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 "Myra Mr. Broakley Mr. Broakley, my daughter Myra"
 
 A KNIGHT 
 HOMESPUN 
 
 BY JOHN CHARLES SPOTH 
 
 THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 
 
 1909
 
 PS 
 3537 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1909 
 
 BY 
 
 THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING Co. 
 
 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 
 
 u. s. A. 
 
 All Rights Reserved
 
 IN LOSING MEMORY OF 
 Mr BROTHER EDWARD
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Winding Up ...... i 
 
 Tick I 4 
 
 Tick II 12 
 
 Tick III 17 
 
 Tick IV 25 
 
 Tick V 33 
 
 Tick VI 40 
 
 Tick VII 48 
 
 Tick VIII 54 
 
 Tick IX 61 
 
 Tick X 68 
 
 Tick XI 76 
 
 Tick XII 83 
 
 Tick XIII 91 
 
 Tick XIV 100 
 
 Tick XV 108 
 
 Tick XVI 117 
 
 Tick XVII 126 
 
 Tick XVIII 135 
 
 Tick XIX ...... 145 
 
 Tick XX 155
 
 Page 
 
 Tick XXI 167 
 
 Tick XXII 178 
 
 Tick XXIII 188 
 
 Tick XXIV 198 
 
 Tick XXV 208 
 
 Tick XXVI 219 
 
 Tick XXVII 229 
 
 Tick XXVIII 241 
 
 Tick XXIX 253 
 
 Tick XXX 264 
 
 Tick XXXI 275 
 
 Tick XXXII 286 
 
 Tick XXXIII 296 
 
 Tick XXXIV 308 
 
 Running Down . . . . .321
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Myra Mr. Broakley Mr. Broakley, my 
 
 daughter Myra" . . Frontispiece 
 
 Page 
 
 "My name is James Carbon. I am looking 
 
 for work on a farm " ... 5 
 
 and fall a limp mass at your feet and 
 
 beside that of her Richard . . 53 
 
 Carbon drew himself erect, as if he would 
 
 check any possible weakness . 115 
 
 Myra gave a start, as if her heart had been 
 
 pierced by an arrow . . .188 
 
 " Pardon me, Madame, but did you drop 
 
 your handkerchief?" . . . 263 
 
 " Merciful God ! Can this be true, or am I 
 
 dreaming ? " . . . . 295 
 
 Jim and Myra, arm in arm, like lovers, 
 
 walked in the cool of the evening , 313
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 WINDING UP 
 
 IT SEEMS odd, doesn't it, to you, dear reader, 
 to begin reading a book starting with the winding 
 up ? But, then, you must remember that I am 
 the family clock, and that did I not begin with 
 the winding up, there would be no tale told. 
 
 Yes, I am the old family clock. I recall very 
 well the first time I was set up in the wide hallway 
 of the old family homestead of the Boosch family 
 Dr. Henry Boosch of the original pioneers of 
 that name who settled in Monroe County, Pennsyl 
 vania, in the early fifties. My, how they all 
 stood around me and watched my hands move 
 and my pendulum swing away the fleeting mo 
 ments! What an innovation I was in the old 
 homestead that had known naught but the sun 
 dial and the marks on the porch uprights to 
 indicate the hours of the day when the sun shone. 
 And when the days were dark and gloomy, what 
 cared any one for these old, time-honored methods 
 of telling time, when they could look at my new,
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 shining face, with the hours and minutes marked 
 off by figures made of gold. 
 
 My! My! but that was long ago! And what 
 changes I have seen since then! What joy and 
 sadness, recurring with each birth and death 
 within the domain of that sanctified hall, have 
 I seen! How the memories arise of the joyous 
 faces that gazed upon me on the announcement 
 of a new arrival in the household of the Boosches; 
 and, again, how well I remember the subdued 
 tones and the half-audible sobs when I was looked 
 upon for the hour of the departure of the cold, 
 immortal clay that was never again to look upon 
 my face. 
 
 And the weddings that I have seen! Mary 
 and John, Jennie and Joseph, Kate and William, 
 Laura and the good, kind, old doctor, whose 
 every thought was for the unfortunate and who 
 forgot his own world-troubles in the desire to 
 alleviate the sufferings of the unfortunate pioneers 
 of those days when the tilling of the soil and 
 the hewing of the forests were accomplished only 
 by dint of the hardest work. 
 
 And, my! How I have followed the fortunes 
 of the Boosch family from the time I was installed 
 in the hallway up to the time I was relegated 
 to the spare room in the attic of the new domicile 
 in the town of East Stroudsburg, where my poor
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 old, worn-out body was replaced by a more modern, 
 up-to-date clock, which did not repose in the hall 
 way as I did of yore, but was awarded the place 
 of honor on the parlor mantel. Ah, well! I am 
 still able to tick off the moments, up here in the 
 attic, with the spirits of those who have gone 
 before, and now, before I am taken away, to 
 God only knows where, I shall tick off the story 
 of one of the best men that ever trod the roads 
 and crossroads of this country plain Jim Carbon, 
 we used to call him, but now Mister James Car 
 bon, if you please. And so, being only a plain, 
 old-fashioned family clock, I shall tick off my 
 story in my own plain, old-fashioned way.
 
 TICK THE FIRST 
 
 How well I remember the day when Jim 
 Carbon came to the old homestead of the Boosches, 
 looking for work. Plain, scrawny, with big 
 knobs of knuckles, he was the personification of 
 what you would call a hard-working boy or 
 man, rather, for he had just passed the age of 
 twenty-one. And what a pleasant face he had. 
 With his bundle on his back, suspended from a 
 stick slung across his shoulder, he timidly knocked 
 at the door and inquired if the man of the house 
 was in. Mary, the girl of all work, answered 
 the summons, and, surveying Jim with a critical 
 eye, although tramps were unknown hereabouts 
 in those days, concluded that he might step into 
 the hallway but no further. 
 
 "Doctor," she called up the stairway, "here 
 is some person wants to see the man of the house." 
 
 Slowly and with the tread of a man who was 
 approaching the sere of life, the doctor came 
 down the stairs, his clean-shaven face benignant 
 and radiant. 
 
 "Well, young man," he said in his usual kindly 
 way he never was any different to any one,
 
 "My name is James Carbon. I am looking for work on a farm"
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 whether poor or rich, honest or dishonest 
 "what can I do for you ?" 
 
 The young man, timidly turning his hat around 
 several times, looked the good doctor in the face 
 with those big brown eyes I learned to know 
 so well, and in a voice that was a little tremulous 
 for a man, said: 
 
 "My name is James Carbon. I am looking 
 for work on a farm. I have been brought up to 
 it never knew anything else." 
 
 Here he apologetically exhibited his big hardened 
 hands to the doctor, who asked him: 
 
 "And where do you come from, pray, and 
 why are you wandering around at this time of 
 year ?" 
 
 "My story is a short one," said Carbon. "I 
 was born in the little town of Egg Harbor, in 
 the state of New Jersey, and had lived there ever 
 since. But the home which I had known all my 
 life was broken up when my father and mother 
 were both taken ill and died from pneumonia. 
 They had worked hard for many years and had 
 almost cleared the farm of the mortgage. After 
 the funeral they had both been buried on the 
 same day I left the old home, never wishing to 
 see it again. Aye, I could not even bear to remain 
 in the same town. I told a lawyer to sell the place, 
 put the money in bank to my credit, packed up
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 a few things, and have wandered about ever 
 since, looking for a new home. I have no recom 
 mendation, never having worked for any one but 
 my father, and that seems to be against me. 
 If you want to, sir, you can write to my lawyer. 
 He has known me from babyhood. His name 
 is" 
 
 "Never mind his name," said the doctor; 
 "writing does not make a man's character. I 
 think I am a pretty good judge of human nature, 
 and your face is the only recommendation I want. 
 I have need for a strong young fellow like you, 
 and if you want hard work for little money you 
 can make yourself at home here as long as you 
 want to." 
 
 " I am not afraid of work, sir," said Jim. " I 
 have been used to that since I was eleven years 
 of age." 
 
 "Very well, then, young man, you can take 
 your 'duds' upstairs, and when you are ready 
 you can sit down and have a good meal. I like 
 your face, and I am sure we will get along very 
 well together." 
 
 "I thank you, sir," said Jim, with a sign of 
 a tear in his eye. "I shall try to be worthy of 
 your confidence in me. You shall never regret 
 your kind words to me the first I have had since 
 my parents' death." 
 
 6
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Mary," called the doctor, "show this young 
 man the spare room in the attic, and when he 
 comes down see that he gets a good, warm meal 
 as soon as you can get it ready." 
 
 And that is how Jim Carbon was installed 
 in the homestead of the Boosch family and became 
 identified with the characters in the story I am 
 now ticking off. 
 
 Mary ushered Jim up to a neat, cozy room in 
 the attic not a storeroom, by any means, let 
 me tell you, but a tastily arranged room such 
 a one as many a man in the crowded cities would 
 envy. The old-fashioned iron bedstead looked 
 as clean and comfortable as a tired man could 
 wish, the little homely washstand was immaculately 
 white, and on the walls hung pictures chromos, 
 it is true, but of such human interest subjects 
 that they appealed to the eye which knew not the 
 value of pictures as measured by dollars and cents. 
 
 "This is a pretty comfortable room, Mr. er?" 
 remarked Mary. 
 
 "Carbon," said Jim. "James Carbon is my 
 name." 
 
 And he bowed with a grace becoming a chevalier. 
 
 "I hope you will like your home here, Mr. 
 Carbon," continued Mary, returning with a 
 curtsey the bow. "You will find the doctor 
 a very good, kind, Christian man, and Mrs.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Boosch you will find to be as good, kind, and 
 Christian a woman. Miss Boosch is one of the 
 sweetest young ladies I have ever met in my 
 life one cannot help but love her, and I envy 
 Mr. Broakley the prize he will soon win." 
 
 "You make me feel quite interested, Miss " 
 
 "Mary Lash is my name, Mr. Carbon." 
 
 "You make me feel quite interested in the 
 family, Miss Lash. I hope we shall be good 
 friends." 
 
 He extended his hard, knobby hand, which 
 was taken with dainty grace by Mary, who said 
 in a voice that was not lacking in sweetness: 
 
 "I am sure that we shall be. There is some 
 thing about the environment of this house that 
 seems to make all well disposed toward one an 
 other. If you will be down in ten minutes, Mr. 
 Carbon, you will find a good meal ready for you 
 in the kitchen." 
 
 "I thank you ever so much," said Jim, with a 
 tremulous voice; "it seems so good to me to hear 
 a voice of welcome after my weary wandering, 
 and I shall certainly do what I can to repay those 
 who have given me this welcome." 
 
 When Mary left the room Jim sat down on 
 the plain wooden chair for a moment, and with 
 his head between his hands offered up a prayer 
 to the Almighty that He might bless his days 
 
 8
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and the days of all in the homestead in which 
 he hoped to make his home for many years to 
 come. He was a Christian, God-fearing man, 
 and never failed to speak with his Maker in the 
 crucial periods of his life. 
 
 When he had "fixed himself up a bit" he 
 descended the stairs to the kitchen. And what 
 a kitchen that was! Why should a man no 
 matter what station in life he occupied ever 
 want to eat in any other place than in such 
 a kitchen ? How everything shone and glinted 
 in the rays of the setting sun as they gleamed 
 through the windows not one or two but three 
 of them which fronted the western portion of 
 the room. And there were more windows, too, 
 on the other sides of the room. And each seemed 
 to give a kaleidoscopic view of well-tilled fields, 
 variegated by the various crops now in the fullness 
 of harvest, well-kept fences and model outhouses, 
 with the neighboring farmhouses silhouetted against 
 the rays of the setting sun. What a picture it was 
 one that emblazoned itself in the memory of 
 Jim many, many times in the years that fate had 
 decreed he should spend away from that scene. 
 
 And when he had finished his meal Mary told 
 him that the doctor wished to see him and make 
 him acquainted with the family. He was ushered 
 into the "back parlor," and there he was intro-
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 duced to Mrs. Boosch. What a resemblance 
 there was to his sainted mother so much so 
 that he should have loved to imprint a kiss upon 
 her lips and call in the old-time way, "Mother!" 
 A tear stole down his cheek as he said, in response 
 to the introduction: 
 
 "Mrs. Boosch, I feel honored in being per 
 mitted to be one of your household, no matter 
 in what humble capacity." 
 
 And then he was introduced to Arthur Boosch, 
 the young gentleman of the family, who shook 
 hands with him as heartily as if he were a long- 
 lost brother. 
 
 "And now, Mr. Carbon or Jim, as I will 
 have to call you hereafter, I suppose I want to 
 introduce you to the last, but not least, of my 
 family, Miss Myra. Myra, this is James Carbon, 
 who is going to join our household for, let us hope, 
 many years to come." 
 
 "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Carbon. I 
 wish you many years of happiness in your new 
 home." 
 
 Jim looked up and saw as lovely a vision of 
 feminine beauty and grace of figure as any artist 
 could hope to behold in his most inspired moments. 
 
 What a lovable face, what queenly grace as 
 she extended her dimpled little hand not in a 
 cold, formal way, but with a "womanly manly/' 
 
 10
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 if I may be permitted to use the expression, 
 grasp that meant earnestness, sincerity, and 
 honesty of greeting. 
 
 "Miss Boosch," he said, his face becoming 
 almost scarlet as the warmth of each response 
 to the introduction sent the blood coursing through 
 his veins, "I thank you; I thank you all. I have 
 known a happy home like this, and I assure you 
 that my prayers each night will be that God will 
 bless this household and reward you all for the 
 kind words you have said to one who has been a 
 wanderer because he could not bear " 
 
 Here Jim broke down completely, and sobbing 
 like a child, unceremoniously left the room. 
 
 "Mother," said Dr. Boosch to his wife, who was 
 surreptitiously engaged in wiping the furrows 
 under her eyes, " I think that young man is a good 
 young man." 
 
 What a voluminous expression was conveyed 
 in those few words, coming from such a man as 
 Dr. Boosch! 
 
 II
 
 TICK THE SECOND 
 
 I HAVE transgressed in speaking of the beauty 
 and grace of Myra Boosch. But I could not 
 resist. The memory, as I am ticking off this tale, 
 of her sweet face gazing upon me as she looked for 
 the appointed hour when he HE, mind you, 
 for in a girl's life there is only one HE was to come, 
 was too inspiriting to resist. But I will have to 
 begin at the very beginning to describe the early 
 days of one so good, so true, so trusting, that 
 her future life hung as on a thread owing to that 
 very trusting good heart of hers. 
 
 One beautiful spring morning, as I was droning, 
 as you might say, the early hours away, the good 
 doctor came into the hallway and looked up at 
 my face, saying, in a confidential sort of a way 
 mind you, to me! "Clock, tell me, will it be a 
 boy or a girl ? You know, dear old clock, that 
 what I wish, above all, is a daughter to grace my 
 household one who might have her mother's 
 beautiful face, her mother's lovable heart, one 
 who could personify in her offspring a reflection of 
 her whom I have loved all these years, and who, 
 in all my trials and tribulations, has been the one 
 
 12
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 upon whom I have leaned most heavily. Tell 
 me, good clock," he further philosophized, "tell 
 me, I beseech you, are my prayers to be heard ?" 
 
 And what could I say, do you imagine, being 
 only a family clock, set out in the hallway ostensibly 
 to indicate the time of day and night, too, for 
 that matter ? 
 
 But, then, all things come out right in the end, 
 and, sure enough, as the sun was going down in 
 a golden blaze of glory, the good doctor, with 
 beaming, smiling face, looked up at me and said: 
 
 "Well, Mr. Clock, you have had your wish" 
 as if it had been my wish instead of his "it 
 is a daughter." 
 
 And how radiant was his face as it beamed 
 on me! What a wonder that he did not shake 
 hands with me! Little did he think, then, of 
 the troubled waters that her ship of life was to 
 encounter. But why should he think of aught, 
 now, but of the blessing bestowed upon him 
 of his wish gratified ? A daughter! How often 
 he repeated, in his melodious voice, to me, "Well, 
 Mr. Clock, we have in this house, now, a daughter. 
 Miss Boosch! How does that sound to you 
 eh, Mr. Clock ?" 
 
 And then he chuckled to himself and paced 
 up and down the hallway a dozen times, as if 
 unable to still the emotions that were welling up 
 
 '3
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 in his heart. And how many times he went into 
 the room where mother and child were, and 
 finally brought the infant in his arms to introduce 
 her to me. I verily believe that he loved me as 
 one of the family. He held up before me the 
 prettiest, chubbiest, cutest mite of a baby that it 
 was ever the pleasure of a human being much 
 less of a poor, old-fashioned family clock like me 
 to behold. I could almost imagine how foolish 
 of me, don't you think ? that the precious burden 
 he was holding in his arms was counting the 
 minutes I was ticking off. It was a silly notion 
 of mine, I am sure, but I really believed it at the 
 time. 
 
 How I watched that baby grow! My, how the 
 time slipped by! It seems almost incredible 
 to me that in so short a time she could have grown 
 from the tiny baby she was into a girl "crawling 
 unwilling to school." How well I remember her, 
 as with "shining morning face" she looked up 
 at me, with her schoolbag thrown over her shoul 
 ders, her hands encased in the mittens that her 
 mother had knitted, as if such things could not be 
 bought at the store just as good as those she made. 
 
 And then, year by year, I watched her blossom 
 into that period of life when a girl thinks she no 
 longer is a girl, but wants every one to know that 
 she has passed to womanhood and is not to be 
 
 4
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 addressed by her given name unless it is prefixed 
 by "Miss." 
 
 Can I ever forget the party that her father and 
 mother gave her in honor of her eighteenth birth 
 day ? No, not if I am dismembered and sent 
 away, piece by piece, shall I ever forget that merry 
 party. What a vision of loveliness she was! 
 And I was not the only one who thought so, I can 
 tell you. There was many a young man envied 
 me, you may believe, when she came out into the 
 hall and placed her arms around me in that 
 affectionate way of hers, and wished that he, too, 
 could be the old family clock and feel those arms 
 around him. I honestly believe that she loved 
 me from the day that her father brought her from 
 the maternal room and introduced me to her. 
 And when she came near me, it is a wonder that 
 I did not tick faster and run far ahead of time, 
 for I, too, loved her as only an old family clock 
 can learn to love those whom destiny has decreed 
 should cross the threshold of the home where it 
 is placed. 
 
 Did it ever occur to you, dear reader, reading 
 the ticking off of this tale, what a symphony of 
 griefs and sorrows, of joys and pleasures, passes 
 before an old family clock ? Have you ever 
 looked upon the clock on your mantel shelf and 
 soliloquized :
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Well, old clock, we have seen days of happiness 
 and care together, haven't we ?" 
 
 Only to have the clock repeat the refrain, 
 "We have, haven't we ? We have, haven't we ?" 
 
 In the stillness of night, when all is quiet about 
 the house, when your thoughts are engrossed in 
 the past, listen for a few minutes to the clock 
 and see if the refrain is not "We have, haven't 
 we ?" just as the threnody of the katydid is 
 "Katydid, Katy didn't." 
 
 And haven't you thought, dear reader, how 
 the old family clock has been a mute witness to 
 your silly family quarrels, when you magnified 
 them and thought that life was not worth the 
 living, only to feel in the morning, after the dis 
 passionate sleep and rest of the night, that you 
 had been hasty, and that the imprinted kiss 
 of forgiveness and beg-to-be-forgiven-ness was 
 sweeter far than the betrothal kiss? Ah, yes! 
 I cannot refrain from being a little bit egotistical 
 and reminding you that the ticking of the clock 
 is as the pulsating beats of the human heart. 
 We have our stories of life and death, of sorrow 
 and joy, just as your heartbeats are ticking away 
 the seconds, minutes, and hours of your life, 
 with its joys and sorrows. 
 
 But I am becoming selfish in my recital of my 
 affinity to humanity, and will stop and lead on to: 
 
 16
 
 TICK THE THIRD 
 
 ON THAT memorable to others, as well as 
 to me birthday party of Miss Myra Boosch there 
 was one in the gay throng of guests ushered into 
 the presence of the hosts, who had never before 
 crossed the threshold of the homestead, and yet 
 seemed to be well known to those present. 
 
 This person was Richard Broakley. I am 
 able, in my homely way, to describe a lovely 
 woman, but who can describe a handsome 
 man more than to say that he was handsome ? 
 Can you go into rhapsodies about his hair, his 
 beautiful figure, his grace of movement, his 
 silver-toned voice ? I should say that I cannot. 
 I can only give one description that is, as I 
 have said, that he was a handsome man, with an 
 open, frank manner that would win its way into 
 the heart of any girl far less susceptible than Miss 
 Myra Boosch now eighteen years of age, if you 
 please, and no longer "little Myra." 
 
 It was one of those fatal moments in a girl's 
 career, that moment when her father took hold 
 of the young man's arm and, leading him over 
 to his daughter, who was flushed with the excite- 
 
 17
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 ment of the numerous introductions and the 
 voices of flattery, presented him. 
 
 " My dear Myra, this is Mr. Richard Broakley, 
 the son of our neighbors, who has just returned 
 for a vacation from college. Myra, Mr. Broakley 
 Mr. Broakley, my daughter Myra." 
 
 She gave one look into the frank, open counten 
 ance of Richard Broakley, and the "God that 
 disposes while man proposes" had done His work. 
 
 "Mr. Broakley," she said, warmly, extending 
 her hand, "I am glad to meet you particularly 
 on this evening, which means so much to me. 
 I am glad for the reason that you, being a colle 
 giate man, can assist me in my researches in 
 
 "Let us not speak of scientific matters now, 
 Miss Boosch," said Richard Broakley; "we shall 
 have plenty of opportunity, I hope, in the future, 
 to discuss those matters. Let us only remember 
 that this day commemorates the blossoming into 
 womanhood of the most lovely person it has ever 
 been my fortune to " 
 
 "Mr. Broakley!" ejaculated Myra, her face 
 aflush, "you certainly have acquired in college 
 the gift of conveying orally unmerited " 
 
 "My dear Miss Boosch, say not unmerited. 
 To me, merit wins, and were it not for merit I 
 would not for a moment think of awarding the 
 merit medal to one who " 
 
 18
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Mr. Broakley," interrupted Myra, blushing, 
 " I think you are a flatterer, not a good critic." 
 
 "Well, so be it," laughingly answered Broakley. 
 
 And then Myra was swallowed up in a labyrinth 
 of couples young and old who had compelled 
 recognition. 
 
 Now, I must tick off a few words about Richard 
 Broakley. I had known the Broakley family 
 ever since I was installed in the Boosch homestead. 
 The senior Broakleys were wont to drop in of an 
 evening to have a chat, and perchance a game of 
 that innocent amusement, dominoes. 
 
 Three years before Myra was born the household 
 of the Broakleys had been blessed by the arrival 
 of a boy Richard, the first and only child of that 
 worthy pair. 
 
 Richard had grown up to be a handsome young 
 man, with an aversion to farmwork. He was of 
 a studious disposition, no one could gainsay that, 
 and in early boyhood had taken to book reading 
 and study as few young boys can be credited with 
 doing. His father appreciated that, it is true, 
 but regretted very much his aversion to any work 
 connected with the farm not that he was ex 
 pected to do menial work, but he could not seem 
 to reconcile himself even to the minor details 
 of keeping account of the tons of hay in the barn, 
 or the bushels of grain harvested, or the number 
 
 19
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 of chickens in the hennery, or in fact, anything 
 having to do with the products of the farm. 
 
