BUTTON S INN. 
 
// might be only on enchanted ground ; 
 
 It might be merely by a thought s expansion; 
 
 But in the spirit, or the flesh, I found 
 
 An old deserted mansion. 
 
 HOOD. 
 
BUTTON S INN. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALBION W. TOURGEE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A FOOL S ERRAND," " HOT PLOWSHARES," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1887. 
 
Copyright, 1886, 
 BY W. H. BUSBEY. 
 
 Copyright, 1887, 
 BY E. K. TOURGEE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IN this volume only the name and situation of 
 the original BUTTON S INN have been retained. 
 The traditions of descent and nomenclature are partly 
 borrowed and partly fanciful. Whether the Basse a 
 loin at which the French explorer was commanded to 
 land his forces was the site of Barcelona, and whether 
 that name was derived therefrom, is not now ascer- 
 tainable. The real tragedy of Button s Inn was quite 
 unlike the one herein attributed to it, and the ghost 
 which it was said once haunted its ruins is no doubt 
 quite as imaginary a creature as the one I have chosen 
 to delineate. 
 
 The good people to whom the supersedure of the 
 ancient highway brought misfortune were not in any 
 way connected with the establishment of the new reli 
 gion, so far as I know ; but the life of thjs repnorL in 
 which the story is located, ^iir? "? **"* litpr ypir- nf t^p 
 Inn, was precisely that from which Mormonism sprang. 
 Two of its early leaders one an Apostle went from 
 this county. Tradition imputes to one of them suspi 
 cion of a mysterious crime. The self-accusing impulse 
 
 913968 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 attributed to the Apostle is borrowed from the judicial 
 annals of another State, and is a curious incident of the 
 early history of "the New Dispensation." 
 
 Without regard to what Mormonism now is, I have 
 endeavored to depict it as it was then regardedjboth. 
 by those who came in contact with it and the " Saints " 
 themselves. It was a curious product of a strange 
 religious and intellectual development. As a child I 
 have a vivid recollection of the Temple at Kirtland, 
 Ohio, before it was dismantled. The accounts which 
 are accessible of the manner and appearance of the 
 Prophet Josjeph Smith are singularly conflicting. I 
 have followed one given by an eye-witness, from whose 
 narrative the scene in the Temple is chiefly drawn. 
 There is no doubt that there was a certain Oriental 
 warmth of fancy about the founder of the Mormon 
 faith which was entirely lacking in the bleak, frigid, 
 matter-of-fact nature of his successor. The ceremo 
 nials, which according to report were at the outset 
 impressive and poetical in character, so far as they are 
 revealed to the eyes of the Gentile are now barren 
 and unimpressive to the very verge of the ludicrous ; 
 there is reason to believe that the secret rites of the 
 Endowment House are about equally horrible and 
 grotesque. Brigham Young was no doubt a much 
 greater man than Joseph Sfmith : but the latter was un 
 questionably a poet, as every founder of a new faith 
 must be, while his successor was utterly devoid of 
 
PREFACE, Vll 
 
 imaginative power. The whole movement was purely 
 American in character, the American orientalized by 
 Christian tradition. Almost all ks early membership 
 was drawn from western New York, northern Ohio, and 
 Vermont, from which latter State have come the ma 
 jority of its leaders. This fact is no doubt the primary 
 cause of the attention of the senator from that State 
 being specially directed to the evils arising from this 
 peculiar religious fantasy. In 1836 Smith declared that 
 there were less than fifty foreigners in the sect, while one 
 who travelled with the main body on its famous Western 
 march, after the fall of Nauvoo, said : " To pass along 
 the line of wagons, listen to the conversation, and hear 
 the hymns and prayers of the emigrants, one would 
 think he had fallen in with a caravan of New England 
 crusaders crossing the desert on their way to conquer 
 the Holy Sepulchre from the Infidels." 
 
 Intimate association with one of thfi parly rh sriplp^ 
 and the acquaintance of some very intelligent believers 
 in this curious faith have given me a strong interest in 
 its origin and the philosophy of its evolution from the 
 religious life of that day. This evolution I have sought 
 
 It was long an agricultural problem perhaps it 
 still is with some few tillers of the soil whether 
 cheat or chess came from deteriorated wheat or not. 
 One thing was accounted certain, chess grew only 
 where wheat had been sown. Whether Mormonism 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 is the chess of the religious life of the first half of 
 the present century or not, it is certain that faith in 
 Moroni s revelations sprang up in the shadow of a 
 peculiar Christian idealism, which especially abounded 
 in the region where the story is laid, giving to different 
 lives a varying color, according to the nature of each. 
 The elder characters herein portrayed are contrasted 
 types of the life which was largely shaped by this influ 
 ence ; Dewstowe, Ozro, and Dotty,_of that resulting 
 life in which material interests have subordinated and 
 in great measure superseded religious sper.nlatirm. 
 My purpose has been faithfully to depict the life which 
 marked the period in which these epochs met and 
 overlapped, when the one was setting and the other 
 rising in our Western world. The episode of the pin- 
 making machine has been regarded as fanciful, but a 
 well known family in this region long treasured the 
 model herein described as a relic of the inventive 
 genius of one of its most gifted members. 
 
 A. W. T. 
 
 MAYVILLE, N. Y., 
 
 June 28, 1887 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD" .... i 
 
 A FAIR YOUNG MISTRESS 18 
 
 A REGULAR BOARDER 29 
 
 A VACANT CHAMBER 57 
 
 ONCE FOR ALL 7 
 
 A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD 91 
 
 A COMMERCIAL VIEW nS 
 
 A MODERN EPHESUS 14 
 
 A "SENSIBLE AND TRUE AVOUCH " 165 
 
 " ASHES TO ASHES" i?7 
 
 ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY 200 
 
 THE BENISON OF PEACE 212 
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 233 
 
 A MISSION OF MERCY 257 
 
 BLOTTED OUT 265 
 
 A SUDDEN START 2 74 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 YESTERDAY S WOE 287 
 
 FULFILLING LOVE S COMMANDMENT 305 
 
 THE SHADOW OF CRIME 315 
 
 IN THE NEW JERUSALEM 335 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET 345 
 
 UNEXPECTED RESULTS 357 
 
 A FUTILE QUEST 365 
 
 AWAKENED JUSTICE 375 
 
 PARTITION AND PARTNERSHIP 386 
 
 SAINTS AND SINNERS 394 
 
 SOUL SCOT 402 
 
 A WEAVER S KNOT 410 
 
 THE WORLD S MUTATION 415 
 
BUTTON S INN. 
 
 "A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." 
 
 TT)UTTON S INN stood, let me not say 
 -L^ stands, since all that the name imports 
 has disappeared, and the wayfarer now can 
 scarcely trace the footprints of its departed 
 glory, Button s Inn, while it was yet an inn, 
 stood on a little shelf in the line of verdant 
 hills that stretches along the southern shore of 
 one of our great lakes. Three miles away, and 
 five hundred feet below its mudsill, was the 
 harbor to which the road led that ran by its 
 door. Winding along the slope in search of 
 easy grades, the highway nearly doubled the 
 distance before it crept down the last gentle de 
 clivity and spread itself out upon the white shell- 
 laden sands of the beach. Back of it rose a soft 
 green hillside, moulded into harmonious curves 
 by the wave-action of ages when "the waters 
 i 
 
INN. 
 
 f: ?e. t e arth." At its very 
 crest the hill was cloven by a yawning gorge, 
 whose sides fell sheerly down to the level of a 
 dashing stream that sped along its slippery bed 
 a hundred feet below. Here ran one branch of 
 an impetuous rivulet, that rising half a score of 
 miles from the lake fought its way with devious 
 windings through a thousand feet of hindering 
 shale, down to the level of the sparkling lake. 
 From source to mouth there was hardly a hun 
 dred yards of quiet water. It had cut the slaty 
 layers smoothly off, so that the riven ends made 
 a sheer wall, falling sharply to the water s edge 
 on either side, and shutting out the sun 
 shine save at midday, until it shot laughingly 
 out from its prisoning banks, sparkled and gur 
 gled for an instant over rounded stones, with 
 the shelving beach-sands crumbling into it, and 
 then lost itself in the blue bosom of the lake. 
 
 Innumerable springs oozed through the sev 
 ered laminae and trickled down the shelving sides, 
 wearing sharp furrows in the crumbling rock in 
 which the silvery rills were oft half-hidden by 
 the hemlocks and beeches whose moss-clad roots 
 found precarious hold upon the narrow ledges, 
 while the ferns grew rank upon the dripping 
 sides. For miles the stream rushed silent and 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD: 3 
 
 swift between its shadowing walls, inaccessible 
 to human foot, save here and there where an 
 impetuous tributary had cut a difficult path to 
 the bottom of the canon. 
 
 Almost noiselessly the little stream swept over 
 its slippery bed, murmuring gently as it shot 
 down some self-made flume into a deeper pool 
 evenly hollowed in the soft smooth rock, sped 
 quickly round and round a few times, and then 
 glided swiftly on over the shallow ripple be 
 low. In these pools the water had a greenish 
 tinge when the sunshine touched it, as if it had 
 caught an emerald tint from the tender over 
 hanging verdure. It must have suited admira 
 bly the complexions of the wood-nymphs who 
 no doubt once sported in these secluded dells. 
 Here and there where the shelving soil had 
 been heaped against the side of the cliff and 
 the restless stream had ceased to undermine it 
 the hemlocks grew dark and high, so that their 
 topmost branches showed sometimes above the 
 level of the banks. Even yet there are few more 
 romantic scenes, cosier nooks, or wilder bits than 
 are found in this rugged glen that stretches 
 back into the heart of the Chautauqua hills, 
 with the emerald-tinted stream speeding swiftly 
 and fiercely, yet almost noiselessly, along the 
 
4 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 smooth but sinuous channel its restless waters 
 have so deftly carved in the soft, gray, slippery 
 shale. Heaven grant that the foot of the de- 
 spoiler may be long delayed, and that the trout 
 which hide in its cool waters may long continue 
 too wary and too few to tempt the pot hunter to 
 the unprofitable task of their extermination ! 
 
 The harbor was a little bay, hardly more than 
 a wavy indentation of the shore-line, forming 
 an insecure roadstead, in which the modest craft 
 of that day hid charily from the fierce north 
 westers that visit the coast, behind a low sandy 
 bar that jutted out into the lake just east of 
 where the furious little torrent fought its cease 
 less battle for the right of way into the blue 
 depths: The bar was formed of the detritus 
 which the stream brought down, the result of its 
 erosive conflict with the friable rock that lined 
 its course down the steep hillside. In the palmy 
 days of the port this protecting shoal was sup 
 plemented by a rude pier ; and on the edge of 
 the cliff, precisely where a perpendicular let fall 
 from its outer tip would cut the shore-line, stood 
 a well-built tower, bearing a light by no means 
 despicable in its day, and well enough placed 
 for craft beating up the lake with an off-shore 
 breeze. 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." 5 
 
 The hardy Voyageurs the pioneers of all 
 that lies west of the basin of the Hudson and 
 the crest of the Alleghanies who first discov 
 ered this curious breakwater named the harbor 
 Basse a Loin, the " long bar." The English, 
 when they came into possession of the region, 
 with characteristic ruthlessness made haste to 
 corrupt this significant phrase into Barcelon, 
 and this, in turn, was transformed into Barce 
 lona ; which classic name may still be found on 
 hydrographic charts of that coast, though pier 
 and beacon have long since disappeared, and 
 the fisherman now hangs his nets to dry where 
 dock and warehouse stood. 
 
 A half-mile in front of the Inn and a hundred 
 feet below it ran a line of hemlock crests, show 
 ing dark over the intervening meadows, which 
 marked the course of another branch of the 
 stream that built the harbor bar, only less tu 
 multuous than its ally. Sweeping around the 
 hill to the westward, it joined the other a mile 
 or better before their united waters fell into the 
 lake. Along the course of this impetuous trib 
 utary the Acadian Voyageurs established a short 
 but difficult portage across the sharp divide 
 which separates the northward from the south 
 ward flowing waters of the continent. Though 
 
6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 the headwaters of the Ohio were hardly half-a- 
 dozen miles away, the crest to be surmounted 
 rose more than a thousand feet in height, and 
 the sharp precipitous canon made the carry es 
 pecially tedious. The path did not always fol 
 low the course of the stream, for the Voyageur s 
 eye was as keen as the deer s instinct for the 
 easiest grades and the shortest routes. So it 
 happened that just opposite where the Inn stood 
 the portage left the bed of the stream, crept up 
 the bank and skirted the edge of the canon till 
 it struck a southward trending branch that led 
 to the lowest notch in the range of hills, through 
 which an easy trail ran down to the little lake 
 on which they launched their batteaux and be 
 gan their journeys to the steaming Gulf. Sci 
 ence, after hunting vainly for an easier way 
 across the stubborn ridge, has been compelled 
 to fall back on this, and the iron horse follows 
 reluctantly the trapper s trail. 
 
 The little plateau on which the Inn stood was 
 a sightly eminence, commanding in fair weather 
 a view of the shore-line for half a score of miles 
 in either direction from the little harbor where 
 the white masts of the trading schooners showed 
 plain above the intervening woodland. The 
 light from its windows, it was said, was visible 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." J 
 
 upon the lake even beyond the range of the 
 lighthouse beacon. The Inn itself was a ram 
 bling structure, that had grown up according to 
 the owner s need or whim around the two-story 
 lo"-house L Honnete Boutonne had built before 
 
 O 
 
 the portage was abandoned for the longer carry 
 but shorter route by Presque Isle and Le Bceuf. 
 It was intended at first to serve both as fort and 
 residence, its upper story overlapping the lower 
 so as to prevent assault ; for the hardy Voyageur 
 was the pioneer settler, even of his adventurous 
 people, along the route La Salle had discovered 
 to the Mississippi. How he came to choose this 
 isolation instead of accompanying the band of 
 traders who made this their highway in their 
 annual incursions to the rich fur-yielding region 
 lying to the southward, it is impossible to say. 
 Whether he was a deserter from the force under 
 Celoron, who preferred remaining in what must 
 then have been a genuine hunter s paradise, to 
 the difficult and dangerous service of mapping 
 out and marking the boundaries of His Most 
 Catholic Majesty s possessions in the regions 
 occupied by the Iroquois and the Miamies, 
 or one of the two hundred stout axemen, who 
 under the command of the enterprising Hugues 
 Pean are said, four years later, to have cut a 
 
8 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 wagon-road from Lake Erie to Lake Chautanqna 
 along the line of the old portage, in four days. 
 This fact shows that the carry must have been 
 used much more by the trappers of New France 
 during the seventy years succeeding La Salle s 
 discovery than is generally supposed, for to have 
 cut a wagon-road along the old portage route 
 from lake to lake through a virgin forest, in four 
 days, would have required the services, not of 
 two hundred, but of at least a thousand axemen. 
 It is probable that there was already a well-cut 
 trail when Hugues Pean undertook the work he 
 performed with such expedition, and with very 
 little relish, in obedience to the imperative order 
 of an absent superior. 
 
 Indeed, it is quite possible that L Honnete 
 Boutonne, instead of being a deserter from any 
 organized company of explorers, was simply one 
 of those adventurous Canadians who, yielding 
 to the fascinations of a life in the wilderness, 
 settled wherever their fancy dictated, became the 
 friends and very often the kinsmen of the In 
 dians, renouncing all wants beyond those of the 
 savage, and abandoning all thought of a return 
 to civilization. Why he chose this particular 
 location is perhaps still more difficult to decide. 
 It may be that he had some special reason for 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." 9 
 
 desiring to live convenient to the portage and 
 yet be hidden from the passer-by, as his rude 
 dwelling must have been when the hemlocks 
 grew thick and dark in the ravines between the 
 trail and the chestnut-crowned ridge on which 
 he built. Perhaps the very sightliness and beauty 
 of the situation attracted him, as well it might ; 
 since from its threshold he could witness the ap 
 proach of any expedition intending to cross the 
 portage, or note the smoke of the camp-fire of 
 any trapper coming to share the abundance of 
 his unbounded domain. It is not impossible 
 that the ease of access to the impassable gorge 
 in its rear may have been one of the controlling 
 motives that determined this location of his 
 dwelling. Once within the secluded depths of 
 the gorge, he could bid defiance to any number 
 of savage foes. Whatever the reasons which 
 controlled his action, the ancestral Boutonne 
 could not have selected a more picturesque loca 
 tion for his domicile if the whole region had 
 been outspread before him in accurate projec 
 tion. He must have been a bold man, this un 
 lettered trapper, or he would not have dared to 
 make his dwelling in the wilderness a hundred 
 miles away from the nearest of his people ; and 
 a shrewd one, moreover, to have fixed upon a 
 
10 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 location combining so many and such rare ad 
 vantages, satisfying at once the demands of a 
 strategist and the instinct of a poet. 
 
 When the French finally abandoned this re 
 gion the sturdy trapper remained. There is a 
 tradition that he brought to his sightly block 
 house a fair-haired English girl whom he found 
 captive among the Indians and bought for a 
 wife. Another version declares that she was 
 given to him by his savage friends, who had 
 learned that his sobriquet of L Honnete Bou- 
 tonne was true in both its aspects, the Voy- 
 ageur being at once honest and close-mouthed. 
 He had passed away before the English really 
 came into possession ; and his son s son, a 
 man past middle age, was the host of the Inn 
 when our story begins. All trace of the Voya- 
 geur, save his sobriquet, had been forgotten. 
 This had become the family name, Boutonne 
 being abbreviated first to Bouton, and after 
 ward to Button ; while L Honnete, transformed 
 to the familiar " Lonny," became the given 
 name of the heir of the Canadian trapper and 
 the Indian captive, whose marriage, if not 
 sanctioned by priest or rite, had never been 
 contested. Indeed, there was nothing to con 
 test, for the title of the tract of land surrounding 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." I I 
 
 his rude dwelling was not written on parchment 
 or witnessed by a seal, and did not pass to his 
 descendants by virtue of legitimacy. He had 
 marked his own corners where he chose, or left 
 them to be marked by others when and where 
 it seemed good to them to fix the limits of their 
 demesne. All that is known about them now is 
 that on the first map made by the great Land 
 Company who became the owners of all this 
 region under one of those curious grants by 
 which in those early days illimitable realms 
 were aliened by those who not only had no title 
 to them but had even no knowledge of their 
 boundaries or extent an irregular quadrilateral 
 was marked out between the forks of the creek, 
 bounded on two sides by the impassable "gulfs" 
 through which they ran, embracing some two 
 hundred acres " more or less," and marked 
 " Lon Button s Land," though his son Achille 
 had even then long been in possession of the 
 little opening which was all the axe had at that 
 time conquered from the forest. To save all 
 question, however, a nominal sum was afterward 
 paid, and the title to Button s Inn became duly 
 vested, under the broad seal of the Holland Land 
 Company, in Lonny Button, the son of Achille 
 Bouton, the son of L Honnete Boutonne. 
 
12 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 Though the trail by which the Voyageurs 
 ascended the portage was some distance from 
 Boutonne s house, the road that succeeded it 
 ran hardly forty yards below the Inn, to which 
 it was joined by a white sandy loop that swept 
 up to the steps leading down from the low 
 broad porch which extended across the front 
 not only of the original gable, but of its numer 
 ous additions ; for the old log-house had been 
 boarded over, and though it still held the place 
 of honor as the public-room of the Inn, it was 
 flanked on either side by more modern struc 
 tures. Across the road were the barn and sheds, 
 before which stood a great trough supplied with 
 water from a spring that burst out of the hill 
 side behind the house. The downward slope in 
 the rear of the barn was covered with apple- 
 trees, with rich meadows lying beyond. The 
 upward slope back of the house, and along the 
 road on either side of it, was divided into fields, 
 separated by high rail-fences with immense 
 " locks " and " riders " to the very edge of the 
 canon, whose precipitous bank was itself abun 
 dant protection against trespassing beasts. 
 Along this crest grew a narrow fringe of chest 
 nut and maple, which the woodman had spared ; 
 while the hemlocks that grew in the bottom, 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." 13 
 
 and here and there upon the sharp declivity, 
 showed dark and green through the pic 
 tured fringe which autumn painted in gorgeous 
 colors. 
 
 Button s Inn it was spelled Bouton on the 
 sign, but common parlance had anglicized the 
 name as Button in the early days was a favor 
 ite resting-place, not only for those who climbed 
 the ridge upon their way to and from the settle 
 ments that sprang up about the pleasant little 
 lake whose shores have since become so famous, 
 but many eastward and westward wayfarers left 
 the sandy shore-line and climbed the hill to 
 share the cheer of the old hostel even at the ex 
 pense of two or three added miles and a heavy 
 pull. It was thought to pay well both to man 
 and beast, for good cheer and good company 
 were always to be found there, and no horse 
 ever drank at Button s overflowing trough with 
 out pricking up his ears and turning thither of 
 his own accord when next he came to the fork 
 of the road that led to the Inn. For more 
 years than any record tells, Button s was the fa 
 vorite hostel for many a mile upon the great 
 highway that joined the newest West to the 
 oldest East, as well as upon that cross-artery of 
 traffic which led back from the harbor toward 
 
14 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 the settlement around the lake beyond the di 
 vide, known to L Honnete Boutonne as Jadaqua, 
 and to his descendants as Chautauqua. 
 
 But at the time when our story begins all 
 this had changed. The Inn still stood with its 
 quaint sign, a fearfully and wonderfully painted 
 Indian smoking the pipe of peace, creaking in 
 the middle of the green grass-plot left by the 
 circling track that led to its hospitable door. 
 The great fireplace still yawned in the public- 
 room, and the woodpile that flanked the last 
 extension showed that no apprehension need be 
 entertained of the failure of the roaring fire that 
 blazed upon its hearth. Indeed, the fact that 
 it did not fail, but burned on summer and win 
 ter alike, at least at night, was one of the 
 reasons why Button s Inn had Iq^t its popu 
 larity. It still afforded entertainment for man 
 and beast, and neither larder nor granary had 
 ever been known to fail. The water still ran 
 over the sides of the mossy trough ; the cold 
 dashing stream at the bottom of the glen in the 
 rear still yielded abundance of the rarest trout ; 
 the woods abounded in game ; the pomace 
 heaped about the cider-mill, and the bottles 
 that lined the shelves which flanked the great 
 chimney, testified that the guest might yet find 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." 15 
 
 wholesome drink as well as toothsome fare at 
 Button s. 
 
 Yet there were evident signs of decay about 
 the old hostel. The sheds stood empty. The 
 great barn-doors gaped darkly at it across the 
 dusty road. The loop that bound the Inn to 
 the roadway was grown up with grass, save two 
 narrow tracks which the infrequent hoofs kept 
 partly clear. The fences had fallen down. The 
 paint had grown dull upon the house. The 
 storms had half washed out the Indian, and left 
 his pipe almost a matter of tradition. The 
 fire still burned brightly at night, and shining 
 through the windows served yet as a landmark 
 to the sailors making the little port, whose 
 light-house, like many another* carefully-planned 
 beacon, seemed to have been located chiefly to 
 lure the mariner to doom ; for instead of sail 
 ing toward it, the eastward-bound mariner had 
 to keep it abeam until well abaft if he would 
 avoid the peril of the sharp-tongued basse a loin, 
 from which, as we have seen, the port unwit 
 tingly derived its legal name and style. Before 
 this fire the host of Button s Inn sat now oft- 
 times alone in his great splint-bottomed rocker, 
 the stalls empty and the kitchen dark. It had 
 been the scene of a tragedy, and was still the 
 
1 6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 seat of mystery. In short, Button s Inn was 
 haunted. 
 
 There were some who laughed at the super 
 stition, and taking counsel of their comfort 
 rather than their fears, still patronized the Inn,. 
 and affirmed its excellence. But the children of 
 the neighborhood crept by it with beating hearts 
 and blanched faces after dark, and the stranger 
 wayfarer who heard its story told or hinted at, 
 often judged that prudence counselled him to 
 keep the straight road rather than climb the 
 hill to test its truth. Rollicking companies of 
 foot-travellers came now and then, prompted 
 sometimes by curiosity and sometimes by the 
 desire to get a glimpse of the inn-keeper s daugh 
 ter, who was reputed to be as fair as the ghost 
 was terrible. Those unerring judges of good 
 cheer the pedlers, who thronged all the roads 
 at that time with every conceivable form of pack 
 and vehicle, these came often to stay over Sun 
 day at the sightly hillside hostel. Yet even of 
 these the number had grown less and less with 
 each succeeding year as Button s Inn grew 
 more and more dilapidated, and Lonny Button s 
 fortunes became more and more desperate. 
 The renown of its ghost, however, increased ; 
 and it seemed as if, having once destroyed the 
 
"A JOLLY PLACE IN TIMES OF OLD." I/ 
 
 Inn s prosperity, the "extravagant and erring 
 spirit " who haunted its confines was even likely 
 to build up the hostel s fortunes again by its 
 own uncanny fame. For although many years 
 had passed since the ghost had actually been 
 seen by mortal eyes, the story was so well 
 authenticated, and there was withal so much of 
 mystery about its first appearance, that the tale, 
 mellowed somewhat by time, had become an 
 attraction rather than a terror to curious way 
 farers. So Lonny Button, grown old and peev 
 ish, sat by his great wood-fire and told the story 
 over and over to each new company of guests, 
 while the little drama of life that went on 
 within the Inn hinged on the facts of the 
 ghostly tale. 
 
A FAIR YOUNG MISTRESS. 
 
 OZRO! Oz-r-o-o!" 
 The voice was clear and full, and echoed 
 across the meadow that stretched down to the 
 woods bordering on the lower creek, in a man 
 ner to bring a smile of satisfaction to its owner, 
 a buxom girl with red cheeks, dark eyes, and 
 shiny black hair laid smoothly away from the 
 faultless parting in the middle of her low broad 
 forehead. She stood on the porch of the Inn, 
 one hand resting on her hip, and the other 
 turned palm outward above her eyes. She was 
 dressed in home-made plaid of a warm dark 
 color, which was very becoming to one of her 
 style, and betrayed that innate sense of fitness 
 which is the special inheritance of the descend 
 ants of French ancestry. The close sleeves 
 were turned above the elbow, showing a plump 
 tapering arm and firm round hand. The short 
 skirt revealed, as she stood on the edge of the 
 porch, a pair of shapely feet clad in serviceable 
 calfskin shoes, neatly laced with leather strings 
 
A FAIR YOUNG MISTRESS. 19 
 
 around the trim ankles, and permitting only a 
 finger s breadth of the woollen stocking to be 
 seen above. It was a bright September morn 
 ing. A brisk west wind broke the distant lake 
 into ripples which flashed blithely in the sun 
 shine, while the tinted maples flamed against 
 the intermingled evergreens on the slope below. 
 She repeated her call, watching the great barn 
 door opposite as it swung idly to and fro, with 
 visible impatience. 
 
 "What do ye want o that shiftless creetur, 
 Dotty? Jest tell me what tis, an I ll see t 
 he tends to it. Don t stan there splittin yer 
 throat a hollerin at him. Like s not he ain t 
 within half a mile o here. I never did see the 
 beat o him for that ; fust he s here, then there, 
 an then you hain t no idee where he is." 
 
 The voice came from the public-room, the 
 door of which opened on the porch, where the 
 girl stood. Its owner appeared at the door as 
 he ceased speaking. He was a man hardly 
 above the middle height, but of great breadth 
 of frame, which seemed to fill the wide doorway 
 as he stood looking down upon the girl from 
 the threshold, which was a step above the porch. 
 His great iron-gray head fell forward between 
 his shoulders. His eyes burned angrily under 
 
20 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 huge overhanging brows. His wide mouth, 
 close shut, showed the same savage strength 
 that may have suggested the epithet Bontonne, 
 by which the ancestor of Lon Button, or as 
 he was familiarly termed, "Hawk" Button, 
 was distinguished. The latter name was made 
 all the more appropriate by the great beak-like 
 nose which over-hung his wide mouth and thick 
 purple lips. His face was covered with a thick 
 stubble of white beard, which, though a week 
 old, did not conceal the marks of dissipation. 
 
 " He does get around pretty spry, Pa," said 
 the girl, pleasantly. The pronunciation of the 
 last word was the only indication of her Aca 
 dian ancestry. She gave the vowel the peculiar 
 short, flattened sound which still prevails in the 
 Canadian provinces. 
 
 "Say^/y, Dotty, sly s the word," rejoined 
 the father, vehemently. " He s just as sly as the 
 devil, and to my mind in league with him, too." 
 
 " Oh, don t talk like that, Pa," answered the 
 girl with a frown. " Only think what Ozro does 
 f or USj more n any man we could hire, and 
 without a word of complaint even at your 
 scolding." 
 
 "That sit, that s jest it," said the father, 
 stepping down upon the porch with an uncer- 
 
A FAIR YOUNG MISTRESS. 21 
 
 tainty of movement that suggested inebriety 
 (though he was sober enough at the time) and 
 shaking his finger toward her argumentatively, 
 that s jest it. T ain t nateral, don t ye see, 
 for a boy of his age to do so much an stan 
 so much, without makin a row about it. Why 
 don t he run away? We don t want him 
 here, never did want him, Dotty ; only your 
 mother," he lowered his voice to a whisper 
 and looked cautiously around as he spoke, 
 "your mother, Dotty, it was her doin s keepin 
 him. What did we want of the beggar s brat ? 
 He s brought nothin but bad luck, bad luck 
 an the He paused and glanced back 
 
 toward the room he had left, with a curious, 
 startled manner. 
 
 " There, there, Pa," said the girl, soothingly 
 but yet imperatively, "you go and sit down, 
 an leave me to take care of Ozro. He an I 
 get on first-rate, you know." 
 
 " That s jest what s the matter, Dotty," said 
 her father, as he yielded to her touch and was 
 led back to his great armchair before the fire ; 
 " you get along with him too well. Jest see 
 how he s bewitched yer mother, child. Only 
 look what s happened to her an hers sence 
 he showed his miserable carrot head under 
 
22 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 this roof! An yit see what store she sets by 
 him! It s been nigh fifteen years sence she s 
 spoke a loud word, an we growin poorer an* 
 poorer all the time. But that boy had to be 
 sent to school an have all the advantages, no 
 matter what happened to the rest on us. Then 
 there would n t nothin do but I must make 
 over the title of the place to her, an I spect 
 next thing she 11 be givin it to him. Should n t 
 wonder ef she d done it a ready. That would 
 be a nice kittle o fish, would n t it ? " 
 
 " Don t you fret about it, Pa ; I 11 look after 
 Ma and Ozro too, and see t there don t any 
 thing go wrong with you, either. You just leave 
 things to me," said the girl, humoring his mood, 
 but evidently accustomed to control. 
 
 " Don t have anything to do with him, Dotty 
 don t. He 11 be the ruination of ye ef ye do, 
 jest as he s been the ruination of Button s 
 Inn." 
 
 " But he s the main stay of it now," laughed 
 Dotty, as if accustomed to such ebullitions on 
 the part of her father. " I must go and call 
 him to go down into the Gulf for some fish. 
 You know to-morrow is Saturday, and you 
 know who comes on Saturday," she added 
 archly. 
 
A FAIR YOUNG MISTRESS. 2$ 
 
 What what? Who?" said Hawk Button, 
 looking quickly around. 
 
 " Why," said the daughter, gayly, " I did n t 
 think you would forget your favorite, Mr. 
 Dewstowe." 
 
 " Dewstowe ? Is Dewstowe comin to-morrer ? 
 That s right, Dotty ; be good to Dewstowe. 
 He s the right sort, Dewstowe is. Besides that, 
 he s got money. He 11 make the Inn what it 
 ought to be ag in. That s right ; get ready for 
 him that s a good girl." 
 
 Dotty Button her name was written Doro 
 thy in the family Bible left the house and 
 crossed the road to the barn. She paused just 
 inside the great door, and called again, but not 
 loudly, and the tone was one of confidence and 
 familiarity. 
 
 Ozro ! " 
 
 " Well ? " came in a cheerful voice from the 
 shed at the rear. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " 
 
 " Killing a sheep." 
 
 " May I come ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; he s dead ! " 
 
 Dotty stepped hesitatingly across the wide 
 floor and peeped through a crack in the back 
 door before she showed herself at the opening, 
 
24 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 for one half the great door was propped back 
 against the side of the barn. A young man, 
 who had just finished slaughtering a lamb, came 
 briskly toward her, wiping his hands on the 
 apron he wore. They left bloody stains on 
 the white linen, but this did not disturb the 
 inn-keeper s daughter; she was accustomed to 
 such sights. She thought the hands were very 
 shapely, however, as indeed they were, though 
 densely freckled by exposure. They were scru 
 pulously clean except for traces of his recent 
 occupation; for the day of the " realistic" novel 
 had not dawned, and there were yet people living 
 even in country places who sometimes washed 
 their hands. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked briskly. 
 
 " I wonder if you could n t go and get some 
 trout to-day. You might see a turkey, too. I 
 heard one gobbling down in the Gulf last 
 night." 
 
 " Perhaps I might," answered the young man. 
 
 The floor on which she stood was some three 
 or four feet from the ground. He picked a 
 straw from it and began to bite off little pieces 
 as he spoke. She leaned against the centre 
 post, and pushed bits of rubbish from the edge 
 with her foot. He watched the foot, absently. 
 
A FAIR YOUNG MISTRESS. 2$ 
 
 " There 11 be lots of folks here to-morrow if 
 it s fair ; and it most likely will be," she said, 
 glancing at the sky. 
 
 "Shouldn t wonder," he responded, without 
 looking up. 
 
 " Well, are you going to do it, Grumpy ? " she 
 asked saucily. 
 
 " Oh ! get you the trout, you mean ? " 
 
 " Of course. What are you dreaming about ? " 
 
 " Would n t you like to go to the Gulf this 
 afternoon, Dorothy ? " 
 
 His face flushed, but he did not look up. 
 
 The girl started at this unusual address, and 
 she glanced quickly down at her companion, but 
 with a look that did not imply displeasure. 
 
 " Oh, I can t ! " she answered carelessly ; 
 " we ve got more n we can do, all of us. 
 Ma," she gave the vowel the same curious 
 short sound she had used in addressing her 
 father, " Ma ain t very well, and Louise and 
 I have got enough to do to keep us on the 
 jump all day." 
 
 " Then / shall not go ! " decisively. 
 
 " Now Ozro ! " protestingly. 
 
 The young man looked up at her for a mo 
 ment, resting one hand against the sill on which 
 she stood, and then gazed off at the blue lake 
 
26 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 which lay glimmering through the trees, so far 
 below that it seemed almost at their feet* 
 
 " Do you know what day to-morrow will be, 
 Dorothy ? " 
 
 " Why, Saturday, of course." 
 
 " And what day of the month ? " 
 
 " The 10th of September." 
 
 "And what happened on that day ? " 
 
 " I don t know unless it was Perry s vic 
 tory," with a little laugh. 
 
 "Nothing else?" He was still looking toward 
 the lake and biting off bits of the straw. 
 
 The girl looked down at him a moment, and 
 then exclaimed : 
 
 " Why, it will be your birthday, won t it, Ozro? 
 And you will be twenty-one ! " 
 
 There was no mistaking the thrill of pleasure 
 in her tones. 
 
 " I s pose you 11 be leaving us pretty soon, 
 though ? " she added thoughtfully, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I shall be free ! " said the young man, with 
 emphasis. 
 
 " Of course," said the girl, absently. " I don t 
 know what we 11 do, though ! " 
 
 She leaned against the post, and picking up 
 the hem of her apron began plaiting it over her 
 
A FAIR YOUNG MISTRESS. 2/ 
 
 thumb-nail as she spoke. There was a long 
 interval of silence. 
 
 " I don t know what we 11 do, I m sure ! " she 
 repeated at length, with a sigh. 
 
 The young man turned and looked keenly up 
 at her. 
 
 " I s pose," she added, as she turned slowly 
 toward the house, " we 11 have to do the best 
 we can." 
 
 That afternoon, when the sun was sinking 
 toward a golden bed in the placid waters of the 
 lake, Dotty Button sat upon a bowlder that lay 
 beside the path leading down into the glen fa 
 miliarly known as " the Gulf," and gazed thought 
 fully out over the fair picture the early autumn 
 spread at her feet. The rock was full of cu 
 rious little specks, at which she picked list 
 lessly with a bit of twig which she broke from 
 a bush near her. She did not know that they 
 were garnets brought from undiscovered Alaska 
 by the great glacier whose southern edge had 
 rested for unreckoned ages where she sat. 
 
 The house was hidden from her view except 
 the upper windows, which the setting sun 
 painted with golden light. Beyond it she saw 
 the harbor and the unruffled bosom of the lake, 
 with the sun shining across its bright waters. 
 
28 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 She heard footsteps coming up the rugged path, 
 and her face lighted with pleasure as she peered 
 through the hemlocks and recognized the young 
 man, Ozro Evans. A moment later he laid a 
 brace of turkeys and a string of trout at her 
 feet, and stood looking down at her as she ex 
 amined them with the unconscious keenness of 
 a connoisseur. 
 
 " Well, you have had luck to-day ! " she ex 
 claimed, in tones of hearty admiration. Her 
 eyes wandered from the game at, her feet to 
 the comely figure of the young man before her 
 without losing any of their approving glow. 
 
 " I hope your friends will enjoy them," he said, 
 as a look of pain crossed his face. 
 
 A woman, gray-haired and wan of feature, 
 who watched out of the sun-gilded upper window 
 of the Inn, sank upon her knees as she saw them 
 together, and raised her hands to heaven, while 
 tears rained down her wrinkled cheeks. 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 
 
 EIGHTEEN years before our story opens, 
 a woman had come to the Inn one day 
 in autumn accompanied by a little boy. She 
 was well dressed, and the trunk that was taken 
 from the boot of the stage and deposited upon 
 the porch bore the unmistakable stamp of wealth 
 and respectability. It was covered with un 
 dressed deerskin, trimmed at the corners with 
 rawhide, and studded with brass nails forming 
 on the top the initials " M. E. E." The lady 
 seemed greatly depressed, which might have 
 been the effect of her long ride. She wished to 
 rest over Sunday, she said, if she could secure 
 desirable lodgings ; if not she would go on to 
 the harbor, and risk the chance of a boat to her 
 destination, as she was quite unable to travel 
 farther by stage. She was unwilling to risk the 
 chance of seasickness, however, and preferred to 
 recuperate for a few days after her long ride be 
 fore proceeding on her journey. Fortunately the 
 
3O BUTTON S INN. 
 
 big chamber over the public-room was unoccu 
 pied, and to this the guest was shown, the land 
 lord apologizing for the narrow winding stairs as 
 he conducted her to it. 
 
 It was the upper story of L Honnete Bou- 
 tonne s old block-house. Larger than the room 
 below because of the overhang already noted, 
 it was accessible only by the stairway from the 
 public-room. In the early days of the Inn it had 
 been a common lodging-room where the guests 
 slept as they could, while the room beneath it 
 served as kitchen, dining and lodging room for 
 the innkeeper and his family. The heavy floor, 
 separated from the ceiling by the thickness of 
 the great logs on which it rested, effectually 
 muffled all sounds from the room below. It 
 had been somewhat modernized in the course 
 of the various changes which had been effected 
 for the Inn s enlargement and adornment. On 
 the outside it was clapboarded in decorous uni 
 formity with the additions, and like them had 
 been painted a glowing red. Within it had 
 been half-ceiled, as it was then termed, that 
 is, from the eaves upward along the rafters, to 
 shut out the cold. This ceiling was as smoke- 
 stained and brown almost as the hewn logs 
 that formed the walls. Near the rear end a rude 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 31 
 
 log-beam crossed the room. Against this the 
 front of the great stone chimney rested, and a 
 partition was built along it on one side, in which 
 was the door leading to the stairway. This 
 stairway was regarded as a triumph of conven 
 ience and economy by the carpenter by whom 
 it was built. It was narrow and difficult, but 
 occupied only the width of the chimney. In 
 the front of the room, reaching almost to the 
 peak, were two square windows which com 
 manded a view unrivalled for extent and beauty. 
 At that time, however, scenery was not so highly 
 prized as it has been of recent years. The ap 
 pointments of the room were comfortable, but 
 not luxurious. The fireplace, which gaped black 
 and empty, was only less capacious than the 
 one below. 
 
 The strange lady at once sank down upon 
 the bed and asked to have a cup of tea sent 
 to her. It was brought by the landlady, who 
 regarded with a surprise not unmixed with 
 envy, as it seemed, the rich belongings of her 
 guest. It is no wonder if she did, for it is 
 quite impossible to guess at this time the dif 
 ference, which then existed in the matter of 
 feminine adornment between the East and the 
 West. To the starved instinct of the landlady 
 
32 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 this well-dressed woman no doubt seemed a 
 miracle of luxury. 
 
 When Monday came, the lady announced her 
 intention of remaining for a week, or even longer, 
 if she continued to be pleased with her sur 
 roundings. As she accompanied the announce 
 ment with the prepayment of board for the 
 time specified, no objections were made. So, 
 after serious consultation between the landlord 
 and his wife, the lady became a weekly tenant 
 of the room, with its great windows looking out 
 upon the sparkling lake over the intervening 
 woodland, at a rate that would seem ridiculous 
 enough to any modern Boniface. Indeed, it was 
 accounted not only a piece of good fortune, but 
 a distinguished honor, that one so evidently 
 capable of judging the merits of the Inn, and 
 able to indulge her inclination, should think of 
 making so prolonged a stay beneath its roof. 
 Even a less desirable lodger would have been 
 welcome; for though the Inn was prosperous, 
 especially for that day when a little was counted 
 a fortune because others had so much less, 
 leisurely travellers were yet rare along the line 
 of the old portage. The stage was very Uncer 
 tain in its time of arrival, and the wayfarers 
 consisted mainly of emigrants to the still farther 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 33 
 
 West. One that paid board regularly week by 
 week in cash was a treasure not to be lightly es 
 teemed. Button s had never had a guest of such 
 importance before, and might never have another. 
 The stranger stayed until the weeks grew into 
 months, and she became familiarly known in the 
 neighborhood as "the rich woman at Button s." 
 Her name was Evans : Mrs. Matilda E. Evans 
 was the address of the letters she received during 
 her stay. She was young, certainly not more 
 than twenty-five, unusually attractive in appear 
 ance, but evidently oppressed by some great 
 sorrow or recent calamity, which gave to her 
 manner a reserve not altogether in keeping 
 with a sprightly temperament, youth, and health. 
 She made no acquaintances, but occupied her 
 self in reading, embroidery, and rambling about 
 the hills and the glen with the boy, to whom she 
 seemed passionately devoted. Why she should 
 tarry so long upon her journey, when she would 
 resume it, or whither it would lead, of these 
 things nobody was any wiser than on the night 
 she came. 
 
 For a time there was some attempt on the 
 
 part of the neighbors to penetrate this reserve. 
 
 The kindliest community is somewhat inclined 
 
 to resent the idea of concealment on the part of 
 
 3 
 
34 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 one of its members. They may object to garru 
 lous reminiscence in regard to the past of a new 
 comer, but silence as to one s antecedents is a 
 far graver offence. Of this fact the rich lady at 
 the Inn seemed to be entirely indifferent. Hints 
 were wasted on her. Of what lay before her or 
 what behind in the path of life she said nothing. 
 Of origin or destination she gave no clew ; 
 nor did she explain why she loitered at the 
 sightly Inn during all the pleasant autumn days, 
 nor give any hint when she would resume her 
 journey. In short, she treated the good people 
 of the region as if it were none of their business 
 why she came among them or how long she re 
 mained. So they said ill-natured things about 
 her, her and the toddling boy over whom she 
 watched so tenderly. But she did not hear what 
 they said ; and if she guessed their innuendoes 
 she gave no sign. The people of the Inn were 
 naturally proud of a guest of such wealth and 
 refinement. She reflected credit on the hostel ; 
 therefore the landlord fought her battles for her, 
 and such was his prowess that no one dared to 
 speak lightly of the Inn s strange guest in his 
 presence. 
 
 There was one influence, however, against 
 which the landlord s championship would have 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 35 
 
 been in vain, had it not been seconded by the 
 unqualified approval of his wife. The land 
 lady became greatly attached to her guest, and 
 spent much of her leisure in listening while the 
 stranger read from books she had brought with 
 her, or in learning those niceties of needle-work 
 which were quite unknown in that region. The 
 landlady had a baby girl, which as the weather 
 grew colder passed much of the time in the 
 guest s room playing with the boy, and the two 
 women were drawn unconsciously nearer to each 
 other by the mutual fondness of the children. 
 So the landlord s wife joined him in sounding 
 the praises of their guest, and her approval ef 
 fected what his defiant championship could not. 
 For the landlord and his wife were noted far 
 and wide as a strangely contrasted pair. Each 
 represented a distinctive element of the life 
 which grew up on the verge of that great tide 
 which was rushing westward to possess the 
 continent. Each was the complement of the 
 other in this respect. Many wondered that they 
 should ever have come together. It was gener 
 ally agreed, however, that it was but another 
 instance of the attraction of dissimilars which 
 has been the ever inexplicable problem of love 
 since the world began. In truth the marriage 
 
36 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 of Lonny Button and Liicy Rigdon was explain 
 able on no other hypothesis. What she was he 
 was not ; and that was the end of speculation. 
 
 Lonny Button, at the time of which we write, 
 was in the prime of life, a handsome man, 
 somewhat given to boasting when in his cups, 
 but very popular in the neighborhood as well as 
 among the patrons of the Inn. He had come 
 into possession, on his father s death, of the 
 property known even then as " Button s Inn," 
 though hardly possessing the character of a 
 hostel, few travellers passing that way, and those 
 of the roughest and sturdiest character. These 
 were mainly trappers and traders, with a sprink 
 ling of backwoodsmen and adventurers of all 
 sorts, who were inspired with a restless desire 
 to see what opportunities the yet unexplored 
 region which lay beyond might offer. Such as 
 came always found entertainment, for which 
 they paid or not as they chose, the host count 
 ing the privilege of their society worth quite 
 as much as the rude fare he furnished. 
 
 So it was in the days of L Honnete, and 
 afterward in the time of Achille. When Lonny 
 came to early manhood, and the house was made 
 desolate by the death of his mother, the tide of 
 New England life was beginning to force itself 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 37 
 
 through the fair domain known now as the Em 
 pire State, in search of an outlet to that West 
 the greatness of which it instinctively but dimly 
 discerned. The only road to it up to that time 
 led across the Alleghanies and down the val 
 ley of the Ohio. Along this had come the 
 pioneers of the Ohio Company under the lead 
 of the quaintly pedantic surveyor Gist, bringing 
 .a strangely commingled tide of Northern and 
 Southern migration to the banks of the Miami, 
 and founding there the empire of the great new 
 West. But the land of Penn, with its curious 
 masses of unassimilated and uncommingling 
 foreign life, intervened. So the Yankees, with 
 their restless occidental yearning, were swarm 
 ing over the narrow belt which the Dutchman 
 had preoccupied, and rushing toward the Great 
 Lakes, blazing the pathway of destiny, seiz 
 ing only the points of most abundant promise, 
 and hurrying past each other in the hope of yet 
 more abundant opportunities. The wilderness 
 was being dotted with homes, and a few had 
 already fixed their habitations on the borders 
 of that inland sea for whose defence the sailors 
 of New England were a score of years afterward 
 to unite with the few frontiersmen in redoubt 
 able conflict. 
 
38 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 Lon Button had the virtues and vices of the 
 border. Like his father, and his father s father, 
 he was brave, open-handed, and even in his 
 youth a woodman of repute. Of the amenities 
 and refinements of life he knew little. Full of 
 rude force, he seemed exactly fitted to become 
 one of those social bowlders which the restless 
 glacier of civilization projects beyond its farthest 
 edge, only to overtake and overwhelm by its 
 slow but sure approach. From this apparently 
 predestined fate he was saved by marriage. 
 
 Lucy Rigdon, his wife, was the daughter of a 
 family who had come from the East and settled 
 on the shore of the lake, a hundred miles almost 
 to the eastward. The family were religious en 
 thusiasts of great austerity, and she herself was 
 of such correct and saintly demeanor as to have 
 deterred the young men of the region from any 
 attempt at love-making, though she was confes 
 sedly the fairest girl in the settlement. Lonny 
 Button came, saw, and not only conquered but 
 captured and carried her away to become the 
 mistress of the Inn when the tide of westward 
 travel began to flow past its threshold, and it 
 really became an inn. Of course, her family pre 
 dicted for her the most dolorous destiny if she 
 should mate with one who not only had the rough 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 39 
 
 manners of the frontier, but was without a family 
 tree, and presumably inherited papistical inclina 
 tions. They were especially fearful of peril to 
 the- purity of her faith. But nothing could shake 
 her determination ; and the little craft which 
 Lonny Button had built to take his peltries to 
 the newly-established trading-post, carried back 
 a far more precious freight than he had antici 
 pated. Perhaps she felt a call to undertake his 
 reclamation. Perhaps the picture he drew of 
 the romantic beauty of a situation which half a 
 century of occupancy had done much to im 
 prove, may have had its influence in inducing 
 her to abandon the bleak discomfort of her 
 father s over-crowded cabin. 
 
 The rough backwoodsman was not exactly a 
 model husband in the modern acceptance of the 
 term ; but he was all the more amenable to his 
 young wife s influence because of the memory 
 of his mother, the fair-haired captive who after 
 the murderous Wyoming massacre had found her 
 way to his father s hut. She had been a gentle 
 woman, and, despite her misfortunes, never for 
 got the fact. She was not ungrateful to the 
 sturdy trapper for the kindness which had pre 
 served her life, and by her patience and ten 
 derness came at length to exercise unlimited 
 
40 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 control over the husband whom fate had so 
 curiously provided. That she should long for 
 her land and people was natural enough. She 
 had filled her son s mind with pleasant pictures 
 of the clustered homes in the valley of the Con 
 necticut, and taught him the little she could 
 recall of what she herself had learned. Her 
 language and her religion became the language 
 and religion of the household ; and her son, de 
 spite his inheritance of adventurous inclination, 
 was ambitious most of all things for the civiliza 
 tion and comforts of that " East/ which was to 
 him the land beautiful and delectable. Perhaps 
 it was some resemblance to his mother that 
 had so powerfully attracted Lonny to the fair 
 and gentle Lucy Rigdon. At all events, her 
 advent seemed but the continuation of a rule 
 which death had interrupted, and destroyed 
 the last lingering tendency on the part of 
 L Honnete Boutonne s descendant to abandon 
 the picturesque settlement his grandfather had 
 made upon the sightly hillside for the charms of 
 a wilder and more remote region. It was not in 
 vain that two generations of Puritan blood had 
 mingled with the dark drops in the veins of the 
 rugged Canadian. Little by little the patois 
 of the trapper had disappeared. That sense of 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 41 
 
 domesticity which seems inseparable in English 
 natures from comfort and cosiness of surround 
 ings had from the very first been at work upon 
 the little clearing. The apple-blossoms mingled 
 with the thorn and the wild-cherry in the edge 
 of the forest before Lonny was born ; and before 
 he had arrived at manhood peaches and plums 
 were fruiting in lavish abundance along the 
 sides of the old portage. It was to this home 
 that Lonny Button brought the slender, blue- 
 eyed, New England girl whom he had won for 
 his bride. From that first hour when entering 
 its rude doorway she had knelt and prayed, 
 "Peace be within these walls!" she had been 
 its ruling spirit. Her husband renounced the 
 habits as well as the language of his father s 
 people. Though he remained a leader among 
 the boisterous spirits of the region, his pride 
 centred in his home and its constantly increas 
 ing comfort and attractiveness. When, there 
 fore, his wife suggested that the little schooner 
 he had built the first of the great fleet which 
 the demand of our inland traffic has brought 
 into existence on the Lakes should be sold, 
 and the proceeds used to enlarge and improve 
 the old block-house, and establish at Button s a 
 regular inn where the wayfarer s needs should 
 
42 . BUTTON S INN. 
 
 be supplied for a specific sum, instead of leaving 
 the amount to the traveller s option, it met his 
 instant and hearty approval. 
 
 It was a wise suggestion from every point of 
 view. It met an actual demand. The tide of 
 Western travel needed just such a hostel. It 
 was in a line, too, with Lonny Button s best 
 aspirations. The mixture of blood in his veins 
 did not fit him for a husbandman. Strong as 
 he was, and proud of his home as he was, he 
 had no love for the laborious task of developing 
 its charms. All he could acquire he delighted 
 to expend in its improvement ; but the instincts 
 of the Voyageur were too strong to allow him to 
 be content with a farmer s life. The toils of the 
 hunter, the danger of the sailor, these were 
 nothing to him. Few men were his equal with 
 the axe, yet little of the clearing at Button s 
 was due to the labor of his hands. It had 
 grown each year, and he was proud of its extent 
 and neatness ; but its improvement was mainly 
 due to the thrift and prudence of his wife, 
 whose care had brought order and beauty out 
 of confusion. 
 
 The establishment of an Inn, however, was 
 an enterprise exactly suited to his talents. He 
 knew that his good nature sometimes led him 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 43 
 
 too far in the company of boon companions, and 
 his open-handed generosity needed the restraint 
 of his wife s foresight and frugality. The re 
 sult, as his wife foresaw, was that he was at 
 once re-moved from temptation and given an 
 occupation for which he was peculiarly fitted. 
 So Lonny Button became the model landlord of 
 that region in his day and time; and with the 
 aid of his wife s excellence as a housekeeper and 
 her general administrative capacity, Button s be 
 came the favorite hostel on the great highway 
 where it was situated. He gave it popularity, 
 and she that air of comfort and eminent re 
 spectability which brought it favor in the eyes 
 of every home-sick woman and broken-hearted 
 man who, faring westward under the spur of 
 misfortune, was worn out not only by the hard 
 ships of the journey, but by the coarseness and 
 vulgarity of the associations of the road. 
 
 Thus the Inn became prosperous ; grew year 
 by year in extent, comfort, and convenience; the 
 renown of the landlord s good nature extended, 
 and the comely hostess became a pleasant mem 
 ory of a journey whose irksomeness it is now 
 difficult to imagine. The bill of fare was not 
 varied as judged by modern standards, but of 
 the excellence of what appeared upon the board 
 
44 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 at Button s there could be no doubt ; and how 
 ever rollicking the company that gathered in the 
 public-room, there was none that did not bow 
 in reverence when the gentle hostess stand 
 ing at the head of the table looked quietly 
 up and down it until all were silent, and then 
 merely saying, " Let us thank God for His mer 
 cies," dropped her eyes and murmured a half- 
 inaudible grace. 
 
 Lon Button was no saint, but the man would 
 have had to answer to him vi et armis who had 
 dared to breathe aloud during this one devo 
 tional act that was never intermitted at the Inn. 
 He did not say Amen, nor pretend to any part 
 nership in his wife s devotions, but he was proud 
 of the inflexible spirit she displayed, and liked 
 especially to hear her praised as a " religious 
 woman." So their lives flowed peacefully on, 
 not exactly harmoniously, since she never came 
 to like the jolly company he affected, and he 
 showed no inclination for the religious associa 
 tions she so highly prized. The hostel became 
 at once the home of the sturdy circuit-riders, 
 those knights of the cross and saddle-bags, 
 who harmonized alike with the religious enthu 
 siasm of the wife and the careless bonhomie of 
 the landlord. They were noted throughout the 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 45 
 
 country as a queerly mated but unquestionably 
 loving and devoted pair. 
 
 This state of affairs continued until their son 
 Jack reached early manhood, or rather the pe 
 riod when in those days the young man began to 
 dream of self-direction and independent achieve 
 ment. Jack was the picture of his father, who 
 was naturally proud of his comeliness, vivacity, 
 and strength. He was a wilful lad, and even 
 before he had grown to man s estate had taken 
 to wild ways. The adventurous spirit of the 
 Voyageur cropped out in him with renewed 
 strength. His mother wept and prayed ; his 
 father laughed and chided. Secretly he exulted 
 in his son s escapades, having no wish that he 
 should grow up a milksop, as he thought his 
 mother s teachings likely to incline him to do. 
 When they became too serious he stormed and 
 threatened. The high-spirited boy, fretted by 
 his mother s tears and chafed by his father s 
 threats, fled to that Mecca of the adventurous 
 youth of that day, the Lake. 
 
 The innkeeper, sympathizing with his son s 
 unrest, in order that his inclination might be 
 gratified without any loss of self-respect or 
 lowering of the family pride bought an interest 
 in a fine brig. On this the lad embarked, nomi- 
 
46 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 nally as a deck-hand, but with that real sense of 
 rank which always attaches to ownership. On 
 her first voyage she was seized by the Govern 
 ment officials, or rather the crew volunteered 
 to serve under Perry, and took the vessel with 
 them. After the fight at Put-in-Bay she was 
 burned, having been rendered useless by the hot 
 engagement, and her crew returned home with 
 only the reputation of heroic conduct to recom 
 pense them for their loss. The Government did, 
 indeed, profess an intention to pay them both 
 for their craft and their services ; but the time 
 never came when the sense of gratitude for fa 
 vors rendered was strong enough in the Repub 
 lic to induce the representatives of the people, 
 who are the guardians of the national honor, to 
 appropriate money for such a purpose. The 
 time came indeed when it was deemed an im 
 pertinence to claim compensation for such loss, 
 one of the most patriotic of our statesmen de 
 claring it to be absurd, because " the British 
 would have destroyed these vessels if they had 
 not been overcome, and the owner s loss would 
 have been just as great if they had not volun 
 teered in the public defence." This reason does 
 not seem exactly conclusive, but it served its 
 purpose. 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 47 
 
 Jack had borne himself gallantly in the fight, 
 but the reputation of being a hero was more 
 than he could bear. No life but one of constant 
 change and adventure could satisfy him after 
 ward. He was now past twenty, handsome, 
 strong, and daring, following the Lake during 
 the summer and lounging on shore during the 
 winter, when he made the Inn his headquarters. 
 More than once he had caused serious drain 
 upon the purse and patience of his parents to 
 save him from disgrace. This son the idol of 
 both thus brought about a curious estrange 
 ment between the landlord and his wife. The 
 landlord blamed his wife s religious zeal for his 
 son s excesses, and insisted that her prayers 
 had " sent the boy to the devil." She felt the 
 sting of conscience for having permitted her 
 love to lead her to violate the divine command, 
 " Be not unequally yoked with unbelievers." 
 Her son s waywardness she looked upon as a 
 punishment for this sin, a sin which could 
 be condoned only by the reclamation of both 
 their lives. This task she felt had been laid 
 upon her shoulders ; and from that moment she 
 had but one aim in life, the conversion of 
 her husband and her son. Gentle as was her 
 character, she was not one to shrink from any 
 
48 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 divinely imposed duty. She remonstrated con 
 stantly with her husband for humoring the boy s 
 inclinations and making light of his excesses ; 
 charged him with the ruin of their son s life and 
 hopes of salvation ; endured patiently and un 
 complainingly his recriminations, and saw him 
 taking to coarser ways and yielding to dissolute 
 inclinations with inexpressible grief, but with 
 out any thought of modifying her own conduct. 
 She "had taken up her cross," as she phrased 
 it to herself, conscious of rectitude and anxious 
 only to do her full duty. 
 
