{Travelers 
 
 along Xlfe'0 Highway 
 
 OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS
 
 Works of 
 ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 
 The Little Colonel Series 
 
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 Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated 
 
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 The Little Colonel's Hero . . . . 1.50 
 
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 The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor . . 1.50 
 
 The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding . 1.50 
 
 Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum . . 1.50 
 
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 Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated 
 
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 Big Brother .50 
 
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 Cicely 50 
 
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 TRAVELLERS. FIVE ALONG 1IFES W&HWAY
 
 Alflttg 
 
 iftmmy, <$Utom Ilujjjan, oil}* ttkram, 
 
 BY 
 
 Atmt* 3t?Uom 
 
 Author of " The Little Colonel Series," "Asa Holmes, 
 "Joel: A Boy of Galilee," etc. 
 
 With a Foreword by 
 
 darutan 
 
 Frontispiece In full colour from a painting by 
 timmuii ffi. (Oarrrtt 
 
 Ittbrrrrxi
 
 Copyright, 1901, 1904, by 
 THE SHOKTSTOBY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Copyright, 1899, by 
 THE S. S. MCCLUEE Co. 
 
 Copyright, 1903, by 
 THE CENTURY Co. 
 
 Copyright, 1911, fcy 
 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 (INCORPORATED) 
 
 Ml rights reserved 
 
 First impression, October, 1911 
 
 ElectrotypedandPrintedbt/ 
 THE COLONIAL PRESS 
 C. H. Simands & Co., Boston, U.S. A.
 
 jforeworb 
 
 OF all the elements that go to make 
 up a good story, plot, verisimilitude, 
 happy incident, local colour, excellent 
 style, none perhaps is more important 
 than the touch of understanding sym- 
 pathy. The writer must not only see his 
 characters clearly and draw them with a 
 masterly hand; he must have the large- 
 ness of heart that can share in all the tur- 
 bulent experience of the human spirit. 
 His people must be set against the vast 
 shifting background of destiny. He must 
 show their dramatic relations, one to an- 
 other, and the influence of life upon life; 
 he must also show their profounder, more 
 v 
 
 21.11063
 
 Joreworfr 
 
 moving and mysterious, relations to fate 
 and time and the infinite things. 
 
 The writer of fiction creates for us a 
 mimic country, peoples it with creatures 
 of the fancy, like ourselves and yet dif- 
 ferent, and asks us to stray for our enter- 
 tainment through that new kingdom. 
 The scenes may be as strange or as 
 familiar as you please; the characters 
 as commonplace or as exceptional as you 
 will ; yet they must always be within the 
 range of our sympathy. The incidents 
 must be such as we ourselves could pass 
 through; the people must be such as we 
 can understand. They may well be ex- 
 ceptional, for that enlists our interest and 
 enlivens our curiosity; they must not be 
 beyond our comprehension nor outside 
 our spiritual pale, for then we could have 
 no sympathy with them, and our hearts 
 would only grow cold as we read. 
 
 And what is at the base of our sym- 
 vi
 
 pathy and interest? Nothing but our 
 common life. They, too, all the glad 
 or sorrowing children of imaginative 
 literature from Helen of Troy to Helena 
 Richie are travelers like ourselves on 
 the great highway. We know well how 
 difficult a road it is, how rough, how 
 steep, how dangerous, how boggy, how 
 lined with pitfalls, how bordered with 
 gardens of deadly delights, how beset 
 by bandits, how noisy with fakirs, how 
 overhung with poisonous fruit and swept 
 by devastating storms. We know also 
 what stretches of happiness are there, 
 what days of friendship, what hours of 
 love, what sane enjoyment, what raptur- 
 ous content. 
 
 How should we not, then, be interested 
 in all that goes by upon that great road? 
 We like to sit at our comfortable win- 
 dows, when the fire is alight or the sum- 
 mer air is soft, and " watch the pass," as 
 vii
 
 they say in Nantucket, what our 
 neighbours are about, and what strangers 
 are in town. If we live in a small com- 
 munity, there is the monotony of our 
 daily routine to be relieved. When an 
 unknown figure passes down the street, 
 we may enjoy the harmless excitement of 
 novelty and taste something of the keen 
 savour of adventure. If we are dwellers 
 in a great city, where every passer is un- 
 known, there is still the discoverer's zest 
 in larger measure; every moment is 
 great with possibility; every face in the 
 throng holds its secret; every figure is 
 eloquent of human drama. The pageant 
 is endless, its story never finished. Who, 
 indeed, could not be spellbound, behold- 
 ing that countless changing tatterdemal- 
 ion caravan go by? Yet all we may 
 hope for of the inner history of these 
 journeying beings, so humanly amazing, 
 so significant, and all moved like our- 
 viii
 
 foreword 
 
 selves by springs of joy and fear, hope 
 and discouragement, is a glimpse here 
 and there, a life-story revealed in a single 
 gesture, a tragic history betrayed in the 
 tone of a voice or the lifting of a hand, 
 or perhaps a heaven of gladness in a 
 glancing smile. For the most part their 
 orbits are as aloof from us as the courses 
 of the stars, potent and mystic manifesta- 
 tions of the divine, glowing puppets of 
 the eternal masked in a veil of flesh. 
 
 This was the pomp of history which 
 held the mind of Shakespeare, of 
 Dickens, of Cervantes, of Balzac, in 
 thrall, and drew the inquiring eye of 
 Browning and Whitman, of Stevenson 
 and Borrow, with so charmed and com- 
 prehending a look. To understand and 
 set down faithfully some small portion 
 of the tale of this ever changing proces- 
 sion, which is for ever appearing over the 
 sunrise hills of to-morrow and passing 
 ix
 
 yoreworfr 
 
 into the twilight valleys of yesterday, is 
 the engrossing task of the novelist and the 
 teller of tales. 
 
 How well that task is accomplished, is 
 the measure of the story-teller's power. 
 He may pick his characters from homely 
 types that we know, and please us with 
 the familiar; or he may paint for us some 
 portion of the great pageant that has 
 never passed our door, and raise us with 
 the mystery of unaccustomed things. In 
 either case he will touch our hearts by 
 revealing the hidden springs of action in 
 his chosen men and women. He will en- 
 large the borders of our mental vision 
 and illumine our appreciation by his 
 greater insight, greater knowledge, finer 
 reasoning. In his magic mirror we shall 
 not only see more of life than we saw be- 
 fore, but we shall see it more clearly, 
 more penetratingly, more wonderfully. 
 And ever afterwards, as we look on the 
 x
 
 Iforewort) 
 
 world we know, life which perhaps used 
 to seem to us so commonplace, and events 
 which used to seem such a matter of 
 course, will take on a significance, a dig- 
 nity, a glamour, which they never before 
 possessed, or, to speak more truly, 
 which they always possessed, indeed, but 
 which we had not the power to see. 
 This is the great educative use of crea- 
 tive literature; it teaches us to look on 
 the world with more understanding, to 
 confront it in manlier fashion, to appre- 
 ciate the priceless gift of life more 
 widely and generously, and so to live 
 more fully and efficiently and happily. 
 
 The great opportunity of literature, 
 then, and its great responsibility, are 
 evident. As Matthew Arnold put it, 
 " The future of poetry is immense." In 
 an age when men and women are coming 
 more and more to do their own thinking 
 and form their own ethical judgments, 
 xi
 
 foreword 
 
 the power and moral obligation of letters 
 must tend to increase rather than to 
 diminish. It is an encouraging sign of 
 the times and of growing intelligence, 
 that we demand a greater veracity in 
 our stories, and like writers who find 
 significance and charm in common sur- 
 roundings. Our genuine appreciation 
 has produced a very real national litera- 
 ture, great in amount and often reach- 
 ing true eminence and distinction in 
 quality. Books like Miss Alice Brown's 
 " Meadow Grass " and " Country Neigh- 
 bours " are at once truly native and full 
 of the dignity and poetry and humour of 
 life. At their best they reveal depths of 
 human feeling and experience with a 
 telling insight and sympathy, and with a 
 felicity of style, which belong only to 
 masterpieces of fiction. 
 
 To this charming province in the wide 
 domain of letters " Travelers Five " be- 
 xii
 
 longs, and Mrs. Annie Fellows Johns- 
 ton's many admirers must congratulate 
 themselves on its appearance, as they stir 
 the fire of an autumn afternoon. Here 
 once more we may sit as at a pleasant 
 window and " watch the pass " on the 
 great highway. Here you shall see 
 approaching, in that delightful and mot- 
 ley cavalcade, Irish Jimmy in his ranch- 
 man's dress, his warm Celtic heart urging 
 him on- up the obscure trail of unselfish 
 good; here, grotesque old Gid Wiggan, 
 flouting the shows of fashion, yet him- 
 self a showman conspicuous in the greater 
 show of life; here, the old story, a fine 
 gentleman's sense and feeling masquera- 
 ding under the antics of a traveling 
 clown; next, an embarrassed villager 
 with something like greatness thrust 
 upon him; and last, another strange 
 example of silent persistent New Eng- 
 land idealism, too proud to confess itself 
 xiii
 
 and only reaching its goal through a life- 
 time of repression and apparent failure. 
 
 But I am obstructing your view while 
 I prate! Forgive me. I will step aside 
 and let you have the window to your- 
 self, so that you may quietly observe these 
 Travelers going by. 
 
 
 NEW CANAAN, CONN., 
 26 September, 1911. 
 
 XIV
 
 Contents 
 
 PAQH 
 
 ft be jf irst traveler. 3tmm 
 
 On tbe Stall of tbe Idtee /nben .... I 
 
 Secono traveler. (Mo 
 In tbe TKflafte of a DoneBmoon .... 55 
 
 Hbe Ubir5 traveler, ttbe Clown 
 
 t>i0 BccoIaOc ...... 91 
 
 Ubc jfourtb traveler. 
 Snatbers 
 
 ot an I nberttefc Citcu0 .... 131 
 
 ffiftb traveler. J5ap. Sloan 
 
 1>10 Aount or ptofiab ...... 159
 
 traveler 
 
 n Ube Urail of tbe Timise flDen
 
 jfive 
 
 Hlons Xife's 
 
 traveler 
 
 3tmm$ 
 <S>n tbe TTrail of tbe TKHtse jflDen 
 
 ORDINARILY a fleck of cigar 
 ashes in the pot of mashed po- 
 tatoes would not have caused a 
 row in the ranch kitchen, but to-day old 
 Jimmy had had a sup too much. At 
 such times the mere sight of Matsu, the 
 Japanese cook, could provoke him to 
 oaths, and it was Matsu who had unwit- 
 tingly dropped the ashes into the pot, as 
 he laid his cigar stump on the shelf above 
 the stove, preparatory to dishing up .din- 
 ner. 
 Time was when Jimmy had been the 
 
 3
 
 travelers five 
 
 cook at Welsh's ranch, and had had it all 
 his own way in the greasy adobe kitchen. 
 But that was before Ben Welsh's last 
 round-up. Since then his widow had 
 been obliged to turn part of the cattle- 
 ranch into a boarding camp for invalids ; 
 the part that lay in a narrow strip along 
 the desert. Health-seekers paid better 
 than cattle or alfalfa she found. 
 
 Many things came in with the new ad- 
 ministration. Matsu was one of them, in 
 his white chef's cap and jacket. The 
 spotless linen was a delight to the board- 
 ers, but to Jimmy, deposed to the rank 
 of hewer of wood and drawer of water, 
 it was the badge of the usurper. Natu- 
 rally enough his jealousy took the form 
 of making Matsu live up to his linen, and 
 he watched him like a cat for the slight- 
 est lapse from cleanliness. 
 
 This constant warfare with Matsu was 
 one of the few diversions the camp af- 
 4
 
 first traveler 
 
 forded, and every man made much of it. 
 Had he been let alone, old Jimmy would 
 have accepted the situation as merely one 
 more ill-turn of Fate, which had left him 
 as usual at the bottom of the wheel. But 
 his futile resentment was too funny a 
 thing for his tormentors to allow to die 
 out. 
 
 It was a remark made early that morn- 
 ing which set him to brooding over his 
 wrongs, and finally led to the sup too 
 much which precipitated the fight over 
 the potato-pot. Batty Carson made it, in 
 a hoarse whisper, all the voice left to him 
 since the grippe sent him West in his 
 senior year. (He had been the best tenor 
 in his college glee-club.) Jimmy was 
 moving a table into the shadow of the 
 tents, in order that the daily game of 
 poker might begin. Poker was all there 
 was in that God-forsaken desert to save 
 a man's reason, Batty declared, so they 
 
 5
 
 travelers jflve 
 
 played it from breakfast till bed-time. 
 As the usual group joined him around 
 the table, he opened a new deck of cards 
 and began shuffling it. Automatically 
 he found the joker and flipped it out of 
 the pack. It fell face up on the dry Ber- 
 muda grass and old Jimmy stooped to 
 pick it up. 
 
 Batty stopped him with a laugh. " A 
 seasoned old poker player like you stoop- 
 ing to pick up the joker!" he teased. 
 " You know well enough only one game 
 goes on this ranch, and the joker's no 
 good in that" Then he winked at the 
 others. 
 
 " That's what you'll be after awhile, 
 Jimmy, if you don't stand up for your 
 rights better than you are doing. Matsu 
 will be taking every trick in the game, 
 and you'll count for nothing more than 
 just the joker of the pack." 
 
 Jimmy flared up with an indignant 
 6
 
 Jfiret traveler 
 
 oath at the laugh which followed, tore 
 the card in two, and would have gone off 
 muttering vengeance on Batty himself, 
 had not the young fellow stopped him 
 and teased him back into good humour. 
 But the remark rankled afterward be- 
 cause there was such a large element of 
 truth in it. Jimmy was no fool even if 
 he was slow-witted. He knew as well as 
 any one else that he had never counted 
 for much in any game Life had ever 
 given him a hand in. He brooded over 
 the fact until some sort of solace was 
 necessary. After that he burned for an 
 occasion to assert himself. It came when 
 Mrs. Welsh called to him to fill the 
 wood-box. Just as he threw down his 
 first armful of mesquite, the accident be- 
 fell the potatoes, and he waited to see 
 what Matsu would do. 
 
 What could Matsu do with sixteen 
 hungry men listening for the dinner bell, 
 
 7
 
 travelers five 
 
 but scoop out a big spoonful from the 
 side of the pot where the ashes had fallen, 
 toss it out of the window and heap the 
 rest of the white fluffy mass into the hot 
 dish awaiting it? Jimmy would have 
 done the same in his day but now he thun- 
 dered, " Throw out the whole potful, you 
 pig of a heathen ! Do you want to drive 
 away every boarder on the ranch with 
 your dirty tricks? Throw it out, I say." 
 
 With the good-nature that rarely failed 
 him, Matsu only shrugged his shoulders, 
 giggled his habitual giggle and pro- 
 ceeded, unmoved by threats. 
 
 " Go get 'notha drink," he advised, as 
 Jimmy continued to glare at him. 
 " Make you have heap much betta feel- 
 ing. Not so big mad. Go get full." 
 
 Dinner was twenty minutes late that 
 
 day. The boarders heard the reason from 
 
 Hillis, who came in in his shirt sleeves 
 
 to wait on the table, in place of Mrs. 
 
 8
 
 first traveler 
 
 Welsh. Hillis was the dish-washer, a 
 tall big-fisted lumberman from Maine, 
 who, stranded at the close of an ill- 
 starred prospecting tour, had taken tem- 
 porary service in Mrs. Welsh's kitchen. 
 He talked cheerfully of the disturbance 
 as he clumped around the table, thrusting 
 the dishes at each boarder in turn. They 
 forgave his awkwardness in their inter- 
 est in the fight. 
 
 "Jimmy began it," he told them. 
 " Swung on to the pot and tried to pull 
 it away from Jappy and throw out the 
 stuff himself. But Jappy wouldn't have 
 it, and batted him one on the head with 
 the potato masher. Then Jimmy went in 
 for blood, and grabbed the meat-knife, 
 and would have put it into him in a pair 
 of seconds if I hadn't tripped him up and 
 sat on him. There was a hot time in 
 there for a spell, the air was blue. Old 
 Jimmy cussin' for all he was worth in 
 9
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 the sand-flapper lingo, and Matsu going 
 him one better every time in his pigeon 
 English!" 
 
 " I suppose they'll both throw up their 
 jobs now," remarked a dyspeptic looking 
 man near the foot of the table. " I 
 thought it was too good to last, and this 
 God-forsaken Arizona desert can't hold 
 more than one chef like Matsu. He's 
 the perfection of his kind. I'd feel like 
 hitting the trail myself if he should 
 
 go." 
 
 "That's what Mrs. Welsh is afraid 
 of," replied Hillis. " She's out there now 
 trying to patch up the peace with him 
 and coax him to stay. She told me not to 
 tell you about the potatoes thought it 
 might turn some of you against your 
 victuals; but it's too blamed funny to 
 keep." 
 
 " For my part I hope she'll patch up 
 the peace with Jimmy, too," said Batty 
 10
 
 jfirst traveler 
 
 Carson in his hoarse whisper. " He's the 
 only amusing thing in all this howling 
 wilderness. His being so far off the 
 track himself makes it all the funnier 
 when he goes to playing human guide- 
 post for everybody else." 
 
 " He'll get his neck wrung a-doing it 
 sometime," rejoined Hillis. " I told him 
 so when he came fussing around at first, 
 sticking his fingers in my dish-water to 
 see if it was hot enough to kill germs. 
 I told him I'd scald him instead of the 
 dishes if he didn't let me alone. But it's 
 just his way I suppose. He's been here 
 off and on ever since Welsh bought the 
 ranch." 
 
 " It's off this time," came Batty's 
 croaking whisper. " There he goes now. 
 Whew! He's hot! Just watch him hump 
 himself along! " 
 
 The eight men whose backs were 
 toward the window, turned in their chairs 
 ii
 
 ^Travelers five 
 
 to follow the gaze of the others. They 
 had a glimpse of a tall spare figure, 
 hurrying stiffly past the house as fast as 
 his rheumatic joints would allow. There 
 was anger in every line of it. Even the 
 red bandana around his throat seemed to 
 express it. The fierce curves of his old 
 hat-brim, the bristling hairs of his griz- 
 zly mustache, the snap of his lean jaws 
 as the few snags left in his sunken gums 
 opened and shut on a quid of tobacco, all 
 told of an inward rage which would be 
 long in cooling. 
 
 " Well, it's all over now," announced 
 Hillis a moment later, coming back from 
 the kitchen with a bowl of hot gravy. 
 " Jimmy vowed one of them had to go, 
 so Mrs. Welsh said he'd have to be that 
 one. She could get a Mexican to chop 
 wood and carry water, but she couldn't 
 get another cook like Matsu. And 
 Jimmy's that mad and insulted and hurt 
 12
 
 jfirst traveler 
 
 he can't get off the place fast enough. 
 He's gone now to pack his kit, muttering 
 as if he'd swallowed a lot of distant thun- 
 .der." 
 
 A laugh went around the long table. 
 Usually the meals proceeded in silence 
 except for a few spasmodic outbursts. 
 Sitting all day in the sun, gazing at the 
 monotonous desert landscape while one 
 waits for winter to crawl by, is not a con- 
 versational stimulant. But to-day, even 
 Maidlow, the grumpiest invalid in the 
 lot, forgot his temperature and himself 
 in adding his mite to the fund of anec- 
 dotes passing around the table about 
 Jimmy. The conversation was less re- 
 strained than usual in the absence of the 
 only lady and child which the ranch 
 boasted. The Courtlands were spending 
 the day in Phoenix, so there were three 
 vacant chairs at the foot of the table. 
 One was a child's high-chair with a bib 
 13
 
 travelers jfive 
 
 hanging over its back. Hillis laid his 
 hand on it in passing. 
 
 " Here's one that will miss the old 
 rain-crow," he said, as if glad to find 
 some good word about Jimmy. " Little 
 Buddy Courtland comes about as near 
 loving him as anybody could, I guess. 
 He'll miss him." 
 
 " It's Dane Ward who'll really miss 
 him," declared the dyspeptic, glancing 
 out of the window at the farthest row of 
 tents to the one at the end whose screen 
 door was closed. " Now Jimmy's gone 
 I don't see what that poor fellow will do 
 when he needs some one to sit up with 
 him of nights." 
 
 " That's right," agreed Batty Carson. 
 "Jimmy's been his right bower ever 
 since he came. I'll give the old devil 
 credit for that much." 
 
 While they talked, Jimmy, outside in 
 the shack which he shared with Hillis, 
 14
 
 ffirat traveler 
 
 was gathering up in a furious rage his 
 small bundle of belongings, cursing 
 darkly as he threw boots, shirts and over- 
 alls into a confused heap in the middle 
 of his bunk. Near at hand the tents 
 stood empty in the December sun; five 
 rows of them, four in a row with twenty 
 foot spaces between. Each canvas-cov- 
 ered screen door swung open, and out- 
 side sat a camp chair or a big wooden 
 rocker, with blanket or overcoat trailing 
 across it, just as its occupant had left it 
 to go in to dinner. A litter of news- 
 papers and magazines lay all around on 
 the dry Bermuda grass. 
 
 There was one exception. One screen 
 door was closed, that of the farthest tent 
 on the back row in line with Jimmy's 
 shack. A sound of coughing choked, 
 convulsive coughing, had been coming 
 from that direction for several minutes, 
 but the sound did not penetrate Jimmy's 
 15
 
 travelers five 
 
 consciousness until he heard his name 
 called in an agonized tone. He craned 
 his head out to listen. The call came 
 again in a frantic gasp: 
 
 "Jimmy! Jimmy! Oh, somebody 
 come ! " 
 
 Then he recognized the voice. It was 
 Dane Ward calling him. In his row 
 with Matsu he had forgotten the boy; 
 forgotten that he was to carry him his 
 dinner and give him his medicine. He 
 remembered with a pang of self-reproach 
 that he had promised to come back with 
 fresh wood as soon as he had carried an 
 armful of wood to the kitchen. He 
 started off on a stiff jog-trot towards the 
 tent. 
 
 A moment later, maybe not even so 
 long as that, for as he ran he knew that 
 he might be racing against death, he 
 dashed into the kitchen which he had 
 sworn never again to enter, and caught 
 16
 
 Gbe jfirst traveler 
 
 up a handful of salt. Hillis, thinking he 
 had lost his mind, almost dropped the 
 tray of dessert dishes he was holding for 
 Matsu to fill; but Mrs. Welsh recogni- 
 zing the import of Jimmy's act, followed 
 without question as he called back over 
 his shoulder, "It's Dane! The worst 
 hemorrhage the lad's had yet." 
 
