I tell you, especially by any one
hailing from Heatherton Hall. If my father
did not keep his eyes and mouth wisely shut
we would not have a barn or a hayrick stand-
ing. As it is, we mind our own business and
let the folks on the Ridge mind theirs.” And
then, as the big horses cautiously made their
way down the mountain road. Lem, who sel-


A Trip to Roxton.
dom had time to talk at home, told more
stories of the “moonshiners ”_those daring
outlaws who carried on their illicit liquor busi-
ness in the rocks and caves of the mountains,
in defiance of the government and its officers.
Fred was shown the great barricade of cliff
far up the wooded heights, where the two
Watkins boys had been killed six years ago,
when a band of excise officers, headed by the
sheriff, Colonel Heatherton, had stormed the
mountain, and, firing the brushwood, had
fairly smoked the“ moonshiners” out of their
lairs.
“Looks as if there had been a hoodoo on
Colonel Heatherton all his life," said Lem,
who had not lived in the mountain air so long
without gathering some of its mists and
vapors. “ The old folks up here say it's be-
cause he turned against his twin brother. It's
the worst sort of luck for twins to fall out,
and father says that Jim and Joe Heatherton
were like two halves of an acorn when they
were little chaps; you never saw one without
the other, and they used to steep rolled tight
in each other's arms all night long. Then
came the row, and “hottest love makes cold-
est hate, as father says."


A Trip to Roston.
79
he turned his wagon towards the “store”
that provided all public needs from the cradle
to the coffin. And business with Lem was
an affair of hours, not minutes.
Dimes were of serious consideration in the
mountain region, quarters were regarded as
extravagant expenditure, dollars meant either
drink or delirium, perhaps both; for he who
spent dollars at a country store must be reck-
less indeed. Everything went by trade; 80
while Lem was laboriously adjusting the re-
spective values of chickens and coffee, butter
and flour, honey and soap, Fred had made his
purchases on a cash basis that fairly para-
lyzed the staring boy behind the counter, and
strolled out to look around.
There was not much to see: only the canal
taking its sluggish way through the hills, and
the one rough street of Roxton coming
sleepily down the mountain side by the black-
smith's shop, and the wheelwright's, the little
meeting-house, and district school. The
latter stood somewhat aside from the road,
as became its scholastic dignity, and was sur-
rounded by a small, bare-trodden waste, shel-
tered by & few scraggy pines, which was
known as a playground, and which served
gulled out tot much to such the h


80
A Trip to Roxton.
usually as a gathering-place for all the idle
and vagrant boys of the village. About a
dozen of them were there assembled this
morning, tussling, pitching pennies, and
looking for mischief generally.
It came as it always does on such occasions,
for as Fred stood gazing at the unattractive
scene, a chorus of shouts and jeers arose from
the young loafers, and an old woman shuffled
down the road.
She was about the most unpleasant looking
old woman that Fred had ever seen. Her
gaunt, bony form, bent almost double, was ar-
rayed in a man's coarse hunting-shirt and a
black flannel petticoat; her gray hair fell in
ragged wisps under a torn straw hat that was
tied under her chin by an old black veil; her
face was seamed and crinkled like the bark of
a tree; while the dark sunken eyes burned in
their sockets with the strange, fierce glow
that lights troubled minds to madness. She
had evidently come down to “trade," for the
wretched basket hanging on her arm was full
of herbs and roots and wild berries, valued
for their medicinal properties by the simple
country people, who have a wholesome dis-
trust of doctors' stuff, but poison themselves


A Trip to Roxton.
81
cheerfully at the bidding of some“ wise old
woman " like this.
“Meg, Meg !” shouted the young ruffians.
“Old Mountain Meg has come a-trading. The
boys up there couldn't stand her any longer;
they've druv her down. Old Wildcat Meg ! "
She turned upon them with a snarl that
showed her yellow, broken teeth, and shook
the stick she held savagely.
It was the signal for a fresh outburst of
derision.
“Where did you get that air bonnet,
Meg?”
“ Did Bud send it ter yer ?”
“She's wearing crape for her boys yet,
don't yer see? What's the news from Jim
Heatherton ?”
With a shriek like a maddened thing, the
old woman turned on her tormentors, strik-
ing at them furiously. But the stick was
snatched from her trembling hand by one,
another caught the basket from her arm,
while a third sent a shower of small pebbles
flying around her ears.
“Go back !” they all shouted, pressing
around her. “We don't want old Meg Wild-
fire's witch-work down here. Run her back


Old Mog.
side. “I'U bet on the light-weight chap every
time.” For it was the old tattle, brain
against brawn. Fred's father had been a col-
lege athlete in his time, and he had taught his
boy the manly “art of self-defence.” In less
than three minutes the great lumbering bully
was ignominiously down. Again and again
he scrambled to his feet and lunged furiously
at his slender opponent, only to be met with
scientific blow and parry that bewildered and
maddened him, until at last the shouts of the
fickle crowd, many of whom had secret
grudges against the village champion, pro-
claimed Fred's victory. “You're licked, Tom,
licked fair and square. Own up. Hooray for
the cit ! Hooray! hooray!”
“What did I tell ye, sonny ?” said the
grizzly old mountaineer, laying his hand on
Lem's shoulder. “That were 'bout ez pretty
a fight as I ever seen, jest 'bout as pretty,"
and the old fellow pressed up to Fred, who,
with his short brown curls falling damp about
his flushed face, was pulling on his coat, amid
the respectful comments of the thoroughly
subdued Roxton roughs.
“Where did you learn to fight, cit ? I say,
you know how to strike out. Hide your head,


88
Old Meg.
Tom; that ar mosquito spoiled your good
looks."
“Yes, and I'll be even with him fur it, see
if I ain't,” snarled Tom, as he limped away
amid the hoots and jeers of his quondam
friends.
“Shake hands,” said Lem's old country-
man, as he reached Fred's side. “You're a
man, that's wot you are, youngster, a man.”
“Aye, aye !” shrieked old Meg, who had
stood aside until now in dumb bewilderment
at having her wrongs thus championed.
“And I had two like him, two brave boys
that would not have seen their mother hurt-
two-two. They are buried up in the rocks,
hunted down by Jim Heatherton and his
bloodhoundehunted down like wolves to
their death-to their death.”
“Come, come," said the old mountaineer
with rough kindness, “ease up on that p'int,
Meg. Don't go yelling like a wildcat in the
ears of this fine young chap that hez just
fought for you like a man. I'll lay thar ain't
another youngster on the mountain that
would lift a finger for old Meg. What did ye
do it for anyhow ?
“I've got a mother," said Fred briefly,


