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Page 18. • \ ■ir :%; ^A ^"^im^-. »,.^ / BHTWIi ■ EAKllI AM) SkV ANI' ''tHER •.TK ANGl RU ^ OF I)^ ^JVKRANCK i ED^'v' ■ > ^\■i >j TH' --^-^^N t •„ .,^ fUrJAPKI-PMfl* ;e! ?v, V NMMKa V t <,^ < / * i\ \-ii I I'otween Earth and Sky. v ■ T»iop I dl!»'. Ss. i fallen. But he saw no stars. '^~ Oliver winked both eyes repeatedly. They were in no pain, though he had a splitting headache, and felt very ill. He lay wondering what had happened. A draught of cool air was about him ; he could hear the water rippling under the canoe, which swashed slightly as he movgd. It also grided curiously, and he judged that it was not moving with the current. ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES 25 ir M le His coat, with matches and a watch in the pockets, lay beneath his shoulders. To reach the matches he found he must rise and get the coat clear. As he sat up he felt more distinctly the cool draught. Then his head struck with a little force against a damp ceiling, and he quivered with horror as he instantly surmised what must have occurred during his faint. When he lighted a match, which was not blown out till he had glanced around, he saw that he had indeed drifted, while in a faint, into that round tunnel which opens on aie Charles. A hundred times he had seen over it the oig board placard : Danger ! Beware of Conduit. A hundred times he had shivered at the thought of nat would happen to any one exploring the conduit if caught by the rising tide. This conduit is not a sewer, but was built to discharge the occasional overflow of heavy rains from a distant reservoir. Oliver was in no danger of suflTocation by foul air. But he did not doubt that he was doomed to die there. The ceiling of the conduit is a few inches below the surface of the Charles at high tide. And already the water was so high that Oliver had not room to sit up straight in his canoe. The sharp bow had run against one side of the tim- bered tunnel and been held there, Oliver could not see by what. The stern had swung around and was pressed against the other side of the arch. 26 ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES So the canoe had been held diagonally ; for how long or short a time Oliver could not guess. As he tried to sit up the canoe shook, and went free, and drifted with the current. Though Oliver had to sit stooped, he could use his paddle, and did so for a few seconds before it came into his heat-stupefied brain that he was paddling with the insetting tide and therefore away from the Charles. With a strong effort of will he collected his thoughts. Perhaps he might as well try to get out one way as the other. So he thought, for he was not aware that the tunnel was miles long. He supposed that the inner end of it was in the Back Bay fens, not a quarter of a mile away. However, as he did not know whether the conduit's inner end was wholly submerged or not, his best chance seemed to be in paddling for the Charles. Therefore he faced around and tried to stem the current. It was difficult work for a sick man. He had to stoop to save his lead. He could not lift his paddle high enough to clear the water, but moved it forward, sub- merged, for each stroke. Every moment the little arc of air overhead was lessening with the rising tide. Oliver, perhaps because of the increasing pain of stooping, thought the flood came in with astonishing speed. The gradual lifting of the canoe forced his head igainst the ceiling, and the knuckles of his upper hand scraped against the boards, which seemed over- ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES 27 grown with some short weed and roughened by bar- nacles. After some minutes he found no more room for strokes that would move her against the current. Then he clutched desperately at the weeds and barnacles overhead, trying to check her drift backward. To give up and be drowned unresistingly never en- tered the mind of this American boy. Sick, fevered, weak, racked with pah, he would yet fight to the end. Hundreds of people were plainly within a few yards of him, for he could hear the frequent rumble of street- cars, and occasionally the more distant passage of Boston and Albany railway trains. Beacon Street, he supposed, was directly above his horrible prison. As Oliver vainly clutched at the conduit's lining, it occurred to him that he might paddle with his hands ; but when he tried this he found the canoe drifting quickly backward. Then he lay down on his back and thrust his knuckles upward against the ceiling. With this the pain of stooping went out of his shoulders and his desire to struggle became more in- tense. His knuckles slipped slowly ^long, scraped often and sorely by the barnacles. Soon he comprehended that he should have lain with his head toward the Charles, for he could not get any hold with the backs of his fingers. With difficulty he shifted about, touched the roof with his palms, and instantly perceived that he could 28 ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES now thrust the canoe forward. He placed one palm against the ceiling, pushed, reached forward the other palm, pushed again, and so went slowly against the current. Lying with ears close to the floor of the canoe, Oliver heard the gurgle so clearly that he supposed his speed considerable till he fell to estimating it. His reach was about two feet, and each push took about two seconds. But the narrowing and lowering arch often stopped the wobbling bow. At such times he swayed it back to the center by pressing both hands upward till the prow went clear. Considering all things, he reckoned he was gaining about ten yards a minute. The tide, rising at the rate of twenty inches an hour, would set the canoe's bow and stem hard against the ceiling within twenty minutes. Then he must resign himself. But in twenty minutes he might gain two hundred yards ! Though Oliver could see no light whatever, he cal- culated that the Charles could not b*^ two hundred yards distant. The Beacon Street cars, which he could now hear but faintly, ran within three hundred yards of the Crescent Club boathouse. If he had gained one hun- dred yards already, he conceived he might reach the river in the few minutes remaining. The thought of being drowned in that slimy hole in the dark was horrible. To sink and lie in the mud at ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES 29 the bottom — perhaps not to float out with the tide till thrust up at last against the ceiling in high water I To his sick fancy this fear gave death a new terror. He worked desperately, with a sense of growing weak- ness. When the water was so high that the front end of the canoe steadily scraped on the ceiling, Oliver wriggled forward to weight down the prow. He went too far, and the aft end began to scrape. Then he shifted back till both ends were barely free, and pushed with all his might. One, five, ten pushes — was the canoe about to stop? Yes — it was now caught at both ends ! He screamed with the anguish of defeat and doom. How could one silently meet death coming in such wise? There he was, prisoned, in absolute darkness, waiting for the tide to press up over the edges and drown him like a rat in a hole. Again he began struggling. He pushed against the ceiling in order to force the canoe deeper, and so gain rooiii for thrusting it onward. Thus he had made a little progress when it became clear that the canoe would soon upset. Between pushes, when it rose, it tilted. The high bow and stern were acting as levers to topple it over. Oliver put his right hand over the side into the run- ning water ; it was within two inches of coming over that