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Warwick of the Knobs

usuca

Warwick of th(
Knobs

^ Stary of Stringtown County, Kentucky

By
John Uri Lloyd

Author of " Stringtown on the Pike,"
"Etidorhp.," "The Right Side '
of the Car," etc.

With PholoKr-phic Illustrations
of Knob County

Toronto

W. J. Gage & Co., Limited

1901

All righit rttervtd.

THE EURK PRINTING HOUSE,
WEW YORK,

I PREFACE

Repeatid and persistent questionings con-
cerning t' ,; section of our country introduced by
these Stringtown Novels must be the author's
I justification for the following somewhat personal

J ascription. This land is not, as many persons

suppose, a creation of the imagination. It is as
real as boyhood home can be to the man whose
nearest and dearest ties of love and kinship have
ever been therein. The scenes are laid in pictu-
resque Boone (Stringtown) County, Kentucky,
where are to be found exceptionally fertile soil,
magnificent scenery, and features of rare interest
to historians as well as to naturalists, some of
which may be briefly noted.

Passing from Cincinnati down the gorge that
marks the great bend in the Ohio River, we reach
the glacier cliflfs known as "Knobley" and "Split

Preface

Rock," which, below Petersburg, lie on the Ken-
tucky side of the river adjacent to the mouth of
Woolper Creek. It was here that the buffalo
roads from the north and the west crossed the
Ohio, and here, near this famous paradise of the
red hu„t„, ihe Indians were lying in ambush the
lU-fated day in 1781 that the massacre of Colonel
Ixiughrey and his troops took place. From Knob-
ley to Hamilton, Kentucky, the Ohio runs prac-
tically south. Between these points, to the west.
He the rugged hills or knobs (Warwick's coun-
try) m and among which flow Middlecreek, Gun-
powder and Big Bone creeks, their branches all
headmg i„ the high interior ridge, along the crest
of which nms the Lexington and Covington
(btnngtown) pike. This formation is all of fos-
sil linestone. Against these knobs the Arctic
gkciers expended their energies, and to a distance
of from three to six miles inland may be found
glacier debris, often on the very top of the heights
Thus It IS that granite boulders and gravel from
the far north overlie the uplifted native forma-
t:on, while above the bases of some of the knobs
in the sands that possibly formed the shore of the
ancient ocean, lie extensive beds of coprolites

Preface y

some of enormous size, telling the story of gigan-
tic prehistoric reptilian life.

Long after these time-lost periods, possibly
contemporary with the mound-builders, who sub-
sequently lived, reared their clay monuments and
died, but left no written word, this land became
the home of the mastodon. That is shown by the
bones found in the quagmire or jelly ground of
Big Bone Springs, where, in the heart of the
knobs, the great beasts were entrapped by the bot-
tomless mud, to perish. And if may be added
that in early settler days such bone relics were
also abundantly scattered over the surface of the
ground about these famed saline sulphur waters.
That these historic knobs and bottom-lands were
the scenes of the battles between the Indian tribes
is affirmed by the many battle-field burial-places
thereabout, concerning which the grave-covered
top of Mount Pisgah overlooking Gunpowder
Creek, and the cemeteries in the valley below and
elsewhere, speak volumes that are the more im-
pressive by reason of their tantalizing silence.

This fascinating land, in which is crushed so
much of life and action, so much to hold the mind
of one who likes to ponder the past, seems to

Preface

have been predestined to passion, turmoil and
struggle. The stone-cast evidences of Natures
convulsions, the fossil relics touching mighty
forms of prehistoric life, the deeds of savage
valor suggested by the Indian name of the coun-
try, the struggles of the white pioneers and set-
tlers, the part its people have taken in statesman-
ship and in war— these and other things that we
need not name to the reader of fVanvick of the
Knobs are the record which this highland that
lies between the North and the South bears
engraved in its soil, its rocks, its traditions,
legend: and people's hearts.

Of necessity, however, the story of Warwick
utilizes only such of these features, both natural
and historical, as can be touched without weight-
ing it with scientific details or other technicalities-
for a work which has for its direct object the pic-
turing of human life and incident cannot do more
than excite a thirst for such knowledge.

To persons who may be directly interested in
historical events, social conditions and the local
scenes presented or involved, the author ventures
to suggest a personal journey to the section where
the novels are laid. It should, however, be re-

Preface

vii

menibwed that the incidents dq)icted in this story
of Warwick are drawn from those momentous
times forty years ago, when in this section of our
country fact needs but be slightly, and often not
at all, disguised, in order that it may parade as
fiction.

To the foregoing, which so imperfectly de-
scribes the home of the "Stringtown Novels," the
author finds it essential to add a word concern-
ing the creed of the personage whose name gives
the title to this volume. In this direction also it
must be confessed that only the most cursory
touch is possible, certainly nothing need be added
concerning the lesson to be drawn from his life
and action. And yet, increasing interest in the
faith of Warwick leads the author to feel that a
few fortral words may be of service.

In Kentucky fifty years ago the religious sect
to which Warwick belonged was an influential
body of frugal, industrious citizens of unimpeach-
able integrity. Although in numbers the organi-
zation dwindled as the years passed, the zeal and
the faith of its membership, their devotion, their
reliance on the Bible as they interpret its precepts,
their faith and honesty, are as strong to-day as in

VIll

Preface

the past. Be it added, however, that decreaiing
number* give them little concern and no alarm,
for, as they accept, "if such is, it is because God
has so electett."

If one have any spirit of toleration, and will re-
flect over the exemplary conduct of those "Old
School or Bible Baptists," their uncompromising
perseverance and their determined aggressiveness
in behalf of God's law as interpreted by them-
selves, their steadfast faith in the midst of trials
which can never become grievous enough to dis-
turb their religious fervor, will be seen to stand
to them a living monument and before others an
enduring object lesson.

The distinguishing religious title preferred by
Warwick's people was and yet is "Old School,
Predestinarian. or Bible Baptist," but other names
both offensive and cruel are freely and thought-
lessly bestowed upon them by careless or un-
friendly outsiders. Among the titles recorded are
Old School Baptists, Primitive Baptists, Old Vir-
ginia Baptists, An ;-Means Baptists, Bible Bap-
tists, Hard-Shel! Baptists, Iron-Side Baptists,
Foreordination Baptists and Predestinarian Bap^
tists.

Preface

In Warwick'* day hit *., .1 was alert and a^-
gresiive, being especially opposed to the "Mii-
iionary Baptists,'' an ori;anizatiun that at f^'st wai
a dissenting fragment of their own peop'e. The
manner in which they handled these and all re-
lated sects is shown by a typical editcnal note
which is here quoted from "The Signi of the
Times," 1837:

"At the present moment we have among u»,
bearing the Baptist name, those who hold nearly
every sentiment which has been esteemed hetero-
dox and corrupt by the Baptists of past ages, Bap-
tists who, like the gods of old, have come newly
up. Witness the Seventh-Day Baptists, the Free-
Will Baptists, the General or Open Communion
Baptists, the General Atonement Baptists, the
Fullerite Baptists, the Campt)el!ite Baptists, with
many other kinds, whose sentiments are as dis-
cordant and confused as that of their more ancient
brethren, the builders of Babel."

The author feels justified in emphasizing the
fact that Warwick's people refuse to accept out-
side money for the church. They oppose .Sunday-
schools, Sunday contributions, revivals and
prayer meetings ; they do not tolerate the solicit-

•

X Preface

in,f of funds for any purpose whatever connected
with man's salvation, and they take no donations
for fur'hering religion or to convert the heathen,
a rock that is largely responsible for splitting
frotn them the Free-Will or Missionary Baptists.
Indeed, they are particularly opposed to mission
work, believing that interference with the re-
ligions of other people and nations in the face of
God's Word as they view it concerning predesti-
nation, is not only futile but wicked. While in
Warwick s day his people were much given to
doctrinal diKussions, the author has in these
pages carefully avoided all controversy or retort
other than in the interview between War>vick and
an outsider. Judge Elford, his aim in this direc-
tion being simply to pict. re stubborn Elder War-
wick's theological doctrine and mode of life as
shown by his own deportment in the face of trials
which might well test the faith of any man, but
which the author hopes he endured .is becomes the
duty of such as hold his faith. And in this con-
nection the author takes exr»otional pleasure in
frankly thanking the members of the Old School
Baptist Church for voluntarily placing at his com-
mand an abundance of editorials, sermons, life

I'reface

hiitorict and other print* concerning their tcct
v-hich very materially fortify hit previouily
formed viewi concerning a people to whom re-
ligion it not a pattime, a people whote sterling
worth even to thote oppoted tu t!ieir theological
doctrine ttan>lt engraved in the hearti of all who
know thctn.

J U. L.

CONTENTS

CHAnu.

I. The House of Warwick,
II. The Yellow Flood,

III. The "tranger

IV. Warwick's Oath. "I Swear it,

John," .
V. Mary and Lionel,
VI. The Church on the Island-
Warwick's Trials Begin,
Vll. The Charge Against Warwick,
VIII. "Disgrace Hangs Over the House
OF Warwick," .
IX. "Your Father, Mary, Has Brought
Shame to the Name of War-
wick," .
X. "I am a Warwick, Sir. The Honor
OF My Father is at Stake,"

PACE.
I

13
21

33
39

45
64

XIV

Contents

CHAPTU.

XI.

XII.
XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

That John Morgan Might Live.
A Warwick's Sacrifice,

A Letter, ....

"Ot.CE More the Shadows Flick-
ered," .....

"Tell My Father that I Stood
AS A Warwick Should, and
Died as a Warwick Should
Die,"

"Pap's Himself Ag'in," .
The Return of Spring, .
"Let's Have the Mercy Text,"
The Story of Warwick's Daugh-
ter, .....
Joshua Bids Farewell to the

Home on the Knob,
The Stringtown Grocery and

the Village Circle,
Warwick's Interview with Judge

Elford, ....
Warwick's Sermon in His Hour

of Darkest Trial,
"Pap, Can't You See thet I'm

Home Ag'in ?" .
"Let's Go to the Next Room,

Pap," ....

107
120

128

138
ISO
155
160

164
180
190
216
237
257
262

Contents

CHAPTM. pj^„

XXV. "Sister, th-se Things What's
Comin' Are FiiR Men to
Hear," .... 273

XXVI. "Pap, the Last Warwick of the

Knobs is a Coward," . . 283

XXVII. "Form, and Voice, and Knob

WERE Gone," . . . 300

ILLUSTRATIONS *

J"*''"" (.Fr^HlUflec.)

A Knob '■"°J

Gunpowder Creek before reachinR the Knob Land 31
Gunpowder Church on the Island. Built in 1851.

Ruins of the old Stone Church in the rear . . 51
Baptismal Pool In Gunpowder Creek, by the side of the

old Stone Church on the Island .... 61
The IIo ise in whicli General John Morgan was secreteJ

■86> ,05

The Great Cliff '

Where the road cuts through a bed o£ Coprolites near

Mt. Pisgah „3

Big Bone Church. "The Graveyard on the Hill " 1,9

Scene in Knobley. Glacier Stone ,j.

Through a little village went Warwick .... ,9,

The Cabin is empty again j„

" Warwick, with left hand on the rude pulpit and right

arm extended,—" j,„

Where Warwick, the Lonely Old Man of the Knobs,

read his Bible „.

Buftalo Wallow by the side of the Old Buflulo Road . 265
Where Joshua crossed the river on his return from the

North 38g

• The fhotographic scenes are by
Mrs. John Uri Lloyd

WARWICK OF THE KNOBS

CHAPTER I.

THE HOUSE OF WARWICK.

High upon one of the knobs of Stringtown
County stood the home of Preacher Warwick.
One would have to go far to find a mc ' pictu-
resque situation. Whichever way one looked
there was something to charm the eye — a knob or
a hillside, a valley, a gulch or a glen. To an art-
ist or a poet the scene would have been a delight
and an inspiration, but to Warwick it was noth-
ing. From childhood the panorama had been be-
fore him. These hills and valleys, these wood-
lands, creeks, bluffs and stone croppings were
commonplace to one reared as he had been in a
house on the uplifted knob that commanded a
view of the distant Ohio hills on the far north, the

Warwick of the Knobs

Indiana bluffs to the southwest, thj great ridge
upland that bisects Kentucky on the east, and a
horizon bounded everywhere by objects miles and
miles away in the hazy distance.

In this home Warwick, large and muscular, a
stalwart specimen of manhood, sat one afternoon.
Before him there was a worn leather-backed
Bible, the Bible that had come down to him
through the hands of three generations of War-
wicks. He was studying intently thi page that
had gladdened the eyes of his father and his
father's father, and of that father's father; that
had comforted many weary hearts in the diy
when the pioneers of Kentucky needed consolation
such as could come from no other source. When
the Virginia colonists marched and fought with
Washington in the dark days of the Revolution,
ihat booir had been a solace to a Warwick, and
even before, it had been treasured by a Warwick
who served in the old French wars.

On the opposite side of the room from War-
wick sat his daughter, a girl of barely seventeen
years, presenting in her timid gentleness a strik-
ing conirast to his harsh and stern character.
Hers was a strangely attractive face, framed in

The House of Warwick

ringlets of hair which hung down to her shoul-
ders.

The daughter seemed as much absorbed in her
own thoughts as \Varwicl< was intent upon his
study of the Word. From time to time, however,
she raised her eyes, looking toward her fatlicr al-
most beseechingly. But not once did \\'arwick
give her a glance in response. At length she
crossed the room and stood before him, but he
still kept his eyes upon the page of tlie book.
Hesitatingly and with a timid uncertainty of
movement, the girl dropped on her knees by his
side, and laid her hand upon his shoulder.

"Father, forgive me for disturbing you now,
but I have been waiting long."

"What is it, daughter?"

"Father, it has been six years since mother died,
six yars to-night."

The man closed his book. "Six -ears since she
passed into eternal life, my child."

"The years have been long to me, father ; they
grow more lonesome as they pass."

"This should not be. Think of all that you
have to be thankful for — Have you felt the
need of food or clothing?"

Warwick of the Knobi

"No."

"Of warmth in winter ?"

"N'o, fatlifr."

"I las any one been trying your patience ? Hat
your brotlier worried or annoyed you ?"

She shook her head.

"You have been spared sickness."

"All that is true, father, and yet I am very
lonesome."

"My daughter," said Warwick coldly, "six
days in the week have you to ^pend in study,
reading, recreation; you have food in plenty,
clothes for comfort; a loving brother, a watcliful
father, and, best of all, twice each month the
chance to go to meeting and he. the blessed
word of God."

"Were my mother living, would she have said :
This is all my daughter needs?' Would—" the
girl hesitated and then continued : "May I speak,
my father?"

The face of the man grew stern. "Go on
child,"

"Would it be wrong for me to tell you of a
dream that came to me night before last ?"

"Tell it. child, \either good nor harm can
come from dreams."

The House of Warwick

"I dreamed that my niuther came to my tide
while, h Hiking at a pleasure party, I sttxxl in the
path near the creek road. She api^arcd as she
dill when I was young and she was well. Her
hecks were red and she was smiling. She
seemed to be speaking to me and to be asking:
'Why is my daughtci- not wiili the young
people?' " The girl stopped »uddenly, and looked
into her father's face.

"And you replied?"

"That it was wicked to frolic and dance and
sing songs, such as these young people sang."

"Right, my child. And then?"

"May I tell you? My father, you will not be
out of patience with me for repeating the words
that mother seemed to be saying in the Jream?"

"Go on, a dream is but a dream."

The girl lowered her voice and glanced about
timidly.

"She said : 'Say to your father that the passing
of these young people will mark the beginning of
his afilictions, unless he makes his God lovable,
his religion enjoyable, his daughter's pleasure
and happiness a part of his thought ; unless he lets
her ! jgh and sing with young people such as

Warwick of the Knoba

the»c. Say to your father that hr fcart too much
the clevit— • "

"Stop, " »aul Warwick, ilif voice, deep and
hoarte, rang through the room. The girl, in
affright, »hrank back.

"Forgive me, my father. It was only th«
dream."

"Say no more, for no more will I hear."

"The dream is gone, my father, and lo are the
roies in my mother's cheeks. But the following
day, the day after the dream, ..an. .he yo.mg
people I had seen, the very same w gon, the same
faces, the very boys and girls, who had been
laughing and singing. But perhaps it was only
chance." Then abruptly she changed the subject,

"I am very lonely my father. Would it be
wrong for me to see some things outside .hese
knobs ?"

"Did I not send you to boarding-school ?"

"There were many girls in school, only girls.
It was only on Sunday mornings that we could
leave the grounds, and then a teacher led our line,
and a teacher close followed it. We walked to
church, two and two, and then back to the school ;
it is better to live in the knobs than to be watched
.IS if one cotiid not be trusted."

The House of Warwick

A shadow and a frown came over her father's
face.

"Have you any other grievance? he asked
coldly.

Rising and clasping her hands, the girl looked
him full in the face.

"Father, these things that I have mentioned
are not grievances. I long for change of scene,
for the company ot other young folks. I wish
to act like other girls, to be one of many. I crave
to go to a dance, to the Stringtown Fair, to a
circus. Is it wrong to wear a ribbon in my hair,
or a bright dress ? Does not the wild bird, fresh
from God's hand, sing? In our thickets are blue,
and yellow, and even cardinal red birds ; did not
God make them bright in feathers, and — "

"My daughter," interrupted Warwick, "the
artful devil has many methods to catch the un-
wary. Beware of the frivolities of youth. Shame
comes at last to such as these."

"Please lisven to me, father. Yesterday, when
that wagon, filled with girls, and a troupe of young
men on horseback passed in the road below us,
one of the girls looked toward where I stood, and
then the others glanced at me; the wagon stopped

and a young „,a„ rode to the path and drew his
horse beside me."

"And what did he say?" asked Warwick, lean-
ing over and scanning her face closely

"He asked me to join the party. He said that
h y were gomg to Big Bone Springs for a picnic,
that there was room in the wagon, and that they
would see me safely home."
"And you ?"

"I told him I could not go. because you, my
father, do not approve of such things. But that
day was very dreary to me, and to-day is more
than lonesome. Last night I dreamed again of
the faces m the wagon, and in my dreams it was
not my mother that came, but the young man
I dreamed that I, too. was laughing and singing
and m the wagon with the others. I was very

adTeL.-' "' "' ''""' '* "" ' ^'•^-' °"'y
"Let it continue to be a dream. God grant
my daughter, that it may ever be a dream " '
Father, no girl comes to my home, I have
neither company nor society. I love you very
..ry much. I do not wish to annoy you, but It'
would be such a joy to me, and I would not love

The House of Warwick

you any less, could I just for once go to
Big Bone Springs with a party such as this party
of the dream seemed to be. May I not, my
father?"

"Daughter," replied Warwick, "put aside these
frivolities. They are temptations that the devil
sends. No credit are they to the young persons
of whom you speaK, and who will yet sup of
sorrow. Such company would disgrace the
daughter of your father. 'Vanity of vanity, all
is vanity.' These young people sin in God's sight.
They do unrighteous things, of which you have
no knowledge, and which, while I live, shall never
be a part of your life. Worldly music, frolicking,
dancing, are an abomination to the Lord. Never,
never, I say, shall the daughter of Warwick take
part in such unholy acts. Child of mine, you,
who enjoy the manifold blessings God has show-
ered on your path, and yet openly crave for un-
hallowed joys, know that your father would
rather see you in your shroud than the member
of such a party. The devil, I say, tempts the
unwary. Turn your thoughts to holy things;
sing the 373rd hymn ; pray to God for strength,
my child. Listen to the words of the sacred text :

ji Warwick of the Knobs

'It is better to go to the house of mourning than
to go to the house of feasting.' "

The girl kneelcl, and buried her face in her
hands. The man turned to his Bible. Just then
a sheet of lightning flashed across the cloud that
had loomed out from the southwest, and was
immediately followed by a shock of thunder that
shook the house and made the knob tremble. The
unexpected interruption seemed to remind War-
wick ot a neglected duty. He rose, strapped
a pair of rawhide leggings about his ankles
slipped a small Bible and hymn-book into a pai^
of saddle-bags, and started for the door.

CHAPTER 11.

THE YELLOW FLOOD.

Evening had not fallen, yet the room had
suddenly become darkened by a leaden gloom-
shade, such as in this section of our land falls
occasionally on the hills and valleys when, of
a sultry afternoon, the upstarting clouds close in
from the southwest and lose themselves among
the knobs, cliffs and gorges.

With legs encased in yellow leggings, an'' slouch
hat drawn firmly over his forehead, ./arwick
was ready to take his departure. In one hand he
held a short cowhide riding whip, in the other the
well-worn saddle-bags. His daughter had Ijegun
a final plea when a crash of thunder, like a mate-
rial object, seemed to strike against the house
and then thumped and bounded and rolled away
in the distance, as if gigantic balls were bouncing
from knob to knob. The girl drew back, and her
face grew white. Warwick seemed not to notice

'4 Warwick of the Knobs

her fright, nor to hear the thunder crash. With
a rough kmdness he stroked her hair as she stood,
pleading, between the door and himself

Tut, tut. child," he said, "many is the time
your father has gone forth into sforms hard^
tha,Mh,s one. What harm can a drop of water

"But, father, wait imtil the storm is over."
Warwick shook his head. "You do not know
what IS best, child."

At that moment a vivid sheet of lightning
streamed mto the window, lighting up her face

I am so afraid ! Do not leave me now "
^ And h., it come to this.v the father replied.
Have my teachmgs left you, my daughter, alto-
g«er without faith.. Do you, forlhom Te
hea of your father has ever gone in supplication
to the great God abov^o you, who should
know nght from wrong, if ever child knew it
not comprehend that if the good Lord has elected
hat m,„ ,hall die of lightning stroke, no human
hand, no mortal power, can avert the end'"
"But the flood, the water is coming down in

m;ttht:""^^'^°^^^«°-^"^'---"'^-n"

The Yellow Flood

«5

"If a man is born to be drowned," said War-
wick, "he will never die in any other way. If
a man is not destined to be drowned, he cannot
I drown. Child, you do wrong when you question
' God's power to direct these things. You are
I impious when you attempt to persuade your
j father to shirk his duty. Did I not announce that
evening services would begin this day at early
candle-light? Never yet did Preacher Warwick
fail to keep his word to the Lord. It is written,
'When thou passest through the waters I will be
with thee; and through rivers, they shall not
overflow thee.' "

The girl threw her arms about the form of her
father, her head hardly reaching to his shoulder.
"Do not leave me alone in this storm, please
do TOt. Others will not go to church to-night."
"Daughter, God sent this storm for some
beneficent purpose, and the same God bade me
announce services this evening. You say that
others will not go to church to-night. Then so
be It. Alone in the holy sanctuary, I shall pray
for timid sinners who shrink from a touch of
water. Go I must, if for no other reason than
to plead for you in God's holy house-for you

Warwick of the Knobs

wlio see not the devil's allurements, who doubt
the power of God to direct men's fcxjtsteps ac-
cordmg to the foreordained plan. Daughter
kneel, and beseec/- he great God of Hosts to give
you the strength to trust in His all-wise power
and m His love for man, a sinner. God knows
best why, in His loving mercy, He directed me.
His servant, to announce services this evening
God knows, too, why this storm of lightning-
stroke and flood was sent. God only knows why
these things are, but if they arc, they are for the
best, and that alone concerns me. His trusting
servant. That which was ordained in the begin-
ning must be."

Carrying his saddle-bags. Warwick passed out
of the door into the storm, which now seemed
to have centred itself about the very knob upon
which his house stood. The girl sank upon her
knees beside a chair, burying her face in her
hands, while the wind and rain, mixed with hail
broke forth with increasing fury. Amid the
interlocked gleam of lightning-strokes fast fol-
lowing each other, and the thunder crashes, that
were as a medley of blows and snaps and long-
drawn-out rolls, the man on the horse passed

The Yellow Flood

cautiously down the hill, toward the bank-full
creek at its base.

Siowly, step by step, the horse picked his way
along the rocky path, which was now threaded
with yellow rills, down to the creek-road, into
which the path merged, and passed under the
angry torrent, which now filled its channel and
crept over the banks. Without hesitation the
well-trnincd beast stepped into the water, slowly
advancing, step by step, over the uneven, flat
stone bottom, until the feet of the rider were
covered by the flood. Suddenly Warwick drew
the reins, turn.' his face up the stream, placed
his hand behind his ear and listened, as if to catch
a sound that the storm and rushing water ren-
dered indistinct.

After listening for a moment he backed his
horse out of the flood, and, turning up the stream,
he forced his way along the bank, peering closely
and anxiously at the seething torrent. At a spot
where the water eddied in a deep pool, he saw
a man clinging to the top of a snagged tree's
trunk, which, with roots caught in the earth,
swerved back and forth as the circling water
swept its i.ee end from side to side. The unfor-

Warwick of the Knobs

tunate stritggler possessetl strength enough, it
was evident, to cling for a time only, with just
voice enough to cry out weakly. The chances
were that he would not lie heard, or even if he
were that no one c^uld do more than wait on the
bank, and watch the rushing waters loosen the
cli -|> of the weakened arms and close over the
body.

The struggling beast on which Warwick ro<le
floundered along the muddy bank, among the tall
horse weeds, alders and iron weeds that, just
outside the fence, almost shut from sight the
creek it bordered. In some places there was
hardly space enough for a cow-path between
fence and flood, but Warwick urged his way
through and over al! obstructions until he reached
a spot on a line with the stranger. ,

Only a few feet separated the two, but the
short distance seemed impassable.

"Hold fast! pray to the Lord for strength,"
cried Warwick, striking his horse a sharp cut
with his whip.

Through the beating storm the words were
heard by the struggler ; the horse and rider dis-
appeared in the underbrush, through which crept

The Yellow Flood

«9

the cow-path up the creek. When Warwick wa»
a >hort distance above the tree tnmk to which
the man was clinging, he turned hi^t horse's head
toward the flcKxl, and with another cut of the
whip forced him into the waters.

Then followed a wonderful display of horse-
manship, human courage, and animal faith in
man, to which, however, the Kentucky knobs and
wilds alone were witness. Breasting the floo<l,
head upstream and body submerged, the horse
was swept, like a fragment of drift, down the
rapids and into the eddy, where clung the drown-
ing man. Warwick seemed to be fully as helpless
as, and in even greater danger than, the man he
aimed to help. But as the horse neared the spot
where swayed the siftiken log, Warwick stretched
out his right arm and, clutching the man in peril,
drew him with a firm grasp to his side. Just as
the ford was reached the feet of the horse struck
the stones; then, leaping from his place in the
saddle, with the exhausted man clasped in his
right arm, and leading his horse, Warwick beat
his way out of the creek, and climbed the rocky
road that led to his home on the knob.

The door was opened, and Warwick, carrying

Warwick of the Kno^

hi. burd«,. .n.erct ,he room from which he h..l

«cha,r. he ,urne.l,„ hi. .laughter, anciwi^

a «ran,e indifference ,n .he well.,.i„, , eiTh^

the stranger or hi.nwif. he l^gan :

"naiighter, man', ,in, are many, fnit the Lord
;;«., to ,h..e .ho are ..eJne.. fl^'ji^^ '

on Pray ...« Cod may have willed that you
are to be org.ven for the error of heart that l«l
> ". th„ .lay ,K,h to listen to Satan ami trvTo
. war. .1. la. „, ,,, „^..^,,^ ^^^^^M

Pn. . and then r,se up firm in strength an,! f^i.h

u.npurp..e. ready henceforth to Su,::;;^^^

, , ,"'• """Klucr, c.,,,1,1 your father have

" '""' '" >■"-'■ »PP*a.. the voice of the man ,

whirh ; . • '"'' P''' ""''^"landing. That

CHAPTER III.

THE STRANGER.

There came an interruption from without, a
youth entered the room, hesitating a moment in
the <larl:ne»s; hut Warwick's eyes were now ac-
customed to the Rl<x)m. ".Vtui so at last you
liave come to the hou.se, Joshua ; wliy did you stay
so long in tlic toliacco patch ?"

"The storm beat me Iwck ; I waited a bit fcr
it to break."

"Is the bloo<l of >''arwick running out? A
girl trying to induce her father to disobey the
Lord for fear of a drop of rain, a toy afrnid to
wet his face in a summer sliower?" He paused,
and. pointing to the man on the chair: "Son. take
this wanderer to your room, give liim a welcome
such as is due to one in distress—one who has
been guided to our iiome by the hand of the

aa Warwick of the Knobs

c^nt ? f^ The minister stepped to the
cupboard, and, taking a flask from a chest of bot-
les poured the liquor into the goblet and held it
o the hps of the stranger, who endeavored vainly
to swallow the potion. With a show of im-
patience, Warwick filled the goblet and drained it
to he last drop, suggesting next that it might be
well to heat some water and make the stranger a
weak whiskey punch or an eggnog Then he went
agam mto the storm, which now had decreased
n mtens,ty. and turned his horse down the path
oward the torrent, which, high above the bank
raged through the gorge. Beyond this ford othe^
angry torrents were to be crossed r)efore he could
reach the little church on the island, where he

«nH.'r"r"'l '"'■"' '"^^^ "'«''' -' early
candle-hght. That he succeeded in his obj«t and
returned m safety was seen the next morning
when he sat, as usual, at the head of his table and
asked a blessmg that contained no allusion to his
own trials or privations.

Four persons were present-the stranger.
Warwick, his son and his daughter. For a thne
It seemed as though the meal might be finished
m silence. The girl was timid, the boy churlish

The Stranger

Warwick absorbed in thought, and the stranger
reserved, although twice he had attempted to
introduce the subject of his rescue. The first
time he met with a reply indicating that there
could be no risk to one who had faith in the Lord ;
the second time he was Informed, in words that
could not be misconstrued, that whatever credit
was due should be given to God.

"We are all tools in a mighty scheme, in which
man is helpless and powerless. You could not
avoid the undermined bank that slipped and cast
you into the stream. I could not help but go out
into the storm, to be guided to your rescue."

"But surely you need not have risked your life
for me."

"I could have done nothing but what I did.
I could not have moved a hand but as the Lord
decreed in the beginning it should move. I could
not have crossed that stream had I attempted to
do so, nor could I on the bank have watched your
weakened hands unclasp had I been ever so
afraid of self-injury. The act of yesterday was
mapped out in the book of our lives. It was pre-
destined that you should cling to that very log,
and that I should save you from the flood."

The stranger seemed inclined to ask another
question or to argue the point, but LSe ^
could speak Warwick added-

th'J^t'u^''^ ''• "'■ "'"* ^f-'-^h is not. is not-

co^d L: r;h ^'^'^ ^"^^ ^' '-' 'predestined :^-
cord>ng to the purpose of Hin, who make*h all
thmgs after the counsel of His own willT"

Ha.ha;pr;otir.x„^--^'-^^-

"No. But—"

"No—"

"Do you know of anvthino- n,,* n j ,
;^^. His incite wisSitS^Sl^

■nto that flood, you could have kept out of it "
No mortal power, no will of man could .,,

The Stranger 25

No. Had I been ever so ready to disobey the
Lord's command, I couldn't if I would."

The earnestness and aggressiveness exhibited
by Warwick in this discussion abashed the
stranger.

"I am fully recovered, thanks to your kindness,
and will resume my journey, first, h'-wever,
asking you to tell me where the man I am seeking
lives."

"What is his name? I know every man in
these knobs."

"His name is Warwick."
"Preacher Warwick?"
"Yes."

"God has guided your footsteps to my door.
What would you have of me?"
"Are you Preacher Warwick?"
"Yes."

"I was sent here to study the geological forma-
tion of this part of Kentucky, the glacier
prints on the Middle-creek, Gunpowder and other
cliffs, the fossil shells of the hiii tormations and
the big bones of 'Big Bone Lick.' I was directed
to you as one who lived in this interesting section
of our land, and who might give me temporary
lodging and board."

.fl

-chfareasXie??"' ^'•" ^°" P"» "P -th

"This is good enough for any Me." «j^ .u
stranger lightly. ^ ^ '*"* "•«

Nor* or ,h. &»»" '"'" '"» ""

"From the North "

Warwick mused a moment.
And have you no letters?"

stag^°o Lrj '' "*; *° ^'-'""-t'. thence by
of your SstT'J r '^ ^ "'^^ ^^- °-
•"e Th 4 r eft h- / T "''''= ^°" ^"""'l

wished to stay." ^ '""* ^

"Yon seem young for this kind of work-
studying fossil stones and fossil bones "

"1 am older than I look. Still, I am only a
student m the university. I came to cpend my
vacation in this work."

•'And you have nothing to do with the war?"
No.

♦ Z^'Z°'^^ '""^" °"" """"^ Warwick hesi-
tated. If you live with Warwick and have told
the truth, you have nothing to fear from the
people hereabout, be they for the North or for
he South. But if you come here as a spy, there
IS da- jer-danger for you and for others, if

and good; buc ,f this is not your work, be careful
for so sure as the sun shines on this knob there
IS danger ahead."

"I ''*''* *°''' >'°" '•'e futh, Mr. Warwick "
'Thv' whole truth ?"
"Yes."

huT^'" ^"»; "'^ '*'y'' '^'^ Warwick, changing
h>s tone. "I take some interest myself i„ these
cunous stones, which seem once to have bZ
hells, and m these great bones, which dwarf our
largest beast of to-day. You may stay fl "

28 Warwick of the Knobs

time, and yet, if your tongue has been led
astray, so sure as the shadows lie all day
long on Gunpowder's Valley, so sure will you
pay for the crooked speech. This seems harsh,
my young friend, but these times demand plain
words."

