OTHER BOOKS BY CHARLES CLARK MUNN UNCLE TERRY. A Story of the Maine Coast. Richly bound in crimson silk cloth with gold and vignette of heroine. Illustrated by HELENA HIGGINBOTHAM. Gilt top. 370pp. Price, $1.50. See description in back of book. ROCKHAVEN. The Story of a Scheme. (In preparation. To be published in the Spring of 1902.) See announcement in back of book. Pocket Island A Story of Country Life in New England By CHARLES CLARK MUNN Author of "Uncle Terry" and New York International Association of Newspapers and Authors 1901 COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY CHARLES CLARK MUNN All Rights Reserved POCKET ISLAND XORTH RIVER BINDERY HUNTERS AND BINDER! KBW YORK CITY, K. Y. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PA08 Pocket Island 1 1 CHAPTER II. The Sea Fox 18 CHAPTER III. Nemesis 24 CHAPTER IV. The Boy 31 CHAPTER V. The Boy's First Party 41 CHAPTER VI. Serious Thoughts 49 CHAPTER VII. Liddy 58 CHAPTER VIII. The Husking-Bee 66 CHAPTER IX. Good Advice 74 vi Contents. CHAPTER X. PACE 82. History CHAPTER XI. War Clouds CHAPTER XII. 1 OO 1 A Day in the Woods CHAPTER XIII. The Girl 1 Left Behind Me .'. 1O 7 CHAPTER XIV. Beside the Camp Fire n 7 CHAPTER XV. Mysteries J '' CHAPTER XVI. The Grasp of Death ! 3 2 CHAPTER XVII. Those Who Wait '37 CHAPTER XVIII. A Few Bright Days '4^ CHAPTER XIX. Among the Wounded ' 5 6 CHAPTER XX. Plans for Happiness I( >4 CHAPTER XXI. Blue Hill.. '74 Contents. vu CHAPTER XXII. The Maine Coast 182 CHAPTER XXIII. Big Spoon Island 191 CHAPTER XXIV. Pocket Island 1 99 CHAPTER XXV. The Smuggler's Cave 208 CHAPTER XXVI. The Fate of a Miser 216 CHAPTER XXVII. Conclusion 224 POCKET ISLAND. CHAPTER I. POCKET ISLAND. IN the year 185 a Polish Jew peddler named Wolf and a roving Micmac Indian met at a small village on Annapolis Bay, in Nova Scotia, and there and then formed a partnership. It was one of those chance meetings between two atoms tossed hither and thither in the whirl igig of life; for the peddler, shrewd, calculating and unscrupulous, was wandering along the Aca dian shores driving hard bargains in small wares ; and the Indian, like his race, fond of a roaming life, was drifting about the bay in a small sloop he owned, fishing where he would, hunting when he chose, stopping a week in some uninhabited cove to set traps, or lounging in a village drinking or gambling. The Jew had a little money and, what was of tl Pocket Island. more value, brains and audacity. He also knew the conditions then prevalent along the Maine coast, and all the risks, as well as the profit, to be obtained in smuggling liquor. Rum was cheap in Nova Scotia and dear in Maine. The Indian with his sloop formed one means to an end; his money and cunning the other. A verbal compact to join these two forces on the basis of share and share alike for mutual profit, was entered into, and Captain Wolf and the Sea Fox, as the sloop was named, with the Indian and his dog for crew, began their career. As a preliminary some fifty kegs of assorted liquors, as many empty mackerel kits, a small stock of oil clothing, sea boots, fishing gear, to baccos, etc., were purchased and stowed away on the sloop, and then she set sail. There were along the coast of Maine in those days many uninhabited islands seldom visited. Fishermen avoided them, for the deep sea fur nished safer and more profitable ground; coast ers gave them a wide berth, and there were no others to disturb them. Among these, and lying midway between Monhegan and Big Spoon Isl ands, and distant from the Isle au Haut, the near est inhabited one, about twenty miles, was a freak of nature known as "The Pocket," or Pocket Is- \2 Pocket Island. land, as shown on the maps. This merits a brief description. It was hollow. That is, from a gen eral view it appeared like an attempt to inclose a small portion of the sea within high, fir-covered walls. It resembled a horseshoe with the points drawn close. Neptune beat Jove, however, leav ing a narrow fissure connecting the inclosed wa ter and the outer ocean, and through this the tides flowed fiercely; but so protected was the inner harbor that never a ripple disturbed its sur face. It was this harbor that gave the island its name. Occasionally a shipwreck occurred here. In 1842 the British barque Lancaster was driven on to this island in a winter night snowstorm, and all hands perished. Five of the crew were washed ashore alive, only to freeze among the snow-covered rocks. The vessel went entirely to pieces in one night and the wreck was not discovered until two years after by a stray fisher man, who suddenly came upon the bleaching bones and grinning skulls of those unfortunate sailors. The island was a menace to coasters and bore an uncanny reputation. It was said to be haunted. During a night storm a tall man had been seen, by a flash of lightning, standing on a cliff. Strange sounds like the cries of dying men Pocket Island. had been heard. When the waves were high, a noise like that made by a bellowing bull was no ticed. The ocean and its storms play queer pranks at times, especially at night. White bursts of foam leaping over black rocks assume ghostly shape. Dark and grotesque figures appear crawl ing into or out of fissures, or hiding behind rocks. Hideous and devilish, snarling and snapping, sounds issue from caverns. In darkness an unin habited coast becomes peopled with demons who sport and scream and leap in hellish glee. Such a spot was Pocket Island. Nature also played another prank here, and as if to furnish a lair for some sea monster she hollowed a cavern in the island, with an entrance below tidewater and at the head of this harbor. Inside and above tide-level it broadened into 5 small room. As if to still further isolate the is land all about it were countless rocks and ledges bare only at low tide and, like a serried cordon of black fangs, ready to bite and destroy any vessel that approached. It is probable that the Indians who formerly inhabited the Maine coast had ex plored this island and discovered the cave. An Indian is always looking for such things. It is his nature. It may be this wandering and half- civilized remnant of a nearly extinct tribe whom M Pocket Island. the Jew had compacted with, knew of this sea cavern and piloted his sloop into the safe shelter of "the pocket." And it was a secure shelter. No one came here ; no one was likely to. Its un canny reputation, added to the almost impassable barricade of rocks and ledges all about, made it what Captain Wolf needed a veritable burrow for a sea fox. Here he brought his cargo of con traband spirits and stored them in the cave. Here he repacked kegs of rum inside of empty mackerel kits, storing tbem aboard the sloop with genuine ones. By is ruse he almost obliterated the chance of detection. Like a sly fox, he was al ways on guard. Even when the sloop was safe at anchor, he worked only in the cave. When all was ready, he and his swarthy partner would wait till low tide, then load the dozen or more rum- charged kits and set sail for the coast. In these ventures Wolf realized what his race have always' wanted the Jew's one per cent. In this island cave nature had placed a curios ity, known as a rocking stone. In was a boulder of mapy tons' weight near the wall of the room, and so poised that a push of the hand at one par ticular point would move it easily. When so moved a little niche in the rock- wall back of it was exposed. Wolf had discovered this one day J5 Pocket Island. while alone in the cave and utilized it as a hiding place for his money. Here he would come alone and, taking out the increasing bags of coin, empty them on a flat stone and, by the light of a lamp, count their contents again and again. Those shining coins were his god and all his religion; and in this damp and dark sea cavern and by the dim light of a lamp he came to worship. The Indian could neither read nor write, add nor subtract, and while he knew the value of coins, he was unable to compute them. Wolf knew this and, unprincipled as he was, he not only defied all law in smuggling, but he had from the first defied all justice, and cheated his partner in the division of profit. As the Indian Avas never present when either buying or selling took place, and had no knowledge of arithmetic, this was an easy matter. Wolf gave him a little money, of course. He needed him and his ves sel ; also his help in sailing her. Not only was the Indian a faithful helper, but he held his tongue as well, which was very important. When in some Nova Scotia port the money Wolf gave him as his share was usually spent in drinking and gambling, which suited Wolf, who only desired to use him as a medium. 16 Pockci Island. An Indian has no sense of economy, no thought of the morrow. To hunt, fish and eat to-day and let the future provide for itself is enough. If he works one day, it is that he may spend the next. Among the aborigines thrift was an un known quantity, and the scattered remnants of those tribes existing to-day are the same. As they were hundreds of years ago, so are they now. They were satisfied with bark wigwams then ; a board and a mud hovel is enough to-day. They cannot comprehend a white man's ambition to work that he may dress and live well, and all money and all thought spent in civilizing the In dian has only resulted in degrading him. He ab sorbs all the white man's vices and none of his virtues. Not only that, but the effort to redeem him has warped and twisted him into a cunning and revengeful creature ; all malice and no honor. So true is this that the fact has crystalized itself into the universal belief that the only good Indian is a dead one. Such a one, though not comprehended by Wolf, was his partner. While that fox-like Jew was reaping rich profit and deluding himself in be lieving he was successfully cheating an Indian, he was only sowing the seed that soon or late was destined to end in murder. J7 Pocket Island. CHAPTER II. THE SEA FOX. WHILE Neal Dow and his associates were con ducting an organized crusade against the sale of liquor in Maine, and that fruitless legislation known as the Maine Law was being enforced, there entered a small coast port in that State one day a sloop called the Sea Fox, manned by a white man, an Indian and a dog. The white man had sinister black eyes ; the In dian was tall and swarthy. He and the dog remained on board the sloop; the Jew, or, as he called himself, Captain Wolf, came ashore. He declared himself to be a small coast trader in search of choice lots of fish, and incidentally hav ing for sale clothing, tobacco and various small wares. He lounged about the wharves and build ings devoted to curing fish, talking fish and fish ing to all. He seemed to be in search of informa tion, and appeared ready and willing to buy small and choice lots of cured fish at a low price; also I The Sea Fox. to sell the assortment of wanes he carried. He in vited prospective buyers to visit his sloop, and exerted himself to interest them. While he seemed anxious to sell, he made no sales; and though willing to buy he bought nothing. He was in no hurry. He just ran in to look the market over and see if there was a chance to buy at a price that would enable him to make a fair profit. If not, he might come again, or may be he could do better elsewhere. His mission ap peared innocent and natural enough and he and his small craft were duly accepted for what they appeared to be. Had any one, however, examined the dozen or so kits of mackerel which appeared as part of his cargo, they would have found, not fish, but a species of bait ofttimes used by fishermen ; and could they have read between the lines of Captain Wolf's innocent inquiries they would have learned that fishing information was the thing he cared least about. Though Wolf talked trade, but did no trading ; was anxious to buy, and bought not ; willing to sell and sold not; it need not be in ferred he transacted no business. Had any of these coast residents been blessed with the occult ability to see beyond the apparent facts, and to overhear, they might have learned of certain hard,, 19 Pocket Island. if illegal, bargains made between Wolf and one or more of their number, and they might have witnessed late at night various mysterious move ments of a small boat passing from shore to the sloop empty, and returning laden with apparently harmless kits of fish. Had these good people been still more watchful they would have seen the Sea Fox spread her sails and depart before dawn. Whence Wolf came no one knew ; whither he went, no one guessed. Like a strange bird of prey, like a fox at night, he stole into port on oc casions wide apart and unexpected, and as mys teriously went his way. The coast of Maine was particularly well adapted to aid Captain Wolf in his pe culiar enterprise. The great tide of sum mer travel had not then started and its countless bays, coves and inlets were unmolested. Wher ever a safe harbor occurred a small village had clustered about it and the larger islands only were inhabited. The residents of these hamlets were mainly engaged in fishing or coasting, and of a guileless nature. They were honest themselves, and not easy to suspect dishonesty in others. Into these ports Wolf could sail unsuspected, and, like the cunning fox he was, easily dupe them by his role of innocent trader till he found some 20 The Sea Fox. one as unscrupulous as he, who was willing to- take the chance and share his illegal profit. While he played his role of fox by day and smuggled by night, it was not without risk. The crusaders against the liquor traffic had an organ ized force of spies and reformers. In every town there was one or more, and as the reform ers received half of all fines or value of liquor seized it may be seen that the Sea Fox had ene mies. No one knew it any better than Wolf, and, like the human fox he was, no one was any more capable of guarding against them. Well skilled in the most adroit kind of deception, in compari son to his enemies he was as the fox is to the rabbit, the hawk to the chicken. Frequently he would set traps for his pursuers, and, giving them apparent reason for suspicion, would thus invite a search. On these occasions, it is need less to say, no liquor was found on board the Sea Fox. To discover his enemies by the method of inviting pursuit and then doubling on his track as Reynard does was child's play to him. In each town he had an accomplice who dare not, if he would, betray him. Captain Wolf was also a miser. He loved gold as none but misers do. To him it was wife, child and heaven all in one, and its chink as he 21 Pocket Island. counted it was the sweetest of music. For four years he played his role and continually reaped rich reward, and then he resolved to quit. But, true to his nature, before doing so he decided to play the hyena. He had for all these years cheat ed the law; now he planned to cheat those who aided him. To this end he set a trap. When a fox sets a trap he sets it well. Wolf began by circulating an alluring story of a chance to share in the distribution of a large cargo of contraband spirits, provided those who could so share would "buy a pro rata large amount at reduced price. Having thus set and baited his trap, he proceeded to spring it. He had, in his wanderings, obtained a formula for the manufacture of spurious brandy. All that was required was a few cheap chemicals and water. He purchased the former ; on Pocket Island there was a spring that furnished the lat ter. Feeling sure that those whom he had duped would not dare to expose him, he yet acted cau tiously and began his cheating at widely sepa rated points. He had usually disposed of small lots at a time. He doubled and sometimes tre bled these, and the hoard of silver and gold be hind the rocking stone grew rapidly. Trip after trip he made to the various ports he had been ac customed to visit, never calling at the same one 22 The Sea Fox. twice, and at each springing his well-set trap, pocketing his almost stolen money and disappear ing, leaving behind him curses and threats of revenge. When all whom he could thus dupe were robbed by this wily Jew and he had secured all the profit they, as his accomplices, had made, Captain Wolf and the Sea Fox sailed away to his unknown lair at Pocket Island, and were never heard of afterward. 23 Pocket Island. CHAPTER III. NEMESIS. WHILE Captain Wolf was carrying out his scheme to rob his accomplices in smuggling, he was planning a still more despicable act, and that was to take his hoard of money, stow all valu ables on the sloop, sail to a Nova Scotia port, and when near it, to kill the Indian, sell the Sea Fox and cross the ocean. There were several weighty reasons for this. In the first place, those bags of coin behind the rocking stone weighed on his mind. He was a miser, and never before had he so much wealth he could call his own. A few hundred dollars at the most were all he had ever possessed. Now he had thousands. Money was his god, and to escape from danger and carry it with him seemed prudent. He was aware he was suspected of be ing, and in fact was known to be, a smuggler. While as yet undiscovered in his island lair, he might at any time be pounced upon. His act of 24 Nemesis. swindling his accomplices, he knew well, would create revengeful enemies, who would spare neither time nor money to hunt him down. Then there was the Indian whom he had also robbed from the start. He might become suspi cious and betray him, or worse yet, discover the secret of the rocking stone. Wolf had discovered it by accident ; why might not the Indian ? With murder in his heart, Wolf for the first time began to be afraid. He put the pistols he had always carried in perfect order and ready for instant use. So far as he had discovered, the Indian possessed neither knife nor pistol; but nevertheless Wolf feared him, and the more he realized the danger he had incurred in duping his assistants in smug gling, and how much he was really in the power of his giant-framed partner, the more his fears grew. It may be thought it was conscience work ing in him; but it was not, for such as he have none. It was guilty fear, and that only. This so preyed upon his mind during his last trip to the coast that he could hardly sleep. Then he began to imagine that the Indian was suspicious of him. To allay that danger he doubled the small share of profit he had given his partner, knowing full well if he had no chance to spend it, it would all come back to him in the end. Then he set about 25 Pocket Island. deceiving him by an offer to buy the Sea Fox and pay what he believed the Indian would consider a fabulous price. It was a fatal mistake. The Indian had no real idea of the value of his sloop. It had come to him as payment for his share of a successful fishing-trip to The Banks years before, and he had become attached to that craft. It had been his home, his floating wigwam, for a long time, and for Wolf to want to buy it hurt him. "Me no sell boat," he said, when the offer was made. "Me want sloop long time." Wolf, who valued all things from a miser's standpoint, could not understand that there might lurk in the Indian a tinge of sentiment. He was mistaken, and the mistake was a little pitfall placed in his way. There was another which he was also to blame for, and yet, like the first, he was not aware of it. In the cave where he had stored his cargo and prepared it for smuggling, he kept a large can of cheap and highly inflammable oil on a rock shelf, just above the flat stone where he, by the light of two lamps, had counted his wealth time and again. True to his nature, when he bought the oil he bought the cheapest, and unknown to him the can had sprung aleak and while he had been absent for weeks at a time, the oil had run out, sat- 26 Nemesis. urating the rock below and forming little pools on the cave floor among the loose stones. Wolf had not noticed this, or, if he had, had thought noth ing of it. Neither did he realize how fate could utilize his miser's instinct in purchasing the cheap can as a means to bring together and bless two lives unknown to him. We seldom do notice the snags in life that usually trip us. By the time the last voyage of the Sea Fox had been made and she returned to The Pocket, the relations between Wolf and the Indian were in danger of rupture. Wolf distrusted his part ner, and