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MoN

1 I

POISON'S PROBATION

A STORY OF MANITOBA

JAMES MORTON

TORONTO:

WIIvI^IAPvl BRIOaS

WESLEY BUILDINGS.
Montreal : C. W. COATES. Halifax : S. F. HUESTIS.

1897

Entkrrd arcording to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand cijrht hundred and ninety-seven, by William Bkiqus, at the
Denartnient of Agriculture.

M\- '.

CONTHNTS.

PUOl-OCitTK

TROITOH

IDINO ON

CIIAI'TRR

I. The Dysart Settlemknt -

II. THK DVSART HoUSEH(»|,l) -

III. Uncle Nathan — A Runaway

IV. The Vulcan of the Kneadino-
V. Silas Panckack

VI. The Lonely Smithy
VII. " Such is Human Life ; so Gi;
VIII. A Hunting Incident
IX. A Plot in Embryo •
X. A Quarrel in Bendioo •
XI. The Tempter and His Triumph
XII. The Meeting of the (Whiskey and the) Waters

XIII. The Proposal of Anthony Scroopot

XIV. With the Falling op the Leaves

XV. Which Shall it be?

XVI. The Shadows in the Smithy ....

PAnic

14
16
23
34
41
53
65

82
88

97
105
115
119
125
131

CONTENTS.

CIIArTRR

XVII. AlUlANCtlNO FOR A HUNT

XVIII. A iSllADOWV CoNKKRENrK

XIX. CoiiKTMMis Mum. Bant

X.\. A MlllNKtllT Kkkani)
XXI. TiiK Mai> SguAW
XXII. TnK Dkkk Hunt

XXIII. UncLK NaTII/' 's KxcrTKMKNT

XXIV. Enoch tub C or
XXV. Thk Cm»sin(» Snarr

XXVI. A PlKAHANT KVKNINd

XXVII. TiiK Arhkst
XXVIII. What Shall We Do
XXIX. Thouohts in a Prison
XXX. The Trial -
XXXI. The War of Words
XXXII. The Acquittal -

XXXIII. Mr. Blutgun'h Meshace

XXXIV. "Oh, the Loncj and Dreary Winter!"
XXXV. Silas Pancrack Pops the Question

XXXVI. Home Scenes in Winter Time
XXXVII. Gorman's Cat - - ■ - -
XXXVIII. Sliding Down the Whiskey Grade
XXXIX. The Voice of the Storm
XL. After the Blizzard -
XLI. The Diary of a Hermit
XLII. Pancrack's Condolence
XLIII. A Slave of the Cup -

FAQR

137
140
142

148
!((((

171

177

181

187

190

196

201

206

217

224

228

231

235

247

249

262

258

265

267

274

278

CONTENTS.

I'liArriiH
XMV. A Solomon Comk to .IriMiMKNT •

XLV. FiHK, Frost and Hnow.-Tmk I'HKi.rhn
XLVI. Mb. Lonusthki t'h Ar.AUM
XI. VII. A Lkjht in tiik Nioiit •
XI.N'III. Tiik Shorn Lamb ....
XIJX. Kkvklation ani> Rkmorsk
L Tiik Knoaoemknt Kndid
LI. Mrs. Tomson is Sitri'RImkd -
Lll. IV\n< :ra«k Oobm for a Slei(HI-rii>k
LIII. Bmndnksr and Dkliricm
LIV. Tub Tahleh Titrned
LV. JuLiiTH Hatton's Fuout and Mrs.

PUBHUIT

LVI. Gorman's Cat Once More •

LVn. " Lt)! Thk Poor Indian" -

LV'III. The Return ok the Sprino •

LIX. A Closing S«;enb in tiik Dysart Hou

LX. The Bliss of the Wealthy -

PAltR

• • ■

•2m;{

2>M

• • ■

201

• • ■

203

• • •

*2m

• •

801

• • «

.TOO

■ •

. 310

•

312

•

inn

m m

. 328

BaNT'8

■ «

• 335

• ■

• 340

- 349

• •

■ 361

SKUOLD

- 355

• «

. 360

epilogue—

And This is the End

366

I
I'

te|

or
tl)
FI
te

th
pi-
th

to
eci
til
fr(
of

CO'

th'
th<

POLSON'S PROBATION.

IM^OLOGUli.
I.

TiiK case of I fatten i'*. Poison was a peculiRr one. By
tho will which had causod it, lf«Mny Ilattoii, dpooaaed,
had he(|u<'uthed his estate of liaston to his nephew,
Frederick I'olaoi., hut under these strict and highly virtu-
ous conditions, vix. : (1) That he Hhould not take posses-
sion until five years had elapsed from the date of the
testator's death. (2) If, durin;^ this period, he should
couunit any act which would brin;; the shadow of disjjraco
or suspicion upon his name, he must forfeit all right to
the inh(*ritance, which would consecjuently revert to Julius

Hatton of B , Yorkshire, the oldest nephew of tho

testator, and his heir-at-law.

Ft was on account of the peculiar conditions of this will
that the aforesaid Julius Hatton had brought an action to
prove its illegality on the plea of the testator's insanity at
the tinie the will was made.

This he endeavored to demonstrate by calling witnesses
to show that his grandfather had been a man of rery
eccentric habits and notions (so much so, indeed, that at
times his eccentricities could scarcely be distinguished
from actual insanity), and that he was laboring under one
of these tits at the time the will was written. Hatton's
counsel pressed his case with great dexterity, but still the
evidence was not sufficient to destroy the jury's belief in
the deceased gentleman's sanity ; and cruelly regardless of
the trouble and expense to which Mr. Julius Hatton had

l»<)r,S«)N H I'UOHATION.

/ »

b«<m put, thny rcndi^rml a vflrilict frotn which tho Judgn ira-
posi'd i\ Niuili'iiiT, allowiiiff hViHi««ii(*k PoInoii to r<*tiiiii thfl
rttiito under til*- coiulitioiiN of thi< will, iiud cunduumiiig
Jliittoii to piiy tli(» ooMtM ot tilt* court.

WliiMi tilt) vurdiot had betui ){iv(ui, Mr. PoUoii, Hen.—
iipprariiig uii bcliulf of liia loii rrodnrick, who wa» con-
finnd to hJM IhhI \»y an attnok of f(fV(«r left the court,
■iiiiling caliiity, whiUt .IuHum llattoii dcpurliul in anotht«r
direction, with u wave of vengeful vowi Hurgin^ through
hia Houl.

After leaving' the court-house, Mr. PoUon walked to the
railway Htation, and there took the tirat train for liondon.
lie landeil in the heart of that fog hlackenud nietropoliii,
and groped among its atony atreeta till he found a niudeat
tenement lie called his own. No aooner had he opened
the door than there waa a pattering of amall fe<>t, and a
little girl aprang into hia aruig eKclainiing, "it's daddie I
It'i daddie ! "

These exclamations called out a matrotdy lady, and
whei\ Mr. I'olaon had set down hia caressing little burden,
ho greeted her with a cordial kiss. After aatiafying the
atorm of eager (pu^Htiona with which ahe aaluted hiui, he
managtfd to lind time to aak, " How ia Fred nowl"

"A little better, I think," answered Mrs. Poison; "but
how thoughtless of me ! I have been keeping you here
and I ktiow that he ia all eagerness to learn the result of
the trial."

•* Well, I won't keep him on thorns much longer."

Mr. Poison took ofl' his hat and hung it on a peg, and
after smoothing hia hair a little, ascended the stairs and
entered the aick-room. When he opened the door he was
greeted with medicinal smells which came from several
open phials standing on a table in a corner. The blind
was drawn over the window to soften the light, and on all
sides were indioations of the presence of sickness.

As Mr. Poison entered the room, a young man, trem-
bling and fever-worn, sat up in the bed and asked, in a
weakly, eager tone, terribly in keeping with the hectic
flush on his cheek :

' t

I'ROI.OOUI.

"Woll, father, which hiin won?"

"Th« ri)(ht, I !io|m<. luy Ijoy. At loftut, f think wn art
in thn ri^ht," nukI Mr. PoImoh, Nniiling, am hn Mtttod him<
MolC on A cliuir by tht< iM'dMidr.

•• Which nirariH thnt w« h»v« won," Naiil l''r«l.

"Of courwe. Hut Htill y «u know thn conditions for
fivn yflnri you ciinnot touch tlio 0Htat«, anil nioanwhilu the
rontni d«rivi>d from it m»^H to NUpport charituhlo inntitu-
tionK. A (juc'or idm, ctjrtninly ; Wut of lati^ yoarg your
grandfathur wan aM occtuitric in tiiM habitH uh hu was ri^id
in hiH inoraU, no, no doubt, ho thought hu would put you
througli tho furnacn of toniptation b«for« truHting you
with tho (^Htato. Still, that clause allowing it to revert to
Ilatton in case you fa'' to obtain it in strange, since he
alwuyH had an avomion to him, whiUt you wore <{uite his
favorite, H()wov«»r, you muHt try to livtj as ascetically as
possible fur tiie next tive years, and the estate will be
yours.''

" Kilt my cousin Hatton, T am afraid, will take it rather
hard," Haid Tred, who feared to make an enemy. '• hon't
you think I ought to divide a little with him'{"

•' Not unlcsH you wi.sh to hco your estate wasted for evil
purpoHcs. Krom all I can hear of your cousin, he deserves
even less than he has got."

"Indeed! What is wrong with himl" asked Fred with
Homo surprise.

" From what i have learned of him, ho appears to be
simply a selfish schemer, as cunning in getting money as
he is covetous. Mis chief business Just now, nominally
at least, is in connection with a loan company in which he
has an interest. But I have heard that this is merely the
blind under which he works a hundred petty schemes for
making a penny here and threepence there. In short, his
every idea is dressed with the dross of sordid pelf."

" Strange," murmured the young man, falling back on the
pillow in a musing mood; " strange, that this man's destiny
should be so linked to mine ; and yet I have never seen
him. Not so strange either, on reflection ; for there has
always been a coldness between us and the Ilattons; and

1 .11 i

POLSON S PROBATION.

luckily we ha/e always lived loiif* distances apart, so that
there never has been any other than a sort of epistolary
business intercourse between us."

"Still, you saw Julius in the court," continued Fred,
possessed of an instinctive craving to learn all he could
about this unknown cousin. " What did he appear like,
personally 1 "

" To begin with, he has a head shaped something like the
capital letter D — ear, me ! " exclaimed Mr. Poison, invol-
untarily interrupting himself to add the last two syllables
in a tone of surprise. " Talking of letters suddenly re-
minds me that I had forgotten to tell you that I have
received a letter from Mr. Dysart, in western Manitoba, and
he says he shall be very glad to receive you as a farm pupil,
if you are willing to roui.'h it and work with the ordinary
men. He will not accept a premium, because, he says, he
finds that those who pay regard themselves as privileged
persons, exempt from obligations to work, and so by their
idleness set a bad example to the laborers."

" And he is perfectly right," remarked Fred, emphati-
cally.

'* From a business point of view, certainly," added his
father. " But still, in your position you cannot think of
accepting a place under him on such terms."

"And why not?" asked Fred, raising himself on elbow.
" It is just what I should wish. I despise the lily-fingered
dandy who calls himself a man, and yet is afraid to handle
a spade or drive a plow."

" Yes, yes ! " said his father, impatiently, " that is all
very fine in bookish philosophy ; but you, with your pro-
spective wealth, cannot think of putting it to a practical
test, especially when you consider that your constitution is
quite unfitted to stand such unnecessary hardships. The
idea is simply absurd."

"If my body is weak that is one more reason why I
should try to strengthen it by fresh air and healthful exer-
cise. And if I am to manage an estate consisting of farms,
I want myself to be a farmer ; and to be a farmer, I must
learn by working. I cannot learn to pitch hay by tossing

PROLOGUE.

up straws with a walking-stick ; nor can I plow with kid
gloves on my hands and a glass in my eye. No ; if 1 want
to farm 1 must strip off my coat and grasp the plow-handles
without mittens."

" Well, well," said Mr. Poison, alarmed Vjy the excite-
ment which sparkled in Fred's eyes and Hushed his cheek,
"we will talk it over some other time." And ho deftly
changed the subject. So, for the time, the matter dropped,
and Mr. Poison hoped that returning health would produce
a change in the mind of his son. In this he was mistaken.

Fred Poison was a thoughtful young man, and yet of
a very excitable temperament. He was, unfortunately,
rather too easily influenced by the teachings of others.
Every new book he read, every enlightened conversation
he heard, seemed to lend a fresh hue to his mind. Of late
he had come to recognize with Tolstoi that labor was God's
universal law — that only in work would true happiness
be found — that idleness was always punished by the curse
of ennui, accompanied often by broken health and cor-
rupted morals. It was a desire to put this theory into
practice, combined with the love of change and adventure,
so natural to youth, that made him eager to emigrate to
Manitoba.

The reader may perhaps ask why he could not work in
England. I must confess my hero's weakness. He was a
sensitive man, and shrank from provoking the gibes and
laughter of the friends with whom he was wont to associate.
How many are deterred from practising benevolent designs
by the same failing !

When he had fully recovered his health, the discussion
on his future life again raged furiously, and this time Fred
had his way. In vain his father pictured the miseries of
western life, the absence of friends, the risk to health in
the severe climate, the danger and hardships to be encoun-
tered, and the greater safety from temptation at home.

" Speaking of temptation," said Fred, " is there less here
in England, where every village has its pot-house and
skittlerow, and almost every town its theatre or music
hall, whilst the great cities are infested with gambling-

POLSONS PROBATION.

■.|i

:i- i

hells and the streets polluted with walking vice 1 Is there
less temptation here I ask, than I am likely to meet with
on the thinly settled prairies of the West 1"

As he CGjld give no satisfactory answer to this interro-
gation, Mr. Poison let it pass, and finally, after a little
further demur, gave a reluctant consent. So the next
spring Fred Poison bade farewell to his family and sailed
for America. And whilst he bends over the deck-rails,
and mournfully watches the snowy foam which the ship
tears out of the sea, we will return to Julius Hatton,
the money-lender.

II.

Mr. Poison, when he interrupted himself, was describing
Hatton as a man with a head shaped like the written
capital D. Well, perhaps the simile was not so wide of
the mark either. He has a cunning head, rounded at the
back, whilst the curve over the top of the letter is repre-
sented in him by a twisted wisp of sandj' hair hanging
negligently over a hard-lined brow. Let us add to this
a pair of hard grey eyes, a hooked nose, two little ears
nestling among his hair like sea-shells in the sand, a
chin protruding like the double curve at the foot of the
letter, and the D-shaped head is complete. Nor is it
altogether as uncomely as one would think from an
analysis of its separate parts ; for there is a strange
symmetry of crook and curve about it that gives it as a
whole a fair pretence to regularity of feature. Perhaps in
after years when the teeth have fallen out and the jaws
have fallen in; when the eagle-pointed nose almost touches
the upturned chin, and when the sunken eyes blink at the
world from under sha^^gy brows of mingled sand and snow
— then, perhaps, its component ugliness may be revealed ;
but now, at thirty, the face is passing fair.

This remarkable head is supported by a compact and
sturdy frame of about the middle height, stout, but well
proportioned ; and as a shapely pedestal helps to set off a
statue, so, no doubt, the body of Julius Hatton serves to
relieve the uncomeliness of his head.

PROLOGUE.

ves it as a

We left this gentleman fuming under a legal defeat, and
must, I am sorry to say, return to him as he plans revenge
for the same. He had by no means abandoned all hope < f
possessing the Laston estate. He comforted himself wiiu
the reflection that in five years many things might happen,
and he determined in the meantime to keep a watchful eye

on his rival ; for

though

he had never seen him, he would

still trace him by his name, so that if he were guilty of any
delinquency, he would not fail to bring it to the light
which " blackens every blot."

Winter passed and the spring came. Flowers blossomed,
green grew the grass, and gn^en leaves clustered on the
trees where birds were carolling in joyful melody ; but
these things touched not the gold-bedizened soul of Julius
Hatton, though it vibrated instantly to a dry half-business
and half-confidential letter he received one morning from
a partner in London.

" By the way, Hattonius," wound up his correspondent,
who was a bit of a pedant, "I must not forget to inform
thee that thy kinsman, Polsonius the younger, has sailed
the western seas in search of the New Atlantis, where he
intends to pass his time in tilling the fields and piping to
the flocks, combining the pastoral qualities of Cincinnatus
and Virgil without their public fame." Then, in more
prosaic form, he gave Fred Poison's future address.

"Oh, indeed ! " thought Julius, holding the letter in his.
hand. *'So he thinks he will pass his five years free from
the world's temptations, does he 1 Ho, ho, my friend, we'll
see about that. Perhaps you won't keep out of my sight
so easily after all."

And thus inwardly apostrophising his far-away cousin,
he rose from his desk and paced thoughtfully about the
floor of his dusty little counting-house.

" I wonder whether it would pay me to follow him. It
would if I could wrest the estate from him somehow. Sup-
pose I tried to make a double business of it, and bought
a farm out there. I wonder if that would pay me. I
should think it would ; for when I have done with it, I
dare say I can foist it upon the shoulders of some green

rOLSON S rilOBATlON.

i r

fellow-countryman at a considerable profit. Besides, I can
do a little in the way of business, too. It is a new
country, and plenty will be only too glad to borrow money
even at a big interest, to start and stock their claims with ;
and I can mortgage their farms as pretty safe security."

As he paced about the little den his mind seemed to
grow big with selfish ideas, but a thought checked its
growth and made him pause.

" But the bother is I may find it rather hard to bring
disgrace to this fellow after all. Never mind " (he began to
walk again), "I'll doit somehow." This premeditated deed
required justification. Mr. Hatton soon found sufficient to
suit him. " What right has he to the estate anyhow 1 I
am the rightful heir, and in spite of the wills of cranky old
crackpots, I will have it yet."

And as one small idea entering a mind will sometimes
grow to the exclusion of appetite and sleep, so this thought
of following his eousin would not let Julius Hatton rest
till its fulfilment h.id begun.

Purposely putting inquirers on the wrong scent, he
informed his friends and partners that he was going on a
trip across the continent for the benefit of his health, and
would probably remain abroad for a considerable length of
time. Then, after taking all possible precautions to con-
ceal his identity whilst abroad, he filled his greasy money-
bags with gold, changed his name, and sailed away.

CHAPTER I.
The Dysart Settlement.

It is spring in Manitoba. On the hillsides and by the
woody bluflfs dirty patches of snow are still keeping up a
faint struggle for existence against the increasing power of
the sun ; and every sloping hollow now resounds with the
liquid melody of a rippling, snow-born stream.

In the higher places the prairie is composed of water-

THE DYSAllT SETTLEMENT.

Hatton rest

)akecl patches of last year's withered grass, bedecked by

thousaiuls of sprin«,'iiig crocuses. Ti)mnnerable pools of

iiiiiy sizes and shapes surge and tinkle against their shores

(n the freshening April breeze. On the waves of the

larger sloughs, Hocks of «|uacking ducks are riding, after

bheir journey from the south ; and overhead long lines of

their fellow-emigrants swing and curve as they speed

toward the nortli. The trails, now transformed into long

)lack streaks of mud, are sometimes swallowed by the

eatery pools, but emerge Hgain on the ojjposite side to

^tretch out in a long line of gleaming blackness until entirely

lost to view. Down the muddy, swollen river float huge

)locks of ice, jostling and grinding their ragged edges as

(hey tumultuously crowd along.

Such is spring in Manitoba, and such are some of the
^ghts and sounds common to Dysart Settlement.

As it is necessary for the purpose of my story to show
low Dysart Settlement lies, I must beg the reader to
follow this brief description : On the north side it is
)ounded by the Assiniboine River, which winds its sinu-
)us way through a deep and wide valley, hemmed in by
kteep banks, one of which is clothed with timber, and the
)ther bleak and treeless. To the west it extends to a deep
ravine, beyond which stretch miles of wild, uncultivated
)rairie. On the south side it is generally conceded to be
)ounded by the lake in front of Mr. Dysart's house.
Eastward the boundary is indefinite, but it is usually
accepted as ceasing with the limits of the Dysart farm.

Anyone standing in the heart of this settlement in the
|;eason I have described, would have seen on one of the
rarious plots of plowed land — which blackened it in places
like the squares on a checker-board — certain moving ob-
jects, which, in the distance, appeared like two horizontal
)lots followed by a short, perpendicular streak, but as they
ipproached, gradually broadened to the sight, and finally
resolved into real flesh, as a man harrowing with a team
)f horses.

Like the prairie, the cultivated land has its supply of
rater holes, the smooth surfaces of which, interspersed

P0LSON8 PUOliATION.

'■■VI

!|.

anion^ the pulverized earth, resemble hits of looking-glass
stuck here and there in a dull, rough blackboard. Through
those the horses plunge and splash, the harrows following
and stirring up the mud, till the hole resembles a vat of
yellow yeast. In the rear the driver, with legs protected
by top-boots, trudges unconcernedly through the ooze to
emerge with boots shedding a tenacious liquid.

This is new work for the young Englishman who is
driving the team, and although his brow is covered with |
sweat, and his feet are sore with walkir the very novelty
makes it enjoyable to him, and so he tramps along con
tentedly till the evening brings him release.

When he has unhitched, he takes his horses to the farm
buildings, and, after feeding and cleaning them, leaves
them there. About a quarter of a mile from the farm-
buildings is the owner's private dwelling-house, and toward ||
this he makes his way.

CHAPTER II.

The Dysart Household.

>' ti

A FARM-HOUSE !

It is a large frame building, beautifully finished and
painted. The gables and eaves are decked with wooden
trellis work. The bow-windows jutting out from the sides |
relieve it of monotony of appearance, and the veranda
in front, supported by slender pillars of fluted iron, topped |
by a gently-curved roof, adorns it like a delicate fringe.

On all sides it is hemmed in by gardens. Behind is the
kitchen-garden, where edible vegetables are grown. On
either side are the fruit plots, consisting mostly of trees of
small fruit. In the front, separated from the house by a
gravelled drive, and divided by a broad walk, is the flower
garden, laid out in artistic plots ; and beyond these, crown-
ing ail like a silver diadem, lies the beautiful lake. Its
crooked shores wind in graceful curves, forming many a

THE DYSAUT HOl'SEHOLD.

'ming many a

)leagant nook and cove, and are fringed with a green
frowth of Imshes, where all throu','h the long summer days
lundn'da of joyous birds build and sin*;.

Such then was the outer appearance of our hero's new
lonie, and p scene better calculated to wean one of his
{ontle breeding to the hardships of western life and
)hy8ic'al labor could not have been found.

After Fred Poison had washed and changed he entered

^he dining-room and found the rest of the household as-

Mubk'd for supper.

" Ah, Poison," said Mr. Dysart from the head of the

iblo, " you are just in time. Had you been a little later

am afraid you would have found even the scraps scarce."

Fred muttered a bashful apology, took his place at the

ible, and the meal began. As all these persons play parts

lore or less conspicuous in the following pages I will,

rhile they are thus conveniently grouped, give the reader

description of their outward semblances.

Mr. Dysart was a stout man of middle age. His full

ice, adorned with long auburn mustache, though not

|andsome, was still prepossessing as the index of a feeling

ml. One who observed him closely, however, could not

lil to detect a certain melancholy look often succeeding

Ihe smiles accompanying the jocular sayings and merry

lies with which he enlivened the supper table.

By his side sat a pale, delicate little girl, to whom he

kever spoke but in the tenderest tones, for she was to him

[he last remaining link of a happy marriage, blasted by

»e untimely death of his wife.

On Mr. Dysart's left sat a lady of some thirty years of
Ige. This was Mrs. Bant, his sister-in-law and house-
peeper. She was a widow of a year's standing, and was
low at the table engaged in feeding her son, who had been
)orn about the time of his father's death.

Mrs. Bant's black hair is brushed back from a smooth

ind narrow forehead. Her cold grey eyes glance from

)eneath a pair of line dark eyebrows. Iler straight,

iiharp nose hovers ominously above a hard, thin-lipped

iouth, which is further protected from the attacks of

POLSON S I'UOHATION.

J I

;:i

the rude and proKimiptuous l>y a proniinuiit sluirp pointed
chin. When she niovcs, lier tall, Hupple tigun< heiuls
occasioniilly with a hhiirp, inipoiiou.s ^cHture. When hIh'
Hpoaks in anger, as oft«'n she is said to do, her hhrill
voice cuts knif(^-like through the thin partitions, and Mash
ing on the listener's lieait causes it to flutter and tremble.
On the whole Mrs, liaiit's appeaninci! indicates thf
possession of a ready supply of petulance ; and if her
HC([uaiiitances do not lihel her, her appearanci! does not lie.
Besides Freid there are two other farm-students present,
and these coniplete the group.

Mr. Longstreet is a lanky young man, who is making a
faint attempt to grow a mustache. He talks very glihlv,
and often veiy amusingly. Mr. Kane is a little older, and
his mustach(» is full-grown. Mis talk is chielly contined
to horses and dogs, and occnsionally he injects into the
general conversation such expressions as "Now ! you don't
say so." " No ! " " How awfully funny," etc.

The talk ran smoothly on general topics until it was
interrupted by a loud howl from Mrs. Jiant's first-born.
As he was not quite weaned from the natural wildness of
mankind, it was his custom to seize upon the bones left on
his mother's plate, and gnaw with his new-born teeth at
the little flesh that remained on them.

On the present occasion he had fastened his teeth in an
unusually tough morsel, and he was desperately tugging
at the bone with his hands when the flesh suddenly gave
way. The bone whipped round, and careening against Mrs,
Bant's cup of tea, upset the steaming contents on his lap.

The youngster howled. Mr. Dysart frowned on him
and made a face, at which he redoubled his howling, and
screwed two little dimpled lists into his tearful eyes.
Mrs. Bant sprang from her seat, and hugging the boyj
closely, gave him a sharp smack on the ear. " You little
wretch," she said snappishly ; "I will teach you to behave]
better than that."

"Take the squaller out, Mrs. Bant, till he quietens]
down," said Mr. Dysart. Mrs. Bant sped toward the!
door, and closing it behind her, passed into the kitchen.

TUE DYSAUT HOUSEHOLD.

t sluirp p<)int<Ml
3 figure IxMuls
Til. VVhen hIic
ilo, hor Khrill
:,i<>iis, atul Hash
FT and troiublf.
iiulicatt'H the
B ; and if her
jc(5 docs not lie.
udonta present,

d)o is making a
ilks very gli*>ly,
little older, and
Ljhietly confined
njects into the
STow ! you don't
etc.

ics until it was
ant's first-honi.
ural wildness of |
le bones left on I
-born teeth at

his teeth in an
irately tugging
suddenly gave
njj aiiainst Mis,
its on his lap.
•owned on him
s howling, and
tearful eyes
-ffsjinj; the bov
"You littlr
you to behavr

ill he quieten^

id toward the

the kitchen

fere her conduct changed. She pressod the boy tenderly
^nd kissed his liideousiy contorted face.

*' Poor little lainbie," hIuj said HooMiingly ; •' would they
lurt you ? Ah ! but niainnia won't let them. liushee,
learie -don't cry."

Really, Mrn. Toiuson," she adtled, addressing the cook,

rjio was roasting Imt chet^ks over a tire that obstinately

jfii.sed to roast anything else — "really, Mrs. Tonison, the

ray Mr. I>ysart frightens and abuses my poor child is

Imply shameful. (Hush, (Jeorgie, denr, be <|uiet now.)

Tes, Hhnmffiil. Do you know" here she low«'red her

)ice to a whisper — " I re lly believe he has a Hpitc. against

le poor baby. Anything his own child dors he passes

rer without a word ; but let poor little (Jeorgie even look

him, he frowns and scolds."

•' Keally, mum," said Mrs. Tomson, without looking up
fotn the stove, "if that's the case it's too bad, mum."

The case, Mrs. Tomson ! " cried Mrs. Bant in tones of
lispleasod surprise. " Of course it is the case ; and really
his conduct does not alter, 1 cannot remain in this hou.se
luch longer."

"Lor, 1 wish you wouldn't," thought Mrs. Tomson, in-
wardly, but the worthy lady did not say so.

Now, really, mum," she said consolingly, "you
louldn't take these things so much to heart. Master
)|iay be a bit fretful at times, but — there he is calling

i»§ie to wipe up something; I must be off;" and the honest
Mame flurried away with a dish-cloth in her hand.
Mrs. Bant stayed behind to soothe her irritated pet and
inie against Mr. Dysart till the cook returned with the
ish-rag containing, by absorption, the greater part of the
)st cup of tea. She then wreathed her face with smiles,
nd went back to her place with the quietened babe.
I The effect of this little occurrence on the spectators
Ijuras very varied. Mr. Dysart, as w(i have seen, was dis-
pleased, but on the face of his little daughter it gave rise
io a look of sorrowful interest. Lonjrstreet and Poison
43vore rather embarrassed. Mr. Fane's shoulders worked
Jfcharply, and he pulled nervously at his long mustaches.

poison's prohation.

" My, but it'll A Npitnfiil littlo brat," ho n^niarkr*!,
wIkmi Mri. Hatit WHN out of )i<Mirin^. "Anybody would
think " (with a xhru^) *' \ui hiul boon f(*il on crab-appio
jui<'«» from hiH youth up."

Tho ()th#»rH, wiilinj^ to ho rwliovod of thpir embrirraiiH
ni(U)t, hiu^hed ; and when Mr.s. Itiint returned, uood-hunior
wuH (|uit« roHtored,

'*H() tho Htorni huH blown over and tho Hunahine re
tuiix'd, ' roniarkcd Mr. Pytiart, phiyfully chuckinj; tlic
child under tho chin.

At this (h(ni(>n«tration from one he fearod, tho refractory
(loor^ijie (ln»w back «|uickly toward his mother, and screwi-d
up his face preparatory for another howl. Hut little Ida
smiled reproachfully at him across the table, whereupon
his wrinkles relapsed and h(^ gave her an answering sniil*'.
Mr. Dysart turned to his daughter and patted her gently
on tlie head. *• You, my little dear, are always tho best
peacemaker," he said smiling.

Tho meal enchul without further interruption, and each
sought his evening's occupation. Mr. Dysart, with a pair
of dogs at his heels, walked toward the farm. Mr. Fane
employed himself in trying to train a pup to dive into the
lake after stones. Mr. Longstreet stretched himself on
the sofa in the dining-room and smoked his pipe ; and
Fred Poison retired to the library to study one of the
latest works on social reform.

He read thoughtfully, at times laying down the book
to rertect on dithcult or striking passages. In one of these
musing moods the twilight began to deepen around him.

The room in which he sat was lighted by a large bow-
window looking out upon the lake. The floor was softly
carpeted, and the walls papered with a light design. The '
furniture consisted of several easy chairs, a desk, a table and '
an organ ; whilst the glass-covered book-cases that lined the
walls were filled with well-bound volumes, neatly arranged.

As T said before, the spring twilight was deepenin:,'
around Fred Poison as he sat musing in this room. For
getful of everything around him, he was leaning his fore-
head on his hand and speaking to himself.

TflK DYSAIIT IIorHEIlol.l).

/• he ronmrkrd,

AnyWody would

[«•(! on cmb applf

iheir (MiiltirraxM
rticcl, uood liumor

tho Hunahitie w
\y chucking tlii>

0(1, the r«^fnictot V
ther, and ncrow«'d
. But little Ida
tahlo, whereupon

atiHweririg gmilc.
)atto(l luT gently

always the best

ruption, and each
8art, with a pair
arm. Mr. Fane
to divo into the
died himself on
his pipe ; and
tudy one of tho

down the book 'i
in one of these ^
In around hin».
by a large bow
floor was softly '
jht design. Tiie
desk, a table and
jes that lined the
neatly arranged,
was deepen ini,'
Ithis room. Foi
lleaning his fore-

Y«m, " h« inurniurod, ••the HyHteui in nundy wrong. Tim
roriil in full of «'rror, and too often we uiiMtako iho faUo-
lood for truth. Yet whf) aniongnt um poor niortaU can
^IwayM dJMtinguiMh betw(>en <*rror and truth / 'i'lie truth
o whi» h on«« generation idingK \h rrgnrdctl uh a Vw by the
irxt. Tor (M'nturieH w»« hav«» lM»rn groping in th«< <lark-
M>HH, and even now w«> have but a v<<ry faint glimmer of
he ilawn. Our social, religious and political ntiuctures
ire alike Hwarming with error, and he who attemptH to
llruiiHe them is brand'>(i with the stigma of 'mischief
inker ' or ' fanatie

( 'iirried away * .i« subject, he had raised his head, and

fcis ryes llashe -s he muttered the above words ; but

§H he conclud , his brow sank again upon his hand and

|e .isked hin.welf in troubled tones, •• What can be done I

hat can be done I "

lie was startled from his rev<»rie by the gentle touch of a
tttle hand laid on his, and a soft voice speaking in his ear.

" Mr. Poison, are you ill J "

Fred lift(>(l his head and saw dimly in the twilight the
[ale, sweet little face of ida Dysart looking softly into his.

•' No, my dear," ho said with a smile as he lifted her on
|is knee, *' I am not ill ; but i am getting rather lonely,

wl you must sit and talk to me a bit."

I "red was naturally a lover of children, and this one was
jis special favorite. In her nature there was sonn^thing
jry attractive to his einttional and iniaginative character.
[h<5 seal of h<*aven statnped 'ipon hv.v face, seeming to say,
1 have claimed yc i, tarry a little, then come to M(»," gave

peculiar pathos "^o her exprc^ssion which did'ustnl itself
pound her, and nuide others regard Ikm* with melancholy
m(l(!rnes8, whilst her strang(5 <juestions and precocious
)eculation8 on the deeper mysteries of life showed a inind
snderly susceptible, and touched in no slight degree with
[he (juickening tire of genius.

Nor was Fred Poison less attractive to her than she to
lini. His kind and sympathetic soul won her love ; and
lis varied knowledge, ripened thoughts, and studious
labits captivated her adnjiration.

POLSON'h PHOflATlOV.

It*

And HO on tliiit culm ■prin{( i'v«uiii){{ nIii» naI on hin kiiM Uj\
thi« window looking otit upon tlir lako. And hh ont* )>y onr

iUv NiltMlt Mtjil'M tMiiir nllt Htid NplirkliMl in t llH WUtor Und till

ttky, nhif HHkrd liini wondrous i|u«>NtionM til>out l>irdM, Howrt >
■tara und hII tlii« l)ri;;lit und linuitiful cnMitionM of <«<mI
pdHKin;^' ;;nidu/illy from riirtli into tin* myKtorioN of tin
I'tcniiil ami Huliliniiv (^lrt-i^d iiwiiy l>y tli<« po«*ticfil in
tlui'McrH around him, l''i'*'d unMw««r<<d lii>r lii'Mt <pn>Ntioiit|
with a ^lowiii|{ (MithuHiuHm of drMcription an<l opinion, hut
fiM hor ini|uirii<H ^rrw niont nxoluHivnly nOi^iouH, \w l)f>(;finit'
mor« I'mhiirniHSfd in hin r«'pli«*H ; ff)r Fr<Ml wiw a pro *^
iiouncfd frn-thinkor, an<l y<<t lu> tViin»d to inHtil \\u
•ccptirism into thin ohild'M mind.

At luMt, fairly cornered by her <iuo8tion8, h« unido aj
graceful retreat.

•'Come, come," he Haid, pattinj^ her head, "you muHtiifl
))Other your little hrain with thcHothin^H, you know. Conn
and play me a nice tune on the or^an. That will Ih
pleasanter,"

He lifted her in hin artns, carried her acrosH the room,]
and H«»ated lu^r on the muHic stool Itefon* the or^an. An
he op' uh\ it the soft li<j;lit of a waning moon glittered on
the ivory keys.

Kred walked hack to tho window and looked out upm
th(* night. The placid lak • wus sparklioij with a vivi
rell(5ction of the twinkling star.n ahovo. In tlu^ mollou
glow of the waning moon, the trees around it were somlin
and indistinct. Faint shadows lay stretched in grey lim
on the water, save where in the dusky coves the cIomJ
hushes clothed all in gloom. No sound hut the feehlii
chirp of a drowsy bird broke the serene stillness of tliej
night.

Absorbed in contemplating this quiet scene, Pred couldl
hardly distinguish from its beauty the faint notes (4
melancholy nmsic stealing upon his ear. liut slowly tlifvi
swelled into louder tones ; and as they grew in rhythmicl
glory, rolling out upon the night and mingling with thej
spheres, he turned around in an ecstasy of surprise.

The moon's expiring rays fell upon the little whitej

rNi'l.K NATHAN— A MlfNAWAV.

\t on hU knM l»j|
11(1 iiH OIK* liy otic
li» wtUrr uiul tilt'
lit l»ir«ln, (lowrrt, j
rutifdlM of <i(><l

iiyNti*ri<>M of till'
th(^ {KM^tioiil ill
r firMt (|ucHti(>n<i|
and opitiidii, Imtl

l^ioUH, |H' l)r(!ailH'

'red wtiM it pro

d to instil hiij
ion«, h« inado

across tlio room
tli(i (ir^an. Asj
loon glitterod onj

ooked out upoiij
[iiC with a viviiij

111 tho mellow I
I it wore soinltnl
icd ill ffroy liii'

(!()ve8 tho clo^'i
hut the feel)li

.stillness of tliei

'one, Fred coiiMj
faint notes (^
Hut slowly tht'vl
•«'W in rhythniuj

in<:;ling with thej
surprise.

the little whitJ

i({iir<* at the orsnn, Rhinin{{ likt* nomrt illuniinml iiaint
|ii till' t{atli<*rln^' duxk. Tin* niuitio itNidf nimmimmI ruthi>r to
Miiaiiitt* from tlii> playiT tliiiti from tli<« inHtrumt>n(, lind
lt*r fiio* WHH liv;lit«'d with a iiirrk K^ory that waM not of
tirtli. II rr iiiuHic, too, N(M<mi>d to chimti Htly with all tlitt
roicoH of natur«* around hrr, now wadly Noft ait th<* wiinin)(
liooii, n<»w rinin^ to tho ^raiuhmr of thf^ ulitti*rin^ HtatM,
kod anon falling in k«*ii(Ic and imp«>r<'<>p(ili|e i'lidcnccH to
iN'ikI with tli«' Hili'iKM^ and Noli'intiity ot the ni^lit.

Throti;;!! <unry olian;;n of Ininian fi>t«lint(, tliroui^li waiU

kf a^ony, through ^t'litli^ tontm of comfort and ^laddfiiing

hnutH of joy, it pa»<s<Ml, y«'t n«v«»r H(M>m«'d it out of pla»M« ;

Ind tin* Moul of the liMlrncr was thrill«><l with the HtraiiiH.

ill

tear-drop nioiHtiMU'tl his eye

Slowly it died away not with the sudden sliot'k of

id, "you mustii tj^HouhdH coiirmed, hut rather with the murmuring echo of a

you know. (/Oiin^^^Histant hell dyinu faintly over land and sea. Lon^ after

Thut will Itifl^Ber liii^erH had ceased to touch the keys, the room seemed

Itill to li«^ filled with the ecdioes of that wondrous melody,
iwd ((ver<'oine with powerful emotion, I'^red I'oIhoii himt his
lead and kissed the pale lips of the player,
"(lod Mess you, my child," he said.

.And had anyone at that moment asked him whether he
dievi'd in a hijjher and hotter life than this, sceptic and
reethiiiker that he was, ho would have answ«?re<l un-
louhtedly, " I do."

CIIAITKR III.
Unclh Nathan — A Runaway.

Tt was tho custom of Mr. Dysart's herd.sman to hrinp; two

)ails of milk from the farm to the house every mornin;^'. He

lad just performed this duty and was starting to return

rith the empty pails as Fred Poison (inished his breakfast,

md went to tho hack kitchen window to see him walk.

^^ou ask, perhaps, what there was in a man's style of

I <

POLSON S PROBATION.

1 I

walking to interest anyone. In most men's not much, T
admit; but this was a very peculiar man.

He was of ordinary height, but very thin and wiry. His
skin was as brown and hard as if composed of little
leathern scales, beaten compact by patient hammering,'.
His head, never at rest, moved from shoulder to shoulder
like a living inverted pendulum. His neck was capable of
contraction and expansion to an alarming degree, his head
at times resting low between his shoulders as if it had
grown there without a neck ; and again at the least alarm
it would shoot up into the air as if filliped by a hidden
spring, drawing after it a lengthy throat somewhat re-
sembling that which a tortoise thrusts from its shell.

His hands were long, slender and hard, with fingers as
rough as rasps, and knuckles like oak knots. They were
incapable of companionship, those fingers, and were con-
stantly trying to run away from each other. One would
move toward the sky, another toward the earth. One
pointed north, another pointed south, whilst the thumb
twirled helplessly amid the restless combination. His
arms, when not too heavily burdened, swung about with i
lordly and dramatic gestures. His semi-transparent knife
of a nose ended in an alabaster tip. His rough, sandy
goatee tapered down to a keen edge at the bottom, and
threatened to cut his throat in the nervous restlessness of I
its wagging.

This distorted bundle of agitated nerves was clothed in
the cottonade smock common in the country, a pair of
baggy top-boots, a hat turned wrong side before, and
several pairs of overalls. I say several pairs, for our
friend's system of patching, though rather expensive, was
very simple. He started with a brand-new pair, and as
soon as holes large enough to excite comment appeared in
these, he bought another pair and put them on beneath the |
old ones. When the sun scorched his limbs through
both these, he bought another pair, and this completed the
pantaloon trio. When this trinity of trousers would no
longer shelter him, he threw it aside and commenced to
construct another.

CNCLE NATHAN— A RUNAWAY.

n'a not much, T

On this particular morning, a8 he ambled along with the
^wo tin pails in his hands, he would swing them suddenly
forward to meet with a crash in front of him. Shocked
)y this collision, he stopped and whirled them backward,
if to tear them asunder, and again they clashed together
jhind him. He started ! This was too much for his
lelieate susceptibility ; and whirling half around, he placed
[he buckets on the ground, and drawing hiS form erect,
)lded his arms, pursed his lips and puckered his brow in
^uz/.led consideration.

From his station at the kitchen window, Fred Poison

hatched these proceedings with great amusement. In

)ite of his habitual thoughtfulness the spirit of mischief

ras stirred within him by beholding old Nathan's move-

lents, and as soon as that worthy began once more to

leander along with the colliding milk-pails, Fred stole

lyly out, and ran on tip-toe along the foot-path after him.

[e drew near to the old herdsman without being observed,

id after dodging about a bit to avoid the swinging

nlk-pails, stepped forward sharply and let out a strident

fell, at the same time giving him a smart dig with

is thumlx The milk-man's legs bent under him like a

[ird's, as he bounded into the air. His arms whirled

rildly around, and the milk-pails ricocheted through space.

lis head sank into the recess between his shoulders ; he

around in air, and finally landed with his knees

[oubled under him," facing Fred Poison, He screwed up
lis mouth, wrinkled his nose and arched his eyebrows at
le sight of Fred, who was vainly trying to stifle a laugh
rhich bubbled over his face and convulsed his frame.

"Well, uncle," he said, after calming himself a little,

you look rather surprised."

Uncle bounded to his feet as if he had received an earth-
luake shock.

"Hallo, Parlson," he bawled in high-strung nasal tones,
whar air you sprung from 1 " And so saying he rushed
|rst one way and then the other, and collected his scattered
iilk-pails.

" I think," said Fred, when uncle had shuffled back to

ill

t^l

t»OLSON*S PRORAttON.

■4

the footpath, " I ought to ask you wliere you have sprung;!,
from, if anything. You looked just now as if you hadu^
dropped from the sky."

Uncle replied with a grin that exposed a few tectlil
separated by generous gaps and made tiny creases arouiM
the corners of his mouth. "No more o' yer foolin' now, ,, v.
he said, "or maybe I'll get even with you some o' theseif |
days. fr

" Me fooling with you ! " said Fred in tones of surprise.*
"Why, uncle, you must be dreaming ! " ^

" O, git along ; we've seen the likes o' you fellers V)efore/ '
And though he took the incident so good-humoredly, h
stored it away in his memory, awaiting a season of retr
bution.

Fred accompanied him the rest of the way to the farm,
but it was rather dangerous companionship, for though lie
tried his best to keep out of the way of the whirling pails.
it was a difficult task. Uncle's walk was the gait of ai
ostrich, and his head, like that of Janus, seemed always to
looking both ways, in consequence of which he saw thinj,'
very imperfectly. At one time the bottom of a pail woukiV,/
whiz past Fred's head, whipping his cheek with cold air; i\\%:^
another the two would swing toward him from front aiui Jl
rear, threatening to flatten him in collision ; but by dint of^;,
diligent dodging, he escaped these erratic attacks, aiifl^"^^^
arrived safely at the farm. He found that his first workl
for the day was to take a message to a neighboring faring
He preferred to go on foot, and at once started out.
was a bright June morning. Here and there a few earlvi
roses glittered with the dew, and greeted the traveller^
with pleasant perfume. From the recesses of the greenF
and shady bluffs came the many-toned songs of the gleefu!|
bird flocks. Across the three beaten tracks, divided bvl
two thin lines of grass, composing the trail, a glisteniiigf
grass-snake would sometimes glide ; and, to spoil all thel
poetry of the scene, dark, revolving swarms of mosquito|
hummed a fiercely mournful melody around him, whilsti
the more audacious of their brethren settled on his facf|
and neck. Sometimes his hand would swoop down on

ir
\v
In
p<
Ii

UNCLE NATHAN — A RUNAWAY.

B you have sprung!
)w as if you luidf

osed a few teetlii

ny creases around^

yer fooliu' now,

you some o' thesed

I tones of surprise,"

rou fellers before.'
ood-hunioredly, lie ^
a season of retri

B way to the farm.
hip, for though in
the whirling pails,
as the gait of an
eenied always to be I
lich he saw thiii<;> ;
)m of a pail wou
k with cold air; at |
im from front mM
on ; but bv dint oil
atic attacks, aiiG^
I at his first work
neighboring farm.
started out. It
there a few early
ted the traveller
sses of the greenp
ngs of the gleeful I
acks, divided bv|
rail, a glisteniiigj
to spoil all thel
rms of mosquitosj
Dund him, whilst;
ettled on his facef
swoop down on i^M

rroup of these like an avalanche on adventurous moun-
lineers, and it generally returned to his side with a palm
[peckled with the ensanguined remains of his tormentors,
i lurried on by these pests, his errand was soon p(M-
lormed. He was returning over a trail that ran for about
hundred yards along the very edge of a steep ravine.
j-eeless, shrubless, flowerless, the steep bank, composed of
)ose earthy shale, descended to cease abruptly where trees,
irubs and flowers decked a level and beautiful valley.
Tred Poison paused to take a fair view.
"A nice-looking scene this," he thought, ''and its
jauty is strengthened not a little by the contrast this
ire bank affords. But this would be an ugly place to \)e
imbled into when riding along some dark night, or with
-but heigho ! what's this ? "

These exclamations were caused by the sight of a horse
ishing madly along the trail toward him, and dragging
fehind it a light veiiicle in which a female form was sit-
ing helplessly back, as if in a swoon. The horse dashed
lercely along toward where the road first began to creep
[long the edge of the ravine. At this point the trail
lurned abruptly, and Fred saw that if the beast rounded
Ihe corner at that wild speed the buggy would be thrown
ito the ravine by the swerve, and the occupant injured
[r killed, so he determined to try to stop it at all hazards.
[e ran swiftly forward and, passing the turn, stood ready
intercept the runaway. On it came, madly spurning
le dust from beneath its feet, and at every bound the
[^ehicle jumped forward, whilst every obstacle that it
truck fairly lifted the wheels off the ground. As the
jorse came nearer, Fred shouted and waved his arms to
Irighten it into staying its pace ; but still the beast
rushed blindly forward. He stept aside a little, and, as it
Inorted past, sprang at the rein and grasped it tightly,
lor a short distance the maddened brute rushed on,
Iragging Poison's feet along the ground ; but his weight
langing on the rein soon checked its speed. It slowed
ip gradually, and Fred, regaining his feet, gave a few
sharp pulls on the bit, which brought it to a stop. The

: 1'

POLSON S PROBATION.

aninml quivered in every limb. Its hide was reeking and
patched with flakeH of foam ; its eyes were bloodshot, and
the hot breath poured in fiery snorts through its distendj^d
nostrils. But these things Fred Poison heeded very little
He led the horse to a small blutt', a little distance off, and
there tied it fast to a tree.

This troublesome charge thus disposed of, he turned his!
attention to the helpless occupant of the buggy. She
leaned on the cushioned seat-back, apparently still uncoii
scious, for her eyes were closed and her head was sunk
upon her breast.

Fred Hrst looked around for some water to sprinkle on
her face ; but as he could see none nearer than the creek
that ran along the botiiom of the ravine — and which it
would take considerable time and trouble to reach — he
contented himself by taking off hi,^ broad straw hat and
converting it into a rude fan. Armed with this formidabh
article, spreading out from his hand like a turkey-cock's tail,
he got into the buggy and tried to revive her by waving it
before her face. But he found that the brim of her hat inter
fered with the operation, so that he was fain to act so unchiv
alrously as to take it off without her leave. He found that
he had uncovered a head of splendid black hair ; and this
discovery urged him to renewed exertions with his homely
fan. So vigorously did he work that the wind he created
tossed about the soft, dark fringe lying on her white fore
head ; and his hat bent like a tuft of grass in a breeze.

Fortunately, before it was quite demolished, the lady
began to show symptoms of recovery. Like the glow of
dawn spreading over the morning sky, the color began to
return to her cheeks. Like the light of stars brightenini;

the sky of evening, the gleam of consciousness slowly

returned to her opening eyes. She lifted her head slowly
and looked, at first in vague bewilderment, and then as:
sense grew more awake, in great surprise, at Fred.

"How is this?" she asked. "How came you herell
Let me see — I think I remember. The horse shied at a;
piece of paper or something on the road, and then began
to rear, and I was frightened ; and he got away from me.

UNCLE NATHAN— A RUNAWAY.

was reekiii<]j and
B bloodshot, aiul
igh its disteiuh'd
eecled very little
distance otf, andj

3f, he turned liis

the buggy. She

jntly still uncon

head was sunk

)r to sprinkle on
r than the creek
Q — and which it
>le to reach — he ^i
d straw hat and
h this formidable
turkey-cock's tail, %
her by waving it |
1 of her hat inter |
1 to act so unchiv
He found that
k hair ; and this
with his homely
wind he created
n her white fore-'^
in a breeze,
jlished, the lady
l(ike the glow of
e color began to
ars brightening '■
ciousness slowly
her head slowly
nt, and then as
at Fred,
came you here!
lorse shied at a
and then began
t away from me.

■j

nd, oh I how he rushed along. T was so frightened [
opped the reins altogether — that is all I can remember,
rhapsyou, sir, can tell me the resf?"
She Hpoke like one who was earnestly trying, under a
oud, to account for something she could not properly
derstand ; and the last sentence sounded like an appeal

Fred for enlightenment.

Now, Fred Poison, as we have seen, was V)old enough
fore an unconscious and speechless girl ; but when that
ung lady had recovered consciousness, sight and voice,
d actually began to question him with the latter, the
Idness faded away.
He began to fidget and feel uneasy, for the position in

ich he stood — penned in the narrow confines of an Ameri-
buggy with a young lady he had never seen before,
d standing against the dashboard, holding one end of an
straw hat crumpled in his hand, while the rest
panded gradually outward from it like a kite — was not
e most graceful, and to a man of Fred Poison's nervous
niperament it was extremely embarrassing.
However, replacing his hat and pulling nervously at the
im with one hand, whilst with the other he fingered the

hboard, he stammered out a broken tale, relating what

liad seen of the runaway.

^ "^ hen I saw the horse running toward me," he said,

Ip stood on the trail and caught at its bridle — no its rein

its bridle, I mean — no it was its rein after all, I think, —

,d managed to stop it. You were senseless (excuse me, I

an unconscious) in the buggy, so I got up into it and
and you came to yourself again."

As Fred delivered himself of the last sentence he felt a
tie blush creeping over his face, for he knew that he was

ving something out ; but, for the life of him, when he
ought of the battered and rusty old straw on his head,

could not tell her how he had aided in reviving her.
ut she saved him from further embarrassment by a
p-ateful look and an almost involuntary extension of her
nd.

" You have saved my life," she said, grasping his hand

POLSON S PUOilATION.

Ill i

in a momentary impulse of enthusiastic gratitude. " How
can I tiiiink you Hutliciontly ?" This (question was askidl
with such expressive helplessness of the jj;nititude she f«'jtj
that it heij»hten('d her heauty tenfold in his eyes ; and U'
the same time giving him an insight of her nature, a
helped not a little to set him at case.

" Your words have alrcnuly more than repa'd me for tin
trifling service I have been able to render you — a service,
he added, "which in reality was nothing more than tlu
common duty of anyone toward a fellow-being in distress
J>ut I must not leave you as you are. The reins seem ti
be broken ; \ will try to fix them up a little.*'

He jumped to the ground, and taking the broken part
of the line in his hand he deftly knotted them together.

** Not a very elegant job, I'm afraid," he said, lookin.
at her with a smile, " but I daresay it will- hold till yoi,
reach your destination."

"It is very nicely done, 1 am sure," she said. "Aii'
really it is very kind of you to take so much trouble."

" Oh, don't mention it," said Fred, as he untied the hors
from the tree.

"Now," he said, when all was ready for a start, "yoi
must not permit me to leave you like this. Let me hav^
the pleasure of driving you the rest of your journey, when
ever that may take you."

" I was going to Bendigo," she said, " but as it is, I mus:
simply return home. I have already troubled you to
much, I am sure, and I cannot think of trespassing oi
your kindness any further. Besides I am sure I can man
age ' Brandy ' now. He was very fresh before, but his rui
will have quieted him."

" Still, when a horse has once run away, he is liable t
try very hard to do so again. You really must let m
accompany you, for you will be doing me a service, as
notice that you came the way I intend going, and if yo
are going to turn back, it will carry me so much nearer m
destination."

" Why, how stupid of me not to think of that before !
she exclaimed in self-reproach. " Of course you can riilt

UNCLE NATUAN — A RUNAWAY.

ratitude. " How
estioti was askm
gratitude she ft 1
his eyes ; and U!
jf hor nature, i''

repa'd uie for tin
■ you a service,
<f^ more than tin
■being in distress
Tile reins seem t
:tle.;'

the broken pait^
ihem together,
' he said, looking'
will- hold till yoii

she said. " Ami
uch trouble."
e untied the hot y

((

vol.

for a start,

is. Let me ha\>

r journey, where

ut as it is, I must
roubled you toi
of trespassing or
n sure I can nuui
efore, but his rui

ly, he is liable tc
ally must let w-
le a service, as !
^oing, and if yn
) much nearer m

of that before '
irse you can ride

Ith me, Uvally you must think me very tlioughtloss

id UM;j;ratet'uI."

[Fred as.iured her tl»at he understood her perfectly, got

to the buggy, took the reins from her hands and they were

m whirling merrily along the dusty road.
it first there was an awkward silence l)etwcen them,

lieh was broken by the young lady, who fingered her

It strings and said nervously :

I" Forgive me for my boldness, but may I ask the name

[my preserver '? "

_ 'his was just what Fred Poison wanted. He had been
|iiilr/,liiig his brains for some means of introduction, and
nfllw tlie ice he had been vainly casting about for some way
oIk racking, was nicely broken ^or hin».
^" My name is Frederick Poison," he said. " I am learn-
farming under jNlr. Dysart ; and now to make the

production complete, may I ask your name?"
My name is Crags — Alice Crags," she said with a little

igh. " Not a very pretty name, is it?"

*' Oh, I don't know. It is certainly poetical."

" Yes, very," she said with a tinge of sarcasm. *' It

^mes with 'snags,' 'bags,' 'rags,' and other such

tides."

"But rhyme is not always poetry," he said with a smile.

lany of our greatest poets have sung of crags."

r' Oh, yes ! " she said. " ' Horrid crags.'

) »

' Bristling

igs,' and ' crags o'ertopped with snow.
" At least they pierce to heaven and leave vain man
low," he added, rhyming on her quotations.
^^Tliider the influence of such conversation they became

bu rally more familiar, and at ease with each other. She
(dded beautifully through the folds of her timidity, and

id's stiffness and reserve disappeared. He found a com-

lioii who talked with delicious feminine lightness and
jrrinient on many topics ; A'hilst she, for her part, was
|armed with Poison's melodious diction, and astonished

the breadth of information he displayed on every topic
jy discussed. Those gifts, combined no doubt with his
jpossessing face and youthful appearance, completely

rOLSON S I'KOHATION.

i.i,

111

gained for Trod tho adiniration and attention of his fair
auditor, for woman is ever nn iidiniier of olo((uonce and
wit.

Absorbed in this disoourso, and perhaps nnwilling nh
to part so soon from his \ui\v acMiuaintancc!, l<V«'d (juit^
for<?ot to get out at tho point nc^arest to the farm, hut nul^
with the maiden to her fatlu^r's door ; and was afterward.
rather astonished to lind that he was a))out two njihjs fron
his former destination.

The farm-l)uildings of Mr. Crags, sen., consisted of ,
weather-beaten wooden house, and a few tumble-down oii«
story edifices composed of a jumble of logs, sods, maniii.
straw, and other primitive material. These were statiom
at the back of the house so as to break the force of tli-
north winds, and were made up of an indistinguishul)!
medley of stables, granaries and barns.

Against the western end of the house leaned a wean
looking apartment which served as a kitchen, and this wiu
its only offshoot. The rest of the house stood up in prin
square dignity ; its windows looked mournfully out from th-f
sun-blistered and weather-blackened boards which siir^
rounded them. The loose round handles drooped dejectedl
from the doors like the tired hands of a weary person. Thi
cracked and rusty stovepipe on the house-top rolled out
lazy puff of grey smoke occasionally like a pipe in thn
mouth of someone half asleep.

In front of the house on a small, broken plot of land, soim|
attempt had been made at gardening, but dingy hens mjid
croaking cackles as they scratched among the weeds witl
which it was overgrown, as if searching in bitter sarcasiil
for the seeds that had been sown there. The growing fieldij
of wheat extending to the south were mingled with a darl
growth of noxious weeds, which threatened eventuallf^
to cl'.oke the whole crop. Over everything hung the dii
orderly signs of slovenly mismanagement. The paintlesi
buildings rotting to decay, the shrivelling weed-stro\vr|
fields, the littered farm-yard, the rakish-looking cattle — a
seemed moving fast to ruin ; for stamped upon that pbio
like a mark of Cain was the blasting curse of drink.

""^— *

UNCLE NATHAN — A HTNAWAY.

ontion of his fuir,
of clo(iuonce hikI.

ips unwilling ulsfi*j^
Lance, Knnl quiu '^
th« farm, l>ut rrxk^.
1(1 waH afterward"'^
»ut two niilos froii

m., consisted of if!

tumble-down out
)gs, soda, maniMv
686 were stationcc
k the force of th^

indistinguishttblt

e leaned a weary
jhen, and this was
stood up in priii-^
nfully out from tli
oards which siii
drooped dejectedi
eary person. '11
e-top rolled out ;
ke a pipe in tli-

plot of land, soiiit
dingy hens niiul
tr the weeds witi
in bitter sarciisi
The growing titlii
ngled with a clan.
atened eventuiill
ng hung the div
t. The paintles^^,
ling weed-strow:|
ooking cattle — al|
upon that plac
e of drink.

[Fred Poison did not notice those thitigs at the time, liow-

)r, as his attention was absorbed by .-i maHculine looking,

[rk hairiMl woman, wlio lifted her hands in horror as she

her daught»fr riding up, acoompunmd by a youthful

ganger in male attire ; and wh(m she saw this young man

Imly descend and lift Alice from tins buggy, her mouth

;n«'(l to receive and emit a bnuith of horror-tainted air,

liist her dark brow wrinkled like a corrugated thunder-

Llice, in her eagerness to explain matters and relate her
M'litures, did not notice these signs, but running hastily
toward her mother, began to tell a breathless tab*. As she
ctM'ded the lady's frowning brow unbent, and when her
ghter presented Poison to lujr as the gentleman who
saved her life, she even deigned to greet him with a
ndiy smile ; to which Fred replied with a courteous
and an answering smile, at the same time informing
that he was "glad to make her accjuaintance."
' 1 do not know how we can be thankful enough to you,"
Mrs. Crags. ** If you are not engaged already you
St come and have tea with us next Sunday."
♦Thank you," said Fred, " but—."

'Oh, yes, do," interposed the grateful Alice, appealingly.

"here was no resisting that. •"Thank you," said Fred,

will come with much pleasure. But before I leave

now, you must allow me to put your horse in the stable

you."

' Oh, no, thank you ! " said Alice. " I can manage that

well myself. I have often done it before."
bl3on insisted, but still she would allow him to do
ling more than unhitch the horse from the buggy, and
it away to the stable with her own hand. Fred lingered
tie to talk to Mrs. Crags, and then took his departure,
niising faithfully to return on the following Sunday.

I»()r.SON S IMlOliA'lloN.

fill

ill''!

III!.

II!

CIIAI"l'Kli IV.

TlIK VUU^AN OV TIIK KNKA|i|N(iTI(Ui;<ill.

Ah VhhI PoIhoi) H'turncd to l\u) hyHiirt tnriu \\\h brnii,
wai coiiHiuiitly plioto^niiiliin^ two xoft brown oy<>H ovir
archod hy a wliito Imow, Hiitwird with a luxuriant fringf* ntj
(lark liair. I(cii<>atli iIichc, on tliiH uicntal picture, wiih a
olifrry lipp<'(l HcnHitivi; mouth and a little round chin. It
wuH a full-KJ/cd pholo;{raph, and tho lower part wua till<i
in with a graceful little wonwinly ti^ure.

Ahstruoted by this artist ic study, Fred wandered al
Wntly alon^, <itid after aijout a quarter of an hour of tin
8Rt\tiniontal nieanderin;^ was Hurprini-d to find that he wjh >^
travelling' tln^ wron^' road. Hantily recollecting hiinscli,
he recovered the track and walked at a (juick puce toward
the farm.

It was custonuiry for him to dine with the men, and m-
it was drawing near tlie hour of noou h(^ hastened that lu
nught be in time for the mpal. Winn h(^ reaclKid tlii
farui hous«', howev(!r, ho found dinner alnsidy over. II
went into the? house and looked down the row of b.n
deal tables otl' which they took their njcals, but no sign i
dinner-things remained on them. A f(^w men hiy doziiij
on the wooden benches whicli composed tlie seats, ami
others lounged in the shade of the buildings smoking their
mid-day pipes.

The large substantial wooden buildings, painted red uiid
roofed with shingles, told of the capital that had b(t
expended in their erection. A few tem[)orary and ricket\
looking hovels were scattered around ; and among thtw
separated by a few yards from the house, was the cool
shanty. Toward this h\ad Poison bent his steps.

Externally, it was made up of rough boards topped by
shingled shed roof. Internally, moat of the space \v;i
taken up by a huge stove, on the spacious top of wiiiLJi
several pots tizzed and frothed, and sent forth variou;
steams and odors, whilst from the cavernous ovpn camt

Ifl
|e

»s

TIIK VI l.r'AN or TIIK KNEADINO-TnOUCill. 35

Titoirnll.

I firnn hiH bruin I
(jovvii ov«'M ovtr
Miriaiit friiiKi* ii
il jiicturo, was hi
! round cliin. Itj
i»r part was Hlltnl

I'd wamlerrd nl
)f Jilt hour of tlibVr,
Hud that he wa«j
()ll«'(;lin^ hiiiiHtlt,
[uii;k pace towiird

li thn iin'ii, and aJ
hastciH'd that li-
[1 he reached tli
I ready over. II
the row of hm
lis, hut no sifijii '
men hiy do/iii.
I th(i seats, aiiii)V
s snicking thcirj

painted red im\]*

that had hctn
ary and rickrty
nd among th('se,,;|
(', was the cookj
is steps.
)arda topped by ;i3
the space wasi
3us top of wiiicli
it forth varioii'l
nous ovpn canitl

pth div«»rii «oundH of hJMMing and Mphitteriuff, which, coin-

|iiid with hot pulU of .HI aping vapor, w««re liahlo to

ikf a mrvouM Htraii,;«'r think that living Herpentn were

king roiiHtiMJ there. Around the ntove, like Muljji'etK Hur-

Hiding a inonanh, wrre Hoattered pots, p/mi, krttUm and

)kiiig utensils of \ariouH kinds.

I'I'Im' man who lor<h«d it over thin greasy domain had heen
thied, ImHted and haked into a premature middle ago.
uliglit Mprinkling of grey if it wore not (lour in Iuh
Lir aixl wliiakeiH sliowed that youth wiih vainly Htrug-
[n.; against it8 ever-<!nt;roaching foe, old ag«». 'i'iie right
|e of his noHe wan adorned with a hhick linger streak,
>kiiig as if some gigantic glohule of ink had once
)pped in the guise of a tear from Inn eye, and had never
id' lieon eflaced. On hiH head lie wore a greany crown —
crown of a hat, that is from wliicli the hrini had heen
rn oW in a religiouH controversy long ago. An ancient
»ey, perforated with a myriad of little holes in the
sast, protected his hack from weather and ohservation.
in nether limhs were d«;cked out in a pair of loose pants
it had once been white, but were now bedaubed with ho
my (;oatiiigs of grease, mingled with .so many plaHt<»rs of
fur and dough, that though in hot weather they were
lusually supple and shiny, when it froze they became as
[fi' as two ancient columns. His feet were partly en-
Jed in a pair of carpet slippers. I say parthf because
toes stuck out at one end and his heels at th(! other ;
[d, as he was never in the habit of wearing socks, this
ju instance made his feet not the least obtrusive part of
luiatomy.
hen Fred Poison entered the shanty, this personage
Ls engaged in kneading dough, and all that could be seen
him was the back of liis trousers hitching up at the
btoms with every thump on the dough, so revealing two
igths of brown coagulated heel, which kept rising and
)f)ping on the soles of his defenceless carpet slippers
[th pulsations as regular as steam piston-rods.
!*' I say, cook, would you kindly get me a little dinner?"
Id Fred. /

POISON S IMIOIIATION.

" WtiAt/H thiitt" ^lowlfxi li dttp voion from tlio (l<*pt)i^
of i\u<i kuviitl'iufi trough.

" I'vo Ihmui tlirnwii liitii l)y nri aooidmit. Would you
miti<i ^t'ttiii^ iiio a littln Moiii^thiii^ to (tiitl"

At thJM thti Vulciui of tlx* kii«>ii(iiii>( trough riiiNiul In
Ih'imI fi-diii itM fil)Mcurity : it wiin )Nir«\ liii« hair (iiNh«*v«'llri|
and till) |i(<rMpiratioii on liia farn nnd lirow vainly tri«>cl
to (^Hcapo from tln< (lour which tliickrni>d around And
impriHohtMl it. lie looktMl with an air of ^rini d(^Han<i
at I'olson.

•• "Paint nn^al tinn'," he nan! ;^ruMIy.

I*'r«ul Haw at onro that only purMuuaion would cauHu him
to ^rant his r«M|U()iit.

'* hut, fook," Im Haid fimilin^, **H«ippoR<i now that you
w«»re unavoidiihly thrown lato — "

" Thiw ain't a liourdin' hoUN(>," wan the growling iut(*r-
ruption. •* Mt-aU ar« on at ro^ular timn h»M«."

"I know that (|uit(« w(*ll. Hut HuppoHo, cook, that you
•ftw a youn^ lady in a ditUoulty, would you hoHitate to
help hor out for ft'ar of hoin^ too late for dinner 1"

At the mention of a lady the cook's countenance altered.
HIh brow biH'ame Kinoother, and he actually Htniled.

" Oh, it's a woman that haH stopped you, iu it?" h.c taid.
•' How (lid that happen f"

l<V(!d told him such of the iiuMilentH of his adventure as
luH modesty permitt(>d ; and while he did so the cook
hustled ahout and got him some dinner. Wheti Poison
was seated on the softer end of a hlock of wood with a tin
platter covered with n>eat anc' vegetables on his knees, and
a pannikin tilled with warm tea by his side, the man of
grease and paste returned to his kneading, pausing, how-
ever, between intervals of dough-thumping and trouser-
hitching to hold confid(M»tial conversation with his guest.

'* [ tell you what, young man," he said, in one of thest*
cessations, as he drew the back of his hand over his face,
"you'll have to look out for that Miss Crags, for I hears
as some rich fellow has bought that section just over the
creek fr, u their house, and is coming to settle on it right
>iway."

.»

rom iho (l«>pt)u

;, Would you

iiir (linhi'vi'lliMl,

w viiiiily tried

(1 lirotind Riul

grim (lt)tiaun>

ouUl

niUHt) iiiiii

now tliat you
f^rowling int«'r

cook, tliat yoii
y^oii hi'situto to
inner I "

enaiu'o altortui.

hiiuNmI.

is it?" l\e said.

is adventure as

I 8() the cook
VVhon PoIhoii

ood with a tin

his kneoH, and

o, the man of

pausing;, how-

and trouser

|th his guest.
I one of these
over his face,

|g9, for I hears
1 just over tlie
tie on it riglit

THE VUIX'AN OK TIIK KKKADINd-TKOimil. HT

•' ( Ml, Indrod ! " .aid Frrd, Muddrtdy InUrMtiKl, " I nrvtr
Ih^ard of that ln«for«». What Kort of man i« ho 1 "

" Thny Nay he'Nuyoung man and a Imchelor, and in goinfif
to do hig thing*, '"^o you'll hav« to look out tor th« girl."

" Nover mind th<^ girl," Naid Fred, ratlntr impatiently.
h« Thiiik a little niori* aWout MrN. ToniMon."

The laMt remark He«Mnr<l rather to utartlo the party to
Iwhoii) it waH addreNHi'd.

'•Now, Mce here!" he said thn'fttenlngly, ai« he liftrd
lotto hand out of the kn<>ading trough and pushed it down
Ithe other arm to remove th(t dough. Fred Haw that he
|had nuuU* a uiiNtake and hastened to change the Muliject.

" Ity the way, cook," he Maid, as if Huddeidy recolteoting
lioinething, •• I saw in the /-'/w /'remt that your great
Imitiister I' has denounced the iM^iief in hell."

The cook waH an ardent llaptiit, and waH wont to
liiieaHure the Ntrongth of hin adherence to his own ndigiou
Ihy liiH violent hatred of all others. Fred's statenunit had
hiiHt the eflect he intended. Mr. Hcrogpot's anger was
litnothered at once in uid>elief

" Where d' you see that I ho gaid. *' It's either a lie or
la mistake."

" A mistake ! No. Dou't you think yourself that he
lis right 1 "

*' flight !" (thumping the dough as if it had been
jFred's question) " Kight ! Why if men goes on like
Itliat they'll soon neither helieve in the iiihle, nor heaven,
jlior (Jod, nor the devil, nor nothing."

" Hut, cook, do you believe it reasonable that a merciful
|(Jod could create men to degrade thouj into fiends?"

The cook lifted his head from the kneading-trough,
licrewiMl his neck around, and with his back still bent looked
lover his shoulder at Fred with a glanco of mingled pity
land contempt.

" Look here, young man, you've got some nice ideas in
lyour head, you have. |)id you ever read the Scripturs?
"The Scripturs says that * the axe is laid at the root of the
[tree, and if it don't grow good fruit, it is hewed down and
least into the fire.' What does that fire mean but hell ?"

tlS

POLSONS PIIOBATION.

"Yes. But, cook, you must remember tliere are nianj
passages in the Bible that cannot bo taken literally."

The cook ceased from his work, and raising himself erect,!
began to pace about the shanty, slapping the floor with his
slippers in horritied agitation. " Whatever's the world
a-comin' to? You don't believe the Bible now, you say,
The devil's chariots are as thick as flies in the air, aml|
darkness covers the people. That's what I'sehigher says,
as you'll find in the Scripturs. If you won't believe one!
thing, let me shov/ you another."

He paused in his walk, and took a dog-eared pocket!
Bible from one of the higher shelves. Then, after wipin^l
his doughy fingers on his apron, he seated himself on a|
table near the window, opened the book, and began to read!
aloud for Fred's edification, spelling the letters of the morel
difficult words out separately, and pronouncing the words!
first distinctly apart, and then collectively ;

" 'And t-h-e-y they t-o-o-k took S-t-e-p Step h-e-n heni
Step-hen, and s-t-o sto r-e-d ned sto-ned him.' No thatl
ain't it. Wait a bit while I find it." He turned back a!
number of leaves. " 'And w-h-e-n when t-h-e-y thevj
c-a-m-e came n-ig h nigh u-n-t-o unto C-a-p Cap e-r er n-aj
nay u-m um Cap-er-nay-um.' No that ain't it neither!
Let's see where it is."

He turned over several more leaves, and this time was!
successful in his quest. He settled himself with an air ofl
permanence, gave one solemn glance at Poison to impressi
the lesson on his mind, and then slowly and with many!
mispronunciations spelled out to him the story of Dives|
and Lazarus.

Fred listened with well-concealed amusement. When!
the cook had finished, he closed th^ book and replaced it!
on the shelf with a triumphant bang.

"Now, then," he said, "ain't that enough for anybodyj
with common-sense? How would you like to be likel
Dives" — (pronounced like the verb) — "looking across a gulf!
and asking Lazarus for a drop of water to cool his tongue!
with ? Ain't that hell for you ? I tell you what it is, youngj
man, if you don't want to be cast into the bottom of the!

•*>

THE VUI.CAN OK THK KNKAniNO-TROUGlI.

jottoiiih'ss pit tijiit l)unis forever witli lire and briinstoue
[atul the Scripturs s.iys the fire is not quenched, and the

rorin doesn't die), you'd better drop some o' them new-
fangled mermuggaty ideas o' yourn, and believe what the

Jcripturs tells you."

*' Well, cook," said Fred, with a smile, " perhaps you are
right. It is rather unfortunate for me in that ca^ie that I
)elong to the same class as Dives."

The cook growled a low assent to this remark and
resumed his dough-punching with redoubled vigor, whilst

^red Poison returned to work.

cool his tonf];ue|

T have not attempted to trace my hero through the
broublesome gradations by wliich he obtained mastery over
the toilsome labor of the farm ; because I thought the
account would be as wearisome to the reader as the reality
)ften was to the learner.

At first he encountered many difficulties. His com-

)anion8 laughed at him as a "tenderfoot" and "greenhorn."

["he plow-handles blistered his hands into corrugations of

[ittle white watery mounds. The cold-blooded, cud chewing

>xen exasperated him. In vain he lavished all the loud

)eauty of his voice on them, and left only a hoarse, guttural

iiound to irritate his throat. In vain he kicked, and struck

aldly at them with the handle of a broken whip ; he

generally got twisted up in the lash himself. In vain he

)ulled them by the ears, and pounded their foreheads with

lis list — it only skinned his knuckles, and the general

fesult o^ these tits of rage was that he had to spend about

quarter cf an hour in extricating the oxen from the
larness in which they had meshed themselves in affright,
^rom these circumstances he drew the motto, "Patience
speeds faster than wrath." He was next promoted to the
lonor of driving a team of strong-smelling mules, which for
lardiness, stubbornness and stupidity were without equine
jqual on the farm. They always came to a stock-still stand
it the end of the field nearest to the stable ; and it wp j
mly after many objurgations and several sharp strokes of

I'l:''

Iff

Ml'' I'ii

''V\

m
ii

Hi;!;'
ii

POLSON S PllOUAT!ON.

the whip that they would lay their lengthy ears back on
their stubborn necks and move funereally along.

However, Fred rid himself of this diificulty \)y choosinf;
a field with a haystack standing at the farther end from
the V)arn. Under this arrangement the mules worktd
admirably ; for the sight of a food supply hurried them
one way, and the viev/ of their place of rest drew th( in
with equal speed the other. Thus impelled, the amount ofj
land that he turned over astonished even the old hands,
and he was rewarded for his diligence by being thought
capable of driving a team of horses.

With these more intelligent beasts he got on better, and!
his perseverance wap at last crowned by a complete
mastery of his work. The toil which had at first seemed
hard and burdensome became easy, and even pleasant,
with familiarity. His hands hardened so that he could luf
any tool without pain. He no longer feared the effect ui.
exposure on his skin. His muscles grew firm, and his
limbs strengthened with constant exercise. His sleep was!
sound, his appetite keen, and he could stand forth at last,]
a true brother among earth's noblest sons — "the laborini!J
men."

He often wondered how men could yawn through un,
healthy days, with invulnerable time hanging lead-like on
their souls, when there was so much to be done by whiclij
they could easily be relieved, nnd the performance of whicli|
would satisfy that gnawing sense of duty which calls uponj
all men to work.

Did hfc; not feel better, stronger, more self-reliant than
before? He had no longer to depend for the necessaries of ;|
life on crops shorn by other hands, or fields tilled by thes
labor of other men ; but he could now with his own hand!
wrest a living from the rugged earth. He thought of hoflf
he used to ride with his rich squire-unck in a carriage,!
visiting the poor of the village, his uncle yawning witlij
ennui, and complaining of gout, indigestion, and tliej
socialism and ingratitude of the poor, whilst he half-enviedj
the cheerfulness of the coarsely-clad workingmen who!
doffed their hats as his carriage rolled by. Strange anomalyj

SILAS PANCRACK.

rot on better, and!
[ by a complete
tl at first seenied|
d even pleasant,
that he could use!
ared the effect oi
ew firm, and hisl
le. His sleep was!
band forth at last,
is — "the laboriniil

rawn through un
iging lead-like or,
)e done by whidi |
ormance of whicli
which calls upon!

Ithey whose labor supplied this man with the means of

►ing in corrupting idleness, empty pomp and enervating

xury, bowed to the receiver of their labor's etiects. These

jre our hero's thoughts. His faith in the theories of

irlyle and Tolstoi had been strengthened tenfold by

tuai experience ; and with youthful ardor he resolved

it labor should henceforth be the guiding law of his life.

|So ran the current of his ideas at that time. Whetiier

ay were right or wrong I leave the readers to judge for

jmselves. Let it suftice for me to say that his proposi-

Lns were thoughtfully arrived at, and his resolutions

Inestly madn.

CHAPTER V.
Silas Pancrack.

)n the following Sabbath, faithful to his promise, Fred
llson went to tea with the Crags. Mrs. Crags, dressed
[her best apparel, received him at the door and ushered
into the hous.e.

'red naturally expected to see the interior present an
)earance corresponding with outside surroundings ; but
[this he was agreeably disappointed. The farm outside
managed by men, but inside the house woman reigned
)reme, and her influence was visible over everything it
itained. The stove, in the kitchen (the room in which
id found himself) shone as if the brightness of the fire
entered into its spotless blackness. The orderly rows

)ans flashed like helmeted linos on the wall, whilst the
)r was white ar the lather of the soap that had been
M on it.

5ut what interested Poison most in this room was a

lan figure, seated on a chair by the stove, which Mrs.
igs pointed out to him as " my husband." He was a
^rt, thick man of about fifty-five (though he looked fully

years older), and in spite of the warmth of the day, was

POLSONS IMlOnATION.

I ill

1 1,1

r'. H I'll;

'lit

ill
I'llf

!:i 1

'ill

I 1

seated close by the stove. As he obstinately refusod u
change his clothes for any occasion, Fred saw him in his I
everyday guise, the most striking part of which was a
huge pair of boots that frowned up at him with enorinou^
bulbous swellings and intervening creases, which when lu
walked opened and closed with groans and creaks, ilisl
pantaloons hung in bloated ridges about his legs, and
his open coat and half-unbuttoned vest revealed a blue
checkered shirt whicli bulged through the aperture. His
left hand rested on the knob of a stout walking-stick, and
his right, with the bundle of nioppish rags that enwrapped
it, reposed on his knee.

This hand had been hurt in an accident some years ago,!
and in consecjuence had been carefully bandaged by a
surgeon. Then followed an accumulation somewhat similar
to Uncle ^Tathan's pantaloons. When the first bandage
had worn loose, instead of being cast aside it was covered
by another. This, in its turn, had also suffered partial
eclipse in time ; and as tiiis covering system had now been
carried on for several years, liis hand resembled an ani
mated mop-head. It was picturesque, for rags of all colors!
had contributed to its decoration ; and though many of
the colors had grown faint, there was much variety still.
When heated these rags emitted a strong spirituous odor,]
which undoubtedly attested the cause of his present useless
and inert condition. His stubbled face may have once
been expressive and intelligent, but as Fred Poison saw it,
it had a sodden, lifeless look which the drowsy blinking of
the half-closed eyes tended to increase. His head was
covered with a broad-brimmed, greasy slouch hat, the
bulges and creases of which made it a fitting crown for
the rest of his slovenly attire. This gentleman replied to
Fred's salutation with an owlish blink and a hoarse " Har|
do"? Fine dee to dee."

Fred was at once interested by this broad specimen ofj
English country dialect, and would willingly have proj
longed the conversation, but he saw that Mrs. Cragsj
was impatient for him to move on, and he followed herj
into the sitting-room.

.« . i| W. fp m» *» jjfii«MWkj^niu w

SILAS PANCRACK.

jitely refused toi
saw him in his
)f which was a

I with enoriuoiis
which when In

\d creaks. 1 1 is
t his legs, and
revealed a blue
aperture. His
liking-stick, and
that enwrapped]

some years a^'o,
bandaged by a I
jmewhat similar
le first bandage

e it was covered

suttered partial

m had now been

sembled an ani !

ags of all colors i

-hough many of

ch variety still.

spirituous odor,

present useless!

nay have once]

II Poison saw it,
wsy blinking of I

His head was
|louch hat, the
ting crown for
man replied to
a hoarse " Har

id specimen of

igly have pro-i

it Mrs. Crags

followed her

The room was small but tastefully furnished. A plain
tnrpet covered the floor. Tlx^ plastered walls w(!ro adorned
rith two bright colored paintings and many neatly framed
)hotographs placed in rows and pyramids. On a table in
ihe centre of the room stood a vase of sweet-smelling
lowers, dispensing a pleasant fragrance.

Seated on a couch beneath the window curtains was a
roung man with a newspaper in his hand. On their
sntrance he looked up quickly from his reading and a half-
larcastic smile flitted across his face, but it vanished so
^oon as hardly to be noticeable.

" Mr. Poison, Mr. Pancrack, our latest neighbor." Thus
ipoke Mrs. Crags.

Mr. Pancrack rose from the couch, and extending his
land greeted Fred with an oily smile and a polite " How
lo you do, sir. [ am glad to make your acquaintance."

Fred, with a little more constraint, replied in similar
jonventional terms, and seated himself on a chair, whilst
^Ir. Pancrack resumed his place on the couch.

In the course of one of those formal conversations with
'^hich new acquaintances generally manage to politely bore
3ach other, Fred Poison found time to examine the new
irrival more closely. He was rather flashily dressed in a
light checkered suit. Two large gold rings set with rubies
glistened on his white and shapely fingers. From his
folden watch-chain hung several weighty trinkets, and a
liamond pin flashed in glistening solitude from the midst
>f a bed of white shirt front. On the whole, Fred judged
lim to be an ostentatious man, wishing to captivate by
jlitter ; withal a cunning look mingling companionably
dth the kind of crooked regularity of his features, gave a
leeper and more forbidding tinge to his expression. It was
)robably this combination of different phases that interested
''red Poison, for the man certainly excited his curiosity, and
le determined to find out all he could about him.

" From what part of England do you come, Mr. Pan-
Icrank ? " he asked.

*' I come from the town of B , in Yorkshire,"

replied Mr. Pancrack, taking an ivory-handled penknife

j ,

1 ll

i'li
'i'

POLSON S PROBATION.

!l''"i

from his pocket ami beginiiiiig to sliavo tlio onds of liis
uli'fady tiiK'ly-pjired tinger-nails.

' From B ," echoed Fred, remembering tlie namo.

"^'hen you might know Mr. Julius Hatton, a cousin of
m ne who lives there."

'• Hatton," said Mr. Pancrack, puckering his brow and
thoughtfully paring the nail of the middle Hnger of his left
hand. " Hatton ! Let me see. Wasn't ho a member of
some financial firm] Oh, yes. I remember now. He
went off on a European tour at about the same time as I
left England for this country."

" Then you were not personally acquainted with hiuj."

" I have met him, certainly, and spoken with him once
or twice, but I know so many people, and my memory for
characteristics is so poor, that I cannot say much of any
particular one, except, of course, those with whom I was
quite intimate."

" What sort of character does this Hatton generall}
bear among his fellow-citizens?"

"In the main, excellent," replied Mr. Pancrack, with
more vehemence than so slight an acquaintance seemed to
call for. " Of course, there are some envious people wlio
try to blacken his good name by charging him with mean-
ness on account of his carefulness, but still he is respected
in the best society. The ladies are coming to join us."

The last sentence was caused by hearing a rustling
sound on the stairway, and Mr. Pancrack hastily pocketed
his penknife and brushed the slender nail parings off his
trouser-knee.

The stairway door opened, and Miss Orags, blushing and
smiling, walked in, followed by a pale, slender young lady
whom she introduced to Poison as Miss Shenstone,
Alice was dressed in white, a color which set off to per-
fection her glossy hair and rich complexion. Miss Shen-
stone, on the other hand, was robed in a rather sombre-
colored dress, which perhaps somewhat deepened the pale-
ness of her thin, sensitive face, and a smooth wave of fair
hair rolling high above her brow helped to give her an
intellectual expression.

SILAS PANCRACK.

ends of his

Mr. Pancrack politely vacated the sofa, and the two
lyounj^ ladies seated themselves upon it. A conversation
Ltarted on weather, mosquitos, crops, and other tiresome
topics common to the time ; hut it soon drifted otT on other
hiiit'8. As the talk merged awiy to social chit-chat, popu-
lar fashions, and other matters dear to ladies' hearts, it
became almost entirely confined to Pancrack and Miss
('rags. Fred Poison understood very little about these
tilings, and Miss Shenstone seemed to be a quiet, pensive
young lady, contenting herself with an occasional remark
or explanation. Poison, not desirous of being drawn into
a conversation in which he would only expose his ignorance,
entrenched himself in silence, and so had an opporti .ity of
[studying more attentively the features of Miss Crags. He
Idiseovered that she was slightly freckled, but in his
lenolianted eyes this seemed rather to enhance than decrease
Iher beauty ; for besides appearing as tokens of a healthful
Icondition, by a flattering analogy they also sfemed to
jreseiiible bright specks of gold dust scattered among the
Iroses in her cheeks.

In this interesting study and the indulgence of golden
Idreams built upon it — but unfortunately somewhat marred
jby the shadow of Pancrack — the time passed till tea was
Iset on the table. At this juncture another was added to
jthe group.

This was Alice's only brother, George Crags, a youth

[about twenty years of age. His feet and hands were large,

land he was rather clumsy in his movements ; but his was

la sensible, prepossessing face, in which Fred thought he

[could read the outward signs of a frank and generous soul.

He seated himself in a chair away from the rest, and

jbegan to fumble nervously with his hands, caressing the

Ihead of a dog which had followed him in. Poison sought to

relieve him of his embarrassment by talking to him and ques-

Itioning him about the farm. This was a subject with which

[he appeared quite familiar, for he replied readily to Fred's

(uestions and observations, and soon became so much more

II 3ase that he even ventured to smile slyly across the room

i-t Miss Shenstone, who modestly cast down her e^es,

I'll

•M.' :|

•M :M

hi^iT

l»OF,SON 8 PROBATION.

Fred watchcrd thoso Higim with a syinpathotic >iinuH<Mnoiitl
which helped to ofFset a litth^ the vexation he felt at thJ
ahsorption of Miss Crags' conversation hy th»^ smiling, softj
tongued Pancrack.

At tea time Mr. Orags, sen., did not appear, and t\\>
head of the tahle was ([uietly taken l>y his wife, who had
till tluin, Ix^en busy preparing the repast.

The appeanince of a meal as it is set on tho table li;i
very much to do with making it pleasant or nauseous t(
the palate. There is a kind of mutual sympathy betwcoii
the ditlerent setises, which nuikes the pleasure or disguMl
of on(; have much to do with determining the value u\\
tlje object that causes it to another ; therefore it is tinitj
that which first pleases the sight or smell ever provbj
more agreeable to the taste than that which is repulsive to
either.

So perhaps it was the daintily-arranged plates of cak'
and pastry, the polished cutlery, and the delicate cliinJ
with which Mrs. Crags' snowy table-cloth was decked, al
well as the pleasant taste of the dainties and the cheerinnj
draughts of tea, that loosened the tongues of the party, sfj
that conversation, at tirst formal and constrained, soorj
became free and general.

As was natural, with a new arrival among them, tlifl
talk turned on the comparative merits of Canada <'ui(ii
England. Pancrack, with the social usages, the custoiiiJ
and institutions of England still fast upon his mind, coiilJ
see little good in either Canada or Canadians. Poison, or[
the other hand, with a mind ever ready to receive ne\i
impressions, admired the boundless freedom and vasJ
resources of Canada, no less than the honesty, hospitality
and toleration of the Canadian people.

