IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V // / / WJ- %6 w. f- i< f/j './. 1.0 I.I 1.25 illIM JIliM 140 1.4 [ 2.2 112.0 1= 1.6 "/a ^ /a VI ^i '3 (P ■'/ - o ^\ 7 /A Photographic Sciences Corporation ^ iV # \ \ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY )4580 (716) 872-4503 ^ ,,<\ Q -^ <1> o^ '^ %p. ' #. w. \ C!HM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Vlicroreproductions Institu. Canadian de microreproductions historiques 1980 !■ Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographlques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. 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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent etre film^s d des taux de reduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour etre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est film6 d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n^cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 * '^m:^' #■ ROBERTSON'S CHEAP SERIES. POPULAR READING AT POPULAR PRICES. THE JERICHO ROAD; 'a story of western life. BY JOHN HABBERTON, Author of " Ifelen's Babie-n." AMERICAN EDITION SELLS AT 50c. and $1.00. ROBERTSON'S EDITION, TEN CENTS. COMPLETE. This Book has had an immense sale in England and the United States. Toronto : J. Rosa R0BBUT8ON, 67 YoNGB Strbbt. 1877. [X^ ) CANADA !i ! \' PUBLIC ARCHIVES i' ARCHIVES PUBLIQUES I X} x; e^.'ifs CONTENTS. < t "'^''- PAoir I. In which the Hero is introduced 5 II. In which the Hero finds and loses one of his earliest Acquaintances 7 III. Delineating A CERTAIN popular impression concerning the NATURE OF HUMAN SYMPATHY 9 IV. In which THE Hero is Punished for appreciating the Merits of his Best Friend i2- V. In which Cause follows Effect in a manner perfect- ly naturai .14 VI. The Hero Explains i6 , VII. The Innocent suffers for the Guilty . . . .18 VIII. The Doctor gets above his Business and does not escape Rebuke 20 XI. In which the Squire attempts Strategy ... 22 X. Dr. Beers goes Hunting with Unexpected Results . 24 XI. "Regulators'"' Q)Urt . . -,r XII. The Righteous shall suffer Persecution . . .28 XIII. Priests and Levites 29 XIV. A new Experience 31 XV. The Squire's Religious Interest in Lem is cruelly abused 33 XVI. The Hero forms some Moneyed Acquaintances . . 35 XVII. A misdirected Missionary Effort 37 XVI 1 1. The Wisdom of Serpents 38 XIX. Friends in Council 40 XX. In which the Hero Sticks to his Friends . . .43. XXI. Public Opinion 4^ XXII. Western Courts and Western Justice . . . .46- XXIII. In which the Hero Escapes from the Road . . .48; XXIV. Two couples of Penitents 50 Conclusion ". . - . ct .// PREFACE. Whilst reading of the poor fellow who had so hard a time on the road to Jericho, two thousand years ago, I have often wondered what would have happened had not the Good Samaritan come along. Similar accidents have occurred when the Good Samaritan was longed for, but failed to put in an appearance ; when priests and Levites passed by in unending procession ; when the thieves had such an air of respectability that the victim naturally wondered if a reputation for honesty did not depend more upon profession than upon practice, and where the needed elief came finally from people as low morally as the Samaritan was socially. The true caieer of the person whom I have called Lem Pankett would be scouted as improbable if I told it as it occurred. It has there- fore been relieved of some of its rougher corners and darker shadows ; ,but I believe enough remains to show the risk which society runs in allow Ti « ♦ > < V w 'g le fs Ire St s. ts CHAPTER 1. IN WHICH THE HEUO IS INTRODUCED. "Lively, boys, lively! Trot along! 'Tain't no time to try the turtle-step. While you're a-creepin' along like an angle-worm funeral, the Wabash is a-fallin', and if we get stuck way up the river, so's we have to lay up all summer, and you have to hoof it to deep water, you can blame your own lazy legs for it. " The speaker was Captain Sam Bates, of the river packet " Helen Douglas," and his hearers were the deck hands, or '•rousta- bouts," who were engaged in the ojjeration of "wooding up." To the passengers, the men seemed to move with great alacrity, and the large pile of wood on the bank ap- peared literally to melt under their touch, but the captain, anxious to get up the Wa- bash for a load of freight, and to get out again before the river, temporarily swollen by the " June freshet," should fall, the men seemed to move as if going .^o church. Be- sides, the captain liad to say somethimf — no western steaniboatman in good standing ever imagined that a steamboat could be wooded up unless some one stood at the rail and roared encouragingly and cursorily through- out the operation. Again the captain raised his voice. " Come, come — nobody asked you to go back in the country and cut down trees and split them up before you In-ought wood aboard. By thunder, I believe some of you are waiting to have the wood grow before you pack it in. I wish I'd have wooded down at CarroUton — there's a big cemetery there, and I might have hired a few corjises to tote in wood, just to show you fellows how business is done. Here ! you slim fel- low ashore there (this to a wretched-look- ing specimen of humanity, who, bent half double, and with hands in pockets, was looking on), freeze in, and show them snails how to travel !" The person addressed undoubled himself, scrambled up the bank, seized several sticks of wood, and hurried up the " return" plank and aboard the boat so rapidly and reckless- ly as to strike one man between the should- ers with the wood, aua to edge another off the plank and into the water. " Bully !" shouted the captain, as a volley of oaths came up from the injured men, and from others against whom the new man rub- bed and scraped. "Bully! Now you're wakin' up, just as your work's about done ! Lively, you loafers, or you'll be left behind I Haul in ! Put it to her, Ben" (this to the pilot). " Cast oil' that head-line, there." The head-line was cast ofi' as the pilct'- bell rang ; the escape-pipes groanecl like demons in agony ; the wheel astern stirred the mud ; and the boat glided slowly from beneath the overhanging boughs, and went staggering and trembling up tiie Mississippi. The captain turned from the rail with the countenance of a saint conscious 6f having done his full duty towards a^jerverse genera- tion, when his eyes fell upon the stranger whose performances upon the gang-plank had awakened the spirits of the roustabouts. "Hands not allowed on deck — trot!" ex- claimed the captain, when the man stretched forth his hands appealingly, and said : " Captain, let me go along, won't ye ? I hain't done nothin' for (iod knows how long — been down with ager — an' I've got a family to look out for." " Well," said the Captain, looking signifi- cantly at the stretch of water betM'een the boat and the shore, " I reckon I'll have to take you, unless 1 drop you overboard, and I s'pose you wouldn't think that kind of me. Co below and tell the mate to take your time." The new hand reached the boiler-deck, and reported to the mate. That functionary sur- veyed him critically, hinted that the captain was an eternally condemned idiot for employ- ing so eternally condemned a rack of bones, and instructed him to "go aft with the other roughs." Having gone aft, the young man did not experience as cordial a reception as he could have wished. The man he had knocked off the plank upbraided him in scriptural language. Another man was dressing an ear which had been wounded by THE JERICHO ROAU. a stick of wood carried on the shoulder of the new man, and a gentleman of unusual length, who was addressed as "Forkey,'' was bemoaning the loss of a hat, his only one, whit;h had been carried away by the stranger's impetuous rush. " Most carried my head with it, too," re- marked Mr. Forkey, in conclusion, " I'm mighty sorry, laui," said the new- comer. "1 hadn't no idee of doin' any harm, but I've