yet believed he had lulled all suspicion. He had never failed before in duping any one he had set out to; why should he in this case? Still, he was uneasy and resolved to end it all as soon as possible. But Indians have one peculiar ity that will baffle even the shrewdest Jew. They never talk. Their faces are always as expression less as a graven image. While contemplating the most cruel murder they never show the least change in expression, nor do their eyes show the faintest shadow of an emotion. They are stolid, surly and Sphinx-like always. Wolf's partner was like his race, and not even by the droop of an eyelid did he betray the slowly gathering storm of hate and rage within. He brooded over the 27 Pocket Island. hurt he felt when Wolf had wanted to buy his sloop, and believing the Jew meant to rob him of her, he grew suspicious and watched Wolf. Not by word or sign did he show it, and the Jew saw it not. Wolf watched the Indian as closely, only the Indian knew it, and Wolf did not. It was now Wolf against fox and fox against Wolf, and the swarthy fox was getting the best of it. Mean while the loading of the sloop for her final de parture proceeded. Wolf had planned to use the Indian's help to the last, and when all was ready, enter the cave, secure the money about his person and sail away. The cave entrance was under water for about two hours of high tide, and Wolf waited until a day came when the tide served early. He had planned to go in just before the rising water closed the entrance, thus securing himself from intrusion; and then, when the tide fell away, to come out ready to start. The day and hour came and he entered the cave. Unknown to him the Indian followed! Wolf lighted a lamp and sat down. When the sea had closed the entrance, no sound entered. Wolf waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed, and all sound of the ocean ceased. He believed himself alone. He lighted the other lamp, plac- 28 Nemesis. ing both on the flat rock. Then he went to the rocking stone, and pushing it back, took from the niche, one by one, the bags of coin. These he c.?iried to the table stone and poured their con tents into a glittering pile. Frrook where the ripples were like dancing silver coin, and then at Liddy. Maybe the laughter of those ripples gave him courage, for he hesitated no longer, but full upon her rosy lips he kissed her. Then he walked home, and all the long mile, though his feet trod the earth, he knew it not. Rather was he floating on ripples of moonlight, with a fairy-like face and tender blue eyes ever hovering over him, and a soft white hand cling ing to his arm. And so ended the boy's first party. Serious Thoughts. CHAPTER VI. SERIOUS THOUGHTS. WHEN the boy reached home a new and surpris ing change had come to him. For the first time in his life he began to think and what was more to the point, to faintly see himself as he was, and the picture was not pleasant. He had longed to be a man. He began to feel that he was almost otie, and a poorly clad and ignorant one at that. He lay awake nearly all that night, and not only lived the party over, but more especially the walk home with Liddy. All he had cared for before was boyish sports, to do his work, and escape wearing his best clothes. Now he began to think about those same clothes and how ill they fitted him and how awkward they made him look, and the more he thought about it the more he wondered how Liddy could have been so nice to him. He vowed he would never be seen in public again with them on. He had seen boys in the village who wore 49 Pocket Island. neat and well-fitting garments, a starched shirt and collar that buttoned to it, instead of being pinned to the top of a roundabout, as his was, and thinking of them made him ashamed of him self. And then that awful gap between his pants and boots! Then he thought of how the girlt were laughing when he came into the room at the party, and now he felt sure they must have been making fun of him, and that made him feel worse than ever. His coarse boots, in comparison with the nice, thin ones worn by some of the other toys there, also haunted him. In short, he took a mental inventory of himself, and the sum total was not pleasing. All the next day he was glum and thoughtful and for a week he acted the same. It was the birth of the man in him ; the step from the happy, care-free boy to young manhood. It was also, be it said, the beginning of a woman's refining in fluence that has slowly and for countless ages gradually lifted man from savagery to enlighten ment. An evolution of good conduct, garb and cleanliness made necessary by woman's favor, and to win her admiration. The cynics call it vanity. So then, must they call the evolution of the species vanity. It may be so, but call it what you will, it's the influence that has wTought the 50 Serious Thoughts. naked savage, decorated with paint and feathers,, and courting his wife by knocking her senseless, with a club and carrying her to a cave, into the well-dressed, gallant, kindly, thoughtful and re fined gentleman of to-day. Just a little of this realizing sense of what he should be, and why, came to the boy, and as ever will be it was a woman's face and a woman's, smiles, albeit a very young and blue-eyed one,, that inspired the thought. His parents rallied him a little about the party, but to him it was especially its ending, a sacred secret. Then one day he astonished them by asking if he might have a new suit and go to the academy that com ing winter. He had never before shown any- unusual eagerness for study, and this requesl was surprising. For several weeks the question was held in abeyance, though duly considered in the family councils ; and then one day at the supper- table the answer came. "If the boy wants more learnin'," his father said, "by gosh, he can have it. I never had much chance at books myself, but that ain't no reason why he shouldn't. We'll fix ye up," he said: cheerfully, with a twinkle in his eye, "so ye won't be ashamed to go to a party again ;" from which it may be inferred that the old gentleman had 5* Pocket Island. -divined some things which the boy little suspected he had. When the winter term at the village academy opened, the boy was there, his courage a good deal strengthened by a new suit that fitted and a pair of boots that did not give the impression that he was falling downstairs at every step. B'lt his entry into the new school was not a thorn- less path. Most of the faces were new to him, and many a good deal older. He still felt him self what he was a big, awkward boy, though a boy with a determined will to study hard and make the most of his opportunity. He soon learned a good many things; one of which was that earnestness in study did not al ways win the favor of either teacher or school mates ; that in school, as in the world, pleasant manners and flattering words counted for more than devotion to duty. He also learned that such a thing as favoritism between master and pupil existed, and that the poorest scholar often stood nearest the teacher's heart. The master, Mr. Webber, he discovered, had a monstrous bump of self-esteem. He was a small man, not larger than the boy, who was sixteen, and large for his age, and who, as big boys will, cherished a sort of contempt for small men. It is possible that 52 Serious Thoughts. the boy was entirely wrong in his estimate of the principal. No doubt that worthy, judged front an adult standpoint, was the most courtly and diplomatic pedagogue that ever let his favorite pupils whisper all they pleased, and banged the floor with the other sinners; but, to the boy, he seemed a little, arrogant bit of bumptiousness, who strutted about the schoolroom and was es pecially fond of hearing himself read aloud. "The Raven" was his favorite selection, and he read it no less than thirteen times during one term. The boy did not feel at home at the academy. It was so unlike the dear old district school. Bui he felt it was a good training for him, and he watched the older scholars and studied hard. The girls all wore long dresses, and, as a rule, were just budding into young womanhood. Of these he was a trifle afraid, especially of Liddy, who was one of the prettiest. She was also one of the best scholars, and in her studies easily a leader. It acted as a spur to the boy, whose secret though ardent admiration had originally been the motive force that brought him to the academy. His pride was such that he was ashamed to have her sur pass him, and for her to solve a problem in alge bra that he had failed on, humiliated him. 53 Pocket Island. Another thing he learned that winter besides his lessons, was that stylish clothes and genteel manners in a young man counted far more in a girl's estimation than proficiency in study. There was one pupil in particular, named James White, who, though dull in lessons, was popular with the girls. He was the fop of the school, wore the nattiest of garments, patent-leather shoes, gold watch, bosom pin, seal ring, and was blessed with a nice little moustache. He also smoked cigars with all the sang froid of experienced men. It might be said that he prided himself on his style, but that was all he had for consolation, for he was always at the foot of his class. He also showered a deal of attention and candy on Liddy. It is needless to say the boy hated him, and once gave him a good thrashing for calling him a "greeny." It was true enough, but then a boy who is a greenhorn doesn't enjoy being informed of it by a better-dressed stupid who tries to cut him out! There was one other comfort the boy had : Kg was often enabled to give a far better recitation than White could. On these occasions a faint look of admiration in Liddy's blue eyes was like a rift of sunshine" on a cloudy day to him. When the standing of all pupils was read at the middle 54 Serious Thoughts. of the term, the boy was away ahead of White, and felt almost as proud as the night he walked home with Liddy from his first party. It cheered him a deal in his hard fight against ignorance and the awkwardness that, like hayseed from the farm, still clung to him. How much the few quiet attentions and pleasant words Liddy fa vored him with encouraged him, no one but him self ever knew. He never told Liddy even, till a good many years after. Toward the end of the term this studious little lady gave a party, and with the rest the boy was invited. It gladdened his heart, of course, but when the day before the affair, and as they were all leaving the hill upon which the academy stood, she quietly said to him: "Come early, I want you to help me get ready to play a new game called questions," he felt like a king. It is needless to say he went early. The new game proved a success. It con sisted of as many numbered cards as there were players, distributed among them by chance. The holders of these were each in turn to give an answer to any ques tion asked beginning with "Who," the selection being made by the chance drawing of one of the same series of numbers from a hat. To illus- 55 Pocket Island. trate : If there were thirty boys and girls play ing the same game, cards bearing the numbers from one to thirty were distributed among them. As many more bearing the same numbers were retained by the leader, who would start the game by asking, for instance: "Who has the largest mouth?" A number would be drawn from the hat and the boy or girl who held the duplicate number was by this means identified as having a suitable mouth for pie. He or she in turn was then at liberty to get square by asking another question also beginning with "who," and so on. "Questions" scored a hit and made no end of fun. Some one asked : "Who is the biggest fool in the room?" and when the number was called and Master White proved to hold the duplicate, the boy smiled, for retribution occasionally over takes those who wear too fine clothes. A young folks' party in those days would be no party at all unless there were some kissing games, and when toward the close of this one, somebody pro posed they wind up with "Copenhagen," all seemed willing. When the little gathering had departed, the boy made bold to stay a few minutes longer and hold a most delightful though brief chat with Liddy. They talked over a lot of mutually in- 56 Serious Thoughts. teresting subjects, including their opinions of Mr. Webber, and if that worthy could have heard what they said it might have reduced his bump tiousness just a trifle. Liddy also assured the boy that she did not care a row of pins for Jim White, and considered him too awfully stuck up for endurance, all of which, mingled with a few sweet smiles, caused our young friend to feel that his future life at the academy might be pleasanter for him. Pocket Island. CHAPTER VII. LIDDY. IN one of the New England States, and occu pying a beautiful valley between two low ranges of mountains, was the town of Southton. One of these ranges, that on the east, was known as the Blue Hills; the other was nameless. This valley was about four miles in width, and winding through it ran a small river. On the banks of this, and nearly in the center of the town, was a village, or "town center," as it was called, con taining two churches, an academy and several stores. In one of these churches, Rev. Jonas Jotham expounded the orthodox Congregational faith, including predestination, foreordination, and all creation, and in the other Rev. Samuel Wetmore argued on the same lines, clinching them all with the necessity of total immersion as a means of salvation. There was no affiliation between the two sects, each declaring the other totally blind to Scriptu- 51 I Liddy. ral truths ; wrong in all points of creed, and sure to be damned for it. Sectarian feeling was strong, social lines between the two churches were sharply drawn, and the enmities of feeling engendered in the pulpits were reflected among the members. Each worthy dominie emitted long sermons every Sunday, often extending to "sev- enteenthly," while occasionally a few of the good deacons slept ; and so, year after year, the windy war continued. In the meantime the children attended school, played hard, were happy, grew up, courted, mar ried, and kept on farming, and life in Southton flowed onward as peacefully as the current of the river that meandered through it. Near the eastern border, and beside a merry brook that tumbled down from the Blue Hi!? range, was the home of Loring Camp, his wife, and his only daughter, Liddy. He was not a member of either of the two orthodox churches, but a fearless, independent thinker, believing in a merciful God of love and forgiveness, rather than a Calvinistic one, and who might be classed as a Unitarian in opinion. Broad-chested, broad- minded, outspoken in his ways, he was at once it loving husband, a kind father, a good neighbor, an honest man and respected. Tilling a small 59 Pocket Island. farm and mingling with that more or less atten tion to his trade of a builder, he earned a good livelihood. A reader of the best books and a thinker as well, he was firm in his convictions, terse in his criticism, and yet charitable toward all. His daughter inherited her father's keen in tellect and her mother's fair face and complexion, it is needless to say, was the pride of his heart and loved by all. Of Liddy herself, since she is the central fig ure in this narrative, a more explicit description must be given. To begin with, she was at the age of seventeen, a typical New England girl of ordinary accomplishments, home loving and filial in disposition, with a nature as sweet as the dia- sies that grew in the green meadows about her home, and a mind as clear as the brook that rip pled through them. Fond of pretty things in the house, a daintily set table, tidy rooms, and loving neatness and order, she was a good cook, a capa ble housekeeper and a charming hostess as well. She loved the flowers that bloomed each summer in the wide dooryard, and had enough romance to enjoy nature's moods at all times. She cared but little for dress and abhorred loud or conspicu ous garments of any kind. While fond of music, she never had had an opportunity to cultivate that 63 Liddy. taste, and her sole accomplishment in that respect was to play upon the cottage organ that stood in her parlor, and sing a few simple ballads or Sabbath-school hymns. She was of medium height, with a charmingly rounded figure, and blessed with a pair of blue eyes that could change from grave to gay, from mirth to tenderness, as easily as clouds cross the sun. With the crown ing glory of her sunny hair, a sweet and sym pathetic mouth, modest and unassuming ways, tender heart and affectionate manner, she was an unusually attractive girl. Of her feelings toward the boy little need be said ; and since he has now reached eighteen and a moustache, he deserves and shall have an in troduction by his name of Mr. Charles Manson. He was tall, had honest brown eyes, an earnest manner; was unsophisticated and believed all the world like himself, good and true. He was of cheerful temper and generous disposition; hated shams and small conceits, and next to Liddy loved the fields, the woods, and the brooks that had been his companions since boy hood. She had known him when, at the district school, he ignored girls; and later, as he began to bring her flag-root in summer, or draw her on his sled in winter, she had taken more notice of 6\ Pocket Island. him. When he left the little brown schoolhouse for good she had given him a lock of hair, though for what reason she could hardly tell ; and when he walked home with her from his first party she felt startled a little at his boldness in kissing her. That act had caused a flutter in her feelings, and though she thought none the less of him for it, nothing would have tempted her to tell her parents about it. That experience may be considered as the birthday of her girlish love, and after that they were always the best of friends. He had never been presuming, but had always treated her with a kind of manly respect that slowly but surely had won her heart. When they met at the academy she feared he might be too attentive, but when she found him even less so than she expected, unknown to her self, her admiration increased. While she gave him but little encouragement there, still if he had paid any attention to another girl it would have hurt her. By nature she despised any deception, and to be called a flirt was to her mind an insult. She would as soon have been called a liar. On the other hand, any display of affection in public was equally obnoxious. She was loving by nature, but any feeling of that kind toward a young man was a sacred matter, that no one 62 Liddy. should be allowed to suspect, or at least inspect. This may be an old-fashioned peculiarity, yet it was a part of her nature. It may seem strange, but "Charlie," as she always called her admirer, had early discovered this and had always been governed by it. It is not easy to give an accurate pen-picture of a young and pretty girl who is bright, vivacious, piquant, tender, sweet and lovable. One might as well try to describe the twinkle of a star or the rainbow flash of a diamond. To picture the growth of love in such a girl's heart is like de scribing the shades of color in a rose, or the ex pression of affection in the eyes of a dog, and equally impossible. Liddy 's home was one of the substantial, old- time kind, with tall pillars in front, a double piazza and wide hall, where stood an ancient clock of solemn tick. There were open fireplaces in parlor and sitting-room, and the wide door- yard was divided by a graveled and flower-bor dered walk, where in summer bloomed syringas; sweet williams, peonies and phlox. On either side of the gate were two immense and broad- spreading maples. Houses have moods as well as people, and the mood of this one was calm, cool, dignified and typical of its fairest inmate, 63 Pocket Island. When the first term of their academy life to gether closed, and the long summer vacation be gan, Manson called on Liddy the next Sunday evening and asked her to take a ride. He had called at various times before, but not as though she were the sole object of his visit. This time he came dressed in his best and as if he boldly came to woo the fair girl. All that summer he \vas a regular caller, and always received the same quiet and cordial welcome. Together they enjoyed many delightful drives along shaded roads on pleasant afternoons or moonlit evenings, and each charming hour only served to bind the chains of love more tightly. Occasionally they gathered waterlilies from a mill pond hidden away among the hills, and one Saturday afternoon he brought her to Ragged Brook a spot that had been the delight of his boyhood and showed her how to catch a trout. The first one she hooked she threw up into the top of a tree, and as the line was wound many times around the tip of the limb the fish had to be left hanging there. Though almost mature in years, they were in many ways like children, telling each other their little plans and hopes, and giving and receiving mutual sympathy. It was all the sweetest and best kind of a courtship, 64 Liddy. for neither was conscious that it was such, and when schooltime came after the summer was over, the tender bond between them had reached a strength that was likely to shape and determine the history of their lives. How many coming heartaches were also to be woven into the ten der bond they little realized. 