THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 HE CAPTAIN'S ROMANCE 
 
 OF. 
 
 (MISS MADAM) 
 
 BY,. 
 
 OPIE READ 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "A KENTUCKY COLONEL" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY 
 
 FUBUSKER 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 '
 
 Copyrighted. 1806, 
 
 iu the 
 United States 
 
 and 
 Great Britain, 
 
 by 
 F. TENNYSON NKELY. 
 
 CAJ1 Right* ReserTedL) 

 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 X4U. 
 
 Mill Madam, 7 
 
 The History of the Watch, . . . . .67 
 
 Old Luxton's Wolf. 65 
 
 Shelling Pease, . .... 71 
 
 A Young Man's Advice, ..... 79 
 
 The Professor, ...... 85 
 
 Old Brothers, ...... 93 
 
 Old John, VI 
 
 An Old Woman's Dream, 108 
 
 Interviewed a Corpse, ...... 109 
 
 Montgomery Peel, ...... 117 
 
 The Captain's Romano* ..... 127 
 
 An Historic Shell, ....'. 135 
 
 Old Rachel, ....... 143 
 
 Her Inspiration, ...... 158 
 
 The Mill Boys, ....... 163 
 
 A Chicago Man, ... , 171 
 
 Withered Joe, . ..... 189 
 
 In the Cumberland Mountains, .... 195 
 
 The Wildcat Circuit, ..208 
 
 Old Bill's Recital, 211 
 
 Five Years, 221 
 
 A Strange Experience, ..... 283 
 
 A Marine Farm House, . 247 
 
 The Radish King, 261 
 
 Brought the Money, ...... 267 
 
 Zozi, . . . . . . . . 279 
 
 Dan Miters, 291 
 
 Clem, the Outlaw, ..... 108 
 
 JS /?
 
 MISS MADAM. 
 
 AN old man and an old woman, a pale young fellow 
 and a girl, sat at a table placed upon a long ve 
 randa. 
 
 " Now I wonder who that can be," said the old 
 man, craning his neck and looking down the road. 
 The girl and the young fellow got up that they 
 might obtain a better view, and the woman, with an 
 air of keen curiosity, leaned over the table, gazed 
 down the road, and, with a woman's quickness to 
 discover intention, declared: "He's goin' to stop. 
 See, pap?" clutching the old man's arm. "He's 
 goin' to come in at the big gate." 
 
 " He's not goin' to do no sich of a thing," the 
 man replied. "He's hanged if he ain't. Won 
 der who he can be. Eidin' putty good stock, any 
 how." 
 
 The horseman who had thus turned a quiet noon 
 hour into a speculation of deep concern rode up to 
 the yard fence, and, following a time-set fashion of 
 that part of the country, cried: "Hello I"
 
 8 MISS MADAM. 
 
 "Git down and come in," the old man answered. 
 He had arisen from the table and was advancing 
 to meet the stranger. " Coma right in, suh, and 
 make yo'self at home." 
 
 The girl vanished; the young fellow hung about 
 and stole an occasional peep at the visitor. It was 
 evident that strangers were rare in that neighbor 
 hood. 
 
 !' We have jest been eatin' a snack," said the old 
 man, when he had shown the stranger into the 
 house. "Won't you eat a mouthful or so? Don't 
 reckon, however, that you will find much to yo' 
 taste." 
 
 " Pap," the woman suddenly interposed, appear 
 ing in the door and wringing her apron in embar 
 rassed consciousness of the temerity of thus pre 
 senting herself, "if he'll wait a minit I'll kill a 
 chicken and bake some biscuit, for goodness knows 
 we ain't got nuthin' that is fitten for a body to 
 eat." 
 
 " Oh, don't let me put you to any trouble," the 
 visitor protested. " I'm sure that anything you've 
 got is good enough for me." 
 
 He was so easy in manner and so cordial of voice 
 that the woman, yielding, though reluctantly, it 
 could be seen, said: "Wall, if you think you can 
 put up with it, you are perfectly welcome. Pap, 
 fetch a cheer for the gentleman,"
 
 MISS MADAM. 9 
 
 They seated themselves at the table, but the girl 
 and the young fellow did not re-appear. The girl, 
 peeping from behind the ash hopper, and speaking 
 to the young fellow, who had taken refuge behind a 
 corner of the smoke-house, said: 
 
 " He looks mighty fine, Little Dave." 
 
 "A fiddle ain't no whar to him," the boy answered. 
 
 " Little Dave," the old man called, " why don't 
 you and Miss Madam come along here now and 
 finish eatin' yo' dinner?" 
 
 " Don't want no mo'." 
 
 The visitor looked up, and the girl and young 
 fellow dodged out of sight. 
 
 In some parts of the country this would have 
 been regarded as an odd family, but in a certain 
 wild region of Kentucky, old man Bradshaw's 
 " folks " were quite conventional. The head of the 
 household was somewhat of a neighborhood char 
 acter. He was tall and gaunt, with a large, pioneer 
 sort of nose, and with an uneven, grayish beard. 
 He had a backwoodsman's idea of the ludicrous, 
 that broad estimate of fun which, when refined but 
 not too much toned down, approaches the establish 
 ment of a distinctive class of American humor; and 
 emphasizing his conception of the ridiculous, as 
 though an atonement must be offered, there was a 
 pathetic note somewhere in the gamut of his voice. 
 When a young man, he had built a house on a hill
 
 10 MISS MADAM. 
 
 side, near a spring that gushed from under a rugged 
 bluff, green the year round eternity's moss cover 
 ing the rock of ages. Here he and his wife had 
 spent many a year of toil, and it was here, in an old 
 orchard, that they expected to be buried. 
 
 The woman, too, was in her way a type. She had 
 two great fears; one that she might not possibly 
 have received enough of the spirit when, years ago, 
 she had sprung up from the mourners' bench and 
 shouted in the almost frenzied ecstacy of her soul's 
 deliverance from torment. She was supremely 
 she thought divinely happy for months afterward, 
 but gradually she began to fear that her conversion 
 had been too violent, and that Satan must either 
 have had a hand in the work, or had at least thrown 
 in a suggestion or two. Sometimes her faith would 
 be perfect, and not a cloud could she see in her se 
 rene sky of hope. Then she would go about the 
 yard, singing. Everything seemed to inspire her, 
 and new songs came to her as she stood, with her 
 arms resting on the fence, gazing down the lonoly 
 road. The breeze^that stirred her hair was a whis 
 per of love, and the sunlight that fell in the lano 
 wa a smile of encouragement. Suddenly, and 
 without a warning gradation from this mount of 
 assured paradise, she would sink into the valley of 
 doubt. The breeze that stirred her hair was harsh 
 with reproach, and the sunlight that fell in the lane
 
 MI03 MADAM. 11 
 
 was a threatening flarae. Then she would hasten to 
 the field where her husband was at work. 
 
 " Pap, I jest know I ain't elected." 
 
 "How do you know? You ain't seen all the* 
 votes yet, have you ? " 
 
 " For mussy sake don't talk that way when a body 
 is in sich distress. Oh, I have done the best I can, 
 the Lord knows." 
 
 " Wall, if you have, you are all right, I reckon. 
 You trust in the Saviour, don't you?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, with all my soul." 
 
 " Wall, then, nothin' can't hurt yo' soul. Go on 
 back to the house now, and rest easy." 
 
 If one of these supplicating visits should happen 
 to be near the noon hour, the old fellow would slyly 
 hint that he didn't feel very well either, and that a 
 bite to eat would help him mightily. 
 
 Mrs. Bradshaw's other fear was that people who 
 visited her house might go away and "norate it 
 around " that they didn't get enough to eat while 
 there, and she had been known to slip out at night 
 and kill a chicken to keep down the possibility of 
 slander. The old man often said that nothing on 
 the place was safe, not even a setting goose, when 
 ever any body chanced to "drapin." Once, when 
 she was delirious with fever, her husband awoke at 
 night and found that she was gone. He heard a 
 chicken squawl, and then he found her in the hen
 
 12 MISS MADAM. 
 
 house, reaching up and tugging at the feet of an 
 old Shanghai rooster. 
 
 With regard to the comer who had so cheerfully 
 * agreed to take pot-luck, even though he was courteous 
 and cordial, there arose grave suspicions, and those 
 fatal words, " norate it around," seemed to whisper 
 themselves into the woman's mind during the meal; 
 but after dinner, when they sat in the " big room," 
 talking with pleasant freedom, she wondered how 
 so good-natured a man could possibly " slander a 
 body." 
 
 "I have had yo' hoss put up and fed," the old 
 man remarked when the visitor, slightly leaning 
 back, looked toward the fence. "I didn't reckon 
 you wanted to go any farther this evenin'." 
 
 " No, if you don't mind my staying all night. I 
 have ridden pretty hard to-day and am somewhat 
 tired." 
 
 "You are mo' than welcome, suh. Let's see, 
 what is yo' name ? " 
 
 "Andrews." 
 
 "Any kin to Pete Andrews over in Hackett 
 county?" 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " Wall, you needn't be ashamed to claim kin with 
 him, for he's much of a man. Seen him tie a feller 
 bigger'n him one day at Boyd's mill. Jest snatched 
 a hold of him, suh, and nachully tied him; and eat!
 
 MISS MADAM. 13 
 
 Let me tell yon: One time a passul of us at a log 
 rollin' 'gunter talk about eatin', and John Sander- 
 eon, the one that married Sis Perdue " 
 
 "He married Liza Perdue^" Mrs. Bradshaw 
 , mildly suggested. 
 
 "The one that married Sis Perdue," the old man 
 repeated. 
 
 " Papa, I tell you it was Liza Perdue, for I re- 
 colleck mighty well the day they was married. I 
 was standin' at the big gate and here come Sam 
 Hargiss on the old mar' that he afterwards swopped 
 to Sol Faldin and 'lowed, he did, that Jeff Hawkins 
 had split his foot open with an axe and that John 
 Sanderson had jest married Liza Perdue. I recol- 
 leck it jest like it was yistidy." 
 
 " All right," said the old man, "have it yo' own 
 way, for it don't make no difference no how. What 
 I was goin' to say is this: A passul of us 'gunter 
 to talk about eatin', and John Sanderson " 
 
 " The one that married Liza Perdue," Mrs. Brad- 
 shaw observed, slightly inclining her head toward 
 the visitor. 
 
 " Wall, ding it all, the one that married Liza Ann 
 Perdue " 
 
 "Her name wan't Liza Ann, pap. It wan't nothin' 
 but Liza. You are thkikin' about Lizzie Ann, the 
 one next to the youngest." 
 
 The old man was silent for a few moments, and
 
 14 MISS MADAM. 
 
 then, stroking hie beard, said: "I wish I may die 
 if I ever seen the like. Confound the Perdue family 
 anyhow. The old man borrowed a bull-tongue plow 
 from me once and I wish I may never stir agin if 
 he didn't swop it for a shuck collar and a pair of 
 hames. But," he added, nodding at the visitor, 
 " what I wanted to git at is this: A passul of us 
 was at a log-rollin' and the question of who could 
 eat the most come up and John Sanderson 'lowed in 
 a sort of off-hand way that ho did reckon he could 
 eat mo 1 roasted goose eggs when he was right at 
 himself than any man he ever seen. Now this was 
 a leetle grain mo' than Pete Andrews could stand, 
 bein' a high-strung sort of feller, and he spit his 
 tobacker out of his mouth, he did, and says : ' Are 
 you right at yo'self to-day?' And then John San 
 derson sort of felt of himself and studied a while 
 and 'lowed that he reckoned he was. * Well, then,' 
 said Pete, ' about how many do you think you can 
 chamber? 1 John studied a while and 'lowed that 
 he didn't know exactly how many he could chamber, 
 but that he would eat agin Pete and have an under- 
 etandin' that the one that eat the least had to pay 
 for all. Wall, they pitched in and Sanderson swal 
 lowed eleven, but Andrews he raised a great shout 
 of victory by swallowin' thirteen. I tell you he 
 wan't no common man even in them days when 
 great men was a heap mo' plentyful than they are 
 ow. So jou wan' t no kin to him?"
 
 MISS MADAM. 15 
 
 " No, I have no relatives in this State." 
 
 " You live away off yander somewhar, I reckon?" 
 
 " Tea, a long ways." 
 
 " Don't look like you been uster doing much 
 work." 
 
 " Pap," the woman interposed, " don't talk thater 
 way. Everybody don't have to work themselves to 
 death like us. 
 
 " Wall, 'Lizabeth, I sholy didn't mean no harm, 
 for I had an old uncle in No'th Klina that never 
 done no work, and he was a putty good sort of a 
 fellar, too, I'll tell you." 
 
 The visitor laughed in so good natured a way 
 that the man laughed, and then from the outside 
 there came a tittering that caused the old woman to 
 hasten to the door. " Miss Madam, what's the mat 
 ter with you and Little Dave out thar?" she asked. 
 " Can't you behave yo'selfs and not dodge about 
 a gigglin' like a lot of geese ? " 
 
 "Geese don't giggle; they squawks," came from 
 the outside. 
 
 " Let 'em alone, 'Lizabuth," said the old man, 
 smiling. " Let 'em enjoy themselves while they 
 can." 
 
 " They are your children, I suppose," the visitor 
 remarked. 
 
 " Wall, that is to say partly," the old man an 
 swered. " Miss Madam is our daughter the only
 
 16 MISS MADA1L I 
 
 child we ever had except Jedge that the guerrillas 
 killed durin' the war but Little Dave ain't no kin 
 to us. We took him to raise befo' Miss Madam was 
 horned, 'cause he was a little bit of a crippled thing 
 that nobody didn't want, but he always was a mighty 
 peart child, and bless you, he can do a power of 
 good with a hoe now. He's crowdin' twenty putty 
 close, and Miss Madam is going on seventeen." 
 " Why do you call her Miss Madam ? " 
 " I reckon that name do sound strange to folks 
 that don't understand it, and I'll tell you exactly 
 how it come about: A long time ago, when me and 
 wife was movin' out here, our hoss the only one 
 we had drapped down in the road and died. Laws 
 a mussy, how we was troubled, for we didn't know 
 what to do, not havin' but a few dimes, and we 
 know'd that thar wan't no use in tryin' to go on 
 without a hoss, as we couldn't do nothin' after we 
 got thar toward raisin' a crap. While we was 
 etandin' thar, mournin', along come a carriage, and 
 right close to it come a man on a hoes. The car 
 riage was as bright as a new dollar, and the man 
 looked like a governor. Wall, when they got up to 
 whar we was, they stopped, and the man asked: 
 4 What's the matter with yo' hoss? ' * Nothin's the 
 matter with him now, suh,' I said. 'He might 
 have been powerful sick a few minits ago, but he's 
 dead now. 1 'Is that the only hoss you're got?'
 
 MISS MADAM. 17 
 
 he asked. ' Yes,' said t * and I ain't got him now, 
 and the Lord only knows how I'm going to make 
 a crap.' Jest then the sweetest face I ever seen 
 the face of a woman showed at the winder of the 
 carriage. The dog-wood blossoms and the red-bud 
 bloom had give her their color, and the dew-draps 
 from the grape-vines had fell in her eyes. When 
 she seen my wife a standin' thar a cryin 1 , she asked, 
 ' And is that really the only hoss you had? ' 
 
 " 'Yes, mam,' my wife answered, wringin' her 
 hands. 
 
 " ' And you say you can't make a crap ? * 
 
 " ' We can't do nothin now that the hoss is dead, 
 and we niout as well die, too.' 
 
 " Then the woman sortei leaned out of the car 
 riage, and with a smile that put me in mind of a 
 mornin' in spring after a rain had fell the night 
 befo', said: ' Jedge, get down and give them yo' 
 hoss ! ' 
 
 " Madam,' said he, ' it shall be jest as you say,' 
 and befo' I knowed what was bein' done, I was so 
 astonished, the bridle rein was in my hand, my wife 
 was on her knees, and the carriage was gone. We 
 never could find out thar names all we knowd was 
 Jedge and Madam so when our boy was borned 
 the one that was killed we called him Jedge, and 
 when the little girl come we called her Madam, but 
 being such a little bit of a thing, and Madam sound-
 
 18 MISS MADAM. 
 
 in' most too big for her, we added the Miss. 'Liaa- 
 buth, step thar to the do' and tell the children we 
 won't go out to the field ag'iu this eveiiin'." 
 
 OHAPTEB IL 
 
 THE house was a double-log structure, one-story 
 and a half high, with a broad open passage between 
 the two sections, and with the shaky gallery, that 
 served as a summer dining place, running out in 
 apparent aimlessness from the passage. The neigh 
 bors said that old Bradshaw, having more clap 
 boards than he knew what to do with, built the 
 roof as a sort of joke, and was then compelled 
 to put down the floor as a necessity. 
 
 Andrews did not see the children at supper, 
 but when he went to bed in a half-room at the 
 top of the house, he heard them giggling in some 
 mysterious hiding-place ; and as he lay, sunk down 
 into the old feather bed with a feeling of help 
 less comfort, he heard them giggle again, and 
 then he heard rain pattering on the roof, close 
 above his head. Bain on an old roof gently rocks 
 the cradle for " nature's soft nurse." There comes 
 no nervous dream, taken with the flash-light of a
 
 MISS MADAM. 19 
 
 disturbed mind, flitting in troublous zig-zag, but 
 there is a semi-consciousness, a pleasurable sink 
 ing into deeper comfort, and a thankfulness through 
 it all that the rain is falling so close overhead. List 
 lessly the visitor felt, rather than dreamed, that 
 he was again a plowboy on the old farm, dread 
 ing the summons to get up and feed the horses; 
 and reaching out he put his arm around the rest 
 ful ease of morning drowsiness, and hugged it 
 closer to him, loth to part with it, shrinking 
 from the thought of blazing corn-rows, where the 
 sweaty horse lashed his tail at the flies, where 
 the spider fled along the strands of its rudely- 
 broken web, where the rusty toad, with a dismal 
 croak, rolled upon its back in the new-made fur 
 row. Suddenly he started and looked about the 
 room. Old man Bradshaw had rapped on the 
 stairway, and had called: 
 
 " Come on now, mister, and eat a snack." 
 It was Sunday morning, and as Andrews stood 
 on the veranda he thought that he had never before 
 seen a day so bright. Nature had smiled in her 
 sleep, and had awakened with a laugh. The old- 
 time roses in the yard held up their pouting lips 
 to be pleased, as half-spoiled children do; and a 
 resplendent hollyhock that grew near the kitchen, 
 and about whose roots the coffee grounds were 
 poured every morning, devoid of warmth, seemed
 
 20 MISS MADAM. 
 
 happy in the contemplation of its own gaudy dress. 
 
 " Jest set right down and fall to," said old man 
 Bradshaw, and then with a sly wink he added: 
 " 'Lizabuth must have got up befo' day, and de 
 clared war on the chickens, for about 3 o'clock I 
 heard the old Shanghai squawl like thar wan't no 
 mo' hope left on the face of the yeth." 
 
 " Now, pap," his wife protested in meek annoy 
 ance, seating herself at the foot of the table near 
 the steaming coffee pot, and smoothing her hair 
 in an embarrassed way, " if you keep on talkin' 
 like that folks will think that I ain't got right 
 good sense; but a body has to live, I reckon, 
 and if chickens ain't to eat, I 'd like to know 
 what they was put here for. Jest pass yo' plate, 
 Mr. Andrews." 
 
 " Why don't Miss Madam and Little Dave come 
 along here now, and quit their everlasting fool 
 ishness?" the old man asked, looking toward the 
 kitchen door. " Enough of anything is enough, 
 and too much don't taste sweet at all." 
 
 Andrews heard a suppressed giggle, and then 
 there came on the quick conveyance of an excited 
 whisper, the words " Don't do that don't shove 
 me out there!" 
 
 " Come on here, now," Bradshaw demanded, " we 
 don't want no mo' of that foolishness, and won't 
 have it, nuther."
 
 MISS MADAM. 21 
 
 Little Dave stepped out upon the porch, and 
 cautiously advanced toward the table. Andrews 
 saw an under -size young man a mere boy 
 pale, despite the seeming effort the sun had made 
 to brown his face, with hair almost white, and 
 with one leg apparently much smaller and shorter 
 than the other. His eyes were almost as colorless 
 as a potato vine that had grown in a cellar, and 
 his thin, drawn lips spoke, the gue~t fancied, in 
 impressive silence of many and many a night of 
 lonely suffering. The girl cau.j out. A bashful 
 smile put her shyness in italics, and laid embar 
 rassed stress upon her red timidity. Her eyes 
 were brown, and her wayward hair inspired a - 
 thought of a ripening corn silk that a perfumed 
 breeze had tangled. She was beautiful. Even an 
 old man, gazing upon her, would have been thrilled. 
 Andrews was young. He cared no longer to listen 
 in silence to what the old man might say, but 
 began to talk. He told a pleasing story, and Miss 
 Madam laughed He was so free, so easy. They 
 had never seen any one like him. 
 
 After breakfast, while the old man and Little 
 Dave were feeding the stock, Andrews continued 
 to sit at the table, looking at the girl as she took 
 away the dishes. 
 
 " Have you ever been to school?" he asked. 
 
 " Not much," she answered.
 
 22 MISS MADAM. 
 
 " I suppose you 'd like to go." 
 
 "Yes, but it's most too late, now. I was at 
 school one day, me and Little Dave, and a man 
 rode up to the schoolhouse and shot the teacher 
 and killed him. That was a long time ago, and 
 thar hasn't been any school thar sence. The teacher 
 had whipped a boy, and that was the reason the man 
 killed him." 
 
 " Would you oome to me if I should take up 
 a school?" 
 
 " If pap says so I would, but I 'm afraid that 
 me and Little Dave couldn't go until we git through 
 hoeing the corn." 
 
 " Do you have to hoe corn? " 
 
 " Yes, when it 's in the grass much I do. Pap 
 wouldn't make me, but I hate to see him and 
 Little Dave out in the field all by themselves." 
 
 " But I should think that you 'd rather stay at 
 the house and help your mother." 
 
 " I would sometimes." 
 
 "Why not at all times?" 
 
 She turned and looked about, and seeing her 
 mother standing at the yard gate, looking down 
 the lonely road, resumed her work without answer 
 ing; but after a few moments she said: "Mother 
 cries so much sometimes that I can 't bear to see 
 her. She 's afraid the Lord don't love her, but I 
 know He does, and pap knows it, too. Yonder 
 comes pap and Little Dave. 1 '
 
 MISS MADAM. 23 
 
 " Come out under the trees whar the air is stir- 
 rin'," said the old man when he had placed a 
 basket on the veranda. " Fetch a cheer with 
 you." 
 
 When they had sat down under a tree, Andrews 
 said that he had thought of continuing his journey,, 
 but that the idea of taking up a school in the com 
 munity had just occurred to him. " What do you 
 think of it?" he asked. 
 
 " Wall, if you ain't got no particular place to 
 go to, and if nobody in particular ain't expectin' 
 you, I don't know but it would be as good plan 
 as any; but thar's this about it: You won't git 
 much of a sprinklin' of scholars till the corn is 
 laid by. Miss Madam could go most of the time, 
 and Little Dave could go rainy days; but if it's 
 money you're after, why, I ruther think you can 
 do better in most any sort of business." 
 
 " I don't care for the money that might be in it." 
 
 " Wall, if that 's the case, you can jest teach a 
 school in this neighborhood as long as you are a 
 mind to." " 'Lizabuth," he called, "what's the 
 matter with you this mornin'?" 
 
 " Pap," she said, slowly turning her face toward 
 him, " I jest know that I ain't elected." 
 
 "Don't, now, 'Lizabuth; I say don't give up 
 that way. Come over here and set down. Come 
 on," he softly pleaded, going to her. He led her
 
 24 MISS MADAM. 
 
 under the tree, and placed her on his chair. " Don't 
 now." 
 
 " Pap, thar's a certain number to be saved and 
 a certain number to be lost." 
 
 " Thar, now, don't. You '11 feel better after a 
 while. What's dark now will be bright by and 
 by. The Son of Man didn't die in vain. Come, 
 we '11 go out in the woods and talk it over." 
 
 He led her away and Andrews went back to the 
 veranda. The girl was sweeping and the cripple sat 
 on the floor with his back against the wall. The 
 visitor sat down on a rickety chair, and after gazing 
 in the direction which the old man and his wife had 
 taken, turned to the young man, and with an air of 
 rather pleasing familiarity, said: "Ah, by the way, 
 Little Dave, I suppose you would like to go to 
 school, wouldn't you?" 
 
 " I don't know," he answered, spitting through 
 his teeth. " I uster think that I'd like to go to 
 school long enough to be a doctor, but I reckon I'm 
 gittin' along a little too much for that now." 
 
 " I wouldn't like to be a doctor," the girl spoke 
 up, "for I have heard it said that they cut up dead 
 folks." 
 
 " I wouldn't mind that," said Little Dave. "After 
 Mil Pursley's head had been split open by a hoss 
 kickin' him, I stood by and seen a doctor sew it up, 
 and never flinched, nulher. Why did you want to 
 know whuther I'd like to go to school or not? "
 
 MISS MADAM. 25 
 
 " Because I was thinking of taking up a school in 
 
 tills neighborhood." 
 
 " No, don't believe I want to go. Miss Madam," 
 he added, "do you want to go to meetin' to-day?" 
 
 " No, I can't. Mother and pap are goin' and I'll 
 have to stay and git dinner. Are you goin', mister ?" 
 
 " No," Andrews answered, " for the truth is, I 
 rode so hard yesterday that I don't care to do any 
 riding to-day. Are you going, Little Dave ? " 
 
 The cripple glanced quickly at Andrews and 
 simply said: '"No." 
 
 Mrs. Bradshaw appeared to be in better spirits 
 when she and the old man returned from the woods, 
 but occasionally as she busied herself with prepara 
 tions for the ride to church there was a nervous out 
 cropping of the distressing anxiety through which 
 ehe had passed. While Bradshaw was attempting 
 to tighten the saddle girth, the old gray mare 
 squealed maliciously and reaching around bit a 
 handful of hair from the top of his head; and in a 
 frenzy he seized a fence rail, knocked her down, and 
 then clapping a hand on his head, swore furiously. 
 
 "Oh, for mussy sake, pap, don't! Oh! please, 
 don't," his wife pleaded. 
 
 " What in the deuce then do you expect me to do, 
 hah," he cried, turning upon her with a sharp-cut 
 grin of agony, " didn't you see her bite mighty nigh 
 all- the hair offea the top of my head ? Do you reckon
 
 26 MISS MADAM. 
 
 I'm goin' to stand here and call her honey after 
 that? Whoa, here now. Oh, you better stand still 
 or I'll maul the day lights outen you. You good 
 for nothin' wretch, and I give you two years of corn 
 extra, twice within a week. Blast yo' old hide I'll 
 maul you till you can't see. Stand round here, 
 now." 
 
 " Pap, if you keep on that way Til be afraid that 
 you ain't elected nuther." 
 
 " I'd ruther not be elected than to have all my 
 hair bit out by the roots!" he exclaimed. "Dog 
 my cats if I'm goin' to stand it. Talk about bein' 
 elected when a fool mare is snappin' all the hair 
 offen me. Wisht I may die dead if I ever was hurt 
 as bad in my life. Whoa, now. Oh, I'll maul yo' 
 old head into a loblolly if you don't quit yo' pranc- 
 in'. Come on here now, 'Lizabuth, and let me help 
 you up." 
 
 Andrews, the girl and Little Dave stood looking 
 after the old man and his wife until a bend far down 
 the leafy road hid them from view. 
 
 "I must go and gather some snap beans for 
 dinner," said Miss Madam, turning away. 
 
 " And I will go and help you," Andrews gallantly 
 volunteered. 
 
 " No," Little Dave spoke up, " I am goin' with 
 her. We don't want to impose on company." 
 
 " Oh, it would be no imposition, but a pleasure,"
 
 MISS MADAM. 27 
 
 Andrews declared, and he went with them to the 
 garden, although he felt that by one at least his 
 presence was not desired. Little Dave carried a 
 dish-pan into which the beans were put, and several 
 times when Andrews attempted to deposit a handful, 
 the cripple adroitly, and with the appearance of 
 accident, moved the pan so that the beans might 
 fall on the ground. "You little wretch," the visitor 
 mused, " I'd like to shake that ill-mannered sullen- 
 ness out of you." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Andrews! " the girl exclaimed, " you 
 are flingin' 'em on the ground." 
 
 " Yes, he makes the pan dodge me," replied An 
 drews. 
 
 "lain'tdoin' nothin' of the sort," Little Dave 
 replied. "I reckon the trouble is you are cross 
 eyed." 
 
 "Oh, you ought to be ashamed of yo'self, Little 
 Dave," she cried. " That ain't no way to talk about 
 company, and if you don't mind I'll tell pap when 
 he comes back. Don't pay no attention to him, Mr. 
 Andrews, for he don't mean what he says." 
 
 " Yes, I do, too." 
 
 " Now, Little Dave, you jest know you don't." 
 
 " Do, too." 
 
 "Come on now, we've got enough," said Miss 
 Madam. " I can string 'em without anybody helpin' 
 me."
 
 MISS MADAM. 
 
 Won't you let me help you? " Andrews asked. 
 "No," said the cripple. "I am goin' to help 
 
 her" 
 
 Andrews, disgusted with the boy, lighted a pipe 
 
 and lay down under a tree in the yard, 
 that fool boy wasn't here," he mused. What a res - 
 ful place this is! What an elysium after nights 
 that were heated with the fever of gluttony, 
 cooling shades of simple life, if I had breathed thy 
 atmosphere-I am a fool," he broke off, turning 
 over "I am catching at the ravelings of a tatterec 
 Bentiment. But ought I stay here and attempt to 
 teach school? Why ask myself so silly a question? 
 That child's face flutters in my bosom, 
 here Mr. Andrews I never credited you with 
 having much sound sense, but hang it, sir, you are 
 
 disappointing." 
 
 He sank into a reverie, half in the darkness of 
 sleep and half in the light of consciousness, as the 
 slowly waving boughs above threw shadows or sifl 
 sun-glints on his face. The boughs ceased waving 
 and he slept, a dark shade lying on his countenance. 
 " Come on and let's eat a snack," cried old Brad- 
 shaw He had just turned loose the old gray mare, 
 yea, had just dealt her a blow with the bridle, stiU 
 holding a memory of her ingratitude. 
 
 Andrews started up, and as if he would rub 
 the dark shade, passed his hand over his face. "All
 
 MISS MADAM. 29 
 
 right," he answered, " I'll be with you in a moment." 
 
 Old Mrs. Bradshaw hummed a sacred tune as she 
 assisted her daughter in putting the dishes on the 
 table. Her face was radiant with the indescribable 
 light of a Christian's hope, and her eyes were aglow 
 with the soft effulgence of her soul's tranquility. 
 
 " You appear to be happy," Andrews said as hs 
 approached the table. 
 
 *' Yes, for I feel now that I am elected. The 
 clouds have been mighty dark, but the sun shined 
 out at last. I'm afraid that you won't find the dinner 
 to yo' likin', suh, but Miss Madam has done the best 
 she can, I reckon." 
 
 " If I knowed that I was elected," said the old 
 man, softly chuckling; "it wouldn't make no differ 
 ence whuther a body liked my dinner or not." 
 
 " Now, pap, you oughten ter talk that way, and 
 you know it. It do seem to me sometimes that you 
 would make fun of anything on the face of the yeth. 
 But I reckon you can't help it. I reckon it was jest 
 nachully borned in you. Mr. Andrews, you must 
 help yo'self and not wait for pap, for he never was 
 a hand to help a body." 
 
 " Well," replied the old fellow, " this is the first 
 I ever heard of that. I'll help his plate as fast as 
 he can empty it and that is about all anybody 
 can da"
 
 30 MISS MADAM. 
 
 CHAPTER ELL 
 
 THE days passed, but Andrews said nothing more 
 about taking the school, except on one occasion 
 when he remarked that it would better to wait until 
 the corn should be " laid by." Old Bradshaw and 
 his wife appeared to be much pleased with him. 
 At evening and sometimes at noon, he would read 
 Spurgeon's sermons to them, from a tattered book 
 that had mysteriously found its way into the neigh 
 borhood; and the old man, with his chair tilted 
 back against the wall, never failed to go to sleep, 
 and his wife never failed to chide him. The visitor 
 essayed to show his usefulness in more than one 
 way, and once he made a pretense of helping Miss 
 Madam and Little Dave hoe a piece of creek bottom 
 corn where the land had been "broken up" wet and 
 which was too cloddy to be plowed, but the heat of 
 the sun soon drove him in the shade. The girl 
 laughed gleefully at his lack of endurance and said 
 that he ought to wear a sun-bonnet and tie it under 
 his chin as she did. The boy did not laugh, nor 
 did he express the contempt he fait, fearing that he 
 might arouse Andrews' pride and thereby nerve him 
 to the determination of overcoming his aversion for
 
 MISS MADAM. 81 
 
 the toilsome employment. Andrews went into the 
 deep woods and sat on a log in a small, new-made 
 clearing where a lank and stoop-shouldered man was 
 riving clapboards. 
 
 "Don't reckon yeu ever done any work of this 
 sort," said the man. 
 
 " No, I don't think I ever did." 
 
 "You don't think so? Why, if you'd ever have 
 done it you'd know it blamed well, and there wouldn't 
 be any thinkin' about it. You are stoppin' at Brad- 
 shaws, ain't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Hearn you are goin* to take up a school." 
 
 " I was thinking of doing so.'* 
 
 "You was thinkin' so, eh? You don't pear to 
 know nothin' for certain. Jest sorter think so all 
 the time. t)on't see how you could 1'arn a child 
 much. Don't believe I'd sign for mor'n a third of 
 a scholar. Wall, I must be goin'. Hope you've 
 got sense enough to find yo' way out of here." 
 
 He took up his f row and slouched himself away ; 
 and Andrews, stretching himself on a log, mused 
 and dozed in the shade, lulled by the soft, varying 
 and never familiar harmonies of a thousand buzz- 
 ings, as far off and as subdued as an echo, and yet 
 as close as a song poured directly into the ear. A 
 rustling of the dry leaves on the ground startled 
 him, and looking up he saw Miss Madam coming 
 toward him.
 
 82 MISS MADAM. 
 
 "We've got that piece of corn done," she said, 
 " and I ain't got nothin' to do now but go after the 
 cows and drive 'em home." 
 
 " Sit down and rest yourself." 
 
 "I ain't very tired," she rejoined, seating her 
 self on the log. 
 
 " But you must be nearly roasted with that hot 
 sunbonnet" 
 
 " I am pretty warm." She took off her bonnet 
 and sat swinging it by the strings. 
 
 "You were never in town, were you?" 
 
 "No, not exactly, but I went with pap once when 
 he went 'way over on the other side of the ridge to 
 vote, and we eat dinner with a man that lived thar, 
 and jest before we started home we saw some men 
 get into a fight and one of them was cut nearly all 
 to pieces with a knife. I reckon they do worse than 
 that in a regular town whar they vote all the time. 
 Pap says that he wouldn't live in a town, and ha 
 has been thar, but he knows that some of the people 
 that live thar are good and kind, for the jedge and 
 his wife that give pap and mother the hoss must 
 have lived in town, but Little Dave says that he bet 
 he didn't, but Little Dave is mighty briggity some 
 times. I must go on after the cows." 
 
 "I will go with you." 
 
 " I am goin' with her," said Little Dave, coming 
 oat of the bushes.
 
 MISS MADAM. 33 
 
 '* Why, how come you here?" she cried, 
 
 " How come you here ? " he asked. 
 
 44 Why, I jest come, that's all." 
 
 " Wall, I jest come too, but that ain't all." 
 
 " I didn't tell you to help me drive up the cows." 
 
 "You didn't tell him, nuther." 
 
 " But he can go if he wants to, can't he, Mr. 
 Smarty?" 
 
 "Yes, and I can go too, whuther he wants me to 
 or not." 
 
 " Oh, you think you are so smart." 
 
 " That's all right. I'm goin' with you after them 
 cows all the same." 
 
 " Young fellow," said Andrews, looking steadily 
 at the cripple, "it's time you were dropping your 
 foolishness. I am not interfering with you in the 
 least, and it is none of your business whether I go 
 with this young lady or not. Do you understand ? " 
 
 The cripple's thin lips parted in an evil-drawn 
 smile. 
 
 " I mean what I say, young man." 
 
 The cripple smiled again and taking a knife from 
 his pocket, opened a long, keen blade, looked up at 
 Andrews and quietly remarked: "That's what a 
 man 'lowed once when he met a wild cat in the 
 country road, and he talked mighty earnest and he 
 meant what he said, too, I reckon, but when he went 
 away his shirt was badly tore and he found out
 
 34 MISS MADAM. 
 
 
 
 shortly afterwards that he had done left one of 
 his ears hangin 1 on a bush." 
 
 "Miss Madam," said Andrews, turning to the 
 girl, " it is not my desire to quarrel with a crippled 
 boy, and rather than give him a chance to whine, I 
 will surrender the pleasure of going with you." 
 
 Little Dave amiled again and put up his knife. 
 
 That night after supper, Bradshaw said that he 
 had a job of work that all hands could help him 
 perform. " We have been runnin' along in a push 
 until we are about out of meal," said he, " and we 
 must shell enough corn to-night to take to mill to 
 morrow ; and might as well take several bags while 
 we are at it." 
 
 The corn was brought to the house and was placed 
 on a sheet spread on the floor. Andrews declared 
 that he could beat Miss Madam shelling, and she 
 laughingly accepted the challenge. Little Dave 
 glanced at Andrews and, getting down on his knees, 
 began work. After a time he looked up and said: 
 " Have to take the wagon, I reckon." 
 
 "Of course," the old man answered. 
 
 " Who's goin' ? " 
 
 " Why, you." 
 
 "I want Miss Madam to go, too." 
 
 "What's the use of her takin 1 all that jant?" 
 
 "Wall, then, I want Mr. Andrews to go." 
 
 "Gracious alive!" exclaimed Mrs. Bradshaw,
 
 MISS MADAM. 35 
 
 " has the boy gone daft ? Why, I reckon he'll want 
 the whole fam'ly to go next." 
 
 " Little Dave," said the old man, " what is the 
 matter with you lately ? " 
 
 "I ain't blind is the trouble, I reckon." 
 
 " You uster go to mill aud not Bay a word about 
 not wantin' to go by yo'self. You sholy ain't afraid 
 of anything, are you ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 4< What are you afraid of?" 
 
 "A thing that calls himself a man." 
 
 " Pap, I do believe he has gone daft, and I 
 wouldn't like to trust the horses with him," said the 
 old woman. 
 
 "Nonsense, 'Lizabuth, he's jest got one of his 
 tantrums, and ding me if he shan't go if it takes all 
 the hide off. I have been too kind to you, suh, to 
 Btand any of yo' foolishness, and I want you to get 
 up when I call you and hitch up them horses. Do 
 you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, suh, I hear." 
 
 "Wall, are you going to mind?" 
 
 "You've been too kind to me for me not to 
 mind." 
 
 " All right, then ; that settles it." 
 
 The cripple did not speak again that night, but 
 in apparent unconcern of what passed about him, 
 knelt on the sheet and shelled corn until the work
 
 36 MISS MADAM. 
 
 was done, and then getting up he gaye Andrews a 
 quick glance and ascended the stairway that led to 
 his sleeping place. 
 
 Andrews heard them loading the corn long before 
 daylight was sprinkled through the roof; he heard 
 the dogs prancing in many a whining caper on the 
 veranda ; he heard the wagon roll away, and then he 
 dozed with early morning stretchiness, and dreamed 
 that he saw thin lips that bespoke many a night of 
 lonely suffering, part in a cold and threatening 
 smile. Old Bradshaw rapped on the stairway and 
 cried that breakfast was ready, and Andrews sat up 
 in bed and mused: " Why do I stay here ? Would 
 any other human being but don't I stay because I 
 am a human being?" He found the girl joyous 
 when he went down stairs. She struck at him with 
 a broom, and, darting away, defied him to catch 
 her. The old man, who stood near, laughed at her 
 frolicksomeness, but his manner changed a moment 
 later when he saw the pale and despondent face of 
 his wife. 
 
 "'Lizabuth, what's the matter?" he asked. 
 
 " Come to breakfast," she said. 
 
 " But what's the matter ? " he repeated, following 
 her aa she turned toward the table on the veranda. 
 
 "You know what the matter is better than I can 
 tell you. Sit down and help yo'self, Mr. Andrews." 
 
 "Shall I read you one of Spurgeon's sermons
 
 MISS MADAM. 37 
 
 after breakfast?" the guest asked, knowing that 
 she was again in doubt as to the election of her 
 soul. 
 
 " No, I am obleeged to you, for I hardly think it 
 would do me any good. I reckon I was borned to 
 be lost. The preacher said that thar was a certain 
 Dumber of souls to be saved and a certain number 
 to be lost, and I don't think thar's any use for me 
 to try." 
 
 " 'Lizabuth," said the old man, "if thar was 
 any such thing as a woman listenin' to reason, I 
 could soon convince you that you are doing yo'self 
 a great wrong by givin' away to these spells. You 
 take everything the preacher says as law and gospel, 
 when the truth is, he don't know any mo' about it 
 than we do. He gits his knowledge from the Bible, 
 and so do we; we can't find no other book to git 
 that knowledge from, and nuther can he. If you 
 believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and still think 
 that yo' soul is goin' to be lost, you must acknowl 
 edge that the whole plan of salvation is wrong and 
 that Christ died in vain. Paul told the jailer to 
 believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and be baptized 
 and he should be saved. You believe on Him and 
 have been baptized. Now what stronger proof do 
 you want ? But you still cling to the idee that a 
 certain number are to be saved and a certain num 
 ber to be lost. Wall, let us say that a certain num
 
 38 MISS MADAM. 
 
 her ure to be lost, and that the certain number are 
 the ones that refuse to believe." 
 
 " Pap, I reckon you are right, but still I feel 
 mighty bad." 
 
 " Of course you do, and it is mainly because yo' 
 time for feelin' that way has come and you don't 
 want to disapp'int yo'self by feelin' any other way." 
 
 " Now, pap," she whined, " you jest know that a 
 body wants to feel as well as they can. But I do 
 know that people have cause to think hard of me, 
 and that makes me feel bad for one thing. I try my 
 best, though, and still I can't get 'em nothin' fitten 
 to eat when they come here." 
 
 " Madam," said Andrews, "it is now time for me 
 to speak. So long as your fears are confined to 
 your soul I am compelled to remain silent, but when 
 you include your cookery, I must lift my voice in 
 its defense, for, so far as I am concerned, there is 
 not a hotel in the country that can prepare a meal 
 as appetizingly as you do." 
 
 " But I jest know this chicken ain't fried right," 
 she persisted, still feeling about for a basis of 
 despondency. 
 
 " A saint that had served half his life in a kitchen 
 couldn't fry it better," Andrews declared. 
 
 " That eased her mightily," the old man whis 
 pered, " but it won't be long till she fumbles around 
 and liuds something else to feel bad about" 
 
 >
 
 MISS MADAM. 5U 
 
 During the forenoon Miss Madam and Andrews 
 fished in a small stream not far away, but i"iey were 
 housed during the afternoon by a furious down-pour 
 of rain. Evening came and still Little Dave had not 
 returned. The old man would step to the door 
 occasionally and gaze anxiously down the darkening 
 road. " I am afraid," said he, " that Caney Fork 
 has riz so that he can't git back. I hope he won't 
 try, for if he does the horses will be drounded 
 shure." 
 
