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The
HIDING-PLACES
ALLEN FRENCH


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THE HIDING-PLACES





THE
HIDING-PLACES
A NOVEL
BY
ALLEN FRENCH
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1917


KD 2645
22
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
OCT 8 1941
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published March, 1917


THE HIDING-PLACES





THE HIDING-PLACES
CHAPTER I
“WHY, Binney!” cried Gertrude, "what is the
matter?"
She and Margery and I had been sitting on the
wide stone wall that runs above the South Farm's
lower mowing. It is a very old wall, with its orig-
inal central portion buttressed and widened by the
stone ploughed out of the adjoining fields. Sitting
on one side of it, with the girls on the other, while
we were chatting I had carelessly pried up a broad
flat stone that lay in the middle, between us three.
Then, almost grown man as I was, my heart began
to beat wildly, I panted for breath, and I felt my
eyes straining at my find. For there, in a little
cavity carefully made beneath the stone, lay the
Flat Oblong Box.
It could be nothing else. The Thick Oblong had
been found in 1839, the Flat Oval in '47, the Flat
Round in '54. There were left the Cubical, the
Thick Oval, the Flat Oblong-and beyond a doubt
I had found the latter.
It was flat, scarcely more than an inch in thick-
ness. It was oblong, about four inches by eight.
Its dull lead had no gleam or glint whatever, but


THE HIDING-PLACES
I felt that I could look within it, and could see the
flash of diamonds, the glow of rubies. Though the
sweat started out on my forehead, I was not hot.
I was cold all over.
The girls must have been watching me as I
stared down into the wall. Gertrude repeated her
question. With an instinctive attempt to answer,
I found that my lips were dry, and I began with
difficulty to moisten them. Then Margery laid
her hand upon my arm.
“Binney," she asked, "are you ill ?”
God forgive me! When I thought of her it was
with alarm; when I looked at her it was with sus-
picion. And her sensitive, sweet face first flushed
and then paled as she drew away from me.
“Why, Binney!” she gasped.
Gertrude suddenly looked down into the wall.
“Why, look here! He's found” Her hand went
out.
I seized her wrist, and drew her jewelled hand
away. Though she cried out upon me, I held her
until with my other hand-trying vainly to cover
the box with my palm and fingers—I had taken
out the treasure and stuffed it into my pocket.
“You are rough !” cried Gertrude indignantly.
“You hurt me. And your hand is cold as ice!”
She began rubbing her wrist.
"I beg your pardon, Gertrude," I said. But
my real attention was on Margery, and Margery
had seen. Her eyes grew big with astonishment,
and then her face flushed again.


THE HIDING-PLACES
5
“The Flat Oblong!” She scarcely breathed the
words, but I heard them.
“Well," I demanded with hardihood, “what
of it?”
"It's—it's years,” she gasped, “since the last
was found."
“Forty years last March," I said. “Seventy
years since this was put here.” I was willing to
show my knowledge, but I was watching Margery
carefully.
· Gertrude had been prying down into the wall.
“The sweetest little chamber !” she cried. “Like
a tiny dome. Binney just lifted the cupola off, and
there it was !”
I inspected the cavity. It had been made with
care, of small stones fitted neatly together. Nothing
more was inside, except a little leaf-mould in the
corners. And there for seventy years, with but a
loose flat stone to keep it safe, had lain the leaden boz!
Our visitor began again to rub her wrist. “I
don't see that it's yours," she complained. “We're
on her father's land.”
“Makes no difference,” I asserted curtly. “In
these cases findings are havings.”
“What do you mean by these cases ?" she de-
manded. “Are cigarette-boxes hidden all over the
farm ?"
Cigarette-boxes! “I tell you,” I scoffed, "it's
been there at least since 1824. A tin box would
rust away in five years.”
Gertrude, her eyes suddenly snapping with ex-


6
THE HIDING-PLACES
citement, sat upright and looked at me. "It's the
family mystery !” she cried. “The pirate hoard !
The diamonds !” She looked from me to my
cousin, and read confirmation in Margery's face.
Swiftly turning to me again, she began to beg:
“Oh, show it to me!”
But a sound took away my interest in Gertrude's
soft eyes and her pretty mouth. I heard the tramp
of approaching horses, of the big pair that be-
longed to my cousin Lon, Margery's father. In a
moment he would be resting them close by, at the
top of the rise. I heard the rare sound of his harsh
voice, encouraging the horses; in imagination I
saw the pale face above the sparse black beard,
and the gray eyes whose meaning, since first I be-
gan to puzzle about them in my childhood, I had
never been able to read. I realized that I did not
wish to meet him. Then I wondered how to get
away.
I was on Cousin Lon's land with a vengeance;
it was at least two hundred yards to the boundary,
with a thick belt of scrub woodland to cross. How
could I be sure that he would respect the old buc-
caneer's will? If he did not, how could I resist
him? I had considerable conceit in my own
strength; but Cousin Lon, in spite of his unhealthy
pallor, was the strongest man in Petersham.
I felt a little tremor as, for the first time in my
life, I knew what it was to meet a possible enemy.
A word from Margery, and Cousin Lon would
know. I looked at her while, with a hand carefully


THE HIDING-PLACES
guarding my pocket, I got down from the wall and
stood at the edge of the farm road. Margery did
not need to be told what I was thinking. I saw her
lip quiver.
"Well,” I remarked, as carelessly as I could, “I
must be going.” I saw the horses' heads nodding
up the rise.
Gertrude sprang from the wall in disgust.
"Aren't you going to show it to me?"
"To-morrow, perhaps," I answered, as easily as
I could. I was too proud to cut and run, but how
I wanted to! I edged into the road.
Cousin Lon and his horses were close at hand.
“Whoa!” he called, stopping them. “Thar-and
a good haul, too!” Over their drooping heads, as
he sat on the wagon seat, he looked at us good-
naturedly.
It was not Margery that spoke to him, but Ger-
trude. She pointed at me. "He's found a box in
the wall.”
Cousin Lon's relaxed body stiffened. He did not
speak, but glared at me.
“An oblong box," supplemented Gertrude.
I could hear my cousin gasp. "The Flat Ob-
long !” Suddenly he cast the reins on the horses'
backs, and stood up.
I had always been in awe of Cousin Lon, and
habit was too strong. I found myself backing
across the road and faltering out his name. Though
I made an effort to recover my dignity, it was
fruitless. He leaped from the wagon-and I scooted.
al we.


8
THE HIDING-PLACES
For a moment a boyish fright almost mastered
me, yet I found a little self-possession. I knew
where to go, and I knew that I could run. In three
strides I was in the scrub. Then, though I heard
him crashing behind me, and harshly calling, I set
my suppler body to the task of avoiding the trees,
and in no time left him well behind.


CHAPTER II
WHEN I had crossed our wall and, listening, knew
that I had distanced Cousin Lon, I dropped into a
sullen walk. I was twenty, and I had run away!
Moreover, Gertrude had seen me. Before Mar-
gery I had as yet no shame in showing my true
meanness; but this comparative stranger, this
pretty girl from the city, I wanted to stand well
with. Gertrude's daintiness had roused my ambi-
tion. When she rode to the Hill to see us, as since
her first uninvited coming she had done half a dozen
times, she had both made me feel my clumsiness
and roused in me a desire to rise. Looking always
out upon the world with curiosity, I saw in Ger-
trude a type of what its men struggled for. I had
known that I was not entirely unconcerned in the
struggle, had felt that if ever I was to emerge from
the farm, it must be soon. Not that I wanted Ger-
trude for myself, at least not yet. But I wanted to
watch her, to know her better than this broken ac-
quaintance had permitted me to do. Of course, I
wanted her to think well of me-and before her
eyes I had run away!
Reaching the spring, I threw myself down on the
rock by its side, and raged at myself. It wasn't
a mere indiscretion that I had committed: I had


THE HIDING-PLACES
II
II
spring, and speaking in a quiet little voice, “this is
where I first met you !”.
Yes. From opposite sides of the pool we had
stared at each other in the surprise of that discov-
ery. I had knelt to drink of the water, when into
my mirrored vision glided the figure of this girl,
like that of a hamadryad of the wood. Reflected
in the quiet water, she had seemed mysterious and
unreal; but when I raised my head the lovely truth
was there. And we had looked, absorbed, until
suddenly Gertrude's blush roused my own. I had
felt it burning from my neck to my forehead.
Now I blushed at my next recollection. Ger-
trude smiled mischievously. “And you asked me,
do you remember, what I was doing there?”
“Gertrude," I pleaded, "I was taken by surprise.
I didn't mean it to sound as badly as that.”
“You were quite right,” she told me. “You
were guarding your treasure-and, after all, it was
a real one."
Then she slipped her knee loose from her saddle,
dropped the reins, and held out her hands to me.
Skilled by her training, I lifted her down. The
horse, left free, at once began cropping the bushes.
Gertrude came very close. Her head she cocked
at me like a bright bird; her hand she put on my
sleeve. “Binney,” she said in the most winsome
voice, “I want you to tell me all the old story.”
She radiated comradeship, and her voice thrilled
low with it. No one could resist Gertrude in that
mood. Every bit of surliness fell away from me.


THE HIDING-PLACES
13
“I know only what they tell in the village," she
answered. “But you all, even Margery, are so
close-mouthed.”
It was, as a matter of fact, the first time that I
had ever told the story to any one. But my new,
warm glow of possession, now just beginning to steal
over me, and doubtless Gertrude's winsomeness,
loosened my tongue. "He had a lot of precious
stones- "
“Was he really a pirate?” interrupted Ger-
trude.
“Pirate, buccaneer, privateer-nobody knew."
“And the stones were diamonds?” asked Ger-
trude.
“Mostly. But there were rubies and emeralds
also. Maybe other kinds. Only they were very
high-grade stones.” It sounded as if we were dis-
cussing fertilizers. “Nobody knew he had them,
for he never showed them. But his will told of
them.”
“And then people hunted everywhere?”.
“No," I answered. “Nobody understood their
value, and so no search was made. It was fourteen
years before my great-grandfather found the Thick
Oblong. He ploughed it out of the north meadow,
and even though the ploughshare ripped the box
open he didn't realize what he had till his wife re-
membered the will and sent for a jeweller. None
of us ever crosses the north meadow without study-
ing the ground for shiny stones. My great-grand-
father went back and picked up half a dozen.”


THE HIDING-PLACES
“And they were valuable?" demanded Gertrude.
“Very," I answered with the largeness of igno-
rance.
Gertrude commented shrewdly. "I don't see that
either of your families is very rich."
“Well," I admitted, somewhat abashed, "we've
never been able to keep what we've got, and that's
a fact. At any rate, after that first find both the
farms were posted with signs. We don't like
strangers on our lands.”
“But you don't keep each other off.”
“That," I explained, “was a condition of the old
fellow's will. We may go where we please on each
other's lands, and findings are havings, no matter
which of us gets them.”
“There were other finds ?” Gertrude pursued.
I told her of the other two finds in the next fif-
teen years, the old knowledge that there were three
more boxes to be found. Then Gertrude seized
my arm.
“Binney,” she wheedled, “let me see it.”
I was itching to have the box in my hands.
“Very well," I agreed. “But don't touch!” And
I drew the box out of my pocket.
It had been roughly shaped out of thick sheet
lead, and was heavy to hold. I saw the hammer-
marks, doubtless the handiwork of the old buc-
caneer. Crude but effective soldering held the
lapped edges. And the strange thing lay in my
hands colorless, lifeless, forbidding. The patina
of its seventy years' hiding invested it with a sinis-


THE HIDING-PLACES
15
ter stoniness. With my imagination excited, I felt
a little dread of what this thing might mean to
me. Then I saw Gertrude's little hand stealing
toward the box.
Very firmly, with a boy's whole-hearted selfish-
ness, I put her hand away. “Gertrude," I said
severely, “this is not for you."
“Open it !” she begged. “Cut open a corner,
and let's see what's inside.”
But the old family secretiveness was reasserting
itself. “Open it here?” I scoffed. “If we dropped
a diamond in these leaves or in the spring we'd
never find it.”
"In the road,” she suggested. I shook my head.
“Rattle it, then,” she directed. “Let's hear the
sound of diamonds knocking against rubies !”
Standing up, I shook the box, but could hear
nothing, and told her so. “Let me listen, selfish !”
And seizing my wrist, she shook the box close to
her ear. But her eager face fell.
"I don't believe," she cried, "that there's any-
thing in it!"
“Aha!” said I wisely, and pocketed the box.
She caught at my jacket. “Pig !”
But with entire indifference, making no allow-
ance for natural feminine weakness, I twitched my
coat away, and frowned down at her. “Gertrude,"
I notified her, "you don't belong in this at all.”
“But I must see them !” she exclaimed.
“Come around to-morrow, then," I answered in-
differently.


16
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Oh, very well!” she said, tossing her head.
Then with a sudden change of manner: “Aren't
you going to help me on my horse?”
I caught the beast for her, held her foot, and
lifted her into the saddle. She was not very light
-in spite of the poets, no healthy girl is—but I was
proud of my strength. When she was safely in
the saddle, and I was gathering her reins for her,
she said softly: "Binney, you really will show me?"
I looked up. Gertrude wore her most dazzling
smile. She knew its effect, and I–I felt it. “Of
course I'll show you," I promised and, quite for-
getting my box, watched her out of sight.


CHAPTER III
W
No sooner was Gertrude gone than I thought of
my parents and hurried home. As I went my feel-
ing of good fortune, the glow of possession, grew
until, when I reached the barnyard, I was ready to
shout with exultation. My good father, who had
indulgently allowed me to leave my chores, and now
was doing them for me, was coming from the barn
with two brimming pails of milk. I rushed at him.
“Guess what I've got!”
“Easy, boy,” he warned me.
But I thumped him on the chest. “Who cares
for milk ?” I demanded. And drawing out my
prize, I held it under his nose.
It was so close to him that he wrinkled his fore-
head and drew away in order to see it. And then
-down fell the milk! One pail, after splashing a
jet high up on his trousers, remained upright; the
other spilled its gushing contents over our boots.
But father, heedless, seized the box.
“The Flat Oblong !” he gasped. He said no
more, but turned the box over and over in his
hands.
My mother came running from the house. “The
milk !” she cried, and hastily set upright the spilled
pail. But there wasn't a gill left in it. “What-
ever has come over you?” she demanded.
17


18
THE HIDING-PLACES
As a rejoinder my father put the box into her
hands. The first sight of it stopped her reproaches.
She looked from one of us to the other.
“It can't be-real,” she stammered.
“But, mother," I protested, “I found it in Cousin
Lon's wall.”
“That's it,” she asserted. "He's trying to fool
us." Her frightened eyes still scanned us both.
I was not quick enough to think of a good an-
swer, and her fear infected me. As for father, he
was fairly seized with panic, and stuttered with
out saying a word. Then I whipped out my jack-
knife, opened it, and offered it to him. He received
it with shaking hands, took the box from mother,
and at the first attempt to cut the lead, gashed his
finger. I took both knife and box and, while we all
stood in the puddle of milk, began to cut.
So hard was the crust of the lead that it turned
the blade, and the first thrust nearly wounded me.
But I tried again and again until I had made an
opening, where the bright edges of shining metal re-
warded me. Hacking eagerly, rapidly dropping
down the little bright shavings, I cut away at a
corner until I had a respectable section of it nearly
severed. Then in my haste I dropped the knife,
bent the piece once back and forth, and fairly tore
it away.
My mother held out her two hands like a cup,
and I tilted the box over them. Out rolled a downy,
yellowish ball, and another and another, cascading
down until the hands were heaping full. We two


THE HIDING-PLACES
19
males groaned in dismay. These were not stones.
But my mother, looking close, cried, “Sewed in
buckskin !” and scurried for the house and her
scissors.
We came upon her in the kitchen, where she had
dumped her handful on the table and was already
at work, cutting open the first ball that she had
again snatched up. Leaning close, I saw that it-
a little lump about the bigness of a large marble-
was indeed made of some dingy yellow undressed
leather, caught together by neat stitches of un-
waxed cobbler's thread. It was at these that
mother was working. In a moment they yielded;
she unrolled the leather, and displayed on her palm
a little object, scarcely bigger than a big pea. It
was angular and dimly white, like a worn bit of
quartz.
We three looked at it and felt our fear was justi-
fied. This a diamond, or a ruby? Merely such a
stone as could be picked up anywhere. My mother
laughed harshly.
"And that good pail of milk !"
“Dern it !” growled father, taking the stone
and looking at it. “Can it be-anything? Doesn't
feel” He passed it to me.
It felt soapy, almost greasy. It wasn't like any
stone I ever saw. With some difficulty I opened
my dry lips. “Open another.”
Mother took a little larger ball and quickly was
unrolling its skin cover. She held her hand in the
light from the window, and the deep red gleam from


20
THE HIDING-PLACES
the stone in her palm caused us to cry out in de-
light.
The shining thing was cut with many glittering
facets.
Then the gleam dimmed as the light from the
window was cut off. Mother closed her hand with
a start, father clapped his hat upon the little heap
of buckskin balls, and we all looked at the window.
A man was peering in.
"Hi!” he called impatiently. “Where are you
all, anyway?”
He rapped sharply, and I recognized him more
by his manner than by anything that I could see
of him, for his face was in heavy shadow. It was
Mr. Worthen, banker, broker, Gertrude's father.
Then behind him I saw a horse, two horses, and
Gertrude on one of them. She had met her father
and brought him with her.
Father went to the door and threw it open. “In
here, sir," he responded.
My good father never had any dignity or force.
Here was this stranger demanding entrance, and
because he had a hearty way with him, an air of
command, and social prestige—which we country
folk recognized rather as knowledge of the world-
my father was ready at once to admit him to this
private matter of ours. But mother frowned, and
in response to her gesture I swept all the gems
into father's hat, and thence transferred them to
my pocket. The leaden box lay neglected on the
table.


THE HIDING-PLACES
21
“Yes, sir," father was saying at the door. His
tone was bright and eager, quite as much like a
boy's as ever was my own. “Yes, sir, another find.
I think they're jewels. Won't you come and see?”
Mother wagged her head at me in resignation as
Mr. Worthen, with Gertrude following, came into
the room. As for me, I sulked. I resented the in-
trusion-and I hated to have Gertrude come into
our dingy kitchen. For our family of three did
everything about our place: we were plasterers,
painters, carpenters, farmers. No man ever came
there to work for us, no woman to help about the
house. What we could not find time to do simply
remained undone. And so the kitchen plaster was
black with the smoke of a generation; no scrubbing
of mother's could get it clean. It was waiting till
we men-folk could get time to paint, and to refinish
the ceiling. Gertrude's bright presence made the
room seem dark, and I made a vow which remained
unfulfilled-oh, for so many months !
She saw my surliness, and made up to me at
once. "You need father,” she said. “You'll get
cheated if he doesn't help you. Isn't it lucky I
found him?"
A wonderful girl, Gertrude. Of course, to such a
country boy as I a city girl would be a marvel; but
this lass had not only beauty and daintiness, and
an experience far wider than my own, but also the
knowledge of the way to use all these in gaining
her point. Nor did I fail to recognize her kindness
in taking trouble with me, who twice within the


22
THE HIDING-PLACES
with Mr. Worthps there
such folk as
hour had been rude to her. In just a moment we
were smiling together.
Then she saw the box on the table and snatched
it up; but in the moment of exultation her face
fell. “You've emptied it!”
“Where are the stones, Hartwell?” asked her
father briskly.
My father looked about him. “There were a
whitish and a reddish one."
Mother produced them both. We had all given
way: there was some sense, indeed perhaps there
was wisdom, in consulting with Mr. Worthen. For
what did such folk as we know of diamonds and
rubies? In a minute the little heap was once more
upon the table; and we three sat anxiously, Ger-
trude (with our first ruby in her hand) sat excitedly
watching the banker while, with inscrutable face,
he cut open each little ball.
There were thirty of them, and I think his fea-
tures never twitched while, going from the smallest
to the largest, he examined them one by one. Some
were like the first we had found, dull, unpromising
things. But most were far different, being cut gems
that sparkled or glowed marvellously. Nine were
red, one green, one deep blue. The rest were color-
less, except for a faint tone of yellow that sug-
gested a distantly human warmth, or of blue that
gave them the uncanniness of the devil. Mr.
Worthen at last laid them all out before him in a
square and regarded them, balancing back on his
chair.


THE HIDING-PLACES
23
My father ventured to speak. “Are they worth
anything, sir?"
Mr. Worthen nodded slowly, his eyes still on the
stones. “I know something about these things; I
buy them occasionally." I thought of the jewels
which Gertrude, girl though she was, wore on her
fingers, and made my first acquaintance with this
strange passion.
“Well?” asked father tremulously.
“Thirty of them,” counted Mr. Worthen. He
looked at father with a sudden emphatic gleam.
“I should say they'd average a thousand apiece."


CHAPTER IV
We three sat perfectly still and looked at each
other. Thirty thousand dollars. Thirty thousand
dollars! My brain was jarred. Father looked at
mother with his mouth wide open; and mother,
returning his look, was slowly flushing a deep red.
Gertrude broke out excitedly. “Oh, how fine!
And now Binney can get new riding things, and
you can” She looked around her at the dingy
room, her thought plainly written on her face, but,
suddenly recollecting her training, stopped.
“Here,” said Mr. Worthen to me. “Roll up
these things and pack them in the box again.”
“Let me help,” begged Gertrude. We fell to
work. Gertrude caused delay by insisting on han-
dling each stone, weighing it, feeling it, looking at
it in various lights. She was constantly exclaim-
ing at their beauty. As for me, I felt a strong
but different pleasure. The strange feel of the
uncut diamond I shall never forget. And that I
could hold in my hand a thousand, two thousand,
six, eight thousand dollars-it was intoxicating !
I was recalled to the others by hearing a ques-
tion by Mr. Worthen. “There's never been any
further division of the farms?”
“Never since they were first set apart by my
great-granduncle," answered my father. “You


THE HIDING-PLACES
25
see, for three generations there's been only one
child in each family. And except for Margery,
always sons.”
"Your family arrangements would have gone to
smash if ever one of the farms had been divided,”
remarked Mr. Worthen. “Especially if one of
the heirs sold out his share to a stranger. You'd
be warning each other off the farms."
But father met him there. “Oh, no, we shouldn't.
For if you close your farm against your neighbor,
he closes his against you. And then where are
your chances ? Human natur' couldn't stand it.
Supposing that boy hadn't been on Lon's land to-
day!”
"I was coming to that,” answered Mr. Worthen.
“Why aren't these stones Lon Hartwell's? Oh, I
know all about the conditions of the will, but were
they-are they-legal? Can't your cousin sue and
get the stones?”
"No," returned father confidently. “For then
I could sue him for the value of the stones in the
Flat Round which his grandfather found on my side
of the fence.”
"Forty years back!” objected Mr. Worthen.
But he said no more and sat thinking. I had been
tying up the box in brown paper, a clumsy, undig-
nified parcel. Yet thirty thousand dollars !
“Well,” demanded Mr. Worthen suddenly, “what
are you going to do with them?”.
We three were puzzled, and again we looked at
one another. I think Gertrude opened her mouth


26
THE HIDING-PLACES
to speak; indeed she must have, for her father re-
pressed her.
“Gertrude, be quiet!”
In my father's face I saw bewilderment, in my
mother's something of alarm. All this property in
gems, here in a New England farmhouse, eighty
miles from Boston and two hundred from New
York, the nearest markets for such merchandise.
What could we country folk do? What value were
they to us at all?
Mr. Worthen rose and went to the stove, to which
he turned his back as to a fireplace, straddling orac-
ularly. “Hartwell, if you should take those stones
down to the city, you'd be a child in the hands of
the jewellers."
My father nodded his assent. The very thought
of the city alarmed him, as I well knew.
"Up here the things are in danger,” Mr. Worthen
pointed out. “They could easily be stolen. They
would be ruined if your house burns. You ought
to get them into safety."
He stood and watched us while we worried over
the situation. I was impressed by his insight and
much burdened by his solid figure while he stood
and waited for us to decide. His bald crown nodded
positively toward us; his side-whiskers bristled
confidence; his small eye gleamed dogmatically;
and his firm mouth showed that he was right.
Opposite him my father puzzled apprehensively.
The soft hair was all awry; the chestnut beard was
tremulous with the uncertain movements of his


THE HIDING-PLACES 27
mouth. Uneasily he glanced from mother to Mr.
Worthen.
“I'll tell you what,” said the banker suddenly.
"I'm going down to Boston to-morrow. I know
where your stuff ought to be sold. If you say so,
I'll dispose of it for you.”
I felt relief. The keeping of a mere leaden box
had seemed a simple matter; but now that the box
had disgorged gems of such a price, the responsibil-
ity seemed greater than all of us could bear. But
what were thirty thousand dollars to Mr. Worthen ?
I was glad that he had come.
“Of course I can guarantee nothing," he objected
to father's confused thanks. "If I lose them, or
if I'm wrong about the valuation-it may be only
twenty thousand for the lot—why, I can't be re-
sponsible. But I can do better with them for you
than you can do for yourself.”
My father, very willingly and thankfully, took
the box and put it in his hands.
The state of mind into which the new prospect
put us was, at least for my father and me, inde-
scribably elated. Out in the barnyard, when I
went to fetch the horses, I found Gertrude's mare
just finishing the milk, while my dog Jones sat by
and licked his whiskers. All I could do was to
laugh; and the best that I could think of when I
had put Gertrude on her horse, was to tell her of
it, and grin absurdly. At the same time my father,
with a slightly fatuous expression, was listening to
Mr. Worthen's warnings.


28
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Now don't talk of this, Hartwell. Just keep
your own counsel, answer no questions, and warn
people off the place as usual. If it all gets out,
you'll have treasure-seekers here by the dozen.”
As for our secret, it was already spreading; for,
though we did not know it, Gertrude had told her
father the news in the presence of others. But fa-
ther earnestly promised to keep off all comers. Then
the beginning of a smile corrupted his seriousness.
Mr. Worthen leaned and slapped him on the
shoulder. “Goes to the head, doesn't it? I re-
member the same when I made my first big hit."
He and Gertrude trotted away, down our stony
roadway, where the rain had gullied the track into
something like the dried bed of a brook. Gertrude
flashed at me a last smile as they turned the cor-
ner; the clatter died away. Then father and I
were able to grin at each other openly.
It was mother who could not rise to the height
of our bliss. She discovered the empty pail, chased
away the complacent dog, and mourned.
“No milk till to-morrow!”
“Rejoice, woman!” cried my father. “What is
a pail of milk to us now? Aren't we rich ?”
"Rich !” scoffed my mother. “And I cannot
make bread to-night!” She turned her back and
went into the house.
I, who knew her better, I sometimes think, than
ever did my father, divined that she was conceal-
ing the conflict of her feelings. But my father was
of a different mind.


THE HIDING-PLACES
29
“Isn't that like a woman?” he demanded. “A
very good woman she is, Binney; but the best of
them get so set in their ways that even a change
for the better is a calamity. Now you and I will
make some profit out of this."
He began to sketch the changes that he had
in mind. There should be a little machine-shop
equipped; it would save time and labor in mending
our tools. And we should have one of the new-
fangled disk-harrows, and one of those hot-air
pumping-engines. Then, with enterprise unspeak-
able, he began talking about buying a large stave
silo, which he and I could set up.
As I listened I learned something about my father.
I knew that he never wasted time in regretting his
lack of possessions, nor the wastefulness of his fore-
bears in frittering away the benefits of old-time
treasure. Nevertheless, here was revealed a secret
occupation of building air-castles. For I saw that
his ideas did not spring from the inspiration of
the occasion. The whole of the present structure
had not only been planned already, filling our needs
so exactly-it had been erected before, and now
rose again with the greater ease that its joints had
been accurately fitted.
But father was perfectly normal in one particu-
lar: in his paradise-farm he did not include servants.
No maid must help at the house, no hired man
must work about the place. Labor-saving devices,
yes; but none of us would ever admit to the farm
any one with the eye to recognize a find, and the


30
THE HIDING-PLACES
cunning to conceal it. All helpers were thus ruled
out of our count; no change of fortune, short of the
discovery of the last two boxes, could make it pos-
sible to admit folk to the place. The ancient, half-
crippled creature who used to live at Cousin Lon's
while Margery was a child, was the only outsider
who had ever been admitted to residence among
us, and she had had neither the sense nor the cour-
age to steal. Similarly, we on our farm looked for
no enlargement of the household, and expected
hard labor all our days.
Marvelling somewhat at my father's revealed
day-dreams, I slipped away to find my mother.
She sat by the kitchen-table, her chin on her hand,
gazing abstractedly at the wall.
“Well, mother,” I said, my hand on her shoulder.
Mother looked up. She was a woman of large
frame; I take my size from her. But even at forty,
even in spite of her laborious life, her face was un-
wrinkled, and her skin clear. She looked at me
out of her deep gray eyes, and I saw that she
was suffering.
"I hoped,” she said, “that it never would hap-
pen.”
“Why, mother,” I.exclaimed, “when I was a boy
we used to dream of it!”
“And now that you are almost a man I have
dreaded it," she rejoined. “We live very much
by ourselves, but at least we have been safe.”
“And why shan't we always be safe?” I de-
manded.


THE HIDING-PLACES
31
“There will be changes," answered mother.
"Of course." I returned, feeling. I admit, a boy's
impatience with the caution of his elders. “Father
is planning for an engine and a silo. You shall
have a new stove, new cream-pans, dresses-every-
thing!”
She smiled at the idea that she could be so easily
satisfied. “These new people will take you away
with them.”
In spite of myself I felt a thrill. To go away,
out into life! But I stammered a protest.
Mother smiled at my childishness, and rising, set
about getting supper without milk.


CHAPTER V
THAT mother was right in one particular I learned
on the following day. Father sent me to the upper
pasture to salt our young stock, and I took with
me Jones, who always enjoyed such expeditions.
But at the time when I unexpectedly found need
of him Jones had lagged behind, having business
with a woodchuck who seemed to be at home. I
had come out into the lower pasture when I saw
in front of me, about fifty yards away, four big boys
busy at the stone wall. Now our walls are very
broad, and carefully built of heavy stones, but the
lads had already thrown down a rod of it.
I smothered my impulse to shout, and stepping
behind a bush, looked back for Jones. The delay
gave time to think. I was exceedingly alarmed.
A few bands of such marauders, and we shouldn't
have a tight fence on the farm. I wondered how
to meet the situation.
Presently Jones came hurrying from his conquest.
He was a big mongrel terrier, brindled and bristly,
and at the moment a most unpleasant sight, with
dirt to his eyes, and a bloody slobber at his jaw.
He had met one enemy, and was ready for another.
At my word he became attentive and very busi-
nesslike.


THE HIDING-PLACES
33
When the four treasure-seekers discovered me
close to them they howled, and turned to flee.
But seeing Jones, they froze. He was so plainly
disappointed at not having an excuse to pin one
of them that they rolled their eyes at me in
terror.
I named them one by one: of very respectable
families they came; one of them the son of a deacon.
But I was not angry with them; I could not afford
to be. If any of us five had a real terror of the
future, it was I. The labor of repairing the dam-
age of a few such raids rose sickeningly before me.
“Now,” said I, "you all have gone to Sunday-
school, and understand the Golden Rule. I don't
want this fence torn down; I want it built up.
So do as you would be done by.”
They looked ruefully at the stretch of fence, of
which but a course or two was still in place. But
without whining they fell to. A three-foot fence,
four feet broad, is no easy thing to build, but they
went at it manfully. I sat and watched; Jones, by
occasionally sniffing at their ankles, helped on the
good work. As the sun rose higher the lads shed
their garments; but in spite of this they dripped
water, and after nearly an hour visibly tired. At
last the deacon's son turned on me bitterly:
“Consarn you, Binney Hartwell! If I were big-
ger, I'd lick you !”
“You don't understand, Jimmy Foss,” I returned.
“If you were bigger I'd lick you. But rest a while,
all of you, and let me say something." They sat


34
THE HIDING-PLACES
sulkily on the half-finished wall, while Jones sat in
front, regarding them wistfully.
"I suppose I know why you're here,” I said,
“though how you know the story beats me.”
“Everybody knows it,” said one of them.
I winced at the thought that even now other
raiders might be at work elsewhere. “You young
idiots,” I said, using language suitable to their
comprehension, “haven't you heard that no two
of our finds are ever in the same kind of hiding-
place? The old pirate put it down in his will, and
it's perfectly true. The first was buried in an open
field, the second laid up on a rafter in a barn, the
third lying in the middle of a blackberry-patch that
later happened to be burned over. There won't
be another box found in a stone wall, no matter if
you tear down every one on both these farms.”
They were looking at each other in shame, not
of their present difficulty, but of their stupidity.
“Aw," muttered Jimmy, "I'd forgotten.”
"Forgetfulness doesn't pay," I remarked. But
I was not satisfied. This new shame of theirs
might be quite enough to keep them from telling
this story-and I wanted it told, as a warning to
others. I puzzled at the problem in vain. "Do
you suppose," I demanded at length in disgust,
“that I can wait here all day for you to finish that
wall?"
Jones, taking the hint from my tone, sprang up
eagerly. The boys, stiffly clambering down, set
again to work. They were doing the job properly,


THE HIDING-PLACES
35
for all had worked at wall building; and so, taking
my bag of salt and leaving them to Jones, I wan-
dered away a little. I was aching to scout for
more mischief-makers; therefore, slipping behind a
bush, I watched my captives through the screen of
leaves. The boys looked after me, and when they
thought that I was gone, tried the probity of their
other jailer. Jimmy picked up his coat, and offered
Jones something from a pocket. The dog growled
so fiercely that Jimmy leaped to the wall again;
and the others, who had hopefully watched the ex-
periment, fell to work earnestly. I was free to do
my scouting.
Quickly climbing farther up the hill, I found the
colts in a corner of the pasture, and before them
scattered my salt, all except enough for my favor-
ite, Peter, a three-year-old that I had myself broken
to the saddle. Him I now mounted, having for a
bridle nothing more than a piece of string which I
tied, Indian fashion, around his lower jaw. Once
on his back, I soon persuaded him away from his
companions, and then for half an hour I rode the
farther boundaries of the farm, feeling sure that if
trespassers came at all, they would come from that
side. Finding no one-and much relieved I was-
I brought the colt back, gave him the rest of my
salt, and started for Jones and his prisoners. Once
more the problem of getting their story told in the
village began to puzzle me. And while I was think-
ing upon it I came upon more trespassers.
Clad in quiet colors, so as not to be conspicuous,


36
THE HIDING-PLACES
two women were wandering across the field. I
watched them with joy. In the rocky pasture
scattered clumps of trees and bushes grew sparsely,
and from one to another went these prospectors.
Their parasols were disguised implements, for with
their points they pried among the knotty roots,
dug moss from crevices, and endeavored to turn the
stones. Just as I approached the women from
behind, one of them snapped her point.
"Drat it !” she exclaimed, holding up the ruined
gewgaw. “Look at that !”.
“Too bad, Mrs. Foss,” said I.
They jumped and squealed, and fastening their
startled eyes on mine, faltered a greeting. They
were farmers' wives, sisters; one of them had come
at least four miles. Even now her son was work-
ing at my wall.
"You've lost your way,” I said, being buoyed to
an unknown degree of suavity by my mastery of
the situation. “You're at least a mile from the
highway. Let me show you.”
"Oh,” said one of them hastily, “we came to
call on your mother.”
“Even then you're out of your way," I rejoined.
“The track is just below here. I'll show you.
Beautiful day, Mrs. Foss.”
“Beautiful,” she answered fervently. But she
wiped her brow, and her sister's face was shiny
with moisture. They doggedly produced common-
places on the weather and the season until, drop-
ping behind them at a narrow way between two


THE HIDING-PLACES
37
thickets, I ushered them into the open space across
which were Jones and his fatigue-party.
Jones, hearing voices, turned, saw the women,
saw not his discreetly hidden master, and charged.
Too long his spirit had been vexed by boys whom
discipline forbade him to bite, but here was fair
game. He came like a race-horse, and his snarl was
terrifying. Two anguished souls cried aloud for
help, and I succored them. Disappointed, Jones
could but sniff hungrily at their skirts, while I led
the bewildered pair up to the group at the fence.
Jimmy saw his mother, and his hair rose on his
head. I knew that he wished that he had risked
everything and had filed while Jones's back was
turned. But it was too late. Mrs. Foss relieved
her feelings by the glare that she cast on her son.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Working for me," I interposed. “Jimmy and
his friends were picnicking, I suppose, and the wall
fell down. But they're making it all right again.”
Mrs. Foss's feelings must have been inexpressi-
ble, for she tried to speak and failed. I could not
interpret the emotions of her maternal heart, but
I detected in Jimmy the signs of fresh dismay.
Yet for the other boys, and for Mrs. Foss's sister,
the situation was much relieved. I saw the three
boys slyly glancing at one another, and surprised
a gleam of amusement on the woman's face. And
I knew that my problem was solved, and that a
journey to town for telling tales was spared me.
The four boys, when freed, might have been able


38
THE HIDING-PLACES
to keep their adventure to themselves. The two
women would have been certain to hold their
tongues. But the tale of Jimmy Foss and his
mother, caught in the same pickle, was too good to
keep. It would travel all through the town by
night.
“Mother will be glad to see you,” said I, offering
to lead the way. The tension was broken, and while
the women passed on, the boys turned again to the
wall. I thought I saw appealing glances cast by
Jimmy at his friends, but they paid no attention.
As for the farmers' wives, I led them to the lane,
and pointed the way down-hill. “You can't miss
the house now," I told them. “Mother will be at
work somewhere. She won't be dressed for callers
at this time of day, but I'm sure you won't mind
that. And perhaps, Mrs. Foss, she has glue for
your parasol.”
They went on, and paid a very fidgety and brief
call at the farmhouse. Mother was mystified by
it until I told her my part of the story. The para-
sol had not been produced.
As for me, going back to where the boys were just
finishing their job, I surveyed and approved it.
“You didn't think, of course, to turn the weath-
ered faces out. But never mind, boys. It will
take a dozen years to weather this bit like the rest
of the wall, and all that time it will remind me of
you."
Jimmy Foss, who at first would have been glad
to get rid of me at any price, now took his dismissal


THE HIDING-PLACES
39
surlily. If there had been a convenient hiding-
place, I think he would have stayed. To face his
mother when he got home, and to wait until the tale
reached his father, was not a good outlook for James.
But the other boys found in his plight, and in the
contemplation of the lost face of the Foss family,
balm for their own wounds. They kept together
as they walked; Jimmy went by himself in a paral-
lel line. And not one of them hurled back a re-
proach at me.
That afternoon I took another tour of the place,
to see what I could discover. Jones, who was
with me, ranged the bushes as if he regretted his
lost opportunities of the morning. Luckily I was
with him when he discovered the next prospector.
This was a summer person, a vacationer. His
white flannel trousers were correctly turned up; he
sported a straw hat of proper shape, and a pair of
spectacles. He wore the pointed beard of the
young college professor, and he carried a cane.
With this he was gingerly poking at a hole in a
tree. This was absurd, for the tree was not over
forty years old.
Jones came ramping from the bushes, and the
prospector promptly ascended the tree. The hole
made an excellent foot-rest on the way up. Then
solemnly he looked down at me.
“You may come down," I said, subduing Jones.
“There's really nothing to be alarmed at.”
“Your dog is dangerous," he complained when
he stood at my own level.
vas


40
THE HIDING-PLACES
I saw no harm in trying to enhance Jones's repu-
tation. “He is enthusiastic about strangers,” I
said. "He loves to bring home samples of trouser-
ings. But when I'm with him he's perfectly safe.”
“He oughtn't to go at large," said the stranger
severely.
“He has an odd prejudice," I admitted, “against
people who pay no attention to trespass signs.
Perhaps you were not thinking when you passed
ours."
The stranger reddened, and had nothing definite
to say.
“If you take the shortest way down the hill,”
said I, “I am sure that you will reach the highroad
in fifteen minutes. For that length of time I'm
willing to keep the dog with me. Good day.”
Mother laughed much at my description of his
ambling departure, and I took much pride in my
management of my three affairs. Maybe time has
magnified my memory of my own cleverness, but
I still think I did fairly well. But it was the last
pleasure that I took out of inquisitive strangers.
Our next visitor was a different sort of person.


CHAPTER VI
It was the third day after the finding of the box,
and I had begun to relax my vigilance in patrolling
the farm. Signs of trespassing I had seen here and
there, in occasional places where rocks had been
overturned, or in the excitement of Jones over what
appeared to be a trail of some kind. But no one
had been so stupid as to pull down any more walls.
As to our attitude toward the two remaining
deposits of jewels, it was very simple. One of our
forebears-my great-grandfather, to be exact-had
spent the remainder of his days, after the discovery
in '54, in search of the other boxes. It had exas-
perated him to have the jewels taken from under his
nose, on his own land, by his cousin from over
the wall; and he tried to make good the unfairness
of fortune. For sixteen years, day after day, the
old man wandered over the Hill, and if ever we
could be justified in having a ghost, it would be his.
He went to his grave at last, and since his time
never a Hartwell, on either side of the wall, had
given a single unbroken hour to the search for
treasure.
It wasn't that we never thought of it, for we did.
To be sure, days would sometimes go by when, in
the routine of the farm, I never turned my mind to
41


42
THE HIDING-PLACES
anything beyond the duties of the hour. And yet
such periods were rare. I believe that I am for-
tunate to have had, throughout my boyhood, the
continual hope of better things, the dream of a for-
tune that might some day raise me above the farm.
It turned me to speculation concerning life in the
outer world, visions which might some day become
reality. It turned me to books, to the cultivation
of my speech, to the observation of dress and man-
ner. Yet the drudgery of work with my hands
made the outlook on these things a very sober one.
I learned, perhaps by the influence of my mother
working almost imperceptibly, that much of my
hope was hollow, that the future could never bring
me all of my dream-yet at the same time I con-
tinued to hope and to dream.
Father was less-a little less-practical than I.
But we were both of us practical in one thing, the
looking into any hiding-place that might contain
a box as big as one's fist. I suppose the hardest
thing was, having looked once, not to look a second
time. There was a certain crevice in a big boulder
that lay not far from the entrance of the east wood-
lot, on the way to the double pine. Once, think-
ing that I had not sufficiently explored the farther
end of this crevice, I left the wood-wagon as it
jolted along, and dug for a moment among the dead
leaves. When I returned to my father he smiled
with a cynicism born of his experience.
“You did that a year ago," he said. “I've done
it three times myself. Pure waste, Binney."


THE HIDING-PLACES
43
Thus I learned the uselessness of ever exploring
a hole or a corner for even the second time. Once
it was scraped out to the original rock, or bared to
the old wood, no hiding-place was worth another
thought. But the fact remained that somewhere
the old pirate's remaining caches were waiting for
us. None of us ever entertained the idea that some
stranger had stumbled on one of the boxes, and had
stolen with it away. And so I and my parents,
and I make no doubt Cousin Lon and Margery,
never passed a newly suspected spot without a mo-
ment's pause to investigate. And we were always
looking out for new possibilities. For that reason
there were on our farms, away from the home-
steads, no footpaths whatever-always excepting
the well-worn way between the two houses. We
were too fond of varying our track, forever with an
eye out for some new sign. And each of us men-
folk carried a favorite tool. Mine was a very
heavy clasp-knife, with a four-inch blade which
was good for digging or prying. Its point and edge
were always dull, but its sides bright from frequent
use.
It was wonderful what numbers of possible hid-
ing-places there were. Near the house, of course,
everything had been ransacked. I never felt on
rafters, nor under eaves. Ancestral hands had been
before me; and my own childish fingers had ex-
plored every dark crevice in house, or barn, or shed.
The barnyard was barren, as we well knew. But
the further we went from the centre of our life, the


44
THE HIDING-PLACES
nearer we came to romance. Up in the pasture,
over in the wood-lot, along the fields, no boulder
showed itself, no gray stone outcropped, without
provoking us to speculation or momentary examina-
tion. It would be, perhaps, but for a single minute
in the day that we turned aside from work and com-
muned with hope. Nor did we ever deliberately
go far roundabout in search of a find. That we
knew would be foolishness. There was a fatalism
in our feeling concerning the treasure. Maybe we
passed it daily; if so, we could not help it. At the
proper time it would be revealed.
Well, on this third morning I was going down the
road on my way to the village. Jones was with
me, and was close at heel when we met a man com-
ing up the hill. The dog knew that strangers had
a right to the road; nevertheless, he growled.
The man came steadily on. He was not one of
our townsmen; I had never seen him before. Nor
was he a city man, at least of good type. His
clothes, though not shabby, fitted poorly, and were
badly wrinkled. He was of medium height, of
medium breadth, of medium complexion. Nothing
about him was striking except his eye, which he
fixed on me with a gripping gaze that roused in me
a sudden resentment. And from the resentment
sprang an immediate dislike.
I looked at him more closely as we neared each
other. His hat was thrust back, and I saw that his
forehead was low. His lank hair was echoed, as
it were, by a scrubby chin beard, of the same non-


THE HIDING-PLACES
45
descript color, that vainly tried to lengthen his
short jaw. His cheeks were hollow and pale, his
forehead projecting, but his eyebrows almost lack-
ing. Under those strange knuckly brows were
deep sockets whence his eyes, red-lidded, glowered
as upon a hostile world. He photographed him-
self, as it were, upon my mind; and after the first
long glance I felt that I could never forget him.
Involuntarily I stopped, but he walked on until
within a yard of me. “Is that dog dangerous ?”
he demanded.
"Not if you keep on the road," I answered.
“Hmf !” he sniffed. “In the village they are
scared to death of him.”
His voice was harsh and his intonation scornful.
Evidently he had no fear of the dog, nor of me
either. He looked me over as if he were measuring
an ox, and with the same scorn. After a moment
he demanded:
“Where's your father?”
“He's at the barn,” I said. “I'll show you."
“Don't trouble yourself,” he responded, push-
ing by. “I know the way.”
Nevertheless, I turned back. Not liking the man,
I wanted to keep an eye on him. So I followed in
silence.
He snapped over his shoulder: “I said I should
not need you.”
"I heard you," I answered, still following.
Abruptly he stopped, turned, and looked me over
a second time. It seemed as if he were asking him-


46
THE HIDING-PLACES
self: “Is this an ox?” But the result was the
same as before, for with a sniff he turned and went
on. Growing angry, I followed. No one had ever
looked at me so before, nor scored me to my face.
Without more words we walked on until in the
barnyard we found my father. The man went di-
rectly to him.
“Hullo, Melvin,” he said.
“Why," answered my father, after a moment's
scrutiny, "it's Al Stidger! Come up from Athol,
eh? What brings ye?"
At the answer, “I came from Lon," ideas began
to come to me. This man was Cousin Lon's wife's
cousin, and lived within ten miles of us, a notary
public and self-taught lawyer.
“Did Lon send for ye?” asked my father.
Stidger made no answer, but looked my father
over, much as he had studied me. “Yokel!” he
seemed to say to himself at the end. He lacked
either hypocrisy or politeness.
“I want to talk with you,” he said aloud.
“Well,” said my father. He turned and led the
way to the wall, against which he leaned. Stidger,
following, was waved to a seat beside him. I ap-
proached, and stood close by; and Jones, silent
but still bristling, kept his eye on our visitor while
he clambered on the wall. Then Jones sat down,
adjusted his jaw by a snap at nothing, and seemed
to wait.
Stidger cast at me a lowering look, but that did
not trouble me. It seemed to me that something


THE HIDING-PLACES
47
was going forward that I needed to be in touch
with. Father, I knew, was too sketchy to report
accurately. So, with Jones, I constituted myself
audience, and waited.
With a final glare at me, Stidger turned to father.
“You've had a find,” he said, with his almost ex-
plosive suddenness.
Father rubbed his hands. “Something of the
kind," he agreed. “Lon's told ye about it?”
“Precious little,” grumbled Stidger. “He's mad
about it."
“Can't see why,” remarked father. “Sent you
here ?"
"I came," returned Stidger darkly. “I want to
be informed. What was in the box?"
“The usual thing," answered father. “Stones.”
Stidger glowered. “Oh, of course. But what
kind, and how many?”
Father, showing in his face compunction for his
attempt at evasion, was about to reply, and I was
startled. Surely there was no need of telling. I
demanded: “Why do you ask?”
Stidger tossed his head impatiently, yet answered
as if father had spoken. “I'm looking after Lon's
interests.”
“What interest,” I persisted, “has Cousin Lon
in this ?”
“See here,” said Stidger, still speaking to father,
"have you a copy of that old will? I want to see it.”
“Why, yes,” answered father, “I've got a copy,
surely. But why don't you look at Lon's?”