They left the table, and Joshua went out to the
tobacco field, the daughter turned her attention
to the household duties, Warwick and his guest
returning to the sitting-room.

"Another word," said Warwick when the
others were out of hearing, "now that we are
alone. You are from the North. You need not
have said it. I knew it from the way you speak.
I knew it last night. But that is not what I have
to say now. You are here to hunt shells in the
hills, and bones in the Lick Valley. Be sure you
do this, and that you close your ear and your
eye to things outside. To everything else let your
eye be as blind as are the stone shells of our
bluffs, and your ear as dead as are the mammoths
whose teeth lie in the Big Bone quagmire."

The you**- flushed. He was not accustomed
to such plain talk. He turned away, but Warwick
laid his great hand upon his shoulder.

The Stranger 29

"Troops of men in blue will pass you in the
daytime, for the provo'-marshal scours both hill
and valley; keep your eyes on the stones when
these hoofs beat the road."

The young man shrugged his shoulders, and
tr.ed to tw.st from the grasp of the heavy hand
Vou may be caught from home ,y night, and
then may meet a squad of horsemen who wear

vo.ce. Should any one question you, tell the

thl .w ''°" "■' " '*""*"' °^ "'""^^ »"d tell
Z^)u T ""P ""''^ ^"^'"^"^ °^ the Knobs;
and ,f they doubt that, bring them to me."

But why should they interfere with me?"

Koml° r f ^' ^' ■' "°* interference for the
Kome Guards to inquire into the business of
a stranger nor can men, bound to the Confeder-

hammer m h.s hand as a blind. Do as I say
And now, another word. The room in which

you W.11 sleep is that of my two oldest boys
They are not here now; you may never mert

"'ght Ask no questions, keep your eyes
closed; and if some man shares the room S

30 Warwick of the Knobi

you and rises before daybreak, forget the in-
cident."

Warwick's voice and his intense earnestness
brought a shadow to the face of the young man.

CHAPTER IV.

WARWICK'S OATH. "1 8WEAS IT, JOHN."

As Warwick looked down the hill toward the
creek road at its base, a horseman came from the
direction of Stringtown, and turned toward the
house on the knob. The preacher went out
hastily, and stood by the front door until the new
arrival drew rein.

'■Come in, Dr. John, and rest," said Warwick.
What brings you here so early? No sickness
m the neighborhood, I reckon ?"

"No," replied the doctor, dismounting and
hitching his horse to the rack. "I came to see
you, Warwick, and I cannot stay, although, so
far as others know, I am here on professional
business. Are we alone?"
"Yes."

kir

Warwick of the Knobi

"You have a aon with Morgan."

"And you have a brother," replied Warwick.
"Need we be alone to speak of what is known to
all Stringtown County'"

"Our cause is a common one, Warwi'-'";, and
you know I am not one to disturb you unneces-
sarily."

"It takes much to disturb a man in such times
as these," —id Warwick.

"Then let us speak as man to man. Warwick,
you know every nook and corner, every crevice
of the knobs; you are familiar with every path
and creek-bed."

"True. My father's father helped drive the
Indians from this section; here my father was
born ; here I first saw the light, and here my chil-
dren were born. Why should I not know the
land? It would be strange if I did not."

"Enough, Warwick; let's come to the point.
Your help is needed. Two »veeks from Monday
night I shall come again, but it must be late in
the night, and I shall not be alone. I will tap
twice on the front door and then once. Be ready
to receive the man who rides with me. Hide him
in the knobs, hide him where neither Home

Warwiclc'i Oath.

Guar.1 nor provo'-mar.hal can fin.l him. S« that
hch,.fo^, UVwick;an.l,i,„,c««ry fi^h
tnat brings me here to-day "

Warwick. The fir,. Monday af.cr ,he fir,.

"And then .'"he asked.

"You will be informed. The man for whom

r;h;v:T^^'"^"-^"-'''-^--'h«"

.Ch^:X,:^^° ^-^ -'^>- - -•'c Him

"Toward the south .'"
"Yes."

knlwn tof "' " " "°' '"' "" '° 1""«i°n one
known to be a, true as you to the Southern cause •

"Yes."

"From the Home Guards '"
"Yes."

see'l^r'h ^' "" """" ^''° ~'"" "■• ««=ret to
seek my home worth a life?"

"Yes."
"Warwick's ?"

ImI

-^ii

Warwick of the Knobs

"Yes."

"You may bring him. I promise that the
Monday night following the first Sunday that
follows the first Saturday of next month War-
wick will be in this room, listening for the tap
on the door. I swear it, John."

Just then a noise in th« adjoining room caused
the quick-eared doctor to turn his face in that
direction.

"Tut, tut, John," said Warwick, "the door is
puncheon. No one can hear."

Mounting bis horse, the physician rode down
the hill, repeating as he departed, "Be ready,
Warwick. The Confederate cause risks much on
you that Monday night."

But it was evident that Warwick was less sure
of the door than seemed to be the case when he
spoke to the doctor. For a long time he sat in
reverie, gazing at its oak surface. "What is to
be, will be," he finally said. "I must not question
the Lord, who led the g^est to ray door."

The next morning Joshua, his son, started for
Stringtown to get the trunk and baggage of the
guest, who handed the youth a letter as he left

Warwick's Oath. " I Swear it. John " 37

the house. It had been hastily written, and
as follows:

was

Dear Charley: Here I am i„ Stringtown
County. Kentucky, but I half wish myself else-
where. . came near drowring the night of my
arrival; m, ^t have drowned but for a strange
n^ake-up of a man, a giant preacher, who rode
his horse mto as viciou. a flood as I ever saw. and
risked h.s hfe to pick me off a snag. Talk about
your surf and undertows, you haven't a wave on
the coast that approaches this devilish yellow
creek, that runs like a race-horse and sucks and
surges and roars its way through hills high
enough to scrape the horns off the moon. But
here I am. ready to study fossils and bones and-
oh well, anything that comes my way. A devil-
ish cunous old man, this man Warwick, the first
predestmarian I ever met; lucky it is for me, too

wolV °"'', ^°" "°"' ''"' " '■^"^•°"^ f^"^tic
would have risked his life as he did for me But

his gawky son Joshua is waiting for this letter
and I must close. '

"Lionel.

Warwick of the Knobs

"P. S. Forgot to say that Mr. Warwick has
a slip of a daughter about sixteen years of age, as
timid as a rabbit and as pretty as a dove. Send
me the papers regularly. Only the Signs of the
Times comes to this place."

CHAPTER V.

MARY AND LIONEL.

Thus began the Kentucky life of the younR
student from the North. Each morning the
am,Iy breakfa^ted before the rise of the sun-
and when the meal was finished, Joshua and his
father turned toward the tobacco patch, where
both worked diligently until noon. Again after
dmner they returned to the field. Lionel lingered
m the house until the dew disappeared, classifying
h.s fossil collection of the previous day, or read
•ng the papers that soon began coming to him at
.rre^-ular intervals. The girl busied herself about
the housework. There were two servants, one
an old :,egro woman, the other a negro man not
-CSS aged; but they gave no attention to the house,
their duties being to attend to the cooking and
the kitchen and dining-room work.

So whenever Lionel was in the house the
daughter was usually near; and, naturally, it was

Warwick of the Knobs

not long before she began to exhibit some curios-
ity concerning the work of the young man. She
discovered that the visitor was a student in one
of the celebrated universities cf New England,
and had been advised by the professor of geology
to spend his vac:' 'ion near Big Bone Lick, Ken-
tucky, where, as he had informed her father, not
only were to be found rich fields of fossil, shell-
fish and trilobites, but mammoth and mastodon
bones, buffalo roads, Indian trails and other sub-
jects of great interest to naturalists.

On reaching Stringtown, as already related,
he left his baggage, and in a farmer's spring
wagon started for the home of Preacher War-
wick, who had been recommended to him by the
landlord of the "Williams House" in Stpngtown
as one who lived in the very heart of the region
he sought, ana wno had room in his home for
a boarder, providing he would agree to take one.

"But," said Mr. Williams, "Warwick has two
sons in the rebel army, and because you are from
the North he may decline to give you lodging."
After leaving the wagon of the farmer, about
a mile from Warwick's house, the storm came
suddenly; and next, as he stood on an undercut

Mary and Lionel 4,

sod, came the accident that threw him into the
torrent.

"Your fatiier is a very stem man, Miss War-
wick He seems never to smile," concluded
Lionel.

"Father seems harsh," she answered, "but he
>s very kind. He speaks sternly, but he means
no harm. He loves his church above all things
and is devoted to his religion."

She hesitated and then added, "Do not cross
him in his views concerning baptism or in his
religious belief about the infallible decrees of
God, for he will not take it kindly. I know how
honest are his motives, and I know, too, hi.
kmdiy disrwsition."

"But to you. Miss Warwick, he speaks very
harshly." '

"You do not know him."

"He is very religious, but yet he believes that
his daughter—" Lionel paused.

"You wish to say that he believes I am not
elected to salvation ?" said the girl.

"That is it. You do not believe it, do you?
You do not believe that such as you will be
damned and such as your father saved?"

-^'1

f! '"

1,14
111

^m:.

Warwick of the Knobs

"I do, yes, I do," said the girl earnestly, "for I
cannot make a public confession. It is terrible,
this thing of passing helplessly to eternal punish-
ment. Oh, it is terrible to think of I"
"What wrong have you done?"
"I was born a sinner, and have not seen God's
grace. Oh, it is awful to be damned eternally!
But I do not wish to speak of these things, this
is not what I wish to say to you. Be careful to
avoid the subject of religion; let father have his
word, but make no reply while you stay with us.
And — " she stopped.
"And what?"

"Go regularly to church. To-morrow is
meeting-day, the first Sabbath that follows the
first Saturday. Go to church with us. And,
above all, do not study on the Sabbath; do not
break stones, do not pick up fossils, do not read
the newspapers."
"What am I to do.'"

"After attending morning services and riding
horseback five miles to and from church, you will
have little time left. Pass it in God's service."
"And this has been your life?"
"From childhood," she answered. "Never has

Jou'nf " ^f"^*" ^°"°-'"« the first Saturday
found me absent from church VVinf^r ^

rain, snow or flood are »„ 1 ' *""""'^'

that day." • *° "" °"« »"'• 'he same

"I call this a devih'sh " h«»,„ .l

>t as you say, Miss Warwick I nm ,
shallabidehythecustomrthe'iry.^"'-^"^

wil^rrT/'T"' '°" "'" ^° *° '"urch and
1 shall do as you wish "

naiet '^fath'^'" ^°" ^°"'='=**^ ^--'^. >>«, fortu-

the StrL^n H« Poached in the old church up

%ht undf da?w r ' '"' '' *°°'' *"■" fr°- day
light until dark to go and return. However he

wil be home to-morrow, and that is whri lat
so to you to-day." ^ P^"

That night the guest wrote to his friend:

"Dear Charlev: Im in it for sure To-
morrow IVe got to go to church and be good
after the style of a hard-shell Baptist ^ITt
good, too, while I am out of church.' Only 1?

rra7:fjr^°^^'':°^^^"^^"'^Co;

Dreak a stone. I must sit and think of, the old

Warwick of the Knobi

scratch knows what, read the Bible and psalm>
book, and mope the day away. Charley, this
country is a geological mine. These hills and
cliffs are made up of strata of fossil, blue lime-
stone, over which once beat the ancient ocean.
The tops of the highest knobs and the floor of the
creeks and all between are a mass of stone shells.
Here the famed Cincinnati Formation is to be
seen at its best.

"Charley, this old man Warwick is a case. He
takes his dram as regularly as dram-time comes,
and says his prayers as sure as the sun rises or
the dinner-table is set. He sings a psalm, too,
now and then, and yet, amid all his religious
fervency and his faith in a beneficent God, this
daughter of his is afraid to smile in his presence.
I don't know just how the old man would take it,
but she ought to see the world, and I'd like to^

"Oh, well, to-morrow we all go to 'meeting* on
horseback, ride five miles, rain or shine, and back
again. Th- first Sunday that follows the first
Saturday is 'meeting' day.

"Lionel.

"Ha ! hal the first Sunday that follows the first
Saturday."

CHAPTER VI.

THE CHURCH ON THE ISLAND.-WABWICK's
TRIALS BEGIN.

Sunday morning Warwick, his family and
Lionel started to ciiurch on horseback. As they
neared the ford of the creek at the base of the hiil
Lionel noticed on the opposite summit, where the
road crossed its crest, two men on horseback
watchmg the party in the valley. But Warwick
apparently did not see them, for he turned down
the branch, his companions following in single
file. Lionel was the last in the line; and as they
turned away he chanced again to look toward the
itien on the hill, and saw that they were moving
slowly down the road. Then his eyes caught the
ghtter of brass in the sunlight. A moment later
he lost sight of them.

Any one familiar with this part of Stringtown
County need not be informed that the view is
exceptionally picturesque. The hills rise, each

Warwick of the Knobf

sttming to strive to get above the one behind.
The road branches and divides, as does the creek,
for along each branch of the creek a horse-path
turns toward the homes that rest along the hill-
sides and near their summits. The fossil stones
lie flat in the creek-beds, layer above layer they
shelve out of the yellow clay in broken edges.

The forests along the creek have never been
touched by the axe, excepting where a tree has
been felled to make way for the narrow roadway ;
the hillsides are occasionally cleared to give space
for a tobacco patch or a touch of corn; but, as
a rule, Nature holds her own in the knobs and
valleys of Stringtown County. At the first oppor-
tunity, where the road widened, Lionel drew his
horse alongside that of Joshua.

"Did you see the horsemen on the hill ?"

"D" you think I'm blind ?"

"Were they not cavalrymen ?"

Joshua looked sharply at the questioner. "Is
thet yer consarn ?"

"No. I only asked out of curiosity."

"I hain't got no curiosity, and I reckon et'll be
better fer you not ter hev any. Ef a feller is
goin" ter meetin' in Stringtown County, he hes

'noujfh tcr do e/ he i. -„- u:

where the horse I .d cj " T"'r '°"°"
Jw„.ron,thehei,h.;Cr;:'-^^«^

n:ero^:nL.s^r>---as;tth::

Wlsaw.no rSjtfaTa "Tf' ='"' '"-
man in blue ^azinV!! .f ^^ '^'"^ '^""''■y-

But there was no . "^hurch-going squad.

P-edon T e;a.;^;i;"°^'"°"- -'' 'hey

forests- the shl7 '^^ '"'° ^^' P""'eval

• ""^ *''''^°*^« ^«« thicker, the moist air

Wtrwick of the Knobi

grew Mipplw, even though the day wm lengthen-
ing. Lionel agiin drew hi» horie cloe« to that

of Jo»hua.

"Another cavalrynum w«« stationed to the
right of our path."

Joshua glanced at the spealter inquisitively.

" 'Pears ter me you air consarned. I hain'i no
reason ter suspect you, but I hain'i took no stock
in thet rock story. Grown men trampin' the hills,
pickin' up stone shells, hev monstrous little ter
do, ef thet's their only bus'ness."

With this he forged ahead, while Lionel, with
the second rebuke and its implied suspicion to
redden his ears and flush his cheeks, followed in
the rear.

It was now near ten o'clock, and yet each leaf
and branch was dew-laden. The sun had been
up five hr.urs and more, and yet there was no ray
in the deepening gulches through which they
passed. The underbrush seemed even thicker, the
fog hung like a wet blanket about them. Sud-
denly Joshua drew his horse to one side out of
the path, and seized the bridle of Lionel. Pointing
to the bank of buslies, he said :
"E£ you are the one the bluecoats are watchin'

■» w ••«• kit
•■"■ ' "'^ . •■«
' ' I'-'i.. Kolii- It

' 'I •».». flu- »gn|
■■" f' (••'■ ti'l 8

-anti you Men ler show
chance. Slip off ye, hor.
bunch of leavei, and you'"'
»er the end; efll lead >ohi>
»t»y thar till yer called Vr.
'round, and you'll be i ;, md
chance comes ter help you cut.
Lionel was attoniihed, and ■

than r^L u "**^* "° °'her business

than roclc-huntins'. The lol.ti.r. a "»'""»

me. r .„, ■ . »o'«'ers do not concern

me- I am simply curious. Thing, here are ^
•'range to me." * "'* *°

tcr et and lettin' outsiders alone I ,'11°

•"ct et ain't safe in S.rin^own Co „t ' ^Ka^r

sogers a.r not out fer fun, but their bis'ness ain^

my consarn so fer as I knows of nowT,!

y atter. Thet s what you'd better do.

Warwick of the Knobs

5f_

too. Keep yer eyes on yer horse's ears and yer
ears on the sound of yer horse's feet, I says."
He loosened his hold on the lines and rode on.

Gloomier than ever were the thickening forests
on either side; the path ahead passed into a mass
of shadows. The thickets to the right and the
left wedged themselves together over the path,
the creek seemed to move silently, as if to ripple
were a sin; the sky was shut from sight by the
interlaced foliage. Occasionally a gray squirrel
on the trunk of a tree barked, frisked his tail and
disappeared; now and then a striped ground
squirrel squealed and then popped beneath a log ;
occasionally a turtle dropped with a splash into
the still waters of the e/er-present creek. Such
were the sounds and such the scenes— such only,
if we except the snake, which seemed to slip from
off every stone and glide across the breast of the
creek, or slide into the weeds that banked the
thicket-bound path which, creeping beneath the
trees, led toward the house o^ Gcd.

At last abruptly they emerged from the forest,
and came upon a little church built of stone. It
stood on a point of land close to the creek, where
the stream divided, to close in again behind the

•»:

^* H

. Warwick's Trials B egin 53

church. ()n either side ran the water, producing
on the left branch a great natural pool. The
forest closed down to the east and the west, the
north and the south; the ever-present hills tow-
ered higher and higher, the fastnesses of the knobs
and valleys seemed here to dominate as they did
nowhere else, a..l to shut mankind from all that
might lie outside.

Notwithstanding the natural lightheartedness
ot Lionel, a strange sensation came over him as
this scene burst to view from out the forest
depths, a sensation such as comes to men reared
amid the display of fashionable religions, when
abruptly confronted by such an offering to God
Primitive Christianity like this was to Lionel
unknown. Having hitched their horses at a rack
where many others were standing, the party en-
tered the front door of the stone structure, and
there met a transverse partition that shut out the
room beyond. Mary now turned to the left, and
passed through a door in the partition. War-
wick, followed by his son and Lionel, turned to
the right and passed through a similar door into
the same room.
In the rear, facing them, stood the pulpit, to

Warwick of the Knobs

which Warwick advanced with slow and measured
tread, seating himself in a chair behind it.* Joshua
sank into the ai:le end of a seat about half-way
down the room, and as he made no movement to
give Lionel a place beside him, the latter took the
aisle end of the pew in front. No sound broke
the stillness of the room, and Lionel could not
curb his own curiosity, as did the members of
this congregation, to whom a stranger was an
innovation; yet they gave him no glance. He
noticed that a rail over the central pews ran
lengthwise, dividing the men from the women.
Curiosity prompted him to turn his head, but he
caught no glance toward himself. Men and
women alike seemed indifferent to his presence.

Austere and stern, Warwick sat behind the
simple white pulpit. First, he took the Bible
from its place before him, turned its pages
gently, tenderly, and placed a ribbon-mark be-
tween the leaves that bore the text; then he re-
turned the book to its place. Then he opened
his hymn-book and laid it upon the Bible. After

*As a statement of fact, this pulpit should have been be-
tween the front doors, and the congregation should have
faced the incomers. Nor was there a vestibule in any o£
these old churches. — J. U. L.

Warwick's Trials Be gin 55

this he sat again in silence, seemingly oblivious
to all things— even to himself.

If this place of worship was touchingly simple,
as contrasted with others Lionel had seen, not
less touchingly earnest were the worshippers.
To the left of the rail were many women and
girls, in whom a stranger like himself must excite
great curiosity, but not an eye was turned in his
direction. To the right, men and boys were
scattered, white-haired men and young boys;
but they, too, sat as still as did the women.

The oppressive silence was broken only by the
occasional tramp of the feet of the horses that
bore newcomers, and the subsequent entrance of
the riders, who, as had the others, quietly seated
themselves. Ill at ease, painfully disconcerted,
Lionel again turned his head; behind him were
now scattered many forms similar to those in
front, excepting that at the very back of the
church were to be seen a few black faces, the
rear benches being, as he now discovered re-
served for negroes. But those of the congrega-
tion who sat behind were as indifferent to all
others as were those in front.
Finally Warwick arose and said, "Let us all

Warwick of the Knob*

kneel in humble prayer to Almighty God." Im-
mediately every knee was bent on the bare floor.
Warwick lifted his hands, and every head in the
audience bowed. An invocation to the Creator
that was typical of simplicity, of faith, of rev-
erence, and next, as the word "Amen" was
spoken, each head was raised and the members
of the congregation resumed their seats.

Warwick slowly read the opening hymn, and
then for the first time it occurred to Lionel that
this was the only hymn-book in the room. No
other was to be seen, and the young man won-
dered how the congregation expected to carry the
lines. But he was not left in suspense long, for
after reading the verses Warwick said :

"Let us unite in singing this, the second hymn
in the supplement of the hymn-bouk, omitting
the seventh and ninth stanzas." He read there-
from again the first two lines, raised his voice
to lead the singing, and was joined by the entire
congregation. In this manner all the verses
were completed. Then came a long prayer, a
more earnest prayer, and next another song and
then the sermon, which was a direct predesti-
narian argument, its object being to show that

The text was taken from Acts xiii. 48 last'
clause and step by step the minister W hfs' con
jre^t.o„ through his weH-mapped ,in:^o "a ;":
ment basing each point on the Scriptures- sS,
by step, through "firstly," through 'Cnd'^
and the, ,„.,,.,, ,^,. ^^ J,^ --d y

and more severe as he toiled on and up toward
Snllld' '''\''' '""^^ --^ab>e%*ero„

thelttrl'/H''"' r" ' """'^ ^'•°- -'-de,
tfte clatter of horses' feet, that, beating the stones

n the distance, gr«v louder and l!uder u„t
they^c^shed the fossil creek-bed close about :;;'

There was no change in the voice of the
preacher not a head of the congregation t n d
he worshippers sat seemingly oblivious to what'
vs happening outside. Warwick must hav
ohVrUrLr""-''^^--'- window

withatninrLr'''^-'"^"^"^--^-''
^ "" ''a"^' saving into the room.

Warwick of the Knobs

He musl ! ive seen, one by one, the blue-coated
cavalrymen *ake their positions before the
windows. ':- men must also have been ob-
served by 'le members of the congregation, who,
however, sat as oblivious to their presence as was
their pastor.

Then came the sound of men dismounting, the
tramp of leather boots, and the clanging of many
sabres, which sounded ominously from without
as their tips struck the stones. The sentries
remained before the windows, while tramp,
tramp, tramp came heavy footsteps into the front
door, across the vestibule, and then into each side
of the house of God. Down each aisle passed
a line of soldiers until the leaders faced the pulpit
where Warwick was calmly preaching the wor.l
of God to those who sat before him, and who
seemed engrossed only in that word.

As the leader stopped in front of the altar the
minister turned upon them a look stem and deter-
mined. Pointing to the vacant bench, he said,
"Be seated; you are welcome."

Hesitating, as if undecided, the man seemed
inclined at first to protest against the word of
command ; but then, as if unable to withstand the

combmed order and invitation, wnk with a clank
««o the vacant place; then each armed man in
both aule. seated himself in the nearest pew
When th- confusion and noise subsided, soldiers
and civilians together listened to the austere
mtnister, who continued his sermon as if no un-
usual interruption had occurred, listened until the
word amen was reached, the final prayer the
ending song. Then the benediction was 'pro-
nounced; and while yet the mixed audience stood
with uncovered heads. Warwick, in a low voice
that could however, be heard distinctly by all
spoke to the leader, who faced the speaker.
For whom do you search ?"
"For Mr. Warwick."

CouLy'"' "" """' '^"^''''' '" ^'""^^^"

"I hold an order for the arrest of Preacher
Warwick-Warwick ot the Knobs."

"What is the charge?"

"Treason."

"I am the man. You need seek no farther."

Deliberately, and without showing any emo-
fon the parson, hat in hand, turned from the
pulpit and followed the officer down the aisle

6o Wtfwick of the Knobi

A. th^ p.„«|. ,he awaiting tidier, fell i„,o
me and ,ram,*d their way behind them out of
the church; clank, clank, sounded the wbre, „
the.r t.p, .truck the floor and bumpe<| the wooden
pew end.; thump, thump, the heavy boot, of the
cavalrymen beat the uncarpeted board,. Then
the guardsmen at the window, disappeared, and
tne men and women turned toward the aisle^^^ •
and m a few moments the meeting-house on the
island was empty.

When Lionel reached the open air the cavalry-
men, m smgle file, were preparing to ride away,
Warwick near the centre of the line. He did not
speak, nor did any one attempt to converse with
h.m. Soon the troop passed from sight, the
-und of the horse,' feet died away, and group
by group the members of the broken congregation
mounted their horses and hurried each tVhi
home am.d the hills or in the valley, leaving the
oW St.. church alone by the side of the baptfsmal

L>one and the two children of Warwick, who

as h r H f "■ '°""= "" '"^ ^"""^ - -'-«y

talk ,K :• '''"• '"'''"' ^'°"^' ^«-P'ed to
talk with his companions during the journey, for,

nto
of

len
he
en
nd

•^»

"waocor- iisoiution ti$t cna>t

(' 'SI o.d ISO TEST CHART No J)

1.0 Ifl^ 1^

I.I

1:25 i 1.4

12.2

K£

1.8

^ APPLIED IM/IGE In

^S*. 'G5J East Mam Street

^^ Rn^hffittf. Nea Tork t*609 USA

■— ^ ("6) 482 - 0300 - Phone

^S ("6J 288 - 5989 - Fa.

Warwick's Trials Begin 63

strange as it may seem, neithei exhibited any
outward signs of emotion. Once, when the path
widened, he rode to the girl's side.

"This is a strange thing," he said.

"We of Stringtown County are used to such
surprises. These are terrible times for us," was
all she said.

A little while later he ventured to speak to
Joshua to the same effect.

"Ef et takes a hunderd bluecoats ter took up
a man with a Bible, how many would et take ter
took him ef he hed a gun ?" said Joshua.

''What do you suppose your father has done?"
"Et don't matter what he done, er ain't done.
Et all depends on what some feller says he done,
and I guess they've got the feller ready ter say et.''
"You do not think that he will be away long?
Surely your father cannot be charged with any-
thing serious?"

"He'll not be back at all, far he'll never took
thet oath. The old church's closed fer the sum-
mer, and winter, too, p'raps. Pap's bo-md fer
Camp Chase. Ef et war not fer lea\ sister
alone I'd start fer the rebel army to-niglit."

CHAPTER VII.

THE CHARGE AGAINST WARWICK.

Warwick was taken to the county seat of
Stringtown County and then direct to the home
of the provost-marshal. No introduction was
necessary, for the men had known each other
from childhood. Both had been bom and reared
in that county, the ancestors of both had toiled
to clear the land, and on that same land they had
fought the Indian and the wild beast.

Having entered the room, the prisoner was
invited to be seated. Only Warwick and the
provost-marshal were present, for the soldiers
remained outside.

"And now, James, may I know why I have
been arrested?" Warwick asked coldly, his look
severe.

"By order of ti.o general."

The Charge Against Warw ick 65

"The charge?"
"Treason."

Instantly the mind of Warwick reverted to the
guest who sat beliind the dcor at the time of
D.. John's visit, and he decided at once that this
man had been the informer. Indignation shook
him, for to a Kentuckian such a breach of hospi-
tahty was despicable. But he gave no outward
expression or intimation of his suspicion.

"James, you have sworn to do these things
much to your discredit, too. Would it not b^
better to go into the Northern army, and let
strangers slip around our Stringtown County
roads and arrest your old friends.'"

"Be patient, Mr. Warwick," replied the mar-
shal m a conciliatory tone; "things may not be
as bad as you think. You are too old to attempt
to serve the Confederacy. You are also a minis-
ter, and, being a man of peace, need not concern
yourself in the troublesome affairs that now dis-
turb the country. Be thoughtful of your own
interests; leave the settlement of these temporal
matters to other hands. You have been arrested
by me, it is true, but because of a positive order
from my superior. Is it not better for you that I

66 Warwick of the Knobs

an old frknd.hold this position than if an outsili^
were provost-marshal of Stringtown County?"

What .s the full charge against me?" asked
Warwick, Ignoring the argument

th,"?' '"'u'^'' ^^'■- ^^"'^''=''' '' 'hat you sympa-
thzed wuh the South: that you have o^y
praved for the rebel cause, and have sun^^
songs before the people. ' ^

th^'?^r'?, "^^ ""y' *™* ^ sympathize with
the South tells the truth. I have two sons in the
Confederate army, and my hope is that their
cause may succeed. I believe it just and right'
But the man who says that in public I sang rebel
^ngs hes, for in public and „nvate I sing only
he sacred songs of God. When was it, sir, tha^
« ;s charged I sang these worldly songs ^"

It IS said that while preaching you" openlv

S™nr:^^'^^^^^''-*''-^-p-"^^^^^^^
sat;';Luot;v^.'^^

"James, that is a lie. You know that in the

jcred ouse of God I preach only the .lord
t^od^ Shame, shame on you. to listen to such
a charge. You know me well and fh!/

tongue should be torn from its ro;tstfrthZ

The Charge Against Warwick 67

things would be done by me. Who makes the
charge?

"The charge is made by the general, who bases
h.s order for your arrest on the swor.i testin.ony
of witnesses who stand ready to testify thereto"
And who may these witnesses be?" asked
Warwick, for it was no<v evident that he had
wrongfully suspected his guest.

"William and his wife, black William, your
former slaves."

Until this time no one would have supposed
from Warwick's tone of voice or demeanor that
he was at all disturbed; that even then the troop
of soldiers without -.ere awaiting their prisoner
But at the last words of the provost-marshal he
lost his self-possession, and sprang from his
chair.

"By the Eternal," he cried, "and has it come
to th^, a citizen of Stringtown County while
preachmg the word of God arrested like a com-
mon criminal, led from his family like a thief
paraded through this town on tiie Lord's Day
a sight for all beholders, on the charge of treason
made by a nigger?"

The provost-marshal attempted to reply, but
Warwick would brook no interference.

w^nmfi

Warwick of the Knobs

"You sent a troop of foreigners— Dutch, Irish
and Northerners mixed— to do this villanous
work, sir. They did not tven know me — me, a
Warwick, sir, born and reared in this very county.
Had you asked your Stringtown County recruits
to perfiirm the deed, you would have asked in
vain, sir; and you, James, were ashamed to lead
the gang. Yon discredit the land of your birth ;
you disgrace your own people and your own
kindred by such an infamous deed, done on the
word of a nigger."

Not in the least disturbed, the marshal replied :
"I did the bidding of my superiors, and it pained
me deeply, I assure you, Mr. Warwick, but the
order came. I could but obey."

"On the testimony of a nigger, whose parents
my father bought, to save them from going fur-
ther South," Warwick sneered.

"That does not concern us now. Be calm, Mr.
Warwick."

"It concerns nte, sir. The injustice and wrong
makes my blood boil."

He shook his clenched hand at the marshal;
and then, pointing his finger toward the north,
vehementlv added:

The Charge Againtt Warwick 6q

"When New York State freed her nigger, she
d;d so gradually, in order that time might be
given their owners to remove the able-bodied
slaves to the South. The parent, of that 'William'
were of a New York gang, led by a New York
shive-dealer. and he begged my father to buy
them both. This my father did, partly out of
pity, and you know the rest. This same North
that sold us all our slaves and pocketed our
money now cry 'traffic in human flesh,' and send
armed men to steal them hzck-sUal them sir-
aiid now they teach the descendants of those same
slaves to concoct villanous tales concerning their
.fe ong protectors and rightful owners-tales
that shame the devil, sir."
"Enough, enough, Warwick; enough of this

would never have ordered your arrest. I have
known that you are a rebel sympathizer. Have
i- not left you m peace?"
^Jljake no denial of my love for the Southern

arm """"^ *''^' ^^° °^ ^°'"' '°"' "* '" ^^^ '^^^
"Yes, and Warwick is proud of it."

Warwick of the Knobs

iil,

r.i

"Kentucky is under martial law, and yet I did
not disturb you."

"W'c were boy« together, James, but nuvv our
paths separate. I have loolced for you and your
soldiers day and night. I have schooled my
children to anticipate my arrest and to be pre-
pared for my transportation to the North. Even
my daughter, who shrinks from a clap of thunder,
was ever ready for the Home Guards ; and to-day
she met, as should a Warwick, this crisis, which
bids men be men, and bids children be ready for
the worst. But yet, James, I did not look for
arrest on a charge made by a nigger. Shame on
you, James, for this!"

"Here are the orders," was the reply. "I
simply carry them out. Mr. Warwick, I am
directed to send you to Covington to-morrow,
from whence you will be at once transferred to
Camp Chase, unless — "

"Unless what ?"