65 Pocket Island. CHAPTER VIII. THE HUSKING-BEE. WHEN David Newell, a prosperous Southton farmer living "over east," as that portion of the town was designated, invited all the young peo ple in the vicinity to his annual husking-bee, every one knew that a good time was in store. Card-playing was considered a vice in those days, and limited to a few games of "seven-up," played by sinful boys on a hay-mow, and dancing was frowned upon by the churches. On the outskirts of the town a few of the younger people occa sionally indulged in the crime of taking steps to music as a change from the pious freedom of kissing parties, There was one sacrilegious per son named Joe Dencie living in the east-side neighborhood, who could not only "make a fiddle talk," as the saying was, but "call off" and keep time and head, foot, both arms and entire "body as well, and at once. To describe his abil ity more completely it might be said that he fid dled and danced at the same time. 66 The Husking-Bee. When the anticipated evening came, Manson and Liddy, as well as other invited ones, arrived at the Newell barn, where everything was in readiness. In the center of the large floor was a pile of tmhusked corn surrounded by stools and boxes for seats, and lighted by lanterns swinging; from cords above. No time was wasted, for Joe Dencie was there, and every one knew that the best of a husking came after the corn was dis posed of. And how the husks flew! When a red ear was found by a girl the usual scramble occurred, for unless she could run once around the pile before the young man who discovered it could catch her, he claimed a kiss. Manson, who sat next to Liddy, kept a sharp watch, for he didn't intend to have some other fellow steal a march on him. He noticed that she husked cau tiously, and when presently he saw her drop an unhusked ear by her side he quietly picked it up and found it was a red one. He said nothing, but her action set him to thinking. It was not long ere the pile of corn melted away, and then the floor was swept; Joe Dencie took his place in one corner on a tall stool, and the party formed in two lines for the Virginia reel. There is no modern "function" that has one- half the fun in it that an old-time husking-bee 67 Pocket Island. had, and no dance that can compare with an old- fashioned contra-dance enjoyed in a big barn, with one energetic fiddler perched in a corner for an orchestra, and six lanterns to light the festivities! It was music, mirth, care-free hap piness and frolic personified. The floor may have been rough, but what mattered? The young men's boots might have been a trifle heavy, but their hearts were not, and when it came to "bal ance and swing," with the strains of "Money Musk" echoing from the bare rafters, the girl knew she had a live fellow's arm around her waist, and not one afraid to more than touch her fingers lest her costume be soiled. Girls didn't wear "costumes" in those days ; they wore just plain dresses, and their plump figures, bright eyes and rosy cheeks were as charming as though they had been clad in Parisian gowns. When the dance was over all were invited into the house to dispose of mince pie, cheese, dough nuts and sweet cider, and then, with the moon silvering the autumn landscape, the party sepa rated. As Manson drove along the wooded road conveying Liddy to her home, he felt a little curious. He could not quite understand why she had taken pains not to find a red ear. All the The Husking-Bee. other girls had found one or more, and seemed to enjoy the scramble that followed. "Why did you not husk that red ear?" he asked her, after they were well on their way. "Simply because I do not like public kissing," she replied quietly. "Some girls do not mind, and perhaps they like it. I do not. It cheapens a girl in my opinion, or at least it certainly cheap ens a kiss. You are not offended, are you?" turning her face toward him. "By no means," he answered; and then, after a pause, he added : "I think you are right, but it seemed a little odd." "I presume I am a little peculiar," she con tinued, "but to me this public kissing at parties and huskings seems not only silly, but just a trifle vulgar. When we were children at the dis trict school, I thought it was fun, but it appears different now." Then, after a pause : "If I were a young man I would not want the girl I thought most of kissed a dozen times by every other fel low at a party. It is customary here in South- ton, and considered all right and proper, while card-playing and dancing are not. I would much rather play cards or dance than act like school children." "I most certainly agree with you, so far as the 69 Pocket Island. cards and dancing go," said Manson, "and now that you put it in the way you have, I will agree with you regarding kissing games." As these two young people had just entered their third year at the academy, and Liddy was only eighteen, it may seem that she was rather young to discuss the ethics of kissing; but it must be remembered that she was older in thought than in years, and besides, she was blessed with a father who had rather liberal and advanced ideas. He did not consider card-play ing at one's home a vice, or dancing a crime. "A penny for your thoughts," said she, after they had ridden in silence for a time, and were crossing a brook that looked like a rippling /stream of silver in the moonlight. "I was thinking," he replied, "of a night just like this four years ago, when I went home with you from that party at the Stillman's. It was an event in my life that set me thinking." ""And have you been thinking about it ever since?" she said, laughing. "If you have it must have been an important event." "No," he answered quietly ; "but if it had not 1t>een for that party, it is likely I should not have gone to the academy, and most likely I should not be escorting you home to-night." 70 The Husking-Bee. "I do not quite understand you," said Liddy; and then, with an accent of tenderness in her voice: "Tell me why, Charlie?" "I am afraid you will laugh at me if I do," he said. "No," she replied, "I will not ; why should I ?" "Well," he continued, "to be candid, I was rather ashamed of myself that evening, or at least ashamed of my clothes. Then you told me you were going to the academy, and for that rea son mainly I wanted to go, so you see what re sulted from my going to the party. I do not think father intended to send me, and he would not if I had not coaxed him. My first term there was not very pleasant for many reasons, and had I known all I was to encounter I think my courage would have failed me. I am glad now that it did not." He paused a moment and then continued in a lower tone : "Whatever good it has done me is all due to you." No more was said on the subject, and as they rode along in silence, each was thinking of the curious web of emotions that was moulding their lives and making definite objects grow from in tangible impulses. He was hardly conscious yet what a motive force in his plans Liddy was des tined to be; and she was filled with a new and 1\ Pocket Island. sweet consciousness of a woman's power to shape a man's plans in life. When her home was reached, and after he had assisted her to alight, they stood for a moment by the gate beneath the maples. No light was visible in the house; no- sound of any nature was heard. The sharp out lines of the buildings were softened by the moon light, and the bold formation of the Blue Hills, vague and indistinct. The near-by brook, as of yore, sparkled like silver coin, and the landscape was bathed in mellow light. As Liddy's face was turned toward him, a ray of moonshine fell upon it, and her eyes seemed to fill with a new tenderness. It was a time and place for loving thoughts and words, and what these two young hearts felt called upon to utter may be safely left to the reader's imagination. When Manson drove away, he felt that the fu ture was bright before him, and that life held new and wonderfully sweet possibilities. If he built a few air castles as he rode along in silence and alone, and if into them crept a fair girl's face and tender blue eyes, it was but natural. The magic sweetness of our first dreams of love come but once in their pure simplicity; and none ever afterward seem quite like them. We may strive to feel the same tender thrill ; we may think the 72 The Husking-Bee. same thoughts and build the same fairy palaces, woven out of moonbeams and filled with the same divine illusions, but all in vain, for none can live life over. When Liddy entered her home her footsteps seemed touched with a new life. Perhaps the effect of "Monejf Musk" had not entirely died away. 73 Pocket Island. CHAPTER IX. GOOD ADVICE. THE next day after the husking, when Man- son resumed his studies at the academy, a new and serious ambition kept crowding itself into his thoughts. Some definite shape of what the object of a man's existence should be would in spite of all efforts mix itself with his algebra, and form an extra unknown quantity, still more elu sive. He tried to put it out of his mind, but the captivating air castle would not down. Of course Liddy formed a central figure in this phantom dwelling, and to such an extent that he hardly dared to look at her when they met in the recitation room for fear she would read his thoughts. Occasionally, while studying he would steal a look across the schoolroom at her well- shaped head with its crown of sunny hair, but her face was usually bent over her book. She had always treated him with quiet but pleasant friendliness at school, and he, understanding her 74 Good Advice. nature by degrees, had come to feel it would annoy her if he were too attentive. His new born ambition he felt must be absolutely locked in his own heart for many years to come, or until some vocation in life and the ability to earn a livelihood for two could be won. For the entire week his castle building trou bled him in a way, as a sweet delusion, but a detriment to study, and then he resolved to put it away. "It may never come, and it may," he said to himself, "but if it does it will only be by hard work." He had never felt satisfied to be come a farmer like his father, but what else to apply himself to he had no idea. He knew this was to be his last term at the academy, and that he must then turn his attention to some real occu pation in life. He had been in the habit of call ing upon Liddy nearly every Sunday evening for the past year, and to look forward to it as the one pleasant anticipation of the week. He felt she was glad to see him, and what was of nearly as much comfort, that her father was, as well. He resolved when a good chance came to ask Mr. Camp's advice as to some choice of a profession. When he called the next Sunday evening, which happened to be chilly, Liddy met him with her usual pleasant smile and invited him into the 75 Pocket Island. parlor, where a bright fire was burning. She wore a new and becoming blue sacque, and he thought she never looked more charming. He had usually spent part of the evenings in the sit ting-room with the family, but this time he felt he was considered as Liddy's especial company and treated as such. "I have noticed a cloud on your face several times the past week," she said, as soon as they were seated. "Has your algebra bothered you, or is the barn dance troubling your conscience?" "I have been building foolish air castles," he replied, "for one thing, and trying to solve a harder problem than algebra contains, for an other. The husking dance does not trouble me. I would like to go to one every week. Do you feel any remorse from being there?" "No," she answered, "I do not; and yet I heard this week that some one over in town who is active in the church said it was a disgrace to all who were there. I wish people thought dif ferently about such things. I enjoyed the dance ever so much, but I do not like to be considered as acting disgracefully. Do you?" "I presume you will be so considered." he re sponded, with a shade of annoyance on his face, "if you go to dances in this town. I wish the 76 Good Advice. busybodies of that church would mind their business." He made no further comment regarding the dance, but sat looking gloomily at the fire. "What ails you to-night ?" asked Liddy, finally breaking the silence ; "you seem out of sorts." "I am all right," he replied, with forced cheer fulness. "I have been trying to solve the prob lem of a future vocation when I leave school next spring, and I do not know what to do." Liddy was silent. Perhaps some intuitive idea of what was in his mind came to her, for, al though he had never uttered a word of love to her except by inference, she knew in her own heart he cared for her and cared a good deal. "Come, Charlie," she said at last, "don't worry about a vocation now. It's time enough to cross bridges when you come to them. Do you know," she continued, thinking to take his mind from his troubles, "that I have discovered why Mr. Webber does not like me? It's simply because I do not flatter him enough. I have known for a long time I was not a favorite of his, and now I know why. You know what a little bunch of mischief Alice Barnes is. She whispers more than any other girl in school, and makes more fun of him, and yet she is one of his prime favor- 77 Pocket Island. ites. Well, one day last week, at noontime, while she was talking with three or four of us girls, he came along, and she up and asked him if he wouldn't read 'The Raven' the next Wednesday afternoon when, you know, we all have compositions, and then she winked at us. He took it all right, and you ought to have heard the self-satisfied way in which he said : 'Certain ly, Miss Barnes. I shall be very happy to read it for you.' The way he strutted across the schoolroom after that! Lida Stanton said he reminded her of a turkey gobbler." Manson laughed. "Webber doesn't like me, either," he said, "and never has from the first. I don't care. I came to the academy to learn, and not to curry favor with him. Willie Converse is another of his pets and is cutting up all the time, but he never sees it, or makes believe he does not." The discussion of school affairs ended here, for even Manson's evident dislike of the princi pal was not strong enough to overcome the mood he was in. He sat in glum silence for a time, apparently buried in deep thought, while Liddy rocked idly in her low chair opposite. The crack ling fire and the loud tick of the tall clock out in the hall were the only sounds. 78 Good Advice. At last he arose, and going to the center table, where the lamp stood, he took up a small da- guerrotype of Liddy in a short dress, and looked at it. The face was that of a young and pretty girl of ten, with big, wondering eyes, a sweet mouth, and hair in curls. "That was the way you looked," he said fin ally, "at the district school the day I wrote a painful verse in your album and you gave me a lock of hair. How time flies!" "You are in a more painful mood to-night," responded Liddy, glad to talk about anything. "You have the worst case of blues I ever saw ;" and then she added, after a pause, and in a low voice: "It makes me blue, too." Manson made no reply, but sat down again and studied the fire. The little note of sympathy in her voice was a strong temptation to him to make a clean breast of it all ; to tell her there and then how much he loved her; what his hopes were, and how utterly in the dark he was as to any definite plans in life. The thought made his heart beat loudly. He looked at Liddy, quietly rocking on the opposite side of the fire place. A little touch of sadness had crept into her face, and the warmth of the fire had lent an unusual color to her cheeks and a more golden 79 Pocket Island. gleam to her hair. As he looked at the sweet picture his courage began to leave him. "No, not yet," he said to himself, "she will think me a fool." "Let's pop some corn," said Liddy suddenly, still anxious to say anything or do anything to break what seemed to her his unhappy train of thought; "the fire is just right." She waited for no answer, but stepped quickly into the kitchen and returned with a long-han dled popper, three small ears of popcorn, and a dish. "There," she said, cheerfully, "you hold the popper while I shell the corn. I am going to make you work now, to drive away the blues. I believe it's the best medicine for you." There is no doubt she understood his needs better than he supposed, for with the popping of the corn the cloud upon his face wore away. When it came time to go Liddy rested her hand a moment on his arm and said, in a low voice : "Charlie, we have known each other for a good many years, and have been very good friends. I am going to give you a little advice : Don't bor row trouble, and don't brood over your future so much. It will shape itself all in due time, and 80 Good Advice. you will win your way as other men have done. I have faith in you." Her brave and sisterly words cheered him won derfully, and when he had gone Liddy sat down a moment to watch the dying embers. She, too, had felt the contagion of his mood, and strange to say, his hopes and fears were insensibly merg ing themselves into her own. She watched the fading fire for a full half hour, absorbed in ret rospection, and then lighting a small lamp and turning out the large one, she walked down the hall and upstairs to her room. "I wish that clock wouldn't tick so loud," she thought as she reached her door, "it makes the house sound like a tomb." 81 Pocket Island. CHAPTER X. HISTORY. FROM the time Manson, as a barefooted boy, caught trout in Ragged Brook, until the winter of '62, when, a sturdy young man of eighteen, he had fallen deeply in love with Liddy Camp, a few changes had taken place in Southton. Three different principals had been in charge of the academy, one of these, a Mr. Snow, being very capable and universally popular. Later, when Mr. Webber succeeded to that position, the ques tion of popularity may have been considered an open one. We must do him the justice to say he was efficient, however, and if he had an exag gerated idea of his own importance, it was in herited, and a failing that neither time nor ex perience could eradicate. The two worthy dominies continued to try to convert sinners by exhaustive arguments on pre destination and infant damnation, but strange to say, made little progress. A few of the good townspeople who were not members of either 82 History. church, as well as some that were, had been for many years reading and thinking for themselves, and had come to realize that the dry bones of Calvinistic argument had lost their force, and that the Supreme Being was not the merciless God the churches had for years depicted him, but rather a Father whose love and mercy was infinite. The then ultra-liberal Unitarian idea had begun to spread and a few who had out grown the orthodox religion organized a Unita rian Society, and built a modest church to worship in. Among these pioneers in thought were Lor- ing Camp and Jesse Olney, the latter the author of some of the best school-books then used ; a deep thinker and a leader in town affairs. There were other thinking men, of course, who were prominent in this new movement, but, as