Old Meg.
87
“ and I know how her heart would break for
her boys."
“Do ye ?” said old Meg, clutching his arm
with her skinny hand, “do ye know how
mother's hearts break, lad ? Ob, no, no; ye
don't, ye can't ! The she bear knows, and the
she wolf, for men kill their young, but not
you—for you're a man--you're a man. But
if you've got a mother may she keep you long,
keep you safe-safer than I could keep mine.
Ha, ha, ha!” and the poor old creature burst
into a wild, harsh laugh. “Hear old Meg
Watkins wishing good, old Meg that has had
only curses on her lips this many a day, old
Wildcat Meg wishing good to aught in the
shape of man-ha, ha, ha!”
“Come away, Fred,” said Lem, in deep dis-
gust; “get out of this before that old hag
stirs up another row. You must have wanted
a fight when you pitched in for Wildcat Meg.
Are you hurt ?”
“No, just a little blown," laughed Fred;
" that big blundering booby knows no more
about boxing than he does about Greek.”
“He knows enough to hit back on the sly
if he gets the chance," said Lem grimly.
“ You can't afford to get these fellows' ill-will


Old Meg.
while you stay at Heatherton Hall, I can tell
you that. It's black enough around there with
hate and spite. now. And I've got news for
you I don't like," continued Lem, drawing
Fred into the shed where the wagon was shel-
tered, that they might speak in safety.
“ Colonel Heatherton is back.”
“Where ?" asked Fred, startled.
“In America, and likely to be up here
shortly. Nick Williams says he sent a lot of
boxes and things up yesterday by Captain
Trent's boat, asking him to store them for a
few days. And here is a letter for you that
will perhaps explain matters."
Fred opened the letter, which bore the
familiar stamp of Judson & Judson, and read:
“My dear Fred:
“ Colonel Heatherton has returned from
abroad, and it seems there has been some mis-
apprehension in regard to your tenancy of his
place. He has been under the impression
that we simply put in a reliable watchman,
who would leave on call. When we repre-
sented the character of his tenants, and the
cause of your summer in the mountains, he
was very courteous and said he would not dis-
turb you during the present hot season (we
are having a regular August swelter, and


Old Mey.
has been hunted from half a dozen counties,
and Nick Williams says he has taken his last
stand here and swears he will hold it or die.
And as Colonel Heatherton is much the same
kind of stuff it's likely to be pretty hot up
here before long. I'll hate to see you go,
Fred, but I advise you to get out of Heather-
ton Hall as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, I guess they won't hurt us,” said
Fred lightly; “we have only two weeks more,
and we can't take the kids back to swelter in
town this August weather. And, hallo !
there comes your father's boat; we're in luck,
Lem, and won't have to wait. Gee whiz !
she is loaded up; and look at the barge be-
hind her.”
And both boys sprang from the shed and
stared in amazement at the sight that
brought all Roxton to the doors and windows.
For Squire White's “ Pocahontas” was slowly
coming up the canal, laden with unusual
freight of trunks, boxes, baskets, a pretty little
wicker phaeton, a pair of tiny Shetland ponies,
& parrot, shrieking angrily in its gayly painted
cage, a garden swing, and various juvenile be-
longings too numerous to mention; while be-
bind the lumbering old canal-boat floated &


92
Old Meg.
small excursion barge, gay with awnings and
cushions and pennants. A brisk, trim-look-
ing serving man was beginning to gather up
satchels and baskets, while a neat, bright-
eyed woman stood on the deck with a little
girl at her side.
A very fairy queen of a little girl, in soft,
fluffy white dress, a cloud of golden hair float-
ing from under her pretty flower-wreathed
hat, and a face like a snow-drop.
“Look, Elise; oh, look, look !” she said,
clapping her hands delightedly; " we are stop-
ping at last. Look! Oh, how high the
mountain is, Elise; it almost touches heaven;
are we going up there ?"
“ Truly, I fear so, mademoiselle," answered
Elise, with an anxious look at the towering
heights around her. “Misericorde ! but it is
terrible, this wild America.”
“ Terrible ! ” laughed the little girl. “Do
the big hills frighten you, Elise? They do
not frighten me. I love them, I love them !
Oh, I hope we are going to the very tip-top of
them all.”
“ Heaven forbid !” said Elise, in dismay.
“ How we are to climb such savage heights at
all, mademoiselle, I cannot see. It seems a


Old Meg.
wilderness. Jean, Jean, is it that we are to
land in this desolate spot ? Are you sure?”
“ This is the place," said the brisk Jean,
approaching, his arms full of packages.
“Monsieur said we would get a wagon that
would take us up to Heatherton Hall. This
would be easier for mademoiselle than the
rough twenty miles from the railroad. Will
mademoiselle wait here until I have arranged
for her journey, or go on shore at once ? "
“Oh, let us go ashore !” said little mad-
emoiselle. “I am tired of the old boat.
Come, Elise; see, it is not so wild; there are
no Indians such as you fear. Look, there is
a shop and some nice little white houses, and
truly, I believe, a church, Elise, even a
church, where you can say your prayers.”
“Ah, mademoiselle, nono,” said Elise
dolefully, “that is not a church like mine."
“And there are two boys," said the little
lady, in a whisper, “two real gentlemen boys,
Elise, in nice clothes. May I go speak to
them ? May I tell them I am little Alma
Heatherton, and I have come here to live al-
ways in my papa's beautiful mountain
home ?”