"Unless you take the oath."

"Burbridge's iron-clad oath?"

"Yes."

"Never, James, never. Send me to Camp
Chase, Johnston's Island, anywhere; never will
I take that despot's oath."

The Charge Against Warvick

7«

"It i» but a promise to be loyal."
•'It is more, Jame,, an<l you know it. By that
-th I promise allegiance ,o the Ncrfh. not I ,he

states. This oath aso n L« .„-, _

. I . "' ■"*' "ic P''c.irtise nnt

o help a Southern soldier in distress by shel,.;
foo<I. even a drink of water, to turn my Lnchn-'
dren from my door if ,hey serve the South
James you know that I believe in States" Rights-
that I beheve. too, that the Constitution offers no
barner ag..,inst the South seceding from what i,
now a distasteful affiliation; that this privilege
the nght to property earned, and honestly earned
heired or purchased, is the cause the Confederates
plead by battle."

"That is not the subject which concerns us
now, Mr. Warwick. No good can come from
a discussion such as this. The day of argument
has passed. It is war now, and to the strongest
history will give the right."

"Cod help our unhappy land if despotic might
prevail over right," said Warwick. God help the
ne^,ro when the vindictive invader tears him from
.s watchful owner's care and throws him help-
less on the world. But yet, James, if these things

7»

Warwick of the Knobt

be ordained, »o must they be. The Book layi ;
'I make peace and create evil. I, the Lord, do all
these things.' "

Warwick stnxle back and forth across the
room, but to this la.it remark the provost-marshal
made no rq)ly. Apparently he was waiting for
the priwiner's anger to cool.

After a time the preacher itoppcd. "I am
ready, sir, for Camp Chase."

"Mr. Warwick," spoke the officer in a kind
tone, "is this course wise? Do you help the
South, do you benefit yourself, do you serve your
God, by such a rash decision ?"

"To Camp Chase, I say. James, do your duty.
Men there are in Camp Chase to whom the word
of God may be preached. Men there are in
Stringtown County to whom Warwick may well
teach a lesson."

"Be it as you decide, Mr. Warwick; but yet
I see no just reason why you should not take this
oath and then in peace go to your home. It pains
me deeply to — "

"Go on. Do not hesitate."
"To lock a man like you even for one night in
the Stringtown County Jail. It pains me very
deeply."

The Charge Again tt Warwick 73

"It need not, sir. You know the VVarwicks,
you know their record. With gun over their
shoulder and Bible under their arm they fought
and prayed their way through the wildcrncsi to
the wilds of northern Kentucky. They alio
helped carve out the States north of the Ohio-
helped to give the invaders who now opprfsn u«
their very homes. From this county of String-
town men— Warwicks. too, J.imes— shouldered
their muskets and marched down the ridge whe-e
now nms the Stringtown Pike to defend old Fort
Washington, where Cincinnati stands now. And
from this same county in 1813 went men to (ight
with Perry in Lake Erie. And next, sir. String-
town County men— a full company from thi^ one
county, sir; two brothers had I with tlicni—
marched to Mexico with General Scott and our
own brave Rutlcr, of Carro'lton. And Stringtown
County men fight now for liberty— the litierty of
the South. They fight the tyrant, sir— the tyrant
they helped to enthrone. Think you, sir, tliat I,
whose forefathers and brothers did these things
of old, and whose children to-day serve with
John Morgan, shall shrink from sleeping in the
jail of Stringtown County? Think you, James,

74 Warwick of the Knobs

that I, who trust in God's justice and Heaven's

: ^GoT' r"/'"*' ^^^'"* ''' ^■" °^ ^^^ All!

d" reed LT'h k""' '"""^^'"^ P"^P°- ^as
decreed that hese better things sh .11 be my part >"

So must U be, Mr. Warwick. I perceive that
wo d of ,n,ne >s powerless to move you. Fare-
well until to-morrow."

That night Warwick .ested behind the bars of
hehttle ja,; which faced the white-pillared "urt

And that n,ght, as by a flash, for the first time

«r^e to Warwick the fact that the next day
would be t,e,rst Monday after the Hrst Sunday
that followed the first Saturday ^

toS"M:'r"'"''^°''^™"''''^p-'"--de

fir's! T'7 ""1 "" ^""'"^ '''^^' f°"'>^i>^S 'he
first Sunday that follozvs the first Saturday of

ne.t month lVaru,ick r.ill te in this rooZZel
tng for the tap on the door."

A prisoner, destined for Camp Chase, with bu

lit

The Charge Against Warwick

tramp, all night, when not on his knees, Warwick
moved from end to end of his cell. Sleep did not
come to his eyes, for his mind was racked as it
had never been before. On the one hand, was his
sworn word to Dr. John; on the other, that i-on-
clad oath of Burbridge. The first he must not
break, he second he could not take. In his
anguish he prayed to his God for strength,
for light, for help, but never with a thought
other than that these trials were for the best, and
that God would guide the movements of His
servant in the future as He had in the past. And
when the sentry gave place to the relief guard
next morning, Warwick, in his cell, composed,
confident, sternly pious, knelt in prayer, after
which aloud he repeated the Scriptural text : "But
if a man live many days, and rejoice in them all,
yet let him remember the days of darkness, for
they shall be many."

Instead of the prisoner's breakfast being served
from the jailer's house, the provost-marshal
directed that Warwick be brought to his own
home; tlius he ate with the marshal and his
family, as under diflferent circumstances he had
often done before. No less fervent, however.

76 Warwick of the Knobs

than on other occasions was the blessing that he
asked. Breakfast over, the prisoner was con-
ducted to the room where the audience had previ-
ously been held with the provost-marshal, who
now opened the conversation.

"Mr. Warwick, I hope that mature reflection
has shown you the folly of carrying to the ex-
treme your decision of yesterday. A very painful
duty It will be to me should you make it necessary
to take you to Covington, for that must be the
step toward Camp Chase. Spare me this un-
pleasant task, Mr. Warwick."

"James, I have pondered deeply. I have called
on the Lord for light and strength. Not once
did my eyes close last night in sleep. I, too, wish
with all my soul to be spared that journey into
Ohio as a prisoner."

"Then take the oath. Be sworn, Warwick, and
depart in peace."

"James," said Warwick, ignoring the sugges-
tion, "may I not go home on furlough, advise
with my children, consult with my friends, attend
to some urgent duties that needs must be done,
and return to-morrow ?"
The officer shook his head.

The Charge Aga inst Warwick 77

"On my word, James. The word of a Warwick
was never broken. I promise to return to-morrow
morning, and either take your oath or go to Camp
Chase."

"That your word is your bond I know, but I
am powerless. I am ordered either to administer
to you the oath of allegiance or this day deliver
your person in Covington. I have no option, Mr.
Warwick."

"James, if any man had told me yesterday that
this day I should have humiliated myself as now
I do, I should have fr, ned the speaker down.
But I, a Warwick, beg you to grant me a favor;
just a single day at home— cne night more-
James, grant me one night only with my family,
and then away with me to Camp Chase or John-
ston's Island. This one favor, James."

"I cannot concede even that. But the oath will
give you freedom for all time, for I know full
well you will never break your word."

Then to Warwick's mind came again with
painful foreboding the dialogue that passed be-
tween Dr. John and himself.

"Is the man who comes w secret to seek my
help worth a life.''"

ill

"Yes."

"Warwick's?"

"Yes."

"You may bring him. I promise that the
Monday n.ght following the first Sunday that
follows te first Saturday of next month War-
v.ckw,„ hem this room, listening for the tap on

hr-"t, T."'.^"'"-" The time was now

n.ght. Th,s mght he ^,«, be home. Knowing

nothmg of what passed through Warwick's brain

he marshal sat patiently awaiting his decision'

unaware that on it depended events of import nc^

^ ITT ""r"'' ^'"''''^'^ '"°- ^f'^" an
w^ck. Had the provost-marshal of Stringtown

County known who was to call that night at
Warwick's home, he would not have hefitated
a moment m taking the responsibility of freeing

h.pnsoner and next in laying his plans to catch
the nocturnal guest.

for^T't '"f ''' '■°°'"- ^^ '''°'' back and
forth back and forth, while still the provost-
marshal sat patiently, hoping that the journey to
Covmgton might be spared both Warwick and
himself. At last the prisoner stopped

The Charge Against Warwick 79

"James," he said, "must I go away without
bidding my family farewell and attending to
some private duties? What matters it to Bur-
bridge whether an obscure Kentucky country
preacher begins imprisonment a day sooner or
a day later? Give me this one day longer."
"It cannot be."

"James, God knows that I would n' . ask you
to do a wrong; but cannot you honorably take the
responsibility? Cannot you say to your superior
that you knew Warwick would live up to his
word and return on the morrow; and that, know-
ing this, you gave him one day of grace? Re-
member our mothers, our fathers, our school-boy
days together, James."
The officer shook his head.
"James, a Warwick must not be taken to Camp
Chase on the word of a nigger. You cannot be
a party to such an indignity; go to Burbridge and
argue this point with him. You are an attorney;
be now both his officer and my attorney; draw up
your deed transferring to Burbridge my home,
farm, everything I own, real and personal; make
me a pauper and my children beggars, but spare
me this dishonor. Go personally and say all of

8o Warwick of the Knobs

h.s Warwick offers for freedom, and return with

II, iT?- ^ *'" ^ '" *''» "^^ with the
deed. If the word yet be either Burbridge's iron-
clad oath or Camp Chase, I will go with you
a pauper prisoner. But if I be not here (and
dea h only shall detain me), my all will be Bur-
bndge s by the deed."

"It cannot be."

Then Warwick reverted to the charge

"The charge is false. Never did I sing a rebel
song; never did I preach a sermon in favor of
he rebels; m.ver in church did I pray aloud for
the rebels. The charge is false, sir."

The marshal stepped to the door.

"Bring black William and his wife," he said
to the guard in \.. iting.

CHAPTER Vlir.

"discrace hangs over the house of war-
wick."

In a few moments the door opened, and the
negroes entered. That they knew the occupant
of the room and in turn were known by him was
evident; but while Warwick, with head aloft,
gazed at them sternly, they, abashed, looked
down at the floor.

"You may question William, Mr. Warwick,"
said the provost-marshal.

"I shall do nothing of the kind, sir. You are
hired to do these things."

"William," said the marshal, "your former
master is in trouble through what you and your
wife said in Covington."

" 'Deed, Ma'se James, I doan tole nuffin'."

"And you ?" The marshal spoke to the woman.

"I doan tole nuffin', needah."

Warwick of the Knobs

Hows, h,s. William? I have been advised
to arrest your former master and send him to
Covmgton on charges made by yourself and wife.
The officer who presented the order brought you
with him to give the evidence."

"IdonetoledetrufTinCovVton."
"Tell it again, William."

"I jes preached a leetle t' de cullud folks like

demaseteachedm.fdo.an-sungdeoles;ng'
A n ggah sojer tole ne.x' day dat I wah pray^'
o de rebels an' singin' rebel song, an' L'de
sojers come an' took me up. De capn axed me
who done g,b me de sahmon an' de song, an'
nole h,m Ma^e WarTk of Stringtown County.

•spec d OK h"^"' "' "^^'^ ^-'••'' - - -an
spected ob bem a rebel."

"iTwah " '''^' ''"''"" ^^ '"'"' * '''"*' ^^''^ ■"

"I did no, know your name had been recorded

as a suspect, Mr. Warwick. That was done by

no knowledge of mine. But, Mr. Warwick " and

no, the provost-marshal spoke very eates ,

arrested on charge or suspicion, and must either

"Di«grace Hangg Over The House" 8;

take the oath or go to Camp Chase. Go on.
William."

"De nex" I knows de sojers had me n de ole
woman safe in de lock-up. Den de nex' mahnin'
(ley took us out, an' heah we am. I doan say
nuffin' bad "bout gixid ole ma'se, an' I doan spoke
nuffin' but de truflf."

The frown deepened on the brow of Warwick.

"He lies, James. I never taught him a line of
a rebel song; never did he hear me preach or
pray a line of such things. Ask him to repeat
the words." *^

'Tell us what you preached and sang."
"I'se pow'ful pious, as yo' boff knows, an'
when de spir't comes obah me, I preaches an'
smgs and exhoits like Ma'se War'i'k do. fo' I hab
gone f meetin' all my life, an' de ma'se knows et
I got pow'ful happy dat 'vival night an' tola dem
Cov'n'ton sinnahs dat de debbil 'ud git em suah
lessen day jump in de salbation wagon, jest like
es Ma'se War'i'k tole de folks down in de ole
church on de creek. Den I got pow'ful skaered
bout myself, an' I shout out. 'Lawd, forgib me
a rebel s.nnah; Lawd. forgib me. a rebel sinnah '
jest es Ma'se War'i'k do ebery second Sunday

Warwick of the Knobs

yeah in an' yeah out. Yo' know yo' do, tna'ie,"
added William, appealing directly to Warwick.

"Go on, William. Tell us about the rebel song
you sang," ordered the marshal.

"Sing de song, Rach; sing de song, ole
woman."

Obedient, the old woman raised her voice, in
which William joined; and soon Warwick, too,
unable to withstand the habit of old, broke into
the lines.

They sang one hymn after another, becoming
emotionally enthused, with voices growing
louder, and before they were through a smile
was on the face of every occupant of the room,
for the religious fervor of the two negroes had
affected even the marshal. The following were
the mischievous verses from three different
hymns :

Show pity, Lord; O Lord, forgive.

Let a repenting rebel live.
Are not thy mercies large and free?

May not a sinner trust in thee?

And are we wretches yet alive?

And do wc yet rehelf
'Tis boundless, 'tis amazing love,

That bears us up from hell.

"DUgrace Hangi Over The Home" 85

Lord, w< b<«t long ibuMd thy lovt;

Too long indulged our iln.
Our aching httrtt now bind to k«

Wh»t rtbfU we have been.

Dear Saviour, proitrate at Thy (cct

A guilty rtM liei,
And upward to Thy mercy Mil

Preiumet to life hit eyet.

"Enough, William," spoke the marshal. "You
may go. I perceive that the charge is true. Mr.
Warwick did pray for the rebels and did sing
rebel songs. I have heard them from your lips
many times, Warwick."

"Grant that this is so, I sang no worldly songs,
and I prayed in public for no rebel soldier.
James, gathered before me every Sabbath are to
be found mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers
of men in both armies; brave men these, James,
and loving kinsmen. It would ill become me to
pray for either North or South, but I do beseech
the Lord each service, if it be His will, to have
pity on our unhappy country." Continuing, he
added: "Now that you know the truth and the
trivial nature of the charge, you will no longer
detain me."

Warwick of the Knobt

lltl

He reached .)ut his hand. "Farewell, Jame*.
Let ui foriret the unfortunate inci.lent that has
given iuch pain to both."

But the marshal only shook his head.

"The oath first. Mr. Warwick. The order to
me is positive. The oath must be taken."

"You do not mean it, James?" A look of
anguish deeper than before came over the prwch-
er'» face.

"I >!o, for I have no choice in the matter. Mr.
Warwick, your name was in the book; all who
are named in that book must be arrested, charge
or no charge. The oath only can liberate these
men. If they are loyal, they have no reason to
object to it ; if they are not loyal, their place is in
Camp Chase."
"When do you start for Covington, James?"
"At four o'clock this afternoon. Three others,
men you well know, are to be your companions."'
"Take me back to my cell, sir."
Late that afternoon Warwick sent for the
provost-marshal.

"Disgrace hangs over the house of Warwick,
for I have decided to take the iron-clad oath of
the despot Burbridge. Could you have given me
one day longer, all the powers of the North, sir

" Diigrace Hangi Over The Ho me" 87

migh« have conspired in vain to raiie my right
hand Neithw threat nor argument could have
opened my lip, and M them to re.p.)nd to the
word, you K«n w.ll ,,,eak. But. James, I m.ist
submit to the will of God; the Scriptures teach
that all thmg, work together for g.xxl to them
who are the called according to His purpose.' "

That evening. j„st before dusk, Warwick
might have been seen riding away from the jail
V\ ith bowed head and hat drawn down over his
eyes, kwking neitLer to the right nor to the left
without a word or a nod to any one. shamefaced]
broken in spirit, alone, he rode toward his home
on the knob.

CHAPTER IX.

"VOUR FATHER, MARV. HAS BROUGHT SHAME TO
THE NAME OP WARWICK."

After the arrest of Warwick in the church
Lionel and the son and daughter returned home
No cavalrymen now guarded the by-roads, no
armed horsemen sat on the brow of the hill that
confronted the home on the knob. .':quirreS
here may have been on the tree trunks, but if so
hey were not seen by the student from the North '■
the splash of the turtle that fell from off the lo^
rllut7^ ""^ '"PP'"^ water-snake unseen

InL f '°^'"^ "''' '''' ^^"^y' 'he cliffs

and dells, forests and rock-bound creeks, had now
no charm for the visitor, who brooded over the
strange events the day had brought forth. And
when the home was reached, and they were sit-
ting at dinner, it became evident that grim
austere Preacher Warwick had drawn himseH

" Shame to th e Name of Warwick "89

closer to Lionel even than that personage had
supposed. The inevitable blessing had previously
been painfully conspicuous for its length as well
as for its fervor, embodying as it did primitiv
faith and sincerity. Much would Lionel have
given to have seen the dogmatic man who once
had ruled that home sitting in his place at the
head of the table. And with each succeeding
meal the absence of that form and the loss of
Warwick's voice grew not less, but gieater.

The evening meal on Monday was late, for
Joshua came from work unusually late. During
the conversation Lionel remarked :

"Surely, Miss Warwick, your father will re-
turn soon."

She shook her head. "No, we have been
expecting his arrest, and transpcrtation North.
He is a Southern sympathizer."

"He'll not be back at all, I tell you, interjected
Joshua. "He couldn't git off without taking the
oath, and I'd hate to be the man that holds his
breath till he took thet oath. You'll not see pap
home from Camp Chase till the \ -ar's over."

"From Camp Chase!" exclaimed Lionel. "Do
you think the charge is so serious ?"

go Warwick of the Knobs

cJ *'".'■?" '' ''°"'' ""^^ "° ^'ff"«"<=« 'bout the
charge; he's got two boys in the rebel army and
sech men ,n this countv must either took thet
oath or go to Camp Cliase."

"Both you and your sister seem to accept the

s.tua.o„ coolly and take his arrest very call?"

Ve promised h.m to do so," said the girl.

Bdes, we have been trained in a bitter sch'ool
this Scr ^ "' accustomed to such scenes as
this Scarcely a young man is left in our entire

he Northern or Southern army. But that is not
the worst, 'she added, "for many, many of the

Cat rl" %i^" ™^^ ^"^ -fined n
Camp Chase. These are sorrowful times for
those who hve in Stringtown County, sir "

vour Jl''"" '° "°* ''"" '"'P'-" '=°"«^"ed over
your ather s arrest. You have not even inquired
regarding his final destination."

'Thefs all you know 'bout et," said Joshua.
They yanked him before the provo'-marshal

oath. They put him in jail, and ter-night he'll

Camn CH '"' -!"' ''' "^^' "'^'^^ ^^^^ be in
Camp Chase, too."

"Shame to the Name of Warwick" 91

Lionel was surprised at this informatioti, but
asked no questions c( oerning the method by
which it had been obtained.

"Possibly he may take the oath. He can do no
service to any one by refusing."

"Ef he'd took thet iron-clad oath, he'd disgrace
himself and all of us. No, sir; no Warwick '11
ever took thet oath of Burbridge. He'll die in
his tracks—" Just then an unexpected sound
broke upon their ears, that of horses' feet, and
Joshua left the sentence unfinished. Next a
measured tread on the ground without, and then
Warwick stepped into the house.

Joshua dropped his knife and fork, and looked
up in amazement. His sister sprang from her
place, and rushed to her father's side, throwing
her arms around him ; but he thrust her off and
turned his head away.

"My father," said the girl, "what has hap-
pened? Oh, my father!" But Warwick, stand-
ing yet as before, made no reply. Hi; great
frame quivered, his breath came slowly, his chest
heaved, the furrows in his forehead deepened.

He turned his ashen face toward the girl, and
Epoke slowly, each word being articulated with
painful exactness.

92 Warwick of the Knnh «

"Your father, Mary, has brought shame to the
name of Warwick."

Then he took his Bible, seated himself in his
accustomed chair, and read aloud: "My soul
trusteth in Thee; yea. in ,he shadow of Thy
wmgs will I make my refuge until these calami-
ties be overpast."

Oyer the face of Joshua came a look of utter
bewilderment. Abruptly the stoop-shouldered
boy took upon himself the part of a man; with
ungamly gait he moved to where his father sat
and stood erect before him. For the first time he
ventured to question an act of that man, whom
God only heretofore had presumed to question.
"What do you mean, pap?"
"The name you bear has been disgraced, and
by your father. Have pity on me. son."
"Did you tooken the oath ?"
"I did."

"Burbridge's oath?"
"Yes."

The boy made no reply. He turned toward
Lionel, but Lionel had slipped from the room
Then, as if bewildered, he too turned to the
door, leaving the broken-spirited man in his grief

" Shame to the Name of Warwick '

with his Bible before him. But just then the
daughter slipped timidly to his side. She threw
her arms about his neck, and kissed his brow;
and then, oobbinf 3i..:ntly, she knelt beside him.

CHAPTER X.

"I AM A WARWICK, SIR. THE HONOR or MY
FATHER IS AT STAKE."

Warwick was speaking to his daughter as he
had never done before. A kerosene lamp, turned
low, and a candle shed a dim light about the
apartment, just light enough to make more im-
press,ve the scene. Where shadow met shadow
there was darknes,; where lamp and c ndle ray
crossed each other, just light enough t, show
outhne. but not color. Just enough of shade and
ghmmer were commingled to breed mystic
thought and to conjure moods that never come in
either deep darkness or bright light

"My daughter." Warwick was saying, "the
Book of L,fe offers consolation to mankind. It
IS abundant in goodness and truth.' and yet in
trial such as this I. a student of the Word, long
to speak to human ear. My soul craves the touch
of human sympathy. To you, then, my daughter

"I Am A Warwick, Sir" 95

I, your dishonored father, shall pour out my
words, asking you only to listen. A stain now
rests on the name you bear. To-day began your
father's humiliation; to-night may complete it."

"The dream, father; the dream."

"Think not of such trivial things. Remember,
'tribulation worketh patience.' " Then he con-
tinued :

"To-morrow and hereafter when men meet
Warwick he will turn his head and cast down his
eyes, for deep must lie the shame of him who until
this day could look the whole world in the face.
Listen, child. Two weeks ago there came to me
in this room a man, to whom I pledged my word,
and that means my life, if necessary. I swore to
him that to-night I would be in this room, wait-
ing for him to knock at that door. It was an
oath, child. A Warwick never yet broke an oath,
and that is why I bowed my knee to the tyrant
Burbridge. The honor of your father demanded
that he be here to-night; and yet to be here
brought your father shame, disgrace, dishonor.
But let that pass. It was destined either to be
shame '.nd disgrace only or, added to both shame
and disgrace, the sin of a broken oath. To-night

M
If

You well know him,

the man will come again,
daughter."

of meditation his daughter said :

"There is more to tell, father "

"Y"- To-night Dr. John com-s to ask my aid
m this rnatter. that I now must needs turn from
fo by that cur.sed oath of Burbridge I swore T'
hold my hand from giving aid or fuccor to" in
o friend who needs help, if he be for the Sou "
-.^^his man who comes to-night is of the'

"Who is he, father?"

in "he r ^ t"°' ^"°"'' °"'^ *''" ^'^ » °"« high
Zll ^""^t^'^^'^y^ ^^^'' P^haps an escapL

he North I know not who or what. This only do
I know that in the presence of Dr. John I ., wore
bef re the great God that I would be here to-n g

Hire '". '^ '" ''■ "'^^ •'"" -'^^ neit e
Home Guards nor provost-marshal can find track
o evidence of him; where neither the followers
of Burbridge nor of Burbank can trace him

'I Am A Warwick, Sir" 97

Attend well to his wants; and, if necessary, fight
before harm comes to him.' "

"And you promised, father?"

"No. The Lord spared me that. I promised
only to be here to-night."

The speaker rose, and tramped back and forth
across the room ; the double shadows played upon
the ceiling, the floor, the walls— weird shadows
that crossed each other and disappeared to revive
again as the moving form of the disturbed man
cut lamplight or candle-light or the blended light
of both At length he stopped.

"Go to your room, child, to your room. My
mind is easier now that I have told of the wrong
I have done in order to evade the wrongs I have
not done. Go to bed, daughter."

Warwick stooped and ten''crly kissed his
daughter's forehead, a thing he had not often
done before. Taking the candle, the girl left him
standing in the light of the dim lamp. Soon,
however, he was again striding back and forth
across the floor, nursing his thoughts and waiting
for that double knock upon the door. Thus
Warwick waited and walked, waited and prayed,
waited and trusted.

,' -^Jl

Warwick of the Knobi

Jim when midnight struck there came the
tramp of horses' fe^t, and the expected knock
sounded on the front door, which \Var^v■ick im-
mediately opened. As he did so tl>e dcx,r behind
him cautiously moved; and as his midnight
guests stepped into the front of the ro*.m his
' ughter, unobserved, slipped in from behind.

One of the men was Dr. John, the other was
hidden in wraps; scarcely could his eyes be seen
Standing in the shadcws, he seemed intent on
evading the light.
"Be seated, John," said Warwick.
"First let me introduce my friend. Mr. War-
wick, this is Gen — "

"Stop!" interrupted the hearer. "Dr. John,
I must not learn that name."

The physician turned upon him. "This from
you, Warwick?"

"And more, John. I gave my word that I
would be here to-night, and I am here, but not
the Warwick you knew of old. Seek elsewhere
for aid. I must not give it. Farewell. John
farewell. Lose no time." He pointed to the
door.

"Warwick, you led me to believe in your

"I Am A Warwick. Sir"

_99

ability in your faith, in your patriotism; and
now. after the great werifice i. ,nade. when ,„c-
cew dependi on your carrying ..ut your part of
the compact, you point to »t,e door. Midnight is
past. Long since the vv,-rd has been spread
abroad that the plot in which you are concerned
has led to the escape of him who comes to you
for help. Home Guard and cavalryman. Kout
and detective, are now on the alert, for a foremost
officer of the Confederacy that you once claimed
to love has escaped his guardsmen. He is in
your home, danger closes in on all sides ; and now
—now, at the critical moment— you. Warwick
turn your back to the solemn trust you took, and
turn your guest away."

In silence Warwick stood, but his clenching
hands evidenced the intensity of his passions.

"Shame on you, Warwick; shame be on your
head and name." The doctor spoke vehemently,
but Warwick, true to his oath, gave no sign of
relenting.

"John," he said, "you have spoken bitter
words, but true ones. Shame does rest on the
head of Warwick; disgrace mu ding to the
name of his children. I gave you my word of

100 Warwick of the Knobi

4Ji

„

. i"

.It

honor, and to iave that word I am here; but. in
order that I might be here, I wa» forced to pledge
myielf to give no aid to man or men at the
Confederacy, That oath i« sacretl. Unaided
by me, you must go from my door, even though
U be to death."

"Warwick, when last I Mood in this room
these words concerning this friend passed be-
tween us. You asked : 'Is he worth a life ?' 'Yes.'
'Warwick's?' 'Yes.' 'You may bring him. I
promise that the Monday night following the
first Sunday that follows the first Saturday War-
wick will be in this room, listening for the tap
on the door. I swear it, John.' "

"Am I not here? And as for the life of War-
wick, take it if you will. Small account it is now
to me. John, since last I saw you in this room
I have taken the iron-clad oath of Burbridge.
Need I say more ? The minutes pass while you
idly talk; they are precious to you and to him
beside you. Even now the bluecoats may be
about you. Go, John, seek another guide, an-
other place of concealment."

"It is too late," said the physician in a .oice
of despair. "Your son Joshua, Warwick ; where
is he?"

^ Am A Warwick, Sir '

lOI

Ck>ne, said Warwick; "gone I know not
where. When he learned .,f hi. father', dishonor
he turnc<l from the house of hi. birtli. I know
not when he will return, if ever. Haste. John
»way. away: no help can >„„ get this right from'
the house of Warwick; and God know, you need
help now."

But just then the girl, who to this moment
^hrank unseen i„ ,he .shadows, s.q,ped Inrfore
her father. Her uplifted face .hone brave and
calm m the dim light.

"I am of the houM of Warwick. I will .niide
you to the cliff,." *

The interruption came so unexpectetlly that it
silencd the physician and astounded the father

For the f^r,t time the ..ranger spoke. He alone
seemed cool and at ease.

"I understand that the way to the clifTs is
dangerous, and that even in daylight few persons
care to go mto those wilds."

"I know the way. sir."

"But the danger.'"

"I am a Warwick, sir. The honor of my
father is at stake." ^

"You cannot go. It must n.ver be «ud that

I02 Warwick of the Knobs

John Morgan, even to save his life, permitted
one like you to risk a danger like this."

The girl kneeled beside the stranger, and,
taking his hand, pressed it to her lips.

"General Morgan? Is this General John
Morgan ir our home? God bless you, sir. lean
save you ; come to the cliffs, to the cliffs before
it is too late."

"Child," said the soldier, raising the girl to
her feet — "child, the risk to you is great, too
great."

"I know the path even better than my father
does. I have taken no oath. I will save the
honor of my father. Let me guide you to the
great cavern under the cliff; and, once there, you
shall need nothing, for Joshua will return when
morning comes, and bring you food."

"But the danger to you, child. Think of the
danger," said Morgan.

"My brothers, sir; two of them are Morgan's
men. Need I say more?"

"Shall I go?" said the general, turning to the
doctor.

"Yes. She is to be trusted; she knows the
knobs. True, she runs a risk, but — "

" I Am A Warwick, Sir " 103

"I run no risk, sir. I am prepared. See!"
The girl took from beneath her shawl a revolver.
"This I shall use if necessary. There is no
danger, sir."

"Lead on, child;" and from the house John
Morgan passed that night, led by this child, who,
when no cause was at stake, recoiled from a clap
of thunder, but faced now the forest wilds of the
Gunpowder cliffs and knobs in behalf of the chief
whom her brothers followed to battle.

It was the ijray of the morning when the girl
returned. Her garments were torn and tattered,
her hair was dishevelled, her hands and feet were
lacerated, foi briers and thorns lock themselves
close together over those Gunpowder thicket
paths. In the gray of the morning she came back
to her home; but just before reaching the house,
where she hoped, unseen, to slip into her room,
a side door opened, and the guest from the North
stood before her.

Without a word, like a frightened fawn, the
surprised child sprang past him and ran into the
house, going directly to the room where she had
left her father.

Warwick sat in his chair; the lamp still burned

It (

Itl i

104 Warwick of the Knobs

on the stand by his side. Its rays fell upon the
open Hible in his lap, where could be read the
passage: "Thou art my hope, O Lord God. Thou
art my trust from my youth." But the trials of
two nights had borne heavily; the minister was
sleeping.

The g.rl slipped to his side, blew out the lamp,
pulled down the curtain, pressed her father's
forehead with a light kiss, and then softly left
the room.

CHAPTER XI.

THAT JOHN MORGAN MIGHT LIVE. A WARWICK'S
SACRIFICE.

Joshua returned in time for breakfast. He
made no reference to the cause of his absence,
or to where he had spent the night. The
scratches on the hands and face of his sister could
not be hidden, but no comment was made con-
cerning them. Lionel had returned from his
early walk; Warwick once more sat at the head
of the table. The family circle was again com-
plete. As usual, Warwick opened the morning
meal with an offering of thanks to the Giver of
all blessings; no evidence of discontent with his
lot could be gathered from tone or word. Once
again he was the ruler of the home where every
thought was directed to the wearing of a crown
in a future heaven, but where frivolity and
amusement on the earth of the present were con-
sidered breeders of eternal frowns from Him who

'°S Warwick of the Knobs

ruled both above and below. The meal was

finished in comparative silence.
As soon as possible after breakfast Mary

nought her brother.

•'Joshua, you were not at home last night."
"l told you thet I would be back this mornin'."
"VVjy did you leave so suddenly after father

returned ?"

"Sis, if you'll keep a secret, I'll tell you; but
mum's the word now thet pap's tooken the oath."
'I am to be trusted, Joshua; you know I am "
"Y.sterday as I got to the end of the row of
corn I was cutting next the thic. et I heard a
whis'le. It was the whis'Ie brother used to call
me by when T was a little tot-Brother Samuel
who IS with Morgan. You bet I was 'sprized'
but I didn't let on. I jest answered back without
turnm' my head, and then I worked my way to
the top of the ridge to see ef any one war
watchm' me. Yr u see, sis, I ain't too sure of thet
rock-b-,nter from the North. But thar wan't no
one m sight, so I jest worked back, and then
slipped over the fence into the thicket. Thar sat
brother on a stump. He looked monstrous thin
and his head was shaved like a baby's. I knew

A Warwick*! Sacri'-ce

109

that it wan't no time fer words, and I jest said
so. Then I asked what war to be done.