 Hillis carried the news into the dining 
 room with the dessert. Big and strong, 
 never having had a sick day in his life, 
 he could not know the effect it would 
 produce, and Mrs. Welsh had not 
 thought to warn him. The room grew 
 silent. It was what might happen to any 
 one of them; had happened in fact to all. 
 The apprehension of it was the skeleton 
 at their every feast. First one man and 
 then another pushed back his plate and 
 went out into the sunshine. They all 
 liked Dane, the shy, quiet boy from some 
 village in the New York hills. That was
 
 ^Travelers 
 
 all they knew of him, for he always sat 
 apart. Sometimes there was a book in 
 his lap but he rarely read just sat and 
 gazed off towards the east with a hungry 
 look in his big grey eyes. The homesick 
 longing of them was heart-breaking to 
 see. 
 
 They went back to their chairs and 
 their naps and their newspapers, but the 
 usual afternoon monotony was broken by 
 the interest centering in the farthest tent 
 in the last row. They glanced up fur- 
 tively every time the door opened. It 
 swung many times in the course of the 
 afternoon, for Mrs. Welsh to go in and 
 out, for the doctor to make a hurried 
 visit, for Jimmy to come and go with 
 crushed ice and clean towels, a spoon or 
 a pitcher of fresh water. 
 
 For Jimmy, in his anxious ministra- 
 'tions, forgot his fight with Matsu, forgot 
 that he had had no dinner, and that he 
 18
 
 first traveler 
 
 was in the midst of preparations for leav- 
 ing the ranch. The ugly facts did not 
 come back to him till several hours had 
 passed. Then he started up from the 
 chair beside Dane's bed and tip-toed 
 heavily across the floor. He would fin- 
 ish making up his bundle while the boy 
 was asleep. The danger was past now. 
 If he could get down to the Tempe road 
 before dark, probably he could catch a 
 ride the rest of the way into Phoenix. A 
 board creaked and Dane opened his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I wasn't asleep," he said weakly. 
 " Hand me that little picture off the 
 bureau, won't you, Jimmy? " Then as 
 his fingers closed over it " And roll 
 the canvas to the top of the door please. 
 I can't see." 
 
 Jimmy sat down again, impelled by 
 the pitifulness of the thin white face. He 
 knew the picture, having examined it 
 19
 
 travelers 
 
 privately on several occasions while 
 sweeping the tent. It was a tin-type of 
 two laughing school-girls, with their 
 arms around each other. It was plain to 
 him that one was Dane's sister. He 
 guessed the relationship of the other 
 when he saw that it was on the face un- 
 like his that Dane's wistful eyes rested 
 longest. Presently he slipped it under 
 his pillow and lay so still that Jimmy 
 thought he was asleep, until he saw a tear 
 slipping slowly from under the closed 
 eye-lids. Involuntarily the rough hand 
 went out and closed in a sympathetic 
 grasp over the white fingers on the cover- 
 let. Dane bit his lip to hide their twitch- 
 ing and then broke out bitterly, but in a 
 voice so weak that it came in gasps: 
 
 "That doctor back home lied to me! 
 He lied! He knew that I was past sa- 
 ving when he sent me out here. He ought 
 to have told me. Do you suppose I'd 
 20
 
 Gbe jftret traveler 
 
 have let my mother mortgage her home 
 - all she had in the world to send me, 
 if he hadn't led us to believe that the 
 Arizona climate could work a miracle? 
 He made it so certain that I'd get well 
 right away, it seemed suicidal not to take 
 the chance." 
 
 He stopped, almost strangled by a 
 paroxysm of coughing, lay panting for a 
 moment, and then began again, despite 
 Jimmy's warning that it would make 
 him worse to talk. 
 
 " Mother can never pay out without 
 my help, and I've got to lie here to the 
 end and think of what's in store for her 
 and Sis, and then die and be buried 
 out here in this awful desert! It'll cost 
 too much to be sent back home. Oh, how 
 could a man lie like that to a person that's 
 dying? " 
 
 The question staggered Jimmy a mo- 
 ment. He turned his eyes uneasily from 
 21
 
 Gravelere jfive 
 
 Dane's piercing gaze in order that he 
 might lie cheerfully himself. 
 
 " What are you thinking about dying 
 for? " he demanded in his bluff way. 
 " You'll be better than ever after this 
 spell. It sort of cleaned out your pipes 
 you know. You'll be busting bronchos 
 with the best of them by spring if you 
 keep up your courage. Look at Mr. 
 Courtland now. He was worse off than 
 you when he came, a heap sight. Had 
 to be brought on a stretcher. His get- 
 ting well." 
 
 " No, it's different everyway," an- 
 swered Dane wearily. " He's got his 
 family with him, and money and 
 everything. I haven't even my mother's 
 picture. She never had any taken. If I 
 had even that when the end comes it 
 wouldn't seem quite so lonesome. But to 
 think of all strange faces, and afterwards 
 to lie among strangers hundreds of 
 
 22
 
 jfirst traveler 
 
 miles away from home oh, it nearly 
 makes me crazy to think of the miles 
 and miles of cactus and sand between 
 us! I hate the sight of this awful 
 country." 
 
 Jimmy looked out through the open 
 door of the tent, across the dreary waste 
 of desert, separated from the camp by 
 only the irrigating ditch, and the unfre- 
 quented highroad, as if he were seeing 
 it in a new light. 
 
 " 'Spect it might strike a fellow as sort 
 of the end of nowhere the first time he 
 sees it," he admitted. " I've lived here 
 so long I kind of like it myself. But I 
 know what you're craving to see. I lived 
 back in the hills myself when I was a kid. 
 I was brought up in York state." 
 
 Dane raised himself on his elbow, an 
 excited flush on his face. " FOM, from 
 home," he began. " New York- 
 
 Jimmy pushed him back. "You're 
 23
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 getting too frisky," he admonished. 
 " You'll be took again if you ain't care- 
 ful. Yes, I know just what you're pining 
 for. You want to see the hills all red 
 with squaw berries or pink in arbutus 
 time; and the mountain brooks noth- 
 ing like these muddy old irrigating 
 ditches so clear you can see the peb- 
 bles in the bottom, and the trout flipping 
 back and forth so fast you can hardly see 
 their speckles. But Lord! boy you 
 don't want to go back there now in mid- 
 winter. The roads are piled up with 
 drifts to the top of the stone fences and 
 the boughs of the sugar-bush are weighed 
 down with snow till you'd think you was 
 walking through a grove of Christmas 
 trees." 
 
 " Oh, go on/" pleaded Dane, as he 
 
 paused. His eyes were closed, but a 
 
 smile rested on his face as if the scenes 
 
 Jimmy described were his for the mo- 
 
 24
 
 first traveler 
 
 ment. "Jimmy, it's it's like heaven 
 to hear you talk about it! Don't stop." 
 
 To keep the smile on the white face, 
 that rapt, ineffable smile of content, 
 Jimmy talked on. Over forty years lay 
 between him and the scenes he was re- 
 calling. He had wandered far afield 
 from his straight-going, path-keeping 
 Puritan family. He had been glad at 
 times that they had lost track of him, and 
 that wherever he went he was known 
 only as " Jimmy." Gradually the remi- 
 niscences like the touch of a familiar 
 hand on a troubled brow, soothed Dane 
 into forgetfulness of his surroundings, 
 and he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. 
 
 Just at dusk that evening, when Batty 
 Carson went around to the kitchen for his 
 usual glass of new milk, he was surprised 
 to see Jimmy down by the wood-pile. 
 He was vigorously at work, helping un- 
 load a wagon of mesquite, and quite as 
 25
 
 {Travelers tfive 
 
 vigorously scolding the Indian who had 
 brought it for coming so late. 
 
 ' Thought he was going to leave," 
 croaked Batty, nodding towards the 
 wood-pile as he took the glass extended 
 towards him. 
 
 Hillis chuckled. " Says he's staying 
 on Dane's account; that it would have 
 touched the heart of a coyote the way he 
 begged not to be left to die among stran- 
 gers. It seems they're both from the 
 same state, so they're almost claiming 
 kin. I rather guess though, that when 
 he'd cooled down he was glad of any old 
 excuse to stay, and when the boy begged 
 him and Mrs. Welsh seconded the mo- 
 tion, he felt he could give in without any 
 let-down to his dignity." 
 
 The Indian, gathering up his reins, 
 rattled away in the empty wagon, and 
 Jimmy began to fill his chip-basket, sing- 
 ing in a high, tremulous falsetto as he 
 26
 
 first traveler 
 
 worked. His voice had been his pride 
 in his youth. It was still sweet, although 
 it cracked at times on the higher notes - 
 
 " Wa-ait for me at heav-un's gate, 
 Swe-et Belle Mahone!" 
 
 Hillis laughed. " Sings as if he fairly 
 feels his wings sprouting. It's a sure 
 sign he's at peace with the world when 
 he trots out those sentimental old tunes. 
 He doesn't sound now much like the man 
 who was in here this noon, cussin' 
 and slashing around with a butcher 
 knife." 
 
 But Jimmy had not forgotten. He 
 cooked his own supper that night, first 
 ostentatiously wiping the skillet and 
 everything else that Matsu had touched, 
 with such an expression of disgust on his 
 face that the little Jap's fine sense of 
 humour was tickled. He shrugged his 
 shoulders, giggled his usual jolly giggle, 
 27
 
 {Travelers jftve 
 
 and afterwards mimicked the whole 
 scene until Mrs. Welsh and Hillis nearly 
 choked with laughter. 
 
 Dane was up in a few days, able to go 
 to the dining room and to drive short 
 distances. Young Mrs. Courtland spoke 
 of his improvement to Jimmy one morn- 
 ing as they watched him drive away 
 with Hillis in the ranch surrey. They 
 were going to a neighbouring orange 
 grove to replenish the stock in the store- 
 room. Jimmy, kneeling in the path, 
 mending Buddy's wooden goat, drove a 
 final tack before he straightened himself 
 to answer. 
 
 "No, ma'am!" he said emphatically. 
 " That boy'll never be what is to say 
 really better. When he tears the last leaf 
 off that calendar in his tent he ain't go- 
 ing to need next year's." 
 
 Mrs. Courtland looked up, shocked, 
 frightened. " He seems almost as well as 
 28
 
 jfiret traveler 
 
 my husband, and he is going to get well." 
 She said it defiantly. 
 
 " Sure," answered Jimmy. " But he 
 isn't dying of homesickness and worry 
 along with his lung trouble. He's got 
 you and Buddy and the cash. He doesn't 
 have to drive himself nearly crazy think- 
 ing that the time is bound to come when 
 those he loves best will be left without 
 a roof over their heads on account of 
 him. It was worse than cruel it was a 
 downright crime for that doctor to build 
 their hopes up so. If he'd had sense 
 enough to doctor a June-bug he'd have 
 seen that nothing can cure the lad. To 
 send him on such a wild goose chase is 
 bad enough, but to send him alone and 
 as poor as he is Good Lord - 
 
 Jimmy paused, remembering his audi- 
 ence, just in time to stop the malediction 
 on his tongue. 
 
 " But," urged Mrs. Courtland, uncon- 
 29
 
 travelers jfive 
 
 sciously moved to the championship of 
 the unknown doctor by the fact that her 
 father was a physician, " other men have 
 come alone and they seem to be getting 
 on all right." 
 
 " Yes, but if you take notice they're all 
 the kind that had bucked up against the 
 world before they got sick, and were 
 used to shifting for themselves. Now 
 there's Batty Carson. He's going to get 
 well. He goes about it as if he was 
 training to get on a foot-ball team. So 
 much deep breathing every so often, hot 
 beef juice at nine, raw eggs at ten, fifty 
 licks at the wood-pile at eleven What 
 with his sun baths and water baths and 
 rubdowns, looking at his thermometer 
 and weighing himself and feeling his 
 pulse and counting his breaths and 
 watching the clock, he ain't got time to 
 miss his folks. Most of the boarders 
 this year happen to be that sort, or else 
 30
 
 first traveler 
 
 they've got money to go in for all kinds 
 of amusements that make them forget 
 their troubles. But there was a pitiful 
 lot of cases here last winter. They was 
 too far gone when they come to have any 
 fight in 'em. And that's what I say- 
 it's heartless of the doctors to ship them 
 off here when they've only one chance in 
 a thousand. The West is full of 'em and 
 it ain't right." 
 
 Batty Carson, shuffling cards at the lit- 
 tle table set in the shade behind the next 
 tent, looked up with a wink when he 
 heard his name mentioned. The others 
 in the game smiled with him as Jimmy 
 went on, and a voice from one of the 
 farther tents called, " Go it, Jimmy! You 
 ought to hire a hall and not waste all that 
 eloquence on a lot of lungers who already 
 vote your ticket. Wish you'd bring me 
 a box of matches when you get around 
 to it."
 
 Gravelere five 
 
 Taking the tents in order, as was his 
 custom, emptying slops and filling pitch- 
 ers, Jimmy gradually worked his way 
 along the row until he came to the one 
 outside of which the card-game was go- 
 ing on in silence. As he moved around 
 inside setting things to rights, Batty Car- 
 son held up a finger and winked. 
 
 " Listen! " he whispered. There was a 
 clinking of bottles on the wash-stand, 
 then a soft plash into the slop-jar, and 
 Jimmy cleared his throat with a muffled 
 " kha-a-a " as if he had just swallowed 
 something good. 
 
 " The old buzzard's been at my alco- 
 hol bottle again," whispered Batty. 
 " Last time he went against it he didn't 
 leave me enough for one good rub-down, 
 and then he had the face to reel off a 
 long temperance lecture on what a pity 
 it was that so many of us fellows kept 
 spirits in our tents." 
 32
 
 jfiret traveler 
 
 A loud laugh followed Jimmy as he 
 walked out innocently clinking his pails. 
 There was a smell of alcohol in his wake. 
 He had spilled some on his clothes. Ig- 
 norant of the cause of their mirth he 
 looked back at them over his shoulder 
 with a friendly smile. As he dropped 
 the bucket into the cistern out by the bam- 
 boo thicket, his voice floated back in a 
 high cracked falsetto: 
 
 " Wa-ait for me at heav-un's gate, 
 Swe-et Belle Mahone!" 
 
 Batty laughed again. " What kind of 
 a bet will you fellows put up on Jimmy's 
 prospect of even getting within gun-shot 
 of heaven's gate? " he asked. 
 
 " I never bet on a dead certainty," an- 
 swered the man whose turn it was to play. 
 " He knows he's sampled about every- 
 thing that goes on in a mining camp or 
 anywhere else in a new territory, and he's 
 33
 
 travelers five 
 
 nothing to show for himself that St. 
 Peter could take as a passport. But he 
 isn't worrying, as long as he's provided 
 for in this world. His pension keeps him 
 in clothes and tobacco and when he's too 
 old to work the Soldiers' Home will take 
 him in." 
 
 " He's not worrying over the next 
 world either," some one else added. 
 " Mrs. Welsh says he has sixty dollars 
 salted down in bank that he's saved to 
 have masses said for the repose of his 
 soul. Not that he's tied his belief to any- 
 thing in particular, but he once had a 
 wife back in his young days, who was 
 one of the faithful." 
 
 " Let us hope that particular bank 
 won't suspend payment," laughed Batty, 
 " for it's his only hope of ever joining his 
 Belle Mahone." 
 
 Dane came back from his drive with 
 new interest in life. The sight of the 
 34
 
 jftrst traveler 
 
 olive groves and almond orchards, the 
 alfalfa fields and acres of lemon and 
 orange trees lying green and gold be- 
 tween the irrigating canals, had lured 
 him away from thoughts of his condition. 
 He was not so shy and speechless that 
 day at dinner. He even walked out on 
 the desert a little way that afternoon, 
 with Buddy clinging to his hand to pilot 
 him to the wonderful nest of a trap-door 
 spider. For a day or two he made feeble 
 efforts to follow Batty Carson's example. 
 Instead of watching the eastern horizon 
 he watched Mrs. Courtland ply her em- 
 broidery needle or bead-work loom, pre- 
 paring for the Christmas now so near at 
 hand. 
 
 But it was only a few days till he was 
 back in the depths again. The slightest 
 exertion exhausted him. Burning with 
 fever he clung to Jimmy, talking of the 
 white hillsides at home, the icicles on the 
 35
 
 travelers jfive 
 
 eaves, the snow-laden cedars. Then 
 when the chill came again he shivered 
 under the blankets Jimmy tucked around 
 him, and buried his face in the pillow to 
 hide the tears that shamed him. 
 
 " I can't help it," he gasped at last. 
 " I hate myself for being so babyish. 
 But, Jimmy, it's like living in a night- 
 mare to have that one thought haunt me 
 day and night. I don't mind the dying 
 I'll be glad to go. It racks me so to 
 cough. But it's the dying so far away 
 from home alone! I can't go without 
 seeing mother once more! Just once, 
 Jimmy, one little minute." 
 
 The old man's mouth twitched. There 
 was no answer to that kind of an appeal. 
 
 " Mail! " called a voice outside. The 
 ranch wagon had come back from Phoe- 
 nix, and Hillis was going from tent to 
 tent with the letter-bag. " Mr. Dane 
 Ward," he called. " One letter and one 
 
 36
 
 first traveler 
 
 package. Christmas is beginning a week 
 ahead of time," he added as Jimmy came 
 to the door. 
 
 Dane sat up and opened the letter first, 
 with fingers that trembled in their eager- 
 ness. He read snatches of it aloud, his 
 face brightening with each new item of 
 interest. 
 
 " They're going to have an oyster sup- 
 per and a Christmas tree for the Sunday- 
 school. And Charlie Morrow broke into 
 the mill-pond last Saturday, and the 
 whole skating party nearly drowned try- 
 ing to fish him out. Mr. Miller's barn 
 burned last week, and Ed Morris and 
 May Dawson ran away and were mar- 
 ried at Beaver Dam Station. It's like 
 opening a window into the village and 
 looking down every street to get mother's 
 letters. I can see everybody that passes 
 by, and pretty near smell what people 
 are cooking for dinner. She's sending 
 
 37
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 my Christmas present a week ahead of 
 time, because from what I wrote about 
 the cold nights she was sure I'd need it 
 right away. Cut the string, please, 
 Jimmy." 
 
 Two soft outing flannel shirts rolled 
 out of the paper wrapping. Dane spread 
 them on the bed beside him with fond 
 touches. 
 
 " She made every stitch of them her- 
 self," he said proudly, smiling as he 
 turned the page for the last sentence. 
 
 " Christmas will not be Christmas to 
 us with you so far away, dear boy, but 
 we are going to be brave and make as 
 merry as we can, looking forward to the 
 time when that blessed land of sunshine 
 will send you back to us, strong and 
 well." 
 
 The letter dropped from his hands and 
 Jimmy heard him say with a shivering, 
 indrawn breath, " But that time will 
 
 38
 
 Jftrst traveler 
 
 never come! Never 1" Then catching 
 up the mass of soft flannel as if it brought 
 to him in some way the touch of the dear 
 hands that had shaped it, he flung him- 
 self back on the pillow, burying his face 
 in it to stifle the sobs that would slip out 
 between his clenched teeth. 
 
 "Never go home again!" he moaned 
 once. " God! How can I stand it!" 
 Then in a pitiful whisper, " Oh, mother, 
 I want you so." 
 
 Jimmy got up and tip-toed softly out 
 of the tent. 
 
 That night, Batty Carson, taking his 
 after-supper constitutional, strode up and 
 down outside the camp, his hands in his 
 overcoat pockets. The little tents, each 
 with a lamp inside, throwing grotesque 
 shadows on the white canvas walls, made 
 him think of a cluster of Chinese lan- 
 terns. Only the last one in the last row 
 39
 
 travelers 
 
 was dark, and moved by a friendly im- 
 pulse to ask after Dane's welfare, he 
 strolled over towards it. Had it not been 
 for the odour of a rank pipe, he might 
 have stumbled over Jimmy, in the camp 
 chair outside Dane's door. 
 
 " Playing sentinel? " he asked. 
 
 " No, just keeping the lad company a 
 spell. He can't bear to hear them kiotes 
 howl." 
 
 " You're lively company, I must say," 
 bantered Batty. " I didn't hear much 
 animated conversation as I came up." 
 
 Jimmy glanced over his shoulder. 
 " No," he said in a lower tone. " He's 
 asleep now." 
 
 Lighting a cigar, Batty unfolded a 
 camp stool which was leaning against 
 one of the guy ropes, and seated himself. 
 Jimmy seemed in a confidential mood. 
 
 " I've been setting here," he began, 
 " studying about a Christmas present 
 40
 
 Jfirst traveler 
 
 that had ought to be made this year. 1 
 ain't got no call to make it, but there's 
 plenty of others that could do it and 
 never miss it. I've got an old uncle that 
 sets 'em up now and then, but he isn't 
 liable to send me another check before 
 February, so / can't do it." 
 
 " Oh, your Uncle Sam," laughed 
 Batty, remembering Jimmy's pension 
 and the object of his savings. " Well," 
 speaking slowly between puffs, " I'm not 
 counting on making any Christmas pres- 
 ents this r year except to myself. Being 
 sick makes a man selfish, I suppose. But 
 if I have to be exiled out here in the 
 cactus and greasewood, I intend to make 
 it as pleasant for myself as possible. So 
 I know what's going into my Christmas 
 stocking: the dandiest little saddle horse 
 this side of the Mississippi, and a rifle 
 that can knock the spots off anything in 
 Salt River valley." 
 4i
 
 {Travelers jflve 
 
 When Jimmy answered his voice was 
 still lower, for a cough had sounded in 
 the tent behind them. 
 
 " Well, Sandy Claws and I ain't never 
 been acquainted, so to speak. I neither 
 give or get, but if I had the price of a 
 saddle horse in my breeches it wouldn't 
 go into my stocking. It 'ud take that boy 
 in there back home to die, as fast as steam 
 cars can travel. A man would almost be 
 justified in giving up his hope of heaven 
 to give a poor soul the comfort that 
 would be to him." 
 
 The distant barking of coyotes sounded 
 through the starlight. Jimmy pulled at 
 his pipe in silence and Batty sat blowing 
 wreaths of cigar smoke around his head 
 until a woman's voice struck musically 
 across the stillness. 
 
 " Come, little son, hug father Ted 
 good night." 
 
 As Batty watched the shadow panto- 
 42
 
 first traveler 
 
 mime on the white canvas walls of the 
 tent in front of him, the baby arms 
 clasped around the young father's neck, 
 and the beautiful girl bending over them, 
 laughing, he understood the miracle that 
 was bringing Courtland back from the 
 very grave. The screen door slammed 
 and she came out with the child in her 
 arms, a golf-cape wrapped over his night- 
 gown. Then the shadows changed to the 
 next tent. Buddy, with his bare pink 
 toes stretched out toward the little drum 
 stove, sat in his mother's lap and listened 
 to the good night story. 
 