" Fancy," said Pancrack in disgust, " a Utopia evolvpd
from a people who cannot talk wiUiout a blaring nasaj
twang like a fiddle out of tune, their jaws constantly work]
ing to masticate a black amalgam of tobacco-leaf and syrup
the very spittle with which they spatter sidewalks, walls]
floors and stones of a yellowish-black color like the slii
of some Silurian monster. Add to these the inventivij

sr^AS PANCUACK.

lasphciny with wliicli th«y diHli^uro tlioir Hpooch, t\nd you

kve tii«» pictun^ of a ^roat uiid ii()l)U« poopU'."
♦' r (lout ii^'re»« witli you," said Poison, (U^oitlcdly. '• You
not draw a true pictuni of tho (.'anadian people at all ;

It you do draw a caricaturr of the worst habits of the
r-est claws. It wouhl hv (puto as unfair to say that the
ii;lish peoph' cannot spoak int<;lli;,'«Mit Knj^lish ; that thoir
rlie.st, intellectual employment is to ;j;o8Kip the village
iiidal around the smithy tiro, or bawl and listen to tloggerol

In^'s in an alehouse. This is not true of the Knglish
)ple at largo by any means, but it is true of the

Lbits of a certain class, and so it is as fair, or rather as

^fair, from the (.anadian stai Ipoint, as yours is from the
iKlish."

Il'ancrack coolly sugared his tea, and looked on Fred with

|iii;,'n pity.

I" You seem to be rather Canadian in your leanings for
Knglishman, Mr. Poison," he remarked.

I" 1 am not Canadian in my own views at all," was the
)ly. " Hut from whiit 1 know of the Canadians, it
iuld hardly l)(» right if I failed to do them justice by
jaking my mind when they are censured."
" Still, you must admit that the Americanism which
>ry where pervades Canadian society is quite inconsistent
bh their professed loyalty to England. They have the
KM-ican coinage, American weights and measures, Ameri-
nuin tiers and laws, and even set up an American tariff
liiist England."
" And what else can you expect 1 Canada has a popula-
of barely five millions. Divided from her by nothing
^re than an imaginary line is a vast republic with a
Milation of sixty-four millions. This republic absorbs by
the greater half of Canada's outside trade. It sends
itinually into Canada its journals, its literature, its
^tors, its preachers, its tourists and capitalists. What
[re natural, then, than that Canada should be permeated
.merican influence ? In fact, I believe if I were a Can-
in, I should openly favor complete political union with
United States."

I'OLhON S I'UUIIA 1 ION.

ii't)

'i;j

"IihI(>(h1!" Hiiid I'iincrack, with fj^iMiuino HritiMli loill
(lo^ coiitiMiipt for tlio opittioriH of thoHo who dillrr from Min
"80 you, a Huhj(>(;t of (.^urtMi Victoria, and hn'd uiidrr th
Union .lack, woidd wnrr tho8f"i conniu-tions for tlm Hak<i"
union with a nation of lynchtM'tt, twindlcrH and politha
rogurs."

" Th«rn again," Haid Krrd, Htnng hy Pancrack'n (rontnni
tuouH tone, "you inistako tho uxcoption for the goncid
rule."

"But the exception proves tI»o rulo," interixMed I'ati
crack.

" Ye8 ; but it proves it hy contraries -and so it is irl
this case. The American peopU», as a whole, are the vcrrj
opposite of what you have described. Th(»ugh sharp ii
their dealings, they are hont'st ; and though a strong l»cj
misguided sensji of justice sometimes drives a mob to niMJ
acts, it would be gross'^ unfair to take the composition
this mob as representative of the nmjority of the people!
As for political roguery, though I cannot d<'ny tliat 1
exists, and perhaps in a large degree, there is yet hope toi
its eventual extermination ; and I think you will tlnd tliaj
the highest ollice the natiotl can give has, almost withod
exception, been occupied by honorable and deserving nicnl
T wish, indeed, that Kngland could show as bright a recorij
for her monarchs as America can for her presidents."

** What you say, Mr. Poison, may be very true ; but II
as an Englishman, should not like to see England's preseii
form of government exchanged for that of the Unit(.
States."

" No doubt. We fear great changes as we fear deatlij
because we know not to what they will lead us; and iti
the hopes and doubts of consequences that form the ditlcri
ences of the great political parties."

By this time Pancrack had had quite enough of argtl
ment ; and bowing concurrence with Poison's last renuul
he skilfully shifted the conversation to other topics. H|
had no wish to be outshone, and, like a skilful gencraij
retreated from a quarter in which he was likely to
over.uatched, and then made up for it by storming tliosi

SILAS PANCKACK.

' i liter poted Pun

)int« wher#, from iiAtura) cnnrtitionii, hii opponent had
^ttlft ohaiu'C of ootnp^'tinj; with him.
Krc<l liHAiu hfid i\w iiiortitioatioii of l)oii)g Axcludod from
[ins Cra^H* ooiivorHiition, h«CHUH« I'aiioraclc almorliad her
[ttciition by prattling al»out th« movemniitH of thoMH do-
jothing c»»l«hriti«»M in Kngl/md, who fxcito int»'ro8t merely
)Mi i\ui height of falHo poHitioii and tho diHoonifort thf^y
mnc to the puhlu; body. Ah Pohon Haw that it would
UM'leHH tor hill) to attempt to talk agreoaWly on these
iattor«, he wisely improved the time by turning his
btention to the ooncpioHt of Mrs. Crags, and discussed
ith her the price of butter, the prospect of the season's
rop, how to kill weeds, the best means of fattening
tlveH, and other subjects congenial to her practical and
isineHS-like mind.
The other four thus absorbed, (Jeorge Crags tried t6
igroHS the attention of Miss Shenstonn by expatiating on
i« in(>rit8 of the collie dog whose head rested on his knee.
le listened with attentive civility, and tried to smile in
interested way. This so encouraged the young farmer
lat his hand stole slowly under the table toward the
btle white one resting on Miss Shenstone's lap ; but by
je time he reached within a foot of it, her quiet smile
id faded, and taking this for an intuitive rebuke, he drew
U hand back, at the same time saying nervously :
" But you should see him after a jack-rabbit, Sarah,
'^hen the thistle-down is flying he turns white — that is,
ley turn white — the jacks T mean — rabbits turn white in
le winter, I mean."

This rather incoherent talk so amused Miss Shenstone
lat she smiled more pleasantly than ever before, and
iorge, highly encouraged, thrust his hand again beneath
|e table, and this time succeeded in seizing hers. It was
once withdrawn gently ; but a close observer might
iiVe noticed a slight color tinging her pale cheeks.
" Dogs are no doubt interesting animals to some people,
it, for my own part, I care nothing about them," she
^id in tones at once intended to Iiide her confusion, and
low a proper, ojaidenly displear.v.re.
4

..'IX

POI.SON'h IMIOIIATIOK.

liiiii:-.

rf^'illKil

^^:l:lHi

(.iii

Poor (J»u)rff«, in«'Xi)«»ri#<nc;«cl in tlio wily wiiyn of woiimrl
(itU ((roatly mortitlml, uiid iiMtiin«liat«»ly turm'd tim con\nj
motion on poiiinii, of whi(!h atiiiiialM lit) Npokt* in no iiit<l>irj
choly uimI liioliryinoHH h Htruiii th/it Minn Slu»r>utono thoii^'l
him to l)o a vi^ry fiM*lin)( youii^ iiuiii iiidftMl ; hut ho di
not iij^/iiii thiit ni;^lit attoinpt to pronn \wr hiitul.

Aftor (iituiflr, whtwi the liiMhos hu*l Ihmmi cNmrod iiwav,
■f<lf donyii)^ Hiid ooinpliiiuuitary ultiMciitioii took plu
b«)twA(Mi Alico and MiNM Sltontttoiiu iiw to who nhoiiUl pit
the or^aii.

•' Now, you niUHt, Alio«."

•• NoiiHenst', Sarah ; you arn known to ht^ th« tiin
phiy«'r in tho Hottlminnt. It would h« absurd for )n'"j^
Htruni whiUt i/oh Hat and liittenud."

"Oh, no ; not at all."
* " Y<«R, it would."

After a littlo inoro of tliiw dolioato sparrinj:^, Misii SliPr|
■tone (Mipitulatcd, and, with a HuhMiiHsivn Higli, mmiU
hoTRolf on tin! inuKiir Htool. At first h««r liiij^frM wandtr
in a nn'lancjhoiy way over tho knyn, i)ut soon kIu' stni
into a t'aniiliar nicaHuro which Noiii a thrill through tl
breasts of the listeners, and moved Pancrack to sug;,'*
singing.

To this proposal all readily agreed ; but unfortunab'
there were ordy three hymn-books among five, and ow
these (with the musical accompaniments) was nMiuircdil
Miss Shenstone at the organ. However, they compio
ised matters by sharing them. Pancrack and Geor.j
Crags — who, for the sake of comfort, had seated tliPij
selves on the lounge — took one, and Miss Crags and Kr|
Poison used the other. Fred inwardly lilessed the shortu:!
and in bashful bliss drew his chair close to his companion

If, in searching for the hymn, their hands met, a shai
electrical thrill shot through his breast. He was steep-^
in bliss. In singing, the words seeujed to float away in
dreandand in a golden haze, and he was h^ft keeping up
faint "Tra-la-la-la-la," in acpompaniment to the niuvj
which made Miss Crags conclude that Mr. Poison wa'fj
very poor singer, In the inter vt^ls; between the singii^

. «

HILAR PANCKACK.

l)ut unfortuniit j
ong i\v*\ and ow
ts) was ro(iuin'(l
sver, tlu'y coiniHoi;
icratik and (Ji'oi;
had Heated the
ias (Jrajjs and l"H
fl)lessed the short ;iL'j
e to hia conipanioii
handrt met, a sliiiil
t. He was st»'t']
d to tloat away inj
|as left keeping up
nent to the wm
.t Mr. Poison wasf
letween the singifi

»\vrvi>r, Fred niudti up for thiM drfloieney hy thn pleANiiiit
Ittnncr in which ho diituourted on niiiNJc, And hymnal and
•n><l poi'try in ^etu^rHl. It may, indeed, Neetn Mtran^e to
II* nad<-r that a freethinker Nuch an I have dcNciitK'd
rrd I'oUon to hi>, Nhouid know anything at all of hucIi a
dijict ; hut I M tore layinjf anidM atNepted triithH )ie had
^kiii care, tirHt, to Htudy every liriinch of ChriHtiiin litcra*
ire. 'I\> poetry he had paid eHpfeial attention, huciiiiMn
had found itH Muhlinie lanKUuge to he most «'XpreHMive of
koHi> loni^in^ feelin^H which more — fur more than luKieal
lA'^oiiinK or Kubtle ar^iinient — tend to draw human mouIh
the religion of Christ. On tluH Hubjeet, therefore, ho
IH perfectly at home, and Pancrack Imd the niort ideation
scein;; her liiiten to another with more rapt and earnest
[tcrition than she had ever shown fr)r the pleasant tittle-
it Ic with whii'h he had re^aleti In^r «'/iih.
In this manner tlurrest of the evening passed pleaHantjy
l''r»'d I'olson. Tim music, the sin^in^, the intluence of
summer ni;;ht, and above all, the ma^in^tic proximity
II fair youn;^ woman, ml an intoxicating' etlcct upon
^1) ; and when he rose to lea^e he .s(pieezed Alio«''s hand
th a little more warmth than the occaaion retpiircd or
Vict decorum permitted, whilst she, probably e<jually
»ct«'(l by surrounding intluencea, actually ventured,
>u;,'h very timidly and slightly, to return the pressure.
lS h(i walked hoim; that night, tiie atmosphere fof a
inches round Kred Poison was -in spite of the nios-
itoH that crowded into it — the very essence of paradise,
br(!athed in a golden world. Joyous f<?elings thrilled
kng every nerve and stirred the very foundations of his
jug. A thousand beautiful and airy pictures tlo.ited in
jfting glory before his mental (sye. He was in that most
tatic state of mind that of a lover who tlwnks hiniself
>ved.

hen he reached Dysart's he found liis little invalid

jud Ida reading the evening le.sson to the household.

sweet, soft voice gave to the tender word:, of the

'iour an indescribable, enchanting pathos which chained

ears of all the listeners, and temporarily subdued the

.02

POLSONS PROBATION.

m\m

noisiest and most irreverent into silence and complete
attention.

When tiie reading was over, all, with the exception of
Mr. Dysart, his little daughter and Fred Poison, left the
room. As was his wont, Fred went and sat by the side of
his little friend to pet arid talk to her. Mr. Dysart, who
was in an absent mood, took up the sacred volume, and
turning over a few leaves began to read to himself.

" You look pleased to-night, Mr. Poison," said Ida, as
he seated himself by her side and stroked her soft, fair
hair. " Something must have kept you back, as you have
missed the Bjble reading. Do you know," she con Inued
in a whisper, " I was reading about Jesus placing His
hands upon the heads of the children and saying, 'buffer
little children to come unto me.' And as I read I thoi'ght
I stood outside a beautiful gate, and through the golden
bars I could see hundreds of little children all cijthed in
shining white and with wreaths of flowers on their heads
running about and laughing and playing, oh, so merrily.
Beautiful green grass, sprinkled with sweet-smelling
flowers of all colors covered the ground ; and they played
* Bo-peep ' through great white arches and hid away in play-
houses that shone like the sun. I could hardly see the
doors for their brightness. And as I stood there outside
and watched them, I longed so much to be like them that
I could not help crying out, ' Will no one let me in ?' And
when I said that the door opened and Jesus came through,
and looked at me so kindly, and placed His hand gently on
my head and said softly, 'Of such is the kingdom of
heaven. Enter in.' And I went through the door and
heard a great snouting and clapping, and it all went away
in a mist. Of course, that was only what I thought, but
do you know, Mr. Poison, I don't think it will be very
long before Jesus calls me away."

As she told her simple story her eyes lighted with
hallowed tire, and the pale face was transfigured with holy
insight, whilst the last sentence was uttered with prophetic
and strangely pathetic fervor.

At another time Fred might have smiled at her child's

^o>

TH'^ LONELY SMITHY.

paradise^ and tried to laugh away her fears ; but to-night
his own spirit had been touched with heavenly fire, and
vibrated in magnetic sympathy with hers. Happiness
and melancholy kissed and subdued each other, for the
intensity of her sweet sadness faded before the blaze of
happiness which Poison had brought upon his face, whilst
his exultant joy was modified in like degree by the touch-
ing yet soothing despondency of his little favorite.

His utterance siifled by mingling emotions, he spoke
not a word in reply to her thoughts, but bending his head
over hers he tenderly kissed her fair white brow, and so
bade her a wordless good-night.

CHAPTER VI.

The Lonely SMiTiiv,

Reader of this romance, hadst thou in the days whereof
1 speak wandered west of the creek which bounds the
Dysart settlement on that side, thou wouldst have found
thyself in a vast wilderness. Around thee would lie a
land (if land such ground could be called) of sloughs and
hills and stones. The foul-smelling ponds — where not
hidden from sight by the rank, coarse grass to which their
vileness gave birth — were partially matted by coatings of
green, floating slime, which opened in places to reveal
black depths of stagnant wa^er that no sunlight might
pierce. In the daytime an occasional shrill croak from
one of the slimy denizens of the sloughs was the only
sound to break the dismal stillness brooding around; but
beneath the stars and clouds of night the croaking swelled
into a hideous carnival. The short-grassed, gravelly hills
were scabbed with the bleak backs of grey stones which
always looked as if just emerging from the ground. Hadst
thou stood on the top of the tallest of these hills and gazed
below thee, thou wouldst have seen a little narrow hollow
hemmed in on three sides by an oval wall of hills, and open

POLSON S PnOBATtON.

} •

liiiii

•'V..L

ii;:ii

1 :h

I' I

only to the cast. Owing to its inclined position, the patch
of ground in this iiollow is fortunately free from the sloughs,
which, like spots in a boa's skin, dapple the land in other
places ; but thou, my reader, wilt not notice these things so
much as the little black building which stands upon this
plateau.

This building is very low, and is covered by the slanting
shed roof so common in the country. It is a hybrid
structure, composed of house and shop. The house half
is closely built, and has a fairly clean appearance when
contrasted with the shop. A plain panelled door gives
admittance from the south. The window, too, is covered
on the inside with the torn-off half of a coarse brown sack,
which is intended to do duty as a curtain. The shop half
is smoke-blackened and weather-blistered. The large rough
boards have shrunk in sun and wind, and left great hungry-
looking gaps between. The building had once been clothed
in tar-paper, but nothing is left of this now except a few
ragged and fluttv3ring scraps clinging to the laths which had
once held it on over the whole surface of the building ; and
these blackened paper rags, though perfectly useless for
protection, helped to give to the building a torn, ragged,
scarecrow appearance. The inmates of this lonely shed
were Gorman O'Neil, the blacksmith, and his widowed
mother.

Gorman was a man of about thirty-five years of age.
His Irish origin peeped from every pore and wrinkle of I
his face. His coarse dark hair stood up likb bristles on his j
head, and jetted out in a peninsula of black spikes over i
his high receding forehead. His shaven but black stub- 1
bled face was ornamented by a short thick nose. A hard-
lipped mouth went up one cheek and down the other ; and |
these outstanding features were based by a crooked, uncom-
promising chin, whigh seem3d to have been warped away I
from its original centre.

But to the ordinary behok^^r these features were cast ini
the shade by his eyes. On^ -vas of a very cold grey color,
and looked out from under the black beetling brow like a
snake gazing from beneath a rock. The other was sightless

THE LONELY SM1T1«Y.

and unseen ; it was covered by a dense white film, which
HeAitly stirred on the surface as the eclipsed eyeball i oiled
in darkness beneath.

In his native country Gorman had been a kind of police-
man-detective. In his capacity of detective he had dis-
covered an illicit whiskey-still in the lower quarters of the
town of Tipperary. In his capacity of policeman he went
with a posse of four men at his back to seize the still ; but
the owners seemed to have been prepared for the raid, for
when Gorman stealthily opened the trap-door leading to it,
some half-dozen men, armed with blackthorn sticks, sprang
out of the cellar and attacked the police.

The officers, taken by surprise, were driven at once
through a narrow alley into the street. There they rallied
bravely, and forming into line, faced their pursuers.
Gorman, like a cautious leader, dodged about behind them,
and urged them on to the fight by repeated jerks of his
thumb.

"Arrah! me bhoys," he shouted. "Swish into the
spalpeens. Let 'em have it, an' show what ye can do in a
shindy. Oi'll back ye up."

Thus inspired, the constables drew their batons and at a
given signal dashed on their pursuers. Batons and black-
thorns rattled against each other, and descended with
sharp cracks on stubborn heads. The defenders of the
still were for a time driven back ; but the scent of battle
soon drew a crowd around them. The official dresses of
the police at once condemned them in the eyes of the mob;
and when the civilians gave way, their sympathy showed
itself in the showers of mud and stones — accompanied by
howls and derisive jeers — which rained around the ears of
the gallant little band.

For a time, in ppite of vastly unequal numbers, the police
held their own. They dashed here and there among the
crowd, swinging their batons and using their fists with
telling effect. Many a top hat hung woeful and limp ;
many a hair-covered bump rose on battered heads, and
many a bruised nose spouted a gory stream. During this
tierce melee Gorman was necessarily parted from his wall

POLSON S PROBATION.

w't'i

■,ii;'ii'! ilm
J ■' : III

,,ii;'lii!'

ll'iiiiiii'ill'

MM^

'M\\

'h"M

of defence. He saw that, as things were, he must either I
run or fight, and as he liad neither speed for one nor
courage for the other, he thought he would try the eft'ect
of eloquence in soothing a crowd. He mounted on a
couple of brick-bi\t8 which had fallen near him. A young-
ster standing by saw him open his capacious mouth.

"Gintlemen and lathies," he began, "and" — (Whew,
whew, whew! Splutther, splutther, aplutther!) "Youl
dirruty little spalpeen" — (gulp) — "I'll murther" — (whew)
— "yer feyther aloive ! " (Whew !)

These exclamations were caused by a handful of mud,,
aimed by the youngster beforesaid, which had landed neatly
in his throat, as he began his oration. The crowd shrieked!
with laughter as he spluttered it out from his mouth, or,
in drawing his breath, gulped lumps down his throati
When he had despatched it all, either to the interior or the!
exterior, his face looked something like that of a child]
fresh from a surreptitious raid on the jam-pot.

The anger consequent on this indignity, however, did!
what blows had failed to do — it raised his courage. He|
looked around first for the boy who had thrown the mud;
but as that youngster had wisely disappeared, he tried tol
slake his vengeance by rushing wildly on the crowd,[
whirling his baton around him so fiercely that it looi^ed like!
a wheel roinning around above his head.

This onset was greeted with jeers and hoots and a volleyl
of stones. It was impossible for him to pass safely throughl
such a shower, aimed directly at his head ; and a sharpT
cornered brick-bat struck him in the eye and laid him unl
conscious on the street. He was all spattered with mudl
his clothes were rent in many places, and the blood was|
trickling from his eye.

I?'Gi a moment the crowd looked on the unconscious bodvl
in silent alarm ; and then, as if fearful of consequences,
took to their heel3 and dispersed in every direction,
Gorman's comrades, themselves much battered and bruised!
took up the unconscious man, and bore him to the nearestj
hospital.

There he was restored to consciousness ; but though hiij

THE LONELY SMITItY.

iyp. was treated with the utmost skill, a thick film closed

3ver it and completely hlockcd out the light. Thus he was

pondered useless for police or detective service, and with

|o visible a mark of popular hatred upon him that it was

JO longer safe for him to remain in Ireland, by circum-

jitanco and chance he had found his way to the wilds of

Manitoba, where, on the strength of thr-^e weeks' former

Experience in the trade, he had established hinjself as a

)lacksnHth near the ])y8urt settlement. With him he

)rought his mother, an elvish old crone, who had in the Old

/ountry gained a considerable reputation for witchcraft.

'his she tried, with some success, to re-establish in the

few World.

Her pretensions were very much ndiculed in public,

ret, nevertheless, not a few sufferers from toothache,

)ve sickness, and similar ills came slyly to consult her.

in a large wooden box, bound with iron bands, she kept a

(trange assortment of herbs plucked by moonlight, philters,

jharnis, and other appliances of the weird art. This chest

rus always regarded with awe by the beholders. It was

)oked upon as a receptacle in which the mysteries of earth

nd air were concealed, and seldom did a stranger venture

\eiir it ; for laugh as we may at the absurdity of these

lings, we have all — even the most enlightened of us — a

jrtain amount of superstition in our natures. Whether

has been bequeathed to us by our ignorant and credulous

icestors, or whether it is a part of the mystery by which

re are everywhere surrounded, we cannot tell ; but cer-

linly the accursed thing is there, and neither reason,

lughter, nor learning can wholly drive it away.

But to return to our story. One afternoon Fred Poison

)de up to the smithy door, and after fastening his pony to

; post, entered the shop, and deposited on the floor a sack

)ntaining some blunt plow-shares.

The smith unbent from the work of hammering a red-
)t piece of iron, and looked at him seemingly with his
lank eye, but in reality his sound orb was gazing at him
jross the bridge of his nose ; for nature, as if to com-
msate him for the loss of sight in one quarter, had

t»or.soN s piionATioK.

- 4

'ill'

yii.h

j];iven to the remaiuiijfj eye th«? power of looking in evenl
direction — but the straight one.

"Cfood day, sor," he Haid.

" Good-day," replied Kred. " Can you Hharpen this HhureJ
and lay a new point on that one for me, right away?"

"If ye'li only wait till this is done, I'll do it iniiiie
diately." And he plunged his hammer-head into tin
yielding metal with redoubled vigor.

When that job was done he lifted up in turn the share
Fred had brought ; and twisting his face toward the ceilinij
cast his oblique vision along the edges with a look
goosish expertness.

"Sure, an' Oi'll make as nato a job o' thim same, tliaj
they'll look as noo as a pair o' snowflakes."

Poison smiled at this far-fetched simile, and seatinjl
himself on a shelf beside the vice, told him to begin ; anJ
whilst the smith was engaged in working the bellows anil
putting scraps of coal on the fire, he critically examine
the shop. The anvil, standing on a block of wood in thj
centre, the bellows, the brick-built forge, and the tool/
scattered on the floor or hung promiscuously on the wallJ
constituted its only furnishings. These were sheltered li|
a sooty roof and bare, black walls which reached down
a floor corduroyed out of hewn logs levelled olF with graveJ

Fred, struck by such peculiar flooring in a smithy, aske
the reason of it. Gorman blew a Vjlast into the iire tlia
made the flame spring up like a lump of exploded powdeij
and cast a cunning look around his temple at Poison as
replied :

" Faith, yez see it's on account of the wather that iiowj
like a deluge from these hills whin it rains, an' it's tlij
bottom o' me shop would be floated away if Oi didn't licavj
some protection to hould it down. Thrue enough I couf
bank it round with dirrut, but earth-banks is no duck]
backs, me bhoy."

Fred had to content himself with this explanatioij
though it seemed hardly satisfactory ; so asking no nioj
questions, he sat in silence and watched the artisan
work.

i! !i

TIIK LONRT<Y SMITHY.

looking in evenl

, I'll do it inmie
ler-heatl into tliJ

)' thiin same, tliaJ

wather that flowl

Tliore is sonu'tliinj,' truly inspiring in tho earnest work

If the smith, (n all ages, from the time when mythical

'ulcan received the ringinc; homage of his dusty wor-

ii|«p«'r, down to the present (hiy, it has been an honored

lorntion. He is the true alchymist, who turtis common

lings into gold, for with his stern art he takes the un-

lapely metal and wields it into instruments whereby the

lily bread is uprooted from the earth. Round tho smithy

jre at night ♦.he working youth will congregate in social

lat ; thejy sit in a ruddy -faced ring, and the smoke from

Iftcktined clay-pipes curls up into the spacious chimney

ipitig above them, and as wit and wisdom circulate in

)ineh' wording, it is not hard to believe that many a

i0'..„..c which philosopliers might have prized, and many

jest witty enough to honor a Shakespeare's page, have

Ben buried forever in the forge's glare. As children, we

ive peeped with something like reverential awe into the

^ngy den of iron, tire, wind and sparks. The roaring

jUows, the crashing and ringing hammers, the stiff, white

ime hissing upward, and the showers of living sparks,

tinkled around by the mighty sledge, give to it a pecu-

irly romantic charm, which even tho smoke and dirt

)nnected with it fail wholly to dispel.

Some such charm must the scene before him have had

^r Fred Poison, for enwrapped in observation of it he

^iled to notice how his work was being done.

O'Neil was wrenching, battering and twisting at the last

^are in attempting to lay a new edge on it. He pounded

thin as gold-leaf; he powdered it with borax till it

iked like a snow-drift in miniature. Still the new edge

)uld not weld on. As he grew angry, Gorman's blows

Jscended hard and fast on the refractory share. His lips

jre set like his own vice ; the sweat made little white

Itches down his face and fell in black beads on the floor.

fter thoroughly pummelling one side, he jerked it around

|vagely to castigate the other.

" Divil take the craythur ! " he shouted, «' but Oi'll kill

cure it." So saying, he gave it a tremendous blow, and

share snapped in two. Gorman's first impulse was to

i'OLHON S PROHATIoy.

vent hiH wnith on the person who had brought such thinn
into hiH Nhop.

•' Hn ad* wid yer rotton ould iron," lie said, Ilinj^'inJ
tho broken pieces on the ground at Fred's feet. "(»j
howni wi' the pack, and let my eyes" — (he should hiivj
said, "my eye") — "see no more o' the pitchers."

This incident thoroughly roused Fred. }!e rose
rather descended from his seat and, coolly confrontul
the irate blacksmith, said :

*' Mr. C'Neil, you have broken that share, and you inuij
either repair or replace it."

Mr. O'Neil wrinkled his brow, screwed up his no*
turned his head aside that his e^ might better express hii
horror, and looked astounded,

"To the niibchief wid ye I" he burst out. "Do ye tliinJ
as Oi'm responsible for yer rotten ould iron? "

"It was not the rottenness of the iron so much as yon
own carelessness and ill temper that caused the break."

"Careless, am Oi ? Ill-timpered, am Oi?" asked Ooij
man, in tones of utmost surprise. "Oi'll let ye see wliitha
Oi am or not if ye stand blathering here much longer.'

" Bah ! " said Fred, contemptuously, as he picked u|
the shares. " 1 see it is of no use to try to reason witj
you ; you are })oth careless and a fool."

Gorman gasped, stretched out his hands and lay l)aoj
against the anvil for support ; and by the time he
covered liis speech, Poison had ridden away.

The blacksmith looked steadily after him for a Ion
while with a wrinkled brow and screwed-up mouth, an
his visible pupil dilated like a circular fan. At last till
tension in his muscles relaxed, and he managed to shar
his fist threateningly at Fred Poison, riding away in ttj
distance.

"The divil take ye for an impident spalpeen," he his*
savagely. " But ye shall repint o' callin' Gorman '^e
a fool."

" And pvvhat is it has angered ye so much, me son!
inquired a shrill voice behind him.

An old woman had stepped softly out from the innj

THE LONEFT SMITHY.

)Ugbt Huch t)iin;'j

are, ami you niuJ

lildiit^. Her lon^ thin hody wan clad in a Noiled ^rey
}!)«•, l)(>uMil lo()8fly around tli«) waiist with >i black hand,
[er NMiall ftirn^t «iy<'s w«m o (U'«p Hunkeii in her head, her
bH*' waa lon^ and Hharp, ht*r mouth posHt'SHed one tooth
licli hung out, like a do^'s fan^, over her lower lip, and
yellow brown face waH puckered and wrinkled into
nniierahlu rid^e8. From beneath her cloHefitting bonnet
jiiprd a few dark-grey locks of hair, fumbled into cum-
Irsoiue curls which helped to give to her face a Htrikingly
jird and elvish expression. Such waa old Jiridget O'Neil
la woman who was regarded with not a little curiosity
|d fear by those who knew her, and whose appearnnce
me would have been sutticient to bring her to the horse-
id or the stake in by-gone days.
[In reply to her interrogation, her son informed her that
impudent scalawag of an Knglishman " had called him
lirruty names," and ran away before he could accomplish
purpose of " flayin' the Fenian aloive. "
H'\H mother laid four long bones covered with wrinkled
rehment — which served as Hngers — on his arm, and
^nned his face with her searching eyes.
" lit! ware," she said, speaking with the exact accent and
)lical style to which she rose in delivering her oracles,
Jeware, for evil is between him and thy house. When
[entered this place to-day, the earthen crucifix fell from
shelf and was shattered on the floor. This is an evil
ig : therefore I say, beware lest evil befall theo from his
id."

Juch a speech, uttered in so impressive a manner, might
11 have awed a stranger ; but Gorman was in the posi-
of the spectator who stands behind the scenes and
Iws with the ease that comes from familiar acqua'ntance
production of those "sights and sounds which oxcite
?rrify the uninitiated audience;" and so he only ans>verod
bh a little impatience :

'* Och ! To the divil wid such blather ! D'ye think such
it of a man could hurrut me. Be jabers ! I think ye'd
Iter warn the lickspittle list avil should befall him from
" hand."

P()L80N'S i»kobation.

>mM

Thtt old woiiiiin drew up li«*r thin funn liku a pythonei
and anHwi'H'd Htet* ly : "Scotl' not ut the wokIh [ hi^
Mpoken. Itut agai'i 1 toll thu» huwart^." And aftttr utteJ
ing thJH holpiiic riDntoncti, she vani>ih<Hl lik^ a liiMuto intoj
cloud of HMiokH and Ktoani whicli greeted her wIkmi xti
opened i\w tloor through whicli house and hhop eoniniiiij
catt'd for, idas for thin proHaic earth ! it whh wuHJiing (iiitl

(lorinan returinwJ to his work niutterini; Monie vVn
un filial reniarkH ahout th« ouid woman Ixung crazy m
doty, "and aH shaky in th(^ hid as a igg when jtu graiie
and hegati to discharge his anger in tho congenial task
spoiling iron and steel.

llo was thus tMigaged when Mr. Silas Pancrack rodo u|
in a huckhoard, bringing wiUi him sovHtal hreaking-shara
for at that season he was engaged in converting the virj;
soil of his own particular plot of prairie land into cultiviUfj
tields for the growth of grain.

(Jorniani anger was hy this time somewhat mollified, aa
he replied with a si-.'etch of one corner of his mouth (whicj
he intended for a smiH) to lancrack's allablo smirk.

" iVly shares, Mr. O'Neil," the latter remarked, "ju^
waiit sharpening lightly along the edges. It will not
much of a task for you, as I never allow them to get woi
down very much."

"Faith, thin, yez are ditterent than some folk as let ej
get worn so blurt there's neither sharpin' nor anythi
else wid 'em. There's a mau here just now, only he(
away — Just because Oi happened to shplit one of
rusty ould horse-killers, he called me a fule — the impideij
varmint."

" Indeed ! You don't tell rae so. And who was tj
person who had the cheek to insult you like that 1 "

"Who? Pwhy, a slip of a gossoon that I could putl
me pocket. A shtudent. over at Dysart's he is, and wea
a little black beard under his nose, and sthruts about oiij
pair of legs that look, be jabers, as if they'd bend until
a bag o' whate like a willow-three unther a harp."

" Oh, yoU mean Mr. Poison, do you ?" said Pancrack, wii
a look of pained surprise.

TUF r.nVKI.V RMfTICr.

•• An' Oi iH'Iave that ii tho 8palpn<>n'i rmniP, now ye
Intion it."

" I :iiii MurpriMHl to henr that lio huM iiiHultfMl an old
■vant of tlio (.^iiiM«n. I mIiouIiI uertaitily liavH thought
It a man lik<* liiui would havt> Hhown nioro >«MiHe."
l*'Sini'i'," Haid th« hlaokHinith, with a KoundinK Mow on th«
vil. " I'why h« hann't av«n ;,'ot mm ainco, or ho wotild
[vc known hi-tthor than Hv>ak«i Huch worruds to a nrin
lo wouldn t havt) thou^lit twoii'o onco of arritttin' liitu fur
lvr>iiniith»T for Kiicrh an oxplosion of Hpacho."
Iraticrack <*<i.sily Haw thi^ hont of Oornian'H mind, and
jnii'diatoly struck out on a topic which pIcaMod him.
I" I Hupposo you ha\(» arn'Hted quite a numhor in your
H', ' h«' said.

"Hud Oi a fiv«» dollar pieco for ivory man, itn not
iiiipin' oirii Oi'd 1)0 now, Hor." TIiIh renuirk prefaced a
L' lint of HtorieH of imminent perils and hairhreudth
lopes, in the hritish police-service, of which (Jornian
|i8<'lf WHS th(j redouhtahle hero. Pancrack listened with
rery attentive face, and tickled the smitii's vanity with
iHional ejaculations of surprise or admiration inter-
^rsed at critical junctures,
is he told his stories, Gorman's active eye fluctuated
kstantlv between his work and his listener. Wlien
Lwiii^ near the climax he would speak low and tap the
'gently ; hut when he came to the struj^^gle, the hlows
tended in a vindictive and rinj^ing shower, and his voice
kg out like a trumpet with a cold.

,lio natural consecjuenco of this mixture of romance-
kving and handicraft was that he presented Pancrack
shares beaten out into dented and enamelled edges,
jai;ged little pieces sticking out here and there, like a
remaining teeth on some old worn-out saw. Pancrack,
rever, could see no fault in them ; so after casting liis
j quickly over them, he turned to Gorniar vith a forced
|e and said :

'Really, Mr. O'Neil, you liavo made an excellent job.
it is your charge ? "
Phe smith took oflf his cap and scratched liis bristly hair

PULHUN H i'KOllATION.

■i!

with hia hUck tit)Kf>rN, rauNiiifj; it to trf^nihli* whom th»i|
movtul n« th« ri'iMU Nhako uliovn tho piuMii^t* of miwiIc)-
When they hiul Mhakori upart Miini'-i<ii(ly to li^t thn <hiyli){|iJ
on hiN mind, ho Nuid with nn liir of toiKTHMion :

•• Oh, woll, AN yo hvtuu II thiirroii^h ^intliMiuin and a hrid
Oi'il only ohitr^o yr n thrith^" Aitd h<^ nutnrd a Miit
A litth) l)olow thn (*xorhiliint HtiiiKhird from which It*' w«
wont to ho h/ig^UuI down liy hin cuNtoniorN.

•'That in very reanonahlo," Naid Panoraok, paying inn
the monoy.

" Kaith I And y«»z arfl the KtraJKhteiit man OI've «een lincj
the hiat toimo I ic)ok«'d in tho ^hxHn ; and tho n<>xt toimrj
go to E)indi^o, Oi'll dhrink yor hiith in the foinest gill
whiskey can he bought in town."

"Confound the Htupid idiot!" thought Pancrack (m
drove to hiH home, "ho haH spoilod my tdiaroH, I holiovf, H
they will all need to ho lwimmon>d out again before thw
can be UHod. Hut Htill I boliovo it will pay mo to koop
his good books ovon at that prlro, for before long I inij
need the services of just Hiich a man."

And thinking over this and many other thinja;H,
drove slowly along, and emerging from the chaos ot' liii
and sloughs, came out upon a flat piece of land on thp tJ
side of the creek that bounded the Dysart sottleniPr^
When became in sight, two men who wQro breaking uptj
virgin soil began to swing the whip lash and shout liiHti
at the slow-moving ox-teams tliey were driving. 'Um
it may bo guessed, were Pancrack's hired hands ; ac(
already they had blackened a considerable area with iih
thin layers of overturntul prairie sod. On the edge of tij
creek stood a little shed-roofed house or "shanty," whi(
contained ono door, and was lighted by one window,
black pot turned wrong side up, an axe with a chip ontl
the edge, a disorderly heap of firewood, chips, bread crusij
bacon rinds and tea leaves lay scattered around it.
little back from the shanty stood a rude board hU\\
roofed with sods, and containing a door which could or]
be half opened because of the refuse which had been boj
in front of it.

"SUCH m HUMAN MFF, RO OMDINO ON.

tuck, paying liii

Short M Pnnornclc'i* r«»«ii»l»Mtr«« in the country had hrotx^
. h/ici lilrtMMi)' H('(|iiiro<l in th«< ilistriot thr rt^putntion of a
[hunlN'r." In oth«'r worcU, h«' work*'*! hJH n»en with vtry
\t\fi iiiturnuNiiion from duyliK^t^ ^^> dark, lie ft>d th<Mn
|i lirtMid and mh.c pork, which th«<y had thn hnppy privilege
cooking for th<wnH(«lvi>N. II** l«>ft thcMn r o time for
LoHM pIcaHurnH and purNuitH which rnlirvc and (udightt«a
it) Hpirit, or iinprov«i and cultivaU^ tho mind ; hut aftor
LuMing thtun to tramp out and bury their houU in the
lit of thn plow ti<*M, gavfi thorn no chanoo to rokindie
Hacrpd light whtMi thtt work in tho field waH <lonn. I[e
i\d high wHgeH, it in tru»% hut ho exartod in return the
^riioHt labor and endiiranco it wuh poHHible to g«t.

Such uro a few (rhiinioteristicH of the woHtern *' hu8tl«r,"
{character much bla/.od abroad, and held up by faUe

hniration aH soniothing to whioii men Mhouhl aspire, for
^en the money gathering suoeeM of Hordid avarice can so
[id men's fauItM that many mifitako them for glittering
lrtu<>8.

CHAPTER VIT.

"Such is Human Lifk ; ho Gliding on."

TiMR passed very quietly on the Dysart farm. Tiie

laring summer days burnt thnniHelves out, and slowly

|ed among rosy and golden clouds. The beasts sweated

u\ panted at the plow ; and all Mowers, vegetation and

)ps grew apace with the rapidity peculiar to the Mani-

\\)fn\ summer.

For Fred Poison the monotony was broken by frequent

sits to the Crags, and he succeeded in establishing him-

If in the good graces of the family. He talked with

[rs. Crags about different methods of suckling calves, and

scussed the causes of the constant variation in the butter

irket. He discoursed with George about guns and

)nchos ; and even managed occasionally to rouse the old

1 H

POLSONS PROBATION.

Ml! M

1 !'

'i('

:: ''■''!:''

1^ ■■ ■■

« ^ ; ■ J : ^

I ^i,, ;, -

1 ^1

h^t;'

man from his besotted lethargy into something like an
intelligent comprehension of his past life.

But of his past life o».ly would he spiiak ; to the present
and all around him (♦•xcfpt so far as it concerned stroiii;
drink) he was quite insensihle. Ifis hroad English coun
try accent, quite unmodified by several years' residence in
Canada, greatly amused Fred ; and his face, when trans-
formed by laughter, was a study for an anthropologist,
At such times deep ridges, like fissures from an earthquaite
centre, would spread from his mouth to every quarter of
his face, plowing np his skin into heavy furrows in which
half his nose disappeared and his eyes were completely
buried, and at the same time in the cavity thus opened
for inspection three teeth like yellow pegs would appear.
One hung in solitary majesty from the middle of the top
jaw, and the others had their respective stations at each
corner of his mouth in the bottom. Once in one of these
conversations he was awakened to such unusual familiarity
that he rose with ponderous slowness from his seat, and
planting his stick firmly before him winked one eye cun
ningly at Fred, and said, "Cum alung to the stable for a
minute."

Fred nodded, and followed the old man across the yard,
as he stumped along puncturing an irregular row of little
round holes in the earth with mis walking-stick, whilst lii;
enormous boots creased and bulged with agonized creaksl
as they shn^ed clumsily forward. All the time lie|
hugged his heavily-bandaged hand as closely to his breast
as if with it he were enfolding some favored child.

When they were inside the stable, Mr. Crags closedl
the door, and with a mystic gesture beckoned Fred to
follow him to the window at the other end, and when they|
were well within its light he turned around and caug
him by the shoulder with the crook on the top of li
walking-stick. " Thee art a pretty tidy sort of a feller,']
he said, drawing Fred toward him with the stick. " Thou
wutner give awee a secret, wut ?"

" Certainly not, if it is told me," replied Fred ; " but I|
cannot say that I very much want to know it,"

"SUCH IS HUMAN LIFE; SO OLIDINQ ON.

' Hut thou wut when I show thee summut. Only keep
luaite, I dunna want that oud woman o' mine to know
iu"ht about it, or there'll bae nou livin' wi' her."

And having delivered himself of this injunction, he
)r()ceeded to unfasten with his right hand some of the
jiindaL'es that encumbered his left. With wonderful
iexterity he loosed the narrow strip of dirty calico which
X)Uiid tliem together, and then very carefully unrolled a
lar;,'e piece of red flannel. Fred noticed that after he had
iiiwound about three circles of this rag a hard substance
Itemed to be bulging out from his palm ; and when the
)aiulage was entirely removed this proved to be a small
whiskey flask which he had cunningly kept concealed
iiuler his bundle of rags. He held the fiery fluid proudly
ip in the light of the window,

" There yer arc, my mon," he said with an air of
triumph. " What dun yer think o' that for a scheme for
)aulkin' 'em 1 Now, tak a reiglit good drink to uiy
jealth."

" Thank you for your well-meant offer," replied Fred.
\* [Jut as I am a teetotaler you must excuse me for not
iccepting it."

Air. Crags screwed up his mouth and shifted his heavy
Byebrows just sufficiently to express a dull surprise,
iiingled with a little disgust.

" Well, thou be a mon, thou be," he said with a true
hunkard's contempt for abstainers. " Hasn't thee got
faitii enow in thysen to drink a drop o' good liquor 1
[VA'liy then just look at me."

The bottom of the bottle was tilted up in the air, and
the mouth lost itself in the depths of Mr. Crags' ; and by
lint of much hard pulling and gurgling he managed to
Irain about half the contents. The operation made his
byes water, l)ut he licked his lips after it, and patted his
shest with the bottle.

" Hoth ! That be better than all the waytej' that was
^ver made. Young man, yo' dunna know what's good for
^er; just tek a drop now."

But Fred was firm in his refusal, and with a sad yet

POLSON S PllOBATION.

IIII'IH:

ii\''];m

'II '!:i

grateful sigh Mr. Crags replaced it in his hand, and once|
more involved it in his mop of bandages.

"Thee mustn't tell the missis, nor none on 'em," he said,
" It's the only safe place I've got to stick it in. If I put!
it onyw'heer about the buildin's, her 'ud find it, if her]
hunted till her yed was grey."

Fred comforted the old man by reiterating the former!
assurances of secrecy, and they returned to the house
together. After this interview Mr. Crags always treated
Poison with friendly deference as his ^ole partner in the
secret on which hung the greatest inteiest of his life ; but|
at the same time he regarded him with considerable con
tempt as a water drinking teetotaler.

But whilst Fred was successful in enlisting himself in I
the good graces of the rest of the Crags family, with Alice
his progress was slower. Try as he would he could not
become as intimate with her as he wished. Not, by any
means, that she was difficult to approach. On the other
hand, she was blithe and free as any bird, and her nature
was clear as the sunlight. She had a bright smile and a
pleasant word for every one of her acquaintances, and her|
worst fault was that she was amiable to weakness. Firm-
ness she had not, and she too often lacked the courage to I
say a firm " No," when an unwise favor was asked of her.
But though so open and accessible to all others, with Fred
Poison, strange as it may seem, she was more reticent. 8hej
had for him as pleasant a greeting as for others ; but inj
conversation there was a marked backwardness and con
straint about her speech which he mistook for coldnes?.|
But love only grows the faster by gentle thwarting, andl
Fred still hoped in a vague way that she would yet be his,

How often it is that some men, possessing great accom
plishments in other respects, cannot say the right word at
the right moment ; or worse, by blundering over some
well-meant saying, delay, and sometimes totally wreck,!
their designs. Fred Poison was a man of this kind. Hel
could wax into actual eloquence on a great variety oil
subjects, yet when he found himself alone with the objectl
of his desire he was quite at a loss to know how to broachj

"SUCH IS HUMAN LIFE; SO OLIDINQ ON.

hand, and once

|in suitable terms the subject that lay nearcist to his heart ;
laud consetiuently the eloquent speeches which he had
Iprcpared so nicely beforehand, were replaced by the merest
laud dullest commonplace it was possible to compose about
|w«'uther and wheat crops.

How he envied Pancrack his easy manners and polished

laildress. He knew himself to be vastly superior to his

Irival in learninj^ and attainments, and yet it stung him to

|g»M> that Pancrack made far faster advance than he could.

riif^ siuiling contempt with which he treated him also

jailed Fred bitterly ; and it was perhaps little wonder that

iH began in his heart to hate Mr. Silas Pancrack.

Worst of all, the money-lender became known to Mr.
[)ysart, and his smile of sinister conciliation might often be
jcon in the house by the lake. He persisted in j)atting little
[da on the head, though the child ever shrank instinc-
tively from his touch. By fitting his conversation to their
lirt'ert^nt hobbies, he made himself agreeable to the men.
[id kissed the jammy mouth of Mrs. Bant's yearling boy,
ind although the youth always knuckled his tearful eyes
^liilo Pancrack wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, he
|lo completely ingratiated himself with the mother that she
leclared confidentially to Mrs. Tomson that he was the
>uly real gentleman she had met with in the country. In
fact, Mrs. Bant's esteem rose to such a pitch that it soon
)egan to assume an extraordinary demeanor. If, in the
Kistle and deshabille of housework she heard that Mr. Pan-
jrack was approaching, she threw down her work and flew
her room ; and when she reappeared her dress had been
ihanged, her hair arranged in most captivating style, and
^irough the exquisitely regulated smile with which she
[reeted him gleamed rows of teeth that betrayed the recent
ise of powder. At table her eyes stole softly to Pancrack's
[acp, and when he spoke her ears drank in his words like
loney.

As the writer of this story is quite ignorant of the

neaning of such signs as these, he leaves them to be

iterpreted by the reader's more intelligent comprehension.

'ou must not, however, my dear reader, be so presumptu-

POLSONS PROBATION.

ous as to suppose tliat this lady was in love. At least, shel
would never have admitted it herself ; because she tookl
particular pride in exhiltiting the icy tirnmess of lierj
sentiments. Jlad you told her that she was in love withl
Silas Pancraclc, her high esteem for him would havpj
changed instantly to violent dislik,^, and to vindioatel
herself she would have heaped upon him the bitterest!
aspersions her asp-like tongue was capable of utterin;;[
But no one accused her of this softness, and so perliupsl
she was taken off her guard, and silently allowed SilaJ
Pancrack to melt through the artificial stratum of ic<! iii|
which she had entrenched her heart.

Be that as it may, the work was certainly done uninl
tentionally on the part of Pancrack, who merely acted
from a desire to gain the good-will of all ; for, like al
prudent tactician, he thought it wise to make the best ofl
friends with a household which might in tlie future matm[
ally aid in the furtherance of his secret schemes. NoJ
Silas Pancrack had more important work in hand thac|
the conquest of Mrs. Bant.

I have not attempted to conceal from the reader tlifj
identity of Silas Pancrack with Julius Hatton, though 11
have used the assumed name in preference to the real oiiel
because by it he is known in the society among which ti|
moves throughout this story.

We know the intention with which he had domesticatedl
himself in the Dysart settlement, and we have seen thJ
skill with which he foiled Poison's inquiries about hiJ
former life, contriving not only to conceal his identity, but!
at the same time making Fred believe that his c -usin wiif
all the while travelling in Europe.

He had taken great pains to study Poison's character!
and surroundings ; but in spite of his vigilance he could
yet see no chance of striking that decisive blow which, bjj
blasting his cousin's character, would place him in posses]
sion of the Laaton estate. He noticed with alarm tliif
attention his rival paid to Alice Crags.

" It will never do to let him fasten to a girl like that,]
he thought. " She is so innocent and harmless herselj

"SUCH IS HUMAN LIFE; SO QLIDINQ ON.

Ihat sho would be suro to keep him out of mischief. Be-
tides, a woman can see twic(5 as far as a man on any
luliject that is likely to aflect lier home ; and, of course,
ic would tell her all his circumstances — so she might soon
|ni''ll niiscinef if any wer'^ brewiijfj. Yes, I must keep
liiM single, if 1 have to be his rival myself."
i'lifit anyone should for the sake of a mere point of policy
and a not very strong point at that — involve hin)self in
iw necessity of marrying a woman in whom he felt no

)(>cial interest otherwise, may seem strange, indeed ; but
Jijas Pancrack was one of that class of men who delight in

itrigues. He prided himself on being quite incapable of

|uch a weakness as love ; but from the relation in which

MS grandfather's will had placed them, he regarded Fred

*olson as a natural eneuiy ; and if ';e could only injure or

lisiippoint him in any way he felt that he should rejoice

'itii exceeding great joy. He therefore lost no time in

?tting about to frustrate Fred Poison's designs on Miss

/'rags.

At first his addresses were mere acting, prompted by
^heming selfishness ; but before long, in spite of himself,'
rarmer feelings began to color his designs. He found that
young man, however world-hardened he might think him-
;lf to be, could not resort constantly to the presence of a
^eaiitiful young woman, abounding with womanly mag-
netism, without being touched a little by the power of
Mniniue influence. The light in the eye, the smile on tiie
fp, tJK^ blush on the cheek, are all drachms in the philter
rliicli softens, while it excites, the masculine mind ; and if
ie, will drink of these, he must not be surprised to find
[iinself intoxicated by the draught.
Pancrack cursed his weakness, but in vain. He ivould
link of the girl. Her face would come before him, even
rhon engaged in deep monetary calculations. Why should
man be so disturbed ?

'' Poor weak thing!" he said, striking his hand on the region

Iyer his heart, one night as he was returning home through

»e deep ravine that separated his place from the Crags.

•Poor, weak, restless, juicy, pulpy thing ! You should have

POLSON S PROHATION.

been made of stermn stulF. Oh, ^llat you had only been a
luPip of gold, and 1 liad had silver ribs! Then you niiglit
have clanked away all day long, and have made for me a
music that wouU' have driven out every weaker thought."
Just then a wolf brushed in the darkness past his legs,
and his heart did indeed make music — but it was the music
of a mutHed drum.

CHAPTER VIII.

■'. If!

A Hunting Incident.

Hunting 1

The lovo of it is so strongly engrained in the nature of
every species of our race that it tinges with primitive
wildness our highest civilization. From the breast of the
Indian it cannot be eradicated, nor can the Tartar be
tamed. When pressed from its natural channels, it finds
vent in feverish gambling, wild speculation, exciting ex-
travagance, and other sins of the city. With clubs, with
spears, with axes and bows it has flourished in the past ;
and perhaps in some future age it may be found blastin*^
rabbits with dynamite or shattering pheasants with *' vril."

In common with '^ery many of their fellow-beings, Fred
Poison and old Anthony Scrogpot, the farm cook, shared
this weakness ; and between them they arranged for an
afternoon's wild-duck shooting when work was not very
pressing. On the day appointed, the cook hurried through
his morning's work, and after speedily washing the dinner-
things, prepared for the expedition.

" Now, Jim," he growled to his assistant as he bustled
about, " quit that there readin', an' get them there sticks
cut up — an' mind an' look after the ' tarriers ' while I am
away."

The last-mentioned animals were not dogs, but a bevy
of cats in which he took special pride.

With these orders he took from a corner a ponderous
double-barrelled gun of ancient make, and after purging the

iiiiii:

A HUNTING INCIDENT.

)ut a bevv

barrels with a pieco of nij; tied on tlio oiid of tlio ramrod,
loaded them witli an ominouH Hupply of powder and shot,
lit; then kicked ott' liis heel-less slippers and thrust his feet
into an enormous pair of brown tan boots, nprinkled with
Hour and blotched with grease, which he bound loosely to his
feet with pieces of grizzly bindmg-cord. His pedal extremi-
ties thus rustically protected and adorned, he next drew from
the depths of the stick-box a ragged jacket of faded grey.
Having donned this vestment and pushed the greasy,
battered crown of rimless felt down closer on liis head, he
felt himself to be completely attired.

•* Well now ! " he grunted to himself, " I wonder where
that Poison is. I guess I'll have to go and fetch him,
or he'll keep me waiting here all the afternoon for him."
And so, though it was considerably before the time they
had agreed upon to start, he sallied forth impatiently in
search of his fellow-sportsman. One of the men, smoking
his after-dinner pipe in the shade of the farm-house, saw
him pass through the door. He rose, knocked the ashes
out of the bowl, and placing the pipe in his pocket, stole
slyly into the shanty where the cook had left his gun and
ammunition. With a cunning smile he took the shot-bag
from the bench on which it lay, and poured into the right-
hand barrel such a dose of lead as almost half-filled the
already overloaded gun. This charge he rammed tightly
down under a leathern wad ; and chuckling over his little
villainy, placed the gun where he had found it, and had
just lain down in the shade once more when the cook,
accompanied by Fred Poison, issued from the house. In
unsuspicious haste Scrogpot fastened the ammunition bags
to his belt, shouldered his heavy gun, and was hobbling by
Poison's side toward the hunting-place, a chain of small
lakes, the nearest of which lay v,ichin about a mile of the
Dysart farm-buildings.

The prairie grass at this season was long and green, and
rustled pleasantly about the hunters' feet. A cool breeze
blew over their faces and kept the mosquitos away. The
wind was heavy-laden with roses, which bloomed abun-
dantly around — the sweetness of their breath only over-

POL80N8 PROBATION.

matched by tho glory of blushing b«auty in which t':oy
grew. The great bluo (^yoH of tlie sky peoped out on the
world at times through rifts in the great masses of wliite
clouds by which it was veiled.

Under those genial influences our fri<Mids went forwuni
in high spirits, and soon came to the chain of lakelets,
lying like rufiled mirrors in green settings of long prauif
grass. On tho surface of the nearest pond a fluck of i\m
ducks were spo tii^*^, quacking and gabbling in noisy ghf
as they 'un . tl."ir smooth colored heads beneath the
water, a .ing them again, shook otF t\u) drops in

feathery s; ;: '

" Mallaruo, ni) oy," muttered Mr. Scrogpot, nam
ing the largest species of wild-duck found in the North
West. " Do you," he whispered excitedly to Poison, *'j,'o
round to the other end of tho slough, and I'll creep on 'cm
this way. And for goodness' sake don't frighten 'enj, or
you'll drive me crazy."

To please him, Fred good-naturedly went to the spot lit'
pointed out, and the cook began to crouch gingerly along
till he reached the edge of the belt of tali reeds that
fringed the slough. Here he fell prostrate on two
knees and one hand, and after cocking his gun, crawled
cautiously over the oozy ground.

The passion of the sportsman was rampant within him;
his limbs were nervous with excitement; he hardly drew
breath for fear of scaring the game. He took off his hat
lest the height of it should be more easily seen by the
ducks. His body, parallel with the earth, went forward in
jolts like an incarnate piston-rod ; but his face and beard
were lifted in excited perpendicularity, like the head of un
alarmed baboon. His trouser knees were soaked with
moving over the marshy ground, and the hand on which
he hopped was coated with blacL slime. But what mattered
that to him ? The game was in sight.

He came at last to an open place within good shooting-
range of the ducks, tliat, unconscious of their approaching
doom, were still holding a gabbling carnival. Mr. Scrogpot,
with breath tightly drawn and trembling hands, brought

A BUNTINO INCIDENT.

tli«« ^un to Ills Hhouider. Ilia conscience, however, nitide
hitii {muse.

" I j^ueas I ou2;ht to wait a bit to give Poison time," he
tlioujjht, " but this in too much for fleah to roaist."

Tlio sound of a loud oxploaion followini^ those cogita-
tiiMis showed that Mr. Sorogpot'a <|ualm8had boen dissolved
ill smoke. The shot tore up the water : the ducks rose
with loud noise an<l swift whirring of wings, scattering a
BJiovver of feathers in their flight. The cook was knocked
Imckward by the concussion of the gun, which seemed to
have ^one of!" at the wrong end. A few stars floated like
s|)(>ckH of bright mist in the darkness which, for a moment,
closed t)ver his eyes. When this cloud had dispersed he
sat up, and unbuttoning his coat, rubbed his right shot Je
sympiithetically.

"(lood gracious! lie growled aggrievj'dly, *• I fi "er
knew that gun to kick like that before. It's (n^j^h o
smash a man all to atoms. T believe my shoulder is jui
o' Jiiit as it is."

"Hello, cook!" cried Fred Poison, coming up at this
iiioinent. "What did you get] You made an awful
row."

Mr. Scrogpot looked toward the place where the ducks
had been, and to his bitter disappointment saw only a
litter of feathers floating on the water.

"What did I get?" he said sourly. "Why, I got my
shoulder nearly busted off my collar-bone, if you want to
know."

" What ! " said Fred, alarmed by the cook's despairing
tone, "you don't really mean to say that you're hurt?"

"iVint I, then^ You'd say different if you was all
bruised up with the pain, and felt your arm a hangin'
down like a rolling-pin. You're a bit of a doctor, so just
take a feel of that there shoulder-jint. If it aint out o'
jint, nothing in this world ever was."

Fred gingerly touched the injured joint, but found
nothing wrong.

" Pooh ! " he said. " It's only a slight bruise — the pain
will be gone in a minute."

POLSON S IMIOBATION.

Tlio cook wiiH ratlior oO'ciKlrd iiy iIiIh (I(*preciHtioh of hii
lutleriiigH.

"Only a Hllj^ht )»ruiHo, fih," he Maid. "TliPii I wiuh yonl
had it, my lad. i ^'ueHU a man Hhould know wlmti
wrong with hiniHelf Imttrr nor anybody «Iho do«'h, and I
know my Hhoulder's out o' jiut, lo juHt you take a hold u
my arm and twiHt it in."

"All right, stand up," said Krod, and to please hint liH
took hold of the injured arm, and gave it a twibt audi
sharp jerk. The cook howled, Hpat and Htamp«'d his foot,
after which ho calmed down and said with comfortalilH
assurance :

"I knowed it was out o' jint, I tell yer. It's gett-ngl
better already since yer yanked it inter the socket." ISol
easily are sonio m«'n nmde the dupes of their own fancies.

'* That's right," remarked Fred, soothingly, "now youj
will be able to go on again. I saw the ducks alighting od
anotlier slough a bit farther on."

" Did they ? Let's be movin' then ! I'll have 'em y<'t
But say," lie continued, as he picked up his gun, "would I
you mind changing guns for a shot or two*? I'm kind o'|
scar't o' this for a time."

Fred, easily gue.ssing that a trick had been played, con
sented to change, but insisted on firing the remaining
charge before going farther. Pressing the butt Hrmlj
against his shoulder, he tired into the air; but as tlint
barrel had not been tampered with, the rebound was quite
gentle. However, to satisfy the cook a little, he contorted [
his face and rubbed his shoulder.

"You overload, cook," he said, " you overload. WftitI
till I load her myself, and she will be as gentle as a|
chicken."

He reloaded accordingly, and they proceeded on thoirl
hunt; but the ducks had been frightened and they proved
very shy. Even the cook's wonderful feat of crouching
and crawling failed to bring him near them ; and the few
distant shots they fired only drove the game from onel
slough to another.

They kept chasing them in this manner till Fred began

A HUNTINt} INCIDKNT.

liution of hii

lave >m v«'t

I'm kind ol

hi, •^t't (liMliriirinned, and hinti«<l to liii ooinpanioii that thoy
liiiii^lit a.H woll return. i)ut tlio H(K)rtinj{ inntinolH of
Aiitliou) Sorommt wen< tllurou^llly arouHml. A ^alnhl«r's
ft'vcr liiul Mfliz(>(l liini, and iim tli<^ (IucIcm tmcHpod him time
iiwr tiiiio, th«? wiHli to nMlroni tho fortuiH'H of the day hy
)n«< foil Mwoop HtriMi^thonrd within him, and tilled with
his iflHolve \ui ohstinatoly n^fuHod to ahandun th<. chaiio.

Ah Kred did not wiHJi to return alono hu had no choion

hut to accompany hiM hloodthirsty comrado. Hut the

lucks l«'d them a weary chaae. When they naw them

Iriiliiily hnmHtin^' a patch of Hta^nant water, our hunters

|w()iil(l sink to a dwarliHh height, and he^in to crawl toward

Itln'iii, hut even before they could get within ratine there

^vould ))e a warning gahhle, a sphiHhing of water, a swift

Iwhirriiig of wings, and several brown specks could soon \>e

Btt'ii (liHiippearing in the distance. The cook in his wrath

|>voul(l Komotimes send a few ill-tempered pellets hissing in

tlio rear, luit all of no avail.

" Sakes alive," he said emphatically, '• I'll blow 'em all to
iBplittora if I get near *em, if only for the sake of reveng'^."
lAiul 80 saying he reloaded his gun and followed to the
|n<'xt slough to be again disappointed of iiis ** revenge."

This style of travelling took them unconsciously far

|a\v;iy from their original starting-point, and brought them

liiito u country thickly studded with little green poplar

nluH's. Whilst these miniature woods greatly enhanced tho

|l)('.iuty of the scene, they also harbored millions of mos-

juitos, which, taking advantage of the shelter from the wind

[that the bushes afforded, arose in humming swarms from

junder the hunters' feet ay d fiercely attacked their faces

jund hands. Fred Poison as he brushed them otF grew

liiion^ than ever impatient to return, but the cook per

iu.isively insisted on trying his luck "just one time more."

Moving on with this intention they saw before them

narrow scrubby opening between two green grove'"..

|!Ii')oking forward they saw the bushes on the bluff on the

rij,dit part suddenly, and a small but beautiful deer sprang

Knto sight. Fred PoKson's gun was at once brought to the

Ifilioulder, and without thought and with very little aim, he

roi,soN 8 rnoiuTioN.

firtd. Tlin (li*(*r ro«6 illlO tlif* nif iiiul rollt>(l iMiokwAH, nn
tLM it WAM fHllill^ liiiothf^r n\\''i wum liouni from tlit* blull
tlio It^ft, and tli«« aiiiitiiil fi>ll picnu'il by uiiotlior wound

liiiiiKHliiitidy iift(*r liii liidiuii iiwufut from tho blutf, nn
■trodo townrd thif fallen di'«^r. I'olHon and IiIm coinpniuo
OAin«) up at thu tame tiniu, th(> latti-r drawing HOHr\iiii
knif(4 from a Mhnith HtniM^ on liiM Ixdt, preparatory
Mcrdin^ and dn^NHin^ tlii^ ^liintv Krod thought lii> foriHtij
trouWUi with tii» Indian and at onco uuMiHurt'd liim witln
look.

Mi) waH onn of tlioHO half oivili/.od, half Havago tn<*n
fn'<pn»ntly m»'t with in frrnhly sottU'd parts of thu Wnu
Half huntrr, lialf firmrr, liiH clothing wa.s an incon^niou
mixture of the ImrharoiiH and thn ('ivili/«>d. II in hair n«
MJiorttfr than Ium raco UHually ath'ct, atid hn wore a lii.'il
hat of hard foil and a hlut; ovrrall Hinock cmbroidt^red witi[
bead-work on thn HhouldorM. 1 1 in wide pantaloons werJ
made of white blanketing', but were not, as is custoniHri
with Indians, adorned with supertliious frills on the out-
side. His feet wore encased in moccasins (lowered wit
strings of high colored l)<>ads. Mis face was brown, liar
and wrinkled, and the creas<'S were striped with tillinysdii
black grease. His eyes were black and restless, and Im
high cheek Imnes and narrow, peaked forehead, gave hiiin
sinister expression. Seeing the preparations the jmli
faces were making, he strode hastily forward and stoodj
between them and t\w dying fawn. Lifting his hand wilkl
an Indian's majesty of action, he said in fair Englii<h.[
" White man not touch deer. It is mine."

Fred Poison looked at him in anui/nment. ** I tliinkl
you are mistaken," he said. '* I shot first, and T have a j»tr|
feet right to the game."

The cook had not been able to get a shot becausp }|
mosquito had stung his eyelid at the critical monent, Imtl
now that the deer was killed he was determined to asscrtl
his companion's rights. Casting a surly look on tlie|
Indian, he doggedly corroborated Fred's statement.

"Yes, that's so! He shot a month afore you. Why.l
you never tired at ail till the deer was as dead as a door

A HITNTINO INriDKNT.

jkti, litiil if you hftti you couUln't hnv^ tioklml hia \\'n\v with
liiit rukty old (lint eiAcknr." And Mr. Scroj^pot wound

[i> thin roll of i*XHgK**''<^^''^'^* ^i^^> * K^'^i'^'** "^ witiu^ring
hkrcuNin dir«*cit'd at tlin ItidiiuiM old fiiahiotuMl gun.

Wliito man," Nuid tin* alMiri^inul, i^norin^ Hcro^pot,

for tlir<>«* duyM I havK huntrd and tracktul, and what I

ivf huntod is niinr."

In iln^t cast*," Nuid Krod, " it would h«^ hard to ■«Mid
[nil liwiiy (Mnpty hunclcd, lo thai if you likn I will give you
iulf. \Vhptli<*r you havo huntod or not, thr fj;ani^ Ixdon^N
liini who kilU it, hut Mttll in fiiir play you can takr half."

"Car carwin," Haid the Indian in hiH dm^p guttural,

no, that not do. I'll hiivi* all or nono."

"Then you'll ^il nothin'," liroko in tho cook, "and if
[uii don't ^ta out o' thu way, I'll Hhift yer." And aH hit
rrnth was now fairly rouHcd, he puH'uuI tho Indian aHide,
LikI pliicin^ ono foot on tho hody of tho ducr, ho Ix'gan to
liiirpj'tj hJH carvingknifo on his l»ig, h'-own l)Oot.

Tlio Indian glared at him for a nionHMit in anf^nr and
urprJHo ; th^n turning to PoIhou, Ik^ Haid in tonoH of Ncorn :

Wliitr man, your friend in a nioonyass, a fool. I tako no
hought of him, but you, will you lot nio have my dt>er or

lot?"

'' As I said hoforo," replied Fred, quietly, " you can take
^iilf if you like, hut no more. I think that is a fair otfor,
^nd if you will help us to skin and dress it, we will cut it
i|i lit once."

In sullen anger the Indian turned to depart, hut as he
loved away ho looked back over his shoulder and said :
['The white man yet know that Indian can remember
ATong."

And leaving this trail of threatening words behind, he
H^nt his way.

" You can taU all you like !" shouted Mr. Scrogpot after
mn as he pulleu the knife from the deer's throat, and
)raiKli.shed it in circles through the air, '* you can talk, but
fi' ain't scar't o' all the dirty Injuns that was ever made.
tf you come anear me again with yer talk I'll give yer a
lose o' gunpowder to swaller."

POLSON S PROBATION.

The noble red man (i.e., the dirty brown man) went on
hi8 way heedless of these fiery words, and Poison and his
companion -the latter in a slate of high excitement — began
to strip the delicate animal of its skin. But Fred did not
accept the Indian's threat with the high-flown belief in hia
own imperiousness shown by his companion.

" Do you think," he asked, as he severed the skin from
the flesh with the sound of a rag softly tearing, " that
there is really any danger in the Indian."

"Danger!" and the carving-knife gashed a hole in the
skin, " I'd like to see the dirty nichie that would try any
tricks on me. I'd soon shorten his hair for him."

As Fred saw that it would be useless to attempt to draw
cool speech from so hot a fountain, he worked away in
silence, but mentally deternjined henceforth to be on his
guard in dealing with Indians.

When, they had stripped and dressed their victim the
question arose, " How shall we get it home 1 "

" I think," suggested Fred, " it would be well to leave it
here with one of us to guard it, whilst the other goes to the
barn and gets a horse and cart."

" Leave nothin' I " said the enthusiastic cook. " You
just carry them two guns and this hide, and I'll soon show
you it's no trick to carry a thing like this a mile or two."
And without waiting for an answer, he swung the deer
upon his back, and grasping a hind leg with each hand,
grunted, "It's nothin' at all," and told Poison to "come
along."

Fred flung a gun over each shoulder, and hung the skin
over bin right arm ; and thus burdened they walked to-
ward the farm. As Mr. Scrogpot hobbled along, ho
perspired and panted under his load ; but, proud to be the
bearer of such a trophy, stubbornly scouted Fred's offer of
assistance.

When they arrived at the farm, the men had already had
supper, and were loitering around the house, amusing them-
selves in various ways. As they had had but a poor meal,
they were grumbling much at the cook for his absence ; but
when they saw liim arrive with a deer on his back, dis-

A HUNTINO INCIDENT.

pleasure was forgotten in curiosity, and they clustered
eagerly around him. Dir'iainin^ their numerous questions,
he strode in lordly silence into the house, and flinging his
burden on the table with a force that made the tinware ring
like bells, turned to the men, who had followed him, and
said with a triumphant air :

" Now, you fellers ! Who says I can't shoot?"

By this time, indeed, our friend had assumed such com-
plete ownership of the carcase that he really believed he
had killed it himself ; but Fred Poison, who, though the
hero of this story, possessed all a sportsman's love of praise,
coming in at this moment and hearing Mr. Scrogpot's
exultant question, spoiled the pleasure of his little delusion
by exclaiming : '* Ah, cook, that is hardly fair I You
must remember that I shot that deer."

This remark, and the laugh from the crowd that followed
it, put the worthy guardian of the pots a little out o'
countenance.

*' You never a-mind if yer did," he growled. '* I fthonld
have shot it anyway if the blamed musketur hadn't jumped
inter my eye just when I was goin' for to tire."

Such a statement, coming from such a source, admitted
of no refutation, and was, indeed, received by the men
with such approving remarks as, "And so you would,
cook ! " " You bet your beef you would ! " " Bully for you,
old grease-pots ! " Indeed, the popular enthusiasm surged
around the cook to such an extent that the men followed
him in a body into his shanty, where, as he mixed some
cake-dough, he gave them a glowing account of the adven-
tures of the day. When he had mixed a thick batter, he
took up a portion in his left hand, and after clenching it
into a hollow fist, slowly squeezed out the dough between
his forefinger and his thumb, his hand acting like an
animated sausage mill ; and as it thus rolled out, like a
chrysalis issuing from its husk, he cut off portions with a
guillotine-like movement of the fore-finger of his other
hand, and the batter thus severed splashed and sprawled
on the bottom of a greased tin. In the various phases of
pxcitement through which h^ passed in relating his adveU'

I
1

POLSON S PROBATION.

tures, his hand would sometimes tighten till the battor
apout^f'd out like water from a hose ; and at others it would
slacken so that only a few miserable drops dripped on tht>
tin. When those cakes were drawn from the oven, it
would have puzzled a Euclid to deHne their different shapes
and sizes, though not a few rewembled deer variously
maimed, incapacitated and deformed.

T see the reader closing this chapter with a weary yawn
or an impatient sniff; he can see nothing in it. lEave
patience, my friend. There have probably been events in
your own life which, though seenungly unimportant in
themselves, have yet developed into circumstances which
have effectually influenced the current of your ways.
That mighty river, placid, broad, spanned by huge bridges
of stone, its bosom riven by navies of commerce — whence
came it, think youl From some little trickling spring in
the hillside far away ; and to none is it more interesting
than to him who traced it from the place where it could
hardly claim the tribute of a passing look. So thesd
apparently trivial things T have related may yet quicken
into circumstances important enough to claim your closest
attention.

CHAPTER IX.
A Plot in Embryo.

** Ripen your plans and let them wait for opportunities.
When you have secured one chance, if it is not sufficient
for your purpose, hold it in hand till others arrive ; and
when you have all complete, let them culminate in action."

Such, briefiy expressed in his own language, was t\w
policy that Silas Pancrack pursued toward Fred Poison.
He saw with some apprehonsior that beneath .Alice Cra<^s'
pretended indifference to Fred there lurked a feeliu'^
stronger than mere regard ; buc he comforted himself with
the reflection that the wheat-crop on which th^ famil}

A PLOT IN EMHRYO.

(Irpcnflcd for safety frojii the dreaded mortgage seemed to
stiinci a good chance of being choked out by the weeds ;
and he rightly foresaw that this would place them iii
his power, if he only cultivated his opportuuities rightly.

Mrs. Crags, with the worldly wisdom with which she
was so largely endowed, tacitly but decidedly encouraged
Pancrack's visits, and gave him every opportunity in her
|)(>wer for forwarding his suit with Alice. "For," she said
contidt':itially to her neighbor, Mrs. Shenstone, "if Alice
married Mr. Pancrack he might pay off our debts, and set
us on our feet again."

Her neighbor shook her head. " Good never came of a
marriage for money," she said.

" I suppose," said Mrs. Orags, snappishly, " you would
like to see her tied for love to that little Poison, who
to be as poor as a church mouse. I tell you,

seems

Martha Shenstone, that ice doesn't molt away quicker in
Summer than love after marriage. I married for that,
and s(?e what I've got."

** But you are mistaken," said Mrs. Shenstone, who had
been more happily mated. " You are mistaken, I am sure,
ft is better for a couple .to be poor, if they love each other,
than to own all the riches in the world, whilst one perhaps
is only coldly dutiful to the other ; and had not drink
ruined your husband you would have thought so, too."

" Ah," said the other with a sigh, " it was different
once. When I married him, a finer young inan could not
have V)een found in our part of the country. He was kind
and industrious. He went often to the alehouse, it is true,
but he was then strong to resist temptation, and never
drank to excess ; but sickness weakened him, and to
drown pain and caro he began to drink. He became
weaker than ever under its influence, and at last sank
into the thing he is now, useless for work and always
craving for drink. Ah, the drink ! The accursed drink —
it (lid it all."

There was a vein of sentimental remembrance in this
speech rather foreign to the nature of the worldly Mrs.
Crags. It soemetl as if her soul had been touched by a

POLSON S PUOIUTION.

glimpso of lier former self, ere kindlier feelings had been
stifled by bitter years of strife with a jostling world and
harassing care over a besotted, loveless mate. A volcanic
sentiuK^nt pometiraes forced its way through the hardene'l
crust of worldlinoss beneath which it was imprisoned, but
ever as it died to dust and cold ashes again, the earthy
crust closed over the wound and the woman remained
mercenary and selfish as before.

But though Pancrack received so much parental en-
couragement, he wisely declined to force matters till the
family was more completely in his power. Patiently, in
pursuance of his policy, he awaited his opportunity, and it
came sooner than he expected.

In the middle of the summer, whilst Mrs. Crags was
still anxiously beating ott' creditors until the harvest should
be gathered, a firm of implement manufacturers, to which
they were heavily indebted, became bankrupt, and pressed
for instant pn.yment. In this dilemma Mrs. Crags was
forced to capitulate, and reluctantly resolved to mortgage
the farm to meet the debt.

One fine morning Silas Pancrack sauntered into the
farm-house. He found Mrs. Crags alone in the dining-
room — her dress tucked up, her arms bare to the elbows,
and a black spot on the tip of her nose — busily scouring
knives on a leathern cleaning-board. Without ceasing
from her work, or discomposing herself in the least, she
bade him "Good morning," and told him to take a seat.
He sat down on the lounge, and after exchanging some
local small talk, shifted the conversation round to the
distresses of farmers generaMy. This brought him easily
to the point he wished to arrive at, and he soon found a
chance for saying, with a very sympathetic look at
Mrs. Crags :

" I hear that you, too, are in trouble like so many more,
and I came round chiefly this morning to see if I could be
of any service to you."

" Oh, Mr. Pancrack ! how kind you are ! But I don't
think you can help us."

I don't know. If money c»n be of any service — and

«» T

A PLOT IN EMBRYO.

it pretty nearly always can — I can let you have it on better
and cheaper terms than you could get it anywhere else."

"If you can do that, we might trouble you, of course;
l)ut tell me how you could do it."

" Well, you see, Mrs. Crags, I am connected with a loan
ooirpany, and I think I could make arrangements with n)y
partners to lend you the money at five per cent, interest—
you couldn't get it at less than eight of anyone else. Ot
course, the company would require a mortgage on the
farm, but that would be a mere matter of form ; and I
would take care that you were never pressed for payment."

Mrs. Crags pursed her lips, and rubbed the knife she
was scouring so fiercely that when she lifted it again it
shone like silver. After about a minute of this violent
exercise she rubbed more gently —as if she had reached a
conclusion by the friction — and, without turning her head,
said :

" If I accepted your kind ofter, when could you let me
liave the money 1 "

" Oh, any time you please. I can let you have it to-
morrow, for the matter of that ; but, of course, it would be
necessary to get a lawyer to draw up the mortgage ; and I
think it would be better for ua both to go to Bendigo and
have it done — a lawyer would charge so much mileage for
coming out here."

" Well," said Mrs. Crags, with a sigh and a gentle
pressure on the knife, " I suppose it must be done, and
the sooner the better."

"In that case, then, you will meet me in Bend' to-
morrow 1 "

" Yes, if the weather is fine, I will come."

"But about Mr. Crags, I suppose he is the n luinal
owner, and — "

"Oh, leave him to me; I'll settle with him."

" Very well ; my best regards to your daughtei . Good
morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Pane rack ; and thank you very
much for your kindness."

" * My best regards to your daughter,' he said," mused

polson's pkobation.

■41 1

Zitv

.iHki:

Mrs. Orags, when he had gone. "I wish my daughter
would only give hor beat regards to him."

When she had finished the knife-cleaning, l.er nrst
business was to interview her husband. This was a'quite
formal and summary aflair.

She found him sitting in his usual position by the
kitchen stove — his walking-stick between his knees, his
head sunk in slumber on his breast, his grey coat collar
sticking up at the back under the rim of his hat, which in
front was tilted over his eyes. Mrs. Crags promptly seized
him by the collar and shook him so vigorously that she
churned from the depths of his chest a deep voice which
asked drowsily :

" Leave me alone, Conner yer. Yoe perleecemen are
always botherin' a poor oud cripple. I anner drunk, I
tell yer ; I'm only a bit slapey."

"You old idiot/" exclaimed his loving wife, and she
shook him more fiercely than before. Tins time Mr. Crags
aroused sufficiently to push back his hat, rub his eyes,
look up and ask in sullen humility :

" What dun yer want wi' me V

"Solomon C ags," said his wife, sternly, "I'm going to
mortgage this farm, and I want your consent ; so just say
'yes,' or 'all right,' and have done with it."

"What dost want to mourgidge it for"?" asked Mr.
Crags, wh > had but a vague conception of what a mort-
gage meant.

" For money, of course," said Mrs. Crags, pettishly. " I
want money to pay the debts, don't I ? "

" Money," thought Mr. Orags; " what is money 1 — ah
— money's the stuff you buy whiskey with. All right " —
and he was passing into dreams of glory.

"Now, then," snapped Mrs. Orags, "don't sit dreaming
there. Say 'yes,' quick, or I'll shake you out of your
coat. "

"iaas," drawled Mr. Crags. Mrs. Crags released his
coat collar, and he drowsed to sleep amid whiskey-dreams
again.

But whilst Mrs. Crags obtained an easy compliance from

A PLOt tN EMBRYO.

her lord, with her son it was cliHoreiit. That young man
was a devoted friend and adniirei of Fred Poison, and
more than shared his dislike for Hilas Pancrack ; and this
he showed so plainly that a much less acute observer than
Silas must have noticed it. Still, Pancrack showed no
signs of consciousness of the fact ; on the other hand, he
treated him with such marked suavity and courtesy, that
George, who regarded such conduct as the mask of hypoc-
risy, could hardly endure it. When, over the tea-cups
that night, the young farmer heard of his mother's inten-
tion, he stormed into a great passion.

•* Five per cent.," ho sneered, in answer to his mother's
remarks on the cheapness of the loan; "five per cent.!
What if it is cheap 1 I would rather borrow it at twice
the interest than be beholden to that smooth-tongued
hypocrite."

" George, George," said his mother with a frown of
reproachful surprise, *' what do you mean *? I'm sure that
Mr. Pancrack is a very nice gentlen»an, and is .>.i vi-ys very
civil to you."

" So he may be," said George ; '• but I tell you there's
soinothiug about the man I don't like,"and never shall."

" No matter what you like," said Mrs. Crags, angrily ;
" if it pletfees me to use him, you've got to put up with
him ; and what's more, you'll have to come with me
to-morrow and be a witness to the mortgage deed."

The hands that have, whipped our babyhood bodies, and
the tongues that have scolded our childhood souls, very
often have a terrifying influence over us late on in youth.
The scars that are left on a young heart are not easily
effaced. So, at least, it seemed to l3e with George Crags,
for on hearing his mother's angiy commands he dropped
his eyes humbly on his plate, and just managed to mutter
in very mumbling tones :

"All right; do as you like; I don't care." And even
these timid sentences he drowned in a nervous gulp of tea.

t n

POLSONS PROBATION.

iHv

CHAPTER X. •
A Quarrel in Bkndiqo.

Thky called it a town ! A collection of wooden build-
ings of every shape, color and size, split apart into blocks
by streets raised in the middle like blunt, broad-edged
wedges of solid earth, fringed here and there by bits of
8. ewalk lair' down by private enterprise ; four elevators
(for the storage and shipping of grain) towering in cumber-
some grandeur along the edge of the railway, and seeming
to frown contemptuously on the cluster of small buildings
huddled aljout their feet ; a railway station, and a few box-
cars standing on a switch — such, to the eye overlooking it
in general survey, was the outward inanimate composition
of the small western town of Bendigo.

A buggy, containing a farmer's wife and her son, moving
slowly along the blunt wedge in the centre of the streot;
a team of oxen creeping lazily toward one of the elevators
with a wagon load of wheat, and a driver lying half-asleep
on the sacks with a pipe in his mouth ; an occasional
pedestrian walking along the shady side of the street ; a
few men 'dressed in styles that varied in all shades
between the farmer in overalls and the merchant in broad-
cloth) sitting under the veranda of the Cowboy Hotel,
smoking, expectorating, talking and reading newspapers-
add to these a few curs which, with tails erect and grinding
growls, formed a belligerent group in front of the hotel,
and you have a mental picture of the inhabitants of the
town of Bendigo visible at the time of which I write.

The couple in the buggy referred to wore Mrs. Crags and
her son George, who had come in for the purpose of draft-
ing the mortgage ; and one of the men reading a newspaper
in front of the hotel was Silas Pancrack, who had arrived
beforehand to meet th^.

When he saw his victims drive up he immediately rose
to greet them. He assisted Mrs. Crags from the buggy.

A QU AKFiEL IN RENDIOO.

and shook hands with (leorgt*, the latter thrusting out his
hiind in sullen, bad graeo in response tu a sharp look from
IiIh mother. 8oon after they were all seated in the
lawyer's ottice, where the mortgage bonds were duly agreed
to and signed. While this was going on, a buckboard
containing Mr. Orags, sen., and Uncle Nathan, of the
Dysart farm, arrived in the town. As the reader will wish
to understand how the farmer came to follow so closelv

after his wife and son, it will be neccnaary to ofTer an
explanation. When the whisketied head of the household
found himself alone, his mind at once began U.\ ruminate
over the question, how should he obtain a nupply of
whiHkey 1 for to this end all his faculties ten Jod. Of his
fiiuiily's whereabouts he knew or cared nothing ; but this
he did know —and it grieved him sorely — that the whiskey
bottle, hidden in the stable, from which h« waH wont to
replenish the phial wrapped in the flannels around his hand,
was getting mournfully low, and he felt it to be hia inexor-
able duty to fill it at all hazards.

His wife was going to mortgage the farm, and he knew
that that circumstance would, for a tiiue, furnish him with
unlimited credit. He had heard also that someone from
the Dysart farm was going to Bendigo on the next day ;
and as Bendigo and whiskey were synonymous terms with
him, it impressed itself sut!iciently on his mind to cause
him to grasp his opportunity and his walking-stick when
he found himself alone on the day of which I speak.

He arrayed his short, thick body in a coat with a sleeve
specially made for the purpose of passing over the bulbous
bundle in which his left hand was encased, whilst the tails
hung out a little back from his legs like steep eaves; and
having completed his holiday attire by drawing his slouch
hat closer on his head he drained out the last of his
whiskey with tearful eyes, and wrapping up the large
bottle, carefully placed it under his coat, and bore it as
tenderly as a much-beloved child across to the Dysart
farm. He found Uncle Nathan, the herdsman, hitching
up a very rickety-looking old mustang to an equally rickety
old buckboard. When he saw old Crags approaching he

polson's puobation.

I J,

went fidgeting nrouiid to the oppoHite Hide of the pony, but
he waa followed.

"(iood niornin', Mr. Nathan ; you are going to Bendigo,
I hear." It must he stated in explanation of the unuHual
purity of Mr. Crags' Knglish that it was a holiday with
him and he had on his best attire — circutnstanceg which
made him feel rather vain, and caused him to assume that
stiff dignity of language which seeiuH almost instinctive
with the dignified and pompous.

•• Yah, I was thinkin' about it," grunted Uncle, hooking
up a twisted trace.

"You will allow me to ride in with you, \ suppose, sirl"

Uncle fidgeted with the harness, muttered something
about having a 'oad, and wound up by evolving the
ambiguous consent, " Oh, yah, T guess."

The fact was. Uncle did not much relish the idea of
having Mr. Crags for a travelling companion ; l)ut as \w
stood in great awe of that gentleman's pompous indigna-
tion, he feared to refuse to take him, and so old Sol Crags
proceeded toward Bendigo, blissfully unconscious of the
fact that his wife had preceded him.

When he arrived in town he lost no time in puncturing
with his walking-stick a track toward the Cowboy Hotel.
The men loafing around greeted him with such salutations
as " Waal, Hoi ! Whar on airth hev yer been this long
while back?" "Good-day, Mr, Crags, I am glad to see
you." " Well, Solomon, still in the land of the livingl"
etc.

The boys jeered rudely at His coat-tails, and the dogs
barked at him. To the men he replied with a grin that
exposed his solitary-looking teeth and threatened to split
off the top of his head ; the boys and dogs he kept at bay
with flourishes of his walking-stick.

" Hi ! Sol," howled a noisy urchin in his rear, " yer
tail's a-droppin' off"

Mr. Crags turned slowly round, and resting his hand on
the knob of his stick, scanned the presumptuous youth
severely.

" Young man," he said solemnly, " you shouldn't call me

A gUARUKl. IN HENDIOO.

Sol, you ihould call me Holonion. ' And having cUlivered
hiiiiHolf of thia grave remoniitrance, the wise man went on
to hii fountain of Rtrength.

Hn had not been long in the liar-room before a amatt
crowd gathered around and began to chart' him.

••Say, Hoi," said one, "don't you drink too nmch o' that
HtufT, for I seen the old woman carryiu' a big horiMwhip
when she came in just now."

Mr. Crags turned in ooinic dignity, with his walking-
Htick tucked under his loft arm, and a tumbler half-filled
with whiskey in his right hand.

••Tell me no lies," he drawled, "tell me no lies. My
wife is not here."

•• What'll yer bet on it, old cock 1 "

'• I do not bet," naid Mr. Crags, with ati indignant moral
emphasis on the negative.

This dignified assertion was followed by an awkward
silence, during which Mr. Cragf* stood stirtly near the bar
with his walking stick under his arm, occasionally smooth-
ing the majestic pucker on his brow l)y a condescending
8ip of the toddy. However, in a few moments the liquor
he imbibed penetrated th«. tightened muscles of his virtue,
(causing them to relax, and turning to the person who
had formerly addressed him, he said in a tone of aflfable
condescension :

•' I will not bet, but I will toss you for the best three
out of five that my wife is not here, and let the loser pay
for drinks."