side. He lifted his head and twisted it around in 30 ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES hope to see light from the entrance. Not a gleam ! With his motion the canoe lurched and the water poured over. Oliver vainly tried to right his craft. Too late I The next moment he rolled over into the current. Deliciously refreshing, the tide had run in from the sea. Down went Oliver ; up he came, under the canoe. But already the immersion had reheved him from the stupidity and headache of partial sunstroke. On touching the thwarts he knew what to do, dived against the current, and rose with swimming room above his head. "I've a chance yet. I can swim ! But how far have I to go ? " thought Oliver, and swam steadily on in the dark. At short intervals his hands touched the walls, for the arc was now barely wide enough to permit swimminti;. Before two minutes had passed he found his hair touch- ing the ceiling. Then he swam as deep as he could, keeping his chin in water. "Surely," thought he, "I can reach the Charles in five minutes. ' ' But three minutes had not gone when the back of his head was once more up against the weeds and shells of the ceiling. Now he fancied he saw faint light far ahead. But it had become impossible for him to keep his mouth above water. With a few more strokes his nose was pressed under. ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES 31 Oliver dived, swam under water, and came up with a sense that all was over. He could not clear his nose, nor dive again without taking breath. He kicked and plunged under the surface in despair, thinking, "My death-throes have begun !" ^^.^^ All over? No — he turned on his back, got his mouth and nose among the weeds and caught breath. Then he swam on his back with huge endeavor. He would not be drowned, he vowed, while an inch of air remained into which he might put his nose. It slipped through the weeds and scraped along the little shells. The terrible and brave struggle was almost finished. If he should take in water when gasping for air he must be choked. Then he would thrash around wildly for a few moments, sink limp, and drift in along the bottom — how far ? Oliver could see no light, for the entrance, if near, was behind him. But he knew he had turned a corner in the tunnel and he knew that corner was not far from the Charles. One more breath — then he turned over on his front and dived for the last time. Dived ! He went down to the bottom and crawled there. He crawled till he could crawl no more, and then he would not rise. Straight on he swam as he felt himself ascending. When the back of his desperate young head came up against the ceiling he still swam. He swam so well, in- deed, that he swam straight out of the conduit and 32 ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES came bursting and choking up outside the embank- ment. Most of this information I had from Oliver himself, that afternoon, who then looked as well as any young athlete can who has his nose covered with sticking plaster. "How good it was," said he, "to come up under the same old hot, glorious sun, and hear the thunder- ing of the dredges, and the clatter and clang of the cars, and know that I was alive and not dead ! I could hardly believe it. "What did I do? Why, I swam to the Crescent platform, walked down the river to our boathouse, and astonished the janitor with my scraped nose and no canoe. I didn't tell him my story for he wouldn't have believed it. I can hardly believe it myself. Indeed, ' ' said the young fellow, very solemnly, * * what saved me was just the mercy of God." Next day I met him on Tremont Street. "I've got my canoe and paddles," said he ; " they floated out at low tide. All I've lost Ms a coat and a valuable nickel-plated watch which any fellow can have who chooses to go into that hole after them. ' ' '^ SENATOR JIM'S FIRST POTLATCH JIM was an ugly baby — even his mother admitted it — and that too in a home where babies were annuals and uncommonly pretty. He was an ugly boy, and is now an ugly man. One who sees him for the first time thinks, ** How very ugly ! " and this im- pression is renewed at each meeting. Yet Jim, from his early youth, was admired by all who knew him well, and the admiration gradually ex- tended to many who never saw him, till now the people of more than one Canadian province are ready to cheer the mere mention, of Senator Jim Thatcher's name. Hundreds of people have vainly tried to explain why they admired Jim's looks, but none ever succeeded better than the clever old lady who said : •* Yes, he's ugly ; but he looks great and friendly." Now this "great and friendly" look of Senator Jim belonged to Jim the small boy, and was, I believe, a consequence of his early understanding that he was ugly. He must have recognized this when he was two or three years old, for his brothers and sisters began as early as that to address him quite affectionately as * * You ugly boy. " C 33 34 SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH This vexed Jim in no degree. He accepted his snub nose and wide mouth as cheerfully as his lack of a sing- ing voice ; it was not a loss to him, but something taken from the enjoyment of his friends, something for which he felt in honor bound to give compensation. "It's not very nice for you to have such an ugly boy, mother," said Jim, at an early age; "but it's very nice for me to belong to such a handsome family. Of course I'm going to do plenty of things to make it up to you." In this humor he worked with great versatility. By diligent practice he made himself an excellent elocu- tionist, because he couldn't learn to sing, and it would be a shame for him to contribute nothing to the family entertainments always going on in this cheerful house- hold. " I mean to be a satisfactory son to you, father," was Jim's reason for taking a basketful of school prizes. In running, swimming, rowing, jumping, riding, cricket, lacrosse, football, and what not, Jim was well to the fore by sheer dint of exertion, for he did not begin with an extraordinarily good physique. It must not be inferred that he was altogether a par- agon. It was Jim who, practising rifle shooting at fif- teen years old, shot off cleanly the curly tails of sundry, little pigs, and defended the proceeding on the ground that "every fellow should try to do something original." But that was long after his famous potlatch. Jim's good-humored struggle for name and fame . / SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH 35 made him a living energy, and it was this, and the big heart of the boy, that shone like a flame ift his face and drew admiration from people who wondered to find themselves giving it. Ugly Jim looked great and friendly. That was, indeed, the explanation. He must have been about eleven years old when public spirit began to stir in him and manifested itself in that open-handed proceeding with which his popu- larity began. Up to that time his desire to contribute to the enjoyment of his fellow-creatures had not been active beyond the circles of his home and school, though it is true that he had invented the * ' potlatch ' ' for himself before this time. You know, I presume, that the potlatch is an insti- tution among the Indian tribes of Puget Sound. The savage who aspires to high social standing saves up blankets and other desirable portables till he has a great store. Then he invites his tribe to a feast and gives away the accumulation. This potlatch, by means of which the Indians ambitiously beggar themselves, doubtless originated with some ancient chief who was moved by the craving for appreciation which has always marked our Jim. Jim's preliminary potlatches — we called them treats — were small affairs. At home and at school it became well understood that the ugly boy, when he came into the possession of a cent, did not squander it, like other fellows, on candy or marbles for himself, but added it /? 