 Thus the life of the Inn went on without open 
 discord, but with a singular change which the 
 accustomed wayfarer could not but perceive. 
 As Hawk Button grew more careless and dis 
 sipated, his wife became even more zealous and 
 exemplary. The son s irregularities enhanced the 
 father s wrath and increased the mother s solici 
 tude. He returned to the Inn this year as usual, 
 at the close of navigation on the Lake. Soon 
 afterward, stories began to circulate in the neigh 
 borhood reflecting on the character of the guest 
 at the Inn. It was intimated that she permitted 
 Jack Button to pay her attentions inconsistent 
 with the position of a married woman. That 
 the young man was greatly attracted toward 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 49 
 
 the fair lady there could be no doubt ; he seized 
 every pretext to serve her, and haunted his 
 mother s room as he had never done before, 
 with the express purpose, so the uncharitable 
 said, of meeting there the fascinating stranger 
 of inscrutable antecedents. The son s return 
 somewhat enlivened the domestic life of the 
 Inn. Despite his irregularities, and the father s 
 consequent wrath and harshness, Jack was still 
 the idol of his parents, and his presence for a 
 time seemed to lessen the distance between 
 them. Mrs. Evans appeared to share in this 
 added cheerfulness, and no doubt relished to a 
 certain extent the presence of the handsome 
 young sailor, whose admiration seemed to her 
 only respectful courtesy. It was remarked that 
 she was gayer than before, laughed oftener, was 
 less inclined to solitude, paid more attention to 
 dress, and in short was quite changed in ap 
 pearance and manner. 
 
 She began to go into -society too, if one 
 may be allowed to speak of society in such a 
 rustic neighborhood. Before this she had never 
 visited any of the neighbors, and indeed had 
 hardly been out of sight of the Inn except to 
 attend preaching once or twice with the land 
 lady. Soon after Jack s return she went with 
 
 4 
 
50 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 him and his mother to a husking-frolic at a 
 neighbor s house. She had never seen one 
 before, and evidently enjoyed the rude mirth 
 not a little, though she took no part in the 
 games, refusing Jack s repeated solicitations 
 with quiet but inoffensive decision. That Jack s 
 attentions were very marked was evident to all 
 except the lady herself and his mother. The 
 former, unused as she was to rustic ways, was 
 quite unconscious of the interpretation given to 
 what she had been accustomed to regard as 
 only ordinary civilities, while the mother was 
 too glad to have her son at home once more 
 and conducting himself with something like 
 propriety, to think of criticising anything he 
 did. As for Jack himself, the very fact that 
 he was less riotous and dissipated than usual 
 after his summer s absence, was cited by the 
 gossips as infallible testimony of his infatuation 
 for the stranger, who was justly regarded as of 
 all the more questionable character because 
 she so far outshone the rustic beauties of the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 So it was that the report went out that "the 
 rich woman at the Inn " was " carrying on 
 scandalously with Jack Button." It was even 
 whispered around that since his return she was 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 51 
 
 always to be seen clad in silk and wearing 
 jewels worth a fabulous amount, standing at 
 the lighted window of her room and watching 
 eagerly the arrival of the stage, a thing she 
 had never done before. It was noted, too, that 
 the stage generally brought Jack Button from 
 the harbor, where he usually went on the day 
 it made its weekly trip. These two facts were 
 linked together greatly to the discredit of one 
 whom scandal pursued all the more malignantly 
 because it found so little that was blameworthy 
 in her life, whose chief offence, indeed, lay in 
 the fact that she did not afford more substantial 
 food for gossip. 
 
 The friendship of the exemplary landlady, as 
 well as the stranger s devotion to her child 
 and the quiet reserve that marked her conduct, 
 should have been a sufficient answer to any 
 such imputations. But the fact that she was 
 supposed to be rich, sought no society and 
 bestowed no confidences, was in itself hardly 
 less than a crime in a community quick to 
 resent even an implied assumption of superior 
 ity, and not slow to punish any departure from 
 its established customs. 
 
 Of the letters the lady received during her 
 stay at the Inn, one arrived some time in No- 
 
52 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 vember ; the other was brought by the stage- 
 driver on Christmas Eve. It was handed to 
 him by the postmaster at the harbor, where it 
 had been mailed the day before. Jack Button 
 came up in the stage that night as usual, 
 and Mrs. Evans was standing in the door of 
 the public-room awaiting its arrival. It was 
 observed that she was dressed with unusual 
 elegance, her rich chestnut hair twisted in a 
 superb coil about her head, the clear white skin 
 suffused with tender blushes, and her eyes filled 
 with the dewy radiance of unmistakable expec 
 tancy. She scanned the passengers who alighted 
 one by one, as the glare from the stage- 
 lanterns and the windows of the Inn fell upon 
 them. 
 
 The snow was falling rapidly, and the driver 
 was anxious to press on before his way was 
 blocked. It was the first heavy storm of the 
 season, and the stage was yet on wheels. The 
 horses smoked after the heavy pull up the 
 hill, the rising vapor from their heated flanks 
 mingling with the white flakes that fell silently 
 and steadily, giving a peculiar softness to the 
 light which could scarcely penetrate the floccu- 
 lent mass. Jack Button was the last to emerge 
 from the snow-laden vehicle. As he came up 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 53 
 
 the steps it was noted that he stopped and 
 gazed as if spell-bound at the beautiful vision 
 on the threshold of the public-room. There was 
 no postoffice at the Inn; but the stage-driver 
 was accustomed to bring mail from the near 
 est offices on either side for persons living 
 in the vicinity, and leave it in the landlord s 
 care. 
 
 "Are there any more?" asked the lodger, 
 eagerly, after Jack had alighted. Her tone was 
 cheerful, though not without a shade of appre 
 hension. 
 
 "No more," said the landlord, coming back 
 from a conversation with the driver, with a letter 
 in his hand. He held it up to the candle-light 
 shining through the windows as he came upon 
 the porch, and added, after an instant s pause 
 for deciphering its address, " But here s a letter 
 for you, Mrs. Evans." 
 
 She reached out her hand and took it, mak 
 ing some inquiry about the postage, at that 
 time always paid by the receiver, then turned 
 slowly away and went up the stairs to her room. 
 There was evident disappointment in her man 
 ner. She did not speak to Jack, who, it was 
 afterwards remembered, stood silently gazing at 
 her until she disappeared, then turned away 
 
54 BUTTONS INN. 
 
 with a sigh, and went to his mother s room, as 
 the stage drove off into the maze of falling 
 flakes. 
 
 In addition to three passengers who came 
 by the stage, there was quite a company gath 
 ered that night at Button s. Such comfortable 
 lodgment was rare in the sparsely-settled region 
 where it stood, and many wayfarers in those 
 days objected to travelling on Sunday. The 
 fair lodger was the subject of much remark 
 among the boisterous company around the fire 
 in the public-room that night. A half-hour 
 after the stage had passed, Jack Button went 
 hastily through the room, opened the door by 
 the side of the chimney, and climbed the nar 
 row stairs to the room above. On his return he 
 growled a fierce reply to some rude jest touch 
 ing the stranger, and went out, banging the 
 door behind him. 
 
 The next morning the snow lay heaped in 
 dense masses upon the hills. The wind had 
 risen during the night, and the roads were 
 not only impassable but indistinguishable in 
 the white expanse. The drifts had hidden the 
 fences, save here and there where the "locks" 
 and "riders" rose above the rounded hillocks 
 that marked their courses. The line of hem- 
 
A REGULAR BOARDER. 55 
 
 locks showed dark and pitiless across the frozen 
 waste. The weather was intensely cold. The 
 wind blew steadily, carrying little clouds of 
 frozen particles along the white-rifted surface, 
 dropping them in the lee of every bush, and 
 scattering them through every crevice of the 
 Inn. The snow was dry and light, creaking 
 under the feet, and choking the way like heaped- 
 up sand. The landscape was covered with dim 
 shadowy forms that flitted along the snowy 
 crests like vengeful frost-sprites, seeking every 
 where for" something warm and living which 
 they might slay and swathe in icy cerements. 
 It was the very type of relentless death, the 
 cold cruel wind, the flying frozen scud, the 
 chill lifeless sunshine, unclouded, but bringing 
 no hint of warmth, and the white, sparkling, 
 ever-shifting shroud that covered the earth s 
 frozen bosom. 
 
 At the Inn the frostwork was thick upon the 
 panes, the fires roared in the great chimneys, 
 but the paths were uncut, and the day was well 
 advanced before the snow was cleared from the 
 porch. There were blanched faces at the win 
 dows, and people spoke in whispers, looking 
 round suspiciously as they talked. The cold 
 seemed to have frozen everything like mirth. 
 
56 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 They even forgot that it was Christmas Day, 
 and no one gave his fellow the customary 
 greeting of the season. Men shivered around 
 the glowing fire. Button s Inn had entered 
 upon an epoch of mystery and misfortune. 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 
 
 IT was late before the people of the Inn were 
 astir that morning. Both the storm and 
 the fact that it was the day of rest tended to 
 produce this result. Travellers were usually 
 weary in those days and liked a late breakfast 
 on Sunday, making but short journeys if they 
 travelled at all. The storm had put even such 
 journeying out of the question, however. So 
 host and guests slept late. 
 
 The landlady s first thought was of the guest 
 in the room above the public. She knew the 
 chamber had been exposed to the full force of 
 the storm, and she had thought of its occupant 
 more than once when she waked in the night. 
 As soon as she had seen that the hired girl had 
 the breakfast properly under way she went up 
 to her guest s room, thinking she would wish 
 her a " Merry Christmas " and start the fire 
 for her, the weather being so unusually se 
 vere. Such a thing as providing a fire in a 
 
58 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 guest s room was almost unheard of in a way 
 side inn at that time ; and it was only the ac 
 cident of the old block-house and the result 
 of its transformation into an inn that made 
 such a luxury possible in the strange lady s 
 chamber. 
 
 The landlady went through the public-room, 
 where three or four men were still asleep on 
 buffalo robes before the fire, and climbed the 
 narrow stair, her apron full of fine-split kind 
 ling-wood with which to carry into effect her 
 charitable purpose. Reaching the landing she 
 knocked upon the door, and then tried the latch. 
 Finding the door locked she knocked again, and 
 then called her guest by name, first softly, 
 and then louder, but received no answer. De 
 positing the kindlings beside the door she ran 
 down the stairs, brushing the splinters from her 
 clean apron as she did so, and called to her 
 husband. Somehow she felt afraid to remain at 
 the head of the stairs ; yet there was nothing to 
 occasion her any alarm, nothing but silence. 
 Returning with her husband, the knocking and 
 calling were repeated. Still there was no res 
 ponse. At his wife s suggestion Hawk But 
 ton placed his shoulder against the door, and 
 the frail casement gave way as if it had been 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 59 
 
 of pasteboard rather than of staunch pine. He 
 staggered forward as it fell in, but at once shrank 
 back to where his wife stood on the narrow land 
 ing. They entered the room together. There 
 was nothing unusual about it except the amaz 
 ing stillness. There were little spits of snow 
 on the floor, which the wind had sifted through 
 the crevices in the unplastered wall, and one 
 showed white and chill across the dark coverlid. 
 In the great armchair, her face to the window, 
 one hand hanging by her side and the other 
 lying across her lap, was the occupant of the 
 room. The snow heaped up on the window- 
 ledge was not whiter than her face. On the 
 stand beside the bed stood an iron candlestick 
 and an empty vial. The candle had burned 
 down into the socket, the melted tallow running 
 out in yellowish waves upon the white polished 
 surface of the little maple table. The boy was 
 sleeping peacefully. 
 
 They crossed the room on tiptoe. The land 
 lady picked up the vial and read on it the word 
 "laudanum." She set it down, and her hus 
 band repeated her act. Then they turned and 
 looked at the occupant of the chair. Neither 
 spoke. The woman was dressed as she had 
 been the night before. Her hair lay half- 
 
60 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 uncoiled upon her shoulder. The dress was 
 open at the throat, and unhooked to the waist. 
 One sleeve was removed, showing the bare 
 shapely arm, with the narrow white band at 
 the top. The warm-tinted hair veiled the white 
 bosom. The landlady, with instinctive modesty, 
 took a scarf that hung upon a chair and flung 
 it across the woman s shoulders, leaving the face 
 uncovered. The eyes were closed as if in slum 
 ber, btit she shuddered as her hand brushed 
 against the pallid cheek. There had been no 
 question from the very first as to the fact of 
 death. 
 
 The room was icy cold. The landlady spoke 
 of sending for a doctor. The husband shook his 
 head ; the roads were impassable. Both knew 
 it would be useless even were it feasible. The 
 landlord came and touched the hand that lay 
 upon the woman s lap as if to make sure of his 
 thought. As he did so his eyes fell upon some 
 thing on the floor, a little to the left of the chair. 
 He drew his wife s attention to it, and stooped 
 to pick it up. She called to him to let it lie, but 
 he already had it in his hand. It was a small 
 red morocco pocketbook, gilt-stamped, and hav 
 ing a steel clasp. It was open. A roll of bills 
 lay beside it on the floor. A few gold and 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 6 1 
 
 silver pieces showed in one of the pockets, 
 which was lined with leather. The landlord 
 looked at it covetously. 
 
 " You had better put it back, Lonny," said the 
 wife, meaningly. 
 
 "Do you think I mean to steal it?" he retorted 
 angrily. 
 
 " Some one else might," she replied gently. 
 
 " I guess I m the landlord here," he pom 
 pously rejoined, "and it s my place to take care 
 of this money till somebody comes to claim it. 
 It s more than likely we 11 need some of it for 
 expenses, anyhow." 
 
 He put the money in his pocket and went 
 down the stairs with much show of offended dig 
 nity. As soon as he was gone his wife looked 
 eagerly about the room. Noticing something in 
 the hand that lay across the woman s lap, she 
 stooped and took from it a little leather-covered 
 case. She touched a spring and glanced hastily 
 at the contents. At the same moment she 
 heard her husband s voice in the room below 
 announcing the death of their lodger. Then 
 came footsteps toward the stairs. She walked 
 quickly to the head of the bed and dropped the 
 case into a crevice between one of the logs and 
 the rough " chinking " that half-filled the space 
 
62 BUTTON S INN: 
 
 between their rounded edges. The wind had 
 filled this space with light particles of snow, in 
 which the case sank and was hidden. When her 
 husband returned to the room followed by sev 
 eral of the guests, she was bending over the bed 
 seeking to arouse the sleeping child. After a 
 moment she took him in her arms and went 
 down the stairs to her own room. From that 
 moment she cared for him as tenderly as if he 
 had been her own child. 
 
 Of course there was an inquest, and of course 
 the inquest revealed nothing that was not patent 
 at a glance. In fact, there did not seem to be 
 much more to be learned. There were no marks 
 of violence and no trace of struggle. The door 
 was locked upon the inside, and there was no 
 other means of ingress. A method of self-de 
 struction was at least suggested, and there was no 
 suspicion of foul play. The physician who came 
 from the county seat, in attendance upon the 
 coroner, said it was evident that death had 
 resulted either from poison administered by 
 the deceased herself or from heart-disease ; he 
 was inclined to the latter hypothesis. He did 
 not consider an autopsy necessary, and frankly 
 stated that even if he should make one he would 
 be unable to distinguish between these two 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 63 
 
 causes. Some further inquiry was made rather 
 to satisfy public curiosity, and learn, if possible, 
 the residence and domestic relations of the de 
 ceased, than for the purpose of discovering the 
 manner of her death. Then the rough jurymen, 
 having viewed tenderly and reverently the fair re 
 mains, and expressed their pity for the bereaved 
 boy, duly found that Mrs. Matilda E. Evans, 
 whose residence was to the jurors unknown, had 
 died from causes to the jurors likewise un 
 known. So the verdict stands upon the record 
 still. Yet people shook their heads over what 
 was revealed, and puzzled their brains over what 
 was unexplained. In truth there was little 
 learned by the inquest which was not already 
 known ; and that little was very far from being 
 satisfactory to the gossips of the vicinity. 
 
 A passenger who stopped at the Inn remem 
 bered seeing the deceased standing at the win 
 dow of her room as the stage drove up, and 
 finding her peering into his face as he stepped 
 out upon the porch. She seemed -to be watch 
 ing for some one to arrive, and was evidently 
 disappointed that the stage brought only a let 
 ter. She had said nothing to indicate such a 
 thing, but the landlady judged that she expected 
 her husband. The change in her demeanor as 
 
64 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 she returned to her room was so apparent as to 
 call forth a remark from one of the loungers in 
 the public-room in reference to it. 
 
 After a brief conversation with his mother, 
 Jack had gone to the room of the strange 
 lady, and remained there something less than 
 half an hour. No one about the Inn had seen 
 him since he passed through the public-room 
 after leaving her chamber. This was not later 
 than seven o clock. She usually sat up late, 
 seldom retiring before ten, judging from the 
 light in her room. Some of those in the pub 
 lic-room thought they heard her walking about 
 at a very late hour that night. Her trunk had 
 been moved from its accustomed place against 
 the wall, and one of them was confident that 
 he heard it dragged over the floor as late as 
 ten o clock at least. It was found open hardly 
 an arm s length from the chair in which she 
 sat. Its contents had evidently been recently 
 overhauled, but without haste. The clothes and 
 books taken from it were neatly piled at either 
 end. The fly-leaves had been torn out of all 
 the books but one, a gilt-edged copy of the 
 New Testament, in which was written: "Ozro 
 Evans, born Sept. 10, 1818. From his mother." 
 The landlady had seen enough of her lodger s 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 6$ 
 
 handwriting to enable her to identify this in 
 scription. It was not a recent entry. 
 
 Though the deceased was dressed, the bed 
 had unquestionably been occupied. It was 
 thought she might have opened her frock and 
 lain down beside the child to induce him to go 
 to sleep, she herself intending, for some reason, 
 to rise and resume her clothing. The boy had 
 been ailing for a few days, and his mother 
 had given him medicine, the landlady did not 
 know whether it was laudanum or not. The 
 day before she had dressed him very carefully, 
 and seemed anxious to keep him awake until 
 the stage arrived. She had herself been much 
 excited all day, seeming to be unusually happy. 
 The child had the mother s watch in his hand 
 with the chain about his neck. The landlady 
 said this was a customary method of putting 
 him to sleep. 
 
 The landlord was excited and effusive. He 
 showed the money, and explained why he had 
 taken charge of it. There was something over 
 three hundred dollars. He was ready to deliver 
 it, he said, to any one authorized to receipt for it, 
 less reasonable charges. 
 
 The landlady answered the questions asked 
 her at the inquest, slowly and carefully, but 
 5 
 
66 BUTTON S INN, 
 
 volunteered no information. Really, she knew 
 nothing of the woman s history or connections. 
 She was sure the deceased had come from the 
 East, but had no knowledge from what State. 
 She did not remember hearing Mrs. Evans say 
 anything about her husband, but thought he was 
 somewhere at the West, and that there had been 
 an estrangement between them. The deceased 
 had once shown her a lock of hair in the back 
 of a cameo brooch, and said it was her hus 
 band s. As to the conversation with Jack the 
 night before, the landlady said he had told her 
 immediately after the departure of the stage that 
 he had a message of importance for Mrs. Evans 
 and must see her at once. She told him to go 
 and deliver it, as she was busy with her house 
 hold cares, it being Saturday night, and unable, 
 therefore, .to go herself. Her son was not ac 
 customed to go to the room of the deceased, and 
 there was no intimacy between them. She did 
 not think he had ever been in the room before 
 during the lady s stay at the Inn. This testi 
 mony excited some remark, and was given with 
 emphasis. 
 
 One letter, and only one, was found in the 
 room of the deceased. It bore date of the day 
 previous, and was in these words: 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 6/ 
 
 M. E. E. 
 
 THE reports of your conduct at the country inn 
 where you are staying satisfy me that you are incorrigi 
 ble. I shall make no further effort to reclaim you from 
 the ways of sin. I send a package by the landlord s 
 son, which will be the last you will ever hear of him 
 who has the misfortune to be your husband. A sum 
 will be deposited for you with my bankers each year, 
 which may be drawn as you require. I should pray 
 for you if I were not satisfied that you are of those 
 elected to eternal wrath. A. E. 
 
 It was written in a bold angular hand that 
 comported well with its harsh, fanatic tone, and 
 contained a postscript in these words : 
 
 " If you choose to put the child in the care of some 
 godly person, resigning all control over him yourself, 
 my bankers will provide for his nurture until he is old 
 enough to be put to some honest vocation." 
 
 So the woman s good name was at the same 
 time both avouched and assailed. The marriage- 
 ring upon her finger was shown to be no lie, and 
 the imputation of the letter was too vague to do 
 more than react upon the writer, whose stern 
 ness was universally held to be only sanctimo 
 nious cruelty. All pitied the beautiful lady 
 whom rumor had been only too ready to blame, 
 and the whole neighborhood attended her fu- 
 
68 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 neral, and every one remarked upon the peaceful 
 beauty of the dead lady s face. She was buried 
 between two trees that grew on the edge of 
 the " Gulf " that ran back of the Inn, the nearest 
 burying-ground being two miles away, the roads 
 almost impassable, and the weather very severe. 
 The landlady suggested this spot as the place of 
 interment, because it had been a favorite resort 
 of their unfortunate guest during her stay at the 
 Inn. Very often during the pleasant autumn 
 weather she had passed almost the entire day 
 upon the wooded crest, sitting in a niche in the 
 side of a great rock, engaged with her needle or 
 her book, or idly looking off on the bright lake, 
 while the two children her son and the land 
 lady s little daughter played among the painted 
 leaves at her feet. So she was buried there, and 
 the great bowlder that lay beside the path leading 
 down into the canon was her only headstone. 
 
 Two things puzzled the gossips of the country 
 side, the fact that no jewels were found among 
 the dead woman s effects, and Jack Button s 
 disappearance. 
 
 The landlord denied all knowledge of any 
 jewelry belonging to the deceased except the 
 cameo brooch. A pedler, who was a guest 
 that night, was very confident that he had seen 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 69 
 
 diamonds in her ears when she came down to the 
 porch on the arrival of the stage. Being a Jew, 
 he was considered an unusually good authority 
 upon the subject. Opinion was divided after 
 ward as to whether Mrs. Button was questioned 
 about this matter at the inquest or not. At all 
 events, nothing more was learned with regard to 
 it. The result was a general belief that the land 
 lord had appropriated the rich woman s jewels ; 
 that his wife at least suspected this unlawful 
 conversion, and was silent in regard to it to save 
 the family from disgrace. Public sympathy set 
 very strongly in her favor, and the landlord was 
 soon made to feel himself tabooed. Somehow 
 the loss of the jewels was in the public mind 
 connected with the disappearance of the land 
 lord s son ; and it soon became current gossip 
 that father and son had appropriated a fortune 
 in precious stones from their dead guest. Of 
 course the details of this did not come imme 
 diately to the landlord s ears ; but he soon knew 
 he had somehow become an object of suspicion. 
 Travellers refused to smoke the pipe of peace 
 under the roof of the Inn, despite the invitation 
 of the aboriginal upon its sign ; the newly 
 established rival, " Corey s," but a mile away, 
 became prosperous as " Button s " declined ; and 
 
7O BUTTON S INN. 
 
 soon " Hawk s " only customers were a few roy- 
 stering companions of the neighborhood, and 
 now and then a belated wayfarer. 
 
 To the events already narrated was soon 
 added another, which in the opinion of the 
 neighborhood, at least, very strongly confirmed 
 the general suspicion of the landlord s guilt. 
 Not long after the funeral the landlady removed 
 her personal effects from the apartment she had 
 occupied with her husband on the west side of 
 the public-room, and with her baby and the 
 stranger-child took possession of one in the east 
 ern extension. This room had a closet across 
 the end under the overhanging second story of 
 the original building, and a window that looked 
 out upon the porch just beyond the door of the 
 public-room. It was the one her son had always 
 occupied, and her appropriation of it was looked 
 upon as evidence that she did not expect him 
 to return, that she had indeed good reason to 
 know he would not return. From that time on, 
 the pale sad face of the landlady was often seen 
 at this window, and it was noticed that she never 
 left the room without locking the door. People 
 pitied her openly, and shook their heads cau 
 tiously when they mentioned her husband. She 
 said nothing of what had happened : her hus- 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. Jl 
 
 band could talk of nothing else. It was before 
 the days of professional detectives ; but the 
 inhabitants of Button s Inn were very closely 
 watched. Nothing further was discovered, how 
 ever. The landlady neglected none of her duties, 
 though she added to them the care of the dead 
 woman s child, whom she had legally bound to 
 herself, not to her husband. The lawyer who 
 had attended to the matter for her doubted its 
 legality, she being a married woman ; but she 
 insisted, and had her way. After a time the 
 landlord transferred the title to the Inn to a 
 trustee for the benefit of his wife. This was 
 generally thought to be an express condition 
 of her silence in regard to what had occurred, 
 but in fact it was done of his own motion and 
 without his wife s knowledge. It did not serve, 
 however, as he no doubt hoped it would, to 
 change their relations. She continued to per 
 form her duties with exemplary faithfulness, but 
 made no advances towards a reconciliation, if, 
 indeed, there had been any rupture. This was 
 what the gossips were most puzzled to decide. In 
 a sense, she had separated herself from her hus 
 band ; he was never seen in her room, and she 
 appeared to take special precautions to exclude 
 him from it. On the other hand, there was no 
 
72 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 complaining, and apparently no bickering. She 
 treated him with coolness it is true, but with 
 every outward show of respect. Always of a 
 serious cast of mind as we have seen, she now 
 became most assiduous and untiring in her reli 
 gious duties. The great Bible which had been 
 almost her only dowry was seldom out of her 
 hands when she could command leisure for its 
 perusal. The strange lady s books were care 
 fully arranged upon a shelf in her room, but she 
 rarely glanced at their pages. She had become 
 a religious recluse, who had made her son s room 
 a penitential retreat, and kept always with her 
 the dead woman s boy as a reminder of the sin 
 she sought to expiate for others. This was the 
 interpretation the gossips put upon her conduct. 
 Certain it was that, without seeming to do so, 
 she kept a close watch upon her husband s move 
 ments, her manner toward him changing from 
 one of timid obedience to constant watchfulness. 
 It was generally understood to be in her behalf 
 that the circuit-rider, who preached every fourth 
 Sabbath at the little country church two miles 
 away, always asked the prayers of God s people 
 for one in deep affliction. Some pitied, and 
 others blamed her for not telling all they 
 thought she knew ; but there was none who 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 73 
 
 did not love the sad-eyed woman who would 
 not lose her hold upon her husband, nor abandon 
 hope of his salvation. 
 
 The next spring, when the ice broke up, the 
 body of a man was found floating in the harbor. 
 It was unrecognizable. Some thought it the 
 body of Jack Button ; others declared that it was 
 not. Among the latter was his father. It was 
 observed, however, that when the mother was 
 shown a lock of hair from the head of the 
 drowned man she was much agitated, and placed 
 it between the leaves of her Bible, which lay 
 always on a little stand by the window where 
 she kept daily watch, for what none knew. 
 As to whether it was or was not the body of her 
 son, she expressed no opinion. The inquest pro 
 nounced the body unknown, and it was decently 
 interred on the banks of the lake near the light 
 house tower. Not long after, the grave was 
 enclosed with a neat paling, at whose expense 
 was never known. 
 
 The room above the public was never occu 
 pied after the lady s death. Naturally enough 
 guests did not fancy a chamber with such asso 
 ciations. Besides that, it soon obtained the repu 
 tation of being haunted. Strange sounds were 
 heard to issue from it ; lights gleamed in the 
 
74 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 window at night ; and more than once a white- 
 robed figure had been seen standing at the 
 casement. On Saturday nights moans and sup 
 plications were often heard by those in the room 
 beneath, followed sometimes by screams and 
 the falling of a heavy body upon the floor of the 
 haunted chamber. More than once at such 
 times parties had rushed up from the public- 
 room only to find the suspected apartment en 
 tirely vacant, and everything in it undisturbed. 
 When the storm raged from the northwest in 
 the summer-time the room was sure to be bril 
 liantly lighted, yet there were never any traces 
 of occupancy. Finally, the furniture was re 
 moved and the door nailed up. Still the mani 
 festations continued. The excellence of its 
 entertainment, curiosity, and even pity for the 
 woman who was the manager of the Inn still 
 gave it some custom ; but it was the farm rather 
 than the tavern on which she relied for the 
 maintenance of the household and the little 
 savings she so jealously hoarded, none knew 
 for what. After a time her husband s disso 
 lute habits absorbed not only the little surplus, 
 but piece after piece of the farm itself found 
 its way down the throat of the sorely beset 
 landlord. 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 75 
 
 That Lonny Button finding himself shunned, 
 suspected, and his business almost destroyed, 
 did not go entirely to the bad was due solely to 
 his wife s loyalty. Though she directed every 
 thing, she did it .always in his name, never al 
 lowing any imputation to fall upon him even of 
 neglect. He was a proud man in his way, and 
 would not descend to explanation or excuse, 
 least of all to his wife. After a time he grew 
 savage and morose, and though not often help 
 lessly intoxicated, was very rarely sober. He 
 frequently declared that he was tired of keeping 
 a haunted house and being an object of suspicion 
 to his neighbors. 
 
 One stormy night in the fall of the next year 
 the light was shining in the window above the 
 public-room, and a white figure was dimly vis 
 ible behind it. Two of the landlord s compan 
 ions returning with him from the harbor pointed 
 it out to him with blanched faces. He rolled off 
 his horse, swearing that he would endure such 
 things no longer, went into the house and re 
 turned with his rifle. He had it loaded with a 
 silver bullet in anticipation of such an opportu 
 nity. Resting his piece against the body of a 
 tree, he took deliberate aim and fired. The 
 watchers heard the ball crash through the glass ; 
 
7 6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 the light disappeared, and shrill, heart-breaking 
 screams burst on their ears. They fled in af 
 fright, leaving the unhappy man insensible at 
 the foot of the tree where he had fallen. The 
 domestics and the guests o/ the Inn were 
 aroused by the turmoil. The landlady was 
 found writhing and foaming in uncontrollable 
 convulsions. When she recovered conscious 
 ness, she was unable to speak aloud. The phy 
 sician said it was the effect of excitement ; the 
 neighbors attributed it to a supernatural cause. 
 There was always something uncanny about the 
 gray-haired, voiceless woman afterward. The 
 next day the haunted chamber was opened, and 
 found to contain no sign of the occurrence ex 
 cept a broken glass and a bullet-hole in the* roof. 
 That night a schooner was wrecked on the bar, 
 and all the crew but one perished. The sur 
 vivor said they were making the harbor, steer 
 ing by a light which one of the crew said was 
 in the window of Button s Inn. Keeping this 
 in range with the harbor light, the helmsman 
 said they would make the offing, despite the 
 heavy sea from the west. When it went out 
 they had no landmark by which to lay their 
 course, and in a few moments grounded on the 
 very end of the long bar, and went to pieces. 
 
A VACANT CHAMBER. 77 
 
 Somehow Lonny Button became possessed with 
 the idea that the sailor who held the rudder was 
 his son. After that he enlarged the windows in 
 the public-room, and on stormy nights took care 
 that they should always be lighted by a glowing 
 fire. 
 
 So the years went on, the silent woman and 
 the melancholy man growing each more marked 
 in their respective characteristics ; and with them 
 Ozro Evans and Dotty Button had grown up 
 side by side. The house was still an inn, and 
 still the room over the public was called the 
 " haunted chamber ; " but much of the horror 
 that once attached to the house had given place 
 to curiosity, and Dotty s charms were bringing 
 back to the hostel something of the old-time 
 popularity. The fortunes of the Inn had been 
 at a very low ebb ; sickness had impaired the 
 landlady s capacity ; Lonny, grown old and quer 
 ulous, had long since ceased to have any care of 
 its affairs, and the fact that the Inn was still in 
 operation was in a large degree due to the ex 
 ertions of the young man Ozro Evans. 
 
ONCE FOR ALL. 
 
 " T T S no use, Ozro," the girl spoke firmly, 
 
 * looking frankly up into her lover s face. 
 " We have been children together, and have 
 always loved each other; but all that must end, 
 and it may as well end here and now." 
 
 " But won t you hear me, Dotty ? " asked the 
 young man, reaching out his hand as if to lay it 
 on her shoulder. 
 
 " No," said the girl, nervously taking a step 
 backward and putting aside his hand half rudely, 
 "no, I won t listen to you ! Don t you see, 
 Ozro," she added impatiently, "I cant listen to 
 you ? I ve been over this matter again and again, 
 in my own mind. I know all you would say, all 
 there is to be said and and more too ! " 
 she ejaculated with a sudden fierceness. 
 
 She put her hand hastily to her throat, as if to 
 arrest the sob that came in spite of her effort, 
 and continued : 
 
 "It s hard, of course, just as hard for me 
 as it is for you, I 11 say that. But there s no 
 
ONCE FOR ALL. 79 
 
 use of waiting or hoping; there s nothing to 
 wait for and nothing to hope for." 
 
 " But, Dotty " 
 
 " Don t stop me ! " putting up her hand with 
 an imperative gesture ; " I ve got something to 
 say, and I came here to say it once for all." 
 
 Her face was pale, but her dark eyes shone 
 with the steady light of a fixed purpose. Her 
 mouth, close shut, showed the rugged firmness 
 implied by her ancestral name. 
 
 " You will come of age to-morrow, Ozro, and 
 go away. Yes, you will you must. Why 
 should you ? Because I say so. Yes, I know 
 you have always obeyed me. Are you sorry 
 for it now ? You have served me, fought for 
 me, suffered for me. Do you think I don t 
 know " 
 
 She took hold of a sapling that grew near, as 
 if to steady herself. 
 
 "Do you think I don t know? You would 
 jump over the bank there in a minute if I asked 
 it; and and I would do it for you, too, Ozro." 
 
 Her voice trembled, but she went on speaking 
 hurriedly, as if time pressed. 
 
 " But it would n t do any good. Our fates 
 seem to have got so tangled up with others that 
 we can t live for ourselves. You know how it 
 
80 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 is. There s my father oh, I know you would 
 treat him well for my sake, but one can t go on 
 forgiving always. And there s Ma," her voice 
 grew soft as she pronounced the tender diminu 
 tive, with her curious foreign accent. 
 
 " But I love her as well as you do," burst in 
 the young man. 
 
 " I know you do, I know you do, Ozro," tears 
 coming in spite of herself, " but she can t live 
 on love any more than we." 
 
 " But I will work," he protested. 
 
 " Of course," she replied. " Have n t you 
 always worked ? I m sure we d all have been 
 in the poorhouse if it had n t been for you ; 
 and we re only just outside the door as it 
 is. Don t you suppose I see how things have 
 been going on ? You Ve done a man s work 
 for years, ever since you left school, and 
 more n any other man would have done, 
 working antl contriving every which way ; 
 and what has it all come to ? The farm s 
 been growing smaller n smaller, a piece split 
 off or chopped off every year, till there s only 
 forty acres left of all the old Boutonne tract ; 
 and that s mortgaged for more than its worth, 
 and the money past due at that. And what 
 is there besides ? Nothing ! " 
 
ONCE FOR ALL. 8 1 
 
 " The Inn s doing better lately/ ventured 
 Ozro. 
 
 " It s helping us live, that s all," said the girl, 
 emphatically. " And that s all its done ever 
 since " she hesitated a moment, and then 
 added apologetically "since the trouble came ; 
 and it won t ever do any better. It s seen its 
 best days, and I would n t wonder if about its 
 last days, too. If it was n t for Mr. Dewstowe I 
 doubt if it would pay to keep the door open now. 
 People don t travel by the same lines they used 
 to, and we re off the line." 
 
 " If you knew what what I can do, Dotty," 
 said the young man, anxiously. 
 
 " Do ? What could you do with us all hang 
 ing on to you ? You d better have a mill-stone 
 about your neck at once. I tell you, Ozro, 
 you ve had enough of hard times, and I ain t 
 going to have anything to do with making your 
 lot any worse. I d jump right down the bank 
 there, before I d marry you and be a drag on 
 you, as I d have to be." 
 
 She shuddered as she pointed down the pre 
 cipice by which they stood. The young man 
 placed himself carelessly between her and the 
 brink. She saw the movement, and looked him 
 straight in the eye as she said excitedly : 
 6 
 
82 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I would ; and more n that, I d see you do 
 it, before I d have the spoiling of your life on 
 my hands. If you go off west somewhere by 
 yourself, you 11 do well. There ain t no doubt 
 of that, Ozro, and you deserve it." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " Never mind about me." 
 
 " You 11 marry Dewstowe, I suppose." 
 
 " Well, suppose I do. I ve got to take care 
 of Pa. and Ma," the accent suited the softened 
 tone ; " they re getting old and trying, espe 
 cially Pa. I can t neglect them, and it won t 
 do to have them miss" what they Ve always been 
 accustomed to." 
 
 " Dewstowe s got money, and could provide 
 for them," said the young man, meditatively. 
 
 " Yes," said Dotty, in a tone not altogether 
 expressive of satisfaction. 
 
 " He s a smart man, too," continued Ozro. 
 
 " Yes, smart enough," she assented, as if she 
 did not altogether like the turn the conversation 
 had taken. 
 
 " But he does not love you as I do, Dorothy." 
 
 "Don t call me that, Ozro!" she exclaimed, her 
 lips quivering, and tears springing to her eyes. 
 "We can t have everything in this world." 
 
 She tried to laugh, but it was a dismal failure. 
 
ONCE FOR ALL. 83 
 
 " Can t we leave this matter open a while, 
 Dotty? " 
 
 He had put his arm around her, and she 
 leaned against his shoulder, weeping silently. 
 
 " No, we can t we must rit, I mean." There 
 were sobs between her words. " You are twenty- 
 one, and you must go away, and and I I 
 must do the best I can." 
 
 " I believe we were made for each other, 
 Dotty," he said tenderly. 
 
 He had worked himself to the brink of the 
 chasm as they talked, and she had given back 
 step by step, until now they stood in the edge 
 of the tinted undergrowth that fringed the crest. 
 They had been so absorbed in their conversa 
 tion that they were quite unconscious that they 
 were in full view of the Inn and of the road that 
 ran by its door. 
 
 " Don t you think so, Dotty ? " 
 
 The only answer was a sigh of relief. He 
 bent down and kissed her. She did not mind 
 it. He had kissed her ever since she could 
 remember. 
 
 The crack of a whip sounded from the high 
 way, and a pedler s wagon, drawn by four sleek 
 horses and resplendent with gay colors, came 
 into view around the curve of the hill. She, 
 
84 BUTTON S INN". 
 
 raised her head and glanced quickly at the ap 
 proaching equipage. 
 
 " Let me go," she said hastily, trying to re 
 lease herself. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " That s Mr. Dewstowe." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Don t be foolish, Ozro ! Let . me go 
 please!" 
 
 " Not till you promise me something, Dotty," 
 holding her yet closer. 
 
 " What is it ? " She struggled to free herself, 
 but his arms were like iron. 
 
 " Promise me you will wait." 
 
 "Oh, I can t" 
 
 "You must!" 
 
 There was no doubting his determination. 
 The only chance was to make terms. 
 
 "How long?" 
 
 " A year." 
 
 " Impossible ! The place will be sold long 
 before that." 
 
 "Till Christmas, then." 
 
 " What is the use of waiting ? It will only 
 be the same thing over again." 
 
 " Have n t I deserved that much ? " 
 
 " Of course," angrily. " It is not a question 
 
ONCE FOR ALL. 85 
 
 of what you deserve, but you won t ask any 
 thing more ? " 
 
 " Not another day." 
 
 " And then what ? " 
 
 " If I cannot remove your objections I will 
 go away and leave you free." The young man 
 spoke very solemnly. 
 
 The girl glanced over her shoulder. The four 
 horses with the yellow van behind them were 
 dashing down the hill to the Inn. 
 
 " I promise," she said hastily. 
 
 The young man loosed his clasp and they 
 stepped back into the path, out of sight of the 
 road. 
 
 " What made you do so ? " she asked re 
 proachfully, as he kissed her again. " You know 
 it will be of no use. It can t ever be 
 Ozro Evans, and you know it ! Why not have 
 the matter over, and be done with it ? " 
 
 She stepped back and looked up at him 
 wearily. " Only think how much trouble there 
 has been on account of of what has hap 
 pened ! Suppose my brother should return ? " 
 
 " Your brother? Don t be foolish, Dotty. 
 He is dead long ago." 
 
 " No, he is n t, Ozro." 
 
 " No ? Why do you think so ? " 
 
86 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I am sure of it from what Ma says when 
 she prays for him. You know she s been get 
 ting her voice back a little of late ; but she has 
 been so long out of the habit of using it that she 
 never thinks of speaking above a whisper; and 
 she has prayed in a whisper so long I don t 
 s pose she knows the difference now. But I 
 can t help hearing her, and she always prays 
 for Jack." Her voice sank as she made this 
 declaration. 
 
 "There is nothing strange in that." 
 
 " Not if he is alive of course." 
 
 " Nor if he were dead, either." 
 
 " Why, Ozro ! Do you think Ma would pray 
 for any one who is dead ? " 
 
 " I don t know I suppose not." 
 
 " Suppose ! You know it would be just the 
 wickedest thing in the world. He is alive, Ozro, 
 and she knows it, and that is the reason she 
 prays for him." 
 
 " Well, I m sure I m glad of it," said he, 
 heartily. " I hope he will come home, and 
 the sooner the better." 
 
 " No, you don t, for there was something I 
 don t know what about him and your mother." 
 
 " See here, Dotty," said the young man, 
 gravely, for the first time showing signs of an- 
 
ONCE FOR ALL. 8/ 
 
 ger, " I don t want to hear any more of that non 
 sense. Two people s lives have been spoiled, and 
 at least two others made to suffer a great deal, 
 because my father was brute enough to break my 
 mother s heart while she was staying at the Inn, 
 and people were malicious enough to talk about 
 it, for that is all there is of it. Poor mother ! " 
 he said, glancing toward the grave, a few steps 
 away, " I don t doubt it s been a great trouble 
 to her, even in heaven, to know how much sor 
 row has come out of her misfortune. But I 
 don t think any ill was done or intended toward 
 the poor woman by any one but the brute who 
 was unworthy of her love." 
 
 "Hush, Ozro!" said Dotty, "don t speak so 
 of your father." 
 
 " My father ! I will never call my mother s 
 murderer my father. Your father has been my 
 father, Dotty ; not always overkind, and having a 
 curious antipathy against me, arising, no doubt, 
 from the foolish gossip of the neighborhood. I 
 have no idea that any one bearing his name 
 ever did my mother any harm, and they have 
 certainly shown great kindness to me." 
 
 " But, Ozro," said the girl, gazing at him in 
 wide-eyed surprise, " there is the the ghost ! " 
 
 She lowered her voice instinctively as she 
 
88 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 spoke the words. She little imagined the effect 
 they would produce. 
 
 The young man burst into a laugh that was a 
 perfect tornado of mirth. The cachinnatory 
 roar echoed and re-echoed up and down the nar 
 row glen. He laughed still louder, and, stagger 
 ing backward, caught hold of a sapling to save 
 himself from falling over the cliff, as he witnessed 
 the consternation his outburst had produced. 
 The tears stood in his eyes when finally he en 
 deavored to control his mirth, and between con 
 vulsive relapses attempt an explanation. 
 
 That s it, Dotty; I knew the ghost was at 
 the bottom of it ! I I " He broke down, 
 and went off again into uncontrollable laughter. 
 
 " What has made so much trouble to others 
 seems to be a very funny thing to you," said 
 Dotty, trying to speak with freezing dignity. 
 
 " That s just it as your father says, 
 Dotty," he responded, still laughing. "The 
 ghost of Button s Inn ! I don t suppose any 
 body ever laughed at it before, at least, not so 
 as to be heard. It s enough to kill one to think 
 how sacred that ghost has been held. Why, 
 only think, Dotty, it s had the best room in the 
 Inn all to itself for eighteen years, and has n t 
 paid a cent ! " 
 
ONCE FOR ALL. 89 
 
 " Ozro Evans ! " exclaimed the innkeeper s 
 daughter, in angry excitement. " I should think 
 you would be ashamed. Right here beside your 
 mother s grave, too ! " 
 
 She was weeping, though she hardly knew 
 why. 
 
 The young man was sober in an instant. 
 
 " Why, Dotty, I didn t mean " 
 
 "Don t talk to me! I m sure it s a good 
 thing we can t ever think of being more to each 
 other than we are. Anybody so heartless as 
 you " 
 
 She broke off suddenly. A horn sounded 
 from the Inn. It was the usual summons for 
 any one that was wanted at the house. 
 
 " I declare," said Ozro, called back to every 
 day affairs by the sound, " I forgot all about 
 Dewstowe s horses." 
 
 He began hastily to gather up his load. 
 " Let s go," he said, seeing that she made no 
 movement to accompany him. 
 
 " I will come presently," she replied, with 
 a blush. 
 
 " All right," he laughed, interpreting the blush 
 to suit himself. " But you 11 not forget your 
 promise ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
QO BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Well, good-by," said he, gayly, kissing her 
 cheek. " I 11 tell Dewstowe you re coming." 
 
 He dodged the blow she aimed at his ear, 
 and was off toward the house, laughing and 
 whistling as he went. 
 
 " Seems to be in good spirits, don t he?" said 
 the pedler to the landlord, as he stood beside 
 his horses at the watering-trough. 
 
 "That s what s the matter, Dewstowe," ex 
 claimed the old man, shaking his finger at the 
 pedler, "that s jest what s the matter. Tain t 
 nateral, you see tain t nateral !" 
 
 " I m not so sure about that," muttered the 
 pedler to himself, as he checked up the nigh- 
 wheeler lest he should drink too freely. 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. 
 
 MR. DEWSTOWE was one of the most 
 enterprising and successful of the peri 
 patetic merchants of a generation ago. He was 
 not only a merchant, but a horseman, and some 
 thing of a dandy as well. He prided himself on 
 driving the finest team to the nattiest turnout on 
 the road. The team consisted of two iron-gray 
 wheelers, heavy and sleek, and a span of bay 
 leaders, as lively and trim as the famous stock 
 of the Green Mountains could afford. He knew 
 the value of a horse, and no stage-driver in the 
 country managed a four-in-hand better than 
 the keen-eyed, firm-handed, gloved and scented 
 owner of the wonderful array of drawers and 
 boxes mounted on stout wheels, locked with a 
 hundred keys, ornately painted, and lettered 
 
 J. DEWSTOWE, 
 
 DRY GOODS, 
 New York. 
 
Q2 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 A heavy iron railing went around the upper 
 edge, to which was securely padlocked such 
 light merchandise as weather and rough usage 
 were not likely to injure. A comfortable ex 
 tension top might be raised at will to protect 
 the driver from sun or storm, and beside him on 
 the blue-cushioned seat sat always a bull-dog, 
 milk-white, broad-chested, pink-eyed, and crop- 
 eared, his fore-shortened upper jaw disclosing an 
 imposing array of ivory, and a mouth his owner 
 was accustomed to describe as " a perfect rose 
 bud." Withal his skin was like a glove, and he 
 had never turned his back or more properly his 
 brief apology fora tail upon a foe. 
 
 This outfit was a part of the owner s stock in 
 trade. He had worked his way up from a 
 mere pedler following the tow-path and the 
 cross-roads with a pack on his back, to the 
 foremost place among the merchant-travellers 
 of his time, by close attention to his business 
 and a careful study of human nature. He knew 
 to a cent how much his horses, his dog, and 
 his jaunty clothing cost, and how much they 
 were worth in his business. Though he liked 
 the distinction they gave him and the easy inde 
 pendent life he led, he would have discarded 
 them all on the instant had they ceased to be 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. 
 
 93 
 
 profitable. He was likely to do so in a short 
 time anyhow, for the fortune he had acquired 
 was getting beyond what might be profitably 
 employed in his business. He had ceased long 
 ago to handle any but the finest and costliest 
 goods, and had now half-a-dozen men in his 
 employ with outfits only a little less pretentious 
 than his own. He was already contemplating 
 the sale of the whole, preliminary to engaging in 
 a new kind of forwarding business which he be 
 lieved to promise remarkable opportunities. 
 
 He would probably have consummated this 
 change before, had he not, something like a year 
 previous, fallen in love with Lonny Button s 
 daughter. He was not a bad fellow, keen, 
 shrewd, and bright, and in downright earnest 
 in his love. It was not, perhaps, of the highest 
 type. He was not sighing or sentimental, but 
 he was bold, sincere, and confident. To use his 
 own language, he saw the girl s "capabilities," 
 and knew that the saucy, piquant beauty was ex 
 actly the wife he wanted for the head of his es 
 tablishment when he should leave the road and 
 " show those city fellows how to make money." 
 He was no fool and no niggard. He wanted 
 everything about him to be A-l ; and Dotty 
 was exactly the style of article he required for 
 
94 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 a wife. He had laid furious siege not only to 
 her heart but to her father s favor, finding no 
 difficulty in capturing the unbounded admiration 
 of the weak old man, awakening the apprehen 
 sion of the mother, and rousing the envy of all 
 the girls in the neighborhood by his attentions 
 to the coquettish young mistress of the haunted 
 Inn. For Dotty was its mistress ; the shrewd 
 dealer saw that plainly enough, and the fact 
 added to his estimate of her value not a little. 
 There was, no doubt, a strong commercial flavor 
 in his love. It smacked not of the shop, but 
 of the road ; yet it was true and honest, and 
 would stand the test far better than much of the 
 " wild-cat " money of that day. 
 
 For a year the enterprising trader had stopped 
 for Sunday at the Inn every time his business 
 would permit, and ofttimes perhaps to its detri 
 ment. A drive of thirty or forty miles was 
 nothing to him by day or by night, however, 
 especially as he believed himself to be mak 
 ing good progress in his wooing. He had not 
 been over-modest in speaking of himself ; yet 
 to do him justice he had only told the truth of 
 the past, and his prescience of the future fell 
 far short of what the reality afterward proved. 
 That there was something about this dashing, 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. 95 
 
 adventurous, and successful mercantile nomad 
 that attracted the spirited girl there could be no 
 doubt. She was fond of Ozro, who had been to 
 her a servant and a brother, how fond she 
 hardly knew till she began to think of another, 
 but he was awkward and shy ; and though 
 strong and skilful in all physical sports, and per 
 haps in the abstract quite as good-looking as the 
 merchant-pedler, he lacked the advantage which 
 the prestige of good clothes, success, and wealth 
 must ever be to the lover who does not prize 
 such incidents too highly. For some months 
 Ozro had been unusually silent and moody, real 
 izing how great were the odds against him. He 
 knew, too, the necessities of the family ; and so 
 true was his love that he could not bear to think 
 that it should bring anything of deprivation or 
 hardship to its object. Indeed, until the scene 
 we have described, he had purposely refrained 
 from pressing his suit. When it came to the 
 point, however, his earnestness swept away all 
 barriers ; and Dotty, who thought her mind al 
 ready made up, and had half-promised her rich 
 suitor an answer on this visit, found herself more 
 at sea than ever. Or rather she had found that 
 her admiration for the rich trader and her desire 
 to serve her parents in their extremity were not 
 
96 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 able to smother her love for the devoted com 
 panion of her youth. 
 
 That night the landlady called Ozro into her 
 room, and the two talked long and earnestly, 
 the woman speaking in whispers, and the young 
 man listening with respectful attention. Much 
 that she told him he already knew, but for the 
 first time he learned that night that the unfor 
 tunate woman s long estrangement from her hus 
 band had been on account of the wrong and in 
 jury she believed her spouse had done to him. 
 
 " I hate to tell ye, Ozro," she whispered sadly, 
 " but Lonny Button robbed ye of all your mother 
 had to leave. It was n t the money only, but the 
 trinkets, diamonds they say they were. He 
 took em, Ozro, he and Jack. I don t know 
 what ever possessed him to do it, but I spect 
 Jack had got into trouble, in fact I know he 
 had, and Lonny probably took em to help 
 him out. He s my husband, Ozro, and I hate 
 to say a word agin him ; but jestice is jestice, 
 an I ve gone contrary to the Lord s will too 
 often in my day to be willin to cover up any 
 longer what I spose I never ought to have hid. 
 I don t know how much he got for em," she 
 continued, "but they must have been worth a 
 deal of money. There were three of em, 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD, Q/ 
 
 two for the ears, and one in a little bit of narrer- 
 edged pin that did n t seem to be nothin at all 
 when you looked straight at it, only a gold line 
 holdin a drop of dew in the middle; for they 
 looked more like dewdrops than anythin else. 
 They wa n t bigger n a good-sized pea, 
 scarcely as big as that, as I remember em ; but 
 she told me, I mean yer mother, Ozro ; who, 
 if her heart was set on the vain things of this 
 world, was a good an patient woman who never 
 made any complaint with her lot, she told me 
 that each one of them little bits of white stones 
 cost a deal of money. I don t see what people 
 want of such things. They are pretty of course, 
 but I d a most as soon have a handful of peb 
 bles from the beach. Of course I told my hus 
 band about em, but I don t think he ever saw 
 em till that night afore she died. I was afraid 
 he might find em afterwards ; an I knew if he 
 did, his covetousness would be sure to git the 
 better on him, for he is awful covetous, Ozro, 
 awful ! So I snatched em up while he was n t 
 by, an tucked em in a hole in the house-log, an 
 put a piece of brown paper over em. 
 
 "She died with em in her hand, Ozro, which 
 I suppose some folks would have counted a jedg- 
 ment on her pride. But I knew that rich as she 
 7 
 
98 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 had been an handsome as she was, your mother 
 didn t set no great store by them little shiny 
 stones. She was a woman of the world, and de 
 lighted in the things of this world no doubt. 
 That s probably what set yer father so terribly 
 agin her. I think he was a pious man, but I .. 
 afraid he was .a hard man too, one that made 
 duty only a handy name for his own unregener- 
 ate impulse. But it ain t for me to jedge, Ozro. 
 He that calls on the name of the Lord must be 
 jedged by the Lord. He s gone to his account, 
 an she s gone to hers. Whatever there was 
 between em has been settled by One that makes 
 no mistakes. But however worldly-minded your 
 mother was, I knew she had n t set up way 
 into the night an she all alone here among 
 strangers that did n t know nor care anything 
 about the vally of such things jest to look at 
 an gloat over them little bits of shinin vanities. 
 She did n t go out of this world with em in her 
 hand because her heart was sot on em not a 
 bit on t. I don t know ez I ever heard her say 
 anything about bein a professor, Ozro, but she 
 was a good woman, your mother was ; and I Ve 
 heard her prayin for you always for you, for 
 she did n t ever seem to care for herself as no 
 one but a real Christian can pray, as if she 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. * 99 
 
 expected her prayers to be heard an answered 
 too. So I knew, jest as well as if I d been there 
 an* she d told me with her own lips, that she 
 had n t died with them trinkets in her hand, and 
 her money scattered round on the floor beside 
 her, from any feeling of vanity. It was n t in 
 her nature to do that sort of thing. I knew she 
 had em in her hand for some good purpose ; 
 and she must have known the end was near, and 
 meant em to be saved for you. That was my 
 conceit, anyhow, an that s why I hid em away. 
 I may have been wrong. I ve thought, some 
 times, I must have been, an that the Lord has 
 punished me for my presumption ; but what I 
 did was done honestly an in His fear, an the 
 end is in His hand. It was a good while before 
 I had a chance to go and look for em, and then 
 they were gone. 
 
 " I d been afraid about Jack before, but I 
 had n t any suspicion of my husband till then. 
 He acted bad enough about the money, but that 
 was n t much, and I knew we could make it up. 
 Besides, it was worth something to care for you ; 
 though you have made that good about a hun 
 dred times over, since you have grown up. I ve 
 saved up a little for ye, lad, so you won t come 
 twenty-one quite empty-handed. T wont make 
 
TOO BUTTON S INN. 
 
 up what you Ve lost through them that bear my 
 name, but it s better n nothing, an is all I ve 
 been able to do. Some of it has come in a very 
 strange way, but one that is no mystery to me. 
 It gives me great joy, for it tells me that some 
 where on the face of the earth I don t know 
 where nor how a soul has repented of its sin, 
 an is a tryin to undo the evil it once wrought. 
 I trust we won t always be your debtors, an* 
 that the time may come when you can say that 
 all accounts are squared between you and all of 
 our name." 
 
 " I am sure that is true, now," said the 
 young man, earnestly; "your love has more 
 than paid " 
 
 " Love aint jestice, Ozro ; an kindness don t 
 pay debts between them that are not of kin." 
 
 The gray-haired woman looked sternly at him, 
 as she interrupted with relentless judgment on 
 those whose wrong-doing she had so rigorously 
 striven to expiate. 
 
 " I know you would n t ever make complaint, 
 Ozro, nor have hard feelings toward me ; but 
 before I can ask you to forgive them that s 
 done the wrong, I m bound to let you see that 
 some that bear the name has done their best to 
 set it right." 
 
A KNIGHT ;&F > THE ROAD. IOI 
 
 Her manner was-so mipdrious, so full of proud 
 humility, that he could think of nothing to say 
 in reply. After a moment she took the candle, 
 went to the closet under the overhang, and re 
 turned with a buckskin bag, from which she 
 emptied a quantity of coin in her lap, and began 
 to count it, laying it in little piles upon her knee. 
 The young man s eyes sparkled at the sight 
 When she had counted fifty dollars he reached 
 out his hand and touched her arm. She paused 
 and looked up at him in surprise through the 
 great glasses set in heavy German-silver rims, 
 which she had donned to enable her to read the 
 value of the coins. 
 
 " Stop, Mother," he said gently. He had al 
 ways addressed her thus, after the memory of 
 his own mother grew dim. For some reason 
 she would never allow him, even when a child, 
 to call her Ma, as his little playmate did. 
 
 " Oh, there s more n that," she said with a 
 smile of satisfaction. It was her own saving, 
 the result of the most pinching economy for 
 years, and she was rather proud of the amount. 
 "There ain t very far from five hundred dollars 
 here." 
 
 " Why, Mother," exclaimed Ozro, " why have n t 
 you used it instead of keeping it for me ? You 
 
IO2 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 have needed it so rriuch ! "" There was reproach 
 in his tone. 
 
 " Yes, we ve needed it a great many times," 
 said the old woman, thoughtfully. "A great 
 many times," she repeated, as she snuffed the 
 candle burning in the iron candlestick upon the 
 table near her, " more times than you 11 ever 
 know about, Ozro ; but I did n t use it cause it 
 was n t mine. I could n t make it all up ; but I 
 promised afore God to be a helpmeet to Lonny 
 Button, an I did n t see no way I could help him 
 better n by trying to undo the wrong he had 
 done to a little motherless boy, under his own 
 roof-tree." 
 