 It was a Christmas story as well, and 
 the three Wise Men in quest of the star- 
 lit manger came out of the shadows of a 
 far-gone past, to live again before the 
 glowing wonder of a little child's eyes. 
 Once he glanced over his shoulder when 
 she told of the silver bells jingling on the 
 trappings of the camels, and he clasped 
 43
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 his dimpled hands with a long, satisfied 
 sigh when the gifts were opened at last 
 before the Christ-child's cradle. 
 
 " An' nen the little king was so glad," 
 he added, lying back happily against his 
 mother's shoulder. 
 
 " Yes, dear heart." 
 
 " An' the little king's mothah was 
 glad, too," he persisted. " She liked peo- 
 ple to give fings to her little boy." 
 
 " Oh yes, she was the happiest of all. 
 Now shut your eyes, little son, and we'll 
 rock-a-bye-baby-in-the-tree-top." 
 
 The two shadows were merged into 
 one as the rocking chair swayed back and 
 forth a moment in time to a low, sweet 
 crooning. Then Buddy sat up straight 
 and laid an imperative hand on the 
 cheek pressed against his curly hair. 
 
 "Stop singin', Mothah Ma'wy!" he 
 demanded. " I want to go there. / want 
 to take 'em fings to make 'm glad!" 
 44
 
 jffrst traveler 
 
 She tried to explain, but he would not 
 be appeased. The little mouth quivered 
 with disappointment. "If they're all 
 gone away up to heaven how can I find 
 the king, Mothah Ma'wy? " 
 
 " Oh, little son, we still have the star! " 
 she cried, clasping him close and kissing 
 him. 
 
 " Show it to me! " he demanded, slip- 
 ping from her lap and pattering towards 
 the door in his bare feet. She caught 
 him up again with more kisses, and hold- 
 ing him close began to grope for words 
 simple enough to make it plain that 
 the Star which wise men follow now, 
 when they go with gifts for the Christ- 
 child's gladdening, is the Star of love 
 and good-will to men, and the Way lies 
 near at hand through the hearts of his 
 poor and needy. 
 
 When she finished at last, Batty's cigar 
 had gone out, and Jimmy, stirred by 
 45
 
 travelers five 
 
 some old memory or by some new vision, 
 was staring fixedly ahead of him with 
 unseeing eyes. Neither man moved un- 
 til the last note of the lullaby, " Oh little 
 town of Bethlehem," faltered into silence. 
 Then without a word, each rose abruptly 
 and went his separate way. 
 
 It was reported in camp next day at 
 dinner that Dane was going home, and 
 that the doctor on his morning rounds 
 had consented to engage a sleeper for 
 him and help him aboard the first East- 
 ern-bound train. While the doctor gave 
 it as his opinion that it was suicidal for 
 any one in his condition to go back to 
 such a climate in mid-winter, he offered 
 no remonstrance. Nor could any one 
 else in the face of such pathetic joy as 
 Dane's, over his unexpected release. 
 
 It was with a sigh of relief that Mrs. 
 Welsh turned from the departing car- 
 nage to begin her preparations for 
 46
 
 Jfirst traveler 
 
 Christmas. It would have been depress- 
 ing for all the camp to have had any one 
 in their midst during the holidays as ill 
 as Dane; besides she had work for 
 Jimmy other than nursing. There were 
 trips to be made down the canal after 
 palm leaves and the coral berries of the 
 feathery pepper trees. There were the 
 dining-room walls to be covered with 
 those same Christmas greens, and since 
 Mrs. Courtland wished it, a little cedar 
 to be brought out from the town market, 
 and decked for the centre of the table. 
 
 In the days which followed Dane's de- 
 parture, Jimmy was so rushed with extra 
 work that gradually he began to ignore 
 his grudge against Matsu. One night, 
 having absent-mindedly followed Hillis 
 in filling his plate from the pots and pans 
 on the stove, instead of cooking for him- 
 self, he thereafter ate whatever Matsu 
 prepared without comment. 
 47
 
 travelers fftve 
 
 Maybe the mere handling of the 
 Christmas symbols induced a mellower 
 mood, for when the last taper was 'in 
 place on the tinsel decked evergreen he 
 felt so at peace with all mankind that he 
 included the little heathen in his invita- 
 tion, when he called Hillis in to admire 
 his handiwork. He was whistling softly 
 when he stepped out doors from the di- 
 ning-room, and turned the latch behind 
 him. The shaggy old dog rose up from 
 the door-mat and followed him as he 
 strolled down towards the highroad. 
 He was in his shirt-sleeves, for the dusk 
 was warm and springlike. A great star 
 hung over the horizon. 
 
 " It's Christmas eve, Banjo," he said 
 in a confidential tone to the dog. " I 
 guess Dane is home by this time. By 
 rights he ought to have got there this 
 morning." 
 
 Banjo responded with a friendly wag 
 48
 
 Gbe jfiret traveler 
 
 and crowded closer to rub his head 
 against Jimmy. For the twentieth time 
 that day the old man's hand stole down 
 into his empty pocket on a fruitless er- 
 rand. 
 
 " Nary a crumb," he muttered, " and 
 not a cent left to get one. Banjo, I'd give 
 both ears for a good chaw right now. 
 I'm not grudging it, but I sure would 'a' 
 held back a dime or two if I hadn't 
 thought there was another plug in the 
 shack." 
 
 Banjo bristled up and growled. 
 
 "Hush, you beast!" scolded Jimmy. 
 " You ought to be so full of peace and 
 good-will this here Christmas eve that 
 there wouldn't be room for a single growl 
 in your ugly old hide. I'd be if I could 
 lay teeth on the chaw I'm hankering 
 for. What's the matter with you any- 
 how? " 
 
 With his hand on the dog's head to 
 49
 
 Gravelera five 
 
 quiet him, he peered down the dim road. 
 A boy on a shaggy Indian pony was 
 loping towards him. 
 
 "Is this Welsh's ranch?" he called. 
 " Then I've got a telegram for somebody. 
 It's addressed mighty queer just says 
 'Jimmy, care of Mrs. Clara Welsh.'" 
 
 " Well, I'm a greaser! " was all that 
 Jimmy could ejaculate as he reached for 
 the yellow envelope. He turned it over 
 with growing curiosity. " First telegram 
 I ever got in my life, and me sixty odd 
 years," he muttered. 
 
 " There's a dollar charges for deliver- 
 ing it out so far," said the boy. Jimmy's 
 hand went down into his pocket again. 
 
 " I'll have to go to the house for it," he 
 said. " You wait." 
 
 Then he waited himself. Batty Car- 
 son was strolling down the road. It 
 would be easier to apply to him for the 
 loan than to Mrs. Welsh.
 
 first traveler 
 
 " Has the old uncle died and left you 
 a fortune? " laughed Batty, as he handed 
 over the dollar. 
 
 " Blamed if I can make out," answered 
 Jimmy, holding the scrap of paper at 
 arms length and squinting at it. " I ain't 
 got my specs. Here! you read it." 
 
 Batty, taking the telegram, read in his 
 hoarse whisper: 
 
 " Dane arrived safely God bless you Mat- 
 thew twentyfive forty. 
 
 Harriet Ward." 
 
 Then he looked up for an explanation. 
 Jimmy was staring at him open-mouthed. 
 " Well, if that ain't the blamedest mes- 
 sage ever was," he exclaimed. " I don't 
 know any sucker named Matthew. Is 
 the woman plumb crazy? " 
 
 Batty looked up from the second read- 
 ing, enlightened. 
 
 " No, I take it she wanted to send you 
 some sort of a Christmas greeting, but
 
 travelers five 
 
 probably she's as poor as she is pious and 
 had to count her words. Come on, we'll 
 look up Matthew twenty-five and forty. 
 I guess I haven't forgotten how to do 
 such stunts, even if it has been such a 
 precious while since the last one." 
 
 He led the way to his tent, and while 
 Jimmy lighted the lamp he began bur- 
 rowing through his trunk. Down at the 
 very bottom he found it, the Book he was 
 looking for, then the chapter and the 
 verse. When he cleared his throat and 
 read the entire telegram it sounded 
 strangely impressive in his hoarse whis- 
 per: 
 
 " Dane arrived safely. God bless you. ' And 
 the king shall answer and say unto them, Verily 
 I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
 one of the least of these my brethren, ye have 
 done it unto me.' ' 
 
 There was an awkward pause as they 
 faced each other a moment, pondering 
 52
 
 Gbe jfirst traveler 
 
 the queer message. Then as a conscious 
 red began to burn up through the tan of 
 Jimmy's weather-beaten face, Batty un- 
 derstood. 
 
 " You sent that boy home to his 
 mother," he began, but Jimmy, bolting 
 out of the tent, shambled off, shame- 
 faced, through the dusk. 
 
 For a long time Batty stood in the door 
 looking out over the darkening desert. 
 The one star swinging above the horizon 
 seemed to point the way to a little home 
 among snow-clad hills, where Christmas 
 gladness had reached its high-tide. Pres- 
 ently as the supper-bell rang, a voice 
 came floating up from the bamboo 
 thicket. Cracked and thin it was, but 
 high and jubilant, as if the old man had 
 forgotten that he had no tobacco for the 
 refreshment of his soul in this world, and 
 no prospect of a mass for its repose in 
 the next. 
 
 53
 
 traveler* five 
 
 " Wa-it for me at heav-un's gate, 
 Sweet Belle Mahone!" 
 
 " All right for you, old Jimmy," whis- 
 pered Batty to himself. " In the game 
 St. Peter keeps the score for, you'll be 
 counted the highest card that this camp 
 holds." 
 
 54
 
 ZEbe Seconb traveler 
 
 (Bib 
 fn tbe THUafce of a Donesmoon
 
 Seconb traveler 
 
 Un tbe THUafte of a fjone^moon 
 
 NO matter what kind of a proces- 
 sion paraded the streets of 
 Gentryville, one unique tail- 
 piece always brought up the rear. As the 
 music of the band died away in the dis- 
 tance, and the pomp of the pageant dwin- 
 dled down to the last straggling end, 
 necks about to be relieved of their long 
 tension invariably turned for one more 
 look. It was then that old Gid Wiggan 
 drove by in his Wild-cat Liniment 
 wagon, as unfailing as the Z that ends the 
 alphabet. 
 
 Lank and stoop-shouldered, with a 
 long, thin beard that reached his lap, and 
 a high, bell-crowned hat pulled down to 
 meet his flabby, protruding ears, he of 
 
 57
 
 {Travelers Jive 
 
 himself was enough to provoke a laugh ; 
 but added to this he bore aloft on a pole 
 the insignia that proclaimed his call- 
 ing. It was a stuffed wild-cat, shelf- 
 worn and weather-beaten, glaring with 
 primeval fierceness with its one glass 
 eye, and wearing a ridiculously meek 
 expression on the side that had been 
 bereft. 
 
 Across the ribs of the old black horse 
 that drew the wagon was painted in white 
 letters, " Wiggan's Wild-cat Liniment; " 
 but as if this were not advertisement 
 enough, the proprietor sowed little hand- 
 bills through the crowd, guaranteeing 
 that the liniment (made from the fat of 
 the animal) would cure any ache in the 
 whole category of human ills. He had 
 followed in the wake of the Gentryville 
 processions so many years that he had 
 come to be regarded as much a matter of 
 course as the drum-major or the clown. 
 58
 
 Seconfc traveler 
 
 Civic or military, the occasion made no 
 difference. He followed a circus as im- 
 partially as he came after the troops re- 
 viewing before the Governor's stand, and 
 he had been known to follow even one 
 lone band-wagon through the town, on 
 its mission of advertising a minstrel 
 troupe. 
 
 There must have been something in the 
 geography of the Wiggan family corre- 
 sponding to a water-shed, else his course 
 in life could not have differed so widely 
 from his brother's. They had drifted as 
 far apart as twin raindrops, fated to find 
 an outlet in opposite seas. Indeed, so 
 great was the difference that the daugh- 
 ters of the Hon. Joseph Churchill Wig- 
 gan (distinct accent on the last syllable 
 when referring to them) scarcely felt it 
 incumbent upon them to give his brother 
 Gideon the title of uncle. 
 
 To Louise and Maud the proper ac- 
 59
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 centuation of their family name was vital, 
 since it seemed to put up a sort of bar 
 between them and the grotesque liniment 
 peddler. The townspeople always em- 
 phasized the first syllable in speaking of 
 him. 
 
 The brothers had turned their backs 
 upon each other, even in the building of 
 their houses. While only an alley sepa- 
 rated their stables in the rear, the Hon. 
 Joseph's mansion looked out on a spa- 
 cious avenue, and old Gid's cottage faced 
 a dingy tenement street. He had his 
 laboratory in the loft of his stable, from 
 the windows of which he could overlook 
 his brother's back premises. 
 
 Maud and Louise, regarding him and 
 his business in the light of a family skele- 
 ton, ignored him as completely as a fam- 
 ily skeleton can be ignored when it is of 
 the kind that will not stay in its allotted 
 closet. It seemed to meet them every 
 60
 
 Seconfc traveler 
 
 time they opened their palatial front 
 door. They could not turn a street cor- 
 ner without coming upon it. Only the 
 ultra-sensitive young lady just home from 
 the most select of fashionable schools can 
 know the pangs that it cost Louise to see 
 her family name staring at her in white 
 letters from the bony sides of that old 
 horse, in connection with a patent medi- 
 cine advertisement; and the faintest 
 whiff of any volatile oil suggesting lini- 
 ment was enough to elevate Maud's aris- 
 tocratic nose to the highest degree of 
 scorn and disgust. Once, years ago, when 
 the girls were too young to be ashamed 
 of their eccentric kinsman, they had vis- 
 ited his laboratory out of childish curios- 
 ity. He had given them peanuts from a 
 pocket redolent with liniment, and had 
 asked them to come again, but they had 
 had no occasion to repeat the visit until 
 after they were grown. 
 61
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 It was the night before Louise's wed- 
 ding day. They had both finished dress- 
 ing for the evening, but, not quite satis- 
 fied with her appearance, Louise still 
 stood before the mirror. She was trying 
 to decide how to wear one of the roses 
 which she had just shaken out of the great 
 bunch on her dressing table. Ordinarily 
 she would not have hesitated, for there 
 was nothing she could do or wear that 
 would not be admired by this little West- 
 ern town. It was the card accompanying 
 the roses which made her pause the 
 correct, elegant little card, engraved sim- 
 ply, "Mr. Edward Van Harlem." It 
 seemed to confront her with the critical 
 stare of the most formal New York aris- 
 tocracy, coldly questioning her ability to 
 live up to it and its traditions. 
 
 That the Van Harlems had violently 
 opposed their son's marrying outside 
 their own select circle she well knew. 
 62
 
 Secont) traveler 
 
 His mother could not forgive him, but he 
 was her idol, and she was following him 
 to his marriage as she would have fol- 
 lowed to his martyrdom. By this time 
 she was probably in Gentryville, at the 
 hotel. She had refused to meet Louise 
 until the next day. 
 
 Louise laid the great, leafy-stemmed 
 rose against the white dress she wore. It 
 was a beautiful picture that her mirror 
 showed her, and for an instant there was 
 a certain proud lifting of the girlish 
 head; a gesture not unworthy the haughty 
 Mrs. Van Harlem herself. But the next 
 moment a tender light shone in her eyes, 
 as if some sudden memory had banished 
 the thought of the Knickerbocker dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 The maid had brought in the evening 
 
 paper, and Maud, picking it up, began 
 
 reading the headlines aloud. Louise 
 
 scarcely heard her. When one's lover is 
 
 63
 
 {Travelers jftve 
 
 coming before the little cuckoo in the 
 clock has time to call out another hour, 
 what possible interest can press dis- 
 patches hold? 
 
 She laid the velvety petals against her 
 warm cheek, and then softly touched 
 them to her lips. At that, her own re- 
 flection in the mirror seemed to look at 
 her with such a conscious smile that she 
 glanced over her shoulder to see if her 
 sister had been a witness too. As she did 
 so, Maud dropped the paper with a hor- 
 rified groan. 
 
 "Oh, Louise!" she cried. "What 
 shall we do? There's to be an industrial 
 parade to-morrow morning, with dozens 
 of floats. The line of march is directly 
 past the Continental Hotel. What will 
 Mrs. Van Harlem say when she sees 
 Uncle Gid's wagon and our name in the 
 Wiggan Wild-cat advertisement? " 
 
 Louise dropped weakly into a chair, 
 64
 
 Gbe Seconfc traveler 
 
 echoing her sister's groan. The colour 
 had entirely left her face. She was more 
 in awe of her patrician lover and his 
 family than she had acknowledged, even 
 to herself. 
 
 " Think of that awful, old moth-eaten 
 wild-cat on a pole! " giggled Maud, hys- 
 terically. 
 
 "Think of Uncle Gid himself!" al- 
 most shrieked Louise. " It would kill 
 me to have him pointed out to the Van 
 Harlems as father's brother, and some- 
 body will be sure to do it. There's al- 
 ways somebody mean enough to do such 
 things." 
 
 Maud pushed aside the curtain and 
 peered out into the June twilight, now 
 so dim that the street lamps had begun 
 to glimmer through the dusk. 
 
 " If we could only shut him up some- 
 where," she suggested. " Lock him 
 down cellar by accident until after
 
 travelers jfive 
 
 the parade, then he couldn't possibly dis- 
 grace us." 
 
 There was a long silence. Then 
 Maud, dropping the curtain on the dusk 
 of the outer world, turned from the win- 
 dow and came dancing back into the 
 middle of the brightly lighted room. 
 
 " I've thought of a plan," she cried, 
 jubilantly. " We can't do anything with 
 Uncle Gid, but if the wild-cat and har- 
 ness could be hidden until after the pa- 
 rade, that would keep him safely at home, 
 hunting for them." 
 
 Louise caught at the suggestion ea- 
 gerly, but immediately sank back with a 
 despairing sigh. "It's of no use!" she 
 exclaimed. " There's no one whom we 
 could trust to send. If Uncle Gid should 
 have the faintest suspicion of such a plot, 
 there is nothing too dreadful for him to 
 attempt in retaliation. He'd bring up 
 the rear of the wedding procession itself 
 66
 
 Seconfc traveler 
 
 with that disreputable old beast on a pole, 
 if he thought it would humble our 
 pride." 
 
 As she spoke, she again caught sight 
 of the little card that had come with the 
 roses. It nerved her to sudden action. 
 " I must go myself," she cried, desper- 
 ately, springing up from her chair. 
 
 " Oh, no!" exclaimed Maud, "you're 
 surely joking. It's pitch dark in the sta- 
 ble by this time. Besides you might meet 
 some one - 
 
 " It's my only salvation," answered 
 Louise, with an excited tremor in her 
 voice. " Oh, you don't know the Van 
 Harlems! Come on, Sis, and help me, 
 that's a dear. It will be our last lark to- 
 gether." 
 
 " And our first one of this kind," an- 
 swered Maud, drawing back. " Edward 
 will be here in a few minutes, and - 
 
 " All the more reason for us to hurry,"
 
 Graveier0 five 
 
 interrupted Louise, taking a candle from 
 the silver sconce on her dressing table, 
 and snatching up some matches. " Come 
 on!" 
 
 Carried away by her sister's impetuos- 
 ity, Maud followed softly down the back 
 stairs and across the tennis court. In 
 their white dresses they glimmered 
 through the dusk like ghosts. They were 
 laughing under their breath when they 
 started out, but as they crossed the dark 
 alley they looked around nervously, and 
 clutched each other like frightened 
 schoolgirls. 
 
 Ten minutes later they were stealing 
 up the back stairs again, carrying some- 
 thing between them wrapped in Maud's 
 white petticoat. She had taken it off and 
 wrapped it around the beast to avoid 
 touching it. They had not been able to 
 find a safe hiding place in the stable, and 
 in sheer desperation had decided to carry 
 68
 
 Second traveler 
 
 it home with them for the night. A 
 strong odour of liniment followed in their 
 wake, for Louise, in her frantic haste, 
 had upset a bottle all over the wild-cat, 
 and liberally spattered herself with the 
 pungent, oily mixture. 
 
 As they hurried up the stairs, the cook 
 suddenly opened the door into the back 
 hall, sending a stream of light across 
 them from the kitchen. There was a look 
 of amazement on her startled face as she 
 recognized her young mistresses coming 
 in the back way at such an hour, but she 
 was too well trained to say anything. She 
 only sniffed questioningly as the strange 
 smell reached her nostrils, then shut the 
 door. 
 
 Just as the girls reached the head of 
 the stairs there was a loud ring of the 
 front door-bell. "Edward!" exclaimed 
 Louise, helplessly letting her end of the 
 bundle slip* 
 
 69
 
 travelers 
 
 " Run and change your dress," said 
 Maud. " You are all cobwebs and soot 
 from dragging that harness into the coal- 
 cellar. I'll attend to this." 
 
 Opening the door into a little trunk 
 room at the end of the hall, she dragged 
 her burden inside. An empty dress-box 
 on the floor suggested an easy way of dis- 
 posing of it. But when she had stuffed 
 it in, still wrapped in the petticoat, not 
 satisfied as to its secrecy, she opened an 
 empty trunk and lifted the box into that. 
 As she passed her sister's door Louise 
 called her. 
 
 " Here!" she said, despairingly, hold- 
 ing out both hands. " We might as well 
 give up. Smell! " 
 
 Maud's nose went up in air. " Lini- 
 ment!" she exclaimed, solemnly. "Yes, 
 it's fate. We can't get away from it." 
 
 " Edward will wonder what it is," said 
 Louise, almost tearfully. " Oh, it seems 
 70
 
 Second traveler 
 
 as if he must surely know. There's no 
 mistaking that! " 
 
 Maud poured some cologne on her 
 handkerchief, and rubbed it briskly over 
 her sister's fingers. " You look as fright- 
 ened as Blue Beard's wife when she 
 dropped the key in the bloody closet." 
 
 All through her dressing, Louise kept 
 sniffing suspiciously at her dainty fingers, 
 and even when she was ready to go down- 
 stairs, stopped at the door to look back, 
 like a second Lady Macbeth. 
 
 " ' Not all the odours of Araby can 
 sweeten that little hand,' " she said in a 
 tragic whisper, and Maud answered un- 
 der her breath: 
 
 ( You may break, you may shatter the vase 
 
 if you will, 
 The scent of the roses will cling 'round it still.' ' 
 
 A little later, Mrs. Wiggan's French 
 maid, going into the trunk room with an 
 armful of clothes, began packing the
 
 five 
 
 bride's dainty trousseau. The trunks to 
 be used for that purpose had been pointed 
 out to her that afternoon. 
 
 As she opened the first one, such a pen- 
 etrating odour greeted her that she drew 
 back. 
 