 He would sit for hours poring over a book on 
 mineralogy, and would wander over the farm 
 picking up a stone here and there which he thought 
 would be a subject of mineralogical analysis. 
 
 In the little country school he proved to be an 
 apt scholar, and it was not long before his father 
 gave up the idea of interesting him in the work 
 he himself had loved and performed so well, and 
 after consulting with his wife he consulted with 
 her on all matters, whether relating to family 
 or financial matters he, or rather they, decided 
 that the best thing that could be done would be 
 to send Richard to college and let him work out 
 his path in life, according to his own inclinations. 
 
 And so it was that Richard had gone to college, 
 while his father still hoped that some day he would 
 come home with the purpose of taking up the work 
 that had made his father a prosperous man. 
 
 But at each recurring vacation period, upon his 
 return home, Richard evinced the same aversion 
 to all things connected with the farm. 
 
 "Mother," said Mr. Broakley one day upon the 
 return for the summer of Richard, whom he had 
 shown over the farm and who had evidenced no 
 interest whatever in the progress and improve 
 ments that his father had tried to make clear to 
 
 20
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 him, "I cannot understand Richard. I took him 
 all over the place and explained how we had 
 improved this and that, how we were advancing 
 in our methods of tilling and garnering, how we 
 were adding to the acres that are cleared, but he 
 seems to feel no interest whatever in the farm. 
 How do you account for that ?" 
 
 There was a tone of sadness in his voice which 
 his wife was quick to detect. She, alone, knew 
 of the dreams her husband had had of the heir 
 who was to carry on the work when he no longer 
 was able to do so. She, alone, knew how her 
 husband had tried to reconcile himself to the 
 thought that when that time arrived his lifework 
 would have to be entrusted to strangers, but she 
 knew, also, that it was grieving him deeply, 
 although he had never given her any visible 
 evidence of that. 
 
 "Samuel," said his wife, "God works out the 
 destiny of us all. If it be His wish that our 
 Richard should choose a path in life different from 
 that we desire, we can do nothing but bow to His 
 inscrutable will. You know, Samuel, that Richard 
 is old enough to choose for himself now, and that 
 you can bend the twig, but you cannot bend the 
 tree." 
 
 "Well said, my sweetheart," he always called 
 her sweetheart, and I know she always was to him 
 
 21
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 what she had been in her girlhood, his sweetheart 
 "perhaps it is just as well. Maybe some day he 
 will make his mark in the scientific world, and 
 then we would feel that we had done wrong in 
 trying to persuade him to give up his own marking- 
 out of his pathway in life." 
 
 And so it came to pass that on the day that 
 Richard Broakley had been introduced to Myra 
 Boosch he had no established purpose no direct 
 aim, I might say as to his future, except that his 
 avowed hatred for farmwork became more manifest. 
 
 The summer days were spent by Richard 
 in wandering over the mountains of Pennsylvania, 
 mostly Pocono, in the pursuit of his daydreams 
 of discovering the presence of some metal that 
 would relieve him of all financial worry for the 
 future. He had taken sufficient interest in min 
 eralogy to become proficient as a prospector, and 
 no argument could dissuade him from his notion 
 that from the mountains of Pennsylvania would 
 be taken silver nay, even gold. 
 
 He had called upon Dr. Boosch frequently, 
 and with each call there was a deeper desire to 
 be in the presence of Myra. And I know, having 
 seen the roses in her cheeks and the light in her 
 eyes when she saw him, through the glass door 
 leading to the porch, stepping up the gravel walk, 
 that she, too, took pleasure in his presence. 
 
 22
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 How warmly she greeted him when she opened 
 the door, and in response to his query, "Is your 
 father in ?" said in a tone that plainly indicated 
 to me that he wished for a negative reply she 
 would say: 
 
 "No, Mr. Broakley, papa has just gone out 
 for a drive with mamma. Won't you step in for 
 a minute ? I have a new butterfly which I wish 
 you would look at and give me some information 
 about. I am getting to be quite an entomologist, 
 and with your help, Mr. Broakley, I hope to be 
 come quite famous for my collection of butterflies 
 and bugs." 
 
 And then they would wander off about the fields 
 and gather flowers and chase butterflies like 
 children. How well I recall her happy, joyous 
 face, set cunningly in the frame of the sunbonnet 
 thrown carelessly over not on her head, hanging 
 on her shoulders by the wide ribbon tied under 
 her dimpled chin! 
 
 Myra, Myra, in your innocence you knew no 
 care then, did you ? You only knew that the man 
 you were learning to love was the man who stepped 
 so happily by your side and gazed upon the picture 
 you made, framed by your sunbonnet, with 
 eyes that devotedly spoke of the love that was 
 yours in return. You thought, then, didn't you, 
 Myra, that only one true heart beat for you ? 
 
 23
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 You did not know that another heart had been 
 won by you, and that Jim Carbon, man of all 
 work, had learned to worship the very ground you 
 trod, and that, though he never approached you 
 except in a manner becoming his position in the 
 old homestead, he wondered why fate had destined 
 that he should not have such happiness as was 
 the lot of Richard Broakley. 
 
 How often he watched you, Myra, as you stepped 
 lightly across the lawn, and said to himself: 
 "Jim Carbon, if you could only have had the 
 good fortune to have been loved by such an 
 angel, what a world of happiness this would 
 be to you." You little knew then, Myra, as you 
 gave me a look, passing through the hallway, 
 as if reproaching me for having made the moments 
 pass too swiftly when Richard called, that there 
 was a love growing in the heart of one who never 
 spoke of it to human being! 
 
 Ah, me! why could not the Fates work out 
 matters so that faithful, loving hearts such as 
 Jim Carbon's should enjoy the blessings of a 
 love returned by one so good and pretty as Myra 
 Boosch ? 
 
 But why should a family clock attempt to 
 unravel the mysteries of life, when the greatest 
 philosophers have failed to do so ?
 
 TICK THE FOURTH 
 
 Two years have passed since that memorable 
 birthday party. Two years! It seems to me 
 but yesterday, though I have ticked off many 
 minutes, hours, and days since then. Two 
 years! What an eternity that must be to a prisoner 
 in his cell! What an eternity to the incurable 
 waiting for time to end the sufferings that science 
 has failed to alleviate! But to lovers, what are 
 two years ? 
 
 Last summer, when Richard Broakley re 
 turned for his second vacation, with the hope 
 that he would be graduated the following year, 
 what a roundelay of pleasure trips, of lovemaking, 
 of happy moments spent in the shadows of what 
 are now known as Marshall's Falls, thundering 
 in a modest way, as compared with Niagara, 
 a song of the forces of nature as shown in the 
 wearing away of rocks by the never-ending, never- 
 ceasing rush of water over the precipice. How 
 they sat beneath those falls, gazing for hours 
 at what appeared to them the grandeur, the 
 splendor, as the sun formed a rainbow from the 
 rising spray. 
 
 25
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 You of modern days, who have traveled to 
 Niagara in swift-moving cars, equipped with 
 their wonderful modes of comfort, can little 
 appreciate what grandeur there was to the lovers 
 in Marshall's Falls, a pigmy compared with the 
 " thunderer of waters." 
 
 And then the husking bees, the strawberry 
 festivals on the vacant lot opposite the modest 
 church, with its bevy of ruddy-cheeked girls 
 importuning the young men to buy in order that 
 they might hold the record for the largest sales; 
 the straw-rides, with the sinking in of the straw, 
 and the shrieks and shouts as they bumped over 
 a "thank-you-ma'am"; the discordant singing that 
 made the welkin ring and woke up the summer 
 boarder who had been lured there by the seductive 
 promises of "absolute quiet." 
 
 Care-free, indeed, were they Myra and Richard. 
 And when the time came for his return to college, 
 how happy they seemed as he came to bid farewell 
 for the short, "teeny" while, as she termed it, 
 that he would be gone. How long and earnestly 
 they lingered and talked while I ticked mutely 
 on. What plans they laid for the next year, 
 when he should come home for good! Without 
 rhyme or reason they mapped out their future 
 as only lovers can do, who have no idea of the 
 practicabilities of life. 
 
 26
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 And then the return, Richard having been 
 graduated with high honors; the feting in his 
 honor by his parents; the constant whirligig of 
 receptions by the neighbors, and then, late in 
 the fall, the announcement of the death of his 
 maiden aunt, Cynthia Broakley, who had acquired 
 for some reason known only to herself an aversion 
 to early marriages. She bequeathed to her 
 nephew a substantial sum of money sufficient 
 to make him free from monetary cares for years 
 to come, provided: 
 
 "It is expressly stipulated that my nephew, 
 in order to become a beneficiary under my will, 
 shall not marry before the age of twenty-five." 
 
 "We can wait two years longer, can't we, 
 Myra, dear ?" said Richard, when he heard the 
 stipulation of the will. 
 
 "I suppose so," returned Myra, in a tone of 
 voice that plainly indicated to me but not to 
 him that she wished that the aunt had not died, 
 but had left them to their own resources to struggle 
 along in the world, with the confidence that her 
 Richard would not see her want for anything. 
 "But two years seem a long while, now that we 
 are engaged, don't they, Richard ?" 
 
 "Not if they pass as quickly as have the last 
 two years, Myra," he answered, placing an arm 
 around her waist and giving her an embrace 
 
 27
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 that restored, in a measure, her evident present 
 lack of faith in the rapidity of movement of time. 
 
 And then they sat for hours talking of the 
 cottage they would build "nest" most lovers 
 call it but Richard was far too practical a man 
 to think that a nest would do for his Myra. 
 He knew full well that her parents had gratified 
 her every wish, and had it not been for this un 
 expected legacy from his aunt he would surely 
 not have thought of marriage until he had seen 
 his way clear to providing a comfortable home 
 for her, free from most of the cares of house 
 wifery. 
 
 And, in the meantime, Jim Carbon had gone 
 about his work, endearing himself alike to the 
 family of his employer and to the neighbors. 
 Wherever there was death or misfortune in the 
 homes of the neighbors, there was to be found 
 Jim Carbon, after the work of the day had been 
 finished, administering to their wants, driving 
 long distances in order to get the doctor or to stay 
 over night helping to do that part of the work 
 about the farm which was neglected owing to the 
 illness of the male portion of the afflicted family. 
 Ever ready to extend a helping hand to those in 
 pecuniary need, people often wondered where 
 he got the money from, little thinking that he was 
 drawing from the bank where the money accruing 
 
 28
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 from the sale of his father's farm had been de 
 posited, and that he gave no thought to his own 
 future, hoping and praying that those afflicted 
 might derive benefit from what his parents had 
 worked for and saved. 
 
 As he said to Mrs. Brownson, the widow 
 suddenly desolated, when she reproached him for 
 a deed that ever lived in her memory, "My good 
 woman, what and whom have I to care for in 
 this world but myself? Am I not strong enough 
 to feel free from care as to the future ? Please 
 do not mention the subject to me again, Mrs. 
 Brownson. Mr. Brownson would have done as 
 much for me, I am sure, if the conditions had 
 been reversed." 
 
 And at that the widow had burst into tears, 
 and placed both her hands upon Jim's shoulders 
 and had cried out in the agony of her despair: 
 
 "God knows, Jim Carbon, that my husband 
 had as big a heart as yours. But I can't forget 
 the man who has sacrificed so much for me and 
 my family. May God bless every footstep in 
 your life's journey! May the prayers of a widow 
 and her children follow you no matter where you 
 go, and be sure, Jim Carbon, that he who has 
 just left us will raise his voice in heaven for you, 
 for surely He who took him away will listen to 
 his appeal for one who has deprived himself " 
 
 29
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Now, now, Mrs. Brownson," interrupted 
 Jim Carbon, his face crimsoned by the showers 
 of gratitude, "please remember that our duty 
 in life should be to help one another in times 
 of distress and sorrow, and that what I have done 
 is nothing more than the Father of us all would 
 have me do. To-morrow a friend of mine will 
 come and attend to your work about the place 
 until you can hire some one to stay permanently." 
 
 Little did the widow suspect that the "friend" 
 was a man hired and paid by Jim Carbon; and 
 when he stayed, and stayed, notwithstanding the 
 frequent admonitions that it was "too much to 
 expect of any friend of Mr. Carbon's to give up 
 his own time," she began to suspect that some 
 thing in Jim Carbon's story was wrong. 
 
 "Mr. Decker," she said to Carbon's friend, 
 after he had been doing duty for about four 
 months on the farm, " I want to ask you a question, 
 and I hope you will answer it as honestly as I 
 ask it. Are you doing the work for nothing or 
 are you getting paid from Mr. Carbon ?" 
 
 "Mu-um," drawled Mr. Decker known among 
 the neighbors as "Hank" "it mought be, and 
 agin it moughtn't be. I be jest workin' here, 
 mum, as I be obleeged fer ter work fer any one, 
 fer ter make a livin', mum. And I has my orders, 
 mum, ter continer until I be stopped." 
 
 30
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "And who gave you those orders, Mr. Decker ?" 
 Mrs. Brownson inquired, feeling that she was 
 unraveling the mystery of his willingness to stay 
 and continue the farmwork. 
 
 "That be not fer me ter say, mum; thet be not 
 fer me ter say." 
 
 "Now look here, Mr. Decker, you cannot hide 
 from me that you are being paid by James Car 
 bon. You cannot hide longer from me that that 
 man has made sacrifices for the sake of my family 
 no more to him" than the Arab on the desert. 
 And I want you to know, Mr. Decker, that you 
 are welcome to stay here as long as you want, 
 but that not another penny shall be paid you by 
 Mr. Carbon. Our affairs are in pretty good shape, 
 now, Mr. Decker, and I can manage to pay you. 
 Mr. Carbon shall not will not be allowed to 
 spend another cent on us God bless him!" 
 
 The earnestness with which the blessing was 
 delivered left no doubt on the mind of Mr. Decker. 
 He knew that Mrs. Brownson's ultimatum was 
 final. He had formed a liking for the widow, 
 and he had hopes that in the future there might 
 be a time when her grief would be assuaged and 
 that he might sit in the vacant chair. 
 
 "So be it, Mrs. Brownson; so be it. I hev ter 
 confess thet it be Mr. Carbon's doin's. But, 
 seem* as how I be comfertable here, and thet
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 I be used ter the work and yer ways of wantin' 
 things done, I reckin I hed better hang on a while 
 longer. And, Mrs. Brownson, seein' as yer be a 
 widder an' thet yer hain't got too much of ther 
 world's goods, an' I bein' alone and no one ter 
 care fer, I think I kin scrape along on quite a bit 
 less than I were a-gettin'." 
 
 ' f Thank you kindly, Mr. Decker. I will 
 accept your offer. In a year or so we will be able 
 to pay more, and then I will not forget your 
 kindness." 
 
 This was said in a tone of the deepest gratitude. 
 She did not suspect the motive that prompted 
 this generous offer on the part of the wily Mr. 
 Decker a widower for seven years.
 
 TICK THE FIFTH 
 
 MATTERS had been running along so smoothly 
 and happily these many years in the Boosch and 
 Broakley homesteads that no one was prepared 
 for the events that crowded themselves so rapidly 
 that I could scarcely keep time with them. 
 
 It was an afternoon in June, one of those listless, 
 warm June days when nature seems to be drowsy 
 and the very creatures of the air seem to be im 
 bued, also, with that listless spirit. 
 
 Myra had been sitting on the porch for about 
 an hour, looking wistfully toward the Milford 
 Road, expecting to see each moment the figure 
 of Richard Broakley approaching. Every now 
 and then she would come into the hallway and 
 look appealingly at me, as if she half expected 
 that I would set at rest her anxiety. Just as my 
 hands pointed to the hour of three she heard the 
 clatter of a horse's hoofs on the hard, dusty road. 
 
 In a few minutes Richard appeared, riding 
 as gracefully as a trained equestrian. Swinging 
 up to the gate, he sprang lightly from his horse, 
 admonishing him to behave himself and not 
 wander away, and coming up the path leading 
 
 33
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to the porch put his hands upon Myra's cheeks 
 and imprinted a few shall I tell how many ? 
 kisses upon her ready, pouting lips. 
 
 " Were you afraid I wasn't coming, little one ?" 
 he asked, kissing away the last vestige of im 
 patience shown by her. 
 
 "Yes, I was afraid something had occurred 
 to keep you from me this afternoon, Richard," 
 she answered. "You know, dear, how I am 
 worried about you, and feel alarmed when you 
 do not come on time lest something has happened 
 to you. Oh, Richard," and here her voice was 
 tinged with a sadness that was a revelation to me, 
 who had never heard anything but joyousness 
 come from those charming lips of hers, "how 
 I wish that the time was up and that we could be 
 married. I sometimes feel that you ought not 
 to wait, and that you ought to relinquish your 
 inheritance rather than that 
 
 Here she broke down. There was evidently 
 something she wished to say, but which could 
 not be uttered owing to the sobs that were welling 
 up in her throat. 
 
 "There, there, little one," said Richard, "your 
 fears are groundless. Did you ever see a man 
 in better health than I am ?" 
 
 And here he straightened himself to his full 
 height, with chest expanded, and who could 
 
 34
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 but say that he was a model of healthy, robust 
 manhood ? 
 
 "Myra," he continued, "I, too, feel at times 
 that I ought to give up my aunt's inheritance and 
 set at rest your qualms. But the time is so short 
 now, you know, dear, that it would be foolish 
 for me to give it up and deprive you of some 
 of the comforts it will bring you when we are 
 married." 
 
 Here Myra, drying the tears that would persist 
 in coming to the surface, notwithstanding her 
 efforts to keep them back, looked up into his 
 face, the very embodiment of health tingeing his 
 cheeks with nature's color, and said: 
 
 "Yes, Richard, it is a short time, that is true. 
 But to me it will seem years. God will, I hope, 
 hear my prayer that all will be well in the end." 
 
 "Come, Myra, let us stay here a while, until 
 the sun is down a bit and it is cooler. Then we 
 will take a walk together, arm in arm, as I hope 
 we may journey together for many, many years 
 to come eh, sweetheart ? I will bring a chair 
 out here, where the breeze is blowing, and we will 
 enjoy the scene that is spread out before, us. 
 Did you ever see one more lovely and beautiful ? 
 See how the mountain, with its haze like a bridal 
 veil, is trying to hide from us in order that it might 
 rob us of some of the beauty of the scene!" 
 
 35
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Yes, Richard," said Myra, in a lighter voice, 
 for his presence and words seemed to reassure 
 her. "It is indeed grand out here to-day." 
 
 Then he brought out a willow rocker for her 
 and placed it as close to his chair as was possible 
 without grating them together. He leaned back, 
 his chair tilted against the porch upright, while 
 she rocked back and forth contentedly. 
 
 Myra, Myra! Had you known then! But, 
 thank heaven, he was spared a few hours more 
 to lighten your life and make you enjoy the walk 
 in the shadows of the setting sun. For, when the 
 shadows began to grow on the side of the spacious 
 barn he had urged her to get her sunbonnet, 
 and together, arm in arm, as he had expressed 
 the wish that they would do through life's journey, 
 they had wandered down the road. 
 
 How buoyantly they stepped along, both in the 
 flush of youth and health. How lovely nature 
 appeared to those two pairs of eyes that drank 
 in the beauty of the pastoral scene, with the 
 cool winds of the evening fanning the roses on 
 their cheeks. How many subjects they talked 
 about, as they walked on unmindful of the time, 
 until Richard pulled out his watch and said: 
 
 "Why, little one, it is half past six. We must 
 go back, for you know your mother doesn't like 
 to wait supper, even for us." 
 
 36
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 And they began to retrace their steps, only 
 rinding out, then, how far they had walked, 
 wholly unconscious of time or distance. It was 
 after half-past seven when they entered the dining- 
 room, at the table in which were already seated 
 Mr. and Mrs. Boosch and Myra's brother. 
 
 "Well, children," said the doctor, "you don't 
 keep good meal hours we have been waiting 
 fully half an hour. But I suppose we'll have to 
 make allowances, eh ?" and he smiled knowingly 
 at his daughter. 
 
 "Yes, father, I guess you will have to over 
 look our dilatoriness to-day, for the atmosphere 
 was so cool and the roads so good that we scarcely 
 knew how far we had walked. We will do better 
 the next time." 
 
 Ah, yes! The next time! How we speak of 
 the uncertain future, little realizing that the 
 morrow may never become to us a yesterday. 
 How little we know what is in store for us on the 
 morrow yea, perhaps on the very day! But 
 perhaps it is better that we should not know. 
 
 The table talk resolved itself into desultory 
 conversation about topics relating to the neigh 
 bors, the weather, the crops and such subjects 
 connected with the farm as little interested, 
 apparently, Richard Broakley. 
 
 And then came the parting for the night. 
 
 37
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Richard went to the stable and brought his 
 impatient, restless horse out in front of the gate, 
 where Myra was leaning, a look of grave care on 
 her face. She was fearful to-night, she knew 
 not why there was something seemed to whisper 
 to her of misfortune. 
 
 Her heart sank as he jumped lithely on his 
 horse's back, leaned over again to kiss her good 
 bye, and then, wondering what time it was and 
 not wishing to take off his gloves, sprang from his 
 horse and ran into the hallway for a look at my 
 face. 
 
 God! Little did I think that that would be 
 the last time that those handsome brown eyes 
 would look at me! Richard Broakley, Richard 
 Broakley, how I wish that lightning, or fire, or 
 earthquake, or destruction of any kind, had 
 overtaken me and spared me from witnessing the 
 heartbreaks, the griefs, the dying out of all happi 
 ness in that happy homestead! Richard Broakley, 
 what would I not give to have you again look 
 at me, with your eyes sparkling, in a reproachful 
 sort of way, as you did when you last beamed 
 on me, as if you blamed me for having kept time 
 too fast. 
 
 "Why, it is after nine, Myra," he called to 
 her as he walked down the gravel path. "I 
 should have left here at half-past eight at the 
 
 38
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 latest, for you know there is to be a meeting of the 
 Road Committee at nine. However, sweetheart, 
 I'll make Jerry do his best and recover some of the 
 lost time. Good-night, my Myra !" 
 
 He leaped upon his horse, after kissing her 
 again and again, and with a wave of his hand, 
 gave the animal a slight tap with the butt end 
 of his riding crop, and plunged into the darkness 
 of the night. 
 
 Myra stood for a moment, listening to the 
 sound of the retreating hoofbeats, and then, 
 with a long, deep sigh, walked slowly toward 
 the house. 
 
 There was no peace in her mind. She felt 
 intuitively that some misfortune was about to 
 happen. As she entered her room she sank 
 upon her knees and prayed that the Almighty 
 might be with her Richard and protect him from 
 harm. 
 
 For hours she tossed restlessly upon her pillow 
 but finally fell into a peaceful sleep, to awaken 
 to find that the light of her life was never more 
 to bid her good-night again. 
 
 39
 
 TICK THE SIXTH 
 
 AT THE time that Myra and Richard were 
 bidding each other good-night, Mary Lash came 
 into the kitchen where, by the open window, sat 
 Jim Carbon, half dozing, half dreaming. What 
 his dreams were no one will ever know, but I, 
 the family clock, can surmise that they were of one 
 in the household where he dwelt. Mary tapped 
 him gently on the shoulder and abruptly said: 
 
 "Jim Carbon, you know that Sam Winkle was 
 to take the party from the corner down to the 
 festival in his hay-rig. Well, he's laid up with 
 rheumatism, and says that he won't trust his 
 horses with any one but you. So the folks are 
 all down at the corner, and they sent me up here 
 to ask you if you wouldn't do the driving for them. 
 You know what Winkle's horses are, and no 
 wonder that he won't trust every one with them. 
 Now, you will, won't you, Mr. Carbon ? The girls 
 seemed to think that I was the only one could 
 make you do it, and I want to show them that I 
 have a little influence over you." 
 