36 SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH to previously saved coin till he owned at least a dime, which he then expended in what his father used to call a ** blow-out" for the whole company. Jim sternly gave away his goodies to the last morsel, and would never have participated in his own feasts had not the more thoughtful of his companions insisted on his partaking of their portions. v ' It was a touching comedy to see Jim nobly waving away the proffered sweets, yet relaxing now and then from his grandeur to take a bite from the sugar stick of some one, commonly a little girl, who looked like crying at his successive refusals. Happily the pot- latches of his maturity have not left Jim destitute, for the bread he casts on the waters usually comes back buttered. It was a warm day in early September when Jim's Uncle Daniel, a great stump-speaker, billed for a po- litical meeting in our village, arrived at Jim's father's house. There the boys and girls looked forward with peculiar interest to his coming, for he had never failed to begin a visit by presenting each of the children with a dollar bill. Jim, on this occasion, stored away his money according to his habit. Even so large a sum could not be laid out on a treat till it was hoarded awhile and enlarged by sundry additions. While his brothers and sisters dispersed to spend the afternoon in extravagant pleasures, Jim, by way of delicate compliment to his Uncle Daniel, appeared at SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH 37 the public meeting. Posted in the fore-front, he had the luck to catch his uncle's eye. That eminent orator was fleshy and droughty ; the day was hot ; he was be- ginning to thirst ; his time for speaking was at hand ; and a pitcher of water for the speaker had been for- gotten. . "Jimmy, come here, my boy," said Uncle Daniel, leaning over the front of the platform. Jim went forward coolly, probably expecting to be called up higher, for he had a good opinion of the po- litical importance of a boy whose uncle had been billed for ten days past as * ' The celebrated hberal orator, the Honorable Daniel Thatcher," in letters a foot long on placards posted on every board fence and shed in our town. ** Jimmy," said his uncle, " go over to that refresh- ment stand and get me two bottles of pop and a tum- bler." He handed the ugly boy a fresh, crisp, ten- dollar bill. When Jim had elbowed his way back to the plat- form. Uncle Daniel's speech was begun, but the thirst was troubling him, and he saw his small messenger promptly. Stooping for the drinkables, he said, ** Good boy, Jimmy ! Keep that for a frolic, * * and, thrusting a five-dollar bill upon his nephew, he pushed the rest of the change into his own capacious pocket. ** Now," cried Uncle Daniel, waving the bottles with the comic air that made him such a favorite, "now I >^ 38 SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH can take a pop at Sir John's government." Amid the roar of laughter at this eminent joke Jim, forgetting his dignity in excitement, pushed his way back through the crowd. " Hurrah ! " he called to the boys on the outskirts. ** My uncle has given me a fiver ! " Then waving the bill, he ran home as fast as his legs would carry him, followed by half the boys of our town. "Tunder and blazes, fellers ! " roared Pud Latimer, who, though far removed from Jim's social circle, had often heard of Jim's potlatches. ** Tunder and blazes, what' 11 he do with it?" This problem occupied Jim himself all the rest of the afternoon, A weight was on his mind, and he locked himself up in his own room till tea time to ponder it thoroughly. Then his great resolve had taken shape. He had now six dollars and eight cents, a sum beyond his wildest dreams, and a grand feed for the whole youthful population was in his mind's eye. At tea he was, though not talkative, greater and more friendly than on any other occasion in his whole life. All the family were under the magnetism of his silent and controlled emotion. It was plain that he was think- ing of mighty affairs, and it would have been almost irreverence to intrude questions upon his meditation. "Edward," he said to his elder brother, as they rose from the meal, ** will you be so kind as to come down town with me ? " c*- SENATOR JIMS FIRST POTLATCH *' Certainly, James." Usually they called each other Ned and Jim, but the shadow of great events enforced formality. ** Ceilainly, James, I'll do any- thing you like." * ' Ned was Jim's senior by five years, but the sense of the ugly boy's greatness and wealth overtopped pride of age, aid put all Edward's affability at his brother's disposal. They soon entered the little shop under the sign, **Mary Meeks, Baker and Confectioner." * ' Miss Meeks, can you deliver me six dollars and eight cents' worth of molasses candy by three o'clock to-morrow afternoon ? ' ' asked Jim with dignity. * * Six dollars and eight cents' worth of molasses candy !" Miss Meeks almost shrieked. ** That is my order," replied Jim composedly. ** If you think you can't fill it why, then " "But it's such a tur'ble lot!" she interrupted. " Whatever are you going to do with all that taffy? " ** Well, I do not wish to seem rude. Miss Meeks, but I prefer to say nothing about that this evening. ' ' Jim' s deliberation in speaking was very impressive — he had wisely cultivated that manner. '•But, Mr. Edward," she turned to the elder brother, "it's such a monstrous lot ! We don't sell as much molasses candy as that in six months. Lemme see — why, it's near forty pounds ; for of course I'd make the price wholesale, (ioodness' sakes ! Forty pounds of taffy ! " h 40 SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH **Oh, I have nothing to do with it. My brother knows his own business. He's going to pay for it him- self, you know, ' ' said Edward. * * But perhaps you can't make so much by to-morrow ? " ** I must have it to-morrow, for to-morrow is Satur- day," said Jim. m . <{ **Oh, well, we'll make it all right enough, but I guess it'll keep us all pulling from now out. Oh, yes, we can make it, we'll be glad to make it." **Then please do so. Miss Meeks, and deliver it at our gate not later than three o'clock," said Jim, with grave politeness, replacing in his pocket the bills he had been carelesslj- handling. He had already changed the five for ones. The sum felt larger in this shape. No one who was not in or about Colonel Thatcher's front yard next day can imagine how great and friendly Jim was. **Pud Latimer," said he, climbing on top of the picket fence and smiling amiably at the assembly, * * are you sure that all your friends are here ? Haven't you forgotten any boys or girls that you know ? " " Naw, I hain't forgot none of 'em. They's all here, barrin* the widow Murphy's three childer that's sick, and Jan Olsen's one that's bedrid, and there's six more what couldn't come because they had to woik." Jim, on the morning of that eventful day, hafl com- missioned Pud to drum up all his acquaintances. Not ?