 " I never could make out jest what made 
 him do it. There never was an honester nor 
 a kinder man than he up to that very day. 
 I s pose t was too great a temptation. God 
 knows, God knows ! " she whispered reverently, 
 shaking her head with sad uncertainty. 
 
 " I don t believe he took them," said the young 
 man, emphatically. 
 
 " Oh, I heard him searching for em," she 
 answered hopelessly. 
 
 " I don t believe he took them ; I can t be 
 lieve it," he reiterated. 
 
 " You think perhaps t was Jack ? " she asked, 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. 103 
 
 wiping her spectacles. -on. the- corner of her 
 coarse checked apron. " That would n t make it 
 a bit better, worse if anything. But t was n t 
 Jack. I thought so at first ; but t was n t him, 
 -I m satisfied of that ; t was n t him. I don t 
 know. I ve thought sometimes but I don t 
 know what I hain t thought. I know Jack 
 did n t take em. He s done wrong enough, 
 God knows, but he did n t do that. I don t 
 doubt it was done for his sake, an he may have 
 been privy to it ; but he did n t take em, that 
 I know" She sighed as she ceased speaking. 
 
 "It doesn t make any difference, Mother," 
 said the young man, taking her hand. It was 
 a lean hard hand, with short blunted nails. 
 The finger-ends were rough and the palm 
 seamed by many years of toil. The young 
 man held it between his own as tenderly as if 
 it had been the girl s whose saucy laugh he 
 heard upon the porch in conversation with his 
 rival. 
 
 " Mother," he said earnestly, " I do not care 
 what became of the jewels, or whether they 
 were worth much or little. I do not think they 
 could have been of any great value ; and if 
 they were, I have received payment in full in 
 your care. Remember, you have given me a 
 
104 $l T T7 p,iv>;s INN. 
 
 better education than j our own son received, 
 even better than you have given Dotty." 
 
 " It was n t what I wanted to make it, Ozro," 
 sighed the woman, smoothing back her gray 
 hairs with the disengaged hand. 
 
 "Whatever it lacks I shall make good," said 
 he, cheerfully. 
 
 "But, Mr. Button " she said hesitatingly, 
 "he hasn t been I don t want to blame 
 him, Ozro, but he s been pretty hard on ye 
 sometimes." 
 
 " In words, Mother, only in words," was the 
 soothing reply. 
 
 " I do believe that s so, Ozro," she answered 
 eagerly, " and I m glad he hain t been worse. 
 You know how he is," pityingly. 
 
 " I know all about it, Mother. I don t think 
 he really dislikes me ; but he thinks I have been 
 the cause of your estrangement from him, and 
 so has fallen into the habit of laying all his 
 misfortunes to me." 
 
 "It wasn t that, Ozro, it wasn t that. He 
 thought I was angry with him when I came to 
 this room, and I won t say I was n t. He s 
 been a great trial to me, a great trial. I tried 
 to do right by him and do my duty to God also. 
 I loved him, and I always have loved him, Ozro ; 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. 105 
 
 but I m a Christian woman, and when he took 
 to drink and began to entice our son into bad 
 ways, I could n t always speak cheerful. It was 
 like cutting my heart out to see him leading 
 that boy along the brink of ruin. Oh, I prayed 
 till my knees were calloused like the bottom 
 of your foot. I prayed and wept until it seemed 
 as if there could be no God, or He would have 
 heard me. But it was n t any use. It had to 
 be, I s pose. 
 
 "And then came this thing, here in my 
 own house, under my very eyes, this horri 
 ble thing ! I could n t say a word not a word, 
 for fear of something worse. You can t ever 
 know what I Ve borne all these years, Ozro. 
 And I haven t said a word not a word, you 
 know ; I have n t blamed him, nor let anybody 
 else blame him in my hearin . 
 
 " I came to this room, Ozro, to save him ; 
 and I ve stayed here to save him his good 
 name, I mean. I knew I was the only one that 
 could do it, and I ve done it. In all these years 
 I have n t breathed a word to a living soul of 
 what has been in my heart all the time. I 
 prayed to God to help me, and He did help me, 
 blessed be His name ! You can t think how 
 terrible it was. But when the load was getting 
 
IO6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 too heavy when I was afraid every day that 
 I should tell God took away my voice. For 
 this, which others thought an affliction, for 
 this I praise Him day and night. 
 
 " Yes, I know it s comin back," she said, in 
 answer to his look, speaking now in the harsh 
 broken tone characteristic of one whose vocal 
 chords have been for a long time unused. " I 
 know it. I Ve heard myself talkin more n 
 once lately, though I did n t know my own voice 
 at first ; and I take it as a sign from the Lord, 
 a sign that I must speak out at last, and keep 
 silence no more." 
 
 She drew her hand from his, and placing the 
 money on the table started across the room. 
 Then, as if she had changed her purpose, she 
 came back, and placing her hand on the young 
 man s shoulder said : 
 
 " You and Dotty had a long talk up on the 
 bank to-day. What did she say ? " 
 
 " About what ? " 
 
 "About marryin you. We may as well speak 
 plain, Ozro. I know you love her, and she 
 would love you too, if it was n t for that miser 
 able pedler followin her round." 
 
 " She does n t love him, Mother." 
 
 " No," said the woman, bitterly ; "but she loves 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. IO/ 
 
 his money and his fine clothes and his horses, 
 perhaps even his dog. It s in the blood, Ozro, 
 covetousness and love for the things of this world. 
 But she sha n t do it, Ozro ! she sha n t do it ! " 
 
 " But I tell you she does n t want to if she 
 can help it, that is." 
 
 " Oh, I know the human heart, Ozro, I 
 ought to know it, and I do know how desper 
 ately wicked it is ! " 
 
 She walked up and down the room wringing 
 her hands as she spoke. 
 
 " See here, Mother, Dotty won t marry Mr, 
 Dewstowe unless she believes it necessary for 
 your comfort ; and if she believes that, she 11 do 
 it anyhow. I m sure she loves me, but she thinks 
 it is her duty to look out for you and her father ; 
 and so do I. She has given me until Christmas 
 to see if I can show any prospect that will 
 justify her in refusing Mr. Dewstowe. That s 
 fair, Mother, and I don t think we ought to 
 make her duty any harder. I am going to 
 try ; and if I fail I can t say I 11 give her up 
 willingly, but I won t do anything to make it 
 any harder for her. You wonder what I am 
 going to do ? " 
 
 He pointed to the money on the table and 
 continued : 
 
108 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I don t know as I can do anything, Mother ; 
 but if you will let me have fifty dollars of that, 
 I will try. Perhaps I may have something to 
 show that will put me on even terms with Mr. 
 Dewstowe, and then Dotty will not hesitate " 
 
 " Don t you believe it, boy, don t you believe 
 it," she whispered raspingly. " I don t doubt 
 you may be right now, I don t think she s 
 clean gone yet, but against Christmas comes 
 he 11 have her charmed worse n a black snake 
 charms a bird. No, no, Ozro, I sha n t risk it. 
 You can have the money of course, it s all 
 yours ; but me and mine have done you harm 
 enough already. No, take it all," she said, as 
 he took the fifty dollars and handed the bag 
 back to her. " You won t ? Then I 11 keep 
 it for you. You talk mighty brave now, but 
 you know t would kill you to give her up, or 
 you d kill yourself as soon as you got beyond 
 range of her knowledge, so t she would n t ever 
 know she d done it." 
 
 " Well, I suppose that runs in the blood," said 
 Ozro, with a shudder. 
 
 " It s no such thing, Ozro, no such thing, and 
 you must n t think so." 
 
 The woman paused before him, and looking 
 up he saw that her face was pale, her eyes 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. IOQ 
 
 of a glassy brightness, and her hands tightly 
 clasped at her sides. 
 
 " I ain t a-going to trifle any more. Me and 
 mine s done you harm enough, Ozro Evans, 
 and I won t sit still and see Dotty playing with 
 your love under any sort of pretence. To 
 morrow you 11 be twenty-one. My voice has 
 come back to me jest in time. It s God s will 
 that I should speak out, and I m goin to speak 
 out, to you, anyhow. I ve carried the load 
 long enough ; now I 11 give it to you, and let 
 you spell me a while. I m sure I don t care 
 what you do with it, whether you hold it 
 or drop it. It s all one to me. I m done 
 with it." 
 
 " Why, Mother," exclaimed the young man 
 in surprise, " what do you mean ? " 
 
 She^>ent her face to his ear and whispered: 
 " Your mother was killed ! " 
 
 " What ! " he exclaimed, springing up and 
 seizing her wrists ; " you don t mean " 
 
 Her head fell forward, and he saw the even 
 parting of her thin gray hair. Somehow it 
 wakened in him an infinite pity. His grasp 
 relaxed and his voice softened as he repeated 
 his inquiry, though it still trembled with in 
 tense excitement. 
 
IIO BUTTON S INN. 
 
 "That s why I have stayed in this room," 
 she whispered hoarsely. 
 
 "But you cannot mean " He could not 
 bring himself to complete the inquiry. 
 
 "Jack!" Her head sank still lower as she 
 uttered the word. 
 
 The young man let go her hands, and she 
 fell into a chair as if the power to hold herself 
 erect had departed. 
 
 " Does does she know this ? " 
 
 " Oh, Ozro ! " sighed the woman, " I have 
 lived all these years only to keep any one from 
 knowing it ! O God, forgive him ! My son ! 
 My son ! " 
 
 There were no tears in her eyes. The foun 
 tains of grief seemed to have been long dried 
 up. She only wrung her hard, leathery hands 
 and looked up with dry, hopeless appeal in the 
 unwinking orbs. 
 
 " Poor Mother!" he said pityingly. 
 
 " It was all I could do," she said, humbly 
 excusing herself, "jest live and pray, and do 
 what I could for you. It wasn t much, Ozro, 
 but it s been better n the poorhouse or 
 strangers. I hoped Dotty would marry you, 
 an so hide her brother s sin without ever know 
 ing it. I would n t have told you then. But if 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. Ill 
 
 she thinks of marryin another, you must know, 
 and she too. She must learn how much wrong 
 we ve done you, what reason you have to 
 hate us all : there ain t no help for it now ! 
 When she knows you hold our good name 
 what there is left of it, at least in your hands, 
 she 11 give up her ambitious notions, I m sure 
 she will. She s a good girl, Dotty is. I m 
 sorry there s any need of telling her." 
 
 The young man placed his hand upon her 
 shoulder. She looked up at him pathetically, 
 her lips moving as they often did without any 
 sound issuing from them. 
 
 " She must never know," he said emphatically. 
 " What you have guarded so long shall still be a 
 secret." 
 
 But but Jack ? What 11 you do about 
 Jack ? " she gasped, with a shudder. 
 
 " God deal with him ! " said the young man, 
 solemnly ; " I am not called upon to open the 
 grave." 
 
 He turned away from her, and walked up and 
 down the narrow room, greatly agitated. The 
 end of the wick fell over and the candle began 
 to splutter. She snuffed it again, and looked 
 keenly into his face. The light of youth had 
 gone out of it. She went and stood before him, 
 
112 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 her hands clasped, and her lips moving. He 
 turned from his way, and passed by her uncon 
 sciously. He was thinking not so much of the 
 crime as of the sorrow it had brought. He felt 
 for this woman who had been a mother to him 
 far more keenly than for the dead one, whom he 
 doubted if he could remember at all. She 
 thought he meant to avoid her. 
 
 " Ozro, I will tell all ! " 
 
 He started as if waked out of a dream, and 
 looked at her in amazement. Had she any 
 thing more to tell ? Could it be that she was a 
 party to the crime ? His face blanched at the 
 thought. 
 
 " All ! What more is there ? " he asked in 
 a tone of terrified appeal. 
 
 The woman pressed one hand upon her heart 
 and clasped the other tightly over it. She did 
 not seem to see him, though her eyes were 
 looking straight into his. 
 
 " Jack ! " she gasped, " he is not dead ! " 
 
 " Not dead ? But he was drowned when the 
 Gull went down ! " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " And is he still alive?" 
 
 " He was." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE HO AD. 113 
 
 " Five years ago." 
 
 " You saw him ? " 
 
 She shook her head again. 
 
 " Did he write ? " 
 
 Another shake. 
 
 He looked at her keenly. A new idea had 
 come into his brain. 
 
 "Mother," he said, putting his hand on her 
 shoulder. " Mother, it makes no difference. 
 What you have concealed so long shall never 
 pass my lips. If I lost one mother I gained 
 another, and I could no more harm you than 
 her. She sleeps in peace. Let the mystery of 
 her death sleep with her. But are you sure you 
 have made no mistake ? Has not your imagi 
 nation, your horror, led you to think to be 
 lieve things that do not exist ?" 
 
 She still shook her head. 
 
 " But how do you know it ? " 
 
 She did not seem to hear. 
 
 " It cannot be hid much longer," she 
 whispered. 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked, watching her closely. 
 
 " There s one other that knows ! " 
 
 " Another ! " 
 
 " The dead ! " she whispered hoarsely, " the 
 dead that cannot rest in peace ! " 
 
1 14 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 His face lightened. She was evidently 
 insane. 
 
 " There, there, Mother," he said, laying a 
 hand upon her head soothingly, " don t be 
 troubled ; all will come right. You have let 
 your mind dwell upon these matters until things 
 have become real that never existed. I cannot 
 believe what you say, and you must not believe 
 it. Put it all away, Mother, and don t bother 
 Dotty. She will always do what is right, as I 
 am sure you have done." 
 
 His tenderness broke down the woman s ob 
 durate endurance. 
 
 " Don t, Ozro, don t ! " she whispered, while 
 her lips trembled. " You are too good to me. 
 I must tell the truth though, now. Perhaps I 
 have waited too long. I am not crazy. I I 
 could show you " she hesitated. " Yes, I 
 must show you. Look here ! " 
 
 She turned quickly, went across the room, 
 and opening the door of the closet under the 
 overhang of the old log-house stepped within. 
 As she did so a shrill, unearthly shriek, another, 
 and another came from its depths. 
 
 For an instant the young man stood paralyzed 
 by what he heard. Then he started forward, 
 but before he could reach the closet door she 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. 115 
 
 sprang out, closed it, and stood with her back 
 against it, her hands clasped over her heart, 
 her lips apart, but moving rapidly, though with 
 strange rigidity of outline. He reached out his 
 hands to grasp her arms, but she avoided them 
 with a wriggling, sidewise motion, still keeping 
 her back against the door. She seemed strug 
 gling to speak, but for a moment not a whis 
 per could be heard. She could only shake her 
 head pathetically as she looked beseechingly at 
 him. 
 
 " Don t, Ozro, don t ! " came at length, more 
 a sibilant breath than a distinct sound. " Not 
 now not now ! Some other time some 
 other time ! O God ! My punishment is 
 greater than I can bear!" 
 
 She fell forward against him, rigid and lifeless 
 except for the gasping, stertorous breath. Her 
 eye-balls were convulsively upturned, and great 
 bubbles formed within the half-opened lips. 
 When they broke he saw that the worn, dis 
 colored teeth were shut close upon her tongue, 
 which protruded slightly between them. Out 
 side he could hear that all was in an uproar. 
 He made haste to place her upon the bed and 
 open the door, at which Dotty stood, knocking 
 and calling. He had not noticed that it was 
 
Il6 : BUTTON S INN. 
 
 locked. Laying the unconscious form upon the 
 bed, he turned the key. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked the daughter, enter 
 ing swiftly and closing the door behind her. 
 The young man made a gesture toward the 
 bed. 
 
 " She is having one of her spells," said the 
 girl, coolly passing her hand under her mother s 
 head and raising it so as to place a pillow un 
 derneath. " Lock the door, Ozro. Don t let any 
 one in. She 11 be better in a little while." 
 
 " I never knew has she been so before ? " 
 
 " Only once or twice," she answered quietly. 
 " She won t like anybody round when she comes 
 to. She s always out of her head then, and 
 goes on dreadfully sometimes. You better go, 
 I guess," she added anxiously. " I can take 
 care of her." 
 
 He started toward the door reluctantly. She 
 stopped him as his hand was on the latch. 
 
 " The screams, Ozro, did she hear them ? " 
 
 He turned and looked at her. 
 
 * 
 
 " Were n t they awful ? " She shuddered as 
 she spoke. He did not answer. She looked up 
 at him and started suddenly as she caught his 
 gaze. Removing her hand from her mother s 
 brow she came quickly and laid it on his arm. 
 
A KNIGHT OF THE ROAD. 1 1/ 
 
 " Was it Ma ? " she asked breathlessly. 
 " Did did she scream ? " 
 
 " Your mother ? Scream ? " said the young 
 man in a curious, absent manner. " No." 
 
 She looked at him keenly, shivered a little, 
 and went back to the bedside. He opened the 
 door and passed out. 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 
 
 you want to ride as far as the vil- 
 lage, Evans ? " 
 
 Dewstowe asked the question carelessly, as 
 he stood beside his wagon smoking a cigar and 
 drawing on his gloves the morning after the 
 events of the last chapter. 
 
 " Well, I don t know," said Ozro, dubiously, as 
 he hitched the leaders evener to the end of the 
 pole. " I thought of going that way." 
 
 This hesitating acceptance of a proffered fa 
 vor was a curious characteristic of the popular 
 manners of that period. To have accepted a 
 favor without offering an apology for so doing, 
 would almost seem to have been considered in 
 consistent with the dignity of the American of 
 that day. This resulted both from the univer 
 sal instinct of self-maintenance, which made de 
 pendence upon another almost discreditable, and 
 from that innate modesty of the American peo 
 ple to which scant justice has been done both 
 by our own writers and the superficial observers 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 119 
 
 of foreign birth, who have mistaken a lack of 
 formality for absence of feeling. To Dickens, 
 Matthew Arnold, the authors of the endless 
 series of novels founded on American manner 
 isms, and the whole host of mere surface-seers 
 the ordinary American is simply a rough un 
 mannerly cub, fit only to be made a mark for 
 ridicule. To De Tocqueville, Miss Martineau, 
 Herbert Spencer, and all to whom motive is of 
 greater significance than its expression, Amer 
 ican life, until the worship of wealth took from 
 it much of its distinctiveness, was characterized 
 by a hesitancy to accept favor at another s hands, 
 which was unique in its assumption of indif 
 ference, and sometimes almost churlish in its 
 expression of acknowledgment, as if it somehow 
 feared that gratitude might be construed as an 
 indication of servility. It did not produce an 
 altogether pleasing effect on the unaccustomed 
 observer, but it was the index of a manhood 
 too proud to ask for favor, which laid the obli 
 gation of request upon the donor rather than 
 the recipient. It was indicative, too, of an 
 inherent hospitality, which offered without re 
 luctance, gave without expecting thanks, and 
 apologized only for causing discomfort or incon 
 venience to others. Who that remembers the 
 
120 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 road before the railway robbed the turnpike of 
 the character of a highway and made the foot 
 passenger prima facie an object of suspicion, 
 does not recall the almost universal rule which 
 required the driver of a vehicle not too heavily 
 loaded to offer the pedestrian a "lift;" and 
 who ever knew this offer to be accepted, even 
 by the weariest wayfarer, without apclogy? For 
 a like reason we were not profuse in the ac 
 knowledgment of favors. The Frenchman s 
 easy effusiveness is as foreign to the Ameri 
 can character as the careless yet apologetic 
 "Thanks, awfully, you know," of the middle- 
 class Englishman, or the surly silence of the 
 peasant. The American " I m much obliged," 
 no matter with what lack of grace pronounced, 
 nor how much the final syllable was flatted 
 and prolonged, was the very essence of self- 
 respecting gratitude. It never came easily, and 
 was never uttered with flippancy. It was the 
 serious acknowledgment compelled by an act 
 ual sense of duty, of a favor which the recip 
 ient felt somehow that he ought hardly to have 
 taxed the giver s kindness to bestow. There 
 was nothing grudging or surly about it, as so 
 many have seemed to think, but only the mod 
 est shame-facedness of a people who thought 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 121 
 
 the acceptance of a favor hardly consistent with 
 that wonderful self-reliance which is the main 
 spring of American life, and to which was due 
 that individualism of character and rage of 
 self-achievement which made our first century 
 of national life so fecund in marvellous results. 
 
 Dewstowe was not at all surprised, therefore, 
 at this hesitant acknowledgment of his kindly 
 proffer. Despite the fact that Ozro had been 
 until that morning merely a "bound boy," and 
 was still the hostler of the Inn, while Dewstowe 
 was already a man of substance, and evidently 
 predestined to achieve distinction in that barony 
 of wealth to which our American millionnaires 
 belong, there was no social inequality between 
 them. The possibilities of all lives were then 
 so nearly equal, that the wealthiest hardly stood 
 above the lowliest in popular regard. The 
 golden scales in which merit of all kinds is now 
 weighed were not yet adjusted to show the del 
 icate gradations that mark the life of to-day. 
 Men met upon the level of manhood, and it was 
 hardly considered presumptuous for the poorest 
 and humblest to aspire to a marital alliance with 
 even the wealthiest nabob in the land. 
 
 "Well," responded the pedler, jocularly, "had 
 n t you rather ride than walk ? " 
 
122 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Yes, of course," assented Ozro with a smile ; 
 "but it will take me a little while to get ready." 
 
 "All right," said Dewstowe, climbing to his 
 seat, " I m in no hurry. Throw me that off rein, 
 if you please. All right," he continued, catch 
 ing it skilfully as it came uncoiling swiftly 
 from the other s hand. "Just shift those inside 
 checks, won t you ? The near one should be 
 on top." 
 
 While Ozro was attending to this, the mer 
 chant amused himself by showing his mastery 
 over the dog, which had already mounted to its 
 usual place and was surveying the preparations 
 for departure with evident approval. He ac 
 knowledged his master s presence by running 
 his great red tongue rapidly out and in between 
 the fore-shortened upper jaw and the formidable 
 row of ivory that encircled it below, and weaving 
 back and forth on the seat in an apparently vain 
 attempt to wag his much abbreviated tail. 
 
 " Here, Turk, you brute ! get back there and 
 make room for your betters." Dewstowe snapped 
 his fingers as he spoke, and pointed to the railed 
 top of the wagon-box behind. The dog merely 
 glanced in the direction indicated and turned 
 his face again to the front, evidently preferring 
 his location on the cushion. 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 123 
 
 " What ! you won t ? Well, we 11 see. Back, 
 I say ! " 
 
 The dog did not move. The master took the 
 cigar from his mouth, knocked the ashes off the 
 end, and held it toward the dog, pointing back 
 ward at the same time with his whip. The ani 
 mal drew away from the live coal in evident 
 trepidation, and began picking his way rather 
 daintily over the lowered top to the place indi 
 cated, where he seated himself with an unmis 
 takable look of offended dignity. 
 
 " That fetches him every time," said the 
 owner, with a laugh. " He gets wicked some 
 times. Tried it once at a blacksmith s shop, 
 and I let him bite a piece of hot iron. Has n t 
 had any appetite for fire since. It was a cold 
 day, you see, and he climbed the forge and kind 
 of took possession on his own account. After 
 a while he got a notion that the smith worked 
 the bellows just to blow sparks at him,~and so 
 went for the man s arm. Of course I interfered, 
 and then he turjied on me. I grabbed a nail-rod, 
 most white-hot, out of the fire and stuck it in 
 his face. He did n t flinch a hair, but just eyed 
 it a second, his eyes looking almost as wicked 
 as the iron, and then he bounced it with a roar. 
 He did n t hang on long, though, and has never 
 
124 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 shown me the whites of his eyes since. I al 
 ways have my own way, you see, and never 
 make any fuss about it either. Are you ready ?" 
 
 " I will be in a moment," responded Ozro. 
 Running toward the house, he soon reappeared 
 carrying a small package, which he placed care 
 fully inside the curved dashboard before taking 
 his place beside the merchant-prince of the 
 road. 
 
 " You handle that as if there were eggs in it," 
 laughed the other, flecking the whip toward the 
 box. 
 
 "Well," said Ozro, as he rolled down his 
 sleeves and drew on his coat, " I hope there 
 are." 
 
 He took his seat. Dewstowe cracked his whip, 
 the dog gave an impatient whine, the four horses 
 sprang into their collars at the same instant, and 
 Dotty, standing on the porch, waved a good-by 
 to her curiously-contrasted lovers as they dashed 
 off toward the village. 
 
 " Nice girl ! " said the knight of the road, when 
 he had drawn in his horses after the flourish with 
 which he left the Inn ; " nice girl ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Ozro, seeing that he was expected 
 to say something. 
 
 " Queer, though," continued the driver ; 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 125 
 
 " deuced queer ! All of em queer ! " pointing 
 with his whip over his shoulder toward the Inn. 
 " Old man and his wife both crazy, I guess ; 
 but the girl, she s just as bright as they 
 make em. She s A-l, all wool, doubled-and- 
 twisted, superfine, and a yard wide ! No 
 doubt about that ; but she s queer, blamed 
 if she ain t ! What do you suppose she told 
 rne last night ? " 
 
 "I m sure I don t know," said Ozro, some 
 what cautiously. 
 
 " It was while you were in there with the old 
 woman. By the way, was n t that a devil of a 
 row ? What was it all about ? You don t know ? 
 Well, nor I either. I vow, those screeches 
 fairly made my hair stand up ! I never heard 
 such unearthly sounds before. I would have 
 gone in with Miss Dotty, but she sent me back 
 in a way that showed she was in command of 
 that schooner, and would n t stand no nonsense! 
 Bosses everything, don t she? I thought so. 
 Well, she s smart, and no mistake. Old man 
 Lonny, he was regularly upset ; began pottering 
 around, muttering about the ghost and piling on 
 the wood as if he expected to roast the evil spirit 
 out. Queer, is n t it, his idea of the Devil being 
 afraid of fire, like Turk here ? As if it was n t 
 
126 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 the very thing he is most used to. Who was 
 it did the war-whoops, anyhow ? Not the old 
 woman, I s pose ? " 
 
 Ozro shook his head. 
 
 " Thought not. She has n t spoken above a 
 whisper in years, they tell me. Not so bad a 
 thing for a pair that don t get along any better 
 than they do. The old man doesn t seem to 
 appreciate the blessing, though. He even com 
 plains about it, and lays that to the account of 
 the ghost, too. Told me all about it last night. 
 He saw it once, that is, the ghost, or thinks 
 he did; and shot at it with a silver bullet, 
 and all that sort of old-time notions. He says 
 his wife has n t been the same sort of woman 
 since that time. Last night s the first time 
 he s heard it do the real whooping business 
 since ; and in all that time he says she has n t 
 been able to speak aloud. Queer ! I never 
 could make her out, for she never wasted much 
 breath on me, even in whispers. Lonny says 
 she s very fond of you. Well, that s right. I m 
 sure she ought to be. Anybody can see they d 
 have gone to the dogs long ago without you, 
 before Dotty grew up, that is. The old man 
 don t seem to lavish any great amount of affec 
 tion in that way, though. I expect Miss Dotty 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. I2/ 
 
 sides with her mother, eh ? You don t know ? 
 Well, a man is n t called on to tell the truth 
 unless he chooses. For me, now, I always tell 
 it, always." 
 
 He chirruped gleefully to his horses, chuckled 
 to himself, and touched up the off-leader in com 
 placent applause of his own jest. 
 
 " Oh, I did n t tell you what Dotty said to me," 
 the pedler continued, " did I ? Got off the sub 
 ject, you see. Well, she told me a good deal ; 
 among other things, that you were twenty-one 
 to-day, and going off to seek your fortune." 
 
 The young man blushed violently as his volu 
 ble companion paused for a reply, and answered 
 somewhat confusedly, 
 
 " Well, not to-day. I stay till Christmas." 
 
 "Yes; she told me that, too. Well, that s 
 good of you. Hard for em to get along with 
 out you, I s pect, even with Dotty s help. Rough 
 on her, too, to run the concern alone. What 
 are you going to do ? Don t know ? Well, the 
 world s wide. You ll find something, I don t 
 doubt. Any fancy for trade ? Thought not. 
 You might acquire a taste for it perhaps ! 
 You re smart enough, and not bad looking if 
 if you had something to wear." 
 
 He glanced at his companion, to whom this 
 
128 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 remark made the homespun he wore almost as 
 uncomfortable as the shirt of Nessus. 
 
 " How would you like to go on the road now, 
 and drive a span like those leaders ? Ain t a 
 bad thing, is it ? If you had a little experience 
 now, see here, Mr. Evans," it was almost 
 the first time that Ozro had ever been given that 
 title, and he started at being thus addressed, 
 " I m going out of this business pretty soon : 
 can t afford to stay in it ; got a better thing 
 on hand, you know. Now, why not work for me 
 a year or two, and take the business, or a part 
 of it, when I drop it ? It would take you a while 
 to get broken in, of course ; but it s a chance 
 that don t come to a man every day. What do 
 you say ? " 
 
 Ozro thanked him, but said he had no taste 
 for such a life, and no desire to engage in it. 
 
 "That s all right," said the merchant, gayly ; 
 " then, of course, you d better not try to work 
 that lay. I just thought I might do you a good 
 turn and not do myself any harm, you know. 
 The fact is, Miss Dotty seems so interested in 
 you I could n t help showing my good-will. So 
 you 11 stay right on ? " 
 
 " Till the year ends, yes." 
 
 " And after that ? 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 12$ 
 
 " I don t know." 
 
 " West ? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " See here, Evans, we may as well be square 
 with each other. You know I think a good 
 deal of Dotty, and I expect you have the same 
 symptoms. 
 
 His companion said nothing. 
 
 " Well, silence gives consent. Now, what do 
 you suppose she told me last night ? Could n t 
 guess ? I believe you. Nobody d ever guess. 
 Well, sir, she told me J. Dewstowe, of New 
 York that she could n t marry me. Mind 
 you, she did n t say she would n t, but she 
 could rit. And what reason do you suppose 
 she gave?" 
 
 Ozro s heart beat so wildly he thought he was 
 going to fall from his perch, and clasped the arm 
 of the seat to hold himself in position. 
 
 " I don t suppose you could guess that, either ? 
 Well, sir, she told me she would have to marry 
 you and stay and take care of the old folks ; 
 keep up the old Inn and look after the ghost, I 
 suppose there won t be anything else to look 
 after pretty soon. Travel and trade s all going 
 another way. If it wasn t for my influence on 
 the road I guess they would n t get much now." 
 9 
 
130 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " That s what Dotty says," replied Ozro, 
 simply. 
 
 "Does, eh? Well, she s right, ain t she? 
 She s smart, she is. I tell you what, it s a 
 shame to think of that girl staying there slav 
 ing for those two old mummies, and trying to 
 make a living out of nothing ! You think so, 
 too ? Of course you do. Any decent man 
 would. And yet you re the very cause of her 
 doing it. How ? Why, she feels under obliga 
 tion to you on her parents account, don t you 
 see? It seems you haven t been treated just 
 right, and she feels bound to make it up to you, 
 you know. Very natural, very creditable, too, 
 I am sure, to her. But what about the man that 
 allows her to do it ? You have n t asked her to 
 do it for your sake ? Of course not ; but you 
 know that s what she s going to to do it for, 
 all the same. 
 
 " Now, look here, Ozro," he continued, " that 
 girl ought to marry a man with money. You 
 think so, too ? The dickens you do ! and yet you 
 propose to marry her yourself? You haven t 
 said so? Of course not. You don t need to say 
 it. Anybody can see what will be the upshot, 
 the way things are going on in that old Inn 
 these days. I don t doubt you love her; but 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 131 
 
 you don t realize what you re doing when you 
 ask her to marry you. I s pose, of course, you 11 
 make a living of some sort. It s hard for a man 
 to fail of that in this country, if he s willing to 
 work. But before you could get ahead any 
 she d be worn out taking care of the old folks 
 and trying to keep up her end. She d do that, 
 you know, if she killed herself at it. Love is 
 a good thing, no doubt, and a handy thing in a 
 family ; but one can t live on it any more n a 
 mouse can live on religion, which is the reason 
 there is n t any such a thing as a church-mouse, 
 in spite of all we hear about it. I think some 
 times, though, there is n t much difference be 
 tween what we call love and selfishness. If you 
 really loved her now " 
 
 " I love her so well I d be willing to die for 
 her," said Ozro, hotly. 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," said the imperturbable 
 merchant ; " but you see it don t happen to be 
 exactly that sort of goods she s in need of just 
 now. Your dying would -n t do her a cent s 
 worth of good. In fact, it would be about the 
 only thing that could make matters any worse 
 for her if you should really marry. As for me, 
 now," he continued, in the same even tone, " I 
 don t pretend to very much sentiment. I sup- 
 
132 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 pose I d stand between her and danger if I 
 had to. Most any man would. In that way 
 I might possibly die for her. But I don t han 
 ker after any such job ; and as for going out 
 and just offering myself up, dry so, just to in 
 crease her stock of happiness, why, blame me, 
 I don t mind saying I wouldn t do it. That s 
 all there is of it I would n t." 
 
 " I would" said Ozro, fervently. 
 
 Dewstowe looked his companion steadily in 
 the eye, shifting his cigar from one side of his 
 mouth to the other by a peculiar motion of his 
 lips as he did so. 
 
 " Well," said he, after he had concluded his 
 inspection, " I ain t sure but you would. You re 
 one of that sort. Your mother killed herself, 
 did n t she ? " 
 
 " I don t know ! " said Ozro, pale to his lips 
 with anger. 
 
 " I don t mean no offence, Mr. Evans," said 
 the other in a softened tone. " I was just think 
 ing that probably it was love that drove her to 
 it. Them s the kind that do most usually 
 die for love. Tain t no reflection on them, 
 that they love more desperately than others, 
 perhaps they are all the better for it ; but 
 as the man we d both like to have for a 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 133 
 
 father-in-law says, Tain t nateral tain t 
 nateral. " 
 
 He mimicked the old man with such ready 
 accuracy that Ozro could not help laughing, 
 though he was bursting with rage at the man s 
 coolness. 
 
 "No," continued the other, "it isn t natural, 
 and it is n t pleasant, either. You re one of 
 that sort, I do believe. I like you for it, and 
 I m sorry for you, too. I could n t do it any 
 more n you could do what I would. I could 
 live for. her, now; take care of her; give her 
 comfort, ease, luxury, and only ask a chance to 
 work for her. I can make her happy, you see, 
 while you " 
 
 " See here, Mr. Dewstowe ! " said the young 
 man, turning on him with flaming eyes, " don t 
 let s talk of this any more. If I cannot make 
 Dotty Button happy, if she would not rather 
 face life with me than with you or any one else 
 on earth, I don t want her to marry me, and 
 she shall not, either. The only thing any man 
 has a right to think of is the happiness of the 
 woman he loves, and his love is not worth the 
 name if it takes any account of his own comfort 
 or enjoyment in comparison with hers." 
 
 " Now you re talking by the yardstick," said 
 
134 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 the merchant, with approving emphasis. " If you 
 only had nerve to practise what you preach ! " 
 
 " Practise what I preach ? Why, Mr. Dew- 
 stowe, if I thought she d be happier with you 
 I d get out of your way to-morrow." 
 
 " Would yon, though ? " said the other, keenly. 
 "That s business, now. I d make it worth your 
 while too, I would, I vow." 
 
 Ozro looked at him in amazement. Then the 
 oddity of the proposal struck him, and he said 
 with a quiet laugh, 
 
 "I said if, Mr. Dewstowe, if I thought 
 she would be happier." 
 
 " Of course you did," was the cool reply; "but 
 it was n t necessary. Anybody that s got half 
 a grain of common-sense can see that she would 
 be. That follows, don t you see ? " 
 
 This was too much for Ozro s equanimity, and 
 he roared with laughter. 
 
 " That is for her to decide, is n t it ? " he asked 
 when he could control himself. 
 
 " Yes, of course," said the other, complacently, 
 " unless we should decide it for her." 
 
 " No, no ! we can t do that. Let her deter 
 mine what will give her most happiness, and let 
 us abide by her decision." 
 
 " Well, that s fair," said the merchant, " we 11 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 135 
 
 put the question to her squarely, and take the 
 consequences. Give us your hand." 
 
 They shook hands good-naturedly. Dewstowe 
 threw away his cigar, and started his horses into 
 a brisk trot. 
 
 " I tell you what, Evans, you are a sensible 
 fellow. I regard the matter as good as settled. 
 Of course, she can t decide but one way on those 
 terms. That s sense, you see leaves out sen 
 timent, and comes down to the clear hard-pan of 
 every-day life. She just has to say which can 
 make her happiest. I vow, Evans, I think you 
 have made a bad bargain. I believe she likes 
 you better than she does me, but when it comes 
 to talking of happiness, and she looks forward 
 to working all her life and having nothing when 
 it is over by George, man! when it comes to 
 that, she s bound to decide for me. But I won t 
 forget you, old fellow, I won t for a fact," he con 
 tinued, slapping the other s knee ; " you shall 
 have a start in anything you want to go into." 
 
 " I shall not want your money, sir, if that is 
 her decision," said Ozro, angrily. 
 
 " Oh, see here, don t get into a huff over it," 
 said the imperturbable tradesman. " Fair s fair, 
 and that s all either of us want. Come now, 
 when shall the matter be decided ? To-night ? " 
 
136 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " On Christmas day." 
 
 "So far ahead?. But you won t take any 
 advantage, get her to make any promises, I 
 mean, before that time ? " 
 
 " Not a word. 
 
 " All right ; Christmas it is, then. I 11 go 
 down along the Conewango, around by Warren 
 and Meadville, and back by Erie in time to eat 
 my Christmas dinner at Button s. I m sure to 
 beat you it s my luck, you see. Besides that, 
 I have the advantage. But don t you be down 
 hearted, old fellow, and don t do anything rash. 
 I should n t if I knew I was going to lose, and 
 I do hate to think you would. If you were as 
 well fixed as I am, I tell you frankly I would n t 
 waste my time trying to compete with you. But 
 that s part of my luck. Yours may come later. 
 Ten years of sharp work makes a good deal of 
 difference. I wish you all sorts of good fortune 
 up to Christmas, and afterward too, but on that 
 day the worst that can be imagined." 
 
 The good-natured salesman laughed heartily, 
 threw his foot upon the brake, and touched up 
 the leaders as he came down the little hill that 
 rises above the county-seat to the northward, 
 and saw the little inland lake smiling bright be 
 neath the autumn sun before them. 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 137 
 
 " I s pose you II be ready to go back before I 
 have finished with my customers. I may go 
 round by Tinkertown, and perhaps climb over 
 the hills and come up by the lake road ; but you 
 may look out for me at the Inn to-night, sooner 
 or later. Tell Dotty not to cry her pretty eyes 
 out if I should be late. Good-by." 
 
 The self-confident tradesman hitched his 
 horses in front of the principal store in the 
 village, entered it past a group of gaping rus 
 tics, helped himself from a jug of Jamaica rum 
 that stood on the counter near the door, with 
 a tumbler and a measure of molasses beside 
 a pitcher of water, mixed a glass of " black 
 strap," tossed it off, and at once entered into 
 negotiations with the proprietor for a supply 
 of those things which a glance at the shelves 
 told his practised eye the establishment most 
 required. 
 
 Ozro sauntered along the streets, his precious 
 parcel under his arm, until he came opposite a 
 lawyer s office, which he entered hesitantly. It 
 was past noon when he started on his way home 
 ward, but he arrived there long before the ped- 
 ler, and found Dotty waiting for the tale of 
 news she evidently expected him to bring. To 
 all her inquiries he responded only with glow- 
 
138 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 ing descriptions of the pedler s possessions and 
 achievements. 
 
 "Oh, bother Mr. Dewstowe!" said the sprightly 
 maiden, with a pretty grimace. " What I want 
 to know is what you had in that box you were 
 so careful of, why I never saw it before, and 
 what you have done with it ? " 
 
 "That s just what Mr. Dewstowe wanted to 
 find out, too. He kept hitting it with his foot, 
 every now and then, all the way to town." 
 
 There it is again, Dewstowe ! Dewstowe ! 
 One would think you were a parrot. If you 
 don t stop saying Dewstowe ! Dewstowe ! to 
 me, I 11 up and marry him in self-defence and to 
 punish you there! " 
 
 She flung a defiant look at him as she left the 
 porch to enter her mother s room. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the young man, in mock 
 perplexity, "that s just what Dewstowe said." 
 
 She was beside him in an instant. 
 
 " Did he say that, Ozro ? Did he brag to you 
 that I had promised to marry him ? " 
 
 There was an anxious, tender look in her eyes 
 that made his heart leap ; but he had promised 
 that he would not induce her to commit herself. 
 Besides that, his hopes were as yet only hopes. 
 Perhaps he would never dare to ask her to share 
 
A COMMERCIAL VIEW. 139 
 
 his fortune with him. So he dropped his ban 
 tering tone, and said seriously, 
 
 " No, Dotty ; he spoke only respectfully and 
 kindly of you." 
 
 She turned away with a sigh that had a hint 
 of disappointment in it. 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 
 
 IT was a jolly company that gathered at But 
 ton s that night. The story of the ghost s 
 re-appearance after so many years had spread 
 throughout the neighborhood, and many, es 
 pecially of the younger people, had come to 
 see if it would walk again ; while not a few 
 of their elders had determined to renew their 
 memories of the past by a Saturday evening 
 at the old Inn. The knights of the road had 
 gathered in unusual force, and of every con 
 ceivable type, from the bearer of a modest 
 pack of Irish linen, whose unmistakable brogue 
 was a sufficient guarantee of the genuineness 
 of his stock, to a vender of clocks from Con 
 necticut, whose turnout was only less magnifi 
 cent than that of Dewstowe himself. Among 
 them was a spectacled German, who wore a 
 beard, carried a pack of essences and perfu 
 mery, and talked with strange familiarity, 
 though in broken English, of things beyond 
 the range of his companions. There too was 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 141 
 
 the inveterate tin-pedler, whose lean horse 
 had dragged his heterogeneous load up the 
 hill to the barn-door just as the sun went 
 down. His wagon was heaped with bags of all 
 sorts and sizes, from the rents of which pro 
 truded rags of all grades and colors. Wash 
 basins, dippers, skillets, and various other 
 articles of domestic use hung rattling and 
 clattering against the side of the vehicle. The 
 cart itself was covered with so many and such 
 ancient layers of mud that its color was barely 
 discoverable, and the driver, a weazen-faced 
 Yankee, was a fit companion for his skeleton 
 horse and dilapidated wagon. Some half-a- 
 dozen young men with packs containing a lit 
 tle extra clothing, with perhaps a book or two 
 and an axe, young men from away down East 
 going West to seek their fortunes, had stopped 
 to pass the Sabbath at Button s, influenced not 
 so much by the character of the hostel or its 
 surroundings as by the fact that its charges 
 were less than at the crowded taverns on the 
 shore road. Most of them carried their shoes, 
 tied together by the strings, across the sticks 
 which supported their packs. These washed 
 their feet at the watering trough and stood 
 about on the straw of the barn-floor while they 
 
142 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 were drying, before putting on their shoes and 
 stockings and approaching the house. Most 
 of them washed their hands and faces at the 
 trough too, wiping them upon a great towel 
 which hung inside the feed-room door, and 
 dressed their hair with curious wooden combs 
 sawed out of boxwood, which matched together 
 in pairs, the teeth of one fitting into a tapering 
 slot running along the back of the other. Each 
 carried a pair of these combs in his vest pocket. 
 This was the only toilet article of universal use 
 at that time. Ozro s mother had used a hair 
 brush during her stay at the Inn, and the fact 
 was still recited as proof of her aristocratic 
 proclivities. An ivory-handled tooth-brush was 
 also found among her effects. These were still 
 displayed as curiosities. Mr. Dewstowe was 
 known to be the owner of a hair-brush, and 
 was suspected of using a tooth-brush. But this 
 was a mere suspicion. He rather enjoyed being 
 suspected of sybaritic indulgence, but it would 
 have injured his trade to have had it known that 
 his teeth owed any of their whiteness to pow 
 dered charcoal and bristles. 
 
 A wash-bowl, with a wooden dish full of 
 brown soft soap, stood on the back porch of the 
 Inn, beside a great rain-trough that stretched 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 143 
 
 along under the eaves, while against the wall 
 a lavish supply of fresh towels hung over a 
 long roller ; also a mirror fully a foot square 
 framed with mahogany veneer. Beside this 
 hung, by a stout string, a horn comb, which 
 showed unmistakable signs of age in the fail 
 ure of many of its teeth and the clogged con 
 dition of those that remained. That the young 
 wayfarers did not choose to take advantage 
 of these luxuries, which were free to all the 
 patrons of the Inn, was no doubt due to the 
 instinctive desire of the class to which they 
 belonged to make as good an impression as 
 possible upon their fellows. They were poor, 
 and in a sense were not ashamed of their 
 poverty ; but they wished it to be distinctly 
 understood that they had been " well-raised," 
 as the expression was for those who were ac 
 quainted with the ways of good society, and 
 expected to be well received because they 
 showed themselves self-respecting. One of them 
 hesitantly entered into conversation with Ozro, 
 and arranged to pay for his entertainment by 
 assisting in taking care of the dozen or more 
 horses which unexpectedly demanded attention. 
 Immediately upon the consummation of the 
 bargain the stranger took off his coat, rolled 
 
144 BUTJVN S INN. 
 
 up his sleeves, and entered heartily upon 
 his task. He was to sleep upon the hay in 
 the mow, as were most of his companions, the 
 Inn being for the first time in years over-full. 
 Two of them, more scrupulous than the rest, 
 occupied the last moments of daylight in shav 
 ing upon the back porch, in order that they 
 might not be tempted to profane the Sabbath 
 by such unnecessary labor. 
 
 Among others who came that night was a 
 sallow, thin-faced man with a long dark beard, 
 and, what was very rare in that day, a mustache. 
 He wore a wide-brimmed felt hat, his hair hung 
 upon his shoulders, and he coughed frequently. 
 His hands were thin, and his eyes burned 
 brightly under his dark, knotted brows. He 
 got out of the stage, saying he was too tired 
 to go any farther. He had been West for years, 
 he told the landlord, "down the river " most 
 of the time, an expression indicating the Lower 
 Mississippi. He had money enough, and pro 
 posed to stay at the Inn till he got well. He 
 wanted the room next to the public, with the 
 window opening on the porch, but the land 
 lady refused to give it up even to accommo 
 date so desirable a guest. 
 
 The night was cool, though so early in the 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 145 
 
 season. The wind blew off the lake, carrying 
 inland a heavy bank of gray clouds. The neigh 
 bors talked of frost as they walked up the path 
 to the Inn. A great fire was blazing on the 
 hearth, the flames roaring up the black chim 
 ney s throat, when the company assembled in 
 the public-room after supper. The door was 
 open, and it was not uncomfortable, though the 
 company sat around the sides of the room, and 
 some of them smoked their pipes upon the 
 porch, or gathered about the open door. Very 
 few of the young men smoked. Most of the 
 elders had their pipes. Dewstowe and the 
 stranger from the South smoked cigars, 
 the latter, long slender ones of dark heavy 
 tobacco, which reached out almost to the edge 
 of the sombrero which he kept always upon 
 his head " to avoid taking cold," he said. He 
 sat in the corner of the fireplace, too, presum 
 ably for the same reason. 
 
 Dewstowe was the life of the company. He 
 had engaged the landlord to brew an ample 
 bowl of punch after a recipe he was said to 
 have inherited from L Honnete Boutonne the 
 first, and he from some still more remote an 
 cestor, who had learned the secret where the 
 wines of France met the warmer decoctions of 
 
146 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 tropic lands in the cellars of Bourdeaux. The 
 bowl stood steaming on the table by the door, 
 and the travelling merchant-prince invited the 
 whole company to partake. The landlord sat 
 beside it in his great armchair, filling the glasses 
 from a curious wooden ladle, whose carvings 
 unmistakably betrayed the handicraft of the 
 Indian. This too was an heirloom, and the 
 landlord told its story as he served his guests. 
 There was a little rim of silver abqut its top. 
 The wood was dark and had singular grainings, 
 which led the sceptical to doubt the story of 
 its having been hollowed by fire and smoothed 
 by the same means that the aborigines used to 
 bore holes in the heads of their stone hatchets. 
 The landlord was in radiant humor at the num 
 ber and liberality of his company that night, 
 for not a few jorums of black-strap had been 
 mixed before the punch was ordered. During 
 a pause in its use, the bearded stranger took 
 the ladle from the bowl and carefully examined 
 it by the firelight. There was a smile on his 
 face as he returned it to its place. 
 
 "Satisfied, stranger?" asked the landlord, 
 petulantly. 
 
 " Quite," was the reply, in a voice but little 
 above a whisper. 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " Mexikin," answered the stranger. 
 
 " Then how came it here ? " asked the land 
 lord, arrogantly. 
 
 " Suppose you tell ? " was the stranger s smil 
 ing response. 
 
 " Me ? Did n t I jest tell ye it was giv to my 
 grandfayther by a Onondagus Injun ?" 
 
 " Might be," said the other, quietly. 
 
 " Might be ? I tell you it was ! " was the land 
 lord s angry reply. " I had it from my fayther, 
 and he got it from his, and I guess they knew." 
 
 "The redskin must, have been quite a trav 
 eller then ; for I 11 swear that neither the ma 
 terial nor the workmanship was ever found this 
 side of the Rier Grandy. Ef that ain t Navayoe 
 work, and the cup the shell of a nut that don t 
 grow north of the Red River, then I 11 eat it, 
 pewter V all," said the stranger. 
 
 " Don t quarrel about the cup and leave the 
 company to die of thirst," said Dewstowe, mind 
 ful of the old man s irascible nature. " If there s 
 any question about the dipper, refer it to Carey," 
 with a gesture toward the tin-pedler ; " only 
 don t let him touch it till the company are 
 through drinking." 
 
 A laugh followed this sally, for the personal 
 
148 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 habits of the tinman were recognizable upon the 
 most cursory inspection. 
 
 " By the way, Carey, how often do you wash 
 your hands, or feed your horse ? " 
 
 " About twice as often as you tell the truth 
 about yer goods," drawled the tinman, with the 
 utmost nonchalance. 
 
 " Oh, come, now," said Dewstowe, when the 
 laugh had died away, " that may do as to your 
 hands. I don t blame a man in your business 
 for being afraid to use a public washbowl, dan 
 ger of spreading small-pox and other diseases, 
 you know, but the horse tells his own story. 
 I saw the crows gathering around when you 
 stopped in front of the barn to-night." 
 
 " T won t do em any good," said Carey ; " he s 
 had the glanders these ten years." 
 
 "Glanders!" exclaimed Dewstowe, jumping 
 from his chair excitedly, " what right have you 
 to drive a glandered horse on a public road ? " 
 
 Dewstowe had laid his hand on the tinman s 
 shoulder, who also rose and stood facing him. 
 The dog belonging to the former, which had 
 been sitting before the fire rolling his red eyes 
 this way and that upon the company, seeing his 
 master s attitude, advanced upon the tinman, his 
 eyes flashing, his white teeth gleaming in his red 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 149 
 
 muzzle, bristling and growling, evidently ready 
 to spring upon his master s antagonist. 
 
 " What right have you to drive a glandered 
 crow : bait ? " repeated Dewstowe, half in earnest, 
 for he began to see that the laugh was against 
 him, and wondered how he should get out of 
 the dilemma. 
 
 "What right?" asked the tinman, coolly; 
 " the same right you have to carry about a 
 mangy dog." 
 
 The roar that greeted this retort carried the 
 victor too far. He aimed a kick at the dog, 
 thinking to add to his rival s discomfiture. Of 
 course it missed its mark. There was an angry 
 roar, and the next minute Dewstowe was on the 
 floor tugging away at the dog s collar, and shout 
 ing to Carey to get out of the room. 
 
 There was a quick scattering of the guests, 
 and when the merchant had subdued his canine 
 attendant he had restored himself again to the 
 post of honor in the esteem of the little com 
 pany. His action had been timely and consid 
 erate. It was one of those things a man feels 
 glad to have done. Glancing toward the door 
 Dewstone was not sorry to see Dotty, with one 
 hand upon the frame of the door opening off 
 the porch toward the dining-room, and the other 
 
I5O BUTTON S INN. 
 
 holding the corner of her white apron to her lips. 
 It had required both strength and courage to 
 subdue the savage brute, and he felt that he 
 must have risen in the esteem of the landlord s 
 daughter by the struggle she had witnessed. 
 
 The promptness of his action restored the 
 entente cordiale in the company which his rough 
 jests had somewhat disturbed. The tinman 
 returned, shook hands with him, and, not to be 
 outdone in courtesy, ordered the punch-bowl to 
 be replenished at his own expense. 
 
 While the landlord carried the bowl to the 
 kitchen, calling for Dotty as he did so to aid 
 him in his onerous duty, the talk turned upon 
 the dog and his kind. Some remarkable stories 
 were told, Dewstowe taking care to keep the 
 merits of his own really valuable animal promi 
 nently before the little group. He told of his 
 various exploits, exhibited his teeth, and invited 
 the spectators to pass their hands over the great 
 flat head to assure themselves that no antago 
 nist had ever "chawed his scalp." Some al 
 lusion having been made to his qualities as 
 a watch-dog, feis master took out a pocket- 
 book, and laying it on the floor beside the dog, 
 said : 
 
 " Care for it, Turk ! " 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 151 
 
 Then turning to the company, he added 
 carelessly, 
 
 " I don t know just exactly how much there is 
 in that pocket-book, but if any of you want to 
 pick it up without using any more of a weapon 
 than an ordinary walking-stick, he ll be entirely 
 welcome to what there is." 
 
 " No, I thank you," said Carey ; " I would n t 
 try it if you d put up your team and stock with 
 it, and Heaven knows I d be glad to get either 
 by any honester way than stealing." 
 
 (< Especially the team," said Dewstowe. 
 
 " Well, yes," said the other, dryly ; " and I 
 don t mind saying I believe I d take the risk of 
 being caught stealing them wheelers if I had a 
 good chance, but not while that dog s in the 
 same county with em. Just tell him to look the 
 other way, won t you, Dewstowe ? It gives me 
 a kind of crawly feeling in the calves of my legs 
 to see him looking this way and sharpening his 
 upper teeth on the under ones in that damnable 
 manner, as if they were just aching for a piece 
 of fresh meat to hold em apart. There, that s 
 better now," 
 
 This last remark was the result of the dog s 
 attention being diverted by the entrance of Ozro, 
 bearing the steaming punch-bowl, and followed 
 
152 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 by the landlord, whose steps had grown too un 
 steady to permit him to perform this duty, 
 though his tongue wagged readily enough in 
 unneeded caution to the young man. 
 
 Setting the bowl upon the table Ozro looked 
 around upon the company while the glasses 
 were being refilled, snapping his thumb and 
 finger at the dog, which sat in the middle of the 
 room, guarding the treasure intrusted to his care. 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to pick up that 
 little keepsake between his feet, Mr. Evans," 
 said Dewstowe in a sarcastic tone. 
 
 " Oh, I don t want your money," answered 
 Ozro, pleasantly.. 
 
 " Don t want it ? Ain t we high and mighty ? 
 One would think you had the United States 
 Bank behind you. You ain t related to old Nick 
 Biddle in any way, are you ? Really, you must 
 be uncommon flush. When a gentleman lays 
 down his pocket-book and invites you to help 
 yourself, you just say, No, I thank you ; haven t 
 any need for filthy lucre 1 That s your posi 
 tion, I believe." 
 
 The king of the mercantile nomads blew the 
 smoke from his cigar, and glanced complacently 
 in the direction of the door, beyond which he 
 caught sight of Dotty watching interestedly 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 153 
 
 what was going on in the room. The sarcasm 
 was appreciated by his auditors, and rewarded 
 by a laugh, in which Ozro joined heartily. 
 
 " Not exactly that, Mr. Dewstowe," he an 
 swered. " I d like the money well enough, but 
 don t care about getting it in that way." 
 
 " Oh, it s the way you object to," said the 
 smiling and triumphant pedler. " Why, what s 
 the matter with the way ? It can t be the dog 
 in the way, can it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, Turk and I are very good friends," 
 said Ozro, snapping his fingers again at the dog, 
 who responded to his overtures by wagging his 
 stump of a tail and moving his tongue quickly 
 back and forth. 
 
 " Friends ! " said Dewstowe, " don t rely on 
 that dog s friendship when he s got business 
 on hand. Why, he s just licking his chops for 
 a taste of his friend now." 
 
 The laugh went round, and many bantering 
 remarks were made to the young man, who 
 stood with his back to the fire, answering with 
 only a careless smile. 
 
 " You don t think he would bite me ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Bite you ! Why, he d chaw you up in a 
 minute if you just pointed a finger at him." 
 
154 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " You would n t say anything, nor make any 
 sign to him, I s pose ? " 
 
 " Say anything ? There d be no need to." 
 
 " I don t want your pocket-book, but if you 11 
 give him a handkerchief instead, I believe I 11 
 try to get it." 
 
 " Oh, go ahead. You re welcome to all you 
 get out of that * weasel-skin without killing the 
 dog. I expect there is nearly a thousand dollars 
 in it, but I 11 risk it." 
 
 " Don t ye dew it, Mr. Dewstowe, don t ye 
 dew it!" said the landlord. "Don t ye know 
 that air creetur ain t no more afraid of a dog 
 than of a chicken ? Don t you resk nothin on 
 it, Dewstowe. Ther ain t no dog 11 bite him 
 more n t would a rattlesnake. T ain t nateral 
 the way the creeturs 11 let him impose on em, 
 jest like one of them lion-tamers, only he did n t 
 have tew larn it. Ther s somethin mysterious 
 about it, as ther is bout everythin connected 
 with him, and always has been. I Ve always 
 believed," he continued, dropping his voice and 
 looking quickly around, " I ve always believed 
 it was bein kin to a ghost ! " 
 
 " Pshaw ! there is n t any ghost about Ozro," 
 said Dewstowe, glad of an opportunity to ex 
 press his incredulity. " On the contrary, he s 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 155 
 
 about as solid a piece of meat as there is in the 
 room." 
 
 His words were verified by many an approv 
 ing glance at the young man, who stood before 
 them the very picture of health and strength. 
 A little above the medium height, his well-knit 
 figure showed suppleness and strength. His 
 neck was somewhat too long for perfect grace, 
 but his head was set squarely upon it, and the 
 close-clipped hair that curled about it deepened 
 the impression of slenderness. His forehead was 
 high and the face somewhat narrow, though 
 the jaw was strong and the brows heavy. The 
 eyes were deep-set, and of a sharp steely gray. 
 Altogether, head and face left an impression of 
 redness without being positively florid, and ex 
 pressed character and determination without 
 ill-nature. He looked at the landlord during 
 the delivery of his tirade with a twinkle in 
 his eyes, and without interruption or apparent 
 discomposure, until allusion was made to the 
 ghost. Then his look changed to one of annoy 
 ance rather than displeasure, and he remarked 
 in a tone of quiet remonstrance, 
 
 " You ought not to say that, Mr. Button ! The 
 time has been when such a story might cost a 
 man his life. You know there is nothing in it!" 
 