 Could Jim have misconstrued the emphasis 
 in which this was said ? Was there a spirit of 
 
 40
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 reproach in "a little influence"? Could it be 
 possible that Mary Lash thought something of 
 him and was letting him know by this slight in 
 nuendo that she was aware of the "little influence" 
 she had over him ? Jim Carbon was not a man 
 of vanity he was too much of a man to imagine 
 that any girl should fall in love with him yet 
 why had she chided him for the "little influence" 
 she had over him ? 
 
 Jumping out of his chair, he looked up into 
 her rugged, inquiring face, and the memory of 
 her welcome on the day when he first appeared 
 at the Boosch homestead ever fresh in his mind, 
 took up his hat, extended his hand to her, and 
 said: 
 
 "Mary, I shall go at once and bring the team 
 and rig down, and when I drive up to the corner 
 you can say to all, 'See, Mary Lash can bid any 
 man obey her wishes.' ' 
 
 Mary walked slowly down to the corner from 
 the Boosch homestead it was almost a mile 
 as the crow flies, only a short step lovers said, 
 and the farm boys sometimes declared it must 
 be three, when they returned from a day's plowing. 
 In answer to the anxious interrogations of the 
 assembled boys and girls she answered: 
 
 "Jim Carbon will be here with the team as 
 fast as he can get them ready and drive here." 
 
 41
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 What a shout there was. And how many 
 quizzically asked Mary what "influence" she had 
 over Jim Carbon to make him respond so quickly 
 to her appeal. Indeed, one young lady how 
 pretty she looked, with a white flimsy shawl 
 thrown over her head, wound around her ruddy 
 face, and then around her neck, and then tucked 
 under her chin asked Mary (I wonder if there 
 wasn't a mite of jealousy ?) when she expected 
 to change her name from one syllable to two 
 syllables. 
 
 But here he comes! What a spanking team 
 was that of Winkle's. No wonder that Winkle 
 was chary of letting any one but Carbon drive 
 them. Standing bolt upright, with those big, 
 knobby hands of his holding the reins like a 
 Roman charioteer, Jim swung up to the corner 
 as if his very life depended upon his getting there 
 at a specified moment. 
 
 How the girls waved their handkerchiefs, 
 how the boys cheered and cried out, "Good boy, 
 Jim Carbon!" 
 
 And then the crowding into the rig, packed 
 with straw, and cushions, and blankets, and what 
 not! Here were Mary and Kate, and Jane, and 
 Melinda each one fearful lest in the confusion 
 she should be separated from her Will or her 
 Henry, or her John, or her Edward screaming 
 
 42
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and laughing as they were "boosted" up at the 
 end of the poles protruding from the "stern" 
 of the wagon. And what a time before they were 
 all settled, with Jane complaining that John was 
 taking up too much room, and Edward importun 
 ing Melinda to move up closer. He did not think 
 she was taking up too much room, oh, no! To 
 him the more room she occupied the closer she 
 would be to him, bless her heart. 
 
 Finally, with one accord they sang out: 
 
 "All right here, all right everywhere, Jim 
 Carbon." 
 
 And away they went. How those horses 
 strained every muscle to pull that merry crowd 
 up the hills, as if they, too, took pleasure in the 
 proceeding. And how Jim Carbon, with a chuckle 
 to himself, when some of the girls would persist 
 in getting up and endeavoring to change seats, 
 would pull the horses up short, with the result 
 that those standing up were hurled into the laps 
 of the young men, who, in turn, would urge Jim 
 to repeat the performance when they got up, 
 in order that they might reverse matters and be 
 unceremoniously thrown into the laps of the girls. 
 
 And when they drove over the bridge and into 
 the lot where were the rigs of all kinds and de 
 scriptions from the one-seated buckboard to the 
 more pretentious six-seated "four- wheeler "--Jim 
 
 43
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Carbon took good care to drive where the branches 
 of the trees were hanging low, and again there 
 was such a spilling and screaming and shouting 
 and laughter as only can emanate from the healthy 
 and happy. 
 
 What a short time it took to empty the hay rig! 
 Never was a load of hay tossed off so quickly, 
 I can tell you. And off to the candy stand, the 
 strawberry stand, the cake stand, the lemonade 
 stand, and the but why go on ? You know all 
 the stands at a festival that are there to lure 
 the nickels and dimes from your pockets. 
 
 Did you ever, dear reader, attend an ice-cream 
 festival and, having frosted your insides with 
 constant applications of ice cream, meet Kate 
 So-and-so, whom you have not seen for a year, 
 and who gently insinuates that she was "just 
 going over to get a plate of cream" ? And did 
 you not, knowing you were making a sacrifice 
 on the altar of truth, respond: "I was just going 
 over to get one myself, Miss Kate. I am so glad 
 we met just at this time" ? 
 
 It was a pretty sight withal, the festival ground, 
 buried there in the woods, with the darkness 
 of the night enlivened by the flare of the oil lamps, 
 the flickering of which made dancing spectres 
 of the surrounding trees and shrubbery. 
 
 Then the return, with the horses dashing along, 
 
 44
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 eager to reach the stable and rest for the night. 
 And as each farm-house was passed some one 
 would drop off, with a cheery "Good-night" and 
 "Thank you ever so much, Jim Carbon. We 
 have had a jolly time, thanks to you." 
 
 Finally, passing the Boosch homestead, Mary 
 was assisted out by Jim, who then drove the team 
 to Winkle's barn, about three-quarters of a mile 
 away. He unhooked the horses, saw that they 
 had an ample meal, and, whistling gaily to him 
 self with evident satisfaction, took up a lantern, 
 "cut" across the fields, and came out into the main 
 road, where he was rather astonished to see in 
 front of him something white moving back and 
 forth. Holding up his lantern and peering ahead, 
 he saw that a horse was grazing by the roadside 
 an unusual thing at that time of night and place. 
 
 Intuitively he knew that something was wrong. 
 He went up close to the horse, held the lantern 
 up to its face, and muttered: 
 
 "Richard Broakley's horse! What's up, I 
 wonder ?" 
 
 Then a groan came to his ears in the stillness 
 of the night, and with eyes that tried to penetrate 
 the darkness beyond the lantern's gleam, Jim 
 Carbon, a man of nerve, sought to trace whence 
 came the groan. 
 
 Suddenly he stumbled over a log, he thought 
 
 45
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 but holding the lantern down to the ground, 
 beheld the form of Richard Broakley, a pool of 
 blood about his head, which was resting on a 
 stone. 
 
 Holding the lantern close to the face of Richard 
 Broakley, Carbon could see at a glance that the 
 death stare was in his eyes. 
 
 Leaning over he almost screamed: 
 
 " Great heavens, Mr. Broakley, what has 
 happened ?" 
 
 Slowly, and with an awful effort, Richard, 
 putting up his arms as if he would bring Jim's 
 face closer to him, said : 
 
 "Jim, I fell off my horse. I think I am 
 dying. I have been here I don't know how 
 long. Hurry, for God's sake and get Myra 
 and a minister so that her mine our 
 
 Here his voice became so inaudible that Jim 
 Carbon hardly knew whether he had caught the 
 word right. Putting his ear close to Richard 
 Broakley's lips, he cried out: 
 
 " In heaven's name, Mr. Broakley, with all 
 the strength you have left, repeat to me, so that 
 I may not misunderstand it, that word you just 
 said." 
 
 And, with all the strength that he had left, 
 Richard Broakley uttered one and his last word: 
 
 "Child!" 
 
 46
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Jim Carbon raised his form to the full height 
 of his scrawny figure, and with his arms uplifted, 
 as if in mute appeal to the crescent moon now 
 looking down upon him through a rift in the 
 heavy, low-hanging clouds, ejaculated, from the 
 very depths of his honest, God-fearing soul, 
 two words : 
 
 "My God I" 
 
 47
 
 TICK THE SEVENTH 
 
 FOR a full minute Jim Carbon stood with his 
 arms uplifted. Then, recovering himself, they 
 dropped limply to his side. What thoughts 
 seethed through his brain in that one brief moment 
 no living soul can ever tell. Whether of sorrow, 
 or of anger, whether he felt a hatred toward the 
 man now prone at his feet, dying perhaps dead 
 or whether he felt a compassion for him only he, 
 himself, can say. 
 
 What was he to do ? That was the thought 
 in his mind as he recovered himself. Surely, 
 he must take quick action, for that glassy stare 
 could leave no doubt in his mind but that the hours 
 nay, the very minutes, perhaps of the life 
 of Richard Broakley were numbered. 
 
 How would he break the news to the doctor, 
 to Myra, to Mr. and Mrs. Broakley ? How 
 could he, man of strength and nerve that he was, 
 tell them that Richard Broakley was dying 
 perhaps dead and that his last word was a con 
 fession that he but, no, he was still living, and 
 while there was life there was hope, and his first 
 thought should be to get him to the doctor's.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 He must live he must for the sake of Myra, 
 and with no other thought than that in his mind, 
 Jim lifted up the unconscious form lying at his 
 feet, placed it in the saddle of Richard's horse, 
 and holding it there by sheer force of strength, 
 walked by the side of Jerry, who had waited so 
 long by his master's side. 
 
 Slowly, step by step, they went the half-mile 
 from the spot to Doctor Boosch's house. Arrived 
 there, Jim Carbon lifted Richard Broakley off 
 the horse, and carrying him up the gravel walk 
 that he had trod a few hours before with such 
 buoyant step, placed him on the porch where he 
 and Myra had sat in enjoyment of the beauty 
 of the passing day, and went around to the kitchen 
 door. 
 
 Mary Lash had not retired as yet, but was 
 setting the table for breakfast, knowing that she 
 would want to sleep up to the very last moment 
 after the gaiety of the night. 
 
 Jim gently tapped at the door, and as Mary 
 opened it she noticed the ashen face that con 
 fronted her. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Jim Carbon," she said, 
 hearing his heavy breathing from the effort of 
 carrying Richard to the porch, "nothing has 
 happened to you, has there ?" 
 
 "No, Mary, not to me but to him Mr. 
 
 49
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Broakley Richard Broakley. Call the doctor, 
 quick, and tell him that there is some one at the 
 door needs his attention as soon as the Almighty 
 will permit him to come down. And, Mary, do 
 not tell him who it is." 
 
 The haste in which this was uttered, the im 
 petuous manner of Jim Carbon, usually so cool 
 and deliberate in his manner, was enough to con 
 vince Mary of the urgency of this appeal, and she 
 almost flew up the stairs to the doctor's room, 
 knocking at his door with sufficient force to arouse 
 him at once. 
 
 "What is it, Mary?" he asked, in reply to her 
 call of "Doctor! Doctor!" 
 
 "Doctor, Jim Carbon says that there is some 
 one on the porch needs your attention immediately 
 and I tell you, Doctor, that he said it as if he 
 meant that a moment's delay might be fatal." 
 
 "I will be down in an instant," said the doctor, 
 who was vainly endeavoring to recall who in the 
 neighborhood was in such ill health as to be in 
 such urgent need of his services. 
 
 Slipping on his dressing gown, he came from 
 his room before Mary scarcely had time to report 
 to Jim, who had gone to the front of the house 
 and was awaiting the opening of the door leading 
 to the porch. Mary tremblingly unlatched the 
 door, and Jim brought in his burden. 
 
 50
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Mary Lash was not a girl to give way to her 
 emotions or to go into hysterics at the slightest 
 provocation, but at the sight of Richard Broakley 
 as Jim carried him in, and placed him on the old- 
 fashioned horse-hair couch, she felt as if the very 
 floor was giving way under her feet. 
 
 Dr. Boosch, with a lamp in his hand, came down 
 the stairway, and going up to the couch, gave one 
 look at the form that was lying there, and exclaimed, 
 
 "What has happened, Jim ? What is the mean 
 ing of this ? Speak, man, speak quick!" 
 
 As Jim, in as few words as he could, explained 
 the circumstances under which he had found 
 Richard lying by the roadside, Doctor Boosch 
 was examining Richard, putting his ear to his 
 heart, listening intently, feeling his pulse, and 
 gazing into the eyes that had now assumed a 
 glassy, lifeless stare. 
 
 What an eternity it seemed to Jim and Mary, 
 who, with bated breath, watched eagerly the doc 
 tor's lips for some outburst to relieve their anxiety. 
 
 Finally, straightening up, the doctor clasped 
 his hands together, and in a voice that was choked 
 with emotion, exclaimed: 
 
 "Richard Broakley is dead! God help us all!" 
 
 Aye, God help us all, good doctor! 
 
 Help the mother and father of the immortal 
 clay now lying on the couch before you. 
 
 51
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Help you and the mother of the girl who so 
 loved the man now lifeless before you. 
 
 And, above all, good doctor, God help Myra, 
 the loving, trusting, confiding spirit who was in 
 the thoughts of Richard Broakley in his dying 
 moments. 
 
 Help me, too, for the scenes I had to witness 
 not only on that night, but on many others. 
 
 You did not see, did you, good doctor, as I 
 saw when they brought in the body of Richard, 
 the white-clad figure step from her room into the 
 hall, and look over the balustrade to see what 
 was going on below ? 
 
 She did not know, then, who that was lying 
 upon the couch in front of me, as I solemnly 
 ticked away the time. She did not dream for one 
 moment that her Richard was anywhere but safely 
 homeward bound from the meeting in the Town 
 Hall. 
 
 For had not she, notwithstanding her fears 
 of the evening, finally fallen into a deep sleep, to 
 dream of her Richard, of their future, of their 
 happy married life ? And had she not awakened, 
 upon the sound at the entrance of Jim Carbon 
 with his burden, dreaming of her Richard's manly, 
 handsome face and brown eyes, now staring 
 lifelessly at the ceiling above which stood his Myra ? 
 
 No, good doctor, you did not see her standing 
 
 52
 
 and fall a limp mass at your feet and beside that of her Richard
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 there, peering down through the darkness as 
 you lowered your lamp to the face before you. 
 She did not know, even then, that you were vainly 
 striving to find a spark of life in one for whom 
 she would have sacrificed her very life. 
 
 You did not see her, did you, good doctor, 
 else you would not have uttered so abruptly the 
 words you did: 
 
 "Richard Broakley is dead! God help us all!" 
 
 But you did we all did hear the scream 
 that pierced the night, that startled the marrow 
 in your bones, and that reverberated throughout 
 the house like the wail of agony from a sorrow- 
 stricken soul. 
 
 You saw, though we all did the white-clad 
 form of your Myra dart like an arrow the full 
 length of the stairs, when she heard your voice 
 of despair, and fall a limp mass at your feet 
 and beside that of her Richard her husband- 
 that-was-to-be. 
 
 You saw, didn't you, doctor we all saw 
 Jim Carbon lift the form of Myra as gently as 
 ever loving mother picked up her creeping child, 
 and carry her in his strong arms, as if she were 
 but an infant, up the stairs and place her upon 
 the bed from which she had been awakened 
 to find that the light of her life had gone out. 
 
 Aye, good doctor, God help us all! 
 
 53
 
 TICK THE EIGHTH 
 
 THE SUN, rising in the glory of a new-born 
 day, awakening nature from the calm, cool repose 
 of the night, peering through the stained glass 
 of the door leading into the hallway where I was 
 keeping time, cast fantastic shadows upon the 
 sheet thrown over the body of Richard Broakley. 
 
 In the room above in Myra's room her father 
 had incessantly concentrated his efforts upon 
 bringing his daughter to consciousness. She had 
 raved throughout the night raved as only an 
 agonized soul thrown into the depths of despair 
 could and with the dawning of the day, the bright 
 rays of the sun glinting through the delicate 
 lace curtains of the window of her room, there 
 came a moment when she opened her eyes, looked 
 up, and saw her father standing by her bedside, 
 haggard and worn. 
 
 She thought, as she gazed up at the kindly, 
 fatherly face of the doctor, that she detected tears 
 flowing from those soft blue eyes. Reaching 
 up to draw his loving face near enough to kiss 
 
 o o 
 
 him, she feverishly asked: 
 
 "Papa, it was all a hideous dream, wasn't 
 
 54
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 it ? Tell me, Richard is well and will be here 
 to-day, won't he, papa ?" 
 
 The good doctor, unable to contain himself, 
 burst into tears and fell upon his knees beside 
 the bed. With hands clasped and uplifted to 
 heaven, he cried out: 
 
 "My child! My daughter! My Myra! May 
 God help you! It was not a dream, but a reality." 
 
 Again those eyes closed in the helplessness 
 of her despair. Again the father who had kept 
 the long vigil of the night hastened to apply 
 restoratives. He feared the outcome of the shock 
 Myra had received the crushing blow of a heart 
 suddenly bereft, of a love snapped in twain; 
 he feared that the mind of his only daughter 
 "A daughter, eh, good Mr. Clock"?" how I re 
 member that! might become a blank forever. 
 
 During the hours he had kept watch over her 
 she had raved about her Richard her Richard 
 her Richard. Never ending, never ceasing, was 
 that cry. How it thrilled me, down there in the 
 hall, with the love of her life dead in front of me, 
 to hear that agonizing, heart-rending cry of hers 
 "Richard, Richard, be careful. You are so reck 
 less, you know, and I am so fearful to-night!" 
 
 And in her raving, her delirium, she had be 
 trayed her secret to her father the secret revealed 
 to Jim Carbon by the last word uttered by the 
 
 55
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 man now cold and lifeless in the hall below. 
 
 She never knew the effect of the revelation 
 upon her father. She never could know of the 
 quick-drawn breath, the uplifting of the eyes 
 beseeching the heavenly Father to help him and 
 her in this, their hour of trial. 
 
 "God help us all!" Aye, good doctor, I thought 
 of that exclamation when you came down, just 
 as my hands pointed to the hour of five, for we 
 indeed need His help. You did not know that one 
 other in the world snared the secret and that one, 
 the plain hired man who sat in the kitchen through 
 out the night, awaiting your bidding without 
 thought of sleep, without thought of self with 
 only the thought of Richard Broakley and the 
 broken heart that was bemoaning, in her uncon 
 scious despair, the loss of all that had made life 
 so happy, so joyous, so dear to her. 
 
 Who could ever tell the many conflicting emo 
 tions of the good doctor that night ? How could 
 he ever tell the mother of Myra how could he 
 announce to the neighbors ? how could he tell 
 the mother and father of Richard how could 
 he ? how could he ? 
 
 How could he ? Query after query rushed 
 and seethed through his brain, as if they would 
 crowd each other out of the very temples throbbing 
 with the overburdened mind trying to solve them. 
 
 56
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 As she returned to consciousness the second 
 time, her father was still standing by her bedside, 
 holding her hand and smoothing her matted hair. 
 There was something about his manner that 
 betokened that the love he had borne his daughter 
 had grown deeper had become almost frenzied. 
 He kissed her again and again, admonishing her 
 to be a good girl and bear her loss with faith in 
 the Almighty to bind the wound in her heart to 
 put her arms upon the shoulders of her father 
 and cling to him even though the whole world 
 forsake her. 
 
 Yes, there was something about his manner 
 that Myra could not understand until, clinging 
 about his neck as if he were the Rock of Ages, 
 she spoke to him and said: 
 
 "My good, dear father, I need you and your 
 love now more than ever. You will never lose 
 your love for your Myra, will you will you, 
 father?" 
 
 Who knows the depth of a true, fatherly love 
 one that condones the failings, the frailties of 
 human nature, the guiding light that leads the 
 pathway from hopelessness to hope eternal ? 
 
 Such was the love of Dr. Boosch for his daugh 
 ter, and in response to her piteous appeal 
 her cry for help to save her from the abyss of the 
 future he stooped over, almost lifted her from 
 
 57
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the bed in the earnestness of his paternal feeling, 
 and said: 
 
 " Myra, my daughter, I now know your secret. 
 You will need a father's love and care, my poor 
 child. Cling to me, my child, and do not let 
 any one but our God separate us." 
 
 What a startled look came into her eyes at her 
 father's words. He knew her secret the secret 
 that she thought had died with the passing out 
 of the life of her Richard! She thought, then, 
 that only two living beings on earth knew it 
 her good, kind, loving father and herself. 
 
 Once again she lapsed into delirious uncon 
 sciousness, and during the period, Mrs. Boosch, 
 who had been unaware of what had transpired 
 during the night, came out of her room and 
 inquired of Mary, who was seated in a chair 
 outside of Myra's room, where the doctor was. 
 
 "He is in Miss Myra's room, Ma'am. I believe 
 she isn't feeling well." 
 
 Mrs. Boosch, not the least alarmed, as she knew 
 that her daughter had gone to bed feeling as well 
 and full of life as usual, went into the room and 
 was startled by the appearance of the doctor, 
 who seemed to have aged years during that event 
 ful night. 
 
 "Why, Henry," she exclaimed, "what is the 
 meaning of this what has happened ?" 
 
 58
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Mother," he answered in his usual soft man 
 ner, "don't ask me to-day. To-morrow I'll tell 
 you all. But there's no need to worry about 
 Myra. She has had a nervous attack, and will 
 be all right in a few hours." 
 
 The doctor's wife, ever confiding in her husband, 
 was satisfied with his assurance, and after kissing 
 her daughter's brow she was evidently sleeping, 
 to her mind came out of the room and started 
 down the stairs. She had just a glimpse of the 
 sheet of white on the couch when Jim Carbon, 
 coming up the stairs and meeting her half way, 
 abruptly said: 
 
 "Mrs. Boosch, not down this way; the other 
 way." 
 
 "Why, James, what is the matter?" 
 
 "Why, you see you see er one of the 
 steps is loose and I was just going up to get a 
 hammer and nails to fix it." 
 
 His blundering, stammering manner, so un 
 known in Jim Carbon, convinced her that some 
 thing unusual had taken place about the house 
 and with a firm, determined step she went the 
 remainder of the flight of steps and walked up 
 to the couch with the thought in her mind that 
 some one had overindulged in the festivities 
 of the night before. 
 
 She pulled the sheet suddenly down, and, with- 
 
 59
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 out cry, without moan, without utterance, sank 
 into the arms of Carbon, who had hastened to 
 prevent her from falling to the floor. 
 
 And again I repeated, in my slow, measured 
 ticking way, "Aye, good doctor, God help us all!" 
 
 For the third time within a very few hours 
 Jim Carbon carried in his arms a human form 
 this time the one whom he had learned to love 
 and picture as his mother. 
 
 Stolid, with seeming indifference, Jim bore her 
 to her room, and placing her upon her bed, with 
 Mary in attendance, went slowly, as if in a trance, 
 up to his own room in the attic. Seating himself 
 on the chair upon which he had sat the first day 
 he had entered that room, he stared blankly at 
 the wall for some time and fell asleep. 
 
 60
 
 TICK THE NINTH 
 
 I WISH I could pass over the unpleasant episodes 
 of that day. How easy it is to describe events 
 in which all is joyousness, gaiety, frivolity! How 
 language flows when we picture in words those 
 fleeting periods in our lives when we are surrounded 
 by our dear ones and our friends, full of life, of 
 hope, and of happiness. 
 
 But how different when we are called upon 
 to describe the feelings of those who have been 
 stricken as if by a death-blow by the taking away, 
 without warning, of their only son. How can 
 I ever tell of the mental torture of the pride of 
 the Boosch household Myra ? How can I de 
 scribe the anguish that was racking the heart of 
 Dr. Boosch, although, for the sake of his wife 
 her mother he kept a calm exterior and re 
 peatedly said to her: 
 
 "Mother, God will be with us in our hours of 
 trial and will help us." 
 