this simple story is not an historical narrative, their names need not be mentioned. This new church and its followers of course incurred the con demnation of the other two, especially the one led by Parson Jotham, who exhausted all argu ment and invective to convince his hearers that Unitarianism and sin were synonymous terms, and that all the new church followers were surely slated for the fiery furnace. So vigorous were his utterances in this connection, and so explicit 83 Pocket Island. his description of the fire that is never quenched and the torture that never ends, that it was said some of his hearers could smell brimstone and discern a blue halo about his venerable white head. One of his favorite arguments was to de scribe the intense joy those who were saved through his scheme of salvation would feel when they came to look over the heavenly walls and see the writhing agony of all sinners in the burning lake below. When his eloquence reached this cli max he would cease pounding his open Bible and glare over the top of his tall pulpit at the assem bled congregation, in the hope, perhaps, of discov ering among them some Unitarian sinner who could thus be made to realize his doom. In justice to Parson Jotham it must be said that his intentions were of the best, no doubt, but his estimate of the motive forces of human action was too narrow. He believed the only way to win people from vice to virtue and good conduct was to scare them into it. In spite of all the denunciations of the other two churches, the new one, though feeble at first, slowly increased its following. To this one with their respective parents, came Liddy and Man- son. While perhaps not mature enough to un derstand the wide distinction between Unitarian- 84 History. ism and Calvinism, they realized a little of the inexpressible horror of Rev. Mr. Jotham's the ories of infant damnation and the like, and were glad to hear no more of them. Like many other young people to-day, they accepted their parents' opinions on all such matters as best and wisest. They were not regular in their church attend ance, either, for Liddy could not always leave her invalid mother, and occasionally she and Manson found a drive in the summer's woods or a visit to the top of Blue Hill more alluring than even the Unitarian church. Of similar tastes in that respect, and both ardent admirers of nature, and loving fields and flowers, birds and brooks, as the lovers of nature do, they often worshipped in that broad church. Manson especially, who had from childhood spent countless hours alone in the forests or roaming over the hills or along the streams, had learned all the lessons there taught, and now found Liddy a wonderfully sympathetic and sweet companion. To spend a few quiet hours on pleasant Sundays in showing her some pretty cascade where the foam-flecks floated around and around in the pool below ; or a dark gorge, where the roots of the trees along its bank grew out and over the rocks like the arms of fabled gnomes, was a supreme delight to him. 85 Pocket Island. He knew where every bed of trailing arbutus for miles around could be found; where sweet flag- and checkerberries grew; where all the shady glens and pretty grottoes were, and to show her all these charming places and unfold to her his quaint and peculiar ideas about nature and all things that pertain to the woods and mountains delighted his heart- Since the evening when she had given him the wise advice not to cross bridges till he came to them, they had grown nearer together in thought and feeling, and whether in summer, when they drove in shady woods or visited a beautiful wa terfall, where the rising mist seemed full of rain bows when the sun shone through it ; or in win ter, when they went sleighing over the hills, after an ice storm, and were breathless with admira tion at the wondrous vision, no words or declara tion of love had as yet passed his lips. He had vowed to himself that none should until the time came when he had more than mere love to offer. Since all his acts and words showed her so plainly what his feelings were, she began to realize what it must all mean in the end, and that in due time he would ask her the one important question that contains the joy or sorrow of a woman's life. As this belief began to grow upon her it caused her 86 History. many hours of serious thought, and had she not discovered in her own heart an answering throb of love it is certain she was far too honorable to have allowed his attentions to continue. How the townspeople viewed the affair may be gathered from a remark made by Aunt Sally Hart, the village gossip, one Sunday at church. "They tell me," she said, "that young Man- son's keeping stiddy company with Liddy Camp, and they're likely to make a match. Wonder if they'll go to live on his father's farm, or what he will do?" As Aunt Sally was an estimable lady of uncer tain age, who, never having had a love affair .of her own, felt a keen interest in those of others, and as she occupied a place in Southton akin to the "personal mention" column of a modern so ciety newspaper, it may be said her remark was a sufficient reflex of public opinion. When there were any social gatherings where they were invited, he was by tacit consent con sidered as her proper and accepted escort. At the academy she had never been in the habjt of discussing her private affairs with her mates,, and so perhaps was spared what might have be come an annoyance. While she listened to much gossip, she seldow repeated it, and, by reason of a 87 Pocket Island. certain dignified reticence among even her most intimate schoolgirl friends, no one felt free to tell her of the opinions current among them re garding herself and Manson. For this reason a little deviation from the usual rule, made one day by her nearest friend, Emily Hobart, came with all the greater force. "Do you know," said Emily, when they were alone, "it is common talk here in school that you and Charlie Manson are engaged ? Oh, you need not blush so," she continued, as she saw the color rise in Liddy's face, "everybody says so and be lieves it, too. Shall I congratulate you ?" This did not please Liddy at all. "I wish everybody would mind their own busi ness," she said with a snap, "and leave me to mind mine." "Oh, fiddlesticks," continued Emily; "what do you care? He is a nice fellow, and comes of a good family. We have all noticed that he has no eyes for any other girl but you, and never had. They say he fell in love with you when you wore short dresses." When Liddy went home that night she held a communion with herself. So everybody believed it, did they? And she, in spite of her invariable reticence, was being gossiped about, was she? 88 History. "I've a good mind never to set foot in the acad emy again," she said to herself. For a solitary hour she was miserable, and then the reaction came. She began to think it all over, and all the years she had known him from his boyhood passed in review. And in all those years there was not one unsightly fact, or one hour, or one word she could wish were blotted out. And they said he had loved her from the days of short dresses! Well, what if he had? It was no disgrace. Then pride came in and she began to feel thankful he had, and as the recol lection of it all came crowding into her thoughts and surging through her heart, she arose and looked into her mirror. She saw the reflection of a sweet face with flushing cheeks, red lips, bright eyes, and was it possible ! a faint glisten ing of moisture on her eyelashes! "Pshaw," she said to herself as she turned away, "I believe I am losing my senses." The next two days at school she barely nodded to him each day. "At least he shall not see it," she thought. When the next Sunday eve came she dressed 'herself with unusual care, and as it was a cold night she piled the parlor fireplace full of wood and started it early. 89 Pocket Island. Then she sat down to wait. The time of his usual coming passed, but there was no knock at the door. The hall clock with slow and solemn tick marked one hour of waiting, and still he did not come. She arose and added fuel to the fire, and then, taking a book, tried to read. It was of no use, she could not fix her mind upon anything, and she laid the book down and, crossing the room, looked out of the window. How cheerless the snowclad dooryard, and what a cold glitter the stars seemed to have ! She sat down again and watched the fire. The tall clock just outside the parlor door seemed to say : "Never never never !" She arose and shut the door, for every one of those slow and solemn beats was like a blow upon her aching heart. Then she seated herself again by the dying fire, and as she gazed at the 'fading embers a little realization of what woman's love and woman's waiting means came to her. When the room had grown chill, she lighted her lamp and retired to her chamber. "I have never realized it before," she said, as she looked at the sad, sweet face in the mirror. And that night it was long ere slumber came to her pillow. 90 War Clouds. CHAPTER XL WAR CLOUDS. WHEN Liddy reached her desk at the academy the next day she found a note in a well-known hand that said : "My father was very ill. I could not call last eve. I hope to next Sunday." It was a bitter-sweet message. At times during the week she felt her face burn at the recollection of how disappointed she had felt the previous Sunday eve. "I am a fool to care," she would say to herself, and then when she caught sight of his face and saw the cloud resting upon it she felt puzzled. She had asked regarding his father's illness and learned he was better, so the ominous shadow was not from that source. She felt sure it was not from an impending declaration of love brewing in his heart, for she knew him well enough to feel that when it came to that, he would have the manly courage to express his feelings in his usual outspoken way. When Sunday evening came again she awaited 9J Pocket Island. his coming with a new anxiety, and when he ar rived her heart felt heavy. He greeted her as though nothing was amiss, and began chatting in an offhand manner, as if to prevent any question from her. He even joked and told stories, but with a seeming effort ad not in accord with his feelings. Liddy watched him quietly, feeling sure he was acting a part and for a purpose. The more he tried to dissemble, the deeper became her dread. At last, when the chance came, she said in her direct way : "Charlie, you are not yourself to-night, and I believe you have some serious trouble on your mind. I wish you would tell me what it is." He looked at her a moment before replying, and then said : "Oh, well, perhaps I have; but please don't notice it. I do not like to talk of my troubles here. You will dislike me if I do." "I shall feel hurt if you do not," she answered. "Don't say that!" he replied; and then, after looking into her earnest face a moment he con tinued in a lower tone: "You are the last per son in the world I would knowingly hurt." He remained silent for a long time, looking at the fire in a vacant way, and then rising suddenly he said : 92 I War Clouds. "There is no use; I can't talk to-night. I am out of sorts. I think I will go home." "No, no, Charlie," she replied, trying hard to keep the pain out of her voice : "don't go yet ! It's too early, and we have not had a visit for two weeks. Please sit down and tell me all about it. Can't you trust me ?" He remained standing and looking earnestly into her upturned face and pleading eyes for a few moments in silence ; then he said : "Yes, I can trust you, Liddy, and I am not afraid to, either! I am not afraid to trust you with every thought and impulse that ever came to me, but I can't bring myself to hurt you," and then he turned away. His words almost brought the tears to her eyes, but she kept them back. When he had his oat on and was at the door, she made one more ef- fore. She clasped his arm with both hands, as if to hold him, and said : "You have made me very wretched, Charlie! Don't leave me in suspense ! I do not deserve it. No matter what it is, please tell me !" He remained silent, but with one hand he softly caressed the two little ones that clasped his arm. Then as her face sank slowly upon them he stooped suddenly and kissed her hair. "When I 93 Pocket Island. come again you shall know all," he whispered; "good-night !" and he tore himself away. The meadows were growing green and the first spring violets were in bloom ere he called again. To explain his strange mood a little history must be inserted here. The summer and fall of '6r and the winter and spring of '62 were momentous in the annals of Southton. Fort Sumter had been fired upon, and the war for the preservation of the Union had be gun. The President's first call for volunteers had been issued; the Bull Run retreat had occurred, and the seven days' horror of the Chickahominy swamp, followed by the battle of Fair Oaks and the siege of Fredericksburg, had startled the coun try. Secession was rampant, and Washington was threatened. The second call for volunteers had come and the entire North was alarmed. In the spring of '62 came the third call, and by that time the spirit of patriotism was spreading over Southton. Captain Samuel Woodruff, a born soldier and a brave man, began to raise a company in that town. It did not require a great effort, for the best and bravest of her sons ral lied to his call. This spirit even reached the old est of the academy boys, and was the cause of 94 War Clouds. Hanson's strange reticence with Liddy. Among his mates were many who openly asserted their intention to enlist. Before and after school and at noon it was talked about. Some were, like Man- son, the sons of peaceful tillers of the soil, and others the sons of tradesmen, but all were ani mated by the same patriotic spirit and that was to defend their country in her hour of danger. The example of a few became contagious, and seemed likely to affect all the young men of the academy of suitable age. In fact it did, for out of about thirty that were old enough, eighteen finally enlisted and went to war. Were it not that a list of their names is not pertinent to the thread of this narrative, that roll of honor should be in serted here, for it deserves to be; but it is not necessary. It is well known in Southton, and there the names of those young heroes will never be forgotten. For weeks while the fever of enlistment was spreading, Manson had passed through serious mental torture. To sign the possibly fatal roll or not to sign was the question! He dared net tell Liddy ; he dared not tell his parents. An only son, and one whom he knew his father loved, he felt torn by conflicting duty. Never in his sim ple life had he passed through such a strugg 1 e. 95 Pocket Island. Perhaps pride and the example of his mates were strong factors in bringing him to a decision, but he reached one at last, and upon a Saturday c'ur- ing the latter part of April he quietly wrote his name upon the enlistment paper in Captain Wood ruff's office, and the deed was done. In the meantime, and for the few weeks in which he did not call, Liddy lived in an agony of suspense. She knew what was going on, for it was current gossip in school, and there was some thing in his face that seemed to her ominous. Li school she tried hard to act unconcerned, even when, as often was the case, other giris whoso young and loving hearts were sore, gave way to tears. Each day she smiled and nodded to him as usual ; but the smile had grown pathetic, and into her eyes had crept a look of dread. He saw it all. and hardly dared speak to her. Each Sunday eve she dressed herself for his coming and watched the fire while the tall clock ticked in solemn si lence. She dreaded to hear her father speak of the war news, and when at school the gossip as to who had or who was going to enlist was re ferred to she walked away. She grew silent and morose, and clouds were on her face at all times. There were plenty of sad and worried looks on 96 War Clouds. other girls' faces at school during those weeks, so she was not alone in her gloom. Manson had felt that deep down in her heart she cared a good deal more for him than her con duct showed, and to tell her of his intentions be fore he carried them out would be to subject her to needless days of suspense and possibly affect his own sense of duty. Now that it was all over, she must be the first to be told, and how much he dreaded it only those who have passed through the same experiences can tell. He scarcely slept at all that night, and when he presented himself at her house the next day, just before church time, he looked pale and haggard. It was an unusual thing for him to call at that hour, and when Liddy met him her heart sank. Without any formality he asked her to put on her wraps and take a ride. "I have come to tell you all," he said, "and I can talk better away from the house, and where we are alone." When they were well on their way and driving along the wooded road toward the top of one of the Blue Hills a lookout point whence all South- ton's area could be seen he turned his face and looked at hers for the first time since starting. What he saw there smote his heart. 97 Pocket Island. "It's a nice day for a ride, isn't it, Liddy ?" he said pleasantly, trying hard to act natural. Her answer was peculiar. "I can't talk of the day or anything else, Char lie, till I know the worst. Remember, you have kept me in suspense four long, weary weeks. Tell me now as soon as you can." He made no reply, and spoke not another word until they reached the lookout place. In silence he assisted her to alight, and taking the carriage robe, he spread it upon a rock where they had often sat viewing the landscape below. Then he said, in a low voice : "Please sit down, Liddy. I've fixed a nice seat for you, and now I can talk to you." Then their eyes met for the second time since starting. Her face and lips were pale, and her eyes full of fear. She clasped her hands before her face as if to ward off the coming blow. "Tell me now," she said hurriedly, "tell me the worst, only tell me quickly ! I've suffered long enough !" He looked at her a moment pityingly, dreading to deal the blow, and trying to frame it into suit able words and then it came. "Liddy," he said in a husky whisper, "I love you, and I've enlisted!" 98 War Clouds. A brief sentence, but what a message! A woman's heaven and a woman's hell in six words ! For one instant she looked at him, until its full force came to her and then she burst into tears, and the next moment she was in a heap on the robe-covered rock and sobbing like a child. Instantly he was beside her, gathering her in his arms and kissing her hair, her tear-wet face and lips. Not a word was spoken; not one was needed! He knew now that her heart was his, and for weal or woe; for joy or sorrow, their lives must be as one. "Don't cry any more, my darling," he whis pered at last. "I shall come back all safe, and then you will be my wife, won't you, Liddy?" She made no answer, but a small, soft hand crept into one of his, and he knew his prize was won. When they were ready to leave the hallowed spot she gathered a bunch of the spring violets growing there, and kissing them, handed the cluster to him in silence. Late that evening when they parted she put one arm caressingly about his neck and whispered : "Give me all the hours you can, Charlie, before you must go ; they may be all we shall ever have together." 