^ ■f SENATOR JIM'S FIRST POTLATCH 41 all It's re's to )m- Tot '.i that there was need, for the news that Jimmy Thatcher was going to treat the village had spread far and wide. •' Lay aside half a tin for the absent and the sick," said Jim. "I'll carry it to them myself after this meeting. Now, Edward, let us have the pleasure of handing the taffy out to our friends. ' ' In the space between every second pair of pickets appeared the nose and eyes of a boy or girl." Jim's schoolmates were gathered outside, none but the children of the Thatcher family being admitted to the labors of distribution. Jim had thought of giving exclusive places on the lawn to our school. '* But we must be true to the great principles of liberalism," he finally remarked. It was a phrase caught from his Uncle Daniel's speech of the day before. The taffy, duly broken into fragments, was piled on the large square tin platters on which it had arrived, and sheltered from the sun in the summer-house nearest the fence. " Ladies and gentlemen," said Jim, again utilizing his uncle's speech, "it is with great pride and pleasure that I appear before you. I hiave long looked forward with eagerness to this occasion, and will always remem- ber this as the happiest moment of my life. We will now ask you to keep standing just as you are till those nearest the fence are served with some of our excellent Miss Meeks' excellent taffy — a gifted lady who does credit to our prosperous and energetic community." 42 SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH This was a sudden reminiscence of the "Bugle's" I'eading notice which accompanied Miss Meeks' latest advertisement. "Edward, Lucy, Richard, Elvira, Peter, George, Samuel," here Jim turned to his brothers and sisters, " I will now ask you to be good enough to assist me in entertaining our young friends." They were mostly years older than Jim, but none of them laughed ; his demeanor was too much that of a great functionary. ' • The order of proceedings that I will beg you to observe is this," said Jim, balancing himself steadily on top of the fence and crossing the forefingers of his two hands as he slowly uttered the words. " Let every lady and gentleman be true to themselves and their higher nature, and when they receive their taffy let them retire out to the other side of the street and give other ladies and gentlemen a chance at the confection- ery." ^, At this Colonel Thatcher, who with his wife had been watching their ugly boy's proceedings through the shutter of the nearest window, burst into a roar of laughter which was suddenly smothered, for Mrs. Thatcher placed her hand over the colonel's mouth. "Edwin," she exclaimed, "for goodness' sake don't let James hear you laughing at him ! He'd be so offended !" Jim's greatness had long before impressed his mother, and she stood in a delighted awe of him from that SENATOR JIM S FIRST I»OTLATCH 43 m*»;iiorable day. Fortunately he was too near the fence to have heard more than his fathe*-'*' short laugh. At that the ugly boy half turned to the window, bowing with a grand sweep of his hat. "My parents," said he, "ladies and gentlemen, are pleased to witness our little festivity." How he mustered up the large words and the experienced air that he exhibited that day has always puzzled me, but he certainly did rise mragnificently to the occasion. After that we distributed the taffy. The more or less dirty hands grabbed it eagerly through the pickets, but there was little tumult or variation from the order of proceedings. ' ' ■ , Jim gravely directed his assistants. "It's Abe Cor- nicle's turn now, Edward." " Now help Jenny Sin- clair, my dear Elvira." "A little more to Peter Wil- kins, please.' Everything went on with solemnity. The boy had imposed his authority on the entire assembly, and Uncle Daniel, when he heard of the affair, prophesied that Jim would make an excellent chairman. After all had been served, even to the third helping, Jim, while the outsiders licked their fingers and watched the Thatcher children through the pickets, apportioned the small remnant of the taffy to his assistants, stoically refusing to taste of it himself. This supernatural un- selfishness was too much for Pud Latimer. * * Look a here ! " he protested . ' * This ain' t no \ 44 SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH fair shake. This here taffy's taffy from Taffyville ! Say ! You ain't goin' to give every scrap away, Jim Thatcher?" Jim smiled benevolently but with firm refusal. It was hard, for he had a sweet tooth, but his refusal stood till Pud broke into a howl as the Thatcher children con- sumed the last morsels. "Look here! Say! I've had five helpin's — take some of this here ! ' ' Pud extracted from his trousers pocket a mass wrapped in newspaper, and thrust it through the pickets. At that Jim relaxed. '* If it's any pleasure to you. Pud," said he, and calmly took one bite from the portion of the raggedest boy of possible boys. "Thank you, very much. Pud," said he, with his mouth full, bowing and retiring. It was top sublime, and the crowd felt it. " Hooray for Jim Thatcher ! " they yelled. " Hooray ! hooray ! hooray ' ' ' and went cheering down the street to vaunt our ugly boy. "That potlatch," Senator Jim says himself, "was the beginning of my popularity. It seems to me I was always appreciated and always called Mr. Jim after that. And it's the only time I ever gave taffy to the multitude — I hope." A IN FULL FLOOD FRANK BURGESS, when I knew him first, was a handsome, wholesome, alert young civil engineer, loved by all who knew him. Was any man in the office sick or wanting a holiday, Frank did the absentee's work cheerfully. He would mend any child's toy on demand, and carry any workwoman's bundle, and giv6 his last quarter to relieve distress. Whether in work or play he was glad. Many men, when in unusually good spirits, are bores, but Frank never jarred on one's nerves. I have seen him on keen winter days, make a joy of every breath exhaled, "^ watching each little white cloud from his lips as though it were a novel toy. *■ And well I remember how, waked by exulting song- sters, I rose once to catch all the dim enchantments of a summer dawn, and found Frank, high up in an oak, whistling the merriest note of the morning. He changed sadly in after years. I do not know what was at the root of that change, for I had left Bran- dleton before it occurred. Some said that a taste for liquor had overmastered him. Others said that he was never the same man after his elder brother, Lewis, 45 '^ 46 IN FULL FLOOD began to court Mary Hradshaw. Lewis did not seem to know that Frank had seemed fond of Mary, and Frank ceasing his wooing when the intentions of his brother became town talk. Mary married the eldt?r brother within a year. After that Frank was often flushed with drink, and his gayety took a hollow ring. Now Lewis Burgess was a good man, pious, decorous, and stern. So it came about that he often took F'rank to task about his new ways, and in the end there was a complete rupture between the brothers, who had loved each other the more dearly because they had no other relatives in that countryside. One who overheard the final quarrel, if quarrel it could be called, told me that Lewis began by expostu- lation. "Can you not battle with the craving, Frank?" said he. " Resist the devil and he will flee from you." "It's not a craving, Lewis," said the younger. "How then?" " It gives me a light heart again sometimes, I think," said Frank. " But it gives me a heavy one," answered the other sadly ; * * and it will destroy you soon. Leave the ac- cursed thing ! I am determined that you shall. You must come and live with me. " " Impossible," exclaimed Frank. "Why ? There is plenty of room in our house, and I am sure Mary would be delighted. Now I think of it. II < 'I \ f' r IN FULL FLOOD 47 / you have never been to see us but once since we mar- ried." ^ ** I never shall go again," answered Frank in a tone that Lewis mistook for an offensive one. With that he became angry, thinking his brother