CHAPTER VIII.
LITTLE MISS HEATHERTON.
The little heiress of Heatherton came trip
ping along the wharf holding her nurse's
hand and smiling up into the dull faces and
lowering eyes bent upon her.
. There were mutterings around she did not
hear, sullen, angry glances she did not see.
Even Nick Williams, the Roxton storekeeper,
who had hitherto maintained diplomatic re-
lations with all parties, stood in his doorway,
staring in open-mouthed bewilderment at this
unexpected arrival.
“ Baby Alma” had been a diminutive little
atom in arms when her parents had left
Heatherton five years ago, and this dainty
little fairy princess with her ponies and her
parrot and her foreign attendants was dis-
tinctly startling to Roxton prejudice.
But little Miss Heatherton, love-sheltered
as she had been during her brief life, knew


Little Miss Heatherton.
95
nothing of fear or distrust. “Come on, Elise,
come on; let us climb the hills a little bit,
and”
“Oh, mademoiselle, no, no !” said Elise
anxiously; “this American sun is too terrible;
perhaps the young gentleman here can point
out to us an inn where we can wait for the
diligence until it comes."
The “ young gentleman,” Fred, stepped
forward.
“You will find no inn or diligence here, I
am afraid," he answered with a smile. “But
if you will take seats on the store-porch here
(Williams, get chairs or boxes for these
ladies), I will gladly do what I can for you;
I am from Heatherton Hall.”
"Ah, thanks to Heaven !” said Elise, with
a sigh, as she took the chair given her. “For
the moment I feared we were mistaken in our
way. Jean, Jean, it is all right, it is all
right," she called to the brisk French
“ garçon.” “This young gentleman is from
Heatherton Hall.”
“What is your name ?” asked little Miss
Heatherton, who had perched herself com-
fortably on a soap-box, and was evidently dis-
posed to be sociable.


Little Miss Heatherton.
“Oh, won't they ?” said the little lady
sorrowfully. “I wish they would. Can't
they stay for a while and play with me? Oh,
Elise, do you hear ? this nice Fred has a
crowd of little brothers and sisters at my
house taking care of it. When my papa
comes to-morrow I will beg him to ask
the little girls and boys to stay. He could
not come with us when we left yesterday, as
he expected, and the town was so hot I was
getting weak, so he sent me in the boat with
Elise and Jean. And it was very nice on the
water, but I got tired and I am glad to get
to land again." And the little lady hopped
down from her perch and began investigating
her surroundings.
Crouched down behind a corner of the
porch was old Meg, who had packed up the
scant store of tea and tobacco for which she
had traded her simples, and was munching
her midday meal, a stale corncake and piece
of cheese, when Alma's soft eyes fell upon the
wretched picture. “Poor old woman," she
said pitifully. “Elise, there is some chicken
in the basket still and some sandwiches; may
I take them to the old woman there?”
« Certainly, if you wish, mademoiselle.


Little Miss Heatherton.
And old Meg, lifting her fierce, bleared
eyes, saw the little golden-haired figure stand-
ing before her holding a dainty folded napkin.
“Poor old woman,” said Alma softly. “I
have brought you some of my nice lunch.
Throw that old bread away and take this.”
And she dropped the napkin on the old
woman's lap.
“Who are you ?” gasped old Meg, rousing
from a semi-doze, and staring after the child,
who had fitted away, attracted by the great
wagon rolling up to the store-door.
“Don't you know who 'tis ? ” asked the
surly voice of the old mountaineer, who stood
near by. “It's Jim Heatherton's kid, that
he hez just sent up by the boat.”
“ His child-his?” With a fierce impre
cation the old woman flung the napkin from
her, while her burning eyes turned towards
the little white figure on the porch with a
look of baleful hate. “ His child ? and she
dares come nigh to me to me ?”
“What has the child done but give ye food,
ye old spitfire ?” said the other bluntly.
“ Heatherton or not, she's as purty a little
creetur as I ever seen. Have ye forgotten
that ye once had little kids yourself ?”
13473B


100
Little Miss Heatherton.
“Ay, I had—I had,” mumbled old Meg,
while something like a deep sob rose in her
throat. “I ain't-ain't—a-feeling right.
Something's a-hurting me here," an she
clutched at her skinny breast. “I wish the
boy hedn't a-fought fur me; I wish the kid
hedn't come nigh to me with her vittles
I ain't-ain't-feeling right-here” And
with another passionate blow upon her soft-
ening heart the old woman rose and hobbled
away.
Meanwhile, with much excited broken
English, Jean was loading up Nick Williams's
big white-topped wagon that had conveyed
the Lindsays to Heatherton Hall. Trunks,
boxes, bandboxes, bird-cages, garden swings
and garden chairs, hampers of wine and
groceries, a doll's carriage and doll's house,
were piled in until only room was left for
Nick Williams's boy, Sam, and Jean to swing
their legs from the driver's seat.
“Where are you going to put your folks ?”
asked the storekeeper, who was looking on.
“In that basket-wagon ?”
“Non, non,” said Jean," that must remain
until to-morrow at the shop, for the wheels to
be arranged. We must have another voiture.


Little Miss Heatherton
101
Monsieur said that we would without doubt
find here carriages and wagons strong and
large to our command.”
“Dunno 'bout the command,” drawled
Nick, who felt that suspicious eyes were re-
garding his relations with the Heathertons,
and it behooved him not to be too friendly.
“I don't run no livery stable fur furrin
dooks; I've got that ar wagon fur hire, and I
ain't got nothing else. But Squire White's
team is down here, and he might give some of
yer folks a lift up the mountain.”
“Certainly,” said Lem, who, owing to the
previous charter of the “ Pocahontas," was
going home with very light freight.
“Shake down those grain-bags, Fred, and
make a seat for the ladies. We are going
straight up to Heatherton Hall.” And then
Jean covered the grain-bags with soft rugs
and silken cushions, and Elise, with a martyr-
like aspect, was assisted to a seat on a soap-
box, and little Miss Heatherton lifted by
Fred to her snuggery, and the caravan started
on its lumbering way up the mountain.
"Oh, how nice this is !” exclaimed Alma de-
lightedly; “ I never rode like this before, and
we are going higher and higher every mo-


103
Little Miss Heatherton.
ment. We are above the tree-tops now. Oh,
Elise, do you not find this charming ? Oh,
what happiness to play all day long on this
beautiful mountain !” And so little Miss
Heatherton chirped and chattered in high
glee until the long ride and delightful
novelty and soothing lullaby of the mountain
breeze proved too much for her, and nestling
back among her cushions she sank into rosy,
happy sleep.
Merry shouts of greeting wakened her, and
the bewildered little one found herself before
a great old house standing shadowy in the
gathering twilight. Fred lifted her rot on a
vine-wreathed porch; a crowd of wondering
children gathered around her, a sweet mother-
voice spoke words of welcome, and the little
heiress of Heatherton was at home again.
It was the merriest of all the merry even-
ings at the old Hall; never had the young
Lindsays found a more bewitching little play-
mate. Neither love nor luxury had been able
to spoil Alma's sunny nature and generous
little heart. Delicate health and early be-
reavement had made her young life a lonely
one and she was wild with delight at finding