THE HIDING-PLACES
49
“that we can't find the one we want. Here's the
thing you mean, I guess."
And he unfolded, from among the papers, a piece
of unmistakable parchment, yellow and soiled, which
crinkled noisily as it opened. Stidger grasped at it.
“That's it,” he said, at first glance. “Yes-
Lamon Hartwell, 1824." He began studying the
will.
Moving to his side, I also began reading this
document which I had not seen since I was a child.
Though I could not understand all the legal jargon,
the purport of the will was clear. The farms, as
divided, were given and bequeathed; the cash was
to be shared equally; the right to come and go
freely, except within dwellings, and with due ac-
countability for damages, was never to be denied
by the owner of one place to the family of the
owner of the other.
"He meant,” snarled Stidger, “that neither of
the places should go out of the family. Precious
good means he took to make sure.”
If my great-great-great-uncle had had this in
mind, he had succeeded. Until the last box was
found, no owner of either place would consent to
sell his property. And here was the description
of the boxes.
“Two Oval Boxes, of lead, one flat, one thick.
“Two Oblong Boxes, also of lead, one flat, one
thick.
“One Round Box, ditto, flat.
“One Leaden Box in the shape of a cube.


50
THE HIDING PLACES
“None of these boxes are set deeper than the
mould, nor above fifteen feet from the ground.
“No two of them are in hiding-places of the same
kind.
"I leave the finding of them to chance, or to
God, whichever my nephews choose, the finder of
a box, so he be of my blood, to be the owner thereof,
and of its contents, upon whosesoever land it be
found.”
Stidger read and reread these conditions so
slowly and carefully that by the time he had
finished I had almost memorized them. When
finally he looked up at my father he said:
“I want to get a copy of this.”
“Very well,” answered my father readily.
“Come any day.”
“No, no,” answered Stidger impatiently. “My
handwriting is too poor. I want to take it to be
typewritten.”
Father, rubbing his chin, seemed about to yield.
“No,” said I positively. “There's no reason it
should ever leave this place. Bring your type-
writer up here.”
Stidger protested. “One of them machines is
valuable, and it's delicate. It might get hurt."
"Same with this document," I retorted stub-
bornly. For the more I thought of the matter, the
less I was willing to trust the will, copy though it
was, to this man.
He growled a sour and grudging submission.
“It'll have to be copied by hand, then. Either


THE HIDING-PLACES
I'll come myself some other day, or I'll send a
clerk.”
Mother had been so quiet that now I was sur-
prised to hear her speak. “I'll copy it for you my-
self.”
The suggestion seemed to fluster Stidger rather
than to please him. “No,” he answered hurriedly.
“It's got to be by a lawyer, or a trained copyist.
Some little slip, even a wrong comma- ".
“Oh, she'll be careful,” my father assured him.
“She won't leave a dot out of place. And her hand-
writing is perfect.”
But Stidger persisted. “I'd not feel easy unless
it were done by some one whose work I know.”
“What is the need of such accuracy?" I de-
manded. “What do you need a copy for, any-
way?”
He paid no attention to me, but looked at father.
The will, folded, he held in his hand as if ready to
put in his inside pocket. “Come,” he said, in a
tone as nearly conciliatory as seemed possible to
him, “let me take it down to Athol with me to-
day. You shall have it Monday.”
I believe that father wavered. At any rate,
mother spoke as if to forestall his consent. “No,
it must stay here."
And I, taking the paper, which Stidger gave
unresistingly into my hand, put it once more into
the high Dutch oven. Then I looked at him to see
if he were angry, but he was looking at the oven
door.


52
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Well,” he said slowly, “some day next week.
And now, Mel, let me see them stones.”
“Oh!” replied father, taken by surprise. "The
fact is, they're gone.”
“Gone?" rasped Stidger. “You've-you've—!”
Suddenly he sprang up and, coming quickly where
father was sitting, thrust his face almost into his.
“You've gin 'em to that man Worthen!”
Father, blinking, drew away. “Well?” he asked
uneasily.
“Don't you know he's a crook ?" demanded
Stidger. “He's a promoter, a bucket-shop man, a
curb-broker!”
"I don't know what you mean,” stammered
father. “He's a banker, folks say.”
“Calls himself one," sneered Stidger. "Puts on
all that front just to take people in. Don't you
never read the papers? He's always mixin' in with
wildcat schemes.”
Father looked at mother with something of dis-
may. Did we read the papers ? A local journal
came to us once a week. It gave, in separate col-
umns, the news of the various towns for some ten
miles about; it told of nominations and elections,
of the deaths of kings, of distant wars; it printed
anecdotes, household receipts, and a weekly thriller.
What did we know of the affairs of the money
market, or even the great defalcations? Yet we
had knowledge that such things were.
“You've given them to him, have ye?” snapped
Stidger.


THE HIDING-PLACES
53
“Yes,” admitted father.
“You idiot,” snarled Stidger angrily. “You
could have had the best of advice and assistance,
not ten miles from home, and you give yourself into
the hands of an outsider. If the stones aren't lost
out of his pocket, or stolen from his bag, at least
he'll tell you they're paste, and offer you ten dol-
lars for the lot.”
We were all very much upset. I saw alarm in
my father's eyes, perplexity in mother's. I per-
ceived the horrid possibility that Stidger was right,
and that this city man might have imposed on us
merely by good clothes, a hearty manner, and an
air of confidence. Stidger, looking around on us as
we sat with open mouths, snapped his fingers aloft.
“Yah !” he sneered, and moved to the door. He
gave at us one final gesture of sweeping disgust
and stamped away. Jones was the only one of us
with the politeness to escort him out of the yard.
We three remained looking at one another.
Mother was the least disturbed; to her the find
had been unwelcome. Yet even she was unwilling
to be cheated; and as for father and me, we were
plain scared. Our thirty thousand dollars !
But we had scarcely recovered enough to begin
to put our feelings into words, when out in the
yard we heard the clatter of hoofs. Then I heard.
Gertrude's high, clear voice.
“Binney, where are you?”
I rushed out. There was she on horseback, there
behind her was her father, and both were smiling.


54
THE HIDING-PLACES
Father, pushing by me, went to Mr. Worthen.
“Back so soon?”
“Gone and come again,” was the answer.
“Well?" asked father.
“You wouldn't have me bellow the news out
here?” laughed Mr. Worthen. “We'll go in.”
He prepared to dismount.
Gertrude had already slipped her foot out of the
stirrup, and now stretched out her arms to me.
“Binney, take me down.”
When I was lifting her down, and in the moment
when her face was nearest mine, she whispered:
“It's good news !”
The great load was lifted from my heart. Like
two children, nodding and smiling at each other,
we followed our parents into the kitchen, where
Mr. Worthen sat down by the table and drew some
papers from his pockets. Very deliberately he took
out a pair of glasses, adjusted them on his nose, and
began.
“There's only one man I'd take a business of
this kind to. In New York the dealers are only so-
so; short of Amsterdam, we have in Boston as
good a diamond-buyer as there is to be found. Very
keen, and not afraid to pay for a good stone. Knows
me, too, and that means there is no fooling. Hart-
well, he could have pulled the wool over your
eyes.”
He looked over his glasses at my father, who
nervously agreed. Mr. Worthen shuffled his papers.
“The list,” he said, "is perhaps rather hard


THE HIDING-PLACES
55
for you to follow. Number one: India diamond,
yellow tinge, old cushion cutting.”
Father interrupted. “The single stones I don't
remember. Were you able to sell them? What's
the total?”
"I sold them," answered Mr. Worthen. “The
money is deposited to your order in my bank. And
the total?—Thirty-two thousand five hundred !”
It was true! The reaction almost overcame me.
Though Gertrude was clutching at my sleeve,
clamoring for a word of joy from me, I was speech-
less. So were we all three, as we sat silently star-
ing at the bringer of good fortune.


CHAPTER VII
“By the way,” asked Mr. Worthen when at last
we had found voice, and congratulations had ex-
hausted themselves, “who was that person whom
we passed in your road, a kind of seedy Shylock ?”
“A curious critter,” said my father, and pro-
ceeded to add a little to my store of knowledge
concerning Stidger. He was about forty-five, a
widower with one child, unsuccessful as a real-
estate agent-how could such a man fail to fail at
that business ?-and picking up a doubtful living as
lawyer or lawyer's clerk. He drew wills or deeds,
took notes in court, examined titles. “Soured,” said
my father in conclusion.
"I should think so," laughed Gertrude. “The
'we-shall-meet-again' look that he threw at us
made me hope that it wouldn't be on a dark night.”
“What did he want here?” asked Mr. Worthen.
Father told him, and the banker lifted his brows.
“Saw the will, did he? Then perhaps I may have
a look at it."
He read it in a quarter of the time that Stidger
had spent over it. “Amusing,” he said as he re-
turned the parchment. “A decidedly quaint old
document. Keep it carefully.”
“Has it any value?” I inquired.
56


THE HIDING-PLACES
57
“Since it's only a copy, no,” he replied. “But
any of these ancestral things are precious. And so
the will has never been tested! That comes of liv-
ing in a community without lawyers. Your farm
mortgaged?”
“Mortgaged?” cried father, his pride in arms.
“Neither this one nor the other. Never!”
“Trust a man to know his interest,” chuckled
Mr. Worthen. “Now see here, Hartwell. What
am I to do with this money of yours?”
“Come,” whispered Gertrude to me. "They're
going to talk business. Let's go and look for an-
other box."
So I followed her out into the sunlight, and we
strolled about the yard. Gertrude pounced at a
crevice in the wall, and thrust in her prettily gloved
hand. Then she smiled back at me.
“Not there," I said.
“How do you know?” she demanded.
“Every Hartwell born in three generations,
every visitor since 1839, has explored that hole.
Guess again.”
“Oh, you clever one !” she cried. And so we loi-
tered about, and for the first time Gertrude began
to flirt with me.
“You're changed,” she told me suddenly.
“Changed?” I inquired, surprised, but greatly
interested.
“You're older,” she declared. “Older since I
saw you last.”
“Three days !” I scoffed.
eve


THE HIDING-PLACES
Gertrude shook her head seriously. “You've
grown up."
I wondered if I had. The idea flattered me
greatly, and I made her explain. I was more seri-
ous, I carried myself differently, my very shoulders.
She could not be more definite, but it was enough.
I saw myself as a tower, standing four-square to the
winds of heaven. And Gertrude, I now discovered,
was grown up already. The toss of her head, the
glance of her eye, were not what they used to be.
Naturally, as I now understand, for if I had changed,
so instinctively had she.
We talked until we heard her father shouting:
“Gertrude, we must get home before the storm.”
I looked at the southwest and saw a thunder-
cloud just mounting over the hill. We hurried to
the hitch-posts, where Mr. Worthen had already
mounted, but was still talking with my father.
After I had put Gertrude on her horse I waited for
a word with him.
“Understand, Hartwell,” he was saying, “the
wisest of us can't foretell the changes in the market.
I'll do my best, but the risk is yours.”
“If you do as well as this time, I'll take the risk,"
said my father.
“Mr. Worthen," said I, seizing a moment's pause,
"you must have a place where that old will of ours
would be secure."
“Of course," he answered; “my safe.”
“Father," I went on, “I don't like the idea of
Mr. Stidger's knowing where it is. And if he wants


THE HIDING-PLACES
a copy of it, then Mr. Worthen can have it done in
the best fashion.”
“The boy is right," agreed Mr. Worthen. “A
clever son, Hartwell. You'd better let me keep
the will for you.” Father went into the house for
it, and Mr. Worthen turned to me.
"Binney, are you going to stay here always ?”
“No!” cried Gertrude suddenly.
And I, quite thrilled by the spontaneousness of
her cry, knew that I was not going to be content
where I was. The world had opened to me. So
I boldly echoed her “No!”
"Well,” said the banker, “when you are ready
to come out of your shell, let me help you.”
Mother had heard. When the two were gone,
she came to me sadly. “I told you so," she mur-
mured.
Then father called me to help him get the tools
under cover and the cows in, and we all three hur-
ried to our different tasks. In half an hour the
storm was on us; through the open barn-door, as
we sat and milked, father and I watched the down-
pour and, on account of a three-weeks' drought,
were glad of the rain. There was but little thunder;
instead, the rain promised to continue all night.
At bedtime it was raining with still greater vigor.
From time to time the gusts rose to squalls that
lasted for minutes, actually shaking the solid old
house. Occasionally, too, came cracks of thunder
that made very nervous that otherwise heroic per-
sonality, Jones. Nothing less than thunder could


60
THE HIDING-PLACES
shake his courage; but now he was so apprehensive
that I decided to take him to my bedroom. Here
I tied him to the jamb-hook, laid a rug for him,
and went to bed. The thunder came less fre-
quently, the dog quieted, and I went to sleep.
When the dog woke me it was some hours later.
This I had no means of knowing accurately, except
for a feeling that the time was after midnight. I
heard the rain still drumming on the roof, and sup-
posed that the dog had waked me on account of
more thunder.
“Quiet, Jones," I said.
But instead of whining, the dog growled low.
I sat upright. This was a warning. “What is
it?” I asked.
He growled again, then whimpered eagerly.
Though I listened for some cause for his excite-
ment, I could hear nothing. Then for a third time
the dog growled.
At that I felt that some intruder was in the house
below. And as always with me in any sudden ex-
citement, my heart began beating rapidly. It was
useless to try to listen further; my pulse was mak-
ing too great a pounding in my ears, and again,
Jones's low and cautious growling began to be louder.
I was vexed with myself.
"All right," I said. "Jones, we'll investigate."
As I fumbled with the knot of the leash the dog
acted as if we were hunting together. He could
not quite repress his excitement, and his little
whimperings and abortive growlings came like erup-


THE HIDING-PLACES
61
tions of forces under pressure. But he did his best
to be quiet. When I had untied the leash the dog
tugged me eagerly toward the door. This I had
shut, in order to keep Jones, in case he worked him-
self loose, from roaming restlessly about. Slowly
I opened it, and the dog, whose eager tail had been
wagging against my bare shins, drew me out upon
the landing. There we both stood still, and lis-
tened. My nerves were steadier now, from the
relief of action, and my pulse was quiet.
My parents were asleep, as I knew from heavy
breathing from their room. Stooping over the
stair, I listened for sounds from the kitchen. At
once I heard the rain pouring from the front eaves
into the puddles beneath, and I knew that the outer
door was open. Next I smelled candle smoke. All
this was wrong, and my heart began jumping again.
Suddenly Jones, with a snort, strained to get
away. I heard a step in the kitchen, and let go the
leash. Scratching, pounding down the stairs, the
dog gave one short, challenging bark before he
dashed into the kitchen. I heard the slam of the
front door, the thump of the dog's body against it,
and then the whole house was filled with furious,
disappointed barking.
I leaped down the stairs, stumbled into the
kitchen, and tried to look around. The place was
pitchy dark, but the candle smell was strong. I
groped my way to the door, where Jones was
scratching angrily, growling, barking, and whining
together. As he heard me coming the dog grew


62
THE HIDING-PLACES
more excited, leaping and snapping at the door.
In the darkness he got in my way, and nearly
knocked me over as I reached for the latch. Even
when I had lifted it the eager beast prevented my
opening the door till I had fairly kicked him out of
the way. Then with a yelp of delight he squeezed
through the opening. I heard his defiant bark, the
plash of his feet in the puddles, before the pouring
rain drowned the sound of his pursuit.
I strained my eyes into the darkness, but could
see nothing. There was no moon behind the
clouds; everything was pitch black. Town-dwell-
ers never realize, I think, the darkness of the coun-
try night; for them there is always some glint of
light, however distant the source. But for me
there was no street-lamp, no faint gleam from a
neighbor's window; and as I stood there my eyes
might have been shut for all that I could see. Un-
less I could hear Jones pinning his man, pursuit for
me was hopeless.
But behind me in the house I heard my father
calling. I went to the foot of the stairs and looked
up to where he was standing, with a candle in his
hand.
"Some one's been here, father," I said.
Down-stairs he came, sputtering questions, my
quiet mother gliding behind. As he held the can-
dle over his head I looked at the high oven. The
door stood open, and from where I stood I could
see that the cavity was empty.
But beneath it on the floor was a litter of papers.


THE HIDING-PLACES
63
They seemed to have been dropped in a bundle,
and to have spread out fan-shape, as they fell.
Above them, on the mantel, stood a stub of candle,
which I quickly took down. The wax in the wick-
cup was still soft.
“See,” I said, and showed it to my parents.
Mother looked at it, at the papers, and at the
open oven. “Stidger!” she remarked.
“No!” protested father.
I think we argued it for five minutes, father and
I in our absurd night-shirts, mother in her decent
wrapper, but all oblivious of time and place and
costume. In the warm, steamy night we forgot
the open door. Mother and I felt sure that no one
but Stidger would have come and searched the
hiding-place. Of course he had come for the copy
of the will. Father had one objection: the man
hadn't the boldness. But remembering his dogged
courage as he faced me and Jones in the lane, I
thought that he had it in him to do the thing. We
were still arguing fruitlessly when suddenly mother
asked:
“What ails the cat?”
One of our numerous felines was acting strangely
in the middle of the kitchen floor. It was stagger-
ing aimlessly, crying faintly. As we watched, it
fell; and it needed only a look, after I had picked
up the little beast, to know that it was dead.
"Drat 'em !” said father, who hated cats even
while he acknowledged the need of them. “That's
one gone, anyway."


64
THE HIDING-PLACES
“But why should she die?” asked mother.
The cat had come from under the table. Ex-
amining, I found there a piece of meat, much too
great for the cat to dispose of.
Then Jones came in at the door, dirty of foot,
and with his hair laid flat by the rain. Straight
to me he came, and began his explanation. He
whined, he growled, he whimpered, he all but spoke.
As I took off the soaked and muddy leash, I patted
his head.
“Of course," I soothed. “I know you did your
best. It's too dark to see, and in this rain you
couldn't follow the scent.”
It pleased him, and after one long final compli-
cated sentence he subsided. Then I tried an ex-
periment. Holding the dog by the collar, I showed
him the meat. He opened his mouth, then hesi-
tated, sniffed, growled, and turned away.
I put the meat in the stove, where the morning's
fire would burn it up. “I suppose our visitor
chucked the meat in, and waited a while for it to
finish Jones."
Mother shuddered. “Shut the door and lock it !”
she cried.
And so, for the first time in many years, our
door was locked.


66
THE HIDING-PLACES
le
"But the thing itself is merely a copy," was Mr.
Worthen's rejoinder. "Perhaps he expected to find
valuables in the oven.”
"Everybody knows I've got none,” father ob-
jected. “And Stidger's no common thief, though
I admit I never liked him. Some one may have
come prowlin' after pickin's.”
It seemed to me very unlikely that any one
should expect to find burglary profitable in our
neighborhood, or anywhere else in rural New Eng-
land for that matter, when the towns offered so
much more. We never expected anything of the
sort; our forms of dishonesty were different.
"But how could any one get in ?” asked Mr.
Worthen.
“Right through the doorway," answered father,
surprised.
"Do you mean," demanded Mr. Worthen, “that
you never lock the house?”
“Why should we?" returned father. “No one
ever does.”
“Well,” said the banker shrewdly, "you'll lock
up after this.”
“Oh, yes !” agreed mother almost fervently. .
I gave up all thought of accusing Stidger, but as
I went about my work I puzzled about my night
adventure. Burglars weren't in the habit of roam-
ing our hills; Stidger knew of the use of the oven
as a hiding-place; he had tried to borrow the will.
But why he should want to steal it I could not see,
and at this point my chain of evidence snapped.


THE HIDING-PLACES
67
By nightfall I was able to laugh at his disappoint-
ment-but I did wish that Jones and I had been a
little quicker.
And now began to prey on me a trouble that for
three days I had been suppressing. Since the ex-
citements appeared to be over, I had leisure to think
of Margery. At the time of finding the box I had
shown myself at my worst, frankly, horribly selfish.
Gertrude had evidently forgiven my roughness in
seizing her wrist when she reached for the box;
but with Margery, against whom I had turned but
a glance of mistrust, I believed that the wound had
been deeper. I was not one to analyze and make
clear the difference between the two girls; but I
recognized Margery's greater sensitiveness. Now
that the thought really gained a firm hold on me, it
began to torment me. On the next day I was so
bothered by it that after supper I told father and
mother that I was going over to Cousin Lon's.
Father, taking the pipe from his mouth, remarked:
“He won't be overglad to see you.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Is he angry?”.
“He hasn't been to the village since the box was
found. Every one s'poses he's mad.”
“Well,” I said, “I'm going anyway.”
“If Cousin Lon speaks sharp,” warned mother,
"don't answer back. Remember how vexing it
must have been to see you carry off the box from
under his nose.”
With this advice I departed, and made my way
to the other farmhouse. I had nearly reached it


THE HIDING-PLACES
when, looking back, I saw that Jones was sneaking
after me. As soon as he saw that he was discov-
ered, he rushed, all wrigglings and apologies, to ex-
press his delight that we were together. I was
half minded to send him back; but since Cousin
Lon had never objected to the dog, I finally allowed
Jones to follow.
By the barnyard wall I paused to reconnoitre.
No one was visible. I crossed the wall, approached
the house, and was about to whistle for Margery,
when out of an upper window was thrust Cousin
Lon's head.
“Stay whar ye be!” he said darkly, and with-
drew.
Idly, while I waited, I studied the front of the old
house. Until I had been properly taught, I never
appreciated the design of a house as a whole; but
there did now creep upon me, for the first time, a
sense of the oddity of this one. Our own dwelling
was a plain New England farmhouse, and was,
with its two stories and gabled attic, its decently
generous windows, and the wide front door with
its two flanking apertures, by which one could look
in as well as out, upstanding and frank. Cousin
Lon's house was quite the opposite. Its stud was
low, and I believed that from the ground I could
almost reach to the tops of the lower windows.
The door had no openings beside it; moreover all
the windows (and there were but few) were small.
The roof overhung heavily, shading the upper win-
dows. Whereas our house was painted a cheerful


THE HIDING-PLACES
69
red, with trim in white, this house, trim and all,
was leaden in hue. I could well believe that the old
buccaneer had designed it himself, for it seemed
like his own soul, secret and forbidding. And feel-
ing all this, rather than thinking, it suddenly came
into my dull head to wonder why I was kept wait-
ing outside this door, which had always been so
free to me.
But when the door opened there came out not
only Cousin Lon, but also Stidger. The first, long,
large-framed, and gaunt, with his strange pallor
contrasting with his black locks and broad beard,
which grew up into the hollows of his cheeks, did not
look at me as he turned aside and let the other
pass. Stidger opened on me immediately.
“What do you want here?”
“I came to see Margery," I answered.
“To have a look around, you mean,” he sneered.
“To look for more boxes.”
His manner was so snarly, so unnecessarily aggres-
sive, that it came over me that he wanted to anger
me. The suspicion at once put me into my smooth-
est mood.
“My dear Mr. Stidger," said I, “this yard is the
last place to search for treasure, as perhaps by this
time you have discovered.”
His mottled skin took on a somewhat deeper
tinge, and I hoped I had struck home. “You've
no right to go in the house,” he said.
"Certainly," I agreed. “But what have you to
do with it?"


70
THE HIDING-PLACES
His attitude was at once brisk and hopeful. "I'm
your cousin's legal adviser," he stated.
“I wonder,” I said, surveying him, “if he needs
you as much as you need him.”
In a moment he was deeply red, and stood sput-
tering, not able to reply. Then Jones, who in the
meantime had been sniffing insolently about the
somewhat frayed bottoms of Stidger's trousers, gave
a growl.
Stidger, in default of an answer to me, drew back
his foot as if to kick the dog. Jones squatted,
snarling wickedly, his ears flat. In some alarm,
I cried: “Don't!”
“Why?" snapped Stidger. But he paused.
“The dog has never bitten anybody," I said.
“But I think he's perfectly willing to begin with
you."
"I warn you to take him off the place !” he cried,
drawing back.
“If you're speaking as a lawyer,” I retorted, "put
that in writing.” Had I not been getting the bet-
ter of him, he might have made me as angry as I
made him. As it was, I disliked him intensely.
His untidiness, his churlishness, his bloodshotness-
I hated his little red eyes !-were very repugnant.
I was very glad to turn away from him, to quiet
Jones, and to address myself, though with some
anxiety, to Cousin Lon. He had stood with face
averted, but plainly listening.
“Cousin Lon," I asked, “mayn't I see Margery?”
He looked at the ground, and began digging with


THE HIDING-PLACES
71
his boot, but he made no answer. “Why Cousin
Lon," I cried, disturbed, "aren't you going to
speak to me?”
To my amazement, Cousin Lon began to steal
away from me, even while I was talking. In a mo-
ment, still looking shamefacedly at the ground, as
if he rather than I was at fault, he had slipped
around the corner of the house.
With much dismay I saw him go. To be sure,
Cousin Lon had never been a companionable man,
like my father. He spoke little, smiled seldom,
laughed never, and in the last few years had not ap-
peared to notice that Margery and I had grown out
of childhood. While we chatted during my visits
he usually sat silent, apparently thinking of higher
or deeper matters than our concerns. But in his
way he had always been kind, offered me his pears
or his apples, and allowed me to feel that I was wel-
come to his house. Because, like all of us Hart-
wells, I went seldom to the village, and had no inti-
mates off the farm, Cousin Lon was important in
my life. I saw him go, therefore, with surprise and
great unhappiness.
Then I heard behind me Stidger's harsh voice.
“You see you ain't very welcome here.”
“Whose fault is it?” I demanded, whirling about.
“What have you been doing here these three or
four days?"
“Mindin' my business," he answered tartly.
“Yours rather than his !” I retorted.
It was on his lips to brag or threaten; at any


72
THE HIDING-PLACES
rate, I have seldom seen speech so ready to burst
out, yet so securely repressed. As if corking a bot-
tle, he closed his mouth, and I felt that what he had
to say I should never know. Then he nodded to
me ironically and, turning, went into the house and
closed the door.
I was angry enough to whistle for Margery in
order to spite him, but the remembrance of Cousin
Lon restrained me. If he did not want me on the
place, then I ought to go. I was both hurt and sor-
rowful; my anger was entirely gone as, after one
look at Margery's window, I turned from the house.
I had nearly crossed the yard before I heard her
voice. There by the cow-pasture lane she stood,
well-rounded yet girlish, dressed with a simplicity
which somehow was neither prim nor severe. At
first glance I saw restraint in her attitude, and
paused before going to her. But she smiled, and I
went to her quickly. It was not till long afterward
that I reflected that never before had there been
either constraint or encouragement between us.
But I had never yet come to study either Margery's
face or her character. The strength in the poise
of the head, the firmness in the rounded chin, the
self-control in the occasional straightness of the line
of the mouth, I missed entirely. What I depended
on was the frankness and the warm friendship in
the brown eyes.
“Margery," I said eagerly, “come away and let
me talk with you.”
“No," she answered. “Stand right here with


THE HIDING-PLACES
73
me, Binney, where any one can see. I mustn't
appear to be doing anything underhanded.”
The idea, connected with her, made me laugh;
but then I quickly traced it to its source. “Mar-
gery, what is that man Stidger doing here?"
Margery's clear eyes clouded, but they met mine.
“He says that father's got a clear case against
you."
“A clear case?” I was puzzled.
“Why," she explained, "you found the box on
father's land. It ought to be father's."
The idea made me laugh. It was like assailing
the Constitution or the law of gravity. “That's
nonsense!”
“I hope so,” she agreed. “But remember that
I told you."
“Why,” I asserted, “Stidger's nothing but a
shyster. He's working up the case just to get em-
ployment for himself. And meanwhile he's snoop-
ing round, I suppose, trying to find a box for him-
self.”
“If he is," answered Margery, smiling, "he gets
very little chance. Father hasn't yet let him out
of his sight.”
"Does he go out at night?” I inquired, thinking
of our late visitor.
Margery shook her head. “He goes to bed when
we do.”
“What do he and your father do?”.
Again her eyes were clouded. “I don't know.
All I can say is that he's making father very gloomy.”


74
THE HIDING-PLACES
“I wish I hadn't found the old box!” I cried.
"I don't believe it will do us any good, and it
seems to do you people harm. Margery, you ought
to have found it yourself! Why didn't you lift the
stone, and not I?”
The cloud on her face gave way to brightness.
“I just didn't. Don't worry about it, Binney."
Then I recollected what I came to say, and studied
her face to see how she would take it. Margery's
most prominent quality was honesty, and just now
it was shining in her eyes. Quite satisfied, I spoke
abruptly:
"I was very unkind to you the other day.”
She flushed at once, but did not pretend not to
understand. “It was nothing," she murmured.
“When I saw that box," I hurried on, "it seemed
to make a brute of me. I knew what the thing was;
I was ready, like a dog, to fight for it. I wouldn't
let Gertrude touch it, and was afraid that you
might take it first.”
"Yes,” said Margery. “It wasn't like you,
Binney."
"It was," I cried. “It showed what a poor
thing I am at bottom. Don't forget it, Margery.”
She smiled. "I won't forget that you came to
apologize."
"I do apologize," I said. “And don't you want
to know what was in the box ?”
"No," she said quickly and earnestly. “Don't
tell me. They'll be sure to ask me.” And she
nodded, very slightly, toward the house. I looked.


THE HIDING-PLACES
75
Two heads were visible at the windows, but at
once they vanished.
“There,” said Margery, somewhat bitterly.
“You see what sort of people we have become.”
“Can't you get rid of Stidger?” I asked.
“Soon, I hope," she answered. “And now, Bin-
ney,” she spoke very gently, “I think you'd better
80."
Surprised and a little hurt, I turned to her quickly.
Her glance held me. Besides dignity and confidence
I saw in her, for the first time, a sweet little air of
command.
There was sense in her dismissal. If she was to
be questioned, the longer I stayed the more un-
comfortable it would be for her. So I said good-
by and went. I told it all to mother and father,
and we were troubled for Margery-not yet for
ourselves.


CHAPTER IX
“AND now,” said father, "to spend money!”.
I am glad that he had that delight. For it is a
delight to feel that the pleasant chinking of the out-
flowing cash need not immediately stop. After my
acquaintance with it, I know that to be perfect the
experience needs its limitations: to spend without
thinking is only dissipation. But to decide that a
certain purchase shall be the best of its kind, or to
resolve that for a certain period, whether for a
month or a day, the thing shall be properly done-
that is exhilaration. Whatever other cares there
may be, one is satisfied with oneself on the score
of expense; the world assumes an aspect of peace;
into the waiting palms the coins drop ungrudgingly.
And that father had his share, however brief, of
this pleasure, is one of my satisfactions.
First of all, he bought for mother: A new pump,
new pans, tubs, stove. He bought blankets, sheets,
an easy chair; would have kept on buying diligently
unless mother had stopped him. He insisted, how-
ever, on new clothes and bonnet; and after the ar-
rival of the new dress took great pride in driving
her to church-whither I could not follow, lest the
place be left alone.
Then father bought for the farm. A little engine,
cumbrous beside those of to-day; a lathe with all


THE HIDING-PLACES
77
possible attachments; various farm tools; and then
the silo! It was a busy week while we were erect-
ing it, when every hour my mother came out and
noted the progress of the work. Then we had to
have a cutter and a blower for it, and much, much
paint.
Mother looked on it all with a good deal of amuse-
ment, even though with occasional fits of sadness.
As the weather-beaten buildings grew spick and
span she occasionally sighed, thus rousing father's
indignation. What, weren't the house and barn
much better for new paint? But she, and I too,
had a feeling for things as they were, though I could
not follow her in her apprehension that soon every-
thing was to be changed. After all, the bright
paint would soon tone down.
One thing mother insisted on: that, if she was to
have new clothes, so should we. A little amusing,
I thought, to see father in a new suit, making him
SO spruce and neat, except for one particular.
Mother asked what I giggled at, but abated her
indignation at my answer and, getting out her scis-
sors, trimmed his beard. Father growled when he
looked in the glass, yet with a furtive smile for the
man he found there.
My clothes caused dissension. I would get them,
but not yet. Indeed! And why not now? Well,
I wasn't sure what I wanted. When I knew what
was the style—the style! Hear the boy! But I
thought that my parents, even mother herself,
were pleased at my caution. So I got a new pair


78
THE HIDING-PLACES
of riding-gaiters, ordered a new saddle and bridle,
and was content.
And then I rode to the village to see Gertrude.
She had occasionally ridden up to look on at our
new enterprises, and once she had walked over with
Margery from the other farm. But mostly I had
had to be contented with thinking of her among the
summer folk at the village. It was into this col-
ony that I wished to pry. Of its existence I was
well aware; our butter and eggs had long gone to
supply it, while its dribbles of cash were important
to us. Its outward aspect I knew well enough-
the big, shingled hotel, the scattered residences, the
white-clad maidens and the blazered men, and the
distant activity of the game of tennis. But not
once had I trod the piazzas, nor, except at the store,
had I come face to face with the denizens of this
other world. It was, therefore, with much interest
that I cantered down to my first visit at the hotel.
A haughty youngster came out to see what I
wanted, and showed amusement when I inquired
for Miss Worthen. His tail drooped, however,
when I dismounted and gave him my bridle to hold,
with a caution that Peter was skittish. For all
that I got the best of him, I was not happy under
his superciliousness, nor did I feel comfortable as I
began to thread my way among the piazza chairs,
most of them occupied, in the direction that he in-
dicated. I was at first very conscious of my bulk
as I encountered glances raised from books or
turned from chatting groups; but when I heard an


THE HIDING-PLACES
79
old lady's loud cackle, “That's the young man!”
I remembered all the talk there must have been
about the box, and became very hot about the fore-
head and collar. Around the corner I found to my
relief a quiet nook, in which I saw Gertrude.
She jumped up-no, she rose. Gertrude's man-
ner varied with her company, as I was to learn, and
her demureness was new to me. I glimpsed the
reason when she turned to introduce me to her com-
panion.
“Mr. Collester."
Never before in my life had I been "introduced”
to a man. According to my memory I came to the
ceremony as to the opening of a wrestling-bout,
with doubt and caution. I see now that he could
have greatly bothered me by formality; even at
the time I had a wincing fear that he might stand
off and bow-for bow I could not. I liked him,
therefore, for coming forward with hand out-
stretched.
His hand was small and compact, not hard like
mine, of course, yet very firm. He looked at me
squarely, with a keen and unwavering eye that gave
me all its attention and held all of mine. Once in
a great while I meet an eye like that and find its
owner worth knowing.
“Well,” laughed Gertrude, "say something, do!”
Then I became aware that neither of us had said
a word. Not knowing what social law I had trans-
gressed, I stammered incoherently. But Mr. Col-
lester laughed.


80
THE HIDING-PLACES
"There was nothing to say,” he answered. “Mr.
Hartwell knows I am glad to meet him.”
I did know it, but what more struck me was that
I was glad to meet him. For I had been disap-
pointed to realize that Gertrude was not alone, and
now I felt a sudden, unpleasant surprise to hear her
address her companion as "John.” I had wished
to see the hotel and its people, but I had more wished
to see Gertrude. How could I see her when there
was a John? Yet, after all, he was the first young
man of Gertrude's world that I had met, he inter-
ested me, and I was glad to see him.
My recollection of our words and even of our
actions are very faint; apparently what we said
and did was of little importance. But as we sat
conversation did not flag; and then we rode for a
couple of hours. Gertrude managed her two men
with skill, so that neither of us, I believe, felt that
he had any advantage over the other. But we
watched each other, for I am sure that Collester
observed me, while I studied him. And two things
concerning him I learned.
The first was his personality. He was smaller
than I, but compact and firm, like his hand, and
firm in his countenance also. His whole face, from
his eyes to his straight mouth and his well-set chin,
showed a composure that it would have been difficult
to shake. Not that he was grave, for he smiled
readily and joked conventionally; but he appeared
to be naturally detached, and analytical of what
was passing. An observant man, in other words,


THE HIDING-PLACES
81
who was engaged in finding reasons, or in classifying.
And he was classifying me. Nevertheless, he was
polite about it.
And then I studied his costume. On the piazza
I was somewhat taken aback by a strange baggi-
ness about the hips, descending nearly to the knees,
where the trousers were suddenly constricted al-
most to a skin tightness. Below were leather gai-
ters, which were no handsomer than my own. But
I was from the first aware that Collester dressed
fashionably; and I knew that my own nether gar-
ments, folded within my gaiters, were as different
from his (mysteriously ending, I divined, not far
below the gaiter top) as was the farm from the city.
An odd figure he made on foot, where I might even
suppose that in grace I had the best of him; but
when we were on horseback, then the neatness of
his knees caused me much doubt. He was the
swell, I the plough-boy.
On my way home, those trousers of his worried
me acutely. I desired the like-but could I wear
them? Father's broad humor would soon spend
itself; mother would even be a little proud of
them; but could I outface my friends in the town?
I found myself practising a cool stare at post-office
wits.
Well, I must have such a suit, that was all there
was to it. When I got home I did extra chores,
carried in plenty of wood, pitched hay near the
feeding chutes, greased the wagons, oiled the har-
ness, turned the manure. At half past eight father


82
THE HIDING-PLACES
ordered me out of the manure-pit, where I had been
chuckling to myself at the thought of what Ger-
trude would say if she saw me there. But it was
so dark that no one could have seen me unless the
darkness had come upon him gradually.
“What ails you?" demanded father. "Such a
hog for work I never saw."
I explained. "Just getting ahead of the chores.
I want to-morrow off.”
“Take it,” he replied. “You've earned it. But
what for?”
I could not bring myself to tell, and my parents
refrained from urging me. My scheme I was
scarcely willing to admit to myself. I knew what
I was contemplating, but even within my mind it
did not take the form of words. When in the morn-
ing I saw Athol below me in the valley, and felt
within my pocket the lump that constituted my
savings for the year, I was still unwilling to voice
the wildness of my scheme.
I put up the horse in Warren's stable, and tak-
ing off my gaiters, hung them in the office. At
my trousers I looked ruefully. They were horribly
wrinkled and practically shapeless, yet until then
they had been my best. As I wondered if a tailor
would be able to restore their freshness, I felt the
burden of clothes.
Mr. Warren, asking when I should want the
horse, forced me to face the future. I bluffed it.
“Maybe in an hour, maybe not till afternoon."
And lingering on the edge of a great adventure,


THE HIDING-PLACES
83
in duty bound I sought a ready-made clothing
shop.
The clerk who waited on me was scarcely older
than myself, but his friendly manner made me
afraid of him. Fearing that he would sell me some-
thing in spite of myself, I would not admit what I
came for. I looked over the piles of garments,
varying from overalls to waistcoats. For years,
at wide intervals, I had fitted myself out at this
place; it had always seemed to me entirely ade-
quate, and now for the first time I found it unsatis-
factory. I compared these clothes with the suit
that Collester had worn. Even as they lay in
ordered piles, I thought them clumsy. Their ma-
terials looked cheap. Well, they were cheap. I
asked a question.
“And what have you in riding-clothes?”
The clerk stared. “Riding-clothes?” He did
not know what I meant. I got myself away.
Round the corner I had observed a tailor's shop,
with bolts of cloth in the window, draped to repre-
sent trousers. I went into the place and, not to
waste time, boldly asked my question.
"Ah," smiled the tailor. “Riding-clothes ? Just
a minute."
He rummaged among illustrated sheets so long
that finally I became interested in his search.
Groups of smiling young men, in very varied cos-
tumes, smirked at each other or at the beholder,
from lawns or terraces. Although spick and span,
they seemed very happy without the society of ladies.
VA


84
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Just a minute," repeated the tailor, seeing me
observing him. “I saw it just the other day. Ah!”
From among the sheets he drew out the oldest of
all, brown and spotted. “Here, sir," he said, and
pointed to a self-conscious effigy in one corner. It
was wearing a riding-suit.
“This was published three or four years ago,"
remarked the man. “But I think I could get the
pattern."
I looked down at him, a little Jew. “Oh, you
send for the pattern?”
“From New York; yes, sir. It will take only
three days."
“But if it's no longer in style?”
“Oh, I'll have the newest sent on."
Suspicions grew in me. “Have you ever made a
riding-suit?”
He became racial. “Hondreds of dimes. Ven I
was in New York.”
I shook my head and departed.
My feet took me to the station. Common sense
said: “Foolishness!” But even common sense gave
way as I perceived a train drawing in ahead of me,
its cowcatcher pointing east. I was a little out of
breath when I accosted its conductor.
“Where does this train go?”
He looked as if lunatic yokels bored him. “Among
other places, Boston.” Then he addressed the ether.
“Aboooard !”
I mounted the steps. Guilt whispered: “Don't
look back.” With pride I turned to face any ac-


THE HIDING-PLACES
85
cusing forefingers. But no one of my acquaintance
was on the station platform except the Petersham
stage-driver, who paid me no attention whatever.
I found a seat, and occupied it in defiance of the
opinion of all my little world. Out the window,
Athol sped backward by me.
And I was off for Boston! It was a ride into the
world. The train swept me into the twisting valley
of Miller's River, past Baldwinsville, past Royal-
ston, and in five minutes more I was farther from
home than I had ever yet been. “Home-keeping
youth have ever homely wits.” That justifies some
of my stupidity; but how could any of us ever go
far from home, with but three to do the work ?
When I saw Gardner, I looked on a bigger town
than I had yet seen; and when we drew into Fitch-
burg I was highly impressed.
I felt the impulse to get off. Surely such a city
could supply me with riding-breeches. But no!
There was romance at Boston, while Fitchburg was
but Fitchburg after all. So I merely secured a
sandwich and a banana, and rode on. I saw the
country change character, though God be praised
that in New England we are never out of sight of a
hill. We went through Concord, and I gawked at
it, wondering where the battlefield was. Walden
I saw without interest, though some one near me
mentioned its name. No one had ever spoken to
me of Thoreau. Waltham I recognized as another
city, and after it were more woods, but not many.
I saw a wonderful stretch of market-gardens, and


86
THE HIDING-PLACES
then the houses grew thicker and thicker. Surely
this was Boston. But everybody sat quiet while
we sped through an area more thickly settled than
forty Athols. Then we shot out upon trestles over
water, and off to the left I saw a great spike which
I knew to be Bunker Hill monument. My history
books had told me that this was just across the river
from Boston. I was first at the door to get off.
And this great roaring thing was a city! If
mother could but see it! She had been, as a girl,
to Worcester and Springfield to visit relatives, but
never since she married. Father had been here half
a dozen times, but those were great events, as these
were to me. Nevertheless, I remembered Benja-
min Franklin and his rolls, and made up my mind
not to make a fool of myself. I kept my mouth shut
as I looked around, and seeing in five minutes a
dozen men as countrified as I was, decided that I
could escape notice. I began to hunt for a tailor.
I wandered far before I found my man. There
were ready-made stores in plenty, and of consid-
erable dignity too; but with them I had done. I
saw tailor's signs also, and even tailor's windows,
but none of them looked as if they had any acquain-
tance with riding-clothes. And then I came out on
a great open space, where lofty elms grew, where
there were wide stretches of green lawn, and where
at a little distance I saw the glimmer of water.
Boston Common! Looking on it, I felt the heat and
dust and noise of the streets press heavily on me,
and I longed for the grass beneath my feet.


