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UCSB LIBRARY
Digitized by tine Internet Arcliive
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Frank R. Stockton's Writings.
New Uniform Edition.
The Beb-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales.
The Lady, or the Tiger ? and Other Stories.
The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stones.
The Latb Mrs. Null.
Rudder Grange.
*<f* Tht set, five vols.^ $6.25 ; each, $1.25.
Rudder Grange. New Illustrated Edition. With
over 100 Illustrations by A. B. Frost. Square
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The Lady, or the Tiger? and Other Stories.
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The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories. i2mo,
paper, 50 cents.
Rudder Grange. i2mo, paper, 60 cents.
A Jolly Fellowship. Illustrated, i2mo, $1.50.
The Story of Viteau. Illustrated, i2mo, $1.50.
The Ting-a-Ling Tales. Illustrated, i2mo, $1.00.
The Floating Prince, and Other Fairy Tales.
Illustrated, 4to, cloth, $2.50 ; boards, $1.50.
Roundabout Rambles in Lands of Fact and
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$1.50.
THE
CHRISTMAS WRECK
AND OTHER STORIES
FRANK R. STOCKTON
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Copyright, 1886, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
y
RAND. AVBRT. « 00..
BLBOTROTYPBRS AND FRINTBIia
Boaroa.
COI^TEJ^TS.
PAGE
The Cheistmas Wreck 1
A Story of Assisted Fate. (In two parts) . . 23
An Unhistoric Page 66
A Tale of Negative Gravttt ..... 79
The Cloverfields Carriage Ill
The Remarkable Wreck of the " Thomas Hyke," 133
My Bull-Calf 162
The Discourager of Hesitancy 186
A Borrowed Month. (East and West) . . .196
Hi
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
"TTTELL, sir," said old Silas, as he gave a prelimi-
V V nary puff to the pipe he had just lighted, and
so satisfied himself that the draught was all right, " the
wind's a comin', an' so's Christmas. But it's no use
bein' in a hurry fur either of 'em, fur sometimes they
come afore you want 'em, anyway."
Silas was sitting in the stern of a small sailing-boat
which he owned, and in which he sometimes took the
Sandport visitors out for a sail ; and at other times
applied to its more legitimate, but less profitable use,
that of fishing. That afternoon he had taken young
Mr. Nugent for a brief excursion on that portion of
the Atlantic Ocean which sends its breakers up on the
beach of Sandport. But he had found it difficult,
nay, impossible just now, to bring him back, for the
wind had gradually died away until there was not a
breath of it left. Mr. Nugent, to whom nautical ex-
periences were as new as the very nautical suit of
blue flannel which he wore, rather liked the calm ; it
was such a relief to the monotony of rolling waves.
He took out a cigar and lighted it, and then he re-
marked :
2 TEE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
"I can easily imagine how a wind might come be-
fore you sailors might want it, but I don't see how
Christmas could come too soon."
"It come wunst on me when things couldn't a
looked more onready fur it," said Silas.
"How was that?" asked Mr. Nugent, settling
himself a little more comfortably on the hard thwart.
" If it's a story, let's have it. This is a good time to
spin a yarn."
" Very weU," said old Silas. " I'll spin her."
The bare-legged boy, whose duty it was to stay
forward and mind the jib, came aft as soon as he
smelt a story, and took a nautical position which was
duly studied by Mr. Nugent, on a bag of ballast in
the bottom of the boat.
"It's nigh on to fifteen year ago," said Silas,
"that I was on the barque, 'Mary Auguster,' bound
for Sydney, New South Wales, with a cargo of canned
goods. We was somewhere about longitood a hun-
dred an' seventy, latitood nothin', an' it was the
twenty-second o' December, when we was ketched
by a reg'lar typhoon which blew straight along, end
on, fur a day an' a half. It blew away the storm
sails ; it blew away every yard, spar, shroud, an*
every strand o' riggin', an' snapped the masts off,
close to the deck ; it blew away all the boats ; it blew
away the cook's caboose, an' every thing else on deck ;
it blew off the hatches, an' senjb 'em spinnin' in the air,
about a mile to leeward ; an' afore it got through, it
washed away the cap'n an' all the crew 'cept me an'
two others. These was Tom Simmons, the second
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 3
mate, an' Andy Boyle, a chap from the Andirondack
Mountins, who'd never been to sea afore. As he
was a landsman he ought, by rights, to a been swep'
off by the wind an' water, consid'rin' that the cap'n
an' sixteen good seamen had gone a'ready. But he
had hands eleven inches long, an' that give him a grip
which no typhoon could git the better of. Andy had
let out that his father was a miller up there in York
State, an' a story had got round among the crew that
his gran' father an' great gran 'father was millers too ;
an' the way the fam'ly got such big hands come from
their habit of scoopin' up a extry quart or two of
meal or flour for themselves when they was levelin'
off their customers' measures. He was a good-natered
feller, though, an' never got riled when I'd tell him to
clap his flour-scoops outer a halyard.
" "We was all soaked, an' washed, an' beat, an' bat-
tered. We held on some way or other till the wind
blowed itself out, an' then we got on our legs an' be-
gan to look about us to see how things stood. The
sea had washed into the open hatches till the vessel
was more'n half full of water, an' that had sunk her
so deep that she must 'a looked like a canal boat load-
ed with gravel. We hadn't had a thing to eat or drink
durin' that whole blow, an' we was pretty ravenous.
We found a keg of water which was all right, and a
box of biscuit, which was what you might call soft
tack, for they was soaked through and through with
sea-water. We eat a lot of them so, fur we couldn't
wait, an' the rest we spread on the deck to dry, fur the
sun was now shinin' hot enough to bake bread. We
4 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
couldn't go below much, fur there was a pretty good
swell on the sea, and things was floatin' about so's to
make it dangerous. But we fished out a piece of can-
vas, which we rigged up agin the stump of the main-
mast so that we could have somethin' that we could sit
down an' grumble under. What struck us all the
hardest was that the barque was loaded with a whole
cargo of jolly things to eat, which was just as good as
ever they was, fur the water couldn't git through the
tin cans in which they was all put up ; an' here we was
with nothin' to live on but them salted biscuit. There
was no way of gittiu' at any of the ship's stores, or any
of the fancy prog, fur everythin' was stowed away
tight under six or seven feet of water, an' pretty nigh
all the room that was left between decks was filled up
with extry spars, lumber, boxes, an' other floatin' stuff.
All was shiftin', an' bumpin', an' baugiu' every time
the vessel rolled.
" As I said afore, Tom was second mate, an' I was
bosen. Says I to Tom, ' the thing we've got to do is
to put up some kind of a spar with a rag on it for a
distress flag, so that we'll lose no time bein' took ofif.'
' There's no use a slavin' at anythin' like that,' says
Tom, ' fur we've been blowed off the track of traders,
an' the more we work the hungrier we'll git, an' the
sooner will them biscuit be gone.'
"Now when I heerd Tom say this I sot still, and
began to consider. Being second mate, Tom was, by
rights, in command of this craft ; but it was easy
enough to see that if he commanded there'd never be
nothin' for Andy an' me to do. All the grit he had in
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 5
him he'd used up in holdin' on durin' that typhoon.
What he wanted to do now was to make himself com-
fortable till the time come for him to go to Davy
Jones's Locker; an' thinkin', most likely, that Davy
couldn't make it any hotter fur him than it was on that
deck, still in latitood nothin' at all, fur we'd been
blowed along the line pretty nigh due West. So I
calls to Andy, who was busy turniu' over the biscuits
on the deck. ' Andy,' says I, when he had got under
the canvas, ' we's goin' to have a 'lection fur skipper.
Tom here is about played out. He's one candydate,
an' I'm another. Now, who do you vote fur? An*,
mind yer eye, youngster, that you don't make no
mistake.' ' I vote fur you,' says Andy. ' Camed
unanermous ! ' says I. ' An' I want you to take notice
that I'm cap'u of what's left of the *' Mary Auguster,"
an' you two has got to keep your minds on that, an'
obey orders.' If Davy Jones was to do all that Tom
be Simmons said when he heard this, the old chap would
kept busier than he ever was y\t. But I let him growl
his growl out, knowin' he'd come round all right, fur
there wasn't no help fur it, consid'rin' Andy an' me
was two to his one. Pretty soon we all went to work,
an' got up a spar from below which we rigged to the
stump of the foremast, with Andy's shirt atop of it.
"Them sea-soaked, sun-dried biscuit was pretty
mean prog, as you might think, but we eat so many
of 'em that afternoon an' 'cordingly drank so much
water that I was obliged to put us all on short rations
the next day. ' This is the day before Christmas,'
says Andy Boyle, ' an' to-uight will be Chiistmas Eve,
6 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
an' it'8 pretty tough fur us to be sittin' here with not
even so much hard tack as we want, an' all the time
thinkin' that the hold of this ship is packed full of the
gaj-est kind of good things to eat.' * Shut up about
Christmas ! ' says Tom Simmons. ' Them two young-
sters of mine, up in Bangor, is havin' their toes and
noses pretty nigh froze, I 'spect, but they'll hang up
their stockin's all the same to-night, never thinkin'
that their dad's bein' cooked alive on a empty stom-
ach.' 'Of course they wouldn't hang 'em up,' says
I, ' if they knowed what a fix you was in, but they
don't know it, an' what's the use of grumblin' at 'em
for bein' a little jolly.' 'Well,' says Andjs ' they
couldn't be more jollier than I'd be if I could git at
some of them fancy fixin's down in the hold. I worked
well on to a week at 'Frisco puttin' in them boxes, an'
the names of the things was on the outside of most of
'em, an' I tell j'ou what it is, mates, it made my mouth
water, even then, to read 'em, an' I wasn't hungry
nuther, havin' plenty to eat three times a day. There
was roast beef, an' roast mutton, an' duck, an' chick-
en, an' soup, an peas, an' beans, an' tennaters, an'
plum-puddin' , an' mince-pie * 'Shut up with
your mince-pie ! * sung out Tom Simmons. ' Isn't it
enough to have to gnaw on these salt chips, without
hearin' about mince-pie?' 'An' more'n that,' says
Andy, ' there was canned peaches, an' pears, an'
plums, an* cherries.'
" Now these things did sound so cool an' good to
me on that broilin' deck, that I couldn't stand it, an'
I leans over to Andy, an* I says : " Now look a here,
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 7
if you don't shut up talkin' about them things what's
stowed below, an' what we can't git at, nohow, over-
board you go ! ' 'That would make you short-handed,'
says Andy, with a grin. ' Which is more'n you could
say,' says I, ' if you'd chuck Tom an' me over ' — al-
ludin' to his eleven-inch grip. Andy didn't say no
more then, but after a while he comes to me as I was
lookin' round to see if anything was in sight, an' says
he, 'I s'pose you ain't got nuthin' to say agin my
divin' into the hold just aft of the foremast, where
there seems to be a bit of pretty clear water, an' see
if I can't git up something? ' ' You kin do it, if you
like,' saj'S I, ' but it's at your own risk. You can't
take out no Insurance at this office.' ' All right then,'
says Andy, * an' if I git stove in by floatiu' boxes, you
an' Tom'll have to eat the rest of them salt crackers.'
' Now, boy,' says I — an' he wasn't much more, bein'
only nineteen year old — 'you'd better keep out o' that
hold. You'll just git yourself smashed. An' as to
movin' any of them there heavy boxes, which must be
swelled up as tight as if they was part of the ship, you
might as well try to pull out one of the " Mary Augus-
ter's " ribs.' 'I'll try it,' says Andy, ' fur to-morrer is
Christmas, an' if I kin help it I ain't goin' to be floatin'
atop of a Christmas dinner without eatin' any on it.' I
let him go, fur he was a good swimmer and diver, an'
I did hope he might root out somethin' or other, fur
Christmas is about the worst day in the year fur men
to be starvin' on, and that's what we was a comin' to.
"Well, fur about two hours Andy swum, an' dove,
an' come up blubberin', an' dodged all sorts of floatin*
8 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
an* pitchin* stuff, fur the swell was still on ; but he
couldn't even be so much as sartain that he'd found the
canned vittles. To dive down through hatchwaj's,
an' among broken bulkheads, to huut fur anj^ partiklar
kind o' boxes under seven feet of sea-water, ain't no
easy job ; an' though Andy says he got hold of the
end of a box that felt to him like the big 'uns he'd
noticed as havin' the meat pies in, he couldn't move
it no raore'n if it had been the stump of the foremast.
If we could have pumiced the water out of the hold we
could have got at any part of the cargo we wanted,
but as it was, we couldn't even reach the ship's stores,
which, of course, must have been mostly spiled any-
way ; whereas the canned vittles was just as good as
new. The pumps was all smashed, or stopped up, for
we tried 'em, but if they hadn't a been we three
couldn't never have pumped out that ship on three
biscuit a da}', and only about two days' rations at that.
" So Andy he come up, so fagged out that it was as
much as he could do to get his clothes on, though they
wasn't much, an' then he stretched himself out under
the canvas an' went to sleep, an' it wasn't long afore
he was talkin' about roast turkey an' eranben-y sass,
an' punkin pie, an' sech stuff, most of which we knowed
was under our feet that present minute. Tom Simmons
he just b'iled over, an* sung out : ' Roll him out in the
sun and let him cook ! I can't stand no more of this ! '
But I wasn't goin' to have Andy treated no sech way
as that, fur if it hadu't been fur Tom Simmons' wife
an' young uns, Andy'd been worth two of him to any-
body who was cousid'rin' savin' life. But I give the
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 9
boy a good punch in the ribs to stop his dreamin', fur
I was as hungry as Tom was, and couldn't stand no
nonsense about Christmas dinners.
" It was a little ai'ter noon when And}' woke up,
an' he went outside to stretch himself. In about a
minute he give a yell that made Tom and me jump.
' A sail ! ' he hollered, ' a sail ! ' An' you may bet
your life, young man, that 'twasn't more'n half a
second before us two had scuffled out from under that
canvas, an' was standin' by Andy. ' There she is ! '
he shouted, ' not a mile to win'ard.' I give one look,
an' then I sings out : ' Tain't a sail ! It's a flag of
distress ! Can't you see, j-ou land-lubber, that that's
the stars and stripes upside down? ' ' Why, so it is,'
said Andy, with a couple of reefs in the joyfulness of
his voice. An' Tom, he began to growl as if some-
body had cheated him out of half a year's wages.
" The flag that we saw was on the hull of a steamer
that had been driftin' down on us while we was sittin'
under our canvas. It was plain to see she'd been
caught in the typhoon too, fur there wasn't a mast or
a smoke stack on her ; but her hull was high enough
out of the water to catch what wind there was, while
we was so low-sunk that we didn't make no way at all.
There was people aboard, and they saw us, an' waved
their hats an' arms, an' Andy an' me waved ours, but
all we could do was to wait till they drifted nearer, fur
we hadn't no boats to go to 'em if we'd a wanted to.
" ' I'd like to know what good that old hulk is to
us,' said Tom Simmons. ' She can't take us off.' It
did look to me somethin' like the blind ieadin' the
10 THE CITRISTMAS WRECK.
blind ; but Andy he sings out : ' "We'd be better off
aboard of her, fur she aint' water-logged, an', more'n
that, I don't 8 'pose her stores are all soaked up in
salt water.' . There was some sense in that, and when
the steamer had got to within half a mile of us, we was
glad to see a boat put out from her with three men in
it. It was a queer boat, very low an' flat, an' not like
any ship's boat I ever see. But the two fellers at the
oars pulled stiddy, an' pretty soon the boat was 'long-
side of us, an' the three men on our deck. One of
'em was the first mate of the other wreck, an' when he
found out what was the matter with us, he spun his
yarn, which was a longer one than ours. His vessel
was the ' Water Crescent,' nine hundred tons, from
'Frisco to Melbourne, and they had sailed about six
weeks afore we did. They was about two weeks out
when some of their machinery broke down, an' when
they got it patched up it broke agin, worse than afore,
so that they couldn't do nothin' with it. They kep*
along under sail for about a month, makin' mighty
poor headway till the typhoon struck 'em, an' that
cleaned their decks off about as slick as it did ours,
but their hatches wasn't blowed off, an' they didn't
ship no water wuth mentionin', an' the crew havin'
kep' below, none on 'em was lost. But now they was
clean out of provisions and water, havin' been short
when the break-down happened, fur they had sold all
the stores they could spare to a French brig in distress
that they overhauled when about a week out. When
they sighted us they felt pretty sure they'd git some
provisions out of us. But when I told the mate what
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 11
a fix we was in his jaw dropped till his face was as
long as one of Andy's hands. Howsomdever he said
he'd send the boat back fur as many men as it could
bring over, and see if they couldn't get up some of
our stores. Even if they was soaked with salt water,
they'd be better than nothin'. Part of the cargo of
the 'Water Crescent' was tools an' things fur some
railway contractors out in Australier, an" the mate
told the men to bring over some of them irons that
might be used to fish out the stores. All their ship's
boats had been blowed away, an' the one they had
was a kind of shore boat for fresh water, that had been
shipped as part of the cargo, an' stowed below. It
couldn't stand no kind of a sea, but there wasn't nothin'
but a swell on ; an' when it come back it had the cap'n
in it, an' five men, besides a lot of chains an' tools.
"Them fellers an' us worked pretty nigh the rest
of the day, an' we got out a couple of bar'ls of water,
which was all right, havin' been tight bunged ; an' a
lot of sea biscuit, all soaked an' sloppy, but we only
got a half bar'l of meat, though three or four of the
men stripped an' dove fur more'n an hour. "We cut
up some of the meat, an' eat it raw, an' the cap'n sent
some over to the other wreck, which had drifted past
us to leeward, an' would have gone clean away from
us if the cap'n hadn't had a line got out an' made us
fast to it while we was a workin' at the stores.
" That night the cap'n took us three, as well as the
provisions we'd got out, on board his hull, where the
'commodations was consid'able better than they was on
the half -sunk ' Mary Auguster.' An' afore we turned
12 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
in he took me aft, an' had a talk with me as com-
mandin' off'cer of my vessel. ' That wreck o' yourn,'
says he, ' has got a vallyble cargo in it, which isn't
spiled by bein' under water. Now, if you could get
that cargo into port it would put a lot of money in
your pocket, fur the owners couldn't git out of payin'
you fur takiu' charge of it, an' bavin' it brung in. Now
I'll tell yoh what I'll do. I'll lie by you, an' I've got
carpentei-s aboard that'll put your pumps in order, an'
I'll set my men to work to pump out 3'our vessel. An'
then, when she's afloat all right, I'll go to work agin
at my vessel, which I didn't s'pose there was any use
o' doin' ; but whilst I was huntin' round amongst our
cargo to-day I found that some of the machinery we
carried might be worked up so's to take the place of
what is broke in our engin'. We've got a forge aboard
an' I believe we can make these pieces of machinery
fit, an' git goin' agin. Then I'll tow 3'ou into Sydney,
an' we'll divide the salvage money. I won't git nothin'
for savin' my vessel, coz that's my biz n ess ; but you
wasn't cap'n o' yourn, an' took charge of her a pur-
pose to save her, which is another thing.'
" I wasn't at all sure that I didn't take charge of
the ' Mary Auguster ' to save myself an' not the vessel,
but I didn't mention that, an' asked the cap'n how he
expected to live all this time. ' Oh, we kin git at your
stores easy enough,' says he, ' when the water's pumped
out.' 'They'll be mostly spiled,' says I. 'That don't
matter,' says he, ' men'U eat anythin', when they can't
git nothin' else.' Au* with that he left me to think it
over.
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 18
" I must say, young man, an' you kin b'lieve me if
you know auythin' about sech things, that the idee of
a pile of money was mighty temptin' to a feller like
me, who had a girl at home ready to marry him, and
who would like nothin' better'n to have a little house
of his own, an' a little vessel of his own, an' give up
the other side of the world altogether. But while I
was goin' over all this in my mind, an' wonderin' if
the eap'n ever could git us into port, along comes Andy
Boyle, and sits down beside me. ' It drives me pretty
nigh crazy,' says he, ' to think that to-morrer's Christ-
mas, an' we've got to feed on that sloppy stuff we
fished out of our stores, an' not much of it nuther,
while there's all that roast turkey, an' plum-puddin',
an* mince-pie, a floatin' out there just before our eyes,
an' we can't have none of it.' ' You hadn't oughter
think so much about eatin', Andy,' says I, 'but if I
was talkin' about them things I wouldn't leave out
canned peaches. By George ! Of a hot Christmas
like this is goin' to be, I'd be the jolliest Jack on the
ocean if I could git at that canned fruit.' 'Well,
there's a way,' says Andy, ' that we might git some
of 'em. A part of the cargo of this ship is stuff for
blastin' rocks ; catridges, 'lectric bat'ries, an' that
sort of thing ; an' there's a man aboard who's goin'
out to take charge of 'em. I've been talkin' to this
bat'ry man, an' I've made up my mind it'll be easy
enough to lower a little catridge down among our cargo,
an' blow out a part of it.' ' What ud be the good of
it,' says I, ' blowed into chips?' 'It might smash
some,' he said, ' but others would be only loosened,
14 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
an' they'd float up to the top, where we could get 'em,
'specially them as was packed with pies, which must
be pretty light.' 'Git out, Andy,' says I, 'with all
that stuff ! ' An' he got out.
" But the idees he'd put into my head didn't git out,
an' as I laid on my back on the deck, lookin' up at the
stars, they sometimes seemed to put themselves into
the shape of little houses, with a little woman cookin'
at the kitchin fire, an' a little schooner layin' at anchor
just off shore ; an' then agin they'd hump themselves
up till they looked like a lot of new tin cans with their
tops off, an' all kinds of good things to eat inside,
'specially canned peaches — the big white kind — soft
an' cool, each one split in half, with a holler in the
middle filled with juice. By George, sir, the very
thought of a tin can like that made me beat ray heels
agin the deck. I'd been mighty hungry, an' had eat
a lot of salt pork, wet an' raw, an' now the very idee
of it, even cooked, turned my stomach. I looked up
to the stars agin, an' the little house an' the little
schooner was clean gone, an' the whole sky was filled
with nothin' but bright new tin cans.
"In the mornin', Andy, he come to me agin.
'Have you made up your mind,' says he, 'about git-
tin' some of them good things for Christmas dinner?'
' Confound you ! ' says I, ' you talk as if all we had
to do was to go an' git 'em.' 'An' that's what I
b'lieve we kin do,* says he, ' with the help of that
bat'ry man.' ' Yes,' says I, ' an' blow a lot of the
cargo into flinders, an' damage the " Mary Auguster"
so's she couldn't never be took into port.' An' tlien
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 15
I told him what the cap'n had said to me, an' what I
was goin' to do with the money. 'A little catridge,'
says Andy, ' would do all we want, an' wouldn't hurt
the vessel nuther. Besides that, I don't b'lieve what
this cap'n says about tiukerin' up his engin'. Tain't
likely he'll ever git her runnin' agin, nor pump out the
" Mary Auguster " nuther. If I was you I'd a durned
sight ruther have a Christmas dinner in hand than
a house an' wife in the bush.' ' I ain't thinkiu' o'
marryin' a girl in Australier,' says I. An' Andy he
grinned, an' said I wouldn't marry nobody if I had to
live on spiled vittles till I got her.
"A little after that I went to the cap'n, an' I told
him about Andy's idee, but he was down on it. ' It's
your vessel, an' not mine,' says he, ' an* if you want
to try to git a dinner out of her I'll not stand in your
way. But it's my 'pinion you'll just damage the ship,
an' do nothin*.' Howsomdever I talked to the bat'ry
man about it, an' he thought it could be done, an' not
hurt the ship nuther. The men was all in favor of it,
for none of 'em had forgot it was Christmas day. But
Tom Simmons, he was agin it strong, for he was
thinkin' he'd git some of the money if we got the ' Mary
Auguster' into port. He was a selfish-minded man,
was Tom, but it was his nater, an' I s'pose he couldn't
help it.
"Well, it wasn't long afore I began to feel pretty
empty, an' mean, an' if I'd a wanted any of the prog
we got out the day afore, I couldn't have found much,
for the men had eat it up nearly all in the night. An'
so, I just made up my mind without any more foolin',
16 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
an' me, and Andy Boyle, an' the bat'ry man, with
some catiidges an' a coil of wire, got into the little
shore boat, and pulled over to the 'Mary Auguster.*
There we lowered a small catridge down the main hatch-
way, an' let it rest down among the cargo. Then we
rowed back to the steamer, uncoilin' the wire as we
went. The bat'ry man dumb up on deck, an' fixed
his wire to a 'lectric machine, which he'd got all ready
afore we started. Andy and me didn't git out of the
boat ; we had too much sense for that, with all them
hungry fellers waitin' to jump in her ; but we just
pushed a little off, an' sot waitin', with our mouths a
waterin', for him to touch her off. He seemed to be a
long time about it, but at last he did it, an' that in-
stant there was a bang on board the ' Mary Auguster '
that made my heart jump. Andy an' me pulled fur
her like mad, the others a hoUerin' arter us, an' we
was on deck in no time. The deck was all covered
with the water that had been throwed up ; but I tell
you, sir, that we poked an' fished about, an' Andy
stripped an' went down, an' swum all round, an' we
couldn't find one floatin' box of canned goods. There
was a lot of splintei-s, but where they come from we
didn't know. By this time my dander was up, an'
I just pitched around savage. That little catridge
wasn't no good, an' I didn't intend to stand any more
foolin*. "We just rowed back to the other wreck, an'
I called to the bat'ry man to come down, an' bring
some bigger catridges with him, fur if we was goin' to
do anythin' we might as well do it right. So he got
down with a package of bigger ones, an' jumped into
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 17
the boat. The cap'n he called out to us to be keerful,
an' Tom Simmons leaned over the rail, an' swored,
but I didn't pay no' tention to nuther of 'em, an' we
pulled away.
"When I got aboard the ' Mary Auguster ' I says
to the bat'ry man : ' We don't want no nonsense this
time, an' I want you to put in enough catridges to
heave up somethin' that'll do fur a Christmas dinner.
I don't know how the cargo is stored, but you kin
put one big catridge 'midship, another for'ard, an'
another aft, an' one or nutlier of 'em oughter fetch
up somethin'.' Well, we got the three catridges into
place. They was a good deal bigger than the one we
first used, an' we j'ined 'em all to one wire, an' then
we rowed back, carryin' the long wire with us. When
we reached the steamer, me an' Andy was a goin' to
stay in the boat as we did afore, but the cap'n sung
out that he wouldn't allow the bat'ry to be touched off
till we come aboard. ' Ther's got to be fair play,* says
he. ' It's your vittles, but it's my side that's doin'
the work. After we've blasted her this time you
two can go in the boat, an' see what there is to get
hold of, but two of my men must go along.' So me
an' Andy had to go on deck, an' two big fellers was
detailed to go with us in the little boat when the
time come ; an' then the bat'ry man, he teched her
oflf.
" Well, sir, the pop that followed that tech was
somethin' to remember. It shuck the water, it shuck
the air, an' it shuck the hull we was on. A reg'lar
cloud of smoke, an' flyin' bits of things rose up out
18 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
of the ' Mary Auguster.' An' when that smoke cleared
awa}', an' the water was all bilin' with the splash of
various sized hunks that come rainin' down from the
sky, what was left of the ' Mary Auguster ' was
sprinkled over the sea like a wooden carpet for water
birds to walk on.
"Some of the men sung out one thing, an' some
another, an* I could hear Tom Simmons swear, but
Andy an' me said never a word, but scuttled down
into the boat, foUcred close by the two men who was
to go with us. Then we rowed like devils for the lot
of stuff that was bobbin' about on the water, out
where the ' Mary Auguster ' had been. In we went,
among the floatin' spars and ship's timbers, I keepin*
the things off with an oar, the two men rowin', an'
Andy in the bow.
" Suddenly Andy give a yell, an' then he reached
himself for'ard with sech a bounce that I thought he'd
go overboard. But up he come in a minnit, his two
'leven-inch hands gripped round a box. He sot down
in the bottom of the boat with the box on his lap, an'
his eyes screwed on some letters that was stamped on
one end. ' Pidjin pies ! ' he sings out. ' Tain't tur-
keys, nor 'tain't cranberries. But, by the Lord Harry,
it's Christmas pies all the same ! ' After that Andy
didn't do no more work, but sot holdin' that box as
if it had been his fust baby. But we kep' pushin' on
to see what else there was. It's my 'pinion that the
biggest part of that bark's cargo was blowed into
mince meat, an* the most of the rest of it was so
heavy that it sunk. But it wasn't all busted up, an'
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 19
it didn't all sink. There was a big piece of wreck
with a lot of boxes stove into the timbers, and some
of these had in 'em beef read}' biled an' packed into
cans, an' there was other kinds of meat, an' dif'rent
sorts of vegetables, an' one box of turtle soup. I
looked at every one of 'em as we took 'em in, an'
when we got the little boat pretty well loaded I wanted
to still keep on searchin', but the men, they said that
shore boat ud sink if we took in any more cargo, an'
so we put back, I feelin' glummer'n I oughter felt, fur
I had begun to be afeared that canned fruit, such as
peaches, was heavy, an' li'ble to sink.
" As soon as we had got our boxes aboard, four
fresh men put out in the boat, an' after awhile they,
come back with another load ; an' I was mighty keer-
ful to read the names on all the boxes. Some was
meat pies, an' some was salmon, an' some was potted
heriins, an' some was lobsters. But nary a thing
could I see that ever had growed on a tree.
" Well, sir, there was three loads brought in, alto-
gether, an' the Christmas dinner we had on the for'ard
deck of that steamer's hull was about the jolliest one
that was ever seen of a hot day aboard of a wreck in
the Pacific Ocean. The cap'n kept good order, an'
when all was ready the tops was jerked off the boxes,
and each man grabbed a can an' opened it with his
knife. When he had cleaned it out, he tuk another
without doin' much questionin' as to the bill of fare.
Whether anybody got pidjin pie 'cept Andy, I can't
say, but the way we piled in Delmoniker prog would
a made people open their eyes as was eatin' their
20 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
Christmas dinners on shore that day. Some of the
things would a been better, cooked a little more, or
het up, but we was too fearful hungry to wait for that,
an' they was tip-top as they was.
" The cap'n went out afterwards, an' towed in a
couple of bar'ls of flour that was only part soaked
through, an' he got some other plain prog that would
do fur f utur use ; but none of us give our minds to
stuff like this arter the glorious Christmas dinner that
we'd quanied out of the ' Mar}' Auguster.' Every man
that wasn't on duty went below, and turned in for a
snooze. All 'cept me, an' I didn't feel just altogether
satisfied. To be sure I'd had an A 1 dinner, an' though
a little mixed, I'd never eat a jollier one on any Christ-
mas that I kin look back at. But, fur all that, there
was a hanker inside o' me. I hadn't got all I'd laid
out to git, when we teched off the ' Mary Auguster.'
The day was blazin' hot, an' a lot of the things I'd eat
was pretty peppery. ' Now,' thinks I, ' if there had a
been just one can o' peaches sech as I see shinin' in
the stars last night,' an' just then, as I was walkin'
aft, all by myself, I seed lodged on the stump of the
mizzenmast, a box with one corner dmv down among
the splinters. It was half split open, an' I could see
the tin cans shinin' through the crack. I give one
jump at it, an' wrenched the side off. On the top of
the first can I seed was a picture of a big white peach
with green leaves. That box had been blowed up so
high that if it had come down anywhere 'cept among
them splinters it would a smashed itself to flinders, or
killed somebody. So fur as I know, it was the only
THE CHRISTMAS WRECK. 21
thing that fell nigh us, an' by George, sir, I got it !
When I had finished a can of 'em I hunted up Andy,
an' then we went aft, an' eat some more. ' Well,'
says Andy, as we was a eatin', 'how d'3'e feel now
about blowin' up your wife, an' your house, an' that
little schooner you was goin' to own ? '
"'Andy,' says I, 'this is the joyfulest Christmas
I've had yit, an' if I was to live till twenty hundred I
don't b'lieve I'd have no joyfuler, with things comin'
in so pat, so don't you throw no shadders.'
" ' Shadders,' says Andy, 'that ain't me. I leave
that sort of thing fur Tom Simmons.'
" ' Shadders is cool,' says I, ' an' I kin go to sleep
under all he throws.'
" Well sir," continued old Silas, putting his hand on
the tiller and turning his face seaward, " if Tom Sim-
mons had kept command of that wreck, we all would
a laid there an' waited an' waited till some of us was
starved, an' the others got nothiu' fur it, fur the cap'n
never mended his engin', an' it was more'n a week
afore we was took off, an' then it was by a sailin'
vessel, which left the hull of the ' Water Crescent ' be-
hind her, just as she would a had to leave the ' Mary
Auguster ' if that jolly old Christmas wreck had a been
there.
"An' now sir," said Silas, "d'ye see that stretch
o' little ripples over yander, lookin' as if it was a lot
o' herrin' turnin' over to dry their sides? Do you
know what that is? That's the supper wind. That
means coffee, an' hot cakes, an' a bit of br'iled fish,
22 THE CHRISTMAS WRECK.
an' pertaters, an' p'raps — if the old woman feels in
a partiklar good humor — some canned peaches, big
white uns, cut in half, with a holler place in the middle
filled with cool, sweet juice."
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
I.
TN a general way I am not a superstitions man, but
-*- I have a few ideas, or notions, in regard to fatality
and kindred subjects of which I have never been able
entirely to dispossess my mind ; nor can I say that I
have ever tried very much to do so, for I hold that a
certain amount of irrationalism in the nature of a man
is a thing to be desired. By its aid he clambers over
the wall which limits the action of his intellect, and if
he be but sure that he can get back again no harm
may come of it, while he is the better for many
pleasant excursions.
My principal superstitious notion, and indeed the
only one of importance, is the belief that whatever I
earnestly desire and plan for will happen. This idea
does not relate to things for which people fight hard,
or work long, but to those events for which we sit
down and wait. It is truly a pleasant belief, and one
worthy to be fostered if there can be found any ground
for it. I do not exercise my little superstition veiy
often, but when I do I find things happen as I wish ;
24 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
and in cases where this . has not yet occurred there is
plenty of time to wait.
I am not a very old person, being now in my twenty-
eighth year, but my two sisters, who live with me, as
well as most of my acquaintances, look upon me, I
think, as an older man. This is not due to my experi-
ence in the world, for I have not gone out a great deal
among my fellow-men, but rather to my habits of read-
ing and reflection, which have so matured my intel-
lectual nature that the rest of me, so to speak, has
insensibly stepped a little faster to keep pace with it.
Grace Anna, indeed, is two years older than I, yet I
know she looks up to me as a senior quite as much as
does Bertha, who is but twenty-four.
These sisters had often laughingly assured me that
the one thing I needed was a wife, and, although I
never spoke much on the subject, in the course of time
I began to think a good deal about it, and the matter
so interested my mind that at last I did a very singular
thing. I keep a diary, in which I briefly note daily
events, especially those which may, in a degree, be
considered as eix)chs. My book has a page for every
day, with the date printed at the top thei'eof ; not a
very desirable form, perhaps, for those who would
write much on one day and very little the next, but it
suits me well enough, for I seldom enter into details.
Not many months ago, as I sat alone, one evening, in
my library, turning over the leaves of this diary, I
looked ahead at the pages intended for the days of the
year that were yet to come, and the thought entered
my mind that it was a slavish thing to be able to note
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 25
only what had happened, and not to dare to write one
word upon the blank pages of the next month, or the
next, or even of to-morrow. As I turned backward
and forward these pages devoted to a record of the
future the desire came to me to write something upon
one of them. It was a foolish fanc}', perhaps, but it
pleased me. I would like a diary, not only of what
had been, but of what was to be. I longed to chal-
lenge fate, and I did it. I selected a page, not too far
ahead and in a good time of the 3'ear, — it was Sep-
tember 14th, — and on it I wrote, —
" This day came into my life she who is to be my wife."
When I had made this strange entry I regarded it with
satisfaction. I had fully come to the conclusion that
it was due to my position as the owner of a goodly
estate that I sliould marry. I had felt that at some
time I must do something in this matter. And now a
thing was done, aud a time was fixed. It is true that
I knew no woman who was at all likely, upon the day
I had selected, or upon any other day, to exercise a
matrimonial influence upon my life. But that made
no difference to me. I had taken my fate into my own
hands, and I would now see what would happen.
It was then early in July, and in a little more than
two months, the day which I had made a very momen-
tous one to me would arrive. I can not say that I had
a positive belief that what I had written would occur
on the 14th of September, but I had a very strange
notion that, as there was no reason why it should not
be so, it would be so. At any rate, who could say it
26 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
would not be so? This sort of thing was not a be-
lief, but to all intents and purposes it was just as
good.
It was somewhat amusing even to myself, and it
would probabl3f have been very amusing to any one
else acquainted with the circumstances, to observe the
influence that this foundationless and utterly irrational
expectation had upon me. To the great delight of my
sisters, I began to attend to matters in which formerly
I had taken little interest. I set two men at work
upon the grounds about the house, giving my personal
supervision to the removal of the patches of grass in
the driveway, which led under the oaks to the door.
Here and there I had a panel of fence put it better
order, and a dead apple-tree, whicli for some time had
stood on the brow of a hill in view of the house, was
cut down and taken away.
"If any of our friends think of visiting us," said
Bertha, " they ought to come now, while every thing is
looking so trim and nice."
" Would you like that?" asked Grace Anna, look-
ing at me.
"Yes," I replied. "That is, they might begin to
come now."
At this both my sisters laughed.
"Begin to come!" cried Bertha. "How hos-
pitable you are growing ! "
Tlie summer went on, and I kept good faith with
m}' little superstition. If either of us should desert
the other, it should not be I who would do it. It
pleased me to look forward to the event which I had
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 27
called up out of the future, and to wait for it — if
perchance it should come.
One morning my sister Bertha entered my library,
with a letter in her hand and a very pleasant expres-
sion on her face. "What do you think?" she said.
"We are going to have a visit! — just as the paint
is dry on the back porch, so that we can have tea there
in the afternoon."
"A visit! " I exclaimed, regarding her with much
interest.
"Yes," continued Bertha. "Kitty Watridge is
coming to stay with us. I have written and written
to her, and now she is coming."
"Who is she?" I asked.
Bertha laughed. " You haven't forgotten the
Watridges, have you?"
No, I had not forgotten them ; at least, the only
one of them I ever knew. Old Mr. Watridge had
been a friend of my late father, a cheerful and rather
ruddy man, although much given to books. He had
been my friend, too, in the days when he used to come
to us ; and I remember well that it was he who started
me on a journey along the third shelf from the top, on
the east wall of the library, through " The World Dis-
played," in many volumes, by Smart, Goldsmith, and
Johnson ; and thence to some "New Observations on
Italy," in French, by two Swedish gentlemen, in 1758 ;
and so on through many other works of the kind,
where I found tlie countries shown forth on their
quaint pages so different from those of the same name
described in modern books of travel that it was to me
28 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
a virtual enlargement of the world. It had been a
long time since I had seen the old gentleman, and I
felt sorry for it.
" Is Mr. Watridge coming? " I asked.
"Of course not," said Bertha. "That would be
your affair. And besides, he never leaves home
now. It is only Kitty, his youngest daughter, my
friend."
I had an indistinct recollection that Mr. Watridge
had some children, and that they were daughters, but
that was all I remembered about them. "She is
grown?" I asked.