 How can I word-picture the unseen, unknown 
 grief in the heart of Jim Carbon ? How can I 
 tell of the feelings of one who had learned to love 
 Myra Boosch, but who knew that his love would 
 
 61
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 never be known or reciprocated, and who, in his 
 unselfish way, had looked forward to the time 
 when those two hearts should be linked together ? 
 
 Jim Carbon had dozed about an hour, sitting 
 in his chair, when he was aroused by a knock 
 at the door. He jumped up, as if awakened 
 from a weird dream, and opened the door and 
 peered out. 
 
 Dr. Boosch, pale, and trembling almost, stood 
 there. He glanced about Jim's room and saw 
 that his bed had not been disturbed. 
 
 "Why, Jim, I thought you were in bed asleep, 
 and wouldn't have disturbed you were it not for 
 the reason that I want you to go over to the 
 Broakleys and break the news to them. They 
 undoubtedly think that Richard had remained 
 in town over night, and will probably expect 
 him by now. I know what a sad task it is, Jim, 
 but I don't feel well enough to perform the duty 
 myself. You will, won't you, Jim ?" 
 
 His voice was pleading; so much so, that Carbon, 
 out of the very goodness of his good soul, did not 
 hesitate for an instant. 
 
 "I'll go at once, Dr. Boosch. Set your mind 
 at rest. It's a hard a very hard thing to have 
 to do, but it must be done. I wish I could do 
 more I wish I could give my life to bring back 
 that of Mr. Broakley. He had so much to live 
 
 62
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 for, while I I well, no one would have missed 
 me." 
 
 "Say not so, Jim Carbon; you are liked by 
 every one here by all the neighbors by every 
 body. You are young yet, and have much to 
 live for." 
 
 "You are right, Dr. Boosch," replied Jim in a 
 more hopeful tone. " I'll go over at once." 
 
 In a very few minutes Carbon came down 
 stairs, by way of the kitchen, and putting on his 
 hat and coat, started out on his unpleasant mission. 
 
 How should he break the news to Richard's 
 parents ? What language should he employ ? 
 Should he be abrupt in telling them, or should 
 he simply say that something had happened to 
 their son and let them surmise what the outcome 
 might be ? Repeating these questions over and 
 over again to himself, he finally concluded that 
 he would tell them frankly, tenderly, that their 
 Richard had passed to the great beyond. 
 
 Taking a short cut across the fields he passed 
 by the widow Brownson's house. He felt in 
 no mood, however, to stop and have his usual 
 chat with her or one of the children, but kept 
 on his way. About a quarter of a mile from her 
 house he saw "Hank" Decker looming up in 
 the distance. He wished to avoid him or any 
 body, for that matter, to-day but Hank's keen 
 
 63
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 eyes had observed him, and there was nothing 
 to do but meet him. He knew that he would be 
 detained for some time by Decker, whose talkative 
 disposition was well known. 
 
 "Why, Jim Carbon, how air yer ?" Decker 
 said, putting out his hand. "I haint seen narthin' 
 of yer these menny days. By gum, but it be good 
 fer sore eyes ter see yer lookin' so frisky. Yer 
 look as ef yer mought be able ter eat three square 
 meals a day." 
 
 "I am feeling fairly well," returned Jim, his 
 manner plainly indicating that he was in no mood 
 for an animated conversation. "And how have 
 you been, and how is Mrs. Brownson ?" 
 
 "Meester Carbon, I be a-feelin' fine. And 
 as ter ther widder she's as perk as kin be. She 
 be a-kinder gettin' over her frettin' about her 
 lonely state, and seems ter be a-gittin' chipper 
 each day. I think she be gittin' han'somer each 
 day, an' I were a-thinkin', Meester Carbon, ther 
 other night, as I sot in ther dinin'-room a-lookin' 
 at her knittin', thet it be a pity fer so fine er 
 'oman ter be leadin' sech er lonely life." 
 
 "But she is not lonely, Hank. She has her 
 children." 
 
 "Aye, but ther children kain't be er comfert 
 thet a man a good man like me, f'r instance 
 could be ter her. She be a fine housekeeper,
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 I tells yer, and a pretty savin' one, too, and do 
 yer know, Jim" here he became familiar in his 
 enthusiasm and put his face so close to Carbon's 
 ear as to tickle it with his chin whisker "do yer 
 know, sir, thet I hev an idee, seein' her glancin' 
 up at me once in erwhile, thet she be a-gettin' 
 ter like me." 
 
 Here he removed his chin whisker from such 
 close proximity to Jim's ear, but held him at arm's 
 length, and, alternately rubbing one of his boots 
 against the other, burst out: 
 
 "By cracky, Meester Carbon, do yer know 
 thet I be a young feller yit, an' I haint so bad 
 lookin', nuther, be I ?" 
 
 Jim saw there was no evading an answer, so 
 he said, though not with the heartiness that the 
 other expected: 
 
 "No, Hank, you are not a bad-looking man. 
 But if I were you I would go rather slow about 
 imagining things. Mrs. Brownson, you know, 
 feels the loss of her husband keenly yet. There 
 may come a time, however, when 
 
 "Eh, but thet time be a-comin'," interrupted 
 Hank, nudging Jim in the ribs. "I kin see it; 
 I kin see it. Ther be signs thet Hank Decker 
 knows he hevin' a-married a widder afore." 
 
 "Well, Hank, I must go on. I wish you luck, 
 anyway." 
 
 6 5
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Mought I ask where yer be a-goin' ?" 
 
 "I am going to see Mr. Broakley on some 
 urgent business. That is why I am in such a 
 hurry." 
 
 " Well, ef yer walk fast yer will find him in ther 
 barn unhitchin' of his horse, proberbly, fer he 
 passed yere a few minutes ago." 
 
 "Thanks, Hank, I will hurry on, as I want to 
 see him before he goes into the house," said Car 
 bon, who welcomed the opportunity to get Mr. 
 Broakley alone it would spare him from some 
 of the sorrow of the scene that he knew he would 
 have to witness if they were both present when 
 he announced the sad tidings. 
 
 He walked the half-mile to Mr. Broakley's 
 barn at a swinging pace and saw him pitching 
 hay into the stall where he had just put his horse. 
 
 "How do you do, Jim ?" was his greeting. 
 
 "It is well with me, Mr. Broakley," he said; 
 " I wish it were as well with others." 
 
 "With others ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 He had detected the note of sadness in Carbon's 
 voice, usually so brusque and full of spirit. 
 
 "I mean, Mr. Broakley I mean that there 
 are times in our lives when we have to tell others 
 I mean that I would rather give my life than to 
 have to tell you that that 
 
 "That what, man ?" almost impatiently cried 
 
 66
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Mr. Broakley, becoming alarmed at the tremulous, 
 half-choking voice of Carbon. 
 
 "I mean, Mr. Broakley, that I must inform 
 you that your son Richard has met with an 
 accident." 
 
 "An accident? Was he badly hurt? Where 
 is he ? How did it happen ? I'll hitch up again 
 at once and go to him." 
 
 "Yes, an accident. He was badly hurt in 
 fact, so badly hurt that he is 
 
 Here Carbon felt a lump come up in his throat 
 that choked the utterance of the one word that he 
 wished out and over with. 
 
 "Jim Carbon, you don't mean to say that he 
 was so badly hurt that there is danger of his 
 losing his life, do you, man ?" 
 
 "Mr. Broakley, your son Richard is is 
 dead." 
 
 The father of Richard Broakley stared blankly 
 at Jim Carbon for a moment. The pitchfork 
 fell from his hands, he clasped the bin of the 
 stall with an iron grip, and cried out: 
 
 "His mother! His mother! Don't tell her! 
 It will kill her!" 
 
 Never a word about his own anguish. Only 
 for her his "sweetheart" still, as she was in 
 days of yore. 
 
 67
 
 TICK THE TENTH 
 
 JIM CARBON, having relieved himself of his 
 onerous task, completely unnerved by the sight 
 of the man staggering under the blow, explained 
 in as few words as possible what had happened, 
 omitting any reference whatever to Richard's 
 last word, save to say that he had asked for Myra. 
 He desired to leave Mr. Broakley as soon as he 
 could. He could not bear to see any more such 
 grief as had been his lot to witness within a few 
 hours. He would leave the father to break the 
 sad news to Richard's mother. He put out his 
 hand to Mr. Broakley and sorrowfully said: 
 
 "Mr. Broakley, may the loving grace of the 
 kind, heavenly Father be with you and yours." 
 
 He then started on his return to the Boosch 
 homestead. He walked rapidly, lest he be called 
 back. Glancing over his shoulders, he saw the 
 senior Broakley tottering on his way to the house, 
 his frame shaken by the sobs that were now 
 beginning to relieve the pent-up emotions. He 
 wondered how Richard's mother would bear up 
 under the news. He wondered why such things 
 such calamities must be, when all nature seemed 
 
 68
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to be smiling under the summer sun, the fields 
 aglow with the ripening grain, the birds singing 
 their lays, the very insects droning their content 
 with the warmth and beauty of that summer's 
 day. 
 
 And then his mind reverted to the last moments 
 of Richard, when he had asked for Myra and a 
 minister. He was in a mental struggle with 
 himself. His firm, measured tread, with head 
 bowed down, hands clasped behind his back, 
 eyes set upon the ground these were evidences 
 that Jim Carbon's thoughts were of the deepest. 
 
 Suddenly, as if inspired, he straightened up, 
 brought his fists together with a clash and mumbled 
 to himself: 
 
 "Jim Carbon, you've got to do it you must 
 do it for her sake for the sake of her father 
 and mother for the sake of all concerned. You 
 must, you must no matter at what sacrifice." 
 
 This outburst of self-command seemed to 
 satisfy him. His step became as light as usual; 
 his lips became set, determined. Whatever he 
 had decided upon was for the best, he felt, even 
 though he should be the one to bear the sacrifice 
 to suffer to give up all those who had so endeared 
 themselves to him. 
 
 He walked on and on, with springy step, neither 
 caring nor wanting to meet any one, when he 
 
 69
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 was confronted by Mary, who had gone down 
 the lane from the main road for some exercise 
 after the night and day's vigil by Myra's door. 
 She was anxious to know what effect the awful 
 news had had upon Mr. and Mrs. Broakley. 
 She was anxious to know when the body would 
 be removed. She was fearful that her mistress 
 might steal down into the hall and then what ? 
 
 "Jim Carbon," she said, "yours has been a sad 
 mission. I hope that they did not take it too hard." 
 
 "Miss Mary," said Jim, "I trust that I shall 
 never again be sent upon such an errand. I did 
 not see Mrs. Broakley. The sight of Mr. Broak- 
 ley's grief was as much as I could bear. How 
 is Miss Boosch ?" 
 
 "Miss Myra is in a very critical state, indeed. 
 Her father has been with her constantly and seems 
 very much concerned about her. It is awful, 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 "Yes, it is indeed awful. The death of Richard 
 Broakley means so much to us all to Miss 
 Boosch, to her parents, to his father and mother, 
 and to me yes, to me much to me. It may 
 be the cause of my leaving forever this happy home 
 that I have had for the last four years. Miss 
 Mary," he said, earnestly, "if I should go away 
 if I should leave here you will always think 
 kindly of me, will you not ?" 
 
 70
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 She gave one startled look up at his face she 
 was so much smaller than the big, powerful man 
 beside her that it was necessary to look up and 
 exclaimed quickly, heatedly: 
 
 "You you are going away? I don't under 
 stand!" 
 
 "You may never understand, Miss Mary 
 you may never understand. But I want you to 
 think well of me when I am gone. I want to 
 feel that I take your good will and wishes with me. 
 I want to feel as if some one felt a regret at my 
 going." 
 
 Mary looked at him with inquiring eyes. What 
 did it mean, his going away at such a time, when 
 his spiritual help was so needed ? Why this 
 sudden resolve ? Was there a mystery in Richard 
 Broakley's death that had impelled him to this 
 sudden resolution ? Could it be possible that 
 he was involved but, no, banish the thought! 
 
 Mary had formed an affection for the big, 
 scrawny, muscular man beside her an affection 
 which she had hoped would in time be shared by 
 him. She had admired him for his manly strength, 
 for his cool, self-possessed manner, for his willing 
 ness to help all at all times, for his bigness of 
 heart and, above all, for his manifest devotion 
 to all in that household. She could not bear the 
 thought of his going away, and so suddenly, too. 
 
 71
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Do not talk so,'* she said. "You know as 
 well as I do that if you went away every one here 
 would feel a regret not I alone. But why should 
 you go ? Ain't you happy and contented here ?" 
 
 "Yes, happy and contented I was. But there 
 is a duty far deeper than my own happiness and 
 contentment that has made me resolve upon 
 undertaking something that will mean my leaving 
 this place this home maybe forever." 
 
 "Jim Carbon, you don't know how lonely I" 
 (she corrected herself hurriedly), "that is, we 
 will feel if you should go away. But you will 
 write and let me that is, us hear from you ?" 
 
 "No, if I go away to-night or to-morrow no 
 one shall ever hear of or from me again." 
 
 This was more than Mary could bear. She 
 already felt desolate, forsaken, at the very thought 
 of his leaving the homestead. She would miss 
 the companion of her evenings at dominoes, and 
 his help with the chores about the house. Had 
 he not, when he knew that she was to spend an 
 evening out, laughingly taken the dish towel 
 and dried dishes for her ? Had he not, when he 
 saw her with the hamper full of wash, taken it 
 from her, when she was staggering under the load, 
 and lifted it up on his big, broad shoulders as if 
 it were full of feathers ? Had he not, after a 
 hard day's work in the field, sat up until late 
 
 72
 
 and then gone out to escort her home from some 
 country frolic, paying no heed to her assurances 
 that she was not afraid to come home alone ? 
 
 She could contain herself no longer and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 "Oh, Jim Carbon, how can you think of such 
 a thing ? Have you no regard no love for 
 those you will leave behind for the doctor, who 
 has been so good to you; for Mrs. Boosch, who 
 has been like a mother to you; for Miss Myra 
 and for Arthur ?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied slowly and solemnly, "I 
 love them all love them as father and mother, 
 as brother and sister. But I have a duty far 
 dearer than all to perform, and which rises above 
 all selfish feelings on my part." 
 
 She felt as if she would ask him to remain for 
 her sake to remain that he might learn to re 
 turn the love in her heart for him. 
 
 He, unaware of the affection that was bestowed 
 upon him, took her hand in his how it trembled, 
 he noticed and said feelingly: 
 
 " Mary, I think it is the last time we will shake 
 hands. I shall never forget the first welcome 
 I received from you in yonder house. May 
 God keep and prosper you and make you happy 
 for the many, many years I hope you will live 
 to enjoy life. Good-bye." 
 
 73
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 And he stooped over and kissed her hand with 
 a fervency that left no doubt of the sincerity of 
 his prayer. 
 
 "Good-bye, Jim Carbon," she returned, the 
 tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, why do you 
 add to the bitterness of this day why do you add 
 to the sorrows of those within this hitherto happy 
 and peaceful house ?" 
 
 "Mary, it is all for the best. Perhaps some day 
 you will know will feel that I was right in my 
 decision. Before you go into the house, I wish 
 you would promise me that you'll fix it so that I 
 can see Dr. Boosch in the hall alone to-night. 
 Make some excuse that you have come to relieve 
 him so that he can take a little exercise, but 
 be sure that it's late and that all the other folks 
 have retired. Don't fail me in this I must see 
 him, and alone. It will be the last favor I will 
 ask of you may I trust you ?" 
 
 "You may. Good-bye." 
 
 Jim went straight to his room and remained 
 there throughout the entire afternoon and evening. 
 No one disturbed him, as all knew that he had not 
 gone to bed the previous night, and supposed 
 that he was sleeping soundly. 
 
 Not so, however. Jim Carbon paced his room 
 for hours, feverishly awaiting the sound of the 
 doctor's footsteps upon the stairs. A fearful 
 
 74
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 storm had arisen during the night, and he watched 
 it from his window, and compared it to the storm 
 that had arisen in the lives within that house. 
 How like the day it seemed to him. The beauti 
 ful day, with its sunshine, then the gathering of the 
 clouds, and then the storm. 
 
 As my hands were pointing to the hour of ten 
 he heard the doctor's tread upon the stairs. He 
 opened the door, peered out, and said to himself: 
 
 "Now, Jim Carbon, is your time." 
 
 75
 
 TICK THE ELEVENTH 
 
 I AM only the old-fashioned family clock, trying 
 in my simple way to tick off this tale, the events 
 of which either transpired in my presence or which 
 I gathered in after years from happenings and 
 conversations, and which I have pieced together. 
 
 When I think of that night, with those two 
 men battling before me not a physical battle, 
 mind you, but a battle of words as man to man 
 of the groping despair of the one, and the pas 
 sionate, earnest, pathetic, dramatic pleading of 
 the other to allow himself to be made a sacrifice 
 upon the altar of the gossips of the community; 
 to sacrifice the friends he had made; to sacrifice 
 the reputation he had won for honesty and manli 
 ness of purpose; to sacrifice the unblemished 
 name that had been carried by the Carbons 
 through life aye, to sacrifice his very future 
 for all time to those who had so endeared them 
 selves to him that no others in this world could 
 take their places in his heart when I think of 
 that night, I say, words seem to fail me. 
 
 My, but how the storm raged that night! 
 How the lightning flashes made ghastly at times 
 
 76
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the faces of those two earnest, honest men, only 
 to be made mellow again by the soft glow of the 
 hall light. How like their emotions was that 
 interchanging of color. 
 
 First the white heat of passion of the father 
 of Myra; then the gradual mellowing, as Jim 
 Carbon, inch by inch, fought the doctor back 
 to his fortress, compelling his slow retreat, com 
 pelling recognition of his appeal, of his demand- 
 yes, of his almost imperative demand. It seemed 
 to me, keeping time there and listening to the 
 words that came from the very bottom of the 
 hearts of those two, that Jim Carbon grew taller, 
 more powerful, each minute. He appeared to 
 tower above the good doctor and to take his 
 poignant word-arrows as if they were shafts from 
 Cupid instead of from the father of the girl whose 
 very life depended upon the outcome of this war 
 between them. 
 
 Aye, Jim Carbon, I loved you ever since I first 
 knew you, as only an old family clock can love 
 a manly, honest, pure-hearted soul such as yours. 
 But I loved you more that night I wish there 
 were words in my simple lexicon that could de 
 scribe how I loved you. How I wished that I 
 could put out my hands and throw them around 
 your neck and cry out: 
 
 "Jim Carbon, you may be only a plain farmer's 
 
 77
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 helper, but the good God above, who measures 
 His disciples not by their station in life, but by 
 their worthiness, will greet you upon your ascen 
 sion and take you unto Himself and give you the 
 place of honor by His side." 
 
 I see you now, Jim Carbon, with your big, 
 scrawny frame towering above the doctor; I see 
 you with your kindly face lighted up by the passion 
 in your soul not of anger, but of love; I see you, 
 grasping the hand that was extended to you upon 
 the capitulation of the doctor, your face radiant 
 with the joy that was yours in the knowledge 
 that you had won the battle that you were the 
 victor, not for your own self-aggrandizement, 
 but that you had won the right to give up all for 
 one who had won your love. Yes, I am not 
 afraid to say it your love. 
 
 I repeat again, Jim Carbon, that I loved you 
 more than ever that night that night when I 
 saw you pass up the stairs for the last time for 
 so many, many years that I despaired of ever 
 seeing you again. 
 
 But I am transgressing. 
 
 Three hours before the doctor emerged from 
 Myra's room the village undertaker and his 
 assistant arrived and removed all that was earthly 
 of Richard Broakley. No one was present but 
 those two and myself. 
 
 78
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Dr. Boosch, fearful lest Myra should hear 
 the scuffling of feet below and should divine 
 the cause, dared not leave her. Jim Carbon was 
 in his room beyond earshot of the sounds. Mary 
 Lash had the wisdom and forethought to get 
 Mrs. Boosch into the kitchen upon the pretext 
 of asking her advice upon some domestic matters. 
 And so, tenderly and compassionately, those two 
 lifted the body of Richard from the couch and 
 placed it in the wagon without. And I I ticked 
 on, for is it not my province to keep on ticking away 
 the moments, though other lifebeats have been 
 stilled ? 
 
 For three hours I kept lonely vigil, in the stillness 
 of the night, undisturbed by sound of living being, 
 down here in the hall. And then I heard Mary 
 Lash knock at Myra's door and enter. A few 
 moments thereafter Dr Boosch came out and 
 walked down the stairs with slow tread. He was 
 no longer a young man, was Dr. Boosch, and 
 the events of the last twenty-four hours had 
 seemed to add years to his life. 
 
 He had scarcely paced up and down the hall 
 half a dozen times and seated himself on the couch 
 upon which but a few hours before had lain the 
 body of Richard, when he heard footsteps upon 
 the stairs, and looking up beheld Jim Carbon, 
 with head poised high in air, his jaws set with 
 
 79
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 grim determination, his eyes fairly blazing in the 
 faint, mellow light of the hall lamp. Now and 
 then the brilliant flashes of lightning penetrated 
 the very innermost recesses of the hall and the 
 parlor beyond, only to fade away again and leave 
 our shadows dancing fantastically like marionettes 
 upon the wall. 
 
 "Why, Jim," greeted the doctor, "I thought 
 every one in the house but Mary and myself 
 was asleep. Has the storm kept you awake ?" 
 
 "No," replied Jim, seating himself upon the 
 couch beside the doctor; "I haven't attempted 
 any sleep; I have had so many things to think 
 of these few hours that my brain seems to be in 
 a whirl. Sleep has been out of the question." 
 
 "But you did not sleep the night before, Jim. 
 By the way, you never told me how Mr. Broakley 
 and Mrs. Broakley " 
 
 "Dr. Boosch," interrupted Jim, "let me spare 
 you a recital of that, more than to say that I saw 
 only Mr. Broakley's father. It isn't necessary 
 for me to tell you of a father's grief at the loss of 
 his only son of his only child. In fact, I did not 
 come down here to speak of that matter. I 
 came down to talk to you as man to man not 
 as employee to employer. I feel that I have a 
 right to speak a right to address you on a matter 
 that concerns you and your wife and your daugh- 
 
 80
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 ter that concerns us all. I wish that whatever 
 I have to say will not be misconstrued." 
 
 "Why, Jim/* the doctor replied, "what has 
 gone amiss ?" 
 
 He could not understand the strange, unusual 
 manner of the man addressing him. There was 
 something so peculiar, so unlike Jim Carbon, 
 that he seemed to be a different person. His calm, 
 cool manner had given way to a quick, impetuous 
 utterance of speech, as if the words he spoke were 
 belching from a pent-up, erupting Vesuvius. 
 
 "There is something amiss, Dr. Boosch," he 
 said. "There is something I would speak to you 
 about something I think should be done this 
 very night; I do not think there should be an 
 hour's delay. I am sure that you will agree with 
 me when you know why I am here to make my 
 request." 
 
 Here Carbon paused for an instant, extended 
 his hand to the doctor, and said : 
 
 "Dr. Boosch, from the moment that I entered 
 your home I think I have always kept my place 
 I have always honored you and have been respected 
 by you. Is there any one in this house who can 
 say aught but good of me ?" 
 
 The doctor, somewhat taken aback by the 
 suddenness of the interrogation, replied : 
 
 "Why, no. Why do you ask that? Has any 
 
 81
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 one given you any intimation that it was other 
 wise ?" 
 