'"General Morgan has 'scaped from the Colum-
bus Penitentiary,' says he, 'and Capt'n Hines and
I got away with him. We separated ; he crossed
the Ohio at Ludlow, while I went down to Ander-
son's Ferry, fer it isn't safe fer so many to be
together. I know the land, and kept out of sight.
The woods is thick and bushes close. I got here
early this mornin' without a soul seein' me. Tell
father thet I'll slip into my room to-night, and,
Joshua, bring me somethin' to eat. I'm as hungry
as a bear.'

"I started off, when he called me back. 'How's
sister?' he asked. 'She's well, and growin'
mighty fast. You'll be proud of sis, brother.'
He drew his sleeve across his eyes. If he'd been
a woman, instead of a man, I'd hev thought he
war wantin' to cry.

"'Joshua,' he said, 'I wants ter see sister
powerful much. I've been in a lot of hot times
since I jined Morgan, and have suffered mightily,
and the end ain't yet. But I couldn't go back
South without seein' sister ag'in, and thet's why I
run this risk. Tell her thet I've got the little rebel

i| H

"° Warwick of the Knobs

flag she made me and give me the night I slipped
away. I stuffed it into my cheek when the Yanks
captured us; they thought it war terbacker.'

"I started off agin, and he called me back.
'Bring me a gun and pistol and some cartridges,
and don't fergit somethin' ter eat," he said. Wall,
sis, he eat a pile and then felt better.
" 'How's father?' he asked.
" 'I don't know, fer he ain't home. The old
devil in blue caught him Sunday and took him to
jail ; guess he'll be tooken to Camp Chase to-night
lessen he takes the oath.'

" 'He'll never tooken thet oath,' says brother;
'thet's settled. Did you see sis?' he asked.
" 'No. She was not in the house.'
'"Tell her I'll be home to-night after mid-
night.'

" 'What's new ?'

" 'Nuthin'. Half the young fellers are in the
Yankee army and half are with the rebels. Half
the old men are watchin' the Home Guards, and
the other half are laying quiet. We've got a
boarder, a rock-hunter from the North. He's in
your room, too. He takes me fer a greeny, and
I guess I am one es he sees things; but we'll both

A Warwick's Sacrifice

1 1 1

wait till terbacker's in ti.e barn befo.o we counts
the hands. He's got his eye on me, and I'm
watchin' him.'

" 'I'll be home at midnight,' says brother, 'after
the rock-hunter's asleep,'

"Then he slipped into the thicket, and I went
to work. When pap came home last night I knew
somethin' hed gone wrong. When he said he
had tooken the oath I knowcd the devil was to
pay. Thet oath of Burbridge makes a man swear
he'll drive his own kin away and report his
own son.

"Thet's why I left the room so sudden. Ef pap
says he'll do et, he will ; and ef he swor he would
report his own boy, he'd git on his horse and ride
to the county seat without his breakfast to do et.
"I was in a fi.x. Brother hadn't told me where
he intended to hide, and I didn't know where to
hunt. I looker! everywhere, fer I wanted to tell
him to keep away from home, but it wan't any
use. Before midnight I got awful blue, and went
down to the thicket and waited. He didn't come.
When I come back it was after tv.elve, but pap
was up readin". I looked through the winder at
him. Then I went to the thicket and whis'led

"» Warwick of the Knobi

i ,1

and whisled. No answer. I walked one place
and another, but no brother .hewed iip. IVe
been out all night, sis. He didnt come Iwck."

Mary turned as white as death; her voice
trembled strangely as she asked
"Did you go to the cliffs ?"
"N'o. Fer them's too far fer him to ht
sneaked. He didn't need to go half a mile from
here, fer nobody was looking fer him."

The girl clasped her hands. Her face was
drawn and ghastly. Her eyes were staring, as if
she saw some horri.l thing. "Joshua. Brother
Samuel will never come again, never, never."
She twk him by the arm. "Come, let us find
father."

There was that in her voice which smote the
awkward boy to his heart, and filled him with
a strange dread. Together they went to the
house, and entered their father's room.

"Listen, father," said the girl. "Listen to
what I have to tell about my trip last night."

"About your trip last night," said Joshua; "I
didn't know you made a trip."

"When you looked through the window after
midnight I was gone."

Ty/JE Grcil Clif

I'V

I :

A Warwick'i Sacrifice

"Who went with you, »i*?" laid Joihua tu*>
piciuusly. There wan't nn one home hut pap, the
old niggers and the rock-hunter. Who went out
with you after midnight?"

"Let me tell my story."

"Go on. dauK'itor," lajil Warwick.

"I shall tell it from the heginning. We left
the house together, Cicneral Morgan and I. The
night was cold. We trudged through the long,
wet, cicad grass. Drops of water scattered from
the bushes over our heads.

"It was not comi)letely dark, for the moon
shone dimly through the treetops, though it was
too young to give much light. We heard the
hoot-owl crying from down in the Gun[)owder
ravines, toward where we had to go. I thought
the Yankees would surely hear him hoot at us.
There were other sounds and other voices too.
I thought of what you read out of the DibL. I
saw the 'beasts full of eyes before and l)ehind' ;
eyes were everywhere — beasts with faces like
men and si.\ wings ; beasts full of eyes and with
hundreds of feet and wings ; beasts with faces like
a calf, and others with faces like lions. Oh,
father, but I saw all you read about in that horri-
ble story in the Bible."

ii6

Warwick of the Knobs

"Child," interrupted Warwick, "this is blas-
phemy. Continue your story, leave the Word

daric'^ir' °",'.^°^" '"'° '*'' """P ^'-^h- That
dark hole was like a bottomless pit. I went in

front. b,.ting down the briers that'hung ov" t

Path^Up,outofthecreek,upandon^„ti,he
moon^agam came from behind the hill, and

The girl stopped, and there came again over
her face the look of horror.
"And then what, daughter'"

in'i:tZdn:LTr-^T"''''^^

oiiu. 1 saw It glitter m the moonlight-
I saw us muzzle pointing at us. The man was'
standmg between the moon and ourselves. I d d
no^Icnowh.mthen.butIknowhimnow. And

"What, girl.!'"

"I drew my pistol from beneath my shawl and

folo r'':, '"' ' '' ''' "^^ who'stcd L;

to shoot us down. This is what war brings to
us, my father-to us who live here in String^own
County; to shoot first or die first, my fSr
Would to God I had been the one to diel"

A Warwick's Sacrifice

117

"The story."

"We went on, for the man disappeared as if

he had melted away; on and on, to the cliflfs.

There I left the friend I had guided in safety;

there I left him, promising to send Joshua to-<:ay

with food. I came back alone through the night.

Oh, the awful creatures— beasts, devils— that

rose up, that flew overhead, that crouched before

and behind me! I ran through the briers,

through the bushes, over the hills; the claws of

the wild beasts touched my dress and tore it; the

claws of the devils reached out for my face'and

arms and limbs, and scraped the skin until the

blood came, but I got home at last— home; and,

my father, your honor was saved; the name of

Warwick, my father."

"And this is all you have to say ?"
"No." Joshua spoke now. "No, pap, I have
this to say: In case the man my sister shot is
Brother Samuel, he would not have been shot
had you not tooken that oath of Burbridge."

Warwick rose up. "Samuel? Why do you
say Samuel.'"

"Because with General Morgan he escaped
from the Columbus Penitentiary; because in the

;i..

back thicket yesterday he left me, promising to
come last night to our house Jest after n, Zigh °
because had you not tooken thet oath, you would
have gu.ded John Morgan, and my Lr°Z

shoot down whoever stood in the path "
ofttwicl'"''''^^"^'^''"-"^-^^'^'^^-

of theTth ' t° Vr' '' "^ ^'^'"'^ ''^"^' "—
ot the oath . took to save the honor of Warwick?

Samue , my boy, my boy! Woe is me; Tr ow

and grief are my lot; rough is the path my feeT

Tn^L Sw' "■"' ^° -^'''- Yetmu'stl^t:
•nfauh because of trials of the flesh. Oh, my

Sch 'T t ^r"' """^ "°* ^'''^ G-d Book

S 'and thTt'TH '';'^* '''' ^"'^•^^ "<=
nght. and that Thou m faithfulness hast afflicted

bacITnd'''; t'' °' '" ""^'°"^ «="' ''^ «t-de
back and for h, seemingly overwhelmed by his

rJanTS;- ^— — PP^ng^-t

dJ]f T'' *° """ ""^- ^''^ '»^" "'ay not be
dead; he may not be Samuel. Folio/ me my

A Warwick's Sacrifice

diildren. Oath or no oath, if it be my son
Samuel, to this home shall he come, alive or
dead."

He shook his clenched fist above his head, his
knuckles striking the ceiling.

"Even though Burbridge hang me to a limb
the next day, oath or no oath, I'll care for my son
who came into my life before I was forced to
take the cursed oath."

iii;i

CHAPTER XII.

A LETTER.

•'My Dear Charley: The ominous signs
about which I told you in my last letter have
matenahzed. These people begin to concern me
more than I could have believed possible. They
are a study, an enigma, a living puzzle. I am
treated kmdly, courteously, given every atten-

'°"' r ^!' ^ "°^ ''""'' "'^' I =•" held at arm's
ength Thmgs before my eyes are but half seen •
the other half I know nothing about, nor can
my questions bring an answer

"Old man Warwick works and prays and
preaches, quotes Scripture and sings psalms; but
I half beheve he does some things he does not
pray about audibly, and it is evident the others
too, are concerned in matters that are covered
from me. It seems like a novel story, in which

instead of satisfying, the reader. But before
:,^"''°" f°-I''Uct-oh.welI.r„Uh°

•'But I :j,ust tell you about this clown of a boy.
Ha, hat If I could only get him North with us
for one day what fun we would have! Pie's a
gawk; you ought to see him. The other day I
crossed over to where he was suckering tobacco.
Joshua. I said, "if you ever visit me up North
d7a!iro:t: '" °' ^""■' ^-'-^edupand
" 'Pa^ nreached 'bout a feller nam.d Samson,
whomau nferjestsechasetoffolks. You'd
better let me stay in the terbacker patch and work,
fer I moijght not make the kind of fun you want.'
1 could not make out wheti.er the clown was
>n earnest or talking at random, so I just took out
one of my cards and I flipped it at him

" 'That's my address. Joshua; glad to see you
when you come; and if you propose to play Sam-
son, do not cut your hair.'

nn'^'f ,'r'' *'''"^' '^''^ dreadfully mixed here.
One of Warwick's sons was found dead in the

■

122 Warwick of the Knobs

hills. He had been shot through the heart. The
strange part of it is that no eflFort was made to
discover the murderer.

" 'Joshua,' I said, 'do you not suspect any
person ?'

" 'Ef I do, I don't tolk. These ain't times to
talk.'

"Not another word could I draw from him.
"Oh, yes ! I forgot to say that this son was
a rebel soldier, one of Morgan's cavalrymen, who
recently escaped from Columbus Penitentiary.
His father preached the funeral sermon, and as
far as I could determine preached him to the
devil. The daughter sorrows deeply. She made
no outcry, no demonstration; but she seemed
dazed, and has not been herself since.

"'Miss Warwick,' I said yesterday, 'your
brother was a soldier. Those who go into the
war risk their lives. Is it wise to grieve un-
reasonably even for one as dear as a brother?'

"She turned her eyes upon me in a way I
cannot find words to express.

" 'He did not die on the field of battle. Would
to God it had been so. Did you know all—' then
she stopped.

A Letter

125

" 'But, Miss Warwick, you are not to blame,
because — '

" 'Hush r she interrupted, 'do not speak to me
of things I know better than do you, nor is it wise
for you to mix in affairs that do not concern
you. Happy are you people of the North who
see no war, whose brothers march forth in open
day, whose sisters need not listen in the night for
a brother's tap on the door, and listen in vain, as
I have done.'

" 'But, Miss Warwick, we have our part in the
war. Our loved ones go out to fight and suffer
and die.'

" 'To you of the North war is something afar;
to us war is at our doors night and day. God
only knows what will come next.'

"Charley, the more I see of this girl, the more
convinced I am that she should see something of
the world. It is a shame to hide a creature like
this in these woods among these hills. Isn't it
strange, a pretty woman is bewitching when she
smiles, captivating when she laughs, and charm-
ing when, without smile or laugh, she looks vou
m the eye. But when the teardrop touches her

126

Warwick of the Knoh.

1 II not attempt it.

" he she n the sunshine or the shadow

But you know my failing nnd- Oh well it t;
likely she and I will evU „- i , '

the table. ^ '''*"*'' ""^ """^

..p c "LlONEU

«n^ if ^^ '"'''' •"»"' ""d » all-seeine
and all-powerful, He knows what man's Terf
action will be. If He knows this, Tn. ^eS

i:rnrr/''°'*"''^"^«-"<'^ar

«e could have prevented, who is to blame.' Eh

knew all thmgs to come for all time, He knew
use what every man would do. If He knew thT
and does not prevent his doing things He dU

consent, and, hence, is not responsible. See'

Or agam. 'If God made man, and kneu all

^hmgs and planned all thmgs in Ihe beting

He laid down what must be done- and hrj'

man can only do what Tod ( 7'- '

should do.' Thisla^tth^lKT'^^'"*' •"•
* last IS the substance of War-

A Letter

127

wick'i text every Sunday as well as his creed the
week through ; and if the occasion ever requires,
I'll pull it on him.

"L."

CHAPTER XIII.

"ONCl MORE THE SHADOWS FLICKEUKD."

For a time over the home on the knob the days
passed as pass the days „f a calm that sometimes
follows one storm period and precedes another.
Lionel studied his rocks and collected specimen.,
Joshua cut and lump his tolsacco, and his father!
as usual, both preached and worked. The girl
became gradually more reconciled to the death of
her brother, and Warwick seemed to take less to
heart the odium that rested on his name because
of that humiliating oath. But the Home Guards
still ro,le over the hill roads, and l^tit the bushes
by their sides ; many were the residents of String-
town County who slept more frequently out of
doors than in the house. Rut Warwick gave
these things no further concern, nor was he again
disturbed by the Home Guards. Seemingly the
trials of this man of God were at an end. And

Once More the Shadowi Flickered 1 29

that Warwick thought »o, too, wii ihiiwn by his
•election of the morning and e>ening Scriptural
verses.

Had the old man. however, studied his Bible
''"ss. and thought more of earthly than of spiritual
things, he would have noticetl the change that
came over his daughter, who no longer seemed
to shun the visitor from the North. He wo'ild
have seen that she was becoming interested in
the fossil stones and in the mammoth bones, and
that she often walked to the road to bid the
naturalist goo<l-by in the morning, and that in
the e\'cning she often met him on his return.

But if Warwick did not observe these changes,
Joshua did, for one day the boy said to his father ':

" "Pears to me thet sis is behavin' different of
late."

"I see nothing out of the way. She goes to
church Sunday, she attends to affairs of the lion.e
week days, she asks to go to no parties or picnics
or other places where the devil lurks, she docs not
sulk, and has no grievance."

Joshua Ifwiked at his father, and spoke hesitat-
ingly, as if undecided just how far he could
venture.

i«

'3° Warwick of the Knobs

i i

"Ef you will raise your eyes from the text once
•n a while, you'll catch a glimpse of things you
can't read in print."

"I read the Bible. Nothing that occurs to-day
can add to or take from the value of the Word
It is of your sister you speak. Listen to the
psalmist s promise." The man placed his finger
on the passage that chanced then to be before his
eyes, and read aloud:

"God is in the mic'st of her; she shall not be
moved. God shall help her, and that right early "
I take It, pap, thet the feller what did that
wntm died too long ago to tell you 'bout things
thet consarn us here in Stringtown County to-
day. There s no use in tryin' ter strip and hand
terbacker when et ain't in case, but when et comes
in case et kin be worked mighty easy. 'Pears to
me thet things are gettin' monstrous soft here-
abouts; and ef you ain't keerful, the terbacker in
«>e ban, 11 not be the only thing in case when
Christmas comes. You say sister '11 be helped
'nght early.' Well, it 'pears so to me "

"Go to your work, Joshua. If you would study
your Bible more and think less of woridly mat-
ters. It would be better. Go to your work, sir "

Once More the Shadows Flickered

131

As the days jiassed the words of Joshua con-
cerning the girl's "softening" seemed to be des-
tined for fulfilment. The girl did soften. Her
eyes told that her interest in the guest had
deepened into something more; her conversation
with Lionel was not now altoget! about the
fossil stones and prehistoric bones of Stringtown
County.

Lionel was not long in perceiving the change
that came to this girl who never even attended
one of the neighborhood picnics, who had pleaded
vainly to be allowed to join a party of frolicking
young people bound for a pleasure jaunt at Big
Bone Springs; who, whenever such desires were
expressed, had been told to read her Bible and
shun the wiles of the devil. Beneath the very eye
of the father who, when at home, sat studying
his book, thinking of his sermon, Lionel told
Mary about other scenes, and pictured to her the
pleasures that came to those who were not forced
to forego the joys of life-joys that should come
to all who pass from childhood into womanhood.
But not a word did . > say against her father's
religion and her own.

Only life's bright side, its joyous side— the

132 Warwick of the Knobs

side that enraptures the mind of the unwary-,
was held before her in glowing colors. She was
taught to contrast her own lot with that of other
girls; to contrast the methods of her father and
that of other fathers. But, while the two vvere
thus drawing closer to each other, unobserved by
the man whose duty led him to search the Scrip-
tures and neglect his daughter, the brother was
less religious and less blind.

One day Joshua abruptly left the tobacco bam,
and turned his steps toward the localities where
Lionel spent his time in .« .-ch of specimens;
toward the spot where that morning from a knob
Joshua had seen him breaking stones. The meet-
ing was unexpected to Lionel.
"That you, Joshua?"

"Yes, and I'm here fer bus'ness. I hain't goin'
ter beat 'round the bush, neither. You come here
to study rocks vacation time, you say?"
"Yes, Joshua, that's my business."
"School begun two months ago. When does
vacation end?" The woids were direct. Lionel
saw the boy had more to say.
"Go on, Joshua."
"I don't intend to ask nuthin' wrong. But you

Once More the Shadow s Flickered 133

ain't studyin" rocks like you did at first. You
ain't of our people, and never will be. Thet's
what I come to say."

"True, Joshua, I am not related to you, but
that need not disturb either of us."

"Ef you stay here much 'ouger, there may be
trouble thet you don't expect. It may not be
perlite, but it is bus'ness fer me to say thet vaca-
tion times are over, and I don't mean 'ny wrong
when I says it."

"You think, Joshua, I had better return to
college?"
"Exactly."

"Well, I have arranged to leave next week.
Can you take my collection of specimens to
Covingfton ?"

"I'll haul it the day you pick out; and the
quicker, the better."

"Next week, Tuesday, Joshua, will suit me,"
V as the reply.

"Thank you, sir. Don't tell pap 'bout our talk.
I don't mean -o harm er not ter be perlite, but
we Stringtown County people treats the stranger
fair; and I jest thought et war 'bout time fer
vacation ter end."

I*.:

a Il'lf°"'7 ^""''''^ ^^""■'^'^ '"^ft home for
the beech woods on the Stringtown Pike rZ
days later Joshua loaded Lionefs Je^ir^ttl sp^

^ensa^^d started to Covington ^ith^Er;
'" "'^ "°^"'"S- But the roads out of the knoh^

haule^J'. 1° "" '"'"''• '^' ''°"« that
hauled the lumber wagon down the pike moved

tS' t " r.'^'"^ ^' "'^"^ when^josh:::?

urn«l. He unh.tched his team, turned them into
he back pasture, and quietly slipped into hs
room, so as not to disturb the sleejirs

Next morning when he appeared the breakfast-
table was spread for but one person; the old Wad
woman was in waiting. The heart of th. bo Jat
Lionel called a "gi,n,p" sank. '

"Where's sister.?"

The old woman turned in surprise.
Yo know she went to the 'sociation."
VVhen.''

"Yisterdy mahn II '
"Who went with her?"
"Ma'se Lionel."
"How did they go?"

'! !

Once More the Shadows Flickere d 135

"In the buggy,"

For a moment the listener sat in silence; then
he muttered: "Pap's book war right when it said
she would be helped 'right early.' "

In silence he stoically ate his breakfast. If his
tnmd was active, no facial expression indicated
the fact. Indeed, he seemed actually unconcerned
about the news that to him so unexpectedly told
of his sister's elopement.

Before breakfast was over the old negress
announced that a man was coming toward the
house from off the creek road-"a man in blue "
she added. Joshua started up at once. That finll
sentence produced in him an unple.'iant sensation
He stepped to the door. About half-way up the
hill a Federal soldier was riding leisurely His
horse seemed spiritless, the rider indifferent to
surroundings. He was unarmed. That he was
not a Home Guard was evident.

For a moment Joshua was undecided. Should
he go out of the back door and into the thicket
or stay and meet the intruder? Then, making up
his mmd, he advanced to the front gate.
"Does P-eacher Warwick live here?"
"Yes, sir."

fef

136 Warwick of the Knobs

"May 1 see him?"

"He's not at home."

The man reflected.

"When will he return?"

"I can't say." Joshua did not ask the cavalry,
man to alight. He did not care for his company.

"I have a message for Mr. Warwick."

"Ef you'll tell me, I'll tell pap."

"You are his son?"

"Yes."

"It concerns him. I am to deliver it to your
father. Can you not tell me when you expect
him home?"

"He's gone to the 'sociation. It lets out to-day.
He'll be home to-night."

"I shall wait, for I must speak to Mr War-
wick."

"Breakfast's jest ready, and you're welcome
to stay. I hope you hev brought good news."

•The traveller dismounted, and Joshua led his
horse to the stable, and there to himself finished
the sentence. "But ef you hev good news, et's
mo'ne any bluecoat ever yit brought to any War-
wick."

The soldier ate his breakfast, drew a pipe, made

Once More the Shadows Fl ickered 137

himself comfortable, and waited for Warwick,
who did not come until the sun had gone down
and Joshua had come in from the barn and the
evening meal had been placed on the table.

After supper the three men sat together in the
common sitting-room. If Warwick had observed
the absence of either his daughter or the natural-
ist, he made no reference to the fact; the lamp
burned dimly; once more the shadows flickered.

CHAPTER XIV.

"tell my father that I STOOD AS A WARWICK
SHOULD, AND DIED AS A WARWICK SHOULD
DIE."

"Mr. Warwick, you had a son in the Confed-
erate army, had you not?"

"I had two sons in the service of the Confeder-
acy. One lies now in the graveyard on the hill,
the other still serves the South."

"One lies in the graveyard on the hill? Which
hill?"

"The knob beside Old Gunpowder, sir. Six
weeks ago we buried him."

"We do not refer to the same son, Mr. War-
wick. The man I knew does m , lie in your
graveyard on GunpowderHill." Then he changed
the subject. "Let me tell my story, Mr. War-
wick."

He paused for a moment, began his tale, and
soon was in the midst of it.

"Back and forth," he was saying, "the blue and

I ll

li t

"I Died As A Warwick'

[4^

8T«y scouts had secawed; back when the rebel,
pressed hard, and out again when tlie North was
strongest: back and forth until the reWs were
remforce<l. until their cavalry outnuml,ered the
Federals, until John Morgan cut in behind the
Northern infantrj, until the Federal general
Morgan retreated from Cuml^rland Gap. untii
Bragg forced Ruell far into KerUucky. Steadily
back the Northern forces were pushed, fighting
the.r way. burning their dead, carrying their
wounded, or leaving then, to the care of fLcrs ;
untd General Heath drove in the pickets beneath
the gun, of old Fort Mitchell, on the height hack
of Covngton. But at last the tide turned; the
fent on Cincinnati by General Heath's six thou-
p '".*" ^^"^ =» 'hing of the past; the battles of
Perryvjlle and the vacillating methods of General
Bragg left h.m broken in strength "

The speaker stopped for a moment, and turned
nis eyes on Warwick.

"Your sons. Ezra and Samuel, joined the rebels
dunng that Kirby Smith raid. Mr. Warwick
When the Confederates left the State of Ken-
njcky that fall of r86.. your boys were under
Morgan's command."

«4a Warwick of the Knob*

"You speak correctly, iir. Then it was they
entered the service of the Confederacy."

"The next June, last June, they c.ime again
to Kentucky. The great raid into Ohit) was in-
augurated. You know the rest. John Morgan
became a prisoner. Success was with the Union
arms. But between September, i86j, and June.
1863, occurred an incident that I can never for-
get."

He shuddered and pressed his hand to his fore-
head.

"Why do you say the 'Confederates' and the
'Federals' 't Why do you not say the Confeder-
ates and ourselves?" asked Warwick. The
speaker dropped bis eyes again and continued,
but not in reply to Warwick's question.

"The men who fight battles, be they dressed in
blue or in gray, be they, as were we, clad in rags
and shoeless and hungry, are men, and respect
each the other, be they clad in gray or in blue.
Worn out were we, long had been our march up
from the South into this land of Kentucky."

"Down from the North, you mean, sir; those
who wear the blue come not from the South."
Warwick touched the sleeve of his guest.

iL-jR'?S

"I Died Ai A Warwick"

'43

But the ipeaker continue.1. "That was a val-
iant fijfht. Mr. Warwick. The etiemy was before
us. the enemy was twhind. tf. the right an<l to the
left, on every cross-road, every pike, on every hill
and in every valley. Mominif brought to our ears
the crack of muskcis. and every hour from the
rise and setting of the sun came the bullet from
the gun of the invaders of our homes."

Then Warwick interrupted. "Sir, the homes
of those who live north of the Ohio River are not
invaded."

"Nor did I say they were. Be patient. As I
•ay. we fought and prayed. Lines of mjskets
were before us, catmon were behind us, trrwps of
cavalry, regiments, brigades, divisions of infantry.
were east and west and north and south of us.'
We rose from the ground in the morning to meet
a line of sted, and from the clouds of smoke over-
head there came sheets of lead and iron balls. The
earth was furrowed all about us ; the trees were
cut above us, and the limbs were falling upon our
heads. The devil stood behind that line of blue
which, hidden in <;moke, cut us down ; we were
helpless, we had neither powder, nor ball, nor
f'Xxl, nor — "

w"^

144 Warwick of the Knobs

Warwick rose. He placed his hands one on
either shoulder of the speaker, and pressing hard
thereon looked him in the eyes.

"Why do you say the devil stood behind that
line of blue, you who wear the blue?"

"Because then I wore the gray; because to meet

y ^u, Mr. Warwick, to say what I have said and to

tell you more that yet I must say, led me to wear

this suit of blue. I fought beside your son Ezra."

"Tell mc of him."

"Flesh ana blood could not stand the storm
of lead and iron that closed us in and mowed us
down; we had neither food nor cover, medicine
nor ammunition; our bayonets were not Icng
enough to reach the men who stood behind those
lines of living steel, much less to reach the can-
non, that from afar dropped bombs and balls at
will. I fought beside your son, Ezra Warwick
We fought until our last charge of powder was
burned, r.atil surrounded we stood in silence while
that sheet of flame mowed us down like birds in a
trap."

"Tell me all you have to say about my son "
"He was a brave man. Mr. Warwick, an honor
to the name. When our last charge of powder

"I Died As A Warwick" 145

was burned he turned to me and said : 'Comrade,
should you get out alive, tell my father, Pi^. cher
Warwick of the Knobs, that I stood as a Warwick
should, and died as a Warwick should die."
"Then he was one who fell?"
"Would to God, Mr. Warwick, I could say yes;
would that he had fallen then."

"Go on. Tell me what you have to say," said
Warwick hoarsely.

"Are you strong enough to hear the ending of
my story?"

"Speak. 'The Lord is the strength of my life.
Of whom shall I be afraid ?' "

"Wounded men were about us, men who lay
for hours and watched their blood drip, drip,
drip , and men, too, who felt the bullet's touch and
saw the crimson stream spurt and felt the life
current slipping swiftly. These last were the hap-
pier, for here death came quickly. Finally, cur
silence, told the enemy that we had no pow-
der; the wounded about us outnumbered the dead
two to one, and the dead twice outnumbered those
untouched by lead or iron ball." And again the
speaker pressed his hands to his forehead.

"And my boy? You said he was not killed?"

ill

146 Warwick of the Knobs

"He was not touched at all. His life seemed
charmea. U„scatl. ne can,e out-he, myself
and a few others. When the last ball was spent
and the enemy closed in to where the .ew who
were left stood upright among the dead and
wounded when the final Federal charge came
and the foe burst upon us, I saw strong men in
blue cover their eyes and turn their heads awal
It was an awful sight. Warwick, even to those
who know I saw kindly hands outstretched

to us who hved ; as if we had been brothers. Who
codd have thought that these same hands had
made the carnage at our feet ? But such is war "

be told We can read of battle charges in ev^ry
prmt that comes to hand. Tell me of my son

"Be patient, Mr. Warwick."

"Is this a time for patience? Say the word you
brmg and end the tale." ^

"Thb, then, is the word. The a:my that had
crushed our band moved on toward the South
we were sent back until our prison in Kentuck^
was reached. Here, by order of one whosl
name I need not tell, we were one morning draw^

BMii

'I Died As A Warwick" 147

up and told that, because of some bushwhackers'
deeds of which we knew nothing, before the day
had set a Hke number of Confederate prisor.ers
must die. God! but we could not believe the
words were earnest. Not long, however, were
we left in doubt. The edict had gone forth, and
that, too, by order of a son of Kentucky. And
when we asked for justice, for the rights due a
soldier, we were told that for every man the cow-
ardly bushwhacker sh^t one of Us must be sacri-
ficed. Our names were written on slips and put
into a hat, and a comrade of the men who were to
die was forced to draw the lot — forced, I say, to
draw the papers out and hear the names one by
one read off, and see the man each paper named
led out until the full quota were drawn and all
stood up to die."

"And my son?"

"He wa? blessed, as contrasted with the man
who speaks lO you."

Warwick gazed intently at his guest. "What
did m.y son do that he should be called blessed?
What had you done to merit such words of
shame?"

"Warwick, it was I who drew the papers from

'48 Warwick of the Knobs

the hat It was I who drew the slip that bore the

tou1iXrsLLr-*---ou.^

Not a muscle of Warwick's face moved
And my son Ezra stood in that line'"
Yes."

"Is there more to tell?"

bov'^^R ^^^''^;;V"'fi"^'l *he promise made your
boy. By the help of a generous Federal colonel

horse, and paroled me on my honor to return I

vvTich?h'° *'^";"^ "'''''' °' "^ -de tha
w^ch I have sa.d. To-morrow I must start back

b^r h, stroke unmoved. His mind reverted

oathof R k"h' '' '^' ^'^^ ^"~ ^^-^en, he
oath of Burbr,dge; next, to his son who near the

path of Middlecreek, fel, by the bullet of htsb
ter because of that same oath. Now the other son
was gone, shot down, a helpless prisoner. B ck
and forth i„ his chair the strong man sway d
then he turned a pitiful, helpless gaze on Joshua
who sat in the shadows. " Josnua,

'I Died As A Warwick" 149

"My son Ezra, my first-bom son, is no more.
God chasteneth me. His servant, near to the ex-
tent of human endurance. My God, my God,
why afflictest Thou me so sorely? My son, my
son !"

There was no reply.

Appealingly Warwick spoke again. "Joshua,
I am come into deep waters, where the floods
overflow me. Joshua, ask your sister to come to
her father. I would feel her light hand upon my
brow, I would have my daughter's arms about my
neck. Ask your sister to come and comfort her
father, Joshua, my son."

The boy made no movement.

"Your sister, boy. I am very lonely."

"Pap," said Joshua, and he moved over and
took both his father's hands, "Pap, I must be your
comfort now. Sister's gone away forever."

CHAPTER XV.
"pap's himself ag'in,"
"Father/- said Joshua, "thet rock-hunter

the flood ,n the creek; you gave him a bed in our
house ; you trusted him."

"I trusted the Lord, my son "

"And what has th. Lord done for you, father?

w":::y^^^o^wl:tl^lrvtr-""^-

5>d psalms, and the rockCerla:;:?;:;:
You trusted the Lord and went to the 'sociadon

J- r yr^rd^:„5°^ - rts

hrough et all. First, the Home Guards marched
.nto the meetm'-house, the Lord's own house and

' Pap's Himself Ag'in " 151

pulled you out. Next, they toted you to jail and
made you took the iron-clad oath thet disgraced us
all. Then you had to go back on General Morgan
because of the oath ; and because of et, too, sister
went out in the night to do what she'd not hev
had to do ef you hadn't been so trustin'. Next,
she shot brother Samuel through the heart. Now,
brother Ezra's murdered, shot like a pigeon, and
sister's lost forever. You're trustin' the Lord yet,
pap. Isn't it time to begin to trust in yourself, er
in me?"

No reply came from the afflicted man ; but his
chest heaved heavily.

"I don't mean no harm, pap, but I says thet
et's time now fer you to turn to yourself er to
me. Go back with this man and git brother's
body, and let me go North and track thet rock-
hunter. Let me find thet villain; trust now my
arm and gun, fer, I says, now es the time to trust
in powder and ball ; now es the time to shoot."

"Son," Warwick said at last, "the girl you once
called sister has deserted her home. She lias aban-
doned her father in this, his day of trouble and
distress ; she has now no father, no brother — this
girl you once called sister. My cup is full; no
mnre shame, no more sorrow, can come to me."

