BRON RE 23 SC PASSA30 SNER CE BLEU 32 John Burt Frederick Upham Adams, Drexel Biddle (Firm), Drexel Biddle Press 'w „ ,ne People of the United State ^ Through the Victory Book Campaign WA. L A. — A. R. C. — U, S. G.) •OTpe Arm< d Forces a::;! Merchant Mari . /- . v - ..{ J ) , 4 "THAT'S A PORTRAIT OF MISS CARDEN— MISS JESSIE CARDEN, OF BOSTON," SAID BLAKE. (Page 214) JOHN BURT B Y Frederick Upham Adams AUTHOR OF "The Kidnapped Millionaires" "Colonel Monroe's Doctrine" P HILADELPHIA DREXEL BIDDLE, PUBLISHER 1903 CtLLlSE COPYRIGHT. 1902 •By FREDERICK UPHAM ADAMS COPYRIGHT. 1903 By A. J. DREXEL BIDDLE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Printed by The Vrexel Kiddle Press Dedicated to m milt. ! C 0 N T E N T S CHAPTER PAGE I. The Prophet's Prayer,. . 9 II. Jessie Carden, . 14 III. John Burt's Boyhood, . . 26 IV. James Blake, . 35 V. The Runaway, . 41 VI. Summer Days, , 50 VII. Arthur Morris, . . 64 VIII. Jealousy, .... . 73 IX. The Tragedy, . . 83 X. The Parting, . 93 XI. Exiled, . 103 XII. Samuel Lemuel Rounds, . 115 XIII. Sam's New York Triumphs, . 134 XIV. Lost in the Snow, . 144 XV. The Sailor Mine,. . 156 XVI. The Quest for Gold, . . 167 XVII. The Capitalist, . . . . 175 XVIII. Success and Failure, . 186 XIX. A Brilliant Campaign, . . 197 XX. In Strict Confidence, . . 206 XXI. Bad News . 221 XXII. A Foreign Mission, . 238 XXIII. Diplomacy, .... . 249 XXIV. Two Strange Interviews, . 267 XXV. General Carden is Puzzled,. . 275 XXVI. Breaking Old Ties, . . 288 V CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XXVII. Unreasoning Passion, . 305 XXVIII. Measuring Lances, . 316 XXIX. Alderman Rounds, . 321 XXX. 334 XXXI. The Mantle of Charity,. . 347 XXXII. Hawkins Makes a Discovery, . 360 XXXIII. Sam Rounds Repents, . . 375 XXXIV. The Love of a Man for a Woman, 387 XXXV. Edith's Confession, . 400 XXXVI. Tale of the Ticker, . 405 XXXVII. Father and Son, . 420 XXXVIII. Blake's Sacrifice, . . 426 XXXIX. Through the Heart, . 441 XL. Shadow of Death, . . 449 XLI. A Mendacious God, . 454 XLH. . 463 VT ILLUSTRATIONS "That's a portrait of Miss Carden—Miss Jessie Carden of Boston," said Blake Frontispiece The next instant a bearded face appeared from the folds of a heavy overcoat . Facing page 149 With old school dignity General Carden presented James Blake - Facing page 291 Like a column pushed from its base he fell Facing page 448 VII John Burt CHAPTER ONE THE PROPHET'S PRAYER KNEEL, John. Take off your hat, lad. Let us pray!" An old man and a boy clung like wreck- age to a rock which marked the outer edge of Black Reef. The flickering light of a lantern accentuated the gloom of the night; a night famous in the annals of New England for the storm which tore the coast from Quoddy Head to Siasconset. Darkness fell at three o'clock that murky November day, and the half gale from the south waned, only to gain strength for the blast which, at turn of the tide, roared in from the northeast. Black Reef is a jagged spur of the rock-walled coast which holds the Atlantic at bay in the crescent sweep of beach and cliff from Nantasket to Co- hasset. Forty years ago the scattered houses of a few farmers nestled among the hills well back from the beach. The lantern's light revealed two figures worthy the pencil of a Hogarth. Bared to the gale, the old man's scant white locks streamed back from a forehead massive and unfurrowed. Wonderful eyes of steel gray glowed with fires of fanaticism be- neath dark, shadowing eyebrows scarcely touched with the rime of years. The thin lips parted in a line which suggested implacable tenacity of pur- 9 JOHN BURT pose, not halting at cruelty nor stopping at cunning. Above the mouth, the head was that of a Greek god; below it showed the civilized savage—selfish, relentless—the incarnation of cour- age, strength, and determination. The man's frame was so broad that the legs seemed stumpy, yet Peter Burt stood six feet four at three score years and ten. His companion on this night mission to hurri- cane-swept Black Reef was a boy of eight. When he removed his cap at the old man's command, it released dark curls clustering over a high and well- formed brow. No fear of the storm or of the strange old man showed in the dark gray eyes of the youth. He was garbed in a tightly buttoned jacket and a pair of homespun trousers, securely tucked into copper-toed boots. The ends of a blue yarn "comforter" fluttered in the gale. As the old man spoke, a wave dashed its icy spray across the rock. "It's awful wet, granddad. Can't I stand up and pray?" "Kneel, my boy, kneel," replied the old man in a deep but not unkind voice. "The Lord will not harm His servants whether they approach Him in storm or in calm." Clinging to the projecting edge of the rock, young John Burt knelt at the edge of a pool left by the wave. Above the roar of the surf there came to his ears the notes of a distant village clock toll- 10 THE PROPHET'S PRAYER ing the hour of ten. To the east, Minot's Light glowed intermittently through the mist. Against the black of sea and sky it burned a halo for an in- stant, vanishing to make gloom all encompassing. Twenty feet below, the surges of the Atlantic, impelled by the rising gale and tide, dashed against the rock with a fury unabated in a conflict which had endured for centuries. A stone's throw away a reef of low rock withstood the first impact of the waves. Through the darkness it showed a ridge of foam. The spindrift hurled landward by the wind was salt to the lips, and stinging as the lash of hail. Falling on his knees, the old man faced the sea, raised his arms to heaven, and prayed to the God who rides on the wings of the storm. The spray stung his face, but he heeded it not. A giant surge swept the lantern away, and its faint light went out as it clattered along the rocks. The old man prayed fervently that his sins might be forgiven. There was one sin which weighed heavily upon him, though he named it not in his petition. The year was 1860, and on that November day the news had come to Rocky Woods of Abraham Lincoln's election to the presidency. Peter Burt belonged to no religious denomina- tion. He interpreted the Scriptures according to the "light which was within him." He believed he had received a revelation from God, and that he was gifted with the spirit of prophecy. He made no effort to win converts to his faith. On the con- 11 JOHN BURT trary, he cherished it close as a personal heritage. Sure of secret communion and partnership with God, he was jealous of his intimacy with the Al- mighty. On still, clear nights, from a lonely hill which served as an altar, the giant patriarch lifted up his voice as one praying in the wilderness. Dur- ing the closing weeks of the Presidential campaign his addresses to the Almighty were logical declara- tions and arguments, presented as if to a reasonable but influential opponent. And now that Lincoln was elected, Peter Burt knelt before his God, humble and submissive as a sinner, but esteeming himself worthy to be treated as an equal in matters of State or nation. In the tempest which lowered when the election was in doubt, and broke in fury when the triumph of Lincoln was certain, Peter Burt saw an augury of the storm which was soon to sweep the country. An ardent Abolitionist, and a rabid advocate of Unionism, he lifted his voice that November night in a frenzy of eloquence which thrilled the child at his side and left an impress years did not efface. Amid the crash of waters, with no gleam of light save the pulsing glare of Minot, his gray hair streaming in the wind, his dripping arms stretched over the foam, Peter Burt prophesied the four years of desolating war then impending. He invoked the curse of God on the enemies of his country, returned thanks for the coming emancipation of the slaves, and exulted in the glorious victory to be 12 THE PROPHET'S PRAYER achieved by the Union arms. He ended with a tender plea for the grandson kneeling beside him— "who is the heir," the old man declared, "not of my worldly possessions, which are nothing in Thine eyes, but of those gifts and that power of divina- tion with which Thou hast graciously vouchsafed me. John Burt shall be the chosen one of the house of Burt. Withhold not, O Lord, Thy bless- ing from him! Amen." The old man arose and shook the water from his hair. The boy clutched at him for support against the gale, now blowing with cyclonic force. The prophet was gone, the New England farmer stood in his place. The resonant voice which challenged wind and wave sounded harsh as he exclaimed: "Where's the lantern, John? See if you can find it. We'll break our necks trying to get back without it." John found the lantern, and after many at- tempts and muttered complaints the old man lighted it. Laboriously they picked their way along the slippery rocks until they came to a protected side of the ledge, where the water swung in an eddy but faintly disturbed by the thundering surf. Hold- ing the lantern high over his head, the old man walked cautiously along until he reached the weed- strewn and surf-lashed beach. He looked into the face of the boy who trudged beside him. "You are a brave lad, John; a