 "No, sir, only I wanted you to feel that I 
 am not forgetting my position in this household 
 when I tell you the reason why I have come here 
 to speak to you alone." 
 
 Another flash of lightning illumined those two 
 faces before me one intently and beseechingly 
 looking at the other, wondering what he was going 
 to say, and the other wondering how he should 
 say it. 
 
 Finally, after a moment's hesitation, Jim blurted 
 out, with the half-expectation of a man who was 
 awaiting a death sentence: 
 
 "Dr. Boosch, I want to marry your daughter 
 Myra!" 
 
 The good doctor gasped as one who had been 
 suddenly immersed in icy water, looked into the 
 anxious face beside him for what seemed to Carbon 
 an interminable length of time, and, putting one 
 hand on Carbon's shoulder and shaking him as 
 if he would awaken him from a trance, exclaimed: 
 
 " Jim Carbon, have you gone mad ?" 
 
 82
 
 TICK THE TWELFTH 
 
 HAVE you ever sat in the quiet hours of the 
 night and listened to the ticking of your clock ? 
 Have you noticed that while the ticking was 
 regular and rhythmic, at certain periods it seemed 
 to you that the sound of the ticks was so accen 
 tuated that it could be likened unto the beating 
 of a muffled drum, and then for a while it seemed 
 as if the ticks were coming faster, and faster 
 and faster, until your tense nerves relaxed and you 
 found that there had been no variation at all ? 
 
 So it was with me after Jim Carbon had made 
 that startling request and Dr. Boosch had made 
 his doubting reply " Jim Carbon, have you gone 
 mad ?" 
 
 It seemed to me that my very mainspring 
 became so wrought up with the tenseness of that 
 brief period of silence that I ticked louder than I 
 had ever done before. I watched anxiously the 
 faces of the two men seated upon the couch before 
 me. 
 
 Carbon, cool and calm in his manner, but 
 passionate in his earnestness, looked Dr. Boosch 
 full in the eyes for a moment, while he groped, 
 
 83
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 evidently, for words further to express himself. 
 
 Dr. Boosch, almost doubting his senses, was 
 staring at Jim Carbon as if he half expected that 
 he would break out as a raving maniac. The 
 thought flashed through his mind that Carbon 
 had become unnerved by the tragedy of the day 
 before and had become temporarily insane. He 
 saw, however, only those keen gray eyes searching 
 his as if he would fathom their depths. 
 
 Suddenly, as if released by the snapping asunder 
 of a cable, Jim Carbon seemed to find voice 
 for expression and vehemently said : 
 
 "No, Dr. Boosch, I am not mad. I thought 
 you would think so if I should ask your daughter's 
 hand in marriage and at such a time as this, 
 too. No, Dr. Boosch, I am not mad" here 
 he arose and stood in front of the doctor, drawing 
 himself to his full height and extending his arms 
 in the earnestness of his appeal. "What I am 
 asking you is not the request of a madman, but 
 that of a man who has spent the day and night 
 in deliberation of this the resolve of a man who 
 is as sane as ever man could be." 
 
 "Jim Carbon, do you know what you are 
 saying ? Do you know, Jim, that you are insult 
 ing me by your insane proposal to marry " 
 
 "Dr. Boosch," interrupted Jim, "you are the 
 last man in the world I would insult, and your
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 daughter is the last person of all who would ever 
 receive from me anything but respect you know 
 that as well as I." 
 
 The doctor seemed stunned. He half arose, then 
 sank back upon the couch again. He could 
 scarcely believe that he had heard aright scarcely 
 believe that his own mind was not giving way 
 under the strain of the many hours of weary 
 vigil by Myra's side. He passed his hand over 
 his brow as if he would dispel the clouds that 
 seemed to befog his brain. 
 
 He turned to the man standing in front of him 
 and heatedly said: 
 
 "Jim Carbon, I cannot understand what you 
 mean. How dare you insult me all of us 
 by making such a proposal ? You, sir, shall leave 
 this house instantly! Oh, why do you add to 
 my suffering ?" he added, his tone modulating 
 somewhat. "Leave me alone; go, and do not let 
 us ever see you again." 
 
 "I shall go, Dr. Boosch," replied Carbon, in 
 a gentle voice. " Such was my intention, anyway. 
 I have not come here to insult you. I have come 
 here, after many hours of conflict with myself, 
 to offer to save the honor of your daughter to 
 spare her from the taunts of the world to give 
 her a name. I have no thought of myself, of my 
 future only of her. Let me marry her to-night 
 
 85
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 at once and then I shall leave this house and go 
 out into the world and lose my identity my 
 name to all hereabout for time eternal. I 
 promise you I swear it that you shall never 
 see me again." 
 
 His hands were held out imploringly; he spoke 
 so rapidly that the words were fairly crowded 
 upon each other. The doctor, quivering in every 
 nerve, attempted to speak further to stop what 
 he considered a dastardly impertinence upon 
 the part of Carbon, whom he had respected and 
 admired for the years he had been a member of his 
 household. 
 
 "Dr. Boosch," continued Carbon, passionately, 
 heatedly, " you must you must let me marry 
 your daughter Myra ! You must you must, I say 
 let me save the honor of your daughter and of 
 her his " 
 
 "My God!" cried Dr. Boosch, "you know that ?" 
 
 "Yes," responded Jim, "I know that. I 
 know what the world will say; I know what your 
 daughter is to you and to Mrs. Boosch; I know 
 that by marrying her and leaving her at once 
 I can save her honor and her name. The world 
 will hear that Jim Carbon had married her 
 clandestinely and had deserted her. It will con 
 demn me, it will taunt me with being a scoundrel, 
 it will place upon me the stigma of a man who 
 
 86
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 had rewarded confidence by a contemptible act 
 so much the better. The greater the abuse 
 heaped upon me the lighter will be the burden 
 upon her upon Miss Myra. Listen to my 
 appeal, Dr. Boosch; listen to the appeal of a man 
 who has learned to love you all to the appeal of 
 one who begs the privilege of sacrificing all that 
 is dear to him in this world to save the honor 
 of a woman he has dared yes, dared, for he could 
 not help it to love." 
 
 He paused for breath, but only for an instant 
 when he resumed: 
 
 "Dr. Boosch, as God is my witness, I swear 
 I swear by the sainted presence of my father and 
 mother, that I will never breathe a word to a 
 living soul of what shall be a secret between 
 us as long as life shall last. Dr. Boosch," he 
 said, beseechingly, imploringly, "you can see how 
 much this means to you to Miss Myra, to your 
 family how little to me, who will go away as an 
 outcast to drift, I care not where." 
 
 "Jim Carbon, for the love of heaven, are you 
 trying to take advantage of a father's misfortune, 
 of a woman's 
 
 "I am taking no advantage," said Carbon, in 
 a softer, modulated tone. "Dr. Boosch, do not 
 think that I have thought of myself do not, do 
 not. Let me marry Miss Myra, that all may
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 be right, and the instant that is done I shall leave 
 the very instant, no matter if it is in the storm that 
 now rages. Dr. Boosch, can't you understand 
 me, can't you believe me, can't you trust me, 
 can't you see that I only beg the privilege of setting 
 right before the world " 
 
 "Carbon, Carbon, give me time to think, 
 give me " 
 
 "There is no time to think; your duty is plain 
 my duty is plain. I plead, I beg, I entreat you, 
 let the world condemn me, let the world's hatred 
 toward me be what it will. Mine was a respected 
 name and only you and your family shall ever 
 know that it is so still. It must be so, Dr. Boosch; 
 can't you understand ?" 
 
 He paused for breath and looked fixedly at 
 the doctor now beginning to understand the 
 unselfish motive of the big, plain, scrawny figure 
 in front of him. 
 
 "Jim Carbon," said the doctor, his voice almost 
 failing him, "I begin to understand. Perhaps 
 perhaps it would be best. But you you will 
 sacrifice everything your home here, your friends, 
 your name 
 
 "Don't speak of that, Dr. Boosch, don't speak 
 of that. Only speak of what must be done this 
 night yes, this night. A delay of a day might 
 mean that your daughter's reason might give way 
 
 88
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 let her understand that she will be righted before 
 the world to-night, and that she need never see 
 me again. Let her understand that she will 
 be as free from Jim Carbon as if he were dead 
 for neither she nor any one else shall ever see 
 me again. I shall go thousands of miles away 
 from here, unknown to any living soul, for I shall 
 not carry even my name. I have given this 
 earnest, deep thought, Dr. Boosch, ever since 
 I listened to the dying confession of Richard 
 Broakley." 
 
 The doctor arose from the couch, and taking 
 hold of both of Jim Carbon's hands dropped his 
 head upon the broad shoulder of the muscular 
 man and sobbed as if his heart would break. 
 
 "There, there, Dr. Boosch, don't take on so. 
 You don't know what a child you are making 
 of me I feel as if I should want to cry, too. I 
 feel as if I but none of that! You will you will 
 grant my wish my earnest prayer ?" 
 
 "Jim Carbon, you are one of God's noblemen. 
 I see it will be for the best for all concerned but 
 yourself." 
 
 "Don't think of me, don't think of me," said 
 Jim, smoothing the whitening hair of the head 
 drooping upon his shoulder. "Think only of 
 her of her mother of yourself. I shall drive 
 at once and get Mr. Maujer, the minister; you
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 can tell him why this haste, and immediately 
 after the the ceremony I shall leave this house 
 forever." 
 
 "You shall not go out in this storm to-night, 
 Jim; you must not." 
 
 "I shall at once. I will bring Mr. Maujer 
 here as fast as the team will carry us. And then- 
 then I shall go away without saying good-bye 
 to any one but you and your wife and daughter 
 forever." 
 
 He turned on his heel and went toward the 
 kitchen, where hung his hat and stormcoat. 
 He glanced back as he stood at the door, and saw 
 the good doctor fall upon his knees, his frame 
 shaking convulsively, his hands uplifted to heaven, 
 and heard him cry out: 
 
 "Heavenly Father, pity me! Pity me! Pity 
 us all!" 
 
 And I, the old family clock, ticked on.
 
 TICK THE THIRTEENTH 
 
 CRASH followed crash, the distant mountains 
 sending back the reverberations as if they were 
 loth to take responsibility for the awfulness of the 
 storm and wished to return the thunderous noises 
 whence they came. 
 
 Jim Carbon stood for an instant at the kitchen 
 door and watched the blazing of the trail of the 
 lightning. There was scarcely any intermission 
 between the flashes of light, and the very heavens 
 seemed to be weeping in unison with those in 
 that household that night. 
 
 The good doctor, after a few moments of 
 silent communion with his God, arose and went 
 up to his daughter's room. Myra, in the interval 
 of her father's absence, had tossed in half con 
 scious, half delirious unrest. She had heard 
 Carbon close the kitchen door and had heard 
 his footsteps upon the gravel walk leading from 
 the house to the barn. She turned wearily to 
 Mary, who had been keeping vigil by her side 
 during the absence of Dr. Boosch, and asked: 
 
 "Mary, who is going out on such a night as 
 this, and at such an hour ? Surely, there must 
 
 9 1
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 be some urgent mission to take any one out to 
 night, Mary. Has anything, happened ? Have 
 they come to take Richard away ?" 
 
 "Miss Boosch," replied Mary, glancing out 
 of the window and discerning the tall, masculine 
 figure that she had learned to know yes, and to 
 love so well, "they took Mr. Broakley away 
 yesterday afternoon. He is home with his parents 
 now. ' ' 
 
 "Home with his parents? Home with his 
 parents ? Oh, Mary, Mary, why did they take 
 him away ? Why didn't they let me see him ? 
 Why didn't they let me put my arms around his 
 neck and kiss him good-bye ? Let me go to him 
 let me join him in heaven let me see his face 
 again! Mary, Mary, my heart is breaking 
 is breaking 
 
 She had half arisen in her supplication. The 
 wounded and crushed spirit fell back upon the 
 pillow. Mary brushed back the disheveled hair 
 from that handsome face, now seemingly of marble, 
 and smoothed out the bed covers. She saw that 
 unconsciousness had again given relief to the 
 unbearable wound that had been inflicted upon 
 that tender heart beating so erratically now 
 slow and regular, as if she were roaming with 
 the light of her life on the mountain side; then 
 beating faster and faster, until it seemed as if 
 
 92
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 every nerve in that body must snap asunder. 
 
 Mary turned again to the window and saw 
 Carbon, lantern hanging on arm, hitching up the 
 team to the covered carriage that the doctor used 
 in his professional visits. What was going on, 
 she wondered. Was the doctor going down to 
 see Carbon off? Why should he leave so sud 
 denly ? Why this mystery ? She watched Jim 
 hurriedly hitching up as if his life depended on it 
 she watched him as he turned his face to the storm 
 mercilessly beating down upon him. My, she 
 thought, what a night for any human being to be 
 out in above all, Jim Carbon, for whose safety 
 she uttered a silent prayer. 
 
 She glanced around at the listless form in 
 the white-covered bed. Then she again glanced 
 out of the window at Carbon, just as he drove 
 out of the gateway, his lantern hanging beside 
 his head and emblazoning his ruddy face upon 
 her memory with that last look she had of him. 
 Then she turned to the bed again, and throwing 
 her arms about the unconscious Myra, exclaimed 
 sorrowfully, bitterly: 
 
 "Miss Myra, your love is dead. And my 
 love my love, is dead to me, too, and gone 
 forever!" 
 
 Tears the outlet for woman's grief, always 
 flowed upon the coverlet. Silently, softly, was 
 
 93
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Mary weeping when the doctor re-entered the 
 room. 
 
 "Why, Mary, what is the matter?" inquired 
 the doctor, somewhat startled. He was alarmed- 
 he feared that his daughter might have become 
 delirious and have betrayed to Mary Lash what 
 he would not have her know for all the world. 
 
 "Nothing is the matter, Dr. Boosch," Mary 
 replied; "nothing is the matter, only it grieves me 
 to see Miss Myra suffer so." 
 
 "Mary, you must be worn out. I should advise 
 your going to bed at once. I shall not require 
 anything more to-night. Oh, Mary, before you 
 go I wish you would step into Mrs. Boosch's 
 room and tell her that I would like to see her 
 here in Myra's room. She has undoubtedly 
 retired, but tell her that I wish to speak to her here." 
 
 "Very well," replied Mary, as she softly closed 
 the door. She went to the room of Myra's mother 
 and gently aroused her. 
 
 "Mrs. Boosch, the doctor asked me to tell you 
 to step into Miss Myra's room at once. He wishes 
 to speak to you there." 
 
 "Why, Mary," said Mrs. Boosch, startled by 
 the sudden awakening, "Myra is not worse, is 
 she ?" 
 
 "No, I think not. She appears to be about 
 the same. But evidently there is something 
 
 94
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 on the doctor's mind. Jim Carbon has just 
 driven off with the two-horse rig, and he seemed 
 to be in great haste, too." 
 
 "What, out on such a night as this? What 
 can be the matter, I wonder ?" 
 
 "I don't know, Mrs. Boosch. Everything 
 seems to have gone wrong since Mr. Broakley's 
 death everything. " 
 
 "Well, Mary, it seems that such things must 
 be it is not for us to try to divine the ways of 
 Providence. I will go to Myra's room in a mo 
 ment. Good-night, Mary; get a good night's 
 rest, for you certainly need it." 
 
 "Good-night, Mrs. Boosch. I hope that all 
 will turn out right and that we will be happy 
 again some day." 
 
 Mary went upstairs to her room and seated 
 herself upon the edge of her bed. The candle 
 that she placed on the little dressing-table flickered 
 and seemed to want to go out, as if it knew that 
 Mary needed it no more that night But Mary 
 sat there for a long, long time she knew not 
 how long thinking of the events of the past 
 twenty-four hours. She could not fathom she 
 could not understand the mystery of Jim Carbon's 
 leaving that house so suddenly. What had Richard 
 Broakley's death to do with him, that he should 
 go away forever ? Why did he drive away so 
 
 95
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 suddenly ? Would he ever come back again ? 
 
 These and a thousand more queries arose in 
 her mind. Finally, tired nature overcame her 
 and she dropped back upon the bed and fell 
 into a fitful, troubled sleep. The candle flickered 
 on, until its life ebbed out and left the room in 
 darkness save for the intermittent illumination 
 made by the flashes of lightning. The storm still 
 continued to rage fiercely there was no abatement, 
 apparently, either in the thunderous rolls or in 
 the incessant downpour of water. 
 
 Mrs. Boosch went to her daughter's room. 
 Her soft eyes looked at the doctor's worn, haggard 
 face. She, too, had aged in the past few hours 
 what mother would not age under the mental 
 shock that she had received ? 
 
 "Mother," said Dr. Boosch he had called 
 her "mother" ever since the birth of their son, 
 their first-born "I would not have disturbed 
 you were it not for a matter that concerns us all. 
 I did not wish to leave Myra alone, else I should 
 have gone to you. Mother, I sent for you that I 
 might tell you in the presence of our Myra that 
 Jim Carbon is going to marry her." 
 
 " Marry her marry Myra ? Jim Carbon, the 
 hired man marry our Myra ? Henry, do I 
 understand you aright ? Jim Carbon, the hired 
 man, marry marry our Myra ?" 
 
 96
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Yes, mother, you understand me correctly. 
 Yes, Jim Carbon hired man he was, but will 
 be no more for he is going away. He may have 
 been only a hired man, but the heart that beats 
 in that man's body is worthy of our Myra or 
 of any woman that lives. Mother, wait until 
 Myra awakens and then I will tell you what has 
 just taken place between Carbon and myself, 
 and I am sure that you will agree with me that it 
 will be for the best." 
 
 Ever trusting in her husband's superior wisdom, 
 Mrs. Boosch placed her hands in his and looked 
 up into those kindly eyes beaming down upon her 
 with the love that had ripened and mellowed with 
 twenty-five years of companionship. 
 
 "Yes, mother," he continued, "I have prayed 
 long and earnestly that the Almighty might show 
 us a pathway leading from the darkness that has 
 overcome us all into the light. And He has. 
 He has sent one of His disciples plain Jim 
 Carbon, the hired man to lead us into that 
 pathway, mother. May He bless every footstep 
 of that young man's life no matter where he 
 may go no matter what he may undertake 
 that is my prayerful wish." 
 
 Myra at this moment opened her eyes, lan 
 guidly, as if she had awakened from a troubled 
 dream. Her eyes looked inquiringly at her 
 
 7 97
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 mother. She wondered why she was up so late. 
 The storm, she supposed, as a crash echoed and 
 re-echoed over the hills, had frightened her and 
 she wished to be near her protector in all of life's 
 storms. 
 
 "Myra," said her father, "I have something 
 to tell you something that you must listen to 
 with patience you must forget the past you 
 must think of the future. And what I am about 
 to say means so much to your future to our 
 future that I am sure you will see that it should 
 be done and at once." 
 
 " What is it, father ? You know how I love 
 you, father, and how much I need your help and 
 counsel now. What is it you wish me to do ? 
 Have you ever commanded me that I have not 
 obeyed ?" 
 
 "No, my child, never. But this is not a com 
 mand. It is a matter that is left with yourself 
 and your God." 
 
 He then went into a detailed account of his 
 conversation with Carbon, omitting nothing what 
 ever. Myra listened attentively she did not 
 exhibit the spirit of revulsion that her father had 
 half expected and when he had finished, with 
 the remark that he looked for Jim's return in a 
 very short while with Mr. Maujer, she turned 
 wearily toward his anxious face bending over her,
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 reached up and put her arms about his neck, 
 kissed him fervently, and said : 
 
 "Father, father my father it shall be so! 
 Mother, mother my mother it shall be so! 
 You still love your daughter, do you not mother, 
 father ?" 
 
 Those two bent over their child and each 
 imprinted a kiss that assured her that she would 
 never lose their parental love through storm 
 and sunshine, through darkness and light, that 
 love would be with her forever yes, and for aye. 
 
 99
 
 TICK THE FOURTEENTH 
 
 CARBON, driving the team through the storm 
 that night the team that knew his guiding hand 
 so well that they needed no urging saw nothing 
 ahead of him but the muddy, heavy road, now 
 dark as pitch and again almost as light as day. 
 He had been out in storms before, but he could 
 not recall any like this. With the flashes of light 
 ning making visible the heavy, angry clouds, 
 rolling like banks of black smoke, there came 
 peal upon peal of thunder scarcely had one died 
 away in the distant mountains, to be thrown 
 back again, than it was followed by another. 
 
 Truly, Carbon thought to himself, the elements 
 were at war with themselves. He kept steadily 
 on, until the beckoning colored lights of the 
 railroad crossing assured him that he was within 
 the limits of the town and that a few minutes 
 would bring him to the parsonage of the Rev. 
 David Maujer. His team was panting and 
 sweating when he drove up to the door. 
 
 The town clock had just tolled in monotone 
 the hour of twelve as he jumped out of the carriage 
 and sprang up the steps. He rang the bell 
 
 100
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 several times, as he felt that it would require 
 some time to make the inmates hear in the noise 
 of that storm. There was no need for that, 
 however, as the second jingle had scarcely died 
 out when the door opened and Mr. Maujer, in 
 dressing-gown, peered out at Jim. 
 
 "Mr. Maujer," said Carbon, "can you come 
 with me at once ?" 
 
 "Who are you? I cannot distinguish your 
 face here. Oh, yes, I recognize the voice now 
 you are Jim Carbon. What is the trouble ? 
 I hope that nothing serious has happened. Won't 
 you step in ? Certainly I will go with you at once. 
 My calling does not permit of hesitation where 
 duty calls, you know, Jim, and I am sure you 
 would not be out in a storm such as this were your 
 mission not urgent. However, you can explain 
 to me when we are on the way. I will be ready 
 in a minute or more. Won't you come in ?" 
 
 "No, thank you; my horses are heated by the 
 fast driving I have been doing, and I had better 
 put blankets on them, for this rain is chilling. 
 I will wait outside." 
 
 Jim Carbon, thoughtful even for the animals, 
 carefully blanketed the horses, spoke a word to 
 them "Good boy, Tom; good girl, Jennie" 
 petted them and jumped into the carriage and 
 awaited the appearance of Mr. Maujer. 
 
 IOI
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Now, sir, I am with you," cheerily called out 
 the minister, in an incredibly short time. "I 
 didn't keep you waiting long, did I ?" 
 
 "No, indeed. I wonder how you could have 
 dressed so quickly. You certainly have established 
 a record in my mind for rapid preparation. This 
 side, sir, where you won't get the benefit of so 
 much of the storm. You see, I have provided 
 all the protection that was possible, but we can't 
 expect to escape it all." 
 
 "My, but what a night this is! It is about the 
 worst I have seen in many years. How are all 
 the folks up at the farm ?" Mr. Maujer asked, 
 as he swung lightly into the carriage and covered 
 himself with the blankets and drew down the 
 curtain that Carbon had improvised for stormy 
 weather. 
 
 Jim removed the covering from the horses, 
 threw them under the seat, jumped in, and with a 
 "G'lang, Tom; g'lang, Jennie," answered: 
 
 "Pretty well, sir; all but Miss Myra. I under 
 stand that she takes the death of Mr. Broakley 
 very much to heart so much so that her father 
 has been by her bedside almost constantly since 
 she learned the awful news." 
 
 "Yes, that was a sad accident, Jim a sad 
 accident. I was at Broakleys' last night and gave 
 them what little spiritual consolation was in my 
 
 102
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 power. My heart bleeds for them. Their only 
 son, their only child who of us can feel what such 
 a loss must mean to them ?" 
 