'52 Warwick of the Knobs

she-fit.' ''°"*' "^ '"'""'^'"^ "P ^'f '■" '"'«•. f«'
shes hed a monstrous lonely time }■ ■ n, ,.

^ys call her sister, pap. and ril h . vengeance
on thet sneak from the North."
''Pap--a„d now Joshua spoke with even

f siS ' ^T" " "'""=• '''''' '»"= Lord,- but
ef Mster ever asks et, so sure es God made Adam

--and you ve preached thet fie did-IIl take mv

run and go to her; and ef M„ Lo.j ,,,„•, ^, ^i'l

work m on thet rock-hunt.r ,uick. when He do

g.t ready to move He'll hev to take H.s vengeance

out on a ead rock-hunter. Them's my sentiments.

And e f.t turns out thet thet feller didn't marry

s^ter Mary, es I take et he promised to do, or
shed never gone ofr with him, thar ain't air
enough m th.s world fer both of us to breathe
Them s my words. You trust in the Lord gittin'
H.s vengeance, and I hopes He will ; and I'll trust
>n my gun and betwixt us both I gi,ess the Yan-
kee stone-hunter'll hev a rocky old time of et I'll
jest wa.t until sister writes, er comes back, and
hen I'll start North." The boy took a revolver
from his pocket and held it up.

"Pap, I don't mean no disrespect to nobody ner

"Pap't Himself Ag'in" 15^

nuthin', but sech times es these are mighty tryin'.
I swears by all the gods and devils your Bible tells
•bout— and et's full of 'em— thet this gun shall
avenge my sister, ef she needs her brother's help."
Warwick rose and strode the room. His fore-
head stood in ridges; the veins of his brow were
like blue whip-cord. He stopped before his son
and took the revolver in his hand, where it lay
like a toy in his great palm. Then, thoughtfully
looking at the weapon, he mused: "Yes, 'Ven-
geance is mine, saith the Lord' ; such a toy as this
has no pl.ice in Warwick's hand. It may be good
enough for youngsters, or for men who know not
such timcc as have come to the Warwicks of old
in these Kentucky wilds— to a line of Warwicks
v/hose honor I am bound to keep. But I'll not
trust a flimsy thing like this."

Then he turned to his son: "If you fail, nil
not be because you are afraid to shoot ; no War-
wick ever flinched in his hour of trial."

The troubled man stopped short and again
paced the little room— the room from which two
sons had gone out to sacrifice and his only daugh-
ter to be sacrificed. Finally he stopped before his
son:

154 Warwick of the Knobg

Jo.hua. If thi« man has ruined Mary and you
fail to avenge her—" He itopped again
"What, pap?"

"If you fail, my son, your childless old father
will take that"-he pointe.l to a great g,m that
hung below the mantel-"and will start for the
North. If my daughter be not a wife, and you
fail, may the Lord God Almighty will that I, His
servant, be the instrument through which ven-
geance shall fall on the miscreant's head "

He sank upon his knees beside a chair and
rested his forehead on its arm. His thought
reverted to his God, who did all things as all
things should be done.

Joshua turned to the soldier, who had been an
unwilling, and apparently unobserved, listener,
and took him by the sleeve.

"Come, let's go. Pap's himself ag'in." To-
gether they left the room.

CHAPTER XVI.

THK KKTUKN Or SPUNO.

The days passed— the days that brought sleet
and snow and frozen earth. The winds of winter
blew from north and west, but not hard
enough to keep Warwick from his church when
came the first Sunday following the first Satur-
day. Nor could snow nor sleet nor swollen win-
ter's torrent hold the man back— he who preached
without pay, who worked his farm, and gave the
returns thereof to the cause of the God he served.

The trials that had fallen so rapidly upon him
did not in the least disturb his faith' The dis-
grace that came with Burbridge's oath left him
as it found him, loyal to his charge. The pathetic
loss of two sons, the desertion of his beloved
daughter, served but to draw him nearer to Gk)d.
More often than before was the sacred book upon

i '

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1 56 Warwick of the Knobs

his knee; longer and more fervent were the bless-
ings that he asked before each meal - louder sang
he the evening and morning hymns. But yet the
stem man of other days was softened somewhat
in demeanor, as could have been noticed by con-
trasting with the present his austere methods at
the time Lionel first came to the Knob. The fam-
ily pride of the man was broken, but his spirit
clung yet in unswerving faith to his God. And
"knowing whom he believed," he never
doubted that f.-om the foundation of the world
God had predestined that all these afflictions
should be. Severe as had been the sacrifice and
deep the sorrow, he believed with unswerving
faith that all had been foreordained by Infinite
Wisdom, and all was for the best.

Other men, weaker minds, might have reasoned
or have tried to reason, and thus have been led by
conceit and narrowness of intellect either to deny
or curse the Creator, for no mental power could
have helped any mind to find a touch of good in
the misfortunes that within a few months' time
had come to Warwick. To have questioned at all
would have led the strongest, step by step, ulti-
mately to cast his faith aside.

The Retu rn of Spring 157

Not once did the name of his wayward daugh-
ter pass his lips, nor did Joshua again mention
her. Yet recent events must have ever dominated
their thought, for how, otherwise, could these two
have brooded in the same room during the long
winter evenings; how could they, three times a
day, sit opposite each other at the table and not
experience the sinking of soul that comes to
father and brother under grief such as turns the
heart to stone.

Then came the touch of spring. The snow
that fell in the night melted with the morning;
on the edges of the creek skims of ice yet formed
when frost fell, but disappeared when the sun
rose; the sap flowed into the maple when the soft
wind blew; the smoke from the fire that boiled
the tree syrup curled from many hillside camps.
With the warmth of noonday the honey-bee
awoke, and buzzed about the black sugar-tree
trunk, and sipped the partly dried juice that
gummed the edges of the buckeye trough; the
squirrel lay outside in the old nest of le- es, and
revelled in the sunshine when the wind i down
and the day was bright. These were the never-
failing signs of advancing spring.

158

Warwick of the Knobs

During the soft wet days of the winter that had
passed Joshua and his father had stripped the
cured tobacco that, hanging in the barn, had
turned from greenish yellow to brown. This had
been wrapped into "hands," packed on wagons
and taken to Covington down the Stringtown
Pike along which Joshua so recently had hauled
the fossil collection of the "rock-hunter." The
days were lengthening fast. Plans had been made
for the crop to come; a bit of new ground had
been cleared of brush; the "plant-bed" on the
south hillside in the deadening had been burned
over and set in tobacco seed for the coming to-
bacco patch. During this approaching season of
warmth, one Sabbath evening, Warwick and his
son sat in their home ; one mtent on his Book, the
other polishing a newly made hickory axe-handle.

Suddenly Joshua started up, and the axe-handle
fell from his grasp; a shadow crossed the win-
dow, and a timid knock came at the door. Joshua
opened it, and stood for a moment motionless.
There, shrinking, stood a woman with bowed
head and hands close pressed against her face,
which was entirely hidden. Such a dress as she
wore had never before been seen in the home of

The Return of Tpring 159

Warwick ; never had such g:annents clad a form
on that Kentucky knob; a bonnet decked with
tattered velvet. Misery spoke from each rag and
tattci , the covered face betokened grief and
sb.ime. Kindly, in his homely way, Joshua spoke
to the stranger.

"Won't you come in, mam?"

The woman dropped her hands, raised her
head, and as she did so Warwick lifted his eyes
from the Book. They rested on the face of his
daughter.

The three who had so abruptly met seemed
transfixed; so suddenly had that face burst upon
the men as to unnerve both. The girl, wan and
desolate, stood again in the doorway of the old
home. Joshua was the first to move. He reached
out both his arms, and took the cold hands of his
sister into his own great warm palms, and drew
her into the room. Turning to his father, who,
with Bible in hand, sat unmoved, the brother said :

"Pap, sister's come home ag'in."

CHAPTER XVII.
"let's have the mercy text."

Warwick made no movement; no word of
greeting came from his lips, no softening touch
to his furrowed brow, no sparkle to his cold, gray
eye. As though gazing upon ;i stranger, he sat
and pierced the girl through and through with a
formal stare, that drove despair deeper into her
heart and caused her to cling closer to her brother.

"Pap, sister's home ag'in," the youth repeated.

"I know nothing of a sister who claims a home
here."

Mary would have fallen but for the strong arm
of her brother, who gently, tenderly guided her
to a great rocking-chair. Then he turned on his
father.

"I said thet sister's home ag'in. and I means it,
pap."

"Let's Have the Mercy Text" i6i

Turning the leaves of the Bcwk to a familiar
passage, Warwick read aloud:

" 'The lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and
the pride of life is not of the Father, but of the
world.' This girl has no home here. She is of
the world."

"Father, ef sister hes no home here, I hav'n't
none, either. Ef she must go out into the world,
I'll go with her."

The man of God gazed sternly at the rebellious
youth. Then he turned to the girl.

"The good Book says, 'A fugitive and a vaga-
bond shalt thou be in the earth.' "

Joshua stepped between the two and hid the
child from her father.

"Pap, thet book says tough things to-night.
The text you preached from to-day was a better
one. I remember et, and I'll have et to you ef I
am not right. 'I am merciful, saith the Lord, and
I will not keep anger forever.' Thet's a better
text, and I takes et, God was in a better humor
when He wrote et."

"Joshua !" spoke the father, shocked at his son's
irreverence.

"Listen, pap. I hate to say et, but I must. You

1 62 Warwick of the Knobi

preached one thing this morning, and you acts an-
other thing now. Didn't you say thet God
'reUineth not His anger foiever, because He de-
lighteth ill mercy?' I may not hev the wordi
right, but I've got the sense."

"My son I"

"Pap, I axes the question on the square. Ain't
thet what you preached ?"

"That was the text."

"It ain't fair to preach one text in the meetin'-
house and act another text at home."

"Joshua!"

"Let's hev the mercy text to-night. Pap, sis-
ter's ho.ne ag'in. Let's act the fergivin' text out."

Joshua stepped aside and the minister, touched
in spite of himself, glanced at his daughter, a
softened glance, that spoke of affection, but h*-
made no movement. Then the girl slowly rose
and turned toward the door, still keeping her eyes
on her father's face. She edged backward step by
step towar.l the door by which she had entered.
Her hand grasped the latch; the door moved on
its hinges.

"Stop, sister," said Joshua. "Pap, ef sister
opens thet door I go with her, and then you will

"Let't Have the Mercy T ext" 163

sit all alone in this room ferever. You will be
the last Warwick of the Knob."

Warwick, with all his coldness and strength,
could not stand the ordeal.

"Come back, my children," he said. "It is also
written, 'I will be merciful to their unrighteous-
ness, and their sins and their iniquities will I re-
member no more.'" And then, as in former
times, Mary's head rested on her father's kneu

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE STORY OP Warwick's daughtex.

"Whence came you?"

"From the cliffs, father, said the girl.

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"Tell us your story, daughter," said Warwick,
and he reached out his hand and gently, as was
his custom, stroked the hair of the wayward child
who came as a refugee to her old home. "Tell
your father what you have to say, for it now con-
cerns both Joshua and me."

She had been quietly sobbing, and she raised
her tear-stained face.

"Did you forget my dream of long ago, my
father?" she asked softly.

"What dream?"

"Do you mind the day I stood by the road, that

The Story of Warwick'! Daugh ter i',-

•ummer day when the young people paMed to the
picnic, the day the young man nxle to my
side while the girls and boys in the wagon chatted
and laughed ? Then it was the young man asked
me to join the party. I told ; ou all alx)ut i'."

"What has this story of to-night to do with a
dream of last summer ?"

"I told you how I dreamed that mother came
to my Sid-! and said, 'Tell your father that the
passing of these young people will mark the be-
ginning of his afflictions, unless he makes his God
lovable, his religion enjoyable, his daughter's ..ap-
piness one of his objects in life; unIes!^— ' "

"Stop. What has this to do with the story you
have to tell ? You mock me. girl."

"Father." interrupted Joshua. ' -t 'pears to me
thet sister's beginnin' at the bcginnin'. I says et
ain't fair to make her tr>- to tell a story and skip
all but the last part of et. I wants ter hear et all."
"A dream begins in nothing and ends in noth-
ing."

"That is what you said when once before I
star.ed to tell the dream. You would not let me
< / it out. You stopped me before I came to what
I wished to say."

1 66 Wtrwick of the Knobf

"A dream begins in nothing and ends in noth-
ing, I uy."

The eyes of the girl were cast to the floor.

"Pap," urgetl Joshua, "a king of Egypt once
dreamed a dream "bout a famine." He pointed to
the Bible in hL^i father's hand. "Didn't God send
thet dream, pap?"

"That was in the holy days of old, Joshua.
Solomon has said, 'A dream cometh throogh the
multitude of business.' "

"Pap, ef Pilate bed listened tu the dream of his

wife"— again Joshua pointed to the Bible

"wouldn't et have been better fer Christ? Thet
dream was not so long ago, and, pap, I don't give
no wife of Pilate a better right to dream than sis-
ter has, and I axes you the question square. Ef
you don't listen to sister's dream, won't you be
powerful like Pilate?"

"What has this story of to-night to do with a
dream of last summer, Joshua?" asked the dis-
comfited preacher.

"Let's hear the dream, and see what's in et. I
can't tell till I hears et."

"You may tell the dream, Mary ; but to dream
is vanity, according to the Scriptures. It is writ-

The Story of Wtfwjck'i Daug hter 167

ten in Eccle*ia*ticui, 'For in the multitude of
dreamt, and many words, there are alto divers
vanitie*.' "

"Father," continued the girl, "at I told you
once, thit dream said that unlett you did certain
thingi your afflictions would begin. When, toon
after that, you were arretted I thought of the
dream you would not let me tell. When you took
the oath, I thought of the dream. When you
turned General Morgan from your door, you
know why; when brother was shot on the cliff
path, you know who shot him. I thought of the
dream, for I had teen it all unfold before; I taw it
in my dream, but just then I awoke; the rest of
the dream was lost. Would that I could have
dreamed to the end, and teen what was to come to
met My father, did not your afflictions begin the
day I wanted to tell you what that dream pre-
dicted?"

"That day came the flood, which brought the
first link in the chain of persecutions," mused
Warwick. "Go on, child," he added.

The girl shuddered. "Yes, my father, he came
that day."

A startled look overspread her face. Seemingly

i68 Warwick of the Knobs

', 1 1

affrighted at the word "he" and the accompany-
ing recollections of the past, she arose, as if
alarmed, and turned to the door.

"Let me go back," she cried, "hack to the cliffs I
With beasts and brutes belong such as I am now."
Warwick reached out his long arms and drew
t!ie,sufferer to his breast. His Bible fell upon the
floor, but the man did not heed the sacrilege. The
book of his fate was beneath his feet ; the girl of
his heart was on his breast. For the first time was
this true of Warwick.

"Your place is with your father, Mary. Tell
me the story, as if you were speaking to your
mother."

After a time the agitated girl spoke. "The
dream had passed — the dream in which mother
spoke. Affliction after affliction came to you,
father; my heart ached day and night. You gave
me no word in it all, but, instead, turned to your
Bible; and Joshua, he turned to his crops.

"I was alone all day long — alone, I may say, but
for him. Then it was that he came between us ,
he who, till this time, seemed concerned only in
his studies. He spoke kindly. He said that you
meant well, but — "

The Story of Warwick's Daughter 1 69

"But what, child?"

"I forget. The words are gone. Oh, yes; he
said that I had seen life's cares, had met life's sor-
rows, but knew nothing of life's pleasures."
"And vou listened ?"

"He felt sorry for me, father. He spoke very
kindly. You did not object. Why should I not
lister 'o him?"
"Go on."

"The morning I came back through the woods,
after b.-other was shot, I met him before the door.
But I thought nothing of that. I was too much
frightened to care for aught but escape from the
creatures you preach about — beasts with terrible
eyes, those horrible Bible beasts.

"I did not intend to do wrong, my father; I did
not see that he arranged the meetings during your
absence; but it would not have mattered had you
been here all the time."
"Why?"

"Your Bible came first. It covered your eyes,
my father."

"And stopped his ears, too," muttered Joshua.

"I knew that you brought him to our home.

You said that afternoon, 'He has been guided to

l/i n ■!

170 Warwick o f the Knobs

our home by the hand of the Lord.' Why should
I distrust the Lord, my father?

"One day he asked me to marry him. I was
frightened, for I had not thought of such a thing.
I only knew that you were very busy with God,
and that Joshua was very busy with crops, and
that he thought very much of me. I was too much
surprised to say no or yes. I had never thought
of marrying any one.

"I was a girl and loved him. Have not other
girls done as much for the men they loved ? I did
not tell you of our engagement, because he said it
was best not to annoy you during your troubles.
But one day when he came home and I met him
he said that he intended to leave the Knobs the
next Tuesday. He told me that Joshua and him-
self had that day talked the subject over, and that
Joshua had agreed to take his specimens to the
city. I asked him to speak to you about our en-
gagement, and he said he would do so. But you
were studying your sermons and went to the As-
sociation, and Joshua took Lionel's specimens and
went to the c->y, and — "

Mary paused and burst into a flood of tears.
"And I listened to him, and together we went to

aHHi

The Story of Warw ick's Daughter 171

Covington. There he left the horse and buggy
and paid a man to drive it home again. Then we
crossed the river and stopped at a big brown
house, bigger than all the houses in Stringtown
together. I asked him about the wedding, and
he said it would come later; that I must have new
clothes, and that I needed first to see the world.
Lionel said that you would not be angry
long, if at all; for, said he, 'After we are married
your father will see that it was foreordained to
be; and he knows that all that is, is for the best.'
He used your arguraei s, father, and repeated
some of the very texts you preached f.-om; and I
felt that they were true, because neither you nor
he would say what was not true. Some time dur-
mg the next day we stopped in a new city where
we put up, as Lionel said, to rest."

The girl stopped abruptly, gazed upon her
father and turned again to the door, but before she
reached it Joshua stood before her.

"Let me go, Joshua, out into the night, or to
the bluflfs of far-off Knobley. Let me go,
Joshua."

The youth took the start d girl in his arms;
she seemed like a child in his grasp. He folded

172 Warwick of the Knobs

her tenderly to his bosom and held her head upon
his shoulder. After a little time her sobs subsided.

"What could I do, father? He said we were
married by a Northern law, which required no
minister; he said that our names were on the big
book in the office as man and wife, and that we
were married. I slipped down to the office and
saw them both ; he told the truth. What could I
do — I, a strange girl in a strange city?"

Warwick, with ashen face, arose and towered
to his full height. With arm extended and
clenched fist, he struck out as if to crush an imag-
inary foe.

"Rebel or Yankee, girl, matters little in a case
like this. Fathers, brothers, men, were in that
Northern city; mothers and sisters stand ready,
both North and South, to save a waif from ruin,
be she of the North or the South. You had but to
tell your story, child, to find a thousand Northern
hearts respond. The bluest-coated Yankee in that
city would have faced death in behalf of the hon-
our of the rebel soldier's sister, or of the rebel
father's child, had she but spoken. Why did you
not turn to the first man you met ? My child, my
darling child, why did you let this great shame
come to the house of Warwick?"

^C£:J\'£ ill Knoblev
'Glacier S f o n t

The Story of Warw ick's Daughter 175

"I was alo .:; alone but for him I loved and
trusted, who told me what I have told you, and I
believed him, because I knew not what else to do.
Oh, I did wrong in leaving you, my father; but
am I the first to have listened to a story that
brought shame ? Am I the only girl who, forlorn,
alone, far from home, trusted one who should
have been to her all she was to him? Am I the
only girl who, knowing nothing of the world,
loved unwisely? I am lost, my father— lost to
you and brother and God; but am I the only sin-
ner?"

"Would that you might be the last I"
"Pity me, father. I have not told you all.
Have pity."

"Et don't make no difference now," said
Joshua, "'bout whether thar have been others in
trouble, nor whether any others are to come to
trouble. What consarns us now, es to git the
endin' of this story, fer when sister gits throjgh
the time hes come fer me to begin to make another
one. Go on with the story, Mary. Tell us what
become of the rock-hunter. Thet's what I'm
waitin' fer."

"We stopped in the hotel about a week, and all

I <

176 Warwick of the Knobs

the time he spoke of me as his wife. I wanted to
write to you, my father, and ask forgiveness ; but
Lionel said that he would take me home after you
had time to think the matter over. But one day
he did not come to dinner nor to supper, nor to
the room that night. I cried all night, and next
morning I got a letter saying that I would never
see hir;i at,-ain. It contained some money and a
railway ticket to Cincinnati, and ended by telling
me to go home to my father on the Knobs."

"That was months ago, daughter. You did not
come home?"

"No. I went to Cincinnati, and there looked
for work. I was afraid of you ; I feared the Bible
on your knee, my father. I found a place in a
family, where I washed dishes and did housework.
The lady was kind, I say — kind, until one day she
suddenly turned upon me. What could I say —
I, who told her when I came that I was a lone
girl, seeking a place to make an honest living?
Oh, my fat' er, the names she called me — me,
who could no longer hide my shame! She would
not listen to what I said — I, who needed just one
fri id, just one word, from a mother. 'Out of
my house,' she cried; 'you disgrace my daughters

The Story of Warwick's Da ughter 177

by your presence here;' and, oh, she said so many
things that stunned me! 'Go where such as you
belong. Go—' "

"Stop, sister ! I've heard enough, ef you hain't
nothin' more ter say 'bout the rocit-hunter. Him's
the feller I'm tracitin'." Without heedinr these
words, the girl continued:

"Where did I belong— I, who had no home
with human beings; where, I say, but with foxes
and beasts? I turned back to Kentucky. I
tramped across the great suspension bridge, out
the Stringtown Pike, hiding my face from whom-
soever I met, slipping through the thickets and
underbrush, eating a bit of corn from the shock,
or whatever I could beg of strangers. When I
got to Stringtown it was in the night. I tried
the dcor of the school-house. It was not locked.
I slept on the floor beside the warm stove, and
ate some lunch that I found in a basket on a desk.
Then, before daybreak, I slipped away, hoping
to get through Stringtown unseen; but just as
I turned out the pike, by the Reform Church,
a wagon overtook me. It was driven by old
Mose the Jew. I tried to hide my face, but Mose
knew me. He stopped, and asked me to ride.

178 Warwick of the Knobi

I climbed in, and, out of sight, lay down on
some sack*. He stopped at a house, and got me
some breakfast, bringing it to the wagon; and
when we got to the bottom of the hill before our
home, he let me out, and drove on.

"But I was afraid of you, my father ; and when
Mose was gone I turned and ran to the woods,
back to the Gunpowder Hills, back to the great
diflf, where I crept in beside whatever creature
came there to seek a home. One night I slept in
the old abandoned Indian graveyard on the top
of Mount Pisgah, over near Buffalo Hill— slept
in one of the stone grave-boxes that stands there
yet. But at last I could no longer stay away from
you, my father, and brother; and so I came here
where once I had a home."

For the last time the girl started toward the
door, only to be stopped, as tjefore, but this time
by Warwick.

"Mary, this is again your home. While your
father has food or shelter you shall want for
neither. Oh, my erring daughter, how you must
have suffered I" He drew the child to his breast,
and turned to his son.

The Story of Warwick'! Dtu ghtcr 179

"Siiter'i home again, Joihua."

"But the itory ain't ended, pap ; and et won't
be till I finiihet et. To-morrer mornin' I itartt
North."

CHAPTER XIX.

JOSHUA BIDS rXREWBLL TO THE BOMB ON THE
KNOB.

Tub next moming; father, son and daughter
again bre.-ikfa-iteil together. The son was dressed
in his S.inday garniwits, while the daughter,
pale-faced, sat in ihe place which had for months
been vacant. No reference was made to the pain-
ful conversation of the past evening, nor to the
fact that the brother was soon to start on a jour-
ney that to one reared as he had been promised
to be both fruitless and reckless. What chance
had he to discover the stranger who, a year ago,
came to them from out the North, the great
North, into which he had returned? What could
the boy accomplish in case he found the man?

The daughter left the room as soon as the story
was told. Evidently she realized that father and
son should now be alone.

"Joshua, have you considered that the North

Jochua Bids Farewell i8i

i* larKC and that you have ntver travelltd?" laid
the father.

"Granclpap came toKaintucIc amonf; the Injina,
bears and wotve«, pap. I'm a Warwick, too,"
replied the son.

"That will not help you find a man among
millions of men."

"I'll find ^•m. pap." The boy took a card out
of his pocket. "The rock-hunter gave me this
keard wonct. and told me to call on him and
make sport. I told him thet you preached 'bout
a feller named Samson, who made the wrong
kind of sport f«r a lot of jest sech people as he
'peared to be, and thet I mought not make the
kind of fun he wante<l. But I kept the keani, and
I'll start fer the place iian.e<l on et."

Warwick took the card, and read the address,
then copied it in his note-book.

"Mani'old are thy ways, O Lord I" was all he
said.

"Pap, ef I finds the rock-hunter, et'll be me and
him fer et. Ef he's the best man, I'll never come
back. What'll you do then, pap?"

The father leaned his head on his hand, but
made no reply.

1 82 Warwick of the Knobs

"I hain't no brother left. Ef I don't come
back, what'll you do, pap?"

"Joshua, if you do not come back, I'll go to
the North. I'll wring the neck of that villain,
Joshua. Say to him that as sure as God guides
my footsteps aright, so sure will I find him out."
"Thet's what I wanted to hear, pap. Ef I ain't
home in two months, you kin put your Bible in
your pocket and your gun on your shoulder, fer
you'll be the last livin' man of this family of
Warwicks."

"Have you enough money, Joshua?"
"Two crops of terbacker in greenbacks." The
boy held out a large pocket-book wadded with
bills. "Half of et is sewed inside my vest, pap."
Warwick put his hand into an inner pocket,
and drew out a heavy purse. Th-'s he handed to
Joshua.

"There's gold enough to buy the help of any
man in the North, Joshua. But hold, my son;
in such a cause as this let us not consider money.
True, the North seems to worship gold, but
mammon need not be God in all things. Should
you need help, tell your story to any fair man, and
ask assistance. You are of a rebel family, Joshua,

Joshua Bids Farewell

'83

tell the truth. Say that you lost two brothers
in the cause you love; say that your father, too,
loves the South." The minister took from a
drawer a medal award of honor, and handed it
to Joshua. "On this you will find engraved the
name of JVarwick. A Virginia artilleryman, n:y
grandfather, earnM it in the Revolution, when
North and South were one. Tell this, Joshua, in
case it becomes necessary; and in the name ot
justice and honor demand that help which one
brother must give another, for this tie makes you
kin to millions in the North."

The youth tool: both the medal and the purse,
but did not attempt to answer his father's argu-
ment; turning to the subject that alone held his
thought, he said :

"Pap, ef I finds thet rock-hunter, all I'll want
es a one-cent cartridge and — " he touched his
coat. "I keep a stock of 'em ready in this six-
shooter. Now, let's talk 'bout sister. I ain't
complainin', pap, but et 'pears to me thet ef thar's
a soft side to religion, now's the time to find et.
Sister's a weak girl, and hes struck mighty hard
luck. I ain't blamin' her fer all the trouble thet's
come, neither. She couldn't set jest what you

'84 Warwick of the Knobs

■

find .n the Bible, no more then I kin see et. She
dreamed 'bout ribbons and dancin' and youne
people-^am/y you calls 'em, paj^and you put
your foot down on all them fixin's and on o-r
Strmgtown County boys and girls, and brought
her a feller from the North. Sister didn't want
him, but you-and the Lord, too, accordin' ter
your way of thinkin'-did. What sister wanted
you two, the Lord and you, pap, didn't. Now'
I axes a favor, pap, and thet is thet you won't
blame sister fer more'n her share of this trouble
thet the Lord has sent to us Warwicks."

His father attempted to reply, but Joshua con-
tmued :

"I ain't t.. rough yet, pap. I axes thet you
wont blame sister fer what you did; and I says
facts when I says, ef thet rock-hunter hedn't been
brought here, sister wouldn't hev run away to
marry him."

Again Warwick started to interrupt the
speaker.

"Keep still, pap, till I'm through. It's my last
chance, maybe, fer the Lord only knows what'Il
come to me next. Now, et 'pears ter me thet sis-
ter hes hed trouble 'nough fer her share of the

Joshua Bids Farewell

.85

devilment, and thet ef you ain't careful, you and
God, too, maybe will be blamin' her fer your p; t
of et. I says, pap, thet slie's suffered her share,
and thet the thing to dc iow es to show her thet
you know she hes. Thet Bible of yourn is full of
good things ; hunt 'em up, preach 'cm, pray 'em,
sing 'em; make sister smile, fer she needs to
smile."
"Joshua, this is blasphemy."
"I don't mean no blasphemy. I feel awful bad,
and ain't thinkin' much of what I says. Pap, sis-
ter's heart es as pure as enny trustin' girl's. She
trusted you and the Lord ; she trusted the man you
and the Lord brought to her, but the cuss deceived
her. Thet ain't her fault. Now, I'm comin' to
the p'int. I knows thet nex' Sunday she'll hev
to go to meetin' down in the old stone church on
Gunpowder Creek, and I'm afeard you will take
some sech text as 'The way of the transgressor is
hard.' I'm afeard of the text, pap."
Warwick turned in wrath upon his son.
"Joshua, no man ever before dared to say such
things as ycu have said to me. That book is
sacred, every line, every word. From that book
I preach the word, as the Lord directs. To the

III

1 86 Warwick of the Knobs

I' <

Lord only do I look for guidance. Say no more;
if the Lord directs it, the text must be 'The way
of the transgressor is hard.' "

"Pap, I know you can't help but preach what
you are goin' to preach, but I knows, too, thet ef
you don't open thet book to the page thet carries
thet text, the Lord won't put et whar it don't be-
long. Thet's good sense, pap. Now, I axes es a
favor thet you'll open the Bible to the page thet's
got this text which I'll give as near as I kin re-
member." Then he repeated, "Blessed are the
pure in heart, for they shall see God."

"I say ag'in thet sister's heart's pure and thet
the devilment came from outside. Next Sunday
you preach the text I give, and leave the workin'
of the transgressor's way to me. I'll fit thet text
whar et belongs, and I'll make et hard 'nough for
the rock-hunter, too."

Without giving his father a chance to reply the
^outh left the house, and, leading his horse, soon
returned from the stable. Just outside the gate he
met his sister, who, awaiting him, stood by a
bunch of lilac bushes. "Joshua, must you leave
us ? Must you go North ?"

"Yes, sister," said the boy kindly.

I r

Joshua Bidg Farewell 1 87

"Possibly he may come back to me if you tell
him how much I have suffered."

The boy shook his head.

"Give him a chance, Joshua. Tell him that I
still love h. dearly : .e'l him that Til forgive him
all if he wi': come back and prove that I am his
wife."

Again the boy shook his head.

"Joshua, before you return you may be an un-
cle. Have pity, Joshua, on the innocent child. Do
not shoot its father. Tell him that the girl he
took from her home on the Kentucky knob awaits
her husband. Tell him I look for him, my hus-
band."

"Sister, he may get the drop on me. It's risky
business and thar ain't no use in tryin' et on, fer
a feller mean 'nough to do what he did es too
mean to care fer anything."

"Joshua, do not kill him, for the sake of the
child."

"Sister, you puts et mighty strong, and I'll give
him a show; but et ain't no use ter try et on. I
jest begged pap ter do a thing thet's harder fer
him than this es fer me, and so I promise you I'll
give the rock-hunter a chance. Ef pap preaches

i88

Warwick of the Knobs

^^P

the text I axed and I keep my word to you, things
may come out all right yet."

Mary threw her arms around her brother's
neck and impulsively kissed his tanned cheek. The
boy gently released her grasp, mounted his horse
and turned down the hill. When he reached the
creek road .it its base he raised his eyes toward
the house on the knob.

That night, after the lights were out and the
girl had gone to her room Warwick read his chap-
ter and said his prayers and then stole quietly
out of the door. Soon after he mounted his horse
in the gloom, picked his way down the hill to the
creek road and turned toward Stringtown. No
light was needed by either man or beast Every
foot of the mad was well known tu ' oth, for by
night and by day it had been travelki. Hme and
again. Across the creek, v/ith its rocky bottom ;
along the creek's bank, where the road often crept
next the very edge of the bluff; through thick
woodlands, where no glimpse of light appeared,
passed the horseman without a break of gait. On
and on, until suddenly the road seemed to stand
on end, for now it turned abruptly and ascended
one of the great knobs that tower above and bound

Jothua Bids Farewell

every branch of both Gunpowder and Big Bone
creeks.

Up the hillside, across the highlands, through
a little village nestling in a picturesque valley,
on toward Stringtown, passed Warwick. Now
and then he met a horseman, once a buggy, once
a troop of cavalrymen, but he gave no recogni-
tion; through the night he passed along the very
road his son that morning travelled; but, while
the boy had gone through the village of String-
town and moved thence down the pike toward
Covington, the father went no farther than the
Stringtown grocery kept by Mr. Cumback, about
whose store was wont to duster the village circle.

CHAPTER XX.

THE STUmOTOWN GROCERY AND THE VILLAGE
CIRCLE.

The village circle in the grocery of Mr. Cum-
back was fairly complete that evening, a represent-
a;ive body of citizens, as usual, having assembled
at early candle-light. The illiterate Corn-Bug,
Colonel Luridson, the village clerk, little Sammy
Drew, the widow's son, Judge Elford, Professor
Drake, and others whom we ne*J not name, were
present. The man who attempted to tell the first
story arose, and for a moment stood with down-
cast eyes, as if undecided how to begin.