Little Miss Heatherton.
103
herself one of a merry crowd. The children
chased each other up and down the broad
stairs, played hide-and-seek in the big dusky
parlors, danced to Fred's whistle over the
polished floors. Alma's treasures were brought
out and scattered around with lavish hand.
Bonbons, trinkets, toys, games, were given
right and left to her new friends.
"My dear, my dear, no,” said Mrs. Lindsay
gently, when Alma, on the morning after her
arrival came down from the rooms in the west
wing, which had been hurriedly prepared for
her accommodation, wit, a costly Parisian
dancing doll for Dickie-bird to demolish at
his leisure.
“ You must not give away your beautiful
toys."
“Won't the little boy like it ?” asked
Alma in disappointment. “You wind it up
like this and it whirls all around the room."
"I know, dear, it is very pretty, but you
must keep it yourself.”
"I don't want it,” said Alma eagerly. "I
don't want anything now but the trees and
the rocks and the brook-and-and poor
Henriette. I will keep her always, because
she is blind and we were 80 sad together in


104
Little Miss Heatherton.
Paris. But we shall be happy up here, oh, 80
happy."
And Mrs. Lindsay could only smile a tear-
ful, pitying, mother-smile for the little
motherless one, as a few moments afterwards
she saw “ Henriette” attired in the latest
French fashions, her blue-bandaged brows
carefully shaded by a miniature leghorn hat,
seated on the rim of the broken fountain,
where Rogue Robin and Alma were holding
an animated conversation. Hitherto girls of
his own age had been objects of no interest
to Rogue Robin; they had ways and methods
which he scorned, they “cried” and “ told
tales," and were generally distasteful to him.
But this golden-haired little princess who
had descended upon Heatherton was of an al-
together new pattern. A girl who had two
ponies, a poodle, and a parrot that talked
French was not an every-day arrival, but when
that same girl presented Rogue Robin with a
singing top, a pearl-handled penknife, and a
box of pink lozenges, his allegiance was won
forever, and then and there, on the broken-
rimmed fountain, was made a perilous
covenant which only the blind Henriette and
the storm-blackened Cupid heard.


Little Miss beatherton.
105
“I am so glad we've got a mountain,” said
Alma, looking rapturously over the great
green world stretching above and around
her. “I'd rather have a mountain than
anything else in the world.”
“Is the mountain all yours ?” asked Rogue
Robin, quite prepared to have this little
princess claim the whole Western continent
as her exclusive possession.
“All mine and my papa's," answered Alma
confidently. “The trees and the big rocks
and the great high places shining in the sun
-and-and-everything. Ah, Henriette,
cherie, continued the little girl, lapsing into
French, as she clasped the afflicted Henri-
ette's slender waist, “it is far better even
than the Tuileries if you could but see it-
pauvre amie. I speak French always to
Henriette,” explained Alma, “for English
she could never understand.”
Rogue Robin only stared; his mind was re-
volving other and more interesting problems.
“ If the mountain is your papa's, why don't
he drive away Jack-o'-Lantern ? I would if
I were a man, I know."
“Who is Jack-o'-Lantern ?” aaked Alma
curiously. -


CHAPTER IX.
TWO LITTLE TRUANTS.
ROUND the terrace, past the evergreen
hedge that skirted the south windows, pat-
tered the two little truants, Rogue Robin
leading the way, and eluding detection with
the skill of a small but practised scout, while
Alma, with Henriette clasped tight in her
arms followed more laboriously.
Through the pine groves where the little
feet made no sound, and the murmuring
boughs sighed no betrayal, over the brook
that was foaming furiously against the dam
the children had built the day before, the
pretty pair skipped noiselessly until the
mountain path opened before them, arched
with yellowing boughs, flooded with sunlight,
gay with nodding blossoms, a very ladder of
gold leading up, up, up, almost, it seemed, to
the sky.
There was the breath of ripening grapes in
108


110
Thoo Little Truants.
just a little higher up. Put your doll down
anti: we come back.”
. “Lie down, then, pauvrette," and Alma,
whose little arms began to ache with their
burden, deposited Henriette carefully on a
mossy stone. “ Take these pretty flowers to
keep until we return. It will not be
long, cherie; lie down on this soft moss and
sleep, my poor little blind one; sleep, sleep!”
And patting the recumbent Henriette, with
many French endearments Alma finally
covered her with a small embroidered hand-
kerchief, and left her to enjoy her siesta
while she scrambled after Rogue Robin, up a
stony ledge to the alluring tree that seemed
80 near. But alas ! among the small guide's
scouting proclivities, following a trail was not
included; Rogue Robin invariably“ got lost”
as soon as he turned a corner. Boldly as he
led the hunt after the elusive“ honey-bearer,"
every step only meshed the little wanderers
deeper in the mountain's labyrinthe. Poor
little Alma at last began to pant wearily.
“Oh, I don't want to look for honey-trees
any more, and Henriette will wake up and
ind herself alone. Let us go back to Henri-
ette." And somewhat dolefully, as older


Two Little Truants.
111
truants who wander after forbidden sweets,
the little travellers tried to retrace their steps
towards the deserted slumberer.
" It was this way we came,” said Rogue
Robin, turning hopelessly astray.
“It was under a big tree we left her," said
Alma, looking vaguely around the oaks that
encircled them.
“Come on; I see it ! ” said Rogue Robin,
plunging forward into deeper labyrinths of
gloom.
“Oh, that isn't the place at all,” piped
Alma. “Oh, we've lost her! we've lost Hen-
riette ! my poor Henriette ! oh, what will she
do when she finds herself alone on the great
mountain ?” And Alma lifted up her voice
and wailed aloud in despair.
“Don't,” said Rogue Robin desperately.
“Don't cry like that; we'll find her in a min-
ute--and-and-she won't mind being left;
she's only a doll, you know.”
“Ah, my Henriette, my poor blind Henri-
ette !” sobbed Alma, utterly deaf to this mas-
culine consolation, as she stumbled along
after her reckless little companion, higher
und farther into the woodland tangles.
and now a dark frown gathered on the