 " Maybe ze camphor ball," she ex- 
 claimed aloud, lifting a corner of the box 
 which nearly filled the bottom of the 
 trunk. " Ah yes! " she went on, peeping 
 in. " It ees mademoiselle's furs, what air 
 protect from ze bugs by zat killing odair. 
 It will presairve also ze woollens as 
 well." Forthwith she began deftly pack- 
 ing a pile of snowy flannels around the 
 box which held the family disgrace. 
 
 Twenty-four hours later, that trunk 
 among a number of others was jogging 
 along in a baggage car on its way to New 
 York. It was checked to the pier from 
 which the Majestic was to sail that week, 
 and tagged, " For the hold." 
 72
 
 Seconfc traveler 
 
 It was the first parade that old Gid 
 Wiggan had missed in twenty years, but 
 it was not his niece's plotting which kept 
 him at home. He lay with closed eyes 
 in his dark little bedroom, too ill to know 
 that a procession was passing. The old 
 man had come to a place where he could 
 no longer follow at the heels of a cheer- 
 ful crowd. He must branch off by him- 
 self now, and find his solitary way as best 
 he could, over a strangely lonesome road. 
 
 " He's an old miser, but it won't do to 
 let him die like a heathen," said one of 
 the neighbours, when his condition was 
 discovered. So there were watchers by 
 his bedside when the end came. Car- 
 riages had been rolling back and forth all 
 the evening, and at last the ponderous 
 rumbling aroused him. 
 
 " What's that? " he asked, opening his 
 eyes as the sound of wheels reached him. 
 " Is the parade coming? " 
 73
 
 {Travelers jftve 
 
 " Only the carriages driving back from 
 St. Paul's," was the answer. " There's 
 a wedding there to-night." 
 
 Old Gid closed his eyes again. " I re- 
 member now," he said. " It's Joe's little 
 girl, but I didn't get a bid. They're 
 ashamed of their old uncle. Well, 
 they'll never be bothered with him 
 any more now, nor any of his be- 
 longings." 
 
 The watchers exchanged glances and 
 repeated the remark afterwards to the 
 curious neighbours who came to look at 
 the old man as he lay in his coffin. He 
 had long had the reputation of being a 
 miser, and more than one hand that day 
 was passed searchingly over some piece 
 of battered furniture. It was a common 
 belief on that street that his fortune was 
 stuffed away in some of the threadbare 
 cushions. 
 
 His will, which came to light soon 
 74
 
 Second traveler 
 
 after, directed that the rickety old house 
 should be sold to pay the expenses of his 
 last illness and burial, and to erect a mon- 
 ument over him. As if not content with 
 humiliating his family in the flesh, he had 
 ordered that it be cut in stone: " Here 
 lies the manufacturer and proprietor of 
 Wiggan's Wild-cat Liniment." The old 
 horse, after taking the part of chief 
 mourner at his funeral, was to be chloro- 
 formed. 
 
 Of kith and kindred there had been no 
 mention until the last clause of the will, 
 by which he left the meagre contents of 
 his laboratory to a distant cousin in Ari- 
 zona, whom he had never seen, but who 
 bore the same name as himself, with the 
 addition of a middle initial. This was 
 the clause which turned Gentryville up- 
 side down: 
 
 " And I also give, devise and bequeath 
 to the said Gideon J. Wiggan, my stuffed 
 75
 
 travelers jftve 
 
 wild-cat, hoping that he will find in it 
 the mascot that I have found." 
 
 The same letter which informed the 
 Arizona cousin of his legacy told him 
 that it had mysteriously disappeared. No 
 money was found in the house, and the 
 disappearance of the wild-cat strength- 
 ened the prevalent belief that old Gid 
 had used it as a receptacle for his savings, 
 and had hidden it with all a miser's craft- 
 iness. 
 
 A week later the Arizona cousin ap- 
 peared, having come East to unearth the 
 mystery and to meet the remaining mem- 
 bers of the Wiggan family, who, he un- 
 derstood, were living in Gentryville. He 
 was too late. Maud and her mother had 
 closed the house immediately after the 
 wedding, and started on a summer jaunt, 
 presumably to Alaska. His letters and 
 telegrams received no answer and he 
 could not locate his relatives, despite his 
 76
 
 Seconfc traveler 
 
 persistent efforts. The more he investi- 
 gated, the more he became convinced that 
 old Gid, alienated from his immediate 
 family, had made him his heir on account 
 of the name, and that a fair-sized fortune 
 was stuffed away in the body of the miss- 
 ing wild-cat. A few leaves from a 
 queerly kept old ledger confirmed this 
 opinion. Most of them had been torn 
 out, but judging from the ones he exam- 
 ined, the receipts from the liniment sales 
 must have been far greater than people 
 supposed. 
 
 He did not suspect his cousin Joseph's 
 family being a party to the disappear- 
 ance, until some servants' gossip reached 
 him. The cook gave him his first clue, 
 when a dollar jogged her memory. She 
 remembered having seen the young ladies 
 slipping up the back stairs the night be- 
 fore the wedding, carrying something 
 between them. The laundress had asked 
 77
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 her the next day where the young ladies 
 could have been to get their dresses so 
 soiled in the evening. They were 
 streaked with coal-soot and smelled 
 strongly of the liniment that their uncle 
 made. The French maid, who had not 
 gone with her mistress, but had taken a 
 temporary position with a dressmaker, 
 recognized the odour when a bottle was 
 brought to her. She swore that it was 
 the same that mademoiselle's furs were 
 filled with. She had smelled it first when 
 she packed them in the trunk. 
 
 The evidence of the cook, the laundress 
 and the maid was enough for Gideon J. 
 Wiggan. He was a loud, rough man, 
 without education, but so uniformly suc- 
 cessful in all his business enterprises that 
 he had come to have an unbounded con- 
 ceit, and an unlimited faith in himself. 
 " I never yet bit off any more than I 
 could chew," he was fond of saying. 
 78
 
 Seconfc traveler 
 
 " I'm a self-made man. I've never failed 
 in anything yet. I'm my own lawyer and 
 my own doctor, and now I'll be my own 
 detective; and I'll worm this thing out, 
 if I have to go to Europe to do it.' 1 
 
 To Europe he finally went. The happy 
 bridal couple, making a tour of the cathe- 
 dral towns of England, little dreamed 
 what an avenging Nemesis was following 
 fast in the wake of their honeymoon. 
 From Canterbury to York he followed 
 them, from York to Chester. They had 
 always just gone. Evidently they were 
 trying to elude him. Once he almost had 
 his hand upon them. It was in London. 
 He had reached the Hotel Metropole 
 only two hours after their departure. 
 They had gone ostensibly to Paris, but 
 had left no address. He ground his teeth 
 when he discovered that fact. How was 
 he to trace them further without the 
 slightest clue and without the faintest 
 79
 
 ^Travelers 
 
 knowledge of any foreign tongue? For 
 the first time in his life he had to ac- 
 knowledge himself baffled. 
 
 The next day, while he was making 
 cautious inquiries at Scotland Yard, pre- 
 paratory to engaging a first-class detect- 
 ive, he fell in with an old acquaintance, 
 a man whom he had known in Arizona, 
 and who was employed in the detective 
 service himself. He had been sent over 
 on the trail of some counterfeiters, and 
 seemed to have an inexhaustible fund of 
 information about every wealthy Amer- 
 ican who had gone abroad that summer. 
 Within half an hour the baffled Gideon 
 had put his case into his hands, humbly 
 acknowledging that for once in his life 
 he had bitten off more than he could 
 chew. 
 
 Dinner was in progress in one of the 
 most fashionable hotels of Paris. Ed- 
 80
 
 Seconb traveler 
 
 ward Van Harlem, seated opposite his 
 wife at one of the many little tables, 
 looked around approvingly. His fastid- 
 ious eyes saw nothing to criticize in the 
 whole luxurious apartment, except per- 
 haps the too cheerful expression of the 
 man who served them. A more sphinx- 
 like cast of countenance would have be- 
 tokened better training. Then he looked 
 critically at his wife. It may be that the 
 elegant New Yorker was a trifle over- 
 particular, but he could find no fault 
 here. She was the handsomest woman in 
 the room. She was dressed for the opera, 
 and the priceless Van Harlem pearls 
 around her white throat were worthy of 
 a duchess. She wore them with the air 
 of one, too, he noticed admiringly. He 
 had not realized that a little Western 
 girl could be so regal. Ah ! if his mother 
 could only see her now! 
 
 " What is it, Louise? " he asked, seeing 
 81
 
 travelers five 
 
 her give a slight start of surprise. 
 " Those two men at the table behind 
 you," she answered, almost in a whisper, 
 for the service was so noiseless and the 
 general conversation so subdued that she 
 was afraid of being overheard. " They 
 look so common and out of place in their 
 rough travelling suits. They are the 
 only persons in the room not in evening 
 dress." 
 
 Van Harlem turned slightly and gave 
 a supercilious glance behind him. " How 
 did such plebeians ever get in here? " he 
 said, frowning slightly. " I wish Amer- 
 ica would keep such specimens at home. 
 It's queer they should stumble into an 
 exclusive place like this. They must feel 
 like fish out of water." 
 
 Louise tasted her soup, and then looked 
 up again. One of the men was watching 
 her like a hawk. His persistent gaze an- 
 noyed her, but there was a compelling 
 82
 
 Second traveler 
 
 force about it that made her steal another 
 glance at him. His eyes held hers an in- 
 stant in startled fascination, then she 
 dropped them with a sudden fear that 
 made her cold and faint. The man bore 
 a remarkable likeness to her Uncle Gid- 
 eon. More than that, she had discov- 
 ered some resemblance to her father in 
 the determined chin and the way his hair 
 rolled back from his forehead. That 
 little droop of the lip was like her 
 father's, too. Could it be that there was 
 some remote tie between them and that 
 the stranger was staring at her because 
 he, too, saw a family likeness? She was 
 afraid for her husband to turn around 
 lest he should discover it also. 
 
 Ever since the arrival of the mails that 
 morning, she had been in a state of nerv- 
 ous apprehension. Somebody had sent 
 her a marked copy of the Gentryville 
 Times, with an account of her uncle's will 
 83
 
 jfive 
 
 and the heir's vain search for his legacy. 
 She had wanted to write immediately to 
 Maud, and ask if she had remembered, 
 in the confusion that followed the wed- 
 ding, to restore the old man's property, 
 but Edward had carried her away for a 
 day's sight-seeing, and she had had no 
 opportunity. 
 
 As she sat idly toying with her dinner, 
 some intuition connected this man with 
 her Uncle Gideon, and she was in a fever 
 of impatience to get away, for fear he 
 might obtrude himself on her husband's 
 notice. When they had first swept into 
 the dining-room, the Arizona cousin had 
 leaned over the table until his face almost 
 touched the detective's. " They're stun- 
 ners! Ain't they?" he whispered. 
 " Wonder if any of my money bought 
 them pearls and gew-gaws. Well, this 
 show's worth the box-seat prices we paid 
 to get next to 'em. I wonder if the waiter 
 84
 
 Seconfc traveler 
 
 would have promised to put us alongside 
 if I'd offered him any less than a five- 
 franc piece." Then, as Louise's eyes fell 
 before his in embarrassment, he mut- 
 tered, "She looks guilty, doesn't she! 
 I'll bet my hat she suspicions what we're 
 after." 
 
 The two men were only beginning their 
 salad course, when Van Harlem beckoned 
 a waiter and gave an order in French. 
 " What did he say? " asked Wiggan, sus- 
 piciously. " I wish I could make out 
 their beastly lingo." 
 
 " He sent to call a carriage, and to tell 
 the maid to bring the lady's wraps. 
 They're going to the opera." 
 
 " You mean they're going to give us 
 the slip again! Come on! We must 
 stop 'em! " 
 
 " Now, Gid, you just cool down," ad- 
 vised the detective, calmly. " I'm work- 
 ing this little game. It's a family affair 
 85
 
 {Travelers 
 
 and there's no use making a row in pub- 
 lic. There's plenty of time." But his 
 client had no ear for caution. The Van 
 Harlems had risen, and were going 
 slowly down the long drawing-room. 
 All eyes followed the beautiful American 
 girl and the aristocratic young fellow 
 who carried himself like a lord. The 
 mirror-lined walls flashed back the 
 pleasing reflection from every side, and 
 then replaced it with a most astonishing 
 sight. 
 
 In and out between the little tables 
 with their glitter of cut-glass and silver, 
 dashed a common-looking fellow in a 
 coarse plaid suit. Upsetting chairs, 
 whisking table-cloths from their places, 
 bumping into solemn waiters with their 
 laden trays, he seemed oblivious to every- 
 thing but the escaping couple. The de- 
 tective had detained him as long as pos- 
 sible, and the couple had almost reached 
 86
 
 traveler 
 
 the door when he started in frantic pur- 
 suit. He reached them just as they 
 stepped into the corridor. He tried to 
 curb his trembling voice, but in his ex- 
 citement it rang out to the farthest corner 
 of the great apartment, high above the 
 music of the violins, playing softly in a 
 curtained alcove. 
 
 " You want your what? " demanded the 
 elegant Van Harlem in a tone that would 
 have frozen a less desperate man. 
 
 " I want that stuffed wild-cat," he 
 roared, " that your wife's uncle left me in 
 his will, and you made off with. I came 
 all the way from America for it, and I'll 
 have it now, or you'll go to jail, sure as 
 my name is Gideon J. Wiggan." 
 
 Louise, already unnerved by her fears 
 at dinner, and exhausted by the tiresome 
 day of sight-seeing, started forward, 
 deathly pale. It seemed to her that the 
 man had shouted out her name so that all 
 87
 
 {Travelers iftve 
 
 Paris must have heard. The disgrace had 
 followed her even over seas. 
 
 She looked up piteously at her hus- 
 band, and then fell fainting in his arms. 
 
 " The man's crazy," exclaimed Van 
 Harlem, as he strode with her toward the 
 elevator. " Here, waiter, call the police 
 and have that lunatic put out of the house. 
 He's dangerous." 
 
 It was only a moment until he had 
 reached their rooms and had laid Louise 
 gently on a couch, but as he turned to 
 ring for the maid, the two men con- 
 fronted him on the threshold. The de- 
 tective bolted the door, and the Arizona 
 cousin took out his revolver. 
 
 " No, you don't ring that bell," he ex- 
 claimed, seeing Van Harlem move in the 
 direction of the button; "nor you don't 
 get out of here until you hand over that 
 wild-cat. You've got it and your wife 
 knows it. That's why she fainted. My 
 88
 
 Second traveler 
 
 friend here is a detective, and we're go- 
 ing through your things till we find it, 
 for it's full of gold." 
 
 Van Harlem moved forward to wrest 
 away the revolver, but the detective pre- 
 sented his. " No, you can't do that 
 either," he said, quietly. " I'm going to 
 see that my friend gets his rights." 
 
 With the helpless feeling that he was 
 in the hands of two madmen, Van Har- 
 lem stood by while trunk after trunk was 
 overhauled, and the trousseau scattered 
 all over the room. The one containing 
 the flannels had not been unlocked since 
 it left Gentryville. It was the last to be 
 examined. 
 
 Louise opened her eyes with a little 
 shriek as a familiar odour penetrated to 
 her consciousness. They had unearthed 
 the family skeleton. " Louise! " cried 
 her husband as the old moth-eaten animal 
 was dragged from under her dainty 
 89
 
 {Travelers jftve 
 
 lingerie. u What under heaven does this 
 mean? " Another fainting spell was her 
 only answer, and the one yellow glass eye 
 leered up at him, as if defying the whole 
 Van Harlem pedigree. 
 
 A minute later a stream of saw-dust 
 oozed out from the beast's body, covering 
 the piles of be-ribboned lace and linen, 
 scattered all over the velvet carpet. Then 
 a limp, shapeless skin with its one yellow 
 eye still glaring, was kicked across the 
 room. The Arizona cousin had no 
 further use for it. He had come into his 
 inheritance. 
 
 He walked across the room and gave 
 the moth-eaten skin another kick. Then, 
 with an oath, he handed his friend a slip 
 of paper which he had found inside. 
 Written across it in faded purple ink were 
 three straggling lines. It was the for- 
 mula for making the famous " Wiggan's 
 Wild-cat Liniment." 
 90
 
 ZTblrb traveler 
 
 Gbe Clown 
 
 Uowarfcs Dis HccolaOe
 
 Gbirfc traveler 
 
 Gbe Clown 
 Ibis accolade 
 
 1 
 
 little man in motley, thrust- 
 ing his face through the curtains 
 of the big circus tent, looked out 
 on the gathering crowds and grinned. To 
 him that assemblage of gaping back- 
 woods pioneers was a greater show than 
 the one he was travelling with, although 
 the circus itself was a pioneer in its way. 
 It was the first that had ever travelled 
 through the almost unbroken forests of 
 southern Indiana, and the fame of its per- 
 formance at Vincennes had spread to the 
 Ohio long before the plodding oxen had 
 drawn the heavy lion cages half that dis- 
 tance. Such wild rumours of it had 
 found their way across the sparsely set- 
 tled hills and hollows, that families who 
 93
 
 travelers 
 
 had not been out of sight of their cabin 
 chimneys in five years or more were 
 drawn irresistibly circusward. 
 
 Standing on a barrel, behind a hole in 
 the canvas of the tent, the little clown 
 amused himself by watching the stream 
 of arrivals. As far as he could see, down 
 the glaringly sunny road, rising clouds of 
 dust betokened the approach of a seem- 
 ingly endless procession. The whole 
 county appeared to be flocking to the 
 commons just outside of Burnville, where 
 the annual training in military tactics 
 took place on " muster days." People 
 were coming by the wagon-load; nearly 
 every horse carried double, and one old 
 nag ambled up with a row of boys astride 
 her patient back from neck to tail. 
 
 It was a hot afternoon in August, and 
 
 a rank, almost overpowering odour of 
 
 dog-fennel rose from the dusty weeds 
 
 trampled down around the tent. The lit- 
 
 94
 
 traveler 
 
 tie clown was half stifled by the dust, the 
 heat, and the smell, and the perspiration 
 trickled down his grotesquely painted 
 face; but an occasional impatient flap- 
 ping of his handkerchief to clear away 
 the dust of a new arrival was all that be- 
 trayed his discomfort. He was absorbed 
 in the conversation of a little group who, 
 seated on a log directly under his peep- 
 hole in the canvas, were patiently waiting 
 for the performance to begin. 
 
 " My motley can't hold a candle to 
 theirs," he thought, with an amused 
 chuckle, as he surveyed them critically. 
 " Judging by the cut of that girl's old 
 silk dress, it was a part of her grand- 
 mother's wedding finery, and she prob- 
 ably spun the stuff for that sunbonnet her- 
 self. But the man Moses in the bul- 
 rushes! People back East wouldn't be- 
 lieve me if I told them how he is togged 
 out: tow trousers, broadcloth coat with 
 
 95
 
 {Travelers jftve 
 
 brass buttons, bare feet, and a coonskin 
 cap, on this the hottest of all the hot dog- 
 days ever created! " 
 
 He wiped his face again after this in- 
 ventory, and steadied himself on the bar- 
 rel. All unconscious of the audience they 
 were entertaining, the man and girl were 
 retailing the neighbourhood news to a 
 tired-looking little woman, who sat on 
 the log beside them, with a heavy baby in 
 her arms. Their broad Western speech 
 was as unfamiliar as it was amusing to 
 their unseen listener. The barrel shook 
 with his suppressed laughter, as they re- 
 peated the rumours they had heard re- 
 garding the circus. 
 
 " Thar was six oxen to draw the lion 
 cages," said the girl, fanning herself with 
 her sunbonnet. " Sam said them beasts 
 roared to beat the Dutch two of 'em. 
 And he says thar's a pock-marked Irish- 
 man as goes around between acts with a 
 
 96
 
 traveler 
 
 nine-banded armadillo. Ef ye tech it, 
 ye'll never have the toothache no more. 
 But thar's suthin better nor him. Sam 
 says he 'lows we'll jest all die a-laughin' 
 when we see the clown. The whole end 
 of the State has gone wild over that air 
 clown. Sam says they make more fuss 
 over him than they would over the Presi- 
 dent ef he was t' come to this neck o' 
 woods." 
 
 Here the auditor behind the scenes, 
 with his hand on his heart, made such a 
 low bow that he lost his balance, and 
 nearly upset the barrel. 
 
 " I reckon the elyfunt will be the big- 
 gest sight," drawled the man. " That's 
 what drawed me here. I ain't never seen 
 even the picter of an elyfunt, and they 
 say this is the real live article from t'other 
 side of the world. They say it kin eat a 
 cock of hay six foot high at one meal." 
 
 Here the baby stirred and fretted in the 
 97
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 woman's arms, and she wearily lifted it 
 to an easier position against her shoulder. 
 
 " I wish Jim would hurry up," she 
 sighed, wiping her hot face on a corner 
 of her homespun apron. 
 
 " He's over yander helpin' ole Mis' 
 Potter put up her ginger-bread stand," 
 answered the girl, pointing to a large oak- 
 tree on the edge of the common. " I seen 
 'em when she first come a-drivin' up on 
 that big ox-sled, with a barrel of cider 
 behind her. Law, I reckon she hain't 
 never missed bein' on hand to sell her 
 cakes and cider here on muster-days nary 
 a time in ten years." 
 
 " Tain't Mis' Potter," answered the 
 older woman. " She's ben laid up with 
 rheumatiz nearly all summer. It's Boone 
 Ratcliffe's mother and his little Will- 
 
 iam." 
 
 "You don't mean it!" exclaimed the 
 girl, with eager interest, standing up to
 
 traveler 
 
 get a better view. " Not ole ' Madam 
 Ratcliffe,' as pap calls her! I've ben 
 honin' for a sight of her ever sence last 
 spring, when I heerd she'd come out from 
 Maryland. I used to hear about her 
 afore Boone married M'randy. It was 
 M'randy as told me about her. She said 
 the ole lady was so rich and so stuck up 
 that she never even tied her own shoes. 
 They had slaves and land and money and 
 everything that heart could wish, and 
 they didn't think that M'randy was good 
 enough for their only son. The letters 
 they writ to Boone trying to head him off 
 made M'randy so mad that I didn't sup- 
 pose she'd ever git over it." 
 
 " She didn't," answered the little 
 woman, " and it was scant welcome they 
 got when they come. The letter they 
 sent a month aforehand never got here, 
 so of course nobody knowed they was 
 a-comin', and they wa'n't nobody down 
 99
 
 {Travelers ]five 
 
 to the Ohio River landin' to meet 'em. 
 My Jim he happened to be thar when 
 they got off'n the flatboat. They was 
 dreadful put out when they didn't find 
 Boone watchin' out for 'em, after comin' 
 all the way from Maryland. Goodness 
 knows what 'ud become of 'em ef Jim 
 hadn't happened acrost 'em. The boat 
 had gone on down the river and left 'em 
 settin' thar on shore amongst the bales 
 and boxes, as helpless as two kittens. Jim 
 he seen 'em a-settin' thar, and bein' a soft- 
 hearted chap and knowin' suthin' was 
 wrong, he up and spoke. 
 