had the fever an" ager ever sence I came to this country, an' 1 ain't over an' above stiddy on my legs. " " Whar d'ye come from?" asked Mr. Forkey, somewhat mollified. " York State," replied the stranger. " What did ye leave thar fur ?" demanded he of the wound cjd ear. " The West wasn't made ," )r blunderin' shadders to play circus in." " I had to lea,"e." yaid the youth, "to make a livin' for the folks." i " Yer ain't married ?" interrogated a gen- tleman in A red shirt, with a critically con- temptuous look. j " No — I mean dad's folks," .said the new i hand. j " Old man hung '!" growled "the Parson," ! so called because he was the meanest man on : board. I " No !" exclaimed theyoung nian,strai(rht- j ening and flushing; "and I'll try to whip I any man who says he was. He was a shoe- maker, and somebody got out a story that he stole, so the folks kind o' stopped coiniu' to him, and he took to drinkin'. One day he was half mad with whiskey, and went to the drug-store and ordered two '. ounces of arsenic, but the clerk gave j him ipecac instid. Than the whole j family got sick, an' the folks found some | white powder in the bottom of the milk | pitcher, an' started the story that he tried to , pizen the family. I guess folks is sorry now, j fur he left town, an' hain't been seen since — ' I reckon it wore on him so bad that it killed him." j "The family all liveol, then ?" asked the j Parson. "Of course they did," replied the young i man, verj'^ quickly and indignantly. ! " Parson," said the gentleman in the red j shirt, ofi'ering the person addressed a silver | dime, " take Slim up to the bar and treat j him to whiskey; he needs a bracer — bad." " Don't you s'pose anybody else has got any money ?" growled the Parson, giving the extended hand a vigorous blow which sent the coin flying forward to the boilers. Then he led t he youth to the upper deck, and to the outer window of the bar. The gentleman in red mumbled great oaths, and rubbed hia hand until the couple were out of hearing. Then he spole up hur- riedly ; " Boys," said he, " that miserable little cuss musen't be tormented — he ain't more than half-witted, I reckon, an' what wits he lias got is pretty much shook to pieces with the ager." " Tliat's so. Baker," remarked a very hir- sute gentleman, "an' I don't believe any- body but Parson '11 trouble him, but he'H pester liim to death, if he gets a chance. " " He shan't get a chance," exclaimed Forkey, the liatless individual. " 1 know Parson's mean ways about as well as any- body, an' ril app'int myself an orphan asy- lum committee tc watch the old scoundrel. 1 believe " " Sh — h — h - " here they come now!" whispered Mr. Baker, and immediately the men, twelve or fifteen in all, tried to look as if they had not been talking about anything in particular. " Where's the new feller to bunk, Baker?'" asked Forkey. Mr. Baker seemed tiie uni- versally acknowledged leader of the roust- abouts, to wiiom was referred for adjudica- tion all (|uestions of dispute or doubt. " That's a faut !" exclaimed Baker, looking around. " Wlio's got a whole bunk to him- self ?" " I have !" shouted the Parson, quickly. " Who else ?" asked Mr. Baker. No (me answered. " Your bunk 's a top one, Par- son," remf-rked Mr. Baker, with hypocritical deference ; " it's ruther rough to m ake sickly feller climb so high. S'pose you take in somebody from down below, an' give Slim a chance to save his breath." " 1 reckon," said Parson, with even uglier expression of countenance than which it habitually wore, " I know rules aboard boats. A man's got to take his luck. When there's only one bunk open, he has to turn into that, no matter where 'tis. " Mr. Baker began to trifle suggestively with the cuff's of his own Hannel shirt, but the tall Forkey whispered in his ear : " I've got a top bunk, right opposite ; ni watch him." Just then all hands were called forward to put oft' some freight at a landing which the l)oat M'as approaching, so the discussion ended without physical harm to any one. The watchful Forkey, however, contrived to assist the new hand long enough to whisper : " Look out for Parson ! It'll be first of the month before we get to Cairo, an' then we'll get our pay. Parson '11 steal yours — every dog-goned cent of it." Then Mr. Baker walked aboard beside Slim, and said in an undertone, " Keep yer eye skinned — that old cuss don't mean any good — we'll all stand by yer — give hi tn one THE JERICHO ROAD. between the eyes the first time he cuts up mean !" The uew hand was considerably disturbed in mind, and his jjerturljation did not decrease as lie realized liow completely he was covered by the Parson's wing. The Parson seated Slim beside him at the table, and even helped him to food. It rather as- tonished Mr. Baker to see the Parson, after akilf ully appropriating the best cuts of meat, as was his usual custom, pass liis plate to Master .Slim, and content himself with the next best cuts he could find. The Parson even sweetened Slini's coffee for him, which operation caused Forkey to stealthily whis- per to the young man : " If you should feel bad any time just after eatin', go right to the clerk and ask for an emetic ; don't do no loatin' about it, either — pizen sometimes gets into coffee." Forkey climbed that night to his bunk withtiie praiseworthy resolution to lay awake all night, and, with eyes apparently closed, to watch every motion of the original oc- cupant of the oi)posite bunk. This resolve formed a magnificent stone in the jjavement j of a certain dangerous but highly popular ! pathway, famed in proverb as paved with such material, for while in the midst of a i subtle mental device for overcoming the \ Parson, Forkey fell into a peaceful slum- ber. Waking suddenly in the middle of the night — fror" a dream in which the Parson was with one hand seductively offering Slim a cup of poison while with the other he was rifling Slim's pockets — Forkey sprang sud- denly up and looked toward the opposite bunk. To his great surprise he saw, by the dim light of the single lantern which hung in the wai'd, the Parson, who was always grum- bling about the cold drafts which swept through the boiler-deck at night, folding his blanket douVde and piling it over his bunk- mate, after which operation the Parson stretched himself in his bunk with no cover- ing whatever. Forkey lay awake for the remainder of the evening, determined to bf ready to give the Parson the lie the momeuf that gentleman awoke and accused Slim ot appropriating his bed-clothing. The couple arose without quarreling, however, and the Parson was as kind to the green hand as ie he had himself slept under downy coverlets throughout the night. Forkey pondered over the matter without reaching a satisfacto-'y conclusion as to the Parson's motive. He consulted Mr. Baker, but that gentleman, even after stimulating his intellect in the manner peculiar to roust- abouts, was unable to offer any theory in elucidation. In fact when, to have undis- turbed opportunity for reflection, Mr. Baker climbed to the top of a pile of cotton on the After-deck, he himself received a revelation compared with which Forkcy's was insignifi- cant. He was lying on his stomach, as ia the custom of the meditative roustabout, and his eyes naturally fell upon the narrow nin- way M'hich had been left between the cotton and the side of the boat. Suddenly the un- handsome form of the I'arson appeared, and, after dropping a roll of bills, nuickly vanish- ed. The startled observer sprang to his feet, ran softly along thecotton-heap, and readied thf end of it just in time to hear the Parson say to Slim: " vN'ouldn't ye like t<( have yer name tat- tooed on to yer arm, so if ye got lost over- board, or got hurt a8h«)re, folks 'd know where ye b'longed? " Yes," replied the youth. "(Jo 'round behind the cotton, then," said the Parson, "and I'll get my things an' come an' do the biznuss. " Mr. Baker, swearint/ eloquently to him- self, returned to his original resting-place in time to see Slim start at the sight of the roll, and (juickly pick it up. At one and the same instant, the observer rose to his feet and the Parson appeared, saw the money and ex- claimed : I ' ' Hello ! found .somethin' ?" I "Yes," drawled Slim, his eyes opening ! widely ; "1 wonder who lost it ?" j "Don't trouble your head about that," roughly exclaimed the Parson. "If it's any- body aboard he'll growl about itsoon enough. Jest keep yer mouth tight shet about it — that's all you've got to do. Then, if nobody claims it, you can send it home from Cairo or Shawnee town. 