"I should think so," answered Bertha, with a
laugh. " She is at least twent}'."
If my sister could have known the intense interest
which suddenly sprung up within me she would have
been astounded. A grown-up, marriageable young
lady was coming to my house, in September! My
next question was asked hurriedly : " When will she
be here?"
" She is coming next Wednesday, the 16th,"
answered Bertha, referring to her letter.
" The 16th ! " I said to myself. " That is two days
after my date."
" What kind of a lady is she? " I asked Bertha.
"She is lovely, — just as lovely as she can be."
I now began to feel a little disappointed. If she
were lovely, as my sister said, and twenty, with good
Watridge blood, why did she not come a little sooner?
It was truly an odd thing to do, but I could not
forbear expressing what I thought. " I wish," I said.
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 29
somewhat abstractedly, "that she were coming on
Monday instead of Wednesday."
Bertha laughed heartily. "I was really afraid,"
she said, " that you might think there were enough
girls already in the house. But here you are wanting
Kitty to come before she is ready. Grace Anna!"
she cried to my elder sister, who was passing the
open door, " he isn't put out a bit, and he is in such
a hurry to see Kitty that he thinks she should come on
Monday."
It was impossible to chide my sisters for laughing
at me, and I could not help smiling myself. "It is
not that I am in a hurry to see her," I observed, " for
I do not know the young lady at all ; but I consider
Monday a more suitable day than "Wednesday for her
arrival."
"It is odd," replied Bertha, "that you should
prefer one day to another."
" Is there any reason why it does not suit you to
have her come on Wednesday?" asked Grace Anna.
" Her visit might be deferred a day or two."
Of course I could give no reason, and I did not
wish the visit deferred.
" It's just because he's so dreadfully systematic! "
cried Bertha. " He thinks every thing ought to begin
at the beginning of the week, and that even a visit
should make a fair start on Monday, and not break in
unmethodically."
My elder sister was always very considerate of my
welfare and my wishes, and had it been practicable I
believe that she would have endeavored in this instance
80 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
to make our hospitality conform to what appeared to
be my love of system and order. But she explained
to me that, apart from the awkwardness of asking the
young lady to change the day which she had herself
fixed, without being able to give any good reason
therefor, it would be extremely inconvenient for them
to have their visitor before Wednesda}', as an earlier
arrival would materially interfere with certain house-
hold arrangements.
I said no more, but I was disappointed : and this
feeling grew upon me, for the reason that during the
rest of the day and the evening my sisters talked a
great deal about their young friend, and I found that,
unless they were indeed most prejudiced judges, —
which in the case of Grace Anna, at least, I could
never believe, — this young person who was coming to
us must be possessed of most admirable personal
qualities. She was pretty ; she had excellent moral
sentiments, a well-cultured intellect, and a lovable
disposition. These, with the good blood, — which,
in my opinion, was a most important requisite, —
made up a woman in every way fitted to enter my life
in a matrimonial capacity. If, without any personal
bias, I had been selecting a wife for a friend, I could
not have expected to do better than this. That such
a young person should come within the range of my
cognizance on the wrong day would be, to say the
least, a most annoying occurrence. Why did I not
select the 16th, or she the 14th? A fate that was two
days slow might as well be no fate at all. My meeting
with the girl would have no meaning. I must admit
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 81
that the more I thought about this girl the more I
wished it should have a meaning.
During the night, or perhaps very early in the morn-
ing, a most felicitous idea came into my mind. I would
assist my fate. My idea was this : On Monday I
would drive to Mr. Watridge's house. It was a pleas-
ant day's journey. I would spend Tuesday with him,
and, returning on Wednesday, I could bring Miss Kitty
with me. Thus all the necessary conditions would be
fulfilled. She would come into my life on the 14th,
and I would have opportunities of knowing her which
probably would not occur to me at home. Everything
would happen as it should ; only, instead of the lady
coming to me, I should go to her.
As I expected, my project, when I announced it at
the breakfast table, was the occasion of much mirth,
especially on the part of Bertha. " I never saw any
thing like it!" she cried. "You want to see Kitty
even more than I do. I should never have thought of
such a thing as going for her two days in advance."
"As it would have been impossible for you to do
so," said I, " I can easily conceive that you would not
have allowed the idea to enter your mind."
Grace Anna, however, looked upon my plan with
much favor, and entered into its details with interest,
dwelling particularly on the pleasure Mr. Watridge
would derive from my visit.
I looked forward with great pleasure to the little
journey I was about to make. The distance from
Eastover, my residence, to Mr. "Watridge's house was
some twent^'-five miles, — a very suitable day's drive
32 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
in fine weather. The road led through a pleasant
country, with several opportunities for pretty views ;
and about half-wa}' was a neat tavern, standing behind
an immense cherrj'-tree, where a stop could be made
for rest and for a midday meal. I had a comfortable,
easy-cushioned buggy, well provided with protective
appurtenances in case of rain or too much sunshine ;
and my sisters and myself were of the opinion that,
under ordinar3' circumstances, no one would hesitate
between this vehicle and the crowded stage-coach,
which was the only means of communication between
our part of the country and that in which the Watridge
estate lay.
I made an early stait on Monday morning, with my
good horse, Dom Pedro ; named by my sister Bertha,
but whether for the Emperor of Brazil, or for a social
game of cards which we generally played when we had
two or three visitors, and therefore there were too many
of us for whist, I do not know. I arrived at my desti-
nation towards the close of the afternoon, and old Mr.
Watridge was delighted to see me. We spent a pleas-
ant hour in his library, waiting for the return of his
two daughters, who were out for a walk. It must be
admitted that it was with considerable emotional per-
turbation that I beheld the entrance into that room of
Miss Kitty Watridge. She came in alone ; her sister,
who was much older, being detained by some house-
hold duties, connected, probably, with my unexpected
arrival. This, with the action of Mr. Watridge in
presently excusing himself for a time, gave me an
opportuuity, more immediate than I had expected, for
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 33
an uninterrupted study of this young lady, who had
become to me so important a person.
I will not describe Kitty, her appearance, nor her
conversation, but will merely remark that before we
were joined by her father and sister I would have been
quite willing, so far as I was concerned, to show her
the entry in my diary.
It may be that a man heavily clad with the armor of
reserve and restraint sinks more quickly and deeper
than one not so encumbered, when he finds himself
suddenly in a current of that sentiment which now
possessed me. Be that as it may, my determination
was arrived at before I slept that night : Kitty Wat-
ridge had entered into my life on the 14th of Septem-
ber, and I was willing to accept her as my wife.
As the son of an old comrade on the part of the
father, and as the brother of two dear friends on
the part of the daughters, I was treated with hearty
cordiality by his family, and the next day was a most
pleasing and even delightful one to me, until the even-
ing came. Then a cloud, and a ver^- heavy one, arose
upon my emotional horizon. I had stated how I pur-
posed to make the little journey of Miss Kitty to our
house more comfortable and expeditious than it would
otherwise be, and Mr. Watridge had expressed himself
verj' much pleased with the plan ; while Kitty had
declared that it would be charming, especially when
compared with travel by stage-coach, of which the
principal features, in her idea of it, appeared to be
mothers, little children, and lunch baskets. But, after
dinner. Miss Maria, the elder daughter, remarked very
34 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
quietly, but very positively, that she did not think it
would do — that is the phrase she used — for me to
drive her sister to Eastover. She gave no reasons,
and I asked none, but it was quite evident that her
decision was one not to be altered.
*' It would be far better," she said, " not to change
our original plan, and for Kitty, as well as her trunk,
to go by the stage. Mrs. Karcroft is going the whole
of the way, and Kitty will be well taken care of."
Miss Maria was the head of the house ; she had
acted for many years as the maternal director of her
sister ; and I saw very soon that what the other two
members of the family might think upon the subject
would matter very little. The father, indeed, made at
first some very vigorous dissent, urging that it would
be a shame to make me take that long drive home
alone, when I had expected company ; and although
Kitty said nothing, I am sure she looked quite disap-
pointed. But neither words nor looks availed any
thing. Miss Maria was placid, but very firm, and
under her deft management of the conversation the
subject was soon dismissed as settled.
" I am very sorry," observed the old gentleman to
me, when the ladies had bidden us good-night, " that
Kitty can not take advantage of your invitation, which
was a very kind one, and to which I see not the slight-
est objection. My daughter Maria has very peculiar
ideas sometimes, but as she acts as a sort of mother
here we don't like to interfere with her."
" I would not have you do so for the world," an-
swered I.
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 35
"You are very good, very good!" exclaimed Mr.
Watridge ; " and I must say I thiuk it's a confounded
shame that you and Kitty can not take that pleasant
drive together. Suppose you go with her in the stage,
and let me send a man to Eastover with your horse and
vehicle."
"I thank 3-ou very kindly, sir," I replied, "but it
will be better for me to return the way I came ; and
your daughter will have a companion, I understand."
" Nobody but old Mrs. Karcroft, and she counts for
nothing as company. You had better think of it."
I would not consent, however, to make any change
in my arrangements ; and, shortly after, I retired.
I went to bed that night a very angry man. When
I prepared a plan or scheme with which no reasonable
fault could be found, 1 was not accustomed to have
it thwarted, or indeed even objected to. I was dis-
pleased with Mr. Watridge because he allowed himself
to be so easily influenced, and I was even dissatisfied
with Kitty's want of spirit, though of course she could
not have been expected to exhibit an eagerness to ac-
company me. But with that horrible old maid. Miss
Maria, I was truly indignant. There frequently arises
in the mind an image which forcibly connects itself
with the good or bad qualities of a person under our
contemplation, and thus Miss Maria appeared to me in
the character of a moral pepper-box. Virtue is like
sugar or cream, — good in itself, and of advantage
to that with which it is suitably mingled ; but Miss
Maria's propriety was the hottest and most violent sort
of pepper, extremely disagreeable in itself, and never
36 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
needed except in the case of weak moral digestion.
Her objections were an insult to me. I went to sleep
thinking of a little pepper cruet which I would like to
have made of silver for my table, to take the place of
the owl or other conventional pattern, which should be
exactly like Miss Maria, — hard and unimpressionable
without, hollow withia, and the top of its head perfo-
rated with little holes. At breakfast I endeavored to
be coldly polite, but it must have been easy for the
family to perceive that I was very much offended. I
requested that my horse and buggy should be made
ready as soon as possible. While I was waiting for it
on the porch, where Mr. Watridge had just left me,
Miss Kitty came out to me. This was the first time I
had been alone with her since the preceding afternoon,
when we had had a most charming walk through the
orchard and over the hills to a high point, where we
had stayed until we saw the sun go down.
"It seems a real pity," she observed verj^ prettily,
and in a tone which touched me, " that you sliould be
driving off now by yourself, while in about an hour 1
shall start from the same place."
"Miss Kitty," said I, " would jou like to go with
me?"
She hesitated for a moment, looked down, and then
looked up, and said, " So far as I am concerned,
I think — I mean I know — that I should like very
much to go with you. But you see ' * — and then she
hesitated again.
" Say no more, I pray you ! " I exclaimed. I would
not place her in the unpleasant position of defending.
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 37
or even explaining, the unwarrantable interference of
a relative. "If you really wish to accompany me,"
I continued, warmly shaking her hand, for my buggy
was now approaching, "I am entirely satisfied, and
nothing more need be said. It is, in a measure, the
same as if you were going with me. Good-by."
A moment before I was depressed and morose. Now
I was exuberantly joyful. The change was sudden,
but there was reason for it. Kitty wished to go with
me, and had come to tell me so !
Mr. "VYatridge and his elder daughter now appeared
in the doorway, and as I took leave of the latter I am
sure she noticed a change in my manner. I said no
more to her than was absolutely necessary, but the
sudden cheerfulness which had taken possession of me
could not be repressed even in her presence.
The old gentleman accompanied me to the carriage-
block. " I don't want to bore you about it," he said,
" but I really am sorry you are going away alone."
I felt quite sure, from several things Mr. Watridge
had said and done during my visit, that he would be
well pleased to see his j'ounger daughter and myself
thrown very much into the company of each other, and
to have us remain so, indeed, for the rest of our
lives. And there was no reason why he should not
desire it. In every way the conditions of such a union
would be most favorable.
"Thank you very much," I returned; "but the
pleasure of having your daughter at my house will
make me forget this little disappointment."
He looked at me with glistening eyes. Had I boldly
38 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
asked him, " Will yon be my father-in-law? " no more
favorable answer could have come from his lips than
I now saw uix)n his countenance.
" Good fortune be with you ! " were his last words
as I drove away.
I do not suppose anything of the kind could be more
delightful than my drive that morning. Miss Kitty
had said that she would like to be my companion, and
I determined to have her so in imagination, if not in
fact. The pleasures of fancy are sometimes more sat-
isfactory than those of reality, for we have them en-
tirely under our control. I chose now to imagine that
Miss Kitty was seated by my side, and I sat well to
the right, that I might give her plenty of room. In
imagination I conversed with her, and she answered
me as I would have her. Our remarks were carefully
graduated to the duration of our acquaintance and the
seemly progress of our intimacy. I wished to discover
the intellectual status of the fair young creature who
had come into my life on the 14th of September. I
spoke to her of books, and found that her reading had
been varied and judicious. She had read Farrar's "Life
of Christ," but did not altogether like it ; and while she
had much enjoyed Froude's " Caesar," she could have
wished to believe the author as just as he endeavored
to make his hero appear. With modern romance she
had dealt but lightly, rather preferring works of his-
tory and travel, even when pervaded with the flavor of
the eighteenth century. But we did not always speak
of abstract subjects ; we were both susceptible to the
influences of nature, and my companion enjoyed as
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 39
much as I did the bright sunshine tempered by a cool-
ing breeze, the clear sky with fair white clouds floating
along the horizon, and the occasional views of the blue
and distant mountains, their tops suffused with warm
autumnal mists. After a time I asked her if I might
call her Kitty, and glancing downward, and then up,
with the same look she had given me on the porch, she
said I might. This was very pleasant, and was not,
in my opinion, an undue familiarity, which feature I
was very careful to eliminate from our companionship.
One act, however, of what might be termed super-
friendly kindness, I intended to propose, and the con-
templation of its probable acceptance afforded me much
pleasure. After our quiet luncheon in the shaded
little dining-room of the Cherry-Tree Inn, and when
she had rested as long as she chose, we would begin
our afternoon journey, and the road, before very long,
would lead us through a great pine wood. Here, roll-
ing over the hard, smooth way, and breathing the gen-
tle odor of the pines, she would naturally feel a little
somnolent, and I intended to say to her that if she
liked she might rest her head upon my shoulder, and
doze. If I should hear the sound of approaching
wheels I would gently arouse her ; but as an interrup-
tion of this kind was not likely to occur, I thought with
much satisfaction of the pleasure I should have in the
afternoon, when this fancy would be appropriate. To
look upon the little head gently resting on that shoulder,
which, when our acquaintance had more fully developed,
I would offer her as a permanent possession, would be
to me a preconnubial satisfaction of a very high order.
40 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
When about a mile from the Cherry-Tree Inn, and
with my mind filled with these agreeable fancies, an
accident happened to me. One of the irons which
connected the shafts to the front axle broke, and the
conditions of my progress became abruptly changed.
The wheel at that end of the axle to which a shaft was
yet attached went suddenly forward, and the other flew
back and grated against the side of the buggy, while
both wheels, instead of rolling in the general course of
the vehicle, were dragged in a sidewise direction. The
disconnected shaft fell upon the legs of Dom Pedro,
who, startled by the unusual sensation, forsook his
steady trot, and broke into a run. Thus, with the
front wheels scraping the road, the horse attached but
by a single shaft, I was hurried along at an alarming
pace. Pull as I might, I could not check the progress
of Dom Pedro ; and if this state of affairs had con-
tinued for more than the few moments which it really
lasted, the front wheels would have been shattered, and
I do not know what sad results might have ensued.
But the other shaft broke loose, the reins were rudely
torn from my hands, and the horse, now free from
attachment to the vehicle, went clattering along the
road, the shafts bobbing at his heels ; while the bugg}-,
following the guidance of the twisted front axle, ran
into a shallow ditch at the side of the road, and abruptly
stopped.
Unhurt, I sprang out, and my first thought was one
of joy that the Kitty who had been by my side was an
imaginary One. Had the real Kitty been there, what
might not have happened to her ! A dozen possible
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 41
accidents crowded themselves on my mind, and I have
no doubt my countenance expressed my feelings.
There was nothing to be done but to take my valise
and the whip from the buggy, and walk on to the inn,
where I found the landlord in the act of saddling a
horse, to come and see what had happened to me.
Dom Pedro had arrived with a portion of the shafts
attached to him, the rest having been kicked away.
The accident occasioned considerable stir at the inn ;
but as I never cared to discuss my personal affairs
any further than is necessary, it was soon arranged
that after I had lunched I would borrow a saddle from
the landlord, and ride Dom Pedro home, while the
broken buggy would be brought to the inn, where I
would send for it the next day. This plan did not
please me, for I was not fond of equestrianism, and
Dom Pedro was rather a hard trotter ; but there was
nothing better to do. Had I not taken this road,
which was much more agreeable although rather longer
than the high road, I might have been picked up l)y the
stage which was conveying Miss Kittj^ to my house.
While I was yet at my meal there arrived at the
inn a young man, who shortly afterward entered the
room, and informed me that, having heard of my
accident, he came to offer me a seat in the buggy in
which he was traveling. He was going my wa}', and
would be glad of a companion. This invitation, given
as it was by a well-appearing young man of pleasing
manners, was, after a little consideration, accepted by
me. 1 would much prefer to ride a dozen miles in a
buggy with a stranger than on horseback alone.
42 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
The drive of the afternoon was very different from
what I had expected it to be, but it was not devoid
of some pleasant features. My companion was socia-
ble, and not too communicative ; although he anno3'ed
me very much by giving me the entirely uncalled-for
information that if I had had short straps from the
ends of the shafts to the axle, which no well-ordered
buggy should be without, the accident would not have
occurred. I passed this by, and our conversation
became more general, and to me more acceptable.
The young man was going to Hai-nden, a village
not far from my house, where he appeared to have
some business, and he assured me that he would not
object in the least to go a little out of his way and
set me down at my door.
We reached Eastover quite late in the afternoon, and
I perceived, from the group on the porch, that Miss
Kitty had arrived. All three of the ladies came down
to meet me, evidently very much surprised to see
me in a strange vehicle. When I alighted, and was
hastily explaining to my sisters the cause of this
change of conveyance, I was surprised to see Miss
Kitty shaking hands with the young man, who was
standing by his horse's head. My elder sister, Grace
Anna, who had also noticed this meeting, now ap-
proached the pair, and was introduced to the gentle-
man. In a few moments she returned to me, who had
been regarding the interview with silent amazement.
" It is Harvey Glade," she said, — " Kitt3^'s cousin.
We should invite him to stay here to-night."
I can not conceive of anything which more quickly
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 43
than these words would have snuffed out the light
which had iUumincd the vision of my house with
Kitty in it ; but it was impossible for me to forget
that I was a gentleman and the master of Eastover,
and, instantly causing my perception of these facts to
take precedence of my gathering emotions, I stepped
up to Miss Kitty, and, asking to be introduced to her
cousin, I begged him to make my house his home
during his stay in the neighborhood.
This invitation was accepted, as I supposed it would
be when I made it; yet I must own that I did not
expect Mr. Glade to remain at my house for a week.
Of course his presence prevented the execution of any
of my plans regarding the promotion of my intimacy
with Kitty ; but although the interruption caused me
much vexation, I maintained the equanimity due to my
position, and hoped each day that the young man would
take his leave. Towards the end of his visit I became
aware, through the medium of my sisters, to whom I
had left in a great degree the entertainment of our
guests, that 3'oung Glade was actually engaged to
be married to Kitty. She had told them so herself.
This statement, which chilled to the verge of frigidity
my every sensibility, was amplified as follows : The
young people had been attached to each other for
some time, but the visits of Glade having been dis-
couraged by Miss Kitty's family, they had not seen
each other lately, and there had been no positive dec-
laration of amatory sentiment on the part of either.
But this protracted sojourn in my house had given the
young man all the opportunity he could desire, and
44 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
the matter was settled so definitely that there was
no reason to suppose that the better judgment of her
elders would cause the young woman to change her
mind.
Here was a fine ending to my endeavora to assist
my fate. Instead of so doing, I had assisted the
fate of Mr. Harvey Glade, in whose welfare I had
no interest whatever. He had not known that Miss
Kitty was coming to my house ; he had not even been
aware, until he met her at Eastover, that I was ac-
quainted with her family. Had it not been for my
endeavors to promote my own fortune in the direction
of the lady, he would have had no opportunity to make
her his own ; and they probably would not have seen
each other again, unless he had happened to call upon
her as the mistress of Eastover. Instead of aiding
Miss Kitty to enter my life on the 14th of September,
I had ushered her into his life on the 16 th of that
month.
For a week after the departure of our guests — the
young man went first — I found myself in a state of
mental depression from which the kindly effoits of my
sisters could not arouse me. Not only was I deeply
chagrined at what had occurred, but it wounded my
self-respect to think that my fate, which had been
satisfactorily pursuing the course I had marked out
for it, should have been thus suddenly and disastrously
turned aside. I felt that I must confess myself con-
quered. It was an unusual and a difficult thing for
me to do this, but there was no help for it. I took
out my diary, and turned to the page whereon I had
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 45
challenged fate. That entry must be erased. I must
humble myself, and acknowledge it untrue.
At the moment that I dipped the pen in the inkstand
there was a knock at the door, and Grace Anna en-
tered.
"I have just had a letter," she said, "from dear
Jane Wiltby, who married your old schoolfellow, Dr.
Tom. I thought you would like to hear the news it
contains. They have a little girl, and she is to be
named for me."
" How old is it? " I asked, with indifferent interest.
" She was born on the 14th of September," said
Grace Anna.
I sat erect, and looked at my sister — looked at her
without seeing her. Thoughts, like clouds upon the
horizon brightened by the rays of dawn, piled them-
selves up in my mind- Dr. Tom, the companion of
my youth, ever my cherished friend ! Jane, woman
above women ! Grace Anna !
I laid down the pen, and, leaving the momentous
and prognostic entry just as I had written it, I closed
m}' diary, and placed it in my desk.
He who can not adapt himself to the vagaries of a
desired fate, who can not place himself upon the road
by which he expects it to come, and who can not wait
for it with cheerful confidence is not worthy to be
an assistant arbiter of his destiny.
46 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
n.
The fact that on the day indicated in my diary a
young creature not only came into my life, but into
her own, greatly satisfied and encouraged me. I
would begin at the beginning. Within the sphere of
my immediate cognizance would grow and develop the
infant, the child, the girl, the woman, and, finally, the
wife. What influence might I not have upon this
development? The parents were my friends ; the child
was my selected bride. The possibilities of advanta-
geous guidance, unseen perhaps, but potent to a degree
unattainable by a mere parent or guardian, were, to
mj' thinking, boundless.
I was now more content than I had been in the case
of the young lady whom I had supposed had been
given me by Fate, but who, it now appeared very fortu-
nately, had been snatched away before my irrevocable
mistake had been made. I was very grateful for this :
I was grateful to Fate ; I was grateful to Mr. Glade,
the successful lover ; I was even grateful to Kitty for
not having allowed herself to be influenced by any-
thing she may have seen in me during our short ac-
quaintance. Of the past of Kitty I knew little, as was
well demonstrated by the appearance of Harvey Glade.
My present fiancee had no past. With her and with
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 47
me it was all future, which would gently crystallize,
minute by minute and day by day, into a present which
would be mutually our own.
Of course I said nothing of all this to any one. The
knowledge of our destiny was locked up in the desk
which held m}' diary and in my own heart. When
the proper time came, she, first, should know. I am
an honorable man, and as such felt fully qualified to
be the custodian of what was, in fact, her secret as
well as mine.
I took an early opportunity to become acquainted
with the one who was to be the future partner of my
life. It was towards the end of October, I think, that
I paid a visit to Dr. Tom Wiltby and his wife Jane,
my predestined parents-in-law. Had they known the
position they occupied towards me, they would have
been a xery much surprised couple. The interest I
exhibited in their first-born did, as I thought, surprise
them a little, but it only increased the warmth of the
welcome they gave me, and drew me closer to their
hearts. The emotions which possessed me when, in
the preceding summer, I had stood awaiting the mo-
ment when Kitty Watridge should enter the room and
first present herself to my sight were nothing to those
which quickened the action of my heart as a nurse
brought into the Wiltby parlor a carefully disposed
bundle of drapery, in the midst of which reposed my
future wife.
I approached, and looked at her. Her face was dis-
played to view, but her form was undistinguishable.
For an instant our eyes met ; but, so far as I could
48 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
judge, no spark of reciprocal sympathy seemed to sliine
from hers. In fact, they rolled about in an irrelevant
manner which betokened a preoccupation so intense
that even the advent of a husband could have no effect
upon it. But whatever the child had on its mind — or
stomach — gave a volcanic mobility to its countenance,
which caused me much to wonder. The ej'es then
closed, and appeared to be writhing and swelling be-
neath their lids ; the mouth was alternatel}' convoluted
and unrolled towards nose, cheeks, and chin ; while
the rest of the face, which had been of an Indian red-
dish hue, now darkened, and from the puffy jaws to
the top of the bald head seemed moved by a spasm,
but whether of premonition or despair I could not
teU.
I withdrew my gaze. It might be well that I should
wait for a time before allowing my eyes to feed upon
this countenance.
I went away a little disappointed. The chaoticness
of initiatory existence had never before been so forci-
bly impressed on my mind.
During the following winter and spring I built up an
ideal, or rather a series of ideals. They were little
children, they were girls, they were women. At about
nineteen years of age the individual existence of each
ended, and became merged into the oneness of ray
matrimonial life. Sometimes my ideal was a blonde,
sometimes a brunette. From the cursory glance I had
had of the one to whom all these fancies referred, I
could not judge whether she would be dark or fair.
She Jhad no hair, and all that I could remember of her
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 43
eyes was that they had no soul light. Her father was
dark, her mother fair: she might be either.
Of all the legendary heroines of love, none ever so
impressed me as that Francesca whose strong love not
only braved every prejudice and barrier of earth, but,
according to eye-witnesses of the fact, floated with her
indefinitely through hell. In verse and picture, and
upon the stage, I knew Francesca well, — better, per-
haps, than any other woman. But to such an one I
would not be merely a Paolo, but the elder brother also.
I would have no proxy, no secret love, no unfaithful-
ness. There should be all the impetuosity, all the
spirit of self-immolation, without any necessity for it.
She who was to be mine had become in m^' thoughts
a Francesca, and she grew before my mind to ripened
loveliness. Her ej'es sparkled with rapture when, as
through the gates of old Ravenna, the fair Ghibelline
first saw the brave rider that she thought to wed, so
this one would see through the gates of womanly con-
sciousness, not a mere envoy, but both Malatesta
brothers in one, — lover and husband, — me. With
such an imaginary one I read legends of old loves ;
with such an one I sat in shaded bowers, her young
face upturned to mine, and the red light from the
wings touching with color the passionate picture. But
no jester watched with sneering gibes, no husband
fought afar on battle-field ; Paolo and Lanciotto in
one looked into the uplifted eyes.
It was in the early summer that my two sisters and
myself were invited to the Wiltby mansion for a visit,
which our kindly hosts hoped would be somewhat pro-
50 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
tracted. Among other things that were to be done the
baby was to be baptized, and Grace Anna, for whom
she was named, was to act as godmother. I was very
glad to make this visit. Quite a long time had now
elapsed since my first interview with Francesca, as I
always intended to call her, notwithstanding the name
that might be bestowed upon her by the church ; and
she must have now begun to foreshadow, in a measure,
that which she was to be.
When I saw her I found that there was not quite so
much foreshadowing as I had expected ; but, in spite
of that, she was a little creature whom, without doing
violence to any aesthetic instinct, I could take to my
heart. She was a pudgy infant, with blue eyes, a
blanket}' head, and a mouth that was generally ready
to break into a smile if 30U tickled the corners of it.
Instead of the long and flowing draperies in which I
first beheld her, she now wore short dresses, and that
she possessed remarkably fat legs and blue woolen
socks was a fact which Francesca never failed to en-
deavor to impress upon my observation. I excited a
great deal of surprise, with some admiration on the
part of the mother and occasional jocular remarks
from Bertha, my 3'ounger sister, by showing, at the
very beginning of our visit, a strong preference for
the society of the baby. I asked to be allowed to take
her into my arms, and walk with her into the garden ;
and although this privilege was at first denied me,
unless some lady should accompany me, I being con-
sidered quite inexperienced in the care of an infant, I
at last gained my point, and frequently had the pleas-
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 51
ure of a tete-ct-t&te stroll with Francesca. "With my
future bride in my arms, slowly walking in the shaded
avenues of the garden, 1 gave my imagination full
play. I enlarged her eyes, and gave them a steadi-
ness of upturn which they did not now possess ; the
white fuzz upon her head grew into rich masses of
gold-brown hair ; the nose was lengthened and refined ;
her lips were less protruded, and made more continu-
ously dry ; while a good deal of fatty deposit was
removed from the cheeks and the second chin. As I
walked thus tenderly gazing down upon her, and often
removing her little fist from her mouth, I pictured in
her lineaments the budding womanhood for which I
waited. I would talk softly to her, and although she
seldom answered but in a gurgling monotone I saw in
our intercourse the dawning of a unity to be.
After we had been a few days at the Wiltby house
Miss Kitty Watridge came there, also on a visit. Her
engagement to Mr. Glade had not produced much
effect upon her personal appearance, although I thought
her something quieter, and with a little sedateness
which I had not observed in her before. Her advent
at this time was not to my liking. As an object of
mj^ regard, she had, in becoming engaged to another,
ceased to exist ; she had passed out of my sphere of
consideration, and the fact that she had once acted a
prominent part within it made it appear to me that
propriety demanded that she should not only go out of
it, but stay out of it. Her influence upon my inter-
course with Francesca was, from the first, objectiona-
ble. My sisters had always been accustomed to regard
52 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
my wishes with a gratifying respect, and Mrs Wiltby
seemed anxious to imitate them in this laudal)le action.
But Miss Watridge had apparently no such ideas, and
she sliowed this most objectionably by imagining that
she had as much right to the baby as I had. Of course
she could not understand how matters stood, — nobody
but myself could understand that ; but she had not the
native delicacy of perception of my sisters and Jane
Wiltby. She could not know in how msmy ways she
interfered with mj' desires and purposes. My morning
walks were, in a manner, broken up ; for sometimes
the new-comer actually insisted upon carrying the baby
herself, in which case I retired, and sought some other
promenade. But after a few da^'s I found that the
indulgence of any resentment of this sort not only
made me the object of remark, but promised to en-
tirely break up my plans in regard to Francesca. I
wished to create in m}' mind while here such an image
of her, matured and perfected according to my own
ideas, that I could live and commune with her during
the absences, more or less protracted, which must in-
tervene before the day when I should take her wholly
to myself. As I could not expect to stay here very
much longer, I must not lose what opportunities I had,
and so concluded to resume my walks with Francesca,
even if Miss Watridge should sometimes intrude her-
self upon us.
I must admit, however, that this she did not do,
considering the matter with strict regard to fact. She
generall}^ possessed herself of the baby, and if I
wished its company I was obliged to. intrude myself
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 58
upon her. The plan I now adopted was, I think,
somewhat ingenious. As is my wont, I endeavored
to sliape to my advantage this obstacle which I now
found in my way. My intercourse with Francesca
had not been altogether satisfactory. For one thing,
there had been too much unity about it. A certain
degree of this was, indeed, desirable, but I was obliged
to be, at once, not only husband and lover, but lady
also ; for Francesca gave me no help in this regard,
except, perchance, an occasional look of entreaty,
which might as well mean that she would like a bottle
of milk as that she yearned for fond communion of
the soul. When I addressed her as my developed
ideal I imagined her answers, and so continued the
gentle conversation ; but, although she alwaj's spoke
as I would wish, there were absent from our converse
certain desirable elements which might have been
looked for from the presence of a second intellect.
Another source of dissatisfaction was that in many of
our interviews Francesca acted in a manner which was
not only disturbing, but indecorous. Frequently, when
I was speaking with her on such subjects as foreign
travel, when we two would wander amid the misty
purples of Caprian sunsets, or stand together in vast
palaces of hoarded art, she would struggle so convul-
sively, and throw upward with such violence her small
blue socks, that, for the time, I wished she was swad-
dled and bound in the manner of the Delia Robbia
babies on the front of the Foundling Asylum in Flor-
ence.
A plan of relieving myself from the obvious disad-
54 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
vantages of my present method of intercourse with an
intellect, a soul, and a person, which to be suitable for
my companionship must necessarily be projected into
the future, now suggested itself to me. If Miss Wat-
ridge persisted in forcing herself upon Francesca, she
might at least make herself useful by taking the place
of that young person so far as regarded a part in the
conversation. Her entity occupied a position in re-
spect to growth and development which was about the
same as that to which I was in the habit of projecting
Francesca. Her answers to my remarks would be
analogous, if not similar, to those which might be ex-
pected from the baby when she arrived at maturity.
Thus, in a manner, I could talk to Francesca, and
receive her answers from the lips of Miss Kitty. This
would be as truly love-making by proxy as when the
too believing Lanciotto sent from Rimini his 30unger
brother to bear to him Ravenna's pearl. But here
was no guile, no dishonesty ; the messenger, the
vehicle, the interpreter, in this case, knew nothing of
the feelings now in action, or to be set in action, of
the principals in the affair. She did not know, in-
deed, that there were two principals. As far as she
herself was concerned, she had, and could have, no
interest in the matter. She was engaged to be married
to Mr. Glade, which, in my eyes, was the same thing
as being already married to him ; and any thoughts or
mental emotions that she might have relating to affec-
tionate interest in one of the opposite sex would of
course be centered in Mr. Glade. With Francesca
and myself she would have nothing to do but uncon-
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 55
sciously to assist in the transmission of sentiment-
Had Paolo been engaged to marry a suitable young
person before he started for Ravenna, it is probable that
the limited partnership which Dante noticed in the
Inferno would never have been formed.
It was by slow degrees, and with a good deal of
caution, that I began my new course of action. Tak-
ing the child in my arms, I invited Miss "VVatridge to
accompany us in our walk. Thus, together, we slowly
strolled along the garden avenue, shaded by the fresh
greenness of June foliage, and flecked here and there
by patches of sunlight, which moved upon the gravel
in unison with the gentle breeze. Our conversation,
at first relating to simple and every-day matters, was
soon directed by me hito a channel in which I could
perceive whether or not I should succeed in this project
of representative rejoinder. It was not long before I
was pleased to discover that the mind of the young
lady was of as good natural quality and as well culti-
vated as I had formerly supposed it to be ; having then
little upon which to base my judgment, except the
general impression which her personality had made
upon me. That impression having been entirely ef-
faced, I was enabled with clearer vision and sounder
judgment to determine the value of her mental exhibit.
I found that she had read with some discrimination,
and with a tendency to independent thought she united
a becoming respect for the opinions of those who, by
reason of superior years, experience, and sex, might
be supposed to move on a psychological plane some-
what higher than her own. These were dispositions
56 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
the development of ' which I hoped to assist in the
young Fraucesca, and it may be imagined that I was
much gratified to find my model so closely resembling
that personality which 1 wished, in a manner, to create.
Thus, up and down, daily, would we stroll and talk.
With the real Francesca on my arm, sometimes sleep-
ing, and sometimes indulging in disturbing muscular
exercises, which I gently endeavored to restrain, I
addressed myself to my ideal Francesca, an aerial
maiden, garbed in simple robes of white touched by a
soft suggestion of Italian glow, and ever with tender
eyes upturned to mine ; while from her proxy, walking
by my side, came to me the thoughts and sentiments
of her fresh young heart.
It was quite natural that I should be more interested
in a conversation of this kind than in one in which I
was obliged to supply the remarks on either side. To
be sure, in the latter case, there was a unison of
thought between mj'self and the ideal Francesca that
was very satisfactory, but which lacked the piquancy
given by unexpectedness of reply and the interest con-
sequent upon gentle argument.
It so happened that the morning occupations of
Mrs. Wiltby and my sisters were those in which Miss
Watridge did not care to join, and thus she was com-
monly left free to make one of the company of four
which took its morning walks upon the garden avenue.
I imagine that she supposed it was generally thought
that she was taking care of the baby and affording
it advantages of out-door air, in the performance of
which pleasing duty my presence was so unnecessary
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 57
that the probability of it was not even considered.
Thus it was that upon every fair day — and all those
days were fair — our morning strolls were prolonged
for an hour or more, generally terminated only by the
culminating resolve of Francesca to attract to herself
so much attention that a return to the house was ne-
cessary. It may be supposed that it would have been
better to have eliminated the element of the actual
being from the female side of our little company. But
that side, several as it was in its component person-
ages, represented to me the one Francesca ; and had
I not held and felt the presence of the actual living
creature, who was to be and to say all that my mind
saw and my ear heard, I could not have spoken as I
wished to speak to the ideality who was to be my wife
when it became a reality. The conjunction seemed to
me a perfect one, and under the circumstances 1 could
wish for nothing better.
As our acquaintance ripened and mellowed in the
pleasant summer days, I was enabled to see more
clearly into the soul and heart of the Francesca that
was to be, looking at them through the transparent
mind of Miss Kitty Watridge. According to the pur-
suance of my plan, I gradually, and as far as possible
imperceptibly, changed the nature of our converse.
From talking of the material world, and those objects
in it which had pleased our vision or excited reflection,
we passed to the consideration, very cursory at first,
of those sentiments which appear to emanate from our-
selves without the aid of extraneous agency. Then,
by slow degrees, the extraneous agency was allowed
58 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
to enter upon the scene, coming in so quietly that at
first it was scarcely noticeable. The dependence of
man upon man was discussed, not only for material
good, but for intellectual support and comfort. Then,
following a course not exactly in accordance with that
of nature, but which suited my purposes, we spoke of
social ties, — of the friendships which spring up here
and there from these ; of the natural affections of the
family ; and, finally, the subject arising in consistent
sequence, of that congruent intermental action of the
intellect of two persons, generally male and female,
who frequently, without family ties of any kind and
but little previous acquaintanceship, find, each in the
other, an adaptiveness of entity which is mutually
satisfactory.
The vicarious replies of Francesca were, in almost
every instance, all that I could have wished. Some-
times there were symptoms of hesitancy or reluctance
in the enunciation of what was, obviously, the suit-
able reply to some of my remarks in regard to the
deeper sentiments ; but, on the whole, had the ideal
lady of my love spoken to me, her words could
not have better aroused my every sentiment of warm
regard.
Sometimes I wondered, as thus we walked and
talked, what Mr. Glade would think about it if he
could see us so much together, and listen to our con-
verse. But this thought I put aside as unworthy of
me. It was an insult to myself as an honorable man ;
it was an uncalled-for aspersion on Miss Watridge,
and a stain upon my idealistic intercourse with Fran-
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 59
oesea. If Mr. Glade was coarse and vulgar enough
to interject his personality into this perfectly working
system of intellectual action, from which the individ-
uality of Miss Watridge was entirely eliminated, her
part in it being merely to represent another, I could
not help it. It was this consciousness of rectitude,
this probity of purpose, which raised our little drama
so far above the level of the old story of the wedded
Guelph and Ghibelline.