was bent on a (juarrel, and said severe things, to which the young fellow made no answer. " 1 invite you once more," spoke the grave man, in conclusion, '* to become a member of my household, where Christian influences will help you to withstand the enemy. Consider well, and answer me to-morrow. If you refuse I shall understand that you have deliber- ately abandoned yourself to Satan and cast me off as a stranger. Yes, and a stranger I will be to you there- after." ** No, Lewis, don't say that! You cannot under- stand," answered Frank piteously. • But at that Lewis walked away, and Frank, giving a deep groan as his brother turned the corner, went straight to the nearest tavern. He was reeling drunk that afternoon for the first time in his life. He kept on drinking for a week, and from that through long years the brothers were never known to speak. Frank, going from bad to worse, lost his position, lost his character, lost all regard for himself, and when I returned to Brandleton at the end of eight years was the sot and jest of the town. The change in him 48 IN FULL FLOOD was shocking to behold, though he was still a handsome man and vigorous, for even liquor had not yet destroyed the beauty of those regular features, nor greatly wrecked the strength of that perfect and muscular frame. *' No, you must not shake hands with me," he said. ** Nobody does ; 'tisn't respectable. Go away. I'm be- yond helping. ' ' He would not look me in the eye, nor take the work I offered him in my own town. * * Too late, ' ' he said. * * I should do no better there. No, I can't tell you why. You could not understand it all. Nothing but the body of the man you knew is here — and the memory. The soul is gone and the spring broken. ' ' I was thirty-five then, hardened to the world, but when I left poor Frank I could almost have cried from pure sorrow. The Brandleton Town Council had telegraphed for me to come and advise concerning the strengthening of their new bridge against an unusually high spring flood. When I looked at the river it seemed a strange stream, m SO much greater was its volume than any I had ever seen between those banks, and so vast the mass of its driftwood. Too much of the waterway was occupied by the new piers which, placed too close together and acting like a dam, piled the river up between its high shores so that the flood, usually smooth, took a slight slope just before reaching the bridge, and sweeping be- neath it broke into foam on meeting the still reach be- IN FULL FLOOD 49 low. Half a mile up was an arable island of some four hundred acres, which I remembered as having bluff edges. Now it was but a few feet out of water. ** Why, there are buildings on it ! " said I, in sur- prise, to the mayor. "Yes, Lewis Burgess bought it some years ago," he replied; "and those are his barns and house. If the water rises much more, his property may suffer. ' ' * * Is he there now ? ' ' **Yes, with his wife and two children. His hired men live on the other side. Burgess thinks he is in no danger, and the water was never yet known to be over his island. ' ' Then the mayor went on to explain his belief that the bridge was safe, unless a boom some thirty miles above Brandleton should break, and letting its sawlogs go, jeopardize the structure by battering or forming a jam. To lose it would be a grave inconvenience to the in- habitants of the town, the site of which takes in land on both sides the Maskadeesis. I at once ordered the convenient distribution of a considerable quantity of timber, certain long spars, ropes, and other material owned by the corporation, and likely to be useful. The work was done before dark, and that night I was engaged till late in ponder- ing over the professional question. About midnight a telegram from Wales Landing, twenty-five miles up river, informed us that the North 50 IN FULL FLOOD Water was coming down, and the stream rising more rapidly than ever. Going out once more to look at the flood, I found many people on the bridge and its approaches, shivering as they listened to the gradually increasing roar. Below the piers the white roll of breakers, distinctly more heavy than those of the afternoon, could be seen by the moonlight. Using two locomotive headlights to scan the river's surface, I could make out no change in the character of the driftwood ; it still consisted mainly of bark, slabs, branches, cord-wood, small trunks, stumps, and such matter, of no important bat- tering power. From Lewis Burgess' house on the island came gleams of many lights ; it was clear that the family were not sleeping. No more was the town, for on both sides of that swift flood were hundreds of illuminated windows. • Going back to the hotel I halted by the open bar- room door, whence came a well-remembered voice in clear song. It was the voice of poor Frank, who was amusing a vile audience with what was to me a dread- ful simulation of his old-time gayety. Close to my ear next morning my landlord's voice shouted, "Wake up, sir! wake up! The boom's broke ! " J«nd shaken by the shoulder, I sprang from bed to floor. While hastily dressing I heard a strange roar, as of a steady, mighty wind, from the river. • r IN FULL FLOOD 51 Though the sun was not up when I reached the street, streams of people, some throwing on or buttoning their clothes as they ran, were making for the bridge. Both banks and many housetops were crowded with townsmen, all gazing intently toward Burgess Island. ''There's a jam forming at the head," said the mayor, when I reached him, " though the logs are not down there yet." Since midnight the Maskadeesis had become in- describably more formidable. Mingled with such small stuff as had then been running were now heavy masses of broken bridge and wharf timber, huge stumps and trunks of Q;reat trees, with tops and roots high out of water, wb looked as though the hurrying torrent had torn thei . .v^iently from its shores. One of these great trees, coming broadside against a pier, hung balanced ; its root, caught now by the force of the swift slope, bore downward ; while, bending, groaning, and dash- ing, the spreading top was pushed up against the current ; then the root floated higher, escaped the torrent's grip < somewhat, and, with fearful straining and gyrations was thrust up stream as the top swayed down. Lest a jam should form against this breakwater I sent . a man down the pier's face to cut the trunk. He had not struck a dozen strokes when the immense tree broke with a report like rifled cannon, and the ends released rushed over the swift slope each side of the pier. «^- 52 IN FULL FLOOD It was clear that wide and sudden inundation had occurred in the primeval forest whence the North Water came, for many of the largest trunks carried freight of wild beasts — foxes, wolves, lynxes, and bears. Perhaps the strangest thing seen on that tragic morning was the curious treadmill in which one of these bears worked. It was formed by a huge tree, which because the greatest weight of its roots was on the side opposite the greatest weight of its branches, rolled slowly back and forth as it came, with an ever-varying, eccentric motion, according to the nature of the current, so that the brown bear was compelled to crawl to and fro constantly, with many a stagger and many a dip. One wolf, cowering near a high root, was shot dead by a marksman ashore, and so much like murder seemed the killing of that defenseless, imprisoned felon of the woods, that a loud groan went up from the crowd, and thereafter the beasts were allowed to float on to whatever doom the flood might bear them. How they fared as they passed through the chutes be- tween the piers, no