 " They was so bewildered like, 'count 
 of not finding Boone and everything bein' 
 so dif'runt from what they lotted on, that 
 they was well-nigh daft. The ole man 
 had ben sick ever sence they left Pitts- 
 burg, and they was both plum tuckered 
 out with that long flatboat trip. Jim he 
 jest h'isted 'em into the wagon, big chest 
 100
 
 traveler 
 
 and all, and brought 'em on to Burn- 
 ville. 
 
 " He said 'twas plain to be seen they 
 hadn't "never been used to roughin' it in 
 any way. The ole gentleman was so sick 
 he had to lean his head on her shoulder 
 all the way, and she kep' a-strokin' his 
 white hair with her fine soft fingers, and 
 talkin' to him as if he'd ben a child. She 
 tried to chirk him up by tellin' him they'd 
 soon be to Boone's home, and talkin' 
 'bout when Boone was a little feller, tell 
 Jim couldn't hardly stand it, he's that 
 soft-hearted. 
 
 " He knew all the time what a disap- 
 p'intment was in store when they should 
 set eyes on M'randy and the cabin, and 
 find Boone growed to be so rough and 
 common. It was dark when they got 
 than Boone hadn't got home yit, and 
 thar wa'n't a sign of a light about the 
 place. So Jim lef the ole folks setting 
 101
 
 travelers jftve 
 
 in the wagon, and went in to break the 
 news to M'randy, knowin' what a high- 
 tempered piece she is at times. He said 
 she was settin' on the doorstep in her bare 
 feet and dirty ole linsey-woolsey dress, 
 jawin' little William. She'd ben 
 a-makin' soap all day, and was dead tired. 
 
 " When Jim tole her what 'twas, the 
 surprise seemed to strike her all of a 
 heap. She never made a move to git up, 
 and as soon as she could git her breath 
 she begun to splutter like blue blazes. 
 She said some folks had more burdens 
 laid onto their shoulders than by rights 
 was their share, and she couldn't see what 
 made them ole people come trackin' out 
 where they was neither wanted nor ex- 
 pected. She hadn't no airthly use for that 
 stuck-up ole Mis' Ratcliffe, if she was 
 Boone's mother. Oh, she jest talked up 
 scan'lous. 
 
 " Jim he was afraid they would hear 
 102
 
 traveler 
 
 her clear out in the road, so he kep' tryin' 
 to smooth her down, and then he went out 
 and tried to smooth things over to the ole 
 people. By the time they'd climbed out'n 
 the wagon and walked up the path, Will- 
 iam had lit a candle, and she was holdin' 
 it over her head in the doorway. The 
 way Jim tole it I could jest see how they 
 stood lookin' at each other, like as they 
 was takin' their measures. Jim said they 
 both seemed to see the difference, 
 M'randy so frowsy and common-lookin', 
 for all her prettiness, and the ole lady so 
 fine and aristocratic in her elegant dress 
 and bunnit. He said he'd never fergit 
 how white and tired-lookin' their old 
 faces showed up in the candle-light, and 
 sort of disapp'inted, too, over the wel- 
 come they'd ben expectin' and didn't git. 
 " M'randy didn't even offer to shake 
 hands. After she'd stared a minute she 
 said, sorter stiff-like, * Well, I s'pose you 
 103
 
 ZTravelere ]fi\>e 
 
 may as well come on in.' Jim says there 
 was tears in the ole lady's eyes when she 
 follered M'randy into the cabin, but she 
 wiped 'em away real quick, and spoke up 
 cheerful to ole Mr. Ratcliffe. 
 
 " The room was in such a muss there 
 wa'n't an empty chair to set on tell 
 M'randy jerked the things off two of m 
 and kicked the stuff out of sight under 
 the bed. Then she dusted 'em with her 
 apron, and said in a long-sufferin' sort of 
 tone that she reckoned 'twas about as 
 cheap settin' as standin'. 
 
 " Ole Mis' Ratcliffe tried to apologize 
 fer comin'. She said that their daughter 
 back in Maryland tried to keep 'em from 
 it, but that Boone couldn't come to them, 
 and it had been ten years since he had left 
 home, and they felt they must see him 
 once more before they died. Jim said 
 it was so pitiful the way she talked that 
 he got all worked up." 
 104
 
 traveler 
 
 " Why didn't they turn right around 
 and go home the next day? " cried the 
 girl, with flashing eyes. " That's 
 M'randy all over again when she once 
 gits her temper up, but people as rich as 
 them don't have to put up with nobody's 
 high and mighty ways." 
 
 " They are not rich any more," was the 
 answer. " A few years ago they lost all 
 they had, slaves, land, and everything, 
 and their married daughter in Baltimore 
 is takin' care of 'em. She was sure they 
 wouldn't find it agreeable out here, so 
 she provided the money for 'em to come 
 back on; but the ole man lost his wallet 
 comin' down on that flatboat, and they 
 don't feel as they could write back and 
 ask her for more. She's good to 'em as 
 can be, but she hasn't got any more than 
 she needs, and they hate to ask for it. 
 That's why the ole lady is here to-day, 
 takin' Mis' Potter's place. Boone per- 
 105
 
 travelers five 
 
 suaded her to come, and tole her if she 
 could make as much as Mis' Potter al- 
 ways does, it will be enough to pay their 
 way back to Maryland. He helped her 
 get ready. I don't know what he said to 
 M'randy to make her stand aside and not 
 interfere, but she made up the ginger- 
 bread as meek as Moses, and let Jim roll 
 the barrel of cider out of the smoke-house 
 without a word." 
 
 " Why don't Boone scratch around and 
 raise the money somehow?" put in the 
 man, who had chewed in interested si- 
 lence as he listened to the story. Now 
 he stopped to bite another mouthful from 
 a big twist of tobacco he took from his 
 broadcloth coat pocket 
 
 " 'Pears like their only son is the one 
 that ought to do fer 'em, and at least he 
 could make M'randy shut up and treat 
 his parents civil." 
 
 " Boone! " sniffed the woman. " Why, 
 106
 
 Gbfrfc traveler 
 
 he's under M'randy's thumb so tight that 
 he dassent sneeze if she don't take snuff. 
 Besides, he's ben on the flat of his back 
 off and on all summer, with dumb ague. 
 It's run into a slow fever now, and it takes 
 every picayune they can scrape together 
 to git his medicines. Then, too, M'randy 
 sprained her ankle a month or so back, 
 and things have been awful sence then. 
 The ole man he don't realize he is in the 
 way, he's so childish and broken down. 
 He jest sorter droops around, pinin' for 
 the comforts he's always ben used to, in a 
 way that almost breaks his ole wife's 
 heart. She feels it keen enough for both 
 of 'em, because she can't bear to see him 
 lackin' anything he needs, and she'd 
 rather die than be a burden to any- 
 body. 
 
 " I tell Jim I'm sorry for the whole set, 
 and I can see it isn't the pleasantest thing 
 for M'randy to give up a room to them 
 107
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 when thar's only two in the cabin, and 
 her ways ain't their ways, and their bein' 
 thar puts everything out of joint; but Jim 
 he sides with the ole people. He's mighty 
 sorry for 'em, and would have put his 
 hand in his own pocket and paid their 
 expenses long ago back to Maryland, ef 
 he'd a-ben able. He's ben a great com- 
 fort to the ole lady, he's jest that soft- 
 hearted. I hope she'll sell out as fast as 
 Mis' Potter always done." 
 
 Before the girl could echo her wish, 
 there was a discordant scraping inside the 
 tent, a sound of the band beginning to 
 tune their instruments. Instantly there 
 was a rush toward the tent, and all three 
 of the little group sprang to their feet. 
 The little woman looked wildly around 
 for Jim, with such an anxious expression 
 that the clown lingered a moment, re- 
 gardless of the stream of people pouring 
 into the entrance so near him that the cur- 
 108
 
 traveler 
 
 tain which screened him from public 
 view was nearly torn down. He waited 
 until he saw a burly, good-natured man 
 push his way through the crowds and 
 transfer the heavy baby from the woman's 
 tired arms to his broad shoulder. Then 
 he turned away with a queer little smile 
 on his painted face. 
 
 " He's jest that soft-hearted," he re- 
 peated, half under his breath. The 
 woman's story had stirred him strangely. 
 " It's a pity there's not more like him," 
 he continued. " I guess that too few Jims 
 and too many M'randys is what is the 
 matter with this dizzy old planet." 
 
 " What's that ye're grumbling about, 
 Humpty Dumpty? " asked the pock- 
 marked Irishman as he came up with his 
 nine-banded armadillo, all ready for the 
 performance. Then in his most profes- 
 sional tones: "If it is the toothache yez 
 have now, I'll be afther curing it en- 
 109
 
 {Travelers 
 
 toirely wid wan touch of this baste 
 from " 
 
 "Oh, get out!" exclaimed the clown, 
 putting his hand on the tall Irishman's 
 shoulder and springing lightly down 
 from the barrel. " I'm dead sick of all 
 this monkey business. If it wasn't a mat- 
 ter of bread-and-butter I wouldn't laugh 
 again in a year." 
 
 " Ye couldn't make anybody out there 
 in that big aujence belave it," laughed 
 the Irishman. " They think yer life is 
 wan perpetooal joke; that ye're a joke 
 yerself for that matther, a two-legged 
 wan, done up in cap and bells." 
 
 " You're right," said the clown bitterly, 
 looking askance at his striped legs. " But 
 1 a man's a man for a' that and a' that,' 
 and he gets tired sometimes of always 
 being taken for a jesting fool. Curse this 
 livery!" 
 
 The Irishman looked at him shrewdly, 
 no
 
 Gbtrfc traveler 
 
 " Ye should have gone in for a 'varsity 
 cap and gown, and Oi've been thinking 
 that maybe ye did start out that way." 
 
 A dull red glowed under the paint on 
 the clown's face, and he ran into the ring 
 in response to the signal without a reply. 
 A thundering round of applause greeted 
 him, which broke out again as he glanced 
 all around with a purposely silly leer. 
 Then he caught sight of Jim's honest 
 face, smiling expectantly on him from 
 one of the front benches. It struck him 
 like a pain that this man could not look 
 through his disguise of tawdry circus 
 trappings, and see that a man's heart was 
 beating under the clown's motley. There 
 came a sudden fierce longing to tear off 
 his outward character of mountebank, 
 for a moment, and show Jim the stifled 
 nature underneath, noble enough to rec- 
 ognize the tender chivalry hidden in the 
 rough exterior of the awkward back- 
 in
 
 {Travelers Jfive 
 
 woodsman, and to be claimed by him as 
 a kindred spirit. 
 
 As he laughed and danced and sang, 
 no one dreamed that his thoughts kept 
 reverting to scenes that the woman's story 
 had called up, or that a plan was slowly 
 shaping in his mind whereby he might 
 serve the homesick old soul waiting out 
 under the oak-tree for the performance 
 to be done. 
 
 No wonder that people accustomed to 
 seeing old Mrs. Potter in that place, 
 gowned in homespun, and knitting a 
 coarse yarn sock, had stopped to stare at 
 the newcomer. Such a type of high-born, 
 perfect ladyhood had never appeared in 
 their midst before. The dress that she 
 wore was a relic of the old Maryland 
 days; so was the lace cap that rested like 
 a bit of rare frost-work on her silvery 
 hair. Mrs. Potter knew everybody for 
 miles around, and was ready to laugh and 
 112
 
 ZTbirb traveler 
 
 joke with any one who stopped at her 
 stand. Mrs. Ratcliffe sat in dignified si- 
 lence, a faint colour deepening in her 
 cheeks like the blush of a winter rose. It 
 was so much worse than she had antici- 
 pated to have these rude strangers staring 
 at her, as if she were a part of the show. 
 She breathed a sigh of relief when the 
 music began, for it drew the crowds into 
 the tent as if by magic. She and little 
 William were left entirely alone. 
 
 With the strident boom of the bass viol 
 came the rank smell of the dog-fennel 
 that hurrying feet had left bruised and 
 wilting in the sun. All the rest of her 
 life, that warm, weedy odour always 
 brought back that humiliating experience 
 like a keen pain. The horses in the sur- 
 rounding grove stamped restlessly and 
 whinnied as they switched off the flies. 
 The long ride and the unaccustomed la- 
 bour of the morning had exhausted her.
 
 travelers five 
 
 She began to nod in her chair, giving 
 herself up to a sense of drowsiness, for as 
 long as the people were in the tent she 
 would have no occupation. 
 
 Her white head dropped lower and 
 lower, until presently she was oblivious to 
 all surroundings. Little William, sitting 
 on the old wood-sled with his back 
 against the cider barrel, was forgotten. 
 M'randy and the ill-kept cabin vanished 
 entirely from her memory. She was back 
 in the old Maryland days on her father's 
 plantation, hedged about with loving 
 forethought, as tenderly sheltered as some 
 delicate white flower. Every path had 
 been made smooth for her, every wish an- 
 ticipated all her life long, until that day 
 when they had set their faces westward 
 to find Boone. It was coming down the 
 Ohio on that long journey by flatboat that 
 she suddenly woke to the knowledge that 
 her husband's illness had left him a 
 114
 
 broken-down old man, as weak and irre- 
 sponsible as a child. 
 
 But mercifully her dreams were back 
 of that time. They were back with Boone 
 in his gay young boyhood, when he 
 danced minuets with the Governor's 
 daughter, and entertained his college 
 friends in lordly style on the old planta- 
 tion. Back of that time when the rest- 
 lessness of his 'teens sent him roving over 
 the Alleghanies to the frontier, regardless 
 of their long-cherished ambitions for him. 
 Back of the time when in a sudden mad 
 whim he had married a settler's pretty 
 daughter, whom he was ashamed to take 
 back to civilization when he thought of 
 the Baltimore belles to whom he had paid 
 boyish court. He had not stopped to con- 
 sider her rough speech and uncouth man- 
 ners. He had been a long time out in the ' 
 wilderness, he was only twenty, and her 
 full red lips tempted him. 
 "5
 
 travelers five 
 
 If the dreams could only have stopped 
 then, that little space she slept, while the 
 circus band thrummed and drummed in- 
 side the tent, and the shadows of the hot 
 August afternoon lengthened under the 
 still trees outside, would have been a 
 blessed respite. But they repeated the 
 unpleasant parts as well. They came on 
 down to the night of that unwelcome ar- 
 rival. They showed her the days when 
 Boone lay prostrated with a slow mala- 
 rial fever; the days when the fierce heat 
 made him drag his pallet desperately 
 from one corner to another across the 
 bare puncheons, trying to find a spot 
 where he could be comfortable. She 
 could see him lying as he had so often 
 lain, with his face turned toward the back 
 door, looking out with aching eyes on the 
 tall corn that filled the little clearing. In 
 his feverish wanderings he complained 
 that it was crowding up around the house 
 116
 
 traveler 
 
 trying to choke him. And there was little 
 William, little nine-year-old William, 
 sitting on the floor beside him, attempt- 
 ing to flap away the flies with a bunch of 
 walnut leaves. There were long intervals 
 sometimes when the heat overpowered 
 the child with drowsiness. Then the wal- 
 nut branch wavered uncertainly or 
 stopped in mid-air, while he leaned 
 against the table leg with closed eyes and 
 open mouth. Sometimes Miranda slept 
 on the door-step, bare-footed, as usual, 
 with a dirty bandage around her sprained 
 ankle. 
 
 In that short sleep she seemed to relive 
 the whole summer, that had dragged on 
 until her sense of dependence grew to be 
 intolerable. Miranda's shrill complain- 
 ing came penetrating again into the tiny 
 room where she sat by her husband's bed, 
 and the old head was bowed once more 
 on his pillow as she sobbed : " Oh, Will- 
 117
 
 ftravelera jftve 
 
 iam, dear heart, if the Lord would only 
 take us away together! I cannot bear to 
 be a burden to any one!" It was the 
 sound of her own sobbing that awakened 
 her, and she sat up with a sudden start, 
 realizing that she had been asleep. She 
 must have slept a long time. In that in- 
 terval of unconsciousness the tavern- 
 keeper from Burnville had erected a rival 
 stand a few rods away. 
 
 She saw with dismay his attractive dis- 
 play of " store " goods. Then her face 
 flushed as he began to set out whisky bot- 
 tles and glasses. Her first impulse was 
 to gather up her belongings and get home 
 as quickly as possible. In her perplexity 
 she looked around for little William. 
 Regarding a circus with such contempt 
 herself, it had never occurred to her that 
 he would care to see it. 
 
 He was a timid little fellow, who al- 
 ways hid when company came to the 
 118
 
 traveler 
 
 house, and he had never been away from 
 home more than a dozen times in his life. 
 The crowds frightened him, and he 
 stayed as closely as a shadow at his grand- 
 mother's elbow until the music began. 
 Then he forgot himself. It thrilled him 
 indescribably, and he watched with long- 
 ing eyes as the people crowded into the 
 tent. It seemed to him that he must cer- 
 tainly go wild if he could not follow, but 
 they had sold nothing. Even if they had, 
 he would not have dared to ask for 
 enough money to pay his admission, it 
 seemed such an enormous sum. As she 
 began to nod in her chair he began to 
 edge nearer the tent. He could catch now 
 and then a word of the clown's jokes, and 
 hear the roars of laughter that followed. 
 When the clown began to sing, William 
 had one ear pressed against the tent. 
 People clapped and cheered uproari- 
 ously at the last line of every stanza. He 
 119
 
 jftve 
 
 could not hear enough of the words to 
 understand why. In the general commo- 
 tion he was conscious of only one thing: 
 he was on the outside of that tent, and he 
 must get inside or die. 
 
 Regardless of consequences, he threw 
 himself on the grass and wriggled around 
 until he succeeded in squeezing himself 
 under the canvas. There was a moment 
 of dizzy bewilderment as he sat up and 
 looked around. Then some cold, squirm- 
 ing thing touched the back of his neck. 
 He gave a smothered cry of terror; it 
 was the elephant's trunk. He had come 
 up directly under the animal " from 
 t'other side of the world, that could eat 
 a six-foot cock of hay at one meal." 
 
 As he sat there, shivering and blubber- 
 ing, afraid to move because he did not 
 know which end of the clumsy monster 
 was head and which tail, he heard a loud 
 guffaw. The pock-marked Irishman 
 120
 
 traveler 
 
 who had charge of the nine-banded arma- 
 dillo had seen the little side-show, and it 
 doubled him up with laughter. He 
 roared and slapped his thigh and laughed 
 again until he was out of breath. Then 
 he gravely wiped his eyes and drew the 
 boy out from under the great animal. 
 William clung to him, sobbing. Then 
 the warm-hearted fellow, seeing that he 
 was really terrified, took him around and 
 showed him all the sights. In the delight 
 of that hour, home, grandmother, and the 
 world outside were completely forgotten. 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Ratcliffe sat wonder- 
 ing what had become of the boy. People 
 began to straggle out of the tent. There 
 was to be another performance after dark, 
 and she expected to find her customers 
 among those who stayed for that. The 
 tavern-keeper began calling attention to 
 his refreshments in a facetious way that 
 drew an amused crowd around him. Her 
 121
 
 ^Travelers jfive 
 
 hopes sank, as group after group passed 
 her without stopping. Two young fel- 
 lows from the village who had been 
 drinking pushed roughly against her 
 table. 
 
 "Hi, Granny!" hiccoughed one of 
 them. " Purty fine doughnuts, ole girl! " 
 He gathered up a plateful, and tried to 
 find his pocket with unsteady fingers. 
 She stood up with a sickening feeling of 
 helplessness, and looked around appeal- 
 ingly. Just then a heavy hand struck the 
 fellow in the mouth, and jerked him back 
 by his coat-collar. The pock-marked 
 Irishman, to whom the bewildered little 
 William still clung, had undertaken to 
 find the boy's grandmother for him. The 
 child's artless story had aroused his 
 warmest sympathies, and nothing could 
 have given him greater pleasure than this 
 opportunity to fight for her. 
 
 " Put thim back, you ugly thafe o' the 
 122
 
 traveler 
 
 worruld," he roared, " or Oi'll throw yez 
 entoirely over the sorcuss tint! " 
 
 The man bristled up for a fight, but 
 one look into the big Irishman's glower- 
 ing eyes sobered him enough to make him 
 drop the cakes and slink away. 
 
 The Irishman looked embarrassed as 
 Mrs. Ratcliffe began to thank him with 
 tears in her eyes, and hurried back to the 
 tent. The look of distress deepened on 
 her face. Everybody passed her table 
 for the one made popular by the loud- 
 voiced man who knew so well how to 
 advertise his wares. With a stifled groan 
 she looked around on the great pile of 
 provisions she had brought. What quan- 
 tities of good material utterly wasted! 
 What would Miranda say? 
 
 As she looked around her in dismay, 
 
 she saw the clown coming toward her, 
 
 still in his cap and bells. He had been 
 
 watching the scene from a distance. Her 
 
 123
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 distress was pitiful. To be compelled to 
 wait on this jesting fool like any common 
 bar-maid would fill her cup of degrada- 
 tion to overflowing. What could she do 
 if he accosted her familiarly as he did 
 every one else? 
 
 He leaned over and took off his gro- 
 tesque cap. " Madam," he said, in a low, 
 respectful tone, " I have no money, but if 
 you will kindly give me a cake and a mug 
 of cider, you shall soon have plenty of 
 customers." 
 
 Greatly surprised, she filled him a cup, 
 wondering what he would do. There was 
 a rush for that part of the grounds as the 
 hero of the hour appeared. He had been 
 funny enough in the ring, but now they 
 found his jokes irresistible. His exag- 
 gerated praises of all he ate and drank 
 were laughed at, but everybody followed 
 his example. More than one gawky boy 
 bought something for the sake of being 
 124
 
 traveler 
 
 made the subject of his flattering witti- 
 cisms. The tavern-keeper called and 
 sang in vain. As long as the clown told 
 funny stories and praised Mrs. Ratcliffe's 
 gingerbread, all other allurements were 
 powerless. He stayed with her until the 
 last cake had been bought and the cider 
 barrel was empty. 
 
 It was nearly sundown when she started 
 home. Jim came up to roll the empty 
 barrel on to the sled, to place her chair 
 against it, and help little William hitch 
 up the oxen ; but when she looked around 
 to thank the little clown, he had disap- 
 peared. No one could tell where he had 
 gone. 
 