brave, good lad. It is beginning to rain. We must hasten home." 13 CHAPTER TWO JESSIE CARDEN "T DON'T care to pick flowers! I want to stay X right where I am. I hate those old yellow flowers; and besides, they're scratchy. Let me stay and watch for one of those thingumbobs in the water. Please, Govie!" Jessie Carden clung firmly to an iron rod of the old bridge, and spoke with the pleading defiance of a spoiled child of twelve. The gover- ness smiled sadly down upon the pouting lips and rebellious eyes. There was tender reproach in her look. The clasp of the little hand on the iron rod relaxed, and a smile chased the pout from the pretty lips. "I'm awful sorry; I didn't mean anything!" she exclaimed as she threw her arms around her companion. "You know I'm sorry, don't you, Govie? But please let me stay here while you pick flowers. I'll be awful careful." "Certainly, my dear," replied Miss Maiden as she smoothed her dark curls, tossed in charming confusion by an ocean breeze which tempered the heat of the August afternoon. "Don't lean out over the bridge, sweetheart, and keep away from the creek. I shall not be gone long, and I'll bring back a nice bouquet of flowers and grasses for the dinner table. You will be very careful, won't you, Jessie?" JESSIE CARDEN "Just awful careful, Govie. There's one of those spidery things now!" Miss Maiden left Jessie in rapt contemplation of a hard-shelled crab which had ventured so near the bank of the creek as to render himself visible to the keen eyes of that very young lady. The governess took one anxious look as she entered the wood; saw Jessie toss a pebble in the direc- tion of the crab, and heard her shout for joy as the crustacean moved clumsily sideways into deeper water. Save for the fitful breeze which nodded the marsh grasses and fluttered the leaves of the chest- nut trees, nature seemed asleep in the heat of the long summer afternoon. A few rods away the beach lay like a bar of tarnished brass, lapped by the languid surf of an outgoing tide. The sandy road stretched to the east until lost in a curve around a ridge of shrub-crowned rocks. Its ruts were softened in the quivering waves of heat which played above it. The monotonous tinkle of a cow- bell, the occasional croak of an invisible frog, the drone of insects, and the murmur of the waves as they caressed the rocks and sands were the only sounds. The deep blue of the ocean faded at the horizon into the turquoise dome of a cloudless sky. It was midsummer in New England. The dark waters of the creek mirrored a fair face, doubly youthful in its innocent beauty. The dark brown hair, the soft brown eyes, and the JOHN BURT parted lips gave promise of coming charms. The delicately molded nose was perfect, and when Jessie Carden smiled there were baby dimples in the sun- tanned cheeks. The girlish figure was graceful in the broken curves of spring; the limned outlines of a masterpiece, upon which the artist, Time, had just begun his work of love. Jessie was spending her first summer in the country. For three weeks she had been living in the Bishop farm-house. So many things had hap- pened that the memory of the Carden mansion in Boston had become a dream. The Bishops were distant relatives of General Marshall Carden, the banker; and to them had been consigned the wel- fare of his daughter, in special charge of a trusted governess. Jessie peered over the rail and watched the waters in vain for another of the "thingumbobs." She ran back and forth and threw sticks and stones into the creek in a vain attempt to lure its denizens to the surface. Then she spied a hoop-pole which had fallen from a passing wagon. This slender rod easily reached the water, and Jessie threshed the surface with all possible vigor. A projecting branch from the pole caught her cap, and it fell into the creek, where the tide swept it under the bridge. With a cry of dismay, Jessie turned and dashed across, almost falling beneath the feet of a horse. "Whoa, Jim!" 16 JESSIE CARDEN Checked in a slow trot by a pair of taut lines, an old farm horse stopped so suddenly as to rattle the contents of the wagon. The driver, a boy of seventeen, dropped the lines and leaped lightly to the bridge. "Did he hit you, little girl?" Jessie Carden stumbled and fell just beyond the horse's hoofs. Before the boy could reach her, she was on her feet and peering over the bridge. "There it is! There it is!" she exclaimed, dancing in excitement and dismay. "Oh, what will Govie say? Boy, get me my cap!" The youth, startled at the imperious summons, followed her gaze and caught a glimpse of the cap as it was carried along by the tide. Looking up the road, he placed his fingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly. A large Newfoundland dog came towards him, leaping in huge bounds. "Hey, Prince, go get it!" He pointed to the cap, now whirling in an eddy. The dog braced himself with his front legs, and hesitated for a moment, whining, not in fear but in excitement. Next moment the water splashed in Jessie's face as Prince struck the sur- face. With lusty strokes he swam in the direction of the cap. His master vaulted the fence and fol- lowed along the creek. Prince soon reached the cap, and, holding it well above the water, turned for the bank. The sides were steep and slippery, but the boy took firm 17 JOHN BURT hold of the dog's collar, and after a struggle hauled him to solid ground. Prince dropped the cap, fill- ing the air with spray as he shook himself, wagged his tail, and lolled his tongue in canine self-satisfac- tion. A moment later the arm of a sailor blouse was round the shaggy, wet neck, a tanned hand caressed the heaving sides, and a sweet voice cooed: "You are the best and dearest and bravest old doggie in the world, and I love you!" "Here is your cap," said the boy, as he held a much bedraggled piece of millinery gingerly at arm's length. "Thank you boy !" said Jessie, smiling through tears which were welling in her eyes. With a little sigh of relief, she noted that the governess was not in sight. Jessie patted the dog on the head, and with a roguish glance addressed her unknown com- panion. "It was the dog that did it, not you," she said with a laugh which showed that all her sorrows were chased away. "What's his name?" "Prince." "What is your own name?" asked Jessie, with the direct frankness of twelve years. "My name is Burt—John Burt." "Bert is a first name," said Jessie, looking the boy in the eyes with an expression half of doubt and half of surprise. "I have a cousin named Bert —Bert Hancock." it JESSIE CARDEN "Mine's spelled B-u-r-t." "My name is Jessie Carden," said the young lady as she crawled through the fence unassisted by her new acquaintance. The courtesy expected by a miss of twelve is the same as that extended by a lad of seventeen, so neither suffered in the other's estimation. "What were you trying to do with that pole?" asked John as they reached the bridge. "I was trying to stir up those spidery things down there in the water," replied Jessie, again grasping the pole, which had remained erect, fast in the sticky bottom of the creek. "Spidery things?" laughed the boy. "Do you mean crabs? Do they go like this?" John placed his hands together and wriggled his fingers in accurate imitation of an active crab. "Yes, that's the way they go!" declared Jessie. "Oh, how I wish I could catch one!" "That's easy," said John Burt as he climbed into the wagon. "Wait until I hitch this horse, and I'll show you how. Want some anyhow; you can watch me." John Burt speedily returned with some scraps of meat and a mysterious implement which con- sisted of a pole with a stout dip net at the end of it. Jessie regarded the preparations with keen interest. Prince found a shady place beneath an oak girder, and went sound asleep. The boy took a piece of string from his pocket and securely fast- >9 JOHN BURT ened a piece of tough raw beef to it; then he low- ered the meat into the water. In his left hand he held the pole, with the meshes of the dip net but a few inches above the surface. Jessie watched with bated breath and wide opened eyes. "Can I talk?" she whispered. "Sure," responded John. "Nothing scares a crab much. I've got a bite! Stand back!" Jessie had crowded so close to the fisherman that he had no room to manipulate the net. She jumped to one side, but did not take her eyes off the water. Slowly and carefully John raised the string. At last the meat showed red in the murky water of the creek. As it came to the surface John thrust the net below. Out of the swirl of water it emerged, laden with the meat and a struggling, writhing crab. "Got him!" said John, as he lifted the drip- ping collection over the side of the bridge. Jessie screamed with delight. Prince awoke, trotted across the bridge, and surveyed the crab with much dignity; then returned with a look of disgust that so ordinary an event had created so great a furor. "Isn't he ugly! Look at his legs! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven —no, ten—I counted one of them twice. Does he bite?" Jessie hovered over the net and stretched her fingers towards the floundering crab. The little beady eyes glittered, the claws clashed helplessly. JESSIE CARDEN "You bet he can bite! You get near enough and he'll nip you good and hard," said John as he unsnarled the crab from the twine and meat. "Run over to the wagon and get the basket. I forgot it." Delighted to be of assistance in so famous an undertaking, Jessie ran swiftly to the wagon, and returned with a large wicker basket. John had al- ready dropped the bait in the water, and the crab was crawling around the bridge. Reaching down, he deftly grabbed the crab and dropped him into the basket. For an instant Jessie was speechless with wonder and admiration at such bravery. "He didn't bite you?" "Of course not. I didn't let him. You must grab them back of the neck. Here, look out! I've got another!" There was a swish of water and a second crab ended his aqueous career, joining his companion in the basket. "They're crawling out!" exclaimed Jessie. "One of 'em's on the edge! Stop him, quick!" John shook the basket and the crab fell to the bottom. "I'll tell you what to do," directed John. "Go and get a stick, and when they try to crawl up, poke 'em back!" Jessie found a short stick, and for ten minutes "poked 'em back." The colony steadily increased, 21 JOHN BURT and the joy of keeping them in the basket began to pall. Jessie looked wistfully at her companion. "Boy, let me catch and you poke," she ven- tured in a plaintive note. "I never caught a crab. Won't you please—John Burt?" "Why, certainly!" said John. "I'll show you how." Jessie left the squirming mass of crabs and sprang to John's side. Her face was aglow with the thrill of a new experience. Her hand trembled as she grasped the wet, slippery pole, but determi- nation showed in every feature. • "Reach down as far as you can," John directed. "That's right. Now hold the pole in your other hand like that. You're doing fine. When you feel something pull or jerk, pull up—slowly, though, or you'll scare him. Do you feel anything?" "The line kind of twitches," whispered Jessie. "Raise it up slow. Be careful. There's one on, sure! Now jam the net under him!" Jessie made a swing with the net, but dipped too low. A huge crab dropped from the meat, struck the edge of the net, and floundered back into the water. "I lost him! What a shame! Wasn't he big?" "Go on; try again," said John good naturedly. Jessie lowered the meat and waited patiently for a minute. Then she slowly raised the line. With much care she dropped the net below the meat and raised it from the water. 32 JESSIE CARDEN "I've got one! I've got one! Take it quick, or he'll get away! There's two of 'em—two of em 1 Jessie clapped her hands and danced with delight. John grinned in sympathy as he shook two crabs from the net. Prince growled. John looked up the road. "There's some one coming," he said. Jessie turned and saw Miss Maiden approach- ing. In an instant the many transgressions of which she was guilty passed through her mind. She looked at her muddy feet, her bedraggled hat, and her splattered blouse and skirt. "I'll get an awful scolding," she said, half to herself and half to the boy. Then for the first time she scrutinized John Burt. She noted that he was well dressed; that he was not barefooted, like most farmer boys; and that he was handsome and self-possessed. "Do you belong to the riffraff?" asked Jessie, lowering her voice so that the approaching gover- ness should not hear her. "The what?" asked John Burt. "The riffraff," repeated Jessie. "Never heard of it," replied John Burt with a puzzled smile. "What is it?" "I don't know," said Jessie; "but my papa don't allow me to associate with the riffraff, and I forgot until just now to ask you if you are a riff- raff." >1 JOHN BURT A look of pain came to the honest face of the boy. Before he could speak Jessie turned to meet Miss Maiden. "Why, Jessie Carden, what have you been doing?" With a cry of dismay the governess dropped an armful of flowers and surveyed the wreck of the sailor suit. "Look at your shoes, Jessie, and your new cap, and your lovely dress! What will your auntie say? Oh, Jessie, how could you do such a thing?" Jessie looked penitent indeed as she gazed at the muddy shoes and the torn stocking; but con- trition is a feeble flame in the heart of a child. "Never mind the old clothes, Govie,"she said, raising a face radiant in smiles at the thought of the fun she had enjoyed. "Watch me catch a crab! I can do it just splendid!" "Jessie, lay that pole down and come away with me," said Miss Maiden sternly. "How dare you play with a strange boy! What would your father say? Come with me at once!" "He isn't riffraff, Govie!" said Jessie, with a look at the boy which gladdened his heart and took away the sting of her innocent words. "He is John Burt, and he and Prince saved my cap when it fell into the water. I asked him how to catch crabs and he showed me, and I caught two at once, didn't I, John Burt?" Thus appealed to, John Burt bowed to Miss Maiden and answered in the affirmative. Miss »4 JESSIE CARDEN Maiden looked at him with all the severity of her gentle nature, though she knew that he was not to blame for the condition of her charge. She gath- ered up the flowers and took Jessie by the hand. "Good-bye, Prince! Good-bye, John Burt!" Jessie waved her hand gaily at her fishing compan- ion as Miss Maiden turned into the path leading through the woods. "He was real nice, and you're awful good, Govie, not to scold him!" were the words that reached John Burt as he carried his basket of crabs to the wagon. CHAPTER THREE JOHN BURT'S BOYHOOD FOR two hundred years the Burt house had with- stood the blasts of winter and the withering heat of summer. Time had worked upon the rough exterior until it seemed like a huge rect- angular rock, weather worn and storm beaten. The small plateau on which it stood sloped northward to the sea. Rugged rocks to the west stood as a wall, frowning at the quiet beauties of salt marsh and cedar swamp below. To the south were patches of meadow wrested from wood and rock by generations of toil. Through this fairer section a brook wandered between banks festooned with watercress. Old settlers knew the locality by the name of Rocky Woods. The convulsion of nature which raised this rugged coast as an eternal challenge to the Atlantic, exhausted its strength in the upheaval of a crag which reached its height a few hundred yards south- west of the old farmhouse. Black at the base with the gloom of fir and pine, its summit was bare in primeval rocks. For generations the dismal crest was called Burt's Hill, and in the time of this narrative, Burt's Pulpit. At the base of its slope, and bordering the road, a square of perhaps a hundred feet had been hewn from the forest. Within this stone-walled area, blackened slabs of slate stood as sentinels above the ashes of eight generations of the house 26 JOHN BURT'S BOYHOOD . of Burt. Some slabs had fallen, others leaned— weary of their sad task in the long flight of years. Here and there, over newly-made mounds, the white of a marble or the mottled blue of a granite seemed garish in comparison with flaked and crumbled slates, the crude letters on which were lost or blurred—pitifully eloquent in their voiceless testi- mony of the mutability of the works of man. The inclosing woods, as if anxious to efface the last memento which linked the past to the present, steadily encroached on the sleeping place of these pioneers. The overhanging boughs and the creep- ing vines seemed a repressed vegetal flood, eager to overleap the barrier which for two centuries had held it from its ancient own. When Hezekiah Burt died, Peter Burt inher- ited the hold homestead in Rocky Woods. He was a young giant with the shoulders of a Hercules. His feats of strength are legends which yet pass from father to son in this part of New England. At the age of thirty he took to wife the fairest maiden of the surrounding country, and to them a son was born and christened Robert Burns Burt. A year later the mother sickened and died. The grief of Peter Burt was terrible as his strength. For a year he remained a prisoner in his house; then returned to work, and for two years labored with the energy of a demon. His second marriage followed. He led to the altar the daughter of a poor farmer, and of this prosaic union seven children were born. »7 JOHN BURT'S BOYHOOD Those were sweet but rare events in the old farm- house beneath the shadow of Burt's Hill. For ten years after the death of his wife, Peter Burt conducted the farm of his forefathers. One after another of his sons and daughters, as they be- came of age, left the old home, never to return. One night after supper Peter Burt informed the remaining children that he was going to sea. He had bought an interest in a whaling vessel, and would sail from New Bedford in a week. To Sarah —the eldest of the children—he gave three hundred dollars, together with instructions concerning the management of the farm. He did not know how long he would be gone—it might be a year or it might be five. With some tenderness he kissed the weeping orphans, and tramped down the road in the direction of Hingham, Peter Burt was