 They eat up until late and then, convinced that 
 the boy had put up somewhere for the night, went 
 to bed. It seemed to Andrews that he had just 
 fallen asleep when he was awakened by voices down 
 stairs. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that you tried to git 
 across the creek," the old man exclaimed. 
 
 " I did git across the creek." 
 
 " But whar are them hosses ? " 
 
 " I din't try to drive 'em through. The creek was 
 so high that I left them at Perdue's." 
 
 " How did you git across? " 
 
 " I swum." 
 
 " Is that how you bruised yo' face?" 
 
 " Yes, ag'in the drift wood and bresh." 
 
 " It is a thousand wonders you hadn't drounded. 
 Why the deuce didn't you stay at Perdue's 
 ruther than swim that creek and trudge all the way 
 back here afoot?"
 
 40 MISS MADAM. 
 
 " 'Cause I wanted to come home." 
 
 " Little Dave, it do look to me like you've lost 
 about all the sense you ever had. Wall, as soon as 
 you git breakfast in the mornin' though I reckon 
 you better wait a hour or so 'till the creek runs 
 down you git on old Joe and go right back after 
 that wagon and team." 
 
 " Will Miss Madam go, too? " 
 
 " Look here, boy; what the devil is the matter 
 with you?" 
 
 " Pap, oh, pap," the old woman called. 
 
 ' Wall, what is it, 'Lizabuth? " 
 
 41 You mustn't talk thater way." 
 
 "That's all right; you go to sleep. You oughter 
 staid with the hosses, Little Dave, and you must go 
 right back as soon as ever the creek runs down." 
 
 "Will Andrews go if Miss Madam don't?" 
 
 " What in the name of go to bed. I don't want 
 to hear another word out of you." 
 
 Little Dave did not sit down to breakfast with the 
 family the next morning, and Andrews did not see 
 him until the forenoon was well spent, when the 
 boy, silent and with sudden pallor of countenance, 
 mounted an old horse and started off down the road. 
 The old man, humming a tune improvised by the 
 bubbling kindness of his heart, went to his work 
 of chopping sassafras sprouts from the corners of 
 the fence; but his wife, still troubled over the possi-
 
 MISS MADAM. 
 
 ble condemnation of her soul, and fearful that her 
 guest had not spoken from the heart when he com 
 plimented her ability to iry a chicken, sighed dis 
 tressingly as she worked in the kitchen. 
 
 "Mother," said Miss Madam, "I do hope you ain't 
 goin' to have another spell. Here of late you don't 
 mo' than git out of one till you are into another." 
 
 "Don't talk to me about spells, child. You don't 
 know what a spell is. It do seem to me like I git 
 less and less happiness out of this life as the years 
 roll on, and what will become of me after a while 
 the Lord only knows." 
 
 "I think we've all got something to be happy for, 
 mother. I never was as happy in my life as I am 
 now, and it seems that I get happier and happier 
 every day." 
 
 Supper was over long before Little Dave returned, 
 and when he did come, he walked through the house 
 without stopping, and, paying no attention to a 
 remark addressed to him by Mrs. Bradshaw, went 
 into the yard, looking about and listening as he 
 walked with strange cautiousness. Suddenly he 
 halted, and then turning, went toward the woods lot 
 and stopped behind a tree. Andrews was sitting on a 
 smooth log, where the cattle came to lick salt, and 
 Miss Madam was standing near him. The moon 
 was shining, and a small pond, which the ducks 
 kept in a state of trouble all day, seemed to siuiie 
 in thankfulness for an evening of rest.
 
 42 MISS MADAM. 
 
 "And do you think that you would continue to 
 love me, no matter what might happen?" Andrews 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothin' could happen to change me. You 
 must know that. You know that I " 
 
 "Come on all hands, it's bed time," old man Brad- 
 ehaw shouted from the house. 
 
 The next morning when Bradshaw rapped on the 
 stairway, there came no reply from above. He 
 rapped again, louder than before, and then went up 
 stairs. Andrews was not there, nor had the bed 
 been occupied. The old man, with wonder and sur 
 prise pictured upon his face, went down stairs. Lit 
 tle Dave met him, and, with a peculiar smile, said: 
 
 "His hoss ain't in the stable." 
 
 "Is it possible that he is gone?" 
 
 "Who's gone?" Miss Madam excitedly asked. 
 
 "Andrews. His bed ain't been slept in, and Lit 
 tle Dave says his hoss is gone." 
 
 The girl ran up stairs ran out to the stable 
 came drooping back and went to her room up under 
 the clapboard roof. . 
 
 "This do beat me," the old man declared. 
 
 "What's the matter?" Mrs. Bradshaw asked, com 
 ing from the kitchen. 
 
 "Andrews has run away." 
 
 "Mercy on me, how could he when we all thought 
 BO much of him. Look about and you mout find 
 him some whar, pap."
 
 MISS MADAM. 46 
 
 ''What would he be doin' round here when his 
 hoss is gone? Don't be foolish, 'Lizabuth." 
 
 Little Dave went out to the field as if nothing 
 had happened, and while the old man stood in the 
 yard, looking across the cleared land, he saw the 
 boy viciously strike the fence with his hoe. Miss 
 Madam did not come down to dinner; she did not 
 come down to supper. 
 
 "She is not well," Mrs. Bradshaw explained. 
 The old man silently nodded his head. 
 
 Early the next morning two men rode up to the 
 gate. The appearance of the men pronounced them 
 strangers in that neighborhood. News might be 
 expected. 
 
 "We are looking for a young fellow that we under 
 stand has been stopping here," said one of the men. 
 "We are officers of the law from Louisville. The 
 man Hitchpeth, who has been stopping with you, 
 
 "No man by that name has been here," Bradshaw 
 interrupted,, 
 
 "That is his name, but you know him as Andrews. 
 He is the defaulting cashier of a bank and we want 
 him." 
 
 "He is gone," the old man said. 
 
 "When did he go?" 
 
 "Must have gone last night." 
 
 "Have you any idea which way he went?" 
 
 "No,"
 
 44 HISS MADAM. 
 
 The men rode away and Miss Madam, who had 
 run down stairs, dropped back to her hiding place. 
 Late that evening, while the old man and Little 
 Dave were feeding the horses, one of the officers 
 came into the barn. 
 
 "Well, old man, we caught him ; found him about 
 fifteen miles from here pretty comfortably fixed in 
 a farm-house. We don't want to go on any farther 
 to-night, and would like to stop with you until 
 morning.** 
 
 "You can't stay," Bradshaw answered. "I don't 
 want to see him ag'in." 
 
 "But can't we stay in that old cabin down in the 
 hollow?" 
 
 "Don't care whar you stay so you don't bring him 
 near me." 
 
 The weather was hot and the officers remained on 
 the outside of the cabin, in which their prisoner was 
 confined. The door, which opened outward, was 
 securely propped with a log. 
 
 "I'd like to have a drink of water," one of the 
 men remarked. 
 
 "Here, too. There's a spring right down yonder. 
 Suppose you go to the house and get a cup." 
 
 "I don't care to, that old fellow is so cranky. 
 Let's go down to the spring. The prisoner has 
 been sound asleep for an hour ; the door is propped 
 all right, and he couldn't possibly get out before we 
 get back."
 
 MISS MADAM. 45 
 
 They started off toward the spring. Little Dave, 
 carrying a hatchet in his hand, stepped from behind 
 a tree and approached the cabin. He hastily, and 
 yet without a sound, climbed up one corner and 
 crawled out on the roof. He made an opening by 
 removing a number of clap-boards and then climbed 
 down inside. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IT was early morning. Miss Madam sat on the 
 smooth log where the cattle came to lick salt. The 
 ducks had just begun to trouble the water of the 
 pond. The girl sat with her hands lying listlessly 
 in her lap. 
 
 "Good mornin'." 
 
 She started, looked up and found Little Dave 
 standing near her. He carried a handkerchief 
 rolled into a small bundle. 
 
 "Go away, Little Dave; I don't want to see you." 
 
 "I won't go till I give you this present that some 
 body said give you." 
 
 He placed the rolled handkerchief in her lap. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Look and see."
 
 HISS MADAM. 
 
 She took up the bundle and unrolled it. "Mercy, 
 what is this?" she cried, springing to her feet 
 "His heart!" the cripple shrieked and fled. 
 
 ******** 
 
 The afternoon had come. Little Dave was gone. 
 In the house, the old woman weighted down with 
 the news of an awful tragedy, and crushed by the 
 fear that her own soul was doomed to an endless 
 torment, cried aloud in the hopeless voice of pitiable 
 lamentation. The old man walked slowly in the 
 orchard, with his hands held behind him. He saw 
 Miss Madam on her knees under an apple tree, and 
 going nearer, he saw her patting the earth about a 
 little mound he saw a bloody handkerchief on the 
 ground not far away. 
 
 "What are you doin' here, my poor little angel?" 
 "I am buryin' a bird," she sobbed, without look 
 ing up. 
 
 ******** 
 
 The months passed. One night when the rain 
 was falling on the clapboard roof, the old woman lay 
 helpless on her bed. 
 
 "Pap," she asked, "are you and Miss Madam 
 here?" 
 
 "Yes, 'Lizabuth, here we are." 
 
 "Raise me up." He raised her and held her in 
 his arms For a few momenta ehe was quiet, and 
 ehe cried in a weak, ihough joyous voice; 'Oh,
 
 MISS MADAM. 
 
 47 
 
 mussyful God oh, heavenly Saviour, now I know 
 
 that I am elected." 
 
 ******** 
 
 A journey-soiled man stopped at Bradshaw's to 
 stay over night. He saw a sad old man and a girl 
 whose face was sweet with the resignation that 
 comes after deep suffering. 
 
 "And this is Bradley county," said the traveler. 
 "The name reminds me of a circumstance that took 
 place in Texas not long ago. I was herdin' cattle at 
 the time, and among other cow-boys, hired a young 
 feller that was sorter crippled. One day a mad 
 steer knocked him off his horse and prnned him to 
 the ground with his horns. I ran to him and he 
 mumbled something, but all I understood was Brad- 
 ley county, Kentucky Little Dave." 
 
 ******* 
 
 Under the apple tree where the girl had "buried 
 a bird," there is another little mound a baby's 
 grave.
 
 A BACKWOODS SUNDAY. 
 
 A SUNDAY in the backwoods of Tennessee, viewed 
 by one whose feet rarely stray from the worn paths 
 of active life, may hold nothing attractive, but to 
 the old men and women the youth and maiden of 
 the soil it is a poem that comes once a week to 
 encourage young love with its soft sentiment and 
 soothe old labor with its words of promise. In the 
 country where the streams are so pure that they 
 look like strips of sunshine, where the trees are so 
 ancient that one almost stands in awe of them, 
 where the moss, so old that it is gray, and hanging 
 from the rocks in the ravine, looks like venerable 
 beards growing on faces that have been hardened by 
 years of trouble in such a country, even the most 
 slouching clown, walking as though stepping over 
 clods when plowing where the ground breaks up 
 hard, has in his untutored heart a love of poetry. He 
 may not be able to read may never have heard the 
 name of a son of genius, but in the evening, when 
 he stands on a purple "knob," watching the soul of 
 day sink out of sight in a far-away valley, he is a 
 poet. 
 
 4 49
 
 50 A BACKWOODS SUNDAY. 
 
 When the shadow of Saturday night falls upon a 
 backwoods community in Tennessee, a quiet joy 
 seems to lurk in the atmosphere. The whippoor- 
 will has sung unheeded every night during the 
 week, but to-night his song brings a promise of 
 rest. The tired boy sits in the door, and, taking 
 off his shoes, strikes them against the log door 
 step to knock the dirt out; and the cat that has fol 
 lowed the women when they went to milk the 
 cows, comes and rubs against him. The humming 
 bird, looking for a late supper, buzzes among the 
 huneysuckle blossoms, and the tree-toad cries in the 
 locust tree. The boy goes to bed, thrilled with an 
 eipectation. He muses: "I will see somebody 
 to-morrow." 
 
 On the morrow the woods are full of music. The 
 great soul of day rises with a burst of glory, and 
 the streams, bounding over the rocks or dreaming 
 among the ferns, laugh more merrily and seem to 
 be brighter than they were yesterday. Horses 
 neigh near an old log church and a swelling hymn 
 is borne away on the blossom -scented air. The 
 plow-boy, sitting near the spring, heeds not the 
 sacred music but gazes intently down the shady 
 road. He sees some one coming sees the flutter 
 ing of a gaudy ribbon and is thrilled. A young 
 woman comes up the road, coyly tapping an old 
 mare with a dogwood switch, and eager lest some
 
 A BACKWOODS SUNDAY. 51 
 
 one else may perform the endearing office, he 
 hastens to help the young woman to alight. He 
 tries to appear unconcerned as he takes hold of the 
 bridle rein, but he stumbles awkwardly as he leads 
 the animal toward the horse-block. When he has 
 helped her down and has tied the horse it is his 
 blessed privilege to walk with the girl as far as the 
 church door. 
 
 " What's Jim a-doin' ?" he asks, as they walk 
 along under the embarrassing gaze of a score of 
 men. 
 
 " Plowed yistidy; ain't doin' nothin' to-day." 
 
 " Be here to-day, I reckon," he rejoins. 
 
 " He went to preachin' at Ebeneezer." 
 
 " What's Tom a-doin' ?" 
 
 "Went to mill -yistidy; ain't doin' nothin' to 
 day." 
 
 " Be here to-day, I reckon." 
 
 " He 'lowed he mout, but I don't know whether 
 he will or not." 
 
 "What's Alf a-doin'?" 
 
 "Cut sprouts an' deadened trees yistidy; ain't 
 doin' nothin' to-day." 
 
 " Be here to-day, I reckon." 
 
 " Yes, 'lowed he was a comin' with Sue Prior." 
 
 "Anybody goin' home with you, Liza?" 
 
 "Not that I know of." 
 
 " Wall, if nobody else ain't spoke I'd like to go."
 
 52 A BACKWOODS SUNDAY. 
 
 " We'll see about it," she answers and then enters 
 the church. He saunters off and sits down under 
 a tree where a number of young men are wallow 
 ing on shawls spread on the grass. The preacher 
 becomes warm in his work and the blow-boy hears 
 him exclaim: " What can a man give in exchange 
 for his own soul;" but he is not thinking of souls, 
 or of an existence beyond the horizon of this life ; 
 his mind is on the girl with the gaudy ribbon and 
 he is asking his heart if she loves him. The 
 shadows arc now shorter and hungry men cast 
 glances at the sun, but the preacher, shouting in 
 broken accents, appears not to have reached the first 
 mile-stone of his text and it is evident that he 
 started out with the intention of going a " Sabbath 
 day's journey." One young fellow places his straw 
 hat over his face and tries to sleep but some one 
 tickles him with a spear of grass. An old man who 
 has stood it as long as he could in the house and 
 who has come out and lain down, gets up, stretches 
 himself, brushes a clinging leaf ff his gray jeans 
 trousers and declares: " A bite- to eat would hit me 
 harder than a sermon writ on a rock. Don't see 
 why a man wantc to talk all day." 
 
 14 Thought you was mighty fond of preachin', 
 Uncle John," some one remarks. 
 
 ** Am, but I don't want a man to go over an* 
 over what he has already dun said. If my folks
 
 A BACKWOODS SUNDAY. 53 
 
 want in thar I'd mosey off home an* git suthin* to 
 eat." 
 
 " Good book says a man don't live by bread alone, 
 Uncle John." 
 
 " Yas, but it don't say that he lives by preachin* 
 alone, nuther. HoP on; they are singin' the dox- 
 ology now, an' I reckon she will soon be busted." 
 
 The plowboy goes home with his divinity Uncle 
 John's daughter. " Reckon Jim will be at home ?" 
 he asks as they ride along. 
 
 " H mout be. Air you awful anxious to see 
 him?" 
 
 " Not so powerful. Jest 'lowed I'd ask. I know 
 who's yo' sweetheart," he says after a pause. 
 
 " Bet you don't" 
 
 " Bet I do." 
 
 "Who is it then, Mr. Smarty?" 
 
 " Aleck Jones." 
 
 " Who, him? Think I'd have that freckled-face 
 thing?" 
 
 " Wall, if he ain't I know who is." 
 
 " Bet you couldn't think of his name in a hun 
 dred years." 
 
 " You mout think I can't but I can." 
 
 "Wall, who, then, since you are so smart?" 
 
 " Morg Atcherson." 
 
 " Ho, I wouldn't speak to him if I was to met 
 him in the road."
 
 64 A BACKWOODS SUNDAY. 
 
 " But you'd speak to some people if you was to 
 meet them in the road, wouldn't you?" 
 
 " Yes, of course I would." 
 
 " Who would you speak to?" 
 
 " Oh, lots of folks. Did you see that bird almost 
 hit me?" she suddenly exclaims. 
 
 48 1 reckon he 'lowed you was a flower." 
 
 " Oh, he didn't, no such of a thing. You ought 
 to be ashamed of yo'se'f to make fun of me thater 
 way." 
 
 " I wa'n't makin' fun of you. Ho, if I was ter 
 ketch anybody makin' fun of you it wouldn't be good 
 for him." 
 
 "What would you do?" 
 
 " I'd whale him." 
 
 " You air awful brave, ain't you?'* 
 
 " Never mind whut I am ; I know that if any 
 man was to make fun of you he'd have me to 
 whup." 
 
 A number of people have stopped at Uncle John's 
 house. They sit in the large passageway running 
 between the two sections of the log building and the 
 men, who have not heard the sermon, discuss it 
 with the women who were compelled to hear it from 
 halting start to excited finish. The sun is blazing 
 out in the fields and the June-bugs are buzzing in 
 the yard. It is indeed a day of rest for the young 
 and old, but is it a restful time for the housewife ?
 
 A BACKWOODS SUNDAY. 
 
 55 
 
 Does that woman, with flushed face, running from 
 the kitchen to the dining-room and then to the 
 spring-house for the crock jar of milk, appear to be 
 resting? Do the young men and women that are 
 lolling in the passage realize that they are making 
 a slave of her? Probably not, for she assures them 
 that it is not a bit of trouble, yet when night comes 
 
 when the company is gone-^-she sinks down, 
 
 almost afraid to wish that Sunday might never 
 como again, yet knowing that it is the day of her 
 heavy bondage. Old labor has been soothed and 
 young love has been encouraged, but her trials and 
 anxieties have been more than doubled. 
 
 It is night and the boy sits in the door, taking 
 off his shoes. To-morrow he must go into the hot 
 field but he does not think of that. His soul is full 
 of a buoyant love buoyant for the girl with ohe 
 gaudy ribbon has promised to be his wife.
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE WATCH. 
 
 BBOOMBEBBY was on his way down town, Intend- 
 
 ing to get off at the Van Bnren street station. Jugt 
 
 before reaching that point an acquaintance sat down 
 
 beside him and began to talk about a murder that 
 
 had been committed just a year before on the North 
 
 Side. Being a city-hall man, Broomberry's acquaint- 
 
 ance knew a great deal about the murder; he knew 
 
 old Kloptock, the victim, and in an exceedingly die- 
 
 creet and sunken-voiced manner he intimated to 
 
 Broomberry that he had a pretty shrewd idea as to 
 
 who committed the deed. By this time the train 
 
 had passed the Van Buren street station was just 
 
 pulling out, in fact, and Broomberry, determined 
 
 not to miss an appointment, jumped off the train. 
 
 He looked at his watch a minute later and found 
 
 that in jumping off he had broken the crystal. ^ He 
 
 kept his appointment and then stepped into a jew- 
 
 eler's to get a new crystal. 
 
 " Where did you get it? " the jeweler asked when, 
 after completing his work, he handed the watch to 
 
 Broomberry. 
 
 "I got it from a friend of mine. "Why?" 
 a
 
 58 THE HISTORY OF THE WATCH. 
 
 i 
 
 " Nothing, only you've got a rare watch, not in 
 value but as to number. About thirty years ago a 
 company of men built a factory at a little town 
 called Rcmney, in Massachusetts, and began to 
 manufacture watches; but, as some sort of disaster 
 befell the concern, only three watches were ever 
 completed, and thia is one of them." 
 
 " You don't say BO ?" exclaimed Bloomberry. "Well, 
 well; and I shouldn't have known of the rarity of 
 my property if I hadn't broken the crystal in jump- 
 ing off a train this morning. Do you know what 
 I'm going to do? I'm going to trace this watch 
 back to the factory if I can; and I'm going to write 
 a description of the hands through which it has 
 passed and make a book of it Won't that be an 
 odd little volume, ' The History of the Watch? ' I 
 am much obliged to you, sir. You've given me an 
 idea, and to a man who is BO unfortunate as to be 
 compelled to make his living by thinking, an idea is 
 almost a necessity. Ah, but pardon me for not 
 vering your question. I got the watch from 
 II nry Lucas: gave him $45 for it about two months 
 If the history should be interesting enough 
 to print I'll give you a copy of it. Good-day." 
 
 Broomberry called on Henry Lucas. He found 
 his friend absorbed in the work of "running up" 
 figures in an immense book. 
 
 ' Ah, Broomberry. Sit down."
 
 THE HISTORY OF THB WATCH. 
 
 "No; I haven't time. Say, where did you get 
 this watch ? Only three of them made and all that 
 eort of thing. Just want to get the history of it, 
 you know." 
 
 " I bought it from a fellow named Martin Kelly." 
 
 * Where do you suppose I can find him? " 
 
 41 He works in the postoffice." 
 
 Broomberry went to the postoffice. He had 
 struck a new line of work and was delighted. Mr. 
 Kelly was easily *ound. 
 
 " I got it from Mark Hammonds," said he. 
 
 "The deuce you did!" Broomberry exclaimed. 
 " Why, he was the cause of my breaking the crystal 
 this morning. I was talking to him and passed my 
 station and then had to jump off. Til go right down 
 to the city hall and see him." 
 
 " Where did I get it? " Hammonds replied in a 
 careless sort of a way. " Well, let me see. I got 
 it from J. H. McPeal, a big furniture dealer on the 
 West Side." 
 
 "All right; I'll go over there and see him." 
 
 The great furniture dealer, a smooth, well-fed, 
 bald-headed man, was busy in his office when Broom- 
 berry entered. 
 
 " Well, sir, what can I do for you? " 
 
 " I came to ask you about this," said Broomberry, 
 taking out the watch. 
 
 ** Don't know anything about it, sir. Good-day."
 
 60 THE HISTOBT OF THE WATCH. 
 
 " Excuse me," said Broomberry, " but my friend, 
 Mark Hammonds, of the city hall, told me that he 
 got it from you." 
 
 " Ah, let me see it Yes, that's so," he added, 
 when Broomberry had handed him the watch; and 
 then, with an air of business, as though he had been 
 rather lax with the ethics of trade and must now, as 
 a recovery of principle, make a show of briskness, 
 he asked: "But what about it, sir what about it ?" 
 
 " Nothing, only I should like to know where you 
 got it" 
 
 41 Yes, but I am very busy to-day exceedingly 
 busy, sir. Can't you call some other time ? " 
 
 "Oh, of course; but it won't take a minute to 
 tell me where you got it if you know." 
 
 "Yes, yes, that's so; but I'm extremely busy. 
 Let me see. We took it in part payment on a lot 
 of furniture from, let me Stevens," he called. 
 
 A man entered and said, " Yes, sir." 
 
 " What's the name of that boarding-house woman 
 that couldn't, or rather wouldn't, pay for her furni 
 ture in money and we had to take a watch ? What 
 is her name? Quick; I'm busy." 
 
 " Mrs. Caddo, sir; 742 Limbill street" 
 
 " Yes, that's correct. Good-day, sir." 
 
 Broomberry hastened to the boarding-house of 
 Mrs. Caddo. She would have talked an hour about 
 the watch, or by it, either. She would have told of
 
 THE HISTORY OP THE WATCH. 61 
 
 the myriad of trials that come to the widowed keeper 
 of a boarding-house, and she did tell of a certain 
 harness-maker named Sam Haines, who had boarded 
 with her, who was drunk nearly all the time, who 
 positively refused, indeed, in a most insulting man 
 ner, to pay his board, but who, after being threat 
 ened by the law, and by a certain enormous 
 policeman who knew the widow quite well, con 
 sented to give her his watch. This Mr. Sam Haines 
 could be found in Madison street near Robey. 
 
 Broomberry found the harness-maker drunk and 
 communicative. He got the watch of a certain 
 pawnbroker and would neglect his work to go and 
 enow Broomberry the place. 
 
 " Oh, no. I can find it easily enough," said the 
 visitor, taking down the number. 
 
 " But you can't find it as well as if I went with 
 you," the accommodating harness-maker insisted. 
 " You bet I'll go with you. Bet your life on that. 
 You're my friend; bet your life on that." 
 
 Broomberry hastened away and heard something 
 that sounded like "You go to h 1, then; bet your 
 life on that," as he went out. 
 
 The pawnbroker remembered the watch, and, turn 
 ing to his books, said that it had been sold to him 
 by one H. J. Miles, 426 Rockland street. 
 
 Broomberry started out to look for the street and 
 soon discovered that there was no such place. Ha 
 returned to the pawn shop.
 
 62 THE HISTORY OF THE WATCH. 
 
 *' The fellow that sold you this watch must have 
 come by it dishonestly," he said to the broker. 
 
 " Very likely, sir. We have no means of fading 
 out, you know. All we can do is to take the name 
 and address, or what we suppose to be such." 
 
 " Yes, that's true, I suppose. But do you think 
 you'd know the man if you were to see him again?" 
 
 " Yes. I think so." 
 
 " Have you ever seen him since he sold you tha 
 watch?" 
 
 "No, I think not." 
 
 *' I have," said a boy standing at the back end 
 of the place. 
 
 " Good ; but do you know where he can be found ? " 
 
 " I don't know where he stays, but I have seen 
 him go up into a gambling house." 
 
 " Well, now, if you will go with me and point him 
 out I will pay you well for your trouble." 
 
 Every day for four days the boy went with Broom- 
 berry and stood near a narrow stairway on Clark 
 street, and just as they were about to leave the 
 place on the evening of the fourth day the boy 
 clutched Broomberry's arm and said: 
 
 " That's him going up HW." 
 
 "All right. Here." He gave the boy $5. 
 
 Broomberry went up into the gambling den; he 
 closely studied the man that had been pointed out 
 The fellow lost his money and went down. Broom-
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE WATCH, 68 
 
 berry followed him. He went to a sort of hotel in 
 Canal street and Broomberry kept him in view. He 
 went into the barroom and sat down at a table. 
 Broomberry approached him, indiscreetly, too, and 
 said: 
 
 " Will you please pardon me if I ask you a few 
 questions ? " 
 
 " I don't know whether I will or not," the fellow 
 growled, but Broomberry, taking no notice of his ill- 
 humor, sat down. 
 
 "I am about to write a little history," said he, 
 " and think you may be able to help me out on it. 
 I have in my possession a watch which I have traced 
 to you, and I should like to know where you " 
 
 The fellow jumped up, knocked Broomberry down 
 and disappeared through a back door. When the his 
 torian got up and brushed himself he was told that 
 a policeman had caught the fellow a singular out 
 come, surely. The fellow was brought back and 
 then, together with Broomberry, was taken to a 
 police station, where the historian related his story, 
 and then there came a sensation. The watch had 
 belonged to old Kloptock and Broomberry had 
 found the murderer.
 
 OLD LTJXTON'S WOLF. 
 
 " DON'T tell me that the thoroughly good fellow 
 ever can become a financial success," said Luxtcn, 
 the old printer. " Well, wait a minute," he quickly 
 added, seeing that one of company was about to 
 dispute him. " I admit that there are exceptional 
 cases, cases where accident or sudden turn of fortune, 
 depending not in the least upon that trickery which 
 we too often term business skill, have played no 
 part; but you take ten eminently successful men 
 and I'll warrant that in nine of them can be found 
 a prepondering element of that quality known as 
 wolf essence. Oh, I know. Selfishness, extreme, 
 unyielding selfishness, is the essential oil of success. 
 Let me give you an illustration: In Nashville, 
 Tenn., I set type beside a most genial fellow named 
 Abe Carson. Every instinct seemed to be that of 
 a true gentleman, and surely no one had a tenderer 
 heart. He held himself in a gentle readiness to 
 perform kind offices ; he carried encouraging cheer 
 fulness into the sick room; he and harshness were 
 unknown to each other. One night I noticed that 
 a strange sadness had settled upon him, and X
 
 66 OLD LUXTON'S WOLF. 
 
 questioned him, but he answered evasively. The 
 next night he appeared to be in deeper gloom, but 
 on the third night a peculiar change took place. I 
 happened to be looking at him when the darkness 
 suddenly fell from his face like a fog lifted from the 
 surface of a pool, but unlike a pool thus suddenly 
 cleared, I saw no pleasant countenance seeming to 
 rejoice freedom I saw a face bright enough, but 
 hard; eyes light enough, but cold. 
 
 "'What's the matter, Abe?' I could not help 
 but ask. He turned, looked steadily at me for a 
 moment and then said: 
 m " ' Luxton, we have always been friends? ' 
 
 " ' Yes.' 
 
 " ' But I don't think we shall be much longer.' 
 
 " ' Why ?' I asked with the quick impulse of aston 
 ishment. 
 
 " ' Oh, I've undergone a change. You know that 
 I have been what people are pleased to call a good 
 fellow.' 
 
 "'Yes.' 
 
 " ' Well, you won't hear them say it much longer. 
 When a man becomes known as a good fellow the 
 roadway that leads to success is closed to him. 
 When favors are to be distributed they are given to 
 other people. You know that I am one of the most 
 capable compositors in the city, yet I have worked 
 for ten years in this office and have seen incompetent
 
 OLD LUXTON'S WOLF. 67 
 
 man after incompetent man placed above me as fore 
 man. It has seemed to me that so soon as a man 
 made himself thoroughly disliked he was in line for 
 promotion. I have been a gentleman about as long 
 as I can afford to be, and I am going to make myself 
 available for the foremanship of the office. Hereafter 
 you must place no confidence in me; I am a wolf.' 
 
 " Within a week from that time I discovered that 
 Abe Carson was as despisable a man as I had ever 
 seen. He was surly and selfish; he fawned upon 
 those above him in authority, but treated his equals 
 with contempt. 
 
 " Within two months he was foreman of the office, 
 and I, his old friend, finding it difficult to work for 
 BO exacting a master, sought employment elsewhere, 
 but I kept track of him. Within three years he 
 owned a printing office, and shortly afterward he 
 was made independent by securing the state printing. 
 Everybody said he was a wolf, and consequently he 
 had more work than he could do. I met him in the 
 street one day, and to test him to see if any of his 
 old-time friendship for me were alive under the ap 
 pearance of the death of all feeling, I asked him to 
 lend me five dollars. 
 
 " ' I'm not in the money lending business,' said 
 he, looking at me in dark disapproval. ' You haven't 
 noticed three balls hanging in front of my door, have 
 you?'
 
 68 OLD LUXTON'S WOLF. 
 
 " ' No, but as I have often accommodated you iu 
 the past I don't see why you shouldn't contribute to 
 the relief of my present necessities.' 
 
 " 'That's all right; but I haven't any money to 
 lend. Nowhere,' he quickly added, fancying doubt 
 less that he discovered the intention of a coming 
 protest; 'of course you need it or you wouldn't want 
 to borrow, but suppose that every man who does 
 need it could borrow ? Hah ? What do you suppose 
 would be the condition of the business world ? Hah ? ' 
 
 " Then I told him that I was merely experiment 
 ing with him, that I didn't need any money. He 
 didn't seem at all pleased. 'I told you some time 
 ago that I was a wolf,' said he, ' but you were de 
 termined to open my mouth and look at my teeth, 
 eh? "Well, you saw them.' 
 
 " I took one other occasion to speak to Carson and 
 that came about in this way: A man came to me 
 and begged me to see Carson at onie and persuade 
 him to reconsider an action taken that morning. ' I 
 was foreman of the book room,' said the man, ' and 
 Carson fired me out because a few reams of paper 
 were spoiled in the cutting. I urged that I would 
 pay for the loss, but in a most cold-blooded way he 
 made me get out of the office. I don't know what 
 I am to do, work is dull, and I've a large family.' 
 
 " I went to see Carson. ' No, sir,' said he, ' the 
 fellow ruined a lot of paper and ought to be taught 
 a lesson.'
 
 OLD LUXTON'S WOLF. 69 
 
 " * But he says he will pay for it.' 
 
 " 'Yes, I know; but it's my duty to teach him a 
 lesson;' and here he smiled so maliciously that I 
 felt a strong impulse to hit him in the mouth. ' Ho 
 is competent and all that, but he must go. Say, is 
 it possible you can't learn anything? Didn't I tell 
 you that I am a wolf? Hah? And didn't I give 
 you sufficient proof?' 
 
 " ' I accept your proof,' I replied, and indignantly 
 marched out. Well, years passed, and about five 
 months ago I got a letter from Carson. ' My dear 
 old friend,' said he, 'it is with joy that I tell you I 
 am no longer a wolf. It was never my nature to be, 
 but my success in life demanded it. And now that 
 I have built up a fortune, I have returned to my old 
 self and henceforth will be a good fellow a gentle 
 man.' 
 
 *' You can well imagine my emotions upon receiv 
 ing this letter. Carson, the long estranged, to be a 
 good fellow again. I would go to see him ; and I 
 set the fifth of the month as the day when I should 
 set out on my journey of pleasure, a journey that 
 should take me back not to the state printer, but to 
 Abe Carson, the gentlest mam I ever knew. But I 
 didn't go." 
 
 " Why ? " some one asked. 
 
 " Because I saw on the fourth that Carson had 
 fruled, having been forced to the wall by a note
 
 70 OLD LUXTON'S WOLF. 
 
 which he had signed for a friend, and that in his 
 ' dejection he had killed himself." 
 
 "Luxton," said an old fellow, taking out a quid 
 of tobacco and striking the spittoon with a spat, " I 
 have knocked about a good bit and have met quito 
 a number of men, first and last, and just at this time 
 it strikes me that you are the biggest liar I ever 
 saw."
 
 SHELLING PEASE. 
 
 AN old negro, with troubled thought embossed on 
 his countenance, was seen standing on the bank of 
 a river. Certain gestures, implying helplessness, 
 and the peculiar tone of his mutterings proclaiming 
 despair, might have led one, unacquainted with 
 negro character, to suppose that the old fellow was 
 about to destroy himself; but the persons who were 
 near knew that a black negro never kills himself 
 purposely, and they were, therefore, unmoved. 
 
 After a while the old negro took out a silver 
 dollar, looked at it a moment, and then threw it into 
 the river. 
 
 "Look here, what did you do then?" a man 
 asked. 
 
 " I flung a dollar in dis yere river, Bah." 
 
 "And you're the biggest fool I ever saw." 
 
 " Mebbe I ain't ez big er fool ez you think I is; 
 mebbe I had er aim in flingin' dat money er way." 
 
 "Aim in throwin' it away! Was it that you've 
 got too much, and want to get rid of it?" 
 
 " No, bless yo' life it ain't. De Lawd knows dat 
 der ain't er man in dis yere 'munity dat needs 
 money more'n I does." 
 
 71
 
 72 SHELLING PEASE. 
 
 "Ah, and you threw that dollar away because 
 you thought it would bring you good luck, eh?" 
 
 " No, sah, caze I doan' bleve in no sich er 'stition 
 ez dat" 
 
 " Well, why did you throw your dollar away?" 
 
 " My son," said the old man, " you ain't ez much 
 o' QT floserfer ez I is, an' darfo you doan know do 
 tricks dat sarve ter turn way de troubles o' dis 
 yere life. Lemme tell you suthin : Some time de 
 mine kin worry so long ober de same thing dat er 
 pusson will go crazy ef he doan make his mine 
 change de subject. Now, dat's 'stablished an' 
 granted, an' we'll git down ter de p'int. Er few 
 weeks ergo I got 'quainted wid er lady dat mighty 
 nigh tuck my bref. You may think dat er little 
 mouf black bass an' one deze yer speckeled pearches 
 is putty, but da'd no mo' com par wid dat piece o' 
 human flesh den er inud turkle would show up wid 
 er pea fowl. Soon ez I seed her, does you know 
 whut I done? I drapped right inter pure love. 
 My ole wife had dun been run er way wid dat 
 yaller barber mo'n er year, an' I knowed dat I wuz 
 fitten ter marry, 'cordin' ter de church an' 'spect- 
 able s'ciety, so I put out arter de lady, I did. I 
 went ter see her er good many times; I tuck her 
 boss apples tied up in er red hankerchuck; I 
 yered dat she smoked, an' I fotch her some yaller 
 leaf terbacker dat I raised myse'f; I made mer-
 
 SHELLING PEASE. 73 
 
 lasses candy fur her; I eben went so fur ez ter 
 steal er chiekin an' fry it an' take it ter her; an' 
 now I wan ter ax you ef er pusson could do much 
 mo' den all dis ? She could see by all deze yere 
 'tentions dat I wuz ready an' er waitin' ter lay down 
 my life fur her. But did she smile at me in re 
 turn fur all dis ? Did she take holt o' my han' like 
 she oughter done, an' say, * Simon, lead de way an' 
 I'll foller you through dis yere life.' Did she do 
 dat? No, sah, but I'll tell you what she done. 
 Wen I called at de house de las' time she wuz set- 
 tin' in de do' shellin' pease. Sez I, ' Howdy do, 
 ma'm,' an' I set down on de step an' tuck up er 
 pea hull and gunter look at it like dar wuz suthin' 
 cu'is er bout it. She says: 
 
 " ' Good mawnin', sah.' 
 
 " ' 'Taint quite ez dry ez it was er few days er 
 go,' says I. 
 
 " ' No, an' it ain't quite ez wet ez it wuz while 
 it wuz rainin'.' 
 
 " She sorter cut her eye up at me an' I smiled, 
 but she shut off de light dat fell on me by lookin' 
 some whar else. 
 
 " 'Whut's de reason I didn't see you at church 
 yeste'd'y?' I asked. 
 
 " ' I reckon it wuz becaze I didn't go.' 
 
 " She flung some more light on me and went on 
 shellin' pease.
 
 74 SHELLING PEASE. 
 
 " ' Bruder Jasper 'lowed dat he missed you 
 might'ly,' I 'lowed. 
 
 "'Who, dat ole fool?' 
 
 " 'An' I missed you might'ly, too.* 
 
 "'Who, you?' She stobbed me wid er dirk o' 
 light on' kep' on er shellin'. 
 
 " ' Yas,' says I, ' an' ef I wuz ter be snatched frum 
 dis worl' an' tuck ter heaben an' didn' find you dar 
 I'd be so diserpinted dat I'd say ' take me 'way 
 frum yere.' ' 
 
 " ' Indeed,' she said, an' she sorter wrinkled her 
 nose, but she didn't look at me er tall. 
 
 " ' Tas, honey, an' I'd not only tell 'em to take 
 me er way, but ef da didn' do it I'd jump out'n 
 dar like er steer.' 
 
 " 'Who you callin' honey?' she axed. 
 
 " * Who's yere wid me ? ' 
 
 "'I is!' 
 
 " ' Den I'se callin' you honey.' 
 
 " ' Fool,' she says. 
 
 " ' Who's you callin' fool?' 
 
 " ' Who's yere wid me? ' 
 
 " ' I is,' says I. 
 
 " 'Den I'se callin' you fool.' 
 
 " 'Fool is er mighty po' swap fur honey," says I. 
 
 '"I doan know 'bout dat, but I knows dis: dat 
 ef I had er yeller dog dat wuz flea-bit, an* had de 
 mange, I wouldn't swap him fur you,'
 
 SHELLING PEASE. 75 
 
 "'Miss,' says I, gittin' up off en de step, 'dar 
 ain't nobody dat likes de flowers and runnin' vines 
 o' speech better den I does, but I wanter tell you 
 dat you'se gittin' sorter pussonal; but hole on 
 doan go inter argyment on dis p'int, fur I wanter 
 state er case ter yer. Naw lissun ter me: I'se 
 got about ten hogs one o' 'em ain't right well, 
 but he'll git all right an' two cows an' er hoss, 
 'sides er whole lot o' stuff in the house. Naw I 
 offers dis ter you wid de undyin' love o' er man 
 dat kin stan' flat-footed an' shoulder fo' bushels 
 of wheat. Tou'se y eared er ca'f lowin' arter his 
 mammy. Dat ain't nuttin' ter de way my heart 
 lows arter you. I want you, honey; I want you, 
 an' I wan't you right now.' 
 
 " I waited an' waited fur her ter say suthin', but 
 phe kept on er shellin'. 
 
 " ' An' I want you right now,' says I. ' I mout 
 look ter you like I'm old; but, honey, I'se only ole 
 in de wisdom o' de world. I'se been er 'round, 
 honey. I used ter be er deck han' on er steamboat, 
 an' I'se been up ter Cairo an' way down ter Fryer's 
 P'int; an' now I fetches all dis wisdom ter you an' 
 tells you dat I wants you, an' wants you right now. 
 What mo' kin er lady ax den dis? Kin she lissen 
 an' harken ter de chatter o' deze yere young bucks 
 arter all dis ? Now, whut does you say ? ' 
 
 "She looked at me, she did, an' says: 'You say
 
 76 SHELLING PEASE. 
 
 you ain't ole, but I bet you kain't jump dat fence 
 dar.' 
 
 " ' I'll bet I kin,' says I. 
 
 M ' Den I'll bet you dat you kain't stay on de 
 uider side.' 
 
 " I looked at her I looked at her hard dis time, 
 an' I says, ' Lady, you'se boxin' me fust one side 
 an' den de udder gest fur yo' own pleasure. I'se 
 too proud er man ter stand dat; I'se traveled too 
 much ter stand it; an' now I'se gwine stan' right 
 yere an' ax you ef you gwiue be my wife.' 
 
 " ' Ole man,' say she, but she didn't turn de light 
 on me she give me cold darkness ' ole man, 
 hobble er long now. I ain't got no crutches fur 
 you, so hobble er long while you'se able. Wen I 
 wants ter marry sich er man ez you, I'll go ober 
 yander ter de guberment hospital an' pick him out.' 
 
 " Den I come er way. Laws er massy, de misery 
 I did see night after night! Ever' time I'd shut 
 my eyes dar wuz dat lady, shellin' pease. I prayed 
 ter de Lawd ter send me de angel o' peace, an' I 
 drapped off ter sleep, an' yere come de angel. She 
 had er long silver cloak on, an' er gold veil; an' 
 jest ez I drapped on my knees ter thank her fur de 
 peace she had fetch me, she tuck er pan full o' 
 pease out frum under her silver cloak, an' she 
 lifted her golden veil, an' I seed de cruil lady dat I 
 loved.
 
 SHELLING PEASE. 77 
 
 " At last I found dat if I didn't take my mind 
 off en dat subject I'd go crazy, an' darfo' I come 
 down yere and flung er dollar in de river." 
 
 " But how will that aid you to take your mind 
 off the subject?" 
 
 " Oh Lawd, you'se got er heap ter 1'arn an' er 
 'mighty heap o' traveling to do. How is it gwine 
 take my mine offen de subject? Dis way: I'll go 
 away from yere thinkin' o' whut er fool I wuz ter 
 fling er way dat dollar w'en I needed it so much; 
 an' all de time I'se thinkin' 'bout de dollar, my 
 mine will be at test consarnin' de lady settin' in de 
 do' shellin' pease."
 
 A TOTJNG MAN'S ADVICE, 
 
 THE editor of the Weekly Household Comfort was 
 sitting in his office looking over a pink sketch en 
 titled " How to Make Home a Paradise of Love," 
 presumably written by a maiden lady, when the 
 footsteps of quick impulse were heard in, the hall 
 way. A thump, with uncalculated force, resounded 
 from the door, and when the editor cried "Come in," 
 there entered a tall, muscular young man. 
 