 Never in her girlhood, rolling home in 
 the stately family coach from some gay 
 social conquest, had she felt so victorious. 
 She jingled the silk reticule at her side 
 with childish pleasure. She could hardly 
 wait for the slow oxen to plod the two 
 125
 
 Gravelere jfive 
 
 long miles toward home, and when they 
 stopped in front of the little cabin she was 
 trembling with eagerness. Hurrying up 
 the path through the gathering dusk, she 
 poured her treasure out on her husband's 
 bed. 
 
 " Look! " she cried, laying her face on 
 the pillow and slipping an arm around 
 his neck. " We are going back to Mary- 
 land, dear heart!" She nestled her 
 faded cheek against his with a happy lit- 
 tle sob. " Oh, William, we need not be 
 a burden any longer, for we're going 
 home to-morrow!" 
 
 Later, the full August moon swung up 
 over the edge of the forest. It flooded 
 the little clearing with its white light, 
 and turned the dusty road in front of the 
 cabin to a broad band of silver. A slow, 
 steady tramp of many feet marching 
 across a wooden bridge in the distance 
 126
 
 traveler 
 
 fell on the intense stillness of the summer 
 night. 
 
 " It's the circus," said Boone, raising 
 his head to listen. " I reckon they're 
 travellin' by night on account of the heat, 
 and they'll be pushin' on down to the 
 
 river." 
 
 His wife limped to the door and sat 
 down on the step to watch for its coming, 
 but his mother hurried out to the fence 
 and leaned across the bars, waiting. 
 
 A strange procession of unwieldy 
 monsters, never before seen in this peace- 
 ful woodland, loomed up in the distance, 
 huge and black, while a stranger proces- 
 sion of fantastic shadows stalked grimly 
 by its side. The sleepy keepers dozed in 
 their saddles, filing by in ghostly silence, 
 save for the clanking of trace-chains and 
 the creaking of the heavy lion cages. 
 
 At the extreme end of the long line 
 came the tired little clown on the trick 
 127
 
 mule. A sorrier-looking object could not 
 be imagined, as he sat with his knees 
 drawn up and his head bent dejectedly 
 down. He did not notice the figure lean- 
 ing eagerly over the bars, until she called 
 him. Then he looked up with a start. 
 The next instant he had dismounted and 
 was standing bare-headed in the road be- 
 fore her. The moonlight made a halo 
 of her white hair, and lighted up her 
 gentle, aristocratic face with something 
 of its old high-born beauty. 
 
 " I wanted to thank you," she said, 
 holding out her slender hand to the 
 painted little jester with the gracious dig- 
 nity that had always been her charm. 
 " You disappeared this afternoon before 
 I could tell you how much your courtesy 
 has done for me and mine." 
 
 He bowed low over the little hand. 
 
 " I bid you farewell, sir," she added 
 gently. "The truest gentleman I have 
 128
 
 traveler 
 
 met in many a dayl " It was the recog- 
 nition that he had craved. She had seen 
 the man through the motley. He looked 
 up, his face glowing as if that womanly 
 recognition had knighted him; and with 
 the remembrance of that touch resting on 
 him like a royal accolade, he rode on 
 after the procession, into the depths of 
 the moonlighted forest. 
 
 129
 
 fourth traveler 
 
 Snatbcrs 
 of an f nberftefc Circus
 
 tlbe ffourtb traveler 
 
 Snatbers 
 of an Unberitefc Circus 
 
 ONLY one question was asked in 
 the streets of Gentryville that 
 afternoon, and it was asked from 
 the Court-house Square to the last corner 
 grocery in the straggling outskirts : 
 
 4< If you were an undertaker like Wex- 
 ley Snathers, and had a circus left to you 
 by will, what would you do with it? " 
 When the question was worn threadbare 
 in business circles, it was taken home to 
 bandy around the village supper-tables, 
 with the final insistent emphasis, " Well, 
 what would you do, anyhow, if you were 
 in Wex Snathers's place? " 
 
 It would have been an intense relief to 
 the man in question if the village could 
 have settled the problem for him. Noth-
 
 raveler0 five 
 
 ing had ever weighed so heavily upon 
 him, not even the responsibilities of his 
 first personally conducted funeral occa- 
 sion. 
 
 All the afternoon he sat in the rear of 
 his little coffin shop, floundering again 
 and again through the confusing phrases 
 of a legal document spread out before 
 him. It notified him of the death of one 
 Mortimer Napoleon Bennet, a travelling 
 showman, who had left him heir to pos- 
 sessions valued at several thousands of 
 dollars. 
 
 So bewildering was the unexpected 
 news and the legal terms in which it was 
 conveyed, that it was some time before 
 Wexley's slow brain grasped the fact that 
 the deceased was not a stranger, but only 
 red-headed " Pole " Bennet, an old play- 
 fellow, who had run away from home 
 over thirty years before. Next, his 
 stumpy forefinger guided his spectacles 
 134
 
 fourtb traveler 
 
 twice through the entire document before 
 he realized that he was now the owner 
 of all the ungodly goods and chattels 
 enumerated therein. 
 
 "Lordy!" he groaned, as he checked 
 off the various items. " Me, a deacon in 
 the church, to be ownin' four gilded cir- 
 cus chariots and a steam calliope, to say 
 nothin' of a trick elephant and a pair of 
 dancin' cinnamon bears. It's downright 
 scandalous! Pole always was a-gittin' 
 me into hot water. Meant all right! 
 Had a heart as big as a meetin' house, but 
 he was at the bottom of every lickin' I 
 ever got in my life. Mebbe not havin' 
 any next of kin, he felt he sorter owed it 
 to me to make me his heir." 
 
 Again his finger travelled slowly down 
 the page to the clause in which three 
 freaks connected with the side shows were 
 especially commended to his care an 
 armless dwarf and the Wild Twins of
 
 Gravelera five 
 
 Borneo. The lawyer's letter explained 
 that they had long been pensioners upon 
 the bounty of the deceased, and had the 
 promise of the dying man that " Wex " 
 would be good to them. 
 
 "Bug the luck!" groaned the under- 
 taker, as the full meaning of this clause 
 also dawned upon him. " Guardeen to 
 an armless dwarf and two wild twins of 
 Borneo! Pole oughtn't to 'a' done me 
 that way. I'll be the laughing stock of 
 the town, and that'll ruin my chances for 
 ever with Sade." 
 
 Glowering over his spectacles, he 
 leaned through the open window and spat 
 testily out into the cluttered back yard. 
 It was some time before he drew in his 
 shoulders. When a diffident old bachelor 
 has obstinately courted a girl for a dec- 
 ade, he naturally falls into the habit of 
 determining every act of his life by the 
 effect it will have upon her. 
 136
 
 Jfourtb traveler 
 
 In this case he could not imagine what 
 effect his queer legacy would have upon 
 Sade Cooper, the comely, capable spin- 
 ster of his dreams. She had made up her 
 mind to marry Wexley Snathers some 
 day, for in the stout, sandy-whiskered lit- 
 tle undertaker she recognized an honest 
 soul of rare worth. On the occasion of 
 his latest proposal, several weeks before, 
 she had given him the reason for her re- 
 peated refusals : - 
 
 " I never could get along with your 
 ma, Wexley. If you had enough to keep 
 me in one house and old Mis' Snathers in 
 another, I might think of marrying you. 
 But she'd try to get me under her thumb, 
 same as she's always held you, and your 
 pa before you, and you know I never 
 could stand that, so you might as well 
 save your breath on that question." 
 
 Wexley realized the hopelessness of his 
 suit, if that was what stood in the way, 
 
 137
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 and since Sade's outspoken confession he 
 had almost prayed for an epidemic to 
 smite the healthy little village, that the 
 undertaking business might prove more 
 lucrative. 
 
 Now, as he sat with his head out of the 
 window, breathing in the sweetness of an 
 old plum tree in bloom by the pump, he 
 began to wonder if this unexpected leg- 
 acy would not solve all his difficulties. 
 If the circus could be made the stepping- 
 stone for his desires without making him 
 ridiculous, or offending Sade's Puritan 
 conscience, then Pole would indeed have 
 proved himself, for once, the greatest of 
 benefactors. 
 
 The spring breeze bore to his senses the 
 odour of the plum-blooms and the shouts 
 of boys playing ball on the commons. 
 "Poor old Pole!" he sighed, following 
 the odour and the sound backward 
 through nearly forty other springtimes, 
 138
 
 fourtb traveler 
 
 to the first and only circus he had ever 
 attended. He and Pole had run away to 
 see it, in days when shows were forbidden 
 ground. How vividly he remembered 
 the whole glittering pageant, from the 
 gaily caparisoned horses with their nod- 
 ding red plumes, down through the 
 gilded coaches, with mirror panels, to the 
 last painted fool, riding backward on his 
 donkey. 
 
 The sudden opening of the shop door 
 rang a bell above his head. He started 
 guiltily, jerking in his head in such haste 
 that he struck it with a bang against the 
 window sash. His first impulse was to 
 sweep the papers on his desk out of sight, 
 but as he recognized the voice of the 
 genial drummer who kept him supplied 
 with coffin plates and trimmings, he was 
 overpowered by a longing to unburden 
 his soul. So strong was the desire that he 
 yielded to it incontinently, and leaning 
 139
 
 travelers jftve 
 
 over the counter and fixing his anxious 
 little eyes on the drummer he almost 
 whispered: 
 
 " Between you and me and the gate- 
 post, Bailey, what would you do if you 
 had a circus left you by will?" 
 
 The drummer's laugh at what he sup- 
 posed was intended for a joke was 
 checked in the middle by the tragic ear- 
 nestness of the questioner, who with a 
 wiggle of his thumb beckoned him mys- 
 teriously to inspect the legal papers. 
 
 " There! " said he, " set down and give 
 me your advice." 
 
 Seeing that the time for selling coffin- 
 plates was not yet come, Bailey gave his 
 attention to discovering on which side 
 Snathers preferred the advice to fall, and 
 being as voluble in giving advice as in 
 the selling of goods, it was not long before 
 he had nearly convinced his customer 
 that, as a side-line to the undertaking 
 140
 
 ffourtb traveler 
 
 business, there was nothing on earth so 
 desirable as a circus. " Sell it? " he ex- 
 claimed in conclusion, " Not by a jugful! 
 It will make your fortune, Snathers, 
 
 sure." 
 
 " But it will make talk," protested 
 Wex, going back to his first argument 
 with the provoking tenacity of slow 
 minds. " I'm afraid it will hurt the un- 
 dertaking, for there'll be them as will say 
 they wouldn't have a showman per- 
 formin' the last solemn rites for them, an' 
 there'll be others to say a man has no 
 right to carry on a business that's a. 
 stumblin' block and an offence." He was 
 thinking of Sade. 
 
 " Oh, that doesn't cut any ice," an- 
 swered the drummer, cheerfully, as he 
 closed the door behind him. " Go in and 
 win!" 
 
 The news travelled fast and before 
 dark Wex had been advised to sell his 
 141
 
 travelers five 
 
 circus, to run it on shares, to have the 
 animals killed and stuffed as a nucleus 
 for a village museum. He was assured 
 of success, warned of ignominious fail- 
 ure, congratulated on his luck and con- 
 doled with for the burden laid upon him. 
 He was admonished that it was his Chris- 
 tian duty to refuse the legacy, and told 
 by his next visitor that he would be a 
 darn fool if he did. 
 
 He had aged visibly when he reached 
 home, where he knew the news had pre- 
 ceded him by the voice of his mother in 
 the kitchen, high and shrill above the 
 sputter of the frying fat. She stood, 
 hawk-eyed and hawk-nosed, fork in hand, 
 talking to some one in the back door. 
 
 " Well," she was saying, decidedly, 
 " there was never a Snathers yit, far as I 
 know, that even went to a circus, and no 
 son of mine shall own one if I have my 
 say." 
 
 142
 
 jTourtb traveler 
 
 The answering voice was as decided as 
 her own, provokingly cool and deliber- 
 ate, but the sweetest of all sounds to the 
 anxious eavesdropper. He flushed to the 
 roots of his sandy hair and clutched nerv- 
 ously at his stubby beard. It was Sade's 
 voice. She had heard the news and had 
 run in the back way, in neighbourly vil- 
 lage fashion, to ask if it were really true. 
 He waited breathlessly for her an- 
 swer: - 
 
 " And / think Wex'd feel he was flying 
 straight into the face of Providence not 
 to make all he could out of it, even if he 
 had to run it himself for awhile." Then, 
 startled by the sneeze that betrayed Wex- 
 ley's presence, she said good-bye so hur- 
 riedly that he had only a glimpse of 
 a white sunbonnet, fluttering around the 
 corner. 
 
 Armed with this sanction, Wexley 
 called that evening at the Cooper cottage, 
 143
 
 travelers 
 
 where Sade kept house for a decrepit 
 great-aunt. But she had heard wild ru- 
 mours in the meantime the possibility 
 of his adopting the armless dwarf and the 
 wild twins of Borneo, in case the show 
 business did not pay. But on being anx- 
 iously assured that there was nothing 
 whatever to fear in that direction if she 
 would only marry him, she confessed that 
 she did not approve of his running a cir- 
 cus any more than his mother did. It was 
 only her chronic disability to agree with 
 old Mis' Snathers that made her say it. 
 
 So it was with a sorely troubled heart 
 and brain that Wexley took up the bur- 
 den of life again next day. He had a 
 funeral to conduct at ten o'clock, and he 
 began it in such an absent-minded way 
 that he might have made scandalous mis- 
 takes, had not the officiating clergyman's 
 text Jeremiah, xii: 9, delivered in a 
 high, nasal drawl, brought him to a sud- 
 144
 
 jfourtb traveler 
 
 den decision: " Mine heritage is unto me 
 as a speckled bird. The birds round 
 about are against her." " Yes, even 
 Sadel " he thought. And such is the per- 
 versity of human nature that it stirred 
 him to espouse the cause of his speckled 
 bird. As he led the slow procession out 
 to the cemetery, something followed him 
 other than the hearse and the long line 
 of carriages; in that shadowy proces- 
 sion of fancy, black hearse-plumes gave 
 place to the nod, nodding of red-plumed 
 chariot horses. If there was anything 
 Wexley Snathers particularly prided 
 himself upon, it was the effective arrange- 
 ment of funeral processions, and at the 
 tempting thought of the scope for his 
 genius circus parades would afford, the 
 battle with his conscience was won. All 
 the past called out loudly not to venture 
 on any road where Pole Bennet's feet had 
 left a track, but three days later hoping 
 145
 
 travelers five 
 
 that old Mr. Hill would hold on to life 
 until his return the troubled under- 
 taker locked the door of his little coffin 
 shop and fared forth to claim his herit- 
 age. 
 
 It is not often that a dying man leaves 
 his earthly affairs so thoroughly provided 
 for as did Napoleon Bennet, yet that 
 astute showman reckoned without an im- 
 portant element of his problem when he 
 thought to put the armless dwarf in his 
 old playfellow's care. He had not 
 counted on the twist in her little warped 
 brain, a superstitious dread that 
 amounted almost to mania. She was 
 afraid of undertakers or anything con- 
 nected with their gruesome business. A 
 cold terror seized her when she learned 
 she was about to fall into the hands of a 
 man on intimate terms with Death and 
 his pale horse and, with the cunning of 
 146
 
 jfourtb traveler 
 
 her kind, she began laying plans that 
 would work his undoing. 
 
 Wexley first saw her sitting on a table, 
 practising her one accomplishment, wri- 
 ting her autograph with her toes. " Be 
 thankful for your arms. Jane Hutchins," 
 she penned in round, childish script. 
 
 " Blest if it ain't better than I could 
 do myself with both hands," declared 
 Wexley, admiringly. Then, remember- 
 ing what Pole had promised about his 
 being good to the tiny creature, he patted 
 her kindly on the head. She drew back 
 with an inarticulate cry of alarm, turn- 
 ing upon him the face of a woman of 
 thirty. A wild look of aversion gleamed 
 in her little beady eyes. 
 
 It was the man's turn to draw back 
 perplexed. He was beginning to feel 
 like a fish out of water powerless to 
 cope with the emergencies of the show 
 business. His employees had not been
 
 (Travelers jfive 
 
 long in taking his measure. The fat 
 lady, the living skeleton and the leading 
 clown, after looking him over, decamped 
 to accept the offer of a rival showman. 
 " He's too soft a snap for me to leave! " 
 said one of the acrobats. " Why, that old 
 skull-and-cross-bones doesn't know any 
 more about this business than a white 
 kitten. Didn't even know he'd have to 
 get a license to show, or the whole lay-out 
 would be attached." 
 
 Wexley, overhearing the conversation, 
 grew weak in the knees. He was rap- 
 idly becoming disillusioned. He had 
 been disappointed in the street parade. 
 All the remembered glamour was lack- 
 ing. It looked tawdry and silly to his 
 mature eyes, and he was ashamed to be 
 seen with it. He had just learned that the 
 wild twins had never seen Borneo, but 
 were only tattooed half-witted orphans 
 whom Pole had picked up, and were not 
 148
 
 ffburtb traveler 
 
 even brothers. He was puzzled to know 
 how he had incurred the uncanny little 
 dwarf's displeasure, but he would have 
 been still more puzzled could he have 
 heard her whispering hoarsely to the 
 twins of Borneo, as she held their fright- 
 ened eyes fixed on hers in a fascinated 
 gaze: 
 
 " Remember, you promised to do it to- 
 night. You know how to unlock the 
 cages. He's a graveyard man, and if 
 you don't let the lion eat him up, he'll 
 put you in a box and screw the cover 
 down." Here her voice sank to a series 
 of husky, terrifying groans. " He'll 
 bury you! In a deep black 
 hole ! And you'll never get out!" 
 
 Before dark Wexley had called on 
 Pole's lawyer. " Advertise it for sale at 
 half-price," he said. " I'm plumb dis- 
 gusted, and want to get home. If to- 
 night's performance hadn't been adver- 
 149
 
 Graveiers jflve 
 
 tised so big, I wouldn't risk tryin' to give 
 it. I'm dead sure it'll be a failure." 
 
 Of that evening's performance, all that 
 he could subsequently relate was this: 
 " The calliope was playin', and every- 
 body was clappin' and cheerin', and I was 
 wavin' my old hat and cheerin' too, so 
 pleased that the performance was turning 
 out a success, when that old elephant, 
 Lulu, stopped short in the ring and began 
 to trumpet. That sorter paralyzed me. 
 I felt in my bones that something was 
 wrong. Then the smoke began to pour 
 in, and somebody yelled the lion was 
 loose. Then everything seemed to go 
 wild. There was shoutin' and yellin' and 
 an awful stampede. In the mix-up I got 
 a twisted ankle, and somebody stepped 
 on my head. That's the last thing I knew 
 till morning." 
 
 In the morning he was lying on a hos-
 
 yourtb traveler 
 
 pital cot, his head bandaged and his ankle 
 in a plaster cast. Sam McCarthy, the 
 lion tamer, his arm in a sling, had come 
 to inquire about him. 
 
 " Well, we found out how it hap- 
 pened," he told Wexley. " It was Jane's 
 doings the little minx actually boasted 
 of it. She struck matches with her toes 
 and set fire to the straw in a dozen places. 
 How those gibbering Borneo idiots ever 
 let the lion out is more than / know, but 
 they're strong as wildcats at times. She 
 says she made 'em do it; never could 
 have happened in Bennet's time." 
 
 " I know," replied Wex, wearily. " I 
 
 -s'pose it was my fault that everything was 
 
 left at loose ends, but it was all so con- 
 
 fusin'. They didn't save much out of the 
 
 wreck, did they? " 
 
 " No; we were too far out for the vol- 
 unteer engine company to get there in 
 time. Old Lulu's left, and the calliope.
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 They got that out, and the dancing bears 
 and the horses. But such things as 
 coaches, clothes, and fol-de-rols are done 
 for, and several people who were hurt 
 are going to bring suit." 
 
 The undertaker closed his eyes and 
 groaned. " And no insurance. All Gen- 
 tryville would have to die off before I 
 could raise money enough to pull me out 
 now," he murmured. " I might have 
 known that, living or dead, Pole would 
 get me into trouble! McCarthy!" he 
 exclaimed, starting up, " I wish you'd 
 send that lawyer down here to me. I 
 want to get shut of the whole blamed 
 business before sundown. It ought to be 
 settled before I get any worse." 
 
 There was a crowd around the bulletin- 
 board of the Gentryville Chronicle, bear- 
 ing a paragraph from one of the big city 
 dailies. People stopped to read, and 
 152
 
 jfourtb traveler 
 
 pushed on with shocked faces to tell their 
 neighbours that Wexley Snathers, trying 
 to stop the stampede at the burning of his 
 circus, had been fatally trampled and had 
 since died in the hospital from internal 
 injuries. 
 
 Old Mrs. Snathers sat in her darkened 
 house, tense and wild-eyed, not knowing 
 at what hour Wexley's mangled body 
 might be laid before her. Sade refused 
 to believe the report, until confronted 
 with the staring headlines in which 
 Wexley's name appeared in huge black 
 letters. Then her remorse and self-re- 
 proach were almost more than she could 
 endure. 
 
 It was towards night of the third day 
 after the appearance of the bulletin that 
 the train pulling into Gentryville bore 
 among its passengers a tired-looking man 
 on crutches. His head was bandaged,
 
 travelers tfive 
 
 and his gray linen duster bore marks of 
 a long journey. Climbing down the steps 
 farthest from the station, he swung him- 
 self along on his crutches toward the little 
 coffin shop, and the smell of varnish that 
 met him on entering was like the greeting 
 of an old friend. Ignorant of the im- 
 pression current about his death, he had 
 gone first to the shop to get his bearings 
 before meeting the eye and tongue of the 
 village public. 
 
 Sitting beside the open back window, 
 his first feeling was one of relief. The 
 circus was a thing of the past. The law- 
 yer had assured him that by some hook 
 or crook, best known to his profession, he 
 could undertake to settle all suits to the 
 satisfaction of his client. He had also 
 undertaken to consign the freaks to some 
 public institution for the feeble-minded, 
 and for his services he was willing to ac- 
 cept the very things that had grown to be
 
 Gbe jfourtb traveler 
 
 the bane of Wexley's existence, the 
 remnants of the circus. 
 
 Here he was at last, a free man, al- 
 though with a sore head and a sprained 
 ankle. The next thought was not so 
 pleasant. He was farther from winning 
 Sade than he had ever been before, by 
 the whole amount of his doctors' bills and 
 travelling expenses. Had it not been for 
 his feeling that it was almost sacrilege to 
 curse a dead man, he would then and 
 there have anathematized Pole with a 
 glad heart but with a vicious gnashing of 
 teeth. 
 
 As he sat there in the deepening spring 
 twilight, a tall comely figure came 
 through the little gate at the side of his 
 shop and started across his back yard. It 
 was the short cut towards his home. He 
 started forward eagerly as he recognized 
 the familiar outlines in the dusk, and the 
 slow sweep of skirts. He did not stop to
 
 travelers jftve 
 
 wonder why she should be going to his 
 mother's just then. His only feeling was 
 joy that his eyes rested upon her. It 
 seemed years since he had seen her last. 
 He knocked on the window-pane to at- 
 tract her attention. 
 
