.%. ^0^ r^:^< IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) l»w m ™" Ml I.I 115 Hi lit 2.2 2.0 1.8 1-25 1 1.4 1 1.6 ^ 6" ^ pm ^ 4 /a "^ 0% > ^ -^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAiN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M5S0 (716) S7a-4503 .^ iV ^ <^ ^ ^ k^ CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. C!HM/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 1 ;\ 1981 Technical and Bibliographic Notas/Notos techniques at bibliographiqurin The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. 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Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajouties lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, cas pages n'ont pas M filmdes. L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exempiaire qu'il lui a 6ti possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exempiaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la methods normlain, trending back from Lake Erie ; afterwards rising higher and higher, they stretch away into Pennsylvania and are dig- nified by the name of Alleghany Mountains. But no names have they in their Ohio birthplace, and little do the people care for them, save as storehouses for fuel. The roads lie along the slow-moving streams, and the farmers ride slowly over them in their broad-wheeled wagons, now and then passing dark holes in the bank from whence come little carts into the sunshine, and men, like silhouettes, walking behind them, with glow- wxjrm lamps fastened in their hat-bands. Neither farmers nor miners glance up towards the hilltops ; no doubt they consider them useless mounds, and, were it not for the coal, they would envy their neighbors of the grain-country whose broad, level fields stretch unbroken through Central Ohio; as, however, the canal-boats go away full, and long lines of coal-cars go away full, and every man's coal-shed is full, and money comes back from the great iron-mills of Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Cleve- land, the coal country, though unknown in a picturesque point of view, continues to grow rich and prosperous. Yet picturesque it is, and no part more so than the valley where stands the village of the quaint German Community on the banks of the slow-moving Tuscarawas River. One October day we left the lake behind us and journeyed inland, following the water-courses and looking forward for the first glimpse of rising grouxid ; blue are the waters of Erie on a summer day, red and golden are its autumn sunsets, but so level, so deadly level are its shores that, at times, there comes a longing for the SOLOMON. tUe( sight of distant hills. Hence our journey. Night found us still in the * Western Reserve.' Ohio has some queer names of her own for portions of her territory, the ' Fire Lands,' the * Donation Grant,' the ' Salt Section,' the ' Refugee's Tract,' and the * Western Reserve' are names well known, although not found on the maps. Two days more and we came into the coal country ; near by were the * Moravian Lands,' and at the end of the last day's ride we crossed a yellow bridge over a stream called the * One-Leg Creek.' * I have tried in vain to discover the origin of this name,' I said, as we leaned out of the caniage to watch the red leaves float down the slow tide. ' Create one, then. A one-legged soldier, a farmer's pretty daughter, an elopement in a flat-bottomed boat, and a home upon this stream which yields its stores of catfish for their sup- port,' suggestei Erminia. * The original legend would be better than that if we could only find it, for real life is always better than fiction,* I answered. * In real life we are all masked ; but in fiction the author shows the faces as they are, Dora.' * I do not believe we are all masked, Erminia. I can read my frie.ids like a printed page.' * O, the wonderful faith of youth !' said Erminia, retiring upon her seniority. Presently the little church on the hill came into view through a vista in the trees. We passed the mill and its flowing race, the blacksmith's shop, the gi*eat grass meadow, and drew up in front of the quaint hotel where the trustees allowed the world's people, if uninquisitive and decorous, to remain in the Commu- nity for short periods of time, on the payment of three dollars per week for each person. This villag'^ was our favorite re- treat, our little hiding-place in the hill-country ; at that time it was almost as isolated as a solitary island, for the Commu- nity owned thousands of outlying acres and ueld no intercourse with the surrounding townships. Content with their own, un- mindful of the rest of the world, these Germans grew steadily richer and richer, solving quietly the problem of co-operative labor, while the French and Americans worked at it in vain with newspapers, "ratora, and even cannon to aid them. The members of the Community were no ascetic anchorites ; each SOLOMON. tiled roof covered a home with a thrifty mother and train of grave little children, the girls in short- waisted gowns, kerchiefs, and fi-illed caps, and the boys in tailed cpats, long-fluj)[)ed vests, and trousera, as soon as they were able to to ddle. We liked them all, we liked the life ; we liked the mountain-high beds, the coarse snowy linen, and the remarkable co unterpanes ; we liked the cream stewed chicken, the Kas6-lab, and fresh butter, but, best of all, the hot bretzels for breakfast. And let not the hasty city imagination turn to the hard, salty, saw-dust cake in the shape of a broken-down figure eigbt which is serv 3d with lager-beer in saloons and gardens. The Community bret- zel was of a delicate flaky white in the inside, shading away into a golden-brown crust of crisp involutions, light as a feather, and flanked by little pats of fresh, unsalted butter, and a deep- blue cup wherein the coffee was hot, the cream yellow, and the sugar broken lumps from the old-fashioned loaf, now alas ! obsolete. We stayed among the simple people and played at shepherd- esses and pastorellas ; we adopted the hours of the birds, we went to church on Sunday and sau^ German chorals as old as Luther. We even played at work to the extent of helping gather apples, eating the best, and riding home on top of the loaded four-hoi*se wains. But one day we heard of a new di- version, a sulphur-spring over the hills about two miles from the hotel on land belonging to the Community ; and, obeying the fascination which earth's native medicines exercise over all earth's children, we immediately started in search of the nau- seous spring. The road wound over the hill, past one of the apple-orchards, where the girls were gathering the red fruit, and then down a little declivity where the track branched off to the Community coal-mine ; then a solitary stretcli through the thick woods, a long hill with a curve, and at the foot a little dell with a patch of meadow, a brook, and a log-house with overhanging root, a forlorn house unpainted and desolate. There was not even the blue door which enlivened many of the Community dwellings. * This looks like the huts of the Black Forest,' said Erminia. 'Who would have supposed that we should find such an antique in Ohio !' * I am confident it was built by the M. B.'s,' I replied. 'They tramped, you know, extensively through the 8tate, i 6 SOLOMON. bntying axes and leaving every ilow and then a mastodon behind them.' * Well, if the Mound-Builders selected this site they showed good taste,' said Erminia, refusing, in her afternoon indolence, the argumentum nonsenaicura with which we were accustomed to enliven our conversation. It was^ indeed, a lovely spot, — the little meadow, smooth and bright as green velvet, the brook chattering over the pebbles^ and the hills, gay in red and yel- low foliage, rising abruptly on all sides. After some labor we swung open the great gate and entered the yard, crossed the brook on a mossy plank, and followed the" path through the grass towards the lonely house. An old shepherd-dog lay at the door of a dilapidated shed, like a block-house, which had once been a stable ; he did not bark, but, rising slowly, came along beside us, — a large, gaunt animal that looked at ujs with such melancholy eyes that Brminia stooped to pat him. Er- mine had a weakness for dogs ; she herself owned a wild beast of the dcg kind that went by the name of the * Emperor Tra- jan* ; and, accompanied by this di^itary, she was accustomed to stroll up the avenues of C , lost in nmiden meditations. We drew near the house and 8tepi>ed up on the sunken pi- azza, but no signs of life appeared. The little loophole win- dows were pasted over with paper, and the plank door had no latch or handle. I knocked, but no one came. * Apparently it is a haunted house, and that dog is the spectre,' I said, step- ping back. * Knock three times,' suggested Ermine ; * that is what they always do in ghost-stories.' * Try it yourself. My knuckles are not cast-iron.' Ermine picked up a stone and began tapping on the door. * Open sesame,' she said, and it opened. Instantly the dog slunk away to his block-house and a woman confronted us, her dull face lighting up as her eyes ran rapidly over our attire from head to foot. * Is there a sulphur-spiing here V I asked. We would like to try the water.' * Yes, it 's hqre fast enough in the back hall. Come in, ladies ; I 'm right proud to see you. From the city, I suppose V * From C ,' T answered ; * we are spending a few days in the Community.' Our hostess led the way through the little hall, and throwing open a back door pulled up a trap in the floor, and there we SOLOMON. >n ed Be, ed g«w the spring,— -a shallow well set in stones, with a jar of butter cooling in its white water. She brought a cup, and we drank * Delicious,' said Ermine. ' The true, spoiled-egg flavor ! Four cups ia the minimum allowance, Dora.' * I reckon it s good for the insides,* said the woman, standing with arms akimbo and staring at us. She was a singular crea>> ture, with large black eyes, Roman nose, and a mabs of black hair tightly knotted on the top of her head, but pinched and gaunt ; her yellow forehead was wrinkled with a fixed frown, and her thin lips drawn down in permanent discontent. Her dress was a shapeless linsey-woolsey gown, and home-made list slippers covered her long, lank feet ' Be that the fashion V sh^ asked, pointing to my short, closely fitting walking-dress* * Yes,' I answered ; * do you like it ;' * Well, it does for you, sis, because you 're so little and peaked-like, but it would n't do for me. The other lady, now, don't wear nothing like that ; is she even with the style, too ^ ' There is such a thing as being above the style, madam,' replied Ermine, bending to dip up glass number two. * Qui figgers is a good deal alike,' pursued the woman ; I reckon that fashion ud suit me b^st.' Willowy Erminia glanced at the stick-like hostess. * You do me honor,' she said, suavely. .* I ah&W consider myself for- tunate, madam, if you will allow me to send you patterns from . What are we if not well dressed V * You have a fine dog,' I began hastily, feai-ing lest the great, black eyes should penetrate the sarcasm ; ' what is his name f * A stujiid beast ! He's none of mine ;■ belongs to my man.' * Your husband V * Yes, my man. He works in the coal-mine over the hill.' * You have no children V * Not a brat. Glad of it, too.' * You must be lonely,' I said, glancing around the desolate house. To my s\irprise suddenly the woman burst into a flood of tears, and sinking down on the floor she rocked from side to side, sobbing, and covering her face with her bony hands. * What can be the matter with her V I said in alarm ; and, in my agitation, I dipped up some sulphur- water and held it to her lips. * Take away the nasty smelling stuff", — I hate it !' she cried, pushing the cup angrily from her. 8 SOLOMON, i Ermine looker"! on in silence for a monient or two, then she took off her neck-tie, a bright-colored Koman scarf, and threw it across the trap into the woman's lap. ' Do me the favor to aocopt that trifle, mad.ime,' she said, in her soft voice. The woman's sobs ceased as she saw the ribbon ; she fingered it with one hand in silent admiration, wiped her wet face wfth the skirt of her gown, and then suddenly disappeared into an adjoinivi^ room, closing the door behind her. * Dc ou think she is crazy V I whispered. * O no ; merely pensive.' * Nonsense, Ermine ! But why did you give her that ribbon V * To develop her "esthetic taste,' replied my cousin, finishing her last glass, and beginning to draw on .her delicate gloves. Immediately x began gulping down my neglected dose ; but so vile was the odor that some time was required for the opera- tion, and in the midst of my struggles our hostess re-appeared^ She had thrown on an old dress of plaid delaine, a faded red ribbon was tied over her head, and around her sinewed throat reposed the Koman scarf pinned with a glass brooch. ' BAsally, madam, you honor us,' said Ermine, gravely. * Thankee, marm. It's so long since I 've had on anything but that old bag, and so long since I 've seen anything but them Dutch gills over to the Community, with their wooden shapes and wooden shoes, that it sorter come over me all 't onct ■% hat a miserable life I've had. You see, I ain't what I looked like y now I've dressed up a bit I feel more like tellirg you that I come of good Ohio stock, without a drop of Dutch blood. My father, he kep' store in Sandy, and I had everything I wanted iintil I must needs get crazy over Painting Sol at the Com- munity. Father, he would n't hear to it, and so I ran away ) Sol, he turned out good for nothing to work, and so here I am, yer see, in spite of all his pictures making me out the Queen of Sheby.' * Is your husband an ai-tist V I asked. * No, miss. He's a coal-miner, he is. But he used to like to paint me all sorts of ways. Wait, I'll show ;yer.' Going up the rough stairs that led into the atti^, th<< woman came back after a moment with a number of sheets of drawing-paper which she hung up along the walls with pins for our inspection. They were all portraits of the same face, with bri ;k-red cheeks, ^normoup black eyes, and a pit)fusion of shining black hair SOLOMON. ^ hanging down over plump white shouldei'S ; the costumes were various, but the faces were the same. I gazed in silence, seeing^ no likeness to anything earthly. Erminia took out her glasses and scanned the pictures slowly. * Yourself, madam, I perceive,' she said, much to my surprise, ' Yes, *m, that 's me,* replied our hostess, complacently. * I never was like those yellow-haired girls over to the Community, Sol allers said my face was real rental.' * Rental V I repeated, inquiringly. * Oriental, of cdurse,' said Ermine. * Mr. — Mr. Solomon ia quite ight. May I ask the names of these characters, madam f ' Queen of Sheby, Judy, Ruth, Esthy, Po-co-hon-tus, Goddess- aliberty. Sunset, and eight Octobers, them with the grapes. Sunset's the one "with the red paint behind it like clouds.' * Truly a remarkable collection,' said Ermine. Does Mr. Sol' omon devote much time to his art V * No, not now. He could n't make a cent out of it, so he's took to digging coal. He painted all them when we was first married, and he went a journey all the way to Cincinnati to sell em. First he was going to buy me a silk dress and some ear-rings, and, after that, a farm. But pretty soon home he come on a canal-boat, without a shilling, and a bringing all the pictures back with hin: ! Well, then he tried most everything, but he never could keep to any one trade, for he 'd just as lief quit work in the middle of the forenoon and go to painting ; no boss '11 stand that, you know. We kep' a going down, and I had to sell the few things my father give me when he found I was married whether or no, — my chan;y, my feather-beds, and my ;riice clothes, piece by piece. I held on to the big looking' glass for four years, but at last it had to go, and then I just gave up and put on e linsey-woolsey gowu. When a girl's spirit 's once broke, she don't care for nothing, you know ; so, when the Community offered to take Sol back as coal-digger, I just said, " Go," and we come.' Here she tried to smear the tears away with her bony hands, and gave a low groan. * Groaning probably relieves you,' observed Ermine. * Yes, 'm It 's kinder company like, when 1 'm all alone. But you see it 's hard on the prettiest gii ' in Sandy to have to live in this lone lorn place. Why, ladies, you might n't believe it, but I had open-work stockings, and feathers in my winter 10 SOLOMON. I ' buiinets before I was manied !' And the tears breke foicii afresh. * Accept my handkerchief,' said Ermine ; ' it will serve your purpose better than fingers.' The woman took the dainty cambric and surveyed it curi- ously, held at arm's length. * Reg'lar thistle-down, now, ain't it X she said ; * and smells like a locust-tree blossom.' * Mr Solomon, then, belonged to the Community ? I asked, trying to gather up the threads of the story. ' No he did n't either ; he 's no Dutchman, I reckon, he 's a Lake Cojinty man, bom near Painesville, h« is.' ' I thought ycu spoke as though he had be^i in the Com- munity.* ' So he had ; he did n't belong, but he worked for 'em since he was a boy, did middling well, in spite of the painting, until one day, when he come over to Sandy on a load of wood and seen me standing at the door. That was the end of him,' con- tinued the woman, with an air of girlish pride ; * he could n't work no more for thinking of me.' * Oil la vanite va-t-elle ae nicher ?' murmured Ermine, rising. * Come, Dora , it is time to return.' As I hastily finished my last cup of sulphur water, our host- ess followed Ermine towards the door. * Will you have your handkercher back, marm V she said, holding it out reluctantly. * Jt was a free gift, madam,* replied my cousin ; * I wish you a good afternoon. ' * Say, ".vill yer be coming again to-morrow T asked the woman as I took my departure. * Very likely ; good by.' I ' The door closed, and then, but not till then, the melancholy dog joined us and stalked behind until we had crossed the mea- dow and reached the gate. We passed out and turned up the liill ; but looking back we saw the outline of the woman's head at the upper window, and the dog's head at the bars, both watching us out of sight. In the evening there came a cold wind down from the north, and the parlor, with its primitive ventilatoi^, square openings in the side of the house, grew chilly. So a great, fire of soft coal was built in the broad Franklin stove, and before its blaze we made good cheer, nor needed the one candle wliich flickered on the tauie behind us. Cider fresh from the mill, carded'ginger- \xi inj an jai cai pe on I In fi a 8 t BGLOMON. IX loicii i^our Icuri- lain't ced, 's a ;oin- Inrea'i, and nevr cheese crowned the soeue, and during the even- ing came a band of singers, the young people of the Oominunityi and sang for us the soag, of the Lorelei, accompanied by home" made viclins and flageolets. At length we were left alone, the. candle had burned oat, the house door was barred, and the peaceful Community was asleep j; still we two sat together with our feet upon ihe heivrth, looking down into the glowing coal^., *' Ich weisz nicht was goll es baicleutea Dasz ich so traurig bin,' I said, repeating the opening lines of the Lorelei ; * I feel abso- lutely blue to-night.,* *The memory of the sulphur- woman," suggested Ermine. ' Sulphur-woman t What a name !' ^Entirely appropriate, in my opinion.* ' Poor thing ! How she longed with a great longing for the finery of her youth in Sandy.* * I suppose from those barbarous pictures that she was origin- ally in the flesh,' mused Ermine ; * at present she is but a bony outline.' ' Such as she is, however, she has had her romance,' I an- s^vired. * She is quite sure that there was one to love her; then let come what may, she has had her day.* * Misquoting Tennyson on such a subject !' said Ermine, with disdain. ' A man 's a man for all that and a woman 's a woman too/ I retorted. ' You are blind, cousin, blinded with pride. That woman has had her tragedy, a^ real and fitter as any that can come to us.