 " Is this Buben J. StibbensF " the visitor asked. 
 
 " The same sir, and I am at your service. Sit 
 down." 
 
 "I hope you are/' said the visitor, as he seated 
 himself. He remained silent for a feiir moments 
 and then, giving his hat a sort of determined shove 
 back, remarked: 
 
 " I have been rdadihg your paper for some 
 time." 
 
 "Yes," the editor interrupted with a "property" 
 smile. 
 
 " I first took it up about a year ago," the visitor 
 went on, "and at once became interested in your 
 advice to young men. You said that ft yoting man
 
 80 A IOUNQ MAN'S ADTICE. 
 
 with an income of $20 a week could not only afford 
 to get married, but that if anything he could live 
 cheaper and, therefore, save more money than ever 
 before." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " I was visiting a young lady at that time and 
 decided that I was in love with her. I believed 
 that she would make me a good wife, but had been 
 holding off through fear that I could not afford to 
 marry; but you pictured it so attractively aud 
 figured it out with such encouragement that I knew 
 that I couldn't make a mistake by following your 
 advice. I was boarding at a very nice place, where 
 there was a gay company and much entertaining 
 talk, and when we all assembled at table, I fancied, 
 and not without cause, that I was the king bee of 
 the hive. And I pictured to myself the man I'd 
 become when I should sit at my own table." 
 
 " Yes," said the editor. 
 
 " But," the visitor continued, " I held off through 
 fear that I might possibly make a mistake. I was 
 so free that I couldn't exactly see how I coul(J 
 better myself, but I knew that you, as a man of ex- 
 perience, must surely be right T laid the mattet 
 before my girl and she laughed at my questioning 
 the result. She had been doubtful at first, she said, 
 but your paper had tipped with gold the sharp 
 born of every fear. Those were her very
 
 A YotiNa MAN'S ADVICE. 81 
 
 Sh reads a good many flimsy books. * We can 
 just live the nicest you ever saw,' she said. 'We 
 will rent a furnished flat and oh, won't that be 
 charming?' and that's the way she went on. I 
 think she had a notion of going on the stage at one 
 time." 
 
 The editor said " yes," and the young man, after 
 a short silence, thus went on : 
 
 *' I held off a little while longer, but here came 
 another copy of your paper and with a strong array 
 of facts settled the matter. Well, we were married. 
 We rented a furnished flat and then our trouble be 
 gan. Our friends fell away from us, and when I 
 took my wife to visit my companions at the board 
 ing house I waived aside all formality and took 
 her there I soon discovered that I had lost caste ; 
 but I loved my wife and looked with contempt upon 
 the littleness of my former associates. One evening 
 I didn't go home until rather late, and my wife 
 complained about it. She shed tears and I thought 
 with a pang of the freedom I had lost. I would 
 take my salary home every Saturday night and give 
 it to my wife, which was right enough as she was 
 of a more saving nature than myself. One 
 Saturday evening I went home after having met 
 several old time friends from my boyhood town. 
 When I handed over my money my wife counted it, 
 and then, looking hard at me, said: *
 
 82 A YOUNG MAN'S ADVICE. 
 
 explained that I had met several old friends. 'But 
 I don't meet any,' she replied. Then she cried, and 
 I thought of my former ownership of mr own 
 money and silently cursed myself." 
 
 <: I am sorry," said the editor. 
 
 The visitor grunted and then continued: "Well, 
 it has just been a year since I married and what do 
 I find ? I find that my expenses are nearly twice as 
 heavy as they were I find that I must either bend 
 to the whims of a woman or bear the appearance of 
 a brute." 
 
 " I regret very much that you should have been 
 disappointed," said the editor, "but you should 
 console yourself with the time honored thought that 
 it might have been worse." 
 
 " Yes," replied the visitor, " I might have mar 
 ried sooner; but I have come here not to be told 
 that matters might have been worse, but to ask your 
 candid advice. You were the cause of my marriage, 
 and now let your mind work for a few moments in 
 my behalf; but first view the difficulties of the 
 situation. If I surrender completely my wife will 
 forever rule me; if I insist upon being master I 
 shall be set down as a tyrant. What would you 
 do?" 
 
 " Well," said the editor, after a few moments' re 
 flection, " I should think that some appeasing 
 medium could be struck. Get up a sort of treaty, 
 as it were."
 
 " Now look here," the visitor said, Bather nharply, 
 "you ought to know that a woman don't keep a 
 treaty. When it comes to a matter of treaty she is 
 a barbaric nation." 
 
 " My dear sir, I don't know what to advise." 
 
 " But what did you do? You surely had to solve 
 certain household problems after you married. 
 Give me your experience." 
 
 "My dear sir,"' r, the editor, smiling, "I would 
 willingly give you my experience as to the regula 
 tion of married life, but the truth is, I am not a 
 married man." 
 
 " What I" exclaimed the visitor, springing to his 
 feet, " do you mean to tell me " 
 
 " I mean to tell you," the editor broke in, " that 
 I never married," 
 
 "Would you rather take off your coat?" the 
 young married man asked in a strangely soft 
 voice. 
 
 " Take off my coat I What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that I'm going to lick you and that I 
 will give you the privilege of removing ouperfluous 
 garments/' The visitor took off his coat and stood 
 waiting for the editor* "Come, hurry up. I 
 haven't time to mit on yon. I've got to get home 
 in time to keep from being taten to task. Get up 
 here." 
 
 dea? sir/' e*sGs4sOsi*d ibe editor, getting
 
 84 A YOUNG MAN'S ADYIOE. 
 
 up and stepping back, " you are a most peculiar 
 man. That advice was not written especially for 
 you." 
 
 " But it caught me especially. Come here!" 
 He reached after the editor and caught him, too. 
 He caught him with a hip hold and slammed him 
 on the unsympathetic floor. He took hold of the 
 editor's convenient ears and bumped his head, 
 bumped it until some one on the floor below yelled, 
 " Here, here, let up with that bowling alley busi 
 ness." He pulled a wisp of hair out of the editor's 
 head, the very wisp that, brushed carefully back, 
 had served to hide a bald spot; he choked him to 
 apparent insensibility, and after pouring a quart of 
 violet ink over his well-done work, took his depart 
 ure. 
 
 The latest number of Household Comfort does not 
 tell how two people can live more cheaply than one, 
 but in it there is an article entitled "Marriage 
 Sorter Shaky if Not a Complete Failure."
 
 THE PBOFESSOB. 
 
 SOME men acquire titles, but the professor's title 
 was thrust upon him. Nor did he object In truth 
 it was an unpropitious day when he objected to any 
 thing. About all he seemed to care for was to sit 
 in the saloon and play the piano for the drinks that 
 bar-room courtesy shoved his way. The professor 
 was getting along in years ; he had no family. He 
 had no ambition, and I don't know but that it was 
 well for him that he hadn't, for ambition in the 
 breast of the weak is a sore rankler. The professor's 
 master performance was of a piece called the "Battle 
 of Gettysburg." Jim, the big bartender, wouldn't 
 let him play it except on Saturday evenings. Jim 
 knew that the children of genius are cheapened by 
 frequent parade, and so he kept the " battle" for the 
 week's banner night. 
 
 One day a distressing accident befell the professor. 
 He was caught some way of course he didn't choose 
 iiow in a swinging bridge and both hands were 
 mashed into a sickening pulp. They took him to a 
 hospital and when the surgeons got through with 
 
 85
 
 86 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 him it was plain that his professorship was about 
 over. This was a worry which from the first moment 
 of the accident had lain on his mind. The next day 
 he sent for the hospital physician and said to him : 
 
 " Say, doc, of course I don't know how badly I'm 
 whittled up, only I'm willing to bet it's bad enough, 
 and I'd like for you to tell me if you think my use 
 fulness in life is knocked out." 
 
 " What is your business?" 
 
 " Business! My dear sir, I have never been com 
 pelled to make my living in trade." 
 
 "Well, what do you do?" 
 
 " I'm a professor of music in the Hole in Ground 
 conservatory in other words, I play a piano in a 
 saloon." 
 
 "Well," said the physician, looking at him com 
 passionately, " you have one finger on the right hand 
 and two on the left." 
 
 " Good-bye then to my sovereignty," said the pro 
 fessor. 
 
 " It's bad, but can't you make a living some other 
 way by teaching music?" 
 
 "No, I couldn't teach music; don't know anything 
 about it as a science or an art. I picked it up by acci 
 dent ; I found it as a sort of ' sleeper ', and I saw that 
 I could get drinks with it." 
 
 "But I should think that you could earn your 
 living some Low. You appear to be a man of edu 
 cation."
 
 THE PROFESSOR. 87 
 
 " Why, don't you know," said the prof essor, "that 
 in the majority of cases it's the educated man who 
 finds it hardest to make an honest living ; the man 
 who has a trained mind say, I'm a trifle too sober ; 
 soberer than I've been for years, and I want you to 
 help me out of it. Now, here, don't preach any 
 moral doctrine to me. There are no seeds of reform 
 ation in me. All I want is enough whiskey to dull 
 certain sharp places. Now, look here; I see that 
 you're going to preacn to me ; you're going to tell 
 me about the duty I owe to myself and my friends. 
 And just let me hold you off by saying that I don't 
 owe myself any duty, and I recognize nothing as 
 friendship except ' take something with me !' 
 Depraved ! Of course. What do yoti expect of a 
 man who plays a piano in a saloon? Sprigs of 
 morality? Hah?" 
 
 The doctor brought a glass of whiskey and gave 
 it to the professor. 
 
 "You've hit it now. Just hold it up, please. 
 Thank you," he said, when the doctor took the glass 
 away. 
 
 " You must have a history," the physician re 
 marked. 
 
 "I have Hume's, in six volumes." 
 
 " Oh, I mean a personal history." 
 
 " I hadn't thought of that, but I may have," 
 
 " Where were you born ? "
 
 88 THE PRCFESSOB. 
 
 " Either in this country or some other, I'm quite 
 sure." 
 
 " What is your name? " 
 
 " The professor." 
 
 "I'd like very much to know something about 
 you." 
 
 " Yes ? Well, it wouldn't do you any good. Say, 
 did it ever strike you that old drunkards take a 
 mournful delight in parading their depravity and 
 the opportunities they have losj? A man is often 
 contented with his misery and proud of his disgrace. 
 P -obably I could tell you a long story of a false 
 wite ai*d a ruined home ; probably I could tell you 
 of a defalcation and a midnight flight from a quiet 
 New England village. But I won't And why? 
 Because such things don't concern my case in the 
 least. Did I drink all that liquor when you tilted 
 that glass? I did? Well, it's time for more, isn't 
 it ? No ? Say, you people that give a man a swig 
 of whiskey and tell him he's got enough put your 
 selves in contempt of court. Why should you pre 
 sume to tell a man that he's got enough? You may 
 tell me that you won't give me any more, and you 
 may call me most any sort of name, for that is a priv 
 ilege that I grant any man; but don't tell me that 
 I've got enough when every fiber of my body tells 
 me that I haven't." 
 
 " I didn't tell you that you've had enough."
 
 THE PBOFES80B. 89 
 
 "Didn't you? Look here, I am discovering som* 
 very gentlemanly traits in you; and if I weren't in 
 this fix I'd shake hands with you. But what about 
 the whiskey?" 
 
 " You can't have any more at present'" 
 
 "There, you fell down. 'Tis thus throughout life: 
 A man wins our confidence and then wilfully throws 
 it away." 
 
 The professor took an exceeding thirst with him 
 when he went back to the saloon, and during a week 
 the whiskey was almost of incessant flow, but after 
 awhile big Jim called the professor aside and thus 
 spoke to him : 
 
 " Say, professor, you know we all like you and all 
 that sort o J 2 thing, but you know things have sorter 
 changed. You used to earn your liquor by piano 
 playing but you can' t play any more and some of 
 the customers are kicking about your setting around 
 here always watching for a drink. Of course I 
 don't wan't to hurt your feelin's, but I've got to 
 stand by the customers or this thing will go by 
 the board, you know; so I'd rathor you'd stay away 
 from here, professor. No harm, sure, understand, 
 and recollect I wouldn't hurt your feelings for any 
 thing, but it's got to be this way. Now, if you could 
 do something to entertain the customers of course 
 you could have drinks and lunch, but " 
 
 "Oh, I can entertain them," said the professor. 
 " I can dance."
 
 90 THE PROFISSOB. 
 
 " But that won't be much of an entertainment." 
 
 " What! Now, Jimmy, don't you go round here 
 showing your ignorance. Why, don't you know 
 that dancing is about to drive piano playing out of 
 society? You go to the biggest piano house in 
 town and they'll tell you that their sales have 
 dropped off at least fifty per cent, in the last six 
 months; -and you go to a leading shoe store and ask 
 them how dancing shoes are going. Don't prove 
 your unfitness fnr your position, Jimmy, by making 
 such breaks as that." 
 
 " All right, professor; I'll give it out that you are 
 to dance after this." 
 
 And he did dance ; not so well as some people have 
 danced in the past and not as well as some people 
 are likely to dance in the future, but he danced 
 back some of his lost popularity. So old a man 
 capering for the amusement of a crowd was gro 
 tesque, but grotesque catches the rabble, and in a 
 saloon old age itself becomes ridiculous. 
 
 Another accident befell the professor. A street 
 car mashed Ms foot. After a time he limped back 
 to the saloon and the "boys" greeted him with a 
 shout and gave him whiskey, but after a day or 
 two Jim came to him and said: 
 
 " They are complainin, again, professor." 
 
 " They don't waat me, eh?" 
 
 " That's it"
 
 THE PBOFESSOB. 91 
 
 " I'll entertain them with stories." 
 
 " They've heard all your chestnuts." 
 
 " I'll sing for them." 
 
 " Oh, Lord." 
 
 " What! don't you think I can sing?" 
 
 " I know you can't." 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, Jimmy, I reckon I am a 
 little short on singing. And I've got to go, eh?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You've got everything out of me ; you've squeezed 
 me dry and now you're going to throw me out. But 
 that's the way with you saloon fellows; and I act 
 ually believe that if the best fellow in the world 
 should keep a saloon a few years he would put out 
 his father after he ceased to be a source of revenue. 
 I don't know where I'll hang out, but of course that 
 doesn't make any difference." 
 
 He limped away and more than a week passed be 
 fore he was seen again in the saloon. Then he came 
 in when Charley, the other bartender, was on watch. 
 
 " How are you, Charley?" 
 
 " Hello, professor, take something ?" 
 
 "Will I? Just watch me. Fill it clear np." 
 
 " Say," said Charley, when the professor had 
 taken his drink, "you'd better get away before Jim 
 comes on. He'll bounce you." 
 
 " Yes, I will, but I've got to lie down a minute. 
 I feel all burnt out. I'll go back here and lie down, 
 but I'll git out before Jim comes on."
 
 92 THE PROFESSOR. 
 
 " Fd rather you wouldn't, professor." 
 . "Oh, I'll be all right in a few minutes." 
 
 He lay down and Charley took all the bottles and 
 put them on the bar and began to clean up. He 
 put the bottles back and began to wait on early 
 customers, and he forgot the professor. After awhile 
 Jim came in, and the first thing he saw was the pro 
 fessor lying back there. 
 
 " You'll have to get out of this," he said, walking 
 back. "I say, professor," Couching him with his 
 toe. "Heigh, here, professor." And suddenly Jim 
 sprang back with horror in his face. 
 
 " Charley," he said, "call a patrol wagon." 
 
 Yes, the professor wa.3 all right in a few minutes.
 
 OLD BROTHERS. 
 
 OLD BLIND BOB is a well-known figure in the 
 streets of Chicago. He came to this city years ago, 
 having run away from his Kentucky home of bond 
 age. He had fought dogs, he said, on an island in 
 the Ohio river, and he used to bare his arms and 
 show the children where the fierce animals had torn 
 his flesh. He was ever known as a kind-hearted 
 man, and when a dangerous duty presented itself he 
 faced it with cheerful fearlessness. One night an 
 old tenement house on Lake street caught fire and 
 when the flames shot high in the air, the cry was 
 raised tbat a crippled man had been left in an upper 
 front room. Bob did not wait a moment after hear 
 ing the cry; he hounded up the burning stairway 
 and brought the crippled man down wfth him, but 
 left his eyesight behind. For a time he was a hero. 
 The newspapers " wrote him up " and people flocked 
 to see him as he lay in his room. A subscription 
 was opened and a sum of money, not large but 
 promising to be larger, was raised for him, but 
 apathy, the sure follower of enthusiasm, soon came 
 
 98
 
 94 OLD BROTHERS. 
 
 and Bob was no longer a hero, but an unfortunate 
 negro that lost his eyesight in a fire. 
 
 The old man, led about by a large brindle dog, 
 lived on charity. JTis voice, with mendicity's earli 
 est trick, became peculiarly soft and persuasive, and 
 it was declared that the dog had cultivated the 
 knack of throwing tender appeal into his anxious 
 look. 
 
 The growth of the city gradually drove the old 
 man southward, Young men remember when he 
 lived on Madison street in a closet under a stairway, 
 and the newsboys have seen him move three 
 times within the past three years and now his 
 wretched lodging place is in a cellar just off Van 
 Buren street. 
 
 I have l.vlked many times with the old man. 
 Indeed I held a strong interest for him, not that I 
 could say anything that might tend to brighten his 
 future, but that I held in common with him a cer 
 tain memory of the past I had lived near his old 
 home in Kentucky. 
 
 " Ef I could git my eyes back' ergin," he onoe 
 remarked, " does you know what I'd do ? Hah, does 
 you know? Doan reckon you does. You reckona 
 dat I'd stomp round yere an' look at deze yer high 
 houses dat I yere folks talk so much erbout, but I 
 lay I wouldn't. I'd go right off down yander in 
 JLaintucky an' look at dat spring branch whar I used
 
 OLD BEOTHEBS. 95 
 
 ter wade. Eecolleck dat big oak tree whar da 
 Mount Hope road crossed de Bardstown pike? 
 Wall, eah, right under dat tree I killed de bigges' 
 black snake one day I eber peed in my life; an' de 
 trifliu' raskil fit me, too, he did. Taller Tony wuz 
 wid me an' bless yo' life how dat boy did run; an' 
 I tuck de snake and hung him on de fence ter make 
 it rain, an' now you neenter laugh but it did make 
 it rain sho's you bo'n. Mars' Wiley dat wuz ola 
 marster he 'lowed dat it did make it rain, but he 
 tole me not ter tell de uder white folks dat hebleved 
 it caze da'd laugh at him. An' you say Taller 
 Tony is er preacher now? Wall, wall. Sorter 
 strange dat er boy dat wuz er feerd o' er snake 
 would turn out ter be er man ter fight Satan, but 
 den I reckon ef Eve had been er little skeerder o' er 
 enake it would 'a' been er good 'eal better fur us 
 all." 
 
 Several days ago, late in the afternoon, I was 
 passing Old Bob's cellar, when I heard him talking 
 louder and harsher than I had ever known him to 
 talk before, and stepping down into the den I saw 
 the old man sitting with his back against the wall, 
 frowning upon his old brindle dog. 
 
 " What's the matter, Uncle Bob?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, is dat you? Er good 'eal de matter, sah, 
 Dis ole raskil dun lead me whar I almos' cripple 
 myse'f ergin er pile o' bricks. He's gittin' tired o 1 
 me, too, de ole scoundul."
 
 96 OLD BROTHERS. 
 
 The dog whined piteously. 
 
 " Oh, you' s sorry now, is you ? You ain't ha'f ez 
 sorry ez I is, you good fur nothin' houn'. Come er 
 lookin' roun' atter udder dogs an' let me breck my 
 ole bones. Git away from me " the dog was try 
 ing to rub his head against him "git er way, caze 
 I doan wanter had nuthin' ter do wid er traitor. 
 Oh, you mer whine but I ain't neber gwine be yo' 
 frien' no mo'." 
 
 The dog turned toward me. I shall never forget 
 the scene. The old guide the safe conduct through 
 BO many years was blind. 
 
 " Uncle Bob," said I, "the poor old dog is now 
 in closer kindship with you he is blind." 
 
 The old man sobbed, and feeling about him feel 
 ing for the dog said: 
 
 "Come yere, my po' ole frien' an' bruder; come 
 yere. Dar now, doan cry an' whine. Did you 
 think I wuz mad at you? Bless yo' life, I wouldn't 
 scold you. Dar, dat's it. Lay down, now; lay 
 down."
 
 OLD JOHN. 
 
 THE following must have been written as % most 
 secret self-confession. The stress of much impor 
 tance was evidently laid upon it, judging from the 
 care with which it was hidden away under a rock. 
 It was found in a small box, and was wrapped in a 
 piece of oil-skin. I would not so rudely drag the 
 writer's secret into the blistering domain of print, 
 were it not that a moral I don't exactly know what 
 sort trickles down among its words like a rivulet 
 from a dripping spring. 
 
 I must have been born a scoundrel (thus the 
 confession begins), for I cannot throw my recol 
 lection back to a time before the fly oi dishonesty 
 had laid an egg in my soul. I have no doubt that 
 my first meditated utterance was a lie, and I am 
 inclined to the belief that my first noteworthy per 
 formance was a theft. How I kept out of the peni 
 tentiary when I had grown up, is a mystery to me, 
 as I now look back upon those years of eager ras 
 cality, but I did keep out, and more, I managed to 
 gain the confidence of many people who thought 
 
 87
 
 98 OLD JOHN. 
 
 themselves world-wise. How complete a scoundrel 
 a man may be, and yet hold the admiration of honest 
 women. In talking to them I skirted the edge of a 
 forbidden ground, and they, ever fascinated by a 
 glimpse of the danger line, declared me witty and 
 wise, and voted dullness to certain honest men, who 
 talked with good intention. I did not marry early ; 
 I did not find a rich woman who happened to be at 
 matrimonial leisure. I lived along, often denounced 
 by men, but more often pitied by women. I must 
 have been nearly thirty years old when I met John 
 Lagmuth. I was fishing in a small Wisconsin lake 
 one Saturday, and on a nervous sudden my boat 
 tipped over, and into the lake I went. The water 
 was not very deep, and I walked ashore, and was 
 standing in the sunshine to dry, when I saw a man 
 coming toward me. 
 
 (< Won't you have a nip?" he asked as he came 
 nearer. 
 
 " No, I believe not," I answered. 
 
 " You'd better you might take cold. Got some 
 pretty fair brandy here." 
 
 He handed me a flask and I took a drink, and 
 that was the beginning of our acquaintance. I 
 didn't think so much of him at first; I saw at once 
 that there was something about him that did not, 
 so far as I knew, belong to any other man, but this 
 did not give me special concern. There was noth-
 
 OLD JOHN. 99 
 
 ing within me that called for friendship ; I did not 
 feel that my nature could agree to a scheme of 
 reciprocity, and therefore I was surprised when I 
 fownd that I was really attached to John Lagmuth. 
 And then a peculiar sadness settled upon me ; I was 
 depressed by the thought that he might soon dis 
 cover my unworthiness of his regard. Never before 
 had I known an unrest to arise from such a cause. 
 Once I had been half way in love with a slip of a 
 pale creature who had drawn about her thin being 
 the catchy drapery of a romantic air, but not for a 
 moment had I been concerned lest she might dis 
 cover me to be a rascal. 
 
 John Lagmuth liked me. I could see that and I 
 felt a strange consolation in the attention which he 
 showed me, and I said to myself that I would be so 
 skillful that he should never see any deeper into 
 my nature than I was willing that he should look. 
 
 One day he came to me said: "Harvey, let us 
 room together." And then, before I could answer, 
 he added: "You look surprised." 
 
 " Surprised with pleasure if at all," I replied. 
 
 "Good!" he said, with loud heartiness, placing 
 his hand on my shoulder. "And why do I say 
 good?" he asked, giving me more sympathy with 
 his eyes than the words of any one else had 
 ever conveyed. "Because I like you. Harvey, 
 in these days of cold-blooded scoundrelism, what
 
 100 OLD JOHN. 
 
 a feeling of restful security comes to us when 
 we meet a man whose voice is soft with the music 
 of truth, and whose heart is warm with hon 
 esty. Oh, you needn't look at me that way, Har 
 vey. I am a shrewd pryer into the odd corners of 
 human nature, and there, you shouldn't apologize 
 for being trustworthy." 
 
 I had interrupted him, but really I didn't know 
 what I had said. It must have been a sort of spon 
 taneous combustion of whatever little honesty there 
 was in my heart, but John Lagmuth mistook it for 
 a protest of modesty. 
 
 Well, we roomed together. He introduced me 
 into the prim and exclusive, yet delightful society 
 of old books ; he open hearted, and I carefully but 
 toning up my real self. And sometimes I had to 
 laugh when I thought how he prided himself on his 
 judgment of men, What an error it is to suppose 
 that one can actually read character. You cannot 
 judge of the size of the loaf by the crumbs you find 
 under the table; you can tell if the bread be wheat 
 or rye, but that is about as far as you can go. 
 We may be modest observers of action, but we are 
 egotistic readers of motive. 
 
 Thus we lived. Once I had a deal with a man 
 and I could have skinned him, and I would have 
 taken off his hide, too, hadn't I been afraid that 
 John might find it out Indeed, I neglected many
 
 OLD JOHN. 101 
 
 opportunities just on account of the charming old 
 fellow who had confidence in me. I took a keen 
 pleasure in thus deceiving him, and I did not stop 
 at being simply upright, but pushed forward into 
 the realm of speculation that is, I would perform 
 a kind act and wonder what John would think if he 
 should ever learn of it. People began to talk about 
 me, but public praise was not sweet enough alone 
 to stimulate me; my vanity was fed, and sometimes 
 pampered to ecstasy, by old John's mellow words. 
 I was nominated for office, and when the electors 
 came to receive my false promises I drew back from 
 making avowals that I could not fulfill. What 
 would John say if I should prove to be a political 
 hypocrite? I made no promises, but was elected. 
 
 Now, indeed, had I a chance to be an an ideal ras 
 cal. I was in a position to make thousands of dol 
 lars and run no risks of exposure, but I was afraid 
 that John might in some way find it out He was 
 my victim, and I could not endure the thought of 
 his rising above me. 
 
 The years went by. The night was wild. I sat 
 alone with John. He was dying. How beautiful 
 was his confidence in the love of a Savior ; how sub 
 lime was his resignation. 
 
 " Harvey, they say I can't liv till morning." 
 
 " Yes," I sobbed. 
 
 "It is well"
 
 102 OLD JOHN. 
 
 " Oh, no," I cried; " oh, no; it is not well. What 
 is to become of me ? " 
 
 " You are to follow, with love in your soul." 
 
 And so he passed away. I was elected to a higher 
 position of trust, and my opportunities for yielding 
 to instinct were greater than ever before, but still I 
 was afraid that old John might find it out. 
 
 I am an old man now, and my grandchildren are 
 about me. Society honors me, but I care naught 
 for that, for I feel that I deserve it not. I have a 
 
 hope now this is foolish but I have a hope that 
 
 old John has spoken well of me away over yon 
 der where the souls of men are gathered.
 
 AN OLD WOMAN'S DREAM. 
 
 AN old negro woman, after hanging about the door 
 of a lawyer's office, finally found courage enough to 
 enter. She was an " old-time " negress, and doubt 
 less, in some far away place, a prosperous man 
 turned lovingly to her memory to the memory of 
 his "black mammy." 
 
 " What do you want?" the lawyer demanded. 
 
 "Is dis Mr. Wilson's office?" she hesitatingly 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes, what can I do for you? Quick; I'm as 
 busy as a bed-bug." 
 
 " Wall, dem things is busy sho', er he he," she 
 laughed. " I knows whut da is, caze I wuz de 
 chamber lady in er white 'oman's bo'din' house 
 wunst She say, she did, 'Aunt Ginny, how we gwine 
 git shet o' deze yere torments? Dat fat generman 
 in de back room 'low, he do, dat da dun chaw'd 
 putty nigh all de hide offen him an' he say he kain't 
 spar no mo', an' I reckin he meant whut he said, 
 fur he got red notts all on the back o' his naik.' 
 Dat's what de white 'omau she 'lowed, an* den I 
 
 103
 
 104 AN OLD WOMAN'S DREAM. 
 
 say, * Law me, dar's ernuff trouble in dis yere vrarT 
 widout folks lettin' da mines go wandrin' off atter 
 bed-bugs. Tell de ganerman to fling his interlock 
 down on de salwation o' his soul an' let de bugH 
 take da own cou'se.' Dat's 'zackly whut I 'lowed 
 ter de white 'oman." 
 
 " But that has nothing to do with your business 
 here, old woman." 
 
 " Oh, I's 'war' o' dat, sail, but you fotoh up de 
 subjeck, an' I ain't gwine let no pusson outdo me 
 when de eubjek is dun fotch up." 
 
 " Well let it go. Now what do you want with 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes, sah, I'd a dun been come ter dat ef you 
 hadenter switched my mine off on dem bugs, fur ef 
 dar's er thing in dis yere county dat I is 'quainted 
 wid an' has socyated wid it is or bed-bug, fur ez I 
 dun tole you I wuz de chamber lady in a white 
 'oman's bo' din' house. I'se comin' right down ter 
 de merics o' de case," she quickly added, as the 
 lawyer began to move impatiently in his chair. 
 '* I's right dar now. Now, lemme see, how mus' I 
 git at hit? Oh, yes, now I's got it, which is dis: I 
 wanter fetch a lawsuit." 
 
 " All right; state your case." 
 
 "Yas, dat's what I 'lows ter do. I wants ter 
 fetch er suit ergin Mr. Jim Barnes." 
 
 "He's the sheriff. Do you mean him?" 
 
 "Yas, I moans him plum him."
 
 AN OLD WOMAN'S DREAM. 10R 
 
 "What do jou want to sue him for? Does he 
 we you anything ? " 
 
 " Yas, he owes me all I had an' all I lubed in dis 
 MM worl'' he hung my son in de jail-yard Dat 
 ehile ww; all de suppo't I had an now dat Mr. 
 Barnes dun killed him, w'y I think he oughter do 
 m'thin' fur me ez I's dun too ole ter work." 
 
 " I am sorry for you, my poor woman," said the 
 '.awyer, with more compassion than he had doubtless 
 air>wn for months, " but you have no cause for 
 action against Mr, Barnes. Your son was con 
 demned by the State and it was Mr. Barnes's duty 
 to hang him." 
 
 " But kain't I dc aothin' ergin de State, sah?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " But whut right de State got ter come snatch 
 dat boy up an' hang him, when da mout a-know'd 
 he wuz all I had ter 'pend on?" 
 
 " The State takes no account of such matters. 
 Your son was convicted of murder and that settled 
 it." 
 
 41 But he wa'n't guilty o' no murder, sah." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " I know caze he tole me so. De night 'fo' he 
 wuz hung de naixt day, I went inter de jail ter see 
 him, an' when he dun put his arms 'round me I say, 
 ' Sweet chile, ef I ax you one thing you'll tell me de 
 truf, won't you? ' ' Mammy,' says he, 'did you eber
 
 106 AH OLD WOMAN'S DREAM. 
 
 know me ter tell you er lie ? ' ' No, sweet chile, 1 
 neber did, so now tell yo' po' ole mammy ef you did 
 kill dat man.' He tuck his arms frum 'roun' my 
 naik an' put his han's on my shoulders an' look me 
 in de eyes jes' like he useter look at me when he AVUZ 
 er little chile an' says, ' Mammy I didn* kill him.' 
 ' I b'leves you,' says I, ' de Lawd in heaben knows I 
 does, but de law an' de jedge an' all de white folks 
 dun say you killed him, an' how is one po' chile like 
 you gwine hoi' out ergiu all de whole 'munity ? ' 'I 
 kain't hoi' out ergin 'em, mammy,' says he, 'an' it 
 ain't no use ter try, for all I kin do is ter ax de 
 Lawd fur His heabenly mussy an' den let de law 
 take its cou'se.' De law did take its cou'se an' my 
 chile died, da tells me, like er man. I doan know 
 what da calls dyin' like er man, but I does know dat 
 no matter how dat boy died, he died like er innercent 
 pusson." 
 
 "I remember the brave bearing of your boy," 
 said the lawyer. " I was appointed by the court to 
 defend him and I did it to the best of my ability; 
 but why do you come at this late day and ask relief ? 
 Your son was hanged nearly a year ago." 
 
 "I knows that, sah, knows it ez well ez anybody, 
 an' has been a b'ariu' it wid Christian forty tude, but 
 it an 'pear like I km git along no longer widout 
 h ' o' soino sort I has been a-washin' an' er 
 ecrubbin' erround de neighborhood, but I 'clar' ter
 
 AH OLD WOMAN'S DREAM. 107 
 
 goodness I's a-gittin' so old an' no 'count dat I kain't 
 do nothin' an' ernudder thing dat caused me ter 
 come wuz dis I has been dreamin' 'bout dat boy ever 
 night lately, an' allus de same dreanu I f v-Ught I 
 wuz settin' out in de yard er kyaadin' some bats fur 
 er quilt, an' all o' a suddent de sky got re ' den 
 my boy he stepped outen de red an' come right up 
 to me, he did, an' smile, he did, an' say dat ic wa'n't 
 gwine be long 'fo' de white folks would fine out dat 
 he neber killed dat man. He been : comin* ->/ r 
 night jes' dat way fur six week, an' atter he hul dnn 
 come ergin las' night I thought I'd see you an' ax 
 ef suthin' couldn't be done." 
 
 " I don't know of anything- come in," th lawyer 
 broke off as someone stepped into the doorvny, 
 "Hello, colonel," he added, recognizing til v tor. 
 
 " Haven't but a minute to stay," said the c^ L 
 " Was passing and thought I would drop in an 
 you something that I have just heard. You reinei i r 
 that negro boy that you defended about 8 year ego? 
 Yes, of course you do. Well, an iufamoos old 
 scoundrel named Foster died over in Calhoun county 
 yesterday, and just before dying confessed that he 
 had committed that murder." 
 
 " Thank God fur dat 'fession!" exclaimed the old 
 woman. 
 
 " This woman," said the lawyer, " is the mother 
 of that boy and is in need. We are going to see
 
 108 AN OLD WOMAN'S DREAM. 
 
 what can be done for her. I will start the Bubscrip- 
 tion with one hundred dollars. 11 
 
 "You may put me down, for another hundred," 
 the colonel declared, "and then we'll go over to th.> 
 court-house and make the judge and all the boys 
 subscribe."
 
 INTERVIEWED A CORPSE 
 
 LIBMAN, the theatrical manager, who is his earlier 
 life had played death so unrealistically, lay on his 
 bed approaching an earnest performance of that 
 role. When his physician told him that bis recovery 
 was hopeless, he remarked, with that placidity which 
 has sometimes made the reputation of dying men? 
 
 " Well, it can't be helped. Lay me out in the 
 greenroom, where all the boys may come and look 
 at me." 
 
 His directions were followed, and the " boys " 
 came and looked at him. His faults were buried 
 and his long-darkened virtues now came back to 
 the light. Evening approached. The reporters had 
 called and had " noted down " the floral designs, 
 and it was evident that the old manager would now 
 lie for a time in the gathering flower-shadows of 
 perfect quiet, when there came a sprucely-dressed 
 young man who said that he would like to " view 
 the body." He carried a large pad of paper and a 
 half dozen pencils sharpened at both ends, and 
 was set off with the airs of a great mission. 
 
 108
 
 110 INTERVIEWED A CORPSE. 
 
 " I am a reporter," said he, " and have been sent 
 here to write up this this sad affair. Yes, I 
 understand that all the boys have been here. I've 
 been interviewing a United States senator and 
 couldn't get away any sooner. We have to grab 
 live issues first, you know, and let the dead ones 
 wait;" and then realizing, or rather supposing, that 
 he had something worth recalling, he made a few 
 flourishing marks on his pad. It may not be a 
 "wind-shake" to this recital if I interject a few 
 words relative to this young man. He was gradu 
 ated with distinction at an institution of learning 
 that uses a bronzed letter-head, and a few weeks 
 ago came to this city to make a name in journal 
 ism. His first exploit was the writing of a 6,000- 
 word description of a $4,000 fire, and the subsequent 
 humiliation of seeing ten lines in print. This 
 taught him to look for something new, and he did 
 look, but found that all the paths leading to great 
 newspaper achievement had been wearily plodded 
 many a time. He thought of this as he stood in 
 the theatre asking permission to see the dead man 
 ager. When he had been shown into the green 
 room, now red with roses, he turned to the attend 
 ant and said: 
 
 " What a scoop it would be to interview a 
 corpse." 
 
 The attendant looked at him in astonishment, not 
 to aay disgust
 
 INTEBYIEWED A COKPSE. Ill 
 
 " Oh, of course I know that such a thing is 
 impossible," the young man continued, " but what 
 a scoop it would be if such a thing could be done. 
 These cards here tell who sen* the flowers, eh ? 
 Well, don't let me detain you. I can get along all 
 right." 
 
 The attendant withdrew and the reporter began 
 to pick about among the floral pieces to place the 
 cards so that he could read them, when suddenly, 
 and with ice water effect, a hollow-sounding voice 
 said: 
 
 " So you would like to interview a corpse?" 
 
 The reporter sprang back and looked about him. 
 He was alone with the flower-baptized body of the 
 manager. 
 
 "Don't be frightened," said the hollow voice. 
 " Remember that I am incapable of inflicting any 
 harm upon you, even if I felt disposed to do so. 
 Stay if you are a man of any nerve. The opportu 
 nity of your life has come. Interview me." 
 
 " I don't understand " the reporter gasped. 
 
 " Of course not: but calm your excitement and 
 be reasonable." 
 
 " What! be reasonable with a corpse?" 
 
 " Ah," said the dead man, " you are getting at it 
 now. A man approaches his best when he begins 
 to deliver himself of pointed declarations. If you 
 are sufficiently restored to normalcy, to use a rare
 
 112 INTERVIEWED A CORPSE. 
 
 if not a dead word, let me request you to proceed 
 with your interview." 
 
 " But I can't believe that a corpse is talking to 
 me," the reporter replied, still nervous. 
 
 " Of course not ; but you should know that all things 
 are strange to us until we become acquainted with 
 them. You are prepared to believe almost any 
 story of the progress of science and invention on 
 your side of death, but are totally unprepared to 
 believe in any progress made on my side of what 
 men falsely term the eternal and dreamless sleep." 
 
 " I was never startled so in my life," said the 
 reporter. 
 
 "I can well believe that," the dead manager 
 replied. 
 
 ""When I spoke of what a scoop it would be 
 to interview a corpse I had no idea that such an 
 opportunity would ever offer itself; and, by the 
 way, you don't move your lips when you talk." 
 
 " Of course not," the corpse answered. " If I 
 moved I should not be dead. But if you will place 
 your hand near my lips you will feel the cold air " 
 
 " No, no," the reporter quickly broke in, draw 
 ing back. 
 
 " Well, then, you'll have to take my statement 
 if you arc not willing to investigate my references." 
 Then there came a peculiar noise. Could it be pos 
 sible that the corpse was laughing ?
 
 INTERVIEWED A CORPSE. lie 
 
 " I didn't know there were any jokes beyond 
 the grave," said reporter. 
 
 " Oh, yes," the corpse replied. " We get them 
 out of the dead humorous papers. In fact the 
 grave supplies the funny departments in all the 
 magazines. But if you are going to interview me 
 concerning my present state please proceed, as I 
 have but a few moments more during which to blow 
 cold air back upon the earth." 
 
 <f Where are you now?" the reporter asked. 
 
 "I am standing just inside another world, but 
 what it is I can not well make out. I have learned 
 a great deal since my arrival, but am still at the 
 very threshold of knowledge. I have learned that 
 the so-called democracy of death is an error. The 
 inequalities of earth are a dead flat prairie compared 
 with the mountainous grades of this existence, but 
 with you caste is fostered by shrewdness, and often 
 villainy, while here classes are on a moral and intel 
 lectual basis." 
 
 " Have you seen the spirits of many persons who 
 were great on earth ? " 
 
 " Yes, and the majority of them are a sorry lot. 
 The saddest sight here is the spirit of a rich vulga 
 rian hopelessly attempting to pose with import 
 ance." 
 
 " I suppose your world, or whatever you may call 
 it, is a place of constant progress. I mean that the
 
 114 INTERVIEWED A COBP8& 
 
 soul climbs higher as I was going to say as time 
 advances." 
 
 " Oh, yes. The good which a man has accom 
 plished is placed as an offset to his evil deeds, and 
 a balance is struck. He is then graded according 
 to nis worth." 
 
 " Would you mind telling me how you stand?" 
 
 " I don't know exactly, but I have been told con 
 fidentially that I am likely to be pretty severely 
 judged for stage favoritism. For instance the puff 
 ing of lubberly stars when nimble men of true 
 merit should have been put forward." 
 
 "Have you seen Shakespeare yet?" 
 
 " Have I seen him ? How long do you suppose I 
 shall have to wait and apply myself to the courses 
 of study prescribed in this land of eternity before I 
 can come within sight of him ?" 
 
 " I have no idea." 
 
 " I suppose not. I have been told that I may 
 come within sight of him, by close application, in 
 what you would know as 500 years." 
 
 " Is he, indeed, so far away?" 
 
 " No, he is not so far away in the worldly sense 
 in truth he may be near me now, but I can not see 
 him my soul eyes must be purified before, they can 
 behold him. I " there was a sound like a sign 
 and the corpse ceased to speak. 
 
 "What were you going to say?" the reporter 
 asked.
 
 IlfTEBVIEWED A CORPSE. 115 
 
 The dead manager did not reply. 
 
 " They have cut him off," said the reporter. " Pd 
 like to know more, but who will believe me when I 
 say that I have interviewed a corpse ? " 
 
 He dropped his pad and pencils and started in 
 fright, and then, catching up the appliances of his 
 trade, hastily withdrew. 
 
 ****** 
 
 A short man with a big neck and curly hair 
 stepped from behind a curtain and softly laughed as 
 though he had played, with the .accomplishments of 
 a Punch and Judy voice-trickster, a capital joke on 
 a man who helps to prepare sensational reading 
 matter for an eager public.
 
 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 
 
 I SHALL never forget the first time I ever saw 
 Montgomery Peel. He was, as a justice of the 
 peace, presiding at the preliminary trial of Andrew 
 Brukemore, charged with the murder of David C. 
 Cahoon. I was a mere boy at the time, but I 
 remember that Montgomery Peel made a profound 
 impression on me, and I also recollect that when 
 my father, in answer to a question, said that a jus 
 tice of the peace was not a high ofiicer, I wondered 
 why Peel had taken the place wondered why he 
 had not declared himself governor of the State. He 
 was a very tall man, with black, inquiring eyes and 
 a great growth of dark-brown whiskers. He pre 
 sided as my ideal of dignity; his voice was pene 
 trating and his questions were to the point. At 
 first every one appeared to think that Andrew 
 Brukemore was surely the murderer of David C. 
 Cahoon, but as the examination proceeded, as the 
 justice threw the soft light of apparent innocence 
 upon the dark complexion of seeming guilt, it was 
 
 117
 
 118 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 
 
 plainly seen that the prisoner would not be held to 
 await the action of the grand jury. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Montgomery Peel, arising and 
 addressing the assembly, " I have attempted to look 
 with the eye of calmness and wisdom into this case. 
 I have blunted my ears to the whisperings of preju 
 dice, and within myself I have quieted every 
 impulse that sought to jump toward a hasty conclu 
 sion. At first the evidence was bold against this 
 man, but what at first seemed to be a wall of evi 
 dence now proves to be a fog of deception. Andrew 
 Brukemore," he continued, turning majestically to 
 the prisoner, " there are times, sir, when we are all 
 called upon to face trials of dark severity. You 
 have faced yours, and now step aside without a stain 
 upon your garments. Gentlemen, it is my desire 
 that you all shake hands with Mr. Brukemore." 
 