THE HIDING-PLACES
87
But there, up the hill to the right, rose a great
building with a golden dome—the hub of the uni-
verse! And forgetting everything else I began to
climb toward it. It was my strong desire to wan-
der in and lose myself in its cool historic depths;
but half-way up the hill I stopped. I had come
for tailors.
As I glanced uncertainly about me, my eye fell
on cloth in a window at the level of my shoulders.
Just a bolt of cloth, lying carelessly on the window-
seat: what was it doing in a private house? But
that was a store alongside, as its sign showed; and
there were other rolls of cloth in the recess behind
this glass. This was the shop of a tailor; and surely
a tailor who did not require the aid of at least a
brass sign must be a man of mark. I entered the
place of measurements.
The man who met me might well have been got
up for a stroll on the Common. He wore a long
coat with silk facings, which somehow suggested
formality; he had a flower in his buttonhole, and
he wore a tie which was neither white nor gray,
but most elegant. His beard was exquisitely bar-
bered. He and his costume reminded me of the
Prince of Wales, as made familiar on cigar-boxes
in the store and in the public prints. But I knew
that this was the owner of the shop. He smiled at
me inquiringly. I wonder if I looked more like a
customer or an errand boy. An inspiration seized
me.
“I want,” said I, “some riding togs."


88
THE HIDING-PLACES
The last word placed me in the buying class. The
tailor smiled with understanding. “Exactly,” he
said.
His first question or two confused me, and I al-
most lost courage. He was still not sure of me-
eccentric, or really a rustic? But his eye looked
human, and on an impulse I put myself into his
hands.
“Look here," I blurted. “I'm from the country,
and I know I look it. But there are city folk near
us, and I like to ride with them, and I've seen a fel-
low in clothes that look to me all right. Only, for
heaven's sake, don't make me look like a fool, all
fussed up in duds that don't belong to me!”
And now it appeared that this tailor was a man.
His eye gleamed, and I felt the pressure of his hand
upon my shoulder. “I came from the country my-
self,” he said. “Leave it to me.”
He muttered to himself, “Sack coat-Harris
cloth," and other phrases from a strange vocabu-
lary. Then he called his minions, who puttered
around me with tape and square and called out
numbers which were echoed from behind a parti-
tion. One man came for the trousers alone, and
to my surprise the sole business of another was to
measure for the vest.
"If I might suggest,” murmured my friend in my
ear, “an extra pair of trousers, of ordinary cut, for
other occasions.”
“Good !” I agreed.
He showed me the cloth that he advised, a rough


THE HIDING-PLACES
89
fabric that caused me to doubt. The colors were
odd. But he insisted that he was right, and I had
given my individuality into his hands.
“And for-best?” he asked. “Say one more
suit, of this?”
It was a wonderful dark blue, and I fell in love
with it. But a dreadful thought intervened. “The
price?" I faltered.
He looked at me with sinister meaning. “Did
any one send you to me?”
“No," I explained. “I just saw your window.”
He became thoughtful. “You pay cash?”.
“Yes," I answered.
He was kindly. “I will give it to you cheap,”
he stated, and named a sum which made me gasp.
And the riding-suit was just as much? More! I
turned bitterly to the window.
He murmured behind me. “I was afraid you
didn't know. I made it as low as I could.”
I wrestled in spirit. It was shocking extrava-
gance. I had no right to buy the one suit, let alone
two. But I wanted them. And it was I who
found the box. Father would back me. Reck-
lessly I turned and gave the order.
He nodded approval. “You go back to-day?”
“Oh, I must," I assured him. “Five o'clock at
latest.”
“Come at four for a fitting.”
Some one, a foreman, I supposed, gasped in a
corner. I turned to go out. My tailor followed me.
“If I may suggest,” he said on the steps, “the


. 90
THE HIDING-PLACES
clothes will look better if you also have the correct
thing in the rest of your dress.”
More cost? But I recognized the truth, even
though I gazed at him imploringly.
He was firm, and named my needs. "Hat, col-
lars, ties, shirts, shoes. Indispensable." And he
told me where to buy them.
Seven hours later, as my horse climbed the long
hill that led to Petersham, I looked in the darkness
off to the eastward. There was a dull gleam on
the horizon that showed where Gardner lay; but
Boston, the city of dreams, was beyond my ken.
Yet I knew that I had seen it, its crowded streets,
its green Common, its ancient edifices, its kind tailor.
I had a faint impression of its noise and its heat,
but mostly it shifted like a kaleidoscope before my
eyes. And I was eager for the future, and for the
two new suits of clothes.
When the box arrived I allowed mother to open
it. Uppermost lay the homespun, and her face fell
at the sight. Good cloth, of course; but to go rid-
ing with Gertrude in-! The blue serge she fell in
love with, however, and so was satisfied.
But father's amusement when I first appeared in
the riding-breeches was uproarious. I swelled out
in the middle like a squash, he declared-or like
a clown; exactly like a clown. He knew what the
boys in the village would say.
So did I, and they said it, and it vexed me. I
dismounted at the post-office to go in with a basket
of eggs (mother never thought of sparing me), and


THE HIDING-PLACES
91
my new dimensions attracted the eyes of the loaf-
ers. Binney Hartwell's pillow-cases were, from that
time, bywords. I felt that my grin was a very
feeble one; and I never used my haughty stare at
all. Yet, to my satisfaction, the men in the store
were indulgent and shut the boys up. It struck
me that since the finding of the box the men had
looked at me differently.
On the hotel piazza I found Gertrude, alone, She
danced toward me. "Binney! What lovely-what
scrumptious—what awfully good-looking clothes !”
“Indeed?” I asked as if amused.
“And the fit!" she cried.
“Just ran over to Lunnon,” said I. For all her
teasing, I would not tell her where I got them.
The approval that I most wanted, however, was
Collester's. I watched him when he came; I kept
my eye on him during the first five minutes. I saw
that he took notice of me, and was satisfied with his
signs of courteous interest; but when Gertrude left
us for a moment he turned to me directly.
He took my sleeve between his thumb and fore-
finger. “Boston ?” he asked.
“Yes," I answered
“Dorset's, on Park Street ?”
“Yes,” I said again, surprised.
“Upon my word !” was his sole remark. But I
was satisfied.


CHAPTER X
I SPECULATED as to what Mr. Collester was. To
begin with, he was older than I by some years,
though I could not tell how many. The composure
of his manner showed experience; his frame, though
still athletic, had lost its spring; and while his
cheeks were round and full as a boy's, and were
fresh as an apple, there were little wrinkles at the
corners of his eyes. Thirty, going on thirty-five,
was where I classed him, with a little thought (I
still have it) that perhaps he was older yet. He
rode with the precision and formality of the riding-
school, but I took some lessons of him. My seat
was firmer than his, yet I learned, by watching him,
to keep my elbows in, my hands down, my toes
straight forward. A little good, honest jealousy is
a wonderful stimulant.
And a little jealousy I felt. What this man was
doing here; why he seemed to belong to Gertrude,
and must ride with her and me; if really, she being
but a girl, and he a man grown, he meant business:
all this I wanted to know. Gertrude was scarcely
nineteen; I was only twenty; and surely there was
plenty of time before we thought deeply of life. If
this man insisted on lugging seriousness into our
good times, it would be very disturbing. I recog-


THE HIDING-PLACES
93
nized that I might have to make up my mind be-
fore I wanted to—which thought, as I look at it
now, was more than presuming, there being such a
difference between the farm boy and the city girl.
But my confidence was supreme.
We went this morning to Cousin Lon's, Ger-
trude intending that Collester should see where the
box had been found. I noticed that my Peter con-
trasted with the other two horses. Gertrude's was
her own, with all the paces, though she most used
the single-foot. The action of mine was free and
natural; his gaits were but the run, a canter, and a
loose and rangy, although uneven, trot. A hard
beast to ride, I think, for any one not used to him.
Collester's mount was a medium-sized chestnut, a
formal and machine-like trotter, that nevertheless
showed some enthusiasm when it came to a race.
Collester backed him well, and it struck me that
the two were well suited.
“Surely not a Petersham horse," I remarked.
“Surely not,” laughed Gertrude. “Mr. Collester
uses none but his own. He rode this one up from
Boston.”
So, I inferred, Collester kept more than one horse
for mere pleasure, and doubtless had an income
according. I grudged it him.
We clattered up the road to Cousin Lon's, as
gullied and stony as my father's own. Gertrude
dashed ahead into the yard, and I let Collester go
second, since I wished not to take any liberties there.
I felt sure that Stidger had gone; we saw neither


94
THE HIDING-PLACES
him nor Cousin Lon, but Margery was coming from
the barn as we burst in. We left our horses tied to
the rails, and went out with her to view the place
where I had found the box.
To me Margery was a welcome addition, since
she gave me Gertrude to myself. Collester took
to Margery at once; every one does; she was as
neat as if expecting us, and she smiled on him very
kindly. "The men like her," said. Gertrude as the
other two walked ahead of us across the fields.
“But she doesn't flirt, as I do."
Thus, having provoked me to declare that she
did not flirt, Gertrude began to flirt with me.
We went and looked down into the tiny hiding-
place, one of the few reminders, besides a little
wealth, that still speaks of the old buccaneer. He
must have made the cavity himself, very curiously
and neatly; folk come nowadays to find it, and re-
move the cover, and put their hands down into it,
and wish. I found that the wall at that point was
based on an outcropping of ledge, so that no frost
could heave it. Collester looked at the hiding-place
with great interest, and bowed to me.
"You are the only person I know that belongs
in a real romance."
“Margery, too,” corrected Gertrude. “She may
yet find the other two boxes." And she put her
arms around Margery, as if defending her, which
was very pretty and effective, though a trifle arti-
ficial-which I didn't recognize at the time, though
I suspect Margery and Collester did. Collester


THE HIDING-PLACES
95
begged pardon, and included Margery in his state-
ment.
“It's her turn," I agreed. “And on my land,
too, I hope. It would be only fair.”
On the way back the two girls walked together.
Collester put a question or two to me, concerning
the pirate and his jewels. “Curious,” he said,
"that this will isn't better known. Such a provi-
sion would have led to lawsuits in most families,
years ago. But you seem to even matters up in the
long run. At the same time there seems to be no
permanent advantage from these stones.”
“This time there will be," I said confidently.
“We've put in a lot of improvements already.”
He looked at me, I think, as an older man does
at a younger, when politely gauging the depth of
his ignorance. “I meant,” he said, “saving the capi-
tal. You will invest it, perhaps?”.
“Oh," I said, "father has arranged all that with
Mr. Worthen.”
I must have spoken a little loftily, for he begged my
pardon. At first he seemed still to be studying me;
but when I looked at him he was gazing elsewhere
and was whistling softly. We said nothing more.
Margery asked us into the house. “You're not
proposing to give us tea!” protested Gertrude.
"No," laughed Margery. “But I've milk, and
cookies that Mr. Collester may like.”
“Cookies !” exclaimed he. “Oo!” And they
smiled at each other frankly. Here was an instinc-
tive friendship.


96
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Confound him!” I thought. “Both my girls!”
I went in sulkily, and would not take any food.
Both my girls, and he a man of thirty, thirty-five,
forty for all that I knew. I had not made up my
mind to dislike him, but I was ready to. He was
too calm. If he had but shown a little jealousy-
anything !-it would have cheered me up.
We three rode away to the main road and turned
south, intending to take the Templeton road and
circle around to the southeast until we reached home
again. But, not being cheerful as yet, I fell behind
the other two as they cantered on, and so came to
an adventure which at first I did not recognize as
such.
In the hollow of the road there sat on a stone a
figure that rose as we approached and turned a
pale face up to us. The face struck me, for in spite
of white lips and a forehead streaked with the dust
of the road, there was a smile of admiration on it.
But the smile was wistful, too, as if it said: “Oh,
knights and ladies, a word of guidance for the beg-
gar-man!” So, being quite willing to lag, I reined
up and looked down on the lank figure and the up-
turned visage.
He was a weedy stripling, so wabbly from the
mere outgrowing of his strength that he seemed to
stand unsteadily. Looking on him, I became com-
passionately conscious of my own thews.
“Can I direct you?" I asked..
The face lighted up with a timid pleasure. There
was something very humble in the gratitude of the


THE HIDING-PLACES
97
brown eyes and the smile that trembled at the sen-
sitive lips. But the cheeks were hollow as well as
pale, and I wondered if it were not physical weak-
ness that made the mouth so tremulous.
"I was looking,” he answered, “for Mr. Alonzo
Hartwell's.” And he half drew a letter from his
pocket.
His voice had a deep and pleasant ring; it was
oddly mature for his age, which I took to be per-
haps a year less than my own. Its mellowness con-
trasted, too, with his appearance, so little was it
underfed. And as I used the word, I realized how
well it fitted him. He looked as empty as an en-
velope.
It occurred to me that he must have come from
Stidger. No one else, whether for secrecy or for
safety, would have refrained from trusting the let-
ter to the mail. "Didn't Mr. Stidger," I asked,
"give you a breakfast before sending you off ?”
He was startled, but answered quickly: "Oh, I
had some breakfast.” .
I knew that he could not be planning to remain
at Cousin Lon's. “And you are going to walk all
the way back to Athol ?”
“Of course,” he answered bravely.
"You have overshot your mark,” I told him.
“The house is nearly a mile back, on the first road
to the left. Now, will you do something for me?"
His face, in which I had at first seen no distinc-
tion, lighted winsomely. “Certainly.”
I found a scrap of paper and scribbled a note to


98
THE HIDING-PLACES
Margery. “Give him the milk and cookies that I
did not take." Folding it, I gave it to him. His
hand was long and thin and shapely.
“My cousin is at the house," I said. “Give
that to her. And one more thing "
“Yes?” he said willingly.
I paused before I ventured. But I had liked
him on sight, I felt protective toward him, as to a
luckless dog that I wanted to harbor, and I be-
lieved that he would not resent a kindly offer.
"Don't walk back," I said. “You know the
Petersham stage?” He nodded. “It goes by to
Athol some time after four. Wait for it by the
road, make the driver take you in, and tell him
it's my treat."
His eyes shone up at me gratefully and without
pride. He nodded. “Binney Hartwell's treat.”
“Why, yes," I admitted. “How did you know
my first name?”
"I knew you," he said simply, with a kind of shy
contentment.
“And you'll do it?" I demanded.
“I'll do it,” he answered. He pointed along the
road. “And they're waiting for you."
So they were, and I had forgotten them. Wav-
ing him a good-by, I hurried to where the other
two stood at the top of the next rise. They were
talking interestedly, asked for no explanation, and
we rode on together; but this time I was cheerful
again, and kept pace with them.
We turned down the Templeton road and wan-


THE HIDING-PLACES
99
dered on our circuit. It was an hour before we
faced home again and saw a thunder-storm coming.
That was a summer for storms; we had a full dozen
of them in July and August alone. Gertrude did
not like the outlook; nor, to be frank, did I. Valor
is wonderfully tempered by discretion for one's
clothes. So we raced willingly to the village, which
we reached in plenty of time. She and Collester
invited me into the hotel, but I shook my head, and
shouted, “Chores !” as I made off in a clap of
thunder.
The storm overhung me as I rode for more than
a mile, but no rain came down. Great swirling
clouds drove over my head, and from them came
great peals. Three times I saw the lightning leap,
but only from cloud to cloud; and as I hurried
along the high ridge there was as yet no rain driv-
ing from the west. But as I set the horse to the
hill that led downward past the Diamond farms,
over in the distance Orange was blotted out. I felt
the first gust of the chill that preceded the down-
pour, and shook the reins on Peter's neck. “Now,
old boy, for the sake of my suit!” Exhilaration
seized me at the vigor of his response. We reached
the curve, swept around it-and Peter swerved to
the right so suddenly as almost to throw me.
Some one, rising from the grass, had stepped out
into the road at the sound of our coming. So
much I guessed, as I saw him turn to leap back
again. I would not have checked Peter, even
though I recognized Stidger's messenger, had I not


100
THE HIDING-PLACES
seen him trip, twist, and fall. I heard his scream
of pain, stopped Peter with a great scattering of
pebbles, and went back. The boy lay upon the
grass, and turned up to me his white face.
“My leg!” Then he fainted.
Surely enough, the leg, strangely twisted, seemed
broken above the ankle. And there the lad lay,
while beyond our hill the rain was sweeping nearer.
I knew the stage had not yet left the village, and
no one at all was in sight.
There was nothing else to do than to take him
home with me. I could scarcely drop him on Mar-
gery's hands, and our house was the next nearest.
It would have been a long, hard ride to the village;
it was hard enough as it was. With difficulty I
got his dead weight across the saddle before me.
I hoped that the jolting would not rouse the lad
as I carried him up our farm road and to the house.
With a scared face, mother met me at the door. I
got him under cover as the storm broke, and to-
gether we put him on a bed. Then, with a poncho
to cover my good suit, in the driving rain I hurried
for the doctor.


CHAPTER XI
It was a whole month later when, on a fine Sep-
tember day, I sat with Margery on the door-step
and watched Joe Rodey limp about the orchard,
managing his cane with one hand while he picked
up apples with the other.
“He's almost well,” said Margery.
“Favors his leg,” I pointed out. “He needs an-
other week before he can give up the stick."
“And not a word from Mr. Stidger all this time,”
she remarked.
It was just as well, I thought. I wanted noth-
ing to do with him. Margery sighed.
“Does he still come to your place?” I asked.
“He writes to father," she explained. “Every
week at least. I don't know what the letters say,
but they make father moody.”
“Burn them before he gets them,” I suggested.
She smiled. "He burns them afterward. I'm
only glad that he doesn't keep them to read over
again. It's bad enough as it is.”
I murmured my regret that I had found the box.
Yet I did not really mean it, not yet, although re-
gretful that Margery was distressed in consequence.
And just now, idly watching Joe, my attention was
called by the fact that something had disturbed him.
IOI


102
THE HIDING PLACES
He stood half crouching, looking over the wall and
down the lane. Then, limping in haste, he made
for us.
“What is wrong with him?" asked Margery.
“There can be only one thing," I reasoned. “We
have been speaking of the devil. Stidger's coming."
And he was. Joe, coming to us with clouded
face, his eye shifting toward the road, murmured:
“Mr. Stidger!”
I am ashamed that in those days I considered
him a boy, myself a man. So, seeing his apprehen-
sion, I laid it to childishness, rather than to igno-
rance of his own rights and the habit of obedience
through three years of ill-nourished drudgery. Nor
had I yet learned that the nervous dread of a con-
flict of wills, in persons who understand the issues
of such conflicts, is quite as much to be respected
as the happy-go-lucky blundering of such men as
myself, whose chief dependence is physical strength.
But with a good-natured impatience, I saw that Joe
was trembling.
"He won't eat you,” I said. “Sit down, be com-
fortable, and ask him why he hasn't paid you some
attention before.” These being quite impossible for
Joe, I had to think of something else to do.
The grindstone stood close by, and I placed a
chair beside it. “Now," I said, “turn that stone
either with your hand or your good leg. When-
ever I tell you to turn, turn!” And for want of
something better to sharpen, I took out the old
knife with which I hunted for boxes. From the


104
THE HIDING-PLACES
age that made him snarl where he would not truckle,
and snatch where he could not persuade. But I
had no sympathy for him then. Joe gasped, the
wheel stopped turning, and looking up, I found
Joe pale with dismay
“I'll come to-morrow," he stammered.
“You'll turn the wheel,” I commanded. “And
you won't go back to Athol till I let you.”
Joe began to turn again, weakly. I saw Stidger's
feet move nearer to me. “What business is it of
yours?”
“Why," I answered, grinding carefully, "you've
just told me yourself. If I'm responsible for his
broken leg, I'm responsible for healing it. Faster,
Joe.”
“He's well,” asserted Stidger impatiently. “Just
look at him. Been growing fat."
“That's because he's well fed,” I retorted.
"If he can sit here and grind,” insisted Stidger,
“he can sit at a desk and write." I felt the wheel
slow down.
"Faster,” I urged. “Yes, Mr. Stidger, that's
all very well; but how soon will you send him on
another fourteen-mile walk with only a glass of
blue milk for breakfast ?”
I had guessed at the blueness of the milk, but
Stidger did not raise the point. “There was bread,”
he snapped.
“Offered, but not given," I retorted. “No, he
doesn't leave me till he's well. Another week at
least, the doctor says."


THE HIDING-PLACES
105
“Leave off that grinding !” exclaimed Stidger,
exasperated. “It ain't so important."
I looked up at him. “A very important knife,”
I explained. “A four-inch blade, and very strong.
I've given it a good point for the first time in years.
It's what I look for boxes with.”
He had been getting finely angry, but now at the
word he controlled himself. His face remained
red, but he closed his mouth firmly, and with the
action seemed to swallow his wrath. “Then," he
asked slowly: "I'm to understand you won't let
the boy go?”
"It wouldn't be right," I answered, myself so-
bered a little by the change in him. For though his
anger was repressed, I felt that it was just as strong
within him, and the more dangerous because under
control.
“Very well,” he said. "Joe, you needn't look
for more work from me.” He turned to go.
“Where are you going?” I demanded. For he
was making for the wall, at the place where we com-
monly crossed to go to Cousin Lon's.
“Where I please," he flung back at me.
"If you're going to the other farm,” I told his
back, for he was marching on, “the way is down the
road."
He stopped with his hand on the wall. “But
that's a mile farther.”
"I can't help it if it's ten," I answered. “No-
body crosses our land.”
He showed his yellow teeth as he looked back at


106
THE HIDING-PLACES
me, in a grin that reminded me of a rat's. Slowly
his foot came up and found a crevice in the stones.
Shutting my knife, I rose and went over to him,
while he waited in the same position. He looked
yet more like a rat as I drew nearer, with his little
red eyes gleaming sharper. But he was small and
scrawny, and I did not wish to quarrel with him.
“You know," I said, "that you ought not to
cross that wall.”
He looked away and set both hands on the top
of the wall, as if to spring over it. That was enough
for me.
"If you do," I said, “I'll throw you back again-
and that's a legal warning, Mr. Stidger."
Slowly he turned and faced me; then suddenly,
overcome by exasperation, he ground his teeth at
me. I had never heard the sound before; it was
full of passion, and involuntarily I stepped back.
Then with a gesture of both hands, as if throwing
from his breast the whole load of his anger at me,
he turned and walked away. Very soberly, taken
aback by his strange action, I went and sat down
by the others.
“What did he mean by that?" asked Margery
in a low voice.
I could not tell. If I had felt myself a man be-
fore, I knew myself now to be but a boy, oppressed
by the undeniable advantage which the mere weight
of years gives to an adult. I felt inexperienced,
unstable; I wondered if he could do something
which I could not prevent.


THE HIDING-PLACES
107
“Oh," Joe broke out suddenly in a trembling
voice: "He is a hateful man, a revengeful man! I
ought to have gone back with him.”
He restored my courage. “You ought not,” I
declared. “You never shall have anything more
to do with him.”
"How shall I live, then ?"
I would have said, “Live here”, but, though we
had come to like Joe for his humility and responsive-
ness, that was impossible. “There are plenty of
places for a fellow like you,” I stated confidently.
“Don't fret about the future, Joe. Don't worry
about anything at all. There, you've got grease
on your hand. Go in and wash it off.”
"He thinks the world of you," said Margery
when he had gone. “He will talk about you by
the hour.”
“What he hasn't made clear," I remarked, “is
how he happens to have known me by sight. He
seems to have been in the habit of watching for me
in Athol streets.”
Margery explained. “You have attracted him
by the quality he hasn't got, your strength. He
goes to watch you every year, pitching in the game
against Athol. He and Bertie Stidger."
"Bertie Stidger?” I asked, surprised. “Who
is he?"
“Bertha is her real name,” explained Margery.
“Mr. Stidger's daughter, a frail little wisp, not
yet ten. Twice they have slipped off to the game
together.”


108
THE HIDING-PLACES
“She, too?” I asked. “I wish they would im-
part a little of their feeling to her papa. Margery,
how shall I find work for Joe?”
"I should ask Mr. Collester,” answered Margery
promptly.
“ Collester?” I asked. “But he lives in Bos-
ton.”
“Joe has no ties, no relatives at all,” she reasoned.
Joe, we had found, was a poorhouse child. “He
will be willing to go to Boston-especially if you
go there.”
“If I go there," I mused. “Hm!”
It was a pleasant subject for musing on. We had
all hinted at it, but as yet indefinitely. I felt as
if I were on the threshold of change, were on my
way to becoming, or doing, something.
"Gertrude,” said Margery, "is coming up this
morning to see you about it. She ought to be here
now.”
“Upon my word!” I exclaimed. So that was
why Margery had come over in working hours,
when she knew, too, that mother would be at the
village. I did not feel quite flattered. What scheme
did they have on foot for managing me? But I
had no time to ask questions, for here came Ger-
trude, tumultuously charging into the yard, her
favorite entrance. Collester, more sober, was be-
hind, so that I had the privilege of taking Gertrude
from her horse.
“Oh," she broke out when we were all seated,
“I have seen that man again. His fists were


THE HIDING-PLACES
109
clinched, and I know he was muttering, and he
scowled at me so! What was he doing here?”.
I told her, and she fluttered with the prettiest
interest. "He looks so dangerous. How could
you?”
"Do you mean,” asked Collester, interested,
“that you really refused to let him cross your land ?”
“We let nobody cross," I answered. “All the
land is posted.”
“And if I wanted to wander about?”.
"Mr. Collester," I laughed, “I will go with you
anywhere.”
“Most interesting," he murmured.
“And most natural,” I claimed. He agreed. I
asked him my question, what to do with Joe.
“What work has he done?” he inquired.
We called Joe from the house and made him give
an account of his work with Stidger. “Copying
and errands," summarized Collester. “I can put
you in the way of something better." His eye lin-
gered over Joe, as if he liked him.
Joe had a winsome shyness, like a girl's, that
called blushes to his cheeks, and made his plain face
seem almost handsome. He thanked Collester, but
turned a hesitating eye on me. Should he go?
“Boston is a big place,” remarked Gertrude de-
murely. “Binney, why don't you go and take care
of him ?”
“I should like to," I agreed readily.
“You know,” went on Gertrude, "your father
has been speaking to my father about your going to


110
THE HIDING-PLACES
Boston after the crops are in, and spending the win-
ter in business. Isn't it a good plan?”.
It was. I wanted the city. I was eager to go.
“Mr. Collester,” said Gertrude, "probably could
make room for you, too."
I was-stumped. It was meant as an offer; she
had come to make it. And Collester, looking up at
me, nodded. Margery was watching me eagerly.
“But,” I stammered, "my father had some idea
that Mr. Worthen” I stopped. I couldn't claim
a similar offer from the banker, but I had hoped
for it.
“But, Binney,” remonstrated Gertrude earnestly.
“Oh, come and talk with me!”
She took me away from the others, and I leaned
by the wall where I had threatened Stidger. Ger-
trude stood in front of me; she was flushed and em-
barrassed.
"You want to go to the city,” she said. “What
sort of thing should you care to do?”
“Money interests me," I told her. “Invest-
ments, now that we have capital to invest. Brok-
ing or banking, I suppose."
Her face fell. “Don't you care for the law, Bin-
TOT IT.
ney?”
I divined that Collester was a lawyer. "But," I
objected, “that would mean years of study first.”
"Some good lawyers,” she argued, “never go to
law school at all.”
“They study all the harder, then, outside,” I re-
turned. “And I'm nothing of a student, Gertrude."


THE HIDING-PLACES : III
III
“Mr. Collester handles money," she said, trying
again. “I know he does. We can ask him, if you
like.”
Involuntarily I looked over to the door-step, where
Margery and Collester, seeing the action, hastily
became absorbed in gazing at the orchard. I felt
exasperated, as a man does when he discovers that
his womenfolk, plotting to influence him, have
called in the aid of an excellent but somewhat
superior friend. But Collester was not my friend
not yet. And like a young prince, instead of mar-
velling that this fine creature, still so much of a
stranger to me, our acquaintance being almost acci-
dental, our ties of the flimsiest, should trouble her-
self with me for a moment, I stood doubtful and sus-
picious of her purpose.
“But why not go to a real broker?” I demanded.
Gertrude shifted her ground to meet me. "You
can. Mr. Collester can perhaps tell you where to go.”
I was getting vexed by this determined blocking
from my own purpose. “Why not ask your father?”
I inquired shortly.
Herself vexed, she was equally short. “Father
will take you into his own office."
Relieved, I was ready to smile. “Oh, I was
afraid he wouldn't."
"But, Binney," she cried, with a change as swift
as mine, "you must-you must—" In embarrass-
ment she clutched at my sleeve. “You must prom-
ise me to refuse it.”
“Refuse it !" I exclaimed.


II2
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Ask Mr. Collester,” she suggested, "if you
won't do better elsewhere."
"No," I said coldly. "I don't see any reason
for consulting him.”
Gertrude's hands fluttered at my shoulder. “Bin-
ney!” she pleaded. I was a fool not to yield to her
genuine distress. Instead, I demanded reasons.
“Tell me why I shouldn't go with your father.”
Stupid of me! How could she speak plainly on
such a subject? Gertrude drew herself up, and
showed me a glimpse of a side of her character which
I had never yet seen. I had felt that she was pur-
poseful, and that her playfulness and whimsies
might easily hide her determination to have her
own way. But until she stood and stared at me,
as now, I had never suspected her capable of cold
anger against a trespasser on ground which a man
of sense should know was forbidden. And even
now I pressed forward so hastily that I did not
clearly see my offense. For I thought I had an
idea.
“Do you think I'll bother you too much?” I
asked jealously.
She looked at me in haughty silence, then turned
and went back to the others. I followed her stiffly.
Margery studied our faces, first anxiously, next with
disappointment. Thanking Mr. Collester, I said
that I could probably not accept his offer. Then,
with perfect lightness, Gertrude began to laugh
about Stidger and his gloomy aspect. And so it all
passed over.


THE HIDING-PLACES
113
Or appeared to. But Gertrude's chill disgust
had impressed me. I was embarrassed and gloomy,
and was glad when the visitors went. And though,
failing entirely to understand my own offense, I
reasoned that the girl had asked too much of me, I
was nevertheless troubled until evening.
After supper Mr. Worthen, alone, rode up to call.
Interested and conscious, I lingered at a little dis-
tance until father called me to the door-step where
my three elders sat. Mr. Worthen glanced at me
with a quizzical smile, father looked at me proudly,
mother a little sadly.
“There, Mr. Worthen," said father. “There's
the boy that found the box. His mother and I want
to make of him all we can. He's earned it. Hasn't
he, mother?"
I took no special heed that mother smiled pa-
tiently, and made no other answer. Mr. Worthen
had my real attention, and now he fixed me with
his eye.
"Binney," he said, "your father has asked for
my advice. Do you want to hear it?" I nodded
breathlessly. “It's to put you at work with me.
Will you come?”.
“Oh, I will!” I cried.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “You ought to un-
derstand what the work is.” He leaned forward,
his gray eye piercing me. “My business is compli-
cated. Let me warn you of that. I'm a broker, my
boy, the biggest in Boston. I have half a dozen
branches to my work-stocks, bonds, flotations,


114
THE HIDING-PLACES
banking, and so on. Don't you dream for a minute
that you can learn it all in a day. But I can give
you such a chance as nobody else can. I'll keep
my eye on you. I'll bring you forward. You've
the makings of a clever man in you. I'll build you
up. Will you come?”
He was all bluffness and kindness, and his praise
uplifted me. Of course, I gasped out my delight.
It was arranged that in November, as soon as father
could spare me, I should travel to the city. A little
timidly I spoke of Joe.
Mr. Worthen shook his head very decidedly.
“No weaklings in my office."
Regretful, yet the prouder, I said no more. Joe
would have to be satisfied with Mr. Collester.


CHAPTER XII
THERE was a natural heartlessness in my readi-
ness to go to the city. Natural, because I was
obeying the impulse which drives men to the at-
tempt to better themselves. Besides, I was young.
So, when the time came, I went with complete for-
getfulness of the feelings of the others. I scarcely
considered that at the farms we were a little com-
munity cut off from the world, where mother and
Margery had no intimates, and where the habit of
the men was to stay at home and attend strictly to
business. The disappearance of one from such a
small circle would make such a gap that even
Cousin Lon was sure to miss me.
But I never thought it out then, nor did any of
them tell me. Margery, for example, was quite in-
scrutable when I made my absurd farewell, at the
thought of which I still grow uncomfortable. I went
to see her, and took her with me on my return to
our farm, walking on our only beaten path, the way
between our two houses. I was excited as I thought
of my future, my plans for which satisfied me so
completely that I was very generous to those whom
I was leaving behind.
"You must find the other two boxes," I said to
her in perfect seriousness. “Finding this one has
given me all the start I need. You and Cousin Lon
115


116
THE HIDING-PLACES
ought to have the rest of the treasure. So keep an
extra-sharp lookout for it.”
I wonder that she did not laugh in my face. In-
stead, she answered that she would be sure to; and
when we stood at the pool she listened to what
further I had to say.
“This is where I met Gertrude," I reminded her.
“Do you know, I like this better than the double
pine.” We looked at the old giant where he tow-
ered at a distance, then down at the silver bottom
of the spring. “I think these dancing sands, which
always have their movement even in midsummer,
and the overflow that keeps the pool clear of every
leaf and twig that falls in, are more permanent than
anything else on both our farms, even though the
pine was well grown when the old pirate set this
stone rim. Margery, you must meet me here when
I come back, and I'll tell you all about my luck.”
She promised that she would.
“And you must write me often,” I continued,
with my big-cousinly certainty. “No matter how
busy I am, I'll answer every letter.”
And she, who knew me so much better than I
knew myself, never made me a prophecy of my in-
difference and forgetfulness! Instead, she offered
to run over frequently to see mother, which I had
not even thought of asking.
“Margery," I said, a little disturbed by this reve-
lation of my thoughtlessness, yet still loftily kind,
"you're a dear girl. And now, good-by.”
Margery's hand was short and compact; it re-


THE HIDING-PLACES
117
turned my grip with its own frank pressure. And
as her clear eyes looked kindly into mine, I felt the
sudden knowledge that this was an event. The
realization that this day finished my country life
brought with it a doubt of the future, and a regret
of the present, which for a moment surprised even
my confidence, taking me aback. But any unwill-
ingness to leave this sweet cousin, to venture from
the shelter of the farm, was for myself alone, and
so I quickly mastered it. With a manly voice I fin-
ished my farewell. Margery remained and looked
after me, ready, each time I looked back, to smile
and wave her hand.
Every man knows some woman who has seen his
weakness. Lucky if she is as kind to him as Mar-
gery was to me.
Arguing (against knowledge) that, since father
wanted me to go, my mother must do the same, and
putting out of mind her dread of change, I took my
leave of her very easily. In this I was aided by
the slight vexation which I felt whenever she spoke
of the city or of Gertrude. She seemed to think
that they were harmful, whereas I knew that they
were not.
So I went, smothering the knowledge that I left
sore hearts behind me, and satisfying myself with
resolutions to write often, and frequently to "run
up" and see the family. The first resolve I kept
badly, the second not at all. As any older man could
have told me, and as I am able to assure all com-
ers, regret repairs nothing.


118
THE HIDING-PLACES
Thanks to the Worthens, not only my living but
also my acquaintance was prepared for me. For I
had received a missive from Gertrude. It was an
engraved invitation to a Mrs. So-and-So's dance
upon an evening within a week of my arrival, and
some strange hand had written in my name; but
Gertrude had directed it to me, and on the lower
margin had scribbled: "Best jeans, Binney, with
all the fixings.” Mother had explained to me the
meaning of the letters R. S. V. P. In the same mail
by which I wrote to Mrs. So-and-So I had also writ-
ten to my good friend Mr. Dorset, begging him to
have an evening suit ready for me to try on at my
arrival. This was on suggestion of my mother, who
added, out of her private hoard, funds for an over-
coat. My burning eagerness to look well is shown
by the fact that I went for my fitting straight from
the train, even before I had looked up the lodgings
to which Mr. Worthen had directed me.
As to my looks when once I got used to wearing
the things, Gertrude later, in one of her captivating
enthusiasms, told me that I carried my dress clothes
well. I should have doubted this when in my room
I wore them for the first time before the glass. The
staring black-and-whiteness of the suit seemed to
emphasize my bulk, especially since its snugness at
the waist and hips made my shoulders unduly
broad. There was a sleekness to it, also, which
was strange to me. But most I was troubled by
its utter absurdity, both in the absolute ridiculous-
ness of its shape, and in its foreignness to the over-


THE HIDING PLACES
119
alls which till just now had been my most familiar
garment. And so sheepishly I turned away: there
would be laughter at the countryman.
In the elegance and discomfort of this new tog-
gery I went to Gertrude's. The house was on
Commonwealth Avenue, that street which I had
heard of as the very centre of fashion. The soft-
footed butler admitted me to the hall, and after
respectfully memorizing my name, went away and
left me staring at the amazing splendor of my sur-
roundings. Rugs of rich coloring, such as I had
read of but never seen, soft to the foot and delight-
ful to the eye, lay on the floor of polished oak.
Hangings at each door, pictures on the walls, gilt,
glitter, warm and glowing colors everywhere—I was
fairly dazzled for a moment.
A little laugh-and there was Gertrude peeping
at me from between the curtains. She thrust out
her pretty head. “I got ready ahead of time,” she
cried. “Do you know what that means, you mir-
acle of promptitude? I wanted to see you when
you saw this place. It's different from the coun-
try, Binney."
Different! A vision of our smudgy and low-
ceiled kitchen, of its bare walls and floor, of the
narrow and steep stair that led from it, rose in
pitiful contrast to all this splendor. Here the wide
flight gently mounted upward to a landing, then
divided to the right and left, so that one might
reach the upper story by either way. A soft and
heavy carpet ran up the middle of the stairs. Fac-


I 20
THE HIDING-PLACES
ing me from above the landing was a great por-
trait of Mr. Worthen, at full length, frock-coated,
carrying cane and gloves and silk hat, a burly
black figure before a gorgeous red curtain. And
at home our portraits were photographs or tin-
types, taken at the Athol fair!
Then Gertrude emerged and overwhelmed me-
her most brilliant self. For I saw her, for the first
time, in all the splendor of her ball dress, and in
spite of the brightness of her eyes, my gaze ran up
and down her dazzling figure. A dress of pale green,
draped with some shimmering tinsel, and belted
with gold, yet with a narrow edging of dark fur at
hem and at bust. Below, the dress trailed away in
indescribable grace; above, there rose out of the rich
fur the glory of her shoulders. Never before had
I seen any one so costumed. Had she been a mere
girl I must have admired; but she was Gertrude!
The youthful curves of her shoulders and her throat,
the hinted beauty of her bosom, the blushing satin
skin—I drew a long breath. The witch had pre-
pared this surprise for me, and was watching for its
effect; but at the sight of my face the color came
flooding to her very eyes. And some restraint,
some barrier, broke between us. Our glances met
and seemed to cling together. She was breathing
quickly, and I knew that I was panting with the
shock.
I might have stood long, stupidly staring; but
she fumbled for words. “See,” she stammered,
feeling at her throat, where hung, on a threadlike


THE HIDING-PLACES
I2I
chain, a fiery jewel. "See--look. Do you remem-
ber, do you recognize this?” And she held it for
me to see.
Obedient, I wrenched my glance from hers, and
tried to bend it on the stone, a single ruby, simply
set. "No," I answered. “Have I seen it before?”
My eyes came back to hers.
“It was yours," she answered. “It is the stone
you three were looking at when father and I came
to your house, after you had opened the box. I
loved it at once, the best stone of them all, and
made father buy it for me. Doesn't it look well
on me?"
She tried to be arch, but was still too much moved
to speak airily. Her challenge faltered, and her
gaze fell. And I rough, I impetuous, answered al-
most fiercely:
“You look well! You are beautiful! Gertrude,
how wonderful you are!”
The language, though so tumultuous, was fa-
miliar enough to restore her to herself. “Oho!
And we pretend to be a farmer, and to know noth-
ing of compliments ? Indeed !” So she fought
away from me, and recovered herself, and rang for
her carriage, and talked brilliantly until it came.
One moment there was, when she gave me the wrap
which I was to put upon her shoulders, when I
thought her gaze again faltered before mine. But
she turned to be invested, and her confusion passed.
As for me, I was so dazzled by this vision of her,
so drugged by her very atmosphere, that I fairly


I 22
THE HIDING-PLACES
stumbled after her to the carriage, and had not the
wit to help her into it.
But oh, that first ball, and oh that first breath
of the life that Gertrude lived! I had learned to
labor through the waltz, mother and Margery hav-
ing drilled me in the art. That was my only quali-
fication for the party, beyond the fact that I was a
curiosity, as the ploughboy who had found a for-
tune in a stone wall. My host and hostess received
me with the frankest inquisitiveness, as one of
whom they had heard and were anxious to see. I
was introduced to many, and I doubt if there was a
person in the room to whom I was not pointed out
in the course of the evening. Gertrude managed
note of the invitations that ensued. "There," she
said to me toward the close of the evening, “three
more parties, Binney. And do you know what
every one is saying? That you don't look like a
farmer. That's because of your straight back."
I think myself that it was because of her. So
was I uplifted by her that I came triumphantly
through the embarrassments of such an experience
among strangers. Everything centred upon her.
The music, the handsome people, the showy dresses,
all served but to set off the liveliest, the gayest
creature of them all. Not wine, but anger and
women are likest to intoxicate me. That night
Gertrude set a fire in my veins.
Few incidents remain to me from that confusion
of shifting partners, scarcely a word to remember


THE HIDING-PLACES
123
and set down. But Gertrude? Never before, as
seldom since, was Gertrude timid before me. And
this I know, that the blush which flooded her cheek
that night whenever called by the glances of our
eyes, she could never counterfeit, nor could any
woman. The quickened breath and heightened
pulse which the dance itself did not summon-for
like the others of her set, she was trained like an
athlete-came and went in my presence. The
spell was on us both.
It was not strong enough. “Let us walk home,”
said Gertrude, when in the early morning we went
down the steps together. “It is only a few blocks.”
So I sent the carriage away, and off we went to-
gether in the moonlight, she with her bright un-
covered head winsome above the white fur that
enveloped her. There were others walking in our
direction, and carriages streaming past, to which
we called good-bys, so that I scarcely had a min-
ute's talk with her until we stood together at the
foot of her steps. I have wondered if she arranged
it so that we should not be alone together in the
carriage. But it was not the conventions that
troubled her; she was one of those rare creatures
that break them without blame.
She may well have been tired with the gayety,
or she may have been simply afraid. Twice I
have seen Gertrude lose herself before a situation,
and-looking back-I know she doubted herself
now. Certainly when I urged: “Let me come in
with you a few minutes—just a few !” she laughed


124
THE HIDING-PLACES
a little breathlessly, awkwardly cried, “No, no!"
and, waving her white-gloved hand, ran up the
steps. She pulled the bell and disappeared in the
vestibule.
But she blushed once more as she ran. I wonder
what would have happened had I followed before
the butler reached the door to let her in. Peering
back through the frosted glass of the outer door,
was she disappointed or relieved to see me still
standing, dully looking up until I heard the inner
door open and then close? For I was green and
countrified, and had no courage to make the at-
tempt. Bewildered, I took myself away, and so
closed that thrilling experience.
Neither of us ever forgot it. Neither shall we
ever forget that we shrank back from the height of
our emotion. More credit to my courage, to her
wisdom, had we trod bravely on together. But it
was not love, not the true inspiration. For though
I walked the streets for hours before I would go to
my room, by day I found myself incredulous. And
in the afternoon I went to see Gertrude, suspicious
of her power over me, and curious to see if I could
rouse her again. I found her on her guard, not
defiant but unbelieving and cool.
From my first glance at her brisk manner as she
came down-stairs, I learned that she was mistress
of herself. Like the male brute that I was, I felt
disappointment. "I am glad that you came," she
said. “You don't begin with father till to-mor-
-
- -
-
-
row?"


THE HIDING-PLACES
125
“No," I answered. “He said he had directors'
meetings to-day.”
She took me into the parlor. I came to know it
well. The age of stuffed upholsteries was passing,
but this room was reminiscent of it. There was a
“suite” of sofa and chairs, there was a couple of
odd fuddy-duddy stools, all more or less fringed and
puffed. On the walls, above a panelled dado, was
heavily embossed bright-patterned leather, on which
hung pictures in shiny gold frames, mostly figure
studies of folk in costume. The floor was covered
by a vast pale rug, in the middle of which we stood
facing. Gertrude's rich coloring was as striking as
ever, but she was dressed very simply.
“Do you remember,” she asked abruptly—and
for the second time I saw the hint of purpose be-
neath her constant airiness of manner—"that in
Petersham I asked you not to work for father?”
This was not what I expected. Heaven knows
what I wanted, but it was not this. I must have
thrown up my head like a skittish colt as I saw that
she was deliberately returning to the subject.
“But, Gertrude!” I expostulated.
She came a little nearer. Her expression, though
not as brilliant as the night before, was sweeter than
I had ever seen it. Gertrude was doing this against
her will. I could not see this then; I failed to rec-
ognize it as a proof of her kindness toward me that
she overlooked my earlier stupidity, and asked her
favor twice. She said:
“I ask it again. And I can't explain myself,
Binney."


THE HIDING-PLACES
127
noć with the best of grace. “Though why you
expect- ”
She came a little closer, interrupting by raising
a forefinger. “Girls are strange, aren't they?”
We tailed off into small talk, and presently she
had me in a good humor.
I know now that she had tested me, and I see
how I failed. And so our great stirring of emotion,
to which I look back with tenderness, and which
showed Gertrude to me this day at her best, brought
us nowhere but to the avoidance of a quarrel. I
have wondered that Gertrude did not at once aban-
don me, yet after all there was now a bond between
us. There never passed away from between us
the memory of that divine evening. I represented
something from which her nature was unwilling to
part.
Our relations slipped back into Airting at the
worst, mere comradeship at best. Under Ger-
trude's guidance I had stepped into the midst of a
giddy whirl which soon became familiar. Curiosity
kept folk interested in me until, since I did nothing
absurd or disgraceful, I had established myself. A
few more clothes, careful study of the men I met, a
fairly close mouth, and some coaching by Gertrude,
made me decently at home. Gertrude's training
was done whole-heartedly, not always flatteringly.
"You don't enter a room right,” she assured me
frankly one day. “Yesterday at the Herrick's you
had one hand in your pocket. You smiled too
much.”