 " Sade! Oh, Sade! " he cried, leaning 
 out of the window, his linen duster gleam- 
 ing ghostly gray in the twilight. 
 
 The startling apparition, looming thus 
 suddenly out of the coffin shop, froze the 
 woman's very soul. With a terrified cry 
 she sank weakly in a heap on the ground, 
 and sat there shivering and gibbering, 
 tears of fright streaming down her cold 
 face. 
 
 "Lord 'a' mercy, Sade! What's the 
 matter? " he cried, stumbling over his 
 crutches in his haste to unbolt the back 
 door and get to her. As he attempted to 
 raise her she fell limply against him, 
 fainting. 
 
 156
 
 Gbe ffourtb traveler 
 
 " ' Be thankful for your arms. Jane 
 Hutchins.' " chuckled Wexley under his 
 breath, as he realized that for the first 
 time in his long wooing his arms were 
 actually around her, and he half carried, 
 half dragged her to the door-step. 
 
 Sade was not given to hysterics, but her 
 fright at seeing what she supposed was 
 Wexley's spirit, and the relief at finding 
 him so very much in the flesh kept her 
 sobbing and laughing alternately for 
 some time. And the time was all too 
 short for the man who listened to her 
 tearful confession of remorse. 
 
 As he helped her to her feet he said 
 solemnly: " I'll forgive Pole now for all 
 the trouble he ever got me into. Since 
 this circus affair has made you change 
 your mind, it's the best job he ever did 
 in his life." 
 
 Several days later he made the same 
 remark to his mother. " Humph ! " she 
 157
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 sniffed. " You hain't lived with her yit." 
 Wexley whistled softly as he rubbed up 
 his best sample coffin-plate, with which 
 he intended to adorn the parlour wall, as 
 is the fashion of Gentryville. He would 
 hang it up on his wedding day, in grate- 
 ful memory of his benefactor, with the 
 name " Mortimer Napoleon Bennet " en- 
 graved upon it. At present it bore on its 
 shining surface in large ornate letters 
 only the inscription, " Rest in Peace." 
 
 158
 
 traveler 
 
 Bap, Sloan 
 t>ts /iDount of flMsgab
 
 Gbe ytftb traveler 
 
 Bap. Sloan 
 ZTo f)fs /Count of 
 
 I 
 
 THROUGH the twilight that 
 filled the valley a winding 
 white pike was all that could be 
 seen distinctly. The brown-furrowed 
 corn-fields were blotted out in the dusk. 
 Farm-houses had merged their outlines 
 into the dark mass of the surrounding 
 trees. Only the apple-orchards kept their 
 identity, and that because it was blossom- 
 time, and the dewy night air was heavy 
 with their sweetness. 
 
 Somewhat back from the pike, yet near 
 enough for the rattle of passing wheels to 
 give a sense of companionship, a man sat 
 rocking back and forth in a narrow vine- 
 inclosed porch. He was in his shirt- 
 sleeves, and collarless, and the slow creak 
 161
 
 travelers five 
 
 of the old wooden chair seemed to voice 
 his physical comfort like a purr; but it 
 by no means expressed the state of his 
 mind. That was attuned to something 
 wholly melancholic, like the croaking of 
 frogs in the pond below his house, or the 
 far-away baying of a dismal-minded 
 hound, which, tied behind some cabin 
 across the clearing, was making the 
 peaceful Sabbath evening vibrant with 
 its misery. 
 
 " I can't help havin' a sort of fellow- 
 feelin' for that dawg," muttered the man, 
 raising his head to listen, and passing his 
 hand slowly over the bald spot on his 
 crown. " Must be considerable of a re- 
 lief to let out and howl like that when 
 you feel bad. There's been times when 
 I wouldn't 'a' minded tryin' it myself for 
 a spell." 
 
 Then he settled back into his chair with 
 a long-drawn sigh. He was awaiting the 
 162
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 second ringing of the church bell. The 
 first one had tolled its summons through 
 the valley nearly an hour before, and 
 vehicles were beginning to rattle along 
 the pike toward evening service. The 
 little frame meeting-house, known as the 
 Upper Beargrass Church, stood in a 
 grove of cedars just beyond Baptist 
 Sloan's potato-field. It was near enough 
 for any one sitting on his porch to hear 
 the preacher's voice all through the ser- 
 mon, and sometimes when he waxed elo- 
 quent at the close, in a series of shouted 
 exhortations, even the words were dis- 
 tinctly audible. 
 
 But never in all the years of his re- 
 membrance had Baptist Sloan listened to 
 the services of the sanctuary from his 
 door-step. On the few occasions that ill- 
 ness had kept him at home, pain and mul- 
 titudinous bedclothes had shut out all 
 sound of song or sermon; and at other 
 163
 
 {Travelers jfive 
 
 times he was the most punctual attendant 
 of all the congregation, not excepting 
 even the sexton. People wondered why 
 this was so, for he was pointed out as the 
 black sheep of the flock, a man little bet- 
 ter than an infidel, and belonging to that 
 stiff-necked and proud generation which 
 merits the anathemas of all right-minded 
 people. 
 
 That he was a riddle which Upper 
 Beargrass Church had been trying vainly 
 to read for thirty years was a fact well 
 known to the reprobate himself; for he 
 had been openly preached at from the 
 pulpit, laboured with in private, and 
 many a time made the subject of special 
 prayer. So, as he sat on the porch in the 
 dark, with only the croaking of the frogs 
 and the distant baying of the hound to 
 break the stillness, it was with no surprise 
 whatever that he heard his own name 
 spoken by some one driving up the pike. 
 164
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 He could not see the horse that plodded 
 along at a tortoise-like gait, or the old 
 carryall that sagged and creaked with the 
 weight of two big men on the front seat 
 and a woman and three children on the 
 back; but he recognized the voice as that 
 of Mrs. Jane Bowles. Thin and strident, 
 it stabbed the stillness like the rasping 
 shrill of a katydid. She was leaning for- 
 ward to speak to the visiting minister on 
 the front seat. 
 
 " We're coming to Bap Sloan's house 
 now, Brother Hubbs," she called in high 
 staccato. " I want you should rub it into 
 him good to-night in your sermon. He's 
 a regular wolf in sheep's clothing, if ever 
 there was one. Twice on a Sunday, for 
 fifty-two weeks in the year, he's sitting in 
 that third pew from the front, as pious 
 as any pillar in the congregation. You 
 can count up for yourself how many ser- 
 mons he must have heard, for he's fifty, 
 165
 
 {Travelers 3fi\>e 
 
 if he's a day. But in spite of all that any- 
 body can say or do, he won't be immersed 
 and join. He's held out against every- 
 thing and everybody till he's gospel- 
 hardened. I ain't saying he doesn't put 
 into the collection-box regular, or that he 
 ain't a moral man outwardly; but that 
 outward show of goodness only makes his 
 example worse for the young folks. I 
 never can look at him without saying to 
 myself, ' But inwardly ye are ravening 
 wolves.' ' 
 
 The old horse had crawled along al- 
 most to the gate by this time, but Sister 
 Bowles, not being able to see any one on 
 the porch, went on, serenely unaware of 
 being overheard. 
 
 " And there's Luella Clark that he's 
 courted off and on for twenty years. It 
 makes me real mad when I think of the 
 good offers she's had and let slip account 
 of him. She couldn't marry him, being 
 166
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 close communion, and not tolerating the 
 idea of being ' unequally yoked together 
 with unbelievers.' 'Twouldn't 'a' been 
 right; and yet, somehow, she didn't seem 
 to be quite able to give him up, when that 
 was the only thing lacking. He'd make 
 a good husband, for there never was a 
 better brother lived than he was to his 
 sister Sarah. She kept house for him till 
 the day of her death. They say that last 
 winter, when she lay there a-dying, she 
 told him she couldn't go easy till she saw 
 him immersed ; but all he'd say was, ' Oh, 
 don't ask me! I can't now, Sarah. Some 
 day I will, but not now. 1 ' 
 
 Here the preacher's voice broke in like 
 the deep roll of a bass drum. " Has this 
 
 - ah young woman any idea of what 
 
 - ah produces such a state of ah - 
 obstinacy in the brother's mind?" 
 
 " Not an i-dee! " was the reply, jolted 
 out shrilly as the carryall struck a stone. 
 167
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 " Not one good reason could he give 
 Luella for putting off attending to his 
 soul's salvation and trifling away his day 
 of grace. Not one good reason, even to 
 get her to marry him. But I think Luella 
 is getting tired of dangling along. The 
 other day I heard her joking about that 
 little bald spot that's beginning to show 
 on his head, and I noticed that Mr. Sam 
 Carter's buggy has been hitched at their 
 gate several times when I've happened to 
 be passing. He's a widower, and you 
 know, Brother Hubbs, that when widow- 
 ers " 
 
 The loud clanging of the church bell 
 struck Sister Bowles's sentence in the 
 middle, and the end of it was lost to the 
 eager ears on the porch. Although this 
 sound of the church bell was what Bap- 
 tist Sloan had been waiting to hear for 
 the last hour, he did not rise until the 
 final echo of its ringing had died away 
 168
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 in the farthermost part of the valley. 
 Then he went slowly into the house and 
 lighted a lamp. 
 
 The open door into the kitchen re- 
 vealed the table where he had eaten his 
 dinner and supper without removing the 
 soiled dishes. In every corner was the 
 cheerless look that betrays the lack of a 
 woman's presence. He had done his own 
 housekeeping since his sister's death in 
 the early winter. As he passed the table 
 he gathered up a plateful of scraps which 
 he had intended to give to the cat, but 
 had forgotten, and carried it out to the 
 back door-step. He tried to be mindful 
 of the old creature's comfort for his sis- 
 ter's sake; but he was an absent-minded 
 man, irresolute in nearly every action, 
 and undecided in all things except the 
 one for which the neighbourhood con- 
 demned him. 
 
 Just before he entered the house he had 
 169
 
 travelers five 
 
 almost made up his mind that he would 
 not go to church that night. Sister 
 Bowles's conversation had startled him 
 with a new idea, and jogged him out of 
 his well-worn rut. He would sit out on 
 the porch till church was over, and 
 then follow Luella home, and take up 
 the thread of his protracted courtship 
 where she had snapped it. five years 
 before. 
 
 But the habit of decades asserted itself. 
 He bolted the back door, carried the 
 lamp into the little bedroom adjoining 
 the kitchen, and proceeded to brush his 
 hair according to the usual Sunday-night 
 programme of preparation. Sarah had 
 always tied his cravat for him, and his 
 stiff fingers fumbled awkwardly at the 
 knot. That was one ceremony to which 
 he could not grow accustomed, and he 
 had serious thoughts of turning out a 
 beard that would hide all sins both of 
 170
 
 ffiftb traveler 
 
 omission and commission in the way of 
 neckties. 
 
 At last he was ready, but even with his 
 hand on the knob and his hat on his head, 
 he wavered again and turned back. Cau- 
 tiously tiptoeing across the floor to see 
 that the blue paper shade was drawn 
 tightly over the one tiny window of the 
 little bedroom, he opened the door into 
 the closet, and felt around until his hand 
 struck a nail that marked some secret 
 hiding-place in the wall. From some- 
 where within its depths he drew out a lit- 
 tle japanned canister, branded, in gilt let- 
 ters, " Young Hyson ; " but it was not tea 
 that he emptied on the bed and poured 
 through his rough hands, horny with long 
 contact with hoe and plow. It was a 
 stream of dollars and dimes and nickels, 
 with an occasional gold piece filtering 
 through like a disk of sunshine. A wad 
 of paper money stuck in the canister until 
 171
 
 ^Travelers jfive 
 
 he shook it. He counted that last, 
 smoothing out the ragged bills one at a 
 time, and then folding them inside a crisp 
 new one so that its flaunting V was dis- 
 played on top. 
 
 One might have thought him a miser 
 gloating over his gold, so carefully he 
 counted it again and again, sitting there 
 on the edge of his bed. But there was no 
 miserly greed in the wistful glance that 
 followed the last coin into the little can- 
 ister, and it was with a discouraged sigh 
 that he replaced the cover and sat looking 
 at it, the slavish hoarding of years. 
 
 " It will take twenty dollars more," he 
 finally whispered to himself; " and I can't 
 depend on any ready cash until after 
 wheat harvest." He counted slowly on 
 his fingers May, June, July it might be 
 three months before he could get his 
 threshing done, and three months, now 
 that he was so near the goal of his life's 
 172
 
 ffiftb traveler 
 
 ambition, seemed longer than the years 
 already passed in waiting. 
 
 They were singing in the church when 
 he went out on the porch again, and as 
 he did not want to go in late, that decided 
 the question that had been see-sawing in 
 his mind. He sat down in the rocking- 
 chair, with his elbows on his knees and 
 his head in his hands. Sister Bowles's 
 conversation still rankled. 
 
 " O Lord," he groaned presently, " you 
 know I'm not a wolf in sheep's clothing. 
 More like I'm a sheep in a wolf's. No- 
 body understands it. Not even Luella. I 
 want to tell her, and yet it seems like I 
 hadn't ought to yet awhile. One minute 
 I think one way and the next minute an- 
 other. O Lord, I vow I don't know what 
 to do!" 
 
 Then he caught the words of the song. 
 It was not one of the usual hymns that 
 floated out to him across the scent of the
 
 travelers jfive 
 
 apple-boughs, but an old tune that he had 
 heard years ago at a camp-meeting: 
 
 " John went down to the river Jordan! 
 John went down to the river Jordan! 
 John went down to the river Jordan 
 To wash his sins away!" 
 
 Little did the congregation think, as 
 they lifted their lusty voices, that with the 
 thread of that old tune lay the unravel- 
 ling of Bap Sloan's riddle. For this is 
 the scene it brought back to him, out of 
 one of the earliest years of his childhood. 
 There was a white face lying back among 
 the pillows of a great bed, with carved 
 posts and a valance of flowered chintz 
 that smelled faintly of lavender. Some- 
 body had lifted the big family Bible and 
 laid it open on the edge of the bed, and 
 he saw himself, a sober-faced little fellow 
 in brown dress and apron, standing on 
 tiptoe to look at the pictures. That white
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 face on the pillows was his mother's, and 
 this was the only recollection he had of 
 her. Pointing to a queer old engraving, 
 she had told him the story of John the 
 Baptist, adding, with her thin hand on 
 his curls: " And your name is John, too. 
 Little John Baptist, though we don't call 
 you by all of it. I named you that a pur- 
 pose. Give you a good name, so 't you'd 
 be a good man. Mebbe it's just a whim 
 of mine, but I've thought a good deal 
 about it while I've been lying here sick. 
 Mebbe some day you'll be able to go to 
 the Holy Land, 'way over the mountains 
 and over the seas, and be baptized in that 
 same river Jordan, where the dove de- 
 scended. See the pretty dove?" 
 
 Even though the baby brain understood 
 but dimly what she said to him, the light 
 in her uplifted eyes filled him with sol- 
 emn awe, and from that moment the 
 mantle of her ambition rested henceforth 
 
 175
 
 travelers jftve 
 
 on his young shoulders. It was a vague, 
 intangible thing at first, when he used to 
 go back to the old Bible and study the 
 picture in secret. He never understood 
 when it began to fold itself about his life, 
 or how it grew with his years till it com- 
 pletely enveloped him. 
 
 He was a man little given to introspec- 
 tion, and with a mind so slow to arrive 
 at a conclusion that it always seemed 
 doubtful if he would ever reach it. Still, 
 when he once settled down on an opinion, 
 his sister Sarah used to say it was with the 
 determination of a snapping-turtle. " He 
 wouldn't let go then till it thundered." 
 His sister Sarah took charge of him, mind 
 and body, when their mother died, and so 
 thoroughly did she manage him that her 
 will was always his, except in that one 
 matter. He would not join the church of 
 his fathers until he got ready, and he 
 would give no reason for his delay. 
 176
 
 traveler 
 
 He was twenty when he made his first 
 stubborn stand against her, and for thirty 
 years Sarah wept over him both in public 
 and private, and for thirty years Luella 
 Clark's heart battled with her conscience, 
 which would not let her be " unequally 
 yoked together with an unbeliever." And 
 through all that time Baptist Sloan had 
 kept his own counsel, hoarding every 
 penny he could save, to the refrain of his 
 mother's remembered words: " Over the 
 mountains and over the seas, and be bap- 
 tized in that same river Jordan, where the 
 dove descended." 
 
 He had so firmly made up his mind 
 that after that pilgrimage to his Mecca 
 he would marry Luella that he had never 
 viewed his conduct from her standpoint 
 until Sister Bowles opened his eyes. Her 
 speech about the widower aroused him to 
 an undefined sense of danger. All that 
 next hour his inclination shifted like a 
 177
 
 travelers jfi\>e 
 
 weather-vane, first to take Luella into his 
 confidence, then not to. By the time the 
 congregation rose for the last hymn he 
 had made up his mind. 
 
 The moon was coming up now, a faint, 
 misty light struggling through the clouds. 
 He waited until most of the congregation 
 had passed his gate, and then striking out 
 across the potato-field, waited at the turn 
 of the road on the other side of the cedar- 
 grove. It was here that Luella always 
 parted company with the Robinson girls, 
 and went the remaining way alone. It 
 was only a few steps farther to her 
 mother's brown cottage, and he hurried 
 to overtake her before she should reach 
 the gate. 
 
 "Land o' Goshen! Bap Sloan!" she 
 exclaimed, with a startled little cry, as he 
 came puffing along by her side. " Who'd 
 'a' dreamed of seeing you here? Why 
 wa'n't you at church to-night? Every- 
 178
 
 jftftb traveler 
 
 body was asking if you were sick, it's been 
 so long since you've missed." 
 
 " Stop a minute, Luella," he exclaimed, 
 blocking her way by planting himself di- 
 rectly in her path. " I want to talk to 
 you. I've made up my mind at last to 
 tell you, and I want you to come back 
 and sit down on the stile where nobody 
 else can't hear it." 
 
 Led by curiosity as much as by the new 
 masterfulness in his tone, Luella turned 
 back a step and seated herself on the stile 
 that led into the apple-orchard. The 
 blossom-laden bough of a gnarly old tree 
 bent over her head and sent a gust of fra- 
 grance past her that made her close her 
 eyes an instant and draw a long breath, it 
 was so heavenly sweet. The night was 
 warm, but she drew her shawl around her 
 erect, angular figure with a forbidding 
 air that made it hard for him to begin. 
 "Well?" she said stiffly. 
 179
 
 travelers tfive 
 
 " I don't know just how it's goin' to 
 strike you," he began, hesitating pain- 
 fully. " That is well, I don't know 
 maybe you won't take any interest in it, 
 after all; but I kinder thought some- 
 thing might happen in the meantime 
 maybe I'd better - 
 
 He gave a nervous little cough, unable 
 to find the words. 
 
 " What air you aiming at, anyhow, 
 Baptist Sloan?" she demanded. 
 "What's got your tongue? Mother'll 
 wonder what's keeping me, so I wish 
 you'd speak up and say what's on your 
 mind, if there's anything a-troubling 
 you." 
 
 Then he blurted out his confession in 
 a few short sentences, and waited. She 
 sat staring at him through such a long 
 silence that he forced an uneasy laugh. 
 
 " I was afraid maybe you'd think it was 
 foolish," he said dejectedly. " That's 
 1 80
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 why I never could bring myself to speak 
 of it all these years. I thought nobody'd 
 understand that they'd laugh at me for 
 spendin' a fortune that way. But honest, 
 Luella, it is sort o' sacred to me, and 
 mother's words come to me so often that 
 it's grown to be like one of the command- 
 ments to me." His voice sank almost to 
 a whisper: "'Over the mountains and 
 over the seas, and be baptized in that same 
 river Jordan, where the dove descended.' 
 It's been no small matter to live up to, 
 either. Sometimes it seems to me as if 
 I'd been sent out like the children of Is- 
 rael, and it was goin' to take the whole 
 forty years of wanderin' to reach my 
 promised land. I've spent thirty of 'em 
 in the wilderness of wantin' you, but I 
 begin to see my way clearin' up now 
 toward the end. Only twenty dollars 
 more! I can go after wheat harvest and 
 the threshin'. Good Lord, Luella, why 
 181
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 don't you say somethin'! But it's no use; 
 I know you think I'm such an awful 
 fool." 
 
 She turned toward him in the dim 
 moonlight, her eyes rilled with tears. 
 
 " Oh, Bap," she cried, " to think how 
 everybody has misjudged you all this 
 time! It's perfectly grand of you, and I 
 feel like a dawg when I remember all 
 I've said about your not being a be- 
 liever, when all the time you were bet- 
 ter than any of us can ever hope to be. 
 It's like being the martyrs and crusa- 
 ders all at once, to stick to such an am- 
 bition through thick and thin. But 
 oh, Bap, why didn't you tell me long 
 ago!" 
 
 " Don't cry, Luella," he urged, awk- 
 wardly patting the shawl drawn around 
 her thin shoulders. He was amazed and 
 overwhelmed at this unprecedented reve- 
 lation of tenderness in what had always 
 182
 
 fftftb traveler 
 
 been to him the most stony-hearted of 
 natures. 
 
 " Then maybe, Luella, after wheat 
 harvest," he ventured, floundering out 
 of an awkward pause, " after I've been 
 and got back, then will you have 
 me?" 
 
 She slipped her hand into his. She 
 would have had him then and there had 
 he asked her, and counted it joy to be 
 allowed to help toil for the funds still 
 needed to carry her saint across the seas. 
 Already she had fitted a halo about the 
 bald spot she had lately ridiculed, and 
 she burned to begin her expiation for that 
 sacrilege. 
 
 But in the molding of his plans Baptist 
 Sloan had arranged that marriage was to 
 come after the Mecca, and in the harden- 
 ing process of the years that idea had be- 
 come so firmly set in his mind that noth- 
 ing short of supernatural force could have 
 183
 
 produced a change. It never occurred to 
 him that it was possible to marry before 
 he went on his pilgrimage. 
 