fifty-six years old when he sailed from New Bedford harbor as captain of the whaling ship Segregansett. Robert alone, of all his children, stood on the pier when the ship weighed anchor and stood out to sea. With tears coursing down his cheeks, the father bade the young man good-bye and gave him his blessing. Five years later the Segregansett dropped anchor at New Bedford. None of the crew that went out with her returned. Peter Burt sold the cargo, paid off his men, disposed of his interest in the ship, and on the following day walked into the Burt farmhouse. He was greeted affectionately by 29 JOHN BURT his son Joseph, who for a year had lived alone in the old house. A week later the boy was sent to school in Boston, and Peter Burt began his solitary occupancy of the ancestral home. Shortly before Peter Burt's return, Robert had married, and the old man was delighted when the young couple made a visit to the old farm. The following year John Burt was born, and Peter Burt journeyed to Boston to witness the christening. Two years later Robert Burns Burt and his wife were instantly killed in a railroad accident. The train crashed through a bridge. It was winter, and bitterly cold. Of the fifteen passengers in the car occupied by Robert Burt, but one escaped. A child, two years old, was found warmly wrapped in its traveling blanket, uninjured, on a cake of ice, a few minutes after the car plunged beneath the water. It was John Burt. In the opinion of his neighbors, Peter Burt was crazy from the hour the news came to him. Strange stories were whispered concerning Captain Burt, as he was then called. Belated travelers along the lonely road saw lights burning through all hours of the night. They heard the old man talking or praying in a loud voice. On two occasions Dr. Randall, returning from nocturnal calls, drove past the Burt house long after midnight. Once he saw Captain Burt walk- ing slowly up and down in front of his house. The night was intensely cold, but the old man was bare- 3° JOHN BURT'S BOYHOOD headed, his hair shining like snow in the moonlight. His hands were raised. He was beseeching pardon for some great sin. Dr. Randall spoke to him, but in a voice of thunder Captain Burt ordered him to drive on. On the second occasion, the doctor heard the voice of the recluse from the top of the great rock, and through the trees caught a glimpse of his giant figure dim against a starlit sky. A sailor who came from New Bedford to Hing- ham told grim stories of Captain Burt. From the tales of this drunken mariner, the impression grew that Captain Burt was the most merciless man that ever trod a deck. The stranger insinuated that there was one story of crime which would astound all hearers; but though garrulous when in his cups, he seemed held in a spell of fear, and could not be induced to reveal it. Upon the death of Robert, Peter Burt went to Boston and buried his dead. With tearless eyes he saw the pride of his old age lowered into the grave. Robert Burns Burt was a careful lawyer, and his will covered every contingency. It appointed his father executor of his small estate, and intrusted him with the care of his son. Peter Burt placed the boy in the keeping of a competent nurse, and returned to his farm. Save for the occasional smoke from the chim- ney, there was no sign that Peter Burt existed throughout the three months that followed. His son Joseph called at the house, but was not admitted. JOHN BURT At the end of this period the old man emerged and was seen in Hingham. For the first time in years he spoke to his neighbors, who noticed that his hair was as driven snow, and that his face shone with a strange light. In the calm manner of one controlled by an unalterable conviction, he stated that he had made his peace with God, and was in- spired by Him. He had received the gift of pro- phecy and of understanding. His language was figurative, and he talked in parables; but his predictions were plainly stated, and, to the wonderment of those who heard them, they were invariably accurate. He foretold the weather for coming seasons, the condition of the crops, the death of famous characters, the result of elections, and described in advance the successive political moves which were then leading up to the conflict between North and South. When John Burt was seven years old, his grandfather brought him to the old farmhouse. With the boy came his nurse and her husband, William Jasper, the latter charged with the duties of hired man. Thus John Burt began his life on the farm. Those old folks who remembered Peter Burt in his childhood saw in John his living image; the boy's features being softened, though not weak- ened, by the gentle beauty of his mother and paternal grandmother. The child had no fear of the old man, who for a generation had inspired J* JOHN BURT'S BOYHOOD terror or awe in all about him. Far from feeling aversion, he was fond of the aged recluse and fanatic. It was strange and almost uncanny to witness this ill-assorted companionship. The neighbors learned, however, from William Jasper that Peter Burt became perfectly rational in his talk with the child. He permitted and encouraged John to become acquainted with the few boys of his age in the neighborhood, though he sternly denied them entrance to his house. With infinite patience Peter Burt explained to the boy such natural phenomena as his young mind was able to comprehend. The sprouting of grain; the slow unfolding of a plant; the growth and bursting of a bud; the creeping of a vine; the flow- ing of a brook; the falling of the rain ; the changing of the seasons—these and hundreds of other things which puzzle a boy were made clear by Peter Burt. John learned the names of grasses, of flowers, shrubs, trees, vines, and weeds; of birds, insects, and the inhabitants of wood and field. On his eighth birthday he began the study of the alphabet. At that time he knew more of the physical world in which he lived than do many professors of learn- ing. When John had mastered his letters and primer he was sent to school in Hingham, taking the regular course for five years. Then a private tutor came from Boston. Five days in the week JOHN BURT the boy studied under this young man's direction, and made rapid progress. With his stern old face lighted with joy and pride, Peter Burt would listen to the recitations. c R H F O U A P T E R J A M E S B L A K E JOHN BURT was fourteen years old when he first met James Blake. The elder Blake had purchased the old Leonard farm, and so had become the nearest neighbor of Peter Burt. There were several children in the Blake family, but this narrative has concern only with James, the eldest, a boy of John Burt's age. The two farms were separated by a creek, which, at a place called the Willows, widened to a pool, famed as a fishing and swimming place. One June morning John was seated on a log spanning the narrow neck of this reach of water. He had landed a bass, when the cracking of twigs and the swaying of the underbrush on the farther side of the creek attracted his attention. A moment later a boy emerged from the thicket. He surveyed John with an expression more of contempt than of surprise. The new comer was a tall, well-formed lad, straight as an arrow, quick and graceful in his movements. He also carried a rod, which he rested against the log; and for a few seconds he calmly gazed at John Burt. "Hello!" "Hello!" answered John Burt. "Fishin'?" "No; swimming," replied John. "Think you're smart, don't ye?" responded 35 JOHN BURT the strange boy as he baited his hook. "Crazy Burt's boy, ain't ye? No objection to my fishin', have you?" There was a taunting sarcasm in his voice, and defiance in his air. Without waiting for reply he cast his line into the water. "You can fish as long as you please on your own side of the creek," said John sullenly. As he spoke a two-pound bass struck viciously, and for the next two minutes he was busy. With per- fect skill he wore the fish down and landed him. Jim Blake watched him, but for half an hour no word was spoken. John caught four bass during that time, while Jim hooked only eel grass. Then he cast hte line across the pool, dropping it a few feet from John's line. John Burt's face flushed angrily. "Keep on your own side!" he commanded. "I'll fish where I darn please! This isn't your creek! " retorted Jim Blake with a defiant grin. "If it is, what are ye going to do about it?" As he spoke John brought his hook near the surface, and by a sudden twist "snagged" Jim Blake's line. With a jerk he whipped the rod from his opponent's hand. Young Blake was furious. John calmly towed the rod across the pool, un- snarled the lines, and threw the rod on the bank. Obeying a boy's first instinct, Jim looked for a stone, but found none. Then he jumped for the log. Dropping his rod, John Burt also sprang for- 36 JAMES BLAKE ward, and they met in the centre of the bridge. Jim aimed a blow at John's head, which was parried. John swung to the chin, and the next instant Jim clenched and both fell eight feet into the water. The pool was deep, and it seemed to Jim as if they never would come to the surface. When he did, and