'Twould come in handy to your folks ; — let's see — there's ten,twenty, thirty, forty, fifty dollars ; bully ! You can get eastern bills fur it fur about a dollar ex- tra, an' jest think how yer mother's eyes '11 stick out — ch ?" i The tattooing operation began, and Mr. Baker, doubting the accuracy of his own I senses, speedily drank them into a condition of utter quiescence. CHAPTEll II. IN WHICH THE HEUO FINDS AND LOSES ONK OF HIS EARLIEST ^CQUAINTANCEH. "Helen Douglas" great river, and Day by day the little gallantly struggled up the day by day the mystery of the after-deck grew more absorbing. The roustabouts dis- cussed in earnest undertones a subject which was always dropped when the Parson came within earshot. So absorbed was Mr, Fokey in contemplation, that on one occasion, whilii wooding up, and struck forcibly by a new THE JERICHO ROAD. theory, he with a shoulder full of wood, itep- j ped to the other gang-plank on which Mr. { Baker was descending ; the shock of the j collision carried the wood and the two cen- tldinon into the water floundering, in which | element Forkey unburdened his soul to his very profane companion. The excitement ei tended to the firemen, and from them to the engineers ; in the natural course of pro- greaaiou it reached the mates, the jnlot, the clerk ; linally it was noticed that the captain himself, whenever tlie roustabouts were busy forward, stared curiously at the Parson and i his pet. The Wabash river was finally reached, and found to be more than bankful ; the boat i might have sailed safely over the bottom- 1 lands wherever the timber was cut away. A , wicked thought struck Captain Bates and | mado him gleeful ; he hurried up to the pilot- ; house. " Ben," said he to the pilot on duty, "the river is way up." j "Rather," said the pilot, as he put the | boat's head toward tlie western shore to avoid the current of a swoollen creek coming iu on the other aide. "Don't you b'leeve she could run thedam at i Mount Zion, and dodge paying lock-charges?" asked the Captain, offering the freedom of his tobacco-plug to the pilot. " Sliouldn't wonder," replied the pilot, after scanning closely the trees on both banks of the river. , " 'Twould have to bo done by daylight, wouldn't it?" asked the Captain; " it's | hardly a -afe risk to try it after dark." i " Noti')i/y," said the pilot, with considera- ble empliMsis. " If tliere's ever a time when a man w/uits to see the water in front of him, it's when he's runnin' a dam. We won't get to Mount Zion till aliout midnight, an' there's no moon." " Whose watch 11 it be first thing in the morning '.' ' asked the Captain. " Mine," said the inlot. " I'll ^ive you an extra twenty to do it, Ben," said the Captain. " Done r'said the pilot. "Hooray !" shouted Captain Bates, spin- ning on his heel and rubbing his hands joy- ously. " We'll tie up at Mount Zion and keep up an infernal whistlin' all nic;ht so the lock-keeper '11 be afraid to go to bed ; then in the morning we'll shoot right along under his nose. Great Cmsar I ivon't he jump and swear ?" The pilot showed his teeth in grim appro- Tal of the Captain's wicked mirth. From midnight until daybreak the gentle Helen lay at Mount Zion, shrieking and howling through her whistles in a manner which tormented the inhabitants of the town as badly as they did the lock-keeper. To- ward daybreak, however, both engineers came on duty, all the roustabouts were awakened, both mates and the Captain wer© on deck, and the two pilots lounged over the wheel. As soon as it became fairly light the lines were cast off, and the gallant little boat started on her darinu trip. Several miles up the stream the locality of the dam was indicated by a great white mill on one side of the stream, and the lock on the other. As the boat moved slowly against the rapid current and decreased distance, a dark, troubled line extending across the mill showed that, despite the depth of water on the dam, there was yet a perceptible fall j the fcame fact was also indicated by a steady, sullen roar. "All forward I" shouted the Captain. " Cot to keep her head down all we can, and there's no Jreiijht to do it with. Evpri/body forward — cooks, greasers, everybody I" The roustabouts crowded to the jack- staff. " Looks nasty, Ben,' suggested the pilot ofl" duty to his associate. " Yes," replied ths sententious Benjamin. " Must be a fall of nigh onto three feet — don't you think it's dangerous ?" continued the otli<;r pilot, "Nary time," replied Ben, with a face sufficiently white to give his words the lie. ' 'There's nothin' to do 1)U t get her head straight and hold her to it. We'll go across as easy as f allin' off a log. It's time to give me a hand, now." " "Trim boat !" shouted Captain Bates. The t>vo mates caiefuUy disposed the men and the coils of rope forward, until the captain shouted : " There ! she sits like a duck !" By this time the dam was but a hundred yards in front, and though it was only a wall of water about two feet iu height, most of the roust- 1 abouts forward looked as if they would ! rather be somewhere else, if possible, while I the coloured cook and waiters seemed to I grow ashy in visage. j A moment more, and the boat was within I twenty-five yards of the black, roaring I wall. j " Now — hold her to it !" growled Ben, between his teeth. " Steady !" shouted the Captain. The boat staggered up — she seemed bare- ly to creep — she trembled so violently that her bell rang. Suddenly her head sheered the least bit from her proper course, which lay at an exact right angle with the line of the dam. The effect was seemingly out of proportion with the cause ; Instead of the water being divided by the prow, and fol- THE JKRICHO KUAl». To- lowing the ordinary water-line of the hull, it struck the hull " quartering," turned the boat's head still more, burst over tht low ■ guards i)eculiar to Western .steatnboats, rushed with terriric force alongthe main deck, snapped the sliglit supports of thecabin, and caused the boat to careen violently ; in an instant the entire upper works were carried away as if they were a nieie l)ox, while the hull, with the engine still working, drifted down the river. * Strangely enough, no one seemed hurt. The Captain and oihcers (there were no pas- sengers) were seen walking about on the convenient raft which the upper works ati'ord- ed ; while the crew, having all been for- ward, had been outof the reach (»f the water and apparently of fulling timl)er. \\'hen the frightened men i-ccovered their wits, how- ever +hey noticed that the IV-son was double np near the capstan, an;l showed no disposition to rise. Mr. Baker stooped, looked carefully into his face, looked up.aml remarked : " He's goin' to kingdom come, boys :" " Where's that ?" asked Slim, with wide- open eyes. " Into his coffin, young man ; if we ever get ashore to buy one," said ]Slr. Baker, very solenuily. The green hand was on his knees beside the Parson in a moment. " You've been mighty kind to me," said he, while a couple of big tears streamed down his dirty face. " Think so, boy ? " whispered the dying man, smiling feebly. " Yes," said Slim. " Everybody else has giv me advice tiil I've been 'most crazy ; but you've been a real friend — but I can't guess why. " " I'll tell ye," gasped the dyingman, pull- ing at Slim's handas if he wouhl draw him closer. Forkey bent his head as low