156 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Do you deny it ? Do you deny it ? " cried 
 the old man, springing to his feet and brandish 
 ing the ladle furiously about his head. " Have n t 
 I seen you over and over again go right up to 
 dogs you never saw before and take away the 
 very bones they were gnawing ? Have n t I 
 seen you walk right on to a rabbit settin in her 
 form, and pick her up as easy as if it was a 
 stone ? And don t every one about the neigh 
 borhood know that a wild turkey 11 jest set an 
 look at you as ef he was charmed, an let you 
 walk up within easy gunshot right out in the 
 open ? " 
 
 " That s so," said one of the neighboring 
 young men, who felt a little jealous of Ozro s 
 skill as a hunter. 
 
 " Pshaw, that s nothing ! " said Ozro, with a 
 laugh. " A turkey is n t a fool. If he sees you 
 are going right by and paying no attention to 
 him, he 11 sit still. He thinks you don t see 
 him, and that he has no need to fly ; that is, if 
 he is in a tree. On the ground they re always 
 shyer. If you keep dodging, and trying to hide, 
 he is naturally suspicious. If you walk as if you 
 were going by, and do not keep looking at him, 
 all you have to do when you get near enough is 
 to stop and shoot before he gets over his sur- 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 157 
 
 prise. All kinds of game are afraid of a man 
 who acts suspiciously." 
 
 " There is nt any doubt about that," wheezed 
 the stranger with philosophic approval. 
 
 " How about pickin up rabbits as if they wuz 
 chestnut-burrs ? " 
 
 " Oh, that was mere accident ! " said Ozro, 
 pleasantly. " I never did it but a few times." 
 
 " Two or three such accidents in a lifetime is a 
 good many. I 11 ventur ther ain t any other man 
 here s had sech a thing come his way once." 
 
 " Here s von ob em dat nebber did anyhow," 
 said the German, who had been staring intently 
 at the young man through his spectacles during 
 the altercation with the landlord. 
 
 " Good for you, Dutchy ! " said Dewstowe. 
 " Here s another, too ; more n that, I don t 
 expect it ever will. I Ve read of people having 
 such a power over brutes, but never saw any 
 thing of it ; and, to tell the truth, I don t be 
 lieve a word of it, either. Let him try it on 
 Turk if he dare ! " 
 
 " Really," said the stranger, who sat in the 
 corner of the fireplace, in a hollow whisper, 
 " it s a very interesting thing ! I should be glad 
 to see you try it if you have any such power, and 
 are not afraid." 
 
158 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Why, sir," said Ozro, turning toward the last 
 speaker, " there s nothing remarkable in it, and 
 nothing really to be afraid of. I am fond of 
 animals, and have studied their ways. That s 
 all there is of it." 
 
 " Do you think you could take the pocket- 
 book from him ? " 
 
 " I have n t a doubt of it, sir." 
 
 " Have you any objection to making the at 
 tempt ? " 
 
 "If it will afford the company any pleasure, 
 and they will comply with one request, I 11 try." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " No one must stir hand or foot, nor speak. 
 It might be dangerous if they did." 
 
 "I am sure the company will consent," wheezed 
 the asthmatic stranger, yet with an air of com 
 mand. 
 
 There was a clamorous assent. The landlord 
 subsided into his chair, muttering to himself 
 and sipping the punch, of which he had already 
 drunk more than was advisable. Every one 
 settled himself into a position where he could 
 see without moving. Dotty looked in over the 
 heads of those sitting about the doorway. She 
 had thrown her white apron over her head, and 
 held it about her neck with one hand. 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS, 159 
 
 "Will you lend me your snuff-box, sir?" asked 
 Ozro of the German who held one in his hand. 
 
 The man handed it to him without answering. 
 Ozro took it and dropped quickly upon one knee 
 on the sanded floor in front of the dog, keeping 
 the snuff-box in his left hand and tapping the 
 cover rapidly with the nail of his right forefinger. 
 He was not more than a yard from the dog, and 
 kept his gaze intently fixed on the animal s eyes. 
 The silence was breathless. Ozro leaned for 
 ward, still drumming on the box, and drew his 
 knee slowly along the floor. The dog watched 
 him, at first wonderingly, and then threaten 
 ingly. Resting on the knee the young man 
 now advanced his other foot, still moving his 
 hands rapidly about the snuff-box, sometimes 
 tapping the lid, and sometimes turning the cover 
 back and forth, but never changing his position 
 in front of the dog, and never taking his eyes 
 off the animal s blood-shot orbs. So he crept, 
 inch by inch, toward the savage brute. The 
 dog growled, showed his teeth, opened his great 
 jaws with an angry roar, rose upon his feet, 
 and seemed about to launch himself at the 
 throat of his strange assailant. Then his eyes 
 wavered. He looked from one to another of 
 the silent company. Dotty smiled, as she saw 
 
l6o BUTTON S INN. 
 
 signs of indecision in the brute s manner. Still 
 Ozro continued to advance. He had taken the 
 cover off the box, and was lightly and swiftly 
 tapping the rim with it. The dog gave way a 
 little, turned first to one side and then to 
 the other. 
 
 The young man s hands were almost against 
 the animal s nose. His face was hardly a foot 
 away from the red mouth and shining teeth. 
 Not a muscle of his face moved as he breathed 
 steadily and deeply. Without changing his po 
 sition in the least, he advanced first his foot and 
 then his knee by almost imperceptible degrees. 
 Finally there comes a hint of pitifulness into 
 the dog s growl. Then it becomes a snarling 
 whine. He looks around to his master. Dew- 
 stowe remains immovable ; he does not even 
 wink. The dog yields still farther, and draws 
 himself crouchingly toward his master s feet. 
 Ozro s knee touches the pocket-book; then it 
 is lifted over it. The dog has abandoned his 
 trust; the pocket-book is in Ozro s possession: 
 it only remains for him to retire in safety, draw 
 ing the pocket-book along the floor with his 
 knee. Slightly inclining to the left, he begins to 
 retrace his course. Still his hands play cease 
 lessly with the snuff-box ; still his eyes are 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. l6l 
 
 fastened on those of the crouching but glower 
 ing brute. Already he has retreated half the dis 
 tance he had advanced. The dog creeps toward 
 him, as if relieved from the power of his look. 
 All at once the landlord became conscious of 
 what Ozro had accomplished. 
 
 " Don t ye see, Devvstowe, he s robbin ye ! 
 He s got yer money. Take him!" he shouted 
 fiercely to the dog. 
 
 The charm was broken. The young man s 
 power over the dog vanished instantly. There 
 was a fierce roar, a white flash, and a pair of 
 great gaping jaws hurled themselves at the 
 young man s throat. The stranger fell upon the 
 landlord. Dewstowe bounded after the dog. 
 Every one sprang to his feet. There were 
 shouts and oaths. Some turned their heads 
 away sickened with apprehension. Dotty s face 
 grew pale, even to the parted lips, but her eyes 
 remained riveted on the scene that was transpir 
 ing on the floor. Despite her evident apprehen 
 sion, there was a look on her face that bespoke 
 confidence in the prowess of her old playmate. 
 She did not see another pallid face that looked 
 over her shoulder. 
 
 It was all over in a second. The young man 
 did not shrink, nor seek in any manner to 
 
1 62 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 avoid the attack. He might as well have tried 
 to dodge a lightning flash. The snuff-box was 
 tossed quickly upward, and a cloud of the pun 
 gent powder fell upon the white nose, entered 
 the red mouth, and found its way into the glar 
 ing eyes. Then the left hand shot quickly be 
 tween the gaping jaws, and, almost before the 
 spectators knew what was happening, Ozro had 
 leaped upon his feet holding the helpless brute 
 by the tongue, which he had clutched at the 
 very roots, and was kicking him with his heavy 
 boot in the region of the heart. The brute s 
 snarls soon changed to whining, and he strug 
 gled only to .escape. The acrid dust had en 
 tered his lungs as well as eyes, and added to 
 his discomfiture ; so that when Ozro released 
 his hold, the animal rolled about the floor in 
 frantic endeavors to rid himself of the impal 
 pable enemy that choked and blinded and stung 
 him with remorseless malignity. 
 
 The landlady glided noiselessly into the room 
 during the melee, and, shaking her finger at her 
 husband who was struggling in the stranger s 
 grasp, hissed in his ear the word, " Murderer ! " 
 
 It sobered him at once. Some of the neigh 
 bors noticed the action, and heard the whis 
 per. The stranger released his hold of the 
 
A MODERN EPHESUS. 163 
 
 landlord, and gazed in unconcealed horror at the 
 pale-faced, gray-haired woman. 
 
 " There s your money, Dewstowe," said Ozro, 
 tossing the merchant his pocket-book when the 
 turmoil had subsided. The dog had rushed out 
 of doors, and could be heard growling and whin 
 ing as he rubbed his head in the dust of the 
 roadway. 
 
 " Keep it," said Dewstowe. " I vow you ve 
 earned it. I would n t take the risk you did for 
 all the money that ever was in it, and that s a 
 good deal." 
 
 " Nor I either," said Ozro. 
 
 " You would n t ? Then what the devil did 
 you do it for ? " 
 
 Ozro looked at him with a triumphant smile, 
 and then glanced toward the door where Dotty 
 stood. 
 
 " W-h-e-e-e-w ! " whistled the pedler, with a 
 shrug. " I ve heard of such things." 
 
 " Are you hurt ? " asked the stranger, anx 
 iously. 
 
 " Nothing to speak of," answered Ozro, show 
 ing some slight abrasions. 
 
 Then followed wondering and congratulation. 
 The German rescued his snuff-box minus its 
 contents, and in a somewhat dilapidated con- 
 
164 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 dition, but declared that he would not part with 
 it at any price. 
 
 " Dot vas ferry prave, mein frendt ; ferry 
 prave und ferry vat you call him ? ferry in- 
 ghenyus, too ; ferry inghenyus ! It remind me 
 of vat I hear in de village to-day, apout a man, 
 a ferry inghenyus man, somewhere apout here, 
 dot haf invent von ferry curious machine vat 
 put de leedle vire head on de bins, you know, 
 shust faster nor a man can count, dey say. I 
 tinks you must pe dot man, Mr. Ozro ; I do, in- 
 teed. Nobody put a genius efer tink of fightin 
 a dog mit von leedle shnuff-pox." 
 
 He shook hands heartily with Ozro, who 
 seemed all at once in haste to leave the room. 
 
 "It vas ferry inghenyus," the German repeated, 
 as he lighted his pipe, " ferry inghenyus. Dot 
 vas a goot idee pout buttin de leedle vire heads 
 on de bins, too, goot idee. Somepody make 
 some monish oud of shust dat leedle fool ting 
 some days." 
 
 Ozro disappeared ; Dotty and her mother left 
 the porch ; the neighbors dropped off to their 
 homes ; some of the guests sought their beds, 
 and the remainder gathered about the fire and 
 speculated as to the probability of the ghost 
 paying the Inn a visit that night. 
 
A "SENSIBLE AND TRUE AVOUCH." 
 
 ONLY Dewstovve, the stranger from the 
 South, and the German remained at 
 length wakeful occupants of the public-room. 
 Long before the clock struck eleven the land 
 lord had succumbed to the force of his own tip 
 ple, and sat snoring in his chair. The mechan 
 ism of the old Dutch clock which stood in the 
 corner had hardly ceased to whirr and rattle af 
 ter the performance of its stated duty, when a 
 peculiar rushing, sighing noise, emphasized at 
 regular intervals by a curious metallic sound, was 
 heard in the room above. Dewstowe went out 
 and looked up at the window of the haunted 
 chamber. It was as dark as the night itself. 
 Returning, he took a hammer from one of the 
 shelves beside the chimney and carefully drew 
 the nails at the top and bottom of the door lead 
 ing to the stairway. Then he extracted the key 
 from the landlord s pocket, and turned the bolt 
 in the lock. Opening the door, the peculiar 
 sounds in the room above were heard still more 
 
1 66 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 distinctly. They certainly had a most ghostly 
 suggestiveness. Taking the candle from the 
 table at the landlord s elbow he said in a low 
 tone, "Gentlemen, I mean to find out about this 
 matter. The landlord s punch has served its 
 purpose ; he is past making objection. Are you 
 inclined to go with me, or shall I ask you to ex 
 cuse the light while I am gone ? " 
 
 " I don t fancy prowling around after such 
 things, especially in other folks houses ; besides 
 I have n t very much breath to spare," said the 
 asthmatic; "but I reckon I can climb one pair 
 of stairs if you insist on it. Shall I carry the 
 candle ? " His words did not imply any fond 
 ness for the adventure, but he was not a man 
 to shrink from anything. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Dewstowe. " I 11 lead 
 the way." 
 
 " Veil, I goes along mit you, too," said the Ger 
 man, not removing the pipe from his mouth. 
 
 They took off their boots and went softly up 
 the stairs in their stocking-feet. The mysteri 
 ous sounds became more distinct as they ad 
 vanced. Arrived at the landing, the German, 
 who was in the rear, called attention to a thin 
 line of light shining under the door. They 
 held a whispered consultation, and it was de- 
 
A "SENSIBLE AND TRUE AVOUCH." l6/ 
 
 cided that the better way would be to have the 
 stranger hold the candle while Dewstowe threw 
 his whole weight against the door. This was 
 done, .and the excited merchant launched himself 
 against the portal with a force that swung the 
 unlatched door back against the wall and landed 
 him half across the haunted chamber. The 
 sight that presented itself to their eyes was one 
 well calculated to astonish searchers after the 
 supernatural. At a rude table on which was 
 burning a tallow candle stood Ozro Evans. His 
 sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and he 
 held in his hand a file, which he had just been 
 using. A machine, the wheels of which were 
 still in motion, stood beside the table. The 
 look he cast on the intruders was one of aston 
 ishment not unmixed with fright. 
 
 " Well, I swear ! " exclaimed Dewstowe with a 
 trace of anger, as soon as he had recovered from 
 his surprise. 
 
 " Just about as I supposed," wheezed the 
 stranger, as he advanced and set the candle he 
 carried on the table. 
 
 " So zis is ze ghost ? " queried the German, as 
 he came forward and beamed benignantly on 
 Ozro. "Zis is a goot ting to make von vork- 
 shop of ze ghost s chamber ! " 
 
l68 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " That is it, exactly," said Ozro. 
 
 "So you are the ghost ? " said Dewstowe. 
 
 " I am afraid I am the only one you will find 
 here," said the young man, laughingly. " Are 
 you disappointed ? " 
 
 " I hardly know," said the other. " I had not 
 expected this. I did not look for a ghost, but 
 would have been less surprised to see one than 
 to find you here." 
 
 " No doubt, and I am half-sorry for your dis 
 appointment," said Ozro. " If I had had an in 
 timation that you were coming, I am not sure I 
 should not have been tempted to treat you to 
 a ghost of some sort." 
 
 " It is well enough you did n t," said the 
 stranger, showing the butt of a pistol. " But 
 how came you to practise such deceit ? It would 
 have served you right to have given you half an 
 ounce of cold lead, just to teach you not to fool 
 with people s superstitions." 
 
 His tones were absolutely fierce as he spoke, 
 and he glanced around the room with something 
 like a shudder. 
 
 " I had an idea I wanted to work out by my 
 self," said Ozro, in reply ; " and as this room was 
 unoccupied, except by the ghost, I thought I 
 should find it both convenient and retired." 
 
A "SENSIBLE AND TRUE AVOUCH." 169 
 
 " Vich it no doubt is ! " said the German. 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Ozro, " I have never been 
 disturbed before." 
 
 " Then you have never seen the ghost ? " asked 
 the sick man, anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, the ghost and I are good friends," said 
 Ozro, pleasantly. 
 
 "The ghost be damned!" said Dewstowe, 
 spitefully. 
 
 "That you have been disappointed in the 
 object you had in view, is no good reason why 
 you should speak in that manner of what you 
 know nothing about," remarked the stranger. 
 
 Dewstowe looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "You don t mean to say " he began. 
 
 " I mean to say," interrupted the other, " that 
 this boy s curious freak cannot account for what 
 is said to have happened in this room when he 
 was an infant." 
 
 " That s so," assented Dewstowe, medita 
 tively. "I say, Evans," he continued, "you 
 have n t had any unpleasant company in this 
 old rookery, have you ? " 
 
 " Oh, none at all," answered Ozro. " You see 
 I have got so in the habit of working here 
 that I suppose no well-bred ghost would ever 
 think of molesting me." 
 
IJO BUTTON S INN. 
 
 tm Vat ish it you pe doin here, any vay ? " 
 asked the German, who was narrowly inspecting 
 the machine. 
 
 Ozro explained that something more than 
 a year before he had heard a pedler describing 
 the manufacture of pins, and showing how 
 the chief difficulties attending it lay in the 
 coiling of the fine wire of which the heads were 
 then made about the larger wire of the pins, 
 and sticking the finished work upon paper for 
 sale, which was then done by hand. The pedler 
 had given this in explanation of the cost of a 
 paper of pins, and ventured the opinion that 
 whoever should invent a machine to accomplish 
 either of these results would achieve thereby a 
 fortune. Ozro, already greatly impressed with 
 the desperate state of affairs at the Inn, and in 
 spired by his love for Dotty (of which, however, 
 he said nothing), had at once set himself at 
 work on these problems. Having a natural me 
 chanical turn, he had soon devised a machine 
 for accomplishing the desired end, and began 
 the construction of a working model. For this 
 purpose the haunted room had offered peculiar 
 advantages ; and having no confidence in the 
 notion of supernatural occupancy, he had opened 
 a passage from his own room in the rear upon 
 
A "SENSIBLE AND TRUE AVOUCH: I /I 
 
 the landing, and had gone back and forth at 
 will. 
 
 "Veil, dot vas a goot idee, too," said the 
 German, admiringly. " So you vas de man I 
 hear tell apout in de village, after all ? " 
 
 "And you have never been suspected?" 
 asked the stranger. 
 
 " I think not," said Ozro. " You see, I cur 
 tained the window closely with a blanket, and 
 never lit a candle without first letting the curtain 
 down." 
 
 "And during the whole time you have seen 
 nothing of the ghost ? " asked Dewstowe. 
 
 The young man shook his head, smilingly. 
 
 " That settles it," said Dewstowe. " I 11 
 never believe in ghosts again." 
 
 "And I shall never doubt their existence," 
 said the stranger. 
 
 " Der machine ish petter as te ghost," said the 
 German, peering curiously at the rude model. 
 
 Then they gathered round, and Ozro ex 
 plained the operation of each of his inven 
 tions, for there were two, the one to form 
 the head upon a pin, and the other to stick pins 
 on papers. 
 
 "And they are both patented?" asked 
 Dewstowe. 
 
BUTTON S INN. 
 
 "Only the one that makes the heads/ an 
 swered Ozro. "The application for the other 
 has just been made." 
 
 "Ah," said Dewstowe, "that was the secret 
 of your little box to-day?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Ozro,^"that had the model 
 in it." 
 
 " And how did you get the time and money 
 for these things ? " asked the stranger. 
 
 " Oh, it did n t cost much. I did the work 
 at night and at odd times, and borrowed the 
 money for the official fees. The lawyer at the 
 village says he will wait for his pay till I get 
 something out of the venture. He is very san 
 guine of the result." 
 
 " Dot he ish, and he haf goot reason to pe," 
 said the German. " Only dink how much bins 
 be used efery day ! A half a cent on a tousand 
 would be a fortune, and a pig one, too." 
 
 Dewstowe had been examining the machine 
 very carefully. 
 
 " See here," he exclaimed, his commercial 
 instinct getting the better of every other con 
 sideration, " I believe you have got a good 
 thing, Evans darned if I don t. What 11 you 
 take for a slice ? " 
 
 4< I don t know," said Ozro, dubiously. 
 
A "SENSIBLE AND TRUE AVOUCH." 173 
 
 " Of course you don t want to sell the whole 
 of it, and I don t want to buy the whole. I 
 should want you interested in it so as to be 
 sure it did the best it possibly could. I 11 
 tell you what I 11 do. I 11 give you a thou 
 sand dollars for a third interest in the two, 
 cash down, and run my own risk. What do 
 you say? That ain t so bad for the day you 
 come twenty-one, eh ? " 
 
 " I believe I 11 take another third on the same 
 terms, if you re willing," added the stranger, in 
 his husky voice. 
 
 " Now, who says dot ghosts ish a pad tings 
 to haf in a house, eh ? " inquired the German. 
 " I has n t got no moneys to invest, but I vish 
 you luck I does, inteed, Mr. Ozro." 
 
 " I seem to be having a good deal of that," 
 said Ozro ; " but I thank you all the same. Of 
 course you understand what such an offer means 
 to me, Mr. Dewstowe." 
 
 Ozro glanced significantly at his companion 
 of the morning as he spoke. 
 
 " Oh, I understand all that," said the other, 
 with an ingenuous flush upon his face, " but 
 I m afraid there is little chance for me. I saw 
 how the wind blew when my cursed dog tried 
 to make a meal of you to-night. I guess that 
 
174 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 spoiled my trade. I don t blame her, either. 
 You re born to good luck, and I believe you 
 deserve it too. You see, gentlemen," he said, 
 turning to the others, " this young man has the 
 misfortune to be in love with the landlord s 
 daughter, and the good fortune, I am afraid, to 
 have his love reciprocated. I had a notion the 
 same way, have yet in fact ; but I m afraid 
 it s no use. That s no reason I should have 
 any spite against him, however, or fail to make 
 money out of his brains." 
 
 " Dot ish peezness ! dot \dc\peezness ! " said the 
 German, in hearty commendation. 
 
 "All I insist on, Mr. Evans," continued Dew- 
 stowe, "is that I have the pleasure of telling 
 Miss Dotty of the good luck that has fallen in 
 your way." 
 
 There were tears in Ozro s eyes as he extend 
 ed his hand to the kindly-natured merchant. 
 
 " Did n t think I d do such a thing, eh ? Nor 
 I, neither. In fact, I would have bet on my not 
 doing anything to help you, hardly an hour ago. 
 Even now, if I see there s still any sort of chance 
 for me, you can count on my cutting in, every 
 time. I m afraid there s not much show, though 
 I have n t exactly given up yet ; but whether 
 there is or not, what s the use of standing in 
 
A "SENSIBLE AND TRUE AVOUCH." 175 
 
 one s own light ? There s a fortune in you, even 
 if these things amount to nothing. I can see 
 that. A man who will pick up such an idea 
 here in this old tavern, and carry it out under 
 such surroundings as you have had, has got a 
 gold mine in his head, to say nothing of his 
 hands." 
 
 " Exactly my opinion," wheezed the stranger. 
 
 So it was arranged that the papers should be 
 drawn on Monday, and the partners in the new 
 invention separated to dream of their respective 
 profits. 
 
 It was past midnight. The candle was flick 
 ering in the socket. Ozro sat at the table won 
 dering at his good fortune. His head rested on 
 his hands, and his eyes were riveted on the rude 
 model which was the secret of his happiness. 
 So absorbed was he that he was oblivious of his 
 surroundings until he was startled from his rev 
 erie by a sigh, and looking up he saw the ghost 
 of the Inn standing before him. There was no 
 mistaking the dim, shadowy figure with its flow 
 ing hair and white draperies, that seemed to gaze 
 upon him with cold, unseeing eyes. For an in 
 stant his heart seemed to cease beating. He 
 could only sit and stare at the mysterious figure 
 
176 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 before him. After a moment it moved noise 
 lessly to the front of the room, passed its hand 
 along the walls, paused, repeated the motion, 
 and then clasping its brow in apparent perplex 
 ity stole along the wall to the northeastern 
 angle of the room, felt carefully up and down 
 the notched logs, and turned away with a low 
 sob of despair just as the candle flickered and 
 went out. Before he could light another, the 
 spectre had disappeared. Its mysterious depar 
 ture surprised him quite as much as its advent. 
 He took the candle and examined carefully every 
 part of the room it had visited. The door had 
 been closed after the visitors had left the room, 
 and could not have been opened without attract 
 ing his attention. Besides, he remembered no 
 ticing that it was shut while the apparition was 
 yet visible. "He moved about the room very 
 carefully, and after concluding his search sat 
 down with his brows knitted and his eyes wink 
 ing fast and hard in evident perplexity. He 
 could no longer say he had never seen the ghost 
 of Button s Inn. 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES." 
 
 TT was a busy period that intervened be- 
 -* tween the early autumn and a Christmas 
 momentous, indeed, to the curiously contrasted 
 denizens of Button s Inn. The " fall-work " was 
 unusually heavy. The weather continued fine, 
 and the crops of corn and potatoes were such as 
 had not been seen on the place for many a year. 
 The great mow was full of hay, the scaffolds 
 and the lofts crowded with golden sheaves of 
 oats and barley stored away for the winter s 
 threshing. From the stalls, which were more 
 numerous than the business of the Inn had of 
 late demanded, the brown heads of buckwheat 
 showed with their glittering red-and-white stalks; 
 the unhusked corn was piled high on the great 
 barn-floor, and the apples that lay upon the 
 green hill-side were gathered into the cellar or 
 ground to pomace in the creaking mill. Lonny 
 Button seemed to have awakened out of the apa 
 thy which had so long affected him, and began 
 once more to take a lively interest in all these 
 
 12 
 
178 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 things. He wandered to the bursting barn, 
 through the fields where the maize-stalks showed 
 the white cleavage above the broad green pump 
 kin-leaves as Ozro " carried his rows " across 
 the field, carefully tying the shocks of green 
 rustling stalks with bands which he twisted 
 from rye-straw, a bundle of which he carried 
 with him. He picked up the potatoes, too, as 
 Ozro dug them, delicate white " Kidneys," blue 
 " Neshanocs," and coarse red " Merinoes." He 
 loitered about the orchard while the apples were 
 gathered, and when the weather grew colder set 
 tled down to the work of husking corn upon the 
 barn-floor. 
 
 With him all the time was the asthmatic 
 stranger, Mr. Jackson, become now a regular 
 denizen of the Inn. He declared that he found 
 the climate good for his disease, though he still 
 wheezed and coughed upon the least exertion, 
 his red lips showing through his stiff black 
 beard, and his eyes almost starting from his 
 head with the force of occasional paroxysms. 
 He had fallen into the ways of the Inn with 
 wonderful facility. Of late he had passed most 
 of his evenings in the ghost-chamber, wtiere 
 Ozro worked at night and on stormy days per 
 fecting his inventions, sitting by the hearth 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES: 179 
 
 smoking, and wearing always his wide-brimmed 
 hat, while he talked to the young man, to whom he 
 had apparently .taken a special liking. So a light 
 burned .brightly again in the windows, and a cheer 
 ful fire shone on the long-deserted hearth. 
 
 As the stranger wandered about with Lonny 
 Button, he told him of the wonders of the West 
 and South, of which he appeared to have seen 
 about all that was then accessible to the civilized 
 foot. It was long since the old man had mani 
 fested so much interest in anything as in this 
 eccentric stranger. He still alternately praised 
 and grumbled at Ozro ; but the stranger easily 
 changed his mood, and seemed determined to es 
 tablish pleasant relations between the dwellers at 
 the Inn. As for Dotty, he captured her good- will 
 at the outset by this course. She had from child 
 hood been the washer that kept down the friction 
 of the contrasted elements in her home. Her 
 mother s unrelenting sense of duty, her father s 
 moody querulousness, the strange attachment of 
 the one and dislike of the other for Ozro, had made 
 her work, not exactly of peace-making but of har 
 monization, one of no little difficulty. Her suc 
 cess had not been complete until the coming 
 of the stranger. He seemed to please alike the 
 garrulous father and the fanatical mother. 
 
ISO BUTTON S INN. 
 
 As a result of this, Ozro and Dotty had been 
 much together. During the soft autumn days 
 she often drove the horse at the cider-mill, 
 and stole out to the barn more frequently than 
 seemed to her father absolutely needful while 
 Ozro was drawing in the grain. But Dotty had 
 great interest in material things, and it did seem 
 as if finally a bright future was coming to be 
 a possibility for those she loved. 
 
 Ozro was very cheerful, as behooved one be 
 fore whom such bright prospects were opening, 
 but was very much absorbed in his work, so 
 much so, indeed, that Miss Dotty was not at 
 all satisfied with his demeanor. All her little 
 coquettish wiles seemed to have no power to 
 draw him from his absorption. The farm by 
 day and his inventions by night appeared to 
 engage his whole attention. If guests came, 
 they but added to his preoccupation. She gave 
 him every opportunity to renew the courtship 
 he had pressed for one day with such confus 
 ing and unexpected ardor ; but he seemed to 
 have forgotten how to make love. It was true 
 she had stipulated that she should not give a 
 final answer until Christmas ; but he need not 
 have taken her so literally, she thought. Per 
 haps she would have been willing to decide 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES." l8l 
 
 before ; he might at least have shown that he 
 would like to have her antedate the epoch of his 
 destiny. But Ozro manifested no such desire. 
 Cheerful as he was, and hopeful as he could 
 not help being, he said little of the future, ex 
 cept as it referred to the comfort of their elders. 
 Of himself, of her, of their future, he said little. 
 Kind and pleasant though he was, he uttered no 
 word of pleading, and made no display of lover- 
 like importunity. Once or twice he had kissed 
 her with a passionate warmth that made her 
 heart beat fast; but not a word of love came 
 from his lips. Now and then, while the stranger 
 talked with her mother before the fire in the 
 dining-room in the evening, she had stolen up 
 to the ghost-chamber, where Ozro was engaged 
 at his work-bench, and though she could not 
 repress a shudder at the memory of its ghastly 
 associations, she sometimes stayed a long time, 
 listening to his explanations of the curious ma 
 chine he had devised, explanations she did 
 not at all understand, but hearing nothing of 
 the explanation a woman is always glad to re 
 ceive. Dotty wished he would not keep his 
 promise quite so rigidly, and tried in many 
 pretty little ways to let him know it ; but he 
 either would not see, or did not care to see. 
 
1 82 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 Could it be that he did not care ? Dotty was 
 a brave girl, but her heart grew sad at the 
 thought ; and as the doubt continued to grow, 
 her eyes came to have an anxious look, and 
 her laugh was less frequent and less merry 
 than it was wont to be. 
 
 Thus the autumn days went by ; the frost bit 
 the green herbage, the wind tossed the dun 
 leaves into great heaps, and the snow came to 
 hide the earth from the bitterness of winter s 
 cold. The Inn had lost something of its mys 
 terious character, and though its custom was 
 not greatly improved, it had taken on a more 
 cheerful aspect than it had known for years. 
 This fact did not escape the eye of Mr. Dew- 
 stowe as he reined up to the barn on the day 
 before Christmas. He was driving only the 
 bays this time, for his stock-case was mounted 
 on runners instead of wheels, the sleighing 
 being perfect, and he being too old a traveller 
 to risk himself very far from his base of opera 
 tions at that time of the year with a very heavy 
 stock. 
 
 The early dinner was over, but Dotty soon 
 placed an appetizing repast upon the table, to 
 which the travelling merchant did ample justice 
 while chatting gayly with his fair attendant. An 
 
"ASHES TO ASHESr 183 
 
 hour afterward the bays were hitched before a 
 light cutter, the pedler s luxurious robes spread 
 over seat and dash, and Ozro, not without qualms 
 which .were manfully subdued, saw Dotty s gay- 
 colored hood disappear over the hill in close jux 
 taposition to Dewstowe s fur-cap. It was nearly 
 dark when they returned. If their departure was 
 a season of merriment, what shall be said of their 
 home-coming. Dotty was in such high spirits 
 that her mother shook her head severely as she 
 noted the sparkle of her dark eyes and the glow 
 of her wind-kissed cheeks. As for Ozro he 
 wondered, as Dotty and her attendant went into 
 the house together while he took the horses to 
 the barn, whether anything beside the wind had 
 kissed her cheeks. He was still thinking of this, 
 sitting beside his work-bench in the ghost cham 
 ber, when Dewstowe entered. Mr. Jackson sat 
 in the corner of the fireplace, still wearing the 
 wide-brimmed hat, which he did not discard 
 even at meal-time, and smoking a pipe which 
 he asserted he found better for his astfima than 
 the cigars he had used on his first arrival. This 
 he attributed to his having mixed with the to 
 bacco certain herbs which he had gathered and 
 dried, a large stock of which hung above 
 the fireplace. Among these were the Indian 
 
1 84 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 Tobacco (JLobelia inflata), whose medicinal vir 
 tues were at that time highly extolled by men 
 having no little claim to scientific knowledge. 
 So it may be that the stranger s belief was not 
 without foundation. Sitting down in front of 
 the fire, Mr. Dewstowe lighted a cigar and at 
 once opened conversation. 
 
 " Well, Evans, how about the inventions ? 
 Patents all right?" 
 
 Ozro thought there was something unfriendly 
 about the tone of this inquiry. He reasoned 
 with himself quickly that he might be mistaken, 
 however, the tone might be only in his jealous 
 brain. So he answered pleasantly, 
 
 " All right, Mr. Dewstowe. So are the 
 models. We are ready to begin to make the 
 machines to-morrow." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the merchant, with sarcastic 
 good nature. " And you are still well satisfied 
 with them?" 
 
 "Oh, entirely." 
 
 " And you, Mr. Jackson, does your faith still 
 hold out ? " 
 
 " There ain t no mistake about their doing the 
 work," wheezed the stranger, taking his pipe 
 from his mouth and putting out his tongue over 
 his red under lip as he spoke. 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES." 185 
 
 "Well, that s good, now," said Dewstowe 
 with a curious chuckle. " Will they do any 
 thing else, plant corn or milk cows, for 
 instance ? " 
 
 " I don t know," said Ozro, somewhat abashed 
 at the merchant s tone rather than at his 
 questions. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked the stranger, 
 sharply. 
 
 Dewstowe saw that he must drop his jesting 
 manner. The stranger was not a man to be 
 trifled with. 
 
 " I just thought I would ask the inventor," he 
 said jocularly, "whether the machine would do 
 for anything else besides heading pins." 
 
 " I don t see any use in its doing anything 
 else," said Jackson, slowly. " That s what it 
 was made for, and that s what it does. That s 
 what we bought it for, and that s what we ll use 
 it for, I reckon." 
 
 There was a hint of menace in his tone. He 
 evidently thought the merchant wished to avoid 
 his contract. 
 
 " Oh, that s all right," said Dewstowe, quickly. 
 "Good plain contract made it with our eyes 
 open ; and we ain t men that can plead the need 
 of a gardeen either at least I ain t." 
 
1 86 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I Ve got along without one thus far tolerably 
 well," interjected the stranger, dryly. 
 
 "Yes, there ain t no getting around it nor 
 going back on it," said Dewstowe. " It s a nice 
 thing for our friend Evans, too, shows he was 
 born under a lucky star, you see." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 "Well, you know, he d just come of age that 
 very day, and sold his first find to a couple of 
 old experienced hands like you and me, hiring 
 us to hold the bag while he shook the tree. No, 
 I won t say that ; he didn t hire nor persuade 
 us ; we just jumped in for fear some one else 
 would get the chance, and it s altogether fair 
 that now we should have to hold on to what we 
 were so anxious to pick up then." 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Dewstowe?" asked 
 Ozro, with vague apprehension. 
 
 "That s what I mean," said the merchant, 
 sharply, facing around toward Ozro and tossing 
 something on the table before him. 
 
 Ozro picked it up, glanced at it a moment, 
 and sank back in his chair, his face deathly 
 pale. 
 
 " What is it ? " exclaimed the stranger, ex 
 citedly, as he hurried across the room and 
 caught the package from Ozro s hands. 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES: 187 
 
 11 Oh, it ain t much," said Dewstowe, jauntily. 
 " It s only a paper of pins with no heads on 
 them at all!" 
 
 " No heads ! " reiterated the stranger, look 
 ing first at the pins and then at Dewstowe, 
 incredulously. 
 
 " That s what I said," responded Dewstowe ; 
 "just look at them for yourself, though. No 
 wire twisted about them. Just a tap on the end 
 with a hammer or something of that sort, and 
 there s your pin, head and all ! Bright idea, 
 that ! Simpler, cheaper, better than we ever 
 had before. That is what is needed to make an 
 invention valuable, certainly valuable, I mean. 
 This one, now, lays our friend Ozro s plan on 
 the shelf for good and all. There s nothing 
 for it to do, you see. The new pin is better than 
 the old one. No danger of the head coming 
 off while you are picking the baby s ears, you 
 see. No doubt this is a good machine of Mr. 
 Evans s," he went on almost tauntingly, " but 
 if it won t milk cows or dig potatoes, or do 
 something else not in the inventor s mind 
 when he got it up, and it isn t likely it 
 will, why, so far as I can see, we may as 
 well pay up, and use it for horse-nails and 
 kindling-wood." 
 
l88 BUTTON S INN . 
 
 "That means you d like to rue your bar 
 gain, I suppose/ said Jackson, using one of 
 those words which gave his speech its foreign 
 flavor. 
 
 " Rue ? " exclaimed Dewstowe. " Back out, 
 do you mean ? Did anybody ever know J. Dew 
 stowe to back down from a bargain ? Never ! 
 Not if it took his last dollar, which this don t 
 by a good many. No, sir ! I can afford to make 
 a bad bargain once in a while. It s a luxury 
 I don t often indulge in, you know. Besides, I 
 have the consolation in this case of doing some 
 thing to set up a deserving man in business. 
 I m not specially charitable; but if I ve got to 
 lose, I d rather a decent fellow had it than some 
 mean cuss." 
 
 "Perhaps you d like to sell?" said the stran 
 ger, calmly. 
 
 " Sell ? Now you re talking. But who on 
 earth would care to buy ? It s out of season, 
 past the style, creased and shelf-worn, and bad 
 stock generally, you see," said the lively mer 
 chant. " There might be something in the ma 
 chine to stick pins on the paper, that s a fact. 
 These, I think, are still put up by hand," ex 
 amining as he spoke the new package. " Of 
 course, as the new process makes pins cheaper, 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES:* 189 
 
 more of them will be used, and there will be 
 more call for the sticking machine. After all, 
 though; there s a good many risks, even about 
 that. Suppose they should take to putting them 
 up some other way, jamming them right into 
 something a hundred at a time. I am surprised 
 they don t do it ; it would beat this paper-stick 
 ing business all to rags. No, come to think of 
 it, I don t believe there s anything in it a man 
 would care to buy ; so there ain t much chance 
 for a sale." 
 
 " I 11 buy your share," said the stranger, 
 quietly ; " or rather I 11 step into your shoes, if 
 you re willing, for we hain t either of us paid 
 anything to speak of yet." 
 
 " That 11 suit me to a dot," said Dewstowe, 
 quickly. "I ll throw in what I ve paid, too. 
 But that of course depends on Mr. Evans. He 
 holds the long gad, just now. Is he willing ? " 
 
 " I ve got the money," said the stranger, look 
 ing anxiously at Ozro. 
 
 " I don t doubt it, Mr. Jackson," said the young 
 man ; " but as Mr. Dewstowe says, this new way 
 of making the heads destroys the value of one 
 of my machines, and makes the other at least 
 doubtful. I don t want any man to pay me for 
 what I haven t got, or to put money in what 
 
BUTTON S INN. 
 
 is not likely to yield a good return. I do not 
 think the machine that is left is worth the amount 
 you offered, or that you would have offered it 
 for that alone." 
 
 " That is for me to decide, I suppose," 
 said the sombre man, with a tone of sullen 
 determination. 
 
 " Not entirely," answered Ozro ; " besides, I 
 do not propose to allow either my desire or 
 your sense of honor to induce me to take a 
 cent from your hands except for value. If the 
 machine is not worth all and more than you 
 gentlemen agreed to put in it, I do not want 
 your money and will not take it. There is 
 the contract." 
 
 As he concluded he threw the paper into the 
 great wood-fire that glowed behind the andirons. 
 The flame caught it ; it shrivelled, crackled, 
 flashed up for an instant, and then with a roar 
 was swept up the black jaws of the chimney. 
 The three men looked at each other a moment 
 in silence. 
 
 "That was a plucky thing," said Dewstowe, 
 presently, in a tone of genuine admiration. 
 "That was a good paper, with good names on 
 it, far more than most men would care to 
 throw away." 
 
ASHES TO ASHES:* 
 
 IQI 
 
 " Burning a paper don t destroy a contract, 
 young man," said the stranger, sententiously. 
 
 " I suppose I can renounce my rights under 
 it, if I choose," said Ozro, impatiently. 
 
 " No doubt ; you can release yours, but you 
 cannot destroy mine. I ve got an intrust in 
 that paper, or rather in the contract that was 
 writ on it, that I don t propose to give up in 
 that sort of way." 
 
 Ozro looked at him with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, you may laugh, young man, you and 
 Mr. Dewstowe, too ; but when Abner Jackson 
 puts his hand to the plough, he don t never look 
 back never ! " 
 
 There was something very impressive in the 
 hoarse quavering tones, which was greatly en 
 hanced by the steady, almost fierce, light of his 
 great dark eyes and the gleam of his red lips 
 beneath the stiff mustache, as he stood leaning 
 one arm against the mantel and gesticulating 
 with the smoking pipe held close to the bowl in 
 his other hand. 
 
 " It ain t with you as it is with me, gentle 
 men," he continued. "The Lord guides my foot 
 steps, an I don t dare to despise His instructions. 
 I go where He leads me an tarry where He bids 
 me stay. He took me by the hand and led me 
 
192 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 hither ; by the mouth of His servant and 
 prophet He bade me stay till I have served His 
 will and purpose. He moved me by His holy 
 sperrit to take part in the worldly enterprise in 
 which you were about to engage, an I did it. I 
 don t know why it may be for your good or 
 for my ondoin it don t matter to the servant 
 of the Most High. I felt a call I didn t dare 
 neglect, an jest went forard where it led. That s 
 why I took an intrust in these things. It 
 was n t because I looked for gain, though I 
 don t deny I thought there was money in 
 them ; but the sperrit of the Lord spoke with 
 my lips, an the contract I made was signed with 
 the seal of the Almighty. I cant renounce it 
 nor go back on it, now. That contract s got to 
 be carried out to the letter!" 
 
 The curious sing-song recitative which he 
 used and the strange solemnity of his manner 
 gave a sort of weird charm to the stranger s 
 utterances that prevented any inclination to 
 levity on the part of his listeners. 
 
 " You don t want to put up and work a worth 
 less machine, do you ? " asked Ozro, as soon as 
 he recovered from his surprise. 
 
 "The Lord don t require any such foolish 
 ness," said Dewstovve, briskly. 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES." 193 
 
 " Don t you be setting yourself up to decide 
 what s foolishness in the Lord s eyes an what 
 ain t," said Jackson, severely. "You re a sharp 
 man in trade, I don t doubt, Mr. Devvstowe ; but 
 the Lord He sees in the darkness as well as in 
 the light to-morrow is as plain to Him as 
 yesterday. I don t say He means us to do a 
 vain thing, and it s borne in on me now that it 
 was n t toward this instrument that the leading 
 inclined. My mind misgave me all the time 
 about the heading-machine. I don t know why ; 
 it did its work well. But the Lord He knows, 
 and the heart of His servant is only clay in the 
 potter s hands to Him. So my mind inclined to 
 the other. It s simple, easily made, an a boy can 
 work it. I don t agree with you, Mr. Dewstowe. 
 There won t be devised no other nor better way 
 of putting up pins for sale. How can there be 
 anything cheaper than a piece of paper ; or sim 
 pler than turning a crank ? Jest give that ma 
 chine pins and paper, and a boy will put up a 
 thousand thousand pins in a day." 
 
 " There s something in that, Mr. Jackson," 
 said Dewstowe, when the wheezy nasal with its 
 strange intonation had ceased. 
 
 " Something in it ? I should think there 
 was ! The Lord s hand is in it," said Jackson, 
 13 
 
194 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 fervently, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, 
 and coughing violently. 
 
 " Well, I 11 take mine out of it, then," said 
 Ozro, pleasantly. " You and Dewstowe may 
 do what you please with it." 
 
 " That s right, young man ; that s right," 
 said Jackson, between paroxysms of coughing. 
 " You hain t got no call to do anything more 
 with that machine. You ve done your work, 
 an done it well. It s ready for other hands 
 now. It may be mine, or it may be Dewstowe s; 
 I judge it s more likely to be his. If so, it ll 
 be my part to furnish the money, his part to 
 introduce it and persuade men to use it ; and 
 whatever comes out of it you 11 have your third, 
 remember that. That was our contract, and 
 that can t be varied, not in substance, I mean, 
 whatever may be done with it in form and detail. 
 But don t you give it no more thought ; that 
 ain t what you re for. * Paul may plant an 
 Apolyus may water ; but don t let Paul stop 
 planting to help Apolyus do his watering; that s 
 what the text means, I take it. You keep on 
 yer planting ; we 11 do the watering ; an may 
 God give the increase!" said Jackson, solemnly, 
 casting his eyes upward under the broad brim 
 of his hat. 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES." 195 
 
 The unusual excitement brought on a bad 
 spell of coughing. It seemed as if his powerful 
 frame would be riven apart by the violence of 
 his convulsions. 
 
 "Can t we do something for you?" asked 
 Dewstowe, in sympathetic alarm. 
 
 The stranger put up his hand and shook his 
 head, still coughing. 
 
 " Tain t nothing," he said, when the paroxysm 
 had subsided ; " nothing to worry about, that is. 
 I Ve had it these many years, sometimes bet 
 ter n sometimes worse. Mighty troublesome, 
 but it don t signify nothing. I Ve been talking 
 too long an too loud, that s all. I 11 go down 
 an smoke a pipe of this ere Injun weed with 
 with him afore I go to bed. I 11 be all right in 
 the morning, an I 11 see you then," he remarked 
 to Dewstowe as he went toward the stairs. Be 
 fore he reached the door he turned, and coming 
 quickly back said, in a solemn voice, as he halted 
 behind Ozro s chair: 
 
 " Have you thought what night it is ? To 
 morrow will be Christmas." 
 
 " We re not likely to forget it," said Ozro. 
 
 " No, indeed ! " said Dewstowe, with a shrug. 
 
 " Of course, I might have known you would n t 
 forget it," said Jackson, looking tenderly down 
 
1 96 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 at Ozro ; " but don t either of you forget it. It s 
 borne in upon me that to-rnorrow will be a great 
 an a notable day to all them that are beneath 
 this roof. Good-night, young gentlemen. Don t 
 sit here an talk an plan all night. Your life 
 lines are crossed an tangled, but the Lord 11 
 straighten em out. May He have you both in 
 His holy keeping always ! " He raised his right 
 hand, and as he ceased speaking let it fall on 
 Ozro s head. After standing thus in silence for 
 a moment, he removed his hand and said in his 
 ordinary tone : 
 
 " Well, good-night. I 11 go an smoke a pipe 
 with him, an then to bed too." 
 
 As he went downstairs, Dewstowe looked 
 across at Ozro and tapped his forehead. 
 
 " I don t know," said Ozro, shaking his head ; 
 " he seems right enough in all other respects." 
 
 "And in that, too," answered Dewstowe, "if 
 it were not for the reason he gives. There was 
 a deal of sense in what he said." 
 
 " Some, perhaps," said Ozro, moodily. Dew 
 stowe did not notice the tone. 
 
 " What did he mean by smoking a pipe with 
 him ?" he asked. "Is fumigation a religious 
 exercise, in which he expects the Almighty to 
 take a part ? " 
 
"ASHES TO ASHES." 197 
 
 " No," said Ozro, with a smile ; " that is the 
 way he always refers to Mr. Button." 
 
 " Indeed ! And the landlady how does he 
 designate her ? " 
 
 " Always as her, or she. " 
 
 " You don t tell me ! Well, he is the oddest 
 stick I have ever run across. What do you take 
 him for?" 
 
 " I don t know," emphatically. 
 
 " He has been here now " 
 
 " Nearly four months." 
 
 " Thought so. And no clew ? " 
 
 " Not the least." 
 
 " Preacher ? " 
 
 " Don t think so, not a Methodist, anyhow." 
 
 " No ? Campbellite, perhaps ; lots of them a 
 little farther west." 
 
 " Per-haps," doubtfully. 
 
 " Has he any business ? " 
 
 " None, so far as I know." 
 
 " Money ? " 
 
 " Yes," promptly and decidedly. 
 
 " How much ? " 
 
 " I don t know ; all he needs, apparently." 
 
 " How long does he intend to stay ? " 
 
 " You heard what he said ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; he acts under orders." 
 
1 98 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 Dewstowe sat back in his chair and whistled 
 softly. 
 
 " What did he mean by saying you would not 
 be .likely to forget that to-morrow would be 
 Christmas ? " 
 
 Ozro looked at him in surprise. It had never 
 occurred to him that every one who had heard of 
 the Inn did not know his story. 
 
 " My mother " he faltered. 
 
 " I beg pardon," said Dewstowe. 
 
 " She died on Christmas eve," said Ozro. 
 with marked effort. 
 
 " I beg pardon," repeated Dewstowe ; " I did 
 not know. I will go now before I get into more 
 trouble with my infernal inquisitiveness. Good 
 night." 
 
 He turned back after reaching the landing, 
 however, and asked cautiously : 
 
 " By the way, Evans, how do you suppose this 
 man comes to know so well about about your 
 mother ? " 
 
 " I don t know," answered Ozro, in surprise. 
 
 " No ? " meditatively ; " nor what makes him 
 take such a special interest in you, I suppose?" 
 
 " No ; does he ? " 
 
 " Well, I should think ! Good-night. I am 
 not coming back again." 
 
n ASHES TO ASHES." 199 
 
 He laughed, and Ozro heard him humming a 
 merry tune as he went down the stairs. He sat 
 before the fire for a while thinking intently. 
 Then he went to the window and looked out. 
 Letting the curtain fall into its place, he re 
 turned to the table, and taking out pen and 
 paper wrote a letter, folded the sheet, sealed it 
 with a wafer, and directed it. Then he took 
 the candle, and crossed the landing to his 
 own room. 
 
ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY. 
 
 A STORM had set in with the going down 
 of the sun. The wind blew from the 
 northwest, and brought with it a fine dry snow, 
 which filled the air with stinging missiles and 
 sifted through every nook and cranny. It filled 
 the road with a slippery mealy mass, which did 
 not cling or pack, but only lay like drifting sand, 
 obstructing all passage and quickly obliterating 
 every track. The mistress of the Inn moved 
 uneasily about, watching the storm first from 
 one window and then from another, shaking her 
 head and muttering hoarsely to herself. When 
 the belated stage came up and turned to the 
 porch, as it had rarely done of late, her excite 
 ment became intense. 
 
 "Jest such another night," she whispered, as 
 she watched the yellow glare of the lamps and 
 the smoking horses, "jest such another. I 
 wonder what misfortune this 11 bring ! " 
 
 She thrust her pale face close to the window, 
 watching for a passenger to alight. There was 
 
ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY. 2OI 
 
 none. The driver handed something to Dotty, 
 who had run out upon the porch, and, with a 
 " Merry Christmas " and a saucy compliment, 
 cracked, his whip and drove on. 
 
 " Only a letter, Ma ! " said the girl, entering 
 the room where her mother stood. 
 
 " Jest the same ! Jest the same ! " sighed the 
 careworn woman. " That s all there was that 
 other night. How awfully the wind blows ! 
 jest as it did then. Who is it for, Dotty ? " 
 
 The girl was holding the letter close to the 
 candle and spelling out the address. 
 
 " For all the world ! " she exclaimed. " Who 
 do you suppose ? " 
 
 " Not Ozro ? " 
 
 " Mr. Ozro Evans ! Think of that ! I hardly 
 knew the name seeing it written out that way. 
 T ain t so bad a name after all ; and the writ 
 ing s just beautiful ! " she continued, holding it 
 at arm s length. " It s a big one, too. I must 
 run and give it to him." 
 
 She started to leave the room, but her mother 
 sprang forward and snatched the letter from her 
 hand, crying with a strange unnatural shrillness : 
 " Not to-night ! oh, not to-night, Dotty ! Re 
 member, it s the night afore Christmas. Wait 
 till to-morrow, Dotty, do wait 1 " 
 
2O2 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " But Ozro never had a letter before, Ma." 
 
 " So much the better ; he can wait. Don t let 
 him have it to-night, Dotty." 
 
 Seeing her mother s excitement, and fearing 
 its effects, Dotty promised compliance with her 
 wish on condition that she would lie down and 
 keep quiet. 
 
 The day s toil and Dotty s soothing finally 
 drove away the terror that beset the weary 
 brain, and the poor woman slept with the 
 dreaded letter clasped close to her heart. In 
 her sleep she moaned huskily of the sad and 
 terrible past. The lips, which nothing could 
 unloose by day, often had the seal of silence 
 removed by sleep, and Dotty had come to know 
 the inmost secrets of her mother s heart, at 
 least she thought she did. ^ 
 
 It was nearly eleven o clock when Dotty stole 
 out and cautiously opened the door of the public- 
 room. If Ozro was yet in his work-room, she 
 would tell him of the letter that had come. She 
 found her father as usual asleep in his chair 
 before the fire. The door leading to the stairs 
 was open, and the sound of footsteps could be 
 faintly heard in the room above. It was 
 strange ! Somehow they seemed stealthy and 
 unusual. Her heart beat quickly as she list- 
 
ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY. 203 
 
 ened. Now they were coming down the stairs. 
 She hid herself behind the door. As she 
 did so, it flashed upon her that the footsteps 
 did not sound like Ozro s. Whose could they 
 be ? Not Mr. Dewstowe s, certainly. Her face 
 flushed at the thought. They came nearer, 
 down the winding stairs. She wondered if she 
 had yet time to escape. Even while she thought 
 of doing so, a hand touched the casing and a 
 footstep fell upon the floor of the public-room. 
 She heard a labored breathing, and peeping out 
 saw the tall form and white hat of the eccen 
 tric stranger. She did not feel at all afraid, 
 but watched him curiously. She was very glad 
 it was not Mr. Dewstowe. The strange guest 
 walked across the room, and stood for a mo 
 ment looking down at her father. 
 
 Poor old man ! As the firelight fell upon his 
 face, she saw the marks of suffering almost as 
 plainly as she had been wont to trace them in 
 her mother s countenance. Poor father ! Poor 
 mother ! What had estranged them ? What had 
 given them so much sorrow ? She knew her 
 mother thought that Ozro had been wronged ; 
 but how, she had never been able to discover. 
 In its most unguarded moments her mother s 
 slumbering brain had never revealed the secret 
 
204 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 that had sealed her lips through all those weary 
 years. And this was Christmas Eve, the an 
 niversary of the misfortune or the crime. The 
 crime ! Could there have been a crime ? What 
 crime ? 
 
 The stranger went out of the public-room, and 
 she heard his footsteps going along the porch 
 toward his own. He had chosen since the win 
 ter came on a small room at the back of the 
 house, having a fireplace almost as large as that 
 in the public itself. She kept repeating over to 
 herself the words, " Crime ! crime ! " 
 
 Then she thought of the ghost. Surely, if 
 there were such a thing it would walk to-night. 
 Then she wondered what the- stranger could 
 have been doing in the room above, why he 
 walked so stealthily. She wondered if his pres 
 ence meant any harm to Ozro ; then she smiled. 
 Ozro was his special favorite ; besides, he could 
 have done no wrong. There was nothing fur 
 tive in his manner. Perhaps he had hoped to 
 see the ghost. Her heart stopped beating at 
 the thought. She started as the old clock with 
 many groans sounded the hour of eleven. She 
 had never seen the ghost ; now was her chance. 
 
 She did not stop to think, but stole noise 
 lessly from her place and ascended the stairs. 
 
ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY. 2O$ 
 
 The door of the room stood a little ajar. There 
 was a dim light within from the smouldering 
 brands upon the hearth. She pushed the door 
 open softly and peeped carefully within. All 
 was quiet. She could see the whole room dimly 
 lighted by the smouldering fire. It seemed very 
 still. She started when the door creaked un 
 easily as she pushed it slowly open. She waited 
 a moment; it creaked again. Her heart beat 
 very fast. She felt her flesh creep unpleasantly, 
 but she had no thought of turning back. Swing 
 ing the door quickly open she entered. . It swung 
 noisily together behind her. She put her hand 
 to her throat and drew her breath in short quick 
 gaspsj as she looked apprehensively around, but 
 did not once think of retreat. She had come 
 to see the ghost, and intended to remain until 
 it came, or at least until the regular hour for 
 ghostly wanderings was past. She stole on tip 
 toe toward the fireplace, and shrank instinctively 
 into the shadow at its side. After a little she sat 
 down upon the floor, drawing her skirts carefully 
 about her feet as she did so, and rested her arm 
 upon the chair Ozro had occupied a little while 
 before. 
 
 She sat here and waited for what ? She 
 smiled as she asked herself the question. She 
 
206 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 had never doubted the existence of the ghost. 
 It seemed almost sacrilegious to doubt what had 
 caused so much trouble to her parents. Her 
 father had always attributed all their misfor 
 tune to its malign influence. It had blighted 
 the crops, destroyed the cattle, wrecked the 
 schooner, driven custom from the Inn, led to 
 the starting of a rival hostel at Corey s hardly 
 a mile away, in short, had been the cause of 
 discord, poverty, and woe to the whole house 
 hold of the Inn, saving and excepting Ozro. It 
 had never troubled him, though he had occu 
 pied the room so long. Of late she had come 
 to question some of these conclusions. She saw 
 that no preternatural cause need be assigned 
 to account for her father s ill success ; his own 
 neglect and unfortunate predilection for strong 
 drink were sufficient of themselves. But what 
 had made him neglectful and intemperate ? 
 Jack, in the first place, of course. She had 
 heard the story told, with tears and sobs, of 
 how her father had encouraged the stiff-necked 
 boy in disregard of the mother s wishes, and 
 finally became his companion and example in 
 dissipation. This state of things the ghost per 
 haps made worse, but certainly did not originally 
 cause. And then the mother but here Dotty 
 
ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY. 2O/ 
 
 always stopped in her attempt to solve the mys 
 tery. Something had wrecked her mother s 
 happiness, and that something was mysteriously 
 connected with the ghostly visitant. That much 
 was incontrovertible. 
 
 But Ozro, she thought, did not believe in 
 the ghost, or anything connected with it. He 
 had even laughed at the idea ; and he had oc 
 cupied this room night and day for two years. 
 Surely, he ought to know if any one. But per 
 haps the ghost would not appear to him. Any 
 how it was a brave thing, and a shrewd thing 
 too, for him to cut a door through from his 
 room, and hide it so that even she had never 
 suspected it, though she made his bed every 
 day, and come into the haunted-chamber to do 
 his work. It was an odd sort of work for him to 
 engage in, too. Who would have dreamed that 
 a farm-boy like him would have thought of such 
 curious inventions ? She could dimly see the 
 outline of the machines as the fire flamed up a 
 moment from the falling apart of a log that had 
 been smouldering in the ashes. 
 