 He held the hand she had given him 
 awkwardly. This was the hour he had 
 dreamed of, but now that it had come, he 
 was ill at ease, uncertain how to proceed. 
 Suddenly a little breeze, swinging 
 through the orchard, stirred the apple- 
 bough above them, and sent a shower of 
 pink-and-white blossoms across their 
 faces. Velvety soft were the petals, cool 
 with the night dew, and unspeakably 
 sweet. She looked up at him, her face 
 grown wonderfully young and fresh 
 again in the moonlight. He stooped and 
 kissed her. The apple-bough swayed 
 again above them, with another fragrant 
 shower of pink and white. It, too, was 
 gnarly and old, but standing glorified, 
 like them, for a little while in the sweet- 
 ness of belated blossom-time. 
 184
 
 It was the talk of the valley this pil- 
 grimage of Baptist Sloan's. Nobody 
 within its borders had ever been out of 
 sight of land, and the congregation di- 
 vided itself into two factions regarding 
 him. One division called it sinful pride 
 that sent him chasing away to parts un- 
 known on such an errand. Beargrass 
 Creek was good enough for Bap Sloan's 
 immersion, if it had been good enough 
 for his father's and grandfather's before 
 him. The other side agreed with Luella, 
 according him the halo, and she, in the 
 reflected light of such greatness, beamed 
 proudly and importantly on all her little 
 world. 
 
 Several weeks after this disclosure he 
 stopped at the cottage one morning in 
 great excitement. He held a letter in his 
 hand, some railroad time-tables, and the 
 itinerary of a " personally conducted " 
 party to Palestine. " I say, Luella," he
 
 jfive 
 
 cried, "look at this! It's clear provi- 
 dence that the Paris Exposition happened 
 to start up just now. Here's a chance to 
 go to the Jordan on excursion rates, with 
 three days at the Exposition thrown in. 
 I needn't wait till after wheat harvest 
 now, it's so much cheaper than what I 
 had figured on. And the beauty of it is, 
 I can not only kill two birds with one 
 stone, take in Paris and Palestine both, 
 but have a guide to look after every- 
 thing. It's been a mystery to me all along 
 how I was to find my way around in those 
 furrin parts by myself. But this settles 
 everything. I can start to New York 
 next Wednesday, and get there before the 
 ship sails. Lord, Luella! To think it's 
 really comin' to pass after all these 
 years! " 
 
 Luella was in a quiver of excitement, 
 but she rose to the occasion with almost 
 motherly solicitude for his well-being. 
 186
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 " I'll put up your lunch, Bap," she said. 
 " You needn't worry about a thing; only 
 tell me what you'd like to have cooked. 
 And if you've any clothes that need 
 mending, just you bring 'em right down, 
 and I'll see to 'em. I'll go over to your 
 house after you've gone, too, and fix 
 things ready to be left shut up for the 
 time you're away." 
 
 Her prompt decision was so much like 
 his sister Sarah's that he never thought of 
 protesting. It seemed good to be man- 
 aged once more, and he meekly acqui- 
 esced to all she proposed. 
 
 Luella had a sharp tongue, but it 
 had lost its sting for him since she 
 had put him on the pedestal of hero 
 and saint. But it had not lost its cut- 
 ting qualities when turned on other 
 people. 
 
 " What's this big empty sarsaparilla 
 bottle doing in your carpet-bag? " she de- 
 187
 
 {Travelers 
 
 manded suddenly on the day of his de- 
 parture. 
 
 " Old Mis' Bates wants that I should 
 take it along and fill it at the Jordan. 
 She's countin' on havin' all the family 
 baptized out of it when I get back." 
 
 "Out of one quart bottle!" sniffed 
 Luella, scornfully. "Humph! Just like 
 the Bateses. Much good any one of 'em 
 will get out of such a stingy sprinkling. 
 Why didn't you tell her you couldn't be 
 bothered with it? You always was the 
 kind to be imposed on, Bap Sloan. If I 
 wasn't so afraid of water that horses 
 couldn't pull me on to a ship, I'd go along 
 to look after you. Do take care of your- 
 self!" 
 
 And that was the chorus shouted after 
 him as he swung himself up the car-steps, 
 stumbling over his carpet-bag and big 
 cotton umbrella. Fully two thirds of the 
 congregation were down at the station to 
 188
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 bid him good-bye. In the midst of the 
 general hand-shaking some one started a 
 hymn, and the last words that Bap Sloan 
 heard, as he hung out of the train window 
 to wave his hat, were: 
 
 " By the grace of God we'll meet you 
 On Jordan's happy shore! " 
 
 There was one last look at Luella, 
 wildly waving a limp wet handkerchief. 
 The sight so affected him that he had to 
 draw out his bandana and violently blow 
 his nose; but he smiled as the train went 
 leaping down the track. All the weary 
 waiting was over at last, and his face was 
 set toward his Promised Land. 
 
 Several days later, in one of the south- 
 bound trains pulling out of New York, 
 the conductor noticed a man sitting with 
 his head bowed in his hands. His soft 
 slouch-hat was pulled over his eyes, and 
 189
 
 {Travelers five 
 
 an antiquated carpet-bag and big cotton 
 umbrella were piled on the seat beside 
 him. Except when he showed his ticket, 
 there was no change in his attitude. Mile 
 after mile he rode, never lifting his head, 
 the hopeless droop of his bowed shoulders 
 seeming to suggest that some burden had 
 been laid upon them too great for a mor- 
 tal to bear. 
 
 Night came, and he slept at intervals. 
 Then his head fell back against the cush- 
 ion of the seat, and one could see how 
 haggard and worn was the face hereto- 
 fore hidden. In the gray light of the 
 early morning the conductor passed again 
 and turned to give a second glance at the 
 furrowed face with its unshaven chin, 
 unconsciously dropped, and the gray, un- 
 combed hair straggling over the fore- 
 head. Even in sleep it wore an expres- 
 sion of abject hopelessness, and looked 
 ten years older than when, only three 
 190
 
 Jfiftb traveler 
 
 days before, it smiled good-bye to the 
 singing crowd at Beargrass Valley sta- 
 tion. Baptist Sloan was homeward 
 bound, and yet he had not so much as 
 even seen the ship which was to have 
 carried him to his Jordan. 
 
 It was only the repetition of an old 
 story old as the road going down from 
 Jerusalem to Jericho. He had fallen 
 among thieves. In the bewilderment and 
 daze which fell upon him when he found 
 himself alone in a great city, he had been 
 easy prey for confidence men. There had 
 been a pretended arrest. He had been 
 taken into custody by a man who showed 
 his badge and assumed to be a private 
 detective. Sure that he could prove his 
 innocence, and smiling grimly as he com- 
 pared himself once more to a harmless 
 sheep in wolf's clothing, he allowed him- 
 self, without an outcry, to be bundled into 
 a carriage that was to take him to the po- 
 191
 
 {Travelers jftve 
 
 lice station. When he came to himself it 
 was morning, and he was on the steps of 
 a cellar, with every pocket empty. He 
 had been robbed of his little fortune, 
 stripped bare of his lifelong hope. 
 
 How he was at last started homeward 
 with a ticket in his hand could have been 
 explained by a young newspaper reporter 
 who interviewed him exhaustively at the 
 police station, whither he finally found 
 his way. The reporter made a good story 
 of it, touching up its homely romance 
 with effective sketching; and then be- 
 cause he had come from the same State 
 as Baptist Sloan, because he had once 
 lived on a farm and knew an honest man 
 when he saw one, he loaned him the 
 money that was to take this disabled 
 knight errant home with his mortal 
 wound. 
 
 It was on the afternoon of the second 
 day that Baptist Sloan opened his old 
 192
 
 ififtb traveler 
 
 carpet-bag for the remnants of the lunch 
 that Luella had packed inside. His hand 
 struck against Mrs. Bates's sarsaparilla 
 bottle, and he shut his eyes with a sicken- 
 ing sensation of inward sinking. 
 
 " And I've got to take that there thing 
 back to her empty" he said, gritting his 
 teeth. " Where am I ever goin' to get the 
 spunk to face 'em all? They'll say it was 
 a judgment on me, for a good many of 
 'em seemed to think that I was too proud 
 to be baptized in Beargrass. They'll say 
 that maybe it's to save me from fallin' 
 short of heaven that I failed to reach the 
 Jordan." 
 
 As he slowly munched the dry remains 
 of his lunch, the cogs of the car-wheels 
 started anew the question that had tor- 
 mented him all the way. " What ivill- 
 Lu-^/-la say? What <will-Lu-el-\a say? " 
 they shrieked over and over. 
 
 " She'll say that I'm an awful fool,"
 
 {Travelers fftve 
 
 he told himself. " She never could abide 
 to be laughed at, and if people poke fun 
 at me, she'll never have me in the world." 
 The alternate hope and despair that 
 seized him were like the deadly burning 
 and chill of fever and ague. " If I only 
 knew how she'd take it! " was his inward 
 cry. When he thought of her proverbial 
 sharp tongue he quailed at the ordeal of 
 meeting her. But through every interval 
 of doubt came the fragrance of the moon- 
 lighted apple-orchard, the old stile, that 
 one kiss a remembrance as sweet as the 
 blossom-time itself. Surely Luella must 
 think of that. 
 
 Presently he noticed that the brakeman 
 was calling out the names of familiar sta- 
 tions, and he realized that he was almost 
 home. Only a few minutes more to sum- 
 mon his courage and brace himself for 
 his trial. The train rumbled over a tres- 
 tle, and peering out through the gather- 
 194
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 ing dusk he saw the shallow waters of 
 Beargrass Creek, black with the reflection 
 of the evening shadows. " The only Jor- 
 dan Bap Sloan will ever see now," he 
 said, with a shiver that sent a tremor 
 through his bowed shoulders. 
 
 "Beargrass Valley!" he heard the 
 brakeman call. Nervously he clutched 
 his carpet-bag and umbrella, and lurched 
 down the aisle. But when the train 
 stopped and he was half-way down the 
 steps, he paused and clung an instant to 
 the railing. " O Lord! " he groaned once 
 more, involuntarily shrinking back. " If 
 women wa'n't so awfully oncertain! If 
 I just knew what Luella's goin' to say! " 
 
 As Baptist Sloan clicked the latch of 
 his front gate behind him, and stood a 
 moment in the path, the familiar outlines 
 of his old home rising up in the dim light 
 smote him with fresh pain. The thirty 
 years of hope and struggle were there to
 
 ^Travelers jfive 
 
 meet him with accusing faces and to turn 
 his home-coming into bitterness unspeak- 
 able such bitterness as only those can 
 know who have cringed under the slow 
 heartbreak of utter failure. He did not 
 even unlock the door, but dropping his 
 carpet-bag and umbrella on the porch 
 floor, sank down into the old wooden 
 rocker, covering his face with his hands. 
 
 It was in this attitude that Luella found 
 him an hour later, when she came hurry- 
 ing down the path with quick, fluttering 
 steps. The moonlight, struggling through 
 the vines on the porch, showed her the 
 object of her search. 
 
 "I just now heard you was home!" 
 she cried, with a nervous little laugh. 
 " It was in the evening paper, all about 
 it. The doctor stopped by and showed it 
 to me." 
 
 She paused on the top step, out of 
 breath, and awed by the rigid despair 
 196
 
 JWb traveler 
 
 showing in every line of the silent figure. 
 She had divined that he might need com- 
 fort, but she was not prepared for such 
 desolation as this. Silently she took an- 
 other step toward him, then another, and 
 laid her hand timidly on his shoulder. 
 His only response was a long, shivering 
 sigh. 
 
 " Oh, Bap, don't! " she cried. " Don't 
 take it like that! " 
 
 " I've give' up," he said dully. " Seems 
 as if it wa'n't worth while to go on living 
 any longer, when I've made such an aw- 
 ful failure. It's the hope of a lifetime 
 blasted, and I can't help feelin' that some 
 way or 'nother mother knows it, too, and 
 is disappointed in me." 
 
 She gathered the bowed head in her 
 arms, and pressing it toward her, began 
 stroking it with soothing touches, as ten- 
 derly as if she had been that disappointed 
 mother. 
 
 197
 
 {Travelers fftve 
 
 "There, there!" she sobbed, with a 
 choking voice. " You sha'n't say that 
 again. The world might count it a fail- 
 ure, same as they would a race-horse that 
 didn't get under the wire first. But what 
 if you didn't get there, Bap, think how 
 you ran! You went just as far as the 
 Lord let you, and nobody can count it a 
 failure when He stepped in and stopped 
 you. Look at Moses! He didn't get to 
 his Promised Land either. Maybe it 
 ain't right for me to make Bible compari- 
 sons, but you went just as far as he did, 
 where you could stand and look over, and 
 I'm proud of you for it. It's a sight 
 farther than most people get." 
 
 There was tender silence for a little 
 space, then she descended from the Pis- 
 gah on which she had placed him and 
 came down to the concerns of every-day 
 life. When she spoke again it was with 
 her usual bustling air of authority. 
 198
 
 jfiftb traveler 
 
 " Here, I've brought the key," she said. 
 " Stick your carpet-bag inside the door, 
 and come home with me. Jordan or no 
 Jordan, you've got to have a cup of tea 
 and a good hot supper." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 199
 
 WORKS OF ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 Each I vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, per vol. . $1.50 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 Being three " Little Colonel " stories in the Cosy Corner 
 Series, " The Little Colonel, " " Two Little Knights of 
 Kentucky," and " The Great Scissors," put into a single 
 volume. 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOUSE PARTY 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOLIDAYS 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HERO 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING- 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 SCHOOL 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 VACATION 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HO NOR 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL'S KNIGHT COMES 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 RIDING 
 MARY WARE: THE LITTLE COLONEL'S 
 
 CHUM (Trade Mark) 
 
 MARY WARE IN TEXAS 
 
 These eleven volumes, with The Little Colonel's Oood Times 
 Book, boxed as c. twelve-volume set, $18.00. 
 
 1
 
 Z. C. PAGE & COMPANYS 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL 
 
 (Trade Mark) 
 
 TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
 THE GIANT SCISSORS 
 BIG BROTHER 
 
 Special Holiday Editions 
 
 Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25 
 New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page 
 drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. 
 
 IN THE DESERT OF WAITING: THE LEGEND 
 OF CAMELBACK MOUNTAIN. 
 
 THE THREE WEAVERS: A FAIKT TALK FOB 
 FATHERS AND MOTHERS AS WELL AS FOB THEIR 
 DAUGHTERS. 
 
 KEEPING TRYST 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART 
 
 THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME: 
 
 A FAIRY PLAT FOB OLD AND YOUNG. 
 
 THE JESTER'S SWORD 
 
 Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative . $0.50 
 
 Paper boards .35 
 
 There has been a constant demand for publication in 
 separate form of these six stories which were originally 
 included in six of the " Little Colonel ' books. 
 
 JOEL: A BO Y OF GALILEE: BY ANNIE FELLOWS 
 
 JOHNSTON. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. 
 New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel 
 Books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative . $1.50 
 A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author's 
 best-known books. 
 
 2
 
 WORKS OF ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL GOOD TIMES 
 BOOK 
 
 Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series . $ 1 . 50 
 Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . . 3.00 
 Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg. 
 Published in response to many inquiries from readers 
 of the Little Colonel books as to where they could obtain 
 a " Good Times Book " such as Betty kept. 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK 
 
 Large quarto, boards $1.50 
 
 A series of " Little Colonel " dolls, not only the 
 Little Colonel herself, but Betty and Kitty and Mary 
 Ware, yes, and Rob, Phil, and many another of the well- 
 loved characters, even Mom' Beck herself. There are 
 many of them and each has several changes of costume, so 
 .that the happy group can be appropriately clad for the 
 rehearsal of any scene or incident in the senes. 
 
 The large, cumbersome sheets of most of the so-called 
 doll " books " have been discarded, and instead each 
 character, each costume, occupies a sheet by itself, the 
 dolls and costumes being cut out only as they are wanted. 
 ASA HOLMES: OB, AT THE CROSS-ROADS. A sketch 
 
 of Country Life and Country Humor. By ANNIH 
 
 FELLOWS JOHNSTON. 
 
 With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. 
 
 Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00 
 
 " ' Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads ' is the most 
 delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that 
 has been published in a long while." Boston Times. 
 TRAVELERS FIVE: ALONG LIFE'S HIGHWAY. 
 
 By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. 
 
 With a frontispiece in color from a painting by Ed- 
 mund H. Garrett. 12mo, cloth decorative. . $1.25 
 
 In her new book, written with the same grace and ease 
 that have distinguished her former works, Mrs. Johnston 
 introduces five travelers along life's highway. The char- 
 acters are all so different some humorous, some pa- 
 thetic and yet all so very real, that their progress along 
 the road will afford entertainment and pleasure. The 
 book is full of life and action. 
 3
 
 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S 
 
 COSY CORNER SERIES 
 
 It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall 
 contain only the very highest and purest literature, 
 stories that shall not only appeal to the children them- 
 selves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with 
 them in their joys and sorrows. 
 
 The numerous Ulustrationp in each book are by well- 
 known artists, and each volume has a separate attract- 
 ive cover design. 
 
 Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth 10.50 
 
 By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 
 THE LITTLE COLONEL (Trade Mark.) 
 
 The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its hero- 
 ine is a email girl, who is known as the Little Colonel, 
 on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school 
 Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family 
 are famous in the region. 
 
 THE GIANT SCISSORS 
 
 This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in 
 France. Joyce is a great friend of the Little Colonel, 
 and in later volumes shares with her the delightful ex- 
 periences of the " House Party " and the " Holidays." 
 
 TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
 
 WHO WERE THE LITTLE COLONEL'S NEIGHBORS. 
 
 In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an 
 old friend, but with added grace and charm. She is not, 
 however, the central figure of the story, that place being 
 taken by the " two little knights." 
 
 MILDRED'S INHERITANCE 
 
 A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who 
 conies to America and is befriended by a sympathetic 
 American family who are attracted by her beautiful 
 speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is en- 
 abled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the 
 use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, 
 happy one. 
 4
 
 WORKS OF ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 
 By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON (Continued) 
 
 CICELY AND OTHER STORIES FOR GIRLS 
 
 The readers of Mrs. Johnston's charming juveniles 
 will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young 
 people. 
 
 AUNT 'LIZA'S HERO AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal 
 to all boys and most girls. 
 
 BIG BROTHER 
 
 A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Stephen, 
 himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of 
 the simple tale. 
 
 OLE MAMMY'S TORMENT 
 
 "Ole Mammy's Torment" has been fitly called " 
 classic of Southern life." It relates the haps and mis- 
 haps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by 
 love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. 
 
 THE STORY OF DAGO 
 
 In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, 
 a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. Dago 
 tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mis- 
 haps is both interesting and amusing. 
 
 THE QUILT THAT JACK BUILT 
 
 A pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how 
 it changed the course of his life many years after it war 
 accomplished 
 
 FLIP'S ISLANDS OF PROVIDENCE 
 
 A story of a boy's life battle, hi early defeat, and his 
 final triumph, weU worth the reading. 
 5
 
 From 
 
 L. C. Page & Company's 
 
 Announcement List 
 
 of New Fiction 
 
 By L. M. MONTGOMERY. 
 
 Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, decorative jacket . . . $1.50 
 
 To quote from one of our editor's reports on the new Mont- 
 gomery book " Miss Montgomery has decidedly arrived in this 
 story! " The remarkable success of her delightful ANNE books 
 and of the charming " Kilmeny of the Orchard " has established 
 her as one of America's leading authors a writer of books 
 which touch the heart, uplift the spirit, and leave an imprint of 
 lasting sweetness on the memory. But in " The Story Girl," 
 everywhere the touch of the finished artist is evident a smooth- 
 ness and polish which heightens the unusual style of a gifted 
 author. 
 
 The environment is again the author's beloved Prince Edward 
 Island and the story and incidents possess the same simplicity 
 and charm which characterize Miss Montgomery's earlier books. 
 The Story Girl, herself Sara Stanley is a fascinating 
 creature, and will delight and thrill her readers with her weird 
 tales of ghosts " and things." She tells in wondrous voice of 
 " The Mystery of the Golden Milestone," " How Kissing Was 
 Discovered " and of just how the Milky Way happened into the 
 heavens. She will make you feel the spell of the old orchard 
 where she and her playmates spend such happy days, and with 
 Felix, Dan and Beverly you will live again with her the " trage- 
 dies of childhood." 
 
 Of Miss Montgomery's previous books, the reviewers have 
 written as follows: 
 
 " The art which pervades every page is so refined that the cul- 
 tivated imagination will return to the story again and again in 
 memory to find always something fresh to enjoy." Toronto 
 World. 
 
 " Miss Montgomery has attained an honored place among the 
 worth-while writers of fiction." Beacon and Budget. 
 
 " Miss Montgomery has a sympathetic knowledge of human 
 nature, joined to high ideals, a reasonably romantic view point 
 and a distinct gift of description." Chicago Record-Herald.
 
 L. C. PAGE &> COMPANY'S 
 
 A CAPTAIN OF RALEIGH'S 
 
 By G. E. THEODORE ROBERTS, author of " A Cavalier of Vir- 
 
 g'nia," " Comrades of the Trails," " Red Feathers," etc. 
 loth, 12mo, illustrated, decorative jacket 
 
 Net $1.25 (carriage, 13c. extra) 
 
 A typical Roberts romance dashing and brisk with the 
 scenes for the most part laid in the infant colony of Newfound- 
 land, at the time when Sir Walter Raleigh and other famous 
 captains swept the seas for England. Sir Walter is one of the 
 characters in the romance but the chief interest centres about one 
 of his officers, Captain John Percy. 
 
 Elizabeth Duwaney, the heroine, is beautiful and vivacious 
 enough to quite turn the heads of the several gallant gentlemen 
 who struggle for her hand, and to keep the reader guessing until 
 the very last page as to which suitor will find favor in her eyes. 
 Unusual and unexpected situations in the plot are handled skil- 
 fully and you close the book agreeing with our editor that " Mr. 
 Roberts has given us another capital yarn! " 
 
 " Mr. Roberts has undoubted skill in portraying character 
 and carrying events along to a satisfactory conclusion." 
 The Smart Set. 
 
 " One can always predict of a book by Mr. Roberts that it 
 will be interesting. One can go further and predict that the book 
 will be fascinating, exciting and thrilling." Boston Globe. 
 
 A SOLDIER OF VALLEY FORGE 
 
 By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS, author of " An Enemy to the 
 King," " Philip Winwood," etc., and G. E. THEODORE 
 ROBERTS, author of " Hemming, the Adventurer," " Red 
 Feathers," etc. 
 
 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . . $1.50 
 The many admirers of the brilliant historical romances of the 
 late Robert Neilson Stephens will be gratified at the announce- 
 ment of a posthumous work by that gifted writer. The rough 
 draft of the story was laid aside for other work, and later, with- 
 out completing the novel, the plot was utilized for a play. With 
 the play completed Mr. Stephens again turned his attention to 
 the novel, but death prevented its completion. Mr. Roberts has 
 handled his difficult task of completing the work with care and 
 skill. 
 
 The story, Hke that of " The Continental Dragoon," takes as 
 its theme an incident in the Revolution, and, as in the earlier 
 novel, the scene is the " debatable ground " north of New York. 
 In interest of plot and originality of development it is as re- 
 markable as the earlier work, but it is more mature, more force- 
 ful, more real.
 
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