as he dared without seeming to listen, while Mr. Baker hypocritically pretended to examine tlie Parson's pulse ; " cos — I'm — vot'K FATHER !" The Parson's eyes closed, and a smile ' which a dying Christian might have envied, came into liis face. The orphan, man as he was, commenced to cry audibly, at which Mr. Baker soothingly said, "Sh— — h," ])at- ted the youth on the back, and then walked ; abruptly aft, with his knuckles in his own eyes. * Lest any one not acquainted with Western steamboat architecture should doubt the oroba- bihty of this incident, I would say that 1 believe itfoUows in allpaiticularsihe sti ry of the loss of the "Helen Mar," in the Wabash river, twenty years ago. Ohio river pilots remember the case and its peculiarities. I Thehull strandeil on an i.sland just below Mount Zion, and it was proposed tlr t the ' Parson sheuld be interreil there. Mr. Baker, however, who seemed to have as- sumed charge of the deceased roustabout, declared that he should liave a hand- i some coffin and be l>uried in a regular graveyard with a genuine parson to say the word, and Mr. Baker had his way. He was rather du'appi tinted when he learned that a Hfe and drum, to peifornr a dead march, would hardly be in order in a funeral priicession, and tlnit the only Mount Zionite capable of engraving cotiin-plates had con- scientious scruples against engraving either "Tlie Parson," or "Slim's Dad," in lieu of a real name. The real name, however, was obtained from the orpiian, ami all obstacles to what Mr. Baker called a '"ri'g'lar buryin" were overcome. The jtrocession was in ap- pearance one that Mount Zion had never seen tlie like of before ; and Mr. Baker and the orphan, walking directly behmd the minister, attracted unusual attention. When the first shovelful of ilirt fell upon the coffin-})ox, witli a liollow, sepulchral sound, poor Slim utt(;red a j)itiful cry and fell on liis kiites, and all bis companions trembled and turnetl tlieir faces away. CHAPTEK III. UELINEATINO A IKHTAIX POrUI.AH IMI'RES.SIO-N COXCEKNINC THE N'ATUUE Ol' HUMAN SYMJ'ATHV. Among the natives who were drawn to the cemetery by the unusual appearance of the funeral procession, was old Squire Barlcum. The sentiments under whose influence the Squire, who was the richest man inthetown, had left his store in charge of a small boy ano I generally make liad bargains ?" " No, Squire, you don't — I will say that you're the Itest trader in the county. But what could I think when you bring a fellow home with t/iaf. appetite in the nuddle of the morning '! An' then for you to go misquotin' bible about it, too I" " W^ell, xMarg'ret, 'twas a kind tiling to do, now — that's as sure's your alive. An we'll get our reward for it. I meant to do him a kindness when I fust spoke to him, an' for a minute I didn't think about gettin' anything back. But, you see, 'twas perfectly safe." "That's so," assented Mrs. Barkuni. " 'Cast thy bread upon the waters, an after many days it'll return to you again. ' It's a powerful sight of bread, though— he's a eatin' yet." The Squire looked through fhe crack him- self, and remarked -.— "Well, he can't ])e ex- pected to go on like that always. Besides, I'll set him to work right after he gets through— the ]joi,atoes need hoein' the very worst way. But say, Marg'ret, dont it make one feel good to do a kind action to a fellow crittur ?" " Yes, Aaron, it does," responded Mrs. Barkum, "specially when you don't have to be afraid that mebbe 'twon't come out right after all, as you do when you give a dollar to the Missionary Society or the Bible .Society. Why can't he shake the carpets '! That's a job that's been waitin to be done these three months. " "Of course he can do it," said the Squire; " we must both see to it that he ain't ever idle. I'tl feel awful if I thought I'd ever en- courage anybody to waste precious time. There's one thing I meant to tell you, though ; he ain't a l)eliever — we must have him in at prayers, niornin' an' night." Mrs. Barkum reflected a moment. "I don't see how he can do that very well," said she; " it'll break right into whatever he's doin' half the time, an' that ain't right. Besides, I don't know 'bout throwin' away prayers on them that don't (;are for 'em. Nobody can come to (i«d unless the sperrit draws 'em — 'pears to me 'twould be t.akin' the Lord's bizness out of His own hands." " I don't know but you're right there, Marg'ret," said the Squire. "There, now, he's done- I'll set him at the potatoes at once. It's a wicked world, though, like as not, just as we get him just as we want him, somebody '11 come along an' ofter him bigger pay" " Well, we can only hope for the best, an' have faith in the promises," sighed Mrs, Barkum, "There — just as I expected — he's 12 THK JERICHO ROAD. helpiii' himself to more bread and butter. I wish you'd gone when you said j'^ou would, an' put him to work." " Another slice of bread ain't mucsh, with flour only two an' a half cents a pound," re- plied the Sfjuire, starting fo- the door. " I'm so happy over an opportunity for doin' good, that I don't grudge him the slice — 'twon't take him more than five minutes to eat it. Folks won't think we're stingy now, Mar- g'ret, will they? I don't know' anybody in town that ever done so mucli for a man be- fore. We nnist be humble about it, though." CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH THE HERO IS PUNISHED FOH AP- PRECIATINl} THE MERITS OF HIS BEST FRIEND. During th'e month which followed the con- versation recorded in the preceding chapter, the good iS(]uire and his wife succeeded in so allotting the time of their dependant that they had not tlie slightest cause to fear that they would encourage him in habits of idle- ness. Lemuel rose at five, made a tire in the kitchen stove, put the kettle on the tire, fed the pigs and chickens, brouuht in the tirewoo(l and milked the cow ; then, while the S(|uire and his wife ate their breakfast, he hurried to the Squire's store and took down the shutters— a task to which the small boy, who was the Squire's only clerk, was not e(pial. Then he ate his breakfast, generally after receiving the information that Mrs. Barknm was in a great hurry to have some potatoes dug, a chicken killed and f)icke(i, or some errand performed. After )reakfast he cliopp^'d wood with consider- able haste, knowing that the Squire ex- pected his assistance at the store. Reaching the store, he received, weighed, and stored in the warehouse such heavy or bulky arti- cles—corn, wlieat, oats, feathers, l)eans, hams, etc, — which country customers paid in trade for goods ; mixed in a migiity mortar, with a pestle, the varioiis qualities of butter which came from the same sort of customers ; weighed nails and other articles unpleasant to handle ; measured tar ; caught from a teamster tlie bricks w'nich were being delivered to build an extension to the store ; mixed molasses-settlings with brown sugar, to give weight to the latter ; and, when there ■ was nothing else to do, white- washed the sheds, chopped wood to satisfy the winter demand of the stoves in the store, and dug at the cellar for the pi-oposed addition. In the afternoon his duties were changed only M to their order ; the closing hour of day- usually spent in however, he was that Sunday might light was devoted again to the pigs, the cows^ and the domestic wood-pile, aft^r which he again went to the store and polished rusty hardware in the back room until the Squire thought it too lace for another customer to come in ; then Lemuel put up the shutters, carried home the account-books of the store (for tire-proof safes were unknown at Mount Zion), and went to bed. He never showed any indications of a desire to avoid work, and the good Squire and his wife seconded his industrious endeavours by always pro- viding in advance enough work to make it impossible that he should be temporarily idle. It quite naturally followed that Lemuel haileci the approach of the Sabbath with a