had gasped for breath, a pair of strong hands gripped his neck and he went down again. The water sang in his ears, the world grew black, and a roar as of a hundred cataracts thundered around him. Then it suddenly became light. The cool and splendid air filled his nostrils, and a voice sounded in his ears: "Say ' enough,' or down you go again!" "E-nough! E-e-e-nough! I'll quit" spluttered Jim Blake, throwing his arms about wildly. With one hand firmly gripping Jim Blake's col- lar John Burt swam ashore with the other. It was ten minutes before Blake recovered his breath. With it he regained his courage. John had re- sumed fishing. "You had the best of me in the water, and I cried quits," he said, springing to his feet, "but I can lick you on land. Come on; I dare you! Take a dare—steal a sheep! There's a chip—knock it off!" Jim Blake placed a twig on his shoulder and threw himself on guard. "No, I won't fight you to-day," said John Burt calmly. "You're in no shape to fight. Your name's 37 JOHN BURT Blake, isn't it? Well, I'll fight you on either side of the creek to-morrow." "I'll be here at nine to-morrow!" "All right; we'll have it out;" and John went on fishing. Jim gathered up his rod, recrossed the log, and disappeared in the brush. John Burt was not quite as heavy as Jim Blake, and was six months younger. He had not been in Hingham school a week when he was the acknowl- edged commander-in-chief of the two score or more boys of about his own age. The result was attained by physical force, and by the natural law decreeing that some shall lead and others follow. Peter Burt had no religious scruples against fighting, and quoted the Bible to uphold his views. He taught John many tricks of boxing and wrestling, and was proud of the boy's strength and skill. The two boys met the following morning, and wasted little time in preliminaries. "Are you ready?" asked Jim. "Yes." And the next moment they went at it. Jim fought with fury and much skill, but was no match for the clear headed, alert, and wiry lad who confronted him. It was a "stand up" battle, no blows being struck when either was down. Had a referee been present he would have stopped the fight at the end of the first minute and awarded it to John. As it was, fifteen minutes elapsed be- 38 JAMES BLAKE fore Jim Blake went down and out from a cleanly delivered blow on the point of the chin. One eye was closed, his nose was bleeding, and his breath completely exhausted. Together they staggered down the bank to the creek, washed the blood from their faces, and bathed their swelling bruises. "I thought you was a country Jake, and couldn't fight," half sobbed Jim Blake, pulling at a sprained thumb. "I was never licked before." There was a gleam of pride through the tear in his uninjured eye. "I was born in Boston, but I guess I am a country Jake," conceded John. "Say, I like you —shake!" Jim extended a willing arm, and they shook hands with the gravity of trained pugilists. A week later John met Jim and was told of a flogging he had received from his father, who was notorious as the village drunkard. Thereupon developed in John Burt and James Blake that strong friendship so frequent between boys of contrasting natures. They seemed to have only two traits in common—both were frank and both generous. By nature and by reason of his grandfather's training, John was analytical, and arrived at his conclusions logically. Jim Blake jumped at deductions, and was generally wrong. He acted first and thought afterwards. John was methodical; Jim was careless. 39 JOHN BURT James Blake was neither stupid nor dull. He was bright as he was handsome, and a better favored lad never gladdened a mother's heart, but he lacked that indefinable trait which is variously termed judgment, tact, or intuition. John Burt combined all of these gifts, but loved the adventur- ous spirit of his companion. When Jim Blake was seventeen years old, he decided to run away from home. The two boys talked it over many times. To the scanty hoard in Jim's possession John Burt added thirty-five dol- lars—all the money he had saved from sums given him at various times by Peter Burt. So, with forty odd dollars in his pocket, and with tears in his handsome eyes, Jim Blake shook hands with John Burt and went out into the world to seek his for- tune. Little did these two boys think, as they parted that October afternoon, that their acts and passions and lives would one day be woven by fate into a web of marvelous workmanship. 40 CHAPTER FIVE THE RUNAWAY THREE years elapsed before Jessie Carden re- turned to the Bishop farm. John Burt was now twenty years old, and had successfully passed the examination which admitted him to Harvard. General Carden came with Jessie, de- lighted with the prospect of a week's rest in the old house. Miss Jessie, no longer a child, but a young lady with the impressive dignity of fifteen summers, was to spend the season with the Bishops. General Carden was an enthusiastic horseman. Jessie was still unpacking her trunks when her father sent word that the carriage was ready, and that she was to drive with him. A few minutes later they were speeding down the old beach road. The spirited bays had not been exercised for several days, and for a time the general found it difficult to control them. They drove for miles along the winding, shaded roads. The breeze came cool and salt from the ocean, and the air was fragrant with the breath of summer. "Here is where the crazy man lives," said Jessie, as they passed the old grave-yard, "and there is the rock from which he prays at night. When it is still we can hear him at our house." A bit of the harness had become unbuckled. Handing the reins to Jessie, General Carden stepped to the ground to adjust it. The twelve mile drive had " taken the edge" off the horses, as 4" JOHN BURT he expressed it, and he had them under perfect control. His feet had hardly touched the ground when a prowling hunter, a few rods away, discharged a gun. The report was terrifying, and the affrighted horses leaped ahead. Jessie was thrown violently backward, the lines slipping from her hands. Gen- eral Carden sprang for the horses' heads—an instant too late. He caught one glimpse of his daughter's white face as she swept past him. The agony of years was compressed into the succeeding moments. The frenzied team dashed down the steep grade at appalling speed. At the base of the hill, and almost in front of the Burt farmhouse, was a sharp curve. Then the road skirted the cliffs for a quarter of a mile. Beyond lay a crooked hill, lined with ragged rocks—the most dangerous slope for miles around." The carriage swayed as the horses thundered madly forward. Paralyzed by a fear which diove the blood from his cheeks, the brave old soldier, who had never faltered on a score of battle-fields, stood helpless and trembling. Through the cloud of dust he saw the team as it passed the old house. A few rods beyond, a man lightly vaulted a fence and darted towards the road. General Carden's eyes were blurred, but he saw a flash of blue and white, as if something had been hurled in front of the maddened team. It 4» THE RUNAWAY clung to the head of the off horse, and was tossed back and forth by the frantic animal. For an instant the figure seemed beneath the hammering hoofs. Could any human being hold fast in such a position? At the turn in the road the general distinctly saw a man clinging to the horses' bits, bruised by the swaying pole—a pigmy who dared check the flight of giants. They swerved sharply at the curve. The off horse stumbled, lurched sideways, and fell. There was a crash; the sickening sound of splintered wood and clanking steel; then a silence, as the dust lifted and revealed the jagged outlines of a mass of wreckage. As General Carden neared the fateful spot, he saw an old man run from the Burt yard and plunge into the wreck. A moment later he saw something in the rescuer's hands. A crumpled blue hat above dark curls showed plain in contrast to the white hair of the aged giant, who handled the little figure as if it were a feather, laid it gently by the side of the road, and again darted into the twisted mass. General Carden breathed a silent prayer. He was a few rods away when Jessie moved slightly, lifted her head, and sprang to her feet. She stood for a moment, dazed and wavering; then her eyes rested on her father. "I'm not hurt, papa!" she exclaimed bravely. "I am not hurt a bit. Oh, what has happened?" 