The man addressed hardly saw much connection between
tossing for drinks and the presence or absence of Mrs.
Crags, but still in expectation of some amusement he
closed with the offer. The coin was tossed up by an im-
partial 8p(;ctator. It was Mr. Crags' first guess.

••Teels!" he shouted, whirling his stick and forgetting
his dignity as the silver came whizzing down toward the
lloor. •• Teels ! Ho Hoth, look out ! " This last exclama-
tion was aimed at someone who touched the falling coin
with his foot. "Teels foriver ! No, it's yeds! " Which
emphatic dialectic and disappointed ejaculation was

^ ^

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IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

^^ ^ /^%

C/.

1.0

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1.25

1^ fei^

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Hiotographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

POLSON S PUOBATION.

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greeted with a roar of laughter. Mr. Crags did not fail
to attribute his ill-success to the disturbance the coin had
received in falling ; and in the subsequent tosses, while
the coin was whizzing in the air, he swept a sacred circle
round it with vigorous strokes of his walking-stick, his
action reminding one of a boy batting at a pebble which
he always missed. However, by this means he kept the
gambling space as clear as if it had been encircled by
invisible ropes. The game, if such it may be called, grew
very exciting. At the fourth toss he and his opponent
were equal. Only one more trial was needed to decide it.
Up for the last time flew the whirring coin.

" Yeds ! Ho Hoth ! Yeds ! " yelled Mr. Crags, as his
stick swished frantically around the circle. " Let me look !
Let me look, I say ! "

And falling on hands and knees he bent down near the
coin so that his whiskey-bleared eyes might better make
out the inscription. Having satisfied himself he rose
quickly erect.

" It's yeds ! Ho Hoth ! I've won ! I've won ! " His
triumph he emphasized with a thump of his walking-stick
which stove a knot-hole in the floor. But though Mr.
Crags rejoiced in his victory it looked as if he were not
going to divide the spoil, for his opponent having had, in
the old man's excitement, all the fun he bargained for,
made toward the door to escape the expense of his losing.

He did not get far, however, before his coat-collar was
hooked by the inevitable walking-stick, and much against
his will he was dragged back toward its owner.

"You cannot escape me, sir," said Mr. Crags, majesti-
cally. " You have lost the game, and you must pay for the
liquor, or — " He finished the sentence by executing an
ominous parabola over his captive's head with the walking
stick.

" 'Scape yer," said the loser in a tone of oflTended pride,
which was, however, not unmixed with some tremblings of
real fear. " Why, who wanted ter 'scape yer. I was only
jest goin' to the door to see if the old woman was a' comin'
round anywheres." And, with this meek apology, he

A QUARREL IN BENDIGO.

reluctantly laid on the counter the money necessary to
replenish a little of Mr. Crags' inexhaustible thirst. With
the aid of this supply, supplemented by several others
obtained on his own credit, or extracted from the drunken
<;enerosity of the loafers, he passed rapidly through differ-
ent stages of merriment, talkativeness, restlessness and
pugnaciousness. From the majestic he descended to the
atl'able, from the affable to the familiar, from the familiar
ascending again to the uncertain, and from the uncertain
he rose into the loudly defiant.

Ah, Solomon ! Wrapt in thy drunken unconsciousness,
little dreamest thou of the storm that is gathering even
now around thy devoted and sadly intoxicated head. In
thy mood of defiance — sport for the men, and terror for the
boys — little thinkest 'thou of the petticoated fate that is
moving toward thee to destroy thy whiskey-built illusions
of majesty and pugilistic power. Already it is emerging
from the lawyer's office ; and, alas for thee, it spitefully
stabs the gravel with the point of a stout black umbrella,
which it ever carries abroad for offensive or defensive
purposes.

By this time Mr. Crags had reached a talkative,
pugnacious state, and was standing on the platform in
front of the hotel holding forth to a group of spectators,
composed of several sniffing dogs, some grinning boys, and
a few smiling men. Grasping his stick defiantly in the
middle with his right hand, and the bundle of red flannel
on his left shaking as if it contained a sleepless baby, he
was loudly challenging the crowd to open battle.

" Ye behoud in mae," he was saying, for in drunkenness
he forgot his dignity and resumed his native dialect — " Ye
behoud in mae a mon not to be skeert by a' yer big words
an' idle blow — a mon o' genius, hintellect, eddication an*
high-braedin', as '11 feight ony mon, kid or dog among yer
fer twenty rt)unds an' a bottle o' oud Scotch, though he is
a poor oud cripple ; for I tell yer agen, I'm a mon that's
skeert o' nobody."

At this juncture someone among the crowd whispered,
" Mrs. Crags," and, as if touched by some subtle magic, all

'i ;

''4

'' 'I

POLSON S PROBATION.

dispersed in diflerent directions to v/atch from the moat
convenient hiding places the scene of conjugal felicity
that would probably ensue. The dogs followed their
masters, and Mr. Crags was left alone.

As that worthy's dimmed and blinking eyes could not
see the figure of his wife coming up the middle of the
street, he immediately attributed this sudden flight to his
own bombastic challenges, and proudly erecting his stoop-
ing form he put the hand containing the walking-stick to
his mouth, and gathering his breath gave vent to a loud
'• Cock-a-doodle-do."

" I knowed you'd a' be skeert on me," he shouted,
waving his stick in the air. " Thrae cheers for the Queane,
an' the oud bird that's cock o' the walk yet. Whoop ! "

On hearing these exultant noises, Mrs. Crags turned her
eyes toward the quarter from which they came, and beheld
her husband shuffling in a triumphant " Ta-ran-ta " on
the hotel platform.

Her first impulse was to faint, but, as she wore her best
dress and the street was rather dusty, she changed her
mind and assumed bolder tactics. She advanced sharply
toward her husband, the frowns and packers with which
her face was corrugated resembling in miniature the rolling
clouds of a looming and thunderous sky. Pausing in
front of him she pointed her umbrella fiercely at him as if
she would thus more surely direct the lightning of her
wrath toward him.

" You old wretch ! " she cried with a little of the con-
densed thunder growling in her voice. " What are you
doing here 1 "

At another time this would have awed Solomon into a
state of shapeless dumbness ; but on this occasion his
courage had been raised to too lofty an elevation to be
dislodged by any chance thrust, no matter from what
quarter it came. Indeed, so elated was his mood, that
on seeing his wife and hearing her fierce question, his eyes
even gleamed with a dim and watery joy ; for was not this
a convenient occasion for the exercise of that superiority
to which he thought his recent victory entitled him ?

A QUARREL IN 13ENDIQ0.

•* What am I doin' 'l ' he echoed in tones of lofty sur-
prise. " What have I </<me, yoe meanen 1 Woman,
behoud yore lord wi' pride ! " (And he actually tilled hia
baggy waistcoat with the expansion of his chest.) "This
very day wi' my own hand have I skeert off moor than
a dozen ghosterin'* blaggards - Ah, the hounds ! They
darena face oud Sol Crags ! — and henceforth I'll be your
lord and protector, an' whoever cunis near my wife, I'll —
I'll — split his yed ! " And this latter declaration he
emphasized with such a blow of the walking-stick that, as
it cleft the cranium of his wife's imaginary molester, it
drew his tottering form oft* the platform after it, and he
would have fallen on the street had not his wife clutched
his coat-collar.

" You idiot ! " she hissed, and as the hidden thunder
convulsed her, she shook him fiercely, and punched him in
the ribs with her umbrella. " Come along with me now
and make no noise or I'll shake you to pieces."

And squeezing his coat-collar viciously in her right hand
she thrust him along before her, prodding him behind with
the umbrella all the time, as if he had been a refractory
calf.

" Tell me," she said, enforcing the question with a sharp
dig in the back, " who brought you into town 1 "

'* Old John Brown, he brought me into town,
As we go rolling along."

As Mr. Crags attempted to trill these answering lines
his voice was half choked by the tightening grasp on his
coat-collar.

" Silly fool ! " hissed Mrs. Crags, giving him another
severe shaking. " Can't you tell me who brought you in ?
Was it Jackson ? "

"Don't thrust so hard, Mrs. Crags," said the old ine-
briate, as the lady enforced her last question with a sharp
push of the umbrella. " Uncle Nathan is hitching up ; let
me return with Uncle Nathan." For under that severe

* Boasting.

POLSONS PUOBATION.

'$.

treatment he was rapidly becoming subdued into a state of
semi-sobriety.

" Oh ! " exclaimed Mrs. Crags, " it was old Nathan then,
was it ? " And toward that unhappy individual she made
full sail, propelling her consort before her.

Just in front of a long wooden feed-stable opening on
the street, poor Uncle was indeed hitching up ; for he had
caught a glimpse of the pleasant connubial interview in Iront
of the hotel, and being a man of meek disposition (who
knew Mrs. Crag's temperament well, and feared, with too
good reason, the wordy wrath which she would wreak on
him for bringing her husband in) he had hastened to make
his escape. But, alas ! he was too late.

When he saw Mrs. Crag making toward him, he
bobbed his head down on the opposite side of the pony,
and with fingers working like cat's hairs in a thunder-
storm he tried hurriedly to fasten the last trace, but in his
nervousness and haste he bungled so that it got wrapped
round some other, part of the harness, and while he was
snatching and jerking in frantic endeavors to extricate it,
Mrs. Crags came upon him.

" Hi, sir ! " she cried. " Don't be in such a hurry, if you
please. Here's something you'd better take back with you,
since you were so fast in bringing it in. What right have
you to bring my husband into town to make him drunk,
I'd like to know ? " And still holding up her husband with
one hand, with the other she gave Uncle Nathan a vicious
poke with her umbrella.

" Please don't, mum. You'll knock the wind out ou a
feller," deprecated Uncle in a half-offended tone, at the
same time rubbing his back against the sorry-looking pony,
as if trying to create a magnetic sympathy. *' He axed me
to bring him in, mum, and of course I never says no."

" Of course yo;. never say no," repeated Mrs. Crags,
sarcastically. " You wouldn't care if he was to turn every-
thing upside down or set the place on fire. What would
you think if you had a wife, and I were to bring her in
here and make her drunk every time she wanted to come.
I'm husband in our house, remember, and I won't have

I •'':

THE TEMPTER AND HIS TRIUMPH.

this wretched old woman brought into tow^n whenever he
wants to come, so now help me to get him into the rig, and
take him straight home ; and mind T don't catch you bring-
ing him in here again."

With a meek but emphatic " No, mum ; I'll bet yer
wont," Uncle Nathan came to her assistance, and with
great difficulty they succeeded in rolling Mr, Crags into
the buckboard — a patience-trying task. When they got
his head up, his legs were down ; v hen they got his legs
up, his head was down ; when they got both head and
legs up together, his form seemed to collapse toward the
middle, and he slipped from their hands. In vain Mrs.
Crags tried to awake him to a state of self helpfulness
by sharp prods of the umbrella ; for beyond extracting
a grunt and a "Hi! ish't a hailstorm?" she might as
well have poked at a padded whiskey keg. At last, how-
ever, by dint of the combined leverage of the walking-
stick and the umbrella, he was rolled like a log into the
conveyance.

Uncle Nathan lifted him into the seat, and after prop-
ping him up with his walking-stick to make him look as
natural as possible, he drove this modernized statue of
Bacchus in a squeaking rig along a jolting trail " far from
the madding crowd."

CHAPTER XL

The Tempter and His Triumph.

Mrs. Craos, having disposed of this much of the flame
of her wrath, turned to blast with the remainder the hotel-
keeper who had supplied her husband with the liquor ; but
her task was not so easy as with the submissive Uncle
Nathan, for Mr. Rooney prided himself on his impertur-
bability ; and when he saw her coming he leaned his back
against the polished rows of liquor kegs, and crossing his
legs he placed a straw in his mouth and began to chew it
as an evidence of coolness.

I
1

I i ■

P0L80N 8 PUOliATION.

" Oood-tlay. Fin« day, inarm," he said (hut without
removing th<3 straw) as Mrs. Ora^s oiitoivd the Huioon.

'* Yes, a vory firu* day for you," Kaid Mrs. C.'ra^H in freez-
ing tonus, aft ihit ghirod at liiiii over t\ui \>iir. " A lino day
for you, no doul)t, sinct! you'vti niudo my husband stupid
drunk and banihoozled him out of ovory cent ho possessed,
hesides giving him drink on credit ; but precious litth^ pay
you'll ever get for that, and you needn't think you will."

"Say, niarm," drawled Mr. Uoone; in long drawn nasal
tones, which seemed to be strainei through the straw
which (juiverod '.n liis mouth, "wo ain't used to that sort
o' talk here."

"I'll soon make you used to it, then," said Mrs. Crags
in piercing tones, raising her voice and her umbrella threat-
eningly together; "especially if I catch you making my
husband drunk again. What right have you to supply
Solomon Crags with whiskey 'i "

" Good right as anybody," replied Mr. Rooney without
changing his posture ; but the straw shifted very nervously
in his mouth.

" I'll show you whether you've got a right or not, for
you needn't think you can scare me by leaning there like
the piece of dirt that you are, with a straw growing out of
you. I'll show you about your rights. If I hear of you
giving him any more drink you'll just taste the strength of
this." And she gave him a parting poke in the chest that
sent him back between two of his whiskey kegs, which, as
they were thrust apart, came in contact with several others
on the shelf, and two of these fell down on the floor and
rolled about Rooney 's feet. But he did not stir to replace
them. Hij face had changed from red to white, the straw
had fallen from his mouth, and he lay back with hands out-
stretched and eyes wide open, watching the rustling march
of the retreating vifago.

" A reg'lar devil in petticoats," he muttered.

Mrs. Crags having thus discharged her wrath, went her
way, determined to leave for home at once ; but another
trouble awaited her. Among those who had slyly watched

THE TEMPTER AND UIS TRIUMPH.

the interegtitig proceedings betweon Mr. Crags andhis wife
was SilaH Pancrack ; but ho obsi^rvod it with an air nioro
husiness-like than ainusod.

**Tho old fellow looks ratlu^r helpless in tliat state," he
thought. •' I wonder whether this weakn«?88 for drink is
hereditary. Ft would be an interesting analysis of human
nature to test the question by the instance before me.
That youth was rather troublesome to me to-day."

He paused thoughtfully for a few moments, as if pon-
dering deeply. *' Y(!a, 1 will try it at any rate," ho
concluded at last.

He was standing near the corner of a building from
which he could take an occasional peep at the trouble of
the Orags family without himself being seen. Several
others, intent on the same business, were standing near.
Turning carelessly to a young man loitering among them,
ho remarked with a smile :

*' Quite a pleasant conjugal scene that. Strange what
differences there ate in families. There is the old man
rolling about under the influence of the jollifying glass,
helpless as a football, whilst the son, if whiskey poured
from the sky like rain, would just make for the nearest
possible shelter, and stay there, like a modern Noah, till
the deluge dried."

"You seem to have a rather high opinion of George
Crags' temperance qualities," replied the other, sneeringly ;
"but I dare bet you a dollar^ that I make him drunk
fh less than an hour's time."

The person who made this proposal went by the name of
Tom Dundo, and belonged to that beggarly Bohemian
aristocracy commonly designated in the west as " bum-
mers " or " loafers." His thin, shaven face had a pasty,
weary, dissipated expression ; and his watery eyes always
looked as if just awaking from slumber. His cuffs were
blotched with yellow and daubed with ink, and when
he lifted his hand a dirty arm could be seen passing
into the darkness beneath them. His fingers flashed with
gaudy rings bedecked with gems of paste. A split under
the arm-hole in his glossy black coat, the absence of three

100

I'OLSON 8 I'UOHATION.

buttoiiH Inr\virif{ (loop creaieii and hoavy ))ii1^oh in his veit,
and his fin^or-niarkod pantH tVayod at tho bottoms, sutli-
ciently hotokonod him to he a hacholor.

JIo Hooniod to ho tho happy poHHOHSor of a knaotc of
living without hi\ OP and without UM'ans. Pruo, ho ofton
talked al)out hiH (txpootations of certain onigmatical allow
ancoa from his frionds in tho "old country"; but these,
though thoy procured him credit, did not pay his dobts.
Neverthoioss, ho could ofton be found at tli(5 bar with a
drink in his hand, or at meal timos could bo soon at the
liotol tablo regaling himself on tho best. For chanco
accpiaintancos conung in from tho country ho always had
a joko and a smilo ; and in tho process of cracking the one
and beaming with tho other, generally managed to edge
imperceptibly toward tho bar, drawing the unsuspicious
acquaintance after hini. And as decoys have their use in
seeming uselossness, the reader may be able to conjecture
how it was that Tom Dundo was such a favorite with hotel-
keepers that ho could live without labor or means.

On such a man Pancrack pitched as a fitting tool for
the working out of his plans, and circumstances seemed to
be shaping themselves to his aid.

" Stake your money," said the usurer. " I'll bet you you
can't tempt him."

Dundo thrust his hands into his pockets and worked his
fingers around them as if searching. By diligent groping
he managed to pull out aj)iece of broken chalk, a broken
eye-glass, and some " crumpled duns." These articles h8
replaced in his pockets with a despairing shake of the head.

" Fact is, I haven't got a cent about me just now," he
said ; " but if you like to trust me I'll take the wager."

" Right you are," said Pancrack ; " go to work."

" But I can no more treat than I can bet without
money," said Dundo, with a grin. " But if you'll lend me
a quarter, I'll pay you back if necessary when we settle
the wager."

With a generosity strangely unusual to him, Pancrack
pulled out a fifty-cent piece and handed it to the loafer.
Dundo thanked him, and went oflf in search of his prey.

THK TKMITRII /tNl> IIIH TUHIMPH.

101

VVhilit Mm. Oa^ii i\.w\ nnolo Nathan wer« tryin|{ to
lovnr the oldor (/Va^M into thn ^U(*k hoard, thu younger
CragH had heun loitering nhout ono of th« HtoruH quite
unconitcious of the parontal troubh'S. Aftor Rceiningly
oyoing things with hiH mouth for a couHiderahln time, and
tliun cloHing that organ to nuiHtioato a craoknr and diu-
poHO of a handful of candioH, ho had paHsod out into the
Htroet, and wa-s nauntoring along when a hand was laid on
hiH Hhouldor, and a voice overflowing with pleasantness
aucostod him :

•' Well, Georgie, my lioy, you're quite a stranger. How
have you been keeping yourself this long while hack 1 "

(ioorge was rather Hurprised by this hearty address from
a man from whom hitherto he had received but scant
attention ; but with a nature ever 8usc(>ptible to the influ-
ence of kind words, he turnt^ around with a smile, and
holding out his hand to that which grasped his, said :

" I'm very well, thank you, Mr. Dundo. J low are you 1"

•' Oh, same as ever, alive and kicking. But say, you look
dry ; come over into Cheat's and have a drink."

" No, thanks, I'd rather not."

"Oh, nonsense, you're not a teetotaler. Come along.
Why, it will cheer you up, man." And so saying, he half
led, half dragged the reluctant youth toward the smaller of
the liquor-selling establishments of the town of liendigo.

But in this short space of time a conflict between
heaven-light and hell-fire raged hotly in the young man's
soul. A voice within spoke loud and clear, *' Touch not
the cup. Before you stand the crowd of jovial compan-
ions who, in the high spirit of intoxication, beckon you
on. There are the song, the jest, the shout of mirth ; but
beyond this siren-music lies a road all strewn with wrecks
of helplessness and misery, and ending in ruin and total
despair. The ruined father and the hardened mother
warn you ; the tender voice of a loving sister draws you
heavenward. All good and holy influences whisper you
to pause."

The bright heaven-flame blazed upward in his nature, and
shot resolve into his heart. His lips tightened, his hands

102

tolhon'h PUOIIATIOK.

olmdii'd, and hii foot r0it«Ml flriiily on iiio ground, nii h«
•topMd rt)H()lut«'ly witliin a fnw yurdH of thi« lioti^l door.

"No, Mr. Dundo," \hi Nikid, "you niu»t vxcuto ni« ; I
won't drink today."

Dundo lau({h«*d outri);ht, "What! lias tiii< ^oo<l young
man turn«>(l (<<>i<>talor and joinod tliu hallelujah hand of
wrak kiKM'd watrr ratoril Hi! ono of you frIlowH hring
nu) n coupio of win^N t<» olap on hin nidoM, and a «niall onn
to Htiok in hiH hack to vteor him with, and I'll rig you out
an anf{(;l in a JiHy."

Thn ((roup of follow-loaforH Hianding in front of thn hotol
unHworful this Hally with a Hhout of deriMivH hiughter.
Undor the rold water inllucnce of theHo HarcahinM, the celes-
tial llaine whit^h had for a moment Mtrei)^>;thened (»eorge'H
weak natun?, burned down, and an evil voice whispered
within, "Think of thoJilx'H and HarottHniH that will follow
you if you turn away. Contrast this with the genial coni-
plimentH and Huiooth smiles that will surround you if you
go on. Tasto but one glass to drown their jeers and
l)righten their smiles, and all will be well."

The hell-born fin^ was soarcliing through his nature now,
and relaxing (W(>ry p'soluto indication. The lips lost their
firmness and foil loosely apart; the clenched hand loo.Hened
and dangled at his side ; the foot, before firmly planted,
now raised at the heel, the knee bent, and the toes rested
lightly on tlie ground. The .stnnigth was departing from
the soul, the fibres of being were weakened, and it painted
itself, as all intense feeling must, in outward and physical
indications. Dundo not^ed the change and wan not slow to
take advantage of it.

" Come, old fellow," he said, patting him on the shoulder,
'•you'll stay on earth a little longer yet, and you might as
well make yourself sociable while you are here, so come in
without further parley."

George made no reply, but still paused irresolute. The
warning heavenward voice was growing very faint now.
The smoke from hell-fire was smothering its light, and
the clamor of evil voices was drowning its utterance.

In the doorway stood the portly, rosy-cheeked hotel-

THE TBMITKK AND IIIH TKIUMI'll.

ion

km^p«r. •' Comr iilori^, y<»»i»K f«llcw ; don't Im< Imokward,"
hn Mid. " A drink or two will do you no hiirni. I^ook ut
mo," Kor thin worthy pridiul liituMflf on Ixinj; a living
ndv««rtiHoniont of tli«« virtm* of Mtrnn^dr ok.

TIk* liiNt Mpurk of Hviornv'n niunly roiioliition wont out
fntirely. \ln looked nt thn IioImI k<M«p«>r ; \u\ thought of
till) jtiorii that would follow him if ho turned. *' I will tuko
juMt onn ^luMN," hn thou>{lit, "and ^o." lioll tianio liiii|{h«<d
HI it loii(MMl in f{l<>u !

" All rif<ht," h(^ Maid, with a hollow attonipt at a ohi'erful
Minilo. " (Jonitf alon;(."

*'You'ro the Htud'," Maid hiH tr jipt«)r, clapping hint on
the back, "I know you wouldn't h<« ni«mi»."

Thoy paNMod into the l>arroorn, lod hy the portly land-
lord, and after thoni tho group of hunitnorH lilted in. Kor
th»(y HUH'lt prny ; and where the carcaHe wa« these vulturi'i
never failed to gather.

With a wink to the hotel-keeper, Dundo ordered two
glaHses of port wine, (leorge tosHed off hitt in nervous
haHte, and wanted to discharge the reckoning and go ; but
Dundo would not hear of this.

" No; I'll pay for this. You can stand the next," he said.

They wrangled for a short while over this, and then
(ieorge gave in ; but by this time the drink he had taken
Itegan to show its ofVect on a system unused to it. Mil
spirits were wonderfully raised, and ho became wo<?fuHy
generous. The loafers who had followed them in were
variously employed in looking at the pictures on the wall,
standing staring around the room, or sitting on the
window-sill ; but all cast occasional longing glances toward
the two drinking at the bar.

" Come along, boyrf," shouted George, after a couple of
glasses, "and order what you like. May a.s well be jolly
for once, eh, Dundo 1 "

" Nothing like it, my boy. Life is short."

One by one they edged toward the bar ; not in haste, for
they were too experienced in the business to betray their
pleasure, but with an easy and careless air they moved
toward their shrine. The boy was now entangled in a

104

POLSON S PROBATION.

very devil's web. With smiles and compliments they
drank to his health ; and with pats on the back — like
kicks which send a ball down hill — they encouraged him
to further extravagance. Soon all his small stock of money
had disappee.. od, and he too had recourse to credit. There
he stood, a very dove among vultures who, as they plucked
out his feathers, seemea to rejoice in the sorry sight they
made of him. He began to grow noisy and hilarious, the
one excited figure in the company ; for his companions
had been too long inured to liquor to be easily affected
by it, but contented themselves by paying with hollow
applause for the drink with which his generosity supplied
them, but turning away occasionally to exchange smiles at
his ludicrous antics and foolish sayings. In the midst of
this one-man Babel — for it was really a confusion of tongue
and brain — the poor dupe heard these words : " George,
what is the meaning of this 1 "

A mother's voice was speaking in tones of mingled pity
and sorrow, for her love for her son sprang like a fountain
from the rocky worldliness of her otherwise selfish nature.
The words struck him dumb, as if an enchanter's wand had
touched his lips. He stood motionless — seemingly helpless.

" George, come home with me."

The landlord busied himself dusting a shelf under the
bar ; the loafers looked furtively in every direction but
toward the mother and son. At the last words George,
suddenly sobered, saddened and shamed, turned slowly'
around, and with head sunk down and shuffling gait moved
toward the door. When he reached the outside, his mother
grasped his arm, firmly but gently. " Come with me."

That was all. No punching with the umbrella no loud
talking to landlords now. The sight of her con in drunken-
ness had touched those tender fibres of the soul which,
however thickly choked and encrusted it may be by
worldliness or sin, must ever 'abide in the nature of
woman ; and they responded in softened words and gentle
actions. Sorrow, shame, indignation and pity, clustering
together in passionate vehemence, had by their combined
warmth dried up the fountains of tears and speech.

ill!'. . !

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

105

Watched by curious eyes, alio led the dazed, staggering
youth to the vehicle standing ready for them ; and
after helping him in, seated herself by his side, and in
sorrow and silence drove away.

Two spectators at least watched their departure with
interest.

" I've won my bet," said Dundo. " And what's more,
I've procured a drink or two for myself every time that
fool comes to town ; for, once get him starked, he can't
help treating."

" The seed is sown," thought Pancrack, as he fingered
his watch-chain daintily, "and in such fruitful ground it
will surely grow."

Ay ! Grow to bitter and poisonous fruit. For if from
the most moderate root of indulgence this upas tree grows
and spreads, how much more likely it is to flourish when,
at the first breath of temptation, the soul puts forth its
leaves to breathe the bitter air and drink the poisonous
dew !

CHAPTER XII.

The Meeting op the (Whiskey and the) Waters.

Bt what strange perversity of fate is it that accidents
and misfortunes never come singly, whilst pleasure is too
often divided from pleasure by long hours of sadneis and
unrest 1 The locusts and the flying ants travel in swarms ;
but the butterfly flaunts its lonely beauty in the sun, and
the nightingale sings her solitary song beneath the moon.
One drop of rain will not fall by itself from the sky ;
others must accompany and follow it. A parting beam
thrown from the setting sun must sometimes sufl&ce us for
a day ; but one small isolated cloud can never contain the
destruction-dealing fire. It must either strike from the
looming mass or from that crinkled aggregation of frag-
ments which shuts out the cheerfulness of day.

Here, misanthropic or hypochondriacal reader, is a

-^:la

lOG

POLSON S PROBATION.

,11 J

subject for thee to expand upon ; but forget not that from
long continuity the sunaliine will cease to be pleasant, the
glitter of beauty will be sore to thine eyes, and the song
that seems so sweet to thee now will grate upon thine
ears. Thus doth God, for thy good, balance all things
with even hand.

But to our tale. *

Whiskey, like the sun, possesses at once the two opposing
qualities of attraction and repulsion. On those who injbibe,
it exerts the former influence ; on th. Be who altogether ab-
stain from it, the latter. Uncle Nathan called himself a
" moderate drinker " — in other words, he stood treat with
his friends after the manner of the proverbial " good
fellow," and sometimes got roaring drunk and very ob-
streperous withal, from which state he would have to be
drubbed into sobriety. After these castigations it would
be noticed that for several days he would take to work
with more than usual diligence as an atonement for his
offence ; and during tliese temperate periods he was un-
failingly pointed to as a living example of the beneficial
effects of " moderate drinking."

Over such a companion old Crags' whiskefying influence
was almost instinctive. Into Uncle Nathan's little wry
mouth the neck of the bottle — which Mr. Crags had
managed to keep concealed through all his troubled
tumbling — was soon inserted. Through Uncle's nervous
and bony system the fiery liquid crept with vivifying in-
fluence. Along that great sympathetic nerve, uniting the
human stomach and the human brain, it telegraphed,
" Down sense — up folly ! " As thb vapors formed into a
rain of nonsense on the roof of the brain, the influence
permeated his skull, and caused Uncle Nathan's ginger
hair for a moment to stand up. Then it slowly flattened
again, and the owner relapsed into weakness. His eyes
grew watery, his trembling hands tried vainly to pull the
pony astray, and his voice mournfully quavered out the
opening lines of an original spring idyl :

*' When the bulrush is a-springin', and the turtle-dove is cooin',
An' out upon the prayerie the young gophers is a-wooin'."

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

107

" Why don't you jine in*? Sittin' thnr like some blamed
sign for a rag store." And ho pinched the lethargic Mr.
Crags on the ribs. >

The old toper opened his eyes, and staring stupidly,
mumbled : " Leave me alone, I say. I'm walking quietly
along the Queen's highway. Can't you see I'm a poor oud
cripple 1" He dreamt that he was in the Old Country
and had been touched by a policeman.

" You're a cripple with bones in yer logs anyway," jeered
Uncle Nathan, *' or how d'ye manage t(/ walk so mighty
much. Drat that hoarse, he will go crooky.'' And with
his shaking hands he tried to pull the pony off the home
trail, but the hard-mouthed beast* would go right.

Their way led through a steep ravine, through the
bottom of which ran a creek of considerable size. At the
point where they crossed a ford had been made of stones
piled into the stream. Over the ford was about half a foot
depth of water, and on either side it sloped gradually down
into deeper pools. This was the most dangerous point on
the journey, and here Uncle Nathan concentrated all his
perverted strength in a determined effort to make the pony
go as he wished.

" Be careful on your drivin'. If you upset you'n mak*
me spill the whiskey," said Mr. Crags, sobering a little in
fear of such a catastrophe.

" Confound yer, can't yer go shtraight," said Uncle
Nathan, jerking the rein as the animal splashed straight
along over the ford.

At last he succeeded in pulling the animal so far out of
the path that it slipped oflf the causeway. The vehicle
naturally followed, and as its two outer wheels slipped over
the edge of the ford it upset, and its occupants were
pitched into the water, Mr. Crags sinking with a hoarse
" pomph," and Uncle making a sharp gash in the water as
if a knife had cut it.

A ring of grease, some red flannel dye in the water, and
above all, a knotty walking-stick spanning the grease —
like "the buoy that betrays where the anchor is hidden"
— sufficiently betokened the spot where Solomon Crags had

■■i:Kr^..-.ii'

108

polson's probation.

i! i

disappeared. A tremulous, nervous lliokering on the sur-
face, a few gingery hairs tossed thereon, and a leaky straw
hat marked the place where the body of Uncle was engulfed.

Only for a few seconds, however, did these appearances
last. Beside the straw hat a thin head shot up, watery
eyeg blinked, and fro:., a goatish beard tinkling water-
drops fell upon the stream. Next, like a hippopotamus
rising from the deep, a thick head, to which a slouch hat
tenaciously clung, bulged slowly up beside the walking-
stick, and at arm's length from it rose a hand holding aloft
a bottle half filled with whiskey, and handling it as
tenderly as a diver might the body of a child whom he
had just rescued from drowning. As soon as Mr. Crags'
eyes had dried sufficiently to allow him to see, and he had
spluttered out enough water to be able to speak, he
exclaimed :

" Hooray, oV man ! There's none on't spilt now ! " And
grasping his walking-stick, which was floating near, he
beat it upon the water as if he were thumping a floor.

Uncle's first impulse was to scramble out .as quickly as
he could, and with great stum\^Iing and splashing he
managed to reach the shore. Like most nervous men, he
was very excitable. He heard the distant rumble of an
approaching wagon, and bawled with a force that almost
dried his beard :

" Help, here ! Help ! DrOwnin' ! Drownin' ! " And
then he turned to adjure his companion, who, like some
huge fish with its head in the air, was flapping about help-
lessly in the water.

" Confound yer fer an old fool, can't yer come toward
the side an' git out, instead o' stayin' thar to ketch yer
death o' cold an' git drownded."

Mr. Crags' only reply to this was to draw the whiskey
bottle toward him and toss ofi" a neat draught, saying in
cool contempt before he did so :

" To your very good health, Uncle Nathan ; and may
you learn to bs less skeery about them as known how to
look after themselves."

Whether the fat in which old Sol's body was swathed

:.:a ,

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

109

kept out the water and made the whiskey work more
freely within, whilst the thin, withered frame of Uncle
Nathan absorbed water as a dry clod drinks the rain, and
so (by mingling with and diluting into weakness the liquor
inside) made him sober, are questions I cannot answer ;
but certainly the thin man was suddenly sobered, whilst
the drunkenness of the stout one seemed to increase.

He beat the water merrily with his stick, and the float-
ing mass of rags on his left hand rested as easily on the
surface as if it had been in a sling. Pleased by the un-
usual buoyancy of his physical man, the old man actually
began to dance a jig, but he found the movement of those
voluminous boots too much impeded by the water which
tilled their crevices, and so contented himself by shuffling
down into greater depths.

Uncle Nathan, as he saw his companion's stature above
the water growing shorter, began to rush about the shore
in a frenzy of helpless agony.

**0 mercy!" he groaned; "he's goin' to git drownded,
sure. Help ! Help yere, quick " — (shouted as the wagon
rattled nearer). ** How that old woman will pound me wi'
that umbriller o' hern, if they have to go to the expense of
a funeral ! O, Jerusalem, he's up to the shoulders ! Hurry
up, yere ! Hurry up ! Now he's up to the p'ints of his
ears ! Swim, yer old widgin, swim ! O, Jericho, he's a'
sinkin' ! Hold on to yer stick and float, yer stoopid old
idgit ! O, heaven above us, he's sunk ! O, that umbriller !
that umbriller ! "

Whilst Uncle was still rushing about the shore, bewail-
ing and wringing his hands, the wagon he had heard
arrived on the spot, and a young man jumped out.

" Whatever is the matter 1" he asked, coming to Uncle's
side.

" He's drownded ! He's drownded ! " wailed Nathan,
" and I'll get all the punchin' for it. Look at the p'int of
his stick a-stickin' up thar."

" What ! Is there someone in the water t " asked Fred
Poison, quickly, for it was he. " Let us try to get him out
at once. Whereabouts did he go down 1 "

110

rOLSON S PllOUATION.

I I

I! I

"Just whar you seen that stick bob up."

Fred watched, and indeed saw the brass-capped end of a
walking-stick thrust above the water and then withdrawn.

Without further hesitation he jumped itito the pool.
Up to his breast in water he stood. There was a bubbling
and turbid trembling o' the surface about a yard away
from him as if a whale were nesting beneath it, but the
water was thick with the mud disturbed from the bottom,
and its contents were a mystery. Fred was puzzled for a
moment. He could see nothing, and hardly knew the best
thing to do ; but suddenly the point of the walking-stick
again appeared through the troubled space. He grasped
it firmly with his hand and pulled. Whatever held it
gave way, and with a sudden jerk it flew up out of the
water, and to Fred's joy he saw that it terminated in a
hook at the farther end.

He thrust it into the water again, and began to probe
its depths in search of the human fish. After a little in-
effectual groping he felt a sudden strain on his arm. It
had caught in something. He drew it carefully toward
him, and the head of Solomon Orags reappeared, splutter-
ing and gasping for breath. Fed, very much surprised,
pulled him up toward firmer standing-ground, and as soon
as he became sufficiently conscious, the old man felt in his
inside pocket for the flask of whiskey. He held it up in
the sunlight.

" Joe Johnson be praised, it's safe," he gasped. " Lead
me ashore, young man, before any more water gets
into it."

Fred willingly complied, and, taking him by the arm,
began to pull him toward the shore. But it was a difficult
task, and he puffed like a small steam-tug drawing c laden
and anchored ship — though in this case the anchors were
only made of leather, and the lading was light enough to
mount to the highest portion of the man and reign over it.
However, with the assistance of Uncle, he succeeded in
landing him, and laid him dripping on the grass like some
troglodyte just drawn from its watery cavern of ages.

Meanwhile, Uncle's nag — a lymphatic, cold-blooded crea-

I !

! t ■ !

■fv

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

Ill >

tare — stood motionless on thn spot at which it had arrived
when the vehicle upset. A broken shaft was the on!y
damage apparent; and Fred and Uncle — whose excitement
had cotisideral)ly abated — unhitched the beast and drew
the buckboard out themselves, and then, with a little
trouble, patched together the broken shaft.

*' Now," said Fred, " if you will help me get the old man
into the wagon, I will take him home — I have more room
than you, — and you can go to the barn and got your wet
clothes off."

" Oh, thanks. All ser'^ne ; you're welkim to the job,"
said Uncle, bending his goatee to his breast, and then
jerking it up as a sign of relief. And then, bracing his
quivering nerves together, he proceeded to the task of
aiding Fred to hoist into the wagon a bundle of wet rags,
a damp body, and a dry old soul. They got him in at the
back end, and after dragging him along the wagon bottom,
Fred managed to prop him up on the spring seat by his
side. When they arrived at the Crags' farm they found
only Alice at home, for Mrs. Crags and George had not
yet returned. On hearing the wagon, she thought it was
her mother coming back, and hastily shaking the flour off
her hands (for she had been mixing dough) she went to
the door. . When she saw Fred Poison she blushed, gave a
little scream, and would have beaten a retreat, but the
sight of her father sitting wet and half-dazed on the seat
aroused the kindly instinct of kinship, and forgetful of
self she stopped to exclaim :

" Oh, Mr. Poison ! What has happened to father 1 "

"It's nothing much," answered Fred, reassuringly. "He
was upset in the creek coming home from Bendigo, and
has hardly recovered yet."

"I'se all right, woman," murmured Mr. Crags. "Young
man, jusht help a poor oud cripple to get down, will
yer?"

Alice was too well acquainted with her father's ways to
be at all surprised at finding him drunk. A pout, a
frown, and a look in which pity and annoyance were
mingled, were the only signs that expressed her displeasure.

112

P0LS0N8 I'UOBATION.

And though she waa drossed in plain gr«y and wore a
white apron, and her face, hare arniH and clothes were all
flecked with Hpota of flour and dough, in Fred Poison's
eyes she had never appeared more beautiful. For were
not these so-called disfigurements the token of toil ; and
in his view labor enn^'^led the lowest and elevated the
highest of every sex and class. Was not her expression
also the symbol of a soul clear as the daylight, above all
affectation and sham 1 ll<;r face a mirror reflecting every
inward feeling?

So thought Fred as he helped the drunken old father
down from the wagon and into the house. After placing
him in a chair by the stove he turned to leave whilst Alice
tried to make her father comfortable. Yes, ye frivolous
misses and aged prudes who sicken at the scent of a faded
flower, and compassionating no fault in others, entirely
overlook your own — she tended this drunken old man,
deeming it no disgrace to breathe in those spirituous odors,
if with them was mingled the human breath of him who
first gave breath to her. Occupied in these filial duties
she forgot Fred Poison till she heard him closing the door,
then rising in self-reproachful impulse she hastily followed
him.

" Oh, Mr. Poison ! " she cried, stepping out of the door
as he was about to mount into the wagon, "you must
really not go away without allowing me to tnank you for
all your kindness and trouble." And with a tear in her
eye she held out her hand in gratitude toward him. He
turned around, and taking the hand tenderly in his, looked
into her face with wistful earnestness.

" Miss Crags," he said with uncalled-for tenderness, " or
Alice (may I call you so 1), nothing I can do for you or
yourSy can ever be otherwise than a great pleasure to me."

A slight blush crept over her face at the emphasized yow,
but she only answered courteously, "I know that you
are very kind, Mr. Poison, and I only hope that some day
we may find opportunity to repay you better." With this
speech she gently attempted to withdraw her hand from
his, but he held it with q[uiet firmness,

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

113

*' No, Alice, not yet," he said with a smile. *• You
Hpeak of repaying ine, wlien but with one word you
could—"

lift paused abruptly, and his face reddened ; for sud-
denly the absurdity of the situation tlashed on his mind.
She, with sleeves rolled over the elbows, with spotE of
Hour upon her face, and threads of dark hair straying
loosely over her forehead and ears stood before itim ; and
Ih>, with slouched hat and half-buttoned jacket, and pants
saturated and shrunken after his recent bath, and

with water still dripping from the ' )ttoms over boots that
uttered a liquid squeak with every movement of his feet —
he, in this plight, stood to plead his love to her.

His hesitation, however, was but short, for deep-souled
feeling is stronger than sense of appearance ; and some-
thing within him seemed to whisper, ** Now is your time.
Slight it not." But in those seconds of hesitation all the
strength of his passion was aroused, and when he again
opened his lips his speech Howed warm and passionate
like a long-pent torrent suddenly freed.

" Oh, Alice, you cannot be ignorant ; you must have
known how I have loved you since first I saw your face.
I know that, clumsy at concealment as I am, the very look
of my eyes, the tone of my voice, and the touch of my
hand must have betrayed my passion long ago. Yet these
have told but a very little of the tale, for if you only
knew how my whole heart goes out to you, you would
almost love me in very pity. But, oh, Alice ! Only say
that you do love me, and you will make me * happier than
words can say.' "

Looking down toward earth under their drooping lids
her eyes told no tale ; but the spots of flour lay like
snowflakes on the red ground of her blushing cheeks.
With maiden coyness she withheld her speech, but her
hand — ah ! her tell-tale hand — how it betrayed lier ! Even
as she tried to withdraw it, it seemed instinctively to
answer his pressure, impelled by a nervous force she had
not the power to control.

Confused in mind, pleased by his confession, yet angry

114

POLHON's PUonATION.

Ill:

with hemelf for Ruch jmop dinsftmUlIng, nhe look<Ml up an if
MHat'chiii;{ for Homn t'Houjm. " Liit iiin j^o, phuiHO, Mr.
roUon," Hh»^ Huid li^ain, Htriving to (lih«Mif<Hj<« li«r liimd.
♦'Thtiro iH iiiothor coming Imck. What will «ho say if shr
tintii iiH» h«^re 1" And an i'rvi\ turiuMi to r*H!oaiioitro tln«
eneiny'H approach lier hand nlippttd from hin, and shn diH
appeared into the houHe.

Ah it proved, there was iiuh'ed a vehich? coming along
the trail from Hendigo ; and Kred, feeling that ho could
carry iiis Huit no farther at that time, got into the wagon
and drove uway ruminating in very uncertain pleaHuro.

'* I helievo she loves me," he thought. *' At least slie
looked and acted au if she did. Hut how was it she didn't
say ho'{ She had plenty of time to say such a little word
as *yeH,' hut she didn't."

Ah, Kred ! Little thou knowest of the nature of
woman, or thou wouldst surcdy have learned ere this how
much sweeter is the blushing ** no " than tlie ice-cold, ice-
clear "yes."

"Pshaw!" says an impatient reader, in closing this
chapter ; *' What a writer is this ! He makes Fred
Poison rescue the father as if he had come on purpose to
do it ; and then gives a love scene between a young lad)
in a grey dress daubed with flour and a young man in wet
overalls. What highly romantic surroundings ! "

True, O reader, it might better have pleased your
aesthetic taste had it happened in some green grove amid
the songs of birds unnum))ered. or under the uioonlight
shadows of the sighing branches, flickering fitfully as the
broadcloth clasped the silk, and mustaches dyed and waxed
were sprinkled with the hue of powdered cheeks. Yet,
recollect how many of earth's sweetest scenes are enacted
in homeliest guise and dreariest places. 8uch is the
transfiguring strength of love that to its heaven-touched
hearts the deserts bloom like Paradise, and howeliest
garments gleam like angel wings.

■:ifi:!

THE I'UOl'OSAL OF ANTHONY 8CKO<JPOT.

115 '

CHAITKR XIII.
TiiK Piioi'OHAL OK Anthony SnuxjHOT.

At tho hvH'trt liuinoHtiMul t\w wIum^Is of lifo rait Hiiiootiily,
uMOVtMitfuily iilon|;(. Mr. Dyniirt atteiidcd to his diiily
(lutifH uHsiduouHly. Mr. Loti^Htrert, whoii not prtttMulin^
to work, I'lHhcd lazily in ihn luko or Miiiokod on the Hofa
liH Im dovourod Fn'twh uovoIh. Mr. Fniui hIuujj^iuI liiu
HhoiildnrH with clockwork re^uhirity, and Miiid lo ovcry
newcomer '

•' By (leor^o, you Hhoiild come and Keo my new race-
horse, sir; one of the linent fillies, sir, that ever won? hoofs.
She is neat irt the paHterns, tender in the mouth, and has
a |)!iir of ^'allopin^ (]uarters that would aKtoniHh you, sir."

.Mrs. Hant scolded her child, confided her troubles to
Mrs. Tomson, the cook, and secretly niused on the excel-
lences of Mr. Silas Pancrack.

Steeped in his love dreams, Krod I'olson ^rew less talka-
tive and n»ore studidus and visionary than eviT.

Little Ida's wasting form grew so thin, and her face so
ethereal and white, that it seemed as if already touched
with a ray of the eternal light. Her talks with Fred grew
constantly stranger and ever higher reaching. Whispers
from that clear river that flows ^<y the eternal throne
were wafted to her ear ; visions of the crystal sea and
fruitful trees of Paradise revealed themselv(!S to her eyes.
Her soul was bathed in the Lplendor of ethereal light, and
she seemed already to breathe in the element of Heaven.

Often, as the deepening twilight killed the beauties of the
sunset sky, and birds were singing their vespers among the
flowers and trees, her music floated out over the calm,
clear lake and blended with that evening sky which, so
often to trouble-tossed souls, seems like some messenger
bringing peace from the realms above. And when the
music had ceased, and the mystery of silence encompassed
the earth, Fred would row her out on the lake, its breast
shivering and sparkling beneath them, and pierced with

' M

I ' t; I

»!-!

110

POLSONH PUOnATIoN.

unnuiiibMNkl rtfltOtiOBi from ih^ tnmit nnrl countlftM tiAm.
Su nIiu pfmw eonvormnt with htMivonly tliiiiKH and lonj^mi
for thn iliiy wlu'ii tlio an^(>lM nIiouUI call hor hoiiit'.

Hut though Hiid(lf>ni*<l by thin «iUMit tuui inolancholy
(loulinc, tlin hyHfiit lioiiiu was not without it« ooinicHl i^Ih-
iiinuti. Th<; HiiticH liiid Kfmtur(*« of rncio Nathnn, whnii
ho o/itno with th<^ milk, wtu-n a ooriMtaiit nourco of iM»rri-
m«'iit to MiMHrM. lion^Htroot <iiid \'\uu*. Thry tiMUiMl hiiu
uiitnoroifully ahout hin trip to town with HoJoinon ('ra^H;
and h«), wli**ii vcxtui, iritxl to avongo liiniNolf hy iiiakiii;^
hawk likr ('lutch<*i at thnir clothcH with hiv outHproad tin-
g<U'fi or aiming hiH whirling iiulk paiU at tiiuir htnuU.

Aiiotlinr butt for tlxur hiiihII HaroiMiiiH waH tlio courtship
of Mr. Scrogpot, tli« farm cook, and Mrs. TomHon, tlio
houNo cook.

On ono of tlioHn occaHions Mr. Horo^pot put on a
wrinkhul straw hat and a buttonloHH cottonadn jacket,
which ho bound to^othor by a belt bucklod around tho
waiut ; and ho ov<m took tho troublo to exchango Imh
doughy he(>ll('HH nlippors for a pair of dusty lac«lofl.s
bootH. Shoulderin;^ Iuh gun, ho told tho nuni that ht>
wart going out to soo if ho could bug a duck ; and by a
circuitous routoarrivod at Mr. hynart's house. Aftor rest-
ing his gun upright against th<^ wall ho knocked moekly at
the door. Mrs. Tomson, chubby-fac^ed and smiling, opened
it, and welcomed him with a feint of pleased surprise.

•• Lors, Mr. Scrogpot, be it you 1 Come in and take a
chair, and have a cup of tea."

Thifj was exactly what the man of grease wished ; but
to show that ho was above the weakness of visiting for
such worldly objects, said :

" Thank you very much ; but T just called to see if T
could borrow a bit o' bakin' powder. However, as I am
pretty dry, 1 wouldn't mind but I did take a cup o' tea
with yer."

" Come in, come in, an' sit down an' drink it while I get
the bakin' powd<!r for you."

Mr. Scrogpot, shaking his head in a dubious manner,
shufHed into the kitchen and seated himself in a chair by

THE PROPOHAL Of ANTHONY HfUOOPOT.

117

Inri.
tigtul

•holy
1 rW
whtM)
u«rri
him
rii^w ;
iikin;<
(I tiii-

rtihip
ri, tl»e

on a

|iiok«t,
h\ th«i

pro hiH

lilt h«^

I hy II

51' rest-

kly at

take a

but

for

if T

tea

|e I get

lanner,
kir by

tli>« litovo. Mri. Toriuoii poiiri'd out a cup of hot t«*A,
aiul ativir flavoring it with «U);ar and rrfMiin, hiiiMl«>ti it
to hinii at th» Nnnio timn plyiuK ^>i"> ^'ith i|ui>MtionN a«
to how thin^^N wont at the farm <|uit«« unniM'tmNnrily, for
iilif« wan w<*ll tMM|tiiiint4Ml with nil tin* puMMiii^ ovfntN that
tiiadt' up tim tittio tattif* of th«« fiirni niul houMcliold ; hut
iliiK waN tho only mannttr lIkmi prt'Hciit to hur uiind in
which iihe could nuiintain thf^ <-<)nv«<rNation.

Mr. Scro^pot took thn tvn and pourml Mom<^ of it into
tlic NAUc<M' to oool, and aftrr placing i\w cup on the Ntove
tiiad(« a litth^ frin^fi of l)att<<r alon^ thi^ ra^^tnl fuids of liin
lloury muNtacho by dipping it in tim tita aw ho took a
hot Hip from th« Mau-iT. WhiUt Mth. ToniHon wjw ran-
HJickiii}^ a doHot in Hcandi of t\ui baking p<)wd«*r, tho cook
wipml Imn muHtacho, and looking arouiul him, noticed with
ii()proval tliH row of Hhinin^ paiiH hani^'in^' alon^ tho wiill,
the well-arranged crockery on the hIicIvoh, the white <li8h-
clouts on the nails, the poliHhed Htovo and clean floor.
••She'll do," hv thought.

When the plump old dame roturn«»d ho engaged her in
a conversation on the bewt modes of culinary economy ; and
RO by cautiously Htcering toward Iuh object, launched out
at last into speculations on the profit that might attend a
well-conducted bakery business in th(5 town of liendigo.

" Hut, certingly, Mrs. Tomson !" he concluded, ••an old
feller like me couldn't manage a businecs like that of him-
8elf, could hel"

The perennial redness of Mrs. Tomaon'a face luippily
concealed a blush as she replied :

•' It would be a bit hard for you, Mr. Hcrogpot, but then
I s'pose you could hire a help o' some sort."

•• Hire," repeated Mr, Scrogpot, drearily gazing into the
lire, " yes, \ guess I should have to hire, for nobody 'ud take
to a poor, scraggy old sinner like me."

'•Oh, you don't know," said Mrs, Tomson, stirring with
added vigor some batter in a pan, " wliat inight happen if
you was only to try. There's many a good toon played on
an old fiddle, as the sayin' is."

" Haw, haw, haw ! " laughed Mr. Scrogpot, gruflly,

118

POLSON S PROBATION.

" that's a bit of encouragoment anyhow. Is that a cake
you're mixin', Mrs. To in son "? Let's see if 1 can give you a
hint or two." And he rose and went to her side.

By this time the batte" had thickened into dough, and
Mrs. Tomson poured it out on tlie baking board to receive
its due modicum of kneading.

" Now, just let me show you how to puncli that right,"
said Mr. Hcrogpot. And standing behind her back, he
took one of her bare wrists in each hand and so puslied her
little round fis s gently down into the sticky dough.

" Lor', Mr. Scrogpot!" she exclaimed in tones of startled
reproach, *' whatever are you doin' of, an' me a lone
widder. Suppose the missis was to come in now. Good-
ness-mercy, let go o' my hands ! "

" Don't take on so now," said Mr. Scrogpot, humbly
releasing her wrists. " I was only just tryin' to show you
how to punch that dough. You've got it too thin. There !
There's some of it running over onto the floor. There it
goes — on yer dress. Now it's all about your feet. You'll
never be able to stand up in that slippery stuff — let me
hold yer ! " And he gallantly placed his left arm as far
around her waist as it would reach.

" Get away, you bad man," she said, giving him a playful
cuff which daubed his whiskers with the doughy slime.

A man of another profession would probably have been
offended by this mark of indignity ; but Mr. Scrogpot was
too well used to the flour-and- water plasters to take much
notice of it, and he only proceeded more vigorously with
his suit.

" Well done," he said ; and the lines of dough between
his beard and mustache expanded and contracted as he
spoke, like white elastic prison bars suddenly placed be-
fore his mouth to prevent him from swallowing sweet
Mrs. Tomson.

"You can handle the dough like a good 'un. You
oughter to make a good baker's wife. Now, hadn't yer 1 "

The lady became rather confused. '

"Mr. Popscrog, let go of your waist with my arm, please.
'Taint proper. Whose baker's wife are you talkin' of 1 "

..•■:m-

WITH THE FALLmO OF THE LEAVtJS.

119

" Why, you angel, my own ! Whose else 1 You
wouldn't be no other baker's but me, would yer 1 "

" Why, yes — of course I won't," said Mrs. Tomson, her
mind wriggling helplessly in this Cupid's net.

•'I told yer," said Mr. Scrogpot, triumphantly. "1
kiiowed you wouldn't have nobody but me." And he
folded as much of her as he could grasp in his arms ; and
sealed — literally sealed — the contract with a kiss ; for
their lips were glued together for a time by the dough
on his whiskers ; and after they had pulled them apart,
each bore away a shiny imprint as a memento of those
blissful moments.

Moreover, on either side of Mr. Scrogpot's cottonade
jacket were live finger-prints in the same characters, which
when dried to a crusty firmness formed the foundation of
innumerable jokes at his expense by the wits of Dysart
settlement.

CHAPTER XIV.

With the Falling of tub Leaves.

" There is a reaper whose name is Death,
And with his sickle keen
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between. — LoiKjfellow,

The aged men and women from whose forms and faces
the flowery beauty of youth has long since faded, and on
wliose heads are the sere fruits of long toil full ripe for the
gathering ; they whose hands are weary, whose eyes are
dim, and whose spirits long for rest — "the bearded grain."

Youth, exuberant, beautiful, exhaling joy as a sweet
odor, as yet bearing no fruit or grain ; but clear as a
fountain, happy as the springtime, shedding sweetness and
J2[ladness all around — " the flowers that grow between."

Of these two classes the former can be spared with satis-

120

polson's probation.

fied resignation, the latter we mourn with sorrow unutter-
able — for the one is ripe tor the harvest, the other as yet
hath borne no fruit. But how deep must the pathos be,
when flower and fruit c.re mingled on one stem, and that
falls before the Reaper's scythe !

Such thoughts as these, formulating unconsciously in his
mind, made Fred Poison note with intense but silent sad-
ness the rapid decline of Ida Dysart.

Total unconsciousness of every evil thing, overflowing sym-
pathy with the joys and sorrows of all around her, her very
melancholy tempered with childish glee and winning grace
— all these tokens of the flower in its innocence and purity
were hers.

An eager questioning after knowledge, an imagination
piercing far beyond the narrow boundaries of her daily life,
a spirit strangely impressed with the depth and grandeur
of religion, yet withal an eager searching of its dogmas and
traditions, and an earnest yearning for knowledge of its
higher mysteries — the spiritual fruitage which to others
comes but in riper years — was already hers in abundance.

Mr. Dysart sorrowed deeply as he observed the symptoms
of his child's decay. In vain he consulted many physicians
— all told the same tale. Her constitution was naturally
weak, and the decline had gone too far before being dis-
covered. She could not last many months ; change of
air and scene would too probably^ only hasten the end.
But summer passed into harvest-time, the roses faded,
the leaves began to grow yellow on the trees, and a
swirling ocean of brown grass rustled in the prairie wind.
In the great western harvest-fields was heard the rattle and
click of the self-binders, as they gathered into sheaves the
golden grain ; and the white stubbles were decked with
thousands of graceful-headed shocks. In places they
stretched furlong upon furlong, in regular and even lines,
like the ranks of some noble army arrayed to do battle with
the forces of Famine and Want. The golden palace of the
setting sun grew ever more gorgeous with the vari-tinted
cloud that followed him to his repose. The air became
milder and more temperate after the scorching heat ; and

WITH THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES.

121

all the people were gladdened because the autumn was at
hand.

Still little Ida lingered on ; still her touching' and
simple melodies floated out on the evening air, and still she
loved to be rowed over the shining water under the quiet
stars. By that mysterious sympathy, working only in the
heart that is heaven-attuned to nature's beating, her life
was passing away with the passing of summer's bloom. As
the singing of the birds in the thickets grew fainter — for
many were fled to their southern homes — so her own simple
melody grew lower, sadder and sweeter ; for she loved all
beautiful things in nature, and the peace and beaut} of
their passing away did much to reconcile her to her own.

Sometimes, as her father watched her, the tears welled
into his eyes, but she, in the quiet joy of her innocent faith,
knew not what it was to weep. Only when she noticed it
she would say softly : " Father, why do you weep, when
I am so happy 1 "

A silent embrace and a passionate kiss was her father's
reply, in a grief too great for words.

One calm and beautiful evening as Fred Poison re-
turned from the harvest-field, he heard an organ strain of
unusual brilliancy and joyousness pealing through the
parlor's open window. It was little Ida at her favorite
practice.

She had, they told him, been much better than usual
that day, and had manifested such good spirits that they
tiiought her on the point of rallying. Fred, pleased with
these tidings, went, as soon as he had washed and eaten, to
join her in the parlor.

She had ceased playing, and was sitting on her father's
knee toying with his watch-chain as he playfully jested
with her; but as Fred entered, she looked up at him
with an eager smile.

"Oh, Mr. Poison! I'm so glad you've come," she said.
** I do so want to go for a row on the lake. You'll take
me, v/o,i't you 1 "

"That depends on what your father says, my dear,"
answered Fred, with a smile.

• i :

:{'

MIR]

IBM

«•■

122

POLSON S PROBATION.

I "ill

f .1

"I suppose we must Iiumor you, Ida," said Mr. Dysart,
with a sigh. " i3ut we must put your thiugs on first, and
Fred can be getting the boat ready." And he bore hav
otr in his arms, whilst Fred went to loosen the boat
from its moorings.

Soon Mr. Dysart returned, carrying Ida wrapped in a
white shawl, and placed her on the seat of the stern of the
boat. He kissed her, and told Fred to row very carefully.

The night was calm, clear and beautiful. Above, as
yet, only a few stars twinkled in the twilight expanse of
the sky, and the full-orbed moon, rising in silent majesty,
clothed the dying foliage on the trees with softened tints
of shining gold. The lifted water dropped in silveiy
spray from the oars as they were raised in air, and the
soft note of liquid song fell upon the ear as they plunged
with musical regularity into the smooth and slJning
bosom of the lake. Ida, dispensing with the shawl, had
let it fall from her shoulders, so that it lay in careless
yet graceful folds around her on the seat. Her delicate
white dress seemed to sparkle like glowing silver in the
moonlight, and as she sat silently musing there, it seemed
to Fred Poison as if her pale face were transfigured into
unearthly transparency — so saint-like, so far above human
sense she seemed, that he was startled when she spoke
in a soft and human voice —

" Mr. Poison, I feel so happy to-night. Do you know
that I sometimes think those stars above us are stepping-
stones to heaven; and I believe I soon shall climb them."

" You have strange thoughts, Ida, my dear," said Fred,
rowing gently. " But I don't think you will climb your
silver stepping-stones for a long, long while yet. We can-
not spare you, my love."

She answered nothing, but with hands clasped upon her
knees, looked earnestly upward at the starry sky. What
were her thoughts I cannot say, but I sometimes think
there are moments in the lives of all when the mystery
within converses with the mystery without. Sometimes
the external spirit voices itself in nature ; and beholding
the skies, and seas, and everlasting hills, our own souls

WITH THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES.

123

reply with the silent songs of newly-awakened depths and
intensities of feeling. Oftener, perhaps, it speaks in those
silent phases of human passion when the voice is struck
dumb by grief or gladn<(ss unutterable. Sometimes in
song, sometimes in speech, but oftener still in silence we
hoar it ; but at times it comes to all—and, perhaps, in such
mysterious converse was Ida buried then, for her eyes
seemed to drink in the heavenly light of the stt rs, and
her face gathered upon it the sweet and solemn beauty
of the night.

When at last this reverie had ended, her eyes wandered
for a while over the shining waters around her, and then,
with head slightly bowed, and thin, white hands meekly
clasped upon her lap, she sat voiceless and motionless, like
the effulgent statue of a meek child-saint seen down some
dim-lighted cathedral aisle.

A strange, indefinable spell of silence and sadness
seemed to have fallen over Fred ; for though he longed to
arouse her by some simple question, his lips could frame
no word.

With silent lips and sorrowing heart he rowed her
where the shadows of the half-naked trees flickered in
tremulous trellis-work over the oar-rippled surface, and his
musical dip sometimes awoke to a feeble chirp some sleep-
ing bird, or scattered the clusters of floating leaves far
apart on the water. And ever by shaded shore, or under
open night, in moonlight or in shade, the little white figure
on the seat was shining in a softer or brighter silvery
light.

After reaching the farther extremity of the lake, he
turned the boat and rowed gently homeward. Beautiful
and fitting as silence seemed under those fair and silent
stars, some indefinite feeling combined with that stillness
saddened Fred Poison's heart, and he determined at all
risks to break the spell.

" Ida," he said softly, " why are you so quiet 1 "

Still the little white figure remained motionless, voice-
less.

" Perhaps she is too deeply absorbed in reverie to hear

124

POLSONS PROBATION.

me when speaking ao low," thought Fred. " If so, it would
be a pity to disturb her ; but, perhaps — "

He could not utter the thought even to himself, so
utterly did it siden his heart.

With a heavy heart and slow, soft-sounding strokes ho
rowed toward the landing-place. The white moon robed
her in sparkling silver, and the gentle lake reflected her
image with a sweetly softened grace ; but, oh ! for the
music of her childish voice to chime with <^hese and show
that all was not mere shadow and uncertainty. Yet, what
a wonderful radiance of peace shone from that sweet
face of hers ! The head ao gently bent as if in prayer,
the little hands so njeekly crossed ! Peaceful she seemed,
not alone with that restfulne.ss which comes from the
absence of motion and thought, but with that deep-seated
spiritual peace which seems itself a motion and a thought —
the peace that springs from lives of love and gentleness
fostered by innocence and purity of mind ; the peace that
manifests itself in the kind word and the good deed — truly
the peace which passeth understanding.

So gently through the gentle night Fred rowed that
sweet form toward its home, and when the boat touched
upon the shore, her father, who had been waiting there,
went to lift his little daughter out.

With a cheerful " Come, Ida," he raised her in his arms
and bore her a little space upon the shore, but her hat fell
off, and the moon shone full upon her pure white face and
soft fair hair. At that moment she awoke, and opening
wide her half-closed eyes, looked up in her father's face
and faintly faltered :

" Kis?s me, father ; I am going to be so happy now."

As the warm kiss was pressed upon her lips the eyes
were closed again, and in soft, inaudible breathings the
gentle spirit of little Ida passed over the starry stepping-
stones into the glory of the eternal day.

Under the trees by the lake she loved they buried her.
The sky was swathed in cold, grey cloud, and a chilly
wind sweeping the leaves from the trees strewed them like
mournful emblems over her early grave. A few lone birds

WHICH SHALL IT «E?

125

with ruffled feathers ^ Iped mournfully in the half-naked
hranches, and the dyin^ grass rustled sadly around th^
feet of the mourners, as if all thinj^s in nature were sorrow-
ing for the death of one who had loved them so well,
(iently, amid the softly-falling leaves, they lowered the
body to its last resting-place ; and after a few heart-felt
jjtayers they left her to rest in the dumb, cold earth which
knoweth not sorrow nor joy. Yet there was no violent
weeping for little Ida — rather a deep abiding sadness,
strangely mingled with gladness and hope, for they felt
that she at least was free from ill, and her memory only
stirred their hearts to purer ambition and warmer love.
No impure thought or hateful passion could dwell side
by aide with the recollection of that gentle life which had
passed from earth as softly as the dew-drop dissolves upon
the rose.

CHAPTER XV.
Which Shall it be ?

With the exception of her father, no one was more
sorrowfully impressed by little Ida's death than Fred
Poison. The beautiful evening on the lake with that
voiceless star-like figure before him would remain forever
imprinted on his mind. How often, too, would those soft
and guileless eyes look into his, and the sweet voice sound
in his ears with its wonderful questionings and strange
child thoughts. How deeply she was imbedded in his
affection he had never known till now, and so strongly
encompassed with a silent sorrow was he that for a time
he almost forgot to think of Alice Crags. But as the
keenness of his grief faded into fainter hues her image
revived in his mind.

Slowly he resumed the visits which had been so sadly
interrupted by his little favorite's death, but try as he
would, never after the day on which he had brought her

126

POI.SON S IMIOHATION.

drunkon fatluT homo, could \ui fiiul an opportunity of
Hpcakii);^ to \wr ^i\<)^w. Mrs. (.Vags or Silas I'aiicrack was
always in his way, and ov«n Alic«i hersolf, tliough treating
him civilly, and evn cordially, souniod to Hhun any chance
of cultivating a closer intimacy. Naturally, tho latter
was t\ui thorn that pricked Vvod moHt soroly.

"I thought so," lid groaned to himself, as he returned
home one night after watching her for an hour as sh(^
listi^ned with a vacant smile to the p('rsill;ig(! of I'ancrack,
and occasionally cast a timid glance toward liinj. " I
thought so. I was mistaken in thinking she ever cared
anything ahout me. She felt grateful to me for bringing
her father Iiomh! on the day I proposed to her, and did not
like to hurt my feelings hy a direct refusal. Yes, she
lik(!s Pancrack better, no doubt of it, and she only looks
now and then at me out of pity for my state, and so
makes matters worse. A curse on this idiocy — how it
torments me! But how can T cure it? Work, work —
stydy and work — yes, that is the grand panacea ! "

So does a lover foster his misery by trying to persuade
himself that he wishes to put it away when, in reality, he
is clasping it to himself as part of his very being ; and so
also does he try to exaggerate his wretchedness beyond
hope, whilst beneath it all hope is constantly struggling to
thrust itself upward.

The human mind is so' constituted that it easily dis-
tinguishes between the false and sincere in the words and
actions of those with whom it is closely acquainted ; it was,
therefore, no difficult task for Fred to see that Alice, in her
inmost heart, did not relish his rival's attentions. But
because his own visits were apparently discouraged he tried
to persuade himself that he was the wretchedest of mortals,
and so was sweetly toi'r.iented with self-created misery.
Nevertheless, like many other persons who are half
purposely, half circumstantially self-deceived, he tried hard
to be sincere to himself. He worked and studied earnestly,
but though these curtains of care made her image fainter
and less frequent in his mind, they did not entirely close
it from his view.

, I!:)

wmcir siiAi.i. IT HE?

127

Moanwhilo, iiiattorR worked wtdl togetlicr to tli« Hiitis-
fai'tiou of Mr. Silas Pancrack. Frrd'h absoncf naturally
displeased Alice, and to reven^o herself for what she
th()ii;;ht to bo uncalled for ne^lrct, she lent a more willing
ear to the wiles of Silas. Hut tliou;<;h that ^M>titlenian did
indeed succeed in be^^uilin;^ her at tinn^s, she nevertheless
flit in her heart a lurkin;^ repugnatice to him. Still, in
their present circumstances, she felt tliat she would be
acting cruelly toward those who had the hi^diest claim to
her love if she in any way otlendtHl the man who had
helped them in their netHl, and in whose power (in a tiitan-
cial sense at h^ist) tliey now were. The warm, kt^enly
8(Misitive nature is never so acute in its r<'asonir>g powers
us the cold, hard and worldly one, AH'ection sometimes
overwhelms sense, the feelings sway the judgment; and
80, often, at unguard(Ml moments, does susceptibility plant
a nettle that grows to sting it in after days; and this, in
her gentle civility to the mortgagee, was poor Alice uncon-
sciously doing now.

As Pancrack's visits became more frequent, Mrs. (/lags'
encouragement of his suit grew ever more obvious. She
asked him regularly to tea every Sunday, and left him
alone with Alice on the slightest pretext. Poor Fred
was invited but seldom, and when he came was received
with forbidding calmness, and closely watched, whilst for
his rival thp»'e was always a pleasant smile and a welcome
word.

The fact was, Mrs. Crags felt that they were treading
along a dangerous path, and thought the only hope of
escape from their pecuniary difficulties lay in a marriage
between Pancrack and Alice. She was by no njeans
pleased by the chilling coldness with which her daughter
received his attentions, and one day, after his departure,
she took her severely to task.

Alice sat on the couch busily knitting a stocking, and
her niother sat working the sewing machine. For a long
time it hummed away at an even pace, then for a few
seconds spurted into terrific rapidity, and then stopped
with a sudden jerk.

14,1

■! n

128

FOLHON'm IMtOHATION.

" Alice," hIio Haid, Mtraifflttenin^ t\u^ rufll«>(l cloth utult^
the uofldio, " I wish you wouhl hhow your iipprociutiun of
Mr. Pancrack'H attimtioiiH a litth» inor« warmly."

" Ktmlly, ma," -aid ,\lico, hlushin^ and knitting Hwiftly
in n(»rvouH alarm, " I am Hun> that 1 alwayH try to lit>
(|uit<i civil to him."

"Civil, yoH ! Hut if you know thn pogition wo are in,
you would know that inoro civility is not «nou;;h."

" What«v«u* do you m«'an, ma'/" And an hIio a.skcd the
(]u<mtion th(^ knitting ncMHilcH Htoppcd and her oyoH widcnt'd
in Horrowful Hurprisn. Mrs. CragH turned Hharply around
toward hor, and rapping tho tahU* of tho sowing machine
with her thimhlo, npoko energotitrally.

"It means Himply this, child, that unless you marry
Hilas Pancrack your parents may ho made homeles^ out-
casts at any moment ; but if you act the sonsihle part you
will be a rich man's wife, and we shall be comfortably
provided for. So take time and reflect on that." And
the imperious woman turned again to her work, while the
wheels rattled noisily around.

Alice's knitting had fallen on her lap. Her head was
bent to hide the t(>arful ..joisture that bedewed her eyes.
Sensitive ev ;i to weakness, her mother's words had at once
saddened and overwhelmed her; for though she had received
Pancrack's attention as a matter of course, marriage had
never for a moment entend her thoughts. Now that
it was so bluntly forced upon her mind, his figure .seemed
suddenly to grow hideous in hc^r eyes, and by its sich^
appeared the image of Fred Poison, rendered doubly fair
by the contrast.

When she thought of all Fred's noble qualities, his
patient meekness and willing self-denial, his ardent
love of truth, nnd his generous, if sometimes mistaken
enthusiasm — when she thought of these, and compared
them with his rival's money-loving selfishness and harden(;d
indifference to the sorrows of others, she thought her
position wretched indeed. She felt that for once, if she
would follow her highest instinct, she must cast off the
noble and cling to the base. For a long time she sat thus,

WHICH SHALL IT UK?

12U

und«r
iion of

iwiftly
to Im'

are in,

c«hI tlu'

Hroiiiid
uicliiiu!

nmrry
oHj out-
art you
tortftbly
" And
hiU) the

lead waH
Br eyes,
at once
received
ire had
)w that
seemed
its side
ly fail-

les, his
ardent
istaken
inpared
irdened
c»ht her
1, if she
off the
at thus,

her work unhee(h>(l, h«r pretty hrow ri<lj^ed with nnowy
wrinkh>8, and h«>r little hands olaMpin^ each other in con-
vulnive iimtinct, a npiritual war ra^^inj^ within her.

SeKiHhneHH Haid, " Me(>d not thy parentH wonU, hut
believe tiiat the better part in to follow t\ui proniptin^H of
thine own lieart. Mingle not with the haHe mid Heltlah,
JeMt it also (!ontaniin/ite thee, hut (rhooHO rather thy loul't
({('Hire for hiH happinesH and thine own."

UnHeltiHluK'gg replied, •* Deny thvHelf for tlie love thou
bearoNt thy fatlier and mother. C'a«t otV thy Heltinh
desiroH, and Hacritice thine earthly happiness for that holier
joy which shall last with thee throu^di (uidlesH eternity."

And thi'se latter as with noble natures such thoughts
ever will — decided tliat inward contest ; for deep in the
inmost soul of humanity is hidden the worship of the
sutl'ering and the sorrowful. Not toward him who is
clothed in purph? and fares sumptuously, nor toward him
who with cap and bells jingles his Jests or plies his
sarcasms in the ears of the laughing crowd, does human
homage turn, but it bends in reverence to the head crowned
with thorns, and the hands nailed upon the cross. It
follows, ready to do battle against infidcd or idolater, the
form of the humble-hearted Mahomet, who, whilst loading
his countless hosts, yet clouts his own cloak and mends his
own shoe. It has canoni/.ed in every age " the nol^le army
of martyrs " who have ended lives of unseKishness and
sud'ering in smoke and blood, that their torturers might
have light.

Some spark of this feeling it was (fanned undoubtedly
by her mother's words) that led Alice to choose what was
for her the thorny path. The thought of the advantages
she might gain by sharing Pancrack's wealth never for a
moment influenced her ; for in their possible union she
only foresaw for herself a life of duty un warmed by a
spark of love. She made up her mind that henceforth she
would endeavor to receive her miserly suitor with a certain
show of welcome, which, hateful though it seemed to her,
she deemed also a fitting part of the domestic martyrdom
she had so unselfishly undertaken.
9

"i.

I'OLSON H PUOIIATION.

i|:

Tn <»Arryliig out- t\\\n Iritontlon, hnw#>v«»p, nho wnn fjult*
tiniiwiin* (»f tli«> )iirth hi>r uclioii wiui giving to llk«t iiion»t«r
liuinor.

IV(){)lo (lid HOC fail to mark tlut niiiooth coiiHtftnoy of
I'aiu'nick'M ii(lilr«<iiM«'N, nor tlit^ u|)|iun>ittly wrloouKi Mi«nn«'i'
in which th<»y wcru rocnivjui, »hii lt»'f<>r« h>ng whiiip<M'N of
Hii «ui;;iigon)(Mtt lH*gan to grow rifi* in tho Hottiiumuit. Hut
Junior in nrver crtttttint with th«> miiihII poNNihility ut t\w
fountuiii hf'iid. Sho dlMtortM umcI cxuggfriitim till nil like
n«'HH of truth in Hwallowiul in grons curiciitunv Ho tho
ungiigonirnt Hoon Mwelh^l into un lictual wmhiing in thf<
tiitth) of th(^ n(*ighl><>rhoo(l, and tho olili;^dng goHsipfirH (>v(ui
went NO fur aH to arrange tho dutn and i'hooH«> att«!ndantK
and bridoHuiaidH.

'I'his stoiy, ill all its j'xaggpratrd drtailM, Koon mioiu'd
tho DvHiirt hous«»h()ld, and was naturally ni^^rrly poured
by tho talkorH into tho sorrowful ourn of l"'n'd i'olson.

Hero was fuel for his misery indeed ; and though his
heliof was enveined with some <|ualn>s of douht, it was yet
ButHcient to plunge him a little d(>eper in that gulf of
despond ii\to which, of late, h«' had fallen. Ife hei^aine
more than ever reserved and dreamy, toiling in hitterness
of spirit through tlui day, atui when his work was done
roaming in moody and solitary r/ind)leH to that anywhere
or nowhere which is the goal of the disappointed lover.
His altered mood naturally calh^l forth ». few renuirks
from his fellow-hoarders.

"Why," said Mr Longstn^et, "tho mati's completely
crazy, or he must be meditating the murder of his rival or
somebody."

•' And now that you speak of it," remark^'d Mr. Fane,
shrugging his shoulders, " I was thinking myself that the
fellah reminded mo of the ghost of a suicide coming back
to haunt him."

" Poor, dear younj, man," said Mrs. Tomson, with a
sigh, '* It's that there dollorooks that he's got. And he'll
ketch cold besides if he rambles so much o' nights. Deary
me, why don't he let me pu*; a mustard poultice on his
backl"

THK HIIA':.lWH IN THE HMITIIV.

i:ii

Why (lid Mm. llnnt xiuilit no hitterly on Iwiiring tli<«»e
tritling nunurkMl And why did HiUin I'lUKiuck mo in-
diixtriouNly jot thfliii ttll down in hit puckut tntukt

cuAiTKU xvr.

TlIK HIIADOWB IN THE SmITIIV.

Foil n time wn mUHt bog the render to turn witli uh onot
ii{{iiit) to th<) littl(> Nriiithy among i\ui nuirMht^H and the hillfl.

Ill thu cold, dark niituiiin ov«MiingH i\m forgn grouuH and
loiirM, whilo tho light of lurid tiroH burstH through crcviccu
in tho waIIm, to MXpirn in tho numniiig durknc^HH all around.
And thn chill wind cronpH ovor thoHo gn-cn-clotttHl poolM,
and rattles tho dry reedi around them, and whis|)«>rH
through tho brown tufted grasn, and (;nM>pH along tli«' Hido
of that weird looking,' structuns and flapg itH blackened
pftper shrfldR with a strangely dreary Hound. I5ut th«
door \h fastened closo, and insido the tlamo tiureH up with
rod and cheerful glow, as the smith with bare arms and
uncovered head sweats at his evening toil.

In these dark evenings, too, strange figures may be
seen creeping ghost-like through the misty dusk — outside
trailing themselves like monstrous things generated by
the night, l)ut metamorphosed into human beings in the
forge's sparkling glare. The smith will pause from his
toil to speak to some of these ; and, as tho tlaccid bellows
sink and resign their breath, and tho fire flickers down
to blue and twinkling jets, their whispers seem to mingle
with the night wind. And in that misty light which yet
s»*('ms half of darkness — i\w giant shadows of the heads
of the whisperers nod laughingly on tho sooty walls.
And ho who watched those nodding shades might have
heard the stealthy opening of a door, and then would
come a silent slippered footstep, and, behold, on the
fiuther end of the smithy, appeared another shadow
which — magnified, distorted and restless as it was — yet

•:

I 'I''

132

POLSONS rUOBATION.

appeared like tliat of a woraan, gaunt and bent witli
age. One lean, long finger on the wall is raised, flickering
threateningly lA that weird light, and her head is bowed
as if listening — listening.

But soon the whispering ceases, the big nodding heads
on the wall are drawn apart, the shadow of the old woman
slowly disappears, the smithy door admits a gust of cold
and darkness, and the human visitant has passed again
into the blackness to be transformed once more into some
strange goblin of the night.

Then once more the fire blazes up cheerfully, the bellows
groan and snort behind it, the sparks fly, the shadows are
chased away, and the smith resumes his toil. Like the
clanging of a bell, rung by some huge gnome or sprite, the
ring of his hammer goes out into the night as he beats on
the hissing iron. How it glows as he turns it over ! Now
with an angry spit at the touch of the hammer, it belches
a glowing circle of living sparks of fire. Bang ! bang !
Spit ! spit ! With ringing, monotonous rhythm the work
goes on.

But see, the smith pauses ; and with hand resting on
his hammer and neck outstretched, he looks toward the
door, for a low, rapping sound has disturbed the mighty
poetry of his toil. For a moment he listens thus, and the
sound is repeated. Laying down his tools, he wipes his
hands on his apron, and walking forward, opens the door.
To his surprise, the smithy light plays over a slim female
figure, closely robed in a grey cloak, the upper part of the
face hidden by a veil, and the lower features concealed by
a woollen muffler.

" Can I see the Dame O'Neil ? " in clear, silvery tones.

** With plisure, mum. Just come this way, if ye plase ;"
and Gorman, all obsequious, led the unwonted visitor to
the door leading into the house.

" Ye'U foind the deem in thore, mum," he said, holding
open the door.

"Thank you." And with a slight bow the lady passed
into the house, and Gorman closed the door.

But he by no means meant thereby to exclude himself

THE SHADOWS IN TFIE SMITHY.

from a knowledge of the str.'in<^or's iiitorviow with his
mother, for it was his nature to pry into every niyst(!ry
that happened to cross liis path ; and such an unusual
occurrence as the visit of a strange lady at that time
naturally whetted his curiosity.

His one eye — preternaturally sharpened by double ser-
vice---seemed as if specially designed by nature for bom-
barding key-holes ; and in the present instance he lost no
time in pressing it into its favorite usage, and this is what
he saw and heard :

\Vhen the strange lady entered, the old woman sat by
the fire with her chin on her hand, gazing into the glowing
embers. No light, except such as came from the open
stove-front, illuminated the place, and this, failing in red
glares and flickering shadows over the old witch's leather-
Iji'own wrinkled face, and dirty, dark-grey hair, clothed
her in a weird and grisly glamor. All around her, how-
ever, was homely and peaceful. A huge black cat lay
purring at her feet, and an old clock behind her told out
the time with a dismal ticking, like the cracking of human
joints.

The atranger, as she entered, noted all these things in-
stantly, and surveyed the littered, unswept floor with a
look of feminine disgust. The old woman did not seem to
be aware of her presence and, advancing quietly, the lady
touched her gently on the shoulder.

With a start in her limbs and a curse upon her lips, the
old hag looked up ; but on seeing the stranger she im-
mediately composed herself, and rising to her feet, bowed
respectfully and said :

" Beg yer pardin, marm. Take a sate on that there
box."

And then, as the lady remained standing, she moved
toward her, and whispered in her querulous, wizard tones —

"Is there anything I can do for you, my dearie V

The stranger hesitated for a moment, and seemed to be
scanning the old witch through her veil, and then she
said in clear, unshaken tones :

" I came to see you because I have heard that you are

(WW

M\\

nBi

111

"i'B-

H'''

'j^Bfl

B^P , ^r S.' 1

^w '

ill

Wt<\

! v!

j -Ml

^^■'S

.III i:p

134

POT.SON S PROBATION.

skilful ill dealing with alliiirs of love and bringin*< them to
such an issui as your clients des-iro."

Tiie old woman lifted a corner of "lier upper lip and ex-
posed the one wolfish fang which remained in her head — a
grimace she intended for a smile.

" Ay, ay, my dearie ! If that's yer throuble, I think
that 1 can help ye."

"/don't require your help," said the lady, scornfully.
" It is a friend whom I wish to save from being inveigled
into a marriage that will make her unhappy."

"Oh, that's it, is it, my dear? Then sit ye down and
tell me all about it."

With a shrug of disgust the stranger seated herself on
a trunk by the old woman's side, and for a time they
■whispered together in tones so low that Gorman, listening
at the key-hole, could only catch now and then a stray
unintelligible word; but by the wicked expression of his
mother's face as the firelight flickered over it, he knew
that the conference boded trouble for someone. He
noticed also that the stranger would place a trembling
hand on the old hag's arm at times, and once, when she
lifted her veil for a second to whisper in the witch's ear,
he sav.- the dancing fire light up a face white with terror
and hate.

" And," he caught their whispers, " show me some way
in which I can do it without their knowledge."

"Ay, ay, my leedy," -.roaked the old crone; "an' I
think I can give ye a dhrink that'll make him of another
mind if ye'll only give it him quiet."

The old woman rose, and after lighting at the t.re a
splinter of dry wood to be used as a torch, she tottered over
to the mysterious iron-bound box which contained the
magical appliances of her mystic art.

" Sit ye still there, my dearie," she said, as the stranger
seemed about to rise, "an' I'll soon foind ye the potion."

A huge key grated in the wards, and as it unlocked,
the lid was thrust up a few inches by the pressure of the
rubbish stored within. The old woman lifted it back, and
then, holding the torch aloft in her left hand, began to

I Hi

THE SHADOWS IN THE SMITHY.

ur,

rummage among its ghastly contents. She took out two
sliroud-like garments, yellow with ago ; a grinning human
skull ; two white, Jry bones which wondrously resembled
liuman joints ; two dried snake-skins, a wolf's Jaw, an owl's
bi-ak, a pig's eye, a toad's leg, a bundle of herbs tied up in
a raven's wing, and several mysturious looking phials, one
of which she selected for her present purpose.

"Here ye are, my dearie," she said, turning around with
a little black bottles in her cla>''. " Here's the philther
that'll — An' phwatWer is the matt';r wid ye?"

The latter exclamation was caused by seeing her visitor
lying in a faint on the chest on which she had been seated.
She lay on her side, her hands hanging helplessly down ;
her short-drawn breathirtj, fluttering the flimsy veil over
her face, was the only sign of life she gave. That weird-
looking room with the fitful firelight flashing amid its
darkness ; the ogre-like figure of that old hag as the smoky
torchlight fell upon her coarse, grey locks ; the sinister
gleam of her solitary fang, and, above all, the ghastly
contents of her trunk of mysteries, had proved too much
for the lady's already highly-wrought nerves.

Those yellow shrouds had dazed her eyes, the rattling
bones cracked in her ears, and that skull, grinning mock-
ingly at her when, the firelight played upon it, had stolen
away sense and feeling. For a moment her brain had
swum in a giddy chaos — the old hag was dressing her in a
shroud, the bones were crossed upon her breast, the dkull
pressed a chilling kiss upon her lips, the owl's beak pecked
at her eyes, the raven's v/ing brushed her cheek — and then,
with a low, inaudible groan, she had fainted away.

The old woman walkv^d slowly toward her, and without
hesitation lifted her veil. The face thus revealed was
sharp in outline and deadly white. As Gorman, through
the key-hole, saw the firelight flash over it, he consumed a
low chuckle of triumph.

" And, be jabers ! ye're no shtranger to me," he mut-
tered to himself.

But his mother, at least, did not seem to recognize her,
for, looking into her face, she only said, contemptuously —

136

POLSONS I'UOIUTION.

" Feentcd away, poor fool, have yel Thia it's mesilf
as 'II soon briii^ yv, round aj^iii,"

So saying, sho extracted from her medical collection
three stalks of some dried herb, and the leafy ends of these
she thrust into the glowing embers. She withdrew them
in a steaming smoulder, tilling the room with a pungent,
disagreeable odor. Holding the smouldering leaves under
the stranger's nose, the old woman watched her face
keenly. Soon the color began to return, and she opened
her eyes. Her lips parted, her breath came freely, and
she lifted up her head.

*' Dear me ! How is this ? What has happened 1" she
asked.

"Just a bit of a feent, my leedy ; but ye're all right
now."

The woman's eyes roved curiously around the room, and
again alighted on the weird litter against the trunk.

"Oh, I remember now," she said. "Let me get away
from this place at once."

She rose to her feet and drew down her veil, but before
she could move the old hag's yellow, bony hand was laid
upon her arm, a gleaming fang flashed on her eyes, and the
croaking whisper hissed through her ears :

" Not quite so fast, my dearie. Ye're forgetting phwhat
ye came for. Take this wid ye, an' use it as I tell ye " ;
and thrusting a small vial into the stranger's pocket she
whispered a few words under her breath. The lady shud-
dered and nodded, and taking out her purse dropped a few
green-gleaming bills into the old witch's hungry claw, and
then moved toward the door.

As she passed through the shop, Gorman was innocently
blowing his bellows and poking his fire, but he politely left
his occupation to usher her through the door. He also
untied the pony which had stood patiently waiting outside,
helped her into the knotty side-saddle, and bade her a
civil good-night.

For a time he stood watching her as she rode away —
a dark speck in the thickening night-mist, which a newly-
risen moon had transformed into rolling masses of molten

ARRANOINO FOIl A HUNT.

137

silver. Then, roturnlng to his shop \\v laid awny his tools,
locked the door, and l;anked the tire for the night. And
the old hag munched and muinhled to herself as she tum-
bled into her mysterious trunk the ghastly relics of an art
decayed.

CHAPTER XVII.
Arranoing for a Hunt.

" Hurrah for a deer-hunt, you fellows ! A herd was
seen in the valley yesterday."

With these words, loudly and volubly uttered, Mr. Long-
street burst on the members of the Dysart household as
they were enjoying an after-dinner rest.

Mr. Dysart sat at the table looking over a file of dusty
papers. Time had not yet erased from his face the mark
of sadness imprinted there by his little daughter's death,
but in close application to business he was striving to bury
the memory of his sorrow.

Mrs. Bant was working cunning figures in embroidery
on a silk pattern, and at the same time exchanging
complimentary nonsense with Silas Pancrack, who, under
pretext of business, had called at that hour as was often
his wont.