* * What have you to say for the p:ior man, then !' exclaimed Ermine, rousing to the contest. * If there is a tragedy at the sulphur-house, it belongs to the sulphur-man, not to the sulphur- woman.' ' He is not a sulphur-man, he is a cojil-man ; keep to your bearings. Ermine.' ' I tell you,' pursued my cousin, earnestly, * that I pitied that uaknown min with inw^ard tears all the while I sat by that trap door. Dapencl upon it, he ha 1 his dream, his ideal ; and iii'iH country girl with her great eyes and wealth of hair repro- «ented the beautiful to his hiuigry soul. He gave his whole 12 SOLOMON. life and hope into her hands, and woke to find his goddess sir common wooden image.' * Waste sympathy upon a coai-miner !' I said, imitating ijiy cousin's former tone. ' If any one is blind, it is you,' she answered, with gleaming eyes. * That man's whole history stood revealed in the selfish complainings of that creature. He had been in the Community from boyhood, therefore of course he had no chance to leain life, to see its art-treasures. He has been shipwrecked, poor soul; hopelessly shipwrecked.' * She too. Ermine.' ' She !' * YdB. If he loved pictures, she loved her chany and her feather-beds, not to speak of ihe big looking-glass. No doubt ghe had other lovers, and might have lived in a red brick farm- house with ten unopened front windows and a blistered front door. The wives of men of genius aie always to be pitied; they do not soar into the crowd of feminine admirers who circle round the husband, and they are therefore called ' grubs,' 'worms of the earth,* 'drudges,' and other sweet titles.' * Nonsense,' said Ermine, tumbling the arched coals into chaos with the poker ; * it 's after midnight, let us go up stairs.' I knew very well that my beautiful cousin enjoyed the society of several poets, painters, musicians, and others of that ilk, without concerning herself about their stay-at-home wives. The next d^y the winds were out in battle array, howling over the Strasbnrg hill, raging up and down the river, and whirling the colored leaves wildly along the lovely road to the One-Leg Creek. Evidently there could be no rambling in the painted woods that day, so we went over to old Fritz's shop, played on his home-made piano, inspected the woolly horse who turned his crank patiently in an underground den, and set in motion all the cnrious little images which the carpenter's deft fingers had wrought. Fritz belonged to the Community, and knew nothing of the outside world ; he had a taste for mechan- ism, which showed itself in many labor-saving devices, and with it all he was the roundest, kindest little man, with bright eyes like a canary-bird. * Do you know Solomon the coal-miner V asked Ermine, in her correct, well-learned German. !l a SOLOMON. 13 W )ul; ' Sol Bangs 1 Yes, I know him/ replied Fritz in his Wflr- temburg dialect. ' Wha*^^ kmd of a man is he 1* * Good for nothing/ replied Fritz, placidly. 'Whyl' ' "Wrong here' ; tapping his forehead. * Do you know his wife 1* I asked. *yes.' * What kind of a woman is she V ' Too much tongue. Women must not talk much.' * Old Fritz touched us both there/ I said, as we ran back laughing to the hotel thrpugh the blusftering wind ' In his •pinion, I suppose, we have the popular verdict of the town- ship upon our two, prpteges, the sulphur-woman and her hus- band.' The next day .opened calm, hazy, and warm^ the perfection of Indian summer ; the breezy hill was outlined in purple, and the trees glowed in rich colors. In the atternoon we started for the sulphur-spring without shawls or wraps, for the heat was almost oppressive ; we loitered on the way through the still woods, gathering the tinted leaves, and wondering why no poet has yet arisen to celebrate in fit words the glories of the Ameri- can autumn. At last we reached the turn whence the lonely house came into view, and at the, bars we saw the dog awaiting us. ' Evidently che sulphur-woman does not like that melancholy animal/ I said, as we applied our united strength to the gate. * Did you ever know a woman of limited mind who liked a large dog V replied Ermine. * Occasionally such a woman will fancy a small cur ; but to appreciate a large, noble dog requires A large, noble mind.' 'Nonsense witb your dogs and mindn,' I said, laughing, * Wonderful ! There is a curtain.' It was true. The paper had been removed from one of the windows, and in its place hung some white drapery, probably part of a sheet rigged as a curtain. Before we reached the piazza the door opened, and our host- ess appeared. * Glad to see yer, ladies,' she said. * Walk right in this way to the keep: ng room,' The dog went away to his block-house, and we followed the woman into a room on the right of the hall ; there were three H SOIiOHON. rooms, beside the attic above. An Old-World German stove of brick-work occupies a large porMon oi the space, and over it hung a few tins, and a clock whose pendulum swung outside ; a table, a settle, and some stools completed the furniture | but OA the plastered walls were two rude brackets, one holding a cup and saucer of figured china, and the other surmounted by a laige bunch of autumn leaves, so beautiful in themselves and 60 exquisitely arranged that we crossed th^t room to admire them. * Sol fixed 'em, he did,* said the isulphur-wonian ; 'he seen Tan setting things to rights, and he would do it. I told him they was trash, but he made me promise to leave 'em alone in case you should call again.' * Madam Bangs, they would adorn a palace,' said SSrmine, severely. * The cup is pretty too,' I observed, seeing the woman's eyea turn that way. ' It 's the last of my chany,' she answered, with pathos in her voice, — * the very last piece.' A« we took our places on the settle we noticed the brave attire of our hostess. Th.3 delaine was there ; but how altered ! Flounces it had, skimped, but still flounces, and at the top a as a collar of crochet cotton reaching nearly to the shoulders ; the hair, too, was bi aided in imitation of Ermine's sunny coronet, and the Boman scarf did duty as a belt around the large fiat waist. * You see she tries to improve,' I whispered, as Mrs. Bangs went into the hall to get some sulphur-water for us. ' Vanity,' answered Ermine. We drank our dose slowly, and our hostess talked on and on. Even 1, her champion, began to weary of her complain- ings. ' How dark it is !' said Ermine at last, rising and draw- ing aside the curtain. * See, Bora, a storm is close upon us.' W e hunied to the door, but one look at the black cloud wa» enough to convince us that we could not reach the Community hotel before it would break, and somewhat drearily we returned to the keeping-room, whidh grew darker and darker, until our hostess was obliged to light a candle. * Beckon you '11 have to .stay all night ; I 'd like to have you ladies,' she said. 'The Community ain't got nothing covered to send after you, except the old king's coach, and I misdoubt they won't let that out in SOLOMON. M6 Iveof rerit side; but iga |by a and such a storm, steps and all. Wte* it begins to rain in tbis valley, it do rain, I can tell you ; and from the way it 's begun, *t won't stop 'fore morning. You just let me send the Roarer over to the mine, he '11 tell Sol ; Sol can tell the Community folks, so they '11 \now where you be.' I looked somewhat aghast at this proposal, but Ermine listened to the rain upon the roof a moment, and then quietly accepted ; she remembered the long hills of tenacious red clay and her kid boots were dear to her. * The Roarer, I presume, is some faithful kobold who bears your message to and from the mine,* she said, making herself as comfortable as the wooden settle would allow. The sulphur-woman stared. 'Roarer's Sol's old dog,' she answered, opening the door ; perhaps one of you will write a bit of a note for him to carry in his basket, — Roarei , Roarer !' The melancholy dog came slowly in, and stood still while she tied a small covered basket around his neck. Ermine took a leaf from her tablets and wrote a line or two with the gold pencil attached to hier watch-chain. * Well now, you do have everything handy, I do declare,' said the woman, admiringly. I glanced at the paper. • * Mr. Solomon Bangs : My cousin Tlieodora Wentworth and myself have accepted the hospitality of your house for the night. "Will you be so good as to send tidings of our safety to the Community, and oblige, * Erminia Stuart.' The Roarer started obediently out into the rain-storm with his littliB basket ; he did not run, but walked slowly, as if the storm was nothing compared to his settled melancholy. * What a note to send to a coal-miner !' I said, during a mo- mentary absence of our hostess. * Never fear ; it will be appreciated,* replied Ermine. * What is this king's carriage of which you spoke V I asked, during the next hour's conversation. ' 0, when they first come over from Germany, they had a sort of a king ; he knew more than the rest, and he lived in ^at big brick house with dormel-winders and a cuperler, that stands next the garden. The carriage was hisn, and it had 16 SOI.OMON. fiteps to let down, and curtains and all ; they don't use it much now he 's dead. They 're a queer set anyhow ! The women look like meal-sacks. After Sol seen me, he could n't abide to look at 'em.' Soon after six we heard the great gate creak. * That 's Sol,' said the woman, * and now of course Roarer '11 come in and track all over my floor.' The hall door opened and a shadow passed into the opposite room, two shadows, — a man and a dog, * He 's going to wash himself now,' continued the wife ; • he 's jftlways washing himself, just like a horse.' ' New fact in natural history, Dora love,' observed Ermine. After some moments the miner appeared, — a tall, stooping figure with high forehead, large blue eyes, and long thin yel- low hair ; there was a singularly lifeless expression in his face, and a far-off look in his eyes. He gazed about the room in an -absent way, as though he scarcely saw us. Behind him stalked the Roarer, wagging his tail slowly from side to side. * Now, then, dont yer see the Jadies, Sol 1 Where's yer man- ners V said his wife, sharply. * Ah, — ^yes, — ^good evening,* he said, vaguely. Then his wan- dering eyes fell upon Ermine's beautiful face, and fixed them- selves there with strange intentness. * You received my note, Mr. Bangs V said my cousin in her soft voice. ' Yes, surely. You are Erminia,' replied the man, still standing in the centre of the room with fixed eyes. The Roar- er laid himself down behind his master, and his tail still wag- ging, sounded upon the floor with a regular tap. * Now then, Sol, since you 're come home, perhaps you '11 en- tertain the ladies while I get supper,' (|uoth Mrs. Bangs ; and foiiihwith began a clatter of pans. The man passed his long hand abstractedly over his fore- liead. * Eh,' he said with long-drawn utterance, — * eh-h ] Yes, jny rose of Sharon, certainly, certainly.' ' Then why don't you do it !' said the woman, lighting the &re in the brick stove. ' And what will the ladies please to do V he answered, his ^yes going back to Ermine. * We will look over your pictures, sir,' said my cousin, rising ;" ■^ they are in the upper room, I believe.' SOLOMON. 17 he's A great flush rose in the painter's thin cheeks, ♦ Will you,' he said eagerly, — ' will you 1 Come !' * It 's a broken-down old hole, ladies ; Sol will never let me Bweep it out. Reckon you 11 be more comfortable here,* said Mrs. Bangs, with her arms in the flour. * No, no, my lily of the valley. "JThe ladies will come with jaae ; thr0y ivdll not ^comi the poor room.' 'A studio is alt^rays interesting,' said Ermine, sweeping up the rough stairs behind Solomon's candle. The dog followed us, and laid himself down on an old mat, as though well ace is- tomed to the ^laoe. ' Eh-h, boy, you came bravely tluxingh the storm with the lady's note,' said his miaster, beginning to light candle aftea* dandle. See him laugh I' ' Can a dog kugh f 'Certainly; look at hi«a now. What is that but a grin of happy contentment 1 Don't the Bible say, "grin like a dog" V * Yon seem much attadied to the Boarer.' 'TuBcai'ora, lady, Tuscarora. Yes, I love him well. He has been with me through all, he has watched the making of jail my pictures ; he always lies therb when I paint.' ,By thift time a dozen candles wer^ burning on shelves and brackets, and we could see all iparts ot the attic studio. It was but a ;poor place, unfloored in the comers where the roof slanted down, and having no ceiling but the dark beams and thatch ; hung \:^))on the walls were the pictures we had seen, and many others, all crude and high colored, and all representing the the same face, — -the sulphur-woman in her youth, the poor artist's only ideal. He showed us these one by one, hanging them tenderly, and telling us, in his quaint language, all they symbolized. * This is Ruth, and denoteth the power of hop©,' he said. * Behold Judith, the queen of revenge. And this dear ore is Rachel, for whom Jacob served seven years, and they seemed unto him but a day, so well he loved her.' T^ie light shone on his pale face, and we noticed the far-off* look in his eyes, and the long, ta])ering fingers coming out from the hard-worked broad palm. To me it was a melancholy scene, the poor ai-tist with his daubs and the dreary attia But Ermine seemed eagerly irterested ; she looked at *he staring ]>iutures, listened to the expknatious, and at last she Baid gentlv, ' Let me show you something of perspective, and 2 18 SOLOMON. M W the part that shadows play in a pictui'ed face. Have you any crayons f ' No ; the man had only his coarse paints and lumps of char- coal ; taking a piece of the coal in her delicate hand, my cousin began to work upon a sheet of drawing-paper attached to the rough easel. Solomon patched her intently, as she explained and demonstrated some of the rulf4B of drawing, the lights and shades, and the manner of representing the different features and curves. All his pictures were full faces, flat and unshaded ; Ermine showed him the power of the profile and the three- quarter view. I grew weary of watching them, and pressing my face against the little window gazed out into the night ; steadily the rain came down and the hills shut us in like a well. I thought of our home in C ^.ftnd its bright lights, warmth, company, and life. Why should we come masquerading out among the Ohio hills at this late season V And then I remem- bered that it was because Eimine would come ; she liked such expeditions, and from childhood I had alwa^^s followed her lead. * 3iix naacitur, etc., etc.' Turning awtey from the gloomy night, I looked towards the easel again ; Solomon's cheeks were deeply flushed, and his eyes shone like stai-s. The lesson went on, the merely mechanical hand explaining its art to the ignor- ant fingers of genius. Ermine had taken lessons all her life, but she had never produced an original picture, only copies. At last the lesson was interrupted by a voicia from below, * Sol, Sol, supper 's ready !' No one stirred until, feeling some sympathy for the amount of work which my ears told me had beeii going on below, I woke up the two enthusiasts and took them away from the easel down stairs into the keeping-room,. where a loaded table and a scarlet hostess bore witness to the truth of my surmise. ' Strange things we ate that night, dishes unhegrd of in towns, but not unpalatable. Ermine had the one chiina cup for her corn-coffee ; her grand air always secured her such favors. Tuscarora was there and ate of the best, now and then laying his shaggy head on the table, and, as his master said, ' smilmg at us' ; evidently the evening was his gala time. It -was nearly nine when the feast was ended, and I immediate- ly proposed retiring to bed, for, having but little art enthusiasm, I dreaded a vigU in that dreary attic. Solomon looked disap- pointed, but I rutiiiossly carried off Eimine to the opposite joom, which we afterwards suspected was the apartment of our SOLOMON. 19 ' hosts, freshened and set in order in our honor. The sound of the rain on the piazza roof lulled us soon to sleep, in spite of the strange Surroundings ; but more than once I woke and wondered where I was, suddenly remembering the lonely house in its lonely valley with a shiver of discomfort. The next morning we woke at our usual hour, but some time after the miner's dieparture ; breaki'ast was awaiting us in the keeping- room, and our hostess said that an ox-team from the Commu- nity would come for us betbre nine. She seemed sorry to jiart with us, and refused any remuneration for our stay ; but none the less did we promise ourselves to send some dresses ard even ornaments from C , to feed that poor, starving love of fijiery. As we rode away in the ox-cart, the Roarer looked wistfully after us through the bara ; but his melancholy mood was upon him again, and he had not the heart even to wag his tail. As we were sitting in the hotel parlor, in front of our soft- coal fire in the evening of the following day, and discussing whether or no we should return to the city within the week, the old landlord entered without his broad-brimmed hat, — an ulnusual attention, since he was a trustee and a man of note in the Community, and removed his hat for no one or nothing ; we eveti suspected that he slept in it. * You know Zolomon Barngs,* he said, slowly. . * YeS,' we answered. ' Well, he 's dead. Kilt in de mine.' And putting on the hat, removed, we now saw, in respect for death, he left the room suddenly as he had entered it. As it happened, we had been discussing the couple, I, as usual, contending for the wife, ' and Ermiiie, as usual, advocating the cause of the husband. * Let us go out there immediately to see her, poor woman !' I said, rising. * Yes, poor nan, we will go to him !' said Ermine. '' * But the man is dead, cousin.' * Then he shall at least have one kind friendly glance before he is carried to his grave,' answered Ermine quietly. In a short time we set out in the darkness, and dearly did we have to pay for the night-ride ; no cue could understand the motive of our going, b\it money was money, and we could pay for all peculiarities. It was a dark night, and the ride seemed endless as the oxen moved slowly on through the red-clay mire. "Ki ' JO SOLOMON. : '■■| I At last we reached the turn and saw the little lonely house •with its iipi)er room brightly lighted. * Ho is in the studio,' said Ennine ; and so it proved. He "Was not dei)d, but dying : not maimed but poisoned by the gas of the mine, and rescued too late for recovery. They had placed him upon the floor on a couch of blankets and the dull- eyed Community doctor stood at his side. * No good, no good/ he said ; * he must die. And then, hearing cf the returning cart, he left us, and we could hear the tramp of the oxen ovier the little bridge, on their way back to the village. The dying man's head lay upon his wife's breast, and her arms supjwjrted him ; she did not speak, but gazed at us with a dumb agony in her large eyes. Ermine knelt down and took the lifeless hand streaked with coal-dust in both her own. * Solomon,* she said, in h,.r soft, clear voice, * do you know me V The closed eyes oi)ened slowly, and fixed themselves upc^n her face a moment : then they turned towards the window, as if seeking something. * It 's the picter he means,' said the wife. * He sat up most all last night a doing it.' I lighted all the candles, and Ermine brought forward the easel ; upon it stood a sketch iu charcoal wonderful to behold, — the same face, the face of the faded wife, but so nol;>le in its idealized beauty that it might have been a portrait of her glori- fied face in Paradise. It was a profile, with the eyes upturned, • — a mere outline, but grand in conception and expression. I gazed in silent astonishment. Ermine said, 'Yes, I knew you could do it, Solomon- It is pe'fect of its kind.' The shadow of a smile stole over the pallid face, and then ^^he husband's fading gaze turned upwtird to meet the wild, dark eyes of the wife. *Jt*s you, Dorcas,' he murmured ; * that's how you looked to me, but I never could get it right before.' She bent over him, and silently we watched the coming of the shadow of death ; he spoke only once, * My rose of Sharon — ' And then in a moment he was gone, the poor artist was dead. "Wild, wild was the grief of the ungoverned heart left behind ; she was like a mad-woman, and our united streiigth was need- ed to keep her from injuring herself in her frenzy. I was frightened, but Ermine's strong little hands and lithe arms kept her down until, exhausted, she lay motionless near her SOLOMON. 