43 JOHN BURT "Thank God! Thank God!" He caught Jessie in his arms, gazed fondly into her eyes, and tenderly embraced her. "Come and help me, sir! Is he dead? Oh, is he dead?" The loud, harsh command of the old man ended in a moan, pitiful in its anxious misery. General Carden turned to the aid of Peter Burt. Tangled in the harness, a horse was plung- ing and struggling in an attempt to regain his feet. The other horse was dead, and beneath his shoulder was pinioned the leg of a young man. Blood was trickling down his face, and he lay in the dust of the road, limp and death-like. His right hand still grasped the bit; his head was near the hoofs of the frantic animal. "Hold that horse's head down !" ordered the old man. General Carden threw his weight on the beast's neck. Jessie was hovering near, wringing her hands in pity and excitement. The old man looked towards the house and shouted Jasper's name, but the hired man was not in sight. Then his eyes fell on Jessie. "When I lift that horse will you drag my boy's leg from under?" "Yes, sir; oh, hurry sir!" Crouching down, Peter Burt threw the head of the dead animal across his shoulder. He grasped the trace with one hand and the foreleg with the other. In his prime he had raised twelve hundred pounds, dead weight. The muscles of his neck 44 THE RUNAWAY stood out like whipcords. With a heave of his massive shoulders he raised the forward part of the horse clear from the ground, and Jessie quickly released the pinioned limb of the motionless young man. The old man gathered the body in his arms, and carried it to a grass plot by the side of the road. He rested his gray head for a moment on the young man's chest, and heard the faint flutter of the heart. In accents which thrilled Jessie Carden he exclaimed: "He lives! He lives! Praise God, my boy is not deadl" At that moment Jasper appeared and was des- patched for Dr. Randall. General Carden cut the traces, and the uninjured horse regained his feet. Mrs. Jasper brought a basin of water, and when General Carden joined the silent group Jessie was washing the dust and blood from the white face and smoothing back the curling locks. "Why, it's John Burt! It's John Burt, papa!" she exclaimed, tears starting to her beautiful eyes. "Will he die, Mr. Burt? Will he die? Oh, papa, is there nothing we can do?" "He will not die, my child," said the old man in a clear, calm voice. "It is written that he shall live these many years." As he spoke John Burt moaned slightly, as one troubled in his sleep, and his eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes and gazed at Jessie Carden. He 45 JOHN BURT passed his hand over his forehead, sighed gently, and closed his eyes as in slumber. They carried him to the old farmhouse. Just as Dr. Randall arrived, John again re- gained consciousness and begged a glass of water. Jessie and her father waited anxiously in the sitting- room for the physician's verdict. The old man appeared first, and though he spoke not, his radiant face told the story. "He is badly cut and bruised in several places, but no bones are broken," said Dr. Randall. Jes- sie clapped her hands for joy. "He was stunned by the fall and shock, but he has youth, health and a magnificent physique. He will be up and about in a week." "Where is Mr. Burt?" asked General Carden. A search was made for the strange old man, but he could not be found. Had they gone to the great rock, they would have found the patriarch in thank- ful communion with his Maker. They waited an hour or more, and then the general said to Dr. Randall: "When the young man has sufficiently recov- ered, please give him the thanks of General Carden and his daughter for his heroic conduct, and say to him that we shall call and express our gratitude at the earliest possible moment." Jasper was ready with the Burt family carriage; and, leaving a kindly message for the grandsire, they returned to the Bishop house. Jessie found 46 THE RUNAWAY that she had a few bruises, but she laughed at her aches, and talked only of the heroism of brave John Burt. The next day she sent him a beautiful bunch of roses, and another each succeeding day until word came from Dr. Randall that the young man was able to sit up and might receive visitors. They drove to the farmhouse and were ushered into the library—John's study-room for seven years. He was propped up in an easy chair, with the old man beside him. As the general and Jessie entered, John attempted to rise, but Peter Burt re- strained him. "That's right, Mr. Burt,'' said General Carden, as he advanced and grasped John's hand. "These young men do not like to obey doctor's orders, but they must do so. My boy, God bless you! I do not know how to thank you. Jessie, have you noth- ing to say to the young man who saved your life?" "I never thought," said Jessie, placing her hands in his, "that the boy who taught me how to catch crabs would one day save my life. But you know I always told Miss Malden that you weren't riffraff, and you see I was right!" John looked handsome as he lay back in the great arm-chair. The slight pallor served to accent- uate those wonderful eyes—calm, reflective, and at times dreamy in mazes of thought and introspection. "I'm glad I had a chance to be of service to one I had met before," he said, as Jessie took a seat beside him; "though I confess I should not 47 JOHN BURT recognize you as the little girl who visited here several years ago. You are a young lady now, and I should hardly dare address you as Jessie, and that's the only name I knew you by in those days." "I am not yet sixteen, and you can call me Jes- sie until I tell you not to. Can't he, papa?" "I suppose so," said General Carden. "She is a spoiled child, Mr. Burt," turning to the old gentleman, "and I have ceased making rules, lest she should break them." "The Book says that children should obey their parents," said Peter Burt, regarding Jessie Carden with a searching glance. "She looks like an obedient daughter. I trust that she may be the joy and support of your declining years, General Carden." He rose abruptly and left the room, and did not return while the visitors remained. Nor did there seem anything rude in this action. In most men it would have appeared as studied incivility; but Peter Burt was not an ordinary man. During the hour which followed, Jessie and John talked of a score of topics, John deftly turn- ing the conversation from the runaway accident. When he said that he was about to enter Harvard, General Carden was much interested. He himself was a graduate of the famous class of '51, and re- cited the glories of the fair old college until Jessie interrupted him, and declared there were more im- portant things to discuss. 48 THE RUNAWAY As John Burt looked into the face of the girl beside him, it seemed impossible to realize that this was the prattling child he first met in charge of her governess. How dainty, yet how healthy, Jessie looked! The July sun had begun its etching of tan. The slender neck, where the brown tresses protected it, was dazzling, shading away to cheek and brow in blendings of cream, pink and tan, which defied touch of brush or skill of words. The arched eye- brows and the dark silken lashes framed eyes which glowed with the smouldering fires of dawning wom- anhood. The mouth was not too small, and the lips were ruddy as ripe cherries. And this was the being he had saved from muti- lation against the cruel rocks! As he looked at her, heard the rippling music of her voice, and felt the subtle inspiration of her presence, the thought came that there was something selfish in his joy and pride. What was it? Is love selfish? 49 c H A P T E R S I X s u M M E R D A Y s JOHN BURT sprang into his saddle with an ease that showed complete recovery from the runaway accident, and cantered to Jessie Car- den's side. They waved their hands gaily to Mrs. Bishop, and galloped away under the arching maples that formed an avenue before the old mansion. It was John's fourth visit since Jessie's arrival, and his suggestion of a ride to Hull had been smilingly accepted. "Which way shall we go?" asked John, as they neared a fork of the road. "Take your choice; you are guide, John," re- plied Jessie, reining in her bay. "We have the day before us; let's take a long ride. You're host— you make the plans." "Let's take Jerusalem road to Nantasket, and follow the beach to Point Allerton," suggested John. "Yes, but we can't get anything to eat there!" "I know; we'll have dinner in Hull. We can get back to Nantasket in time for the concert. After that, supper, and home by moonlight. Is it too ambitious?" "I think it's jolly! Come on, let's gallop!" A chaperon might have vetoed such an excur- sion, but the Bishops had known John since he was a child, and counted him more son than neighbor. General Carden's scruples on the question of ances- try had been speedily satisfied by his sister. 