gladness which would have been creditable to the most sincere Christian, and that such time as he did not spend at church (about at- tendance at which theSquire was persistent), was passed in a recumbent position in the hay-loft of the Squire's barn. Friends he somehow failed to make ; he was neither liandsome, rich, accomplished, nor eloquently vulgar, so no one courted his society; he was destitute also of that useful social quality known as "push. " So his spare time was solitude. Even then, conscious of a longing come at least twice a week— perhaps oftencr. He grew thinner and more hollow-eyed than he was when he came to the Squire, and contracted a stooping posture when standing or walking. I The chills, which he, like every one else at ■ Mount Zion, had with unpleasant frequency, j did not make it any easier for him to meet I the steady demands which were made upon I his s.treiigth. But the thought of the eight ' dollars which the Squire had agreed to J-'ay : hiin monthly, and which was to be * so much use to tiie little family of which he i w;is the head, kept him steadily at work. j The Squire never ceased to congratulate I himself on the steadiness and cheapness of I hi new assistant, and upon the truly Chris- ] tian sentiment to the exercise of which he attributed the improved condition of the j young man. When speaking to his Avife I of the proiit which accrued from Lemuel's I services, the Squire occasionally interjected I a sentence which was religious in form and I self-laudatory in spirit ; when he talked with others, however, he made mention only of the religious and charitable feelings with which he regarded Lemuel. « " I hate to see a feller-bein' sutTer," Squire would remark. "It would be enough to have given the poor chap a lar, an' made it all light with your science. But what's a dollar to a poor, help- less feller like that ? Like enough he d the easy dol- con- THE JERICHO ROAD. IS the easy dol- con- help- heM have spent it for whiskey, au' treated the whole crowd. What he needed was a home, and to be took out of bad company an' be taught to work, and have ^ jod influences arounc^ him. It mayn't ali show out on him at once what I'm tryin' to do for him, but it'll tell. It costs money to keep a man like that, an' pay him wages, too, so that he can keep his mother, but I'll trust to the Lord for my pay — this isn't the only world there is. " Such expressions were generallj' received by the Squire's auditors with that respect which is usually accorded to the ut- terances of rich men. There were certain sons of Belial, however, and not a few of the Squire's religious associates, who in the privacy of their hearts wondered how much the Squire would really have done for Fankett if he had expected his remunera' 'on only in the next world. Not all of these doubters of the Squire's disinterestedness held their peace ; the villapje postmaster and the Squire's principal business competitor— a pair of men who disagreed upon religion, politics, and public improvements — came in- to spirited accord on the subject of the Squire's treatment of Lemuel. " He's making money out of the boy just AS he does out of everybody else," said the postmaster ; "I pay my man fifteen dol- lars, and he don't d<' More than half as much work, and yet he's a good man. " " Yes," said the storekeeper, gazing sor- rowfully upon an ex-custonier of his own, who was going into the Squire's store, "he don't need to expect anything iowed their feeling for Lem by occasionally inviting him to drink. He never declined ; the fiery draughts which he swallowed gave him nearly all the strength, comfort and hap[»ines8 which he experienced, and he soon learned to rely upon them. When the S(iuire learned that his man-of- 14 THE JERICHO ROJD. all-vork was in the habit of drinking, he was tilled with righteous indignation, and straight- way summoned the offender into his pre- sence : ** Ijemuel," said he, holding aloft the yard- stick in the manner in which he supposed King Solomon held his sceptre when acting in his judicial capacity, "I understand you've took to drink. Don't deny it — Micham allows it's so, and h.id the im- pudence to defend himself for sellin' you the liquor, an' you for drinkin' it. He's in- sulted me as I've never been insulted in my life before. He lays all the blame on mr. Now, was it to brine you up a drunk- ard that I took you when you hadn't a friend in the world?' Lem turned pale, his knees shook, and he opened his mouth and eyes appealinglj. "I see you own up," said the inquire, after a lofty but severe scrutiny of Lem's face. "But 1 never exp< -ed that any one I'd befriended would abuse vie like you've done." *'Why,I hain't saida word or done a thing," declared the contrite Lemuel. "I " "Don't you call it anything for a member of my family, as yoii are, to disgrace me an' my profession by goin' into rum-shops — the verj' gateways of hell — an' poisonin' their bodies an' ruinin' their souls by drinkin' whiskey ? Of course folks blame me for it — they wonder why I was such an old fool as to take up with anybody that had such faults in 'em, and let 'em go on in their evil ways." "Why, vSquire," pleaded Lem, "every- body knows you didn't tell me to drink ; but " "But you just went an' wasted your money that way, after pretendin' to me that you wanted to send your mother ev'ry cent you could raise," interrupted the Squire. "Do you call that the way to tell the truth to a man that wants to help you along ?" "I didn't think it was goin' to bother you," said Lem, "if I drank when I needed to. it's " "Needed to !" echoed the Squire, with savage energy. " Well ! I never thought anybody in m;/ family would say they needed to pour whiskey down their throats. But that ain't answerin' my question. Is that the way you're goin' to waste the money you pretended you wanted to send vour mo- ther?" " I didn't pretend," asserted Lem ; "I meant just what I said, an' I keep a-sertd- in'. I only take a drink when I need it. Dad used to take a drink sometimes when he felt weak ; and he never got drunk, neither. " The Squire shook his head, and seemed to I go into a reverie. "Your father drank, eh ?" said he at length as he raised his head. "If I'd known /7i«^ on the day that you buried him, I wouldn't have done what I did." Lem's pale face Huslied and his bent back straightened. "If you've got anything to say agin' him," said he, "you can find some one else to say it to— I'll leave. I've done the best I could since I worked for you ; an' if I'd knowed it would have bothered you, I'd have done my drinkin' on the sly. But I won't hear any man say a woi d again my father — I'll thrash him first, or I'll try to mighty hard !" The Squire understood the profitableness of diseretion as well as any one; and, besides, he honestly enjoyed the contemplation of any displays of virtue which were unattended by expense to himself. So he dropped the yardstick, assumed a placatory, confidential air; and said: "Don't get mad, Lemuel. 1 like to see a man stick up for his father — it does you credit. 