 It soon died out, but it had given a new turn 
 to her reverie. She thought of Ozro, the con 
 ditions she had imposed on him, how manfully 
 he had kept them, how brave and tender he 
 
208 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 had always been ; and then she wondered that 
 she could have imposed such hard conditions. 
 She had alw ays loved him ; but then she had 
 her father and mother to look after. Well, there 
 was no further need to think of that ; Ozro s 
 success had decided that. Why, he was rich 
 already ! She gave a little laugh as she thought 
 of it. Then she wondered what was the purport 
 of the letter directed to him which her mother 
 had. How well the name looked ! She won 
 dered if " Mrs. Ozro Evans " would look as well, 
 and blushed at her own thought 
 
 She had quite forgotten all but her dream. 
 Perhaps she was dreaming. At least she did 
 not hear a footfall on the stair beside her if 
 there was a footfall. She did not hear the door 
 open if it did open. But she did hear the 
 old clock groan and rattle, and finally strike 
 the hour of twelve. Then she raised her head, 
 looked quickly across the hearth, and held her 
 breath in wonder and affright. Just opposite 
 where she sat, and hardly three steps away, 
 stood the ghost of the Inn. 
 
 Dotty did not scream nor faint, but only sat 
 and watched in a sort of dumb amazement, 
 while the figure visited one part of the room 
 and then another, and finally returning to the 
 
ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY. 209 
 
 hearth disappeared from her sight. When it 
 had vanished, Dotty drew a long breath, and 
 sat gazing intently at the place where she 
 had seen it last. After a time, apparently 
 satisfied that it would not return, she reached 
 out, took up a stick that lay upon the hearth, 
 and pushed the smouldering brands together 
 until they made a blaze that lighted up the 
 whole room. Then she went cautiously to the 
 side opposite the corner which the presence 
 had first visited, and took from between the 
 logs one of the pieces of wooden chinking. 
 From behind this she took something which 
 she carried back to the fire and examined care 
 fully. Her face was very bright when she 
 went softly down the stairs and sought her 
 pillow. 
 
 Dotty had begun her preparations for retiring 
 when she noticed something white on the floor 
 near the door. She picked it up, and found it 
 to be a letter addressed to herself. It had been 
 thrust under the door, whose threshold had 
 shrunk away from its lower edge, either as a 
 result of bad workmanship or because the frost 
 had heaved the foundations. As she broke the 
 seal a small parcel fell into her lap. She paid no 
 attention to this, but read : 
 14 
 
210 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 DOTTY, To-morrow will be Christmas. I have 
 failed. The invention from which I hoped so much 
 is useless, being forestalled by another which not only 
 does its work, but makes the pin, head and all, at one 
 motion ; at least, I suppose it does, from the result. 
 Mr. Jackson would no doubt pay enough for the other 
 machine to discharge the mortgage ; but it would not 
 be fair to let him do so. This machine does its work 
 well, but it is not worth enough to justify doing any 
 thing with it. I believe I shall ultimately achieve suc 
 cess ; but I have not done so yet, and there is always 
 a possibility of the failure of the most sanguine hopes. 
 At least, you have the right to know that I release you 
 from any obligation arising out of the compact, which 
 ends to-morrow. I promised not to ask an extension 
 of time, and will not. If you decide to give your 
 hand to another, I cannot complain. I have had my 
 chance, and failed. Yet if you could trust me with 
 your future and that of your parents, I believe they 
 would be entirely safe ; and I do not need to assure 
 you of my unchangeable love. I write this simply to 
 save you the pain you might feel at having to give me 
 a refusal in words. My presence might unduly affect 
 your judgment, and I know you have need to be very 
 wise. If you feel that you ought to deny me, please re 
 member that he who has loved you so long will do noth 
 ing to cause you sorrow now. I may not be able to think 
 of you as a brother should, but I will go away, and give 
 you no reason to regret that I have loved you better. 
 
 I enclose a little parcel, which I beg you to accept. 
 If you cannot grant my desire, please to consider these 
 
ON THE VERGE OF DESTINY. 211 
 
 trifles a present from a very loving brother. Should you 
 wear them to-morrow, I shall know that you have de 
 cided to accept my love. If not, I trust that you will 
 wear them first at your marriage, and consider them a 
 wedding present from, 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 OZRO EVANS. 
 
 The parcel was a small leather case, fastened 
 with a rusty metal clasp. Dotty opened it, and 
 poured the contents into her hand, regarding 
 them for some moments very seriously. Then 
 she put them back with a sigh and replaced the 
 packet in the letter. She had a puzzled look 
 on her face as she proceeded to disrobe. The 
 night, or what remained of it, did not promise 
 to be a restful one to the pretty Dotty ; and it is 
 hardly surprising that she was very much dazed 
 at waking from bewildering dreams much later 
 than usual when Ozro tapped at the door and 
 informed her of the hour. She was no laggard, 
 however, and the breakfast at the Inn was not 
 long delayed by her unusual indulgence. 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 
 
 r I ^HE morning of Christmas dawned cold 
 -* and clear. The wind had died away, and 
 the sun sparkled on the white untrodden snow. 
 The dining-room at Button s was an unusually 
 bright apartment. A window opened on the 
 porch both in front and rear, and two more 
 flanked the great chimney on either hand. 
 Through them the sun was now pouring in a 
 flood of chilly light. This room served as the 
 kitchen, too, on ordinary occasions ; there was 
 another for extraordinary purposes, where the 
 weekly baking was done in the big Dutch oven 
 that stood at the back of the house. Around 
 the great hickory fire that blazed on the hearth 
 were being carried on the preparations for 
 breakfast. Kettles hung upon the crane, pota 
 toes were roasting under the ashes in the cor 
 ner, a johnny-cake was growing brown on a 
 board inclined before the fire, and a tray of 
 biscuit were showing circles of white flaky puff 
 beneath the ardent reflections of a bright tin 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 21 3 
 
 "baker" that obtrusively monopolized one side 
 of the glowing fire. 
 
 The long white table was scrupulously clean, 
 but quite devoid of napery. Little steel-blue 
 knives, with pointed blades and small bone-han 
 dles, lay beside the plates. The landlady stood 
 at the head of the table, the end farthest from 
 the fire, making it seem all the colder from 
 the chilling whiteness of her presence. The 
 company came in headed by the landlord, hav 
 ing been summoned from the public by Dotty. 
 She had called Ozro from the porch also, who 
 had answered by a cheery hail from the barn. 
 When the company had taken their places, 
 Jackson on the landlady s left, and Dewstowe 
 next to Dotty s vacant place upon her mother s 
 right, Dotty herself standing by the fireplace 
 ready to serve the smoking dishes that stood on 
 the hearth, the landlady, with a severe glance 
 up and down the table, bent over it, clasped her 
 wrinkled hands, closed .her eyes, and moved 
 her lips. No audible sound escaped them, but 
 every one knew she was asking a blessing, and 
 bowed his head reverently over his plate. 
 
 "Amen," said the asthmatic stranger, hoarsely, 
 as she changed her position and placed one hand 
 on the great coffee-pot by her side. 
 
214 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 The others changed their positions als6, 
 turning the blue-edged plates face uppermost, 
 grasping their knives and forks, and waiting for 
 the good things that Dotty was already busy 
 in placing upon the table. 
 
 The hum of conversation arose. The land 
 lord offered each of his guests a glass of hot 
 punch "to keep out the cold," he said. 
 
 "And with the compliments of the season, 
 too, I suppose ? " said Dewstowe, as he lifted 
 the steaming glass to his lips. 
 
 The landlord looked at his wife, uneasily. 
 Ozro entered at this moment from the back 
 porch, his face dripping from a morning ablu 
 tion of icy water. He rubbed it vigorously with 
 the towel hanging near the door, combed his 
 hair at the glass, which was moved inside during 
 the winter, and sat clown next to Dewstowe. 
 
 " Hello, Evans ! " said the latter ; " find it cold 
 this morning ? " 
 
 " Pretty sharp." 
 
 " How are the bays ? " 
 
 "All right." 
 
 " Ready for a Christmas sleigh-ride if I can 
 find a girl willing to risk the weather ? " 
 
 " I guess so," said Ozro ; " but the girl will 
 need to be plucky." 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 21$ 
 
 " How is the weather ? " asked one of the 
 travellers. "Pretty tough?" 
 
 Well," answered Ozro, with a shrug, " I 
 think I Ve seen it worse." 
 
 "And better, no doubt ? " said Dewstowe. 
 
 " I should say so." 
 
 " Drifted ? " asked the traveller. 
 
 " Not bad. The track is a little mealy ; but it 
 did n t pack." 
 
 " You think a horse could get along ? " was 
 the anxious inquiry. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! It might be a little heavy, and 
 the weather is certainly severe ; but the road 
 is passable." 
 
 " Do you hear that, Miss Dotty ? " asked 
 Dewstowe. "What do you say to having a 
 Merry Christmas?" 
 
 " I mean to have one," responded the girl, 
 saucily, seating herself by Ozro, and adding 
 significantly, "as I hope every one under this 
 roof may have." 
 
 " Dotty ! " said her mother, severely. 
 
 " Oh, I mean it, Ma ! and I hope every one 
 here will stay with us to-day, and have a real 
 Merry Christmas ! " 
 
 " Button s Inn never makes no charges to a 
 traveller that stays over Christmas," said the 
 
2l6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 landlord, with rude courtesy, " nothing but 
 horse-feed, that is. It can t exactly be said 
 that we keep open house that day," he added, 
 with awkward embarrassment ; " but we set a 
 free table, and they do say that a Christmas 
 dinner at Button s is not a thing to be sneezed 
 at. I invite you all, gentlemen. I can t make 
 it as lively as I could wish, but you re welcome, 
 gentlemen, very welcome." 
 
 He made a comprehensive gesture toward the 
 table with his half-empty glass, and then raising 
 it to his lips drained the contents, and placed 
 it bottom upward on the table. The landlady 
 bowed first to one side of the table and then 
 to the other with simple dignity, and repeated 
 in the hoarse whisper, with occasional hints of 
 vocalism, which was her ordinary speech : 
 
 "Very welcome, very welcome, you and all 
 those that may come on this blessed day ! We 
 do not have any merry-makings, for this is a 
 day of sorrow under this roof, and sackcloth 
 and ashes become us that dwell here better than 
 vain and frivolous conversation. But while we 
 don t hold with feasting and gluttony, we ask 
 our friends to eat and drink with us in memory 
 of Him who came an humble guest at another 
 Inn on this blessed day." 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 21 J 
 
 She bowed her head as she ceased speaking. 
 Everybody knew what the sorrow was to which 
 she alluded ; a solemn silence pervaded the 
 company, which was broken by the hoarse but 
 impressive tones of Mr. Jackson, who, raising 
 his head, exclaimed : 
 
 " Peace be within these walls ! " 
 
 A murmured " Amen/ came from the lips of 
 several of the guests, who thus accepted him as 
 their spokesman, regarding his words as a re 
 sponse to the invitation tendered by the keepers 
 of the Inn. 
 
 " I am much obliged," said the traveller who 
 had manifested such anxiety as to the state of 
 the weather, " but if the road is at all passable, 
 I must press on. I have a wife and three little 
 ones at home, of whom I have not heard for 
 several months. I left them among strangers 
 while I returned East to settle up some matters 
 that could not be attended to without my pres 
 ence. When I heard from them last, my wife 
 was ill. I wrote two months ago, telling her 
 I would certainly be back by Christmas, but 
 sickness and misfortune have delayed me. I 
 have written several times, but it is doubtful 
 if she has received my letters. It is a wild 
 country where we live, a long way from a 
 
218 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 post-office. Besides," he added, while his lip 
 quivered, " I am afraid to think what their 
 condition may be. I had little money to leave 
 my wife when I came away, but she thought 
 they could get along during the summer until 
 my return. I dread to think what may be 
 the situation of my family now that winter 
 has come on." 
 
 His story was listened to with sympathetic 
 attention. It was a phase of that new western 
 life with which every one was familiar, and con 
 sequently able to realize. The traveller was 
 making the journey on horseback, and the heavy 
 roads and severe weather made it very trying 
 to a man just risen from a sick bed; but he 
 thought nothing of himself, only of the anx 
 ious, perhaps suffering ones at home. He had 
 still a week or more of travel before him. His 
 horse was in good condition, and if the weather 
 permitted he hoped to get home by New Year s ; 
 but he could not delay. 
 
 " Well," said Dotty, while the tears glistened 
 in her eyes, " you shall not lose your Christmas 
 dinner anyhow. If you have room in your sad 
 dle-bags I will put you up a lunch that will 
 make you remember Button s until you reach 
 home at least." 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 2ig 
 
 " This used to be an inn," said the landlord 
 with a touch of pride, "of which they said it 
 welcomes the coming, speeds the parting guest. 
 We wish you a safe journey, sir, and that you 
 may find your family well and happy when you 
 reach them." 
 
 The landlord s speech was greeted with ap 
 proving comment. Every one remarked more 
 of the old time suavity, which had made him 
 at one time the popular host, than had appeared 
 in his demeanor for several years. His wife 
 regarded him with surprise not unmixed with 
 displeasure. She could not understand it. 
 
 "And that reminds me, Miss Dotty," said 
 Dewstowe, glancing meaningly at the landlord s 
 daughter, " that if you are kind enough to give 
 me your company for the ride you promised 
 last night, we may as well do a good turn to 
 our friend who is so anxious to get home." 
 
 " How so ? " was the demure response. 
 
 "You heard Ozro say how heavy the road 
 is. Now the bays are perfectly able to break 
 it with only a light cutter behind them, while 
 our friend s horse would have a hard time wal 
 lowing through the frozen sand, for a snow of 
 this sort is nothing less than sand. It does n t 
 make a road impassable exactly, but it will take 
 
220 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 more out of a horse going the same distance 
 than any other sort of track I ever travelled. 
 We might take him down to the Shore road 
 and perhaps a few miles along that in the sleigh, 
 leading his horse behind, which will then be 
 fresh for his journey." 
 
 " That s so," said the landlord, heartily. "Good 
 idee, too. Of course Dotty 11 go." 
 
 " We do not engage in any sort of frivolity or 
 pleasure-seeking here on Christmas, Mr. Dew- 
 stowe," said the landlady, severely. 
 
 " But this is not pleasure-seeking, this is 
 charity," was the bland reply. "Who would 
 think of getting pleasure out of a ride in such 
 weather as this." 
 
 " Then why do you want Dotty to go ? " asked 
 the landlady, relaxing slightly her austere de 
 meanor. " I m sure it is not necessary she 
 should go with you to break the road." 
 
 "Not to break the road, Ma am," answered 
 Dewstowe, politely, " but to hold me up to my 
 good resolutions. I assure you it takes a bigger 
 lot of virtue than I usually have in stock to 
 induce me to leave the comforts of the Inn to 
 do an act of charity, especially on such a day 
 as this. You need n t fear ; we 11 be back in 
 time for the merry-makings." 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 221 
 
 " Young man ! " said the landlady with unusual 
 sharpness of speech, " do you know what hap 
 pened in this house eighteen years ago to-day ? " 
 
 " Eighteen years ! " repeated Dewstowe, medi 
 tatively, " I don t believe I remember it. That 
 was quite a while before I took to the road. As 
 near as I can recollect, I was studying navi 
 gation on the canal during the summer, and 
 mastering the rule of three in the district school, 
 winters, about that time. I hope it was nothing 
 that will prevent any one from having a Merry 
 Christmas to-day." 
 
 "There will never be any more merry-mak 
 ings in this house," responded the landlady, 
 solemnly, " till the wrong that day committed 
 has been atoned." 
 
 " Now, Ma," said Dotty, protestingly, " I do 
 think we ought to stop thinking of such things, 
 and let Ozro have one pleasant Christmas at 
 the Inn before he goes away." 
 
 " Who says he s going away ? " asked the 
 landlady, excitedly. 
 
 " That s what he says," said Dotty, demurely ; 
 "and I think that if you won t let us have any 
 merry-makings, nor even give him the Christmas 
 present Santa Claus has brought, I would go if I 
 were in his place." 
 
222 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Christmas present ! What do you mean ? " 
 exclaimed her mother ; but her hand sought her 
 bosom, and her face turned a shade paler as she 
 did so. 
 
 " Why, the letter the stage-driver brought 
 Ozro last night," answered Dotty, " wasn t that 
 a Christmas present ? I 11 bet that was what it 
 was meant for ; yet you have n t given it to him." 
 
 " A letter ! " exclaimed Ozro, in surprise. 
 
 " Oh, yes! " said Dotty ; " people get letters 
 sometimes as well as write them, don t they ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," was the dubious answer. 
 
 " Well, there was one came for you last night, 
 but Ma would n t let me give it to you for fear it 
 might disturb your sleep, give you bad dreams, 
 you know. She thinks people never write letters 
 unless they have something unpleasant to say." 
 
 " She s more n half right in that, too," said 
 the landlord. 
 
 "There s harm enough come to you and 
 yours from letters received under this roof. I 
 did n t want you to have it on that account, 
 Ozro, and I m glad I lost it ; for I have lost 
 it," said the landlady with emphasis. 
 
 " No matter, Mother," said the young man, 
 soothingly, " it 11 turn up sometime ; and if it 
 does n t, it will make no difference to me." 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 22$ 
 
 " You think it won t, eh ? " said Dotty, archly. 
 " Now, I found that letter, and was going to give 
 it to you ; but if that is the way you speak of it, 
 I guess I 11 just put it in the fire. Shall I ? " 
 
 She took the letter from her pocket and held 
 it toward the fireplace. 
 
 " Don t touch it, Ozro ! Don t touch it ! " 
 almost shrieked the landlady. " It s writ for 
 all the world in the same hand as those that 
 come to your poor mother and made all the 
 trouble, all the trouble ! " she repeated, shak 
 ing her head solemnly. "It s bad luck to get 
 letters of a Christmas Eve, bad luck ! " 
 
 " Do you think so, Ozro ? Do you think Christ 
 mas-Eve letters are unlucky ? " asked the girl, 
 teasingly, as she held the letter toward the fire. 
 
 He glanced at her sharply, and said in a mean 
 ing tone, 
 
 " It would seem so." 
 
 Dotty s face flushed as she answered, 
 
 " Then I 11 always send back those I get that 
 night. Don t you think I d better ? But for this, 
 I Ve changed the luck, you know. I kept it under 
 my pillow and dreamed on it all night, and now 
 make you a Christmas present of it with a kiss. 1 * 
 
 She kissed the letter coquettishly as she 
 handed it to him. 
 
224 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Now wish before you open it ! " she said 
 imperiously, as he began to break the seal. 
 
 " And will I get my wish, if I do ? " he asked 
 earnestly. 
 
 Her eyes sparkled with fun as she returned 
 his gaze, but she said demurely enough : 
 
 " Oh, I hope so, certainly ! I Ve done all I 
 can to change your luck." 
 
 " Do you always distribute your kisses by let 
 ter, Miss Dotty ? " asked Dewstowe, jocosely. 
 The little by-play between Dotty and Ozro had 
 removed all traces of solemnity, and a ripple of 
 laughter greeted this sally. 
 
 "Always!" replied Dotty, as she passed around 
 a hot plateful of toasted slices of " rye and Indian," 
 which was a favorite breakfast-dish of that day. 
 
 "Well," said Dewstowe, with mock resigna 
 tion, " I don t like em that way ; but rather 
 than not get any at all, I think I d try a dozen 
 or so in that style." 
 
 " If you are not careful what you say, sir," said 
 Dotty, shaking her finger at the pedler, "I shall 
 let you go alone on your mission of charity." 
 
 " Oh, I m safe enough ! You ve promised ! " 
 was the careless reply. 
 
 " A bad promise is better broken than kept," 
 came hoarsely from the landlady s lips. 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 22$ 
 
 " Just so," said Dewstowe, with the touch of 
 irony he always used when speaking to the 
 landlady ; " but this happens not to be a bad 
 one. Besides tending to my moral improve 
 ment, it helps the traveller on his way." 
 
 The landlady did not answer, but a glance at 
 Dotty told her displeasure at the arrangement. 
 
 Ozro had opened his letter, and scanned its 
 contents slowly. As the landlady had said, 
 it was the first he had ever received by 
 post. From address to signature, it all seemed 
 strange, unreal, impossible to him. It was writ 
 ten in a hand he did not know, by one he had 
 never seen, and came from a place where he had 
 never been. He did not understand it, and yet 
 what he read made his hand tremble and his 
 face grow pale. 
 
 " What is it, Ozro ? " asked Dotty, who had 
 been watching him narrowly as he read. She 
 had set the plate of brown slices on the end of 
 the table, and now stood by her father s side, 
 with one hand resting on the back of his chair, 
 while she gazed anxiously at Ozro. " What is 
 it ? " she repeated. " Do tell us ! " 
 
 The young man finished the perusal of the 
 letter, looked around him in a dazed uncertain 
 way, and said : 
 
226 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I must go away at once." 
 
 " To-day ! " exclaimed Dotty, clasping her 
 hands and catching breath. 
 
 " No ; to-morrow." 
 
 " I knew it ! I knew it ! " moaned the land 
 lady, throwing down her knife and fork, and 
 beginning to weave back and forth in her chair, 
 as was usual with her under great excitement. 
 " I knew no good would come of it. I dreamed 
 that she came and took it from me ; and I was 
 in hope that the evil would pass by, the curse 
 be removed, the wrong righted, and the sin 
 fairly atoned for before he went out from under 
 this roof. It won t ever be done now, never ! 
 The curse that rests upon this house will be 
 fulfilled. There was n t but one way out of it, 
 and that s closed. Oh, the sin and the shame ! " 
 
 Ozro and Dotty both sprang to her side. 
 
 " Don t, Mother, don t ! " exclaimed Ozro, anx 
 ious to avoid a repetition of the scene he had 
 once witnessed. " I am sure it is all a mistake. 
 There is nothing to atone, nor any sin or shame 
 to regret. No one here ever did any harm, or 
 meant any harm, to my mother or to me." 
 
 "You re right there! You re right there! 
 damned if you ain t. I m sorry to swear, bein 
 it s Christmas, but there ain t any other way. 
 
THE BE NTS ON OF PEACE. 22/ 
 
 You re right, I say. D ye hear, Ozro ? I 
 did n t ever expect to say it ; but you re right ! 
 T ain t nateral you should be, seein how sot 
 she s always been on settin ye wrong; but 
 you re right all the same. Nobody bout But 
 ton s Inn ever meant harm to you or yourn. 
 I may have been pretty ha sh sometimes, but I 
 did n t mean no harm. Come an shake hands, 
 boy, and let by-gones be by-gones. Don t let s 
 part with any hard feelin s ! " 
 
 The landlady sprang from her chair at these 
 words, and in a strange intermitted shriek ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " Don t ye do it, Ozro ! Don t ye do it ! Let 
 him pay what he owes before ye touch his hand 
 in friendship ! It s well enough to forgive, but let 
 him bring forth fruits meet for repentance first ! " 
 
 " I don t owe him nothin ! " thundered the 
 landlord, bringing his fist down savagely on the 
 table, " not a dollar ! not a copper ! I never 
 used a shillin that belonged to him or his ! There 
 t is now," he continued, throwing a package on 
 the table, " every cent on t, an the pocket- 
 book it was in, too. Look at it if ye want to ! 
 I might have taken keer of it, I s pose, and not 
 let the banks break an leave it all sp ilt and 
 wuthless now. I was wrong there, probably; 
 
228 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 but t wa n t my business, at least I thought 
 t wa n t. I was n t your gardeen ; an nobody 
 asked me for it, but jest went on an acted as ef 
 I d stole from a dead woman an robbed a baby ! 
 T wa n t nateral fer me to act right under them 
 circumstances, was it now ? " he asked appeal- 
 ingly of Ozro. 
 
 There was great confusion about the table. 
 Most of the guests had risen during this 
 unpleasant altercation. Dotty stood by her 
 mother s chair holding her apron to her lips, 
 while the tears ran down her cheeks. Ozro 
 was thoroughly astounded. Dewstowe reached 
 over, took up the package, opened it, and 
 hastily ran over the amount of the bills. 
 
 " Three hundred and sixty dollars," he said ; 
 " every one on a broken bank. Gad ! It shows 
 the mutability of earthly affairs, especially of 
 banks, don t it?" 
 
 The landlady seemed astounded at what she 
 saw. Her manner was still stern, but her voice 
 had returned to its accustomed whisper as she 
 said : 
 
 "And the jewels give up the jewels that 
 ye took!" 
 
 "I don t know nothin bout em! Nothin 
 bout em ! " said the landlord, with a vigorous 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 2 29 
 
 repelling gesture. " Never see em, an never 
 touched em. An more n that, I don t b leve 
 Jack ever did. How should he ? " 
 
 At this point all eyes were turned upon 
 Mr. Jackson. He had risen in his place, and ex 
 tended his hand authoritatively over the table. 
 
 " Silence ! " he commanded, in the stern 
 wheezing tone that characterized him. His 
 eyes seemed bloodshot under the white brim 
 of his hat, his dark cheek was pallid with ex 
 citement, and his stiff mustache bristled above 
 his red lips. Tone, gesture, and mien were all 
 those of a man accustomed to command. 
 
 " Silence ! " he repeated ; and when all were 
 still, gazing at him with awed expectation, he 
 added : " It is not fit that the birthday of Jesus 
 of Nazareth should be profaned by such un 
 seemly accusations or unholy wrangling. The 
 past does not live forever. Its sins, as well as 
 its joys, decay. The future cometh on apace. 
 Sorrow is not always service. Youth praises 
 God with the sound of rejoicing even better 
 than age with tears and sackcloth ! Whatever 
 the woes of the past, let this be a day of glad 
 ness ! Let this be a Merry Christmas, whatever 
 they have been that have gone before. Young 
 woman, you were right ! Go with Mr. Dew- 
 
230 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 stowe, and bid thy neighbors to the merry 
 making here to-night. Young man, let not 
 the shadow of departure darken the day that is 
 before you ! Woman, look upon your husband ! 
 Husband, look upon your wife ! So shall ye 
 serve God with acceptance, and the darkness 
 of the past shall fade away before the exceeding 
 brightness of the future. For such is the cov 
 enant He hath made with His people, and which 
 in these latter days shall be fulfilled ! " 
 
 He looked upward and raised his right 
 hand as if in direct appeal to heaven as he 
 concluded. 
 
 There was a strange look of exaltation on 
 his face, and a peculiar dignity of mien and 
 gesture that commanded silence and awakened 
 wonder. 
 
 " Who are you ? " asked the landlady, gazing 
 fixedly at him after a moment. 
 
 " I am one that cometh in the name of the 
 Lord, and by commandment of the Prophet 
 whom He hath chosen and ordained to bring 
 peace to this household ; and in his name I now 
 proclaim, Peace be within these walls ! the 
 peace that cometh down from heaven, the peace 
 that passeth all understanding, be with you all 
 this day and forever ! " 
 
THE BENISON OF PEACE. 231 
 
 He removed his hat before uttering these 
 words. When he did so he presented a sin 
 gular appearance. In the midst of his luxuri 
 ant jet-black hair, beginning a little to the 
 left of the middle of the forehead, and run 
 ning diagonally backward nearly to the crown, 
 was a strip, two fingers or more in width, of 
 perfect silvery whiteness. Taken in connection 
 with his swarthy cheeks, dark eyes, and heavy 
 brows and beard, the effect was very singular, 
 almost startling. 
 
 The company dispersed from the breakfast- 
 table in silence, the landlord remarking, as he 
 went with them along the porch to the public- 
 room : 
 
 " T ain t nateral ! T ain t nateral ! He means 
 well, no doubt, an is a good man beyond ques 
 tion ; but t ain t nateral to turn back what s 
 been getherin head for eighteen years in one 
 day ! It s my luck, perhaps it s my fault, 
 too, but it s over now, and past mendin by 
 anybody." 
 
 Dotty and her mother began to clear away 
 the dishes. Ozro sat down again in his place 
 at the table, thoroughly dazed by what had oc 
 curred. Dewstowe handed him the money and 
 pocket-book with the remark : 
 
232 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Not a very valuable inheritance ! " 
 
 Ozro looked at it, but said nothing. Dotty 
 watched him anxiously. 
 
 " Are we to have our ride ? " asked Dewstowe, 
 approaching her. 
 
 " Yes, go your ways," said Mr. Jackson. " In 
 vite all the people in the neighborhood, and let 
 there be such a merry-making as the Inn has 
 not seen in a score of years." 
 
 The landlady looked up as if to object, and 
 then cast down her head in quiet submission. 
 Dotty and Dewstowe exchanged glances. 
 
 " For you," said Mr. Jackson, approaching 
 Ozro and laying his hand upon his shoulder, 
 " if the matter of your letter does not require 
 your attention, I should be glad of your com 
 pany for a short time. When you return," he 
 added, turning to Dewstowe, " I may wish to 
 have some words with you. As I have said, 
 young men, your life-lines are curiously crossed, 
 and it is for you to see that you do not get em 
 fouled so as to suffer harm." 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 
 
 MR. JACKSON S peculiarities, not to say 
 eccentricities, were so marked that he 
 was rarely referred to by his name, even by the 
 people of the Inn, but remained as he had been 
 styled at first, " the stranger." Somehow he 
 seemed foreign to their life, and equally foreign 
 to that of the ordinary traveller. He had shown 
 the utmost friendliness, and taken a great inter 
 est in all the affairs of the Inn, but had not 
 intermeddled nor manifested any undue famili 
 arity. His religious views had been a matter 
 of considerable speculation in the neighborhood. 
 There could be no question as to the profoundly 
 religious tendency of his nature, nor was there 
 any doubt in the minds of the people as to the 
 sincerity of his professions. He attended the 
 religious gatherings held within reasonable dis 
 tance of the Inn, seeming to be equally at home 
 in all without regard to sect. His devotional 
 aspect, absorbed attention, and general impres- 
 siveness of manner affected all very favorably, 
 
234 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 and made Methodists and Baptists alike anxious 
 to claim him as one of themselves. But when 
 they approached him in regard to his own sec 
 tarian views and affiliations, the result was emi 
 nently unsatisfactory. He seemed not inclined 
 to doctrinal disquisition, or to argument of any 
 kind. Indeed, there was a brevity and sternness 
 about him that smacked more of command than 
 of importunity. He was one of those men whose 
 peculiar manner impresses even strangers with 
 the impulse of obedience, and the expectation 
 of ready compliance with his wish had appa- 
 rently been confirmed by the habit of command. 
 Though he took no part in any religious ex 
 ercises, except by giving strict attention and 
 making occasional responses, all deferred to him 
 in a manner, and all looked upon him as an 
 exemplary and godly man. Efforts to induce 
 him to express a preference for one creed or 
 another were, however, futile. Every one knew 
 that a man of such a positive character could 
 not fail to have fixed and positive religious 
 convictions ; but what his were, no one could 
 determine. He had been driven by dint of 
 much indirect inquiry for he was by no 
 means a man to whom one would care to 
 put leading questions in regard to what he 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 235 
 
 manifested no inclination to speak about to 
 admit that he was not " exactly " a Methodist, 
 nor "exactly" a Baptist; and he was known 
 to be neither a Congregationalist nor a Presby 
 terian. As these were the chief sects of this 
 region, whose life sprung almost entirely from 
 New England, it was quite impossible for the 
 gossips of the neighborhood to determine "ex 
 actly" what he was. 
 
 The border-land that lies between an estab 
 lished civilization and a new one is always fer 
 tile in religious ideas. Not only does a new 
 creed usually bring with it a new political and 
 social life, but such new life most frequently 
 offers occasion, if it does not develop the need, 
 for a new belief. Out of the relations between 
 Egypt and Israel sprang Judaism ; while the 
 domination of the Roman, by weakening popu 
 lar faith in the Mosaic system, opened the way 
 for a broader and nobler ideal. Out of these 
 came the opportunity of Christianity. So too 
 with Christian sects ; new forms and new dog 
 mas have ever abounded on the borders of the 
 new civilizations which they have encountered. 
 Luther and Calvin and Knox were not less the 
 products of disturbed political and social con 
 ditions than the proximate causes of religious 
 
236 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 convulsion. Our American border-life was pecu 
 liarly fecund in such religious movements. Soli 
 tude is the nurse not only of inspiration, but also 
 of self-delusion. The forest and the desert are 
 especially the nurseries of prophets and pretend 
 ers. There is something about the silence and 
 seclusion in which man walks the very lord of all 
 he sees, that builds up his self-reliance and ex 
 alts the consciousness of individual power to a 
 point rarely if ever attained by those dwelling in 
 the midst of crowded populations. The. cloister 
 may offer a temporary and imperfect substitute, 
 but the divine frenzy that comes only from un- 
 doubting confidence in one s own convictions 
 is rarely found in the city-bred enthusiast. In 
 him there is always something that smacks of 
 pretence and design. He who looks often in 
 the faces of men is sure to fear the multitude. 
 Public opinion flexes his judgment, and the fear 
 of ridicule makes him a coward. It is only in 
 the man whose surroundings compel habitual 
 self-communing, and yet are not of overwhelm- 
 img grandeur, that conviction grows strong 
 enough to become an unquestioning faith, not 
 in another s teachings, the doctrines of a par 
 ticular sect or the tenets of a special creed, but 
 in the results of his own solitary meditation. 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 237 
 
 The presence of the multitude crushes out indi 
 viduality. It may quicken the pulse, sharpen 
 the wit, and improve the externals, but it breaks 
 down the confidence of man in his own conclu 
 sions, motives, aspirations, and beliefs. 
 
 So, too, the wilder forms of Nature are not 
 conducive to the highest individualism. The 
 silence and sameness of the forest ; the dull level 
 of the unbounded desert ; the fen, with the sea 
 sobbing among its rushes, but the limitless power 
 of its breakers held at a distance from the ac 
 customed haunt, these and other forms of less 
 striking solitude have ever been the surround 
 ings in which man has reached the climax of 
 individual power. From Moses to El Mahdi the 
 prophets who have left the impress of their faith 
 on thousands or millions of followers have had 
 this training. Remoteness from the centres of 
 humanity and a not too near exposure to the 
 grander forms of Nature, these two things 
 seem to be essential to the perfection of individ 
 ual power. The rugged mountain-range and 
 the boisterous ocean-shore have never been 
 fertile in religious phantasies, or productive 
 of great natural leaders. The moor, the forest, 
 the desert, and the shore of the inland sea may 
 nourish religious contemplation until the saint 
 
238 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 becomes a seer, and the seer a prophet who 
 deems himself divinely ordained to do the work 
 of the Almighty. The ocean, with its eternal 
 symphony of terror, crushes out speculation, 
 thrills the soul with awe, until it shrinks within 
 itself and clamors for external aid, and inclines 
 the mind not to speculation and dissent, but to 
 faith and superstition. He that dwells by the 
 seashore is almost always a believer. He may 
 be an enthusiast, but he is rarely a doubter, 
 and never a promulgator of strange doctrines 
 or new beliefs. 
 
 Our Western forests nourished prophets and 
 messiahs by the score. New sects and new 
 creeds sprang up under their shadow almost as 
 readily as new towns and new States. Freedom 
 from the restraint of old institutions encouraged 
 also freedom of religious belief. There were 
 " Free " Baptists, " Free " Presbyterians, " Free " 
 Methodists, and even "Free" Quakers; a like 
 series of "Independents" and sects distinguished 
 Irom other known bodies by special prefixes 
 such as " Christian," " Protestant," or " Primi 
 tive," as well as many having entirely new and 
 self-distinguishing names and holding special 
 unrelated tenets. It was at this time that the 
 witty Frenchman spoke of our country as a land 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 239 
 
 of " one hundred religions and but one sauce." 
 It was true ; for the first half of this century 
 our country was a hot-bed of new beliefs. In 
 finite space and unechoing solitude, in a climate 
 compelling mental activity, incline a people al 
 ways to the contemplation of infinite subjects, 
 questions in regard to the divine essence, pur 
 pose, and attributes. Until the thirst for wealth 
 became a universal disease, and Mammon set 
 up his golden idol for us to worship, the Ameri 
 can people were among the most religiously 
 inclined of any in the world, perhaps more 
 than any that the world has known since the 
 overthrow of the Jewish hierarchy. There was 
 little harmony in form or method, but there was 
 universal accord in result. To be religious, to 
 believe in something, and believe in it with 
 might, mind, soul, and strength, was accounted 
 the first duty of man. The young might be 
 permitted to be frivolous and even profane, but 
 with arrival at maturity a sober religious cast 
 of mind was expected. They were exceedingly 
 lax in the observance of formal laws of the 
 Church as well as of the State. Of frivolity 
 there was very little. Christmas was curiously 
 regarded. Religious service was generally held 
 on that day, but it was not popularly observed 
 
240 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 as a day of merry-making. It was rather a 
 supernumerary Sabbath than a holiday, in the 
 ordinary acceptance of the term. In fact, mirth 
 and gladness were divorced from religion, except 
 it was a state of religious exaltation bordering 
 on frenzy, which was accounted the inexpressi 
 ble and exclusive joy of the believer. The forest 
 did not make them more religious than other 
 people, in the sense of scrupulous observance of 
 forms or ceremonies, or strict adherance to the 
 letter of the law. But united with the political 
 impulse toward individualism, it gave us a phe- 
 nominal independence of authority, united with 
 a universally religious cast of thought, which 
 has produced some strangely discordant results. 
 Much that came from these conditions was good 
 and admirable ; some of it was whimsical, and 
 some monstrous. 
 
 This religiousness did not consist in careful 
 and anxious observance of ceremonial or the 
 unquestioning acceptance of any particular form 
 of belief, but rather in a universal tendency 
 to speculation in regard to religious matters. 
 Every one might not have his own distinctive 
 creed, but he was pretty sure to have his own 
 construction of accepted dogmas. It was the 
 outcome of the personal piety of the Puritan, 
 
AFTER MANY DA VS. 241 
 
 colored by the contempt for authority and all 
 forms of external restraint, which marked the 
 Yankee in his westward course across the con 
 tinent. Learning was almost as little esteemed 
 as authority ; neither were thought essential 
 to a knowledge of the divine will or conducive 
 to divine favor. Individual consciousness was 
 exalted to a level with the inspired Word. The 
 " witness of the spirit" made all men equal. 
 The most unlearned disputed with confidence 
 with the wisest on the subtlest points of doc 
 trine. Men believed that they " walked with 
 God " in an almost literal sense. Communion 
 with the Divine direct and conscious influ 
 ence and inspiration was a usual rather than 
 an exceptional form of belief and experience. 
 The most marvellous of miracles was the most 
 commonplace incident of an ordinary religious 
 experience. Intelligence intensified rather than 
 lessened this curious effect, because intelligence 
 recognized the supernal, and could not deny the 
 miraculous experience of one while admitting 
 that of another. 
 
 In other lands and other times such religious 
 exaltation has expended itself in the zealous 
 observance of special rites, in mortifying pen 
 ance, in the worship of saints, and abject obe- 
 16 
 
242 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 dience to ecclesiastical authority. None of 
 these marked the great tide of religious senti 
 ment that swept over the land during the first 
 half-century of our national existence. The 
 overthrow of political authority had generated 
 an absolute contempt of ecclesiastical restraint. 
 Toleration had reached its utmost limit. Reli 
 giousness of any sort was respected and respect 
 able : irreligion of the very mildest character 
 was counted little less than a crime. Sects 
 multiplied so that it was almost impossible to 
 say where one ended and another began. Men 
 spoke as familiarly of their relations with God 
 as with each other. Repentance formed an 
 impenetrable cloak for all irregularities of life. 
 Appeal from the authorities of the various 
 churches "to the Most High God and the 
 American people " was open to all, and was 
 made with little hesitation. Piety meant per 
 sonal communion with Deity ; from that to 
 specific revelation was but a brief step. 
 
 Out of this almost universal sense of immedi 
 ate contact with the Deity came more than one 
 curious result, tolerance and intolerance, cred- 
 ulousness and unbelief, new sects, new methods, 
 new doctrines, and one absolutely new religion. 
 Prophets by the score arose proclaiming new ways 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 243 
 
 and new tenets, but only one had the boldness 
 to overleap the confines of Christian faith and 
 proclaim an absolutely new dispensation. At 
 first, even this new theosophy did not seek to 
 disturb the established order. It inculcated 
 temperance, industry, and, without proclaiming 
 community of goods, made want impossible and 
 poverty exceedingly rare among its votaries. 
 It based its claims not on a complete and fin 
 ished revelation, but on a continuing inspira 
 tion, a living prophet, and a cumulative law. 
 Strange enough, this sect took its rise and se 
 cured its first foot-hold in the most religious 
 and intelligent part of the country. western 
 New York and northern Ohio. At the time of 
 which we write it was just assuming definite 
 form. Since then it has dropped some of its 
 vagaries and assumed more definite and distinc 
 tive features. Though the name of Jesus Christ 
 was assumed as a part of its titular appellation, 
 it retained little of the accepted Christian idea 
 except that of immediate personal intercommun 
 ion with the Deity which American Christian 
 ity had carried to such an unprecedented length. 
 Doctrinally speaking, Mormonism is but an ex 
 aggeration of the idea of personal communion, 
 control, and direction which pervaded the re- 
 
244 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 ligious atmosphere of that day. It is a religion 
 of intermitting revelation, of present miracles, 
 and continuing prophetic guidance. The break 
 ing down of ancient barriers brings sometimes 
 liberty and sometimes licence. The "internal 
 light" of the Friends is but little removed from 
 the claim of prophetic inspiration of the Mormon 
 and the miraculous " witness of the Spirit " on 
 which other Christian sects insist with more or 
 less emphasis. The idea of personal guidance 
 by signs and tokens of the divine will, which 
 was so notable a characteristic of the Puritan 
 faith, yielded some strange fruits when freed 
 from the restraints of established institutions, 
 and removed from the atmosphere it had created 
 for itself in New England. Of these, by far the 
 most notable was the new religion which sprang 
 up in the very midst of the best life of the land, 
 has now become the established belief of more 
 than a quarter of a million souls, and presents 
 to-day one of the most difficult questions that 
 has ever come before the American people for 
 solution. 
 
 Socially, as well as religiously, this was a 
 period of peculiar interest. It was the unrecog 
 nized nidus of forces unparalleled in history. 
 Hand and brain were just awakening to a new 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 24$ 
 
 life. So swift has been our subsequent develop 
 ment, that it seems as if until that time man had 
 only slumbered on the earth. As yet wealth was 
 little esteemed as an index of social rank. The 
 richest and the poorest stood on the same social 
 level. In fact the rich were very few, and the 
 very poor were fewer still. Luxuries were rare, 
 but of necessities there was so general an abun 
 dance as to amount almost to universal super 
 fluity. The reign of machinery had hardly 
 begun. The locomotive was scarcely a recog 
 nized factor of transportation ; paper was yet 
 made by hand ; cast-iron stoves and plows were 
 almost unknown ; nails were still made by the 
 smith. Invention had hardly opened the door 
 of wonderland. American mechanical genius 
 yet lay in chrysalid slumber. One clerk in the 
 office of the Secretary of State did all the work 
 of granting patents to our inventors until the 
 year before Ozro s application was made. In 
 the first half century of our government there 
 were issued barely ten thousand patents, as 
 many are granted now in half a year. At the 
 time of which we write the Patent Office, just 
 established as a separate bureau, consisted of 
 a Commissioner and three clerks. Even these 
 found the time to hang heavy on their hands. 
 
246 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 That year another clerk was added, and the ad 
 ministration was attacked for extravagance in 
 consequence. 
 
 A simple people standing on the verge of an 
 epoch of unparalleled material prosperity, but as 
 yet concerned more with religious and politi 
 cal speculation than with the competition for 
 wealth, composed the two great tides of life 
 which radiated from two great centres, the 
 one at the East and the other at the South, 
 over all that constitutes our present national 
 domain. 
 
 To such people the religious proclivities of a 
 man like Mr. Jackson were a matter of serious 
 speculation, to none more so than to the land 
 lady of the Inn whose religious intensity found 
 in his stern, almost ascetic, fervor a kindred 
 sentiment. With her it was no question of ap 
 proval. To whatever sect he might belong she 
 recognized not only the divine nature of his zeal, 
 but felt that his associations must have had some 
 thing to do with shaping his religious character. 
 She was predisposed after four months scrutiny 
 of his blameless life to recognize in this unyield 
 ing pietist not only a man of high rank in the 
 sect to which he belonged, but one entitled to 
 consideration because of his life and character. 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 247 
 
 When, therefore, he proclaimed himself in no 
 doubtful tones "the servant of the Most High 
 God," she yielded submissively to his dictation. 
 He was not indeed like other men, and taught 
 not like other religious teachers. The imperi- 
 ousness of undoubting faith and the sincerity of 
 a zeal which even the fear of martyrdom could 
 not quench showed in his demeanor and thrilled 
 in his hoarse, rasping tones. He was one of 
 those who say even to a stranger, " Go, and he 
 goeth." To her who had noted his demeanor so 
 long ; who had seen him retire to his own room 
 three times a day for prayer and meditation ; 
 who realized the self-restraint which held him 
 back from participation in the worship of others, 
 yet compelled him to give it the sanction of his 
 presence and approval, to her he spake with 
 an authority which she did not dream of gain 
 saying. When he had commanded them to make 
 merry, though her heart was sore and apprehen 
 sive of what might be in store for the future, 
 she hardly thought of questioning. Indeed, at 
 that very moment had flashed through her mind 
 the words of the yet unrecognized Messiah, when 
 in that " beginning of miracles " he said to his 
 mother, "Woman, what have I to do with thee?" 
 and paying no further heed to her remonstrance, 
 
248 BUTTONS INN. 
 
 commanded the wondering servants to " Fill 
 the waterpots with water." She had taken this 
 as a divine behest that she should comply with 
 the wishes of this masterful stranger who had 
 dwelt so long beneath her roof, and was still a 
 stranger. Where he lived, what was his busi 
 ness or position, none knew. He had witnessed 
 strange and stirring scenes of which he some 
 times spoke, but without any allusion to him 
 self, except as an eye-witness. He seemed to 
 know all phases of life, and more than once 
 had startled the good woman with that know 
 ledge which brought conviction to the heart 
 of Nathanael, when the Master said to him, 
 "Before that Philip called thee, when thou 
 wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee." As soon 
 as she could, therefore, she went to her own 
 room to read over again the familiar story of 
 these miracles. 
 
 Ozro and Dewstowe had gone to the barn to 
 prepare the horses for the road. Dotty had 
 packed the traveller s luncheon in his saddle 
 bags and returned to finish up the " morning s 
 work." It was no light task, and the mother 
 had left more of it than usual for her to do that 
 morning. She was a brave-hearted, strong- 
 limbed girl, however, and went out and in about 
 
AFTER MANY DA YS. 249 
 
 her work as blithe and cheerful as if it had no 
 hint of hardship in it. The stranger watched 
 her from the side of the fireplace with evident 
 approval. 
 
 " Dotty," he said at length, in a voice tender 
 despite its hoarseness. It was the first time he 
 had ever addressed her so familiarly, and she 
 looked at him in surprise. She was just lifting 
 the tea-kettle to hang it on the crane which 
 swung over the fireplace, holding back her skirts 
 with the other hand as she did so to keep them 
 from the flame. 
 
 " Dotty," the stranger repeated with affection 
 ate emphasis, "what would you do if you had a 
 fortune ? " 
 
 " I d pay off the mortgage on this Inn for 
 the first thing," said the girl, with prompt 
 decision. 
 
 " But suppose that was already paid off ? " 
 
 " But it ain t, and I cannot suppose anything 
 of that sort ! " 
 
 " It is, and you shall carry the release to 
 your father presently. Now what would you 
 do ? " 
 
 "Who paid it?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 "And you ?" 
 
250 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I wanted to make a Christmas present." 
 
 " And you gave all that ? " 
 
 " I could give much more and not feel it 
 seriously." 
 
 "Why, you must be made of gold! " exclaimed 
 Dotty, in great surprise. 
 
 "You see I am not," he rejoined with a laugh 
 that brought on his cough. 
 
 " Well, who are you anyhow ? " 
 
 " An humble servant of the Lord ! " 
 
 " So you said," responded Dotty, mischiev 
 ously. " We Ve had lots of them here, but they 
 are not generally so much inclined to give as to 
 receive." 
 
 " To one He giveth thirty, to another sixty, 
 and to another a hundred-fold," said the stranger, 
 solemnly. "The Lord has been very kind to 
 me, and as I have freely received so would I 
 freely give to them He points out to me as 
 faithful trustees of His benefits." 
 
 " You don t think I would be ? " said the girl 
 in surprise. " I am not one of the elect. I m 
 not even a professor at all, Ozro nor I either. 
 It s queer. Ma brought us up very strict, and 
 Ozro s good enough for a whole church ; but 
 we ain t professors/ and it don t seem like we 
 ever will be." 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 2$l 
 
 The girl was washing a great iron spider in 
 the pan of water in which the dishes from the 
 table had been cleansed, as she spoke, holding 
 it by one hand, while she yielded the dish-cloth 
 with the other. 
 
 " Well, what would you do with a fortune if 
 you had it ? " persisted the stranger. 
 
 She rested the edge of the spider on the table, 
 and squeezed the water from the cloth medita 
 tively as she replied : 
 
 "Really, I don t know. Pa and Ma don t 
 need it if the mortgage is paid. Ozro will make 
 enough out of his inventions, and and 
 really," she continued turning to him, " I don t 
 see as I should have any use for it." 
 
 "How about Mr. Dewstowe?" asked Mr. 
 Jackson, slyly. 
 
 " Oh," she answered with a frank smile, "he s 
 got enough of his own." 
 
 " So you ve no use for money ? " 
 
 " No that is if I knew " 
 
 She hesitated, and looked at her interlocutor 
 half distrustfully. 
 
 " Well, if you knew what ? " he said encour 
 agingly. 
 
 " I don t know as I ought to say what I was 
 going to." 
 
252 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " You needn t be afraid to speak freely to me." 
 
 "I am not, sir, but it is very strange I 
 don t know well, it was about my brother 
 Jack, sir. If I only knew he was comfort 
 able, sir." 
 
 " Your brother Jack ! " exclaimed the stranger, 
 with a start. " I thought he was dead ? " 
 
 " So he may be," said the girl, cautiously. " I 
 only meant if he was alive and was well, say 
 comfortably well off I should have nothing 
 more to ask for, and would n t know what to do 
 with money, if I had it." 
 
 " You don t want a rich husband, then ? " 
 
 " Oh," she said, resuming her work and wiping 
 out the inside of the spider with the cloth she 
 held in her hand, " I d like him to be well off 
 of course ; but I should expect him to take care 
 of that." 
 
 " For fear he should not, I want to make you 
 a wedding present ; but if I do, you must not 
 let it be known until you are engaged to be 
 married. Do you agree to that ? " 
 
 "I don t know," said the girl, thoughtfully. 
 " I might think he ought to know it even if we 
 were not really engaged, you know." 
 
 " Well, at least you would not tell him with 
 out first asking me ? " 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 2$$ 
 
 " I don t know, sir," she responded, setting 
 the spider in its place by the chimney-jamb. " I 
 don t believe I would like to have much under 
 such conditions. I would, of course, remember 
 that you did not want me to say anything about 
 it ; but I should not like to promise I would not 
 tell if I thought I ought to." 
 
 " Well," said he, laughing, " you are a stub 
 born girl, and I guess you come honestly by that 
 attribute. If you will wipe your hands, I will 
 let you have what I intended to give you." 
 
 She turned to the towel-rack and dried her 
 hands in the method approved by the Phari 
 sees, who washed and wiped " to the elbow." 
 Then she came and stood before him. He took 
 a package of papers from his pocket, selected 
 one, and handed it to her. 
 
 " That is for you," he said. 
 
 She turned it over curiously. 
 
 " May I look at it ? " she asked. 
 
 " Certainly ; read it." 
 
 Dotty opened it and glanced at its contents. 
 It was a long document, couched in legal phra 
 seology which she only half understood ; but she 
 did understand enough to know that she was 
 made richer by that instrument than she had 
 ever thought to Be. 
 
254 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 The tears sprang to her eyes, and falling on 
 her knees she seized the stranger s hand and 
 kissed it again and again. A look of calm 
 content came over Mr. Jackson s face as he 
 smoothed the hair about her forehead with the 
 other hand, and said : 
 
 " There, there, don t cry!" 
 
 " But who are you that does such wonderful 
 things ? " she asked appealingly. 
 
 He smiled curiously down at her, and said : 
 
 " No matter, dear ; I am one whose work is 
 almost done." 
 
 She looked at him in wonder and awe as she 
 rose to her feet. 
 
 " And now," said he, " I wish you would take 
 this to your father, and this to your mother. 
 Then by the time you get your cloak on, Mr. 
 Dewstowe will be ready for his ride, unless, 
 indeed, he and Ozro have fought and killed 
 each other already." 
 
 " Oh, no fear of that ! " Dotty answered 
 brightly. 
 
 " Well, perhaps not ; but don t be too sure. 
 Run away now ! " 
 
 She stooped quickly and kissed him, then 
 fled while her cheeks flushed a burning red. 
 
 " I could n t help it ! " she said to herself as 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 255 
 
 she went along the porch. " And I m sure he 
 deserved it. Anybody would kiss a man as 
 good as he is." 
 
 Dotty gave her father a bulky document, 
 " with Mr. Jackson s compliments," and took a 
 small sealed note to her mother, who was sit 
 ting by the window with the great family Bible 
 open on her knee. Dotty put the paper she 
 had herself received in her pocket, drew on her 
 wraps, and when Dewstowe and the traveller 
 drove to the porch with the latter s horse fas 
 tened to the sleigh, she was ready to start. 
 Ozro seemed more serious than usual as he 
 helped her to her seat, tucked the robes about 
 her, and then turning quickly away entered the 
 house. The landlord came out upon the porch 
 as they drove off, looking dazed and flurried. 
 
 The landlady having opened the letter her 
 daughter had brought, read these words : 
 
 " Luke xv. 24." 
 
 Turning to the book upon her knee she found 
 the place indicated, and read : 
 
 " For this my son was dead, and is alive again ; 
 he was lost, and is found. And they began to 
 be merry." 
 
 The snow sparkled in the chill sunshine. 
 The bells jingled merrily. Dotty s red hood 
 
256 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 disappeared. The landlady caught a glimpse 
 of Ozro s set face as he crossed the porch, 
 and then her husband s stalwart form came 
 into the field of vision, walking hastily and 
 swinging his arms nervously. In one hand 
 he held a large closely-written sheet bearing a 
 seal of red wafer. 
 
A MISSION OF MERCY. 
 
 THE horses dragged slowly up the hill on 
 which the Inn stood when, three hours 
 later, Dewstowe and Dotty returned from their 
 " mission of mercy," as she persisted in calling 
 the trip they had taken. They had driven the 
 traveller several miles on his way along the 
 Lake road, and had left him with a warm sense 
 of Christmas kindliness about his heart, to pur 
 sue his toilsome and anxious journey. Return 
 ing, they ha,d scattered invitations right and 
 left for the merry-making to be given that night 
 at the Inn. The chill midwinter sun was near 
 meridian, but the air was full of icy particles 
 that glittered in its light as the journey drew 
 near its end. The bays were flecked with spark 
 ling rime that turned their dark " points " into 
 silver. Terrets and buckles were covered with 
 white frost-enamel. Dewstowe whipped his fin 
 gers vigorously from time to time. The horses 
 loitered along the half-beaten track, swinging 
 their heads from side to side, and throwing out 
 17 
 
258 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 puffs of white vapor from their red nostrils while 
 they turned and looked backward now and then, 
 as if inquiring the cause of their master s un 
 usual indulgence. It was not a difficult ques 
 tion for one able to comprehend human nature 
 to determine. J. Dewstowe, Esq., had forgot 
 ten even the horses of which he was so proud, 
 and after whose comfort he usually looked with 
 such unfailing care. Despite their chill sur 
 roundings he was talking very earnestly, and 
 Dotty was listening with a face for whose bloom 
 ing color even the winter wind could not be held 
 entirely answerable. There was a ring in the 
 voice of this merchant-prince of the road which 
 avouched the sincerity of his words. We will not 
 play the eavesdropper and tell what they were. 
 It was the old, old story, which we are told has 
 gone out of date in these days of self-conscious 
 shame-facedness, so that no maiden expects a 
 suitor to frame an honest tale of love or ask 
 her benison on his manly aspiration. Dewstowe 
 was a brave man and an honest lover. Though 
 he had said that there was no sentiment in 
 his suit, the remark was far from being literally 
 true. He was no sniveller, and did not whine 
 or maunder about in any sort of lovesick self- 
 dissection. What he had to say he said plainly 
 
A MISSION OF MERCY. 259 
 
 and earnestly, yet withal in a tone of self-depre 
 ciation and with a feeling of humility which only 
 love can bring, and which even it brings only to 
 the heart of an honest man. He had told his 
 story and Dotty had given her answer when they 
 arrived at the foot of the slope that led up to the 
 Inn. There were tears on her lashes. His lips 
 were set close, but that could not hide the quiver 
 about their edges. He had hardly hoped for 
 success, but he could not face rejection with 
 entire composure. 
 
 " I am very sorry, Mr. Dewstowe," said Dotty 
 in trembling tones, but with frank confidence, 
 " for I like you better than any man I ever saw, 
 except Ozro. I thought at one time I might 
 come to like you even better still, but I found 
 it was not so. I am sorry you did not ask me 
 last night, for I should have given you the same 
 answer then as now." 
 
 " I am sure you would," he replied. " You 
 really gave me my answer weeks ago. I read it 
 in your eyes the night Ozro had his fight with 
 the dog ; but I had gone so far that you were in 
 fairness entitled to have me ask you for your 
 love, even if I could not hope to gain it. Of 
 course I did not know but there might be a 
 chance, and did not feel like throwing it away. 
 
260 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 I am no hero, you know, and would have taken 
 you on any terms unless," he added thought 
 fully, "you really felt you could never be happy 
 with me. 
 
 " I don t blame you, however, and did n t want 
 to take any unfair advantage. Ozro is a good 
 fellow, who will make his way in the world, 
 there is no doubt of that. He is n t what we 
 call a pushing man, but he s got that in him 
 which pays better for another man to push 
 than anything else. The fact is there ain t any 
 thing in the world that it pays so well to work 
 as just that kind of brain which can devise a 
 way of making a new thing cheaper and better 
 than an old one, or putting up a machine that 
 will enable one man to do two men s work. 
 The world is just beginning to learn the money 
 there is in brains, especially of that sort. 
 
 " I would n t take any mean advantage, and 
 tell you of Ozro s bad luck, or try to scare you 
 with the idea that he can t make a living. It 
 is true he has been unfortunate with the ma 
 chines he has invented, but it would n t have 
 been fair to have told you of it before you had 
 given me an answer. I only do it now to say 
 that it is n t anything to be discouraged about. 
 It was n t his fault, but another s luck. Don t let 
 
A MISSION OF MERCY. 26 1 
 
 him get down-hearted. That s the only danger. 
 If he should get the notion that your desire is 
 beyond his ability to bestow, or that you would 
 be happier without him, then look out. I don t 
 say he would make way with himself, remember, 
 but I do believe he d take himself off. He ain t 
 exactly touchy, but he s high-strung, and may 
 imagine things that don t exist at all. That s 
 the way with that sort of people, and I suppose 
 it makes them both better and worse than 
 others. When he tells -you of the failure of his 
 hopes, don t let him think it could make any 
 sort of difference with you." 
 