99 Pocket Island. CHAPTER XII. A DAY IN THE WOODS. WHEN schoolmates who have studied and played together until almost maturity reach the parting of their ways a feeling of sadness comes to them ; but when out of such a band there are eighteen of the best young men about to take part in the horror of war, the occasion becomes doubly so. The last few weeks passed together by the graduating pupils of Southton Academy came "back to them in after years much like the mem ory of a funeral. There were no frolics at noon time or after school; no mirth and scant laugh ter. A few of the girls were known to be carrying aching hearts, and it was whispered that two or three were engaged to be married to young sol dier-boys now in the academy. Liddy wore a new and heavy plain gold ring, and when ques tioned as to its significance quietly answered, as was her wont : "I have no confessions to make," but those who were nearest to her and knew JOO A Day in the Woods. her best detected a proud look in her eyes and drew their own conclusions. It was noticed also that she and Manson were seldom apart during the noon hour, and invariably walked away from the academy together. As there were other cou ples who thus paired off it caused no comment. When the last day came the academy wa& packed with the parents and friends of pupils, and on Liddy's desk was a bunch of June roses. She knew whose hand had placed them there. When the final exercises began she felt herself growing nervous. She had never felt so before^ but now the mingled joy and sorrow of the past four weeks were telling upon her. There were several patriotic and warlike recitations by the young men, and readings of an unusually mel ancholy nature by young ladies, all of which tended to make matters worse, so that when her turn came she felt ready to cry. But she caught a look from Manson that was like wine. "He has been brave," she thought ; "I will be as much so" and she was. When the exercises were over the principal made a brief but feeling address which raised him several degrees in Hanson's estimation, and that was the end. Most of the pupils lingered, loth to utter the last farewells, but finally they JOJ Pocket Island. were spoken, and with many moist eyes among that gathering of young friends they separated. Some of them never met in life again. The few remaining evenings ere Liddy and her lover were to part were not wasted by them, and the last Sunday was one long to be remembered. "Come early," she had said the night before; "I have a little surprise for you." When he ar rived at her house that day, just as the distant church bells were faintly calling, he found her dressed for a ride, and was a little puzzled. "I want you to take me to church to-day," she said, smiling, and then added, in a low voice, "to our church on the top of Blue Hill, where there will be no one but God and ourselves." It was an odd thought, and yet, knowing her as he did, it was not surprising. The simple rev erence of it touched him, however. "Now," she continued more cheerfully, "no more sober thoughts. Let us try and be happy, and like children once more. Here is a basket I have packed, and you are to put it in the car riage. We are to dine in the woods." The day was one of those rare ones that come only in June, and when they reached the spot, now, henceforth and forever sacred to them, the sheltering trees were fresh with new foliage, the J02 A Day in the Woods. birds singing while building their nests, the sum mer breeze softly whispering in the scattered hemlocks, and over all shone the mellow sun shine. For a long time they sat on the rock, now hal lowed by her tears, viewing the beautiful land scape spreading out below and living over, as they had many times before, and as young lovers will, all the little incidents of their lives, and what a marvelous thing it was that they had come to love each other. It was all a story as old as the rock upon which they sat, and pure and sweet as the blue violets blooming at their feet. In the midst of it Manson pointed to a spot in the valley below a cedar pasture with an im mense boulder in the middle and said: "Once upon a time, several years ago, when I was a boy, I was picking berries in that field, when a little girl in short dress and calico sun-bonnet came running down a path near me until, almost at my feet, she stumbled, and girl, berries and bonnet went sprawling upon the ground! Can you guess who it was?" Liddy turned her face toward him and smil- ingly answered: "Was that the way I entered your heart, Charlie? It wasn't a dignified way, was it?" J03 Pocket Island. "It was at least effective," he replied, "for you have remained in it ever since." When the sun was high overhead she arose and said, with bewitching imperiousness : "Now, sir, you have been idle long enough; you must help me set the table. Bring me that basket in the carriage." "If we are to begin keeping house up here," he answered cheerfully, "perhaps you had better wait till I build you a table." "I shall be glad if you can," she said, and watched him curiously while he cut small, straight sticks, and then larger ones with forked ends. These he drove into the ground under a tree, and placing one stout stick to connect each of the forked ones and form supporting ends, laid the others across and close together to make the table. He then placed flat stones for seats, cov ering them with the carriage cushions, and when all was done he said: "My dear, your table is ready; now I will help you to set it." "I am glad I brought a tablecloth," she re marked smiling. When the dainty little banquet board, just lar^.e enough for two, was covered with a snow- white spread and napkins, plates, knives and forks, and all the attractive results of her culi- J04 I A Day in the Woods. nary art, he smiled, for the tempting food would make any hungry man smile. "It's not an elaborate dinner," she remarked, as they sat down, "but you must get used to my cooking some time, and you might as well begin now." When the sun was low in the west and she sat near him idly weaving flowers into the band of his hat, he said: "Liddy, have you never won dered how I am going to solve the vocation prob lem I used to worry about?" "No," she answered quietly, "and I do not wish to discuss it, either. Remember, we are children today." Then she continued, in a lower tone : ""I have trusted you with my heart, my life, and all the happiness I can ever hope for, and when the time comes I know you will not fail me." "I realize what it all means," he answered, after a long pause, "and you can trust me, for so long as God gives me strength you shall have all the blessings I can win in life." They sat in silence until the lowering sun had left the valley in shadow and smiled only on the hilltop where they lingered. Perhaps the dread -parting that was near seemed creeping toward them with the shades of night, for his arm stole softly about her waist, and her hand crept into Pocket Island. his. They watched until the last ray of sunlight had vanished, and when they arose he once more gathered her close in his arms and whispered: "Promise me, my darling, that if I never come back you will visit this spot alone, once a year, in June, and if there be such a thing as a life be yond the grave, I will be here in spirit." "I promise," she answered solemnly, "and no man shall ever have the right to stop me." When they were ready to leave the place he had to lead her to the carriage, for her eyes were blinded by tears. 106 I The Girl I Left Behind Me. CHAPTER XIII. THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME. WITH bayonets flashing in the sunlight, with flags flying and keeping step to the martial music, Southton's brave Company E marched full one hundred strong to the depot the next day, ready to leave for the war. Almost the entire town was there to see them off, and hundreds of men, old and young, filled the air with cheers. Mingling in that throng were as many mothers, wives, sweethearts and sisters with aching hearts, whose sobs of anguish were woven into the cheering. Strong men wept as well. As the train rolled away, Manson fought the tears back that he might not lose the last sight of one fair girl whose heart he knew was breaking. When it was all over, and he real ized that for months or years, or perhaps never, would he behold her again, he knew what war and parting meant. He had obeyed his con science and sense of duty, and now he must pay J07 Pocket Island. the price, and the payment was very bitter. Of his future he knew not, or what it might hold for him. He could only hope that when his hour of trial came that he would not falter, and if the worst must come that he would find strength to meet it as a soldier should. War is such a ghastly, hideous horror, and so utterly at variance with this simple narrative, that I hesitate to speak of it. There can be no moments of happiness, no rifts of sunshine, and but few gleams of hope woven into the picture. All must be as war is a varying but continued succession of dreaded horror and the fear of death. The first month of Manson's experience at the training camp was hard only in anticipa tion, and but a daily round of duty easily per formed and soon passed. Liddy's frequent let ters, each filled with all the sweet and loving- words that, like flowers, naturally spring from a woman's heart, cheered him greatly; but when the order came to go to the front, the scene changed, and the reality of war came. He dread ed the first shock, not so much from fear of death; but lest his courage fail. When it came at Chancellorsville it was all over before he knew it. Although under fire for eight hours, he was not conscious of the lapse of time or aught else, (08 The Girl I Left Behind Me. except that he obeyed orders and loaded and fired with the rest; forgetting that he might fall, or whether he was brute or human. That nigiit he wrote to Liddy: "We have had our first battle, and for many hours I forgot even you. I know now that I shall not falter. Poor Luzerne Nor ton, one of our academy boys, was killed, also three others from our company; and seven were wounded." When the letter reached Liddy her heart sank. To know that one of her bright and happy school mates of a few months before had been shot and killed, and others wounded, was to have t*ie dread reality of war brought very near home. ''Thank God my boy was spared," she thought. That night she wrote him the most loving letter he had ever received, concluding with: "Be brave, my darling, and always remember that come what may I shall keep my promise." Then came the battle of Gettysburg, and al though his company escaped with only a few wounded, it was here he first realized the ghastly horror of a battlefield after the fight is over, and how the dead are buried. . When his next letter reached the sad-hearted one at home, no mention was made of this expe rience, and when she wrote asking why he had 09 Pocket Island. never told her how a battleground looked, or any thing about it, he replied: "Not for worlds would I tell you how we bury the dead, or how they looked, or anything of the sickening details. Please do not read them in the papers, for it will do you no good, and cause you needless suffering. I wish to keep misery from you. Think of me only as doing my duty, and try to believe (as I do) that I shall come back to you alive and well." For the next six months he had no battles to face only skirmishing and picket duty. When Christmas came it brought him two boxes of good things to gladden his heart. One was from his dear old mother, and one was from Liddy, and tucked away in that, between four pairs of blue socks knit by her fair hands, was a loving letter and a picture of herself. Almost a month after came the battle of Tracy City and the fall of brave Captain Upson. There were others wounded, but none of his company were killed. It was here Manson received his first promotion to a corporal's position, and he was afterward made sergeant. In the spring that followed, and almost one year from the day he first told Liddy of his love, came the battle of Boyd's Trail. Five days after, when the moon was full one night, he wrote by the light of a no The Girl I Left Behind Me. camp fire: "Do you remember one year ago to day, and where we were and what I said ? I lit tle realized that day what was in store for me. One thing I must tell you, however, and that is you can never know how much comfort it has been to me to live over all the happy hours we have had together. Every little word and look of love from you has come back to me again and again in my long, lonesome hours of picket duty, and to-night as I sit by the camp fire and see the moon shining through the trees I can recall just how I felt the first time I kissed you, when the same moon seemed to be laughing at me. Do you remember one night when we were driving across the plains on our way back from a little party over to Marion, and you sang that 'Meet Me by Moonlight' ballad? That was three years ago, and yet I can almost hear your voice now." When this letter reached Liddy she read it in tears. For the next year it was with Manson as with all that slowly decreasing company one unend ing round of nervous strain, long marches, sharp fighting, or, worse yet carrying the wounded from the battlefield and burying the dead. They lived poorly, slept on the ground or in the mud at times, and became accustomed to filth and \\\ Pocket Island. stench, indifferent to danger and hardened to death. When a comrade fell those who knew him "best said: "Poor fellow, he's gone," and buried him without a prayer; but the dead who were personally unknown awakened no more feeling than so many leaves fallen by the wayside. It could not well be otherwise, for such is war. In dividual cases of heroism were common enough, and passed almost unnoticed; for they were all t>rave men who came to fight and die if need be, and no less was expected. War makes strange bedfellows, and forms un expected friendships. It was after the battle of Gettysburg, when the Tenth Army Corps re mained in camp for several months, and one night while on picket duty, that Manson met with a curious adventure, and made the ac quaintance of a fellow-soldier by the name of Pullen, belonging to a Maine regiment, whose existence, and the tie thus formed, eventually led to a sequence of events of serious import. The enemy were encamped but a few miles away, and that most dastardly part of warfare, the firing upon pickets from ambush, was of nightly oc currence. Manson's beat that night was over a low hill covered with scrub oak, and across part of a narrow valley, through which wound a small, The Girl I Left Behind Me. marsh-bordered stream. The night was sultry, and the dampness of the swamp formed in a shallow strata of fog, filling this valley, but not rising above the level of the uplands. To add to the weirdness of his surroundings, the thin cres cent of a new moon threw a faint light over all and outlined the winding turns of this mist-filled gorge. Away to the northward a belt of dark clouds emitted frequent flashes of heat lightning, and occasional sharp reports along the line be spoke possible death lurking in every thicket. Keeping always in shadow, and oft pausing to listen, Manson slowly traversed his beat, waiting only at either end to exchange a whispered "All's well !" with the next sentry. What a vigil! And what a menace seemed hidden behind every bush or spoke in every sound ! The faint creak of a tree as the night wind stirred the branches ; the rustle of leaves on the ground or the breaking of a twig as some prowling animal moved about; the flight of a bird, disturbed at its rest ; the hoot of an owl on the hillside or the croak of a frog in the swamp were all magnified tenfold by the half-darkness and the sense of danger near. One end of his beat ended at the brook and here he waited long est, for the sentry he met there was, like himself, Pocket Island. hardly out of his teens, and unused to war. A bond of fellowship sprang into existence almost at sight, and made them brothers in feeling at at once. It was while whispering together beside this brook, and oppressed by the suspense of night and danger near, that they detected a sound of more than usual ill-omen, and that, the certain one that some creature had stepped into the stream above, and was cautiously and slowly wading in it. Hardly breathing, and bending low, the better to catch every sound that came, they listened with beating hearts until it ceased. Once they had de tected the click of stones striking together as if moved by a human foot and twice caught the faint plash of a bush or limb of tree dropping into the water. Then the sounds ceased, and only the faint murmur of that slow-running stream disturbed the silence. For a few moments they waited there, and then together crept up out of the gorge. Just as they emerged from the pall of the fog, and where the moon's thin disk still outlined that narrow white- blanketed valley, they paused, looking across, above, below and all around, and listening as in tently as two human beings so environed would when believing danger near. And as they looked The Girl I Left Behind Me. and listened for moments that seemed hours, sud denly, scarce five rods away, they paw a man slowly emerged from the bush-covered bank, rapidly cross this narrow gorge, apparently walk ing on the fog, and disappear in the dark thicket on the other side ! Forgetting in the first shock of supernatural added to natural fear that they stood fully ex posed in the faint moonlight, they looked at each other, while a cold chill of dread seemed to check even the power to think. Manson was the first to recover, and with a quick, "We must hide," almost hissed, dropped on all fours behind a bush, followed by his comrade. That the motion be trayed them to watchful eyes is certain, for the next instant, out from the dark thicket across the gorge there leaped a flash of red fire, and the. ping of a bullet, cutting leaves and twigs above them, told its own tale. Too scared to think of return ing the fire, or conscious that to do so was un wise, they slowly crawled deeper into the scrub and along the top of the hillock. All that night they kept together, and how long it was until the .gray light of coming dawn lifted a little of their burden of fear, no one who has never skulked along a picket line in darkness and dread cart imagine ! U5 Pocket Island. When the relief guard came, Manson and his mate tried to discover where their night-prowling enemy had crossed that narrow gorge, if he had crossed at all, but could not. Whether ghost, or shadow, or flesh-and-blood enemy had walked on fog in the faint moonlight before them, they could not tell, and never afterward were they able to determine. The only certain fact was that some one had fired at them, and fired mean ing to kill ! Wisely, too, they agreed to keep the ghost part of that experience a secret, and none of their comrades ever knew they had seen a man walking upon the fog. lit : ; Beside the Camp Fire. /* CHAPTER XIV. BESIDE THE CAMP FIRE. BOTH Manson's and Pullen's regiments were encamped along the edge of a belt of pine woods, and after their creepy experience together on picket duty, they naturally sought each other as often as possible. There is a 'witching romance lingering about a camp fire in the woods that stimulates the imagination, and when these two newly made friends could meet for an evening's, visit beside theirs, many a tale of youthful ex perience and boyish escapade was exchanged. "Speaking of ghosts," said Manson, one even ing, "I do not believe in their existence exact'y, and yet there is a strange fascination about t\\c idea that I can't understand. Now T do not be- iieve we saw a man walking on fog the other night, and yet I can't resist the desire to hunt the matter out and discover what sort of an op tical illusion it was. I am not at all certain the man who took a shot at us was the one we saw across the ravine, either. I had an experience Pocket Island. once when I was about nine years old, that, in a way, tainted my mind with the ghost idea, and perhaps that is the reason why the possibility of seeing one affects me in the way it does. A couple of miles from the farm where I was reared there stood an old deserted ruin of a house known as the Tim Buck place. It was hidden away behind hills and woods and reached from the highway through a half-mile lane, thick grown with bushes. Here, years before I was born, there had once lived a man by the name of Buck, who hanged himself in the garret one day, while his wife was away. It was said she came back just at dusk and found him hanging lifeless from a rafter in the garret. What be came of her I never knew, but no one ever lived on the place afterward, and in time the farm and house reverted to the town for taxes. It also soon obtained the reputation of being haunted, and no one ever went near it after dark. A couple of 'coon hunters told how they had taken refuge in it from a sudden shower at night, but left in a hurry when they heard some one walk ing on the chamber floor above. Some one else said