Two Little Trdants.
113
over its brow; and now came a fierce, sullen
mutter that rumbled and roared back from
the gorges and peaks until the whole moun-
tain seemed to shake like a great rousing lion
shaking his mane. Then, oh, then came a
fierce whistling rush, and the trees paled and
cowered and bent, as with a blaze of awful
light the great Father Wind burst forth from
his mountain-cloud lair.
“Oh, what is it! what is it !” shrieked
Alma in wild affright.
“ It's the storm ;” and Rogue Robin, little
soldier that he was, steadied his own quiver-
ing lip, and clasping his half-fainting little
companion, dragged her into the shelter of a
big rock. “Hold tight to me, Alma, hold
tight. I'll take care of you; we can't get
home just yet. Hold tight; don't be scared.
It's it's only a storm.”
A storm of a far different kind had been
gathering on the Ridge that day.
High up among the dwarf oaks and pines
and bare reaches of rock and rude barricades
of logs and brush that guarded every level
opening, a crowd of roughly clad, rough-
bearded men had been discussing in sullen,


116
Two Little Truants.
a tall, black-browed mountaineer leaning
against a tree.
Long Shaun lifted the dark eyes, deep-set
under his grizzled brows, to the speaker's
strange eyes; they were fierce and wild, and
yet with sad shadows deepening around
them that all their fiery flashing could not
lighten.
“Now you're talking, boys,” he said ap-
provingly; “now you're talking right. We
hould this Ridge, law or no law, and we do
our own wurk here in our own way, and ez
for Jim Heatherton if he or his comes next
or nigh uz, that 'count will be settled, mates."
And Long Shaun rose to his full gigantic
height, and lifting his knotted hand to
heaven, spoke an awful oath: “ That 'count is
going to be settled if I swing fur it.”
“Ye beant a-going to settle it now, Shaun,
air ye?” asked one of the “mates” with a
forced laugh, as Long Shaun clapped a ragged
felt hat on his head and turned down the
Ridge.
“None of yer bisness," growled Shaun
fiercely. “I'm goin' alone with Cormac
here," and he snapped his fingers to a gaunt,
long-limbed hound that bounded forward at


Two Little Truants.
117
his call. “He hez a tongue he can hold and
I want no more gab.”
“Best not meddle with the old man this
time of year," said Phil, as the man and
dog disappeared behind the rocks. “He is as
dangerous as a stuck wildcat in midsum-
mer. 'Twas then his wife and baby died, and
it comes back on him like the agoo. He's got
an old den somewhere, and they say he keeps
a lot of his wife's belongings there (she was a
pretty tidy bit of a thing in her day), but it
would be wuth your life ennymost to cross
the door. And when this here spell of grief
comes on him he tramps the woods all night
long. Ay, man, but he's a devil. Did ye see
that blaze in his eyes when we was talking ?
Shouldn't wonder if he meant to lay for Jim
Heatherton and hev it out with him man to
man to-night.”
Meantime the subject of these remarks,
with Cormac at his heels, was tramping fierce-
ly away over rock and brier, snapping twigs
and crushing the undergrowth that impeded
his steps, with the impatience of some tor-
tured thing. For more than an hour he kept
on his way, and then making a sudden turn
from a rocky ledge, he pressed an opening


Two Little Truants.
115
tear I can give ye,” he continued, with a
boarse, dry sob, “naither prayer nor tear,
Kety, for the fires of hate have burned me
eyes and me soul dhry. All I can do for ye,
avourneens, is to kape yer grave and the cross
above it green, for I don't forget ye, Katy,
ye nor my bit of blue-eyed Aily; divil that
I am, I don't forget.”
He picked up the few scattered leaves that
marted the velvety turf of the grave, felt that
the cross was steady under its veiling, bent
down and pressed a long passionate kiss upon
the mound, and then starting to his feet,
turned hurriedly away across the mountain
top, now darkening with the gathering storm.
On and on he strode, while the heights
grew blacker and the twitter of frightened
birds came from the trembling tree-tops, and
thunderous mutters shook the rocks; and
even brave Cormac, slinking along with ears
and tail down, seemed to cower from the
wrath to come.
But Long Shaun's deep eyes flashed, and
his great gaunt form thrilled in fierce, strange
sympathy with the warring elements.
“Ay, there's a storm coming, lad," he said
to his shivering companion; "there's a stom


Two Little Truants.
121
a doll's untimely end. He could see the little
quivering lip, the swimming blue eyes, even
now.
“Some of the childhre up here will be
scraching themselves into fits about that same
doll baby to-morrow,” he growled. “I'll take
it home wid me and save it from the storm.”
And he thrust Henriette, as he spoke, into his
huge pocket, whence her bandaged brows
and leghorn hat nodded cheerfully as he
strode along to his mountain den.


CHAPTER X
THROUGH THE STORY.
MEANWHILE, the two little wanderers
cowered under the shadow of the great rock,
nearly dazed with terror, while the storm
burst upon the mountain in all its wrath.
Clap after clap of thunder shook the heights
and was rolled back by answering echoes,
while the forked lightning leaped from peak
to peak, or blazed in awful sheets of flame
across the blackened sky, and great trees bent
and snapped and crashed in the teeth of the
wind.
“Papa, Papa," wailed Alma piteously.
“ Hold tight to me, Alma, hold tight !”
cheered Rogue Robin, bracing his chubby
form to meet the blast, while he clasped his
little companion in his sturdy arms. “Hold
tight, and let us say our prayers. O dear
Lord, please take care of us, specially Alma,
122


Through the Storm.
123
because she is a girl. Hail Mary, full of grace
-hold tight, Alma, hold tight !-0 Blessed
Mother, good little angel, don't, don't let us
blow away! Oh! oh! oh!” The prayer
died away into a terrified cry on the gallant
little knight's quivering lips as an awful
vision met his eye.
For striding on through crashing trees and
thunder roar and lightning flash, came a
huge, brawny form, with grizzled beard and
shaggy head and gun and bag--and-and the
luckless Henriette nodding in his pocket.
Jack-o'-Lantern at last ! the terrible, roving,
ravening robber Jack! Jack, who could not
even let a baby doll escape his clutch, without
catching it from mere force of habit! Rogue
Robin had faced storm and darkness and
lightning blaze like a hero, but the appear-
ance of the long-talked of, long-dreaded Jack,
was too much for this six-year-old soldier, and
his shrieks of terror pierced even the deafen-
ing tumult around him. Then came an awful
crash and blaze that seemed to split earth and
sky.
“Mother of Heaven !” shouted an awful
voice, " ye little fools of babies, what are ye
doing there ?” And Rogue Robin, struggling