'Honour thy father and thy mother/ says the good book, an' that decision is final. But your father made a mistake— all men make mistakes of some kind — he made a mistake when he thought whiskey helped him 'At last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder,' the same good book says. If you don't feel as stout as you'd like to, chew a pinch of tea or coffee, but don't take liquor. I won't charge you anything for 'em — unless you'd like to buy a quarter of a pound of either an' keep 'em handy in your pocket, in case you want to use 'em. An' pray for strength— //t«^ kind of help don't cost a cent. There — don't think any more about it. By the way, I agreed to deliver a couple of barrels of flour at the hotel before three o'clock, an' its pretty near that time now. Be lively about it ; you'll have to take 'em on the wheel-barrow, for there don't seen? to be any teams handy. An' I guess you'll have to get 'em out of the warehouse yourself, for I'm all alone here just now." CHAPTER V. IN WHICH CAUSE FOLLOWS EFFECT IN A MAN- NER PERFECTLY NATURAL. When Squire Barkum repeated to his help- meet the substance of his conversation with Lem, that excellent lady was greatly excited, and insisted upon the discharge of the de- praved youth. "It's always the way," she groaned, hastily swallowing a cup of tea to raise her spirits. " You take up these strange people an' try to make somethin' of 'em. I know my father took such a fellow once in Con- necticut, an' took him when he was just a THE TERICHO ROAD. 15- little boy, too, before he'd had a chance to learn bad habits. He made him so smart that 'fore he was twelve years old he could do a man's work at plowin' or mowin. ' An' what thanks did he get ? Why, that boy took to smokin', an' then he drank, an' 'fore he was of age he wasn't good for anything ! You ought to turn Lem away, Squire ; he wjn't be good for anything if he drinks. " " Well," said the Squire, " I don't think 'twould be right to send him away to perish in his sins. As long as he seems willin' to try to do better, 'twouldn't be Christian to refuse him a chunce. Besides, he's mighty handy — why, Purkiss told me the other day that Lem was worth Uvo of his man, and he pays fifteen dollars a month. " Mrs. Barkum ate with unusual rapidity for a moment or two, and then sh© re- marked : "I wouldn't hold you back from what you think is your duty. Squire, but v/hat I ■ay is just this. Don't let's throw away our money on ungrateful folks. When he gets to be — Gracious!'* The last word was spoken with such per- fect dramatic intonation and expression that the Squire dropped his knife and fork; he also dropped his lower jaw and started back in his chair. Mrs. Barkum unconsciously transfixed him with a stare, and finally ex- claimed : "Just the thing ! I've got it !" The Squire recovered his equilibrium and gazed enquiringly upon his spouse, who again exclaimed: " I've got it !" Then the Squire found his own voice, and remarked, not without a suspicion of petu- lance: "I'm glad to hear it, Marg'ret. but you needn't hold on to it so tight." The lady affected not to notice the spirit in which her husband's words were uttei-ed, but she kept him in suspense for at least three minutes before she asked: " Ain't it about time for the next annual temperance meet — " " I TOW !" interrupted the Squire. ** So it is. An' 'twon't be my fault if he don't sign the pledge. Let's see — the meetin' comes off in about two weeks, an' I know the lecturer that's comin'; now, I'll just write him an' ask him if he can' put in some- thin' to hit drinkers that's the only support of their parents — that's Lem's weakest spot, you know. But oh, Marg'ret, do you ever wonder why the Lord let's folks get a love for such soul destroyin' stuff as liquor ?" "That I do." replied Mrs. Barkum, with great earnestness. " ' His ways are inscrut- able an' past tindin' out.' There's one com- fort, though — if Lem's elected to destruction, we can't alter the Lord's will, an' we can't be blamed for not tryin'." " That's so,'" assented the Squire, "but we ain't to be supposed to work against the will of Providence if we keep the boy out of temptation as much as possible. I must keep him busier, so he don't get a chance to loaf into rum-shops — that's a clear p'lnt of duty that I've been remiss about." During the ensuing fortnight the Squire displayed such unusual interest in the ap- proaching temperance meeting that the com- mittee which had the' matter in charge at- tempted to secure from him a subscription auxilliary to the dollar which he annually gave toward the defraying of the expenses of the meeting. In this effort the committee was utterly unsuccessful, but the Squire ex- plained that he objected only on principle — j he did not believe in giving so much that j other people would feel that there was no need for them "to give. He was willing, j though, to do more than his share in on ; I way — he would give the services of his man I Lem to distribute the circulars which were \ always sent out as final reminders on the i afternoon preceding the evening of the meet- ! ing. 1 The committee accepted the Squire's oflFer, and the Squire urged them to have plenty of circulars. That same evening, at his family altar, the Squire returned fervent thanks to Heaven for the opportunity which had been given him in which to let his feeble light shine. During the days which remained the Squire employed his spare moments in tracing on a county map a route by which as many persons as possible could be reached by the circulars. "It'sagood deed, Marg'ret," he explained to his wife," "an' folks won't think none the less of us, nor come any seldomer to our store to trade, when they see whose man it is that leaves the circulars. It must be a good twenty mile — back an' forth an' out — that I have marked out for him, an' it'll take him about all day, after he's done the chores, to do the job, but I don't b'lieve we'll lose a cent by it." The fiua? day arrived, and Lem, with a hearty Godspeed from the Squire, and a pressing injunction to hurry, so as to be back in time to attend to his household duties be- fore the time for meeting to open, started on his route. The day was hot, and the pack- age of circulars was not small, but Lem started with a brisk step. He displayed a more cheerful face than was usual with him. The unusual nature of the labour afforded a pleasant change, and the Squire's remarks upon the honourable nature of the duty before him had touched a responsive chord in the young man's heart. Towards evening it seemed evident that 16 THE JERICHO KOAD,' 111 ! Lem had done hi« duty quite thoroughly. Besides the few people who always came from adjacent settlements to such meetings, the roads were full of a class of surburbau settlers who had, for about the first time in their lives, received a circular at their own doors. The Squire noticed the crowd, and was glad. The absence of Lem had resulted in the Squire's doing at his store a great deal more work than had been necessary to him of late, and a new sense of the worth of Lem, and a sense, also, of the greatness of that self-abnegation which liad prompted him to lend his man to the committee, had not been sufficient to keep the Squire's temper at a proper degree of sweetness. As work de- creased, however, and the effects of the cir- culars multiplied rapidly and visibly, the small boy wlio assisted the Squire, heard his employer softly sing. " Shall I be carried to the skies On flowery beds of ease, Whilst ot'iers fight to win the prize. And 8.. 11 through bloody seas}" Looking out on the princij)al road which led to tlie country, the Squire noticed that something caused people to stop, tempora- rily, on tiieir way. Several boys seemed to be standing about in contemplative attitudes, and the Squire noticed that a woman was cutting ■ from a roadside thicket some boughs, whiah she stuck into the ground between the boys and the sun, which was still an hour or more high. The Squire wondered what could be going on, but as the incoming people, before reaching hisstore, turned from the main road and toward the church in which the meeting was to be held, the Squire found no one whom he could question. But business was dull at that particular hour, and as the Squire was en- titled to a platform seat at the meeting, and was not, therefore, in a hurry to get to his supper, he concluded to visit personally the scene of the excitement. As he reached the corner where the people turned off, hecaught fragments of the nature of comments. " No use to try to do any thing with such — " he heard from Colonel Burt, as that warrior's buggy whisked round the corner. " — An example to, Georgie," came from the lips of Mrs. Farmer Perry, as she jogg- ed by on horseback, with her half-grown son on a blanket behind her. " Some folks are nothing but animals ; sympathy is only