 "Mr. Maujer," said Carbon, when they had 
 fairly started, "I will not say just now why I have 
 come for you I think perhaps it would be better 
 if Dr. Boosch explained to you personally you 
 won't feel hurt, will you ?" 
 
 "My good man," returned the minister, "what 
 ever duty I may be called upon to perform will 
 be done with gratitude for the many kindnesses 
 I have received from Dr. Boosch. I owe him much, 
 Jim, for he has been my adviser and friend ever 
 since my boyhood yes, I owe him much." 
 
 And truth it was that he owed much to the 
 doctor. For when David Maujer was a boy he 
 was a wayward one. Many and many were the 
 complaints that were made against him com 
 plaints that ran from boyish pranks until they 
 finally culminated in robbery the robbery of 
 Vender's grocery store. One morning when Peter 
 Vender opened his store he found that some 
 one had broken into it and had rifled the cash 
 drawer of its contents not much, it is true, only 
 thirteen dollars and some odd cents but robbery 
 is robbery, in the eyes of the law, whether the sum 
 be large or small. Suspicion at once fell upon 
 David and two companions evil companions, 
 
 103
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 such as will lead a good boy astray, sometimes 
 and under repeated and rigid questioning he had 
 finally confessed his guilt. 
 
 David's father had been bedridden for years, 
 and as a consequence the bringing up of the lad 
 devolved upon his mother herself more or less 
 sickly and unable to devote much attention to 
 him, as she had three other children, younger 
 than he. And so it was that David, practically 
 left to his own resources, had drifted from bad 
 to worse, until at the age of seventeen he stood 
 charged with the crime of robbery. 
 
 Then it was that the good doctor, who had 
 taken a liking to the boy, notwithstanding his 
 waywardness, had stepped into the father's place 
 and gone to the town jail and prayed with David 
 and importuned him to break away from his evil 
 companions and ways prayed with him until 
 the boy had burst into tears and had dropped 
 upon his knees and begged the good man to help 
 him in this, his hour of spiritual need. 
 
 Peter Vender was an honest man as honest 
 in his business dealings as in his home life. He 
 was a Christian man was Mr. Vender but 
 hard and inflexible, like so many Christian men 
 who cannot understand that we are all prone to 
 err and sin, and that He who died that we might 
 be saved was forgiving and loving and gentle 
 
 104
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to those who had sinned. Dr. Boosch had gone 
 to him and pleaded and begged him to withdraw 
 the charge against David, urging the condition 
 of his father and the helplessness of his mother as 
 in a measure responsible for the boy's waywardness. 
 
 But Peter Vender could only understand that 
 robbery was a crime, and there could be no 
 extenuation for any crime, in his mind. Dr. 
 Boosch had said to him: 
 
 "Mr. Vender, can you not feel for the father 
 and mother ? Can you not put yourself in the place 
 of those parents ? Imagine them, loving their 
 boy as much as you do your children, Mr. Vender, 
 parting with him now now, when they need his 
 help and comfort, for such he will be to them 
 in the future, I feel sure. David has promised 
 me to mend his ways and become a good Christian 
 boy, and I believe from the bottom of my heart 
 that he means to do so. Give him another 
 chance, Mr. Vender, and I am sure that you will 
 never regret it." 
 
 "Doctor Boosch," Vender had replied, "I 
 am a man of business. Everybody knows I 
 am honest have been and always will be. If 
 I should let pass any such crime as this boy has 
 committed it would lead others on, for only the 
 fear of punishment deters some persons in this 
 world from committing crime. No, sir, I cannot 
 
 105
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 overlook it. This boy must be punished as he 
 should be that others may profit by the example 
 made of him and lead honest lives." 
 
 Again and again had the doctor renewed his 
 pleading, but all in vain. Mr. Vender was 
 obdurate, and finally Dr. Boosch had given up 
 the task of endeavoring to break that iron will. 
 He had then gone to Justice Eilen's house and 
 had pleaded so long, so earnestly, that finally 
 the justice had weakened, and said to him: 
 
 "Dr. Boosch, I cannot refute your arguments it 
 is true, the boy will not become any better in the 
 reformatory. I cannot, however, do anything 
 but find him guilty that will always hang over 
 his head I cannot do otherwise, for he has con 
 fessed that he committed the robbery. But I 
 will suspend sentence and may he prove worthy 
 of the confidence you have in him. Few boys 
 in trouble have such a friend as you, Doctor." 
 
 And from the day of his trial David Maujer 
 had led a different life, guided by the help, the 
 advice, the counsel of his honored friend. From 
 a wayward boy he had grown to be a man who 
 loved the word of the Master, and eventually 
 had become a minister of the Gospel. How 
 different might have been his life had he been 
 thrown into association with the viciously inclined 
 inmates of the reformatory! 
 
 1 06
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 All this had happened seventeen years ago, 
 and as the recurring past flitted through his mind, 
 Mr. Maujer felt that he did, indeed, owe much 
 to the good doctor. 
 
 Jim Carbon wondered why Mr. Maujer had 
 remained silent. He, too, was in deep thought, 
 and before the pair were aware of it the horses 
 were turning into the lane leading from the main 
 road to the homestead of the doctor. 
 
 "Why, Jim, we certainly did clip along, didn't 
 we ? I had no idea that we were so near the 
 house," said Mr. Maujer, turning to Jim, who, 
 aroused from his reveries, was also surprised at 
 the short time it took them to make the trip back. 
 
 "Well, here we are," said Jim, as they drove 
 up to the door. " I will put up the team at once, 
 for they have done a good night's work and 
 certainly need the rest they are entitled to." 
 
 The minister rang the bell, which was instantly 
 answered by Dr. Boosch, who warmly greeted 
 his visitor, and I, the old family clock, who wit 
 nessed the greeting, can assure you that the 
 warmth of the minister's response was enough 
 to make any one feel that those men were very, 
 very dear friends indeed. 
 
 107
 
 TICK THE FIFTEENTH 
 
 "HANG YOUR stormcoat and hat on that rack, 
 there, David. And then I wish you would step 
 up to Myra's room with me," said the doctor. 
 
 " Myra ? There is nothing serious the matter 
 with her, I hope," replied the minister. 
 
 "No; but there is a matter about which we are 
 going to hold a family council. Mrs. Boosch 
 is up there, also. Arthur, you know, has been 
 away, traveling on business for his firm, and we 
 do not expect him home for several weeks." 
 
 "Yes, I heard Arthur was away. I saw Rich 
 ard's father and mother yesterday. The funeral 
 service is to be held this afternoon at three 
 o'clock. Will you be able to attend ?" 
 
 "No, I will not be able to go. Myra is in such 
 condition that I would not dare leave her; it would 
 be too great a risk just now. Mrs. Boosch will 
 go, however, as one of our family should be present. 
 I would much rather she would not, for the death 
 of Richard means much to us, also, Mr. Maujer, 
 and I am afraid she might break down. But, as 
 I say, one of our family should be present. Come, 
 let us go upstairs." 
 
 108
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 My hands pointed to a quarter past the hour 
 of one as Dr. Boosch looked inquiringly at me. 
 My, how the lines were drawn on that face, 
 always so radiant and benignant! How dimmed 
 the eyes seemed to me, so accustomed to see them 
 sparkle as he looked up at me when he started 
 out on his professional rounds and asked of me, 
 "Well, Mr. Clock, what good word will I bring 
 home to-day, eh ?" 
 
 Entering Myra's room the minister was trying 
 to conjure up in his mind why he had been sent 
 for so hastily. He had gotten the impression 
 that some one he knew not whom had been 
 suddenly stricken and needed his spiritual con 
 solation. He had come prepared, mentally, to 
 administer the last rites to some one. But Myra, 
 suffering from the shock of Richard's death, 
 appeared to be in no imminent danger, and her 
 mother, though the lines of care were upon her 
 brow, appeared to be enjoying good health. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Boosch ? And how are 
 you, Myra ?" he said, cordially shaking each by 
 the hand. 
 
 "We are fairly well," answered the doctor's 
 wife; "fairly well, all things considered." 
 
 "Now, Doctor," said Mr. Maujer, turning to 
 him, "what can I do for you? What help can 
 I give you ?" 
 
 109
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "David" the doctor spoke now as he did in 
 the days gone by when he had counseled him from 
 evil companionship and had led him into the 
 paths of righteousness "David, you have been 
 called here on a mission of mercy on a mission 
 I hardly know how to begin to tell you." 
 
 "Dr. Boosch," replied the minister, "friend, 
 counselor, adviser of my youth, tell me what is in 
 your heart. Don't you know that I would give 
 up my life to serve you ? Do you think for a 
 moment that I have forgotten what I owe to you 
 do you think that a boy snatched from a life 
 of crime like a brand from the fire can ever forget 
 his obligation to the man who had saved him from 
 a life such as he was leading ? Mrs. Boosch, 
 Myra," he continued, turning to each appealingly, 
 "let me assure you that whatever is asked of me 
 will be granted yes, from the very bottom of 
 my heart." 
 
 The good doctor then told him, from the very 
 beginning, how Richard had fallen in love with 
 his daughter, of their courtship, of their looking 
 forward to an early marriage, of the death of his 
 aunt, with the stipulation in her will as to his 
 age before marrying, and then of the accident 
 that had befallen him and the revelation that 
 had been made by Myra in her delirium. 
 
 Continuing before his wife and daughter, the 
 
 no
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 man of God listening intently, Dr. Boosch told 
 of Carbon's self-sacrificing offer to marry Myra 
 for the sake of saving the name and honor of the 
 Boosch family. He dwelt long and earnestly 
 upon the goodness of Jim Carbon, vowing that 
 such a man as that would surely get his reward, 
 and that he wished for him, wherever Fate might 
 lead him, all the good that might be bestowed 
 upon living mortal. 
 
 Jim Carbon had taken plenty of time putting 
 up the horses for the night. He wished to give 
 the doctor ample opportunity to explain why he 
 had so hastily summoned the minister. He did 
 not wish to be present during that explanation. 
 He wished to avoid, as much as possible, any 
 show of gratitude on the part of the good doctor 
 and his wife. 
 
 Furthermore, he wished for time to think of 
 what he would do when he left the house where 
 he was to go. Although he had given considerable 
 thought to the matter the day before, he was still 
 undecided where to go. And even now he could 
 arrive at no decision, further than that he would 
 go out West, somewhere. He returned to the 
 house, the rain still pouring down in torrents, 
 unlocked the front door, hung his stormcoat on 
 the rack, and, hat in hand, went up the stairs 
 to Myra's room. 
 
 in
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Ah, Jim Carbon, I did not know that I would 
 ever see you again ever again hear that honest, 
 manly voice of yours ever again see those gray 
 eyes of yours looking wistfully at Miss Myra 
 through the front-door glass as she tripped gaily 
 along the road with her Richard. I felt as if a 
 part of my being went out when you went out that 
 night, Jim Carbon, for I knew you loved her and 
 worshipped her. 
 
 As Carbon entered the room he saw a picture 
 such as he never forgot to his dying day. There 
 was Myra, lying on the pure white bed, her head 
 imbedded in the pillow, her hands clasped to 
 gether in prayer on the immaculate spread, her 
 beautiful face ashen white; there was Dr. Boosch, 
 on his knees, beside her, head bowed down, 
 and hands also clasped in prayer; beside him his 
 good wife, weeping softly, the tears falling upon 
 the coverlet; the expounder of His word had 
 just gone down upon his knees and said "Let 
 us pray" as Jim stood for a second by the door. 
 
 Carbon dropped upon his knees, also, clasping 
 his hands on a chair her chair, so delicate, so 
 frail that Jim scarcely rested his hands on it, 
 lest he might break it by the pressure of his strong, 
 muscular arms. 
 
 Oh, the solemnity of that scene the fervency 
 of the prayer of the man of God and the "Amen!" 
 
 112
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and "Again amen!" uttered by his hearers! 
 Little wonder that it impressed itself so forcibly 
 upon the memory of Carbon. Little wonder 
 that those present often thought of it in after 
 years, when the clouds had been dispelled and 
 sunshine again reigned in that abode. Little 
 wonder, I say, that Myra often repeated the prayer 
 of the good man so earnestly pleading with his 
 Master for the welfare of that little circle of gropers 
 in the dark seeking the light. 
 
 Long and earnestly the minister prayed. Long 
 and earnestly he pleaded with the Almighty 
 to forgive his sins and trespasses to forgive the 
 sins and trespasses of those present. Fervently 
 did he pray for the daughter lying there and the 
 man who was about to wed her. The words welled 
 up from his heart, and at times his voice became 
 faint with emotion. Every word he uttered was 
 sincere, heartfelt, honest. And when he had 
 concluded "We ask this in the name of Christ, 
 our Redeemer. Amen!" the responsive "And 
 again, amen!" came from that little band in 
 unison as they arose. 
 
 "James Carbon," said the minister, "Dr. 
 Boosch has explained all to me. Are you still 
 resolved upon keeping your promise ?" 
 
 "I am, indeed, sir," came from Jim, without 
 hesitation.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Very well; I will, with the consent of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Boosch and Miss Myra, perform the 
 ceremony. Have you a ring, James Carbon ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir my mother's. Here it is." 
 
 Myra, turning uneasily in her bed, glanced up 
 and saw Carbon's eyes resting upon her. There 
 was nothing in his glance that would betray his 
 love for her nothing that would make her feel 
 that there was one who would give his very life 
 could he but fill the void made in her heart by 
 the death of Richard Broakley. He had steeled 
 himself yes, steeled himself that she might 
 never know of his love for her. She would still 
 think that Richard's was the only love she had 
 ever won. 
 
 Bidding them join hands how it thrilled him 
 to hold that little hand of hers in his, so big and 
 broad and muscular! Mr. Maujer then began to 
 read the impressive service. 
 
 How different it all was, flashed through Myra's 
 mind how different from the elaborate wedding 
 she and her Richard had pictured, with its gaiety 
 and joy, with its flowers and bridesmaids and 
 bridegroom how different, with this man beside 
 her for whom she had no love, from what it would 
 have been if that were Richard standing there 
 how different 
 
 She could no longer control herself. She 
 
 114
 
 Carbon drew himself erect, as if he would check any possible weakness
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 burst into hysterical sobs. And it was thus when 
 the minister, bidding Carbon slip the ring his 
 mother's ring upon her ringer, pronounced them 
 man and wife. 
 
 "That which God hath joined together let 
 not man put asunder!" 
 
 As the minister uttered this Jim turned to Mrs. 
 Boosch, now silently weeping, extended his hand, 
 and said: 
 
 "Good-bye, Mrs. Boosch; let me thank you 
 let me thank you all for the many kindnesses 
 you have shown me; good-bye, Dr. Boosch; 
 good-bye, Mr. Maujer God bless you all." 
 
 He turned, took up his hat, and started for the 
 door. Myra his wife had swooned. He went 
 back, took up the little hand he had held but a 
 moment ago, and fervently kissed it, saying " Good 
 bye" nothing more. 
 
 Then, as if fearing that he might weaken in 
 his resolution, Carbon drew himself erect, as if 
 he would check any possible weakness, and again 
 started for the door. As he went out he heard 
 Dr. Boosch call out: 
 
 "Don't go, Jim Carbon; don't go just yet." 
 
 But he paid no heed to the call. He walked 
 hastily firmly and stolidly down the stairs and 
 out into the night that night, with that awful 
 storm still raging. Nothing did he take with
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 him, and it was only after the door had closed 
 and the spring lock had shut him out that he was 
 aware of the fact that he had not taken even his 
 stormcoat with him. 
 
 Dr. Boosch and the minister hastened to recall 
 him. They went up to his room, thinking he 
 had gone there to make preparations for his 
 departure, little dreaming that he would go away 
 without taking anything whatever with him. 
 But he was not there. They looked about 
 all his belongings were still in the room. 
 
 On his table lay his Bible, with its inscription 
 "From Mother to James." Going over to it 
 the minister saw that it was open. A pencil 
 mark had been drawn around Timothy iv. 5-8, 
 and calling Dr. Boosch Mr. Maujer read: 
 
 " * But watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, 
 do the work of an evangelist, make full proof of 
 thy ministry. 
 
 " * For I am now ready to be offered, and the 
 time of my departure is at hand. 
 
 " * I have fought a good fight, I have finished my 
 course, I have kept the faith. 
 
 " * Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown 
 of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous 
 Judge, shall give me on that day: and not to 
 me only, but unto all them also that love His 
 appearing.' ' 
 
 116
 
 TICK THE SIXTEENTH 
 
 DR. BOOSCH leaned over, read those passages 
 again to himself, while the minister stood by, 
 looking at the face of his friend. What a study 
 was that face benevolent and kindly and full 
 of Christian love as he read again: "For I 
 am now ready to be offered, and the time of my 
 departure is at hand." 
 
 Turning to Mr. Maujer, the good doctor said: 
 "David, I verily believe that young man has 
 already gone gone with naught else than what 
 he had on. If so it be, I will lock up this room, 
 and it shall never be disturbed by living mortal 
 as long as my life shall last, unless by Jim Carbon. 
 Mayhap yes, mayhap some day he will come 
 back. Some day, perhaps, when Myra's wounded 
 heart has healed she will realize the sacrifice that 
 James Carbon has made will understand the 
 unselfish motives that prompted him to be * ready 
 to be offered.' May heaven bless him this night 
 and all the nights of his life." 
 
 "Amen to that," responded the minister. 
 
 "Come, let us go down stairs. I will lock the 
 door, and in the morning I will notify every one 
 
 117
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 that it must never be opened unless by myself 
 or by the hand of Carbon." 
 
 He went to the windows, closed them, latched 
 them, pulled down the shades, put the book 
 mark in the Bible where were the passages quoted, 
 closed it reverently, and put it in the drawer of 
 Carbon's little washstand. Then he turned to the 
 door, gave one last look at the interior of the room, 
 and closed and locked it. 
 
 Would it remain locked forever ? Would any 
 hand other than Jim Carbon's ever open it ? 
 Would he ever be heard from or of again ? These 
 were the thoughts that were in the mind of the 
 good doctor as he turned the key in the lock and 
 withdrew it, putting it carefully in his wallet. 
 He knew Carbon as a man of his word; he knew 
 that he would go thousands of miles away; he 
 knew that he would hide his identity, as he said 
 he would. How, then, would they ever hear of 
 him again ? 
 
 Aye, Dr. Boosch, these were questions that only 
 the future could answer and who of us can read 
 the future ? Time only could solve the problems 
 that you propounded to yourself, good doctor, 
 and it was for me to tick on, and on, and on, 
 counting off the minutes, hours, days, and years 
 before those problems were solved. 
 
 "Come, let us go down stairs," repeated the 
 
 118
 
 doctor. "We will go back to Myra's room, 
 where I wish you to say a prayer, and then you 
 will retire for the night. You will occupy Arthur's 
 room, and I will see that you are not disturbed 
 until it is time for Mrs. Boosch and yourself 
 to leave to attend the services over Richard 
 Broakley. By the way, David, are you going 
 to conduct the service ?" 
 
 " Yes, it was the wish of his father and mother 
 that I should do so." 
 
 They returned to Myra's room. Her mother 
 had sat by her side during their absence, watching 
 and weeping. Once only had her daughter 
 recovered herself, and then she had looked up 
 appealingly at her mother and feebly asked: 
 
 " Mother, is it all true ? Has my marriage 
 to to him really taken place ?" 
 
 "Yes, my child, it is true you are the wedded 
 wife of James Carbon it is all for the best, my 
 daughter it is for the best that it is so, else your 
 father would not have so willed it." 
 
 Here her father and the minister entered the 
 room. She turned to him and looked up into 
 his eyes beseechingly. 
 
 "Has he gone, father?" she asked of him. 
 
 "Yes, my Myra, he has gone gone out in this 
 storm never to return, perhaps." 
 
 "It is well, father; it is well." 
 
 119
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 She closed her eyes and tenaciously clung to 
 his hands. "Do not leave me alone to-night, 
 father," she cried "do not leave me alone 
 not to-night." 
 
 "Content yourself, my child. I shall be with 
 you to-night and all day to-morrow or to-day, 
 rather, for it will soon be day. I will not leave 
 you, my Myra." 
 
 She heaved a heavy sigh of relief and wearily 
 closed her eyes again. Mr. Maujer said a short 
 prayer, and then was shown to Arthur's room 
 by the doctor. 
 
 "Dr. Boosch," said the minister, as he took his 
 hand to bid him good-night, "no one must know 
 for the present that I performed the wedding 
 service or when the wedding took place. I should 
 merely say that they had been married and that 
 your daughter has her marriage certificate. There 
 will be gossip for some time, of course, but I 
 shall announce to all that "they should refrain 
 from asking you any questions. Leave that to me. 
 Time will heal all things, and ere long the matter 
 will have passed from the minds of the neighbors. 
 All will be well in the end, if we put our trust in 
 Him." 
 
 " How can I ever repay you, David ?" 
 
 The minister held up his hand warningly. 
 "Don't make me repeat how much I owe to you, 
 
 120
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Dr. Boosch, by speaking of that. Whatever I, 
 as minister of the Gospel, can do for you or yours 
 day or night, at any and all times will be little 
 in payment for my obligation to you." 
 
 "Good-night, David," said the doctor, with 
 a grasp of the hand that assured him of his eternal 
 friendship. 
 
 "Good-night, Doctor. May the morn become 
 brighter and the clouds of your life be succeeded 
 by the bright sunshine that must inevitably follow 
 a night of darkness and of storm." 
 
 Returning to Myra's room, the doctor said to 
 his wife: "Come, mother, you had better go 
 to bed now. Everything is settled and peaceful 
 for the night. I will remain here with Myra. 
 See, I have fixed up the cot for myself, and will 
 promise you that I will get a good night's rest." 
 
 He kissed her as warmly as he did when they 
 were lovers betrothed, and she passed her hands 
 over his brow and whitening hair, as was her 
 wont when he was troubled. Hers was, indeed, 
 a faith abiding in the strength of her husband 
 in the trust she had placed in him when she, too, 
 had responded "Amen" to the closing words 
 of the minister who had proclaimed them man 
 and wife these many years agone "That which 
 God hath joined together let not man put asunder." 
 
 A good wife, and true, she had been to him, 
 
 121
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and though time had left its mark of the passing 
 years in the furrows on the brow and the whitening 
 hair, the love they bore each other was as youthful 
 as it was in their courting days. She had never 
 disputed her husband's will, and he, knowing 
 this, had never crossed her in any wish or desire. 
 And so, when she bade him good-night, she feared 
 not of the storm the lightning might flash, the 
 thunder might roll for was there not in the house 
 her husband, her protector ? She feared nothing 
 while she knew of his presence. 
 
 When his wife had left the room he turned to 
 his daughter and said: 
 
 "Myra, my child, there are allotted in this life 
 a certain amount of joys and sorrows. It is easy 
 for us to bear the joys but the sorrows are the 
 crosses and crowns of thorns that we must wear 
 through our lives; the sorrows make the joys seem 
 greater; the sorrows make us the more grateful 
 for the joys that come, as we welcome the dawn 
 after the darkness of the night. And so, my child, 
 you must patiently bear your grief, in the hope 
 that some day you and Richard will meet again, 
 where there is no parting, where there is no pain. 
 Myra, Richard is to be buried to-day." 
 
 She half arose in her bed, her hair falling down 
 over her shoulders, framing her white face as 
 a canvas picture of despair. She gazed blankly 
 
 122
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 at her father for an instant and cried out: 
 
 "Bury him Richard! Bury him, my Richard! 
 No, no, no, it cannot be! Father, father, don't 
 let them do that I must see him again. Father, 
 oh, father, let me die, too, that I may join him!" 
 