"Sit down, Sheepshead," said Chinney Bill
Smith.

"Who's a 'leepshead?"

"Hold your head to the stove while I tell a
story that came to mind when I cotch you trying
to move your jaws. Warm your head, I say."

The Stringtown Grocery

Tb.; man addrmed a, Sheepsh^ad ut down,
while the member, of the circle turned to the in-
trudmg; speaker.

"Men. et i.n't generally known, but ef, a fact
that .n one county in Kainf. ck the women are not"
allowed to eat any kind of ,„«.t but mutton."
What er you givin' us, Chinney ?"
"Facts, gents, by the great Sam Hill, facts;
but lessen you promise not to tell the secret. Ml
not give the snap away. Efs a valuable diskivery
and ought to be patented; some men would give
th«r farms to know et. Cross yer hearts not to

"We're mum, Chinney."

SaJw";. '"'?."" """^ " '"''' ""' "y Captain
Sam H.ll. Colonel Jargon, who died over on

Blue Gum Fork 'bout ten years ago, said thet

when he served in the Mexican War, fcr about

S.X months the soldiers didn't get nothin' to eat

but sheep. Et war sheep fer breakfast, sheep fer

dmner and sheep fer supper. When et war not

Iamb et war sheep, and when et war not sheep

et war lamb. The men didn't think much

bout the grub; they were glad to git sheep. The

weather war hot and et war late b .ore the frost

«94

Warwick of the Knobt

come, and M thi. time the men were e.t.n mut-
ton One hot night the company turned mto thetr
bunk, ai usual, and durin' the night a norther
.lipped down, and next momin' the a.r war ful
of .now. When the men turned out et war found
thet every man', jaw. war «t tight. Not a fel-
ler could git hi. teeth apart. Kt war .i .udden
atuckt of a new complaint. The doctor hadn i
never heard of .ich a di.ea.e. and he had cotched
rt too. Long -bout nine o'clock the cloud, broke
arid the .un c -me out. and then the men', mouth,
begun to open. Et war a curiou. affliction. The
next night another fro.t come, and the next
momii-' the men hed the wme trouble; their jaw.
were .het tight ag'in. The doctor gave et up a.
a new disease; he wrote a scientific paper for a
medical journal and gave et a long Latm name,
Mexicojawshet, er somethin' like thet, an fer
writin' thet paper he got a promotion, and when
the war war over he war ma.le perfesswr m one of
the oldest colleges in America.

"But old Nigger Sam, the butcher, laughed at
the men, and said the disease wouldn't hurt em;
and as he war the only man free from the com-
plaint, he war watched to see ef he war usm any

The Stringt own Grocery 195

nigger cure. Et war found ihai when he got out
of hit bunk in the mornin' he loaked hii head in
hot w«ter the firit thing, and when the captain
called him up to explain he gives the whole map
away. Et didn t make no difference while the
weather war warm, but—" Chinney Bill stopped.

"Gueis what caused th» disease," he asked.

"The subject's too deep for me," answered the
village clerk.

"Give it up, men?" Chinney appealed to the
urde.

"Yes. What was the trouble i""

"The fact war, ihe heads of them men hed got
so full of mutton taller thet when thet cold spell
struck the camp et sot into a solid cake, and thet
cake of taller held their jaws shet. After thet,
when ine air war frosty the cook war ordered to
stay up all night and boii water, so thet the next
mornin' the sojers could thaw the taller in their
heads without waiting fer the sun to rise. The
sojers kneeled down in a line with their heads
stuck out like turtles, and the cook went down the
row pourin' bilin' hot water on 'em as reglar as
the sun rose."

"What are you givin' us ?" asked an old farmer.

196

Warwick of the Knobs

"God's truth, es sworn to by Colonel Jargon,
who died on the Blue Gum Fork 'bout ten years
age When he come back from the war, he never
give his wife no meat but mutton. The men 'bout
diskivered the reason fer his dietin' his ole
woman, and that's why in thet county the women
ain't none of 'em fed no kind of meat but mutton."

"Guess the taller in your head is sof'n'd now,"
the facetious story-teller continued, and seated
himself amid clapping of hands, while the man
addressed as Sheepshead (and who ever after-
ward was called Sheepshead) arose. But before
he began, Colonel Luridson interrupted.

"Sheepshead, if you please, sah, I would like to
ansah a question the judge asked just now, and
will be obliged, sah, if you will grant me the
honah of the floah, sah."

Down sat the man again, while Colonel Lurid-
son continued.

"Well, sah, some people think they know what
makes a fust-class hotel, but I tell you, gents, there
is no use in leaving Ole Virginny or Kaintuck
if you want to live high, sah. I have tested the
mattah, sah, and am not talking at random. Some
years ago I was travelling through the North, sah,

The Stringtown Grocf y

'y;

and fell in company with a very polite man, who
was complainin' about the board down South.
He had been through the South once, and in a
very genteel way announced that no hotel South
could be called fust-class. I took issue with him,
as in honah I was bound to do, and asked him if
he thought the city of Cincinnati, which we were
approaching, could brag of a fust-class hotel.
Yes, he said, the Spencah House could not be beat
anywhah in the world for genteel refinement, or
for fust-class accommodations. I took out my
pocket-book, sah, and told that gent, my pile
against his, the Spencah House, where we pro-
posed to stop, was not in the fust rank, sah, and
that any tavern South could give it pointers con-
cerning accommodations due a gentleman, sah.
He pushed back the money, but said that since we
wah both intending to stop there, we could easily
test the mattah without betting.

" 'All right, sah, you ordah the rooms, and if
all the arrangements for a gentleman's comfort
are to be found in them, the treat will be ou Lurid-
son, sah.' I found that the Spencah House was a
finely arranged tavern in some respects ; there was
^iparently little to be desired, sah, but when that

198 Warwick of the Knobs

little is the essential part of life the superfluities
do not count. There wah carpets on the floah of
the halls ; there wah niggers in every comer of
the office ; there war as polite a gentleman, with
as neat a shirt bosom and as fine a pin, as you
ever saw, sah, behind a hotel desk. 'Take the
gentler.ien to their rooms,' he said, and, ad-
dressing me, 'If there is anything wanting let me
know, sah.'

" 'Certainly, sah.'

"As soon as I stepped into the room I saw at a
glance that no preparations for real comfort had
been made. There was a richly dressed bed, sah ;
a fine looking-glass, a bureau fit for a wedding
trip, lace curtains, thick carpet, two or three rugs,
sah ; hot and cold water to wash with — to wash
with, sah. The stranger stepped into the room
as I did, and stood watching me as I turned from
cue object to anothah, looking for the very neces-
saries of life, and at last, as I turned back to him,
he asked, 'Anything wanting?'

" 'There is, sah. It is as I told you. The room
is for misses .-nd children, and the first requisite
for a gentleman's rest and comfort is wanting
from this tavern, sah. When you get North of

The Stringtown Grocery 199

the rivah, sah, as I told you, there is no evidence
of true hospitality, sah.'

"He stood looking at me, as if lightning had
shocked him.

" 'The place speaks for itself,' I said, and I
pointed to the washstand. 'There is hot water,
sah, but it is for the babies to wash in, sah. There
is a lonesome glass, one glass, my friend,' and I
pointed to the tumbler, 'one glass. A gentleman
expects company, sah, and it is the duty of a tav-
ern-keeper to prepare to lodge gentlemen. There
is no sugah on the bureau ; there is no sugah on
the washstand. Are we roustabouts; are our
throats copper-lined, sah? When a gentleman
travels all day and comes to his room with a dusty
throat, a smoke-dry tongue, parched lips, and a
bottle of fine old Bourbon in his valise, looking
for home comforts and hospitality such as he pays
for at foah dollars a day, he should have some
consideration shown him. No, sah, carpets and
looking-glasses are well enough in their place, but
if a tavern cannot afford comforts for a gentleman
of cultah it had better make less display of such
things as these. What's the use of hot water, if
you can't get a glass undah the spout ; and where's

•11

■M'J

200

Warwick of the Knobs

Iff :

the comfort of life with only one tutnblah, no
sugah, no mint, and two gents ?'

" 'No, sah, the Spencah House is outclassed by
any Virginny or Kaintuck tavern with bare floors
and wood banisters, sah. She will have to climb
up higher, sah.' "

After Luridson had finished his story and the
members of the circle expressed their apprecia-
tion, Mr. Wagner, the village clerk, abruptly
asked Judge Elford :

"Judge, do you remember the answer Tommy
Golding gfave you when he appeared as a witness
in the case of Tom Snobbins, who got into trou-
ble for fighting in the barroom of the Williams
House?"

Judge Elford smiled. Notwithstanding his dig-
nity when on the bench, and his reserve and state-
liness when duty called. Judge Elford when
among his neighbors was as genial and cordial as
any member of the circle, and even enjoyed a joke
that was occasionally told at his own expense.

"Can I give it, judge?"

"Stand up," cried the chorus ; "stand up."

The judge nodded and the lank clerk uprose.

"Some years ago the bar of the Williams House

The Stringtown Grocery 201

was in one corner of the building ; but the house
sat too far back from the pike for convenience,
and when Dutch Joe opened his saloon across the
road business suffered. In order to meet this com-
petition, a separate room was built near the pike.
Tom Snobbins and Lon Cumfrey fell against each
other in the barroom one day and got ugly, each
swearing the other was drunk. They didn't get
to blows, but one word followed another, and
finally a feud arose; they got into law and the case
came up before Judge Elford." The speaker
winked at the judge.

"Tommy Golding, the Irish hostler, who also
assisted as barkeeper of the Williams House, was
the sole witness of the quarrel, and in giving his
evidence the lawyer asked a formal question con-
cerning the exact location of the barroom, and
whether it was in the tavern proper or detached.
The judge didn't catch Tommy's reply and di-
rected him to repeat his words.

" 'An' phwat quistion air ye axin', jidge?'

"'Where is the barroom of the Williams
House located ? Is it a part of the tavern, or is it
in a separate building?'

"'An' phwat air ye givin' me, jidge? As

20 2 Warwick of the Knobs

moiny toimes es oi have seen you standin' up to
tliet bar a-takin' of a dhrink, an' now you do
be pxin' sich quistions av the loikes av me.' "

Gr:at applause followed this satire.

"It's your turn now, judge," cried a spectator.

"Yes," chimed in the circle, "you're in for it,
judge."

"I beg to be excused, gentlemen. I have al-
ready, it seems, contributed my share to the even-
ing's entertainment. Let us hear from Professor
Drake, who seems to have a severe attack of the
blues this evening."

"A penny for your thoughts, piofessor," said
a bystander.

"I am thinking of a child. What leads my
mind from these scenes and your trivial stories
to him? They have nothing in common. I am
thinking of a dirty face, a dirty face," he repeated,
and lapsed into silence.

"Tell us about the dirty face."

"You are acquainted with the little house just
above the mouth of the Mt. Carmel Pike, the
house in which old black Ephraim lived, and
which, since his disappearance, has been deserted;
windowless it has stood these many days."

The String town Grocery 203

Professor Drake rested his voice a second and
then continued. "It is empty again." Following
this short sentence came another interlude, when,
as though by an effort, he added, "A very dirty
face."

What could be troubling our village teacher?
Never before had we heard him speak in so desul-
tory a manner. Then he proceeded :

"Shortly after the beginning of the last school
session a gentle tap came on the schoolroom door.
I opened it and ushered in a boy about ten years
of age, leading a younger boy by the hand. They
stopped and looked about in a frightened manner
and seemed inclined to retreat, when I said, in a
pleasant tone, 'Don'; be afraid, children. Do you
wish to attend school ?'

" 'We do, do we, Jim and me,' spoke the older
one in a drawling monotone. He held out his
hand, and in its palm rested a bright silver quar-
ter.

" 'Mam sed fer us to come ter schule 'til the
wuth ov this war taken out in larnin'.'

"Dirty and ragged were these boys, dirtier and
more ragged than ever children before were seen
in the Stringtown school. I returned the money

204 Warwick of the Knobs

and seated them on the end of a bench, away from
the other children, with whom it was questionable
whether they should come into personal contact.
That night they were detained after school and I
got their history. They came from Grassy Creek,
and with a sot of a father (as I learned after-
ward) and a mother little, if any, better than he,
lived now in the house deserted by black Ephraim.
" 'Be sure and wash your faces before coming
to school to-morrow morning,' I said as they were
dismissed. Next morning they came with clean
faces, but in a few days were as dirty as before.
This time I spoke more^ positively.

" 'You must wash your hands and faces before
starting to school.' Again the faces were clean,
but within a week they were as dirty as when
first I saw them. Gentlemen, I pleaded with,
scolded, threatened those children. I exhausted
every power of persuasion and vainly exerted
every possible influence. Had they seemed at all
provoked, or had they resented my attempts to
reform their slovenly habits, I should have been
delighted; but their disposition was amiable and
their deportment exceptionally good.

" 'Yes, sir,' they would answer when I gave

The Stringtown Grocery 205

my customary order concerning cean faces.
'We'll be clean ter-morrer,' antl for that once they
would be clean, but not clean again until I gave
the next positive order.

"Friends," and the professor now spoke to us
directly, "men should weigh carefully their
words. Who can tell when a hasty word will turn
to plague one's self? 'Jimmy,' I said one day to
the younger boy, 'you provoke me beyond en-
durance. Do you intend to go through life with
a dirty face? Do you intend to be a dirty-faced
man?'

"The child had been languid all that day. I
can see now what I did not observe then Innguid,
spiritless, dirty. He looked up at me quickly ; his
black eyes peer at me yet. Ignoring my reference
to the dirty-faced man, he asked :

" 'Kin a dirty boy git inter heaven, teachah ?'

" 'No, only clean children can go to heaven.'

" 'I wants ter go ter Heaven, fer I'm tired ov

livin". Mam, she's in her cups ag'in and pap's in

jail. Guess these clean children in schule hain't

got my mam and pap, else they wouldn't always

be clean.' He looked at his little brown fingers.

" 'We hain't no soap in the house, teachah, an'

".I'l

lo6 Warwick of the Knobi

' i

we hain't no stove ter heat water on. We (ry«
our bacon and hominy in a skillet, when we have
any bacon, and bakes our corn pone in the ashes.
Guess ef some ov these other children hadn't no
soap and no hot water and had a drunk mother
their faces wouldn't be so clean frosty mornin's.
I breaks the ice in a pan when I wa.shes. It's aw
ful cold, tcacliah, and the dirt sticks mighty bad.
" 'Does God keep children o i of heaven fer
havin' dirty faces, ef— ' the child hesitated, did
not complete the sentence, but abruptly added, 'I'll
have a clean face, tcachah, when you see me ag'in.
I'm awful tir-d now, and I didn't have no break-
fast,'

"The two children turned to go, and go they
did, without a word from me. My heart was in
my throat, remorse was in my soul. 'I will apolo-
gize to-morrow in some way," I said to myself;
but no dirty children came on the morrow, nor
yet the next day, nor the next. Never again did
those little ones, dirty nor clean, come to school,
hand in hand, as was their wont, never." A tear
glistened in the teacher's eye.

"One morning a gentle knock sounded on the
schoolroom door, just such a knock as ushered in

I I

The Stringtown Grocery

he children .hat hrs, day. and, strangely enough,
I thought of Jimmy and his brother before open-
•nfr the door. In stepped the brother alone He
st.KKl before me with clean face, but hi, counte-
nance was peaked and thin, very thin. 'Tcachah '
he M,d 'Jimmy wants yer ter come an' see him.''
^^ Why did he not come with you, Jolmny ?'

'He can't come. He's dead."
"Could any blow have crushed more directly on
my heart? I stood stupefied. 'Tell me about it,
child. '

" 'Jim took the fever the nex' day after you told
h.m bout heaven. He died this momin'. But
he knowed he war goin' ter die, and he said ter
me. Broihah, I wants ter go ter heaven, whar
thar am t no dirt, ner fights, ner whiskey. Take
the quartah the teachah give us back, an' buy
soap with it and' scrub the shanty floah an' my
duds, and wash me clean, fer I mav die sudden "
And I did, teachah, and the good doctor brought
Jim some fruit and some goodies, but 'twan't no
use.

" 'He war awful hungry all his life, but when
the good.es come et war too late, and he couldn't
eat. He jest laid still and fingered the orange, and

ao8 Warwick of the Knobi

then handed et to me. "Eat et, Johnny, and let
mc see yer cat et." I did, teachah. Thar wam't
no one in the room but Jim'n me, and he laid itill
and smiled e» pleasant like cs ef he had eaten et
himself. This mornin' Jim setl, »ed he, "Urothah,
wash me clean an" put the sheet on the bed." We
hain't but one sheet, teachah. .And theti he said,
"I wants a clean face, fer I'm (join' ter try and (f't
inter heaven, brothah, and when I'm dead, tuck
the clean sheet close 'Iwut me and comb my hair,
and then ifo fer the teachah. Tell him ter come
and see how clean I am in the new clean sheet, and
ax him if he thinks I'll git inter heaven." *

"The child stopped. I could not speak. He
mistook my emotion for a denial of his request.

" 'Please, teachah. You told Jimmy how ter
git ter heaven, and he war clean when he died.
Won't you come and see him ?' "

Professor Drake covered his face with his
hands. More than one rough face about that
Stringtown grocery was tear-streaked.

"Is that all?" asked Judge El ford.

"That is all," replied Professor Drake. "As I
have said, the cabin is empty again. The disso-

■"i II lit i

The Stringtown Grocery

211

lute mother and Jimmy's brother have gone back
to Grassy Creek."

The depressing effect of this story came with
unexpected force over our members. A period of
silence fell upon the circle; just such an awkward
silence as occasionally happens when mirth is at
us highest. For a moment no person spoke.
Then the grocer, Mr. Cumback. said: "Joshua
Warwick rode through town this morning."

At these word; it could be seen that the faces
of the members became even more earnest.
"Which way, Cumback?"
"North."

Another period of silence. Then, as though
the speaker was toying with a forbidden subject
a member spoke in an undertone: "It's an awful
trouble thet's come to Preacher Warwick "

"Yes," replied Mr. Cumback. "No other man
in this county, 'lessen efs the jedge (glancing at
Elford), could hev stood et. It's an awful trou-
ble, men, and I felt et mightily when Joshua come
through town to-day. He looked down at his
horse s ears and hedn't no use fer no one ner no-
body.

"Didn't he stop, Cumback?"

212

Warwick of the Knobs

"Yes, he hitched his horse and come in.
'Where's Mose?' he asked. I told him Mose was
out in the country.

" 'Has he talked 'bout us Warwicks?'

" 'Not a word that I've heard.'

"The young feller stood a moment, then said,
'Tell Mose thet I says not to talk.' Then he
bought a box of cartridges and rode off."

"Back home?"

"No, North."

"Warwick has seen a lot of trouble in the last
year," said Judge Elford, "but through it all he
stands as a rock, uncomplaining, firm in the faith
of his fathers. A remarkable man, this Warwick.
He would have made a typical Calvinist or Puri-
tan, a glorious, psalm-singing soldier of Crom-
well, or a devoted Mohammedan. Indeed, his
religious doctrine embodies the fatalism which,
to a greater or less degree, is a part of such as
these. Poor fellow ! how patiently he meets trou-
ble, such as might drive other men to distraction,
or to frenzy! First, arrested and forced to take
the iron-clad oath, which fact galls him more than
we know. Then one of his boys is discovered
shot to death down among the Gunpowder hills,

and next the ether one is murdered while a pris-

the ;L:e:c?^''^"'*^»''^"J"^^'^E"ord finished

"And then his only daughter ran off with a
Northerner whon. her father had befriended"

have 7"^ ^'"' '°°'" '"P"^ J"''^^ Elford." "I
have often v.s.ted Warwick and lingered longe
than I should, for her face was of that totch.W

to the heart. I am not in my youth, but yeti"
ishti tfe ' ' ""^ '""'"" ^^P'^^*^ "^^ ''^'f-fin-

moif'^.^'""'"' ^ '^' ^^«=«' fa« of her
mo her, the noble eye of her father, the winning

agam the judge stopped.
"Since what, judge?"

reverie ' 'T' }'" !^''^''. ""''""^'' ^^^^ ^^"^^ '"
I fi s met n"^ '" ''"" ^'^y'' -""ther and
I^fi^t met. It was just after I came to String-
town. I was young; she was younger. Fate was
agamst us. I was a poor lawyer ^nd lovL "
-lence. loved and sta:.ed. hoping some Jay S

214 Warwick of the Knobs

dare speak the word, but in vain. And now I,
who have passed through trials enough to squeeze
the dross from out one's heart, sorrows enough to
leave only the sacred embers from the fires that
once stirred my soul, think of Mary Warwick as
of one close to her angel mother, who seemed to
look back at me when I gazed into Mary's eyes.
Men," the judge spoke tenderly, earnestly, hold-
ing the sympathetic confidence of all the circle,
"men, Mary Warwick has given her love to one
whom I do not know ; but when I heard that she
had turned her face from the old home and had
followed her lover to the North — I who make no
pretension of religion, but have never forgotten
the teachings of my mother, and occasionally re-
peat yet the simple prayers she taught me when
a child — that night kneeled down by my bed and
prayed as never had I done since my own lost boy
left home for the North. Prayed that back to
Mary Warwick might come the love she gave the
man who led her out of Kentucky, as earnest love
as in silence I gave her mother in the days of old ;
prayed that to old man Warwick might not come
a touch of the sorrow that came back to me from
the North by reason of my en-ing Charley boy."

The Stringtown Grocery 215

The head of the judge dropped ; his long, white
beard was crushed against his breast. Just then
the door of the grocery opened, and into the room
stepped-Warwiclc, Preacher VVarwicIc of the
Knobs. His eye glanced irom face to face- so
abrupt had been the unexpected entrance of 'the
I^rson under discussion as to startle one and all
If we may except the experienced judge. Rising'
he grasped the great hand of Warwick.

"Welcome to Stringtown, Simeon," was the
greetmg, "welcome to Stringtown."

One after another the inrn.er shook each man
by the hand, thoughtlessly squeezing each until
the r^rson squirmed, for the closi::g of the palm
Of W . ck was like the shutting of a vise. With-
out taking the proffered seat, he now slipped his
arm mto that of Judge Elford.

"I would see you alone, judge. May we not go
to your home?" *

6:.

CHAPTER XXI.
Warwick's interview with judge elforo.

Leaving the grocery, Warwick unhitched his
horse, slipped the bridle over his arm, and walk-
ing side by side in the pike, the two men passed
to the modest house of Judge El ford. After
hitching the horse to a ring in a post on the outer
line of the sidewalk, the judge and his guest en-
tered the room, where the judge turned up the
light of a kerosene lamp that burned low on the
table.

"Be seated, Simeon," he said, and he opened a
cupboard and took out a rosewood chest which
held a number of bottles of unique design. Select-
ing one of the bottles, the judge held it between
himself and the light.

"This liquor flowed from the still in 1840. The
cask from which this bottle was drawn was lost in
a steamboat wreck, and for twelve years the bar-

Interview with Judge Elford

rel lay beneath the surface of an Ohio River sand-
bar. On Its discovery less than half its contents
remamed, but such bourbon as this is now cannot
be bought for money. I have been reserving the
W" ^" '''''"■'''^"^' ^"'' ^ S"«' of

From a compartment in the chest he took two
glasses; then from another recess a bowl of sugar
and a pair of silver sugar tongs. The parson
shook his head and declined the sugar, but filled
his glass to the brim from the proffered bottle
The judge did the same, and then, after touching
the nms together, they drank. Smacking his lips
the mmister said: "A royal drink, judge. The
touch is as nectar to the tongue."
^ The two friends now seated themselves, the
judge knowing well that an errand which drew
Simeon Warwick to Stringtown at that time of
night, and led him to seek an interview in the
manner he had done, must be of exceptional im-
portance.

"In what may I serve you, Simeon?" he asked.
"I want counsel and advice."
"Whatever I can offer is at your service,
Simeon."

2i8 Warwick of the Knob*

"The subject is to be in confidence, judge."

"Certainly. Speak freely."

"I am in trouble."

"You are not alone, Simeon."

"I am alone, judge. Trouble such as I must
bear came never before to any of my name."

"Warwick," and Judge Elford reached over
and toyed with an empty glass, "Warwick, others
in String^own County have taken the oath."

"I am not thinking of the oath."

"Others have lost a son."

"Nor yet do I speak of my boy."

"You have lost two sons, Simeon, but such is
the fortune of war. Be philosophic, Warwick."

"I have one son left, judge. Had this son also
been lost in behalf of the Confederacy, yet would
I not complain. It is not of these things I speak."

The judge made no reply. The name of War-
wick's daughter, she who was supposed to have
eloped and married, came to his lips, but he re-
mained silent, toying with the glass. Then, ris-
ing, he filled the glasses once more.

"Is it of Mary you speak?"

"Yes."

"Be of good cheer, Warwick. She will yet

Interview with Judge Elford 2 1 9

yearn for her Southern home, for another glimp,e
of her father, for her brother, for her childhood',
haunts, amid your knobs and creeks. Be of good
heart, Simeon, and when she writes from her
Northern home, begging forgiveness, asking for
both herself and her husband a share of your love
a part of your heart's welcome, forgive and for^
get. Bid her come back and bring him to whom
her young love was given. Be merciful. I «,y
Warwick, for her mother's sake, if not for your
own. Be charitable. Warwick, for the sake of
her dear little ones, who in a day to come will be
to you all that bright young faces are to such as
you and me, Simeon."

After the manner of old, Warwick rose and
paced the room. Every step shook the floor. The
lamplight played strange freaks as it danced in
nngs on the ceiling; the empty glasses on the table
jmgled like bells. Warwick seated himself, and
tummg to his host, spoke in the deep bass tone so
familiar to those who knew him when he was pos-
sessed by intense excitement.

"Mary will never bring her husband f »«•-

North. Would to

"What do you mean?

she might do so.'

220 Warwick of the Knobt

"She is neither — " The giant covered hit face
with his hands.

"What. Warwck?"

"Let it pass, judge. I cannot say the word"

"You do not mean it, Simeon."

"I do."

The judge sprang to his feet and paced up and
down, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes fast
fixed upon the floor.

"Simeon Warwick, do you tell me that this man
whom you befriended, who came to your home a
stranger and was given a place at your table, has
done this great wrong to you and her — yes, to
all of us?"

"I do."

"Simeon, tell me all you know. Tell me how
this thing began ; tell me how it was that you, to
whom that innocent child was left as a sacred
charge by her dying mother, came to let a stranger
commit this great crime. You come to me for
counsel and advice, Warwick. Do you want me
to give it?"

"I do. It was for that I came to-night."

"Shall I speak freely, as man to man ?"

"Yes."

Interview with Judge Elford

221

"Are you strong enougu to hear the truth, the
whole truth ?"

^"The truth i. what I want ; the truth and coun-

"Then I must know what you have done, or
did not do that should have been done, as well a.1
what others did, before I can do my duty."

The preacher's face flushed. "You turn your
tongue two ways."

"Warwick," said the judge, "when you took that
girl 8 mother to be your wife, well do I mark the
day, you charged yourself before the God you
serve to care for her and hers. Is not this true?"
''Yes. Have I not lived the promise out ?"
"Tell me, Warwick, how it was that such a man
as th.s, beneath your eye, was permitted to do
such a crime as this."

"I knew nothing of it, judge. I had no sus-
picion of the fact that Mary loved him. As a
viper's back is broken would I have snapped his
spme had suspicion entered my mind."
"Tell me how it happened."
Warwick, confident of the justice of his own
part, and seemingly acquiescing in the right of
the judge whose advice he had sought, told in
detail the stoTy.

2aa Warwick of the Knob «

"Warwick," spoke Elford. "this judgment if
•uch as you, who drew it upon yourself, fnight
have expected. Yes, a judgment upon yoii who
think that the fire of a young life can be quenched
by a coat of ice-cold theology, which carries in
itself nothing to touch a throbbing heart, nothing
to appeal to human love or human life, nor yet
anything that concerns men and women in whose
veins runs the red blood of youth. S^'. still, I say,
and listen."

"I'll not t;ike this, sir, even from you, Judge
Elford."

"You must, Warwick. It is too late to retreat ;
you must take the whole tmth. This dogma
which, in the name of religion, you have practised
has wrecked that child. You have sacrificed your
own life, your home, your daughter."

"Judge Elford, I cannot permit this reflection
on my God and my trust. To me religion is
sacred."

"And so religions are to me, Simeon; more so,
I believe, than to you."

Warwick turned livid.

"This from you, Judge Elford, you who make
no profession ; this to me, whose life has been de-
voted to labor in the Master's vineyard?"

Interview with fudge Elford aai

"Y«. Warwick, this to you. who have no char-
ity for any theological doctrine other than that
6«i«l upon the dogma you follow; to you who
pr«ch that all men outside your narrow c.^le
-re doomed by CkkI to eternal torment. You came
to me for counsel. I have listened to your story
L«t me weigh the evidence."

"You attack my religion, sir; you even charge
me with be,ng less religious than yourself, whom
the LorH never elected to a confession."

«cL"iK ^'""^"' """ "''«'■'"•' '° "« "* more
iT u, r '** ^°"= '•"«*°"*' Simeon, not one
mflexible theological doctrine. And in this sense
I tolerate your own conception ; your earnest faith
.'" " "?•' ^ '» » marvel. It well earns the pity-
mg admiration of men outside the Old School of
Bapt,st,. But let that pass. We are speaking of
your daughter." *

"It shall not pass. Judge Elford. You are no
child. Your tongue does not speak at random.
I must know what lies behind these words, sir"
The judge turned to the rosewood chest and
took from .t two glasses, larger than the first, but
smaller than the tumblers. These he filled from
the decanter. "A sip. Warwick, for our nerves

224 Warwick of the Knobs

1, who am to speak, need the sip to warm my blood
and to give me strength to say what I should say ;
you, who must hear what never before came to
your ear, the plain, unvarnished truth, need the
touch of bourbon to soothe your passion, cool
your brain and quiet your nerves."

But this time the participants did not tip their
glasses, and when replaced on the table they stood
far apart ; the rims did not touch as each time they
had before.

"Simeon Warwick, you came out of the Knob
Lands to me, an old friend, for counsel, for ad-
vice. You came to me because you know I am
incapable of doing a wrong to man or men. You
know that all that leads men to wickedness lies
now outside my life; behind me, Warwick, are the
things which attract men to wrong in worldly
matters. This you must concede, Warwick."

"Yes."

"You know, too, that my life has been spent in
a field that bids me weigh well my words, that bids
me hold charity for the errors of mankind."

"Yes."

"I have said these things to show that in what
I liave next to say no trace of selfishness exists.

Interview with Judge Elford

225

I came near sayins no antagonism begotten of
creed; no dislik. of man because of some differ-
ence in church ceremony by which one sect differs
superficially from some other sect But let that
pass, for these things have with me no weight-
they are human differences, not divine, and when
on their account passion rises they p. t to human
weakness. Let it pass I must speak both of your
daughter and you. too, Warwick, and while I am
speakmg shall brook no interruption. When I
am through you will have both my counsel and ad-
vice."

"This is what brought me here to-night; but
I do not like your temper. Judge Elford."

"Warwick, from the day you stood beside the
girl, who left you as a legacy a sacred charge, the
care of that wronged child, your daughter Mary
from the day when you promised before AlmightjJ
God to watch over and cherish her who then gave
you tnat love, you have steeled your heart to do
inhuman things, and these things, alas I you
charge to the God who made you. By a course of
reasoning little short of what I call damnable you
take the Book of Boot and by abstracting iscv
lated sentences that may or may not have been

if I

1 1

226 Warwick of the Knobs

corrupted since the pen dropped from their au-
thor's hand you evolve, practise and preach a sal-
vation scheme which makes a demon of the Cre-
ator. You do even worse than this. You teach
that the millions of helpless human beings who
cannot accept your theology, this God you uplift
casts into everlasting hell, a place of torment cre-
ated, as you believe, for the eternal misery of most
of the human race. No voice or act of friend or
self can save such helpless unfortunates, while you
and a few others like vou, by virtue of no self act,
were elected in the beginning of time to an eter-
nity of pleasure, a hca- .. of delight. But this
that I have said would in itself be of small con-
cern, for belief in a dogma does not make it fact,
did you confine your cruel methods to yourself."

Suddenly Warwick interjected: '"Whatso-
ever is bom of God doth not commit sin ; for His
seed remaineth in him, and he cannot sin, because
he is born of God.' "

"Listen, Warwick. Not content with upbuild-
ing such a conception of an all-wise and just God,
you turn His wrath upon your own flesh and
blood. You even sing praises to the monstrous
conception that has, you believe, saved your own

S fathJ"""ti:°"' children. Instead of a lov-

turn her yLu int o M a^ .ou^I^r' ?
and next you c-esert her hv '°"''

De the truth, the responsibility for *'-is «-.,»

daughter's brow. ' "P°" y^"-"

JteS' that"'' "^".f "^^ ^"'^-thisfanat-

your thought; had you pern,itt Jher to L e jj
>augh and s.ng with young people, to dance, "o

If"

228

Warwick of the Knobs

wear a bright dress or a gay ribbon; had you
joined in her little pleasures and taken part in
her girlish sorrows, this night, Simeon Warwick,
you need not have been in Stringtown with dis-
grace on your name and ruin in your home. The
dream of singing girls and dancing young folks
that came to the maiden one year ago was as nat-
ural to her as breath; it was a craving bo-n
of the impulse God gave her. Had you listened
to that voice the arm of some young man m
Stringtown County would have protected her
honor; his love would have saved her from what
your Bible and your conception of a relentless
God failed to do. You, Simeon, you who claim
to be of the Lord's elect, and yet do other things
than I have named, which others with no less
right to act as judge consider little short of the
devil's work, I consider responsible .'or this dis-
tressing sorrow."