21 dead husband. Then we earned her down staira and I watched by the bedside, while my cousin went back to the studio. She was absent some time> and then slie came back to keep the vigil with me through the long, still night. At dawn the woman woke, and her face looked aged in the gray light. She waa quiet, and took without a word the food we had prepared awk- ward' ' enough^ in the fceoping-room. * J luuyt go to him, I must go to him/ she murmured, as we led her back. ' Yes,' said Etmine, * but first let me make you tidy. He loved ta see you neat.' And with deft, gentle touch she dress- ed the poor creature^ arranging the heavy hair so artistically thp t^ for the first time, I saw what she might have been, and' undei-stood the husband's dream. * What is that V I said, as a peculiar sound startled us. * It 's Roarer. He was tied up last night, but 1 suppose he 's gna wed the rope>' said the woman. I opened the haH door, and in stalked the great dog, smelling his wav directly up the stairs* * Of he must not pq V I exclaimed. * Yes, let him go, he loved his master,' said Ermine ; we will' go toa' So sileatly we all went up into the chamber of death. The pictures had been taken down from the walls, but the wonderful sketch remained on the easel, which had been moved to the head of the oouci where Solomon lay. His long, light hair was smooth, his face peacefully quiet, and on his breast lay the beautiful bunch of autumn leaves which he had arranged' in our honoi*. It was a striking picture, — the noble face of the- sketch above, and the dead tace of the artist below. It brought to my mind a design I had once seen, where Fame with her laurels came at last to the door of the poor artist and gently knocked ; but he had died the night before ! The dog lay at his master's feet, nor stirred until Solomon was carried out to his grave. Th^ Community buried the miner in one corner of the lonely little meadow. No service had they and no mound was raised' to mark the spot, for such was their custom ; but in the early spring we went down again into the valley, and placed a block of granite over the grave. It bore the inscription : — I 22 SOLOMON. Solomon. * He will finish his work in heaven. Strange as it may seem, the wife pined fw her artist husband. We found her in the Community trying to wor?i, but so aged and bent that we hardly knew her. Her larg« ^es ii«wl loafe their peevish discontent, and a great sadnesa had taken the place. " " * Seems Hke \ could n't get on without Sol,' she said, sitting with us in the hotel parlor after work-hours. * I kinder miss his voice and all them names he used to call me; he got 'em 0^ of the Bible, so th^y must have been good, you know. He always thought everything I did was right, and he tliought no end of my good looks, too j I suppose I 've lost 'em all now. He was mighty fond of me ; nobody in all the world cares a straw tor pae now., Even Roarer would n't stay with rae, for all I petted him; he;kQp' a going out to that meader and a lying ly Sol, until, one day, we found him there dead. He Just died of sheer loneliness, I reckon. I sha' n't have to stop long I kr.ow, because I keep a dreaming of Sol, and he always looks at me like he did when I fii"st knew him. He was a beautiful boy when I first saw him on that loadiof wood coming into Sandy. Well, ladies, I must go. Thank you kindly for all you 've done; for . me. Aiid say. Miss Stuart, when I die you shall hftve. that coal pictur j no one else 'ud vally it sd much.' Three months s-fter, while we w^ere at the sea-shore, Ermine received a long tin case, directed in a peculiar hakidwriting ; it had been forwarded from C — ~t and contained the sketch and a note from the Community. ' E. Stuart : The woman. Dorcas Bangs died this day. She^ will be put away by the s'de of her husband, Solomon Bangs, S le left the enclosed picture, which we hereby send, and whi6h please acknowledge by return of mail. * Jacob Boll, I'rttstee.* I unfolded the wrappings and looked at the sketch; * It is indeed striking,' I said. *She must have been beautiful once, poor woman !' SOLOMON. 23 ' Let us hope that at least she is beautiful now, for her hus- band's sake iKHjr man !' replied Ermine. Even then we could not give up our prefevences. WILHELMINA. |s>pii * And so' Mina, you will not marry the baker V ' No ; I waith for Gustav.* * How long is it since you have seen him V * Three year , it was a three-year regi-m6nt.' * Then Le will soon be home V * I not know/ answered the gii'l, with a wistful look in her dark eyes, as if asking information from the superior being who sat in the skiff, — a being from the outside world where news- papers, the modem Tree of Knowledge, were not forbidden. * Perhaps he will re-enlist, and stay three years longer,* T said. * Ah, lady, — six year ! It breaks the heart,* answered Wil- helmina. She was the gai*dener*s daughter, a member of the Commu- nity of Grerman Separatists who live secluded in one of Ohio's rich valleys, separated by their own broad acres and orchard- covered hills from the busy world outside ; down the valley flows the tranquil Tusacrawas on its way to the Muskingum, its slow tide rolling through the fertile bottom-lands between stone dikes, and utilized to the utmost extent of carefulness by the thrifty brothers, now working a saw-inill on the bank, now sending a ti'ibutary to the flour-mill acniss the canal, and now branching off in a sparkling race across the valley to turn wheels for two or three factories, watering the great grass mea- dow on the way. We were floating on this river in a skiff named by myself Der Fliegende Hollander, much to the slow wonder of the Zoaiites, who did not understand how a Dutch- man could, nor why he should, fly. "Wilhelmina sat before me, her oai-s trailing in the water. She showed a Nubian head WILHKEMINA. 2» abave ber wyte kerchief : large-lidded s(rfl brown eyes, heavy braids of dark hair, creamy skin with, purple tints in the lips and brown shadows tinder the eyes, and a far off expi-ession which even the steady monotonous toil of CJommunity life had not been able to efface; She woro the blue dress and white kerchief of the society, ^e quaint Kttle calico bonnet lying beside her > she was a small maiden ; her slender form swayed in the stiff, shoMrwaisted go^n, har feet slipped about in the broad shoes, and her hands, rotigliened and browned with garden-work, were- yet narrow and graeefUli From the first we felt sure she was grafted, and not a shoot from thd Community stalk. But we couM learn nothing of her origin ; the Zoaritesare not commu- nieative ; they fill each day with twelve good hours of labor,, and look neither forward nor back. ' She is a daughter,' said the old gardener in answer to our questions. * Adopted V I suggested ; but he Touchyafed' no answer. I liked the littla daughter's dreamy ftice, but she was pale and undeveloped, like- a Southern flower growing in Northern soil ; the rosy-cheeked,, flaxen-haired JKosines, Salomes, and Dorotys, with their broait shoulders and ponderous tread, thought this brown changeling; ugly, and pitied her in their slow, goou-natured way. * It bretJis the heart,' said Wilhelmina again, softly, as if ta: hersdtf: t repented me of my thoughtlessness. In any case he can come back for a few days,' I hastened to say. * What regiment was it V * The One Hundred and Seventh, lady.' I had £, Cleveland paper in my basket, and taking it out I glanced over the war-news column, carelessly, as one who does not expect to find what he seeks. But chance was with us and gave this item : * The One Hundred and Seventh Regi- ment, O. V. I., is expected home next week. The men will be paid off at Camp Chase.' * Ah !' said Wilhelmina, catching her breath with a half-sob under her tightly drawn kerchief — * ah, mein Gustav !' * Yes, you will soon see him,' I answered, bending forward to take the rough little hand in mine ; for I was a romantio wife, and my heart went out to all lovers. But the girl did not notice my words or my touch ; silently she sat, absorbed in her own emotion, her eyes fixed on the hilltops far away, as «..#■ 26 WILHELMINA. m M though she saw the regiment marching home through the blue June sky. . I took the oars and rowed up as far as the iiiland, letting the skiff float back vdth the current. Other boats were out, filled, with fresh-faced boys in their high-crowned hats, long-waisted, < wide-flapped vestp of calico, and funny little swallow-tailed coats with buttons up under ,the shoulder-blades ; they appear- ed unaccountably long in front, and short behind, these young Zoar brethren. On the vin^B-'covered dike were groups of mothers and grave little childr€;Q, and up in the hill-orchardg; , were moving figures, young and old; the whole village was. abroad in the lovely afternoon, according to their Sunday cus- tom, which gave the morning to chorals and a long sermon in the little church, and the aftenjiocn to .nature, even old Chriis- tian, the pastor, taking hi^ imposing white fur hat and tasselled cane f^r a walk through the Community fields, with the re- mark, ' Thus is cheered the heart of man, and his countenance refreshed.' As the sun sank in th^ warm western sky, homeward came the viJlageir^ from the river, the orchards, and the »«eadow8,.i, men, women and pajjdren, a hardy, simple-minded ban. I, whose fathers, for religion's sake, had ^ken the long journey from Wurtemburg across the ocean to this distant valley, and made,] it a garden of rest in the wilderness. We, too, landed, an4 walked up the apple-tree lane towards the hot^l. 'The cows come,' said Wilhelmina as we heard a distant, ^ tinkling; *I must go.' But still she lingered. * Der, regi- ment, it come soon, you say V she asked in a low voice, as though she wanted to hear the good news again and again. * They will be paid off next week ; they cannot be later than ten days from now.' * Ten day 1 Ah, mein Gusta.v,' murmured the little maidein ; she turned away and tied o" her stiff bonnet, furtively wiping , off a tear with her prim handk^chiet folded in a square. * Why, my child,' I said, following her and stooping to look in her face, * what is. this 1' * It is nothing ; it is for gia,4,^ — for very glad,' said Wilhel- mina. Away she ran as the firat solemn cow came into view, heading the long procession meandering slowly toAvards the stalls. They knew nothing of haste, these dignified Commu- nity cows ; from stall to pasture, from pasture to stall, in a I WILHELMINA. 27 plethora of comfort, this was their life. The silver-haired fihepherd came last with his staff and scrip, and the nervous shepherd-dog ran hither and thither in the hopp of finding some cow to bark at , but the comfortable cows moved on in orderly , ranks, and he was obliged to dart off on a tangent every no\f ) i and then, and bark at nothing, to relieve his feelings. Beach- . , ing the paved court-yard each cow walked into her own staU, and the milking began. All the girls took part in this work, sitting on little stools and singing together as the milk frothjed, ; up in the tin pails ;, the pail? were en^ptied into tubs, and when' the tubs were full the ^rls bore them, on their heads to th^. ; dairy, where the ^ milk was poured into a huge strainer, a coft- ,, stant procession of girls with tubs above and the old milk-, [ mother ladling, out as fast as she could below, \yith the bee- hives near by, it was a realization of the Scriptural phrase, * A land flowing with milk and honey.' The next tnorning, after breakfast, I strolled up the still street, leaving the Wirthshaus with its pointed roof behind me. On the right were some ancient cottagesbuilt.pf.Qrossefii tim- bers filled in with plaster; sundials hung ^ on ^he wfflls, apd each house had its piazz^ wheye, when the work of the d^f was over, the families d^sembled, often singing folk-songs tp the music of their . home-made flutes and pipes. On the, Mt stood the residence of tlie first pastor, the reverend man who had led these i^eep to^th^ip.* refuge in tlie wilds of , th^e iifew "World. It yras a wide^pBeading brick mansion, witli ,a Ivoad- side of white-curtaijied windows, an enclosed ^lass porch, iron railings, and gilded ^vea; a building, so stately junong^l^e sur- .. , rounding cottages it! had. gained from outsiders the h^\ne of the King's Palace, although the good man whps^: gi'^vp remains unmarked in the quipt God's Acre, according tp th^^Separatisfc custom, was a father to his people, not a king, )(.,[». r , ; , ,, Beyond the palace began the Community garS^p, a large, square in thief centre of the village filled with flowers and f?m%,,.[ adorned with ja-bors and cedar-trees clipped in the form of birds, and enriched with an old-style greenhouse whos3 sliding glasses were viewed with admiration by the visitors of thirty yeai-s ago, who sent their choice plants thither from far and near to . be tended through the long, cold lake-country wintera. The garden, the ciBdars, and the greenhouse were all an^iiquated, but to mo none the less charming. The spring that rushed up 1 1' 28 WILHELMINA. in one comer, the old-fashioned flowera in their box-bordered bids, larkspur, lady slippers, bachelor's buttons, peonies, aro- matic pinks, and all varieties of roaes, the arbors with red honeysuckle overhead and tan bark under foot, were all delight- ful j and I knew, also, that I shotild find the gardener's daugb - ter at ker never^nding task of weeding. This time it was the strawberry bed. * I have con^e to sit in your pleasant garden, Mina,' I said, takilig a, seat on a shaded bench near the bending fi£[ure. . * So 1' said Willielmma in long-drawn interrogation, glancing Tip shyly with a smile. She was a child of the sun, this little maiden, and while her blond companions wore always their bonnets or broad-'brimmed' hats over their precise caps, Wilhel- mijia, as nov^, (Constantly discarded these coveriiigB and sat in the sun baskiiig like a bird of the tropics. In tnith, it did not redden her ; she was one of those whose coloring comes not from without, but within. * Do you like tiiis work, Mina V *0 — so. Good as any." * Bo you like work T * Folks must work.' This wasi said gravely, as part of the Cdmmunity crted. ' Would ii*t you like t6 go wiA nie to th© city T *No; I "s better here.' * But you can see the great world', lyOna. You iteed not work, I will take care of you. You rfhiall have pretty dresses ; would n't you like that f I asked, curious to discover the se- cret of the Separatist indifference to everything outsidk * Nein,' answered the little maiden, tranqtiuly ; * nein, frau- lein. Ich bin ssuftieden.' Those three words were the k^y. * I am conte&ted.' So were they taught from childhood, arid — I was about to say — they knew no better ; but, after all, is there anything better to know? We talked on, for Mina understood English, although many of her mates could chatter only in their Wttrtemberg dialect^ whose provincialisms confused my carefully learned Gferman ; I was grounded in Goethe, well read in SchUler, and struggling with Jean Paul, who, fortunately, is * der EinJdge,' the only ; another such wjuld destroy life. At length a bell sounded, iuid forthwith work was laid aside in the fields, the workshops, WILHELMINA. 39 rdered 8, aro- und the houses, while all partook of a light repast, one of the £ve meals with which the long summer day of toil is broken. Flagons of beer had the men afiold, with bread and cheese ; the women took bread and apple-butter But Mina did not care for the thick slice which the thrifty house-mother Lad provided ; ahe had not the steady unfanciful appetite of the Community which eats the same food day after day, as the cx>w eats its |p:afis, desiring no change. ' And the gardener really wishes you to marry Jacob f il said as she sat on the grass nenr me, enjoying the rest. ' * Yes, Jacob is good, — -always the same.' * And Gustav V ; / * Ah, mein Gustav ! Lady, he is young, tall, — so tftU as tree ; he run, he sing, his eyes like veilchen there, ^is hair Wue i;old. If I see him not soon, lady, I die ! The year so long. —80 long they are. Thiiee year without Gustnv !' The btK)wn eyes grew dim, and out came the square-folded handkerohitff, -Xh colored calico for week-days. ^ But it will not be long now, Mina^' * Yes ; I hope.' • * He writes to yon, I suppose V * No. Gustav knows not to write, he not like school But he speak through the other boys, Ernst the verliebte of Rosinte, and Peter of Doroty.' * The Zoar soldiers were all young men V ' Yes ; all verliebte. Some are not ; they have gone to the Next Country * (died). 'Killed in* Battler • X es j ou tiio berge mat looks,— * liookout Mountain T ■vvl'.ii'f ■'rnit nn^^ T not. trnfttrr * Yes.' . * Were the boys volunteers V I asked, remembering the Com- munity theory of non-resistance. * yes ; they volunteer, Gustav the first. They not drafted,' said Wilhelmiiia, proudly. For these twc words so prominent during the war, had penetrated even into this quiet little val- ley, i ' But did the trustees approve V * Apperouve T ' I mean did they like it V * Ah ! they like it not. They talk, they preach in church, 80 WILHELMINA. i! ";l, they say * No.' Zoar must give soldiers 1 So. Then they take money and pay for der substitute ; but th'^ boys they must- not go.' ' But they went in spite of the trustees V * Yes ', GustaT first. They go in night, they walk in woods^ , over the hills to Brownville, where is der recruiter. The morn- ing come, they gone !' ' They have been away three years, you say 1 They have ' B^n the world in that time,' I remarked half to myself, as I thought of the strange mind-opening and knowledge-gaining of those years to youths brought up in the strict seclusion of the Community. * Yes ; Gustav have seen the wide world,' answered Wilhel- mina with pride * But will they be content to step back into the dull routine of Zoar lii'e ]' I thought ; and a doubt came that made me scan , more closely the face of the girl at my side. To me it was at- tractive because ot its possibilities ; I was always fancying some excitement that would bring the coilor to the cheeks and full lips, and light up the heavy-lidded eyes with soft brilliancy. But would this- Gustav see these might-be beauties 1 And how far would the singularly ugly costume offend eyes grown accus- tomed to fanciful finery and gay colors 1 * You fully expect to marry Gufctav V I asked. < "We are verlobt,' answered Mina, not without a little air of dignity. * Yes, I know. But that was long ago.' * Verlobt once, verlobt always,' said the little maiden, confi- dently. t'*iS"'' * ' But why, then, does the gardener speak of Jacob, if you are engaged to this Gustav V t ♦O, fader he like the old, and Jacob is old, thirty year! His wife is gone to the Next Country. Jacob is a brother, too J he write his name in the book. But Gustav he not do bo; he is free.' ' You mean that the baker has signed the articles, and is a member of the Community V * Yes ; but the baker is old, very old ; thii-ty year ! Gustav not twenty and three yet ; he come home, then he sign.' * And have you signed these articles, Wilhelmina f * Yes ; all the womens signs.' WILHELMINA. 31 * What does the paper say V * Da ich Unterzeichneter,' — began the girl. ' I cannot understand that. Tell me in English.' * Well; you wants to join the Zoar Community of Separa- tists ; you writes your name and says, '• Give me house, victual, and clothes for my work and I join ; and I never femerer For- derung an besagte Gtesellschaft machen kann, oder will." ' * Will never make further demand upon said society,' I re- peated, translating slowly. * Yes ; that is it.' * But who takes charge of all the money Y * The trustees.' * Don't they give you any V * No ; for what 1 It 's no good,' answered Wilhelmina. I knew that all the necessaries of life were deaiu out to the ■members of the Community according to their need, and, as they never went outside of their valley, they could scarcely have spent moniey even if they had possessed it. But, never- theless, it was startling in tM^ nineteenth century to come upon a sincere belief in the woi-tlilessness of the green-tinted paper we cherish so fondly. * Grustav will have learned its Value,' I thought, as Mina, having finished the strawberry-bed, started away towards the dairy to assist in the butter-making. I strolled on up the little hill, past the picturesque bakery, ■ where through the open window I caught a glimpse of the * old, •very old Ja<;ob,' a serious young maik of thirty, drawing out his large Icives of breald from the brick oven with a long-han- ^ died rake. It was gingerbread-day also, and a spicy odor met mo at the window ; so I put in my head and asked for a piece, receiving a card about a foot sqaai-e, laid on fresh grape-leaves. * But I cannot eat all this,' I said, breaking ojff a corner. i- • '* O, dat *s noding !* answered Jacob, beginning to knead fresh dough in a long white trough, the village supply for the next day. ' *I have been sitting with 'Wilhelmina,'! remarked, as I leaned on the (Sasement, impelled by a desire to see the effect of the name. * So V said Jacob, interrogatively. ' Yes ; she is a sweet girl.' 'Sor (doubtfully.) ' Dont you think so, Jacob T i 32 WILFELMINA, tn If .J,- .!.)!. [ 1 I;' I ■f I: 'Ye-es. So-so. A leetle bkck,' answered this impassive lovar. < But you wish to many her V * 0, ye-es. She youug and strong ; her fader «ay she good to work. I have children five ; I must have some one in the house.' * Jacob ! Is that the way to talk 1' I exclaimed. ' Warum nicht V replied the baker, pau8ii\g in his kneading, and regarding me with wide-open, candid eyes. *"Why^not, indeed]' I thought, as I tiiroeu away from the window. ' He is at least hnme^, and no doubt in his way he would be a kind husband to little Mina. But what a way. I walked on up the street, passing the pleasMit house where all the infirm old won;ien of the Community were lodged to- gether, carefully tended by app3inted nurses. The aged siaiters were out on the piazza sunning themselves, like «o many old cats. They were bent with hard, out-door labor for they belong- ed to the early days when the wild forest covered the fields now so rich, and only a few log-oabins stood on the site of the tidy cottages and gardens of the present village. Some 'Of tiiem had taken the long journey on foot from Philadelphia •westward, four hundred and fifty miles, in the depths of win- ter. Well might they rest from their labors and sit in th^ mux- shine, poor old souls ! A few days later, my friendly newspaper mentioned the ar- rival of the Cl-ermau regiment at Camp Chase. * They will pro- bably be paid off in a day or two/ I thought, ' and another day may bring them here.' Eager to be the first to tell the good news to my little favorite' I hastened to the garden, aad found her engaged, as usual, in weeding. ' Mini^,' I said, ' I have something to tell you. The regiment is at Camp Chase; you will see Gustav soon, perhaps this week.* And there, before my eyes, the transformation I had often , fancied took place ; the color rushed to the brown sui*faoe, the .<;heeks and lips glowed in vivid red, and the heavy eiyes opened wide and shone like stars, with a brilliancy that astonished and even disturbed me. 'The statue had a soul at last; the beauty dormant had awakened. But for the fire of that soul would this expected Pygmalion suffice ? Would the real prince WILHELMINA. 