With my mind satisfied on this subject, I did not
hesitate, when the proper time seemed to have arrived,
to allow myself to imagine Fraucesca at the age of
nineteen. I could not much longer remain in this
place, as we had now overstayed the original limit of
our visit ; and there was danger, too, that Miss Wat-
ridge might be called away. I wished, while the
opportunity continued, to develop the imaginary life of
Francesca into perfect womanhood, so that I could
carry away with me an image of my future wife, which
I could set upon the throne of ray affection, there to
be revered, cherished, and guarded, until the time
came when the real Francesca should claim the seat.
Of course, under these circumstances, a certain fervor
of thought and expression was not only necessary, but
excusable, and I did not scruple to allow it to myself.
Always with the real F'rancesca in my arms, in order
that even my own superconscientiousness might not
take me to task, I delivered my sentiments without
drawing the veil of precautionary expression over their
amatory significance. It was at this stage of onr
intercourse that I asked Miss Watridge to allow me to
60 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
call her Francesca ; for it was only by so doing that I
could fully identify her voice with that of the visionary
creature who was now exciting the stirring impulses of
my heart. When she asked me why I wished to call
her by this name, I could only tell her that it was for
ideal purposes ; and without making further inquiries,
she consented that I should use it — for the present.
As it was only for the present that I thought of so
doing, this much of acquiescence was sufficient, and I
called her by the name I loved.
The softly-spoken, well-considered replies, the gentle
ejaculations, and the demure but earnest attention
which my speech elicited well befitted the fairest vision
of pure 3^oung womanhood that my soul could call
before me. But, notwithstanding this, there was some-
thing wanting. I longed for the upturned eyes, ever
fixed upon my own, of the Francesca of the stage. I
longed for the fair white hands clasped and trembling
as I spoke. I longed for that intensity of soul-merge
in which the loved one breathes and lives only that she
may hear the words I speak, and watch the thoughts
that fashion in my face. Without all this I could
never take away with me the image of the true Fran-
cesca. Without this there would be wanting, in the
fair conception, that artistic roundness, that complete-
ness of outline and purpose, which would satisfy the
exigencies of my nature. I could not consent to carry
with me for years an ideal existence, incomplete,
imperfected, — a statue devoid of those last touches of
the master which make it seem to live.
Therefore I sought, with much earnestness and
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 61
fixity of intention, to call up the last element needed
to complete that lovely creation which was to be my
companion through the years of waiting for the real
Francesca. It was a great comfort and support to me
to reflect that I could do this with such safety, with
such unusual advantages. I addressed myself to no
being in existence. Even the little creature on my
arm, who had fallen into a habit of dozing when not
noticed, and to whom belonged, in fact, my every gift
and legacy of love, was not of age to come into her
fortune, nor could her infantile mind be injured by its
contemplation. And as for Miss Watridge, she, as I
continually repeated to myself, was acting simply as
the representative of another, and her real self was not
concerned in the little drama, in which she did not even
take a part ; merely assuming, as in a rehearsal, a
character which another actor, not able then to be
present, would play in the actual performance.
It was the loveliest morning of all the summer that
I made my supreme effort. At the very bottom of the
garden was a little arbor of honeysuckles. No crimson
stage-light shone in upon it, but the sunbeams pushed
their way here and there through the screen of leaves,
and brightened the interior with points of light. It
was a secluded spot, to which I had never yet led my
companions, for the period had not before arrived for
such sequesterment. But now we sat down here upon
a little bench : I at one end, the young Francesca on
my knee, and Miss "Watridge at my left. In the place
where this lady sat also sat the ideal Francesca, oc-
cupying the same space, and endowed, for the time,
62 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
with the same form and features. It was to this being
that I now addressed my fervid words ; low-burning,
it is true, but alive with all the heat and glow that
precedes blaze. I told a tale ; not reading from pages
of mediaeval script the legend of the love of Launcelot
and Queen Guinevere, as does Paolo in the play, but
relating a story which was a true one, for it was my
own. I spoke as I expected to speak some day to the
little creature on my knee. Taking with mj" disengaged
hand that of the lady by my side, I said that which
raised a lovely countenance to mine, that showed me
the beauty of her upturned eyes ; and as I looked and
spoke I felt that the very pulses of her soul were
throbbing in accord with mine. Here was enacting in
very truth the scene I had viewed upon the stage, and
which so often since had risen before my fancy.
Possessed by the spirit of this scene, carried onward
by that same tide of passional emotion the gradual rise
of which it had portrayed, I gave myself up to its in-
fluences, and acted it out unto its very culmination. I
stooped, and, in the words of the Arthurian legend,
" I kissed her full upon the mouth."
Swift as the sudden fall of summer rain, I felt the
wild abandonment of clinging arms about my neck, of
tears upon ray face that were not mine, of words of
love that I spoke not ; and it came to me like a flash
that she who clung to me, and around whom my arm
was passed, was Kitty Watridge, and not a visionary
Ghibelline.
In the midst of my varying emotions I clasped closer
to me the real Francesca, who thereupon gave vent to
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 63
her feelings by parting wide her toothless gnms, and
filling the summer air with a long yell. At this rude
interruption, the arms fell from my neck, and the face
was quickly withdrawn from mine.
Now came hurrying steps upon the gravel walk, and
my sister Bertha ran in upon us. " What on earth are
you doing to that baby?" she cried. She snatched
the child from me, and then stood astonished, gazing
first at me and then at Kitty, who had started to her
feet, with sparkling tears still in her eyes and a sun-
set glow upon her face. Without a word, the wicked
Bertha laughed a little laugh, and, folding the child
within her arms, she ran away.
I sat speechless for a moment, and then I turned to
Kitty ; but she, too, had gone, having fled in another
direction. I was left alone : gone was the real Fran-
cesca ; gone was the fair ideal ; gone was Kitty. I
stood bewildered, and, in a manner, dazed. I felt as
if I had fallen from the fourteenth century into the
nineteenth, and that the shock had hurt me. I felt,
too, a sense of culpability, as if I had been somewhere
where I had no right to be ; as if I had been a tres-
passer, a poacher, an intruder upon the times or on the
rights of others. The fact that I was a strictly hon-
orable man, scorning perfidy in its every form, made
my feelings the more poignant. A little reflection
helped me to understand it all. I had carried out my
plan so carefully, with such regard to its gradual devel-
opment, that by degrees Miss Watridge had grown into
the ideal Francesca, and had to all intents and pur-
poses gone back with me into the Middle Ages, in
64 A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE.
order to better portray my perfected ideal. The baby
sitting on my right knee, while a future stage of her
life was being personated by the lady at my side,
might belong to any age ; there was nothing incon-
gruous in her presence on the scene. It was the
entrance of my sister Bertha that broke the spell, that
shattered the whole fabric I had so elaboi'ately built.
She was of the present, of to-day, of the exact second,
in which she helped anything to happen. An imper-
sonation of the Now, her coming banished every idea
of the Past or Future.
Like an actor in a play, on whom his every-day
clothes aud the broad light of day have suddenly fallen,
I walked slowly to the house. Meeting my older
sister, Grace Anna, near the door, I took her aside,
and said to her, " When is Mr. Glade expected
here?"
"What for? " she asked, with eyes dilated.
"To marry Kitty Watridge," said I.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed my sister.
" That match was broken off last wmter."
It may well be supposed that, remembering what
Bertha had seen, and doubtless imagined ; that remem-
bering what Kitty had done and said ; and recalling,
too, how I felt when she did it and said it, I resolved,
instead of waiting eighteen long years for another, to
accept as the Francesca of mj dreams, and as the
veritable wife of my actual existence, this dear girl,
who was able to represent at this very present the
every attribute and quality of my ideal woman.
A STORY OF ASSISTED FATE. 65
la the autumn we were married. Thus my Fate,
dicielaimiug my efforts to assist it, no matter in what
dii'ection, rose dominant, and, attending to my affairs
in its own way, gave me Kitty at last.
But I shall always feel sorry for the baby.
AN UNHISTORIC PAGE.
AN elderly negro man, Uncle Enoch by name, short
of stature and with hair and beard beginning to
grizzle, but with arms and body yet stout and strong,
stood back of his little log house, not far from a Vir-
ginia public road, endeavoring to pull his ax out of a
knotty black-gum log. Often and often, when his
stock of firewood had diminished to this one log, had
Uncle Enoch tried to split it, and now he was trying
again. While thus engaged, there came to him his
son Dick. This was a youth rather taller and lighter
in color than his father, of an active and good-natured
disposition, and hitherto supposed to be devoid of dis-
turbing ambitions.
" Look a-heah, daddy," said he, " won't yuh lemme
go to Washin'ton nex' week? "
Uncle Enoch stopped tugging at his ax, and turned
round to look at Dick. " What fur?" said he.
" I'se gwine to be a page in Congress."
"What's dat?" asked his father, his bright eyes
opening very wide. " What yuh want to do dat
fur?"
"A page is one of dem chaps as runs round and
66
AN UNHISTORIC PAGE. 67
waits on de Congressmen, when dey're doing dere work
in Washin'ton. Dare's lots of 'em, and some of 'em
is eulle'd. Dey hab to be mighty peart and cut around,
and fetch de Congressmen eberyting dey wants. And
dey don't have to work for no fifty cents a day, nudder.
Dey gits sebenteen hunderd dollars a year."
"What's dat?" exclaimed Uncle Enoch. " Yuh
means de whole kit and boodle uv 'em gits dat."
" No, I don't," said Dick. " Ebery one gits it for
hisse'f."
"Yuhshu'hobdat?"
" Yes, sah," replied Dick. " I heerd it all from a
man down at de cross-roads, when I took ole Billy
to be shod dis ebenin'. He wus tellin' a lot o' folks
all about it at de stoah. An' won't yuh lemme go
nex' week? "
The old man put his hand on his ax-handle and
stood reflectively.
Uncle Enoch had been born a slave, and had been
an honest and industrious servant, whose only failing
was that he was inclined to think himself better at all
times, and to dress himself better on Sundays, than
his companions ; and now that he was as free as any-
body, he was still honest and industrious, and still went
to church with the highest white hat, the biggest shirt
collar, and the longest coat of anybody in the congre-
gation. As he grew older, his opinion of himself did
not decrease, and he was very fond of exhorting his
fellow-members in church, and of giving them advice
in private whenever he saw cause for it, and this very
often in the shape of some old fable, which generally
68 AN UN HISTORIC PAGE.
became strangely twisted as it passed through the old
man's mental organism.
" Look a-heah, Dick," said he, " I'se gwine ter tell
yuh a story. It's one uv ole Mahsr George's stories,
and I've heerd him tell it often to the chillun. Dere
was a mouse what lived in de city, I dunno 'zactly
whar, but jus' as like as not it was Washin'ton, an'
he went to see a friend uv hisn who had a plantation.
De plantation mouse he were glad to see de udder one,
an' put him in de cump'ny chahmber, an' gib him de
bes' he had ; but de fine gemman he didn't 'pear to be
satisfy wid nuffin but light bread an' cohn pone for
breakfus', an' chicken an' ham for dinner, and he
says, says he, —
' ' ' Yuh don' git canvis-back ducks down heah, I
reckin ? '
" ' No, sah ! ' ses de plantation mouse.
" ' Nur tar 'pins, stewed in Madary wine? *
" ' No, sah ! '
" ' Nur oysters, fresh from de bay ebery mawnin' ;
nur ice-cream, all de colors ob de rainbow ; an' little
candy-balls, what go off pop when you pull 'em ; an*
a whole bottle ob champain to each pusson ? '
" ' No, sah! ' ses de plantation mouse, a-fannin' ob
hisse'f wid he han'kercher.
" ' "Well, now, jus' j'uh look a-heah,' ses de udder
one, gwine out on de poach to smoke his cigar, ' yuh
come to de city an' see me, and when you tase what
dem dar tings is like, yuh won't be content fur to staj'
no more on dis yere no-count farm, so fur from de
railroad.'
AN UN HISTORIC PAGE. 69
"So, soon as he sell he 'baccer, de plantation mouse
he go to see his city freu'. He glad to see him, an'
sot him right down to a pow'ful good dinner, wid all
de canvis-back ducks an' de tar'pius an' de eysters an'
de champain, an' de udder tings dathe done tell 'bout.
" ' If I'd a-knowed you wus a-comin',' ses de city
mouse, ' I'd had a reg'lar cump'ny dinner ; but yuh'U
have to go 'long and jus' take pot-luck wid us dis
time.'
" ' Den you didn't git my letter? ' ses de plantation
mouse.
" ' No, sah. Reckin yuhr man done forgot to put
it in de pos'-offlce.'
" So dey sot an' eat till dey mos' like to bus', an'
de plantation mouse he wonner what he would a-had
if he fren' had done got he letter.
"Jus' as dey was litin' dere cigars, and puttin' dey
heels up on two cheers, de dinin'-room door open, an'
in walk de sheriff ob de county.
" ' Look a-heah, kurnel,' ses he, ' have yuh got de
money ready fur all de ducks an' de eysters an' de
wine you've had fur yuhse'f ; an' de slab meat an' de
cohn from de West fur yuhr ban's? Yuh know I said
I wouldn't give yuh no longer nur ter-day.' De city
mouse he turn pale, an' he tuk de plantation mouse
into one corner, an' ses he, —
" ' Look a-heah, kin yuh len' me two or free tousand
dollars till to-morrer mawniu', when de bank opens? '
Den de udder mouse he pull a drefful poor mouf , an'
he ses, —
*' 'I'se pow'ful sorry, but it rained so much in de
70 AN DNHiaTORIC PAGE.
low groun's las' year dat my cohn wus all spiled ; an'
dere wasn't no rain on de high groun's, an' de cohn
dere wus all wilted ; an' de fros' done cotch my baccer
craps, an' I didn't have money enuf fur to buy quinine
fur de ban's.'
" Den de town mouse he ses to de sheriff, ses he, —
" 'You call aroun' Monday mawnin', an' I'll pay yuh
dat money. I wus a'spectin' my fren' ter-day, and
done forgot to k'lect it.'
" ' Dat won't do,' ses de sheriff. ' I'se heerd dat
story often 'nuf.' An' he rung he auction bell, an'
he lebied on eberyting in de house ; an' as dey didn't
fotch enuf, he sold dat city mouse an' dat plantation
mouse fur slaves."
Dick uttered an exclamation of horror at this direful
conclusion of the story.
"Now look a-heah, boy," continued Uncle Enoch,
" ef yuh tinks yuh is gwine down to Washin'ton to git
tar'pins an' eysters an' champain out ob dem Congress-
men, yuh won't be tuk an' sold, 'cause dey can't do
dat now, but yuh'll find yuhse'f gobbled up some way
wuss dan dat plantation mouse wus."
Dick grumbled that he wasn't a mouse, and he
wasn't " gwine arter tar'pins, nur eysters, nudder."
" Jus' yuh go 'long an' pick up some chips an' trash
fur to make de fire," said his father, " an' don't talk
to me no mo'h ob dat foolishness."
Dick walked slowly off to do as he was bid, and for
a long time Uncle Enoch remained standing by the
twisted black-gum log without striking it a blow.
Uncle Enoch was a skillful and practised ox-driver,
AN UN HISTORIC PAGE. 71
working in that capacitj^ for the farmer on whose land
he lived. All the next day he walked meditatively by
the side of the slowly-moving Bob ai^d Blinker, hauling
wood from the mountain. He did not shout as much
as usual to his oxen, but he guided them with all his
customary precision around stumps, rocks, and the
varied impediments of the rough woodland road.
" Yuh Dick," said he to his son in the evening, " is
yuh done gib up all dat foolishness 'bout goin' to
Washin'ton?"
" 'Taint no foolishness," muttered Dick.
" Why, boy," said his father, " 'pears to me yuh is
too ole for dat sort o' ting."
" It don't make no kind o' diflf'rence how ole a
page is," said Dick. " Dat man said so hisse'f. He
ses dey got 'em all ages."
" Dat so, shuh? " asked his father.
" Sartin shuh," said Dick.
" And dey gits sebenteen hunderd dollars a j'ear? "
"Yes," said Dick. "An' besides dat, dey can
make lots ob money blackin' boots an' holdin' bosses
an' runnin' arrants fur de Congressmen, when court's
out."
Uncle Enoch looked steadfastly at his son for some
moments without speaking. Then he said, " Look a-
beah, boy ; I'se made up my mind 'bout dis yere busi-
ness. Ef all dat 'ar money's to be got by pageiu',
I agrees to de notion."
" Hi-yi ! " shouted Dick, beginning to dance.
"Yuh needn't cut up no sich capers," said his
father. " Yuh aint gwiue. I'se gwine mese'f."
72 AN UN HISTORIC PAGE.
If Dick could have turned pale, he would have done
80. He stood speechless.
"Yes, sah," continued Uncle Enoch. " Ef it don't
make no difference how ole de pages is, I kin step
roun' as lively as any uv 'em, an' kin wait on de Con-
gressmen better'n any boy. I knows what de gemmen
wants, an' I knows how to do it. I'se waited on 'em
'fore yuh was bawn, boy, an' yuh neber libed 'mong
white folks, nohow. Jus' yuh take dat ox-whip ter-
morrer mawnin', an' tell Mahsr Greg'ry dat I'se done
gone to Washin'ton, and dat yuh've come to drive de
oxen. Yuh's ole enuf fur dat now, an' it's time yuh
was beginnin'."
Downcast as Dick was when he heard that he was
not going to be a page in the halls of Congress, his
spirits immediately rose when he was told that he was
to take Uncle Enoch's place as ox-driver. To crack
the long whip, and guide the slow progress of Bob and
Blinker, was to him a high delight and honor which im-
pressed him the more forcibly because it was so totally
unexpected. The Government position had held forth
glittering advantages, which had greatly attracted him,
but which his mind did not entirely comprehend. But
to drive the oxen was a real thing, a joy and a dignity
which he knew all about. Dick was entirely satisfied.
As to the page's salary which his memory or his ears
had so greatly exaggerated, he did not even think of
it.
Uncle Enoch determined not to announce his inten-
tion to his neighbors, nor to take counsel of any one.
He went into the house, and after electrifying his fam-
AN UN HISTORIC PAGE. 73
ily with the statement of his intended step into what
was to them wealth and high position, he set them all
to work to get him ready for an early start the next
morning. Washing, ironing, patching and packing
went on during a great part of the night ; his wife,
"Aunt Maria," his three daughters, and even Dick,
doing their utmost to fit him out for his great under-
taking.
" What I'se gwine to do wid dat sebenteen hunderd
dollars," said Uncle Enoch, as he sat on a low chair
sewing up a gap in one of his Sunday boots, "is to
buy dis track o' land on de hill back heah, an' make
a wine-yard uv it. No use foolin' no more wid little
tater patches, an' cabbyges, an' tree or foh dozen hills
o' cohn ; I'll sell de grapes, an' buy all dat sort o'
ting. At de wine-cellar in town dey'll take all de
grapes yoh kin raise, an' ef I have to buy a hoss
an' wagun to haul 'era inter town, yuh won't see dis
yere fam'ly walkin' to church no mo'h wid de mud
up to dere knees and de hot sun brilin' on ter dere
heads."
A little after daylight the next morning Uncle
Enoch, wearing his tall white hat with the broad band
of crape around it which it had on when it was given
to him ; with his highest and stiffest shirt-collar ; a
long black coat reaching nearly to his heels ; a pair of
blue jean trousers rolled up at the ankles ; his enor-
mous Sunday boots well blacked ; in one hand a very
small cowhide trunk tied up with a rope and carried
in the manner of a violin-case ; a vast umbrella with a
horn handle in the other hand, and the greater part of
74 AN UN HISTORIC PAGE.
his recently paid month's wages in his pocket, started
off to walk three miles to the railroad-station on his
way to become a Congressional page.
Dick assumed the ox-whip, and as there was no one
else to take the vacated place, he cracked it in pride
and glory over the heads of Bob and Blinker, and, al-
though they ran into more stumps, and got into more
deep ruts, than was good for themselves or the cart,
the winter wood of Mr. Gregory continued to be
hauled.
One week, and two weeks, passed on without news
from Uncle Enoch, and then Aunt Maria began to get
impatient. "Look a-heah, Dick," she said, "when
you comes home ter-night, an' has had yuhr supper,
an' has done split up dem ole rails, what's too short
fur de fence anyway, fur 'taint no use fur yuh to try
no mo'h on dat black-gum log what yuh daddy done
went awa}' and luf, an' ef he don't come back soon he
won't find no fence at all, I reckin, when he do come,
yuh jus' sot down an' write him a letter, an' tell him
'taint no use fur him to be sabin up all dat sebeuteen
hunderd dollars to buy wine-yards while his chillun's
gwine about wid scace no close to dere backs.
" Dere's yuhr sis'r Charlotte what has to go to
church wid dem light-blue slippers Miss Sally gib her,
an' no stockuns, an' no wunner de people laf at her.
An' dere's yuhr daddy makin' all dat money down dere
in Washin'ton wid de Congressmen.
"An' she a gal, too, what's done won de prize tree
times in de cake-walk. I spec' he's done forgot what
I tole him 'bout de weddiu'-riug fur me. I done tole
AN UNniSTORIC PAGE. 75
him to buy it wid de fus' money be got an' to send it
in a letter. I'se neber had none yit, though we wus
both married long back befoh de war.
"An' it's no use waitin', nudder, fur little Jim's
funeral till he comes back. He kin sen' de money fur
de cake and wine jus' as well as not, an' Brudder
Anderson is leady, he tole me las' Sund'y, wid de fax
an' de tex. Little Jim's been dead now nigh on ter
two yeah, an' it's time his funeral was preached.
" I ain't got no 'jections to de wine-yard, spesh'ly
ef we hab ter hab a wagun to haul de grapes, but I
don't want yuhr daddy to come back heah an' find
hissef 'shamed uv his fam'ly arter livin' down dar
'mong all dem quality folks. I'll send Charlotte dis
mawnin' to borrer a sheet uv paper, an' a pen an' ink
from Miss Sally, an' see ef she won't let her pick up
some api)les in de orchard while she's dar, an' p'raps
slie'U give her a bucket uv buttermilk ef she's done
churned yistiddy. An' yuh put all dat in de letter, an'
sen' it off jus' as soon as yuh kin."
Dick willingly undertook this business, having made
up his mind while his mother was talking to him to
put in a few words on his own account; and before he
began the important epistle each of his sisters had
something to say to him in private in regard to sugges-
tions which they wished him to make to the head of
the family.
The letter moved more slowly than Bob and Blinker
over the roughest road. After three nights' work it
was only half-done, for Dick found a pen much more
difficult to handle than a whip, and besides being a
76 AN UNHISTORIC PAGE.
very stumbling speller, invariably went to sleep over
his paper after a quarter of an liour's work. Late in
the afternoon of the fourth day after the commence-
ment of this literary enterprise, Dick was standing by
the black-gum log, with the axe in his hand, wonder-
ing if it would be better to take another rail from the
forlorn fence around the little yard — for what diflference
could it make when there were so many open places
already? — or to split up a solitary post, which having
nothing attached to it was clearly useless, wlien he
saw upon the high-road a figure approaching him.
It wore a tall white hat with a broad band of rusty
crape around it ; it had on a high stiff shirt-collar, and
a long black coat ; in one hand it carried an umbrella
with a rough horn handle, and in the other a little hair
trunk tied up with a rope ; it had a bright and flashing
eye, and a determined step.
It did not go on to the house, but, turning from the
public road, came through a gap in the fence, and
walked straight up to the astonished Dick.
" Look a-heah, yuh Dick," said Uncle Enoch, put-
ting down his little trunk ; " who done tole yuh all dat
foolishness about gwine to Washin'ton to wait on de
Congressmen, an' gittin' sebenteen hunderd dollars a
yeah?"
*' It wus a man at de cross-roads," said Dick, " wid
a red beard. He done brung some bosses ober from
de Cou't House. I dunno his name."
" Is he bigger nur yuh is? " asked his father.
" Oh yes," said Dick, " more'n twice as big."
»*Well, den, yuh luf him alone," said Uncle Enoch,
AN UNHISTORIC PAGE. 77
with great decision and energy, "3^uh luf him alone.
I hopes, boy," the old man continued, wiping his face
with his great blue and yellow handkerchief, " dat
yuh's gwine ter larn a lesson from dis yere bis'ncss.
It makes me tink ob two no-' count beasts dat wus
once loafin' in a little clearin' dat had bin buhued fur
a seed-patch. Dey wus stannin' in de sun to warm
deyse'fs, bein' too pow'ful lazy to cut some wood and
make a fire. One was a gy-raffe, an' de udder was
a kangerroo. De gy-ra£fe he look at de kangerroo,
an' he begun to larf.
" 'It's mighty cur'us,' ses he, 'to see a pore crit-
ter like yuh, wid some legs short and some legs long.
Ef I was yuh I'd go to de wood-pile, an' I'd chop
dem hine legs off de same lent as de foh ones, so
yuh'd go about like common folks, an' not be larfed
at.'
' ' Dese remarks dey make de har riz on de kanger-
roo's back, he so mad angry.
'"Yuh suh'tiuely is a gay boy,' ses he to de gy-
raffe, ' to Stan' up dere an' preach like dat, wid yer
hine legs short as plow-hannels an' yuhr foh legs
too long fur butter-bean poles, so dat 3'uhr back slopes
down like de roof of a ice-house. Ef I wus 3uh I'd
go to de wood-pile, an' I'd chop off dat ar long neck
close to de head, I'd be so 'shamed.'
"Now, boy," continued Uncle Enoch, *' dere's lots
ob stories about one eberlastin' fool, but dat's de
only story I knows 'bout two uv 'em. An' now jes'
yuh go inter de house, an' tell de folks I'se gwine
ter put a new cracker on de ox-whip, an' ef any ob
78 AN UN HISTORIC PAGE.
dem ses Washin'ton to me, I'll make 'em dance Jeru-
salem ! "
Dick walked into the house to deliver this message,
and as he went, he said to himself, " I reckin de plan-
tation mouse done gin up he wine-yard."
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
MY wife and I were staying at a small town in
northern Italy ; and on a certain pleasant after-
noon in spring we had taken a walk of six or seven
miles to see. the sun set behind some low mountains to
the west of the town. Most of our walk had been
along a hard, smooth highway, and then we turned
into a series of narrower roads, sometimes bordered
by walls, and sometimes by light fences of reed, or
cane. Nearing the mountain, to a low spur of which
we intended to ascend, we easily scaled a wall about
four feet high, and found ourselves upon pasture land,
which led, sometimes by gradual ascents, and some-
times by bits of rough climbing, to the spot we wished
to reach. We were afraid we were a little late, and
therefore hurried on, running up the grass}- hills, and
bounding briskly over the rough and rockj^ places. I
carried a knapsack strapped firmly to my shoulders,
and under my wife's arm was a large, soft basket of
a kind much used by tourists. Her arm was passed
through the handles, and around the bottom of the
basket, which she pressed closely to her side. This
was the way she always carried it. The basket con-
79
80 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
tained two bottles of wine, one sweet for my wife, and
another a little acid for myself. Sweet wines give me
a headache.
When we reached the grassy bluff, well known there-
abouts to lovers of sunset views, I stepped immediately
to the edge to gaze upon the scene, but my wife sat
down to take a sip of wine, for she was very thirsty ;
and then, leaving her basket, she came to my side.
The scene was indeed one of great beauty. Beneath
us stretched a wide valley of many shades of green,
with a little river running through it, and red-tiled
houses here and there. Beyond rose a range of moun-
tains, pink, pale-green, and purple where their tips
caught the reflection of the setting sun, and of a rich
gray-green in shadows. Beyond all was the blue
Italian sky, illumined by an especially fine sunset.
My wife and I are Americans, and at the time of
this story were middle-aged people and very fond of
seeing in each other's company whatever there was
of interest or beauty around us. We had a son about
twenty-two years old, of whom we were also very fond,
but he was not with us, being at that time a student in
Germany. Although we had good health, we were not
very robust people, and, under ordinary circumstances,
not much given to long country tramps. I was of
medium size, without much muscular development,
while my wife was quite stout, and growing stouter.
The reader may, perhaps, be somewhat surprised
that a middle-aged couple, not very strong, or very
good walkers, the lady loaded with a basket containing
two bottles of wine and a metal drinking-cup, and the
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 81
gentleman carrying a heavy knapsack, filled with all
sorts of odds and ends, strapped to his shoulders,
should set off on a seven-mile walk, jump over a wall,
run up a hill-side, and yet feel in very good trim to
enjoy a sunset view. This peculiar state of things I
will proceed to explain.
I had been a professional man, but some years be-
fore had retired upon a very comfortable income. I
had always been very fond of scientific pursuits, and
now made these the occupation and pleasure of much
of my leisure time. Our home was in a small town ;
and in a corner of my grounds I built a laboratory,
where I carried on my work and my experiments. I
had long been anxious to discover the means, not only
of producing, but of retaining and controlling, a nat-
ural force, really the same as centrifugal force, but
which I called negative gravity. This name I adopted
because it indicated better than any other the action of
the force in question, as I produced it. Positive grav-
ity attracts everything toward the center of the earth.
Negative gravity, therefore, would be that power which
repels everything from the center of the earth, just as
the negative pole of a magnet repels the needle, while
the positive pole attracts it. My object was, in fact,
to store centrifugal force and to render it constant,
controllable, and available for use. The advantages
of such a discovery could scarcely be described.
In a word, it would lighten the burdens of the
world.
I will not touch upon the labors and disappointments
of several years. It is enough to say that at last I
82 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
discovered a method of producing, storing, and con-
trolling negative gravity.
The mechanism of my invention was rather compli-
cated, but the method of operating it was very simple.
A strong metallic case, about eight inches long, and
half as wide, contained the machinery for producing
the force ; and this was put into action by means of
the pressure of a screw worked from the outside. As
soon as this pressure was produced, negative gravity
began to be evolved and stored, and the greater the
pressure the greater the force. As the screw was
moved outward, and the pressure diminished, the force
decreased, and when the screw was withdrawn to its
fullest extent, the action of negative gravity entirely
ceased. Thus this force could be produced or dissi-
pated at will to such degrees as might be desired, and
its action, so long as the requisite pressure was main-
tained, was constant.
When this little apparatus worked to my satisfaction
I called my wife into my laboratory and explained to
her m}' invention and its value. She had known that I
had been at work with an important object, but I had
never told her what it was. I had said that if I suc-
ceeded I would tell her all, but if I failed she need
not be troubled with the matter at all. Being a very
sensible woman, this satisfied her perfectly. Now I
explained everything to her, the construction of the
machine, jand the wojjderful uses to which this inven-
tion could be applied. I told her that it could dimin-
ish, or entirely dissipate, the weight of objects of any
kind. A heavily loaded wagon, with two of these
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 83
instruments fastened to its sides, and each screwed to
a proper force, would be so lifted and supported that
it would press upon the ground as lightly as an empty
cart, and a small horse could draw it with ease. A
bale of cotton, with one of these machines attached,
could be handled and carried by a boy. A car, with a
number of these machines, could be made to rise in
the air like a balloon. Everything, in fact, that was
heavy could be made light ; and as a great part of
labor, all over the world, is caused by the attraction
of gravitation, so this repellent force, wherever applied,
would make weight less and work easier. I told her
of many, many ways in which the invention might be
used, and would have told her of many more if she
had not suddenly burst into tears.
"The world has gained something wonderful," she
exclaimed, between her sobs, "but I have lost a
husband ! ' '
" What do 3-ou mean by that? " I asked, in surprise.
" I haven't minded it so far," she said, " because it
gave you something to do, and it pleased you, and it
never interfered with our home pleasures and our home
life. But now that is all over. You will never be
your own master again. It will succeed, I am sure,
and you may make a great deal of money, but we
don't need money. "What we need is the happiness
which we have always had until now. Now there will
be companies, and patents, and lawsuits, and experi-
ments, and people calling you a humbug, and other
people saying they discovered it long ago, and all sorts
of persons coming to see you, and you'll be obliged to
84 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
go to all sorts of places, and you will be an altered
man, and we shall never be happy again. Millions of
money will not repay us for the happiness we have
lost."
These words of my wife struck me with much force.
Before I had called her my mind had begun to be filled
and perplexed with ideas of what I ought to do now
that the great invention was perfected. Until now the
matter had not troubled me at all. Sometimes I had
gone backward and sometimes forward, but, on the
whole, I had always felt encouraged. I had taken
great pleasure in the work, but I had never allowed
myself to be too much absorbed by it. But now every-
thing was different. I began to feel that it was due
to myself and to my fellow-beings, that I should prop-
erly put this invention before the world. And how
should I set about it ? What steps should I take ? t
must make no mistakes. When the matter should
become known hundreds of scientific people might set
themselves to work ; how could I tell but that they
might discover other methods of producing the same
effect. I must guard myself against a great many
things. I must get patents in all parts of the world.
Already, as I have said, my mind began to be troubled
and perplexed with these things. A turmoil of this
sort did not suit my age or disposition. I could not
but agree with my wife that the joys of a quiet and
contented life were now about to be broken into.
"My dear," said I, "I believe, with you, that the
thing will do us more harm than good. If it were not
for depriving the world of the invention I would throw
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 85
the whole thing to the winds. And yet," I added,
regretfully, ' ' I had expected a great deal of personal
gratification from the use of this invention."
"Now, listen," said my wife, eagerly, "don't you
think it would be best to do this : use the thing as
much as you please for your own amusement and sat-
isfaction, but let the world wait. It has waited a long
time, and let it wait a little longer. "When we are dead
let Herbert have the invention. He will then be old
enough to judge for himself whether it will be better
to take advantage of it for his own profit, or simply to
give it to the public for nothing. It would be cheat-
ing him if we were to do the latter, but it would also
be doing him a great wrong if we were, at his age, to
load him with such a heavy responsibility. Besides,
if he took it up, you could not help going into it, too."
I took my wife's advice. I wrote a careful and
complete account of the invention, and, sealing it up,
I gave it to my lawyers to be handed to my son after
my death. If he died first, I would make other
arrangements. Then I determined to get all the good
and fun out of the thing that was possible without
telling any one anything about it. Even Herbert, who
was away from home, was not to be told of the inven-
tion.
The first thing I did was to buy a strong leathern
knapsack, and inside of this I fastened my little
machine, with a screw so arranged that it could be
worked from the outside. Strapping this firmly to my
shoulders, my wife gently turned the screw at the back
until the upward tendency of the knapsack began to
86 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
lift and sustain me. When I felt m3'self so gently
supported and upheld that I seemed to weigh about
thu'ty or forty pounds, I would set out for a walk.
The knapsack did not raise me from the ground, but it
gave me a very buoyant step. It was no labor at all
to walk ; it was a delight, an ecstasy. With the
strength of a man and the weight of a child, I gayly
strode along. The first day I walked half a dozen
miles at a very brisk pace, and came back without
feeling in the least degree tired. These walks now
became one of the greatest joys of my life. When
nobody was looking, I would bound over a fence,
sometimes just touching it with one hand, and some-
times not touching it at all. I delighted in rough
places. I sprang over streams. I jumped and J ran.
I felt like Mercury himself.
I now set about making another machine, so that
my wife could accompany me in my walks ; but when
it was finished she positively refused to use it. "I
can't wear a knapsack," she said, "and there is no
other good way of fastening it to me. Besides, every-
body about here knows I am no walker, and it would
only set them talking."
I occasionally made use of this second machine, but
I will only give one instance of its application. Some
repairs were needed to the foundation-walls of my
barn, and a two-horse wagon, loaded with building-
stone, had been brought into my yard and left there.
In the evening, when the men had gone away, I took
my two machines and fastened them with strong
chains, one on each side of the loaded wagon. Then,
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 87
gradually turning the screws, the wagon was so lifted
that its weight became very greatly diminished. We
had an old donkey which used to belong to Herbert,
and which was now occasionally used with a small
cart to bring packages from the station. I went into
the barn and put the harness on the little fellow, and,
bringing, him out to the wagon, I attached him to it.
In this position he looked very funny, with a long
pole sticking out in front of him and the great wagon
behind him. When all was ready, I touched him up ;
and, to my great delight, he moved ofif with the two-
horse load of stone as easily as if he were drawing his
own cart. I led him out into the public road, along
which he proceeded without difficulty. He was an
opinionated little beast, and sometimes stopped, not
liking the peculiar manner in which he was harnessed ;
but a touch of the switch made him move on, and I
soon turned him and brought the wagon back into the
yard. This determined the success of my invention in
one of its most important uses, and with a satisfied
heart I put the donkey into the stable and went into
the house.
Our trip to Europe was made a few months after
this, and was mainly on our son Herbert's account.
He, poor fellow, was in great trouble, and so, there-
fore, were we. He had become engaged, with our full
consent, to a young lady in our town, the daughter of
a gentleman whom we esteemed very highly. Herbert
was young to be engaged to be married, but as we felt
that he would never find a girl to make him so good a
wife, we were entirely satisfied, especially as it was
88 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
agreed on all hands that the marriage was not to take
place for some time. It seemed to us that in marrying
Janet Gilbert, Herbert would secure for himself, in the
very beginning of his career, the most important ele-
ment of a happy life. But suddenly, without any
reason that seemed to us justifiable, Mr. Gilbert, the
only sui-viving parent of Janet, broke off the match ;
and he and his daughter soon after left the town for a
trip to the West.
This blow nearly broke poor Herbert's heart. He
gave up his professional studies aud came home to us,
and for a time we thought he would be seriously ill.
Then we took him to Europe, and after a Continental
tour of a mouth or two we left him, at his own request,
in Gottingen, where he thought it would do him good
to go to work again. Then we went down to the little
town in Italy where my storj' first finds us. My wife
had suffered much in mind and body on her son's
account, aud for this reason I was anxious that she
should take outdoor exercise, and enjoy as much as
possible the bracing air of the country. I had brought
with me both my little machines. One was still in my
knapsack, and the other I had fastened to the inside of
an enormous family trunk. As one is obliged to pay
for nearly everj' pound of his baggage on the Conti-
nent, this saved me a great deal of money. Every-
thing heavy was packed into this great trunk, — books,
papers, the bronze, iron, and marble relics we had
picked up, and all the articles that usually weigh down
a tourist's baggage. I screwed up the negative gravity
apparatus until the trunk could be handled with great
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 89
ease by an ordinary porter. I could have made it
weigh nothing at all, but this, of course, I did not wish
to do. The lightness of my baggage, however, had
occasioned some comment, and I had overheard re-
marks which were not altogether complimentary about
people traveling around with empty trunks ; but this
only amused me.
Desirous that my wife should have the advantage of
negative gravity while taking our walks, I had re-
moved the machine from the trunk and fastened it
inside of the basket, which she could carry under her
arm. This assisted her wonderfully. When one arm
was tired she put the basket under the other, and thus,
with one hand on my arm, she could easily keep up
with the free and buoyant steps my knapsack enabled
me to take. She did not object to long tramps here,
because nobody knew that she was not a walker, and
she always carried some wine or other refreshment in
the basket, not only because it was pleasant to have it
with us, but because it seemed ridiculous to go about
carrying an empty basket.