 "It certainly .could not now," Dotty answered, 
 thinking of the Christmas present in her pocket. 
 
 " I don t suppose it ever would," Dewstowe 
 responded almost bitterly. " I don t think you 
 ever knew how much you thought of him, but I 
 ought to have seen it. When he tells you what 
 has happened, be sure you make light of it." 
 
 " He has already told me." 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 " I have had no chance to speak with him 
 since." 
 
 Then Dotty went on and told with a touch 
 of pride in her voice of the manly letter she had 
 received. 
 
262 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " So you wore his colors this morning, and sig 
 nalled your love over my poor head at breakfast ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, I have not worn the jewels at all." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I I don t know." 
 
 Dewstowe stopped his horses and looked at 
 her sternly. 
 
 " Yes, you do. You wanted to tease him ! " 
 
 " No, indeed ! But I I thought it would 
 be right to let him see that that it did n t 
 make any difference ! " 
 
 " You wished him to know that you had re 
 fused me ? " 
 
 " No, but that my love did not depend on his 
 success." 
 
 " Your motive was a good one, no doubt," said 
 Dewstowe, hesitatingly, as he started the horses 
 up the hill ; " but I am afraid it was a bad thing 
 to do. That is what made him so savage when 
 we were hitching up. He thought you had al 
 ready refused him. Gad ! I know now how he 
 felt ! No, I don t I only guess ; for I tell you 
 what, Dotty, I don t think I ever loved you 
 as he does. I don t believe I could there ! 
 And now I m afraid ! " 
 
 He chirruped to his horses and drove briskly 
 up the hill. 
 
A MISSION OF MERCY. 263 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " exclaimed Dotty, thinking of the 
 deed in her pocket and the destruction of all her 
 pretty castles in the air. She had felt so kind 
 and tender towards every one when they drove 
 away, and now at their return it seemed as if 
 all the brightness had gone out of life. 
 
 The frost particles had grown into fine flakes ; 
 the sun shone yellow and dim through the thick 
 ened air ; the lake with its burden of white ice, 
 with dark spots intervening where the angry 
 waters had refused to yield to the frozen fetters 
 of winter, had disappeared from sight, and the 
 hush in the air imported a storm of unusual 
 severity. It was one of those sudden changes 
 which are frequent enough in that region, but it 
 struck a chill to Dotty s heart as she alighted, 
 ran up the steps, and went at once in search 
 of Ozro. 
 
 Dewstowe stood upon the porch, whipping his 
 hands and stamping his numbed feet, awaiting 
 her return. 
 
 She came presently, and looked up at him 
 with a blanched face as she said : 
 
 " He is not here ! " 
 
 Their eyes told each other s thoughts. 
 
 " Gone anywhere ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows ; nobody has seen him ! " 
 
264 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Tell Jackson," said Dewstowe, with instant 
 decision. " Search the house quickly but qui 
 etly. I will look about the barn. The Inn 
 needs no more ghosts," he muttered to himself 
 as he sprang into the sleigh and drove across 
 the road. " Ozro s a good fellow, a splen 
 did fellow," he added heartily, "but he needs a 
 gardeen. It s in the blood, I guess." 
 
BLOTTED OUT. 
 
 " 1\ /T Y son was dead and is alive again ; he 
 IVJL W as lost and is found." Over and over 
 again the woman repeated the words in a harsh 
 subvocal monotone, passing her worn finger back 
 and forth along the lines that her eyes followed 
 unconsciously. Her son ! could it be ? She 
 did not doubt ; yet the idea appalled her. Was 
 this seemingly " sanctified " stranger her son ? 
 She did not question his sincerity ; she did not 
 doubt his religious fervor. She only questioned 
 whether one with blood-stained hands could be 
 come entirely " sanctified." She used the term 
 in the sense in which it is employed by the sect 
 to which she belonged. She shuddered at the 
 thought. Her son was found ; the dead was 
 alive ! He had repented of his sin ; he had 
 come to make atonement ! This was the reason 
 he had taken such interest in Ozro. He wished 
 to do good to those whom he had injured, to 
 repair the evil he had wrought. Her prayers 
 had been answered more fully than she had ever 
 
266 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 dreamed they would be. Daily, almost hourly, 
 she had prayed, not that she might see his 
 face, not for his prosperity, but that he might 
 see his sin. And now, behold, what she had not 
 sought had been added to the thing for which 
 she had ceaselessly petitioned, she saw him 
 prosperous, peaceful, penitent. 
 
 " My son was dead and is alive again ; he was 
 lost and is found." 
 
 Her trembling lips repeated the text, and her 
 withered hands drew the coarse linen handker 
 chief from the place where it always hung at her 
 side, its end folded beneath the band of her 
 apron, and wiped away the tears that were 
 coursing silently down her faded cheeks. Hav 
 ing restored it to its place, she reached out and 
 took her snuff-box from the window-sill, tapped 
 the cover sharply, turned it gently off, and 
 slipped it deftly beneath the box which she held 
 in her left hand, while with her right she took 
 a pinch of the pungent impalpable powder. 
 She applied this to her nostrils meditatively, 
 restored the cover, and returned the box to 
 its place just as her husband entered the room. 
 She was so startled by his appearance that a bit 
 of the snuff dropped on the white page upon 
 her lap. She brushed it carefully off while 
 
BLOTTED OUT. 26/ 
 
 recovering her composure. She noticed that it 
 left a stain upon the text : " My son was dead 
 and is alive again ; he was lost and is " 
 
 The dark maccoboy clung to the rough hand 
 made paper of the book and blotted out the last 
 word. 
 
 " Found ! " she repeated to herself. " He is 
 found ! It is blotted out of the book, but I know 
 it by heart. It is God s word. He wrote it, and 
 it cannot be rubbed out." 
 
 Nevertheless the blot troubled her. She 
 lifted the great book in both hands, and tried to 
 blow the clinging dust away ; but still the blot 
 remained. Her husband came toward her. 
 She trembled as she laid the closed book upon 
 her lap, and folded her hands upon it, with her 
 handkerchief in one of them. It comported well 
 with herself and her surroundings ; she had spun 
 the coarse linen threads and woven the peculiar 
 diamond mesh herself. 
 
 " I had to come and tell ye, Lucy," said the 
 landlord, apologetically, it was almost eighteen 
 years since he had been in his wife s apartment, 
 and he felt strangely diffident as he approached 
 her, "I had to come and show ye this." 
 
 He held out the released mortgage as he 
 spoke. She took it absently. 
 
268 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Won t ye set down ? " she said, not look 
 ing up. 
 
 " Can t," he responded awkwardly, as he took 
 hold of the back of a chair, turned it around, 
 and leaned upon it. " Got to go and see Jack 
 son. He did it, ye know. " Good of him, was n t 
 it ? What do you suppose made him do it ? " 
 
 She shook her head, but her lips repeated, 
 
 " My son was dead and is alive again ; he 
 was lost and is found." 
 
 The last words were spoken more distinctly 
 than the rest. The landlord heard, but did not 
 understand. 
 
 " Heh ? " he inquired, turning his head upon 
 one side ; " so much found ? I should think 
 it was found in the dishwater, as they say. 
 Won t ye go and tell him ye re obliged ? " 
 
 She shook her head ; he saw tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Could n t do it ? Well, t would be hard ; 
 an he a stranger too. I 11 tell him how ye 
 feel." 
 
 He spoke very tenderly, and went out care 
 fully, as one moves about in a sick-room, as if 
 anxious not to disturb her emotion. 
 
 The landlord found Mr. Jackson sitting by a 
 table covered with papers. He was writing 
 
BLOTTED OUT. 269 
 
 busily, and paid little attention to the effusive 
 thanks of his host until he spoke of the land 
 lady s gratitude. 
 
 " Wanted to come and thank ye, but could n t, 
 sir," he exclaimed. " Ye know, Mr. Jackson, 
 there s some things one can t do, especially with 
 strangers." 
 
 A grave smile stole across the face of his lis 
 tener. The landlord wondered what it meant. 
 Somehow there was always something about his 
 strange guest that puzzled and confused him. 
 Whether it was his austerity of life or gravity of 
 manner, he could not tell. At all events, it cut 
 short his effusiveness, and he went back to the 
 public-room much less elated than when he left 
 it. The mortgage was released to his wife. The 
 Inn was hers without lien or incumbrance. They 
 need not be afraid of being turned out of doors 
 in their old age now. So he was saying to him 
 self when he met Ozro upon the porch. 
 
 " I wonder if she 11 give it to him now," he 
 thought. " Just like her ; thinks probably I 
 ought to have used that money to keep it from 
 spilin . So I ought. An then the trinkets ! 
 Wonder if Jack did take em. I don t believe 
 it ; never did. But if he did n t, who could have 
 got em ? Lucy swore she see d em. Other 
 
2/O BUTTON S INN. 
 
 folks see d em too. Could n t have been any 
 body in the room after Jack left. Wonder if she 
 gave em to him. It s queer what become of em, 
 that s a fact. I b lieve I 11 go up into the room 
 and look. I hain t been in it in a long time, and 
 seems somehow as if I might learn something 
 about the matter if I went there now." 
 
 He crossed the public-room, climbed the 
 stairs, and entered what had so long been to 
 him a chamber of horrors. He looked around 
 timidly, as if recalling the scene of eighteen 
 years before. He crossed softly to where the 
 bed had stood ; looked out of the window with a 
 shudder ; turned from his way as he went back 
 toward the fireplace, as if the dead woman were 
 still sitting in his path. He stood upon the 
 hearth and looked searchingly about the room. 
 Why would it not yield up its mysteries ? His 
 eye fell upon Ozro s machines : he had never 
 seen them, and had paid little heed to the con 
 versation about them. He now sat down and 
 examined them closely. He was not much of a 
 mechanician, but he knew enough of machinery 
 to appreciate the operation of the models and 
 admire their ingenuity. 
 
 " The creetur certainly has got good iclees," 
 he said to himself, " and is handy with tools 
 
BLOTTED OUT. 2JI 
 
 too, considerin . He ain t sech a bad fellow 
 nuther, if it had n t always seemed as if he was 
 a sort of standin reproach for what I Ve done, 
 or somebody thinks I Ve done. I hain t really 
 anything ag in him, and he has been uncommon 
 good to look after things about the Inn, there 
 ain t no denyin that. But t ain t nateral for a 
 man to take to one that s bein thrown up to 
 him all the time, directly or indirectly, no matter 
 how good he is." 
 
 A slight noise disturbed his reverie, and look 
 ing around he sat frozen to the marrow by the 
 sight that met his gaze. The floor from the 
 side of the chimney to the wall had fallen away, 
 and a dark cavity yawned in its place. As he 
 looked, a gray head rose above the edge, a worn 
 wrinkled hand grasped the side, a pale face 
 and white kerchief came out of the depths, and 
 the mistress of Button s Inn clambered up on 
 her knees and slowly and cautiously rose to her 
 feet. With noiseless steps she crossed the room, 
 carefully avoiding the place where the bed had 
 stood, examined the wall with her fingers, stole 
 along to the window and looked out. 
 
 Lonny Button shivered in his chair with hor 
 ror. The chill winter sun was near the meridian, 
 but he knew that he was looking at the ghost of 
 
BUTTON S INN. 
 
 the Inn. He remembered the face that peered 
 out of the window that terrible night when he 
 had glanced at it along his rifle barrel, and pulled 
 the trigger with such desperate intent. He could 
 just see in the ceiling above his wife s head the 
 path of the silver bullet. The cold sweat burst 
 out on his brow as he thought what would have 
 been the result had his aim been true. He rose 
 from his chair and tottejed toward her. 
 
 " Lucy ! " he called in a strained whisper. 
 
 She turned and looked at him, but did not 
 speak. Her eyes seemed glassy and unnatural ; 
 he was sure they did not see at all. She shrank 
 quickly back from the window as he spoke, put 
 her fingers in her ears, and crouched down on 
 the floor. Before he could think what this 
 strange pantomime might mean, his ears were 
 assailed with the shrieks he had never forgotten, 
 and a terror greater than he had ever known 
 before compelled him to turn and flee down the 
 narrow stairs. As he glanced back from the 
 landing, he saw the crouching figure flit across 
 the room and disappear in the gloom beside the 
 chimney. But he could not stay his terrified 
 steps. Others had heard the shrieks, and came 
 rushing up the stairs. Upon them the landlord 
 fell like an avalanche, and all were borne back- 
 
BLOTTED OUT. 2?$ 
 
 ward upon the floor of the public-room. The 
 landlord was picked up half insensible. In the 
 midst of the confusion the stranger entered. 
 By some accident his hat was off. The strip 
 of white hair that crossed his crown shone un 
 cannily among his jetty locks. His eyes burned 
 brightly, and his sallow cheeks were strangely 
 flushed. He turned to the little corner cupboard 
 beside the chimney, opened it familiarly, and 
 pouring out a glass of spirits gave it to the 
 moaning, trembling landlord. 
 
 When they had placed the shivering man in 
 his great armchair, the stranger went up the 
 stairs into the room above. Others followed. 
 The winter sky sent its chill light into every 
 corner, but nothing was to be seen. The land 
 lord, questioned as to what he had encountered, 
 only shook his head and moaned. The ghost 
 had undoubtedly appeared again, and this time 
 in broad daylight. 
 
 When Dotty returned, she found her mother 
 lying in troubled sleep upon the bed. In reply 
 to her anxious inquiry for Ozro, the dazed woman 
 would only repeat, as she moved her head from 
 side to side, 
 
 " Blotted out, Dotty ! blotted out, out of the 
 Book of Life ! " 
 
 18 
 
A SUDDEN START. 
 
 IT was with no feeling of coquettishness that 
 Dotty had failed to wear the jewels Ozro 
 had sent as a token of his love. She had long 
 ceased to entertain the idea of accepting Mr. 
 Dewstowe, and indeed felt somewhat humili 
 ated at the position in which she found herself. 
 She had undoubtedly encouraged his suit, and 
 at one time had so at least she thought 
 made up her mind to accept him. The absurd 
 arrangement which had put off until Christmas 
 the final determination of her preference, though 
 proposed by Ozro to prevent a. too hasty de 
 cision in his rival s favor, had brought with it 
 very embarrassing consequences. She could 
 not say that anything had occurred in the 
 mean time to diminish her regard for the mag 
 nate of the road. Indeed, all that she had come 
 to know of him had enhanced her esteem, espe 
 cially his recognition and appreciation of Ozro s 
 merits. To tell the truth, the fact that Mr. 
 Dewstowe was willing to risk money on Ozro s 
 inventions had set the seal to her determination 
 
A SUDDEN START. 2?$ 
 
 in favor of his rival. She would have admired 
 her old playmate s ingenuity, but might have 
 hesitated both to encumber his future and to 
 intrust him with so difficult a task as the re 
 demption of the fortunes of the Button family, 
 had not his work received the prompt indorse 
 ment of the practical and successful merchant. 
 That settled the whole matter. She did not 
 need this to show her that she loved Ozro, or 
 to convince her of his merits, but it served to 
 satisfy her that her love would be no serious 
 incumbrance to him. It mattered not in the 
 least that his first invention had proved a failure. 
 The fact that it had commanded the instant ap 
 proval of a cautious, practical man of affairs like 
 Mr. Dewstowe, so that he was willing to venture 
 a thousand dollars on its success, was enough. 
 To have come so near success was a sufficient 
 proof of the power to succeed. After that mo 
 ment she had not hesitated ; her mind was fully 
 made up. If at any time Ozro had asked if 
 he had even given her an opportunity she 
 would gladly have anticipated the decision and 
 saved herself the embarrassment of Dewstovve s 
 presence at this time. 
 
 As affairs were, however, the problem which 
 confronted her was of a twofold character. What 
 
2/6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 should she say to Dewstowe ? How excuse the 
 inconsistency of her conduct, and make him un 
 derstand that there was neither any purpose on 
 her part to trifle with his feelings or slight his 
 love, that she had encouraged his advances 
 with the expectation of granting his suit, but 
 had been compelled by overmastering love to 
 reject him. This task was made all the more 
 difficult by the stranger s bounty. She saw that 
 not one alone, but both of her lovers were likely 
 to attribute to her a mercenary motive. She 
 was very far from being sordid, but the wants of 
 her parents seemed so burdensome that she had 
 dreaded to impose them on Ozro. Her purpose 
 had been not to gratify herself, but to sacrifice 
 herself. Now she feared that Ozro would at 
 tribute his acceptance to her good fortune, and 
 Dewstowe believe that the same accident led to 
 his rejection. She had hoped to inform Ozro of 
 the reason why she did not wear at breakfast the 
 trinkets he had sent her, but the exciting events 
 of the morning interfered, and she saw as she 
 drove away with Dewstowe that Ozro had mis 
 construed her conduct. She was sorry to have 
 given him pain, and yet an irresistible tendency 
 to mischief induced her to add to his dejection by 
 the gayety with which she set off with his rival. 
 
A SUDDEN START. 2JJ 
 
 All this was unknown to Ozro. He had never 
 before permitted himself seriously to doubt the 
 result of his suit. Though he had humbly de 
 clared that he would abide her decision, he had 
 not once imagined that it might be adverse to 
 him. His confidence in his own ability was on 
 a par with his trust in her love. He understood 
 Dotty s anxiety as to her parents, and would not 
 have felt greatly surprised had she persisted in 
 her idea of sacrificing herself for them had affairs 
 remained as they were when he had stipulated 
 for delay. Although his first efforts had mis 
 carried, he thought that he had shown ability 
 enough to remove her doubt as to his success. 
 He had seen her go off with his rival the day 
 before, never doubting that the question to be 
 determined on the morrow would be practically 
 decided before their return. He did not doubt 
 therefore that Dotty would wear the jewels he 
 had sent her, and had scanned her attire in the 
 confident hope of discovering them when they 
 met at breakfast. The fact that she did not, 
 overwhelmed him with consternation. This was 
 increased by the character of the letter he re 
 ceived, and he did not recover his equanimity un 
 til some time after her departure with Dewstowe 
 and the traveller. Then for the first time distrust 
 
278 . BUTTON S INN. 
 
 of her love entered his mind. To say he was 
 jealous would be incorrect : he was surprised, 
 hurt, angry. He did not believe she preferred 
 his rival, but thought she did prefer his rival s 
 money. He recalled her mother s declaration, 
 " She loves his horses, his fine clothes, his 
 money!" She was not sacrificing herself, 
 there was no longer any question of that, she 
 was selling herself. 
 
 So Ozro said to himself as he listened to their 
 laughter as they drove away. Then he went to 
 his work-room and read again the letter he had 
 received, pondering its words carefully. When he 
 concluded, his face had grown stern. He would 
 not grace her triumph. When she returned she 
 should find that he had made good his words : 
 he would leave the Inn without delay. Then he 
 remembered his engagement with the stranger. 
 He went into his own room and made up a small 
 bundle, very small, he thought, as he put it in 
 the pocket of the long-skirted overcoat that hung 
 across his arm. He would not take much from 
 the Inn. The package of bills now worthless 
 which the landlord had picked up at his dead 
 mother s side, and the little red morocco-covered 
 Bible in which she had written his name were 
 among the few articles he retained. They re- 
 
A SUDDEN START. 279 
 
 minded him of her, the dear, dead mother 
 whose fate was so sad and mysterious, but 
 whose nature had been so sweet. He some 
 times thought he could remember her. He 
 went back into the room where she had died, 
 and knelt by the low rocker in which she 
 used to sit. It had never been removed from 
 the room, and no one but he had occupied it 
 since. He called it his mother s chair. He 
 wished he could take it with him. When he 
 rose from his knees there were tears in his eyes, 
 and his look was less stern, but none the less 
 resolute. He thought of his mother s grave 
 her last resting-place upon the bleak edge of the 
 cliff as he descended to the stranger s room. 
 He was grateful to the hemlocks that bent over 
 it protectingly. He would go and see it again. 
 It seemed like bidding his mother farewell, so 
 closely are individuals linked with inanimate ob 
 jects by association. When he turned his foot 
 steps from the Inn he well knew it would be 
 never to return. 
 
 Ozro knocked at the stranger s door, and was 
 bidden to enter. Its occupant was writing busily 
 at a little table drawn in front of the fireplace, 
 in the corner of which he sat. The table was 
 covered with papers, while others were to be 
 
280 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 seen in his portmanteau which lay open beside 
 him. 
 
 " You wished to see me, I think ? " Ozro ex 
 plained, as he closed the door and stood with his 
 cap and comforter in his hand and overcoat upon 
 his arm. 
 
 " Sit down," said the stranger, nodding toward 
 a chair at the other side of the fireplace. 
 
 "Really, Mr. Jackson," said Ozro, apologeti 
 cally, "I I have not time to stay." 
 
 The stranger looked up at him and saw that 
 he was wearing his best clothes, mostly home 
 spun, but newer and neater than he usually wore. 
 
 " Going away ? " he asked. 
 
 "That is my intention," the young man re 
 plied stiffly. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I have not yet determined," Ozro answered 
 with assumed carelessness. 
 
 "Is n t it rather unusual for a man to be in 
 such a hurry to set out on a journey of which he 
 does not know the end ? " asked the stranger, 
 with a smile. The broad white hat was pushed 
 a little way back from the forehead ; the full 
 black beard made a fitting frame for the face, 
 which though dark and sallow had in it no little 
 nobility and power. 
 
A SUDDEN START. 28 1 
 
 "I don t know," answered Ozro in some 
 confusion. 
 
 "I do not wish to hinder you, young man," 
 said the other, severely. " If you are in haste I 
 have no right to detain you ; but let me give you 
 a word of advice before you start. Our paths 
 may not cross again, and I may have no other 
 opportunity. Have you time to hear it ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " It is this : don t start out on a journey with 
 a lie in your mouth. It is apt to bring bad 
 luck." There was a fire in the stranger s eye 
 which Ozro had seldom noted before. 
 
 " I did not mean " he stammered. 
 
 " You did not mean to tell the truth," said the 
 other. " That is all there is of it. You did not 
 wish me to know that you were about to set off 
 on a rash and foolish journey, and so said you 
 had not time to speak with me. Do not start 
 that way in life. If you do not wish to reveal 
 your purposes, either say so explicitly or say 
 nothing at all." 
 
 Ozro bowed in acknowledgment of the justice 
 of this criticism. 
 
 " Now, young man," said the stranger, speak 
 ing with grave sarcasm, taking out a massive 
 silver watch which hung by a black ribbon at 
 
282 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 his fob, an English chronometer whose pos 
 session had been one of the indications of 
 abundant wealth on which Ozro had based the 
 estimate of his means, " Now, young man, 
 I do want a little of your valuable time. I 
 am willing to pay you for it if you think you 
 cannot give it ; but I hoped my request would 
 be sufficient." 
 
 " I will stay," said Ozro, composedly deposit 
 ing his overcoat upon a chair, and seating him 
 self in the corner opposite, holding his cap in 
 his hand, and taking no notice of the irony in 
 the other s tone. 
 
 " So you were not really in haste ? " 
 
 " Enough to justify my words, but not enough 
 to cause you any disappointment." 
 
 " You intended to leave the Inn ? " 
 
 Ozro nodded. 
 
 " I do not wish to seem inquisitive, but may I 
 ask why ? " 
 
 The young man did not answer. He had 
 never spoken of his love to any one but Dotty, 
 save when compelled by Dewstowe s frank ad 
 missions ; and it seemed a sort of profanation to 
 admit another to the secrets of his heart. 
 
 " I see," said the other, after a moment s 
 thought. " I don t know as I blame you. Ap- 
 
A SUDDEN START. 283 
 
 pearances are against her, there s no deny 
 ing that. But be careful, young man. Love 
 should be very patient. Remember that doubt 
 was your father s besetting sin." 
 
 There was a solemn tenderness in the stran 
 ger s tone. Ozro gazed at him in surprise, 
 amounting almost to terror. 
 
 " My father ! " he ejaculated. 
 
 " Yes, your father. His jealous suspicion of 
 the woman he loved even to desperation de 
 stroyed two lives and wrecked a third. Do not 
 let your folly perpetuate his fault." 
 
 Ozro sat absently turning his cap over and 
 over in his hands. 
 
 " Did you know my mother ? " he asked, 
 without looking up. 
 
 The stranger started. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And was she ? " 
 
 " She was everything a woman ought to be," 
 interrupted the other, hastily and emphatically. 
 
 " And my father ? " glancing shyly toward 
 the man he interrogated. 
 
 " I knew little of him," said the stranger, 
 calmly. " He was no doubt a good man. He 
 could love, but could not trust ; or rather did 
 not understand that love must be free that it 
 
284 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 will serve with an abjectness a slave never knew, 
 but will not submit to tyranny." 
 
 " And my father ? " 
 
 " Demanded obedience." 
 
 " And my mother ? " 
 
 " Do not speak of her ! " exclaimed the stran 
 ger, excitedly, rising and pacing back and forth 
 across the narrow room. 
 
 " You you ?" queried the young man, trem 
 ulously, rising and peering into the face of the 
 elder. 
 
 " I loved her, God knows ! And I love her 
 still ! " said the stranger, raising his tearful eyes 
 and clasping his hands as he spoke. 
 
 " And you are ? " said Ozro, taking a step 
 toward him. 
 
 The stranger looked at him, read the thought 
 his tongue refused to utter, shook his head 
 sadly, and said humbly, 
 
 " I am Abner Jackson ; I was Jack Button." 
 
 Ozro gazed at him in amazement not unmixed 
 with horror. The stranger stood with eyes cast 
 down and hands clasped before him, as if waiting 
 for the other to speak. 
 
 " Yet they say you killed her ! " exclaimed 
 Ozro, hoarsely, after a time. 
 
 " I was the cause of her death," was the reply, 
 
A SUDDEN START. 285 
 
 in a tone of stern self-accusation. Still he did 
 not lift his eyes. 
 
 " But you did not intend it ; you did not mean 
 to do her harm ? " 
 
 The man was Dotty s brother ; and despite 
 the fact that she seemed to have preferred 
 Devvstowe, he could not think of her brother 
 as a criminal. 
 
 " I would have died to save her a moment s 
 sorrow." 
 
 " Then you are not her her murderer ? " said 
 Ozro, in a tone of relief. 
 
 " Not hers /" came from the drooping figure, 
 " not hers ! It was the other whom I slew." 
 
 " The other ! " exclaimed Ozro, drawing back. 
 There was surprise and horror in his voice. 
 
 " Yes ; your father ! " 
 
 " My father ! You killed my father ? " 
 
 " Even so ! " replied the other, in the same 
 quiet tone. 
 
 " How ? Why ? " exclaimed the young man, 
 trembling as he felt that he stood at length on 
 the brink of the mystery clouded by so many 
 silent years. 
 
 " That is what I wished to tell you," said the 
 elder man, looking up, and speaking with the 
 utmost composure. " But if you have not time 
 
286 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 to hear the story, or would prefer to read it, the 
 facts are all in this paper, which has been written 
 over and over again to fit it for your perusal." 
 
 " I will hear you," said Ozro, mechanically. 
 His lips were dry, and he could not say more. 
 
 The other motioned to him to sit down, re 
 sumed his own seat, and mechanically filled one 
 of the long reed-stemmed pipes he habitually 
 used, several of which stood about the fireplace. 
 
 " I want to tell the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth," he said, when he had 
 lighted it ; " and somehow I seem to think 
 clearer when I have a pipe in my mouth. Not 
 that I need to think much about what I m 
 going to tell you, for there has n t been a day 
 in many a year that I have n t been over it from 
 A to Izzard. Perhaps it s the habit of thinking 
 and not talking that makes it so hard for me 
 to begin, now that I have to do what I have so 
 long thought of doing." 
 
 He smoked awhile in silence, and then began 
 his narrative. 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 
 
 " T HAD been down to the harbor that day, 
 J- eighteen years ago yesterday. It seems 
 almost an eternity to me now ; but that s all 
 it is. I had met your mother here, and fallen 
 madly in love with her. She did not know it, 
 though everybody else did. Every day my love 
 grew more and more desperate. I knew she did 
 not care for me, and had little hope that she ever 
 would. She was not one of my kind, not as I 
 was then. I have seen the time since when I 
 have thought she would not have been altogether 
 ashamed of the love or unobservant of the par 
 tiality of such an one as I had become. But that 
 is neither here nor there, just a vain man s 
 fancy. I knew nothing of her relations with her 
 husband, what he was like, or whether she 
 really cared for him. Somehow I came to the 
 conclusion that he had treated her unjustly ; and 
 that while she respected scrupulously the legal 
 tie that bound them together, she had very little 
 affection for him. 
 
288 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I was a wild young fellow then, though my 
 love for your mother did much to sober me, for 
 it was a love which, however much of pain it has 
 brought, had no evil in it. To me it was little 
 less than adoration. To her it brought no stain, 
 because she was unconscious of it. The star is 
 not dimmed by the faults of the worshipper. Of 
 course, my companions were not slow to rally 
 me on my well-known devotion to the myste 
 rious lady at the Inn, and naturally enough I 
 did not hesitate to boast of the love I could not 
 deny nor conceal. On that day the jests made 
 at my expense in the bar-room of the tavern 
 where the stages stopped were both numerous 
 and unmistakable. To all of them I answered, 
 giving such reasons as I might for the infatua 
 tion they chose to ascribe to me. 
 
 "Among the passengers by the stage of the 
 day before from the East was one who seemed to 
 take great interest in our banter. He inquired 
 the name of the woman to whom reference was 
 made ; how long she had been at the Inn ; and 
 how long it had been since I returned. These 
 questions were in the main answered by my com 
 panions, sometimes by myself. When he asked 
 in regard to her husband, I answered harshly, no 
 doubt. I had an infinite contempt as well as a 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 289 
 
 wild unreasoning hate for the man who had evi 
 dently caused her grief. I did not know that I 
 was jealous, though no doubt I was ; love is very 
 unreasonable. I had formed a picture in my own 
 mind of the man I hated. This strong, clean 
 shaven, blue-eyed gentleman, of suave though 
 somewhat severe manner, did not at all fill the 
 requirements of my fancy. I did not dream that 
 he had any special interest in the matter until, 
 just as the stage was about to start in this direc 
 tion, he brought me a letter addressed to your 
 mother, and asked me to deliver it into her hands. 
 Even then my suspicion was but a vague one. 
 
 " Who are you ? I asked. 
 
 " * Oh, you need not fear a rival/ he answered, 
 with a polite sneer. I once knew this lady s 
 husband, and the letter contains news that will 
 no doubt be very interesting to her. If possible, 
 I would like you to deliver it immediately on the 
 arrival of the stage. 
 
 " I accepted the commission ; and all the way 
 up the hill the conviction grew stronger in my 
 mind that this cold, polished man was the hus 
 band who had once cast her off, and had come 
 intending to set up anew his marital claim, but 
 had been deterred by the jests of the loungers at 
 the tavern. I did not doubt that the letter I bore 
 
2QO BUTTON S INN. 
 
 was an angry one, probably a final renunciation. 
 The thought gave me a most exultant feeling. 
 Somehow it seemed to bring her nearer to me, to 
 know that she was separated irrevocably from 
 him. Though some of the jests had pointed un 
 equivocally to my attachment for her, no word had 
 been breathed reflecting on her good name. My 
 associates knew better than to venture to such 
 length ; it would have cost any man his life to 
 have hinted anything to her discredit in my hear 
 ing. The worst intimation was that we might be 
 married whenever the law made it feasible. Per 
 haps I even asserted that it was the law that stood 
 between us rather than the husband. If I did, it 
 was a sin which I have grievously repented. 
 
 "When we reached the Inn, and I saw your 
 mother standing on the threshold waiting for the 
 man she loved despite his injustice and his cold 
 ness, looking past me without a hint of recogni 
 tion in the eyes aglow with expectation, then 
 first I recognized the fact that I was nothing to 
 her, and never could be. She was seeking her 
 husband, a husband she had once loved, had 
 never forgotten, and stood ready to forgive for 
 all his harshness and suspicion. 
 
 " Then I knew that I had committed a great 
 wrong, and was irresistibly impelled to attempt 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 2QI 
 
 its reparation. I made haste to tell her all that 
 had occurred. You have heard the story, how 
 I went to her room, and was with Hfr I know not 
 how long. You have no doubt seen the letter 
 which I brought. If I had doubted her love for 
 her husband before, I never did afterward. She 
 forgot my presence ; I was as nothing to her, 
 a servant, a creature, one from whom it was un 
 necessary even to hide her woe. 
 
 " When she had somewhat exhausted her sur 
 prise and grief, not unmixed with anger, I told 
 her the cause of the language he had used. I 
 made a clean breast of it, confessed my love, 
 and showed her how a jealous man might have 
 been stung by what he heard. She did not re 
 gard me enough to pity or even to despise me ; 
 her thought was all of him, the one man 
 whom she had ever loved. I can say truthfully 
 that I took my punishment bravely. I felt that 
 I had deserved it, and did not shrink. 
 
 " Her agony, however, was more than I could 
 bear. I remembered to have heard her husband 
 say that he should go westward on the stage that 
 night. I proposed to return at once, acknowl 
 edge my fault, and bring him back with me. I 
 shall never forget the light that came into her 
 eyes when I made this offer. She was ready 
 
BUTTON S INN. 
 
 to pardon my offence if I would perform this 
 penance. I believe she would even have loved 
 me a little afterward if I could but have given 
 her this great joy. It hurt me to find myself 
 thus absolutely ignored, to think that "I was 
 but as dust beneath her feet, while her whole 
 being palpitated with joy at the thought of 
 meeting him who I felt sure had done her 
 wrong. She gave me her hand in thanks. I 
 kissed it. I had never dreamed of kissing any 
 hand before ; but I would have kissed a shoe 
 if it had been hers. 
 
 "Love is a strange thing," said the stranger 
 who was no longer a stranger meditatively. 
 " It takes hold of all sorts of lives ; and the 
 curious thing about it is that it transforms them 
 all. Some it makes better, and some it makes 
 worse ; but it fires, exalts, and intensifies all 
 alike. Every one that loves lives a romance. 
 Love may be set in gold or in brass, be clad in 
 purple or homespun, but it is the same univer 
 sal transforming influence. It may lead to heaven 
 or hell, but no man is strong enough to resist its 
 potency. You never saw the process of making 
 steel, did you ? Just common soft iron rusty 
 and shapeless and mean perhaps is heated and 
 hammered and rolled. Nothing else is added, no 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 293 
 
 new ingredient intermixed. From cherry redness 
 to a glaring white, the color wavers back and 
 forth. .Now the rollers crush it, the hammers 
 mangle and bruise, the blue flames redden again ; 
 and then the shaping rolls give it form, and the 
 pure, keen-tempered steel is formed. If the iron 
 was not good at the outset, the steel may be 
 worthless ; then it is good for nothing, even as 
 iron. So it is with love. It adds nothing to the 
 life it touches, but brings out the temper. It 
 may beat and crush and tear and rend ; but if the 
 nature is worth refining, it will take a temper 
 or hold an edge, as the workmen say, - it will 
 be stronger afterward than it was before. If 
 not, it will just blister and scale and burn into 
 worthlessness. I loved your mother. I had no 
 right to love her, and no warrant for my pre 
 sumption ; but all there is in my life worth con 
 sidering has come from that love, even what I 
 came here to do is the result of it. It s been a 
 hard process ; but I think I really do think 
 a little keen-edged steel has come out of it. And 
 I suppose that s the only way such poor stuff 
 could have been tempered. 
 
 " As soon as I had kissed her hand I started. 
 The hand was soft and fair ! Its touch added 
 delirium to my adoration ! My heart was full 
 
2Q4 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 of hate for any one who could cause pain to a 
 being so divinely fair. She had read me her 
 husband s letter. I think she did it half-uncon- 
 scioiisly, in that maze of grief, anger, and surprise 
 that followed its perusal. She had no idea of 
 giving me her confidence, but her heart was too 
 sore to hide its sorrow. Every word of it was 
 burned into my brain. It was hard, cruel, mean, 
 but heated white by the fire of his passion. I 
 felt that. I said in my heart, this man loves 
 this woman, and yet tortures her as no agent of 
 the Inquisition ever dreamed of torturing its vic 
 tims. I felt it all, but did not say it, did not 
 think it, in fact ; and it was not till years after 
 that I knew that I had even perceived it at all. 
 
 " I went away, her words, her looks, her 
 tones in my heart, her tears feeding my hate. 
 I will conceal nothing. I sought your father, 
 not to do him harm, but still less to do him a 
 favor. I had said I would bring him back, and 
 I intended to perform my promise. If he would 
 not come otherwise, I would bring him by force. 
 If he neglected or abused in any way the love of 
 the woman of whose meanest thought he was 
 unworthy, he should answer to me. I had no 
 good wishes for him. I went to bring him be 
 cause it would make her happy. I wanted him 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 2$$ 
 
 to live for her sake. I wished he had never 
 lived ; but it did not occur to me that his death 
 could be to my advantage, not till afterward, 
 at least. 
 
 " When I proposed going she had, after her 
 first burst of gratitude, objected because of the 
 storm. It was a bad night, but not so bad then 
 as it grew toward morning. It was the first 
 heavy snow of the season, and had nothing to 
 build on. It fell straight down, thick and feath 
 ery, but still, upon the bare frozen ground, and 
 lay soft and cushioning where it fell. You know 
 what it was like ? " 
 
 Ozro nodded in the affirmative, and the other 
 went on. 
 
 " When she spoke of the storm she went to 
 the window and peered out. I followed her, 
 seeking to remove an objection it required little 
 argument to overcome. The air was full of great 
 white flakes, falling straight downward except 
 for the wave-like motion which the still air gave 
 to the flat feathery forms. They crossed and 
 recrossed each other s paths, forming an ever- 
 moving curtain that hid all that lay beyond. 
 The light from the window shone out among 
 them as we stood there side by side, our shadows 
 falling on the feathery screen. I showed her 
 
296 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 that the storm, though heavy, was not severe ; 
 it would make the walking difficult, but that 
 was nothing for me. 
 
 " Five minutes afterward I was on my way. 
 As I looked up at the window I saw her framed 
 in the yellowish glare that shone through the 
 falling flakes. While I had been in the room 
 you had been very restless. Her excitement, no 
 doubt, communicated itself to you. When I 
 looked back she was holding you in her arms. 
 I supposed she was showing you the snow. I 
 have wondered since if she meant it for a final 
 appeal to my manhood, if she wished me to 
 tell the husband I sought of the tableau I had 
 seen in the window. 
 
 " I pushed on as fast as I could. I wore a fur- 
 cap and a close-buttoned roundabout, or coatee, 
 as the garment was then called. I did not wish 
 to be encumbered with anything more. Pretty 
 soon I began to note fresh tracks in the snow. 
 You know the sort of dim light that comes filter 
 ing down through such a storm. I suspect that 
 the moon must have been near the full, but 
 I could not see it. I wondered who could be 
 abroad on such a night, and on what errand he 
 was bound. I knew this traveller was a strong 
 man, of good stature, for the track was straight, 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 2Q/ 
 
 and the stride even greater than my own. The 
 tracks missed the road sometimes, but there 
 was never any indecision about them ; they went 
 always straight back to the half-obliterated track 
 the stage had made. 
 
 " I soon knew by their greater freshness 
 that I was gaining on the man in front. He 
 did not seem to be in any great haste, while 
 I was doing my best ; besides, I knew every 
 foot of the way. At length I came to where 
 the old road skirts the edge of the Gulf.* 
 The pines stood thick along it then, and made 
 the gloom in their shadow intense. I noticed 
 that it was so still that the wind made no 
 sound among their branches. The bank was 
 not twenty yards from the track, and I began 
 to fear that the man ahead of me might miss his 
 way and fall over the precipice. As this fear 
 increased, I shouted in hope of attracting his 
 attention. A few pines and a fringe of stunted 
 hemlocks grew along the edge. A voice an 
 swered my shout almost at my elbow ; the 
 speaker could not have been five steps from the 
 edge of the precipice. 
 
 " Hold on ! I called in terror. My God, 
 man ! you will be over the bank ! Don t stir ! 
 stand where you are until I reach you ! 
 
298 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I started toward him. When I had taken 
 a few steps I halted and called again. I thought 
 I had gone directly toward the voice, but now 
 it was at my left, and seemed about as for away 
 as before. I could see nothing, for the falling 
 snow hid everything three steps away. I could 
 hear nothing either, for the snow muffled all 
 sounds. I knew a man was within ten steps 
 of me, and yet, though there was a dim murky 
 light just about me, I felt as much alone as 
 if in the middle of the ocean. 
 
 " Who is it ? I called. 
 
 " Who are you ? came the response, in a 
 voice I seemed to know but could not recognize. 
 
 " I answered, giving my name, and started 
 toward him again. When next I called he was 
 on my right, but nearer, nearer too to the 
 edge of the precipice, I thought. It seemed 
 that he must have moved in the interval. I 
 begged him to stand still, and started toward 
 him again, going carefully, for I found myself 
 by this time among the low hemlocks which I 
 knew skirted the bank. I had gone but a few 
 steps when I felt myself seized from behind. 
 One word was whispered, hissed into my ear, 
 and I found myself borne toward the edge of the 
 shelving bank ! That one word told me every- 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 299 
 
 thing. I saw my situation and knew my an 
 tagonist in a flash. It was your father ! " 
 
 The man laid aside his pipe, and bowed his 
 head submissively before the son who sat an 
 arm s length away. For a moment neither 
 spoke. Ozro could hear the labored breathing 
 of his companion on the other side of the fire 
 place. The left hand on which he leaned, the 
 elbow resting on his knee, concealed his face. 
 
 " I tried to explain, to tell him the truth," at 
 length came brokenly from the lips of the bowed 
 figure. " There was not much chance ; he would 
 not listen. He had seen us at the window, 
 your mother and me. He was a strong man, 
 taller than I and older, but in his prime, forty, 
 I should say, or thereabout. I was a strong 
 man too, unusually strong. In a hand-to-hand 
 tussle I had then few equals : but I had never 
 encountered so desperate an antagonist. I soon 
 realized my clanger. It was to be a fight for life, 
 on my part at least. He sought only to force 
 me over the cliff, without seeking to save him 
 self. I do not think he wished to do so ; in 
 fact, I think he was looking for the edge, in 
 tending to throw himself over, when I called 
 to him. Instinctively I had caught a sapling 
 with my right hand at the instant of his attack. 
 
300 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 The impulse whirled me around, still clinging 
 to the tree, and I felt the ground sloping toward 
 the edge. I threw myself down, and clung 
 for dear life to the swaying, creaking, slippery 
 bush, for it was hardly more than a bush. 
 Fortunately it was a hemlock, and well rooted. 
 It bent and twisted, but did not give way. My 
 antagonist was on top when we fell, and began 
 at once to strive to break my hold. His grasp 
 upon my wrist was like iron. I did not believe 
 he could force me to let go ; but I worked my 
 left hand up, and got another grip on the sap 
 ling. I was lying face down, he sitting astride 
 my loins. There was no time to speak, and I 
 had little breath to spare if there had been. I 
 could hear him curse me now and then under 
 his breath. Working my legs around, in order to 
 brace myself against his efforts, I felt the trunk 
 of a tree standing on the very edge of the bank. 
 The ground where I lay sloped sharply toward 
 it. Hardly had my foot touched it when I real 
 ized what a chance it offered. By great exer 
 tion I threw my assailant upward, and instantly 
 clasped the tree with my legs. I was safe then. 
 With the bush held firmly in my hands, and the 
 tree clutched by my knees, I knew that half-a- 
 dozen men could not pull me from the spot. 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 30 1 
 
 " Still he struggled. After a time he seemed to 
 realize the hopelessness of the effort. I wrenched 
 my head around and tried to speak. His answer 
 was a blow. Then the blows rained on the back 
 of my head. I drew up my shoulders to save the 
 nape of my neck, and took them as they came. 
 I have wondered since that they did not make 
 me insensible, for they were powerful blows, and 
 it was many a day before I recovered fully from 
 their effects. He evidently expected that result, 
 for presently he tried once more to unloose my 
 hands. I was fast forgetting everything but the 
 instinct of self-preservation. When he found 
 he could not break my grip I heard him say, 
 with a curse, I 11 see if something won t 
 start you ! 
 
 " Then he loosed one hand from mine, and I 
 heard him feeling about as if searching for a 
 pocket. Somehow I did not realize his purpose 
 until, twisting my head about in the snow in 
 which my face was imbedded, I saw him take his 
 knife from his pocket and open it with his teeth. 
 The act filled me with that rage which the use 
 of unfair means always awakens in an imperilled 
 man. From that instant I was as reckless as 
 he. I not only determined to foil his design, 
 but to take his life. Your mother s wrongs 
 
302 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 surged up in my memory, and with the thought 
 a strange, wild, exultant idea that this man was 
 all that stood between us. If only he were out 
 of the way, she might be mine. I did not know 
 where or how he intended to strike ; all I could 
 do was to wait until I discovered his aim, and 
 then avoid the blow if possible.. Of course, I 
 did not lie motionless during this time. I 
 heaved and wrenched, but he sat firmly in his 
 place. Seeing his purpose, I tightened the grip 
 of my left hand, and determined to cast loose 
 with my right at the instant he struck, so as to 
 divert his aim. I did so. Strange enough, he 
 struck at my arm. I suppose it did not occur 
 to him to kill me with the knife. He had set 
 his heart on taking me down the bank with him, 
 and did not think of any other method of obtain 
 ing his revenge. He was no murderer, your 
 father was not, only a man crazed with love 
 and jealousy. The movement to avoid his 
 stroke seemed to have been totally unexpected 
 by him, and for an instant he sat unsteadily in 
 his position. I felt it, and half twisting myself 
 over, caught him by the collar. He dropped 
 his knife to grapple with me, and again it be 
 came a conflict of mere strength. He had my 
 right hand in his clutch, and was tugging away 
 
YESTERDAY S WOE. 303 
 
 at my left, which still held the sapling. Forcing 
 my right hand backward against my shoulder 
 blade, he easily held it secure. All depended 
 on my left. 
 
 "All at once it flashed upon me that I had 
 him in my power. By loosing my hold upon 
 the bush we should both swing over the bank, 
 and he would topple head-foremost into the 
 gorge below, while I should hold on by the tree 
 gripped between my knees. I did not stop to 
 think twice. He was twisting my right arm so 
 that the, pain was intense ; I thought he would 
 tear it from its socket. At the same time he 
 was jerking with all his strength at my left. I 
 tightened rny hold upon the tree between my 
 legs, locking my feet securely around it. When 
 he surged upon my hand again I suddenly let 
 go the bush. He swayed backward ; I felt 
 myself swing round as on a pivot. There was 
 a struggle, a clutch; and then I heard him 
 pitch down the slaty side, while I hung head- 
 downward over the edge of the abyss. 
 
 " It was with great difficulty that I regained the 
 bank. I lay there a moment panting for breath, 
 then staggered to my feet, and began instinc 
 tively to look around for my cap. I could not 
 find it, and concluded it had gone over the bank 
 
304 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 with him. That brought him to my mind, and 
 I leaned over the edge and listened. I knew it 
 was of no use ; the bank was eighty feet sheer 
 fall, with a rocky bottom. I found his hat, put 
 it on, and started homeward. Perhaps I ought 
 to have gone and looked for him. I might per 
 haps have saved my soul a double sin. I did 
 not think of it then, and it is doubtful if I could 
 have found him in the storm. I have thought 
 since that the soft damp snow which must have 
 been heaped against the bank, clinging as it 
 fell, and undisturbed by any breath of wind, 
 may have formed a cushioning mass saving him 
 from instant death, but leaving him to smother, 
 stunned and helpless, beneath its weight ; or, 
 worse still, to drown in the icy waters of the 
 swollen creek. I ought, no doubt, to have given 
 the alarm, and had search made for him as soon 
 as possible. It did not once occur to me to do 
 so. I only hurried on with one thought in my 
 mind, the man who stood between me and 
 the woman I loved was dead ! It was this 
 that made me a murderer, I left him to die, 
 not merely careless whether he lived or not, 
 but even glad that he was dead!" 
 
FULFILLING LOVE S COMMANDMENT. 
 
 "i 
 
 thought very little of the dead man behind 
 me, or of the act that caused his death, but 
 much of the beautiful woman to whom I was 
 going; not with the idea of possession, that 
 hardly entered my mind, but with the thought 
 that I had avenged her wrongs and relieved her 
 of her husband s tyranny and suspicion. She 
 might be no nearer to me, but she would not 
 belong to him, nor her happiness be dependent 
 on his caprice. This was the thought that filled 
 my mind as I plodded doggedly homeward. I 
 have wondered since what made me return at 
 all ; but I was anxious that she should know 
 how faithfully I had obeyed her wishes, that 
 no fault of mine had prevented the success of 
 my errand. Above all, I suppose I wished to 
 see her once more. I had not thought of flight, 
 but somehow felt that my opportunities for see 
 ing her would not be many, and was determined 
 to make one more at all hazards. 
 
 " When I arrived in sight of the Inn, it was 
 dark except her window and the light of the 
 
306 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 smouldering fire in the public-room. How 
 should I reach her, how speak with her, how 
 tell her that she was free, for despite what I 
 had seen it did not occur to me that s.he would 
 consider it as other than a relief. It may seem 
 strange to you, but the fact that I had taken 
 life did not oppress me at all. I neither pitied 
 nor feared the bruised and battered mass that 
 lay at the bottom of the ravine ; I was simply 
 glad that the man was dead. I went at once to 
 my room, the one my mother now occupies. I 
 found a bottle of rum and took a drink, which I 
 sorely needed. I threw myself on my bed, and 
 wondered how I should get speech with your 
 mother. I dared not go through the public-room, 
 for I knew that there were half-a-dozen men 
 sleeping by the fire. I shrank from waking my 
 mother, for I would then have to tell her all that 
 had occurred. Suddenly the idea of the trap 
 door in the old overhang came into my mind. I 
 knew that when the house was rebuilt it had 
 been left in place, though it had long been un 
 used. It was hung on wooden bar-hinges set 
 into the chimney at one end, and into the house- 
 logs at the other. It worked up and down 
 indifferently, but the ends had been concealed 
 by a narrow slat which served as a base-board 
 
FULFILLING LOVE S COMMANDMENT. 307 
 
 in the room above, being nailed to the logs to 
 conceal the uneven ends of the flooring ; below, 
 it was supported by a couple of braces nailed 
 to the wall. It ran the whole length of the 
 closet. To remove these braces was an easy 
 matter. If nothing should be standing upon 
 the trap-door in the room above, I could easily 
 lower it without attracting attention. 
 
 " I did not hesitate. Climbing on the closet 
 shelves, I loosened the braces and cautiously 
 lowered the door. When it swung down I raised 
 my head and looked into the room. The candle 
 was burning on the stand by the bedside. Your 
 mother was lying beside you, with the quilt 
 loosely thrown over her. Fearing that my sud 
 den appearance might startle her, I rapped 
 gently on the floor and called her name in a low 
 voice. She waked with a start and sat up in 
 bed, her hair falling about her shoulders, seem 
 ing dazed and confused. She had been asleep, 
 probably dreaming. 
 
 " What is it ? Is it you, dear ? she asked 
 in a low eager tone. I could see her face by 
 the light of the candle on the stand beside her. 
 Such a look of sweet expectancy I never saw 
 on any human countenance before. Then first 
 I realized my deplorable condition ; I had killed, 
 
308 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 not her husband alone, but her love. I had not 
 regarded myself as a murderer, until I thought 
 how she would recoil from me when she knew 
 the truth. Her attention was fixed on the 
 door that opened on the stairway. I thought 
 of dropping down from my perch and fleeing, 
 as Cain did from the sight of man ; but the 
 Lord willed it otherwise. I do not know why I 
 remained. When her attention was at last at 
 tracted to me she came forward, throwing some 
 thing around her shoulders as she did so, and 
 gazed in amazement at the long narrow trap 
 door. It must have seemed to her like a grave. 
 She asked if I had seen her husband. I could 
 only bow my head without looking up. I remem 
 ber thinking that I could never look into her eyes 
 again." 
 
 He paused. The perspiration was streaming 
 down his face. He wiped it with his handker 
 chief, gazing steadily into the fire as he did so. 
 His voice was strained and tremulous, and he 
 spoke with that hurried nasal cadence which 
 characterized the popular religious frenzy of that 
 day. After a moment he proceeded. 
 
 " She bade me come up and relate what her 
 husband had said, all that had occurred. I 
 swung myself into the room. She stepped back 
 
FULFILLING LOVE S COMMANDMENT. 309 
 
 and waited, standing beside a chair, one hand 
 clasping the shawl about her throat. I stood 
 before her overwhelmed, confounded. Despite 
 the terrible facts, I could not but be conscious 
 of her loveliness. It was as if an angel were 
 before me, whom I worshipped even while I 
 waited for the words of doom. She questioned, 
 and I told her all, truly, as it had happened. 
 Her trunk was open a little way from the chair 
 by which she stood, with many of the things it 
 usually contained piled at the ends. It occurred 
 to me that she had determined to leave as much 
 of her belongings as she could, and follow her 
 husband if I failed." 
 
 " That is why she gave me laudanum," inter 
 rupted Ozro, with a tone of relief. " She would 
 have had to leave me, and did not want the pain 
 of a conscious parting." 
 
 " Very likely," said the other, absently. " I 
 stood looking down at the trunk," he resumed, 
 "when I heard a gasp a moan. She had said 
 nothing, and I had not once looked up. When 
 I did so she was deathly pale, her left hand 
 pressed above her heart, her face wearing a look 
 of intense physical pain coupled with a strange 
 undefinable fear. 
 
 " Go ! go ! she said gaspingly, motioning me 
 
3IO BUTTON S INN. 
 
 away. Pity, aversion, and fear were mingled in 
 her tone. She tottered, and I sprang forward 
 to save her from falling. God ! what a look of 
 horror came into her eyes as she started back, 
 putting up both her hands to repel me, un 
 conscious that the shawl had fallen from her 
 shoulders. She trembled, gasped again, and 
 clutched the chair. I sprang toward the door, 
 forgetful of everything but her peril. 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! she fairly shrieked, as my 
 hand touched the latch. Have you not done 
 enough ? 
 
 " But you are ill, I pleaded ; let me call my 
 mother. 
 
 " And proclaim your presence here ? 
 
 " I had not thought of this peril to her good 
 name. She moaned and sank into the chair. 
 What could I do, the husband s murderer in 
 the wife s chamber ? Her eyes closed, and she 
 breathed short and quick. 
 
 " Let me do something ! I exclaimed. 
 
 " She looked up weakly. 
 
 " Go ! go ! she said, quick ! 
 
 " But you? I asked. 
 
 " Never mind me! It is nothing much! 
 I have had it before once ! Go fly ! They 
 will suspect me and you 
 
FULFILLING LOVE S COMMANDMENT. 311 
 
 " She shuddered, and put her hands over her 
 eyes as if to shut out some terrible picture. It 
 gave me a thrill of rapture even in my agony to 
 know that she thought of me at all. I had made 
 no defence, no excuse. 
 
 " I did the best I could, Mrs. Evans, I said. 
 
 " God help me, I fear it was a lie ! I thought 
 I spoke the truth ; but I might have kept my 
 hold, and let him kill me with the knife. I ought 
 to have done so ; it was my place to die. Then 
 he would have been alive, and some time she 
 would have found him and been happy. But it 
 was God s will that it should be otherwise. He 
 knoweth all things!" 
 
 The man stopped, and again wiped his face 
 with the large silk handkerchief which he took 
 out of the hat that lay beside him on the floor. 
 He still held the pipe in his left hand, though 
 he had long ago ceased smoking. He had not 
 once looked at Ozro since telling him of his 
 father s fate. The young man was pale and 
 trembling, but he said pityingly, 
 
 " Had you not better wait a while, sir ? " 
 
 "No, no! it must be told now! For this 
 thing came I here under God s mysterious guid 
 ance ! " exclaimed the other, hurriedly. 
 
 " I was mean enough, you see," he continued, 
 
312 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " to think of myself even then ; to plead O 
 God ! and she was dying ! " 
 
 He looked at Ozro, his countenance so 
 terribly distorted with horror and shame that 
 the young man drew back in affright. 
 
 " I don t blame you," said the other, mistaking 
 the movement for aversion, "I don t blame 
 you. But she did not repel me. She was an 
 angel your mother. She stretched out her 
 hand. I touched it, and fell on my knees not 
 near her away off: I could hardly reach her 
 finger-tips. 
 
 " * I believe you/ she gasped, I believe 
 every word ! 
 
 " Then she snatched her hand away and 
 pressed it to her heart again. 
 
 " Go ! go ! she repeated, fly at once ! 
 
 " Fly where ? I rose to my feet. I sup 
 pose my tone showed my despair. 
 
 " Anywhere ! Do not come back ever. 
 Nobody else will believe Here take these ! 
 
 " She handed me her jewel-case, which lay on 
 a pile of books by the chair. I had risen and 
 started to go. I looked at it, and shook my 
 head. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot ! Here I have money. My 
 purse quick ! 
 
FULFILLING LOVE S COMMANDMENT. 313 
 
 " She pointed to her trunk. I seized it, dragged 
 it toward her and picked up the pocket-book 
 a little red one I had often seen in her hand. 
 She took it, touched the spring, and it flew 
 open. A terrible spasm of pain seized her. 
 
 " Jack ! she gasped, Jack ! never let it be 
 known that you were here never ! For 
 my sake ! 
 
 " She half started up trembled, gasped, fell 
 back, and would have fallen from the chair had I 
 not caught her. There were two or three con 
 vulsive gasps that was all. I placed her head 
 against the back of the chair, rubbed her hands, 
 called her name felt for her pulse. There was 
 none. She was dead ! I -did not doubt it. 
 Perhaps even then if I had given the alarm she 
 might have been saved. I did not think it 
 possible, or I am sure I would have done it. 
 My only thought was to save her from shame, 
 and I remembered only her anxiety that I should 
 fly for her sake. It was cowardly, I know ; but 
 well, there is no excuse. I was overwhelmed 
 with horror. Snatching some of the money, I 
 clambered back down the trap-door, replaced 
 the braces as well as I could, seized my fur-coat 
 (a present from my mother, made of skins my 
 father had taken when he was a young man), 
 
314 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 and putting on your father s hat almost uncon 
 sciously, started on my flight. God ! how cruel 
 to leave her sitting there dead, that cold, cold 
 night ! Through all its terrible hours I thought 
 of that ! In all the years since I have not been 
 able to forget it ! " 
 
 He rose, and staggered weakly across the 
 room. Ozro again asked him if he had not 
 better delay the rest of his story. 
 
 " No, no ! " he exclaimed, " let me finish 
 now. Let me have it over be done with it 
 forever ! " 
 
 He sat down and resumed. 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. 
 