5° SUMMER DAYS "He comes from as good stock as you do, Marshall," she declared. "His paternal grand- mother was a Stanley and his mother was a Win- throp. Grandmother Endicott used to talk of her. John Burt is a gentleman, and a gentleman's son. I wish I had a boy like him!" It never occurred to John or Jessie that there was anything unconventional in the proposed out- ing. An unusual but perfectly natural event had once more brought them together. They liked each other, and they were children of nature, unskilled in the petty restrictions raised by a menacing propriety. They cantered along the stone-walled roads; through valleys curtained with foliage and fragrant with the subtle perfume of the forest; up ridges on whose crest they caught a glimpse of ocean, and felt its healing breath upon their cheeks. From the fields the incense of new-mown clover was wafted to them. They eased a moment to watch the toilers rhythmically swinging their scythes. With light hearts they rode through the aisles of the pine woods, past the hotels, until they reached the seashore. The tide was out and they loitered along the beach, hard and smooth as asphalt. Their horses splashed knee deep in the surf. They paused to examine the bones of a ship which had been hurled to its death on the rocks years before. Sixty lives had been lost in the wreck, but children had made a playhouse of the vessel's skeleton, and their careless laughter 5' JOH N BURT sounded to the mourning accompaniment of the waves. An hour later they stood on the heights above Point Allerton. Below, the wide crescent of Nan- tasket Beach swung to the south and east; within it "crawled the wrinkled sea." Every foot of ground was hallowed by history and legend. From that point their ancestors watched the Chesapeake as she sailed proudly out to fight the Shannon; there they had wept when they learned that the brave Lawrence had gone to his death shouting encour- agement to his crew. Thence Captain John Smith first sighted the harbor. The red warriors of King Philip camped where they stood. A short distance away the Mary and John had anchored with her freight of pioneers. A mile to the north stood Boston Light, and they pictured Lord Howe's fleet sailing past it, swelling disdainfully out to sea. Near by a black beacon marked "Nix's Mate "— the lost island devoured by the sea in response to a pirate's curse. They rode quietly down the hill, followed the shell road past Stony Beach, and climbed "Tele- graph Hill." The little village of Hull cuddled snugly to their feet, and beyond the wealth of Boston Harbor lay before them. "This is where father recites poetry," laughed Jessie as they rested on the site of the old French fort. "You should see him! He stands and looks away over there to Boston—just like Daniel 52 SUMMER DAYS Webster on a pedestal—then he recites a long poem. Do you remember it? "From cape to cape, search round our noble bay No lovelier sight than here can eye survey; From yonder hill when sunset's blazing sheen Sets in a golden frame the pictured scene, Let the eye wander freely as it will, Landward or seaward—all is beauty still I" "Lunt's, isn't it?" said John Burt. "Why don't you quote Whittier? "Broad in the sunshine, stretched away With its capes and islands, the turquoised bay; And over water and dusk of pines Blue hills lift their faint outlines!" To the west lay the blue hills of Milton, the tranquil Vesuvius of this American Naples. The island-studded harbor gleamed in the September afternoon. Out over the hungry Brewsters, past the bluff profile of Marblehead, out to where in the mellow distance was the faint outline of Cape Ann— the rugged sentinel of the fishing fleet—they gazed speechless and happy. The streaked ridges of Nahant, the green elms of Apple Island, the ver- dant terraces of Fort Warren, the bluffs of Long Head, the hermit cliffs of Peddock's, the round, green knoll of Bumpkins, the grassy hills of World's End, the amethystine gleam of Quincy and Weymouth, Boston's roofs confusedly hurled— these, set in a glorious backing of sapphire sea and turquoise sky, made the gifts God gave those two 53 JOHN BURT that afternoon. In the harbor of Hull rested a fleet of yachts— So still the sails, they seemed to be White lilies growing in the sea, "Isn't it good to be an American?" asked Jessie, as her hand stole into John's. Just then a full-rigged ship, making from Boston Harbor, spread her sails and stood out past them. Jessie looked at her as Lohengrin might have looked at the swan, and whispered: "Wasn't it Longfellow who stood here and felt with us: "My soul is full of longing For the secret of the sea; And the heart of the great ocean Sends a thrilling pulse through me i" "Yes, Jessie, not only Longfellow, but Emer- son, Hawthorne, Thoreau, and Channing dreamed here," said John. "Lafayette built that fort, and the Count D'Estaing and Rochambeau camped here. Miles Standish fought Indians on that plain, and to us loyal New Englanders every foot is sacred—but, Jessie, too much poetry makes poor feeding. I'm hungry." "So am I," laughed Jessie. "Come on, I'll race you to the inn!" and she sprang to her saddle before John could assist her. Picking their way carefully down the steep hill, they reached the hard roadbed. Then Jessie spoke to her horse and dashed ahead. She was a good 54 SUMMER DAYS rider, and, though it was a close race, John gal- lantly conceded defeat. In the dining-room were many guests from Boston, and they united to make a merry party. It was three o'clock when they started again for Nan- tasket. They trotted gently through Love Lane, past the old Cushing place, until they came to the ancient Hull turnpike, which has been compared to the Appian Way. The next five miles they covered at a canter. As John helped Jessie from her horse at Nan- tasket some one touched him on the shoulder. John turned. "Haou de ye dew, John?" exclaimed a strange figure of a man, standing there all grins. "I swan, I'm glad ter see ye up an' 'round agin! Haou de ye dew, John? Haou air ye?" "All right, Sam," said John shaking hands. Sam was the country sport of Rocky Woods, with a fame extending to Cohasset and not wholly unknown in Hingham. He owned the only thoroughbred trotting horse in the neighborhood. Hitched to a wonderful sulky, this animal stood at the curb, attended by an admiring group of boys, to one of whom had been awarded the honor of holding his head. It was Saturday, and Sam was in gala attire. He was tall and awkward. His large, good-natured mouth, wide open, displayed rows of white teeth; his small blue eyes twinkled shrewdly, and his ears stood clear of a mass of red hair. 55 JOHN BURT He wore a white cap with a gold band and a long, rakish visor; a checkerboard suit, with large squares of brown and gray; a high collar, which did not conceal the elongated, freckled neck; a naming red scarf, with a "stone" of startling size and setting; a double watch-chain, with a twenty dollar gold piece as pendant; yellow spats above pointed shoes, the projecting soles of which were milled with bright yellow threads. Such were the more conspicuous features of Sam's attire as he accosted John Burt. John glanced again at Jessie, and the laughter in her eyes was a sufficient hint. "Miss Carden, let me present Mr. Rounds, a schoolmate and neighbor." Sam doffed his cap with a sweeping bow. "Delighted ter meet ye, Miss Carden," he ex- claimed, with a sincerity which did not belie his words. He extended a huge hand. "Have often seen ye ridin' by and heerd all erbout that air runerway. I swan, that was a mighty ticklish shave fer ye, Miss Carden! Good thing John was around. Lucky fer John, too, I reckon!" Sam grinned and looked at John, whose face flushed. "Don't mind what I say, Miss Carden! I say a lot of things besides my prayers; don't I, John. Tell ye what let's do! Let's have some sody water an' ice cream. It's my treat to-day! Sold a hoss this mornin' an' made forty-two dollars clean profit on him. I'm great on hosses, Miss Carden. 56 SUMMER DAYS John, here, runs ter books an' studyin' an' all that. But, as I say, my strong holt is hosses. They say we all has our little weaknesses—present company, of course, excepted. Let's go an' git that sody an' ice cream." And Sam led the way to a pavilion and impressively ordered the sug- gested refreshments. Jessie engaged Sam in conversation, laughing merrily at his odd remarks and stories. He pointed to an old farmer who drove past in a rickety wagon. "There goes old man Shaw," said Sam. "He lives down the road from our house, an' he's a great character. He's lived whar he does now fer sixty year or more, an' he's the most regular man in his habits anywhar near Hingham. John knows him. He goes ter town every Saturday, an' he's comin' back now. Never was known tew buy nothin', though he did try tew buy one garter once, and kicked because the clerk wouldn't sell him less'n a pair. He's just got in the habit of goin' tew town on Saturday afternoon, an' he can't break hisself on it. He hitches that old hoss up tew a post, walks 'round town solemn like fer an hour er more, talks ter the blacksmith, an' then climbs inter the wagon an' goes back home. He had a great time yester- day," and Sam's eyes danced with laughter. "Tell us of it," insisted Jessie, though Sam needed little urging. "As I said afore, old man Shaw is very reg'lar in his habits," continued Sam. "He lives near the 57 JOHN BURT crossroads, where thare's a post office an' two er three stores. Well, every mornin' fer forty years back, old man Shaw has gone tew the post office, an' asked if thare was eny mail fer him. Thare's never been a letter fer him, an' it ain't likely thare ever will be, but when a habit once gets sot on old man Shaw, he can't git rid on it nohow. So he keeps on askin' fer a letter, though thare's no one in the world tew write him one. "After he leaves the post office he walks down tew Jones, the cobbler's place, which is in the base- ment. Thare he meets Jones an' two other old fel- lers, an' they plays seven-up all the forenoon. They plays just fer fun, but they plays as hard an' gets as excited as if they was playin' fer a thousand dol- lars a game. When it comes noon they all quits an' goes home. These four old fellers has been playin' that air game of seven-up ever since I can remember. "Yesterday mornin' Mrs. Shaw told the old man the cistern orter be cleaned out. It hadn't rained fer so long that the water was all gone, and she 'lowed it was a good chance tew clean it out. Old man Shaw 'lowed she was right, but said his rheumatics was so all-fired bad it wouldn't dew fer him tew go down intew no damp place like a cis- tern; so he lowered the old woman an' sent her down a pail of water an' some soap an' a scrubbin' brush. "' I'll go down tew the post office an' see if thare's a letter, an' then come back and pull ye out,' 58 SUMMER DAYS he hollered down the openin.' She said, 'All right,' an' went tew work. Old man Shaw went tew the post office, asked fer a letter, an' of course, thare warn't none. He started back, an' was just passin' the cobbler's place, when he met Jones. "' Whare ye goin'?' he asked old man Shaw. "'The old woman's cleanin' the cistern, an' I've got tew go home an' haul her out,' says Shaw. "' She ain't got it done yet,' says this no- account Jones. 