There were English-speaking people stopping at the
hotel where we were, but they seemed more fond of
driving than walking, and none of them offered to
accompany us on our rambles, for which we were very
glad. There was one man there, however, who was a
great walker. He was an Englishman, a member of
an Alpine Club, and generally went about dressed in a
knickerbocker suit, with gray woolen stockings cover-
ing an enormous pair of calves. One evening this
gentleman was talking to me ajid some others about
90 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
the ascent of the Matterhorn, and I took occasion to
deliver in pretty strong language my opinion upon such
exploits. I declared them to be useless, foolhardy, and,
if the climber had any one who loved him, wicked.
" Even if the weather should permit a view," I
said, " what is that compared to the terrible risk to
life? Under certain circumstances," I added (thinking
of a kind of waistcoat I had some idea of making,
which, set about with little negative gravity machines,
all connected with a conveniently handled screw, would
enable the wearer at times to dispense with his weight
altogether) , ' ' such ascents might be divested of danger,
and be quite admissible ; but ordinarily they should be
frowned upon by the intelligent public."
The Alpine Club man looked at me, especially
regarding my somewhat slight figure and thinnish
legs.
*' It's all very well for you to talk that way," he
said, " because it is easy to see that you are not up to
that sort of thing."
" In conversations of this kind," I replied, " I never
make personal allusions ; but since you have chosen to
do so, I feel inclined to invite you to walk with me to-
morrow to the top of the mountain to the north of this
town."
"I'll do it," he said, "at any time you choose to
name." And as I left the room soon afterward I
heard him laugh.
The next afternoon, about two o'clock, the Alpine
Club man and myself set out for the mountain.
" What have you got in your knapsack? " he said.
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 91
"A hammer to use if I come across geological speci-
mens, a field-glass, a flask of wiue, aud some other
things."
" I wouldn't carry any weight, if I were you," he
said.
"Oh, I don't mind it," I answered, and off we
started.
The mountain to which we were bound was about two
miles from the town. Its nearest side was steep, and
in places almost precipitous, but it sloped away more
gradually toward the north, and up that side a road led
by devious windings to a village near the summit. It
was not a very high mountain, but it would do for an
afternoon's climb.
"I suppose you want to go up by the road," said
my companion.
" Oh, no," I answered, " we won't go so far around
as that. There is a path up this side, along which I
have seen men driving their goats. I prefer to take
that."
"All right, if you say so," he answered, with a
smile ; " but you'll find it pretty tough."
After a time he remarked :
" I wouldn't walk so fast, if I were you."
"Oh, I like to step along briskly," I said. And
briskly on we went.
M}' wife had screwed up the machine in the knap-
sack more than usual, and walking seemed scarcely
any effort at all. I carried a long alpenstock, and
when we reached the mountain and began the ascent,
I found that with the help of this and my knapsack I
92 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
could go uphill at a wonderful rate. My companion
had taken the lead, so as to show me how to climb.
Making a ditour over some rocks, I quickly passed
him and went ahead. After that it was impossible for
him to keep up with me. I ran up steep places, I cut
off the windings of the path by lightly clambering
over rocks, and even when I followed the beaten track
my step was as rapid as if I had been walking on
level ground.
" Look here ! " shouted the Alpine Club man from
below, "you'll kill yourself if you go at that rate!
That's no way to climb mountains."
" It's my way ! " I cried. And on I skipped.
Twenty minutes after I arrived at the summit, my
companion joined me, puffing, and wiping his red face
with his handkerchief.
"Confound it!" he cried, "I never came up a
mountain so fast in my life."
" You need not have hurried," I said, coolly.
" I was afraid something would happen to you,"
he growled, " and I wanted to stop you. I never saw
a person climb in such an utterly absurd way."
" I don't see why you should call it absurd," I said,
smiling with an air of superiority. " I arrived here
in a perfectly comfortable condition, neither heated
nor wearied."
He made no answer, but walked off to a little dis-
tance, fanning himself with his hat and growling words
which I did not catch. After a time I proposed to
descend.
"You must be careful as you go down," he said.
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 93
"It is much more dangerous to go down steep places
than to climb up."
" I am always prudent," I answered, and started in
advance. I found the descent of the mountain much
more pleasant than the ascent. It was positively ex-
hilarating. I jumped from rocks and bluffs eight and
ten feet in height, and touched the ground as gently as
if I had stepped down but two feet. I ran down steep
paths, and, with the aid of my alpenstock, stopped
myself in an instant. I was careful to avoid danger-
ous places, but the runs and jumps I made were such
as no man had ever made before upon that mountain-
side. Once only I heard my companion's voice.
" You'll break your neck ! " he yelled.
" Never fear ! " I called back, and soon left him far
above.
When I reached the bottom I would have waited for
him, but my activity had warmed me up, and as a cool
evening breeze was beginning to blow I thought it bet-
ter not to stop and take cold. Half an hour after my
arrival at the hotel I came down to the court, cool,
fresh, and dressed for dinner, and just in time to meet
the Alpine man as he entered, hot, dusty, and growl-
ing.
"Excuse me for not waiting for you," I said; but
without stopping to hear my reason, he muttered some-
thing about waiting in a place where no one would care
to stay and passed into the house.
There was no doubt that what I had done gratified
my pique and tickled my vanity.
" I think now," I said, when I related the matter to
94 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
my wife, "that he will scarcely say that I am not up
to that sort of thing."
" I am not sure," she answered, " that it was exact-
ly fair. He did not know how you were assisted."
"It was fair enough," I said. "He is enabled to
climb well by the inherited vigor of his constitution
and by his training. He did not tell me what methods
of exercise he used to get those great muscles upon his
legs. I am enabled to climb by the exercise of my
intellect. My method is my business and his method
is his business. It is all perfectly fair."
Still she persisted :
" He thougJit that you climbed with your legs, and
not with your head."
And now, after this long digression, necessary to
explain how a middle-aged couple of slight pedestrian
ability, and loaded with a heavy knapsack and basket,
should have staited out on a rough walk and climb,
foui"teen miles in all, we will return to ourselves, stand-
ing on the little bluff and gazing out upon the sunset
view. When the sky began to fade a little we turned
from it and prepared to go back to the town.
" Where is the basket? " I said.
"I left it right here," answered my wife. "I un-
screwed the machine and it lay perfectly flat."
" Did you afterward take out the bottles? " I asked,
seeing them lying on the grass.
" Yes, I believe I did. I had to take out yours in
order to get at mine."
"Then," said I, after looking all about the grassy
patch on which we stood, "I am afraid you did not
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 95
entirely unscrew the instrument, and that when the
weight of the bottles was removed the basket gently
rose into the air."
" It may be so," she said, lugubriously. " The bas-
ket was behind me as I drank my wine."
" I believe that is just what has happened," I said.
" Look up there ! I vow that is our basket ! "
I pulled out my field-glass and directed it at a little
speck high above our heads. It was the basket float-
ing high in the air. I gave the glass to my wife to
look, but she did not want to use It.
"What shall I do?" she cried. "I can't walk
home without that basket. It's perfectly dreadful ! "
And she looked as if she was going to cry.
"Do not distress yourself," I said, although I was
a good deal disturbed myself. "We shall get home
very well. You shall put your hand on my shoulder,
while I put my arm around you. Then you can
screw up my machine a good deal higher, and it will
support us both. In this way I am sure that we shall
get on very well."
We can-ied out this plan, and managed to walk on
with moderate comfort. To be sure, with the knap-
sack pulling me upward, and the weight of my wife
pulling me down, the straps hurt me somewhat, which
they had not done before. We did not spring lightly
over the wall into the road, but, still clinging to each
other, we clambered awkwardly over it. The road for
the most part declined gently toward the town, and
with moderate ease we made our way along it. But
we walked much more slowly than we had done before,
96 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
and it was quite dark when we reached our hotel. If
it had not been for the light inside the court it would
have been difficult for us to find it. A traveling-car-
riage was standing before the entrance, and against
the light. It was necessary to pass around it, and my
wife went first. I attempted to follow her, but, strange
to say, there was nothing under my feet. I stepped
vigorously, but only wagged my legs in the air. To
my horror I found that I was rising in the air ! I soon
saw, by the light below me, that I was some fifteen
feet from the ground. The carriage drove away, and
in the darkness I was not noticed. Of course I knew
what had happened. The instrument in my knapsack
had been screwed up to such an intensity, in order
to support both myself and my wife, that when her
weight was removed the force of the negative gravity
was sufficient to raise me from the ground. But I was
glad to find that when I had risen to the height I have
mentioned I did not go up any higher, but hung in the
air, about on a level with the second tier of windows
of the hotel.
I now began to try to reach the screw in my knap-
sack in order to reduce the force of the negative grav-
ity ; but, do what I would, I could not get my hand to
it. The machine in the knapsack had been placed so
as to support me in a well-balanced and comfortable
way ; and in doing this it had been impossible to set
the screw so that I could reach it. But in a tempo-
rary arrangement of the kind this had not been con-
sidered necessary, as my wife always turned the screw
for me untU sufficient lifting-power had been attained.
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 97
T had intended, as I have said before, to construct a
negative gravity waistcoat, in which the screw should
be in front, and entirely under the wearer's control ;
but this was a thing of the future.
"When I found that I could not turn the screw I be-
gan to be much alarmed. Here I was, dangling in the
air, without any means of reaching the ground. 1
could not expect my wife to return to look for me, as
she would naturally suppose I had stopped to speak to
some one. I thought of loosening myself from the
knapsack, but this would not do, for I should fall
heavily, and either kill m3-self or break some of my
bones. I did not dare to call for assistance, for if any
of the simple-minded inhabitants of the town had dis-
covered me floating in the air they would have taken
me for a demon, and would probably have shot at me.
A moderate breeze was blowing, and it wafted me
gently down the street. If it had blown me against
a tree I would have seized it, and have endeavored,
so to speak, to climb down it ; but there were no trees.
There was a dim street lamp here and there, but
reflectors above them threw their light upon the pave-
ment, and none up to me. On many accounts I
was glad that the night was so dark, for, much as I
desired to get down, I wanted no one to see me in my
strange position, which, to any one but myself and
wife, would be utterly unaccountable. If I could rise
as high as the roofs I might get on one of them, and,
tearing off an armful of tiles, so load mj-self that I
would be heavy enough to descend. But I did not rise
to the eaves of any of the houses. If there had been
98 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
a telegraph-pole, or anything of the kind that I could
have clung to, I would have taken off the knapsack,
and would have endeavored to scramble down as well
as I could. But there was nothing I could cling to.
Even the water-spouts, if I could have reached the
face of the houses, were imbedded in the walls. At
an open window, near which I was slowly blown, I saw
two little boys going to bed by the light of a dim can-
dle. I was dreadfully afraid tliat they would see me
and raise an alarm. I actually came so near to the
window that I threw out one foot and pushed against
the wall with such force that I went nearly across the
street. I thought I caught sight of a frightened look
on the face of one of the boj's ; but of this I am not
sure, and I heard no cries. I still floated, dangling,
down the street. What was to be done? Should I
call out? In that case, if I were not shot or stoned,
my strange predicament, and the secret of my inven-
tion, would be exposed to the world. If I did not do
this, I must either let myself drop and be killed or
mangled, or hang there and die. When, during the
course of the night, the air became more rarefied, I
might rise higher and higher, perhaps to an altitude of
one or two hundred feet. It would then be impossible
for the people to reach me and get me down, even if
they were convinced that I was not a demon. I should
then expire, and when the birds of the air had eaten
all of me that they could devour, I should forever hang
above the unlucky town, a dangling skeleton, with a
knapsack on its back.
Such thoughts were not re-assuring, and I determined
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 99
that if I could find no means of getting down without
assistance, I would call out and run all risks ; but so
long as I could endure the tension of the straps I
would hold out and hope for a tree or a pole. Perhaps
it might rain, and my wet clothes would then become
so heavy that I would descend as low as the top of a
lamp-post.
As this thought was passing through vay mind I saw
a spark of light upon the street approaching me. I
rightly imagined that it came from a tobacco-pipe, and
presently I heard a voice. It was that of the Alpine
Club man. Of all people in the world I did not want
him to discover me, and I hung as motionless as pos-
sible. The man was speaking to another person who
was walking with him.
" He is crazy beyond a doubt," said the Alpine
man. "Nobody but a maniac could have gone up and
down that mountain as he did ! He hasn't any mus-
cles, and one need only look at him to know that he
couldn't do any climbing in a natural way. It is only
the excitement of insanity that gives him strength."
The two now stopped almost under me, and the
speaker continued :
" Such things are very common with maniacs. At
times they acquire an unnatural strength which is per-
fectly wonderful. I have seen a little fellow struggle
and fight so that four strong men could not hold him."
Then the other person spoke :
"I am afraid what you say is too true," he re-
marked. " Indeed, I have known it for some time."
At these words my breath almost stopped. It was
100 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
the voice of Mr. Gilbert, my townsman, and the father
of Janet. It must have been he who had arrived in
the traveling-carriage. He was acquainted with the
Alpine Club man, and they were talking of me. Proper
or improper, I listened with all my ears.
"It is a very sad case," Mr. Gilbert continued.
" My daughter was engaged to maiTy his son, but I
broke off the match. I could not have her marry the
son of a lunatic, and there could be no doubt of his
condition. He has been seen — a man of his age, and
the head of a family — to load himself up with a heavy
knapsack, which there was no earthly necessity for him
to carry, and go skipping along the road for miles,
vaulting over fences and jumping over rocks and
ditches like a young calf or a colt. I myself saw a
most heart-rending instance of how a kindly man's
nature can be changed by the derangement of his in-
tellect. I was at some distance from his house, but
I plainly saw him harness a little donkey which he
owns to a large two-horse wagon loaded with stone,
and beat and lash the poor little beast until it drew the
heavy load some distance along the public road. I
would have remonstrated with him on this hon-ible cru-
elty, but he had the wagon back in his yard before I
could reach him."
"Oh, there can be no doubt of his insanity," said
the Alpine Club man, " and he oughtn't to be allowed
to travel about in this way. Some day he will pitch
his wife over a precipice just for the fun of seeing her
shoot through the air."
" I am sorry he is here," said Mr. Gilbert, " for it
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 101
would be very painful to meet him. My daughter and
I will retire very soon, and go away as early to-morrow
morning as possible, so as to avoid seeing him."
And then they walked back to the hotel.
For a few moments I hung, utterly forgetful of my
condition, and absorbed in the consideration of these
revelations. One idea now filled my mind. Every-
thing must be explained to Mr. Gilbert, even if it
should be necessary to have him called to me, and for
me to speak to him from the upper air.
Just then I saw something white approaching me
along the road. My eyes had become accustomed to
the darkness, and I perceived that it was an upturned
face. I recognized the hurried gait, the form ; it was
my wife. As she came near me I called her name,
and in the same breath entreated her not to scream.
It must have been an effort for her to restrain herself,
but she did it.
" You must help me to get down," I said, " without
anybody seeing us."
" What shall I do? " she whispered.
" Try to catch hold of this string."
Taking a piece of twine from my pocket, I low-
ered one end to her. But it was too short ; she could
not reach it. I then tied my handkerchief to it, but
still it was not long enough.
"I can get more string, or handkerchiefs," she
whispered, hurriedly.
" No," I said ; "you could not get them up to me.
But, leaning against the hotel wall, on this side, in the
corner, just inside of the garden gate, are some fishing-
102 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
poles. I have seen them there every day. You can
easily find them in the dark. Go, please, and bring
me one of those."
The hotel was not far away, and in a few minutes
m}^ wife returned with a fishing-pole. She stood on
tip-toe, and reached it high in air ; but all she could
do was to strike my feet and legs with it. My most
frantic exertions did not enable me to get my hands
low enough to touch it.
" Wait a minute," she said ; and the rod was with-
drawn.
I knew what she was doing. There was a hook and
line attached to the pole, and with womanly dexterity
she was fastening the hook to the extreme end of the
rod. Soon she reached up, and gently struck at my
legs. After a few attempts the hook caught in my
trousers, a little below my right knee. Then there
was a slight pull, a long scratch down my leg, and the
hook was stopped by the top of my boot. Then came
a steady downward pull, and I felt myself descending.
Gently and firmly the rod was drawn down ; carefully
the lower end was kept free from the ground ; and in
a few moments my ankle was seized with a vigorous
grasp. Then some one seemed to climb up me, my
feet touched the ground, an arm was thrown around
my neck, the hand of another arm was busy at the
back of my knapsack, and I soon stood firmly in
the road, entirely divested of negative gravity.
"Oh, that I should have forgotten," sobbed my
wife, " and that I should have dropped your arms,
and let you go up into the air ! At first I thought that
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 103
you had stopped below, and it was only a little while
ago that the truth flashed upon me. Then I rushed
out and began looking up for 3'ou. I knew that you
had wax matches in your pocket, and hoped that
you would keep on striking them, so that you would
be seen."
" But I did not wish to be seen," I said, as we hur-
ried to the hotel; "and I can never be sufficiently
thankful that it was you who found me and brought
me down. Do you know that it is Mr. Gilbert and
his daughter who have just arrived? I must see him
instantly. I will explain it all to you when I come
upstairs."
I took off my knapsack and gave it to my wife, who
carried it to our room, while I went to look for Mr.
Gilbert. Fortunately I found him just as he was about
to go up to his chamber. He took my offered hand,
but looked at me sadly and gravely.
"Mr. Gilbert," I said, "I must speak to you in
private. Let us step into this room. There is no one
here."
"My friend," said Mr. Gilbert, "it will be much
better to avoid discussing this subject. It is very
painful to both of us, and no good can come from
talking of it."
" You can not now comprehend what it is I want to
say to you," I replied. " Come in here, and in a few
minutes you will be very glad that you listened to
me."
My manner was so earnest and impressive that
Mr. Gilbert was constrained to follow me, aud we
104 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
went into a small room called the smoking-room, but
in which people seldom smoked, and closed the door.
I immediately began my statement. I told my old
friend that I had discovered, by means that I need not
explain at present, that he had considered me crazy,
and that now the most important object of my life waa
to set myself right in his eyes. I thereupon gave him
the whole history of my invention, and explained the
reason of the actions that had appeared to him those
of a lunatic. I said nothing about the little incident
of that evening. That was a mere accident, and I did
not care now to speak of it.
Mr. Gilbert listened to me very attentively.
"Your wife is here?" he asked, when I had fin-
ished.
" Yes," I said ; " and she will corroborate my story
in every item, and no one could ever suspect her of
being crazy. I will go and biing her to you."
In a few minutes my wife was in the room, had
shaken hands with Mr. Gilbert, and had been told of
my suspected madness. She turned pale, but smiled.
"He did act like a crazy man," she said, " but I
never supposed that anybody would think him one."
And tears came into her eyes.
"And now, my dear," said I, "perhaps you will
tell Mr. Gilbert how I did all this."
And then she told him the story that I had told.
Mr. Gilbert looked from the one to the other of us
with a troubled air.
" Of course I do not doubt either of you, or rather
I do not doubt that you believe what you say. All
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 105
would be right if I could bring myself to credit that
such a force as that you speak of can possibly exist."
"That is a matter," said I, "which I can easily
prove to 3'ou by actual demonstration. If you can
wait a short time, until my wife and I have had some-
thing to eat, — for I am nearly famished, and I am
sure she must be, — I will set your mind at rest upon
that point."
"I will wait here," said Mr. Gilbert, "and smoke
a cigar. Don't hurry yourselves. I shall be glad
to have some time to think about what you have told
me."
When we had finished the dinner, which had been
set aside for us, I went upstairs and got my knapsack,
and we both joined Mr. Gilbert in the smoking-room.
I showed him the little machine, and explained, very
briefly, the principle of its construction. I did not
give any practical demonstration of its action, because
there were people walking about the corridor who might
at any moment come into the room ; but, looking out
of the window, I saw that the night was much clearer.
The wind had dissipated the clouds, and the stars were
shining brightly.
"If you will come up the street with me," said I
to Mr. Gilbert, "I will show you how this thing
works."
" That is just what I want to see," he answered.
"I will go with you," said my wife, throwing a
shawl over her head. Aud we started up the stnict.
When we were outside the little town I found the
starlight was quite sufficient for my purpose. The
106 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
white roadway, the low walls, and objects about us,
could easily be distinguished.
" Now," said I to Mr. Gilbert, " I want to put this
knapsack on you, and let you see how it feels, and how
it will help you to walk." To this he assented with
some eagerness, and I strapped it firmly on him. " I
will now turn this screw," said I, " until you shall
become lighter and lighter."
" Be very careful not to turn it too much," said my
wife earnestly.
"Oh, you may depend on me for that," said I,
turning the screw very gradually.
Mr. Gilbert was a stout man, and I was obliged to
give the screw a good many turns.
"There seems to be considerable hoist in it," he
said directl}'. And then I put my arms around him,
and found that I could raise him from the ground.
"Are you lifting me? " he exclaimed in surprise.
" Yes ; I did it with ease," I answered.
" Upon — my — word ! " ejaculated Mr. Gilbert.
I then gave the screw a half turn more, and told
him to walk and run. He started off, at fii-st slowly,
then he made long strides, then he began to run, and
then to skip and jump. It had been many years since
Mr. Gilbert had skipped and jumped. No one was
in sight, and he was free to gambol as much as he
pleased. " Could 30U give it another turn? " said he,
bounding up to me. "I want to try that wall." I
put on a little more negative gravity, and he vaulted
over a five-foot wall with great ease. In an instant
he had leaped back into the road, and in two bounds
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. 107
was at my side. " I came down as light as a cat,"
he said. "There was never anything like it." And
away he went up the road, taking steps at least eight
feet long, leaving my wife and me laughing heartily
at the preternatural agility of our stout friend. In a
few minutes he was with us again. "Take it off,"
he said. " If I wear it any longer I shall want one
myself, and then I shall be taken for a crazy man, and
perhaps clapped into an asylum."
"Now," said I, as I turned back the screw before
unstrapping the knapsack, " do you understand how
I took long walks, and leaped and jumped ; how I ran
uphill and downhill, and how the little donkey drew
the loaded wagon ? ' '
"I understand it all," cried he. "I take back all
I ever said or thought about you, my friend."
"And Herbert may marry Janet? " cried my wife.
^^ May marry her!" cried Mr. Gilbert. "Indeed
he shall marry her, if I have anything to say about it !
My poor girl has been drooping ever since I told her
it could not be."
My wife rushed at him, but whether she embraced
him or only shook his hands I can not say ; for I had
the knapsack in one hand, and was rubbing my eyes
with the other.
" But, my dear fellow," said Mr. Gilbert directly,
" if you still consider it to your interest to keep your
invention a secret, I wish you had never made it. No
one having a machine like that can help using it, and
it is often quite as bad to be considered a maniac as
to be one."
108 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
" M}' friend," I cried, with some excitement, " I
have made up my mind on this subject. The little
machine in this knapsack, which is the only one I now
possess, has been a great pleasure to me. But I now
know it has also been of the greatest injury indirectly
to me and mine, not to mention some direct inconven-
ience and danger, which I will speak of another time.
The secret lies with us three, and we will keep it. But
the invention itself is too full of temptation and dan-
ger for any of us."
As I said this I hold the knapsack with one hand
while I quickly turned the screw with the other. In
a few moments it was high above m}' head, while I
with difficulty held it down by the straps. " Look ! "
I cried. And then I released my hold, and the knap-
sack shot into the air and disappeared into the upper
gloom.
I was about to make a remark, but had no chance,
for my wife threw herself upon my bosom, sobbing
with joy.
"Oh, I am so glad — so glad! " she said. "And
3' on will never make another?"
" Never another ! " I answered.
" And now let us hurry in and see Janet," said my
wife.
"You don't know how heavy and clumsy I feel,"
said Mr. Gilbert, striving to keep up with us as we
walked back. " If I had worn that thing much longer,
I should never have been willing to take it off ! "
Janet had retired, but my wife went up to her
room.
A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY. lU9
"I think she has felt it as much as our boy," she
said, wheu she rejoined me. " But I tell you, my dear,
I left a very happy girl in that little bed-chamber over
the garden."
And there were three very happy elderly people
talking together until quite late that evening, " I
shall write to Herbert to-night," I said, when we sepa-
rated, " and tell him to meet us all in Geneva. It will
do the young man no harm if we interrupt his studies
just now."
" You must let me add a postscript to the letter,"
said Mr. Gilbert, "and I am sure it will require no
knapsack with a screw in the back to bring him quickly
to us."
And it did not.
There is a wonderful pleasure in tripping over the
earth like a winged Mercur}^, and in feeling one's self
relieved of much of that attraction of gravitation which
drags us down to earth, and gradually makes the move-
ment of our bodies but weariness and labor. But this
pleasure is not to be compared, I think, to that given
by the buoyancy and lightness of two young and loving
hearts, reunited after a separation which they had
supposed would last for ever.
"What became of the basket and the knapsack, or
whether they ever met in upper air, I do not know.
If they but float away and stay away from ken of
mortal man, I shall be satisfied.
And whether or not the world will ever know more
of the power of negative gravity depends entiiely upon
the disposition of p?y sou Herbert, when — after a good
110 A TALE OF NEGATIVE GRAVITY.
many years, I hope — he shall open the packet my
lawyers have in keeping.
[Note. — It would be quite useless for any one to
interview my wife on this subject, for she has entirely
forgotten how my machine was made. And as for
Mr. Gilbert, he never knew.]
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
""VrOT far from the roadside, in one of the southern
-^^ counties of Virginia, there stood a neat log cabin,
inhabited by a worthy negro couple, known as Uncle
Elijah and Aunt Maria. These two had belonged to
a widow lady, who owned the estate of Cloverfields,
about three miles away ; . but when, a few years before
the opening of our story, the close of the civil war had
set them free, they, in common with nearly all the ne-
groes in the county, thought it incumbent upon them,
as an assertion of their independence, to leave their
former owners, and either work for themselves or go
into service elsewhere. Thus there was a general shift-
ing from plantation to plantation. Uncle Elijah and
his wife, both now past middle age, left the place
where they had been born and raised, and hired this
cabin on a neighboring plantation, where by day's labor
and odd jobs on the part of the husband, and washing
and ironing and chicken- raising on the part of the wife,
they managed to live in moderate comfort.
Elijah had been the family coachman, and he had
found it a hard thing to resign the dignity of this posi-
tion ; but had he retained it he would virtually have
HI
112 THE CL0VERFIELD8 CARRIAGE.
admitted to all his brethren and sisters that freedom
had done nothing for him. In order to show that he
was now director of his own fortunes, it was necessary
that he should drop the reins by which he had so skill-
fully directed and controlled the two black caiTiage-
horses which had been his especial care since their early
colthood.
But his love for his old mistress and his sense of his
former dignity never left him, and now, when from afar
he saw approaching the familiar carriage, he would
drop his work, or get up from his meal, and watch it
until it had entirely disappeared from sight. Some-
times, if it were near enough, he would advance, hat
in hand, to speak to his old mistress ; but this he did
not often do, — people might think he wanted to go
back.
One autumn evening, just about dusk, as Uncle
Elijah came out of his cabin, he perceived, near the
top of a long hill on the road, the Cloverfields carriage
and horses. Other eyes in the growing gloom might
have not known what vehicle it was, but the eyes of
Uncle Elijah could make no mistake. As he stood and
gazed they sparkled with emotion.
" Whar Miss Jane gwine dis time o' night? An*
wot's de matter wid dat kerridge ! " he ejaculated.
" I'll be dangdiddled ef de eberlastin' fool dat's dribin'
hain't gwine an' chain' up de hin' wheel as ef it was a
hay-wagin. An' who's de no' count idyit wot can't
dribe down Red Hill widout chainin' de wheel? Lor' !
how he do bump de stones ! An' how dat mus' rile
Miss Jane ! But I reckin she mus' done got use' ter
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 113
bein' riled, a pickin' up all sorts o' niggahs to dribe her
ker ridge."
When the vehicle reached the bottom of the hill, not
far from the cabin, it stopped, and the driver got down
to unchain the wheel. Possessed by a sudden thought,
Uncle Elijah rushed into his house, from which his wife
was happily absent, clapped on his hat, and seized his
coat. Keeping well away from the road, he ran to-
wards the carriage, climbed the fence, and approached
the vehicle in the rear, where he would not be seen by
any of its occupants. When he reached the man, who
had just unfastened the chain, the soul of Uncle Elijah
was filled with righteous indignation at finding it was
Montague Bi'axton, a negro shoemaker of the neighbor-
hood. Without a word he seized the cobbler coachman
by the collar, including a good part of one ear in his
grasp, and led him away from the carriage, Montague,
who knew who had clutched him, submitting without a
word. When they had hurriedly gone a dozen steps
Elijah hissed in the other's ear :
" Is you comin' back ter-night? "
"Yaas,'* whispered the shoemaker, very much as-
tonished at the manner of his interviewer.
"Well, den, jus' you go 'long up ter my house,
split de wood fur Auii' M'riar, fotch a bucket ob water
from de spring, and stay hyar till I come back. I'se
gwine ter dribe dis kerridge myse'f . Ain't got no time
to say no moh. Now, git ! "
Montague, who knew " Uncle 'Lijah " as a pillar of
strength in the church, as well as a pillar of not very
easily restrained strength in his own proper person,
114 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
made no answer, but noiselessly slipped away. Elijah
passed quickly around the carriage, keeping at a little
distance from it to avoid being recognized by those
within, although he scarcely need have feared this
in the dusky light, and mounted to the elevated
seat in front ; when, taking up the reins and whip, he
started the horses, and the equipage moved on. Now
sat Uncle Elijah like a king upon his throne, and his
soul was moved within him with a joy that he had not
known for years. Here were Gamma and Delta, the
two horses that he had driven so long, a little older, a
little browner in their manes and tails, but still the
same good horses, with plenty of strength and spirit
left ; here was the same old harness — he could recog-
nize it even in the dark — badly kept, and badly put on,
but still the same ; here were the reins that once no
hand but his had ever dared to touch ; and here the
whip, very old now and shabby, with a miserable new
lash on it, but still the same whip he used to wield ;
and here was the high seat on which he alone had sat
from the time he became a man in years until that day
when his freedom made him another man.
Now the thoughts of the regenerated coachman ran
riot in his brain. Indignation towards the shoemaker
who had dared to drive the family carriage of his old
mistress on a night which promised 5to be as dark as
this, first took entire possession of him.
" Dat no 'count cobbler!" he said to himself.
" Wot he know 'bout dribin' ? An' o' nights, too ! An'
wid de crick up. An' wid de water all ober de road
'longside for harf a mile. An' de road pas' Colonel
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 115
Tom Giles's all washed so dat he couldn't help slidin'
inter de gully to sabe his soul, ef he hadn't fus' druv
inter de crick, an' tumbled de kemdge an* bosses, an'
his own eberlastin' fool se'f, top o' Miss Jane, an'
mos' likely little Miss Jane an' Miss Almira Gay. But
dey's all right now I'se dribin'. You ken bet your life
on dat."
If any one had heard this remark, he would have
been quite safe in accepting the wager, for, by day or
by night, washed by rains, covered by freshets, or in
their normal condition, Uncle Elijah knew the roads in
this neighborhood better than any man alive, even
since he had become a freeman he had studied the diffi-
culties and obstructions of the highways as he walked
to and from his work. " Ef I was a dribin' hyar," he
would say to himself, "I'd put dis fron' wheel roun'
dat little stone, den one small twis' ud bring de hin'
wheel on dis side ob it, an' I'd clean miss de big rock
in de udder rut."
Remembering and avoiding the stones, deep ruts,
and encroaching gullies, Elijah, like a pilot who steers
past the rocks and sandbars which lie under the water,
as the road now lay in the darkness of the night, went
steadily on, without bump or jolt of any account. Pass-
ing the flooded part of the road without deviating a
foot to the right or left of the proper course, passing
the tobacco field of Colonel Giles, where the rains had
washed the road into a shelving hillside, without bump-
ing an exposed rock or sliding towards a gully, he
reached the higher and more level portion of the road,
which was now so comparatively good and compara-
116 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
tively clear, to the sharp eyes of horses and driver,
that Elijah went on at a fair pace, now and then wav-
ing his whip and straightening himself up as a man
who breathes his native air once more. Suddenly a
dreadful thought flashed across his mind, and he barely
checked himself from pulling the horses back on their
haunches.
" Whar's I gwine? " said he, almost aloud. " Dat
double, eberlastin' fool shoemaker neber tole me !
Whar kin Miss Jane, an' mos' like little Miss Jane
an' Miss Almira Gay, be gwine at dis time? An'
comin' back ter-night, too ! Dey mus' be 'tendin' ter
spen' de ebenln' somewhar, — but whar?"
Elijah now revolved in his mind every place to which
he thought the family might be goiug. So far he had
made no mistake because there had been no turn in the
road ; and although he had passed the place of Colonel
Tom Giles, they could not be going to see him, for he
was an old bachelor, living alone, and besides had gone
to Richmond. A short distance ahead the road
branched, and in one direction led to the house of Dr.
Marshall Gordon, distant about a mile, and in the other
to the hospitable mansion of General William Tucker.
"Dey can't be gwine fur de doctor fur anybody
sick," thought Elijah, " fur if it had been dat dey'd
sent a boy on a boss, an' not hitched up de kerridge
wid a shoemaker ter dribe ; an' I'd be dreffel 'shamed
ter take 'em more'n four miles to de Gin'ral's ef dey
wasn't gwine dar."
The nearer he approached the fork of the road the
more completely Uncle Elijah became convinced that
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 117
he could not decide this important question for himself.
It was absolutely necessary that he should get down
and ask his old mistress where she was going. This
was a terribly hard thing for him to do. He would be
obliged to tell the whole story, and to admit that his
affection for her, as strong as ever, had prompted him
to take the driver's seat. And this was to relinquish a
portion of his new freedom and manhood. But it had
to be done, for the fork of the road was reached.
Drawing up his horses, Elijah descended from his seat,
and with the reins in one hand, for he was not a man,
like the cobbler, to leave his horses standing free in the
road, he reverently opened the carriage door.
" Miss Jane," said he, " I spec' you s'prised to see
me dribin', but I couldn't stan' still an' let dat no
'count shoemaker, wot don' know nuffin 'bout bosses,
nor de roads nuther, an' night comin' on pitch dark,
dribe you. He hadn't eben sense 'nuf to tell me whar
you's gwine, so I begs you'll sense me fur gittin' down
ter ax you."
They were now in the heavily shaded portion of the
road, and the interior of the carriage was quite dark.
From the farthest corner of the back seat came a thin,
low voice which said to him: "Keep on now to the
kyars."
This reply surprised Elijah in several ways. In the
first place, he had confidently expected that his old
mistress would say something expressive of her satis-
faction in finding herself under his charge on such a
dark night as this ; and, again, he was surprised to
hear that voice come out of the carriage. It did not
118 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
belong to Miss Jane, nor, as far as he could judge, to
any of her family. After a moment's hesitation he
closed the door, and then, irresolutely, mounted to his
seat and drove slowly on. He had not proceeded a
hundred yards before there dawned upon his mind
a dim recognition of the voice which had come from
the carriage. Drawing up his horses again, he quickly
got down and opened the carriage door.
*' Who in dar, anyhow? " he said, in a tone by no
means as respectful as that he had used before.
At this question the opposite door of the carriage
suddenly opened, and the occupant popped out of it.
As this individual, upon reaching the ground, turned,
and stood facing Uncle Elijah, the latter could see, out-
lined upon a patch of sky behind him, the plainly dis-
cernible form of the cobbler, Montague, from whose
lips now burst forth a roar of laughter that completely
established his identity. The outraged soul of Uncle
Elijah boiled and bubbled within him. He put out his
left arm as if he would reach through the carriage and
clutch the scoundrel bj^ the tliroat. But this was im-
possible, and he would not drop the reins to run around
the carriage.
"You eberlastin' fool cobbler!" he cried, "what
fur you go play dis trick on me ? ' '
" I no play no trick on you. Uncle 'Lijah," returned
Montague, still laughing immoderately. " You played
de trick on youse'f. I'se done nuffin but jus' keep
out your way. I got up behin' so's ter see whar you
was gwine, an' den I unhooked de back cuttins, an'
slipped inside 'cause 'twas moh comf'ble."
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 119
" I'll break your neck fur dat ! " cried Uncle Elijah.
" A low-down, yaller shoemaker like you gittin' inter
Miss Jane's kerridge ! "
"Got ter ketch me fus', Uncle 'Lijah, 'fore you
break my neck," replied the shoemaker, still in^a merry
mood.
"Shet up your fool talk! " cried Elijah, "an' tell
me whar you was sent ter."
" I was sent fur Miss Polly Brown, de seamstress
wot libes on Colonel Tom Giles's place, but dat was a
long time back. She done gone ter bed afore dis.
Miss Jane tole me ter go arly in the ebenin', but some-
body done took one ob de hoss-coUus fur de plow
team, an' I couldn't find it nowhar, so it got right
smart late afore I started. An' now you done tuck up
so much time. Uncle 'Lijah, comin' way out h3'ar on
your little business, dat 'tain't no use gwine fur Miss
Polly Brown till de mawniu'. Whar is you gwine,
anyhow, Uncle 'Lijah?"
To this Uncle Elijah made no answer, but his tone
moderated a little as he asked : " Wot fur you tell me
to keep on ter de kyars? "
" Cos I didn't know no udder place ter go, ef it was
lef ' ter me. 'Taint fur ter de kyars now, an' dar's alius
sumfin dar fur de fam'ly, an' I'd ruthcr go back an' tell
Miss Jane dat I done mistook whar she tole me ter go
dan ter say I ain't been nowhar."
Uncle Elijah's mind was not a quick one, but it did
not take a very long time for it to dawn upon him that
in this predicament it might be better to go somewhere
than nowhere. His anger had cooled down somewhat,
120 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
for he felt that in his controversy with ^lontagne he
had had the worst of it. After rubbing the side of
his head for a few moments he said shortly to the cob-
bler, " Shet dat doh', an' come 'long ter de kyars.
Ef dar's anyt'ing dar fur de fam'ly, you kin git it, an'
I'll dribe back. Aint gwine ter trus* you wid dese
bosses in de night."
" Look hyar. Uncle 'Lijah," said Montague, coming
round to the back of the carriage, but keeping well out
of reach, " dar ain't gwine ter be no fitin' if I done git
up 'longside o' you, is dar? "
" Come 'long hyar," said Uncle Elijah, mounting to
his seat; "I ain't gwine ter fight while I got dese
kerridge an' bosses under my chawge. But I don' say
nuffin 'bout ter-raorrer mawnin', min' dat."
" Don' keer nuffin' 'bout mawnin', long as 'tain't
come," said Montague, getting up on the other side.
The railroad station was a little beyond Dr. JMarshall
Gordon's, and the road to it was one over which Elijah
had gone so often that he felt warranted to drive at a
good round pace, especiall}- since he knew that his old
mistress would not be bumped if he happened to strike
a stone. His recollection of his previous careful driv-
ing made liim grumble all the more at the shoemaker
for having brought him on such a tom-fool errand.
" Now look hyar. Uncle 'Lijah," said Montague,
" did you eber hear de par'ble ob de fox an' de mule ? "
" Don' 'member no sich par'ble," said Elijah. " Is
it in de Scripter?"
" I reckin so," said the shoemaker. " I neber read
it dar myse'f but I spec's it's from de Scripter. Dar
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 121
was a fox a-gwine ter de well fur a drink ob water, an'
when he got dar he pull up de rope, an' sho' 'nuf dar
wasn't no bucket to it. Dar had been a baptiziu' at a
church not fur off, an' as de baptizin' pond was all
dried up, some ob de bredren come ter de well ter git
some water, an' when dey saw dat de bucket was a
good big one, dey fought dey mought as well take it
'long to baptize de sister right in it, cos she was a little
chile on'y free weeks old."