Poor, moody Fred Poison sat by the window reading
"Childe Harold," and Mr. Fane lay on the lounge shrug-
ging his shoulders and smoking his meerschaum. On
hearing Mr. Longstreet's excited declaration, the latter
swung his feet to the floor and sat up.

" You don't say so ! Who told you 1 "

" Why, O'Neil, the blacksmith ; and he had seen a man
who had crossed the valley this morning and seen six of
them grazing on the flat this side the river."

" Oh, it was O'Neil told you, was it 1 " said Mr. Dysart,
looking up from his papers. " Then I'm afraid you can't
depend on its being altogether true."

138

POLSONS PROnATION.

'M)jl

"Htill It I know," said Mr. Kano, sagely shaking his
head, "it's vortli looking after. I will go ami get n\y rille
and cartrid,'.;e.s, and we will start out at once."

" But not in such a pell-mell fashion," said Mr. long-
street, who was a more methodical sportsman. " Let us
go in some ord<?r. They were seen near the mouth of
liend-arm creek, so that we two can beat along the valley,
and Fred can hunt down the creek toward the river^ — that
is, if he'll go. What do you say, old hookworm V

•'Eh! What's that?" said Fred, looking up with a
start. " What is it you are talking about, anyhow 1" for
his love-lorn sympatliy had been so deeply engrossed by
the mournful verse of Byron that he had not heard a word
of their conversation.

Mr. Longstreet explained to him their project, and he,
grasping eagerly at any prospect of excitement, readily
consented to join them. The passion for slaying fellow-
creatures is always strong in the human breast, as is mani-
fested by the eagerness with which they fly to the battle
or the chase ; and our sportsmen were soon hotly and
eagerly discussing th') chances of the hunt.

After the entrance of Mr. Longstreet, Mr. Silas Pan-
crack had relaxed his vigilant attention to Mrs. Bant and
divided it with the sportsmen. He occupied his favorite
position — his right leg crossed over his left, so that the
raised bell-bottom of his trouser-leg exposed to view the
whole of a patent-leather shoe ; his chair evenly balanced
on its two hind legs; his left hand on the back of his sandy
head, and the jewelled fingers of his right toying with his
flashy watch-chain. As he sat thus, listening to the
sporting trio, the rocking of his balanced chair increased
to an agitated pace, and the sarcasm deepened in the smile
which continually played over the crooked symmetry of
his regularly irregular features ; and he, at the same time,
acutely fermented their excitement by a fitting sentence
thrown in at timely intervals.

But, alas ! they were doomed to disappointment ; for
while they were yet talking and contriving, Mr. Dysart,
whose attention had been distracted by the calculations

ARRANGING FOR A III NT.

1.S9

in wliich ho was «n;»ro88<'(l, looked up with a face expres-
sive of Honiethiiig sud(l«;nly rcinoinhenKl.

" Oh, hy the way, young men," he said, " T am sorry
to have to disappoint you ; but I am afraid you will have
to postpone your hunt for a time, for you know the
threshers are coming this afternoon, and we must have all
hands to help."

These words pas.sod over the hearts of the hunters like
a cloud obscuring the sun. The shadow of gloom settled
on their foreheads, and sad silence knit their to ^uea.
When in conjpany Silas Pancrack hated silence, and he
was the first to break the present spell.

" Well," he said, ** I suppose it can't be helped ; but
can't you let your arrangements stand over till Saturday ?
All the people around are busy either stacking th<"ir grain
or threshing just now, so that the deer are not likely to be
disturbed in the meantime."

"Yes, T suppose we must let it go till then," said Fred,
with a sigh. He did not like to agree with Silas Pan-
crack, but he felt that truth compelled him to do so in this
instance.

" Well, I liope that nobody shoots them or scares them
away," said Mr. Fane, tugging at his mustache and twist-
ing his neck in nervous agitation.

Mr. Longstrest was sulky and did not speak at all, but
it was tacitly understood that he agreed to the Saturday
adjournment ; and so the mattcjr ended.

A strange man was that Silas Pancrack, for when he
passed beyond sight of Mr. Dysart's house that day, he
rubbed his hard, red hands together with a sound like the
grating of two rasps, and chuckled loud and long :

" Ha, ha ! Ha, ha ! T.ie fog-brained blockheads ! For-
tune favrrs the cute, and all things work together for the
good of him that loves — money. O Laston, sweet Laston 1
Hew fair are thy woods and streams ! Truly this heart is
turning to gold ; and when I survey thy broad domain and
call it mine, perhaps it will tinkle in a merry march
against my silvery ribs."

And thus Silas Pancrack, in Midas-like exultation,

140

POI.SON'.S PUOnATtON.

' '1

chuckW'f^ on liis homownrd way, whilHt Krml l*olHon
Bwniti'd ini(l(!r tlu' dusty Htniw oiirrierH ah tlu^y poun'd
(>v(ir him a iiierciless hikI novrr couHinjj; Htrrjiin of Htniw,
cliatr and dust. Half huriod in the Htraw which tutni)l(>d
around him, his oyes ached and watered with the smarting;
stings of the Hpccks of dust and chaff. The rubbish
blocked up his ears and nostrils, and when he opened his
mouth to get relief, it came crowding into Ids throat and
almost stilh'd him ; but he worked on without complaint.
Mr. Longstreet was sulkily helping to lift sacks of wheat
into the wagons, as it came [''ouring out of the machine ;
and where the laboring engine putlod, grunted, and Jerked
backward and forward, under a cloud of steam and smoke,
Mr. Fane might be seen, all grimy with smoke and sweat,
poking forkfuls of straw into the voracious and insatiate
fi re.

And so, amid the roar of steam, the rattle and hum of
the howling thresher — where the sheaves were being torn
by its humming teeth, where the tossed and shaken straw
was vomited from its noisy interior, where it spat the
rattling grain into the \)ushels —men were sweating and
toiling through the weary afternoon, that beings of the
Pancrack stripe might live in tyranny and ease.

! '

CHAPTER XVIII.

A Shadowy Confruence.

i ! I

■ ! " '.;

Again, in the dusky evening of that same day, dark
shadows were nodding on the walls of the lonely smithy in
the western wilderness. The forge is silent, the bellows
limp and unblown, and only a livid jet of flarae twinkles
where the fire is wont to roar. Over this smouldering
jet a pair of wrinkled brown hands are heM, and at times
rubbed impatiently together as if they \ ould strike the
feeble heat into a more vivifying warmth. The blue light
and the twinkling shadows, playing lambently over the

A SHADOWY (!ONFEHKNCE.

supple form of tho man by tlio for^o, rcndor the loan,
copprry fiu'o cutinin'( iiiul cruol in expreHHion Mjoro
liuloouH still. Tho lojitluM" Hh(Mvthc(l huntiii^'-knifo, and the
two i)isoii horn8, containing powdor and shot, han^in^' from
his buckskin btOt, proclaim tht^ Indian hunter. Sometimes
lie turns and looks with ;;ro(Mly, avaricious eyes on the
two nuMi in conf« ronco by the anvil, and then for a while
Uo ga/.es at the shadows on tho wall with a changed and
roverent expn <sion. Kor this man is yet a child in soul,
.111(1 thou<^li he ro^nirds the men with some contempt as
more tools to ^dut his avarice, the shadows to him are full
of a vague and f(Mirful mystery. Symbols of the (ireat
Spirit thoy soem — thin<^s without tlesh or substance —
which shrink not at tho touch, yet fojil no pain, which
daily do<,' our foot with shade ; ever-present embloms of
(loath, only disappearing with us into the silent grave.
Itiit he is disturbed in these wandering musings by the
voice of one of the shadow makers addressed to him.

"And you wish to return to your own people — your
own tribe '{ "

A dignified bow of assent, accompanied by a guttural
" Yes," was the reply.

" Do as I wish you to, and I promise to get you a pass
that will restore you to your people without difficulty."

The black eyes glitter with a pleased light.

" What does the white man want of me 1 "

" Gome nearer and you shall hear."

The Indian cast a suspicious look toward the burnished
barrels of his gun — where it was reared by the forge,
glimmering fitfully in the twinkling light — and then
moved nearer to the others on toes as soft and treacherous
as those of a cat. The smith leans in a hearing attitude
with his black hands resting upon the anvil. The head of
his fellow-whisperer is bent toward him, and a supple,
brown finger is lifted to a small brown ear as the Indian
listens attentively. Thus three huge shadows nod in
distorted proximity on the gloomy walls, and the tall,
listening shade of a gaunt old woman towers like a living
malediction above them all. As the dusky conference

liiii

''ill

.Hi

* *s

■»'H

^' •

142

rOLSON H PROnATION.

I !

prooofidml a naiii(> wax oonHtatitly mentioned which cui*««d
the [ndiari'H oyPH to llaNh with an^er and hatr«'d.

*' Yali, I will do it all iiiott williti^," )u) said at luat.
"And to luornjw ni^ht come I will tnako n^ady."

Tho Hhadow of tho old woman lowonul ominouHlv on tho
wall, and violently Nhook a Hcrag^y fiti^cir of ^lioatly
length, and tli«n withdrew. Soon tho confertMictj ondml,
and the uhadow niukurs Hopuratod. One, aH ho rode uway,
chuckled, ** All ^oea well." Another, as he glided through
the maze of black, still pooU, with their fringeH of tall
dry reeds (juivoring like wrath-stirred harp strings in tlie
night wind, presKcd Imh cru(^l lips together till the blood
fled from them in the memory of bitter hate. The third
let hiniHcIf down through a secret tpvp in the Moor of his
shop into a dank, reeking cell — foul Nvith nauseous fumes —
whore tho vapor was clinging in yellow blotches to the
wall, and casks of all sizes were heaped on a littered floor ;
and from vue of these he drank to (and of) the vile trinity
he worshipped : " Mischief, Money and Whiskey."

1 n

CHAPTER XIX.
CouKTF'^us Mrs. Bant.

Dissimulation !

** Jt protects me from disagreement with others' views;
it blunts the keen-edged arrows of feminine sarcasm ; it is
my shield against the amorous attacks of insidious man ;
it is the weapon with which I lay bare my enemies' inten-
tions, and lay waste their sagest plans. What its sting is
to the bee, what its wing is to the bird, is this to me.
With it I am powerful in the battles I wage ; without it I
am lelpless as the child I bear."

That is a woman's excuse.

" Mrs. Tomson, I am going out for a short visit to a
particular friend. Whilst I am away would you please
look after little Georgie, and rock hin» in the cradle if he

C0URT10U8 MHH. HANT.

14M

II tho

lOHtly
ikI^hI,
II way,

i tall
,n the

l)loo(l
! thirtl

of hirt
imoa
to tho
I floor ;
trinity

viewH ;
; it is
man ;
inten-

iting is

|to nie.

)ut it 1

it to a
please

lie if lie

\n inoiincd to Ih* ltohh. And l)o Muro not to burn the cnke
I'vo put in th« ovon."

••Oh, yi'g, niutn, I'll look after (loorj?i«, the MW«»ot little
(lour ; no fear aH /m7/ Im> cross. And the oake'M beginnin'
to Hho beautiful, mum."

••Thank you." And Mrs. liant, dressed in a riding
habit, paMRtHJ through the kitchrn door.

*• Lor' bleHH mo," grumbled Mrn. ToiuHon, to herHelf, •' I
wish she wouldn't go away an' leave me wi' that little
varmint o' hers, lie's the peskiest, screamiest little lump
lis ever cut teeth. An' she'll find fault with that cake if
it aint li^ht ; and I do always have to ^dve her cakes to
Anthony to soak for his cuts, and make some more my-
self and pretend they are liers to please her. What a
indigestionatin' worrit she is."

And ^ood-natured but sorely tried Mrs. Tomson bej^an
to make another cake, and sometimes shout a soothing
word to Master (ieor^ie, who, from his couch in the next
room, kept uttering now and then a tearful, premonitory
plaint.

Mrs. Hant walked to the farm to get her pony, but aa the
uien were still busy with the threshing, she found nobody
there but the cook. He, however, though he uttered
many grufl' grunts about being busy, was kind enough to
h'ad forth and saddle her beast for her.

She thanked him, mounted into the saddle, and scamp-
ered away over the rustling prairie grass.

It was a cool '• fall " day, roofed by a clouded sky
broken by gleams of blue ; and as Mrs. Bant rode fast in
the face of the chilly breeze which swept out of the river
valley, a red spot appeared on either ch^^ek, which, in that
unusual place, reminded one of two drops of blood spilt
on a 8nowl)all from its victim's stricken nose. Her spirits
rose with the scampering speed, and when she had tied
her pony to a post in the Crags' farm-yard, and knocked
at the door, the smile with which she gicoted the astonished
Mrs. Crags was not altogether unreal.

Mrs. Bant had nothing more than a nodding acquaint-
ance with Mrs. Crags. They had met and exchanged

I'U

POI.HON K PUOMATION.

formal Nalutiitionii at Wallii, ohiiroh niftetin^^R, And (lidorDiit
puhlit; aitMt'tiihlioK ; lutt MrN. lUiit UNually carrinl U«r IiimkI
too lii){li to allow an ordinary farnii^r'N w'\t*i to venturn on
cloittr intiniaoy, and thiMnforn it waN with no littlo lur*
\mm that MrM. iUnun Indinld her itaiwlin^ at hor door
attirml in a ridin;^' lialdt, u Mniilif on hor fuco, and a Nhort
■witch in hor hand.

••What!" Nho i^xclaiinod. "You, Mrn. hant ! Why,
who would liavd thought — " TIkmi Muddonly rocolliM'tiiiK
hf)ri«lf nIio Null lutMl h<>r Hurpriso into a forced HinilM, und
add*'*! in a tonw of aj)oloj{«»tio cordiality: *• I l»«g your
pardon, but it is ho Holdoni that I havti the pleanuro of
■««in^ you hnrn. Pray oonm in and sit down awhilo,"

•''I'hank you, I will," Haid Mth. Iduit. And holding up
licr riding skirt in her Inft h.md hIio t'ollowiMl MrR. Cra^s
into tho houie. Sh« wiHhrd to propitiate Mrs. Cra^H, and
knowing enough of woman nature to be aware that a lady
doeH not like to have the disorder of her kitchen intruded
on at an unforeHeeu hour, hIh) had taken tho precaution to
knock at the front door, ho that Mrs. Cra^s UHh<M'ed her
straight into the parlor.

** Yes," Haid the widow, as with charming ease she
seated herself in a chair, •* I f(»ar that I am a very rare
visitor ; and even when I come it is only to trouble you
by begging favors. T hoard that — dear me, what a
charmirg room ! "

As she supplemented these exclamations by a look of
admiring ecstasy at tho really comfortable furnishing of
tho room, Mrs. Crags, standing with one hand resting on
a small mahogany table, was evidently pleased with tlu^
compliment ; for she smiled and bowed.

" Yes," she said, •* we have tried to make it pretty and
comfortable. It is my daughter's favorite retiring place."

•• Oh, indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bant. '• But where is
your daughter, Mrs. Crags '? It was really her I wished to
see ; for T heard that she had some beautiful patterns of
embroidery, and as I am now engaged in embroidery, 1
wished to see if I could borrow some."

•• She is upstairs at present," said Mrs. Crags, " but will

COUUTEOLM Mll.\ HA NT.

146

< ii

\w clown proi«Mitly. I havo no doiiltt thiit «lie coultl lend
you \wr pnttornt. I will ^o And rail h«r."

•M)h, no hurry I no hurry ! I van wiiit."

Hut with tho ohli^in^ diiiri*^nrd whii li usually follow!
Nuoli tMitroatioN, Mm. Crngi wont into tho pnMNA^o and
callud out :

'* Alioe, niaku hastu down. Thuro ii a lady wiiihoi to
tee you."

'• All ri^ht, n»other. Coming in a ininuto."

VVhtm Mrs. liant first knookod at thn door, Alioe had
Ikxmi huMy Hcourin^ a milk tin, hut on htMirin^ thn knock
ali() ruMlMul (iiM is tho cuNtoni of younj; ladins at thi< alai in
of a Htran^or'M approach) upstairs into hor armory to <;liango
lierdrosM. Aftor a quartnr of an hour'n hustlo and confu-
sion hIiu camn softly down Htairs, fully accoutred in cloanli-
nesa and hoauty, and shyly turned tint knob of thu parlor
door.

As she nervously ontorod. Irs. Hant rose from hor seat
to groot hor, and pressing both lu.c hands in enthusiastic
cordiality exclaimed :

" My dear Miss Crags, how beautiful you look ! It is a
pleasure to see you. Come, sit by my side ; I have some-
thing to beg of you."

Alice, overwhelmed by these flatteries from a person who
was little better than a stranger to her, was confused for
the time into utter silence, but blushmgly allowed herself
to be led to a seat by Mrs. Bant's side.

Under the pressure of that lady's questions and observa-
tions her tongue soon loosened, and the current of talk
flowed freely. She had by no means liked Mrs. Bant's
melodramatic reception of hor at first ; but her weakness for
being on aniriable terms with everyone soon overcame her
aversion, and in a few moments she was chatting in a most
friendly manner on feminine affairs with the subtle iid
honey- tongued widow.

Whilst they were thus amicably engaged the d(X>r opened
and Mr. Silas Pancrack came in. On seeing Mrs. Hant his
eyes dropped in confusion, and he drew back a step.

'• Er — excuse uie, ladies, 1 was not aware — that is — "
10

, , i I,

;:;i'

146

-?>•

POLSON S PROBATION.

"Oh, never mind, Mr. Pancrack," said Mrs. Crags, "take
a chair, and make yourself at home with us."

The respite that this little speech afforded gave Pan-
crack time to collect himself, and he immediately resolved
on the course ho should takp. When he entered so sud-
denly Mrs. Bant's face had flushed as if scorched, but
under her icy self-control it withered in a moment into
its customary paleness again.

Pancrack moved gently toward them, and with a grace-
ful apology for his intrusion greeted them politely, and
seated himself by Alice's side ; but though he thus appro-
priated her, he nevertheless addressed most of his subse-
quent remarks to Mrs. Bant.

" I suppose," he said, " that your huntsmen are quite
ready for the chase to-morrow, Mrs Bant 1 "

"I don't know," she replied with a laugh, "but they
seem very sullen at being delayed."

" Well, they need be sharp, for I hear that several In-
dians are coming down to-morrow to look after them, too.
The deer have got up into the Bend-arm creek, so that if
Fred Poison meets with them (the Indians, I mean) when
h? is walking down it, ha will have to be careful ; for they
are all well armed."

" Oh, really ! you do not think that they would harm
anyone, do you?" asked Alice, clasping her hands in
nervous anxiety.

Pancrack was rather chagrined by this apparent interest
in his rival's movements, but he had sense enough not to
show it.

" No," he replied, " I don't suppose they would hurt any-
one unless they were first provoked." And then he glided
away to another subject.

But though all was outwardly smooth and pleasant
among them, Mrs. Bant's heart was tortured by a biting
fire of jealousy, and before long she politely declared that
she must really return.

" You know," she said in answer to their pressing invita-
tion to remain to tea, " I left little Georgie at home, and
he is very fretful just now. I am afraid he may cry himself

take

Pan-
Dived
. sucl-
, but
, into

grace-
■. and
ippro-
8u')se-

, quite

t they

ral In-
iTQ, too.
that if
t) when
or they

I harm
nds in

Interest
not to

[rt any-
jlided

lleasant

biting

3d that

invita-
le, and
UDft^elf

COURTEOUS MRS. BANT.

147

into hysterics before I get back. No, thank you — you are
very kind, I am sure, but 1 really cannot stay longer. I
will try to make amends for my rudeness by calling some
other day."

" But you must not go without the patterns," said Mrs.
Crags. " Alice, go and get them."

Alice tripped away up stairs, whilst Pancrack politely
volunteered to bring Mrs. Bant's pony to the door, and so
the two matrons were left alone. Mis. Crags led her guest
into the passage, and while they were waiting for the
return of Pancrack with the pony and Alice with the pat-
terns, Mrs. Bant placed her hand caressinf^ly on the shoulder
of her hostess and said with a propitiatory smile :

*' Mrs. Crags, your daughter interests me very much, so
that I trust you will not think me presumptuous for what I
am going to say. I have before uow heard Mr. Poison's
name coupled wi^!:h hers, and judging by his moods
and actions I can well think him to be deeply in love.
Now let me respectfully advise you in your daughter's
interest not to discountenance his suit, for really he is an
excellent young man in every respect. In morals he is
exemplary, in intelligence far above the common ; besides
this he is gentle-natured, patient and industrious, and to
crown all, I have heard on good authority that in four or
live years froni now he is likely to come into possession of a
rich estate in England."

*' What ! " exclaimed Mrs. Crags. **A rich estate in
England ! I was not aware of that."

" Mr. Poison never speaks of it himself ; but I have it on
excellent authority, and — but, sh" — (with a nudge) — "your
daughter is coming."

Mrs. Bant thanked Alice and her mother very warmly,
and eagerly pressed them to return her visit. Then mount-
ing the pony which Pancrack had brought to the door, she
kissed her finger-tips with her smiling lips, and rode in a
gentle canter away.

"What a charming lady!" said Mrs. Crags, as they
stood watching her ride away.

"Isn't she really pleasant?" echoed Alice, with enthusiasm.

.. i''

I i

I ;
I

.!! .'I

,, J,

■ iiii"

'i'i

!i'

■>■■'

11!

I;;

II J.

Il^^l

...M[l'l

148

rOLSONS PROBATION.

JCJ,?

A contemptuous smile rested on Silas Pancrack's mouth
for a second, and then, after crawling slowly to one side,
it slipped suddenly into a wrinkled curve at the corner of
his mouth, where it was buried like a chip swallowed by a
whirlpool. But he said nothing.

Behind the curtain !

A woman is urging her pony so fioroely over the prairie
that tufts of withered grass are spurned upward by his
heels, and still the stinging switch is laid on. Her hands
ai^e clenched on whip and rein as if paralysis had seized
them. Her small white teeth grind like files against each
other — her bloodless lips are pressed over them like fea-
tures turned to stone. Sun, cloud, wind, grass ! Why do
you not unite your latent powers to purge her of the
demon from which she is vainly striving to fly 1

CHAPTER XX.
A MiDKiGHT Errand.

On the evening oi Hit, day in which happened the
events chronicled in the last chapter, as the twilight
thickened over the bleak, stone-scabbed hills, and rank
clotted marshes that surrounded his lonely home, Gorman
O'Neil drew from its shelter, by the side of a low sod
building at the back of his smithy, a rickety, creaking,
jolty old cart — the gaping cracks in its woodwork and the
elongated splits in the spokes looking at him imploringly,
as Dives might have looked toward Lazarus when begging
for "one drop of water."

After propping it on a block of wood, he wrenched oflF
the wheels and began to grease the axles with some rancid
butter which a customer had give' him in lieu of cash
payment. ,

"Yez mustn't be squakin' fur more grase to-night,
me darlint," he muttered, as he plastered the axle with a

A MmNIQHT ERRAND.

149

j>ungent composition which smelt strong enough to propel
the dart without any other aid.

When he had daubed the inside of the wheels to his
satisfaction, he replaced them in high glee.

'* And, be jabers ! " he said, " they slip over the butther
like a gossoon down a slide."

Thus far satisfied, he led out of the stable a beast that
looked a fitting companion for the cart. This animal was
commonly called a mule, and combined, with the diseases
of the horse, the stupidity of the ass. One of the long,
ungainly props that served him for legs had a string-halt,
and, like his master, he was Iblind in one eye. His ribs
stuck out like the leathern creases in Gorman's bellows
when the wind was out, and his brown, prickly hair stood
on end like the fur of a fighting cat.

To-night this beast was in an obstinate mood, and in
vain did his owner try to back him between the shafts of
the cart. He always managed, when thrust back toward
it, to steer his hind quarters just outside the shafts, and at
best he only condescended to place one leg inside. As this
game went on Gorman jerked and fumed, sweat, cursed
and kicked — but all in vain. The beast's dignified ob-
stinacy grew more gravely reproachful with every threat,
and at last the blacksmith gave up in despair.

** Arrah, you ould fool ! " he said, shaking his fist in the
mule's long and serious face. " Ye're as stupid as the
jackass, the father av ye ; but I'll be masther av ye yit, or
ray neem's not Gorman O'Neil."

He led the beast toward a post near the door of his shop,
to which his customers tied their horses, and fastened
him to it ; then, taking the shafts of the cart in his hands,
he drew it forward and hitched it to the mule. This task
successfully performed, he brought out from the smithy a
large rough tarpaulin and flung it into the cart, and then
went into the house to light his pipe and put on his over-
coat. He found his mother sitting near the window in
the twilight, and with one knee clasped between her
hands rocking her body disconsolately to and fro, without
moving the chair.

I.'-

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150

polson's probation.

•' Ah, Gorman, me son ! " she said mournfully, as he
entered. " It's at home ye'd betther stay this noight, or
avil will surely befall ye."

** Shut up yer lip, an' hide yer tooth, ould woman," said
Gorman, impatiently, as he tried to li«{ht his pipe with an
ember. ** How ! hu ! how ! To bleeses wid yer chat-
therin' ; but ye've made me 'burn a howl in me finger."
And he jumped around the room shaking his finger as if a
viper had been clinging to it.

" Oh, wirra, wirra, Gorman 1 " continued the aged Cas-
sandra, after he had calmed down. " But it's worse
than a burnt finger ye'll have if ye go out from home
to-noiglit."

" Oh, go on thin wid you ! " said Gorman, blowing on
his finger and thrusting a large bottle into the pocket of
his great coat at the same time. '* Do yer think its mesilf
as can't look after mesilf '( Just you attind to that foire
to- night, and lave thim as understands their business to
look afther their business." And with this filial and
philosophical address, he left his mother whining her
croaking prophecies as she rocked in dreary undulations in
the chair.

He untied the mule, loosened the reins, mounted into
the cart, and gave the beast a lash with the lines.

'• Git up, you omadhawn ! "

The " omadhawn " jerked up his string-halt leg, and held
it poised in a stiff angle in the air as if fastened there with
a cord. For a time he remained thus, but under pressure
of Gorman's oaths and threats the leg at last dropped
slowly down and the other three shambled forward. At
first he moved very slowly, but as the stift' leg loosened
with exercise he mended his pace and gradually worked up
into a jog-trot ; but Gorman soon pulled him in again — for
what with badger-holes, rocks and sloughs it was a
dangerous place to travel in the thickening night, and
cautiously he threaded his way over the ba.a, gritty hills
and between the sullen, reed-fenced marshes. A silence
like the shadow of death lay over the land. No bird sang,
no insect chirped, and even the very frogs had forgotten to

A MID?JIGHT EIIRAND.

151

croak. Silent were the black clouds above, and silent was
the dumb earth below ; while the trutn|) of the mule's hoofs,
magnified by this awful stillness, sounded in (jiorman's ears
like the fri<^htened heart of nature beating in the black
bosom of the night.

Darkness was descending thick and dismal, and the
smith's heart, never very courageous, began to sink within
him, till he half repented that he had not taken his
mother's advice and stayed at home. But he smelt mis-
chief beforo him, and as the needle moves toward the load-
stone, so he drew toward that. Soon, too, the joltinij of
his cart ceased, and it began to run more smoothly. This
revived him not a little, for he knew that he was on a
well-beaten trail at last, and there was very little danger
of losing his way.

So he jogged easily along through the gathering dark-
ness till they came to the top of the hill leading down into
the river valley, and here Gorman's heart began again to
fail him. Cautiously the mule stepped down the steep
and crooked path, winding between the huge trees, to the
naked branches of which a few yellow leaves yet clung
desperately. Like giant sentries the boles loomed through
the misty darkness, standing in regular order by the side
of the road, and overhead the great boughs stretched to
meet like the hands of two armies of gigantic skeletons
striving to clasp each other. As they passed between
these menacing rows the mule's cautious footsteps, though
falling with a sound no louder than that of raindrops,
seemed to make strange, whispering echoes among the
silent trees.

Suddenly the animal stopped still on a piece of level
ground, and as the echo of his footsteps ceased, intensest
silence fell like a thick mantle over the forest. Gorman's
heart was besting fast ; he could not tind courage to
awaken the echoes by urging the mule along. For a
moment they stood thus, no sound stirring save the occa-
sional falling of a leaf and the frightened breathing of man
and beast.

•' An' be jabers," thought Gorman, "it's well I gave the

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162

POLSONS PROBATION.

for the divil'H own no:»»«

whales a good lathorin' o' graso,
would they have made else."

As he thought thus the mule's ears dropped on its neck,
it raised its mouth on high, and a loud *' Hee-haw !
Hee-haw ! " went echoing through the forest.

Fancy yourself, my reader, sitting silently conning these
lines in the quiet of your home, when suddenly, swift
as an eagle descends on its prey., the thickest darkness
falls around you and your ears are deafened by the crack-
ling of unnumbered thunder-peals — fancy this, and even
then you can form no conception of the terror that seized
Gorman O'Neil at the sound of that mule's startling, if
familiar, cry. He jumped up, grasping the sides of the cart,
his limbs shaking with terror, and his hair on end. For
some time he crouched quaking thus, unable to speak ; but
when his fear had calmed sufficiently to allow his anger to
rise, he vented it timorously on his refractory mule.

"May the divil hamsthring ye for an ould fool!" he
shouted under his breath. " Do yez want to split me ears
wid yer infernal howlin' 1 Pwhy, its ikkerin' yet. Get
along wid ye, ye stiff-legped spalpeen."

As the animal had now recovered from the twitch of
stringhalt which had stayed it for the time, it moved
reluctantly forward in response to his urging.

Without further mishap they reached the bottom of the
hill, and emerging from the woods, passed over the raised
road along the marshy flats and rumbled across the wooden
bridge that spanned the turbid river. Then for a mile or
two they travelled over a rough trail leading along the
valley bottom, and twisting about with the curves of the
river by the side of which it ran.

After journeying for some time along a rutty road, lined
with cluntips of shrub and long, dead grass, a number of
twinkling lights in the distance broke on his view.

" Faith, thim same must be the loights of the Indian
resarve," muttered Gorman, standing up in his cart and
casting his one-eyed glance eagerly over them. " But
where's the two lights that Bearfoot was to hang out as a
signal ? Niver a wink can I see av wan."

A MIDNIfJIlT ERRAND.

15a

For Ronio time ho looked for the two lights in vain, but
as he drew nearer he saw them gleaming like twin stars not
far from the river side. With some difficulty he pulled his
mule ofT the heaten track, and drove over the whispering
grass straight toward them. As they burned larger and
stronger on his sight he saw that one shone through a small,
dirty window, and the other was a lantern hung over a
rude door, made of rough boards and swung on hinges of
deerskin. Bones, chips, bacon-rinds and tea-leaves were
strewn in front of the door, lying as they had been ejected
by the ccupant of the hut.

Ooinian sprang from the cart, and leading the mule over
the slippery rubbish, knocked at the door with on© hand
whilst still holding the bridle with the other.

Within a dog barked fiercely and sprang against the
door with a force that made it rattle. Gorman jumped
back in alarm, whilst a hoarse Indian voice shouted at the
dog, and quietened it. Then the door was opened slowly,
and the Indian face that we saw in the smithy peered
cautiously through.

" Ah, Smokeface ! It is you," he said. " I have got
all things ready you wanted. I have made the people
scared by my stories, and the woman is alone with the
dead. Wait a bit and I will lead you there."

" Thin it's hurryin' ye must be, my hearty, for the baste
is full of ristlessness."

The Indian grunted " Ugh," placed on his head a tall
black hat, put out the light and wrapped a blanket around
him (for tlie night grew chilly), and bidding his dog stay
behind, quietly closed the door.

"Follow me, Smokeface. I will walk."

He placed himself before the mule and glided stealthily
ahead — a strange, semi-civilized figure moving through
the darkness — his head o'ertopped with a tall, shining
European hat, and his feet shod in beaded moccasins ; his
machine-made cottonade clothing swathed in the rough
woollen blanket which had been his forefathers' chief
defence against wind and weather. As he moved in the
darkness some paces ahead, all that was visible of him to

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154

POLSON S PROnATION.

, I

Gorman's crooked eye was fhe wliite hluiiket lifted by the
li^lit wind whicii hud arisen, and thiH he followed aH the
north ward-ateerinff Hailor follows th(^ jM)lar star. They
seemed to he drawing very near to the river, for (iorman
could hear its water lapping and gurgling iit the darkness.
Nothing of it, however, could he see, for they had entered
on a rough road cut out between numberless wands of tall,
bending willows which seemed to sigh and nod in gentle
grief as the night wind stirred their leafless branches. For
some twenty yards or more they passed through these
dark, waving sliadows, and then emerged "nto a smooth-
turfed, irregular-shaped opening, in whicli they beheld a
light gleaming in yellow dimness through a small window
a short distance away.

The Indian stopped, turned around, and motioning to
Gorman to halt, came to the side of the cart, and laying
his brown finger on his hard, thiu lipu, said, in a low
voice :

"This is the place, Smokeface. Make fast your mule to
that tree, and then we will go in together."

" Right yez are," said Clorman. And sliding cautiously
from the cart, he led tha beast to the tree his guide had
pointed out, and there, with trembling hands, he tied it,
and then slipped back to Bearfoot's side.

"Follow me. Come quietly," said the Indian. And
with a cat-like step he glided toward the door.

The hut was built so near the river that one e;id
actually jutted out over the stream. In many places the
rain had washed ofi' the plaster between the logs, and the
light was gler-ming through every hole, so that in the
distance it looked like a black square flecked with faint
stars, whilst amongst them the little window, spotted and
yellow, resembled an old horn-lantern spread out Hat, and
the doorway was covered only by a coarse blanket which
lifted and swayed on the breeze. The Indian, motioning
to Gorman to follow, raised it softly and stepped inside.

It was a mean, dismal-looking place — a fit habitation
for bats and lizards, rather than a human dwelling-place.
From the rough logs which composed the wall the bark

;)y the

t,H t\w

They

orinun

utrrt'd
of tall,
gentle
*. For
, these
month -
^held a
iviudow

iiing to
I laying
1 a low

mule to

lutiously
ide had
tied it,

A MIDNIGHT EllRAND.

155

had hern stripped in placpii, whilst in otiirrs it clung
loosely. The «ide8 wen* hlotchcd hy clunipH of poisonous
fungus, spatterrd hen* and tlirre like patches of loathsome
spawn. The straw which covered the roof was hhick with
smoke and age ; and the hnre, Mack farth that made up
the floor was relieved only by tufts of dry grass in the
corners, which had been allowed to grow and wither there.
On the river side the water had washed away the earth
from brneath the wall, leaving an ngly giiping crevice,
through which they could see the yellow river flecked hy
great round patches of hurrying foam swirling \)elow ; for
there was a whirlpool in that spot, and its choking gurgle
.sounded on their ears like the rattle in the throat of a
drowning man. Tlie whole scene was rendered doubly
dismal by the flickering, uncertain light which came from
a small tire of sticks burning in the middle of the floor.

But, though all these things were weird and horrifying
to look upon, far more saddtning was the sight of the
human forms that dreary place contained. On one side
of the hut. stretched on a bed of willows and withered
leaves, lay the figure of an Indian huntsman cold in death.
He was dressed in all the panoply of the chase and war.
His cheek and nose and chin were dashed with glowing
vermilion spots. Over his bare breast mystical figures had
been wrought in spots of blue, and still over his left arm
was the blanket held like a shield, and his right hand yet
grasped the tomahawk, whilst his rifle was lying by his
side. From his knees to his feet ran the jagged yet
graceful fringes of his buckskin leggings ; and his brightly
beaded moccasins glimmered in the firelight in loany-
tinted glows.

His was a noble, soulless flgure lying there surrounded
by his instruments of war and the pots and pans which
were destined to go with him to the grave, to serve him
on his long, last journey to the land of the hereafter.
By his side a woman was seated on the ground, her
elbows resting on her knees, and with face buried in
her hands. Her long, coarse black hair lay in loose
strands over her shoulders, and partly concealed the hands

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16a

POI.SON .S I'KOHATHiN.

' I

c]a«pi»(l over Iht fnct. TTndor tiio rftj(;,«d atid j^nudy colored
(in>sH licr loiiM frotiK* Mhoolc in painful (l<>op drawn nA)n,
interHpiTHi'd liy HnatrheH of a inoun.ful dirge which,
roughly l.anHlaU'd, ran :

*' In thn morn whon IruvoR won' falling
iloMiimunl from tlitt rliiiNo tl'^y bon* him,
With hill gun urn I kniv(>H and v^uaponn
Ijyin>( ull iinuHcd arotnid him.
And tli<< Mun that Mhonr upoti tli«<-n
Then within th«> Idack floiidH hid hi?u,
M<idn the nky to woop and nnninur
Foi- till' It'll luavr wh«> had tailrn :
And till' j^niMH thry trod lM«n«'jith lh«>m
'I'o thif n>ourn«r« Hudly whispi^nMl :
' ll(< no moru will tread ahovn titi,
\lv no more will ru8t upon uh,'
To tlu) land of g..oHt8 ttioy lM)r«) him
To thu hunting-groundd uf HhadowH."

How much longer these sadly br-jken linos and thfj sobs
that rhyi ted th»Mn might have continued, it were hard to
say ; but at this point Bearfoot, who Lad grown tired of
waiting', came -joftly forward and touched her lightly.
So deeply locked in her grief was the mouriicr, that she
hoard hiui not nor felt his touch, but till continued —

•• When th(! sno^v lies thick above you,
In tho moons of frost before uh,
I will come to yon, my loved one."

By a wearied diminuendo her sobs had gradually worn
down to thf; very softest of sighs, and her voice had
become little more than a whisper. Probably she would
soon have ceased altogether, but Bearfoot, rudely impatient,
would not wait. Grasping her shoulder he shook her
roughly. Like a black slumberous cloud which suddenly
opons and darts out flashes of tire, that woman's hands
dropped from her face, and she sprang to her feet sweep-
ing the wild coarse hair from her features. With black
eyes flashing she turned on the Sioux, who cautiously
retreated i few paces toward the wall of the hut.

" Go away !" she screamed in the Indian dialect, as she

till

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A MlDNKiilT KUIt\ND.

157

:)1ortd

nobs,
which,

the sobs
hard to
tired of
lightly.
,liat she

^esticuUtml wildly. " You touch hia body and I will kill
you kill you lik«i this."

And Hnatcliiii^ a knifn from thn dead bravn'.i l)olt iibe
Ktabbod viciouHly through tlii) air.

" Ho <|uiet, N(|uaw," Haid Itearfoot, holding up liiMnrtn in
alarm. ** Nobody will hurt you or touch hira. I have
just brought with mn a white medioino-mati who will oure
you of all your sorrows, and make you dance with joy."
A shadu of doubt darkened the woman's sharp, shrivelled
features and her tingurs tightened suspiciously on the haft
of the knife.

" You lie," she said ; " no white nmn or red can cure me
of my grief, for they cannot bring hitn to life again."
And she pointed with the knife to the noble figure lying
so calmly behind her.

*' No. But he can give you that to drink that will
make you as happy as though he were alive."

During the foregoing dialogue Ooruian O'Neil had been
standing — a territied spectator and mystified auditor —
against the blanketed doorway ; but at a signal from
ikarfoot ho stepped forward into the dim light. The
sight of his face seemed to reassure the suspicious squaw,
for the knife soon dropped idly from her hand, and with
reverent awe she gazed on his white sightless eye -whilst
its naked fellow was regarding her with frightened
curiosity around the bridge of his nose.

To her untutored mind this man seemed like one marked
by the gods for their service, and that white-clouded eye
was a visible token of the high honor wherewith they had
crowned him. This distinguished him from other men ;
this marked him as one deep skilled in the mysteries which
only the faithful know. Those black smithy marks on
his hands and face seemed also, in her credulous eyes, to
be further tokens of his high calling. Bearfoot noted
carefully the expression on her face as it changed from
suspicion to belief.

" Do you believe now that the white man can drown
your grief?" he asked. "If not, wait e^while and you
shall yee more,"

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158

roLMON S rKOUATlON.

I I

Thnn tiiniitig to Onniinii Iia »hU\ in KriKlUh :

"Now, SinokAfAcn, •liow h««r our of your whitr nmnt
triokR to coMviiu'i^ hi»r."

" Armli ! liut juat yo wnit a minit, ah' Oi'll icAre tho
divil out liv h«r."

And (toriiian, who IukI cornn fully pri'pared to uHioiind
if nm'osHAry, ilrt^w from IiIn coat pockot a fi^roat Karpiuit
tire-craok(M', and laid it lUMitly on thn ground with lK)dy
riiflltMl into fi^rot^iotiN curJM and nock niali^natitly curved,
'I Ikmi, !i){htin^ a fuH<>, \\n Hwun^ itH MpluttrriuK hulhoun
h«!ad thren tinioH around in the air, tnuttorin^ thin (tu the
■quaw) inystoriuuH incantation :

'• ShilI«'laKl>'« <in' uplinthorn wint flyln* through th" ilr
Whin wu BluughU'U'd tho OtMingetnvn at DuiinybnMjk Fair."

TTe brnt and touched thr> norpent with the light. Tm
njftd lately it leapt forward in a sinuous f^leani of tire.
Swiftly round the hut went tho curving); terror — to the
end, then hack ajfain toward the terrified aquaw. Hhe
Hcr'*an)ed, and fled with hands heneec^hingly uplifted to-
ward Oortnan. Then it n>ountod tho leafy litter on which
the dead man was laid, and quickly its gloaminp; coils
traversed the unconscious bo<lv. Swift fron» tho tattooed
breast, down the frill adorned lej^s and over tho beaded
moccasins it j^lowed, then moved a;;ain toward tho gaping
crevice which showed tho foam on the gleaming water, and
plunging through this like a streak of curling light, it
disappeared with a hiss in tho gurgling whirlpool below.
With terrified eyes the woman watched it pass away;
then turning, she knelt at (iorman's feet.

*' Ah ! " said Rearfoot, with his cunning smile, "you
believe in the white man now. Drink that which he will
give you, and no sadness shall touch you for many moons."
Then turning to Oorraan — "Give her the brandy, Smoke-
face."

O'Neil motioned the woman to rise up, and pointed to a
broken cup lying on the floor. She went, and bringing it
over held it out before him. He took a flask of brandy
from his pocket, filled the cup as full as the broken side

A MIDNICJUT EUHAND.

l.nf)

woiilii allow, And thon with An imprriniii gesture and
A iioi«w of hJN Tookcd t*yv, hiulo ln-r drink it.

Slift hi'HJtiiti'd for li tiini) an if Ntill in doubt. TIiaii curl-
mity, iniit^U'd with fiMir, ron(|U(M'«'d h(*r MUNpioionii. Ai
tho iiurnin>{ draught i*o(»r<'h«'d hrr throat, h«r t«yo« watrr««d
and th(i cup ciroppcd from her convuUivi* hands.

Oidy for a inoiiM'ht or two did thfuo mi^un of HuffArin^
laNt, and thon i\w viYfct of th« litpior on that Mava^(^ mind
boirar) to h*" Been. Shu Mtoopod and pickiMi up the cup,
and with iilav**rin);; lips and wild Ntaring t*yfn, lit'ld it out
iniplorinijiy for more, hut (•orman nhook hin head. Then,
a^ain, nIki knelt at liin fufit, and in her wild Indian tongue
heMought him for just "one little drop."

"No," interposed Hearfoot. "The white man cannot
spare hin ntedicine for nothing; but if you will lot uh take
away that body with uh that we may make it ready for
the happy hujiting-grounds, he will yet, perhaps, give you
a little more."

"Take it," she Boreatned ; "take anything; but let me
taste aj»ain the fire water — the lire-water." And as she
held the cup eagerly al)ovo her head, Ciorman poured into
it a little more of the shining li({uor. Bhe drained it at
one gulp and again held it out for more.

" No, squaw," said Bearfoot ; " no more now. But if
you will be quiet till we have changed your husband's
clothes, you shall drink again."

" Be quick, then," she cried. " Be quick, and I will help
you."

An ordinary person would have been horrified by the
woman's wild and fiercely thirsty expression. The fiery
li(juid thrilled every nerve of her savage, unrestrained
being. Her red, inflamed eyes glared like fiery sands in a
land where no rain ever falls, and as she reeled in drunken
ronfuaion her black hair fell in dusky shades around her,
and her lean hands clenched till the lengthy, untrimmed
nails cut red semicircles in her palms. All human feeling
had vanished for the time from her being, and all the
wild, savage brutality of her nature glared before thera ;
but still those two men — the soul of one calloused by years

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1 1

160

POLSONS PROBATION.

of intrigue and f^spionage, and the ether cast by nature
in a flinty mould— stood unmored. Aftar watching her
with grim amusement for a few seconds, Bearfoot shrugged
his shoulders contemptuously, and turning to his skinny-
eyed companion, said :

" Smokoface, go and get the clothes, and I will make
ready the water for washing him."

" Faix, an' Oi'm thir.«kin* it's gettin' toime we was at it,"
said Gorman. And lifting the blanket he went out.

Bearfoot took up a zinc pail that had been lying on the
floor, and to the handle of which a rope was attached, and
carrying it to the river end of the hut, cast it through the
fjaping crevice into the yellow, foaming whirlpool below.
The water swallowed it with an angry gulp, and the .rope
jerked on his arm as if a salmon had bitten ; but he
wrenched out the pail, and with much slopping landed it
about half full on the floor of the hut. At the same
moment Gorman re-entered with a bundle, done up in
brown paper, under his arm.

The woman, after vainly trying to walk, had sunk — a
heap of gaudy rags and distorted humanity — on the earth,
close to the dead man's head, making at once an interest-
ing picture and horrifying contrast. ^'le expression of
the dead, brave and noble ; that of the living, degraded
and brutalized ; the panoply of the corpse, calm and
stately ; the rags that clothed the animate beingj quivering
in sympathy with her quaking frame.

But little heed took the villains of the mournful effect
of their malicious cunning. Bearfoot, with ruthless sacri-
lege, took one of the pans from the dead man's side, and
after pouring a little of the yellow river-water into it,
placed it over the feeble fire, while his companion, without
fear or compunction, began to strip the dead. But the
woman no sooner saw him begin his ghoulish work than
she roused herself from her stupor, and with screams,
gestures, and wild Indian ejaculations, essayed to rise.
Bearfoot sprang toward her and thrust her back.

" Ugh, squaw ! Ugh ! " he grunted. " Keep still or the
modicine man will give you no more tire-water."

A MIDNIGHT ERRAND.

161

" Ah, the fire-water 1 I forgot," she mumbled, falling
meekly back to her old .position. "Give me tire-water
now, white man, and I will lie very still."

Her head wagged stupidly as she asked this, and though
Gorman did not understand the language, he recognized
the appeal, and thinking to quiet her he took up the cup
and again the red, dead-looking liquid flowed. He handed
her the cup, and with an eager, shaking hand she lifted it
to her lips. After eagerly drinking its contents her eyes
closed, and she sank back in a dazed stupor against the
corpse.

And then the ghouls, without one touch of reverence,
continued their sacrilegious work. The fitful shadows
played over them, but struck them not. The firelight
faintly flashed and crackled, but did not arise to wither
and consume them. The river gurgled angrily and beat
the shore with fierce and foaming waves, but did not rush
from its channel to overwhelm and sweep them away.
God, how canst Thou be passive when looking on deeds
like these 1

They plucked the dark plumes from his hair, and left
them to float hither and thither on the draught. Some
clung to the spawn-patched wall, some rolled over the
floor, and others drifted down to the river and floated
away on its yellow tide or were sucked into its remorseless
gulf ; and with ruthless hands they clipped oft' his long,
black locks and cast them on the glowing fire, wher^ they
smoked, hissed and curled together in a burning wave like,
a mass of fiery serpents clinging together, yet each striving
to free itself from the other.

Then they stripped him of his fine attire, and loosening
the parcel which Smokeface had brought in, they shook
out the diflerent parts of a mean suit of white man's
working- clothes, and rolling him about as though he had
been but metal or wood, barbarously clad him in these ;
but before they placed the clothing on they took from the
tire the water which the Indian had placed there to warm,
and dipping into it a rag, washed the red war-paint from
his face and hands and breast. Soon they so transformed it
U

iJSl

162

POLSON S PROBATION.

1 1

M M

ji., vi

by tlieir ghoulish skill, that, where they had found the
figure of a noble brave well fitted to honor the halls of the
dead, they left a cropped, deformed, wizened thini,', shrunk
inside ill-fitting clothes, from which the ^ ory worms might
recoil.

When their task of foul transfiguration was completed,
they tied the dead man's apparel in a bundle, and after
weighting it with a stone, cast it through the > awning
crevice into the hungry jaws of the swirling pool to be
swallowed with an angry snap.

The splash aroused the squaw, and emerging with an
effort from the ragged bundle into which she had shrunk,
she developed into human form in time to see one man
seizing the corpse's heels, and the other grasping the
shoulders.

" Stop ! " she screamed, pointing a lean finger at them
and vainly attempting to. rise. "Leave him alone, or I
will kill you. Rise, Wanomin ! rise and strike them, or
they will throw you into the water."

Bearfoot dropped the heels he had seized, and at the
same time motioning to Gorman to produce the liquor,
shouted out :

" Be still, squaw, I tell you again ; and you shall have
as much fire-water as you can drink. But listen before
you have it and hear what I say. When to-morrow they
ask you about him " (he pointed to the corpse), "say that
an evil spirit came out of the water and dragged him
• down through there." And he pointed significantly to the
gap through which the gleaming whirlpool could be seen
wheeling its restless rounds. The squaw, whose attention
was now entirely diverted by the bottle which Gorman
held so alluringly before her, wagged her head, and hastily
replied :

*' Yes, yes ; I will tell them all you say, but give it to
me, medicine-man — give it to me." And pouncing out
greedily, with her hand she caught the bottle and snatched
it from his grasp.

"Arrah! you grady ould baste," he said; " yez can
kape it, for it's a small item ye can foind inside, Oi'U

A MIDNIGHT ERRAND.

163

re it to
out
itched

tz can
Oi'll

assure ye av that. And now, me bhoy," he added, " let us
haul out the corpse while the ould lady's swiggin' the
whiskey."

Bearfoot grunted assent, and each once more seized an
end of the body, and so they bore it through the blan-
keted doorway. When they had deposited their ghastly
burden in the cart they heard wild screams in the hut,
and running back to the window, looked through. The
squaw, frenzied by her last drink, had crept to the fire,
and screaming a hideous war-song, wildly swept the
empty bottle backward and forward through the embers
scattering them in a glowing circle around her. Some
dropped through the gaping crevice, and expired with
sharp hisses in the whirlpool. Others lay glowing on the
floor, and a few had fallen on the litter on which the dead
man had lain. The dry matter of which the bed was com-
posed caught the tire at once and began to smoke in half
a dozen places, and then the smoke fl!ashed into as
many jets of fla.ne. The spectators at the window looked
at each other with faces blanched with terror. For a
moment they stared thus, and neither spoke a word ; then
Gorman wrung his hands in whining lamentation :

" Oh, wirra, wirra-ra ! But it's all in a bleeze ; and the
ould squaw is soaked wid whiskey — she'll burn like a
torch. Pwhativer shall we do ? "

Bearfoot, though equally terrified, had more presence of
mind, and was not long in resolving how to act.

"Let us go in and pull her out, and leave her here," he
said. " And then let us get away fast, fast. It will take
those damp old logs some time to burn so that the blaze
can be seen in such a place as this, and we can get away
safe. Oome, let us pull her out."

They rushed into the burning room, seized the screaming
squaw where she sat by the scattered fire, and thrusting a
cloth into her mouth to drown her screams, dragged her
— kicking, scratching and biting — from the hut. A cloud
of fire and smoke pursued them through the door ; but
heedless of smoke behind or darkness before, they dragged
her in ci'uel mercy over the rough and stony ground to a
spot of bare earth, and there they left her.

'■| I

itf,

ll'i: ! II

164

rOLSON'S PBOHATION.

11^

Then, haedless of her maniacal gibbering, they loosened
the nmie, jumped into the cart beside the corpse, and
trotted along the rough road between the bending willows.
Looking back they could see the red flames flashing
through the window and pouring a lurid light through
every chink in the perforated walls, and could hear the
sharp crackling of the fire mingling with the dull roar of
the water ; but soon a sharp turn in the road hid it from
their view, and they proceeded at a sharp pace toward
Bearfoot's hut.

When Gorman had deposited his brother ghoul at his
own low homestead, he went on his way encompassed by
an army of terrors. By his side lay the ghastly ill-clad
corpse, and as it jolted with dull thumps on the bottom of
the cart, it sounded like a muffled hammer vengefully beat-
ing on his own terrified brain. The heavy clouds frowned
sullenly above him, and beneath the swirling grass hissed
in the rising breeze, as though each blade were a ser-
pent's tongue. The white stars, too, that sometimes darted
lances of light through rifts in the sky, glared fiercely
at him as one who had dared to do so foul a thing in
their sight. When he rumbled over the bridge the wheels
seemed to raise a muttered thunder in the damp and heavy
planks ; and below, the sullen and turbid stream, moved
by the wind, wrinkled into one far-stretching frown of
angered majesty as that tumbril of the night passed over
it. As he ascended the hill, the trees on either side tossed
their stern and naked heads as though they would fall
upon and 'ish him.

Every i, every star, every cloud, every drop of water,
every blj vS of grass seemed to-night to have found a voice
and to bo calling to him, " Go back ! go back ! " But the
spirit of evil within was stronger than the power of nature
without, and though a dew which was not of the night lay
like new thawed hail upon his brow, and though his hands
were trembling to the beating of his heart, that spirit still
urged him on his way.

The top of the hill was reached, and the terror of trees
was succeeded by the terror of clouds, under the frowning

A MIDNIGHT EH RAND.

165

canopy of which he sneaked guiltily along toward his
destination. Not by the slimy marshes and long, whis-
pering reeds does he go i,o-night not there, though the
stagnant depths would have hidden his ghastly burden for-
ever, and the frogs would have sung their nightly dirges
over it— still not there did he go. But on the edge
of a deep ravine he found a shallow burying-place, with
the new-turned soil lying moist and fresh around it ; and
there, too, lay the shovel and pick just as the workman
had left them ready for the hand, as if some dark fiend
with which he was in league had prepared all things thus
for this man's evil purpose.

Then with trembling hands he took his lifeless human
freight by the heels and pulled it rudely out of the cart.
It fell with a dull thump on the earth and rolled over on
its back as if instinct with life. As the guilt-struck Gor-
man started back, he saw, even in the darkness, the rough,
calm face looking up to the clouds as if appealing to them
for revenge.^ But only for a moment was it thus ; for the
evil spirit urged on the ghoul to his ghastly work, and
rolling the body over and over like a log, he dropped it at
last into its shallow resting-place. It fell upon its side
with one arm stretching stiffly upward.

Gorman took up the shovel, and the pebbles and sand
pattered on the rough clothing, and sealed up the rude,
expressive face. The ridges in the tiousers were filled,
and the earth rose higher above him, till only the thumb of
that outstretched hand peeped through ; and thus in a rude,
half-kenneled state he left him.

The work was done and the horrors again encompassed
him. The wind that howled over the edge of that bleak
ravine drove the ghoul in terror homeward, and even the
sullen marshes were shuddering as he passed by them. The
black depths were stirred by the wind from their very
foundations, and the green waves on the surface writhed
like snakes in conflict around him.

Homeward with face blanched with horror, with nerves
tingling with fear, he went, and entered his humble abode
just as the day had begun to dawn.

!i?

n
i

iiii
I'

166

polson's probation.

I lis incther sat still whore he had Uift her on the previous
ni^ht, 'jut the angtiishcd rocking was ended now. Calmly
she 'iat with neck outstretched, and one stitf, lean Hnger
pointing toward her son. The terrible stillness gave
(jlornian a voice.

" Mother, mother ! Are ye slapin', or what ails ye ? "

But no answer canie, though the finger continued to
point, and the neck was still stretched forward. H<? went
nearer.

Tlie cold light of dawn stealing through the window
just touched the grey elf-locks that fell over her face, and
lighted faintly the immutable and wrinkled features, ller
eyes were covered with a film, and her lip was lifted in
a frozen arch, revealing in hideous glitter her one long,
wolfish fang. Gorman touched the skinny hand out-
stretched toward him. The touch pierced his finger like
an icicle, and sent a frosty thrill through his frame. With
terrible force the fact came home to hirn — she was dead.

The cup of his terror was filled to overflowing, and
with a vxy of fear and anguish, he fell on the floor in a
swoon.

!l'.-

CHAPTER XXI.

The Mad Squaw.

On that same cold autumn morning on the Indian
reserve the smoke ascended from the family fires, and the
dogs barked to greet the day. Little brown-skinned
children huddled around the flames, and the women went
forth to work and the men to hunt.

But what is that darker and wider smoke that is wafted
toward us from the river side — from the spot where the
home of brave Unabica, who is dead, used to stand ?

" Let us go and see," they said.

They found a heap of smouldering ruins on the water's
edge, and as it spluttered und crackled the ashes heaved
with the pressure of the heat, and burning lumps fell into

THE MAI) SQUAW.

167

the river, some to ho hissed into death in the whirlpool,
and others to float us black particles down the turbid
waters.

And near that fuiniii;; inass— on a bare black spot of
earth around which the tire had singed — they found a
shivering human form, with the gay, many-colored rags mi
which she was clothed trembling around her in the morn
ing bree/.o like a peacock's ruiH(«d plumes when the wind
passes over them.

" It is Laughing-wind, IJnatica's squaw," said one of the
assembled crowd. '* liut — but — " lie tinished the sent-
ence by pointing to her face.

Yes, a sad change had come over it. But a few days
ago it had been (though delicate) girlish, buoyant and
laughing, darting a ray of sunshine on every heart it met.
And now it was so aged and repulsive — the merry eyes
bloodshot, Wvsak and watery, the mouth moving in mean-
ingless, incessant chatter.

" She has gone mad, I think," said one. *' But let us
ask her what she knows about the fire."

As they approached her she waved her hands toward
the smoking ruin and screamed shrilly :

" Too late ! too late ! He is gone. They have taken
him."

"Yes," ran the murmur among the crowd, "she means
that brave Unatica has gone up in the tire to Gitche-
Manito to hunt for him among the clouds and stars.
Happy is he ! "

Thus satisfied as to Unatica's fate they turned again to
the wretched squaw, and vainly endeavored to extract
from her some information regarding the origin of the
tire. In return to their eagei (nrestions she only gabbled
unintelligible sentences, cuddled closer in her rags, and
glared at them tiercely through the black strands of her
disarranged hair.

Bearfoot, who had joined the crowd, leaned with his
hands on the muzzle of his rifle, and regarded her with an
air of hypocritical sadness.

" I fear that we can learn nothing from her," he said

ins

POI.SON S rUOHATION.

with a si^'h and a mournful shako of tho head ; " and an
wo cau do nothing wo nii^ht as woll ^o awuy. [ am
going over the river to the liend-arm creek to hunt for
deer."

He spoke the last sentonce very dietinctly ; hut all wore
too sadly inipressed hy the awful ovidonce of ihe frailty of
human reason before them to heed his words, and he went
on his way alone.

Her relatives 'tok sac 'sion of the unhappy squaw,
and vainly ende*. rtXNi b) all meanH in their power to
restore her to her /Smhi" senses. That night of suffering
and debauch had 8^ .ken * *» throne of reason so that it
never could be replaced.

Hereafter a superstitious awe surrounded her. When
she limped from house to house, as was henceforth her
custom, mothers who saw her approaching would turn to
their noisy children, and, with finger on lip and whisper
raised high, would say :

" Hush ! Here comes the mad squaw."

Then the noise of childish merriment ceased as by a
spell ; and, while they huddled together in a corner, their
little, black bead-like eyes looked fearfully toward the
door through which the human mystery must enter. As
the bent form — with long hair hanging like a veil over
her face, and bony hand cleaving to a walking-stick —
approached the house, the mother with trembling hands
spread out her little store, and respectfully bade the mad
woman rest and eat.

And then, in awe-struck tones, she plied her weird guest
with questions as to the coming years, her own destiny,
and the future lives of her children, and received strange
enigmatical replies, of which, though she knew not the
meaning, she felt the awful import ; ar d afterward whis-
pered it accordingly. And when this western witch had
finished her errand of mystery there she muttered a bless-
ing or a curse upon the house, and then hobbled on her
way to carry her superstitious awe into another home.

But this might not be continued long, for with the
waning days the sibyl's form grew weaker, and in her

THE DEEU IIITNT.

1G9

(I as

b for

were
ty of
went

ijuaw,
er to
Fering
hat it

When
,h her
urn to
hisper

myntic Htrnlls hIio l<>)in<(l iiioro heavily on li<>r Htick.
SoMxttinies Ktran^o titn would Hhako her withrnul frame,
and thon, CHHtiiig down hor stick, she would fall at the'
feet of her friends, and clasping their knees in an agony of
want implore them wildly —

*' Fire-water ! Fire-water ! Give me fire-water, or T
shall die."

But no one would fultll for her that wild request ; and
when the agony was over she would sit for hours on the
floor and moan and mumble strange things to herself.
And though much that she said was meaningless or unin-
tolligihle, at one verse she sang more often than ^/.r
other, h(M' friends would sadly shake their heads, ff^r vt)
they felt that it contained a mournful and pathetic 'Mth ;

" Wlien th«> Hiiow lies thick ahovo you,
In the mooiiH of frost Ix'foro uh,
I will coiMu to you, my husltiiiiil ;
1 will meet you, my heloved."

i by a

p, their

•d the

1 over

tick —

hands

e mad

guest
jbtiny,
brange
>t the

whis-
jhhad

bless-
)n her

[h the
In her

CHAPTER XXII.
The Deer Hunt.

On the afternoon of the day after Gorman O'Neil's
night adventure, Mr. Dysart's pupils went on their pro-
jected hunt for the deer in the valley. Mr. Longstreet
chattered an incessant stream of hunting talk, and Mr.
Fane, squinting do>/n his shining rifle-barrel, shrugged his
shoulders till they rubbed against the back of his skull,
and said :

" If I don't pop 'em every time with this, I'll give up
hunting and go into the millinery business."

Fred Poison said nothing, but went silently on his way
to explore in solitude the depths of the Bend-arm creek.

Though usually a keen sportsman, to-day he took little
delight in it. His mind was troubled with a foreboding
of disaster he strove in vain to define. Nor was this all

I 1

*v*

170

P0L80N H PnOBATION.

Tito aitontioti paid by SilaK I'ancrack to Alice Cra^s whm a
matter of txitorioty, and Npccuilat ioiiH <im to tlunr iiiurria^o
in the early future w(*ru rift). TIioho ttpttculatioiiH, hn
know, might be entirely banolefiH ; but the lover UwuIIh in
HO geiibitivH an atnioMphoro that thu vory Htirrinj^ of tho
wind is oftf^n 8utrK;i(Mit to heighten his pa8Hion and
augment IiIh tniHory. Ah b'red's hopj^s |(n'w w«Mikor his
love grew stronger, and he began to ask hiniHelf whether
he had acted rightly in abandoning his courtnliip on mere
suppositions.

The passion, which satiety would probably have be-
numbed into weariness, struck its roots and flourished in
the rock which seemed to have risen like a barrier betwtien
them ; and as the dry heaves which strewed the banks of
Bend-arm creek crackhjd beneath his tread on that cold
autumn day, Fred Poison mentally resolved that coniH
what might he would try once more to win the heart of
her he loved so well.

Such a mood and such thoughts did not naturally tend
to make him very ah^'t in his hunting that day. lie saw
no sign of deer or bear. A few squirrels played among
the trees, and a nimble rabbit flitted sometimes across his
path ; but of these he took no heed. Only once did he
discharge his rifle that day, and that was when a pheasant,
or tree-partridge, flew swiftly through the air above his
head. He fired with hasty aim, and the bullet went up
and the bird went on.

" So that is all," said one who had listened. " But that
is enough." And the completing sentence slipped through
the jaws of a sinister smile. But softly though it was
spuken it did not die ; the waves of air that it set in
motion stretched out in far-reaching pulsation, and some
of these, perhaps, stole imperceptibly through Fred
Poison's ears and woke a melancholy music on the harp-
strings of his soul. For however high may have been his
resolve as he started out that day, when he marched
homeward under the naked and sighing trees, and over
the sere and withered plain, a gloomy sadness pervaded
him, of which, though he could guess not its origin, he
strove in vain to free himself.

UNcr.K Nathan's excitement.

171

Mr. Tjonjfutroot and Mr. Fimn arrived honw that nij^ht
in ^nM\t wriith. Ni»illi«»r Hi;;ht, imr tmck, nor Hign of d«wr
or any otlu*r ^ainc had thry himmi in all a lon^ aftornoon'a
wanii«!ring ; out at tho mouth of tho |{<>nd arm crM*>k th«y
had mot a man who dwt>lt in th<i valley, and h«i had told
them that no door had heen nmrn in that piirt for )oarH.
So th«*y hoapwd oxocrations on <Jorn»an (>'N«il, and, tinui
and footsore, wont to bed.

CHAPTER XKlll.

Uncle Nathan's Excitkmknt.

Dl8(!0VKI{Y !

Poet, welling* with tho muBic of now spring harmony I
Philosopher, lal>oring with the birth of great ideas ! Orator,
with the word-tire (lashing from thy lips ! fnventor, with
the one thing yet needful dawning on thy brain ! Ex-
plorer, with the streams and fruitage of the now-discovrred
country breaking on thine eyes! Have ye not all found
your nerves tingling and your hearts throbbing in the birth-
throes of glorious discovery 1 If so, please excuse poor
Uncle. >

On the day after the fruitless deer-hunt — i.e., Sunday —
Uncle Nathan, who had been out herding cattle, burst
into the Dysart farm-house in a very nervous and distorted
state. Excitement shot forth from every pore and knuckle
and hair of his restless fiame. His sharp, sandy goatee
bristled with it ; the wrinkles in his brow were puckered
into shining hills by it ; the cold, white point on the end
of his sharp nose gleamed with it ; his lengthy tingers
curled and twirled with it; his eyes snapped, and h's
mouth opened in geometrical shapes with it. Over the
frame of Uncle Nathan excitement was king.

"Say, some o' you fellers," he shouted, rushing in before

the door was properly opened,
found it."

come along of me. I've

172

|f>r.MON'H PUOnATloK.

Thn mnti W(«ri* lyii)^ nil utoiiitd tlip room, hoiiki on tlin
LwiicIk^n, moiim* on tliu tal»lrN, otliciM on tlin floor. M<mt of
th«m, I am worry to miy, wi ro imikii^imI (rt^^iirdloMN of tliti
Mnotity of th<) <i>^y) i*^ iiiiokitiK toluKco uiid r«>u(liiii{
novbli ; hut nvon tlicn* tliiN carnlcmi proCuiuitioii wun
loavimi^d hy a frw iiion* NMriouH mindtul oocm who Htudit'd
thn lUMo, or ponnl ovttr tho Moriiiomi of Tiihria^o and
Hpurj;iM)n.

On huurih); Unclo'H ontrancn nnd nxdumation, HiWIo
rradiM-H, novtd rttadnra and Htnokori lifted th»«ir licadH
■imultunuouHly and I(K)1<(mI toward liiiu, for, uh a common
l)Utt for their jeHtH and prankH, th«y Moldom failed to ex*
tract from liim Homn amuHemtMit.

••Hay, UncU', what's u|)'{" askod one. "You look Home-
tiling like a cHt in a liino kiln."

"Oh, Uncle'H all riKht," drawled another. ••He stood
out with a wire down hin hack in the lasl thunder-Htorm,
and has juHt come in to tell us something about the
we»itlu«r, ain't yer, Uncle I"

•'What is it you've found anyway, Uncle?" queried
one of the nmokers.

Uncle replied hy seeminj^ly thru.sting his long neck
down into the depths of his stomach, and jerking his
thum^ over his shoulder —

••Just some o' you fellers come along and find out."

" What say, J^ill V said tho smoker, turning to a brother
of the pipe who lay beside him, •'if we gae wi' him.
We've got naethin' else to dae ; and we might as well see
what the auld fool has on his brain, as lie here."

•• All right," said Bill, rising and knocking the ashes out
of his pipe; ••come along. Goodness knows we are l)a(l
enough in want of some excitement to stir us up, or we
shall soon he all as stupid as a pack of sick sheep." And
with this graceful speech he and his companion followed
Uncle into the barnyard.

•• Say, boys," he said, suddenly spinning around toward
them, and at the same time see-sawing his two hands
through the air, •' git a mool and kyart."

UNCLE NATHAN'b KX( iTEMKNT.

173

[) the
mt of
f thi)

WliM

udit'il
I uikI

lit'iids
iiinion
to ex-

HOinu-

stood
Btoriii,
Lit i\w

k
n^ Ida

J nof

j»rother
b' him.
L'ell see

lies out
ire bud
or wo
And
>llowed

Itoward
hands

"A tncy uln and o»p-rot," nftld MoOriith, » flootohman.
••Ami what arm yo wantinn wi' that, toll ml"

" l>ori<'h<«r frut y<<rN«df/' Naid (7nul«, jerking hU thumb
into hid ^oatu«} ; "hut |{it Noiiitithi^n'."

*' All ri^ht. But wn won't hotlmr ahout a nu^wl," laid
Hill, ait KngliNhrnan ; "we don't want to ho kicked into
thMidi^o or ohowt'd into diMh ra^i ; liut wn'll ^ut thu old
l)lind pony .ind tlm littU* cart."

That h«^ n«*«tdod a vohicdn to convoy hi« diiirovery tended
not a little to iMM^hten tli«^ ourionity of the two num. " llo
niUHt have found a dead hear or hull'alo, or perhapH tho
Hkeleton of some antediluvian monster, Hince ho needn a
\m\nt of l)urden to draw it home," they thought. And to
thinking, they hitched the (>ony to the cart in haHty
ea^^erneHH.

Whilst they were doing so, Uncle, in his impatience,
sou;{ht r«'liof hy performing a variety of acrobatic exhibi"
tions. He would fold hiH arms, draw his form up straight,
pucker his brow, purse his lips and stand for a monunit at
grave as a lloman father ; and in the next, he would Hing
iiis arms abroad as if he wnc! trying to cast tlxMu away
altogether. At the same time ho would twist arr)und hit
neck till his goatee almost swept over his spine, whilst his
wiry ting(^rs twirled in unnumbered shapes and ceaselesi
ntotion; then his head would shoot up and his arms ro-fold
as ho froze into a statue of austerity again.

Hut the cart was soon ready, and they told him to jump
in ; but he, ever suspicious of tricks, eyed tho conveyance
with his head on one side, and said he would walk ahead
and show them the way.

" Oh, but we shall want to trot," they said.

" Wal, I gueti? I can keep about even with that thing,
anyway."

" All right ; do as you please. Jump in, Sandie."

So Uncle, swingiu j a ponderous pair of top boots, walked
before ; but he was not allowed to proceed far in peace.
They set the pony on the trot, and in spite of Uncle'a
boast, and notwithstanding the most extraordinary exer
tions, he soon tell to the rear.

' |i^

174

POLSON S PUOIUTION.

U-

As he saw them ))a8sing he clutched frantically at the
back of the cart, and they urged the pony on the faster.
As the pace increased, Uncle's strides threatened to rend
his body in twain, but he still clung desperately to the
cart. Jfis heavy top boots swung through space like the
pendulums of two swift and gigantic clocks, and it was
evident that he must Hoon either drop behind or do himself
serious injury. The drivers, however, kindly relieved him
from the necessity of this evil choice by bringing the pony
to so sudden a stop that it reeled back on its haunches,
and in consequence Uncle shot forward with such tremen-
dous impetus that he was jerked on nose, knees and elbows
into the body of the cart.

His two companions laughed loudly at his sudden en-
trance, while Uncle rose, rubbing his bruised elbows and
knees.

" Can't yer stop yer foolin', you fellers, an' git on," he
said, remonstratively, as he danced about the floor of the
cart to deaden the pain of his bruises.

" All right," said Bill, laughing ; " we only wanted to
help you into the cart, you know. It was hard work for
you running there. Git up, there ! "

They went on their v.'ay without further incident, but
the monotony of the journey was greatly relieved by the
amusement afforded by Uncle's constant grimaces and
excited restlessness. He was first at one end of the cart
and then at the other. Sonietimes he would sit at the
back with his logs dangling down like a school-boy's on a
tall seat; and when a mischievous spurt of speed threatened
to precipitate him from this position, he would crawl along
to one of the front corners and seat himself there with his
hands clasped over his knees ; then pulling himself to his
feet he would seek another position.

However, he guided them faithfully, and they soon
found themselves skirting the barren edge of the Bend-arm
creek. There his restlessness became so extreme that it
seemed as if every joint in his body must crack asunder to
give Ills nervous spirit scope. At last he could no longer
contain himself, but jumping from the cart, he rushed

t the
ister.

rend
the
;e the
i was
itnself
d him

pony
Qches,
emen-
jlbows

en en-
V8 and

.n," he
of the

ited to
ork for

soon

Ind-arm

Ithat it

[ider to

longer

Irushed

UNCLE NATHANS EXCITEMENT.

175

along in front of them like a bloodhound that has scented
its prey.

" I believe the old crackpot's going crazy altogether,"
said Bill.

" It looks kin' o' like it," said McGrath. " Hut look ye,
the body's stoppit."

"So he has," said Bill, casting his eyes eagerly forward.
" But never a thing can I see."

Uncle, who hy this time was fifty yards ahead, had cer-
tainly stopped, and was wildly waving his hands beckoning
them to come on. Their curiosity quickened ; they urged
the pony to a trot, and soon, to their horror, discovered
the cause of his excitement.

Before them was a new-made grave filled with earth, but
uncovered by the turf, which lay in scattered clods around
it. And — most awful sight of all — out of the earth a hand
was sticking, as if it had grown there with a human body
for its root. But the fingers were siiortened and torn, and
the skin and flesh hung in shreds around it as though some
wild beast had been gnawing there.

"I was out herdin'," said Uncle, jerking his thumb in
the direction of the mangled limb, " an' I scaret ofi' a wolf
from that."

**Guid mercy!" exclaimed McGrath with a shudder.
" What shall we dae wi' it ? "

" I guess we'd better do nothing till the coroner has seen
it," replied Bill. 'You stop here and see that nothing
touches the thing, and I'll drive back to the barn and see
the boss and get him to send for the coroner."

•' What ! " said Uncle, elevating his close-grown sandy
eyebrows. " You ain't going to leave it, are you 1 Dig
it out, boys, dig it out."

Strange to say, a new pick and shovel lay near at hand,
and Uncle picked up the former and began to set them an
example by raising it on high to strike it into the grave ;
but Bill thrust him back.

"Stop a bit, old fellow," he said; "you may get into
trouble from the law if you do that."

The name of the law had always a powerful effect on

:(i

I'i-

I t.

) '11

i'ir.

176

POLSON S PROBATION.

Uncle, and at the mention of it he laid down his pick,
uttering some unintelligible exclamation.

Bill explained to him as best he could the necessity for
a coroner's inspection ; and at last succeeded in satisfying
him so far that he meandered off toward the herd — grazing
a short distance away — turning and pausing many times
as he went.

McGrath lay on the grass, a little distance from the
grave, and smoked his pipe with as much composure as he
could muster, while Bill drove hurriedly back toward the
farm.

It was necessarily some hours before the coroner — a
doctor in Greentown, some fifteen miles away — could
arrive on the spot. When he did so, it was drawing
toward evening, but still he ordered the body to be
exhumed without delay.

Accordingly they cleared away the soil, dragged out the
corpse, all plastered and encased with the cool, moist earth,
and the doctor proceeded with his examination.

The sun was setting amid a flurry of red clouds with
edges indented like sails of torn crimson. The angry orb,
peering from these fitting pavilions, flashed on the faces of
the little group till their reddened visages made them
appear like a ring of demons. Nevertheless, its light helped
the doctor in his investigation, for it showed him a little
wound on the temple. He felt it carefully.

"There has been foul work here," lie said ; "this is a
bullet-wound. But we can do nothing more to-night, so I
propose, with your permission, Mr. Dysart, to take the
body to your farm, and let it lie in an outhouse for the
night. To-morrow we will hold an inquest and take such
further proceedings as the law requires."

Mr. Dysart, who was among the group, readily con-
sented to this proposal ; and placing the body in a cart, in
solemn silence they returned to the farm.

On the next day, accordingly, a jury was summoned and
an inquest held, which resulted in finding that the deceased
had been killed by a bullet entering the left temple ; and
they further ordered a strict investigation of the case.

ENOCH THE CHIEF.

177

The coroner immediately telegraphed to Markon (the
nearest judicial town) for a detective to help them unravel
the mystery and throw what light he could on the Indian's
death.

There was much clandestine whispering and sage head-
nodding in the Dysart settlement, and many were the
causes suggested and the accidents conjectured ; but in
spite of the mental exertions of those who walked many
half-miles to converse with different neighbors about it, in
spite of the theories of the wise and the babble of the foolish,
the mystery remained a mystery still.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Enoch the Chief.

The chief of the reserve to which the murdered Indian
had belonged was best known to the white men by the
patriarchal name of Enoch. In youth he had been noted for
his bravery and prowess in all that pertained to war and
the chase ; but thu inroad of civilization had cramped his
spirit so that as he grew older he became avaricious and
reserved. He owed his elevation to the position of chief
rather to his knowledge of English and his skill in traffick-
ing with the whites, than to the esteem in which ho was
held by his people.

At night this important personage was seated in his
cabin smoking a long wooden pipe by the stove. The room
was small, the walls composed of bare logs with layers of
plaster between ; but the roof was boarded in, and the fur-
niture betokened a wealth rather above the average of the
Indian tribesman. An unlighted lamp stood on a polished
table in the middle of the room, and against the wall were
to be seen two decent chairs. The tire burned in a good iron
cook-stove, which had, however, from want of polishing,
grown rusty and spotted with grease.

But though Enoch boasted these civilized possessions, he

178

POLSON 8 PROBATION.

li.

11 ill

utterly scorned their use. His aged squaw sat on a low
stool, and in the light that came from the open stove-front
beaded his moccasins with barbarous devices, while he him-
self sat on the floor near by with his blanket clad leg,
picturesquely crossed, and the long wpoden pipe between
his lips, smoking gravely in the gloom. His raven locks,
unshorn and streaked with grey, fell over his shoulders,
and when the firelight flashed upon his face, it was
reflected in a hundred little jets by the shining prease
with which his wrinkled features were covered.

A very gentle rap was heard on the door.

" Come in," grunted Enoch in the Indian tongue, no
more changing his position or expression than if he had
been a speaking statue.

The door opened softly, and a man, muffled to the eyes,
entered. Enoch gravely pointed to a chair, but neither
spoke nor removed his pipe. The stranger took the chair,
and without removing his hat or unmuffling his face,
drew it forward, and seating himself near bent his head,
and for a long time whispered in the ear of the old chief.

The Indian sat immovable, only taking his pipe from his
lips at times to grunt or nod his head.

When the stranger had finidhed, his silent auditor shook
his head solemnly, and holding up his fingers, counted
several of them deliberately as if thus naming a price. The
visitor took some silvet* coins from his pocket, and holding
them between his hands, rattled them in the eld man's ear.
" Music hath charms," it is said, and this was the sweetest
music in the world to him. Slowly his countenance changed
as he listened, and an expression of avarice supplanted its
stolid composure. His eyes glistened greedily, and he
began to count quickly on his fingers.

" It shall be done as you say," he said at last.

"All right."

The stranger pocketed his coins again, and rose and left
the room. When he had gone the squaw (whose embroidery
h.'ifji neasef'i whilst the interview lasted) looked inquisitively
at li(^r lord, as if fear alone prevented her from question-
\r.ii: rins, but he, quite heedless of her silent appeal, smoked
or> fji'aveiy ar.d silently as before.

I low

front

him-

i leg,

,ween

locks,

Iders,

, was

vrease

le, no

had

3 eyes,
leither
chair,
J face,
1 head,
hief.
oni hia

shook
)unted
The
lolding
W& ear.
reetest
langed
ied its
Ind he

id left

loidery

^tively

^stion-

loked

ENOCH THE CHIEF.

179

The next day a huckboard containing two men stopped at
Enoch's door, and one of the occupants alighted. He was
a niai\ of about tliirty-four years of age, of slender and supple
build. His small feet trod with a softness that could only
arise from habit. His thin white fingers looked as if made
for opening doors without notice, and turning keys without
noise. His ample ears standing straight out from his
head could miss no sound, however faint. His nose lay on
his face like a knife with a blunt edge and a broad back.
His set chin and thin-lipped mouth bespoke firmness and
determination. His small grey eyes were sharp and pierc-
ing ; above them a high but narrow forehead receded under
short red hair. Such to the outward eye was the man
commonly known as " Jack Snipe," the smartest detective
in the west.

He found old Enoch at the back of the house — clad in a
red shirt and a pair of shabby pantaloons, his brown arms
bare to the elbows — scraping a deerskin he was pre-
paring for tanning. After receiving a dignified bow in
response to his civil " Good-day," the detective said :

** I believe you are chief of this reserve."

Again the dignified bow.

" One of your people has been found murdered over the
river."

Enoch's brow bent in horror. •

" And I came to ask you if anyone is missing from vour
reserve ? "

" Yes," said Enoch, breaking silence in fair h ,iish,
" Bearfoot gone away."

" At what time did he go 1 "

" He went on the morning of last Saturday."

" Did he mention to anyone where he was goin' ' "

" Yah, I hear him say he was going to hunt deer on
Bend-arm creek."

The c^etective slipped out a pocket-book with magical
quickness and jotted down several notes, whilst Enoch,
standing with knife in hand, watched him with a cunning
wink.

"I want you," said Snipe, still holding the pocket book

■irr

i I.

!■

I <

t -l

I t

»M

180

POLSON S PIIOBATION.

in his hand, " to tell me all that you can about this Bear-
foot. What was he like to look at 1 "

Enoch Uescribeti hini in a broken, confused manner,
which left his hearer little wiser. However, he contented
himself with the little he got, and went on :

" Had he any particular likes or dislikes 1 "

Enoch shook his hoati. " Not many likes," he said, " but
many not likes."

*' But was there anybody he disliked very much V

Enoch stroked his brow thoughtfully before replying.

" Yah, I think I heard him say he would like to hurt
one leetle Poison that lives over there." And he pointed
with the knife to where the tall buildings of the Dysart
farm showed faintly in the distance.

The detective jotted down another note.

*' Do you know why he hated this Poison ? " he asked.

" Ugh ! He was out to hur*t deer one day and Poison
shot his df'er, and took it away from him. This make
Bear foot rery mad."

The detective paused for a moment as if undecided as to
what he uhould say next.

Should he question him at greater length, or shorten the
interview 1 He rn.ther distrusted the Indian's manner, and
so took the latter course.

" Do you think you should know this Bearfoot if you saw
him again 1 " he a^l^ed.

" Oh, yah," was the positive reply. " I know him very
well — I never forget."

The detective looked around him. A buckboard was
drawn up beside the house, and two rough-coated native
ponies were grazing a short distance away.

" I see you have a rig and ponies," he said. ** Will you
follow us over to the Dysart farm and see the murdered
man, and tell us whether it is Bearfoot or not ? "

"if you come," he added, seeing that Enoch hesitated,
" you shall be well paid for your trouble."

This decided the matter, and the old chief evinced his
willingness to come as soon as he could prepare. The
detective drove away trusting him to follow.

Jear-

mer,
lilted

"but

hurt
>inted
)ysart

ed.

Poison
make

d as to

,eii tVie
r, and

)U saw

very

rd was
native

ill you
Irdered

titated,

jed his
I. The

THE (XOSINO SNARE.

181

ciiaitii:r XXV.

TiiK Closino Snark.

Hetwekn tho arrival of Snipe and that of Enoch at the
faru), some time must necesRarily elapse, and the wily
detective did not neglect to turn it to account.

Mr. Dysart was engagj^d in an animated political discus-
sion with Mr. Scrogpot, who loudly held forth the merits
of Radicalism.

** I tell ye what it is," said the cook, pausing with one
hand deep down in the dough, " If I had my way with yer
r'yal fam'lies, and House of Lordses and mestahlished
church'»'j, I'd make a great big cannon and jam the whole
lot down inter it, an' then charge it with dynermite, an'
blow the hull kit out inter the Atlantic O'ln. That's
what I'd do with 'em." And he began to ■; <> the dough
asunder, as if ho were demolishing the hateful aristocracy.

" But, cook," remonstrated Mr. Dysart, hardly knowing
whether to bo horrified or amused by such sentiments,
"you are rather too sweeping in your assertions. We
must have rulers, and if you do away with these, what will
you give us in their place 1 "

" Nothin'," with a grunt from the depths of the kneading
dough, " leastways nothin" & that kind. It's a pity if a
country can't get along without such a downright useless
crew."

" Oh, cook, you are altogether — "

" Excuse me, Mr. Dysart, but may I speak to you alone
for a moment 'i "

The kntfish nose and keen grey eyes of Snipe had
appeared at the door, and it was his voice that thus
interrupted the discussion.

Mr. l)ysart nodded and left the shanty ; and the cook,
angered further by the interruption, battered the dough
with his fists, muttering some inaudible and irreverent
remarks about "jail-birds" and "detectives."

■■'I

hhi

182

POLSONS PROBATION.

When they had waIk<Ml a fow yards from the shanty, the
detective KCopped and uaid (|uietly :

" r believe you have a pupil named Frederick PoUon ? "

" Yea," gaid Mr. Dysort. "And a very good fellow ho
in, too, though he is a little astray in some of his ideas.
What about him 1 "

" Nothing in particular. I merely wanted to ask you
what are his habits ? "

" Oh, the worst that can be said of the fellow is that he is
r bookworm, and rather too fond of moping about by
himself."

** Indeed ! Where was he about last Saturday?"

" He went on a bogus deer hunt, somowliere round lieiid-
arm creek. Hut surely," he added, a sudden light break-
ing on his mind, " you don't mean to say that you suspect
Fred 1 "

'* I suspect no one, Mr. Dysart," said the detective
indifferently, as he coolly inscribed something on a page of
the note-book. " I merely gather evidence and act
accordingly."

" liut, my dear sir, Fred Poison is the most harmless
fellow in the world. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

" Glad to hear it," said the detective ; but he spoke in so
indifferen:, a tone that the assertion seemed rather hypo-
critical. ' But," he added with more interest, " here comes
old Enoch to identify the body."

The old Indian drove up with his team of shaggy ponies
hitched to a rickety-looking buckboard. Alighting near
the pasture-fence, he tied his ponies to one of the posts,
and advanced to meet the two white men.

Enoch, attired in his best, was quite the Indian gentle-
man. His moccasins were beriowered with many colored
beads ; and his white blanket trousers, when filled by the
breeze, stretched like full-bellied sails from his legs. His
buckskin coat was gorgeously striped with tassels. His
glossy black hat towered up from his head like a short
smokeless funnel above an upright engine brown with rust
anti smeared with grease.

With tho grave dignity so natural and becoming to the

tUfi CLOSING UNAUE.

183

wostern Indian, ho exchun^^nd Halutationa with tlio two
white men ; and then unsluni; his lengthy pipe, and without
ahatirig that dignity oxu) jot, hogged for a littU^ tohacoo.

The detective iianded him a small black Nqiiare^ de
formed by jagged tooth-marks — a mixture of tobacco
leaf, molasses and chemicals, compounded for the defile-
ment of the lips and teeth of th»^ living, and the tloois,
walls and sidewalks of the material world.

Enoch took the tobacco, and cutting some up, rubbed it
fine in the palm of his hand, and filled the bowl of his
lengthy pipe ; then he handed the small triangle that
remained back to the detective. Ths old chief ne\t
borrowed a ntatch, and applying it to tho leafy mixture
in his pipe, raised a dense black smoke..

" Good," he said, with a cough in his lungs and a tear in
his eye. " Vc^ry good and strong ! And now, if you are
ready, we will see the man dead."

The detective nodded and said, " Come on " ; then led
the way, with Mr. Dysart and Enoch following behind.

"Shall [ help you carry that pipe ]" asked the white
man. " You know it might fall on your toes and smash
them."

*' No danger," grunted Enoch, with a downward
glance. " Not hit so easy. Indian's foot not so big as
white man's."

Mr. Dysart wor« " tens," and he carried them in
silence the rest of the way.

In a small log outhouse, roofed with sods, and with day-
light streaming through the unplastered chinks, they found
the body. It lay on a IxMich near the wall, unwashed, un-
kempt as it had been brought from the grave. The detec-
tive pointed to it.

** Do you know him ? " he asked of Enoch.

The old Indian walked up to the corpse, and taking the
pipe from his mouth, pouched out his nether lip, and blew
into his eyes a cloud of smoke that made them smart and
suffused them with water. Through this nebulous medium,
he surveyed the body from head to toe ; and then, replac-
ing his pipe with unruffled serenity, turned to the detective

.11'

V I!

^H-f

184

P0LS0N8 PROBATION.

and said : " Yah. This is Bearfoot, T know him well.
You look inside hi.-* ciothoH, you find strips with hi^ X
nmrkf'd on them."

Tho detoctivn at once unbuttoned the vest, and examined
the lining carefully.

•' There is no mark here," he said sharply.