 " T TALF-DAZED, I went out into the storm 
 L L to go away/ as she had bidden me. 
 That was my sole thought. I did not care for 
 myself, and had no sense of fear. I felt that I 
 must go in order that I might not reveal my 
 love, and so cast a shadow on her good name. 
 It was that which she had feared, which her 
 husband s suspicion had made her dread worse 
 than death. I felt no remorse except for the 
 evil I had wrought to her. I would have given 
 my life to have restored her existence ; nay, I 
 would gladly have given my life to have restored 
 him, if thereby life and happiness might come 
 again to her. 
 
 " I turned after reaching the road and looked 
 up through the blinding storm at the dimly- 
 lighted windows. She seemed looking down at 
 me as I had seen her before, the abundant hair 
 falling over the fair shoulder, down beside the 
 white arm almost to the floor. I knew that I 
 had killed her felt that I was her murderer. 
 
3l6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 I had not meant to do her ill : never in word or 
 thought had I done her intentional harm. She 
 had not given me a tender thought : I felt that 
 it was a sacrilege to think of love in connection 
 with her. But she knew and had forgiven 
 perhaps she had despised my weakness; she 
 also had excused my passion and recognized my 
 sincerity; and she had charged me to go away, 
 and save her honor from taint in the world s 
 thought. 
 
 " I was going. I did not know where or how, 
 just away, out of sight, out of knowledge, out 
 of the world may be. But for my tell-tale body 
 that would have been the easiest solution of the 
 difficulty, and being the easiest would have been 
 adopted. Were you ever tired, thoroughly 
 beaten out, I mean, heart, brain, and body? 
 That was my condition, and it is not surprising 
 if my mind was not very clear. I had tramped 
 through the storm to and from where I had 
 fought for my life with a strong man ; I had 
 seen my love burned to ashes, and the woman I 
 idolized die by my act. No wonder my thought 
 was confused, and my conscience dead. 
 
 " Somehow, I did not think much of the man 
 who was lying at the bottom of the Gulf. I 
 did not look upon his death as murder, nor had 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. 317 
 
 I any sense of blood-guiltiness as to him. I had 
 done him no wrong, unless the silly boastfulness 
 of a hope which was honest and natural enough 
 under the circumstances may be thought a 
 wrong. I hated him before I saw him, before 
 I ever knew he was alive, because of his harsh 
 ness and injustice to her. I was sure he had 
 been unjust, because she could not be in the 
 wrong. I had been willing to go in search of 
 him simply because she desired his presence, 
 just as I would have gone for a dog, or any brute 
 she loved. Through it all I was conscious of a 
 sense of gratification that he was dead : he could 
 make her no more trouble. There was a feeling, 
 too, that he had met his desert. So I stumbled 
 on through the cold and the snow, leaving the 
 dear dead behind me and hating the dead be 
 fore me, but with no thought of fleeing from 
 either because of a sense of guilt. 
 
 "I was glad too that he was dead because she 
 loved him. Though I had not meant to do him 
 harm, I hated him not less because she loved 
 him than for the wrong he had done to her. 
 For me, I had only to remember the look of 
 horror that overspread her face when she real 
 ized t*at he had died by my hand, the self- 
 loathing her eyes expressed as she thought that 
 
3l8 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 we had fought because of our love for her ; and 
 then the slow, shrinking sense of loneliness and 
 degradation that came as she realized not only 
 her widowhood, but the stain that would rest 
 upon her name because of the manner of her 
 bereavement. This it was her wish above all 
 things to conceal ; and this I would hide for her 
 sake. Perhaps she knew this injunction would 
 be the last her lips would utter. Death came 
 so swift that she had no time to bid farewell to 
 life. I was glad it was so, but the suddenness 
 made it all the more piteous. I had no hope. 
 I knew what I had done must follow me all 
 the days of my life, whether they were many 
 or few, and I cared not whether they should 
 be few or many; I was only anxious to shield 
 her memory by hiding myself. 
 
 " So I staggered on with the remembrance 
 of what had happened whirling in my brain, 
 recollections terrible yet sweet : the beautiful 
 woman, her agony, her untimely fate, her piteous 
 fear of infamy. I did not know where I was go 
 ing ; I did not care. I would just as soon have 
 gone over the bank as not ; but I knew if my 
 body should be found anywhere near the Inn, 
 every one would say I had come back to her after 
 killing her husband. I never dreamed that they 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. 319 
 
 might accuse me of killing and robbing her, but 
 always of something a thousand times worse. If 
 they found me near him they would know we had 
 fought, and of course would think it was about 
 her. I thought of going to the Lake and end 
 ing it all by a plunge off the edge of the ice ; 
 but it had not yet frozen very far out, and the 
 wind was in shore, so that my body would have 
 been sure to be found. I was not afraid of 
 dying, having no feeling of guilt for any in 
 tended result of my conduct. 
 
 " When I came near where I had met him, how 
 ever, all this suddenly changed. It seemed as if 
 the heavens opened, and I saw everything as plain 
 as the Judgment Day will reveal it. By that 
 time there was no track visible where the road 
 was, but just a smooth white mantle over all the 
 earth ; the snow was still falling soft and steady, 
 as it had done ever since it grew dark. All at 
 once a light shone through the falling snow 
 upon the road before me, and there it stayed, 
 going on when I went forward, and stopping 
 when I stopped. And in that light all the time 
 I saw him. He was pale and shadowy, yet I 
 saw him as plain as day. I knew that he was 
 dead, that it was n t him at all, or only his 
 spirit if any part of him; but I couldn t get 
 
32O BUTTON S INN. 
 
 rid of it. Fast or slow, backward or forward, 
 one side or the other, go where I would, it was 
 all the same, there he was, looking right at 
 me and through me all the time. I knew at once 
 that he had come back to stay with me wherever 
 I might go, and that this was to be my punish 
 ment. For the first time it came to my mind 
 that my false and foolish boasting had made all 
 the trouble, and destroyed two lives. Then I saw 
 myself a murderer, not an intended, revenge 
 ful murderer, but a reckless, careless, selfish one. 
 I had boasted of my love and its hopes, and this 
 jealous, fanatic nature had been inflamed by my 
 wrong-doing to commit the cruel act I had con 
 demned. He had loved, but he could not trust ; 
 he could not believe in her innocence and purity, 
 how then should he believe my angry denial ? 
 He had loved, ay, he still loved. I saw it 
 now. He did not seek me out of revenge. His 
 look did not reproach me for the wrong I had 
 done to him, but for the evil I had wrought to 
 her. It was sorrow rather than anger that im 
 pelled his spirit to its vengeful task. 
 
 " I went on, guided by this presence, until I 
 reached the place where the old Portage crossed 
 the Shore Road. The stage was just coming 
 across the flat from the village, it used to run 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRTME. 321 
 
 to the harbor then. It suddenly occurred to me 
 that I had heard the stranger tell the landlord to 
 put .his portmanteau on the stage when it came 
 along, if he should not return, as he might walk 
 on until it overtook him. It had evidently been 
 his intention to come out here, take a look at 
 the place where the woman he loved was stay 
 ing, and then return and take the stage west 
 ward. I had on his hat and my own fur-coat. 
 Why should I not take his place ? I thought I 
 could see satisfaction in the white ghostly face 
 that shone upon the snow before me as I formed 
 this resolution. I turned and walked on west 
 ward. After an hour or so the stage overtook 
 me. As the light of the lamps fell on me, the 
 driver called out : Hello, is that Mr. Evans ? 
 
 " Yes, I answered. Have you got my port 
 manteau? 
 
 " Safe enough ; but I began to fear I was 
 going to miss you. 
 
 " Oh, I m all right. I knew you would have 
 a hard time, and thought I would walk on ahead 
 a little way. Are you full ? 
 
 " No only two ; pile in. 
 
 " He stopped beside me. I opened the door 
 and climbed in. Fortunately it was a driver I 
 had never seen. On the fifth day afterward 
 
322 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 1 Jackson Evans got out of the stage in Cincin 
 nati, and two days later was floating down the 
 Ohio on a flat-boat. There was an address on 
 the portmanteau I had assumed the ownership 
 of, but I did not know whether it was the right 
 one or not. So I broke it open : learned from 
 papers in it the address of your father s bankers ; 
 took it to a bank, and paid them to transmit it to 
 New York. This took the last money I had, and 
 I hired out as a boatman. It was late in the 
 season, but the river was still open, and there 
 was one captain who was going to risk getting 
 through. He wanted hands, and I went with 
 him. On that day Jackson Evans disappeared, 
 and Abner Jackson took his place. Two years 
 afterward this change of name was legalized by 
 special statute. Mississippi was a new State 
 then, and it was thought good policy to make 
 things of that sort easy to new-comers. Poin- 
 dexter, the governor, took a fancy to me, 
 having an interest in the boat I was running 
 then, and when I hinted that the name was an 
 assumed one, he volunteered to have it legalized, 
 and did so. 
 
 " Up to this time the dead man had been with 
 me all the while. I saw him now and then after 
 I went on the boat, but not regularly. Before 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. 323 
 
 we got to Orleans I was taken with fever, and 
 when I recovered I knew he was always with me ; 
 but. I did not actually see him except at long 
 intervals. When I came to look in a glass after 
 my recovery, I found that a lock of my hair had 
 turned as white as snow. I knew then it was 
 the mark of Cain. After that I wore my hat at 
 all times. I don t mind the mark now, but the 
 habit has become fixed, so that I feel uncomfort 
 able in the presence of others unless covered. 
 
 "Strange enough, the Lord prospered me. 
 Perhaps it was because I attended to what was 
 placed in my hands, and had no inclination to 
 dissolute society. I liked always to be engaged, 
 but did not care to be alone, in fact, I did not 
 feel myself alone at any time. As I had lost all 
 hope, so I had lost all fear. I did not care 
 whether I lived or died. I was not a religious 
 man, and had no inclination toward repentance 
 nor any fear of punishment. I felt like one 
 serving out a penalty he knows to be just, inevi 
 table, and eternal. I knew that this life of suffer 
 ing could only be exchanged for another just as 
 bad : I did not think it could be any worse. So 
 I went on doing faithfully what came in my way. 
 
 " The mark of Cam helped me. The fact that 
 I never removed my hat in the presence of any 
 
324 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 one attracted attention ; and I suppose the habit 
 ual seriousness which was the result of the con 
 sciousness of ghostly company gave me a gravity 
 and earnestness somewhat unusual among the 
 boatmen on the river. At all events, I soon 
 found myself in command of a boat, then of a 
 better one, until the name of Abner Jackson is 
 about as well known up and down the river as 
 that of any man that ever had charge of a load 
 of passengers or signed a bill of lading. 
 
 " The life suited me. I had no interests out 
 side of it, and nothing to hope for beyond it. So 
 I ran my boat, took care of my passengers, and 
 made money for my owners. Nobody trifled 
 with me, and everybody felt safe in my care. 
 When I first took command, there was a good 
 deal of curiosity expressed because I wore my 
 hat all the time. On one of my first trips the 
 passengers protested against my wearing it at 
 the table, and one remarked that to do so was an 
 insult to the ladies. I asked the ladies to excuse 
 us, and invited him to accompany me on deck. 
 He apologized after we had exchanged shots. 
 His wound was serious, but before we reached 
 New Orleans he was out of danger. Soon after 
 ward a gambler came on board at Natchez- 
 under-the-Hill, and deliberately pulled off my 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. $2$ 
 
 hat in presence of the passengers and crew. I 
 shot him where he stood, put on my hat and 
 went about my business. Some other experien 
 ces with the desperadoes who infested the river 
 gave me a reputation for coolness and determi 
 nation that was of great advantage. After a 
 time I became myself a part owner of the boat 
 I commanded. I also bought a plantation and 
 negroes, and engaged in trade. Whatever I 
 did prospered. I took no special pride in this, 
 though of course it was a sort of satisfaction. 
 I did not know what I should do with my acqui 
 sitions, or who would profit by them. 
 
 " No one ever recognized me in all the time I 
 followed the river, though I saw more than one 
 familiar face. Among these was my mother s 
 cousin, Sidney Rigdon. He had stayed some 
 weeks at the Inn during the fall before I went 
 away. Afterward he had become one of the 
 leading men among a new religious sect, at that 
 time much talked about because of the peculiar 
 name that was applied to them. They were 
 called Mormons, though I learned from him that 
 their real name was The Church of Jesus Christ 
 of Latter-day Saints. I managed to see a good 
 deal of him without letting him suspect who I 
 was. He seemed very much in earnest, led an 
 
326 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 exemplary life, and judging from him I formed 
 a very good opinion of the strange people with 
 whom he had cast in his lot. From him I 
 learned how matters were going on here at the 
 Inn. I could not understand all that he told 
 me : since I came here it has been made plain. 
 A year or so after this I sent some money to 
 my mother, a hundred dollars ; and after that, 
 some every year. If she ever received it, I do 
 not suppose she knew from whom it came." 
 
 " I think she suspected/ 5 said Ozro, thought 
 fully. 
 
 "After that I used to see more of the spirit. 
 Sometimes it would be with me almost all the 
 while for a trip or two; then it would not ap 
 pear for months. Sometimes it would not be 
 visible, but I would know it was with me all the 
 same. I did not understand what it wanted nor 
 why it came so often, and so kept right on with 
 my business. Of course I used to think of mat 
 ters up here at the Inn a good deal, and some 
 times would quite make up my mind to come 
 and see how things were getting on. Then the 
 spirit would go away and leave me. 
 
 "I didn t want to come; but I soon knew 
 I d have to. Nobody can guess how wearing it 
 is to have somebody else around with you all 
 
THE- SHADOW OF CRIME. 327 
 
 the while, and feel that he sees and knows all 
 that you see and know and feel and think. 
 That s the way it was with me. Ever since 
 the night I met the murdered man s spirit down 
 by the Gulf/ I had n t ever been fairly alone. 
 Sometimes I most forgot him, but if I did he 
 was sure to jog my elbow in some way or other, 
 just to let me know he was there, I suppose. I 
 knew there was no use in trying to get away 
 from him, and so never made the attempt; but I 
 was very glad when he left me to myself now 
 and then. It was strange how he would come 
 sometimes when I was least expecting him. I 
 have had that face come between me and one 
 I was speaking to, between my eye and the page 
 of a book I was reading, between me and a bill 
 of lading I was putting my hand to. I never 
 knew when or where or in what mood it would 
 appear. Sometimes it looked angry and troubled, 
 sometimes sad ; and then again calm and pitiful, 
 as if regretting the task it had to perform. If 
 I became angry or contemplated injustice, it was 
 sure to look reproachful or distressed. If I 
 chanced to take pleasure in the society of a 
 woman, it became flushed and angry, and would 
 pursue me everywhere. 
 
 " I cannot say that I was afraid of it. I grew 
 
328 BUTTON S, INN. 
 
 to know its moods and expect its presence ; but 
 it was very annoying in its more excited forms, 
 and would follow me about persistently until I 
 changed my conduct or intention. I tried once 
 or twice to drown it in drink, but my sufferings 
 were only made greater thereby. My uncon 
 scious moments were filled with horrible visions, 
 and in my waking hours the spirit pursued me 
 unceasingly. This companion, invisible- to others, 
 served to make me silent and reserved without 
 becoming at all moody or sulky. After a time 
 I found I could converse with it, not indeed 
 getting specific replies to questions I might ask, 
 but seeming to know just what it would say if 
 speech were in its power." 
 
 " Don t you think this may have been a delu 
 sion ? " asked Ozro, cautiously. 
 
 " Do I seem a man likely to be self-deceived ? " 
 asked Jackson, severely. 
 
 In truth he did not. Ozro wondered what his 
 associates on the river would have thought if 
 they had known what visions the captain of the 
 popular steamer had. 
 
 " No," continued Jackson, " I do not pretend 
 to know just what this ghostly appearance was. 
 Whether it was the spiritual body of which the 
 Apostle speaks, or only a spiritual influence that 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. 329 
 
 shaped itself to my consciousness in that form, 
 I do not know. But the thing I do know is, it 
 was of God/ 
 
 He raised his eyes reverently as he uttered 
 these words. 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt!" said Ozro, seriously. 
 
 " Yes, it was of God," repeated Jackson ; " and 
 in this way I have learned a good deal about 
 your father, Ozro ; and strange as it may seem, 
 we have become the best of friends. He was a 
 good man, though of course he had his faults. I 
 think the task of keeping around with me was as 
 great a penance to him as it was to me for a time, 
 but he came at length to enjoy it too. He must 
 have been a very good business man in his day, 
 for nothing pleases him so well even yet as to 
 have me do a good thing in that line ; and if ever 
 I go against his warning, I am sure to lose. 
 That is why I took to your machines so quick. 
 He was betwixt me and them all the time, 
 especially the little one. I did n t understand 
 that, till Dewstowe brought those other pins. 
 It s natural of course that he should be anxious 
 about your welfare, but I am satisfied that he 
 feels a special interest in your temporal good. 
 For this reason I am sure you will be fortunate 
 in business." 
 
33O BUTTON S INN. 
 
 Ozro smiled, but the other was too busy with 
 his thoughts to note even the shrug of incredu 
 lity that accompanied the smile. 
 
 " Strange as it may seem," he continued, " I 
 think the fact that we were partners, as it were, 
 in the wrong that was done your mother, lies 
 at the bottom of our association, if I may use 
 that word to express such a relation. Of course 
 I know nothing of the laws of that world of 
 which he is now a part ; I only know that he 
 has the power of making himself visible to me 
 when he is not visible to others. I am satisfied 
 that he is not only able to read my thoughts, 
 but that he cannot help knowing them. I have 
 a notion that this is very often quite as irksome 
 to him as it is to me, perhaps even more so ; 
 that my pain, unhappiness, or misfortune affects 
 him not less sensibly than it does me ; that this 
 is due, or was at first at least, not so much to 
 sympathy, as to a sort of fate, a certain com 
 munity of woe from which neither of us can 
 escape. 
 
 " Like me, his crime has forever separated him 
 from your mother and her love. She went out 
 of the world, not hating him nor me, for she 
 could not hate any one, but with a sickening 
 disgust, which eternity will not be long enough 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. 331 
 
 to wear away, toward both of us. That is our 
 punishment, I feel sure. Where she is we can 
 not come. She started in the eternal race 
 millions of years ahead of us. If we get to 
 where she was then, we shall only find her far 
 beyond. That is my belief. You may think me 
 a visionary, but my life proves me to be anything 
 but that. No one can deny that Abner Jackson 
 has been a sober, hard-headed, practical man, 
 who has prospered in most of his undertakings, 
 and made as few mistakes in fifteen years as 
 often falls to a man s lot who does anything 
 like the amount of business I have transacted. 
 If I have learned something of the world be 
 yond, it is because fate has laid a burden on me 
 that not many men are called to bear. I know 
 that I shall be forgiven, I haven t any doubt 
 or fear of that. Not only have I the assurance 
 of the spirit, but the Lord has spoken to me by 
 the mouth of His Holy Prophet, and I know that 
 I shall be saved ; nay, I am assured that I shall 
 be saved with an exceeding great salvation. 
 But the stain of blood-guiltiness rests upon my 
 soul, upon mine and his, and must ever rest 
 there, unless washed out by special atonement. 
 This separates us forever by divine decree from 
 the victim of our sin. This it is that links your 
 
332 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 father and me together, the tie of endless 
 expiation. Not alone here on earth, but during 
 the endless ages of eternity shall we be united. 
 Forever and forever we shall walk the plains 
 of heaven together, doing the will of the Al 
 mighty and bowing to it without murmuring, 
 never seeing her whom we wronged, nor know 
 ing the new name she has received in the ce 
 lestial City, but never ceasing to think of her 
 and ever longing to see her face. I am not a 
 visionary, Ozro, but the Lord has taught me 
 by a hard lesson and in a strange and notable 
 way. I am not even a religious enthusiast. My 
 tongue refuses to utter the ecstatic praises that 
 fall from other lips. I can only do the will of 
 God. in silence, faithful in a few things. 
 
 " About two years ago, I finally determined to 
 come back and see for myself how things were 
 going on at the Inn. I knew you must be a man 
 grown by this time, and I thought I might be 
 able to do something to help repair the wrong 
 I had done so long ago. I could n t make good 
 your loss even in a pecuniary sense, for your 
 father would have been a rich man if he had 
 lived, Ozro, a rich man. I take it he was 
 pretty well off as it was ; but he would have 
 stood away up among the biggest of them if he 
 
THE SHADOW OF CRIME. 333 
 
 had lived, for he was a business man and no 
 mistake. I think you must be like him, by the 
 way you ve held things together here at the 
 Inn. Mother tells me you ve had your own 
 way for five or six years, and have managed to 
 keep the place going and kept the interest on 
 the mortgage down besides. I don t see how 
 you did it, I confess ; but then Dotty has been 
 some help toward the last, I suppose. Ma al 
 ways was a manager; but Pa must have been 
 a drag. He seems to be all broke up. I can t 
 understand it. Ma used to be very fond of 
 him, and there never was any difference be 
 tween them, except about me. He seems to 
 lay their estrangement all to you ; but I sup 
 pose it was the drink. Yet it don t seem to me 
 he would have gone so completely to the bad 
 if she had n t been so hard on him. That s 
 neither here nor there, though, now. 
 
 " I did n t know what sort of a chap you d 
 grown up, and so could n t tell, of course, what 
 might be done. I had a notion I might get you 
 a job on the river, I m owner of as good a 
 boat as floats, you see, an I did n t know but 
 you might like to go back with me and work her 
 a while before taking command on your own 
 account. Your father never seemed to like the 
 
334 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 idea, and I see now it would n t do at all. You 
 ain t that sort of a chap : not but you could do 
 it well enough if there was need to ; but there 
 ain t no need of it, and besides your fitter for 
 something else, there ain t no denying that. 
 Perhaps it s better too. Not but what the com 
 mand of a river boat is a good berth : it s an 
 honorable place and a responsible one, that re 
 quires a sober man and a brave one to fill it as 
 it ought to be filled. You d do it well. I saw 
 that when you gripped that dog the first night I 
 came to the Inn ; but perhaps you can do other 
 things better, and every man ought to do what 
 he can do best, there s no doubt about that. 
 Well, I shan t ever go back to the river again. 
 So it s no use to talk of that." 
 
IN THE NEW JERUSALEM. 
 
 " T DID not feel any serious apprehension in 
 -*- revisiting my old home, though I knew 
 that the act which attended my departure must 
 be regarded by others as the foulest of crimes. 
 I was well aware that no one would believe 
 the story I have told you of my encounter with 
 your father. I had learned that a body was 
 found which, though not conclusively identified, 
 was suspected to have been his ; but I never 
 heard that there was any suspicion that he came 
 to his death by my hand. As no one knew of 
 his coming to the Inn except myself, this no 
 tion was not likely to prevail ; besides, the stage- 
 driver had asserted stoutly that he took your 
 father safe and sound as far as Erie at least. I 
 knew too that time had made great changes in 
 my appearance, and thought it not unlikely that 
 I could spend months here, as I have done, 
 without my identity being suspected. 
 
 " I closed up my business as well as I could, 
 however, thinking it possible I might never re 
 turn. When I reached Cleveland, I became 
 
336 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 possessed of a strange disinclination to coming 
 farther. For the first time I think I felt actually 
 afraid. I was afraid to come near the old place, 
 afraid to meet my parents and the neighbors. 
 My father I knew mourned me as dead ; my 
 mother well, I was afraid to meet her eye. If 
 I had known what she really thought, I would 
 have returned long before merely to clear my 
 name from the suspicion of theft. What do you 
 suppose became of the diamonds ? I have seen 
 diamonds since, and know that is what they 
 were." 
 
 Jackson turned sharply toward Ozro as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " You had better ask Dotty." 
 
 " Dotty ? What does she know about them ? " 
 
 " Your mother hid them, and forgot the place 
 of their concealment ; that is all." 
 
 " Ah, and Dotty found them ? " 
 
 " I found them, or rather the ghost showed 
 them to me." 
 
 " You mean my mother ? " 
 
 Ozro bowed. 
 
 " Poor mother, how she has suffered ! " said 
 Jackson, with a sigh. " But that does not explain 
 Dotty s connection with the jewels." 
 
 " I gave them to her." 
 
JJV THE NEW JERUSALEM. 337 
 
 "You did! Do you know what they are 
 worth ? " 
 
 " No it does n t matter." 
 
 " Not if she marries Dewstowe ? " 
 
 No," decidedly. 
 
 " That s not like your father, sir," said Jack 
 son, reproachfully. " Or rather," he added in a 
 softer tone, " it is like your mother. There are 
 not many men who give without taking note of 
 the value of the gift." 
 
 " I wish it were more," huskily, 
 
 " Even all that he hath, responded Jackson, 
 meditatively. 
 
 "Why not," said Ozro, passionately, "if it will 
 give her pleasure ? " 
 
 " Strange, strange ! " said the elder man half 
 to himself ; " there is a love that gives by rule 
 and measure, and demands a strict account ; 
 and another that gives without asking, and de 
 mands nothing in return. Yes, you are right. 
 Though love may be sometimes cruel, that which 
 esteems another s happiness above self is not 
 likely to go far wrong. But don t be rash, my 
 son, don t be rash. Time brings a good many 
 things to a man who has nerve enough to wait 
 for them. 
 
 "But to return to my story," he continued, 
 
338 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 seeing that Ozro sat moodily looking into the fire 
 and made no reply. " As I said, a great fear took 
 hold upon me at Cleveland. It seemed to possess 
 your father, too. Every time I thought of con 
 tinuing my journey, he would appear to me with 
 that distressed and anxious look I had learned to 
 know so well as the precursor of evil, and flit about 
 before my eyes, hiding everything I looked at. 
 So I stayed there several weeks, doubtful whether 
 I would continue my journey or not. 
 
 About this time there was a good deal be 
 ing said concerning a great Temple the Saints 
 the Mormons as you call them had opened 
 at the town of Kirtland, some forty miles away, 
 where the New Jerusalem of the Latter Day is 
 located, whence the Prophet hath declared sal 
 vation shall flow to the uttermost parts of the 
 earth. There was much curiosity about this 
 Temple, which was said to have double pulpits, 
 great winding stairs, veils of colored silk that 
 stretched from side to side, so rich that the light 
 was mellowed by their hues, and of so frail a 
 texture that when the congregation were hushed 
 in prayer they sometimes showed the waving of 
 Moroni s wings, as he came to whisper in the 
 Prophet s ear the commandment of the Most 
 High. Curiosity was stimulated also by the fact 
 
IN THE NEW JERUSALEM. 339 
 
 that this Temple was proclaimed to have been 
 built under the direct advisement and oversight 
 of the Almighty. Indeed, it was known to have 
 been erected by the people themselves, few of 
 whom had any special mechanical training, under 
 the immediate supervision of the Prophet, who be 
 sides having no architectural knowledge is with 
 out skill as a draughtsman, and indeed is but an 
 indifferent penman. He gave orders day by day 
 what the workmen should do, without the aid of 
 any plan or trestle-board. Sometimes he grew 
 impatient and would not wait for inspiration, and 
 then the work would have to be taken down and 
 done over again, for the Prophet, though he is 
 the Lord s Anointed, is exceedingly weak, and 
 fleshly pride not seldom checks the holy influence 
 upon his human nature.- Sometimes, the breth 
 ren tell me, there would be nothing done for 
 weeks, or if anything were attempted it would 
 have to be torn down and done over, because the 
 Most High was angry at the Prophet s pride. 
 Then the congregation would be assembled and 
 continue in prayer until the rush of Moroni s 
 pinions was felt, and they knew that God and 
 their Prophet were reconciled. 
 
 " This building, thus divinely planned like 
 the one constructed on Mount Zion was said to 
 
340 BUTTON S INN; 
 
 be unlike anything ever seen on earth, and in the 
 apparent richness of its adornment and splendor 
 of its effects unparalleled by anything known in 
 our Western world since the children of Nephi 
 builded the Temple of Mexitli, which the un 
 believers seized and desecrated to the service of 
 idols, and stained with human blood. It was be 
 cause of this ravishment of the ancient Temple 
 by the wicked and debauched among the priest 
 hood that the new one had no secret passages or 
 covered ways Only silken curtains of royal 
 purple half hid the high-priest as he ascended 
 by the winding stair to the Prophet s seat, and 
 the veil that hid the Holy of Holies where he 
 retired alone to commune with the Most High 
 through His chosen messenger the blessed Mo 
 roni, transformed into an angel of light for his 
 faithfulness at the Hill of Cumnorah, whereby the 
 Holy Book of the Western Continent the New 
 Word which supplements the ancient revelation 
 was preserved for our salvation. There is a 
 curious cave or deep narrow gorge near the site 
 of the Temple, and unbelievers said there was 
 a secret way between this and the Holy Place 
 whereby the Prophet s disappearances were deftly 
 managed to deceive the uninitiated. But though 
 the cave was open to all, and was thronged every 
 
IN THE NEW JERUSALEM. 341 
 
 day by curious visitors who inspected with the 
 utmost minuteness every inch of its interior, no 
 one has ever found the hidden way nor any evi 
 dence of its existence. These and many other 
 marvellous and sometimes absurd stories came 
 to my ears, and I began to lose the good opinion 
 of this people which I had received from Rigdon ; 
 but as the Temple was open to unbelievers only 
 on holy days and public occasions, I readily fell 
 in with the proposal of a traveller who was stop 
 ping at the same inn with me, that we should 
 drive out and stay over a Sabbath at the New 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 "As we journeyed thither, our conversation 
 was that of unbelievers. Neither of us had any 
 faith in the new sect, and both expected to be 
 able to penetrate and expose the deceptions 
 practised on its weak and deluded followers. 
 As we drew near, we were surprised at the 
 sentiments of the people. Some, indeed, spoke 
 with no little fanatical bitterness ; very many 
 reviled the Prophet in malignant terms, but all 
 agreed that his followers were sober, industrious, 
 intelligent, and devoted. They were all native 
 Americans. Almost all of them, we were told, 
 had been good and acceptable members of other 
 churches before they joined the Saints. 
 
342 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " It was Friday night when we reached the 
 little village and stopped at the inn kept by 
 one of the most prominent of the new sect. 
 He was a modest, quiet man, who only smiled 
 at the discourteous banter some of our fellow- 
 travellers indulged in with regard to his faith, 
 and said : Wait and see, gentlemen, and de 
 cide for yourselves. That is the way I did. 
 You have to look after your salvation, and I 
 after mine. So you must take your way, and 
 I will take mine/ 
 
 "The next day we loitered about the town. 
 Our first impressions as to the character of the 
 people were confirmed by all we saw. Whatever 
 might be their religious errors, we were bound 
 to confess that a more peaceable, industrious, and 
 kindly community we had never seen than the few 
 hundred Saints who dwelt at the New Jerusalem. 
 In fact they seemed to be distinguished from 
 the people around them only by unusual sobri 
 ety, industry, and contentedness. I have often 
 thought since that time that the divine guid 
 ance in the establishment of the new belief was 
 in nothing more apparent than in the supreme 
 wisdom which located its New Jerusalem in the 
 very centre of the Western Reserve. In the 
 very midst of a population of almost unmixed 
 
IN THE NEW JERUSALEM. 343 
 
 New England origin, inheriting all their religious 
 intensity, zeal for knowledge, self-reliance, and 
 unsparing inclination to investigate and expose 
 all shams, here the uncultured Prophet who 
 wrote with difficulty and read with ease only 
 with the aid of the miraculous lenses, the Urim 
 and Thummim which translated to his vision all 
 texts and tongues, here, by divine command 
 ment, he pitched the New Jerusalem and laid 
 the foundations of the Temple. The city of the 
 Saints is surrounded by a population of the 
 highest average of intelligence to be found in 
 the world, of the strictest morality, the most 
 universal religiousness, and the most fearless 
 independence. In the three counties which lie 
 nearest, it is said that less than five per cent of 
 the population are of foreign birth ; four fifths 
 of the people are of the purest New England 
 stocks. In many towns the church membership 
 includes the entire adult population. Less than 
 one in a hundred is unable to read and write. 
 From this people the Church of the Latter-Day 
 Saints of Jesus Christ has drawn almost its en 
 tire membership. At this day less than four 
 score of its members are of foreign birth. Only 
 within a twelvemonth have they sent out mis 
 sionaries to enlighten this and other lands. 
 
344 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 "Many of these facts I learned that day, 
 others I learned afterward ; but they fairly rep 
 resent the impression produced by that day s 
 observation. I was favorably inclined toward 
 the new religion because it seemed to make 
 happy homes, peaceful and industrious people. 
 Besides that, it seemed to me that a false reli 
 gion could not live in such a blaze of intelli 
 gence, and that an impostor would not have 
 chosen such a location for the performance 
 of false miracles. I did not meet my cousin 
 Sidney Rigclon, as he was absent in the" work 
 of the Church, for which he has been especially 
 set apart. I was a stranger among a strange 
 people, but I had not felt such a sense of peace 
 and rest since I grappled with your father on the 
 slippery edge of the Gulf/ He too was con 
 tent. When his countenance appeared hover 
 ing over my bed as I dropped asleep that night, 
 it was radiant with approval. Yet little did I 
 imagine how near I was to wonderful events ; 
 nor did I dream that before the morrow s sun 
 had set, my lot would be irrevocably cast in with 
 this little company of Saints, that I would 
 have touched the Prophet s hand and said to 
 him : Whither thou goest I will go; thy people 
 shall be my people, and thy God my God ! 
 
THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET. 
 
 THE Saints had gathered in the Temple and 
 the music of the hidden performers was 
 floating through the solemn shaded spaces when 
 we reached the place of worship the next morn 
 ing. All was calm and silent save for this and 
 the voices that called to each other from the pul 
 pits that stood opposite, each with their four 
 tiers of dignitaries who represented the temporal 
 and spiritual power of the Church. We were 
 given seats near the green veil which hangs 
 midway between these thrones of high-priest 
 and president, either of which the Prophet may 
 occupy, supported by the four-and-twenty Elders 
 and the twelve Apostles in one, and the twelve 
 Councillors and the Presidents of the Seventies 
 when he sits in the other. 
 
 " This organization was not then complete. 
 Of elders and teachers there were enough, but 
 there was a vacant seat in the order of the 
 twelve Apostles, eleven having been chosen by 
 divine direction more than a month before ; but 
 
346 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 as to the twelfth, no revelation had been vouch 
 safed. At this time the people were gathered 
 together in order that special prayer and suppli 
 cation might be made for divine guidance in this 
 matter. The Prophet was in the Holy Place 
 awaiting the result. There was a solemn, but 
 not artistic, chant intoned by the congregation, 
 and then the music died away, the veils were 
 drawn by invisible hands, and the people bowed 
 in prayer. Sitting close to the wall and in the 
 shadow of the veil, the fact that I did not re 
 move my hat had probably not been observed ; 
 at least no objection was made. For myself, I 
 was not aware of it ; the habit had become so 
 firmly fixed that I never thought of departing 
 from it. It was a very solemn scene, the hun 
 dreds of earnest worshippers between the veils 
 separated from other hundreds on the other side, 
 all bowed in fervent whispered petitioning. I 
 watched it a moment, and then bowed my head 
 with the rest. It was many years since I 
 had witnessed any religious ceremony, and this 
 seemed more solemn and impressive than any I 
 had ever beheld. Still the low inarticulate mur 
 mur grew and swelled in the lofty space above 
 the veils. I thought of what I had heard of the 
 coming of Moroni in answer to the prayers of 
 
THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET. 347 
 
 the congregation, and looked up just in time to 
 see a strange tremor of the veils, as if invisi 
 ble wings had indeed swept the air about them. 
 There was, too, a rushing sound as if a wind 
 swept through the Temple ; yet I knew that not 
 a breath was stirring in the sultry air without. 
 
 " Instantly every one of the worshippers seemed 
 to have become aware of these things, and the 
 voice of prayer was spontaneously changed to 
 praise. It was still only a murmur, but it was 
 mingled with sobs and half-uttered ejaculations of 
 praise. Amen ! Hallelujah ! Glory to God ! 
 came from here and there within the veils and 
 beyond the confines of the two between which I 
 was seated. Then the ejaculations grew into a 
 tumultuous murmur; the angel s name and that 
 of the Prophet were mingled with the various 
 appellations of the Most High. It was a solemn 
 scene. I waited, strangely moved. Could it be 
 true ? Had the divine messenger indeed passed 
 over the bowed heads of the believing people ? 
 Had we indeed heard the rustle of seraphic 
 pinions ? I waited in rapt expectation. 
 
 " Suddenly a voice, which seemed strangely 
 remote because of the silken barriers that inter 
 vened, struck the chords of a hymn evidently 
 familiar to the worshippers, though I had never 
 
348 BUTTON S IXN. 
 
 heard it before. The air was simple, yet full of 
 a solemn exaltation. Faith and triumph were 
 blended in the words. Then all arose and sang. 
 Tears and smiles took the place of tears and 
 lamentations. Invisible hands drew the cur 
 tains aside once more. The music of the un 
 seen musicians mingled with the swelling chant. 
 It was an anthem of praise because their prayer 
 had been heard. The angel of the Lord had 
 come, and His people were comforted. Finally 
 the chant ended, and the congregation sat down. 
 All was silent save the breath of trembling ex 
 pectation which fluttered over the throbbing 
 multitude. I do not know how long we waited. 
 Suddenly, as I watched the breathless throng, 
 a sigh of relief passed through it ; every face 
 lighted up, and every eye was fixed on the 
 Prophet s place. 
 
 " I followed the general gaze, and saw the cur 
 tain that veiled the Holy Place tremble as if a 
 hand had passed gropingly along it. Still no 
 one was to be seen. Again it trembled ; then it 
 was parted in twain, and a man came forth with 
 the dim uncertain gaze that characterizes one 
 whose eyes have been blinded by too intense a 
 light. It was the Prophet, clad in the white robe 
 he wore only when he spoke by inspiration. 
 
THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET. 349 
 
 " It was the first time I had ever seen the 
 celebrated founder of the new faith. I do not 
 know what it was that made his presence so im 
 pressive. I have come very near him since then, 
 but have never seen him without feeling that I 
 stood in the presence of a superior being. He 
 was by no means notable for comeliness of form 
 or regularity of feature. Hardly above the aver 
 age height, compact and sinewy, with a look of 
 calm determination on his face, you might pass 
 him a thousand times and not guess that there 
 was anything remarkable about him. If you 
 chanced to note his eyes they would hold you ; 
 or his smile, that would attract. Here was no 
 parade, no glamour, just a man clad in a 
 white robe, standing in the bright light of day 
 before a thousand people. Yet I had never been 
 so hushed and awed by human presence. Before 
 he had spoken a word my heart said : This man 
 is a Prophet. He may be uncultured, erring, 
 human, but he is sent of God. 
 
 " He stood looking over the hushed assem 
 blage for a moment like one who knows not what 
 he wishes to say. The place where he stood 
 was not like a pulpit, though it was the apex 
 of the narrowing circles of seats on which the 
 spiritual dignitaries sat. There was no desk, no 
 
350 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 book, no cushion. It was just a little circular 
 space in which he stood alone, as if cut off from 
 all the rest of the world. The silken curtain 
 that hung from the low railing about it was of 
 dark green, like that which shaded the entrance 
 to the Holy Place from which he came. The 
 eleven Apostles and the four-and-twenty Elders 
 turned in their places and looked up at him 
 anxiously. All these simple things made a 
 peculiar impression on me. 
 
 " There is nothing stately or magnificent 
 about the Temple, nothing ornate or artistically 
 remarkable, but I doubt if such notable effects 
 were ever produced by such simple means. The 
 Lord knew the poverty of -his Saints, and showed 
 the Prophet how he might be most acceptably 
 worshipped without extravagant expenditure. 
 The Prophet had not the treasured wealth of 
 Israel at his beck, nor the kings of the earth to 
 send presents of gold and silver and precious 
 stones for the adornment of the holy edifice ; 
 but I question if even Solomon s priceless Tem 
 ple brought a more worshipful mood, or induced 
 a more solemn and ecstatic frame of mind in 
 those who entered its hallowed precincts. I 
 doubt if the Temple at Kirtland will hold a 
 thousand people, I am sure it will not seat 
 
THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET. 351 
 
 that number ; but many stood and many more 
 sat in the sloping aisles, and, I do not know 
 why it was, why it is, for it is a daily miracle, 
 but it always seems to me that the congregation 
 which gathers there is an innumerable multitude. 
 Perhaps it is because there are never any vacant 
 places, and the light falls only on the pulpits at 
 the end, while the tinted veils increase the solemn 
 shadow in which the congregation sit. 
 
 " It was a long time before the Prophet spoke. 
 I had expected to find him loud-voiced and posi 
 tive, an impostor who bore down unbelief by 
 sheer force of assertion and persistence of itera 
 tion. I had expected to find readiness of speech, 
 vigor of declamation, and vehemence of gesture. 
 None of these things appeared. He stood look 
 ing over the audience with strange indecision, 
 one hand resting quietly upon a post of the 
 railing before him, while the other plucked ab 
 sently, rather than nervously, at the curtain 
 which depended from it. Self-distrust, almost 
 humiliation, rather than self-confidence charac 
 terized his manner. He seemed like one com 
 pelled to utter words he did not wish to speak. 
 Strongly as my curiosity was aroused, I could 
 not restrain a feeling of pity for one so evidently 
 compelled to do violence to his own desires. 
 
352 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " His voice, though firm and resonant, had a 
 peculiar sympathetic character that touched the 
 heart, silenced doubt, and quite effaced all con 
 sideration of the speaker. He had not uttered 
 a dozen words before I had forgotten that this 
 man was Joseph Smith the Mormon, of whom I 
 had heard so much, and only wondered what he 
 was going to say, what was the message he 
 was about to deliver. 
 
 " Saints, elders, and apostles ! said the 
 Prophet. The form of address startled me, not 
 so much by the terms used as by the order in 
 which they were arranged. I had not been a 
 very good boy, but there was one thing I was 
 forced to learn very thoroughly in my youth, 
 the New Testament. There are few chapters 
 of it that I have not, at one time or another, 
 committed to memory as an appointed task ; and 
 if I had seen little of the Holy Word for years, 
 I was still familiar with its language. It struck 
 me that this putting of the body of believers 
 before the select official few was a thing un 
 heard of since the time when Paul had written, 
 To all the saints in Jesus Christ, with the 
 bishops and deacons. It was a little thing, 
 perhaps, but it made a deep impression on my 
 mind. 
 
THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET. 353 
 
 " Brethren, continued the Prophet, humbly, 
 the Lord hath made known His will concerning 
 that matter which we have in hand, and him that 
 shall be chosen. In ancient times we know that 
 the place made vacant in "the ministry and 
 apostleship from which Judas by transgression 
 fell " was filled by lot from among those chosen 
 by the congregation of saints. When eleven 
 had been chosen to the new apostleship by di 
 rection of the Spirit and without dissent among 
 the congregation, we were for a time left without 
 guidance, and it was proposed that the ancient 
 method be adopted, and names were accordingly 
 selected for that purpose. It was for direction 
 in this matter that we gathered here for prayer 
 to-day. In answer to your supplications it is 
 vouchsafed to me to deliver this message from 
 the Most High:- 
 
 " Behold, I have given commandment to my 
 angel Moroni, that he shall say to the Prophet 
 of the Lord, who shall repeat it to my people : 
 Trouble not yourselves about the choice of my 
 servants. Behold I the Lord know in what 
 manner to select my ministers, and who they 
 shall be. All these things I have foreknown 
 from the beginning. And behold there sitteth 
 among you at this time one who is not of you, 
 23 
 
354 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 yet he shall be my apostle, the minister and 
 witness of my truth. Behold he knoweth it not, 
 nor doth his heart incline unto my ways ; but I 
 have brought him through darkness and tribu 
 lation, that he may glorify my name. I have 
 made him to sin deeply and love weakly. There 
 is blood upon his hands. He hath wronged the 
 widow and the fatherless. Yet he shall be my 
 witness. He shall make atonement for wrong, 
 and offer his blood in expiation even as I shall 
 command. Behold, I have put my mark upon 
 him and preserved him many days for this 
 thing, that he shall enhance my glory, make 
 unbelievers ashamed, and win for himself a great 
 name, even like unto that Stephen who first of 
 all gave his life for my sake. 
 
 " Behold now he sitteth in the sanctuary, 
 exclaimed the Prophet, with a fervor he had not 
 before shown, while his eyes seemed to burn into 
 my heart and read my inmost thought. He 
 heareth the voice of my Prophet, and knoweth 
 the truth of his word. He weareth another s 
 name, and hath fled from the face of his kin 
 dred. But I have set my mark upon him, 
 even in the hair of his head have I set 
 my mark, and I will claim him for my own. 
 There is none here that knoweth his face, but 
 
THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET. 355 
 
 I the Lord know it, also all his words and 
 ways ! 
 
 " When he cometh to join himself with my 
 people, he shall fill the vacant place and do all 
 that I shall command him. Behold now he sit- 
 teth covered as to his head in the congregation 
 of the Saints. So also shall he alone sit cov 
 ered in the seat of the apostle, because I have 
 put my mark upon him, and he shall remain 
 covered, to hide it from the sight of men, until 
 he shall exchange it for a crown of everlasting 
 glory ! 
 
 " The Prophet paused. Every one turned and 
 looked at me. I felt myself the centre of all the 
 eyes of that seemingly unnumbered host ; but 
 I looked not to the right or left. Amazed as I 
 was at the word to which I had listened, I was 
 determined to give no sign. Even if the Prophet 
 had not known of whom he spoke, the eyes of the 
 congregation would have pointed me out to him. 
 He gazed at me sharply for a while, and said : 
 
 " The angel hath given me the name of him 
 that shall be the twelfth apostle, but I know it 
 not. 
 
 " He held up a small piece of paper as he 
 spoke, and after looking keenly at it, shook his 
 head and continued : 
 
356 BUTTON S SAW. 
 
 " 1 1 do not know it ; I never saw it before. 
 Nevertheless it shall be enrolled as the twelfth, 
 and from this day the order of the apostleship 
 shall be accounted full. 
 
 " The Prophet handed the paper to one who 
 sat in the circle beneath him. It was passed 
 from hand to hand. Each read it and shook his 
 head. The services were soon over. 
 
 " That night I went to the Prophet s house, 
 where, in the language of Scripture, He told me 
 all that ever I did. As soon as the necessary 
 formalities could be arranged, I took the seat 
 reserved for me on the left of the circle of the 
 apostles. Because of this I am here to confess 
 my sin, to make reparation so far as I can, and 
 to offer the atonement that both the law and 
 our holy faith demand.." 
 
UNEXPECTED RESULTS. 
 
 MR. BUTTON/ said Ozro, breaking in 
 upon the narrative. 
 
 " No, no ! " said the other, protestingly, " not 
 Button. I have saved my parents name, at all 
 events. That is what the lawyers tell me. My 
 name is Abner Jackson, by special enactment of 
 the Legislature of Mississippi ; and by that name 
 alone can I be indicted, tried, and hanged. I m 
 sorry for Ma, and for Pa too [Ozro noticed that 
 he pronounced the words with the same curious 
 modulation that Dotty used], for he is a proud 
 man in his way, Pa is, and perhaps, all things 
 considered, has about as much reason for being 
 proud as most mortals. I ve noticed," he added 
 with grim humor, "that it don t take much to 
 support a pretty rank growth of pride ; and 
 though I have found strength to obey the Lord s 
 will thus far, yet I want to atone for my fault 
 under a borrowed name. Remember that, Ozro," 
 he added solemnly, " when you deliver me to the 
 judge, and the judge delivers me to the officer, 
 and my atonement is made complete." 
 
358 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 He raised his eyes and moved his lips as if in 
 prayer. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Jackson then, if you will have it 
 so," said Ozro. " I hope I need not tell you 
 that your sad story has awakened my profound- 
 est sympathies ; that goes without saying. It 
 is a pity that the facts with regard to the whole 
 matter could not have been known before. It 
 would have saved much misery." 
 
 " The Lord knows what is best for his chil 
 dren," was the submissive answer. "It might 
 have made much more instead." 
 
 " True, true," said Ozro, thoughtfully ; " at 
 least we have the consolation of thinking that 
 the end is near." 
 
 "Very near," said the other. "There remains 
 little more for me to do." 
 
 " I did not mean that," said Ozro. " Like my 
 mother, I believe every word you say. I only 
 ipeant that we are near the end of mystery." 
 
 " Of course," said Jackson, dully, " of course." 
 
 " I want to say, too," said Ozro, rising and 
 going to the window to hide his emotion, " that 
 while I do not doubt that her death was due to 
 your conduct, I do not think you intended any 
 wrong, and your penitence has fully atoned for 
 your fault." 
 
UNEXPECTED RESULTS. 359 
 
 " I am very grateful," said the other, quietly. 
 " I Ve done my best." 
 
 Looking up the hillside, Ozro marked the spot 
 where his mother lay buried. 
 
 " Poor mother ! " he said to himself, while he 
 forgave as she had forgiven. 
 
 " As to my father " 
 
 " Don t say anything about that, Ozro, if you 
 please. That is n t your matter ; the law must 
 settle that. I am not answerable to you for 
 your father s death ; but so far as I may, I hold 
 myself bound to make good to you such pecuni 
 ary loss as you have suffered thereby." 
 
 " I do not want it, I do not need it," said 
 Ozro, hastily. 
 
 " But you will not refuse ? " interposed the 
 other, anxiously. " You don t know how my 
 heart is set on it. It is not only paying for the 
 harm I ve done, but because I ve come to think 
 so much of you, too. You are her child and /ris, 
 and in all these years I ve been drawing near 
 to both of them. It s a fact, Ozro," he said, 
 coming to the young man s side, as if he would 
 have put his hand upon his shoulder, but re 
 fraining from doing so with an effort, " it s 
 a fact, you feel nearer to me than my own 
 kin ; because I have thought of you so much, 
 
360 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 I suppose. I m sure your mother would 
 approve." 
 
 " I can t talk about it," said Ozro, excitedly. 
 
 " I see, I see," said Jackson, mournfully, shak 
 ing his head, as he went back and leaned against 
 the mantle. " It is the memory of your father. 
 You think it is blood-money, a payment which 
 the murderer makes to buy forgiveness for his 
 crime. You can t understand that he has worked 
 with me and helped me to get this property. 
 You think it is stained with his blood, and don t 
 realize that it s his money, the better part of 
 it at least, for I am not entitled to any more than 
 an agent s share." 
 
 " Mr. Jackson," said Ozro, turning quickly 
 and going toward him, " I have no such" feeling. 
 Your self-condemnation has led you to imagine 
 what does not exist. Will you please read that ? " 
 
 He opened the letter he had that morning 
 received, handed the other an enclosure yellow 
 with age, on which the stiff bold handwriting 
 stood out with that sallow vividness which makes 
 an old manuscript suggest the dead hand that 
 traced its lines. 
 
 Jackson took it, wonderingly ; read it with 
 that care which the habits of his later life had 
 engendered, moving his lips as he perused the 
 
UNEXPECTED RESULTS. 361 
 
 words, until he reached the signature. Then 
 be turned back to the date and looked up at 
 Ozro in evident bewilderment. 
 
 "Eighteen twenty -four! What does it 
 mean ? " he gasped hoarsely, while his hand 
 shook so that the paper rattled in his grasp. 
 
 " I received it this morning from Smith & 
 Truman." 
 
 " Smith & Truman ! His bankers ! Eighteen 
 twenty-four ! Thank God ! Thank God ! " 
 
 The man fell upon his knees, the tears cours 
 ing down his cheeks, and burst out in impas 
 sioned prayer. Ozro stooped and picked up the 
 paper the other had let fall, and stole quietly 
 from the room. He was both dazed and horrified 
 at what he had heard. It had changed the whole 
 theory of his past. He felt as if he had been 
 suddenly restored to his mother s arms, his 
 mother, whom he had hardly dared to love. 
 The Inn was now hateful to him. There was 
 something terrible in the misfortunes attending 
 his presence under its roof. He had forgiven, 
 but all sense of gratitude was blotted out. He 
 was sick of the terrible tragedy to the details 
 of which he had listened. Only the memory of 
 his mother, sweet and beautiful, remained. As 
 to his father, if there was one whom he had 
 
362 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 not forgiven, it was the father who had sus 
 pected, accused, and cast off his mother. Yet 
 at that very moment that father s nature was 
 dominant in his own. He had put away all 
 thought of Dotty : for him she seemed hardly 
 to exist. He could not pluck her out of his 
 heart, he did not wish to do that, but he had 
 irrevocably decided that she was to live hence 
 forth for another, and he did not wish to see or 
 know anything of that life. He felt no anger, 
 hardly blame, indeed, but he wished to avoid 
 remembrance of her. He would go to his 
 mother s grave, he must go there now, and 
 then turn his back on the old life and all its sad 
 memories. 
 
 Yes, he would go to the grave. He thought 
 of it at that moment, buried under the snow, 
 the dark hemlocks bending over it protectingly, 
 the great bowlder lying beside it, this place 
 which had been his playground in youth, and 
 the trysting-place of his love afterward. Here 
 he had dreamed his dreams, planned his under 
 takings, and mapped out his future. He had a 
 superstitious notion, too, that his mother was 
 nearer to him here than elsewhere, and he 
 loved to think of her as taking an interest in 
 his welfare and watching over his fortunes. 
 
UNEXPECTED RESULTS. 363 
 
 As he started out he met the landlord on 
 the porch, and wondered if this man would be 
 glad or sorry to know of his departure. He 
 saw Louise laying the table for the Christmas 
 dinner as he passed the window, and wondered 
 who would prepare the light ash-wood for the 
 great Dutch oven, in which the weekly baking 
 was done, when he should be gone. As he 
 passed the woodshed, he noticed the abundant 
 store of this household convenience piled within; 
 he thought there was enough to last all winter. 
 Louise had swept a path to the oven, and the 
 ashes scattered on the snow showed that it 
 was in use. He knew that a wild turkey he had 
 shot a few days before was slowly roasting in the 
 great brick arch, flanked by many another dish 
 that would grace the mid-afternoon meal of the 
 Christmas day. Dotty should have laid the 
 table, but she was in such haste to go with 
 Dewstowe that for once she had left it for 
 Louise. He smiled bitterly as he thought of 
 this. Reaching the well, he lowered the bucket 
 hanging on the sweep, dipped it skilfully and 
 brought it steaming to the curb. He balanced 
 the bucket on the edge of the curb, stooped and 
 drank from the brim. As he went on up the 
 hill he was surprised to find that some one had 
 
364 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 been before him. Tracks led to the very edge 
 of the " Gulf." Beneath the drooping limbs of 
 the hemlock there were two deep impressions 
 in the snow. Some one that very morning had 
 been kneeling by his mother s grave. With the 
 stranger s story fresh in his mind, Ozro did not 
 question, as he sank down in the snow under 
 the shelter of the dense green boughs, who it 
 was that had been there before him. 
 
A FUTILE QUEST. 
 
 TT^OTTY, in her hasty search for Ozro, the 
 result of which she had reported to 
 Dewstowe, had not thought of seeking him in 
 Mr. Jackson s room. In spite of his long stay 
 at the Inn and his familiarity with its inmates, 
 Mr. Jackson had been quite a recluse in his 
 own apartment. The door of his room was al 
 most always shut, and his voice was so often 
 heard in continuous monologue that it was be 
 lieved he spent much of his time, when thus 
 secluded, in prayer. This fact made his privacy 
 all the more complete, since none would think 
 of intruding on his devotions. To her mother, 
 just waking to consciousness, everything was 
 " blotted out " by the one idea that her son 
 was alive. Louise, the domestic, could not re 
 member that she had seen Ozro since Dotty 
 and Dewstowe drove away. In reply to the 
 inquiry which Dotty made in the public-room, 
 her father said jocosely, 
 
 " La, no ; I hain t seen the creetur sence 
 mornin . Like s any way he s bout the barn 
 
366 BUTTON S TNN. 
 
 somewheres. He ain t upstairs," he added, as 
 Dotty went toward the doorway, " cause the 
 ghost has been there, and everybody in the 
 house has been runnin up and down stairs this 
 two hours. Come by daylight this time ; I 
 seed it as plain s I see you. An- who do you 
 suppose it is ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have n t time to talk about the ghost," 
 said Dotty, petulantly, " I want Ozro." 
 
 "But t ain t no ghost at all, girl," said her 
 father, gleefully, interposing between her and 
 the door by which she was retreating ; " it s 
 your Ma, Dotty nobody but your Ma ! " 
 
 " Suppose it is," said the girl, angrily, " could 
 n t you have kept still about it, and not made 
 her the talk of the neighborhood ? Poor M ! 
 she ain t to blame," she added, biting her lip, 
 and trying in vain to choke back the tears. 
 
 " More she ain t," said the landlord, in sur 
 prise at the absence of any astonishment on 
 Dotty s part, " more she ain t, an nobody 
 thought of blamin her. Of course I was glad 
 to know there was n t any ghost after all ; an the 
 doctor here," pointing to a young man in the 
 company, " he s been in to see her sence, an 
 he says it s a case of of what d ye call it ? " 
 he asked, turning to the young man, a recently 
 
A FUTILE QUEST. 367 
 
 graduated medical student, who was making his 
 way westward toward the fortune that awaited 
 all. 
 
 "Epilepsy," answered the physician, posi 
 tively, but with a blush, as Dotty turned her 
 frightened gaze upon him. " A singular case, 
 too, but not necessarily alarming. It is a 
 strange disease ; nobody can ever tell its course 
 or guess its end with any certainty. We call it 
 structural in character, but I think it is some 
 times functional, indeed, it must be," he 
 added, as if repelling a doubt. " Coming so 
 late in life, there is little danger to be appre 
 hended, especially as it seems to be irregular 
 in its manifestations. How long has it been 
 since the last attack ? " he asked of Dotty. 
 
 " Not so very long," said the landlord, answer 
 ing for her, " but it had been a good while 
 years, in fact since the one before that." 
 
 "And the recent attacks were apparently 
 brought on by the recurrence to the same sub 
 ject, the original exciting cause, I mean ? " 
 
 "That s it that s jest it," said the landlord. 
 " The young man s jest come twenty-one, you 
 see, an that has brought the old matter up, so t 
 he is likely to make as much trouble at the Inn 
 as his mother did afore him." 
 
368 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " But where is he ? " inquired Dotty, recalled 
 to the object of her search by this allusion. 
 
 " Did n t I tell you I don t know nothin* 
 bout him ? " answered her father, irritably. 
 " Rot me, if I don t hope he 11 clear out, an 
 the sooner the better ! Did n t he say he was 
 goin to-morrow? Well, I hope he ll jest date 
 his notion one day ahead, that s all. Not that 
 I ve anything ag in him, but it s bad luck to 
 have him round. All this trouble with yer Ma 
 has been on his account." 
 
 " If the exciting cause were removed " 
 began the young physician, thoughtfully. The 
 case interested him, and he could not help 
 speculating about it. 
 