"Dey don' dip 'em dat young," interrupted Elijah.
" Dis was a long time ago," said Montague, " an' a
Mefodis' baby at dat. An' when de fox foun' out de
bucket was gone, he jus' rar'd an' chawged, for he was
pow'ful firsty, habin' bin eatin' fur his breakfus' some
ob dat dar mean middlin' dat dey sen's up from Rich-
mon', wot is moh salt dan meat. But sw'arin' wouldn't
fotch de water up ter him, an' so he 'eluded ter climb
down de rope, an' git a drink dat way. When he got
down dar he drunk, an' he drunk, an' he drunk, an*
when he felt mos' like fit to bus' he thought he'd had
enuf, an' he'd go up ag'in. But when dat ole fox try
ter climb up de rope, he fin' it right smart dif 'rent wuk
from comin' down, an' he couldn't git up nohow.
When he foun' dis out he was pow'ful disgruntled, fur
he had to stan' in de water, an' it was mighty cole, an'
he 'spected he'd git de rhcumatiz, an' have to have
his legs wrop up in red flannel an' turpentine. While
he was 'volvin' in liis min' wot he'd do to dat sto'-
keeper wot sole him dat salt middlin', 'long come a'
army mule an' look down de well. He was p'intedly
ole, dat mule, an' branded wid U.S. twice on bof sides,
122 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
what had been guv to a preacher at Pow'tan Co'at
House by de guv'ment, in de place ob a good mule dat
de Yankees took."
" Th'ain't no mention of Pow'tan Co'at House in
de Scripter," interrupted Elijah.
" Don' know 'bout dat," said Montague ; " I reckin
it's a Scripter name. Anyhow, de army mule he poke
he head down de well, an' holler : ' Hello ! Whar de
bucket? an' who down dar? ' ' Mawnin', Cap'n Mule,*
said de fox. He was one ob dem red foxes dat ben
hunt so offen by Gin'ral Tucker's pack of hounds dat
it make him pow'ful peart. ' De bucket no 'count,
Cap'n. De bottom's bruck out, an' it's been throwed
away. Eberybody comes down de well arfter de water,
an' I jus' tell you, Cap'n, it's mighty good dis mawn-
in'. Somebody mus' 'a' drop' a tickler an' a couple
ob pounds ob sugar down hyar, fur it tastes jus' like
apple toddy.' An' de fox he 'gan to lap wid he tongue
as ef he could neber git enuf. When de army mule he
heard 'bout de apple toddy, he say no moh, but jus'
slid down de rope. ' Hello ! ' he holler when he git to
de bottom. ' How you put your head down to drink?
Th'ain't no room fur me ter put my head down.' ' Dat's
so,' said de fox, who was scrouging ag'in' de wall to
git out ob de way; ' you do fill up dis well 'mazin',
an', sho' 'nuf, dar ain't no room fur you ter put 3'our
head down. But neber you min'. Jus' stan' still, an'
I'll fix all dat.' De army mule, his hind legs was in
de bottom ob de well, his forelegs was ag'in' de sides,
an' he great long neck was stickin' eber so high up.
Him gittin' right smart skeered 'bout dis time. De fox
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 123
he jus' jump on de mule back, den on he neck, den on
he head, an' den he gib one skip right out ob de well.
'Hello, dar!' hollered de mule. 'Whar you gwine?
Come back hyar, an' haul me out dis well ! What fur
you go 'way an' leab me hyar? ' De fox he come back,
an' he look down de well, an' he say : ' Wot's de mat-
ter, mule? ' An' de heart ob de mule went down into
his hoofs when he notus he done lef off de Cap'n. ' I
got nufRn' ter do wid dat well, nur wid you nudder.
Ef you wan' ter go down arfter apple toddy, dat's your
look-out. Good-mawnin'.' An' off went Mr. Fox to
de stoh' po'ch to tell the folks 'bout dat fool mule.
" Now that par'ble 'minds me ob you. Uncle 'Lijah.
You didn't hab to git up on dis seat, an' hoi' dese
reins, an' dribe dese bosses, ef you hadn't wanted ter.
'Tain't no use jawin' me fur dat."
" Ef I wasn't 'feared dese bosses ud run away,"
roared Uncle Elijah, " I'd jus' take you down de road
and give you sech a-hidin' as you haven't had sence
you got inter breeches."
With Uncle Elijah's hands so fully occupied as
they were, Montague felt safe ; and, edging as near
as possible to his end of the seat, he exclaimed :
"But dat ain't all de par'ble. Uncle 'Lijah. De
fox he come back dat ebenin', an' when he looked
down de well, dar de mule yit, sw'arin' an' cussin' like
all out-doh's. When he see de fox, de mule he 'clar
ter gracious dat when he git out he kick dat fox inter
little bits so small dat they could sow him ober de fiel's
from a wheat-seeder. ' Look hyar,' said de fox, ' you
min' me ob de par'ble ob de man what los' his spring
124 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
lamb. Somebody stole that lamb wot he 'spected to
get foh' dollars fur at de Co'at House, an' de mau he
rar'd an' chawged, an' he swore dat ef he kotch dat
t'ief he'd lick him wuss dan any sheep-t'icf was eber
licked in dat county, or any ob de j'ining counties.
He hunted high, an' he hunted low, to find de t'ief,
an' jus' as he got inside de woods he come across a
great big b'ar who had his spring lamb a hung up
a-barbecuin*, an' he was a-nailin' de skin up ag'in' a
tree fur ter dry. De man was orf ul skeered ; but de
b'ar he sees him, an' he sings out : ' Hello ! man, now
you kotch de t'ief wot stole your spring lamb, why
3'ou no punch he head? Why you no break he back
wid dat club? Tell me dat, you big man!' An' de
b'ar he put down he hammer an' he nails so's ter talk
de better. De man he too skeered to speak a word,
an' he kep' squeezin' back, an' squeezin' back, widout
sayin' nuffln'. De b'ar he come nigher an' nigher, an*
he sing out: 'Wot fur you keep your mouf shut like
a can o' temahters ? Why 3'ou no do some ob dem big
tMngs you blow 'bout jus' now ? ' De man he squeeze
back, an' he squeeze back, till he git ter de edge ob
de woods, and den he sing out : ' I mube dis meetin'
'journ ! An' he more'n 'journed.
"Now, Uncle 'Lijah, I don' wan' ter make no
'flections 'gin' you in dis par'ble, but de fox he did
say ter de mule dat 'fore he blow 'bout de big t'ings
he gwine ter do, he better 'mune wid his own soul,
an' see ef he able. Right smart fox dat, min' you,
Uncle 'Lijah."
To this Uncle Elijah made no answer, but his eyes
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 125
sparkled, and his big hands were gripped very tightly
on the whip and the reins that he held ; and in a
minute more he had drawn up at the little railroad
station. Montague got down, and went to inquire if
there were an}' packages of goods waiting for the
Cloverfields family, while Elijah remained in his seat.
This was a very familiar spot to the old negro. In
former times he had been in the habit of driving here
two or three times a week, and as he sat on his old
seat on the carriage, with the same old reins in his
hand, and the two black horses of the olden time
again before him, and the familiar scenes all about
him, Elijah actually forgot for the time being that he
had ever resigned his ancient post.
"Look hyar," said Montague, presentl}' returning
with a package in his hands. " Hyar's some dry-
goods from Richmon,' an' ef we hadn't druv down
hyar, I'd been sent arfter 'em ter-morrer in de cart
or on mule-back. De train's comin' in ten minutes ;
might as well wait, an' see ef dar's anythin' moh."
Elijah grumbled a little at waiting, but Montague,
whose soul delighted in being stirred, even by so small
a matter as the arrival of a railroad train, insisted
that it would be unwise to go away, when a few
minutes' delay might save a lot of future trouble.
And so they waited.
Soon there was heard a distant whistle, then an
approaching rumble, and the train rolled up to the
station and stopped. As she had always done. Gamma
tossed her head and looked to one side, while Delta
pricked up his ears ; but, as he had always done,
126 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
Uncle Elijah kept a firm haud upon the reins, and
spoke to his horses in a low, quiet tone, which had
the effect of making them understand that they might
safely remain where they were, for under no circum-
stances would the train come their way.
Out of the open window of a car a young man put
his head, and looked up and down the narrow plat-
form, and then his eye was caught by the Cloverfields
carriage, standing full in the light of the station lamp.
Drawing in his head, he continued to look steadily at
the carriage, and then he arose and came out on the
car platform. One of the good comfortable stops,
not unfrequent on the roads in this part of the coun-
try, was taking place, and the conductor bad gone into
the station to send a telegram. The young man came
down to the bottom step, and again looked up and
down. Here he was espied by Montague, who rushed
up and accosted him.
"How d'ye, Mahs Chawles? Don' you 'member
me? I'se Montague Braxton. Use' ter men' your
boots."
" Isn't that Uncle Elijah? " asked the young man.
" And who is the carnage waiting for? "
" Come fur you, sah," said the mendacious cobbler.
"All ready waitin', sah. Gimme your checks, Mahs
Chawles, an' I'll git de baggage."
" Come for me ! " repeated the young man. " How
did they know? "
" Cawn't tell nuffin' 'bout dat, sah, but Miss Jane
she sen' me an* 'Lijah arfter j'ou wid de kerridge.
Better hurry up with de checks, sah."
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 127
The young man stood upon the l)ottom step looking
steadily at the carriage, and paying no attention to
Montague's last remark. Then he moved his eyes
and saw the conductor coming out of the station. He
turned, sprang up the steps and into the car, returning
almost instantly with a valise and a light overcoat,
which were immediately, taken by the obsequious
Montague.
"Dat all, sah?" said he.
The young man nodded. " All aboard ! " cried the
conductor. And in a moment the train had moved away.
Montague put the coat and valise on the front seat
of the carriage, and stood holding open the door.
" Hyar Mahs Chawles," said he to Elijah.
The old man turned so suddenly as to startle the
horses "Mahs Chawles!" he exclaimed, his eyes
opening like a pair of head-lights.
"How d'ye. Uncle IClijah?" said the j'oung man,
exteuding his hand, which the old negro took as if he
had been in a dream.
Montague looked a little anxiously at the two.
"Better hurr}- up, sah," he said in a low voice.
"It's gittiu' late, an' Miss Jane's awful skeery 'bout
dribin' at night."
At this the young man entered the carriage, Mon-
tague shut the door and ran around to his seat, and
Uncle Elijah, his mind dazed and confused by this
series of backward slides into times gone by, turned
his horses and drove away. For ten minutes he spoke
not a word, and then he said to Montague : " Did you
know Mahs Chawles was comiu' ? "
128 THE CL0VERFIELD8 CARRIAGE.
*' Ob courae I did," said the cobbler. "You don'
s'pose, Uncle 'Lijah, dat I'd fetch you all de way
down hyar jus' fur a little bun'le ob cotton cloth?
Didn't say nuffin' 'bout Mahs Chawles, cos I feared he
mightn't come, an' 3-ou'd be dis'p'inted, an' dem
par'bles was jus' ter pahs de time, Uncle 'Lijah — jus'
ter pahs de time."
The old man made no answer, but drove steadily
on, and the moon now having arisen, he was able to
make very good time. Little more was said until they
had nearly reached Uncle Elijah's cabin ; then Mon-
tague asked the old man if he intended driving all
the way to Cloverfields.
"Ob course I do," was the gruff reply. "You
don' s'pose I'd trus' you wid Mahs Chawles dis time
o' night?"
"Well, den," said the other, "I reckin I'll git
down and cut acrost de fiel's ter my cabin ef you'll
be 'bligin' enuf, Uncle 'Lijah, jes' ter put up de
bosses when you gits dar, an' I'll come fus' t'ing in
de mawnin' an' 'tend to eberyt'iug, jus' as I alius
does."
" Go 'long," said Elijah, slackening his horses*
pace. " I'se got no use fur you, nohow."
The mistress of Cloverfields, with little Miss Jane
and Miss Almira Gay, was sitting in the parlor of the
old mansion very much disturbed. In the middle of
the afternoon Montague Braxton had been told to
take the carriage and go for Miss Polly Brown, the
seamstress, who had promised to give a week of her
valuable time to Cloverfields ; but, although it was
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 129
now between nine and ten o'clock, he had not re-
turned. The force of men-servants at Cloverfields was
very small, and no one of them lived at the house ex-
cepting a very old man, too decrepit to send out to look
up the lost cobbler and a carriage ; and " Miss Jane,"
who was still a vigorous woman, though her hair was
white, with her daughter, little Miss Jane, and her
niece, Miss Almira Gay, had almost determined that
they would walk over to a cabin about half a mile
distant, and get a colored man living there to saddle
a mule and ride to Miss Polly Brown's to see what
had happened, when their deliberations were cut short
by the sound of carriage-wheels on the drive. The
three ladies sprang to their feet and hurried out to
the porch, throwing the front door wide open that
the light from the hall lamp might illumine the
steps.
"Why, Miss Polly!" exclaimed little Miss Jane,
what on earth " And then she abruptly stopped,
ejaculating in a low tone : " Uncle Elijah ! "
At these words her mother moved quickly forward
to the edge of the porch, but before she had time
to say anything the carriage-door opened, and there
stepped out, not the middle-aged seamstress who was
expected, but a young man, on whose pale and up-
turned face the light of the hall lamp shone full. There
was a cry from the women, a sudden bound up the
steps, and in an instant the son of the house was in
his mother's arms, with his sister clasping as much of
his neck as she could reach.
A quarter of an hour after this, as Master Charles
130 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
sat in the parlor, his mother on one side with an arm
around him, his sister on the other side with her arm
around him, while his right hand clasped that of Miss
Almira Gay, he thus explained himself : "I hadn't the
least idea of getting off the train, for you know I had
vowed never to come here till there was an end of that
old trouble ; but I thought if I went down to Danville
in the late train we probably wouldn't stop at our sta-
tion at all, and that I wouldn't notice when we passed
it. But we did stop, and I couldn't help looking out,
and when I saw the Cloverfields carriage standing
there just as natural as life, and old Uncle Elijah in
the driver's seat "
"Uncle Elijah!" exclaimed his mother, pushing
back her chair. "Did he go down to the station to
bring me my son ? ' '
" It was Elijah ! " cried little Miss Jane. "I saw
him on the seat."
The old lady arose and left the room. She stepped
upon the porch and looked out, but the carriage had
gone. Then she went to the back door, hastily lighted
a lantern which stood on the table, and with this in
her hand made her way under the tall oaks and along
the driveway to the barn, which was at some distance
from the house. Through the open door of the stables
she saw dimly the form of a man engaged in nibbing
down a horse. Raising the lantern in her hand, she
stepped to the door and threw the light within.
" Uncle Elijah," she said, " is that you? "
The man turned around. He forgot he had a vote ;
he forgot he could serve on a jury. He simply took
THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE. 131
off his hat, and coming forward, said : " Yaas, Miss
Jane, dis is me."
The next morning, not very early, the cobbler
approached the CloverQelds stables to attend to the
horses, and to do the various oddments and bitments
of work for which he had been temporarily hired. To
his surprise, just as he turned a corner of the barn he
met Uncle Elijah, who was engaged in attaching a
new lash to the carriage-whip. Montague, astounded,
stood for a moment speechless, gazing at Elijah, who,
in some way, seemed to be different from what he was
the day before. He looked taller and wider ; his coun-
tenance was bright, his general aspect cheerful, and
an element of Sunday seemed to have been infused
into his clothes.
" Didn't spec' to see you hyar. Uncle 'Lijah," stam-
mered the cobbler when he found his voice.
" Reckin not," said the old man, " but I'se glad ter
see you, cos I wants ter tell you a par'ble. Dar was
once a mud-turkle, de low-downest, or'nerest, no'count-
est mud-turkle in de whole worl'. His back was so
cracked dat it wouldn't keep de rain off he skin, and
he bottom shell bin ha'f sole' free or foh' times — he
so lazy he ruther scuffle it ober de rocks dan walk —
an' de chickens had eat off he tail afore de war, cos
he too triflin' ter pull it in. Well, dis mis'ble mud-
turkle come 'long one day, an' he sees a Chris'mus
tukkey a-settin' on de limb ob a big apple-tree. De
tukkey, he feel fus'-rate, an' he look fus'-rate, an' he
jyin hese'f up dar 'mong de leabes an' de apples. An'
de mud-turkle he look up, an' he say : ' Dat mighty
132 THE CLOVERFIELDS CARRIAGE.
nice up dar ! Reckin I'd like tor set up dar myse'f.
Jus' you come dowu, Mahs Chris'mus tukkey, an'
lemme set up dar 'mongst de apples an' de leabes.*
Den de Chris'mus tukkey, he bristle hese'f up, an' he
stick out he feathers, an' he spread out he tail, an' his
comb an' his gills git redder dan fire, an' he sing out :
' Go 'long wid you, you mud-turkle ; don' lemme heah
you say no moh 'bout settin' up hyar.' You dunno
how to dribe a boss ; j'ou got no moh sense dan ter
chain de hin' wheel ob a kerridge, gwine down Red
Hill ; you lose de hoss-collus ; you breaks de whip-
lashes, and gits de harness all upside down wrong ; an'
j-ou comes ter feed de bosses arfter dey's bin watered
an' turned out moh'n two hours. P'raps you dunno
who I is. I'se de driber ob de Cloverfields kerridge,
an' as long as I has de use ob ray j'ints, an' can see
wid my ej'es, nobody dribes dat kerridge but me. An'
now, look hyar, you shoemaker mud-turkle, when me,
an' Miss Jane, an' little Miss Jane, an' Miss Almira
Gay, an' p'r'aps Mahs Chawles, gits ter de Happy
Lan', don' you reckin dat you's gwine ter come dar
too cos your foolin' helped fotch Mahs Chawles home.
De angel Gabr'el, he p'int his horn right at yon an'
he sing out: 'Ain't got no use fur no yaller cobbler
angels hj'ar, wid dey fool par'bles, an' dey lies 'bout
bein' sent fur Mahs Chawles, an' dey lettin' Aun'
M'riar split her own wood an' fotch her own water
from de spring.' An' now you's got my par'ble, Mon-
tague Braxton, an' de nex' time you comes you gits
your lickin'."
THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE
"THOMAS HYKE."
IT was half -past one by the clock in the office of the
Registrar of Woes. The room was empty, for it
was Wednesday, and the Registrar always went home
earl}^ on Wednesday afternoons. He had made that
arrangement when he accepted the office. He was
willing to serve his fellow-citizens in any suitable posi-
tion to which he might be called, but he had private
interests which could not be neglected. He belonged
to his country, but there was a house in the country
which belonged to him ; and there were a great many
things appertaining to that house which needed atten-
tion, especially in pleasant summer weather. It is true
he was often absent on afternoons which did not fall on
the Wednesday, but the fact of his having appointed
a particular time for the furtherance of his outside
interests so emphasized their importance that his asso-
ciates in the office had no difficulty in understanding
that affairs of such moment could not always be
attended to in a single afternoon of the week.
But although the large room devoted to the especial
use of the Registrar was unoccupied, there were other
133
134 THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HTKE."
rooms connected with it which were not in that condi-
tion. "With the suite of offices to the left we have
nothing to do, but will confine our attention to a mod-
erate-sized room to the right of the Registrar's office,
and connected by a door, now closed, with that large
and handsomely furnished chamber. This was the
office of the Clerk of Shipwrecks, and it was at present
occupied bj- five persons. One of these was the clerk
himself, a man of goodly appearance, somewhere be-
tween twenty-five and forty-five years of age, and of
a demeanor such as might be supposed to belong to
one who had occupied a high position in state affairs,
but who, by the cabals of his enemies, had been forced
to resign the great operations of statesmanship which
he had been directing, and who now stood, with a
quite resigned air, pointing out to the populace the
futile and disastrous efforts of the incompetent one
who was endeavoring to fill his place. The Clerk of
Shipwrecks had never fallen from such a position,
having never occupied one, but he had acquired the
demeanor referred to without going through the pre-
liminar}' exercises.
Another occupant was a very young man, the per-
sonal clerk of the Registrar of Woes, who always
closed all the doors of the office of that functionary on
Wednesday afternoons, and at other times when out-
side interests demanded his principal's absence, after
which he betook himself to the room of his friend the
Shipwreck Clerk.
Then there was a middle-aged man named Mathers,
also a friend of the clerk, and who was one of the
THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE." 135
eight who had made application for a sub-position in
this department, which was now filled by a man who
was expected to resign when a friend of his, a gentle-
man of influence in an interior county, should succeed
in procuring the nomination as congressional represen-
tative of his district of an influential politician, whose
election was considered assured in case certain ex-
pected action on the part of the administration should
bring his party into power. The person now occupy-
ing the sub-position hoped then to get something better,
and Mathers, consequently, was very willing, while
waiting for the place, to visit the offices of the depart-
ment and acquaint himself with its duties.
A fourth person was J. George Watts, a juryman
by profession, who had brought with him his brother-
in-law, a stranger in the city.
The Shipwreck Clerk had taken oflT his good coat,
which he had worn to luncheon, and had replaced it
by a lighter garment of linen, much bespattered with
ink ; and he now produced a cigar-box, containing six
cigars.
" Gents," said he, " here is the fag end of a box of
cigars. It's not like having the pick of the box, but
they are all I have left."
Mr. Mathers, J. George Watts, and the brother-in-
law each took a cigar with that careless yet deferential
manner which always distinguishes the treatee from
the treator ; and then the box was protruded in an off-
hand way toward Harry Gov are, the personal clerk of
the Registrar; but this young man declined, saying
that he preferred cigarettes, a package of which he
136 THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE."
drew from his pocket. He had very often seen that
cigar-box with a Havana brand, which he himself had
brought from the other room after the Registrar had
emptied it, passed around with six cigars, no more nor
less, and he was wise enough to know that the Ship-
wreck Clerk did not expect to supply him with smok-
ing material. If that gentleman had offered to the
friends who generally dropped in on him on Wednes-
day afternoon the paper bag of cigars sold at five
cents each when bought singly, but half a dozen for
a quarter of a dollar, they would have been quite as
thankfully received ; but it better pleased his depreca-
tive soul to put them in an empty cigar-box, and thus
throw around them the halo of the presumption that
ninety-four of their imported companions had been
smoked.
The Shipwreck Clerk, having lighted a cigar for
himself, sat down in his revolving chair, turned his
back to his desk, and threw himself into an easy cross-
legged attitude, which showed that he was perfectly at
home in that office. Harry Covare mounted a high
stool, while the visitors seated themselves in three
wooden arm-chairs. But few words had been said,
and each man had scarcely tossed his first tobacco
ashes on the floor when some one wearing heavy boots
was heard opening an outside door and entering the
Registrar's room. Harry Covare jumped down from
his stool, laid his half-smoked cigarette thereon, and
bounced into the next room, closing the door after
him. In about a minute he returned, and the Ship-
wreck Clerk looked at him inquirmgly.
THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKEy 137
"An old cock in a pea-jacket," said Mr. Covare,
taking up his cigarette, and mounting his stool. "I
told him the Registrar would be here in the morning.
He said he had something to report about a shipwreck ;
and I told him the Registrar would be here in the
morning. Had to tell him that three times, and then
he went."
"School don't keep "Wednesday afternoons," said
Mr. J. George "Watts, with a knowing smile.
"No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, emphatically,
changing the crossing of his legs. "A man can't
keep grinding on day in and out without breaking
down. Outsiders may say what they please about it,
but it can't be done. "We've got to let up sometimes.
People who do the work need the rest just as much as
those who do the looking on."
" And more too, I should say," observed Mr.
Mathers.
"Our little let-up on Wednesday afternoons," mod-
estly observed Harry Covare, " is like death ; it is
sure to come, while the let-ups we get other days are
more like the diseases which prevail in certain areas ;
you can't be sure whether you're going to get them or
not."
The Shipwreck Clerk smiled benignantly at this re-
mark, and the rest laughed. Mr. Mathers had heard
it before, but he would not impair the pleasantness
of his relations with a future colleague by hinting that
he remembered it.
" He gets such ideas from his beastly statistics,"
said the Shipwreck Clerk.
138 THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE."
""Which come pretty heavy on him sometimes, I
expect," observed Mr. Mathers.
"They needn't," said tlie Shipwreck Clerk, "if
things were managed here as they ought to be. If
John J. Laylor," meaning thereby the Registrar, "was
the riglit kind of a man, you'd see things very differ-
ent here from what they are now. There'd be a
larger force."
"That's so," said Mr. Mathers.
" And not only that, but there'd be better buildings,
and more accommodations. Were any of you ever up
to Anster? Well, take a run up there some day, and
see what sort of buildings the department has there.
William Q. Green is a very different man from John
J. Laylor. You don't see him sitting in his chair and
picking his teeth the whole winter, while the represen-
tative from his district never says a word about his
department from one end of a session of Congress to
the other. Now if I had charge of things here, I'd
make such changes that you wouldn't know the place.
I'd throw two rooms off here, and a corridor and en-
trance door at that end of the building. I'd close up
this door," pointing toward the Registrar's room, " and
if John J. Laylor wanted to come in here he might go
round to the end door like other people."
The thought struck Harry Covare that in that case
there would be no John J. Laylor, but he would not
interrupt.
"And what is more," continued the Shipwreck
Clerk, " I'd close up this whole department at twelve
o'clock on Saturdays. The way things are managed
THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE." 139
now, a man has no time to attend to bis own private
business. Suppose I tbiuk of buj-ing a piece of land,
and want to go out and look at it, or suppose any
one of you gentlemen were here and thought of buying
a piece of land and wanted to go out and look at it,
what are you going to do about it? You don't want
to go on Sunday-, and when are you going to go? "
Not one of the other gentlemen had ever thought of
buying a piece of land, nor had they any reason to
suppose that they ever would purchase an inch of soil
unless they bought it in a flower-pot ; but they all
agreed that the way things were managed now there
was no time for a man to attend to his own business.
" But you can't expect John J. Laylor to do any-
thing," said the Shipwreck Clerk,
However, there was one thing which that gentleman
always expected John J. Laylor to do. When the
clerk was surrounded by a number of persons in hours
of business, and when he had succeeded in impressing
them with the importance of his functions, and the
necessity of paying deferential attention to himself if
thej' wished their business attended to, John J. Laylor
would be sure to walk into the office and address the
Shipwreck Clerk in such a manner as to let the people
present know that he was a clerk and nothing else, and
that he, the Registrar, was the head of that depart-
ment. These humiliations the Shipwreck Clerk never
forgot.
There was a little pause here, and then Mr. Mathers
remarked :
" I should think you'd be awfully bored with the long
140 THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE."
stories of shipwrecks that the people come and tell
you."
He hoped to change the conversation, because,
although he wished to remain on good terms with the
subordinate officers, it was not desirable that he should
be led to say much against John J. Lay lor.
" No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, " I am not
bored. I did not come here to be bored, and as long
as I have charge of this office I don't intend to be.
The long-winded old salts who come here to report
their wrecks never spin out their prosy yarns to me.
The first thing I do is to let them know just what I
want of them ; and not an inch beyond that does a
man of them go, at least while I am managing the
business. There are times when John J. Lajlor comes
in, and puts in his oar, and wants to hear the whole
story, which is pure stuff and nonsense, for John J.
Laylor doesn't know anything more about a shipwreck
than he does about ' '
" The endemies in the Lake George area," suggested
Harry Covare.
" Yes ; or any other part of his business," said the
Shipwreck Clerk ; ' ' and when he takes it into his head
to interfere, all business stops till some second mate
of a coal-schooner has told his whole story, from his
sighting land on the morning of one day to his getting
ashore on it on the afternoon of the next. — Now I
don't put up with an^' such nonsense. There's no
man living that can tell me anything about shipwrecks.
I've never been to sea m3'self, but that's not neces-
sary ; and if I had gone, it's not likely I'd been
THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE." 141
wrecked. But I've read about eveiy kind of ship-
wreck that ever happened. When I first came here I
took care to post myself upon these matters, because
I knew it would save trouble. I have read ' Robin-
son Crusoe,' ' The Wreck of the Grosvenor,' ' The
Sinking of the Royal George,' and wrecks by water-
spouts, tidal waves, and every other thing which would
knock a ship into a cocked hat, and I've classi-
fied every sort of wreck under its proper head ; and
when I've found out to what class a wreck belongs,
I know all about it. Now, when a man comes here
to report a wreck, the first thing he has to do is just to
shut down on his story, and to stand up square and
answer a few questions that I put to him. In two
minutes I know just what kind of shipwreck he's
had ; and then, when he gives me the name of his
vessel, and one or two other points, he may go. I
know all about that wreck, and I make a much better
report of the business than he could have done if he'd
stood here talking three days and three nights. The
amount of money that's been saved to our tax-payers
by the wa}' I've systematized the business of this office
is not to be calculated in figures."
The brother-in-law of J. George Watts knocked the
ashes from the remnant of his cigar, looked contem-
platively at the coal for a moment, and then re-
marked :
" I think you said there's no kind of shipwreck
you don't know about? "
" That's what I said," replied the Shipwi'eck Clerk.
"I think," said the other, "I could tell you of a
142 THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HTKE:'
shipwreck, in which I was concerned, that wouldn't go
into any of your classes."
The Shipwreck Clerk threw away the end of his
cigar, put both his hands into his trousers pockets,
stretched out his legs, and looked steadfastly at the
man who had made this unwarrantable remark. Then
a pitying smile stole over his countenance, and he said :
"Well, sir, I'd like to hear your account of it; and
before you get a quarter through I can stop you just
where you are, and go ahead and tell the rest of the
story myself."
" That's so," said Harry Covare. " You'll see him
do it just as sure pop as a spread rail bounces the
engine."
" Well, then," said the brother-in-law of J. George
Watts, " I'll tell it." And he began :
" It was just two years ago, the first of this month,
that I sailed for South America in the ' ' Thomas
Hyke."
At this point the Shipwreck Clerk turned and opened
a large book at the letter T.
" That wreck wasn't reported here," said the other,
*' and you won't find it in your book."
" At Anster, perhaps? " said the Shipwreck Clerk,
closing the volume, and turning round again.
" Can't say about that," replied the other. " I've
never been to Anster, and haven't looked over their
books."
"Well, you needn't want to," said the clerk.
"They've got good accommodations at Anster, and
THE WRECK OF TUE ''THOMAS HYKE." 143
the Registrar has some ideas of the duties of his post,
but they have no such system of wreck reports as we
have here."
" Very like," said the brother-in-law. And he went
on with his stor}'. " The ' Thomas Hyke ' was a small
iron steamer of six hundred tons, and she sailed from
Ulford for Valparaiso with a cargo principally of pig
iron."
" Pig iron for Valparaiso? " remarked the Shipwreck
Clerk. And then he knitted his brows thoughtfully,
and said, " Go on."
"She was a new vessel," continued the narrator,
" and built with water-tight compartments ; rather un-
common for a vessel of her class, but so she was. I
am not a sailor, and don't know anything about ships.
I went as passenger, and there was another one named
William Anderson, and his son Sam, a boy about fif-
teen years old. We were all going to Valparaiso on
business. I don't remember just how many days we
were out, nor do I know just where we were, but it
was somewhere off the coast of South America, when,
one dark night, with a fog besides, for aught I know,
for I was asleep, we ran into a steamer coming north.
How we managed to do this, with room enough on
both sides for all the ships in the world to pass, I
don't know ; but so it was. When I got on deck the
other vessel had gone on, and we never saw anything
more of her. Whether she sunk or got home is some-
thing I can't tell. But we pretty soon found that the
' Thomas Hyke ' had some of the plates in her bow
badly smashed, and she took in water like a thirsty
144 THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HTKE.'*
dog. The captain had the forward water-tight bulk-
head shut tight, and the pumps set to work, but it was
no use. That forward compartmeut just filled up with
water, and the ' Thomas Hyke ' settled down with her
bow clean under. Her deck was slanting forward like
the side of a hill, and the propeller was lifted up so
that it wouldn't have worked even if the engine had
been kept going. The captain had the masts cut away,
thinking this might bring her up some, but it didn't
help much. There was a pretty heavy sea on, and
the waves came rolling up the slant of the deck like the
surf on the sea-shore. The captain gave orders to
have all the hatches battened down so that water
couldn't get in, and the only way by which anybody
could go below was b}' the cabin door, which was far
aft. This work of stopping up all openings in the
deck was a dangerous business, for the decks sloped
right down into the water, and if anybody had slipped,
away he'd have gone into the ocean, with nothing to
stop him , but the men made a line fast to themselves,
and worked away with a good will, and soon got the
deck and the house over the engine as tight as a bottle.
The smoke-stack, which was well forward, had been
broken down by a spar when the masts had been cut,
and as the waves washed into the hole that it left, the
captain had this plugged up with old sails, well fast-
ened down. It was a dreadful thing to see the ship
a-lying with her bows clean under water, and her stern
sticking up. If it hadn't been for her water-tight
compartments that were left uninjured, she would have
gone down to the bottom as slick as a whistle. On
THE WRECK OF THE " THOMAS HYKE:' 145
the afternoon of tlie day after the collision the wind
fell, and the sea soon became pretty smooth. The
captain was quite sure that there would be no trouble
about keeping afloat until some ship came along and
took us off. Our flag was flying, upside down, from a
pole in the stern ; and if anybody saw a ship making
such a guy of herself as the ' Thomas H^ke ' was then
doing, they'd be sure to come to see what was the
matter with her, even if she had no flag of distress
flying. We tried to make ourselves as comfortable as
we could, but this wasn't easy with everything on such
a dreadful slant. But that night we heard a rumbling
and grinding noise down in the hold, and the slant
seemed to get worse. Pretty soon the captain roused
all hands, and told us that the cargo of pig iron was
shifting and sliding down to the bow, and that it
wouldn't be long before it would break through all the
bulkheads, and then we'd fill and go to the bottom like
a shot. He said we must all take to the boats, and get
away as quick as we could. It was an eas}' matter
launching the boats. They didn't lower them outside
from the davits, but they just let 'em down on deck
and slid 'em along forward into the water, and then
held 'em there with a rope till everything was ready to
start. They launched three boats, put plenty- of pro-
visions and water in 'em, and then everybody began to
get aboard. But William Anderson, and me, and his
son Sam, couldn't make up our minds to get into those
boats and row out on the dark, wide ocean. They
were the biggest boats we had, but still thej' were little
things enough. The ship seemed to us to be a good
146 TnE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS IIYKE."
deal safer, and more likely to be seen when day broke,
than those three boats, which might be blown off if the
wind rose, nobody knew where. It seemed to us that
the cargo had done all the shifting it intended to, for
the noise below had stopped ; and, altogether, we
agreed that we'd rather stick to the ship than go off in
those boats. The captain, he tried to make us go, but
we wouldn't do it ; and he told us if we chose to stay
behind and be drowned it was our affair, and he
couldn't help it ; and then he said there was a small
boat aft, and we'd better launch her, and have her
ready in case things should get worse, and we should
make up our minds to leave the vessel. He and the
rest then rowed off so as not to be caught in the vor-
tex if the steamer went down, and we three staj-ed
aboard. We launched the small boat in the way we'd
seen the others launched, being careful to have ropes
tied to us while we were doing it ; and we put things
aboard that we thought we should want. Then we
went into the cabin, and waited for morning. It was
a queer kind of a cabin, with a floor inclined like the
roof of a house, but we sat down in the corners, and
were glad to be there. The swinging lamp was burn-
ing, and it was a good deal more cheerful in there than
it was outside. But, about daybreak, the grinding and
rumbling down below began again, and the bow of the
' Thomas Hyke ' kept going down more and more ; and
it wasn't long before the forward bulkhead of the
cabin, which was what you might call its front wall
when everything was all right, was under our feet, as
level as a floor, and the lamp was lying close against
THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE." 147
the ceiling that it was hanging from. You may be
sure that we thought it was time to get out of that.
There were benches with arms to them fastened to
the floor, and by these we climbed up to the foot of the
cabin stairs, which, being turned bottom upward, we
went down in order to get out. When we reached the
cabin door we saw part of the deck below us, standing
up like the side of a house that is built in the water,
as they say the houses in Venice are. We had made
our boat fast to the cabin door by a long line, and now
we saw her floating quietly on the water, which was
very smooth, and about twenty feet below us. We
drew her up as close under us as we could, and then
we let the boy Sam down by a rope, and after some
kicking and swinging he got into her ; and then he
took the oars, and kept her right under us while we
scrambled down by the ropes which we had used in
getting her ready. As soon as we were in the boat we
cut her rope and pulled away as hard as we could ; and
when we got to what we thought was a safe distance
we stopped to look at the ' Thomas Hyke.' You never
saw such a ship in all your born days. Two-thirds of
the hull was sunk in the water, and she was standing
straight up and down with the stern in the air, her
rudder up as high as the topsail ought to be, and the
screw propeller looking like the wheel on the top of
one of these windmills that they have in the country
for pumping up water. Her cargo had shifted so far
forward that it had turned her right upon end, but she
couldn't sink, owing to the air in the compartments
that the water hadn't got into ; and on the top of the
148 THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HIKE.'"
whole thing was the distress flag flying from the pole
which stuck out over the stern. It was broad day-
light, but not a thing did we see of the other boats.
We'd supposed tliat they wouldn't row very far, but
would lay off at a safe distance until daylight ; but
they must have been scared and rowed farther than
they intended. Well, sir, we staid in that boat all da}^
and watched the ' Thomas Ilyke ; ' but she just kept
as she was, and didn't seem to sink an inch. There
was no use of rowing away, for we had no place to
row to ; and besides, we thought that passing ships
would be much more likely to see that stern sticking
high in the air than our little boat. We had enough
to eat, and at night two of us slept while the other
watched, dividing off the time, and taking turns to
this. In the morning there was the ' Thomas Hyke '
standing stern up just as before. There was a long
swell on the ocean now, and she'd rise and lean over a
little on each wave, but she'd come up again just as
straight as before. That night passed as the last one
had, and in the morning we found we'd drifted a good
deal farther from the ' Thomas Hyke,' but she was
floating just as she had been, like a big buoy that's
moored over a sand-bar. We couldn't see a sign of
the boats, and we about gave them up. We had our
breakfast, which was a pretty poor meal, being nothing
but hard-tack and what was left of a piece of boiled
beef. After we'd sat for a while doing nothing, but
feeling mighty uncomfortable, William Anderson said :
' Look here, do you know that I think we would be
three fools to keep on shivering all night and living on
THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE." 149
hard-tack in the day-time, when there's plenty on that
vessel for us to eat, and to keep us warm. If she's
floated that way for two days and two nights, there's
no knowing how much longer she'll float, and we might
as well go on board and get the things we want as not. '
'AH right,' said I, for I was tired doing nothing, and
Sam was as willing as anybody. So we rowed up to
the steamer, and stopped close to the deck, which, as
I said before, was standing straight up out of the
water like the wall of a house. The cabin door, which
was the onl}' opening into her, was about twenty feet
above us, and the ropes which we had tied to the rails
of the stairs inside were still hanging down. Sam was
an active youngster, and he managed to climb up one
of these ropes ; but when lie got to the door he drew
it up and tied knots in it about a foot apart, and then
he let it down to us, for neither William Anderson nor
me could go up a rope hand over hand without knots
or something to hold on to. As it was, we had a lot
of bother getting up, but we did it at last, and then
we walked up the stairs, treading on the front part of
each step instead of the top of it, as we would have
dv)ne if the stairs had been in their proper position.