The judge ceased, and Warwick, stunned by
the sudden outburst, the unexpected flow of criti-
cism, in which both his Lord and himself were so
ruthlessly .. -iled, sat for a time in silence.

"Judge Elford," he said at length, "the dream
of my daughter Mary, the vision, if you will, has

["terview wrjth Judge Elford «q

^ord^ 1 \. ^''•^ '*''' ^ •^P«=' '» hear such
«rords as thesc-never. And yet to you I shall
answer nothing back 'Our rJ^ ;
firr • =.nH T Z ^° " * consum me

fire, and I, who could do vengeance in my own
name as easily as crush that frail gJshlll

ing o those who have never been made experi-
mentally acquainted with them through the 3
enmg operation of the Holy Ghost '

"This fearful charge against religion, sir in
your ost condition-for you are, I^e,i;ve o«
to God-,s as the mind wanderings of one irre-
spons.ble. They carry nothing more than 7.^

what he cannot comprehend. But one thing I
-task vvhat do I that others. Who clai^to

-X::'s."' ""''^'" ''' ''^''^ --'' I

Pl-ed. "Men there are who believe even thfpurt

230

Warwick of the Knob*

est, the most inspiring, alcoholic liquor to be an
':missary of the devil."

"Fanatics, sir. No harm is there in the tem-
perate use of this px>d friend to man. Unless it
be abused, as friendship may be, or misused, as
God's gifts sometimes are, there is no harm in
liquor. In the very words of one of my distin-
guished brethren, 'When men set themselves up
to be wise above what is written, and take upon
themselves to call that a curse which God has
called a blessing, and that a sin which the Scrip-
tures sanction, and to implicate the Lord Jesus
Christ for nonconformity to their rules, we enter
our unreserved protest. The Temperance Soci-
ety, as it is now commonly called, has become so
drunk with the wine of the mother of abomina-
tions as to attempt to effect a change in the most
sacred ordinance of the Church of God !' Judg^
Elford, the term temperance has been corrupted
by these sons of Babel into Prohibition, which
word means intolerance, dogmatic persecution,
sir, and this you know as well as I do.

"And now, good-night. As for me, 'I will call
upon God, and the Lord shall save me,' saith the
Word. I came for counsel to a friend I loved. I

Interview with fudge Rlfn,^ , ^ ,

Thlf r'i.^/V^"^'"'- ^ "" "»' '"rough.
That wh,ch I have said concerns you. Let me
now s k ,, ^,^ ^^^.^_ to-irrow mo^!

cover th.s young man, shall plead for justice
toward you and yours. Have faith ii "^

"It is too late."
"And why too late?"

"Before you can reach the man. Joshua, my
son, will have found him." ^

The judge turned suddenly upon Warwick.

gone North on this errand >"
"Yes."

"I was told to-night that this morning he passed
hrough Stringtown, and purchased somfrr
tridges of grocer Cumback. He has murderTn
his heart, Simeon."

"He seeks for justice as he understands it. No

wLickT""' '"^ ™"'' '" *»«= -- °^ -y

"I call it murder, Warwick. Justice such as

232 Warwick of the Knobt

this boy seeks comei in death, Simeon. Joshua
seeks for vengeance, not justice. He needs but
find this man to take the law into his own hands.
There is now no chance for Mary."

For a time the two men sat again in silence.
Then Judge El ford said : "Yes, Warwick, I fear
it is indeed too late, if Joshua knows where to find
the man he seeks."

"He has the young man's address, judge." The
speaker took out his note-book. "This address."
The jurist made a note of the address, then
with trembling hand filled again the glasses and
handed one to Warwick, who raised it between his
thumb and finger tips, holding the amber liquid
between himself and the lamp. Thus, soliloquiz-
ing, he muttered : "Such a beverage as this, which
God has given to warm the blood and strengthen
the nerves, needs be touched tenderly, lovingly ;
a gift it is from God " The edges of the glasses
tingled again, and next the empty glasses rested
upon the table beside the empty bot'V. Then in a
low tone the judge spoke :

"Warwick, you, a follower of the great ethical
teacher of mankind, of Him who spoke the words,
'Peace on earth, good will to men,' did a mighty

travesty both on the tlv / "'"'• ^''« >
rene and on justt, th^"^ "" ^'""* ^»"-

''-anpndc. HlXr;;;«; ''" touch of

ter; fold her in your aZ '^^"'*^°"' '"''"?''-

<«one these years arbTher/ ''°' ''"'""' ''''^'
has much to forZ'in^. forpv.»,„s. for she

"er by ind.fferenTe „d ZZ°"'l '" "'^^ '°"'
that 'a bruised reed He shti . ' '* "°' *""«»

in.«axshanH?„!;:^rp''^;:"r°'-
your Bible and read th.T ^'^anvick, take

'o -ing human J ;^: hTI""''' " "'''"'^*
of God's love • mark w!^ .. ^"^^ "^^'"^ tell
consolation to tTelw h '^"'^" ""'^ °ff-
'■" anguish TWnVf ^ '''""• *° '''« ^°"' racked
I an,fot ordal ?k"' "'°" ''' ^-""-^ Are.'
••"t ye, Mr CSc7j;"P^-^ God's word.

teach from out 7thai W T ! '°'"'"°" "^''^ ^
h-anlovefou„1:;iS'';j;-'«sonsof

P^— ellasyours. H:;e^rre;:--

;i i^

834 Warwick of the Knobi

the beautiful itory of Jetu« and the fallen woman,
at recorded in the eighth chapter of John ?" The
judge itepped around the Uble ; he stood close be-
fore the minister and looked him intently in the
eye.

"Mr. Warwick, the cause I plead is not that of
Mary only. It is that of every sacrificed girl and
woman. I plead for every girl who sins, and next
feels the harsh touch of the world ; who even finds
the hearts of men and women in the church to
be, alas I as cold as stone. Warwick, you and such
as you who claim to voice Him to whom you raise
your eyes in supplication in your own behalf, if
you be consistent, must as I, a jurist, interpret the
Word, cease casting stones at poor, unfortunate
womankind. Did He not say, 'Neither do I con-
demn thee. Go and sin no more' ?"

The minister rose and turned to the door, but
made no reply.

"Have pity on your unhappy daughter, War-
wick. Help bear her sorrow and let her help
bear yours. Speak gently, Simeon." He held his
hand a moment, and then added :

"Simeon, forgive me if I have been passionate
to-night. Possibly, too, the drink fired my brain

heart-achr. ■ha';:"' '" ^°"^"'-'-" "' '"e
and all wu " ^°" ''^"« '""''«' »' one

tenderly, lovingly." '° "^ "''"'='^«' «ver

-olmedT, Ss*^' "'.^''"^'^'' ""'"•'^^«' a„.
he came I h ' ."'"^ '''" '""^^'^ '"« -ay

whc.e7es.::i\ srh^/ro-'"" r ''- '''^-

man came from kJ . . D'«'Pl«, a horse-

c<ad road To ^tt f ^"^""^^ °^ '"^ ^''-
man would have ^1'" ''''"" "•^''™^" '"e

f^both.heIdt^„ T^rorr'^'^^-
jHeclaUerofhishorseWeeCel:^^^^^^^
'"g, the minister awaif«i »i,« . .. nait-

.1 ,

t36

Warwick of the Knobs

ipeakinK in a monotone, •» if afraid the lilent
church might catch I . wordi, Warwick laid :

"John, Dr. John, before many day* have passed
old black Jupiter will ride from the Knob to call
you to my home. Make no delay, John ; whether
it be night or day, come quickly." He touched
his horse with his whip, and as Dr. John turned
toward Stringtown Warwick passed into the
shadows of the bccchwood.

CHAPTER XXir.

TMAL.

on the i, Jd T? *''^* *°^"'' «»'* church

-ccoin o t .1 r rr "^i '°^ •^°"""' -

to preach a 1™ 't * ""P'**™^ »"■» ^"her
love oTt^. ™°" '*"'"» ''^ *"« ■""<»"- -nd

The minister passed alone down the drive »h.»
try, spoken word seems scarcely necessary tm^

238 Warwick of the Knobs

and this fact Warwick appreciated as if it had
been prcx:laimed aloud.

He sat behind the pulpit, cold, stem, and in-
vincible, typical of one who accepted without a
murmur the decrees of his ever just God. Never
a tremor came to his voice as he began that mem-
orable sermon, evidently designed to refute the
arguments of Judge Elford, whose scathing
words had cut him to the quick. Not a sign of
mental emotion did he exhibit, not a change of
facial muscle, nor yet a quiver of the eyelash or a
falter in the tongue. His text for the first sec-
tion was taken from Romans viii. 28, 29, 30:

"For whom he did foreknow, he also did pre-
destinate to be conformed to the image of his
Son, that he might be the first-bom among his
brethren. Moreover, whom he did predestinate,
them he also called."

For forty minutes a flow of words in support
of the doctrine of predestination came as wat.";!-
from a fountain, and with refreshing gladness fell
upon the ears of the devoted and trusting congre-
gation. From a low tone his voice rose higher
and higher, and in the argumentative discou'se
his ready tongue quoted verse after verse of

^■fT ... ,,7^:

'Y^Pm

.g -Jiw^iiu A,. .:- . :»,,

Scripture, each supporting a phase of theological
do^nne so dear to his people, each des^STo
me« t e aj.g„„e„ts of the scoffer at the^^or^!
a Warwick interpreted it. But at last the flow
of eloquence subsided, and Warwick, with lefT
ha d on the rude pulpit, leaned over; with f c
up .fted and nght am, extended he w'nspered

to the farthest corner of the sanctuary •

'xxjK ot lies. This sacred work mnn.
precious than all else man holds dear, ^eLkT,"
anguage a child can comprehend, and it is writ!
en therein, 'Before thou camest out of the wZb

ZtTn t ^i''""' '""• "'y brethren, does
not the Book of Books offer further consolation
>n hat we are saved. 'Not according to our works
but according to His own purpose and ^^ace','

^eSeL"'/°T"'''^^^'=^*^-'''-"f
act f T ^°^'«'-*"-'-" - a God-gi;en

fact. If foreordination be not the word of God
hs sacred volume is false. The man who cut
these texts and these verses out of this Book
Lcenses other men to cut other verses an other

242 Warwick of the Knobs

texts, and thus the Word is lost. The devil asks
no greater friend than him who 'adds to or takes
from' these pages."

Then, turning the leaves of the Book, Warwick
pronounced aloud the word "Secondly," and read
from Revelations xx. 15 the text: "And whoso-
ever was not found written in the Book of Life,
was cast into the lake of fire." For half an hour
he held attention with this important feature of
his doctrine. As before text after text was quoted
to prove the doctrine of eternal punishment, of
a real fire of brimstone, which is the allotted part
of those the Lord had predestined to be damned.
A terrible picture that, one which made the flesh
quiver and the heart sink, but it demonstrated
how, had the speaker cared to do so, he could have
silenced Judge Elford. If sinful man was ever
held up to the wrath of God, Warwick's "Sec-
ondly" that day did the deed to perfection. If
ever an inspired speaker drew a picture of lost
man tormented in hell by an All-wise God, this
picture was shown that day to the little congrega-
tion on the island. Never before had Warwick
illustrated so vividly that terrible hell ; never be-
fore had he portrayed so realistic a view of man

e«h it with ILZr'-r' '":''"P="-"" dash-
tHe sermon ca.??;;^^-^^-^^^^^^
and that such a hell as Wa wicrdesci 7° '
not too heroic a punishnaent for a fatheTto T'
"Pon the man who brought that L 7 l '"^"'
innocent Mary Warw^k „ ' It '"' '°

connection with th. '"^" ' "a^"'' '"

•"any. IndTen ' T"' "'' '" "^"^ """^^ "^

bein;fron:th r ia" orrJir'^r "^^ '"'
'HeeighthchapterorR^: X:;;;-P'e.

-ednes::^;;,-S--or..i„e.or
thi"pl\Teretrr T'''' ''' ^ ^

iitl

Uill

*44

Warwick of the Knobs

quotation from the Scriptures dropped from his
tongue, each fitting into a place that no other
could occupy. The sermon was typical of the un-
swerving course of the eventful life of this man,
to whom in all his trials God stood first and ever
supreme. But at last his voice again sank low
and ended with the words of the Apostle James :

"Behold, we count them happy which endure.
Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have
seen the end of the Lord, that the Lord is very
pitiful and of tender mercy."

Then came the final hymn and the closing
prayer, after which, in accordance with the pre-
cepts of his people, the "elect" remained to par-
take of the communion service, while others de-
parted. After the sacred oflering was over War-
wick spoke:

"I would ask of you, my brethren, the indulgence
of a moment's time. Your pastor wishes to un-
burden his mind of a weight that presses over-
much, a weight he can no longer bear alone."
And then continued : "To you, to whom I should
have gone when tribulation and distress came to
my soul, I now turn. I have sinned, but the Lord
who guided my fathers, and to whom I look for

"rength, will em,ble me to meeTI

t"on that has brought sham,? ^'"'' '•«'^-

« the Lord spaS J rtt T) "^ ''^«''-'
°^ 'his, my lot. nor yet a^ " '^ ' "°' ^'""P'ain
«ded; nor do I mum, '"''"^ ""at pre-

'-'•eave me of my X 'hi '^ 'T^' ^"^'^h -^y

♦h« North seek? not t''" """""'-'"
--^•" Thespearcse/r ''".-"•^
answer. It came from , I ^'^^'*'=d 'he

-^^oreopeni:;;trr---.wh.

-t^trStte^-^^^^^^^
f"" well that you w n ml; '""J '"■"''^^"' I'""-
servant whatever " ThT ■? '''""" ^ ^^''hful
Lord sends to you W „„ ^'^ '""^ '""•^'f"!
- the chance to s ; .'" ^ '^ '" "^^^ ^--
";« brethren of th,' churTh b '" '''' "°' °"'^
°f this community, one afd In "'" '"' "°'"^"
^hose sorrow is also n ^"'"" ^'"^ you,

Whether we are fo The NoT '' "^"^ -'
the death of your wo ,k " '°' "'^ ^outh.
^"' and the distress Lr ''' ^"^' ^° "
Jo^ehold touche "s to the""/"^ ■"'° ^°-

^-.oouti„sympa;;t;oTL^:^-:

246 Warwick of the Knobt

then, the part concerning wh' * we, too, know
overmuch, rest. Tell us of Jc . ■■ .

"The boy seeks the man v d wronged his sis-
ter. If the Lord guides him aright, and his arm
be strong, he will undo the wrong as far as human
retribution can undo it. If not, I shall go to the
North."

"Brother" — and now the white-haired man
spoke very slowly an.l distinctly— "brother, is this
according to the Word?" He pointed to the
Bible.
"It is."

"Is it not written, 'Thou shalt not kill'?"
"Yes; and in Ecclesiastes it is a!so written that
there is 'a time to kill.' But it is not of this I
would speak. That which is to be, will be. It is
of a dark sin that weighs down upon my soul."

"Let that come next," replied the white-haired
speaker. "What we say now concerns us now.
Brother, there comes a time in the affairs of men
when one who wishes to do a deed must forego the

act—"

Abruptly Warwick interjected: "I shall not
forego the act. If the Lord wills that Joshua die.

nS.""' '"^''"'^"""'"-'^'''o follow hin,
"It must not be, brother "

his afflictions began ^ *""* ""«

PHwLje'i^lSitV^"-- Warwick's

At th,s point a young man clad in a new blu«

!l(

ill

Ill

i II!

248 Warwick of the Knobs

rect cause of his daughter's sorrow, and how the
judge had also arraigned him for preaching
"things most damnable."

"If that which I have taught be not according
to the Word, I have sinned most deeply. If it be
the truth, I have, none the less, sinned by reason
of my momentary lack of faith. To you, my
brethren, in this, the day of my distress, do I ap-
peal for sympathy and for encouragement; help
me to bear the burden the Lord in His far-seeing
wisdom has elected as my part."

And that he got the needed consolation and en-
couragement was shown by the fact that, shortly
afterward, in a more cheerful mood, he could have
been seen riding toward his home. Back he went
along the accustomed path made familiar to us
on that memorable Sunday morning that wit-
nessed the arrest of War%vick. Back to where
Joshua had stopped, and, pointinj,- to the thicket
at the side of the path, had ; iviitd Lionel to slip
off his horse and take the trail to the cave under
the rock.

At this point sat a solitary horseman, the man
who, dressed in blue, had abruptly left the church
during the course of Warwick's pathetic remarks.

cast diJnh.";^'' ""'''""'-''-—. bu.

"If what, Henry ?"
^,;if .you Win take it kindly, if you will per-

course. You have reflected JeaTcre^/ '
self and us." *^ "'* °" yo""""

"For those words I thank you, Mr. \Varwirk-

personal. Mr Wanvirk v °'' P**"

*„ii • , ^"^'*' you must not think r,f

follow.ng. Joshua, should he not return " ^

But the honor of my house is at stake."
Vour friends will care for that P..

^"r'T" '" "" "y •«* .h J JX

irrjTfr" :"' -'•"'>'""» ■•

■t^

.-►->

MKaoCOfY tlSOlUTKm TBI CHAIT

(ANSI orxJ ISO lESI CHART No. 2)

^ APPLIED INA^GE In

J^^ 1653 Eost Main Slrwl

^^ RochMtef, Ne* York 14609 USA

^SS ('16) *82 - JOO - Pnone

S: <^'6) 288- 5989 - Fax

850

Warwick of the Knobs

The minister reached out his hand and in si-
lence shook that of his friend. Then he said:

"Henry, before friends step in no Warwick
should be alive."

"It must not be, Mr. Warwick. You are a
teacher of the Word. I am delegated to say to
you that we, your friends, have taken on ourselves
the punishment of this man. He cannot escape.
And now, if you will permit me to say a personal
word, I will make a statement which concerns my-
self only. Mr. Warwick, I may not return from
the war."

"That is true, Henry. By war I have lost two
boys."

"When I graduated from the University, as
you know, I went next to teaching school. Am-
bition possessed me, hope for the future, but ab-
ruptly both were swept out and then I enlisted."

"I do not understand you."

"Mr. Warwick, before I leave for the front I
must tell you that which to this moment has been
locked in my bosom. I love your daughter Mary.
From the time I first saw her in church until it
was too late I loved her."

"You were a faithful attendant to services. I
saw nothing of this love."

Love of Mary drew me to church. Mr War
wck, and. while I had never ventur d t o ll
oft .s love. I hVed to hope. Love of Marl d

wLint'h^''^'"^"~--^--H^
w.se I might have gained. Her face wa, ever

f-fore me. I .udied night and day Tiug

pM:^;-rrd:t:aid^-

Wow came this same love-for now fh

The Lord willed it all."

"I am not through, Mr. Warwick. One year

ago a party of uur neighborhood young ^1

rode past your home on their way for a d'y's

frohc at Big Bone Springs. Mary' by the path

;:;;*^^°°'°J'^« '''".stood in TJdoLt

■ght. rad.ant, beautiful. I could not resist the
-Ptafon to ask her to accompany us. Ri ,' ,

he^s,de. I asked her if she could not Join our
party, prom.smg to see her safely home "
'And she?"

_<eplied that you. her father, did not approve
o pleasure parfes. And then I rode away; but
Mr. Warwick, teardrops sprang to her eyes and

252 Warwick of the Knobs

as we passed from sight I saw her stand with
handkerchief pressed close to her face. It is all
over now, but I believe that had she gone with us
no evil thought could have come to her heart, and
had she even sung aloud and i>^mped and danced
with us, the God you serve would not have taken
vengeance on her for one day of pleasure, that one
lightsome touch of gayety."

"Henry, the tale you tell me is twice, yes, thrice
told already. These vanities of youth are but fol-
lies of the unthinking.

"How vain are all things here below,
How false, and yet how fair !

Each pleasure hath its poison, too ;
And every sweet a snare."

"My object, Mr. Warwick, is to say not only
this I have told, but that, while Mary is lost to me
forever, I stili love with all my heart the memory
of the girl who, Sabbath after Sabbath, a martyr,
sat in church because her father willed it, and who
with tears in her eyes stood in the path alone that
bright day because her father willed it. Had I
been permitted, Mr. Warwick, I should have

shown A„dh.H T '"'^ ^°"''' ''^^'^

store L Mai. J '"''^''' "^'^ ^''^ '^at was in

bors, a., believe in Mty^w:;! T T''''-
Sorrow and shame too there nTy be M wTr

Se l:r ^".^- J-^ '° "°^ •''a- W fo It
3. '*'" '"" '^"^ ^^-'ficed to her father's

arafe^T'''.''"''"''^"''^'^-'-*eysep-

"He'n^?:' ' '^"""^ '•"= '^^' remar Jsa.J
"enry, the government you serve will ^;
.ou an o,d p,u, of a horse, that «th ^
you nor us, your friends. Come to the KnlT

b.t of flesh m btnngtown County, is yours a nr«

Id I '^'" ' '°"""^"^' ^'^^ that hope is

dead. It matters not to Stonewall whether he be

454

Xv'arwick of the Knobs

ridden by the blue or the gray, nor yet to me now,
so that he carries a soldier worthy of the cause
he fights for. Henry, the time is not as yet, but
it will come, when men whose faces now confront
each other because of principle will turn and to-
gether face the future, passing arm in arm, hold-
ing in kindly remembrance the faith that nerves
them now to fight for the right, as to each seems
the right. Then will they who cannot now per-
ceive the justice of God's decrees know that His
will is best. And, Henry, in case you fall, as fall
you may, for Southern boys can shoot, rest as-
sured [hat as long as Warwick is possessed of a
crust your mother and your young sister shall not
want. Be brave. Serve your country well, and
remember, Henry, the father of two sons sacri-
ficed in behalf of the Confederacy says with pride
that Kentucky sends two armies to this war, and
glories alike in both. Each must be to her an
honor."
"Farewell, Mr. Warwick."

CHAPTER XXIII.

"pap, can't you see thet I'm home ac'in?"

Two months passed. In his home Warwick
the lonely old man of the Knobs, read his Bible as
faithfully as he had done before his afflictions be-
gan; but, as usual, the lar-er share of each day
was devoted to labor in the field. A solitary fig-
ure now he toiled, where a short time previously
three boys had been in his company ; but one only
was now living, if, indeed, he yet lived, for no
word came from Joshua.

When services were to be held in the island
diurch, and then only, did Warwick leave home
His only rest was when sleep closed his eyes at
night, unless the singing of a psalm or the morn-
ing, noon and evening prayer, or the study of the
Word, might be called rest. The sun never rose
before this man kneeled beside his bed and offered

258

Warwick of the Knobt

up praises to God for His great goodness to man ;
never did u morsel of food pass his lips before
thank had been given the Giver of all blessings
for His bountiful love and His nf) less just judg-
ments on elected man, a sinner. And so passed
the sixty days succeeding the departure of Joshua
for the North. If Warwick thought at all of the
lost son, he made no expression of the fact;
if he were in the least concerned as to
what the future might have in store for him-
self and others, he gave no external indication of
the same, unless it might have been once when,
the sixtieth day after Joshua left home, he laid
his Bible carefully on the table and stepped to the
fireplace, over the mantel of which was suspended
the great bear gun that, long since changed
from flint to percussion, was an heirloom from the
past. Taking down the gun, he carefully in-
spected its various parts, wiped and cleaned the
barrel, which had been so well oiled as to be free
from rust, removed the lock and oiled its various
parts, and finally examined the percussion tube
to make sure it was open. \Vh"n assured of its
condition, he returned the gur ' o its place.

The redbud tree and the dogwood in the thick-

"I'm Home Ag'in"

»59
«- c..mmingl«l their contrasting bloom when
Joshua left: since that day ycun/,,,r.l we"

r:/ ;"''•'' ^"^"=^°'''-'^''™> -

leat blue grass was rank in the fence corners-

snowers wa5 aga-n upon the land. A year had
passed „„ce the rea-.er met Warwick for'" fi.^
-«. and this, the anniversary of our intrld "
■o.. we find Warwick again fn that samHi^m
«dmgh,s Bible But it was a different.;;;
ter who now sat alone in the corner of the room
That mommg Warwick had not even started

after breakfast was over, he had taken his Bible

sTudi^'ltT?^ "'■' ''-' '-' ^'^
studied the Word and sang f-agments of hymns

wh.ch. however, were so familiar as to rend^ t'

unnecessary for him to refer to the book. D^

was t e uncultivatcxi voice of this man, rich'J

tone fun m volume; wh.n Warwick sang th^

Knobs about caught the echoec He had jusTc<^„

cuded, chapter of the Sacred Word, and Z

had ra,sed h.s voice in the well-worn favorite

«6o Warwick of the Knobi

" Til religion that can give
Sweetest pleasures while we live;
'Tis religion must supply
Solid comfort when we die."

At this point a familiar form appeared in the
open door. It was Joshua. The father made no
movement other than a sign of recognition. He
raised his eyes from the volume, and then looked
back at the page, intent on the lessons in the chap-
ter. Mary sprang to her feet with a cry of joy.
Then, as a flood of bitter emotions crushed upon
her, the cry changed to a wail and she sank upon
her knees beside the cradle.

With a glance at his father. Joshua turned to
his sister. The overgrown youth, in two short
months, had lost the stoop in his shoulders, and
now stood fully an inch tiller than when he left :
seemingly he had changed from a rustic clown to
a self-reliant man. Raising his sister in his arms,
he pressed her to his breast. Her mother could
have been no more tender than was big-hearted
Joshua, as he gently stroked her hair and held her,
and, as she raised her face from his shoulder,
wiped the tears away. And when at last she stood

"P«P, can't you Me thet I'm home .g'i„ ?-

CHAPTER XXIV.

"let's go to the next room, pap."

Warwick laid down his book and rose. Grasp-
mg Joshua's hand, he gave it one of his relentless
squeezes, such as made most men wince. But not
Joshua. His hand had been cast in the Warwick
mould, and his grasp had been seasoned and
strengthened by a life of toil in the tobacco
field m summer and by the axe in winter.
Palm met palm, and coarse fingers closed
about fingers not less coarse. The youth whose
touch had just been so tender with his sister be-
came now as aggressive and relentless as that
of a traditional Warwick should be. He looked
into the eyes of his father and gave back to him
the gras." of a kinsman, gave it back with interest ;
for the first time had Warwick met his match.'
Warwick had met Warwick, and youth pre-

Se seated, my son."

wick boys and a-^' H. ^\^T '^° '^^'' W""
-aidnomore "^ '°°''«'' «' his sister, but

" What do you mean, Joshua ?"

c.e/ortrirrr'^--^-^^'"^

travelled. YouVe iX 7" '"'" ''■■ "°' ''^-'"'
'^e times and r;ro:Tbi'""r'"^
O"' b=ck an" Si '""' """■ "1 -K«

264 Warwick of the Knobs

plantations brother said covers the South — I
blames them, I say, fer tellin' us we can whip the
Yankees. Them's the fellers I blames, pap, fer
gettin' us inter this devilish war."

"Never mind the Yankees, Joshua. You did
not go up North to look at Yankees."

"Pap, we're raw material yet. Ef them Yan-
kees had our Gunpowder and Big Bone
Springs, our buffalo hills and wallows, they'd
sink wells to the bottom of 'em to see what's
down at their roots. Ef they had our Big
Bone mire, they'd dig the muck over and sell a
million dollars' worth of ivory and mammoth
bones fer collies out of thet swamp. Ef they
had these poplar timbers and these walnut knobs
and trees, they'd build poplar furniture and skin
et with slices of walnut knots and make a hun-
derd fortunes. But we cuts these fine trees down
and deadens these woods and bums 'em up and
scrapes the yaller dirt fer a crop of terbacker, and
in two years, when the soil washes down to the
creek, we makes another deadenin'. We works
all winter to clear a bit of ground to raise ter-
backer on the next summer, and in two years we
hev to chop another patch out of the woods. We
acts like we did when the Indians war here, pap."

:! I

)■■.« W «" "™d No A Tdl ™ fc ,„ J .. •'
"».H^ Z Sir™' """'^' "-"»""''
Z'" ™ "»"' "to you wm Nonh 10 * ..

sr^tr£rt.ro"""

" """ .0 Mii„. i„„, ,,„,., / ■ ;j»

268

Warwick of the Knob*

"Joshua, tell me of your trip."

"Thet's what I'm doiii', pap. Every to n I
went through is full of Yankee soldiers, and every
soldier has his nose p'inted toward the South.
Thar's oodlins of 'em, pap. And every house has
other men gittin' ready to be soldiers when them
who are wearin' the blue are gone; and behind
them are a crop of boys growin' up to be soldiers
by the time these last are gone. Every ship thet
comes from out thet ocean brings a load of Dutch
and Irish, who git into the war, one way er
'nuther, by the time they touch the shore. We're
fightin' all the world, I tell you, pap."

"But your own business North, Joshua. I care
nothing for this."

"And then I travelled West, pap, and rode
through miles and miles of land thet God Al-
mighty cleared, land whar com grows fer the
askin' of et. No trees to cut down, no sidehills
to wash into the creek, no bottom to the soil, no
stones, no bones, no nuthin' to break a plough er
dull an axe. Everywhar corn and wheat grows
like weeds, oodlins of acres of corn and wheat,
'nough to feed them soldiers till their g^and-
childeni what ain't cut their teeth yit grows up

to fight. Pap, what I wants ,o know is why our
I-P le who travelled North before the war .Ln
te..u these th.ngs. We kin all be ki.ied and leave
a Yankee army b.gger'n ours war at first. Why

by telhn us we war fightin' them slathers of men

ield H ' "' ''' ^■""^'^'^ -i'" His corn
n I t"e,r"'"''''°"'^'' '"'''-'' thrown
•n ? I tell you, pap, you might es well try to dan

^ZZtT'^' "'' ^" '""'°^^ °' -- «"

wor?d cln '".°"': ^^^^ ^"d fields. The whole
worJd can t whip them people "

eva^^i'H ""' ^°"'"^ ''"P^"'"' ^' J°^hua-s
Sltelin^ r"""^ ^'P"«- •'"' J-""- seemed
determ ned to escape, or at least delay the issue.
I tell you that these things do not concern me
You started North not to study corn and whTat
and ships and oceans—"

Joshua. : walked and walked in one city and

hen m another and another whar the mi T

bu.U up ag'mst the sky and hadn't no bottom ner

theT M ""■ , """'' """ ""^^ ''"' ^°-- war in
them mills, makin' shoes by the carload and blue

a7o Warwick of the Knob$

garments by the ihipful. Hunderds of milli,
K>me of 'em with a dozen chimblys, each chimbly
bigger'n a yaller poplar tree, and some of them
mills with trains of cars running clear through
'em. In they go at one end loaded with logs and
iron, and out they come at t'other end loaded with
guns. I saw 'em run barrels of flour into one side
of some of them mills, and boxes of crackers war
dumped out of t'other side ; droves of hogs walk
into the back door of them slaughter-houses, and
yaller hams and cured side meat are carted out
the front. The hogs and flour jest turn to meat
and bread while they pass along; the shoes and
uniforms and guns and sech jest tumble out by
the trainful ; and men fer soldiers jest spring up
everywhar like grasshoppers. I say, pap, what's
the use of us tryin' to fight sech people?"

"The race is not to the swift nor the battle to
the strong," said Warwick, turning now to his
refuge, the Scriptures.

"Pap," and Joshua pointed to the Book, "them
people North don't take no stock in thet Book. I
didn't see no man with a Bible in his hand sence
I've been gone. Ef they have any Bibles, they
keep 'em in the cellar er in their iron safes, I

of em. mostly wom«, .1; ^ ' ^°""

on Sunday and JuT' . '' '"'° """'^ ^''"^<=''es

w«Jc. I didn't see „n M li. ^°"'* "P f"- a

while I heard" ^JJ j't ^ °' -««"'. and
never heard no eXa"! 7re,r ''' ''^"''' ^
Book of yourn don't ^Z. u ^°"' P'P' "'«
the Lord don't, «rto, """**' ^°«''' ''nd
who cusses ^d swLT no '' ""- ''^''■" '"' ^P"

^oik.asyo„.wh;ra;;rdr: r''^'''^-^

with the Book on yer lap^ ^' "'"'""' '"^ '^'^

*o2ro;^^t;;:::^j^«j-akethHissu„

on the just and on the '^°?^' '"' ''"^''"' ^^'n

"I tells you ;rp''L7"y "'=' ""^ ^-'^•"

kind to His oLl; „ V' '"""' '" "^^ ""^hty
"is seven-dayU '"'"^ "' '*""'"' '-^' °n

was more than he could be^ *°'^ °^ ""^ «>"

2Ji

Warwick of the Knobi

"Pap, can't you mc ihet I don't want to talk?"
•aid the boy, glancing at hit titter.