33 fill his place in the long-cherifihed dreams of this beauty of the wood ? The girl had risen as I spoke, and n( w she stood erect, tremb< ling with excitement, her hands clasp ^d on her breast, breath- ing quickly and heavily as though an overweight of joy wag pressing down on her heart ; her eyes were fixed r.pOn my face, but she saw me not. Strange was her gaze, like the gaze of one walking in sleep. Her sloping shouldere seemed to exi)and and chafe against the stuff gown as though they would burst their bonds ; the blood glowed in her face and throat, and her lips quivered, not as though tears were coming, but from the fulness of unuttered speech. Her emotion resembled the in- tensest fire of fevcF, and yet it seemed natuml ; like noon in the tropics when the gorgeous flowers flame in the white, sha- dowless heat. Thu.3 stood Wilhelmina, looking up into the sky with eyes that challenged the sun. * Come here, child,* I said j * come here and sit by me. We will talk about it.' But she neither saw nor heard me. I drew her down on the bench at my side ; she yielded unconsciously ; her slender form throbbed, and pulses were beatinpf under my hands where- ever I touched her. * Mina !* I "aid again. But she did not answer. Like an unfolding rose, she revealed her hidden, beautiful heart, as though a spirit had breathed upon the bud ; silenced in the presence of this great love, I ceased speaking, and left her to herself. After ^a time single words fell from her lips, broken utterances of happiness. I was as nothing ; she was absorbed in the One. '^ustav ! mein Gustav !' It was like the bird's note, oft repeated, ever the same. So isola- ted, so intense was her joy, that, as often happens, my mind took refuge in the opposite extreme of commonplace, and I four.d myself wondering whether she would be able to eat boiled beef and cabbage for dinner, or fill the soft-soap barrel for the laundry- women, later in the day. All the morning T sat under the trees with Wilheimina, who had forgot cen her life-long tasks as completely as though they had never existed. 1 hated to leave her to the leather-colored wife of the old gardener, and lingered until the sharp voice came from the distant hou«e-door, calling, ' Yeel-hel-wieewy,' as the twelve-o'clock bell summoned the Community to dinner. But as Mina rose and swept back the heavy braid . that had m • il If 34 WILHELMINA. i: n fallen from tlio little ivory stick wbich confined them, I flaw that she was armed cap-a-jne in that full happiness from which all weapons glance oil" hanuless. 3| All the rest of the day she was like a thing possessed. I followed her to tho hill-pasture, whither she had gone to mind the cows, and found her coiled up on the gi-ass in tho blaze of the afternoon sun, like a little salamt^nder. She was lost in day dreams, and the decorous cows had a holiday for once in their sober lives, wandering beyond bounds at will, and even tasting the dissipations of the marsh, standing unheeded in the bog up to their sleek knees. Wilhelmina had not many words to give me ; her English vocabulary was limited ; she had never read a line of romance nor a verse of poetry. The near- est approach to either was the Community hymn-book, contain • ing the Separatist hymns, of which the following lines are a specimen, ** Ruhe ist das beste Gut "^ Dasz man haben kanu," — " Rest is the boat good < That man cau have," — and which embody the religious doctrine of the Zoar Brethren, although they think, apparently, that the labor of twelve hours each day is necessary to its enjoyment. The * Ruhe,' however, refers more especially to their quiet seclusion away from the turmoil of the wicked world outside., The second morning after this it was evident that an unusual xcitement was abroad in the phlegmatic village. All tho daily duties were fuUilled as usual at the Wirthshaus : Paul- ine went up to the bakery with her board, und returned with her load of bread and bretzels balanced on her head ; Jacobina served our coffee with slow precision j and the broad-shouldered, young-faced Lydia patted and puflfed up our mountain-high feather-beds with due care. The men went afield at the blast of the horn, 4ihe workshops were full and the mills running. But, nevertheless, all was not the same ; the air seemed full of mystery ; there were whisperings when two met, furtive nig- nals, and an inward excitement glowing in the faces of men, ; women, and children, hitherto placid as their own sheep. * They have heard the news,' I said, after watching the tailor's^ WILHELMTNA. 35 Giotchen and the blacksmith's Barbara stop to exchange a whisjier behind the wood-house. Later in the day we learned that several letters from the absent soldier- boys had been re- ceived that morning, announcing their arrival on the evening train. The news had flown from one end of the village to the other; and although the well-drilled hands were all at work, hearts were stirring with the greatest excitement of a lifetime, since there was hardly a house where there was not one expect- ed. Each large house often held a number of families, stowed away in little sets of chambers, with one dining-room .'\ r )'ii- mon. Heveral times duiing the day we saw :he three tnistees con- ferring apart with anxious faces. The war had been a sore trouble to them, owing to their conscientious scr'ii)les against rendering military service. They had hoped to remain non- combatants. But the country v.as on tire with patriotism, and nothing less than a bona Jide Separatist in United States uni- form would quiet ihe surrounding towns, long jealous of the wealth of this foreign community, misunderstanding its tenets, and glowing with that zeal againsiji sympathizers' which kept star-spangled bannei s flying over every suspected house. * Hang out the flag !* was their cry, and they demanded that Zoar should hang out its soldiers, giving them to understand that if not voluntaiily hung out, they would soon be involuntarily hung up ! A draft was ordei*ed, and then the young men of the society, who had long chafed against their bonds, broke loose, volunteered, and marched away, principles or no princi- ples, trustees or no trustees. These bold hearts once gone, the .village sank into quietude again Their letters, however, were a source of anxiety, coming as they did fr(^m the vain outside world ; and the old postmaster, autociat though he was, hardly dared to suppress them. But he said, shaking his head, that they * had fallen upon troublous times,' and handed each dan- gerous envelope out with a groan. But the soldiers were not skilled penmen ; their letters, few and far between, at length stopped entirely. Time passed, and the very existence of the runaways had become a.far-ofi' problem to the wise men of tte Community, absorbed in their slow calculations and cautious agriculture, wben now, suddenly, it forced itself upon them face to face, and they were required to solve it in the twinkling of an eye. The bold hearts were coming back, full of knowledge of ' I \'i li' 'I "lit It' I ' ^ H WILHELMINA. the outside world , almost every house would hold one, and the bands of law and order would be broken. Before this prospect the trustees quailed. Twenty years before they would have forbidden the entrance of these unruly sons within jheir bor- ders ; but now they dared not, since even into Zoar had pene- trated the knowledge that America was a free country. The younger generation were not as their fathers were ; objections had been openly made to the cut of the Sunday coats, and the girls had spoken together of ribbons ! The shadows of twilight seemed very long in falling that night, but at last there vias no further excuse tor delaying the evening bell, and home came the laborers to their evening meal. There was no moon, a soft mist obscured the stars, ai^d .the night was darkened with the excess of richness which rose from the ripening valley-fields and fat bottom-lands along the river. The CouiQiunity store opposite the Wirthshaua was closed early in the evening, the houses of the trustees were dark, and in- deed the village was almost unlighted, as if to hide its own ex- citement. The entire population was abroad in the night, and one by on-> the men and M||rs stole away down the station road, a lovely, winding track on the nillside, following the river on its way down the valley to the little station on the grasS-grown railroad, a branch from the main track. As ten o'clock came, the women and girls, grown bold with excitement, gathered in the open space in front of the Wirthshaus, where the lights from the windows illumined their faces. There I saw the broad-shouldered Lydia, Rosine, Doroty, and all the rest, in their Sunday clothes, flushed, laughing, and chattering ; but no Wilhelmina. * Where can she be V I said. If she was there, the larger girls concealed her with their bu.>.^)m breadth ; I looked for the slender little maid^i in vain. ' Shu !' cried the girls, ' de bugle 1' Far down the station road we heard the bugle and saw the glimmering of lights among the trees. On it came, a will-o' the-wisp profession , first a detachment of village boys each with a lantern or torch, next the returned soldiers winding their bugles, — for, German-like, they all Lad musical instru- ments, — then an excited crowd of brothers and cousins loaded with knapsacks, guns, and military accontremeuts of all kinds ; each man had something, were it only a tin cup, and proudly WILHELMINA. 3T they marched in the footsteps of their glorious relatives,; bear- ing the spoils of war. The girls set up a shrill cry of welcome as the procession approached, but the i-anks continued unbroken uiEitil the open space in front of the Wirthshaus was reached ; then, at a signal, the soldiers gave three cheers, the villagei'S jmning in with all their hearts and lungs, but wildly and out of time, like the scattering fire of an awkward squad. The sound had never been heard in Zoar before. The soldiers gave a final ' Tiger-r-r !' and then broke ranks, mingling with the, excited crowd, exchanging greetings and embraces. All talked at once; some wept, some laughed ; and through it all silently stood the three trustees on the dark porch in front of the store, looking down upon their wild flock, their sober faces visible in the glare of the torches and lanterns below. The entire popu- lation was present ; even the babies were held up on the out- aikirta of the crowd, stolid and staring. * Where can Wilhelmina be ? I said again. * Here, under the window ; I saw her long ago,' replied one of "the women. Leaning against a piazza-pillar, close under my eyes, stood the little maiden, pale and still. I could not disguise from myself that she looked almost ugly among those florid, laugh- ing girls, for her color was gone, and her eyes so fixed that they looked unnaturally large ; her somewhat heavy Egyptian features stood out in ilie bright light, but her small ferm was lost among the group of broad, white- kerchiefed shoulders, adorned with breast-knots of gay flowers. And had Wilhel- mina no flower 1 She, so fond of blossoms 1 I looked again ; yes, a little white rose, drooping and pale as herself But where was Gustav 1 The soldiei-s came and went in the crowd, and all spoke to Mina ; but where was the One 1 I caught the landlord's little son as he passed, and asked the question. 'Gustav! Dat's him,' he answered, pointing out a tall, rollicking soldier who seemed to be embracing the whole popu- lation in his gleeful welcome. That very soldier had passed Mina a dozen times, flinging a gay greeting to her each time ; but nothing more. After half an hour of general rejoicing, the crowd dispersed, each household bearing off in triumph the hero that fell to its lot. Then the tiled domiciles, where usually all were asleep an 1 38 WILHELMINA. .«** hour a fter twilight, blazed forth with unaccustomed light from every little window; within we could seo the circles, with flagons of beer and various dainties manufactured in secrec during the day, sitting and talking together in a manner which, for Zoar, was a wild revel, since it was nearly eleven o'clock f We were not the only outside spectators of this unwonted gay- ety ; several times we met the trustees stealing along -in the shadow from house to house, like anxious spectres in broad- brimmed hats. No doubt they said to each other, * How, how will this end !' The merry Gustav had gone off by Mina'p side, which gave me some comfort ; but when in our rounds we came to the gardener's house and gazed through the open door, the little maiden sat apart, and the soldier, in the centre of an admiring circle, was telling stories of the war. I felt a foeboding of sorrow as T g.. 't ^ out through the little window before climbing up intu m^ tiigh. bed. Lights still twinkled in some of the houses, but a white mist was rising from the river, and the drowsy long-dvawn chant of the sum- mer night invited me to dreamless sleep. ' The next morning I could not resist questioning Jacobina, who also had her lover among the soldiers, if all was well. * yes. They stay, — all but two. We's married next mont.* 'And the two? ' Karl and Gustav.* * And Whilelmina !* I exclaimed. * she let him go,' answered Jacob* ' , bringing fresh coffee. .1 * Poor child I How does she bear it ?' 'Oso. She cannot help. She say noding.' , / * But the trustees, will they allow these young men to leavQ the Community f . ' • * They cannot help,' said Jacobina. * Gustav and Karl wiite not in the book ; they free to go. Wilhelmina marry Jacob j^ it's joost the same ; all r-r-ight,' added Jacobina, who prided hei-self upon her English, caught from visitors at the Wirtha-' haus table. ' Ah ! but it is not just the same,' I thought as I walked up to the garden to find my little maiden. She was not there ; WILHELMINA. 39 the leathery mother said she was out on the hills with the oows. • ' So Gustav is going to leave the Community,* I said in Ger- man. * Yes, better so. He is an idle, wild boy. Now Veelhel-* meeny can marry the baker, a good steady man. * But Mina does not like him,' I suggested. ' Das macht nichts,' answered the leathery mother. "Wilhelmina was not in the pasture ; I sought for her every- where, and called her name. The poor child had hidden her- self, and whether she heard me or not she did not respond. All day she kept herself aloof ; I almost feared she would never return ; but in the late twilight a little figure slipped through the garden-gate and took refuge in the house before I could speak ; lor I was watching for the child, apparently the only one, though a stranger, to care for her sorrow. ' Can T not see her V I said to the leathery mother, following to the door. ' Eh, no ; she's foolish ; she will not speak a word ; she has gone off to bed,* was the answer. For three days I did not see Mina so early did she flee away to the hills and so late return. I followed her to the pasture once or twice, but she would not show herself, and I could not discover her hiding place. The fourth day I learned that Gus- tav and Karl were to leave the village in the aft.^rnoon, pro- bably forever. The other soldiers had signed the articles pre- sented by the anxious trustees, and settled down into the old routine, going afield with the rest, although still heroes of the hour ; they were all to be married in August. No doubt the hardships of their campaigns amonq' the Tennessee mountains had taught them that the rich valley was a home not to be despised ; nevertheless, it was evident that the flowers of the flock were those who were about departing, and that in Gustav and Karl the Community lost its brightest S])irits. Evident to us ; but possibly, the Community cared not for bright spirits. I had made several attempts to spaak to Gustav ; tins morn- ing I at last succeeded. I found him polishing his bugle on the garden bench. ' Why are you goin^ away, Gustav f T asked. ' Zo?ir is a pleasant little village.' 1 40 WILHELMINA. -^ ■l. .1 |l!i I - ''<£ I * Too slow for me, miss.' * The life is easy, however ; you will find the world a hard place.' * I don't mind work, ma'am, but I do like to be free. I feel all cramped up here, with these rules and bells ; and, besides, I could n't stand those trustees ; they never let a' Jellow alone.' * And Wilhelmina 1 If you do go, I hope you will tafce[her with you or come for her when you have found work.'d * Oh no, miss. All that was long ago. It's all over^now.'H ' But you like her, Gustav.' ' O so. She's a good little thing, but too quiet for me.' * But she likes you,' I said desperately, for I saw no other Iray to loosen this Gordian knot. ' no, miss. She got used to it, and has thought of it all these years; that's all. She'll forget about it and marry the baker.* * But she does not like the baker.' ' Why not 1 He's a good fellow enough. She'll like him. in time. It's all the same. I declare it's too bad to see all these girls going on in the same old way, in their ugly gowns and big^ shoea ! Why, ma'am, I could'nt take Mina outside, even if I wanted to; she's tco old to leain ntw ways, and eveiyVcdy would laugh at her. She could'nt get along a day. Besides,^ said the young soldier, coloring up to his eyes, * I don't mind telling you that — ^that there's some one else. Look here, ma'am.* And be put into my hand a card photograph representing a pretty girl, over dressed, and adorned with curls and gilt jewell- ery. * That's Miss Martin,' mid Gustav with pride ; Miss Emmeline Martin, of Cincinnati. I'm going to marry Mis» Martin.' As I held the pretty, flashy picture in my hand, all my castles fell to the gi'ound. My plan for taking Mina 'home with me, accustoming her gradually to other clotJdes and ways, teaching her enoiigh of Uie world to enable her to hold her place without pain, my hope that ray husband might find a situation for Gus- tav iu some of the iron-mills near Cleveland, in short, all the idyl I had woven, was destroyed. If it had not been for this red-cheeked Miss Martin in her gilt beads ! * Why is it that men w ill be such fools f I thought. Up sprung a memory of -the curls and ponderous jet necklace I sported at a certain period WILHELMINA. 41 of my existence, when John — I was silenced, gave Ciigtav his picture, and walked away without a word. At noon the villagers, on their way back lo work, paused at the WirthshauS to say good bye ; Karl and Guatav were there, and the old woolly horse had already gone to the station with their boxes. Atnong the others came Chnstine, Karl's former atfianced, heartwhole and smiling, already betrothed to a new* Ibver ; but no Wilhelmina. Good wishes and farewells were ex- changed, and at last the two soldiers started away, falling into the marching step and watched with furtive satisfaction by the three trustees, who stood together in the shadow of the smithy apparently deeply absorbed in a broken-down cask. It was a lovely afternoon, and I, too, strolled down the sta- tiotl road embowered in shade. Tlie two soldiers were not far in advance. I had passed the flour-mill on the outskii-ts of the village and was approaching the old quarry, when a sound startled me ; out of the rocks in front rushed a little figure and crying * Gustav, mein Gustav ! ' fell at the soldier's feet. It was Wilhelmina. I ran forward and took her ftom the young men ; she lay in my arms as if dead. The poor child was sadly changed ; always slender and swaying, she now looked thin and shrunken, her skin had a strange, dark pallor, and iier lips were di-awn in as if from pain. I could see her eyes through the large-orbed, thin lids, and the brown shadows beneath extended down into the cheeks. * Was ist's V said Gustav, lookmg bewildered. * Is she sickr I answered * Yes,' but nothing more. I could see that he had no suspicion of the truth, believing as he did that the ' good fellow ' of a baker would do very well for this * good lit- tle thing ' who was * too quiet ' for him. The memory of Miss Martin sealed my lips. But if it had not been for that pretty, flashy picture, would I not have spoken ! * You must go ; you will miss the train,' I said after a few minutes. * I will see to Mina.' But Gustav lingered- Perhaps he was really troubled to see the little sweetheart of his boyhood in such des'^late plight ; perhaps a touch of the old feeling came back ; and perliiips also it was nothing of the kind, and, as usual, my romantic thoughts 42 WILHELMINA. \. were carrying me away. At any rate, whatever it was, lie stooped over the fainting girl. ' She looks bad,' he said, * very bad. I wish— But she'll get well and marry the baker. Good bye, Mina.' . And bend- ing his tall form, he kissed her colorless cheek, and then hasten- ed away to join the impatient Karl ; a curve in the road soon hid them from view. f. Wilhelmina had stirred at his touch ; after a moment her large eyes opened slowly ; she looked around as if dazed, but all at once memory came back and she starned up with the same cry, ' Gustav, mein Gustav !' I drew her head down on my shoulder to stifle the sound ; it was better the soldifer should not hear it, and its anguish thrilled my own heart also. She had not the strength to resist me, and in a few minutes I knew that the young men were out of hearing as they strode on to- wards the station and out into the wide world. The forest was solitary, we were beyond the village ; all the afternoon I sat under the trees with the stricken girl. Again, as in her joy her words were few; again as in her joy her whole being was involved. Her little rough hands were cold, a film had gathered over her eyes ; she did not weep, but moaned to herself, and all her senses seemed blunted. At nightfall I took hei' home, and the leathery mother received her with a frown ; but the child was beyond caring, and crept away, dumbly, to her room. The next morning she was off to the hills again, nor could I find her for several days. Evidently in spite of my sympathy I was no more to her than I should have been to a wounded, fawn. She was a mixture of the wild, shy creature of the woods and the deep-loving woman of the tropics ; in either case I could be but small comfort. When at last I did see her, she was apathetic and dull ; her feelings, her senses, and her intelli- gence seemed to have gone within, as if preying upon her heart. She scarcely listened to my proposal to take her with me ; for in my pity I had suggested it, in spite of its difficulties. * No,' she said, mechanically, ' I'se better here ' j and fell in- to silence again. A month later a friend went down to spend a few days in the valley, and upon her return described to us the wed^ngs of the whilom soldiers. ' It was really a pretty sight,' she said, WILHELMINA. 