"\7hen we got to the floor of the cabin, which was now
perpendicular like a wall, we had to clamber down b}'
means of the furniture, which was screwed fast, until
wo reached the bulkhead, which was now the floor of
the cabin. Close to this bulkhead was a small room
which was the steward's pantry, and here we found
lots of things to eat, but all jumbled up in a way that
made us laugh. The boxes of biscuits and the tin
150 THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE:'
cans, and a lot of bottles in wicker covers, were piled
up on one end of the room, and everything in the
lockers and drawers was jumbled together. William
Anderson and me set to work to get put what we
thought we'd want, and we told Sam to climb up into
some of the state-rooms, of which there were four on
each side of the cabin, and get some blankets to keep
us warm, as well as a few sheets, which we thought
we could rig up for an awning to the boat ; for the
days were just as hot as the nights were cool. When
we'd collected what we wanted, William Anderson and
me climbed into our own rooms, thinking we'd each
pack a valise with what we most wanted to save of our
clothes and things ; and while we were doing this, Sam
called out to us that it was raining. He was sitting
at the cabin door looking out. I first thought to tell
him to shut the door so's to keep the rain from coming
in ; but when I thought how things really were, I
laughed at the idea. There was a sort of little house
built over the entrance to the cabin, and in one end of
it was the door ; and in the way the ship now was the
open doorway was underneath the little house, and of
course no rain could come in. Pretty soon we heard
the rain pouring down, beating on the stern of the
vessel like hail. We got to the stairs and looked out.
The rain was falling in perfect sheets, in a way you
never see except round about the tropics. ' It's a
good thing we're inside,' said William Anderson, 'for
if we'd been out in this rain we'd been drowned in the
boat.' I agreed with him, and we made up our minds
to stay where we were until the rain was over. Well,
THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE." 151
it rained about four hours ; and when it stopped, and
we looked out, wc saw our little boat nearly full of
water, and sunk so deep that if one of us had stepped
on her she'd have gone down, sure. ' Here's a pretty
kittle of fish,' said "William Anderson ; ' there's noth-
ing for us to do now but to stay where we are.' I
believe in his heart he was glad of that, for if ever a
man was tired of a little boat, William Anderson was
tired of that one we'd been in for two days and two
nights. At any rate there was no use talking about
it, and we set to work to make ourselves comfortable.
AYe got some mattresses and pillows out of the state-
rooms, and when it began to get dark we lighted the
lamp, which we had filled with sweet-oil from a flask
in the pantry, not finding any other kind, and we hung
it from the railing of the stairs. We had a good night's
rest, and the only thing that disturbed me was William
Anderson lifting up his head every time he turned over,
and saying how much better this was than that blasted
little boat. The next morning we had a good break-
fast, even making some tea with a spirit lamp we
found, using brandy instead of alcohol. William
Anderson and I wanted to get into the captain's room,
which was near the stern, and pretty high up, so as to
see if there was anything there that we ought to get
ready to save when a vessel should come along and
pick us up ; but we were not good at climbing, like
Sam, and we didn't see how we could get up there.
Sam said he was sure he had once seen a ladder in the
compartment just forward of the bulkhead, and as
William was very anxious to get up to the captain's
152 THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS UYKE."
room, we let the boy go and look for it. There was a
sliding door in the buliihead under our feet, and we
opened this far enough to let Sam get through ; and
be scrambled down like a monkey into the next com-
partment, which was light enough, although the lower
half of it, which was next to the engine-room, was
under the water-line. Sam actually found a ladder
with hooks at one end of it, and while he was handing
it up to us, which was veiy hard to do, for he had to
climb up on all sorts of things, he let it topple over,
and the end with the iron hooks fell against the round
glass of one of the port-holes. The glass was very
thick and strong, but the ladder came down very heavy
and shivered it. As bad luck would have it, this win-
dow was below the water-line, and the water came
rushing in in a big spout. We chucked blankets down
to Sam for him to stop up the hole, but 'twas of no
use ; for it was hard for him to get at the window, and
when he did the water came in with such force that he
couldn't get a blanket into the hole. We were afraid
he'd be drowned down there, and told him to come out
as quick as he could. He put up the ladder again,
and hooked it on to the door in the bulkhead, and we
held it while he climbed up. Looking down through
the doorway, we saw, by the way the water was pour-
ing in at the opening, that it wouldn't be long before
that compartment was filled up ; so we shoved the door
to and made it all tight, and then said William Ander-
son : ' The ship'll sink deeper and deeper as that fills
up, and the water may get up to the cabin door, and
we must go and make that as tight as we can.' Sam
THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE." 153
had pulled the ladder up after him, and this we found
of great use in getting to the foot of the cabin stairs.
"We shut the cabin door, and locked and bolted it ; and
as it fitted pretty tight, we didn't think it would let in
much water if the ship sunk that far. But over the
top of the cabin stairs were a couple of folding doors,
which shut down horizontally when the ship was in its
proper position, and which were onl}' used in very bad,
cold weather. These we pulled to and fastened tight,
thus having a double protection against the water.
Well, we didn't get this done anj' too soon, for the
water did come up to the cabin door, and a little tric-
kled in from the outside door, and through the cracks
in the inner one. But we went to work and stopped
these up with strips from the sheets, which we crammed
well in with our pocket knives. Then we sat down on
the steps, and waited to see what would happen next.
The doors of all the state-rooms were open, and we
could see through the thick plate-glass windows in
them, which were all shut tight, that the ship was sink-
ing more and more as the water came in. Sam climbed
up into one of the after state-rooms, and said the out-
side water was nearly up to the stern ; and prettj' soon
we looked up to the two port-holes in the stern, and
saw that they were covered with water ; and as more
and more water could be seen there, and as the light
came through less easily, we knew that we were sink-
ing under the surface of the ocean. ' It's a mighty
good thing,' said William Anderson, ' that no water can
get in here.' William had a hopeful kind of mind,
and always looked on the bright side of tilings ; but I
154 THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE.'"
must say that I was dreadfully scared when I looked
through those stern windows and saw water instead of
sky. It began to get duskier and duskier as we sank
lower and lower, but still we could see pretty well, for
it's astonishing how much light comes down through
water. After a little while we noticed that the light
remained about the same ; and then William Anderson
he sings out : ' Hooray, we've stopped sinking ! '
' What difference does that make? ' says I. ' We must
be thirty or forty feet under water, and more yet for
aught I know.' ' Yes, that may be,' said he ; ' but it
is clear that all the water has got into that compart-
ment that can get in, and we have sunk just as far
down as we are going.' ' But that don't help matters,'
said I ; ' thirty or forty feet under water is just as bad
as a thousand as to drowning a man.' ' Drowning! '
said William; 'how are you going to be drowned?
No water can get in here.' ' Nor no air, either,' said
I ; ' and people are drowned for want of air, as I take
it.' ' It would be a queer sort of thing,' said William,
' to be drowned in the ocean and yet stay as dry as a
chip. But it's no use being worried about air. We've
got air enough here to last us for ever so long. This
stern compartment is the biggest in the ship, and it's
got lots of air in it. Just think of that hold ! It must
be nearly full of air. The stern compartment of the
hold has got nothing in it but sewing-machines. I saw
'em loading her. The pig-iron was mostly amidships,
or at least forward of this compartment. Now, there's
no kind of a cargo that'll accommodate as much air as
sewing-machines. They're packed in wooden frames,
THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE." 155
not boxes, and don't fill up half the room they take.
There's air all through and around 'em. It's a very
comforting thing to think the hold isn't filled up solid
with bales of cotton or wheat in bulk.' It might be
comforting, but I couldn't get much good out of it.
And now Sam, who'd been scrambling all over the
cabin to see how things were going on, sung out that
the water was leaking in a little again at the cabin
door, and around some of the iron frames of the win-
dows. ' It's a lucky thing,' said William Anderson,
' that we didn't sink any deeper, or the pressure of the
water would have burst in those heavy glasses. And
what we've got to do now is to stop up all the cracks.
The more we work, the livelier we'll feel.' We tore
off more strips of sheets and went all round, stopping
up cracks wherever we found them. ' It's fortunate,'
said William Anderson, ' that Sam found that ladder,
for we would have had hard work getting to the win-
dows of the stern state-rooms without it ; but by rest-
ing it on the bottom step of the stairs, which now hap-
pens to be the top one, we can get to any part of the
cabin.' I couldn't help thinking that if Sam hadn't
found the ladder it would have been a good deal better
for us ; but I didn't want to damp William's spirits,
and I said nothing.
" And now I beg your pardon, sir," said the nar-
rator, addressing the Shipwreck Clerk, " but I forgot
that you said you'd finish this story jourself . Perhaps
you'd like to take it up just here? "
The Shipwreck Clerk seemed surprised, and had,
apparently, forgotten his previous offer. "Oh, no,"
156 THE WRECK OF THE " THOMAS HYKE:'
said he, " tell your own story. This is not a matter of
business."
"Very well, then," said the brother-in-law of J.
George Watts, " I'll go on. "We made everything as
tight as we could, and then we got our supper, having
forgotten all about dinner, and being very hungry.
We didn't make any tea, and we didn't light the lamp,
for we knew that would use up air ; but we made a
better meal than three people sunk out of sight in the
ocean had a right to expect. ' What troubles me
most,' said William Anderson, as he turned in, ' is
the fact that if we are forty feet under water, our flag-
pole must be covered up. Now, if the flag was stick-
ing out, upside down, a ship sailing b^^ would see it
and would know there was something wrong.* * If
that's all that troubles you,' said I, 'I guess j'ou'U
sleep easy. And if a ship was to see the flag, I won-
der how they'd know we were down here, and how
they'd get us out if they did ! ' ' Oh, they'd manage
it,' said William Anderson ; ' Trust those sea-captains
for that.' And then he went to sleep. The next morn-
ing the air began to get mighty disagreeable in the part
of the cabin where we were, and then William Ander-
son he says : ' What we've got to do is to climb up into
the stern state-rooms, where the air is purer. We can
come down here to get our meals, and then go up
again to breathe comfortable.' '•And what are we
going to do when the air up there gets foul? ' says I to
William, who seemed to be making arrangements for
spending the summer in our present quarters. ' Oh,
that'll be all right,' said he. ' It don't do to be ex-
THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE." 157
travagant with air any more than with anything else.
When we've used up all there is in this cabin, we can
bore holes through the floor into the hold and let in air
from there. If we're economical, there'll be enough
to last for dear knows how long.' We passed the
night each in a state-room, sleeping on the end wall
instead of the berth, and it wasn't till the afternoon of
the next day that the air of the cabin got so bad we
thought we'd have some fresh ; so we went down on
the bulkhead, and with an auger that we found in the
pantry we bored three holes, about a yard apart, in
the cabin floor, which was now one of the walls of the
room, just as the bulkhead was the floor, and the stern
end, where the two round windows were, was the ceil-
ing or roof. We each took a hole, and I tell you it
was pleasant to breathe the air which came in from
the hold. 'Isn't this jolly? ' said William Anderson.
' And we ought to be mighty glad that that hold wasn't
loaded with codfish or soap. But there's nothing that
smells better than new sewing-machines that haven't
ever been used, and this air is pleasant enough for
anybody.' By William's advice we made three plugs,
by which we stopped up the holes when we thought
we'd had air enough for the present. 'And now,'
says he, ' we needn't climb up into those awkward
state-rooms any more. We can just stay down here
and be comfortable, and let in air when we want it.'
' And how long do you suppose that air in the hold is
going to last?' said I. 'Oh, ever so long,' said he,
' using it so economically as we do ; and when it stops
coming out lively through these little holes, as I sup-
158 THE WRECK OF THE " THOMAS FYKE."
pose it will after a while, we can saw a big hole in this
flooring and go into the hold, and do our breathing, if
we want to.' That evening we did saw a hole about a
foot square, so as to have plenty of air while we were
asleep, but we didn't go into the hold, it being pretty
well filled up with machines ; though the next day Sam
and I sometimes stuck our heads in for a good sniff of
air, though William Anderson was opposed to this,
being of the opinion that we ought to put ourselves on
short rations of breathing so as to make the supply of
air hold out as long as possible. ' But what's the
good,' said I to William, ' of trying to make the air
hold out if we've got to be suffocated in this place
after all?' 'What's the good?' says he. 'Haven't
you enough biscuits, and canned meats, and plent}^ of
other things to eat, and a barrel of water in that room
opposite the pantry, not to speak of wine and brandy
if you want to cheer yourself up a bit, and haven't we
good mattresses to sleep on, and why shouldn't we try
to live and be comfortable as long as we can ? ' ' What
I want,' said I, ' is to get out of this box. The idea
of being shut up in here down under the water is more
than I can stand. I'd rather take my chances going
up to the surface and swimming about till I found a
piece of the wreck, or something to float on.' 'You
needn't think of anything of that sort,' said William,
' for if we were to open a door or a window to get out,
the water 'd rush in and drive us back and fill up this
place in no time ; and then the whole concern would go
to the bottom. And what would you do if 3'ou did get
to the top of the water? It's not likely you'd find any-
THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE." 150
thing there to get on, and if you did you wouldn't live
very long floating about with nothing to eat. No, sir,'
says he, ' what we've got to do is to be content with
the comforts we have around us, and something will
turn up to get us out of this; you see if it don't.'
There was no use talking against William Anderson,
and I didn't say any more about getting out. As for
Sam, he spent his time at the windows of the state-
rooms a-looking out. We could see a good way into
the water, further than you would think, and we some-
times saw fishes, especially porpoises, swimming about,
most likely trying to find out what a ship was doing
hanging bows down under the water. What troubled
Sam was that a sword-fish might come along and jab
his sword through one of the windows. In that case
it would be all up, or rather down, with us. Every
now and then he'd sing out, ' Here comes one ! ' And
then, just as I'd give a jump, he'd say, ' No, it isn't;
it's a porpoise.' I thought from the first, and I think
now, that it would have been a great deal better for us
if that boy hadn't been along. That night there was a
good deal of motion to the ship, and she swung about
and rose up and down more than she had done since
we'd been left in her. ' There must be a big sea run-
ning on top,' said William Anderson, ' and if we were
up there we'd be tossed about dreadful. Now the
motion down here is just as easy as a cradle, and,
what's more, we can't be sunk very deep ; for if we
were, there wouldn't be any motion at all.' About
noon the next day we felt a sudden tremble and shake
run through the whole ship, and far down under us we
160 THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS IJYKE."
heard a rumbling and grinding that nearly scared me
out of my wits. I first thought we'd struck bottom,
but William he said that couldn't be, for it was just as
light in the cabin as it had been, and if we'd gone
down it would have grown much darker, of course.
The rumbling stopped after a little while, and then it
seemed to grow lighter instead of darker ; and Sam,
who was looking up at the stern windows over our
heads, he sung out, ' Sky ! ' And, sure enough, we
could see the blue sky, as clear as daylight, through
those windows ! And then the ship, she turned herself
on the slant, pretty much as she had been when her
forward compartment first took in water, and we found
ourselves standing on the cabin floor instead of the
bulkhead. I was near one of the open state-rooms,
and as I looked in there was the sunlight coming
through the wet glass in the window, and more cheer-
ful than anything I ever saw before in this world. Wil-
liam Anderson he just made one jump, and, unscrewing
one of the state-room windows, he jerked it open. We
had thought the air inside was good enough to last
some time longer ; but when that window was open and
the fresh air came rushing in, it was a different sort
of thing, I can tell you. William put his head out and
looked up and down and all around. ' She's nearly
all out of water ! ' he shouted, ' and we can open the
cabin door.' Then we all three rushed at those stairs,
which were nearly right side up now, and we had the
cabin doors open in no time. When we looked out
we saw that the ship was truly floating pretty much as
she had been when the captain and crew left her,
THE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HTKE." 161
though we all agreed that her deck didn't slant as
much forward as it did then. ' Do you know what's
happened?' sung out William Anderson, after he'd
stood still for a minute to look around and think.
' That bobbing up and down that the vessel got last
night shook up and settled down the pig-iron inside of
her, and the iron plates in the bow, that were smashed
and loosened by the collision, have given way under
the weight, and the whole cargo of pig-iron has burst
through and gone to the bottom. Then, of course, up
we came. Didn't I tell you something would happen
to make us all right ? '
" Well, I won't make this story any longer than I
can help. The next day after that we were taken off
by a sugar-ship bound north, and we were carried safe
back to Ulford, where we found our captain and the
crew, who had been picked up by a ship after they'd
been three or four days in their boats. This ship had
sailed our way to find us, which, of course, she couldn't
do, as at that time we were under water and out of
sight.
"And now, sir," said the brother-in-law of J. George
Watts to the Shipwreck Clerk, "to which of your
classes does this wreck of mine belong? "
" Gents," said the Shipwreck Clerk, rising from his
seat, "it's four o'clock, and at that hour this office
closes."
MY BULL-CALF.
I AM an animal painter, and although I am not well
known to fame, I have painted a good many pic-
tures, most of which may now be seen on the walls of
my studio. In justice to myself I must say that the
critics of the art exhibitions and those persons compe-
tent to judge who have visited my studio have spoken
in praise of my pictures, and have given me a good
place among the younger artists of the country ; some-
times, indeed, they have said things about the suggested
sentiment of some of my work which I am too modest
here to repeat. But in spite of this commendation,
which I labor hard to deserve, there has been no great
demand for my paintings.
A facetious brother artist once attempted to explain
the slowness of my sales. " You see," said he, "that
painting changes the nature of its subjects. In real
life animals frequently go off vei7 rapidly, but when
they are painted they don't."
The same gentleman also made a good deal of fun
of one of my first paintings — a dead lion. This ani-
mal had died in a menagerie in the city, and having
heard of his decease, I bought his remains for five
162
MT BULL-CALF. 163
dollars, and after dark I convej'ed them to my studio
in a wheelbarrow. I was quite young and enthusiastic
then, and as the animal had apparently died of a con-
sumption, he was not very heavy. I worked day and
night at a life-size (so to speak) portrait of the beast,
and it was agreed by all who saw it that I succeeded
very well. But no one seemed inclined in the slightest
degree to buy the picture. "What you are waiting
for," said my facetious friend, " is the visit of a live
ass. When he comes along he will buy that thing,
and make your fortune."
My latest work was a life-size picture of a bull-calf.
Some time before, I determined to devote myself to
cattle painting, and had bought a cow for a model.
This I did because I found it difficult to have control
over the cows of other people. I live a short distance
out of town, and while the farmers thereabout were
very willing that I should go into the field and sketch
their cows, they would not allow me to pen one of
them up in a confined space where I could study her
form and features without following her, easel and
material in hand, over a wide and sometimes marshy
pasture. My cow proved a very valuable possession.
I rented a small grassy field for her, and put up a
cheap and comfortable shed in one corner of it. I sold
her milk to the good lady with whom I lived, and my
model cow paid all her expenses, attendance included.
She was a gentle creature, and becoming accustomed
to my presence, would generally remain in one position
for a long time, and when I stirred her up would
readily assume some other attitude of repose. I did
164 MY BULL-CALF.
not always copy her exactly. Sometimes I gave her
one color and sometimes another, and sometimes sev-
eral blended ; at one time I gave her horns, and at
another none ; and in this way I frequently made a
herd of her, scattering her over a verdant mead. I did
not always even paint her as a cow. With a different
head and branching horns, a longer neck, a thinner
body, a shorter tail, and longer legs, she made an ex-
cellent stag, the life-like poses which I was enabled to
get giving the real value to the picture. Once I painted
her as a sphinx, her body couched in the conventional
way, with claws at the ends of the legs instead of
hoofs, and a little altered in contour, making an admi-
rable study ; and there was an expression in her eye,
as she meditatively crunched a cabbage leaf, which
made me give it to the woman's head that I placed
upon her.
"What a far-oflf, prophetic look it has! " said one
who stood before the picture when it was finished.
" It seems to gaze across the sands of Egypt, and to
see things thousands of years ahead. If you could fix
up a little bit of sunset in the distance, with some red
and 3'ellow clouds in the shape of the flag of England,
the symbolized sentiment would be quite perfect."
The bull-calf which afterward served as my model
was the son of my cow. When he was old enough to
go about by himself and eat hay and grass, I sold his
mother at a good profit, and retained him as a model,
and the life-size picture of him, on which I worked for
a long time, was my masterpiece. When it was nearly
finished I brought it to my studio, and there day after
MY BULL-CALF. 165
day I touched and retouched it, often thinking it fin-
ished, but always finding, when I went home and
looked at my calf, that there was something of life
and truth in the real animal which I had not given to
the picture, and which I afterward strove to suggest,
if not to copy.
I had a friend who occupied a studio in the same
building, and who took a great interest in the portrait
of my bull-calf. The specialty of this artist was quiet
landscape and flowers, and we had frequently gone
into the country and sketched together, the one draw-
ing the cattle, and the other the field in which they
roved. One day we stood before my almost completed
work.
"What a spirited and life-like air he has!" re-
marked my companion. " He looks as if he was just
about to hunch up his back, give a couple of awkward
skips, and then butt at us. I really feel like shutting
the door, when I come in, for fear he should jump
down and run away. You are going to brighten up
the foreground a little, are you not? "
" Yes," I answered ; " and what it needs is a mod-
est cluster of daisies in this corner. Won't you paint
them in for me? You can do it so much better than
I can ! "
"No," she answered; "I positively will not. No
one but yourself should touch it. It is your very best
work, and it should be all your picture."
In the course of my life I had not had, or at least
I believed that I had not had, many of those pieces
of good fortune which people call "opportunities."
166 MY BULL-CALF.
Now here was one, and I determined to seize it.
" Why can it not be our picture? " I asked.
She looked up at me with a quick glance, which
seemed to say, "What! are you about to speak at
last?"
In ten minutes all had been said, and we were en-
gaged to be married.
Our studios were opposite each other, separated by
a wide hall, and it had been our custom, when one
went to luncheon, for the other to sit with open door,
BO that visitors to the absent one might be seen and
attended to. Emma generally lunched at a quiet res-
taurant near by, much frequented by ladies, and where
an occasional male visitor might be seen, and to this
place I also went as soon as she came back. I knew
her favorite little table in the corner, and I always
tried to occupy the place she had just vacated. But
to-day we determined to lock our studio doors, and
lunch together. There was really very little reason to
expect a visitor. The waiter who attended to our
wants was a quiet colored man, with white hair and
whiskers, and an expression of kindly observation on
his sable countenance. He arranged our table with
much care, and listened to our orders with a deference
I had not noticed before ; but perhaps he always
waited thus on ladies. While we were eating he re-
tired to a little distance, and stood regarding us with
an interested but not too intent attention. We had
so often eaten at the same table, but never before at
the same time.
When we returned we went first to my studio, and
M7 BULL-CALF. 167
when we opened the door the bull-calf seemed to smile.
"We both noticed it.
"There is something in the way he looks at us,"
said Emma, " that reminds me of our old waiter."
" Strange," I replied. " 1 noticed that myself."
Again I urged her to make the daisies for me, but
she still refused.
"No," she said. "It is your picture, and you
must not be unable to say that you did it all yourself.
And, besides, if I were to put in any daisies, your
calf is so natural that he would snip them off. I will
not have my daisies snipped off, even by that hand-
some creature."
She looked up, as she said this, with a smile as
bright and fresh as any daisy, and I — But never
mind.
The next day we went again together to the restau-
rant, and the kindly observation deepened on the face
of the waiter. When he had arranged with unusual
nicety the little table service, he placed before Emma
a wine-glass containing a button-hole bouquet. When
we were leaving he detained me a moment, and said,
in a low voice,
"After this, sir, if you would first oixler your beef
for one with two plates, and then order the lady's
chicken and salad for one with two plates, you would
each have some beef and some chicken. It wouldn't
cost any more, sir, and 'twould make more of a
menu."
" 'After this! ' " I mentally repeated, as I grate-
fully put my baud in my pocket. If that old waiter
168 MT BULL-CALF.
had been an artist, what a gift his powers of observa-
tion would have been to him !
We agreed that we would be married in the early
autumn, for truly there was little reason for delay.
" It has been so many, many months," I said, " since
I declared to myself that I would never marry any one
but you that I really consider that I have been engaged
to 3'ou for a very long time."
" I may as well admit that something of the same
kind has passed through my mind. It is no harm
to tell 3'ou so now, and it will make more of a
menu."
If my calf really cared to snip daisies, he must have
envied me then.
There was no impediment to our early marriage ex-
cept the fact that neither of us had any money.
"What you must do," said Emma, "is to finish
your picture and sell it. You must stop looking at the
calf you have at home. Of course he is growing every
day, and new beauties are coming out on him all the
time. You can not expect to have liis picture keep
pace with his development. After a while you will
have to give him horns, and make him larger."
" The model is bigger now than the picture," I said ;
" and I must take your advice, and stop looking at
him. If I don't, his portrait will never be done."
I would not put any flowers in the foreground, for,
if I did so, I was sure they would look as if they had
been picked out of a lady's bonnet. After what I had
seen Emma do, I knew I could not paint daisies and
buttercups. I put in some pale mullein leaves, and
MY BULL-CALF. 169
a point of rock which caught the light, and when this
was clone I determined to call the picture finished.
*' What are you going to ask for it? " asked Emma.
*' I had thought of a thousand dollars. Don't you
consider that is a reasonable price? "
"I think it is a very low price," she answered,
"considering the size of the picture and the admira-
ble way in which it is painted. I imagine it is seldom
that a picture like that is offered at a thousand dollars ;
but, as you want to sell it very much, I suppose it will
be well not to ask any more."
" I do want very much to sell it," I said, giving her
hand a squeeze which she understood.
I had also made up my mind in regard to the mode
of disposing of the picture. Some weeks before, an
artist friend in Boston had written to me that a well-
known picture-dealer would open in that city early in
September an art establishment particularly for the sale
of pictures on commission, and that he would inaugu-
rate his enterprise with an exhibition of paintings,
which he wished to make as extensive and attractive
as possible.
"If you have anything good, finished in time,"
wrote my friend, " I think you will do well to send it
to Schemroth. He knows your work, and, if I mistake
not, bought one of your pictures when he was in busi-
ness in New York. I doubt if he has many animal
subjects, and he wants variety. He says he is going
to make his exhibition one of the art features of the
season."
Emma agreed with me that I could not do better
170 M7 BULL-CALF.
than send my picture to Scliemrotb. He was an enter-
prising man, and would be certain to do everything he
could to attract attention to his exhibition, and she felt
sure that if the art public of Boston had a good oppor-
tunity of seeing my picture it would certainly be sold.
The painting was carefully packed, and sent to
Boston, in care of my friend there, who shortly after-
ward wrote me that Schemroth liked it, and had given
it a good place in his gallery, which would open in a
day or two. My studio looked very bare and empty
after the departure of my spirited bull-calf, so long
my daily companion ; but my mind was so occupied
with the consideration of the important event which
was to follow his sale that I did not miss him as much
as I would otherwise have done. Emma and I talked
a good deal about the best way of beginning our mar-
ried life, and I was much in favor of a trip to Europe ;
but in regard to this she did not agree with me.
" A thousand dollars," she said, " would not go far
for such a purpose. The steamer tickets would cost
us about a hundred dollars apiece, and that would be
four hundred dollars to go and come back. Then you
certainly ought to keep a hundred dollars for your own
use before you start, and that would only leave five
hundred dollars with which to go to Paris and Rome
and Dresden. If we did less than that, it would be
hardly worth while to go at all. And five hundred
dollars would not begin to be enough for two people."
I was obliged to admit that she was correct, and the
European trip was given up.
*' My idea is," said Emma, " that we ought to take
MY BULL-CALF. 171
the money and furnish a house with it. That will be
a good practical beginning, and after a while, when we
have painted a few more pictures, we can go to Europe.
You could keep a hundred dollars for your own use ;
we could put aside two hundred for rainy days or what-
ever kind of weather it may be when money is needed
and there is none coming in, and then with seven hun-
dred dollars we could buy enough furniture and other
things to begin housekeeping in a small way. By this
plan, you see, sir, your beautiful calf would give us
an excellent start in life."
This proposition needed no discussion. Before she
had half finished speaking I was convinced that noth-
ing could be more sensible and delightful. "We must
look for a house immediately," I said. " It won't do
to put off that part of the business. "We should know
where we are going to live, so that when we are ready
to buy the furniture there need be no delay."
Good fortunes as well as misfortunes sometimes
object to coming singly ; and just at this time I heard
of something which was certainly a piece of rare good
luck to a young couple contemplating matrimony. A
gentleman named Osburn, who lived near my country
home, vrith whom I had become well acquainted, and
to whom I had confided the important news of my
engagement, met me on the train a day or two after
Emma and I had agreed upon the furniture project,
and told me that if I intended to go to housekeeping
he thought he could offer me a desirable opportunity.
" My wife and I," he said, " wish very much to travel
for a year or two, and the time has now arrived when
172 MY BULL-CALF.
we can do it, if we can dispose of our household effects,
and get some one to take our house, on which we have
a lease. Now if you are going to marry, and care for
a place like ours, it might be worth your while to con-
sider the question of taking it and buying our furni-
ture. We will sell everything just as it is, excepting,
of course, the books and such small articles as have
a personal value, and you can walk right in and begin
housekeeping at once. Everything was new two years
ago, and you know my wife is a very careful house-
keeper. The house is small and very simply furnished,
and I have no doubt you would want to add all sorts
of things, but at first you wouldn't really need any-
thing that you wouldn't find there. We wish to dispose
of the whole establishment — linen, china, silver (it's
only plated, but it's very good), kitchen utensils, gar-
den tools, a lot of fine poultry, a dog, a cat — every-
thing, in fact, excepting the few articles I spoke of.
What do you say ? "
"Say!" I exclaimed; "there is nothing to say,
except that I should be perfectly delighted to take the
place off your hands if I could afford it ; but I am
afraid your price would be above my means. I sup-
pose you would want to sell all or nothing? "
" Oh yes," said Mr. Osburn ; "it would not pay us
to sell out piecemeal, and we do not wish to let the
house to any one who will not buy the furniture. If
you think the proposition worth considering, my wife
and I will make an estimate of what we consider the
effects worth, and let you know."
I told him I should be very glad indeed to know,
MY BULL-CALF. 173
and he said I should hear from him in a day or
two.
When I told Emma of this, and described to her the
Osburns' house, with its neat and comfortable furni-
ture, its aesthetic wall-paper, its convenient and airy
rooms, its well-kept garden and little lawn, its hand-
some barn and poultry-house, the wide pasture field
belonging to it, the little patch of woodland at the
upper end, the neatness and order of everything about
the place ; and all this at a very moderate rental, with
a lease that had several years to run, she agreed with
me that while it would be perfectly delightful to take
this ready-made home off the Osburns' hands, there
was no reason for us to hope that we should be able
to do it. We should have to be content with some-
thing far less complete and perfect than this.
Two days after, I received a note from Osburn.
" We have carefully considered the present value of
our possessions," he said, " with an especial view of
making it an object to you to buy them as a whole.
Everything is in good order, but as we have had two
years' use of the articles, we have considered that fact
in making an estimate of what we think we ought to
receive for them. After going over the matter several
times we have determined to offer you the furniture
and other things of which I spoke to you for seven
kundred and fifty dollars."
"AVhy," cried Emma, as she read this letter over
my shoulder (for I had taken it into her studio before
I opened it), " that is only fifty dollars more than we
had appropriated ! "
174 MY BULL-CALF.
" But we won't stop for that," I exclaimed.
" Stop ! " she said, as with sparkling eyes and glow-
ing cheeks she took both my hands in her own — regard-
less of the fact that she already held a brush heavily
charged with Vandyck brown — " I should think not."
To work any more then was impossible for either of
us. That afternoon we shut up both our studios, and
went out to look at the paradise which had been offered
us. Mr. Osburn had not yet come home, but his wife
took great pleasure in making Emma's acquaintance
and in showing us over the house and grounds. We
found everything better of its kind, better adapted to
the place in which it was, better suited to our every
purpose, and altogether ever so much more desirable,
than we had thought. I never saw Emma so enthusi-
astic. Even the picture of my bull-calf had not moved
her thus. If the price had not been fixed beforehand,
our delighted satisfaction would have been very impoli-
tic. When Mr. Osburn returned I told him without
hesitation that I would accept his offer. I think that
he and his wife were almost as much pleased as we
were. They had set their hearts on an extended tour
in the South and far West. The lady's health de-
manded this, and her husband had found that he could
now so arrange his business as to unite travel with
profit ; but it would have been impossible, as he after-
ward told me, for him to adopt this new mode of life
without first disposing of his furniture and household
goods. Ready money, I fancy, was not abundant with
him.
When we took leave of the Osbums four people in
MY BULL-CALF. 175
very high spirits stood shaking hands in the porch of
the pretty house iu which we had decided to make our
home. There was an extraordinarily good point in
this extraordinary piece of good fortune which had
befallen us. If the Osburns had wished to settle the
business with us at once it would, of course, have been
impossible for us to do our part, but it would be at
least six weeks before they intended to give up their
house, and in that time we felt quite sure that my
picture would be sold. But although we could take
no actual steps toward making our arrangements for
housekeeping, there was nothing to prevent our think-
ing and talking about them, and planning what was
to be done ; and this occupied a great deal of our
time, much to the detriment, I am sure, of our daily
work. We were always finding new good points in the
matter.
"The only things about the Osburn house that I
don't like," said Emma, "are the pictures and the
bric-d-brac. Now these are the things that they want
to keep, and if we are well off in any way, it is in
pictures, and we can just take some of the paintings
we have on hand, and a lot of our large engravings,
and have them framed, and with that old armor and
brass and china which you have collected, and which
an animal painter doesn't want in his studio anyway,
we can make our house look just lovely. I have col-
lected too, and I have a good many nice things in my
room which you have never seen."
" The house is a good one now," I exclaimed, " but
it will look like another place when you and I get into
176 MY BULL-CALF.
it. And there is another thing that I have been
thinking about. Of course I'll take my calf over there
the first thing, and he will get a great deal better
eating in that meadow than he has now. But he won't
be the only animal we shall have. I intend to have a
little model farm ; that is to say, a farm on which we
will keep models. Of course we shall have a cow, and
she will not only give us milk and butter, but I can
paint her. There is a fine little barn and stable on the
place, but Osburn says he never thought he ought to
keep a horse, because the house is only five minutes
from the station, and it would be a piece of sheer ex-
travagance for him to have a horse merely to drive about
after he came home at night. But it wouldn't be
extravagant in me ; it would be actual economy. I
ought to paint horses, and to do so properly and eco-
nomically I should own one. And so with all sorts of
animals. If I buy a fine dog or a beautiful cat, it will
actually be money in my pocket."
"That is true," said Emma; "but you mustn't
bring any wild animals there until they are so dead
that you can wheel them home in a wheelbarrow. It
will be perfectly delightful to have a horse, and, as I
intend to paint birds as well as flowers, I can begin on
the hens and little chickens and the ducks ; and the
sparrows and robins, if I can make them tame enough
for me to sketch them."
" Yes," I exclaimed, "and you can paint the wild
flowers in your own field ; and we'll raise splendid
Jacqueminot roses, and the hybrid tea, and other fine
kinds ; and we'll fix up a room for them in the winter,
MY BULL-CALF. 177
80 that you can always have flowers for models at
whatever stage you want them."
In the weeks that followed we paid several visits to
the Osburns by their invitation, during which the
husband explained to me the management of the celery
beds, and many of bis out-door improvements, while
the wife had some long conversations with Emma
about her household arrangements.
As the time approached when the Osburns wished to
give up their house, Emma and I became very anxious
to hear from Boston. I had written to my friend there
explaining the situation, and he had promised to attend
to the matter, and see that Schemroth communicated
with me as soon as the picture was sold ; so there was
nothing to do but wait. I frequently met Mr. Osburn
on the train, and I began to feel, as the time passed on,
that I ought to be able to say something to him about
concluding our bargain.
Of course he must have his preparations to make,
and he would not wish to delay them too long. Al-
though there was no real reason for it, as we assured
ourselves over and over, both PImma and I began to be
very uneasy, and we sometimes even regretted that we
had accepted Mr. Osburn's offer. If we had not
complicated the affair in this way we could have calmly
waited until the picture was sold, and have then done
what seemed to us best. There was no probability
that we would have met with so good an opportunity
of going to housekeeping, but we should have been
independent and easy in our minds. But now we were
neither. The plans and prospects of others depended
178 MY BULL-CALF.
upon US, and our uneasiness and anxiety increased
every day. I disliked to meet Mr. Osburu, and every
morning hoped that he would not be on the train.
Never did I await the arrival of the mails with more
anxiety and impatience.
One day, as Emma and I were returning from
luncheon, the janitor of the building met us at the
door. "A box came for you, sir, by express," he
said. " I paid two dollars and twenty cents on it. It
is up in 3'our room."
I said nothing, but put my hand in my pocket. I
began to count the money in my pocket-book, but my
hand shook, and I dropped a quarter of a dollar on the
floor, which rolled off to some distance. As the
janitor went to pick it up, Emma approached me, and
I noticed that she was very pale.
" If 3'ou haven't enough," she said, "I have some
change with me."
I needed seventy cents to make up the sum, and
Emma gave it to me. And then, without a word, we
went upstairs. "We did not hurry, but it was the first
time, I think, that I ever became out of breath in
going up those stairs. The moment we looked at the
box we knew. The picture had been sent back.
I gazed at it blankly, reading over and over the
painted address.
" Perhaps you had better open it," said Emma, in a
very low voice. " It may not be — "
As quickly as I could I took off the center board.
The bull-calf, with a melancholy greeting in his eyes,
looked out upon us. Then Emma sat down upon the
MT BULL-CALF. 179
nearest chair and burst into tears, and I drew near to
comfort her.
Half an hour later I had taken the picture from the
box, which I carefully searched. "Do you know," I
cried, a sudden anger taking the place of the deadened
sensation of my heart, " that this is an outrageous
insult? He should have written to me before he sent
it back ; but to return it, without a word or line of any
kind, is simply brutal."
I said a great deal more than this. I was very angry.
I would write to Schemroth, and let him know what I
thought of this. Emma now endeavored to soothe my
passion, and urged me not to do anything in a moment
of excitement which might injure me in a business
point of view. I did not promise forbearance, but
suddenly exclaimed: "And then there is Osburn !
He must be told. It will be a hard, hard thing to do !
They will both be terribly disappointed. It will break
up all their plans."
" I have thought about the Osburns," said Emma,
coming close to me, and putting her hands upon my
arm, " and I will tell you what we will do. I will go
and see Mrs. Osburn. That will be much better than
for you to see her husband. She will not be angry,
and I can explain everything to her so that she will
understand."
' ' No, my dear," said I ; " that will not do. I shall not
suffer you to bear what must be the very heaviest brunt
of this trouble. In a case like this it is the duty of the
man to put himself forward. I must go immediately
and see Osburn at his office before he starts for home."
180 M7 BULL-CALF.
" I wish you would not," she said, earnestly. " Of
course the man ought to take the lead in most things,
but there may be times when it will be easier and better
for the wife to go first."
The moment she said these words she blushed, and
I snatched her into my arms. The wife ! If those
rich lovers of art had only known what they might have
made of this dear girl by buying my picture, it would
never have come back to me.