"But you mutt talk, Jothua."

"The Lord knowt, pap, thet I didn't come home
till the last day of the two months. I've wandered
everywhar and back ag'in, puttin ' the day off.
The Lord knows, too, thet I've tried to keep my
tongue off the rock-hunter sence I got home. Let't
go into the next room, pap."

CHAPTER XXV.

"MITM. THESE Tlimcs WHATS rouilf A« FEE
MEN TO HEAR."

Maey who had been kneeling by the ,fde of ,he
rude era ,e with eye. fixed on her brother, ha n!

thJ^l ""/'brother. She now ,lippe.l before
the door that led to the next roon,. and ,tooc' in the
open way looking steadily at the men. who
fo Joshua', las. remark seemed to have forgotten
her presence. Joshua's manner, as his eyes me^
those of his sister, changed instantly

to hfar?' '''"' "''"^' ''*'"'' '°"""' '■'* ^*' -""^
^_^|But you speak now of him. Joshua. I am his

The lad trembled. Tears came to his eyes and

lef^^'v' T" *•" '^-"'-^houldered boy «ho
left the Knob two months before. Hastily brash-

*74 Wtrwick of the Knob4

ing hit eyet with hi* coai-ilcc/e. he turned to hii
father.

"Pap. you remember* ottce you Mid thet no
more diigrace could come to the name of War-
wick ? You force* me to «ay it. pap ; I've gone and
awfully disgraced the name you give me."

The father aro«e. He placed a hand on each
ihoulder of his son, exactly as. two months before,
in that same room he had done with the rebel sol-
dier who told his pathetic story.

"Speak again, Joshua, my son, my last son."

"Sit down, pap. You forces me to tell it, you
rnd sister, out the Lord knows I've tried to keep
etback. Sit down, sister." He placeil a chair for
the girl.

"Pap," said Joshua, pointing to tne bear gun,
"ef you'd go North with thet gun on yer shoulder
and thet Bible under yer arm, them Yankees
would guy the beard of! yer face. They'd put you
in a cage and show you to their children as the
wild man jest out of the Gunpowder Hil' But
thet ain't what I'm ivfter sayin' now. When I
left the Knob, T struck through Stringtown fer
the North. 1 thought thet I'd jest got to go back
of the river to find i.ie rock-hunter and shoot a

«he cr. . day .ncl . „Lf li ' ^^- ' ''^« *>"
I com. .o hi. ,oT„ aI ; '"' T'*^ '"^ •*'»'«

'hey -re here. I waH^, -L /""«* *" "«" 'ike
then hun.e.1 fer a u '^ .^" "" ""«' « "it. ,„d
ro.h,„ . : *""°K""'y dinner."
Joihua turned eo hi. ,is,er "Si.
much talk wake the baby ^ u / ' ^'^ ' *°
go into the next roomr ' """ ' "^ *^'^

now I'm bein^ paid back . ' ''" ''^- """

i did not preach 'the wav of fh. .
sor .' " "" °' ">e transgres-

-~^^:r:S^;;-~

chantrri'TdrirtV'' ^'" ''■* ^°^''-^-'-

Vou stood on th^'or^ T' -^"^ °' "^^ -"•

house „ I left hi? ."^ "" "'■''' "^ "" °'''
left home, and when I got North I

276

Warwick of the Knobs

couldn't shet my eyes to the picture you made
ag'in the sky. Thet's the beginnin' of the shamin'
of me, pap. I couldn't hear nuthin' but sister's last
words. I couldn't see nuthin' but sister's face.
Pap, you remembers the dream of sister. You re-
members, too, thet when sister come back and told
how the rock-hunter lied to her, you said thet no
more sorrer could come to you, thet the end war
there?" His father made no reply.

"Pap, I says thet I've disgraced the name of
Warwick more than lister ever did, fer she be-
lieved in the man she loved. I knew what I did
when I did et. Can't you let me go off now? I
don't want to talk."

The voice of the old man trembled. "Your
story, Joshua. 1 his is no time for trifling."

"After I got my dinner thet day in the town up
North whar the rorV-hunter lives, I asked ef any-
body could tell me whar his home war. I showed
the card he give me in the terbacker patch, and
the man said the rock-hunter's daddy war the
richest man in town. Said he, 'The big factory's
his'n, and half the men and women and girls in
the town work fer him and live on him. He owns
'em all.'

"'I don't keer {„ that" T^ "

don't intend to work ferh ^ ""'"'"d back. 'J

"e don't own me ner „",'•"" "" °" ''"' ^"'^

•"•ow is whar he Hves 1" H '^''='' ^ ^^'^ '«

"Pap. you ou^ht to .",''""«" toldme.

"- The front ya d 1"''"^ -«^ -'ghty lit-
«°wer-beds and sech lil^I tV '''«^'^--b«ard of
«°« people and stone waS? "'" ''""' ^^"'^•
plants and funny bushes Ih T'*' ""^-'^^^^d
was red and whfte and I'aS 7 I'T"' ' ''^^^'^
frosted leaves. The fronf l °^ '^' "'°"r of

«one marbie, m tZ Tr^'T ""''' °^ ^°-^
''-^ed to wa:.. on 'en, but H ^'^^^^---andl
-ay of g.„,v ,„ J'^" thar warn't no other

•^"ocked. Somehow I dTdn'M-J ''"'^"^ "P ^"^
tombstone stuff jesT then / r" *° ^'^^ °" '"et
come North fer meant h- ''"°^'^ -hat f

--• I had to k'ock h "'""^ '° ^''^ '-"stone
-- opened; and Ten jT "T ""'"^^ ''"^ ^oor
showed thet card the man ^ ' '" '"^ f'^" -'d
''""ter war away b ,7" , '^^^ '"et the rock-
ed before I knew et- ^ S "°*^^ ^^ ''-e.
I war tooken to another roo ' 7 ^""^^^^^d^
^ ''»'e gir, by her side s Lr' T ^ ^'^ ^°' ^-■"'
'''' f°«hua said, turn-

278 Warwick of the Knobs

ing again to the girl, "won't this talk make yer
head ache ?" Bt she made no reply, only kept her
eyes steadily or. ,t brother.

"I jest stood in the room, holdin' my hat in my
hand, raw material, pap, without sense 'nough to
say r word, and I stood until she got up and asked
in a kind way what she could do fer me. 'Nuthin'
thet I knows of,' I answered. 'I come to see hint.'
And then I handed her the card.

" 'My son Lionel ?'

" 'Yes'm.'

" 'He is in college. Who shall I tell him called r*
she said in a way thet showed she war curious
consarnin' me, and I guess she had reason to be,
judgin' from my looks and manner.

" 'I'm Joshua Warwick, mam, from Kaintuck,
and my business is with this boy.' Hadn't you
better go out of the room, sister," abruptly asked
the speaker.

Again the girl shook her head, while Joshua
continued :

"The lady came to me with her hand held out,
jest like we do here. She shook my fingers, fer
she couldn't half reach round my hand, and then
she passed my hat to the waiter. Then she set a

/ y

The little one come LV ? . ^'■°'" Kentucky.'
^toodlookin-atLe Indi/fn' ''"'' ^"'^ ^^en
« didn't last longfer 11 '' ' '""' ^^P" «=>'

-fnitenwjs::rit"^^'^^^^'

well?' ''"«' S«Pt"t minister. I hope he is

" 'Yes'm.'

"She talked a blue streak n=^ .
stopped fer breath I aske^ ^^' '"'^ *''^" ^^e

but pap"anifme?""' "°''"""' ^'^"^ - Warwicks

a8o Warwick of the Knobs

The sister of Joshua now came forward, and
with face uplifted gazed into her brother's eyes.

"She looked at me mighty funny-like and
answered : 'Only your father and you, Joshua, and
your two brothers in the Confederate army.' "

A smothered cry came now from the sister, who
sank into a chair. But Joshua continue' •

" 'They've both been killed, mam. Didn't he
say nuthin' 'bout no other Warwick?"

" 'Is there another ?'

"Her manner changed, pap. She seemed
startled and looked like a guinea chicken in the
grass with its head up.

" 'Yes'm, a sister, mam, a girl of the same name
as the little one here. Didn't he say nuthin' 'bout
our Mary?'

"She shook her head and asked : 'Have you a
Mary, too?'

" 'Yes'm, and thet's what I came from Kain-
tuck to see 'bout.' Lord, pap, but the woman
turned white and then said: 'You came to see
Lionel about your sister Mary?'

"She read in my eyes thet I meant business, I
guess, and then she began to tremble and drew
her little one to her side, reminding me of a
mother hen, what sees the shadder of a hawk.

*;j I

^ can't think q^k a^d / ''"'°"'- ^°" -«•
hopes yo^,, fZ^^ 'r^-" "-. „,an,. an^I

but I'm raw matL, '^ ''°''^'"'=^'

ham,___. "" "'"'*"''» a"d don't mean no

Whatbrou^htyoulo^^trl'^^^ With her?
«»*«■? I must know-ll' ^ '°" ^'^"* yo"""

«aw her draw thet liWe ^ ? « *°^''"'^^- ^
sheW«,herh-kei;i::fj:,J--''-^i<ie.esef

Wicks afreldjTsS T"^' '""^ ''^ "^ ^'".
--- ThisLthe^f;^°7^»''-'J-oreto
too. and ni not hurrl h '"V ^ '" '^^"' ^'''«'

--rd,,thi„,j7^^;S::jr\^--a
:^-p.pap. TH«ntwo.c:^:Ltt/ht;

-ai^ «n- TbitVnd "' r*^ '° ^"^ ^-- ^
'' ""'^ J«' stopped off to see

i >

l82

Warwick of the Knobs

Aim' (I held the card out), 'and I didn't mean to
speak a word to you 'bout sister, ner nuthin'. I've
been a fool fer say in' what I done.'

" 'Your sister, Joshua, what about your sister
and Lionel?' she asked, not paying any attention
to what I had said. 'What about your sister ?'

" 'Nuthin', mam, only thet when your son was
at our house he met Sister Mary and she grew to
think a power of him. She's a girl, mam, and
mus'ent be blamed. Et's jest to tell him thet after
he left the Knob sister got married, mam. Thet's
what brings me to stop off here, thet's all, mam.' "

CHAPTER XXVI.

"PAP, THE L.ST W.KWXCK O, THE KHOBS ,s .
COWARD."

„, °°''- ^ "«^er would hev euessed s«-h ,
place war a school. There war fiTwlrL!
dnves. fine houses, and grass, and Tr^s ' d
flowers, and sech. Thar war • -,. \,

look fer the rock h,J . ^ ''^^'"^^'^ t°

ine rock-hunter m thet crowd T^t .k.

184 Warwick of the Knobi

nuthin' and didn't ask no questions, but stood
'round and watched, playin' thet I war lookin* at
the tombstone figgers and secb, but keepin' my eye
on whoever came in sight. I knowed ef thet
rock-hunter war goin' to thet school, he would
hev to pass my way some mornin", and he did. I
cotch a glimpse of him first, fer I kept my eyes
skinned and he wam't expectin' me. I ducked my
head and put a tree 'twixt us quick, and when he
passed I took after him keerless like. He didn't
see m»>, but I kept my eye on him. Next he went
in one of them big school-'-ruses and I waited out-
side, killin' time one way and 'nuther.

"Pap," said Joshua, abruptly changing the sub-
ject, "thar's a man up North who looks jest like
Judge Elford— the same face, the same white
whiskers, the iame sliding walk, the same every-
thing. Ef I hadn't known the judge war in
Stringtown, I'd hev been sure et war him. I saw
him twice while I war slippin' around.

"When thet school let out, the rock-hunter
went to another school, and then another, me fol-
lerin' him. Lord, pap, but a feller what learns all
thet them big schools teaches must know a power
of book stuff. But ef book stuff makes sech mean

fellers es rock-hunter. I'd rather K- ,

■"f^" ■■■"■■■' o^t^zX^^'rt'Z"'

and studied the irrounr! „„» • . ■" ^"' '""^

I didn't care rtr;;a: "xh ''^^•'''
countin' in sech a ase es J.is W "".' "°"''
^-.in' ti.es and his co^ ^ 1 l^L^: J"
«ft«r tracicin' him all the way C T !" J
theremus'ent beno flash in .rpa^°" o^ C^'
fme's mighty close when you've got to mi

'^nerspilcahorn/Isaidlm^e? 'onT ;:
he went out, and I watched the door till h!

-me r aidThatT""'-^'^''" ''' ''---■-
• ^ *^"' "at I wanted to see the rock-h„nf.,

g.v>ng the door-waiter his name. 7es7showI'

"P. I said; I'm from hor...' I knc^ke^ olT

et quick. Then I turned the kev -.n.! .u t
turned round and looked down on ht'. w 'ed"n'
hed a chance to see my face. He saw it tt.

t86 Warwick of th« KnoU

"Not ■ word did I lay, but Mood Ijokin" down
in hii face, and he a-«hiverin'. I dit'.n't intend to
•peak first. It did me good to vtt him ihiver.
Lord, pap, but he wam't proud then. I'd hev liked
fer some of them factory fellers he owns to hev
seen their master shiver.

" 'Thet you, Joshua?' he said, after a bit, trem-
blin' like.

" 'Didn't you asic me to come and see you ef I
ever got North ?' And I shoved the card he gave
me in the terbacker patch into his face. He kept
a-shiverin' and got whiter. Lord, pap, he looked
skeered.
" 'Thet you, Joshua ?' he said ag'in. fool-like.
" 'Yes, and I hain't got my hair cut, neither.
Wam't you lookin' fer me er pap er some one
from our section ?' I asked, kinder keerless like fer
one who felt es hateful es I did then.

" 'Keep yer hand off thet rope,' I said, es I saw
him git up and edge toward the bell cord.

'"What kin I do fer you, Joshua?' he asked
after .i '.it, and then I pinted back to the cheer.

" 'Set down, rock-hunter, while I ask a ques-
tion.'

"He settled into the cheer monstrous limber-
like, and then I asked :

'^'^"/"dn't answer.

Oidn''';j,r«,;„rSr'?' ''"""°"' '^''-hunter?
" 'Yes,' he said,

'Rock-hunter I Hr. •» •

•~ «' I tells e. on ,h square w 7 ''"'' »"^
'" the Knobs hev ou7Z ^* *''° «^* 'lown

«.butwew;„erbe7a;7°,' ''"""■''-
talk, and ef I gpeak , . -^"^ '"*'" ^hile I

;ant .o ,o home feelt T"T' "' ' """'^
^^"•. ^ve you a show N J tlf" *"" °^
open. •"'°»'' keep your ears

' 'We lived in th» fcTn^i,
"* three boy,. vVe ,fv ° T?' "'"' ''^'" -^
-nted.bu/lknlVlweTlr"/'''^''^"-
^*«< how you folks live BuT f "'"*^''' """" ^
happier than we war onct 1 ""] T'"' ^"
well by 'em Ti,- .^' * ^'■'' ''"l miehtv
Strin^owTcount;" ^ ^-''^ ^^ ^-^^tt
N°"h to fi^ht and Jthe' TV' "^ P*°P'^ -«^»
-'<i"'talf,otota;:i'r';°«^''VButwe

' -ar, and I had to stay hon,,

le to

a88 Warwick of t he Knob*

h«lp p«p. Them w«r bad dayi, rock-hunter, but
not half M bad at the day thet br.njght you.' I
.topped talkin- fer a bit. to give him a .how, but
he didn't My nuthin'.

'Then Brother Samuel war »hot, and next
Brother Eira; but we don't count lech things bad
by the side of what you done. Am I taikin*
•traight. rock-hunter? Hold up yer hand ef I git
cr..oke.l?' He didn't uy nuthin'. but jest .hiv-
ere<l, and I went on :

" 'Then lister come home and told her story
and I itarted North next momin' and went
.traight to yer hotr.e. i «., ihe place where you
live. Lord, but you've got lots of things. I saw
yer mother and yer sister, too. You've everything
you want, rock-hunter-fine clothes, fine horses,
fine house, fine garden and lot You've got a rich
pap and a f" ler Mary and a mammy thet loves
you jest like es if you all war common people. It
war a mighty chance you hed to be good and make
folks happy. Ix>rd, ef I'd only had sech a chancel
We VVarwicks down in the Knobs hedn't nuthin'
much but sister, and she a timid, trusfin' bit of a
g>rl. Jest this little one lamb of a girl war all we
had, rock-hunter, after brothers went to war

The I.

war to ^' "^'''^ "°"^''' "^^-e of the

war, to dnve any man but pap crazy. And the^

you come and sister trusted you-

didn-^'' f / ^'" ''"' '""' ^°-'<-hunter? Why

ver ml ' "f *'"" ^''^ °'^ *° ^^ ""e home and
yer mother and s.ster? Thefs what sech high-

choke her hfe out first and skip off next' It

r:ra:dt.^^'"°-^----^^>^--

'Tap, I war gittin' fired up. I wouldn't hev

r^L T: ""' ^''" ^''^^ ^-^"-'^ hide ef he hed
raised a hand then, but he didn't 'Am I tn it-
straight .'• I asked, but he kept stiil. ^ ''='"''"
Sister"_Joshua turned to the girl-"iest es I
war ready to stick the sneak. I tl.gh/" "

prom.se to you. 'Rock-hunter.'Isaid, 'let all h^m
things pass. Sister's home ag'in, home in h o,d
houseon the Knobs, and thefs what I'm here f^^

Sister s waitin' fer you to come back." Rock,
hunter, won't you go back to sister?'

I spoke mighty soft then, fer i wanted to give

292

Warwick of the Knobs

him 3 fair show, but I felt awful devilish, pap. He
shook his head. I guess my beggin' question
made him think I was afeard, fer he got pert all of
a sudden and brightened up.

" 'Rock-hunter, what you did to us, who took
you into our home, is too mean fer any man to do
and live after ; but killin' you now won't save the
name of Warwick, and thet's what conies first.
Rock-hunter, won't you go back to sister and
show our people thet she is a good girl?' He
didn't say yes, sister. Then I tried another move.

" '\\ e thinks a heap of our old home down in
Kaintuck, but the honour of the Warwicks, livin'
and dead, is worth more than land and horses and
terbacker. Now, I'll make an offer, rock-hunter,
and it's powerful hard fer me to talk about doin'
et, too. I don't ask nuthin' bad er wrong, neither.
Jest be fair, rock-hunter, to us, who've been fair
to you. Pap'll make you a deed to the farm, and
him and me'll give you all we've got ef you'll come
back and save sister. Then pap and me'll go off
from the old place ferever.'

" 'I can't think of it, Joshua,' he said, very pert-
like. I guess, sister, he thought thet I'd got
afeared.

flower when I started North 5i! ., '''"*

where we sat together beside the lilac buTh • T

rr°''''^°''''°-°-''^K°?t"ht:

cUot r r ^"' ^°^^'-- ^" «=^ '^ -"•co-
band '- T H ""^ '"^ P'^P''^ *''^* h«'« n,y hus-
•^y- Joshua stopped.

"usudua. I hen Aw mother anH fh»* i-<.^. •

.,1 ■ ^'" you stand et, pap ?••
Stand what, Joshua'"

.p . s

294 Warwick of the Knobs

"Speak, my son."

"Pap, you onct said thet no more sorrer, no
more shame could come to the name of Warwick."
The youth hesitated, then spoke slowly, patheti-
cally.

"Pap, them women's faces kept lookin' at me;
they stood out before thet of the rock-hunter. I
couldn't stick a knife into him without cuttin'
them through; I couldn't shoot him without the
ball went into sister. I've got to say et, pap, the
last Warwick of the Knob's a coward." The boy
covered his face with his hands and shrank away
from where his father stood.

"A coward by the name of Warwick," the voice
of the old man trembled as he spoke. "Joshua, a
coward by the name of Warwick has no right to
live." He seized the unresisting youth by the col-
lar and gazed into his eyes. The grasp was like a
vise; the garment cut deep into the neck.

"Could you not have jumped from the train
and struck your head against a bridge pier, sir?"

The youth cast down his eyes.

"Could you not have thrown yourself into the
ocean you have told about, and there have
drowned the word coward from out your ears ?"

No reply.

yo" not have saved ,1 " '"""^ " Could

^-e of coward c^/'hT °' '''''^''' '"^ ^-
'■•"e of brave m „' b.^ /°" "° "'°"^''' °^ '^e
brothers who dS in hl."^/°"'' °' "''^ ^"'d'-

o^.o.rdj„s:;::::°it?;""^^^^>-'-

enough to bear without . i u ''"°'"' ''^^

ofyourfather/^h S;'"'''^'•-'^'^^^^'«n1e;
Knob./;„/„,,/f,,^.^^ '^^" °" the Kentucky

name coward restsTn to ""*' ^°^ ''^ "^*

the nan,e and bes^r^h"^;: M ' '^ ^'^" ""' ^'^'n
The intensely earneTl°°'' °^ ^'^'■^^■='<-"

^vetheunr'e::r;Vrh'aTo'T''"^^"^
spinning. ^ ^ " ^ '''°^« that sent him

facfre^t ' ''^"^ "^^'^ -'^ -*" downcast

"When I'm through with th. c
«o.ythetIcomebackfrl.v XT ^'^' ^^^' '^'
go away ferever andt 1 ^°''^ '° '^''' I'"
-e.-^he„;-:^--si-ki„fergie..

The rock-hunter got up and took a book and

296 Warwick of the Knobs

wrote out a cheque, while I stood lookin' at him,
wondering what he war up to.

" 'Take this, Joshua, and go back to the Knob,
and forget all these things. Live '

"He didn't say no more, pap, fer I grabbed him
by the ears and squeezed his head till his eyes
bulged out.

" 'You devilish sneak, you black-hearted imp,
do you think there's money enough in the North
to buy a Warwick's shame ? Ef you say one word
more, I'll wring yer neck twice round, er git
back of them faces and stick a knife through yer
nbs from behind and out yer front. Bum thet
paper, you skunk, burn it quick." Lord, but I was
mad. 'Rock-hunter,' I said, 'ef the faces of sister
and your mother fades out of my sight, thet's the
last of you.' Pap, it war all I could do to keep my
hand of5f the knife down the back of my neck, and
ef I hadn't stuck my revolver into my pocket muz-
zle up, I'd hev bored him sure, fer I war fingerin'
the place the handle should hev been.

'"Don't you say no more words like them
rock-hunter. Et'll be sartain death ef you tries
et on.' He quivered like Big Bone mire when you
shakes et with yer foot, pap."

''-d of yerown : LuyLn" """ '"°"^'' '"
disgrace. The fa«s I v. '° ^^^ brother's

thet feller's little sister T', '^ '^^ '''''^ ^^

'«>. sister. I Z'Z ' ";°"'^'- ^"^ -f yo«.

^-tec,toshoorhL;;rofM

'ife out of him but tr.r '' '° '^°^^ 'he

fore me. JesH ike J J^T """""''"' ''''' '^'^P' ^e-

jer.ihed'turV;5rfc:r'r''"^°^'^^-

d;Vace to the name oTZticuT^r "''"'
^''-through you. sister, to hrhim'"'^°"''^"''

"^d at mJ EveTythil . "^ ^" '°°'^'^^ --
er said et. A„7wien T ''""'""^ "^'^-' «
"ows cawed c.^;;'/,.^?"^"^ ^-n'-k, the
""-ard sailed aTond H' 77 ""'-"'' ^ "-

--'°-:c:r;e^^-—

898 Warwick of the Knobs

her eyes and then raised her head and mooed
coward. And when I got to the foot of the hill
one old bull-frog, settin' in the edge of Gunpow-
der, raised his head and croaked cow-ard. Pap,
thefs how et feels to be a coward. Everything
and everybouy knows et. but I stood up straight
and faced 'em all till I met you, pap, and stood up
then, too, fer a bit. But the time's comin' when
no feller'il say coward when he speaks to er 'bout
Joshua Warwick."

The tone of his voice \/as sad ; his bowed head
told of his anguish of spirit. Family tradition, as
■well as education, had from infancy taught him
that there could be no greater disgrace than that
of cowardice. He held out his arms pathetically
toward the sister whose wrongs he had failed to
avenge.

"I couldn't help et, sister, I'd turned coward,
but I'm not afeard of any man livin'. Et wasn't
because I'm afeard of gittin' shot er cut er hurt,
sister, thet I disgraced the name of Warwick."
Then to his father, who stood gazing at him with
face as stern as if it were carved out of stone :

"Pap, I did my best to be a man. I took my
pistol out of my pocket. 'Shoot me, rock-hunter.

^•jo f me quick fir r i • .

1 couldn't git them faces o„ 7 "'*' ^''P-

"fin't no grit, r, ^ cd" "t^, "''' ^"'^ "'
«f '»>* Knob's a cowarTpIp."''''"^''-'-^-''^-''

CHAPTER XXVII.

"rORM, AND VOICK AND KNOB WIRE CONE."

Warwick raised his hand and pointed to the
door.

"Go."

Joshua turned toward the door, then stopped as
if to spealc again, at which the old man repeated
the word and added :

"The end has come, the end of the name of
Warwick of the Knobs. Go."

"I'm goin' pap. I come back to say et wam't
no use fer you to start North and be made fun of
by them Yankees. I couldn't bear to see you
made fun of. I didn't want to tell this story, but
you made me do et. pap. I'm goin', but first I
wants to look over the old place, to see the hills
and knobs and creeks ag'in. I wants ter see the

'n the old graveyard." "»rwicks

"Where you can never lie "

't in his clumsy hand. ^ ^

302 Warwick of the Knobt

"Brother Ezra'* flag, Mary, i' ,ig you gave
him when he left fer the South?"

"Ye», Joshua."

"Ef I ever bring this Hag back, sister. I'll hold
my head up. No feller'll say "Coward' then. Ef
I don't bring it — " The boy stopped, then con-
tinued, holding the bit of silk tearing the two reil
stripes so that the white bar could be seen. "E{
I don't bring it, there'll Ix no white stripe left."
Then lie turned to his father.

"Pap, it's a long way to the South. Mayn't I
have Stonewall?"

"Stonewall is now ridden by a brave Union
soldier. I gave the horse to teacher Henry, who
has enlisted in the Northern army."

"Stonewall gone to the Yankee army ? Brother
Ezra's horse?"

Just then the sound of a wagon on the creek-
road broke upon the ear. Then came the ring of
merry voices, a picnic party going to Big Bone
Springs for a frolic.

Joshua pointed toward the party. "Pap, may I
ask a question on the square?"

"Go on, sir."

"Form. Voice and Knob Were Gone" ^ a-,

•'Et you hed let ,i„er go with them young folk.
• year ago. d') vm think ,he wouUI be cryin' all
•lone beside a cra.llc now ? Wouldn't it hev beet,
better fer her to dance ami ,ing, pap. than to hev
th.. wrrer? What harm .vould ct hev done the
Lord, pap? If you he.l li,tene<l to ,i,tcr', .Iream
thet come out of nuthin', e« you ,av, would
Brother Samuel hev !«;«, shot, woul.l the rock-
hunter hev he<l a chance to make the trouble he
done, would I be a coward ?"
"The Lord will«l it all."
"Pap. the Lord he. w.llcl a power of devilment
to us Warwick* thet I don't see the good of."

"Neither can I. nor do I try; but I, ,ir. call it
nghteous affliction. Somewhere in God's all-wise
handiwork comes a place for these trials. I who
see not into the future, nor the lesson of our lives
cannot say how God can make use of the afflic-'
tion. He sends us to bear. \\>re it not so. in-
finite wisdom would not have planne,! this chain
of sorrow and shame. Blessed be the name of the
Lord."

JGood-by. pap." Joshua held out his hand
Well never meet agin, fer 111 git killed in the

304 Warwick of the Knobs

war, and thar ain't no chance fer me to meet you

n heaven. It s a monstrous hard and bitter life

ve led, pap, and it's tough to be damned ferever

a^nd ferever after it's gone, but I've got to stand

He folded nis sister in his arms. "We'll meet
ag m, s.ster. you and me, in t.e awful place God's

the baby s cheek with his finger and turned to the
door, passing down the road toward the creek at
the base of the Knobs. To his ears came the voice
of h.s father, the last Warwick of the Knobs. Fuli
and strong, without a tremor, its volume filled the
valley and echoed from the sur«,unding heights :

"Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it.
Prone to leave the God I love ; '

Here's my heart, oh, take and sea'l it,
Seal it from Thy courts above." '

For a last farewell the youth raised now his
face to the home of his childhood. The form of
h.s sister was yet to be seen in the doorway she

iHE END.

Stringtown on the Pike

^ John Uri Lloyd. „„o. Illustmted with
Scenes from the Stringtown Country s s

I A study of Kentucky life durine the
stormy epoch of the Civil War, which^as a
psychical study of the negro mind du fng he
slavery penod is unique in literature ^ It!
fidelity to truth m its delineations of the com
mon hfe as ,t was found in northeasteTn
^^T"^l ^r^ J'!^" ^° i" vouched for bj

strongest and most vivid picture of thi n 5
t.me negro-with his strLgT cone Us Ws

four parts of alkaloidal morphine yields the
vanishmg-purpie test afforded by str/chni„e on

Dicnromate. This important statement is well
calculated to throw discredit upon exnert f«ri

roT l'^"" " " ^''°''=' thcXa"!ardeJ
as one of the most notable works of fictio? that
has appeared in recent years.

goddess of love AnTr.?.v "l* ""'"« "^ the
' iJnporuntly in th^btk ' Vhi° 'r"!.3-te

personage whose advenftires ft " ""''"."^
planned to preoare anJ m? J ^counts had I
the secrets o^fTSlP"'''"'' a co„f„sio„ of

erhood to whichTe belonged ?„'""" ''°"'-
he was kidnapped and 31 j ? *^°"«'i>ience,
and family. /Xl, to ZT"""^ ^""^ ''''' home
form. The sentenr. T^'" '" «"g"i"ble

uponhimwasth:the>''""'irP'-°"^^^
hw afte' Jife t„ tU ■ '^e'npelled to devote

benefit%f*?he°lTcTrlff''T'''''««^°'-°h'
surrounded by Sme^ffl~ u^'* P"""*' '° he
'great danger.^ TWe is ?„?!•" ''"'^ P^'^^'P'
fiction than the stort whS folf """«!' '"

phenomena now mad,. .^ l "** strange
often such bad us^ of hv 'I'-'' "'*= °^> '"d
time be shown to procidVo'miT T'/' ^°'"*-
now understood. The h„°^ "1^''' '''^'' "ot
charm the man of sciLrifi k *''i '"'"*^' and
aswellastheloversTrl^n'^T'^r'^''''''""'"''"

The History of Sir Richard

i^aimady ^y Lucas MoI,,. ,amo. 600
. P'g^- Ornamental Cover M

I pubi^"„oSrir^;'cC ss^'n'*' '°

and "The Wages of sfn '• ^"'^t':''''''' ^ife"

developed i„to?:sitive^nius"'ln''r ''^'^ ^'?
, generally conced^H ruT '^ r " London, it s

I ^r the be'stroS tt a rW:"'^ " " "^
about thirty years of 7k. Tf l- ^''"^ "o"-/ covers
Sir Richard CaJmadvS''''"?'^' °''""= hero. I

a discriminarin' cSr-LT' '" '^' ^'"'^^ «^
handicapped fo^r pe c^fbrfeha'""''' "^"'t"^
"■epresentative of fhT/ v "*" *">" "'ber
tbe whole r^nje Jf ^'ll'''"^' "countered in
founder of theXuse ^^r"^ ^'''°"-" The
andnotoneofthe,o4nL„fr'''^ was cu„ed.
, ants had in a sWle & J- ?''''' '^"""d-

' ordinary com^^pCSon 1,'"." 'l' i"
But to this curse was adrl-H , ' I ^" ''^d.
the advent of an heir half P™''^" ^P°»
monster, bearinein hU ''"'^'T' '""^ J^'""
heaviest stroke^ « the TV^^the l«t and
I justice, if he sLl't^h r;trt S'L^
bnng salvation both to^himseKn?- °"''^
Carrying out in a ma<.tXi ° '*'■ "ce.

, idea7th! sto; vSy^Ilutmr '^'' "•"'"'
moral and spiritual tSldrat^L^H " ^"-'""^'^
ous suffering crownTbv' Snh'' °/^''='"-
cipation. • '""mphant eman-

The Lion's Whelp

^Y^m,iaE.Barr. ..„o. Cloth .„d gold

_40opage«. 8 illustrarion.

This story of Cromwell and hi.

time is one

of the best that Mrs. Barr has wntten. It
bnngs the Lord Protector in close touch with

chmcter. The description of hi, last day, on

^ - .-onderfUlly touching and impressive
As a setting for the central figure, the story
fo lows the fortunes of two famili„-thT
D^W.ks,devoted to the Royalist cause.and the

Whamssta Ha. erent, of "The Lion's
Whelp. Lady Matilda DeWick's lover i,
Pnnce Rupert, a secret engagement which

Lord Cluny Neville, to whom Jane Swaffham is
hpp.iy betrothed, is sent by Cromwell to Pari

aitir;;"-'^"''"^'"^™-"'^^''-

when he ,s discovered, a pitifUl wreck, in an
underground cell of the Bastile.