 The scene was affecting. In that quiet Virginia 
 community murder was of rare occurrence; indeed, 
 many old men who were present had never before 
 eeen a prisoner held under so grave a charge. 
 Every one pressed forward and shook hands with 
 Brukemore, and I remember hearing a red-headed, 
 freckled-faced boy say: 
 
 " I reckon the folks air cryin\ pap, 'cause they air 
 sorry they ain't goin' to hang him." 
 
 This trial seemed to make a different man of 
 Montgomery Peel, for he attended church more
 
 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 119 
 
 regularly, and when his term of office expired ho 
 did not announce himself as a candidate for re-elec 
 tion. 
 
 One day, several years later, father and I were 
 riding through the woods when we came upon Mont 
 gomery Peel, cutting down a tree. 
 
 "Why, what are you doing here?" my fathe* 
 asked. " You are surely not chopping firewood this 
 hot weather." 
 
 " No," said the giant and he was indeed a giant 
 " I am going to build a house." 
 
 " What, build a house away out here ?" 
 
 " Yes, for the house I am going to build would be 
 out of place anywhere except in the quiet woods. I 
 am going to build a church," 
 
 " It will take a strong preacher, Peel, to draw a 
 congregation away up here." 
 
 "If the size of the congregation depends upon the 
 strength of the preacher, it is likely to be small, for 
 I am to be the preacher." 
 
 " You are joking." 
 
 "Did you ever know me to joke?" he asked, 
 standing with one hand resting on the tree and gaz 
 ing earnestly at my father. 
 
 " I don't know that I ever did, Peel, but I can 
 hardly believe that a man of your bright prospects 
 could content himself with preaching in this lonely 
 place. Why, there is not a house within three 
 milsa"
 
 120 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 
 
 " Peter sometimes preached many miles distant 
 from a house, yet thousands of people went to hear 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, that is true, but Peter proclaimed a new 
 and interesting gospel, while you can only hope to 
 follow in a well-worn path." 
 
 He gazed intently at my father, and thus an 
 swered: " We have seen a path that was worn, and 
 then we have seen it deserted have seen the grass 
 and weeds grow where the ground was once made 
 smooth and bare by many feet." 
 
 " True enough, Peel ; and now let me say that if 
 you are in earnest, I hope that you may be instru 
 mental in drawing thousands from the wickedness 
 of the world." 
 
 " I dare not hope to draw thousands," said he. 
 " I dare not picture to my mind a multitude flock 
 ing to hear me but I will dare hope to draw one 
 soul away from an awaiting destruction, and, if I 
 do even that much, I shall feel that my church has 
 been built to some purpose." 
 
 As we rode along, my father was silent for some 
 time, and then, as though speaking to himself, said: 
 " The poor fellow has lost his mind." 
 
 The report that Montgomery Peel was building 
 a church far away in the woods naturally awakened 
 great interest in the community. Many of the men 
 declared that he must have lost his mind, but the
 
 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 121 
 
 women, with that hopeful sympathy which ever 
 expects a good result from an ostensibly pious action, 
 averred that he was appointed to bring about a great 
 reformation. Wives persuaded their husbands to 
 assist in building the church, and thus aided, Peel 
 was soon ready to deliver his first sermon. It was 
 on a Sunday, warm, bright and beautiful, that hun 
 dreds of people flocked to see him. I remember 
 hearing one man, a cynical fellow, remark: " Oh, 
 he has gone off this way for effect. He knows that 
 if he had gone into a regular church nobody would 
 pay any attention to him. He always was a sort of 
 theatrical fellow anyway." 
 
 " "Why do you call him a theatrical fellow?" the 
 man's wife spoke up. " I am sure that I never heard 
 of his going to a theatre." 
 
 " Mary Ann, you don't know what you are talk 
 ing about." 
 
 " I know enough not to talk about a man that is 
 trying to do good in the world." 
 
 "Good in the world!" her husband contemptu 
 ously repeated. " There's altogether too much talk 
 these days about men doing good in the world. If 
 a man wants to do good, why don't he plant some 
 thing and raise stuff for the people to eat ?" 
 
 "It is quite as important to take care of poor peo 
 ple's souls." 
 
 "I don't know about that. The Lord will fix 
 the soul business all right."
 
 122 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 
 
 The church was crowded. Montgomery Pee 
 stepped forward on a sort of platform, still majestic 
 but with a sprinkling of gray in his beard. A hymx 
 was sung, a prayer was offered, and then the preachei 
 thus began: 
 
 "My friends, I will not explain why I have 
 erected this church, other than that I have taken it 
 upon myself to preach the word of God. I do not 
 come before you claiming to have been directly 
 called to deliver the word unto you that is, I 
 heard no voice telling me to preach, but I did feel 
 that I could do much good and that it was my duty 
 to spend the rest of my life in this service. I uhall 
 attempt no revolution, and those of you that have 
 come expecting to hear a new doctrine, or even a 
 new explanation of an old doctrine, will be disap 
 pointed. I believe that immortal fruit grows upon 
 the tree of sincere repentance. I believe that 
 of us owes to God a life of simple purity and i 
 esty. Our allotted time on earth is but a few dcys, 
 and what should we gain though we be placed in 
 high position among men, for high positions 8t on 
 crumble into the dust of forgetfulness and men Sf on 
 pass away. It is not enough simply to declare tf. at 
 we love the Lord, for love is often selfish ; it is i. ot 
 enough simply to praise the Lord, for praise is 
 sometimes the off-shoot of fear. "While profess! g 
 to love the Lord, and while showing that we prai o
 
 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 128 
 
 Him, we must look with tenderness upon the faults 
 of others, we must speak no evil word of a neighbor, 
 neither shall we bear tales, for the man who comes 
 and tells us that some one has spoken in our dis 
 praise, may profess that he took our part and hushed 
 the mouth of slander, yet he destroys our happiness 
 for an entire day. Every Sunday hereafter that 
 is, so long as I am able I shall preach in this 
 house, urging repentance and kindness of heart. 
 Many people have wondered at the great change 
 that has come over me. This was a natural result 
 of so unexpected an action. Bear with me come 
 and commune with me, and I do not think that any 
 one will ever regret that this humble house was 
 placed here among the trees." 
 
 Many years passed. I grew up and wandered in 
 foreign countries. My father passed away, and 
 still, a letter from an old friend told me, Montgom 
 ery Peel continued to preach. I returned home, 
 and on the following Sunday went to the log church, 
 now almost covered with moss. The congregation 
 was singing a hymn when my friend and I entered. 
 
 " Where is the preacher?'" I asked whea wa had 
 sat down. 
 
 " Hasn't come up yet. He lives in a cellar imme 
 diately under the floor, and has grown so old and 
 infirm that we sometimes have to wait for him." 
 
 The hymn was finished and still he did not come.
 
 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 
 
 ^ other hymn was sung and then a man arose and 
 jaid that he would go down and see if anything had 
 happened to tho preacher. The man soon returned. 
 " Brethren," said he, " tho old man is dead. Those 
 of you who desire to do so may come down and see 
 him." 
 
 Nearly every one shrank back, but I went down 
 into the cellar. The old man, shriveled and white 
 with age, lay upon a bed of straw. The place was 
 dark, and when we held a candle near his face we 
 found a paper pinned to the bosom of his shirt. 
 Written on the outside of the paper were these 
 words: "Bead this to the congregation." 
 
 We went upstairs, and the man that had found 
 the dead preacher thus addressed the awe-stricken 
 congregation: "Brethren and sisters, we have a 
 communication from the old gentleman, whose voice 
 you shall never again hear." He then read as fol 
 lows: 
 
 ' The hand of death is upon me, and I feel that 
 it is my duty to say a few words to you, my dear 
 people. You have been so good, so patient and so 
 kind that I love you with all my soul. I have 
 loved you ever since I needed your love. I will 
 tell you when I first needed your love and sym 
 pathy: Many years ago I was walking along a 
 lonely road. Night hawks may have cried, but I 
 did not hear them; I could not have heard the
 
 MONTGOMERY PEEL. 125 
 
 yoice of an angel had it shouted at me. I met a 
 man I knew that he was coming that way. ' Hold,' 
 said I. He stopped and asked what I wanted. ' I 
 want you,' said I. ' What do you want with me ?' 
 ' I want you to give me something.' ' What do you 
 want me to give?' 'Your life.' ' Why?' 'Because 
 you ruined my home years ago.' I sprang on him 
 there in the moonlight. I cut out his heart and 
 wiped his face with it. That man was David G 
 Oahoon."
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S ROMANCE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CAPT. BILFOBD is known as one of the bravest 
 and most gallant officers of the United States army. 
 He is one of those odd bachelors to whom the pass 
 ing years bring additional installments of romance. 
 I have seen him go into ecstatic spasms over a spout 
 spring in the mountains, and have known him to lie 
 under a tree and shed tears over the misfortunes of 
 a heroine drawn by some fourth -class romancer; 
 but in action he was so fearless that his brother 
 officers excused what they pleased to term his soft 
 qualities. 
 
 A short time ago the Captain was granted a leave 
 of absence. He had long since grown tired of all 
 the fashionable watering-places, and no longer could 
 find anything in the cities to interest him ; so the 
 question of how he should spend that time, which 
 was all his own, began to perplex him. 
 
 " I am acquainted with both the wild and civilized 
 life of our country," said he, addressing a friend. 
 
 127
 
 128 THE CAPTAIN'S BOMANCK 
 
 " I know the wild Indian and the Boston swell ; andj, 
 to tell you the truth, I don't know what to do. 1 ' 
 
 "Yes, you are acquainted with the extremes," 
 the friend rejoined; "but do you know much of the 
 intermediate? You have made a study of the In 
 dian in his wild state, but do you know anything of 
 him as a citizen ? Why not go to the Indian Ter 
 ritory, the Cherokee Nation, for instance, and amuse 
 yourself by studying the habits of the Indian 
 farmer?" 
 
 The Captain was so impressed with the idea that 
 the next day he set out for the Indian Territory. 
 He found the country to be beautiful, with hills of 
 charming contemplation and valleys of enrapturing 
 romance. Streams like moving silver thrilled him, 
 and the birds, whom it seemed had just found new 
 songs, made the leaves quiver with echoing music. 
 After several days of delightful roaming the Cap 
 tain rented a small cabin, and, having provided him 
 self with a few cooking utensils, settled down to 
 housekeeping. With the rifle and the fishing rod 
 he provided ample food, and as he soon became 
 acquainted with several farmers he thought, over 
 and over again, that his romantic craving had never 
 before approached so near to (in his own words) 
 sublime satisfaction. His nearest neighbor, four 
 miles distant, was an Indian farmer named Tom 
 Patterson. His family consisted of a wife a?,d one
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S BOMANOB. 129 
 
 daughter, a rather handsome girl She had learned 
 to read and write ; and, as she seemed to b romantic, 
 the Captain soon became much interested in her. 
 
 Patterson was rather a kind-hearted old fellow, 
 accommodating in everything but answering ques 
 tions concerning his family; but this was not an 
 eccentricity, for all Indians are disposed to say as 
 little as possible with regard to themselves. Ansy, 
 the girl, was fond of fishing, and as no restraint was 
 placed upon her actions, she and the Captain (his 
 words again) had many a delightful stroll. 
 
 There was, I had forgotten to mention, another 
 member of the Patterson household, a negro named 
 Alf. He was as dark as the musings of a dyspep 
 tic, but he was good-natured and obliging. 
 
 "Bather odd that a colored man, so fond of polit 
 ical life, should live out here away from the States, 
 isn't it, Alf?" the Captain one day asked. 
 
 "Wall, no, sah, kain't say dat it is. Dar's er 
 right smart sprinklin' o' us generman out yare, an' 
 dough we's mighty fur erpart, we manages ter keep 
 up good 'sciety, sah. Yes, sah, an' ef it wa'n't fur 
 de cullud generman in dis yare 'munity, w'y de Ter 
 ritory would done been gone ter rack an* ruin. 
 Caze why? I'll tell you, sah. De Ingin is a 
 mighty han* ter furnish meat, but gittin' o' de 
 bread is a different thing. In udder words, sah, he 
 kin kill er deer but he ain't er good han 7 to raise
 
 180 THE CAPTAIN'S ROMANCE. 
 
 00*11. Yes, sab, de nigger ken plow all roun* de 
 Ingin, an' de Ingin knowin' dis, ginally gins de 
 niggah er good chance." 
 
 "You work with Mr. Patterson on shares, don't 
 you?"' 
 
 "Yas, sahjha'f o' dis crap 'longs ter me. Wy, 
 fo* I come yare dare wa'n't hardly nuthin' raised on 
 dis place but weeds an' grass. I happened to meet 
 Patterson in Fort Smif one time. He hearn me 
 talk erbout f armin' an' den he made a dead set at 
 me tar come home wid him." 
 
 "Are the people throughout this neighborhood 
 Tery peaceable?" 
 
 "Yes, sah, lessen da gits 'spicious o' er pussen, 
 an' den look out. Da looks cuiis at ever' stranger, 
 thinkin 1 dat he's spyin' 'roun an' tryin' ter talk de 
 Injuns in faber o' openin* up dis yare territory. 
 Par's er passul o' fellers ober de creek dat calls 
 darselves de Glicks. Da is allus s'picious, an' I 
 tells you whut's er fack, I'd ruther hab er team o' 
 mules run ober me an' den be butted by a muley 
 steer an* I does think way down in my cibilization 
 dat er muley steer ken thump harder den anything 
 on de face o 1 de yeth den ter hab dem Glicks git 
 atter me. Seed J em hang er pusson once jes' fur 
 nuthin 1 in de worP, an* da didn' ax him no ques 
 tions, nuthero' 1 
 
 As the days passed the girl seemed to be more
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S BOMANOE. 131 
 
 and more pleased with the Captain. One evening 
 they sat on the bank of a stream, fishing, The sun 
 had sunk beyond a distant hill, but continued to 
 pour over his light, like a golden waterfall. 
 
 "Ansy," said the Captain, "this is a beautiful and 
 romantic country ; but do you not grow tired of liv 
 ing here all the time?" 
 
 "If we don't know any other life we do not grow 
 tired of this one," she replied. 
 
 "You are a little philosopher," the captain 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "I don't know what that is, Captain, but if you 
 want me to be one I will try to be." 
 
 The Captain smiled and regarded her with a look 
 of affection. 
 
 "The great cities would delight you for a time, 
 Ansy, and then you could come back here with a 
 heightened appreciation of the sublime surround 
 ings of your own home." 
 
 "The sun has blown out his candle," she said, 
 pointing. "It is time for us to go."
 
 132 THE CAPTAIN'S BOMANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Captain could not sleep. He had extin,. 
 guished his lamp, but on the wall there was a 
 bright light. It grew brighter, and then he saw 
 that it was the face of Ansy. A rap came at the 
 door. 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 " Captain, for God's sake run away. The Glicks 
 are coming after yon." 
 
 It was the voice of Ansy. 
 
 The Captain dressed himself and opened the door. 
 The girl was gone. The moon was shining. The 
 officer was not the man to run away. He closed the 
 door, took up a repeating rifle and opened a small 
 window. He waited. A few moments passed and 
 he saw several men enter the clearing in front of the 
 cabin. 
 
 " What do you want here?" the Captain shouted 
 
 "We want you." 
 
 "What do you want with me? " 
 
 " Ask you some questions." 
 
 " You may ask questions, but don't come a step 
 nearer." 
 
 "What did you come here for?"
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S ROMANCE. 133 
 
 " None of your business." 
 
 This reply created a commotion. The Captain 
 could hear the marauders swearing. "We'll break 
 down the door," one of them said as he stepped for 
 ward. The next moment he had fallen to the ground. 
 When the smoke had cleared away the Captain saw 
 that the rascals were gone, but there soon came from 
 the woods a shower of blazing arrows. It was time 
 to get away. The Captain made a hole in the roof, 
 crawled out, sprang to the ground and hurried into 
 the woods. 
 
 Early the next morning he went to Patterson's 
 house. The family had heard of the fight. 
 
 " You iieenter be 'larmed now, dough, sah," said 
 Alf, the negro, " caze da foun' out dat you wuz er 
 Newnited States ossifer, an' it skeered 'em putty 
 nigh ter def. You gin it ter one o' 'em putty 
 hard, I ken tell you. Shot him squar through, an' 
 da doan think he gwine ter lib, da doan, but dat 
 am' no matter, fur he wuz de wust one in de bunch. 
 Ef he dies, folks 'roun' yare will hoi' er pra'r-meet- 
 in' thankin' de Lawd." 
 
 Patterson and his wife left the room, but the ne 
 gro sat in the doorway. 
 
 "Ansy," said the Captain, "I owe my life to you." 
 
 " Dat you does, sah," Alf replied. 
 
 The Captain gave him a significant glance and 
 again turned to the girl.
 
 134 THE CAPTAIN'S ROMANCE. 
 
 " Yes, you have saved my life, but that is not the 
 cause of iny deep deep (he glanced at the negro) 
 deep regard for you." 
 
 The girl made no reply. The Captain could have 
 killed the negro. " I will ignore his black pres 
 ence," the Captain mused. He leaned over and 
 took the girl's hand. 
 
 "Ansy," said the negro, " w'en dis yare generman 
 gits through wid yo' han' I wants you ter sew er few 
 buttons on dat ar hickory shirt o' mine." 
 
 " You scoundrel," exclaimed the Captain, spring 
 ing to his feet, " how dare you speak in such a man 
 ner to this young lady?" 
 
 "Why, boss," the negro replied, " what's de use'n 
 makin' sich er great 'miration. Dat 'oman has been 
 my wife fur putty nigh two years." 
 
 The Captain's romance was ended.
 
 AN HISTORIC SHELL. 
 
 I AM not going to tell a war story, that is to 
 say, I am not going to invade the province of 
 the monthly magazine, and describe with linger 
 ing fondness of detail a campaign made great by 
 my own person al interest. My name is John Norton. 
 During the war I was a captain in an Indian regi 
 ment. On the morning of July 4, 1863, . we lay 
 under the sullen countenance of Vicksburg. The 
 city had surrendered, and our tired men were lying 
 about on the ground, waiting for the forming of 
 the detachment that should march in and occupy 
 the city. I was lying in a fence-corner with my 
 head in the wavering shade of an alder bush; 
 and, upon glancing in the grass near me, I saw 
 a terrapin crawling away. I took it up, and, yield 
 ing to a fancy, I carved my name and " July 4, 
 1863," on the reptile's shell. I was much pleased 
 with the gracefulness of the lettering, for my civil 
 vocation was that of an engraver, and after con 
 templating it for a time I shoved the date-bearer 
 through a crack of the fence, so that it might 
 
 185
 
 186 AN HISTORIC SHELL. 
 
 escape the sight of any of our men. A short 
 time afterward, dusty and hot, I was marching 
 through the streets of the war-stricken town. 
 
 Last year I went down to Vicksburg, having 
 become the president of a company organized to 
 establish a cotton seed oil mill in that city. One 
 day, with an idea of securing the coming crop 
 of cotton seed, I had driven out to several large 
 plantations, and was returning, when a dark cloud 
 that hung in the west warned me that unless I 
 sought shelter I should get wet. I drove up to 
 a double log -house situated near the roadside, 
 and was tying my horse, when an elderly-looking 
 man, who had been mowing grass in the yard, 
 hung his scythe in a tree, and came forward to 
 meet me. 
 
 " Needn't hitch yo' hoss thar," he said, " fur 
 yo' buggy'll git wetter 'ner drownded rat. Jest 
 come on inter the house, an' I'll have a nigger 
 drive the vehicle under the shed. Glad ter see 
 er rain comin'," he added, as he turned and gazed 
 at the cloud. " Er rain on the Fo'th of July allus 
 putty nigh inshores er good crap uv cotton. Bill " 
 (calling a negro), "come here an' drive this here 
 contraption round under the shed." 
 
 He then invited me into the house, and, just 
 as we had reached the hewed log steps, a girl, 
 flirting her apron, and following a hen and chick-
 
 AN HISTOEIO SHELL. 137 
 
 ens, came round the corner of the house. She 
 blushed when she saw me, dropped her apron, 
 and, I thought, was about to run away, when her 
 father said: 
 
 " Hurry up thar, Zudie, an' git them chickens 
 in the hen house, ur they'll all be drownded^ 
 Come in, mister. It would be a leetle mo' com- 
 f t'ble out here on the po'ch, but ez the rain is 
 drivin' thiser way, we better set in this room." 
 
 He led the way into a room darkened by the 
 approaching cloud, and, pointing to an old-fash 
 ioned arm-chair, said: " Set right down thar, and 
 make yo'se'f ez much at home ez if you'd fotch 
 that cheer with you. Live about here anywhar?" 
 
 When I had given him a brief account of myself, 
 he added: "Glad ter welcome you down here. I 
 ain't been around much myse'f, but I like ter see 
 folks that has. Ben livin' here all my life. Wife 
 she died two years ago. Thar's the rain." 
 
 The girl bounded into the room. She shook 
 the rain-drops from her "beautiful wealth of hair," 
 and sat down near the window. Her face shone 
 in bright outlines against the darkened panes, and 
 when she smiled at some remark her father made 
 and revealed, with a sudden gleam, her pearl-like 
 teeth, I fancied that a fleck of silver had been 
 thrown against the cloud. I hesitate to acknowl 
 edge that I fell in love with her at that moment; I
 
 138 AM HISTORIC 8HELL. 
 
 hesitate because I think we should be influenced by 
 judgment rather than be moved by impulse; yet, 
 as I eat there and gazed at that girl, I could not 
 help loving her; still, it was absurd. She was not 
 more than seventeen; I was getting pretty well 
 along in years. My hair bore not a streak of gray, 
 and I knew that I moved with more agility than 
 many a younger man, but the words, "you are 
 forty-five, you are forty -five," came down on the 
 roof with the rain. 
 
 " Look how the roses are nodding in recognition 
 to the rain," she said. " See, they have gotten up 
 a flirtation." 
 
 " Silly sentimentalist," I thought; but before I 
 could make any kind of reply, the old man re 
 marked: 
 
 " Yas, an' ef that yearlin' ca'f butts ernuther one 
 uv them bars down he'll do er little flirtin' hisse'f. 
 He'd ruther cut er few capers on them thar flowers, 
 er weeds I call 'em, then ter punch his mammy 
 when the milk won't come fast ernuff." 
 
 " Why, papa, how you talk." 
 
 The old man snickered. " Used ter call me dad," 
 said he, " till I sent her ter er big big oh, one 
 uv them big she schools in Memphis, an' now it's 
 papa. Look here, Zudie, ez thar ain't nobody else 
 on the place ter do it, you better scuffle round and 
 git us a bite ter eat, fur now thai it's sot in it looks
 
 AN HISTORIC SHELL. 189 
 
 like this rain mout be goin' ter stay with us some 
 little time." 
 
 I protested that I didn't care for anything to eat, 
 but in a moment the girl had vanished. 
 
 " Mebbe you think she kain't cook," said the old 
 man, "but I jestwanter tell you that she ken. Gals 
 ain't raised like they wuz befo' the war. Then a 
 gal that could cook a good meal uv vidults wuz 
 sniffed at, but it ain't thater way now." 
 
 After awhile the girl came in and announced that 
 the meal was ready. 
 
 " Thar's soap an' water ef you wanter wash," said 
 the old man. I went to a washstand, and, in at 
 tempting to take up a piece of soap, overturned the 
 dish. Instantly the following inscription caught 
 my glance: "John Norton, July 4, 1863." It was 
 the shell 'of the terrapin that I had found under 
 the sullen brow of Vicksburg twenty-three years 
 before. I took up the shell, and, pointing to the 
 inscription, explained its origin. The girl, who 
 stood in the doorway, gazed with brightening eyes 
 upon me, and, when I had concluded, she said: "I 
 have also a little story to tell. But come and let 
 us sit down to the table." 
 
 When the girl had poured the coffee, and while, 
 it seemed to me, a shade of tender recollection was 
 passing over her face, she turned to me with an 
 attention, charming because it was undivided, and 
 thus began her story:
 
 140 AN HISTORIC SHELL. 
 
 41 When I was a little girl, about ten years of age, 
 I was playing in the yard one day when I found a 
 terrapin crawling through the grass. The letter 
 ing on its back, though I could hardly spell out 
 the inscription, at once claimed my interest, and I 
 brought the terrapin into the house. Mother read 
 the inscription and explained it to me. Papa 
 wanted me to throw the ' lazy thing * over the fence, 
 but I insisted upon making a pet of it. I kept it 
 in a box and fed it every day. After awhile we let 
 it stay out in the room, and, though this may seem 
 incredible, it soon learned to answer, in a sort of 
 playful way, when we called it by your name. We 
 kept it nearly five years, and it would have doubt 
 less been alive to-day for you know terrapins 
 never die of old age had it not been for a cruel 
 tragedy. 
 
 " One day the terrapin was crawling about the 
 room in great enjoyment of its after-breakfast stroll. 
 The cat was lying on the hearth asleep. The 
 'Fourth,' as we often termed our pet, had made 
 friends with everything on the place-, and had often 
 played with the cat, but on this day pussy was 
 morose, with a recurrence of all the meanness she 
 had inherited ; and when the terrapin approached 
 her she quickly seized its head with her claws and 
 then, before we could do anything, she chewed its 
 head off. Papa, or dad, as he was then," she
 
 AN HISTOBIC SHELL. 141 
 
 added, with a trembling light in her eyes, "had 
 become so much attached to the terrapin that in 
 revenge he shot the cat. A few days afterward I 
 found poor ' Fourth's ' shell on the wash-stand in 
 
 place of a cracked saucer that we had used for a 
 
 I A 
 
 soap-dish. My story is ended." 
 
 We sat for an hour or more and speculated upon 
 the many and devious miles the terrapin had 
 crawled since I had made its acquaintance. When 
 I took my leave, which I did when the rain had 
 ceased falling, I promised to call again at the house 
 of- Mr. Craig (for such was his name), but I hardly 
 think that the promise was necessary, for Zudie's 
 beautiful face went back to town with me. I was 
 kept so busy that I did not see [my friends again 
 until more than a month had passed. Then I 
 called and spent an all too brief, but to me a 
 thrilling, season. My visits became more frequent 
 they could not become fewer. Winter came, and 
 we walked beneath the leafless trees. We sat by 
 the roaring log-fire and saw the old man dozing in 
 a corner. Well, we are to be married on the Fourth 
 of next July. The terrapin shell, ornamented with 
 silver and gold, shall be a wedding present to my 
 wife.
 
 OLD RACHEL. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN an old field long since " turned out" stood a 
 small cabin, surrounded by a thick growth of per 
 simmon trees. The place was dreary. To the 
 right was a deep gully in which the body of a mur 
 dered man had been found; to the left was a 
 shallow, oozy pond where frogs "bawled" dismally. 
 Old Rachel lived in the cabin, lived there alone. 
 The old woman was tall and of ebon blackness. She 
 was indeed a strange woman, so much so that all the 
 negroes shunned her. It was declared that the old 
 woman was a witch. Abram, the negro preacher, 
 solemnly vowed that one stormy night, while he was 
 lost in the woods, he saw old Rachel riding on a lo-w 
 cloud. The old man was doubtless honest in his 
 statement, for, while on his death bed, he repeated 
 the statement and gave a few extra bits of exagger* 
 ation that had been unavoidably crowded out of the 
 original text. 
 
 Old Rachel never laughed. Sometimes she sang 
 
 M
 
 144 OLD RACHEL. 
 
 or rather hummed a dismal tune, and the negroes 
 declared that her musical effort always preceded 
 some awful disaster. 
 
 I lived a few miles distant from old Rachel's 
 cabin. Of course, I believed none of the stories 
 that were told witL regard to her, yet I must confess 
 that I stood somewhat in awe of her. I had heard 
 her sing her dismal Bong and I will own that it 
 always caused a shiver of uneasiness to creep over 
 me. 
 
 One night, while returning on horseback from a 
 distant town, I was overtaken by a violent storm. 
 The night was so dark that I could not keep in the 
 road, and my horse was so much frightened by the 
 rapidly repeated peals of thunder and the blinding 
 flashes of lightning that I was carried aimlessly 
 through the woods After a very long time, it 
 seemed to me, I came to an opening. A dim light 
 glimmered in the distance I hurried toward the 
 light, and not until I had gone some distance did I 
 realize that I was approaching old Rachel's cabin. 
 I attempted to change my course, but the horse, 
 attracted by the light, stubbornly resisted my 
 effort 
 
 " All right, then, go ahead," I remarked. "Any- 
 thing is preferable to being out in this awful 
 night" 
 
 I dismounted. My horse jerked away from me
 
 OLD RACHEL. 146 
 
 and galloped off. I tapped on the door. No 
 response. I tapped again. I heard some one 
 moving about inside The door was opened, and 
 old Eachel stood before me. 
 
 " Come in," she said in a voice that sounded like 
 an ill-boding croak. I entered the house and sat 
 down in front of the fire. Every time I looked up 
 I saw something that caused me to shiver. Kattle- 
 snake skins and cat's paws were nailed to the wall. 
 The old woman took a seat on a black box and nar 
 rowly watched me. I felt that she was reading my 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Ter ain't afeerd o' oJe Rachel, is yer?" 
 
 "No," I replied; but she knew better, for she 
 smiled grimly and replied: 
 
 " Marster, yer'd jes' uz well own up ter le truf. 
 Yer knows dat yer's afeerd o' me. Eberybody 
 'peers to be erfeered o* me, but cl'ar ter goodness, I 
 doan know why, 'case I neber done nobody no harm. 
 I reckon it's fur de same reason dat folks is skittish 
 o' de debil's hoss. 'Tain't 'case it bites, but it looks 
 BO cu'is. Murstor, ain't yer hongry?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied. 
 
 "Wall, TU git yer sutbin' ter eat. Ole Eachel 
 allus treats her visitors well, fur she doan hab many, 
 de Lawd knows." 
 
 She brought a diin of nicely cooked squirrels and 
 
 some corn bread, My appetite surmounted my 
 10 
 
 \
 
 146 OLD BAOHBt. 
 
 fear, and taking a seat at a table upon which she 
 had spread a new white cloth, I ate heartily. 
 
 The storm continued to rage, and the thought of 
 starting out afoot was not pleasant. Old Rachel 
 knew what was passing in my mind. 
 
 " Marster, yer kain't go out agin ter night Dar's 
 er up stairs ter my house, an' I'll sleep up dar an 1 
 let yer sleep down here." 
 
 " I don't want to put you to any inconvenience," 
 I replied. " You better sleep in your accustomed 
 place and let me sleep up stairs." 
 
 " No, yer mus' do jez' ez I tells yer. Dis is Mr. 
 John Peterson, ain't it?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I thought I knowed yer." 
 
 Notwithstanding the hospitality with which the 
 old woman treated me, I was far from feeling com 
 fortable when I laid down and tried to sleep. The 
 fire went out and a damp chill pervaded the atmos 
 phere. At last I dropped off to sleep, but what a 
 sleep! I dreamed that old Rachel had tied me 
 hand and foot. I struggled and awoke with an out 
 cry. Old Rachel was cooking breakfast. 
 
 " Yer muster been dreamin', raarster?" she said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Dreamin' 'bout me, wa'n't yer?" 
 
 "Oh, no, I dreamed that a horse was trying to 
 trample me under his feet"
 
 OLD RACHEL. 147 
 
 She smiled, and I knew that she did not believe 
 me. 
 
 "How do you get your living?" I asked. 
 "You've got no garden and even if you raised vege 
 tables, people would be afraid to buy from you." 
 
 " Oh, I manages," she replied. 
 
 Upon taking my leave, I thanked her for the 
 kindness she had shown me, but as I walked along 
 toward home, I remembered with a shudder how 
 she had sat on the black box, gazing at me. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Two months later. One night when a full moon 
 made the journey pleasant, I was returning from 
 town. Shortly after coming within the neighbor 
 hood of old Eachel's house, I heard loud shouts. I 
 spurred my horse and galloped in the direction of 
 the tumult. I soon came upon a large crowd of 
 negroes. They were yelling and were throwing up 
 their arms in wild gestures. Old Kachel, bound 
 hand and foot, stood in the midst of them. 
 
 " What's the matter here?" I demanded. 
 
 A man who seemed to be the leader replied: 
 
 '* Oh, we'se got her, sah, an' we'se gwine ter use
 
 148 OLD BAOHEL. 
 
 her. Dis ole witch, boss, is de cause o 1 de sickness 
 an' death in dis heah community, an' we'se tired o' 
 it, san. We called a meetin' o' de cullud folks an' 
 we 'cided, sah, ter hang de ole hag." 
 
 " Marster," old Kachel called in an appealing 
 voice, " I ain't neber done dese folks no harm, an' 
 fur goodness Bake doan let 'em hurt me." 
 
 " You men ought to have better sense than this," 
 said I. " You exercise the right of citizenship, but 
 here you are about to commit a crime on account of 
 superstition. That poor, old woman is not a witch, 
 and, as she tells you, has never harmed either of 
 you. Untie her and let her go." 
 
 " We ain't gwine ter do no sich thing," replied 
 the leader. " She's done us a powerful sight o' 
 harm, an' we'se tired, dat's whut we is. Ef we let's 
 her go arter goin' dis fur wid her, she neber will lei 
 up on us no mo'. She'll kill all our chillun', an 1 
 stock, an' make all de springs go dry." 
 
 " Old man, you certainly have more sense than to 
 believe that." 
 
 "Neber mine erbout de sense. I knows whut 
 facks is. I know whut dis ole witch hab already 
 dun. She killed er calf fur me night afore last, 
 an' myse'f ain't been feelin' well since dat time." 
 
 " De Lawd knows dat ef I had sich power as dat 
 yer couldn' do nothin' wid me," replied old Rachel. 
 
 " Look a heah, 'ornan, dar ain't no us'in yesse'f
 
 OLD RACHEL. 149 
 
 sayin* a word. It am de Lawd's will dat we mus* 
 hang yer, an' no pusson, white nor black, mus' 
 tamper wid de will o' de Lawd." Then addressing 
 me, he added: "How do dis ole 'oman make her 
 libin' ef she ain't er witch? She doan' do no 
 work, yet da tells me dat she has er plenty ter eat; 
 and da tells me, too, dat she kin call er squir'l down 
 outen er tree." 
 
 "No, Ikain't." 
 
 "How do yer git de squir'ls, den?" 
 
 "I ketches 'em in traps." 
 
 "Whar's yer traps?" 
 
 " Scattered er roun' in de woods." 
 
 " Yas, an' yesse'f will be scattered in de woods 
 putty soon. Lem," he added, speaking to a man 
 Who stood near old Rachel, " put dat rope roun' her 
 naik an' fling one eend ober er lim'." 
 
 " Hold on," said I. " You men are about to com 
 mit murder, and if you do, you shall all suffer 
 for it." 
 
 " Who's gwine ter make us suffer?" the leader 
 asked. 
 
 " The law," I replied. 
 
 " How de law gwine ter know anything about 
 it?" 
 
 " I will tell the authorities." 
 
 " Yer mout not be able ter tell so much afore dis 
 night's work is ober. I hab heerd men talk an*
 
 150 OLD BAOHBL. 
 
 den I'se seed 'em in er fix when da couldn' talk. 
 'Twon't do ter crowd Black Sam ergin de wall." 
 
 A dreadful thought arose in my mind. The des* 
 per ate negro intended to murder me. I could not 
 save old Rachel, and I was now keenly alive to the 
 necessity of saving myself. I was not armed, but 
 I could possibly dash away. Just as this thought 
 entered my mind, Black Sam took hold of my bridle 
 rein. 
 
 " Boss," said he, "git down offen dis hoss, 'case I 
 don't think dat yer'll hab much mo' use fur him 
 ergin mawnin'." 
 
 "You certainly wouldn't harm me, Sam?" 
 
 " Oh, no," he sardonically replied. " I won't 
 hurt yer. Jes' want ter show yer dat it ain't 
 healthy ter tamper wid er public mubement, sah." 
 
 "Gennermen," said old Rachel, " ef yer is boun' 
 ter hang me, do so, but fur de Lawd's sake, doan 
 murder dat gennermau. He fit ter he'p free yer, 
 an' is yer now gwine ter kill him?" 
 
 " Neber mine erboutdat, fur we woulder been freed 
 eben ef dis gennerman neber had been bornd. He 
 wasn't thinkin' erbout us when he wuz fightin'. 
 Sam, it's erbout time dis work wuz gwine on." 
 . " Yas," said Sam, "it er gittin' er long toward de 
 kneecap o' de mawnin'. We hates ter shet off yer 
 apmusfere, Cap'n, but den we don't want da law o' de 
 Ian' ter come down here wid his ban's full o' ropas.
 
 OLD RACHEL. 151 
 
 We'se mighty onconsarned folks, but dat woul' be 
 er little too much fur us. Git offen dis boss." 
 
 "Hole on, Sam," exclaimed a powerfully-built 
 negro, who had, up to this time, been a silent 
 observer. " Ter mussen hurt a ha'r on dat man's 
 head, fur he's allus been er frien' ter us." 
 
 "He neber wuz no frien' ter me," Sam replied. 
 
 "Tas, he's er frien' ter all o' us. Now, boys, 
 lemme say a few words ter yer. Sam is de leader 
 o' dis crowd. Dar ain't no doubt erbout dat ; but I 
 doan think dat it's right fur us ter foller him too 
 fur. I wuz putty drunk when I went inter dis 
 thing ter night, but I'se gittin' sorter sobered off, 
 now. It ain't right ter hang dis woman, fur she 
 ain't done no harm ; an' ter tell yer de truf, I doan 
 b'l'ebe in witches nohow. Ter needn' grit yer teef, 
 Sam, fer yer knows Bill an' dat's me well er nuff 
 ter put faith in whut he says, an' yer knows, too, 
 dat he ain't afeerd o' hell nur high water. Wall, 
 now dat dis fack am 'stablished, let me say dat de 
 fust man whut tries ter do any hangin' will git dis 
 heah hickory stick ober his head. Dat's my prock- 
 lermation, Sam, an' ef yer doan turn loose dat white 
 man's hoss I'll gin yer er lick dat yer won't furgit 
 agin de sun rises." 
 
 " Now, look heah, Dan, whut's de matter wid 
 yer ? " Sam asked in a whining voice. 
 
 "Gwine ter turn dat hoss er loose?".
 
 152 OLD RACHEL. 
 
 " Let us talk erbout " 
 
 Bip. Sam dropped. Bip. Lem dropped. 
 
 " Untie dat ole 'oman," exclaimed Dan. Several 
 men hastened to obey his command. " Now," Dan 
 added, " yer's bof free, and reckollect ole Dan in yer 
 pr'nrs." 
 
 " I'se gwine home wid yer," said old Rachel when 
 we had left the mob. 
 
 "All right." 
 
 " Let me git up on dat hoss behind yer." 
 
 She seated herself behind me. " Now, sah," she 
 said. "I'se gwine ter tell yer suthin'. Er good 
 while ergo, one night, I seed ole Sam kill er man 
 an' fling him inter de gully. He discovered me an' 
 tole me dat ef I didn' keep my mouf shet he woul' 
 kill me. Lately he's been er gettin' skeerder an' 
 skeerder, until ter night he stirred up de niggers 
 an* tried ter hang me. He knows well er nuff how I 
 libs. He knows dat I washes fur er fambly o' white 
 folks." 
 
 The next day I filed information against old Sain. 
 He was in bed at the time of his arrest, as he had 
 not recovered from the effect of the blow which Dan 
 had given him. He was tried, convicted and hanged. 
 Old Rachel has worked for my family ever since 
 that time, and we all agree that she is the best serv 
 ant in the land. Dan cultivates my farm.
 
 HER INSPIRATION. 
 
 PEOPLE throughout central Kentucky were 
 charmed by a violin in the hands of Carrie Doyle. 
 This young girl was a wonder even to her friends. 
 She possessed the truest of all genius that genius 
 which is not lowered by personal contact. She was 
 not beautiful, but her slight form was a symphony 
 of changing and unexpected graces, and her eyes 
 bore the deep richness of old blackberry cordial. 
 She could not remember when she began to express, 
 with the violin, the weird emotions of her childhood. 
 An old fiddle which had long been in the house was 
 her first exercised organ of speech. When she 
 grew up, when her form had become more and more 
 graceful, and when her eyes had become deeper in 
 their richness, society scattered its artificial flowers 
 about her, but, heeding not this painted admiration, 
 she devoted herself to the joy of sweet expression. 
 
 One night, in Louisville, Miss Doyle sat in the 
 parlor of a hotel, playing for a circle of friends. 
 The weather was warm, and the door was open. A 
 tall, roughly-dressed young man came down the 
 
 153
 
 HER INSPIRATION. 
 
 hallway ing ered for a moment at the door, and 
 then, with an unpulse which he Beemed unable to 
 overcome, entered the room and sat down The 
 mpany scowled upon the coarse intruder, but Miss 
 >oyle, after looking at him carelessly, turned to 
 ith a richer glow in her eyes. From that 
 oment her music underwent a change A few 
 moments ago it was all heart; now it was all BOU! 
 e steadily advanced toward him. He sat gazing 
 t her with his hands clasped. The music ceased 
 e girl blushed and sat down. One of the gentle- 
 arose, and, addressing the intruder, said: 
 This is a private party, sir, and we would there- 
 Bern it a favor if you would retire." 
 The rough-looking young man sprang to his feet 
 but before he could reply Miss Doyle exclaimed- 
 'He must not go." 
 
 Hereupon an old maid, with elevated eye-brows 
 bragged her bony shoulders, and in a voice of 
 painful surprise, said: 
 "W'y, Carrie!" 
 
 ; 'No, he must not go. He is an inspirationmy 
 inspiration, and must remain here. What is your 
 name, sir?" 
 
 "Jim Barnes," the man replied. 
 "Where do you live ?" 
 
 "Up ther river. Come down night afo' last on er 
 Sold the logs this mawnin', an' 'low ter hull
 
 HER INSPIRATION. 155 
 
 out frum here agin dinner time ter-morrer. Fve 
 hearn er lot uv fiddlin' in my life, but I never hearn 
 nothin' like this yere. Wy, Sam Potter ken make 
 a fiddle talk an' call hogs, an' I allus feel like I'm 
 shuckin' co'n when he's a-holt uv hit; but, Miss, 
 you make it sing er soft song, an' I feel like I'm er 
 settin' in the shade whar ther willers air dippin' 
 down inter ther water." 
 
 She took up the violin and began to play. He 
 leaned forward. Her eyes beamed upon him. 
 
 The hour grew late. The company arose. 
 
 " I hope to see you again," said Miss Doyle, as 
 she bade Barnes good night. 
 
 " Yas, I hope so," he replied. " Er passul uv us 
 fellers 'lowed ter go out ter-night an' have er sort 
 uv drinkin' jamboree, but when I hearn that fiddle 
 er singin' er sweet song, w'y, I jest couldn't budge. 
 I know I'm rough, Miss, but the boys all 'low that 
 I've got er heart in me bigger'n er steer; an' I'll 
 tell you what's a fack, I can fling down most ary 
 feller that fools with me. I wush you could make 
 up yo' mind ter come out in our neighborhood some 
 time. You mout have ter put up with co'n bread, 
 but you'd find fellers that would throw back ther 
 years like er mouse when you teched yo' fiddle." 
 