they had seen a white figure walking on the ridge-pole just at dusk. All this was current gossip in the town, and believed by many. ns I Beside the Camp Fire. "My parents had sense enough not to tell me, but when I was old enough to be sent to the dis trict school, I heard all this, and more, too; and the worst of it was I believed all I heard. I had never been near the house, but when I heard the stories, I got another boy for company and went to look at it from the top of a near-by hill. As I grew older the fascination of the place kept in creasing, and one day it overcame my fear and all alone I paid it a visit. "The house was a ruin roof fallen in, floor rotted away and pitched into the cellar : only the walls were standing, and the beams and rafters, like the ribs of a skeleton, still in place. I re member the well-sweep was in the usual posi tion, and seemed to me like a warning finger pointing at the bleaching rafters. It took me a good half hour to muster courage enough to go within ten rods of the ruin, but I finally did, and at last, scared half to death, and trembling, found myself peeping in at one window. It was dark in there and smelt queer, and I, a nine-year-old boy, fully expected to see some new and horrible spook appear at any moment. How long I stood there I never knew z for I forgot all else except the belief that if I waited long enough I should see something queer. I did, too, for all at once Pocket Island. I saw in an inner room, where a closet door stood half open, a white, bony hand reach out from be hind it, take hold, and seemingly shut that door from the inside! I didn't wait any longer, you may be sure, and never stopped running until I came in sight of home, two miles away !" "And didn't you ever go back there ?" said Pul- len, "when you got older?" "Oh, yes, I did, but not for a year after, and during that year I dreamed of that house and one or a dozen skeleton hands, countless times. Fin ally I mustered up spunk, went there one day alt alone, set the old ruin on fire, and then ran as fast as my legs would carry me to a hilltop half a mile away, and stood and watched the fire. The place was so hidden away no one saw it burn except me, and I never told for fear of conse quences." "And did you ever outgrow the belief that you really saw a skeleton hand open that door?'" said Pullen, reaching forward to pick up an em ber and light the pipe he had just refilled. Manson was silent for a few moments, as he lay resting his head on one hand and watching the firelight play hide-and-seek among the pine boughs overhead. "No, to tell you the truth, Frank," he replied J20 Beside the Camp Fire. at last, slowly, "I do not think I ever did. Of course, I know I did not see what I thought I did, and yet I have not quite outgrown the scare. I won't admit that I believe in ghosts, and yet the thought of them, owing perhaps to that boyhood fright, has a sort of deadly fascination for me. I believe and yet I do not believe, and if I were told I could see one by going anywhere, no mat ter how grewsome the spook was, I could not re sist going." "You ought to have lived where I came from," observed Pullen, looking curiously at his com rade ; "for about twenty miles from my home is an island known as 'The Pocket/ that is fairly swarming with ghosts." "Tell me about it," said Manson, suddenly in terested. "Well, it is a long yarn," replied Pullen, "but, from your make-up, the island is just such a spot as you would enjoy visiting. As I told you the other night, I was born and brought up on an island off the coast of Maine, and when I was quite a lad I first heard about this island, and that no one ever went there because it was haunt ed. I wasn't old enough to understand what be ing haunted meant, but later on I did. They used to tell about it being a hiding-place for smug- J2J Pocket Island. glers before I was born, and that a murder had been committed there and that some one in a fishing boat had seen a man fully ten feet tall, standing on a cliff on it, one night. Dad, who was a sea captain, used to laugh at all this, and yet almost everybody believed there was some mystery connected with it. Another thing, I guess, helped give it a bad name was the fact that a ship was wrecked on it once, and no one discovered it until long after, and then they found four or five skeletons among the rocks. Another queer thing about this island that is really a fact is, that any time, day or night, you can hear a strange, bellowing sound like that of a mad bull, coming from somewhere on it. When there is a storm you can hear it for miles away. The sound can't be located anywhere, and yet you can hear it all the time. If you are one side, it seems to come from the other, and go around to that side and it is back where you came from. Inside the island is a circular pocket or walled- in harbor, like the crater of a volcano, that is en tered through a narrow passage between two cliffs. Altogether it's a curious place, but as for ghosts well, I've been there many a time and never saw one yet. But then, I do not believe in spooks, and perhaps that accounts for it. It's J22 \ Beside the Camp Fire. like the believers in spiritualism, that can readily see their dead ancestors' faces peering out of a cabinet, and all that sort of bosh, but I never could. I'll bet," with a laugh, "that you could go to Pocket Island and see ghosts by the dozen." "I would like to go there," replied Mar.son quietly, "and if we ever get home alive, I will." "Come and make a visit, and I'll take you there," said Pullen; "that is" (soberly) "if I ever go home." The story-telling ceased while the two friends each thinking of the same thing, gravely watched the slowly fading fire. "Come," said Pullen at last, "quit thinking about what may happen, and tell me another ghost story. It's your turn now." But Manson was silent, for the story-telling mood had fled, and his thoughts were far away. "Where are you now?" continued Pullen, studying his comrade's face. "With sons girl, I'll bet; am I right?" "Yes," answered Manson slowly, "I was with some one just then, and thinking of a fool prom ise I exacted from her before I left, and all this ghost-story telling has made me realize what an injury I may have done her by exacting that promise." J23 Pocket Island. "Tell me," said Pullen, "I can sympathize with you, for I, too, have a girl I left behind me." "Well," came the answer slowly, "this girl has. too much good sense to believe in ghosts, and yet, you can't ever tell who does or does not be lieve in them. The foolish part of it is that I took her to a lonely spot away in the woods one day, before I left, and asked her to promise me that in case I never came back she would visit this spot alofie once a year, on that same day, and if I was in spirit I would appear to her, or at least if there was any such thing as spirit life, I would be there, too. She is one of those 'true blue' girls would keep such a promise as long as she lived,. I think; and now you understand what a fool promise it was." "I can't dispute you," answered Pullen, and then they separated. 124 Mysteries, CHAPTER XV. MYSTERIES. "Do you know, Frank," said Manson, a week later, as once more the two lounged beside their camp fire, "that I have the hardest kind of a task to keep myself from believing in omens, and es pecially the 'three warnings' business? Now, to illustrate, we lost a man out of our company two nights ago, and he was shot within ten feet of where you and I stood the night we were shot at. His name was Bishop, and an old schoolmate of mine. I was on the morning guard-mount de tail, and was the first one to see him as we were going along the picket line. He had been shot in the head, and most likely never knew what hit him. To make the fate of Bishop more impress ive his going on for night duty instead of myself had been decided by chance." "Well, what of it?" said Pullen. "It was his bad luck and not yours that time, wasn't it ? That fact ought to drive away your presentiments in stead of increasing them, my boy." J25 Pocket Island. "Perhaps, and yet it doesn't," replied Manson. "It keeps crowding me into the belief that I am booked for the same fate in the near future, and, do all I can, I can't put that idea away." "Nonsense," put in Pullen, "that is all bosh, and in the same list with the Friday business, and seeing the moon over your left shoulder, and all that string of superstition that has come down to us, or rather, up to us from the Dark Ages, when mankind believed in no end of hobgoblin things." "Say, Frank, don't you believe in luck?" in terposed Manson. "Don't you believe there is such a thing as good or ill luck in this world, and that one or the other follows us most of the time all through life?" "Yes, to a certain extent I do," answered Frank. "But I've noticed that good luck comes oftenest to those who put forth the greatest ef fort, and ill luck is quite apt to chase those who are seemingly born tired." Manson was silent, for the wholesome opti mism of his friend went far to dispel his grew- some imaginings. "How does a mystery you can't understand affect you, Frank ?" he said at last. "Oh, as for that, if I can't find some solution for it easily I put it away and think of some other J26 Mysteries. matter. Life is too short to waste in trying to> solve all we can't understand. And speaking of mysteries," continued Frank, "you ought to have ben born and brought up where I was, on art island off the coast of Maine. There is more mystery to the square mile down that way, I be lieve, than anywhere else in the world, unless it be Egypt. There is a little village called Pema- quid, where they fence it in and charge an ad mission. I know of a dozen places where there are old Indian villages ; old fort sites ; old burial- places that fairly bristle with mystery! If you, go anywhere near them the natives will ask you to go and look at this spot, or that, and act as if they expected you to take off your hat while they tell all about it in an awed whisper. Oh, we have mystery to burn down in Maine! Maine would just suit you, Manson! There isn't arc island on the coast, a lake or mountain in the in terior that hasn't got a fairy tale, or some legend connected with it. You remember what I told? you about Pocket Island the other night? Well, that is a fair sample. And speaking of fairy tales, there is a curious one current down our way about a Jew and an Indian who were known to be smugglers and came and went in a mys terious way. They sailed a small sloop called the m Pocket Island. Sea Fox, and, according to the stories, this Jew was one of the most adroit villains ever born with a hooked nose. Where he hailed from the devil only knew, and he never told, and when after he had mystified everybody for two years, smuggled liquor by the boatload all the time with out getting caught once, he mysteriously disap peared, and left the entire coast guessing. Ac cording to the stories, and there are hundreds told about him, he was the smoothest Sheeney that ever swore by Moses. Dozens of constables were on the watch for him ; his sloop wa* searched many times ; every one believed he was smuggling liquor all the time and yet no one ever caught him. All this happened when I was a boy, and yet to-day no one sees a small tops'l sloop gliding into some uninhabited cove that they don't say 'There goes the Sea Fox.' " "And did no story ever crop out regarding what became of him, or where he went to?" in quired Manson. "Not a word or whisper; that is where the mystery lies, and, as I said, it is one more added to the large stock we already have." "I would love to spend a month down your way, Frank," said Manson, after a pause. "And why not?" replied Pullen. "I've a good J23 Mysteries. boat, plenty of time, and when we get out of this scrape I would be more than glad to have you visit me. I will take you all around among the islands and show you all the mysteries, even Pocket Island, and who knows but we may run across the Sea Fox? Promise me to come, will you?" "Yes, if ever I get back alive I will," answered Manson. It was not long after this pleasant chat that there occurred another episode in Manson's war experience that had a peculiar effect upon his imagination, and one that perhaps will illustrate the pathos of war as well as any. "We do not pause to think what we are about to do when we are marched into battle," he said to his friend Frank the day after it happened; "we are under orders to kill if we can, and the smell of smoke, the roar of guns, and the awful horror of it all deadens every sense except the brutal one to shed blood. But to deliberately shoot an enemy, even though you know he is only waiting to shoot you, is another matter. I had to do it yesterday morning, however, and how "miserable I have been ever since, no one can imagine. As you know, the Rebs have been shooting pickets off and on, for two weeks, and 129 Pocket Island. orders have been issued to shoot at sight and ask no questions. I had been on the line all night and was so dead tired and worn out with the nervous strain that I was ready to lie down in the mud even, and go to sleep, when just at daylight I saw a man crawling on all fours across an open space maybe twenty rods away, and across a ravine. "It was a little lighter up where he was and I knew he couldn't see me. I lay low behind a rock and watched him, and as it grew lighter saw he wore gray, and I knew he was an enemy. For ten minutes he never moved, and I lay there with a bead on him trying to decide what to do. I knew he was there to kill, and that my duty was to shoot, and yet I hesitated. We shoot in battle not really knowing whether we kill or not, but to deliberately pull trigger knowing it means sending a human soul into eternity is an awful thing to do. His own action decided the matter, for, as I saw him lift himself a little and then raise his gun to the shoulder, I fired. Then I saw "him spring to his feet, whirl around, clasp his hands to his breast and slowly sink forward half out of sight. I put a fresh cartridge in, and then never took my eyes off that gray heap until the relief guard came along. He was not quite dead J30 Mysteries. when we went to him, for the ball had gone through his lungs, and he was fighting hard for breath. He was a beardless boy, not over eigh teen, and as he gasped, the blood gushed out of his mouth. We saw him try to speak, but could not, and then he looked at us three ; first one and then another. It must be he saw more pity in my face than in the others, for the poor boy sud denly reached out his hand toward me, and as I took it he drew me down to try and whisper to me. It was of no use; I could not catch the sound. "I wiped the blood away from his lips and then rolled my blouse up for a pillow and laid his head on it. I could see a mute look of gratitude in his eyes, like those of a dying dog, and, mingling with that, the awful fear of death. It was all over in a few moments, and at the last he drew my hand to his lips and kissed it. The other two boys turned away, and I was glad, for the tears were- chasing each other down my face. The one bit of consolation I had was, the poor boy did not know I shot him. When it was all over, we left him, and later we three went up there and buried him beside the rock where he died. I saw his face hovering over me all last night, and it wilt haunt me as long as I live." J3J Pocket Island. CHAPTER XVI. THE GRASP OF DEATH. WHEN the fierce heat of E Company's second summer in an almost tropical climate was fast depleting their ranks, Manson wrote to Liddy: "Disease among us is more dangerous than rebel bullets. When I was a boy I used to feel that the long, hot hours in hay fields, or the bit ter cold ones in the snow-buried woods, were se vere hardships, but now I thank God for them! If I survive the exposure here it will be because of the splendid health and strength that came to me from those days on the farm. Sometimes when the miserable food I have to eat, or the vile water I must drink, is at its worst, I think of what mother used to cook, and how sweet the water in dear old Ragged Brook used to taste on a hot summer day, and you cannot imagine what I would give for a chance to thrust my face into that cool stream, where it was leaping over a mossy ledge, and drink my fill. J32 I The Grasp of Death. "I have passed through some ghastly and sick ening experiences, too horrible to relate to you, and at times I am so depressed that I lose all hope, and then again I feel that I shall pull through all right. One thing I want you to do, and that is, forget the foolish promise I exacted from you that day on Blue Hill. Some things have occurred that have convinced me it was do ing you a cruel injustice to ask such a promise." It was the last letter Liddy ever received from her soldier boy, and when she read it it filled her with a new and uncanny dread. During those first two years of service, E Com pany made heroic history. They took part in eleven hard-fought battles, besides many skir mishes, and not a man flinched or shirked a duty ! They were all hardy sons of old New England, who, like their forefathers of '76, fought for home and liberty; for freedom and love of country. Such, and such only, are true heroes ! Of the battles in which they took part, now famous in history, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, Tracy City, Resaca, Peach Creek and Atlanta were the most severe, though many others were as sanguinary. Their losses in all these engage ments were sixteen officers, killed or wounded in battle, and twenty-three privates, or total of thir- J33 Pocket Island. ty-nine. In addition, eight were taken prisoners, most of whom died in rebel prison pens; and thirty-six others died of disease or were disabled by it. Out of the one hundred hardy men who left Southton, only nineteen returned unharmed at the close of the war ! a record for brave serv ice that was not surpassed, and one that should weave a laurel wreath around every name ! Manson had passed through eight battles un harmed and dread disease had failed to touch his splendid strength ; but at the battle of Peach Creek, and under a blazing July sun he fell. His regiment had been ordered to charge a hill, from the top of which a perfect storm of rebel bullets were pouring upon them, and with hands grip ping his gun and teeth fiercely set, he with the rest faced the almost certain death as they charged up the hill ! When half way up, and just as he had leaped a low stone wall, two red-hot irons seemed to pierce him, and with a bullet through one leg, and a shattered arm he went down, and leaving him there, the storm of battle swept on f Conscious still, and believing his end had come, he yet remembered that wall, and faint and Weeding he crawled back to it. He could hear the roar of guns, and the groans of dying men about him, and in that awful moment, with death 134 The Grasp of Death. near, one thought alone came, and that was to shelter himself between the rocks, so that mad horses and frenzied men might not trample upon his face. He could see near by a rock close to the wall, and like some wild animal that had received its death wound, yet crawls into a thicket to die, so he crept into this shelter and lay there moan ing. Hour after hour passed in agony, while his life blood ebbed away. He could not stop it; he did not try. Since death was near and he felt that it must come, the sooner it was over the better. Men and horses swept by and heeded him not! The fierce sun beat upon him, but no one came to succor! His tongue grew parched and a terrible thirst tortured him ; but there was no water. Only the hard stones upon which his head was pillowed, the dry earth that drank his blood, and the merciless sun blazing above. He could hear the dying men about him groaning and cursing God in their agony, and the roar of cannon that made the earth tremble beneath him. Then the sounds of conflict and carnage passed away, and left only the moans of the wounded near him to echo his own. At last night came and threw her dark mantle over that scene of death and despair, and later the moon rose and J35 Pocket Island. shed her pale light upon it. Those soft beams of silvery white were angels of mercy, for they car ried that dying boy's heart away to the hills of old New England, and