'It takes a powerful long time ter clean a cistern out proper. Bill an' Gus is down stairs waitin' fer ye. Let's play 'em one game, an' then ye can go home an' pull the old woman up. The way them fellers beat us yesterday was shame- ful. They're braggin' about it now. Let's lick 'em one game eny way.' "Old man Shaw said he would play just one game. He sot down an' they went at it. He an' Jones lost the game by one point, an' then they played 'nuther. That time they won, an' then they played the rubber. It seemed so nat'ral tew be playin' seven-up that old man Shaw just plumb fer- got all about his wife bein' down in the cistern, an' they kept on playin' until the clock struck twelve. "As I said before, it's always dark down in Jones' basement, an' none on 'em took any ac- count on what was goin' on. You know how it rained yesterday mornin'? It started in tew pour 'long about nine o'clock." Sam paused to laugh. "When old man Shaw came out er Jones' base- 59 JOHN BURT ment, the gutters was full of water an' the rain was comin' down in sheets. For three hours it had been rainin' cats an' dogs!" "That poor old woman!" exclaimed Jessie. "It rained dreadfully. You should be ashamed to laugh, John Burt," she added, vainly attempting to repress a smile. "It was pretty tough on her, an' no mistake," said Sam. "It was rainin' like sin, an' old man Shaw was plumb scared ter death. He ran all the way home. Every time he looked at a gutter-spout he nearly fainted away. He come tew his place an' ran 'round the back way. He looked down the hole an' saw nothin' but water. "' Sallie! Sallie!' he hollered. "The old woman was standin' on top the bottom of the pail, up agin the wall. The water was up tew her chin, but she was mad all over, an' she hadn't lost her voice. '"Ye've come at last, Bill Shaw, have ye?' she said. 'You haul me outer here quicker'n scat, an' when I gets up I'll scratch yer eyes out! Ye done this on purpose! Ye haul me out, an' I'll fix ye fer this day's work!' "The old man lowered a rope, an' after a hard tussle hauled her up. The neighbors say she mopped him all over the yard, an' I say it sarved him right." Sam related several other incidents in the career of the Shaws, and Jessie laughed until the tears ran 60 SUMMER DAYS down her cheeks. They bid Sam good-day, and watched him until he disappeared with the famous trotter in a cloud of dust. The surf was dotted with bathers, and the temptation to join them was too great to be re- sisted. They spent an hour in the water, and emerged refreshed and ravenously hungry. After supper they waited for the rising of the full moon. They saw the stately orb of night break above the ocean's rim and blend its white light with the pink afterglow of sunset. It silvered a broad path which cut the sombre shaft of Minot's Light. The curling breakers broke into phosphor- escent flame, and the edges of the cliffs were frosted with its pure glow. From a rocking yacht just beyond the line of surf came the tinkling of guitar and zither, harmonized with a rollicking song of the sea. A great steamship, dotted with yellow lights, swung majestically into the harbor. The moon began her dizzy climb. Bathed in her flood, they turned their horses homeward, rid- ing through a shadowed and shimmering fairyland. Touched by the magic wand of night, the dreary huckleberry patches became Italian gardens. The gnarled and wind-wrenched apple trees were etched in lines of weird beauty against the sky. The rugged stone walls were softened, and faded away into dreamy perspectives. They turned into the gloom of the maples, and found Mrs. Bishop waiting by the old gate. 61 JOHN BURT "Did you have a good time?" she asked, kissing her niece. "Oh, glorious, auntie!" exclaimed Jessie. "I never had so good a time in all my life!" In the years which followed, how the scenes and incidents of that summer came back to John Burt! Under many skies he recalled the happy hours spent with Jessie Carden. Again he drifted with her in a boat, floating at will of breeze and tide, her hand trailing in the water, and the mur- mur of her voice in his ears. Again he stood with her in the night shadows by the old well, lowering the bucket into its cool depths. He saw the water glistening in the cup as he handed it to her; saw the soft light of her eyes; the sheen of her hair; and felt the thrill of her touch when their hands met. Again they walked down the wooded path, while the black of the night stood like a wall in front of them, and Jessie clutched at his arm when an owl sounded his solemn cry. Jessie was going to Vassar, and John had passed the examination which admitted him to Harvard. He found that he could study much better under the shade of the Bishop trees than in any other spot, and Jessie held the text-books while he recited. The weeks glided by like a dream. One day in autumn he stood by her side on the station platform in Hingham. As the train rum- 62 SUMMER DAYS bled in, something rose to his throat and a film stole over his eyes. "Good-bye, John!" "Good-bye, Jessie!" The train glided out from the station; a little hand fluttered a lace handkerchief from a window; a sunburned pair waved in reply. Jessie had gone back to Boston. 63 CHAPTER SEVEN A R T H U R M 0 R R I S HEN Randolph Morris had amassed a V V couple of millions in New York banking and stock manipulation, he decided to establish a New England country place in keep- ing with his wealth and station. He selected a site near Hingham, overlooking Massachusetts bay, with a distant view of the ocean. He pur- chased and consolidated a number of small hold- ings a few miles distant from Peter Burt's farm. For years workmen were busy with the great stone mansion. Terraces, verdant in turf, gave beauty to the surrounding rocks now softened with vines. Stables, conservatories, and lodges lent new distinc- tion to the landscape. The eldest of the Morris children was Arthur, the heir to the bulk of the Morris fortunes. His age was twenty-four, and his experience in certain matters that of a man of forty. He was of medium height and stocky build, with features of aristocratic mould, but weakened and puffed as from habitual excesses. He had recently attained the notoriety of an unconditional expulsion from Yale. His name had figured in New York prints in an esca- pade with a foreign actress, but the story was de- nied and suppressed before it reached the usual climax. No whispers of these and other bits of gossip —accurate or otherwise—had reached the locality 64 ARTHUR MORRIS where he was to spend the summer. He proceeded to dazzle the country folk and bewilder the staid city people by the brilliancy of his equipages, the speed of his horses, and the extent and perfection of his apparel. His steam yacht, rich in mahogany and resplendent in brass and lacquer, rode at anchor in the bay, awaiting his pleasure. Commencement days were past. One June morning Jessie Carden arrived in Hingham, and was met by Mr. and Mrs. Bishop in the old family carriage. Arthur Morris also chanced to be at the station. He was standing at the head of his tan- dem leader, his heavy face gloomy with a bored expression. He listlessly toyed with a whip, and glanced at the arriving passengers as if faintly expectant of seeing some one of his acquaintance. The Bishop carriage was next to his trap. As Jessie Carden ran forward and affectionately greeted her relatives, Arthur Morris abruptly recovered from his lassitude. He gazed at Jessie with a scrutiny too close to be condoned as "a well-bred stare." She wore a gray traveling dress, and looked so charming that one might be pardoned for an almost rude admiration. During the few minutes which passed while the trunks were coming from the baggage-room, Arthur Morris watched her as if a radiant being from another world had appeared to his enraptured vision. "Gad, but she's a beauty!" he exclaimed, as Jessie stepped into the carriage. "Thank God