 "It is not God's will that it should be so. It 
 is His will that we shall live on until He calls 
 us home, my child not as we will it." 
 
 "Oh, father, how can I bear this grief? How 
 can I go through life without my Richard by my 
 side he whom I loved as woman never loved 
 before ? Richard, Richard, why did you leave 
 me ? Come back to me, Richard, come back 
 tome!" 
 
 Her father saw that she was again becoming 
 hysterical and forced her gently back upon the 
 bed, smoothed her hair, gave her a mild draught 
 of an opiate, and she fell into a heavy slumber. 
 With folded arms he gazed long and earnestly 
 at his daughter, then went to the cot and lay 
 down. 
 
 But he could not sleep. He lay there about 
 an hour, thinking of the events of the past few 
 days crowded so rapidly upon each other that 
 it seemed to him that they had covered a much 
 longer period of time. In the quiet of the night, 
 the stillness broken only by the occasional roll 
 of thunder, lying there, his thoughts drifted back 
 
 123
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 many years back to the day when he had felici 
 tated himself yes, and I, too, had been felicitated 
 upon the arrival in the household of a daughter. 
 
 Then day by day, almost, her life passed in 
 review before him. What a peaceful and happy 
 life they had led aye, peaceful and full of hap 
 piness and content. He thought of her as a child, 
 as a schoolgirl, and then as blossoming into 
 womanhood. He thought of her engagement 
 to Richard and the joyousness with which those 
 two had mapped out their future lives. He thought 
 of the uncertainty of this life how abrupt had 
 been the ending of it all how chaotic everything 
 seemed to have become without an instant's 
 warning not only in that household, but also 
 in another. 
 
 Then his mind reverted to the day Jim Carbon 
 had appeared and had asked for employment. 
 Heaven-sent, it seemed to him, had been the 
 appearance of that young man on that day. 
 He thought of the friends Jim had made; of all the 
 good deeds he had done, quietly and without 
 ostentation; of the affection that Mrs. Boosch 
 and he himself had formed for him almost 
 motherly and fatherly. How he would be missed 
 about the place, he thought. 
 
 What a sacrifice he had made, going away 
 thus without a parting word to the legion of friends 
 
 124
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 who had honored and respected him and who 
 would now speak in condemnation of him who 
 would be surprised shocked when the an 
 nouncement would be made that he had clan 
 destinely married Myra and had gone away 
 and deserted her. What would they say to him 
 when they spoke to him of Carbon's sudden 
 disappearance ? But that mattered not he would 
 refrain from giving any direct answer, save that 
 he had gone suddenly, leaving them to draw 
 their own inference as to whether he had left 
 any word as to why or where he was going. 
 
 Finally he arose and went to the window, 
 parted the curtains, and peered out at the inky 
 darkness, illumined at intervals by the lightning 
 flashes. He was tired, worn out, but as sleep 
 would not come he would remain up. Turning, 
 he glanced at Myra, now quiet under the in 
 fluence of the soothing drug, then came down 
 stairs and into the hall, where he looked up at 
 rne, as if he would commune with me, as was 
 his habit when we were alone, and said : 
 
 "Clock, these are troublous times, are they not ? 
 But we will weather them, won't we ? And it 
 will all come out right, won't it, Mr. Clock ?" 
 
 To which I responded what more could I 
 say ? 
 
 "Yes, yes yes, yes yes, yes." 
 
 125
 
 TICK THE SEVENTEENTH 
 
 JIM CARBON stood for one brief moment outside 
 the door. He bethought himself of his storm- 
 coat; he tried the door, but it was locked the 
 spring lock had shut him out. Should he knock 
 and ask for it ? No, he would rather brave the 
 storm clad as he was than risk any danger of a 
 reversion of his decision to leave at once upon 
 the ending of the ceremony. But what a night 
 to be out without protection against that pouring, 
 driving rain! 
 
 The thought occurred to him that he might 
 cut across the fields to "Bill" Couterre's barn. 
 He knew that "Bill" kept his big raincoat and 
 oilskin hat there yes, and his rubber boots, too. 
 There would be no harm in borrowing them. 
 It was fully five miles to the station at East Strouds- 
 burg, and the roads would be heavy with mud. 
 He could leave them in a field somewhere near 
 the Milford crossing any one would know that 
 they belonged to Couterre; it would at once be 
 surmised that Carbon had left them there when 
 he had "deserted." Yes, he would do it. 
 
 He started across the fields, making a detour 
 
 126
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to avoid going through a clump of small under 
 brush in a field that had not been cleared. He 
 stumbled many times, in that darkness, but kept 
 on at a good swinging gait. He wished to get as 
 far away as possible before the good farm folk 
 thereabouts were stirring away from the scenes 
 where he had spent so many happy days. He 
 knew he could, by a close margin, make the fast 
 freight to New York, which left East Stroudsburg 
 at 4.15 with one passenger car attached. He knew 
 that by 5 o'clock he would be many miles away 
 from all those friends so dear to him, from the 
 good doctor and Mrs. Boosch, and from Myra 
 his wife. 
 
 How oddly that sounded to him. His wife! 
 Ah, could he have won the love that had been 
 Richard Broakley's, how sweet to his ears would 
 have been those two words but to him, now, 
 how hollow they sounded. His wife! aye, he 
 had dreamed of some day winning a girl's love 
 and calling her thus. But all was now ended 
 yes, ended, but in a worthy cause to save a 
 woman's honor what better cause could there 
 be ? He would still love her his wife as he 
 had these many days, unknown to her or to 
 Richard but a dead love it would be. 
 
 As Carbon was stumbling along over the 
 fields, Mary Lash awoke from her troubled sleep. 
 
 127
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 She had not disrobed; she had been so weary 
 that she had lain down fully dressed and had 
 fallen asleep. She remembered what Carbon 
 had said to her that she would never see him 
 again. She wondered why he wished to see the 
 doctor alone in the hall when all others had 
 retired. What a mystery it all was, anyway. 
 She was nervous, trembling was it from the 
 storm, was it from the long strain of the vigil 
 by Myra's door, or was it because Carbon was 
 going away ? She rubbed her eyes, bathed her 
 face, and decided to go down stairs to the kitchen 
 and make a cup of coffee. 
 
 Upon opening the door she was astonished 
 to see a light in the hall below. She peered over 
 and saw Dr. Boosch pacing up and down. She 
 wondered what time it was how long had she 
 slept ? Why was the doctor still down there in 
 the hall ? iShe would have to pass him in going 
 down to the kitchen, but that would not matter; 
 she would tell him that she was restless and wished 
 to make some coffee. Perhaps he would like 
 some, also. So she went softly down the stairs 
 and startled the good doctor by her sudden 
 appearance. He was so deep in thought that he 
 had not heard her footsteps upon the stairs. 
 
 "Why, Mary," he exclaimed, "I thought 
 you were in bed asleep. What are you doing up ?" 
 
 128
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "I did sleep for a while, 
 but I am nervous and don't feel well. I thought 
 I would come down and make a cup of coffee. 
 Would you like a cup, too ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mary; I think it might do us both good." 
 
 "Shall I make some for Carbon, too ? I heard 
 him go out with the team, and maybe when he 
 comes back he will need a cup after being out 
 in such a night as this." 
 
 She could not resist the temptation of letting 
 the doctor know that she had heard Jim go 
 out and drive by. He was astonished, but he 
 softly answered: 
 
 "No, Mary, you need not make any for Carbon. 
 He has returned with the team." 
 
 " Has he gone to his room or is he in the kitchen ? " 
 
 "No, he is not in his room it is locked and 
 must remain so, I know not for how long 
 perhaps for all time. Do not ask any questions, 
 Mary. Jim Carbon has gone from this house, 
 I think, forever." 
 
 "Gone?" gasped Mary; "gone? Dr. Boosch, 
 you don't mean to say you don't mean that 
 James Carbon, the man I loved, has 
 
 "What, Mary Lash, you loved him?" asked 
 the doctor, both astonished and startled by the 
 suddenness and candor of this confession "you 
 loved Jim Carbon ?" 
 
 129
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Yes, Dr. Boosch, I am not ashamed to say 
 it I loved him who could help loving him 
 and now he is gone!" 
 
 "Yes, Mary, as I said, you must not ask ques 
 tions. Carbon will be many, many miles from 
 here before the sun sets to-night." 
 
 Mary Lash looked at Dr. Boosch reproachfully 
 as if she blamed him for Carbon's going away. 
 She met his kindly eyes, and saw that there was 
 no anger there. Surely, they could not have 
 quarreled there must be some other reason. 
 She burst into tears. 
 
 "There, there, Mary," said the doctor, "don't 
 cry. Go ahead and make the coffee, and perhaps 
 after that you will feel better." 
 
 Mary went into the kitchen and there saw 
 Carbon's stormcoat hanging in its accustomed 
 place by the door. That was sufficient evidence 
 to her mind that he would return surely he 
 would not leave in this storm without it. He must 
 be in the barn with the horses. She would go 
 there. She would tell him that whatever his 
 reason for going, he should change his mind, 
 for there could be no good and valid cause, Mary 
 was sure, why he should go. 
 
 She imagined that some fancied wrong had 
 driven him to that resolve. She was certain 
 that if she knew it she could argue with him 
 
 130
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and convince him that it was imaginary that 
 no one would think of wilfully doing Jim Carbon 
 an injury, here, there, or elsewhere. She threw 
 his coat over her shoulders, put on a tam o' 
 shanter that was hanging beside it, slipped on 
 her rubbers, took a lantern, and started for the 
 barn. She wondered afterward that she was not 
 afraid, but there was no fear in her heart to-night. 
 She would go to him, beg of him, plead with 
 him, not to go, for the sake of all concerned 
 for her sake, if need be. 
 
 She went out to the barn what a big, spacious 
 barn it seemed to her that night, although she 
 had been in it hundreds, yes, a thousand times 
 before and peered about, calling "Mr. Carbon, 
 Mr. Carbon." But there was no response, save 
 that given by the hollow echo thrown back from 
 the roof and the weird moaning of the wind 
 through the rafters. Every nook and cranny she 
 searched, with the thought that perhaps it was 
 his intention to wait until morning and that he 
 had gone to sleep somewhere about the barn. 
 
 Into the hay loft, the granary, the workshop, 
 the carriage room, everywhere she went, but 
 no sign of Carbon. She was becoming dis 
 heartened she feared that perhaps, after all, 
 he had gone. She would, however, go to his 
 room. Mayhap he had, unbeknown to the doctor,
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 returned and had gone there to pack up his 
 belongings. So, with heavy heart she returned 
 to the house, and the doctor having stepped up 
 for a moment to satisfy himself that all was well 
 in Myra's room before he took his coffee, she 
 crept softly up the stairs to Carbon's room and 
 gently tapped on the door. No response came. 
 She tried the door it was locked. 
 
 She leaned her head against the door and 
 bitterly cried to herself: "Jim, Jim, why did 
 you go ? Why did you not stay and learn to 
 love me ? I would have been a good and loving 
 wife to you, Jim Carbon yes, a good and loving 
 wife !" 
 
 Strange it seemed to me, the old family clock, 
 hearing Mary's soliloquy, that one heart in that 
 house should be crying out for him, while another 
 had anxiously inquired whether he had gone and 
 had breathed such a sigh of relief when informed 
 that he had. 
 
 Strange it seemed to me, I say, that Jim Carbon 
 should yearn for a love that he knew was an 
 other's, while Mary Lash was yearning for Carbon's 
 love unknown to him. But who can divine 
 the cause for the misdirected and badly aimed 
 darts of Cupid at times ? surely not I, only a 
 clock. 
 
 She heard the doctor moving about in the 
 
 132
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 room and hurriedly went down stairs and poured 
 out his coffee, and, with a roll and butter, put 
 the tray on the dining-room table. 
 
 Jim Carbon, stumbling on, was utterly oblivious 
 of the fact that any person in the world was giving 
 him a thought at this time of the night. He 
 was approaching Couterre's barn. The storm 
 seemed to have lashed itself into a fury, as if it 
 would beat itself out from sheer anger. The 
 floodgates of heaven seemed to have been opened 
 to their widest. Nothing to guide him but the 
 electric display furnished by the elements, he 
 stumbled up to the barn, groped his way about 
 until he found the door, and then, at a particularly 
 sharp flash of lightning, walked into the barn. 
 
 He thought he knew where "Bill" kept his 
 lantern, but it was not there. However, Jim had 
 been in that barn many times, and with the few 
 matches that he had, he managed to find Couterre's 
 storm outfit. Sure enough, it was there, under 
 the old double-barreled gun that he kept there, 
 always ready cocked and loaded, in the event 
 of the sudden appearance of a wildcat or even 
 a bear, for bears had wandered down the side 
 of Brushy Mountain in those days. Jim pulled 
 out his last match, lit it, took down the coat and 
 hat, and as the light went out, put on the things 
 in the dark.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Turning around, he felt his way along and 
 stumbled over a can of kerosene, upsetting it 
 and spilling its contents over the floor he could 
 tell that by the odor. He kept on groping along 
 the bins, the barrels, and boxes, and finally 
 reached the door. During the glare of a flash 
 he thought he was positive, in fact that he saw 
 a woman's figure, clad in white, standing at the 
 window of Couterre's house, and alongside of her 
 was the figure of a child, also in white. 
 
 Jim stepped outside of the building, and as he 
 did so a brilliant, vicious flash lit up the turbulent 
 heavens, a crash that sounded as if the very 
 mountains about were rent asunder followed, 
 and for an instant Carbon was stunned as the 
 bolt struck only a few feet behind him the 
 spot he had just left. 
 
 Coincident with the awful crash of that bolt 
 there was a report as of a gun discharged and 
 the piercing scream of a woman's voice so 
 piercing that it appeared to rise above the now 
 reverberating roll. 
 
 With a start at the narrowness of his escape 
 and the sound of that ear-piercing scream, Jim 
 Carbon hesitated for a moment and then com 
 menced his journey to East Stroudsburg. 
 
 As he swung out into the main road he turned 
 around and saw that Couterre's barn was ablaze. 
 
 134
 
 TICK THE EIGHTEENTH 
 
 IN THE days of the pioneer work round about 
 that part of Pennsylvania there had appeared 
 one Henry Couterre. He was a Frenchman 
 excitable, irritable, and morose. He hewed close 
 to the line, asked no favors of any of the other 
 pioneers on the farms that were opening up, kept 
 to himself, and raised a family of seven children 
 all boys one of whom was William " Bill." 
 
 They brought up their children rightly, did 
 Henry Couterre and his wife, and none could 
 gainsay that they were hardworking, industrious, 
 honest folk, striving to make a home for them 
 selves thousands of miles from the land that 
 bore their flag. They had come to this country 
 this land of the free dreaming of the opportunities 
 for wealth that the broad acres waiting for the 
 brawn to till them afforded the immigrants. 
 
 They had worked hard early and late 
 had Henry Couterre and his good wife, living 
 first in a loghouse only two rooms there were, 
 then, but they were snug and warm in the hard 
 winter months. And, gradually, as field after 
 field was opened up, and the trips to the mill 
 
 135
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 with the harvest grain became more frequent, 
 there were additions to the loghouse, as there 
 were additions to the family of those two worthy 
 persons. And so, by industry and dint of hard 
 work, the couple, who came to this country looking 
 forward as the pilgrims looked to the land of 
 promise, prospered and saw their children grow 
 up, one by one, take up their burden, and become 
 useful and worthy citizens of the State of Pennsyl 
 vania the Keystone State, each rugged, honest 
 pioneer of which was only a small particle of the 
 stone, but without which that stone should never 
 have been. Keystone ah, how much that word 
 conveys! Keystone, without which the arches 
 of life would crumble and fall. 
 
 Build ye up, and up, and up, and arch around. 
 And then what is there to hold together, to keep 
 from crumbling, a mass of wreckage were it 
 not for the keystone ? 
 
 Sturdy chaps were these sons Charles, the 
 first; Edward, the second; John, the third; Ben 
 jamin, the fourth; Hiram, the fifth; Louis, the 
 sixth 
 
 And the seventh son was William Couterre 
 the keystone. The father had looked upon him 
 as many a father looks upon his last-born with 
 patience, forbearance, and forgiveness for his 
 transgressions. It seemed to him that he had 
 
 136
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 upbuilded the arch three upon each side and 
 William was the keystone. 
 
 And so, when Henry Couterre and his wife 
 had been laid away, these many years agone, 
 they had left a goodly heritage in progeny. 
 
 William everybody in Monroe County knew 
 him as "Bill" was a hardworking, industrious 
 man, as his father had been before him. He was 
 saving and prudent in everything save the use 
 of liquor. For long periods he would abstain 
 entirely, but at intervals when he went to town 
 with a load of railroad ties or with an overplus 
 of eggs and butter that his wife did not need for 
 his large family, he invariably took a goodly 
 portion out in trade at the town hotel. 
 
 When in his sober state he was a quiet, peaceful 
 man, going about his work from day to day 
 without scarcely speaking to his wife and children. 
 This would last for weeks and weeks at a time. 
 Then he would get a notion into his head that he 
 wanted to go to town. His wife, a frail little 
 woman, had often tried to dissuade him, but had 
 found it useless. She knew full well that his de 
 sire for liquor prompted the journey. She knew, 
 also, that when he came home he would con 
 tinue drinking until he became abusive to her 
 and the children, who wisely kept out of his way 
 when he was in one of his tantrums. 
 
 137
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 She was not afraid of him, powerful man though 
 he was for he had never attempted to do any one 
 bodily harm. But she knew that there would be 
 a war of words that would culminate in his going 
 away and remaining away for several days, to 
 return and peacefully resume his work about the 
 farm. This had been repeated so often that his 
 wife had become accustomed to it, and she even 
 tually had given up her pleadings and let him go 
 without a protest. 
 
 Two days before Carbon had borrowed his 
 things "Bill" had notified his wife that he wanted 
 her to pack up a lot of eggs and as many pounds 
 of butter as she could possibly spare. She was 
 well aware of what the meaning of this command 
 was. She thought she would make a mild appeal 
 to him, just this once. 
 
 "I'm a-going to town, Martha," he said. 
 " I need a new pair of boots and I reckon I had 
 better bring along a couple of shirts. I don't 
 think I need anything more, do I ? What'll 
 I bring for you ?" 
 
 "Nothing, William. I was down to town 
 last week, you know, and bought all I will need 
 for some time. Don't be long, William, and don't 
 tarry too long at the inn. If you must drink, 
 William, bring something home with you and drink 
 it here, where you will be out of harm's way." 
 
 38
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Couterre did not like to be chided about his 
 drinking. He knew his weakness knew that 
 when he went to town he would fall by the way 
 side. Often and often had he promised his wife, 
 as he drove off, that he would not touch a drop 
 and as often had he failed in his promise. 
 
 So it was, when he returned from his trip he 
 was very much under the influence ugly, aggres 
 sive, seeking opportunity for an outlet for his 
 quarrelsome disposition when in his cups. 
 
 On his way home Couterre had met Silas 
 Creeker, for whom he had a hatred that did not 
 come to the surface except on such occasions 
 when liquor excited his passion. They had had 
 hot, angry words on the road, but did not come 
 to blows, inasmuch as Silas, who was far superior 
 to Couterre in physical strength and who never 
 indulged in liquor himself, was too level-headed 
 to come into combat with a man who plainly 
 was under the influence. He, however, could 
 not take the taunts and slings that "Bill" had 
 thrown at him without retaliating in kind. 
 
 All of which did not tend to mollify the latter, 
 and when they finally parted with a particularly 
 strong fusillade of abuse, it is needless to say that 
 Couterre was in no amiable mood. He staggered 
 on until he reached his home, and then began 
 a repetition of what his wife had gone through 
 
 '39
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 many, many times. It was always his custom, 
 on these periodical trips, to bring home a sufficient 
 quantity of liquor to tide him over several days, 
 and this time he had not failed to do so. He pulled 
 out bottles from almost every pocket, and put them 
 in various hiding places about the barn not 
 that he was afraid of their being taken away 
 from him, but in his half-maudlin way there 
 was a sense of apology about his action he 
 seemed to be ashamed of himself, and did not 
 like others to know that he was still imbibing, 
 for in his sober senses he had an aversion to 
 liquor and to any one under its influence. 
 
 Many, many trips he made, back and forth 
 from the house to the barn, and each time that he 
 returned he became more excited and maddened. 
 He wanted some one to quarrel with to give 
 vent to the fancied wrongs that were conjured up 
 in his muddled brain, but every one kept out of 
 his way. His children five of them there were 
 feared him, not so much that he would do 
 them harm, but abuse and unkind words from a 
 parent to a child are harder to bear, sometimes, 
 than physical pain. But no matter what his 
 condition, whether intoxicated or sober, there 
 was one to whom he never said an unkind word, 
 and that was his eldest daughter, Alice. 
 
 For her he seemed to have an overweening 
 
 140
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 fondness that no amount of liquor could deaden. 
 So it was, whenever there was a family storm 
 brewing, she was always by her mother's side, 
 knowing that she could in a measure pacify him. 
 And on the day that Carbon had visited the barn 
 she had remained close by her mother's side, 
 for she knew full well that the time was at hand 
 when the usual quarrel would take place between 
 her mother and father she could pacify, but she 
 could not prevent. Often and often had she 
 witnessed these quarrels before, and each time 
 she had hoped and prayed that it would be the 
 last. She was now fifteen years of age, and her 
 love for her father, although she was wearying 
 of these scenes, was as great as that for her mother. 
 
 All day he had roamed about the farm, finding 
 fault with this and with that, grumbling and 
 gesticulating to the silent trees in the orchard, 
 then making another trip to the barn. This 
 course he continued until sundown, when he 
 entered the house. 
 
 The family was seated at the supper-table 
 when he entered. He staggered into the room, 
 glaring at his son Tom. What Tom had done 
 to warrant his displeasure no one knew, not even 
 Couterre himself, probably. 
 
 Without a word of warning he went over to 
 Tom and gave him a stinging box on the ear. 
 
 141
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Tom was the oldest boy, eighteen years of age, 
 and performed all the heavy work about the place 
 when his father was on one of his sprees. He 
 was a good-natured boy, was Tom, and had 
 often borne these blows before, but this time 
 he resented it. He gave his father a shove that 
 sent him reeling toward the door. This only 
 added fuel to the fire that was raging in Couterre's 
 brain, and with an oath he sprang at Tom, who 
 warily dodged him and left the room. 
 
 Then "Bill" turned upon his wife, accusing 
 her of having urged the boy to turn against his 
 father, charging her with having encouraged 
 his children to become disrespectful to him, and 
 finally became so abusive that she could stand 
 it no longer, but left the room and started to 
 go upstairs. He staggered after her, followed 
 by his daughter Alice who begged him to be good 
 to her mother, but her pleadings fell upon deaf 
 ears. He continued his reviling up to their 
 room, where he eventually burst into such a 
 passion that he fairly shook the house with his 
 wild ravings, and then, after throwing chairs 
 around and smashing several things, he stumbled 
 down the stairs and out into the barn. In a short 
 while he came out, and for the remainder of the 
 evening they saw no more of him. 
 
 In the meantime the storm had come up, 
 
 142
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and Mrs. Couterre, who loved her husband 
 notwithstanding his one great fault, was con 
 siderably concerned about him and ordered Tom 
 to go out into the barn and see if he was there. 
 Tom did so and returned with the information 
 that he had been all through the barn, the carriage 
 shed, and even to the neighbors, but none had 
 seen him. The horses were all in the stable, 
 so he could not have gone any other way than by 
 foot. 
 