43 ' the quaint peasant dresses and the flowers. Afterwards, the band went round the village playing then* odd tunes, and all had a holiday. There were two civilians married also ; I mean two young men who had not been to the war. It seems that two of the soldiers turned their backs upon the Commu- nity and their allotted brides, and marched away ; but tlie Zoar maidens are not romantic, I fancy, for these two deserted ones were betrothed again, and married, all in the short space of four weeks.' * Was not one Wilhemina, the gardener's daughter, a short, dark girl V I asked. 'Yes,' ' And she marriei Jacob the baker?' . * Yes.' The next year, weary of the cold lake-winsls, we left the icy shore and went down to the valley to meet the coming spring, finding her already there, decked with vines and flowers. A new waitress brought us our coflee. ' How is Wilhelmina T I asked. * Eh, — Wilhelmina ] O, she not here now ; she gone to the next country,' answered the girl in a matter-of-fact way. * She die last October, and Jacob he have anoder wife now.'" In the late "afternoon I asked a little girl to show me Wil- helmina's grave in the quiet GroJ's Acre on the Mil. Innova- tion was creeping in, even here ; the later graves had mounds raised over them, and one had a little head-board with an in- jription in ink. Wilhelmina lay ap.irt, and soni3 one, probably the old gar- iener, wh^ had loved her in his silent way, had planted a rose- oush at the head of the mound. I dismisse I my guide and sat there in the sunset, thinking of many things, but chiefly of this : ' Why should this great wealth of love have been allowed to waste itself ? Why is it that the greatest of power, unques- tionably, of this mortal life should so often seem a useless gift?' No answer came from the sunset clouds, and s-s twilight sank down on the earth I rose to go. * I fully believe,' I said, as though repeating a creed, * that this poor, loving heart, whoso earthly body lies un ler this niouul, is happy in its own loving . -0 ,HOi«: , I ■;-::i! y-'i ■.K . 7i- I 44 WILHELMINA. ■way. It has not been dianged, but the happiness it longed for has come. How we know not ; but the God who made Wil- helmina undewtands her He has given unto her not rest, not peace, but an active, living joy.' I walked away through the wild meadow, under whose turf, tttxmarked by stone or mound, lay the first pioneers of the Com- munity and out into the forest road, untravelled save when the dead passed over it to their last earthly home. The evening was still and breathless,- and the shadows lay thick on the grass ai I lo(^ed back. But I could still distinguish the little mound with the rose-bush at its head, and, not without tears, 1 said, * Farevrell, poor Wilhelmina ; farewell.' ST. CLAIR FLATS In September, 1855, 1 first saw the St. Claii* Flats. Owing to Kaymond's determination, we stopped there. ' Why go on V he asked. Why cross another long, rou^ lake, when here is all we want V * But no one ever stops here,' I said. * So much the better ; we shall have it all to ourselves.' * But we must at least have a roof over our heads.* * I presume we can find one.' The captain of the steamer, however, knew of no roof save that covering a little lighthouse R'^t on spiles, which the boat would pass within the half hour ; ^e decided to get off there, And throw ourselves upon the charity of the lighthouse-man. In the meantime, v.'6 sat on the bow with Captain Kidd, our four-lrgged companion, who had often accomppnied us on hunt- expeditions, but never so far westward. It had been rough on Lake Erie, — very rough. We, who had sailed the ocean with composui'e, foimd ourselves most inhumanly tosaed on the short chopping waves of this fresh water sea ; we, who alone of all the cabin-list had eaten our four courses every day on the coean- -steamer, found ourselves here reduced to the depressing diet of a herring and pilot-bread. Captain Kidd, too, had suffered dumbly ; even now he could not find comfort, but tried every plank in the deck, one after the other, circling round and round after his tail dog-fasliion, before lying down, and no sooner down than up again, for another choice of planks, another cir- cling, and another failure. We were sailing across a small lake whose smooth waters were like clear green oil ; as we drew near the outlet, the low, green shores curved inward and came together, and the steamer entered a naiTOw, green river. ^l ^:l if ' 45 ST. CLAIR FLATS. ■•I li *1 I' m- I, m.< ' Heie we are,' said Raymond. ' Now we can soon land.* * But there is n't any land' I answered. 'What is that, then?' asked my near-sighted companion, pointing toward what seemed a shore. ' Reeds.' 'And what do they nm back to V * Nothing.' ' But there must be solid ground beyond V * Nothing but reeds, flags, lily-pads, grass, and water, as far as I can see.* * A marsh 1* * Yes, a marsh. 'aaAHDi^ The word * marah' does not bring up a beautiful picture to the mind, and yet the reality was as beautiful as anything I have ever seen, — an enchanted land, whose memory haunts me as an idea unwritten, a melody unsung, a picture unpainted, haunts the artist, and will not away. On each side and in front, as far as the eye could reach, stretched the low gi*een land which was yet no land, intersected by hundreds of chan- nels, narrow and broad, whose enters were green as their shores. In and out, now ninning into f>ach other for a moment, now setting ofi' each for himself again, these many channels flowed along with a rippling cui-rent ; zigzag as they were, they never seemed to loiter, but, as if knowing, just where they were going and what they had to do, they found time to take their own pleasant roundabout way, visiting the secluded households of their friends the flags, who, poor souls, must always stay at home. These currents were as clear as crystal, and green as the water-grasses that fringed their miniature shores. The bristling reeds, like companies of free-lances, rode boldly out here and there into the deeps, trying to conquer more territory for the gi-asses, but the cun-ents were hard to conquer ; they dismounted the free-lances, and flowed over their subi-.erged heads j they beat them down with assaulting ripples; they broke their backs so effectually that the bravest had no spirit left, but trailed along, limp and bedraggled. And, if by chance the lancet succeeded in stretching their forces across from one little shore to another, then the unconquered currents forced their way between the closely serried ranks of the enemy, and flowed on as gayly as ever, leaving the grasses sitting hopeless ST. CLAIR FLATS. 47 on the boiik ; for they needed solid ground for their delicate •feet, these gi'aceful ladies in green. You might call it a marsh ; but there was no mud, no dark Blimy water, no stagnant scum ; there were no rank yellow lilies, no gormandizing frogs, no swinish mud-turtles. The clear waters of the channels ran over golden sands, and hurtled among the stiff reeds so swiftly that only in a bay, or where protected by a crescent point, could the fair white lilies float in the quiet their serene beauty requires The flags, who brandished their swords proudly, were mai-tinets down to their very heels, keeping themselvew as clean under the water as above, and harboring not a speck of mud on their bright green unilonns. For inhabitants, there were small fish roving about here and there in the clear tide, keeping an eye out for the herons, who, watery as to legs, but venerable and wise of aspect, stood on promontories musing, apparently, on the secrets of the ages. The steamer's route was a constant curve ; through the larger channels of the archipelago she wound, as if following the clew of a labyrinth. By turns she headed toward all the points of the compass, finding a channel where, to our uninitiated eyes, there was no channel, doubling uj)on her own track, going broadside foremost, floundering and backing, like a whale caught in a shallow. Here, landlocked, she would choose what seemed the narrowest channel of all, and dash recklessly through, with the reeds almost brushing her sides ; there she crept gin- gerly along a broad expanse of water, her paddle-wheels scarcely revolving, in the excess of her caution. Saplings, with their heads of foliage on, and branches adorned with fluttering rags, served as finger-posts to show the way thi'ough the watery de- tiles, and there were many otlieit hieroglyphics legible only to the pilot. * This time, surely, we shall run ashore,' we thought again and again, as the steamer glided, head-on, toward an islet ; but at the last there was always a quick turn into some unseen strait opening like a secret jmssage in a castle-wall, and we found ourselves in a new lakelet, heading in the opposite direction. Once we met another steamer, and the two great hulls floated slowly past each other, with engines motionless, ' so near that the j)assengers could have shaken hands with each , other had they^ been so disposed. Not that they were so dis- posed, however; far from it. They gathered on their respec- [;t| I : «{'> I .it i f I m ,1 \ 'I 't i ! 1 48 ST. CLAIR FLATS. I tive decks and gazed at each other cravely ; not a smile wa^ seen, not a wonf spoken, not the shadow of a salutation given. It was not pride, it was not suspicion ; it was the universal listlessnesa of the travelling American bereft of his business, Othello with his occupation ffjne. What can such a man do on a steamer 1 Generally, nothing. Certairaly he would never think of any such light-hearted nonsense as a smile or passing bow. But the ships were, par excellence^ the bewitched craft, the Flying Dutchmen of the Flats. A brig, with lofty, sky- scraping sails, bound south, came into view of our steamier, bound north, and passed, we hugging the shore to give her room : five minutes afterward the sky-scraping sails we had left behind veered around in front of us again ; another five minutes, and there they were far distant on the right ; another, and there they were again close by us on the left. For half an hour those sails circled around us, and yet all the time we wev© pushing steadily forward ; this seemed witching work indeed. Again, the numerous schooners i} ^ught nothing of sailing over- land ; we saw them on all sid- Hding before the wind, pr beating up against it over the .^Jows as easily as over the water ; sailing on grfiss was a mere trifle to these spirit-barks. All this we saw, as I said before, apparently. But in that ad- verb is hidden the magic of the St. Clair Flats. * It is beautiful, — beautiful,' I said, looking off over the vivid green expansa ' Beautiful '?' echoed the captain, who had himself taken charge ot the steering when the steamer entered the labyrinth, — * I don't see anything beautiful in it ! — Port your helm up there ; port !' * Port it is, sir,' came back from the pilot-house above. * These Flats give us more trouble than any other spot on the lakes ; vessels are all the time getting aground and block- ing* up the way, which is narrow enough at best. There's some talk of Uncle Sam's cutting a canal right through,— p* straight canal ; but he 's so slow. Uncle Sam is, and I 'm afraid I '11 be off the waters before the job is done.' * A straight canal !' I repeated, thinking with dismay of an ugly utilitarian ditch invading this beauttful winding waste of IpreeiL * Yes, you can see for yourself what a saving it would be/ ST. CLAIR FLATS. 49 replied the captain. ' We could run right through iu no time, day or night ; whereas, now, we have to turn and twist and watch every inch of the whole everlasting marah.' Such was the captain's opinion. But we, albeit neither romantic nor ar- tistic, were cajjtivated with his * everlasting marsh,* and eager to penetrate far within its green fastnesses. * I suppose there are other families living about here, besides the family at the lighthouse ?' I said. ' Never heard of any ; they 'd have to live on a i-aft if they did. * But there must be some solid ground.* ' Don*t believe it ; it *s nothing but one great sponge for miles. — Steady up there ; steady !' ' Very well,* said Raymond, ' so be it. If there is only the lighthouse, at the lighthouse we Tl get off, and take our chances.' * You *re surveyors, I suppose ]* said the captain. Surveyors are the pioneers of the lake-30untry, understood by the people to be a set of harniU'ss monomaniacs, given to build- , ing little observatories along-shore, where there is nothing to observe ; mild madmen, whose vagaiies and instruments are equally sinr .ar. As survey oi-s, therefore, the captain saw nothing 8ur[)rising in our determination to get off at th.'. light- house ; if we had proposed going ashore on a plank in the mid- dle of Lake Huron, he would have made no objection. At length the lighthouse came into view, a little fortress perched on spiles, with a ladder for entrance ; as usual in small houses, much timo seemed devoted to washing, for a large crane, swung to and fro by a rope, extended out over the water, covered with fluttering garments hung out to dry. The steamer lay to, our row-boat was launched, our traps handed out. Cap- tain Kidd took his place in the bow, and we i)ushed off into the shallows ; then the great paddle-wheels revolved again, and the steamer sailed away, leaving us astern, rocking on her waves, and watched listlessly by the passengers until a turn hid us from their view. In the mean time numerous flaxen- haired children had appeared at the little windows of the light- house,— too many of them, indeed, for our hopes of comfort' ' Ten,' said Raymond, counting heads. The ten, moved by curiosity as we approached, hung out of the windows so far that tliey held on merely by theii' ankles. * We cannot possibly save them all,' I remarked, looking up at the dangling gazers. n ir \- 60 ST. CLAIR FLATS. l;» " 0, they 're amphibious/ said Eaymond ; ' web-footed, I presume.' We rowed up under the fortress, and demanded parley with the keeper in the following lapguage : — * Is your father here ?* * No ; but ma is,' answered the chorus.—* Ma ! ma !' Ma appeared, a portly female, who held converse with us from the top of the ladder. The sum and substance of the dia- logue was that she had not a corner to give us, and recommend- ed us to find Liakim, and have him show us the way to Wait- ing Samuel's. * Waiting Samuel's?' we repeated. ' Yes ; he 's a kind of crazy man living away over there in the Flats. But there 's no harm in him, and his wife is a tidy housekeeper. You be surveyors, I suppose V We accepted the imputation in order to avoid a broadside of questions, and asked the whereabouts of Liakim. * O, he 's round the point, somewhere there, fishing !' W e rowed on and found him, a little, round-shouldeied man, in an old flat-bottomed boat, who had not taken a nsh, and looked as though he never would. We explained our errand. ' Did Rosabel Lee tell ye to come to me V he asked. ' The woman in the lighthouse told us,' I said. ' That 's Rosabel Lee, that 's my wife ; I 'm Liakim Lee,' eaid the little man, gathering together his forlorn old rods and teckle, and pulling up his anchor. ** In the kingdom down by the sea Lived the beautiful Annabel Leo," J quoted, sotto voce. * And what very remarkable feet had she I' added Raymond, improvising under the inapiration of certain shoes, scow-like in shape, gigantic in length and breadth, which had make them- selves visible at the top round of the ladder. At length the snabby old boat got under way, and we fol- lowed in its path, turning off to the right through a network of channels, now pulling ourselves along by the reeds, now paddling over a raft of lily-pads, now poling through a wind- ing labyrinth, and now rowing with broad sweeps across the little lake. The sun was sinking, and the western skv grew ST. CLAIR FLATS. 61 "bright at his coming ; there was not a cloud to piake mountain- peaks on the horizon, nothing but the level earth below meet- ing the curved sky above, so evenly and clearly that it seemed as though we could go out there and touch it with our hands. Soon we lost sight of the little lighthouse ; then one by one the distant sails sank down and disappeared, and we werejleft alone on the grassy sea, rowing toward the sunset. ^i * We must have come a mile or two, and there is no sign ol a house,' I called out to our guide. * Well, I don't pretend to know how far it is, exactly,' re- plied Liakim ; * we don't know how far anything is here in the Flats, we don't.' * But. are you sure you know the way f * O my, yes ! We 've got most to the boy. There it is !' The * boy* was a buoy, a fragment of plank painted white, part of the cabin-work of some wrecked steamer. * Now, then,' f.aid Liakim, pausing, * you jest go straight on in this here channel till you come to the ninth run from this boy, on ihe right ; take that, and it will lead you right up to Waiting St^muel's door.' * Are n't yoa coming with us V ' Well, no. In the^first place, Rosabel Lee will be waiting supper for me, and she don't like to wait ; and, besides, Sam- uel can't abide to see none of us round his part of the Flats.' * But—' I began, * Let Mm go,' interposed Raymond ; * we can find the house without trouble.' ' id he tossed a silver dollar to the little man, who was already turning his boat. * Thank you,' said Liakim, * Be sure you take the ninth run and no other, — the ninth run from this boy. Jf you make any mistake, you '11 find yourselves miles away.' With this cheerful statement, he began to row back. I did not altogether fancy beiag left on the watery waste without a guide ; the name, too, of our mythic host did not bring up a certainty of supper and bed3. ' Waiting Samuel,' I repeated, doubtfully. ' What is he waiting for f I called back over my shoulder ; for Raymond was rowing. * The judgment-day !' answered Liakim, in a shrill key. The boats were now far apart ; ;ir»other turn, and we wei-e alone. We glided on, counting the runs on the right : some were !:i 1 f 1 y:i 52 ST. CLAIR FLATS. , > 11 wide, promising rivers ; others wee little rivulets ; the eighth vas far away ; and, when we had passed it, we could hardly decide wiiether we had reached the ninth or not, so small was the openii^g, 'so choked with weeds, showing scarcely a gleam of water be7ond when we stood up to inspect it. * It is certainly the ninth, and I vote chat we try it. It will do as well as another, and I for one, am in no hurry to arrive anywhere,' said Raymond, pushing the boat in among the reeds. * Do you want to lose yourself in this wilderness f I asked, making a flag of my handkoichief to mark the spot where we ,had left the main stream. ' I think we a/e lost already,' was the calm reply. I began to fear we were. For some distance the ' run,' as Liakim called it, continued choked with aquatic vegetation, which acted like so many devil-fish catching our oars ; at length it widened and gradual- ly gave us a clear channel, albeit so winding and erratic that the glow of the sunset, our only beacon, seemed to be executing a waltz all round the horizon. At length we saw a dark spot on the left, and distinguished the outline of a low house. * There it is,' I said, plying my oars with renewed strength. But the run turned short off in the opposite direction, and the house disappeared. After some time it rose again, this time , on our right, but once more the run t.irned its back and shot off on a tangent. The sun had gone, and the rapid twilight of September was falling around us ; the air, however, m%s singu- larly clear, and, as there was absolutely nothing to make a shadow, the darkness came on evonly over the level green. I w is growing anxious, when a third time the house appeared, hilt the wilful run passed by it, although so near that we could distinguish its open windows and door, * Why not get out an I wade across?' I suggested. * According to Liakiui, it is tlw^ duty of this run t'> take us to the very door of Waiting Samuers mansion, and it sliall take us,' said Raymond, rowing on. It did. Doubling upon itself in the most unexpected manner, it brought us back to a little island, where the tall grass had given way to a vegetable-garden. We landed, secured our boat, and walked up the pathway toward the house. In the dusk it seemed to be a low, square structure, built of planks covered with plaster ; the roof was flat, the windows unusually WP ST. CLAIR FLATS. 