 " Thank you," the girl replied. " I should no 
 doubt very much enjoy ayisit to your neighborhood, 
 for I am happiest when I am among people who
 
 156 HEB INSPIRATION. 
 
 have not caught from the world the trick of con 
 cealing their feelings and who love simple music 
 with true devotion. If you should ever come into 
 our neighborhood, Mr. Barnes, please call at our 
 house. We live a few miles west of Picton, in a 
 large stone house that looks like a fort. Good 
 bye." 
 
 When Barnes had gone the old maid, after many 
 minutes of vigorous fanning, declared that she was 
 surprised and shocked. " I wouldn't have believed 
 it," she said. " I just could not have believed that 
 you would have established yourself upon such terms 
 of intimacy with a clodhopper. Oh, it's just awful, 
 and what will your mother think? W'y, the great, 
 big, rough thing!" 
 
 " Mollie," replied the violinist, " you do not un 
 derstand; you were all cold; that man came iu as a 
 ray of warm light. He came as an inspiration. It 
 seemed that I could have played on and on in dreamy 
 and delicious endlessness. My fingers were numb 
 when he came, but he held up glowing coals and 
 warmed them." 
 
 "Oh, Carrie, what a silly little goose! How 
 thankful I am that I did not marry at your age.*
 
 HEE INSPIRA1IOK. 157 
 
 CHAPTEB II. 
 
 One afternoon, on a gallery shaded by vines, 
 Carrie Doyle eat gazing over a wheat field. The 
 quail, whose nest had been robbed, alighted on a 
 tree, which was not her wont, and moaned in low 
 and heart-broken " Bob White, Bob White." The 
 tired man, in hickory shirt, tilted a jug at the cor 
 ner of the fence, and a white boy and his negro 
 playmate danced in glee, and then wrestled with 
 each other where the stubble was rank and soft. 
 
 Barnes, conveying a bundle gn his back, came 
 into the yard. No one saw him, but he saw the 
 girl, and, with bashful loiter, he stood under a locust 
 tree. He put down his bundle, took it up again, 
 and seemed to be meditating a stealthy withdrawal 
 when Carrie caught sight of him. She uttered an 
 exclamation of delight. He threw down a bundle 
 that was heavier than his bundle of clothes he 
 threw down his bundle of bashf ulness and came for 
 ward. 
 
 " Let me get my violin," she said. " I have not 
 played so well since I saw you that night. Sit down. 
 I forgot to tell you that my mother is a widow. 
 She is my mother and yet she is my child."
 
 158 HER 
 
 She brought her violin. The heart-broken quail 
 lifted her head and listened. An old maid came 
 down from her room and stood entranced; an old 
 woman threw down her cares and came out upon the 
 gallery. When the music had ceased, Carrie blush- 
 ingly introduced Barnes to her mother. The young 
 man was surely awkward. 
 
 " 'Lowed I'd drap over this 'er way an' he'p you 
 folks cut wheat," said he. "Like ter be erroun' 
 whar that gal's fiddle is a singin' uvits sweet song." 
 
 He was told to go to work, but he remained after 
 the work was completed. The old maid frowned 
 upon him. The mother did not regard him with 
 much favor, but in the evening when Carrie took up 
 her violin, they all stood in admiration about him, 
 for they knew that he inspired the girl. 
 
 Several weeks elapsed. One evening Carrie and 
 Barnes sat alone under the vines. A hawk flew 
 past them, carrying in his claws the quail that had 
 moaned over the destruction of her home. 
 
 "I wanter tell you suthin' an' I doan't hardly 
 know how ter tell yer," Barnes said, as he tore off a 
 piece of morning glory vine and twisted it with his 
 fingers. 
 
 "You look, as you twist that vine," replied the 
 girl, "as if you are trying to thread the needle of 
 propriety. But I have threaded it. I know what 
 you were going to say ; you want to tell me that you
 
 HER INSPIBATION. 159 
 
 lore me. Please don't. You have told me you 
 were from a low family, that your mother was 
 ignorant and that your father was a criminal. 
 Knowing this I can never marry you. And aside 
 from all this, you are ignorant. You inspire me, 
 that is all." 
 
 "Yes, I am ignurent," he rejoined, "but I ken 
 learn. I will go away an' study, an' ef I come back 
 er lawyer ur er doctor, will you marry me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He went away. Two years afterward he returned. 
 The old maid turned up her nose when he came 
 upon the gallery. 
 
 The men were cutting wheat. A quail moaned 
 for the destruction of her home, and a white boy 
 and his negro playmate wrestled where the stubble 
 was rank and soft. When Carrie saw him she 
 seized her violin. She played, and her mother and 
 the old maid stood as nations did when Byron 
 touched his harp entranced. The music ceased. 
 Barnes and the girl were alone. 
 
 "Have you come back an educated man?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "No," he replied. "I have tried my best, but I 
 kain't 1'arn nuthin'. Whenever I tuck up a book I 
 couldn't see nuthin' but you, an' I couldn't hear 
 nuthin' but yo' fiddle." 
 
 "You bring inspiration to me," she said, ''and
 
 160 HEB IN8PIBATION. 
 
 when you go you take it all away. I can not play 
 when you are gone. My violin refuses to speak 
 except when under your spell." 
 
 "Then marry me, and we will live like they say 
 the angels does." 
 
 "No, I can not. You must go away. Go now." 
 
 "May I come back?" 
 
 "When you have learned something yes." 
 
 He went away. The next year he came back. 
 When he stepped up on the porch the girl, who had, 
 upon seeing him, caught up her violin, ran to meet 
 him. 
 
 " Sit down," she cried. 
 
 He obeyed, and the mother and the old maid came 
 out to hear the music. The hawk flew past with a 
 quuil. Hours hours that were full of soul to the 
 girl passed in thrilling flight. The mother and 
 the old niaid went back into the house. 
 
 "It ain't no use," said the young man; " it ain't 
 no use er tall, fur I must allus be ignunt. 1 have 
 tried ter study; I have got fellers to teach me, but I 
 can't 1'arn." 
 
 " I can not play without you," she said. "My 
 violin is cross when you are not with me." 
 
 " Then be my wife." 
 
 "I will see you to-morrow," she replied. 
 
 They sat in an old-fashioned room. $he put her 
 violin aside and gazed at him.
 
 HER INSPIRATION. 161 
 
 " You 'lowed you'd see me ter-day." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "An* will you marry me?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Because I'm low an ignunt?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Wall, I'll leave you then furever." 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 He went out of the house. He stopped at the gate. 
 She ran from the house, climbed up on the fence, 
 threw her arms about his neck and kissed him ; then, 
 telling him to go, she ran back into the house, seized 
 her violin by the neck and smashed it against the 
 wall. The old maid rushed into the room. Carrie 
 stood looking at the fragments of her instrument. 
 The old maid was in tears. 
 
 " Molly, why do you weep? What is it to you? 
 Why do you shed tears ?" 
 
 " Because," the old maid replied: "because I love 
 that fool."
 
 THE MILL BOYS. 
 
 I AM going to tell a bit of my own experience 
 an experience that I am not likely to forget. My 
 name has not a single vine or leaf of romance cling 
 ing about its sound; in short, my name is Zeb 
 Brown. I was brought up in the country, without 
 the advantages of education, but by the light of a 
 brush fire I contrived to read a few old books ; and 
 permit me to say that a close acquaintance with a 
 few masterful books is often better than a more pre 
 tentious education. 
 
 A short time after I had attained my majority, 
 which indeed was all I did attain I went over into 
 a distant neighborhood and began work at a saw 
 mill. The owner of the mill Old Bill Plunkett 
 was a brusque olci fellqw; and, so far as books were 
 concerned, was about as ignorant a man as I had 
 ever seen, except, possibly, my father, who, after the 
 extremes!; effort, could not have spelled dog. 
 
 Old Bill seemed to respect me, not becaupe I could 
 read and write and cipher a little upon a pinch, but 
 
 163
 
 164 THE MILL BOYS. 
 
 because I was a very strong and active young fellow 
 and consequently very handy in rolling logs. 
 
 One day after I had lifted the end of a log which 
 had been declared to be beyond the strength of any 
 man in the party, old Bill invited me to go home 
 and take supper with him. This was a surprise, for 
 he had never shown so great a preference to any of 
 the other boys, holding himself, as he did, greatly 
 above them. I went. He lived about two miles 
 from the mill, not in a frame house as you would 
 suppose from the fact that he owned a saw-mill, but 
 in an old log house daubed with clay and not well 
 daubed either. He hadn't much to say as we walked 
 along the road, and just as soon as we had entered 
 the house, instead of extending to me the courtesy 
 of conversation, he fell to cutting hame-strings from 
 a piece of leather which he took down from the clock 
 shelf. 
 
 Some time elapsed before any one else entered the 
 room. Then, after light footsteps in an adjoining 
 room, there entered a girl. As soon .as I saw her I 
 knew that I must have looked like a fool. What 
 could you expect of a green young fellow unused to 
 the society of ladies ? I say what could you expect 
 of such a young fellow upon beholding a girl whose 
 face must have been a pleasant contemplation to the 
 creative god of beauty, and with hair ah, what 
 hair! Its silken threads flit across my face now and 
 dim my vision.
 
 THE MILL BOYS. 165 
 
 " Kit," said the old man, squinting at his leather 
 to see if he was cutting straight, " this here is Zeb 
 Brown what works for me." 
 
 She dropped me a graceful courtesy she could 
 not have dropped another kind and gave me a smile 
 that seemed to have dropped down from the glorious 
 brightness of her hair. 
 
 " Kit," said the old man, " Zeb will eat supper 
 with us. She ain't got no mother," he added, turn 
 ing to me, " an' haster 'tend ter every thing herse'f." 
 
 Supper was soon announced. How well I re 
 member that meal, and how awkwardly did I acquit 
 myself. I turned over a pitcher of buttermilk ; up 
 set a molasses jug and dropped a plate of batter 
 cakes in my lap. Kit blushed and I knew she was 
 ashamed not of me, but for me. The old man burst 
 out laughing. " Wh'y," said he, after he had, with 
 the violence of his outburst,blown corn-bread crumbs 
 all over the table," you ken handle a pine log better 
 than you ken a pancake." 
 
 Blind old man. He knew not the cause of my 
 awkwardness. 
 
 After supper old Bill sat down to grease his newly- 
 made hame-strings. Kit and I naturally fell into 
 conversation; no, not naturally, for the blood 
 treacherous fluid kept mounting to my face, and 
 my great red hands kept getting in each other's 
 way. But I managed to talk, especially when the 
 girl's cordial air had placed me more at ease.
 
 166 THE MILL BOYS. 
 
 " I have some books that I can lend you," she 
 said. " I have a few very old ones full of poetry 
 and songs. I had great work, I know in protecting 
 one of them. It was a time when leather had sud 
 denly become scarce. Father's passion for hame- 
 strings (here she gave the old man a glance of mis 
 chief) naturally drove him to my choice book, 
 bound in leather. He wanted the binding for 
 hame-strings, and I do believe that the book would 
 have been sacrificed had I not succeeded in persuad 
 ing him that the binding was not strong enough for 
 his purpose." 
 
 We had talked but a little while longer when the 
 old man got up, put his can of grease on a shelf, 
 washed his hands in a pan in which he had soaked 
 the leather, and remarked: 
 
 " Wall, folks, it's bed-time. Kit, we've got ter 
 hussle out early in the mawnin 1 . Zeb, we've got a 
 good deal o' sawin' to do to-morrer." 
 
 I knew what this meant, and immediately took 
 my departure. The night was beautiful at least, 
 it must have been. I don't see how there could, at 
 that time, have been any other than a beautiful 
 night. The weather was cold, and I don't know but 
 a sleet was falling, yet, above it all, arises the fact 
 that to me the night was beautiful. 
 
 I do not think that I was so handy at my work the 
 next day, for once old Bill cried out: " Look sharp 
 thar, Zeb, whut air you studyin' about?"
 
 THE MILL BOYS. 167 
 
 Blind old man. He did not know. 
 
 I waited and waited for the old man to ask me to 
 his house again, but he did not. Any plow-boy in 
 the neighborhood was welcome there, but, as I pre 
 viously remarked, old Bill, with quite an un- 
 American spirit, I must say, held himself greatly 
 above the boys who worked for him. 
 
 One day the old man, with great flurry, declared 
 that he had left his pipe at home. 
 
 "I will go and bring it for you!" I exclaimed, 
 and without waiting to hear any reply, either of 
 remonstrance or agreement, I leaped over the low 
 rail fence that surrounded the mill yard, and set out 
 at a brisk walk along the road that wound among 
 the great trees. Was there ever so long a distance ? 
 At last I saw the house. Kit opened the door for 
 me. She blushed. I wondered why a young girl 
 should blush upon seeing so strapping and awkward 
 a fellow. I told her of my mission, and then we 
 both began to talk of the books we both loved so 
 well. Ah! What is sweeter, and what can be 
 purer than the uneducated backwoodsman's love of 
 books ? I suddenly thought of the long time I was 
 staying, and sprang to my feet. As I hurried along 
 the road a sweet remembrance came to me. It was 
 that Kit and I should meet the next Sunday at a 
 place which we had appointed. 
 
 When I arrived at the mill the old man, pretty
 
 168 THE MILL BOYS. 
 
 angry he was, too, demanded the reason why I had 
 staid so long. 
 
 "I came upon a man whose wagon had broken 
 down in the road," I replied, "and helped him to 
 mend it." 
 
 What a lie yes, what a pardonable lie. 
 
 The cold frown of winter was softened into the 
 warm smile of spring. Kit and I had often met. 
 She had promised to be my wife I had held her in 
 my arms. Old Bill suspected nothing ; at least he 
 said nothing, but I knew that in his ignorance he 
 would not consent to our marriage. One day when 
 I met Kit in the woods I found her much excited. 
 
 " What is the matter, angel?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh, something awful has happened," she replied. 
 " Father found the last letter you sent to me and 
 got some one to read it to him. He didn't say any 
 thing, but a terrible light shone in his eyes." 
 
 " Don't be afraid, little girl," I said. " He likes 
 me, I think, and when he sees that we are deter 
 mined he will give in. There, now, don't be 
 afraid." 
 
 I went to the mill as usual the next day. The 
 old man had not arrived. I did not dread his com 
 ing. Love had made me brave. He came after 
 awhile. He walked straight up to me. 
 
 " Good morning," I said. 
 
 Great God, he shot me!
 
 THE MILL BOYS. 169 
 
 Weeks passed before I knew anything. I lay in 
 a little cabin where I boarded. Winter came, and 
 I grew able to walk about the room. I had heard 
 that Kit was a closely confined prisoner. One 
 night, the night before Christmas, there came a vio 
 lent knock at my door. I opened the door and stag 
 gered back. It was old Bill. 
 
 " Kit wants to see you," he said. " I brought the 
 wagon. Come." 
 
 I went with him. Neither of us spoke. When 
 we reached the house I could hardly mount the 
 door-step. I went in. There was Kit lying on a 
 bed. Oh, what a change ! I sank upon my knees 
 at the bed-side, and tried to take her wasted hands, 
 but she wound her arms about my neck. My face 
 lay upon the glorious hair from which the smile, 
 when I first saw her, had seemed to fall. 
 
 " Angel," I whispered. 
 
 She pressed me closer. 
 
 " Angel," I whispered. 
 
 Closer she pressed me closer, closer, and then 
 the pressure was gone the arms fell. I don't 
 know how long I knelt there, but when I lifted my 
 head the sunlight of a glorious morning streamed 
 through the window. Just then a man entered. 
 " Look here," he said, opening the door. I looked 
 out and saw old Bill hanging from a tree. 
 
 " The mill boys," the man whispered.
 
 1 CHICAGO MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 CYRUS "W. HIGGLEGAQ, connected with the hard 
 ware firm of J\ W. Ringleoup & Co., Chicago, is 
 a tnan of unintentional eccentricity. I say unin 
 tentional, because I have noticed that the majority 
 of men whom we term eccentric, are not only 
 wide-awake to their own peculiarities, but seem 
 to be ever cultivating them to a higher state of 
 oddity. Higglegag's strangeness a rude remark 
 or brusque action appeared to spring from a 
 sort of nervousness that at times came upon him. 
 Not long ago he made a business visit to a south 
 ern town, one of those delightful places that has 
 reached contented old age a town in whose sub 
 urbs a dove softly coos above an old negro, who 
 dozes in the shade where the lolling dog is 
 almost too lazy to get out of the way of the 
 sprinkling-cart. 
 
 Higglegag strolled along the street. He had 
 one of his nervous fits, but would have resented 
 
 171
 
 172 A CHICAGO MAN. 
 
 an insinuation that he might possibly be eccentric. 
 He met a young woman whom he had for some 
 time been watching, just as another woman had 
 passed. 
 
 " I knew it," said Higglegag, addressing the 
 young woman. 
 
 "What?" she exclaimed. 
 
 " I say that I knew it." 
 
 "Knew what, sir?" 
 
 " Knew that you were going to look round to 
 see how that woman was dressed. Made a bet 
 with myself just now that you would. It 'B devil 
 ish annoying, I assure you." 
 
 The young woman flew into a rage. " You are 
 not a gentleman, sir!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Then why don't you run along? Why do you 
 stand here and talk to a man who is not a gentle 
 man? A city girl would have been half way home 
 by this time; but you village belles never lose 
 an opportunity of talking to a man." 
 
 The young woman's eyes blazed. " If I knew 
 your name and the place where you are stop 
 ping," she said, her voice wavering with anger, 
 " my brother would call on you." 
 
 " Here 'B my card, Miss Miss at a venture, 
 understand, for you may be the widow of a man 
 who lost his life in the defense of the honor of 
 his horse. I am holding forth, at that ' hostelry
 
 A CHICAGO MAN. 173 
 
 of indigestion known as the Simmons house. If 
 you will excuse me I will proceed." 
 
 She took the card, glared at him; and, on the 
 springing feet of rage, hurried away. Several 
 hours later, while Higglegag was sitting in his 
 room, there came a knock at his door. 
 
 " Coma in." 
 
 A tall, strongly-formed young man entered. He 
 glanced at a card which he held in his hand, 
 looked up and asked: 
 
 " Is this Mr. Cyrus W. Higglegag?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, of the firm of F. W. Ringleoup & 
 Co., hardware dealers, of Chicago, that are pre 
 pared to undersell anybody in the market. Sit 
 down." 
 
 " I did not come for the purpose of sitting 
 down, sir. I " 
 
 " Just as cheap as standing up, as the barnyard 
 wit would say." 
 
 " I have come, sir, to demand an explanation. 
 My sister informs me that you insulted her, and, 
 by- -" 
 
 " I don't think that I am acquainted with your 
 sister, sir. Sit down." 
 
 "I will not sit down, damn you! My sister 
 informs me that you stopped her on the street, 
 and " 
 
 " What is her name, please?"
 
 114: A CHICAGO MAN. 
 
 " My name, sir, is Norwood Hampton." 
 
 " Are you related to the Hamptons of Ken 
 tucky? I sold old Major Hampton a bill of goods 
 some time ago. Tall old fellow, slightly bald, but 
 as hospitable as the lighthouse-keeper of fiction, 
 and as brave as well, as a gentleman. I take 
 it that all gentlemen are brave. Sit down." 
 
 Mr. Hampton glared savagely at Higglegag, 
 while one hand fumbled ominously under the 
 tail of his coat. 
 
 " I am tempted, without further ado, to shoot 
 your head off. You are a low-minded, cowardly 
 wretch " 
 
 " Say hold on a minute just a minute, and 
 if I don't make every thing satisfactory, off goes 
 my head. In a case of this kind a man never 
 regrets listening patiently to an explanation." 
 
 " Proceed; but be brief." 
 
 " All right, but you must not fly off if I don't 
 talk to suit you at first. I have always under 
 stood that southern gentlemen have a fine appre 
 ciation of humor, and I sincerely wish that you 
 may give play to a little of that admirable quality 
 which I know you must have inherited. Without 
 humor there could be no high state of civiliza 
 tion. The savage frowns; the philosopher laughs. 
 Now, Mr. Hampton, if you could but realize my 
 situation, I know that you could not help but
 
 A CHICAGO MAN. 175 
 
 smile. Here you are, demanding an explanation 
 relative to an insult which you say that I have 
 placed upon your sister, and here I am, a man 
 who many a gentleman in Chicago will tell you 
 never was known to be guilty of/ an intentional 
 wrong. It has been said that I am at times 
 peculiar, and I'll be hanged if I haven't begun 
 to believe it. This morning, while strolling along 
 your main street, which I must say is very quiet, 
 I saw a pardon me saw a handsome young 
 lady approaching; and, looking back, I saw a 
 woman was overtaking me. 4 Now,' I mused, ' I 
 shall see an exhibition of feminine peculiarity. 
 When those women pass, the young one will look 
 back to see how the other one is dressed, to see 
 if she can not detect some outrageous incongruity 
 in the way her clothes hang. The other woman 
 may also look around, but I am betting on the 
 younger one.' Well, sir, the younger one did 
 turn around, just as I expected; and, I don't know 
 why but surely with no evil intentions I spoke 
 to her. I don't remember exactly what I said; 
 it may have been insolent, but well, now here 
 suppose that men were to turn round to criticise 
 the hanging of each other's pantaloons; wouldn't 
 it warrant any woman in speaking to us of the 
 disgraceful practice?" 
 
 Hampton sat down. After a few moments, he 
 said: " The affair is ridiculous."
 
 176 A CHICAGO MAN. 
 
 " Of course it is." 
 
 " While you did not mean any insult, Mr. Higgle- 
 gag, you should not have addressed her, even thougk 
 your remarks had been pleasant." 
 
 " You are right, Mr. Hampton ; no one can deny 
 that. I am sorry now, but the deepest threats of 
 direst consequences would not have prevented ma 
 from speaking to her at the time. Ever in Chicago ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Greatest commercial achievement the age has 
 seen. Why, sir, there's nothing that Chicago will 
 not undertake. And do you know what has made 
 that town ? The municipal patriotism, if I may use 
 such a phrase, of her people. A Chicago man may 
 not have time to talk to you about himself or his 
 father, but he will stand bareheaded in the rain and 
 talk to you about Chicago. That's the way to make 
 a town. Talk it up; never let the subject get cold. 
 In business here, Mr. Hampton ? " 
 
 " Yes, agricultural implements." 
 
 41 Never handled the Stagwell plow, have you?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Our firm is manufacturing it now. The Michigan, 
 Ohio and Illinois farmers are delighted with it. 
 There has been a great improvement in plows within 
 the past few years not a revolution, understand, but 
 such a reduction in price that the old cast plow, 
 which has so long been the stand-by of the small
 
 ^ A CHICAGO MAN. 177 
 
 farms solely on account of its low price, is about to 
 be driven from the market. Still use a great many 
 cast plows round here, don't they ? " 
 
 " Yes, the poorer class of farmers." 
 
 " Ah, hah ! and it seems that the poorer class is 
 in the majority. Now here's a steel plow," taking 
 up a catalogue and turning to a well-printed cut, 
 "that we are actually selling at two dollars and 
 Beventy-five cents. Just think of it, two seventy-five. 
 The farmers have never before had such an op 
 portunity as this. Why, it's marvelous simply 
 marvelous! Good steel, hard oak wood. Look at 
 the shape of that beam. There's no doubt about it, 
 the man who introduces this plow to the farmers of 
 this state is going to make a fortune. The only 
 way to get rich, Mr. Hampton, is to take hold of a 
 good thing while its new before it has become 
 common property. Look at Chicago. Snatches up 
 every new invention. It used to be that poor in 
 ventors were compelled to go to Europe to get money 
 enough to bring out their inventions. Now they 
 come to Chicago. That plow, sir, for two seventy- 
 five. Look at the shape of that mouldboard. The 
 old-fashioned plow, you understand, turns the dirt 
 clear over, while this sets it upon edge, keeping the 
 soil comparatively near the surface where it affords 
 most nourishment to the plant. As young and active 
 
 a business man as you are ought not to take a back 
 it
 
 178 A CHICAGO MAN. 
 
 seat for any citizen in this town. Let me send you a 
 few of those plows say one hundred as a starter." 
 
 " Do you think I could sell so many ? " Hampton 
 asked. 
 
 " What! not sell one hundred? I tell you what's 
 a fact, Hampton, you can run out every otEer plow 
 no question about it." 
 
 " Well, you may send me one hundred." 
 
 " The northern farmers are delighted with this 
 plow, I tell you, and the sooner the farmer of this 
 state follows the northern farmer now, here, the 
 cheapness of this implement places it within arm's- 
 length of every negro farmer in this state. You 
 just advertise that you sell the celebrated Stagwell 
 steel plow, manufactured by Bingleoup & Co., of 
 Chicago, and you will see that it will take moro than 
 two hundred to stock the market Shall I put you 
 down for two hundred?" 
 
 " Yes, go ahead." 
 
 "All right. I'll order them shipped at once. 
 Don't be in a hurry." 
 
 " I must get back. My place of business is 
 down on Main street. If you have time, drop in and 
 see me." 
 
 "I'll do so. By the way, present package of abject 
 apologies to your sister, please." 
 
 " I'll fir that all right"
 
 A CHICAGO MAN. 179 
 
 HAMPTON entered a room wher a handsome girl 
 sat musing. 
 
 " Well," she said, looking up with flashing 
 eyes, 
 
 " I've returned," he said, sitting down. 
 
 " What did yon do?" 
 
 " Bought 200 plows from him. Ella, he'd make 
 any man enthusiastic. He " 
 
 " It it possible that you have had a business trans 
 action with a man who has grossly insulted me ? 
 Oh, Norwood " She burst into tears and sprang 
 to her feet. " As my father is dead, and my brother 
 is no longer a man, I must be my own avenger. I 
 will call on him; I will cowhide him as he deserves 
 to be! All the Hampton spirit is not dead! " 
 
 She took down a riding whip, turned to her brother 
 and said: 
 
 " Am I to go alone?" 
 
 " If you go, yes." 
 
 "Don't you feel like a whipped cur, Norwood?" 
 
 " No, can't say that I do." 
 
 "Merciful heavens! is it possible that you are 
 laughing at me? I am ashamed of you; I hate 
 you; I " She rushed from the room.
 
 180 A CHICAGO MAN. 
 
 There came a nervous tapping at Higglegag'a 
 door. 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 Miss Hampton entered. 
 
 " Are you the young lady I saw this morning* 
 Sit down." 
 
 "I have come, sir " 
 
 " Yes, I see. Your brother was here just now, 
 and I am greatly indebted to him. These tempo 
 rary fits of melancholy are awful. All about a girl 
 beautiful creature; dead now. Oh, how I loved 
 her! Last time I saw her she was looking back at 
 me. Horseran away with her and killed her. You 
 have come to whip me ? Well, well, so be it. Oh, Dora 
 Clyde, Dora Clyde, did I think sit down, please. 
 Pay no attention to my rambling remarks. To die 
 to die of love! There, put your whip down. In 
 the night strange whisperings come to me a breath 
 warm with love ; but the icy morning breaks, and 
 I see the frost's fantastic dance-marks on the win 
 dow-pane. Were you ever in love?" 
 
 "I fear, sir, that I have wronged you," said Miss 
 Hampton. " I did not know that you were suffer 
 ing. You must pardon me. Good-bye." 
 
 When Miss Hampton returned home, her brother, 
 who was still sitting in the room, looked up and 
 said: 
 
 "Well"
 
 A CHICAGO MAN. 181 
 
 " Why, Norwood, that poor man is grieving him- 
 self to death about a girl that was killed." 
 
 Hampton roared. 
 
 " He is, just as sure as you live. I never saw 
 such melancholy in a human being's eyes." 
 
 " And I never saw such business." 
 
 " Oh, you are mistaken. Perhaps he talked to 
 you of plows because he saw the girl on a horse 
 not exactly that, but probably he did not know what 
 he was saying." 
 
 " Why, we made an extensive trade, and, by the 
 way, he told me to offer you his apologies." 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me? If you had told me I 
 wouldn't have gone to see him. You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself." 
 
 " I rather like him, Ella, and I'll tell you what 
 we'll do. We'll invite him to supper to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 " I don't know about that. It wouldn't seem ex 
 actly right, would it?" 
 
 " I think BO. The whele affair has been BO 
 ridiculous that anything would be appropriate 
 now." 
 
 The next morning Higglegag called on Hampton 
 at the store, and, when invited to supper, heartily 
 agreed to come. 
 
 Hampton and his sister lived alone in an old red 
 brick house almost covered with vines. There were
 
 182 A CHICAGO HAN. 
 
 many shrubs in the yard, and along the paths 
 romance strolled hand in hand with quiet fancy. 
 
 When they sat down to the table, Miss Hampton, 
 looking at Higglegag with an expression of tender- 
 est sympathy, told him that he must make himself 
 perfectly at home. 
 
 " I shall make myself near enough at home to 
 feel at ease," he replied, " but shall not be so much 
 at home that I may fail to remember that it is being 
 here and not there to which I am indebted for so 
 pleasant an evening." 
 
 " You are a shrewd flatterer as well as (glancing 
 at her brother) a sharp business man." 
 
 " All sharp business men, Miss Hampton, are 
 shrewd flatterers, but they are also men who believe 
 that a timely statement of an effective truth is worth 
 more than a groundless compliment." 
 
 She looked at her brother, and, catching his mis 
 chievous eyes, smiled. 
 
 " The average Chicago man, I am told," she said, 
 "does not read many books." 
 
 "The average man, no matter where you find him, 
 is not devoted to books," he replied. " The Chi 
 cago man may not read many books, but he thinks 
 a great deal. While some men are worrying over 
 a theory advanced in a book, the Chicago man is 
 watching the great kite of this morning's thought 
 and now's action the daily newspaper. To-day he
 
 4 CHICAGO MAN. 183 
 
 sees exploded or verified the book- worm theory that 
 will be advanced next year." 
 
 " Do you like poetry, Mr. Higglegag?" 
 
 " Well, yes, successful poetry. In fact, I like 
 anything that is a success, and deplore everything 
 that is a failure." 
 
 " What do you think is the highest aim in life ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Success in any praiseworthy undertaking, to 
 make the best possible living, to respect everything 
 that is true and reject all shams." 
 
 The evening was an enjoyable one, but when 
 Higglegag had gone Miss Hampton could not help 
 thinking that he had lost much of his air of romance. 
 While she sat musing her brother said: 
 
 " He seems to have forgotten to bring that melan 
 choly expression of eye along with him." 
 
 " Norwood, why would you destroy the budding 
 memory of a pleasant evening by making such a 
 coarse remark?" 
 
 "Why budding memory ?" 
 
 "Because the event is so recent that it has not 
 had time to unfold into a flower of recollection." 
 
 "Humph, Ella, he must have impressed you. 
 Pity he does not add dry goods to his line of plows." 
 
 "Pity that some one who is strong enough does 
 not give you a plow line," she good naturedly 
 xeplied. "Wonder how long he will be in town?"
 
 184 A CHICAGO MAN. 
 
 "Haven't heard him say, but until he teaches all 
 our merchants how to become wealthy, I suppose." 
 
 The next afternoon, while Miss Hampton was 
 walking in the flower garden, Higglegag came along 
 and stopped at the fence. 
 
 "Looping up nature's expressions of sentiment, 
 eh?" 
 
 "Why, Mr. Higglegag, that is really a poetic 
 idea," she replied. "One would hardly have 
 expected it from " 
 
 "A Chicago man," he suggested. 
 
 "I didn't say that," she rejoined. 
 
 "You are fond of flowers, undoubtedly." 
 
 "Yes, successful flowers." 
 
 They both laughed, and caught thrilling glimpses 
 of each other's eyes. 
 
 "How long do you expect to remain in town?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I don't know, exactly. The house owes me a 
 vacation, and I have written demanding it" 
 
 "I did not think that Chicago men took vacations." 
 
 "Yes, they do when they have been successful." 
 
 "Won't you come in and sit down? Brother will 
 be home pretty soon." 
 
 He went in, but instead of sitting down strolled 
 with her in the garden; and, although several hours 
 passed before Hampton came, Higglegag waited 
 until he did come. In fact, he stayed until after
 
 A CHICAGO MAW. 185 
 
 During the next few weeks the Chicago 
 man called, in the sly opinion of Hampton, with 
 sentimental frequency. 
 
 One evening while Higglegag and Miss Hampton 
 were strolling along a. quiet and perfumed street, 
 where roses, heavy with richness, hung over the 
 fences, the girl, with sudden and seemingly unpre 
 meditated change of subject, remarked: 
 
 "It may be a painful memory, and perhaps I do 
 wrong in speaking of it, but you have not told me 
 anything ofof that young lady." 
 
 "Which young lady?" 
 
 "Why, that Miss Dora Clyde. Don't you remem 
 ber speaking of her the first day I saw you ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! that was all put up. I mean that it was 
 a pretense." 
 
 "I didn't think that you would be so deceitful." 
 
 "Stood me in hand to practice a little deceit on 
 that occasion." They had reached Hampton's gate. 
 "I didn't want to be whipped by the loveliest creat 
 ure I Have I offended you?" 
 
 She had quickly stepped inside and closed the 
 gate, and had turned her back upon him. 
 
 "I ask if I have offended you?" 
 
 "Are all sharp business men shrewd flatterers?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Hang those formal expressions. Ella By the 
 way, Hampton, I I hang itl I was about to tell
 
 186 A CHICAGO HAN. 
 
 your sister that I love her and ask her to be mj 
 wife, but your sudden appearance there she goes 
 Ella, come back. Well, good-bye." 
 
 He called again the next evening. 
 
 "I ought not to let you come in," said Ella, when 
 she met him at the doon 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You know how you talked last night." 
 
 "Then you are not in sympathy with what I said?" 
 
 "Not that, but I didn't want you to blab it so 
 everybody could hear it." 
 
 "Ella," taking h3r hands. "I have been thinking 
 over this affair, and although I love you devotedly, 
 before we can become engaged I fear that the sac 
 rifice I shall require of you will be too much for 
 you." 
 
 "Who said that we were to become engaged?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Nobody; but you understand the situation, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 'And you will acknowledge that you love mef 
 
 "I cannot conceal it. What is the sacrifice?" 
 
 "I am sure you can not make it" 
 
 "Yes, lean. What is it?" 
 
 "You must promise" 
 
 "Well?"
 
 A CHICAGO MAN. 187 
 
 "That when you pass a woman you will not look 
 bock to see how her dress hangs." 
 
 They broke into a hearty laugh, and she playfully 
 boxed his ears.
 
 WITHERED JOE. 
 
 THERE was not a man in the Dry Fork neighbor 
 hood who was not afraid of old Sam Peters. The 
 old fellow's looks were quite enough to frighten the 
 timid, and his violent exclamations rarely failed to 
 make men of nerve feel ill at ease. Sam had killed 
 several men. On one occasion, over at Slawson's 
 bayou, he encountered 'a desperate fellow from Texas. 
 They at once recognized each other as rivals, and, 
 upon a pretense of having had a former altercation, 
 agreed to fight. The " time-honored " handkerchief 
 method of combat was adopted; that is, each con 
 testant should take hold, with his teeth, of a corner 
 of the same handkerchief, and then fall to work 
 with bowie-knives. It may, without digression, be 
 said that this plan of fighting, long since ruled out 
 of the most polite circles of society, is rather dan 
 gerous. 
 
 When a fellow named Collins had, with courteous 
 accommodation, whetted the knives on his boot, 
 the sad discovery was made that no one had a hand 
 kerchief. 
 
 " This is a putty come-off," said Collins. " The 
 
 189
 
 190 WITHERED JOE. 
 
 idee uv losin' all this yere enspiriten' 'citement jest 
 on ercount uv a rag is a disgrace ter er civilized 
 curmunity. Hoi' on er minit, fellers^ I've got er 
 idee." 
 
 He took off his wheat-straw hat, tore out the cali 
 co lining, and, handing it to old Sam, remarked: 
 
 " Thar's the necessary dockyment. The diffikilty 
 is at a eend. Chaw yo' corners." 
 
 The men took hold. The knives flashed. The 
 man from Texas fell in a dying condition. Old Sam 
 staggered away severely wounded. 
 
 There also lived in the Dry Fork neighborhood a 
 crippled boy named Withered Joe. He was of BO 
 little importance that scarcely any attention was 
 paid to him. His only companion was a dog a 
 snaggle-tooth, wretched animal with one oye. The 
 cripple would often take the dog in his arms and 
 mourn over him. One night two men were riding 
 along a lonely road. "Hush!" said one of them, 
 reining up his horse, "what curious noise is that?" 
 
 " Come on," the other man replied. " It's only 
 Withered Joe whimperin' over his dog down thar in 
 the holler." 
 
 Old Sam's outrages became so numerous that the 
 authorities decided to arrest him. The sheriff de 
 clared that it would require twenty men. 
 
 " It makes no difference," said the circuit judge, 
 "he must be arrested."
 
 WITHBBED JOE. 191 
 
 The sheriff summoned a posse. Old Sam was 
 easily found. He placed his back against a tree, 
 drew his bowie-knife, and said that he didn't feel 
 like being arrested. 
 
 "You wouldn't kill your friends, would you?" 
 the sheriff asked. 
 
 " Yes, I'd kill a lamb if it tried to arrest me. I 
 wa'n't bo'n ter be tuck up like er stray hoss." 
 
 " Sam, the people want you." 
 
 " They kain't git me. Thar ain't none uv you 
 that want to be killed, I reckon." 
 
 " No, b'l'eve not." 
 
 " Wall, then, keep yo' distance." 
 
 " The man who will rush on him shall be the 
 next sheriff uv this county," exclaimed the leading 
 officer. 
 
 " Then why don't you do it, an' be re-elected?" 
 some one rejoined. 
 
 "Becaz," the sheriff replied, "I've got a wife an' 
 chillun dependin' on me." 
 
 "Hello," said a fellow named Collins; "yonder 
 comes Withered Joe, an' his snaggle-tooth dog ain't 
 with him, nuther. That's strange. Beckon he's 
 come after ole Sam." 
 
 The men shouted, and old Sam, lifting his upper 
 lip till a wolf-like smile showed beneath it, reached 
 out and clipped off a red-bud twig with his knife. 
 
 Withered Joe approached. In his hand he car 
 ried a long knife.
 
 192 WITHERED JOE. 
 
 "Hello, Joe," the sheriff called, "have you 
 started out ter cut a mess uv greens?" 
 
 The cripple did not reply. His eyes, in a sort of 
 dead set, were fixed on old Sam. He did not stop, 
 but passed the circle of men. 
 
 "Come back here, fool," cried the sheriff. 
 " Come back, or he'll cut you in two." 
 
 He did not stop. Old Sam gazed at him in angry 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Don't come nigh me, you dried-up crab-apple. 
 Don't come here, I tell you. I'll kill ydu like I 
 Would a snake." 
 
 The cripple walked straight ahead. Old Sam 
 raised his knife. 
 
 " One mo' step," he said. 
 
 Another step. The knife came down, but the 
 cripple shrank, or seemed to whither to one side ; 
 and then, with the quickness of a cat, he plunged 
 the knife in old Sam's hip. There arouse a shout. 
 The men rushed forward, seized old Sam, and 
 bound him. 
 
 "You are a man," said the sheriff, addressing 
 the cripple. " Yo' great respeck fur the law shall 
 be rewarded." 
 
 " I ain't got no respeck fur ther law," rejoined 
 the cripple, bursting into tears. "The feller killed 
 my dog." 
 
 Two men were riding along a lonely road.
 
 WITHERED JOE. 193 
 
 "Hush!" said one of them, reining up nis horse. 
 ".What curious noise is that?" 
 
 " Come on," the other one replied, " It's only 
 Whithered Joe whimperin' over the grave uv his 
 dog down thar in the holler."
 
 IN THE CUMBERLAND 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 A PHYSICIAN told Tom Blake that lie not only needed 
 a change of scene, but that to regain his health 
 he required absolute freedom from business cares. 
 "I would advise you," said the doctor, "to get on a 
 horse and ride away, no matter whither. Go to the 
 mountains shun the merest suggestions of civili 
 zation, in short, sleep out like a bear." 
 
 Blake attempted to act upon this advice. He 
 stuffed a few shirts into a pair of saddlebags, 
 mounted a jolting horse and rode up into the 
 grandeur of mugged mountain gorges. But to him 
 the scenery imparted no thrill of admiration. His 
 heart beat low, and his pulse quivered with a weak 
 ening flutter. The fox that in sudden alarm sprang 
 across the pathway, the raccoon that, with awkward 
 scramble, climbed a leaning tree, called not for a mo 
 mentary quickening of his blood. He was passing 
 through one of the most distressing of human trials.. 
 He had no disease ; every muscle was sound. What, 
 then, was the trouble ? You shall know. 
 
 195
 
 196 IN THE CUMBEBLAND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 He lay at night in a bank of leaves. Now every > 
 thing startled him. He trembled violently when 
 the sun went down. Once he sprang, with a cry of 
 alarm from his bed of leaves ; then he lay down again, 
 ashamed. The horse had snorted. 
 
 Farther and farther he went into the wildness of 
 the mountains. One evening he came upon a nar 
 row road, and, following it for some distance, saw a 
 house. It was an old inn, with a suggestion of the 
 brigand about it. He tied his horse to a fence 
 made of poles and went into the house. There he 
 found a man with a parchment face and small, evil 
 eyes, and a woman who, on the stage, could have 
 appropriately taken the role of hag. 
 
 "Why, come in, sir, come in," said the man, 
 getting up and placing a chair for Blake. " Wife 
 and I have been so lonesome for the last day or 
 so that we have been wishing somebody would come. 
 Haven't we, Moll?" 
 
 The woman removed a cob pipe from her mouth, 
 drew the back of a skinny hand across her blue- 
 looking lips, made a noise like the gutteral croak 
 of an old hen with the roup, and said, "Yes." 
 
 "You'll of course stay all night with us?" the 
 man remarked. "We can't possibly allow you to 
 go on, especially as we are going to have falling 
 weather. Oh, when it comes to hospitality, why 
 you'll find it right here. I'll go out and put up 
 your horse."
 
 IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 197 
 
 Blake entered no objections. His deplorable con 
 dition would have forced him into a compliance 
 with almost any sort of a proposition. The man 
 went out, put up the horse and soon returned with 
 a log of wood. "' The more fire we have the more 
 cheerful it will be," he explained. " Out prospect 
 ing ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," Blake answered. 
 
 "Don't live nowhere near here, I reckon?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " How long do you expect to remain in this part 
 of the country ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 The old woman mumbled and then, with a grating 
 croak, said: 
 
 " He don't 'pear willin' to tell much about his- 
 se'f. Some folks is mighty curi's thater way." 
 
 " Never mind, Moll," the host quickly responded. 
 " It ain't quite time for you to put in, except in the 
 way of getting us a bite to eat." 
 
 She arose, without replying, and began prepara 
 tions for supper. 
 
 " It is a dull time of year with us," said the host. 
 " It has been about two weeks since our last boarder 
 left. But I reckon business will pearten up a little 
 when the fishing season opens." 
 
 Blake paid no attention, except when some sharp 
 and unexpected note in the old man's voice produced 
 a tingling of the nerves.
 
 108 IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Shortly after supper, Blake declared his readiness 
 to go to bed. He was shown into a sort of shed 
 room, separated by a thin partition from the room 
 which he had just quitted. The old man placed a 
 spluttering caudle on the hearth, and, expressing the 
 hope that hid guest would pass a quiet and peaceful 
 night, withdrew. 
 
 Blake lay unable to sleep. Once the spluttering 
 candle caused him to spring up in bed. Suddenly 
 his oars, extremely sensitive with his nervousness, 
 caught the sounds of a whispered conversation. 
 
 " It won't do to shed blood," said the old man. 
 " It won't do, for we made a mighty narrow escape 
 the last time. It's impossible to get blood stains 
 out of the house." 
 