The Indian's eyebrows elevated in Hurpri8<>, and he came
nearer.

"No. Gone," he oaid. " But look at this." And with
the mouth-piece of his pipe he touched a square spot
on the clothing, hedged in l>y the cut ends of pieces of
white thread, and contrasting strongly hy its cleanliness
with the grease and .a*t with which the rest of the garment
was coated.

" That looks queer, T admit," said the detective.

lie then turned down the rim of tlie trousers, and there
found a similar mark.

"I never noticed that before," he said. "The labels
have been cut off'."

He searched more minutely, but discovered no further
marks of erasure.

As they turned to leave the place, Enoch pulled his pipe
from his mouth, and struck his forehead with the palm of
his hand.

" Almost not remember ! " he exclaimed. " You brought
poor Bearfoot from Bend-arm creek. Did you see new
pick and shovel lie anywhere 1 "

" Yes," said Snipe. " Both were found near the grave.
It is supposed they had been used in digging it. They are
here."

He pulled the articles mentioned from beneath the bench
on which the dead body lay, and held them up before
Enoch's eyes.

" They are mine ' " he said, flashing into his eyes the
pleasure of one who has found something he had quite
given up as lost. " I bought them in Bendigo last Friday ;
and as I come home in the dark night, I lost them out of
the buckboard, where the trail passes over dee]) ravine."

The detective's magical pocket-book was out and open

r»inetl

canio
with

8|)0t

ces of
iliness
riuent

there

labels

iurtlu^r

is pipe
)alni of

rought
je new

grave,
ley are

bench
before

res the
quite

[riday ;
out of

Ine.

open

THE CLOSINO SNARE.

188

l)efore ho had flnished iipf>aking, and ho hastily noted
down the IndiauH ittatrrnent.

'* Sorry," ho aaid, ropiacing it, ** but f'ni afraid wo can't
let you have those tools back till after tht^ trial. Wo
shall noed thoni in the evidenoo, and the govornniont will
recomponse you for the loss of thoni in the inoantinio."

With grave stoicism the old chief bowed his usHont ; and
after begging a littlo more tobacco, mounted his rickety
buckboard in dignity, and drove away.

Hnipo watched his long streaky hair Hying back from
his shoulders like the mingled plumage of the raven and
the swan, as in dust and the shine of the setting sun ho
drove swiftly into the ha/y distance.

"Quf'or old fellow, that," he muttered. '• Pretty cute
too, I'll bet. I'll have to keep my eye pretty well peeled,
dealing with him."

Thus soliloquising, ho bade "Good evening" to Mr.
Dysart, untied hia horse, and drove back toward Bcndigo
where he was staying.

All the time Mr. Dysart had been silently standing in
the background of tlu conference dull and gloomy in
spirit, and filled with apprehension for the fate of Fred
Poison. For, though he and his pupil ditlered in thoir
opinions on nearly every possible point, he still understood
Fred's good qualities, and at the bottom of his heart liked
and esteemed him most highly ; and these feelings were
in nowise diminished by the fondness Fred Iwid exhibited
for the loved one who was no more. That his pupil had
been guilty of murder he did not for a s«!Cond believe ; nor
could he even realize the idea that he could be seriously
.suspected.

" Dear bless me," he muttered, as he entered his house,
"I don't know what on earth can make me so morbid-
minded. Liver must be out of order, I think. Well, I
must choer up, and say nothing to Poison, anyhow. It
would be cruel to distress the follow unnecessarily,"

Meanwhile the detective drove swiftly toward the town.
Wrapped in thought on the case he was handling, he took
little notice of things around him.

^f^"^-'

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'iii

18G

POLSON S IMIOHATION.

Suddenly ho was arousftd Wy the chitter of lieavy hoofs,
the rattle of a wagon, and a loud, " Whoop there ! "

At the sJiout he looked up quickly, and saw coming to-
ward hini at runaway speed a team of farm-horses hitched
to a heavy wagon which bounced along behind them ; and
in the rattling conveyance stood a young man, who shouted
out drunken oaths, and fiercely lashed with the reins the
infuriated beasts tearing along before him.

Snipe turned his horse's head sharply to avoid collision,
and only just in time ; for as it was, the wagon chipped
the hub of his buggy wheel, and almost jerked him out.

" Drunken fool ! " he shouted angrily. "If I could get
at you, I'd let you taste this whip."

But the unchecked horses — drenched with sweat, with
distended nostrils, and infuriated by the intensity of their
own exertions — dashed madly on ; and still the driver
applied the lash and vented his fiendish yells.

" Who was the crazy crank I met on the trail, with a
team of runaway horses, about half a mile out 1 " asked
Snipe of the proprietor of the Cowboy Hotel.

" Oh, I guess it was young George Crags," was the
unconcerned reply. " He is sowing his wild oats just now
— having a high old time of it."

"Pretty dangerous seed," thought Snipe, looking around
at the kegs and bottles with which the shelves were
studded. "After what I have seen I don't think I will
sow any to night."

And adhering to this resolution, he went straight up to
his bedroom, where, when he had been supplied with a
light, he sat down and wrote out a resume of the evidence
he had collected, and the gist of it all he summed up
in the following manner :

THE TWO HUNTS.

1. The Hunt in the Summer.

(1) In a deer-hunt in the summer Poison meets Bear-

foot, and they quarrel.

(2) Bearfoot does not forget it ; hut is heard to drop

threats of vengeance.

A PLEASANT EVENING.

187

2. The Hunt in the Fall.

(1) Tn a deer-hunt in the fall they meet again.

(2) After the hunt Bearfoot's body is found on the edge

of the creek in which Poison was hunting.

(3) A pick and shovel were lost about the creek the

night before, and these are found near the grave.

(4) The labels haoeheen cut ojf' Bearfoot's clothes. Poison

carried a hunting-knife.

The detective looked thoughtfully over this brief sum-
mary, and folded it up.

** The evidence is suilicient. To-morrow we must arrest
him."

Ifii

CHAPTER XXVI.

A Pleasant Evening.

Happiness !

Well it is that there are times in this life when all
spirits are soothed in pleasantness, and all hearts beat as
one ; when prejudice, hatred and care are laid aside ; when
friend meets friend with heightened love ; when enemy
greets enemy in unison of indifference, and certain por-
tions of the natures both of the virtuous and the villainous
dwell in harmony together.

At the time when the detective was drawing up his
fatal chart they were spending a merry evening in the
Dysart household. In response to an invitation from the
proprietor (subtly inspired by Mrs. Bant), Silas Pancrack
had come to supper and prolonged his visit to a late hour.

After the meal was over they all assembled in the
parlor, and with music, songs and ganjes made the time
pass pleasantly. Fred Poison and Silas Pancrack buried
their secret dislikes for the nonce ; and in the kindly
influences that surrounded them, even became so far
amicable that whilst Mrs. Bant played on the organ,
Pancrack stood on one side and turned the music leaves

188

POLSON S PRORATION.

while Fred sang on the other. In this genial atmosphere
of music and song the miser's filigreed soul forgot its evil
purposes, and Fred's hatred was for the time hushed in
sleep.

Mr. Dysart, adhering to his purpose of "cheering up,"
enlivened the company with a fast rolling stream of jests
and stories. Mr. Fane raised many a laugh by his odd
sayings, and the shrugs and twists which accompanied
them, whilst Mr. Longstreet contributed a voluble fund
of drollery. Ho amiable, indeed, were they that each one
kissed the not too inviting mouth of Mrs. Bant's only
son ; and when his mother bore him off to bed — screaming
and kicking with arms and legs among his clothes, like a
tentacled mollusc — all declared him to be an angel.

The night was chilly, and a warm fire burned in the
polished heating-stove, whilst the lamp-light shed a cheerful
glow over all. It was a scene of homely comfort. The pic-
tures on the walls seemed to be smiling in benevolent
sympathy on the beaming faces that spoke of happiness
within, and even the very dogs dreaming on the rugs
around the stove seemed to be imbued with sleepy content.

From this scene of light and warmth Mr. Dysart stepped
to the outer door and looked forth into the night. It was
moonless, starless, dark as pitch, and a chill wind sent him
back to the parlor with the cold air fluttering around his
clothes.

" You can never get home to-night, Pancrack," he said,
as he shook the cold out by the stove. " You will lose
yourself for sure if you try, so you had better make up
your mind to stop where you are. We are pretty well
crowded, but we can find you 'a bed somehow."

" Let us see what it looks like," said Pancrack, and he
walked to the door and looked out. In a moment he
returned.

" I am sorry to have to put you to any trouble," he said,
with a polite, conciliatory smile, "but I shall have to take
advantage of your kind offer. I am a very bad traveller
by night, and I should have some trouble in finding my
way over the ravine."

A PLEASANT EVENING.

189

" Oh, that's all right," said Dysart, " we can easily
accommodate you. There's a spare bedstead in your room.
Poison. We might throw a few rugs and coats on that
and make it answer for the night."

Anyone who had watched Silas Pancrack closely might
have noticed a transient gleam in his eyes at this
announcement, but it was immediately buried in one of
those earnest entreaties (which mean nothing) not to put
themselves "to the least trouble "on his account; "any-
thing would do " for him ; he was " used to hard beds," etc.,
etc.

At another time Fred Poison might have tried to avert
the fulfilment of a pro[)Osal which promised him Silas
Pancrack for a room-mate, but to-night the influence of
social intercourse had worn the iron from his soul, and
though it had not been replaced by any friendly feeling, it
was sufficiently subdued to cause him to oflfer a ready, if
indifferent, acquiescence.

r:t

Fred Poison, why sleepest thou so soundly this night ?
Does no guardian spirit whisper in thine ear to warn thee 1
Does no friendly finger press open thy fast-closed lids that
thine eyes may see through the shadows a form that is
blacker than the night moving toward thy bed. Seest not
how softly it lifteth thy garments, how slyly into thy pocket
a dexterous hand is thrust. Not to rifle thy goods, for thou
art poor ; but to sow in the darkness a poisonous seed
which shall grow to bitter fruit for thee. Back into thy
fitting element of blackness and shadow, dark form — back
ere thy victim wakes ! For see, he moves ! Now, he
sleeps ; yea, he sleepeth still.

atHli'i!!^

t
1 >

iin ''

/n\ ail ;

; t'

i , 1

'f! '' 1'

190

rOLSONS PROBATION.

I'l T j

CHATTER XXVII.
TiiK Akkkst.

Prkhkntimknt ! Premonition!

We hear mucli of these, and though, no doubt, in cer-
tain very impressive times, and under peculiar influences,
the soul may be touched by the shadow of approaching
fate, yet it is nevertheless an undeniable fact chat most of
the great events of life, whether their tendency be for
good or for evil, come to us as surprises.

On the brigiit October morning that followed the dark
evening of the last short chapter, no shadow lay upon Fred
Poison's soul. Though he bore — as each man must — within
his breast a share of misery, it was for the time completely
subdued by kindlier influences.

That only deserves the name of enjoyment which leaves
behind it a pleasant memory of itself. The bleared eyes,
the feverish hands, the aching heads that follow the night
spent over the wine-flagon and the gaming table, are fitting
reflexes of the soulless mirth by which they are produced.
But the evening spent in pleasant intercourse of friend
with friend, the after-ring of sweet music, and the echo
of soothing song, the indulgence of elevating untarnished
pleasure, kind words spoken and kindly acts done — these
still dwell with us in memory to heighten our happiness, to
.soothe our sorrows, and to make our pathi through a
rugged world more pleasant to our feet. In such pleasure
had Fred Poison indulged on the previous evening, and
on this bright fall morning he yet seemed to feel, as it
were, the mu Ac of a sweet melody ringing in his soul.

At the breakfast table Mr. Dysart watched him un-
easily, and noticed the light of happy feeling that over-
spread his face.

" Poor fellow ! " ho thought. " How soon that happy
expression may be changed !" But, determined not to alarm

'THE AIUIEST.

191

' >tt\

him hy any unusual act or word, he sent him, as wag hiM
custom, to his work on the farm.

" I think, PolHon," he said, •* that you had hotter ^o on
with disjjginfj; the holes for earthing the pot/itoes."

Fred noddrd, shouldered his 8pad(i, and went, cheerfully
whistling, to his work. With the energy that is born of
good spirits, he took olF his coat, rolled uj) his shirt-sleeves,
and began briskly to throw out the damp black earth.

Ah ! there is a pleasure in honest labor well pursued,
that you, ye worthless idlers and dilettanti, whether ye
be clothed in faultless broadcloth or fluttering rags, can
never know. Ye dressod-up dolls of nien, with eye-glasses
dangling in languid tinmi on your breasts and you, their
lower brethren, ye vagabond hordes of tramps knowing
no abiding-place ; if it is for }iappine8S ye seek, is not
kind mother earth beneath your feet, and laboring with
her, shall ye not find it ?

The happiness of work is perhaps earth's truest liappi-
ness, for the laborer toils in harmony with nature, and is
blessed with her perennial benediction. Inspired by this
noble pleasure, Fred Poison toiled on till the sweat-drops
gleamed upon his brow. As his spade clove the sweet-
smelling earth, and threw it in heaps around him, his eyes
beamed with an invisible joy, and he forgot all things but his
toil. So engrossed, indeed, was he that the sound of
approaching wheels did not even cause him to turn his
head.

" Frederick Poison ! In the Queen's name I arrest you
as a murderer." The tones, though tinged with nasal
twang, were deep and solemn ; and at the same time a
heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.

Had that bright blue sky above him suddenly wrinkled
itself into a crawling mass of thunder-tinted waves, and
had all converged toward some hideous centre, which
vomited forth a mingled mass of hail, fire and snow upon
his bead, it could not have astonished Fred Poison more
than those few quiet words.

He turned to face the speaker ; the spade dropped from
his hands, and his forehead was pursed into a corrugated

1'',!

■n

!'i'>,h

1'^

^ M

192

POLSON H PKOnATION.

Ill

•i\ I

I' :

Pill

strip between hw hair ftiid hJH wiclc-diHtendod eyes. Hii
inuHcles corvulsed till hJH fingcrH siuipped against his
palms, and his mouth opened with a horritied gasp. That
terrible news, striking like pangs of ice into a soul per*
m(>at('d with happiness, chilled the current of all warmer
and pleasanter emotions, and left him, for the time, like a
petrified statue of speechless surprise. The sherid's
otlicer— a man who understood only the world and its
ways, knowing uothing of d per things — coolly turned a
quid of tobacco in his cheek i; he awaited Fred's recovery,
and thought to himself:

" Mighty coot feller this ! If T wasn't up to the tricks
of the likes of him, he'd kind o' make me believe he was
as innercent as a lamb — he acts that thar surprise so well.
But ho, ho, my bird ! I'm up to them sort o' things more
than you think."

When Fred had sufficiently recovered to move a muscle,
he gasped :

" Arrested ! Murder ! Whatever do you mean ? "

" I arrest you, Fred Poison, for the murder of one
Bearfoot, a Sioux Indian, belonging to Enoch's reserve,"
drawled the oflicer in otHcial rigmarole.

** Bearfoot ? " said Fred, regaining the use of his speech,
but more astonished and horrified than ever, " I never
heard the name before."

"Can't a-help your ignorance," said the officer. "My
orders was to arrest you on that charge, so you'd better
jump into the rig and come along quiet."

" But stay," said Fred. " This is so sudden. Before I
move give me time to think."

" Look a-here, mister ! You needn't think I'm foolin'
or bluffin' you. If you don't believe me, here's my war-
rant." He held it out before him.

" So you'd better say nawthen," he added, " and come
along. You'll hev lots of time for thinkin* in the rig."

By this time Fred had sufficiently recovered from the
first shock of surprise to be able to look the matter
squarely in the face, and his first thoughts ran in some-
what disjointed train.

THE AHUEST.

193

. HU

IHt lliH

That
)ul per-
warrner
I, like a
iherifT's
and xtfi
urnod a
acovery,

le tricks

he was

80 well.

igs more

muscle,

of one
reserve,"

Is speech,
I' I never

"My

''d better

I Before I

fool in'
Imy war-

Ind come

fig-"
from the

matter
lin some-

" Arrested for murder ! I wonder however it came
alK)ut. I do hope the n<^w« won't get over to fatlu^r and
mothor Ix'fore my inn<)( .-nee is proved. Whatever will
Alice think ? Surely she won't beliove it. Wliatover will
my companions think of me? I can nevt^r face them with
this horrible oharg*^ hanging over me. Perhaps I had
better go with thiu fellow and set^ a magistrate, and have
matters explained. They can never convict an innocent
man, that's one comfort ; and — "

During this soliloquy the officer had grown very im-
patient, and he cut it short with :

** Now, Mister, make up your mind whether you're goin'
to come with me quiet-like, or whether we shall have a
tussle about wearing the handcuffs."

" You needn't trouble yourself," said Fred with cold
civility. " Give me time to put on my coat, and I will
come with you."

The officer nodded, muttering a mollified " Right y'are,"
and jumped into his buggy standing near — -an elegant con-
veyance for the accommodation of two, softly cushioned,
and shaded by a rubber hood. In this luxurious vehicle
Fred seated himself by the officer's side to be driven to
acquittal or disgrace. The man saved him the pain of
passing the farm by taking a short cut across the prairie
to get on the main trail leaning to Greentown, the next
station east from Bendigo on the line of the Canadian
Pacific Railway, and the seat of justice for the county.

A pale face and a trembling hand were the only visible
remains of Fred Poison's recent agitation, otherwise all
was calm and self-controlled. Confident in his innocence
he had repressed his struggling fears, and spoke to the
officer on all subjects but that which lay nearest his heart.
The sheriff's sleek and well-fed beast drew them along at
an easy trot over a smooth trail passing between large
fields of stubble and plowed land, interspersed with
wire-fenced pasture fields and tracks of wild, uncultivated
prairie. Here and there was a farmer working on his land.
In one place a gang of threshers were tearing down wheat-
stacks amid dust and smoke, and sending the grain in wain-
13

; t'

u?i;

"i '

1:
III

ill'

4i ll

.,„

104

POLSON S PUOHATrON.

loads to llm liarti, aiul H6rn»'tltn«»H tlioy paMNnd u wa;(on
load of whoat, wiiicli momio hardy ruHtir waM driving to
tnaikHt. hut t\wHii HightM w^u'^1 too coininoii to tli«Mii to
atlorti iiiu«:li etittM'taiiitiioiit, and tlio travollrrs lioj^uih'ti tlm
time by tallciiig and ar^iiiii;; on ovnry concoivalilo Hub)<>ot
but that which had brought thrni togi»th<'r. Kred'H woll-
HtoriMl mind and good command of language gavo him an
eaHy maHtury ovor his opponnnt on all controvcrHial points.
Aft the oHicur listened to him ho was astounded to find
judgnufiit HO cool delivered by one whom he had just
arrested on, probably, the most serious charge that can be
brought against any man.

" VVal," he thought, " this is the coolest customer T ever
did meet with. Why, he talks as if he was goin' to the
meetin' of a farmers' institoot instead o' Immii' on the way
to be tried for his life. Oh, he's a hard un, he is."

Ah, Mr. OlHcer ! you judge of the secrets of the pool
by the ripple on its surface. Little you know of the agony
that tears your prisoner's heart at times. Watch for a
while that heart-wringing procession which passes some-
times before his mental view, and then you will know but
a little of what he endures. See that aged pair — the
father moaning in sorrow inconsolate, the mother weeping
like liachel for her children — moving in sorrow to the
grave. Watch that fair girl who shudders at his name
and loathes his accusation, whilst she bewails his fate.
Look upon the relations, the friends, the companions he
has loved ; note the hush of sorrow and shame that falls
over them at the mention of his name ; and watch the
goblet in which it should be pledged pass silent and un-
tasted round the board. Behold this, oh, man of the
world ! Shade thine eyes from the sights that dazzle thee !
Look deep into the bosom of the lake, and ask yourself
whether your first surmise was correct. The human mind
is so constituted that when in face of danger — even
though firndy believing that it can be easily averted or
overcome — it will sometimes look on the darker side, and
gather, as in a focus, all the worst possibilities of the case.
Thus it was that, although Fred succeeded fairly well in

!)i:

THE AUHKST.

196

ill^ to

HMD to

Kub'p'ct
1'h woll-

hiii) i^it
|>oii»tH.
to tind

lit I jUHt

t can be

IP T ever
\ to tUn
tlie way

th« pool
ii« a^ony
ch for a
;es some-
niow but
)iur--tho
woopinji
to the
lis name
his fate,
.nions he
hat fallH
atch the
and un-
ii of the
Izle thee !
yourself
an mind
ir — even
erted or
iide, and
Ithe case,
well in

keeplnjf up hiii courage by thn conviction of hit innoc«n(;«%
thn Khadow of coming caliuuity would at tiiiwH ovim* pall tuM
■piritual si^ht, and ho Haw hiniHulf tried, cond(Mini(<d and
lod to the ^allowH amid the exocrationH of hia encmioH and
the tears of his fricMuU. Nay, worwe ; HomctinicH h<^ saw
all hearts chilled against his, and hinisi'if standing alone,
unfriomh'd and uncomfortcd on the shores of the eternal
world ; and his anguish, though hidden, was such as no
pen can descrilie. Fortunately for his feelings Im knew no
one in (treentown, nor was it known that a man had been
urr<»Hted for murder, so they passed without notice to the
magistrate's house. Therp, however, to his horror, he
found Snipe, the detective, seated with the justice of the
peace at a table littered with writing paper. The detective
greeted him courteously, and the magistrate bade him be
seated.

The examination was very brief, and in spite of his
earnest protestations of innocence, resulted in Fred's being
sent up for trial at the next assi/es. This was a result he
had little expected, and for a moment it bore him down
with sorrow and shame, but contident in the righteousness
of innocence he overcame his fears, and rising to ins feet
grasped the chair-back with his hand and said : *' With
such evidence as you have, with circumstances working so
bitterly against me, I cannot blame you for your decision ;
yet, nevertheless, I believe that one day you will repent it.
For T know that I am innocent, and I believe that in the
end the truth will be made manifest."

Rumor spreads apace. A murderer is arrested — is
here ! On the platform of the station a crowd is collected,
and as two men come forward, necks are craned and eye-
brows bent, and fingers of all descriptions (ringed, white,
black, pasted with flour, cracked with lime, odorous with
chemicals, greasy, wet, dry, straight and crooked) are
pointed at them, and voices in many keys murmur and
mutter, "It is he." " It is him." " Don't look much like
a murderer, does he?" ''Carries his head pretty straight
Jinyway." "Looks pale though." " Walks pretty firm all
the same." "Smart-looking young fellow, if he was better
dressed." " Wonder if they'll hang him."

190

POI.S0N.S PKOnATlON.

CllAlTEU XXVlll.
What Shall Wk Dot

..I

. iii::

siii:l

On tilt' clay of l*V<>(| PoUoii'ii iirront lifii run itn umuhI
ooui'Mi! on tlio \)yHii.rt fariii. It waH IiIn cuhIoiii on working
clayH to (lino witli tho inun at tht< farm houtti!, and thou>{h
hJH al)M(ui(M' wuH notod, it waH not much cointnonti'd on.
Tli(M't) WUH tin* UNual accoinpaninirnt of MOundN -tlio chwh-
ing of kniv(>.s and forkH, atid tlio niaHtication of crackling
cruHtM. »Su|ipliant (Io<{h Mat IxOiJnd tlio lHaich(*M, looking up
at tho (Mitors with imploring t^ycH, and HW(M<ping with their
hushy taiU clean discs on the diiHty floor. Tho cook, aM
usual, pattiTtnl noisily ahout as he served the men with food
and drink or engaged thetu in tlery polemical discusHions.

"irere'nyour tea, if art. Have Homo more pork, Bill]
T wonder when; that Poison's got to. If he don't come
soon, he'll go without his dinner. Fetch some more beans
in, Jim."

Jim — the cook's assistant — was a niiserahle-looking lad,
dr(>HUod in a Waggy shirt that hung loosely about his body,
like a half-tilled balloon, and a pair of pantaloons which
swelled out in bulgy Oriental majesty, wliilst the rim ai>ove
the belt stood out in an eccentric circle round his body,
like a saucer around the bottom of a cup, and the bottoms
were turned up half-way to the knees to accommodate the
brevity of his legs.

This youth went slowly on his errand to the cook-shanty,
and some time later returned with a dish of steanking
beans, and the declaration that he *' couldn'i, see Poison
nowhere ; but a feller had passed who had told hira he had
seen him driving toward Greentown with a stranger."

" Let him drive," said the cook, cutting up a pie with
fierce gashes. '* He'll get no dinner from me to-day,
anyway."

Mr. Dysart, as was often his custom, strolled into the
cook-shanty that afternoon, to have a chat with his culi-

WHAT RifAf.r. wR no?

107

'M umuaI

tltou^li
t«'(l on.

rackliiiK
king up
ith tlnnr
cook, aH
ith food
LHisnions.

rk, mm

n't conui
tru beuiiH

ing lad,

Ilia body,

iH which

liin »il)ovo

lis \)ody,

bottoms

(date th«

-shanty,

^tnaniing

Poison

i\ he had

ler."

Ipie with
to-day,

into the
I his culi-

nary «'hi«'f. Ti4»AninK hlH »«lbowR lazily on th<» lid of a lars;M
boiler on tln» top of tin* stovi*, ln» Iw^^an to Hlroki* a «'at
which juuipvd up and rubl>vd i^H puit'ing head agaiuHt liin
arm.

♦• Ity th«i way, cook, whoro did PoUori go aftur t'innerl"
\w aHk«>cl.

*' Nover OOnt to dinner," iniil the cook, dipping \uh hand
into tli«« hot water in which ho had |ilat*(*ii houim dirty
dJHhi'M to Im! waMhcd. " Drat tliat boy ! {tuttin* Much biiin'
water an that to waHJi diNJieM in ! It'H lit to Moald the iie
out of a feller'H linger jintn. .)iin nays he Haw a fcHer that
told him he Haw I'olNon dri 'in' with a Htranger, Oreentown
way."

INIr. Dynart ntarted up froni the indolent attitude he had
asMumed, aH if he had come in contact with a live wire.

" You don't Hay! How auddon !" he exclaimed. " What
time waH he seen to go 7 "

"Couldn't say; but niUHt have been Ronte time before
dinner."

The master hurried away from the shanty toward the
stable, leaving the cook in a Htate of Hurly Hurpriae.

•'What's got into the man anyway'}" he muttered.
** There's nothin' so much surpriHin' in a stoodent takin* a
trip to town when he has a notion. 1 think he's a bit
crazy. Hut there's no accountin' for the actions o' these
(*atholic8 anyway. They're always a-schemin' and plottin'
at something. If I had my way, I'd burn all the priests in
a Guy Fawkes tire. Hi, Jim ! Fetch in an armful o'
sticks."

Mr. Dysart hurried ov«}r to the stables, where he found
his groom currying a pony.

"Hitch up the ponies to the light cart at once, Wilson,"
he said, "and get ready to go with me to (Ireentown right
away."

" All right, sir." And soon he was ready.

As fast as whip could urge a horse they rolled along that
day ; but all in vain. For when they reached Greentown,
they found that Fred Poison had been taken about an hour

HI '^

Eh ' •

MJ ,\

iijl

^i<i''i

■^ii^

';^!'i

HI' ^M-Mi

'(%-'

198

POLSONS PROBATION.

before! on* to Markon, tlio centre of tlie judicial district,
titero to nwuit his trial.

A young man with a weary, dissipated look on his face
went up to Alice Crags as she was hanging out clothes on
the line to dry.

The wind blow the dark hair back from her forehead,
and fluttered heavily among the damp garments hung out
around her, whilst her wliite apron was playing in the air
like a streamer on the wind. As she daintily pegged the
clothes on the line, she reminded one of some sweet house-
hold deity — the one fair sight where all things else bore
the impress of ruin and decay.

" Say, Alice," said the weary-looking young man in a
languid tone, " great news for you. Fred Poison has been
arrested for the murder of an Indian." At first she
could not comprehend the full meaning of his words, am.
she only opened her eyes in surprise and ejaculated in tones
of astonishment, " Murdered ! Mr. Poison ! What did you
say 1 "

"I thought I spoke distinct enough," said the youth in
an offended tone. Then raising his voice, " Fred Poison
has been arrested, and taken to Markon to be tried for the
murder of an Indian near Bend-arm creek."

For a moment Alice stood like one bewildered, her face
convulsed with the play of strong emotions. Then, as the
truth dawned fully upon her, the color was chased away by
a deadly paleness ; she shivered like a wind-struck aspen
leaf, and but for her brother's timely assistance would have
fallen to the ground.

For a few seconds George held up 1 or head, hardly
knowing how to act, and then lifting her bodily, bore her
into the house and laid her on the sofa. At a call from
her son, Mrs. Crags bustled into the room with a black-
lead brush in her hand and a shiny black spot over her
right eyebrow.

" Dear me, George ! What is the matter ? " she exclaimed.
Then, seeing Alice lying on the sofa, " What ! Fainted !
Wait till I get some water. Whatever made her faint 1 "

l/:^'-,, i*t'< .

WHAT SHALL VVK DO?

199

"Oh, I was only telling her that Fred Poison had been
arrested for niurdpr."

" What, him ! No, it can't be ! You don't say so ! But
she is such a silly, emotional creature, she faints at any-
thing. I shouldn't have been in the least surprise^d if it
were quite true, considering what a mopish, bookish sort of
a fellow he is."

*' Jiut, I tell you, it is true," said George, indignant at
hearing his important news so often scouted.

" Is it really ] Good gracious, whoever would have
thought it ! "

By this time she had in her excitement sprinkled Alice's
face till the poor girl looked like a statue of " the sleeping
beauty " that had just been exposed to a thunderstorm.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Crags, fanning her ener-
getically with a newspaper. " Is she never going to come
round ? This comes of reading so much poetry and novels
and stuff."

This last declaration, I may here remark, is quite
characteristic of a class of people who always trace the
blame of the faults and weaknesses of others to some taste
with which they have no sympathy.

Under the combined and vigorous application of wind
and water, Alice at last began to show symptoms of
recovery. Her eyes opened slowly, and she breathed freely
once more. She looked around in some astonishment,
unable at first fully to comprehend the situation. Then
memory came cruelly to her aid.

** It is not true ! It never can be true ! " she said pas-
sionately, raising herself on her elbow, and speaking to
George, who had stood an interested but helpless spectator
of her treatment and recovery. " Tell me what made you
deceive me with such a story. It is no subject for amuse-
ment."

But George, whose rising anger subsided before her
earnest passion, only shook his head gloomily and answered :

" You'll find it's true enough by and by."

Alice sank down again, and covered her face with her
hands. " Oh, I never can believe it," she said with sobs.

>>■*

t,-

''■^^i !

! i i

200

POLSON S PROBATION.

By this time Mrs. Crags had fully recovered from the
surprise which the news had given her, and so was quite
prepared for tlie role of the successful maternal prophetess.

** Silly girl ! " she said sharply. " It's true enough, you
may depend upon it. What would George want to tell you
a lie for 1 It's just what I've always expected of him any-
how. What did he mope about by himself so much for 1
And why did he sit so much in corners with never a word
to say, if he hadn't got some dark scheme in his head ? I'll
tell you, you had better stop ^-hinking about such a fellow
as that, and think of someone better."

Alice's sobbing burst out afresh. " Oh, mother ! How
can you say so 1 I am sure you know better."

But Mrs. Crags persisted in her belief — a belief which,
if she could only succeed in instilling it in her daughter's
mind, she knew would drive from her heart the image of
the only man she feared as a rival to Silas Pancrack ; and
so, for the sake of gaining this mercenary end, she was will-
ing to act as a self-constituted counsel for the prosecution
against one who had never harmed her in word or deed.
To such lengths will mercenary motives and selfish desires,
when thoroughly indulged, lead even the best-intentioned.

Over poor Alice dark days had fallen.

In vain she sought for one word of friendly sympathy in
her faith in Fred Poison's innocence. True, her brother
said that he could hardly believe him guilty ; but always
ended by shaking his head gloomily, and declaring the case
looked bad.

Her father — muffled and swathed, blinking and owlish
as ever — sat by the fire, his ckthing reeking with liquor, or
pottered unsteadily about the farm-yard supported by his
stick. Her mother sharply rebuked her for her weak and
foolish beliefs, and Silas Pancrack, without jarring her
feelings more than he could help, gently hinted in his
smoothest way that circumstances, trivial -seeming in them-
selves, sometimes led men to evil-doing ; and the sensitive
and finely-balanced mind was always easiest led by passion
to either right or wrong extremes — that Poison's was in
some respects a strange nature, that there were in him

THOUOHTS IN A PRISON.

201

hidden depths into whicli no one had seen, and none knew
what they might contain. Hut in spite of this, he hinted
that it would give him much pleasure to see Fred acquitted,
and he had little doubt that his studious brain would sug-
gest a good defence.

So Alice remained in sorrow and suspense. The subtle
poison dropped from Pancrack's tongue into her ear, though
it could not excite her ^to suspect poor JbVed, did much to
allay her anxiety ; and almost unconsciously to herself she
found that she looked forward to Silas's visits with
pleasure, as the one person to shed now and then a ray of
comfort on her path, where all others were either indif-
ferent to or against her.

CHAPTER XXIX.
Thoughts in a Prison.

Op that dark period in Fred Poison's life, between his
arrest and his trial, I shall say nothing by way of narra-
tive, but simply content myself with pieces culled from
the written diary with which he beguiled many lonely
hours. I do this because I believe that his own words will
convey to the reader far better than mine could his feelings,
sufferings and thoughts.

"To be the scorn of every outstretched finger ; to be
regarded by every eye as a thing attractive by its loath-
someness ; to see friends and acquaintances drifting away
in the distance behind ; to see strangers and enemies gather-
ing around and before ; to hear your name uttered in
horrified whispers, coupled with the ignoble stigmas of
' murderer ' and * assassin ' ; above all, to be the victim of
your own agonizing thoughts and doubts — this is bitter
indeed ; and glad was I when the prison doors closed upon
me, shutting me out from the cold virtues of the outer
world, and leaving me among those who, if they neither
pitied nor sympathized with me, at least did not despise me.

- , -^ ' 'I

POLSON S PROBATION.

Nor can I murmur at my treatment liero. A comfortable
coll has l)('f3n provided for mo. Of my food and drink I
cannot complain. The ofiiciale are most civil and obli^in<,',
and I have full liberty within the prison walls. But alas !
all these material consolations afford but faint comfort to
a trouble-tossed soul.

** Alice ! E often wonder what she thinks of me. Why
am I thus torn by doubts of her coiitidenco in my inno-
cence ? I could not believe that she herself would doubt
me; but Pancrack — that mean and hardened wretch — he
will be ever by her side ; and who knows what treacherous
doubts and suspicions he may implant in her mind —
poisonous weeds which will clin<; around and choke her
better beliefs. I know he hates me, and will rejoice in my
disgrace. And why does his accursed face, with its evil
expression, ever trying to peep through a layer of hypoc-
risy — why does that face haunt me so 1

" Surely I have never seen it before ; and yet, I con-
stantly imagine I have. Through dark and sleepless nights
that face is at my side, and it seems to be laughing at my
distress and mocking me with a malicious and triumphant
smile. Surely, Alice can never cling to him. But oh,
these doubts — this horrible suspense ! I will write to her
at least, and ask her, only in kindness, to end it by bless-
ing me with her faith or blasting me with her doubts."

He then passes into a maze of thoughts and fears which,
for the sake of brevity, we will omit, and pass on to the
next incident.

" To-day I learned that I still have a friend. As I sat
in the prison-yard, watching the clouds drift over the sun,
the sullen doors ground open with their unwilling sound,
and admitted — not, as I expected, another criminal — but
my old friend and master, Mr. Dysart. After shaking me
warmly by the hand, he assured me of his firm belief in my
innocence, and his determination to stay in the town and
stand by me till the trial was over. He wished me to
select an advocate to defend me ; but I told him that if he
would be kind enough to find a lawyer to do the question
ing, I would speak for myself — believing that truth and in"

THOUanTS IN A PRISON.

203

nocence would give to my words more weight than all the
legal lore and professional hlandishment that could he
engaged in my cause. He hardly agreed with me in this,
but promised to do as I desired ; and after I had thanked
him as warmly as 1 could, ho took his leave, promising to
call again on the following day.

** Wonderful is the influence that emanates from man to
man. By that mysterious telegraphy by which all human
beings are bound together, we learn to love, to hate, to envy
and admire. By the words that day spoken to me [ felt
greatly consoled. To feel that 1 was not altogether friend-
less — to know that I could yet command sympathy and
aid was a precious knowledge ; and coming to me at such
a time, it poured over my spirit like a light shed in a dark
place. My spirits rose. I resolved to turn my troubles to
the advantage of soul and mind, and, confident in my
innocence, move toward the event with a calm and cour-
ageous heart."

We now pass over the details of several days, and con-
tent ourselves with a few thoughts gleaned in that period,
believing they will prove instructive and beneficial to
whomsoever will thoughtfully read them.

" I have gone among my fellow-prisoners, and have
interested myself in ascertaining their former lives and
the causes that brought them here. Many and various
were these. Some few seem to have taken to crime as
ducks do to water ; others have been pushed to it by the
hard hand of poverty ; but many seem not to have known
where the paths of good and evil parted. At first all was
blurred and misty, and it was only when they had gone
too far to retrace their steps with ease, that they dis-
covered their mistake, and, making no effort to save
themselves, drifted down to durance vile. At first it was
only some little trick, half comical, half cute ; then,
encouraged by the laughter and admiration that drowned
all censure, they ventured on bolder strokes. Nor are
these men ashamed of their crimes to-day. The world
had admired them for their ' cuteness,' and why should
they not be proud of it. Beware ! O admiring public,

i!r

204

rOLSON's PROBATION.

when your hnroea aro lot Ioosr on you a^aiii ! For it is
much to 1)0 foarocl that ihoy will again soou provide you
with fresh thernoH for admiration — and rogret.

" Others again I met of gentler sort, who by their kind
and social proclivities had !)een induced to spend their
money over the wine flagon, or had lost in gambling —
drink's twin sister — to a ruinous extent. With the beat
intention they had falsely abstracted money, hopin^, o pay
it back with redoubled interest when some lucky hit had
been made. All had been lost, and with it all honor and
good repute and hope of a better life.

" Ah ! beware of the parting of the paths ! Keep the
eye undimmed by excess, unelogged by aught impure or
vile. Suffer not one little speck to impede your sight, but
clear in honesty, temperance and chastity let it shine ; and
be sure, it will direct your feet aright.

" Into that dangerous borderland between the right and
wrong stray never. The wine-cup — touch it not. The
gambling table — pass it by. The impure thought — cast it
from thee. Thy pride — subdue it. The sharp trick — prac-
tise it not. The profane oath — unuttered leave it. The
unnatural habit — conquer it. The kind word — speak it.
The unselfish act — do it. For thus, and thus alone, can
you hope to continue in that narrow path wherein only,
with life's duties well done, and life's battles well fought,
true happiness is found."

The next extract opens in a sadder and more sentimental
strain.

^ " Many days have now passed since I wrote to Alice,
and still no reply. Does she then doubt me ? It is hard to
believe ; but why then this inexplicable silence 1 Perhaps,
owing to some accident or delay, she has never received
my letter, or I have never received hers. Heaven grant
that it may be so. Meanwhile Mr. Dysart still continues
my friend, and visits me daily. He has further assured
me that all my former companions (according to a letter
he has received from home) believe as firmly in my inno-
cence as he. This, among all my troubles, is so great a
comfort to me that I feel like thanking for it that God

ri 1

•

THOUGHTS

1»R1S0N.

206

.;. 1

whom I l>oj{in to think I have been foolish to doubt bo
much." •

As will be seen by the foregoing extract, Fred was
slowly undei going a change of heart. Not by sermons,
homilies or readings was this alteration being wrought
but by the working of an inner consciousness which, tried
in the furnace of atlliction, set the noble spirit trembling
toward the throne of God.

*' The time for the trial draws nigh, and as it approaches
my spirits seem to grow more calm. I have no presenti-
ment, can form no opinion as to how it will end ; but,
however it be, I believe I can tranquilly accept my fate.
Only two things trouble me : the grief my downfall may
bring upon my parents and friends, and the mysterious
silence of Alice. These trouble me often — the latter, I
fear, as much as the first. I know that it should not be so,
but so the fretful dictates of a weak nature will have it."

But a change has come over him, and these thoughts
disturb him less.

" From whence this great calm that has so soothingly
stolen over me 1 Is it from the pages of that Holy Writ,
by which of late I have been comforted so much 1 Per-
haps it is ! For the tender words of the lowly Toiler of
Galilee have stolen like sweet subtle music through my
ear, and vibrate unceasingly through the innermost recesses
of my being. And the wondrous light of that celestial land
— where neither sun nor frost doth blight, nor tear-drop
ever falls — has surged in strong waves around my soul ;
and as its billowy splendor has rolled back through the
gates of heaven, it has left with me a beautiful, undying
calm."

206

rOLSON S PROnATION.

CFIAPTER XXX.

TiiK Trial.

Blood !

Tho ai^ht of tlin crimson stream dyeing tlio sand of tlie
arena, or the tremulous drops trickling out in t}ie last life
agony, was a scene our fathers loved in ancient days. The
red tongues of llame singeing slowly into the (juivoring
flesh, wrappiiiLT thems(?lves like snakes of fire around the
tortured limhs, or slnM^ting the body in a cloak of flame ;
the body and newly severed h(!ad dripping gore upon either
side of the fatal block, or the sttangled trunk dangling in
hideous convulsions from the gallows-tree- these were the
attractions that drew the thousands from home and labor
in mediuival times, and in these more highly civilized days
of ours we still show an hereditary taint of this morbid
weakness of our forefathers.

See the crowds surrounding the walls of the prison
where some condemned soul is being launched into eter-
nity, and note the hush of expectation that precedes the
raising of the black flag. Watch the eyes of the millions
eagerly scanning the newspapers that they may miss no
detail of the horrible crime or ghastly execution. Listen
to the conversation that moves in mystic whisper from lip
to lip, and note how often the name of the murderer i8
breathed.

So it is, so it has been, and so, I believe, it will be, as
long as this earth shall last. For, though the sights which
provoke it are to be regretted, and should be repressed to
the greatest possible extent, this is after all no mere vulgar
curiop'by.

Wonderful is the chain which binds man to man from the
uttermost parts of the earth, and a strange and fearful thing
it is to watch the visible workings of a brother soul trembling
on the verge of eternity. How eagerly the eyes are fixed
upon the face of one condemned, as if they would learn in

mmmvi

Tin: TuiAL

207

its'chan^in^ oxprosuioiis niul varying shaclos of color Hoine
tidings of that iiiyHtorious land whither he and tliey aro
journeying. Show us a man about to die, and lo ! ho ih
encompassed with a mystery. Ah'eady wo feel that ho is
not one of uh ; and with softened footsteps and hated
hreath we rwait tho passage of the spirit to its fit ahode.
We yearn, we vainly strive to pi(»rce beyond tho veil ; and
when we have done our utmost tho wtaricd mind falls
back to earth to worship or wonder anew.

On the day of Fred IVIson's trial the court-house of the
western town of Markon was crowded to overflowing.
Tho rough cowboy — with unshorn hair and unkempt beard,
diossed in buckskin slashed with fringes, and a wide-
brimmed hat shading his sunburnt face sat shoulder to
shoulder with the sleek townsman, clothed in all the tawdry
gauds of fashion, strong smelling of effeminate perfumes,
and with a smih^ of placid self-satisfaction resting on his
well-shaved face. Jioside this oddly-contrasted pair, and all
about them, surged a motley crowd, bearing on their faces
the expressions of varying character, and on their persons
the marks of various trades as they had emerged from their
callings that day.

There was the farmer clad in a suit of rough and dingy
overalls, his hands embrowned l)y sun and vein-knotted with
toil, and the marks of constant battle with the elements
engrained on his face ; there was the stableman with bents
of hay and bits of straw sticking in his woollen blouse ;
there sat the baker with the dry dough on his fingers, and
near him the miller with the white dust on his clothes.
There, at the back, stood a sturdy smith, his leather apron
twisted like a rough-rolled window blind about his belt,
and his hat pushed back from the hair which the dry sweat
had matted on his brow. There sat a clerk with a little
round, brimless hat on his head, and pen sticking like a
black-tipped horn from his ear ; there a grocer just fresh
from making up parcels. There sat the sawyer just come
from the mill, and speckled with sawdust from head to
foot ; there the landlord, exhaling odors of strong liquor,
dose by the druggist fragrant with chemicals. There,

, 1

. i

^ill:

K *

208

roi^ON H rUOHATION.

too, wan tlin HpAculatnr, with nnrvouii ti\c*i mu\ k(H>n, all
emWnicin^ (^y», oaUuilating tho valuo of tho jud){o'ii deNk
and tho lawyor'n cloakit. Thiu'e wiih thn daiKiiliod nogro
harbor, with whit<^ outl'M HplaHhod and stained ; and there
■tood tho Ohinotiu lautidrytiiari with lonf{ (|uouo twiitod on
hin lit'ad, with aliiioiid oyo a blink and Hnub noHOoroct, and
hand wrinklod liko a withnrod cahha^o luaf. Thero wore
men of all oocupationn in lifo, from the idle "^ontloman"
to tho la/y " loafer," and mingling with thuHe a buHy, sim-
mering and usoful masH.

Yet varied aH were their conditions and circumstances,
they wore all bound for tho time by one common brother-
hood of intoroHt. All awaitod with eager desire the sight
of tho emotions of a brothor-man under trial for his life.
1'here were several minor cases to be disposed of be^fore the
trial, for which they so eagerly waited, began. Meanwhile
the orowd chaffed impatiently among themselves ; and
many talked in an undertone on various topics of
interest.

As the day wore on — for some of the smaller cases
involved much technical explanation and occupied con-
siderable time — the impatience of the crowd increased
almost beyond the bounds of restraint, and remarks such
as these rose distinct and audible 'rom the general hub-
bub of mutterings and whisperings :

" Will they keep us here all day ? "

" Is the case never going to commence 1 "

" Can't the judge knock off' some of the other caaes till
tomorrow 1 "

*• I'd go home and come back after supper, if I wasn't
afraid o' losing ray seat."

" Well, we've hung out so long, I guess we might as well
hang out a bit longer."

On what mysterious clothes-line or scaf!bld the last
speaker intended to carry out this suicidal idea, it would
be hard to say ; but certainly he was soon rewarded for
his patience by hearing it declared that the next case was
the trial of Frederick Polaon for the murder of Bearfoot,
otherwise known as the "single Sioux."

THR TKIAL.

209

The Hpirit of (»xp«ctancy laid itM Hii^arH on the lipK of
the crowd, aikI a HitencA ciet^p am dnith fell over it, ai the
priaonur whh brought iti liotwetni two ^UAniit. 11 in face
WHM piihf niid born tlio mark of HuHoriri^^, but ilH oxpreHsion
was cixhu and unrutHfd. t{<t n'turtu*d thn Nturo of the
crowd with a Htoady look, ovincin^ a huuiblo courage
uninixnd with dodaiicc or cotit(Miipt.

With cool, unfaltering ntflpa Im moved forward, and
bowing to tho judgH and counsel, took liiM place on the
prJHoner'H Htand ; and tlirro in tran((uil Hiluncu bared his
head and waited for tho trial to begin.

n<* was dreKH«*d in a dark Huit of nnat-titting clothet
which had boon providt^d for him during Imh imprisonment.
The hair wan bruHJicd back from his lofty forehead, and the
aspect of ({uiet resolution with wliit^h he awaited the ordeal
gave even to his slight form and emaciated features a look
of gontlo yet aurpassirig dignity.

The opinions of the crowd on his appearance were
favorable, but guarded, as the expressions of nien not
wishing to form a judgment too hastily.

'* Don't ^00^ much like a murderer anyway." "Smart
lookin' feller." "Yah, I'll bet he's coot enough for any-
thing." *' Wal, he takes it pretty cool for a sure thing."
" Hush-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh."

This diminuendo of "hushes" was the result of the
calling of the name of the first witness, " Nathan
McLachlan."

Our worthy fr'end " Uncle " had been sitting in a
corner at the back of the court-room, waiting in an agony
of nervous horror for the calling of his name. When he
heard it, he jumped up as if an express train had touched
him on the rear, and with folded arms and elevated eye-
brows, and lower lip pushing out the upper, looked help-
lessly toward the judge.

The " boys " of Dysart farm had arrayed him for the
occasion in a pair of brown top-boots, blue overalls, a fine
black swallow-tail coat, and a tall top hat. This remark-
able medley, fitted on his nervous, rough and restless frame,
gave him a most grotesque appearance. When he paused

:t; i

'■-<

nwvi

210

POI.MONH niOllATION.

in that triiKio attit.tidn, an ill nuftprovNAd tittrr ran throuuh
th<^ I'otirt ; And th<« mIumIow of a Hniiii^ mi'ii tliticd ovi«r tliM
^rav«f and vonfralili* faci^ of tho Juii^M liitnMidf. Htit Niich
untinH*ly li<vity in a(li){nitary of whoM<« pi-ofAMiiion gravity it
A l«Mi(lin^ part, waM Moon NiipprrNMiMl ; and thinking \ui
divini«d l\w nmaninK of llnciMH a|)p<<alin)< ^lanc«>, li<i Mtwtt a
^uard to (M)t)(lu«;t liini to t,\w witni'MH Itox.

VVImmi l^n«l«« Hiiw tluN olli(M»r coniin^ toward him, hi*
alat'in and aMtonlHlinKUit kn«<w no IkiuikU. Scn^win^f hiM
fu(M< into a contortion in whi<'h protcNt wan mingled with
NtirpriMo, h« Htood his ground for a Mfcond ; thiMi, as tho
otHc(*r canuf unndiMitinKly on, ho tiling out hin annH, a top-
hoot Mwun^ in a cin-h) throuf{h thi^ air, and Unc-ht inado a
diish toward tin* door.

in Hpito of thn Holointiity of tho ocoaMion, thoni^i^ht of thu
HwaUow-taiU, hlur ovrrallH, box-hat and top bootH itru^-
j^linj^ doorward proved too nmch for j^ravity, and an
nxploHion of ian^htor in ntany keyM rang through thu
court.

Th« judg« frownod and lookod over tho top of his
Bp€u;tacl«<H.

"ThiH is disgraceful!" he said in stern tones. "Re-
member for what purpose we have met, and the place you
are in. A court of Justice is not a theatre."

This rebuke somewhat (|uieted the assembly, and as the
laughter ceased the oiKcer could be seen leading Uncle
Nathan toward the witness-box. The latter in his h(;roio
dash for liberty had found groat ditKculty in forcing his
way through the crowd, so that the officer following in the
wake of his Hight, soon caught up with him. Seizing him
by the coat-collar, he drew his head toward him and
whispered in his ear : *' No fooling now. Conm along with
me quietly. I only want to lead you to the witness-box to
givo your evidence."

Uncle, thus reassured, with many contortions of face
followed his guide. He laid his hat on the floor near his
feet. Mr. Clifton, counsel for Poison, examined him as
gently as he could ; but all the time Uncle's fingers were
working convulsively, and his restless head bobbed coa-
btantly up and down.

hroii^h
vnr the
ut iiieh
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were
con-

THE TRIAL

211

" liAt US hear your stAteiuont tirst of all," said Mr.
(Miftoii.

Uiitili^'s li)m |>n*iiNi^d iiorvously toKi^thor as hn lotikiul ut tint
liiwyrr with a uiiii^'liMl oxpn^MMion of tiTror and (MTph'xity.

"Trll UM all yti know uhoiit thiH how you cainn to
find ili«« Indian'M \*<n\y, ntc. "

'I'hu look of p4^rf)lt*xity partinlly diNap|)rarrd as Uncle
ri'plietl Miowly : ''Oh, yah. Wum out hi'rdin' cattlo lot'ii
SMi" — (ll«^ lift«Hl hiiiluind, and whh IomI for a inoniiuitin con*
conttMiiplation of \\\h nmtltiHN tin^rrM) "last Sunday niornin'
tiout four or tiv» ; t setui a wulf ohawin' away at Honirihin*.
I thought uiaylMi it'ii a jack rahhit Ik/h got a hold of, hm I
wiMit to Moaro him of!', and ! s>'<>n a hand, hoi.ifthin' lik<> a
man's, pokin' up, h<>'d hin chaw in' at, so I went to the barn
and got Oeorge and liill."

♦•And that iM all you know?"

" Why yah I gunss."

" Do you holieve the accused to he guilty of the murder 1"

*' No. 1 guesH not." Then with a bend of his body,
" Aint sort o' (;hap to do that."

" That will do," said Mr. Clifton, and sat down.

Then, to Uncle's dismay, arose that terror of timid wit-
nesses, Herman Horatus Blutgun, the counsel for the prose*
cution. This gentleman was tall and very stout. His
heavy beetling browH hung out over a pair of eyes lighted
with a perpetual glare. His round, uncompromicing head
had made some attempt at growing bald on the top, but
had apparently been intimidated from proceeding in its
design by a stiff black tuft, rising like a stunted steeple in
spiky solitude above his forehead.

When this ponderous individual arose, with a parchment
in his hand like a policeman's baton, poor Uncle shrunk so
within himself that the swullow-tails, top-boots and overalls
seemed to be merging into one common garment. Mr.
Blutgun fixed his tierce gaze upon him, and in a tone like
rumbling thunder demanded :

'• Witness, answer me. You say you were herding cattle
near the place where the body was found. What brought
you to that spot 1 "

'1'

iiiiiti

212

POLSON S PROBATION.

Uncle's hair was bristlitig, and his knuckles were crack-
in*; audibly ; hut with a desperate effort, the overalls, boots
and coat-tails revealed a separate identity, as he jerked out
the short reply :

"Got to lierd 'em somewheres, I guess."

After this tremendous effort he shrunk within himself
again, his liead looking over the top of the witness-box, and
the tip of his sharp, sandy goatee pointing threateningly
at Mr. Blutgun, who was standing a little below him.

" That is no answer," said the prosecutor, sharply.
" Were you there by any pre-conceived arrangement with
the prisoner ? "

'* Naw," said Uncle, with a snarl. Desperation was
making him bold.

" You will swear positively that you have had no collu-
sion whatever with the prisoner 1 "

"Eh! Hum?"

The prosecutor repeated his question in plainer language.

" Naw, not I."

" What makes you think him not guilty then 1 "

At this question, launched at him like a thunderbolt,
Uncle again sank into the desperation of fear. In his
agitation he gave a despairing kick with his left leg, and
the stove-pipe hat lying near his feet went whirling out
into the midst of the audience.

During his examination the crowd, tickled by his ludic-
rous gestures, had been in agonies, trying to keep down
their inappropriate laughter ; but at this sudden violation
of the Rugby rules, it exploded with a loud roar. Poor
Uncle, quite overwhelmed, looked first at the convulsed
audience and then at the grave, angry face of the judge ;
and finding himself between two tires of wrath and ridi-
cule, crouched into dwarfish dimensions near the floor, with
his short, rough hair bobbing about in a line with the edge
of the witness-box. When the noise of the laughter had
subsided sufficiently to allow him to be heard, the judge
called out, in tones of offended majesty :

" Return the witness his hat, please ; and cease this dis-
graceful uproar.' This is the second time this scandalous

THE TRIAL.

213

noise has been made. If it happens again, I will give
orders to clear the court."

But even a judge's mandate cannot check the outburst of
human emotion, as a machine mii^ht be stopped with a
brake ; and it was several minutes before order was restored
so that the court could proceed.

Meanwhile Uncle received his hat again, and holding it
under his arm, once more stood erect, or as nearly as it was
possible for him to do so.

" Witness,'' said the judge, frowning, " remember where
you are."

" Eh ? " grunted the witness in sharp nasal twang.

'* Remember your place, sir, or I will tine you for con-
tempt of court."

Uncle's two middle fingers clapped against the palm of
his hand, his underlip overlapped the right corner of his
mouth, the bark-like wrinkles on his brow twitched into
another shape, and he turned toward the attorney. That
gentleman repeated impatiently the question to which he
had yet received no answer.

" What makes you think the prisoner innocent of the
crime he is accused of 1 "

" O nawthen." It was the easiest way out of the diffi-
culty, and he took it.

"O nothing," repeated Mr. Blutgun, sarcastically. "A
very sufficient reason truly. Witness, you may get down."

Uncle, highly relieved, scrambled down to the floor, and
there twitched himself around once to make sure that no
one was pursuing, and then worked his way through the
crowd to the back of the room.

Maxfield and McGrath, the two hired men ivom Mr.
Dysart's, were the next witnesses.

They testified briefly to the finding of the body.

Doctor Cutter followed. He declared that Bearfoot had
met his death by a bullet entering the left temple and pene-
trating the brain, and that, when discovered, the body had
evidently lain underground for about a day.

The next witness called was Anthony Scrogpot, farm-
cook. Besprinkled with flour, he hobbled up to the wit-

<■ ,

214

polson's probation.

lit l:

I' '

lll'il

:!:ii

I?!;

I tJ ■

ii;i;

ness-box with a look of sullen doggedness on his face,
which seemed to say, **You won't get much out of me,
sirs."

Mr. Blutgun tried the efl'ect of his brow-beating eyes and
thunderous voice in vain.

" Did you and the prisoner go out hunting together one
day in July last summer! " he asked loweringly.

'•Well, what if we did?"

" No impertinence, sir," said Mr. Blutgun, sternly knit-
ting the hair on his beetling eyebrows into one straight
line. " Tell the court what happened on that occasion."

" You needn't think you can scare me by lookin' like
that. I know what happened better 'n you do. Poison
shot a buck deer ' jumpin ' out of a bluff ; and a dirty
scalawag of a nichie came out and wanted to lay claim
on it. But I soon showed him different, though."

" Did the Indian you saw there resemble the murdered
man at all ? "

" Don't know whether he assembled him or not. Didn't
take much notice."

" Was there any altercation between the Indian and
Poison 1 "

** No altercation as I see ; but we had a few words among
us."

" What were they about ? — the words I mean."

** Why, as I was tellin' you afore, the copper-skinned
hound wanted to claim the deer his, because he'd been
huntin' it ; and Poison was for sharin' up and givin' him
half. But he wanted the whole hog or none, so I told
him to git out or I'd soon shift him. (And I would too.)
He didn't pertend to take much notice, though he was
scared ; and he sneaked oflf sayin' he'd let Poison know
about it some time. And that's all as I knows."

" Were those Bearfoot's exact words 'i " asked Mr. Blut-
gun, thumping the table with his parchment as he empha-
sized the "exact."

"Something like it. Can't say exactly — I was busy
skinning the deer."

" And was that all that passed between them ? " Mr.

I 1

tUe trial.

215

Blut^un couipresaod his lips, and fixed his eyes on the wit-
ness as if he would burn the truth out of him.

" All," was the imperturbable, growling reply. " I guess
it was. And enough I should think."

"In your position you must have a good opportunity of
witnessing tlie ways of the men on the farm. Did Poison
seem to you to have grown moody, and fond of loneliness
lately 1 "

" Well, what if he did 1 He always was a great 'un for
thinkin* and studyin' over books and that sort o' rot ; but
as for murderin' — the first man as I hear say as he'd do
that, I'll trounce him, or my name's not Anthony Scrogpot."

With a stern frown from the judge and a baftted glare
from Mr. Blutgun, this grim witness was dismissed.

The old Indian chief Enoch was next called. Arrayed
for the occasion in paint and feathers, with blanket-edged
trousers floating wide, the buckskin coat embroidered like
his moccasins, and his long pipe slung by his side, he
stalked up to the witness-box like some fossilized relic of a
by-gone barbaric age, imbedded amid the surroundings of
modern civilization.

With cool, unbending dignity he took iiis stand, and
waited for the examination to begin. After a few prelim-
inary questions, Mr. Blutgun asked :

" Did yon, on the Friday preceding the day on which the
murder is supposed to have been committed, buy a spade
and pick from the hardware store in Bendigo V

" Ya-as," answered Enoch, slowly, in deep guttural
tones, " and I lost them that same night, where the trail
goes over Bend-arm creek."

" How do you know that you lost them in crossing the
Bend-arm creek ?" asked Mr. Clifton in cro-s-examination.

" Ugh ! Saw them in just before going down the hill ;
lopked when I got to the other side, and they were gone."

" And you did not go back to search for them 1 "

" No good. Night so dark, I couldn't see this." And
he held up one of his yellow, wrinkled hands.

"Still," continued Mr. Clifton, "it seems to me rather
strange that you made no attempt to find them. You are
not a millionaire."

216

polson's probation.

! i

" Ugh ! Ugh ! No good, T say," said Enoch, grunting
and shaking his head. " Bearfoot going to Bend-arm creek
the next day, and I tell him to find them, and bring them
back ; but Bearfoot never come back."

"No wonder, with such a burden to carry," said Mr.
Clifton, sarcastically.

The old Indian saw that he had made a mistake, and
hastened to repair the error.

" Me not mean he carry them all the way ; but just find
them, and leave them at a farm house till 1 send for them."

After that he plied him with a subtle cross-examination ;
but the old chief remained quite unruffled, and he failed
to gather from him any more evidence favorable to the
defence.

The next witness called was the governor of tje jail, who
said that in searching the prisoner's clothes he had found
in one of the pockets several large cotton labels with a large
X marked on each one, which he believed to be the sign
with which Bearfoot distinguished his clothes.

At this point the prisoner — wh6 had hitherto been stand-
ing calm and self-possessed, as he lent an attentive ear to
the evidence — was observed to start as if in surprise. His
lips parted slightly, his eyebrows raised, and his hand
tightened nervously on the hand-rail he was grasping. He
looked as if he would utter some exclamation ; but in a
second he regained his self-cor.iposure, and said nothing.

The last witness for the prosecution was Snipe the
detective. His evidence 'was merely a corroboration of the
others, with a few hints thrown in from his own observa-
tions.

The evidence for the defence (as is ever the case when
there is no guilt to defend) was necessarily very light.

Mr. Dysart testified to the prisoner's excellent character
and good temper.

Messrs. Longstreet and Fane gave evidence as to the
deer-hunt being projected among themselves without Pol-
son's connivance.

Fred merely contented himself with a quiet denial of the
charge.

li I

THE WAR OF WORDS.

217

CHAPTER XXXI.
The War of Wouds.

Twilight had begun to fall over the court-room ere the
evidence was all concluded. The audience, forgetful of
time and business, eagerly awaited the end. In the pause
between the finishing of the evidence and the beginning of
the prisoner's speech of defence, the air of the court-room
was humming with whispered speculations.

Under the grey wing of the closing day, the j)risoner,
looking on the audience, saw all individual differences
melting into sober indistinctness. He heard his name float
up to him in mutterings and whisperings, a hundred times
or more ; and eyes — eyes — eyes gazed on him from every
point. Of the face of friend or foe nothing could he see.
He only discerned a general humanity casting at him the
sound of its voices and the light of its eyes.

The judge, like a phantom, robed and spectacled, sat
silent and still in the darkening shades behind him. The
jury, with heads resting on hands, or with necks intently
stretched forth, sat in petrified stillness, like so many
statues of attention. The tops of the lawyers' heads could
be seen, as they bent over and pretended to examine the
papers they held. And above all this hubbub and silence
— this simmering curiosity and statuesque grotesqueness —
the prisoner stood erect, the full light of the dying day fall-
ing upon his brow. He — he alone in the twilight and indis-
tinctness — stood distinct and definaVjle. Above the heads
of the jury a western window welcomed the lingering light
of the dying day, and shed it like a halo around the
prisoner's head. The calm, unconscious dignity which
suffering, allied to virtue, gives — the beauty of truth and
righteousness, — shone on his countenance with wonderful
radiance ; and the voices of the people were hushed, and
the light of impertinent eyes was quenched, as with body
slightly bent and voice subdued, he began :

; »te.

;

)'■■

111:

t t|j|i

218

polson's PROBATIOK

"Gentlemen of the Jury, — T do not appeal to you for
mercy — I look to your sense of justice. You have heard
the evidence brou;,'ht before you ; and if you look back on
your past lives, you can perhaps remember some little
incident in which circumstances proved too strong for your
denials ; and the rod that should punish only for guilt, fell
upon innocent shoulders. That which applies to small
things is applicable with equal forct? to greater ; and for
this reason I wish to call your attention to a few flaws in
that chain of evidence which 'chance has so cunningly
forged around me.

" I go hunting down the Bend-arm creek on a certain
day. The next day, on the edge rf the creek, tlie body of
an Indian is found. Does that prove that T murdered
him 1 Are not Indians naturally a migratory people ?
Here to-day, they are miles away tomorrow. Do such
people nmke it a practice to carry their dead with
them 1 No ; they bury them where they die — bury them
often, I daresay, carelessly and in haste. But this one
was killed by a bullet in the head. Well, are not Indians
constantly handling firearms ? Are not many of their
guns and rifles cheap, old-fashioned weapons, palmed on
them by trading companies — arms that often refuse to
discharge when wanted, and explode at unforeseen mo-
ments 1 What is easier to imagine than an Indian return-
ing to his tent with flint-lock full cocked ? He places the
butt on the ground, and rests for a moment on the muzzle
talking to those to whom he has returned. Something
causes him to start in surprise. A bit of his dress catches
the trigger, or the shaking of his rifle causes it to dis-
charge. His friends sorrow for him, but they recognize
the uselessness of delay. They bury him where he is, and
pass on. Perhaps they are travelling northward to the
bush, or southward to the Moose or Turtle Mountains.
At least by this time they may be easily out of hearing of
this case, and hence their silence.

" But it is said that this is a particular Indian named
Bearfoot who bore me a grudge. A man may often be
temporarily annoyed, but no man worthy of the name

• »•

THR WAR OP WORDS.

119

would hvpr a lastinir spito against one who had acted
justly toward him ; and I ask you whether from the (widence
you have heard, you can judge my conduct to have been
otherwise towar 1 this man. Had I been of such a malig-
nant and hasty disposition that I could wilfully murder
another, how was it that on the occasion of which Mr.
Scrogpot has narrated, I wished to pacify this man by
yielding to him half of my rightful booty ]

"Then again, has it been clearly proved that the body
is that of Bearfoot ] It is said that every man in the
world has his double, and this should be peculiarly true
of the Indians. The Indian wears no hair on his face, a
certain type of feature is common to them all, the distinc-
tion between one and another is often very slightly
marked and resemblances are strp.>gely minute. Among
white men all colors of eyes and hair are common, but an
Indian with red hair or blue eyes would be a curiosity
indeed. Besides, in death the features always undergo a
certain change, and a body that has lain underground for
some days is not likely to retain the same expression that
it wore in life. It is said, however, that Bearfoot started
out from the reserve with the intention of going to that
spot. Well, an Indian is a changeable being and loves to
wander. How easily, on the way, might he have been in-
formed of better game to be found elsewhere, and turned
his steps in search of that. One point would naturally
lead him to another, and that might lead him on to one
still more distant. If he journeyed about in this fashion,
who can say where Bearfoot is now 1

" But here," said the prisoner, and his fist tightened
and his brow knit in the earnestness of denial, " here I
come to a part of the evidence which, I confess, puzzles
me sorely. It is unexplainable by any ordinary hypo-
thesis, and can only be attributed to that malice which
delights in the creation of morbid sensationalism. Certain
labels were found in my pocket corresponding to marks
taken from the dead man's clothes. Gentlemen, T empha-
tically deny having had any knowledge of the possession
of these things till I heard them mentioned in court just

Mi-'

II , u.f

■4h

It umMii

220

POLSON S PROUATION.

now. T know not from whonc« thoy raniP. T havo no
idea who plnccd IImmm thrn*, or what could \m tho ohject of
so doing further than i liave already Htatod. I niUHt
simply say that if 1 were indeed tin* murderer and carried
al)out with mo tlu^se Hignitlcant proofs of guilt when tliey
could so easily havo been destroyed by (Ire -if I had done
this, 1 should sini{)ly deserve to he liung for njy folly, and
those who can accuse me on such ;L,'rounds are charging mo
with subtle acut(!ness in cutting of!' the labels in one
breath, and with childish simplicity in preserving them
in the next.

"A shovel and a pick are said to liave been lost by the
side of a trail that crosses the ravine about half a mile
distant from the spot wliere the body was found. Tt ia
true that I passed over this trail on the day I went deer-
hunting, but I decidedly deny having seen anything of the
tools mentioned. And I ask whether it is likely that a
murderer, even if he did know of the presence of the pick
and spade, would walk a mile to get them whilst the body
was lying exposed to discovery — is it likely he would do
this, or stand digging a grave in the full glare of day
within half a mile of a public road, when he could have
easily rolled the body into the ravine and covered it with
leaves among the bushes ? Tt is further urged against mo
that I am fond of studying deep subjects and love loneli-
ness. Is that any indication of criminality 1 I think not ;
for if you will study the police-court statistics you will
find that it is not the educated and thoughtful man that is
most given to crime, but rather tiie ignorant and illiterate
one. The thoughtful man knows too well that society rests
on too firm a basis to be sinned against with impunity,
and even the comparatively few crimes committed by
educated men are seldom or never of a violent nature.

" Perhaps at a time like this I may be pardoned a little
egotism ; and I ask you, gentlemen, whether from any-
thing you have learned there is anything in my nature
that indicates a tendency to crime*? If not, what could
cause me to throw away my good name and peace of mind
so suddenly 1 A fire is not lighted by placing a match

THE WAR OF WORDS.

221

against a grotni log — you cannot evon linge tho bark.
First you want the Hliaving» and then tho kindling wood.
The fire must bn lighted by patient degrees. So it is v«itli
tlie criminal. The evil within a virtuous man does not
flare up from the mere dropping of a spark, but small
things lead to greater, until the (ivil fin! prevails and the
virtue is burned low. I ask you to think well on this.

" And now, gentlemen of the jury, one last word to you.
As there is a Power above us which soeth our inmost
hearts, I am innocent. Ere you do that which may em-
bitter all future remembrances, T ask you to look in my
face and say whether I speak the truth. liut I ask you
again to halt at no halt-way dt^cision. Hut whatever be
your verdict, do not -oh ! do not condemn mo to a life of
slavery in tho companionship of crime. Tn the words of a
great American patriot I ask you * to give me liberty or
give me death.' "

In this last appeal ho rose to a passionate dignity which
touched every heart. In that mysterious twilight hour in
which tho heart is strangely softened to outward influence,
he had spoken. As he stood with the light lingering
lovingly about his head, the eyes, set thick as dim stars in
tho dull shades below, had watched intently tho play of
changing passion on his face ; tho crowd had heard the
ri*"*^ of strong sincerity in his voice, and seen the truth-
light flashing from his eyes. A silence like that of a
slumbering cloud had held them while he spoke. In those
thickening shades necks were stretched forward, hands
were held against ears, and breath was softly drawn ;
and when he had finished there burst from all lips one
simultaneousxcry, "Ho is innocent."

When tho burst of passion which tho speech and tho
hour had excited had died away, tho judge ordered the
lights. Whilst these were being turned on and the blinds
drfwwn, the whispering and murmuring recommenced.
The speculator offered to bet long odds on the prisoner's
acquittal, but found no takers ; and the cowboy swore
with many oaths that he would whip both judge and jury
"if that young feller" was hung.

. •

i n

'' 'i

222

l»<)I,M()NS PHOMATIOK.

Whnii tho glnrin^ ^aiiliHlit hud (lrivf*n nut tho (IunU inurh
of tliiM HutitiiiuMitulity (liNiippoaKMl. 'I'lio jucl^o wua no
Irxi^nr ti phuntoiii, hut h nunlcl of ^ravtt huuiiiii (l«*i>ort
lurnt. TliH Jury hiul cliiiii^cd from Mtony Mtutuci to muhi-
n»Hs inoii utid fiiriiHTM of vnriouH hj/.ch iuuI sliiipoa. Anions
tliH H{)<>ctiitorK l\w \\}^\\t of liuniaii vyvH iiad withdrawn into
huinuii h«>adH, and tln^ Hound of human voiccH waH con-
nucti'd with the moviMucnt of human lips and othur
expr«M8ionH of thi^ lh>Hh. Tho priMoncr ah)nc retained Honio
of that romantic iniproHHiveneHH with which the twilight
had MiveHted him. After the excitement to which he had
riHOii in hiH Hpeech he recovered hiH former cahnno88, and
stood in feurieHs di^^'nity awaiting tiie result.

Mr. IMutgun, counsel for tlie prosecution, K*'^^^'***^ly
gloried in an opportunity like that before him. To Hee the
pale wretch trembling under hiH thunderous inuendoes and
umvnswerahle arguments, to watch the jury tile in with
the unanimous verdict, "Guilty," and then to hear the
Judge pronounce the fatal sentence — this was his suprente
glory.

13ut to-night lu; felt rather uneasy. The prisoner's
speed: and the in)pres8ion it had created, had considerably
disoomposed him. His case did not look quite so clear as
it had seemed from the evidence ; but still he nerved him-
self for the effort, and when he arose, the eyes were glar-
ing fiercely as ever under his beetling brows, and the black
spike above his forehead bristled in uncompromising
defiance.

He began by flattering the Jury, whom he declared to
be the pick of the intelligence of the community, irre-
proachable in life, morals and talents, etc. But Mr.
Blutgun's flatteries were somewhat like a crocodile's car-
esses, and both he and his listeners evinced unbounded
relief when he descended from the eulogistic to the argu-
mentative.

He warned the jury to beware of such characters as that
of the prisoner before them. The noisy and blustering
criminal was little to be feared ; but who knew what
horrors the itill and silent waters contained 1 By the

THK WAK OF WOKDH.

*i2:t

tlinnricM (uiui tlicy w(«ro only tiiiM)ri«>M) wliicli Uii Imd Npiiu
in hJH (ItffttnoH, the priMoner ha<l Hhown liiiiiM«^lf lo !»«< pos-
■imiKMl of a frrtiltuinii^iiuition, rich in oontrivancei looliuU*
tli<> truth, livi not aNido actual factn \>y HuhMtitutin^llowrry
th«>()ri(m, and wh«*n h<> could not (>v«mi do that, h<^ contct)t<Ml
hiinHMlf with iMnphtitic, unfounded dmiiilH.

" Ah for his dcolarationM ahoul the iniprohabiiity of cor*
tain aotionii after tlio inurdcr, allow mo to tell you, ^tMitle-
men of thfl jury" (and horn Mr. Hlut^un hrukn into a
profuse perHpiration), " tliat wii«>n a mttn han donn hucIi an
atrociouH deed, lu* in often no lon^^er hiit own niasttu'. lie
runheH aliout Heekin^ the wildest meiiuH for tht* concealment
of his crime, and in liiH fren/y he oftun forgutH thu things
whi(;h most con(;ern hitt own Hafety.

'•The priHoner's excuse (if excuse it could he called) fop
the hthelM found in his pocket was a very lame one. VVhat
reason had they to doul)t that ttie body found was that of
Hearfoot ? Did not the; labels taken from his clothes, and
found on the prisoner, conclusively estalilish his itlontity I
Ho considered the chain of circumstantial evidence com*
plete. There was the pn'vious (juarrel between the mur-
derer and his victim. On the same day both had gone
forth to hunt in the same place ; and the next day, by a
marvellous accident, the murdered body was found on the
edge of the ravine. He would not say that the murder had
been committed in cold malice. More probably there had
been a quarrel ; and in his anger the prisoner had done the
deed he was now making such strenuous ettorts to conceal.

"And, gentlemen," thundered Mr. Blutgun, striking the
table fiercely, " I, like the prisoner, appeal to your justice ;
for I know that in this instance justice means that society
will henceforth be spared from the ravages of a criminal
whose passion is so fierce and uncontrolled that it does not
hesitate to launch a soul all unprepared into eternity."

Such is a very brief outline of the lengthy speech
delivered by Herman Soratus Blutgun in the interest of
justice — and his own pocket. But I am sorry that 1 can-
not reproduce the sweeping flourishes, the vocal thunderings
and facial contortions with which it was delivered.

224

1H)LH<)N H I'KOIIATION.

Yet with all hi» vocal tliuii<lf^r Mr. Itlutf^iiii did not
MAtn to iimktt a vi*ry doflp iiiiprf^inion on anyoiii^ l>ut liiiu*
MJf (iniinifcHt in Ilia cuhu hy tlm profuno {xu-Mpi ration in*
duc(ul), for thti Minipin ri^aMon, prrliupM, that th«r«^ in morn
pownr in on*^ littln word of i*arnr*Nt truth than can ho found
in whoU* coluiniiH of hluNtoring rodomontadiv

In Maying, howiuur, that thn Hpt'coh inipr()«ii«<d no ottu hut
tho NptMikt^r, I nwido a niititakn. Thoro waN another whom
it Htlrt'tiMJ moMt ( ruclly, <i.it<l that whh th» priiont^r liimNnlf.

Y«'N, though \w itill prf«if*rvod hitt out<!r calmnoKM, thoNo
wordH of hltiMtitrin^ cond<<nitwition struck lik<* louden hum-
HicrM on hin HUS(M>ptil)lo houI. l^nuHcd to NU(;h loud up-
ItniiditigM, ho wiiM too niu(;h a|{itatcd to d«tc<;t their till-
lacicN, and ho alnw)Ht felt as if ho hud really committed tho
crimo imputed to him. And wurHt of all, liiH Hynipathetic
nature made him ima;{ine that hin own fuelin^H must ho hut a
rotlex of tho opinioiiK of liiH friendH ; atid he askoci hiniHelf
how, even if he cHcapt'd, ho could evor aHsociuto with thom
a^ain. Would not Hunpicion nnurl around him, like a cur
chained to Iuh heart, through all Iuh futurolifu] And
peopio would murmur to each otliwr in undortoneH when
they saw him, "That man w ih tried for murder once, and
hi8 innocence was never clearly proved."

CHAPTKK XXXII.
TiiK Acquittal.

IIk was recalled from these hitter reflections by the voice
of the judge summing up the case.

Judge A , whe'n exercising his judicial functions, was

so cold and uumpassioned in his utterances that people
sometimes wonu. red whether he was really a man at all,
or only a sort of i;»carnate paper-mill, absorbing all the
rags and tatters of varying evidence and argument, and
rolling thorn out again im irreproachable sheets. Juries, as
a rule, did not like him l cause these bodies are in the

TUB ACgUlTTAL

225

hiibit of looking to thi^jud^c for HoiixMirHnitfulircction *■ to
their verdict ; lU) thftt if a iniNtAko Ih iiiiulr, tlii^y Iiavo votiio*
tn\vi with whom to (livi(h« tho hiaiiie.

On th« pri'MiMit ocoiiMinit .Iu<l^«« A quite fxreiN'd in

liiN pArtioular cnpiunty. Hi^rc, um (<v(*r, he tri«*<l to hiilaiioo
»*<(uully to a fault ; for if hi^ fount! hiuiNelf uncotiNoiouMly
intikii)){ oiin itidn appear h«*iivi«r than tim otiirr, lie at once
)iaHt«ui(Hl to (»(|uali/.o th«^ l»alai)i'«> hy adding a lit tin nxtra
woi^lit to tlifi ri«in){ lido of tho Nuali>N. So tiicoly, indeed,
worn liiM diH<|uiiiitionH adjuHttMi, tluit they H«M«tii<«d totlin jury
likn a p«^rfi<tt Ncpian^ with a Ntraij^ht line drawn rxa^tly
tlirou^li tlin middle ; and tliny wen; luikcd to decide which
of thn diviNionH wan the larger.

ThuH addroHKnd hy the jud;;e, the jury rt'tired to conitdor
the verdict. For a lon^ time they wran^ded over tho
variouH pointH in the cane, hut could come to no deciHion.
They lia<l iill fairly wt^ll determined in their mindii
what tho verdict hIiouM he ; hut they were moHtly Htran^ers
to each other, and each want«*d to imp*'eHH the reiit witii a
hIiow of minute iuHpection and lofty delil)erati(m.

At hiHt an old farmer (the only one who had remained
silent up to that time) arose, and said :

•• Now look 'e<- here, mistera, I carnt stop janglin' here
all day. I've pot a team of oxen to home as wantn watorin',
they do. This is jest how tho case stands thirt young
fi'llor's puyilty or he aint guyilty. In {)lainer words — he
popped the nichia or he didn't pop him. Now it 'pears to
mo as that there's some douhts ahout the case, an' ef so
it'll he better to let him off of he did do it than hang him
of ho didn't. So — "

That decided it.

The people in tho court- room were in a fever of im-
patient curiosity. What would the verdict ho?

They betted among ihemselves. From their own excited
imaginations they engendered tho wildest scraps of im-
probaV)le evidence. Tho pietist talked with tho atheist, the
cowboy whispered to the citizen ; the sleeves of the black-
smith and the miller exchanged colors as they grasped each
other's arms excitedly ; the speculator nervously handled
15

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226

POLSON S PROBATION.

his dollars in the covetous eyes of the miner. In that half
hour of general excitement and wild speculation all minor
distinctions were lost and forgotten.

As the jury entered, th(! wagging tongues were hushed into
silence, and every eye fixed itself upon them. Even the
prisoner- -who had waited till now with seeming indiffer-
ence and calm — was seen to look anxiously toward these
men who bore his doom. What would it be ?

It was one of those moments of glorious uncertainty in
which the human mind delights, and the audience looked
toward the foreman of the jury as if he were some ancient
magician about to unlock a mystic cabinet which should
reveal to them a sight of happiness or sorrow.

The jurors fil'^d solemnly into their box and seated
themselves in silence.

"Well, gentlemen, what is your verdict?" asked the
judge.

In reply the foreman handed him a little slip of closed
paper.

The audience was itching and shifting in feverish
anxiety, and as the judge scanned the billet all eyes fixed
themselves involuntarily on his face, hoping it would tell
some tale. But it remained rigid and immovable as ever ;
and holding the slip of paper in his closed hands, he asked
in unimpassioned tone^ :

" Is this your unanimous decision 1 "

All bowed, and when their names were called they rati-
fied the verdict individually by rising in turn to each.

" Then," said the judge, " I declare the prisoner ' Not
guilty.'^'

That verdict shook the court like a lightning shock, and
a loud, irresistible cheer was the thunder-peal which fol-
lowed it. Some of the more enthusiastic sprang upon the
seats and waved handkerchiefs and hats toward the
prisoner, who, with a smile lighting up his expressive
features, bowed quietly in return. Mr. Blutgun scowled
at the jury, and the spiky tuft above his forehead sank
like a flag to half-mast. lie was vanquished.

The judge frowned like a wrinkled iceberg and sternly
called out " Order ! "

I h^

THE ACQUITTAL.

227

Wlien he had succeeded in restoring silence, he turned
to the prisoner, and said in his nieclianical way :

" I congratuhite you sincerely on your escajie, and trust
that your future life will be such as to fully justify the
jury in the verdict they have rendered. It only remains
for nie to pronounce you completely acquitted of the serious
charge that has been brought against you. You are now
free to go wherever you please."

When Fred descended from the prisoner's box into the
court-house, his friends crowded around him to congratulate
him on his acquittal. The first to greet him was Mr.
Dysart, who pressed his hand and said :

" You see ! I told you we'd pull you through."

Messrs. Longstreet and Fane each grasped a hand, the
former jabbering out a stream of congratulations, and the
latter shrugging his shoulders with an emphatic " Bless
you, my boy, but I'm glad to see you out of it."

"And so am 1 !" roared the worthy cook as he tendered
his congratulations.

" Say, Poison," said a sharp nasal voice ; " they let
you off", eh ! Shake hands."

Uncle Nathan came twisting and bobbing through the
crowd, his hatchet-like goatee a-bristle with sympathy,
and grinning till he exposed an ample range of molars.
Grasping him by the wrist he thrust him backward and
forward as if he had been a reversible lever, till Fred's
equilibrium was well-nigh lost.

His private friends disposed of, it was poor Fred's turn
next to be overwhelmed by his public well-wishers. They
came on him in a swarm, and he found his hands grasped
by a variety of fists before he could find time to speak.
When the enthusiasm had considerably abated, his friends
again took possession of him.

" See here, old fellow," cried Mr. lane, grasping him by
the arm ; " you come along to the hotel and we'll have a
rousing good dinner to celebrate the victory."

The crowd, trying to get out, pushed and jostled around
them, and in the tumult Fred was borne away from his
pompanions. Wheji the stream of humanity disgorged

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228

polson's puobation.

them from the doors, they found the streets without lighted
only by the 3tore-li*^hts glimmering at unequal distances.
Between these were gloomy spaces, and overhead the night
was dark and cold ; yet the streets were peopled by a
swarming crowd, excitedly talking of the trial as tiiey
jostled along.

His friends sought in vain for Fred Poison among this
darkened throng ; and when these had all dispersed and the
shoutings had died into murmurs indistinct, and the lights
had gone out in store and household, with only a few
stars shivering in misty sleep between dark blanketings
of clouds — they were searching still.

J3ut all in vain. As a drop of rain sinks into the ocean,
or a grain of sand is buried in the desert, he had disap-
peared among the multitude ; and thoujrh his friends
sought far and wide for him, and all inquired anxiously
after him, while the hearts of distant relations ached for
a word from him, nor sight nor sound of Fred Poison
revisited that winter's light.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
Mr. Blutgun's Message.

Mr. Blutgun's family never needed to ask him how a
trial had gone. If the condemnation had been severe and
villainy was to swing from the rope's end, he sea'^ed him-
self comfortably in his arm-chair, and drawing a circle of
bullet-headed little Blutguns around him, gave them a
saintly harangue on the horrors of evil-doing — which was
his way of inculcating a love of virtue in their young
breasts. But to-night Mr. Blutgun's mood is not saintly,
for as he enters the door he sees an inoffensive cat lying
over the threshold.

"Bah ! The cat's always lying in the way. I will see
this household better ordered." And the next instant poor
puss takes a wingless flight along the passage, and lands

MR. ULUTOUNS MESSAGE.

229

with an injured "ineaow" unci an angry "spit" at tho < tlier
end.

The little Hlut^uns, wlio had been playing in the parlor,
on hearing their father's voice huddled demurely in a
corner and whispered to each other, " He isn't going to
be hanged."

This seemingly unfllial remark, however, did not apply
to their father, but to the prisoner who had been tried
that day.

Mr. Blutgun jerked the door open and looked scowlingly
around ior something to tind fault with. Such a search is
never wjiolly fruitless.

"A iiice mess vou've been making here," he growled.
"Where is your mother^ She ought to look after you
better than this. Charitas Tomboy, pick up that broken
doll. You, Diogenes Joseph, take away that whip-top
that you've been boring holes through the carpet with, and
you, Soratus John, clear away those slovenly whittlings."

Whilst the children were tremblingly clearing away the
relics of their innocent play, a pale-faced, meek-looking
little woman entered through an opposite door. Mr. Blut-
gun's eyes pounced on her at once.

"A nice state of things this is, madam," he angrily
muttered. " I'm only away for a few hours, and I come
back to find the hou^e all littered like a pig's-cote. By
this time you should know how to take care of a family
better, Mrs. Blutgun."

" Dear me, Soratus," said his wife, in frightened tones.
" I wish you wouldn't carry on so. The children have only
been playing a bi':, and we will make it all tidy again in
five minutes. But," she added to divert his wrath, " here's
a telegraph message just arrived for you."

Mr. Blutgun took it and tore it open savagely, as if it
had offended him.

" Oh, yes," he crunched ; " I forgot. Enough to make a
man forget anything in such a place as this. Where is
the messenger % Gene back I suppose ! "

His wife answered that he was waiting to see if there
was a reply.

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230

•»

POT.SON S PROIUTION.

" Reply ! Yes, I suppose there inu8i he. A man never
has a moment's peace in this place." And be sulked away
into his study to write the answer.

Whilst her husband was away, Mrs. Blutgun took it
upon herself to comfort and admonish the frightened
children.

" Papa's very cross to-night," she said ; "so clear away
these things and get quietly to bed, like good little dears."

The children obeyed the injunction with unwonted
alacrity, and afterward retired between the bed-clothes to
frighten themselves to sleep with whispered suggestions
about ghosts and the " bad, bad man " who had put papa
in such a temper.

Below, Mrs. Blutgun, sad and silent, seated herself by
the fire, and with four bright knitting needles fortitied
herself against her husband's splenetic attacks.

Mr. Blutgnn's reply to the telegram sped on the spark
along the wire, and found its way to a private room in a
hotel in a small western town. The recipient unfolded it
eagerly. It contained but one word —

" Acquitted,"

The paper was scattered into a hundred ragged shreds
which fell like snow-flakes on the floor. Spiteful feet
trampled on them fiercely as if they would drive them into
the carpet and out of sight. An angry brow frowned
above and two clinched fists came together with a crack.

"And this is all. Never mind, I bide my time. For
love and gold I must conquer. Let me remember — for
love and gold."

OH, THE F.OX«i AND DUEAUY WINTKU

231

CHAPTEli XXXIV.

Oh, the Long and Dhkauy Winter !

Frost !