63 broad, the door stood open, — but no one appeared. We knock- ed. A voice from within called out, * Who are you, and what do you want with Waiting Samuel T ' Pilgrims, asking for food and shelter,' replied Raymond.* ' Do you know the ways of righteousness V * We can learn them.' , * Wo can learn them,' I echoed. * Will you conform to the rules of this household without murmuring 1* * We will.' * Enter then and peace be with you !' said the voice drawinS nearer. We ste[)ped cautiously throiigh the dark passage into a room, whose open windows let in sufficient twilight to show us a shadowy figure. ' Seat youi'selves,' it said. We found a bench, and sat down. * What seek ye here f continued the shadow. * Rest !' replied Raymond. ' Hunting and fishing !' I added. ' Ye will find more than rest,' said the voice, ignoring me altogether (I am often ignored in this way), — ' more than rest, if ye stay long enough, and learn of the hidden treasures. Are you willing co seek for them V ' Certainly !' said Raymond, ' Where shall we dig V ' I speak 11 ot of earthly diggnig, young man. Will you give me the cbai^c of your souls f ' Certainly, if you will also take charge of our bodies.* ' Supper, for instance,' I said, again coming to the front ; ' and beds.' The shadow groaned ; then it called out wearily, * Roxana .'' ' Yes, Samuel,' replied an answering voice, and a second shai dow became diuily visible on the threshold. ^ The woman will attend to your earthly concerns,' said Waiting Samuel. — * Rox- ana, take them hence.' The second shadow came forward, and, without a word, took our hands and led us along the dark pas- sage like two children, warning us now of a step, now of a tm-n, then of two steps, and finally opeuing a door and ushering us into a fire-lightt'd looui. Peat was burning upon the wide hearth, and a singing kettle hung above it on a crane ; the red glow shone on a rough table, chairs cushioned in bright calico, a loud ticking clock, a few gayly flowered plates and cups on a shelf, shining tins against the plastered wall, and a oat dozing •1 54 ST. CLAIR FLATS. 73^ 'r' VJ i on a bit of carpet in one corner. The cheery domestic sceine, coming alter the wide, dusky Flats, the silence, the darkness, and the mysdcal words of the shadowy Samuel, seemed so real and pleasant that my heart grew light within me. * What a' bright fire T I said. * This is your domain, I sup- pose, Mrs. — Mrs. — ' ' I am not Mrs. ; I am called Roxana,' replied the woman, busying herself at the hearth. ' Ah, you are then the sister of Waiting Samuel, I presume V * No, I am his wife, fast enough ; we were married by th© minister twenty years ago. But that was before Samuel had seen any visions.' * Does he see visions V ' Yes, almost every (ky.' * Do you see them, also ]' * no ; I 'm not like Samuel. He has great gifts, Samuel has ! The visions told us to come here ; we used to live away down in Maine.' * Indeed ! That was a long journey !' * Yes ! And we did n't come straight either. We 'd get to one place and stop, and I'd think we were going to stay, and just get things comfortable, when Samuel would see another vision, and we 'd have to start on. We wandered in that way two or three years, but at last we got here, and something in the Fiats seemed to suit the spirits, and they let us stay.' At this moment, through the half-open door, came a voice. * An evil beast is in this house. Let him depart.* * Do you mean me f said Raymond, who had made himself comfortable in a rocking-chair. . * Nay ; I refer to the four-legged beast,' continued the voice. ' Come forth, Apollyon !' Poor Captain Kidd seemed to feel that he was the person in question, for he hastened under the table with drooping tail and mortified aspect. * Roxana, send forth the beast,' said the voice. The woman put down her dishes and went toward the table ; but I interposed. * If he must go, I will take him,' I said, rising. * Yes ; he must go,' replied Roxana, holding open the d6or. So I ordered out the unwilling Captain, and led hiia into the passageway. \ ST. CLAIR FLATS. 55 ' Out of the house, out of the house,' said Waiting Samuel * His feet may not rest upon this sacred gi-ound. I must take liim hence in the bot.t.* * But where V * Across the channel there is an islet large enough for him ; he shall have food and shelter, but here he cannot abide,' said the man, leading the way down to the boat. The Captain was therefore ferried across, a tent was made for him out of some old mats, food was provided, and, lest he should swim back, he was tethered by a long rope, which al- lowed him to prowl around his domain and take his choice of three runs for drinking-water. With all these advantages, the ungrateful animal persisted in howling dismally as we rowed away. It was company he wanted, and not a * dear little isle of his own* ; but then, he was not by nature poetical. * You do not like dogs V I said, as we leached our strand again. * St. Paul wrote, ' Beware of dogs,' replied Samuel. * But did he mean — ' ' I argue not with unbelievers ; his meaning is clear to me, let that suffice,' said my strange host, turning away and leaving me to find my way back alone. A delicious repast w;as await- ing me. Years have gone by, the world and all its delicacies have been unrolled before me, but the memory of the meals I ate in that little kitchen in the Flats haunts me still. That night it was only fish, potatoes, biicuit, butter, stewed fruit, and cofiee ; but the fish was fresh, and done to the turn of a perfect broil, not burn ; the potatoes were fried to a rare crisp, yet tender perfection, not chippy brittleness ; the biscuits were light, flaked creamily, and brown on the bottom ; the butter freshly churned, without salt ; the fruit, great pears, with their cores extracted, standing whole on their dish, ready to melt, but not melted ; and the colfee clear and strong, with yellow cream and the old-fashioned, unadulterated loaf-sugar. We ate. That does not express it ; we devoured. Roxana waited on us, and warmed up into something like excitement under our pmises. * I do like good cooking,' she confessed. ' It 's about all I have left of my old life. I go over to the mainland for sup- plies, and in the winter I try all kinds of new things to pass away the time. But Samuel is a poor eater, he is j and sw rill 'HI I •i' rl w 66 ST. CLAIR FLATS. there is n't much comfort in it. I'm mighty glad you *ve come, and I'hope you '11 stay as long as you find it pleasant.' This we promised to do, as we finishe J the potatoes and attacked the gi-eat jellied pears. ' Ther^ 's one thing, though,' continued Eoxana ; * you *11 have to come to our service on the roof at sunrise.' * What service f I asked. 'The invocation. Dawn is a holy time, Samuel says, and we always wait for it ; ' before the morning watch,' you know, — it says so in the Bible. Why, my name means ' the dawn,' Samuel says ; that's the reason he gave it to me. My real name, down in Maine, was Maria, — Maria Ann.* ' But I may not wake in time,' I said. 'Samuel' will call you.* And if, in spite of that, I should sleep over V * You would not do that ; it would vex him,' replied Boxana calmly. * Do you believe in these visions, madam V asked Raymond, as we left the table, and seated ourselves in front of the dying iire. * Yes,' said Roxana ; emphasis was unnecessary, of course she believed. * Almost every day there is a spiritual presence, but it does not always speak. They come and hold long conversations in the winter, when there is nothing else to do ; that I think is very kind of them, for in the summer Samuel can fish and his time is more occupied. There were fisherman in the Bible, you know ; it is a holy calling.' * Does Samuel ever go over to the mainland f ' No, he never leaves the Flats. 1 do all the business ; take over the fish, and buy the supplies. I bought all our cattle,' said Eoxana, with pride. * I poled them away over here on a raft, one by one, when they were little things.' * Where do you pasture them V *Here on the island ; there are only a few acres, to be sure ; but I can cut boat-loads of the best feed within a stone's tlirow. If we only had a little more solid ground ! But this island is almost the only solid piece in the Flats.' ' Your butter is certainly delicious.' * Yes, I do my best. It is sold to the steamers and vessels as fast as I make it,' nl ST. CLAIR FLATS. ' You keep yourself busy, I see.' * O, I like to work ; I could'nt get on without it.' * And Samuel V ' He is not like me,' replied Eoxana. ' He has great gifts, Samuel has. I often think how strange it is that I should be the wife of such a holy man ! He is very kind to me, too ; he tells me about, the visions, and all the other things.' ' What things V said Raymond. * The spirits, and the sacred influence of the sun : the fiery triangle, and the thousand years of joy. The great day is coming, you know ; Samuel is waiting for it.' * Nine of the night. Take thou thy rest. I will lay me down in peace, and sleep, for it is thou, Lord, only, that makest me dwell in, safety,' chanted a voice in the hall ; the tone was deep and not without melody, and the words singular- ly impressive in that still, remote place. * Go,' said Roxana, instantly pushing aside her half-washed dishes. * Samuel will take you to your room.' * Do you leave your work unfinished f I said, with some cu- riosity, noticing that she had folded her hands without even hanging up her towels. * We do nothing after the evening chant,' she said. ' Pray go ; he is waiting.' * Can we have candles V * Waiting Samuel allows no false lights in his house ; as im- itations of the glorious sun, they are abominable to him. Go, I beg.' She opened the door, and we went into the passage ; it was entirely dark, but the man led us across to our room, showed us the position of our beds by sense of feeling, and left us with- out a word. After he had gone, we struck marches, one by one, and, with the aid of their uncertain light, managed to get into our respective mounds in safety ; they were shake-downs on the floor, made of fragrant ^lay instead of straw, covered with beautifully clean white sheets and patchwork coverlids, and provided with large, luxurious pillows. O pillow ! Has any one sung thy praises 1 When tired or sick, when dis- couraged or sad, what gives so mn.-h comfort as a piUow 1 Not your curled hair brickbats ; not your stitF, fluted, rasping covers, or limp cotton cases ; but a goocl generous, soft pillow, deftly cased in smooth, cool, untrimmcd linen ! There 's a friend for M .f « I M l"*v 58 ST. CLAIR FLATS. you, a friend who ' changes not, a friend who soothes all your troubles with a soft caress, a mesmeric touch of balmy forgetful- ness. I slept a dreamless sleep. Then I heard a voice borne toward me as if coming from far over a sea, the waves bringing it nearer and nearer. ' Awake !' it cried ; * awake ! The night is far spent ; the day is at hand. Awake !' I wondered vaguely over this voice as to what manner of voice it might be, but it came again, and again, and finally I awoke to find it at ray side. The gray light of dawn came through the open windows, and Raymond was already up, en- gaged with a tub of water and crash towels. Again the chant sounded in my earS. 'Very well, very well,* I said, testily. *But if you sing before breakfast you'll cry before night. Waiting Samuel.' Our host had disappeared, however, without hearing my flip- pant speech, and slowly I rose from my fragrant couch ; the room was empty save for our two mounds, two tubs of water, and a number of towels hanging on nails. * Not overcrowded with furniture,* I remarked. * From Maine to Florida, from Massachusetts to Missouri, have I travelled, and never before found water enough,' said Raymond. * If waiting for the judgment day raises such lib- eral ideas of tubs and towels, I would that all the hotel-keepers in the land could be convened here to take a lesson.' Our green hunting-clothes were soon donned, and we went out into the hall ; a flight of broad steps led up to the roof; Roxana appeared at the top and beckoned us thither. We as* cended, and found ourselves on the flat roof. Samuel stood with his face toward the east and his arms outstretched, watch- ing the horizon ; behind was Roxana, with her hands clasped on her breast and her head bowed : thus they waited. The eastern sky was bright with golden light ; rays shot upward toward the zenith, where the rose-lights of dawn were retreat- ing down to the west, which still lay in the shadow of night ; there was not a soimd ; the Flats stretched out dusky and still. Two or three minutes passed, and then a dazzling rim appeared above the horizon, and the first gleam of sunshine was shed over the level earth ; simultaneously the two began a ohant, p^i 4 ST. CLA.IR FLATS. 59 «imple as a Gregorian, but rendered in correct full tones. The words, apparently, had been collected from the Bible :— '* The heavens declare the glory of God — Joy Cometh in the morning ! In them is laid out the path of the aun — Joy cometh in the morning I As a bridrgroom goeth he forth ; As a strong man runneth his race, Tbe outgoings of the morning Praise thee, O Lord f Like a pelican in the wilderness, Like a sparrow upon the house top, I T ">,it for the Lord. It is good that we hope and wait, Wait —wait. The chant over, the two stood a moment silently, aa if in contemplation, and then descended, passing us without a word or sign, with their hands clasped before them as though forming part of an unseen procession. Raymond and I were left alone upon the house-top. ' After all, it is not such a bad opening for a day ; and there is the pelican of the wilderness to emphasize it,' I said, as a heron flew up from the water, ani, slowly flapping his great wings, sailed across to another channel. As the sun rose high- er, the birds begpu to sing ; first a single note here and there, then a little trilL.ig solo, and finally an outpouring of melody on all sides, — land-birds and water-birds, birds that lived in the Flats, and birds that had flown thither for breakfast, — the whole waste was awake and rejoicing in the sunshine. * What a wild place it is*!' said Rtiymond. * IIow boundless it looks ! One hill in the distance, one dark line of forest, even one tree, would break its charm. T have seen the ocean, I have seen the prairies' I have seen the great desert, but this is like a mixture of the three. It is an ocean full of land, — a prairie full of water, — a desert full of verdure.' ' Whatever it is, we shall Ail . in it fishing and aquatic hunt- ing to our hearts' content,' I answered. And we did. After a- breakfast delicious as the sup})er, we took our boat and a lunch-b isket, and set out. * But how shall we ever find our w'ay back V I said, pausing hs I recalled the -f J I I 60 ST. CLAIE FLATS. network of runs, and the will-o'-the-wisp as|)ect of the house, the previous evening. * There is no other way but to take a large ball of cord with you, fasten one end on shore, and let it run out over the stern of the boat,' said Roxana. * Let it run out loosely, and it will floac on the water. When you want to come back you can turn around and wind it in as you come. / can read the i lats like a book, but they're very blinding to most people ; and \ ou might keep going round in a circle. You will do bettej- not to go far, anyway. I '11 wind the bugle on the roof an hour before sunset ; you can start back when you hear it ; for it 's aw kward getting supper afte]' dark.' With this musical promise we took the clew of twine sv'hich Roxana rigged for us in the stein of our boat, and started away, first releasing Captain Kidd, who was pacing his islet m sullen majesty, like another Napoleon on St. Helena. We took a new channel and passed behind the house, where the impoi*ted cattle were feeding in their little pasture ; but the winding streaii? soon bore us away, the house sank out of sight, and we were left alone. We had tine sport thtxt morning among the ducks, — wood, teal, and canvas-back, — shooting from behind our screens woven of rushes ; later in the day we took to fishing. The sun shone down, but there was a cool September breeze, and the freshness of the verdure was like early spring. At noon we took our lunch and a siesta among the water-liliea. When we awoke we found that a bittern had taken up his position near by, and was surveying us gi-avely : — " 'The moping bittern, motionless and stiflf, That on a etone so silently and stilly Stands, an apparent sentinel, as if To guard the water-lily,' " quoted Raymond. The solemn bird, in his dark uniform, seemed quite undisturbed by our presence ; yellow-throats arvd swamp-sparrows also came in numbers to have a look at us ; and the fish swam up to the surface and eyed us curiously. Lying at ease in the boat, we in our turn looked down into the water. There is a singular fascination in looking down into a clear stream as the boat iloats above ; the mosses and twining water-plants seem to have arbors and grottoes in their recesses, where delicate marine creatures might live, naiads and mer- ST. CLAIR FLATS. 61 maids of miniature size ; at least we are always looking for them. There is a fancy, too, that one may find something, — a ring dro])i)ed from fair tingera idly trailing in the water ; a book which the fishes have rea . thoroughly ; a scarf caught among the lilies ; a spoon with unknown initials ; a drenched ribbon, or an embroidered handkerchief. None of these things did we find, but we did discover an old brass breastjun, whose probable glass stone was gone. It was a paltry trinket at best, but I fished it out with superstitious care, — a treasure-trove of the Flats. ' "Drowned," ' I said, pathetically, * " drowned in her white robes — " ' ' And brass breastpin,' added Raymond, who objected to sen- timent, true or false. * You Philistine ! Is nothiixg sacred to you V ' Not brass jewelry, certainly.' ' Take some lilies and consider them,' I said, plucking several of the queenly blossoms floating along-side. "Cleopatra art thou, regal blossom, ^ Floating in thy galley down the Nile, — All my soul does homage to thy splendor, All my heart grows warmer in thy smile ; Yet thou smilest for thine own grand pleasure, Caring not for all the world beside, As in insolence of perfect heauty, Sailest thou in silence down the tide. " Loving, humble rivei:- all pursue thee, Wafted are their kisses at thy feet ; Fiery sun himself cannot sulxlue thee, Calm thou smilest through his raging heat ; Naught to thee the earth's great crowd of blossoms, Naught to thee the rosf; -queen on her tlirone ; Haughty empress of the summer waters, Li vest thou, and diest, all alone." This from Raymond. ' Whore did you find that T I asked. * It is my own.' ' Of course ! I might have knoN\ ii it. There is a certain rawness of style and versification which — * 'That's right,' interrupted Raymond; 'I know just what you are going to say. The whole matter of opinion is a game of * lollow-ray leader' ; not one of you d.-^res admire anything ft 4i Ii 62 ST. CLAIR FLATS. \ " 1 *' I! M n 1. unless the critics say so. If I had told you the verses were by Boiuebody instead ot a nobody, you would have found wonder- ful beauties in them.' * Exactly. My motto is, * Never read anything unless it is by a somebody.' For, don't you see, that a nobody, if he is worth anything, will grow into a somebody, and, it he is n't worth 'anything you will have saved your time !