wasted on tliem," said ex-Judge Bowler, of a neighbooriiig township, across his shoulder to his two Bweetfaced, dim-eyed daughters, who occu- pied the back seat of liis carriage. The Squire quickened his pace. " — Infernal shame, but what can anybody do?" roared Farmer Bates at his family, who tilled the straw-covered bottom of his great farm-waggon. " — Good ducking — " was all the Squire heard, as two successful farmers galloped by on horseback, and then the Squire heard a man (from whom he had once endured some harsh epithets after selling ^him a horse) say : " Let the old scoundrel that's to blame make the matter light." A few steps further, &j-^<^ the Squire's anx- iety was changed to S( c. jw and anger, for there, in the shade of the boughs, with hia head on a pile of undistributed circulars, lay the Squire's man, Lem, deaody here knowed how my heart was thumpin' now, an' how my face seemed all on fire, an' how- awful 'shamed an' good for nothin' I feel in my mind, he wouldn't ever touch a drop as long as he lived. " A perfect tempest of applause went up from the audience as these last words escapetl the speaker — even the Squire was seen to clap his hands. Lem proceeded as far as "An' afi to l)eiu' ungrateful — " when the chairman rapped vigorously and shouted, "Personalities are not in order." Bill Fussell plucked at Lem's shoulder and dreM' his head down. "Put it some other way," he whimpered. Lem scratched his head, bit his lips, wrinkled his brows, and burst out crying ; subduing his feelings by a violent eftort, he resumed : " An' if there's anybody here, Mr. Chair- man, that's got anybody else dependin' on 'em for a livin', I just want to tell 'em that the awfuUest thing to think about when a feller's been drunk is, that besides wastin' his money, he's spoiled himself for a full day's work for two or three days to come. If there's anybody he wants to please, he knows he can't be fully up to the mark un- til he's got all over his spree. If there's any- thing he's got on his mind that he ought to do, an' is miser.'ible until he does it, it's all the same — he couldn't do it if he was to die for it. When a man gets over his spree, he tliinks more al)out wha'. he ought to do, an' what ho hain't done, than he could (h) in a month of sol)er days." Loin jumped oil' his chair, the audience ^'avo vent to u tgtor.n of ilelight, and the chairman stopped up to the Squire, who still st'iod upon the platform, and whispered : " He said it, after all, Scjuire — and he means it, too." But the Squire was not fully satisfied. To have a speech — the only one he had ever nuulc outside of a church meeting — so com- pletely upset as his had been, and to have the moral effect of the speech so utterly set aside, was very provoking. The Squire mentally noted the names of such of the ap- plauders as owed him money, with the in- tention of dunning them without mercy at an early date ; then he said : "MenAare been converted to religion on their d*ia,th-beds, an" I don't say it can't be done in tne temperance cause. But / won't have sufl'ered any less, and the lesson ain't any less to be remembered. But" — here a happy thought struck the Squire with such force tliat his rather uncomely face was com- pletely irradiated by it — "but I wouldn't be a stumblin'-block to such people ; an' as the person that spoke last seems to be in earne-it, I'm willin' to forget A\ the feelin's I've had about him, an' treat liim just as if nothing had ever happened." Part of the better class of people in the audience applauded ; others looked quizzical or doubting ; while from the boys in the gallery came the single expression "Ah !" with an intonation and a volume that caused the Squire to tremble and retire. C'Sca in tl encd well thus CHAPTER VII. THE INNOCENT SUFFERS FOR THE UUILTV. „ After the close of the temperance meeting the newest member of the Society hastened to his home. Finding to his delight that the milk-pans were full, that there was plenty of wood by the kitchen scove, and that there were other evidences that his employer had attended to those household duties from which he had been so long relieved, Lem at- tempted to retire and get some rest before he should be called upon to endure the rebuke which he did not doubt would be bestowed upon him. But he was unsuccessful ; he heard some one at the front door, near which he must pass to reach his own room. In the desperation of cowardice he determined to THE .IKRICHO ROAD. 19 in the [uizzical in the ' Ah !" caused escape by the hack-door and spend the niglit ill the harn, luit as lio ojiened the door he encountered the Sijiiire, wlio had heen to the well for a drink of water. His escape being tliiis cotnpletely prevented, he retreated al)jectly to the kitrlien, and industriously ard at first, but when men does — their l)eat — with wliat light they've — got — they're helped — to the ri^ht wordn by — the sperit of—" 'Jhe Squire eouoluded his seuteuce in dreamland. I'' CHAPTER VIII. THE DOCTOR OET.S ABOVE HI.S BUSINESS, AND DOES NOT ESCAPE REBUKE. The Squire had barely reached his store in the morning when Dr. Beers appeared. " Tliat man of yours was iu a pretty bad way yesterday, Squire," said he. " Organi- zations like his (loti't easily recover from such a shock. I'm glad 1 found him just wlien I did, or I mightn't liave been able to get him up so safely." " You don't mean to say that you're goin' to charge your doctorin' him up to jhc f" exclaimed the Sc^uire. He's got to pjiy it himself. He's able to do it, he ought to do it, an' he mast do it. I'd feel as if I was en- couragin' intemperance if I was to pay that bill." " I don't want to be paid for it by either of you," said the doctor, his face liusliing. " 1 came iu to talk about something else. Some weeks ago I tried to explain to you some- thing about the fellow's physical condition, but I'm not sure that I made it clear. The truth is, he needs to be taken care of. His physique was never a good one, I imagine, and he is now attenuated almost to a skele- ton, his circulation is very low, and his vital force is extreniely feeble. I don't see how he works at all. " " Ah, it's grit, doctor, thaVs the stuff that makes men. Think of Andrew Jackson, glorious old Hickory, with one of his lungs gone for half of his life, au' yet what he did." •' Yes," said the doctor, "but old Hickory besides drinking a great deal of whiskey, had something to stimulate him, some prospect hefore him, but what has your man got. " "He's got his motiier, an' brothers an' sisters," said the Squire, earnestly, " an' he cares as much for them as old Hickory cared for the White House or anything else he had his eye on." "I'm glad to hear there's some such in- centive before the young man, " said the doc- tor, " and it explains what I couldn't clearly understand, why he has been able to do as much as he has. But he can't do it much longer. He's simply used up. He may last a month or two, but when he breaks down there'll be very little chance of his getting up again. " " Gracious !" exclaimed the Squira. " Where'd I better send him ? I can't af- ford to have him sick on mij hands, an' there ain't any poor-house in tlie county. If he's in that rix, he ought to be savin' money to pay his expenses when he's sick. It's all very well to send money to his family, but he hain't any business to cheat other folks out of his funeral expenses." The doctor stared — glaredj«"ather — at the Squire for a moment, turned iVDiuptly, walked to tlie door, walked l)ack again, looked the I Squire full in the eye, and said: i "I didn't come to you to say what should be done when he diet!, Scjuire Barkum — 1 came to suggest that it would be advisable to i)revcnt that catastrophe. He has signed ♦lie pledge and agreed to give up the use of stimulants; pliysically that means that he j will for a few days grow even thinner and I weaker, and be in greater danger than he has ever been. I wanted to su^'ge.st that if you could