 "That s it that s jest it," interrupted the 
 landlord. " He s got to leave whether he will 
 or no, and I m goin to tell her so." 
 
 " That would be very indiscreet," said the 
 medical man, hastily. " She should never be 
 reminded of anything connected with the past 
 which caused her trouble." 
 
 " There ain t no help for it, then," said the 
 landlord. " It s got to be part of our lives, jest 
 as much as if it had been born in us. We ve 
 got rid of the ghost, but I don t see but the 
 trouble it made is goin to stay right on." 
 
A FUTILE QUEST. 369 
 
 He shook his head hopelessly as he turned 
 toward his chair and sat down. 
 
 " See here, Pa," said Dotty, coaxingly, " don t 
 you be troubled. Don t you get down-hearted, 
 now the worst is over." 
 
 " But the worst ain t over," said he, petulantly. 
 " What is the worst ? Why, it s what come be 
 tween me an Lucy, ain t it ? Only think," he 
 added with a shudder, " I might have killed her! 
 It s a mercy I did n t and now I can t even 
 ask her pardon from fear of bringin it all up 
 ag in." 
 
 " Oh/ said Dotty, lightly, " as soon as I can 
 find Ozro, we 11 make it all right with Ma. I 
 wonder where he can be ? " she added anxiously. 
 
 " Jest as like as not he s taken himself off 
 the same way his mother did," said the landlord, 
 grimly. 
 
 "Why, Pa!" exclaimed Dotty, white to the 
 lips at this confirmation of her unexpressed 
 fear. She hurried out and made her tearful re 
 port to Dewstowe, who was waiting impatiently 
 on the porch. His suggestion comforted, almost 
 as much as his ready acceptance of her fear 
 alarmed, her. She had confidence in his sa 
 gacity, and looked up at him with hope as well 
 as gratitude in her glance. 
 24 
 
3/0 B UTTON S INN. 
 
 "Don t cry," he said cheerfully, "we shall 
 probably laugh at our fear before we get through 
 with our search. There is nothing to fear." 
 
 There really was not ; but the belief in the 
 inheritable character of the suicidal mania is 
 so universal that both had leaped to the con 
 clusion that Ozro was especially liable to an 
 attack thereof. 
 
 Dotty went to Mr. Jackson s room and 
 knocked. There was no answer. After one or 
 two attempts to attract attention, she opened the 
 door and peeped cautiously in. The stranger 
 was kneeling by his chair, his eyes closed, and 
 his lips moving rapidly, though no sound issued 
 from them. She waited a moment, coughed, 
 spoke his name, but receiving no response, 
 entered hesitantly, and touched him on the 
 shoulder. His eyes opened and he seemed to 
 look at her, but his lips still moved as if his 
 prayer went on. 
 
 " Do you know where Ozro is ? " she asked 
 apologetically. 
 
 "Ozro?" he repeated confusedly. "No 
 yes ; he was here a few moments ago." He 
 rose from his knees as he spoke. " It might 
 have been a half hour or such a matter," he 
 added, looking at his watch. 
 
A FUTILE QUEST. 371 
 
 Dotty rolled her handkerchief into a wad, 
 pulling it over her thumb unconsciously. 
 
 " We can t find him anywhere ! " 
 
 The man was alert now. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Dewstowe ? r he asked, picking 
 up his hat. " I will see him. Don t be alarmed," 
 he added, as he went out hurriedly. 
 
 Dotty crossed to the window and pressed her 
 handkerchief to her eyes with both hands. She 
 kept saying to herself that she would not weep, 
 and then wept all the harder. At length she 
 began to dry her eyes and repress her sobs. 
 She heard Louise in the next room, and did not 
 wish to let her agitation be known. What was 
 she troubled about, anyhow ? Why should she 
 be alarmed ? It was little compliment to Ozro 
 that she should distrust him so readily. She 
 put her handkerchief in her pocket, and looked 
 out of the window, bravely resolved to have no 
 more fear. The window faced the slope of the 
 hill back of the Inn. She started suddenly, 
 and, leaning forward, looked eagerly at the 
 white hillside. An exclamation of fear and 
 surprise came from her lips. She hurried out 
 of the room and started up the hill. 
 
 " Well, I declare ! " said the serving-woman, as 
 she paused at her work and saw Dotty taking 
 
372 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 the snowy track up the hillside. " What has 
 got into the girl ? " 
 
 " Oh, Ozro ! " 
 
 Dotty had climbed the hill and followed the 
 track around the end of the hemlock screen that 
 fell over the grave, and found the object of her 
 search leaning against the great bowlder, gazing 
 abstractedly at the snowy mound before him. 
 He started at her words, and she threw herself 
 sobbing upon his neck. 
 
 " Why, Dotty, what is the matter ? " he asked, 
 in astonishment 
 
 She answered with tears and sobs and half- 
 incoherent words. 
 
 " Forgive me, Ozro forgive me ! I I 
 did n t mean to be to be ; 
 
 Words and sobs were so commingled that he 
 could understand nothing except that she was 
 uttering some remorseful self-accusation. What 
 did it mean ? Was she begging him to forgive 
 her for having accepted Dewstowe ? He could 
 think of nothing else, and so shaped his consola 
 tion on this hypothesis. She was still his old 
 playmate. He loved her no less than before, 
 though, of course, he must not show his love 
 now. He spoke in soothing careless tones, 
 though all the while he was straining her to 
 
A FUTILE QUEST. 373 
 
 his breast with a clasp that told his love better 
 than words could. She hardly heard his words, 
 but the pressure reassured her. She had found 
 alive the lover whom she feared was dead. She 
 tried to repress her sobs, but it was a long time 
 before she succeeded. All the while Ozro was 
 talking in a low soothing tone, as if he held an 
 excited child. 
 
 "There, there, dear," Dotty heard him say, 
 " I don t doubt you have done what was 
 best. He s a good man, and and I have 
 no doubt he will will make you a good 
 husband." 
 
 " A good husband ! Who ? " she asked, look 
 ing up in surprise. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Dewstowe, of course ! " 
 
 " Mr. Dewstowe ! " indignantly exclaimed 
 Dotty, breaking away from his embrace. Her 
 eyes flashed angrily through her tears, and 
 her heavy brows were drawn down threat 
 eningly above them. " Well, he 11 have to 
 wait a good while first. That s all I ve got 
 to say ! " 
 
 " Wait why ? " he said in a dazed wonder 
 ing way. He had settled the whole matter in 
 his mind, and could not doubt the conclusion at 
 which he had arrived. 
 
3/4 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Why ? " she repeated angrily, stamping her 
 foot in the snow. " Because I m going to marry 
 you first numbskull ! " 
 
 Ozro stood an instant stupefied with amaze 
 ment. Then he staggered toward her, with 
 arms outstretched, only to meet a box on the 
 ear and hear a rippling laugh, as Dotty fled 
 down the hill toward the house. She turned 
 before she had gone a dozen steps, and looked 
 back for the expected pursuit. 
 
 She saw Ozro, with his hat off, kneeling in 
 the snow under the hemlocks by his mother s 
 grave. She stood a moment irresolute, and 
 then walked soberly on to the house. As she 
 came out on the porch, Dewstowe and Jackson 
 were just driving out of the barn. 
 
 " I have found him ! " she called out to them. 
 There was no mistaking the contentment in her 
 tone. 
 
 " Dear me!" said Dewstowe, with well-assumed 
 ruefulness, as he reined the horses about and 
 drove back upon the barn-floor, " my hopes are 
 dashed again ! Luck must be against me ! " 
 
 "Well, come in with me," said Jackson, glee- 
 , fully, " and let s see if we can t change it." 
 
AWAKENED JUSTICE. 
 
 WHEN Dewstowe and Jackson entered the 
 house they went directly to the room 
 of the latter, where they talked in low earnest 
 tones, while Louise laid the table in the room 
 without. Presently Dotty came and helped 
 her. She might have heard what they said, for 
 strangely enough the door was open. She won 
 dered what they were talking about thac caused 
 Dewstowe to walk back and forth across the 
 room, with his head fallen forward on his breast, 
 unconscious of her presence even when he passed 
 the open door. 
 
 Ozro went to the barn and busied himself with 
 the noonday chores. A light cutter drove up 
 from the direction of the village. In it were 
 the sheriff of the county and the attorney whom 
 Ozro had employed to secure his patents. They 
 stopped at the door of the barn and exchanged 
 civilities with Ozro. 
 
 " Won t you go in and warm, gentlemen ? 
 Dinner will be ready soon." 
 
 " We wish to see you a little while," said the 
 attorney, with some embarrassment of manner. 
 
3/6 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " About your patents, Mr. Evans/ said the 
 sheriff, with bluff readiness. " I suppose you ve 
 got time to show em. It seems they re making 
 some noise in the world." 
 
 The men got out of the sleigh, stamped their 
 feet on the barn-floor to start the circulation, and 
 then both helped Ozro to unhitch the horse. 
 
 " No use to unharness him. We shall have 
 to return presently," said the owner. 
 
 " Not until after dinner ? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps. Just throw a blanket over 
 him, and he will be all right." 
 
 Ozro put the horse in the stall and fed him. 
 Then all three went into the house. The land 
 lord welcomed them heartily, and set a black 
 bottle before them, with glasses and a steaming 
 jug of water. They sat close to the fire that 
 had driven the others back with its heat, their 
 faces growing red while they held up the soles 
 of their boots to the blaze, resting the heel of 
 one on the toe of the other and screening their 
 faces with their hands. The sheriff talked in 
 an off-hand, hearty way, now and then scanning 
 sharply the company in the room. Presently 
 he rose and said, 
 
 " Well, Evans, let us have a look at those 
 machines. We have n t much time." 
 
AWAKENED JUSTICE. 377 
 
 The landlord urged them to remain to dinner, 
 and they consented. Ozro led the way up the 
 stairs. The sheriff came last, and carefully 
 closed the door behind him. The fire had 
 burned low in the room above. Ozro piled the 
 brands together and put on more wood. Then 
 he showed and explained the machines, the vis 
 itors in the mean time watching him more than 
 his handiwork. 
 
 " They appear to do the work they were in 
 tended for/ said the sheriff, finally. " It seems 
 they Ve heard of them down to York a ready. 
 I hope you will make a good spec out of them; 
 but you 11 have to be sharp, keep your eyes 
 open and get the value of your work, that s 
 the way. Such a thing depends as much on 
 how it s handled as on what it s really worth." 
 
 " Yes," said the attorney, to whom these words 
 were evidently a cue. " I got a letter the other 
 day from some New York bankers making a 
 good many inquiries about you ; said they had 
 seen notice of a patent issued to you, and were 
 anxious to learn all they could about you. 
 There it is," he continued, handing Ozro a 
 letter. " No doubt they 11 make you an offer, 
 perhaps send an agent to trade with you. I 
 would n t say anything about the letter if I 
 
378 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 were you. To keep from telling what you know 
 is half the battle sometimes." 
 
 The letter was signed " Smith & Truman." 
 
 " Looks promising, don t it ? " said the sheriff, 
 encouragingly, after Ozro had finished its perusal. 
 
 Ozro smiled, and asked if he could retain the 
 letter. The attorney assented. 
 
 The sheriff looked curiously about the room. 
 
 " This is the room your mother died in, isn t 
 it, Evans ? " 
 
 Ozro nodded assent. 
 
 " Thought so. I was a boy then, but came to 
 the inquest. How long ago was it ? " 
 
 " Eighteen years." 
 
 " Bout this time of year, too, wasn t it? I 
 remember it was awful cold." 
 
 " She died on Christmas Eve." 
 
 " So ? Thought I was not mistaken," with 
 an expressive glance at the lawyer. " This is 
 the ghost-room, then ? " 
 
 Ozro smiled. 
 
 " That story did not keep you out ? " 
 
 " Nor the ghost either." 
 
 " I suppose not : too ethereal to frighten 
 you?" 
 
 " No, substantial enough. Gentlemen, I may 
 as well put an end to all that tale of ghostli- 
 
AWAKENED JUSTICE. 379 
 
 ness. For some months I have known what 
 has been revealed to many to-day, that the 
 ghost was only a poor woman whose brain was 
 shattered by my mother s sad fate." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " I mean one who has been all that a mother 
 could be to me ; who, believing her husband 
 a criminal, shielded his name from suspicion, 
 while doing all in her power to make reparation 
 for his supposed offence." 
 
 " But, how ? I thought the only entrance to 
 this room had been nailed up for years." 
 
 Ozro went to his work-bench, took up a small 
 iron hook with a cross handle, and returning, 
 stooped over and lifted up the trap-door. The 
 others approached and peered down into the 
 closet below. 
 
 " Clambers up the shelves ? " asked the officer. 
 
 Ozro bowed. 
 
 " When ? " asked the other, sharply. 
 
 " When she is asleep unconscious living 
 over again a time of terror." 
 
 "I see. Well, shut it up. I don t like to 
 look at it makes one s flesh crawl. Who have 
 you got at the Inn, now ? " carelessly turning 
 away. 
 
 " Several strangers staying over Christmas." 
 
380 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Doing a little better of late, is n t it ? " 
 
 " Yes, or rather not quite so bad." 
 
 " The mortgage has been paid off, I hear." 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 
 " Did n t know it, eh ? " 
 
 Ozro shook his head. 
 
 "Yes, released, or conveyed rather, to Mrs. 
 Button," said the lawyer. 
 
 " Anybody else here ? " asked the sheriff. 
 
 " Yes ; there is Mr. Jackson," said Ozro, 
 hesitating at the name. 
 
 " Mr. Jackson ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Abner Jackson," answered Ozro, flush 
 ing at the inquiry. " You know him." 
 
 "Tall, black fellow, with hair all over his 
 face?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How long has he been here ? " 
 
 " About four months." 
 
 " What s his business ? " 
 
 " I don t know," said Ozro, smiling; " He 
 says he s doing the Lord s work." 
 
 " Does ? Awful pious, is n t he ? " 
 
 " I suppose you would say so." 
 
 " Now, see here, Evans," said the officer, 
 shaking off his assumption of indifference, " do 
 you know who this man is ? I don t want to 
 
A WA KENED JUS TICE. 3 8 1 
 
 do anything to trouble you or old man But 
 ton, either, unnecessarily. I brought Harmon 
 with me because he is your friend, and your 
 attorney too. Now, I 11 show you what brought 
 me, and he can advise you and anybody else 
 that needs advice." 
 
 The sheriff thereupon drew some papers 
 from his pocket, and taking two frpm the bun 
 dle handed them to Ozro. 
 
 " There are two letters I have lately received. 
 Just read them, if you please. One came from 
 here last night, you see." 
 
 The first that Ozro opened was written in a 
 heavy uncultured hand, with peculiar and glar 
 ing errors, yet not without a certain sense of 
 force behind it, which often characterizes the 
 chirography of persons of strong but untrained 
 minds. It was directed to the sheriff, and 
 read : 
 
 RESPECTED SIR, Knowing that you must desire 
 to perform your official duty in good faith, I have the 
 honor to inform you that a man who committed a 
 murder in your county eighteen years ago will be at 
 Button s Inn on Christmas Day next hereafter ensu 
 ing. A word to the wise is sufficient. 
 I have the honor to be, 
 
 JOHN CLANCY. 
 
382 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " Who is John Clancy ? " asked Ozro. 
 
 " Blessed if I know ! Nobody ever heard of 
 such a man in this county, and you see he 
 takes precious good care not to let it be known 
 where he may be found. But read the other." 
 
 It was addressed, like the former, to the 
 sheriff. Ozro opened it and read : 
 
 SIR, The day of atonement and retribution is at 
 hand. Eighteen years ago I took a human life in 
 this county. To-morrow you will find me ready to 
 submit myself to the law in reparation for that offence. 
 I shall be at Button s Inn. 
 
 By the will of the Lord and by commandment of 
 His Prophet, I have the honor to be 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 ABNER JACKSON. 
 
 " Along with the first letter," said the sheriff, 
 "and as if intended to act as a pointer, I re 
 ceived this." 
 
 He handed Ozro an unopened letter, directed 
 to Abner Jackson, Esq., in care of the sheriff. 
 
 " That s what brought us here," he said. 
 " Now, what have you got to say about it ? 
 What do you know about this man Jackson ? " 
 
 " He told me his story to-day." 
 
 " Who is he ? " 
 
A WAKENED JUSTICE. 383 
 
 " Jack Button ! " 
 
 " I suspected as much. And he killed your 
 mother ! I m sorry, Evans, more for you 
 than for him ; but duty is duty. Don t you 
 think so ? " turning to the lawyer. 
 
 The officer rose from his chair as he spoke, 
 with the air of a man who has a disagreeable 
 task to perform. 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Ozro. " He was in 
 love with my mother." 
 
 " So I have heard," said the sheriff, nodding 
 corroboratively, but not with any indication of 
 abandoning his purpose. 
 
 " It was my father whom he thought he killed." 
 
 " Your father ? " 
 
 " Yes. Though, as I have just proved to 
 him, my father did not die until several years 
 afterward." 
 
 " And your mother " 
 
 " Died of excitement on hearing of his sup 
 posed death ! " 
 
 " You have evidence of this ? " 
 
 Ozro handed him the letter he had received 
 that morning. 
 
 The officer glanced it over. 
 
 " It was sent by Smith & Truman," said Ozro. 
 
 " That would seem to settle it," said the 
 
384 B UTTON S 
 
 sheriff, with a tone of relief. " You are quite 
 satisfied that he had nothing to do with your 
 mother s death ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " He thought your father dead until you 
 showed him this paper ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I m glad it s turned out this way. 
 It s been a bad matter all through, and a 
 mystery no one could quite unravel. I d like 
 to see the man, though." 
 
 " Oh, you 11 see him at dinner, and, I take it, 
 hear from him too. It seems he came back 
 just on purpose to give himself up." 
 
 " A little cracked ? " said the sheriff, with a 
 gesture toward his head. 
 
 " No ! " said Ozro, decidedly. " A strong prac 
 tical man, who has been controlled by a curious 
 delusion." 
 
 Ozro then gave his listeners a brief outline 
 of what JackSon had told him a few hours 
 before. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said the lawyer, with genuine 
 sympathy ; " how he must have suffered ! " 
 
 " I remember him," said the sheriff, thought 
 fully. " He was a handsome fellow. I m really 
 sorry for him. So he s Abner Jackson, one of 
 
A WAKENED JUSTICE. 385 
 
 Joe Smith s apostles ! Well, it runs in the blood. 
 I m inclined to think religious insanity is just as 
 hereditary as as any other." 
 
 " Ozro ! " It was Dotty calling at the foot of 
 the stairs. 
 
PARTITION AND PARTNERSHIP. 
 
 A SKING his company to excuse him, Ozro 
 went down. Dotty informed him that 
 Mr. Jackson desired to see them both fora short 
 time. She looked very grave, almost frightened. 
 It was evident that she had learned her relation 
 ship to the stranger, though she still referred to 
 him as Mr. Jackson. They went together to his 
 room, she holding Ozro s hand, as if to cast 
 the responsibility of guidance upon him. They 
 found Dewstowe still in conference with the 
 stranger. The merchant was walking up and 
 down the room with quick decided steps, and 
 a brisk alert look. Mr. Jackson was sitting by 
 the table, which was covered with papers. His 
 hat was off, and there was an air of cheerful 
 anticipation about him which Ozro had never 
 observed before. 
 
 " Sit down," he said, with a smile, " and let 
 us have this matter settled." Dewstowe glanced 
 keenly at Ozro, but continued walking back and 
 forth across the room without speaking. They sat 
 down together, Dotty still holding Ozro s hand. 
 
PARTITION AND PARTNERSHIP. 387 
 
 " In view of a contingency not now likely to 
 occur," said Jackson, with a meaning smile, " I 
 recently disposed of my estate. This was done 
 with the idea of making some reparation for a 
 wrong I had committed, and also in acknowl 
 edgment of the fact that but for certain influ 
 ences the property thus distributed would never 
 have been accumulated. You have each been 
 informed of these circumstances as far as is 
 necessary to enable you to understand your own 
 relations to the result. I also desired to avoid 
 any complication in regard to the disposition of 
 my property that might arise from my legal 
 relations, which I then supposed would soon be 
 somewhat peculiar. It seemed to me just and 
 right, under these circumstances, that I should 
 make a disposition of my property, which has in 
 part been carried out, and the papers to com 
 plete which are already prepared. I hope that 
 you who are interested will not now balk my 
 wishes by refusing to acquiesce. I can assure 
 you that in the whole matter I have considered 
 your interests rather than my own preferences. 
 
 " One third of my estate I have reserved for 
 myself and parents during our natural lives, 
 the same, or the residue thereof, to go after the 
 death of the survivor to the Presidents of the 
 
388 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 Church of Latter-Day Saints of Jesus Christ, 
 or the Trustees or Supreme Council of the 
 same, by whatever name the same may come 
 to be designated, for the use of the whole 
 body of the Saints on earth, according to their 
 discretion and judgment. One third I endeav 
 ored to divide equally between my sister and 
 Ozro Evans. This portion consists of a plan 
 tation with a few slaves in Mississippi, and a 
 part interest in a steamboat on that river. The 
 plantation I have already given by deed to Dotty, 
 and had intended the interest in the boat for 
 Ozro. This he has declined to accept. I hope 
 he has changed his mind," he added with a 
 smile. 
 
 "If he hasn t, just give it to Dotty," said 
 Dewstowe. " It will be all the same, and a 
 great deal handier if she should want to marry 
 again." 
 
 Dotty made a spiteful mouth at the jester, but 
 Ozro replied seriously, 
 
 " I should much prefer to have it so." 
 
 "Well," rejoined Jackson, "it will not be 
 difficult to change that. Now we will get on. 
 You will understand that it was at first my in 
 tention to make an equal division of all my estate 
 with the son of with Ozro, I mean. Since I 
 
PARTITION AND PARTNERSHIP. 389 
 
 have come to understand his character and rela 
 tions to others, it has occurred to me that the 
 interests of all may be better subserved by a 
 further subdivision. I have therefore drawn an 
 agreement by which he and Mr. Dewstowe are 
 to become equal partners in such business enter 
 prises as they may choose to undertake, and have 
 transferred to them, as trustees, the remaining 
 third of my estate, to be used for the benefit of 
 that business." 
 
 " In other words," said Dewstowe, sharply, 
 "it is a clear gift to me of one half the amount. 
 That s the bother of it. There is no reason 
 why you should give me anything, and I don t 
 like to accept a mere gratuity." 
 
 He bit his lip, with a look of annoyance ; -yet 
 it was evident that the proposal was not alto 
 gether distasteful to him. He saw the advan 
 tages which would accrue from the control of 
 added capital, was awake to the opportunities 
 of the time, and appreciated Ozro s mechanical 
 ability ; but his Yankee pride revolted from 
 accepting a pecuniary favor. 
 
 "I can understand your .objection, Mr. Dew 
 stowe," said Jackson gravely ; " but the prop 
 erty being my own, have I not a right to dispose 
 of it as I desire ? You would have accepted 
 
390 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 it as a bequest, and have felt grateful for my 
 remembrance of you on my death-bed." 
 
 "That s so," admitted Dewstowe, with a 
 shrug. 
 
 " Why require me to die in order to do you 
 a favor ? " asked Jackson, shrewdly. 
 
 " Sure enough," said Dotty ; whereat they all 
 laughed, not because there was anything funny 
 about the remark, but because it was a nai ve 
 indorsement of the force of the argument. 
 
 "I will not disguise from you the fact, Mr. 
 Dewstowe," said Jackson, " that I should never 
 have thought of this if I had not seen how 
 useful you might be as a partner " 
 
 " If you had only managed to convince Miss 
 Dotty of that," interrupted Dewstowe. 
 
 " No, no ! " said Jackson, pleasantly ; " you 
 young people must settle those things for your 
 selves. I guess Dotty has chosen rightly." 
 
 " I am half-inclined* to think so myself," said 
 Dewstowe ; " though I felt bad enough about it a 
 little while ago. The fact is, I guess I was made 
 for business instead of sentiment, anyhow." 
 
 " That s just it," said Jackson. " The more I 
 know of you, the higher I esteem your personal 
 qualities ; but you are, first of all things, a busi 
 ness-man. Unless I greatly mistake, there is a 
 
PARTITION AND PARTNERSHIP. 391 
 
 brilliant career before you. Ozro will be of great 
 advantage to you, and you of infinite benefit to 
 him, and Dotty should be a help to both. 
 This is a day of great mechanical changes. 
 Steam will revolutionize every form of produc 
 tion. An age of invention has already dawned. 
 To know what to devise and how to render the 
 inventive faculty available is as valuable as the 
 power to invent itself. These elements your 
 practical sagacity and wide experience and ob 
 servation will furnish. Ozro has the other 
 quality. Such a combination is bound to suc 
 ceed. So you see I gratify myself doubly, by 
 aiding in your joint success, which I shall always 
 claim as due entirely to my foresight. Now, 
 what do you say ? " 
 
 There was a moment s silence. 
 
 " Well, Evans," said Dewstowe, expectantly, 
 "it is for you to speak first." 
 
 He turned and looked sharply at the younger 
 man as he spoke. 
 
 " If I can keep up my end," said Ozro, delib 
 erately, " I 11 try, that is, if Dotty has no 
 objection." 
 
 " I think it would be the best thing in the 
 world," said the girl, shyly, " if if you can 
 afford it, brother Jack." 
 
392 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 It was the first time she had called him her 
 brother, and the tears sprang to her eyes as she 
 did so. 
 
 " Don t be troubled about that," he said, with 
 a smile, though there was something of tremor 
 about his lips ; " if I get short I will come and 
 live with you, and so save my cake and eat it 
 too." 
 
 Dotty sprang up and threw herself into his 
 arms, as she said, through her tears, 
 
 " You are just the best brother in the world ! " 
 
 " That settles it," said Dewstowe, wiping his 
 eyes, as he shook Ozro by the hand. Then 
 there was laughter as well as tears, for Jackson 
 said, returning Dotty s embrace, 
 
 And yet, little Sissie, that s what I used 
 to call you, the sheriff is in the house at this 
 moment looking for me. Bring him in, Ozro, 
 and let s have him witness these papers before 
 anything slips out of gear again." 
 
 Dotty dried her tears, and rushed off to see 
 if her mother had recovered sufficiently to be 
 told the good news. The sheriff and the attor 
 ney came as desired. The necessary alterations 
 were made, and the papers executed, when the 
 sheriff recalled the letter which had been sent 
 in his care for Jackson, and handed it to him. 
 
PARTITION AND PARTNERSHIP. 393 
 
 The latter opened and read it with much show 
 of respect. Handing it to Ozro, he said, with 
 an air of deep reverence, 
 
 " The will of the Lord be done. He is above 
 all prophets and priests. He hath led me by 
 His right hand, and I have done according to 
 His will, even when I knew not what I did. 
 What is done may not be undone. The Lord 
 will care for His people." 
 
SAINTS AND SINNERS. 
 
 / TPHE letter was from an eminent dignitary of 
 -*- the Mormon Church. It read : 
 
 MY DEAR BROTHER AND COADJUTOR IN THE WORK OF 
 THE LORD : 
 
 All your brethren in the Apostleship and in the 
 Church send cheer and greeting unto thee in respect 
 of the trials and tribulations which the Spirit, through 
 His blessed Messenger, hath foretold by the. mouth of 
 His Holy Prophet should happen unto you about this 
 time. " Blessed are ye when men shall persecute you 
 , for my sake," said Jesus of Nazareth ; and what was 
 true in that day is not less true in the day of Joseph 
 Smith, the chosen Prophet of the Lord, whom He 
 hath called to be the head of the reformed and 
 redeemed -Church of Latter-Day Saints. 
 
 Remember, my brother, that thy brief sufferings, 
 which are but for a season, will redound to the ever 
 lasting glory of that New Dispensation so mysteriously 
 revealed through the will and power of Almighty God. 
 Seeing thy courage, thy truth, and thy unconquerable 
 resolution to make atonement for thy fault, the shame 
 will be taken away from the New Zion ; men will 
 marvel at thy constancy, and believe in the faith by 
 which thou art inspired to good works. Thy name 
 
SAINTS AND SINA T ERS. 395 
 
 will be handed down to endless ages with that of the 
 proto-martyr Stephen, and like him thy blood shall be 
 the seed of the New Church, the vindication of the 
 new and purified Gospel. Be of good cheer, therefore, 
 and may God give thee grace to endure all in His 
 name, and send His holy angel to bring thee from the 
 martyr s cross to the throne that awaits the first blood- 
 atoning witness in the New Jerusalem. 
 
 All the brethren pray for thee ; and when thy hour 
 of final trial comes, you may have assurance that every 
 Saint is bowed before the Lord, asking His presence 
 with thee, to make thy burden easy, and the darkness 
 light about thee. 
 
 My dear brother, I am moved to speak privately to 
 thee on mine own account. The Prophet hath re 
 ceived commandment respecting thee, but being still 
 of the flesh he wavereth and hesitates to give it words. 
 I know not what it may be, but I do know that the 
 Prophet is sorely troubled because of it, and hath 
 been for many days greatly depressed. Because of 
 this I have cast about in my mind, and verily believe 
 I have discovered the reason of his sorrow and 
 discomfiture. 
 
 Thou knowest, my brother, that the Church of God 
 is sore pressed for that of which thou hast abundance. 
 It is true thou hast given already with a lavish hand ; 
 but let me ask thee, my brother, if, instead of leaving 
 that substance, with which God hath blessed thee, for 
 thy kindred to snarl and quarrel over, and lest thou be 
 tempted to escape the pains of thy glorious atone 
 ment by using it to blind the eyes of justice and 
 
396 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 enlarge the meshes of the law, it were not better that 
 thou shouldst give it complete and entire, a worthy and 
 acceptable sacrifice, to the Church of God on earth? 
 Thou knowest the throes which the Church now suffers. 
 Thou knowest how the ungodly abound in subtle de 
 vices to work her ill. Doth not thy own soul s safety, 
 the glory of thy martyrdom, and the good of the whole 
 body of the Saints on earth demand that thou shouldst 
 do this before Satan tempt thee, and the flesh grows 
 weak? 
 
 I opine, my dear brother, that the Spirit com 
 manded the Prophet to have this thing done before 
 thou didst go out from among us, and that he hath 
 been much tormented because of his disobedience. 
 Being the eldest of thy brethren in the Apostleship, I 
 make bold to call these things to thy mind, and trust 
 the Lord will guide thy feet in the way of wisdom 
 whilst thou livest, and bring thee up through thy great 
 tribulation to be the eternally glorified first witness of 
 His truth. Remember the Church is in sore straits for 
 that earthly substance which can be to thee hereafter 
 only a temptation and a snare. The Lord keep thee. 
 Amen. 
 
 When Ozro had read the letter aloud by his 
 direction, Jackson said : 
 
 "I would not wilfully disobey the command 
 ment of the head of the Church, or the advice 
 of my brethren in the Apostleship. But in this 
 thing which I have done I see the Lord s hand, 
 
SAINTS AND SINNERS. 397 
 
 and have followed His leading. The flesh is 
 weak, but God knoweth all things even from 
 the beginning." 
 
 The name which was signed to this letter has 
 since become renowned throughout the world, 
 for sanctity among them that believe in him, 
 and for sagacity and power among all men. 
 
 " Let me see it ! " said the sheriff, quickly. 
 He took the other letter from his pocket, and 
 compared the handwriting carefully. 
 
 " Mr. Jackson, don t you think both these 
 letters were written by the same hand ? " 
 
 Jackson took them, looked at them carefully, 
 arid said calmly : 
 
 " They are very like." 
 
 " Like ! The handwriting is precisely the 
 same in both ! " 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 " Well, I vow, you take it coolly ! Don t you 
 see they tried to have you hanged in order to 
 get hold of your property ? " 
 
 " The Lord rules and overrules," said Jackson, 
 with a reverential upward look. 
 
 " I don t see how you can believe in these 
 men, or the religion they profess, after that," said 
 the sheriff, indignantly. 
 
 " Shall I doubt the Almighty because of the 
 
39$ BUTTOA r S INN. 
 
 weakness of His servant?" said Jackson, 
 solemnly. " Who was he who wrote upon the 
 ground, Let him that is without fault cast the 
 first stone ? Are the priests and ministers of 
 your faith, are they who despise and persecute 
 the Saints of God because they dare to believe 
 His word, are they without fault ? Nay, I will 
 not even admit your insinuation. My brethren 
 no doubt feared that my strength might fail, and 
 they desire above all things that the Church may 
 be purged from stain. Of course they know 
 the needs of the Church, and do not know how 
 the Lord has directed me since I came here. I 
 would have given my life willingly to atone for 
 a crime I thought I had committed, because the 
 faith I have espoused requires atonement for 
 wrong ; and I have a right to ask that the mo 
 tives of my brethren be not impugned." 
 
 " There is something in that, sir," answered 
 the sheriff, with respectful seriousness ; " but I 
 tell you what, I shall be careful how I allow any 
 of the bills of the Kirtland Bank to be shoved 
 on me hereafter ! " 
 
 " And you will do well," said the apostle, 
 earnestly. " The Prophet erred grievously when 
 he gave that institution the sanction of his name. 
 Pride, and not humility, was at the bottom of the 
 
SAINTS AND SINNERS. 399 
 
 impulse he mistook for revelation. Shame and 
 woe will certainly come to God s people because 
 of it. But He knoweth best. After the deliver 
 ance from Egypt came the forty years in the 
 wilderness. The errors of God s servants cast 
 no shadow on His truth." 
 
 " You evidently accept th.e faith without much 
 confidence in the Prophet," said the sheriff, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Why should I not ? " answered Jackson. " I 
 would not give countenance to any of the slan 
 derous reports that have been spread abroad in 
 regard to the Prophet s life ; but we should re 
 member that it is not necessary, even if it were 
 possible, that a prophet should be a spotless 
 being. Look at the lives of Moses and Jacob 
 and David for an answer to such foolish criti 
 cism. The prophet is merely the mouthpiece 
 of the Almighty. He is like the pipe that brings 
 water from a fountain, it may be laid in mire, 
 but the beasts of the earth drink the precious 
 drops it brings, and live. For only one has . 
 such a thing as perfect purity been claimed, and 
 to him a divine origin is attributed. It is not 
 the Prophet to whom our faith is given, but to 
 the Divine Mind which he but interprets for us. 
 I believe in the New Dispensation simply be- 
 
400 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 cause it seems to me in conformity with truth, 
 and healthful in its influences upon human life. 
 The believer may be mistaken, or the prophet 
 may be insincere ; it matters little, so long as it 
 is God in whom we believe, and not man." 
 
 " Well," said the other, " I think I 11 stick 
 to the old way for a while, anyhow." 
 
 " What do you call the old way ? Will you 
 go to the Church of Rome, or back to Judaism ? 
 Protestantism itself is a new faith, and the 
 Church of the Saints is only its youngest branch. 
 Did it never strike you as a singular fact that all 
 our people are Protestants, or come out of Pro 
 testant peoples ? I do not think there is one 
 among us who was a Roman Catholic, nor have 
 I ever known a Jewish convert. You claim 
 Protestantism to be better than the old faiths : 
 why should not Mormoi ism be better than 
 Protestantism ? " 
 
 " I cannot argue with you, Mr. Jackson," said 
 the sheriff, shaking his head good-naturedly. 
 " I m not very strong on religion, anyhow ; but 
 Mormonism will have to show better fruits than 
 it has yet produced, to command my approval. 
 You have a right to cite your conduct in its 
 favor ; but do you know I think your action is 
 due more to your character than to your faith. 
 
SAINTS AND SINNERS. 401 
 
 You would have done what you have, had you 
 never seen the Temple, or heard the voice of the 
 Prophet." 
 
 " It may be, it may be," said the apostle, 
 with a troubled look ; " God alone knoweth the 
 heart ! " 
 
 The solemnity of his words impressed his 
 hearers deeply, and a long silence followed. 
 Dotty stole out and resumed the work of assist 
 ing Louise in preparing the dinner. After a 
 while her mother came, very pale and very weak, 
 and helped her languidly. They talked in low 
 tones as they moved back and forth around the 
 table, glancing often at the open door of the 
 room of the son and brother whose new name 
 was more familiar to their lips than the one he 
 had first borne. 
 
 26 
 
SOUL SCOT. 
 
 " T SUPPOSE the old Inn will be given up 
 
 -* now ? " said the sheriff, breaking the si 
 lence at last. 
 
 " There is but one thing more, and then my 
 work here will be done," said Jackson, looking 
 dreamily at Ozro. 
 
 The young man s face flushed under the in 
 quiring glances that were directed towards him. 
 
 " I suppose, Evans," said the sheriff, jocularly, 
 " that we can hardly count on you to put the old 
 Inn in repair, and restore its former glory." 
 
 " I think not," answered Ozro ; " in fact, I am 
 afraid I shall have to adhere to my intention 
 and leave here to-morrow." 
 
 " What now ? " asked Dewstowe, with a 
 comical grimace. " Don t think of it, partner. 
 There is no need for such haste. I 11 go back 
 and wind up the old business, hunt up a stand for 
 the new, and get a shingle painted, Dewstowe & 
 Evans, you know, so that you won t lose your 
 way when you come to the city to look for me. 
 Stay here till summer ; that s soon enough to 
 
SOUL SCOT. 403 
 
 begin the new enterprise. You know we have 
 yet to decide what we 11 do, and where we 11 do 
 it. I don t think the former will be hard to 
 determine, but the latter will stand a deal of 
 thinking about. I may as well do the scouting 
 before you come on. You d better stay here 
 and help the Apostle, for I judge the job he 
 refers to could n t well be done without you." 
 
 " I was about to consult you in regard to this 
 matter," said Ozro, smiling at Dewstowe s jest, 
 but addressing himself to the attorney, and 
 handing him a paper. " Will you read this, 
 and advise me what ought to be done ? " 
 
 The letter Ozro had received was from a New 
 York banker, who was one of the executors of 
 his father s will, a copy of which was enclosed. 
 A notice of Ozro s invention had fallen under 
 the banker s eye, and the inquiries he had made 
 of the lawyer were * the results. The reply the 
 attorney had made satisfied him of Ozro s iden 
 tity. The will was a singular instrument, but 
 quite in character with the role its author had 
 played in the little drama of the hillside hostel. 
 It was duly proved and certified under the seal 
 of a State then but recently admitted to the 
 Union. At Ozro s request the lawyer read 
 aloud the substantive parts as follows : 
 
404 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 " I George Evans, of the town of , county of 
 
 , in the territory of Michigan, being of sound and 
 
 disposing mind, do hereby make and publish this my 
 last will and testament, in the words and figures follow 
 ing, to wit : 
 
 " Item. I omit the usual invocation to the Supreme 
 Being, because of doubt as to whether such a being 
 exists. Until past middle life I served God faithfully 
 according to my lights. To this I attribute all the 
 sorrow I have experienced, and nearly all I have 
 caused others to suffer. If there is a God, He has not 
 shown himself a just God to me, having given me 
 none of those things promised to those who serve 
 Him, except earthly possessions, which I think due to 
 my own foresight rather than to His favor, since I have 
 observed that this blessing is granted most abundantly 
 to those who least desire to serve Him. I therefore 
 feel at liberty to dispose of my acquisitions without 
 asking guidance or direction from Him. 
 
 " Item. I will that my body, which has served me 
 faithfully, be decently interred ; and I direct that ten 
 of my townsmen, to be selected from the list I shall 
 leave, be requested to act as pall-bearers, and be paid 
 one hundred dollars each for their services out of the 
 moneys in hand at my decease. I desire that they 
 wear white gloves, white hats, white waistcoats, and 
 cravats, and blue broadcloth coats ; all to be provided 
 by my executors out of the first funds coming to their 
 hands. 
 
 Item. I give and bequeath all my estate, both real 
 and personal, to my son Ozro Evans ; the son also of 
 
SOUL SCOT. 405 
 
 my wife Matilda E. Evans, on the following con 
 ditions : ( i ) That within six months after coming of 
 age he shall claim said inheritance of my executors, 
 and furnish proof of his identity. (2) That he shall 
 be able to earn a livelihood by his own exertions, and 
 shall have shown a reasonable inclination to do so. 
 (3) That if not already married, he shall, within the 
 time limited, marry a woman about his own age, of 
 good family and repute, with whom he has been 
 acquainted for ten years, and who has never been 
 affianced to another. 
 
 " Item. In case of the failure of my said son to 
 claim this bequest within the -time limited, or to 
 comply with the conditions above specified, I give and 
 bequeath my entire estate to the trustees of the town 
 
 of , where I now reside, the income to be used 
 
 by them in paying the expenses of needy and deserv 
 ing boys, to be selected by competition from the 
 schools of the town, at any college they may choose 
 in this State ; the fund thus advanced to each being 
 accounted a loan, to be paid back in ten equal annual 
 instalments, to be added to the fund, in order to teach 
 them that he who receives favor should not forget to 
 do kindness to others. 
 
 " Item. I forbid my executors to make any adver 
 tisement, search, or inquiry for my said son until the 
 tenth day of September, 1839, at which time he will 
 come of age. I do this simply to afford a practi 
 cal test of a religious theory. For more than forty 
 years of my life I believed in an all-wise, all- 
 merciful, and all-just God, and dedicated myself to 
 
406 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 His service. My wife, who did not share my religious 
 views, rebelled against the restraints my conscience 
 compelled me to lay upon her. We separated, but I 
 never ceased to love her. My harshness no doubt 
 wrought her death. If I was wrong, as I feel that 
 I must have been, no suffering can atone for my 
 error. I have neglected her child, because I felt how 
 futile it would be to attempt reparation for the wrong 
 done his mother. Of course, if there is a just God, He 
 will see to it that the inheritance comes to the hands 
 of the rightful heir, and so my doubt may serve to con 
 firm the faith of others. For myself, I have neither 
 faith nor hope. I should prefer to believe, even now, 
 but see nothing in my life to justify belief. It would 
 be folly to pretend any great affection for the son whom 
 I have thus neglected, but I can fairly say that I hope 
 he will have a happier life than mine has been. 
 
 " I forgive all those who have done me wrong, not 
 as I hope to be forgiven, but whether forgiven or not. 
 I have no fear of death. Though I have never sought 
 to do evil, I feel that the world would have been better 
 if I had never been born into it." 1 
 
 " Well, that is a will," said Dewstowe, with a 
 low whistle. " What kind of a man was this 
 father of yours, anyhow ? " 
 
 " Do not blame him," said Jackson, solemnly. 
 " This is but the cry of his bitterness. My 
 
 1 Members of the legal profession who are familiar with 
 testamentary literature will have no difficulty in tracing this 
 instrument. 
 
SOUL SCOT. 407 
 
 God ! why hast thou forsaken me ? cried the 
 Nazarene in his agony. Out of the good your 
 father sought to do had come the most terri 
 ble evil. He felt that he had doubly slain her 
 whom he loved, once with suspicion, and once 
 with harsh judgment. No wonder he doubted, 
 when what he counted duty brought such bitter 
 consequences. Yet he did not do evil, nor wish 
 evil to his fellows, and at the last trusted the 
 God he thought he had renounced. 
 
 " He was a victim," continued Jackson, " of a 
 religious faith which developed to a dangerous 
 degree the idea of universal conformity to in 
 flexible ideals. What had become a second 
 nature to him was only a slower death to the 
 gentle woman whom he loved. He was willing 
 to do murder in God s name ; and the jealous 
 fervor of his nature prevented him from seeing 
 his act in its true light until its terrible result 
 overwhelmed his hope. He was simply a pro 
 duct of that good which, when rooted in human 
 nature, quickly deteriorates and soon yields evil 
 fruits." 
 
 " In other words," said the matter-of-fact Dew- 
 stowe, "he was a sort of righteous sinner?" 
 
 There was a ripple of laughter at the humor 
 ous combination, which was checked when Jack- 
 
408 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 k 
 
 son said with reverent inclination : " Ay, one of 
 those in whom God alone can tell where sinful- 
 ness ends and righteousness begins." 
 
 Ozro tearfully extended his hand to the 
 strange religionist whose faith nothing could 
 daunt, and whose charity was measured by an 
 unfailing sense of his own unworthiness, who 
 grasped it warmly. 
 
 " Well," said the lawyer, who had gotten out 
 his pencil and made some figures which he had 
 been carefully considering, " whatever may be 
 the truth about his religious views, your father 
 has left a remarkably clear will, and one the 
 provisions of which must be literally complied 
 with. You have just sixty-nine days in which 
 to get married and prove yourself his son. 
 This proof may have to be made both in New 
 York, where one of the executors resides, and 
 also in Michigan, where the will is recorded ; 
 so I should say that there is not a moment 
 to lose. " 
 
 " Why not have the wedding to-night ? " 
 suggested the sheriff. 
 
 " Capital ! " said Dewstowe. " And I will 
 leave my load here, and we will make the trip 
 to New York on our own runners. The bays 
 will do it quicker than the stage." 
 
SOUL SCOT. 49 
 
 " The lady ? " inquired the lawyer, who was 
 studying the will. "She " 
 
 " I will answer for her," said Jackson, with 
 
 dignity. 
 
 " She has never been engaged to another ? " 
 continued the lawyer, glancing keenly at Dew- 
 stowe. 
 
 " There it is again," said the merchant, with 
 assumed dolorousness. " My luck is certainly 
 deserting me! Now, if I d just had a bit of 
 understanding with her, Evans, your cake would 
 be dough. But, no, I didn t. It wasn t my 
 fault, but your good fortune or perhaps her 
 good sense." 
 
A WEAVER S KNOT. 
 
 OO the Christmas merry-making at Button s 
 Inn became a wedding. Dewstowe was 
 best man and master of ceremonies. The gray- 
 haired landlady, her heart filled with a solemn 
 joy, gave ceaseless thanks for mercies all the 
 more precious because unexpected. The bur 
 den of sorrow lifted, the son, whom she had 
 mourned as worse than dead, restored ; the 
 stain which she had believed to rest on their 
 good name, removed; and Dotty and Ozro 
 united, these were more than she had hoped, 
 and all that she could desire. 
 
 " T ain t nateral, t ain t nateral," said the 
 landlord to Dewstowe, as he sat before the fire 
 in the public-room, with the great punch-bowl 
 beside him, " that a man should be exactly 
 sober when things have turned out so well after 
 runnin ag in him so long ; but I am, you see. 
 The fact is, I feel kind of solemn-like ; and 
 while I m glad to see the neighbors enjoyin 
 themselves, I jest can t bear to put a glass to 
 my lips. Seems as if I ought to be prayin 
 
A WEAVER S KNOT. 411 
 
 instead of carousin . That s the way of life. It 
 don t matter how careful a man may be, before 
 he gits to the end he s sure to find out he s 
 been a fool. The chief difference, I take it, is 
 that some find it out sooner n others. I never 
 was much else, and discover it too late to be 
 anythin better. It don t seem nateral that 
 things should come so, but I spect it s about 
 right. When you come to think on t, it seems 
 that the things that ain t nateral happens about 
 as often, if not a little oftener, than them that 
 are. T was n t nateral, now I look at it, for 
 me to take a spite ag in Ozro and prefer you ; 
 but I did. T was n t nateral for Dotty to like 
 a poor feller such as he better n one that was 
 enterprisin and fore-handed like you ; but she 
 did, an it seems she was n t so fur wrong arter 
 all. Some folks never try to set things right 
 without gettin of em wrong. I m one o that 
 kind. That man Evans seems to have been 
 another. Poor fellow ! I can t help thinkin he 
 got hold of the worst end of the trouble he 
 made. Fer me, I ain t goin to try to guess nor 
 understand nothin bout things how they re 
 goin to be or ought to be any more ; an I 
 don t b leve Lucy will, either. What comes, 
 that I m goin to take, and not fret about what 
 
412 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 tomorrer s goin to bring or yesterday failed 
 to furnish. But I don t want no more liquor 
 never not another drop. Life s too solemn a 
 thing to git through with unless one has all the 
 wits he s got about him specially when he 
 gits to my time." 
 
 Three months afterward the Bank of Kirtland 
 failed, and the exodus began, which ended only 
 at Salt Lake. Abner Jackson stood firm in the 
 faith he had espoused. Even when his cousin 
 Sidney Rigdon gave way and recanted the tes 
 timonies he had given, Jackson did not falter. 
 Though he was never degraded from his apos- 
 tleship, he ceased to be a favorite of the Prophet 
 and his sagacious and renowned successor, when 
 it was learned that only an insignificant portion 
 of his splendid estate would come under the con 
 trol of the authorities of the Church. When he 
 returned to " the place where the Ark of the 
 New Dispensation first rested," Jackson took 
 with him his aged father and mother. When the 
 bank failed, and the wrath of the people burned 
 hot against Joe Smith and his followers, Jack 
 son was the first to propose their migration to 
 the South ; and the attempt to "build the walls 
 of Zion" at Far West was in a great measure 
 
A WEAVER S KNOT. 413 
 
 due to his influence. Here the old landlord suc 
 cumbed to the climate. He was never a very 
 ardent believer in the New Faith. " It suits 
 Lucy, and of course it suits me," was a fair and 
 oft-repeated statement of his religious status. 
 The wife, who out-lived him, saw the brief but 
 splendid " Empire of the Faithful " at Nauvoo, 
 and was the first one stricken by the bullets of 
 their assailants before the treacherous murder 
 of the Prophet. So that her name, instead of 
 that of her son, stands as the proto-martyr in 
 the sanctified necrology of the Saints. 
 
 Abner Jackson alone of all the apostles dis 
 approved of the Order of the Danites, which was 
 organized especially to uphold the power of the 
 Prophet at all hazards, and was the boldest of 
 all the believers in rebuking the profligacy and 
 iniquity of him whose name was " written in 
 the book of gold " as " the Prophet of the Lord, 
 worthy of all honor and power and dominion 
 and obedience, even unto death." His faith in 
 the new doctrines never wavered ; he did not 
 question the truth of the new revelation, yet did 
 not hesitate to reprove the sins of the Prophet. 
 His long black beard and jetty hair, with the lock 
 of silvery white stretching from brow to crown, 
 made him a striking figure, and he was one who 
 
414 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 could neither be awed by threats nor conciliated 
 by promises. The triple-headed presidency used 
 him as far as they could, taking care never to 
 drive him into actual revolt. They bore with 
 his reproaches and hid from him, as far as pos 
 sible, their enormities. To the mass of believ 
 ers he was the most sanctified of the Saints. 
 Unselfish, fearless, and upright, he was the real 
 leader of the great march over the desert wil 
 derness to the Promised Land. He rebuked 
 the malecontents, cheered the fainting, helped 
 the weary, soothed the dying, and closed the 
 eyes of the dead. He did not live to see the 
 " New Jerusalem of God on earth," or witness 
 the glory of the " chosen people " in their Prom 
 ised Land ; but from a Pisgah height he looked 
 down upon the sparkling sea, by whose waters 
 the Temple stands to-day, before at last he ren 
 dered up his soul. The rulers of the New Zion 
 were not sorry, but the people mourned his loss. 
 He was buried in the mountains, and like him 
 who died in Moab, " no man knoweth his sepul 
 chre unto this day." 
 
THE WORLDS MUTATION. 
 
 THE epoch of the locomotive had come. 
 Steam and electricity had joined hands 
 for the annihilation of time and space. Mechan 
 ical genius had burst the bonds by which it had 
 been so long confined, and the earth was full of 
 the ceaseless clamor of newly invented forms. 
 The gnomes of Labor crowded mountain and 
 cavern and land and sea in restless, sooty mul 
 titudes. The night was as the day. The iron 
 horse flashed through the frightened land, heed 
 less of storm and darkness. The age of won 
 ders had dawned. The mountains were levelled 
 with the plain in search for the golden grains 
 they hid. Primeval rocks were crumbled into 
 dust for the sake of the snowy drops that nestled 
 in their veinings. " The uttermost parts of the 
 earth " became as next-door neighbors. Thought 
 outsped the sunshine, and the silent message 
 flew faster than the storm it heralded. Moments 
 did the work of years, and the lightning mocked 
 at the laggard spheres. The great marts of earth 
 
416 BUTTON S /AW. 
 
 became as one. The world was radial through 
 out its whole extent, each point touching at once 
 the centre and the circumference. 
 
 In a sunny room overlooking one of the great 
 hives of industry stood Ozro, strengthened yet 
 refined ; Devvstowe, grawn full and sleek, but 
 yet alert and resolute ; and Dotty, sober and 
 matronly, but not less fair. Along the crowded 
 river-bank the red fires leaped from the furnace- 
 doors. The smoky vapor rose in black fleecy 
 folds above the towering chimney-top. The 
 clang of mighty engines jarred the solid walls. 
 On the mantel was the model of a machine for 
 heading pins, done in silver and ebony, and set 
 in a glass case. The two men leaned against 
 the mantel, inspecting the model. Dotty stood 
 beside an easy-chair in the middle of the room, 
 regarding them with quiet satisfaction. 
 
 " Not much of a machine," said Ozro, smiling. 
 " I wanted to make her a model of one of my 
 latest inventions for her birthday, but she would 
 have no other." 
 
 "And I was right, was I not, Mr. Dew- 
 stowe ? " 
 
 " Entirely right, madam," answered Dew- 
 stowe, bowing graciously, and stroking his 
 long beard meditatively. " It is a wonderful 
 
THE WORLD S MUTATION. 417 
 
 machine ! It has made Dewstowe & Evans 
 famous wherever a wheel turns on an iron 
 rail, built up a city, made half-a-dozen for 
 tunes, and kept me a bachelor ! " 
 
 " Don t be too sure about the last," said the 
 lady, with an arch smile, as she came and leaned 
 against her husband s arm and gave her hand 
 to his friend. 
 
 " Strange, is n t it ? " she said dreamily, as she 
 looked out of the plate-glass window, past the 
 smoke-stacks and the forges, past the bust 
 ling city half a thousand miles away, to the crum 
 bling Inn by the quiet country roadside. 
 
 " T ain t nateral, is it ? " said Dewstowe, with 
 a touch of his old-time mimicry. 
 
 " It is only part of a universal miracle," 
 said Ozro, solemnly, " of which we have seen 
 but the beginning, and of which no man can 
 foretell the end." 
 
 The Inn has fallen to decay. The road that 
 led by its door is grass-grown with disuse. The 
 scream of the locomotive sounds mockingly 
 among the crumbling rafters. The forests are 
 cut away, and villages smile up at it across 
 
 the slope in the sunshine. The Prophet s few 
 
 27 
 
41 8 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 hundred followers have grown to nearly half a 
 million. The miracle we have witnessed has 
 become so familiar to our eyes that we mock at 
 it as commonplace, and assert that pettiness 
 alone is truth, and declare that real life is con 
 cerned only with multitudinous trivialities, dis 
 coverable only by elaborate processes of morbid 
 self-dissection. 
 
 University Press : John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 
 
ANNOUNCEMENTS 
 
 FOR THE FALL OF 1887. 
 
 TWO NEW BOOKS BY MISS ALCOTT. 
 
 A GARLAND FOR GIRLS, and Other Stories. 
 
 By LOUISA M. ALCOTT. i6mo. Cloth. Uniform with " Spin 
 ning- Wheel Stories " and " Silver Pitchers/ Price, $1.25. 
 
 LULU S LIBRARY. Yol. 2. 
 
 A Collection of Stories. By LOUISA M. ALCOTT. Illustrated 
 by Jessie McDermott. i6mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
 
 BUTTON S INN. 
 
 By ALBION W. TOURGEE, author of "A Fool s Errant!," 
 " Hot Plowshares," etc. i6mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
 
 Judge Tourgee s new story is located in the region of Chautauqua Hills and 
 Lake Erie shore at the time just before the stage-coach gave way to the locomo 
 tive, 1815 to 1830. 
 
 SONGS OF THE MEXICAN SEAS: 
 
 The Sea of Fire and the Rhyme of the Great River. By 
 JOAQUIN MILLER, author of " Songs of the Sierras," etc. 161110. 
 Cloth. $ i. oo. 
 
 GARDEN SECRETS. 
 
 By PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. With a Sketch of his Life, by 
 LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. With portrait. i6mo. Cloth. 
 Price, $1.00. 
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS OF TRAGIC LIFE. 
 
 By GEORGE MEREDITH, author of " Richard Feverel," " Diana 
 of the Crossways," etc. i vol. Crown Svo. Price, $1.50. 
 
 HELEN JACKSON S COMPLETE POEMS. 
 
 Including " Verses " and " Sonnets and Lyrics," in one volume. 
 i6rno. Cloth. Price, $1.50. 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers Announcements. 
 
 POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN KEATS. 
 
 Chronologically arranged and edited, with a Memoir, by Lord 
 HOUGHTON. A new edition, printed on fine calendered paper. 
 i6mo. Cloth. Price, $1.50. Limp calf or morocco, $3.50. 
 
 The best and most complete edition published. 
 
 JUVENILIA: Being- a Second Series of Essays on Sun 
 dry JEsthetical Questions. 
 
 By VERNON LEE, author of " Euphorion," " Baldwin," etc. 
 Small crown 8vo. Cloth. $2.00. 
 
 CONTENTS. Juvenilia; The Lake of Charlemain ; Botticelli at the Villa 
 Lemmi ; Rococo; Boita and Cimarosa; Apollo the Fiddler; The Immortality of 
 the Maestro Galuppi ; Perigot ; Lombard Colour Studies ; Don Juan con Sten- 
 terello; Signer Curiazio ; Christkindchen ; Epilogue. 
 
 SOUTH COUNTY NEIGHBORS. 
 
 By ESTHER BERNON CARPENTER. i6mo. $1.00. 
 
 A SHORT HISTORY OF THE CITY OF PHILADEL 
 PHIA 
 
 From the Foundation to the Present Time. By SUSAN 
 COOLIDGE. I2mo. Cloth. $1.25. 
 
 BOSTON SCHOOL KITCHEN TEXT-BOOK. 
 
 Lessons in Cooking for the use of Classes in Public and In 
 dustrial Schools. By Mrs. D. A. LINCOLN, author of " The Boston 
 Cook Book," " Carving and Serving," etc. I vol. I2mo. Price, 
 
 $1.00. 
 
 MADAME DE STAEL. By Bella Duffy. 
 
 (Famous Women Series.) i6mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
 
 THE ROB ROY CANOE. 
 
 By JOHN MACGREGOR, M.A. A new edition. Including: 
 
 A THOUSAND MILES IN THE ROB ROY CANOE on Rivers and 
 Lakes of Europe. Map and illustrations. 
 
 THE ROB ROY ON THE BALTIC. A Canoe Cruise through Nor 
 way, Sweden, Denmark, Sleswig-Holstein, the North Sea, 
 and the Baltic. With maps and illustrations. 
 
 THE VOYAGE ALONE IN THE YAWL ROB ROY, from London 
 to Paris, and back by Havre, the Isle of Wight, South 
 Cast, eic. 
 Three books complete in one volume. i6mo. Cloth, gilt. 
 
 Price, $2. co. Separate volumes, $1.25 each. 
 

 912968 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY