J-NRLF 
 
 A 
 
 MARYJAMESON 
 JUDAH 
 

-r 
 
 /<r? 
 
DOWN OUR WAY 
 
DOWN OUR 
 WAY 
 
 Stories of South 
 ern and Western 
 character 
 
 by 
 
 Mary Jameson 
 Judah 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 WAY WILLIAMS 
 
COPYRIGHT 
 
 BY WAY A WILLIAMS 
 
 MDCCCXCVII 
 
Two of these stories have been published before: 
 "A Gentlewoman" under another title in the Arena, 
 1893, and "An Adventure of a Lady of Quality" in 
 Harper s Magazine for January, 1895 more than a 
 year before the announcement of a book with a similar 
 title. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 A VISIBLE SIGN. . .... 9 
 
 THE END OF SOCIETY. . . . .21 
 
 AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY. . . 39 
 
 A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH. . . 5* 
 
 A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS. . . . -77 
 
 THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT. . . . 159 
 
 THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER. . . . 193 
 
 A GENTLEWOMAN. . . . . .215 
 
 THE BLUE BLAZERS. ..... 247 
 
A VISIBLE SIGN 
 
A VISIBLE SIGN 
 
 IT was at first a matter of indifference to 
 Captain Lee that in the dismemberment 
 of the Confederacy the records of his regi 
 ment had been destroyed. The memories 
 so overwhelmingly present with him must, 
 he thought, be part of the universal knowl 
 edge, not to be lost. Later it seemed to 
 him that all the world but himself had for 
 gotten. He tried to find his old commander, 
 to get some accredited statement of his 
 services; but the Colonel was dead, and the 
 other officers were scattered beyond finding. 
 The letters that the Captain had written 
 to his wife had been lost in moving to town 
 from the plantation, and his body servant 
 who went up to Richmond with him when 
 he enlisted had died in the first yellow fever 
 year. It came at last to this, that there 
 was not one record, not one scrap of paper, 
 9 
 
10 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 no person or document by which his devo 
 tion and service to the Confederacy might 
 be proved, nothing but his old uniform. 
 
 A person who did not know him well 
 would not have guessed how deeply he felt 
 on this subject. He was a most reserved 
 man, and it was a part of his reserve that 
 he could not speak of the time of the Con 
 federacy. He said to himself that he feared 
 to make the subject commonplace or even 
 tedious by talking of it to his children; he 
 had seen that happen in families of his ac 
 quaintance. But the real reason was not 
 that he did not want to speak he could not. 
 
 The uniform, at first almost unconsidered, 
 then a saddening relic, came to be very 
 precious. Sometimes in the reverent silences 
 of the church, or in the watches of a wake 
 ful night, he found himself thinking: "I 
 shall leave no inheritance to my grandsons 
 so priceless as that old uniform will be. 
 Looking at it, our cause will seem real to 
 them, and because of me they will study the 
 story of our struggle." 
 
A VISIBLE SIGN II 
 
 The Captain s wife and daughters regarded 
 him as a being set apart, a person too high 
 and fine for the affairs of this world. There 
 was even in the family an appearance of 
 making up to him for something lacking, 
 although he himself would have resented 
 such an idea. The ladies understood him 
 partly, and their affection carried them the 
 rest of the way in their loving and gentle 
 family life. They were never so busy that 
 he was not the one to be considered first. 
 All the little social news was told in his 
 presence. It was not addressed to him di 
 rectly, but was intended to divert him. 
 
 He liked to hear of the historical societies 
 and of the organizations of women formed 
 to perpetuate the memory of the heroic 
 past. His daughters brought him many 
 stories from the meetings of such associ 
 ations. 
 
 4 Mrs. Conway s great-great-grandfather 
 was one of the signers!" said Patty. 
 
 * Yes; but she can t prove that he was 
 her , great - great - grandfather !" exclaimed 
 
12 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Fairfax. "Now Mrs. Pinckney has the 
 actual letter that her ancestor wrote from 
 Valley Forge." 
 
 "But didn t that letter fade away into 
 insignificance when Mrs. Fauquier brought 
 out her relic?" 
 
 4 And what was that?" inquired the Cap 
 tain, with much interest. 
 
 "Only think, father, she had the hat, the 
 actual hat cockade and all that her an 
 cestor wore through the North Carolina 
 campaign!" 
 
 "Yes," said Patty, "we walked up to 
 look at it without a word. It seemed so 
 wonderful to see it after all these years. It 
 almost made me tremble, it was so near 
 and real." 
 
 The Captain did not speak; it made his 
 heart beat to think of his own sacred gray, 
 and of a past that it would some day re 
 vivify. 
 
 In the earlier years the Captain had often 
 looked at his uniform. Of late he had not 
 cared to take it out; it was like going to 
 
A VISIBLE SIGN- 13 
 
 the cemetery, he came away unsatisfied. 
 It pleased him to think of it as safe in the 
 little trunk in the attic, but he did not wish 
 to see it. That night he remembered that 
 it had been a long time since he had looked 
 at it. He troubled himself about the chance 
 of moths and resolved to examine it the 
 first thing in the morning. 
 
 But in the morning his desire was gone. 
 Indeed, it was only when the trunk was to 
 be emptied that he might put in it the things 
 for a little journey, that he spoke of the 
 uniform. 
 
 Then he went to the foot of the stairs 
 and called to Patty, who was getting to 
 gether what he was to take with him. 
 
 " Daughter, bring down my old uniform 
 when you empty the little trunk. " 
 
 He heard her sweet, clear voice: "Yes, 
 father!" He heard her light step as she 
 walked about the bare floor of the attic. 
 Then she came hurriedly to the upper bal 
 ustrade . 
 
 " Father, it isn t here! There s nothing 
 
1 4 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 in the trunk but a roll of silk pieces and an 
 old white vest. And I ve looked every 
 where else!" 
 
 Mrs. Lee appeared at the door of her 
 room. She thought that her husband had 
 replaced the uniform in the trunk after it 
 was out the last time. He supposed that 
 she had done so. Patty was called from 
 her little studio. 
 
 " Patty, come here! Do you know any 
 thing about father s old uniform?" 
 
 Patty came, rosy and graceful. She stuck 
 her brushes in her hair and pondered. 
 
 I have not seen it since father took the 
 trunk to Tennessee six months ago. Then 
 I hung it in the attic just over the place 
 where the little trunk always stands. I 
 knew father always liked to fold it himself." 
 
 1 Has anything been given away lately?" 
 asked Mrs. Lee. 
 
 Fairfax overheard her mother s question. 
 Her face turned blood red ; she put her 
 hand to her head. 
 
 " Oh, wait a minute till I think!" she 
 said. I met a tramp at the door one day 
 
A VISIBLE SIGN 15 
 
 last fall I was just going to a card party; 
 I called to that light-colored Tilly we had 
 then to give him any old thing that might 
 be lying around the attic." 
 
 Her father turned away with the stooping 
 gesture of a man who has had a heavy 
 blow. The side of his face that they could 
 see was gray and sunken. 
 
 His daughter rushed to him; she clung to 
 him wildly; she spoke as a little child might 
 speak. "Oh, papa, papa, don t! Indeed 
 I didn t know! Oh, please forgive me, 
 papa!" 
 
 The Captain could not speak at first; his 
 old throat made queer choking noises, buf 
 he patted the girl s shoulder reassuringly. 
 
 "Do not blame yourself, my daughter. 
 It is a misfortune; we must learn to bear 
 misfortunes. " 
 
 The Captain s business had not been 
 pressing for many years, and shortly after 
 the loss of the uniform he gave up active 
 connection with the firm of cotton-factors 
 of which he had been a member. His 
 
1 6 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 health had never been very strong, and he 
 spent many hours at home with the ladies. 
 On fine afternoons he walked out to attend 
 the meeting of some board of directors or 
 to spend a little while in the office of his 
 old firm. Once or twice when he came in 
 he spoke of the dust, and how it showed on 
 his dark clothing. 
 
 "I wonder, Mrs. Lee," he said, "if it 
 would be out of the way for me to get a 
 suit of light-colored clothes, such as the 
 young gentlemen wear one of those tans, 
 or, maybe, a nice gray?" 
 
 He spoke of it again: "Of course a man 
 of my age wouldn t want one of those bob- 
 tailed coats if I should get a light suit. " 
 
 The suit came home; the color was a clear 
 gray; there was a long frock coat. The 
 Captain buttoned it around his neat figure 
 with grave satisfaction. 
 
 "Father may not know much about the 
 styles," said Fairfax, "but he s awfully 
 distinguished." 
 
 He wore his gray suit so constantly that 
 
A VISIBLE SIGN 17 
 
 the ladies laughingly spoke of it as his 
 "uniform." This was only to one another; 
 when they were in his presence there was 
 no recognition of the fact that there was 
 anything to be remarked about his clothing. 
 It was felt that any comment would hurt 
 him. Later the coat was sent out for some 
 repair. When it came home, Patty said, in 
 some surprise, "Why, father, the tailor has 
 put brass buttons on it!" 
 
 "So he has!" exclaimed the Captain; but 
 the buttons were not removed. 
 
 The Captain had always liked a slouch 
 hat. Now he wore one constantly. He let 
 his beautiful smooth hair grow long and 
 parted it far down over one ear. "What 
 picture is it that father looks like?" asked 
 Fairfax. "He looks like one of those old 
 daguerreotypes taken during the war that 
 grandmother used to show us on Sunday 
 afternoons when we were little," answered 
 her sister. 
 
 As he sat in a shady corner of the ver 
 anda in the long mornings, the Captain 
 
1 8 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 sometimes looked tenderly at the sleeve of 
 his gray coat, as though he loved to see 
 the color near him. And in the evenings 
 he might be seen pacing back and forth for 
 hours on the gallery in front of his house, 
 silent, stern, wrapped in contemplation of 
 a lost time, clad in the insignia of an un- 
 forgotten past. 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 
 
 ("The end of society is the individual." Law maxim.} 
 
 THE cabin had but one room; at one end 
 of that was a bedstead high puffed 
 with a feather bed, though the month was 
 August ; at the other was the stove on which 
 Alfaretta was cooking the supper. A child 
 of two hung on her skirt, and a six-months- 
 old baby was tied in a high chair. 
 
 Occasionally she looked out over the 
 swampy prairie toward the direction from 
 which her husband, Sol, might come. 
 
 Nine months before, on their way to 
 Dakota, they had halted their wagon here 
 when Sol had hired out to clear the swamp, 
 and Alfaretta, with her tow-headed child in 
 her arms, had climbed out of the back of 
 the wagon, and set up the stove, and put 
 the bed together. 
 
 Sol s partner and employer, Asaph, lived 
 
 21 
 
22 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 in a cabin three miles west. He had un 
 dertaken to clear two hundred acres of land 
 for a company in La Fayette. He kept an 
 account of the work done by himself and 
 Sol and settled once a month. 
 
 This was settlement day and Alfaretta 
 knew Sol would be later than usual; never 
 theless she kept looking out for his ap 
 proach with a sort of formless anxiety. 
 Asaph could read and write, Sol could not. 
 Sol thought Asaph had cheated him the last 
 two times. Alfaretta did not doubt that 
 this had been the case, although her experi 
 ence of life had not been extended enough 
 to give her much reason for thinking one 
 thing or another. She had married at fif 
 teen, and her life before that had been 
 passed partly in the mountains of Tennes 
 see, and partly on the little clay-soiled farm 
 in Southwestern Indiana where her father 
 had " sq-uatted." The three years since her 
 marriage she had spent for the most part in 
 the wagon. Sol had been anxious to better 
 himself. This determination and the fact 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 23 
 
 that he possessed a wagon and team were 
 evidences that he was, although only twenty- 
 one years old, a man of some capacity. 
 
 At sunset Alfaretta saw him coming across 
 the clearing. He was over six feet high, 
 and blond in hair and beard. Though he 
 carried an ax over his shoulder he walked 
 with the easy swing of symmetrical strength. 
 Alfaretta perceived this with an apprecia 
 tion for which she had no medium of ex 
 pression. 
 
 When he came in without addressing her 
 she did not wonder. He was silent by na 
 ture, and at any time had but little to say. 
 Besides this the months the two had passed 
 in almost entire isolation had developed 
 between them an understanding independ 
 ent of speech. She knew his thoughts as a 
 dog knows the moods of his master. The 
 child toddled toward him; he took it in his 
 arms and sat silent while Alfaretta spread a 
 newspaper on the top of a box and put on 
 it the skillet of fried pork, some corn pone, 
 and two tin cups of coffee. 
 
24 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 When Sol had eaten his supper his wife 
 asked, "Wha d he give you this time?" 
 
 "Fifty cents for a month s work." 
 
 "He s give us some meat and meal." 
 
 Sol made no response, but after a quarter 
 of an hour he spoke again. 
 
 "He says I owed him ten dollars last 
 time. He says that was in the paper I 
 signed." 
 
 Alfarettadid not ask if this was true; she 
 knew it was not. But she did not know 
 that she had any right to be specially in 
 dignant. That they should be forever 
 cheated and betrayed was only a part of the 
 order of things. 
 
 Sol went outside of the door and sat there 
 with the child in his arms while he smoked 
 his pipe. Malarial mists rose heavily and 
 almost obscured the dull after-glow of the 
 sunset. The child went to sleep, and he 
 brought it in, and unclasping its little arms 
 took its apron off and put it on the back of 
 the bed. 
 
 The baby was fretful; Alfaretta soothed 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 25 
 
 it to sleep again and again, only to have it 
 waken with the peevish wail of a teething 
 child whenever she tried to put it down. 
 Mosquitos and gnats came in swarms and 
 clouded the light of the dingy little lamp, 
 in the oil of which floated a red rag put 
 there with decorative intent. Sol sat on 
 the bed for another half hour in deep 
 thought. Then he rose and went toward 
 the door. 
 
 4 Where you going?" 
 
 "I m going to try to make Asaph square 
 up." 
 
 4 * Well, he won t." 
 
 He had taken his gun up as she spoke. 
 Now, he answered, * * Well, if he don t I ll 
 kill him." 
 
 Such a threat gave Alfaretta no particular 
 concern at the moment. She had heard 
 such threats all of her life; they were the 
 recourse of the injured, the argument of the 
 angry. She had seen men who had killed 
 others; she had even witnessed a shooting 
 or two in which no one was hurt. But no 
 
26 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 sooner was Sol gone than she became 
 troubled. She tried with all the intensity 
 of which she was capable to make the baby 
 sleep, to force him to stay asleep. When 
 she had succeeded she came out, shutting 
 the cabin door softly behind her. She stood 
 for an instant as if in doubt; then with her 
 arm held before her to shield her face from 
 the low-growing bushes, she ran at full 
 speed across the marsh toward the cabin of 
 Asaph. 
 
 As she came near she heard the sound of 
 loud talking. The men seemed to come 
 out of the door together. Their tones grew 
 fiercer. There were two shots, a shriek, an 
 oath, and then silence. 
 
 As Sol strode through the slashes Alfaretta 
 slipped to his side and touched his arm. He 
 clutched her (he shook from head to foot) 
 and dragged her out into the moonlight and 
 looked at her. She was crying aloud. 
 
 " Damn you, be still!" he said, and drove 
 her before him along the way home. 
 
 In the morning Sol put on his other shirt 
 
tHE END OF SOCIETY 27 
 
 from the box under the bed. He lingered 
 awhile, as if waiting for something. At 
 about seven, however, he took his ax and 
 went to work. 
 
 The shirt he left on the floor was blood 
 stained his left arm had been grazed by a 
 bullet. When he got home Alfaretta had 
 washed the garment and it hung drying on 
 a stump near the door. He looked at it and 
 then, sharply, at his wife. 
 
 At first Alfaretta had no thought but sim 
 ple horror at the deed. She had been so 
 far away from everything that she had no 
 constant realization that there was anyone 
 in the world but themselves. By the second 
 morning she began to fear. She knew that 
 it was wrong to kill and the possibility of 
 some human vengeance occurred to her 
 mind. In her sleep she had visions of the 
 streets in Indianapolis through which they 
 had passed on their way. There were 
 crowds there, always moving, and moving. 
 
 She had moments of that strange physical 
 apprehension of danger that some women 
 
28 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 call nervousness. She was frightened into 
 speechless trembling when at the end of the 
 third day Sol, speaking for the first time, 
 said, "If you blab you ought to be killed, 
 too." 
 
 By this time he did not eat or sleep, but 
 sat in one position all day long. As Alfa- 
 retta had looked about for a place to lay 
 the little baby, Sol had held out his hands. 
 After that he had cared for it altogether, 
 except when he gave it to the mother to 
 be fed. 
 
 One day he put his head forward as if to 
 listen. Then he laid the child down gently 
 and walked to the door. Alfaretta heard 
 him give a long sigh. In a moment three 
 men on horseback came in view the sheriff 
 and two deputies. Sol went with them 
 without resistance. 
 
 While Sol was in jail he was approached 
 by a shystering lawyer who had heard from 
 a turnkey of his wounded arm. "Give me 
 twenty-five dollars," he said, "and I ll get 
 you off. It was self-defense. " Sol listened 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 29 
 
 to what the other had to propose and then 
 said simply, "I low it wasn t self-defense, 
 I reckon I wasn t afred of Asaph s killing 
 me." When the lawyer lowered his price 
 to five dollars Sol would not even give him 
 so much out of the money for which his 
 team had been sold, and as soon as he could 
 he gave every cent to the sheriff to be kept 
 for Alfaretta. 
 
 At the opening of the trial the judge, 
 finding no lawyer acting for the prisoner, 
 asked an attorney who was in the courtroom 
 to take charge of the case. It was the same 
 man who had approached Sol in jail. * Your 
 honor," said he, "I have consulted with the 
 prisoner already, and I can only advise him 
 to plead guilty." 
 
 The trial was soon over. When Sol was 
 asked if he was guilty or not he looked up 
 as if bewildered at so superfluous a ques 
 tion. "Yes," he said, " I done it." 
 
 The Land Company in La Fayette had 
 sent a skillful lawyer to represent them in 
 the prosecution. There had been deeds of 
 
30 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 violence among their men before and they 
 were sensitive. He was able to show that 
 the murder had been wanton and cold 
 blooded. The newspapers were saying, 
 " There has been too much monkeying with 
 life sentences, and getting pardoned out in 
 a few years. What this county needs is a 
 little hanging. " Because the community 
 had felt themselves outraged by recent fail 
 ures of justice, Sol s plea of guilty did not 
 serve, as it ordinarily would have done, to 
 mitigate the sentence that was to be passed 
 on him. 
 
 Alfaretta was not at the trial. The county 
 seat was far away and she had no one with 
 whom to leave the children. Some of the 
 neighbors were able to go and drove four 
 miles out of their way on their return to tell 
 her that Sol had been sentenced to be 
 hanged. She got one short letter from her 
 husband; it was written by a fellow-prisoner 
 whose lack of facility in writing had made 
 him abbreviate the sentences out of all 
 meaning. A few days before the time set 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 3 1 
 
 for the hanging she walked, carrying both 
 children, to a farm five miles away and got 
 the woman of the house to engage to take 
 charge of the older child on the day of the 
 execution. In preparation she had already 
 made for the six months baby who was to 
 go with her a little dress of pink calico and 
 a sun-bonnet of the same. 
 
 The day appointed was late in October, 
 and, although clear, very chilly. Alfaretta 
 left home early in the morning and took her 
 way across great fields of soft black prairie 
 earth newly plowed for the planting of 
 winter wheat, or sometimes she jumped from 
 one little grassy pyramid to another across 
 the frost-stiffened swamp. 
 
 The nearest railroad was five miles from 
 her cabin, and there were four miles more 
 for her to walk to the county seat after she 
 left the cars. She was admitted at once to 
 the inclosure at the Courthouse when she 
 made herself known. Someone asked her 
 if she would like to see the prisoner, but 
 while she dumbly hesitated a deputy said it 
 
32 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 was pretty late already and he reckoned Sol 
 oughtn t to be bothered. 
 
 As she sat there in front of the scaffold 
 the silence grew deeper and deeper. The 
 crowd around her changed into a thousand 
 presences, near and oppressive. The offi 
 cers moved back and forth with grave and 
 automatic directness. Everything began to 
 swing over her in rhythmic risings and fall 
 ings. Then the silence, the multitude, the 
 swaying of the universe, seemed to her 
 sense to unite in the cadences of some awful 
 force hitherto unknown. 
 
 11 If is over, life is over, hope is over. 
 Yon two have never been alone, never not 
 even in the ivoods. A multitude has watched 
 you. They all have watched you and now 
 they have taken him, and now they are going 
 to kill him ! to kill him /" 
 
 She saw them lead out the condemned 
 man. He had on new black clothes. His 
 eyes were glassy, his mouth hung open, his 
 head wabbled from side to side. He had 
 been filled with morphine and brandy. Men 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 33 
 
 held him up on either side. The sheriff, 
 pale as ashes, turned to test the ropes for 
 the last time. 
 
 Alfaretta got to her feet. She made an 
 effort like the terrible struggle of nightmare, 
 but no voice came. An agony clutched her 
 whole slender little frame. She screamed, 
 she shrieked. 
 
 "He never knowed! You re doing just 
 what he done! It ain t right! It ain t 
 right!" 
 
 She was pulled down into her seat. The 
 baby began to wail. She opened her dress 
 and put it to her flat young breast. 
 
 She still sat there as the crowd dispersed. 
 The young reporters passed near her. One 
 said, Oh, there s the widow!" and taking 
 out his note book turned toward her. The 
 other drew him away. 4< Oh, hell! Ain t 
 you sick enough already?" 
 
 A deputy came to inquire if she wanted 
 
 the " remains." She made some sort of 
 
 affirmative sign, and when Sol s body was 
 
 put in the coffin she came and sat down 
 
 3 
 
34 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 beside it with her arm over the box. The 
 sheriff said he would ask some of the folks 
 that were going that way to carry the body 
 as far as the train. Later he came back 
 and said in something like apology that the 
 Balzer boys were the only ones he could 
 get. 
 
 The sheriff s wife left her hospitable 
 kitchen she had a lot of company to dinner 
 that day and came across to where Alfa- 
 retta sat in front of the jail and begged her 
 to come in and get a comfortable dinner 
 with the folks. Alfaretta looked at her in 
 silence as she continued with kindly insist 
 ence. "Oh, come right on, Miz Hopper; 
 you know you d ought to eat to keep up 
 your strength." Later a bareheaded little 
 girl ran over, bringing a plate on which was 
 a large piece of custard pie and some sweet 
 pickles, and a cup of coffee over-sugared 
 and creamed. Alfaretta gave the baby a 
 little of the coffee. 
 
 At five o clock the Balzers came by. 
 They had been drinking, but were quiet. I 
 
THE END OF SOCIETY 35 
 
 reckon they ll have sense enough not to 
 talk any blaggard talk while she s along," 
 the sheriff said, anxiously, as they passed 
 out of sight. 
 
 The first mile they were silent. Then 
 they stopped and drank from a jug which 
 lay at their feet. Alfaretta sat in the rear 
 end of the wagon on some straw. Before 
 they had gone another half mile they were 
 singing and yelling. From then on they 
 were drinking constantly, at one minute 
 making frightful threats to anything and 
 everything, at another uttering horrible 
 blasphemies. Later it occurred to them to 
 ask the dead man to drink. They turned 
 in the seat and poured whisky on the head 
 of the coffin. 
 
 It was dark when they reached the sta 
 tion. The Balzers had grown sullen and 
 quarrelsome. The agent came out and 
 helped them to put the coffin on the plat 
 form which made the station it was only 
 a place where the train took water. Then 
 after the wagon was gone the agent told 
 
36 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Alfaretta that he d got to go to his supper, 
 but he d come back in time to flag the eight 
 o clock train. She saw his lantern fade 
 and go out down the road. 
 
 As she sat there the night grew cold. 
 Heavy mists rose from the earth. She took 
 off her shawl to put around the baby, and 
 then her sun-bonnet to wrap around its 
 little feet. 
 
 And as she waited alone with her dead 
 husband she knew not of any mercy in the 
 hollow swinging earth beneath her, nor in 
 the empty heavens above. 
 
AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF 
 QUALITY 
 
AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY 
 OF QUALITY 
 
 regular Saturday afternoon meeting 
 1 of the Woman s Club was over. It had 
 been a delightful occasion; the club mem 
 bers standing about the room in little groups 
 said to each other that it had been a " beau 
 tiful" meeting. They were prosperous- 
 looking women. Some of them were pretty, 
 some far from it, but they all had the look 
 of belonging to that class which subordinates 
 the physical, and gives the intellectual part 
 of their natures at least a fair chance. 
 
 Many of them lingered to speak to the 
 President of the club. She had read the 
 paper of the day. Her theme had been 
 "The Divinity of Man." Everybody was 
 charmed. 
 
 "I don t want to be an angel!" said one 
 
 39 
 
4 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 lady. " Now that I ve heard you, I d rather 
 be a human being!" 
 
 "I seemed to recognize it as my own 
 subconscious thinking," said another. 
 * Humanity shares in the holiness of the 
 universe! " 
 
 4 Oh!" cried a third, "I did like it when 
 you said that we are all of the same essence 
 Call no man common or unclean; he is 
 in God, as we are in God!" 
 
 Mrs. Owen stood smiling and flushed in 
 the middle of the eager group. Her breath 
 was still coming fast from the emotion of 
 her subject. She gave both hands to those 
 near her. "Thank you, dear." "Oh, how 
 kind you are!" Yes," to another, "when 
 one gets possession of the thought it clears 
 away everything. All that is wrong rights 
 itself." 
 
 Some young girls stood at the edge of the 
 circle, waiting for a chance to approach her. 
 " Isn t Mrs. Owen lovely?" said one. "She 
 herself makes everything she says seem so 
 exquisite!" 
 
AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY 41 
 
 1 I m not sure we have a right to feel that," 
 answered her friend. "The truth ought to 
 go by its own strength, without any charm 
 ing woman to fire it off. For myself, I try 
 to listen to everything I hear as if it were 
 uttered by a young man with big feet, no 
 chin, and a prominent Adam s apple!" 
 
 "Well, that doesn t make Mrs. Owen 
 any less lovely, does it?" asked the first. 
 
 "Oh, no! and she believes all she 
 says!" 
 
 The club members passed out. Mrs. 
 Owen remained to speak to the custodian 
 of the rooms. As she waited she was con 
 scious of a sort of exaltation. She reveled 
 in the thought of her own happiness. Every 
 thing pleased her. From the first she had had 
 great faith in the woman s club idea. Her 
 society had prospered beyond all expecta 
 tion. She looked about her; the beautiful 
 building in which she was had been built by 
 the members of the club, and consecrated 
 to the uses of women and children. In the 
 rooms nearest was an art school for working- 
 
42 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 girls; upstairs a Delsarte teacher was in 
 structing fifty children. 
 
 Every day brought to her fresh signs of 
 the intellectual activity of the town. And, 
 she thought, spiritually everything was bet 
 ter than it had been there was surely less 
 gossip, less malicious criticism! It seemed 
 to her that she might count the time near 
 when men would be true and wise, and 
 women free and strong. 
 
 She went smiling down the stairway, a 
 crowd of children from the upper floor troop 
 ing after her. From the club she was to 
 go for her husband and take him with her 
 to a reception; it was because of this recep 
 tion that she was dressed more showily than 
 she would otherwise have been. The four- 
 o clock whistle of a factory around the cor 
 ner had just sounded. At the foot of the 
 steps she looked ahead of her quickly, and 
 then turned to the children above her. * Go 
 back!" she cried; "Go back instantly!" 
 
 As she reached the street she had come 
 between two men. One had run past her, 
 
AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY 43 
 
 bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves. There 
 was fury in his face, and shame too. He 
 stopped suddenly, his hand at his hip, and 
 turned on the man who pursued him. 
 " Don t you touch me!" he shouted; "I ve 
 got a gun!" 
 
 As he spoke his pursuer closed with him ; 
 they went to the earth together in fierce 
 writhings. Mrs. Owen threw out her hands 
 and looked about for help. The people 
 who a moment before crowded the street 
 had moved back into a ring. She was in 
 the middle of it, the two struggling men at 
 her feet. She said to those nearest her: 
 "Can t you stop it? This is awful!" The 
 spectators grinned sheepishly. One nudged 
 his neighbor with his elbow, and said, in a 
 low voice, but with a distinct imitation of 
 her tone, Can t you stop this, Jim?" Mrs. 
 Owen tried to look away, but she could not. 
 Either the horror of the thing had deadened 
 her senses so she could not feel it, or it was 
 not horrible. At any rate, she looked ; more 
 than that, she knew she wanted to look. 
 
44 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 She scrutinized the two men; they were 
 shabby, undersized, ill fed. She heard the 
 blows, and even wondered: "I did not 
 know that flesh striking flesh would make 
 a sound like that!" She saw, too, another 
 thing that surprised her a blow did not 
 bring blood at once; first the flesh was 
 white, then the blood oozed to the surface. 
 They rolled and tossed from edge to edge 
 of the sidewalk. One bit the other s ear, 
 and chewed at it furiously. The other 
 heaved and tossed in fierce effort to get at 
 his opponent s throat. As they fought they 
 uttered sharp little cries. It seemed that 
 the pursuer was getting the best of it; the 
 other man for a moment made no resistance. 
 Immediately the reason was evident; he was 
 trying to get his pistol out of his pocket. 
 Another half-turn and he would have it. 
 "Let me up!" he shouted, as the other 
 ground his elbow into his chest ; "I don t 
 want to kill you!" The other gave no heed; 
 his face was full of inhuman fury. It seemed 
 as if nothing could reach him. The first 
 
AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY 45 
 
 man got his hand on his pistol in a breath 
 there would be murder! 
 
 Mrs. Owen sprang at the two. She 
 clutched the upper man by the arms. Get 
 up this minute!" she said. "Drop him!" 
 
 He looked around stupidly. A lady, pale 
 and beautiful, held him by the shoulders. 
 A slow surprise came over his distorted fea 
 tures. His hands fell. He let her drag 
 him to his feet. She held him tightly by 
 the wrists as they stood. 
 
 The other one sat up and looked blankly 
 at the bloody pavement. Go !" she cried. 
 He staggered to an upright position, his 
 pistol in his hand. As he turned, the man 
 she held began to cry. He looked hideous 
 like an ugly baby. Lady, " he said, 1 
 never gave her a hard word since we was 
 married!" 
 
 The pursued man had reeled a few feet 
 down the street; he turned, and without a 
 word of warning shot full into the crowd 
 once and again. 
 
 By some chance no one was hit, but on 
 
46 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 the instant the silent street broke into mo 
 tion. Men shouted and pushed forward and 
 back, and, as if they had sprung from the 
 earth, two policemen appeared, swinging 
 their clubs as they ran. One seized the 
 man with the pistol, who looked at him 
 with a silly, bewildered smile on his bloody 
 face. The other bore down on the whim 
 pering wretch that Mrs. Owen still held. 
 He laid hold of him with that ferocity that 
 makes manifest the majesty of the law. 
 Then he turned. 
 
 "Lady in the scrap?" he asked, indi 
 cating Mrs. Owen with a fat thumb. 
 
 The crowd surged down the street, leav 
 ing Mrs. Owen almost alone. Some street 
 boys, torn with vain regrets, rushed by her 
 in hot chase. The janitress of the building 
 hurried down the stair. 
 
 "Won t you come up and wait for your 
 carnage?" she asked. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Owen; "I ll wait here." 
 But it seemed to her that she must move. 
 
AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY 47 
 
 "Tell the coachman to come to Mr. Owen s 
 office for me." 
 
 As she started she had a mechanical sort 
 of perception that her beautiful garments 
 were not suited to the street. Then she 
 knew that she was saying to herself, That 
 is what I might think; really I don t care 
 in the least about it or about anything!" 
 She loathed herself; she had a sickening 
 consciousness that she was part of it all, 
 and that those brutes were part of her. 
 
 Suddenly she thought, "Oh, how sleepy 
 I am!" Then, with the woman s club habit 
 of analysis, "How strange that I should be 
 sleepy!" She was in front of a wholesale 
 hardware shop. She leaned for a moment 
 on a convenient keg of nails, to the admira 
 tion of a banana peddler. 
 
 A little later she walked into her hus 
 band s office, past a boy who was screwing 
 down a copying-press and a young man who 
 talked a denunciatory letter into a phono 
 graph. She opened a door marked Mr. 
 Owen. Her husband sat at a desk writing; 
 
48 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 he smiled, but did not raise his eyes above 
 the border of her skirt. 
 
 "That you, Amy? Sit down; I ll be done 
 in a minute." 
 
 She put her hand against the casing of 
 the door. It seemed to her that she could 
 go no farther. At the end of the line her 
 husband looked up. "What is it, Amy?" 
 he cried, hastening toward her. "What 
 makes you so pale?" 
 
 She smiled at him mistily. "I guess, 
 Richard," said she, "I guess you d be pale, 
 too, if you d just been in a scrap!" 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 
 
 AT the time of Lee s surrender the Cap 
 tain was in Virginia; it was six weeks 
 later when he reached his plantation. The 
 driver of the wagon hired to bring him from 
 Natchez put him down with some pre 
 tense of apology at the big gate a half mile 
 from the house. Weak and ill though he 
 was, he did not object, for he wanted to be 
 alone a few moments before he reached 
 home. He had been stunned by defeat and 
 disaster, and thus far had not been able to 
 think clearly of the future. 
 
 As he went up the leaf-strewn avenue he 
 saw the whole situation plainly. The fight 
 was over, the old hopes were dead, he must 
 bury them out of sight and take up with 
 single mind the life that lay ahead. He 
 had served through the entire war, his health 
 5* 
 
52 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 was broken, his fortune was gone; but he 
 was not dismayed. 
 
 "A man s spirit is his own," he thought. 
 "Defeat cannot crush it, nor, unless he 
 consent, can any misfortune take it from 
 him." And then he saw his wife s white 
 dress float across the gallery as she came 
 to meet him. 
 
 It was evident almost at once that Cap 
 tain Lee must give up the plantation to his 
 creditors. Before he went into the army 
 he had been admitted to the bar, but they 
 had nothing to live on while he should wait 
 for a practice. He took the first employ 
 ment he could get a situation as clerk in 
 a cotton house and went to work as ear 
 nestly and simply as if he had never meant 
 to do anything else. 
 
 The new way of living upon which the 
 Lees entered was very different from any 
 thing which they had known before, but 
 Mrs. Lee went into its hardships as unrepin- 
 ingly as did her husband, and gayly too. 
 She found a score of new interests. She bor- 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 53 
 
 rowed recipes and learned to be a frugal 
 housekeeper; she practiced her economies 
 with the air of a princess. She went much 
 into society, wearing her old finery so con 
 vincingly that other women thought they 
 had been misinformed about the fashions. 
 
 The Captain s salary was soon increased, 
 and before many years a partnership was 
 offered to him. He and his wife had meant 
 that as soon as their affairs grew a little 
 brighter he should take up the practice of 
 law, but, when the time came to decide, he 
 at once gave up all idea of following the 
 profession which he loved. His own pref 
 erences and, stronger still, the traditions of 
 his race were set aside for the chance of 
 more speedily securing ease for those de 
 pendent on him. 
 
 They went North for a few weeks every 
 summer, and it sometimes happened that 
 the Captain was asked if he were related to 
 the great General whose name was the 
 same as his own. He answered in the neg 
 ative as briefly as was possible in so court- 
 
54 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 ecus a man, nor did he ever follow the 
 lead thus given and talk of the time of the 
 Confederacy. 
 
 " I wonder," said Mrs. Lee to him one 
 day at Mackinac, "that you did not respond 
 more cordially to that gentleman. He 
 showed such a nice spirit. I should think 
 you would be interested in talking the sub 
 ject over with an intelligent person on the 
 other side." 
 
 The Captain looked at her with his fine, 
 gentle face drawn with feeling. Oh, Mrs. 
 Lee, don t you know that I cannot talk it 
 over? It is too near it hurts too much." 
 
 But after that, he might have been seen 
 trying to make special amends in the way 
 of courtesy to the Northern gentleman. He 
 played whist with him for a partner, and 
 watched him lead from a short suit with 
 unflinching politeness; and he listened with 
 interest to all that the other had to say of 
 the surpassing attractions the state of Iowa 
 presented as a place of residence. 
 
 To his wife only did the Captain speak 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 55 
 
 of the past. She listened always with ten 
 der interest, but one day she said: "Those 
 times must always be sacred and precious 
 to you and me, but is it wise to dwell much 
 on what is over? Should we not fill our 
 minds as much as possible with other inter 
 ests?" He thanked her for her candor. 
 "You are right, dear; we must think of the 
 present. " 
 
 The Captain s two little daughters were 
 born after the circumstances of the family 
 had grown brighter they were a part of 
 the new and prosperous life. In their child 
 hood he spent much time with them, and he 
 invariably treated them with the courtesy 
 he would have shown to young ladies. The 
 thought of reproving them, or finding fault 
 with them, would have given him pain. 
 He listened to the talk of his associates on 
 the fertile theme of how to bring up chil 
 dren as if he had no share in such cares. 
 " No doubt a boy may need at times to be 
 disciplined, but a little girl! I have not 
 
S DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 known any instance where a little girl did 
 anything that you could call wrong." 
 
 The Captain s daughters grew up into 
 beautiful, capable young women. They 
 were sent North to school and came home 
 with an amount of Latin and science that 
 startled their father. Their natural charm 
 still further heightened by cultivation and by 
 conscious endeavor, they soon were recog 
 nized belles. Their fondness for dancing 
 and finery and all kinds of social gayety was, 
 in their father s opinion, only natural. But 
 they united with these seasonable instincts 
 others that were less easy of comprehen 
 sion. Miss Fairfax hastened to join the 
 Woman s Club, and studied, and, it was 
 said, mastered the Previous Question. Miss 
 Patty worked in the Art League. The 
 Captain in his heart did not quite see the 
 use of all this, but he stood by his daugh 
 ters loyally. 
 
 " There s a lot of foolishness going on!" 
 said an old gentleman to him as they walked 
 down the magnolia-shaded street one morn- 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 57 
 
 ing. " These clubs are no place for a 
 woman. A woman ought to stay at home 
 and attend to her house and her children." 
 
 The Captain saw that his friend had for 
 gotten that he was speaking to a man whose 
 wife and daughters were active in the very 
 work that he condemned. He had a mo 
 ment s embarrassment; he would not mor 
 tify the gentleman by reminding him of it, 
 but he could not even seem to acquiesce in 
 what might be a criticism of the ladies of 
 his family. 
 
 "I have looked into the matter rather 
 closely," he hastened to say, "and I do 
 not find any ground for the misgiving that 
 you entertain. The ladies meet as ladies, 
 to discuss in a modest and thoughtful man 
 ner themes of an elevating nature. And," 
 he continued, warming up to his subject, 
 "it is my conviction that anything a lady 
 does is right. The hand of woman, sir, 
 glorifies and blesses whatever it rests 
 upon." 
 
 He came indeed to take pleasure in the 
 
58 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 doings of the societies. When Fairfax was 
 appointed to write a paper on the Poets of 
 the Elizabethan Age, he was more inter 
 ested in the subject than was the young 
 woman herself. He sent away for books 
 and went over the half-forgotten volumes 
 that had come to him from his father s 
 library; and when her paper was completed 
 he read it with much pleasure. 
 
 "I certainly was surprised at its excel 
 lence," he said to Mrs. Lee. "The essay 
 not only evinces study, but also manifests a 
 very considerable degree of taste and sensi 
 bility, and a not unfeminine perception of 
 humor. The style might be thought a little 
 abrupt, and the language in some places in 
 clined to colloquialism; but those are faults 
 that may be cured by observation and ap 
 plication. I shall recommend her to the 
 careful reading of Addison for a month or 
 two, with something of Washington Irving 
 to give her expression the modern cast." 
 
 In the infancy of the little girls the Cap 
 tain had said to his wife, " Our children are 
 
"A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 59 
 
 our dearest possession and we want to keep 
 them near us. Let us always respect their 
 individuality and ever encourage them to ap 
 proach us with perfect freedom." In this 
 there was no doubt that he succeeded; the 
 young ladies were free to utter their thoughts 
 on any subject that might come up. As 
 they sat at the table one evening Miss Fair 
 fax mused deeply. Suddenly she spoke: 
 
 "The whole theory of this government," 
 said she, "is wrong and impracticable! 
 The answer for our difficulty lies, I have no 
 doubt, in some form of socialism!" 
 
 The Captain almost jumped out of his 
 chair in horror and indignation. * Good 
 heavens, child, what are you talking about? 
 Socialism means atheism the destruction 
 of private rights anarchy everything else 
 that is bad!" 
 
 "Oh, that s not argument, father," she 
 responded calmly, <( that s just violence. 
 We will talk the matter over, and I am 
 almost sure I can convince you." 
 
 The Captain looked for an instant at the 
 
60 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 pretty and fashionable young person who 
 had gravely made this suggestion, and then 
 (a most unusual thing for him) he broke 
 into a laugh, "Well, my dear," he said, 
 "I wonder what my father would have 
 done if I had made such a speech as that to 
 him." 
 
 But it was plain that he had something 
 on his mind all the evening, and before they 
 separated for the night he spoke to Fairfax 
 seriously. 
 
 " Daughter, " he said, <4 I can hardly be 
 lieve that you were in earnest in your talk 
 about the theory of our national existence. 
 A republic like ours is the best form of gov 
 ernment on which the sun ever shone; the 
 principles on which it is founded are the 
 noblest ever conceived by human intellect. 
 An American should be proud to lay down 
 his life in the defense of these principles, 
 and he should feel, with reverent gratitude, 
 that they have had the special blessing of 
 the Almighty as well as the applause of the 
 world." 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 61 
 
 "I was right much worried to see that 
 you took Fairfax s nonsense so seriously," 
 said Mrs. Lee, when they were alone. 
 " You mustn t mind it, it s just her way of 
 talking." 
 
 The Captain was not to be reassured. 
 "I feel," said he, "that I have neglected 
 one of the most sacred duties of a parent. 
 I have not, as I should have done, day by 
 day instilled into the minds of my children 
 that patriotism which is one of the highest 
 qualities of any soul, and without which a 
 nation, like an uprooted plant, will surely 
 perish. And the natural outgrowth of my 
 carelessness is the alarming view held by 
 my own daughter." 
 
 " Oh, I guess you re feeling it too much," 
 his wife answered. "We re just like other 
 parents. Nobody talks much to their chil 
 dren about that sort of thing nowadays. I 
 know they don t in the North. Perhaps the 
 way you and I were brought up is a little 
 out of style now," she added, laughingly. 
 
 "My love, this is hardly a matter of 
 
62 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 fashion," said the Captain, with dignity. 
 "It is a question, is it not, of what is true?" 
 
 Shortly after this, in his gentle way, he 
 asked his daughters to read the Declaration 
 of Independence, and spoke more than once 
 of Washington and La Fayette. They 
 belong to us as much as they did to our 
 forefathers," he said, "and we may well 
 profit by the study of their lives and mo 
 tives." 
 
 One beautiful evening in April the Cap 
 tain stood on the gallery and looked down 
 across the lawn. The magnolia trees were 
 in full bloom and there were roses every 
 where. The air was deliciously sweet, and 
 there was something peaceful and reminis 
 cent in the scene. It brought back to him 
 the time when all the year was glowing and 
 tender as an April afternoon. 
 
 As he stood, he heard the sound of a 
 horn, then merry shouts and laughing and 
 the noise of wheels. He saw the coach 
 coming on which his daughters had gone to 
 the races that afternoon. In his dignified 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 63 
 
 way he started down the long drive to meet 
 the young ladies, but before he had gone 
 ten steps some young men sprang to the 
 earth and held outstretched arms to the 
 girls. The Captain saw his daughters jump 
 from what seemed to him dizzy heights, he 
 saw them light like bubbles in a swirl of 
 lace and silken flounces. The coach drove 
 away, good-byes were shouted and waved, 
 the horn sounded out merrily as the great 
 vehicle swung along under the trees. 
 
 As the Captain looked at the scene, 
 memories came to him. He thought of his 
 gentle mother, dead in his youth; how 
 softly she moved, how frail and fine she 
 seemed. And then he remembered his wife 
 when he was courting her "the lily of 
 Tupelo County," they called her. He saw 
 her again, stepping from her father s car 
 riage; the tip of one tiny satin shoe peeped 
 from the folds of her rich robe, and she 
 lightly touched with the ends of her gloved 
 fingers the arm of the gentleman who, hat 
 
4 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 in hand, eyes on the ground, had the honor 
 of assisting her to alight! 
 
 The young women saw him coming to 
 ward them. They noticed his fine military 
 bearing and his clear-cut, high-bred fea 
 tures. " Doesn t he look awfully swell?" 
 said Fairfax. "Doesn t he look awfully 
 sweet?" answered her sister. 
 
 They quickened their steps into a run. 
 " Bless your heart!" cried Fairfax, "how 
 solemn he looks, doesn t he, Patty?" 
 
 I should say so, " Patty answered, put 
 ting her arm around his slim old waist. ( He 
 looks as if he d lost something and couldn t 
 find it." 
 
 "I guess he thought he d lost his supper," 
 declared Fairfax. * He ll feel better when 
 he s had a square meal as mother would 
 say," she added, roguishly. 
 
 The Captain looked at her with reluctant 
 disapprobation. He stopped as they were 
 entering the dining-room door. " My dear," 
 said he, * I do not think I ever heard your 
 mother make use of that expression. " 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 65 
 
 The sisters smiled at each other. <( Oh, 
 father, you are hopeless," said one of them. 
 I don t believe you d know a joke if you 
 met it coming up the big road." 
 
 "Then that s a good reason why you all 
 shouldn t tease him," said Mrs. Lee. 
 
 At the table the two paid their father 
 every pretty attention. They told him, as 
 they knew he liked to be told, fully and in 
 detail, about the races and everything that 
 had happened. They were very bright in 
 their talk, and he was, as he would have 
 said, much " diverted" by it. He admired 
 their wit, their grace, and their shrewd 
 common sense. But their point of view 
 was not his; he had felt this vaguely before, 
 now he saw it clearly. There was a differ 
 ence; his wife could come to a subject in 
 the way that they did; but he felt himself 
 an alien. 
 
 And yet, even as he perceived this, it 
 
 seemed to him that he saw a forgotten self 
 
 reflected in his daughters. The spirit of 
 
 his college days came to him like a faint 
 
 5 
 
66 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 echo through their gay discourse; he almost 
 heard his own voice as they spoke. 
 
 Something dreadful must have happened 
 to me!" he thought " something awful 
 or I should have kept on being quick and 
 free-minded, just the way that they are." 
 
 He was disturbed and bewildered. The 
 pressure of a situation he could not under 
 stand was on him. When the young ladies 
 were gone he turned to his wife. He rec 
 ognized fondly as he did so that through 
 everything she was the same. He thought 
 that she looked as young as her daughters, 
 and her face, with its colorless olive skin 
 and its soft, dark eyes, had an effect of dis 
 tinction that was lacking in the blooming 
 beauty of the girls. But he could not find 
 words in which to express his question, and 
 he hardly knew what he wished to ask. 
 
 "Well," he said, "our daughters are 
 certainly very pretty." 
 
 His wife looked at him with candid, laugh 
 ing eyes. "Is that all you can say, Mr. 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 67 
 
 Lee? Now, I think they are the nicest girls 
 in the world." 
 
 "Oh, so do I," he hastened to declare. 
 "But are they like other girls?" 
 
 Certainly they are, " she answered, ex 
 cept that they are brighter than most girls." 
 
 "But, my dear," he urged, "they are 
 not as you used to be!" 
 
 "No," she sighed. "I try not to be en 
 vious when I see how much better a chance 
 my daughters have than I ever had." 
 
 "Of course," said the Captain, "I know 
 the times are changed, but do you think 
 that with this modern spirit there is rever 
 ence for the old ways respect for the things 
 that stand for them ?" He hesitated. Do 
 you suppose that Fairfax or my little Patty 
 would care for those ideas that have been 
 dearer than life to me?" 
 
 His wife answered easily, "Oh, Mr. Lee, 
 the girls are young; we mustn t expect much 
 of them yet." 
 
 The Captain turned his head and saw 
 Patty coming toward him. She had been 
 
68 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 in the next room and had heard his ques 
 tions. There were tears in her eyes. 
 
 "Father," said she, "we are not fine, 
 like you and mother." Then she smiled. 
 "But you must remember that we hadn t 
 the same advantages in our youth." 
 
 He put his arm around her fondly. You 
 two are father s dear treasures." 
 
 Shortly after this Miss Patty went to visit 
 a friend whose husband, an officer in the 
 regular army, was stationed at the Post at 
 San Antonio. In her first letters she often 
 mentioned Lieutenant Walters, It was he 
 who sent the flowers and arranged the rid 
 ing parties. Then she wrote no more about 
 him. Later she said, "They all talk a lot 
 about what a good family Mr. Walters be 
 longs to. Ask father if he ever heard of 
 a Colonel Horatio Walters who was in the 
 Federal army." 
 
 "Patty is too absurd!" exclaimed Fairfax. 
 " She thinks as we did when we were little, 
 that father knows everything and everybody 
 in the round world." 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 69 
 
 "Her instinct, if it be instinct, is not 
 misplaced this time," said the Captain; "I 
 have known of Horatio Walters for forty 
 years / 
 
 Well, I always did say that you were 
 the most remarkable man alive! How did 
 you ever happen to know him?" 
 
 <4 It was when we were both young. 
 Every spring for many years my father 
 carried us all to Newport. The Walters 
 family had a place there. Raish and I 
 were together every day and all day long 
 through many summers." 
 
 He mused smilingly for a few minutes, 
 then he said: 
 
 He was a mighty nice boy. It certainly 
 is curious I never have seen him since we 
 were eighteen never but once; and yet 
 positively I think of him oftener than I do 
 of men whom I ve been meeting every day 
 for years. " 
 
 You have seen him once since you were 
 grown, did you say, father?" 
 
 "Yes, once when I was about twenty- 
 
70 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 five," he answered. But he did not seem 
 inclined to say more. 
 
 When they were alone Mrs. Lee said to 
 her daughter, " I think I can tell you when 
 your father met Colonel Walters again." 
 
 "I thought you could," answered her 
 daughter; "that s why I didn t tease him." . 
 
 Of course I wouldn t tell you if I thought 
 he would object," said Mrs. Lee; " but he 
 just doesn t care to speak of those things 
 himself. He told me long ago that one 
 day in Virginia at the time when it began to 
 be plain that the Confederate forces could 
 not hold out, he found that an old friend of 
 his was in command of the Federal regi 
 ment just in front of him. He was wild to 
 see him, so he took a glass and went to an 
 elevation inside the lines. By some chance 
 the other man was looking for him and they 
 saw each other at the same instant. He 
 said he saw his friend throw down his glass, 
 swing his cap around his head, and he heard 
 him give the long shrill whistle l Oo-ee- 
 eefby which they summoned each other 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH fl 
 
 as boys. And to his surprise he found him 
 self doing the same thing." 
 
 "Dear me!" said the girl, "I wonder if 
 that was really a pleasant experience?" 
 
 4 It was to him. He said that all day 
 he kept thinking of his friend s gay affec 
 tionate face, and of how handsome he looked 
 in his fine uniform." 
 
 * It would have made me awfully mad!" 
 said Fairfax. 
 
 Miss Patty was absent for three months. 
 When she came home her mother and sister 
 thought her a trifle absent-minded, and she 
 was no less so on the Saturday after her 
 arrival. On that day the Captain came 
 from his office with great news. Mr. Wal 
 ters had been with him for some time that 
 afternoon. He had been courting Patty all 
 winter and now asked her father s permis 
 sion to address her. The young man had 
 behaved with great propriety and candor. 
 The Captain could not but be satisfied with 
 what he learned of his character and pros 
 pects. He had only stipulated for a longer 
 
72 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 acquaintance before an engagement should 
 be entered into, in case Patty should feel 
 inclined to accept his addresses. Concern 
 ing this the young man had shown a degree 
 of doubt that was most becoming, but when 
 Patty was called from her room where she 
 had locked herself it became evident that 
 the two understood each other pretty well. 
 As the family sat together some hours later 
 the Captain suddenly broke a silence by 
 saying, "He looks just as his father did 
 that day!" 
 
 11 Oh, father," said Fairfax, "you don t 
 expect us to believe that you can remember 
 how anybody looked thirty years ago?" 
 
 But Patty rose at once and came to her 
 father s side. " Thank you, father," she 
 said; "I think that means that you like 
 him." 
 
 The Captain had early acquired a compe 
 tence, and by the time his daughters were 
 grown he was a wealthy man. Having leis 
 ure and means, and a genuine interest in all 
 that was for the good of the community, he 
 
A PART OF THE NEW SOUTH 73 
 
 was constantly, in spite of his reserve and 
 modesty, called on to fill places of promi 
 nence. His absolute integrity, his wide and 
 temperate judgment were valued most highly. 
 In many of the ceremonials of the region, such 
 as the opening of the great bridge, or the 
 dedication of the monument, he made, with 
 his distinguished bearing and his pale, sad 
 face, a most impressive figure. One day 
 as he sat reading, while Mrs. Lee by his 
 side worked at her embroidery, he put down 
 his newspaper with a sad smile. He had 
 been reading an announcement of his 
 daughter s engagement, which included a 
 tribute to himself as a successful man and a 
 public-spirited citizen. It closed with these 
 words: " Captain Lee is a part, and a char 
 acteristic part, of the New South." His 
 eyes took the look of one who recalls with 
 undying love a dead and buried past. 
 
 His wife rose and put her hand on his 
 shoulder. She had it in her mind to catch 
 his thought and then to lead him out of it. 
 "I wonder," said she, "if you are remem- 
 
74 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 bering that this week is the anniversary of 
 the fall of Richmond?" 
 
 He looked at her with startled, bewildered 
 eyes. She made the quick effort of a wife 
 to bring him to a happier mood. 
 
 "We have lived a great deal since then, 
 have we not?" 
 
 He put his hand to his brow; the look of 
 distress flamed up into angry pain. 
 
 "No, no!" he said. "It seems to me 
 that I have been dead ever since then." 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 
 I 
 
 AT six o clock in the morning a train 
 slackened and stopped at the little sta 
 tion. It was summer still, and the atmos 
 phere had in it the memory of a hot day 
 just passed, and the promise of one to come. 
 The freight agent came out of his little 
 office and stood by the baggage car. He 
 was pale and sleepy-looking, but he smiled 
 with the good humor of a man who finds 
 something rather amusing in his own over 
 worked condition. The blinds were down 
 in the Pullman car and only one passenger 
 appeared at the end where the white-coated 
 porter had placed his step. He put her bags 
 into her hands and sprang back on to the 
 car. 
 
 The young lady looked up and down the 
 cindery platform, and across the little grass- 
 77 
 
78 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 plat and its gay beds of foliage plants, as if 
 in expectation of someone to meet her. 
 Then she walked to the baggageman, who 
 had put her trunk on .a hand truck and was 
 about to wheel it into the depot. 
 
 Do you know Mr. Amos Peabody?" she 
 asked. Has he -been here this morning?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said. I have known Mr. 
 Peabody and Miss Dezzie ever since I was 
 a little boy. But they ain t been here this 
 morning. They went up to Chicago yes 
 terday afternoon. They laid off to do some 
 trading, I guess." 
 
 The girl for an instant seemed dismayed. 
 "When will they return?" she asked. 
 
 "I don t exactly know, but I heard her 
 telling somebody she must get right back, 
 some of her folks was coming. Now, I 
 reckon " 
 
 The young lady did not prolong the con 
 versation. "Thank you," said she; "Iwill 
 send for the trunk." 
 
 The man followed her respectfully to the 
 edge of the platform. "The house is 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 79 
 
 straight down the street. It s the old- 
 fashioned red brick with a big orchard in 
 front. It s been here since the Indians, 
 most. Row of mill hands cottages built 
 up pretty close to the far side of the lot." 
 
 As the young girl walked down the dewy 
 street the station agent looked after her 
 with interest. He knew all about her; he 
 knew that Mr. Peabody and his maiden 
 sister, Miss Dezzie, had several years before 
 adopted a little orphan niece, and that they 
 had kept her at school in Vermont, where 
 every year they spent the summer, and that 
 now, having been graduated, she was com 
 ing to Indiana to live with them. 
 
 44 1 don t wonder the old folks are so soft 
 about her," he said. " She s a hummer for 
 looks. " 
 
 The town through which Elinor Fletcher 
 walked was just beginning to awaken. It 
 was a pretty, ready-made town grouped 
 around the works that made the heart of it. 
 The same architect had planned it all. 
 Whether one looked at the great mills them- 
 
86 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 selves, or at the long rows of operatives* 
 houses, or at the library or the theater or 
 the showy residences of the proprietors, half 
 hidden in trees, with stretches of lawn, the 
 same features were evident; the same red 
 brick, the same deep set windows, the same 
 olive shingles, the same green grass, close- 
 cut and water-drenched, and the same beds 
 of red geraniums all in full bloom. The 
 town looked as if it had been put down all 
 at once. Only here and there, through its 
 spick and span woof, there protruded a 
 house of an older time, a residence like the 
 Peabody s, which held in its aspect a mem 
 ory of the period before the great factories 
 had been dreamed of, a time, still to be 
 boasted of, when Greenfield had a Pres 
 byterian and a Methodist and a Campbellite 
 church while Chicago was only a swamp. 
 
 The girl walked up the long path, between 
 rows of blooming perennial phlox and clus 
 ters of gladioli, to the door of her uncle s 
 house. At the foot of the steps she stopped. 
 The front porch was dusty, and some wind- 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 81 
 
 blown leaves and twigs lay about it. In 
 the door-recess were two newspapers, rolled 
 and still keeping the boomerang shape in 
 which they had been thrown. Under the 
 door was tucked a yellow envelope which 
 the girl recognized as possibly containing 
 the telegram she had sent in notification. 
 She looked at the closed door in thoughtful 
 consideration of what was to be done. 
 
 Across the garden at one side was the last 
 of the row of cottages. Evidently its in 
 mates were stirring, for smoke rose from 
 the chimney. Some children, who had ap 
 parently with one bound left their beds and 
 the house, stood around the back door. 
 They stared awhile and then ran into the 
 house. A woman came back with them; 
 she also stared, adjusted the neck of her 
 gown and came to the dividing fence. Elinor 
 went toward her with an inquiry. 
 
 * Their hired girl was over here night be 
 fore last," the woman responded, "and she 
 said they didn t look for you till to-morrow; 
 6 
 
82 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 and so when they went off she was going out 
 to see her folks in the country. " 
 
 "It is quite my fault," said Miss Elinor. 
 I found I could get through sooner. Have 
 you any idea when they will come home?" 
 
 Law, yes ! They re going to get here to 
 night sure. The train gets in about nine 
 that is, if it ain t late. You know," said 
 she, with a certain air, "that this is Labor 
 Day." 
 
 "Is there any hotel near?" asked the 
 young woman. 
 
 "They ain t none in town, none nearer 
 than New Greenfield that s three miles up 
 the road." 
 
 Miss Elinor turned with a smile. "Well, 
 then, Mrs. oh, Mrs. Montague, thank you! 
 I guess I ll have to ask you to give me some 
 of your coffee and let me spend -the day 
 with you." 
 
 Mrs. Montague flushed with pleasure. 
 "That s right. I ll take good care of you. 
 Montague s gone off already to get the 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 83 
 
 transparencies for the procession, and you 
 and me ll have breakfast right away." 
 
 The two went into the kitchen. It was 
 a dreary, disorderly place. A few large 
 goods boxes stood about; they had not been 
 unpacked, but part of their contents had 
 been dragged out, and the rest were spill 
 ing over the top. "We have been here 
 four months," said Mrs. Montague, "but I 
 don t feel really settled so as to have any 
 ambition to get out my things. We come 
 here from Pullman, and he s wanting to go 
 on to Alton, to the wagon-works there. If 
 we can sell our things and get the money I 
 reckon we ll get off this week." 
 
 The woman looked tired. Her figure was 
 flat and bent. She spoke in a sharp, quer 
 ulous voice, not because she was bad tem 
 pered, but because that tone might claim 
 attention when a milder one would not 
 avail. 
 
 The young lady took her cup of coffee 
 and slice of bread in her hands and sat down 
 on the steps behind the kitchen door, She 
 
84 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 talked pleasantly with Mrs. Montague and 
 tried to make friends with the children. 
 When her breakfast was done she coaxed 
 them to let her wash their faces, and bribed 
 the little one to have her hair curled. 
 
 Within Mrs. Montague was packing up 
 the basket of dinner that was to be taken 
 to the Labor-Day picnic. She explained 
 the program as she worked; all the unions 
 were to march through town in a big 
 procession two bands at the grounds 
 there were to be speeches, everybody was 
 going, and, best of all, there would be 
 grand fireworks. 
 
 The whole suggestion of Mrs. Montague s 
 talk was quite new to Elinor and most inter 
 esting. The things of which she spoke and 
 her easy confidence in her own claim to be 
 as good as anybody were, the girl thought, 
 a manifestation of the free Western life, 
 the real American life, something quite dif 
 ferent from anything possible in New Eng 
 land which, after all, was still England 
 and no longer "New," Before many min- 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 85 
 
 utes had passed, Mrs. Montague, with the 
 appearance of regarding the picnic as an 
 entertainment of her own, asked Elinor to 
 accompany her, and pressed the invitation 
 with hospitable importunity. After a little 
 hesitancy the young lady consented. As 
 they went on their way she had an amused 
 consciousness of the emotion the Benning- 
 ton Institute would experience at the sight 
 of her on her way to a public picnic, leading 
 two white-haired children and chaperoned 
 by Mrs. Montague with her basket of lunch. 
 At the grounds they were joined, when 
 the procession disbanded, by Montague, 
 who looked at Miss Fletcher with some 
 timidity and then ignored her altogether. 
 The crowd grew larger every minute; fam 
 ilies greeted each other and pushed on. 
 Babies cried; women called. Little groups 
 formed around peddlers and venders, and 
 those who were anxious to get near these 
 attractions no sooner got within hearing 
 than they were equally anxious to get away. 
 At intervals great wagons loaded with beer 
 
86 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 kegs pushed through the crowd. "Here, 
 Mag! Here, Miss!" cried Montague, "let s 
 get up to the speaking place." 
 
 They held close together; Montague first, 
 then his wife, basket-laden, hot and breath 
 less, then Elinor with the two babies. 
 Aided by the man s elbows they got to the 
 center of the space where some boards put 
 across trestles made rude seats. 
 
 By the time they found their places the 
 girl was very uncomfortable; the crowding 
 offended her, the noise was bewildering. 
 But as they sat in the comparative ease of 
 their position she recovered her spirits. 
 She said to herself that a little inconven 
 ience was nothing, and anyway it would be 
 over in a few hours. 
 
 She looked about her with renewed in 
 terest at the audience that was assembling. 
 There were family parties like the Mon 
 tagues and herself who pushed about look 
 ing in vain for seats near the front. But 
 there were others who were more signifi 
 cant; these were the older workingmen who 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 87 
 
 had come early to pre-empt good places, 
 and now waited in patient silence for the 
 speaking to begin. She saw their bent 
 backs, and their nervous, tired, honest faces. 
 She compared their hard mutilated hands 
 with her own, sensitive and daintily kept. 
 There is no entailment of crushed fingers 
 and swollen joints. At birth the hands of 
 all children are alike. Did God mean that 
 later they should come to such difference? 
 
 The air cooled as they waited; little 
 breezes played about. The crowd found 
 places on benches, and beyond their limit 
 on the grass. The people grew quiet, the 
 faces of the younger men, which had seemed 
 coarse or silly when in action, now relaxed 
 into apathy or into a look of timid hope 
 that was more pitiful than despair. 
 
 The Chairman and the chief officers of 
 the Union took their places on a stand made 
 of rough lumber decorated with flags and 
 green branches. Elinor had heard of labor 
 agitators, of " loud-mouthed, beer-drinking 
 demagogues. " She looked at the men on 
 
88 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 the stand; they were pale, thin and sickly. 
 One of them had the deep-set, rapt aspect 
 of a fanatic, and the eyes of another shifted 
 nervously from side to side; but they were 
 all sad. The girl who sat in the midst of 
 this perceived that she had never before 
 thought of a great concourse which, whether 
 it rejoiced, protested or denounced, had 
 not a hope and courage that their gather 
 ing seemed to lack. 
 
 The meeting was opened; some reports 
 were read. There was trouble in New Jer 
 sey, and a lockout at St. Louis; in local 
 affairs there was nothing better, nor was 
 there anything new to be complained of. 
 There was nothing in these reports to en 
 courage and nothing to stimulate. The 
 meeting sat apathetic and dumb. 
 
 By and by a whisper passed about, Dick 
 Morgan comes next." As Elinor listened 
 to the Chairman s last statement she got, 
 in Mrs. Montague s hoarse undertones, some 
 information about him. "He s great! He 
 belongs around here and they all think 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 89 
 
 they s nobody like him; grew up in the 
 shops, but he s a delegate now." A young 
 man came forward and began to speak 
 quietly. The older men settled themselves 
 to listen, a woman near Elinor lifted her 
 painted face from the shoulder of the man 
 who sat beside her, and fixed her eyes on 
 the speaker with the same absorbing atten 
 tion that showed in the face of her lover. 
 
 At first Elinor resented the man s appear 
 ance, his clear skin, his strong, easy youth. 
 "Of course they like him, poor things! 
 They think (and no doubt he agrees with 
 them) that it s very fine for them to have a 
 representative who looks like that." She 
 thought that he was out of place, an intru 
 sion. If the cause of the laboring man had 
 any force, it lay in austerity, in simplicity. 
 This man s good looks made it, so she 
 thought, theatrical. What influence he 
 had he had got in the cheapest and poorest 
 way. 
 
 But as the speaker proceeded his manner 
 grew more forcible. He looked older and 
 
90 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 sterner. Whatever beauty of feature she 
 might have observed passed from notice 
 when his face was worked upon by the 
 earnestness of his thought. His aspect, 
 growing less personal, seemed to her more 
 and more the expression of uncolored intel 
 lect, as if he were turning on the state of 
 things the light of an unbiased intelligence. 
 Each sentence was plain and direct, mean 
 ing apparently no more nor less than its 
 words; but as Elinor came under his influ 
 ence she felt that his thought went ahead 
 of his word the suggestiveness of his 
 presence so outran his utterance that he left 
 with the hearer a sense of his moderation 
 rather than his violence. His language had 
 been commonplace, and his sentences even 
 halting; now the words poured out of his 
 mouth with what seemed to the girl an in 
 comparable felicity, originality, exactness. 
 Great heavens, " she thought, "the things 
 I have studied are dead; this is alive." 
 
 The audience at first clapped and shouted 
 in approval, but as Morgan proceeded they 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 91 
 
 kept still as if for fear of losing something. 
 He spoke of their hardships, but more of 
 the wrongs of others; he spoke of faith, of 
 love, of manly truth and womanly courage. 
 And then he spoke of their rights. "Let 
 no man deceive himself," he said. "There 
 are more rights than yours or mine. We 
 must try to see farther than ourselves, to 
 be as afraid of being wrong as we are of 
 being cowardly. It is easy to curse the order 
 of things. It is wrong, but it went wrong 
 centuries ago. We must try to get back to 
 the loving, the beautiful order of nature, 
 the order that is free from fear, from tyranny, 
 from selfishness. God s creatures never were 
 meant to hate each other. They would not, 
 if they had half a chance at any other way. 
 But as it is, a man must be greedy; he 
 must fight for his life. If he turns aside to 
 help another, he and those he loves go 
 to the wall. Have we been endowed with 
 a hundred faculties, a hundred aspirations 
 for what is beautiful and gentle, to give 
 them all up, to spend ourselves eternally 
 
92 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 in belittling strife? We are all of the same 
 flesh if it were only class against class, 
 that would be easier. If it were Right 
 against Wrong, that would be easier. But 
 it is not Right against Wrong. It is right 
 against right; and because we have known 
 poverty and misery, it is to us, rather than 
 to the rich and fortunate, that God will 
 give the wisdom and courage to work for 
 a better day a millenium of peace and 
 love." 
 
 His spirit seemed to surge through the 
 crowd as he continued. The men s faces 
 grew pale and flushed under the eyes. 
 Elinor s last critical feeling melted away. 
 She yielded to the emotion of the moment. 
 There seemed to her no possible life so 
 glorious as the one given to the help of 
 humanity; nothing, she thought, could be 
 so sweet, so satisfying, as to put aside every 
 thought of self as a joyous sacrifice to this 
 one purpose. "Oh, my friends, " said the 
 speaker, * do not doubt that you are equal 
 to whatever may come. There is a strength 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 93 
 
 in the heart of every man of which he has 
 never dreamed. There is a force on which 
 he has never drawn. There is a will which 
 rises strong and refreshed at the chance of 
 loss and danger. We are in a losing fight 
 what of that? The struggle is almost hope 
 less does that scare any man? I tell you 
 there is that in you that will welcome sac 
 rifice, poverty, pain and defeat, as a man 
 puts out his arms to his sweetheart, grace 
 ful and beloved. To know this and it s 
 true to feel it, if only once, lifts a man 
 forever, and lets him say through all time 
 and eternity: I was poor, I was humble, I 
 was despised. But in my hour I chose 
 and chose greatly and now I stand above 
 all that any wealth or power can give, with 
 those who for love and for right counted all 
 else as nothing. It is a chance for which 
 we thank God." 
 
 "This," thought Elinor, "is the glorious 
 ministry; this is the spirit of the saints and 
 martyrs. With such inspiration I could 
 dare anything, give up everything." 
 
94 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 When the speaking was over the audi 
 ence scattered aimlessly about. There was 
 nothing to do. Everybody had been an 
 ticipating a very delightful time, and was 
 so abstracted in looking for it that no one 
 could settle down to talk with everyday 
 friends. 
 
 Only a few had brought luncheon with 
 them. The others purchased thick sand 
 wiches and balls of popcorn wrapped in gay 
 colored paper. Everybody was thirsty; 
 but there was no water to be had, and men 
 clustered about beer stands, or went back 
 from them to their friends with a half-dozen 
 mugs of beer strung on the fingers of one 
 hand. As Elinor moved away with her 
 companions, Dick Morgan s voice was ring 
 ing in her ears. When she saw him through 
 the crowd the blood came to her face. She 
 wanted to speak to him, she wanted to tell 
 him that she knew that she understood. 
 
 She could not eat the luncheon, nor drink 
 the mawkish lemonade that Montague 
 brought them, The crowd had grown 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 95 
 
 noisier. Gayly dressed women drove up in 
 shabby open carriages, and, alighting, 
 walked in twos and threes through the 
 grounds, Sometimes a man rougher and 
 more nearly drunk than the others joined 
 such a one and bought beer and candy for 
 her with noisy extravagance. Elinor tried 
 to amuse the children; she told them little 
 stories, and made a doll out of her hand 
 kerchief; but she was conscious that she 
 was stared at, although her modesty kept 
 her from guessing what a marked object she 
 was with her delicate face and the fashion 
 able plainness of her traveling dress. 
 
 Over her shoulder she heard Morgan s 
 voice addressed to Mrs. Montague. She 
 looked up and the two were introduced, but 
 he continued to talk to the older woman. 
 The latter began to fidget she had left her 
 umbrella at one of the stands. Morgan 
 offered to go for it, but she could not 
 describe the place. Elinor rose at once 
 and proposed that they should go together, 
 but Mrs. Montague objected, "No, I don t 
 
96 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 want to lose this place; it ll be right in the 
 middle when the dancing begins. You and 
 Mr. Morgan stay and keep it for me. I ll 
 come right back." 
 
 The two were left alone. Elinor spoke 
 first : I heard your speech. " "I know it, " 
 he answered; "I saw you. At first I was 
 afraid I could not please you; later " 
 
 " Later you saw that I was pleased," 
 she said. 
 
 He laughed a boyish, half embarrassed 
 laugh; then he grew serious. " Later I did 
 not care No, I don t mean that; I forgot 
 whether I cared or not." 
 
 "I understand; you must not care." 
 
 Oh, I might care, but I would know that 
 that was not the thing for me to think of." 
 
 "I wanted to tell you something," she 
 said, hesitatingly. "I felt what you said 
 very deeply I had not thought of those 
 things before." 
 
 He looked at her. "Do you really care?" 
 
 She blushed a little, < Indeed I do. You 
 must believe that!" 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 97 
 
 "I shall be glad to believe it," he an 
 swered. 
 
 Suddenly the two became conscious that 
 there was noise and movement all around 
 them. Some musicians were playing near 
 by. "Partners for the Matrimonial Quad 
 rille!" someone had shouted. They saw 
 that a set had formed of which they were 
 the last couple. The girl looked about; 
 Mrs. Montague was not to be seen. Every 
 where were coarse, suspicious-looking faces. 
 Men and women were calling on them to 
 get up and dance. She turned to Morgan 
 with a frightened appeal. "Oh, I can t. 
 Let me get away from here!" 
 
 A woman s sneering voice rang out. She 
 was a dark and glowing creature with hate 
 in her black eyes, and wickedness on her 
 painted lips. " Oh, she won t dance she s 
 too good for us. Dick wouldn t let her 
 dance with us." 
 
 Morgan gave one quick glance at the 
 three men who, with their partners, waited. 
 "It s the McCoy gang!" he groaned. He 
 7 
 
98 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 spoke to the girl gently. Fd like to break 
 the heads of some of these fellows, but a 
 fight would only draw a crowd around you. 
 Could you go through this?" 
 
 She looked at him and then at the others; 
 her color came back and her eyes flashed. 
 "Certainly I can," she said. 
 
 She went through the dance as coolly as if 
 it had been a calisthenic exercise in a school 
 gymnasium. The men showed some signs 
 of growing respect, but the women looked 
 at her with only more cruelty as they ob 
 served the change in the demeanor of their 
 companions. 
 
 They were in the last figure, and Elinor 
 found herself at Morgan s side in a line of 
 couples who were moving toward a man 
 standing on a table. She heard the guf 
 faws of the men, and the shrill forced 
 laughter of women over-merry at a coarse 
 joke. Then she saw that each couple 
 paused a moment before the man on the 
 table, who went through some mummery to 
 which they responded, and then broke 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 99 
 
 away to join the crowd. Morgan saw it 
 also; his face grew black. "Oh, what is 
 this?" asked Elinor. "It s the infernal 
 nonsense they call the matrimonial quad 
 rille. Don t look, don t speak; it can t last 
 but a minute longer, and then I ll get you 
 out of this crowd at once." 
 
 The next moment they stood before the 
 mock minister. She heard his drunken 
 voice saying, "I pronounce you man and 
 wife." Then she felt herself hurried 
 through the crowd. Mrs. Montague ap 
 peared from blurred space, and Morgan 
 spoke to her. "Please keep close by Miss 
 Fletcher you d better take her home!" 
 
 The woman was tired and peevish. * * I 
 don t see what Morgan s jawing me about," 
 she said to his retreating back. " I ve lost 
 my umbrella, and hes run off, goodness 
 knows where, and the young ones are act 
 ing like the Old Scratch, and I ain t had a 
 bit of pleasure yet, and it s most night 
 now." 
 
 The children dragged at their mother s 
 
100 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 skirts. "Let me take them home, Mrs. 
 Montague," begged Elinor. "I am sure I 
 can find the way. We are all so tired." 
 
 Mrs. Montague finally agreed to this. 
 4 The truth is," said she, "I never seen 
 any fireworks figure pieces, and somehow I 
 just can t bear to leave em. I reckon the 
 children 11 go to sleep and your aunt 11 be 
 there before long, anyhow." 
 
 "Oh, yes; indeed it s quite right," urged 
 the girl. She got out of the grounds and 
 stood waiting for a car. She held in her 
 arms the two-year-old baby, and the four- 
 year-old child began to cry to be carried, 
 too. She was trying to soothe it when 
 Dick Morgan took the little one from her, 
 and lifted the other one to his arm. 
 
 In the five-mile ride they hardly spoke; 
 and they walked in the bright moonlight 
 down the street to the house with the staid 
 manner of old people. " Give me the key, 
 please," he said. "I never once thought 
 of that!" she gasped. 
 
 They looked at each other blankly; each 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS IOI 
 
 saw what the other felt. " I can sit here 
 on the steps till my aunt comes," she said. 
 
 "Well, I ll go." But as he spoke a 
 wagon went by full of men singing and 
 swearing. "I ll not leave you here alone," 
 he said. 
 
 They sat together on the little porch in 
 front of the house. Elinor held the baby 
 in her arms; the older child leaned against 
 Morgan s shoulder. The moonlight showed 
 them each other as plainly as daylight could 
 have done, but it added to the unreality of 
 the situation. The girl felt as if she had 
 been picked up out of her New England life 
 and dropped down on another planet, and 
 that on it were but two persons, herself and 
 Morgan. She found herself talking more 
 freely than she had ever done of what 
 seemed to her the true ideals of life. He 
 responded with instant comprehension of 
 the things she tried to say. All they said 
 was abstract (or they believed it to be so), 
 and full of the high purity of intense youth. 
 If there came to him a momentary con- 
 
102 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 sciousness of her beauty and sympathy it 
 was not a feeling that he looked for or en 
 couraged. 
 
 The train was late, and, as the time went 
 on, their conversation grew less impersonal. 
 The young man spoke of his childhood: "I 
 was very happy," he said, although my 
 mother was dead, and my father, who 
 worked in the shops, was not always kind. 
 I had a friend, a boy of my own age, with 
 whom I spent much of my time. We knew 
 every foot of the country for miles around 
 here, and, except the months when we went 
 to the village school, we lived out of doors. 
 It was a happy time. Then, of course, when 
 I was old enough I went into the shops. 
 Since then it seems to me I have always 
 been alone." 
 
 " But what has become of your friend?" 
 The young man answered shortly, "Oh, 
 I don t see him often now; we have not 
 much in common." He added, "I suppose 
 a man really has nothing but himself in the 
 whole universe." 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 103 
 
 "Yes," she said, "himself, and the hope 
 of getting what he is working for if he 
 knows what that is." 
 
 The young man looked past her at the 
 sapphire sky. 
 
 "I don t hope for success; I don t expect 
 anything of the sort. But there is one 
 thing I do want that is, to believe in my 
 self to believe that I mean to give my life 
 to my own people. If I can only feel that 
 I m true to that " 
 
 "/believe in you," she said; "in your 
 goodness and your faithfulness; yes, and 
 in the end there must be success. The 
 down-trodden shall be raised up. God will 
 not forget his creatures." 
 
 She was intense and exalted; the young 
 man thought that as she sat there with the 
 baby in her arms she was like the Blessed 
 Virgin, the worship of whom was his inherit 
 ance. All hope and sorrow were in her 
 eyes. 
 
 The baby shivered. Morgan rose, took 
 off his coat and, leaning over the two, 
 
104 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 wrapped it around the little one. It was 
 eleven o clock. Far down the street the 
 lights showed that the train was in. 
 
 Your uncle and aunt will be here in a 
 few minutes," he said. "I will stay with 
 the babies." 
 
 They both rose. "I am going away in 
 the morning and I may not come back for a 
 long time," he said, after a pause. She 
 spoke with sudden impulse: 
 
 "Will you always believe that I am 
 the same your friend, as long as I live?" 
 
 A man and woman walking by stopped 
 and looked in curiously. It was the McCoy 
 woman. She raised her voice: 
 
 "Oh, it s Dick Morgan and his girl, hid 
 ing in the dark." 
 
 The two scarcely heard. In a moment 
 the train omnibus came rumbling up the 
 street. There was an instantaneous change 
 in the relation of the shadows on the porch 
 and then Elinor Fletcher was flying through 
 the yard to the door of her uncle s house. 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 105 
 
 II 
 
 It was natural that Elinor should sleep 
 late next morning, and equally natural that 
 her elders should wake early to enjoy the 
 consciousness that they at last had her 
 under their own roof. Miss Dezzie herself 
 prepared the breakfast, and she and Amos 
 tiptoed around the kitchen and talked in 
 whispers lest they should awaken the tired 
 girl. 
 
 * Poor child, " sighed Miss Dezzie, she 
 just looked all used up last night. Now, 
 brother Amos, when she does come down, 
 don t go to bothering her asking her about 
 her trip there s nothing more exhausting 
 to a person than that sort of talk." 
 
 " I don t want to!" cried Uncle Amos 
 with warmth, I feel bad enough already 
 to think of her getting in on the six o clock 
 train, four hours before us as she must a 
 done, and nobody to meet her. You noticed, 
 sister Dezzie, I shut you up pretty sharp 
 last night when you began asking her about 
 
106 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 it. You could see that she could hardly 
 speak." 
 
 "Well, well," sighed Miss Dezzie, "I 
 only hope she ain t sick. She doesn t look 
 like she did last summer, Amos. She s 
 real peaked and thin." 
 
 "Now, Dezzie, do hush," cried Amos. 
 "If you had your own way you d worry 
 that child into the grave by forever thinking 
 she s sick. She s just as well and strong 
 as a young pine tree, and you know it. As 
 to her being thin well, I never fancied 
 fat girls much." 
 
 "You never fancied any girl," said Miss 
 Dezzie, with piercing sarcasm. You 
 think whatever Elinor is is all right just 
 because it s she and that reminds me, 
 Amos; I don t want you should be so fool 
 ish about her looks. Folks will laugh at 
 you. Of course she s a nice-looking girl, 
 but other folks may, for all we know, 
 think their girls are just as pretty." 
 
 "It ain t likely," said Amos. Miss Dez 
 zie mused for a while. Her mother be- 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 107 
 
 gan to get thin at just her age," she said, 
 anxiously. 
 
 Amos vanished from the breakfast table. 
 In a few minutes he came back. "I don t 
 want to scare you, sister, but I ve been list 
 ening at her door, and I can t hear breath 
 ing," he faltered. 
 
 "Of course you couldn t hear her 
 breathe," said Miss Dezzie. "She never 
 was one to snore." She gave him a kindly 
 push into his chair. * Now you finish your 
 breakfast." 
 
 The breakfast being over, Miss Dezzie 
 washed the breakfast things while Amos at 
 tended to the canary birds. Then the two 
 repaired to the sitting-room (a pleasant, 
 sunny room filled with a blending of Ver 
 mont comfort and Indiana liberality), where 
 Amos read aloud a chapter from the Bible. 
 "Did you notice Elinor had on one of 
 those new-style cut skirts last night?" asked 
 Miss Dezzie, as she settled herself to her knit 
 ting. "It s the first I ve seen except that 
 Chicago girl s who was at the Gilroys 
 
 v 
 
108 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 and that didn t look anything more like El 
 inor s!" 
 
 " I don t know that I noticed it specially," 
 said Amos. " But it seemed to become her 
 real well." 
 
 The hired girl appeared. She was late. 
 "I stopped to see them Montagues," she 
 said, "but they ve gone; left this morn 
 ing poor tramps." 
 
 "Of course," said Amos, "Elinor will 
 want to stay mostly with us for a year or 
 two till she gets to feeling real well ac 
 quainted, but we must remember that we re 
 old, and young folks like company. Have 
 you thought of that, sister?" 
 
 "A year or two," sniffed Miss Dezzie. 
 " Why, brother, I calculate she ll know the 
 most of the young folks round here in a 
 couple of months. We are all asked down 
 to Martha Gilroy s to tea, Sunday." 
 
 " That s good! It s just like Martha not 
 to wait. They re good friends year in and 
 out. It ain t Chauncey Gilroy s fault if he 
 started a factory and got rich while I was 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 109 
 
 satisfied to live along on my little property. " 
 Certainly not, " said Miss Dezzie . It s 
 to his credit. Not that I should a wanted 
 you to a done different, Amos. Chauncey s 
 fortune s brought him care and trouble. The 
 men don t act like they did thirty years 
 ago." 
 
 "Well, I d know as I blame the men." 
 "Well, /d know as I blame Chauncey 
 Gilroy," said Miss Dezzie. " But I m glad 
 John is such a nice young man, and begin 
 ning to take the load off his father s shoul 
 ders." 
 
 They heard a light step in the hall. 
 "Here she is," said one of them. Elinor 
 entered. She was fresh as the morning. 
 
 "Yes, here she is!" she said, "and she s 
 glad she s here, and she s going to stay here 
 forever!" 
 
 When Chauncey Gilroy and Amos Pea- 
 body had come West to make their fortunes 
 forty years before, Gilroy had firmly in 
 tended, as soon as he should be able, to go 
 
HO DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 back to Vermont for a wife. But while he 
 was yet a poor young man he married Mar 
 tha Simcox a bright, sweet-tempered, sen 
 sible Indiana girl, and in the years of his 
 happy married life he grew to be, as his 
 Vermont friends said, "more Hoosier than 
 Martha herself." His wife worked and 
 saved and helped him to lay the foundation 
 of his fortune. In the early days she knew 
 the families of the workmen, and they were 
 all good friends together. If now, when 
 the men were numbered by hundreds in 
 stead of tens, she could not come near to 
 them, it was surely not a thing for which 
 she was to be blamed. 
 
 The Gilroys spent their money without 
 conscious ostentation. Gilroy liked what 
 was substantial; his wife enjoyed pretty 
 things; so their house was handsome and 
 pleasing. They knew a few very rich peo 
 ple away from home, but the society they 
 prized was that of their plainer friends in 
 Greenfield. The wife s chief cares were to 
 save her husband from bother, to try to make 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS III 
 
 a good man of her son Jack, and to help all 
 the young people around to have a good 
 time. 
 
 Mrs. Gilroy met Elinor during the week. 
 She saw for herself that the girl was not only 
 pretty, but well-bred and lively. In short, 
 she was what Mrs. Gilroy called nice." 
 When the time approached for her guests to 
 arrive on Sunday evening, she bethought 
 herself of her wish that the girl should be 
 received with special cordiality. She began, 
 in what she considered a wily way, to gos 
 sip about the Peabodys. 
 
 "I have always thought that their ten 
 derness for that little orphan was beautiful; 
 such people as they are the salt of the 
 earth." 
 
 Yes, indeed," responded John. He knew 
 what was coming. 
 
 "Of course anyone would fear that the 
 girl would be spoiled by their fondness I 
 own I was a little afraid of it myself." 
 
 Dear me! were you?" asked her son. 
 
 "You know I am not one to form hasty 
 
112 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 opinions, or to take sudden fancies," she 
 said. John contemplated his cigarette with 
 solemn interest, while the father smiled at 
 him over Mrs. Gilroy s head. 
 
 4 And I really am very particular about 
 girls, but I must say I was pleased with 
 Elinor Fletcher. She is so gay, so helpful, 
 so exactly what a daughter should be. I 
 really think you ll take great pleasure in 
 knowing her." 
 
 "I am glad to hear that she is what you 
 say," said Jack, "but as I am at present 
 not conscious of needing the gayety and 
 helpfulness of a daughter " 
 
 "Now, John, don t begin that way," cried 
 the lady; "I only mean for you to be nice 
 to her." 
 
 4 Mrs. Gilroy, please inform me if I am 
 not always nice to your guests?" 
 
 4 Oh yes you ll be nice enough, I sup 
 pose; but do try to make her like you." 
 
 44 Mother, I assure you I don t dare to try. 
 My effort must always be in the other direc 
 tion when I m with the female sex. Mine 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 113 
 
 is the fatal gift to fascinate in spite of my 
 self." 
 
 "Oh, Chauncey, make him behave!" 
 
 As the Peabodys and Elinor walked up 
 to the house through the well-kept grounds, 
 Miss Dezzie talked of John. "He was the 
 nicest boy, but always in mischief. He 
 was in my Sunday-school class, he and 
 Dick Morgan." ("Poor Dick," said Amos). 
 "They used to come by our house for gin 
 gerbread every Sat day. You wouldn t 
 dream, seeing John so elegant in church 
 this morning, how dirty he used to get," 
 Miss Dezzie added, to Elinor. 
 
 * What a good time those two boys had!" 
 said Amos. "Martha Gilroy was always 
 a sensible woman. She knew John got 
 no harm from Dick. They grew up like 
 brothers." 
 
 Elinor listened politely, although she had 
 her own opinion. She had thought when 
 she saw John Gilroy in church that he 
 looked stiff and priggish. He on his part 
 vanished when he saw her approaching the 
 3 
 
114 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 house. Mother probably knows less about 
 girls than anybody living. But of course 
 I ll go back v/hen tea is ready, and try to 
 be agreeable." 
 
 He came into the dining-room after they 
 were seated. His slight look of surprise 
 when he first saw Elinor would not have 
 been recognized by anyone who did not 
 know him well. The Peabodys evidently 
 understood the languid manner with which 
 their niece was at first displeased. "He 
 must be nice," the girl thought, "or Uncle 
 Amos wouldn t be on such good terms with 
 
 him." 
 
 The meal was quite informal. A tidy 
 maid servant waited on the guests, but in 
 her absence Mrs. Gilroy sent her son to the 
 sideboard. The old people talked about the 
 morning s sermon. The ladies agreed that 
 the preacher had been narrow. He talked 
 as if there was nothing right but Presbyte- 
 rianism," said Miss Dezzie. "Now I think 
 there s something good in every church." 
 "Of course there is, "declared Mrs. Gil- 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 115 
 
 roy. < Some of the best people I ever knew 
 were Catholics." 
 
 The young man rose and gathered his 
 plate in one hand and his teacup in the 
 other. 
 
 " This conversation is getting entirely too 
 lax for me. I have never realized until 
 now the danger the community is in from 
 the loose views of advanced and radical 
 women like mother and Miss Dezzie. If I 
 cannot stem the tide I can at least, as I go 
 down, make my weak protest against such 
 destructive views. I shall sit by these per 
 sons no longer." He moved down the 
 table, stopped a moment at Uncle Amos 
 side, then doubtfully shook his head and 
 moved on. He stood before Elinor and 
 looked at her sternly. < < Miss Fletcher, ere 
 I let myself sit down by you answer me one 
 thing. Are you entirely sound on the 
 Thirty-nine Articles?" 
 
 "I am," said she. "Pray be seated, 
 and you and I in the middle of a degener- 
 
Il6 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 ate age will together uphold the banner of 
 truth." 
 
 The old people laughed. It s a little 
 queer, Jack, considering how strict your 
 views are," said Mr. Gilroy, that your 
 mother has such a hard time getting you to 
 church. " 
 
 I am misunderstood in that as well as 
 in other matters, " answered John. "The 
 fact is, I can t get my conscience recon 
 ciled to instrumental music." 
 
 "Your situation is painful, truly," said 
 Elinor. "No doubt, too, you disapprove 
 of promiscuous sittings." 
 
 "I do indeed," he answered, "and I am 
 glad to feel that the young sister agrees 
 with me." 
 
 The conversation became divided after 
 tea. John and Elinor went to one corner 
 of the drawing-room to see a new picture, 
 and remained there. Mrs. Gilroy beamed 
 approvingly when she saw that her son was 
 really exerting himself to entertain the 
 young woman. She had no doubt that any 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 1 1/ 
 
 girl would like John if he would be but half 
 way pleasant. 
 
 As the guests were about to leave, the 
 young man addressed his mother: 
 
 < I asked Miss Fletcher, as you told me 
 to, if she played tennis, and she s accepted 
 your invitation for to-morrow afternoon. " 
 
 "Oh, I m so glad," gushed the good lady, 
 who had never heard of the matter till that 
 minute. 
 
 When they were gone, Mrs. Gilroy, full 
 of the pleasure of the occasion, turned to 
 her son: 
 
 "Well, it wasn t so very hard, was it?" 
 
 " Mother," he said pensively, "I d go 
 through even more than that to please you!" 
 
 "Really, Jack," said the father, "your 
 devotion to your mother s wishes this even 
 ing brought tears to my eyes. " 
 
 From that time on there was a great deal 
 of tennis played on the Gilroy s court, and 
 John Gilroy seemed to think it only com 
 mon courtesy to stroll home with Elinor 
 after the game was over. Other girls were 
 
Ii8 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 there, too. He knew them much better 
 than he knew Elinor, and she thought it 
 very nice of him to pay so much attention 
 to her. Mrs. Gilroy was always sending 
 over to suggest a picnic supper down the 
 river or out on the Indian mound. 
 
 A rainy week came. John Gilroy was 
 out of town. Elinor wrote long accounts 
 of the picnics and tennis games to her 
 school friends, but the days seemed a little 
 dull. Late one afternoon she saw the 
 young man s knowing mail-phaeton dash up 
 the road. It stopped at her uncle s gate. 
 The groom sprang to the ground, touched 
 his hat and caught the reins with the same 
 motion as his master passed him. 
 
 The young man, faultlessly dressed, 
 walked deliberately up the path. When he 
 rang, Elinor opened the door (such was the 
 friendly custom of the house). "Good 
 evening," he said; "is there any ginger 
 bread about the place?" 
 
 I think so, " she answered. Will you 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 
 
 wait while I find out?" She came back 
 smiling: " Yes, there s lots. " 
 
 " Very well," he said, taking off his hat; 
 "if Mr. Peabody and Miss Dezzie are will 
 ing I d like to stay to supper." 
 
 He often came to supper, and in the 
 evening the two young people sat on the 
 porch, and at intervals one of them played 
 on mandolin or guitar. The elders, per 
 fectly happy, sat inside, Miss Dezzie knit 
 ting and Mr. Peabody reading the paper. 
 
 One night Mr. Peabody lowered his voice 
 and said to his sister: (< Do you know, 
 Dezzie, I think there s a little sparking go 
 ing on out there!" 
 
 Miss Dezzie flamed up in virginal indig 
 nation. 
 
 "Ain t you ashamed of yourself, Amos, 
 to have such thoughts? If you put such a 
 notion as that in their heads I ll never for 
 give you!" 
 
 The old man grinned sheepishly, and said 
 no more. 
 
 But only a night or two later the young 
 
120 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 people came in together through the open 
 window. The young man s eyes shone and 
 he laughed for happiness. 
 
 I have asked Elinor to marry me, " he 
 said, "and she says she will if you two will 
 consent. 
 
 "Come let me give you a good hug," said 
 Miss Dezzie. "This is just what I ve been 
 expecting." 
 
 The personal impression which Dick Mor 
 gan had made on Elinor s mind soon faded 
 away, but her determination to try to help 
 the distressed and down-trodden remained 
 almost as definite as it was at first. Early 
 in her engagement she thought with pleas 
 ure that she would now be in a position to 
 do more than she could have otherwise done. 
 The Labor-Day picnic she had never spoken 
 of to her aunt and uncle. At first she re 
 frained because they were already so dis 
 tressed at having been absent when she 
 arrived; and then, with the Montagues gone, 
 and many new interests coming to her, the 
 whole thing seemed far away and irrelevant. 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 121 
 
 Nevertheless, she was anxious to tell her 
 lover. She hoped indeed that she might 
 bring him to think pleasantly of Morgan. 
 It was evident that there was some coolness 
 between the two. She was the more de 
 sirous of doing this because suddenly trouble 
 threatened in the shops. The unions held 
 meetings every night with closed doors. 
 Strange-looking men appeared in town. 
 Some of the best hands stopped work and 
 moved away. The two Gilroys were busy 
 and careworn. " To-night I will tell John 
 all about my acquaintance with Morgan, " 
 resolved Elinor, in an access of conscien 
 tiousness. 
 
 He came earlier than usual that evening 
 and sat on the porch with her aunt while 
 she finished a letter which she was writing. 
 
 4 You look tired, John," she heard her 
 aunt say. 
 
 I am tired ; I m awfully worried. Things 
 are pretty bad at the shops. Nothing is 
 certain from one hour to the next." 
 
 What do the men want?" 
 
122 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 "We don t know, and I don t believe 
 that they know. It seems pretty rough 
 when we ve always tried to treat them 
 fairly," he added. 4 However, I m not going 
 to complain. What disturbs me most is 
 the fear that we may have to postpone our 
 marriage." 
 
 4 Where is Dick Morgan?" asked Miss 
 Dezzie, after a pause. 
 
 * * I don t know, " replied John. I would 
 rather not think of him, not hear of him, 
 he went on, in a voice vibrant with a pro 
 testing indignation. He felt that the man 
 who had been for so much of his life his 
 dearest friend had now, without offense on 
 his own part, chosen to regard him as an 
 enemy. That man was now absent, through 
 such a troublous time as this and work 
 ing against him from a distance, probably. 
 Far less prompt and clear-sighted than 
 Morgan in detecting the inevitable ending 
 of the perfect equality of their boyhood, 
 Gilroy was hurt and angered by his friend s 
 defection, and in the other s concern for 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 123 
 
 "his own people" he even scented the pres 
 ence of hypocrisy. You know what that 
 man was to me, Miss Dezzie," he said, as if 
 the words were forced out of him. "Well, 
 he has gone back on me." 
 
 "Oh, maybe he hasn t," she said, com 
 fortingly. 
 
 4 I d give anything to think that he hasn t, 
 but I can t see anything in it except that. 
 What I want to do is to forget all about 
 him. He s gone, and I hope he won t come 
 back." 
 
 After a pause he spoke more calmly: 
 * You don t know what a comfort it is to 
 me that Elinor doesn t know anything about 
 all this. There isn t a soul about here but 
 her who doesn t know all the ins and outs 
 of the relations of the shops and the men. 
 It s such a relief to get away from it once 
 in a while." 
 
 "Oh, I can t tell him to-night," said 
 Elinor to herself. 
 
 The troubles blew over and the young 
 people were married about six months from 
 
124 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 the time when they first met. They went to 
 live in a beautiful house that Mr. Gilroy had 
 built for them in one corner of his grounds. 
 With every month Elinor loved her husband 
 better. She admired his manliness, his in 
 tegrity, his generosity; and she delighted in 
 his responsive mind and fastidious taste. 
 She was very happy. At times she thought 
 of Morgan and his speech with a stinging 
 fear that she had been disloyal to what she 
 had promised herself to do. But she dis 
 pelled her uneasiness with the thought that 
 the men were contented and Morgan might 
 never come back; if he did she would tell 
 her husband of the friendship she had prom 
 ised to him and to his cause. 
 
 One afternoon several months after her 
 marriage, she drove to the works. She sent 
 the carriage away and started to walk home 
 with her husband. Some workmen came 
 out of a shop entrance and stood aside to 
 let the two pass. Elinor glanced up and saw 
 Morgan. A look of recognition came over 
 her face. He turned scarlet, and so did 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 125 
 
 she. But in a breath she was past him. 
 The next moment she and her husband 
 were joined by a young woman of their 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "Oh, why did I not speak to him?" Elinor 
 kept thinking. "But it was so sudden. I 
 did not know that he was back here again, 
 and now I can t make John understand." 
 
 She thought of it all night. To seem to 
 have forgotten in her luxury and ease the 
 promises she had made to one less fortunate 
 was unspeakably shameful. "If I could 
 see him just one moment," she said, "and 
 tell him I was surprised out of my senses!" 
 She even mentally composed notes to him. 
 The next day she went again for her hus 
 band. He was not quite ready to go, and 
 as she waited for him she paced up and 
 down the asphalt walk that ran past the 
 offices and along the side of the high iron 
 fence that shut the works from the street. 
 
 John Gilroy, standing near a window as 
 he gave some last orders, saw Dick Morgan 
 come out of the gate. He saw his wife ad- 
 
126 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 vance, and the severity of Morgan s face 
 lighten as she spoke. And then the two 
 parted as quietly as they had met. John 
 was bewildered. "In heaven s name, what 
 does that mean?" he said. And then he 
 bethought himself: She probably took him 
 for the gardener and asked him about the 
 beds of foliage plants on the grass-plat." 
 But he did not forget the occurrence. 
 
 The setting up of a new household had 
 stimulated the social life of the neighbor 
 hood. The wealthier families of the adja 
 cent manufacturing towns plied the young 
 people with invitations and visits. Guests 
 were constantly in the house. Their way 
 of living became much more luxurious than 
 that of the older Gilroys. There were more 
 servants, more carriages; there was more 
 display of every sort. This was not because 
 either John or Elinor wished to make a show 
 of wealth, but because it was easy and 
 pleasant to adopt the habits of their asso 
 ciates. 
 
 In this manner the gulf between the houses 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 12? 
 
 of employer and employed grew wider every 
 month. John was conscious of this, and 
 sometimes painfully so, when he saw Dick 
 Morgan s pale face and shabby coat. 
 
 "But why should I make myself unhappy 
 about that?" he said, grimly; "it s Dick s 
 own doing not mine." 
 
 These thoughts grew frequent, and the old 
 yearning for Dick s friendship came back. 
 One day he stepped to the door of his office: 
 " Send to the East shop for Dick Morgan," 
 he said; "I want to see him." 
 
 A moment later he added to himself, 
 "And what I ll say to him when he comes 
 I don t know." 
 
 Morgan came in, erect and grave. He 
 looked straight at Gilroy. Well, what do 
 you want?" 
 
 "Sit down, Dick," said Gilroy, but Mor 
 gan remained standing.. Gilroy rose, his 
 feeling varying between hurt pride and the 
 old friendship. 
 
 "Dick," he said at last, "can t we make 
 up somehow?" 
 
128 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 * I don t see how we can, answered Mor 
 gan, simply. The two stood and looked at 
 each other. All conventionalities were 
 stripped off. 
 
 "I don t see why I bother about it since 
 you are so plaguey cool," said Gilroy, hotly; 
 then he burst out, "Dick, don t you see 
 this is pretty rough on me sometimes?" 
 
 * It s pretty rough on me all the time, 
 Jack," said Morgan. 
 
 "Well, isn t it your own fault?" said Gil 
 roy. "You know I d make you foreman of 
 one of the shops or take you here in the 
 office or do anything else just to have your 
 friendship to believe in it as I used to." 
 
 I don t want your jobs, friendship or no 
 friendship. I only came back because the 
 Union sent me. I earn every cent I get 
 and you know it." 
 
 "And you slap me in the face when I try 
 to show you I m in earnest!" 
 
 "I suppose it seems that way, but I can t 
 take favors and I won t," said Dick. 
 
 "Good heavens, it isn t a favor! We 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 129 
 
 grew up together like brothers. Do you 
 remember how you used to climb up the 
 lightning rod and sleep with me when your 
 old daddy came home drunk at night?" 
 In a momentary cessation of antagonism 
 the two smiled at each other like boys. 
 
 * Yes, and it was pretty often, " said Mor 
 gan. "And do you remember the time we 
 camped out?" he added, softening still fur 
 ther. 
 
 "Yes," said Gilroy, "and the time when 
 we read the Three Musketeers in the old 
 apple tree? And you got so excited you fell 
 out of the tree into the cider vat?" They 
 laughed and then were silent. Their faces 
 grew stern again. Gilroy spoke first : How 
 did things get this way?" 
 
 * Oh, I don t know, " said Morgan. * Jack, 
 what s the use? It just hurts, and we can t 
 change it!" 
 
 "But maybe we could change it," per 
 sisted Gilroy. "When did it begin? I ve 
 asked myself a thousand times, and I can t 
 think." 
 9 
 
130 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Morgan reflected. "I think it began 
 when you first came back from school," he 
 said, as calmly and candidly as if he were 
 recalling an historical date. 
 
 Gilroy flushed up. Dick, I may have 
 been a fool then I was a silly boy but 
 before Heaven I didn t mean to brag. I 
 didn t brag half as much as you did the time 
 you ran away and went to the State Fair 
 at Indianapolis. It was all of a piece with 
 that!" 
 
 "You were kind of offish," said Morgan. 
 
 " Offish! well I should smile! I came 
 home expecting to have a good time with 
 you, and you d cut off with any fellow under 
 the sun rather than me! You know, Dick 
 Morgan, that you left me to go fishing 
 alone " He stopped with the impatience 
 of a man who feels a petty thing and is 
 ashamed of it. 
 
 Dick stared. Could it be that Jack had 
 actually been jealous? No, it was too ab 
 surd. 
 
 Gilroy continued: "And then when I 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 131 
 
 coaxed my father into saying he d send you 
 to college with me you wouldn t go Oh, 
 you were mighty fond of me!" 
 
 " I couldn t go then I was too proud by 
 then." 
 
 "Too proud! Isn t anybody else proud 
 but you? Dick, I d have shared your last 
 dollar then if I d needed it, and you know it!" 
 
 For the first time Dick broke out in a 
 rage: "For mercy s sake, man, be still! 
 Are you an idiot? Can t you see that I d 
 have shared your last dollar (as God knows 
 I would now), but the cursed thing about it 
 was that it wasn t your last dollar!" Then 
 he spoke more quietly: "It s no use. I 
 told you so in the beginning;" he put his 
 hand on the door knob as he spoke. 
 
 "Well, if you ve determined we can t be 
 friends I am sure I won t beg you," said 
 Gilroy, coldly. 
 
 * * No, we can t be friends. " Morgan was 
 about to go when a sudden impulse struck 
 Gilroy. 
 
 "Look here," he said; "tell me the 
 
132 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 truth, anyhow. Is there any other reason 
 why we can t be friends?" 
 
 Morgan turned and looked at him. 
 
 " There is," he said. 
 
 Ill 
 
 A hard winter set in early. The Chaun- 
 cey Gilroy Company had a heavy load to 
 carry. Other mill owners closed their doors 
 to wait for better times, and advised the 
 Gilroys to do the same. The old man re 
 fused to think of it. "The Gilroy mills 
 have not lost a day in thirty years, and we re 
 not going to close up now just because we re 
 not making much. " Fewer and fewer orders 
 came in at anything like reasonable prices. 
 There was really not enough work to go 
 around. The Gilroys and their superintend 
 ents spent hours in consultation. Young 
 Gilroy and the others agreed that the thing 
 to do was to put all hands on half work. 
 But his father objected: " I don t like that, 
 and the men won t. It looks crooked. If 
 we ve got to do something we will keep all 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 133 
 
 the married men at the present rates 
 they ve got their wives and young ones 
 and lay off the single men." 
 
 The single men did not move on in search 
 of other work, as had been expected. All 
 day they clustered in idle, discontented 
 groups around the station and near the gates, 
 and at night they rilled the saloons with 
 brawling, hungry drunkards. What else 
 could they do, they asked? The old man 
 knew when he discharged them that there 
 wasn t a job in two hundred miles. 
 
 At Lunderville, ten miles away, the situ 
 ation was worse. The Lunders had kept 
 their factories open and had taken contract 
 after contract at low prices. Then they 
 made heavy cuts in the wages, claiming 
 in a statement to the men that they were 
 obliged to reduce wages forty per cent all 
 round to work out the contracts, but declar 
 ing that they wanted to do the fair thing 
 and to keep the men if it were possible. 
 The men agreed, and worked for weeks on 
 starvation wages. Many a good steady man 
 
134 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 with a family could only make a dollar a 
 day. Suddenly a discovery was made. The 
 cuts were out of all proportion. Even at 
 the low prices of the contracted work the 
 Lunders were piling up immense profits 
 while their men starved and froze. A strike 
 was ordered, and two thousand men were 
 adrift without money or employment. 
 
 It was hoped by the union that the pros 
 pect of heavy damages on unfilled contracts 
 would bring the Lunders to terms, but the 
 head of the firm bragged privately to the 
 Gilroys that they couldn t be bullied worth 
 a cent. The largest of the contracts were 
 only begun, prices had gone down so that 
 some of the big firms East would like well 
 enough to take the whole thing off their 
 hands. He showed the Gilroys letters, 
 which he afterward left with them, from 
 Ohio and Pennsylvania manufacturers con 
 taining definite offers. He said he was just 
 itching to get the whole thing lifted off to 
 another part of the country; it would teach 
 the men not to monkey with the buzz-saw. 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 135 
 
 The matter of the strike made great ex 
 citement at Greenfield. Nothing else was 
 talked of, and resolutions were passed de 
 nouncing the Lunders and expressing sym 
 pathy for the strikers. As for the Lunder 
 brothers, they took their families and went 
 off to the Mediterranean. 
 
 The indignation of the Gilroys, father and 
 son, although not expressed publicly, was 
 not less than that of the men. 
 
 "The Lunders lack common humanity," 
 said John; "they are lost in greed and tyr 
 anny." 
 
 "They are dirty dogs!" roared the father. 
 "I don t want any money made that way. 
 I d just like to show em the way an honest 
 man treats his hands. " 
 
 This thought took possession of him, and 
 it was not long until he conceived of a plan 
 which he hastened to put forth. 
 
 "Jack," said he, "the thing for us to 
 do is to enlarge our plant and take the Lun 
 ders unfulfilled contracts, and set things 
 humming in this neck of the woods." 
 
136 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 The young man held out against it for 
 several days. "I don t like it, father," he 
 said. "It s like letting out sail in a storm. 
 On one side there are awful risks, and on 
 the other there is no margin of profit at 
 the contract prices unless we cut wages 
 too." 
 
 "Who wants a profit?" shouted the old 
 man. "Even if we lose a little we can 
 stand it. What we want is to help the men 
 through this winter." 
 
 "But you must remember that if we take 
 the contracts this late in the day we sha n t 
 have a chance to avoid the penalty if we 
 don t get the work done in time. Just let 
 the men get it into their heads to strike 
 and we re hung up with fires out, engines 
 rusting, and a hundred thousand dollars 
 damages to pay." 
 
 "What in thunder could the men strike 
 about? I m not going to cut wages not one 
 cent. It s cold business; the men can t 
 strike. It s to their interest to stay and 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 137 
 
 even if it wasn t I verily believe they 
 wouldn t leave the old firm in the lurch." 
 
 A force of masons and machinists were 
 set to work, and in a short time the Gilroy 
 factory started in with increased capacity 
 and on full time. All of the former Gilroy 
 men were taken back and work was found 
 for some of the Lunder men. There was 
 great rejoicing among the town-people. 
 The old man stood in the door of the office 
 and rubbed his hands with pleasure at the 
 sight of the men s cheerful faces. 
 
 "Fine fellows! I want em to know that 
 no man ever worked for Chauncey Gilroy 
 and was the worse for it." 
 
 But although as many of the Lunderville 
 men were given work as was possible, there 
 was dissatisfaction almost immediately 
 among the strikers at that place. What 
 right had Gilroy to take the Lunders con 
 tracts off their hands? By so doing the 
 men declared he had cut them out of their 
 one chance of redress. Meetings were held 
 for two or three nights, and finally resolu- 
 
13^ DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 tions were adopted calling on the Greenfield 
 men to support the strikers in their fight 
 against Lunder and Gilroy. 
 
 The next morning the Greenfield men 
 went to work as usual, but anxious women 
 stood in doorways and looked down the 
 street for news, and some little groups lin 
 gered on the street near the gates. 
 
 At three o clock the message came from 
 the Central Committee. At five minutes 
 past three a delegate walked into each shop 
 and threw up his arms. Without a word 
 the men put down their tools and silently 
 marched out. At ten minutes past three 
 the shops were empty, fifteen hundred work 
 men were assembled on the common, and 
 the sympathetic strike was on. 
 
 The men held meetings every day and 
 night. Windy orators thronged in from 
 outside and called on the men to stand for 
 their rights never to give up the country 
 was with them. A blizzard came, and a 
 woman froze to death. Scarlet fever broke 
 out among the children. Chauncey Gilroy 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 139 
 
 worked himself into an illness in his rage at 
 the men s ingratitude and folly. "Let 
 them starve," he shouted; "maybe it ll 
 teach em a little sense." John Gilroy sat 
 in his empty office all day and walked the 
 floor the most of the night. Elinor lay 
 awake thinking of the sick babies who begged 
 their mothers for a little more milk, and of 
 that woman in childbirth who had had the 
 bed taken from under her and split up into 
 fuel to keep her alive. 
 
 One cold afternoon Elinor and her hus 
 band came out of the Postoffice. A crowd 
 stood around the entrance and did not move 
 to let them pass. John Gilroy pushed a 
 man or two aside rather roughly. 
 
 A woman thinly wrapped and coughing 
 frightfully hung on to Gilroy s arm and 
 begged for money. He shook her off. She 
 grew more noisy; he called to a policeman, 
 4 ( Take this woman in charge. " The woman 
 began to scream. She looked at Elinor, 
 who recognized her as the McCoy woman 
 whom she had seen at the picnic. The 
 
140 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 policeman seized her, but she writhed away 
 from him like a wounded snake and spit her 
 fury out on Gilroy. "Oh, you ve got a 
 sweet-scented wife, haven t you? She was 
 with Dick Morgan before you ever saw her. " 
 
 After this Elinor was more wretched than 
 ever. Her sense of justice forced her to 
 see that the McCoy woman was not to be 
 blamed, and yet she could not (or at any 
 rate she thought she could not) burden her 
 husband with a fresh trouble at such a time 
 as this. 
 
 "Elinor," said he, the next day, "I am 
 glad to be able to tell you that that woman 
 is sentenced to hard labor for sixty days." 
 
 She shook from head to foot. "Oh, 
 John! that is too hard the woman was 
 just drunk!" 
 
 "That s all right," he answered sternly. 
 * I used all the influence I have to get some 
 floating sentences for former misdemeanors 
 raked up against her, and I guess she won t 
 be drunk again soon." 
 
 A rumor got about among the strikers 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 141 
 
 that really the Gilroys were not so much to 
 be blamed. Some one had heard a super 
 intendent of the Lunderville shops say that 
 Chauncey Gilroy had stepped in and kept 
 the work from going to Pittsburg. If this 
 was true the Committee wanted to know 
 it, but they did not want to make an open 
 inquiry. They therefore asked for a meet 
 ing with the Gilroys, their purpose being 
 to ask for confidential information about 
 that and other matters. Old Mr. Gilroy 
 rolled over in his sick bed when he got the 
 message and asked if the men wanted to 
 come back. " We think not," answered a 
 clerk. * We think they want to look at the 
 books." 
 
 "Tell them I ll see them when they say 
 they want to come back; tell them they 
 can go to hell for all I care." 
 
 This message was softened a little, but it 
 nevertheless hurt the men a good deal to 
 have the old man treat them like that. 
 They made another less formal attempt to 
 get a hearing. This was addressed to John 
 
I4 2 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Gilroy personally. An unofficial Commit 
 tee of which Morgan was the head asked 
 for the privilege of meeting him at any 
 time he might appoint. The young man 
 was in the office when the request for this 
 conference came to him. He received very 
 civilly the men who brought the message 
 and took from them the list of names of the 
 proposed Committee. After reading it he 
 looked up and spoke coldly: "I abso 
 lutely refuse to receive, now or at any other 
 time, any committee or delegation of which 
 Mr. Morgan is a member." 
 
 This was an insult which even the most 
 peaceable of the men felt must be resented. 
 The elder Gilroy fumed when he heard of 
 it. "Jack, I believe you re crazy. Dick s 
 a crank, but he means to keep the men 
 straight and he s done it time and again. I 
 feel like sending for them and telling them 
 you made a fool of yourself though I don t 
 suppose they had anything to say of any 
 importance." 
 
 Things grew worse every day. The Gil- 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 143 
 
 roys tried to bring in men from outside, 
 but they, poor wretches, were frightened 
 away by the awful cry of "Scab!" which 
 the working man fears more than God or 
 devil. The police force was doubled. 
 There were threats of burning the shops. 
 
 A coarsely-printed anonymous little sheet 
 began to be circulated on the streets. Eli 
 nor found a copy under the door. It was 
 addressed to her. She tried to put it into 
 the fire she knew it would contain abuse 
 of her husband but in spite of herself she 
 read the article, which was marked to at 
 tract notice. It was as follows: "There 
 has been a decision in a New York case 
 lately that a man and woman who take 
 each other as man and wife before wit 
 nesses even as a joke are really married in 
 the eyes of the law. The Indiana law is 
 probably the same as the New York law. 
 This may prove interesting to the partici 
 pants in a certain picnic two years ago, and 
 particularly to the alleged wife of a million 
 aire who is living in luxury on the money 
 
144 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 wrung from his starving employes. One 
 thing that makes the matter still more in 
 teresting is that Jim Martin, who performed 
 the ceremony, is a justice of the peace and 
 authorized to perform marriages." 
 
 Elinor s heart stood still and the earth 
 seemed to fall from beneath her feet. She 
 looked again at the coarse head-lines in big 
 letters: "Is She a Bigamist or Merely a 
 Flirt?" 
 
 She threw the paper into the fire, and 
 tried to get her scattered senses together. 
 She was frightfully ill, but at least she 
 could try to keep down every sign of the 
 physical pain that accompanied her shame 
 and misery. Jack when he came home 
 must not be worried over her. 
 
 As she moved about the library that eve 
 ning she was full of blind resentment at a 
 Providence that let her suffer so much. " I 
 did not deserve this," she said. "I did 
 nothing wrong; I yielded to no temptation." 
 At other times she was overwhelmed with 
 remorse. I have hurt everybody. What 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 145 
 
 will all these people think of me? that I m 
 false, vain, wicked. It is I who should be 
 in prison, and not that poor woman." She 
 felt that because she had a secret on her 
 conscience she had not dared to take the 
 part of the men to her husband and his 
 father. It was the consequence of her sin 
 that her mouth had been closed. " If only 
 I could atone," she thought, " could in some 
 way help to bring about a better time, and 
 then vanish forever!" 
 
 This longing to make some sort of atone 
 ment took a disproportionate place in her 
 racked fancy. She was conscious of her 
 own voice speaking to her husband. She 
 asked him about the strike the beginning, 
 the claims of the men, and all the questions 
 that thus far she had avoided. For the first 
 time he talked to her freely; he seemed to 
 find some unexpected relief in the discus 
 sion. He did not suppose, did not believe, 
 that she understood, but nevertheless he 
 went into the details. He even showed her 
 the Lunders letters from the other people 
 
146 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 who had wanted to take the contracts. 
 His wife could see that he had gone over 
 and over the thing in his own mind till his 
 courage and his nerve were almost lost. 
 
 "Why do you not give up to the men?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " There is nothing to give up but the 
 contracts, and when we give them up there 
 will be no work for the men to do. 
 We could not open at all if we were to do 
 what they are demanding." 
 
 "If the strike is lasting and the works 
 remain closed for a long time it will ruin 
 you, will it not?" 
 
 * We are ruined, anyway, unless the men 
 come back before Saturday. That s the 
 limit; a week later and we cannot by any 
 earthly possibility finish the contracted 
 work in time." 
 
 But can t you talk with the men? Can t 
 you explain to them that you were really 
 helping them?" she persisted. 
 
 They ought to know without being told, 
 and I won t go to begging them. I am not 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 147 
 
 afraid of poverty; mother is fixed, and I can 
 take care of you. The thing that breaks 
 me up is to have to go before the world as 
 a failure, as a man who couldn t hold his 
 own. That just takes the life out of me 
 when we had meant so well by the men, 
 too. And they are hurting themselves; if 
 we go under, and I suppose we are bound 
 to, Greenfield bursts like a bubble. Hun 
 dreds of the men own their houses and we ll 
 go down together." 
 
 "Do you think the men want to come 
 back?" she asked. 
 
 "I know they do, if the Central Union 
 would let them; but those fellows think that 
 by ruining us they can help the Lunderville 
 men." 
 
 All that night Elinor sat by her window; 
 her head ached and she could not sleep. 
 The next morning she telephoned to Lun 
 derville, where the Union had its office: "I 
 want to speak to Mr. Morgan." (Morgan 
 was Secretary of the Union). When he 
 came to the telephone, she said: " This is 
 
148 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Mrs. John Gilroy. I want to see you. I 
 want to see you privately." 
 
 Whatever hesitation he felt was shown 
 in the silence that preceded his answer. 
 " Very well-^-shall I go to your house?" 
 
 "No; come to the west gate at eight this 
 evening." 
 
 There was another silence before he an 
 swered. "All right." 
 
 That evening she left her husband writing 
 in the library and walked out bareheaded 
 and unwrapped across the firm snow under 
 the great trees. She unlocked the gate and 
 stood in the moonlight face to face with 
 Morgan. 
 
 She poured out the story of the suffering 
 of the hungry children, and the sick women 
 of her husband s goodness and anxiety, 
 and her own distress. She grew more ex 
 cited every moment; the misery of weeks 
 culminated in a storm of tears. She begged 
 him to help to tell her what to do. He 
 tried gently to quiet her, and asked a few 
 questions about Gilroy s affairs the con- 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 149 
 
 tracts and so forth. She understood neither 
 questions nor answers, but she knew word 
 for word what her husband had told her. 
 As she proceeded the charm of Morgan s 
 presence came over her as strongly as be 
 fore. It warmed her into something like 
 peace. But she recognized, distracted 
 though she was, that he had forgotten about 
 her; it was her husband of whom he was 
 thinking. 
 
 "Oh, why couldn t Jack have told me 
 this?" he said. 
 
 "And you can do something with the 
 men?" 
 
 "No, but I think I can do something with 
 the Central Committee. At any rate, I ll 
 try. Please go back into the house, Mrs. 
 Gilroy." 
 
 "And when shall I hear?" she persisted. 
 " Oh, hurry, or I shall die!" 
 
 " If I have anything to tell you I ll come 
 here to-morrow night at this time." 
 
 * And when you do, " she said, excitedly, 
 
DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 put your hand up on the high ledge there, 
 and you ll find the gate key." 
 
 The next day she roamed about like one 
 distracted. She insisted on hearing every 
 particular of the suffering in town. She 
 asked her husband again and again if they 
 would really be absolutely penniless. And 
 at each answer she laughed to herself. It 
 will be an atonement an expiation." 
 
 As the great clock at the works struck 
 eight she stood on the snow with Morgan. 
 " Oh, tell me!" she said. 
 
 " It s done. Orders will be sent to-night 
 to the men to go back to work. A conces 
 sion about piece work will be asked, but 
 it s trifling." 
 
 She seized both his hands. "Oh, thank 
 God!" she said. "And noiv they all may 
 forgive me!" 
 
 But at the instant the alarm of fire rang 
 out, clamorous, fierce. A light rose in the 
 sky. 
 
 "It is the east shop!" said Morgan, and 
 he rushed away. 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS JfZ 
 
 The fire was stopped before much harm 
 was done. The order came. In the morn 
 ing long lines of men walked in single file 
 into each shop, giving their names as they 
 passed to the busy timekeeper, while on 
 the streets the women cried and laughed 
 and kissed each other. 
 
 Gilroy came home late. * I must go 
 right over to see father," he said. "I am 
 sorry to say," he added, "that Morgan is 
 suspected of setting the shops on fire last 
 night and that steps are being taken to ar 
 rest him. The watchman swears he saw 
 him come out of the shop as the clock struck 
 eight." 
 
 Elinor sprang to her feet. 
 
 4 Oh, John, he didn t he didn t /" Her 
 husband looked at her curiously. < My 
 dear, you will make yourself ill. I am 
 sorry I can t stay with you, but I must run 
 now." 
 
 She hung on his arm. "John, don t let 
 him be arrested; he wasn t there indeed 
 he wasn t!" But her husband was gone. 
 
152 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 She ran out into the grounds. She was 
 almost frantic. Suddenly she heard a pis 
 tol shot; then shouts, the gate was unlocked 
 and Dick Morgan turned into the grounds. 
 
 He staggered away from her. I did not 
 mean to see you," he said "I ran in to 
 get away from that gang. That scab po 
 liceman tried to arrest me he had no war 
 rant. He struck me, he shot through my 
 arm. I knocked him down I guess I killed 
 him. I ll get no justice. If I can t get 
 away, I shall be locked up for years." 
 
 You are wounded," she said "bleeding. 
 Go into that room that one there on the 
 veranda, and I ll lock the gate." As he 
 passed through the door, a policeman tried 
 the gate, others following him. They 
 pounded and shouted. 
 
 A crowd of frightened servants came. 
 The police demanded entrance and the right 
 to go through the house. Mrs. Gilroy ad 
 vanced. "No one has come in," she said. 
 " I ve been here for an hour." 
 
 Then she heard her husband s voice. 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 153 
 
 "No," he said. "Get on, men I ve been 
 here with my wife. No one has come in." 
 
 The crowd rushed off. Elinor seized her 
 husband s hand. "Oh, come, come!" She 
 led him into the room where Morgan lay 
 senseless. As Gilroy bent over to lift him 
 he opened his eyes and smiled. "Jack," 
 he said, I m tired roll over and let me 
 get into bed." 
 
 Gilroy sprang to the door. * Telephone 
 for a doctor to come here instantly," he 
 cried to a passing servant. 
 
 The doctor came. Elinor, clinging to her 
 husband, left the room. "Oh, let me tell 
 you, Jack!" she said. "Not now," he an 
 swered, gently. 
 
 "Yes, now!" 
 
 She told him with sobs then with defi 
 ance then with entreaties and wild self- 
 reproaches. She told him all of the pic 
 nic the McCoy woman the newspaper. 
 He listened with as calm a face as though 
 he sat in church on a summer morning. At 
 the end he rose and walked to the fire, where 
 
154 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 he stood in silence. She could not guess 
 of what he was thinking. She was past 
 caring. " Well, my dear, " he said, " you ve 
 paid pretty fully for whatever you may have 
 done that was wrong. I m afraid all this 
 will make you ill. Try to forget as soon as 
 possible. " 
 
 The doctor appeared at the door. Gilroy 
 turned toward him with a question. He s 
 been shot through an artery in the arm," 
 the doctor responded. "I m afraid he will 
 hardly recover. 
 
 The young man spoke to his wife hastily: 
 "Ring for somebody to help you to bed, 
 my dear. I must stay with Dick." 
 
 Outside of the door the doctor asked who 
 was to blame for Morgan s wound. 
 
 "I don t know," said the young man; "I 
 don t know who s to blame for that or for 
 anything!" 
 
 Elinor looked after her husband with be 
 wildered eyes. She was no longer crushed 
 and repentant. She suddenly saw the truth 
 which, later, was often absent from her 
 
A CONFLICT OF RIGHTS 155 
 
 mind, but never quite forgotten: that no 
 two human beings can ever be absolutely 
 clear to each other. 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPE 
 MENT 
 
 THE sky was so brilliant, and the lake at 
 the foot of the hill such a glowing mass 
 of copper and violet, that it seemed for the 
 moment strange that the men who were 
 coming up the road should show in the twi 
 light only as dark shapes. From the kitchen 
 windows the lights shone down with cheer 
 ful promise of supper. The air was chilly, 
 but the dusty path gave out a sort of sweet- 
 smelling warmth. There was a coziness 
 about the close shut scene; the fishermen, 
 laughing and singing, evidently felt some 
 thing of it. 
 
 The owner of the house came ahead of 
 the others; he carried a great basket of fish. 
 As he strode toward the door Lon Bunker, 
 the hired man, stopped him. 
 159 
 
DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 " Better not go in there, Abe," he said. 
 " She s on her ear again." 
 
 * What in thunder s the matter with her?" 
 shouted Abe. He spoke with the anticipa 
 tory violence of a man who is trying to work 
 himself into a defensive rage. 
 
 "She s jawin about them town fellers 
 bein late for supper, and I reckon she s mad 
 about your goin fishin with em all day," 
 said Lon. 
 
 "Well I low to run this house myself," 
 said Abe, with an emphasis intended to 
 penetrate the door. "The women round 
 here got to do the way / say or I ll make 
 em!" 
 
 The door was suddenly opened; Mrs. 
 Morningstar threw herself out with a fury 
 that made even Lon quail. Say that again, 
 will you! Just say that again! You das- 
 sent, you know you dassent! You are going 
 to run this house, are you? Well, you can 
 just do it! I got to do what you want, have 
 I? You just better try it! I tell you I ve 
 worked as long as I m going to for you. I 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT l6l 
 
 ain t going to work for no more tramps like 
 you! You can get your own supper, or go 
 without. I m tired. I ve been up since 
 four o clock this morning, working like a 
 dog, and I m going to stop. And you das- 
 sent say a word and you know it Abe 
 Morningstar!" 
 
 The fishermen filed around the house to 
 wash their hands before supper. They 
 were a party of estimable gentlemen from a 
 neighboring city, who, when twice a year 
 they came to the lake to fish, lodged at 
 the Morningstars . Mrs. Morningstar had 
 known them all for several years; all but 
 one man, who had only joined them to-day. 
 She found them profitable guests, and would 
 have been sorry to lose them. Neverthe 
 less she scolded, and they kept out of her 
 way, and pitied Abe. 
 
 They came into supper hungry and noisy. 
 They did not notice her at all. She was 
 wretchedly tired; she knew what the meal 
 would be a conversation full of references 
 to things which she knew nothing of, and 
 
1 62 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 of jokes that she could not understand. 
 She felt with a sort of dumb bitterness that 
 the gentlemen were cruel to her. She knew 
 that she could in some circumstances have 
 claimed their respect, have held their in 
 terest, but they never gave her a chance. 
 They paid her no more attention than if 
 she had been a block of wood. The very 
 supper to which they were seating them 
 selves, poor as it seemed to these men, was, 
 with its two kinds of cake and its napkins 
 folded in the glasses, the result of tremen 
 dous effort on her part. But they did not 
 even recognize that she had taken great 
 pains; to pay their bill and get out of her 
 way was apparently all they thought neces 
 sary. 
 
 To-night the new man, Mr. Vawter, was 
 the center of the group. Mrs. Morningstar 
 knew all about him. He was the one who was 
 always desired. Half a dozen times she 
 had seen everybody elated at the prospect 
 of his joining them, and depressed when 
 word arrived that he could not come. She 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 163 
 
 hated them all, but she hated him the most 
 of all, because they seemed so fond of him. 
 She looked sidewise at him. Mighty sick- 
 looking chap to make all that fuss over!" 
 she said to herself. Indeed his appearance 
 was not impressive. He was slight and 
 would have seemed undersized but for his 
 erect military carriage. His hair was thin, 
 he had a funny little beard, a sallow skin, 
 and very bright twinkling blue eyes. She 
 knew that he was what she called "rich," 
 and she was surprised at the plainness of 
 his dress and manner. He had been brought 
 up on a farm, and fell easily into the kind 
 of speech with which she was most familiar; 
 this made him seem less important than the 
 others, with their crisp citified pronuncia 
 tion. She wondered at the consideration 
 in which they held him. 
 
 They seated themselves. Vawter looked 
 about him with concern. " See here!" he 
 cried out cheerfully; "where s Miz Morn- 
 ingstar going to sit? I got her place." 
 
 There was no answer, Lon Bunker tit- 
 
1 64 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 tered. Tilly, the girl who had come in to 
 help, tossed her head. "/ can t fry the 
 victuals and hand em, too!" 
 
 4 Of course you can t! Of course T said 
 Vawter, with ready sympathy. ( George!" 
 he said, addressing the Morningstars son, 
 a hulking boy of fifteen, who had been row 
 ing Vawter s boat that day George, you 
 suffering lamb you, you just hustle those 
 cakes along quick s Tilly gets em fried- 
 d ye hear, son? Miz Morningstar, you sit 
 right down by Abe. I m used to having 
 ladies at the table. I guess this crowd s 
 pretty rough," he added, pensively. 
 
 Mrs. Morningstar s face lost some of its 
 grimness. She seated herself with a little 
 offishness; she was pretty cross still. 
 
 The talk was not addressed to her, but 
 she could understand the most of it. When 
 a reference was made to something that had 
 happened in town, or on the last fishing 
 journey, Vawter demanded an explanation 
 with cheerful persistence. They all seemed 
 pleasanter than before. 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 165 
 
 The old man of the party, General Har 
 bison, told in his hoarse, wheezy voice a 
 story of Vawter in which he took much de 
 light, and which evidently he had often told 
 before. "That youngster was the pet of 
 the whole brigade," he said, affectionately. 
 Mrs. Morningstar looked at the stranger 
 with quickened interest. She had been to 
 Laporte in her youth, to see a company 
 start off to the War. The memory of it 
 came back to her. It was a day of music, 
 and banners, and gay uniforms, and tender 
 partings. It was the one heroic recollec 
 tion of her life. 
 
 They spoke of the soldiers reunions and 
 campfires at which some of the company 
 had recently been present. "Tell you 
 what, Vawter," said one of the men, "when 
 you got onto the tie between old comrades 
 the other night it was just great. I pretty 
 near broke down!" 
 
 Vawter looked embarrassed at the talk 
 about himself. You know Barney Shee- 
 han?" he said. "Well, some of us went 
 
1 66 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 up the other night to hear him address the 
 United Irishmen. I saw him as we came 
 out he was pretty full. Mr. Vawter, he 
 said, I m not wishful to be egotistical, but I 
 will say, sorr, that whin I spake on the sub 
 ject of brotherly love I find myself spaking 
 wid great aise! I guess I m like Barney." 
 
 There was much boyish fun-making. In 
 his deprecating sweet voice Vawter rebuked 
 the company for their disorderly mirth. 
 Mrs. Morningstar brightened up and sup 
 ported him. He declared himself flattered 
 by her concurrence, and put on, in address 
 ing her, a ceremonious manner brought, per 
 haps, from a residence of some years in 
 Georgia. 
 
 "Miz Morningstar, Madam! Nothing 
 could give me mo playsu then to pa take 
 of some pie pa ticuly such elegunt and 
 temptin pie as the pie I see befo me. But 
 I am sho , madam, that the enjoyment I 
 would thereby confer upon myself would be 
 annulled by the thought of the pain which 
 so tende hahted a lady would experience at 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 167 
 
 the spectacle of my subsequent and uncon 
 trollable anguish!" 
 
 " Sir," she responded with much show of 
 dignity, "my pie is less important than 
 your well-being." 
 
 Tilly giggled at the cooking-stove. George, 
 on his way with the batter cakes, laughed so 
 that once he had to sit down plate in hand. 
 
 Vawter looked at him pensively. 
 " George, you put me in mind of a steam 
 boat I once met with up on the Miss sippi. 
 When she was going she couldn t toot and 
 when she was tooting she couldn t go!" He 
 went on gloomily: "She afterward bust!" 
 
 The meal was over and the men began to 
 move toward the front porch. Have a 
 cigar, Vawter?" "Yes, thank you," he an 
 swered, * but let s stay here and red up. 
 When I m camping out I don t cut off the 
 very first night, and leave the cook to wash 
 the dishes. Give me a napern, please!" 
 
 Abe bestirred himself and hunted the 
 broom. " I ll brush up the crumbs. I ve got 
 some style about me, too!" 
 
1 68 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 The work was soon done; they drew their 
 chairs around the stove the night was 
 frosty. The little Morningstar girl had 
 watched Vawter with fascinated eyes. She 
 came to his side and put her hand on his 
 arm. Vawter drew her to him. George, 
 honey," he said, looking over his shoulder 
 at Mrs. Morningstar, who was fidgeting 
 about in the background, " give your mother 
 that chair and come sit on my other knee!" 
 
 Little Myrtie whispered something, and 
 then said it out in her shrill little voice: 
 < Mammy s got a fiddle on top shelf!" 
 
 Abe explained, "Loretty s had it since 
 she was a girl. Bought it with egg money 
 and learned herself. She ain t played much 
 late years!" 
 
 I guess I d have more time to play if 
 you had less ! she said. But nobody noticed 
 her pettishness. They all begged; the fid 
 dle was brought out; Abe looked anxiously 
 at the guests to see how they were taking it. 
 I reckon they ll all make fun of your play 
 ing," he said, not unkindly. 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 169 
 
 She played better than they had expected, 
 and they praised her perhaps more than she 
 deserved. As she began to feel at ease her 
 black eyes shone, she threw her head back, 
 and swung to and fro in accord with the 
 music, smiling brightly. Abe, looking at 
 her, remembered one Sunday afternoon 
 when he was courting her, and met her com 
 ing through the meadow. He had thought 
 she looked like a quail, bright-eyed and 
 graceful. After she had played a while they 
 all sang together: "The Sweet Bye and 
 Bye," and "We re Tenting To-night on the 
 Old Camp Ground," and "Lorena." 
 
 They sang, they told conundrums, they 
 even danced. The General Manager of the 
 Lake Side System instructed George in the 
 two-step. Price, the handsome and cynical 
 editor and dramatic critic, gallantly led Abe 
 down the center in the Virginia reel. 
 
 It was a time of kindness, and wit, and 
 happy laughter. The humor of Vawter was 
 not only keen and diverting it was, as Abe 
 thought, * friendly. " Everything about 
 
170 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 him was warm and alive. He had the act 
 or s art, the orator s charm. 
 
 Mrs. Morningstar, looking at him now, 
 wondered that she could have thought him 
 plain. She noticed the neat freshness of 
 his rough surfaced clothes they seemed 
 different from other men s garments; and on 
 one of his slender hands he wore a splendid 
 dazzling ring. 
 
 She was lifted out of herself, she walked 
 on air. The music, the wit, the courtesy, 
 were like some grand dream. It was the 
 ater, society, literature, opera, all in one. 
 
 They did not separate till midnight. As 
 the men were going to bed upstairs Wemys 
 said, "Who would have thought that that 
 woman could be so nice? I took her for a 
 regular wildcat." 
 
 Vawter sat on the edge of his cot, con 
 templating the sole of his shoe. "Well," 
 he said, "you know my wife? no, she 
 could not be anything but an angel in any 
 circumstances; but if I had to milk eight 
 cows, and cook for the hands, and keep 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 1 71 
 
 boarders, I d be something of a wildcat my 
 self!" 
 
 The next afternoon there was a clatter 
 of preparation. They were departing. 
 Loretta Morningstar helped everybody; she 
 watched the packing of the bass in big boxes 
 of ice; she hunted for the lost rubber boot. 
 Her calico dress was fresh and starchy; over 
 her head a red shawl was tied, not unbe 
 comingly. Her sullenness had vanished; 
 they were all good friends. Vawter bade 
 her good-bye with simple courtesy, hat in 
 hand. "Mrs. Morningstar, I thank you for 
 your kindness to all of us. I hope you will 
 be well and happy till we see you again." 
 
 As he was about to step into the wagon 
 he looked back at her standing in the door 
 alone. Something about her moved his 
 heart. He hurried back. 4< Mrs. Morning- 
 star I wish I could do something for you 
 I don t suppose I ever can, but if I can I 
 will. Remember that!" 
 
 The wagon vanished over the top of the 
 hill. She turned into the house. She was 
 
172 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 not lonely, she hardly missed them there 
 was so much for her to think of. 
 
 It was late in October when the fisher 
 men went home. Only a few weeks after 
 that the Morningstar family woke one morn 
 ing to find the earth covered with snow and 
 the pump frozen. It was an early winter 
 and a cold one. The road was obliterated 
 by snow drifts; not a neighbor came in for 
 weeks. Abe slouched his way a mile and 
 a half up the hill to the store every day, 
 and came home only at dark. He had no 
 news to tell; if he had had any he could 
 not have told it. 
 
 Loretta looked about the room sometimes 
 with a feeling that everything was unreal. 
 Here, on this very seam of the carpet, Vaw- 
 ter s chair had stood. Over there was the 
 braided rug that Price rolled up when they 
 began to dance. It was the same, but life 
 less; it was revolting, like a dead thing. 
 
 Behind the house a little path had been 
 made to the barn. She hurried along it 
 half a dozen times a day on her way to milk, 
 
THE MORNINGS! AR ELOPEMENT 173 
 
 or to feed the chickens. Around the kitchen 
 door were untidy heaps of frozen ashes; 
 here and there the white surface was de 
 filed by coffee grounds and egg shells. The 
 strata of potato peelings and the like that 
 kind nature had covered from time to time 
 with fresh snow cropped out in some places 
 with sickening insistence. Loretta had no 
 time to look beyond at the sleeping fields, 
 the tender curves of down-swathed hills, 
 the glittering amethyst of the frozen lake. 
 
 The steps that led from the kitchen door 
 into the back yard were slippery with ice; 
 besides that they were broken. Abe had 
 promised months before to nail them into 
 place. His wife sometimes at night re 
 minded him bitterly of his neglect. "I m 
 sorry I didn t do it before," he thought, 
 "but I won t do it now till she stops her 
 jawin ." 
 
 Late one afternoon as Loretta put her 
 foot on the icy step the board slipped from 
 its insecure fastening. She had a milk 
 bucket in each hand and could not save 
 
174 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 herself. As she lay on the frozen ground 
 she thought her ankle was broken. She 
 could not move; she had moments of un 
 consciousness and periods of agonizing pain. 
 She did not cry, she did not pray. Her 
 whole being was swept with a torrent of 
 rage and despair. As she lay there even 
 ing came on; the sky showed lavish glory, 
 splendor piled itself on splendor, the snow- 
 covered earth reflected the tints above, the 
 stars throbbed in burning blue. Abe, com 
 ing around the corner of the house, found 
 his wife at the foot of the steps unconscious 
 and half frozen. 
 
 Her ankle was not broken, but badly 
 sprained ; she was quite helpless. For weeks 
 she lay watching, with dark inscrutable 
 eyes, Abe s clumsy attempts at cleaning and 
 cooking. At first he was afraid of her, but 
 she said nothing. She was, as she would 
 have said, " studying. " As she grew better 
 she seemed to have come to a conclusion 
 or to have reached an end in her deliberation. 
 She was calmer than before. Abe cou!4 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 175 
 
 not understand. He made piteous efforts 
 to entertain her. He would have been glad 
 even to see her angry. 
 
 One night as she was beginning to move 
 about he spoke to her; he could keep silence 
 no longer. "Loretty," he said, but he 
 could not find words for his thought "Lo- 
 retty, don t take on so!" She heard him as 
 one listens absently to a child. 
 
 The next day he went to the store he 
 felt the need of counsel. Old Van Horn 
 had had three wives and might be deemed 
 an authority. Abe turned on him his honest 
 blue eyes, heavy with trouble. 
 
 If a sick person s extry quiet and pa 
 tient do you low it s a sign they ain t goin 
 to get well?" 
 
 "Man or woman?" asked old Van Horn. 
 
 "Woman," answered Abe. 
 
 Old Van Horn spoke with rustic candor. 
 " Well, Abe, if it s your Loretty, and she 
 ain t talking, she ll die certain. " 
 
 But Mrs. Morningstar was almost well 
 the next week when the huckster stopped 
 
176 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 to trade with her for butter and eggs. She 
 gave him privately a letter to mail for her 
 in Laporte. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vawter were at a dinner 
 party one evening in January. Price, the 
 editor, was there, and Wemys and General 
 Harbison s son Richard, and others of the 
 fishing party. Young Harbison sat next to 
 Mrs. Vawter. In a pause her husband 
 heard the young man say, * I wonder if Mr. 
 Vawter confessed to you the flirtation he 
 had up at the lake with Mrs. Morningstar?" 
 
 She answered him lightly; he persisted, 
 "Oh ask any of them. They ll all tell 
 you!" 
 
 She smiled indulgently. The young man s 
 face flushed; it came to him, he could not 
 tell how, that she thought him a little rude. 
 Yet she was kinder than ever; Vawter, 
 watching her, thought as he had thought 
 before, * She is the best bred woman in the 
 world, as she is the sweetest. " 
 
 He looked at her as a stranger might 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 177 
 
 have looked; he saw her radiant face, her 
 round throat encircled with diamonds, the 
 low bodice of her white gown sable-edged 
 and jewel-pinned. He recalled the woman 
 up in the country her sharp tongue, her 
 wistful eyes, her poor little red shawl. " I 
 wish Judith understood!" he thought. But 
 he knew that she would never understand; 
 he knew another thing too that, although 
 she was the most sympathetic of wives, she 
 sometimes felt that he made himself a little 
 common. 
 
 The next morning Vawter sat in his pri 
 vate office. A clerk brought to him his 
 personal mail. As he read his letters he 
 uttered an exclamation that made his sec 
 retary turn to him. " You may go into the 
 other room, Mr. Holliday," he said. "When 
 I want you I ll ring." 
 
 Left alone he read again the letter he 
 held in his hand: 
 
 4 Mr. Vawter, respected friend: I write 
 this to let you know that I have got so 
 that I can t live here any longer, and I 
 
 12 
 
178 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 have made up my mind that I have got to 
 leave, and remembering your promise, I 
 write to say that I am going to leave Abe 
 for good. He will be in Laporte a week 
 from Monday, and I can get away and will 
 go to your town, so please meet me at the 
 train and tell me what to do. So no more 
 at present from yours truly, 
 
 LORETTA MORNINGSTAR. 
 
 The situation was bad enough at first, but 
 it seemed worse the more he thought about 
 it. He stepped to the door. " Telephone 
 for my horse; I m going to drive." 
 
 Out on the deserted boulevard he tried to 
 get a clearer view of the case, but all that 
 he could think of was that a married woman, 
 utterly ignorant of the ways of the world, 
 was about to leave her husband, and that, 
 perhaps, as the result of something like a 
 suggestion of his own. The wind in his 
 face was icy, but he broke into a perspira 
 tion as he thought of the obvious and in 
 evitable criticism to which his own thought 
 less impulsiveness would expose him. He 
 did not dare to name his wife even in his 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 179 
 
 thoughts, but he could feel the way in which 
 any woman might say, l * Were you not a little 
 rash? Why need you have taken on your 
 self the responsibility of a declared sym 
 pathy?" 
 
 "It s no use going over and over it by 
 myself," he said, at last. "I have got to 
 ask somebody!" 
 
 Of the men of the fishing party to whom 
 he might go for advice, there was General 
 Harbison, whose age and high character 
 might be supposed particularly to qualify 
 him; and there was Wemys, who, perhaps, 
 was Vawter s closest friend. 
 
 1 Harbison s all right, he d talk it over 
 fully and wisely but he d continue talking 
 it over fully and wisely for the next twenty 
 years. 
 
 "And Wemys well, hed be all right 
 after he once got down to it, but he d want 
 to philosophize round and round creation 
 before he started in on the subject like a 
 writing-master when he s going to make a 
 scroll eagle. And Price he s out of the 
 
l8o DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 question, I suppose. For one thing, he s 
 too young; and for another, from what the 
 boys say, he s had a little too much ex 
 perience already. I reckon I got to tell 
 Wemys." 
 
 He stopped in front of a tall building 
 which was almost in the center of a whirl 
 pool of commercial activity. In the eleva 
 tor with him as he went up were a printer, 
 carrying long strips of proof in his hands, 
 and some young men who had that look of 
 sodden cleanliness that belongs to going to 
 bed at four in the morning, and bath and 
 breakfast at noon. 
 
 "Tell Mr. Price that Mr. Vawter wants to 
 see him." As he waited he said to himself, 
 I knew all along it was Price I was com 
 ing to, and yet I made up reasons against 
 Wemys and poor old Harbison. I ve got to 
 watch out that kind of thing isn t just 
 straight." 
 
 In his own room, and surrounded by 
 the signs of his work, there was a force 
 about Price that was not so evident else- 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT iBl 
 
 where. There was something comforting, 
 too, in the quick perception that made him 
 say at once to someone outside of the door, 
 "Don t let anybody in." 
 
 He listened gravely with a kind and con 
 centrated interest that had the appearance 
 of being an interest diverted for the time 
 from his own affairs. Vawter gave him 
 Loretta s letter. It hurt him to do it ; there 
 was a sort of violation of confidence in the 
 act. A fear took him that Price might 
 laugh. But Price read it through slowly, 
 looking back at the date, with a face as un 
 changing as if he had been considering a 
 poker hand. 
 
 4 Poor woman, I suppose it s been pretty 
 hard on her this winter," he said, after a 
 moment or two. "Yes," said Vawter, 
 "and that s one of the things that breaks 
 me all up. You see I know all about it. 
 Our folks were pretty well oft, as farmers go, 
 in Indiana, but all the same I know the life 
 is awful for the women." 
 
 She d be nervous and cross, and then 
 
182 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Abe would get grumpy," suggested the 
 other. 
 
 4 Yes, I reckon he d act like a brute," 
 Vawter answered "and yet Abe s a mighty 
 good-humored fellow by nature." 
 
 4 He is, by nature; but the good humor 
 that s going to redeem a man he s got to 
 work for." 
 
 "Well, I don t know as I exactly under 
 stand what you mean by that, but anyhow 
 Abe s a good man according to his lights, 
 and hardly deserves that his home should 
 be broken up! You feel that?" 
 
 Price responded absently, looking out of 
 the window as he spoke. Vawter proceeded 
 with some heat: 
 
 "Don t we both know that? Of course 
 she can t come 
 
 Certainly not. " 
 
 * But what kind of a man am I? Here 
 I am plotting to get out of keeping my 
 promise to her. I never in my life before 
 went back on a creature that trusted me, 
 It s awful rough!" 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 183 
 
 < That s so, " said Price. ( There s some 
 times some comfort in finding out how far 
 you re to blame, and taking it out on your 
 self, but there is nothing of that in this, to 
 my mind." 
 
 4 No, I can t see how I am to blame. I 
 was sorry for her, awfully sorry, as I am 
 for any human being who is in a hard place. 
 I said so, and I don t take it back either." 
 
 1 Of course the idea that you would be 
 her friend made her think it possible to 
 leave Abe." 
 
 "I reckon so I m not going to blame a 
 woman for believing what I tell her, am I?" 
 
 "The result is pretty embarrassing, " said 
 Price, with a smile. 
 
 < I suppose it is, but you don t think I 
 mind about myself, do you? It s her I m 
 thinking of how she ll be hurt, and lose 
 confidence, and maybe get more bitter. It s 
 like slapping a child that holds out its hands 
 to you." 
 
 "I see that," said Price. "I mean I can 
 see how it would worry you." After a mo- 
 
184 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 ment s silence he asked, "Can t you write 
 to her?" 
 
 "Write to her? Good land, no! Any 
 body who chose would open the letter, and 
 if it got out that she had ever planned to 
 run away from Abe she d never hear the 
 last of it. You don t know the coarse jokes, 
 the silly repetitions Say! Maybe I could 
 go up there and talk her out of it!" 
 
 < I guess not, " said Price. A man doesn t 
 travel to the end of creation in the dead of 
 winter, and then go fourteen miles by wagon, 
 just to make an afternoon call." 
 
 Vawter rose. "Well, it s something to 
 get the situation clear in your mind. She 
 mustn t come, that s one thing; and the 
 other is, that nobody but you and me must 
 ever know that she wanted to come. That s 
 as far as I can go. You can t help me be 
 yond that nobody can. I ve got to hope 
 for a leading." 
 
 "Yes, and I guess you ll get it. And, 
 Vawter please remember that you don t 
 have to tell me what you may decide to do. " 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 185 
 
 At the door Vawter stopped. * I d like 
 to say that I think you ve been pretty nice 
 about a thing some men would have treated 
 as a joke." 
 
 * Don t mention it, " said Price. I don t 
 know when I ve enjoyed anything so much 
 as seeing the way I took it. It gave me 
 some hope for myself." 
 
 Later at his office Vawter said to himself 
 with a sigh, "Well, if there isn t any possi 
 ble way out of a thing, I reckon all I can 
 do is to get out in an impossible way." He 
 called for his secretary to come and take 
 down a letter. "On plain paper, please, 
 Mr. Holliday." 
 
 The letter set forth that it had come to 
 the knowledge of the writer that the prop 
 erty of Abraham Morningstar was in danger, 
 that great harm might come to him should 
 he be absent for a day, that he ought to re 
 main closely at home for some months, and 
 that he must not tell anyone he had received 
 such a warning. "And, Mr. Holliday, you 
 may bring it to me to sign." As he put it 
 
1 86 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 into an envelope he turned pale with his 
 horror of it. " Great Caesar! Have 7 gone 
 into the White Cap business? Am I the 
 sort of man that sends anonymous letters?" 
 That night his little daughter clung to 
 him. "Oh, father, how good you are!" 
 "Well, honey," he answered with grim 
 amusement at his own distress, "maybe 
 I m good, but maybe I m one of the lowest 
 creatures known to society." 
 
 Before the next summer the fishermen 
 built a pretty clubhouse of their own on the 
 shore of the lake. Vawter went later than 
 the others and was welcomed at the landing 
 with joyous acclamations. At the door a 
 spry mulatto hurried forward to take his 
 bag and overcoat. "You Cunnel Vawter, 
 suh?" He looked about at the gentlemen 
 in expectation of the guffaw that he thought 
 would follow his next words. Woman up 
 on the hill where we-all gets our aigs mighty 
 keen to see you, suh!" 
 
 Vawter s steel-colored eyes rested on the 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 187 
 
 negro for an instant. Then he spoke even 
 more gently than was usual with him. * You 
 mean Mrs. Morningstar? As soon as the 
 steward can spare you, you may go up there 
 and tell her that Mr. Vawter will do himself 
 the honor of calling on her to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 As they passed on into the house young 
 Harbison lingered in the hall. * Look 
 here," he said to the steward, "that nigger 
 of yours is just a little too fresh!" 
 
 In the radiant morning Vawter, trim and 
 soldierlike, walked toward the Morningstar 
 house. Flocks of little yellow butterflies 
 flowered the road along which he went. 
 Beyond the fields the lake lay blue and 
 sparkling. At intervals the song of a 
 meadow lark rang out. He felt the beauty 
 of it all, but he was greatly disturbed. He 
 could not guess what Mrs. Morningstar s 
 situation might be. Had Abe suspected 
 the truth? Had Loretta in some desperate 
 moment confessed it? She might be more 
 wretched than ever; she might meet him 
 
1 88 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 with reproaches. He could bear her anger, 
 but to seem to be false to one who had 
 trusted him, was a thought that stung him. 
 He went over it all again with a sickening 
 feeling that he in some way was at the bot 
 tom of the trouble. 
 
 I have meant to do only what is right. 
 I have tried to walk uprightly before God 
 and man, and I guess I have blundered along 
 like one of these wobbly-legged calves!" 
 
 Loretta saw him approaching; she came 
 hurriedly out of the door the house was 
 only a few feet from the roadside. She 
 took no time for greeting. Some of the 
 folks are in the kitchen. Go up to the edge 
 of the cornfield and wait for me." 
 
 She vanished before he could speak. He 
 walked on bewildered. As he got his breath 
 he addressed himself: "Henry Vawter, 
 have you gone crazy? Are you waiting at 
 the edge of the cornfield for Abe Morning- 
 star s wife?" 
 
 She appeared almost immediately; her 
 pink sunbonnet was perched on the top of 
 her head; she looked very pretty, 
 
THE MORNINGSTAR ELOPEMENT 189 
 
 1 I ve wanted to see you awful bad 
 she hesitated. Vawter s heart sank. 
 
 "I ve been so so afraid you thought 
 hard of my not coming last winter. What s 
 the matter?" she asked, as the man drew a 
 quick breath. 
 
 " Oh, nothing. I ought not to go out in 
 the sun without my smelling salts and para 
 sol." 
 
 She laughed and went on, "You see it 
 was this way; I really did lay off to go, but 
 I couldn t seem to get away nohow. After 
 I began to pick up, Abe got a notion he 
 was poorly, and he took to settin round the 
 house, and after he was converted he helped 
 me lots, and George he went up to Valpa- 
 raisy to clerk in his uncle s store, and Lon 
 Bunker got married, and there wasn t no 
 one but Abe and me and Myrtie, and I 
 got real reconciled. Fact is," she added, 
 with a flash of youthful gayety, "time I 
 could go I was plum out of notion of goin !" 
 
 "Well, that s a heap better, ain t it?" 
 said Vawter, 
 
19 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Yes, I can see that plenty well now 
 for one thing, I expect I d a had a hard time 
 earning my living teaching music." She 
 continued, with simple confidence in his 
 friendly interest: "I get a good deal more 
 time to play now than I did, and Abe and 
 me s joined the Christian Endeavors at our 
 church, and we re going to attend the enter 
 tainments the Campbellites are gettin up. 
 Looky here! You won t ever let on to Abe 
 that I had a notion of leavin him?" 
 
 "No, indeed; I don t even let it on to 
 myself." 
 
 That evening Wemys said, * * They say 
 Abe got converted at the big revival this 
 spring. Vawter, when you were up there 
 this morning did you see anything of the 
 family altar that exhorters counsel the 
 brother who has found the light to set up?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Vawter whimsically, 
 "I saw it; I helped shove it round into 
 place. It s just a plain, ordinary, home 
 made, medium-sized altar." 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 
 
 WHEN at dinner Dr. Harmon men 
 tioned a sick woman whom he had 
 seen that day he was not departing from his 
 habit of professional reticence; it was not 
 of her illness that he spoke. Her name, 
 Moore, was that of Mrs. Harmon s kins- 
 people in Whitcomb County. She and her 
 husband were from that part of the State 
 there might be some connection. 
 
 I guess they are poor, and they seem to 
 have no acquaintances. It might be a kind 
 thing for you to go to see her," he said, re 
 garding Mrs. Harmon with the lack of confi 
 dence in his own good impulses that over 
 comes a man in the presence of his wife. 
 
 It turned out there was no relationship; 
 but when Mrs. Harmon went to see the 
 sick woman she was so much pleased with 
 her that she soon went again, and took 
 
194 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 some pains to make the acquaintance of 
 the husband. 
 
 Mr. Moore and his wife are as timid and 
 shy as two gentle animals," said Mrs. Har 
 mon, at home. "I do not see how they can 
 get on in the city." 
 
 "As to that," said the doctor, "they 
 came here because they could not get on in 
 the country. Moore is a carpenter, and at 
 present there are not many lordly mansions 
 in process of erection on the farms of Whit- 
 comb County." 
 
 "He ought to be a farmer that s what 
 Fm going to be," said little Tom "any 
 how in maple sugar time." 
 
 Maybe he hadn t enough money to buy 
 a farm, Tom," said Miss Amy. "I m going 
 to have plenty of money," answered the 
 boy. 
 
 The doctor continued : I spoke to Moore s 
 boss about him. He says that the man 
 will always be able to earn his bread and 
 butter he s competent and industrious 
 but that he ll never get on much. He hasn t 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 1 95 
 
 enough cheek to look out for little contracts 
 or to ask for higher wages." 
 
 Mrs. Harmon s well-filled satin bodice 
 creaked as she sighed, "Well, it s some 
 thing for a man to be able to earn his bread 
 and butter." 
 
 * * My dear, " said the doctor, you are, 
 as usual, distinctly right." 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Moore was well she let 
 the doctor s wife see that she wanted to earn 
 a little money herself, and Mrs. Harmon 
 often carried to her small bits of sewing a 
 lace flounce to be pieced, some frills to be 
 hemstitched for Amy s night gowns. The 
 children, Tom, Nelly and the two-year-old 
 baby, were sometimes in the carriage with 
 their mother. 4 It was the strangest thing 
 to see the little woman brighten up at the 
 sight of the babies," said Mrs. Harmon. 
 "She forgot all about me. I left them with 
 her for a while. When I went back for 
 them they wailed and she looked so wistful 
 that it was positively touching. " 
 
 It was the desire to see the children that 
 
196 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 first drew Mrs. Moore, in spite of her shyness, 
 to the Harmons house. Later she came 
 often and sat busy at her sewing in the wide 
 upper hall. The children hung round her 
 and climbed over her, but she never seemed 
 to tire of them. She was such a gentle, 
 ladylike little creature, that all the family 
 grew fond of her and came to call her, as 
 the children did, "Cousin Mary." She had 
 beautiful red hair, a thin skin, and mild, 
 protuberant blue eyes. Her husband was 
 enough like her to be her brother. When the 
 doctor and his wife went off on short trips, 
 Mrs. Moore was asked to stay at the house 
 with Miss Amy and the little ones. At such 
 times her husband, William, came to dinner 
 with them. He sat up at the table, shin- 
 ingly clean and very well-behaved, looking 
 like a little boy who has been asked out to 
 tea. When one of the children said any 
 thing bright (and the Harmon children were 
 generally free to speak their minds), Wil 
 liam and his wife would look at each other 
 in silent delight and admiration. 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 197 
 
 "I wonder how they manage to exist," 
 said Amy (she was one of the girls who are 
 putting into the work of improving their 
 minds the same sort of energy and devo 
 tion that their grandmothers gave to the 
 business of saving their souls). "They seem 
 never to have anything to talk about, even 
 to each other, but some baby that they 
 know." 
 
 "Oh," said Mrs. Harmon, " they have a 
 great deal to interest them. They read the 
 Bible to each other every night, and they 
 always go to church. " 
 
 They not only went to church on Sun 
 days, but to prayer-meeting on Thursday 
 nights. They were as regular in attend 
 ance at these meetings and as little noticed 
 as the negro janitor, who slept quietly in 
 one of the dusky corners that surrounded 
 the illuminated center where a few old men 
 and women and one fashionably dressed sis 
 ter, whose husband was not a "professor," 
 asked each other once a week why the 
 young people would not attend prayer- 
 
IQ DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 meeting. The Moores enjoyed it all greatly. 
 
 Once William made a joke. His wife 
 complained of the rain. "Don t you re 
 member, Mary," he said, "that Brother 
 Taylor said that if there was one thing that 
 more than another was sent for our per 
 sonal reproof and correction, it was the 
 weather? I guess you ve been doing some 
 thing naughty." 
 
 When this jeu d esprit was reported by 
 Cousin Mary (who had a modest pride in it), 
 Amy fairly turned pale. 
 
 "Oh, what barrenness!" she said to her 
 mother, later. "Have they no intellectual 
 life?" 
 
 " I never have observed," responded Mrs. 
 Harmon, with dignity, "that intellectual 
 people have any better time than others who 
 make less pretensions. Cousin Mary cer 
 tainly seems as happy as the rest of you. " 
 
 Miss Amy could admit a truth even if she 
 did not approve of the conclusion to be 
 drawn from it. She saw that Cousin Mary 
 was happy; she saw, indeed, that she was 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 1 99 
 
 not only happy, but in a sort of exaltation. 
 Her color was brighter than it had been; 
 she laughed aloud as she played with the 
 children; sometimes when she thought no 
 one could hear her she sang aloud as she 
 sat at her sewing. William, also, was 
 changed. Formerly he hardly dared answer 
 when Mrs. Harmon addressed him; now 
 when his wife came in the morning he 
 escorted her to the front door, rang the bell 
 bold as a lion, and told Mrs. Harmon not 
 to let Mary get tired. 
 
 In the autumn and winter she did not 
 come often to the Harmons . The children 
 were taken to her house and came back 
 noisy and happy, bearing little homemade 
 toys that she and William had contrived for 
 them. 
 
 In March Cousin Mary gave birth to a 
 child which died immediately. From the 
 first she was out of her senses, and an alarm 
 ing mania developed. She was violently ill 
 for weeks. During this time her husband 
 worked night and day taking care of her. 
 
200 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 His toil was incredible; he went through 
 more than it would have been thought could 
 be endured by the stoutest frame. But it 
 could not be permitted. An awful day 
 came for the poor little man. In a close 
 carriage with Mrs. Harmon and the doctor 
 he took his wife, tied hand and foot, to the 
 insane asylum. As they drew near the 
 place he made pitiful attempts to smooth 
 her gown, to adjust her hat, though she 
 struck at him. * * Mary is always so tidy and 
 particular about her looks," he said. 
 
 That night as Amy Harmon in her ball 
 room finery sat with her parents in the 
 library waiting for the carriage that was to 
 take her to a dance, they spoke of the dis 
 tress of the day. 
 
 Why has it happened?" the girl asked 
 of her father. What have Cousin Mary and 
 her husband ever done to deserve this awful 
 thing?" She spoke with the bewildered bit 
 terness of one who for the first time finds 
 her question cannot be answered. 
 
 "We must trust in a Providence that is 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 2OI 
 
 wiser than we are," said the mother, com 
 fortably. The girl still looked at her father. 
 
 Well, Amy, one woman in so many 
 hundreds goes crazy. Poor Cousin Mary 
 drew the marked ballot. That is all. You 
 all take your chance." 
 
 "Oh, I don t know what chance is!" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 Neither do I, " he replied. " But I think 
 it is a segment of some great circle of the 
 law." 
 
 After this the Harmons saw nothing of 
 Cousin Mary s husband. He crept away 
 like some wounded animal to suffer alone. 
 Mrs. Harmon looked for him at church, but 
 he was seen there no more. She drove to 
 the little house and found it locked. A 
 woman stretched her neck over the next 
 fence and then addressed her: 
 
 "You ain t acquainted with them folks, 
 are you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," Mrs. Harmon responded; "I 
 know them very well." 
 
 The neighbor brightened up with the 
 
202 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 pleasure of one who has something of inter 
 est to communicate. "Well, you won t 
 find her at home; she s gone crazy." 
 
 "I didn t expect to see Mrs. Moore. I 
 wanted to find out something about Mr. 
 Moore. Do you know if he is well?" 
 
 " Oh, he s all right, I reckon, far s that 
 goes. But he acts mighty curious. He 
 just cooks and works for himself, and never 
 speaks to a soul. Minute his work s done 
 he puts out his lamp. But if he don t want 
 to be friendly, it s no difference to us!" Her 
 tone indicated advances not responded to. 
 
 The resident physicians at the asylum 
 sometimes communicated with Dr. Harmon 
 about Mrs. Moore s condition, and occasion 
 ally, when William s day s work was done, 
 he came to the house to ask for news. In 
 the long summer evenings, as Miss Amy 
 sat with her friends on the wide veranda, 
 in the scent of the lilies that came up from 
 the lawn below, she often saw William s 
 slight, boyish figure in the shadow of the 
 trees that edged the sidewalk sometimes 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 203 
 
 when the doctor was delayed he stood there 
 for two or three hours. And when the doc 
 tor alighted she saw the face of the young 
 man in the light of the street lamps as he 
 came forward. It was wild and haggard 
 and unshaven. But sometimes, after long 
 waiting, when William heard the carriage 
 wheels coming, he stole away without a 
 word. 
 
 "I wonder what Mr. Moore does with 
 himself on Sundays?" said Mrs. Harmon. 
 1 I ve sent to his house several times, but 
 he s never at home. " 
 
 I think I saw him one Sunday, " said the 
 doctor. * I was driving past the grounds of 
 the asylum six miles from town, you know; 
 the rain was coming down in sheets. A 
 man that looked like him was lying on the 
 grass huddled close against the palings that 
 inclosed the grounds. But if it was he, 
 he hid his face so that I might not recognize 
 him." 
 
 The day came in August when the doctor 
 had good news. Cousin Mary was improv- 
 
204 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 ing. Then word came that William might 
 see her for a few minutes. He took hope 
 immediately and was ready to talk to Mrs. 
 Harmon about what he might cook to carry 
 to his wife. He came to ask advice about 
 a flannel dressing gown. He began to make 
 a store of jelly for winter consumption, and 
 he even tried to coax a few late flowers to 
 bloom in the little yard. 
 
 In the autumn Mary was discharged. 
 Mrs. Harmon sent flowers to the house to 
 welcome her home, and they all made every 
 show of kindly feeling. But they spoke of 
 it gravely to one another. 
 
 " How much better it would have been if 
 she had died," said Amy. " How horrible 
 for her to drag through life, knowing she 
 has been insane!" 
 
 "Does it seem so to you?" asked the 
 doctor. 
 
 " How could it seem otherwise? to dis 
 trust one s judgment to watch each whim 
 with trembling horror to have the doubt 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 205 
 
 always hanging over you. It would drive 
 me mad a second time!" 
 
 4 Probably it would," responded her 
 father; "but then you have had the ad 
 vantage of a higher education. You, I 
 doubt not, know much about alienism and 
 have studied something of diseases of the 
 mind and will. Cousin Mary has not had 
 your opportunities. She is no more ashamed 
 than she would be of having had the grip. 
 It was bad, it is over, and that is the end 
 of it." 
 
 " But her husband! won t he be ashamed? 
 Won t he trust her less?" 
 
 Oh, I never said William was a gentle 
 man. I dare say he ll be just as fond of 
 her as ever." 
 
 "He is not a gentleman, of course," said 
 Mrs. Harmon, severely. "But he is an 
 earnest, sincere Christian, and I don t see 
 why you should run him down and you 
 always talking the way you do 
 
 The reunited pair took up their life just 
 wliere they had left it. They were at church 
 
206 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 the next Sunday perhaps a little paler than 
 formerly, but looking very happy. Cousin 
 Mary came to the Harmons as often as be 
 fore. They tried to be very considerate; 
 Mrs. Harmon and Amy often sat with her 
 while she sewed, and at such times one of 
 them would read aloud from some book that 
 Cousin Mary might find diverting. Amy 
 talked gayly about the little things that were 
 happening, taking the greatest pains to be 
 as gentle and simple in her talk as might be. 
 They learned afterward that Cousin Mary 
 regarded these hours as times of great intel 
 lectual stimulus. As she gained confidence 
 the mother and daughter used the tact for 
 which they were distinguished in a wide cir 
 cle to induce her to talk freely to them. 
 One day she told them of her experiences 
 in the hospital. She spoke quite simply, 
 with no show of feeling or self-pity, or the 
 least perception that there might be any 
 thing in the situation that called for special 
 sympathy. She said that when she came 
 to herself she felt that her mind was dis- 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 207 
 
 turbed, and was glad to be in a place where 
 she might be helped to get well. 
 
 "I have wondered if you were not 
 troubled about the baby," said Mrs. Har 
 mon. 
 
 Cousin Mary s mild face flushed. " Be 
 fore I knew anything else I knew that it 
 was dead. I never asked; sometimes in the 
 night I cried." 
 
 4 Did you begin to think about your home 
 and William long before you spoke?" 
 
 4 Oh, yes; I wanted to ask about Wil 
 liam for weeks, but somehow I could not. 
 One day I could say the words, and I asked 
 the attendant Here she hesitated. " I 
 remember her, " said Mrs. Harmon; "that 
 big, strong Irish woman. What did she tell 
 you?" 
 
 She said, Don t bother about him 
 he s got another wife long ago! Of course 
 I knew it was not true, " said Cousin Mary, 
 meekly, "but it grieved me a little." 
 
 Amy made some gesture of indignant pro 
 test, but Cousin Mary, busy at her sewing, 
 
208 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 did not see it. She went on calmly, saying 
 that perhaps she had delayed her own recov 
 ery. She had found in the pocket of one 
 of her dresses a scrap of the lace that she 
 had sewn around the neck of one of the 
 baby s slips. She liked to touch it, and to 
 hold it against her face. One day the nurse 
 suddenly pointed her out to a passing doc 
 tor. * She s pretty crazy yet, you see !" < < I 
 did not know that it was wrong," said Cou 
 sin Mary, "or I should not have done it." 
 
 "How horrible!" cried Amy; "that wo 
 man ought to be killed!" 
 
 "Oh, you mustn t think that," begged 
 Cousin Mary; "I am sure she never meant 
 to be unkind, and she was very faithful and 
 industrious." 
 
 The next autumn Cousin Mary seemed 
 frailer than before. Sometimes the doctor 
 stopped her in the hall with kindly inquiries 
 about her health. "Is there any danger 
 of Cousin Mary s mania returning?" asked 
 Amy. 
 
 "They say not," answered her mother. 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 209 
 
 "It was not constitutional; it was an acci 
 dent, as a fever might have been." 
 
 In her heart Amy thought them all a little 
 dull. Certainly, Cousin Mary was not well. 
 She came no more to the house, but in the 
 evening William often stopped for a tonic 
 or, a sleeping powder on his way home from 
 work. He did not, however, seem any 
 more distressed than did the others. 
 
 It was the last season before Amy Har 
 mon s marriage. She was going out con 
 stantly. The night before Christmas she 
 danced till three o clock. " Don t try to 
 get up to breakfast, dear," said her mother. 
 
 "Not get up on Christmas morning? 
 Why, I d get up then if I had to stay in bed 
 a month to pay for it." 
 
 The Christmas tree was shown just after 
 breakfast. The children screamed and 
 shouted. Everybody was happy. The 
 drawing-room floor was covered with tinsel 
 cords and ribbons and wrapping paper; 
 neighbor children ran in and out; uncles 
 14 
 
210 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 came bearing gifts; the telephone rang itself 
 into spasms. 
 
 On Christmas evening the Harmons 
 always went to the house of the grandfather. 
 There was a supper at which everybody, 
 big and little, was seated, and in the even 
 ing dancing and games. Amy and her little 
 sister Nelly went first; they were to send 
 the carriage back for the others. As they 
 were starting Mrs. Harmon gave them a 
 basket full of little gifts for Cousin Mary to 
 be left at her house on the way. 
 
 1 Go in quietly without knocking, " she 
 said. "Your father says she is doing well, 
 but she may be asleep." 
 
 The house was one of a row of work- 
 ingmen s cottages that stretched out in the 
 shadow of a great factory. The factory 
 was still and dark; the street lay hushed in 
 the silence of a late Christmas afternoon. 
 There was no light in the house except one 
 that shone through a side window. The 
 coachman carried the basket to the door, 
 and Amy, gathering her finery over her arm 
 
THE WIFE OF A CARPENTER 211 
 
 and followed by her little sister, ran through 
 snow drifts as high as her shoulder along 
 the little path from the gate to the house. 
 She opened the door softly and they 
 entered. She viewed the little place its 
 braided rugs, its tidy poverty. There was 
 no sound except that of the voice of a man 
 reading in the inner room. Amy floated 
 across the outer one; her bright mantle 
 slipped from her shoulders and lay at her 
 feet, a pool of shimmering gold and azure. 
 As she stood poised in her white gown in the 
 square of light that came through the open 
 doorway little Nelly saw her with sudden 
 awe. "I think," she whispered to herself, 
 "that sister looks like an angel!" Then she 
 stole to Amy s side and looked into the 
 further room. There, white as a lily, her 
 bright hair spread out like an aureole over 
 her pillow, lay Cousin Mary. The light of 
 happiness and life and love was in her blue 
 eyes. On her arm was a baby. As they 
 stood there they heard William read the 
 scripture for the day: 
 
212 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 "And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye 
 shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling 
 clothes, lying in a manger. 
 
 And suddenly there was with the angel 
 a multitude of the heavenly host praising 
 God, and saying, 
 
 * Glory to God in the highest, and on 
 earth peace, good will toward men. " 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 
 
 ONE winter afternoon three friends sat 
 together sewing. It was the week be 
 fore Christmas, and they were busy prepar 
 ing for that season. Some packages, be- 
 ribboned and addressed, lay on the table in 
 the middle of the drawing-room in the 
 shadow of a cluster of long-stemmed red 
 roses. Other parcels, almost ready to be 
 put with them, filled a chair near one of 
 the ladies. 
 
 As they pursued their pretty work, they 
 talked together with playful candor. But 
 although their conversation was intelligent 
 and free, there was a sort of repression 
 about it which stands among American wo 
 men as a sign of high breeding. The same 
 thing was to be noticed in the composure 
 of their attitudes and even in the simple ele 
 gance of their attire. It was an easy guess 
 215 
 
2l6 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 that any one of them would regard a mani 
 festation of mental or moral vehemence as 
 evidence of a lack of culture. 
 
 They had been speaking of a woman 
 whom they all knew. Then as the sun 
 sank behind the snow-capped turrets of 
 the house opposite, they dropped their work 
 and talked of womankind. 
 
 I wonder if it is true that all women are 
 at heart pretty much alike?" asked Theo 
 dora. 
 
 "For my part," said Fanny, "I see no 
 more reason for believing that women s 
 hearts are alike than that their minds are, 
 which is absurd." 
 
 "I think we are all alike," said Amy. 
 "There are the same depths and shallows 
 in every woman s nature. What fills the 
 depth love, or religion, or jealousy is of 
 course decided by circumstances or educa 
 tion." 
 
 Fanny objected: " It is easy to say that, 
 but you cannot prove it. There are a very 
 few instinctive passions, such, for instance, 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 217 
 
 as maternal affection (which even Theodora 
 must admit she has in common with the 
 lower animals), that we all may feel; but 
 I think it probable that the highly devel 
 oped sensibility which alone can engender 
 complex and delicate emotion is the result 
 of culture, either personal or inherited." 
 
 "I don t like to agree with you," said 
 Theodora. < For one thing, such an idea 
 seems irreligious." 
 
 "Yes; that s a fine reason," laughed 
 Fanny. 
 
 "I have known many women intimately," 
 said Amy, and I am sure that no class 
 monopolizes the capacity for high and in 
 tense feeling." 
 
 I like the way you two talk!" exclaimed 
 Fanny. "Whom did either of you ever 
 know outside of your relatives and visiting 
 lists?" 
 
 Theodora ventured to respond that she 
 had gone among the poor a great deal. 
 
 "No doubt," commented Fanny, "the 
 
21 8 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 worthy poor! that is to say, the poor made 
 in your image. " 
 
 "And I," asserted Amy, "may have 
 learned something from books. You know 
 I read anything that tells of humanity." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Fanny, "you pride 
 yourself on your love for your kind, and you 
 lie on the sofa all day reading stories about 
 French and Russian women. I don t say 
 the stories are not true, but how do you 
 know they are?" 
 
 "How does one know anything?" asked 
 Theodora. One sees by one s imagina 
 tion; one tests what is seen by one s rea 
 son." 
 
 "That sounds very grand; it s a pity 
 there s no sense in it!" said Fanny. "For 
 my part, I wish I could know for myself." 
 She paused, laughed, and then, with a look 
 of defiance on her pretty face, began to 
 speak more earnestly than before. * The 
 truth is, I just long to know something out 
 side of ourselves. I am lonely on our little 
 desert island of culture. I want to shake 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 219 
 
 hands with the howling savages on shore. 
 Maybe I wouldn t like it, but I wish I could 
 get a chance." 
 
 Amy began to speak, and then hesitated. 
 * 1 1 do not know that it would interest you 
 last summer I met, but perhaps it s too 
 long a story." 
 
 "Pray tell it," said Theodora, politely. 
 
 4 Yes," said Fanny, "pray tell it. But 
 I don t believe you ever met anybody who 
 was not introduced to you by your mother 
 or your sister-in-law." 
 
 Amy blushed a little as she began. 
 " Eighteen months ago I had to go to Chi 
 cago alone. It was necessary that I should 
 change from one train to another on the 
 way, and I was to wait in Plymouth from 
 noon until six in the afternoon. There was 
 nothing alarming about this, for Plymouth 
 is as quiet an old place as one could wish 
 to find." 
 
 "I know it," interrupted Fanny. "The 
 cleanest little town! There are sandy 
 streets densely shaded by beautiful maple 
 
220 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 trees, and here and there a mountain ash 
 bright with clusters of scarlet berries." 
 
 "My husband had told me just what to 
 do," continued Amy. 4< I was to go from 
 the station to the La Fayette House, and 
 stay there until time for the next train. 
 This house is an old place which is highly 
 thought of by the few travelers mostly 
 lawyers who have occasion to stop in the 
 little town. It is more like an English inn 
 than one would think possible, with not one 
 modern improvement, and yet much homely 
 comfort. 
 
 "I walked from the station to the hotel. 
 The day was beautiful. At the door the 
 landlord met me with hospitable warmth. I 
 was late for their regular dinner, but his 
 daughter, a comely old maid, took me into 
 the dining-room, seated me by a vine- 
 shaded window, and served me with simple 
 dainties red raspberries fresh from the gar 
 den just outside, a pitcher of yellow cream, 
 and later a little cake hot from the oven 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 221 
 
 the try-cake, she said, of one she was 
 making for tea. 
 
 "When my luncheon was finished, I went 
 across the hall to the parlor and looked 
 about me before- I settled myself for the 
 afternoon with a novel. I delighted in the 
 room; the striped paper on the walls; the 
 pictures high-hung and tilted forward; the 
 clean Nottingham curtains that shook in the 
 sweet air." 
 
 "You don t say anything about the tin 
 plaque with a one-legged stork on it," said 
 Fanny. 
 
 "No; because I didn t see it. But there 
 was an old glass fruit dish full of mignonette 
 on the center table. The room seemed like 
 the rest of the house sweet and peaceful, 
 as if it were the index of simple, undisturbed 
 lives. 
 
 "In a far corner, with her back to me, 
 sat a lady busy with some needlework. 
 She had the appearance of being at home. 
 Her work-basket was beside her. I did not 
 look at her twice, but opened my book and 
 
222 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 read for awhile, forgetting there was anyone 
 present but myself. A half hour, perhaps, 
 had passed, when the lady rose and walked 
 across the room. As she moved, I looked 
 after her, at first listlessly, then astounded. 
 I could not see her face, but her dress, her 
 figure, above all, her carnage, fairly took 
 my breath away. I never have seen any 
 thing like the grace of her moving. I know 
 now that the most beautiful dancing in the 
 world is not so beautiful as is not to be 
 compared with the rhythmical grace pos 
 sible in the human walk. When she seated 
 herself, I felt a sort of pang, as if music had 
 ceased. Then I noticed her costume. You 
 may smile, Fanny, but I have seldom seen 
 a woman so charmingly dressed. My own 
 little bravery seemed tawdry and common 
 beside the fashion of her attire. I almost 
 thought I was dreaming." 
 
 And were you not ?" asked Fanny. You 
 know I ve been in Plymouth myself!" 
 
 "Who was she?" inquired Theodora. 
 
 "That was what I tried to think. I con- 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 223 
 
 eluded that she must belong to one of the 
 wealthy Sevier County families, and was 
 perhaps waiting here after a summer s ab 
 sence for her house to be opened. But I 
 wondered that in that case I had not heard 
 of her. She was sewing on some fancy- 
 work, a strip of pink velvet cut in deep 
 points along one edge, which she embroid 
 ered with silver thread and jewel-like beads. 
 She dropped her thimble and rose to look 
 for it. I saw it in a corner. Then we fell 
 into conversation. Soon I was seated at 
 her side, counting the beads for her as she 
 used them. I know I can never make you 
 understand the simple elegance of that wo 
 man s manner her grace, her dignity!" 
 
 " First, " said Fanny, " I d like to under 
 stand something about your manner and its 
 dignity. Are you in the habit of sitting 
 down to sew with every woman you meet 
 in a hotel parlor?" 
 
 "You know very well that I am not. It 
 was her fineness which made it possible. It 
 seemed just the natural thing to do. There 
 
224 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 was no possibility of making one s self com 
 mon in her society." 
 
 "Oh, well," said Fanny, "I suppose it 
 was not so very bad. I know who she was 
 that young Mrs. Ridley, whose husband 
 is minister to China." 
 
 * No, my dear, " answered Amy, she was 
 not Mrs. Ridley. Of course I myself was 
 wondering who she was, though the instant 
 charm of her presence kept me from think 
 ing definitely about it. By and by I care 
 lessly asked her what her work (the strip of 
 velvet) was for. What do you think she 
 said you, Fanny, who know everything?" 
 
 "For the mantelpiece in her own little 
 sitting-room, of course," said Fanny. 
 
 1 Not at all! Without haste or hesita 
 tion, as simply as possible, she said, * For 
 my husband s costume. 
 
 "Well," said Fanny, "I suppose they 
 were going to have some private theatri 
 cals." 
 
 "I said something implying that. She 
 looked at me with mild surprise. Ah/ 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 225 
 
 said she, I fancy Raymond would find 
 that very tiresome. Then we went back to 
 what we had been talking about. She told me 
 of a winter journey in Russia; how her hus 
 band piled furs over her till she thought she 
 should smother; of the palaces and their 
 conservatories; of a certain princess gowns; 
 of market scenes and fetes on the ice all 
 this, and more, with such gaiety and wit, 
 with such pretty accompaniment of gesture 
 and changing color and light mimicry, that 
 nothing could have been more charming." 
 
 Fanny mused: "The Reed-Dudleys live 
 somewhere up there; they are often abroad. " 
 
 " She was not one of the Reed-Dudleys," 
 answered Amy. 
 
 "Well, then, "said Fanny, "you deserved 
 no such luck; and how it ever happened in 
 Plymouth, and in summer, is past me but 
 she was an actress or a singer." 
 
 "She was neither; a thought of that sort 
 did occur to me for a minute, but I rejected 
 it, even before I found out positively that it 
 was not true. One look at her face would 
 
226 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 have convinced you that never since she was 
 born had that rose-petal skin ever been 
 touched by paint and powder. Have I told 
 you what she was like?" 
 
 "No," said Fanny. "I thought you 
 spared us purposely." 
 
 "I suppose she was very pretty!" said 
 Theodora. 
 
 I do not know whether she was or not, 
 but she was a revelation of what a woman 
 may be at the high mark of physical perfec 
 tion. She had in her appearance a quality 
 that transcends any beauty of feature." 
 
 <4 Oh, yes," said Fanny, "goodness I 
 used to hear that sort of talk when I was a 
 little girl. I thought it was out of date 
 now. " 
 
 "I do not mean goodness; though for 
 that matter, her face did show that. It was 
 a quality that is as much a material attri 
 bute as beauty is. She was the incarnation 
 of physical well-being the climax of per 
 fect health. She fairly glowed with it; an 
 atmosphere of it seemed to surround her. 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 227 
 
 Even to be near her was to feel a health- 
 giving influence. Looking at her, one would 
 say that from head to foot there was not a 
 muscle, not a nerve, not a drop of blood, 
 but was working in absolute order as God 
 meant it to work. I never thought until I 
 saw her what physical perfection might be 
 not physical beauty, which beside it is a 
 poor, scrappy affair, but strong, flawless 
 vitality. I tell you this fair creature made 
 other women show beside her as deformities 
 cripples." 
 
 How ) ou must love to contemplate Mr. 
 Corbett!" said Fanny. 
 
 "Nonsense!" answered Amy. "A man 
 of that kind is the owner of certain abnor 
 mally developed muscles to a degree the re 
 sult of special training. This young woman 
 seemed to have blossomed into perfection 
 as a flower does. 
 
 * But I was telling you of our conversa 
 tion. She mentioned her husband again, 
 and said he had gone to some small town 
 near by on professional business. She had 
 
228 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 stayed in Plymouth a while the year before, 
 when he was on a similar journey; he felt 
 it safe to leave her there because the people 
 in the house were such good, kindly folks. " 
 
 4 And then" said Fanny, "I suppose 
 you asked this United States Senator s wife 
 what her husband s line of trade was?" 
 
 "Not quite that, but something like it, 
 I m afraid. She answered me at once." 
 
 "She answered you as you deserved, I 
 hope," said Fanny. 
 
 * Fanny, are you not ashamed of your 
 self?" exclaimed Theodora. "You know you 
 would have asked her flatly in the first five 
 minutes!" 
 
 "She looked up at me with a smile," 
 continued Amy," and she said, Will it seem 
 vain for me to say, what our agent has 
 printed on all his letterheads, that my hus 
 band, Raymond Mersac, and I are the lead 
 ing cannon-ball artists in the world? " 
 
 "And what," said Theodora, "is a can 
 non-ball artist?" 
 
 "I ll tell you," cried Fanny. "A can- 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 229 
 
 non-ball artist oh, why was I not in Ply 
 mouth that day? a cannon-ball artist is a 
 lady, clad in tights, who is shot out of an 
 imitation cannon Amy, you never deserved 
 this; yon could not appreciate it shot out 
 of an imitation cannon with a spring, high 
 into the air, where she catches the hands of 
 a gentleman who is at the moment sus 
 pended by the knees, head down, from a 
 trapeze that is a little swing fastened on 
 a tight rope! Amy, it has been the dream 
 of my life to meet, to actually know, one of 
 these circus people. And now it has hap 
 pened to you! It is too much!" 
 
 I can understand, " said Theodora, < that 
 one might be curious, not about the indi 
 viduals, but about their habits. I confess 
 that I cannot see how a person living such 
 a life as that from childhood (and I believe 
 that only long training makes such feats 
 possible) could have any of the womanly 
 charm that Amy says belonged to her Mad 
 ame Mersac." 
 
 " I do not ask you to understand it," said 
 
230 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Amy, " and I do not know that her life had 
 anything to do with her personality, though 
 probably it had preserved for her the tran 
 scendent physical endowment with which 
 she must have been born. " 
 
 * Well, I hope you asked her a thousand 
 questions!" exclaimed Fanny. 
 
 4 No doubt I should have expected my 
 self to, but in her presence one was not 
 tempted to the impertinence of questioning. 
 That would have been impossible. How 
 ever, I was with her for several hours. I 
 saw that she was drawn to me as I was to 
 her. It seemed just the natural thing to 
 talk freely, and by and by we gave ourselves 
 to confidences, as children do, or as young 
 girls will in the first abandonments of inti 
 macy. 
 
 "What she told me of herself was in 
 substance this: Her parents died when she 
 was three years old. They had been acro 
 bats. Her father was English, her mother 
 French. They had no relatives. At their 
 death the little Leonie was taken in charge 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 231 
 
 by an old Frenchman and his wife, who had 
 some little employment at a zoological gar 
 den near London, and who kept a sort of 
 training school for acrobats. They must 
 have been a very gentle, kindly old pair. 
 They gave her the best training their knowl 
 edge could secure. Her exercise, her food, 
 her hours of rest, were carefully (and she 
 said lovingly) arranged for her from her 
 earliest recollection. Except the hours when 
 she was being taught, she spent almost all 
 her time out of doors. She had no play 
 mates; she said she never wanted any. The 
 other students at the training school were 
 all older than she while she was a child; and 
 after she was ten, she was so much more 
 proficient in the feats of her profession than 
 the others, that she had her lessons alone. 
 I asked her if masters were not at times 
 cruel, and if, when she was a child, she was 
 not frightened at the danger of the exer 
 cises. She said she supposed trainers were 
 unkind sometimes, but she fancied not 
 often, even if they were by nature bad- 
 
232 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 tempered. A master, said she, wants, 
 more than anything else, that his pupils 
 should do him credit. Everyone knows 
 that nothing is done well under compulsion. 
 When there is one trace of fear in the heart, 
 one can t think; one can t act; one can do 
 nothing really very good. For my own 
 part, said she, I was never set to do a spe 
 cial feat for which I was not already so well 
 prepared that it was easy. It was a delight 
 ful pastime, the reward often of months of 
 work. This routine work was never hard, 
 and only tiresome because it lasted so long; 
 but one came to do it as one might dance- 
 without thinking much about it." 
 
 1 I suppose, " said Theodora, that those 
 nets that are hung under the performers 
 give them confidence when they are poised 
 high in the air." 
 
 "I said that. She was very engaging 
 and sweet in her desire that I should not 
 guess what a primary sort of question I had 
 asked, but her answer was clear. The net 
 gave no confidence, because one never could 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 233 
 
 walk on a tight rope at all until one had 
 forgotten all about the elevation of the rope. 
 The first thing to learn was to feel that the 
 rope was not a rope stretched in mid-air, 
 but a line drawn flat on the surface of the 
 earth. Consequently, the net made no dif 
 ference one way or the other. With it she 
 merely exercised on a line that rested on a 
 surface covered with netting. As she was 
 saying this, she stopped suddenly with a 
 radiant smile. Then she said, * I should 
 tell you that Raymond does not agree with 
 me about this. 
 
 He prefers a netting under him? said I. 
 
 " Oh, no, she laughingly answered; 
 but he not only prefers, he insists on one 
 under me. He sees to it himself at every 
 performance. The canvas men, I am sure, 
 hate him. The whole company laughs. 
 Sometimes, when the netting has been mis 
 laid, he will not let me appear, and has in 
 consequence stormy interviews with the 
 manager. I thought it a little babyish of 
 him at first he is so brave for himself, and 
 
234 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 he knows so well my strength and confi 
 dence. I said so to him. Here she 
 stopped. 
 
 " And what did he say, my dear? I asked, 
 with courage born of our intimacy. 
 
 " She spoke gravely, He said: " Should 
 I see you in great danger, Leonie, it might 
 not kill me, but I think it would. "" 
 
 She had lived so quietly with the old 
 French couple," said Theodora, "where 
 did she get her husband?" 
 
 "This is what she told me," continued 
 Amy: I have been married four years, and 
 I can hardly remember when I did not know 
 that I was to marry Raymond. This always 
 made me very happy when I thought of it, 
 and I tried hard to be good, so that he might 
 be pleased with me. He is ten years older 
 than I, and was a relative of my dear mas 
 ter. When he had a vacation he came to 
 see us. Sometimes, not often, he brought 
 me a gift; and he always talked to me so 
 sensibly, and yet so entertainingly, that it 
 seemed to me no company could be so de- 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 235 
 
 lightful as his. And then he makes one feel 
 when he is gone that one must try to be 
 kinder and more unselfish, so as to be like 
 him . I thought there was no wiser or wit 
 tier man in the world, and no finer gentle 
 man. I think so still, she added, simply." 
 
 "What did she know about gentlemen?" 
 asked Fanny. 
 
 "Nothing, except what she had learned 
 from books. She had met a good many 
 men of the world, she said, but she had the 
 idea that they were rude and silly. She sug 
 gested an ingenious explanation that such 
 people, not being forced to be constantly to 
 gether, as those are who work, are not 
 obliged to learn to control themselves and 
 be polite for their mutual comfort; so they 
 should be excused for little rudenesses." 
 
 "This is important, if true," said Fanny; 
 "I must think of it!" 
 
 Amy continued: "As we talked, I came 
 to see that there was a very tender union 
 between Madame Mersac and her husband. 
 It was a rare chance that had united two 
 
236 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 people so untouched by what we call the 
 realities of life. They seemed to be as alone 
 as Adam and Eve in Paradise. She told me 
 that they had never had an intimate friend; 
 their whole life was in each other. No doubt 
 there are many people who are capable of 
 such a passion, but I don t think they often 
 marry each other." 
 
 "Well, it is saddening," said Fanny, "to 
 think that wedded love in its highest, pur 
 est form can only exist between a gentle 
 man and a lady who are shot out of a can 
 non at each other, and who enjoy hanging 
 by their toes from tight ropes." 
 
 Amy continued: " I do not say anything 
 so absurd as that the calling of these two 
 made them what they were. I do believe 
 that a healthful existence, away from the 
 intellectual strife in which the most of us 
 take some part, might nourish a simple and 
 faithful spirit, but I cannot think of Madame 
 Mersac as belonging to one order or another. 
 She was nature s own." 
 
 "You said she was witty and vivacious," 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 237 
 
 said Theodora, "but had she any educa 
 tion?" 
 
 " As we count education she probably had 
 almost none; and yet, as results go, she was 
 not behind some highly educated women. 
 She knew French perfectly not lady s maid 
 French, nor governess French, but that 
 beautiful, elegant, elastic tongue that never 
 was taught in a finishing school. I suppose 
 she had a natural aptitude for language, for 
 her English was charming. Apparently 
 her words were chosen with regard to their 
 finest meaning, and not, as ours sometimes 
 are, in conformity to a passing fashion. She 
 had read a great many books, but she knew 
 nothing of magazines or newspapers. Apart 
 from what she said, her manner of speaking 
 was that of a highly cultivated person. Her 
 master had a friend, an old dramatic teacher, 
 who had instructed some of the greatest of 
 English and French actors. This man had 
 given her lessons in pronouncing and enun 
 ciation. Every sentence came from her 
 lips with a high-bred accuracy that gave it 
 
DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 a charm quite independent of its meaning. 
 But everything about her was fine and deli 
 cate; her accent was only part of it!" 
 
 * Did she have any curiosity about your 
 life, such as you felt about hers?" asked 
 Theodora. 
 
 4 Yes; but I do not think her interest was 
 as morbid, shall I say? She did ask me 
 many questions, but I fancy they were 
 prompted more by her liking for me than 
 by any curiosity. It was a startling experi 
 ence. You do not know what an embar 
 rassing thing it is to hold such a life as ours 
 up to the inspection of a sensible person 
 from another world. She wanted to know 
 something of the pursuits of a person who 
 had no special work. She had thought it 
 might be very pleasant, she said, but that 
 one would have to decide on ways in which 
 to spend the time profitably. She asked 
 me what / did. 
 
 "Oh, I keep house, I said. 
 
 " Surely, she answered; I might have 
 known that; and it must take thought and 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 239 
 
 much time. Raymond is a very good cook. 
 He has taught me how to prepare several 
 dainties. When we have a chance I cook 
 something and we have a fete. It must be 
 very pleasant to have one s husband and 
 children come to the table every day to com 
 pliment one s successes. 
 
 " Oh, I don t cook, said I. 
 
 4 She looked a little surprised for an in 
 stant. I see, I w r as thinking of a simpler 
 life than yours. Of course there is no rea 
 son why a woman should cook when she can 
 afford to hire the services of someone who 
 can do it equally well. I can fancy there 
 are many things one might better save one s 
 time for sewing, teaching the children, 
 visiting the poor, going to church, and the 
 like. 
 
 I was getting desperate. * My dear, 
 I said, I neither sew, nor teach the chil 
 dren, nor visit the poor, nor go to church 
 on week days, and yet I think I am always 
 busy. 
 
 " What do you do? she had to ask. 
 
240 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 " Well, I make visits and receive them 
 Ah, but you have many friends, no doubt, 
 she smilingly interrupted and/ con 
 tinued I, I go out and buy things. " ; 
 
 "Did you tell her that you improved your 
 mind?" asked Fanny; "because, if you did, 
 she might have thought you were chaffing 
 her." 
 
 Amy gave her an indulgent smile as she 
 continued: "We talked all that long, quiet 
 afternoon of more subjects than I can re 
 count. We talked as women do who feel 
 perfectly at ease and happy with each other; 
 of large questions, and of trifles, and with 
 every sentence I felt that this was the friend 
 I had dreamed of a woman who was ut 
 terly congenial and yet inspiringly different. 
 
 "The time came for me to go to the sta 
 tion. She put on her hat and walked with 
 me. I shall never forget how she looked in 
 the low afternoon sunlight. Her flesh 
 seemed of half crystalline texture, like a 
 perfect fruit or flower. Other women give 
 you the impression of being clothes all the 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 241 
 
 way through, like a rag doll. Leonie moved 
 like a living, glowing statue draped in soft 
 fabrics that covered her, but were no more a 
 part of her than are the clouds part of the 
 moon that they veil. Once I slipped on 
 the board walk. She put her arm around 
 me for an instant. Her touch was magnetic 
 life-giving. 
 
 "The train came in; we stood in silence; 
 she held my hands tightly; she looked 
 straight into my eyes, and then we parted. 
 Oh, how sweet she was!" 
 
 "What became of her?" asked Theodora, 
 biting off a thread. 
 
 "That is not the way to put it," said 
 Fanny; "the question is, what happened 
 to her? Amy, I think it is something you 
 do not want to tell us. May we try to 
 guess?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did she fall from a trapeze or anything 
 of that sort?" 
 
 "Oh, no." 
 
 " Before we begin guessing," said Theo- 
 
 16 
 
242 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 dora, "I want to say that you probably got 
 an entirely wrong idea of your circus woman. 
 It was your own artlessness and delicacy 
 that brought her up into consideration, not 
 hers. You took for granted her possession 
 of qualities to which she had no claim, and 
 from your notion of her environment and 
 your thought of yourself or some other nice 
 person in such a place, you built up a false 
 conception of her character. You may as 
 well be sensible; a woman could not live 
 that life and be what you fancy her to be." 
 Amy responded with more feeling than 
 her friends had ever seen her manifest. " I 
 might have known you d say that it has 
 kept me silent all these months when I ve 
 been thinking of her all the time. She was 
 the sweetest human being, and the purest 
 not to be a child that I have ever seen. 
 On the way to the station that day we 
 crossed a little stream. As I stood by her 
 side for a moment or two looking down into 
 the water, I had a sense of her spotless 
 
A GENTLEWOMAN 243 
 
 sweetness that was like a rapture it was 
 like what a mother may feel for a baby." 
 
 She stopped abruptly. She was greatly 
 embarrassed. Fanny began to talk quickly 
 to relieve the tension of the moment. 
 
 "I thought I should like to guess, but I 
 shall not try if what happened was one of 
 the things that in newspapers is headed 
 Stranger Than Fiction. I decline to let 
 my imagination wander in such inartistic 
 ways. I shall not lower myself by pursuing 
 anything less than the inevitable. Was the 
 end that?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it was inevitable but I 
 had not expected it." 
 
 4 They will retire from the circus busi 
 ness," said Theodora, "and go to live in 
 some little French town. Monsieur will 
 wax his mustache and walk out often with 
 Madame. They will have a little dog of 
 whom they will make a great pet." 
 
 "Oh, how cheap! You think, I suppose, 
 that that sounds quite like Coppee and 
 Maupassant." 
 
244 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 Amy had risen and was standing looking 
 out of the window. Fanny went to her 
 side. " Madame Mersac is dead, is she 
 not?" she asked, gently. 
 
 Yes, she is dead. " 
 
 " I fancy there is something about it that 
 pains you; I do not know what that is, of 
 course, still I am sorry. But, Amy, a wo 
 man like that must die or change. There 
 is no place for her." 
 
 "I have said that to myself a hundred 
 times, but the loss is the same," responded 
 Amy. 
 
 As the two stood by the window the win 
 ter sunset grew each moment more brilliant. 
 The snow-covered lawn shone with a pink 
 ish glow, and on the white-capped stone 
 pillars of the gates gleamed a faint copper 
 luster. Nature was deep in winter. 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 
 
 great Triennial Convention of 
 1 United Women had lasted three days 
 and Mrs. Lodge and her friend, Fanny Wil 
 son, admitted to each other that they were 
 beginning to be tired. It was their first ex 
 perience at such a meeting, and when Mrs. 
 Lodge was chosen as a delegate by her own 
 club, she at first said she couldn t think of 
 going it would just scare her to death. Of 
 course she was very much interested and all 
 that, and it was perfectly lovely to have the 
 ability and the courage to take part in such 
 things, but to go away off from home all by 
 herself, and to have to appear before those 
 awfully clever women! Oh, she just couldn t 
 it wouldn t be fair to the club to have 
 such a delegate. 
 
 But Sarah Lee Wills, Mrs. Lodge s dear 
 friend and the well-known speaker on the 
 247 
 
248 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 subject of Equal Suffrage, said to her that 
 it was most important that this Convention 
 should be marked by the presence of women 
 who were both earnest and conservative, 
 and Auntie Montgomery told her plainly that 
 it was her duty to go to come out, as it 
 were, and take her stand for the right. 
 Auntie Montgomery was a blessed old wo 
 man who had been persecuted all her life 
 for temperance s sake, and Mrs. Lodge would 
 have wanted to please her even if the idea 
 of going to the Convention had been less 
 attractive to her than it was. Therefore she 
 decided to go in the company of these two 
 standard-bearers. But she invited Fanny 
 Wilson to go with her (Fanny was a clever 
 girl who was always ready for anything) so 
 that they two might keep together and not 
 be too much of a charge on Sarah Lee Wills 
 and Mrs. Montgomery. 
 
 Mr. Lodge from the first approved of his 
 wife s going and he was pleased at her de 
 cision. You ll have a good time, " he said, 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 249 
 
 * and when you tell me all about it I ll enjoy 
 it probably even more than you have done. " 
 
 She told him that he was sweet as he 
 always was that if he were like some wo 
 men s husbands she just didn t know what 
 she should do. He admitted the justice of 
 her opinion, but confessed to a lurking doubt 
 in the matter. It was about her, and it gave 
 him some uneasiness on this occasion. Was 
 she really an earnest woman? At times 
 rarely, to be sure he had feared that she 
 was at heart a butterfly. 
 
 She responded with dignity that while she 
 did not claim to be a reformer, she greatly 
 admired a woman who was, and that if there 
 was anything which she had deeply at heart 
 it was the advancement of women, and 
 from that the elevation of humanity, and 
 he still smiled and said, "Oh, that s all 
 right." 
 
 The meetings of the Convention were 
 more impressive than even the most san 
 guine had dared to hope for. The papers 
 were of the highest quality, the discussions 
 
250 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 following the papers were, so all agreed, 
 simply inspiring. A session for the revision 
 of the Constitution was so ably conducted 
 that a newspaper that had headed the re 
 port of a former meeting with the statement 
 that The Woman Who Deliberates is 
 Lost " now apologized all of its own accord! 
 And as the committee reports were received, 
 and adopted, and amended, and reamended, 
 no one could help feeling that the occasion 
 was epoch-making. But three meetings a 
 day for three days had brought Mrs. Lodge 
 to the end of her strength, and when 
 Fanny Wilson declared that she was not 
 going to the night session, she agreed to 
 stay at home with her. Mrs. Lodge asked 
 the older ladies if they also would not like 
 to rest that evening, but they were sustained 
 by inward grace, and the bare thought of 
 another meeting was a trumpet call to them. 
 Auntie Montgomery s face was as rosy as 
 ever under her white hair, as they joyously 
 started off, and Sarah Lee Wills held her 
 slim figure with the alertness of one who 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 251 
 
 may be called on at any moment to battle 
 for the truth. 
 
 Nearly all of the United Women were 
 billeted out on resident club members, but 
 the distinguished speakers, Mrs. Montgomery 
 and Sarah Lee Wills, agreed with Mrs. Lodge 
 and Fanny in preferring to stay at a hotel. 
 The one which they chose, because some of 
 the meetings were to be held there, was an 
 immense be-mirrored place through the 
 doors of which conventions flowed all year 
 long. At this time it was so crowded that 
 the ladies could get only two rooms for the 
 four, and because one of the rooms was 
 much larger than the other the older ladies 
 took it with the understanding that Mrs. 
 Lodge and Fanny were to spend as much 
 time in it as they chose. It was to this 
 room that they turned after they had seen 
 their friends disappear down the hall. 
 
 4 And now, Margaret, " said Fanny, throw 
 ing up her arms excitedly, * * here s our 
 chance. Nobody knows when we ll ever 
 
252 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 again be away from home all alone. Let s 
 do something interesting for once!" 
 
 " Oh, if we just could! But what?" 
 
 "We might go to a theater." 
 
 " Not by ourselves." 
 
 "We might send for a carriage and go 
 out for a drive." 
 
 "My goodness, no!" 
 
 Let s go to a restaurant and have some 
 thing to eat. I m half starved." 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 Fanny sulked; then she broke out, Well, 
 it s perfectly awful. What s the use of be 
 ing emancipated if you can t do anything or 
 have any fun!" 
 
 Sadly they looked out of the window. 
 They saw crowds on the sidewalks far below, 
 and carriages rolled by, no doubt carrying 
 beautiful ladies to balls and operas. 
 
 1 Here we are locked up like tenement 
 house babies!" wailed Fanny. " I wish we 
 had some candy, anyhow!" 
 
 There is one thing that Tom does some- 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 253 
 
 times," said Mrs. Lodge. "We might ring 
 and order something to drink." 
 
 " Oh, that s splendid! something sort of 
 desperate and wicked!" 
 
 A bell-boy clinked along the hall bearing 
 the presumably always desired ice water. 
 "I ll talk to him," said Mrs. Lodge, "and 
 maybe he ll think that Tom is here with me." 
 She stepped to the door; she was tall and 
 slim and elegant. 
 
 * Please bring me from the bar a list of 
 the fancy and mixed drinks." When the 
 boy stared and said, "Ma am!" she repeated 
 the order. Looking back into the room she 
 added (so quickly is the sense of right and 
 wrong blunted by evil behavior), "That is 
 what you want, Thomas, is it not?" 
 
 They feverishly studied the list he brought. 
 " Manhattan Cocktail, Martini Cocktail, 
 Vermouth Cocktail, Cocktails are not 
 nice, they have an awfully funny taste. 
 Soul Reviver, that sounds nice. Mint 
 Julep, they re historic, you know." 
 
254 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 "Well, what I want is something con 
 temporaneous," said Fanny. 
 
 4 Gin Sling, Gin Fizz. Once I tasted 
 something with gin in it; it was pretty good." 
 
 "That settles it; we re not going to have 
 anything you ever had in the seclusion of 
 private life. Oh, heres the thing!" She 
 pointed rapturously to a line toward the end 
 of the list: 
 
 "Blue Blazer, forty cents." 
 
 * It ought to be good it costs more than 
 some of the others," said Mrs. Lodge. 
 
 * And it sounds so lovely and abandoned!" 
 cried Fanny. 
 
 Fanny Wilson gave the order; she was 
 short and brisk, and got to the door before 
 Mrs. Lodge had started. "Two Blue Bla 
 zers, please!" Then they remembered that 
 the boy would know that Tom wasn t there, 
 and they giggled a great deal about it. 
 
 On the tray that the boy brought were 
 four glasses. Two were filled with water, 
 the other two had in them some strange 
 mixture to which, in clumsy carrying out of 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 255 
 
 directions, he touched a lighted match. 
 The stuff flamed up and spilt over; into the 
 flames he threw a powder which flared up in 
 blue and lurid fires. The fumes rose and 
 spread heavily through the room. They 
 were almost sulphurous. The two women 
 left alone clutched their skirts to be ready to 
 jump. "What can we do with it," asked 
 Fanny; we can t drink that ghastly stuff!" 
 
 "Let s try to blow it out!" 
 
 "Or ring the fire alarm!" 
 
 They blew with all their might; a news 
 paper or two caught fire, but they finally ex 
 tinguished the flames. The odor, however, 
 was not extinguished. It curled itself round 
 and clung to the atmosphere. It was like 
 paregoric and alcohol-barrels and burnt 
 leather. 
 
 Mrs. Lodge rushed across the room and 
 rang the bell. It isn t paid for, and it s 
 nearly ten o clock! Won t that boy ever 
 come?" 
 
 Another boy with ice water answered 
 the bell. He was commanded, implored, to 
 
256 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 find the first boy, to bring him instantly, 
 and to bring also the bill from the bar. 
 While they waited they discussed the ques 
 tion of getting rid of the stuff in the glasses. 
 It could not be allowed to stay in the room 
 
 anybody would smell it. To pour it out 
 
 of the window was the thing. They hys 
 terically watched the slim liquid trickle out 
 of the glasses and fall toward the glittering 
 street. Mrs. Lodge feared it might get into 
 someone s eyes, but Fanny, stretching herself 
 out over the sill, said, " No, but it may eat 
 a hole in the awning." 
 
 They rang the bell frantically again and 
 again. The original boy came at length 
 incidentally carrying ice water. He was 
 told to bring the bill and to hurry! 
 
 Word came that the bill was not to be 
 had. The drinks had been charged 
 charged to the room and the room was the 
 
 room of Sarah Lee Wills and Mrs. Eliza 
 
 P. Montgomery! 
 
 4 Go instantly, " commanded Mrs. Lodge. 
 
 Bring the barkeeper himself T 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 257 
 
 A young man appeared; two interested 
 bell boys on their way with ice water stop 
 ped to listen. He stared with an ugly grin 
 on his coarse face. The two drinks were 
 eighty cents, serving them in the room was 
 twenty-five cents more. Would he take a 
 dollar and five cents no, a dollar and a 
 half and be sure the charge was taken off 
 the bill? The bell boys had moved on; he 
 looked about him and took the money. 
 
 "Oh, why didn t we make him carry 
 away the glasses?" they exclaimed. Stories 
 heard long before of shoes changed in tavern 
 halls came to their minds. With the tray 
 in their hands they peeped up and down, 
 waiting till the hall should be clear so that 
 they could slip out and deposit their load at 
 the door of some innocent commercial trav 
 eler. Finally not a person was to be seen, 
 except indeed a man who lingered in the 
 diminishing distance, but he did not seem to 
 be looking at them, and anyhow he just 
 wouldn t go. They scurried fifty feet down 
 the hall, the man looking calmly on, put 
 
258 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 down their glasses and ran back breathless 
 with excitement and laughing. Mrs. Lodge 
 said that it wasn t really wrong, you know, 
 and it was funny. Fanny thought that the 
 ways of vice were all right, but the drinks 
 were awful. * Oh, how I wish I had some 
 lemonade!" she sighed. A little later the 
 others came in and told them they had 
 missed suck a treat. 
 
 Mrs. Lodge and Fanny went home the 
 next morning, leaving the two leaders to 
 take part in inner councils and committee 
 meetings. Mrs. Lodge had recurring pangs 
 of anxiety. What if somehow or other it 
 should get out about the Blue Blazers? At 
 home she told the story at once to her hus 
 band, who tried to sympathize, and, she 
 thought, laughed more than there was any 
 call for. "Now," she said, "have I done 
 right? Should I have told Mrs. Wills and 
 Auntie Montgomery all about it?" 
 
 "Oh, I guess not; you ve paid for your 
 drinks; you ve been honest. You never 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 259 
 
 professed any rabid temperance principles 
 yourself." 
 
 < But suppose they should hear it talked 
 about in the hotel? Of course we had a 
 right to order what we chose, but maybe it 
 was a little inconsiderate when we were in 
 the same party." 
 
 He tried not to smile. "Well, if they, as 
 you say, hear it spoken of they can just say 
 that they are not responsible for you." He 
 went on: "Really I wouldn t distress my 
 self about it, and I d never mention it again. 
 It was an accident, your being in their room, 
 and to try to explain will only make it 
 worse. " 
 
 The morning that Sarah Lee Wills and 
 Mrs. Montgomery were to leave the hotel 
 Alice Van Blaricum came to see them off. 
 She, as everybody knows, is a lawyer, and 
 also the strongest of the Eastern workers 
 in the temperance cause. Her majestic ap 
 pearance and fiery eloquence have turned 
 thousands from the path of error. She 
 perched on the bed and watched the others 
 
260 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 pack, meanwhile talking with animation of 
 the work and its prospects. 
 
 "Now," said Sarah Lee Wills, as she 
 locked her trunk, I ll run down and pay 
 the bill, and then we ll have a few peaceful 
 minutes. " 
 
 She came back almost immediately. In 
 her hand was the bill; her face showed the 
 wildest agitation. " Come! Come!" she 
 cried to the others. "Something of the 
 greatest importance has happened!" 
 
 She hurried them into the great marble- 
 floored rotunda and up to a pale young 
 clerk. 
 
 "Now" she said, "will you in the pres 
 ence of these women say what is in that 
 
 bill?" 
 
 "Certainly, ma am," he replied, and in 
 a firm voice he read aloud these words: 
 
 "Mrs. Sarah Lee Wills and Mrs. Mont 
 gomery, for drinks sent from bar to room 
 
 105." 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery stepped forward; her 
 sweet, round old face was flushed; her clear 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 261 
 
 voice penetrated to the far limits of the ro 
 tunda: 
 
 "I call upon you to explain that bill!" 
 
 The place was full of men. The River 
 and Levees Commission was in session; the 
 Cotton Planters Association met that day. 
 Other clerks left their books. "Ladies," 
 said the young man, nervously, "come into 
 the private office. This is too public a place 
 for a discussion." 
 
 " Sir, " said Sarah Lee Wills, < we will not 
 be hustled off into any private office! We 
 are not afraid of the public! We want the 
 public to hear our denial of your infamous 
 charge!" 
 
 "All right," said the clerk, desperately; 
 "have it your own way. Madam," turning 
 to Mrs. Montgomery, "do you deny that 
 you made this order?" 
 
 Mrs. Montgomery s short plump figure ex 
 panded with emotion; her eyes flashed, she 
 waved her arm majestically for silence, and 
 addressed the crowd. 
 
 4 Gentlemen, for twenty-five years I was 
 
262 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 an honored wife, for twenty-five years I have 
 been a widow. I have raised eleven chil 
 dren to worthy manhood and womanhood. 
 For a lifetime I have worked for and with 
 the outcast and lowly, but never until this 
 hour was such an insult put upon me! never 
 until now has my character been attacked!" 
 
 The young man trembled, but was obsti 
 nate; a running bell-boy brought the proprie 
 tor. The crowd parted to let the great man 
 pass through. What s this?" he said, and 
 then, to the clerk, "Sure this charge is 
 right?" 
 
 There isn t any doubt of it, sir. I can 
 prove it by half a dozen boys." 
 
 Alice Van Blaricum now stepped forward. 
 * Here is my card! I undertake the charge 
 of this case. First, I wish to examine in 
 private the person who claims to have re 
 ceived this order." 
 
 She came from the interview with rage 
 in her eye. "It is a conspiracy; he de 
 scribes you perfectly one short and rosy, 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 263 
 
 one tall and thin with black eyes!" (which 
 indeed was perfectly true). 
 
 " Bring that boy here!" called Sarah Lee 
 Wills. " Let me talk to him!" 
 
 "Now," she said, transfixing him with 
 stern outstretched finger, * Look me in the 
 face, and tell me if I gave you that order T 
 
 The boy s countenance changed as he 
 looked at her. " No m," he whimpered, "I 
 guess not!" 
 
 The bookkeeper addressed the proprietor, 
 "They ordered the stuff of this boy, and 
 tried to make him think it was for a man 
 inside. The watchman saw them for a half 
 hour trying to get rid of the glasses. The 
 chambermaid found the tray in front of a 
 linen-closet door. The barkeeper was taken 
 there by another boy, and they tried to get 
 him to accept the money and remove the 
 charge from the bill, but he refused." 
 
 The proprietor looked at the excited wo 
 men and at the irreverent crowd. "All 
 right, ladies," he said; "little dispute about 
 
264 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 the bill. You needn t pay it." The three 
 all answered him at once: 
 
 " What do we care for the money!" 
 
 "We have been insulted, and you offer us 
 no apology!" 
 
 "You need not think to get out of it that 
 way!" 
 
 He ran his hand wildly through his hair, 
 1 1 Ladies," he said, desperately, "we apolo 
 gize we re sorry we ll take the charge off 
 we ll do anything!" 
 
 A look of consultation passed between the 
 three. "We can do no more now" they 
 said. 
 
 As they turned to go Alice Van Blaricum 
 addressed the audience, and particularly the 
 proprietor: "To be abused and slandered 
 is no new thing for those who oppose the 
 terrific power of the liquor interest, but this 
 attack surpasses in virulence and infamy 
 anything that has thus far been attempted. 
 But do not think that we do not know the 
 secret spring that controls your action. You, 
 
THE BLUE BLAZERS 265 
 
 sir, and your whole establishment are bought 
 and sold by the gold of the rumseller!" 
 
 They went out and the proprietor passed 
 on into his private office, making wearily a 
 significant motion to a bell-boy. As the 
 ladies parted at the station they said darkly 
 to each other that they were not done with 
 this yet; this was only the beginning, and 
 it would be in every newspaper in America 
 to-morrow morning. 
 
 The next day Sarah Lee Wills telephoned 
 for Mrs. Lodge to come to her house. * Oh, 
 Tom," she said, "I can t! I just know!" 
 
 1 Nonsense, " said he, go on ; remember 
 that in any case you will embarrass her more 
 than yourself if you go into explanations." 
 
 Sarah Lee Wills met her with open arms. 
 Oh, my dear!" she cried, "I am so glad 
 that you were here safe. You could not 
 have borne it, you ve always been so shel 
 tered from the knowledge of this evil world. 
 The awfulest thing happened 
 
 Mrs. Lodge tottered to a chair. First I 
 must tell you !" she said, but before she got 
 
266 DOWN OUR WAY 
 
 her thoughts together it was too late. Her 
 hesitation had bound her. She gasped out 
 miserable monosyllables as Sarah Lee s elo 
 quent flood poured forth. 
 
 Oh I don t wonder that you are speech 
 less with horror!" said she. * If it had been 
 anything else! but can you imagine even 
 the vilest of women doing what they charged 
 us with? sending to a bar! and the degra 
 dation of sending for a thing with such a 
 name! Blue Devils. 
 
 A little later she said, "The one thing 
 that hurt me most was that that poor little 
 bell-boy should be mixed up in such horrors, 
 and he had a good face!" "So he had!" 
 moaned Mrs. Lodge. 
 
 " And at the last, when it was over and 
 we were going, I turned back to take one 
 more look at those men. I saw that pro 
 prietor look at those clerks, and oh, it was 
 too hideous I saw him wink!" 
 
 THE END. 
 
THIS BOOK HAS BEEN PRINTED 
 DURING OCTOBER, 1897, BY THE 
 BLAKELY PRINTING COMPANY. 
 CHICAGO, FOR WAY * WILLIAMS. 
 
LOAN DEPT 
 
 JVOV 2 9 1985 
 
 _ 
 
 OCT 2 9 1985 
 
 LD 21A-50w-8 57 
 (C8481slO)476B 
 
 .General Library- 
 University of California 
 Berkeley 
 
union . 
 
DOWN OUR 
 WAY 
 
 MARYJAMESON 
 JUDAH