128
THE HIDING-PLACES
“I was rattled,” I pleaded.
“Get over it,” she directed. “The whole room
was not looking at you. And, instead of going di-
rectly to Mrs. Herrick, you came first to me.”
“Irresistible attraction," I murmured, hoping to
flatter.
But Gertrude frowned. “You don't suppose a
girl wants to be made conspicuous, do you? Nor
is pleased to have her friends show themselves
countrymen?"
I felt like a mob of farmers, and swore to do better.
This at least I can say of myself: She never needed
to give me the same hint twice.
It was a wonderful world that she opened to me.
People who had ballrooms, and carriages, and a be-
wildering profusion of money, speedily became, for
me, the most important part of the population of
Boston. There were girls in numbers; and I was
drawn, willingly, into their gayeties. Before a
month was over, my looking-glass showed a sub-
stantial decoration of invitations, and I knew my
way to a dozen parlors. I could behave myself at
a dinner, at the theatre, at a dance-I the farmer!
I used to feel proud at my adroitness. Yet how
often they must have laughed at me!


130
THE HIDING-PLACES
fire. His bulky figure seemed very massive in its
snug cutaway; his linen was very white, his narrow
necktie brilliant blue, and his rings, as he shook
out a faintly perfumed handkerchief, flashed red
and green. Without loss of dignity he blew a blast
of welcome.
“So here you are, Binney," he said as he looked
me over. “Very sensible to wear good clothes. All
my young men do."
I was a bit startled. The young men in the
outer office certainly had put some thought into their
attire; indeed, every one in the office, young or old,
was noticeably neat, except for one man. But they
all appeared to me rather flashy. My ideas, im-
bibed from Collester and my tailor, were (except
in riding-togs) all for modesty. Had not Mr.
Worthen seen the difference?
“In fact," he went on, “I require it of them.
Makes a good impression. Goes quite a way in the
sort of thing that I want you to do. For I have a
special field in view for you, Binney."
I was pleased, and said so. He nodded at me.
“Can't start you as a beginner,” he said. “You're
too proud, and you're really too good for it. You
can't go on the curb; your dignity would never let
you succeed there. I doubt if correspondence is
your line, or desk-work of any kind. No, I must
have you under my own wing. But first old Lay-
cock must put you through his mill.”
He reached out and touched a bell. “Yes, old
Laycock hasn't had a beginner for some time; he's


THE HIDING-PLACES
131
generally too busy. But he must give his attention
to you.” A stenographer appeared. “Mr. Denny,"
said Mr. Worthen. “And then ask Mr. Laycock
to come here." She went out.
“The young man whom I want you to meet first,"
said Mr. Worthen, “is one of my sharpest. You
won't pattern yourself on him, because your minds
work differently. He's the best curb operator in
town, whereas you never could be half good at that.
But he can show you things that Mr. Laycock,
being married, would never think of.” Mr.
Worthen smiled knowingly. “Restaurants, Binney,
and the theatres, and the way to a good time.
You've got to know your way round.”
This young man, appearing, proved to be some
few years older than myself, tall, lean, smooth-
shaven, and lantern-jawed. His clothes were light
in color, almost summery in their effect; I found
it to be his habit to wear a scarlet necktie and a
malachite pin. The warmth of his welcome flat-
tered me. He wound his long, thin fingers around
my hand, and turned the hand sideways as he vig-
orously shook it. His head, too, was on one side
for the ceremony.
"Boston is honored,” said he. “A man who can
pick diamonds out of stone walls is new to us.”
Mr. Laycock came next, grizzled, bent, and sour.
He was that sole member of the staff who was
threadbare and a bit untidy. On being told that I
was to be under his care he lowered at me as if the
fault were mine. “I had hoped,” he said, address-


132
THE HIDING-PLACES
ing me directly in a rasping voice, “that Mr.
Worthen had stopped giving newcomers to me.”
Denny, winking at me as my embarrassed eye
wandered from the cold little orbs in Mr. Laycock's
wrinkled face, tried to convey to me that the old
fellow was more amusing than embarrassing. But
Mr. Worthen, with much impressiveness, came and
laid his hand upon my shoulder. “Laycock,” he
said, “this young man is a beginner, sure enough.
But he's the most promising beginner that I ever
had so much so that I propose soon to take him
in hand myself. You won't have him long; he's
quick enough, I can tell you. So do your best with
him.”
Denny, losing his grin, seemed quite as much
struck as I was confused by the formality and force
of these statements. But Mr. Laycock did not lose
his fixed acidity. “Well,” he said, after a moment's
scrutiny of his employer, “I hope the young man is
willing to apply himself.”
I assured him that I was. He took me out and
sat me down at a desk in a recess, where he also
was quartered, and whence I could see little that
went on in the big office. There he gave me a news-
paper article to read and digest, then set me to
floundering amid figures. My absolute lack of
preparation for the work being evident to him
before half an hour was over, I believe that he went
to Mr. Worthen and remonstrated, for I saw him go
indignantly to the private room, and return dis-
gusted. He never took any pains to conceal his


THE HIDING-PLACES
133
feelings. But Mr. Laycock's trials were no greater
than my own. I was quite miserably confused.
At lunch time, however, Denny came and ca
me off, to refresh me.
“Of course it's really a big advantage to you,
your being with old Laycock.” This he assured
me when we were seated in a restaurant painted
with scrolls and German lettering. It was my first
restaurant, and I was innocently interested in it.
“Laycock is the plodder, and keeps us all straight.
Any mistakes that's found he sets to rights. If he
takes to you he'll show you a good deal that it
would take you years to learn anywhere else.
Only,” and Denny's yawn seemed roused by his
subject, “it's mighty dull with him. He's so dry
and precise. You're lucky to have the boss under-
take to finish you off himself.” Denny looked at me
respectfully. “It's very unusual.”
“He's so busy,” I said.
"It's more than that!” and the clerk leaned for-
ward impressively. “There are plenty of men
that are busy—I'm busy. But there aren't many
men that are big ! Do you know how much money
Worthen handles in the course of a month? Mil-
lions !”
"So much?” I was astonished.
“He's the biggest trader in Boston,” cried Denny.
“More shares are bought and sold through our
office than anywhere else. And an operator! He
takes his toll of everything that's going on. The
others are afraid of him.” Suddenly he paused


134
THE HIDING-PLACES
and scanned me carefully, his eager eyes suspicious.
“You've heard some of the talk against him?"
“No," I answered, “nothing."
“Well, there is talk," admitted Denny defiantly.
“But whose talk, and what kind? Envious slan-
ders ! Men are wrecked all the time, everywhere;
you know that. Fools come to grief every day,
through any office. So, of course, there are some
that get smashed in ours. But that's their doing,
not Worthen's. It's because people envy him his
success that they talk against him.”
"Human nature," I explained, out of my large
knowledge. “He is successful?”
"Enormously," answered Denny. “Of course,
it's a mighty expensive office to maintain. We ad-
vertise very freely, for one thing. Mr. Worthen
writes big bulletins for the public almost daily;
takes the public into his confidence, you know.
Then our circulars, our mailing department, our
travelling men, our telephone and ticker service.
Yes, it's expensive. But it pays. Mr. Worthen
goes after all the business there is—but I tell you
he gets it !”
Denny's enthusiasm was striking. “You be-
lieve in him?" I asked, warmly sympathetic. I
believed in Mr. Worthen myself, for reasons that
this man could not know.
"He'll have nobody in the office that doesn't
believe in him," answered Denny. “If you can't
agree with him, make up your mind he'll find it out.
Then out you go ! He's masterful, he is. Don't


THE HIDING-PLACES
135
no
get to setting yourself up to know more than he
does."
There was, I said, no fear of that. And growing
confidential, I told Denny of the selling of our dia-
monds. He wagged his head, but was not at all
surprised. His comment was: “If it's business,
he'll buy in the cheapest market and sell in the
dearest, for himself or his friends."
That afternoon, before I left the office, Mr.
Worthen called me to him again. "Of course, you
don't yet know whether you'll like it or not, but I
hope the beginning was not too bad.”
It had been perplexing and sudden, but I val-
iantly assured him that I should like the work.
“Binney,” he said, “I haven't asked you what
pay you want.”
"Why," I stammered, “what I'm worth. What
you'll give me.”
He smiled indulgently. "You don't know your
own value yet. Well, I'll set the price to begin
with. Let's see how soon you come asking for a
raise. What do you say to a hundred a month?”.
For a boy who had earned, from his hens and his
vegetables, a scant net hundred a year, the salary
was princely. After deducting rent, board, and
clothes, I should have endless spending money.
Quite overcome, I suggested that the pay was too
high. Hadn't he better wait till I had begun to
earn?
Rising from his chair, Mr. Worthen slapped my
shoulder. “Of course it's too high. I never started


136
THE HIDING-PLACES
a clerk at that salary before, and I never intend to
again. You don't realize, Binney, that I expect
you to be one of the cleverest salesmen I've ever
had.” I murmured that I could not see what made
him think that. “Oh, never mind. But I'm not
going to insult you by small pay. You'll be earn-
ing soon enough. There, drive away with Laycock
for a few weeks, and I'll give you something worth
doing.”
I went away exalted. Such kindness, such pay,
such a future, all combined to make me very happy.
I thought the world of my employer-and then
naturally began to think well of myself. Putting
aside my wonderment at what he could see in me,
I considered that he ought to know how to choose
his men at a glance. And I was to be one of them
-one of the best of them!
It was early in November when I began at the
office, and for three weeks I worked hard with Mr.
Laycock. Every morning we went over the stock-
market reports carefully, studying especially the
unlisted securities. Into the subjects which I
studied I now know we did not go very deep, but
the surface knowledge I gained very rapidly. He
drilled me carefully in many little tasks, and so
loaded me with my vocabulary, that in working
hours I thought in no other. I was glib with the
lingo of the street, so that Mr. Worthen, after
testing me once or twice, commended me. It was
not yet Thanksgiving when he took me out of Mr.
Laycock's hands. I was delighted when, calling
me to the office, he told me of his intention.


THE HIDING-PLACES
137
“After this you are to work for me, and me only.
I intend to use you as a special messenger-my
personal messenger. Do you know what that is ?”
"After a fashion," I answered a little doubtfully.
“Is it to carry securities here in the city?”.
“No,” he answered, and made me sit down. “I
want to talk it out with you, my boy. I believe
you're fitted for the work. But you shall judge for
yourself.”
He told me that all over New England, not only
in the cities and towns but even in the villages, he
had a good many scattered clients, forming a class
of trade which he kept entirely in his own hands,
not leaving it to others in the office. These clients
were attracted by his advertisements, were mostly
men of small means, and were after good securities.
The certificates Mr. Worthen usually sent them by
special messenger. Not that mail or express would
not be safe enough, but there were two reasons for
preferring the personal method. The first (and Mr.
Worthen laughed good-naturedly as he told me)
was that it made the purchasers seem a little more
important in their own eyes.
“You can easily understand it,” he explained.
“When a good-looking, spruce young man delivers
a package of certificates, it seems like a personal
attention-makes the papers seem more valuable
and the buyer feel a little more important, don't
you see? Then the second reason. When a buyer
is in that frame of mind he is likely to order some-
thing more, to prove his importance, especially if
the young man is clever in soliciting.”


THE HIDING-PLACES
139
half is nearer their figure. Their cry is that any-
thing higher is not safe, that it's wildcat specula-
tion." He was still earnest, even a little stern,
but suddenly smiled winningly. “You and I, Bin-
ney, know better than that.”
I nodded, unwilling to speak, but full of cer-
tainty.
“They honestly believe it,” he went on. “Don't
bother about them; they're calamity howlers.
They don't believe in the future of their own coun-
try. But, my boy, we're just opening up a period
of prosperity such as the world has never seen. The
splendid resources of this vast country are just
beginning to be realized. Our West is one great
territory of freshly explored wealth. Men who
know how are extracting it by the bushel, and all
they want is capital in order to get it by the car-
load. We, who can supply that capital, can reap
rich rewards. The East helps the West, and gets
not merely six, but ten and twelve and fifteen per
cent-yes, and even more.” He leaned forward,
sinking his voice impressively: “Binney, I tell you
that an investor with good judgment can double
his capital in less than ten years !” He looked me
straight in the eye.
I believed him. I have no heart to write much
about it, but my confidence and loyalty were com-
pletely his. He went on:
“Some brokers make mistakes, and that is what
gives mining and Western stocks a bad name.' The
brokers fail because they don't investigate, either


140
THE HIDING-PLACES
personally or by a reliable expert. Now, the stock
I'm handling is of properties that I personally in-
spected on my trip last spring. Not a new stock
have I put on the list since then, nor will I until I
have sure knowledge of the property. Conse-
quently I know that my clients can religiously rely
on every word I tell them. They can't do any-
thing better than take their money out of savings-
banks and put it in my stock; by the time they
have retired from business their nest-egg will be
worth from three to five times as much as they could
make it by their own methods. Ah, Binney!”—
he drew himself up and sighed—"a business like
mine, that permits a fellow to put these little in-
vestors on their feet, and at the same time forwards
the development of this great nation, produces one
thing, if nothing else-a good conscience !”
The comprehension of it mastered me. Out of
one's knowledge to show the way to riches, out of
one's strength to help the weak—that was worth
doing! My emotions were deeply stirred as again
I breathlessly nodded my agreement.
“Well,” he resumed, slowly turning from his con-
templation of the vision, "my plan is to use you in
this work. You can see it's worth doing for its
own sake. But it's interesting, too. These buy-
ers are small merchants, or farmers, or even minis-
ters. They'll treat you well. You'll have to travel
over a good deal of eastern New England. The
amounts you'll handle will seldom be very much
at a time, but on the whole they'll make a pretty


THE HIDING-PLACES
141
good volume of business during the year. I'm mak-
ing a good thing of it now, and I count on you to
increase it. And now to your next step.”
He told me that for a time I was to occupy a desk
in his office, ostensibly as a sort of private secretary,
to be called in whenever clients of this kind came to
see him. Signals were to bring me to the room or
send me from it; I was to seem busy, look wise,
and take memoranda whenever called on. And I
was to practise connecting names with faces.
Between the outer and inner desks, therefore,
I gravitated for the next month. Attentively
studying my patron's methods of puffing his wares,
I caught his very phrases. I learned, too, some-
thing of the sort of man I was expected to handle.
When I was in the outer office I still sat in Mr.
Laycock's alcove, apart from the other clerks, with
whom Mr. Worthen showed no desire that I should
mingle, and from whom in consequence I held
myself somewhat aloof, except from Denny, who
maintained with me a decent friendliness. At this
outer desk I spent my time conning the circulars
which advertised our properties, and parroting
their statements. I know I learned my lessons
fairly well, for when at odd times Mr. Worthen
examined me, he always praised me heartily. Then,
little by little, he trusted me on the road.


CHAPTER XIV
DEEPLY as I respected the mission to which
Mr. Worthen called me, I found the work not very
difficult. After a very few weeks I was allowed
to travel as I pleased to the slowly increasing num-
ber of clients whom Mr. Worthen put into my
hands. The work was irregular. Sometimes I
was in Boston for days at a time; then I would
be away for a couple of nights, seldom for more.
Presently I found that when I was not going on
these special errands I was mostly my own master;
Mr. Worthen and Mr. Laycock gradually ceased
to assign me to office work. Even when I went
to so near a place as Providence, from which I
could return early, I was not expected to be at
the office until next day. I found that I could
always arrange my trips so as to be in Boston for
any dance or tea. This all combined to give me a
sense of security and self-importance that amounted
to elation. I was not truly conceited, but I had
an ever-present sense of the beauty and kindliness
of the world.
This was strengthened by contact with my
clients. They were all hard-working men of the
shop-keeping or semiprofessional classes, of small
income. To them thrift was a duty, and for it was
142


THE HIDING-PLACES
143
sacrificed all present comforts, in order to build
up the future. Many of them had laid up comfor-
table little nest-eggs of five, ten, fifteen thousand
dollars, secured in real estate, the savings-bank,
and even the old-fashioned stocking-or so I sus-
pected. Whatever they had gained had come
by hard work and saving. These I understood
very well, since until a few months they had been
my portion; and the contrast between my ease
and prosperity and the still difficult struggles of
my clients confirmed me in my feeling of especial
good fortune.
My dealings with them all were very similar.
When I appeared I was always invited into privacy,
if only into the store-room where we sat on nail-
kegs. The certificates which I produced were then
compared with a memorandum, frequently with a
very keen scrutiny. Having been checked up, they
were carefully buttoned away, the receipt signed,
and then began the most important part of my
mission a little chat. I very soon learned that
my clients were as eager for this as I was, and that
all I needed to do was to wait until they asked me
about the present state of the stock-market. Next
I was sure to be asked what securities I recom-
mended just then.
Now note how clever was the system which
Mr. Worthen had drilled me in. It was my busi-
ness to know the investments of each of my clients,
and from the list to recommend one or two. Noth-
ing was better calculated to please them than


144
THE HIDING-PLACES
this indirect assurance of the stability of their in-
vestments; they would smile and rub their hands
over it. But on the principle, which every one of
them perfectly understood, that eggs had best be
kept in more than one basket, I would next be
urged to think of some other stock. On my making
a suggestion they would question me closely. I
had figures at my tongue's end, circulars to pro-
duce, explain, and leave for study, and alternatives
to present. Then at the end I sang the praise of
Mr. Worthen. This was an important part of the
whole interview, perhaps indeed essential.
For all of them knew my employer personally.
On opening their accounts he had travelled to see
them, and several of them approvingly told me of
his severe inquiry into their finances. His real
purpose is quite plain to me now; but the inter-
views always served to convince them that because
he would trade with no one who could not pay
his þills, so he also was absolutely reliable. And
he was so bluff, so hearty, so businesslike, so sure
of himself-they told me this in detail-that they
were sure of him.
It was my task to maintain this feeling of secu-
rity. "Business, Binney, my boy," he told me, "is
rooted and grounded in confidence. In the gen-
eral market it is the lack of confidence that brings
about panics. In private trade nothing can be
done without the knowledge that you can depend,
not merely on the property of the man you're deal-
ing with, but the man himself. It's simply a matter


THE HIDING-PLACES
145
of business, then, to keep these little traders sure
of me. Otherwise, no matter how rich they might
know me to be, not another order of theirs would
I get.”
So into each talk with a client I always inter-
jected some account of my employer's present
activities, his great interests, the absolute un-
shakableness of his credit. As both my clients
and I believed firmly in these, this talk always
made our confidence the stronger.
As my list of clients grew, I found among them
a few country doctors, a couple of ministers, and
even a self-educated lawyer, with half a dozen
farmers; but their characteristics were all the same.
Secretiveness, caution, eagerness to know that they
were safe, and then a further venture such was
the course of each interview, or perhaps pair of
interviews; for if I did not "land" my man after
a talk of this kind I always followed him up in a
week or more. It was seldom difficult to get the
order, however small, for more stock. Indeed, our
clients were rarely satisfied until all they had was
in our hands.
Of this, of course, I could only approve, except for
a tendency which developed in certain of them.
When they were near the end of their capital, hav-
ing put most of it into our investments, they de-
veloped a sudden desire to buy and sell on margin.
This, of course, could be easily enough explained.
Their two-and-a-half to four per cent investments
had changed over into twelve to fifteen per cent


146
THE HIDING-PLACES
securities, a very wise process, yet in a certain re-
mote degree resembling speculation-at least to
them, for personally they could know nothing of
the distant properties into which they had bought.
So steadily were the dividends coming in that they
were intoxicated with the increase of their incomes.
But instead of being satisfied with this legitimate
method of turning over their savings, with their
last thousand they were only too likely to advance
to buying on margin, a method which, however
often it might bring in very large yields, I could
never persuade myself was either safe or wise.
In vain Denny undertook to argue me out of
this idea. Theoretically he could not meet me on
my ground that a man's paper holdings had nothing
behind them, so that, instead of being property, they
might suddenly turn into an obligation. And prac-
tically he could not deny the fact that if one of our
clients failed he was pretty sure to have been buy-
ing on margin. It was nothing less than stock-
gambling. No, Denny had no argument.
Mr. Worthen tried to present none. “I've seen
it many times,” he said when I appealed to him
for an explanation of the distressing symptom.
"I guess it must be human nature, Binney, that
a little prosperity makes a man greedy. Advise
them all you please, they will take a flier now and
then. All I can do is to try to make them moderate.
Luckily they don't all take the fever.”
Nevertheless, in my brief experience more than
a quarter of my clients gradually passed out of my
·


THE HIDING-PLACES
147
hands into those of Mr. Worthen-for when they
reached this stage he would let nobody handle
them but himself.
I suppose that all this was never more perfectly
illustrated than in the case of little Mr. Canby,
Alpheus Canby, of Littlefield, Maine, a bird of my
own bagging. He fell into my hands when, travel-
ling on a local train, in the smoking-car, I observed
him feeling in all his pockets, vexed and unhappy
because he was out of tobacco for his pipe. I of-
fered him a cigar, which he accepted after some
hesitation.
"Sorry I have no pipe tobacco," I said. “I see
you prefer it."
"It isn't that,” he explained, in a voice as blond
as his hair. A little, fair-complexioned, shrinking
man he was. "I-I prefer cigars.”
“But you don't smoke them?” I asked.
He seemed to find it proper to come and sit be-
side me. His mild blue eye was pathetically sin-
cere. “They're too expensive," he confided simply.
“But I suppose you”—he glanced at my spruce-
ness, doubtless at the same time remembering how
worn his coat was—"you can afford them.”
But I saw that his clothes were very neat. “I
haven't your handicap," I explained. “I'm still
unmarried.”
His simper indicated that he found me both
clever and amusing. “Not only a wife but five
children,” he added. “But you're in a good way of
business?” The inquiry came most naturally, and


148
THE HIDING-PLACES
answ
was
I answered very freely. I was not unwilling to
brag.
“With Walter W. Worthen!” he exclaimed,
after staring. “But you look so young! His per-
sonal messenger!”
And so we were started. He had heard of us;
he frequently read Mr. Worthen's flaring adver-
tisements. The hint was enough for me. I left
the train when he did; I went with him to his
hardware store; I camped down on him until, late
in the afternoon, I got his order for a thousand
dollars' worth of mining stock. This I accepted
on the understanding that Mr. Worthen might
not be satisfied with my account of Mr. Canby's
solvency, in which case, since I knew Mr. Worthen
to be too busy to investigate Canby just then,
cash would have to be sent before we could fill
the order. With this Mr. Canby was quite satis-
fied. And in the joy of my first capture I went
home and reported.
“Binney,” said Mr. Worthen approvingly,
"you're coming on.”
He listened to my account of Canby's commer-
cial standing, his unencumbered store and stock,
his residence standing in his own name, his four
first mortgages on local property, and his three
savings-bank books. “Very good,” said he at
last. "Binney, you must take responsibility soon,
and might as well begin. I'll leave this Canby to
you."
I was inflated with self-importance.


THE HIDING-PLACES
149
Once Mr. Canby began, his orders came pretty
fast. I felt particular pleasure in filling them,
gave him much time and my best advice, and felt
him as a responsibility of my own. I felt the joy,
which my employer had earlier spoken of, of help-
ing the struggling man of thrift.
On his part he was very thankful. He had in
his office a safe, into which he always locked my
packet after he had verified its contents. Yet he
would always linger over the certificates, attrac-
tively engraved in greens and browns, strongly
suggestive of government paper. Invariably he
expressed his satisfaction that his savings-bank
interest and his slow mortgages were being thus
transformed into securities that gave such quick re-
turns. And while he locked the certificates away
he always looked at them with a sort of thank-
ful reverence which, when once I had got a glimpse
into his life, it was not hard to understand. They
represented the future of his family.
On one of my visits I was taken to his house lo
lunch. I met fragile Mrs. Canby, and five young
Canbys who made on me a uniform impression of
flaxen hair and red cheeks, with not very intelligent
countenances. In this they resembled their father,
and, like him, they were small. It was while con-
ducting me to my train that Mr. Canby showed me
his heart.
“When a man has so much to be responsible
for," he said, "he has got to work for the future.".
I agreed.


150
THE HIDING-PLACES
“My business," he went on, "pays me fairly
well so long as I watch it and work at it. From
seven in the morning till six at night, quite as long
as any of my clerks.”
"That," I smugly stated, “is the way to get
ahead.” My own hours were from nine till four.
"I hold my own,” replied Canby a little gloomily.
“But two hardware stores are almost more than
this town can support.” Then he cheered some-
what. “You have opened to me such a promising
future. A lucky accident that we met; I am sure
that otherwise I should never have ventured-
Now my income is considerably larger.”
“And your position," I reminded him, “is quite
as safe as before.” He listened, gratified, to my
praise of our securities. I particularly mentioned
those which he held. And Mr. Worthen's name
was behind them all-on that we both reposed in
safety. Mr. Canby was by this time extremely
cheerful.
“My wife is in poor health,” he said, "and my
children are young, but at any rate I can feel that
their future is provided for."
Then he fell silent, but I could understand why
presently he hummed a few bars of the Portuguese
hymn. That was a part of my bringing up, and
I believed I knew what line was in his mind. “What
harm can befall with my Comforter near?” His
devout thankfulness touched me, so that in spite
of my recollection of a dull and meagre lunch I
thought of him frequently, and willingly gave my


THE HIDING-PLACES
151
time to his affairs. And from now on I understood
his almost religious joy in receiving my papers.
But there came a time when he troubled me. I
took my worry to Mr. Worthen. “I don't know
how it got into Mr. Canby's head, sir, but he seems
to have the same idea as the rest of them. He asked
me to-day about buying on margin.”
Mr. Worthen looked at me fixedly. “And what
did you tell him ?"
“I advised him against it.” Indeed, I had argued
with the little man most earnestly.
"And why?" asked Mr. Worthen, amused.
“Did you expect to stop him?"
“I have stopped him," I declared.
“For the present,” he rejoined. “What did
you tell him ?”
"I told him it wasn't safe," I answered. “And
I pointed out that he ought to be satisfied. His
income from his savings is multiplied by four.
The value of his principal is increasing regularly.
All he has to do is to sit still.”
"He won't," said Mr. Worthen. “Of course
it's very nice of you, my boy. And now that you've
given him your advice, don't let it worry you if
some day he breaks away from it. It doesn't mean
that he'll ruin himself, you know.”
The order from Mr. Canby to buy for him, on
margin, one of our highest-flying stocks, came to
me at the end of a week. Rather sadly I gave it
to Mr. Worthen, who himself took over the account,
while I struck the name off my list. I was re-


152
THE HIDING-PLACES
luctant to give little Canby up. “You see," I
explained, lingering at the door of the private office,
“I'm specially interested in him. I have felt like
a sort of trustee for him, as if he were a minor and
needed my care."
Mr. Worthen looked at me sympathetically.
“You are a good lad," he said. “But trust me,
Binney. I'll try to keep him from any foolish-
ness."
So I forgot Mr. Canby for a couple of months.
None of my trips took me in the direction of
home. East and south of Boston was my field.
It had chanced that on Thanksgiving Day I could
not get away. At Christmas Mr. Worthen, with
many apologies, sent me to Maine, so the best I
could do was to write a letter home. But writing
never came easy to me, and I doubt if my short
and jerky letters were any satisfaction at the
farm.
In my travels I saw a good deal of what I con-
sidered the world. I became familiar with railroads,
parlor-cars, even with sleeping-cars. The simple
monotony of the journeys did not pall on me, and
I executed my tasks with a vigilance and serious-
ness that would have greatly amused the cigarette-
smoking youths who daily carried on the streets
of Boston packages many times more valuable
than mine. But Mr. Worthen had very well drilled
me for my mission. I was a little apostle of good
finance; believed in him, in myself, and in my
job; and was accordingly well content.


THE HIDING PLACES
153
It was a period of silly satisfaction. So green
was I that even to travel in trains was a pleasure,
and in my free hours, which were many, I thought
of little except indulgence. I had plenty of ac-
quaintance to help me pass the time. Some of
them I met through Gertrude: for example, a num-
ber of Harvard lads, whose assurance and familiar-
ity with their life of ease and gayety made them
seem quite as old as I. But the young business
clerks whom I met at parties, and whose ways of
life were more like mine, were those with whom I
principally forgathered. With the men of our office
I was not at all in touch, except with a little circle
of Denny's, men of no social pretensions, but who
occasionally showed me about the town. They
thought themselves very rakish, yet all of us were
curiously innocent.
And I was so bound up in my own narrow self,
so pleased with the newness of everything that I
heard or saw or experienced, that I enjoyed myself
thoroughly. My Boston life was, of course, the
best of it. What with lunching or dining or supping,
going with girls to theatres or parties, or lolling with
men in their smoke-obscured bedrooms, I was in
a sort of fever of pleasure.
I believe that I had at this period some few un-
selfish thoughts: witness my regret at Mr. Canby's
falling off. Nor was I ever, in a certain sense, truly
selfish. I was full of generous impulses, love for
the world, affection for my friends. But I was
dazzled with the joyousness of this new life.


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THE HIDING-PLACES
If my account of myself is incomplete at this
stage, it is because I look back on it with hatred
and shame. No man likes to remember that he has
been a fool.


CHAPTER XV
On a fair morning I met Joe in the street and
pinned him before, with a shy greeting, he could
hurry by. “I haven't seen you for weeks,” I said.
“How have you been all this time?”
“Entirely well, and prospering,” he answered,
embarrassed and pleased at my notice of him.
Indeed he did look well, with his former lankness
lessened by good living. He wore better clothes
than he had used, and I affably rallied him on
being a dandy. He wriggled and stammered and
blushed. Joe never forgot that I had rescued him
from bondage with Stidger-nor did I, looking at
the difference in him, forget it either. A good lad,
Joe.
“You're filling out,” I told him. “Good food,
eh?”
“I've just moved,” he explained, “to a better
boarding house."
"Ah," I warned, shaking my head at him, “be-
ware the curse of luxury, Joe. We'll have you at
the theatre next.”
He was embarrassed. “Oh, I go sometimes.”
“What, comic operas?” I demanded. “Or per-
haps the ballet, or vaudeville." All of these, al-
ready so familiar to me, I myself had not seen until
within these few months.
155


156
THE HIDING-PLACES
“No," he explained earnestly. “Only the good
plays." His eyes shone. “They are wonderful !
Wasn't Marlowe fine in Shakespeare?”
Now I hadn't seen Marlowe in Shakespeare, and
felt self-reproach at having wasted my time on
the others. But I would not acknowledge it. "Im-
provement is the thing," I said. “Do you study?”
“Only law," answered he.
“Law?” I cried. “Does Mr. Collester find time
to teach you ?”
“Oh, no,” explained Joe, horrified at the thought
of such condescension in his employer. “I go to
an evening class, three times a week.”
“That is right,” I said, recovering myself, and
glad to patronize the attempt. “Keep it up, Joe.
What sort of office work do you do, anyway?"
"I have had a wonderful chance," he explained.
“Mr. Collester prefers a man stenographer; he
kept a kind of secretary who fell ill just when he
was most needed. And there was nobody else at
hand, so I-I have been doing the work for some
weeks now."
“You know shorthand?” I asked, in wonder.
“Oh, yes,” answered Joe, as if a little surprised
that I should ask the question.
And he, I reflected, as quiet as a mouse, but al-
ready well-advanced in Collester's office. “Good
pay?” I asked.
“Very generous," he answered earnestly. "I
never expected to have so much money for years."
I refrained from crushing Joe with the tale of


THE HIDING-PLACES
157
my own two hundred a month. “Oh," I said,
“money comes easily in the city. Well, Joe, I
must be going. So long !”
“Good-by," he answered, smiling. I liked to
leave him with his face so bright. It made me feel
that I had done good to somebody.
I heard of Joe again that day. “There's the
oddest chap in my boarding-house,” said Denny to
me. “Shy as a girl. Blushes when you speak to
him. He's taken the little room under the roof.
Says he knows you, and asked me a lot about our
business.”
I found that this was Joe; but my first thought,
that he could not afford the quarters and food of
which Denny bragged so much, gave way before
the remembrance of Joe's new prosperity. I felt
a little guilty that up to now I had not looked into
his way of living. Surely I had some responsibility
for him. I felt a momentary impulse to go to Col-
lester and inquire how the boy was doing.
Then I decided not to go. Joe had declared that
he was doing well, and his appearance bore him
out. And why should I go to Collester? The
man had not bothered about me; he had never
asked me to call on him. Not that there was any
reason for his paying attention to me; I was not
hurt by his neglect. Indeed, I seldom thought of
him, except to be glad that he had ceased to hang
about Gertrude. I never met him at her house,
and so far she had never spoken of him.
All this was preliminary to a sudden meeting.


158
THE HIDING-PLACES
That afternoon I went to Gertrude's about five,
as I often did; and since the butler told me that
she was in the parlor I went directly thither, with-
out laying off my coat. The frosty air had set my
blood to tingling, and I wanted more exercise. So
I entered with a “Gertrude, put on your things
and come for a walk !” Then I saw Collester.
He was all precision and perfection of appoint-
ment, in cutaway, gray tie, carnation, patent
leathers. When I think of the ideal city man I
think of him. He was no dandy, for his clothes
seemed to grow upon him; but he knew by instinct
what to wear, and what shade of manner to as-
sume. He seemed the natural product of the place.
He rose and greeted me. Made alert by finding
him there, I was a little jealous of his manner, ready
to find in it something of coolness or supercilious-
ness. But I had forgotten the odd fact of his earlier
friendliness. He was entirely cordial, smiled kindly,
shook hands willingly. But then, turning to Ger-
trude, he said that he must go.
“Go?" returned Gertrude calmly, and without
moving. “You have just come.” She bade me make
myself at home; she was not interested in walking
just then. Sitting very demurely, and dressed
more soberly than usual, Gertrude was unusually
quiet and contained. I wondered if she had pre-
pared herself for him.
Collester, saying nothing more of going, sat
down again; I slipped off my coat, and we chatted.
It was interesting to find that in spite of myself I


THE HIDING-PLACES
159
did not object to his company. While men of my
own age, especially of the Harvard brand, whom I
found calling at Gertrude's, usually exasperated
me, so that in consequence my manners were ag-
gressive, Mr. Collester simply made me attentive.
And this was because I recognized that he was
there for a purpose.
Of course he was. Why else should a man of
his age (and again I speculated on it) be there at
all? He knew what life meant for him; he knew
what he wanted. I saw it in his deliberate manner,
his steady and determined eye. I knew that Ger-
trude saw it, too. Naturally the situation demanded
attention.
We may have talked for an hour, but only once
did we come near anything of importance. “Where
have you been all winter?” I asked him. “I have
seen you at none of the parties. Don't you care
to go?”
He answered that he had been out very little.
I hold it a special mark of decency that he did not
laugh at me. It was Gertrude that did so after he
had gone.
“Binney,” she demanded, "why did you ask
him if he doesn't go to parties?”.
“Why shouldn't I?” I returned. “Does he go?
I haven't seen him anywhere."
She was smiling oddly, for her mouth, which could
be so friendly or so winning, curled unkindly, while
the pretty nose drew downward in a little sneer.
"He goes,” she said, “to the parties of his set."


Ібо
THE HIDING-PLACES
I realized that she meant to mortify me, but
did not understand. “His set?”.
“The set," she answered shortly. Seeing that I
was still in the dark, she added: “You don't sup-
pose, Binney, that you move in Boston society?"
I was entirely confused. “Don't I?" I asked.
“You-your friends” I saw that I was not very
clear, and tried to explain by adding: “The Back
Bay."
Gertrude laughed at me, not cruelly but bitterly;
I felt that she included herself in her amusement.
“Oh, Binney, the Back Bay is very big, and the
inner circle is very small !”
Her tone showed that my horse was not galled
so much as hers. “What of it?” I demanded boldly.
“Is there half so much fun in the inner circle as
outside?"
After speeding her shaft she had drooped, but
now she roused herself. “Of course we have the
best of it !” she cried, and sprang up. Her eyes
as well as her lips were smiling now. “Oh, is it
too dark for a walk? Let's go out!”.
Out we went, and tramped in the dusk toward
the sunset, which can be lovely on that same Back
Bay. And Gertrude was charming in her fur jacket,
and in the little toque which kindly revealed the
curls at her forehead. Her eyes were bright, her
cheeks glowing, her lips like a scarlet bow, her
teeth the finest pearl. Of many girls that we passed,
the same, doubtless, might have been said; but I
had eyes for none of them, for Gertrude was more


THE HIDING-PLACES 161
than pretty: she was joyous and gracious. We
chattered ceaselessly; we walked miles, and on our
return, Gertrude insisting that I stay to dinner,
we satisfied our furious appetites at the table where
her father watched us inscrutably, vouchsafing few
words.
Collester was mentioned, and Mr. Worthen
roused himself. “Here to-day?" he inquired.
“Hm! Pretty regular, ain't he?"
Pretty regular at the house, and for three months
I had been in and out and never met him? I took
that away with me for wonderment.
As I thought it over I concluded that our not
meeting might be accidental. But what became
of my assumption that Collester had dropped out
of my life, except in so far as related to Joe? Plod-
ding along, was he, not far behind ?
Belonging to another set, also! Exclusive Bos-
ton retained its citadel, of which I knew nothing?
Well, that troubled me not at all. I had not come
to Boston for society.
But what had I come for? Business, and I was
getting it. Had I come for Gertrude also? Why
else was I hanging about her? I shuffled away
from the question; a young man likes to let such
matters lie. But I shuffled back to it shamefacedly;
the recollection of Collester forced me to it. Love?
Marriage? The emotion of that earlier evening
with Gertrude had already dulled. Matters were
exceedingly well as they were.
But what did Gertrude think of the situation?


162
THE HIDING-PLACES
What did she feel toward Collester? Toward me?
How strong was her desire to enter Boston's ex-
clusive set ? Could I keep her from it?
Did I wish to?
Surely here were problems forced upon me.
Meanwhile at my room I found letters from home.
Mother was well, and father, and Margery; there
were new calves and colts, and Peter was becoming
quite a steady roadster; father was getting high
dividends from Mr. Worthen, and enclosed me a
share of them, with his love.
For once I sat down and wrote a good letter
home.


CHAPTER XVI
I LIVED in my fool's paradise a surprising length
of time. It was November when I went to the
city, and not till late March did anything disturb
me. I was entirely satisfied. Having the great
advantage of intimacy with Gertrude, I learned
naturally—through my pores, it seemed to me
all the little usages of society. And that it was
but second-class society never troubled me. It
was wholesome, it was joyous, and what more
could one want? So natural did such an attitude
seem to me that I was surprised to detect a different
one in Gertrude. She took me, one day, a little
out of our shortest course I was escorting her to
a tea—and walked me down the waterside of Beacon
Street, not far from Brimmer. “There," she said
suddenly, "the third house ahead of us, with the
high brown-stone steps—what do you think of
it?"
It was a double house, plain but dignified. “It
reeks of money," I told her. “But it's money of
the third or fourth generation.” I had advanced
far beyond the stage when, for the first time, I had
attempted to understand Cousin Lon's house, since
now the very period of this one was plain to me,
belonging to a style gone by.
163


164
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Isn't it solid ?” asked Gertrude. “Isn't it
respectable? Do you see how it avoids show?
No color, ornament, anything! Wouldn't you
know it sheltered one of the elect?”
“Go to the head," I commended. “But Ger-
trude, why such emphasis? You speak as if you
had a grudge against it.”
She looked at me, out of those brilliant eyes of
hers, with a whimsical fierceness. "It keeps me
out,” she said. “Don't laugh, Binney. It means
something to a woman.”
I stopped at the foot of the steps. "Say the
word, and I'll break into it."
“Crazy !” she cried. Really vexed-she who was
ready for most foolishness-she urged me forward.
“Behave yourself, Binney! If they should look
out and see you!"
“They don't know us by sight," I returned.
“Where is the harm? Do you even know them?”
“I do know them," she asserted. “It makes me
mad that they don't know me."
"Make them," I advised her. “Climb, Ger-
trude. Make a stepping-stone of me. Here is a
house much like the other. Perhaps it will be
easier to enter.”
She looked at me oddly. “It is," she replied in
a lowered voice wherein I perceived some vibrant
feeling. “I have been asked to tea there. Don't
you know it's Mr. Collester's?"
Collester's! Well, it fitted him exactly. Re-
served, but not quite prim; cold, yet with a hint


THE HIDING PLACES
165
of internal warmth. I was very curious about it,
and looked at it carefully. “When was your tea?”
“It wasn't,” she answered dryly. “I refused.”
"And so the tea was given up," I inferred. “Tut,
tut, Gertrude! Don't abuse your power.”
"He said his sister would be there to meet me,"
explained Gertrude, very short. “That's a man's
way of overlooking things. But I don't go there
till she first calls on me.”
"Did you tell him that?" I inquired. “And
has she called ?”
“I did not tell him,” she said with emphatic
brevity. “She has not called.”
“The end," I added.
But she looked at me with a flash of defiance.
“Who knows?"
“Gertrude," I said, “I suspect in you much
greatness of mind. You may yet overcome her.
She lives with him?”
"Don't you know anything?" demanded Ger-
trude bluntly. “She is Mrs. Brewster Brewster!
Her house is on the Avenue. I consider that I've
been half introduced to her. She thinks it only a
quarter-and so we don't bow.”
I took a last look at Collester's house, and we
went on to our tea. There for a while we lost each
other in the confusion, until finally I saw Gertrude
making her way toward me. A popinjay was fol-
lowing her, but she sent him back. I saw that her
brow was bent in a frown, her eye fixed on me;
and so, disengaging myself as soon as possible


166
THE HIDING-PLACES
from the nobody to whom I was talking, I turned
to her. She had ensconced herself in a window
recess, and was looking upon the crowded room
with haughty aloofness.
“Chain up the lightning," I said in her ear.
“What has gone wrong?"
Gertrude did not relax her fixed position. "She
is here," she said.
“Who?" I asked blankly. I had forgotten our
talk.
She turned upon me fiercely. "His sister," she
exclaimed in exasperation. “She is in the other
room. I stood near her-oh, for ten minutes.
She paid me no attention at all. But she knew I
was there.” Gertrude stood tense, tapping with
her foot.
I mocked flippantly. "Let us fly the place! Mount
Auburn Cemetery for us!”
“Unkind !” Her eye flashed dangerously, then
became reproachful. “And I thought you would
understand !”
“I do!” I cried, repentant as I realized that
she had sought me for consolation. “Forget the
homely old grandee, Gertrude, and come away
with yours truly.”
“Homely old grandee!” Gertrude was suddenly
gleeful. “Here, let me show you." She dragged
me to the other room, stationed me in an alcove,
and then, on tiptoe, searched the crowd. Her
eyes danced with fun. “There, do you see, by the
coffee-urn, the pink hat? She's the one !"