It bound the furrows in the fields like great black bands
of iron so that the plow the husbandman had left in them
could not be torn from their grasp. It shrivelled the grass
into twisted tufts of faded brown. It cracked the trees of
the forest with musket sounds, and it turned tbe waters of
the river into crystal. It silvered the breatli tossed from
the horses' nostrils, and sent the cattle shivering to their
sheds. It bit the ears, it nipped the nose, it stung the
cheek. In the wind it went through human garments and
tickled the body with its icy fingers till the whole mortal
tenement shook. It covered the heads with caps of fur,
it clothed hands and fingers in mittens of skin and wool,
and encased the feet in threefold socks enveloped by
moccasins of deerskin or shoes of rubber. It set the woods
ringing with axes and reddened the stoves with fire. In
homes at night it drew the family cir^^le around the heated
plates of Ii'on in thankfulness and warmth, and outside it
clothed the heavens with steel and made the pale stars
tingle in the sky.

Snow !

It stretched like a floor of powdered marble far as the
eye could reach. It descended soft as angel wings, or
hurled itself down on the breath of the freezing blast. It
crunched like sand in the grasp, it groaned and creaked
beneath the tread. Over its surface, like streaks of
polished marble, the sleigh-tracks glittered in the winter
sun. When the winds were high it rose in a hissing mist
like an ice-fiend in its wrath, and it encircled houses and
buildings with cold and gleaming walls. It buried the
fences so that only the tops of posts peeped through, and
huddled into creeks and hollows. It spread its spotless
mantle over every leafless blufi" and withered patch of scrub.

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POLSON S PROIUTION.

nv r

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;

It shot through iiicho and crevice into houHo and 8tal>lo
and bairi, aH if it would shanio them by its purity. It
glittere«, beneath the suii, it gleamed beneath the moon,
and its myriad points of light pierced the eyes like sparks
of lire. In the forests it covered the branches with soft
and feathery crests. On the plain it crusted to the thick-
ness of an inch or more over pits of white and frosty
powder — a treacherous covering, which bore the man and
sank the beast.

The wind !

Friend, dost hear it as it howls above the chimney top
or whistles through the key-hole ? If so, wrap thy good
cloak about thee, and drinking in the ruddy blaze, thank
the good Lord that thou breathest not in the storm. But
thou, poor wretch, choked and stupetied by the blast
that howls at thy nostrils, staggering vainly toward thy
home — dream not that from that overpowering slumber
which oppresses thee thou shalt have an earthly awaken-
ing, but clasp thy stiffening hands in prayer, for so surely
shalt thou enter better into a (aimer world.

Such are the th.-ee elements that make the bitterness of
the northern wintc ; nor, you may guess, did they spare
our friends in the Dysart settlement. The wagons and
plows lay idle in the sheds. The sleighs were drawn out
from their summer shelter, and their creaking runners
bore fodder from the marshes and logs from the forest.
Others wended toward the markets with loads of grain for
sale. Work was still plentiful in those short-lived days.

Yet was the winter not wholly unkind : — No pestilent
insect life dare swarm in its sharp, clear air. No drowsy
sluggishness dwelt in the frosty atmosphere. No nerve-
shaking thunderstorms abode in the snowy clouds. No
pelting rains drenched the earth, and the cold snow shook
from the feet like sand.

Glorious it is when the days are calm, to sit clothed
to the eyes in fur behind a fiery team that bear you, like
storms incarnate, over the boundless plain. Ha ! how the
snow flies up from beneath the spurning hoofs. With

OH, THE LONO AND nilEAUY WINTER 1

2.Sa

wo gliclo along, as though

riding

what delicious oaso
through tho air !

The power of such pleasure seemed to have touched even
the brass-tiled heart of Silas Pancrack, for he had bought
a highly-polished, k iftly-cushioned cutter, and a span of tine
black horses to draw it. He committed this act of extra-
ordinary open-handedness in a tit of good-nature over the
disappearance of Fred Poison. The sudden transition
fronk the news of his acquittal to that of Ir disappear-
ance had so rejoiced the heart of Silas that lor once his
hilarity seems almost to have overwhelmed his solid reason;
but ashamed to do anything without a seltish motive, he
invented for his action an excuse.

"His rival had gone ; but, curse him ! he might return.
Meanwhile let me prepare all kinds of traps to lure Miss
Alice from him. And the estate also. Certainly, Poison
had broken the critical clause in his grandfather's will by
showing himself capable of being suspected of an act which
would bring him to disgrace in the courts. Fortune favors
the brave. Ha ! ha ! "

Thus exulting, Silas emerged from his shanty door, and
after gazing awhile at the rabbits and j)rairie-chickens
with which the outer walls were adorned, went to the
stable to tell his hired man to hitch up the horses to the
cutter.

A strange place for the home of the possessor of a hun-
dred thousand was Silas Pancrack's shanty. Its furniture
consisted of a rude bed propped upon pieces of rough
scantling, three travelling trunks, some bedding rolled up
in a corner, some cracked and broken-handled crockerv
huddled precariously on a rickety shelf, a half worn-out
broom sticking behind the door, a black pot standing near
the stove half full of greasy dishwater, and with a ring of
boiled oatmeal sticking round the sides like glue. Add
to these a greasy stove flaked with spots of rust outside
and half choked with ashes within, and you have the
furniture of Silas Pancrack's western home.

The floor was grimy near the stove and dusty beneath
the bed ; and in other places it was rough as a rasp with

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234

poi„son's probation.

ril

tlifl iiiipriut of hoavy l)Oot8. Thft l»,aro-raft«'n»(l roof vvaH
hhickoiwHl with HHioko. Tl»« hoardH in the wall hud uhrunk
with the heat, heaving gaping crackH through which the
black tar paper could be plainly Keen, and through thcMe
crevices the bli^.xard play(»d strangely mournful tuneu,
whilst the inmates sat shivering in ooalHof fur by the rusty
stove.

Unfortunately for Silas, his hired man was a sportsman,
and he festooned the outside of the shanty with irregular
lines of prairie-chickens, pheasants and white furred rabbits.
These were frozen like so many furred or feathered stones,
and hanging loosely on nails by pieces of twine, when the
wind rose they thumped against the shanty walls as if a
hundred carpenters had been hammering there.

His stable, hidden among snowdrifts, stood a little way
back from the shanty ; and the.s<5 were all the farm build-
ings that Pancrack as yet possessed.

" Never mind," thought Silas, " they will serve my
purpose well enough, and when f have done with them 1
daresay f can dispose of them to some poor greenhorn who
wishes to try the beauties of a life of single blessedness on
the prairie. 1 am getting tired of this bachelor life my-
self, and I think I'll see what progress 1 can make toward
changing it to-day."

And with this resolve he helped his man to harness his
impatient steeds and hitch them to the glittering
cutter.

Mrs. Crags had promised him that Alice should go for a
drive with liim that day, and with looso rein he slipped
over the steep ravine and sped softly toward her home.

SILAS PANCRACK I'OPS TIIK grESTlON.

235

CHAPTER XXXV.

SiLAH PaNCUACK PoI'H TIIK QUKSTION.

With the Craga fiimily, things hud gono from hm\ to
worse.

The weedy, backward ' rop had hcon nipped hy a
suninier frost, and in consfxjuenco was tit for nothing l)ut
fodder. To other homes the bountiful harvest had brought
gladness and plenty ; but to this it had only borne addi-
tional misery for the present and hoplessness for the
future.

When the rank and worthless harvest had been taken
from the fields, the bla« k stifi' stubble of spinach stalks lay
like huge palls around the house on every side. On the
brightest days, when all others were rejoicing in the light,
the shadow of gloom hung over that home. The house's
dingy exterior, the squalid buildings and rickety sheds,
were perhaps but a tit expression of the spirits of the
human beings who dweit in that place.

Alice pined secretly over Fred Poison's fate. George's
face showed marks of dissipation, and he moved about with
the sullen silence of one laboring under the pressure of an
overpowering curse. The old man, swathed in hulls ot"
flannel, leather and cloth, lived a tortoise life by the side of
the stove ; and Mrs. Crags vented her troubled spirits on
the heads of the rest. J^he indeed was the only one who
felt the stress of their financial position very keenly, and
she strongly resented the indifierence of the others.

So far Pancrack had been true to his promise ; the
money raised by the mortgage kept oflf the bailiffs for the
present at least, and the mortgagees did not press for the
interest. But Mrs. Crags knew well that this could not
last for many years.

She was acute enough to see that Pancrack's generosity
was backed by selfish instincts, and she knew that if he
failed to make a niutcn with Alice, the mortgage would be

■ I

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POLSONS pnOBATION.

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hi
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forcoloHiMl, iind hIii> iiud linr fiiinily loft hninolesi. Nor, you
riiiiv (l<;poii(l, (lid Hitr iir^l(u;t to forco thiH point of view
Hti't/iigly on Ikm' (liiu^litnrH notion ; and poor Alico, in Hpito
of her inrnoMt pnulilttotion for Kred I'oIhoii, Ijoxuii to tliink
it njorn tlwm over lior tluty to accept Iuh rival if Im propoMcd
for Ix^r liiind.

Inwiirdly, Mrs. Ora^H had rojoiced over Fred Polson'H
disHppear/ince, since it removed the usurerH Htrongest
rival ; but outwardly, before Alice, uho feigned u (juaai-
synipathy.

" Poor young man," she said in melancholy tones. " TTo
was always of a high strung, ncirvous disposition ; and the
agitation of that trial, togt^ther with his not being able
altogether to prove his innoceri'M (which he didn't, you
know) upset his brain ; and it's my belief that rather than
face his old friends with such a disgrace hanging over him
he went and conunitt<!d suicide in some lonely place,
and thr snow coming soon after, covered up his body so
that it couldn't be found. Hut it will come to light in the
spring, never f(!ar."

Alice's large eyes distended in horror as she listened to
this tragical supposition, and as she thought of the proba-
bility of its truth, h(!r guileless teatures writhed in an agony
of attempted self-control, and then failing utterly she hid
her face in her ha. ids and the swelMng tears gushed
forth

'* Oh, mother," slie sobbed, when sufliciently relieved to
speak, " how can you think of such terrible things 1 "

"Silly girl," said the tearless Mrs. Crags, pettishly,
"did you never hear of anybody killing themselves before,
that you make such a fussi Of course he is dead — or why
can nobody iind him 1 And how is it that he never
returns, or writes to his friends or anything *? P-choo ! "

Poor Alice had far more sentiment than philosophy,
and when these hard questions were put to her, her only
answer was to ciy afresh.

But Mrs. Crags did not object to wading through tears
to the accomplishment of a purpose. She wished to crush
out any small hope that Alice might yet entertain of Fred

Mi'iim%i'et^

HILAH PANCRACK l»OI»S TIIK gl'KSTlON.

237

PolHon'ii return ; uiul iigiiiii ntul tijj^tiin rcpratrd to her tho
»r;{uiiii*iit8 on which shn foutuhMl hnr iNtlii^f in hin iton-

«xlKt(MU*<9.

So iMtrHJHtont and unvaried wen^ her mot!ii»r'M HUttMuenin
that Alic«» linufun at last to rnully ht*li«<vn thnm. S<MiHiliv«
naturcK lik(« h<MH aro piM'hapH tho inoNt caNily hul to wnm^
conoluMionH, for they are ever too ready to believe that
which conforms numt (ittin^ly to the present Htate of
feeling. AHci^'h trouhlcH atid perplcxitieM had niadt^ her of
lato more than UHually despondent, and the nielantrlioly
idea of Krcd's death suitiiij^ ko aptly the niood of her own
Boul wati poruUM'tMl on and wept over until at last it grew
like a tree of mournful shade in the receHses of that
wonderful part of her nature which thouyht, aitd hIio
accepted it as an unquestionaMe truth. Like a melancholy
tune, which from constant repetition keeps on sounding in
the ear, this sorrow dwelt ever with her, and even
comforted h(>r in the acceptance of the path which she
seemed doomed to tread.

'* For," she reasoned, " now that he is gojie, what matters
it whom I marry] If I accept Mr. I*an<;rack I shall at
l(>ast save moth(>r and father from ruin, and besides he is
always very pleasant— -I really don't know why I dislike
him so much — it is very ungrateful of me — I must try to
suppress it."

"He is well-to-do too (these are a woman's thoughts) —
and I shall be the mistress of a ilno household, and have
dresses, and music and books."

So Silas P. (not indeed without an inward groan at the
expense) had bought the flashing cutter and tht! dashing
t(5am vath which he meant to d"aw the affections of Alice
Crags from Fred Poison to hinibelf ; and for tho reasons I
have nientioned, Alice had quietly consented to acconipany
him in a drive along the river. But though she had fully
intended to fulfil her promise, when he drove up to the
door to claim it, a strange reluctance seized her, and
retiring to her bedroom she asked her mother to make some
excuse for her on the ground of having a headache or some
similar ailment.

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238

I»<HJ40N.S IMIOHATION.

n nil

"A htMuiiu'lH) ! " ttxclAiiiird Mm. (Vagi. •• It haii comn
on vrry NU<ldt*tily tliAii ; hut n (irivn in tin* fri^«h air will Imi
jUMt i\w tiling to do it ^ood. Ho put on your oloth«i
liko a ^ood niv\, and don't kcop Mr. I'ancraok waiting."

Alice would fain hiivt^ d«Mnurrrd, liut lirr mother
iinpivtitMtily prnpartnl ht>r wrupM and l)«<^an to holp her on
with lu^r furH.

" You know, my doar," hIh* whlNpornd, aH nhn roll**d an
(•norniDUH iuuMNm* in many foldM around AUco'h nock and
chin, "you niUMt not diNappoint Mr. Pancrack too often or
he may Iooho oil' from uh altogttther ; and fancy if hn
fonM;loM«>d the mort^a^ts whatever would become of
uhhII !"

Alice waH Hilent ; touched hy thiH appeal Hlie nuide no
further rcMiHtance, hut niu tiled iind clothed ho that only her
oyeH, none and mouth and a little of her cheeks could he
Heen, mov«Ml toward the door.

Pancrack Hat in the cutter, chocking liin prancing team
with a ti;^ht rein ; but when hIio appeiinul, he Hprang out
and greeted her with a nod and a Hmiiing " Good
afternoon."

Hhfl auHwercd Iuh Halutation aK pleaKantly aHlier agitated
feelings would permit and stepped into the cutter. With
courteous care lie >|krapped the rugs and fur robes around
her feet, and 'then took his s<>at in the cutter beside
her.

W hen he loosened the reins the hors(»a dashed forward
like whirlwinds unchained, and the cutter (lew behind
them in a rapid, continuous bound, as if it too were instinct
■with life.

•* I do hope," said Mrs. Crags, as with hand bent over
her eyes she watched them disappearing in the distance,
"that he comes to the point to-day, and she accepts. I
think she never could be so silly as to refuse."

•'I wish," muttered George Crags, laying down a forkful
of straw which he was carrying to the stable, " I wish
Alice was out of that cutter, and it would upset him and
break his neck. 1 do. The brute ! "

And George Crags curled his lips bitterly, and taking up

HILAH FANOUACK I'Ui'M TIIK gl'RHTION.

bin l>uii(llo of •traw, tgaiUjrad it Ainoiig tii« l«iin-ribb4HJ|
how liiiokiMi ciittlo.

I hav«« riMui of trav«i||«rii in mptur«»N ovnr tlit^ j^IorinN of a
fANt (irivo uvi>r a Kuropnin roud, litit IiikI th«9H<^ ^cittUMiiAn
•vor tuNtfd th(^ <li«liKlilM of u MiUiitoltA hIci^Ii rido, i\uiy
would pi'olittldy iiicMifTiit4' tli(<ir ocMtiiMitm.

KxhilurAtinKt >>< it, to liuiiip ovor rutn mid jolt ovor Ntotioi
with iliookH tliut thrttuten thoMlability of tlin liuinaii frniiifl,
that tin^ln the ncrvrH into paUy and thump the hraiii into
coiniil IMruNiiiit, is it, in oarly inorning to wutoh the frosty
hed)j(<irowM (lit hy, to Mtt<« tho wrctchid funii hoy ^'oidiivnriiig
alon^ with rniHiMi hack and po(!k«<t«-d liandM htdiind a hIow-
inovin^ ht^rd ; ai>d to find yourH<«lf iti thr procttHH of watoh-
in^ Mpatt<>n>d hy patches uf ntud Mpuinod over you hy the
whi/./in^ wIicoIm]

I think I can mIiow you a hriirhtrr picturn. InHtcad of
dirt h^t UH havo snow Uonoath uh. InHtead of a hlarin^
horn ^dve uh the niUHi of tinklini{ Ix^IIh. InHtead of the
narrow h«>d^erow givo to uh tho white unHf)ott(>d plain,
hound(>d hut hy th«« hluo walls of the clear winter nky.
Then, anion^ the powder«»d Hnow which fornm a gau/e of
flying mint before you, will the cheekH tingle and the
spirits rine.

And perhaps this pleanurahle experience influenced
Alice CragH, for as the liorses d-islied forward with manes
on the wind, and tossed the frosted breath from their
nostrils in glee, she felt her spirits rise. Ah the narrow
runners of the cutter hissed over the frosty trail, and the
snowy plain went swiftly glimmering by (aa if it moved
and they stood still), there grew upon her th.it thrilling
ecstasy which this motionless motion gives, ard her repug-
nance to Pancrack for the time ((uitc vanished avay.

The day, though calm, was bright and keen, and she felt
the cold air shivering in frosty sparkles over her face.
Pancrack looked unusually well. His black fur coat was
buckled up to his chin and hid his short thick neck. His
fur cap, drawn down to his eyes, concealed the stubby hair
and dry, care-nicked forehead, so that only his face — show-

■f

240

polson's probation.

! \

ing to tlie best advantage in the animation it derived from
the exercise of holding in the horses — was visible.

During the first part of the drive little was said on
either side. It taxed all Pancrack's energy to hold his
fiery steeds, and Alice cared not to intrude the sound of
her voice on the silver music Of the bells, ringing clear and
shrill amid the vast silence that encircled them.

So they dashed along toward the valley and down the
steep hill between the swinging colonnades of trees, and
over the gleaming flat down to the ice-cased rive Over
the ice lay a carpet of snow, flat as if scraped ofl' by some
great levelling si-ick, and straight along the middle a sleigh
track had been made — a trail which was the favorito drive
of the idlers. Along this they sped amid flying snow from
the horses' hoofs, the steep, cracked banks, with patches of
snow hanging here and there upon them, frowning grimly
at them from either side, whilst the trees and willows that
lined the brink cast a flitting trellis-work of shade and
shine over them as they flashed along.

But now the horses were becoming quieter and Pancrack
began to cast about for some means of starting a conver-
sation which should lead them to that ticklish topic he
wished to broach.

" It is a beautiful winter day," he said.

" It is indeed."

"It is quite cold, but still there is no wind."

'' Yes."

" If it were not for the wind I think that Manitoba in
the winter w juld be a beautiful country to live in."

"I think it would be much better, at least."

" Confound it," thought Pancrack, " I must get off these
hackneyed subjects or I shall never come to the point. I
must start on -another tack."

Poor Alice, all the time, was fearfully apprehensive of
the result toward which she felt sure he was driving, and
trembling between returning dislike for the man and a
sense of the martyr's duty, it was only with great effort
she managed to j»ive her short replies.

?here was a silence, during which the horses came to a

SILAS PANCRACK POPS THE QUESTION.

241

walk and the shadows played gently over them. The bells
tinkled but faintly, and the cutter moved noiselessly over
the snow. The dumb river was gliding through its cavern
of ice, two feet or more below theni. The only sound in
nature to mingle with the soft tinkle of the bells was the
chatter of a squirrel or the sound of snow falling from the
branches of 3ome laden free. The willows bowed their
drooping heads toward them, and the trees stretched out
their vast white-crested arms as if in friendly greeting. It
was a scene favorable to the awakening of sentimental
feeling, and after a little meditation, Pancrack again
opened out.

" You are fond of sleigh-ridin .*, are you not, Miss
Crags?"

" Yes, I like it very much."

" You should come out oftener. I notice you have not
looked well lately. It would improve your health."

" Really, do you think so ? I was not aware that I
appeared at all ill."

" That is because in your unselfishness you do not take
that interest in yourself which others take in you." And
holding the reins loosely in one hand, he looked at her with
a significant smile, at the same time thinking inwardly,
"That's the style."

Alice felt his gaze, and a blush rushing up from the folds
of her woollen mufiler '^rove the frosty sparkles from her
face. In her confusion she could think of no reply to his
observation, and Pancrack continued in a softer tone.

'* Do you believe, Alice — you will allow me to call you
so, won't you 1 — that I take a very deep interest in your
welfare 1 "

By this time she had partly recovered her self-control,
the blush had half withdrawn itself, and she answered
with a little agitation :

" Since you are kind enough to say so, I should be very
ungrateful if I refused to believe it."

" But from what you have seen of my conduct toward
you, don't you think that my interest has a deeper motive
16

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242

POLSON S PROBATION.

than mere friendship •? " He was bending with his mouth
very close to her ear now, and speaking very softly.

"Tell me, Alice; don't you think sol" he .idded, gently
attempting to seize her hand ; but as gently she drew it
away from him. There was nothing in the movement,
however, to indicate contempt or dislike, but rather a
natural action of maidenly modesty — for Alice was just
then in a very trying position. She could not act with
such untruthful hypocrisy as to give this man to under-
stand that she loved him ; on the other hand, if she rejected
him what misery might she not bring on the heads of
those nearest and dearest to her 1

Absorbed in these perplexing reflections she quite for-
got to answer Pancrack's soft-spoken question, but he,
thinking her utterance only stifled for the time by the
emotion he had raised, only pressed his suit the more
ardently. As much as his hardened nature wou^d admit
he already loved this woman ; and seated so near to her,
with his hand upon her arm and his eyes looking into hers,
the smouldering passion was fanned into a flame.

" Alice," he said, aU the little moral life that was in him
breathing forth in the earnestness with which he pro-
nounced that name — " Alice, my darling, will you be my
wife ? »

She felt the hand laid upon her arm trembling with
passion. She saw his eyes striving to melt themselves in
the light of hers, but she remained passive and calm, and
without the least show of emotion answered —

"I will."

The utter absence of feeling in her tone stung him, but
he did not mean to relinquish her for all that, and con-
tinued as warmly as before :

*' And you love me, don't you. Alice 1 "

She had now decided on her course of action, and her
answer was ready. It was the rer^ly to which she had long
since schooled herself, and the ords came readily from
her lips :

"Mr. Pancrack, though I feel highly honored by your
proposal, and under the circumstances ^vccept it Y^ith grati-

<» !: i'.

SILAS PANCRACK POPS THE QUESTION.

243

tude, yet T know tliat if I answered ' yes ' to your last
question, I should only be cruelly deceiving you. But
I can say that I esteem you highly, and feel most
grateful to you for the service you have rendered my
parents ; and if, knowing this, you still care to take me as
your wife, I will try to make your life as pleasant for you
as lies in my power, and more than this, I will try to learn
to love you."

This logical and dispassionate speech naturally disap-
pointed Panerack not a little, but he was too much master
of himself to show it. He grasped with an aflectionate
squeeze the mittened hand she proffered him, and lighting
his face with a glowing simulation of hope, he said :

" And I know that you will succeed. In the meantime
I am gloriously happy in knowing that you are mine, and
not to be stolen from me." And he pressed an ardent kiss
on her lips. Jn her position it would have seemed like
ridiculous affectation to refuse him the privilege of these
caresses, but she received both pressure and kiss as in-
differently as if she had been but a marble statue.

Panerack was not altogether exaggerating in describing
his happiness, but still it was quite as selfish as it was
sentimental ; for in fact he lived in constant fear of Fred
Poison's return, who, he thought, with the character for
heroism his conduct under trial had obtained for him,
might even prove a more dangerous rival than before.
Silas knew well that if Fred should return and succeed in
winning Alice from him he would be provided with a
living safeguard against future temptations; for though the
usurer boasted in his own mind, he was by no means sure
that his rival's temporary disgrace totally disqualified him
for the possession of the Laston eistate.

So to-day Silas Panerack felt doubly triumphant, as
with one hand grasping the reins and the other holding
the passive, wool-clothed hand of his betrothed, he drove
her back toward her home.

Inwardly the poor girl felt sick and weary-hearted, but
externally she still preserved a statuesque passivity, and

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244

rOLSONS PllOBATION.

1 1

replied to Pancrack's numerous questions and observations,
if not with warmth, at least with kindly civility.

Most men would have been chilled into utter silence by
this cold docility, but the harder the ice froze around
Pancrack's lips, the more readily his words seemed to slip
forth.

In glowing language he pictured to her their future
establishment. It should be in a city, of course ; and she
should have a carriage to ride in, and servants to wait on
her, and every luxury at her hand. And still she only
replied with :

"You are very kind, Mr. Pancrack, I am sure."

"Yes, indeed:"

" I quite a»ree with you, Mr. Pancrack."

" Really, Mr. Pancrack, you must not think of putting
yourself to so much trouble and expense on my account."

This formal mode of address rather annoyed liim, and
he said :

"I wish you wouldn't keep calling me 'Mr. Pancrack,'
Alice, it sounds so distant. Can't you call me Ju — I
mean Silas, now 1 "

Alice forced up a smile.

" Well, perhaps it will sound better," she said ; and
henceforth " Siids " was uttered quite as mechanically as
"Mr. Pancrack."

Probably these listless replies would have considerably
dampened Silas Pancrack's flame had love been its only
feeder, but the selfish instinct was rejoicing toor— he felt
that he had in a way vanquished Fred Poison, and this
thought was for the time fuel sufficient to keep the flame
of satisfaction blazing to its brightest height.

So they rodfe up the hill between the close ranks of the
forest trees. The sun was still bright and the squirrels
were chattering in the snowy branches. Occasionally a
fluffy white rabbit flitted across the road. Lithe little
chipmunks darted gaily here and there, and the beautiful
ermine, like a moving tuft of snow, sped slyly beneath the
bushes. All the life of the winter forest was astir and

l)i .1 it;;

SILAS PANCRACK POPS THE QUESTION.

245

happy in the light ; lier affianced lord was pleading Hoftly
by her side, and still poor Alice felt sick at heart.

The journey was only a short one, but it seemed endless
to her. She had tried her best to be straightforward, yet
she felt as if forced to act an unnatural part. The mask
of hypocrisy galled her and she longed to cast it aside, but
duty she felt forbade her to act otherwise whilst with him.

At last they reached the dingy house she called her
home, and as he handed her from the cutter, Pancrack im-
printed a kiss on her seemingly indifferent lips ; but even
Pancra«'k could not help thinking how much better than
that passive calmness would have been a gentle murmur or
a playful rebuke.

We well knew that it is the little petty troubles rather
than the great calamities which make life bitter to so many
poor mortals. If the truth were really kr.own, there is
more pathos probably in toothaches, headaches and neural-
gias than in pinching famines or scorching fevers. The
small things expand from inward vexation, the great ills
are subdued by outward sympathy — and so Alice's coldness
was a very crumpled rose-leaf in Silas Pancrack's sybarite
bed, and the more he reflected on it the more did his
vexation increase. Under the sting he whipped and
checked his horses very unjustly as he drove toward his
home.

" The cold-hearted minx," he thought, " she replies to
me with less feeling than one of Mr. Edison's phonographic
dolls, and receives my caresses like a wax figure in Bar-
num's museum. I wonder whatever is the cause of it 1 It
can't be Poison — he has been away quite a while now; and
unless she differs widely from most of her sex, by this
time she has forgotten all about him. Besides that, I can
cut a far better show than he can any day ; and Byron — a
great lady's man — has told us that,

** ' Women, like moths, are ever caught by glare,

And mammon wins his way where devils might despair;'

— " no, not devils, but it doesn't matter anyhow. There's
something wrong with her, and I can't think what it is.

f <

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246

POLSON S PROBATION.

11^

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unless it's that confounded brothe;r of hers poinon.'ng her
ear against ine. Never mind — gold can make and gold can
mar. I must simply supply Dundo with an extra loan,
and hint to him to push matters on a little faster."

The foregoing is what Mr. Pancrack thought ; hut what
he did not think was that Mrs. Crags, peeping through the
window, had seen the sly kiss he had pressed upon her
daughter's lips. The matron's worldly heart exulted at the
sight ; it betokened the fulfilment of her wish, and when
Alice entered the house, unmindful of her marble look, she
hastened to bestow her congratulations upon her.

"So you have made it up," she whispered, stopping her
as she was about to go upstairs to take oHl' her wraps. " I
knew you would, like a good sensible girl."

And in her rapture, for the first time in many years,
Mrs. Crags actually kissed her daughter. But even this
unusual demonstration wrought no change in Alice's
fixed features, and evoked no answering word from her
bloodless, tight-drawn lips.

Quietly she ascended the stairs and entered her own
room. Then, closing the door behind her, she cast herself
— still clothed in fur and wool — upon the bed ; and quick
as the lightning shocks the storm-cloud, the statue changed
into a woman, and the mask was dissolved in a rain of
tears.

She cried long and unrestrainedly, and when thus her
bitterness had been relieved, she knelt by her bedside and
thanked God that He had given her strength to do what she
deemed to be her duty.

;l'. 11 :'

llOME SCKNES IN WINTER TIME.

247

CHAPTER XXXVI.
Home Scenks in Wintrr Time.

EuE we proceed with our tale, let us take a look at some
of our friends and see how they are wearing the winter
out.

The surroundings of the Dyaart household have under ,
gopr marked change. The lake on which little Ida ha
) ^d to be rowed in the soft summer evenings is no
hard and immovable as some rock of imbedded crystal-
The trees where the birds she loved had sheltered and
sung are now naked and cheerless, and howl piteously lik
living things in torment when wrestling vith the wintry
blasts, while the birds themselves are singing in another
clime. Over the little grave, beneath the leafless trees, the
wind-blown snow hai drifted and put to shame with its
whiteness the marble headstone against which it softly
leans.

Within doors warmth and cheerfulness prevail. In the
evenings, when the blinds are drawn and the lamps are
lighted, reading, music and various games pass the time
happily for the family ; while in the kitchen Mr. Scrogpot
sits by Mrs. Tomson's side, and as she knits socks and
mitts for him by the stove, he, with stockinged feet in the
oven, plans for them a hapj y life in a little bakery in a
neighboring town.

This, reader, is a picture we love to contemplate, the
warm little room with its rows of crockery and bright tin-
ware shining in the lamplight. A cosiness is there which
seems to me to surpass the cold grandeur of stately drawing-
rooms or the elegant fripperies of gilded boudoirs. That
couple growing old in toil ; past the age when passion
rages, calmly happy with each othei-, and happy, too, in
looking forward to an old age of honorable independence,
sustained by a quiet and not an idle life. This, it seems to
me, is better far than the vain desire for idleness and

• «

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248

l»or^ON's PRORATION.

luxury ; and truly, I think that in this respect at least,
the wige and great may often learn a valuable lesaon from
the ignorant and lowly.

His old friends often talked of Fred Poison and won-
dtred whether he would ever return, and when someone
hinted that perhaps he never could, a deep silence would
fall over them, and for a time his name would be mentioned
uo more.

Mr. Dysart had inquired after him far finf\ wide, and
every mail was eagerly scanned for some news of the miss-
ing one ; but frosts hit keener and the 'inter deepened,
and still no news of Fred Poison came. Strange to say,
even Mrs. liant, who \md never before shown herself
anything more than indifferent to him, now began to
manifest a deep interest in his fate. With the opening of
the mail-bag she always inquired eagerly if there were any
news of him, and each negative drew from her sighs and
groans of disappointment and distress.

It must not be supposed, however, that Mrs. Bant had
conceived a posthumous passion for poor Fred ; on the
other hand, I doubt not her grief was greatly owing to the
fear that Silas Pancrack had lo^t his strongest rival for
the hand of Miss Craga. The lady could no longer conceal
from herself the humiliating knowledge that she had become
desperately enamored of the smooth-tongued usurer. Trua,
she would have sharply denied it had anyone been daring
enough to task her with it ; but though many had sus-
picions of the truth, no one did so, and so Mrs. Bant's
passion was allowed to grow in unquestioned and fostering
silence.

1 ,rl

GORMAN S CAT.

249

^ {

CllAlTER XXXVU.
Gorman's Cat.

TiiK clotted niarHhes around tho littlo black smithy in
the western >vilderne8S have thickened to leaden-hued
beds of impenetrable ice, and the winds whistle shrilly
through the palisades of dead stiff reeds. Among these
foul and frozen pools is a black mound on which the winds
would not allow the pure white snow to rest ; and this is
the grave of Widow O'Neil. The only adornment of that
blackened tomb is a frozen snake, with head erect and
forked tongue protruding, which some maligner of the dead
has placed there as a fitting memorial of her weird and
gruesome calling.

The' gravelly, stone-scabbed hills, kept bare by the wind,
are all unmarked by change, and exist in a state of peren-
nial barrenness. Around the little shop the snow has
drifted high, but not so high as to save it altogether from
the fury of the winds, which lash the ragged shreds of
tarpaper against its sides like cruel whips, and, through
the gaps between the shrunken boards, mourn in a dreary
monotone.

Not constant now is heard the ringing of the hammer
on the anvil. Only at times, when a horse is brought to
be shod or a sleigh to be mended, do the dusty beUows
screech into the hot heart of the Are. Gorman spends
most of his time in bed, only occasionally venturing forth
to fetch groceries from the town or fuel from ijhe bush.
Since his mother's death he lives wholly alone — m,c least,
he says he does — but the superstitious will tell you that he
is haunted by a ghost.

They will tell you how, coming suddenly upon the shop,
they found the door locked, and heard voices conversing
strangely within. One voice had the Irish brogue of
Gorman, but the other was strangely deep and soft — not
like that of a man. So they said, and solemnly shook their

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250

IOLSON's PUOnATION.

I ' ■ I

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hnnrlH, hinting of a wrird inhoritan'^o which the witch-
niotlinr hii<l l)^Htow(>(i u|)(mi her one-oyed Hon. And they
aUo Hay that they have heard Htran^^e Houiidv upHtairH iftnd
in the cellar. VVhenco come these?

The writer will not attempt to pry further into thii
weird Huhjeet, hut will merely relate an incident from
which the reader may or may not gather a little light.

One day Mr. Fane brought over hi < racer to he nhod,
but found the door Hecundy locked. lie thumped it
severely with liiu Hhi, and, to uHe a common phraHe, "let
off it Hhout." Thin was immediately fo. lowed hy a rattling,
scuHling sound within, but Htill no one appeared to let in
the impatient Mr. Fane.

"Open there!" he shouted, shrugging his shoulders
vehemently, and kicking the door with liis moccasins to
the imp rllinont of h<s toes. " Open, or I'll batter the
bloo ning door in."

"Whisht, mi' darlint ! " said a pacifying voice within.
** Hould your pace a minute. It's busy 1 am puttin' the
things in thfi cillar."

" I should think then,'' said Mr. Fane, ceasing his efforts
with a contemptuous shrug, " from the row you are mak-
ing, that you had fallen down it net': and crop."

In a few seconds the key turned in the lock, and Gor-
nmn, in a rather dishevelled state, presented himself at
the door. He turned his tiead sideways that he might get
a look at the visitor with his one remaining eye. His
black bristly liair gave him the appearance of perpetual
fright. His coarse flannel shirt was ruffled and creased,
and his apron was folded negligently around his belt. Add
to this a pair of trousers worn and bagged at the knees,
and feet loosely encased in an old pair of Mennonite boots
with the tops cut off, and you have a picture of Mr.
Gorman O'Neil, blacksmith.

"Ah, it's you, sor, is if?" he said, recognizing Fane.
" A.nd if it's the horse ye want shoein' just lade him into
the shop, and wHin Oi've got the foire lighted, I'll hammer
on his boots like a strako o* grased lightnin'."

Mr. Fane, observing that he wished them fixed on a

II J

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251

little nrincr than they had iM^eii wh«>n Nhcxi buforo, drtrw
his reluctnnt iNvmt into tho vhop and (it*d it to a rinf(,
whilit ih« Ninith took Honie chi|m and papor and li^ht«Ml
th« for^(>. TliHii h(^ di»t<Midi'd tlio panting hollows, and
soon the rod Ihuno thiMhcd through tho nnioky pull and all
waH roar and lire.

Au tho Huith hanunorod on a red shot), Fanu twitted
htm about his viHionary houHoniate.

"Hay, CJornian ! " he aHkrd, pulling at the endrt of hit
niUHtaoho, '• who'H tho lady you were talkin* to while I
was waiting at the door ] "

(fornian's hair, which had Hubsidrd partially as hn
worked, rose en-ct again 3ikn lying grasH liftrd by an
oppoKing breeze, and he squinted crookedly at the red
shoe lying on the anvil.

" Divil a leedy iver put foot in this place." Bang I
bang ! bang ! carne in <}uiok succession from tho descending
hammer, and this was Uorman's manner of emphasizinj^
his untilial denial of the gentility of his departed mother.

*' Keally," continued Fane with an incredulous smile,
"you don't expect !ne to believe that, do you V

Gorman ceased his exertions, hold tho shoe up on end
with the tongs, and stared doggeally at his interrogator.

" Sarch the house if ye like, sor, and niver a lookin'-glass
will ye foind in it."

And after this unique negation he hammered away a
little more nervously than l)efore, whilst Fane laughed in
hia sleeve and shrugged, "That's a good un ! "

The pause that followed was suddenly disturbed by a
crash as of a barrel falling over in the cellar below, and
Mr. Fane exclaimed :

" There ! I told you. You've got her stowed away in
the cellar."

Gorman dropped the shoe on the anvil, and made for
the trap-door in great consternation.

"It's that thavin' baste of a cat," he said wratbily.
" Sh-sh — the divil take you for a spittin' thafe. Pwhat's
that thricklin' noise ye're makin' in there ? It's the orame
ye've upset, is it 1 Arrah — ye whiskered varmint 1 Just

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252

por.soN s ^lU)!^ATro^(.

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wait till r jo^nt mo rovolvAr; Oi'll put a Rtop to your mit-
chii'f, miHtlirr, "

And lio iiiUitiMicd into thu dwolling-rooiii iit hiji{li dudf^foti,
Riid ({iiirkly rnturnrd with n glnaininff aix-ihootttr in hit
hand. Ilt^ rainiMl thu trap door juMt iilightly, iMuit liiH hfiid
and listonml.

•* An' it'H lappiri' ut it y« ar« y«t, ye Hpft1p«»en," ho
iihout<>d. *' Stop it, or bo jaberN I'll put a hullut itito your
litupid li(>a<i."

And, iiH if to inako good liiN wordH, ho thruHt tli(« niu/zio
of the i'»volv(>r un<lcr the ilightly raiNod trapdoor, hut
•tnmge to Hay tho trickling noiM(^ Hudchudy ctMificid. The
unMe«n puH« had apparently boon frightoned, atid (iornian
dropped the door, and, soniowhat mollified, placed thu
revolver on a Hhelf.

" An' it'H Hhoot the thafe I would," he remarked to Fane,
who had watched the scone with mingled interest and
alarm, "but I'm Hcarod o' spattherin' his brains over tho
butther."

(Jornian O'Neil's cream, it must be remarked, was of a
rather llery tinge, and his butter was generally kept in
barrels or tubs ; but undoubtedly it was a cat.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Slidino Down thk Wiiihkey Grade.

TiiK morning was cold, but clear and calm.

Far around the settlers' houses were raised like floating
islands on the misty verge of the sky. Wherever tho
opposing bank of a river or creek met the eye countless
snow-banks rose step on step beyond each other, and
stretched, like tho white walls of castellated pyramids, far
away to a distance touched with mystery.

Nothing seemed substantial, nothing firm. All was
shadowy, shifting and indistinct. Men were dwelling in
the sky, and houses tottered like fairy palaces on the

8IJDIN(i IN)WN TIIK WIIINKEY OHADK.

25M

tnnntding briiilci of prt^oipioim of rniow. Kroin th« icat-
tercd cliiiunoyN wr«ikthi of tmoko -tintod blue in that
■tningo atiiio«|)h(>re — ourlotl upward iit softly iwellinff
folds toward th« ineasurelttss expatiso ; »tid the wirit«fr
HUH, rJMinf^ in tho onihraoA of two (Mirvod iirmi of light,
Hhi^d a froHty glamor ovar all, whiUt. thn harking of dogt
and the shuutii of int)n wuro curried far in jarring discord-
aiioe.

George CragN went into thr stable to put tho liarneHH on
his team. Like the rest of tli<^ OragH* farm buildingM it
WHM sadly dilapidated. The liarnoHs lay in a slovenly heap
on the earthen floor. The broken down stalls were made
of rough poles nailed to anything that allorded a convenient
resting-place. The straw ceilin;^ glaamed with a gilding
of frost formed from the animals' breath. Where the
plaster had been knocked from the chinks between the
logs the holes had been tilled with twisted wisps of straw.
The walls were without a window, and the door was minus
a hinge. The horsos themselves w*»re covered with coats
of long, shaggy hair, covering loosely their protruding ribs,
and evidently were not too familiar with the curry-comb
or the oat-bin.

On two of these forlorn-looking beasts George Crags
placed a set of harness, attd then drawing them out into
the farm-yard hitched them to u load of wlioat which he
was going to take to Bendigo.

'* A mirage and sun-dogs!*" he muttered, looking at the
sky. " I wonder what it means. Not a storm, I hope."

However, in spite of the hope, he put on a shaggy fur
coat, and encased his feet in several pairs of socks overlaid
by buckskin moccasins, and with hands mufHed like a
boxer's and head buried in a fur cap he looked like some
fragile object about to be despatched by rail, and carefully
padded in fur and wool to save it from injury.

The burdened sleigh creaked along the hard and frosty
track till the driver drew rein at a whitewashed log-house
by the side of the trail. Here dwelt with her parents
Miss Sarah Shenstone.

Ostensibly he called to ask if there were any errand he

2''

1 .

1 I

254

POLSON S PRvOHATION.

could do for them in town, but his real object was to see
and speak to the young lady. He was fortunate enough
to find Miss Sarah sitting with skirt tuckrd up peeling
potatoes by the side of the stove, from which occupation
she looked up to greet him with a little blush and a sly
srnile. But to cpeak to her was not so easy, for her
mother, who disapproved of George's dissipated habits,
frowned sternly on any attempt at intimacy between them ;
and after receiving a few letters to post he turned to leave
with part of his purpose unaccomplished. But Sarah, seeing
her mother's back turned, softly rose and followed him to
the door, whore she detained him by laying a gentle hand
on his arm.

" George," she said softly, " promise me that you will
not touch the drink to-day. There's a good fellow."

This unexpected appeal made him start like some
criminal suddenly discovered in a guilty act. He little
thought that she was cognizant of his weakness, and the
knowledge flushed his face and left him for a moment
speechless. Under the gentle gaze of her unreproachful
eyes, however, he soon recovered hir-self, and holding out
his hand he gratefully pressed hers.

" I promise," he whispered, and then hurried away.

For some time she gazed after him earnestly.

" Poor fellow," she thought. " What a pity he should
have taken to that ; but perhaps he . will get over the
habit."

" Sarah, come in and shut the door ; you are making the
house as cold as ice standing there." And so ended poor
Sarah's reverie.

No doubt at the time he made it George Crags earnestly
intended to keep his promise, but it is the drunkard's
misfortune ever to be strongest when farthest from temp-
tation. The evil spirit then lies dormant, and chuckles
perhaps at the firm resolves he hears ; bat once within his
own domains he rouses all his fellest energy and grapples
with his dupe, and in that dread combat only the strong-
willed or heaven-aided may hope for victory. As we have

SLIDING DOWN THE WHISKEY GRADE. 255

seen, George did not belong to the former class, nor, I am
afraid, did he seek to be classed among the latter.

Bendigo in the winter looked like some grotesque mould-
ing of lumber, bricks and stones placed in a setting of
trampled snow. The sleigh-beaten streets ran like streaks
of white between clumps of houses, stables and stores,
and the frost-clouded windows on either side gazed blankly
and sadly on the passer-by ; whilst the frowning elevators
by the railway side looked contemptuously over the rest
as they gulped in load after load of grain or discharged it
into covered cars on the track by their sides.

When George Crags' lead had been thus absorbed he ran
his lean-ribbed steeds into a feed-stable, and then made off
toward a temperance restaurant to get his dinner.

A stronger man would have bravely faced and battled
with temptation, but George was weak. His mode of
nursing a virtue was not to batf^o with and slay the evil
thing, but rather to dodge about and avoid its clutches.
Evil is the coward cur that flies from the fearless eye but
bites the flying heel, and so our very efforts to shun an
enemy are often the means by which we bring it
upon us.

So it was with George Crags in this instance. As with
eyes peering cautiously around him he turned the corner
of a street, he came face to face with his arch-tempter, Tom
Dundo, the loafer. Times had apparently improved with
him, for he wore a handsome fur coat, which, as he walked,
he left open at the front, and so exposed a glittering gold
watch-chain. A large cigar was tilted at an angle from his
mouth, and he looked less shabby but more jaunty than
ever. As his eyes met George's, however, his look changed
from the careless to the conciliatory. ^

" Hello, Georgie," he drawled, holding out his mittened
hand, " how'd 'ee do to-day 1 Thought you were lost or
dead. Haven't seea you in town for quite a while back.
Come and have a drink at my expense, and we'll talk over
the noos."

" No, not just now, thank you," said George, looking

I II !

'i i

256

POLSONS PROBATION

'':l

"■' 'i?

In i' I

ifji

nervously down at the ground. "I want to go to
dinner."

** All serene. You dine at the ' Cowboy,' don' you ?
Come along, and I'll wait in the bar till you've finished
your dinner."

George, fearing the quizzing that he knew would follow,
was afraid to tell him that he intended to Jine at a tem-
perance house.

" What does it matter 1 " he thought. " I can just go in
and get my dinner, and then slip out through the sitting-
room, and he will never see me." So he went along with
his tempter, who jerked up the end of his cigar to a still
higher elevation in an effort to suppress a triumphant
smile.

Leaving Dundo in the bar. George went into the dining-
room and hurried through a hasty meal ; but what was his
disgust and dismay in passing into the sitting-room to find
the dreaded tempter lying there on a sofa reading a
newspaper.

Still hoping to evade him, George slipped a coin into the
hand of the landlord and drawing his cap over his ears
walked softly toward the outer entrance.

But creatures of the weasel type are not easily caught
napping, and Tom Dundo was one of these. His bleared
eyes made up in watchfulness what they lacked in bright-
ness, and he detected poor George's attempt to slip out of
the room before he was half-way across.

" Hi, there, George ! " he said, raising himself to a sitting
posture, " don't run away like that. Come and have a
drink and a little talk. There's a good fellow."

That last expression was the very one that Sarah Shen-
stone haj^ appended that morning to a nobler appeal, and it
struck a chord of remembrance that for a time nerved him
to resistance. He stopped and looked straight at
Dundo.

" Thank you, but I cannot," he said.

Then seeing the loafer's scornful smile, he added in a
hesitating manner, " The fact is, I promised that I would
not touch drink to-day."

SLIDING DOWN THE WHISKEY GRADE.

257

'I 1

Had he but stuck to the polite firmness of his first
sentence, the tempter might have been driven away, but
that hesitating apology ruined him. Dundo laughed
outright.

" Well, well ! What eloquent teetotaler have you been
listening to lately, young man 1 "

The landlord was in the room, and three or four men
were seated around the large heating stove, smoking, expec-
torating and looking generally very much bored by a world
they tolerated in a sort of pitiful contempt. Two of them
belonged to Dundo's class, and hearing his little controversy
with the '• tenderhorn," they condescended to rouse them-
selves sufficiently from their apathy to regard him with a
rather embarrassing attention. Thus made the centre of
unwished-for scrutiny, George's small stock of courage
began rapidly to give way, and in response to Dundo's
jeering inquiry he shambled out a few apologetic, half-
articulate words.

" Oh, no, nobody's been preaching to me. Only they
kind o' made me promise, you know."

" Come now," interrupted Dundo, " don't take any notice
of them, but just have independence enough to show that
you still have respect enough for an old friend to take a
drink with him when he asks you to. So come along, old
man."

Dundo had risen from the couch and gone toward
George ; and he made this speech with a hand laid persua-
sively on his arm.

It was unfortunate for George that at that moment the
door leading into the bar was opened wide. He could hear
the billiard balls rattling on the table, the rattle of shaking
dice reached his ears, and he heard also the oaths with
which the winners greeted their gain and the losers cursed
their ill-luck.

Then the evil powers within began to grapple with the
good, and he felt himself weakening, yet made no attempt
to escape. The appealing words he had heard that morn-
ing sounded fainter and fainter in the ear of memory.
The holy influences that should have restrained him
17

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258

poison's probation.

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gradually fainted from his mental si^ht, eclipsed by other
sights and other sounds.

On a slight draught, occasioned by the opening of an
outer door, the smell of tlie maddening licjuor was borne to
his nostrils. A great tidal wave of evil desire surged
through his soul and drenched out every good remem-
brance. His head hung, his lip quivered.

" Come along," he said to Dundo.

It was like inviting the devil to do his will with him ;
nor are such biddings ever refused. A minute or so after
he and his victim had disappeared into the bar-room,
Dundo's myrmidons followed him, and well they helped
the poor wretch to scatter the wild-oats which yield the
baleful harvest.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

j li

H '■'

The Voice of the Storm.

Who is that staggering along the street with watery
eyes and palsied hands, and sensual lips that hurl out
curses on the air like flakes of fire churned up from the
nethermost pit ] Is this he who but a short time since
was steady-footed, self-controlled and wise-resolving? If
so, hat has wrought this change 1 You ask this of tne
■pi invisible that surround and dwell within you, and
th'?}* eply :

' -. devil who dwells in an element of liquid fire, which,
thrust down the throats of men, too often gives them no
rest till he has claimed his own. A monster, whose food is
misery, whose drink is tears, whose voice is a mingling of
the groans of the dying and the wailing of the bereft,
whose whisper is as the sound of a sea of its victims' blood,
breaking on the shore that is strewn with their bones. A
thing which men hug and cling to ; for its face indeed is
fair like that of Sin, but like hers its end is also serpent-

:' i: .

THE VOICE OF THE STORM. ,

259

1 by other

ling of an
kS borne to
ire surged
)d remem-

with him ;
oi* so after

bar-room,
ley helped

yield the

ith watery
\t hurl out
from the
time since
.Iving'? If
this of tne
you, and

ire, which,

ts them no

iose food is

jingling of

Lhe bereft,

Iras' blood,

)ones. A

indeed is

10 serpent-

like and foul, ai^d hideous with the yelping of its deathly
hounds — Ruin, Destruction and Despair.

"You don't mean to go out to-night. Crags, I should
hope," said a merchant passing him on the street ; " it
looks as if there's going to be a pretty bad storm."

"You get out of this!" shouted the drunkard, "and
mind your own business. T guess I can look after myself,
can't I, you meddlin' old fool." And he leaned against a
wall to curse him, but the man passed on without saying
another word.

Rising with muttered '^aths, George Crags stag^'ered
along to the feed-stable at which he had put up his
team.

"Come," he said to the staDleman, "gimme my team out
and lemme be off. Old Paper-cap wanted me to shtay in
town, so he could fleece me out of a few dollars, I guess ;
but I'll show the old fool I aint 'fraid of no shtorms.
Don't shtare there, but gimme the team out, 7 tell
yer."

" But, George," said the stableman, who knew him well,
" there is going to be a storm, and really, old fellow, you're
hardly fit to go out to-night. Better come and lay down
in the hay-loft awhile.

This allusion to his incapable state was just the red rag
to arouse George's rage and obstinacy to the highest pitch.
He leaned against the end of the stable abutting on the
street, and cursed the stableman so loudly and long that
to quiet him he at last yielded compliance to his wishes.

" You'd better gimme that team out pretty quick now,"
said the half-pacified drunkard, " or if you don't, I'll burn
your stable down and ever'thin' in it. I'll show ye who
you're going to put up in a loft, mister. You think I'm
drunk, do yer 1 I'm a sight soberer than you ever was or
ever will be ; an' I'm going out home to-night in spite of
fifty storms or fifty devils. Yah ! "

So in a husky voice, with drunken loquacity, he rattled
on. Women passing along the street hurried by with
averted faces on which horrified loathing was plainly

\ '

rUi

260

polson's probation.

v;ritteii. Men regarded him with amusement, pity or
scorn. All shunned him.

Soon the liveryman had hitched up the team and received
his fee, and standing unsteadily in his sleigh, lashing
wildly ut his horses, the drunkard rode shouting out of the
town.

" You should never have let that fellow go," said a man
coming up to ^he stableman, who stood watching his
customer drive away. " If a storm rises (and it looks very
much like it) he may get frozen to death."

" Couldn't help it," said the other, shaking his head. " I
wanted him to stop, but he threatened to burn the place
down, and he might do it too — a drunken man is not to be
trusted. So let him take his choice."

The air indeed was full of the signs of an approaching
storm. All around the horizon a mist was thickening, and
the blue of the upper sky could scarcely be seen through the
shrouding tinge of grey. The bleared sun, now hastening
toward his setting, shone in a circle of mist, enclasped by
anj;ry arms of Hre. He looked indeed like some mystic
potentate on his throne, curtained thinly by the mist as
with a veil, a flaming sceptre in each hand, a crown of fire
above his head, and a gleaming footstool beneath his
feet.

Over the close-packed drifts the loose snow was racing
before a menacing wind. The rolling grains of white
rustled over the crust beneath with an eerie warning sound.
Sometimes they spurted into the air over the edge of some
high drifts, but for the most part they crept along the
ground — now thicker, now thinner — sometimes opening
out and leaving wide clear spaces between ; but anon
closing in again and continuing relentlessly on their way
like packs of white wolves uttering no cry, but with
sound of the breathing of ten thousand nostrils sweeping
over the snow. The fleeting mass changed and shifted
ever, like the billows of a sea of pallid spray — a thing to
fill the eye and ear w'^h wonder, and to chill the heart
with nameless dread.

But portentous as these signs were, they seemed only to

«K

THE VOICE OF THE STOUM.

261

(Irivo the drunkon youth to more desporato frouzy. Tin
lashed the poor horses wildly, and sent them galloping
against the rising b'Mst. More than ever intoxicated with
this furious driving amid wind and snow, he jumped
wildly about the bottom of his sleigh-box, waving the
whip above his head, shouting out delirious oaths and
singing Bacchanalian songs. Hut this could not last long.
The infuriated beasts, in spite of the bitter cold, were
bathed in sweat. They panted wildly with each stretch of
their flying legs, and their nostrils were distended almost
to bursting. Ears were net back, manes were flying on the
breeze, and the bits with which the driver checked them
were covered with blood.

Jn spite of his mad urging the horses began to flag.
Their gallop became slower and slower, until at last it
subsided into a jaded trot. Nor, notwithstanding lashes
and oaths, did this continue long, for soon t'^'e trot
descended into a tired walk. In vain did the drunken
driver wildly curse and ply his whip. The poor beasts
were past the stage when that could aflect them, and they
received the leather-stings with a sullen apathy, which
seemed to say, "You have done your worst; you can do
no more with us."

And see ! The stormy sun is sinking low : already its
flaming footstool has dipped beneath the western verge,
and the wind is rising ever fiercer. With fangs of ice it
grips his freezing cheek, and the quick needles of the frost
pierce through and through his nose, and leave the skin
white and bloodless. The white pellets of snow hurled
against him strike like frosted bird-shot on his face ; and he
is half sobered by the stinging agony.

With stupid, drunken eyes he glares through the gather-
ing storm, as if he would fain find some place to shelter
him. But he sees none ; and again the hot oaths are
vomited on the storm, and the stinging lash falls on the
quivering, foam-flecked hides of the horses. But all. in
vain. And now the sun, bristling red and angry-faced, has
sunk below the horizon, sending a fiery sword of flame far
up into the winter sky. And when that had withdrawn,

1 i

« !

li->

1 1

hi .1 ■

262

P0L80N S I'llOHATION.

tho Htoi'iu king Hpreud Iuh Mack rol>o8 ovt^r tho dusky
tirniamunt, uiul Ht^iit his froHty bruath hisHing over the
HtioNV-covert'd plain. Tho loose whito snow rose in a
rushing and blinding mist, darkness foil over th(5 land, and
tho storm had possession of the night.

Now for tho lirst time did George Crags begin fully to
realize his danger. Twenty feet high in the air blew the
blinding snow; and til around him it formed an impene-
trable curt n 0^ 'ea h-dealing cold. The wind roared
against the iMo of h s sleigh, and the cold prnntrated
even through th ' ' i iok fur coat he wore. He was encom-
passed by myrit.i am ' • of relentless foes. They shut out
the sky above him, and on every side enclosed his vision
in a circle as fatal as furies ever spun. Blinded and
choked, the wretched horses stumbled and staggered
forward, with ditHculty keeping on the narrow trail.

The now fully sobered driver turned his frozen face to
the wind, but, choked by the blast that met him, he
turned from it in utter despair.

" My (Jod ! " he groaned bitterly. " What a fool I
have been 1 What a /ool I have been ! Whatever shall I
dor' f

Thus groaning inwardly, he turned the horses' heads
around and went with the wind ; but black darkness had
fallen, and nothing could he see. Then the bewildered
horses got ott' the trail, and began to wander aimlessly
before the wind.

" Oh, for the sight of sonie settler's house ! " he prayed.
" If I am lost like this, whatever will they think of me at
home ? And Sarah, too, — she is thinking of me now,
perhaps ; and I promised her not to touch it. Oh, what a
jfool I have been ! " And crouching in the bottom of the
sleigh, with the white snow drifting over him, he writhed
in an agoiiy of remorse and self-reproach.

The horses plunged wildly on, sometimes sinking to the
girth in drifts, and sometimes walking easily over the
brows of storm-bfiaten hills ; but still no shelter was found.
The dark night was wearing on, and the light-footed snow

- ->. '

TIIK VOICK OK THE STOKM.

2(\'A

was dancing iU ghastly iiiuaHure to the inuuic of the howl-
ing blast.

The wretched youth lay Hhivoriiig silently in the sleigh —
the cold had oven disp«ll(;d repentance, lie felt his feet
and hands growing numb as tho frost bit into tiiein ; and,
come what may, he felt that ho must get out and walk.
Hut that resolution was fatal. No sooner had ho jumped
out than he found himself half buried ^in an enormous
drift. Ere he could extricate himself horses and sleigh
went relentlessly on, and left him there. In vain he
shouted till his throat was hoarse : a stone's s^'lasli in the
ocean was more than the sound of a huma. cr in the
howl of that bitter storm.

He strug^ded out of the drift and began 'o '•I'sn madly
about, hoping to find some tracks that mi^, w le d him on
the trail of the departed team. But vain, /al.. w^re those
maddened searches, for the darkness was 'ct* about liim,
and the sharp snow stung his eyes into oiiiidness. Yet
still ho plunged wildly along, breaking through the frosted
surface with every stop, and sinking deep in the quick-
sands 01 snow beneath. For how long he walko<l thus he
knew not — all count of time seemed to be swallower' '"n
that anguished eternity which only the despairing ! /.
It was the effort of desperation. Hour after hour thr».-.gh
that bitter, endless night he struggled through the snow.
His breath came in a short, sharp panting, like the sobs of
a child when its tears have ceased to flow, and the blood
throbbed ^a his head as though it would burst through his
skull. Hih stiffened limbs ached till he could hardly move
them a foo'j at a time. And so, with powers exhausted
and senses benumbed, he sank down at last and pressed his
arms upon his breast in a throe of helpless anguish.

'* My God ! my God ! " he cried, " Save me ! save me ! "

And then, in strange contrast, the hands folded peace-
fully like those of a tired child, the weary eyes closed, the
breath was more gently drawn, a look of peace stole over
his suffering face ; and so he lay down and slept.

That night a jaded team of horses (their shaggy hair

*t|J

Jfti

264

rOUON'S PROnATION.

AiicaMed in nnow), dragging an f^mpty sleif^h, Rtoppcd ni
a settlvr'H door. Looking out into the Htorni he Haw
tliem, nnd bringing out a ligtit, put them in the stable
oleanod theiii down woll and Ifod tliom.

" Home poor wretch hati periHhod tonight," he Haid to hil
wif«.

In two houHoholds that night lightn aro gleaming
through the window panes, like eyeti that are watching
for one who never returns.

In one, a young woman sits by the side of the stove far,
far into the morning hours. With a pale face propped by
two small hands, she listens patiently ever to the voice of
the storm. Howling around the corner and whistling
through the keyhole, out of its weird, unfathomable
mystery — from its heart of frost and its robes of snow — it
shapes to her ear, and sings ever in dreary repetition the
refrain,

" He will not i!uinc. Ho will not come."

In the other, a sister is waiting for her brother, a mother
for her son. Often they go to the door and look out into
the night ; but the wild wind leaps in like an angry wolf,
and sends them back shivering to the fireside with the snow
upon their faces. Much they try to comfort themselves
with many suggestions as to what safe course he has taken,
but the shadow of painful uncertainty darkens it all. And
the wind, as it rocks their crazy dwelling to and fro, and
rattles down the chimney, and hisses beneath the eaves and
groans through the gaping crevices, sings also to them its
prophetic song,

'• He will never return. Ho will Uc'vor return."

r ; I

AITER THE MLI/./AKU.

265

CIIAFTKR XL.

Al'TKR TilK HlIZZARD.

• Ml

HiJ8iiF.n Ih the wind, clour the sky, and motionleHii the
snow. A peaceful aun ristm on n peaceful world ; hut the
footatepg of the storm are everywhere leen.

Doors are blocked l>y hard-packed drifts; farm-yardi
are HUed with snowy crags and curved white precipices ;
houses are surrounded by waiia of crumbled marble ; while
out upon the plain the undulating drifts stretch like the
whitened waves of a frozen sea, far as the eye can reach on
every hand.

The storm is over, and men are glad that it is so. The
farmer, digging out his snow-imprisoned catMe, pauMes
sometimes in his labor and hums a merry tune. Dogs
snap and bark in canine glee, as they roll in the snow or
bound about their masters' knees. Children, with merry
shouts, come forth to play for awhile in the calm clear
air ; and the teamster whistles cheerily as he hitches his
horses to the half-buried sleigh.

fiut the people of Dysart settlement do not share the
general cheerfulness. It has reached their ears that
(Jeorge Crags started out from Bendigo yesterday after-
noon, and has not since been seen ; aiid men, with gloomy
brows, go forth to f earch.

They have sought far and wide, but all in vain. They
have searched the deep ravine, where the towering clift's
of snow stare at each other across a steep and narrow
chasm ; they have threaded the darkened wooded mazes
where only the howling wolf or the savage bear may find
a home. Along the buried trails, in many a slough
enclosed by scrubby brushwood, where the snow lies many
feet deep, they seek ; and many a rugged snow-drift they
probe, but all in vain.

And now the sun is low, the hearts of the searchers are

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POLHOVR PROnATIi»N.

wf^ury, and tlin work ii ituromplrtA. Hut nttv ! VVImt in
that itlia^^y fur nhjnct into whifli tlio niiow Iiam (irit'ioin
It li«*M in a iprawlin^ hoap ; and thn wnow In ^athurcMl in *
littltt knoll by itu Nidr, and in all iniiiglt<d with tho rurly
fur.

Lift it up, \m\r i^ kway ; but look not olotely upon it.
It XH \n)ui and utitl', aad it ^ratuM HarHhly with evory jerk of
thf) ultMgh.

All around is whit« and cloar and pure. Hut why lioH
Much a Mhadow of hlacknoHH on the path aH that wrapping
of ■now-un^rainod fur in \'nrue ovnr iti In the home there
is sighing and weeping, as that stony thing lies by the
fireside with the fronty Hweat breaking out upon it; but
sighs will not warm it, tearu will not Hoften it.

They have bnrtMl a little Hpaco in the huow not far from
the houHo ; and you can hear the loud clang of their axes
aH th(>y fall on the iron ribs of the frozen earth. The
stony HplinterH fly like hail around them. Chip, chip,
through weary hours, and at last' the grave yawns to
receive its own.

The raw, mournful wind is blowing from tho (sast, and
upon it the solemn words of the burial service tloat like
the faint echoes of a far otV bell, to be lost in the misty
distance ; and it lifts the white robe of the preacher till it
floats out like an angel's wing.

A few mourners shiver around the grave, and watch the
dark casket as it is lowered in its iron-ribbed receptacle.
Then tho service is closed, the last " Amen " is said, and
under the pitiless steel-blue sky no sound is Iieard to Jar
with the rattling of the stony splinters of earth rattling on
the coHin-lid. Ho the grave is choked with earth and
snow, and that youthful tragedy is closed forever.

Yes, it is over with him ; but is he the only victim 1

Wealthy distiller ! Opulent brewer ! Well-to-do tratHcker
in this accursed thing ! Indolent loafer openly backing it !
Indifferent moderationist coldly abetting it ! This young
man is but one of thousands being slain through your
agency every day.

TllK DIAIIY or A llbUMlT.

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CHAPTKU Xrj.
TiiK DiAiiY or A IIkumit.

Ukadkk, I ttiiitk I ht'iir you asking, Whore U Fred
PoIhoii all ttuHtiinu I liiMtnii :

" I h«Mir tho (lull roar of tlio wind tuiikiti^ (liHinul tnuHio
anion;; i\w iron ^ranehot) of iliiii wint<^r f<iri>Ht, and the
hungry woIvom aro howling; in Havagu ohorUM in tht) gloom ;
ytit here within my littln cultin all in bright and warm and
oheorful, and with n not unthankful hourt 1 add nioro fuel
to my lila/ing tin*, and draw noan^r to rtmHunlNjr and
reflect.

•• Am I a fool, or am T a coward, that I thu« shelter
myself from the world, whore, pnrhapH, th<> kind hearts uf
frienda are bleeding for a word from m«> ( TImh in the
bitterest relloction of all : I may be giving needleHH pain to
those who love me. Jtut why did I come here? I can
only think tlnit there are occasionH in life when that frail
organ on which our judgment, our very virtues, depend,
is, in times of great perturbation, shaken into a wonderful
region — the borderland between madness and reason — a
land in which the teal gives place to the fren/ied ideal, and
all substance is shadow, all reality unreal.

" In such a place was I after that dreadful trial. I was
acquitted, yet I seemed to bear with me the shadow of
doom. Warm-hearted friends were ready to receive me,
yet I felt like a weed flung on the wayside to be the scorn
of every trampling foot. She whose love I had chielly
prized seen 'd to ignore my unhappy case ; and that being
so, L felt ttii though all the world must doubt me, and I
must gain foi my reason some quiet resting-place, or I
should surely go mad. And so I sought this forest solitude.
I assumed a new name, let the hair grow long up^u n>y
face ; and here I have learned to think as I luiv*- i ever
thought before. Here, alone with God and nature, I have
learned to leva more deeply the beings whose prei^ence 1

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POLSON S PROBATION.

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shun for a time, but for a time only. For when my day of
trial is over, and my purposes are complete, I will return
to fight my share in the great universal war that is con-
stantly waging ; and who will say that [ shall tight the
worsa for this restl Nay, it is not altogether rest, but
rather it is a time for searching into the unfathomable
mysteries which prompt men to deeds of good or ill ; so
that hereafter I may be strengthened and rectified in my
words and deeds by knowing that there is an eternity
which snatches them from me as they are spoken or done,
and writes them in letters of unalterable fire which shall
last for evermore.

" Over my cabin-roof spread the leafless, wrinkled
branches of an aged tree. To the outward eye, in the glare
of day when the winds are still, it seems lifeless as a thing
of stone ; yet often at nights, when my lamp is out and I
am warmly ensconced in my blankets, and the wood is
crackling on the fire which checkers the walls with dancing
shadows and lights, then the b'-seze stirs those mouldering
branches. The huge joints crackle and loosen themselves ;
the great tree heaves, as it were, a long-drawn sigh, and
lifting up its voice, sings to me this mystic song :

" * I am old, I am old ! Nor know I when ray birth-
time was. Time and chance have thrown me in strange
places, and made me the witness of unnumbered varying
scenes. Through long ages have I bloomed and faded, yet
I do not die. Nay, sometimes I think that I, too, an;
immortal in a lower sense than you, and perhaps shall
never die — or die but with this world, to which I have
clung so long. Yes, we are old companions, this world and
I. Ere the omnipotent Hand had drawn it from chaos or
sowed it in space, I was. And when, in tne womb of that
vast cloud of tire we whirled through the illimitable void,
I was there. Grand and majestic was our progress then.
As the rugged mass of vaporous fire glided through those
unpeopled vacancies it lighted up the reign of night with a
hot and sulphurous glare ; and in its blue and ghastly
sp'.ndor the meek stars twinkled faintly in pale eclipse.
For many cycles we rode thus; but slowly the cloudy

THE DIARY OF A HERMIT.

2G9

chaos was rounding into fairer forms. Piece by piece the
flurred edges crumbled ofi', and still dancing around their
mother cloud, formed into worlds round and fair ; and of
these this earth was one.

" ♦ Bearing me, yet dormant, in its breast, it journeyed its
appointed way ; and lo ! as it went, the fire sank deep
into its centre, and the vapor above was changed into sea,
and for years which the mind of man cannot comprehend,
it swung through space a world of wrinkled waters. But
land appeared at last above it, only to sink many times
again, and again emerge. And upon this land life grew
in strangely monstrous forms. Great reptiles crawled from
the oozy deep, and basked them in the sun ; and above
them flew the scaly creatures of the air, their bat-like
wings shutting out the light, like clouds, and the writhing
monsters of the deep lashed the sea into waves when the
winds were still.

'* ' But the waters again covered the land, and the things
that dwelt on the earth perished. A blasting frost-breeze
swept over the earth, and when the waters again
departed to their places the land was covered with
unbroken fields of ice. Slowly, before the sun, these
glaciers were driven to tneir northern intrenchments, and
the land once more was dry.

" ' Then I, so long dormant, put forth my life and grew,
and flourished a goodly tree ; and beneath my shade
strange beasts came to rest, and my strong branches
swayed with tlie weight of things — half reptile, half bird ;
half feathers, half scales — such as the world may see no
more. And the mountainous pachyderms bellowed beneath
me till my leaves quivered with the noise ; whil st on high
their winged fellows shrieked till they rent the rainy
clouds.

" * But in time these monstrosities disappeared, or de-
veloped into higher forms of life, and one day there came
to rest in my shade si creature stranger to look upon than
any other. Erect was his form and white his skin, but his
dark hair clung around him like a towzled mat, and his
savage eyes glared through the tangled tresses. Around

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POLSON S PROBATION.

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his middle he had girt the skin of a wild beast he had
slain, and bound it around him with its own sinews. In his
hand he carried a sinew-sling, and I saw that it was
loaded with a smooth, round stone. Long he knelt,
patiently he waited in the shadow of my bole ; and at last
my far-spreading roots ftbhed beneath the tread of a huge
furred monster, with a great horn growing out of its fore-
head. I saw the savage thing beneath me glare fiercely as
he aimed his sling. Then, with a whizz, it cut through
the air, and the stone sank deep in the monster's brain,
and I trembled in every leaf as its dull weight tumbled on
the earth. With a shout the strange creature who had
slain it jumped upon his prey, and taking a piece of sharp
flint from his girdle, laboriously stripped it of its skin and
cut out some pieces of flesh, which he wrapped up in the
hide and bore away, and I saw him no more.

*' * Him, indeed, I saw not ; but many of his kind there-
after reposed in my shade. Women, with babes wrapped
in the skins of beasts, came to croon their lullabies beneath
my branches. The merry youth sported nimbly among my
branches, or chased each other in savage glee up and down
my ragged bole. And T saw that the men cast away the
old things and got them better. The sling gave place to
the bow ; and they fashioned for themselves metal weapons
of many shapes, and clad their Vjodiesin more seemly guise.

" ' Tlien of these I saw no more, for one day a little bird
came to sing among my withering branches, and my life,
enclosed in n little germ, fell upon it, and found lodgment
among its feathers ; and then it spread its wings and bore
me far away. In another land it ruffled its feathers in
flight, and T, so shaken, fell upon the ground, and, striking
my roots downward, grew again and flourished a goodly
tree. There I bloomed and faded many times, and died
and lived again, and saw the progress of many generations
of men. I saw them peacefully tilling the ground with
spade and hoe, and I saw them, iron-clothed, bleeding in
the martial ranks of war, as in the madness of hell-born
folly they strove to wound and kill each other. I saw
them kneeling beneath the stars, and prostrate before the

THE DIARY OF A HERMIT.

271

sun and raving under the moon. T saw the smoke of their
sacrifices blackeniag the sky, and the blood reddening
the ground. 1 saw them make to themselves images of
wood, and iron and gold, and bow the head to the work of
the hand.

"*Yet were they not wholly vile. Though ignorant,
their souls overflowed with wonder ; and in many shapes
they sought to do homage to the mystery of mysteries
which surrounds their children still. Living in error,
they yet longed for truth ; wnd the wise among them they
made rulers of the land. So, through cruelty, bloodshed
and ignorance, they crept up toward knowledge, beauty
and truth. The marble carvings of cunning hands adorned
the magnificent structures they raised, and the walls were
beautified with paintings such as earth may see no more.
Orators, with words of fire, inflamed the hearts of multi-
tudes ; poets saug more sweetly then than now ; and men
skilled in working wood and iron made cunning devices for
works of peace and war, which later days may never
recover. But peace dwelt not with the people, and liberty
was a stranger among them ; so that the bloody hands of
war and tyranjiy destroyed the works of intellect and
taste.

** * And T, as I looked upon these things, was wafted by
the tricks of chance among many peoples and many climes.
Beginning in far Cathay, I saw the wave of empire rolling
westward ever, and I saw the chain of destiny drop its
links on every continent as it passed, until it has almost
surrounded the world, and, indeed, only awaits the con-
summation of its encircling plan, when this young conti-
nent, strong in unity, enclasps east and west with hands of
friendly power.

" ' I have seen nations blotted from the earth as you snufF
out a candle's light, and not even their ashes remain to
tell that they had been, T have seen the sceptre handed
from race to race, and have noted that the brave and
truthful ever prevail. I have seen faith succeed to faith,
and have known that the best and wicest races have ever
accepted that which sheds most light and freedom upon the

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272

POLSONS PROBATION.

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paths of ;nen. I have seen the teaching of Christ develop
in the })uman mind to widur scope and more tolerant
principle ; and thus it is expanding still. Yes, I have
watched the march of mankind from the black ages
which are forgotten, even to this present twilight state ;
and perchance (for surely I shall live again) I shall yet
hear the joyous tramp of this God-like army, when, in the
glorious days to come, it shall march into the clear calm
light of peace which shall nevermore pass away.

**'How came I here? I cannot say. For I '•m old,
and I have dwelt in many lands. I have shrivellea under
Indian suns, and have shivered among Siberian snows.
The white squirrel of the North has chirped among my
frozen branches, and the twining boa-constrictor has
squeezed my rugged trunk. My offshoots and progeny
have cleft the raging brine of many seas, and have shel-
tered untold millions of the human race. When your
forefathers feasted at the Christmas-tide, they roared up
the spacious chimneys, and licked up the frosty air with
tongues of fire ; they lighted up the smoky rafters of those
ancient halls, and glowed ruddlly on the hardy faces of
those who danced in drunken revelry around them. But
these things are no more, for the olden strongholds of
tyranny and cruelty have crumbled to dust, and freer and
happier days have come.

'* * And I am here ! Again thou askest why *? Time and
Chance, I reply. Time and Chance ! In this land have I
seen men with feathers on their heads and paint upon their
faces, driver westward before the all-conquering march of
the bearded nations I had known before. And when I
had dwelt here many years, and seen the white people
settle in the land, one day there walked beneath my
branch PS one of those painted men from the forest, and as
he passed under a germ instinct with my life fell upOH his
head, and in his raven tresses he bore me for many days.

" * For miles he wound his sinuous way through gloomy
fos^osts, and with the weapons he carried found food for
iij.n-self on the journey. Under the spreading trees he
ligiiied the fires with which he cooked his simple meals.

i I

THE DIARY OV A llEUMIT.

273

an snows.

and when the night was corning on he would pause by
some bubbling water-course, and after eating his supper of
roasted flesh, washed down with water from the stream,
he would make his bed of sweet smiling boughs and sleep
beneath the shady trees. Nor did the howls of the wolves
or the hisses of the snakes disturb the soundness of his
repose.

"'Thus journeying he carried me along by far-gleaming
lakes and thundering waterfalls and jagged rocks. Never
was he short of food ; once, with straight aim, he slew a
monstrous bear, and his sharp arrows often severed the
heads of birds flying swiftly above him.

" * But at last this rugged journeying ended, and he
emerged on an open plain where rusty herds of shaggy
bison were grazing, and a sea of grass waved in a sweeping
wind. Through this plain ran the deep valley of a wind-
ing river, and here the wanderer found his family en-
camped, and rested after his travels. His swarthy children
clung around him whilst his dark-eyed wife washed his
travel-sore feet and combed out his matted hair. And, as
she loosened his coarse tresses I fell once more upon the
ground ; and when they had passed on from that spot I
struck down my roots again and grew and flourished a
goodly tree. And from thence did the wing of a bird again
remove me and drop me in this place; and thus am I as
thou seest.

" * This is my history. Now hear the words of wi lom
which the experience of unnur» 'jered years has enge- red
even in me. Look upon my gnarled form and ci )fced
boughs ! Thinkest thou that their beauties and defV s are
but the growth of yesterday 1 Nay, for ages h&\ chese
limbs been moulding to their present state. Ma-iv long
ages ago was the crook made in that rugg'ed i that
swings above thy hut. View then my strong, uuviet-aying
bole. The germ of this symmetry and strength was formed
ere the foot of man had fallen on the earth. Look well,
then, to the training of thy life moments while they are
given to thee. Think, too, into what horrible deformity the
vice tliou fosterest nQw may grow in the bottorolesr, ieeps

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274

polson's probation.

of eternity ; and so guard thou each little drop of time,
that when the leaves and flowers of thy mortal hloom have
faded, thou mayst rejoice in the thought that the seed
thou hast sown on earth shall grow to a blessed harvest in
the fields of never-ending joy.'

" Then the fire in my cabin burned low, and the hand of
sleep stole over me. But in my dn^ams that wondrous
tree song murmurs still, and it has filled my heart with
happiness and inexpressible peace. What though the
heart 1 love turn icily against me? Is there not a nobler
love than thisi Yea, the love that comes from (iod to
every doer of His will, the love ti.at binds man in charity
with his brother, and abides with him through all the
ptormy changes of life. What though the world think ill
of me ? Can I not so live in it that its opinion will surely
change? And even though it never should, will not the
All-fatlier'a approving s.iiile more than outbalance its
acorn?

" Yes, tiiere is hope and peace and happiness abundant
yet in store for me ; but, like Him I have learned to
adore, I must earn it by the humble .laart, the meek spirit,
aye, and the a^^ony of bloody sweat."

[ r^M

1 ii

CHAPTER XLII.
Pancrack'.s Condolence.

Ill news travels fast. As Pancrack was driving to
town the day after the storm, the first person he met in-
formed him of George Crags* fate. Strange to say, though
he had wished for this catastrophe, the news, meeting him
so suddenly and unexpectedly, gave him no pleasure, but
rather tilled him with a tormenting uneasiness which his
coward conscience vainly tried to reason down.

" Hang it all !" he muttered to himself, '* why need this
business trouble me ? The fellow was a fool to start out
on such a night, that is all ; and he has paid for his folly

I 1

PANCUACKS CONDOLENCE.

27i

with his life. It is surely no fault of mine. But I suppose,
for decency's sake, [ had better go back and look after the
women."

lie turned liis horse's head accordingly, and drove
slowly back toward the home of the dead.

It was twiliji^ht when ho entered the farm-yard, and all
things wore a gloomy look. The unfed cattle were moan-
ing in the wretched shed. George's favorite dog was
whining piteously as he prosecuted a fruitless search
around the buildings. The dingy house looked black and
mournful in the gathering dusk, and the white-blinded
windows shrunk among the shrivelled boards. Through
the half-opened door — where the twilight shades without
were struggling with the darkness within came the sound
of woman's weeping.

For o^ce it seemed as if Pancrack's fantastic wish were
almost realized, and his gold-hardened heart was making
music against his rib3. But it was the music of dirges
and passing bells, and to ease its terril > ;himing he
paused for several moments outside the threshold before
entering that mournful home.

When at last he passed into the inner room he found
himself in semi-darkness — a darkness which did not hide,
but rather by its uncertainty intensely magnified and
distorted, the forms of the saddened inmates. The old man
of tortoise life and torpid feeling sat in his accustomed
place behind the stove ; but his head was bare, and his
thin grey hair floated over his stooping shoulders. The
chin of his drooping head rested in tearless, stupid sorrow
on the top of his walking-stick. Like someone thoroughly
bewildered, yet trying to rouse himself from the mental
doze to the proper pitch of apprehension and sorrow, he
.stared intensely at soniething gently thawing on the other
side of the stove. Panci .tck looked toward it, too, and a
white face peered at him through the gloom with fearful
distinctness. His hard features paled, and shuddering, he
turned his eyes from it, and leaned against the wall to
recov^er his composure.

No one in the room noticed him. Alice sat on the sofa,

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POLSON S PIIOHATION.

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w«!oping as if ln»r h«ftrt would break, and (atranj^o Hi^'ht to
hitii) hi!t' inotlirr Hat near iier on a chair, solthin^;, with a
handkerchief over her eyes. The rock had heen touched
by the rod of affliction, »'nd the springs in the desert were
unsealtMl at last

When Pancrack had sufViciently recovered to resume his
role of consoler, he walked softly toward his affianced
bride and seated himself on tlie sofa beside h(;r.

"Alice,'' he whispered, taking hold of hep hand.

It was qui'jkly withdrawn, and uncovering her t(?arful
e^es, she for the first time became conscious of his pres-
ence.

**()h, Mr. Pancrack!" she sobbed. "You should not
have come liere. We are all so miserable to-day."

" I am well aware of it, my love, and I have come to see
if I can do anything to help or comfort you," said Pancrack,
again taking her hand ; and this time it remained in his.

" You are very kind, I am sure," said Alice, ceasing to
sob. " Hut then, what can you do? Can you restore life
to him ? " And she pointed across the room.

Pancrack's eyes did not follow the motion of her hand,
but nevertheless it seemed to bring the white face with
awful vividness before him, and some of its pallor shud-
dered int J his cheeks. Her tears and the darkness of the
room prevented Alice from noticing the change ; and with
an effort he calmed himself.

" No," he roplief'., in a voice of mournful resignation, " I
cannot do that, however much I should wish it. But is
there not some little thing that I can do to help you in
your distress ? "

" No ; you cannot prevent or lessen our sorrow for the
poor boy who has gone. And why should you trouble
yourself with our sorrows? Oh, Silas ! go away now, and
come to us some happier day." ,

" But, Alice," he said in a tone of soft reproach, " you
must remember how deep is the interest I have in you. A
week from to-day, and we should have been man and wife.
Of course, as it is, the wedding must be postponed ; but

I'ANCRACK S CONDOLENCE.

do not think that my interost in whatover concerns you is
lesi strong on that account."

Thero was a pauti«i of Home seconds, which was broken at
last by the sob-checkerwd voice of Mrs. Crags.

'•I am sure — you numn well Mr. Pancrack. and will
help us — all you can. Hut we are so upset -by IhiH terrible
— atfair, that we hardly know what to do. Poor (Jleorge !
Poor (leorge ! " ,

'•It is Heaven's" (he could not bring himself to say
God's) " will, madam, and we must strive to bear it
patiently."

At another time such a remark from Pancrack would
have astonished them, but th<>y were ihen too much
engrossed by their sorrow to notice its incongruity. Such
remarks, however, seldom dry a tear ; and the usurer,
listening to the renewed sobbing, ventured on another and
more practical course.

"We must make some arrangements about the funeral,"
he said.

Mrs. Crags dried her tears at o>7ice : business absorbed
sorrow, and she was soon deeply engaged in conversation
with her prospective son-in-law as to ways and means of
managing a burial in a Manitoba winter — a by-no- means
easy task^

" It is late," she said, when they had completed the
arrangements. ** You can hardly go home to-night ; you
must stop with us.. You can sleep in his bed. Poor boy,"
she added with a deep sigh, '' he will never want it again."

Again the white face peered at him through the gloom,
and the guilty shudder shook his frame. Sleep in his bed !
Never !

He excused himself on the plea of urgent business, and
promising to return early on the following day took his
leave.

As lie passed out the old man was still sitting silent
and motionless by the stove, and from the other side the
white face was returning his steady stare. Which of those
twain was the living, which the dead, it would have been

278

mi.SON S PUOHATION.

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hard for a chanceconior to nay- so thin Hoinetiiiif^s kopiiii
the v(!il lM*twe«n life and th(? Imyoiid.

As Paiicracic drove hoin« that ni^ht a white face rode
beside him, and whiHpcM'ed in endloHH repetition in his ear
" This deed is yours." It peopled his h)n(^ly Hhanty with
myriad rrtlections of itself, and would not let him rest.
In dreuniB ho would rise from his hed, and walking the
cold lloor with hare feet would wave his arms and shout,
"(io away! go away! 1 did not do it. It was yourselt'."

But in spite of the haunted chamber in his lieart. Pan-
crack was assiduous in liis attentions to the bereaved
family. He .superintende.. the funeral arrangements and
hir(Kl a man to take (leorge's place on the fitrm. He
visited them daily with unfailing constancy, and though
Alice never really overcame her instinctive inmost dislike
of him, she scourged it as a traitor whenever it raised its
head, and reasoned with herself that even if he had not
gained her affection, he had at least strengthened ten-fold
his claim to her esteem.

CHAPTER XLIII.

A Slave of the Oup.

In the Eastern story we read of the "Slaves of the
Lamp," how when Aladdin rubbed it the horrid-visaged
genii started from the earth V)ound by a spell to do his
will. To-day soci^^ty is cursed with legions of similar
bondsmen — *' Slaves of the Cup " — and when King
Alcohol is sparkling in the glass they rise with blasted
images and darkened minds to do his bidding. Ay, and he
has power to conjure up millions, and build gorgeous palaces,
too ; but the wealth is snatched from the aching hands of
labor and the hungry mouths of starving families, and his
palaces are built with his victims' bones and cemented
with their clotted blood. Drag these wretches from the
beds of sickness and the low dens of vice and rank them

V I

A 3LAVK or THE CUP.

279

les Kooint

(a writltini;, iimudliii cursing iiriiiy) side by lidc, to that
tliM world might look upon thtiir fncea and li«t««n to thrir
Npeech, iind thn nohl«n«fift hitfmt in all humanity would

iirige and h

(un HO.

wnep from the (virth the oumt^ that hud mado
iHlon to tht

wind aH it comes to you renonant

with th« liuihing (»f thoir ra-jH, and ludun with the Htench of
their breath, and hot with curses, like a blast from the
infcrnHl pit; look at the bleared and blinking eyuH
whtroin both soul and reason are obscured in watery
oclipsH ; uee the earth-l'Mit faces blotched with disease
and bloated with excess ; and ask yourself if this is the
fruit of freedom 1

It is marching —this army is marcliing ! You ran hear
its terrible tramp as it moves on in spite of the cries of
wretched .'mpioring women and rugged half-starved chib
dren, who are pitifully calling, "Come back!" "Come
back ! ' liut they look ronn'l only to curse the more and
march reU-ntlessly on, for Drink is their marshal and
master, and he is leading them on to the City of Destruc-
tion.

'I ! ;

In the ranks of these "slaves oi the cup" old Solomon
Crags was marching. The Hre-fever burned in his throat
and constantly cr»ived for fuel. The shocking death of
his only son did not quench the flame : for about three
weeks it subdued and hid it, and then like a smoke-
smothered tire tinding a new vent it burst out with con-
suming fury.

When he had begged from his neighbors until they
would give him no more he would stand by the side of the
trail when he know the farmers to be coming home from
market, and by feigning illness succeed in prevailing on
the generosity of the passers-by so as to supply himself
with liquor for a considerable time. But this chronic
cramp soon began to wear a suspicious look, and after a
while people commenced to make it a point either to evade
him or refuse his requests point blank, and a whiskey
famine again threatened him. In his extremity he ap-
pealed to Pancrack.

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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Sdences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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POLSONS PROBATION.

The U'urer was one of those men with whom remorse
for injuiy done to others lasts but a short time ; and
though for a wliile he was grievously tormented with
visions of tlie pale frozen face in the dusky room, it
passed away so completely that when his victim's father
begged money to procure a like debasement he softened
his stingy heart sufficiently to give him a patient hearing.

One day he brought over his team and cutter to take
Alice out for a drive, but as she pleaded some indisposition
he fastened the horses in the wretched shed and was about
to enter the door when something stayed his steps by catch-
ing in his coat collar. In some surprise he looked round
and saw old Solomon hanging to the other end of his
walking-stick. He had been waiting in a dark corner
that he might get an interview with Pancrack unobserved
by his wife.

" Sh — sh ! " he said, in a hoarse whisper, mysteriously
winking his eye, at the same time releasing his captive's
coat collar and liolding his stick aloft to enjoin silence.
"Dunner speak a word, mon, but cum thee here. I've got
summut to show 'ee." And he drew him back from the
door into the shaded part of tiie building.

He let his walking-stick rest against his leg and fumbled
in his breast as if anxiously searching for some object.
At last he grasped something hard, and after a short
struggle disentangled from his voluminous garments a
large flask.

" Here yer are, mon," he whispered, h«')lding it down
against his side in awful secrecy, " tak' a good lung pull,
it '11 help yer to yer coortin'."

Pancrack had no objection to whiskey, and with a pro-
pitiatory smile he grasped the neck of the bottle which
the old man thrust slyly toward him. " Thank you," he
said ; " to your very good health."

And without even looking at it he put the neck to his
moutii and tilted the bottle in the air. Just one little
drop rolled like a liquid pellet along his tongue.

*' Why, it's empty," he said in a disappointed tone.

" Empty ! " exclaimed Mr. Crags, dividing the heavy

ing it down

A SLAVE OF THE CUP.

281

furrows on his brow into smaller wrinkles to express sur-
prise, "yo' dunner mean ter sa' so. An' that theer bottle
was half-full yisterday. It must ha' got turned upside
doon when I was aslape, an' I niver noticed it. An' it's
the last drop I've got onywheer ; an' I'm ser subject to
thease yedaches. I shall die fer sure if one on um cums
on afore I get ony more ; an' I've got no money neether.
Oh, what shan I do? What shan I do?" And Mr. Crags
twisted his moppish left hand and thumped the ground
with his stick in a throe of intolerable distress.

Pancrack looked on in a rather perplexed manner. He
saw that it was a covert appeal to him for money, and
between his dislike for giving and his wish to escape he
halted in a quandary.

" It is a bad job," he said at last ; " but wouldn't Mrs.
Crags let you have a little ? She must have some of the
mortgage money left yet."

At the mere mention of his wife's name Mr. Crags'
attitude altered entirely. He ceased to beat the ground
with his stick, and his head shook as if suddenly smitten
with ague.

" Dunner mention it, mon," he said in a horrified whis-
per. "If that oud woman o' mine should know as yo' 'n
bin talkin' wi' mae about gettin' moor whiskey she'd knock
the yeds off us boath afore she'd let yer marry Alice."

Pancrack said nothing, but looked at the old man in
puzzled surprise. '

" Yis," continued the old toper, "that her would. We
are boath in the same box now since yo' 'n bin drinkin' wi'
mae." And Mr. Crags sighed profoundly.

" But look thee here, young feller," he added in a con-
ciliatory, confidential manner ; " I tell yer whvT.t it is. If
yo' 'n just lend nie a dollar or two now I'll pre yer back
later on, so I'll have somethin' to cure m'> v.hen I get the
yedache, and the oud woman '11 never be the wiser for it."

"Yes, of course," said Pancrack, glad to purchase his
escape from the tangle in which the old man was trying to
involve him. "Why didn't you mention that before?
But mind, you mustn't breathe a word to anyone that I
gave you this."

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282

POLSON S IMU)l»ATt()N.

And HO say in j^ Ik? pull((l two dollars out of his purse
and droppoil thoin into the old toper's eager hand. A
whiskey- tear of gratitude stood in the old man's eye as he
ruhhed the money in the palm of his hand as a smoker
does hid tobacco.

" Yo're the stulF," he said, "and may yer never need a
friend or a glass of oud Scotch; an' I would ner want to
sae my daughter marry nobody else. So goo on wi' yer
coortin' — my blessin's on yer yeds."

"It isn't much," thought Pancrack afterward, "but
with the poison that the saloon-keepers stuff into him it
may work wonders. The old fool is a nuisance anyhow,
and if he would only kill himself the world would be
benefited by it." With which philanthropic view he con-
soled such highly virtuous qualms of conscience as pos-
sessed his manly bosom.

As a consequence of this unusual generosity Solomon
Crags might have been seen on the following morning
stumping along the trail toward Bendigo. There had been
a rise in wheat lately and many farmers were at that
time busy hauling in grain to the market, and the old
man had started out in the hope of being caught up by
one of these. Nor was he disappointed, for soon he heard
a sleigh creaking along behind him, and the driver being
a stranger to him had no hesitation in giving him a ride
on the top of the wheat sacks into Bendigo.

There he ran his usual course.

First stage — All treating, friendliness and familiarity.

Second stage— Querulously affectionate and disposed to
gamble.

Third stage — Quarrelsome, pugnacious and profane.

In the last stage on this particular day Mr. Crags'
violence was considerably enhanced by the firm refusal of
the bartender to supply him with any more drink without
money.

"Yer wunner, wunner yer," shouted Mr. Crags. "I'll
soon show yer whether yer wun or not. Look out fer
yer yeds theer."

There was a general stampede into the street as with a

A SOLOMON rOME TO JUDGMENT.

283

of his purso

i^r hand. A

.n's eye as he

as a smoker

never need a
Iner want to
o on wi' yer

jrward, "but
T into him it
Eince anyhow,
rid would be
; vi(!W he con-
jience as pos-

)sity Solomon
ving morning
'here had been
were at that
, and the old
caught up by
soon he heard
e driver being
ns him a ride

"whoop" Mr. Crags .swung his walking-stick in fierce
circles round th(5 bar, shivering to atoms half-a-dozen glass
tumblers that stood on tins counter, knocking the hacks ofV
two chairs and breaking a looking-glass. His vengeance
satisfied there h«^ rushed out shouting into the street,
where he ran into a citizen who happened to be passing
l)y, and after demolishing his top hat and otherwise
damaging him, fell sprawling on the street, shouting oui
terrific challenges to all within hearing.

" Yah, yer puddin'-yeds ! Here's the oud rooster that
'11 whop ony mon o' yer yet, though he is an oud cripple.
Cum along yer slim kyoots an' I'll polish yer oflV

Whilst delivering these defiant threats, he was picked
up by the village constable.

" 'Oh, I am the flower that blooms in the spring, tra-la,' "
sang Mr. Crags as the officer held him shakily erect.

"Are ye?" said the constable grimly. "Then I'd better
put ye in the hot-house. Ye might freeze if ye stopped
out here too much."

And he locked him up till he became sober and then
sent him home.

But unfortunately for Solomon Crags that was not the
last of it, for a few days later he received a summons to
appear before the magistrate at an early date on a charge
of assault and battery committed on the body of the afore-
mentioned citizen.

n I

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familiarity,
id disposed to

profane,
ly Mr. Crags'
lirm refusal of
Id rink without

Crags. "I'll
iLook out fer

reet as with a

CHAPTER XLIV.

A Solomon Come to Judgment.

We were in the court-room in Bendigo on the day fixed
for the trial of Solomon Crags. A fair-sized crowd was
gathered before three magistrates seated on a dais at the
farther end of the hall. The spokesman of the con-
clave — a short fat man, whose bald crown seemed to have
raised itself like a bare hill-top above a scanty growth of
hair which clothed the sides — rose from his seat and called
out :

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284

POLSON S PROBATION.

"Solomon Crafts, stimd Up."

" Height yoe are," said a guttural voice that 1 know
well.

Then there was a sound of slow and niuilled movement,
intermingled with the strident squeaking of heavy boots
and the intermittent thumping of a walking-stick on the
floor, and Mr. Solomon Crags presented himself to pu)>lic
view and stood before the magistrates.

His dress, with the exception of some slight exaggera-
tions, was the same as ever. The greasy slouched hat flapped
defiantly in the magistrates' faces. The moppish bundle
of red flannel hung by his side liko the end of a brobdig-
nagian cleaning rod. His antique lengthy coat of grey
frieze came down below his knees. His loose, baggy
trousers of corduroy vied with his boots in the creases and
convexities which his movements created in them. For
the rest he stood leaning on his stick, whilst the stubbly
bristles on his face rose like porcupine prickles grown to
protect him in emergency.

The chairman of the magisterial board recited the charge
and asked the usual question —

" Guilty, or not guilty 1 "

"I was not drunk," was the grave reply, with a lordly
stress on the "not."

" Answer the question, sir ; are you guilty, or not
guilty?" asked the magistrate sharply.

"Didn't — I — say — I — was — not — drunk," replied Mr.
Crags, distinctly articulating every syllable, and this time
further emphasizing the negative with a thump of the
walking-stick.

Amused by this peremptory reply the magistrates
melted into indulgence, and proceeded to call the witnesses
without questioning the old man any further.

The fi^st person to stand up was the plaintiff, the gentle-
man whose hat had been demolished by the defendant's
walking-stick. He gave his evidence in a simple and
straightforward manner.

The next to appear was the village constable, who re-
lated how he had found defendant lying in a helpless con-

A SOLOMON <'OME TO .lUIX JMENT.

285

that I know

ited the charge

(litiou on the street. "And such a picturo he was, gentle-
men," he said, turning a quid over in his cheek, "and
sprawled out on the road like a old bull-frog, and when I
h'isted hinj e-n^ct, he actially Ix^gan to sing — "

" Say no more, say no more," said the defendant, cutting
short these personalities with a majestic sweep of tlw. walk-
ing-stick, " I'll he guilty, though 1 inns not drunk ; for I'm
a poor oud cripple, I am, an' when I fall down on yer slip-
pery straet, I conner rise wi'otit help, I Conner,"

" An' yoe," he added, specially addn^ssing the constable,
"if yoe'd sae as folks didna steal my whips an' hoss-rugs
out o' my sleigh whenever I cum to town, instid o' runnin*
about to arrest mae — a poor oud cripple as conner get up
when hae tund)les down — yoe'd be earning yer trifle moor
honestly, yoe would. But say no more, say no more ; I'll
be guilty." He uttered the last sentence with such an air
of lordly resignation thai, the court was again convulsed.
After hearing with grave disgust the laughter he had
excited, Mr. Crags turned again to the magistrates, and
asked in sepulchral tones :

" How much are yer gooin' ter charge me 1, "

The magistrates consulted for a moment, and then the
chairman spoke, " Mr. Crags, the court has decided to
exercise its leniency by fining you only five dollars."

Mr. Crags groaned resignedly, then suddenly thought
of the liquor that sum would buy.

" Fifty more drinks o' wliiskey gone, ho both I " he cried,
striking his stick on the floor with such energy that it
raised a splintery bump on the board, at which magistrates
and spectators laughed anew.

" Here some o' yoe fellers," said Mr. Crags appealingly,
" cum and pull my purse out for me, for I'm a poor oud
cripple wi' a bandaged hand an' conner get into my left
side pocket."

Someone went to his assistance, and Mr. Crags paid
the fine. The crowd, myself among them, left the court.
I had not gone far, however, before I felt my shoulder
grabbed by the knob of a walking-stick, and a whiskey-
flavored voice whispered in my ear — .

2H6

POI.HON S PIIOMATION.

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"Cum uloii^, lad, imd liavoii l)it of a drink. I'vn got
fifty rnits l«5tt y«t, though they liave robbfd inc, tlui
HcoutidrclH. I iiiuii bo gooiii' Hoon thougli or tlioy'ii naW
ine aj;ain, thoy wun, tlio rapHcallioiiH."

Dt'cliniii^ Ills /(onerouH oIl'erH as politoly as T could, T
escaped from the ^^rasp of liis walkioi^ stick, and took earn
afterward to keep out of his way. Hut with others his
oft'ers proved more acceptahle, and lie Hoon stood at the
bar tim o<Mitr(! of a group o^ adinirin;,' loafers, who, as they
swallowed his little store, expressed most 8tron«^Iy their
ailmiration of his conduct . der trial.

Under such hopeful auspices tho old tippler soon for-
got all his misfortune.s, together with his good resolution
to return honuj ere further mishap befell him ; and for
several hours afterwards he amused the crowd with his
drutd<(;n antics and bombastic speeches.

The death of his son, the grief of his family, tlie
esteem of the respectable! world and his own awful future
were all as nothing to him while the drink-liend tickled
his throat.

CHAPTER XLV.

Fire, Frost and Snow. — Tiik Prelude.

A DISMAL night closed over a miserable home. An
empty chair stood in a corner telling a mournful tale by
its vacancy, and on the couch rolled about — groaning,
mumbling and cursing — a drunken thing swathed in ill-
fitting clothes. A walking-stick lay by his side ; his
slouclied hat had fallen on the floor, and his bare head,
thinly covered with hair, moved in blinking uneasiness on
a hard pillow.

Lying at full length in a neighbor's sleigh, Solomon
Crags had been brought home and carried to the sofa,
where he had since lain in a condition of stupor.

The sullen matron spoke not a word, but in cloudy silence

FIHi:, FKOST AND SNoW— THE I'UELUUE. 2.S7

ktiittod outthowoary liours. Slio waiind until his (ioriniuit
Hoii8(>8 W(M(« sutlicirntly awakened to feel a wound hofoni
launching,' her thunders on his head. Arid Alice, overwhelmed
and ecjually silent by sorrow and mI aine, tried vainly to
execute a piece of ernhroidery. Tim work waH constantly
dropping on her la)>, with }»er tin;;erH suspended niotioidesH
over it and her eyes looking out into vacancy — thinking,
ti>i»d<in;:f. Then, recollecting herself, she would resuiuo
her work, l)ut ever with the same result. Again it would
fall upon her lap, and again her eyes were lost in the im-
measurahlo regions of thought.

They were alone.

Pancrack's daily visit was over and the laboring-man
had gone out io spend the night with a neighbor. The
lamp light shed a cheerful glow throughout the room, and
th(! tire crackled warm comfort in th(» stove. iUMieath it
a lazy old dog slumbered cont<Mjtedly, with his natural
enemy, the cat, making soft rolling music by his side.
On the stove-lid a polished copper kettU^ spouted forth an
expanding column of steam, tUv. whihi its vaporous iiiterior
murmured a soothing melody composed by tire and water.
In every pause of its singing the clock on the wall ticked
on like a watchman crying, " All is well."

Yet all these incentives to cheerfulness and comfort had
no brightening influence on the hearts of the inmates of
that house. Their silence was not that of a deep content-
ment which a sound would break, but rather the ominous
quiet of a brooding cloud, wherein were concentered mem-
ories of sorrow, sensibilities wounded by shame, and the
bitter prescient instinct of disaster to come.

And so the daughter's thoughts would go back to the
nmn she loved, and then they would wander to the hard-eyed
usurer she vainly tried to like, and who soon must claim
her for his bride. In imagination she foresaw a life of
splendid misery stretching out before her — all things well
without, but the heart within gnawing with ceaseless pain
through all ; and already, in prospect, she felt like a lark
chained to a vulture in a cage of gold. Then she looked

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288

POLSONS I'lloriATION.

upon hor fiitlirr, doj^radjul mul l)rutali/e(|, and tli« cup of
Horrow was further iMnhittrnHl by th« ^In'j^H of Hhanin.

And thu inoth(>r what tiiou^ht hhe? [ cannot tell you.

Alien's ^uileloss face is a ^lass tlirou^h which all her
thoti;;htH, pasHlouH and perplexities can bo plainly seen ;
l)ut her mother's is the rocky battlonjent which shuts out
tho lii{ht, and holds iti darkness the secrets of hor soul,
till such time as they hurst frotn her lips in hot anj^er, or
How, perchance, in kinder accents. C)nly this I know -
to-nij^ht, with dark brows bent, she sits and knits like a
silent Kury spinninj( out the threads of Kate. Nor do the
white str(»aks with which hor liair is tinged tend to softoti
the harshtuiss of her expression, but rather, like snow upon
the raven's plume, they give her a fiercer and more wintry
aspect.

Thus amid cheerfulness a!ul light they sit involved in
sorrow and gloom. The daughter fitfully thinks and the
mother unceasingly knits, and so the weary hours roll by
till the time of repose has come.

Then Alice lays her half-lmished work aside and silently
retires, while Mrs. Crags, with the nearly-knitted stocking
still in her hands, winds up the clock, fastens the doors,
closes the fire, and taking no more notice of her prostrate
husband than if he had been a log, mounts the croaking
stairs to seek the unconsciousness of sleep.

The Scenk.

Outside the night is clear, but dark. The frost strikes
a chill into the bones, making the flesh to quiver. No
clouds obscure the moonless sky, but a veil of darkness is
thrown over it like an immense concave pall, with but a
few scattered stars to pierce its blackness. Inside the old
drunkard slumbers uneasily for many hours; the fire
burns out in the stove, the frost creeps in through every
crack and key-hole, and strikes through the iron plates
wherein its enc^my, the fire, has been fortified, scattering
the few expiring embers to ashes cold and ;r;rey. Then it
creeps over toward the couch where the sleeper is lying,

FIRE, FR'^ST AM) RNOW— THE PIIEM'DE. 280

;

th« cup of
Hhiiino.
lot t«41 you.
lich all I't^r
ainly 8««'n ;
!h KhutH out
of hor Houl,
jot an<;<M-, or
lis I know —
knits liko a
Nor do tho
>\u\ to Hofteii
Know upon
more wintry

: involved in
inks and the
liours roll by

e and silently

,tt(Hl stocking

ns the doorB,

ler prostrate

the croaking

> frost strikes
quiver. No
if darkness is
|l, with but a
[nside the old
irs; the tire
[hrough every
iron plates
id, scatterin:

rey

Then it

eper is lying,

and strikes with such hitter chill that he wakenn Mhivering
and sobered. He liftn hiH head aiul looks at the darkiirRs.
For a tiiuM his mind \n ax l)laMk an tli<i atu)oHph<>re around
hiui ; then Hlowly instinctive thoU}{htH force theinsolveH into
the dull atmosphere of his intellectual chambers. First, it
strikes him that he is cold ; secondly, that he is hun^'ry ; and
thirdly, that it is dark. "Smash their eyes!" he mutters,
"they've put me into the lock-up a;(ain, have they'l If
they have not taken otV my matclies I'll strike a light and
look around u\g. A nice way to treat a poor oud cripple,
this is. I'll appeal to the Queen against them— I will."

Uttering this threat .Mr. Orags struck a match, and by
its aid was enabled to see that the dungeon in wliich he
was cast very much resembled his own kitchen. All
thought of appealing to the ((ueen of that establishment
immediately vanished, and his hungry instincts led him
toward the cupboard. With drunken carelessneas he
dropped the still-blazing match upon the couch, and rising
with difficulty poked into the darkness before him with his
stick, and with stumbling steps moved toward the cup-
board. But, as ill-fate would have it, his foot caught
against a stick of firewood lying on the floor and he fell
heavily forward on his face. Sprawling over the floor with
arms and legs wide apart, he lay there in stupid content-
ment, making no attempt to rise.

Whether or not the wife and daughter sleeping above
heard the noise of his fall 1 cannot say ; but probably if
they did it was so common an incident in the house that
they took no further notice of it, but went to sleep again.

Meanwhile the lighted match which the drunkard had
dropped on the sofa is slowly and silently doing its work.
Slowly, from the spot on which it has fallen, the hot teeth
of the fire bite into the covering of the couch in an ever-
widening radius of sickly, spluttering flame. It takes the
color, strength and beauty from the cloth, and spreads it
over the ceiling of the room in a pall of stupefying smoke.

The smoke filters through the air-holes round the pipe
of the stove, and ascends into the room above, where a
woman is dreamlessly sleeping. It creeps noiselessly to
19

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290

F0L8()N H I'HOltATlON.

thfl 1)^(1 of tho •l*»*p*>r, nrul »t<»»ilini( up h#r nontrllM with
thn liroiitli nIi(< (IrawH it NinkH into Iht l>ruiii ; t)i<>ii it
pitTCfH to lii*r lunf{M, hii*1 witli tho irriiutioii nIm* hti^litly
oou^liN hikI ^t'litly oponii li<>r <*y**N, luid iin tlm Niiioktt Mtiii^K
tlifiM into tenrH i\w lidn urn dropped n^uin with h moan,
and for a tiinn Mh« uttMm no otht^r plnint, for Htupcfiiotiori
hnn Hri/.rd ln't.

h«'low iH b«in^ ^nactod u HiM»m> of horror iinuttorahlo.
Thi't-o iH 11 Huu*\\ of ii(]Uorituukcd clotliin^ burning (itfiilly
in lluMhAN of Hpcotral hlue, and nn old knotted walking-
Mtick criK'kUm navn^oly hh itH nidged librcM are riven
aiunder by the tire. A faco, spiritM«ili/cd into deathly
whiteness by the weird light, work* convuUively amid tho
tiaiiie, and groaiiH and curseH inini^le with the AMcending
Mtnoku. Hut, hark ! The ahriukH uf a woman piercu far
out into the frosty night.

"Mother, mother! Wake, wake! The house is burn-

ing ! "

Is that a spirit of the night, in long vhito robos with
dark trosses flowing froe, who is shakint,' frantically at a
door which a now unconscious wife Iwid locked iigiiinst a
brutal husband 1 With what maddeiKMl, half-choked
frenzy she ;^ra8{)S tho blistering door knob, while the smoke
enwraps her like a garmetit of blackness, and through it
the fire from below fla;hns at times on her half-cra/.ed face.
Then from within that fast-lo(;kc5d room shrieks, wild<»r
than she has ever uttered, join with hors, and together the
cries go thrilling through tho blinding smoke. One desper-
ate wrench she gives, then falls back crazed, half-strangled
and blinded by the smoke, and rolls helplessly down the
stairs, alighting on a patch of flaming floor. The pain
awakens in her a desire for air and life, and bounding out
of the fire on hands and knees she gropes to find a door.
Like a dim undertone to her half-stupelied senses come the
groanings and cursings of despair and the crackling of
relentless fire with which the house is filled. With breath
drawn in choking gasps and eyes stung into blindness she
searches for the door. The fiame comes ever nearer. At
last she feels the panels, but the demon is close upon her.

I I

Mil. LONfJSTURETS AI.AIHf

291

Uiidrr lUK hot hrr'ith her loii^ hhxcV trvMi>% NJiigr with a
■in^ln hiMM, till only n hrowii fri/.xl«<tl iiiiiMN Im li*ft Around
her h(<U(l. Tlit* liiiiid >'lio liftH to turn tli«* knob in Noorcht'd,
hut the door opiMin nitil tint oo' I iiir runhi'H into thn urruM of
tlit< t'lrr imd diiv(>t it ■urjfing inward un tlir KJrl crrcpN out
into tlit^ frosty iiir, imd with fiM>lin^H IxMiuiiilird mtd ovory
|»ow««r «>xliiiusti»(l HinlvH uni'onsfiouM on the muow.

In iho houH<> tlio Hlirit'lcN hiivo hoconu* tHintcr, tint groans
havH dii<d (l(»wn to Htitlcd nioanM. In tin* lowor room a
wrt'Hth of hluA tiro diMH(dv«>H into hiarkni'.sH uuioii^ tlui
Hiiioko.

iSucli wiiH tho druiikard'H ond.

'1' I

CllAlTEK \L\I.
Mk. LoNfiMTUKKr's Alahm.

Mk. Loncjhtkkf.t wah unwell that night : a burning
hoadaoho tornionttHl him, and instead uf driving him to
sleep drovo sleep elloctually from him. Ho got up and
dressed, and with l)are<l brow walked out into tho frosty
air. Ah he ascendiid a knoll his eyes turned in tho direc-
tion of the Crags' homestead. He stopped suddcMily.

•'What does this meanl" he muttered, forgetting his
headache ; " the house must either be haunted or on lire.
There is no (lame outside, but what makes the windows
flash like that. It can't be lamp-light ; the house must be
on fire."

And thus assuring himself Mr. Longstreet, who
was very impulsive and liable to lose his head at critical
moments, ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward
the house, and roused all the slunilx^ring inmates with loud
cries of " Fire ! fire ! The house is burning to the
ground ! "

Immediately there was a scuffling sound, as of people
dressing in confusion upstairs. Mr. I)ysart's sash flow up,
and ho threw out a cash-box and a suit of clothes. Mr.

J (

i ■

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! iWH-

If) I

»■)

. i«*'

'"' Hw

>■'

Ml 1 I I

1 !i

I I

292

POLSON S PROBATION.

Fane tried to raise liis window, but it was frozen down, so
he broke the glass with the butt of a gun ; then he threw
out and almost broke t!ie neck of a pet puss which had the
privilege of sleeping with him, nnd this was followed by a
revolver and a fishing rod. Mrs. Bant and Mrs. Tomson
screamed ; and Mr. Longstreet, who happened to be stand-
ing under the window of the latter, was almost deluged
by a shower of bedclothes and wearing apparel which the
worthy lady ejected in her fright. Mrs. Bant snatched up
her screaming infant and bore him wildly downstairs.

In less than ten minutes after giving the alarm Mr.
Longstreet, who had moved round to the veranda, found
himself confronted by the following tableau : •

Mr. Dysart, in a pair of trousers and a fur cap ; Mr.
Fane, in a buckskin coat, a shirt reaching to his knees and
a pair of untied moccasins on his feet ; Mrs. Bant, in a
long night-dress, with a child scratching and screaming in
her arms like one possessed ; and the cook, wrapped in a
blanket like an Indian in a blizzard, crying, " Lawks-
a-mercy ! We'll be all burned to death in bed!"

" Where on earth is the fire 1 " demanded Mr. Dysart of
the astonished Mi . Longstreet.

" Why, at Crags' to be sure ! You didn't think I meant
this house, did you ?"

**At Crags'!" echoed Mr. Dysart, in a tone of anger
and relief. "Then why in all conscience didn't you say so
at first and not make all this fuss ? However, we must
help these people, and at once. So just you hurry over to
the farm and rouse the men, and get the team hitched to a
sleigh. We shall have to get dressed, but by the time you
are ready to start we shall be there."

Mr. Longstreet performed his errand speedily, and after
rousing up several of the men got out a team, and by the
time the master and Fane arrived was ready to start.

A LIflJIT IN THE NKJHT.

203

I down, so
I he threw
;h had the
iwod by a
•s. Tomson
) be stand-
st deluged
which the
natched up
stairs,
alarm Mr.
mda, found

r cap ; Mr.
J knees and
, Bant, in a
sreaming in
rapped in a
g '« Lawks-

)ed!"

T. Dysart of

ink I meant

ne of anger

]t you say so

jer, we must

jrry over to

hitched to a

:he time you

ly, and after
and by the
start.

CHAPTER XLVIT.
A Li(iUT IN THE Night.

A SLEioii-LOAD of men, hastily dressed and some but
half awake, were drawn at a gallop toward the burning
house over snow that hissed around the ripping runners.

Still they saw no light save that which played redly and
fitfully over the gleaming windows. But suddenly through
the crumbling wall a great red spear of flame, like a spurt
of blood from a wounded artery, shot forth into the night.
With a rush it broadened to a two-edged sword of destruc-
tion, then with a roar spread into a widening sheet which
poured over the side of the house like an inverted cataract
of tire; and the red fierce swellings, where it wrestled with
):nots and damps, were the bubbles, and the vapor that
issued from its lips was the spray, of that iiaming cascade.

By the time Mr. Dysart and his party arrived on the
scene the house was completely wrapped in a cloak of fire.
The heat was so terrific that the snowbanks around the
building were sinking in a rapid thaw, and streams of
water were trickling ofi' on every side ; nor could they
approach within many yards of the building. With faces
which from their ruddy hue seemed to have absorbed the
color of the flame, the men in the sleigh gazed in helpless,
horrified fascination at the burning pile before them. A
terrible thought filled every heart and stifled every tongue.

At last Mr. Dysart spoke, in a voice just audible amid
the crackling and roar of the cruel flames.

" Where are the people V he asked. " If they are alive
we must make some eflbrt to save them."

Onf. of the men shook his head. " If they're alive
they're not in there."

" Anyhow, they may have had to get )ut in their night-
clothes, and we had better hunt around in case they are
anywhere in the buildings," said Mr. Dysart.

All jumped out with alacrity. Some made toward the

5'if'i:,

' 1' I ! I

f!|:il|!

' lit

ill

hllj

I I

!|!'

294

POLSONS PROHATION.

buildin<^s,

others ran round to the front of the liouse.
Among the latter whs Mr. Fane, and he was the first to
espy a woman lying in sin;;ed nightclothes on the snow,
five yards from an open door, through which snake-like
tongues of flame were licking out to reach her ; but
happily, Providence had chained them to the wood thoy
were consuming, and with their utmost stretches they
fell ever a few feet short of the prostrate figure, and
retreated with angry gusts and cracks to vent their dis-
appointed greed on the fast-crumbling walls.

Fane dashed into the heat and emoke and, with panting
breath and singed eyelashes, returned with the form of the
unconscious girl in his aims. Immediately the others
surrounded him in a confused group, all eager to offer their
services, but none knowing what to do.

" Hallo ! What's this ]" said Mr. Dysart, joining them.
" Good gracious, it's Alice ! Hi, McGrath ! run to the
sleigh and fetch the horse-blankets to wrap her up in.
Here, Longstreet, you drive home with her as fast as you
know how, and leave her in the charge of Mrs. Bant. We
must stay here and see that the tire doesn't get to the out-
buildings. That seems to be about all we can do now."

The men got some straw from the stable and scattered
it in a soft litter over the bottom of the sleigh-box, and
after placing the unconscious girl gently on it, wrapped the
horse-blankets more carefully around her, and Mr. Long-
street lashed the horses into a gallop — the re st remaining
till the flames should expire. Though the tim© of waiting
seemed long, in reality it was but short ; for on that tene-
ment of dried-out wood the fire soon did its worY-.

For a time the house w^s involved in a roaring, rolling
sheet of flame. As foaming waters roll down some rocky
precipice the overlapping flames poured up the sides of that
burning pile, and as the stream rolls more smoothly along
the river-bed, so o\er the roof a smooth red current flowed
unceasingly toward the ridge, and there the tops of the
blaze broke off and floated upward in fragments to dissolve
beneath the stars. Sometimes they shot swiftly upward
and were licked into the darkness like a meteor flash.

A LIGHT IN THE NIGHT.

295

the house.

the first to

I the aiiow,
snake-like
her ; but
wood thoy ,

3tches they

figure, ami

it their dis-

vith panting

form of the

the others

to offer their

lOining them.
! run to the
3 her up in.
ts fast as you
3. Bant. We
et to the out-
1 do now."
md scattered
jigh-box, and
,, w rapped the
d Mr. Long-
st remaining
e of waiting
on that tene-

orV .

aring, rolling

|n some rocky

sides of that

oothly along

rrent flowed

, tops of the

ts to dissolve

iftly upward

meteor flash,

and again they floated gently as soap-bubbles blown from
a pipe.

Far around the snow was reddened with twinkling
flashes, while a pool of water, nielted by the heat, formed
at the feet of that little group of watchers, and reflected
the flashing tire and the reddened features of the silent
knot of men.

Before, their faces were almost scorched with the heat ;
behind, their backs were shivering with the cold ; yet their
position never changed. Tiiey were spell-bound l)y a hor-
rible tale that the fire was whispering to them. The flames
blazed over the roof and, tossing conceited heads, seemed
to clap their hands joyously and laugh at the sullen smoke-
palled stars ; while ever and anon red tongues would sneer-
ingly thrust themselves out toward the watchers, and seem
to whisper to their horror-bound souls : " We have slain
them ; they are ours."

So through long weary moments they stood like iron
pillars, motionless and speechless. But suddenly the upper
part of the wedge of fire fell with a crash which sent a
shudder through that human group as a wind shivers
through the stilly leaves of some giant tree, and so for
the first time they found their tongues, and began to
search for easier places in which to spend the remainder of
the night. A shower of sparks flashed toward the sky
like a wide swarm of burning gnats, the tire grew lower,
and the night wore on.

The winter dawn, stealing over a pile of smoking ashes,
reveals the forms of men busily searching among them.
They have found a few blackened bones and laid them out
on the snow ; two fire-bleached skulls have been shaken
from the ashes. Another scene in the awful tragedy of
Drink has been enacted — the curtain is drawn.

T-^ IM

296

POI.SON S PROBATION.

CHAPTER XLVIII.
The Siioun Lamb.

■I ?

■ i.

■ I i

I !

From a hideous nightmare the sleeper has awakened
to far more dreadful reality. To the smoke and the heat,
the scorching flames and piercing shrieks have succeeded
the consciousness of weakness and enduring pain, the hope-
lessness of friendless despair.

Youthfulness, beauty and family love have been reft
from her in a single night, and she is left alone in the
world without a single heart to cling to. Yet no tear
moistens those singed eyelashes, no moan save that wrung
out by physical suffering escapes from those blistered lips.
It is the tearlessness, the silence which ensues when the
well-springs of feeling have been frozen by misery and
despair.

Yet Alice was not without friends, for He who tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb had placed her in her days of
suffering in kindly hands. Even Mrs. Bant, who had once
under the guise of hypocritical friendship hated her as a
rival, now that she saw her thus cruelly torn from all her
former ties and left with blasted beauty and bitter suffer-
ing, softened toward her. Not that she actually showed
her much kindness in look or voice — for her stern nature
would not tolerate such " weaknesses " — but in a perfunc-
tory manner she saw her supplied with such comforts as
she needed most, and at least refrained from exhibiting
any dislike.

Perhaps, had Alice known the truth, she would have
found that she owed the lessening of the housekeeper's
hatred more to her blistered face and fire-shorn hair than
anything else. All women are naturally more or less
jealous of the admired beauty, but when the beauty is
stricken into homeliness this feeling* often changes into
kindest pity. Pity, however, was not the sentiment that

THE SHORN LAMB.

297

mollified Mrs. I'ant's hatred in this instance, but rather it
Mas a bit of consoling logic with which she was wont to
comfort herself.

"Mr. Pancrack will come here to visit her," it ran,
"but she will now have no further attraction for him — for
he loved her for her looks alone — and whilst his affection
loosens from her may 1 not contrive to direct it to fasten
upon myself."

However vain and selfish these speculations may seem,
there was considerable truth in her description of Pan-
crack's affection for Alice — " he loved her for her looks
alone " — an afl'ection that saw no deeper than the surface,
and scorned, where a beautiful skin was lacking, the in-
finitely richer treasure of a true, loving heart — a passion
to be dissipated in a moment like the floating vapor which
a breath of chilly air changes into falling drops of water.
Such was the love of the usurer, Silas Pancrack.

He had slept serenely through the night when the
whiskey-born fire had devoured the homo and the parents
of his affianced bride, but early in the morning when he
looked over the ravine — near which his shantv stood —
toward their house, he saw pale columns of smoke ascend-
ing, and dimly descried the forms of men working among
ashes and ruins. For a long time he looked to assure
himself that he was not deceived, and then the true solu-
tion came home to him.

" I know how it is," he said, striking his knee with his
fist ; " the old fool came home drunk last night and they
left him to sleep it out downstairs, and he maundered about,
knocked the stove over perhaps, and set the house on fire.
1 wonder how they came out of it ? I must go and see."

And without waiting to hitch up his horses he ran
swiftly down into the ravine and up the other side, and in
a few moments arrived breathless near the smoking ruins.
With horror he noticed a man with a pitchfork raking
among the ashes, and saw him lift out a bleached bone and
fling it to fall rattling on a small pile heaped near. With
a shudder he turned his eyes from these, and in a trem-
bling voice asked the men what had occurred.

it!

m'^

iitil I'l

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ill

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298

POLSON'S PROBATrON.

They told liiin })riol1y wluit had happened, and he at
once went on his way to Dyaart's to in<juini al)Out Alice.

The first person he ni(it was the doctor who had been
hastily suTunioned from (treentown, and who informed him
that siie had nicovered conscioustuiss, but was yet too
woak to be disturbed, and he had b(^ttor not see her that
day. And thus far satisfuid he went away to return on
tiie following day.

The door was opened for him by Mrs. I»ant, w' • arrayed
in a blue silk dress, had lujver looked more enclianting.
Her white, thin tirm-featured face did its best to look
charminj^ with an expression of sorrowful sympatiiy, and
the melancholy smile with which she greeted Pancrack
lighted her features as much as it expressed her solicitude.

"Ah, Mr. Pancrack ! " she said with a sigh, " I fear your
lady-love is yet very far from well, but still 1 think you
may see her to-day ; but be sure to say nothing that will
be liable to agitate her."

" Dep(!nd upon it, I will take your advice," said Pan-
crack. " Jiut please show me the way to her room."

His affection was not yet chilled, and he was all eager-
ness to be by her side. Mrs. Bant observed his impatience,
and as she turned to guide him smiled a bitter yet half
sarcastic smile. Walking softly on tiptoe she led him
upstairs to the landing outside the room in which Alice
was lying. Here she paused, and bending toward him
whispered in his ear :

"You had better wait here a little while T go and pre-
pare her to receive you. Too sudden a surprise might
harm her."

Pancrack nodded, and Mrs. Bant, opening the door,
walked softly into the room and closed it behind her.
Alice was awake, and Mrs. Bant, with a forced smile of
sickly sympathy, asked her how she felt.

"A little better, thank you," was the murmured reply
from the figure lying with half-closed eyes in the bed.

"That is well," said Mrs. Bant. "And you must do
your best to look cheerful, for a visitor has come to see
you."

THE SirORN LAMH.

209

A half-audihlo lethargic "Oh," waa tho only response to
this announcoMiont.

** Yo8," continued Mrs. IJant, witl>out seoiuing to hoed
tho patient's drowsiness. " I have brought soinconc! you
will h(^ ghid to see. Hut you an? too (hirk in h<M(». Lot
nio open the ciirtains a little more." And nioving toward
the window slu^ opened the curtains sudiciently to h^t a
ray of sunlight fall over tho sutl'orer's face.

"There!" she said, "that is better. And now I will
bring him to you."

She walked to the door, and opening it gently, placed
her finger on her lips and signed to Pancrack to enter.
He did so accordingly, and she walked away, closing the
door bohind her. He heard her footsteps moving away,
but had he looked back a moment later he would have
seen that the keyhole appeared sutliciently luminous. But
he did not do this, for another scene engrossed him.

The room in which he found himself was darkly draped
on every side, so that the walls and corners were tinted
with sombre hues. This twilight in the daytime seemed
to have been cunningly prearranged to set off more vividly
the dazzling beam of light which stnjamed in between tlie
dark half-opened window curtains and fell over the face
of the patient in the bed. It flickered over the medicine
bottles standing on a table within her reach, and gave to
their contents a ghastly gangrened hue. It slew the
darkness where the darkness should have been and left
untouched the places pining for the sun. Upon her poor
burnt face the light flashed back from the polished bed-
head, and surged over her from the snowy counterpane —
all combining to bring out more vividly the disfigurements
under which her physical beauty had been totally eclipsed.
When Pancrack entered, Alice seemed entirely unaware
of his presence, though half-awake ; and he stood and
gazed on her face with terrible revulsion of feeling. All
the apparent affection with which he had sought her pre-
sence rolled back before the cold wave of disappointment
and loathing which surged through his veins. His brutish
nature could not see in those leprous blisters the badges

' ?.

noo

POLSON.S PIIOHATION.

ijfi

III

ill

!!!■

iM!

l\\

i;l

:,l

wliicli hnivory tintl lovo hftd Rt;itiip»»(l upon hrv face. Tho
bat H(M'H witli tlm liat's nyes, and to l*aiicra<;k tlmso worn
only «>iiil)l('ins of dohtiHRinont and inisiMy. Liko a pillar of
t'wti Huddonly turned to ico Pancrack pizcd on hor faoo,
and aH h« ^a/(!d all his mean, lieartleHH love turned to
soulless brutal loathing ; and as tho ico that had HtitlVniod
his franto in the chill of sudiUui disappointment merited in
the liot breathings of evil wrath, ho turn(u|, thinking to
leav(> the room and so« her no nioro, but even us he
shifted she noticed his presence.

"Ho you have come to see me," she said, in low painful
tones. " How kind of you it is ! Come nearer, please ; my
voice is weak and I cannot sp<'ak very loudly just now."

With a gj^sture of reluctance Pancrack w(>nt nearer, and
standing by the sid(5 of tho bod just took, and thciii
dropp(!(l, tho poor scorched, trembling hand she lu-ld out
to greet him.

" Don't disturb yourself on my account," he said, in
tones of feigned sympathy slightly tinged with the scorn
h(! tried to conceal. " You must take care of yourself,
and try to get better, you know. I just called in to see
how you were, but I can't stay to talk to you just now.
You iiave suliered great hardship, but I hope you will soon
get better."

She shook her liead bitterly.

" I have little cause to wish to get well again now," she
said sadly.

"Tut, tut!" said Pancrack, impatiently. "'You just
talk like that because you are sick, but wait till you are
well again ; things will look different then ; and now
good-day, and take care of yourself. 1 have pressing busi-
ness and must go."

" But stay," she said, holding out a little withered hand.
"Promise me that to-morrow you will come and see me
again. I have something very important to say to you."

" All right, all right ! I'll come ! " he said hurriedly,
with his hand turning on the door-knob. " And now try
to get to sleep." And, mumbling this charitable advice,
he left the room.

REVELATION AVD REMORSE.

aoi

Thftro wafi a time, not long pa««t, wh»»n huoIi speoohfis nii
tlioH*', uttor«Ml HO llippaiitly to \\vr in i\ tiin«» of sufrt^rin^,
would liavi? thrown Alico'n oxtrcMucly Mt'nsitivo natiirn into
paroxysnis of uncontroUablo gri«f ; but now deHpair
siMHned to iiavo IxMiinntx'd Hcnsation, for when ho had
gon<< sho lay inotioidrsH, nilent, exprossionh'SH, aH thou^di h(5
had never Ihmmi ther(5. KindnoHs perhaps might melt hor,
hut her sorrow could not be anijuieiUed.

CIIAITER XLIX.

HeVKLATION and RKMOriSE.

WiiKN l^ancrack passed out upon tho landing ho felt
sickened and daz»id. Tlui sudden reaction had weakened
both judgment and volition. ll(^ felt like one just waking
from a horrible dn^am, who knew not yet how to dis-
tinguish between tho realities around him and the visions
of the night.

In this state ho was passing down th(5 stairs when
he was suddenly met by Mrs. liant, liglitly tripj)ing up.
Her face was lighted by the most bewitching smihi .she
could jvssume ; but on seeing Pancrack it softened to an
expression of deep concern.

"Mr. Pancrack," siio said, pausing, "you are not well;
you look very ill. Come to my sitting-room and rest a
little, and I will gi,ve you a drink of tea to restore you."

Pancrack murmured a half-audible "Thank you," and
followed her down the stairs. That proved a dear cup of
tea to Silas ; but to show how it was so it is necessary to
go back in our story and explain a little.

Mrs. Bant, with the keenness of feminine jealousy, had
always watched intently the relations of Pancrack and
Poison, and from the peculiar glances and expressions
which the former could not sometimes repress, she had
intuitively divined that some secret lay between them.
She inquired cautiously of Fred Poison concerning the

1i|b
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302

I'OLSON S I'UOHATION.

I .

1:/

ovcntH of liiR past, lif<», nnd lu'ard with purtioular intoroHt of
the iiMciiipt intidi^ liy liis (toiiHiii, .liiliiis lijtttoti, to deprive
liiin of tlw possi'Nsioti of the Ijuxtoii rstntt*.

Ill i\w. town of h — , Yorksliini, t'nuu which HilaH
l'aiu*rack prrtciMlcd t<» havt^ coiiir, MrN. Hjiiit had a fri(>iid
iti htiHiiicHH, and to him hIio wrotn iiu|uiriii^ n.i to tho
wlicrcahoutH of two in<>ii iiainrd, rcHpoctivoiy, ihdius llattoii
and Silas Pam-rack. Sho was informed hy her correspond-
ent that he had never heard of sind*. a nanx^ as the latter,
hut tlio fornxir was well known, and had started on a
PiUropcMin tour t\ui previous Hprin^^ ile also ^ave details
as to llatton's appearance and habits, which left no douht
in Mrs. Jtant's mind as to his identity with Hilas Pan-
crack. She also noted the frecjuoncy of tlie usurer's visits
to O'Neil, and in a midni;;ht interview with that ;;riniy
piirsona^e had, hy hrilxvs and threats, drawn from him the
details of the conspiracy which had ovorwliolmed poor Fred
Poison.

All tliese scattered strands of knowledge sho kept
within her hreast, for with them sh(^ intended to weave the
snare with which she should entrap Silas Pancrack.

The d(!tails of the; conversations of evilininded persons
are not edifying, and then^fore we shall pass lightly over
the scene in Mrs. IJant's sitting-room that afternoon.
SulHce it to say that suhtilly and gradually, with a win-
8om(^ skill which deprived it of half its terror, she unfolded
piece hy piece to Pancrack her knowledge of his double
existence, and his share in the scheme to blacken Fred
Poison's name.

The man was stupefied. He shifted about in his chair
with a pale face and trembling hands ; and all the time
the widow, sitting on the other side of her little round
table, smilingly sipped her tea and made sympathetic re-
marks or expressed her admiration for the acuteness with
which Mr. Pancrack had acted.

" Tf you ever possess the Laxton estate, Mr. Pancrack,"
she said, "you must remember some of your old friends
in Dysart Settlement."

"Oh, yes, certainly," mumbled Silas as he fidgeted
about. " But — but — you know — ."

UFVKLATION AND RKMollSK.

:j()3

*' TIhto in Homothin^ you wjhIi to Hay. Mr. Paricmok.
Don't lio ufiuicl to Mpuaic out ; yuu huvo a Myiiipatltctio
li»t<mor."

"Well,"Hai(l SiluH, rouHlii^ hiintelf a littNi rviul n»Htinj{
hU olbowM on tlio tiiblo an lio lookt^d iktomm nt Imr, '* wliiit [
wiHh to Nuy JH, you sorni to iinvo ^ot hold of a tain wliicli,
if pul)liHlir(l, vMxild do ni(> ('onsid<>rai>lo injury and oould
do you no ^ood ; and you doti't know how ^ratufiil I Nhould
\>t) if you wouhl l)ut |ii«)uuso to k«^ep it secret. I would do
anything for you."

'* Mr. Pauirrack," sho said, becoming sud<l«'nly solemn,
and placing her teacup in tlio saucer, "your reijuest
Houiuls almost like a n-proach. You need liavo no fear
of me. I esteem you too highly to wish to incur your
bad opinion by divulging our uuitual secrets."

One of her hands lay on the table. Ho (juietly raised
it to his lips. "You are kind," lie said.

He then rose to depart. Mrs. IJant followed him to the
door, and as he pu.ssed out reiterated hov former assurance.

"You nuiy ih^pend, Mr. Pancrack, that so long as our
friendship lasts I shall never say anything to injure i/oi(."

He turned in th(! doorway, and taking both her hands
in his, pressed them and looked into her eyes. The lids
drooped modestly befon? his gaze.

" You are very beautiful," ho said, and left her.

When the sound of his footsteps had died away, Mrs.
liant turned to the window of her room, and leaning her
hands upon tlu5 sill watched, with a smile of sinister
triumph, his form as he drove rapidly away.

" Ha, lia ! " she 1; ughed, "how meekly he plays into my
hands ! A little farther, a ♦'ew more steps, and his pro-
mise will be secured. And then pleasures shall be mine
and wealth uncounted ! They say this man is hard and
mean, yet I can sway him like a little child. I shall dress
in he fine.st attire and ride in beautiful carriages drawn
hy strong swift horses. I shall have servants to wait on
me, too ; but he, my husband, shall be the humblest lackey
of them all. The mistress of Laxton Hall shall be courted,
admired and feared wherever she is known."

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304

I'OLSON S nioUATION.

(l!!

And nn thma thoughti of plramirn whirh rnntatni no
hrippincMH iiiul powrrr which cointuHiuiM no rovrrDiiuo
fjlittrn-d Imfon* th«« prophntic <»yi» of h««r uiiihitifui, (h«
Mwui't t«»ii<'(l Non^ of iUt) oiituiry in thn cup* ulxivi) hi»r hi*iid
WHR Ntifh'd in her oiirN to the IxMiin^ nivrn'ii onunoim cronk.

\Vh(U) SiliiM I'uncrack hud ptiMHcd out into the <)|i<>n air ho
f«*it liku otH* juMt fwncrji^in^ from th« phiiiituMni of u hidi*ouN
droain. Aliio'it (liHti){iir<Ml fuco wiih ininj^it'd with Mrs.
ilant'H xiniNtnr Hniilo, and for a tiinn h(* vainly tri<*d to din*
<Mttangl<* tht* two. Hut aK thn illuHioiiH hr^an to nitdt
away and hia mind gruw clearer tlu) iittaMon for ntliection
and rop^ntanco canir.

" Hang it all ! " ho mutt«»r«»d, Mtridin^ about hiH chanty,
whilnt the froxon chiokms on tho wall drumnx'd a drnary
choruH, *' whatov<»r poKSimHed that wonuin to pry into my
H««crolH lik« that'} Slio n>UHt wiitit mn to marry In^r, and I
don't know whothitr that miKht not Ix^ heHt in thn end
aft«r all, for it would certainly criHuro her Hccrocy. Hut
thon thorn iH Alien. What am I to do if hIio inHiHtg upon
forcing' hoi claim and sues mo for broach of promiHo? liut
no, h\\vi won't, I know that. Sho only piomiHcd mo to
ploasc her moth ^, and now thnt h\w is ^ono she Ikih Ichh
rtMiHon to care altout mo Htill, and if it wa.sn't for tho
money alio w(»uld throw mo over with pleaHure. Still alio
is oanily perHuaded, and I daresay if I go to her and talk
to her rather nicely about tho unHuital)lenoH8 of our uidon
under present ciroumstancoH, she would cons(mt to break
off tho ongageme.'.t, and if shtj doesn't, why " (Silas paused
and ran his lingers nervously through his short red hair)
** wliy, 1 shall have to skip tho country that's all. 1 cer-
taiidy can't marry lior. I?ut 1 suppose" (here he stopped
8U(ld(^nly and his face bright(med) '* I can leave tho country
anyhow and escape this other woman with her harmful
secret and her fascinating ways. 1 might, if 1 can get
Alice to break the engagement, pretend to play into Mrs.
Rant's hands a little to gain time, so that I can learn
whether that Poison's dead or not. It will keep her quiet,
and anyhow I would rather marry this wily widow — -for
she's good-looking though she does frighten me — than lose

HKVKLATION AND ItrMOKMK.

no5

contain! no
n revertnoe

inhltion, th«
ov« li«r h«»ftd
ninoutcroAk.
u« ()|ti«n air h«

of li hi(l«'OUi
a with Mr«.
^ triMcl to (Uh-
»miii to molt

for rolloction

it liiH Hhanty,
\u\vA Ji tiroiiry
, pry into tny
iiy Imt, and I
Kt in tliP «'IkI
Hi'crocy. Hut
e inHiKts upon
proiiuHn 1 Hut
|omis«'(l niPi to

(1 Slin llIlH l«'HH

iLsn't for tli«
►in.. Still Bl»e
) luT luid talk
of our union
iHont to ItHMlk
(Silas paused
rt red hair) —
t's all. I cer-
re he stopped
ve tlie country
hci harmful
if I can ^vt
lay into Mrs.
I can learn
eep her quiet,
widow — for
ne -than lose

th« TAxtnn o«t4it« ftftor nW th* hothor Vvo had. Confound
th« wontun ! What a lot of trouhU' thoy ^ivi« in«v"

And in tho l)itt«rn(^«H of th« Unt rctlootion ho i^mund
hit t«flth, clenoh«Kl his handii, «nd atruok hi« hort on tho
fl(K)r with Huch force that tho jun)hli>d oollm<tion of ^roaiiy*
rinK<Hl potN and hakin^ pani ttrowtMl ovi^r it moved and
rattloil ua if their iron frame* wnre inntinot with Nhiver-
tn^ lif<>.

And on the croat of that wave of rcmorMofui paHnion
which awept into hia eyoa cainn tho white frozen face of
Goor^e Craf^H, and tho ain^ad honoH and nmokin^ Hkulta of
hin paronta rattled hideounly in the oavea of memory, and
crowning thoMO, like a baleful Htar in tho houae of doath,
came tho aneerinj;; viHa^o of tho Drink KiiMid. Mock-
ingly pointing to the relicH of thoao it had ;;iven to tho
tiro and tho atorm, it howod to Pancrack with a bittt^r
satire which aoemed to say, " l](;hold ! I have dono your
will."

From the rusty grease blotched stove the miserable
Hre, atruggling and spluttering among tho damp green
wood, hiHSod and spat at him when ho walked toward it.
The wind sighed mournfuliv through the crevices between
the shrunken boards. Tho frosty little window looked on
him like a dim and sorrowful eye from the outer day,
whilst the frozen rabbits and prairie-chickens dangling
without the walls banged against them in the wind till
they sounded to the gloomy mind within like the drum-
beats of a legion of (tends surrounding him ; and so the
forces within combined with the elements without and
gave him no rest through all the long, long day.

4 •

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306

polson's probation.

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CHAPTER L.

The Engagement Ended.

If Silas Pancrack had but known he need have felt
very little uneasiness regarding his engagement with Alice
Crags. She was fully as anxious for its dissolution as he
v/as. His conduct during the brief interview they had
on the preceding day thoroughly convinced her that he no
longer cared for her, and since her own regard for him
had always been more forced than real, she felt it to be
her duty to free him at the earliest possible moment.

Strange though it may seem to Byronic misogynists, the
thought of the wealth she was parting with never caused
her a moment's regret. She had shown her willingness to
ally herself to it for her parents' sake, and now that those
parents wore no more she gladly accepted poverty and the
freedom of heart it conferred.

" I can work when I get well again," she thought ; " and
perhaps I shall be able to earn a little to help repay these
kind friends for the trouble I have caused them."

When Pancrack, with a trembling hand and a nervous
face, entered the sick-room he found Alice sitting up in
bed to receive him. At her request, Mrs. Tomson, the
kind old cook, had placed her thus.

With a propitiatory smile of feigned concern Pancrack
took her proffered hand and said he hoped she felt better.

"Yes, thank you," she answered with formal civility,
« I do feel a little better."

" That is good news," he said. " I trust that it will not
be long before yea are quite well again."

" I fear it will be a long time yet ; but still I must try
to be patient."

" Hang it !" thought Pancrack; " what is the girl driving
at? She is twice as cheerful and resigned as she was
yesterday. I'm afraid that she has made up her mind to
get well again so that she can hang on to my money a,nd

THE ENGAGEMENT ENDED.

307

led have felt
it with Alice
iolution as he
ew they had
;er that he no
gard for him
» felt it to be
nonient.
sogynists, the
never caused
willingness to
ow that those
Dverty and the

hought ; " and
Ip repay these

tern."

and a nervous

sitting up in

. Tomson, the

tern Pancrack
she felt better.
)rmal civility,

Ihat it will not

till I must try

|he girl driving
as she was
Ip her mind to
ly iQoney Bind

me. I wish I could think of some way of dropping her a
little hint to the contrary."

For a time there was silence on either side. Pancrack
stood by the side of the bed vainly trying to think of some
means of breaking gently into the subj.ict he felt half-
ashamed to broach. Alice leaned against the pillows, her
poor blistered face absorbing the light like a blackened
glass, and one thin scorched hand lying on the white
coverlet. In her weakened state her always impression-
able nerves were very easily agitated, and it was some
time before she could control herself sufficiently to say the
words she had prepared.

"Mr. Pancrack," she began at last in a tremulous voice;
" I wish to speak to you on a matter of very grave im-
portance to both of us. When you so kindly honored me
by asking for my hand, I — I was far otherwise than I now
am. I had, I was told in those days," (she smiled faintly)
" some pretension to personal beauty, and that, no doubt,
attracted you toward me ; but now I am as you see.
What little property belonged to my poor parents — ".

She had proceeded thus far with a great effort and in
broken tones, but the mention of " parents " recalled to
her mind associations that completely overwhelmed her.
The tears gushed into her eyes and her voice broke into
sobs. Pancrack, utterly astounded by what she had said,
looked on helpless and half-dazed, unable to utter a word.
But in a moment, with a resolute effort, she wiped away
her tears, and thus relieved continued with more spirit.

" I was about to say that what little property belonged
to my poor parents is, by right of mortgage, already yours.
I have therefore no longer anything that can commend
me in your eyes. I am poor and disfigured, and if our
engagement continues I shall only stand in your way to a
more fitting union. If I did this I sliould deserve to be
pointed out as a living emblem of ingratitude, for no one
can ever forget your kindness to us in our distress. So I
freely absolve you from your engagement, though I am still
willing to carry out my pledge if you very much wish it,
But I think it will be better for both if it is cancelled."

:■%

'ill

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308

POLSON S PROBATION.

Exhausted by this long speech she sank back among
the pillows and closed her eyes.

Pancrack, too mean himself to easily comprehend self-
denial in another, stared at her for a moment with an open
mouth, unable to utter a syllable, and then strode to the
farther side of the room, rattling his watch-chain in his
hand.

"Well, this is a terror," he thought. **The sickness
must have really touched her brain, or surely she would
never throw away a fortune of her own free will, and that
without a word of persuasion. I expected to have to do a
pile of fine talking or pay a pretty penny for my freedom
from this engagement, and here she flings it at my feet
like a bone thrown to a hungry dog. Well, I shall be a
fool if I don't take advantage of this delirium, anyhow."

So thinking he walked back to the side of the sick girl.

She had opened her eyes again, and looked inquiringly
into his face as if waiting for an answer. In the pure
light of those guileless eyes Pancrack felt utterly out of
his element, and he grew confused like a fish taken from
a dirty stream, writhing and gasping in the clear light of
the sun.

*'Er — Miss Crags," he said, still shaking his watch-chain.
" Do you — I mean — yes — that is — do you really mean
what you say 1 "

" Yes," she answered simply. " Do you not think it
will be better for us 1 "

For once Pancrack's confusion came to the aid of his
hypocrisy, and though in his heart he greatly rejoiced over
this easy release from one of the horns of his dilemma, he
had little difficulty in trying to show that he consented to
it in deference to her wish.

"Of course," he mumbled, looking at the carpet, "if
you wish it, it will perhaps be better so."

" I do wish it," she said earnestly ; " but I wish it more
for your sake than for mine. Yet I do not mean to imply
that I esteem you the less on that account. On the other
hand, if the separation is greatly against your desire I shall
comply with my promise to you."

-!^-^t-

g ;g !'i>|g- 3 f , ' WJ.j * 4 ' ».Mtll pi JW i! | l»«-i " i J. I wjg

THE ENGAGEMENT ENDED.

309

back among

jrchend self-
with an open
strode to the
-chain in his

The sickneRs
ly she would
will, and that
> have to do a
r my Ireedom
it at my feet
[1, I shall be a
[n, anyhow."
f the sick girl,
ed inquiringly
In the pure
i utterly out of
ish taken from
ie clear light of

lis watch-chain,
really mean

not think it

the aid of his
By rejoiced over
tis dilemma, he
[le consented to

tihe carpet, "if

I wish it more

mean to imply

On the other

Ir desire I shall

The last sentence puzzled the usurer not a little. He
wished to retreat with honor and a show of self-denial, but
to do so it was necessary to admit that '* the separation
was greatly against his desire," and to accept the conse-
quence which that admission must entail. However, with
a mixture of evasion and frankness he crept out as best lie
could.

" You are very generous and thoughtful, I am sure," he
said, still looking at the floor. " In return for your con-
sideration for me is there nothing I can do for you 1 "

She shook her head gently. '* Thank you, you have
already done more than enough for me and mine." (Pan-
crack winced.) " I can provide for myself henceforth, if
God wills."

*' But is there nothing I can do for you ? Cannot I get
you a respectable situation ; or, if not, will you not allow
me to advance you a little money to enable you to study
for the certificate of a public school teacher, or to learn
any profession in which you may gain a competent liveli-
hood 1"

"Thank you," she said; "I have already decided on
my future work, and it is quite independent of either of
your kind proposals ; nor do I think I shall need any
assistance."

" At least," he said, " if you will not accept my help, we
will part in peace and friendship."

"Certainly. And I hope that your future will be as
happy and prosperous as you deserve to have it."

Hardly well pleased with the last qualification, he took
her scorched hand in his palm, then dropped it as if it had
burnt him, and without another word left the room to be
seen of her no more.

When the door closed behind him Alice heaved a great
sigh of relief, and all the world seemed to grow brighter
and happier around her. It was the first feeling approach-
ing to pleasure that she had experienced since that terrible
night, and under its happy influence she sank among the
surrounding pillows into a refreshing slumber, sweetened

3 {

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810

polson's probation.

by dreams of hope and love which were not unmingled
with the face and form of the lost Fred Poison.

Pancrack walked down the stairs far more lightly than
he had gone up, for a great load was lifted of!' his mind.
He was clear of one horn of the dilemma, hut at the bottom
of the stairs the other met him and gored him through and
through. Mrs. Bant greeted him with her moat winning
smile. ■

** Well, how is iti" she asked, in those whispering tones
which melted his soul into weakness.

*' All is ended there," he said. *' I am now yours, and
yours alone."

And so the siren wooed him to the rock, and the weaver
wove her skilful meshes about him, while the victim
struggled vainly in the prison-house, which sometimes he
loved and sometimes he hated.

CHAPTER LI.

Mrs. Tomson is Surprised.

The long winter was drawing to a close.

The sun rode
daily through a wider space in the heavens, and beneath
his rays the snow plains broke fiercely on the eyes with
myriad little crystals of reflected light. Cattle might be
seen contentedly chewing their cuds, as they sunned them-
selves beside the farm-buildings ; and doors, which colder
days had kept latched and close, were now opened to admit
the air and light. Sleighs, which had heretofore creaked
and groaned on their travels like tortured things, now
moved softly and noiselessly over the melting snow ; and
great balls clogged under the horses' hoofs as they plunged
through the rotting trails.

Alice Crags, slowly recovering, remained still at
Dysart's. Mrs. Bant seldom saw her, and Mr. Pancrack
visited her no more ; but her old friend. Miss Shenstone,

MRS. TOMSON IS StJRt^RISED.

311

came often to see her, and the people of the district, with
whom she was a great favorite, constantly enquired about
her. One kind female friend yet remained to her in the
house in Mrs. Tomson, the cook. The kind old dame had
taken a warm fancy to the poor sick girl, and when work
was not very pressing would spend many a half-hour
knitting by her side, and talking to console her. Alice, in
her lonely condition, naturally felt very grateful for this
company and attention ; and in return for her kindness
flattered the old lady's vanity by asking for her counsel
and advice on practical household matters. Among these
(questions one day Alice startled her by asking where she
thought she might best procure work as a dressmaker when
she got well again.

" Dressmakin' ! " echoed the old lady, pausing in her
knitting and looking over her spectacles. " Whatever will
you want with dressmakin', dearie, when you are married
to that rich Mr. Pancrack'? You'll want somebody to
make dresses for you, more like."

"No, Mrs. Tomson," said Alice with a smile, "you are
mistaken ; I am not going to marry Mr. Pancrack at all.
It is all over between us."

" Dearie, dearie me ! " said Mrs. Tomson, dropping her
knitting and lifting her hands in surprise, "d' ye ever
hear o' such a thing ! " Then, as if the real cause had
suddenly broken on her mind, she added in tones of high-
strung wrath : " I know how it is. The villain ! the
scamp ! just to go and leave off from such a good little
dearie because she got her face burnt and had trouble.

The mean rapscallion, if I had him here, I'd ." And

the indignant old lady finished the sentence by stabbing
through the air with a knitting-needle.

" But, Mrs. Tomson — Mrs. Tomson, hear me ! ' said
Alice, interrupting the old dame's threat. " It was not
Mr. Pancrack's fault at all that the engagement was
broken off. It was my own wish."

Mrs. Tomson's wrath at once changed to surprise, not
unmingled with a little disgust.

" Lord bless us ! " she exclaimed. "You don't mean to

l!!i*l'i

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liilll

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312

POLSONS PROBATION.

Bay that you have gone and throwod away a fortune of
your own free will? Such madness I never heard on
before."

"Yes," said Alice, smiling at the old lady's genuine
disgust, " T am afraid I have been guilty of that sin."

" An' he'd have built you a fine frame house," continued
the cook, enumerating the advantages of wealth ab they
appeared to her ; " and kept a servant or two to wait on
you ; and you'd ha' had a tine top-buggy to go to Bendigo
whenever you wanted ; and a drawin'-room and carpets,
and a pe-anner, and books, and silk dresses, and pictures,
and a cooking-range, and- oh, dear o' me, whatever was
you athinkin' of 1 "

" Well, well, Mrs. Tomson," said Alico, in a conciliatory
tone, " it is done, and it can't be undone ; and as I shall
have to earn my own living, I want a few instructions from
you how to go about it."

" Well," said Mrs. Tomson, resuming the knitting she
had neglected in her bursts of indignant surprise, ** there
is some queer folks in this world, there is, and I must say,
dearie, you are one of 'em."

And in this manner the old dame accommodated herself
to an action so peculiar in a young lady of the nineteenth
century.

CHAPTER LII.

Pancrack Goes for a Sleigh-ride.

Silas Pancrack waited and struggled with passion and
weakness ; but though the winter was dying in the sun,
and the piping of the jay proclaimed the coming of the
spring, he did not attempt to flee. Quietly, however, he
was making his preparations. Piece by piece he was slyly
disposing of his property ; and he only waited for the
coming spring to tell the truth as to lYed Poison's fate,
before taking his departure.

PANCRACK GOES FOR A 8LEI0H-RIDE.

313

nd I must say,

Hewa, constrained both by circunistancen >\nd hiH own
weakness to pay many visits to Mrs. Bant ; und, like many
another, he excused his weakness on the plea of his neces-
sity. ** For," his coward conscience would whisper, " she
has you in her power ; she knows your secret and your
re» 1 name, so pretend for a time that you rerlly love her,
and when your purposes are completed leave her." A
part at least of this suggested programme it was not hard
for Pancrack to carry out, for when in her presence his
affection was, to all appearances, genuine enough.

In the fulfilment of his purpose, he fattened for sale the
fine black horses he was wont to drive. Sometimes he
drove them out for exercise, but invariably rode alone ; for,
considering his late well-known engagement, he could not,
in common decency, ask Mrs. Bant to accompany him as
yet — even though his attentions to her had already become
well known.

On a warm thawing day in March he took out the
horses for exercise as usual. They were unusually fresh
and spirited that afternoon, and their dark coats shone
like ebony mirrors — the effect, no doubt, of the good
feeding and careful attention they had lately received.
They sniflfed the air and pawed the snow impatiently,
whilst being hitched to the cutter, and their necks bent in
proud and graceful curves. Every muscle tense with life
and springing with action, it was with difficulty that their
driver restrained their impetuous ardor. The bells jingled
a merry music on the air, and the cutter glided smoothly
over the soft half-melted snow.

Again he sped along the trail over which he had driven
Alice Crags on that well-remembered day not many weeks
ago ; but in that short space of time what changes had
occurred ! Her mother had been then his most urgent
friend, her brother his bitterest enemy, and her father,
sunk in slothful turpitude, had cared not how he fared ;
and now father, mother and brother had passed away, and
she, his quondam love, lay like a blasted flower in the
home of a stranger.

He passed by the spot where they once had dwelt. Only

i
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314

I'OLSON .S niOHATION.

a firm packed drift of snow, dotted with bits of charred
wood, iiiurked the place where the hoiiH(; had Htoo(i. The
straw iuiM;;in<; from the ia;,'^nd ends of the empty sheds
fluttered idly in the wind, and the snow had drifted in
heaps into the miserabh^ hovels. No living thing dwelt
there now. Not even a scpiirrerH chirp n)ingled with the
sad sighing of the wind ; not a weasel's eye lighted the
mid-day gloom. Through the chinks between the ragged
logs the sunlight 8tr<!anied and llickerod sadly over the
drifted snow and sagged manure heaps inside. In the
days of its life that place had been branded with the blast-
ing curse of drink, and when the brand had burned deeper
in the human souls of its inhabitants and their lives had
withered away, its ugliness lay yet upon it, exaggerated
fearfully by the pale and deathlike solitude around it.

In a liner nature such a scene must have awakened a
train of sad rejections ; but Pancrack, golden-hearted,
silver-souled (for are not these substances heavy and hard),
trotted his horses carelessly by with his coat-collar over
his ears, and a large cigar in his mouth.

If the sight of the place awakened any feeling within
him at all, it was one of remorse for the pains he had
taken to attain an object he no longer prized. The faces
of the dead mocked him with thoughts of the njoney
he had spent to make them so ; their voices whispered
tauntingly in the ear of his memory, and laughed at the
disappointment that had ended his accursed plans.

As if to escape from these harassing thoughts, he
touched his horses with the whip, and they dashed away
toward the banks of the Assiniboine Valley. Down be-
tween the iron ranks of rugged trees he sped, where the
swift shadows kept gliding over him like the grated bars
of some giant prison. Out from the leafless vista, over
the open flat, galloped the spirited steeds ; nor did the
driver attempt to restrain their speed till he came to the
short precipitous bank leading down upon the frozen
river. Here he tried to check them with a fierce and
sudden jerk ; but one rein broke in two with the strain,
and in a frantic endeavor to grasp the broken end he let

PANCHACK GOES FOR A SLEKJU-HIDE.

815

the otlier lino slip from IiIh haii<l. Like a swift-gliding
serpent it trailrtl alonj^ the hiiow by the cutter's side.

The horses, thus freed from all restraint, snorted with
pleasure atid tossed their heads ; and leaping,' down upon
the river they swerved to the trail that led alonj; it, with
a force that almost lifted the cutttir in the air.

I'ancrack saw that he was powerless to check their
speed. He might with great risk have seized the rein
trailing hy the cutter's side ; hut with this he could oidy
have turned without stojiping them, and so he deternuned
to sit quietly behind them till their pace slackened from
exhaustion.

'• If they will ordy keep the trail," ho thought, *' I shall
be quite safe ; and they must soon quieten down at this
speed."

But in the latter reflection he was mistaken, for over
the soft thawing snow the cutter was drawn without an
effort, and the horses with little more than their own
weight to bear might last for hours.

Glorying in the intoxication of their new-found freedom,
the well-fed beasts galloped with tight -stretched flanks
along the level river, drawing the cutter after them in
jerks and bounds. They made, indeed, a beautiful but
fierce picture as they rushed in the madness of liberty
between the steep banks of that silent channel. Their
black manes were tossed aloft, and like steam engines
incarnate they sent the hot breath through their dilated
nostrils in snorting clouds, silvered by the glowing sun.
Pancrack, seated helplessly behind, was half-blinded by
the balls of sodden snow spurned into his face from their
flying feet. The glittering snow flashed on his aching
sight like a fast-rushing river of glaring light, and the
gloomy patches of trees that darkened the banks in places
flitted by like swift-flying ravens on a summer day.

Mile after mile was the maddening chase kept up.
When at last the trail turned off the river the flying
horses left it, and still keeping in the river channel they
dashed along over the untrodden snow. Pancrack, at
first so cool, was now pale and frightened, and grasped

310

roT.aoNa ruoiUTioN.

I
I

, /

,#!

i I

■!*'

!
1

(.,.

( !■

■]

! '

f J !'

i . \

1 ■

hifi Ront AH a drowning iimn olln^fi to a plfttik. Tlin Hoft
miow tiir(iiif{li wliicli i\w Ih^unU wcro now pluiigitiK fell
ov«'r him liko Mliowers of cold Mpriiy, uiul tliry, iiu«l)riat«*<l
to frtMizy with tho priih^ of th«Mr Mtrnii^th, ithowfd no iii^n
of liliutiti^ their Hpmui, lu with fotiiii tiuk(Hl hiiir, Ix'twcon
Itaiiko lik<) (MicloHin^ prccipicon, tht^y ^alloptul iiMi«l|y hIoiik.

Thus for iiiih^ upon niil«>, hour iiftor hour, tho Hying
horHcfl niaintninod th(Mr wiM nice. J'ancrack'M eyog
iilinkud in the cuHCfuht of light which streiinied by, and
he Mhivered in the chilly Hpray which fell around him,
plugging up mouth, nose and t^yes, and creeping like
powdered ice down liiH n(*ck. Hut it came to an end at
laftt.

A gnarled leafleHH tree had fallen from itH rooting-place
in the cri|ml>ling banks and lay acrosH the ice hound river.
With a hound the horses cleared the trunk, hut the runners
of the cutter smashed as they struck against it, and the
shock threw Pancrack out among th(^ branches. Swearing
at the abrasions in his skin and the rents in his clothes, he
extricated himself from the twigs, and shading Ins eyes
with his hand looked after the team. They were still
tearing along in the distance, dragging tho broken cutter
behind them, but a bend in the river soon hid them from
b.^ht.

" Jtaste their skin ! " he growled. " A pretty fix they've
got me into now. Where the mischief am I, I wonder]
And how am 1 to get out of this ! "

Asking himself these questions he looked round for a
convenient place of exit. The crumbling banks of dry
red clay were steep as walls, but the gnarled roots of trees
stuck out from them here and there and afforded a ready
grasp for the hand, whilst the cracks with which they were
cleft gave an easy footing to the climber. To the right
was €. patch of dark -looking forest, but on the left were
only a few scattered trees towering above a willowy under-
brush, and in this place he resolved to climb up.

His heavy fur coat encumbered him greatly, but not
knowing what was before him the luckless Pancrack did
not care to leave it behind. He first clambered to a little

PANCUACK OOEH R)H A HLEIUII-HIDE.

317

k. Tho «<>ft
[)lunKit»K f«'ll
ly, inr*>riat««<i
owrd no n\\in
uiir, h«'tw«'<Mi

iiMu'ly iilouK-
ir, tli« tlyinK
urrack'n «yo«
imotl by, and

around hini,
oreopinj? liko
) to an ond at

H rootinKplace
•e-Uound river.
)ut i\w runners
i8t it, and the
,es. Swearing
his clothes, he
ading his eyes
'hey were still

I broken cutter
hid thorn from

itty fix they've
|i) I, I wonder 1

^(l round for a
hanks of dry

II roots of trees
Itrorded a ready
jhich they were

To the right
the left were
[willowy under-

- up.

reatly, but not
Pancrack did
[ered to a little

ledge about half-way up the bank, then sei/ing soma
curling tree-roots altove his head, he stuck his foot into a
crack and raised liiniself within n^ach of a willow bush
growing on the e<l((e of the bank, (jrasping this with his
hand he pulled hiuiHulf up beside it, and panting and
perspiring lay down to rest. When he rose he looked out
from the willows among which ho stood, and saw a vast
gleaming Mat stretching out to the tree-studded hills which
enclosed that side of the valley. To his Joy he beheld in
the distance a thin column of blue smoke curlin;; up from
among the branches, and inspired by this sign of a human
habitation he lost no time in starting out to cross the wide
flat.

It was unfortunate for Pancrack that ho had an uncon-
querable habit of always looking toward the ground, fn
conversation he addressed his voice to the listener's ears,
but his eyes to mother earth. A spotless sky might smile
in winning fancy above him, stars might tla.sh their silver
lights from the depths of space, the moon ride in gentle
majesty, inviting the eye to gaze upon her peaceful beauty,
and clouds might fly or storms might lower, but the usurer's
eyes always sought the grass or— as still l)etter suited his
nature -the dust and stones.

To-day he went along in his usual way, only occasionally
looking up to keep his guiding pillar of smoke in view. It
was one of those bright days when the surface of the snow is
bedecked with myriad little diamond crystals, each instinct
with a spear of vivid light, which pierce unwary eyes till
the lids itch and the sight is obscured. As Pancrack
trudged slowly along, sweating with the fur coat on his
back, and breaking through the softened crust with every
step, his eyes itched and burned, and he aggravated the
uneasiness by vexatiously rubbing them with his hand.
Still he did not look up, but stared steadily at the
glittering snow, which flashed back his gaze in rays of
burning pain, nor did his white eyelashes in the least
protect him from that piercing glare. Slowly big drops of
water began to issue from his eyes, and these as they lay
on his face added their reflection to the general glare and

•M

i|t

l«.i

1 1

|il!l

818

I'OI.SONS IMIOHATION.

twiiiklrd rodly on hiw iiijfht ; and M thfl rnlent1«M shnftii
of li^lit contiiiU(*(i to |)it*rt'« hin wiMik(Mu*(l rtrltM, tlii*y h(«««iiiimI
to tliiNli through into IiIn liruiii and Mind him infodi/./ini'Nii.

Now \ui l<i(ik«!d up for rrlicf, liut fur around iho itnow
■onmrd to II/ihIi low/ird tiitu iik«< a Hoa of Nur^inK Hrn, and
tho vtivy air lio lirnathrd ^liniindrcd with thn uxc«iiiive
l>ri^)itn»iifi. In vain li<) ruldM><l liin acliinj; watrry (tyoa.
T\w action lirou^ltt him n*> ti>li«)f. 'Vho vnuA cryiital
^ranuU)! pi(>re<*d him with their silv«n'y HpiMirH till hii Ki^ht
h4>^an to ^row dim and liiH hloudshot orhH ^avo to ov<>ry-
tiling a ruddy hui>. K<>d, iiko tnMnltlin^ dropH of hlood
Ixuramo t\w twinkling niuiw ^rainn, and faintly nul, aN if
tluHJuul with a Mcttiti^ Hun, grow the Hhaft of HUioku
toward which ho dimly itruggled ; ovimi tho treen looinod
to 1)0 dancin;,' atid nhaking in ruddy howildnrmtnit to his
Higlit.

Thon the r«Hln«i8 diHappearod, and »i faint gri'y twi-
light took its plaof*. KdipHod was tli« smoko, vaniHhml
were the treeH, and all tim wido snow plain Hwam round
him liko a glimmering mist. Kor a timo ho iloundorod
lilindly through tluH visual fog, thon his foot struck sltarply
against a stump liiddon l>y iho snow. I{o foil, crushing
through tho damp half moltod surfaco, and tho black
rushing night of blindnoKs and stupefaction seized him, and
left him unconscious in the snow.

CHAPTER LIII.

Blindness and Deliuium.

Slowly Silas Pancrack's stupefied senses came back to
him, but the shade of a thick twilight lay ovei his eyes.
He raised himself on his elbow and dimly discerned a form
standing ne r him. Was it a man, a bear, or a tree? At
first he tried vainly to answer this question for himself. If
it were a tree it had moss and hanging shreds of bark
upon its trunk, and only two boughs extended from it. If

ULINDNKMH AND DKLIIlirM.

aio

ntU'NM nhiifU
iihI th«i MHOW

nitij? lir«, ami
,lm lixt'Miitivo
watiTy "yoi.
criH^l cryHtal
i till hii %'mht
^iiv« to ev«ry-

op» of l)l<)0<i

itly hhI, a« if

id of Hiuoko

treeH wMiinod

Brinent to his

lint Rrry twi-
loko, vaninluHl
I) Hwam round

Ih) llouniUMod
jatruck shnrply
11, cruHhing

id the black
eizod him, and

came back to
ovei his eyes,
"icerned a form
)r a tree ? At
"or himself. If
lueds of bark
td from it. If

it wore a brnr it miiMt b«i itandinff ««rect, with itn forrpaws
retting on a polo. If it w^ro a man, ho wan rlothod in fur
and boanti'd. Torritiod )>y tlio inyntory and indiNtinctnttM
that (*nv«*l(ipi>d lliin tliin;{ ho did not (hire to Mpoak. H'lt
hiM MUMponso waN of Hliorl liiiration ; it waH diMpollod by tho
Kound of a d<>op, unploasant v(>ico gratiitg on liin oar.|

" What in tho niattor with you I Aro you hurt I"

" My horHOM hav<^ thrown mo out of tho outtor and run
away from mu," whinod Panorack, " and I am loft hore
hoiploMS and Hnowblind."

"(iotup," Mai«i tho other, "and tako hold of my arm.
i will load you to my hut. You oiinnot loniain horo."

Ovorjoyod to lind at onoo roliof and oornpanionHhip,
Pitnorack nmo up, and aftor Mtandinj^ uiiHtoadity for a
moniont found tho umo of hiM limbH. Ilop^ropod around till
he touched tho strangor'M arm, and ^raHping his coat Mloove
walkod along by hiw Hido.

*'liow far iH it to your house?" he asked, as he stumbled
along.

" Not far."

" How did you come to find me?"

"I was out hunting."

Discouragod by these curt answers, Pancrack asked no
more questions, but trudgod along with faltering steps by
the side of his mysterious guide, lie noticed that the
snow had boconn^ softer to the tread, and that shadows
Mickored across his pain blurred eyes. Froni these signs
he rightly concluded that they were passing through the
bush. Sometimes hi.s feet struck against a fallen tree or
caught in a clu!np of scrubby underbrush, and he would
have fallen but for the grasp he maintained on the coat
sleeve of his silent guide.

They halted before something that appeared to Pan-
crack's dusky sight like a patch of black on a hiPside,
relieved by one little glimmering square of light. There
was also a space of a dingy brown color \v.t into the
dark patch, which in a house might have been taken
tor a door. The proprietor jerked on a piece of twine
hanging where the knob should have been, and Pan*

,<.W\'

nil

I Ni

l! \-

■My'

'til

''. '

320

POLSON S PROBATION.

crack felt a rush of warm air overspread his face as he
entered the woodland home ; but when the door closed
again he could see nothing — a thickening twilight en-
veloped his sight.

It must not, however, be supposed, because things were
invisible to Pancrack's weakened sight, that the place was
in complete darkness. It was imperfectly lighted by a
little window which the trees intercepted from the sun,
and their waving shadows danced gently over a clean
lumber floor. Three sides of this primeval dwelling had
been dug out of the hill, and were lined with boards to
keep the earth from caving in. The front side was made
of logs, built one on top of the other, with the chinks be-
tween them plastered with clay. In this wall the door-
way and the window had been cut. The roof was composed
of rough polos, laid flat across the whole width of the hut ;
and upon these a layer of dry grass and willow brush, over-
laid with sods.

In the middle of this simple cabin stood a small polished
cooking stove; a little square table, strewn with writing
paper used and unused, stood under the window ; at the
farther end of the hut a bed composed of skins and blankets
was made up on the floor ; on a shelf, on one of the side
walls, were placed a few simple articles of crockery ; and
on a similar shelf, at the opposite side, lay a few well-worn
books of an abstruse and philosophical character. The
only seat that the nut contained was a section of a log
sawed level at both ends. An open box held the hermit's
stock of groceries.

"When they had entered this rude abode the denizen of
the forest broke the silence to say to his sruest :

'•Let me help you to take oflfyour things."

Pancrack thanked him ; and was soon divested of his
coat, hat, mitts and overshoes, and placed on the log which
did duty for a chair.

" Now," said his mysterious host, who seemed to grow
more talkative in his own abode, " you must feel hungry,
I know. Wait a little and I will get you some supper."

" Thank you," said Pancrack, " I am rather hungry ;

IlLINDNESS AND DELIRIUM.

:V21

s face as he

5 door closed

twilight en-

,e things were
the place was

lighted by a
from the sun,

over a clean

dwelling had
ith boards to
side was made

the chinks be-
wail the door-
l was composed
1th of the hut ;
5W brush, over-

i small polished
n with writing
/indow ; at the
.ns and blankets
one of the side

crockery ; and
a few well-worn
[haracter. The
lection of a log

'Id the hermit's

the denizen of
lest :

divested of his
l)n the log which

1 seemed to grow
ist feel hungry,
some supper."
[rather hungry;

but I would rather have my eyesiglit restored than eat tlie
best supper ever cooked."

"Perhaps so," said tlie other, "but we must cure what
we can and leave the rest to time."

Pancrack rubbed his aching eyes, but said no more ;
and his host placed some fuel on the Hre, and put a kettle-
ful of snow on the stove to melt and boil. Soon liis ears
caught the sound of hissing and frizzling, and the scent of
frying meat stole agreeably up his nostrils. Before long
these signs of the approaching feast were joined by the
cheerful song of a boiling kettle, and the gurgling sound
of water pouring into a pot told that tea was preparing.

" Now," said the host, placing on Pancrack's knees a tin
platter containing a knife and fork, some roasted venison
and a roll of new bread ; " try to eat this, and when you
have done I will help you to more. I will place this pan-
nikin of tea down beside your feet, so that you will know
where to reach for it when you want to drink."

"Thank you," said Pancrack, "I shall do very well."
And despite the pain in his eyes, he ate with a hearty
relish.

The denizen of the woods did not join him in this repast,
but after drinking a pannikin of tea, leaned back against
the opposite wall, and with arms folded on his breast stood
in the deepening twilight watching intently the face of his
guest, with deep and varying emotions working on his own.

" What shall I do with him 1 " he asked in thought.
" He is here, blind and helpless and completely within my
power. I could slay him and cast his body on the river
to freeze, and no one would know that I had done the
deed— but, ah ! that All-seeing Eye ! What is this that
whispers to me, * Do good to them that hate you ' 1 No, 1
will not hurt him. I will try to behave kindly to him ;
but I will try, if possible, to learn from him some truth
about his own career. I feel that his fate is somehow
inextricably involved with mine; and I doubt, with Imt too
good reason, that evil and he have joined hands before
now. I will, however, do nothing precipitately. I will
ftbide my time, and if possible let him give the cue to Qoii-
21

Re '

i ' *

1
1

JH.

{

: m^

!i-i

: f

I: y

''M'i:\-

322

POLSON'S IMIOHATION.

feasion, and then encourage him to unburden hiujself in
some way."

When Pancrat'k had finished a substantial meal and
things had been cleared away, a shooting pain seized on
his darkened eyes. He fidgeted about till the out-pressed
t(^ars rolled down his cheeks ; he moaned and complained
much, and at last his host suggested that he should lie
down on the bed and turn his face to the wall, as he wished
to light the lamp.

Pancrack, too glad to change his posture, readily ac-
(juiesced ; and his host took him by the arm, led him to
the bed and told him to lie down on it. It was strange
that in leading him he would never take his guest's hand,
but always grasped his sleeve, or told him to hold his.

The snow-blind nian lay on the bed moaning, "Oh, my
eyes, my eyes ! " and pressing his hands over them as if to
shield them from further harm.

His host took a lamp from the book-shelf and lighted it
with a piece of paper. He turned up the wick, and the
light shot like a lightning stroke through the room. Pan-
crack sprang to his feet as if pricked by a sabre's point,
and still shading his eyes with one hand, held out the
other deprecatingly toward his host and screamed :

"Put it out! put it out! It streams through my
fingers and stabs n)y eyes like a knife ! "

" I beg your pardon," said his host i ourteoasly, " I was
not aware that it would hurt you. Your eyes must be
very bad indeed. If you like I will fold some tea leaves in
a handkerchief and wrap round them. It will ease them
for a little while ; and in the meantime I will make a
poultice that I think will prove a sure cure."

" Anything ! anything ! " exclaimed the other pacing
about in agony, "if it will only give me relief from this."

"All right, keep at that end of the room," said his host.
" T shall have to open the front of the stove to get light
to see with whilst I make the poultice."

He opened the stove-front accordingly ; and the merry
fire-light played fantastically over that end of the cabin,
making great ghosts of the hermit, shifting in monstrous

BLINDNESS AND DELIUIUM.

323

I himself in

I meal and
in seized on
! out-pt'essed
i complained
e should lie
as he wished

, readily ac-
n, led him to
, was strange
(Tuest's hand,
hold his.
ng, " Oh, my
them as if to

and lighted it
vick, and the
B room. Pan-
sabre's point,
held out the
lamed :

through my

[oasly, " I was
I eyes must be
|e tea leaves in
rill ease them
will make a

other pacing
tef from this."
I said his host.
Ie

to get

light

Ind the merry
of the cabin,
\n monstrous

disproportion ou tlie ])aro log wall as he moved aboat,
working to ease an enemy's pain. He first took a wliite
handkerchief and placed in it some tea leaves, which he
bound c \refully over Pancrack's eyes.

"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the sufferer, " that is a
little easier, if it will only last."

*'I cannot promise you that it will, for when the tea
leaves get dry their cooling power will be gone ; but by
that time I hope I shall have a more permanent remedy
ready for you."

It was part of Pancrack's hypocritical way usually to
afiect a c(>urtesy he did i.ot feel ; but in his suffering ho
dropped the mask, and without a word of thanks to his
host, went to the other end of the cabin and lay rolling
uneasily on the bed.

His host, ho Tver, did not heed him, but knelt in front
of the fire with a soup-plate full of soaked bread-crumbs,
in which he mixed a powder that he took from a small
medicine box.

The manufacturing of the poultice was a long
and before it was finished the tea-leaves had
dry, and Pancrack's agony recommenced,
the bed and began to |)ace across the
moaning fretfully and exclaiming against his fate :

•'How they itch ! How they burn !" he would mutter.
" They scorch into my brain like balls of red-hot metal.
Oh, dear ! Oh, dea»^ ! I never suffered like this before."

From these exclamations it will be observed that Silas
Pancrack, in common with the majority of those whose
hearts are flinty as adamant against the sufferings of
others, had but a weak, puny, complaining soul in the
hour of his own distress ; for the man who builds up his
money-gathering propensities at the expense of his moral
nature neglects the cultivation of those qualities which
would sustain him to bear patiently his own trials and help
him to sympathize with those of others. The world, perhaps,
admires the millionaire rolling along in his gilded carriage,
his body bedecked with jewels and his mouth-corners
wreathed witH the smiles of that showy philanthropy which

process,
become
He rose from
narrow room.

324

roLSONS I'llOHATION.

1 '

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1 11

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■ ' 1

i i

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1

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■ ■ ' ■ it

i i ' ,', ■

s: 1

■

costs no jot of self denial ; but God and his angels, I think,
will reserve their love for him who, suffering himself, yet
strives to give no pain or anxiety to others, and who,
when his own burden is removed, willingly sacrifices his
pleasures that others may find peace.

When the man in front of the fire had prepared his
poultice, he went to the complaining Pancrack and took
off the handkerchief. He then replaced it with the poul-
tice, which he bandaged several times round his head and
carefully tied up.