to where a rippling brook danced like silver coin beneath them, and a fair girl's face and tender blue eyes smiled upon him. Then the picture faded and he knew no more. Those Who Wait. CHAPTER XVII. THOSE WHO WAIT. THERE is nothing in life much harder to bear than suspense. To know the worst, whatever that may be, is far preferable to the long agony of doubt; hoping for the best, yet fearing the worst. Even a hardened criminal has been known to admit that the two or three hours of waiting for the verdict was far worse than the march to the gallows. If this be so, what must it be to the tender, loving hearts of good and true women whose husbands, sweethearts, brothers and sons are facing the dangers of war, and who (God pity them) have to endure this dread sus pense for weeks and months when no tidings reach them? When the train bearing Liddy's soldier boy from sight had rolled away she clung to her fath er's arm in mute despair. Pride sustained her until they had left the town behind, and were driving across the wide plains toward her home, J37 Pocket Island. and then the tears came. The memory of many pleasant moonlit drives along the same road when her lover was with her came back, and with it the realization that it was all ended, perhaps forever, and that the best she could look forward to was three years of weary waiting. Before Ker^ miles away, rose the Blue Hills, distinct in the clear air, and as she looked at them, back came the memory of one day a month before a day replete with joy and sorrow, when he had paid her the greatest and sweetest compliment a man can pay a woman. She could recall the very tones of his voice and she could almost feel the touch of his arms when he had held her close for one brief moment. In silence she rode along for a time, trying to control herself t and then turn ing to her father she said : "Father, there is something I must tell you, and I ask your forgiveness for not doing so be fore." And then, in her odd, winsome way, rest ing her cheek against his shoulder and holding her left hand before his face for a moment, she continued : "Can you guess ?" "No, my child," he answered, quickly, wishing to cheer her, "I could not possibly guess. The ways of my little girl are so deep and dark, how could I?" and then continuing in a more cheerful J38 Those Who Wait. tone : "Don't cry any more, Liddy. Some one is coming back from the war by and by, and some one else will want a lot of new dresses for a wed ding, and expects to be happy, and I hope she will be." Then a little hand began stroking his arm and a still damp face was being rubbed against his shoulder, and presently a soft voice whispered: "Father, you have always been too good to me. You never said a word and you knew it all along, I guess !" which rather incoherent speech may be excused under the circumstances. The few weeks that followed were not as gloomy to Liddy as later ones. Her home du ties outside of school hours had always been nu merous, and now she found them a relief. Let ters also came frequently from the absent one, and she felt that he was not yet in danger that was a grain of consolation. But wKen he wrote that they were to start for the front the next day, her heart grew heavy again and from that time on the dread suspense was never lifted. She wrote him frequently and tried to make her let ters brave and cheerful. All the simple details of her home life were faithfully portrayed, and it became a habit to write him a page every night. She called it a little chat, but it might better have J39 Pocket Island. been called an evening prayer, for into those tender words were woven every sweet wish and hopeful petition of a loving woman's heart. After the battle of Chancellorsville a cloud seemed rest ing upon Southton, and Liddy felt that the weary waiting was becoming more oppressive than ever. It had been her father's custom to drive "over town," as it was called, once a day to obtain the news, and she had always met him on his return, even before he entered the house, to more quickly learn the worst. She began to dread even this, lest he should bring the tidings she feared most. Then came the call for needed supplies to be used in the care of the wounded, and gladly Liddy joined with other good ladies in picking lint, preparing bandages, and the like, and con tributing many articles for the use and comfort of the soldiers. In this noble work she came to realize how many other hearts besides her own carried a burden, and to feel a kinship of sorrow with them. Her engagement to Manson seemed to be generally known and the common burden soon obliterated her first girlish reticence con cerning it. "I feel that I am growing old very fast," she wrote him, "and that I am a girl no longer. Just think, it is only ten months since I felt angry J40 I Those Who Wait. when some of the girls told me they heard I was engaged to you, and now I don't care who knows it" For the next three months there were no bat tles that he was engaged in, and yet the suspense was the same. Then when the new year came another burden was added, for her mother grew worse, and it seemed to Liddy as if the shadows were thick about her. An event that occurred in the early spring, and two months after the battle of Tracy City, made a deep impression on her. Captain Upson, promoted from first lieutenant of Company E, was wounded at that battle, and dying later, was brought to Southton for burial. He was universally respected and almost the en tire townsfolk gathered at the church to pay their tribute. Hundreds failed to gain admission, and it was said to have been the largest funeral ever known in the town. Liddy had never seen a military funeral and the ceremonies were sadly impressive. The long service at the church ; the touching words of the minister uttered over the flag-draped coffin, upon which rested a sword ; the sad procession to the cemetery, headed by muffled drum and melancholy fife mingling their sounds with the tolling bell, and then the arched arms of soldiers, beneath which the body was J4J Pocket Island. borne; the short prayer; the three volleys; and last of all, lively music on the return. This fea ture impressed her as the saddest of all, for it seemed to say : "Now, we will forget the dead as soon as possible," which in truth was what it meant in military custom. It is needless to say as she returned with her father to their now saddened home, a possible event of similar import in which she must be a broken-hearted mourner entered her mind. Dur ing the next month came another and far worse blow. Her mother, long an invalid, contracted a severe cold and, in spite of all possible effort to save her, in three short days passed away. To even faintly express the anguish of that now be reaved husband and motherless girl is impossi ble and shall not be attempted. When the funeral was over and they once more sat by the fire in the sitting-room, as was cus tomary each evening, their pleasant home seemed utterly desolate, and the tall clock in the hall ticked with far deeper solemnity. Liddy in fact was, as she felt herself to be, walking "through the valley and shadow of death." To add to her utter wretchedness, if that were possible, she had received no letter from Manson for three weeks, and there were no rifts of sunshine in her hori- J42 Those Who Wait. zon. She wrote him a long account of her loss and all the misery of mind she was experienc ing and then, as she had no address to mail it to,, held the letter in waiting, and finally tore it up. "It will only give him pain to know it," she thought, "and he has enough to bear." When she next heard from him she realized more than ever how many lonely and homesick hours he had to endure, and was glad she had kept her sorrow to herself. A few weeks later her father, thinking to make the house more cheerful, proposed that her Aunt Mary a widowed sister of his should come and live with them. "No, father," said Liddy, after the matter had been discussed, "I would rather be alone and take care of you myself." Then she added, with a lit tle quiver in her voice: "You are the only one I've got to love now and perhaps the only one I shall ever have." Liddy was essentially a home-loving girl and cared but little for company. A few friends, and good ones, might be considered as the text of her life, and even at school it had been the same. Her home duties and her father's needs were a suffi cient kingdom, and over it she was a gracious queen. For the first three months after her moth- H3 Pocket Island. er's death she and her father lived a life of nearly silent sadness. Almost daily he visited the town, dreading far worse than Liddy ever knew lest he must return with sad tidings. He knew what was ever in her heart, and as her life-happiness was dear to him, he wasted no time in discussing war news with his friends in the village. When June came Liddy felt that a change in the morose current of their lives must be made, and in her peculiar way set about to carry out her idea. She knew his fiftieth birthday came during that month, and when the day arrived she said to him : "Come home early to-night, father, I have a great, big favor to ask of you." All that after noon she worked at her little plot, and when tea time came and he entered the house a surprise awaited him. The dining-table had been moved into the sitting-room, set with the best china, and in the center was a vase of flowers. Draped from the hanging lamp above it, and extending to each corner were ropes of ground pine, and around his plate was a double row of full-blown roses. It was a pretty sight, and when he looked at it he smiled and said: "Expecting company, Lid dy?" "Yes, you," was her answer; "and I've made J44 Those Who Wait. a shortcake, and I picked the strawberries my self." When he was seated in his accustomed chair he looked at the array of roses, and in a sur prised voice remarked : "Why didn't you put some around your own plate, Liddy?" "Because it's not my birthday," came the an swer; "count them, father." The thoughtful tribute touched him, and a look of sadness crept in his face. "I had for gotten how old I was," he said. Liddy made no reply until she had poured his tea, and then she said, in her earnest way : "Now, father, I don't want you to think of that any more, or anything else that is past and gone. Please think how hard I worked all the after noon to fix the table and how much I want to make you happy." When it came time to retire, he said: "You haven't told me yet what that big favor is, Lid dy!" For answer she went to him and taking his face in her hands, she kissed him on either cheek and whispered: "Wait till to-morrow I" Pocket Island. CHAPTER XVIII. A FEW BRIGHT DAYS. THE next evening after supper Liddy showed unusual cheerfulness. She had that day received three letters from the absent one, though of dif ferent dates, and all contained assuring words. Then she had a little plan of loving intent mapped out in her mind and was eager to carry it out. Her father noticed her unusual mood and said : "It seems good to see you smile once more, Liddy." "I am trying hard to feel happy," she an swered, "and harder still to make you feel so as -well." And then, drawing her chair close to iiim, she sat down and rested her face against his shoulder. It was one of her odd ways, and it must be now stated that when this winsome girl most earnestly desired to reach her father's heart, she always stroked his shoulder with her face. "Well," he said, recognizing her method, "I know you have something on your mind ; so tell me what it is right away !" 146 A Few Bright Days. She made no immediate reply, but softly stroked him for a moment and then replied: "Yes, I do want something ; I want a clock !" and then, straightening herself up, she continued earnestly: "I want a lot of things; I want a pretty clock to put on the mantel, and I want you to put the tall one up into the attic, for it gives me the blues; and say, father" and here again her face went to his shoulder, "I want a piano !" "Is that all ?" he answered, a droll smile creep ing into his face. "No," she said, "that isn't all; but it's all I dare ask for now." "Better tell me the rest," he replied, stroking the head that still rested against his arm. "You haven't surprised me yet." And then there was a very pretty scene, for the next instant that blue-eyed heart-breaker was sitting in her father's lap, with both arms around his neck. "Do you mean it, father?" she whispered". "Can I have a piano?" "Why, of course," he answered softly, "if you want one." In a week the old cottage organ that had felt the touch of Liddy's childish fingers learning the J47 Pocket Island. scale, was keeping company with the tall clock in the attic, and in its place stood a piano. In the sitting-room a new clock that chimed the hours and halves ticked on the mantel. These were not all the changes, for when so much was won our heart-breaker renewed her assault by her usual method, and pretty portieres took the place of doors between parlor, hall and sitting- room, and delicate lace curtains draped the win dows. Then Liddy surveyed her home with satisfaction and asked her father how he liked it. "It makes a great change in the rooms," he replied, "and they seem more cheerful." "Do you notice that it also makes the carpets look worn and shabby?" said Liddy; "and the parlor furniture a little old-fashioned ?" Mr. Camp sat down in one of the parlor chairs and looked around. For a few moments he sur veyed the room in silence and then said : "Liddy, did you ever hear the story of the brass fire-dogs ? I don't think you have, so I will tell it. There was once a good woman who persuaded her hus band to buy a pair of brass fire-dogs for the par lor, to take the place of the old iron ones. When the new ones were in place she polished them very brightly and asked him to look into the room. "Don't you think,' she said, 'they make the car- 148 A Few Bright Days. pet look old and worn?' They certainly did, so he bought a new carpet. That in turn made the furniture seem shabby, so he was persuaded to- renew that. By this time the curtains were not in harmony, and had to be changed. When it was all done he remarked: 'Wife, you said the fire-dogs would only cost me four dollars, but they have really cost me two hundred.' " "But we had the brass fire-dogs already," said Liddy laughing, "so the story doesn't hit me." Then, going to him and putting one arm around his neck and stroking his face with the other hand, she continued: "The trouble is, father, you have got me instead of new fire-dogs ; are you sorry?" "You must judge for yourself," was his an swer. "Is there anything else you wish?" "Yes, there are two other things I want," was her reply, still stroking him ; "I want to see you look happier, and feel happier, and I want some one to come back safe from the war." Life is at best but a succession of moods that, like a pendulum, ever vibrate between mirth and sadness. Circumstances will almost invariably 'force the vibrations to greater extremes, but just as surely will its opposite mood return. Though clouds darken to-day, the sun will shine to-mor- J49 Pocket Island. row ; and if sorrow comes, joy will follow ; while ever above the rippled shores of laughter floats the mist of tears. In some respects Liddy was a peculiar girl. While loving those near her with almost pathetic tenderness and constantly striving to show it, she shrank like a scared child from any public ex hibition of that feeling. She had another pecu liarity that might be called a whim she loved to try experiments upon her own feelings to see what effect they would have. It was this that had been the real cause of her desire to attend the military funeral that had taken place in Southton a few months previous. Since her mother's death Liddy had remained at home nearly all the time. She seldom went to the vil lage, because to do so awakened unpleasant mem ories. To drive past the now vacant academy or near the depot was to awaken unhappy thought and force her into a sad mood. The seclusion of her home seemed more in harmony with her feel ings. She had but few intimate friends, and even those jarred upon her now, and her father was the best, and the only one she cared to be with. One day in mid-summer, she surprised him with a strange request. "Father," she said, "I want to go fishing. I J50 A Few Bright Days. don't mean to tramp through the brush along a brook, but I want you to take me to some pretty pond where there are trees all around, and where I can sit in a boat on the shady side and fish. We will take a basket of lunch and have a nice time. If we cannot catch fish we can pick pond lilies. Will you go?" As there was nothing that loving father would not do for his only child, it is needless to say that the trip was made. When Liddy began to catch fish, and he no ticed how excited she became, he said, with quiet humor: "Which would you rather do, Liddy, put your fish in the boat or hang them up in the trees ? Tut, tut !" he continued, as he saw a deep shadow creep over her face, "you will have Char lie to bait your hook next summer, never fear !" That night she wrote to her soldier boy: "I coaxed father to take me fishing to-day. I wanted to see if it wouldn't bring me nearer to you or you to me. I came home in a sad mood, however, though I learned one thing, and that is wherein lies the fascination of fishing. It's the constant expectation of getting a bite that takes your mind away from all else." With the autumn evenings came the time for open fires, and Liddy had hard work to keep her J5J Pocket Island. spirits up. There were so many tender associa tions lurking in the firelight, and so much that brought back the past and gone hours of happi ness that it was painful instead of cheerful. Thanksgiving time and the holidays were days of sadness instead of joy. The long eighteen months of constant dread and suspense had worn upon her nerves and was slowly changing her from a light-hearted, happy girl to a saddened, waiting woman. The winter slowly dragged its weary length, and one evening, about a year from the time she had attended the military funeral, she broke down entirely. She had tried piano practice for a time and then reading, but neither availed to occupy her thoughts or drive away the gloom. Finally she sat down beside her father, who was reading, and said piteously: "Father, please talk to me ; tell me stories, scold me anything! I am so utterly wretched I am ready to cry!" "My child," he answered tenderly, stroking the fair head that was resting against his arm, "don't let your mind brood so much upon your own troubles ; try and think how many there are who have more to bear than you have." The delicate reproach, though not intended as such by him, was the last straw, for the next in- J52 A Few Bright Days. stant her head was down in his lap and she was sobbing like a child. When the little shower was over she raised her face and whispered : "Don't think it's all Charlie, father, or that I forget mother, or how much you have to bear; for I do not. It's all combined, and the silent room upstairs added to the dread, that is break ing my heart." When the day that marked the anniversary of her parting from Manson arrived she tried an other experiment upon herself. The promise she had made him that day seemed a sacred bond, and she resolved to go alone to Blue Hill and see how it would affect her. The day was almost identical to the one two years previous, and when, late in the afternoon, she arrived at the top, the spot seemed unchanged. The trees were thick with the same fresh foliage, the birds were there, and around the rock where they had sat grew the same blue violets. Under a tree was the little lattice table, just as they had left it. She sat down on the rock and tried to live over the thoughts and feelings of that day. They all came back, like so many spectres of a past and gone "happiness, and as, one by one, they filed by in thought, the utter silence and solitude of the place seemed to increase. The only sound was J53 Pocket Island. the faint whisper of the breeze in the hemlocks, and as she listened and looked into the shadow beyond where the trees grew thicker, a strange feeling of fear began to assail her heart and a new and horrible dread crept into her thoughts. She had