12-2
Through the Storm.
manfully with arms and legs, was caught by
one mighty hand and half-fainting Alma with
the other, and “ Jack-o'-Lantern ” made a
dozen great strides forward amid splintering
trees and falling rocks and then plunged-
down-down-down with his shrieking cap-
tives, into the very depths of the earth.
And still shrieking and struggling desper-
ately, Rogue Robin found himself dropped
somewhere in a great stillness and blackness,
while “ Jack” scratched a match and lit his
lantern; the lantern, of course, which Rogue
Robin knew so well.
“Whisht, ye little ijit !” said “ Jack ”
fiercely. “It's lucky I got ye whin I did; the
two of yez ’ud ha' been kilt intirely in another
minute."
Then at last did Rogue Robin find breath
and speech.
“Oh, no, no,” he gasped, catching dire
threat in “ Jack's ” words," don't hurt Alma,
Mr. Jack, please don't hurt Alma; she's only
a girl, a poor little baby girl don't don't
kill Alma ! ”
“Kill her, ye blathering little fool; faith,
it's near kilt she seems already!” And he
bent down over the little white figure that


Through the Storm.
187
of this;" and "Jack," who had found cup and
spoon, pressed a few drops of liquor to his
little patient's lips. With a shudder the blue
eyes unclosed and Alma looked up at the
rough face bending over her. “Aisy now,
acushla, another sup; don't skeer, my purty
wan, don't skeer, ould Shaun wouldn't hurt
ye; ye're as safe as if yer own pappy had ye in
his arms."
Was it Jack who was talking ?--the child-
catching, boy-boiling, awful Jack ? Rogue
Robin stopped between two yells and held his
breath to hear.
“Shure it's a dark, quare place this is, I
know, but I had to bring ye in here out of the
storm. Listhen to that, now," as the crash
and roar of the tempest came in mufied
sounds from above. “It's kilt outright ye’d
have been, if ye were left ont there."
“Robbie, Robbie !” cried the little one in
frightened bewilderment, "oh, where is Rob-
bie ? "
“Here,” said "Jack," collaring Rogue Robin
and swinging him to the bed beside her,“ safe
and sound as ye are, though it's a wonder his
throat isn't split with the scraching; and look
at this," another soothing argument suddenly


Through the Storm.
131
unpack, it was small wonder that the flight
of the two little truants was unnoticed for
hours. So steadily had Rogue Robin been
kept in bounds for weeks by his terror of the
mythical Jack, that the family had ceased
to watch over the once reckless rover. It was
not until the mountain began to darken un-
der the gathering frown of the storm cloud
that the two wanderers were missed.
“Shut the windows and doors, mother,"
warned Fred, bursting excitedly into the
house. “ The biggest kind of a storm is com-
ing up-one of your regular mountain
snorters. It's black as night to the south;
Cal says he never saw anything like it, and
the hounds are crying and shivering. Close-
reef everything, or this old caboose will go."
“See to the windows, girls, quick !” said his
mother, who knew what a mountain storm
was, " and call in the children. Fred, Robbie,
Alma, Dickie, where are you, dears ? Come
right in !"
“Here is Dickie, he was with Cal and me
at the stable; we've made everything tight
there; but Robbie and Alma where are
they ?”
“Out in the garden," said Mrs. Lindsay,


Through the Storm.
133
“We've looked everywhere," said Tess and
Lou, “ cverywhere."
“Rogue Robin wouldn't go off the place,
I am sure," said Fred.
“Dunno 'bout dat,” said Mam' Patsy,
shaking her head; "he been talking heaps
'bout dat ar honey-tree up on de mountain."
“Up on the mountain ! ” gasped Mrs.
Lindsay, whitening to the lips. “Up on the
mountain in a storm like this? Oh, my Rob-
bie, my Robbie !”
"Mother, dear mother, don't don't look
like that,” pleaded Fred, putting his arm
around her; “ we'll find him if he is there.
I'll start right off.”
“Yer can't,” said Cal's stolid voice behind
him. “ You nor me, nor no other critter
could stand agin what's coming now.”
For curling and whitening the forest before
it, like the crest of a giant green billow, the
wind came down upon them, and they were
in the storm clouds. Earth and tree and rock
vanished in an awful lurid gloom. The roar
of a thousand batteries echoed around them;
lightning flashed and leaped and quivered on
every side; the house shook to its foundation
under the shrieking rush of the wind.


186
A Golden Sunset.
you'll find the angels have taken care of them,
and that they are all right.”
But his heart sank despite his cheery
words, for he knew that the angels sometimet
care for God's little ones in ways we cannot
see; bearing their sweet souls unspotted be-
yond life's clouds and storms into heaven's
light and love.
“ It will be a long hunt, I'm thinking,” said
Cal gloomily, as they pressed on over the ter-
race strewn with wreckage, through the garden,
where poor little Cupid had toppled over into
the fountain, and the stream was dashing an
angry torrent over the rocks and rubbish that
blocked the way. On and on, struggling as
best they could over fallen trees and boulders
and tangles of vine and splintered boughs.
Great pines and oaks had been uprooted, and
huge rocks torn from the mountain side
choked their path.
Fred's heart sank lower and lower as he
scrambled on after Cal, who led the way in
a grim silence that was more eloquent
than speech. Suddenly Cal's practised eye
caught sight of something tangled and
twisted round a brier at his feet, a sodden bit
of rag that Fred would have passed unnoticed.


A Golden Sunsot.
137
He picked it up and shook it out. It was a
wee bit of an embroidered handkerchief.
“There's letters on it,” said Cal, pointing
to the corner. “Can you make them out ? ”
“Alma Heatherton,” read Fred, while a
sick pain seemed to strike through his heart.
“ They must have been here.” And both
boys looked around them in chilling fear, to
which they could give no words. For just
here the storm seemed to have done its worst.
A great oak lay rent by a thunderbolt from
crown to root, while, loosened by the shock, a
very avalanche of rocks and earth had fallen
from above, forming a huge barrier in the
path.
“I guess thar beant much use in going any
further,” said Cal, with an odd choke in his
voice. “Ef they was here they must-be-
thar," and he nodded to the landslide before
them.
“Great heavens ! don't-don't say that,
Cal," said Fred huskily. “Let's let's see.”
And he began passionately to tear away the
débris.
“ You can't stir them rocks; it will take a
pick or a crowbar," said Cal. “We'll have to
go back yon and get some help and tools.