" Now," he said, "if you feel easier you had bettor lie
down on the bed and try to go to sleep. If you wish to
recover your sight you must by no means take off the
poultice till tht> pain is entirely gone."

"All right," said Pancrack, "I'll try to follow your
advice. The pam is a little easier already ; but F don't
think I can go to sleep, all the same. However, I'll
try."

He groped his way on hands and knees across the floor,
and reaching the bed, lay down upon it. His tired physi-
cal nature soon sank into an uneasy muttering slumber,
which clouded his mind but gave it no rest. No rest —
for through the weary moments the troubled brain was
working still, and of its travail strange expressions were
born from his babbling lips. In the dickering firelight,
seated on the rough log stool, with elbows on his knees
and his chin upon his hands, sat the owner of this lonely
home, and his ears drank in the muttered ravings of his
guest with a keen and bitter interest :

" Place it safely, Gorman — * He will come that way
to-morrow — Ah, Alice ! you're changed — Away, you
are hideous now ! — Not guilty — What 1 — I've spent
so much — Laxton — Will it never — Does he live to
cross me yet 1 — Mrs. Bant — My darling — You wily
fortune hunter ! "

As, amid the sighing of the wind and the crackling of
the fire, these muttered and broken sentences came indis-
tinctly to his ear, the face of the listener overspread with
a swift and vivid light. It was the expression of one who,

( )l

BLINDNESS AND DELIRIUM.

325

bIs, I think,
himself, yet
, and who,
ftcritices his

)repared his
;k and took
ith the poul-
liis head and

xd bettor He

you

wish to

take off the

follow your
; but I don't
tlowever, I'll

-roas the floor,
is tired physi-
ring slumber,
t. No rest —
ed brain was
^ressions were
fring tirelight,
on his knees
of this lonely
avings of his

3me that way
Away, you
I've spent
|>oes he live to
You wily

le crackling of

Bs came indis-

■verspread with

Ion of one who,

after long and despairing groping in a darkened maze,
suddenly tinds the clue that leads iiim to light and free-
dom. He rose from his seat and paced the floor in strong
agitation.

" I see it now," he thought, "Suddenly, by providential
accident, the truth has been revealed to me, and I now
know the origin of tliat mystery and misery in which but
lately I was involved. But how shall I learn the whole
truth from him 1 My mind is inventive and I may easily
forge some tale which, by coinciding with his, niay evoke
an evil sympathy and draw the facts from him. I could
do so ; but is it right to resort to falsehood for any end 1
Oh ! no, no, no ! "

He paused in his walk, and then, as if moved by a
sudden thought, paced the Hoor rapidly again.

" I must learn the truth somehow ; but it must be
drawn out by the truth, and not by shallow falsehood.
Reason, if carefully followed, is often a true guide. Why
cannot T take down this man's incoherent babblings and
afterwards piece them together and deduce from them the
story of which they are offshoots?"

The thought checked his strides, and moving gently
toward the shelf he took down a note-book and a pencil.
He next lifted down his lamp ; then, placing a piece of
stiff paper in the guards to make .. shade on the one side,
he lighted it, and drew cautiously near to the dreamer.

Placing the lamp noiselessly down, with the shaded side
toward the bed, he sank on one knee and, with his pocket-
book placed on the other, bent eagerly forward and strained
every nerve to catch the faintest word that might come
from the unconscious sleeper's lips. For a time, however,
he ceased to utter a sound, and the woodman employed
the time in jotting down in shorthand, as well as he could
remember them, his guest's former ravings. Hardly had
he completed this before the sleeper turned uneasily again,
and began to mutter in half-terrified whispers, which came
to the ear of the listener like a voice begotten of the dark-
ness in which it floated :

*'Be careful — Get at the body, Bearfoot — Go at

326

roLSON S PROllATION.

9'mh

■Ml

\ r

i; lii

|ijjip»iiidrj<^

niglit — Alico, why aro you so cold ? — Just drop it in
the gn' ve — Poison, wo havo you now—- Lots of whiskoy,
(JoiMuon — Oeorge Crags, you killod yourself — 11a, lia!
Mrs. JJant ; but I'll escape — The house is burnt —
PolsoK can take her — lUisters at\d burns — Aha! that
black shadow ; it crosses my path again — • Away, you
wretch, away ! — I'm the rightful heir."

His dream seemed to gather coherence and passion as ho
proceeded, and when he uttered the last sentence he swept
his arm around as though he would drive an enemy away,
80 that his hand struck against the listener's knee.

The slight Jar on his arm at once aroused him from his
uneasy slumbers. He was at Hrst terrified by the appalling
darkness that surrounded his shrouded eyes, and his terror
was increased by the sound of human breathing so near
him. For a moment he could not collect his senses suffi-
ciently to speak, but his host came to his relief by breaking
the silence for him.

" Do yod feel any easier now V

"I'm afraid I've been talking a lot of foolishness," sa^d
Pancrack, too eager to excuse the babbling of which he
had a dim consciousness, to notice his host's last question.
" I had a drea.n that 1 was being murdered for money by
a woman or an Indian, or something of that sort."

"I heard you at it," was the reply, "and that brought
me to your side. Jiut if nothing worse happens, you wont
take much harm. So just roll over and go to sleep again.
I must make up the tire." And so saying the host moved
away, and Pancrack, satisfied that nothing had been over-
heard, tossed about a little while and then fell into a
sound slumber.

Fred drew the lamp away and placed it on the table.
Then drawing up his improvised chair he sat down and,
with the aid of a pen and a large piece of paper, began to
set in order the incoherent notes scribbled in his book.
He first placed the events hinted at in their proper
sequence, and then, with brow resting on his hand, paused
and began to reflect. For a long time he snt thus, his
brow knit, his teeth clenched in the energy of intense

BI.INDNKSS AND DEIJRIUM.

327

it drop it in
of wliiskey,

- Ha, ha 1

is burnt —

Aim! that

Away, you

passion as he
nco he swept
enemy away,
<.nee.

liin from his
the appalling
md his terror
hiug 80 near
s senses suffi-
)f by breaking

lishness," sa^d
r of which he

last question.

for money by

sort."
that brought
lens, you wont

bo sleep again.

le host moved

ad been over-

:n fell into

on the table.
Isat down and,

laper,

began to

[\ in his book,
their proper
hand, paused
sat thus, his

hgy of intense

thought; but still lu' failed to grasp those threads which
should give him the clue to this verhal puzzle. At last ho
rose in despair, and walking to tlie door passed out into
the faint moonlight The night was chilly and the
shadows of the trees waved gently in the glimmer of the
snow, lie walked into an open s[)ace, and there; gazed up
at the sinking n:aon. The cresctmt was yet but three days
old, and its edge of ivory white gleanied sharp as a knife
against the blackness of the globe which it enclosed.

"Like my mind," thought Fred, "a little crescent of
light on a great blurred bulk of darkness. Truly in our
loneliness that planet and J are a syii^.tthetic pair."
This remark caused him to gaze so long at it that at last a
strange illusion 8eiz(;d him. He thought that the crescent
of gleaming light which <'nclosed its hemisphere rolled off
from the parent orb, and expanded gradually into a long,
attenuated spear of light, which struck upon his eyes and
scintillated into his brain. It was but a foolish illusion,
born of the glimmer of the snow and the shine of the moon,
and cemented by overwrouglit fatiey ; but, strange to say,
when he reached his cabin directly afterward much that
had been dark seemed suddenly to have grown clear. He
sat down to his work again, and for half an hour or more
wrote with feverish haste. His head sank earnestly near
the paper, and the tight hand moved as if inspired by some
motion independent of the writer's will. He appeared to
see neither the paper nor the words before him, for his
brain seemed to have expanded into a stage on which
strange scenes were being enacted, and until these were
recorded his fingers knew no rest.

When the task was finished he tiirew aside the pen and
stretched himself like one relieved of a burden. The glow
which had mantl^^d his face departed, and the brightness
faded from his eyes. He was his rational self once more.
i£e picked up his writing and compared it with his short-
hand notes. Some things had been overstated, but for the
most part it was such as the most logical and acute induc-
tiDn could have inferred from the indistinct and incoherent
mutterings he had heard. He revised it carefully and*

328

POI.SON H PRORATION.

U' I

placed it in a dniwcr. " I think it will do," hn rnutten»d.
" At loiiHt I will rend it to liiiii in tin; inoriiing, uiid possibly
Huch truth as I liav<5 col looted will fri;;hteii tho rest from
him. JIo seoii.s to bo sloopiii^ soundly now, so that it is
not lik(!ly that I shall l(>arn anything moro from him. I
will just sit down a^'ain and havo a good think ovor theso
things."

Ilo put out tho light, drew liis rudo seat near tho
stove, and opoi;ing the front looked thoughtfully into the
glowing lin;. For a tim<5 Pancrack's iiroken words bal)l)led
in his brain, and then, in fancy, ho saw them (lash from his
oyes to bo sucked into the dancing blaze, and thence roar
up the stove pipe to be dissolved in black tufts of smoke
b(!neath tho stars. And wluni that fitting wrapping had
left them they pulsated through tho boundless realms of
air, to be drawn into the lives of men like the seeds of a
cursed plague which swells forever more.

]fis brain thus purged by his fancy, Fred looked at the
coals with clearer thoughts.

CHAPTER LIV.

Thk Taules Turned.

The hermit of the wood, sitting by the fire that night,
looked back over that eventful period since he had left his
native soil. How short it had been, yet how much older
he felt for having lived it ! Back went his thoughts to the
father and mother lie had left at home, and a pale proces-
sion of the ghosts of memory passed through the flickering
file before his eyes. There was the white face of little
Ida — now lying cold in her silent grave under the snow —
beckoning him upward to higher thoughts and nobler
aspirations ; and with her face came the sound of music
floa:ing out on the gentle evening air. Then dimly, as in
a iiiist, appeared the faces of many f iends eager to wel-
come the wanderer back ; and then, jlear as one lone star

THE TAIU.ES TUUN'KI).

329

in muttercul.
and possibly
ho n^st from
80 that it iH
■oin hill). I
ik ovor these

sat n(;ar the
:ully into the
ortlH bahbh'd
Hash from his
i tlicnce roar
ufts of smoke
k^rappinj^ had
ess roalma of
:,he Boeds of a

looked at the

'e that night,
le had left his
|w much older
loughts to the
la pale proces-
Itlie flickering
Iface of little
Ir the snow —
and nobler
ind of music
dimly, as in
jager to wel-
lone lone star

in heaven, came th(» face of his sulliTing love. Those
gentle soul lilh'd orbs, how thoy awakened his half dor-
mant atl'ection ! That changeful, expressive face, with
what tender n proach and eloquent pleading it came hoforo
his vision. Where was she now I heasked himself, lionely,
suffering, disfigured, perhaps heyond the power of healing ;
and even perchanc(> thinking of him as one numhered
with the dead. lie must go to her and comfort and
remain with her.

So he sat, and thus his thoughts ran through all the
weary night, while hut a few feet removed from him the
enemy who had wrought him so much ill lay slumbering
in unconscious peace.

Firelight flickering on his thoughtful face, wind sighing
through the groaning branches, the meek, placid starlight
gleaming through the panes — none of these brought rest
to him. Sometimes wlien a chill struck him he rose to
replenish the waning fire ; but else he sat and gazed at the
glowiiig coals, and thought, thought, thought, through all
the long dim night. At last the grey dawn marched over
the forest, and hushing the soft wind that had sighed out
the night, stole into the little cabin and fllled it with light.
The Are grew pale, the ashes at its feet looked like the grey
corpses of the flames, and the thoughtful watcher arose,
and began to sweep the dusty floor and prepare a simple
meal.

His breakfast of boiled oatmeal and fried flesh he ate
alone, for his guest had not yet awakened. As he washed
up the few things he had used in his meal the noise of the
rattling pans seemed to arouse the slumberer, for he
stretched his arms and ^^.runted, " How horribly dark it is!
But hey! What's this thing 1 Oh, the bandage, of course."
And with his flnger and thumb he tried to remove the
covering from his eyes ; but it was tied too firmly to be
easily shifted.

" Wait a bit," said his host, seeing his motion, " and I
will help you off with it."

"All right, thank you. No hurry," said the other
rising from the bed.

nno

POLSONS PHOIIATIOM.

1):

!f|*M i:

t 1

t I
1

Th« (l<»iii/.»'i» of thn woofU, Ktoppin;^ aoroRS to wh«»ro
Pai)ci'U(;k Htood Htr()tcliiiii( uiid yawning in-ar tlio Ix'd,
looHoiicd tlin i>aiulagH \ty uwiyiun tho knot at tlit^ buck of

hU ll(!H(J.

"Now," \w ^^riintftd in ii i\v.v\) j;uttiiral, "you may tak«
it otr." At th(< Haintt tinio lio rotrratrd to tlin oppoHito wall,
and Htood loaninj^ against it with arnis folded on liin hrtMiNt
and the light of tho window falling full upon his face.
Pancrack hastily Hiiatchcd tlu^ haiwhign from his oyoH, hut
for a moment ho was (hi//.h>d with tho Huddon rush of
light, and waH forced to Hliiold ids sight with hiu hands.

"Julius llatton, look at uu\"

Tho words wore Bpokon (juiotly in a voico that he recog-
nized only too well, and th(» hands droppiid from his eyoa.
Through the watery Him that sutl'used his da/zled orbs he
saw a man standing against n wall, with folded arms, look*
ing calmly at him, and in spite of the; beard upon his face,
the change in his dress, and the dim medium through
M'hich these were seen, he know who it was.

"Oh, my God ! " he groaned, "it is Poison."

Then a dim memory of the night's delirium rushed into
his mind, and staggering backward ho leaned against tho
wall, breathing in terrified gasps.

Surprise had choked tho villain's utterance, and for a
time neither spoke, but leaned against opposite walls of
the hut regarding each other with varied expressions of
intense interest. Both wert? pale —the one with astonish-
ment and terror, tho other from want of sleep and the
effort with which he suppressed the excitement ho felt.
Poison was the first to speak.

"Yes, Julius Hatton, it is I," he said, "and I am not
dead, as you supposed and wished ; but 1 have lived to
learn the story of your villainy, and the origin of that
misery of mind which drove nie to this spot."

llatton (for we will now return to his real name) hung
his head and shuffled with his feet, but for a time made no
reply. The interval, however, gave him time to recover
from the surprise which had shocked him, and helped him
to think upon some means of self-defence. He had spent

l.isi

THK TAHt.FS TURNED.

nni

,t i\w Wiick of

luH lift) ill trying to (wiult* thu truth, unci hu diil not iituuii
to \n} run down liy it now.

"You cull nto .luliuM llutton," ho Maid, looking Hullonly
at till) ground, " und you hint at moiim^ villainy or con-
■piracy in which ho was rngagi'd. I don't know wliat you
niran l)y it all.'

" I)f)n't you I" Haid Fn-d. '• Th.-n liHton to thJH." And
from tho druwor in tho tahhi \w drew forth a papnr from
which h«) Ix'gan to rnid a htutemcnt Hot forth uomcwhat in
the following manner :

•" UndiT tho instigation of ono Julius Hatton, nltai
Silas Pancraok, a certain (Jormnn O'Neil was sent to placo
the l)()dy of an Indian in a shiillow ;{rave on the ed^e of
Hend arm (/r(;ek. Anothei- Indian, named it(wirfoot, at
tlio same time disappeared from the ileservo, and tliis hody
was supposed to he his. The Chief of the lleserve waH
hrihed to identify it as such. Hearfoot had, in all proha
bility, been sniugj^led away somewhere by Jlatton or
O'Neil—'."

And 80 the statement ran on ; but since the reader
already knows the incidents it attempts to relate, it is un-
necessary to recount them h<'re. Hutiice it to say that the
inductions drawn so nearly coincided with th(^ truth that
Ilatton's face paled as he listcMied.

" \Vher(i did you learn all thaf?" lie asked when Poison
had finished his statement.

" Never niind where I learned it. I am convinced of its
truth, and though the statement is necessarily imperfect,
it still contains the names of those from whom in time the
v/hole truth can be extorted."

" Well, what d oea that prove ? How can it affect nie ? "
asked Ilatton, looking up for a second, but quickly casting
his (yes down again.

"As 1 said before, these proofs in themselves are in-
complete, but fortunately they contaiti the names of those
who were connected with you in this conspiracy, and I
have no doubt the golden pincers with which you sealed
their mouths would draw ll^sir lips asunder again."

I' I,

17 1

:in^

I»f)f,SON H rMlOllATlOX.

■■' i'.:

lill-

J .i|

•• Rut, providMl you can provo nil timt you hint of, how
CHii tliitt iiijiiro nift or lnMititit you I "

" In th(i lirNt pliict^, I ciiit hrin^ u^uiiiHt you u Nuit for
(iofuiiiiition of chiirAct«*r and littrinpt to ohtain nionoy
uniinr fiiUo prctoncftA; tor it in itppurmt thiit you Uhm)
nc^ltu'trd no niciuiH hy which you oould hhick«u) thfl ohur-
achT of lui intux-t'Mt niiiti, ntui thuM ohtain an eHtatti that
ihould rightfully havi^ hron hin."

" \V<>II, what (h) you want niu to dol" anked llatton in
an ax^riove<l tone.

** I have thought tho matter ovrr," Kaid Fred, Iraning
hark agaiiiHt tho wall with thr Htatruuuit in )iis hand,
•' and I will givo you your choir«\ If you will write out a
full confcHnion of tliJH conHpirucy and nign it, at tho Haino
tiuK* r('lin({uiHhing all cluitn to tho Laxton oHtato, you may
leave tho country (|ui«>tly and nothing nhuU bu said of the
matter till you aro w»»ll away."

"And what if I rcfuHe to do this?" asked Hatton sul-
lenly.

"If you refuse," replied F'rod, d(?lil)orately, "T nhall take
action at once, and loavt* no .stone unturned until I have
completely unearthed this conspiracy ; an«i then, as I have
said hefore, I hIiuII proHocuto you. Any of these charges
is Hullicient to place you in prison, or at least to ruin you
as a liUHin(!SH man."

"1 don't know about that," said ITatton, still obstinately
trying to shuflle out of it.

After this Im^ paus(»d and relh^cted for a moment, and
then, juanaging with an otlbrt to look toward Poison, said,
with nn air of concesaion :

"I tell you what, it's no use letting matters come
to strife. I could cause you a great deal of trouble,
and perhaps you could injure me ; but there is an easier
way out for both of us. I have tliought of leaving this
couiitry for some time past, and if you will only give me
two weeks to get rid of my property and get clear of the
country, I will write the confession you ask for and yield
to all your claims. But I must ask you not to move abroad
till I am gone— -it will save collision and trouble if you do
not."

illK TAHLKH TUMNia

:):]:)

, hint of, how

rou A iuit for
)\)tiiln inonry
tat you IwiNu
iki'u th« ohiir-
lu cHtatu that

(od Ilattoti in

Kr«'<l, IraninR

it) hiH hand,

ill write out a

t, at t\w «aiuo

itato, you may

\h) saitl of th«

(l Hatton sul-

, "1 hIuiU take
1 until I have
liej), as I have
tliese charges
Ht to ruin you

ill obstinately

nionumt, and
il Poison, Haid,

I matters come
>al of trouble,
;ro is an easier
[f leaving this

only give me
3t clear of the

for and yield
o move abroad

ible if you do

IVtd had »omo hoaitHtion about yielding to thn laNt
dtMunnd, for ho thought that tho ruMcal might \m only
aaking a r<vs|)iti> in ordiM* to br«w more iniMohirf. Itut,
on ««u;ond thought, he onnclndtMl Ili/it with Huch «vidence
against him a« he poNHnnatuI it would be impotNible for the
UHurer to do him any HeriouM harm,

•* Very well," hn «aid, *'wo Hhall nettle it an you aay. I
have lived here ho long that I can oaiily hold out for two
weeka more."

Then takitig out aorne paper und laying It on the table,
together with pen and ink " Now, " li«> a<ided, " if your

ea are Muilicien

(!i

itly

recovered you may write out thii

confoHaion whili^ I get you some breakfaat.

Ilatton nodded and Heated hiniHelf at the table, and by
the tin)e Kred had prepared his breakfast had drawn up

d a brief confi

tension.

"There," he said, handing it to him, "will that suit
you ? "

It was not a very <laborat<«, and perhaps not a atrictly
truthful, document, >iit it was suilieient to incriminate
Ilatton, and that was all I'Ved desired. There was, how-
ever, something unexplained, and holding it in his hand he
looked toward Ilatton with a puz/.led biow.

" lUit," ho said, " wasn't there a fire, and didn't Alice
get burnt, and wasn't Cleorge (.'rags killed or something 1"

"Oh," said Ifatton, scratching nervously on the table,
" that was no fault of mine, so of course I didn't put it in.
George Crags drove out of Hendigo drunk and was frozen
to death in the night, and souje time afterward the house
was burned down while they were shuping, and Mrs. Crags
and the old man were burned to d«'ath. Alice was pretty
badly scorched, but they managed to save her, and she is
now lying convalescent at Dysart's."

"Good gracious!" cried Fred, with a look of horror.
"How did all those things happen I Tell me all about
them."

And he leaned forward with his hands on the table and
drank in eagerly the details of those terrible disasterH
which Hatton, with down-cast eyes, brokenly and not too
truthfully related.

3M4

POI.SON S PKOHATION.

:(-'

1 li

Fred Hpoke not a word, but when he had finished the
nat rator seeniod relieved.

"Now," he said, "you i< now all that I can tell you;
and I must really beg a little breakfast of yoii, for that
long sleep has made me as hungry as a hunter."

"And, by-the-way," he added, rising from his seat and
recovering some of liis usual assurance as he looked round
the hut, "I must sa) you've got your little crib nicely
fixed for winter (juarters ; and, I say, wherever did you
learn the art of oculist] My sight is completely restored
already."

Fred gave his strange guest a meal which rude as it
was, he devoured with great gusto — for emotion with
Hatton was too transient and superficial to di3turb his
appetite.

He then gave Hatton directions fof finding his way to a
little village near a railway siding about f ''-ht miles off,
where he could catch the first train going east. The usurer
thanked him, and dressed for the journey. His heavy fur
coat he hung over his arm, since its weight if put on wojld
impede his footsteps. He went to the door, but there
halted and turned round as if he had suddenly remembered
something. .

" Oh, by-the-way, if you want to know what really be-
came of Bearfoot," he said, "fuoto Gorman O'Neil's and
hunt his place from top to bottom and you will find out.
It will save you the trouble of publishing that confession."

"All right," said Fred; " I have no wish to make the
confession public if I can clearly establish my innocence
without doing so."

As he opened the door to let Hatton out, the latter held
out his hand with a sickly conciliatory smile,

"Not with you," said Fred, coldly rejecting the proffered
hand

" Keep in sight the landmarks I told you about," he
added, "and they will bring you safely to the station,
which is only about sixteen miles from Bendigo. And
remember that in two weeks time I go out into the world
to make the story of your conspiracy known."

JULIUS HATTON' S FLIQUT.

335

finished the

Chafed dnd chopfallen, Hatton plodded along a footpath
leading up the hill and out of the forest. Aftoi a mile or
two of trudging through the unbroken snow he found a
sleigh track, which he followed until he came to the little
village by the railway side.

CHAPTER LV.

he latter held

Julius Hation's Flksht and Mrs. Bant's Pursuit.

WiiKN Julius Hatton returned to the Dysart settlement
he explained to the people the episode of the runaway, and
added that he had found refuge for the night in a farmer's
house. (Be sure he said nothii.;; of the snow-blindness
nor of any other of the incidents that had made his adven-
ture so remarkable.) He also ottered a reward which
brought his runaway team back to him on the following
day.

Mrs. Bant welcomed him back with hysterical gladness,
nor was this altogether feigned, since she knew that had
he never returned, the wealth she coveted would be beyond
her grasp. As well as he could he soothed her agitation
with endearing words and fervent promises, and the atten-
tion he paid her became more marked than ever. With
every meeting his ardor seemed to grow in vehemence — a
circumstance which the widow attributed solely to the
success of her own w'u • artifices.

One day, when sitting together in Mrs. Bant's room,
Hatton's passion reached a climax. He vowed he would
keep their engagement a secret no longer. "To-morrow,"
he said, rising and striding about the carpet in the rest-
lessness of eager love — "tomorrow our engagement shall
be known to all. The world shall never say that I was
ashamed to own my love for Helen Bant."

"But Silas — Julius," said Mrs. Bant, who sat on the
sofa pretending to crotchet. " There is poor Miss Crags ;
you must rernember your recent engagement to her.''

' 'i

■ 1 i

33G

J'OLSON S PROBATION.

i: r

:'i !j

■iii

" Miss Crags ! " he said, stopping and stamping violently
on the floor. "What do I care for a hundred Miss Crags'?
I only know that I love yoit,, and all the world shall know
it, too."

And filled with this mighty intention, he seized the
widow in his embrace and kissed her with such warmth
that the vehement pressure left the imprints of her sharp
nose and pointed chin like dimples in his face.

Mrs. Bant passed a sleepless night in picturing the effect
that the announcement of their engagement would have,
and with an expectant, beating heart awaited the morrow.
It came ; but Julius Hatton did not. She began to make
anxious inquiries, but no one had seen or heard anything
of him.

It finally transpired that he had driven into Bendigo on
the night after liis interview with Mrs. Bant, and early
on the following morning purchased a ticket for Winnipeg
and boarded the east-bound express.

He had quietly disposed of his farm-stock and property
to a speculator, • who immediately offered them for sale
again at a much higher figure. This gentleman had been
informed by Hatton of his intention to leave the country,
but had been willing to keep silent for the sake of the
financial advantage of the bargain.

Great was Mrs. Bant's distress and wrath when she heard
this story. She «>»"+ herself up in her room, and for half
an hour the violence of her sobs shook the sofa on which
she lay.

** The villain ! the traitor ! to treat me so," she kept
saying, in gasps drawn between violent fits of sobbing.

To the beholder there was nothing touching in her grief,
but to her it was terribly poignant, as the grief of disap-
pointed ambition and covetousness always is, for it contains
no softening element of sympathy or compassion. For a
long time she lay on the sofa, her thin form writhing in
agony.

But it did not end there : she vented her private woes on
the public ear. Henceforth she llowed no one near her to
dwell in peace. She boxed the tjars of her pampered infant

JULIUS HATTON S FLIGHT.

337

ng violently
Miss Crags 1
1 shall know

e seized the
uch warmth
of her sharp

ing the offect

would have,

the morrow.

3gan to make

otrd anything

,0 Bendigo on
it, and early
for Winnipeg

and property
them for sale
iman had been
the country,
sake of the

[hen she heard

, and for half

Isofa on which

50, ' she kept

sobbing.

in her grief,
[rief of disap-
|or it contains
ssion. For a
writhing in

livate woes on
\e near her to
ipered infant

till they were swollen by the slapping, and so lustily did
the child scream that his voice became worn down to a
mere chirp. She scolded the new cook — for Mrs. Torason
was now no longer an inmate of the Dysart home — until
the meat appeared on the table charred to fritters, and
cakes and dainties assumed monstrous shapes, that gave
evidence of the great perturbation in which they were
made ; and she vented the sorrows of her lonely state and
hard treatment on the rest of the family to such an extent
that they would slink out of her way whenever they saw
her approaching.

Uncle Nathan, bringing the milk from the farm, would
peep nervously into the kitchen, and, catching sight of the
housekeeper, make a desperate dash forward and throw the
contents of his pails into the milk-pans ; and whilst he was
still being called "a stupid old idiot" for the quantity he
had splashed over on the floor, he would catch up the
empty pails and, holding one aloft on hia arm like a shield
to cover his retreat, would slide through the doorway and
depart at a run toward the farm. Mr. Fane would shrug
his shoulders and pull at the ends of his moustache in a
half apologetic manner as he turned his back toward her.
Mr. Longstreet would thrust his fingers into his waistcoat
pockets and, with thumbs stretched abroad, would lift up
his eyes and look as if earth had no more charms for him.

No one, however, was more irritated by the housekeeper's
conduct than Mr. Dysart. With an eye of disapproval he
had noticed her conduct toward Hatton, and her behavior
since his departure had added to his annoyance to such an
extent that he determined to speak his mind to her about
it whenever a fitting opportunity should occur.

One day, whilst he was reading his newspaper in the
dining-room, Mrs. Bant sat at the other end of the table
combing her child's hair and, at the same time, soothing the
screams he emitted whenever the comb caught in a tangled
tuft, with complaints of her own grievances, addressed
through him indirectly to Mr. Dysart.

" Be quiet, Georgy, dear," "she murmured, after jerking
a number of hairs irom the youngster's scalp ; " you
22

■'

. 1

, 1

! i

pi; ^

El '

:; i

H 1

H3' - ■{ '

f ■

\Vi r

iHi

! 1"

3:m

rorsoNS PuonATioN.

inufitn't cry in this liousn, you know, oi- |)(M)j)1o will \n\
Rnjjjrv with us. You and poor nianinia must ln'iir wrongs
Jind iinnoyancos without a word of ooniplaiul, or wo KJiall
l)(^ 8)u]nn(Hi and looked down on wluM-rvor w(5 j;o, HJian't
wo i liut wo won't ii\o always liko this, will wo? Wo
will ^o whoro pooplo will ho kind to uh and pity our lone-
linosH, woi\'t wot So don't cry, doario. HusIi-hIi ! " otc.

Mr. Hysart, with a poor protoncc" at roading, listonod to
thoso wliiuiporingH for koujo tinio ; hut aft<'r awhile liis
patienoo was prossod boyond its liuuts, and laying (K)wn
the newspaper on the tahh* ho addro^sod himself as (irmly
and tiecisivoly as he could to the widow :

" Mrs. liant, it is painful for me to have to toll you that
your conduct for s-oino tiuu) past has annoyed mo (»xc(M'd-
ingly. Only my remomhranoe of your distant rolationaliip
to me has prevented me from spoakinj^ to you about it
before. Hut now, let me tell you, once and for all, that
if these complaints and fault-tindings do not cease you
must leave this house."

Mrs. Bant burst into tears at once.

" And this is how you treat me, a poor lonely widow,"
she sobbed. '* I cannot speak in this house but I am
frowned at and shunned as if I carried the plague."

" But wliat do I care ]" she added, striking into a tier ^r
key and looking detiantly at him through her tears — ^"what
do 1 care for you or your throats 'i Pay nie my wagt's and
I will leave this house at once. J hate the place ! I hate
you all !"

As she hissed out the last declaration all the snakish
qualities of her wily nature seemed to have concentrated
in her eyes and tongue — with such hatred they glared and
with such venom she spoke.

" Very well," said Mr. Dysart, composedly, " I will pay
you your wages. But you need not be in such a hurry.
You can remain here till you have found another place."

" Not another minute," cried the angry woman, rising
and stamping her foot ; " no, not a minute would I remain
here if I had my will. Send a waggon to carry me and
ray baggage to Bendigo and I will leave this very day."

JULIUS IIATTONS FMdllT.

«()j)lo will be
licar wrongs
I,, «)!• Nv« hIuiU
^^^ j^o, Hluin't
ill wri VV<;
|)it,y our loi»e-
ih-sh ! " etc.
ig, HsUmkhI to
Rr awliilo his
liiyinj? down
iiKcU' as tinnly

-> toll you that
(>il mo oxcood-
it rolatioiiship
you about it
il for all, that
not cease you

lonely widow,"
uso but I am
\o plaguo."
(T into a lior ^r
i- tears— "what
my wagt's aud
)lace ! I hate

lU the snakish
[e concentrated
Ihey glared and

y, " I will pay
such a hurry.
|other place."
woman, rising
?ould I remain
carry me and
very day."

•* Ah you ploase," said Mr, Dysart, with a cold bow,
'• liut roruonibor, I givo you leavo to stay n whilo if you
wiHJi it,"

" I'.ut I do nof wish it," returned Mth, liant. '* I want
to bo gone from you as soon as possible, for 1 tell you 1
hato you all."

••('omo on to the parlor, then," said Mr, hysart, "and I
will give you your wages."

(Jri^at was the ama/cnicnt but small the distress when it
was learned that Mrs. Hant was leaving so suddenly. The
cook pn^parod a sumptuous feast to \m eaten after her
departine, and Mr. Iiongstre<^t whistled a hornpipe air as
with i;nusual celebrity ha hitched to the waggon the team
which was to Ix^ar her away. Strange to say, th(5 only
person who felt a pang of regret at her departure was tho
convalesc(Mit Alice Oags, to whom she liad been too indif-
ferent even to complain.

That very day saw the wily widow with her cliild and
other portable effects safely landed in Bendigo, and next
movning tlie east-bound train whirled Imr swiftly aw^y in
pursuit of Julius Ilatton ; for this, indeed, had been the
object of all her scolding and complaints — slie had wished
to secure a dismissal that she might be free to follow her
betrothed husband and force him to keep his word.

And when after her departure they entered her private
room they found that the pictures had been stripped from
the walls and the carpets from the floor, the muslin cur-
tains had been torn from the window and the ashes lay
cold in the bottom of the stove ; and amid all this naked-
ness and desolation two poor little hungry singing-birds
chirped piteously in a gilded cage.

340

POLSONS TRO RATION.

CHAPTER LVI.

P'ji^i^

Gorman's Cat Once More.

" An' phwat do yes want wid me ?"

"Your !iam(; is (Joniian O'Neil, is it not 1"

" Sure it is, and u rale good ouid Irish name it is, too."

Gorman turned his head on one side and leaned it over
like a goose, that \ui might get a better look at the ques-
tioner with his one rolling eye ; but to day the eflects of
the glitter of melting snow, combined with an overdose of
whiskey, had rendered that orb rather hazy, and no gleam
of recognition glinted from it to his muddled mind.

" Faix ! an' I couldn't tell ye from me great-grandfather's
first pair o' brogues."

This answer, since it allowed him to carry out the plans
he had already formed, satisBed Fred Poison, and in reply
to Gorman's last remark he said :

" You are suspected of distilling whiskey illegally, and
I have come to search your premises to see if this is so."

Gorman was standing in the door-way of his smithy.
His black bristly head was bare, his body was adorned by
a ragged waistcoat with the blackened bowl of a short clay
pipe sticking out of one pocket, and the fronts of his
greasy trousers were half hidden by a tattered leathern
apron hitched slightly to one side.

At Fred's declaration he opened his eyes till the bristles
on his brows almost touched the roots of the electrified
shock on his head, and he thumped the door-post in vehe-
ment negation.

" Nivver a dhrop o' whiskey ivver come into this house,
me son."

" Perhaps not," said Fred, " but, nevertheless, I must do
my duty. You must let me search the house and then I
can clear you of suspicion by saying that I could find no
trace of a still."

'*And pwhy should I let you sarch me house?" asked

OOUMANS CAT ONCE MOUE.

house?" asked

(jronnan, inclitiod to l)o ohatiiiato. " Pwhero'a yor certiti-
kit 1 "

" Look here," said Fred, " T don't want to stand here
bandying words with you all day. Either say whether
you will let me s(!arch tlio house quietly now, or would
you prefer that 1 should go back and fetch some men to
force it?"

" Oh, to the mischief wid yer evictions," said Gorman.
"Oim me toime," as he scratched among the bristles on his
head. lUs face suddenly brightened, and with a wink of
the naked eye and a flicker of the clothed optic, he said :

" Phwell, me boy, ye can sarch if ye loike, for it's sure I
''•.I that nothin' ye'll foind. So follow me. Shtiddy now!"

Gorman at once metamorphosed himself by turning his
eye and his apron from Fred's view, and presenting him
with the spectacle of a pair of leather apron strings dang-
ling down behind his legs. Following these guiding rib-
bons Fred was led through the shop and into the house.
A stick la}' here, a dirty pot half full of slops was standing
there ; a soiled print shirt lay in one corner, and a pair
of matted socks looped with yawning holes adorned an-
other. Old Mennonite boots, rumpled moccasins, bits of
iron and wood, pieces of ragged bark stripped off the tire-
wood and countless other atoms of rubbish strewed the
floor. Fred scrutinized the room carefully, but could dis-
cover naught except these.

" Pwhat can ye see here, sor 1 " asked Gorman triumph-
antly.

"Nothing of any importance," said Fred. "But," he
asked, pointing to a rude w joden ladder, " what does that
lead to ? "

" Ascind and see," said Gorman with a dignified wave
of the hand.

Fred climbed up the rickety ladder far enough to thrust
his head into a smoky little attic containing a substantial
bedstead of rough timber covered with horse blankets.
With the exception of a chest near the head of the bed,
the room contained not another stick of furniture.

" Now, are ye satisfoyed ] " asked Gorman, when Fred
had descended.

!(]■

I •(

342

POLBON'h I'UoMATION.

" Not <iuite," ho replit'tl, " Most houHos have a cellar.
Wlioro is yours? "

•* I^ivil u i;illar luivn ()i. iluitt all ov(>r tliin floor av yo
loike, an* hco wliiiluM- yo'll foind a tlirap-door."

'J'o have discovered even the boards of thn floor among
all that dill and ruhhish would jiave ontailcd considerahle
labor, and b'red did not try. JIm merely looked round
and said :

*' I can so(^ no trap-door here, certainly ; hut as I passed
through the shop I saw a S([uare piece of boarding in the
floor. What is that for 1 "

" Arrah ! An' pwhat should it he for but to cover over
a hole that I kapo bits o' rusty ould ou.; in, an', be my
faith, there's a big tom-cat in it, too, as '11 scrat the oyes
out o' ivver a craytliur as looks in."

" Indeed ! " said Fred. "I should like to see this curi-
osity."

" It 'ud be the last thing ye ivver would see, thin ; for
divil a oye would be left safe from his claws."

" Nevertheless I will venture to face this monster," said
Fred, moving toward the shop.

(lorman was half-drunk, and when in this condition was
not in his most combative mood, or he might have tried to
resist Fred's determination with force ; but as it was, he
merely contented himself with expostulation.

" Oh, wirra, wirra ! " he groaned, crossing himself as he
followed Fred. " Pwhativer are yez goin' to do 1 No
sooner will ye open that thrap-door than two claws as big
as a bin's '11 fly out at ye an' sthick into yer oyeballs and
dhrag out both yer oyes. Oh, whisht ! But there's oyes
lyin' thick like half-dried grapes among the ould oirn
under that."

" Well, I will give him a chance to add mine to the
number, anyhow," said Fred. And stepping down into
the shop he lifted the trapdoor.

Gorman, standing on the door-step leading into the
house, covered his eye with his hand, exclaiming :

** Arrah ! He's sphringin' at ye ! Dhrop it agin, or by
the powers he'll have us both."

(iOUMANH CAT ONCK MOKK.

34:i

112 into the

\Uii Krtul (lid not (hop it. On tlio otlior hiiiid, lio lliiiig
it ri^lit l»i(*k. Ho huw u f(;\v l>ox«*s at tlio foot of tli(^ liul-
dt^r loading' into this vault, hut farther in all was in (htrkncNH.
As \ui jHMficd intently into tin; j^looni his ears v^cn* ^Tcctcd
with a vftiy human grunt from th<! darkin* n^ctrssos of the
otdlar.

'* That cat you apeak of," he renuirked to Ciorman, " has
a very peculiar *meouw.'"

*' It's a sthran^'e baste altogether," said <Jornian. " An'
ye'll foind it out, too, if yez stand starin' tliero .nuch
longer. Shut the door, ye omadhoun ! Shut it ! " he ex-
claimed with a su'Ulen spasm of awakeninj^ energy. "Do
y«;z want to liave the both of us slaughthered."

And he moved toward the door in terrifitnl excitement,
as if h(! would close it himself ; but Kred stood on the lid
which was turned back on tin; lloor.

" No," he said tirndy, " this door shall not be closed till
I have found out wluit is in the cellar."

(iornntn, who was non«i too brave at the best, shrank
back before Kred's tirm demeanor ; and the latter called
into the cellar :

*• Hi, there ! Come to the light and show yourself."

There was another grunt, this time followed by a shuf-
fling sound which alarmed Gorman into a shout —

" Kape back, ye spalpeen, or it's your murtherer I'll
be."

Hut the shuHling still continued, and there issued into
the light streaming throui,'h the trap-door a strange wild
tigure. His hair was long, matted and covered with cob--
webs ; his clothes were all damp and soiled with earth ;
his heavy brown hands shook like withered ;ir.pen leaves ;
his coppery face was all bloated and dead-lookuig ; and the
eyes that he rubbed whilst looking up at his deliverer
gleamed dull in the light like two clots of blood.

Gorman O'Neil shrank back against the wall of the
smithy in a cold shiver, and Fred looked down at the poor
wretch in pity and utter amazement.

"Come up the ladder," he said gently.

Grasping the sides of the ladder with trembling hands

344

POhHON S PUOBATION.

ntid with HtopH tiH fultcriti^; anil uiiHlriuly an tiiry, thn man
caiuo to tho Cup of the ladil "aiu' Htood lookiii^^ aroutul him
with (lull h(nvil<i(M'<>(i f>yoH. Ilo 8' 'IimuI a littiti^ inhuhitant
of that Hooty, dimly lighted place — IiIm faco indented with
(h'4>p wriiikN'h iikn thn closfd Ixdiow.^, and liiM uyos aa
lu8tr«'l(^sH as tJK^ siinnt for^r.

'* llow oamo you iu thurul" asked Fred when he had
cloHj'd the trap-door.

" Ilo put mo there long ago," said the Indian, in a husky
(guttural tone, at the same time pointing a dirty tinker to
when* (lOniMin, (luaking with terror, loaned agaiiuit tho
Hooty wall of Imh miH(>ral)le Hhop.

"And i»ow long havo you heen thero 1" asked Fred.

"Not know," Haid tho Indian, shaki.ig his dusty head,
*' hut long time. So much lire-water make mo not remem-
ber."

"And how have vou been kept alive 1"

*• lie bring mo oi top Horjotime.s," said the Indian, still
pointii. ; towuid (l(»r>iian, • and give mo plenty eat, and
thon till me up with fin; water and put nui down aj^ain."

"Well," muttered Fred, "this beats everything yet. T
can underst.ind now what llatton meant when he said,
"Search ONeil's house and you will learn the truth."

TIkmi turning again to the Jndian ho :isked, " What is
yor.r name '} "

"Th(i wliite man call me ' Heartoot,'" was tho reply.

Fred's face lighted up triuniphantly, and turning on the
trembling blacksmith he said in tones of righteous wrath,
" '^o, ycu villain, this is the tool with wliich you and your
employer tried to bring about my death. Look at me
again. That is it. You remember me now, I suppose.
Tf not let me tell you that I am tho Poison you tried so
hard to prosecute, and woe betide you if you fail to tell me
the truth about this aifair."

As Fred spoke thus passionately all the disguise of voice
and expression he had formerly assumed was cast aside,
and as tho blast of terror had cleared the drunken mist
from Gorman's eye, he recognized the speaker, and all his
coward spirit quivering through his frame he fell on his
knees before him.

(JUllMANH CAT ONCE MoKE.

345

««y, tho man
lirouiul him
^ iiihiibitant
(lentt^d with
hiiH oy()8 It's

rhen he had

n, in II husky
rty tiuKer to
against tho

jcl Fn'd.

I dusty liead,

not reniem-

» Indian, still
jnty oat, and
wn a^ain.'
[thini; yet. T
hen he said,
truth."
'' What is

)io reply,
rning on the
iteouB wrath,
ou and your
Look at me
I suppose,
you tried so
nil to tell me

[uise of voice
s cast aside,
Irunken mist
r, and all his
fell on his

• Oh nui'hrr? Oh, mercy! (>h, I lowly Mother! " he
exchkimed ; ** liavn iM<rcy on a p<ior lad who wan |H?r-
Buaded to an evil (huh^ hy t)i(< voice o' the tunpler."

"(»«>t up, fool," Maid Fred in disguKt, "and tell n\e who
this t''tnpter was."

•' VV'hiHlit now," Haid (ionnan slowly rising, •* who should
it he hut that same black h^'arted Kciiian, Pancrack."

"The pot calling the kettle Mack," said Fred. "Hut
you need not trouhio on his account, for Fanorack is now
far out of ttie country, and you can expect to get nothing
more fronj him. However, if you will tell me the whole
truth about your dealings in this aiiair I shall promise at
least not to bring you under tho law."

Oorman, who, as an ex-ofVicer of the law, know what an
edged tool it was to play with, was gro'itly relieved by this
promise and answered readily.

" Faix ! an' I'll do that satne, thin. Ye'soe, it was that
scoundrel PancracU " — and he went into a lengthy account
of the usurer's nefarious scheme, taking care, however, to
represent himself as an injured person, persuaded by the
false pretences of Pancrack to participate in an evil deed,
and once within his power unable to resist his orders with-
out fear of exposure. "An','* he concluded, "if ye'll
search that ould haythen Anoch's shanty, maybe you'll
foind under the floor av it tho pick and shovel with which
you was supposed to dig the grave."

"But," said Fred, "you said it was your intention to
send this Bearfoot over to his people across the line as
soon as you had done with him. How was it you did not
doaoT'

" Faix, an' there was the rub," said Gorman, who had
now recovered some of his confidence, and spoke of his
achievements with a certain touch of pride. " Just at the
toime we was goin' to pack him off ^.I.? Yankee Govern-
ment issued a decray stoppin' all Indians from outside
p'inta from interin' their counthry. An' coorse we moight
have managed to smuggle the thafe over the loine, but thin
he would have wanted to go on to the Resarve among his
paple, an' there 'd have bin no ind o' questionin', an' Hiven

346

r<>T.sov*s puonATioM.

n I

1..

ouiily kiiowH whiit li«i ini^lit linvo tonid ulxtiit um. An' wn
Oouldh't Irt liiiii go Inick vvlirrc In* cuiik' tVoiii iuiytlii*r, for
it's f/i</ hfl wan HuppoMtul to l><< ; ho \\v tlioiiglit wtui jiiHt
kiipn iiiiii ill thi' oillur for tho wintlnu', ait' Ixirii tlio tiinpiM
out nv hint wid ould ryn, and turn hint out in iUo Mpriit^;
un(h*r an uHhooincd nanio."

*' You'ro an out luid out niK»Mil," Haid Kn'tl. ((iornian
grinni'd ati it' he had rrctnvcd a coitipliniriit), '* Itut nrvrr
tht'h'HM 1 havt* promised not to proht* uti* you, aitd I will
kot^p my word, llowovor, in a wock'H tiniu I hIwiII niako
tho Htory you hav*? told tin* known to the world, no that
bofon; that tinio coniei I would adviHo you, if you value
your own Kaf«»ty, to put an many milen hftwetjn this country
and yourMjilf aw you cjin."

••hut uut HJtop mt) tools," Maid (iorman, in ^r«'nt con-
corn. •• Pwhativor ant I to do wi' thimi Yr/. wouldn't
have me run away and lavo thiiti Ixdtoind, would yczi"

"You havo a week," was Krod'scold n'{)ly. •' IMrnty of
farmers will he i«!ady to huy your lilacksniith's stock so
use tim ti'tie as you like. Hut reutontber, I have warned
you."

*• 13ut ther<''s a mewl, an' a cart, an' a ilegant cutther,"
contiituod Gorman in tones of mournful rentonstrance.

'• Oh, yes, that reminds mo," said Fred, cutting him short,
" I must have your mule and cutter, because I am going to
take this Indian back with nio to my present Itome, and lie
is not tit to walk far, I have not tim money to pay for it
just now, but nante what you consider a fair price, and
write back to me when you are away from here and I will
send you the money. You need not fear that I will either
deceive or betray you."

(lorman's one clear eye twinkled — liere was an unex-
pected chance to realize a little money, at any rate — and he
mentioned an extravagant price, which he named " very
motherate."

••All right," said Fred, eager to finish witli him at any
price. •• And now go and hitch the animal up for us,
please."

" That same Oi'll do, sir," said Gorman, making his exit

yoUMAN 8 CAT ONCC 5IOl(£.

:i47

with tilurrity ; (itid li>< nviMi uouaolod liiiiiNrIf iiinid hih iniii.
fortunoii l>y thin rrlliTtioii, "An' it« thn liiitt toiintt I'll
liiivo to liitt'li up tliiit hto jiid ould iiUMto, annyliow."

On tliJit day tlio muln must li(ivi< I iMMk h liltio mora
ti'tictiittlo than uhuuI, for <«oi-miiii Hoon ri'rip|>(Mur<l with
him drii^;;iu){ liiH " iif^unt ouUIk'c" a Htrui'ttir«> ('()iu|ioh(mI
of uii old Notip Ih>x tuiilinl on two piucoit of Ncuntlin^ (with
front cndM (lioppHtl into rou^h curveM) which N«>rv(>d an
runners. A pituro of looso dirty hoard, with two JH^^ed
hrokfMi ondit roHtin^ on citln'r Nido of the HOJip box, nwuh* the
Hfiit of thn Hprij^htiy cunvuyunco which (iornuin drovi) to
hiti HUiithy door.

All thiM tinu^ the Indian had iwvu Htaiulin^ likt* a poHt
in tho middh^ of the houHo lloor. 1 1 is heavy li/mdH luin^
liHtlcHHly hy hiH Mide, hiH dull 0)(>h worn half cloHod, and liiH
hrad waH IxMit as ho droopinl liko a drowHy horse. Krrd
l(>anrd iij^ainst the door jamh till tht^ (fitter if hucIi it
mi^ht ho called approaclnul, and then niovin;; tosvard tlib
Indian he tapped him heavily on the Hhoulder.

•'You must come with me," he aaid, in gentle hut
authoritative toneM.

TIk' Indian lift«^d his droopin;» head, opened his drowsy
eyes, and <,'runted, " Ugh ! yt s, I will come."

All the wildness, all tluj tire of his tierce nature had
been consumed in the dam[)nes», the darkness and the
spirituous tlame of his terrible prison, and meek as a
whipped dog coming at its master's call ho followed Krcd
I'olson's 8t(!pS.

Gorman pursed his lips, pressed his elbows against his
side and S(|ue(»zed up his shoulders with- the expression of
one pulling tightly on the reins, whilst the two got into the
soap box. He knew that he could not make the brute
tlinch back by pulling on its iron mouth, and he thought
his action exhibited an inipatient spirit which needed
restraint. "Ah, now — gintly, gintly me darlint, don't
fret ; ye'll be oil' in a minute," he kept sayi!ig.

'• Now, sor," ho said, as he handed the reins to Fred,
"just be careful wid him, an' it's a daisy ye've got. For
spade he's a sojer whin ye bate the retrate, for gintleness

k 1

348

POLSOIS S PllOHATION.

:i '

Iih's a sick lamb, for ileg.inco he's a lady, and for iii-
tilliyeiice he's a Solymou a»nong mules. Whisht, but he's
a daisy. Whoo-oo-oo ! " And Gorman emphasized his
eulogy with an enthusiastic peroratory wliistle.

" Not a very pretty daisy, anyhow," remarked the new
owner, surveying the tall and ungainly structure of dis-
proportioned bones which stalked along at anything but a
niartial rate before him. And so equipped and com-
panioned Fred Poison returned through the slushy depart-
ing snow toward his lonely forest home.

, t

! I

A week later the lonely smithy was deserted.

All around it the snow-swelled marshes rippled sullenly
in an April breeze. At night again the frogs sent up their
myriad- voiced croaking; and now no hammer's ring, no
forge's glare disturbed their dolorous piping, but only the
hissing of a brood of snakes that, like a fitting poisoned
crop from the foul seed sown below, had nested on the
witch's grave, mingled with the dreary chorus.

Through the warm summer days the rustling grass
swirled round it, and the sunbeams peered into its loneli-
ness through the crevices between the shrunken boards.
The grass grew long on the smith" floor, and in the house
mice and moths found a home while the lizards and toads
crawled in the cellar beneath. In the morning its shadow
stretched out over the dismal pools, and at evening its
gloom rested on the stone-scabbed, mangy hills. The very
curs3 of wickedness clung to the spot and no tenant came
near it. And when the winter came again it shivered and
howled in the frosty blasts as it was lashed by the black-
ened rags of paper which clung around it still.

Far away east, in the slums of a mighty city, a one-eyed
man sneaks from place to place picking up a wretched
living by a course of treachery and fraud. In low dens of
vice he makes his home, and there he hides through all the
garish day, but, bat-like, appears abroad in the twilight
searching for his prey.

'■ f>.

"LO! THE POOR INLIAN."

:i49

CHAPTER LVII.

"Lo! The Poor Indian."

When Fred Poison took Bearfoot with him to his hut
he was undecided as to what course he should pursue, but
it was soon resolved upon. He kept the poor Indian with
him for about a week ; and then, since all the snow hiid
disappeared, he turned out the mule to graze, locked up his
cabin, and taking Bearfoot with him walked to the little
railway siding we have mentioned before, and from there
they went by train to Markon. When Fred arrived in
the town where his trial had made him so notorious, he
was not without fear of being recognized ; but fortunately
his beard and rough clothing saved him from the incon-
venience which this might have caused.

The once rascally Indian, now subdued into childishness,
followed without question or re stance wherever he wanted
to go. Like a mere bundle of telegraphic nerves, con-
trolled only by some outward agency, his frame vibrated
responsively to every touch his liberator gave.

Fred took him before the police authorities, and com-
manded him to tell what he knew of the conspiracy in
which he had been employed. This he did with as little
human expression as a key groaning in a rusty lock. The
officer who examined him took down his evidence and said :

" Mr. Poison, you need hardly have taken this trouble,
for really very few believed you guilty; but still, no doubt,
this will have the good effect of converting the obstinate
few."

" But," he added, pointing with his pencil to Bearfoot
standing listlessly before him, "we must do something with
this man. He is in a state of harmless idiocy, and unfit
to take care of himself."

"Yes, I quite a.^ree with you," said Fred. "Is there
no asylum or institution in which he could be placed 1 "

" Yes, I daresay there is. Leave him in our charge for

350

POLSON S PROBATION.

! ■

1^:

1 1

i-r

the present, and after a while no doubt we shall find a
place for him."

As a result of this interview Bearfoot was placed in an
asylum where ho earns his living by sweeping floors, cut-
ting sticks and doing other little chores around the place.
J3ut the visitor could hardly think that the ci.-ooping
spiritless being, who so querulously begs for a little tobacco
or craves for a drop of the liquor that has cursed him, was
the once fierce and passionate Bearfoot, th< exiled Sioux.

The police followed up the startling evidence they had
gained by searching thoroughly the house of the old chief
Enoch.

He sat and smoked serenely whilst they pried up the
boards in his floor, and brought to light the real pick and
shovel which, as a piece of evidence against Fred Poison,
he pretended to have lost on the road from Bendigo.

" Ugh ! " he grunted, blowing out a puff of smoka when
he saw them. " The white man is good — he has found
what I have searched for long, long times."

" And, you old rascal, it would serve you right if the
first use we put them to was to dig your grave and bury
you in it alive."

" Um ! " said Enoch, looking thoughtfully up at the ceil-
ing through a cloud of smoke. " That would do white
man no good. Better leave Indian alone and he give you
some money."

The money was not accepted ; but, nevertheless, Enoch
was left alone. " He is only an Indian." That was his
impregnable excuse and defence, and it saved him from
further persecution.

He lives still — rich after the manner of his tribe — and
still a rogue. His reward is that which all rogues must
meet at last : no one honors him, and no man trusts his
word.

THE RETURN OF THE SPRING,

351

CHAPTER LVITT.

TiiK Return of tuk Spring.

It is spring in Manitoba !

Again the whirring wings make music in the sky as thoy
speed toward northern climes, and the soft air vibrates
with the liquid melody of rippling creeks rushing down to
a brimming river; and that, too, has its music in the thun-
der of the rending ice-blocks as they jostle tumultuously on
the yellow breast of the foaming current, or crack and
grind against either shore. Yet this is but the low under-
tone which gives additional softness and sweetness to the
glad music that dwells on land, in water and in air. All
the awakening life of insect and bird is on the wing, and a
gentle beauty breathes in the balmy breeze. It is a time
to soothe the weary spirit, to till the heart with love and
hope and peace.

On such a day sat Alice Crags in a rocking-chair under
the veranda in front of Mr. Dysart's house. She was yet
convalescent, and too weak to undertake any physical labor;
but nevertheless the scars which the fire had left upon her
face were healing fast, and already much of her former
beauty had returned to her. True, the shadow of desola-
tion which had been cast upon her soul had not yet wholly
departed, but Time, the kind healer of sutTering hearts,
was daily making her burden lighter to bear.

Mr. Dysart had kindly offered her the situation of house-
keeper which the departure of Mrs. Bant had left vacant,
and she had gratefully accepted the offer.

"For," she reflected, "may I not thus be better enabled
to pay back a little of the kindness they have lavished
upon me. I can at least use my little influence toward
making their lives more comfortable and keeping peace, if
that is ever necessary, between them ; and if any fall ill I
shall be here to attend on them, as they have on me."

And 80 she accepted the situation, though with some

'I!

852

POLSON'S PllOHATION.

hesitation on the ground of youth and inexperience. But
to thib Mr. Dysart refused to listen, and lier active duties
were to l>egin when her strength was sufficiently restored.

To-day she sits musing with an open book upon her lap,
not, I am afraid, meditating upon the bool', for the sweet
influence of the spring has lulled her into other reveries.
Her eyes look out over the lake with its silvery ripples
plashing gently on the verdant shore, and her ears faintly
drink the music of the bird-songs carolled from the green-
ing trees. For the time the shadow of sad memories has
departed from her and floated far away into the over-
arching blue.

Memory reverts to the days of a former summer, and
often the image of one who visited her then returns to
her now. Why does the smile brighten on her lips when
she thinks of his tenderness toward her? Why does the
tear suffuse her eye when she thinks of the persecution he
has suffered *? and why does she shudder and turn pale as
she reflects upon his probable fate 1 Ask not me, reader,
but ask of the glad sunlight that shines around her. Ask
of the rippling waters and the singing birds. Question the
balmy breezes and the budding flowers. Ask of all things
instinct with the spirit of love, and they will tell you that
this is LOVE.

In that twilight realm between the dreaming and the
awaking she hears a footstep and sees a human form.
How well she knows them both, and she thanks God that
even in a day-dream He has brought him again before
her. shadowy and indistinct though it seems, as someth' ig
thf "» only a part of the gentle elements around her.
lice!"

A. the sound she starts like one newly-awakened from
de^p sleep and utters a little joyous cry ; for lo ! in living
reality, and not as a thing of dreams, the form of Fred
Poison stands before her, and he regards her with an eager,
tender smile. He is dressed in a light-colored suit, round
which the sunlight seems to cling. He is " in his best,"
tidied as when he used to visit her on those happy Sundays
less than a year ago ; but the expression of his face is
older, much older.

',-(

THE HETUllN OF THE SPRING.

353

snce. But
tive duties
y restored,
on her lap,
' the sweet
?r reveries.
Bry ripples
jars faintly
the green -
niories has
I the over-

mnier, and
returns to
r lips when
ly does the
secution he
urn pale as
me, reader,
I her. Ask
•uestion the
f all things
ill you that

'ig

and the

man form.

s God that

ain before

someth* ig

d her.

:ened from
! in living

Im of Fred

\h. an eager,
mit, round
his best,"
)y Sundays

[his face is

" Alice, do you know me V he asks again.

Poor Alice feels that her cry of joy has betrayed her,
and her pale face Hushes red as she tries to ask, in tones of
formal interest mingled with unconcealed surprise :

"Mr. Poison ! Can it be really you V

"Yes, Alice, it is I," he said, going toward her and
tenderly taking one little injured hand in his. " Have
I changed so much as to cause you to doubt it V

" Oh, no," she said, "you have really changed very little
— far less, I am glad to see, than I have.".

" Yet, believe me, Alice," he said, still holding her hand,
"your change has but bettered your beauty in my eyes ;
for are not these maiks," he -^dded, pointing to the scars
on her face, " the outward tokens of a brave and beautiful
spirit made visible."

Alice knew not what to reply ; but she thought of how
those scars had been gained, and in the train of sorrow it
recalled she sighed and looked down.

" Alice," Fred continued, " do you know why I come
to you to-day 1 You remember what I said to you by
your parents' door once before. We have both seen and
suffered much since then ; but believe me, dearest, that
throughout it all my love for you has remained unchanged
— nay, when I heard of your trials of late it increased
tenfold. It may seem strange that after so long and
mysterious an absence this is the first subject on which I
should speak to you ; but I do so because it is the subject
that lies nearest my heart and on which my happiness most
depends, nor till I had relieved myself of this could 1 have
well spoken to you of anything else. I find that you, too,
have suffered, and more than I, and I ask you to let me
comfort your loneliness. Tell me, my darling, do you love
me r

All this time her hand had never been withdrawn from
his, but her heart was beating fast. The blushes flashed
like dancing flames along her cheeks and her eyes sought
the ground. But his head was bent very close to hers and
he spoke very softly and earnestly.
23

■m

nrA

POLSONS PROHATION.

; : 5 i, '

!• ti

»■.!•:

I ■

Buo, Fred," she answered, without looking up, " you
n»u«ic remember how very much 1 am changed. I am dis-
Hgured in feature and penniless in purse ; and — and — in
short, I am not fit to be your wife."

" But," he exclaimed earnestly, as ho fervently pressed
her hand, " I tell you, you are more beautiful to me than
ever. Money I neither ask nor care for. I love you not
for the mere form of your features or the color of your
cheeks — though these will yet again vie with the fairest —
but for tlie loving and beautiful soul that these express, I
do not ask you to share with me a life of luxury and ease ;
but I ask you to help and strengthen me in living a life
of useful labor among my fellow-men. I ask you to join
hand in hand with me that w(» may better comfort the
sutl'ering, strengthen the weak and V)attle with evil tempta-
tions without and selfish desires within. Speak to me,
Alice. Will you be my helpmate in this, or shall I f^^
forth to do these things alone?"

As he spoke his face and tone glowed with passionate
enthusiasm, and when he had iinished she lifted her head
and her eyes looked into his. All girlish timidity or affec-
tation had passed away before the manly nobility of his
speech, and the face that now greeted his, though faintly
flushed, was very calm, and placid as the twilight star were
the eyes that gazed into his. No words she spoke ; but if
ever eye uttered speech to eye, hers most plainly said,
" I love you."

And there in the soft spring sunshine they plighted their
faith.

Long they sat and talked in loving unison, each telling
the story of trial, suffering and love. All nature seemed
to rejoice in their joy. Far in the distant east the sweet
spring sunlight is laughing among the crocuses on the
verdant-tinted hills, and the soft winds murmur to the
silvery waves as they kiss the lakelet's flowery shore.
Fair is the soft blue sky which smiles above them and
fair are the fresh green blades springing beneath their feet.
Near at hand, where the green-boughed trees swing over a

A CLOSING SCENE IN THE DYSART HOUSEHOLD. 355

little grave, the birds are singing clear and loud, but it is
no mournful dirge — rather is it a piean of soothing joy, as
if, indeed, the sweet little spirit had risen from the body
entombed below and is pouring itself from those bird-
throats in song. And so, hymned by the approving song
of nature, which is the voice of God, they are serenely
happy in pure and virtuous love.

CHAPTER LIX.

A Closing Scene in the Dysart Household.

It Was a happy party that assembled round the supper-
table in Mr. Dysart's house that night. Fred, in spite of
what they called his " cranky ways and ideas," was beloved
by all, and great was their Joy to see him among them
again. The kind and worthy master sat at the head of the
table, beaming pleasantly over the rest. His merry jokes
and funny stories kept them in constant bursts of laughter.
Mr. Longstreet talked volubly of the horrors he would
have visited on Pancrack and O'Neil had he been in Fred's
place, and Mr. Fane punctuated his threats with approving
shrugs and such remarks as :

" The rascals ! They really ought to be flayed, you
know."

*' Glad to see you have turned the tables on 'em, old
fellah."

" Pass the cakes, Longstreet. Oh, I'll polish 'em all off
before you've finished talking !"

Alice, silent and shy. sat by Fred's side, for their relations
were already understOv^d, and Mr. Dysart had smilingly in-
sisted on seating her there. Long they lingered over the
dessert, for then it was that Fred told them his story.

" But one thing I must not forget," he said, as he drew
toward a close. " As I wandered about Bendigo waiting
for a chance to ride out here, a pleasant smell of new-baked
bread attracted me towards the window of a small store

356

rOLSONS PUOBATION.

?■■'

filled with loaves, buiiH and oakeH, and looking up I read,
painted *n large letters over door and window :

Anthony Scuocipot,

liAKKR AND CONFKCTIONER.

CAKKS AND PA8TUY 8UPPMKD FOK PAKTIK8, PICNICS,

UALL8, KTC.

FREP nRF D LIVERED TO ANY PART OP THE

VILLAGB.

ALL ORDEh .\Ni> •"'^NTRACTS PROMPTLY ATTENDED TO.

" You may depend upon it, I lost no time in making my
way into the store. There was no one in the place when
I entered it, and so I rapped on the counter.

*• * Wait a bit there ! ' growled a voice from a back room.
' Drat me if I'm not all plastered over with dough.'

" I looked in the direction from which the sound came,
and through a half-opened door caught a glimpse of a pair
of white dough-spattered duck pants hitching up and
down beside a kneading-trough, whilst a pair of slippers
tlapping on the floor beat time to the thumping of the
dough. In another minute the door opened altogether,
and our former cook, looking quite neat in his new dress,
but with the usual sweat-drops on his brow, Hour in his
beard and ragged bits of soft dough clinging to his hands,
came into the shop.

" 'Anything I can do for you, sir V he said, with a smirk
among his whiskers like a split in a Hour sack, but with-
out rubbing his hands after the fashion of the commercial
tribe (he was afraid cf working the dough ott', I suppose).
' Anything in the way of fresh bread, cake or — Good
sakes, il it ain't Fred Poison ! '

'* His hand Hew over the counter and the next second
mine was immersed in dough.

" ' Why, where in the universt hev' you sprunged from 1
We all thought as you was dead long ?.go ; bu^ chucky,

▲ CLOSINn SCINR IN TflE DYSART HOtTSEIfOM). HST

you wor« ro8hurroctinc»d and camo to lifo again aft#»r all.
Hut jeHt comn alon^ in hurn and sro tho niisHUS, and lot's
liavu a bit of a talk.'

•' With a littlo wronch wo got our handH Boparatod,
though ilia was a triflo lighter and niino that much h<>avior
by the operation, and in a bustling, excited manner he led
mo into a neat, clean room at the back of the store, where
a stout old lady wearing spectacles sat knitting by tho
stove.

" 'Miusus, do yer know this feller V

'* • Lawks ! if it ain't Mr. Poison conie back !'

•' And will you believe it, the old lady actually jumped
from her seat and almost stove my ribs in wit*" a hug and
nearly split my cheek with a kiss. When t". iv ceptive
enthusiasm had cooled down a little they ^ '^uh' ^sist on
hearing my "tory ; nor would they lot mo I^a'^ t,ntm till
they had stutted me with confectionery anc t«-a 3nough to
appal me with terrors of dyspepsia and nerv^/US debility
for a week to come."

When the laughter and comments on tuts episode had
subsided, Mr. Longstreet said, "You seem in a story-telling
mood to-night, Fred, and you might, whilst you are about
it, just as well entertain us with the little narrative of how
you beguiled Pancrack's lonely hours in your shanty ir Me
wood."

"Oh, yes!" remarked Mr. Fane, "and that remina.. me
that you have never told us how you came in possession of
that shanty."

" Well," said Fred, carefully peeling an apple, " I can
tell you t.iat in a few words. When that trial ended my
mind was all in a whirl, and my chief desire was to get
away from everybody. I went down to the station and
caught a freight train going west. The conductor kindly
gave me a passage in his caboose. Fortunately he didn't
know me. He questioned me, however, about the trial,
and I answered him as well as I could. Still, it made me
feel uneasy, and when we reached the first railwav-siding
west of Bendigo I got off. There was a small hotel there,
in which I met a man who was complaining much of having

458

FOLSONb I^ROHATION.

'■ »i

llMi

I M '

Huddenly caliod to ^o awiiy Kant for i\w wint«r. He
Haid that h« had a nice little shanty in tho huHh Hx<>d up
Hi<d furnishud for the winter nionthH. lie aidced inn if I
knew of anyone who wanted to buy such a phice. Tliii
appeared to me to he an exceUent opportunity of living in
^ieolufiion until my mind should grow settled again, and 1
eagerly asked him what lie wanted for it. He named a
very moderate price, which I paid him on the spot, and the
next day, after loading myself with provisions from the
grocery-store there, I went out and took possession of my
woodland home."

He h"d hardly iinished this narration when Uncle
Nathan shufUed into the kitchen with two pails of milk.
Mr. Dyaart's new cook was a buxom. Jolly woman of thirty,
and poor Uncle was a constant butt for her merriment.
When on this occasion he had set the milk pails on the
floor in two diflferent corners, he paused and stared at the
stove with his mouth gravely pouted as if meditating on
his future actions. He then turned the back of his right
hand under till it looked like the inverted ''law of a pro-
digious hen ; and stooping his body, he pressed up his
shoulders till they touched the lobes of his ears and com-
pletely concealed his neck. In this attitude he made the
tour of the kitchen. He tinally halted before the dining-
room door which stood slightly ajar. This, and the sound
of voices that came through it, seemed to afford him food
for reflection, for he drew his form erect, his head shot out,
drawing his wiry neck after it, and folding his arms across
his breast he pursed his lips, wrinkled his forehead. Jerked
up his sandy goatee, and gazed at the door like one in
lofty contemplation.

The cook tittered, and stole slyly up behind him with
the handle of a broom pointing toward his back. A sud-
den touch made Uncle start as if he had been hit by a
musket-shot. With a wild-cat spring he brushed aside the
partly opened door, and landed in a sitting posture on the
floor of the dining-room.

At first all heads were turned in alarm, but this motion

(

A CLOSINO 8CENK IN TIIK DYSAUT HOUSEHOLD. 359

like one in

was irunindiately fnllowod hy n roar of lau^htflr, and a
ohoruii of voiocH oallif)^ :

" lldllo, Uncle ! Wlioro did you Hpring from 1 "

Uncle's only reply watt an elevation of the eyebrows,
like the raiding of two mounds of sand, and a threatening
lift of the bristling edge of hiu thin goat<'e, whilst with his
handn Hpread out on the Hoor he niaika(;od to maintain an
upright seat.

" (ilet up, Unolo," said Mr. Dysart, when the laughter
had subsided. " Here's some one you know."

Undo sprang up like a jack-in-a-box, and with a jerk
of his head <-aHt his eyes wildly round the table. His eye
caught Fred Poison '« face.

"Hallo, Parlson. That you? Tho't you was killed,
runaway or soni'thin'."

And so saying he sprang toward Fred's chair, and seiz-
ing him by the collar with ona hand, with the other in-
flicted on him a morciless hand-shaking, with a circular
twist which threatened to screw our hero's shoulder out of
joint, and, indeed, so much afiected him that ^ tear stood
in his eye ; but whether of emotion or physical pain I will
not say.

This action performed. Uncle was for making his exit
almost as speedily as he had entered, hut Mr. Dysart said :

" Stay, Uncle. Take an apple before you go."

There was a heaping dish of this rosy fruit standing on
the table. Uncle darted back, and his open hand swooped
like a huge clam toward it. He seized on one in the
middle of the heap as an eagle grasps an acorn ; but alas !
not with an eagle's dexterity, for the quick push with
■which he seized it was too much for the crowded plate,
and the apples went rolling all over the table.

This accident so agitated Uncle that he dropped the one
in his hand, and it landed neatly on the corn that crowned
his little toe. With a "whoop" of pain he sprang through
the door in frantic flight, and skirmishing round the kit-
chen caught up the empty pails and dashed outside.

Soon after, the clashing of the tin pails growing fainter

rofXON S PUOIIATION.

T '

• (

]|^

li!

in thn (lUUnce ni hn banf^od ihrin to^Athnr in nrrvoui
a^ony, nnnoiiiiotMl that Uncltt whn r<*turniti^ (o tin* farm.

No othf^r iiK'idciit (iiatur)iu(l tlu* hurinoiiy of tli«* rvim-
ing, aiul iiftt^r Muppor Alic» and Fred tK«>r(> left to a
pIraMAiit tcit'-nUU in the little front parlor. Once more
the rollinf( organ nUainM mingUMl with i\w twittering of
th(* birdn in tliti calinneHii of tho duHk, and dimi in linger-
ing nktlociy over the placid liiko. Hut other tingf*rs playrd
that nuiHir now. VVhito and Mtill wore thr little hands
that had charnted him once. ('Umed and dark were the
bright child oyes that had lookfd so gravely ({uestioniDg
into his, and Htill as the diimb (>arth in which she lay was
the sweet voice once vibrant with peace and love. And
yet, as Fred Poison looked toward the place where the
trees were growing green al>ove her grave ; as he liHtened
to the music and the bird-song ; as he ga/.od on the tender
glories of the sunset sky just llushirg the peaceful water,
in his heart he thanked Uod for the evil as well as for the
good, for the tears as well as for the smiles, that had
brought him to his present inexpressible bliss.

CHAPTER LX.

TiiK Bliss of tiik Wealthy.

Julius Hatton sat in his new counting-house in a sea-
port town in the south of England. When he returned
from Canada he found his business affairs in a nourishing
condition (for usury is a cancer that ever spreads), but for
certain politic reasons he deemed it expedient to remove
his establishment to a distant town. Here his business
gave promise of enlargement to a greater height of pros-
perity than ho had ever dreamed of before ; and this, to-
gether with a knowledge of the evils he had escaped, con-
soled him for the loss of the Laxton ostate — for he had
learned that the executors of his grandfather's will did not
consider Frederick Poison at all dis(j[ualitied.

Till ni.ISS or TIIF WRAl.TnY.

net

Htill Juliui llation hiul Ikmmi in rnnmrkAlily grnxl humor
•lucri Win return. II» lived w«»ll lirid had i*vcn Im^^ud to
grow Ntout. Ilia clorki ronmrkod thut hi» l'^uro|H)ttii tour
had l)4innttt(^d him wondi^rfully.

On thfl liny of which I Np«'ak ho «at hIoiki ' \ a little
office at thn hack of his counting houno, lomtttinH^a ruckon-
ing up protltn with gnMMJy oyoM, and anon pauHing and
humming a tune as \w rapp<^d thn desk with hin fingers.
Around his f<u't wrro two or thre<» overcrowded waste*
papor haiiketH which had emptied part of their contents on
the dusty (loor, adding disorder to dirt. Before him on
the desk were scattered papers of all sizes and all degre<>s
of age some yellow, some thumb marked and a few of
them clean. Yet among all this litter Mr. .lulius Hatton
seemed perfectly happy. As he thought of his adventures
during the past few months a smile lighted up his face,
and he nibhed his hands with a chuckle of self-congratula-
tion.

*' Ha, ha ! T got out of it finely, didn't I ? Poison
might have made it hot for mo, hut F twisted my tongue
round the crack -pot, an<l I l>elieve he was only too glad to
give me the slip. Thrn the wily widow— she thought she
had me, hut I left her nicely, didn't I ) Just to think
what a parcel of fools I have lived among. Ha, ha, ha ! "

And in a fit of humorous inspiration he tapped the
desk with his Hngers as if it had been a piano, and
hummed :

•' And if she'd havo thee murmur ' Yes,'
Why then'ti the time to leave her."

The door opened, and a pen-nib closely followed by a
clerkly-looking head peeped in, and a squeaky voice called
out :

" A lac ' wishes to see you, sir."

" What w her name 1 "

" She woi .'t give it, sir. Says she wants to see you
alone."

"All right. Tell her to come in."

The clerk disappeared and the door closed.

362

polson's rUOBATlON.

'Ay

;»l

I I

" Um ! " muttered Hatton sharpening a pencil ready for
business. " Won't give her name, eh 1 I suppose it's
some would-be-respectable wife of a drunkard who wants
to get a mortgage on the sly. Well, she's welcome. I
deal with plenty of her kind, but she mustn't object to
paying pretty dearly for the privilege of secrecy."

Again the door opened very quietly, and a tall thin lady
stepped softly into the office and closed the door behind
her. Her face waL veiled, but something in her demeanor
filled Julius Hatton with strange uneasiness.

" Take a seat, niadara," he said with awkward courtesy.
" Anything I can — "

Tlie veil was flung back, and Julius Hatton, leaving his
sentence unfinished, sprang from his seat and retreated in
terrified amazement to the farther end of the room.

The face thus suddenly revealed was that of Mrs. Bant,
and it looked more cruel and waspish than ever. Her thin
steely lips were pressed in a little white strip between her
sharp nose and pointed chin. Her hard white cheeks
were hollow like those of a stone figure on a tomb, and her
black eyes glittered with vindictive triumph. She glided
smoothly and noiselessly to within a few feet of where
the craven Hatton, with pale face and wide, terrified eyes,
pushed his back against the wall as if he would willingly
force a retreat through it.

" Aha ! you know me now," she hissed in a tone terribly
audible to Hatton, but too low to be heard by the clerks
on the other side of the partition.

"However did you get herel" he managed to gasp at
last.

" Ho, ho ! " She laughed a very bitter little laugh.
"How did I get herel You thought you would escape
me, did you? But you must know, Julius Hatton, that I
am not a woman to be played with a little and then ca^t
aside like a child's doll. I have followed you here to make
you keep your troth."

Hatton looked at the ground and rubbed his hands help-
lessly together, but said nothing.

" You were very cute, weren't you," she added sneer-

ii:

THE BLISS OF THE WEALTHY.

36n

ingly, "to run away so quietly? But unfortunately for
you I knew your real name and occupation, and so I fol-
lowed you to England."

**But how on earth did you find me here?" faltered
Hatton, his curiosity sufficiently aroused to prompt him to
speak.

" Oh, you need not think that was so very difficult,
Mr. Ilatton. The directory is a very useful guide in a
man-hunt, and I knew that you were too fond of money
not to return to your old practice. There are many Julius
Hattons in England and many money-lenders, but, as it
happens, there are not many Julius Hattons among the
money-lenders. However, 1 have already visited two of
your name in that profession in different parts of the
country. In these 1 was mistaken, but now I have found
you."

"Whatever do you want with me?" asked HaHon with
a whine.

" I want you to fulfil your promise and marry me."

He groaned. " But I tell you 1 was crazy when I
asked you," he whined. " I hardly knew what I was
doing. I don't want to marry you."

Mrs. Bant's offended pride rose at these remarks.

" You don't want to marry me ! " she said ; " but I tell
you, Julius Hatton, you must marry me. Or if you refuse
to I will sue you for breach of promise ; I will expose your
doings in Canada and ruin your name and business forever."

"But I tell you it's no use," he said in sickly protest.
" We should never get along together, and it would do you
no good to expose me. As for breach of promise, I tell
you what I will do. If you will promise to say no more
about this matter and leave here quietly, I will give you
a thousand pounds."

" A thousand pounds ! " she echoed scornfully. And
then suddenly changing her tactics she repeated it in
a broken voice.

" A thousand pounds ! As if that scrap of paltry pelf
could atone for broken promises ! As if money could
soothe my blighted heart and ruined hopes ! As if — "

364

POLSON S PROBATION.

i,;

li't !

: !

At this point her feelings seemed to completely over-
come her, for she sank on an office stool and covering her
face with her hands began to sob aloud :

'* Oh, Julius ! How can yon — how can you be so heart-
less and cruel 1 To teach me to love you so and then to
desert me like this. Oh, dear, oh, dear ! I wish I were
dead and buried."

The rising tone of her lamentations alarmed Hatton,
who walked toward her and bending over her whispered
entreatingly :

" Hush, hush ! Be quiet or the clerks will hear you."

At the sound of his voice she ceased to sob and looked
up winningly into his face. The tears, by softening the
harshness of her expression, improved her beauty, and she
laid her hand tenderly on Hatton's arm as of old.

" Oh, Julius," she said softly, *' you did not mean it, did
you 1 I might have known you were only testing the
strength of my affection. You love me yet, don't you,
dear?"

And these tactics proved successful. With winsome
smiles and tender words she melted his stubborn v/ill, and
before their interview was ended he said :

" When you leave here go to your hotel, get your child
and what baggage you may need, and go to London, with-
out, if possible, allowing anyone to see your face. In
a week's time (during which I shall make known my inten-
tion of marrying a lady whom I met on my recent tour)
I shall follow you and we shall be married quietly by special
license ; and when the ceremony is over I shall bring you
back here as my wife." And so it was.

They live in a large house in the middle of the town,
surrounded by every luxury which cruelly accumulating
wealth can supply. Their horses prance along the
street like things of flesh and fire ; their emblazoned
carriages glitter in the sun ; their footmen in gorgeous
liveries sit behind ; and a coachman, gleaming with buttons
of brass, sits before. Their house is furnished with a
splendor cold from its very stateli uess ; their entertain-
ments are sumptuous and resplendent. What though the

i !

THE BLISS OF THE WEALTHY.

865

letely ovrr-
overing her

be 80 heart-
find then to
t^ish I were

ed Hatton,
r whispered

lear you."
► and looked
)ftening the
uty, and she
.Id.

mean it, did

testing the

, don't you,

ith winsome
)rn v/ill, and

your child

mdon, with-

face. In

m my inten-

ecent tour)

by special

bring you

of the town,
ccumulating
along the
emblazoned
in gorgeous
vith buttons
ihed with a
entertain-
though the

coins they handle are dampened with the life-blood of
wretched beings who toil to support this pomp 1 Are not
their glaring charities ostentatious and magnificent 1 And
so the poor duped world for a time will say, " What
happy people are these, and how good ! How much more
generous Mr. Hatton has become since he married that
beautiful lady ! and how fond they are of each other ! "

So thinks the shallow outer world, but let us prick
through the glowing rind of this Dead-sea fruit, and taste
of the bitter ashes within.

A man and woman nave been chained together by most
holy vows, but coldness has increased with knowledge, and
their former pledges of love have beaten back upoo their
hearts like flakes of snow, encrusting and isolating them
from each other. But their minds are active still. In his
is the eager desire to amass and hoard wealth, thwarted
and embittered by the woman's overmastering pride and
love of display. And in the spirit of the woman is locked
the sting of bitter disdain for him whom neither persuasion
nor reproach can raise above the sordid level in which his
nature is imbedded.

From this loveless union little chil&ren emanate in time.
They are fed on the richest viands, and clothed in gaudy
splendor, yet often when guests are absent they huddle
together in corners and out-of-way places and speak in
terrified whispers of " pa " and " ma " ; and many, many
bitter tears they shed. For it is in seasons when home
should be most hallowed by love and kindness that the
father casts aside his worldly mask and the sullen family
face appears, and then does the mother throw off the social
hood and the brow of frowning scorn is seen.

Even so with united hands and sundered hearts they
tread life's weary way ; for in them it is made manifest
that "The desire of the covetous is death: and by the
breath of their own nostrils the wicked are consumed."
And well have they realized with the wise king of old,
that " The treasure? of wickedness profit nothing ; and
that their gathering is but vanity tossed to and fro of them
that seek death."

360

POLSONS PKOBATION.

ir ■.(

|i ! I .J_

EPILOGUE.
And This is the End.

•

Imagination!

I can fancy many of my readers exercising theirs in
picturing the future lives of Fred Poison and his wife.

You, my masculine friend, see Fred prominent in the
world of politics or conmierce ; you see him as the wealthy
landlord of Laxton estate, with riches rolling at his feet ;
you see him served on every hand by servants coming
readily at his call ; you see the well-kept stable stocked
with the Knest steeds ; you see him foremost in the
hunt and a lion on the race-course ; you see him hob-
nobbing with the great, and far above the lowly — you see
him, in short, in that fool's paradise which lies beyond the
borders of toil.

And you, my reader of the gentler sex, what see you ?

A mansion most daintily and beautifully furnished ;
gorgeous silken raimT^nts and galaxies of mirrors reflect-
ing Mrs, Poison's beauty on every side. You see the gilded
carriage rolling up the gravel drive, and the obsequious
footman standing by the door ; you see the brilliantly-
lighted ball-room, where wealth and beauty dazzle the eye
and intoxicate the sense ; you see the rich banquet of
which flattering guests daintily partake, and you glory
over the charity which consigns its scraps to the poor ;
you see walls adorned with costly paintings, and niches
tilled with voluptuous sculpture, and you hear the notes of
piano and organ vibrating through the frescoed halls. All
that can dazzle the eye, enchant the ear, and ravish the
mind, you see; and some of these things, perhaps, are
theirs. But, my reader, such is not their reward.

Laxton Hall truly is theirs, and the banner of England
floats proudly on the breeze that blows over its pinnacled
turrets. The fair green fields, the blooming gardens and
the bosky woodlands are also theirs ; but here let us pause.

V ' ' >•

lip

i»

AND THIS IS THE END.

367

g thoirs in
is wife,
lent in the
the wealthy
at his feet ;
,nts coming
iV)le stocked
5at in the
5 him hob-
ly — you see
beyond the

b see you 1
I furnished ;
Tors reflect-
e the gilded
obsequious
brilliantly-
7,zle the eye
banquet of
you glory
o the poor ;
and niches
he notes of
halls. All
ravish the
erhaps, are
rd.

of England
pinnacled
ardens and
et us pause.

No pampered menials clad in gaudy livery trend those
spacious halls ; no sleek, well-groomed steeds snort through
idle hours in the roomy stalls ; no dainty-faced lady's-maid
trips down the oaken stairs, or coquets with the lily-
fingered page ; no apathetic lap-dogs rest on a mistress's
knee; no jealous mastiff warns the stranger from its doors.
Yet think not that the place is wholly desolate. Of
laborers there are plenty ; idlers there are none. The
flowers in the blossoming garden till the air with beauty
and sweet perfume. The lawns around it are soft and
green. The well-kept walks are level and dry. On all
sides everything is orderly and trim, and kept so from the
rental fund of the estate.

I do not say that all Fred Poison's plans for the improve-
ment of his people were entirely successful. He met with
many disappointments, as all true reformers must ; and, as
is ever the case, these failures were glazed over and magni-
fied by the scotters as further examples of philanthropic
folly. Yet he was not disheartened, for well he knew that
no man can attempt to wrestle with human obstinacy and
ignorance without some overthrow. Yet he did his best,
and his doings were not wholly without effect. The rhetoric
of a noble life and virtuous actions must always find its
hearers, nor can its teaching ever be wholly futile. The
charity which costs no self-denial may evoke a thankful
word, but the altar of self-sacriHce yet claims the truest
worshippers.
. And she who presides over this home -Wha*^ ">f her 1

See that plainiy-drcooed little woman wit the quiet,
expressive face. No golden bracelet clasps
pearly string surrounds her neck, no weight}
from her ears nor gaudy silks enwrap her for
clothed with a beauty these cannot give. Tl.f ornament of
a meek and loving spirit adorns her. I ''er eyes are
homes of silent prayer ; " the touch of her 1 auds is instinct
with soothing sweetness, and the soft tread of her feet
brings music into many a saddened heart. And when she
goes among the addicted ones whom she welcomes to her
home, the groans of anguish become faint, and murmuring

wrist, no
wels dangle
-yet is she

I' I

368

roLSONS PROBATION.

lips cease to complain, and a gentle smile reHts upon the
Buflferer's face when the meek glory of her eyefi falls on it.
Her life is very full, and happy (as it could only be) in its
fulness. With her own hands she toils among her asnist-
ants, disdaining not the meanest work — if any useful
labor may be called mean — and so learns to live in fellow-
ship and sympathy with those whom Providence has placed
beneath her. What though the home labor has wrinkled
her shapely hands ? Are they not fairer in the sight of
heaven for that 1 What though her brow will sometimes
ache, and her feet sometimes be weary? Does she not
possess that peace of heart which is the perfect rest 1 What
though at times she is called upon to wait upon her ser-
vants' wants ? Did not her Lord even so ? And surely for
all these things she better enjoys that pleasant evening
hour when her husband, sitting by her side, speaks to her
so softly as '* Wife," and little arms twine round her neck
and a sweet voice murmurs " Mother."

Much more I could say of the life of this man and woman,
buc let it suffice that you have seen them thus. Their
happinest* is not of the transient pleasures which wealth
oa,ii supply or ease can give, ut it consists in that peace of
mind which the world can neither give nor take away.
Their ease is the rest that can come only from toil ; their
plaudits are the silent prayers of grateful hearts ; their
coronet is the glory of good deeds which shines about
them ; ihAr songa of triumph are the harmonies of
hearts in perfect peace ; and these things tney have won by
their labors of love.

Aiad, my dear reader, believe me that if we, too, do this
we also shall dwell in peace below, and when these voices
are silent and these hands are still, better shall we be able
to meet the shining spirits who will greet us as equals and
friends when we pass through the gates of the Eternal City.

THE END.

Rts Upon the
8 falls on it.
[ily be) in its
ng her asnist-
t any useful
live in fellow-
ice has placed
lias wrinkled
the sight of
ill sometimes
^068 she not
b rest 1 What
jpon her ser-
.nd surely for
.sant evening
speaks to her
und her neck

1 and woman,
thus. Their
which wealth
that peace of
' take away.
>m toil ; their
hearts ; their
shines about
harmonies of
have won by

, too, do this
these voices
ill we be able
as equals and
Eternal City.