THE HIDING-PLACES
167
grandee!" wit still almost girlish feature, younger
I saw a beautiful and graceful creature, younger
than Collester, still almost girlish. “Homely old
grandee !” whispered Gertrude in my ear. “Look
out, Binney! She sees us."
So I had become aware. By some means I knew
that by some means she knew that Gertrude and
I were there together. But when she lifted a slow
gaze to us we were looking elsewhere, and I doubt
if she suspected. She was deliberate in her survey.
“Won't she look away?” whispered Gertrude.
"Let me get you some coffee,” I said.
On my way to the urn I passed our bugbear.
She looked up at me, I down at her. How calm
and self-possessed her gaze! She was like Collester,
round-faced, short-chinned. But she had a mouth
of command. “Gertrude,” I said when I returned,
"she won't call on you. Not yet."
"Let us go home," answered Gertrude. “I
have forgotten her already.”
When we were out in the glorious fresh air I said
a few fatherly words about the worthiness of one's
ambitions. Gertrude declared that she didn't
know what I was talking about. We wandered
away together, and I-I forgot the circumstances !
I forgot them entirely. It never occurred to me
to wonder at the impulsive frankness with which
she revealed the sentiments which another girl
would have concealed from me. Nor, except to
remark to myself that they seemed a weakness,
did I think upon the sentiments themselves. Yet
both of these peculiarities, as showing her char-


168
THE HIDING-PLACES
acter and as indicating her future, meant something
to me. I was shallow, very shallow, as I proved
when Joe endeavored to warn me of another matter.
One evening when I returned from the theatre
I found him waiting in my room. He was sitting
nervously on the edge of a chair, holding his hat.
“Why didn't you smoke?” I asked. “Here are
plenty of pipes, and there's the tobacco. And you
could have been amusing yourself with those books."
He explained that he didn't think-that he never
supposed—that he'd just dropped in-in short,
he had just run over to see me. But I, knowing
that he would never have come except for a purpose,
told him to spit it out, or cough it up, or words to
that effect, whatever was the slang of the day.
Joe grew very red, but presently said that he
enjoyed his work. I interrupted-was he still
private secretary? Yes, the other fellow was not
coming back, and Mr. Collester seemed satisfied.
Then poor Joe had a sad time in getting back to
his original starting-point, that he enjoyed his work.
Of course, he went on, it would be years before
he could be a real lawyer, but still, taking it up in
his evenings though he did, the study of law was a
fine one-a-a manly one; it-it taught a fellow
how to take care of himself.
I agreed. But still the law was very dry.
At this Joe, stammering again in his eagerness,
protested. It was sometimes obscure, until you
grasped the underlying principles. But these were
so grand, so simple!
Grivate secretaryMr. Collester
getting back


THE HIDING-PLACES
169
I laughed. Business was grand and simple also.
At any rate, I preferred it.
Joe was sorry to hear me say this, because-be-
cause--well, because there was a vacancy in Mr.
Collester's office, and it would make him happy
if I would take it.
I said I wouldn't decline it-Joe's face brightened
-because it hadn't been offered me. And Joe's
face fell.
Perhaps, he said, he had managed it wrong.
But he had asked Mr. Collester, and Mr. Collester
had said that he would be very glad, and Joe had
begged permission to bring me the offer.
“My dear Joe," I said, "it's very good of you
both. But really I'm not suited for the work.
I'm not at all interested in the law."
The legal side, Joe explained, in this case was
not at all prominent, except that I would be bound
to pick up a good deal. The work had more to
do with the management of property-moneyed
property.
“But, my dear Joe," I protested, “don't you
see that's just what I'm in Mr. Worthen's office
for?”
He went on doggedly. “Mr. Collester has a
big investment business. Trusteeships, you know;
no office in Boston is better spoken of. The new
clerk will be put at the detail of it. There never
was a better chance to get ahead.”
I liked, I told him, his interest in my advance-
ment. I was glad to know that Mr. Collester was a


170
THE HIDING-PLACES
financier (I used the word), and that he stood so
high. But work of that sort was just what I was
doing. I was daily studying investment securities,
and in a bigger office.
Joe became scarlet, and blurted: “The standing
of the two offices is different.”
I asked him to explain.
It must have cost Joe a great effort, younger as
he was and under the obligation of gratitude to
me, to set himself against my ideas. But manfully
he tried. “Mr. Worthen," he said, “deals almost
entirely in unlisted stock. He hasn't a seat on the
exchange.”
I replied with the phrases current in the office.
. “When he has handled his stock a little more, it
will be listed fast enough. And as for a seat on
the exchange, he doesn't need it. He has more
freedom.”
"Freedom !” interrupted Joe eagerly. "Free-
dom from the old rules long established for safety.
Do you know that some people call Mr. Worthen's
office a bucket-shop?”
"Jealousy, my dear Joe,” I said. "We're quite
used to that. No, no, my boy; I know what I'm
doing.”
He was ready to overflow with arguments; but
I corked them up and sent him away-for I yawned
in his face, and he went apologetically. As I un-
dressed I laughed at his earnestness. Joe's little
world was very big to him.
Yet I thought of him the next day. Chance


THE HIDING-PLACES
171
took me to where the struggling mass of noisy clerks
shouted on the curb and exchanged their cabalistic
signs with those above them in the windows. I
knew that we maintained a force of clerks specially
for this work, and that Denny was their head.
As I paused a minute to watch, I caught his eye.
The light of battle was in it, and had transformed
the quiet clerk into a howling dervish whose yells
rang in the street. In spite of the cold, his jacket
was open, and sweat stood on his forehead. When
he saw me he winked, waved a hand, roared an
offer, accepted a bid, and forgetting me, telegraphed
upward. I went on my way.
Now I was vexed. It made me wince to think
that Joe, once my protégé, from the height of the
impeccability of Collester's office could look down
on our perfectly legitimate methods of training.
Of course, this curb business of ours was undignified.
Of course, and I found myself sneering—those of
the inner social circle would have nothing to do
with it. But there was nothing wrong with it.
And Collester's methods were hopelessly old-style.
Poor Joe! He knew nothing outside his own ex-
perience. And, pitying him, I grew cheerful again.
That day I received a note from Collester. He
had no desire to tempt me away from a satisfactory
arrangement, but the offer which Joe brought me
he would be glad to confirm. The opening might
not be such as I had reason to desire, but he would
be pleased to have me in his office.
I declined, likewise by note, and politely. I


172
THE HIDING-PLACES
was really not tempted, for I did not wish to work
under him, nor to receive favors from him. And
it seemed to me that to leave Mr. Worthen would
be ungrateful.


CHAPTER XVII
SPRING was coming. In the Public Garden,
through which I so often passed on my way to
Gertrude's, the first tulips were in bloom. The
grass was green on the Common, and overhead the
elms were feathering out. Said Denny to me:
“'Baout time ye got the team aout an' ploughed
the lower medder?”
"Up kentry," I answered, “the frost ain't rightly
out o' the ground. The lower medder ain't dry
enough to hold a hoss. But I suppose my father
will plough the north meadow in a fortnight or so.
And he'll watch, over in the east corner, for little
shiny things that the plough may turn up.”
Denny was familiar with the story. “Binney,"
he wheedled, “let's you and me go up and plough
the field ourselves.”
“Both of us?” I asked. “You must think me
a mighty poor farmer if I need help.”
He explained that he would walk behind and
watch.
"So that I,” I remarked, “would have to watch
both the ground and you !”
"You're too suspicious," answered he. “I should
hate to think as mean of human nature as you
do. But don't you want to get out in the furrow
once more?"
173


174
THE HIDING PLACES
The idea was very unwelcome. Old clothes and
dirty, hard hands, lame back, dull evenings: these
were what I should find in the life that once was
so happy. The old pleasure in it could never re-
turn. The new had blotted it out.
Yet the suggestion somehow clung to me. I
met a farmer in the street, and the very gait of him
took me back to the ploughed field. Finding my-
self near the North Station, I stopped to watch,
from the opposite side of the street, the people who
came streaming from it. They were from the coun-
try; many of them were from the soil. And I
thought of the time when I had first faced the city
from those portals.
Standing and staring, lost in thinking of my
rawness and my transformation, I was suddenly
brought to myself by the sight of familiar figures.
A girl had come out of the station; a man, waiting
by the curb, had started forward to meet her.
He raised his hat, took her bag from her, and con-
ducted her toward a waiting carriage. And I knew
them both-Collester and my cousin Margery!
For a moment I stood watching; then I, too,
started forward. He was putting her in the car-
riage, and they both were concealed by the vehicle,
when I began to doubt. Margery in Boston? Im-
possible! And met by Collester? Why? Surely
I had been mistaken. A great dray coming in front
of me, I made no effort to cross before the horses,
but stood and let it pass, while I revolved the prob-
lem. There was no reason in it. Yet the man had


176
THE HIDING-PLACES
"Did you come in her train ?" I insisted.
Suddenly aware of my question, he turned on
it with craft. His little eyes narrowed. “Her
train? Whose ?"
He roused my caution. “Oh, well," I answered,
now as anxious to draw back as he was to engage.
“Apparently not.”
“Whose train?” he urged. “Who's come to
town?” And in his manner appeared his readily
aroused exasperation. To be met with stupidity,
resistance, or evasion, he never could bear.
Thus after our six months' separation we stood
opposed, exactly as when last we met. I seemed
born to anger him; he always roused repulsion in
me. Nevertheless, instinct reminded me, as it
had told me at our first meeting, that the way to
make him maddest was to show indifference. Cool
superiority would be even better. So I ignored
his question.
"And how is Athol?” I inquired. “How is the
busy little valley among the hills? Still awake?”
I certainly touched him, for he flushed and
scowled. But I had given him too good an open-
ing.
“Athol is awake,” he snapped. “And Peters-
ham is asleep -as it always is.”
And he turned and left me. As I thought it over,
I concluded that he had had the best of me.
I suppose he went straight to the office because
he saw me so far away from it. He may even have
watched to see me continue on my way in another


THE HIDING-PLACES
177
direction, a reasonable assurance that I would not
be soon at the office again. But I returned within
the hour, and when I was once seated at my desk
in the outer office I recognized Stidger's back as
he left Mr. Worthen's private room.
So he was one of our clients! The idea struck
me at first as natural, for on my own list I had
buyers who were quite as odd as he. But none, I
presently reasoned, whose credit was so shaky.
As I pondered the matter I concluded that I had
here a duty to Mr. Worthen, so that impulsively
I went to discharge it.
I had no longer a desk in the inner office, but Mr.
Worthen was usually accessible. He received me
affably; but when, clumsily opening, I abruptly
said, “I didn't know that Mr. Stidger dealt with
you, sir," he eyed me with a sudden coolness, as
if for a moment he hesitated to acknowledge trad-
ing with the man. Then he asked:
“Well, what of it?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Worthen," I stammered,
taken somewhat aback. “I didn't mean to inter-
fere, sir. But I thought you ought to know that
his reputation isn't good, up our way.”
He relaxed. “Oh, can't he pay his bills ?”
“He lives very small, sir,”. I explained. "He's
always being turned out on account of not paying
his rent. So I have heard from my father.”
He appeared to decide to take me into his con-
fidence. “Why, Binney," he said, "the man's a
skinflint, that's all. He's the sort that scrapes


178
THE HIDING-PLACES
and saves till he gets enough to take a flier with
me. Then he takes it."
“I see, sir," I replied. “I didn't understand.
I beg pardon for interfering.”
“Why, you only did your duty,” he answered,
now again smiling cordially. “That kind needs
watching, and I like all the information I can get.
But Stidger's safe so long as I look after him myself.
He's the sort I allow nobody else to handle." He
paused for my departure, then asked as I lingered:
"Anything else?”
“Nothing," I replied, presuming a little upon
his kindness to me, “except that it's wonderful
how many of the queerest people come to you, sir.”
“Nothing's queer in my business," he said.
And then his face of astonishment gave him the
lie. “Why, Gertrude!”
I whirled about. Gertrude at the office! But
there she was, in a charming spring dress that
gave an indescribable effect of freshness. It was
as if a newly opened flower were walking. Behind
her the clerks were staring. She was nodding to
us jauntily. Delightful to see her there, dainty and
sweet, in our painfully masculine surroundings.
But I had no share in her. She swept past me
with all sorts of little crinkly rustlings, and promptly
smiled me out of the office. For when I attempted
my compliment she told me to keep it for the next
dance, making me feel a little cheap. And seeing
that there was purpose, a little stronger than usual,
behind her smile, I took myself away quickly.


THE HIDING-PLACES
179
Indeed I was a little startled, but not entirely at
her. For I marked the aspect, first of dismay,
next of sulky doggedness, which her father as-
sumed. I went out and closed the door softly.
My desk was not far from this door, and I worked
but half-heartedly, watching for her appearance
and planning to escort her to the street. Thus I
came to have an idea that a certain tension existed
inside. For first I saw the transom above the
door closed quietly. Since this was usually open
for ventilation-indeed, I never before had seen it
closed-I felt with a little awe that greater matters
than finance were to be discussed. And discussed
they were, if discussion consists in a stiff demand
and a grudging compliance. For Mr. Worthen
bellowed repeatedly, at some length, and with
much indignation, as was observed by Denny, who
came and leaned across my desk.'
“You'd think it was a bull market, from the
noise the old man makes. But somehow I think
the bears will win out."
Then, when Denny had left me, I heard through
the door the familiar clang of the private safe.
The bellow subsided to a rumble, and the office
door opened. I rose. Gertrude, in the doorway,
was looking back.
“You might say good-by."
I hastily sat down again, and waited for the
leave-taking to finish. A growl came, the door
as passing my desk. “Ger-
trude, may I- ?"
was


180
THE HIDING-PLACES
She stopped and looked at me. “The young
financier leaving his work? No, Binney, stay where
you are. Don't destroy the impression of industry.
But I”—and she shook at me one of our long blue
office envelopes—"I have been busy, too!” Smil-
ing, she left me.
The effect of this was to make me wonder vaguely
as to the relations between Gertrude and her father.
Vaguely! Yes, it never had occurred to me to pry
deep into motives and actions, to examine my world
critically, or to face unwelcome possibilities. In
the present case I pictured to myself a demand for
money, an unwilling acquiescence, and a packet
of crisp banknotes carried away in the long blue
envelope. From this I deduced that the expense
of maintaining Gertrude and her establishment
was considerable. Finally I got so far as to specu-
late whether Gertrude were extravagant.
I could not think it. Not fundamentally extrava-
gant. Her purposefulness, for which I had a grow-
ing respect, seemed inconsistent with any lapse
in common sense. If her father expected her to
maintain his house on too small an allowance, then
naturally came battle. But Gertrude seemed ca-
pable of confining herself within all necessary limits.
Dwelling approvingly on this thought of her, I
naturally had little sympathy with the irritation
which her father displayed during the remainder
of the morning. Luckily, I was able to stick to
my desk and my business. Denny, more fortunate
still, grinned knowingly at me as, during the first


THE HIDING-PLACES
181
outbreak, he seized his hat and slipped out of the
office. But the rest of the clerks were very uncom-
fortable. I did not see how I escaped except for a
feeling of conscious innocence which sustained my
calm whenever Mr. Worthen turned a scowling
glance in my direction. I saw no reason why he
should punish me for what Gertrude might have done.
But in the end he managed to give me an un-
pleasant task. About to leave the office for his
lunch, he paused at my desk and stood glaring at
me, expressionless. I met his glance with my ab-
surdly childlike innocence. But I knew enough to
rise respectfully.
“Can I do anything for you, Mr. Worthen?”
Not a gleam of intelligence brightened his face.
“You know that fellow Stidger? I want you to
stay in the office until he comes, unless I come
back first. Give him this message: He can't have
it. That's all—he can't have it."
“Yes, sir."
He bent his glance on me at last as if I were a
real person. “You don't understand, of course.
That's why I ask you to give the message.” And
he walked away,
I was resentful. The tone of his last remarks
was as contemptuous as' if addressed to the office
boy. He had scarcely left the room before I was
arranging to leave for the rest of the day. He
could snap at others, not at me. And having set
my desk in order, I waited impatiently for Stidger
to arrive.


182
THE HIDING-PLACES
The little grubby man, when at last I intercepted
him on his way to Mr. Worthen's door, tried to
push past me. “I've got to see your boss."
I showed him the empty office. "He's out.”
He pointed to the clock. “I'm on time to the
minute.”
“He left a message for you," I said.
Then he fell back and glared at me. “By God,
you've got ahead of me!”
“The message,” I said coldly, "is simply: ‘You
can't have it.'”
“Of course,” he sneered. “Clever, ain't you?"
I left him and went to my desk, took my hat
and gloves, and prepared to go. This time it was
he who stopped the way.
I can see ourselves now, in the half-empty office,
with no one near. I must have loomed above him
very large and very finished, while he, like an un-
tidy little terrier, bristled before me. He had fallen
into one of his instantaneous rages, but I had the
curious sense that he felt baffled. It did not in-
terest me, and I knew, of course, that it would but
aggravate his mood to let him see this.
“Clever, ain't you?” he insisted. “You know
you think you are."
"I've given the message, Mr. Stidger," I replied.
“You will have to go to Mr. Worthen for any ex-
planation.”
“I can explain it myself,” he snapped. “Oh,
you self-satisfied monkey!”
“Much obliged, 'm suah," I returned, with a


THE HIDING-PLACES
183
nes-
touch of that English accent which we fellows often
practised among ourselves, in imitation of Henry
Irving, who then was at the height of his success.
“Is there any message for Mr. Worthen?”
He became suddenly quiet and studied me closely,
as if with a new idea. "Are you so smart after
all?” he asked.
I waited patiently, rather loftily I am afraid,
while the fiery little eyes searched me.
“Yes,” he cried abruptly, “yes, there is a mes-
sage, and get what you can out of it. Tell him I'm
ready when he is.”
It suited me to bow respectfully, with an irony
that was to recoil upon my own head. “I will
inform him.”
At that he sneered. “Why, for all your fine
clothes and manners, you're a farmer yet.” With
a contemptuous snort he went away; and I, de-
ciding to get his message off my mind, and still
determining to enjoy the afternoon, waited till Mr.
Worthen returned.
He wrinkled his brow when I repeated Stidger's
words, and looked at me very sharply. “He is
ready when I am? What did he mean by that?"
“I haven't the least idea,” I answered, and satis-
fied him. Perhaps the reader sees his way through
all this. But I had not even asked myself why
both Stidger and Mr. Worthen had defied me to
find a meaning in their messages, nor had it oc-
curred to me that the events of the morning had
any connection with each other, or with me.


CHAPTER XVIII
I HAD contrived to satisfy myself that I had not
seen Margery. But I had seen Gertrude, and the
charm of her had had something to do with my
resolve to stay no more at the office that day. So
at four o'clock, properly adorned, I presented my-
self at her house and was admitted. While the
butler went to announce me I very leisurely took
off my overcoat in the hall.
I had scarcely tossed it upon the big chest when
a thrill seized me before I was aware of the cause.
Then I analyzed it. A rustle in the upper hall, a
voice speaking, and an instant response within
myself. It meant home; it meant-Margery! I
started toward the stairs. And yet I went merely
on instinct, for I had not heard the voice clearly.
So, puzzled, I looked up.
From the two upper halls the stairs came down,
right and left, to the landing above which hung
Mr. Worthen's great portrait. Descending from
the right, and almost upon the landing, was a girl,
a woman-in the dusk of the city house I could
not clearly see. But she had Margery's height,
something of Margery's figure, and her mass of
soft hair.
“Margery!" I cried.
184


THE HIDING-PLACES
187
had ventured to set foot upon her stairs. With
great relief I heard the door-bell ring. Outside
there was a carriage at the curb.
“There are callers," I said. “Gertrude, I'm
going.”
She, too, glanced out. When I offered her my
hand her manner had changed. I had gathered
up my hat and coat, and the butler was at the
front door, when I began my farewell. “Gertrude,
forget it if you can.”
The swift cordiality of her glance surprised me.
Her firm, slender fingers grasped mine as she met
my eye with sudden kindliness. “Why, it's all
right, Binney. But you'd better go.” For in my
relief, such is a young man's foolishness, I offered
to stay. “Come Monday, Binney.” And between
relief and wonderment I went to the door. There
I met the visitor.
Collester's sister! Neat, compact, and master-
ful, she was entering with an air of purpose. As
I stood aside to let her pass she in acknowledg-
ment smiled and bowed. It was surely she. In
amusement I went out and down the steps. That
was why Gertrude was cordial!
So her social success was coming. I did not
measure what it might mean to me, but wished
that I might witness the meeting in the parlor
that I had just left. And though, of course, the
draped windows would be quite blank, from the
sidewalk I threw a backward glance at them.
Nothing, naturally, in the lower windows. But


188
THE HIDING-PLACES
a movement in a window of the second story drew
my eyes upward. A figure was just vanishing.
A woman? A girl? Then Margery?
A sudden anger overwhelmed me. There was
no pause for thought, just a wave of fury at the
certainty that I had been deceived. I believe I
took a step toward the house, but I went no farther.
I struck my cane on the ground with such force
that it splintered in my hand. Then I wrenched
it in two and Aung the pieces across the roadway
into the park, and, turning my back on that place,
I stamped away.
Then, so variable was I, miserable doubt came
over me. Because a seamstress crossed a landing,
because a servant stood in a window, was I to be-
lieve this thing? I walked softly, and wondered at
my passion.
And if Margery did choose to come to town on
business of her own, might she not consult whom
she pleased? And if Gertrude kept Margery's
secret, why should I complain?
Fool! In any case, fool! So I whispered to my-
self. And so whispering, hoarsely and sincerely
earnest, I slunk around the first corner.
After my swelling burst of rage I was ashamed.
Next, to be unable to see my way through my
perplexities shamed me still more. How to decide
on the facts of the case; whether to rebel or sub-
mit, and in either case how to bear myself: these
were my baffling problems. In this mental con-
fusion I knew that I was strongly suspicious and


THE HIDING-PLACES
189
deeply hurt, yet at the same time self-reproachful.
Why hadn't I made myself more of a man, so that
at need my poor cousin could come to me? My
reflections made terrible inroads upon my conceit.
That day of coincidences ended by proving my
suspicions. At supper-time (the country names
of meals still clung in my vocabulary) I took my
troubles to a restaurant, not too fashionable, where
I could satisfy my new fastidiousness without the
need of evening clothes. And a very good meal
had just been spread before me when my spiritless
eyes fell upon a quartette at their dinner, only
four tables away across the narrow room. Col-
lester first I saw, his sister next, then Gertrude.
While I waited for an intervening waiter to move
I knew who the fourth of the party must be. And
she it was-Margery.
I was neither surprised nor satisfied, nor any-
thing except quietly convinced. Yet I was con-
vinced of a good deal which suddenly crystallized
itself.
First, a family bond seemed to snap. At Peters-
ham our two families at the Hill lived in a fellow-
ship that was marked by the fact that we literally
stood against all comers. The outside pressure,
the need of keeping our boundaries inviolate, knit
us together into a little clan. Since my find Cousin
Lon had stood aloof; but I had felt that Margery
held the more closely to the union. But now she,
too, had broken the bond. From this time father,
mother, and I now stood alone.


190
THE HIDING-PLACES
Next, I knew that the fault was my own. Mar-
gery would never be with these people, here in the
city, but for some fatal weakness of mine that
kept her away from me.
And, finally, I felt what it was to be cut off from
this old playmate of mine. Knowing that for the
first time in my life I could not take Margery for
granted, I saw her through new eyes. She held
her own, to begin with, with these city women.
Her simple dress, which I knew she had made her-
self, was entirely becoming; her poise was perfect.
Her head was shapely and erect, her manner natu-
rally quiet and composed. And the calm sweetness
of the profile, the sympathetic mouth, the honest,
kindly eye! That I could have neglected her!
That I could have failed her!
At this I may have groaned; at any rate, I gave
some sign of my emotion, for my waiter, standing
near, coughed with great discretion. Then he
bent over me solicitously. “Can I get you any-
thing else, sir?"
I knew that I must get away. At any moment
I might be discovered. “My bill,” I demanded,
and paid the man twice over. “Now my hat and
coat-no, don't help me on with them; just give
them to me. And now stand between me and
that other table-so.” And I rose and slipped away.
An impulse, as I neared the door, caused me to
turn for a last look at Margery. It was fortunate
that I did so, for they had discovered me; the
ladies were looking at me anxiously, and Collester


THE HIDING-PLACES
191
was starting in pursuit. I think he called my name.
But I could not bear to stop. Margery was rising
with clasped hands, when I turned away and
plunged through the crowd in the lobby. Once
in the street, I zigzagged rapidly where groups
were thickest. I would not run; if Collester caught
me I intended simply to refuse to return. But I
had given him the slip.
My one idea was to get away from further pur-
suit. And I saw the way. Sick with mortification,
I went straight to my room, packed my bag, told
my landlady not to expect me again for a couple
of days, and went to the railroad-station. I would
visit my clients and hunt for self-respect. As I
walked through the little streets on the back of
Beacon Hill, their obscurity comforted me. At
the lighted station I feared that Collester, still
hunting, might find me. I bought my ticket and
engaged my berth, but I was not at ease until I
heard the train start and knew that there would
be no stop for twenty miles.
And then I settled myself to think over the day.
Though I usually regarded this as a feminine pas-
time, it forced itself on me now, for I could not
compose myself to the reading of railroad literature.
I put up the shade and, lolling in the window (for
I had the section to myself), peered out at the stars
through the cross-lights reflected from the lamps
of the car. And studying absently the distant
luminaries, I went over the scenes of the day until
they began to appear with a thread of connection..


192
THE HIDING-PLACES
Collester, of course by appointment, had met
Margery at the station and had taken her to Ger-
trude's. There, in the afternoon, Mrs. Brewster
called upon her. (I had one moment of amusement
as I reflected that Gertrude's upward social step
had come through simple Margery.) In the eve-
ning the four were probably going to the theatre,
dining together beforehand, as I had seen. Stidger
I supposed to be an accident of the day; but had
Gertrude's rare appearance at the office anything
to do with Margery's visit? How could I know
unless I could guess what she obtained from her
father?
One by one the berths were made up, and the
lights in the car were quenched. For the third
time the porter came to me. “Your berth, sah?”
The idea of bed was repugnant to me. “Porter,"
I decided, "I'm going to spend the night as I am.
Put out all but one of the lights overhead, and for-
get me.” So he ceased bothering, and I and the
stars had the night to ourselves.
Behind the swaying curtains of the car my fellow
travellers slept, I suppose, according to their na-
tures and their consciences. But for the first time
in my life I was wakeful. Not that my own con-
science troubled me. It required more than my
neglect of Margery to account for her avoidance
of me; I felt that with her the matter turned on
what I was, rather than on what I had done or
left undone. But for that very reason my mor-
tification continued to be extreme. Wherein did


THE HIDING-PLACES 193
I lack? How did I fail in manhood, that Collester,
a stranger, should be preferred to me?
And gradually the problem developed further.
Did these events all concern me deeper than I
supposed? Had Margery come on matters that
affected me? Was even Stidger still busy with
his schemes against me? Had his sneering words,
and those of Mr. Worthen, reference to my igno-
rance of vital matters? If so, why was I still in
the dark, and why was I hurrying away at forty
miles an hour? Even though my sluggish mind
refused to entertain suspicion long, a great un-
easiness disturbed me.
The night slowly passed. I know I slumbered,
but my sleep was fitful. Gradually the sky paled;
the streaks of dawn appeared; day came. And
still we sped through sleeping towns, while be-
hind the curtains of the berths I heard the heavy
breathing of the slumberers. At length the porter
roused some one near me. "Twenty minutes to
Littlefield, sah."
I shook myself together. Repugnance to view-
ing my fellow creatures in their undress combined
with a sudden snatch at self-respect. Littlefield
was Mr. Canby's town. It would be a relief to
visit him and refresh my spirits by a glimpse of
prosperity which I had helped to create.


CHAPTER XIX
THERE was sharpness in the air as I walked down
Littlefield Main Street. The sun was well up, for
the hour was approaching six; yet the stores, nat-
urally, were closed, and their shades were drawn.
I supposed that some one would be awake at the
hotel to admit me and receive my order for break-
fast. But as I reached Mr. Canby's store, to my
surprise I found it open for business. The shades
were up; the step had been swept. And as I peered
through the window I saw Mr. Canby standing at
his work. Therefore I went in.
From behind his tall desk he watched me enter,
but made no move to meet me. And as I walked
toward him, while he peered at me over the glasses
which he used for his writing, I saw a change in
him. His chubby cheeks were thinner, their rud-
diness had gone, and his fussily amiable glance
was now expressionless. When I hailed him with
a good morning the weak lips set themselves with
a primness that was almost firm. And the boyish
face that used to amuse me was even dignified.
“Mr. Canby," I asked in surprise, “is anything
wrong?”
“Why should you come?” he demanded in re-
turn. “You can't suck a squeezed orange.” And
194


THE HIDING-PLACES
195
he uttered this metaphor, so surprising from his
prosaic mouth, with sour vehemence.
"On my word,” I declared, seeing that some-
thing was wrong, "I don't understand.”
Before deciding to answer he looked at me for
a moment. He must have seen that I was honest.
“You found me,” he said at length. “You handed
me over to your master. He squeezed me dry
and threw me away. Now do you understand?”.
As I looked into his pale-blue eyes, resentful and
yet a little pitiful, my spirit felt the shock of dis-
covery before my mind had grasped the situation.
A misfortune-and traced to me! Then I re-
membered his desire to trade on margin. The
market had beaten him!
"I warned you against it," I stammered, certain
that I was right.
“That was a part of the game," he retorted.
“One warns me, the other tempts me, and to-
gether you make me more eager. You worked
together well, and you got me.”
You got me! His tone, till then defiant, faded
despairingly. The lips quivered. His reproach
stabbed deep into my already sensitive conscience.
"I warned you," I repeated in distress. “It
was no fault of mine."
On his part he could no longer maintain his
repellent attitude. His grievances found voice, and
his brooding took form in reproaches, again in a
surprising trope.
: "It's the cruelest form of hunting,” he said


196
THE HIDING-PLACES
plainfively. “The bird or the deer is commonly
killed; only a few escape and suffer. But when
you get a man, like this, he's maimed for life. Hard
labor for life," he went on, his mind snatching at
another metaphor. “Hard labor till I die.”
“Do you mean," I asked, but already sick with
knowledge of his answer, “that you've lost every-
thing?"
He looked at me almost angrily. “Don't you
really know?"
"I've not heard of anything that has happened
to you."
His anger faded away before my sincerity. And
his plaintiveness returned. He rested his pudgy.
hands upon the open ledger. “I've lost more than
everything," he told me. “It isn't only that the
store is mortgaged, and the stock. I've given
notes. I shall never get free of the debt.”
As I remembered Mrs. Canby and the five little
Canbys I turned almost faint. Had I done this?
But no! "I warned you I warned you !” I cried
for the third time, to ease my own pain.
"You had got me going," he replied. “It was
too late to stop. Besides, he was tolling me on.”
And seeing that I did not understand, he added,
“Mr. Worthen.”
"Mr Worthen?” I cried. "He had nothing
to do with you until you began to trade on margin.
He left you entirely to me.”
“Did he?” A touch of Mr. Canby's grimness
returned, but only for a moment. It merged into


THE HIDING-PLACES
197
sad narration. “He dropped in one afternoon and
spent the whole evening.”
“And why didn't I hear of it?” I asked, sur-
prised.
“He said you were so proud of having discov-
ered me that he didn't want you to suppose he had
any doubt of your judgment. But, finding himself
going through Littlefield, he dropped over a couple
of trains and looked me up."
Again a shock of anticipation chilled me. “And
what did he do?”
“He excited me," admitted Canby very frankly.
His watery eyes appealed for my sympathy. “He
talked profits and turns of the market. And he
told of the big gains in marginal buying.”
“Did he ask you to try it?” I asked.
“He didn't need.” And poor Canby, his confes-
sion finished, sighed and watched me sadly.
I stood bewildered. Had this thing happened?
Alas, it had! A few more questions and answers,
and I could not doubt.
Across that desk we stared at one another. Canby
was benumbed by the weight of his burden; even
his piteousness had at last descended to a dull
passivity. But the chill which had quivered to my
very finger-tips was giving place to a burning heat.
Not Canby only had been betrayed, but I myself !
I am glad to remember that I had a few mo-
ments of thought for him. I looked at his lustreless
eyes, his bowed shoulders. At the age of fifty,
starting life under a load of debt! I looked about


198
THE HIDING-PLACES
me at the cans of paint, the bundled garden-tools,
the dusty enamelled ware. This place, little Can-
by's little silver mine, was to be his treadmill now;
what he earned from it was to go to a master.
A master! And he had called Mr. Worthen my
master! Mine!
I heard the poor fellow struggling with his ex-
cuse. “I understand it's the common method
with these swindlers.”
So I was a swindler-or the servant of a swindler !
“If they find a chap that has a little money, they
won't rest till they get their hands on it.”
The truth shot home to me like an arrow into
flesh. My father had a little money, and Mr.
Worthen had his hands on it!
I don't remember that I said good-by to Mr.
Canby. Probably he stared at me as I went un-
steadily down the street. For I know that I had
very little idea of where I was going, so bewildered
was I with the suspicions—no, the certainties-
that crowded on me. Instinct seemed to bring me
to the station, and when presently a Boston train
appeared, I boarded it.
On that interminable journey I followed re-
peatedly the wearisome circuit of my thoughts.
After a couple of rounds there seemed little to
add. That the admired Worthen was a swindler,
that our elegant office was a bucket-shop-legiti-
mate, of course, for the law is easy-I was forced
to concede. But the concession meant a loss of
self-respect. For what had been my position all


THE HIDING-PLACES
199
this while? That my innocent enthusiasm for Mr.
Worthen and his mission, my firm belief in the
wares which I ignorantly sold, made me a most
efficient salesman, was plain enough. In the office
I must have been regarded as grown-ups regard
a child that believes in Santa Claus, and with
equal care not to spoil the illusion. In business,
as in society, I must have appeared as amusingly
raw. And all the time I was hoodwinking clients
whose inexperience was scarcely greater than my
own.
Collester must have known this, hence his decent
invitations to join him. Joe must have learned it,
which made him labor earnestly for my redemption.
Gertrude may have had a glimmer of the truth,
as proved by her attempts to keep me from her
father's employment—though why if she knew she
did no more, I could not say. Even Margery
doubtless saw the situation, though at her distance.
But-and one thing that had puzzled me in
Margery's visit now was as clear as day—my im-
mense self-satisfaction stood in the way of all their
endeavors. Collester and Joe and Gertrude, all
had failed; and how was Margery to make any
impression on me? Perhaps their dinner, there
in the restaurant, was to give a chance to consult
as to some means of stirring me.
Meanwhile, what black treachery in Mr. Wor-
then to steal poor Canby out of my guardianship,
where his ruin was not swift enough! The stock
which Canby bought was slow in going bad; per-


200
THE HIDING-PLACES
haps it might even, in the course of years, succeed:
therefore quicker methods must be used. The poor
devil was knifed while I was holding him in play,
as unlucky Valentine was thrust through by Meph-
istopheles while engaged with Faust. And I was
a Faust, a stalking-horse, a stool-pigeon!
Anger burned me, and helplessness tortured me.
I gnawed my fingers to prevent myself from cry-
ing aloud, now with fury, and again with fear.
For what last pressure of anxiety had brought
Margery down to the city? What schemes did
she suspect Mr. Worthen to be maturing? Those
big, those impossibly big dividends which he had
sent to father, out of which I had so joyously ac-
cepted a share! No one but Mr. Worthen knew
how the little account stood, and he had absolute
control over it.
At this point came in the thought: would he
deal unfairly by me, at times almost an inmate of
his house? Would Gertrude, supposing her to
understand, permit it?
Then followed shame, that in my weakness I
looked for a girl's help.
And yet I wondered if anything but Gertrude
had so far stood between me and ruin. Had he
wished to rob us by the crude scheme of lying about
the value of the jewels, her knowledge of stones
would have stood in the way. For the rest, her
friendship to me was a danger, not a protection.
Of course, I was some value to him as a decoy, but
on the other hand I was in the way (I knew it) of


202
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Why, Binney," he said, "you look pale. Off
your feed? Haven't been neglecting your meals,
my boy?”
It was a natural question on his part, whose
punctuality at the table was a failing. I remem-
bered, to my surprise, that I had not eaten for
more than twenty-four hours. But that did not
interest me.
"I've just discovered," I answered, "that Mr.
Canby has come to grief.”
My employer shot me a keen glance. "Yes,”
he said frankly. “An awful tumble. He's done
for.”
“But, Mr. Worthen," I burst out, quite as much
in grief as in resentment, "he says you put into his
head the idea of playing the market.”
"He does?” asked Mr. Worthen coolly. "They
do say that, Binney, rather than blame themselves.
But all I did was to talk with him on the subjects
he asked about. And it was he who insisted on
venturing, as you know yourself.”
It was true. Mr. Worthen's defense was good.
Even if he had led human nature to betray itself,
knowing the sure catastrophe, he had committed no
breach. And I saw how strong was his position.
“But,” I stammered, "you went to see him."
“Of course," he answered, unmoved. “I had
to, Binney. You see, we were at times giving him
some pretty big credits. I had to check up your
opinion of him. But I didn't want to hurt your
feelings by letting you know.”


THE HIDING-PLACES
203
Impregnable again. I was stopped short. He
went on, now very gravely. “These things are
the sad part of business. You can't save a man
from his own foolishness." And sitting with his
hands folded on his desk, a picture of uprightness,
he looked at me with sober regret that such things
must be.
I, who had thus abruptly been disarmed, and so
came without weapons to my real attack, stood
perfectly blank. It was with the greatest awk-
wardness that I opened the subject which I knew
must be discussed, if ever I was to breathe freely
again.
“Mr. Worthen,” I blurted, “how does my father's
account stand with you?”
He looked at me with a keen flash from his little
eyes. A redness crept into his forehead. But he
did not stir. “Binney,” he asked, “what am I to
understand by such a question ?”
“Why, don't you see, sir?” I cried, "if such
things happen, I'm worried as to where we stand.
I want to be sure that the money's all there. You
don't hold anything on margin for father?”
His reply came deliberately. “I could answer
you easily enough. I was looking over the account
to-day. But let me ask you first: what right have
you to put such a question?”.
I knew at once that I had no right. Doubtless
I gaped at him. He pursued his advantage.
“Do you consider the money yours?” he asked.
“Of course, you found the stones.”


204
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Why, no," I answered. “Naturally the money's
father's."
"At any rate,” he went on, “the account stands
in his name. Unless you come with some authority
from him, I have no right to show you anything
about it. He would have every cause to blame
me severely.”
It was perfectly plain, and I mumbled my under-
standing. Then he rose and came to me. "But
you needn't worry, Binney," he said, putting his
hand upon my shoulder. His face was very kind.
"It will do, won't it, if I assure you that everything
is perfectly safe?”
My ideas were whirling. He was so hearty and
so open and so confident, also so patient with me,
that I had already lost most of the energy with
which I came to the conference. I looked him in
the eye, and it never wavered. He was too puffy
and too wrinkled for perfect wholesomeness; his
skin was very red, and the network of tiny veins
on his cheek was purple. But what had that to
do with the soul? He stood up to me like a man.
Yet a kind of doggedness, the failing momentum
of my original intention, kept me to my purpose.
My innocence made me acknowledge it. I had
never learned to lie, nor did I recognize the pressing
need of lying.
"I-I know you'll excuse me, sir, but I've got
to talk this over with my father.”
He patted me. “Quite needless, Binney."
"I can't help it, Mr. Worthen." And being


THE HIDING-PLACES
205
ashamed to meet his honest eye, I myself looked
down.
“Why," he said as he turned away, “do what
you think you must. Of course I understand.
What train shall you take?”
"If I start now," I said, “I'll only get home in
time to wake them out of sleep. I suppose I'll take
the first train in the morning.”
“Remember me to your father and mother,"
he said. And knowing exactly what he needed,
he smiled me out of the room. I, never realizing
that I had given him clear warning and plenty of
time, and comforted by his assurances, breathed
freely and went away.


THE HIDING-PLACES
207
dark only in the frost-cracks, coarse tracery run-
ning systemless. It was not until I lifted my eyes
to look up the valley, and saw the tree tops of the
farther ridge making a violet blur against the hazy
distance, that I found beauty anywhere.
As I neared the top of the ascent my eye was
drawn to the aspects of the place. The winter
washing of the road was here repaired by loads
of gravel, roughly graded. My eye told me from
which of our two pits the gravel had been taken.
Father had been bushing out along the roadside,
where the vacant spaces were conspicuous, and
where the brush still lay heaped. But most notice-
able to me were the limbs which strewed the ground
in the orchard. Father and I were always at va-
riance in the matter of pruning, where, curiously,
he was the radical and I the conservative in the
trimming of old trees. The yellow scars of his
saw were visible everywhere, and I saw that he
had taken advantage of my absence to slash heavily
among the veterans.
But father was always lovable in whatever he
did. This very extravagance came from his enthu-
siastic belief in the fertility of the farm. And as
he carefully made each wound, trimming the stubs
flush with the trunk, he promised himself that the
yield of the tree would be increased by diminishing
its wood. I could imagine the smile with which
he contemplated each day's destruction, and his
guilty satisfaction that his son was not there to
check him.


208
THE HIDING-PLACES
The house came in sight. I had mounted the
rise that took me above it, and that shut it out
from the view of the highroad. Now I saw its
ridge-pole, its roof, and then the whole of its red
frontage. It looked toward me with the welcoming
warmth which always seemed to characterize its
hospitable proportions. Except for Joe's visit,
the house had never sheltered any one but our-
selves; yet its greeting always seemed to me very
inclusive. Beyond it clustered the barn and sheds,
while, behind all, the valley opened toward the
west. The double pine towered above the nearer
woods; the farther tree tops were purple, and the
distance a blue gray.
The farmyard was empty, save for a motionless
form that sat upon its haunches and blinked at
nothing. Breakfast must have been good; Jones,
well satisfied with his lining, was ruminating like
a cow. But the sound of my step caught his ear
from a distance, and he looked toward me with
immediate resentment. To Jones all intruders
were of low and vile parentage, not to be tolerated
in respectable society. He growled at me notably.
“Now," thought I, “I'll fool him.”
But Jones was a long-sighted beast. When once
he focussed on me, something checked his growl.
His trot toward me was not threatening, but in-
quiring and hopeful. He paused, gazed, came on
again, paused again. At last, while still his tail
was waving doubtfully, he evidently said within
himself: “'Tis he!” Sure at last, he capered toward


THE HIDING PLACES
209
me with his spine curved now right, now left, wag-
ging, as it were, his whole body from his shoulders
backward. The action expressed subservience in
a manner quite shocking in so doughty a warrior.
But the compliment was all the greater. When his
whine of delight was audible as he approached, and
when finally he was bouncing around me, hopping
as high as my breast and yapping in excitement,
but in deep respect never touching me, then the
welcome was complete. No man could resist such
homage. I dropped my bag, caught him to me,
and hugged him like a child.
The caress upset him completely. When I re-
leased him (which I did promptly, else he had licked
my face off) he started for the house, yelling at the
top of his lungs. Turning in a wide sweep, he came
back, circled me, belly to the ground, rushed again
to the house, and again returned. In this way he
announced that his lord and master had come back
and was gracious unto him.
The secret was out. Mother was immediately
in the yard; father came hurrying from the barn.
Each knew what had happened. Standing to-
gether, hand in hand, they waited our approach.
Their eyes were wet, their voices trembling when
they spoke. And they welcomed me as if no son
could have been more dutiful.
So relieved was I, so pleasant was it to be made
much of, so easy to put off confession, that I de-
layed speaking of my errand. Whether the out-
come would have been different I still wonder.


210
THE HIDING-PLACES
The doctor tells me that I have no cause to re-
proach myself; and yet-! Well, it was a pleasant
forenoon. Mother showed me the changes in the
house: she had moved the sofa, shifted some pic-
tures, covered a chair. Then father took me into
the yard to point out this and that. And whenever
the talk came too close to my own doings I asked
a question that set me free again.
After a while father was doing all the talking.
Mother was watching me. She had made out that
I had something on my mind, but she was biding
her time. Father, innocent that my coming had
any purpose, was garrulous. He expressed his
pride in my appearance and manners. My very
way of speaking, he said, was changed. In a single
winter I had become a gentleman. Such praise
was painful, and I changed the subject. And as
father was always capable of sustained talk on the
farm, to that subject we turned. When he began
to lead us about from place to place, I knew that
I was safe as long as I chose to be. While mother
followed, occasionally turning her bright, inquiring
glance on me, father, his arm in mine or his hand
upon my shoulder, led me from barn to shed, from
shed to field, pointing, explaining, planning.
Father loved the farm. The good farmer's love
for his land is like a father's thought of his child.
According to the help that he has given he can
take pride in the development. My father schemed
for the farm as he had schemed for me. He had
made his occasional mistakes, as farmers and fathers


THE HIDING-PLACES
211
do; but (at least according to his calculation) both
land and son improved under his hand. He judged
them, too, not for defects but for advantages. Thus
if, as is everywhere true among our hills, the fields
were still rocky, their improvement could be mea-
sured by their stone heaps and their walls, and by
the crop record contained in father's painstaking
accounts. Of the son he had to judge by the out-
side; but if, as God knows is true, my faults were
many, my father's kindly eye was satisfied as he
dwelt on what he considered to be virtues.
Ah, well! It was a happy time, and father's
talk flowed freely, as his joy in my return bubbled
over. And while I too enjoyed the home-coming, I
felt shame that I had not enjoyed it oftener. Why
had I not frequently returned, to give this simple
pleasure, and to bask in the warmth of this ap-
preciation ?
One small temptation I yielded to. In our tour
father avoided the orchard, but when we came
back to the yard we were in sight of it. I led him
to the wall; I pointed to the fallen limbs that had
not yet been carted away; and then silently I
looked at him.
Guilt flushed his forehead. For a moment, as
his embarrassed eye roved wildly, it seemed as if
he were the son and I the father. When our eyes
met again he laughed, first awkwardly, but then,
as he saw that I did not care, in relief.
"Honestly, Binney boy,” he said, “I couldn't
help it.”


THE HIDING-PLACES
213
letter might contain news of you, since it was from
your office, and in Mr. Worthen's hand. Now
that you're here "
From the office! Posted last night, then, for
I knew the mails. Addressed by Mr. Worthen
before he left the office, for there were no stenog-
raphers there so late. And I forgot Margery, and
she forgot me, for we both were frightened. Mother
forgot neither of us, but studied us closely as we
watched father preparing to open the envelope.
I have talked it all over with them since.
“From Mr. Worthen,” said father, smiling.
“Another dividend, I suppose. They're thick as
spatter."
Then mother, too, caught the name and the fear,
and turned to him quickly. We three waited,
silent, till that which was to come should come,
whatever it might be.
Father was thinking of prosperity as he opened
the letter. There are few subjects pleasanter to
contemplate. The blow came then the harder.
I saw first his smile fade, then his cheek pale, then
his wide eye turn anxiously to mine.
“Binney," he gasped, "what is this?"
He held out the letter, and I took it. “Read it
aloud," directed mother. And I read:
Sudden changes in the market require an immediate ad-
vance of $6,127.30 to meet the fall in prices of Copper
Union, Top-Notcher, and North Creek Gold. There is no
money of yours on hand for this purpose. I sincerely re-
gret this misfortune, which the enclosed schedule will explain.