man could tell me afterward, for every eye was almost constantly directed upward to catch the first view of the coming logs. Burgess Island had now no shore line. Its position was marked by the buildings, by a huddled group of field animals, horses, cattle, and sheep, by the figure of a wading man passing from building to building, and by the calmness of the shallow over the island's area, 1 IN FULL FLOOD 53 around which the river raged in two rough branches. Above the island the water was obviously somewhat backed up, and I could perceive that trees and other drifting wood had gathered about the head, forming one of those unaccountable "jams" which often break away disastrously. This jam, rising with the water that it forced up, was now some feet above the river surface on the submerged island, and extended like wing dams on each side. Under the bridge piers the furious rush momentarily increased. Turning my attention to this, I looked no more toward the island till a sudden shout arose, *' The logs ! ' ' And there they came, the van of their array streaming loosely down the channels by the island. Climbing to the top of the truss, so that I could see far up river, its whole surface seemed covered with logs lying close together, as if massed for attack. While 1 gazed, the dam above Burgess Island par- tially broke away, and a sheet of water, leaving the floating stuff behind, hurried down upon the farm. It whirled away the unresisting sheep at a breath ; it soon swept down too, the struggling cattle and plunging horses. Then came the drift and logs like battering- rams against the distant barns, which, with a flying loose of boards and rafters, fell in, all silently to our ears, and were hurled toward the frame house. But the house rose with the stream which passed freely beneath its piled foundation. It came, well sup- 54 IN FULL FLOOD ported by its lower flooring, floating clear of the pursuing timber, and bringing up the rear of an immense mass of debris^ which was now being driven into closer forma- tion. The house swung slowly around, settling down for some minutes, then moved on toward the bridge, with the side presented to us, much tilted up. Soon a scuttle in the roof was flung up, and Lewis Burgess appearing, lifted out upon the shingles his wife and children. They clung together in attitudes of ex- treme terror, while a dog that had sprung out after them, ran back and forth from eaves to ridge, pausing at each edge as if about to leap, and again cowering back to resume his search for a safer venture. From the crowded banks and housetops of Brandleton went up a shout of horror as the family appeared, and many strong men ran wildly to and fro, as if in despair of finding help for the helpless. To reach them through the drifting masses was beyond possibility, and it looked as though nothing could be done but watch them drift to the death that inevitably awaited them, if the house, wedged in with groaning trees and shooting timber, should slide down madly between the piers and crash ' against the girders as it flew. A large group of men stood watching me after I de- scended, as though expecting directions for a rescue, and I, without an idea, could only look despairingly at the rapidly approaching house. Ready to be com- manded by any one with sense and meaning, their eyes \ IN FULL FLOOD 55 •> . / held me responsible for the proper use of their strength and good-will. . Even while I stood with that dismayed sense of being held accountable, a new sound rose above the din of the waters, and looking over the upper edge of the bridge, I saw that the bridge was threatened once more. An immense tree, a very thir^'^ .nd long pine, had lodged against the pier nea:^ the )rthern abutmen^ So close together was the drift now packed that this pine, caught midway, did not teeter with and against ^the stream, because, almost on the instant of its lodg- ment, it was submitted to the strain of a drive of smaller trees and bridge and wharf wreck, which, struggling to pass the big tree, were held back against the surface of the river. There was crunching and groaning in the restrained mass, upending of slabs and thrashing about of stumps ; the big pine bent, its huge branches were partly rent away, every instant I expected to hear the loud report of its crack and break. But still it held, and very soon the checked driftwood a short distance up stream was much wider than its base as formed by the straining pine. The jam so much dreaded by the town councilors of Brandleton was forming beneath our eyes with astonishing speed, and unless -it could be broken the bridge would cer- tainly go. All this had happened in the short space of time while I was hurrying an active man down the face of 56 IN FULL FLOOD I the pier to cut the lodged tree. Before he could strike, even while he was steadying himself for the first blow, a voice from my side interposed. * * Not a stroke ! ' ' shouted Frank Burgess, with a clear cry that was heard above all other sounds, and clambering, or rather tumbUng recklessly down the face of the pier, he laid hands on the axe, and tearing it from the gnisp of the astonished man, he turned to me. With his intense excitement almost every trace of his degradation had vanished from his face, and so natural, so confident, so imperative did he look that I uttered not a word of protest. '* Pray God that a jam may form ! " he shouted, re- turning hastily to the roadway. "It's the only chance to save them I ' ' and he waved his hand toward the ad- vancing house. It was drifting now, not more than two hundred and fifty yards distant, with the outer or southerly stream of timber and wreck that came pouring in two columns around the blocked mass. The family, still clinging together, had fallen to their knees as if in prayer, and still the white dog inquiringly looked down, cowered, shrank back, and so ran pite- ously from edge to edge of the roof. Then, as if by magic, a jam was completed between the northern abutment and the second pier, for an array of heavy trees on the outer edge of the packing timber I ; ■ n IN FULL FLOOD 57 had, by the pressure, become in a manner locked to- gether, and these, coming sidewise against the second pier, stopped, and, being swept in, were straightway firmly connected with the butt of the big pine. When this had occurred the jam, after extending its up-stream face, slowly swung northward and soon blocked the open space between the north abutment and the first pier. Every front stick was a keystick, as all will understand who have seen one of those astonishing sud- den formations that Northern lumbermen call timber- jams, structures so totally beyond human contrivance that their creation is always inexplicable, yet of frequent occurrence on swift and heavily timbered streams. The house was now nearly motionless in the surround- ing float-wood, which moved gradually down, packing ever more closely, the lighter stuff thrusting up, falling back, or hurrying under ; the ends of the various long timbers taking a direction across the current with the pressure of the logs, which soon, however, began to run swiftly round the south or outer edge of the jam with the gradually rising water. . n Now the house apparently became stationary, then moved forward again with the rearrangement of the pack, only to stop once more. Once, as it thus brought up against the drift in front, the white dog leaped from the roof, and successfully obtaining a footing, began to make his way, with frequent cowering halts, ashore. At that, Lewis Burgess, rising, scanned the drift as $8 IN FULL FLOOD if planning for a dtsi-ierate attempt, while his wife and children