138
A Golden Sunset.
You see,” said Cal, whose eye had taken in
the situation slowly but surely, “thar ain't
nary house 'roun' 'bout here whar they could
been tuk in, and they couldn't ha' stood no-
how 'gin a storm like this yer. Then this
here slide ud have berried full-grown folks
much less'n two little critters like 'em.” The
speaker paused as Fred leaned against a
tree and sobbed outright. And then, we are
sorry to say, Cal swore an ugly mountain oath
that would have made poor little Tess nearly
faint. “It is tough,” he growled; “yer
needn't talk to me no more bouten angels. Ef
thar was any sech they'd a-been looking after
two poor little young uns a deal better'n
this.”
“ Cal, Cal! Oh, what can I tell mother?”
cried Fred, thinking of the look he had seen
on her face at parting.
“Don't tell her nuthing yet; we don't
know nuthing. Them angels your sister tells
me 'bout mout have been 'roun' a-watching
'em, though it don't look like it," said Cal,
his dawning faith lighting up again; "it
don't look like it, I must say. Best thing to
do is just to start Black Ben with his pick to
work here, and then you and me s'arch higher


140
A Golden Sunset.
“ Searching !” The dark eyes of Colonel
Heatherton flashed quick inquiry into Fred's
face, inquiry that his lips could not frame.
His face was deathly pale; only that, and the
rigid lines drawn about the mouth, told that
the strong man was bearing up under a mor-
tal blow.
“Don't–don't tell mother, sir," gasped
Fred, “but there's-been-a landslide where
We found—this."
A low groan burst from the father's lips
as Fred held out the little handkerchief.
"My little lamb," he murmured brokenly,
“my one little ewe lamb! O my God! why
did I ever turn my steps to this thrice
accursed spot-for me-for mine ?”
“ Fred, Fred,” called his mother's sweet,
anxious voice, and in a moment she too was
at the door with Lou and Tess beside her.
“Oh, you have heard, you have found some-
thing! Tell me quick, quick, my son!”
“Only-only Alma's little handkerchief,
mother dear.”
“Where, where ?” she cried; “ don't hide
anything from me, Fred-where ?”
“Under the landslide that has doubtless
crushed them," answered Colonel Heatherton,


A Golden Sunset.
141
pitiless in his own agony; and then he burst
forth in fierce, wicked words of rebellious de-
spair.
"O hush, hush!" said the Christian mother,
her soft eyes blazing as she fixed them upon
the speaker. “O my God, forgive him, and
help us to bear this blow! My little boy !
my little boy ! O Father in heaven, help me
to yield my darling into Thy tender hands
O Robbie, Robbie ! never to see him again !
never-never ! ”
“O mamma, mamma, yes, look, look !”
burst forth joyfully from the startled chil-
dren.
And for a moment all stood dumb with be-
wildered rapture, for the sunset rays had
riven the last tattered storm cloud, the west-
ern sky was all aglow, and down the steep
mountain side, now arched by a double rain-
bow, came a huge, brawny form, striding with
giant steps over rocks and trees and débris;
while perched on one shoulder was Alma with
the rescued Henriette tightly clasped in her
arms, and astride of the other was Rogue
Robin, his chubby hand clutching his bearer's
shaggy hair, and both were shouting and
laughing gleefully as their pretty heads


142
A Golden Sunset.
brushed the glittering rain-drops from the
trees in golden showers.
" Papa ! papa !” rang out Alma's sweet,
silvery treble, “there is my own dear papa."
“Mamma, Fred, Dickie ! ” shouted Rogue
Robin in the proud triumph of a conquered
terror. “Here is Jack-o'-Lantern bringing
us home, nice old Jack, good Jack !”
“Down wid yez,” said "Jack," as he reached
the gate and swung his riders gently to the
ground. “And mind, if I ever catch the two
of yez out in a storm like this agin, I'll ate
yez in airnest.”
And then as Alma sprang to her speech-
less father's arms, as Rogue Robin was caught
in rapture to his half-fainting mother's
breast, “ Jack-o'-Lantern” strode away under
the dripping boughs, his account with the
Heathertons“ settled” indeed forever.
And oh! what a blissful, bewildering time
followed! How the naughty little truants
were kissed and hugged, and cried and laughed
over, while the sunbeams twinkled through
the tearful trees, and the breeze whisked
away the last tatters of the storm cloud, and
the western sky shimmered into gold and
crimson and pink and violet, as if a hundred


A Golden Sunset.
145
knew the mountain and its history-every line.
“And—and-he ain't safe ter meddle with
pohow ever since. Dad don't skeer quick, and
he's skeered of Long Shaun. Must ha' been
a powerful angel that made him tote them
young uns back here safe, fur he's the wust
devil on all the Ridge, is Long Shaun; we
uns all know that."
"Oh, I can't believe it, I can't !” said Mrs.
Lindsay. “He may be bitter and broken-
hearted, but, oh, not bad not bad-he was
too tender to our little ones, Colonel Heather-
ton, for that."
“And he shall be paid for his service,
madam," said the Colonel," paid well. But I
have come back here to rule my own place,
wisely if I can, harshly if I must. If my
neighbors will not live in peace with me
there must be war, war to the end.” And
Mrs. Lindsay sighed as she gathered her little
flock around her, and hurried them into the
house, to the big log fire that Black Ben had
built to keep off the twilight chill.
This proud, stern man, even in his softest
hour, stood unbent and unyielding. Ah, the
work of the angels was not done, even yet!


CHAPTER XII.
« THE ONE EWE LAMB."
ROQUE ROBIN with his sturdy health, his
stout littie shoes, and his six weeks of moun-
tain training, stood his late adventure man-
fully and was soon sleeping rosily and com-
fortably in his downy nest, all fear of Jack-o'-
Lantern banished forever. But it was a very
nervous, feverish little Alma that Elise put
to bed that night, bemoaning as she did so
the tiny bruised feet, the little brier-torn
limbs.
“Ah, ciel ! never did I see anything like
this. Mademoiselle will be surely ill, delicate
as she has always been; she will be ill, I
know."
And at midnight the old house was roused
by her alarm, and Alma was found to be ill
indeed.
With burning cheeks and star-bright eyes
she lay in the great four-post bed that had
146


“ The One Ewe Lamb."
151
Down the storm-swept path came the tall,
thin figure that had startled Lou on the ter-
race two weeks ago.
· Father Xavier, indeed! Father Xavier,
mounted on a steady, sure-footed mule that
could have safely picked its way through the
ruins of a universe-Father Xavier, whom
neither tropical tornadoes nor earthquakes
had ever daunted or turned aside from his
missionary way-Father Xavier calmly com-
ing to say his promised Mass at Heatherton
Hall !
For a moment sorrow was forgotten as the
children trooped out on the porch to meet
the good priest.
: “God bless you, God bless you, one and
all I said Father Xavier as, dismounting, he
laid his hand in benediction first on one and
then on another of the little group. “One,
two, three, four, five-none of you have blown
away. I have been anxious about you, very
anxious, and luckily I was not very far away,
only at good Michael Brady's, near Roxton,
where I was storm-bound while making a sick-
call, when on my way up here to say your
Mass. Truly it was a terrible storm. God has
been very good to protect you."