214
THE HIDING-PLACES
As the market is still falling, following my discretion I have
released the stock to save you further loss. If you are un-
able to meet this demand I must ask you to come to Boston
to arrange loans. A mortgage on your farm and buildings
will be acceptable. Again regretting, I am,
Yours faithfully,
W. W. WORTHEN.
An enclosed list purported to show how father's
money had been lost. I did not read it. More
gambling again! How cold I was! How clean
Mr. Worthen tried to sweep! Oh, that devil!
I felt my father's clutch upon my arm. “Binney
-Binney-
How could I meet his eye? But as I looked
down, stammering, he learned the truth.
Then my mother cried aloud. And Margery,
behind me in the carriage, screamed.
They had seen the change come over him. I,
looking up, saw his leaden face. His eyes had
turned upward; his jaw was falling. I caught him
as he toppled, hurried him into the house, and
laid him on the couch. There was but a gasp or
two, and he was gone. Neither mother nor Mar-
gery nor the doctor could recall him.
Oh, that long, dreadful day, that sleepless night,
through which I wrestled with the thought that I
was my father's slayer! Mother absolved me;
the doctor assured me that I could not have so
softened this shock that it would not have ruptured
the weak heart. But there should have been no
shock at all! Months before, I should have fore-


THE HIDING-PLACES
215
stalled the disaster. To this there could be no an-
swer.
Margery strove to comfort me. “Nothing that
you could have done, Binney, would have saved
him. Had you broken the news yourself, it would
have been too much for him. At any minute, it
seems, he was likely to go.”
“But for me," I answered, "he might have died
happily, not with this frightful sense of betrayal.
Why did you go down to Boston ?” She hesi-
tated to answer. “Why did you consult Mr.
Collester? Wasn't it because you expected this
knavery?”
“Partly,” she admitted. “The dividends were
too great. It all seemed like hocus-pocus. And
you and your father were so confident !"
"I was innocent till yesterday," I said. “I be-
lieved in that swindler till accident opened my
eyes. And when my stupidity led us to this end,
how can I do anything but blame myself ?”
She could not answer.
A man's dull senses let him live through these
crises, though it seemed as if I must burn inwardly
till nothing was left of me. In two days father
was laid in the little cemetery that lies between
the farms, where none but Hartwells lie, in graves
that none but Hartwells dig. It was Cousin Lon
who performed this last service, and who laid the
sod again over my father.
Then on my return home-though never to this
day have I ceased to reproach myself—my brood-


216
THE HIDING-PLACES
ing left me. It was time for action. I spent an
hour in study, then decided what to do.
“Mother," I said, "to-morrow I shall go to
Boston on the early train.”
She had been observing me, and was prepared.
She came and stood in front of me, her face solemn
with grief and warning.
“Binney,” she said, "I want no blood-money.
Neither should you. And remember it was the
Lord who said: Vengeance is mine."" Thus she
strove to turn me from the misery of the law and
the wickedness of violence.
"I know it,” I answered. “And I suppose it was
some old heathen who said: 'Heaven helps those
who help themselves.' Mother, I will remember
your text. Do you remember my proverb.”
We spoke no more about it. She acknowledged
my right to follow my judgment, and helped me to
prepare for the journey.


CHAPTER XXI
I HAD made my plans for securing a talk with
Mr. Worthen. Doubtless he had given orders to
keep me from his private office but I knew the
place. He often used a private door; and it was
through this, walking boldly, that I not only reached
his office, but reached it unobserved. My satis-
faction was heightened by finding that he was
working, not at his desk, but at his table. I shut
the door behind me.
He turned, somewhat resentfully, to see who
had intruded. Surprise kept him quiet till I had
drawn near him. Then nimbly he started up and
reached for the push-button on his desk.
I struck him with the back of my hand on his
chest, and slammed him into his chair.
There he sat, gasping. The color left all of his
face except that purple nose of his, his mouth was
wide open, and for a single moment his eyes flickered
shut. Though I saw he was near to fainting, I sat
on the corner of his table and waited, quite without
regret. Of course he was too soft to strike like
that, but I did not care. Gradually he recovered
and looked at me again. He moistened his lips
and spoke in a panting little voice, such as I had
never heard from him.
“Binney, you—you might have-killed me.”
217


218
THE HIDING-PLACES
"And perfectly willing," I answered. “You
have killed my father.”
The color all came back to his face. “Killed
him?” he cried.
“Quietly!” I warned. “Yes. To find you a
thief was too much for him.”
He raised both hands to heaven. “I declare to
God-!” he was beginning solemnly.
Exasperated, I seized his wrists. Instantly he
was silent, giving himself to me passively. And
as I held those pudgy wrists of his and looked
down into his face I saw a new side of him.
He was not afraid. His non-resistance was sup-
pleness, for he knew he could not contend with
me. But his mind was active: he was thinking
how to get the best of me. Of his own crime he
did not think at all.
“No remorse," I said. “Not even the shadow
of regret." I threw his hands down into his lap,
where they lay as if detached from him. "How
well you must be used to the reproaches of the
sheep you have flayed.”
“Binney," he said gently, "you're unfair.”
To be soothed! Had I the aspect of a dan-
gerous madman that he should sit so, and try to
quiet me, and listen for a hand at the door-knob?
I saw that any accident might interrupt us, and
so went at my task.
“Get me," I directed, “the papers that cover
my father's affairs, the accounts and the corre-
spondence."
1.


THE HIDING-PLACES
219
He started to rise. “They are in the outer office.”
But I thrust him back. “You are to stay here.”
“Then I must call in Miss Smith.” He made
a movement toward the bell.
“Don't you suppose," I replied, "that I know
where you keep the papers of your personal clients ?
They are here in the safe. Go and get my father's !”
I let him rise.
He went slowly toward the safe. “Perhaps
they're here,” he said doubtfully. “I'll look, to
satisfy you.” He was reaching out for the knob
when I saw the chance that I was giving him.
Thrusting ahead of him, I swung the door open.
"Don't try to shut and lock it,” I warned. “And
keep away from the bell. Now rummage.”
He made a feint at searching, but all the time,
while his soft hands puttered at the files, I knew
that he was listening for release. He angered me.
“Get it quick," I said with my hand on his collar,
“or I'll make you dig it out with your teeth.”
He sighed, and drew out the file. I told him to
sit down.
The file seemed to be complete. Mr. Worthen
was quite in advance of his time in his careful
filing and individual-account sheets. His system
allowed him to keep the accounts of all his clients
separately; his general accounts were on loose
sheets, very convenient for substitution or falsifica-
tion. What I had feared was that my father's
letters might already have been destroyed. But
Mr. Worthen had evidently not expected me to


220
THE HIDING-PLACES
use force with him; most of his clients, I imagine,
were lambs in more senses than one. The letters
and the account sheets, a thin enough file, appeared
all to be there. When I had folded all the papers
they took up very little room in my pocket.
He still looked at me steadily and without worry.
"I suppose," I said, “that the moment I left
you the other day, you and old Laycock fell to work,
studied up figures, made a few new acount sheets,
and ruined my father-on paper. That is how you
could write, the very day when you had assured
me that everything was right, that the money
was all gone. And I suppose, too, that I never
could prove it on you two old dog-foxes.”
“Really,” he agreed, with mild candor, “I don't
see what good the accounts will do you. Any
lawyer will tell you they're useless to you.”
“You fool,” I said, “I wanted the letters. Father
never kept any copies. The letters will show that
you had my father's money in trust. Oh, I know
there was no deed, and probably the law can't
take hold of you.”
“Any lawyer will tell you that,” he said placidly.
“But suppose I don't want my money back,"
I retorted. “Suppose all I want is the revenge of
exposing you—by a lawsuit that I'm willing to
lose, say, or perhaps by travelling a little among
my old clients, and showing them this bunch of
letters. What becomes of this large and profitable
branch of the business?”
I had found the way to bring the sweat to his


THE HIDING-PLACES
221
forehead. All his calm was gone. “Binney," he
urged eagerly, “I have been a good friend of
yours.”
"And stabbed me in the back!” I said.
He looked away; he looked down. And I saw
hot shame flush his forehead.
“Get me now," I directed, "Mr. Canby's papers.
Everything, including his mortgage deeds and his
notes."
He produced them; it was a chance, I suppose,
that the valuables were not at the deposit vault.
I made him burn in the fireplace the orders and
accounts and cancel the deeds and notes. "Just
to make sure," I ordered next, “write him a receipt
in full for everything. Haven't you got enough
from him?" I demanded savagely, when he would
have.protested. And he wrote the receipt.
“And now," I said, "give me the copy of the
old pirate's will.”
He edged forward in his chair, explaining con-
fidentially. “Gertrude's got it.”
“Gertrude?” I cried, dismayed. “Have you
dragged her into this dirty business ?”
“She came and made me give it to her," he ex-
plained. “Your cousin told her that Stidger wanted
it.”
"And so," I rejoined angrily, "she knew you
capable of selling it to him, if he were able to pay
so much as a dollar for it. Well, then, get it for
me !"
He was alarmed, and drew back. “She said


THE HIDING-PLACES
223
W
He gazed at me forlornly. “She would have
the truth out of me.”
"All this," I said, “at the fear of Gertrude's
learning facts which you acknowledge here in talk
with me, though you'd perjure yourself to deny
them in a court of law. Let me ask: while you
were planning this trick on me, did you ever think
how you were to keep it from Gertrude?"
He must have counted on appealing to me to
spare Gertrude, as he was doing now. For with-
out answering me he urged: “Gertrude's been very
kind to you.”
“She would have been kinder to let me alone,"
I said. “Well, I will go to her, and get the will,
and lie to her about the facts, if I can. But you"
I took him by the chin, and turned his face up to
mine, while he stood as docile as a child. “Pray,
damn you, to escape from both Gertrude and me!"
I left him blinking in the middle of the office, his
pride roughly jolted, yet with his tricky mind ready,
I knew, to begin against me if only he saw a way.
Hence my reminder that I could damage him.
As for myself, first I sent, by express, Mr. Canby's
documents to him. Next I hired a safe-deposit
box for my father's papers. And finally I went to
my interview with Gertrude, not at all relishing
the prospect.


CHAPTER XXII
GERTRUDE spoke down to me over the banisters:
“Why, Binney, calling in the morning!”
“Yes," I answered. “But it's mostly business."
“Then come up-stairs to my workroom," she
replied.
So I went up those stairs which she had so re-
cently forbidden me, and found her waiting at the
top. The workroom to which she led me proved
to be a charming little library, where apparently
she had been writing at a desk. Not entirely or-
derly, the little room, but then, I should not have
expected that of Gertrude. There was a fire burn-
ing in the grate, and scattered on the hearth before
it were odds and ends of torn letters, engraved in-
vitations, and the like. But Gertrude herself was
as neat as a new pin, becomingly dressed, though
the fashion of her garments I cannot describe, nor
her ornaments. I know only that the total effect
was good.
Gertrude was gracious, but inquisitive. “Where
did you flee the other night? Margery was heart-
broken."
“Was Margery in town?" I asked, a little
roughly. "I should like to be sure of it before I
admit having seen her.”
224


THE HIDING-PLACES 225
"Now you're cross,” she said. “But I had to
tell that naughty story to you. She didn't want
you to know she was here."
“You told me no story," I returned. “You
merely led me to change my belief, and all without
exactly denying it. It was very clever. But, Ger-
trude, next time I'll take your oath.”
Again I was too rough, and I regretted it when
I saw her flush. I made up my mind to be more
gentle.
“You men teach us to deceive," Gertrude cried.
“Doubtless we do," I agreed. And as I found
neither lightness nor jollity at command, I went
at my point. “But, Gertrude, I had forgotten all
about that. I came for something that you have of
mine."
We had been standing, but now she sat down
at her desk, with a manner that indicated that the
interview was to last as long as she pleased. “Sit
down, Binney,” she invited. “You mean the cu-
rious old will?”
“Yes," I answered, still standing. “It is very
good of you to have kept it for me.”
She made me sit-yes, made me. Men always
did what she wanted. “I have had it for only a
few days," she said. “Margery was so anxious
about it, that l-and why should you want it
now?”
“Merely to get it back again," I said.
“How did you know I had it?”
“Your father told me.”


226
THE HIDING-PLACES
“You asked it of him?"
“Yes."
“What do you want it for?”
The same question, and I gave the same reply:
“Merely to get it back again.”
She sat and puzzled at me. “Why," she asked,
but speaking softly, scarcely to me, "why shouldn't
it be left with father?-Binney,” she said abruptly,
"you called it yours. But it isn't.”.
“It's near enough to mine," I answered.
“It's your father's.”
“Call it my father's, if only you give it to me.”
“He should write me for it.”
If father only could write again! But I controlled
the throb. “Surely I may come for it.”
She shook her head. Charmingly she did it.
Ah, Gertrude, with her keen, bright, enticing fea-
tures, indescribably alert, pert, provoking, half
childish, half too wise! She was, I began to see,
trying to overcome my defenses by this spiral
approach, confusing both by her indirectness and
by her charm. And now she continued her circuit.
“Why does that man Stidger want it?"
“I don't know.”
“It's only a copy?”
“Yes."
“And why isn't it safe with me?"
I answered: “Because some time when I want it
you may not be at hand.”
“I'll give it up at any time," she answered.
“Then why not now?” I retorted.


THE HIDING-PLACES
227
“But why now?” demanded she. And still
without the slightest intention of yielding, she
cocked her head on one side, as if she had finished
me.
But I had made up my mind to have the will.
Therefore I made an admission, the consequences
of which I did not foresee. Nor do I now consider
them logical. “This house isn't fire-proof," I ar-
gued. “And you go away in summer. You oughtn't
to travel with the thing. Therefore I have hired a
safe-deposit box to put it in.”
“Oho," said Gertrude. Shaking herself, she sat
upright. All her light manner vanished as, having
learned what she needed, she leaped at her con-
clusions. “Margery wouldn't trust father. And
you won't trust me.”
I was beginning to protest. But with sparkling
eyes, as she thrust her pretty head nearer to me,
she concluded her hop, step, and jump.
“And you have quarrelled with father!”
I sat dumb, looking on her with astonishment.
Rapidly she spoke. "I knew that something was
wrong when I saw you coming. For I saw you from
the window. You were walking fast, you seemed
to be talking to yourself, and something had pro-
voked you."
She was right. I had been thinking over my
interview with her father.
“Of course," she finished, “I had to know what
was wrong. What did you quarrel with father
about?”


228
THE HIDING-PLACES
W
"It's just personal," I evaded.
Gertrude's smooth forehead wrinkled. “Binney,
you forgot your promise."
“What promise?" I demanded.
“That if ever you got into difficulties with father,
you would come to me before breaking with him.
And now you have broken with him!”
She was growing excited. And how should she
know this?
"I know," she cried, anticipating my question
and tapping with her little foot, “because other-
wise you would never have asked father for the
will. Why have you quarrelled with him?” She ·
was peremptory. All her good humor and her pretty
teasing ways were gone. This was the imperious
Gertrude before whom her own father trembled.
"Because" I stopped. How could I explain?
But she pressed me, demanding an answer. And I
stammered clumsily: "Because we differed.”
“Go on!” she directed.
“As to his treatment of-of a friend of mine.”
I said no more, fearing that another word would
be too much. But I had overstepped already.
Gertrude drew back in her chair, and her cold eye
glittered at me.
“And you tell me that !” she said between her
little teeth. So she sat and looked at me.
I bore her glance most miserably for a moment,
then dropped my eye to the floor. Gertrude's
anger was a new thing. Little indifferences, even
little displeasures, I knew well enough in her; they


THE HIDING-PLACES
229
were but surface rufflings and quickly smoothed.
Even her recent cold rebuke was not like this.
For now I had stirred her to her depths. When
she spoke, her voice trembled.
"I warned you in Petersham. I warned you
here. Twice I asked you not to work with father.
Plainer language I could not give, for very shame.
But, Binney, you are one of those who do not un-
derstand.”
It was quite true. My perceptions are of the
surface. In things both little and big, too often I
miss the meaning.
“And now,” she said, her voice still quivering,
strongly resentful, "you come and throw this in
my face!”
Unfair. It was she who had forced an acknowledg-
ment which I was too honest or too dull to avoid.
I was looking up, in protest, when she suddenly
turned to her desk.
"Oh," she cried vehemently, "you shall have
your paper!”
Pulling out a drawer, she emptied it on her desk,
on the mass of papers already there. Her rapid
fingers searched, hesitated, then gathered up sev-
eral envelopes together. “Here,” she said, handing
them to me without turning, “let me at least get
rid of these. Burn them for me.”
I tossed them in the fire.
For a few moments longer Gertrude stirred the
papers on her desk, as if expecting the one she
sought to come uppermost. In the fireplace the


230
THE HIDING-PLACES
papers burst into a flame that blustered up the
chimney. Gertrude seemed to stop and listen.
Finally she turned and looked at me.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well?” I echoed, perplexed.
Her eyes were very scornful as she pointed to
the fire.
Yes, I never understand until too late. But it
was without surprise that knowledge now came to
me. In the grate the papers had burned to ashes;
the parchment, blackened and illegible, was still
slowly twisting on itself in the heart of the fire.
Without surprise, and indeed without resentment,
I recall that I slowly smiled as I turned again to
Gertrude.
She was rising. “Now!” she said defiantly.
Yet there came a little catch in her breath as our
eyes met, and she looked at me as if wondering
how a man could smile at such a time. When I
asked her to sit she took her chair again, but ner-
vously, as wondering what I would do.
“You can do what you please," I said, "with
anything of mine. And now that thing can make
no more trouble.”
“And you aren't angry?" she asked.
"I am sorry that I provoked you to it," I replied.
Indeed, I have never been angry with her for it,
either then or since.
She struggled with perplexity. “But, Binney!”
she cried, half piteously, beginning to feel regret.
“But, Gertrude!” I imitated, not unkindly.
u do.


THE HIDING-PLACES
231
“Do you suppose I will let such a little thing come
between you and me?” She was beginning to
look grateful, when I added: “We'll forget it. It's
of no consequence, anyway. I was just getting
my things together, before going away.”
“Oh,” said Gertrude.
Just a dry little word, dryly uttered. She looked
at me very strangely, then became entirely com-
posed and formal. She settled herself again in her
chair as if she were leading in the ritual of an after-
noon tea. “You have found new employment?”
She might have asked me: “Cream or lemon ?"
“Only the old one,” I answered. "Farming."
"Ah?” she inquired. “Indeed?” The next
question should have been: “Sugar?” But she
said: “You are tired of the city?” Quite con-
ventional.
I found myself growing indignant. “Very," I
replied, and equally formal. “And you see it's
spring and time to plough.”
“To plough," mused Gertrude daintily.
“Strange!” And then she asked me with a little
lifting of the eyebrows: “You like it?"
“Very much," I answered doggedly and rose.
“Well, good-afternoon.” And I added, in her own
vein: “So good of you to have seen me.”
"So good of you to have come,” she responded,
quite according to the book. She offered me her
fingers, and I touched them listlessly. Then I was
out of the room and down on the landing, and
finally on the straight flight leading down. If my


232
THE HIDING-PLACES
head was as high as the indignation of my spirit,
I must have looked very haughty indeed.
“Binney," said Gertrude softly, above me.
Her tone would have wheedled the edge off a
chisel. I stopped and looked up. She was leaning
over the railing and looking sweetly down. “You
have not told me," she said softly, “why your
necktie is black.”
So sudden were the turns of her mind that I
never could follow her gracefully. Bluntly I an-
swered: “My father is dead.”
If she was surprised, she did not show it. She
seemed intent on her next question. “And why
did you not tell me?”
Startled, I knew that I must not betray myself
by hesitation. I answered promptly: "I did not
wish to distress you.”
As she studied me searchingly I realized that
there might be two interpretations of the answer.
But I stood her gaze until, to my relief, it seemed
satisfied. She answered: “Thank you, Binney."
And then I saw the girl, so oddly changeable,
show her womanliness. For first she breathed:
“That kind father!” And then did not the tears
start to her eyes ?_"Your poor mother !”
Emotion was dangerous. I feared to stay, lest
I betray too much. So I let the great fact explain
itself, said my few words of thanks for sympathy,
and forced myself away. I was glad to take this
remembrance of her.


CHAPTER XXIII
BEFORE I went to my lodgings I sent a message
to Joe, appointing an hour for him to lunch with
me. And when my landlady had been paid, and my
belongings packed and sent to the station, I met
the good fellow at a restaurant, where for the last
time (until my honeymoon) I ordered a city meal.
And Joe, kind soul, had slicked himself up, and
sat on the edge of his chair, and was as satisfied
as if he had been dining with his employer or some
one who could be of use to him. Yet all these months
Joe must have known that my fall was sure to
come, unless I chose (bless him for his faith that I
would not !) to give my soul to Mr. Worthen's keep-
ing.
I could not long pretend that things had not
changed with me. My spirits were not good; and
besides, I saw Joe eying my sombre garb and try-
ing to find courage to ask the reason for it. So I
told him of my father's death, and added: “I must
run the farm.”
Though for my bereavement he was truly sorry,
he could not help smiling with delight when I told
him that I had broken with Mr. Worthen. He
reached across the table and wrung my hand.
“Binney, this is worth a good deal to me.”
233


THE HIDING-PLACES
235
"Because you asked your money back,” explained
Joe. “And meanwhile he'd scattered it.”
“Spent it?” I cried. “Wasn't it a mere nothing
to him?"
Joe shook his head. “It's common knowledge
that he's always on the edge. And it happens that
just at present he's closer pressed than usual. That's
why he turned on you—but it's also why he's willing
to stand your assault on him this morning. Ordi-
narily he'd have you into court for it, and would
exact every cent of the money he claims that you
owe. But all winter he's been where to start one
suit might have the result of starting a dozen against
him. Some even say that the federal authorities
are quietly looking into his operations."
I sat amazed. It was part of my happy innocence
that these rumors had never come to me.
“That's why," went on Joe, "you ought to have
got his receipt in full, as you did for Mr. Canby.
For, should his creditors sue him, his books might
show that he had a claim on you."
“I might really be involved?” I asked.
“Leave that to me," he said. “Before night I
will have his receipt for you.”
Joe would have his receipt for me! And this
was the boy I had protected, now protecting me.
He thought it all over, then nodded positively:
“You shan't be drawn into it at all. Unless you
wish to begin it yourself.”
"No," I said. “It would be a heart-breaking ex-
perience for mother, and sickening to drag through,
wa


THE HIDING-PLACES
237
recognize that the old times had come again. I
must pinch. No more free spending Pocket-
money was to be as nearly as possible like pocket-
pieces, to be kept to look at. I had only a little
money in the bank. What father had at home I
did not know; but I wondered, with a strange
feeling of emptiness after my hearty lunch, whether
the seed and fertilizer which father had shown me
stored at the barn had yet been paid for. I could
never pay for it.
“Binney," asked Joe, who must have noticed
my fascinated study of the slender purse, “have
you got your pay from Mr. Worthen?”
“Why, no," I answered, surprised. "He hasn't
paid me for two months.” It was my reason, I
now remembered, for having so little money at the
bank.
“I'll look after that,” said Joe competently.
“No!” I cried. “No money from him!”
“See here," and Joe assumed command. “If
I'm your lawyer, you must do as I say. Of course
you'll take his money.”
“Think where he gets it,” I protested. “It's
blood-money!”
“If it is,” returned Joe, “it was bled from you.”
Therefore I acquiesced. I took Joe to the bank,
made him free of my safe-deposit box, and after
a hearty handshake left him.
My first impulse was to take a carriage to my
train, my next to board a car. But then, believing
myself to have plenty of time, I began the practice


238
THE HIDING-PLACES
of economy. A nickel was worth saving. So I
walked.
It was thus that I met Denny. He came swing-
ing along Washington Street, jaunty in his carriage,
very loud of dress. I placed myself in his way.
When he saw me he colored, sidestepped, and
tried to pass. But I detained him.
"I'm in a hurry," he objected.
“There's always time to say good-by," I an-
swered.
“So,” said he, pausing perforce (for a hand on
the arm is a good argument), "you've met your
finish?" Then he bit his lip and looked away.
I laughed. “The truth was startled from you,
Denny. So you knew I was down here for the
purpose of scientific plucking ?”
He would not meet my eye, but mumbled as he
looked down: “I had nothing to do with it."
“And thanks to you for that," I answered. “But
Denny, what next? Are you going to keep on
helping at the miserable business of ruining the
innocent?”
He grew defiant. "I simply buy and sell ac-
cording to orders. No one can hold me liable.”
“You never warned me, Denny,” I said. “But
I'm going to warn you. Remember this word that
I say to you now. Conscience, man; conscience !"
He fell back and glared resentfully. “That's my
affair," he mumbled.
I clapped him on the shoulder. "True. And I
suppose no one, since you left your mother's side,


THE HIDING-PLACES
239
has interfered to prevent your helping at the devil's
business. Go your own way, man. But, Denny,
I challenge you to forget my warning.”
So I left him, having committed the social sin of
reminding him indirectly of God and, incidentally,
of his mother. And falling into a slow step while
I thought of his self-persuasion of innocence, and
of how a man will deliberately shut his eyes to his
responsibility, I so lost account of time that when
I saw the station clock I stood disgusted at it. My
train had gone.
But I thus was given time for taking farewell
of the city. I walked to State Street, whose busy
hum had not yet subsided, and I saw without bit-
terness those rapids of finance whence other men
drew fish, but where I had lost bait and tackle.
I went through the shopping district (where once
or twice I had gone with Gertrude) and looked
indulgently on the fripperies in the windows, be-
cause in their mysterious way they made the girls
so fine. And I crossed the Common and the Garden,
and looked for a time down the vista of the avenue,
where the delicate green of the first buds made the
trees begin to look alive. I saw a man and a girl
go by whose engagement was expected soon; and
I believed the rumor, for so absorbed in each other
were they that they did not see me at all. I bowed
to a carriage or two, then turned back, lest per-
chance I should see Gertrude again. I crossed
Beacon Hill on my way to the station and, having
time, took the roundabout route in front of the


240
THE HIDING-PLACES
State House, where I turned and looked back. I
could see the Back Bay, and the shopping district,
and Dorset my tailor's, and waved them all a good-
by. I was finished, even if I was not cured. So I
went and boarded my train, having under my
arm my supper of rolls and cheese and chocolate,
purchased at a grocery to save me from the ex-
pense of the dining-car.
As Bunker Hill monument glided out of my
sight, reminding me of my first coming to the city,
I felt a miserable sinking, not of the heart but of
the stomach, which I am inclined to think is the
organ of all unwelcome emotions. I was going
away shorn; the farmer and his diamonds had been
separated; there would be a week's gossip about
me, and much wagging of heads. I tried to smile
cynically; but I knew well enough where the fault
lay and understood that the place where I should
do least mischief was the farm. Also there was
some relief in the idea of burying myself where
even my townsfolk would be unable to point at
me.
If there was one notion at which I could take
any satisfaction, it was that the score between
Gertrude and me stood a little in my favor. I
had not bothered her with any good-bys; I had
kept my secret from her, so that she need not despise
her father on my account, for I felt pretty sure
that the gossip concerning my plucking would be
kept from her; people aren't so cattish as the
novelists make out. Gertrude would feel vexed


THE HIDING-PLACES
241
at my boorishness in thus departing; but vexation
would be a deal pleasanter than knowing the truth.
And once a year I would send her a basket of apples,
or some of our best butter, to give her distinctly
to understand that I was a farmer now, and nothing
more.
I see now the boyishness of this programme.
It proves that I was miserably sore.
Our train was delayed by nearly an hour in
reaching Athol, and as a consequence I reached
home not far from midnight, for I had walked
the seven miles, carrying my bag and umbrella
and hold-all, a model of thrift. A hundred times
I blessed the darkness that covered my fatigue and
my shame. My arms and shoulders, back and legs,
but above all my hands, continually gripping,
were sore and cramped long before I had passed
half the distance. Again and again I sat down to
rest, and mopped my face in the frosty air, and
thought of myself in my fine city clothes plodding
thus through the country and coming back, a failure
and a fool, to the life I had so confidently left. I
was so soft from lack of exercise that when I reached
the farm I fairly dragged myself through the yard
on my way to the barn, for mother was asleep,
and I would not rouse her. I entered the barn by
the little door, dropped my bags, and, groping my
way to the ladder that led to the loft, climbed it,
and threw myself into the hay.
At first I was so tired that I could not sleep.
I listened to the noises of the barn. One horse was


242
THE HIDING-PLACES
awake, champing, and then pausing to drag hay
out of the rack. Some of the cows, too, were softly
mumbling their cuds. But the heavy breathing
of the others made a peaceful undertone that grad-
ually calmed my senses. Here was I among the
cattle, on the old farm. I felt like a little boy, and
snuggled deeper, and dropped asleep.


CHAPTER XXIV
rafters, re fully decote of th
OUR big rooster waked me. I suppose a train
might have thundered by and never roused me;
but the suddenness of the shrill cockcrow opened
my eyes. My surprise at seeing above me cob-
webbed rafters, at finding the hay tickling me
while I lay there fully dressed, finished the work
of waking me. The last note of the call was still
echoing in my brain while I scrambled to the ladder.
In the milkroom were the pails, scrubbed and
ready for use. I looked in vain for overalls; and
so, after a good wash at the pump, in my business
clothes I fed the cows and sat down to the milking.
It pleased me to suppose that the cows remembered
me; at any rate, not one of them objected to my
handling. And so I sat and listened to the stream-
ing of the milk into the pail, and the contented
munching of the beasts, until I felt myself humble
and content, and fell to singing softly.
I was roused by the feeling that some one was
near me and, turning my head, saw my mother stand-
ing a few feet away, watching me. “Hullo," I
cried. “You see I got ahead of you."
“When did you come?" she asked.
I explained. “Amusing, eh?” She did not an-
swer. “Aren't you glad to see me?”.
Then, as I looked at her more closely in the dusky
243


THE HIDING-PLACES
245
at me sorrowfully. Then she cried a little more,
and was content.
But one thing she said with truth: “I have lost
two of you, your father and yourself. For my boy
has changed, and will never be the same again."
"I am both sore and sorry," I answered. “How,
then, can I ever go back? But let us hope, mother,
that your boy is on the way to becoming a man."
Thus the day began for me a new life, which
had to be different from the old. I could look at
nothing as before. One incident showed the dif-
ference as scarcely anything else could do. Rum-
maging in my room, I came across the old knife
which I had used when looking for treasure, and
which I had been sharpening on that day when
Stidger came for Joe. It was still keen from the
grindstone and the hone, and I put it in my pocket
because it might prove useful. But I knew I should
be too busy to hunt for boxes; and besides, I dreaded
the ill fortune which the next one might bring me.
That evening, though dog-tired from the un-
accustomed work, I went with mother over father's
accounts. It was with the greatest relief that I
found all bills paid and about a hundred dollars
in the bank. When the funeral expenses were dis-
charged, I should still have something to the good.
And mother acquiesced in my accepting the money
which, in that day's mail, Joe sent me from Mr.
Worthen.
"Besides,” she said practically, "your treasure-
find, in spite of all its harm, has left us something.


246
THE HIDING-PLACES
We are all painted and shingled afresh. You have
the silo and the blower to fill it, and the engine.
There are all the other new tools. Since you must
work single-handed, these things will help you.
And for me there is the new stove, and the wash-
ing-machine, and the sofa for my resting, and the
new pots and pans and dishes. And great out-
fitting through the house. As if,” mother added
with a tremulous smile, "we foresaw that as money
the fortune must go, but in other forms we might
keep it.”
Work pressed on me swiftly and heavily. My
still soft muscles could hardly stand the strain of
the next few days. Once after supper I laid my
head on my arms at the table and slept till mother
roused me at bedtime. And though I rose earlier
than ever, and worked till I thought I should drop,
I never properly finished the tasks of each day.
And the ploughing, not yet begun, loomed up to
appall me. Mother, when I told her of my dismay,
gave me a reason.
“You've grown too thorough, Binney. We
can't slick up the farm every day, like the desks
in a city office. Your father was content to do the
main part of the work and let the rest go. So must
you.”
But as I thought the matter over I reached a
different conclusion. I was carrying too great a
burden of work. There were too many cows: which
of them were worth their keep? There were more
horses than we needed: some of them must go.


THE HIDING-PLACES
247
More tillage was planned than one man could well
maintain. The rest must go into hay—and lucky
was I to have the new machinery. For not only
had we the ordinary tools, from seeder to mower,
but on my departure for the city father had bought
loader and hoister of the best make, in order to do
the work alone. We had plenty of storage room,
and I could team our surplus to Athol in the winter,
when work was slack and prices high. By such a
scheme as this, I was likely to do better than father.
So my first week of work, when I applied what
little business training I had had, was very valuable
to me. It paved the way to many labor-saving
schemes and to methods of testing results, such as
milk-weighing and ration experiments, and (in
mother's domain) to trap-nests for the poultry.
It all took time and thought, but led to many ideas
and conclusions, yes, and to results which, if ever
I should begin writing of them here, would thickly
pad this book. I leave them, though unwillingly.
For this part of my life is as real to me as any other,
quite as critical, quite as desperately earnest. It
should be interesting to anyone else-if only I
could make it so.
The time came to plough, and mother stood by
to watch me get out the New Universal, bought in
the fall, used now for the first time. Before I seeded
any of the broken land, I was going to break a piece
of old sod on the eastern slope, now well-drained
but not too dry, and ready for the share. Mother
had acquiesced in my plan for smaller tillage opera-


248
THE HIDING-PLACES
tions and bigger mowings, and now, I knew, breathed
a prayer after me as I left the barnyard. My muscle
was hard now. I knew my horses. And as I began
the work and drove a furrow along the side of the
ten-acre piece, and turning, saw that it was as
straight as ever I made in my life, I on my part
gave a little sob of thanksgiving and hope, a sob
that surprised me by showing how deeply my heart
was stirred by this beginning.
The work soon absorbed me, partly perhaps from
its difficulty. I know that in favored localities
(Concord, for example) the plough meets no ob-
struction, and a man digging is surprised and dis-
gusted if anything stops his spade before reaching
full depth. But in Petersham digging is slow on
account of the stones, and the surprise is quite the
other way. And though on the farm our walls
testify to a century and a half of stone-clearing,
and our smaller boulders are mostly blasted, stones
from twenty to a hundred pounds weight seem
continually to work up from below. When the
plough meets them, sometimes in every other fur-
row, the ploughman must heave them to the sur-
face (that is, if he wants to do a good job and to
save risk to his harrow) and must set them up
on edge, to come for them later. It rests the horses
but it tires the man, and it much delays the work.
This morning I found plenty of such stones, in a
field which had not been ploughed for a number of
years. I was prepared for them, having, in sockets
on my plough-handles, a spade and a short crowbar.


THE HIDING-PLACES
249
I ploughed and dug and pried and heaved without
ceasing until I knew, as noon approached, that
Cousin Lon himself could scarcely have done better.
In Petersham he had the name of our best worker.
With the thrust of an arm he did what an ordinary
man would have to put his back into; his endurance
was extreme. This last I had not gained. The
afternoons were still very long for me, and for weeks
yet I was to crawl home dog-tired, not yet able to
prove, as my neighbors were doing daily, that in
spite of the weight of his worries a man is a better
animal than his horse or his ox. But I already felt
my manhood coming upon me, for I guided my
plough and wrestled with the stones with an unex-
pected ease and satisfaction.
I had planned to eat in the field, this being wash-
ing-day and one on which many of my city things
had to be laundered for their long rest in my bureau.
So to ease mother's labor I had taken my lunch
with me. At noon I paused to gloat over the many
furrows of black loam, where not a spear of grass
showed, while here and there stood up the rugged
stones, monuments of my achievements. I un-
hooked the flagging horses from the plough, changed
their bridles for their feed-bags, and approached
my own nook, where Jones guarded my lunch.
The tin pail stood in the shade, and I set be-
side it the dripping can which I brought from
the spring close at hand. But a delicious odor
arrested me as I prepared to sit, and I looked
about me.


250
THE HIDING-PLACES
On a peeled apple-shoot, projecting from a crevice
in the wall, hung a doughnut!
The crisp brownness, the smell, and indeed the
very fact that it was there, meant Margery. Mother
seldom made doughnuts, and then apologetically,
as it was hopeless to compete with Margery, who
never made a batch without saving some for me.
In fact, mother's cooking, good as it was, and far
above the average to be met with on our farms,
was rather a triumph of intellect, as befitting one
trained for a schoolmistress, than an emanation,
such as is the spontaneous product of genius. Mar-
gery had a feminine instinct for clothes, for cook-
ing, and for comfort.
So she had stolen up and stolen away? Jones
would have given tongue at any one else except
mother, and here he lay, wagging as if at a joke.
But stay. That long red tongue was reminiscently
licking. Could Margery be far away?
He raised himself on his forepaws, wagging very
actively. His eye strayed to a little patch of scrub.
“Find her!"
In a flash he had rounded it, and I heard his de-
lighted yelps. There I found Margery, holding high
above him a paper parcel at which he was hope-
fully slobbering.
“One more for Jones," she said, emerging. "And
a total of four for you, being quite enough for one
meal. And may I sit with you while you eat, Bin-
ney?"
Might she! But she had to repeat her question


THE HIDING-PLACES
251
W
before I answered it. For her personality, as Ger-
trude's once before, suddenly possessed me. She
was like a little brown thrush in the neatness of
her monotone. Her dress was a plain, serviceable
gingham, finely checked, simply girt, and with no
ornament except, at the throat, a simple gold pin
of her mother's. But the dress wonderfully set
off the trigness of her figure.
I am not so foolish as to contend that Margery
was unaware how simplicity became her. Further,
nature was good to her, I admit, in waving her hair
and in curling those tendrils that escaped at temples
and at nape, so that the small shapely head seemed
always to be adorned: a compensation to busy
Margery as against Gertrude, who had the leisure
to frizz her otherwise lank locks. Now, Margery
could go out in any weather and take no thought
of it. In slicker and sou’wester she was a very
wholesome sight.
And just now this wholesomeness, and the stead-
fastness that gazed out of her brown eyes and was
ensconced in the short, round chin and the lips that
were both sweet and firm, seemed specially evident.
I was absorbed, so that she had to repeat, in some
surprise, her question:
“Mayn't I sit with you?”
So I welcomed her.
It was pleasant to have her there with me, seated
half facing, so that I could view her without turn-
ing. She had had her lunch, but admitted some
interest in mine, for she nibbled at the bread and


252
THE HIDING-PLACES
cheese and took toll of mother's pie. But she
soon came to business, for she said: “You don't
inquire to what you owe the honor of this visit.”
"Now, Margery!" I exclaimed, crestfallen, "I
was enjoying the idea that you came just for the
fun of it.”
She shook her head. “Too busy. But father
was over in the wood-lot, and I wanted to see you
by yourself, because I've had a letter from Ger-
trude.” And she drew it from her pocket.
"You've hurt her feelings,” reproached Margery.
“You left the city without good-by, and here she
has only just found—that is, two or three days back
—that you have gone. She wants an explanation.”
“Then you must give me your advice," I said.
She listened very gravely while I told why I had
fled from Gertrude's inquisitiveness, fearing to let
her know that her father had robbed me. (“She
doesn't know,” interjected Margery. “That ex-
plains a good deal.") I went on, rather reluctantly,
to expound my theory that Gertrude was well quit
of me; but I showed that I felt myself virtuous in
sparing her. Whereat Margery frowned.
"But is it friendly?” she asked. “Gertrude has
been kind to you; few girls could or would have
done so much. You can't drop her without an-
other word.”
I asked her what I should do.
“Write to her,” said Margery firmly. "You
need say no more than good-by, but you can at
least say that.”


254
THE HIDING-PLACES
used to level going, had to be urged over the furrows.
And, though when the rider came near he lifted his
hat, Margery turned to me with swift, surprised
questioning at his grave face. He greeted us, at
close hand, very kindly; but, though I asked him
to dismount, he still sat his horse.
"I'm here for only a few minutes," he said. “I
must get myself and my horse on the freight-train
that starts from Athol before three. But I have a
message for Mr. Hartwell.”
“I'll go away,” said Margery quickly, while I
was still wondering at his intention to travel in a
box-car.
“Really,” responded Collester, “I think you'd
better hear it, too.”
We stood waiting, while he, sitting above us,
seemed to be searching for the right beginning.
And once again I gave him my grudging admiration,
not only for his lack of concealment of his embar-
rassment, but presently for the direct simplicity
with which he stated his errand.
"I saw Miss Worthen three days ago. She was
troubled because she had let slip to her father the
fact that the old copy of your ancestor's will had
been destroyed.”
“Destroyed !” breathed Margery, startled.
She gave me one quick, searching look. She never
asked me what had happened; but seeing that I
was not surprised, and connecting Gertrude with
the affair, she simply accepted the fact and worked
forward from it.


256
THE HIDING PLACES
the recovery of the gems which were found in his
CO
wall."
“Our copy is lost!” cried Margery. “It hasn't
been seen for many years. I searched the house
for it last fall, when Mr. Stidger was so anxious to
see Binney's.”
“We were to have had Mr. Worthen make a
copy of ours," I supplemented, “but Stidger never
asked for it and so it never was made."
“Who has seen your copy?” asked Collester.
"I never read it,” said Margery. “Even father
knew the terms only by hearsay.”
“Gertrude had not read it," added Collester.
“Mother has read it," said I. “And I can al-
most say it by rote.”
"You are interested parties," replied Collester.
“Who else?”
“Stidger himself.”
“Will lie," commented Collester.
“And finally Mr. Worthen," I added. “That's
all.”
Collester shook his head. “If Mr. Worthen
tells this news to Stidger, we may be sure that he
is prepared to give shuffling witness in court. There-
fore," and Collester looked at Margery, "if Stidger
begins again to hang about your father, it will
be common sense to bring all possible influence
to bear on the other side.”
It was his simple assumption that Margery
would stand against her own worldly interest.
“Oh!” she cried, with sudden tears in her eyes,


THE HIDING-PLACES
257
“I cannot be sure of my influence over father.”
She was distressed beyond measure.
"But, Mr. Collester," I demanded, "will it count
for nothing that the two families have always
acted on the terms of the will as I can state them,
that the whole town believes in them, and that
no claim was made on me when I first found the
box?"
“That is your line of defense,” answered Collester.
“But it is a very pretty tangle. Given a clever
lawyer for the claimant, and persistence on both
sides, and before many years the value of both
farms will be eaten up by fees."
Margery spoke. "I will do my best.” She be-
gan to dry her eyes.
As for me, rather than complain of this trap in
which I found myself, I set my teeth and said
nothing. Then Collester gathered up his reins.
Even before I could stretch out my hand to pre-
vent him (for surely there was more to say) Mar-
gery seized the bridle. “Mr. Collester,” she cried,
"you have done all this travelling and inquiring,
and have brought this warning, just for us!”
He answered: “As soon as I suspected the situa-
tion, there was nothing else to do.”
It was plain that he had acted on his own ac-
cord, not on Gertrude's orders. At any rate, so
Margery thought, for she said: “You could simply
have left it alone."
With a serious smile he shook his head. "Not
with you two good people so unsuspecting here."


258
THE HIDING-PLACES
And he pointed to our peaceful valley. Then, as
if his glance was caught by the beauty of the scene,
he sat in momentary quiet and mused upon it.
Between perplexity and gratitude (which I never
found easy of expression) I was tongue-tied. And
besides, an urgent question puzzled me. Why
should he have done so much? Why was it for me
rather than for Margery? I knew it to be so. Why
was it?
Then, recalling himself, with a very kindly smile
he turned to me. “If ever you need to fight, let
me help.” He held out his hand for good-by.
At this last expression of good-will my throat
became unmanageable, and I could only wring his
hand. I think he saw my difficulty, for after but
a look he turned to Margery. She, too, could only
press his hand-but though our difficult farewell
was voiceless, it was expressive. He turned his
horse, raised his hat, and cantered away, while
we stood gazing.
Not until he was gone from sight did we two
look at one another. Then said Margery: “Father
might take away your farm, Binney.” For, of
course, there was nothing else with which to pay
a judgment against me.
I could not make the cruel answer that she, at
least, would be so much better off, for such a change
I knew she would count as a loss. So I told
her that I could make a home for mother else-
where.
She answered passionately that I should not


THE HIDING-PLACES
259
have to. Yet the very extremity of her feeling be-
trayed her doubt; and when she almost abruptly
left me I knew that she as well as I could not bear
to speak of the future.


THE HIDING-PLACES
263
I stood still and let him pass on. He had not
seen me. But trust in the kindness of the world
fell away from me; darkness came over my soul.
When I saw our house again it was no pleasure to
me, for I was going to lose it. I stabled Peter and
walked wearily indoors. At my face mother ex-
claimed, and I told her what I had seen.
“Binney,” she gently reproached me, "already
losing heart?”
“But he was whistling," I replied.
“Still,” returned mother, "your cousin Lon can't
have agreed instantly. Cheer up!”.
“If I saw anything to do!” I complained. “I
can't appeal to Cousin Lon.”
"You can," answered she. “You can believe in
him till he turns against you. Begin at once. Go
to his house, be friendly, and let him see that you
trust him.”
"If he will only let me show it !” I groaned. But
I saw her good sense and took a little of her courage.
Now I had, among the books which in my extrav-
agance I had bought in Boston, some very good
tales. Kipling was in those days at the first ascent
of his fame, and Stevenson's death had set us all
to buying sets of his works. So “Soldiers Three"
and "Kidnapped” I tucked under my arm and
in the dusk set out for the other farm, depending
on the young moon to light me home through the
woods, and leaving Jones to take care of mother.
Margery's house was dark and grim in front; but
I had seen the gleam in the kitchen window and,


264
THE HIDING-PLACES
as we do in the country, went to the back door.
No formality of entrance in Boston ever troubled
me as did this approach to this other home of my
childhood, until I remembered that I should merely
do as usual, and so knocked as I opened the door.
Margery sprang up from her reading and, know-
ing who it must be, ran to greet me. A glance be-
yond her showed Cousin Lon, hastily shoving some-
thing under a newspaper that lay on the table.
I thought Margery's cordiality was somewhat ap-
prehensive, and her talk intended to give her father
time. Cousin Lon pushed up his spectacles on his
forehead and, having concealed his occupation,
turned in his chair and told me to come in.
I suppose he thought me very young and foolish.
Like all the Hartwells, I had lost my money. Like
any youth, I had as yet no judgment. I was the
only one in town who could ever rival him in strength.
All these things must have often been in his mind as
he considered me. I know he thought of them now
as he moved to the window and took out his pipe.
It is a miserable endeavor, the attempt to in-
terest an elder who has little in common with the
younger generation. Efforts at conversation are
so easily snubbed. The old know more of the
signs of the weather, of farming, of business, of
politics. On most matters they have formed a
settled judgment, against which the comments of
the young seem impertinent, or at least callow.
The best working arrangement is polite abstrac-
tion. In his home Mr. Worthen had seemed to


266
THE HIDING-PLACES
once dipped into it, she ran over twice in working
hours (entirely wrong, but she declared she could
not help it), and read the book intensely until she
had finished. Our affair, she said to me with a
sigh, was different. If we had had the crew of the
Walrus prowling about our farms, we might have
called in the constable.
This evening, however, I talked of "Kidnapped”
and its sequel, of the “Master," of "Ebb-Tide,"
and of the brilliance of Stevenson's style as a virtue
quite additional to the interest of his tales. Mar-
gery listened willingly. But Cousin Lon never
turned his head, nor asked a question, nor gave any
sign that he heard. And after some twenty minutes,
deciding that I would trouble him no more, in fact
beginning to appear to myself like a puppy yapping
near a mastiff, I said good night and went to the
door.
Margery stepped out with me, and after closing
the door behind her she whispered eagerly: “Come
again, and come often. It is the best way for you
to soften him."
"I saw that Stidger came," I said. “What did
they do?”
"Father has taken his papers and is looking them
over. But that needn't mean anything. Good
night.» But that need papers and is 1
I trudged home, to tell mother that her wisdom
had agreed with Margery's. I slept better than I
expected.
But the sword was hung over my head, and the


THE HIDING-PLACES
267
danger was never out of my mind. Every day's
work at ploughing or seeding might be for the bene-
fit of some one else and of whom? If it should
all go to Margery and Cousin Lon, I could reconcile
myself. But I had concluded that Stidger was
merely working for himself, and that he would put
in so large a bill for services that Cousin Lon, un-
able to pay, would have to give him some hold upon
our farm. And that would be unbearable.
For now I hated Stidger quite as much as I had
formerly despised him. I had thought him a jackal;
he proved to be a hyena. He had smelt blood, he
had traced it out, he was prowling for a taste of it
-my blood! My work might go to him. Every
acre that I was ploughing and harrowing and seed-
ing might be reaped by him. The buildings that I
had painted, the stock that I had bred, would be
for him to swagger about and gloat over. And the
miserable scavenger, who so far had earned no
more than pickings, might not merely have our
farm to feed him well, but also might some day
happen upon our treasure.
The thought would have soured me, but for
mother's steadfastness. I never went out to my
work, nor came back to my meals, without a draft
of courage from the well of hers. And knowing
that in working so much alone I was in danger of
brooding, she warned me plainly of it, so that when
I found myself fretting I could help myself.
Nevertheless, my temper grew somewhat savage
at times, the more so as my strength grew on me.