lessen his duties, or change them I somewhat so that he would have less physi- I cal and mental taxation to undergo, it would i be an excellent thing for him, by giving him a proper chance to regain a working consti- 1 tution. " The Squire straightened the several curves into which his back habitually omposed it- self when at leisure, raised his spectacles as high as the brim of his hat would allow, ami replied : " Excuse me, doctor, if I say that you're gettin' outside of your profession when you prescribe a medicine that you can't give him yourself. It may all be just as you say — I've no business to doubt that it is, but / don't keep a hospital, an' I don't feel called upon to go into that business. I don't see why I should do any more for that boy than any- body else does ; he does work for me, an' 1 pay him for it, an' that's the end of it. If Jhe's to be helped, that's another thing, but my 'rangement with him 's a business one, an' business is business." " I thought I understood you, at the meet- ing last night, that you were moved solely by charitable feelings when you tirst assist- ed him," said the doctor. The Squire winced, balanced himsslf alter- nately on each foot several times, and re- plied : " So I did, but when I found he was able to work, it made things different. I don't give charity to able-bodied men. If he's goin' to die, let somebody else show charity, too, — there's no reason why I should do all of it." The doctor's face grew fixed ; he cut square in two a stick he had been carefully trimming with his knife, raised his head, and said : THE .IKRICIIO liOAI). SI " Vea, tliere is." " What is it?" asked the S(iuire, with a wondering stare. " BccaiiHo," said the doctor, hufctoiiing hi.s coat, ''you're t'le only one to hl.ime For liis condition. T\\» matter witii him is, that you've worked liim nearly to death ; he (Irirka to stimulate facultica whioh you've nearly exhausted in him, and if he die-), you'll be the person jjarticularly to hiame. Practically — although you're innocent of any Huch intention, of course, — practically, you'll be his murderer if he dies. The Sipiire brought his list down on the counter with a crash. " It's a lie !" he roar- ed. "That's just the way with you book- learned fellows— the first thing you find out is, how to shove blame on somebody. Here" —for the doctor was just stepping out of the door— " come back, doctor, — I don't mean that ifoii lie, you know 1 don't mean that, but I mean I'm not to blame for anything like that. I'm not to be expected to know about a fellow's bodily condition." '•You know it now," said the doctor, j " iJ/^,V conscience is relieved, and if I hadn't I been averse to meddling with the affairs of j other people, I should have said all this to [ you long ago. Don't imagine there's any i mistake about it ; the boy is barely strong i enough to live, even with good care. Uood ! morning," i The fire that flashed through the good 8([uire's spectacles as the doctor departed, would certainly have ignited that gentle- man's clothing had he remained within range of its focus. A bystander would have ])een frightened even to see how the Squi'-e's gaze rested abstractedly upon a keg of sporting powder on the counter, as he relieved his mind upon the subject of the doctor's imper- tinence. He even declared to himself that he would never employ the doc- tor again, were it not that he did think it right for so old a man to trust his possibilities for good into the hands of inexperienced upstarts, like the other jjhysi- cians in the village seemed to him to be. But the Squire's anger was short-lived; pru- dence was the leading quality of his mind, and it quickly asserted its supremacy. " I must maKe up my mind to nonie thing that'll look right to the doctor," said he "an' do it quick, too, or maybe he'll go talkin' around to other folks about me, an' it'll be just like them to believe him ; they all think he knows everything about the way human bein's get sick an' get well. I al- ways thought so myself, till this monun'. 'Sposin' he should be riglit — only ' sposin' it —how can / be to blame, when I didn't know anything about it ? I ain't posted on natural law, and don't the Apoatle say 'with out the law ain was dead ?' An' how do I know the doctor ain't mistaken, anyhow ? Hut this ain't thinkin' what to do to keep him from talkin'." The Scjuire pondered long and earnestly ; he pincheil up his foreliead, scratched his head, rubbed his eyebrows, and beat a vig- orous tattoo with his fingers on the counter, but he reached no solution of his puzzle. The Squire began to feel doleful, and then, as always happened win.;; '^e inclincil toward melancholy, his religious feelings began to ;i.;,itrt themselves. He stepped into his back room, where in his Capacity of secretary of the County Kible Society he kept the Soci- ety's property, and took down a Bible. He opened it at random, as was his habit when troubled in mind and in search of con- solation, and his eye fell upon the following passage : " Add to your faith virtue, and to virtue knowledge, and to knowledge temperance, and to temperance patience, and to patience godlinesss, and to godliness brotherly kind- ness, and to brotherly kindness charity. " The Squire shut the book. "That sounds just nice I'eter," said he, "puttin' brotherly kindness an' charity above faith an' godliness. If he wasn't an inspired writer, I should say he was in the habit of goin' oti' half-cocked an' gettin' things wrong side before. I won- der liow it come to open just at that place !" The Squire allowed the Bible to open at random, and his eyes fell up(m this pa.ssage • "But thine eye and thine heart are not but for thy covetousuess and for to'shtd in- nocent blood, and for oppression — " The Squire closed the book abruptly. " Tliafu Jeremiah," said he. "I always did wonder why Jeremiah was for ever down in the dumps an' abusin' the Lord's chosen people. 'I'ears to me my humble efforts to ^ek^ the source of ev'ry consolation am'tTfifiiich blest to-day, but I'll try again. " Vriie book opened and the Sc^uire read : "And Nathan said unto David, ' Thou art the man. ' " The Squire tossed the holy liook across the room with such enesgy that it went ' through a window. "Oi course Nathan .said so," said he, "an' very good reason he had for sayin' it, too; but I don't see what that's got to do with me. I should think I'd been given over to the adversary to be tempted, an' that he'd just stuck his finger in the Bible at these places. But I've no business to get mad over it — 'resist the devil an' he'll flee from you. ' An' its wrong to treat God's holy word with such disrespect, an' I deserve the punishment I've got for it — them window- lights cost nine cents apiece by the box. " The Squire went into the yard, reverently 99 THE JERICHO KOAD. ■■ picked up the book, and n^ain Heated hiiiiHclf. This time he cliuiiced upon the verse read- iuj,: "So, tlien, every one of us shall^ivean ac- count of hiniHclf to (lod. " The S(|uire mused. "That's good clear liensc," Haid he ; "who wrote that? I'aul- I iniglit have known it — I'aul always hcd a level head. I don't know what would have become of the Cliurch if it wasn't for I'aul. 'Eveiy one ahall give an account of himxclf to God ;' if that means anything, it means that Lem has to be reaponsiblo for his own condition ; and so, of course, it means tiiat I haven't got anything to do with it. I wish the doctor was here now— ru should find it impossii)le not t4> tudd in wliat you feel on this subject, say it coolly, an' (juietly, an' tirmly, as a man always should when he wants to be believed. An' you'd better say it soon, for there's no knowing how (juick Reeves may take a notion to start — his horses are eatin' up «noney every day." Lem sj»ent the time which reaiained to him in addressing every one he met, ami telling them how gooil the Stpiire had been to him. So great was his earnestness that some of his late advocates M'ere convince