 "I b'l'eve them saddlebags air full uv money," 
 
 the hag replied. 
 
 " I don't doubt that and we're got to have it" 
 
 " How air you goin' ter git it?" 
 
 " Poison him. I wasn't a sort of doctor all these 
 
 years for nothing." 
 
 " You never was no doctor ter hurt" 
 
 " But I'll be a doctor to-night to hurt." 
 
 "How air you goin' ter pizen him f Thar ain't a 
 
 speck uv pizen on the place." 
 "Where is that morphine?" 
 " Up thar in the bottle, but will that fix him?" 
 "Yes, and in such a way that nobody will suspect 
 
 anything."
 
 IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 199 
 
 " How are you goin' ter do ? Hold it under his 
 nose?" 
 
 " Hold it under his foot! " the man contemptuously 
 repJied. "I am goitig to nlake him take it." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I'll fix it." 
 
 " Then there occured a whispering of which Blake 
 caught the following: 
 
 " Thiilk that's ernuff ? " the woman asked. 
 
 " It's nearly half a teaspoonful. Enough to make 
 five men sleep throughout eternity." 
 
 A moment later the host entered Blake's room. 
 His manner was free from embarrassment. In one 
 hand he held a glass containing water. 
 
 " Stranger, I don't want to disturb you, but it 
 occured to me just now that you looked as if you 
 might be going to have a spell of sickness, so I 
 thought I would bring you some medicine. I am 
 willing to help a man but I don't want him to be 
 sick on my hands, I am a doctor, but I don't pro 
 pose to keep a hospital." 
 
 " Suppose I refuse to take the medicine?" 
 
 " Then you'll put me to the trouble of pouring it 
 down you, that's all. I am a mighty gentle sort of 
 fellow as Jong as everything goes on all right, but if 
 a hitch occurs, why I am as rough as a swamp oak." 
 
 " Are you sure the medicine will not hurt me ? " 
 
 "Hurt you! Why, it will do you good. Here, 
 swallow it down."
 
 200 IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Blake drank the contents of the glass. The host 
 smiled, bowed and withdrew. Then there followed 
 another whispered conversation. 
 
 " Tuck it all right, did he? M 
 
 " Like a lamb. He'll be all right in a half hour 
 
 from now. " 
 
 During fifteen or twenty minutes Blake lay quietly 
 in bed. Then he got up, dressed himself noiselessly, 
 arranged the bed covers to resemble the form of a 
 man, took his saddlebags, stepped out at a back door, 
 went to the stable, saddled his horse, mounted and 
 rode up to a window and looked into the room which 
 he had occupied. Cattle were tramping about the 
 yard, and the noise made by the horse attracted no 
 attention. He took a position so that he could, un 
 observed, see all that passed within the room. The 
 " doctor" and the old woman soon entered. They 
 made no attempt to speak in low tones. 
 
 " Whar is his saddlebags?" the woman asked. 
 
 " Under his head, I reckon. Snatch off the covers. 
 He won't wake up." 
 
 The old woman pulled off the covers and uttered a 
 cry of surprise. Blake tapped on the window glass. 
 
 "Say, Dock," he called, "bring me the rest of 
 that morphine. You see, I have been a morphine 
 eater for a number of years, but ani trying to quit 
 Your dose came in pretty handy, for I was in a bad 
 fix. I am all right now, and am much obliged to 
 you. Good night"
 
 IN THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS. 201 
 
 Less than a week from that time the " doctor " 
 and his wife were in jail, charged with the murder 
 of a traveler. They were hanged at Greeneville last 
 September.
 
 THE WILDCAT CIRCUIT. 
 
 BANK weeds grew about the only remaining church 
 on Wildcat circuit, and over the door there grew a 
 green saw-brier. Wild hogs slept in the old log house, 
 and the screech-owl, with its nerve-startling tremulo, 
 roosted under the eaves. Conference after conference 
 had attempted to reclaim the old church, for the 
 vines of many fond memories were clinging about 
 it, but each attempt was a failure. There had been 
 a time when the glad shout of the regenerated and 
 the thankful prayer of the sanctified called forth a 
 hymn of joy from the devout congregation, but 
 that time was long ago, for boys who had then, 
 clinging to the skirts of their excited mothers, won 
 dered what the commotion meant, had become 
 fathers. The religious system, and consequently 
 the social complexion of the neighborhood had been 
 changed by the war. The saintly brother, harrassed 
 by guerillas and robbed by marauders that belonged 
 to both armies, moved away, many of them, and 
 those who remained forgot their church relations 
 and finally became rough sneerers at the creed of 
 
 203
 
 204 THE WILDCAT CIBCUIT. 
 
 which they had once been strong but gentle sup 
 porters ; BO, many years later, the uncouth men of 
 the Wildcat circuit laughed at the efforts of con 
 ference and actually mistreated the preachers who 
 came among them. 
 
 Several weeks ago, a newly made preacher, con 
 cerning whom there had arisen considerable discus 
 sion relative to the circuit to which he should bo 
 sent, arose in conference and said: 
 
 " Brethren, it appears that somebody either wants 
 for himself or for a friend, every place that is sug 
 gested for me. Now, all I want is a chance to work. 
 I am not looking out for a place where they feed a 
 preacher on fried chicken and at night tumble him 
 into a feather bed. I have gone into this preaching 
 business with the expectation of having a pretty 
 tough time, but I am prepared for it. I was grad 
 uated with honors from the College of Toughness, 
 having been editor of a county paper duiing a 
 campaign for sheriff. Now, brethren, I am very 
 sorry to see that there should be any controversy 
 on my account, and to show you that I shall be 
 satisfied yea, even pleased with any assignment 
 I will announce my determination of re-establishing 
 the "Wildcat circuit." 
 
 The young preachers, given to levity, began to 
 laugh, but the older ones, several of whom had 
 hoed the row of experience, shook their heads 
 gravely and were serious.
 
 THE WILDCAT CIRCUIT. 205 
 
 "Brother Gregory," said an old man, "do we 
 understand you to mean that you will face a gang of 
 ruffians and attempt to plant the gospel in the soil 
 where it once flourished but from which it was 
 violently torn up by the roots ? " 
 
 " That is what I mean. These men may be 
 ruffians, but they will not dare to use violence." 
 
 " They may not use positive violence, Brother 
 Gregory, but they know how to apply a thousand 
 annoyances. They make a preacher ridiculous and 
 then laugh at him. I went there some time ago* 
 but I will never go again." 
 
 A number of the brethren strove to dissuade 
 Brother Gregory from carrying out the plans of his 
 rash determination, but the next day, the head strong 
 evangelist set out on a journey to the "Wildcat circuit. 
 Without telling the object of his visit to the neighbor 
 hood, he engaged board at a house situated near the 
 church, and, the next morning after his arrival, he 
 gave himself over to the work of clearing away the 
 weeds that grew about the sacred old pile of logs. 
 He pulled down the green-brier that grew over the 
 door, washed with soap-suds the inside of the house, 
 and, after completing his work, announced to a 
 number of curious spectators that there would be 
 preaching the following Sunday. 
 
 When the time arrived the house was well filled 
 with "sniokerers" and scoffers, but Brother Gregory
 
 206 THE WILDCAT CIRCUIT. 
 
 stepped tip into the oak-slab pulpit and declared 
 that he had come to preach, and that tlje privilege 
 of retiring was granted to any one who did not care 
 to hear him. '< I come as a friend to persuade, and 
 not as an enemy to coerce," said he. *' I have come 
 here to join you in all your sympathies, in all your 
 sport and pastimes." 
 
 "Glad to hear that," old Nick Dac.y spoke up. 
 M Might ? ly pleased ter know that you air goin' ter 
 jine us, an' as this is jest about our time uv day ter 
 caper a little, w'y, you can fall in right at once." 
 
 Benches had been removed from the center of the 
 room, leaving an open space. Nick stepped into the 
 " clearing," and, standing on his head, cracked his 
 heels together. The congregation shouted with 
 laughter. The preacher came down out of the pulpit, 
 stood on his head and cracked his heels together. 
 Old Nick got down on all fours, galloped about the 
 open space and yelped like a dog. " Ounk, ounk, 
 ounk!" he barked. 
 
 The preacher got down on all his fours and gal 
 loped about with a high-keyed " ounk, ounk, ounk! " 
 
 Old Nick lay down and grunted like a hog. So 
 did Brother Gregory. The people exchanged many 
 glances of amazement. 
 
 " Say," said Nick. 
 
 "Well," the preacher answered. 
 
 "You air sorter one of the boys, ain't you?*'
 
 THE WILDCAT CIRCUIT. 207 
 
 " I told you I had come to join you in your sports 
 and pastimes.'' 
 
 "I thought you come to preach." 
 
 " So I did, but I do not intend to preach until 
 you are all ready to listen." 
 
 " Do you reckon we need preachin' ter so mighty 
 bad?" 
 
 "Not half so much so as do the people who live 
 in the towns?" 
 
 "Then why don't you go and preach to them?" 
 
 " Because I do not wish to destroy my natural 
 manhood by talking to people whose every aim is to 
 be unnatural." 
 
 " How are you on the rassle? '' 
 
 " I am not an expert at wrestling, but if the con 
 gregation so wills it I will try you a few falls." 
 
 The congregation, with a yell, expressed an en 
 thusiastic willingness. The wrestling took place 
 outside, as the puncheon floor was rather hard. Old 
 Nick threw the preacher, but Brother Gregory, still 
 willing to enter into the sympathies and to take part 
 in all the sports and pastimes, declared his readiness 
 for another " flirt." The congregation cheered this 
 evidence of nerve, and the two men interlaced them 
 selves in a combination known as the "Alabama 
 stitch." 
 
 "Cut your capers," said old Nick. 
 
 " Lead off with your fancy steps,'' the preacher 
 remarked.
 
 208 THE WILDCAT CIRCUIT. 
 
 This time Nick went down. " Throw off the tie," 
 a justice of the peace shouted. " Give us another 
 fall." 
 
 " No, let me make a suggestion," said Brother 
 Gregory. " I have entered into your sympathies, 
 now you enter mine ; I have joined your sports and 
 pastimes, now you join mine." 
 
 "That lin't no more than fair," old Nick 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "That's fair!" the congregation shouted. 
 
 " Well, then, come inside now and listen quietly 
 to what I have to say." 
 
 They went in and sat down, and now a hush fell 
 upon the crowd which, a few moments before, had 
 been so noisy. "My dear friends," said the 
 preacher, " I want to tell you of a man whose life 
 was tender and beautiful, who shared the sorrow of 
 all humanity. He poured faith and love into hearts 
 that were broken ; he plucked the evil glitter from 
 the eye of human wickedness, and in itn place set 
 the warm glow of trust and affection. Do you want 
 to hear about this man ?" 
 
 "Yes, tell us!" the congregation shouted. 
 
 Then the preacher, in words as simple as the 
 prattled story of a child, told them of the Saviour of 
 mankind. It was a story that many of them had 
 heard and forgotten, and the recollection came back 
 to them like a warm whisper of love. When the
 
 THE WILDCAT CIRCUIT. 
 
 story was finished, when a hymn had been sung, 
 the people silently dispersed. The next day a hun 
 dred axes rang in the woods. The men were get 
 ting out logs to boused in the construction of a new 
 church.
 
 OLD BILL'S RECITAL, 
 
 WHEN Bill Hempsey married Tal Harwell there 
 was great surprise in the Nubbin ridge neighbor 
 hood. Bill was worthy of respect and was respected ; 
 he was worthy of confidence and had been entrusted 
 with a county office, yet when he married Tal Har 
 well there was heard, at every turn, murmurs of 
 astonishment. Tal was a beautiful girl, and was 
 much younger than Bill ; her form, untrained by 
 any art, but with woods-like wildness of develop 
 ment, was of exquisite grace, and her hair was of 
 gentle waviness, like the ripples of a sun-ray catch 
 ing rivulet. Handsome young fellows, Ned Roy- 
 ston, whose bottom field of corn is this year the 
 finest in the neighborhood, and Phil Hightower, 
 who has just built a new, double log-house, chinked 
 and daubed, paid devoted court to the beauty, but 
 when old Bill came along old Bill with a scar 
 over one eye where a steer kicked him years ago 
 and asked her to marry him, she shook off the mis 
 chievous airs of the beauty, took up the serious 
 
 211
 
 212 OLD BILL'S BECITAL. 
 
 expression of a thoughtful woman and consent* d 
 without a moment's hesitation. 
 
 Bill owned a little old log-house, stuck up on the 
 side of a hill, and though viewed from the county 
 road it might have seemed a dreary place, yet stand 
 ing in the back door, Bill could look down and see 
 wild plum bushes bending over the crystal water of 
 the creek could see a wild meadow far down the 
 stream and could hear the song of the rain-crow. 
 
 Several years passed. The gossips reluctantly 
 agreed that Bill and his wife were happy, that is, 
 reasonably happy, for the gossips never submit to a 
 complete surrender. One day while Bill was away 
 from home Ned Boyston came to the house. Tal 
 came in when she heard footsteps, and upon seeing 
 the visitor stood wiping her hands on her apron. 
 She had been washing and a babble of suds on her 
 hair, catching a ray of light, flashed like a dia 
 mond. 
 
 " You've about forgot me, hain't you Tal Miz 
 Hempsey?" 
 
 " No, how could I forget you when I see you at 
 church nearly every Sunday? Sit down." 
 
 " Yes, you see me," Ned replied, seating himself, 
 " but as you never speak to me I 'lowed that you 
 had dun fergot me." 
 
 " I never forget a friend." 
 
 "Much obleeged. You look tired; sit down 
 yourae'f.' 1
 
 OLD BILL'S BECITAL. 213 
 
 She sat down; Ned continued: 
 
 "You do a good deal of hard work, don't you?" 
 
 " No more than any other woman, I reckon." 
 
 "You do more than I'd let my wife do." 
 
 " Yes, all men talk that way before they are mar 
 ried." 
 
 " And some of them mean what they say, Tal 
 or Miz Hempsey." 
 
 " But the majority of them do not." 
 
 "I know one that does. Tal, if you had married 
 me you never would had to work none." 
 
 " You let your mother work." 
 
 " Yes, but I wouldn't let you work. I wish you 
 had married me, Tal, for I ain't been happy a single 
 hour sence you told me that you wouldn't, not a 
 single one. I uster be fonder of persimmon pud- 
 din' than anybody, but I ain't oat narry one sence 
 you 'lowed that you couldn't marry me. Tell me, 
 Tal, air you happy ?" 
 
 " Happy as most women, I reckon." 
 
 "But most women ain't happy." 
 
 " Mebby not." 
 
 A short silence followed; Ned twisted his hat 
 round and round. Tal wiped her hands on her 
 ^pron. 
 
 "Tal you don't care if I call you Tal, do you? " 
 
 " No, I am not particular." 
 
 "But you wouldn't let everybody call you by your 
 first name, would you? "
 
 214 OLD BILL'S BECITAI* 
 
 " No." 
 
 " TaL" 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " Do you know what I've been thinkin' about ever 
 sense I saw you at meetin' last Sunday?" 
 
 " How am I to know what you've been thinkiu' 
 about? Hardly know sometimes what I'm thinkin' 
 about myse'f." 
 
 " Would you like to know what I've been thinkin' 
 about, Tal?" 
 
 She sat twisting her apron; a cat purred about 
 the legs of her chair. A chicken, singing the lazy 
 song of "laying time," hopped up into the doorway. 
 "Shoo!" she cried. "The chickens are about to 
 take the place." 
 
 " But that ain't got nothin' to do with what I've 
 been thinkin' nor about you wantin' to know it. Do 
 you wanter know? " 
 
 " You may tell me if want to." 
 
 "Sho' miff?" 
 
 "Yes, if it ain't bad." 
 
 "Oh, it ain't bad." He untwisted his hat, 
 straightened it out by pulling it down on his 
 head, took it off, and, beginning to twist it again, 
 said: 
 
 " I've been thinkin' that you wa'n't happy livin' 
 with a man that don't 'preciate you hold on now, 
 let me get through." She had moved impatiently.
 
 OLD BILL'S RECITAL. 215 
 
 "Man that don't 'predate you: and I've been 
 thinkin' that I would come over here and and ask 
 you to run away with me. Wait, Tal please wait." 
 She had sprung to her feet. " Just listen to me a 
 mini! Folks uster think you was happy, but they 
 know you ain't now. Tal, please wait a minute. 
 Tal, for Gqd's sake let me explain myself. Say, 
 wait just a minute. You won't tell Bill, will you? 
 Oh, you won't do that, I know. We understand each 
 other, Tal, don't we ? You understand all my f oojin' 
 and skylarkin', don't you? Tal, oh, Tal" She 
 was hastening down the slope toward the wild plum 
 bushes. *' Don't say anything," he shouted. "Don't, 
 for if you do there'll be trouble." 
 
 "What's the matter, little girl?" Bill asked that 
 evening as he was eating his supper. 
 
 " Nothin'." 
 
 "You don't 'pear to be as'bright as usual." 
 
 "I thought I was." 
 
 ** But you ain't. Thar's some new calico in my 
 saddlebags that'll make you as putty a dress as you 
 ever seed. Got red and yaller spots on it that 
 shines like a sunflower. Look here, little gal, thar's 
 somethin' the matter with you and you needn't say 
 thar ain't. Come here now." He shoved his chair 
 back from the table and took her upon his lap. 
 " You know thar's somethin' wrong, now, and you 
 air jest tryin' to fool me. I haven't done nothin' 
 to Durt your feelin'a Lave I? 1 '
 
 216 OLD BILL'S RECITAL. 
 
 "No." 
 
 ''Then what is the matter? Oh, don't cry that 
 way." She sobbed on his shoulder. " You'll make 
 me thiiik that I ain't the right sort of husband if 
 yon keep on. Mebbe I ain't too. I'm gittin' old 
 and grizzly, and I ain't good-lookin' nohow, while 
 you 'pear to git puttier and puttier every day." 
 
 "Bill," she said, putting her arms around his 
 neck, " you mustn't talk you mustn't think that 
 way. You are the best man that ever lived, and if 
 you'll promise not to git mad I'll tell you what 
 ails me." 
 
 "Why, law me, child, I couldn't git mad if I 
 wanted to." 
 
 She told him ; he sat for a few moments in a 
 silence of deep meditation, and then, with a bright 
 ening countenance, said : 
 
 " Why, that ain't nothin' to git mad about, child. 
 It's all right ; and let me tell you that any man after 
 seein' you a few times is bound to love you and I 
 reckon he would be willin' to run away with you. 
 Why, bless my life, I'd run away with you in a 
 minit, er haw, haw ! No, indeed, honey, you kain't 
 blame the feller for that." 
 
 "And you won't say anything to him about it ?" 
 
 "Law me, child, I'll never mention it to him ; 
 never in the world, so don't give yourself no un 
 easiness about that."
 
 OLD BILL'S RECITAL. 217 
 
 A chilling rain was falling. Several men, includ 
 ing Ned Koyston, were Bitting in Bob Talbot's 
 store. 
 
 "Yander comes Bill Hempsey," said Talbot, look 
 ing out Ned Royston moved uneasily in his chair. 
 
 "IJelloa, men !" Bill shouted, as he stepped up 
 into the door and began to stamp the mud off his 
 feet. "Sorter saft outside. Hi, Rob ; glad to see 
 you lookin' so well. Hi, Ned, and hi, all hands." 
 
 " "We're always glad to see you, Bill," Ned spoke 
 up, " fur we know that you allus fetch good humor 
 along with you. Don't make no diffunce how rainy 
 or how dry no diffunce whether the corn's clean or 
 in the grass, you air allus the same." 
 
 "Glad you think so, Ned." 
 
 " We all jine him in thinkin' so," said Talbot. 
 
 " Much obleeged." He stood leaning against the 
 counter, and, moving his hand carelessly, touched a 
 rusty cheese-knife. " Bob, what do you keep sich a 
 onery-lookin' knife as this, for ? " 
 
 " Sharp enough to cut cheese with, I reckon," 
 Bob answered. 
 
 " Yes, but that's about all. Hand me that whet- 
 tock over thar and let me whet the point. Blamed 
 if I haven't got to be doin' somethin' all the time. 
 Wall, fellers, I seed suthin' 'tother week while I 
 was down in Knoxville that laid over anything I 
 ever did see before. I went to a theatre. Ever at 
 one, Ned?"
 
 218 OLD BILL'S RECITAL. 
 
 "No, don't b'lieve I was." 
 
 " Wall, now, if you've ever been at one you'd 
 know it," Bill replied, industriously whetting the 
 point of the knife. " Why, it knocks a school ex 
 hibition sillier than a scorched pup. I never did 
 see sich a show." 
 
 "Any hosses in it ?" Bob Talbot asked. 
 
 "Oh, no, it all tuck place in a house. I'll tell 
 you how it was, " (still whetting the knife). " It was 
 playin', regular pertendlike, but it looked mighty 
 natral. It 'pears that a ruther old feller had mar 
 ried a ruther young gal " (he put the whetstone on 
 the counter) ; " a powerful putty gal, too. Wall, one 
 time when the old feller wa'n t about the house, a 
 young chap that had wanted to marry her a good 
 while before, he come in and got to talkin' to her 
 and the upshot was that he wantod her to run away 
 with him." 
 
 "No," said Bob Talbot. 
 
 " Yes, sir," continued old Bill, " wanted her to run 
 smack smooth away with him. Wall, she told her 
 husband, but he sorter laughed, he did, and 'lowed 
 that he didn't blame the feller much. But the fvm 
 come after this. The old feller stand up here, 
 Ned, and let me show you. Hang it, stand up; 
 don't pull back like a shyin' hoss. The old feller 
 got him a knife 'bout like this, and he went into a 
 room whar the young feller was. Now, you stand
 
 OLD BILL S RECITAL. 
 
 right thar. He walks in this way, and neither one 
 of them says a word, but stood and looked at each 
 other 'bout like we are doin', but all at once the old 
 feller lifts up the knife this way and thar, you 
 damned scoundrel! " 
 
 He plunged the knife into Ned Koyston's breast 
 buried the blade in the fellow's bosom, and, as he 
 pulled it out, while Royston lay on the floor, dead, he 
 turned to his terror-stricken friends, and exclaimed: 
 
 " He wanted my wife to run away with him, boys! 
 If you wanter hang me, I'll tie the rope. You 
 Then good-bye, and God bless you."
 
 FIVE TEARS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " You are a pretty looking thing to talk about 
 marrying, Charles. Oh, you are a fine Bpecimen of 
 matrimonial achievement. Marry my daughter! 
 Why, both of you would starve in less than a year. 
 You are eighteen years old and able to support a 
 wife, eh? Eighteen years old, indeed. Why, sir, 
 when I was of that age I no more thought of marry- 
 ing than I thought of swallowing a tenpenny nail. 
 
 "It was probably because you had never loved 
 any one," the young fellow replied, looking down 
 with an embarrassed air. 
 
 " Loved any one!" The old gentleman blew 
 nose. "Loved any one at eighteen? Why, sir, ii 
 my father had awakened in the middle of the night 
 and the belief that I was in love with some one had 
 entered his mind he would have hopped out of bed, 
 seized a board and fanned me until I would have 
 thought the tenth of January was the Fourth of 
 July. Loved any one! Why don't you call up the 
 dogs and go out and catch some rabbits? Is that
 
 222 FIVE 
 
 your top string hanging out of your pocket? Only 
 your handkerchief? Excuse me. My eyesight s 
 not so good as it used to be, but my judgment is a 
 thundering sight better. Love at eighteen ? Charles, 
 of course you are always welcome at my house, and 
 I don't want to hiifry you off, but, confound it, go 
 home." 
 
 " Then you say I shall not marry Ermance?" 
 
 " Not at the present writing, whose few lines may 
 find you enjoying the same blessing, Charles. I don't 
 know what may occur in the future, but I am pretty 
 sure of what is happening now." 
 
 " Will you let us be engaged, then? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, be engaged as much as you please." 
 
 "May heaven bless you, sir." 
 
 " Now, here, young man, you are not on the 
 stage. The fellow who- used to be so good at say 
 ing ' May heaven bless you, sir,' is now working on 
 a flatboat." 
 
 " But I desire to thank you for your great kind 
 ness." 
 
 " Yes, that's all right." 
 
 "Ermance and I can se6 each other daily?" 
 
 " Well, hardly. You must understand now that I 
 want no love making 'round here. I have a touch 
 of rheumatism and can't stand it. I am somewhat 
 peculiar about my own affairs, for which eccentricity 
 I hope to be pardoned. Ir you agree to go away
 
 FIVE YEAKS. 22 j 
 
 and remain five years, why, at the end of that time 
 you may come back and marry the girl. Do you 
 agree?" 
 
 " I suppose I must" 
 
 " "Well, run along then." 
 
 " I don't like for you to talk to me as though I 
 were a child." 
 
 " As though you were a child, eh ? Well, rurt 
 along, now. Ermahce is out in the garden some 
 where giggling. Find her, plight your troth and 
 hurry away. At the end of five years come back. 
 Kather severe, probably, but it is the best trade we 
 can make tinder the circumstances. Don't look 
 exactly right to deal thus in connubial futures 
 there, now, don't blubber. Why, you are swelling 
 up like a toad. Shut the door. That's right: 
 run along.*' 
 
 The above conversation occurred between Colonel 
 Epimenides Harleyman, a well-kncwn planter and 
 ex-member of the Arkansas senate, and young 
 Charles Wexall, son of a neighboring clergyman. 
 Ermance, the young lady in question, was a half 
 frolicsome, half sedate girl. Strange as it may 
 seem, she was not beautiful. She had a thick mass 
 of yellow hair, so luxuriant that her father often 
 referred to her liead as a patch of jute. She was a 
 sudden kind of girl. Sudden in all of Jier movements ; 
 sudden in her exclamations. There seemed to be 
 nothing premeditated about her.
 
 224 f IVE 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IF THE sound of footsteps could convey an im 
 pression of sorrow, any one hearing Charles as he 
 slowly strode along the garden walk must have 
 thought that he was on his way to peer under the 
 rose bush where his last hope was buried. Turning 
 a clump of lilac bushes, he saw Ermance swinging 
 on the limb of an apple tree. Springing lightly to 
 the ground, she ran to meet him. 
 
 " Oh, you look so sad!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Ermance, I am sad." 
 
 "What did pa say? I've caught a beau," she 
 broke off, plucking a dead branch of rose bush from 
 her skirt. 
 
 "What didn't he say? He said everything dis 
 couraging. He said that if we want to marry each 
 other we must part for five years." 
 
 "Five years!" she exclaimed, opening her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, five years," he repeated sorrowtully. 
 
 " But how can we part for five years if we are 
 always together. There's a measuring worm on 
 your sleeve. Oh, you are going to get a new 
 coat" 
 
 % * Ermance, this is serious. Of course we can't
 
 FIVE YEARS. 225 
 
 part if we are always together, bnt we shall not be 
 together. He says that I must go away." 
 
 "Go away! He was joking. Oh, your hat is all 
 covered with spider-webs. You must have been up 
 in the garret." 
 
 "I am going away, Ermance, and have come to 
 tell you good-bye," he said, drawing her to him. 
 "Will you love me all these years?" Her head 
 sank on his breast. " After all, we are but children. 
 At the end of five years I will come back and claim 
 you. Good-bye." He kissed her. 
 
 "Say!" exclaimed the colonel. The lovers 
 started. "I forgot to insert a very necessary 
 clause. You are not to write to each other. There, 
 that's enough. I've got a touch of rheumatism, 
 understand. Good-bye, Charles." 
 
 " I am not gone yet, sir." 
 
 " Shut the garden gate as you go out, Charles." 
 
 " I tell you that I am not gone." 
 
 " Take care of yourself." The young man turned 
 away, and the colonel continued: " Never fear, she'll 
 be true to you." 
 
 " God bless you, sir." 
 
 " Never mind. The fellow who used to say that 
 so well fell out of the stable-loft and killed himself. 
 Ermance,don't blubber. Remember my rheumatism."
 
 226 FIVE YEARS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FIVE years do not elapse every day, but they 
 elapse every five years. A long dreary time to anxious 
 and waiting hearts, if they be anxious and waiting ; 
 but anxiety has been known to wear away and 
 what was once painful waiting sometimes becomes a 
 conditipn of easy endurance. Charles returned. He 
 had seen much of the world and had collected a few 
 dollars. 
 
 " So you have a lover at home, eh ?" a miner had 
 said to him. 
 
 " Yes, a sort of lover," he replied. " A good 
 enough country girl, easily surprised and somewhat 
 verdant. I used to think a great deal of her, but I 
 was a boy, you know." 
 
 "Your old lover will soon be home, won't he, 
 Ermance?" a young lady asked of the girl whose 
 head resembled a patch of jute. 
 
 " I suppose so, but why do you refer to him as 
 my lover?" 
 
 " Why, I thought that you were engaged!" 
 
 "Oh, we were, in a childish sort of way, but I 
 have put that all aside. Father had more sense than 
 both of us."
 
 FIVE IEABS. 227 
 
 Charles did not rush over to the colonel's immedi 
 ately after returning. Ermance, when she heard 
 that he had returned, went away on a visit. The 
 young man felt ashamed of himself. He knew not 
 what excuse to make, but one day, grasping all the 
 courage within reach, he went over to the colonel's, 
 wondering as he went how he could have been so 
 foolish years ago. 
 
 "Why, my dear sir!" exclaimed the colonel, "I 
 am glad to see you. You've got enough beard to 
 disguise an ordinary man, but you are not ordinary. 
 Little above fair to middlin', as the cotton men say." 
 
 "I am glad to see you again, colonel. How's 
 your rheumatism?" 
 
 " It got well immediately after that garden scene." 
 
 " Foolish children," replied Charles. 
 
 " Well, I should say so," replied the colonel. 
 
 " How is, er Miss Harleyman." 
 
 " Quite well, I believe. She went over to Eal- 
 ston's a few days ago. I sent the buggy after her 
 this morning. I hear her now. Yes, my rheumatism 
 is all right. First rate, for Ermance, here a minute. 
 Do you know this gentleman?" 
 
 " I think so," replied the young lady, advancing 
 without embarrassment, and extending her hand. 
 " How is your health, Mr. Wexall ? " 
 
 " Never better, thank you." 
 
 "Well," said the colonel, "you must excuse
 
 228 FIVE YEARS. 
 
 as I have business out on the farm. Ermance, oui 
 friend must stay to dinner." 
 
 An awkward silence followed. Charles knew not 
 what to say nor how to say it; Ermance was embar 
 rassed because she knew not how to express the 
 nothing which she had to say. 
 
 "Have you been at home all the time since I saw 
 you last?" Charles asked, after making several 
 efforts to break the silence. 
 
 "Oh, no; I spent three years at a seminary." 
 
 "Enjoyed yourself pretty well, I suppose?" 
 
 "Very much; I soon became interested in my 
 studies." 
 
 Another embarrassing silence. "Ermance I 
 suppose I may call you by that " 
 
 "Of course. We were children together." 
 
 "So we were, and foolish children, too, doubtless." 
 
 "Yes," she replied, without hesitation. "Father 
 was wiser than we." 
 
 The situation was no longer awkward. 
 
 "I thought I loved you, Ermance." 
 
 "And I thought that I loved you." 
 
 "Childish fancy. You don't know what a heavy 
 weight you have lifted from my mind. I don't love 
 you." 
 
 "Charles," she replied, her eyes shining with fer 
 vent light, "you make me happy. I have long 
 regretted our engagement, and to know that a per-
 
 FIVE YEARS. 229 
 
 feet understanding is painless to you, thrills me. 
 Let us be friends. Here's father." 
 
 "Ah, hah!" said the old gentleman. "Found that 
 some one else had attended to my business. Are 
 you folks still engaged?" 
 
 "No," replied Charles. "We are friends but net 
 lovers." 
 
 "Ah, hah!" said the old man, "suppose I had 
 allowed you to marry? Don't you see that a man 
 sometimes has more sense than a boy. Now, you 
 and Ermance are friends. If you had married five 
 years ago, you would now, in all probability, be 
 enemies. Well, Charles, you need feel no hesitancy 
 in remaining to dinner. We generally have some 
 thing lying around, and you may come over and eat 
 when you feel like it. Why, Ermance, I never saw 
 you so happy." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NEIGHBORLY visits were kept up between the Har- 
 leymans and Wexalls. Charles and Ermance rarely 
 referred to their childish freak of affection, and 
 when they did so, it was merely to congratulate 
 themselves. "How many marriages result in dis 
 aster," said Charles, one evening as he and Ermance
 
 230 FIVE YEARS. 
 
 walked in the garden. "Five years ago I thought 
 that your father was the cruelest of men; now I 
 think he is one of the wisest." 
 
 "Yes, he is undoubtedly a man of fine sense." 
 
 "Did he ever say anything, during my absence, 
 to dissuade you from our purpose ?" 
 
 "No, he always spoke in a way directly opposite. 
 Often, at night, when I went into the library to 
 attend upon his wants an office which none but I 
 could discharge, he would stroke my hair while I 
 sat on the foot-stool, and tell me of the duties of a 
 wife how I should always love you, and how noble 
 you were. He never made fun of me, and at first, 
 when I used to sit alone, and and weep, he would 
 come to me and tell me how I was loved, and how 
 happy I should be for having won a heart so so 
 unchangeable." 
 
 " Ermance, this is the spot where we stood fiye 
 years ago." 
 
 " Yes. How chill the air is." 
 
 "I think there will be frost to-night," hereplied. 
 " By the way, my dear friend, I am going back to 
 the mines. I long to meet those strong and simple 
 fellows. I have become strangely attached to 
 them." 
 
 " When are you going?" 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 "Then I know there will bs frost to-night"
 
 PIYE YEABS. 231 
 
 He caught her in his arms. The yellow hair fell 
 over his shoulder. " Angel, I can not help loving 
 you. I have struggled but in vain. Let us go to 
 your father." 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 " COME in," said the old gentleman, looking up 
 xrom a mass of papers. " I tell you, Charles, to 
 make anything out of this cotton business requires 
 close figuring. I ought to have made $12,000 last 
 year, but I didn't young man, let me tell you that I 
 didn't." 
 
 " How much did you make?" 
 
 " Only $11,800, Charles. Bad crop year. Sit 
 down, both of you. You remind me of pictures 
 hung iij front of a museum." 
 
 "Colonel, I have decided to go back to the 
 mines." 
 
 "Yes, well, of course. When a man once forms a 
 liking for that kind of life, it is almost impossible to 
 break him of it. Yes, of course." 
 
 "But if he were to remain away five years the at 
 tachment would be broken, wouldn't it father?" 
 asked Ermance, looking slyly at Charles. 
 
 "Well, dog my cats, I don't know," replied the
 
 232 FIVE YEARS. 
 
 old gentleman, shoving back his chair. " It would 
 seem so though, eh ? Well, blow me up. What 
 put the five years proposition into your head, girl?" 
 
 " Nothing, only I thought that that " 
 
 "Look here, is that the way for friends to do? 
 Put their arms around each other? Well, dog my 
 cats if she hasn't got her jute patch all over his face. 
 Let me get out of here before I have rheumatism so 
 bad I can't hobble." 
 
 " Wait, colonel. We are engaged again. It was 
 impossible for us not to love " 
 
 " We couldn't help it, father." 
 
 " And," continued Charles, " we have decided to 
 marry at once." 
 
 " Of course," said the old gentleman, wiping his 
 eyes. " Of course. Bad cotton year, Charles of 
 course well, dog my cats I *'
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 CHAPTEB I. 
 
 MY name is not Norval, nor have I ever in 
 any way been associated with the Grampian hills 
 but my name is Oscar Hockersmith. You will at 
 once perceive that there is nothing in such a name, 
 but if any man has ever passed through an expe 
 rience similar to the one which I am going to 
 relate, he would do me a great kindness by at 
 once communicating with me. 
 
 One day I arrived at Cregmore a little old 
 town on the upper Arkansas river. Just after I 
 had eaten breakfast at a hotel, the proprietor of 
 the house came to me and said that as I had no 
 baggage I would be compelled to pay in advance. 
 
 "Baggage, indeed!" I exclaimed. "Have my 
 trunk sent up, if you please." 
 
 " You brought no baggage, sir." 
 
 " Then it has not arrived. It will soon be 
 here, for I am sure it arrived. I saw it delivered 
 to an expressman at the railroad station. I have 
 
 283
 
 234: A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 no money with me. I hope that you appreciate 
 my position, sir." 
 
 He doubtfully shook his head and walked away. 
 This annoyed me not a little, and I wondered if 
 the fellow who had taken my trunk had run away 
 with it. I had no check, and I knew that I might 
 have trouble in recovering my property. Just as 
 I turned to go out, an old gentleman whom I 
 suddenly encountered, threw up his hands and 
 exclaimed: 
 
 "My God!" 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 " Oh, sir, if I did not know that my son Norval 
 was dead, I would think you were he. He was 
 killed in the army." 
 
 He regarded me closely, and in a quieter tone 
 continued: 
 
 " I have never before seen such a resemblance. 
 Same eyes, nose, mouth everything. Will you 
 please do an old man a favor?" 
 
 I replied that I would favor him in any pos 
 sible way. 
 
 " Then come with me to my house. I want 
 my wife to see you." 
 
 I told him of the perplexing situation in which 
 I was placed. 
 
 "Here, Mr. Bunch!" he exclaimed, calling the 
 proprietor. " Look at this man. Doesn't he look 
 exactly like my son Norval?"
 
 A BTBANGE EXPERIENCE. 285 
 
 " Exactly, only he is much older." 
 
 "Yes; but you must remember that it is more 
 than twenty years since Norval went into the 
 army. He was killed at Antietam. I want you 
 to go home with me. I will stand good for your 
 bill. 1 ' 
 
 " I feel under many obligations to you, old 
 gentleman, for I am really in an embarrassing 
 position. I fear that fellow has stolen my trunk; 
 but if you will go with me to the town officer I 
 will afterward go with you." 
 
 He agreed, and we called upon the town mar 
 shal, who, after listening to my statement, looked 
 at me suspiciously, and said: 
 
 " You didn't come in on any train." 
 
 " But, sir, I know I did. I delivered my trunk 
 to a tall negro who walked with a limp, and who, 
 if I remember correctly, had an impediment in 
 his speech. The trunk and I would know it 
 among a thousand is a large one, covered with 
 black leather." 
 
 " Look here," said the officer, " you came up on a 
 boat, for I saw you when you got off; besides, you 
 could not have come by rail, for as there are several 
 wash-outs above and below here, there has not been 
 a train in for two days." 
 
 This statement was insulting, yet I struggled to 
 conceal my resentment. Police officers in small
 
 286 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 towns are generally narrow-minded, dogmatic men, 
 and I cared not to dispute him farther than to reaf 
 firm that I came in 011 the morning train. Then 
 turning to the old gentleman whose name I had 
 learned was Metford, I announced my readiness to 
 accompany him. He had been so absorbed in the 
 contemplation of the resemblance between his son 
 and myself, that he had paid but little attention to 
 the disparity of statements concerning the manner 
 of my arrival. 
 
 Mr. Metford lived in an attractive old place, not 
 far from the river. When we entered the gate, a 
 woman came out on the veranda and in a moment, 
 after seeing me, clasped her hands and leaned 
 against a post. As we approached, she uttered a 
 shriek and sprang toward me. The old gentleman, 
 gently taking hold of her, said: 
 
 " Come, Mary, don't give way to your feelings. 
 This is you have not told me your name, sir. Ah, 
 yes," when I had told him, "this is Mr. Oscar 
 Hockersmith. I wanted you to see him on account 
 of the perfect likeness he bears to Norval. Come 
 in, sir," he continued, leading the way. We entered 
 a comfortably furnished room. The old lady could 
 not keep her eyes off me. 
 
 " Poor Norval," she repeated over and over again. 
 " Poor child. Oh, sir, if I did not know that he 
 was killed oh, sir, are you not indeed he?"
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 237 
 
 "Be quiet, Mary," said the old gentleman. 
 
 ' Don't be excited. Let us make it pleasant here 
 
 for Mr. Hockersmith, and perhaps he will remain 
 
 several days with us. Tell us something about 
 
 yourself, Mr. Hockersmith." 
 
 "I was born in Richmond, Va." I replied, "and 
 my parents died when I was quite young. I went 
 into the army and was wounded by a piece of shell 
 at Shiloh. After the war I went home, but found 
 that the uncle with whom I had lived, was reduced 
 almost to a penniless condition. He did not long 
 survive, and there being nothing in Richmond to 
 bind me to the place, I wandered away and have 
 never returned. I have come to this state to look 
 after the land interest of a corporation, and, as soon 
 as my business is completed, I shall go back to St. 
 Louis." 
 
 " Until then," said Mrs. Metford, " you must 
 remain at our house. Although I know that you 
 are not our son, yet to see you " Here the poor 
 woman completely broke down. 
 
 " Mary," said the old gentleman, approaching her 
 and stroking her hair, " don't give way to your feel 
 ing. I would not have urged him to come, but I 
 knew that if I didn't you would never forgive me. 
 Don't give way, now." 
 
 She became calm, but every time she looked at 
 me I could see her lip quiver. " What a pity that
 
 238 A STBANQE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 I am not your son," I mused. "Any man, even 
 aside from natural affection, would feel proud of 
 such a mother." I thought of ilic dead eon and of 
 what a splendid home his death had made cheerless, 
 and I almost wished that I had told the old couple 
 that I was really their Norval." 
 
 After dinner we were sitting in the parlor when 
 there came a loud knock at the front door. Mr. 
 Metford, who answered the summons, soon returned 
 accompanied by the town marshal. Approaching 
 me, and placing his ungentle hand on my shoulder, 
 the marshal said: 
 
 " I want you." 
 
 "Want me?" I asked in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, I want you." 
 
 " What right have you to want me? " 
 
 He took out a paper and handed it to me. It was 
 a warrant arresting me on a charge of wilfully and 
 maliciously deceiving the people .of Cregmore. It 
 was useless to resist, and although the old gentle 
 man and his wife protested against such an indignity 
 being imposed on a guest of their house, yet by the 
 f eelingless ruffian I was led away and lodged in jail.
 
 A STRANGE EXPEDIENCE. 239 
 
 CHAPTEE IL 
 
 The next day I was arraigned before a justice of 
 the peace, who requested me to make a brief state 
 ment as to how I came to town. I did so, telling 
 him to the best of my recollection. I told him 
 about losing my trunk, and I ventured to take to 
 task a village that would stubbornly shut its eyes 
 and allow the perpetration of such outrages. The 
 town marshal swore that I did not come by rail, that 
 no train had come in since two days before ; that I 
 had come on a steamboat, the " Farmer Boy," and 
 that I had no trunk. The captain of the " Farmer 
 Boy," a very gentlemanly looking fellow, arose and 
 astonished me with the following statement: 
 
 " Just before leaving Little Kock, day before yes 
 terday, this man, who calls himself Hockersmith, 
 came to me and said that he would like to go up the 
 river as far as Cregmore ; that he was employed by 
 a St. Louis land corporation, and that as his bag 
 gage had somehow failed to arrive he was without 
 money, but that if I would let him come up as a 
 deck passenger he would, upon reaching this place, 
 get the money from a friend and pay me. It's only 
 a small amount, and I shouldn't have mentioned it
 
 240 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE, 
 
 but for the fact that the marshal came down and 
 asked me about the strange fellow." 
 
 " What have you to say concerning these state 
 ments?" asked the justice. 
 
 " Nothing, only that they are not true," I replied. 
 " As I tell you, I came here by rail, arriving yester 
 day morning." 
 
 " But no train arrived yesterday morning." 
 