268
THE HIDING-PLACES
It took but a fortnight of the work of ploughing and
stone-hauling to get me in condition for the heaviest
and most continuous labor. I worked more hours,
and did more in each. One day I teamed oats from
Athol, and as mother watched me carrying the
bags into the feed-room, one in each hand, she ex-
claimed in surprise at me. I was afraid to tell her
that at the bottom of these new achievements of
mine was a feeling of evil will. As I pitched a bag
of oats onto the feed-room floor I wished it were
Stidger; as I heaved a two-hundred pound stone
onto the stone-boat I said: “Take that, rat!”
While the time dragged, mother and I made it
our affair to maintain good relations with Cousin
Lon. Several times a week one or the other of us
was at his house for a few minutes' chat. He avoided
us if he could; yet, unobtrusively doing as we had
always done, we kept our claims before him.
Poor Margery could tell us nothing. She always
stole out for a word on the door-step, and sometimes
came over to see us. Her sympathies were clearly
ours. “But what can I do?" she asked. “He
always puts me off. But he reads all Stidger's
letters carefully and listens to everything he
says."
"Margery," I asked one day when I was walking
home with her, “doesn't he talk to you about it
at all?"
"I never knew him so silent," she answered.
“Even when I become desperate and tell father
that Stidger is merely working for himself, he mut-


THE HIDING-PLACES
269
ters things I cannot hear and says nothing more.
It irritates him if I ask him to repeat. Binney,
what can you do with a man if you don't know
what he's thinking ?”
She was silent for a few moments, then spoke
in her father's defense. “He's always been kind
to me before. I suppose it's the strength of the
temptation."
When I saw tears in her eyes, there began to
dawn upon me the hardship of her position. “Mar-
gery,” I said with some wonder, “I believe you're
in quite as much difficulty as we.”
“It is not easy, at any rate,” she answered,
“when your own father is likely to do wrong!”
Now the wrong was such as the law might per-
mit, and I pointed this out to her. Yet we both
had our opinion as to the right of it. And this
unity with Margery was most comforting to me.
I told her so, holding her hand at parting. “You're
as good as a sister.”
I thought her inattentive. “Indeed?" she asked
absently, withdrawing her hand. “Well, good-by,
Binney. Let's hope things will improve."
Trying thus to hope, I went about my daily work,
always taking comfort that nothing had yet been
done. April passed into May, and May into early
June, so that the ball games had begun--of which
I had to content myself with seeing only an inning
or two, no longer having time to play, much less
to practise. The farm was doing well, for the seed-
lings had rooted deep in father's rich fertilizer,


THE HIDING-PLACES
271
at the knife that you've found,” I explained, "you'll
find my initials on the handle.”
A very superior smile. "You have a knife,”
said he, his pale, thin lip curling nastily, “that you
have a habit of sharpening to threaten visitors
with. Is that the one you've lost?”
I laughed. “I suppose we mean the same one,
since you recognize it. May I have it?”.
My good nature must have jarred on him. His
irregular and untidy teeth showed as his lip curled
farther. “I've found nothing.” Then he bristled.
“Stand out of my way!"
“Just a moment,” I said, and remained, regard-
ing him.
I was half inclined to take him and search him.
The day was to come when I was to wish I had
done so. But now the pleasure of watching his
eyes grow redder, and his strained lip paler, and
his tense figure begin to shake, quite overcame my
desire to recover the knife. Besides, I had been a
little ashamed of carrying around so dangerous
an implement, useless since I no longer kept up
my old-time search. The loss, therefore, looked a
little like good riddance.
"Mr. Stidger,” I said genially, “I'll give it to
you.”
“Give!” he sneered. “Confound you, some day
I'll give you something that you'll not want."
I wished to make him betray himself. “Ex-
plain," I begged.
But seeing his indiscretion, he exploded in one


272
THE HIDING-PLACES
of his sudden passions. “Stand back and let me
pass !” And as if he considered himself a steam-
roller he advanced upon me.
I took him by the breast of his jacket.
Now I have wrestled and have had my tussles
with my fellows, but always in sport. Never be-
fore had I felt the strange temptation that sprang
from thus having in my grip a man who hated me,
and whom I despised. As he strained to get away
from me, his little swelling ribs felt like a frail
basket beneath my knuckles. With a twist of my
wrist I could crack that scrawny framework of his.
And suddenly, in preparation for the effort, of itself
my arm grew rigid.
“Stand still !" I warned him. The devilish
temptation was stronger every moment.
He ceased struggling. Whether he sensed his
risk or felt the pressure, he was panting. And
seeing fear creep into his eyes, so that he hung
back from me, I too was afraid, and let him
go.
"I suppose I understand your threat,” I said,
ashamed at the tingling of my nerves and glad
that I had not hurt him. “Do what you can,
Stidger. You've got a clear field for your dirty
work."
Without a word he slipped past me and hurried
on. I felt very cheap. Such actions would do me
no good.
Indeed, they would not. Margery came the next
day to reproach me. “Oh, Binney, how could you?


THE HIDING-PLACES
275
“Bertie, come here !”
She went, reluctant but docile. And Margery
touching me on the arm, I slipped out with her
into the golden dusk. In silence we put the breadth
of the yard between us and the house. Then,
leaning on the bars of the lane and watching the
dying gleam in the west, we spoke.
“You see !” said Margery.
“Tell me about it,” I urged.
“I had no time to warn you,” she explained. “It
wasn't till father got home from his work to-day
that he looked round the kitchen and asked: 'Isn't
she here?' So I found I had missed a note of his,
which in the morning he had left tucked away where
I did not see it. Mr. Stidger had asked that the
child might spend a week with us. He's troubled
for her health down in that hot valley."
"Hm!” I doubted. And yet I thought of the
frailty of the little being.
"Binney,” said Margery earnestly, "he's fond of
her."
“He calls her like a dog," I said.
“That was because you were there. When only
I am by he speaks to her gently.”
“And that is because you are there," I retorted.
“He expects, apparently, to spend the night.”
"Yes," admitted Margery. “He came driving
over with her, not an hour ago. And he asked if
he himself might stay a day or two, just to make
sure that she was all right, and so that she shouldn't
be homesick. Father agreed as if he didn't know


276
THE HIDING-PLACES
how to refuse, and yet as if he knew what would
be the result of consenting.”
I, too, knew the result and patted her shoulder.
“Good little Margery. You have worked hard for
us."
She answered pathetically: "I have been so
baffled.” And she sought her handkerchief.
I went home expectant of the end. But a day
passed, and two, and nothing happened. Then on
the third day Margery came slipping over to tell
us that Stidger had gone to Athol, leaving the
child behind him.
"It must be,” she said hopefully, “that we have
escaped after all.”
It was for this reason that on the following eve-
ning mother and I together went over to call.
But Stidger had returned. He and Cousin Lon
sat in their windows in a glum silence and paid us
no attention-which was so rude, even for them,
that I felt a sudden disgust at my soft and feminine
policy.
"If you went for your mail, I'm sorry," said
Margery. “I have it here. Just a long envelope
from Athol.”
Had I guessed what the cheap brown envelope
contained, I should have been able to read, in the
attitudes of the men in the windows, not rudeness,
but suspense lest I should open it at once. But
thinking it to bring merely an advertisement, I
opened it, intending to glance at the contents and
stuff them in the stove.


THE HIDING-PLACES
277
But I found a very legal statement that suit
had been entered against me for the value of gems
found on my cousin's land and wrongfully taken
therefrom.
So at last the sword had fallen. Yet after all, I
scarcely felt the blow. For looking at my cousin's
figure, tense and, I thought, shrinking in his chair,
I felt that he was the one to be harmed by this.
Morally, what else could happen?
I thought of sparing Margery by saying nothing
-yet already, reading something in my looks, she
was gazing at me in quick apprehension. Therefore
I spoke:
"And so, Cousin Lon, you have done it at
last!”
Margery turned like a flash, and her cry of
“Father!” rang in the room. Before it we were
all silent for a moment. Yet Cousin Lon began
heavily lumbering from his chair; and Stidger came
bustling forward.
"It was my letter, not his. Everything is now in
my charge.”
I continued to look at my cousin. “The respon-
sibility is yours, sir. And how can you face your
neighbors ?”
He could not face even me. Poor Cousin Lon
had no hardihood in his mischief; his glance turned
from me to mother, and from mother to the floor,
and stayed there. As for me, I felt a sudden lift
of my spirits.
“Why, mother!” I cried, "we need not even


278
THE HIDING-PLACES
reproach him. He knows already what it is to be
in the wrong. Come away.”
But Margery was crying on mother's shoulder.
And Stidger, fuming, came snapping out remarks,
from which I gathered that he was trying to order
us from the house. But when I looked at him he
drew back.
“Quiet, little man,” I said. "To-morrow is your
day, and all the days that come after. But Cousin
Lon, take a good look at the miserable creature
that you are trusting yourself to."
Now Margery fled away up-stairs, and I drew
mother out of the house. She walked for a long
time beside me very sadly, but at last for the life
of me I could not help whistling. Mother looked
at me in surprise.
“Why," I explained, "it's a real fight now. I'm
glad the waiting is over.”


CHAPTER XXVI
I WROTE to Collester, enclosing the notice of the
suit and asking for help. The answer, arriving in
twenty-four hours, was brief and to the point.
He was sorry; he would do his best. And next
day, who should come driving into our yard but
Joe?
"Rascal!” I cried as I hauled him from the
buggy. “Where is your bag?" .
It was in the back of the carriage; he had come
from Collester; would we take him in? If he found
a box he'd shut his eyes and walk away.
“With it under your arm, I hope," answered I.
“Why, how light your suitcase is !”
“You see,” explained the simple fellow, “I don't
dress as much as you do."
"Indeed!” I mocked. “And look at me now.”
For beside my overalls his store clothes were elegant.
I felt very much set up by this visit. And after I
had established him in his old room, and while
mother was frying potatoes for supper, I sat him
down by the kitchen window and told him to give
an account of himself.
Now the sound of frying potatoes is a pleasant
undertone to chat. To be sure, the occasional
snaps do interrupt; but, on the whole, the pleasant
hiss helps talk, on account of the suggestion of the
279


280
THE HIDING-PLACES
meal to come. Both Joe and I love mother's fried
potatoes; so, as we used to do months before, we
sniffed the aroma and let the pleasant sibilance
tickle our ears while we talked. And mother,
while busy at the stove, and sometimes sending a
fragrant cloud to the ceiling when she turned the
potatoes, listened closely.
"I'm sent here for business,” began Joe, with a
satisfaction that even his modesty could not dis-
guise. “Mr. Collester was good enough to say
that he had seen in me signs of-well, signs, you
know.”
“Of application, and keenness, and common
sense,” said I. “I know. He's slow in discovering
them. Go on.”
Blushing, Joe proceeded: "He seemed to think
that on account of local knowledge and familiarity
with Stidger's methods, and being unlikely to at-
tract attention, I could help him here. And so
I'm promoted!”
I asked him what he was to do.
“Get evidence. You know," he explained, "that
there are plenty of old-timers, not only in Peter-
sham but also in Athol, to whom the provisions of
the Hartwell will are a matter of household religion.
I know some of these men myself. There may be
some who can even remember the previous find,
on your land and by the other family, forty years
ago, and who will know whether the question of
ownership was then raised. I must find all these
men and have a talk with each one.”


THE HIDING-PLACES
281
“Mr. Worthen," I remarked, "will be on Stid-
ger's side."
“Not so certain," answered Joe. “The gentle-
man is in difficulties.” He explained that claims
had been made against Mr. Worthen which he had
had to satisfy and hush up; two suits had been
entered against him; there had come the collapse
of one of his favorite companies.
“Not Cloudburst Canyon?” I demanded, certain
rumors, after lying inert in my brain for months,
suddenly making an impression.
Smashed, answered Joe. And there was much
unpleasant feeling among Mr. Worthen's clients
when the fact leaked out that he owned none of
the stock. And now while, with much difficulty,
Mr. Worthen was trying to satisfy his claimants
and to stave off other suits, Collester was employed
in what we nowadays call watchful waiting, to see
whether matters would turn out to my advantage.
“What he hopes,” Joe concluded, “is to find Mr.
Worthen in such a mood that he can persuade him
to testify in your favor. If Mr. Worthen will, then
your suit is as good as won. If not, then- !"
“Lost?” I asked.
"No," answered Joe. “Otherwise I should not be
here. Now of course Mr. Collester hasn't explained
to me all that he has in mind. But it wouldn't be
hard for him to prove that Mr. Worthen's word
isn't worth taking.”
“A nice thing to make public," I remarked,
"if you happen to be a friend of his daughter."


282
THE HIDING-PLACES
"Exactly," agreed Joe. “Where did you get
your pull with him, Binney, to make him take your
suit at such a time?”.
My pull with Collester! There was no such
thing, as the backwoodsman cried when he first
saw a camel. Yet there the thing was, to be won-
dered at. There was either a great power of prin-
ciple in the man or a great kindliness toward me.
Which, or both? I could not explain.
To have Joe with us again was very pleasant.
He was our good old Joe, and yet he was different,
as I had already in part learned. His character was
emphasized by the solidity of his new acquirements.
These I was abashed to contemplate. In my six
months of city life I had learned only to dance, to
chat, and to wear good clothes—was still a fool in
all serious matters. And here was Joe, his sim-
plicity unspoiled, and yet his shrewdness well-
developed on the double basis of study of men and
study of law. His evening classes had done well
by him, but he had done still better by himself.
Though still weedy in growth and diffident in
manner, Joe was, as a keen look into his eyes would
show, very dependable.
I had lately been making my saddle-horse, Peter,
into a roadster for our buggy. His first youth now
passing, he had taken very kindly to the new order,
and was convenient for Joe's service. Among our
solid citizens Joe soon proved to be very welcome,
first for father's sake, afterward for his own, as his
respectful manner and sensible questions recom-


THE HIDING-PLACES
283
mended him. When possible, I went with him.
And on one of these expeditions we met Stidger.
We were in Athol, and had just finished a comfort-
ing talk with old John Wyman, born and brought
up in Petersham, now prosperous in Athol. His
clear memory of the finding of the Flat Round
Box in 1854, his indignation at my cousin's suit,
and his contempt for the person of Stidger, were
quite fresh in our minds when, going out to the
horse, we met Stidger on the sidewalk. Or rather,
Joe met him; for I, standing on the steps and
just closing the door behind me, was not in Stidger's
vision.
He stopped short. That he had not yet heard
of Joe's coming was plain from his first words.
"Well, what brought you back? The city was
too much for you, hey?”
If anything could show one aspect of Joe's char-
acter, it was the fact that he was not boiling with
resentment at the sight of his old master. And if
anything could show Joe's development, it was the
quietness with which he confronted Stidger. He
merely said: “It's a rather big place.”
“Got new clothes," sneered Stidger, as he looked
Joe up and down. Yet I thought the sneer was
merely a habitual fling at anything different from
his own untidy penury. He went on: “Want a
job?"
"I might want a better job,” replied Joe, without
a gleam of mischief. “A fellow always wants that.”
“My business is increasing on me,” the shyster


284 THE HIDING-PLACES
explained, cautiously feeling his man. “I need a
clerk again. I could pay you better than before.”
“Twice as well?” asked Joe.
Stidger calculated. Since he had previously
paid Joe next to nothing, he could very well afford
to double it. “If you've learned something in the
meantime,” he stipulated.
“Will you pay in advance?” inquired Joe, still
entirely mild.
“Me? In advance?" Stidger was outraged.
“Then I'm very sorry," answered Joe, and turned
to untie Peter.
Now Peter was a strikingly unhandsome beast,
of a roan color, with a nearly roan mane which con-
trasted unfavorably, and nobly raw-boned. Even
Stidger, unaccustomed as he was to observing
horses, from his spite to me had come to know the
beast. Recognizing him, he cast his suspicious
glance around and saw me standing smiling on
the steps.
"He'll pay you, Joe,” said I, “in promissory
notes, payable when, if, and as collectible.”
If the man Stidger caused me, Heaven knows,
enough trouble before he passed out of my life,
he gave me some moments of pleasure. I joyed,
just now, to see him grow pale and red, and snarl,
and bite his lip. Thus mutely furious he passed
along, and out of self-respect I did not laugh at
him.
“It's not good form,” said Joe reproachfully, “to
guy the opposing counsel.”


THE HIDING-PLACES
285
I answered: “I must have a little fun out of this,
if I can."
"He'll tell your cousin,” Joe replied.
I suppose he did. But often as I tried to imagine
the intercourse of Stidger with Cousin Lon, I never
could make it seem human. I always imagined the
father of evil, whispering his instigations into the
ear of a tortured spirit-for that Cousin Lon was
happy or even satisfied I never could believe, nor
could any one who saw his great haggard eyes.
And so I often told myself that I had the best
of it.
In such a mood I still enjoyed my life and its
duties. The opal morning, the handling of the
scented hay, the meditative task of milking, all
made my early chores seem light. The companion-
ship of horses, next, had become a solace; they knew
me and responded to my care, and I knew that from
them I should never receive treachery or malice.
And then the steady drive of work out in the open
fields purged through my pores all discontent. Ap-
petite, too, was a great dependence. To eat my
snack in the cooling breeze, or at home to sit down
to a spotless service, with food attractive and plen-
teous and hot, as mother said was hygienically
right, and as I knew was spiritually easeful and
conducive to slow eating, and to thankfulness-this
was no mean pleasure. And then at night to sit
on the door-step in the fading light, talking with
mother of work done and plans for the morrow,
feeling the languor of content and the creeping


286
THE HIDING PLACES
as
desire for repose—this was a fit end for any man's
day.
But it was not complete. There was an unfilled
gap. For a week after the notice of the suit I won-
dered why I should feel a strange vacancy. At
last one evening, before I felt willing to go to bed,
my feet took me in the last dusk, in which appeared
the early moon, along the path to the other farm.
I meant to go to the wall and look across it and
come home.
But leaning on the wall appeared a quiet figure.
And at my sudden feeling of relief I understood
myself, and said: “Of course!”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Margery lifted her friendly eyes. “Binney, I
was lonesome!”
"And so was I," I admitted. “Why didn't
you come and see mother?”
“I wanted one of you to come to see me first."
We talked for twenty minutes before she said
that she must go. But it was settled that, since
mother and I could no longer go to her house, Mar-
gery should run over and visit us when she could.
And so my restlessness was appeased.
Her visits made my days the pleasanter. Espe-
cially was I glad that in haying time, which now
was coming on, I could enjoy her comforting pres-
ence. For now my work doubled, and mother took
the milking and the light chores, in order that I
should get in the greatest crop that, thanks to our
heavy fertilizing, our farm had yet yielded. As


THE HIDING-PLACES
287
I look back, I wonder how I had the courage to
try it alone, or the strength to handle it. The
cutting was comparatively easy. Once around each
field with the scythe, for the headlands, and the
rest with the machine, was no especial task. The
tedder carried me well through the next stage of
the work. The raking also was not bad, for the
horses took the burden of it. But the cocking and
spreading, repeated because of showers, and finally
the work of getting in the hay, were very laborious.
Much as the patent loader saved me, on our uneven
fields it had to be followed by hand. A boy to
help me, for the driving only, would have saved
me much time in the field; a man would have made
the loading light. But sometimes, when using the
loader on a fresh field, and always in haste because
of the fear of showers, I risked too heavy a load
home, and all but overset; and sometimes, rather
than climb too much on a soft load, when loading
by hand I had to be content to put on all that I
could toss from the ground, and so travelled light
to the barn. There the work was very burdensome.
The hay-fork worked pretty well, no doubt; but
its crankiness was very much for me to manage.
In the muggy air of the fields or in the close barn
the work was very heavy. At night I was dog-tired.
Without encouragement from mother, and espe-
cially from Margery, I doubt if I could have done
the work. From dusk to dusk it was a race against
time. Nothing refreshed me so much as to brag a
bit. After each load mother slipped out to see how


THE HIDING-PLACES
289
Could it be Gertrude? She had not answered
my letter of farewell, and what lies her father had
told her about me I could only guess. Why should
she come now, or why at all? Yet such thoughts
were soon smothered by the feeling of anticipation.
I saw through the orchard-trees the flicker of bright
head-gear, some one in red was dashing around the
curve, some one in gray was following, and yes,
Gertrude came headlong into our yard, with all
her old-time recklessness.
Behind her was Collester, more reticent, more
sane.
Gertrude was in her impetuous mood. Her
flushed cheeks and flashing eyes were quite in keep-
ing with that flaming hat of hers. She stopped
her panting horse, and from her pretty mouth, as
she gazed at the house, she sent a clear, resonant
cry:
“Yoho! Binney!”
In a moment I was close to her. “Here, Ger-
trude.” Instantly turning, she looked down at me.
Always magnetic, always vital. But now I saw
in Gertrude's face some change that was not clear
to me. Whim may have had its share in prompting
the visit, but something besides had determined
her, as I knew when I saw question looking out of
her eyes at me. I had never seen her so high-bred
and self-possessed, quite so near to grand-ladyship.
Without a word, she stretched to me her ungloved
hand, her left, and held mine firmly as I gave it.
And so she looked me through.


THE HIDING-PLACES
291
feet, and the two met. I never could be quite sure
of Gertrude's manner toward other girls. Some-
times I have thought she underprized them, and
especially Margery, not appreciating those qualities
in which they differed from her, but knowing well
their lesser brilliancy. This struck me now when
I heard her greeting: “You dear child !” But I
turned very eagerly to Collester, having Gertrude's
bridle in my left hand, but the right free for this
good friend.
His solid self-possession had never struck me quite
so strongly. He had the air of a spectator, kindly
but detached. But when I said, “I am glad you
could get free of business," he smiled and shook
his head.
“This is business," he said. “When Gertrude
heard where I was going, and why, she took her
chaperon and started ahead of me. She was at
the hotel when I arrived. Apparently you had not
told her of the lawsuit.”
"I saw no need," I answered. “It seemed a
little like reproaching her.”
There was a little gleam in Collester's eye that
showed that I had given him evidence as to her
share in the destruction of the old will. “She
wormed my knowledge out of me,” he said. “She
always does. And she declared that she was in-
volved, and must see you.”
“Yes,” said Gertrude, who now had Margery
by the waist. “And you must let me talk busi-
ness with you—very serious business.”


292
THE HIDING-PLACES
We tied the horses. Then mother came out,
and we settled on the door-step; Gertrude kept
Margery, and would not let her slip away. And
when we were all seated she said her say.
"Father is so queer,” she said, looking at me
sidewise, as if defying me to put the statement
differently. “He declares that he has no recollec-
tion of the terms of that old will, so that it will do
no good for him to testify." I glanced at Collester;
he lifted his brows, and I wondered what the wily
broker really meant to do. Gertrude was quite
aware of this interchange of glances, and went on
with lifted chin. “And he has been very sulky
about refusing to help. But I remember quite
clearly what he told me of the will, riding home
that day. And so, Binney, I can testify in your
favor."
She finished with a pretty air of triumph, then
played with one of Margery's hands. As for me,
I wondered if she really did not know that second-
handed evidence was of very little value. I glanced
again at Collester, who pursed his lips and shook
his head. I wondered if he, too, questioned whether
Gertrude was as simple as she appeared.
“That will depend on my lawyer," I answered.
She pouted. “That means you don't think much
of my offer.”
Collester explained: “If it comes to hearsay
evidence, and your father declares himself uncer-
tain of what he read, I am afraid that your state-
ment will not help us.”


THE HIDING-PLACES
293
"Indeed!” returned Gertrude, with a very charm-
ing toss of the head. “And have you properly
considered how I can influence the jury?”.
“But,” explained Collester, “this being purely
a question of law, the case will not go before a
jury.”
“And won't I influence the judge, then?” cried
Gertrude. “But I have no patience with either
of you.” She rose. “I must go back to supper."
And to my surprise she left the subject that she
had travelled so far to see me about. She kissed
Margery, and said good night to mother, and or-
dered me to fetch her horse.
When I had raised her to her saddle she leaned
down to me. Collester was speaking with mother
and Margery; we two were quite by ourselves.
“That was well done,” said Gertrude swiftly. “Do
you know that you are twice as strong as ever?”.
Personalities. “I need to be," I answered. “I
work twice as hard.”
“When will you ride with me?" she demanded.
“To-morrow morning?”
At once I was eager. “But Joe is away with Peter
overnight," I remembered. “And I suppose Mr.
Collester wants me for some business.”
"And there is all the farm work,” she mocked.
“Well, go about your regular work. But you shall
not escape me.”
And she was off, quite as abruptly as she had
come. Collester hurried after.
“Upon my word,” I said as I watched them go.


294
THE HIDING PLACES
“Gertrude does beat me. She seemed to have an
idea in her head, but she dropped it very readily.
What did she really have in mind ?”
Mother and Margery glanced at each other with
meaning. But I could not get a word out of them.


296
THE HIDING-PLACES
to eat in the field, while I slipped home across lots
for my dinner.
In good time I had the two-horse cultivator going
up and down the long rows. And fine rows they
were. This was an important enterprise, this field
of fodder corn, for I had chosen a variety different
from what father always used, and in every way
had treated it differently, whether in distances, the
number of plants to the hill, or the absence of
"hilling up.” And I certainly now felt joy in see-
ing it coming nobly on, the broad leaves waving,
and the stalks shooting ever taller. They were
up to my elbows as I sat on the cultivator; in an-
other week they would be above my shoulders,
and no machine could go between them. There
was promise of a field of twelve-foot corn, a full
silo, and fine milk and cream for the winter.
And yet my eye kept roving, and my mind wan-
dered from the work. Would Gertrude perhaps
follow me to the field ?
Noon was approaching, the field was more than
half done, and something within me was mentioning
dinner, while another organ was troubled with the
beginning of disappointment, when over the tops
of the nodding corn I saw a bright spot of color.
It seemed to have perched itself at a side of the field
to which in a few moments I must approach. And
I smiled. That daring vermilion I had yesterday
seen surmounting Gertrude's frizz-and I was glad
to feel that, since the day was not hot, I was still
pretty tidy.


THE HIDING-PLACES
297
I reached her at the end of the next row. She was
very comfortably seated on the shady wall, and
beside her was the bright tin dinner-pail which she
had fetched.
Now Gertrude was so made that while she loved
to adapt herself to those about her, and did it
charmingly, she always gave the impression that
it was a bit of a masquerade. It was as if a princess
came into your sphere for a while for the fun of it.
I had forgotten all this in the months in the city,
when it was I, doubtless, who was masquerading.
But here she was, rather too dainty for the rugged
wall, begloved and very prettily shod, yet willingly
risking her adornments for the sake of this new
experience.
“I asked your mother for the lunch,” she said,
beginning to pull off her gloves. “She directed me
here. Hurry, Binney! Come and eat."
“The horses first," I answered.
“Oh, the horses first !” she echoed, with a little
mouth at me. “We must be humane, of course."
I fed the horses, then took my place beside her
on the wall. “See,” said Gertrude, opening the
pail. “I took your mother rather by surprise, I
fear. But here is cake, and pie, and some cookies;
I put them up myself. She said there was water
here near by, so I left the coffee, for fear of slopping
it. And I left a kind of thick soup, which would
be horrid if I spilled it on my dress. And I meant
to bring meat and cheese, but there was no room."
The fixings and not the solids! I was to work


298
THE HIDING-PLACES
all the afternoon on cake and pie and cookies ! But
Gertrude had her pretty mouth open to begin on
a slice of Washington pie, which mother could make
quite as well as Margery. “Come!” she cried,
“I'm famished, Binney!”
On the frivolities (for mother's cake is light) I
contrived to make myself feel as if I had eaten.
And water is always refreshing.
“What a lovely field,” said Gertrude. “And
what is it going to be?”
But when I explained that the corn was to be-
come silage, and what silage was, she shuddered
and would hear no more. “Animals must be fed,
I suppose. But they feed so greedily!”
Gertrude had early wiped her lips with the filmiest
handkerchief, her hunger already appeased. She
was always dainty, but now I reasoned that her
slender appetite explained her preference for the
sort of food she brought me. And picking and
choosing is very graceful when the jewelled hand
hovers over the dish, or even over the dinner-pail.
"I hate to think,” she went on, “that you're
making it your business to feed animals. And you
are, aren't you?”
“Why, yes, after a fashion,” I admitted. “But
only in order to feed myself.”
"But with your investments,” she went on (and
I saw that she was still ignorant of her father's
robbing me), "you could hire men to do the dirty
work, and yourself be boss. I hate to have you
just a laborer." And she pouted.


THE HIDING-PLACES
299
Except for a purpose, Gertrude never pouted.
Her mind was above it. But she was willing to
appear very young if only she could persuade.
This time I smiled at the artifice.
"It is what I was brought up to, Gertrude. And
you know we never have workmen on our farm."
"Oh, your everlasting boxes !” she rejoined.
“They will never be found. I don't believe that
they exist.”
We sparred for a time, then drifted into reminis-
cences; yet I knew that we should get back to the
point, for I felt sure that a point there was. And
the reminiscences ! Could I but reproduce them,
I should make more clear the charm which Ger-
trude laid upon me. She spoke of dances and of
teas, the opera and theatre, of the friends that we
met at all these places. She made them rise and
move before me. And as I saw myself in these
familiar scenes, careless and very gay, I was de-
lighted until something recalled to me the fact
that, after all, I was but a farmer, with a farmer's
drudgery binding him down.
Perhaps Gertrude saw this; perhaps she worked
for it, and knew the word that had recalled me to
myself. At any rate, it was when I had fallen into
sudden dejection that she laid her hand upon my
arm. “Pleasant times, weren't they, Binney?
And there was one time that almost promised to
be something more than pleasant."
With a suddenly jumping heart, I looked at her.
Was she to acknowledge, so late, the meaning of


THE HIDING-PLACES
301
I had not thought of this. It dismayed me. In
the pause I looked up. Her keen face was firmly
set, her eyes were burning bright. They fixed mine;
I could not look away. Suddenly, in the midst of
my foolish peace, this summons had come to me.
"As for this farm,” she began again, her voice
beginning to thrill, “let it be ruined! There may
be sixty thousand dollars hidden here in those last
two boxes. And you may not find either of them
in all the rest of your life. But in father's office,
or in Mr. Collester's, you can earn that sum twice
over in a few years !”
Now this was fiery; it made the farm seem mean,
my peaceable retreat mere hiding. It roused me
to the hope of redeeming myself. Seeing, I suppose,
the flash in my eyes, Gertrude hurried on.
“What is there if you stay? You drudge along.
Perhaps you marry Margery.”
Marry Margery! I had never thought of it.
Studying me, Gertrude laughed low. “Why Binney,
how little you have looked ahead! Now listen to
what I have thought for you. Pay no attention to
this lawsuit. Even if you lose it, you have only
to hand over the money. Put on the farm the
most honest manager you can find, and trust the
rest to yourself.”
“There is a man,” I said, beginning to take fire,
“very dull but very honest, whom I could put here."
She clutched me, her little hand, very pink and
shapely, seizing my great tanned wrist. “Come
and explain it to your mother!”


THE HIDING-PLACES
303
folding it till I felt the hard gems in her rings. “Tell
me why you are helping me so !”
Her hand relaxed, grew limp, drew away. And
she smiled at my eagerness. “To make little boys
ask questions."
But she was not rebuking me. And we were
alone there in the hollow, with no one to see but
the crows overhead and the squirrels in the wood.
Her smile was a provocation, her pursed lips a
challenge. Something surged within me, and be-
fore I realized the temptation I had snatched her
to me. Her breast to mine, her clear eyes looking
up.
But because her eyes were so clear and unmoved,
and because, without other resistance, her little
hand was laid on my shoulder warningly, the flood
within me subsided as quickly as it came, and left
me hollow and shaking. Never before had I held
a girl or a woman so; every nerve was unstrung
by the new emotion. Releasing her, I rose and turned
away; I moistened my lips, but was silent. How
could I excuse myself?
“Sit down again, Binney,” she said in her crys-
tal voice. “There are just a few words that I
want to say." And when I was seated, though
unable to look at her, she went on: “Father is
cross with you. But you're much better off in
Mr. Collester's office.”
Now that I had held her so, even for so short
an instant, how could I take Collester's help, be-
lieving that he loved her? How could she propose it?


304
THE HIDING-PLACES
“There must be other offices,” I said. “I'd like
to stand entirely on my own feet.”
“You would make a mistake," she replied very
positively. “Now, Binney, leave it all to me. Re-
member that last time you had your own way,
and bungled.”
She took away my belief in myself, and I could
not answer. “Remember!” she said, beginning to
rise. I rose also. She swung herself down on the
opposite side of the wall, and across it I tried to
look at her. Difficult as it was, on account of my
still strong quivering, I grew calm enough to see
that she was still entirely cool. She leaned toward
me.
"I'm glad it's settled," she said winningly.
“And, Binney, one last thing. Lean across. I want
to whisper.”
I leaned to her, and turned to her an ear. I was
quite unexpectant. But one hand came up and
touched my cheek, her soft lips brushed the other.
Gertrude had kissed me! And then as I looked at
her, struggling with my surprise, doubtful of her
meaning, she nodded saucily, waved me good-by,
and tripped away. Had she run I would have fol-
lowed her. But she was so entirely mistress of her-
self that I remained where I was.
Through the maze of my ideas when, in order
to lessen their confusion, I at last turned to my
work, gradually two came clearest. First, I was
to give up this life in order to start fresh in the city.
Secondly, there was an understanding between


THE HIDING-PLACES
305
Gertrude and me, of a nature defined by the fact
that I might not kiss her, while she might, if she
chose, kiss me. This implied (and somehow it was
very clear in my head) that she was not bound to
me unless she chose to be satisfied with me, but
that meanwhile I was quite at her service.
The strange tingling in my cheek, where a butter-
fly still seemed to hover, kept through the after-
noon the memory of Gertrude's kiss. With it
often returned the thrill of that impulse to seize
upon her. Her face, with its brilliant eyes and
smile, frequently was before my eyes. Her dainti-
ness, her insight, her masterfulness, her poise, the
position which she could gain by their means, and
the adornment which she could bring to it—these
were constantly in my mind, always followed by
the thought that perhaps she would condescend
and that they would be mine. How she had con-
descended to-day!
Yet deeper still lay question. In spite of my
youthful reverence for the girl, excusing her vagaries
and loyally abiding by the step to which I had
tempted her, I felt a doubt. Had Gertrude and I
gone too far on ground too weak to hold us? Of
flirting I knew nothing whatever. It never occurred
to me that I could draw back. I started homeward
with a clouded mind.
Then when I thought of mother I felt a deeper
trouble. How was I to explain all this to her?
Said mother at supper: “You don't talk very
much to-night, Binney, but you eat a good deal.”


308
THE HIDING-PLACES
was
the next two days. Then I climbed to the roof of
the barn and replaced a few split shingles as pre-
caution. Here I became absorbed by the landscape,
and sat on the ridge-pole to study how the great
floating clouds were casting wonderful shadows,
while the distance was hazy. Greylock, which we
see clearly in fair weather, was out of sight, lost
in the shadow of a single cloud, miles broad at the
slaty base, but climbing, mass on mass, to pure
whiteness in the sunlight. From this would come
our storm, if from anywhere.
I heard a voice hailing me, and there on the ground
was Collester. Joking, I invited him up; never-
theless, up he came, nobly disdaining clothes and
neatly managing the two ladders. We sat on either
side of the ridge-pole, facing the west, with our
discussion entirely safe from eavesdroppers.
We spoke for a while of Cousin Lon's suit, and
he praised Joe's work. "In general,” he summed
up, "the outlook is promising. The real difficulty
lies in the fact that the one apparently disinterested
witness who read the old copy before it was de-
stroyed may testify against you."
“Mr. Worthen keeps his grudge?” I asked.
“He is ungrateful, for I might have brought suit
against him.”
"He hates you," said Collester. "Nobody ever
treated him as you did. In the one talk which
I have had with him he swore viciously when I
mentioned your name. The question is whether
he can afford to keep his grudge. At the best he


THE HIDING-PLACES
309
is in a fair way of losing a good deal. If a certain
suit is brought he is likely to be bankrupt. And he
has the idea that I can save him from the worst
results.”
Gertrude's influence I would not mention, but
I thought I saw another hope. “He surely can't
expect you to help him unless he helps you against
Stidger."
Collester nodded, but kept his eyes on the land-
scape. Not fathoming what might further be in
his mind, I waited. But I felt very cheerful, as if
my suit were as good as won with the help of Mr.
Worthen.
And now a rattling of wheels came from behind
us. Turning, I saw a buggy drive into the yard.
In it sat the man himself.
His clothes betrayed the state of his mind. Mr.
Worthen usually dressed for the occasion. In the
country he sported his tweeds; while travelling he
was neat in pepper-and-salt; in his office he mostly
wore, with proper dignity, his frock coat. But it
was the latter which he wore now, and his silk hat
was a little tilted over one eye from the rough
jolting of our road. From under its brim, as he
tried to straighten it, he peered up at us.
Behind him, very carefully choosing footing on
the grassy edge of the road, came Gertrude quietly
on her horse, looking very demure. That her
father knew she was following I gathered from a
hitch of his shoulder as he half turned to glance
back. Then impatiently he controlled himself and


310
THE HIDING-PLACES
resumed his scrutiny of us. Gertrude stopped at a
little distance and cheerfully smiled upward.
Mr. Worthen, at first unable to believe, I sup-
pom, that there was Collester calmly seated on
the ridge-pole of a barn, called up doubtfully:
“Collester, is that you?”
“Yes."
“Then come along down. I must speak with
you."
in
“Presently,” answered Collester. And he turned
very composedly to me again.
"His coming proves that that suit has been
entered against him. Now I have him where I don't
want him, ready to do anything for me.”
“You don't want him so?” I asked, surprised.
“Hartwell," he answered, “this is important to
you, so come and listen.” And he started to climb
down.
“Let me go first,” I said. “Going down is dif-
ferent from coming up.”
It certainly is. To change from one ladder to
another is easy when going up, for the eye can see
and the hand can grip. But to look down over the
caves of a high barn, and to feel with the toe of a
slippery boot for the upper rung of a ladder that is
just a little too far below, needs practice. When
I looked up from the lower ladder and saw Collester
peering for his foothold, for the first time I per-
ceived in his eyes hesitation and doubt. Then I
told him to slip over to me, and he did it with
perfect confidence. A man is in no very graceful


312
THE HIDING-PLACES
and uneasy; and he repeatedly moistened his lips.
He looked again at me, and I half expected a
roar such as he often, in old times, let out at an
offending clerk. But he turned to Collester and
hesitated.
"I suppose," Collester pursued, “that the Clark
people have at last taken steps against you."
“They have, the treacherous brutes," snapped
Mr. Worthen, glad to turn his resentment against
some one. “I have kept them on their feet for
years, and this is how they treat me!”
Collester made no comment. “And what shall
you do?"
“I came here about it," answered Mr. Worthen.
“Your office sent me to Petersham. The hotel
people directed me here. And,” he added pettishly,
“Gertrude saw me and had to up and follow."
Behind him Gertrude nodded her head. “I
had to.” Softly.
"And what do you want of me?" asked Col-
lester.
The cold inquiry brought an abrupt pause be-
tween them. Mr. Worthen's face expressed the
small boy's dismay when, at the end of a long and
panting chase of the baker's cart, he fears he has
lost his dime. The overwhelming reason which
was to bring Collester to his side, in the face of this
indifference seemed suddenly weak. But he col-
lected himself and answered:
“You've got to take my case." His manner
made this less of a demand than a suggestion.


THE HIDING-PLACES
313
"Well," asked Collester, "and if I do?” As if
the baker were saying: "Your dime, little boy, sup-
posing you find it, will scarcely purchase this mag-
nificent pie.”
Mr. Worthen's little eyes glared for a moment
at me. Then he hitched backward a resentful
shoulder. Finally he jerked out an answer:
“I will testify for you in this Hartwell suit."
For a moment my spirit sang within me. Stid-
ger was downed! The farm was safe! Warm satis-
faction flowed through me.
I cannot excuse this. It is natural, of course,
to be very quick in perceiving one's own advantage.
And when I saw Gertrude's sparkling eyes, and her
bright nod of congratulation at this assurance of
success, I almost tossed my hat.
All I can say in my own defense is that I re-
covered myself quickly. I needed no reproachful
glances from Collester, but only, I thank God, my
own reflection.
For the bald terms! Bribed, Worthen would
tell the truth. And the bribe? That Collester
would save him from punishment. I thought of
poor Canby. I thought of my father in his grave.
I thought, too, of Collester's honorable standing
in his profession. And then, shamed, I looked at
Collester's face.
Hopefully-yes, truly I can say that hopefully
he was looking at me. As our eyes met, our hands,
of their own accord, came forward and gripped.
And then I understood his kindness to me and, too,


314
THE HIDING-PLACES
in part repaid him for it. He liked me, he believed
in me, and now he found me worth his liking and
belief. The clasp of our hands expressed it all.
There came to me such a change of spirit-joy
at this new understanding, resentment at the trap
that was baited for us—that I turned to break
out upon Mr. Worthen. But recollecting myself, I
looked at Collester again. He smiled.
“Say it,” he said. “He will understand you
quicker than me." And so I stepped closer to my
old employer.
If I had not seen, behind him, Gertrude closely
watching, I might have said all that was in my
mind. But I remembered that she did not yet
understand his treachery to me, and (for her sake,
not for his) I tried not to tell her.
"Go and get another lawyer," I told him. “Mr.
Collester will not help you."
I heard Gertrude's “Oh!” of surprise. Worthen
knew at once that I told him the truth, and his
red face grew pale. But he tried to bluster through.
“What have you to do with it?" he demanded.
"Everything," I answered. “If the price of his
working for you is to be your help in my suit, then
I don't want your help.”
“You fool!” he cried. “You are throwing your
case away. The side I testify for will win.”
“You flatter yourself," I retorted.
He stood glaring. Behind him Gertrude urged
her horse a pace nearer, and knowing her about to
speak, I hurried on:


THE HIDING-PLACES
315
“Mr. Collester is the only reputable lawyer that
you could hope to secure. Yet you couldn't ap-
proach him but for personal acquaintance. Try
another sort of man. Try Stidger!"
“Binney!” appealed Gertrude.
“There is nothing else to be said," I answered,
but would not look at her.
Indeed, Mr. Worthen was a more interesting
sight than even Gertrude at that minute could be.
His whole face grew as purple as his nose, his very
eyes seemed red, and his strong teeth showed. A
fine, stirring picture of an angry brute.
But he choked on his own fury. Inarticulate
words rasped his throat, and he was seized by a fit
of coughing. I even sympathized with his exas-
peration as, trying to still the convulsion, he grew
almost blue, while his glare faded in spite of his
effort to fix it on me. The sweat was on his forehead
before he had mastered himself. And seeing him
stand before me breathless and shaking, I took
him by the arm and led him to the buggy.
"Better leave the matter as it stands," I told
him. “Nothing can be gained by further talk.”
I helped him into his seat, backed the carriage
about, and supposed that we had peaceably got
rid of him.
But as the driver was about to start his horse,
Mr. Worthen seized the reins. With recovered
voice he roared at Collester:
“Do you stand by what he says?”
“Yes," answered Collester quietly.