But time was flying, and if I was to see Osburn at
his office, I must hurry. The thing was hard enough
to do, as it was, and I did not feel that I could have
the heart to tell the story in the presence of his wife.
"If he is very much troubled," said Emma, "and
says anything to you which you do not like, you will
not let him make you angry, will you? "
"Oh no," said I; "I am not so unreasonable as
that. I have so much pity for him that he may say to
me what he pleases. I will bear it all."
" I am very sorry for you," said Emma, looking up
at me, "and I do wish you would let me see Mrs.
Osburn."
But I was firm in my resolution not to shift this very
unpleasant duty upon Emma, and in a few minutes I
had started down-town. When I reached Mr. Osbum's
place of business I found that he had gone home,
although it was several hours earlier than his usual
time of leaving. "He had something he wanted to
attend to at his house," said one of the clerks.
This was a great disappointment to me, for now I
would be obliged to go to see him that evening, and
MY BULL-CALF. 181
most probfibh' to tell him the bad news in the presence
of his wife. I did not fully appreciate until now how
much easier it would have been to talk to him at his
desk in the city. As I walked toward the Osburns'
house just after dark that evening I could scarcely
believe that I was going to the place which I had
lately visited with such delight. Emma and I had
fallen into the way of already considering the house
and grounds as our own, and as I opened the gate I
remembered how we had stood there while I told her
about some improvements I intended to make in said
gate, so that the weight and chain would never fail
to latch it. And now it made no difference to me
whether the gate latched or not. And the flower
borders, too, on each side of the path ! How Emma
had talked to me, when we had walked far enough
away, so as to be sure not to hurt Mrs. Osburn's
feelings, of what she intended to do in those borders !
It all seemed to me like visiting the grave of a home.
But I walked steadily up to the house. The parlor
shuttera were wide open, and the room was brightly
lighted, so that I could see plainly what was passing
within. There was an air of disorder about the pretty
room. Mr. Osburn, in his shirt sleeves, was on a step-
ladder taking down a picture from the wall, while his
wife stood below ready to receive it. All the other
pictures — the portraits of their parents and the chromos
which Emma and I thought so little of, but which they
valued so highly — had been already taken down.
These, with various little articles of ornament and use,
valuable to them on account of association with some
182 MY BULL-CALF.
dear friend or some dear time, were the things •which
they intended to reserve ; and it was plain that it was
to take down and pack up these that Mr. Osbnrn had
come home early that day. It was now only four days
from the date he had fixed for surrendering the house
to me, and he was working hard to have everything
ready for us. He knew very well that Emma and I had
arranged that we would be quietly married as soon as
the house should be ours, and that in this charming
home, all ready to our hands, we would immediately be-
gin our married life. How earnestly and honestly they
were doing their part !
I do not think I am a coward, but as I stootl and
gazed at these two I felt that it would be simply im-
possible for me to walk into that room and tell them
that they might hang up their pictures again and un-
pack their bric-a-brac, and that they were not going to
take the pleasant journeys they had planned, until they
had found some other person, more able to keep to his
word than I was, who should take their house and buy
their goods.
No, I could not do it. I would go home and write
to Osbnrn. I did not feel that this was as manly a
course as to speak to him face to face, but I could not
speak to him now. As I was about to turn away, Os-
burn got down from the ladder, and they both looked
around the room. Their faces wore an expression of
pleasant satisfaction at the conclusion of their task, but
mingled, I truly believe, with a feeling of regret that
they should leave to us such bare walls. How Emma
and I had talked of what we intended to do with those
MY BULL-CALF. 183
walls ! How I had drawn little sketches of them, and
how we had planned and arranged for every space !
I hurried home, wrote a note, and tore it up. I wrote
another, hut that too did not properly express the situa-
tion. It was late, and I could do no more. I would
write in the morning, take the letter into town and show
it to Emma, and then send it to Osburn at the office.
The next day Emma was in my studio reading the
disgraceful confession I had written, when the janitor
came m, and handed me a letter.
" It is from Osburn," I exclaimed, glancing at the
address, as the man closed the door behind him. " I
know his handwriting. Now this is too bad. If
Schemroth had only treated me with decent politeness
I could have seen Osburn, or have written to him, be-
fore he felt himself obliged to remind me that the time
had come for me to attend to my part of the contract."
" But you must not allow 3'ourself to be so disturbed,"
said Emma. " You don't know what he has written."
" That is the only thing he could write about," said
I, bitterly, as I opened the letter. "It is very humil-
iating."
We read the note together. It was very brief, and
ran thus :
" Dear Sir, — I have a customer who is willing to buy your
picture, but he is dissatisfied with the foreground. If you will
put in some daisies or other field flowers to brighten it up and
throw the animal a little back, he will take it. I can ask him
enough to cover your price and my commission. As I am sure
you will make the alterations, I will forward the picture to
you immediately.
" Yours truly,
L. SCHEMROTH."
184 MY BULL-CALF.
The letter had been written four days previously.
We looked at each other, unable to speak. Our great
cloud had turned completely over, and its lining dazzled
us. We found words very soon, but I will not repeat
them here. We could have fallen down and woi'shii)ped
our pamted calf.
" And now, my darling," I cried, " will you put the
daisies in our picture? "
"Indeed will I," she said. And away she ran for
her paints and brushes.
The rest of that afternoon she steadily painted,
while I sat beside her, watching every touch of her
brush.
" This daisy," she said, as she finished the first one,
is to make 30U happy, and the next one will be for my-
self ; then I will pamt two more for Mr. and Mrs. Os-
burn, and you must not fail to go and tell them to-night
that you will settle up our business in a very short time ;
and I will paint a small daisy for Mr. Schemroth, and
if he hadn't forgotten to mail his letter when it was
written I would have made his daisy bigger."
The picture soon went back to Boston, and the oii-
ginal of it now spends most of his time looking over
the fence of his pasture into the pretty yard of the
house where the Osbums used to live, and hoping that
some one will come and give him some cabbage leaves.
If he could see all that there is to be seen he would see
that the parlor of tliat house is hung with the spoils
from the studios of two artists, that there is a room in
the second story, with a northern light, in which flowers
grow on canvas as beautifully as they grow in the fields
MY BULL-CALF. 185
and garden, and where a large picture is steadily pro-
gressing in whicli he figures as " The Coming Mon-
arch." He would also see, far away on the Pacific
shore, another couple whom he has helped to make
happy ; and if he could cast his eyes Bostonward he
would see, every now and then, Mr. Schemroth writing
to me to know when I could send him other animal
pictures, and assuring me that he can find ready and
profitable sale for all that I can paint. And, best of
all, he could see, every day, Emma painting daisies
into my life.
THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY.
A CONTINTJATTON OF "THE LADY, OK THE TIGER?"
IT was nearly a year after the occurrence of that event
in the arena of the semi-barbaric King known as
the incident of the lady or the tiger, that there came to
the palace of this monarch a deputation of five stran-
gers from a far country. These men, of venerable and
dignified aspect and demeanor, were received by a high
officer of the court, and to him they made knowiv their
errand.
" Most noble officer," said the speaker of the depu-
tation, "it so happened that one of our countrymen
was present here, in your capital city, on that moment-
ous occasion when a young man who had dared to
aspire to the hand of your King's daughter had been
placed in the arena, in the midst of the assembled
multitude, and ordered to open one of two doors, not
knowing whether a ferocious tiger would spring out
upon him, or a beauteous lady would advance, ready
to become his bride. Our fellow-citizen who was then
present was a man of super-sensitive feelings, and at
the moment when the youth was about to open the door
186
THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY. 187
he was so fearful lest lie should behold a horrible
spectacle, that his nen^es failed him, and he fled pre-
cipitately from the arena, and mounting his camel rode
homeward as fast as he could go.
"We were all very much interested in the story
which our countr3-raan told us, and we were extremely
sorry that he did not wait to see the end of the affair.
We hoped, however, that in a few weeks some traveler
from your city would come among us and bring us fur-
ther news ; but up to the day when we left our country,
no such traveler had arrived. At last it was deter-
mined that the only thing to be done was to send a
deputation to this country, and to ask the question :
' Which came out of the open door, the lady, or the
tiger?' "
When the high officer had heard the mission of this
most respectable deputation, he led the five strangers
into an inner room, where they were seated upon soft
cushions, and where he ordered coffee, pipes, sherbet,
and other semi-barbaric refreshments to be served to
them. Then, taking his seat before them, he thus
addressed the visitors :
"Most noble strangers, before answering the ques-
tion you have come so far to ask, I will relate to you
an incident which occurred not very long after that to
which you have referred. It is well known in all re-
gions hereabouts that our great King is very fond of
the presence of beautiful women about his court. All
the ladies-in-waiting upon the Queen and Royal Family
are most lovely maidens, brought here from every part
of the kingdom. The fame of this concourse of beauty,
188 THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY.
unequaled in any other royal court, has spread far and
wide ; and had it not been for the equally wide-spread
fame of the systems of impetuous justice adopted by
our King, many foreigners would doubtless have visited
our court.
" But not very long ago there arrived here from a
distant land a prince of distinguished appearance and
undoubted rank. To such an one, of course, a royal
audience was granted, and our King met him very gra-
ciously, and begged him to make known the object of
his visit. Thereupon the Prince informed his Royal
Highness that, having heard of the superior beauty of
the ladies of his court, he had come to ask permission
to make one of them his wife.
" AVhen our King heard this bold announcement, bis
face reddened, he turned uneasily on his throne, and
we were all in dread lest some quick words of furious
condemnation should leap from out his quivering lips.
But by a mighty effort he controlled himself ; and after
a moment's silence he turned to the Prince, and said :
' Your request is granted. To-morrow at noon you
shall wed one of the fairest damsels of our court.'
Then turning to his officers, he said : ' Give orders that
everything be prepared for a wedding in this palace at
high noon to-morrow. Convey this royal Prince to
suitable apartments. Send to him tailora, boot-makers,
hatters, jewelers, armorers ; men of every craft, whose
services he may need. "Whatever he asks, provide.
And let all be ready for the ceremony to-morrow.'
" ' But, your Majesty,' exclaimed the Prince, ' before
we make these preparations, I would like '
THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY. 189
"'Say no more!' roared the King. 'My royal
orders have been given, and nothing more is needed to
be said. You asked a boon ; I granted it ; and I will
hear no more on the subject. Farewell, my Prince,
until to-morrow noon.'
" At this the King arose, and left the audience
chamber, while the Prince was hurried away to the
apartments selected for him. And here came to him
tailors, hattere, jewelers, and every one who was
needed to fit him out in grand attire for the wedding.
But the mind of the Prince was much troubled and
perplexed.
" ' I do not understand,' he said to his attendants,
' this precipitancy of action. When am I to see the
ladies, that I may choose among them ? I wish oppor-
tunity, not only to gaze upon their forms and faces,
but to become acquainted with their relative intellectual
development. '
" ' We can tell you nothing,' was the answer. 'What
our King thinks right, that will he do. And more
than this we know not.'
" ' His Majesty's notions seem to be very peculiar,'
said the Prince, ' and, so far as I can see, they do not
at all agree with mine.'
" At that moment an attendant whom the Prince had
not noticed before came and stood beside him. This
was a broad-shouldered man of cheery aspect, who
carried, its hilt in his right hand, and its broad back
resting on his broad arm, an enormous scimeter, the
upturned edge of which was keen and bright as any
razor. Holding this formidable weapon as tenderly as
190 THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY.
though it had been a sleeping infant, this man drew
closer to the Prince and bowed.
" ' Who are you? ' exclaimed his Highness, starting
back at the sight of the frightful weapon.
" 'I,' said the other, with a courteous smile, ' am
the Discourager of Hesitancy. When our King makes
known his wishes to any one, a subject or visitor,
whose disposition in some little points may be supposed
not to wholly coincide with that of his Majesty, I am
appointed to attend him closely, that, should he think
of pausing in the path of obedience to the royal will,
he may look at me, and proceed.'
" The Prince looked at him, and proceeded to be
measured for a coat.
" The tailors and shoemakers and hatters worked all
night ; and the next morning, when ever3'thing was
ready, and the hour of noon was drawing nigh, the
Prince again anxiously inquired of his attendants when
he might expect to be introduced to the ladies.
'"The King will attend to that,' they said. 'We
know nothing of the matter.'
" ' Your Highness,' said the Discourager of Hesi-
tancy, approaching with a courtly bow, ' will observe
the excellent quality of this edge.' And drawing a hair
from his head, he dropped it upon the upturned edge
of his scimeter, upon which it was cut in two at the
moment of touching.
" The Prince glanced and turned upon his heel.
" Now came officers to conduct him to the grand hall
of the palace, in which the ceremony was to be per-
formed. Here the Prince found the King seated on
THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY. 191
the throne, with his nobles, his courtiers, and his
officers standing about him in magnificent array. The
Prince was led to a position in front of the King, to
whom he made obeisance, and then said :
" 'Your Majesty, before I proceed further '
" At this moment an attendant, who had approached
with a long scarf of delicate silk, wound it about the
lower part of the Prince's face so quickly and adroitly
that he was obliged to cease speaking. Then, with
wonderful dexterity, the rest of the scarf was wound
around the Prince's head, so that he was completely
blindfolded. Thereupon the attendant quickly made
openings in the scarf over the mouth and ears, so that
the Prince might breathe and hear ; and fastening the
ends of the scarf securely, he retired.
" The first impulse of the Prince was to snatch the
silken folds from his head and face ; but as he raised
his hands to do so, he heard beside him the voice of
the Discourager of Hesitancy, who gently whispered :
' I am here, 3'our Highness.' And, with a shudder, the
arms of the Prince fell down by his side.
" Now before him he heard the voice of a priest,
who had begun the marriage sei-vice in use in that semi-
barbaric country. At his side he could hear a delicate
rustle, which seemed to proceed from fabrics of soft
silk. Gently putting forth his hand, he felt folds of such
silk close beside him. Then came the voice of the
priest requesting him to take the hand of the lady by
his side ; and reaching forth his right hand, the Prince
received within it another hand so small, so soft, so
delicately fashioned, and so delightful to the touch,
192 THE DTSOOURAGER OF HESITANCY.
that a thrill went through his lieing. Then, as was
the custom of the countiy, the priest first asked the
lady would she have this man to be her husband. To
which the answer gently came in the sweetest voice he
ever heard : ' I will.'
" Then ran raptures rampant through the Prince's
blood. The touch, the tone, enchanted him. All the
ladies of that court were beautiful ; the Discourager
was behind him ; and through his parted scarf be
boldly answered : * Yes, I will.'
" \yhereupon the priest pronounced them man and
wife.
"Now the Prince heard a little bustle about him;
the long scarf was rapidly unrolled from his head ; and
he turned, with a start, to gaze upon his bride. To his
utter amazement, there was no one there. He stood
alone. Unable on the instant to ask a question or say
a word, he gazed blankly about him.
" Then the King arose from his throne, and came
down, and took him by the hand.
" ' Where is my wife? ' gasped the Prince.
" ' She is here,* said the King, leading him to a
curtained doorway at the side of the hall.
" The curtains were drawn aside, and the Prince,
entering, found himself in a long apartment, near the
opposite wall of which stood a line of forty ladies, all
dressed in rich attire, and each one apparently more
beautiful than the rest.
" Waving his hand towards the line, the King said to
the Prince : ' There is your bride ! Approach, and lead
her forth ! But remember this : that if you attempt to
THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY. 193
take away one of the unmarried damsels of our court,
yoiu' execution shall be instantaneous. Now, delay no
longer. Step up and take your bride.'
" The Prince, as in a dream, walked slowly along the
line of ladies, and then walked slowly back again.
Nothing could he see about any one of them to indicate
that she was more of a bride than the others. Their
dresses were all similar ; they all blushed ; they all
looked up, and then looked down. They all had
charming little hands. Not one spoke a word. Not
one lifted a finger to make a sign. It was evident that
the orders given them had been very strict.
" ' Why this delay? ' roared the King. ' If I had
been married this day to one so fair as the lady who
wedded you, I should not wait one second to claim
her.'
" The bewildered Prince walked again up and down
the line. And this time there was a slight change in
the countenances of two of the ladies. One of the
fairest gently smiled as he passed her. Another, just
as beautiful, slightly frowned.
" ' Now,' said the Prince to himself, ' I am sure that
it is one of those two ladies whom I have married.
But which? One smiled. And would not any woman
smile when she saw, in such a case, her husband coming
towards her? But, then, were she not his bride, would
she not smile with satisfaction to think he had not
selected her, and that she had not led him to an un-
timely doom? Then again, on the other hand, would
not any woman frown when she saw her husband come
towards her and fail to claim her ? Would she not knit
194 TUE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY.
her lovely brows? And would she not inwardly say,
"It is I! Don't you know it? Don't 3'ou feel it?
Come ! " But if this woman had not been married,
would she not frown when she saw the man looking
at her? Would she not say to herself, " Don't stop at
me ! It is the next but one. It is two ladies above.
Go on ! " And then again, the one who married me
did not see m}' face. Would she not smile if she
thought me comely ? While if I wedded the one who
frowned, could she restrain her disapprobation if she
did not like me? Smiles invite the approach of true
love. A frown is a reproach to a tai-dy advance. A
smile '
*' * Now, hear me ! ' loudly cried the King. ' In ten
seconds, if you do not take the lady we have given you,
she, who has just been made jour bride, shall be 3'our
widow.'
" And, as the last word was uttered, the Discourager
of Hesitancy stepped close behind the Prince, and
whispered : ' I am here ! '
" Now the prince could not hesitate an instant ;
and he stepped forward and took one of the two ladies
by the hand.
" Loud rang the bells ; loud cheered the people ; and
the King came forward to congratulate the Prince.
He had taken his lawful bride.
" Now, then," said the high officer to the deputation
of five strangers from a far country, "When you can
decide among yourselves which lady the Prince chose,
the one who smiled or the one who frowned, then will
THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY. 195
I tell you which came out of the opened door, the lady
or the tiger! "
At the latest accounts the five strangers had not yet
decided.
A BORROWED MONTH.
EAST.
ALL persons who, like myself, are artists, and all
others who delight in the beauties of lake and
valley, the grandeur of snowy mountain peaks, and
the invigoration of pure mountain air, can imagine the
joy with which I found myself in Switzerland on a
sketching tour. It had not been easy for me to make
this, my first visit to Europe. Circumstances, which
the very slightly opened purses of my patrons had not
enabled me to control, had deferred it for several years.
And even now my stay was strictly limited, and I must
return by a steamer which sailed for America early in
the autumn. But I had already traveled a good deal
on the Continent ; had seen Italy ; and now had six
summer weeks to give to Switzerland. Six months
would have suited me much better, but 3'outh and en-
thusiasm can do a great deal of sketching and nature-
reveliug in six weeks.
I began what I called my Alpine holidays in a little
town not far from the upper end of Lake Geneva, and
at the close of my second day of rambling and
196
A BORROWED MONTH. 197
sketching I was attacked by a very disagreeable and
annoying pain in my left leg. It did not result, so far
as I could ascertain, from a sprain, a bruise, or a break,
but seemed to be occasioned by a sort of tantalizing
rheumatism ; for while it entirely disappeared when I
remained at rest, its twinges began as soon as I had
taken half-a-dozen steps in walking. The next day I
consulted a doctor, and he gave me a lotion. This,
however, was of no service, and for three or four days
he made use of other remedies, none of which were of
the slightest benefit to me.
But, although I was confined to the house during this
period, I did not lose my time. From the windows of
my room in the hotel I had a series of the most enchant-
ing views, which I sketched from early morning until
twilight, with an earnest and almost ecstatic zeal. On
the other side of the lake rose, ten thousand feet in the
air, the great Dent du Midi, with its seven peaks clear
and sharp against the sky, surrounded by its sister
mountains, most of them dark of base and white of tip.
To the east stretched the beautiful valley of the Rhone,
up which the view extended to the pale-blue pyramid
of Mont V61an. Curving northward around the end of
the lake was a range of lower mountains, rocky or ver-
dant ; while at their base, glistening in the sun, lay
the blue lake reflecting the white clouds in the sky, and
dotted here and there with little vessels, their lateen-
sails spread out like the wings of a descending bird.
I sketched and painted the lake and mountains, by
the light of morning, in their noontide splendors, and
when all lay in shadow except where the highest snowy
198 A BORROWED MONTH.
peaks were tipped with the rosy afterglow. My ail-
ment gave me no trouble at all so long as I sat still and
painted, and in the wonderful opportunity afforded by
nature to my art I forgot all about it.
But in the course of a week I began to get very im-
patient. There was a vast deal more of Switzerland
to be seen and sketched ; my time was growing short,
and the pain occasioned by walking had not abated in
the least. I felt that I must have other views than
those which were visible from my window, and I had
myself driven to various points accessible to vehicles,
from which I made some very satisfactory sketches.
But this was not roaming in Alpine valleys and climb-
ing mountain peaks. It was only a small part of what
brought me to Switzerland, and my soul rebelled.
Could any worse fate befall a poor young artist, who
had struggled so hard to get over here, than to be thus
chained and trammeled in the midst of the grandest
opportunities his art life had yet known ?
My physician gave me but little comfort. He as-
sured me that if I used his remedies and had patience,
there would be no doubt of my recovery ; but that it
would take time. When I eagerly asked how much
time would be required, he replied that it would prob-
ably be some weeks before I was entirely well, for
these disorders generally wore off quite gradually.
"Some weeks!" I ejaculated when he had gone.
" And I have barely a month left for Switzerland ! "
This state of affairs not only depressed me, but it
disheartened me. I might have gone by rail to other
parts of Switzerland, and made other sketches from
A BORROWED MONTE. 199
hotels and carriages, but this I did not care to do. If
I must still carry about with me my figurative ball and
chain, I did not wish to go where new temptations
would beckon and call and scream to me from every
side. Better to remain where I was ; where I could
more easily become used to my galling restraints.
This was morbid reasoning, but I had become morbid
in body and mind.
One evening I went in the hotel omnibus to the
Kursaal of the little town where I was staying. In this
building, to which visitors from the hotels and pensions
of the vicinity went in considerable numbers every
afternoon and evening, for the reason that they had
nothing else to do, the usual concert was going on in
the theater. In a small room adjoining, a company- of
gentlemen and ladies, the latter chieflj^ English or Rus-
sian, were making bets on small metal horses and
jockeys which spun round on circular tracks, and ran
races which were fairer to the betters than the majority
of those in which flesh-and-blood animals, human and
equine, take part. Opening from this apartment was
a large refreshment- room, in which I took my seat.
Here I could smoke a cigar and listen to the music,
and perhaps forget for a time the doleful world in which
I lived. I had not been long seated before I was
joined by a man whom I had met before, and in whom
I had taken some interest. He was a little man with
a big head, on which he occasionally wore a high-
crowned black straw hat ; but whenever the sun did
not make it absolutely necessary he carried this in his
hand. His clothes were black and of very thin ma-
200 A BORROWED MONTH.
terial, and he always had the appearance of being too
warm. In my occasional interviews with him I had
discovered that he was a reformer, and that his yearn-
ings in the direction of human improvement were very
general and inclusive.
This individual sat down at my little table and
ordered a glass of beer.
" You do not look happy," he said. " Have you
spoiled a picture? "
"No," I replied, "but a picture has been spoiled
for me." And, as he did not understand this reply, I
explained to him how the artistic paradise which I had
mentally painted for myself had been scraped from the
canvas by the knife of my malicious ailment.
"I have been noticing," he said, — he spoke very
fair English, but it was not his native tongue, — " that
you have not walked. It is a grand pity." And he
stroked his beard and looked at me steadfastly. " An
artist who is young is free," he said, after some mo-
ments' reflection. "He is not obliged to carry the
load of a method which has grown upon him like the
goitre of one of these people whom you meet here.
He can despise methods and be himself. You have
everything in art before you, and it is not right that
you should be held to the ground like a serpent in 3'our
own country, with a forked stick. Y''ou have some
friends, perhaps?"
I replied, a little surprised, that I had a great many
friends in America.
" It is of no import where they are," he said. And
then he again regarded me in silence. " Have you a
good faith? ' he presently asked.
A BORROWED MONTH. 201
*' In what?" said I.
"In anything. Yourself, principally."
I replied that just now I had very little faith of that
sort.
His face clouded ; he frowned, and, pushing away his
empty glass, he rose from the table. " You are a
skeptic," he said, " and an infidel of the worst sort."
In my apathetic state this remark did not annoj' me.
"No man would be a skeptic," I said carelessly, "if
other people did not persist in disagreeing with him."
But my companion paid no attention to me, and
walked awaj' before I had finished speaking. In a few
minutes he came back, and, leaning over the table, he
said in low but excited tones : " It is to yourself that
you are an infidel. That is very wrong. It is degrad-
ing."
" I do not understand you at all," I said. " Won't
you sit down and tell me what you mean? "
He seated himself, and wiped his forehead with his
handkerchief. Then he fixed his eyes upon me, and
said : " It is not to everybody I would speak as I now
speak to you. You must believe something. Do you
not believe in the outstretching power of the mmd ; of
the soul?"
My ideas in this regard were somewhat chaotic. I
did not know what was his exact meaning, but I
thought it best to say that it was likely that some souls
could outstretch.
"And do you not believe," he continued, "that
when your friend sleeps, and your thoughts are fixed
upon him, and your whole soul goes out to him in its
202 A BORROWED MONTH.
most utter force and strength, that your mind becomes
his mind? "
I shook my head. "That is going rather far," I
said.
" It is not far," he exclaimed emphatically. "It
is but a little way. We shall go much farther than
that when we know more. And is it that you doubt
that the mind is in the brain ? And where is pain ? Is
it in the foot? In the arm? It is not so. It is in
the brain. If you cut off your wounded foot, you have
the pain all the same ; the brain remains. I will say
this to you. If it were I who had soul-friends, it would
not be that every day I should shut the door on mj' art.
Once it happened that I suffered — not like 3'ou, much
worse. But I did not suffer every day. No, no, my
friend, not every da}-. But that was I ; I have faith.
But I need speak no more to 3'ou. You are infidel.
You do not believe in yourself."
And with this he suddenly pushed back his chair,
picked up his black straw hat from the floor, and walked
out of the room, wiping his forehead as he went. I am
not given to sudden reciprocations of sentiment, but
what this man had said made a strong impression
upon me. Not that I had any confidence in the value
of his psychological ideas, but his words suggested a
train of thought which kept me awake a long time after
I had gone to bed that night ; and gradually I began to
consider the wonderful advantage and help it would be
to me if it were possible that a friend could bear my
infirmity even for a day. It would inconvenience him
but little. If he remained at rest he would feel no pain,
A BORROWED MONTH. 203
aud he might be very glad to be obliged to take a quiet
holiday with his books or family. Aud what a joy
would that holiday be to me among the Alps, aud re-
lieved of my fetters ! The uotiou grew. Oue day one
friend might take up my burden, and the next another.
How little this would be for them ; how much for me !
If I should select thirty friends, they could, by each
taking a day of pleasant rest, make me free to enjoy to
the utmost the month which yet remained for Switzer-
land. Mj' mind continued to dwell on this pleasing
fancy, and I went to sleep while counting on my fingers
the number of friends I had who would each be per-
fectly willing to bear for a day the infirmity which was
so disastrous to me, but which would be of such trifling
importance to them.
I woke very early in the morning, and my thoughts
immediately recurred to the subject of my ailment and
my friends. What a pity it was that such an advan-
tageous arrangement should be merely whim and fancy !
But if my~companion of the night before were here, he
would tell me that there was no impossibility, only a
want of faith — faith in the power of miud over mind,
of mind over body, and, primarily, of faith in my own
mind and will. I smiled as I thought of what might
happen if his ideas were based on truth. There was
my friend Will Troy. How gladly would he spend a
day at home in his easy-chair, smoking his pipe and for-
getting, over a novel, that there were such things as led-
gers, day-books, and columns of figures, while I strode
gayly over the mountain sides. If Troy had any option
in the matter, he would not hesitate for a moment;
204 A BORROWED MONTH.
and, knowing this, I would not hesitate for a moment in
making the little arrangement, if it could be made.
If belief in myself could do it, it would be done ; and I
began to wonder if it were possible, in any case, for a
man to believe in himself to such an extent.
Suddenly I determined to try. " It is early morning
here," I said to myself, " and in America it must be
about the middle of the night, and Will Troy is probably
sound asleep. Let me then determine, with all the
energy of my mental powers, that my mind shall be his
mind, and that he shall understand thoroughly that he
has some sort of trouble in his left leg which will not
inconvenience him at all if he allows it to rest, but
which will hurt him very much if he attempts to walk
about. Then I will make up my mind, quite decidedly,
that for a day it shall be Will who will be subject to
this pain, and not I."
For half an hour I lay flat on my back, my lips firmly
pressed together, my hands clinched, and my eyes fixed
upon the immutable peaks of the Dent du Midi, which
were clearly visible through the window at the foot of
my bed. My position seemed to be the natural one
for a man bending all the energies of his mind on a
determinate purpose. The great mountain stood up
before me as an example of the steadfast and immova-
ble. " Now," said I to myself, over and over again,
" Will Troy, it is yon who are subject to this trouble.
You will know exactly what it is, because you will feel
it through m}- mind. I am free from it ; I will that,
and it shall be so. My mind has power over your mind,
because yours is asleep and passive, while mine is
A BORROWED MONTH. 205
awake and vei-y, very active. When I get out of bed I
shall be as entirely free from pain and difficulty in
walking as you would have been if I had not passed
my condition over to you for one short day." And I
repeated again and again: "For one day; only for
one day."
The most difficult part of the process was the mental
operation of believing all this. If I did not believe it,
of course, it would come to nothing. Fixing my mind
steadfastly upon this subject, I believed with all my
might. When I had believed for ten or fifteen minutes,
I felt sure that my faith in the power of my mind was
well grounded and fixed. A man who has truly be-
lieved for a quarter of an hour may be considered to
have embraced a faith.
And now came the supreme moment, and when I
arose should I be perfectly well and strong ? The in-
stant this question came into my mind I dismissed it.
I would have no doubt whatever on the subject. I
would know that I should be what I willed I should be.
With my mind and my teeth firmly set, I got out of bed,
I walked boldly to the window, I moved about the
room, I dressed myself. I made no experiments ; I
would scorn to do so. Experiments imply doubt. I
believed. I went down several flights of stairs to my
breakfast. I walked the whole length of the long salle-
ci-mavger, and sat down at the table without having
felt a twinge of pain or the least discomfort.
"Monsieur is better this morning," said the head-
waiter, with a kindly smile.
"Better," said I ; " I am well."
206 A BORROWED MONTE.
When I returned that evening after a d&y of intoxi-
cating delight, during which I had climbed many a
mouutain path, had stood on bluffs and peaks, had
gazed over lake and valley, and had breathed to the
full the invigorating upper air, I stood upon the edge
of the lake, just before reaching the hotel, and stretched
forth my hands to the west.
" I thank you, Will Troy," I said, " from the
bottom of my heart I thank you for this day ; and if I
ever see my way to repay you, I will do it, my boy.
You may be sure of that."
I now resolved to quit this place instantly. I had
been here too long ; and before me was spread out in
shadowy fascination the whole of Switzerland. I took
a night- train for Berne, where I arrived early the next
day. But before I descended from the railway car-
riage, where 1 had managed to slumber for part of the
night, I had determiuately willed an interchange of
physical condition with another friend in America.
During the previous day I had fully made up my mind
that 1 should be false to myself and to my fortunes if I
gave up this grand opportunity for study and artistic
development, and I would call upon my friends to
give me these precious holidays, of which, but a little
while ago, I believed myself forever deprived. I be-
longed to a club of artists, most of whom were young
and vigorous fellows, any one of whom would be glad
to do me a service ; and although I desired on special
occasions to interchange with particular friends, I
determined tiiat during the rest of my holiday I would,
for the most part, exchange physical conditions with
these young men, giving a day to each.
A BORROWED MONTH. 207
The next week was a perfect success. As Martyu,
Jeffries, Williams, Corbell, Field, Booker, and Gra-
ham, I walked, climbed, sketched, and, when nobody
was near, shouted with delight. I took Williams for
Sunday, because I knew he never sketched on that day,
although he was not averse to the longest kind of rural
ramble. I shall not detail my route. The Bernese Ober-
land, the region of Lake Lucerne, the Engadine, and
atlier earthly heavens opened their doors to my joyous
anticipations, provided always that this system of
physical exchange continued to work.
The Monday after Williams's Sunday I appropriated
to a long tramp which should begin with a view of the
sunrise from a mountain height, and which necessitated
my starting in the morning before daylight. For such
an excursion I needed all the strength and endurance
of which I could possess myself, and I did not hesitate
as to the exchange I should make for that long day's
work. Chester Parkman was the man for me. Park-
man was a fairly good artist, but the sphere in which
he shone was that of the athlete. He was not verj' tall,
but he was broad and well made, with a chest and
muscles which to some of his friends appeared to be in
an impertinent condition of perfect development. He
was a handsome fellow, too, with his well-browned
face, his fine white teeth, and his black hair and beard,
which seemed to curl because the strength which they
imbibed from him made it necessary to do something,
and curling is all that hair can do. On some occasions
it pleased me to think that when by the power of my
will my physical incapacity was transferred for a time
208 A BORROWED MONTH.
to a friend, I, in turn, found myself in his peculiar
bodily condition, whatever it might be. And whether
I was mistaken or not, and whether this phase of my
borrowed condition was real or imaginary, it is certain
that when I started out before dawn that Monday
morning 1 strode away with vigorous Parkmanic legs,
and inhaled the cool air into what seemed to be a deep
Parkmanic chest. I took a guide that day, and when
we returned, some time after nightfall, I could see that
he was tired, and he admitted the fact ; but as for me,
I ate a good supper, and then walked a mile and a half
to sketch a moonlight effect on a lake. I will here
remark that, out of justice to Parkman, I rubbed my-
self down and polished myself off to the best of my
knowledge and ability before I went to bed.
When, as usual, 1 awoke early the next morning, I
lay for some time thinking. It had been my intention
to spend that day in a boat on the lake, and I had
decided to direct my will-power upon Tom Latham, a
young collegian of my acquaintance. Tom was an en-
thusiastic oarsman, and could pull with such strength
that if he were driving a horse he could almost haul
the animal back into the vehicle, but if a stout boy
were to be pushed off a horse-block Tom could not do
it. Tom's unequallj' developed muscles were just
what 1 wanted that day ; but before I threw out my
mind in his direction I let it dwell in pleasant recollec-
tion upon the glorious day I had had with Chester
Parkman' 8 corporeal attributes. Thinking of Chester,
I began to think of some one else — one on whom my
thoughts had rested with more pleasure and more pain
A BORROWED MONTH. 209
than on any other person in the world. That this was
a woman I need not say. She was young, she was an
artist, and a very good friend of mine. For a long
time I had yearned with all my heart to be able to say
that she was more than this. But so far I could not
say it. Since I had been in Europe I had told myself
over and over that in coming away without telling
Kate Balthis that I loved her I made the greatest
mistake of my life. I had intended to do this, but
opportunity had not offered. I should have made
opportunity.
The reason that the thought of Chester Parkman
made me think of Kate was the fact that they occupied
studios in the same building, and that he was a great
admirer not only of her work, but of herself. If it had
not been for the existence of Parkman, I should not
have blamed myself quite so much for not proposing to
Kate before I left America. But I consoled myself by
reflecting that the man was so intent upon the develop-
ment of his lungs that his heart, to put it anatomically,
was obliged to take a minor place in his consideration.
Thinking thus, a queer notion came mto my head.
Suppose that Kate were to bear m}' troubles for a day !
What friend had I who would be more willmg to serve
me than she? And what friend from whom I would
be more delighted to receive a favor? But the next
instant the contemptibleness of this idea flashed across
my mind, and I gritted my teeth as I thought what a
despicable thing it would be to deprive that dear girl
of her strength and activity, even for a daj'. It wa.^
true, as I honestly told myself, that it was the joy and
210 A BORROWED MONTH.
charm of being beholden to her, and not the benefit to
mj'self, that made me think of this thing. But it was
despicable, all the same, and I utterly scouted it.
And so, forgetting as far as possible that there was
such a person in the world as Kate, I threw out my
mind, as I originally intended, towards Tom Latham,
the oarsman.
I spent that day on the lake. If I had been able to
imagine that I could walk as far as Chester Parkman,
I failed to bring myself to believe that I could row like
young Latham. I got on well enough, but rowed no
better than I had often done at home, and I was soon
sorry that I had not brought a man with me to take the
oars, of which I had tired.
Among those I called upon in the next few days was
Professor Dynard, a man who was not exactly a friend,
but with whom I was very well acquainted. He was a
scientific man, a writer of books, and an enthusiastic
lover of nature. He was middle-aged and stooped a
little, but his legs were long, and he was an unwearied
walker. Towards the end of the very pleasant day
which I owed to my acquaintance with him, I could not
help smiling to find that I had thought so much of the
professor during my rambles that I had unconsciously
adopted the stoop of his shoulder and his ungainly but
regular stride.
The half-stai-ved man to whom food is given eats too
much ; the child, released from long hours of school,
runs wild, and is apt to make himself objectionable ;
and I, rising from my condition of what I had consid-
ered hopeless inactivity to the fullest vigor of body and
A BORROWED MONTH, 211
limb, began to perceive that I had walked too much
and worked too little. The pleasure of being able to
ramble and scramble wherever I pleased had made me
forget that I was in Switzerland not only for enjoy-
ment, but for improvement. Of course I had to walk
and climb to find jx)ints of view, but the pleasure of
getting to such places was so great that it overshad-
owed my interest in sitting down and going to work
after I had reached them. The man who sketches as
he walks and climbs is an extraordinary artist, and I
was not such a one.
It was while I was in the picturesque regions of the
Engadine that these reflections forced themselves upon
me, and I determined to live less for mere enjoyment
and more for earnest work. But not for a minute did
I think of giving up my precious system of corporeal
exchange. I had had enough of sitting in my room
and sketching from the window. If I had consented
to allow myself to relapse into m}- former condition, I
feared that I should not be able to regain that firm be-
lief in the power of my mental propulsion which had
so far enabled my friends to serve me so well, with such
brief inconvenience to themselves. No. I would con-
tinue to transfer my physical incapacity, but I would
use more conscientiously and earnestly the opportuni-
ties which I thus obtained.
Soon after I came to this determination, I established
myself at a little hotel on a mountain-side, where I de-
cided to stay for a week or more and do some good
hard work ; I was surrounded by grand and beautiful
scenery, and it was far better for my progress in art to
212 A BORROWED MONTH.
stay here and do something substantial than to wander
about in search of fresh delights. As an appropriate
beginning to this industrious period, I made an exchange
with my friend Bufford, one of the hardest-working
painters I knew. His industry as well as his genius
had brought him, when he had barely reached middle
life, to a high position in ai't, and it pleased me to think
that I might find myself influenced by some of his men-
tal characteristics as well as those of a physical nature.
At any rate, I tried hard to think so, and I am not
sure that I did not paint better on the Bufford day than
on any other. If it had not been that I had positively
determined that I would not impose my ailment upon
an}' one of m}' friends for more than one day, I would
have taken Bufford for a week.