stood shuddering and clutching him. I could plainly see, though not hear, that they were shrieking, for now the house had come within less than a hundred yards of the bridge. Every moment I ex- pected to see it collapse, x>t whirl away with the jam which might at any instant rush on with speed more rapid than that of its formation ; or the north end of the bridge, now acting as a dam and forcing the river up, might be swept away, a danger so obvious that most of the spectators had run ashore. During these few minutes of breathless expectation, watching the house and the river intently, I was so ab- sorbed by the imminent tragedy that I had not cast another glance at Frank. Now a hoarse shout rose as if at once from all the people of Brandleton, who stood upon the river banks, the housetops, and the bridge. Looking around for its cause my eye fell on Frank Burgess. : - ' : ' In one hand he carried a hooked pulley-block, in the other a light line ; he was making his way from the bridge toward the house right over the drift ! Already he was twenty-five yards on his perilous journey. His scheme was clear at a glance ; the line he drew ran through a pulley lashed to the upper member of the bridge truss, and was well spliced into the end of a coil of new inch rope — all being part of the material I had sent upon the bridge the evening before. I drew \ IN FULL FLOOD 59 close to assist the brave fellows who stood ready to help out his desperate adventure. After that first loud shout of admiration not a sound except the groan and yell of the river was heard as he struggled on his fearful way, knowing that a move- ment of the float-wood might sink him, or a sudden rush of the whole jam smash him in an instant out of the semblance of humanity. What a path ! From tree to timber, from timber to wreckage, often making little detours, now rising on a swaying root, now cautiously descending, he went, trailing the light line, sometimes stopping and looking back to shake it straight that it might not become en- tangled. -^ ' Once a tree, as he walked along it, turned, but he deftly kept his foothold and continued to use it for his journey. Sometimes all about him drifted down a little, and he with it, coolly hauling in slack, watchful of all. About three quarters of the journey was done when he paused, paused long, looking around as the dog had looked around on his passage ashore — seeking a way of safety, the poor hero, cautious because he carried those other lives in his hand ! While he halted I looked once more to the family on the roof. Lewis Burgess, face half averted, hands wrung together tightly at his chin as though in a mighty strife of prayer, stood gazing at his brother with a quite indescribable attitude of anguish, pity, and hope. His 6o IN FULL FLOOD wife, now again on her knees, the unheeded children clinging about her, stared upon the advancing rescuer, both hands pressed to her ears, as though rigid with fear to hear the last cry of one dearly loved. Frank paused and went aside, returned as if balked, tried the other direction, retraced his steps again, and then, with a gesture of agony, looked up at those whom he was attempting to save. Lewis Burgess, gazing at his brother, shook his head as if in despair, and motioned as one might in saying, ' ' Go back, it is impossible ! ' ' The next moment Frank, after drawing in slack and laying it at his feet, plunged straight forward. Down ! Yes, but up once more ! Again down — no, not gone — half sunken only ! Up again ! and now he threw himself forward on the windrovr of edged-up slabs, till, scrambling, plunging, and with i^ighty effort, hf; gained the tree above that treacherous surface. Now again arose that astounding shout above the roar of the torrent which drove through the piers on the south shore. Poor old Frank ! the applause of his fellow-townsmen must have been very sweet to him, so long an outcast, for as he struggled on he raised the hand with the line to his head, and taking off his dilap- idated old hat raised and waved it with a delighted ges- ture in response. . In a few moments more he stood by the house look- ing upward. We could understand what he called to IN FULL FLOOD 6l his brother, for the family descended through the scuttle again. Lewis, appearing at an upper window, caught the line as it was thrown, and after hauling in its whole light length began to pull the rope over the bridge. Frank, climbing up on a plank, while again the mighty shout arose, got through a window. Knocking a hole through the side wall he then tied the main rope firmly to a heavy, upright timber of the old-fashioned frame, first running it through the pulley-block, to which he fastened the middle of the light line. In five minutes Mrs. Burgess and the children, drawn to the bridge in a blanket suspended froni the pulley-hook, exactly as shipwrecked passengers are often rescued, were received by glad arms. While we were hauling these helpless ones in, Frank and Lewis stood at the window hand-in-hand. Then, after hauling back the blanket, Lewis, who was a heavy man, came to the now sorely tried bridge, Frank having insisted that he should go first. Then the hero began to draw in the line for his own salvation. You can conceive how the people watched him, sick- hearted with fear lest the bridge should give way and release the now terrific jam — you can conceive i.ov, they yearned and prayed ! Well, their prayers were not disappointed. He was saved, saved from the river, saved from worse than the river, for that day he was rescued from himself and his past. ^ 62 IN FULL FLOOD Lewis, receiving him as he landed, literally fell upon his brother's neck and wept. Afterward we carried them both ashore, shoulder-high, among the thronging, cheering, and weeping people — just in time too, for within five minutes the piers gave way, and driftwood, bridge, house, and all, "battlement and plank and pier, went whirling to the sea." What became of Frank ? Why, he is happily mar- ried, has four pretty children, is mayor of Brandleton and chief engineer of the Cuniake and Brandleton Rail- way. If you go to his flourishing town you may dis- cover that this story is in po way exaggerated, though they may tell it to you with different names. =v|. # / Vni A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG ^^ COPAGONG MILL was short of hands, and no one knew it bet- ter than John Bar- clay, for two mens' work fell to him. *' And why not?" said Pierre Dubois, the head foreman. "You're as big as two men, and why not do two mens' work ? ' ' ^ 64 A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG * * Give me two mens' pay, then ! ' ' said John. "Who's gettin' bigger pay 'n what you're gettin' ? Bagosh, no ! A man's got a right to hump hisse'f for the Concern where he's well used. It's only for a week, anyhow." Especially by the "bagosh," Pierre betrayed his nationality as French-Canadian, and none but Cana- dians can quite understand how this galled John, who was tyler or doorkeeper of the Copagong Orange Lodge. John had been for two days taking three-inch planks from the circular saw, often a job for three men, and always previously for two. All the mill hands that could be spared from the saws were out on the piling- ground shipping stuff to meet the clamorous demands of a new railway ; but it was not the tax on his huge strength that vexed John. ** Was there ever a lazy bone in me body? " he in- dignantly asked his wife on the second evening. * * Who could say that, John ? ' * she replied proudly. " I dar' them ! " rumbled John. ** No, it's the in- justice of it. And no thanks in the Pea-soup that's set foreman over us ! Well, let him