* * But it is not merel^r a question ot growing,' said Raymond ; 'it is a question of critics.' * No ; there you are mistaken. All the critics in the world can neither make nor crush a true poet.' ' What is poetry f said Raymond, gloomily. At this comprehensive question, the bittern gaye a hollow croak, and flew away with his long legs tiailing behind him. Probably he wus not of an ajsthetic turn of mind, and dreaded lest 1 should give a ramified answer. Through the afternoon we fished when the fancy struck us, but most of the time we floated idly, enjoying the wild free- dom of the watery waste. We watched the infinite varieties of the glasses, feathery, lance-leaved, tufted, drooping, banner- like, the deer's tongue, the wild-celery, and the so-called wiid- rice, besides many unknown beauties delicately fringed, as dif- ficult to catch and hold as thistle-down. There were plants journeying to and fro on the water like nomadic tribes of the desert ; there were fleets of green leaves floating down the cur- lent 3 and now and then we saw a wonderful flower with scar- let beU" but could never approach near enough to touch it. At L-igth, the distant sound of the bugle came to us on the breeze, and 1 slowly wound in the clew, directing Raymond as he pushed the boat along, backing water with the oars. The sound seemed to come from every direction. There was nothing for it to echo against, but, in place of the echo, we heard a long, dying cadence, which sounded on over the Flats fainter and fainter in a sweet, slender note, until a new tone broke forth. The music floated aiound us, now on one side, now on the other j if it had been our only guide, we should have been completely bewildered. But I wound the cord steadily ; and at last suddenly, there before us, appeared the house with Rox- ana on the roof, her figure outlined against the sky. Seeing us, she played a final salute, and then descended, carrjdng the imprisoned music with her. ST. CLAIR FLATS. «S That night we had our supper at sunset. Waiting Samuel liad hia meals by himself in the fiont room. ' So that in case the spirits come, I shall not be there to hinder them/ explained Boxana. * ' I am not holy, like Samuel ; they will not speak before me.' * Do you have your meals apart in the winter, also V asked Raymond. * Yes.' . * That is not very sociable,' I said, ' Samuel never was sociable,' replied Roxana. ' Only com- mon folks are sociable ; but he is different. He has great gifts, Samuel has.' The meal over, we went up on the roof to smoke our cigars in the open air ; when the sun had disappeared and his glory had darkened into twilight, our host joined us. He was a tall man, wasted and gaunt, with piercing dark eyes and dark hair, tinged with gray; hanging down upon his shoulders. (Why is it that long hair on the outside is almost always the sign of something wrong in the inside of a man's head 1) He wore a black robe like a priest's cassock, and on his head a black skull- cap like the Fauat of the operatic stage. * Why were the Flats called St, CJaii- V I said ; for there is something fascinating to me in the unknown history of the West. ' There is n't any,' do you say 1 you I mean, who ai'e strong in the Punic wars ! you, too, who are so well up in Gre- cian mythology. But there is history, only we don't know it. The stoiy of Lake Huron in the tilne of the Pharaohs, the story of the Mississippi during the reign of Belshazzar, would be worth hej- ring. But it is lost ■? All we can do is to gather together the details of our *era, — the era when Columbus came to this New World, which was, nevertheless, as old as the world he left behind. *It was in 1679,' began Waiting Samuel, *that La Salle sailed up the Detroit River in his little vessel of sixty tons bur- den, called the Griffin. He was accompanied by thii-ty-four men, mostly fur-traders ; but there were among them two holy monks, and Father Louis Hennepin, a friar of the Franciscan order. They passed up the river and entered the little lake just south of us, crossing it and these Elats on the 12th of Au- gust, which is St. Clair's day. Struck with the gentle beauty 1 U s ,1 < 'I 64 ST. CLAIR FLATS. of the scene, they named the waters after their saint, and at sunset sang a Te Deum in her honor.' ' An^l who was Saint Clair V * Saint Clair, virgin and abbess, born in Italy, in 1193, made superior of a convent by the great Francis, and canonized for her distinguished virtues,' said Samuel, as though reading from an encycbpsedia. ' Are yoa a Roman Catholic ?' asked Raymond. ' I am everything ; all sincere faith is sacred to me,' I'eplied the man. * It is but a question of names.' 'Tell us of your religion, said Raymond, thoughtfully ; for in religions R,aymond was something of a polyglot. * You would fiear of va'y faith ? Well, so be it. Your ques- tion is the work of spirit influence. Listen, then. The great Creator has sowed im^nensity with innumerable systems of suns. In one of these systems a sjnrit forgot that he was a limited, subordinate being, and misused his freedom ; how, we know not. He fell, and with him all his kind. A new race A^'as then created tor the vacant world, and, according to the fixed purpose of the Creator, each was left free to act for him- self ; he loves not mere machines. The fallen spiiit, envying the new creature called man, tempted him to sin. What was hi^ sin ? Simply the giving up of his birthright, the divine soul-sparkle, for an earthly pleasure. The triune divine deep, the mysterious fiery triangle, which, to our finite mind.s, best represents the Deity, now withdrew his personal presence ; the e^-^ments, their balance brojfen, stormed upon man ; his body, wLieli was once ethereal, moving by. mere volition, now grew heavy ; and it was also appointed unto him to die. The race thus daikened, crippled, and degenerate, sank almost to the level of brutes, the mind-fire alone remaining of all their spiri- tual gifts. They lived on blindly, and as blindly died. The sun, however, wiis left 'to them, a type of what they had lost. * At length, in the fulness of time, the world-day of four thou- sand years, which was appointed by the council in lieaven for the regiving of the divine and forieited soul-sparkle, as on the fourth day of creation the great sun was given, there came to eerth the earth's compassionate Saviour, who took upon him- self our degenerate body, and revivified it with the divine sorl- sparkle, who overcame all our temptations, .ind finally allowed the tindor of our sins to perish in his own paijiful death upon ST. CLAIR FLATS, 65 the cross. Through him our pciiaclise body wan restored, it waits ior us on the other side of the gi-ave. He showed us what it was li^-e on Mount Tabor, with it he passed through closed doors, walked uj^wn the water, and nded the elements ; so will it bo with us. Paradise will come again ; this world will, for a thousand years, see its first estate ; it will be again the Garden of Eden. America m the gi-eat escaping-place ; here will the change begin. As it is written, ' Those who es- cape to iny utmost borders.' A.s the time draws near, the spirits who watch above are permitted to speak to those souls who listen. Of these listening, waiting souls am 7 ; refore have I withdrawn myself. The «un himself speal' •. to r-:^, the gieate&t spirit of all ;, each morning I watch for xJn c^'^aiing ; each morning I ask, ' T^. it to-day ]' Thus do I wait.' * Ajid how long have you been waiting V I asked. ' I know not ; time is nothing to Die. ' * Is the great day near at hand V said Raymond. * Almost at its dawning ; the last days are passing.' * How do you know this T ' The spirits tell me. xlbide here, and i^erhaps they will speak to you also,' replied Waiting Samuel. We male no answer. Twilight iiad darkened into night, and the Flats had mi\k into silence below us. After some moments I turned to speak to our host ; but, noiselessly as one of his own spirits, he had departed. * A strange mLvture of Jacob Bojhraen, ehiliastic dreams, Christianity, sun-wf>rsldp, ftnd niodera spiiitu^Iifem,' I said. ' Much learning hath made the Maine farmer mad.' ' Is he mad ]' said Raymond. ' SometimoH I think we are all mad.' ' We should certainly become so if we spent our time in speculations upon subjects clearly beyond our reach. The whole race of philosophers from Plato down are all the time going round in a circle. As long as we ai-e in the world, I for one propose to keej) ray feet on solid groimd ; especially as we have no wings. 'Abide here, and perhaps the s})iritR will speak to you,' did he say? I think very likely they will, and to such good pur]X)se that you won't have any mind left.' ' After all, why should not spirits speak to us V said Ray- mond, in a musing tone. ;i- t-'Tf 66 ST. CLAIK FLATS. !*-. As he uttered ther»e words the mocking laugh of a loon came across the dark waste. * The very loons are laughing at you/ I said, rising. * Come down ; there is a chill in the air, composed in equal parts of the Flats, the night, and Waiting Samuel. Come down, man y come down to the warm kitchen and common- sense. We found Roxana alone by the firt , whose glow was refresh- ingly real and warm ; it was like the touch of a flesh-and-blood hand, after vague dreamings of spirit-companions, cold and in* tangible at best, with the added suspicion that, after all, they are but creations of our own fancy, and even their spirit-nature fictitious. Prime, the graceful raconteur who got^a a-fishing, says, * firelight is as much of a polisher in-doors as moonlight outside.' It is ; but with a different result. The moonlight polishes everything into romance, the firelight into comfort. We brought up two remarkably easy old chairs in front of the hearth and sat down, Raymond still adrift with his wandering thoughts, I, as usual, making talk out of the present. Roxana sat opposite, knitting in hand, the cat purring at her feet. She was a slender woman, with faded light hair, insignificant fea- tures, small dull blue eyes, and a general aspect which, with every desire to state at its best, I can only call commonplace. Her gown was limp, her hands roughened with work, and there was no collar aroimd her yellow tlu-oat. magic rim of white, great is thy power ! With theo, man is civilized ; without thee, he becomes at once a savage. ' I am out of pork,' remarked Roxana, casually ; ' I must go over to the mainland to-morrow and get some.' If it had been anything but pork ! In truth, the word did not chime with the mystic conversation of Waiting Samuel. Yes ; there was no doubt about it. Roxana's mind was sadly commonplace. ' See what I have foimd,' I said, after a while, taking out the old breastpin. ' The stone is gone ; but who knows ] It might have been a diamond dropped by some French duchess, exiled,^ and fleeing for life across these far Western waters ; or perhaps that German Princess of Bnmswick-Wolfen-something-or-other, who, about one hundred years ago, was dead and buried in Russia, and travelling in America at the same time, a sort of a female wandering Jew, who has been done up in stories ever since.' ST. CLAIR FLATS. •67 (The other day, in Bret Harte's * Melons,' I saw the follow- ing : ' The singular conflicting conditions of John Brown's body and soul were, at that time, beginning to attract the attention of American youth.' That is good, is n't if? Well, at the time I visited the Flats, the singular conflicting conditions of the Princess of Brunswick-Wolfen-something-or-other had, for u long time, haunted me.) Roxana's small eyes were near-sighted ; she peered at the empty setting, but said nothing. ' It is water-logged,* I continued, holding it up in the fire- light, ' and it hath a brassy odor ; nevertheless, I feel convinced that it belonged to the princess.' Roxana leaned forward and took the trinket ; I lifted up my arms and gave a mighty stretch, one of those enjoyable length- enings-out which belong only to the healthy fatigue of country life. When I drew myself in again, I was surprised to see Roxana's features w^orking, and her rough hands trembling, as she held the battered setting. - * It was mine,' she said ; * my dear old cameo breastpin that Abby gave me when I was married. I saved it and saved it, and would n't sell it, no m-fire was a gloi'ious one.. We lay stretched on our blankets, smoking .md watching the glow. ' I wonder, now, who built the old shanty,' I said in a musing tone. * Well,' replied Reuben, slowly, ' if you really want to know, I will tell ycu. I did.' ' You I' ' Yes.' * You did n't do it alone V * N*o ; there were about forty of us.* * Here V * Yes ; here at Little Fishing;' ' Little Fishing V * Yes ; Little Fishing Island. That is the name of the place.' * How long ago was this ]' ' Thirty years.' * * Hunting and trapping, I suppose V * Yes ; for the Nortl .\^est and Hudson Bay Companies.' * W IS n't a meeting house an unusual acccompaniment V * Most unusual.' * Accounted for in this case by — ' 'A woman.' « Ah !' I said in a tone of relish ; then of course there is a story V ' There is.' ' Out with it, comrade. I scarcely expected to find the womm and her story up here ; but since the irrepressible crea- ture would come, out with her by all means. She shall grace our last pipe together, the last timber of our meeting-house, our last night on Little Fishing. The dawn will see us far from each other, to meet no more this side heaven. Speak then, O comrade mine ! T am in one of my rare listening moods !' I stretched uyaolf at ease and waited, ileuben was a long time beginning but I was too indolent to urge him. At length he spoke. ' They were & rough set here at Little Fishing, all ihe worse :'1 1^ I Pi 76 THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHINO. 'W i:' ft I" !J .1'! for being all white men ; most of the other camps were full of half-breeds and Indians. The island had been a station away back in the early days of the Hudson Bay Company ; it was a station for the Northwest Company while that lasted ; then it went back to the Hudson, aud stayed there until the company moved its forces farther to the north, It was not at any time a regular post ; only a cauip for the hunteis. The j)ost was farther down the lake. 0, but those were wild tlays ! You think you know the wilderness, boy , but you know notliing, absolutely notliing. It makes me laugh to see the airs of you city gentlemen with your tine guns, improved tishing-tackle, elaboiato piinipherualiu, as though you were going to wed the whole forest, floating up and down the lake for a month or two in the summer ! You should have seen the hunters of Little Fishiug going out gayly when the mercury was down twenty degrees below zero, for a week in the woods. You should have seen the trappei'S wading through the hard snow, breast high^ in the gray dawn, visiting the traps and hauling home the prey. Then were all kinds of men here, Scotch, French, English, and American ; all classes, the high and the low, the educated and the ignorant ; all sorts, the lazy and the hard-working. One thing only they all had in common, — badness. Some had fled to the wilderness to escape the law, others to escape order ; some had chosen the wild life because of its wildness, others had drifted into it from sheer lethargy. This far northern bor- der (lid not attract the plodding emigrant, the respectable set- tler. Little Fishing held none of that trash ; only a reckless set of fellows who carried their lives in their hands, and tossed them up, if need ha without a second thought.' * Anl other people's lives without a third,' I suggested. ' Yes ; if they deserved it. But nobody whined ; there was n't any nonsense here. The men went hunting and trap- pin v,, got the furs ready for the bateaux, ate when they were huiigi}, drank when they were thirsty, slept when they were sl< opy, played cards when they felt like it, and got angry and knot Red each other down whenever they chose. As I said before, there was n't any nonsense at Little Fishing, — until she ■ /\ I) ! the she !' "^Z' s, the Lfidy, — our Lady, as we called her. Thirty-one yosi's !i^o ; how long it seems 1' THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. 77 lof * And well it may,' I said. ' Why, comrade, I vras n't bom then !' This stupendous fact seemed to strike me more than my com- panion ; he went on with his story as thougli I had not spokon. ' One October evening, four of the boys had got into a row over the cards ; the rest of us had come out of our wigwams to see the fun, and were sitting arovind on the stumj)H, chaffing them, and laughing ; the camp-fire was burning in Iront, light- ing up the woods with a red glow for a short distance, and making the rest doubly black all around. There we were, > s I said before, quite easy and comfortable, when suddenly there appeared among us, as though she had dropped from heaven, a i;foman ! * She was tall and slender, the firelight shone full on her pale face and dove-colored dress, her golden hair was folded back under a little white cnp, and a white kerchief lay oVer her shoulders ; she looked 8}»otless. I stared ; I could scarcely believe my eyes ; none of us could. 'J'here was not a white woman west ot the Sault Ste. Marie. The four fellows at the table sat as if transfixed ; one had his partner by the throat, the other two were disputing over a point in the game. The lily lady glided up to their table, gathered the cards in her white hands, slowly, steadily, without pause or trepidation before their astonished eyes, and then, coming back, she threw the cards into the centre of the glowing fire. * Ye shall not play away your souls,' she said in a clear, sweet voice. ' la not the game sin ? And its reward death V And then, imme- diately, she gave us a sermon, the like of which was never heard before ; no argument, no doctrine, just simple, pure en- treaty. * For the love of God,' she ended, stretching out her hands toward our silent, gazing gi'oup, — * for the love of God, ray brotheis, try to do better.'' * We did try*; but it was not for the love of God. Neither did any of us feel like brothers, ' She did not give any name ; we called her simply our Lady, and she acce[)ted the title. A bundle carefully packed in birch- bark was found on the beach. * Is this vours T asked black Andy. * It is,' replied the Lady ; and removing his hat, the black- haired giant carried the package reverently inside iier lodge. . For we had given her our best wigwam, and fenced it oflT with ♦ .cl 78 THE LADY OF LITTLE FISfllNG. ! i II f i > pine saplings so that it looked like a miniature fortress. The Lady did not suggest this stockade ; it was our own idea, and Vith one accord we worked at it like beavers, and Lung up a gate with a ponderous bolt inside. * Mais, ze can nevare farsen eet wiz her leetle fingares,* said Frenchy, a sallow little wretch with a tuin fcr handicraft ; sa he contrived a small spring which shot the bolt into place with a touch. The Lady lived in her fortress ; three times a day the men carried lood to her door, and, after tapping gently, withdrew again, stumbling over each other in theii haste. The Flying Dutchman, a stolid Holland-born sailor, was our best cook, and the pans and kettles were generally left to him ; but now all wanted to try their skill, and the results were extra-, ordinary. ' She 's nevei touched that pudding, now,' said Nightingale Jack, discontentedly, as his concoction of berries and paste came back ti-om the fortress door. * She will starve soon, I think,' remarked the Doctor, calmly 3 ' tc my certain knowledge she has not had an eatable meal for four days.' And he lighted a fresh pipe. This was an aside, and the men pretended not to hear it j but the pans were relin- quished to the Dutchman from that time forth, * The Lady wore always her dove-colored lobe, and little white cap, through whose muslin we could see the glimmer of her golden hair. She came and went among us like a spirit ; bLv. knew no fear ; she turned our life inside out, nor shrank from its vileness. It seemed as though she was not of earth, BO utterly impersonal was her interest in us, so heavenly her pity. She took up our sins, one by one, as an angel might ; she pleaded with us for our own lost souls, she spared us not, she held not back one grain of denunciation, one iota of future punishment. Sometimes, for days, we would not see her ; then, at twilight, she would glide out among us, and, standing In the • light ot the camp-fire, she would preach to us as though inspi- red. We listened to her ; I do not mean that we were one whit better at heart, but still we listened to her, always. It was a wonderful sight, that lily face under the pine-trees, thai; sjjotless woman standing alone in the glare of the fire, while around her lay forty evil-minded, lawless men, not one of whom but would have killed his neighbor foi ao much as a disrespect- ful thought of her. THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. 7^ ' So strange was her coming, so almost supernatural her ap- pearance in this far forest, that we never wondered over its cause, but simply accepted it as a sort of miracle ; your thorough- ly irreligious men are always superstitious. Not one of us woulu have asked a question, and we should never have known her story had she not herself told it to us; not ira mediately, not as though it was of any importance, but quietly, briefly, and candicily as a child. She came, she said, from Scotland, with a band of God's people. She had always been in one house, a religious institution of some kind, sewing for the poor when her strength allov/ed it, but generally ill, and suffering much from pain in her head ; often kept under the influence of soothing medicines for days together. She had no father or mother, she was o^ Jy one of this band ; and when they decided to send out missionaries to America, she begged to go, although but a burden ; the sea voyage restored her health ; she giew, she said, in strength and in grace, and her heart was as the heart of a lion. Word came to her from on high that she should come up into the northern lake-country and preach the gospel there ; the band were going to the verdant prairies. She left them in the night, taking nothing but her clothing ; a friendly veg ^el carried her north ; she had preached the go&pel everywhere. At the Sault the priests had driven her out, but nothing fearing, she went on into the wilderness, and so, coming part of the way in canoes, part of the wr v along-shore, she had reached our far island. Marvellous kindness had she met with, she said ; the Indians, the half-breeds, the hunters, and the trappers had all received her, and helped her on her way froDi camp to cauip. They had listened to her words also. At Por- tage they had begged her to stay through the >\* inter, and of- fered to build her a little church for Sunday services. Our men looked at each other. Portage was the worst camp on. the lake, notorious for its fights ; it -was a mining settlement. ' But I told them I must journey on toward the west,' con- tinued our Lady. * I am called to visit ev4^ry camp on this shore before winter sots in ; I must soon leave you also.' ^ The men looked at each other again ; the Doctor wa» spokesman. * But, my Lady,' he said * the next post is Fort William, two hundred and thirty-Hve miles away on the north shore.' ' It is almost November ; the snow will soon be six and ten. 80 THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. r 4 :\ n V. i-' feet deep. The Lady could never travel through it, — could she now f said Black Andy, who had begun eagerly, but in his em- barrassment at the sound of his own voice, now turned to Frenchy and kicked him covertly into answering. * Nevare !' replied the Frenchman ; he had intended to place his hand upon his heart to give emphasis to his word, but the Lady turned her calm eyes that way, and his gi'imy paw fell, its gallantry wilted. * I thought there was one more camp, — at Burntwood River,* said our Iiady in a musing tone. The men looked at each other a third time ; there was a camp there, and they all knew it. But the Doctor was equal to the emergency. ' That camp, my Lady,' he said gravely, — * that camp no longer exists !