There were a good many people staying at the hotel,
and among them was a very pretty English girl, with
whom I soon became acquainted ; for she was an en-
thusiastic amateur artist, and was engaged in painting
the same view at which I had chosen to work. Every
morning she used to go some distance up the mountain-
side, accompanied by her brother Dick, a tall, gawky
boy of about eighteen, who was considered to be a
suitable and sufficient escort, but who was in reality a
veiy poor one, for no sooner was his sister comfortably
seated at her work than he left her and rambled away
for hours. If it had not been for me I think she would
sometimes have been entirely too lonely and unpro-
tected. Dick's appetite would generally bring him
back in time to carr^'^ down her camp-chair and color-
box when we returned to dinner; and as she never
A BORROWED MONTH. 213
complained of his defections, I suppose her mother
knew nothing about them. This lady was a ver}' pleas-
ant person, a little too heavy in body and a little too
large in cap for my taste, but hearty and genial, and
very anxious to know something about America, whei'e
her oldest son was established on a Texas ranch. She
and her daughter and myself used to talk a good deal
together in the evenings, and this intimacy- made me
feel quite justified in talking a good deal to the daughter
in the mornings as we were working together on the
mountain-side. The first thing that made me take an
interest in this girl was the fact that she considered me
her superior, and looked up to me. I could paint a
great deal better than she could, and could inform her
on a lot of points, and I was always glad to render her
such service. She was a very pretty girl, — the pretti-
est English girl I ever saw, — with large, gray -blue
eyes, which had a trustfulness about them which I liked
very much. She evidently had a very good opinion of
me as an artist, and paid as much earnest and thought-
ful attention to what I said about her work as if she
had really been the scholar and I the master. I tried
not to bore her by too much technical conversation, and
endeavored to make myself as agreeable a companion
as I could. I found that fellowship of some kind was
very necessary to a man so far away from home, and
so cut off from social influences.
Day after day we spent our mornings together,
sketching and talking ; and as for Dick, he was the
most interesting brother I ever knew. He had a great
desire to discover something hitherto unknown in the
.214 A BORROWED MONTH.
heights above our place of sketching. Finding that
he could depend on me as a protector for his sister, he
gave us very little of his company. Even when we
were not together I could not help thinking a great deal
about this charming girl. Our talks about her country
had made me remember with pride the English blood
that was in me, and revived the desire I had often felt
to live for a time, at least, in rural England, that land
of loveliness to the Anglo-Saxon mind. And London
too ! I had artist friends, Americans, who lived in Lon-
don, and such were their opportunities, such the art
atmosphere and society, that they expected to live
there always. If a fellow really wished to succeed as
an artist, some years' residence in England, with an
occasional trip to the Continent, would be a great thing
for him. And, in such a case — well, it was a mere
idle thought. If I had been an engaged man, I would
not have allowed myself even such idle thoughts. But
I was not engaged ; and alas ! I thought with a sigh, I
might never be. I thought of Parkman and of Kate,
and how they must constantly see each other ; and I
remembered m}' stupid silence when leaving America.
How could I tell what had happened since my depart-
ure? I did not like to think of all this, and tried to
feel resigned. The world M'as very wide. There was
that English brother, over on the Texas ranch ; he
might marry an American girl ; and here was his sister
— well, this was all the merest nonsense, and I would
not admit to myself that I attached the slightest im-
portance to these vague and fragmentary notions which
floated through my mind. But the girl had most lovely,
A BORROWED MONTE. 215-
trustful eyes, and I felt that a sympathy had grown up
between us which must not be rudel}- jarred.
"We had finished our work at the old sketching-place,
and we proposed on the morrow to go to a higher part
of the mountain, and make some sketches of a more
extended nature than we had yet tried. This excursion
would require a good part of the day, but we would
take along a luncheon for three, and no doubt nothing
would please Dick better than such a trip. The mother
agreed, if Dick could be made to promise that he would
take his sister by the hand when he came to any steep
places. But, alas ! when that youngster was called
upon to receive his injunctions, he declared he could
not accompany us. He had promised, he said, to go
on a tramp with some of the other men, which would
take him all day. And that, of course, put an end to
our expedition. I shall not soon forget the air, charm-
ing to me, of evident sorrow and disappointment with
which Beatrice told me this early in the evening. The
next day was the only one for which such a trip could
be planned, for, on the day following, two older sisters
were expected, and then everything would be different.
I, too, was very much grieved and disappointed, for I
had expected a day of rare pleasure ; but my regret
was tempered by an intense satisfaction at perceiving
how sorry she was. The few words she said on the
subject touched me very much. She was such a true,
honest-hearted girl that she could not conceal what she
felt ; and when we shook hands in bidding each other
good-night, it was with more warmth than either of us
had yet shown at the recurrence of this little ceremony.
216 A BORROWED MONTE.
When I went to my room I said to myself : "If she
had not been prevented from going, I should never
have known how glad she would be to go." The
thought pleased me greatly, but I had no time to dwell
upon it, for in came Dick, who, with his hands in his
pockets and his legs very wide apart, declared to me
that he had found his sister was so cut up by not being
able to make those sketches on the mountain the next
day, that he had determined to go with us.
"It will be a beastly shame to disappoint her," he
said ; " so you can get j'our traps together, and we will
have an early breakfast and start off."
" Now," said I, when he had shut the door behind
him, " I know how much she wanted to go, and she is
going ! Could anything be better than this? "
In making the physical transfers which were neces-
sary at this period for my enjoyment of an outdoor ex-
cursion, I did not always bring my mental force to
work upon an exchange of condition. Very often I
was willing to send out my ailment to another, and to
content myself with being for the day what I would be
in my ordinary health. But in particular instances,
such as those of Parkman and Bufford, I willed — and
persuaded myself that I had succeeded — that certain
desirable attributes of my benefactor for the day,
which would be useless to him during his period of en-
forced restfulness, should be attracted to myself.
Before I went to sleep I determined that on the follow-
ing day I would exchange with m}'^ brother Philip, and
would make it as absolute an exchange as my will
could bring about. Phil was not an athlete, like Paik-
A BORROWED MONTH. 217
man, but he was a strong and vigorous fellow, with an
immense deal of go in him. He was thoroughly good-
natured, and I knew that he would be perfectly will-
ing, if he could know all about it, to take a day's rest,
and give me a day with Beatrice. And what a charm-
ing day that was to be ! We did not know exactly where
we were going, and we should have to explore. There
would be steep places to climb, and it would not be
Dick who would help his sister. We should have to
rest, and we would rest together. There would be a
delightful lunch under the shade of some rock. There
would be long talks, and a charming coSperation in the
selection of points of view and in work. Indeed, there
was no knowing what might not come out of a day like
that.
In the morning I made the transfer, and soon after-
wards I arose. Before I was ready to go down-stairs
I was surprised by an attack of headache, a thing very
unusual with me. The pain increased so much that I
was obliged to go back to bed. I soon found that
I must give up the intended excursion, and I remained
in bed all day. In the course of the afternoon, while
I lay bemoaning my present misery as well as the loss
of the great pleasure I had expected, a thought sud-
denly came into my mind, which, in spite of my mis-
eries, made me burst out laughing. I remembered that
my brother Phil, although enjoying, as a rule, the
most vigorous good health, was subject to occasional
attacks of sick headache, which usually laid him up for
a day or two. Evidently I had struck him on one of
his headache days. How relieved the old fellow must
218 A BORROWED MONTH.
be to find his positive woe ctianged to a negative evil !
It was very funny !
In the evening came Dick with a message from his
mother and his sister Beatrice, who wanted to know
how I felt by this time, and if I would have a cup of
tea, or anything. "It's a beastly shame," said he,
" that 3'ou got yourself knocked up in this way."
"Yes," said I, "but my misfortune is your good
fortune, for, of course, you had your tramp with your
friends."
" Oh, I should have had that ,any way," replied the
good youth, "for I only intended to walk a mile or
two up the mountain, just to satisfy the old lady, and
then, without saying whether I was coming back or not,
I intended to slip oflf and join the other fellows.
Wouldn't that have been a jolly plan? Beatrice would
have had her day, and I should have had mine. But
you must go and upset her part of it."
When Dick had gone I reflected. What a day this
would have been ! Alone so long with Beatrice among
those grand old mountains ! As I continued to think
of this I began to tremble, and the more I thought the
more I trembled ; and the reason I trembled was the
conviction that if I had spent that day with her, I cer-
tainly should have proposed to her.
" Phil," I said, "I thank you. I thank you more for
your headache than for anything else any other fellow
could give me."
A sick headache, aided by conscience, can work a
great change in a man. My soul condemned me for
having come so near being a very false lover, and my
A BORROWED MONTH. 219
mind congratulated me upon having the miss made for
me, for I never should have been strong enough to
make it for myself.
The next day the sisters arrived, and I saw but little
of Beatrice, for which, although quite sorry, I was also
very glad ; and after a day on the mountain which I
owed to Horace Bartlett, the last man in our club on
whom I felt I could draw, I returned to the hotel, and
wrote a long letter to Kate. I had informed my friends
in America of the ailment which had so frustrated all
my plans of work and enjoyment, but I had never
written anything in regard to my novel scheme of
relief. This was something which could be better ex-
plained by word of mouth when I returned. And, be-
sides, I did not wish to say anything about it until the
month of proposed physical transfers had expired. I
wrote to Kate, however, that I was now able to walk
and climb as much as I pleased, and in my repentant
exuberance I hinted at a great many points which, al-
though I knew she could not understand them, would
excite her curiosity and interest in the remarkable story
I would tell her when I returned. I tried to intimate, in
the most guarded way, much that I intended to say to her
when I saw her concerning my series of deliverances ;
and my satisfaction at having escaped a great tempta-
tion gave a kindly earnestness to my manner of express-
ing myself, which otherwise it might not have had.
There were now six days of my Swiss holiday left ;
and during these I threw myself upon the involuntary
kindness of Mr. Henry Brinton, editor of a periodical
entitled " Our Mother Earth," and upon that of his five
220 A BORROWED MONTH.
assistants in the publishing and editorial departments.
Brinton was a good fellow, devoted to scientific agri-
culture and the growing of small fruits ; a man of a
most practical mind. 1 knew him and his associates
very well, and had no hesitation in calling upon them.
At the end of the month, as I had previously resolved,
I brought my course of physical transfers to a close ;
and it was with no little anxiety that I arose one morning
from my bed vrith my mind determined to bear in my
own proper person all the ills of which I was possessed.
I walked across the room. It may appear strange,
but I must admit that it was with a feeling of satisfac-
tion that I felt a twinge. It was but a little twinge, but
yet I felt it, and this was something that had not
happened to me for a month.
"It was not fancy then," I said to myself, "that
gave me this precious relief, this month of rare delight
and profit ; it was the operation of the outstretching
power of the mind. I owe you much happiness, you
little man with the big head whom I met in the Kursaal,
and if you were here I would make you admit that I
can truly believe in myself."
The next day 1 was better, with only an occasional
touch of the old disorder ; and in a few days I was free
from it altogether, and could walk as well as ever I
could in my life.
1 returned to America strong and agile, and with a
portfolio full of suggestive sketches. One of these
was the back hair and part of the side face of a girl
who was engaged in sketching in a mountainous region.
But this I tore up on the voyage.
A BORROWED MONTH. 221
VT-EST.
I WILL now relate the events which took place in
America, among the people in whom 1 was most inter-
ested, while I, a few thousand miles to the east, was
enjoying my month of excursion and art work in the
mountains of Switzerland.
On my return to my old associates I had intended to
state to all of them, in turn, that I owed my delightful
holiday to the fact that I had been able to transfer to
them the physical disability which had prevented me
from making use of the opportunities offered me by the
Alps and the vales of Helvetia. But by conversation
with one and another I gradually became acquainted
with certain interesting facts which determined me to
be very cautious in making disclosures regarding the
outreaching power of my will.
No one of my friends was so much affected by my
departure for Europe as that dear girl Kate Balthis,
although I had no idea at the time that this was so.
It was not that she was opposed to my going ; on the
contrary, it was she who had most encouraged me to
persevere in my intention to visit Europe, and to con-
quer or disregard the many obstacles to the plan which
rose up before me. She had taken a great interest in
my artistic career, and much more personal interest
222 A BORROWED MONTE.
in me than I had dared to suppose. She had imagined,
and I feel that she had a perfect right to do so, that
I felt an equal interest in her ; and when I went away
without a word more than any friend might say to an-
other, the girl was hurt. It was not a deep wound ; it
was more in the nature of a rebuff. She felt a slight
sense of humiliation, and wondered if she had infused
more warmth into her intercourse with me than was
warranted by the actual quality of our friendship. But
she cherished no resentment, and merely put away an
almost finished interior, in which I had painted a fair
but very distant landscape seen through a partly
opened window, and set herself to work on a fresh
canvas.
Chester Parkraan, the artist-athlete whom I have
mentioned, was always fond of Kate's society ; but
after my departure he came a great deal more fre-
quently to her studio than before ; and he took it into
his head that he would like to have his portrait painted
by her. I had never supposed that Parkman's mind
was capable of such serviceable subtlety as this, and I
take the opportunity here to give him credit for it.
Kate's forte was clearly portraiture, although she did
not confine herself at that time to this class of work ;
and she was well pleased to have such an admirable
subject as Chester Parkmau, who, if he had not been
an artist himself, might have made a very comfortable
livelihood by acting as a model for other artists. This
portrait-painting business, of which I should have
totally disapproved had I known of it, brought them
together for an hour every day ; and, although Kate
A BORROWED MONTH. 223
had two or three pupils, they worked in an adjoining
room, separated by drapery from her own studio ; and
this gave Parkman every opportunity of making him-
self as agreeable as he could be. His method of ac-
complishing this, I have reason to believe, was by
looking as well as he could rather than by conversa-
tional efforts. But he made Kate agreeable to him in
a way of which at the time she knew nothing. He so
arranged his position that a Venetian mirror in a corner
gave him an admirable view of Kate's face as she sat
at her easel. Thus, as she studied his features, his eyes
dwelt more and more fondly upon hers, though she
noticed it not. This sort of thing went on till Parkman
found himself in a very bad way. The image of Kate
rose up before him when he was not in her studio, and
it had such an influence upon him that, if I may so put
it, he gradually sunk his lungs, and let his heart rise
to the surface. He imagined, though with what rea-
son I am not prepared to say, that he could perceive in
Kate's countenance indications of much admiration of
her subject, and he flattered himself this was not con-
fined to her consideration of him as a model. In fact,
he found that he was very much in love with the girl.
If he had been a wise man, he would have postponed
proposing to her until his portrait was finished, for if
she refused him he would lose both pictux'e and painter.
But he was not a wise man, and one day he made up
his mind that as soon as she had finished the corner of
his mouth, at which she was then at work, he would
abandon his pose, and tell her how things stood with
him. But a visitor came in, and prevented this plan
224 A BORROWED MONTH.
from being carried out. This interruption, however,
was merely a postponement. Parkman determined
that on the next day he would settle the matter with
Kate the moment he arrived at the studio, or as soon,
at least, as he was alone with her.
If he had known the state of Kate's mind at this
time, he would have been veiy much encouraged. I
do not mean to say that any tenderness of sentiment
towards him was growing up within her, but she had
begun to admire vei*y much this fine, handsome fellow.
She took more pleasure in working at his portrait than
in any other she had yet done. A man, she had come
to think, to be true to art and to his manhood, should
look like this one.
Thus it was that although Kate Balthis had not yet
thought of her model with feelings that had become
fond, it could not be denied that her affections, having
lately been obliged to admit that they had no right to
consider themselves occupied, were not in a condition
to repel a new comer. And Parkman was a man who,
when he had made up his mind to offer his valued self,
would do it with a vigor and earnestness that could not
easily be withstood.
It was a long time before Chester Parkman went to
sleep that night, so engaged was he in thinking upon
what he was going to do on the morrow. But, shortly
after he arose the next moraing, he was attacked by a
very queer feeling in his left leg, which made it decid-
edly unpleasant for him when he attempted to walk.
Indisposition of any kind was exceedingly unusual
with the young athlete, but he knew that under the
A BORROWED MONTH. 225
circumstances the first thing necessary for his accurately
developed muscles was absolute rest, and this he gave
them. He sent a note to Kate, telling her what had
happened to him, and expressing his great regret at
not being able to keep his appointment for the day.
He would see her, however, at the very earliest ix)ssible
moment that this most unanticipated disorder would
allow him. He sent for a trainer, and had himself
rubbed and lotioned, and then betook himself to a pipe,
a novel, and a big easy-chair, having first quieted his
much perturbed soul b}^ assuring it that if he did not
get over this thing in a few days, he would write to
Kate, and tell her in the letter all he had intended
to say.
The next day, much to his surprise, he arose perfectly
well. He walked, he strode, he sprang into the air;
there was absolutely nothing the matter with him. He
rejoiced beyond his power of expression, and deter-
mined to visit Kate's studio even earlier than the usual
hour ; but before he was ready to start he received a
note from her, which stated that she had been obliged
to stay at home that day on account of a sudden attack
of something like rheumatism, and therefore, even if
he thought himself well enough, he need not make the
exertion necessary to go all the way up to her studio.
This note was very prettily expressed, and on the first
reading of it Parkman could see nothing in it but a kind
desire on the part of the writer that he should know
there would be no occasion for him to do himself a pos-
sible injury by mounting to her lofty studio before he
was entirely recovered. Of course she could not know,
226 A BORROWED MONTH.
he thought, that he would be able to come that day,
but it was very good of her to consider the possible
contingency.
But, after sitting down and reflecting on the matter
for ten or fifteen minutes, Parkman took a different
view of the note. He now perceived that the girl was
making fun of him. What imaginable reason was there
for believing that she, a perfectly healthy person,
should be suddenly afflicted by a rheumatism which ap-
parently was as much like that of which he had told
her the day before as one pain could be like another.
Yes, she was making game of the muscles and sinews
on which he prided himself. She did not believe the
excuse he had given, and trumped up this ridiculous
ailment to pay him back in his own coin. Chester
Parkman was not easily angered, but he allowed this
note to touch him on a tender point. It seemed to
intimate that he would asperse his own physical organ-
ization in order to get an excuse for not keeping an
appointment. To accuse him of such disloyalty was
unpardonable. He was very indignant, and said to
himself that he would give Miss Balthis some time to
come to her senses ; and that if she were that kind of
a girl, it would be very well for him to reflect. He wrote
a coldly expressed note to Kate, in which he said that,
as far as he was concerned, he would not inconvenience
her by giving her even the slightest reason for coming
to her studio during the continuance of her most inex-
plicable malady.
Mr. Chester Parkman's mind might have been much
more legitimately disturbed had he known that during
A BORROWED MONTH. 227
the night before Kate had been lying awake, and had
been thinking of me. She had heard that day from a
friend, to whom I had written, of the great misfortune
which had happened to me in Switzerland ; and she
had been thinking, dear girl, that if it were possible
how gladly would she bear my trouble for a time, and
give me a chance to enjoy that lovely land which I had
tried so hard to reach. And if he had been told that
at that very time, as I lay awake in the early morning,
the idea had come into my head, although most instantly
dismissed, that I should like to be beholden to Kate for
a day of Alpine pleasure, he would reasonably have
wondered what that had to do with it.
After I had become acquainted with these facts, I
asked young Tom Latham, the oarsman, to whom I sup-
posed I had transferred my physical condition on the day
after I walked with Parkmanic legs to see the sun rise,
if he had been at all troubled with rheumatism during
the past few months. He replied with some asperity
that he had been as right as a trivet straight along ;
and why in the world did I imagine he was subject to
rheumatism !
Of course Kate was annoyed when she received
Parkman's note. She saw that he had taken offence
at something, although she had no idea what it was.
But she did not allow this to trouble her long, and
said to herself that if Mr. Parkman was angry with
her she was very sorry, but she would be content to
postpone work on the portrait until he should recover
his good humor.
When she had retired that night she had determined
228 A BORROWED MONTH.
that, if she should not be well enough to go to her
studio in a few days, she would send for some of her
working materials and try to paint in her room. But
the next morning she arose perfectly well.
If, however, she had known what was going to
happen, she would have preferred spending another
day in her pleasant chamber with her books and sew-
ing. For, about eleven o'clock in the morning, there
walked into her studio Professor Dynard, a gentleman
who for some time had taken a gi*eat deal of interest in
her and her work.
She had usually been very well pleased to talk to
him, for he was a man of wide information and good
judgment. But this morning there seemed to be some-
thing about him which was not altogether pleasant.
In the first place, he stood before the unfinished por-
trait of Chester Parkman, regarding it with evident
displeasure. For some minutes he said nothing, but
hemmed and grunted. Presently he turned and re-
marked, " I don't like it."
"What is the matter with it?" asked Kate from
the easel at which she was at work. " Have I not
caught the likeness? "
"Oh, that is good enough as far as it goes," said
the Professor. " Very good indeed ! too good ! You
are going to make an admirable picture. But I wish
you had another subject."
" Why, I thought myself extraoixlinarily fortunate in
getting so good a one!" exclaimed Kate. "Is he
not an admirable model? "
" Of course he is," said the professor, " but I don't
A BORROWED MONTH. 229
like to see you painting a young fellow like Parkman.
Now, don't be angry," he coutinned, taking a seat
near her and looking around to see if the curtain of
the pupils' room was properly drawn. "I take a
great interest in jour welfare. Miss Balthis, and my
primary object in coming here this morning is to tell
you so ; and, therefore, you must not be surprised that
I was somewhat annoyed when I found that you were
painting young Parkman 's portrait. I don't like you
to be painting the portraits of young men, Miss Balthis,
and I will tell you why." And then he drew his chair
a little nearer to her, and offered himself in marriage.
It must be rather awkward for a young lady artist
to be proposed to at eleven o'clock in the morning,
when she is sitting at her easel, one hand holding her
palette and maul-stick, and the other her brush, and
with three girl pupils on the other side of some mod-
erately heavy drapery, probably listening with all their
six eai-s. But in Kate's case the peculiarity of the
situation was emphasized by the fact that this was the
first time that any one had ever proposed to her. She
had expected me to do something of the kind ; and two
days before, although she did not know it, she had
just missed a declaration from Parkman ; but now it
was really happening, and a man was asking her to
marry him. And this man was Professor Dynard !
Had Kate been in the habit of regarding him with the
thousand eyes of a fly, never, with a single one of
Uiose eyes, would she have looked upon him as a
lover. But she turned towards him, and sat up very
straight, and listened to all he had to say.
230 A BORROWED MONTH.
The Professor told a verj^ fair story. He had long
admired Miss Balthis, and had ended by loving her.
He knew very well that he was no longer a young man,
but he thought that if she would carefully consider the
matter, she would agree with him that he was likely to
make her a much better husband than the usual young
man could be expected to make. In the first place,
the object of his life, as far as fortune was concerned,
had been accomplished, and he was ready to devote
the rest of his days to her, her fortune, and her hap-
piness. He would not ask her to give up lier art, but,
on the contrary, would afford her every facility for
work and study under the most favorable circum-
stances. He would take her to Europe, to the isles of
the sea, — wherever she might like to go. She could
live in the artistic heart of the world, or in any land
where she might be happy. He was a man both able
and free to devote himself to her. He had money
enough, and he was not bound by circumstances to
special work or particular place. Through him the
world would be open to her, and his greatest happiness
should be to see her enjoy her opportunities. " More
than that," he continued, " I want you to remember
that, although I am no longer in my first youth, I am
very strong, and enjoy excellent health. This is some-
thing you should consider very carefully in making an
alliance for life ; for it would be most unfortunate for
you if you should marry a man who, early in life,
should become incapacitated from pursuing his career,
and you should find yourself obliged to provide, not
only for yourself, but for him."
A BORROWED MONTH. 231
This, Kate knew very well, was intended as a refer-
ence to me. Professor Dynard had reason to believe
I was much attached to Kate, and he had heard exag-
gerated accounts of my being laid up with rheumatism
in Switzerland. It was very good in him to warn her
against a man who might become a chronic invalid on
her hands ; but Kate said nothing to him, and let him
go on.
"And even these devotees of muscularity," said the
Professor, " these amateur athletes, are liable to be
stricken down at any moment by some unforeseen dis-
ease. I do not wish to elevate the body above the
mind. Miss Balthis, but these things should be care-
fully considered. You should marry a man wlio is not
only in vigorous health, but is likely to continue so.
And now, my dear Miss Balthis, I do not wish you to
utter one word in answer to what I have been saying
to 3'ou. I want you to consider, carefully and ear-
nestly, the proposition I have made. Do not speak
now, I beg of you, for I know I could not expect at this
moment a favorable answer. I want you to give your
calm judgment an opportunity to come to my aid.
On the day after to-morrow I will come to receive your
answer. Good-hye."
During that afternoon and the next day Kate thought
of little but of the offer of marriage which had been
made to her. Sometimes she regretted that she had
not been bold enough to interrupt him with a refusal,
and so end the matter. And then, again, she fell to
thinking upon the subject of love, thinking and think-
ing. Naturally her first thoughts fell upon me. But
232 A BORROWED MONTH.
I had not spoken, nor had I written. This could not
be accidental. It had a meaning which she ought not
to allow herself to overlook. She found, too, while
thus turning over the contents of her mind, that she
had thought a little, a very little she assured herself,
about Chester Parkman. She admitted that there was
something insensibly attractive about him, and he had
been extremely attentive and kind to her. But even if
her thoughts had been inclined to dwell upon him, it
would have been ridiculous to allow them to do so now,
for in some way she had offended him, and might never
see him again. He must be of a very irritable disposi-
tion.
And then there came up before her visions of Europe
and of the isles of the sea ; of a life amid the art won-
ders of the world, — a life with every wish gratified,
every desire made possible. Professor Dynard had
worked much better than she had supposed at the time
he was working. He had not offered her the kind of
love she had expected, should love ever be offered, but
he had placed before her, immediately and without
reserve, everything to which she had expected to attain
by the labors of a life. All this was very dangerous
thinking for Kate ; the fortifications of her heart were
being approached at a very vulnerable point. When
she started independently in life, she did not set out
with the determination to fall in love, or to have love
made to her, or to be married, or anything of the kind.
Her purjiose was to live an art life ; and to do that as
she wished to do it, she would have to work verj' hard
and wait vei-y long. But now, all she had to do was
A BORROWED MONTH. 233
to give a little nod, and the hope of the future would
be the fact of the present. Even her own self would
be exalted. "What a different woman should I be,"
she thought, "in Italy or in Egypt." This was a
terribly perilous time for Kate. The temptation came
directly into the line of her hopes and aspirations. It
tinged her mind with a delicately spreading rosiness.
The next morning when she went to her studio she
found there a note from Professor Dynard, stating that
he could not keep his appointment with her that day
on account of a sudden attack of something like rheu-
matism, which made it impossible to leave his room.
This indisposition was not a matter of much impor-
tance, he wrote, and would probably disappear in a few
days, when he would hasten to call upon her. He
begged that in the mean time she would continue the
consideration of the subject on which he had spoken to
her ; and hoped very earnestly that she would arrive at
a conclusion which should be favorable to him, and
which, in that case, he most sincerely believed would
also be favorable to herself.
When she read this, Kate leaned back in her chair
and laughed. " After all he said the other day about
the danger of my getting a husband who would have
to be taken care of, this is certainly very funny ! " She
forgot the rosy hues which had been insensibly tinting
her dreams of the future on the day before, and only
thought of a middle-aged gentleman, with a little bald
place on the top of his head, who was subject to rheu-
matism, and probably very cross when he was obliged
to stay in the house. "It is a shame," she said to
234 A BORROWED MONTH.
herself, " to allow the poor old gentleman to worry his
mind about me any longer. It will be no more than a
deception to let him lie at home and imagine that as
soon as he is well he can come up here and get a fa-
vorable answer from me. I'll write him a note immedi-
ately and settle the matter." And this she did, and
thereby escaped the greatest danger to herself to which
she had ever been exposed.
Nearly all Kate's art friends had been very much in-
terested in her portrait of Chester Parkman, which, in
its nearly completed state, was the best piece of work
she had done. Among these friends was Buflford,
whose pupil Kate had been, and to whom she had long
looked up, not only as to a master, but as to a dear and
kind friend. Mrs. Buffoixl, too, was extremely fond
of Kate, and was ever ready to give her counsel and
advice, but not in regard to art, whicli subject she re-
signed entirely to her husband. It was under Mrs.
Bufford's guidance that Kate, when she first came to
the city from her home in tlie interior of the State,
selected her boarding-house, her studio, and her church.
More than half of her Sundays were spent with these
good friends, and they had always considered it their
duty to watch over her as if her parents had appointed
them her guardians. Bufford was greatly disapix)iuted
when he found that the work on Parkman 's portrait
had been abruptly broken off. He had wished Kate to
finish it in time for an approaching exhibition, where
he knew it would attract great attention , both from the
fact that the subject was so well known in art circles and
in society, and because it was going to be, he believed,
A BORROWED MONTH. 235
a most admirable piece of work. Kate had explained
to him, as far as she knew, how matters stood. Mr.
Parkman had suddenly become offended with her, why
she knew not. He was perfectly well and able to
come, she said, for some of her friends had seen him
going about as usual ; but he did not come to her, and
she certainly did not intend to ask him to do so. Buf-
ford shook his head a good deal at this, and when he
went home and told his wife about it, he expressed
his opinion that Kate was not to blame in the
matter.
"That young Parkman," he said, "is extremely
touchy, and he has an entirely too good opinion of him-
self ; and by indulging in some of his crankj^ notions
he is seriously interfering with Kate's career, for she
has nothing on hand except his portrait which I would
care to have her exhibit."
"Now don't you be too sure," said Mrs. Bufford,
" about Kate not being to blame. Young girls, with-
out the slightest intention, sometimes do and say things
which are very irritating, and Kate is just as high-
spirited as Parkman is touchy. I have no doubt that
the whole quarrel is about some ridiculous trifle, and
could be smoothed over with a few words, if we could
only get the few words said. I was delighted when I
heard she was painting Chester's portrait, for I hoped
the work would result in something much more desir-
able even than a good picture."
"I know you always wanted her to marry him,"
said Bufford.
" Yes, and I still want her to do so. And a little
236 A BORROWED MONTH.
piece of nonsense like this should not be allowed to
break off the best match I have ever known."
** Since our own," suggested her husband.
" That is understood," she replied. " And now, do
you know what I think is our duty in the premises?
We should make it our business to heal this quarrel,
and bring these young people together again. I am
extremely anxious that no time should be lost in doing
this, for it will not be long before young Clinton will
be coming home. He was to stay away only three
months altogether."
"And you are afraid he will interfere with your
plans?" said Bufford.
" Indeed I am," answered his wife. " For a long
time Kate and he have been very intimate, — entirely
too much so, — and I was very glad when he went away,
and gave poor Chester a chance. Of course there is
nothing settled between them so far, because if there
had been Clinton would never have allowed that por-
trait to be thought of."
" Jealous wretch ! " remarked Bufford.
''You need not joke about it," said his wife. " It
would be a most deplorable thing for Kate to marry
Clinton. He has, so far, made no name for himself in
art, and no one can say that he ever will. He is poor,
and has nothing on earth but what he makes, and it is
not probable that he will ever make anything. And,
worse than all that, he has become a chronic invalid.
I have heard about his condition in Switzerland."
"And having originally very little," said her hus-
band, " and having lost the only valuable thing he
A BORROWED MONTH. 237
possessed, you would take away from him even what
he expected to have."
" He has no right to expect it," said Mrs. Bufford,
" and it would be a wicked and cruel thing for him to
endeavor to take Kate away from a man like Chester
Parkman. Chester is rich, he is handsome, he is in
perfect health, and to a girl with an artistic mind like
Kate he should be a constant joy to look upon."
" But," said Bufford, " why don't you leave Kate to
find out these superiorities for herself? "
" It would never do at all. Don't you see how she
has let the right man go on account of some trifling
misunderstanding? And Clinton will come home, and
find that he has the field all to himself. Now I'll tell
you what I want you to do. You must go to Kate to-
morrow, find out what this trouble is about, and i-ep-
resent to her that she ought not to allow a little
misunderstanding to interfere with her career in
art."
" Why don't you go yourself? " said Bufford.
" That is out of the question. I could not put the
matter on an art basis, and anythmg else would rouse
Kate's suspicions. And, besides, I want you after-
wards to go to Parkman, and talk to him ; and, of
course, I could not do that."
" Very well," said Bufford, " I am going to see them
both to-morrow, and will endeavor to make things
straight between them ; but I don't wish to be consid-
ered as having anything to do with the matrimonial
part of the affair. What I want is to have Kate finish
that picture in time for the exhibition."
238 A BORROWED MONTH.
" You attend to that," said his wife, " and the mat-
rimonial part will take care of itself."
But Bufiford did not see either Kate or Parkman the
next day, being prevented from leaving his room by a
sudden attack of something like rheumatism. He was
a man of strong good sense and persuasive speech, and
I think he would have had no difficulty in bringing
Parkman and Kate together again ; and if this had
happened, I am very certain that Parkman would have
lost no time in declaring his passion. What would
have resulted from this, of course, I cannot say ; but
it must be remembered that Kate at that time supposed
that she had made a great mistake in regard to my sen-
timents towards her. In fact, if BuflPord had seen the
two 3'oung people that day, I am afraid, I am very
much afraid that everything would have gone wrong.
The next day Bufford did see Kate, and easily ob-
tained her peimission to call on Parkman, and endeavor
to find out what it was that had given him umbrage ;
but as the young athlete had started that very morning
for a trip to the West, Bufiford was obliged to admit to
himself, very reluctantly, that it was probably useless
to consider any further the question of Kate's finishing
his portrait in time for the exhibition.
When I returaed to Amenca, and at the very earli-
est possible moment presented myself before Kate, I
had not been ten seconds in her companj" before I per-
ceived that I was an accepted lover. How I perceived
this I will not say, for every one who has been ac-
cepted can imagine it for himself; but I will say that,
although raised to the wildest pitch of joy by the
A BORROWED MONTH. 239
discovery, I was very much surprised at it. T had
never told the girl I loved her. I had never asked her
to love me. But here it was, all settled, and Kate was
my own dear love. Of course, feeling as I did towards
her, it was easy for me to avoid any backwardness of
demeanor, which might indicate to her that I was sur-
prised, and I know that not for a moment did she sus-
pect it. Before the end of our interview, however, I
found out how I had been accepted without knowing it.
It had been on account of the letter I had written Kate
from Switzerland. In this very carefully constructed
epistle I had hinted at a great many things which I had
been careful not to explain, not wishing to put upon
paper the story of my series of wonderful deliverances,
which I intended with my own mouth to tell to Kate.
It was a subtly quiet letter, with a substratum of hilari-
ousness, of enthusiasm, surging beneath it, which some-
times showed through the thin places in the surface. Of
course, writing to Kate, my mind was full of her, as
well as of my deliverances, and in my hypersubtlety I
so expressed my feelings in regard to the latter of these
subjects that it might easily have been supposed to
pertain to the first. In fact, when I afterwards read
this letter I did not wonder at all that the dear girl
thought it was a declaration of love. That she made
the mistake I shall never cease to rejoice ; for, after
leaving Switzerland, I should not have been able, in-
voluntarily and unconsciously, to ward off until my re-
turn the attacks of possible lovers.
From day to day I met nearly all the persons who,
without having the slightest idea that they were doing
240 A BORROWED MONTH.
anything of the kind, had been of such wonderful ser-
vice to me while I was abroad ; and I never failed to
make particular inquiries in regard to their health the
past summer. Most of them replied that the}^ had
been very well as a general thing, although now and
then they might have been under the weather for a day
or two. Few of my friends were people who were
given to remembering ailments past and gone, and if I
had needed any specific information from them in re-
gard to any particular day on which the}- had been con-
fined to the house by this or that slight disorder, I
should not have obtained it.
But when I called uix)'n Henry Brinton, the editor of
"Our Mother Earth," I received some very definite
and interesting information.
" Everything has gone on pretty much as usual since
you left," he said, "except that about a mouth ago
we had a visitation of a curious sort of epidemic rheu-
matism, which actually ran through the office. It
attacked me first, but as I understand such things and
know very well that outward applications are of no
possible use, I took the proper medicine, and in one
day, sir, I was entirely cured. The next day, however,
Barclay, our book-keei>er, was down with it, or, rather,
he was obliged to stay at home on account of it. I
immediately sent him my bottle of medicine, and the
next day he came down to the office perfectly well.
After him Brown, Simmons, Cummings, and White,
one after another, were all attacked in the same way,
but each was cured by my medicine in a day. The
A BORROWED MONTH. 241
malad}', however, seemed gradually to lose its force,
and Cummings and White were only slightly inconven-
ienced, and were able to come to the office."
All this was very plain to me. Brinton's medicine
was indeed the proper remedy for my ailment, and had
gradually cured it, so that when I resumed it after my
month's exemption, there was very little left of it, and
this soon died out of itself. If I could only have
known this, I would have sent it over to Brinton in the
first instance.
In the course of time I related to Kate the sti-ange
series of incidents which had finally brought us together.
I am sorry to say she did not place entire belief in the
outreaching powers of my mind. She thought that the
relief from my disability was due very much to imagi-
nation.
" How," I said, " do you account for those remark-
able involuntary holidays of Parkman, yourself, and
the others, which were so opportune for me? "
"Things did happen very well for 3'ou," she said,
" although I suppose a great many other people have
had a series of lucky events come into their lives. But
even if this were all true, I do not think it turned out
exactly as it should have done in a moral point of view.
Of course I am delighted, you poor bo}', that 3'ou
should have had that charming month in Switzerland,
after all the trouble you had gone through ; but wasn't
it a little selfish to pass off your disability upon your
friends without asking them anything about it? "
*'Well," said I, " it may be that if this affair were
242 A BORROWED MONTB.
viewed from a purely moral stand-point, there was a
certain degree of selfishness about it, and it ought to
have turned out all wrong for me. But we live in a
real world, my dear, and it turned out all right."
"Mr. Stockton has written a book which you can^t discuss with-
out laughing; and that is proof enough of its quality y
— N. Y. Tribune.
The Late Mrs. Null.
By FRANK R. STOCKTON.
One Volume, 12mo. Cloth, $1,50,
*'The Late Mrs. Null" is one of those fortunate books that
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intermediate serial publication — such an enjoyment as they hard-
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It is enough to say of the scene that it is chiefly in Virginia,
to show the possibilities of local character-drawing open to Mr.
Stockton in addition to his other types ; and to say that every
character is full of the most ingenious and delicious originality
is altogether needless. In an increasing scale, the situations are
still more complicated, ingenious, and enjoyable than the charac-
ters ; and finally, the plot is absolutely baffling in its clever in-
tricacy yet apparent simplicity — a true device of Mr. Stockton's
tireless fancy.
"We congratulate the novel reader upon the feast there is in 'The Late Mrs.
Null.' "—Hart/ord Post.
"We can assure prospective readers that their only regret after finishing the book
will be that never again can they hope for the pleasure of reading it again for the
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" Original, bright, and full of the author's delicate humor." — New York Journal
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" ' The Late Mrs. Null' is delicious." — Bosion Journal.
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THROUGH ONE ADMINISTRATION
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-S^»*^^^^^'^t^
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MR. TOLMAN
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AN UNHISTORIC PAGE
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THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE"
MY BULL-CALF
THE DISCOURAGER OF HESITANCY
A BORROWED MONTH {East and West)
THE CLOVERFIELD'S CARRIAGE
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