318
THE HIDING-PLACES
the facts of the case as everybody knows them.”
But I knew that as I spoke my manner was sullen,
as if she had put me in the wrong.
She merely sat her horse like a scornful statue,
and looked at me.
“Gertrude," I pleaded, "we look at things dif-
ferently."
“Indeed we do," she responded. “As for the
suit, let it go. We agreed that it was of no con-
sequence. But the future. How are you ever to
succeed in the city if you set yourself up for a little
George Washington ?”.
Her clear voice rang in the yard. Collester must
have heard.
“Gertrude !” I pleaded again.
With a sudden, delightful smile, she leaned and
put her hand upon my shoulder. “Let's not dis-
cuss it further now. But just remember how I
think of it. I've thought so much on the subject,
and I've heard a lot of idealistic talk, but it never
brings success. Binney, you mustn't be soft. But
we'll speak of this another time.”
And with the friendliest of light farewells, as if
now the important matter were to soothe me, she
gathered up her reins and darted toward the gate.
I heard her cast a jolly good-by to Collester as he
plodded toward his horse. Then she was gone.
Plodding was the word for Collester. His heavy
shoulders seemed to carry a load. I could not let
him go without another word, and so I caught him
before he mounted. As he heard me behind him


CHAPTER XXIX
The sun was still high when my visitors had left
me, but during their short visit the atmosphere
had changed. A glance at the west showed me that
a storm was surely coming, and I thought of the
cattle. If some of the young stock should be fright-
ened and stray, it would be a great bother; there-
fore I started for the woods, on a short cut for the
farther end of the pasture, intending to drive the
cows before me to the lane. And as I like to do,
I went a little way out of the shortest path, to take
a drink at the spring.
They say that in spite of my bulk I walk very
lightly. It comes, I suppose, from my squirrel
and rabbit hunting as a boy. At any rate, I was
within a couple of strides of the spring, and already
saw the gleam of its waters through the bushes
that surrounded it, when I roused some one on the
other side of the leafy screen. I heard a little cry
of alarm, but saw no start nor flight. And when
I had rounded the bushes, there cowered little
Bertie Stidger.
All eyes she seemed, with her body pressed with-
in the covert, and held there by quivering repres-
sion. And the great eyes, under their cloud of
hair, looked at me in pure fright,
320


THE HIDING-PLACES
323
will he come?" she cried. I nodded, for I heard
his answering bark. “Oh, will he bite me?"
“Why, he is my dog," I answered. “Do you
suppose he would bite my visitor?”. And when the
idea had taken her and she asked, “I am your
visitor, ain't I?” then she sat upright and com-
placently smoothed her dress. I whistled again as
a guide to Jones, and looked with pity on a child
that was afraid of a dog. But I tried to prepare
Bertie's mind.
“What are dogs in your street like?”
She shuddered. “Oh, dirty and lazy, and stealing
at back doors, and always scratching themselves.
And they lie in the middle of the road in the sun.”
From which I got a perfect picture of the street
where Stidger resided.
"Jones," I explained, “can't get as dirty as a
dog can get in town. And he isn't lazy, for he has
his business and he attends to it.” She looked up
at me inquiringly. “Killing woodchucks," I told
her, "and chasing rabbits, and guarding the place.
But Bertie," I hastened to add, for I heard him
coming, “though his big mouth is red and wet,
and though he has a deep growl and noisy bark, he
needs them in order to be a good policeman. But
being a good policeman, he never yet has hurt
anybody."
"I hear him!” cried Bertie, suddenly clinging
to me tight.
Scrambling headlong through the brush, his ex-
cited whimper sounding before him, Jones hurled


330
THE HIDING-PLACES
the lightning must have fallen perhaps a third of
a mile away, in the woods."
No other flashes came. Slowly the storm passed.
The last grumble of thunder, the last drop of rain,
passed by. The final little wisp of cloud lifted from
the woods, and left the view quite clear. For my
part, I did not at first notice what had happened,
since I was thinking of what was next to be done.
I did not wish to begin milking until the cattle had
quieted down. Only slowly did I sense an odd
emptiness in the landscape.
Then mother came hurrying. “Binney, the
double pine !”
It was gone! No wonder the landscape was
empty. The giant dome of beautiful deep green,
the central point of all our best views, had been
swept away. Only a belt of woods remained,
featureless and dull.
“It was the lightning," quavered mother. “Oh,
Binney, the tree your father loved so! It must
have been a fine young tree, he used to say, a hun-
dred years ago.”
I felt a great resentment at the loss. Of no
value as timber, on account of the double and
slightly curving trunks, the tree had been spared
for generations. The taller it grew, the fonder and
prouder of it we had felt. Twenty-five more years
of life were its due; it might even have lasted out
my days. And here a single lightning stroke had
cut it down!
Gloomily I fetched my axe. “Mother," I said,


THE HIDING-PLACES
331
“I'll go down and look at it. If it lies across the
cart track, I must cut it up to-morrow before I
can get a wagon to the west meadow.” And so,
angry at my fortune, I went out.
The air, so fresh and cool after the rain, soothed
me somewhat, and the dripping woods pleased
me. It was a comfort to pass the spring and see
its bower unchanged, too humble to be injured.
Yet the depression of my loss remained with me;
and when, emerging from the woods into the little
glade where the double pine had stood, I saw its
prostrate majesty, I had to choose between swear-
ing and weeping. So I swore.
The two great boles had fallen straight apart
and lay in the tangle of smaller trees which they
had borne down before them. For some fifteen
feet above the ground they had been united. This
enormous trunk had now been cleft down the
middle, and a cord of great shining yellow splinters
had been hurled all about. Two score of fine young
trees were ruined; a gap had been made in our
pretty woods which would tell the tale for thirty
years. And I felt as if the glory of our farm had
departed.
Amid the strong odor of pine I made the effort
to approach and plan to repair the damage. The
smashed branches had been scattered everywhere;
I had to pick my way among them. Poising the
axe, I planned to mark out the morrow's work.
The stubbed branches must be trimmed off, the
great bole marked out in lengths. In this I found


332
THE HIDING-PLACES
a little relief. For as I forced myself into the mood
for labor, I felt, as I always feel with an axe in my
hand, like a man equipped for his job.
Some day will be written, I hope by a poet, the
romance of the axe. No bitterer enemy, no kinder
friend has man ever devised. Its warlike use has
gone; to-day it is only the peaceful tool of farmer
and pioneer. I love its balance and its grim face,
its simplicity, its harsh, triumphant efficiency.
And so, as I swung it at a limb, heard its sharp
hack, and felt it bite, something of my disgust
and sorrow left me. I trimmed off several of the
limbs; then with a few notches I laid out the work
for the morrow and started to take a look at the
other top.
As I passed the great splintered central trunk,
out from the woods into the glade came Cousin
Lon. The gap in the landscape must have brought
him, as it brought me; but he could scarcely have
heard me, since during the last five minutes my
notching had been slight, my eye-measuring de-
liberate. He stopped for an instant when he saw
me; then, as if ashamed to do otherwise, he came
slowly forward.
I had been sorrier for Cousin Lon than resentful
against him. Surely he was troubled by his con-
science. Therefore, greatly preferring to be the
injured party, I felt my advantage over him, and
hailed him cheerfully..
He halted among the yellow splinters, but wou
not look at me; he sniffed the pungent resin. Slowly


THE HIDING-PLACES
333
his eye roved along the blasted tree. “Terrible
stroke, that," he said at last, in acknowledgment
of my greeting. Then he passed me and went
closer to the central trunk.
Believing that to try to make him talk would
be unkind, I laid down my axe and went to view
the farther half of the pine. It was as long as the
first, had fallen as swiftly, smashed right and left
as destructively. Being now thoroughly practical,
I calculated the work of cutting it up, and was
saying to myself that here we had kindling for
years, when suddenly I heard the sound of furious
chopping.
For a moment I turned to look, uncomprehend-
ing. Cousin Lon was standing on one part of the
split trunk, near where the two huge stems had
joined. In his hands he was swinging my axe in
breathless haste; I heard him panting. Then as
his axeman's “Hah!" came to my ears I understood
and, before I knew what I was doing, was running
toward him.
Before I reached him I saw I was too late. He
dropped the axe, stooped, and clawed from the
wood an object which he held carefully in both
hands. And stepping to the ground he faced me,
triumphant.
My fascinated gaze, fixed on his find, knew it
at once. The Thick Oval Box! Though slightly
changed in shape by the pressure of the growing
tree, it could be nothing else. On its dull surface
the hasty axe had bared one streak of silvery lead;


334
THE HIDING-PLACES
the rest was lustreless. Here securely hidden all
these years, and a thousand times I had been so
near it!
As my eyes reluctantly left it, impelled by a
strange idea, Cousin Lon's also ceased to caress his
treasure. Our glances met. His, besides his tri-
umph, showed sympathy.
"I'm sorry, Binney," he said.
As I put my new idea to the test of thought, I
laughed aloud. “Sorry!" I cried. “Why, that
box is mine!”
“Yours?” Startled, he held it closer to him.
“Mine !" I replied. “You claim the other, be-
cause it was found on your land. Then this is
mine.”
The argument confounded him, as his uncer-
tain eye showed. “Why, no! Why, no!” he re-
peated.
As I felt a strong impulse swelling within me,
and deliberately prepared to yield to it, I never
thought more clearly in my life. Slow I may have
been in other things, but not in seeing my way
through this difficulty. There was one way, only
one way to forestall Stidger's trickery, and my
muscles stiffened for the attempt.
“Mine!” I answered, and my teeth closed on
my lower lip. I sprang at my cousin and seized
the box.
Our four hands were on it; his grip was firm;
he was stronger than I. Yet I, too, was strong,
and I was the quicker. Also I had the advantage


THE HIDING-PLACES 335
was
of attack and of the fury of my determination.
It was finished soon. Shifting my grip, I crooked
my arm in his; his leg I pinned with mine; I forced
him backward till I bent him across the tree. With
a twist of my body I could have broken his bones;
but as I pressed with knee and shoulder his grip
came apart. And I leaped away from him, the
box in my hands.
Then of my deliberately seized advantage I re-
pented as I faced my cousin. What beastly fury
there had been on my face I know not; but on his
I saw slow puzzlement and dull surprise. That
was Cousin Lon, and my anger had been against
not him, but Stidger. So I was sorry and on an
impulse risked all that I had gained. I laid the
precious box down on the tree and, taking my axe,
threw it into the woods.
"I gave you no warning,” I said. “Look, there
is the box, and you are stronger than I. Come,
let us fight for it—if you think you are right.”
He had no heart for it. Though for a moment,
after a glance at the prize that lay there, there
gleamed in his eyes such a flame of fight that I
glimpsed what it would be to meet him now, my
last words disarmed him. The flame faded, and he
shrank away.
“Wait," I said, more repentant still. I wished
to tell him what further was in my mind. But he
would not listen. His pallor, which for this mo-
ment had left him, returned. His eyes looked down.
And with a drooping of the head, a gesture of the


THE HIDING-PLACES
337
dger
me la
ere mai
for at
Hing mg
se bacio
Slowly the clouded waters cleared. In the middle
still danced the quartz grains; at the sides the
bottom was level and still. Nothing showed change.
The box might remain there safely for another
seventy years.
I had scarcely, after my early chores, finished tell-
ing mother of what I had done, and had just put
the question, “Did I do right?” when she pointed
to the road.
“Stidger is coming."
Coming he was, at a quick walk that was almost
a run, in a haste that kept him stumbling among
the rough stones. For he had seen us on the porch,
and was keeping his eyes on us lest we escape
him. Foreseeing a stormy interview, I said to
mother:
"I don't want him to think I am hiding anything.
So will you shut up Jones?”
She put the dog safely out of the way and re-
turned to me. Meanwhile, anticipating its use in
exasperating our visitor, I took out one of the last
of my Boston cigars and very leisurely trimmed its
end.
Straight across the yard Stidger came at me.
His bloodshot eyes were redder than ever; their
rims seemed fiery. Ill health, evil temper, malicious
thoughts showed upon every feature of his un-
wholesome face. Nowadays Margery tries to make
me think better of him. Perhaps because I always
roused his bile, he never showed himself to me
except at his worst.
out me in
Safe
side of the
red aming
e bor i
, neroze
stood up


338
THE HIDING-PLACES
"I want,” he rasped out when he was a few
yards away from me and still advancing, “that box
you stole an hour ago from your cousin. He has
just told me.”
Panting and angry, he halted within arm's length.
At his sides his clinched hands shook, as if eager
to be at the work of tearing the box from me. I
snapped my penknife shut, put it in my pocket,
and slowly took out a match.
"I like plain speaking, Mr. Stidger,” said I,
“but let's stick to the truth. I didn't steal the
box from my cousin: I took it by force. And if
you want to know why, it was because of you."
“Of me?" he shrilled.
“I could have trusted him with it," I said. “But
I intend that it shall never get into your hands.
From this minute," and I lighted my match, "you
are out of this legal tangle into which you have
dragged my cousin and me." I puffed at the cigar.
“You are permanently side-tracked.” I threw the
match away and, squinting across the end of the
cigar, saw both that it was lighted well and that
his temper was blazing furiously. Nor did I care.
“Now, Mr. Stidger," I went on, “with that box in
my possession as a pledge, I intend to sign an agree-
ment with my cousin, before a magistrate, that
the terms of the old will shall stand. Only one
lawyer will be present, and that lawyer will not
be you."
· He was in a strange white heat. Every trace of
color had left his face except the uncanny redness


THE HIDING-PLACES
343
were to make his friends happy, with an undivided
heart, no pledges to keep, no perplexities in his
simple duties. I would willingly have changed
places with him, if only I might name the one who
should lean against my shoulder.
The thought ought to have checked me in my
haste. What business had I to come seeking Mar-
gery on an errand to which Gertrude might object.
But I recalled Stidger, and plunged on with some
fierceness. I must know what was going on.
Margery was on the door-step, sitting gazing at
the vacancy in the landscape where the double
pine ought to have been. Her first words showed
me that she was thinking of it. “Binney, I shall
miss it so !”
I sat down beside her. “And to think what it
has been concealing all these years !”
"It is strange!” she mused. And then, not with
blame, but as asking for an explanation which
she was sure would be forthcoming, she inquired:
“Why did you take the box from father?”.
“I will tell you presently," I replied. “But
while we are alone, Margery, tell me-tell me "
It was very hard to say. I had come boldly to
begin the question, only to realize that I had no
excuse for asking it. Stammering, I stopped. She
asked: “Well?” She was still looking away.
It must be said! I made the plunge. “Tell
me what Stidger meant, there by the spring, by
putting his hand on your shoulder!”
Seeing her figure stiffen, I knew that I had in-


344
THE HIDING-PLACES
truded. Slowly she turned her head and looked
at me. Her lips were firmly set, her brow bent,
and with an inward recoil I recognized that she
looked just a little defiant.
"Am I,” she asked very coolly, “not yet old
enough to have a man of my own ?”
Was it possible? Without power to speak, but
shudderingly chilled, I stared at her. Not even
the shock of the discovery of Mr. Worthen's treach-
ery had brought upon me such cold dismay.
“Which reminds me,” she said, beginning to rise,
“that I ought to make sure if his supper is coming
on properly."
His supper! Roused, I caught her wrist. “Mar-
gery, do you mean this?”
Quite composedly she took her place again.
She prepared to speak, but with such a business-
like manner, as if the affair were entirely com-
prehensible, that I was frightened and released her
wrist. She looked at it, rubbed it a little, and then,
“Why not?" she asked. “Where is there a better
man for me to take?” And as if open to conviction,
she sat and waited for my answer.
Unanswerable! For my tongue failed me when
I tried to cry out: "Take me!" I must first get
my freedom from Gertrude.
Margery had no mercy. The smile of kindly
reasonableness with which she spoke again was
a most awful witness of her state of mind. “If a
girl is tired of loneliness," she explained, "if she
has had a glimpse of outside things and wants


THE HIDING-PLACES
345
more—why, when a man comes after her she does
a bit of thinking, that's all.”
As she uttered this appalling axiom she was
quite placid. I was stung into incoherent protest.
“No!” I cried. “No, never!”
“But why not?” she asked, smiling patiently.
Gertrude! I must find Gertrude! Until I could
see her and free myself, and then come honestly
to Margery, I could have no rest. I sprang up.
“Why, Binney,” asked Margery with innocent
kindness, “what is it?”
Choking with dismay, disgust, revolt, I turned
from her. Oh, to find Gertrude !
And here Gertrude was, riding briskly into the
barnyard, waving her hand to us. Margery started
up and went to meet her, while I stood watching
her in gloomy doubt. If I were half a man, which
I questioned, I would find a way to get myself
clear of her. For what a contrast there was be-
tween her artificiality and Margery's sweet nat-
uralness! How could I for so long have failed
to see it? And yet when Gertrude's quick eye
glanced from Margery hastening forward, to me
hanging back, and snapped with an “It's time I
came,” I felt that I was standing guilty before my
lawful owner.
I always sulk when I'm opposed, and I sulked
now. Gertrude had to call me to come and help
her down.
“What is it?” she whispered in my ear as I
lifted her.


346
THE HIDING-PLACES
"I want to speak with you," I blurted, taking
no pains to prevent Margery's hearing.
Gertrude drew away and scanned my scowl-
ing face. Then “Oho!” she laughed, and saucily
tossed her head. While I swore bitterly to myself,
she left me standing like a hitching-post, the reins
in my hand.
“Margery !” she cried, “I've come to supper.
Will you take me in?”
Margery visibly hesitating, I thought of the
cruelty that Gertrude was committing. Into ham-
pered Margery's household, with its simple fare,
its ancient table-fixings, its odd mixture of persons,
Gertrude must needs come prying. Nor would she
be refused.
"Don't turn me away,” she begged as Margery
groped for an excuse. And twining her arm into
Margery's, she drew her close, coaxing. “It's so
lovely here, and so dull at the hotel. Mr. Col-
lester's gone; he just sent me a good-by and van-
ished in chase of a train. And Mr. Stidger will be
here, and I want to make his acquaintance. I
passed him coming on your road. He was talking
to himself and scowled at me delightfully! He
must be so interesting !”
This was said with bewildering sweetness. Stid-
ger interesting? Gertrude knew better. Yet Mar-
gery found it difficult to make a stand.
“We live so differently- "
Gertrude let her get no further. “Oh, I like
simple living! Don't you know I often long for


348
THE HIDING-PLACES
trude was not at once victorious, she rarely per-
sisted.
“Gertrude," I said as she stood up, releasing the
child, who quickly slipped away, "walk over here
to the wall. I want a few words with you."
Even had I been less peremptory, the sting of
little Bertie's repulsion had lost me my opportunity.
No one but feels a child's suspicions. Gertrude at
least was cut by them and meant to wound me, too.
She tossed her head. “Indeed, Mr. Frowning Man!
But I am not going to the wall with any one."
"Right here, then,” I said doggedly. "No one
is listening. Gertrude, I want to say— "
She was not rude to me, merely charmingly in-
dependent. And with a little sidewise, taunting
smile, pointing at the same time to the others, she
showed me that I was not to have my way. “Here
is more fun. Look !"
For Stidger, with his customary scowl, had come
marching up to Joe and Margery where they stood
by the step. Gertrude took some quick steps nearer,
and perforce I followed her. What the fellow might
do was too important for me to neglect.
He thrust out his jaw as he lowered at Joe.
“What you doing with one of my witnesses ?”
“Why, really," answered Joe mildly, “I had no
idea that she was one.”
"I am not !” cried Margery, startled.
He turned on her with what he meant for polite-
ness. “I may need you,” he said.
“But I don't want to testify,” she protested,
very much dismayed.


THE HIDING-PLACES
349
"If the court summons you,” he returned, "you
will have to come.”
She warned him. "I can't testify on your side.”
Her opposition was already wearing his polite-
ness away. Under his gnawed mustache his mouth
was grim. “You can prove what I want proved,"
he said inexorably.
From this dialogue Joe turned away. “Binney,
what about supper?”
“Tell mother not to wait,” I answered. While
he went, I lingered, for if Stidger was to become
ill-natured, I felt ugly enough to want to be there.
But his first victim was his daughter, upon whom
his eyes fell as she stood shrinking by Margery's
skirts.
And yet I think, to do him justice, that he did
not mean to frighten her. He felt as one who
stands alone, trying to call to his side a natural
ally. And so, with an attempted smile that fitted
wryly on his lingering scowl, he stretched out his
hand to Bertie. “Come,” he said. And with an
effort he added: “Dear.”
Margery says she has seen him play clumsily
with the child, evenings after supper. Yet always
the little one met him with caution, doubtful how
soon he would tire or scold. How could she now
respond? With a quick little shake of the golden
locks she slipped farther behind Margery.
It was bad enough for him that she should do it,
worse still that I should see. The deep flush that
came to his forehead was not from anger, for to
my surprise I saw the quiver of his lip and heard
Seo


352
THE HIDING-PLACES
end, quite out of sight of Gertrude and almost out
of hearing.
“At the window by the stove Stidger came and
stood. I had to go to the stove every few minutes,
and so passed close by him. Now such liberties
as Stidger had attempted with me were such as
you saw in the woods, a touch on the shoulder, or
the sleeve. They were usually so slight and stealthy
that I doubted if I had felt them at all. So I had
not snubbed him for them. But now three dif-
ferent times, when I bent over the stove, he touched
me, on the arm, the shoulder, and at last my neck.
The first time, because I doubted, I paid no atten-
tion. The second time I knew, and drew away;
but I didn't speak because of Gertrude's nearness.
But when he touched my neck- !
"I pretended to you, Binney, this afternoon
when you spoke of Stidger and me. You had had
your months of liberty; I had had but one day
away from the farm. You and Gertrude evidently
had come to an understanding, and I couldn't see
why you should grudge me any freedom. So I
was just perverse enough to pretend that I was
considering marrying Stidger.
“But when I felt his hand on my neck, it made
me shudder. For a long time I had put up with
him, for father's sake. But now I knew how much
I disliked the man. You can't know, I was surprised
to learn myself, how nearly a girl can come to
hating a man who is familiar with her.
“I said to him that he must either stop touching
me, or go away.


354
THE HIDING-PLACES
“For a few moments it was just a degrading
struggle to keep his head away from mine. For I
had to fight him silently, lest Gertrude should know.
He was stronger than I had supposed; but I am
strong, too, and I was angry. And so I was able
to throw him off just as father came in at the door.
“Father is a pale man, as you know. Before he
understood I think he grew paler than common.
But after he had looked from Stidger to me, and
had seen the anger in my face, then he flushed red
and turned on Stidger so threateningly that the man
shrank away.
"You touched her?' said father. 'Explain
quick, if you value your skin!'
"You know Stidger's doggedness. In spite of
his natural drawing back from father, he quickly
became sullen. 'What if I did touch the girl?' he
answered. There's no harm, if I mean to marry
her.'
"Father was so surprised that he turned and
looked at me. 'He means to marry you?' he asked,
as if to make sure of his hearing.
“'So he says,' I told him. “But he hasn't con-
sulted me.'
"Perhaps up till then Stidger had laid my struggle
to bashfulness. But now he glared at me, and I
knew that by a sudden shift of his mind he was
ready to hate me as he hated all the world except
Bertie. No, he was ready to hate me more than
the rest, for now I could make every one laugh at
him.


THE HIDING-PLACES
355
“Father had turned to him. 'And how will you
support her, if you can't pay your own way down
in Athol?'
“If Stidger had entirely lost hope of me, or if
he knew that father would have been against him,
he wouldn't have explained. But he answered
cautiously. 'You will need some help on that
other farm.
"'You would get the run of it, then,' said father,
'so that you could look for the last box. I'm likely
to give you the chance, I think.'
"Ask him,' I added, 'whether he expects to
rent the farm, or whether he counts on owning it.'
“Then Stidger knew that both of us were against
him, and his little eyes glimmered redder and
redder. And as you say he has done so often with
you, Binney, but never before in my sight, he lost
all thought of gaining his purpose by any other
way than by snatching it.
"'Of course I'll own it!' he snapped. 'It will
be my own. How else can you pay my bill?' And
he laughed as triumphantly as if he had served
father for years and were pressing for payment.
"Nothing explains him to me but the fierceness
of his selfishness. He was one of those scavenging
birds that hurry down before their victim is dead.
That is how he defeated himself so often. And
father was not dead-not yet, not yet! Listen,
Binney, to what my father said:
“Al Stidger,' said father, standing up big and
calm, and speaking with that quiet fòrce to which


THE HIDING-PLACES
357
me his dear daughter! I shall always remember it,
always! But very soon he stood upright. "There !'
he said, I'll just step over and make my peace
with the boy, so that I can eat my supper in com-
fort. And to-morrow we'll get that sneak out of
the house.'
“He went like a soldier, and from the doorway
I watched him go. So fine and tall, my father;
and the strongest man in town, except perhaps
you, Binney. I had forgotten Gertrude, who had
moved away from the door-step, until I heard her
speak at my elbow:
"'Such an exciting life we live on the farm!
Why Margery, what a proposal!
“I couldn't bear to talk with her then, and went
to the shed for more wood. And she went out
again. What happened after that you know better
than I.”
Yes, I can tell the rest of the story best.


CHAPTER XXXII
AFTER much lingering on the path, expecting
me to join him, Joe had finally reached home.
Mother at once sent him back. “You go and fetch
Binney,” she said. “Tell him that supper will be
spoiled.” It was indeed spoiled before any of us
were ready to eat it.
About the time that Joe started back, I, wander-
ing in the woods, had come to an end of my think-
ing. Gertrude's perversity had vexed me; I was
disgusted at her evasion. Margery's scheme wor-
ried me: could she really mean it? But I had found
a partial solution. I would ride around after supper
to the other farm, escort Gertrude back to the
hotel, and on the way secure my freedom.
Therefore I started back to the path, which was
not far away. My mind was unworried; I was
so certain that I should soon be free of Gertrude
that my spirits were almost joyful, so that I strode
along noisily. Thus it was that I approached the
path within a hundred feet before I heard any
sound from it. Then at a sudden loud cry-de-
manding? threatening ?-I stopped and listened.
I heard only a murmur, as of a quieter voice an-
swering. And through the thick leaves I could see
nothing.
There came a snarl of anger, so like a beast's
358


THE HIDING-PLACES
359
that even at that distance my hair rose up. The
snarl ended in a “There !” that sounded like a yell
of vengeance satisfied. A choked scream answered,
and a heavy fall. Then feet scurried in flight.
While, with my skin creeping, I still listened, I
heard a single sob. And then was perfect silence.
Though now I sprang to action, and as I ran
kept saying to myself, “Something has happened,"
my mind knew more than that. Otherwise I should
never have run so frantically, blocked by the bushes,
stumbling over roots, recoiling from trees, all in that
short distance. More than a mere something had
happened: my mind shuddered with the certainty
of murder. And when I came out on the path, by
the rock where Joe had sat with Bertie, I was not
surprised at what I saw.
Prostrate and motionless, there lay Cousin Lon.
His frowning eyes were staring upward, but there
was no light in them. His pale lips were firmly
set. One hand, red-fingered, was pressed above his
heart; blood, only a little, had trickled out. And
I knew as I prepared to try to revive him that the
attempt was hopeless.
Hopeless indeed. Though I knelt and listened,
there was no breath; and though I felt his wrist,
no pulse. The weapon that made that wound, so
accurately placed, must have struck deep enough
to reach the heart.
Where was the weapon? Even as I prepared to
rise and look for it I saw it lying at his feet? Four
inches of reddened blade!


360
THE HIDING-PLACES
It was not until, standing, I had wiped the weapon
with a bunch of grass that I suddenly knew it as
my own. The clasp-knife that I had lost, and that
Stidger, as I believed, had found! Was it this
that he had offered to draw on me that afternoon?
At any rate here was proof, supposing any to be
needed, of the murderer.
But I needed no proof. No one else would have
done the deed. No one else was so passionate that,
at some check to his dearest scheme, he was ready
to strike. Proof absolute!
I was so absorbed that I did not hear the ap-
proaching steps. Some one gasped: “Oh, Binney!”
There stood Joe. Pale, trembling visibly, his
mouth wide open for his hasty breathing, he was
staring at me in fright. I stepped aside for him
to see the body.
"See, he is dead already. With this he was
stabbed to the heart. You know this knife? It is
my own.”
"Yes,” answered Joe, shaking violently and
shrinking away. “Yes, I remember.”
“I lost it weeks ago. Stidger found it. This
murder is his work.”
Joe reeled and clutched a tree. "Stidger? Oh,
yes-oh, yes! I-I did not think.”
I thought he was going to faint, and sprang to
support him. “Let me sit down,” he begged, and
sat and wept. "Don't blame me, Binney," he
said when at last he let me raise him. “This shook
me terribly. And what now?"


362
THE HIDING-PLACES
carried, and never again do I wish to bear, such a
dragging load. My back, arms, and shoulders were
weakening.
“We are almost at the house,” suggested Joe,
at last. “Oughtn't I to go ahead and prepare Mar-
gery?”
But again it was too late. I had stepped into
the barnyard, and instantly heard Gertrude's shriek.
In immediate response, Margery came running from
the house. My crowning blunder!
Yet Margery stood still, without screaming or
fainting, while I brought her father to her. Pale
and intent, she saw at once that there was no hope
for him. “Inside, upon the sofa,” she directed.
And in the big kitchen, on the couch in the dark
corner, I laid my cousin's body.
Very sadly, forgetting the business of my quest,
I stood while Margery knelt at her father's side,
closed his eyes, smoothed his hair, and kissed his
pale lips. Joe was behind me somewhere; when
I glanced about for Gertrude I saw her by the
window, shrunk against the casing and watching
me in terror.
Margery rose and laid the hands together, crossed
upon the breast. She murmured quietly: “I must
wash the blood away." But next she turned to
me.
“Binney," she asked, “how did it happen?”
Her manner was very gentle. And she stood
quietly, waiting, as once before that day, for the
explanation which surely I could not deny her.


364
THE HIDING-PLACES
“You were coming this way alone?” he asked.
“Yes," answered Joe.
“Then where had he been?” And he pointed at
me.
“I do not know.”
“Yet he left the house soon after you, and a good
quarter-hour before Lon Hartwell. You found him
by the body?”
“Yes,” answered Joe.
“And-he," pointing to the couch, "was already
dead?”
“Yes.”
The sneer of triumph grew on Stidger's face.
“And-he," pointing at me, "was holding the
knife?"
“Yes."
"Perhaps wiping it?"
“He was wiping it."
Stidger laughed aloud. “They had a quarrel
this afternoon. This—this Hartwell attacked his
cousin violently. Now he has done it again.”
Again the short, harsh laugh as he pointed at me:
“Caught, you fool!”
I, too, was about to laugh, when I heard a gasp
behind me, so full of shocked conviction, so near
a sob of fright! And Gertrude, when I looked,
was sidling toward the door. Her shrinking, when
I moved toward her, amounted to a start away
from me. All her certainty of self, her jaunty self-
possession, gone, quite gone. “No, no !” she gasped.
“Keep away!”


THE HIDING-PLACES
367
He eyed me, as he obeyed, with much contempt.
Very scornfully he made himself comfortable,
crossing his legs beneath the table and squaring his
elbows on the chair-arms. “So you mean to prove
that I did it?"
“Yes," I answered.
“Pah!” he snapped. “First get around the fact
that I have been up-stairs ever since Lon Hartwell
left the house. That girl that ran away, she'll
witness it. Margery," and he turned sharply to
her, “she knows it.”
"It puzzles me,” said Margery slowly. “Yes,
I thought you were in the house."
"See," he said to me, “that's clear. Explain
away, next, your fight with Lon this afternoon.
Show, after that, why you didn't go straight home
from here when you left, a half-hour ago. And
then explain how it happens that you were found
wiping that knife.”
I looked at the knife as I held it in my hand.
“The case looks pretty good for you, doesn't it?”
I asked. To myself I admitted that it did. Many
such cases, not so good as this against me, had
hanged their men. But I was not troubled. The
knife would prove everything. I opened it and
stuck it into the table before him, so that it stood
upright and quivering like a live thing. “Look at
that," I said. "No, look at it !”
For he was not able. I saw him make the at-
tempt and fail. His wavering glance looked at
the table, at Margery, at Joe, defied me. But on
the knife he could not fix his eye.


368
THE HIDING-PLACES
“Where has it been this month and more?" I
demanded.
“Where?” The question relieved him. He
changed position and lolled back. "In your pocket,
of course."
"In yours !” I rejoined. “Weeks ago I accused
you of finding and keeping it.”
“Looking forward to this," he retorted. He
challenged: “Prove that I had it !"
“If I can prove it,” I answered, "I have you."
“But there's no proof,” he sneered. “And
what of the fact that I have been up-stairs all this
while?”
"I will believe that," I replied, "when I find
that there are no heel-marks on the shed-roof out-
side your window. Ah, you see a little light? From
every window in the back of the house I have climbed
to the ground by way of the roof when I was a boy;
yes, and climbed in again, too, as I now believe
somebody did in the rain last summer, when our
house was entered, and a search was made for the
copy of the old will. Are there fresh scratches on
those old shingles now? Have you nails in your
heels?”
In spite of himself he tucked his feet under him.
Then with a spiteful look he deliberately planted
them in front of him again. “That will prove
nothing,” he asserted.
I looked down at his shoes. “There's black
mud, not yet dried, on the edges of your soles and
heels. Perhaps there's some of it on the roof. I


THE HIDING-PLACES 369
fancy that Joe and I haven't quite tramped out all
the footprints on that muddy path. Perhaps your
shoes will fit those that remain.”
"You've been reading detective stories,” he
scoffed.
"Mr. Stidger," said I, "all these proofs of mine
are doubtful. But some thing, some little thing,
that I can't now foresee but that you can never
forestall, will come and lay bare everything to us.
Between you and me, I depend on the knife. Can
you look at it now any better than a few minutes
ago? Try it. No, try it !”.
Again his unwilling glance could not turn to it.
“See,” I said, "you know you're afraid of it.”
“Listen !” warned Joe.
Bertie was coming down the stairs. We heard
the careful placing of her feet on the steep flight.
For a moment all of us were startled, and no one
thought of turning her back. But Stidger, with
a glance at the couch, said: “Don't-don't let
her- !”
Quickly Joe, snatching up the afghan that lay
there, spread it over the body.
Bertie, hastening as she neared the bottom,
where the light was better, came into the room.
She had carefully brushed out the thick hair and
had made herself very neat; for in these things
she had been forced to do for herself, to satisfy
the native daintiness that was so noticeable in her.
But when she saw us watching her she stood still.
“Why do you look at me so ?”


THE HIDING-PLACES
371
Lates
les
Bima
2st To
knowledged in him a certain unsuspected great-
ness.
What plan of life did he recall then? As pas-
sively be accepted his defeat, what theory, greater
than any action of his life, dictated his course?
Anger he put by; hatred of the world had passed;
spite at me, who so many times had balked him,
did not stir in him. He merely saw the end, and
prepared to press on to it.
Rising, he plucked the knife from the table.
I did not understand. My first act was to make
sure that I was between him and Margery. Then
I was preparing to disarm him, when Joe said,
very quietly: “Let him go.”
Puzzled, because I had learned that Joe was
so much wiser than I, I hesitated.
Stidger paid us no attention at all. Wearily,
and not as if we were there, but as if he were alone
in the universe, he turned to the stairs. In this
there was nothing assumed; I felt that he had
forgotten us. And out of respect for a defeat which
I knew myself incapable of appreciating, I let him
zt. 22
go.
Step by step he mounted the hollow stairway.
His slow footfall creaked in the hallway above.
I heard his door shut. And still considerably
puzzled, I turned to Joe.
With an uplifted hand that warned me not to
call Margery's attention, Joe stood listening.
For what? Margery had gone to the couch in
the corner. Bertie, at the distant bars, was calling:


CHAPTER XXXIII
In the little graveyard of the Hartwells I dug
Cousin Lon's grave. The occupation, they say,
makes some morose and some ghastlily facetious;
true solemnity does not spring from it. As for me,
do what I would I could not fix my mind on the
lesson of the suddenness of death, though violence
had taken two almost from before my eyes. I
tried, quite honestly, to impress myself with the
need of living well in order to be prepared for death;
but always I soon found myself remembering and
planning.
Memory dwelt on Gertrude. In spite of my
denial she had believed me my cousin's slayer.
Though it was somewhat shameful to recall, I saw
with satisfaction the picture of her frightened
eyes, her gasping mouth, her hands shaking as
she held them before her to keep me away. In
Gertrude's mind at the moment there may have
been fear of scandal, care for her future, perhaps
even genuine horror of the murderer. Certainly
there was no trust in me.
Where had she fled to? For more than two
days I had had no sight or word of her.
But wherever she now was, whatever she might
once have thought of me, surely the understanding
373


374
THE HIDING-PLACES
between her and me, the bond she had put me
under, was broken. I was free to do as I wished,
if it was not too soon to wish it.
Wish and plan I must. Though this deep grave
was not yet ready for its occupant, I was busy dis-
posing of his daughter. Often though I reproached
myself, each time I was soon busy again, painting
Margery's picture as I liked to see her. Even the
memory of her fighting with her grief could not
stop my selfish planning. She was so capable, so
sweetly composed, so brave. And she, if once I
could win her, would never desert me.
As the four walls of the grave and the heaps of
earth rose above my head, they seemed to shut
me in with brighter and brighter thoughts. Then
I heard footsteps close at hand. It was Joe who
came to the foot of the grave and looked down at
me.
“Almost done?” he asked.
“Practically finished,” I answered. “Just these
corners to square out."
“I'll wait till you come up," he said. “I want
to speak with you."
When presently I climbed out he was sitting on
the wall of the little enclosure. I made my heaps
neat, laid over them the evergreen branches that
I had brought, and concealed my shovel under
these. Then Joe and I slowly walked homeward
together.
He told me that since early yesterday he had
been occupied with Stidger's affairs. The man


THE HIDING-PLACES
375
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had been buried in Athol. He had left no will,
and, except for a few sticks of furniture and the
little money in his pocket, no property. His money
had not even paid for the funeral.
“Well," I said, “it would have been hypocritical
of me to go to his funeral, I despised him so. But
I'll pay those expenses."
"They are paid,” said Joe. "I hated him less
than you. Sometimes I was even sorry for him.
So, if you please, I'll be his heir."
His spirit was finer than mine. And not to in-
sult the dead man by paying for his funeral in a
spirit of contempt, I yielded.
“I have advertised that bills against him are to
be sent to me,” said Joe. “I can't stand the idea
that some day Bertie might be reminded of them.
And now, what is to be done with her?”
“To-day, after the funeral," said I, “she and
Margery come to us, to stay as long as Margery
is willing."
If I could persuade Margery, I said to myself,
she would spend the rest of her life under my roof.
“You know,” hesitated Joe, “that Bertie is really
no relative of your cousin. Only a distant con-
nection by marriage.”
“Well?” I asked, as he fumbled for words.
“There is no reason,” he managed to say, “why
either of you should support her.”
I was about to turn upon him indignantly, when
the oddity of the thing came over me. That I
should take Stidger's daughter into my house was
Toe
Jones


376
THE HIDING-PLACES
a thing I never could have foreseen. “Funny,
isn't it?” I answered.
"So perhaps,” went on Joe, "you will be willing
to let me support her.”
I stopped short. “You ?” I demanded, com-
pletely surprised.
“You know," he explained, stopping also and
deeply flushing, “that we've lived together, Bertie
and I. And we're-fond of each other. So, rather
than have her a burden on any one, I should like
to bring her up."
Good, unselfish Joe! He stood there, embar-
rassed with the effort to explain himself, while I
looked him over carefully. The longer I looked
the redder he grew, until at last he added:
“Even if she lived here, I could pay her expenses.
And when she's a little older she could go to board-
ing-school.”
I looked further ahead. “And if," I asked,
“when her schooling is finished, you might some
day wish to say a word for yourself— ?"
He had thought of it, too, for he cried out in-
stantly: “No! I will never press any claim on her!”
I put my arm around his shoulder. “Dear boy,
I know you weren't thinking of yourself, But if
ever you should wish to, the obligation would be
a barrier to you, perhaps a burden to her. Let me
take care of the child."
So Bertie is now my ward. Joe has not made his
request of her, for she is still too young. But mother
and Margery agree that there is every reason to


THE HIDING-PLACES
377
hope. Meanwhile, it is a delight to watch the two
together.
That day of Cousin Lon's funeral was wonder-
fully perfect. It seemed to bring hope into the
midst of grief. The sun was not too bright, its
warmth was gentle, the breeze was mild. Scarcely
a dozen from the village came to the services, for
Cousin Lon had few friends, and our folk are too
self-respecting to conız from mere curiosity. When
all was over, Margery and Bertie went directly
home with mother, and Joe and I drove to fetch
their slender baggage. But after I had carried
the trunk and suitcase up-stairs and had un-
harnessed, the afternoon hung heavy on my hands,
for mother and Margery were unpacking, and Joe
and Bertie were reading in the orchard; and though
I felt a kind of half-Sunday peace, and so was un-
willing to work, I was also restless, plagued by my
wishes and hopes. I sat on the steps of the porch
and tried to content myself. But although I had
dug and filled a grave that day, so little was my
spirit humbled, and so strong was my youth in me,
that when at last Margery came out alone and stood
at my side my heart cried out: “Now !”
“No,” I corrected myself. “Not on the day of
her father's funeral.” But I could not help looking
at her to enjoy the sight.
Margery was very sober in her black, but her
mourning could not conceal the firm erectness of
her graceful figure, the poise of her head, the curling
hair at temples and at nape, and the sweet com-


380
THE HIDING-PLACES
each other. And we are engaged. You must write
and congratulate me at once, for I am very happy.
And John has convinced father that he has not been
doing business in quite the right way. It seems,
John tells me, that, without knowing it, father has
transgressed a very complicated federal statute,
and there is no decent treatment to be expected
in a federal court, and we are very much afraid
of what will happen. But men live down these
things; and there is no reason why, in a few years,
father shouldn't be doing as well as ever if he can
only get capital to start with.”
“Which means," I interpreted, “that in the
interim father is likely to be very much occupied
elsewhere, in a suit of clothes supplied by Uncle
Sam. Is that all?” For Margery was folding up
the letter.
"All except that I must write at once, and you
are to be sure to congratulate her, and she hopes
to see us again before very long."
The letter interested me exceedingly; I tried to
see behind it. If it didn't contain a whole novel,
it held at least a short story-in two parts. Part
One, giving Collester to understand that she was
ready at last. Part Two, Collester's plain talk
with father, giving him to understand that the
best policy was: “Don't shoot, I'll come down.”
I wished, oh, how I wished, that I had seen it all!
But more than that, it seemed to me that the
character analysis was here a special feature. Mr.
Worthen blustering, but beaten. Collester, with


PLACES
THE HIDING-PLACES
381
J' much I
ged. Yrt Worthen very firm, with Gertrude very gentle,
for I am re perhaps a little pitying, not thinking of himself
- that hati at all. Gertrude, deciding that it was time she was
ght mar settled in life, and oh, subtle, very subtle!
powing its
"Indeed?” asked Margery when I had said all
Eed federal
these things. “But you don't seem ” She could
ent to be
not quite explain.
I looked her carefully over. “You aren't dis-
in live de
appointed in me?” I asked. “Didn't expect me
to tear my hair, did you?”
“Why, no,” she said. She added slowly: "I did
as erat.
suppose” And there she stopped entirely.
"Margery," I said, “I won't pretend a lie. There
was a kind of an understanding between Gertrude
and me. I was on probation. But remember, the
applied to
magic words had not been said by either of us.
Either of us !” I emphasized.
All she said was “Oh!” But I had been watch-
ing closely. Now, there is a moment when with
and
any one, even with a girl on guard, the feeling of
the heart peeps out at the eyes before it can be
suppressed. And Margery's eyes danced. I saw
them. It was for but the merest fraction of a
second, but I saw them. No matter what day
it was, there was now no holding back.
Es plaisir “Do you suppose," I asked, "that I could ever
think again of a girl who deserted me as Gertrude
did?"
“Binney," returned Margery bravely, “remember
that at first I thought as she did.”
“But only for a moment !" I cried. "Not when
- 125 tez
part 2
that she
ome da
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Je
sturei


THE HIDING-PLACES
383
trude first came among us, to that awful recent
day. We discussed Collester. If he had known
of Gertrude what we did, would he have taken
her? But she was a habit with him. And to his
ideals, Quixotic though she might consider them,
even Gertrude must submit. As for her, Boston's
social citadel was now open-but would she find
it dull? And would she ever truly appreciate him?
But there were more important things to be
talked about. I laid down my plans. We two,
Margery and I, should live with mother. The
other farm must lie fallow for a while.
“Binney!” cried Margery, stopping, "is that
all? Can you think of nothing better to do with
the other farm? Can you plan nothing better
with this one than to work yourself to death over
it? Oh, my dear boy, you are as gaunt from your
labor as my own father. Let us change it all !"
I saw where she was tending, but I made her
explain.
“Put a tenant on the other farm," she said.
“Make him keep laborers. Work both farms with
him on shares. Take the risk of losing the last
box. Is it worth our lives? For that is what the
old buccaneer's legacy has required of the family
for so long. Oh, Binney, let us put an end to the
drudging loneliness that made slaves of all of us,
men and women, in both our households for the
last three generations. Binney, promise it !”
This was different from, and finer than, Ger-
trude's plea. There was no hollow ambition in it,


384
THE HIDING-PLACES
nor any calculation of reward, except the widening
of our humanity, the deepening of our lives.
We were well within the woods now; nobody
could see. My arm had ached to go about her
waist-nothing could stop it now. And as I drew
her to me she turned to me willingly, her arms
coming, so naturally, about my neck. Then and
there I made my promise and sealed it. And so
the bugaboo of our hidden treasure was chased
away. We had but one life to live, and would live
it as easefully as we could.
"But now," I demanded, "when is this new life
to begin? When will your trousseau be bought?"
"Bought?" asked Margery. “What with? Per-
haps we can sell some of father's hay. Or you can
get in his potatoes.”
“Wait for slow pay for a September harvest,"
I cried, "when there is money nearer, thousands?”
She clasped her hands. “The box?”
“Come and see,” I answered, and began to lead
her toward the spring. As we went we spoke of
the plans which her father and I had made for a
reconciliation. “And the box is there!” she said
when I stood her on the margin of the basin and
pointed into the water. “Down in the sand!
Who would ever have thought of such a hiding-
place?"
“What place could be better?” I asked. "No
one ever digs here. The spring never has to be
cleaned, for the overflow carries away the leaves
and twigs that fall into it. And now, are you will-