 Then I became indignant. "All right, have it 
 your own way," said I. " One man can not stand 
 up against so many. If I deserve punishment, fine 
 me, and I will go on the rock pile or the convict 
 farm and work it out" 
 
 " I don't exactly see how you have violated the 
 law," replied the magistrate, looking at me with 
 almost an expression of pity. " You have not ob 
 tained money by false pretenses." 
 
 " So far as his passage is concerned," remarked 
 the steamboat man, " I am not anxious. I wouldn't 
 have him punished for that." 
 
 The town marshal shifted and twisted himself 
 about in his chair. I could see that he did not like 
 the change which had come over the court. 
 
 " Your honor," said he "this man also made false 
 statements to Mr. Bunch, proprietor of the hotel. 
 He obtained board under false pretenses." 
 
 I understood him. He would urge charges against 
 me merely to defend his own position.
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 241 
 
 " Judge," said a voice that I knew. Looking 
 round, I saw Mr. Metford. Everyone waited for 
 him to speak. " I met Mr. Hockersmith at the 
 hotel yesterday morning. On account of the won 
 derful resemblance which he bears to my son 
 Norval" 
 
 " Yes," replied the judge. " Poor Norval, I saw 
 him buried." 
 
 " On account of that resemblance," continued Mr. 
 Metford, " I invited Mr. Hockersmith to accompany 
 me home. He explained his embarrassment, and I 
 told Mr. Bunch that I would stand good for the bill. 
 So, that charge is wiped out." 
 
 " That's all very well, gentlemen," exclaimed the 
 town marshal, "but we can't allow fellows to come 
 in this way. I believe that a man should be pun 
 ished for lying just the same as he ought to be for 
 stealing. That's my ticket." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you speak so courageously," 
 rejoined Mr. Metford. " You borrowed $10 of me 
 about two months ago, and vowed that you would 
 return the money within a week. Yet, you have 
 failed to keep your promise. Yes, it is a very good 
 idea to punish men for lying, and now since you 
 have reminded me of your untruthf ulness, I think it 
 would be well to act upon your conception of justice. 
 Your honor, make me out a warrant of arrest,
 
 242 A BTHANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 For a time the marshal knew not what to Bay. His 
 face grew red. "You all know me," he replied. 
 " I am not a stranger. I didn't come here and try 
 to beat any of yon. I'll pay the $10; don't fret 
 about thai I don't think it is right to hop on a 
 man that's trying to protect the community against 
 fraud. I've got nothing against this fellow, and 
 am willing to see him turned loose." 
 
 11 1 am glad to hear you say so," said Mr. Met- 
 ford. "You needn't make out the warrant, judge. 
 " Well, Mr. Hockersmith," turning to me, " as there 
 is nothing against you here, yon will please accom 
 pany me home." 
 
 When we went to the house Mrs. Metford's lip 
 trembled. These old people would not hear to my 
 leaving them, so I remained all night. The next 
 morning I awoke with a burning fever. Then I 
 went into a state of delirium and for several weeks 
 knew nothing. When I regained consciousness, my 
 mind was so confused that I could not think. I 
 knew that I talked incoherently, therefore I said but 
 little. 
 
 One day while I was sitting in my room, a man 
 was shown up by one of the servants. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Metford were away from home, having gone over to 
 a neighbor's house. 
 
 "Don't you know me?" said the man. 
 
 " I don't think that I ever saw you before," I 
 replied.
 
 A STEANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 He looked at me and smiled sadly. 
 
 " What do you mean," I asked. 
 
 " I mean nothing offensive. You know Abe 
 Catham?" 
 
 " Never heard of him." 
 
 " I am sorry, for I had hoped that you would 
 recognize me." 
 
 " How can I recognize you, sir, when this is the 
 first time we have ever met?" 
 
 He shook his head and muttered something which 
 sounded to me like " poor fellow." Then he startled 
 me by saying: 
 
 " I have been your keeper for years." 
 
 "My keeper?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am connected with the Missouri Insane 
 asylum." 
 
 " I don't dispute your position as keeper, but I 
 can assure you that I have never seen the institu 
 tion. I am a St. Louis land man." 
 
 " Let me tell you something which has just come 
 to light. You were wounded at the battle of 
 Antietam." 
 
 " Shiloh." 
 
 " At Antietam. You and a young Virginian, 
 who, to some extent, resembled you a man named 
 Hockersmith fell close to each other. In the report 
 of the killed and wounded, you were put down on 
 the dead list and this man Hockersmith was repoited
 
 244 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 to be wounded. You had been struck by a piece < f 
 shell and was, upon recovery of the wound, found to 
 be hopelessly insane. You went to Richmond, bin 
 your supposed relatives spurned you, BO I have 
 heard; and, after wandering around, you went to 
 Missouri and was placed in an insane asylum where 
 you remained until a few weeks ago, when you 
 escaped. Your name, I have learned, is Norval 
 Metford and I have come to tell your parents, after 
 satisfying myself that it is you " 
 
 The room began to turn around. The man's 
 voice sounded away off a great distance. He seemed 
 to be shouting, but I could not catch his words. 
 Then some one, dressed in red tight breeches, came 
 in and danced on the back of a chair. A blacksmith 
 led in a horse and began to shoe him. His bellows 
 roared and his anvil rang so loud that I had to put 
 my fingers in my ears. His fire began gradually to 
 darken and, with a sudden puff, it went out, leaving 
 me in total darkness. I groped about but could 
 find no opening in the wall. I cried aloud for a 
 lamp and I cursed the blacksmith for allowing his 
 fire go out Crawling around on my hands and 
 knees, I found a match. I kissed it. I pressed it 
 to my heart. "Thank God!" I cried, "Thank 
 God that once more there shall be light in the 
 world." Tears streamed from my eyes. I tried to 
 light the match. The tears had dampened it, and
 
 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 245 
 
 with the feeblest little glow, it died away, leaving 
 ine in despair. I heard a voice, low and sweet 
 " Who are you?" I asked. 
 
 A tear fell on my forehead, and clasping my 
 hands, I turned my face upward. " Whose tears 
 are those falling upon me?" I cried. The voice, 
 soft and sweet, sang, but the tears continued to fall. 
 "Oh, can't you give me a lamp!" I cried in agony. 
 Something touched me. It was a lamp, cold and 
 dark, but I hugged it close to me and took care lest 
 my tears should fall upon it. I placed it on the 
 floor, and with my hands clasped around it I lay 
 down and prayed. A feeble little gleam flickered 
 between my fingers. The lamp grew warm. I re 
 moved my hands. The little blaze flickered, and 
 then, yes, oh glories of heaven, then there came a 
 grand burst of light. I lay on a bed. The sun 
 shone into the room. A face, my mother's face, 
 was bowed over me. " Thank God !" she exclaimed, 
 and encircled my neck with her loving arms. My 
 father was there, too, looking upon me. 
 
 " There dear," said my mother, "keep very quiet. 
 For weeks you have hovered between life and 
 death." 
 
 I closed my eyes and warm recollections poured 
 over me. I could remember it all ; how I left that 
 
 dear home and went into the army. 
 
 *#####*##
 
 246 A STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 I am sitting in my room looking out on the 
 grassy slope where I played so many years ago. 
 There is the old tree where I used to swing in the 
 cool shade. I hear my mother singing in the sit 
 ting-room. They say my father laughs again, as 
 he did when I was a boy. Those old people are 
 in a heaven of happiness. The physician says that 
 a few days from now I can resume the business of 
 life. My mother enters and presses her lips upon 
 my brow. 
 
 " You haven't the slightest symptoms of fever, 
 Norval, dear," she says. 
 
 Angelic woman ! She cannot keep her arms from 
 around my neck when she comes near me. Now 
 she goes singing through the hallway. There 
 stands my father at the gate. Something has 
 amused him for he laughs as he did when I was a 
 boy. Yes, my name is Norval,
 
 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ANY of the old Mississippi river men can recall 
 Gottlieb Langbuerger. He was first known as a 
 cabin boy, industrious and economical, and with dis 
 cretion better ripened than with most boys of his 
 years. His faithfulness caused his gradual advance 
 ment, and at twenty years of age he was placed at 
 the head of a large steamboat. This, though, was 
 not the height of his ambition. He yearned to own 
 a large boat, and be in fact its master. Large boats 
 in those days were often called floating palaces, so 
 unsparing was the means employed in their appoint 
 ments, and even an industrious man who aspired to 
 the ownership of one could not realize his ambitious 
 dreams in a day. Gottlieb married a Memphis 
 lady, a girl, not unlike himself, of sturdy German 
 stock. Heart and soul, she shared his aspirations 
 and with delight they soon found themselves, in 
 consequence of a fortunate speculation, possessors 
 
 247
 
 248 A~ MARINE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 of sufficient money with which to build their " float 
 ing palace." 
 
 At last, Gottlieb was the owner of a fine boat, 
 and 1 with his wife and little girl Ida on board, he 
 proudly plowed the mighty river. During an 
 extremely high stage of water, the highest ever 
 known in that day, he went up the Arkansas as far 
 as Fort Smith, took on a large shipment of cotton, 
 and came down with a sweep. With what feelings 
 of self-congratulation did he stand on deck and 
 survey the people who rushed from their houses to 
 watch the "Schiller" as she passed, and how his 
 wife, knowing so well his feelings, shared them. 
 They had passed Little Rock and entered the low 
 and sandy district, when a dark night came on. 
 
 " Don't you think we'd better tie up till morn 
 ing?" asked Gottleib of the pilot 
 
 " Not at all necessary. I know the river like a 
 book." 
 
 "Yes, but remember that the water is higher 
 than you ever saw it before." 
 
 "Who says it is?" the pilot answered rather 
 sharply, for some river men are proud of their 
 record in this way and dislike the very mention of 
 recent waters being higher than any they have seen 
 in tha past. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know particularly who says it is, but 
 from what I can gather here and there, the river 
 has passed her highest mark of former years."
 
 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 249 
 
 " You are doubtless good authority on the Missis 
 sippi, captain, but I don't think you are very well 
 acquainted with the Arkansas." 
 
 " All right, go ahead." 
 
 The night grew darker and darker and a fog crept 
 along the water and rose into the air. Not a light 
 could be seen along the shore. 
 
 " Wish I had taken his advice," mused the pilot. 
 " Hanged if I thought that a few drinks would make 
 me so obstinate. To tell the God's truth, I don't 
 know where I am. The river must have risen won 
 derfully for the whole country seems to be over 
 flowed. I'd land but am afraid." He strained his 
 eyes and " rummaged " his recollection. Gottlieb, 
 with an anxious face, came into the pilot-house. 
 
 "Where are we, Mr. Quirmer?" 
 
 " Somewhat near the Giles place, but to tell you 
 the truth, I don't know exactly where. Wish I had 
 taken your advice, for the whole country is over 
 flowed." 
 
 " I wish you had. Some of the passengers have 
 gone to bed. Think I'd better have them aroused." 
 
 He turned to go, and had taken hold of the door 
 knob, when the boat struck. 
 
 " Aground, by all the gods that ever flew over 
 water! " exclaimed the pilot. 
 
 The captain's face was as pale as a ghost. Still 
 holding the door knob, he looked at the pilot and 
 said:
 
 250 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 " You have ruined me." 
 
 "Don't think that, captain. She struck very 
 easily, and I think that by unloading a few bales of 
 cotton we can shove her off." 
 
 Gottlieb, without replying, went below. The 
 grounding had been BO easy that the passengers 
 were not in the least frightened, but stood about 
 and joked. One man asked the captain why he 
 didn't call his boat the " Plow Boy," and another 
 man, a great wag and self-appointed wit, said: 
 
 " Say, cap'n, why don't you call her the ' Wheel 
 barrow?'" 
 
 " Because," Gottlieb replied, " she will make more 
 than one track before she gets out of here." 
 
 All night they worked without avail. Morning 
 dawned upon a scene of dreary waste. The " Schil 
 ler " was in a little field between two strips of wood. 
 Hope was soon abandoned, for the water was falling 
 rapidly. The pilot kept out of the captain's way, 
 but he need not have done so, for the poor fellow's 
 face showed sadness, instead of anger. When the 
 crew had been called to be paid off and dismissed, 
 the captain said, "Boys, I hate to put you off here, 
 but it can't be helped. This field, I am told, was 
 never overflowed before, and it is useless to expect 
 a rise in the river. I have made arrangements to 
 have this cotton hauled away. The passengers 
 will also receive transportation. Where is Mr. 
 Quirmer?"
 
 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 251 
 
 " Here I am, sir." 
 
 " Why don't you come up and get your money ?" 
 
 " Because, sir, I don't deserve it." 
 
 " Nonsense. Do you suppose I think you 
 grounded this boat purposely ?" 
 
 " No; but I am the cause of its being here." 
 
 " Yes; and I am the cause of its being built." 
 
 " You said that I had ruined you." 
 
 " Did I? Well, it was because I was vexed at 
 the time." 
 
 " I have never seen such another man as you 
 are, captain. Many a man would not only have cursed 
 me, but would almost wiped me from the face of the 
 earth." 
 
 " But that would not wipe the boat from the face 
 of the earth," the captain replied with a sad smile. 
 
 " What are you going to do, captain?" 
 
 "Stay here." 
 
 "In hopes of a rise?" 
 
 " I don't dare to hope, but this boat shall be my 
 home." 
 
 " Tell me, if I am worthy to be told, where do 
 you get such strength? How can you bear up so 
 well under such misfortune ?" 
 
 "Do you see that woman?" pointing to his wife 
 who stood a short distance away, leaning on a rail 
 ing and looking out over the field. "I get my 
 strength from her."
 
 252 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 When the river receded into its proper channel, 
 the " Schiller " was ten miles from navigable water. 
 Gottlieb purchased the little field on which his boat 
 had stuck, together With a small tract of adjoining 
 land and decided to raise cotton and corn. He 
 hired a party of men and dug under the " Schiller" 
 until she had been sunken into a large excavation. 
 Then at the cost of great labor and perseverence he 
 had water hauled in barrels and poured into the exca 
 vation. Again the magnificent steamer was afloat, but 
 had to content herself within only a few inches of play. 
 One of the crew, an engineer, had been retained, 
 and nearly every evening after his work in the field 
 was done for the day he would raise steam and set 
 the ponderous machinery in motion. Mrs. Lang- 
 buerger soon became interested in raising chickens, 
 and every night she carefully housed her brood on 
 board. In addition to agriculture, Gottlieb estab 
 lished a school. He experienced no trouble in pro 
 curing scholars, for every boy and girl in the neigh 
 borhood were charmed with the idea of going to 
 school on a boat. The captain not only taught the 
 ordinary branches, but instructed the boys in the
 
 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 253 
 
 art of river navigation, a highly interesting feature, 
 for nearly every boy who lives near a navigable 
 river entertains an aspiring hope that he will one 
 day be a steamboat man. Among the scholars was 
 a bright boy, Henry Rusworm. The captain con 
 ceived such friendship for the lad, partly due to the 
 fact that he was an orphan, that he adopted the 
 child. There was, though, a tender affection await 
 ing the lad, for as the years crept along, little Ida, 
 Gottlieb's daughter, learned to love him. Her love 
 was not ill-bestowed, for Henry worshiped her with 
 that intense ardor which steals into a boy's life at 
 an early age. 
 
 The years kept rolling on, as indeed they should, 
 for no man of sense could have expected a halt of 
 time simply because a steamboat had run aground. 
 The " Schiller " was kept in excellent repair. Every 
 year she was freshly painted, and every unsound 
 piece of wood was replaced with befitting material. 
 
 One Sunday when the captain and his wife had 
 gone to church, Ida went up into the pilot-house 
 where Henry sat at the wheel. They had both ar 
 rived at the shy age, and, at times, through very 
 excess of love, avoided each other. 
 
 " I didn't know you were here," said Ida blushing. 
 
 " If you had known it you wouldn't have come up, 
 would you ? " 
 
 "Yes, I would have come, but I wouldn't have 
 come so soon."
 
 254 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 *' You would have come sooner if you had thought 
 Web Jones had been here," meaning a boy whom 
 Henry knew she disliked. 
 
 "No, I wouldn't either." 
 
 " You like him better than anybody, anyway." 
 
 "You know I don't," her eyes beamed with ten 
 derness. 
 
 "Then, whom do you like better?" 
 
 " Somebody. Law, look at that bird on the jack 
 staff." 
 
 "Never mind the bird." 
 
 " He's gone now." 
 
 "Are you quite sure you saw a bird?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't I be?" 
 
 " I don't know. I see a bird any time when I 
 look at you." 
 
 " I'm not a bird. I can't fiy. " 
 
 " Yes you can. You have. You have flown into 
 my soul and fluttered against my heart." She 
 looked down and toyed with a tassel that hung from 
 a rich cord around her waist Don't you know tbat 
 I worship you?" 
 
 "No, for you avoid me." 
 
 "You avoid me." 
 
 "Don't you know why?" 
 
 "Yes," and he caught her in his arms. 
 
 What a glorious day it was for them. How many 
 little words of sweet nothingness passed between
 
 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 255 
 
 them as they sat in the pilot house, looking out over 
 the corn stalks that shook their silks and silvery 
 tassels in the stirring air. 
 
 When Gottlieb returned at evening, and came up 
 into the pilot house where Henry sat in his soul's 
 own twilight, lost in a reverie of sweet content, he 
 touched the young man, who was unconscious of his 
 approach, and said: 
 
 " Keeping her well in the channel, are you, my 
 boy?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied, humoring the joke. 
 
 " Look out for snags. I have had sufficient con 
 fidence in you to promote you to this position of 
 trust, so keep a sharp lookout." 
 
 "I shall, captain." 
 
 " As the old maid at the quilting said, ' Why so 
 pensive. ' ' 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Yes, there is something. Come, out with it, my 
 boy." 
 
 " My boy," again. The young man looked earn 
 estly into the captain's eyes, but saw no glow of 
 unusual tenderness. Discouraged, foolish fellow, 
 thinking that the captain should have divined his 
 heart's secret, he again made an evasive reply. 
 
 " Come , Henry, I see that something is indeed 
 the matter with you. Tell me what it is." 
 
 "Can't you seef
 
 256 A MARINE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 "No; how can I?" 
 
 " Have you been so unobservant all these years V 
 
 " What do you mean, lad ? You are actually mys 
 terious." 
 
 "Oh, sir, if I am presumptuous, forgive me. You 
 took me when I was homeless and gave me a wel 
 come full of kindness. You have educated me " 
 
 " And taught you to be a pilot." 
 
 " Yes, taught me everything I know, and it grieves 
 me to think that I have taken advantage of your 
 kindness." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "By loving Ida." 
 
 " You are a foolish boy. And is this the weight 
 that oppresses you? Why, Henry, when she was a 
 little girl, in flowing night-gown, kneeling by her 
 mother at night, she used to mention your name in 
 her prayers. She still prays for you." Henry 
 caught the captain's hand. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 A heavy rain had been falling all day, and reports 
 from above spoke of high water coming down. 
 Although Gottlieb had long since lost all hope of
 
 A MAEINE FABM HOUSE. 257 
 
 aver again steaming down the river on the " Schiller," 
 for high banks had formed between his farm and 
 the river, yet he always read with interest accounts of 
 high water. A dark night set in and the rainfall In 
 creased in volume. The old engineer raised steam, as 
 usual, and the bow of the " Schiller " pressed against 
 the edge of her narrow confines. Henry took his 
 accustomed place at the wheel. " I never heard 
 such a rain," he mused. " Good thing we brought 
 the horses aboard." 
 
 At a late hour he still sat in the pilot house. 
 The machinery was slowly working. " Old Bob," 
 he mused, "must be industrious to-night, but he 
 always works his engine when the weather's bad." 
 
 The captain came up. " You'd better turn in, 
 Henry; it's getting late. Great Lord! What was 
 that?" 
 
 The boat had moved. The rain fell in such vol 
 ume that no rush of water could be heard. Henry's 
 eyes stood out in a wild stare. The boat moved, 
 careened to one side, steadied herself and shot for 
 ward. 
 
 "Give me the wheel, give her to me! " exclaimed 
 the captain. 
 
 " Get away, captain, you are too much excited. 
 I know where we are; going through the Welling 
 field. The water naturally turns to the right here, 
 for the land is low." Lightning flashed. "Don't 
 you see? " 
 
 17
 
 258 A MABINE FARM HOUSE. 
 
 "God bless the boy." 
 
 "Bless us all," Henry replied. Mrs. Langbuerger 
 and Ida rushed into the pilot house. 
 
 "Now we turn into Bobson's narrow field," he 
 said, as another flash of lightning illuminated the 
 yellow sheet of water. 
 
 "Where can we get into the river, Henry? " 
 
 " We go over Jackson's field into Cove creek, and 
 then on to the river. I've planned the route many 
 a time, and have walked over it a hundred times." 
 
 " Fifteen years since the ' Schiller ' came up the 
 river," the captain said. 
 
 " Here we are," as another flash of lightning lit 
 up with a glare the mighty, rushing river. For a 
 time no one spoke. Morning slowly advanced, and 
 when the light was sufficient, the " Schiller " was 
 landed. A crew was soon formed. 
 
 While the captain was standing on the shore a 
 man approached him and said: 
 
 "You don't remember me, do you?" 
 
 " Why, Quirmer, how are you? " 
 
 "You don't know how glad I #m that you are 
 again afloat." 
 
 " Go aboard. Henry doesn't know the river, and 
 I want you to teach him. In other words, take your 
 old place. There, don't mention it, but go aboard, 
 for we are going to start in a few minutes. 
 
 That night Henry and Ida were married.
 
 A MARINE FABM HOUSE. 259 
 
 " What boat is that? " asked a man at Helena the 
 other day. 
 
 "That's the 'Schiller,' built by old man Lang- 
 buerger. Henry Bus worm is the captain now, but 
 the old man is so full of life that he goes out every 
 trip."
 
 THE RADISH KING. 
 
 THE other evening, during a conversation OB 
 insanity, its causes and sensations, Col. Weekley 
 said: 
 
 " T was once insane, and I often muse over my 
 experience. There are, of course, many kinds of 
 insanity. Some mental disorders take place so 
 gradually that even the closest companions of the 
 victim are at a loss to remember when the trouble 
 began. It must have been this way in my case. 
 One evening, after an oppressively warm day, a day 
 when I experienced more fatigue from the heat than 
 ever before or since, I sat on my porch fanning 
 myself. ' This arm that is now in motion, ' I mused, 
 ' must one of these days be dust. I wonder how 
 long will the time be. There is a spot where the 
 grass doubtless grows that will one day be opened 
 to receive my body my body that is now alive. 
 The man is probably now living who will part the 
 grass and dig my grave. There are pebbles under 
 the sod pebbles there now, that are waiting to be 
 disturbed by the spade that lifts the clay from my 
 
 261
 
 262 THE RADISH KING. 
 
 grave. I don't see how I can die. I see how easy, 
 how necessary, it is for others to die, but when it 
 comes to me, I can not see the use. I wonder if I 
 am actually compelled to die. Wonder if there 
 won't be an exception to this great rule. I believe 
 that death was intended for others but that I can 
 not die.' Then I mused upon the evidence I had of 
 immortality. I could do things that other 
 people could not accomplish. I had gone through 
 battle after battle, and though bullets sang and 
 struck around me thick as hail yet I remained 
 uninjured. I had passed through epidemics of 
 yellow fever. People all around me were stricken 
 as if by an avenging hand, yet I passed through the 
 terrible scenes, coming out, it seemed, all the 
 healthier for my experience. My idea gained 
 strength as I mused, and I was convinced that I 
 should live forever. It all seemed so plain, that I 
 thought of telling my wife, but then I thought how 
 bad it must make her feel to know that she must 
 Boon pass away. 
 
 " The next morning, while I walked in the garden, 
 the sun came up in cloudless splendor, and I again 
 fell to musing. 'I am a mere worm,' I thought. 
 ' This great sun is immortal, not I. But I may 
 be the sun. Perhaps it is a part of me. 
 I feel its warmth, and no matter how fast I 
 run, 0/ which way I turn, it follows me. No, this
 
 THE BADISH KING. 263 
 
 can not be, for it follows all men alike. Yes, I am 
 to die like other men, and I believe that it is my 
 duty to make the most of life ; to make money, and 
 enjoy myself, and to educate my children.' A great 
 load of oppressive concern seemed to be lifted from 
 my mind. I wanted to be rich, and I began to study 
 tover an imaginary list of enterprises. At last I hit 
 upon radishes. People must have radishes. They 
 should be in every store. They could be dried 
 and sold in winter. I would plant fifty acres 
 with radish seed, and people all over the country 
 would refer to me as the 'radish king.' I would 
 form q, radish syndicate, and buy up all the 
 radishes, and travel around and be admired. 
 I hastened to the house to tell my wife that she was 
 Boon to be a radish queen. At the breakfast-table 
 I said: 
 
 " ' Julia, how would you like to be a radish 
 queen ? ' 
 
 ' ' A what? ' she exclaimed. 
 
 " I explained my plan of acquiring great wealth, 
 and during the recital she acted so curiously that I 
 was alarmed. I feared that she was losing her 
 mind. Finally she seemed to understand. She 
 agreed with me, but told me not to say anything 
 more about it. After breakfast I saw her talking 
 earnestly with her father, and I knew that she was 
 explaining to the old gentleman how she intended to
 
 264 THE BADISH KING. 
 
 pay his debts when I became known as the radish 
 king. The old man approached me with much con 
 cern, and told me that I needed rest, and that I 
 must not think of business. He was old and sadly 
 worried, and I promised him that I would not think 
 of business. Pretty soon I went out to inspect my 
 radish kingdom. Looking around, I saw the olcl 
 man following me. I humored his whim by paying 
 no attention to him. From the field I went to the 
 village. I approached a prominent citizen who had 
 always been my friend, and told him how I intended 
 to become rich. He seemed grieved, and I saw at 
 once that he was contemplating the same enterprise. 
 It seemed mean that he should take advantage of 
 me, and I told him so. He tried to explain, but he 
 made me so mad that I would have struck him if 
 my father-in-law hadn't come up and separated us. 
 I tried to calm myself, but could not. Those who 
 had been my friends proved to be my enemies, and 
 I was determined to be avenged, but before I could 
 execute my will I was seized by several men. My 
 father-in-law did not attempt to rescue me, and I 
 hated him. I was taken to jail. My wife came to 
 see me, but she did not try to have me released. I 
 demanded a trial, but no lawyer would defend me. 
 Then I realized that the entire community was 
 against me. I became so mad that my anger seemed 
 to hang over me like a dark cloud. It pressed me
 
 THE RADISH KING. 266 
 
 to the floor and held me there. Men came after a 
 long time and took me away, I thought to the peni 
 tentiary. One day a cat came into my cell, and I 
 tried to bite it. She made the hair fly, but I killed 
 her. I don't know how long I remained here, but 
 one morning the sun rose and shone in at me 
 through the window. It seemed to be the first time 
 that I had seen the great luminary for months. A 
 mist cleared before my eyes. My brain began to 
 work, and suddenly I realized that I had been in 
 sane. I called the keeper, and when he saw me he 
 exclaimed, ' Thank God! ' and grasped my hand. I 
 was not long in putting on another suit of clothes 
 and turning my face toward home. A physician said 
 that I was cured, and everybody seemed bright and 
 happy at my recovery. I boarded a train with a 
 gentleman, and went home. My wife fainted when 
 she saw me and learned that I had recovered my 
 mind. I asked for my little children, and two big 
 boys and a young lady came foward and greeted 
 me. I had been in the asylum twelve years."
 
 BROUGHT THE MONEY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 People who lived in Nashyille, Tenn,, in 1876, 
 have surely not forgotten Anzeli J3otenio, the artist. 
 He had an obscure room, a studio, he termed it, 
 reached by an alley leading off from a street not noted 
 for its respectability. As his name implies he was of 
 Italian extraction ; indeed, he claimed to have been ed 
 ucated in Florence, but this his acquaintances seemed 
 to doubt, not that they had ever detected him in an 
 untruth, but because, I am inclined to believe, his 
 pronunciation was strikingly American. If his wor 
 ship of art could have been crystalized into art itself 
 he would have become famous ; but, somehow, I am 
 not sufficiently schooled to tell why, he lacked the 
 simple yet divine touch of greatness. Some of his 
 pictures were beautiful, surely; but the art critics 
 and I fancy that they knew more of ordinary white 
 wash than of fine paint criticised them with uncouth 
 severity. I have never seen a man possessed of a 
 more lovable disposition. Neither hunger nor that 
 
 m
 
 268 BBOUdHT THE MONET. 
 
 which is worse to a sensitive soul, disappointment, 
 tended to throw the melancholy of twilight where hia 
 sunshine of bright hope had played. "Ah," he 
 would sometimes say, " perfect love must finally 
 result in perfect execution. Yes, the moonlight in 
 that picture must be unnatural. I will go out 
 to-night, study nature and remedy the defect." 
 
 One night at a picture sale Anzeli was introduced 
 to one of the handsomest young women of the south, 
 Miss Laura Blythe, niece of old General A. T. Patter- 
 eon. Laura lived with her uncle, her parents having 
 died when she was a child; and, as the old fellow had 
 no children, it was said that she would inherit his 
 property. Anzeli thought not of this when he stood 
 enthralled by her presence. At once, and before he 
 could realize it, he gave her the love which his soul 
 had warmly treasured to bestow upon an ideal of its 
 own creation. He had often said, in conversation 
 with a friend, that he did not expect ever to love a 
 human being. " I know that I am foolish," h 
 admitted, " but I can not love a woman unless she is 
 perfectly beautiful, more beautiful than I fancy any 
 human being can be. Her face must not bear the 
 slightest blemish ; there must not be the mistake of 
 a single line; but, of course, I shall never meet her." 
 
 When his heart ceased fluttering and when his 
 eye became steadier he knew that he had met her. 
 
 She was struck with him, for when her uncle called
 
 BBOUQHT THE MONEY. 289 
 
 her she lingered, with half-blushing dalliance, as 
 though hesitating to say something which she feared 
 would be inappropriate. They met again the night 
 following and he walked home with her, though, had 
 his eye been more observant of surroundings, he 
 might have seen that the old general approved not 
 of his attention to the young woman. After this 
 they met often, though not at the general's house. 
 Once at the house of a convenient friend he sat press 
 ing her beautiful head to his bosom. 
 
 " You know that I am wretchedly poor." he said. 
 
 "Yes, Anzeli." 
 
 "That I haven't money enough to furnish a 
 house." 
 
 " Oh, don't speak of that." 
 
 " If it is painful to you, I will not." 
 
 " It is only painful to me because it seems painful 
 to you," she replied. "I care for nothing but your 
 love. I would rather starve with you than feast 
 with any other mortal." 
 
 He moved uneasily. " Do you doubt me?" she 
 Asked. 
 
 " I cannot doubt you, but " 
 
 "But what, love?" 
 
 " Oh, it seems that those words have been spoken 
 ^o often before." 
 
 "Perhaps, but never before by me," she said, 
 putting her arms around his neck.
 
 270 BBOtfGHT THE MONET. 
 
 11 But are you so different from all other women? 
 Is A beautiful face after all but the light thrown 
 from a beautiful soul?" 
 
 " Now you are trying to flatter me again, Anzeli." 
 
 " No, it would be impossible to flatter you. Flat 
 tery is an exaggeration, but can the most gifted flat 
 terer exaggerate the brightness of the sun?" 
 
 *' There you go," she joyously replied. " In de 
 fending yourself you cap the climax of flattery 5 but 
 never mind, dear, yo'u shall see. We can fent a 
 small house, and even though the walls and the 
 floors may be bare, a vine can grow at the door.' 1 
 
 " Yes, in the summer," he replied, " but when 
 winter comes will not the vine die?" 
 
 "No," she said. "A thousand times no. The 
 summer of love knows not the coming of winter; and 
 the warm zone of devoted hearts will always keep 
 the Vine alive." 
 
 " Laura, you are an angel, and I cannot help but 
 feel that what you say is true." 
 
 "Ah, but you inust not struggle against such a 
 fond conviction." 
 
 " Its very fondness is its adverse argument," he 
 responded. " Your uncle has declared that if you 
 become the wife of a daubing beggar you shall never 
 enter his house again." 
 
 "But," she laughingly replied, "it seems that 
 these words have been spoken so often before.
 
 BEOUGHT THE MONEY. 271 
 
 There, now, I didn't say that to make you muse. It 
 shall make no difference to me even if I don't go 
 into the house again. Let him leave his money to 
 some one else. I don't want it." 
 
 " Will you not think of it when you lock at the 
 bare walls?" 
 
 " No, for then 1 can tuf n to the vine. Now, don't 
 muse again. Let me tell you, once for all, Anzeli, 
 that I have faith in your coming success. Of course 
 this does not influence my love, but I cannot help 
 but believe, cannot help but know that one of these 
 days great men will come and buy your pictures. 
 Let us be happy now. Let not a worrying thought, 
 always so full of mischief, weave shadows for our 
 future." 
 
 "Laura, you are, in every way, superior to me. " 
 
 "flow you do beckon to the shadows, Anzeli." 
 
 "You are more philosophical than I am, beautiful 
 girl." 
 
 " Will the shadows not cortfe after such pleading?" 
 she mischievously asked. 
 
 " No," he said, smiling. " You have driven them 
 away."
 
 272 BBOUOF.T THE MONEY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A beautiful woman stood in the door of a small 
 house in an unattractive part of the city. It was 
 summer and the tendrils of a vine waved above her 
 head. There was no carpet in the room, but the 
 walls were adorned with paintings without frames. 
 A man came and kissed the woman. 
 
 " Anzeli, you look tired." 
 
 "I am tired sick and tired." 
 
 "Has anything gone wrong?" 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Oh, Anderson has refused to take the landscape 
 which he pretended to admire so much and which he 
 said he would pay me for to-day." 
 
 "What explanation did he make?" 
 
 " He said that he didn't want a picture that had 
 been ridiculed by the newspapers. I was so anxious 
 for him to take it. Just think, we could have 
 bought a carpet for this room." 
 
 " And could have gotten some better chairs than 
 these," she sadly replied. 
 
 "Yes, but never mind, love. The picture I am 
 working on now will command attention ; I just know
 
 BROUGHT THE MONEY. 273 
 
 it will. Several cows are standing in a brook and 
 you can almost fancy that you see the minnows 
 playing about their hoofs. Just bear with me a little 
 longer." 
 
 She sat down and, with that motion so indescrib 
 able, but so expressixe of a thoroughly disconsolate 
 state of mind, crossed her hands. 
 
 " I feel that I am improving all the time," he 
 continued. " Each day I get nearer and nearer to a 
 wonderful vision which I shall one day see clearly. 
 Sometimes I feel that it is about to break upon my 
 sight, but then a mist arises and shuts it entirely 
 out. One of these days the mist will not arise, and 
 then, when people come to look at a picture they 
 will say, ' This is a glimpse of paradise. ' Don't be 
 disheartened, Laura, but bear with me a little longer. " 
 
 She sprang to her feet and threw her arms around 
 his neck. " Heaven lingers with me while I wait 
 with you," she said. " You are so good and so gentle 
 that I reproach myself when 
 
 "When you do what, dear?" 
 
 " When I look about the room and wish that it 
 were furnished better. Some people are so cruel." 
 
 "Has anyone been cruel to you? Has anyone 
 written you another anonymous letter, telling you 
 how much better you could have done?" 
 
 " Yes, but I tore it to pieces." 
 
 "After reading it?" he asked. 
 it
 
 274 BROUGHT THE HONEY. 
 
 "Ob, yes; I could not help reading it" 
 
 " What did the writer say ?" 
 
 "Something that would sting a woman, though 
 she were an angel." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That if more than three visitors were to call up 
 on us at once, someone would haye to stand or sit on 
 the floor." 
 
 " None but a wretch could haye written such a 
 letter, Laura. Don't let it worry you." 
 
 " The actual deprivations enforced by poverty are 
 easy enough to bear, but the humility of knowing that 
 scantiness of necessary furniture places one under 
 the jeering espionage of of " 
 
 "There, now, Laura, you must pot give way to 
 your feelings. I know that you are fitted intellect 
 ually to be the wife of a great man, that you are as 
 strong mentally as you are beautiful physically, but 
 repose faith in me just a little longer." 
 
 " Anzeli," she said, as she turned to a small look 
 ing-glass and began to arrange her beautiful hair, 
 " to be unhappy with you would argue strangely 
 against the immortality of the soul. Speaking of 
 the soul reminds me of the body," she cheerfully 
 added. " Come, supper is ready." 
 
 Time moved slowly and darkly, like a lengthen 
 ing shadow. One morning, while looking over a 
 newspaper printed in a distant city, Laura found
 
 BEOUGHT THE MONEY. 275 
 
 the following: " The once beautiful Laura Blythe, 
 the pride of southern society, is now the wife of an 
 Italian fanatic who imagines that he can paint pict 
 ures. It is said that he has dragged her down to a 
 poverty and wretchedness that is fast breaking her 
 heart." She threw the paper down and burst into 
 tears. Anzeli came home, almost joyous in the en 
 tertainment of some new prospect, but she shud 
 dered and turned away from him. 
 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 " I am everything that is miserable," she replied. 
 
 " Has anything new gone wrong?" he asked. 
 
 " Is wretchedness always tiptoeing in the expect 
 ancy of some new pang ?" 
 
 He muttered something about the bright vision 
 which he knew must soon be clearly presented to 
 him. She did not reply, and during a long and 
 dreary evening, they remained silent. The leaves 
 on the vine at the door were turning yellow. 
 
 "Anzeli," she said, several days later, " did Jack 
 son take the picture?" 
 
 "No," he replied. 
 
 " Of course not. It is time we were putting aside 
 some of our foolishness." 
 
 "Foolishness?" he gasped. 
 
 " Yes, foolishness. I must have some money." 
 
 " You shall have it, Laura. The vision " 
 
 "Never mind the vision, Anzeli. There
 
 276 BROUGHT THE MONEY. 
 
 been too many visions and not enough substances iu 
 this hovel. You can surely find some sort of em 
 ployment. Art may be ennobling, but it is disgrace 
 ful to live this way." 
 
 " What am I to do?" he sadly replied. " I know 
 nothing of the business affairs of men. I can do 
 nothing but paint." 
 
 " Paint!" she repeated. He looked up quickly, 
 and then seemed to be endeavoring to swallow some 
 thing. 
 
 " You can very easily turn your hand to something 
 else," she said. 
 
 " You don't love me, Laura." 
 
 " What, don't love you simply because I believe 
 that you are capable of making a living! Don't 
 love you because I am human being enough to wish 
 for something better than this wretched room ! You 
 delight in calling me an angel, but do angels seek 
 a dark and wretched abode ? Be sensible, Anzeli, 
 I must have money." 
 
 " I will bring you some money," he replied. " I 
 have several pictures that I can sell." 
 
 The next night when he came home, she met him 
 at the door and asked him if he had brought the 
 money. 
 
 " I did not succeed in selling the pictures." 
 
 "I knew it." 
 
 " But I will bring you some money to-morrow 
 night"
 
 BROUGHT THE MONEY. 277 
 
 "The old story, Anzeli." 
 
 " I will bring you some money to-morrow night," 
 he repeated. 
 
 A frost had fallen. The leaves on the vine at the 
 door were black. 
 
 It was late when ho came home the next night 
 She was sitting with her arms resting on a table, 
 and did not look up when he entered. Without 
 speaking, he advanced, and from a small bag 
 emptied a pile of gold upon the table. She sprang 
 to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. 
 "Oh, Anzeli," she cried, "I may have been petu 
 lant, but I have never lost faith in you. Won't 
 you forgive me? " 
 
 " I have brought the money." 
 
 "Yes, dear. Oh, I knew that they could not 
 much longer refuse to buy your pictures. I am so 
 glad now that you did not give up your noble pro 
 fession. How many pictures did you sell? " 
 
 " I have brought the money," he solemnly re 
 peated. She kissed him, and with a flutter of joy 
 sat down and fondled the gold. " I will buy ever so 
 many things," she mused. "Let me see how much 
 we have. Three hundred dollars," she exclaimed, 
 when she had counted the money. " Anzeli ! Where 
 did he go? You will find your supper on the table," 
 she called. "Three hundred dollars," she re 
 peated, again fondling the gold. " The wretch who
 
 278 BROtJaHT THE MONET. 
 
 has been sending anonymous letters should take a 
 peep into mf house next week. What a dear, 
 patient man Anzeli is. I will go to him. Why, he 
 hasn't eaten a bite," she said, when she had gone 
 into the kitchen. She opened the back door and 
 called him. No answer. She went around to the 
 front door and called. A dead vine fell at her feet. 
 She called again and again. " He has gone back to 
 work," she said, but her hand shook when she re 
 turned to the sitting room and began to fondle th* 
 gold. The night wore away. She had not slept. 
 Ser eyes were swollen. Some one knocked at the 
 door. She opened it and an excited man exclaimed: 
 " Great God, madam, a man is hanging from a tree 
 in your back yard! " 
 
 That morning the Nashville American contained 
 the following paragraph: " Late last night the store 
 of J. B. Hillitt, on Cherry street, was robbed of 
 $300 in gold."
 
 ZOZI. 
 
 AMONG the effects of T. B. Ludds, whose death 
 was recently announced by the Chicago newspapers, 
 was found a manuscript written by a young woman. 
 It was entitled " A Confession," and attached to 
 it was the following note in the handwriting of 
 Mr. Ludds: 
 
 " This was sent to me by the writer thereof, 
 Laura Brizinari, whoj a few years ago, held sway 
 as an acknowledged beauty; and, lest some one 
 may wonder how I came possessed of this Con 
 fession, let me say that Laura Brizman had pro 
 mised to be my wife." 
 
 I don't ask for sympathy I ask for nothing 
 except an unprejudiced reading of these lines, 
 and yet I don't see how I can hope even for so 
 much consideration. There may come a time when 
 to some extent I shall be vindicated; and, with 
 this in view, I shall set down, in minute detail, 
 the strange experience which befell me. 
 
 279
 
 280 ZOZL 
 
 One afternoon, while returning home on a subur 
 ban train after a day of shopping, a most peculiar 
 feeling suddenly came over me. For a few moments 
 my mind seemed to be in a strange tumble, fall 
 ing or turning over and over, and during the time 
 my heart fluttered with fright; but suddenly I 
 became calm, and out of that whirlwind of emo 
 tion came the conviction that I had lived hundreds 
 of years ago. We all have felt this impression, 
 and I had felt it many times before; and, after 
 a moment's perplexity, had dismissed it as a men 
 tal phenomenon that never could be understood; 
 but this time it was more than an impression 
 indeed, it was clarified into a defined recollection 
 and I remembered the following incidents of a 
 former life: It must have been at least three hun 
 dred years ago when I lived in Florence. My 
 father, Lopelo Denzi, was a rich merchant, and 
 I an only child. I could get but fitful glimpses 
 of my childhood; but I well remembered the day 
 I was fifteen, when I was given as a bride to 
 Antonio Moraso. How thrillingly this came up 
 and took possession of me that afternoon, and 
 how I attempted to reason with myself. I tried 
 to calm myself with a strong view of the pres 
 ent that I was a Yankee girl, sitting in a rail- 
 v.ay train, looking out on an Illinois prairie 
 but the soft air and the delicate perfume of an
 
 ZOZL 281 
 
 Italian garden came and made my senses swim. 
 And then, the recollection of my marriage was 
 BO strong that reason turned an ardent advocate, 
 and urged me to recall the details of my happy 
 wedding. 
 