see where' s the one man will handle his planks in the morning." **Ah, now, John, don't do that ! Sure, the press will be soon over, and your job easy to the stren't' of you again." The little round woman tried to put her hands up to w A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG 65 his face to soothe him, but he lifted her up and aside, and set her on top of a high chest of drawers, all quite without violence ; then went tramping away up the saw- dust road that leads to ' Dolph Bergeron's tavern, * ' The Lumberman's Rest." John set his big feet down so heavily it was plain he intended a monstrous spree. His wife and son, a yellow-headed, brawny youth of sixteen years, shut themselves in and sat together, silent as if there were death in the house, while all the neigh- bors drifted to the cabins nearest the tavern. There the women stayed, but the men went on to see " the holy terror" — that was the only expression which they thought adequate to big John on the spree. A son of his employer, a youth who had been reading Norse literature, once described John on a spree as **a drunken Berserker," and I suppose you all know that the Berserkers were uncommonly strong, eccentric, and destructive Vikings. When John left Bergeron's place at eleven o'clock that night he left it a wreck. He had smashed the big box-stove with one downward blow from the side of his fist ; he had kicked the bar counter almost into kindling wood ; he had pitched Bergeron head first up twelve feet into the open door of his own haymow ; he had ended by lifting a barrel of whisky to drink out of the bung, and then throwing it through a partition. Then, perfectly senseless, but quite steady on his legs, John allowed himself to be guided to his home, and all i 66 A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG Copagong, except John's wife, went to sleep till the mill whistle screamed before daylight. At half-past ten o'clock next day John awoke to con- sciousness that he had been crazy, and to wonder what he had done the night before. Perhaps he had struck some man and killed him. John always had that fear after a spree, though his disposition when drunk was merely to break things and throw people around as a sort of huge joke if they interfered with his herculean sportiveness. He could not remember any of his pro- ceedings after the diluted high wines had fairly gotten into his head, through which the thundering chug-chug of the gangsaws and the fierce whirring of the circulars now drove knifelike pain, for his cabin was on the hill edge nearest the mill. He lay still, sick with shame which he would not con- fess to any other soul. ** No ; he would let 'em all un- derstand he had done just right. He had shown that Pea-soup foreman! He'd 'learn' the Concern not to impose on a man. He'd show 'em that if the gang was short-handed before, it would be shorter-handed with John Barclay laid off. Hadn' t he a right to do just what he pleased? Let'em give him the sack if they dast ; but he knew well they dassent ; they was too short-handed ; he was too good a man ! ' ' Moreover, he reckoned, and felt cowardly at the bottom of his heart to reckon so, that he would get full benefit of the indulgence shown to drunkenness A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG 67 I in that rude lumbering country. Bosses regarded it as a thing to be expected, like floods or forest fires, and quite as incalculable an element in their operations. In the short intervals of silence between the thump- ing gangsaws and the shrieking circulars John could hear his little wife moving around in the other room. He knew she would not give him one cross word, no matter what he had done, and that was what made him so afraid to get up and face her. She would just look at him kindly, and he would see she had been crying in the night. Now she would be trying to smile cheer- fully, and that always made him feel so mean. But, all the same, he'd go up to Bergeron's again, right off after breakfast, and he'd bet that a big bunch of men would knock off and join him at noon. Then the gang would be still "short-handeder" — oh, he'd show the Concern if they could put a "Pea-soup" foreman on top of loyal Orangemen ! John was horribly thirsty ; but he was still too much afraid of his little wife's wan smile to get up, or call for water. There he lay, listening in torture and obstinate Berserker rage, which he tried to direct at the foreman, though really wholly so disgusted with himself that he could not express and dared not acknowledge, the feel- ing — that feeling which might drive him, as it often drove the old Norse Berserkers, to defiant physical vio- lence, lest they should be laughed at instead of feared after they had fuddled themselves on mead. 68 A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG Sometimes John could hear the dull movement, the muffled, crackling sound of refuse slabs and scantling on their way to the great iron waste-burner that towers a hundred feet above Copagong Mill. This refuse travels in a wide wooden trough set on an inclined plane ; it is drawn upward through the trough by an endless chain of flattened links, from some of which short iron uprights stand to force the waste along. That opening by which the refuse enters the stack is some thirty feet above the fire, which, fed continually by fresh material, crackles in a great circular chamber perhaps forty feet wide. As John thought of the tophet usually there, he asked himself whom had Pierre Dubois put to tending the wgste-burner to-day ? That set John to thinking of his own son, Billy. There must have been a redistribution of work on account of himself being off. Now he had previously refused to let Billy tend the waste-burner. John had heard of two being drawn into such furnaces. Stepping into the trough to disentangle a jam of the waste stufiF, they had somehow got their feet caught in the endless chain. That Pea-soup foreman had wished Billy to keep on at the job. Perhaps he had put him back at it to-day in rearranging the force ! If so — John did not formu- late what he would do to the foreman, but certainly something dreadful. Now he had something to get up for. So he lifted his big bulk as noiselessly as he could and put on his I A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG 69 I boots, of which his wife and Billy had relieved him. He knew his wife could hear him, for his ears told him she had suddenly put the frying-pan on the stove to cook his breakfast. John resolved to wait till breakfast was ready, for, thirsty as he was, he did not wish to be under his wife's kind eye one moment longer than he must. He sat on the side of the bed till he heard her pouring hot water upon the tea leaves in the tin pot. With that he rose, opened the door, and didn't meet her eyes. ** Where's Billy? " he asked gruffly. . "Tending the waste-burner, John." ''He is, is he? I'll " "Oh, John dear, don't do anything hasty ! It had to be fixed that way. Johnny Larocque was took ofif the tendin' because he' s used to the sawin' , and could help to take your place — there's three at your job to-day. Billy knows how to tend the burner, and so " John drank a dipperful of cold water, and then strode to the door. He could plainly see Billy on the platform at the edge of the great trough, with an iron-shod pole in hand, watching the humps and masses of refuse wood that traveled past him and up and into the opening, whence they disappeared and fell to the tophet below which sent up a long banner of smoke to the breeze above Copagong Mill. The waste-burner was nearer John than Billy was, and the mill was beyond the boy, who was too intent