162
“ The One Ewe Lamb."
Suddenly Father Xavier paused in his
cheery speech, and grew pale to the lips
“Is it the doctor ?” asked a husky voice at
the door, and Colonel Heatherton, with a gray
look of despair on his face, stepped out on
the porch. “For God's sake come up, then.
My child is dying !”
“ Colonel Heatherton, this is our friend,
Father Xavier, a missionary priest,” explained
Mrs. Lindsay hurriedly.
“ Not the doctor !” said the unhappy
father, recoiling in his bitter disappointment;
“ then, then the child is lost."
"No," said Father Xavier, recovering him-
self with an effort and speaking in an odd,
strained voice, “not lost. I-1-am physician
as well as priest. I studied and practised for
years among my Pacific flock. Let me see
the little one; I may be of service.”
“ Come, then,” said the Colonel, grasping
at any straw in his despair; “but you can do
nothing, I fear," he added hoarsely, “she is
dying even now.”
And he led the way, Father Xavier follow-
ing through the broad hall, where the last
dancing rays of sunset seemed to wake the
dark features of the old Judge's picture into


156
“ The One Ewe Lamb."
seemed breathing as he passed his portrait ;
now it was 'his brother, who with arms en-
twined about his neck was whispering the old
boyish secrets into his ear.
"I am going mad, I am going mad," said
the Colonel. “What has roused all these
ghosts of the past to-night ? unless-unless
the last of the race is passing away ?”
And then the great clock on the stair
struck midnight, and with an icy fear at his
heart the wretched father strode back to the
sick-room to find the watcher on his knees
by the little motionless form--weeping like
& child.
“ Is it death ?” gasped the Colonel.
“No, no, not death, but life," said Father
Xavier, rising and facing him with solemn
joy irradiating his features. “Listen to her
breathing. The crisis has passed. In God's
name I give you back your child. May
she lead you to heaven, my dear, dear
brother.”
“Brother !” Colonel Heatherton stag-
gered back speechless, as at last he recognized
face, voice, form, that in his anguish he had
scarcely noticed. “Joe!” he whispered at
last. “Is it Joe, or some blessed spirit who


Conclusion.
180
“ Joe” Heatherton had returned spread like
wild-fire over the mountain.
Family history, being the only kind ever
heard in that locality, was known well.
“Young Joe,” had been a prime favorite in
his boyhood and youth, and the story of his
banishment and disinheritance had been told
and retold over smoky cabin-fires, and handed
down from father to son, until the prejudice
against the master of Heatherton had grown
more and more bitter, year by year; a preju-
dice which Colonel Heatherton, proud, stern,
and masterful, had as sheriff and magistrate
done much to increase. Wild were the
rumors rife on the mountain regarding
“young Joe's" reappearance. Some whis-
pered he had been roused from a death sleep
by the storm and it was only his ghost that
had revisited the mountain; others, that he
had been kept locked in some dreadful prison
or madhouse during all these years; others
Hinted darkly at magic or witchcraft.
But all rumors were quelled when “Father
Xavier," grave, kind, and gentle, made his
way over the mountain calmly, regardless of
blockades or barriers, visiting huts and cabins
and caves, recalling old times and old friend.


Conclusion.
161
like thim." But when rumor came that Luong
Shaun, who had been invisible to his mates
for days, was going, that Cal Jones and his
father were to be there, that Mike Brady
and Pete Finnegan, two of the most notorious
roughs for miles around, had promised Father
Xavier to attend, curiosity and interest over-
came prejudice and distrust.
So it happened on a beautiful Sunday
morning, two weeks after the storm, there was
an odd gathering at Heatherton Hall. Em-
bowered in sumach and golden-rod and
feathery masses of green, stood the little
altar, decked with quaint old candelabra
and vases, and glowing with starry tapers.
And when, clad in strange, shining vestments,
“Mr. Joe” stood before them; when pure
girlish voices, upborne by Cal's deep tenor,
arose in sweet, solemn harmony; when
Colonel Heatherton was seen kneeling on one
side of the altar, and Long Shaun, with half
a dozen spirits equally as fierce, was dis-
covered bowed in humble prayer near the
doorwayma hush of breathless amazement
fell on the congregation that was not broken
until the mysterious rite was ended.
Then Father Xavier turned to them and


182
Conclusion.
spoke in sweet, simple words of the “Father
in heaven" who wished all His children to live
in this beautiful world in peace and love; that
he had come as His messenger among them,
and hoped to heal all the wounds and banish
all the bitterness of the past. That his
brother had determined to give honest work
to them all, the old mines were to be opened,
new roads built, there would be labor and pay
on the mountain henceforth for all willing to
live according to order and law. And as a
pledge of this friendly feeling the Heather-
tons invited them to a feast in the garden to-
day, where the little mistress of Heatherton
would welcome them in her father's name.
And still rather dazed, the stolid-faced guests
were guided by the merry little Lindsays to
the terraced garden, where long tables of
board, covered with the Heatherton damask,
fairly groaned with the good things prepared
in harmony by Mam' Patsy and Black Ben
and Elise and Jean; while seated in a big gar-
den-chair banked with pillows and cushions
Alma-a pale, starry-eyed little earth angel
gleefully greeted her father's guests.
And thus the light of love dawned at last
over the mountain, brightening year after


164
Conclusion.
Xavier's butler, hostler, driver, and righto
hand in general.
Here, too, is the grizzled old sexton, Shaun,
whose life is passed now in peace and prayer
by his beloved graves. But he rouses always
as the silvery call cchoes merrily down the
mountain slope: “We are coming. Its Rob-
bie and me. Where are you? Jack, Jack,
Jack ! Come play with us, Jack-o'-Lantern ! "
PROTID M DENSTOER BROTHERS, NR YOLA,


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