 Antonio Moraso! How brave and handsome he 
 was with curling hair and eyes of softest luster. 
 I could recall every feature of his face, and so 
 distinctly, on a sudden, did I remember, or rather 
 hear again, the music of his voice, that I was 
 thrilled thrilled back into the rushing age of 
 the present. Again did I argue with myself, 
 striving to make myself believe that I had been 
 asleep; but as I sat looking out over a Dutch 
 man's cabbage patch, the recollection of my life 
 in Florence came back with heightened color, and 
 now, no longer attempting to hold my mind in 
 restraint, I loosened it and let it fly back to the 
 narrow streets of Dante's town. 
 
 A bride at fifteen; but with what a happy will 
 ingness! I loved Antonio with a passion that 
 could not exist in this cold, commercial age. The 
 wedding, eve, with its knightly company! How 
 its music and its incense came back to me. Then 
 came a haze through which I could scarcely see, 
 and then Antonio and I were living in a charm 
 ing old house. Most of all, I remember one even 
 ing ; we were sitting in the garden.
 
 282 ZOZL 
 
 " Zozi," said he, with big arm fondly about 
 me, " is it pot a cruel fate that at some time 
 death "will separate us ? " 
 
 " Oh, don't speak of that, love," I implored. 
 
 " It was on my mind," he went on, drawing 
 me closer to him, " but I believe that we shall 
 live again; I do npt mean in heaven, but on this 
 earth. Hundreds of years from now we may meet 
 and love again. I njay come as a rude plow-boy, 
 and you may be rich and a maid of honor at 
 court; but I shall woo you, and you will hearken, 
 for you will know that you were mine ' in ages 
 gone.'" 
 
 I remembered this as well as though but a 
 day had passed; but I could not recall what 
 immediately followeii; indeed, a patch of dark 
 ness fell, and when the light came again we were 
 on shipboard with our little boy. A fierce storm 
 was raging; the passengers were terrified. Antonio 
 held me and my child clasped in his arms; and 
 then came a sudcjen darkness a chill and gur 
 gling darkness and all was over. 
 
 By this time the train had stopped at the subur 
 ban station near which I lived, and I got off. My 
 head was throbbing as though waves were beating 
 against it, and I went to my room and lay down. 
 "I must have been dreaming," I persuasively 
 mused; but no, I could not put it aside as the hazy
 
 zozi. 283 
 
 vision of a dream; it was the successive flashes 
 of vivid recollections. I dozed off to sleep ap 
 dreamed, tut of some commonplace and foolish 
 thing. My mother awoke me. 
 
 " Laura, aren't you coming to dinner ? " 
 
 "Did you ever think of calling me Zozi?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Think of calling you what! Zozi! "Who ever 
 heard of such a name, and what could have put that 
 notion into your head, my child? " 
 
 " Oh, I didn't know but that at some time be 
 fore I was born you thought of calling me Zozi." 
 
 " What an idea. We thought of naming you 
 Susan, after my aunt." 
 
 "And you never even thought of the name Zozi." 
 
 " Of course not; never even heard of such a name; 
 and, even if it had been suggested, we never would 
 have thought of giving it to you." 
 
 That evening I went to the house of a neighbor to 
 see his daughter formally presented to society. I 
 did not arrive until rather late, and when I did ap 
 pear in the drawing-room, the pet of that night's 
 social whim, the tender-looking daughter of an un 
 couth old man, ran up and heaped an ecstatic wel 
 come upon me. 
 
 "Oh, have you ever met Professor Marsh?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " No; what is he professor of?"
 
 284 zozi. 
 
 u Music brilliant performer on the piano," and 
 then in a whisper she added: "That's the reason 
 papa invited him ; isn't here altogether as a social 
 equal, you know. But he does play charmingly. 
 Wait till he gets through." 
 
 The professor had just begun a wild dash down 
 an operatic precipice; and we stood waiting. The 
 wild dash ceased and the professor turned and bowed 
 to his admirers. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter? " cried the girl catch 
 ing me. 
 
 " Nothing. Let me sit down a moment." 
 
 She led me to a chair, and the applause which 
 followed the music covered our words and drew at 
 tention from our actions. 
 
 " There's a doctor here somewhere," said the girl. 
 " Let me call him." 
 
 " No; I was simply dizzy for a moment. It's not 
 unusual with me. Oh, don't be alarmed. It's really 
 nothing." 
 
 But it was something ; it was Antonio Moraso. 
 And he looked at me with a soul-reading eye. My 
 heart fluttered, and in my agitation I wondered if he 
 knew me. But a moment's reason told me that he 
 did not persuaded me that I had dreamed and that 
 this man merely chanced to figure fittingly in the 
 vision. A moment later he was introduced to me. 
 We strolled about the rooms, into the conservatory,
 
 zozi. 285 
 
 and sat on a rustic seat under an oleander; we 
 seemed to be prompted by one impulse as we turned 
 toward the shrubbery the memory of one sweet 
 evening in an Italian garden. The professor sat for 
 a moment with his hand pressed against his fore 
 head, and then he turned to me. Passion beamed 
 in his eyes. Suddenly I was thrilled to my very 
 soul. He had whispered the name "Zozi." 
 
 " And you know me?" I said. 
 
 " Yes, my angel." 
 
 A cold sense of propriety struck me it came like 
 the slap of a wet hand. 
 
 "Don't don't talk that way; some one might 
 hear," I whispered. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, nodding in approval of my 
 caution; and then he asked : " When did those sweet 
 memories begin to float in upon your mind?" 
 
 "Not until to-day," I answered. 
 
 " Wonderful. This afternoon about 3 o'clock?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes," I replied, trembling. 
 
 He was silent for a time, and he pressed his hand 
 against his forehead. " All things have ceased to 
 be astonishing," he said, seeming to recall his mind 
 from a strange wandering, " and I am now prepared 
 for all sorts of spiritual manifestations; and I do 
 believe that if a dead man should rise up and con 
 front me I should not regard it as out of the province
 
 286 ZOZL 
 
 of reasonable and expected occurrence. Zozi, what 
 a school I have gone through since 3 o'clock this 
 afternoon. I was sitting in a barber shop, waiting 
 for my turn, when my mind was suddenly darkened 
 by a strange confusion j and out of the darkness flashed 
 rays of light, and in the light were strange but 
 sweetest memories. I thought I must have dreamed, 
 but no, I had not dozed. I do not come as a plough- 
 boy, precious," he added, smiling. 
 
 The hostess came up and drew us away, and soon the 
 "professor" had drowned the low voices of the past 
 with a fierce piano storm of the present. We had 
 that night no chance for further conversation, but 
 just before parting he asked me if he might call the 
 next day. 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " come in the afternoon. Do 
 you know where I live ? " 
 
 "Oh, I can find the way. Good-night," he said 
 aloud, and whispered, "Angel." 
 
 I had gone to bed and was just dozing off to sleep 
 when a moral self-questioning came with sudden 
 force and aroused me to full consciousness. Had I 
 acted discreetly in gran ting that man, a stranger, from 
 society's point of view, the privilege of such an inti 
 macy ? But, then, how light were all customs of the 
 frivolous and heartless present when weighed against 
 the endearments of a holy past. That man had been 
 my husband, and with me had shared the lova of a
 
 2021. 287 
 
 beautiful boy, and now should I question his moral 
 right to lay a fond claim to me? I did not see how 
 I could ; and yet I knew that society would accept 
 of no explanation in fact, could comprehend no 
 such, relationship. I wondered if it were wise to tell 
 my mother, and instantly I felt that it would not be, 
 for she, with her practical mind, could not even fancy 
 a plausiblo pretext for so outrageous a presumption. 
 Indeed, I felt that no one, no matter how much givea 
 to the indulgence of strange theories, could believe 
 my story, and, therefore, I was resolved to keep it to 
 myself. But did I really love this man, Marsh? 
 Was I not engaged to a well-known man, and had I 
 not told him that I was giving him the firstlings of 
 my heart's devotion ? But I had, under ai} old, old 
 moon, in the sweet time of an ancient yesterday, 
 worshiped I Antonio, and this man was Antonio 
 corae back to me. He was not so handsome as of 
 old, but I put this off on the ground of a fond blind 
 ness to all blemish which must have existed in that 
 long time ago when women were supposed to feel 
 but not to reason. 
 
 The professor came the next afternoon, and, when 
 I heard his soft and thrilling words I knew that I 
 was his slave. I felt that, regardless pf recent obli 
 gations which I with happiness had taken upon 
 myself, it was my duty to follow him and to do his
 
 288 ML 
 
 I sat beside him on a sofa. " My own Zozi, do 
 you love me with that old, old-time softness and beau 
 tiful devotion born of a redolent garden?" 
 
 " I worship you," I answered. 
 
 "Then shall our old happiness be resurrected." 
 
 "Love." I asked, looking into his eyes, "what 
 was the name of our boy ? I can not recall it" 
 
 "Alva," he answered, and I suddenly remem 
 bered that Alva was the little one's name. 
 
 We eat in a love-buoyant silence; I against his 
 heart, his lips pressed to mine. 
 
 * Will you go with me? " he asked. 
 
 '* If you will marry me again we will take up our 
 happiness where we laid it down BO long ago," I 
 answered. 
 
 "But we care married, precious were married 
 in ages gone; ours was one of the matches made in 
 heaven." 
 
 " Yes, but we were Italians then, and now we are 
 Americans and must be married under the Ameri 
 can law." 
 
 " That cannot be, Zozi; the law will prevent it; I 
 am married under that law my wife is don't draw 
 away from me I Remember that we did not recall 
 our ancient marriage and the happiness that followed 
 until yesterday. Don't turn away as if I had mar 
 ried in violation of a vow made to you." 
 
 He pressed me to him again; I could not resist;
 
 7ozi. 289 
 
 he was mine mine by a decree rendered when the 
 church was younger and purer when it was closer 
 to Christ 
 
 "You must go with me," he whispered, and the 
 beating of my heart told me that I could not re 
 fuse. 
 
 I went with him! But I shall recall none of the 
 details of the flight; you know what a shocking 
 scandal society enjoyed. We went to New York and 
 lived in a hotel, and for months I floated in a dreamy 
 happiness, the nerve dulled happiness which I should 
 imagine becomes the normal life of an opium-eater. 
 But sharp words and a quarrel came one night, and 
 then I saw that my companion was growing weary 
 of me. 
 
 " Antonio," I cried, " has our ancient love- turned 
 to a modern coldness?" 
 
 " Miss Brizman " 
 
 " Miss Brizman!" I repeated. 
 
 "Yes. Isn't that your name? Now let me tell 
 you something; and you may call me the most 
 soulless scoundrel that ever lived, and I am willing 
 to acknowledge that I am, and " 
 
 "You are my Antonio," I broke in. 
 
 "Will you listen to me?" he exclaimed. "One 
 afternoon on a railway train I saw you for the first 
 time and was struck by your beauty, and then yon 
 began to remember things I gave them to you 
 
 10
 
 290 20ZL 
 
 your recollections were hypnotic forces at work. 
 "Wait now, don't be excited. I used to be a scientist 
 in that line, but the public said I was a fraud. Yes, 
 I am tired of you I am tired of everything. A 
 brute! Oh, yes, and a scoundrel! You will kill 
 me? Well, then, I must leave you. Good-bye." 
 
 And so he left me. 
 
 I enter no plea for mercy; I simply give my 
 story. I was honest in my belief; I may have been 
 a fool, but he who has not felt the influence of that 
 startling and almost superhuman force, a force that 
 may play a wonderful part in tbe affairs of men in 
 in the years to come I say that he who has not 
 felt this force is not justly fitted to sit in judgment 
 upon me.
 
 DAN MITERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DAN MITEBS was especially drunk. By this I 
 mean that any other man in the village of Cane Hill 
 might have been drunk and indeed other men of 
 that respectible community had been known to in 
 dulge too heartily in drink but that Dan Miters, 
 being the acknowledged drunkard of the place, was 
 especially and particularly intoxicated. He was a 
 man of acknowledged sense. He had, gossip said, 
 as a prelude to some disparaging statement concern 
 ing his weakness, carried off the honors at a well- 
 known school. One thing was certain. He ex 
 pressed himself in better language than even the 
 county judge could hope to employ, and this, at 
 Cane Hill, was regarded as a convincing assertion 
 of a higher education. 
 
 Dan had first come to the village as the agent of 
 a nursery ; not that sort of a nursery which would 
 disprove the declaration that marriage, among the 
 
 poor at least, is a failure to perpetuate human inis- 
 
 201
 
 202 DAN MITERS. 
 
 cry, but as the agent of a company which had fruit 
 trees for sale. He did not thoroughly succeed in 
 running the gauntlet of village curiosity, for vil 
 lagers are critical of appearances, and a lazy 
 lounger who sits all day at the store, while his wife 
 is taking in washing the utterly worthless fellow 
 who would rather wallow in the mire with a black 
 falsehood than to recline on a velvet couch with a 
 bright truth; who wears a filthy shirt and one "bed- 
 tick" suspender; who chews charity tobacco and 
 spits at a knothole which, he thinks by the right of 
 his own yellow slime, he has pre-empted that fel 
 low will criticise the clothes and facial expression of 
 a stranger. 
 
 Dan was criticised, not only by the worthless 
 loafer, but by the merchant, and even by the faded 
 woman who had slipped in to exchange a few eggs 
 for a small piece of calico. They declared that 
 Dan's hair was too red, and that there were too many 
 freckles on his face; and it was agreed that he did 
 not dress as a gentleman should. The worthless 
 loafer squirted at his pre-empted knothole and re 
 marked: 
 
 "Now you're gittin' right down to the squar' 
 facts." 
 
 That was a long time ago. Dan was absorbed 
 into the community's social system, and became 
 celebrated as the village drunkard. Previous to his
 
 DAN MITERS. 293 
 
 achievement of this distinction, the fame had be 
 longed to one Peter B. Rush, and it appeared that 
 he could never be robbed of the reputation which he 
 had laborously acquired, but after a few years of 
 close contest, Peter B. Rush's warmest admirers were 
 forced to acknowledge that the palm belonged to 
 Dan Miters. What a handy man was Miters when 
 a comparison was needed! What an encouragement 
 to innovation! A man, in speaking of some one 
 who was stupidly influenced by liquor, was no longer 
 under the necessity of saying that he was as drunk 
 as the disreputable canine associate of the fiddler, 
 but simply fulfilled all demands by affirming that 
 he was as drunk as Dan Miters. 
 
 Seriously and unfortunately we are all compelled 
 to be serious at times the man of twenty-five whose 
 education had not been neglected was, at forty-five, 
 a hopeless vagabond, with every hope trampled into 
 the mud away down the road behind him. He did 
 odd jobs, cleaned out cellars, and cut firewood for 
 scolding women. 
 
 One day, when he appeared to be soberer than 
 usual, the mayor of the village thus addressed him; 
 
 "Dan, I would like to know something about your 
 life." 
 
 " And I, sir," Dan replied, " would like to know 
 something about my death." 
 
 "You are a funny fellow, Dan."
 
 294 DAN MITERS. 
 
 "No doubt of it, sir. A corpse has been known 
 to grin." 
 
 "Come, don't talk that way. You have been here 
 now about twenty years and none of us know where 
 you were born." 
 
 "And do you really want to know where I was 
 born ?" 
 
 "Yes, I'd like to know." 
 
 "Well, sir, I was born in the night." 
 
 " There you go again. Say, do you know that if 
 you would brace up there is yet time for you to ac 
 complish something." 
 
 " Yes, but you have tried and what have you ac 
 complished?" 
 
 " Why, I own a good house and lot I am married 
 and have a family of interesting children." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " But isn't that enough? " 
 
 " Hardly, for you have not taught your children 
 not to feel and until you do this your marriage 
 stands as a wrong. About a year ago one of your 
 boys lost an arm at a saw-mill. Weren't you the 
 primary cause of his suffering, and is not the primary 
 cause the meanest of all causes?" 
 
 " I won't talk to you," the mayor declared. " There 
 is no reason in your argument and no humanity in 
 your conclusions." "But come," he added in a 
 softened voice, " why don't you make an effort to 
 keep sober?"
 
 DAN MITERS. 295 
 
 " Because I don't want to keep sober." 
 
 " And why not?" 
 
 "Sobriety is the mother of thought." 
 
 " And you don't want to think is that it? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And why don't you want to think? Tour 
 thoughts might amount to something. The greatest 
 man, you know, is the greatest thinker." 
 
 " So is the greatest sufferer." 
 
 "And when you think you suffer, eh? " 
 
 "Yesj and so do all men. Go into the library 
 and look about you, and what do you Bee ? " 
 
 "Books," the mayor answered. 
 
 " And what are books ? " 
 
 "Gifts from superior minds," the mayor replied. 
 
 "No," said the drunkard. " They are the records 
 of human suffering. Every great book is an ache 
 from a heart and a pain-throb from a brain. But 
 what's the use of all this talk? What concerns me 
 most at present is where am I going to get a drink ? " 
 
 "There you go with your dogmatism." 
 
 " There you go, measuring the grains of my want 
 in your half -bushel. You don't need a drink and 
 you say that I don't. I would not presume to say 
 what other men need, but it seemc to be the province 
 of all other men to dictate to me. Come, I am 
 growing too sober, and shall begin to think pretty 
 soon. "Won't you please help me out ? Let me have
 
 296 DAN MITERS. 
 
 twenty -five cents; you can spare it. A man who 
 doesn't drink has but little real need for money, 
 anyway. Let me have twenty-five cents and I'll do 
 any sort of work you want me to." 
 
 "Will you help me fix up the address I've got 
 to deliver at that political gathering ? " 
 
 "Yes, I will." 
 
 " And swear that you'll never tell that you helped 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes, I'll do that, too." 
 
 " And you will draw up a paper swearing that you 
 didn't write the address I delivered last month to 
 the Oddfellows ? I want you to do this, for I have 
 heard it hinted around that you had a hand in it." 
 
 " Yes, I'll do anything." 
 
 Dan was about to turn away after receiving the 
 money, when he caught sight of a woman crossing 
 the courthouse yard. 
 
 "Who is that?" he asked. 
 
 " Mrs. Burkley, the widow we have employed to 
 teach our school," the mayor answered. 
 
 " Where did she come from ?" 
 
 " From Wilson county, I believe. Did you ever 
 meet her?" 
 
 "I think not," he said, and hastened toward a 
 doggery on the opposite side of the street
 
 DAN MITEBS. 287 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 ON a hill a short distance from the village, a hill 
 shaded by poplar trees, was an old schoolhouse, 
 originally built of logs, but now weather-boarded 
 and white-washed. The Widow Burkley had just 
 told the children that they might go out and play 
 until she called them, when the door was darkened 
 by a reddish apparition. The widow uttered a be 
 fitting little shriek, and then, realizing that there 
 was no serious cause for alarm, said: "Come in." 
 She would not have extended this invitation had 
 she not wanted to set an example of courage. 
 
 Dan Miters stepped into the room. He stood for 
 a moment, looking at the widow, and then said: 
 " Don't be afraid of me. I saw you yesterday and 
 didn't know but you " 
 
 "Is it possible?" the woman exclaimed. 
 
 " That is what I was going to ask," Dan replied, 
 seating himself on a bench. " Twenty years some 
 times make a great change in appearance, even 
 though hearts sometimes remain the same." 
 
 " Have you come here to reproach me ? Chil 
 dren," she added, turning to several youngsters that
 
 298 DAN MITERS. 
 
 showed a disposition to loiter about the door, " run 
 along now and play." 
 
 The children vanished and the widow, looking 
 out to see if they were within hearing, said: "I 
 have suffered too much to bear reproach now." 
 
 " But don't you think that you deserve reproach ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 u No. I acted as I thought best. I promised to 
 marry you and while you were with me you did 
 exercise so strong an influence that I thought I 
 loved you, but when you were gone, I knew that I 
 didn't. I saw that I was charmed by your mind, 
 but not warmed by your heart. Another man came. 
 He was not bright; he had many foolish words, 
 but love is sometimes best expressed in words that 
 are foolish. You awoke my admiration ; he thrilled 
 my heart. Then I wrote and told you not to think of 
 me again. I was buried in the roses of my own 
 happiness. How could I think of you?" 
 
 "And you married that man?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And were you happy?" 
 
 " For a time. Then the dew fell off the flowers. 
 What could the flowers do but wither ? We went to 
 a distant town and there he deserted ma" 
 
 "Is he still living?" 
 
 ** He was hanged." 
 
 "Do you love his memory?"
 
 DAN MITERS. 299 
 
 " No, I have learned to think, and thought is a 
 dagger to foolish love." 
 
 " Did you know that I was here?" 
 
 "No; some one told me that you were lost at 
 sea." 
 
 " Did you sorrow over the news?" 
 
 "No; I did not love you." 
 
 " Did you not hear something else ?" 
 
 "Not until a year ago, and then I heard that you 
 were alive and a hopeless drunkard." 
 
 "Weren't you moved at that?" 
 
 "I was moved with pity." 
 
 " And would your pity sink deeper into your 
 heart if I were to tell you that I am the most hope 
 less of all drunkards? Look at me. Look." He 
 opened his coat. "I have given my old shirt to a 
 negro for a drink. Does your pity sink deeper?" 
 
 " Oh, please go away, George, go away. You dis 
 tress me nearly to death. My God! I have suffered 
 enough." 
 
 " Ah, but not for me. Ton have suffered because 
 your own heart has been wrung ; you have not suf 
 fered because of my degradation and despair. Mary, 
 you still have it in your power to save me. With 
 your help I can kill my appetite. I can do some 
 thing for us both. Be my wife and atone for the 
 awful wreck you made years ago." 
 
 " George, I have always been true to myself. I 
 don't love you."
 
 300 DAN MITERS. 
 
 "Couldn't you learn couldn't there be prog 
 ress?" 
 
 "There could be progress, but that progress 
 would be toward hatred." 
 
 He looked at her in silence. He took up his old 
 hat, which had been dropped on the floor, and turned 
 it round and round in his hand. He looked down at 
 his shoes, from which his toes protruded. He got 
 up with a stagger, gazed at her a moment, and then 
 an expression, not a smile, but an expression like 
 that which follows the swallowing of a bitter 
 draught, broke through the red stubble about his 
 mouth. " Mrs. I don't know your name," he 
 began, " but Mrs. Somebody, you are the most 
 merciless creature that ever lived." 
 
 " The children say I'm kind." 
 
 " You have the spirit of a vampire." 
 
 " The children think I have the spirit of gentle 
 ness." 
 
 " I hope you may die the most horrible of all 
 deaths. I pray to God that you may die of hydro 
 phobia I implore God that a mad dog may bury 
 his teeth in your throat." 
 
 "Go away," she screamed. "Come, children/' 
 she cried." " Go away from here, you monster. I 
 hate you. I wish but I can't think of anything 
 horrible enough. Now go." 
 
 ********
 
 DAN MITERS. 801 
 
 The village was the scene of fear-inspired ferment. 
 A report that a powerful mad dog had been seen in 
 the neighborhood was circulated by an excited 
 farmer. The bravest of men shudder at the sight 
 of a mad dog. Men who would fight a grizzly bear 
 tremble if they see a mad dog. Double fastenings 
 were put on every door. The widow Burkley was 
 terror-stricken. She could not be induced to leave 
 her room. Gradually the excitement died away. 
 School was resumed but the widow was tremulous. 
 
 She left the schoolhouse very late one evening. 
 Two rebellious boys had been kept in. When lib 
 erated the boys ran away. The widow tried to keep 
 up with them. She could not. She was hurrying 
 along the path when a man came dashing past on a 
 horse. "Mad dog! mad dog!" he yelled. The 
 widow screamed and looked back. The dog was 
 bounding toward her. She fainted. 
 
 No one had the courage to look for ihe widow. 
 Late at night, almost a maniac, she knocked at the 
 door of the house where she boarded. 
 
 Morning came. A startling discovery was made. 
 Dan and the mad dog were found lying across the 
 path near the place where the woman had fainted. 
 The dog's teeth were buried in Dan's throat. Dan's 
 fingers were stiffened about the dog's neck. Both 
 were dead
 
 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 CHAPTEB I. 
 
 THE people of the Bald Knob neighborhood on 
 the Missouri Pacific railway couldn't understand 
 why Clem Holder should go wrong. His people 
 were surely honest, and certainly did everything 
 that lay within the range of their ability to give the 
 boy a start in life, but he went wrong. But not in t];e 
 tiresome, every-day manner, mind you. He didn't 
 steal a horse and thereby invite the contempt of the 
 neighborhood; he did not commit an offense so com 
 monplace and go free from exposure that a man ot 
 ordinary nerve would have contemplated it without 
 alarm. No, he jumped on a pay car, robbed the 
 paymaster and killed a meddlesome fellow who 
 ventured to protest, or offer advice, or something at 
 the sort. 
 
 "What a handsome fellow Clem was. He was 
 strong and of rather good size, but his features were 
 as delicate and as refined as a girl's. His eyes were 
 of that peculiar blue that bespeak innocence or 
 
 308
 
 304 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 deviltry, you can never determine which, and his 
 hair was long and inclined to curl. Had he been 
 reared in the old atmosphere of Italy, he would 
 either have been an artist or a bandit. He had been 
 morbidly restless all his life, dissatisfied with the 
 present and feeling that the future had nothing for 
 him, and when his parents had bade the world good 
 night and gone to eternity's bed, he yielded no 
 longer to restraint. 
 
 The Missouri Pacific Railway company effered a 
 large reward for him. The sheriff of the county 
 happened to want money at that time and said that 
 he believed he would go out and lead Clem to justice. 
 He went out on a fairly good horse and came back 
 in a wagon; and while his friends were burying him 
 near old Ebenezer church, some one remarked that 
 Clem always had been a sort of independent fellow 
 and that he was "powerful slow" in yielding to 
 persuasion. Well, a very noted man, a great catcher 
 of illicit distillers, said that Clem must answer for 
 his crimes, and with a few selected men went after 
 him. Clem met them unexpectedly and well, ho 
 still refused to yield to persuasion, and when the 
 fragments of the argument were gathered up, the 
 great catchey of illicit distillers was labled and sent 
 to his friends. 
 
 After several other attempts had been made, the 
 arrest of Clem Holder was regarded as an eventful
 
 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 305 
 
 but unenjoyable undertaking. The young fellow 
 lived in the hills, rode a good horse and, in the 
 opinion of many people who knew him, was about 
 as near a king as an American could wish to be. 
 
 For many years Clem had been deeply in love 
 with Silla Garrett, a handsome young woman, the 
 belle of a hundred country dances. She was a cold 
 piece of proud flesh. Your celebrated beauty may 
 be cold, but she can not hope to rival the imperial 
 chilliness of the backwoods belle. The rough hom 
 age of the fellow with his trousers in his boots in 
 spires more of a contemptuous loftiness in a back 
 woods queen than the polished worship of the 
 courtier could possibly inspire in a beauty celebrated 
 by two continents. 
 
 Silla did not tell Clem that she would not 
 marry him. When he had actually fallen at her 
 feet, long before he had robbed the pay car, and 
 implored her to be his wife, she had told him that 
 she was so poor herself that she could not afford to 
 marry a poor man. He had been kept so busy for 
 a time after he committed the robbery that he did 
 not have an opportunity to call on her, but several 
 days after he had parted with the great catcher of 
 illicit distillers he rode up to the fence surrounding 
 old man Garrett's house and yelled: "Hello, in 
 there!" 
 
 Silla came to the door and exclaimed: "Why, 
 so
 
 306 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 Clem Holder, what on earth are you doin' here?** 
 
 "Oh, I'm out payin' up a few calls that I hap 
 pened to owe. I've been kept pretty busy lately. I 
 used to think that I might never get into business, 
 but I've had no cause to"complain since I took up 
 railroad work." 
 
 " Clem Holder, you ought to be ashamed of your 
 self." 
 
 " Oh, I reckon it ain't as bad as that. I don't see 
 why a man should be ashamed of himself when he's 
 done as well as he can. In this life we ought to be 
 censured for failin' to do our duty, but when we 
 have improved each shinin' hour, as the feller says, 
 we ought to be complimented. Say, where'g the 
 old man?" 
 
 "Gone to mill." 
 
 " Where's the old woman?" 
 
 " Up stairs sick with a headache." 
 
 "May I come in?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why? Do you reckon I want you to come in 
 our house and be shot there?" 
 
 " Who's goin' to shoot me?" 
 
 " Oh, what's the use in askin' such foolish ques 
 tions? You know the railroad is after you." 
 
 " Yes, and the railroad is about fast enough to 
 catch me, but the train is hardly due yet. Let me
 
 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 307 
 
 come in, Silla; I've got somethin' to say to you." 
 "Can't you say it out there?" 
 " I'm afraid somebody might hear me." 
 " No, you ain't. A man that ain't afraid to rob a 
 railroad ain't afraid to have anybody hear what he 
 says." 
 
 "From a woman's standpoint, no," he answered, 
 stroking his horse's mane, "but from a man's stand 
 point, yes. A feller that ain't afraid to fight a 
 brave man is sometimes afraid to have a coward hear 
 him talk. Silla, you told me some time ago that 
 you couldn't afford to marry a poor man. You knew 
 how I loved you, knew that your words stabbed me 
 with a frost-covered knife. I wanted money I 
 wanted you, so I robbed a pay car. I'm not so 
 mighty rich yet, but I've got enough to keep you 
 from work. Now, you just get up here behind me 
 and we'll leave the country. I'll take you away off 
 somewhere and we can live as happy as a king and 
 queen. Come, Silla." 
 
 " Look here, man, do you take me for a fool?" 
 "I'd like to take you for anything. Come, Silla." 
 " Nonsense, Clem. Do you reckon I could marry 
 a robber and a a murderer? " 
 
 " I am a robber, but I'm not a murderer. I 
 robbed because I wanted you, and I shot because 
 men wanted me. Men wanted me for money. They 
 didn't care anything about justice. They wanted
 
 308 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 t the reward, and a constant seeker after reward ain't 
 any better than a robber, but that's neither here 
 fcor there. I want you to go with me." 
 
 "Oh, I can't Clem." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh, you know why. It would be so awful. I'd 
 tsve to go away where I'd never see any of my 
 folks again and oh, I just can't." 
 
 "Is it because you love some other man? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " If you do I will kill the man." 
 
 " I don't love anybody but but " 
 
 "Out with it." 
 
 "But you, Clem." 
 
 " Thank God for them words. Let me get down 
 and kiss you." 
 
 " Oh, Clem, you are the foolishest man I ever saw." 
 
 " Not foolish, but in love, Silla. May I come in 
 the house?" 
 
 "No, no; I couldn't think of such a think; pap 
 might come home." 
 
 " Well, what could he do? " 
 
 " He could give me an awful goin' over. No, 
 Clem, you mustn't come in. Some time you may, 
 but not now. Say, Clem, if I ask you something, 
 will you think me funny? " 
 
 " Nothin' that's beautiful can be funny." 
 
 " Well, I wanted to ask you this now I just know 
 you'll think I'm funny."
 
 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 309 
 
 "No, I won't." 
 
 "Honest?" and then she laughed. Talk of 
 honesty to a robber. " Honest? " she repeated. 
 
 "Honest." 
 
 "Well, how much money did you get out of 
 that pay car ? Now, there, I '.old you you'd think 
 I was funny." 
 
 He laughed and affectionately stroked his horse's 
 mane. 
 
 " Honest, now, don't you think I'm funny? " 
 
 " No. Let me see. I got about sixteen thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 "Gracious alive! " she gasped, and then exclaimed, 
 " yonder comes pap. You'd better go." 
 
 But he did not go; he sat stroking his horse's 
 mane, waiting for old man Garrett. The old fel 
 low tumbled the bag of meal on the fence, turned 
 his horse into a lot and then slowly came forward 
 with a scowl on his face. He stopped, put ono 
 foot on a low stump and then asked: "What are 
 you doin' here, Clem Holder ? " 
 
 " Oh, sorter restin' awhile." 
 
 "Well, this is a mighty pore place to rest I've 
 been livin' here fifty odd year and I ain't never had 
 no rest yet, so if you are in need of that artickle, I 
 reckon you'd better shove on somewhar else." 
 " Silla," he called, "go in the house. Now, look 
 here, Clem Holder," he added when the girl dis-
 
 310 OLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 appeared, " I want to tell you one thing, and that's 
 this: You must keep away from my house. I 
 never did have any too much use for you, and your 
 robbery and killin' ain't improved things none. 
 What are you hangin' round here for, anyway? " 
 
 " I love your daughter." 
 
 " Love the devil! " the old man stormed. 
 
 "No, love an angel." 
 
 " Well then," the old man replied, with an air of 
 compromise, "we'll say that the devil loves an 
 angel; but that ain't what I want to git at. You 
 must keep away from my house. I don't want to be 
 took up on your account and put in jail, and I won't 
 be if I can help it, nuther. You have ruined your 
 self and disgraced all your friends, and I'll be 
 blamed if you shall draw me into it Do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Yes, but I must tell you that I won't keep away 
 except on one condition." 
 
 "Well, and what is it?" 
 
 " That Silla will keep away with me." 
 
 " Clem Holder, I don't want to hurt you." 
 
 " All right, and I don't intend you shall, BO, you 
 see, we have come to a pretty good understandin'. 
 Now, let me ask you a few questions: Did the rail 
 road ever help you in any particular way ? " 
 
 "Help me! The infernal scoundrels killed J 
 cow and never paid me more than half price."
 
 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 811 
 
 Well, then, they robbed you, didn't they? " 
 
 " Of course, they did." 
 
 "Ah, hah, and I robbed them." 
 
 " But what's that got to do with me ? " 
 
 "A good deal. I will give you the price of a hun 
 dred cows if you will give me your daughter." 
 
 "Clem Holder, I have struggled along the best I 
 could and managed to live somehow, without ever 
 takin' a dishonest cent, and it is most too late to 
 begin now. Go on away from here and don't come 
 back again." 
 
 "There's no use talkin', old man, I can't do it. 
 If you won't give me your daughter, I will do you 
 as I did the railroad rob you." 
 
 "And I will do you as I did Buck Goodall ten 
 years ago kill yon." 
 
 "All right, old man, I won't deny you the pleas 
 ure of tryin', but I'll protest against the accom 
 plishment, as the feller says. Well, I must be goin'. 
 Good day."
 
 312 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 ANOTHER attempt to capture Clem Holder was 
 made, and all that kept a daring deputy sheriff from 
 biting the dust was the fact that a rain had fallen 
 the night before. But Clem was pushed so hafd 
 this time that he fled to the mountains. 
 
 One day a man called at old man Garrett's and 
 asked for Silla. She came into the room and the 
 man said; 
 
 " I want to talk sense to you for a few moments." 
 
 "That is something remarkable," she answered. 
 " It isn't often that a man wants to talk sense to a 
 woman." 
 
 He bowed and thanked her. " That fellow, Hol 
 der," said he, " has given it out that he got sixteen 
 thousand dollars from the railroad company, but he 
 didn't he got only seven hundred." 
 
 "Is that all?" she asked, with falling counte 
 nance. 
 
 "Every cent." 
 
 "Then, why are they tryin' so hard to catch him?" 
 
 " To make an example of him." 
 
 " But what have I got to do with it? " 
 
 "A good deal. You can help us catch him."
 
 OLEM, THE OUTLAW. 813 
 
 * But why should I want you to catch him ?" 
 " Now, miss, let me talk sense. If you should run 
 away and marry him hold on," he broke off, hold 
 ing up one hand. " I know that you are going to 
 say that it's none of my business, but be patient a 
 moment. If you were to run away with him he 
 would lead you a dog's life. He hasn't money 
 enough to get anywhere and it would simply be a 
 dodge and a fight all the time. You are fitted for 
 better things. If you had money enough to go to 
 a large city and put on a handsome dress, you would 
 soon become celebrated as the now, pardon me as 
 the most beautiful woman in the entire country. Ir. 
 society, a queen is nowhere in comparison with a 
 beautiful woman ; and you would stand at the Lead 
 of the list. Great men would fall down and worship 
 you and you could marry a foreign duke and live in 
 a magnificent palace. It is a woman's duty to make 
 the most of herself. Love is all well enough as a 
 poetic idea, but ill-mated love can not last. Leading 
 a dodging life a life of hardship you would soon 
 lose your beauty and then your outlaw husband 
 would find you a burden on his hands. Now, you 
 arrange it so we can capture him and we will make 
 you a queen. We will give you two thousand dol 
 lars in money and will send you to St. Louis in a 
 plendid palace car, all your own. Be sensible." 
 "**--* how can I help you catch
 
 314 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 " Easily enough. The next time you see him you 
 can make an appointment to meet him somewhere. 
 You can give him something in a glass of water to 
 make him sleep and then slip a pair of handcuffs 
 over his hands." 
 
 "Oh, I don't see how I could." 
 
 "You can, easily enough, if you are sensible. I 
 tell you that it is your duty to make the most of 
 yourself. Nature has done her part, and now you 
 must do yours." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know what to do. But I would like 
 so much to lire in a palace." 
 
 " You can, just as well as not." 
 
 " I wish I knew what to do." 
 
 "You will know when you have studied orer this 
 matter in a sensible Way. I will hang around in 
 the neighborhood. When he comes again you make 
 an appointment to meet him." 
 
 " But he may not come again soon." 
 
 "Yes, he will." The officer of the law knew that 
 the robber would come soon. The shrewd fellow 
 had adroitly sent to the mountains a report that 
 Silla was to be married. 
 
 Several days passed. It was Sunday. Old Gar- 
 rett and his wife were at church. Silla was at 
 home. A slight noise attracted her attention. 
 She went to the door. Clem had just ridden up to 
 the fence.
 
 OLEM, THE OUTLAW. 315 
 
 *' Why, what are you doin' here?" 
 
 "Lookin' for a man." 
 
 " What do you want with him?" 
 
 " Want to kill him." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Because he's goin' to marry you." 
 
 " Oh, what a goose you are. Nobody's goin' to 
 marry me, that is, not now." 
 
 " I heard you were goin' to be married." 
 
 "You've heard more'n I ever did. Clem, you 
 know I couldn't marry anybody but you." 
 
 "Well, but you won't even marry me." 
 
 " Yes, I will some time, but I can't now. Why 
 haven't you been to see me?" she asked. 
 
 "HI had thought you wanted to see me," he said, 
 " I would have risked everything and come; they 
 have been pushin' me mighty close lately. May I 
 come in?" 
 
 " No, not now; but if you will oome next Sunday 
 you may." 
 
 "Say I may come in now." 
 
 " No, next Sunday. Everybody will be away then 
 and we'll just have a lovely time." 
 
 "I will be here." 
 
 The old people went to church the following Sun 
 day. The girl eagerly watched for the coming of 
 the young man. He came. He did not ride up to 
 the fence; he came stealthily out of the woods. The
 
 316 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 girl met him at the door and kissed him. He at 
 tempted to take her in his arms but she drew back 
 and said: 
 
 " No, not now. After a while you may. Sit down 
 and talk to me nice tell me how much you love 
 me." 
 
 He put his Winchester rifle beside his chair. " If 
 I were to tell you how much I love you, I oh, I 
 couldn't do it, that's all." He remained silent for a 
 few moments and then said: " Now that I have got 
 in here I don't hardly know what to say." He was 
 silent again. " I know, though," he began after a 
 time, " that no human bein' was ever loved as much 
 as you are. I have loved you ever since you were a 
 child, and it has grown on me. The stronger I got 
 the more I loved you. I have always had you in 
 mind as an angel the emblem of all that is good, 
 and if I should lose confidence in you I wouldn't 
 care to live. I know it sounds strange when I talk 
 of anybody bein' good when I am so bad myself, 
 but I can't help it." 
 
 " Oh, you'll never have cause to lose confidence in 
 me, Clem. You look tired, dear." 
 
 "I am a little worn, for they push me mightily 
 sometimes." 
 
 " Let me fix you something to eat?" 
 
 "No, I ain't hungry. Silla," he suddenly spoke 
 up, " I will always be gentle with you, it don't make
 
 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 317 
 
 any difference if I have killed men. Oh, you are 
 an angel." Her hair had fallen loose, and, in a 
 silken maze, was hanging about her shoulders. " I 
 do believe you are the most beautiful creature in 
 the world, and it wouldn't make any difference where 
 you might go, all the other women would have to 
 take a back seat." 
 
 " I hope you'll always think so, dear. Do let me 
 fix you something. Oh, I have some of the best 
 blackberry cordial you ever drank. Won't you 
 drink some of it for me just because I made it?" 
 
 " Yes, I will do anything for you." 
 
 She brought the wine in a teacup and he drank 
 it. 
 
 " What's the matter with you, angel?" he asked. 
 " You look scared." 
 
 " Nothin'. I was just thinkin' just sorter afraid 
 that they might catch you." 
 
 " Not much danger. The only way they can do is 
 to slip up on me." 
 
 He talked of his love. " You are noddin', dear. 
 Won't you lie down on the bed for a little while ? 
 I will keep watch and tell you if I see anybody 
 cominV 
 
 " No, I must go putty soon. I must I must 
 he was asleep. She sprang to a table and snatched 
 a pair of handcuffs out of a drawer, and then, with the 
 quickness of fright, snapped them on his wrists.
 
 318 ' CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 
 
 She ran to the door and looked out. No one in 
 sight. She looked back at the sleeping man and, 
 uttering a shriek, sprang at him and wildly tried to 
 tear the handcuffs off his wrists. 
 
 "Clem!" she cried; "Clem, wake up oh, my 
 darling, wake up! Oh, I don't want to be a queen, 
 I don't want men to worship me I want your 
 Clem, oh, for God's sake, wake up! My head 
 turned, but it isn't now. Oh, I can't get them off. 
 Oh" 
 
 Three men entered the room. " Get out of here!" 
 she shrieked. " He is mine and you shan't have 
 him." 
 
 The men seized him. He did not awake. " Let 
 him be," she screamed, throwing her arms about his 
 neck and passionately kissing him. " Oh, you devils 
 you hell-hounds. Don't take him away. Oh, for 
 mercy's sake don't!" she implored, sinking upon 
 her knees. They dragged Clem toward the door. 
 She shrieked and fell on the floor, and one of the 
 
 men in his excitement trod on her beautiful hair. 
 
 * * * # # * * 
 
 The prisoner deserved no mercy, the judge said, 
 
 and so said the jury. 
 
 * # * * -*..* 
 
 A gallows was erected near the railroad track, and 
 a man slowly swung to and fro a weird accompani 
 ment to the screaking of a beam overhead.
 
 CLEM, THE OUTLAW. 319 
 
 ******* 
 
 Two men were riding along a lonely road. 
 " What peculiar noise is that?" one of them asked. 
 
 " You have heard of Clem the outlaw, haven't 
 you? He loved old Garrett's daughter. She's 
 down there in the hollow, crying. Goes down there 
 every day. She's all the time trying to tear some 
 thing off her wrists. Crazy 1" 
 
 [THE Em)
 
 MRS. WINSLOWS 
 SOOTHING SYRUP 
 
 Is an OLD and WELL TRIED REMEDY, and for over 
 FIFTY YEARS has been used by millions of mothers 
 for their CHILDREiN while CUTTING TEETH with 
 perfect success. It soothes the obild, softens the gums, 
 reduces inflammation, allays all pain. cv r es wind colic, 
 b very pleasant to the taste, and is the bcs/ 1 -emedy 
 for diarrhoea. Sold by druggists in ever par 1 f 
 the world. . . . . - . v . 
 
 Price, 25 Cents a Bottle. 
 
 Be sure and ask for MRS. WINSLOW'S SOOTHING SYRUP 
 and take no other kind, as mothers will find it the Best 
 Medicine to use during the teething period. . . .
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9 15nt-10,'48(B1039)444
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 PS 
 
 Read - 
 
 2679 The captain* s 
 R22c romance. 
 
 PS 
 
 2679 
 
 R22c