not heard from the absent one for two weeks what if the dreaded fate had already come and he was at this very moment near her in spirit? And as all the horror of this thought forced itself upon her, she suddenly rose to her feet, and almost running, left the spot. When she arrived home and looked into her mirror she saw a strange expression on her face and her lips were pale. "I could not go there again," she said to herself; "I should go mad if I did." During the next few weeks the dread seemed to grow upon her day by day. She did not dare tell her father of her trip to Blue Hill, but he noticed that she was getting thin and that her eyes were growing hollow. Then came the news of the battle of Peach Creek and that Company E were engaged in it ; but no names of the killed or wounded, if any, reached her, and no letter from Manson. Each day her father drove to the village and he was always met at the gate upon his return by J54 A Few Bright Days. a sad-faced girl whose blue eyes wore a look of piteous appeal. He tried to comfort her all he could; but it did no good. She could not talk; she could sarcely eat or sleep, but went about her daily work as if in a trance. Occasionally in the evening she would give way to tears, and for three weeks she existed in a state of wretched ness no pen can describe. Then one evening her father handed her a letter in a strange handwrit ing and turned his face away, for he knew its contents. "Tell me the worst, father," she almost screamed, "tell me quick ; is he alive ?" "Yes, my child," he answered sadjy, "but we must go to him to-morrow. He is in the hospital at Washington and very low." J55 Pocket Island. CHAPTER XIX. AMONG THE WOUNDED. AT nearly noon the day after the battle of Peach Creek the searchers for wounded came upon Manson, still alive, but delirious. Of that ghastly battlefield, or the long agony of that wounded boy, I hesitate to speak. No pen can describe, either, and to even faintly portray them is but to add gloom to a narrative already re plete with it. The twenty-four hours of his in describable pain and torturing thirst were only broken by a few hours of merciful delirium, when he was once more a boy and living his simple, care-free life on the farm, or happy with Liddy. When found he knew it not. When examined by a surgeon that stern man shook his head and remarked : "Slim chance for you, poor devil-'*- too much blood gone already !" For two weeks he was delirious most of the time, but his rugged constitution saved him, and when he showed signs of gaining and could be Among the Wounded. moved, he was taken to the hospital at Washing ton. Once there, he began to fail again, for the long journey had been too much for him. "He won't last long," said the doctor in charge to the nurse. "Better ask him if there is any one he wishes to see." When he made his rounds the next morning Manson was worse and again out of his head- "He has been wandering in his mind all night," was the nurse's report, "and he talks about fish ing and catching things in traps, and there is a girl mixed in it all. Case of sweetheart, I guess." That day the wounded boy rallied a little and began to think, and bit by bit the sane hours of the past few weeks came back to him. How near to the shores of eternal silence his bark had drifted, he little knew ! The long hours of agony on the battlefield since the moment he had in stinctively crawled behind a rock had been a de lirium of despair broken only by visions of vague and shadowy import that he could not grasp. All that he thought was that death must soon end his misery, and he hoped it might come soon. At times he had bitten and torn the sleeves of his coat, soaked with blood from his shattered arm, or beaten his head against the dry earth in his agony. J57 Pocket Island. How long it had lasted he could not tell, and the last that he remembered was looking at the moon, and then he seemed to be drifting away and all pain ceased. Then all around him he could hear voices and over his head a roof, and he felt as if awakened from some horrible dream. With his well arm he felt of the other and found it was bound with splints. The faces he could see were all strange, but the men wore the fa miliar blue uniform, and he knew they were not enemies. He was carried to a freight-car and laid in it, where he took a long, jolting ride that was all a torture, at the end of which he was taken in an open wagon to a long, low building, and laid on one of many narrow cots which were ranged in double rows. He could not raise his head or turn his body. He could only rest utterly helpless and inert, and indifferent to either life or death. Of Lidd> he thought many times, and of his mother and father as well, and he wondered what they would say and how they would feel when the tidings reached them. Then a kind- faced woman came and lifted his head and held it while he took medicine or sipped broth, and then he was wandering beside a brook again, or in green meadows. Later he could see the white J58 Among the Wounded. cots all about and the uncalled roof over his head and the same motherly face, and he was asked who his friends were and whom he would like to send for, and from that time on he began to hope. Would the one human being on earth he cared most to see come so far, and could she it she would ? And would life still be left in him when she reached his side ; or would he have been car ried out of the long, low room, dead, as he had seen others carried? He wondered what she would say or do when she came, and oh! if he could only know wliether she was coming! He could see the door at one corner of the room where she must enter, and it was a little com-; fort to look at that. Then a resolution and a feeling that he must live and be there when she came began to grow upon him. He knew four days had passed since she had been sent for and he could now count the hours, and from that time on his eyes were seldom turned av/ay from that door while he was awake. Did ever hours pass more slowly than those? Could it be possible? I think not. He had no means of knowing the time except to ask the nurse, and when night came he knew that sleep might bridge a few hours more speedily. J59 Pocket Island. Six days passed, and then in the gray light of the next morning he opened his weary waiting eyes and saw bending over him the fair face that for two long years, and all through his hopeless agony he had longed for, and as he reached his hand to her in mute gratitude, unable to speak, he felt it clasped, and the next instant she was on her knees beside him and pressing a tear-wet face upon it, and he was listening to the first prayer she ever uttered! Gone now like a flash of light were all those weary months of heart-hunger! Gone all the agony and despair of that day and night on the battlefield ! Gone all the hours of pain through which he counted the moments one by one as he watched the door! No more was he lying upon a narrow cot listening to the moans of the wound ed as he saw the dead carried out! Instead was he resting on a bed of violets and listening to the heart throbs of thankfulness and supplication murmured by an angel ! And if ever a prayer reached the heavenly throne it was that one! When it was finished, and her loving blue eyes were looking into his, he whispered : "Liddy, God bless you ! Now i shall live." Such is the power of love ! 1 feel that here and now I must beg the kind UQ Among the Wounded. reader's pardon for introducing so much that is painful and r ad in the lives of these two, fitted by birth and education for peace and simple home happiness. War and all its horrors is not akin to them and was never meant to be. Rather should their footsteps lead them where the bobolink sin2fs -is he circles over a green meadow, and the blue w?ter lilies stoop to kiss the brook that rip ples through it ; or where the fields of grain bend and billow in the summer breeze ; or the old mill- wheel splashes, while the white flowers in the pond above smile in the sunlight. If the patient reader will but follow their lives a little further, only peace and happiness and all the gentle voices of nature shall be their companions. For a month, while cheered by the presence of her devoted father, Lidcy nursed that feeble spark of life back to health and strength as only a tender and heroic woman could. All the dread aftermath of war that daily assailed her every sense, did not make her falter, but through all those scenes of misery and death she bravely stood by her post and her love-imposed duty. How hard a task it was, no one unaccustomed to such surroundings can even faintly realize, and it need not be dwelt upon. When she had ful filled the most God-like mission ever confided to Pocket Island.- woman's hands that of caring tor the sick and dying and when returning strength made it possible to remove her charge, those three de voted ones returned to the hills of old New Eng land. How fair the peaceful valley of Southton seemed once more, and how clear and distinct the Blue Hills were outlined in the pure September air! The trees were just gaining the annual glory of autumn color; but to Liddy they brought no tinge of melancholy, for her heart was full of sweetest joy. She had saved the one life dearest on earth to her, and now the voices of nature were but sounds of heavenly music. And how dear to her was her home once more, and all about it! The brook that rippled near sounded like the low tinkle of sweet bells, and the maple by the gate whispered once again the tender thoughts of the love that had first come to her beneath them. She was like a child in her hap piness, and every thought and every impulse was touched by the mystic, magic wand of love. Few ever know the supreme joy that came to her and none can except they walk with bleeding hearts and weary feet through the valley of despair, bearing the burden of a loved one's life. The first evening she was alone with her father, J62 Among the Wounded. she came as a child would, to sit upon his knee, and putting her arms around his neck whispered : "Father, I never knew until now what' it means to be happy, and how good and kind you could be to me, and how little it is in my power to pay it all back. I can only love and care for you as long as I live, or as long as God spares your life." And be it said, she kept her promise. J63 Pocket Island. CHAPTER XX. PLANS FOR HAPPINESS. APPOMATTOX and a glorious ending of the most sanguinary war in the history of the nineteenth century had come, and with it a few changes in Southton. Only a part of that brave E Company that three years before marched so proudly away to fight for the Union ever returned, and of those the greater number bore the scars of war and dis ease. Very many sorrowing women and children were scattered through the town, whose hearts were sore with wounds that only time could heal, and the empty sleeve and the vacant chair were sad reminders on all sides. The Rev. Jotham still extended his time-worn orthodox arguments to a wearisome length, usually concluding them with more or less varied and vivid pictures of the doom in store for those who failed at once to repent and believe; but strange to say the sinners who were moved by his eloquence were few and far between. It was known that he was not in sympathy with the J64 Plans for Happiness. great majority of the North, or the principles upon which the war had been fought, but be lieved in the right of secession, and that the North was wrong in its political position. Had he kept these opinions to himself it would have been far wiser; but he made the mistake of giv ing utterance to them at a Memorial Diiy service held in his church, which expression was so ob noxious to the most of his audience and such a direct reflection upon the brave men from the town who had shed their blood for their country that one of the leading men of Southton arose at the close of Rev. Jotham's remarks and there and then rebuked him. The affair created quite a dis turbance in public feeling and was perhaps one of the indirect causes that eventually led to a divi sion of his church and to the formation of a sepa rate society in another part of the town. A new principal had assumed charge of the academy, the trustees having decided for several reasons that a change would be beneficial. Mr. Webber, who had ruled there for several years, industriously circulated a report that by reason of several very flattering offers to engage in mer cantile pursuits, as well as failing health, he had decided to resign. As his voice, and the apparent desire to use it upon any and all possible occa- Pocket Island. sions, showed no cessation of energy, a few skep tical ones were inclined to doubt that his health was seriously affected, and as it was over a year before he accepted any of the flattering offers, they believed he must have had hard work to find them. For the rest the town resumed the old- time even tenor of its way, though there had been added to its annals heroic history, and to its cal endar one day of annual mourning. Aunt Sally Hart said that "Liddy Camp had showed mighty good grit and that young Manson ought t<3 feel purty proud of her," which expres sion seemed to reflect the general sentiment. When the autumn days and returning health came to Manson, sunshine seemed to once more smile upon the lives of our two young friends, and how happy they were during the all too short evenings spent together in Liddy's newly fur nished parlor, need not be described. It was no longer a courtship, but rather a loving discussion of future plans in life, for each felt bound by an obligation stronger even than love, and how many charming air castles they built out of the fire light flashes shall not be told. In a way, Liddy "was a heroine among the little circle of her schoolmates and friends, and deserved to be, for few there were among them who could have 166 Plans for Happiness. found the strength to have faced the ghastly scenes she had, from a sense of duty. "I do not care to talk about it," she said once to one of those who had been near her in the old days at the academy ; "it all came so suddenly I did not stop to think, and if I had it would have made no difference. I did not think of myself at all, or what I was to meet. How horrible i^ was to be thrust among hundreds of wounded and dying men; to hear what I had to, and see what I did, I cannot describe and do not wish to. Under the same circumstances," she added quiet ly, ''I should face that awful experience over again if necessary." Life and all its plans practically resolve them selves into a question of income finally, and no matter how well aimed Cupid's darts may be, the almighty dollar and the ability to obtain posses sion of it, is of greater weight in the scale than all the arrows the boy-god ever carried. Even as an academy boy Manson had realized this; faintly at first, and yet with growing force, as his attachment for Liddy increased. With a cer tain pride in character he had resolved to with hold any declaration of love until he had at least a settled occupation in life; but when it came to going to war and parting, perhaps forever, from J67 Pocket Island. the girl he loved, to longer remain silent was to control himself beyond his strength. Now that she had shown how much his life meant to her by an act of devotion and self-sacrifice so unusual, his ambition to obtain a home that he could in vite her to share, returned with redoubled force. What to do, or where to turn, he did not know. He was not even recuperated from the terrible ordeal that had so nearly cost him his life; but for all that his ambition was spurring him on ward far in advance of his strength. One even ing late that autumn, when he found himself un expectedly alone with Mr. Camp, he said: "I have for some time wished to express to you my hopes and ask your advice regarding my future plans. First, I want to ask you for Liddy, and beyond that, what I had best turn to to ob tain a livelihood. I want Liddy, and I want a home to keep her in." Mr. Camp looked at him a moment, while a droll smile crept into his face, and then replied : "I am willing you should have Liddy, of course. I wouldn't have taken her to that hos pital to try to save your life if I hadn't believed you worthy of her ; but beyond that I don't think I have much to say in the matter anyway. I couldn't keep you apart if I would, and I (68 Plans For Happiness. wouldn't if I could." And then he added a lit tle more seriously : "She is all I have left in my life, and whatever p'.ans you two make, I h^pe you will consider that." Manson was silent. The perfect confidence and simple pathos of Mr. Camp's statement came to him forcibly, and made him realize how much he was asking. He meditated a few moments, and then said: "I feel that I am asking for more than I de serve, and that I owe you far more than I can ever repay, but believe me, I shall do all in my power." "We won't worry about that now," replied Mr. Camp, smiling again ; "wait till your arm is well, and then we will talk it all over. In the mean time" and a twinkle came into his eyes "you have one well arm, and I guess that's all Liddy needs just at present." The autumn and winter evenings sped by on wings of wind to Liddy and her lover, for all the sweet illusions of life were theirs. Occasionally they called on some of their old schoolmates, or were invited to social gatherings, and how proud she was of her manly escort, and he of the fair girl he felt was all his own, need not be told. 169 Pocket Island. One day in the spring Mr. Camp said to Man- son: "How would you like to be a farmer?" "I have no objections," he replied ; "my father is one, and there is no reason why I should be ashamed of it. It means hard work, but I am used to that. I am ready and willing to do any thing to earn an honest living." Mr. Camp looked at him for a moment reflect ively, and then said : "That has the right ring in it, my boy," and after thinking a little longer added : "I'll tell you what I'll do. Charles, if you can get Liddy to set the day I will give her a deed of the house and you a deed of the farm, provided you two will take care of me. That's fair, isn't it?" Then he added, with a smile, "I guess you can coax her consent if you try hard." The proposition was so unexpected and sur prising that for a moment Manson could not speak, and then, when it all came to him, and he saw the door of his dream of happiness opened wide by such an offer, the tears almost started For one instant he was in danger of yielding, but he recovered himself. "No mere words can possibly express my grat itude, sir," he replied, "but I could not accept so much. All I ask for, and all I will accept is J70 Plans For Happinsss. Liddy, and that is enough. To let you give me your farm would make me feel that I was rob bing you. I could not do it, sir." And then, as he saw a look of pain come into his would-be benefactor's face, he continued: "Now, I will tell you what I am willing, and should be more than glad to do. Let Liddy and me keep house for you, and I will manage the farm, under your direction. That is enough, and all I can accept." "I respect your feeling of independence," re plied Mr. Camp, a little sadly, "but it won't work. A young man, to be content, must feel that he has a home that is, or soon will be, all his own. I do not want to put a burden on your feelings, but I want to make both you and my child happy, and" with a little tremor in his voice "I've only got Liddy to care for me in my old age, and it's hard to give her up. Can't you believe what I offer is wisest and best? Would it make you feel any better to give me a note and pay it when you chose? I would never ask you for it." That evening when the lovers sat under the freshly leaved maples, he told her what her father had offered. "I've known it for some time," she said, "and I feared you would feel hurt and refuse it, and Pocket Island. hurt father, and I hope you did not. Put yourself in father's place," she continued seriously, "aud tell me how you would feel. Remember that I am all he has to love and care for him, and he is very dear to me. He would not hurt you for the world, and what he thinks is the best way I be lieve is the best." "I will think it over," was Manson's comment. "It's so sudden and overwhelming I do not kno