- Then he whispered hurriedly to the rest of us, ' It will be an easy job to clean it out, boys. "We '11 eend over a party to-night ; it 's only thirty-five miles.' ' We recognized superior genius ; the Doctor was our oldest and aeepest sinner. But what struck us most was his anxiety to make good his lie. Had it then come to this, — that the Doctor told the truth V ' The next day we all went to work to build our Lady a church ; in a week it was completed. There goes its last cross- beam now into the fire ; it was a solid piece of work, was n't it ? It has stood this climate thirty years. I remember the first Sunday service : we all washed, and dressed ourselves in the best we had ; we scarcely knew each other we were so fine. The Lady was pleased with the church, but yet she had not said she would stay all winter ; we were still anxious. How she preached to us that day ! We had made a screen of young spruces set in boxes, and her figure stood out against the dark green background like a thing of light. Her silvery voice rang through the log-temi)le, her face seemed to us like a star. She had no color in her cheeks at any time ; her dress, too, was colorless. Although gentle, there was an iron inflexibility about her slight, erect form. We felt, as we saw her standing there, that if need be she would walk up to the cannon's mouth, with a smile. She took a little book from her pocket and read to us a hymn, — ' O come, all ye faithful,' the old ' Ad- este Fideles,' Some of us knew it ; she sang, and gradually, shamefacedly, voices joined in. It was a sight to see Nightin- gale Jack solemnly singing away about * choirs of angels' ; but THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. 81 it was a treat to hear him, too, — wliat a voice lie had ! Then our Lady prayed, kneeling down on the little platform in front of tho evergreens, clasping her hands, and lifting her eyes to heaven. We did not know what to do at first, but the Doctor gave us a severe look and bent his head, and we all followed his lead. * When service was over and the door opened, we found that it had been snowing ; we could not see out through the win- dows because white cloth was nailed over them in place of glass. ' Now, my Lady, you will have to stay with us,' said the Doctor. We all gathered around with eager faces. * Do you really believe that it will be for the good of your souls f asked the sweet voice. ' The Doctor believed — for us all. ' Do you really hope T . ' The Doctor hoped. " Will you try to do your best T ' The Doctor was sure he would. ' I will,' answered the Flying Dutchman, earnestly. * I moost not fry de meat any more ; I inoost broil I' Y ' For we had begged him for months to broil, and he had ob- stinately refused ; broil represented the good, and fry the evil, to his mind ; he came out for the good according to his light ; but none the less did we fall upon him behind the Lady's hack, and cuff him into silence. ' She stayed with us all winter. You don't know what the winters are iip here ; steady, bitter cold for se^-en months, ther- mometer always below, the snow dry as dust, the air like a knife. We built a compact chimney for our Lady, and we cut cords of wood into small, light sticks, easy for her to lift, and stacked them in her shed ; we lined her lodge with skins, and we made oil from bear's fat and rigged up a kind of lamp for her. We tried to make candles, I remember, but they would not run straight ; they came out humpbacked and sidling, and burned themselves to wick in no time. Then we took to im- proving the town. We had lived in all kinds of huts and lean- to shanties ; now nothing would do but regular log-hotises. If it had been summer, I don't know what we might not have run to in the way of jiiazzas and fancy steps ; but with the snow five feet deep, all we could accomplish was a plain, square log- ill 82 THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. house, and even that took our whole force. The only way to keep the peace was to have all the houses exactly alike ; we laid out the three streets, anji built the houses, all facing the meiting-house, just as you found them.' * And where was the Lady's lodge ?' I asked, for I recalled no stockaded fortress, large or small. My companion hesitated a moment. Then he said abruptlyy * it was tor n down.' * Tom down !' I repeated. ' Why, what — ' Reuben waved his hand with a gesture that silenced me, and went on with his story. It came to me then for the fii-st time, that he was pursuing the current of his own thoughts rather than entertaining me. I turned to look at him with a new interest. I had ' ,lked to him for two weeks, in rather a patron- izing way ; ^ aid it be that affaii-s were now, at this last mo- ment, reversed 1 * It took us almost all winter to build those houses,' pursued Keuben. * At one time we negleoied the hunting and trapping to such a degree, that the Doctor called a meeting and expres- sed his opinion. Ours was a voluntary camp, in a measure, but still we had formally agreed to get a certain amount of skins ready for the bateaux by early spring ; this agreement was about the only real bond of union between us. Those whose houses were not completed scowled at the Doctor. * " Do you suppose I'm gr ^ to live like an Injun when the other fellows has regular hou js ]" inquired Black Andy, with a menacing air. * " By no means,' replied the Doctor, blandly, " My plan is this : build at night." ' " At night ?" ' " Yes ; by the light of pine fires." * W^ did. After that, we faithfully went out hunting and ti-apping as long as daylight lasted, and then, after supper, we built up huge fires of pine logs, and went to Vork on th-_- next house. It was a strange picture 1 the forest deep in snow, black with night, the red glow of the great fires, and our moving figures working on as complacently as though daylight, balmy air, and the best of tools were oura. 'The Lady liked our industry. She said our new houses showed that the " new cleanliness f " v -iinp.r man required a- i i -:iii!s THE LADY 0^ LtTTLE FISHING. 8^ cleaner tabernacle for the outer." I don't know about our in- ner man, but our outer was certainly much cleaner. 'One day the Fhdng Dutchman made one of his unfortunate I'eraarks. " De boys t'inks you'll like dem better in nize houses," he announced when, happening to pass the fortress, he found the Lady standing at her gate gazing at the work of the preceding night. Several of the men were near enough to hear him, but too far off to kick him into silence as usual ; but they glared at him instead. The Lady looked at the speaker with hei- dreamy, far-off eyes'. * " De boys t'inks you like dem," began the Dutchman again, thinking she did not comprehend ; but at that instant he caught the combined glare of the six eyes, and stopped abruptly, not not all knowing what was wrong, but sure there was something. * " Like them," repeated the Lady, dreamily ; " yea I do like them. Nay, more, I love them. THeir souls are as dear to me 83 the souls of brothers." * Say, Frenchy, have you got a sister V said Nightingale Jaok> confidentially, that evening. * Mais oui,' said Frenchy. * You think all creation of her, I suppose V * We fight likf four cats and one dog j she is the cats,' said the Frenchman concisely. * You don't say so !' re- lied Jack. ' Now, I never had a sister, — but I thought perhaps — ' He paused, and the sentence remained unfinished. * The Nightingale and I were housemates. We sat late over our fii'e not long after that ; I gave a gigantic yawi ' This lifting logs half th« night is enough to kill one,' I said, getting out my jug. Sing something. Jack. It's a long time since I 've heard anything but hymns.' 'Jack always went off as easily a» a Ui.sic-box : you only had to wind him up ; the jug was the key. I soon had him in full blast. If J was giving out ' The minute gun at sea, — the min 'te gun at sea,' with all the pathos of his tenor voice, when the door bui-st open and the whole population rushed in upon us. * What do you mean by shouting thes way, in the middle of the night r 84 THE LADY OF TTTLE FISHING. I a 1 ti * Shut up your howling, Jack. * How do you supi)08e any one can sleep ]* * It 's a disgi-ace to the camp !' ' Now then, gentlemen/ I replied, for my blood was up (whis- key, perhaps), * is this my house, or is n't it ? If I want music, I'll have it. Time was when you were not so particular.' ' It was the first word of rebellion. The men looked at each other, then at me. * I'll go and ask her if she objects,' I continued, boldly. * No, no. You shall not.* ' Let him go,' said the Doctor, who stood smoking his pipe on the outskirts of the crowd. * It is just as well to have that point settled now. The Minute Gun at Sea is a good moral song in its way, — a sort of marine missionary affair.' ' So I started, the others followed ; we all knew that the Lady watched late ; we om>n saw the glimmer of her lamp far on toward mo? ning. It was burning now. The gate was fas- tened, I knocked ; no answer. I knocked again, and yet a third time ; still silence. The men stood off at a little distance and waited. * She shall answer,' I said angrily, and going around to the side where the stockade came nearer to the wall of the lodge, I knocked loudly on the close-set saplings. For answer I thought I heard a low moan ; I listened, it came again. My anger vanished, and with a mighty bound I swung myself up to the top of the stockade, sprung down inside, ran around, and tried the door. It was fastened ; I burst it open and entered. There, by the light of the hanging lamp, I saw the Lady on the floor, apparently dead. I raised her in my arms ; her heart was beating faintly, but she wa^ unconscious. I had seen many fainting fits ; this was something difierent ; the limbs were rigid. I laid her on the low couch, loosened her dress, bathed her head and face in cold water, and wrench- ed np one of the warm hearth-stones to apply to her feet. I did not hesitate ; I saw that it was a dangerous case, something like a trance or an * ectasia.' Somebody must attend to her, and there were only men to choose from. Then why not 1 1 * I lieard the others talking ofitside ; they could not under- stand the delay ; but I never heeded, and kept on my work . To tell the truth, I had studied medicine, and felt a genuine en- thusiasm over a rare case. Once my patient opened her eyes and looked at me, then she lapsed away again into unconscious- THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. 85 ness in spite of all niy efforts. At last the mon outside came in, angry and suspicious ; they had broken down the gate. There we all stood, the whole forty of us, around the deathlike form of our Lady. * What a night it was ! To give her air, the men camped outside in the snow with a line of pickets in whispering distance from each other from the bed to their anxious group. Two were detailed to help me, — the Doctor (whose title was a sar- castic D. D.) and Jimmy, a gentle little man, excellent at band- aging broken limbs. Every vial in the camp was brought in, — astonishing lotions, drops, and balms ; each man produced something ; they did their best, poor fellows, and wore out the night with their anxiety. At dawn our Lady revived suddenly, thanked us all, and assured us that she felt quite well jigain ; the trance was over. * It was my old enemy,' she said, * the old illness of Scotland, which I hoped had left me loi ever. But I am thankful that it is no worse ; I have come out of it with a clear brain. Sing a hymn of thankfulness for me, dear friends, before you go.' * Now, we sang on Sunday in the church ; but then she led us, and we had a kind of an idea that after all she did not hear us. But now, who was to lead us ] We stood awkwardly ai'ound the bed, and shuffled our hats in our uneasy fingers. The Doctor fixed his eyes uj^on the Nightingale ; Jack saw it and cowered. * Begin,' said the Doctor in a soft voice ; but gripping him in the back afc the same time with an ominous clutch. . ' I don't know the words,' faltered the unliappy Nightingale. " ' Now thank we all our God, With hearts ivimI hands and voices, ' began the Doctor, and repeated Luther's hymn with perfect ac- curacy from beginning to end. ' What will happen next ] The Doctor knows hymns !' we thought in profound astonishment. But the Nightingale had begun, and gradually our singers joine.l in ; I doubt whether the grand old choral was ever sung by such a company before or since. There was never any further question, by the way, about that minute gun at sea ; it stayed at sea as far as we were concerned. •Spring came, the faltering springy of Lake Superior. I 86 THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. ■ l\ : W I' * won't go into my own story, but such as it was, the spring brought it back to me with new force. I wanted to go,— and yet I did n't. ' Where/ do you ask 1 To see her, of course, — • a woman, the most beautiful, — well, never -mind all that. To be brief, I loved her ; she scorned me ; I thought I had learned to hate her — but — I was n't sure about it new. I kept myself aloof from the others and gave up my heart to the old sweet, bitter memories ; I did not even go to church on Sundays. But all the rest went ; our Lady's influence was as great as ever. I could hear them singing ; they sang better now that they could have the door open; the pent-up feeling used to stifle them. The time for the bateaux drew near, and I noticed that several of the men were hard at work packing the furs in bales, a job usually left to the voyageurs who came with the boaic. ' What's that for V I asked. ' You don't suppose we 're going to have those bateaux rasr cals camping on Little Fishing, do you V said black Andy, scornruUy. ' Where are your wits, Reub.T * And they packed every skin, rafted them all over to the mainland, and waited there patiently for days, until the train of slow boats came along and took oiF the bales j then they came back in triumph. * Now we *re secure for another six months,' they said, and began to lay out a park, and gardens for every house. The Lady was fond of flowers ', the whole town burst into blossom. Thr> Lady liked green grass ; all the clearing viras soon tufted over like a lawn. The men tried the ice-cold lake every day, waiting anxiously for the time when they could bathe. There was no end to their cleanliness ; Black Andy had grown almost white again, and Frenehy's hair shone like oiled silk. ' The Lady stayed on, and all went well. But, gradually, there came a discovery. The Lady was changing, — had changed ! Gradually, slowly, but none the less distinctly to the eyes that knew her every eyelash, A little more hair was visible over the white brow; there was a faint color in the cheeks, a quicker step ; the clear eyes were sometimes downcast now, the steady voice softer, the words at times faltering. In the early summer the white cap vanished, and she stood among us crowned only with her golden hair ; one day she was seen through her open door sewing on a white robe ! The men noted all these things silently ; they were even a little troubled as at something they THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. 87 ever. did not understand, something beyond their reach. "Was she planning to leave them ] ' It 's my belief she 's getting ready to ascend right up into heaven,' said Salem. ' Salem was a liUle * wpnting,' as it is calhd, and the men knew it ; still, his words made an impression. They watched the Lady with an awe which was almost superstitious ; they were troubled, and knew not why. But the Lady bloomed on. I did not pay much attention to all this ; but I could not help hearing it. My heart was moody, full of its own sorrows ; I secluded myself more and more. Gradually I took to going off into the mainland forests for days on solitary hunting expedi- tions. The camp went on its way rejoicing ; the men succeeded, after a world of trouble, in making a fountain which actually played, and they glorified thep 'elves exceedingly. The life grew quite pastoral. There was talk of importing a cow from the East, and a messenger was sent to the Sault for certain choice supplies against the coming winter. But, in the late summer, the v/hisper went round again that the Lady had changed, this time for the worse. She looked ill, she drooped from day to day ; the new life that had come to her vanished, but her former life was not restored. She grew silent and sad, she strayed away by herself through the woods, she scarcely noticed the men who followed her with* anxious eyes. Time passed, and brought with it an undercurrent of trouble, suspi- cion, and anger. Everything went on as before ; not one habit, not one custom was altered ; both sides seemed to shrink from the first change, however slight.. The daily life of the camp was outwardly the same, hut brooding trouble filled every heart. There was no open discussion, men talked apart in twos and threes ; a gloom rested over everything, but no one said, * What is the matter V * There was a man among us, — I have not said much of the individual characters of our party, but this man was one ot the least esteemed, or rather liked ; there was not much esteem of any kind at Little Fishing. Little was known about him ; al- though the youngest man in the camp, he was a mooning, broodino; creature, with brown hair and eyes and a melancholy face. He was n't lioartv and whole-souled, and yet he was n't an out-and-out rascal ; he was n't a leader, and yet he was ii't follower either. He would n't be : he was like a third horse. 88 THE LADY OF LITTLE FISHING. 1-^. -'•?*! I ^» ■ ,| ':% M always. There was no goodness about liiiu ; dou'fc j^'O to fancy- ing that that was the reason thi men did nt>t like him, he was as bad as they were, eveiy inch ! He never shirked his work, and tliey couldn't get a handle on him anywhere ; but he was just-runpopular. The w liy and the wherefore are of no conse- quence now. Well, do you know what was the suspicion that hovered over the camp 1 It was this : our Lady loved that man ! , * It took three monthe for all to see it, and yet never a word was spoken. All saw, all heard ; but they might have been blind and deaf for any sign they gave. And the Lady drooped more anles vanished in the tem])nng aroina. i e Segan at the top of Lis voice, pai-tneia were ciosiJi, and, tremoliug with ( xt^itouient and imi)atience, like prisoners unexpectedly set free, the men gathered around, and made theii- bets, ' " What born fools we 've been, said Black Andy, laying down a card. '" Yos," replied the Flying Pitchman, ^)orn fools!' And he followed suit. * But a thin white hand came down on the bits of colored pasteboaid. It was om* Lady. Witii In-r hair disordered, and the spots of fever in hcf cheeks, she stood among us again ^ but not as of old. i^gry eyes confronted her, and Andy wrenched the cards from her grasj\ 'No, my Lady,' he said, sternly; * never again !' . * The Lady, gazed from one face to the next, and so all around the circle ; all were dark and iuUen. Then she bowed her head upon her hands and wept aloud. 'There was a sudden shrinking away on all sides, the playera rose, the cards were di'opped. But the Laily glided away, weeping as she went ; she entered the churcn door and the men . could see her taking her accustomed place on the platform. One by one they followed ; Black Andy lingei-ed till the last, but he came. The service began, and went on falteringly, with- out spirit, with palpable fears of a total breaking down which never quite came ; the Nightingale sang almost alone, and made sad work with the words ; [Salem joined in conlidently, but did not improve the sense ol the hymn. The Lady was silent. But wheii the time tor the sermon came she rose and her voice buret forth. * " Men, brotiiers, what have I done ? A change has come over the town, a change has come over your hearts. You shun me ! What have I donei" IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT'3) «? 4 '^ ^ .*\*^ % 1.0 I.: bi|2^ |2.5 ■** iM Ml 2.0 2.2 IL25 i 1.4 6" 1.6 -B* %^^ Hiotogiaphic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STMEET WEBSTER, K.Y. 14SS0 (716) 872-4503 # ^f^-" .M ^ k A \ [v \ T