 Mrs. Couterre, worried about his absence 
 throughout the night, watching at the window 
 at the storm which he must be out in, was sure 
 that she saw him stumbling around the barn 
 long after midnight. She awakened Alice, and 
 there at the window those two stood watching 
 for the appearance of the husband and father. 
 Finally, after not many minutes, they thought 
 they saw the form of Couterre emerging from 
 the door. As a flash of lightning illumined the 
 surroundings Alice exclaimed: 
 
 "Why, yes, there is papa. Didn't you see 
 him ? He had on his stormcoat and his oilskin 
 hat. I could see that." 
 
 They remained by the window an instant 
 longer. All was darkness again. 
 
 As Alice stepped away there was a blinding 
 flash, followed by a fearful crash. Simultaneously 
 
 H3
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 with that crash there came an agonizing scream 
 from her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Couterre, riddled with shot, fell dead 
 at her daughter's feet. 
 
 144
 
 TICK THE NINETEENTH 
 
 CARBON, keeping steadily on his way, plowing 
 through deep mud and pools of water, looked 
 back now and then and saw the glare reflected 
 in the dark heavens as the flames consumed Cou- 
 terre's barn. He plodded on and on, often won 
 dering what time it was. The last crash and 
 flash seemed to have been the culmination of that 
 awful storm, the like of which old settlers had 
 rarely seen. It had spent its fury, evidently, in 
 that last vicious snap. The distant rumbling 
 denoted that it was making itself known and felt 
 in other parts. 
 
 Little by little the rifts began to show in the 
 clouds, and as Carbon plodded along in his 
 solitary walk he wished that day would dawn. 
 He knew that it could not be very long, as faint 
 streaks in the breaks of the swiftly moving clouds 
 made evident that fact. He figured out that he 
 would be able to make East Stroudsburg in time 
 for the 4.15 train, but he would have to swing 
 along at a lively gait almost impossible under 
 the condition of the roads. Steadily he kept on, 
 however, and as gradually it became light and he 
 
 145
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 could partially see his way he increased his pace. 
 Five miles makes a fairly good walk under ordi 
 nary circumstances, but when it is taken into 
 consideration that Carbon was compelled at times 
 to draw one foot after another from the deep mud, 
 no wonder that he was becoming weary, par 
 ticularly as he had had so little sleep in the past 
 few days. 
 
 Finally the breaking of the dawn was suf 
 ficiently advanced to enable him to see the face 
 of his watch. He was near the Milford crossing, 
 and the time was exactly four o'clock. This would 
 allow him only fifteen minutes, and it would 
 necessitate his moving pretty rapidly in order 
 to get to the station in time. He went over to a 
 fencepost, pulled off Couterre's coat and hat, 
 put on his own soft hat which he had kept under 
 the coat, and laid them beside the post. Thus 
 lightened of the heavy coat, he was enabled to 
 increase the pace at which he was going, as he 
 struck the sidewalks of the town. He looked 
 back over the hills toward Marshall's Creek and 
 saw the smoke from what he knew were the ruins 
 of "Bill's" barn slowly ascending and drifting 
 away in a stretch along the skyline of hills and 
 mountains. 
 
 As Jim neared the station he saw a familiar 
 figure stumbling along. Could it be ? yes, it 
 
 146
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 was Couterre himself wet, bedraggled, and 
 drunk. Jim thought to speak to him and tell 
 him that his barn had burned down, that he had 
 borrowed his storm outfit, and where he could 
 find it. Plainly "Bill" had been drinking all 
 night and Jim was aware that if he went over to 
 speak to him it would mean missing that train. 
 He did not want to miss it he must catch it. 
 Let Couterre find out for himself. It was of 
 vastly greater importance to Jim to get away 
 before the townsfolk were astir than that he 
 should endeavor to make himself understood 
 by " Bill." No, he would go on, and go on he did. 
 
 The rays of the rising summer sun were just 
 beginning to peep above the horizon, burnishing 
 up the fields and woods that had been freshened 
 by the torrents of the night, when Carbon heard 
 the distant whistle of the train. He knew, then, 
 that he could make it easily. He slackened his 
 pace for a moment, that he might take a last 
 view of the country that he had so often traversed 
 in the past four years. 
 
 There, in front of him, stood the Kittatinny 
 Mountain, towering some fourteen hundred feet 
 above the sea-level, through which flowed the 
 Delaware River, the Delaware Water Gap. 
 Turning around and facing away from the Kittat 
 inny, he saw in the distance dear old Pocono, 
 
 H7
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 over which he and Richard Broakley had both 
 often traveled together, dreaming of locating 
 some fortune-producing mineral yes, and per 
 haps both dreaming of Myra at the same time. 
 
 Only for a fraction of a minute did he gaze 
 around at the familiar landscape; then started 
 toward the station, a short distance away. Arrived 
 there he went to the ticket office and was greeted 
 by the agent, who knew him by sight, but not by 
 name. 
 
 "Ticket to New York," he said to the clerk, 
 who acted as ticket seller, telegraph operator, 
 freight agent, and train dispatcher at night, in 
 addition to various other duties. 
 
 "Not coming back?" he asked of Carbon. 
 Not that he cared one whit, but it would have 
 seemed impolite to him had he not asked some 
 question. "Must have been called away sudden 
 like, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Carbon. He did not know 
 the man beyond having seen him around the 
 station at times, and consequently did not think 
 it was necessary for him to enlighten him very 
 much as to his movements. 
 
 He stepped out on the platform as the head 
 lights of the approaching train swung around 
 the curve at Milford crossing, shimmering in 
 the pale dawn of the morning. How cool and 
 
 148
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 refreshing it was to stand there, with the rarefied 
 air, cooled by the storm of the night, giving him 
 relief from the warmth of that hard walk with 
 Couterre's heavy coat on! Then the train rolled 
 in and Jim swung up on the step of the rear 
 car the only passenger car. 
 
 This car was a combination smoker and pas 
 senger, and as Jim entered he glanced about at 
 the sleeping passengers. In one corner was a 
 man snoring hard enough to offset the chug-chug 
 of the engine as it seemed to be gathering fresh 
 breath after the stiff pull over Pocono. In another 
 corner was a colored man, head drooped back, 
 mouth wide open, trying to send back to the 
 other corner a discordant refrain. 
 
 Near the centre of the car was a couple also 
 sleeping. They were evidently a fly-by-night 
 theatrical team, for their dressing suit case bore 
 the legend, "The Nelsons Comedy Two." Be 
 sides these, Carbon was the only other passenger. 
 He sat down what a relief that was after the long 
 tramp of the night! and as the engine tooted 
 and started toward the turn around Forge Cut 
 he got his last glimpse at Monroe County. 
 
 What a beautiful morning that was! As the 
 train wound its tortuous way along the Delaware 
 River, how fresh and sweet and fragrant every 
 thing seemed. Carbon, seated by the open 
 
 149
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 window, wondered if the future of those he had 
 just left behind would be like unto that morning- 
 peaceful and full of sunshine, after the storm. 
 Nature was awakening from that turbulent night, 
 refreshed and beauteous, as if it would show by 
 comparison how much better our lives would 
 be if we would dispel the storms and have only 
 sunshine. 
 
 And as the train sped on, the smoke from the 
 farmhouse chimneys, leisurely curling upward 
 in the calm of the morn, gave evidence of the 
 awakening, also, of humanity. Here and there 
 the train rushed by a little village, the inhabitants 
 of which were beginning to show signs of activity 
 born of the day. The cows were being led to 
 pasture by the barefooted boy; here was a team 
 being harnessed to the plow; there was a man 
 harrowing, thus early in the morning; and, again, 
 the village baker was driving along the heavy 
 road delivering the staff of life to those who had 
 tilled the soil that the grain therefor might grow. 
 
 The big, round, red sun was beaming down 
 upon all alike upon the poor farmer, upon the 
 prosperous one; upon the humble helper and the 
 owner of many acres; upon the milkmaid and the 
 mistress; upon the good and the bad. 
 
 As the train neared Washington, in the State 
 of New Jersey, Carbon began to feel slight pangs 
 
 150
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 of hunger. He remembered, now, that he had 
 not eaten since yesterday noon. He inquired 
 of the conductor as to where the first stop would 
 be made, to which he received reply that "she 
 whoops right through." A healthy appetite 
 was Carbon's, and when the colored man woke 
 up and fished from a cardboard box a goodly 
 layout, Carbon envied him. As if he divined 
 that his neighbor in front of him was in need of 
 rations, the colored man leaned over and said: 
 
 "Boss, ef yo' don' min' I wud jes' laik toe 
 ast yo' toe jine muh. Ah hasn't ben used toe 
 chawin' ob muh grub by muhself, an' it'd seemer 
 kinder good toe hab some un bitin' in wid me." 
 
 "You are very kind, indeed," said Jim, who 
 could not refrain from casting furtive glances 
 at the spread the colored man had in front of 
 him, "but I would not like to rob you." 
 
 "Rob! Rob nuthin'! My ole woman she 
 thinks Ah'm ah ho'se two ho'ses an' puts up 
 uh feed that'd keep sum folks foh er munt'. 
 Rob ? Why, boss, jes a-look heah. Does yo' 
 t'ink yo' wud be a-robbin' er coon as has all this 
 fuh toe git away fum yer toe New York ?" 
 
 "Well, I must say," replied Carbon, "your 
 missus has certainly treated you well as far as 
 quantity goes and I dare say in quality as well." 
 
 He turned around and glanced into the box.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 First, there were ham sandwiches ham such as 
 only a "mammy" can cook neatly done up in 
 a white napkin; then there were hard-boiled eggs, 
 shining as if she had spent hours polishing them 
 up for her lord and master; then there was a jar 
 of quince jelly; then a jar of tiny pickles, the color 
 of the greensward in springtime; then a piece 
 of pumpkin pie, which in itself would almost 
 make a meal for a man; and, to top it all off, a 
 slice of raisin cake as big as Carbon's two fists 
 put together. 
 
 "No," said Carbon, after he had completed 
 the survey, "I do not think my conscience would 
 trouble me if I did take a little, for there certainly 
 is enough to go around." 
 
 "Sho' as yo' is bohn, mistuh. Pitch in an' do 
 yo' bestus." 
 
 "Thanks." And Jim turned his seat around 
 facing his colored friend, and thus they ate and 
 talked until Paterson was reached, when the colored 
 man said he would like to have a pull at his old 
 corncob and went into the smoking compartment 
 to finish his journey in company with his pipe. 
 
 Carbon, left to himself, began to ruminate 
 upon his future movements. He planned that 
 he would go out to some western state and secure 
 work upon a farm, as he had when he applied 
 to Dr. Boosch. First he would go to Egg Harbor 
 
 152
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 City, settle his affairs, draw his money, and from 
 there he would go at once to Chicago. He had 
 this all settled in his mind, and seemed self- 
 satisfied with his arrangement. He settled back 
 in his seat, picked up a New York newspaper of 
 the previous day that some one had left in the 
 car and casually glanced over the news. There 
 was nothing startling. Then his eye wandered 
 over the big advertisements, offering alluring 
 inducements to the feminine world; then his eye 
 fell upon the "Personal" column, with its mass 
 of wants, and heirs sought, and whereabouts 
 of missing persons desired, and what not. He 
 ran his eye down the column, when suddenly 
 his attention was attracted to an advertisement 
 which caused him to read it more than once. 
 Then he read it aloud to himself, to be sure that 
 he was reading aright: 
 
 "Wanted A young man accustomed to hard 
 and rough work, to join advertiser in prospecting 
 tour in Nevada; will leave at once; must have 
 $500 and big muscles and lots of grit, otherwise 
 don't bother me. Call or address Clinton Eilen, 
 Room i6B, Astor House, New York City." 
 
 "By Jove!" exclaimed Carbon, "the very thing. 
 I will go to see him as soon as I get to New York. 
 But what name will I give ? Let me see James 
 Carbon. I don't want to lose sight of my name 
 
 153
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 entirely. James Ames Amos yes, that will do. 
 And Carbon Arbon Boncar no that won't do. 
 Barcon that's it! Amos Barcon! I certainly 
 couldn't forget that. Yes, henceforth I am Amos 
 Barcon to all the world to every one I meet. 
 Good-bye, James Carbon! How do you do, 
 Amos Barcon ?" 
 
 And it was thus that from the chrysalis of 
 James Carbon emerged Amos Barcon. 
 
 154
 
 TICK THE TWENTIETH 
 
 As THE train bearing Carbon was speeding 
 on toward Hoboken, Couterre was staggering 
 on his way home. He was a pitiable-looking 
 object. With his clothes wet through, bloodshot 
 eyes, stubbly growth of beard, shaking like a 
 leaf, he was the picture of misery and remorse. 
 He had about reached the end of his spree and 
 had sobered up a little sufficient to feel the 
 depression that overcomes those who stimulate 
 themselves for days and then suddenly stop. 
 He had made up his mind that he would not drink 
 another drop, as he stumbled along with uncertain 
 step. 
 
 He had a good long walk before him, and that 
 would straighten him out a little, he thought, 
 before he saw his wife and children. He felt 
 mean, in all that the word implies mean in that 
 he had made an exhibition of himself, while under 
 the influence of liquor, before his children; mean 
 in that he had struck his son Tom, who was the 
 best of sons, faithful to him and to his work; 
 mean in that he had reviled his good wife in the 
 presence of his daughter Alice. Yes, he would 
 
 155
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 give up drink forever. He reached into his pocket, 
 drew forth a bottle, looked at it as if it were tempt 
 ing him, and then impetuously smashed it on a 
 stone in the road. 
 
 He wondered how he had drifted to town that 
 night. It was all a blank to him the past night 
 and as he realized his condition he felt that he 
 would give half his farm if he could recall the days 
 in his life when all had been dark and dense 
 owing to the effect of the liquor on his brain. 
 However, he would do better in the future he 
 and liquor would part company for the remainder 
 of his life. 
 
 He staggered from one side of the road to the 
 other until he reached the spot where Carbon 
 had put his stormcoat and hat. He looked at 
 them with astonishment, picked them up, and with 
 a half-sober, half-drunken exclamation, said to 
 himself: 
 
 "Bill, how in the world did you ever come 
 to leave these things here ? I don't remember 
 having put these on when I left the house. Better 
 quit, old man, better quit." 
 
 It was a veritable mystery to him, and only 
 added to his determination to free himself from 
 any further chances of again falling into the 
 clutches of strong drink. He retraced his steps 
 and went directly to Squire Townsend's house.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 It was early yet and the squire had not arisen. 
 He waited at the door until he came down, when 
 he informed him that he wanted to swear off 
 for good and for all. 
 
 Little did he dream, then, that within a few 
 hours he would again be in the squire's office. 
 Squire Townsend, who had known Couterre since 
 childhood, was more than pleased at his good 
 resolution and drew up an affidavit, as strong as he 
 could make it, and with his hand upraised Cou 
 terre swore in the presence of the Almighty that he 
 would never again allow a drop of liquor of any 
 kind to pass his lips. 
 
 This done, and having drunk a deep draught 
 of water to cool his burning throat, "Bill" left 
 the squire's office feeling stronger, morally, than 
 he had ever felt before in his life. He continued 
 his journey home with a better and lighter feeling. 
 Hereafter he would not again have to suffer as 
 he had the mental torture, the loss of self- 
 respect, the uncertainty of what his actions had 
 been during the period that liquor had made 
 his mind a blank, the shattering of his nerves. 
 He would enter into a new life; he would win 
 back the respect of his wife, of his children. 
 How different the future appeared now to him 
 from what it had been before he had made his 
 firm resolution. 
 
 157
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 It was now full day, and glancing over toward 
 the mountain side where was his home, he saw 
 a faint streak of smoke like a light, fleeting 
 cloud it appeared to him stretching away to 
 the northward. He continued on his way, going 
 across fields whenever he came near a farmhouse, 
 as he did not wish to meet any one. He had 
 donned the heavy stormcoat that Carbon had 
 discarded and in his hand he carried the hat. 
 Finally, as the sun's rays became warm and strong, 
 he spread out his coat and lay down on the side 
 of a hill in order to dry out his clothes. It was 
 thus that he fell asleep, utterly oblivious of the 
 stirring events that had taken place at his home 
 since he had left it the night before. 
 
 That fearful scream emitted by Mrs. Couterre 
 as she fell dead at her daughter's feet aroused 
 all her children, who came rushing into her room. 
 Alice lay on the floor beside her mother. She had 
 swooned. Tom was the first one to arrive, and 
 saw at a glance that his mother had been shot. 
 He did not, however, know that she was dead. 
 He lifted the form of his mother upon the bed 
 and went over to Alice, poured some water on 
 her temples, chafed her hands, and finally brought 
 her to consciousness. 
 
 " Great heavens, Alice, what has happened ?" 
 he asked, as she opened her eyes.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Alice stared at him for a moment and then said : 
 
 "Happened happened? Oh, yes, now I re 
 member. I am in her room, am I not ? Where 
 is mother ?" 
 
 "Mother is lying on her bed. I have sent 
 Willie over to Dr. Boosch's house to ask him to 
 come at once. Now tell me, Alice, what has 
 happened. Speak quick, for mother needs our 
 care." 
 
 "Why, Tom, mother and I were standing 
 at the window watching for papa. By the light 
 ning's glare we saw him come out of the barn, and 
 an instant later there was a crash and I thought 
 I heard a gun go off at the same time and mother 
 screamed and fell to the floor, and I guess I did, 
 too, didn't I, Tom ?" 
 
 With this Alice recovered and sprang to her 
 feet and to her mother's side. 
 
 "Mother mother," she cried, "speak to me! 
 Speak to me!" 
 
 She threw her arms about her neck, passionately 
 kissed her a dozen times, and burst into tears. 
 She did not know, then, that those lips were 
 sealed forever. 
 
 As Couterre's children stood around the bedside 
 waiting for Dr. Boosch, his son William was 
 running across the fields as fast as his legs would 
 let him. He was thirteen years of age, but was 
 
 159
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 tall and angular, and there were few who could 
 beat him at running. With the thought that his 
 mother's life was at stake as an incentive, the 
 ground fairly flew under his feet. In an almost 
 incredible space of time he was knocking at the 
 door of Dr. Boosch's homestead. It was still 
 dark and it was some time before Mary Lash 
 came down to inquire who was there at the door. 
 
 "It's me," William said. 
 
 "Yes, but who is 'me* ?" asked Mary, peering 
 out at the figure at the door. 
 
 "Why, it's me Willie Couterre. We want 
 the doctor to come over right away. Mother 
 has been shot." 
 
 "Shot!" exclaimed Mary. "In mercy's name, 
 what is going to happen next ?" 
 
 She darted up the stairs as she had when 
 Carbon brought Broakley's body home, and 
 aroused the doctor. He was fully dressed, as 
 he had only lain down for a few minutes on the 
 cot by Myra's side. 
 
 Mary informed him of what William had said. 
 Dr. Boosch snatched up his professional hand 
 bag, ever ready for service, gave a hasty glance 
 at his daughter, who was still under the influence 
 of the opiate he had given her, bade Mary remain 
 by her side during his absence, and hurried down 
 stairs and joined the lad. He could not keep 
 
 1 60
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 pace with him, but told him to go ahead and tell 
 the folks to start a fire and have plenty of hot 
 water as that would probably be the first thing 
 he would need, along with some clean, white 
 linen for bandages. 
 
 When Dr. Boosch arrived at Couterre's house 
 he was ushered up stairs by Tom. The children 
 were all gathered around their mother's bed, 
 vainly pleading with her to speak to them, to open 
 her eyes, to tell them what to do. They were 
 absolutely helpless. Where was their father in 
 this time of need, they asked each other. The 
 good doctor, who was almost unnerved by the 
 awful calamities that had multiplied within a 
 few days, brushed aside the weeping children 
 and bent over Mrs. Couterre. 
 
 It required but a cursory glance to convince 
 him that his services as a physician were not 
 needed. He glanced around at the array of eyes 
 waiting for his verdict. His heart sank; he 
 choked back a sob; his own sorrows had made 
 a child of him, too, and his strongly emotional 
 nature showed plainly as he turned his face 
 away from those gathered there, and wept. 
 
 "My dear children," he said, when he could 
 command his voice, "you are motherless." 
 
 Motherless! Ye, who know not what that 
 meant to that little band of children, weep for 
 
 u 161
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 them. Weep for them for the aching hearts, 
 the void in their lives, the hollowness of the sound 
 as they instinctively cry out "Mamma" in their 
 time of trouble. To be fatherless means to be 
 without the breadwinner to struggle along bat- 
 ding against grim want; to be motherless means 
 to be without that maternal love to which we cling 
 in all our sins, our sorrows our shelter in the 
 time of storm. When in your childhood you fell 
 and bruised yourself, or cut your fingers, or had 
 any childish sorrow to whom did you cry out 
 for relief? Mother! "Mamma, I hurt myself; 
 I fell down stairs," you cried, and who took you 
 up and folded you to her breast and kissed away 
 the tears and brought back the sunshine to your 
 eyes and started you off anew to your romping 
 and your play ? Mother! 
 
 " But how did it all happen ? Where is your 
 father ?" Dr. Boosch inquired of Tom and Alice, 
 when they had calmed somewhat. 
 
 Tom then gave him a detailed account of what 
 had taken place from the moment that his father 
 had made up his mind that he would make a 
 trip to town. He told of how his father had re 
 turned intoxicated, of how he had kept up his 
 drinking, of how he had struck his son, of how 
 he had quarreled with his wife, and of what 
 Alice had told him occurred in her mother's room. 
 
 162
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "I don't know where father is now," Tom 
 concluded; "no one has seen him since mother 
 and Alice saw him coming out of the barn." 
 
 "Was your father in a rage when he left the 
 house ?" the doctor asked of Alice. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "he was real angry. He 
 threatened to end it all some day but, then, 
 he was not himself, you know, Doctor." 
 
 Dr. Boosch was thoughtful for some time. 
 Then he turned to Tom. 
 
 "Tom, you must go for Mr. Brickett, the 
 undertaker. And on your way stop and tell 
 Sheriff Barre that I wish to see him at once at 
 my house. Better go on horseback, Tom, so 
 that you can return as soon as possible. You 
 are the oldest, and will have to look after matters 
 for a while. And you, children, I want you to 
 come over to my house and stay there to-day. 
 I must go back, for Myra is not well, you know, 
 and I must be with her. Come, children, get 
 your clothes on and come with me. You must 
 not stay here." 
 
 While the children were getting dressed Dr. 
 Boosch pulled the sheet over the body of Mrs. 
 Couterre, locked the door of the room and handed 
 the key to Tom, who had already slipped on his 
 clothes and was ready to go. 
 
 By this time it was daylight, and with Alice 
 
 163
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and the three smaller children Dr. Boosch returned 
 to his home. He called Mary Lash and told her 
 to get some breakfast for them. When Mary 
 heard that Mrs. Couterre was dead she affec 
 tionately kissed each one and consoled them as 
 much as lay in her power. 
 
 In a short while Sheriff Barre arrived, and 
 immediately Dr. Boosch took him into his private 
 office. He excused himself for a moment while 
 he called his wife to ask her to stay with Myra. 
 They were closeted for a long while more than 
 an hour it was. Finally the sheriff emerged 
 from the room, went to the barn, hitched up the 
 doctor's horse, and drove at breakneck speed 
 down the road. 
 
 Sheriff Barre continued on until he reached 
 Squire Townsend's office. He had a long talk 
 with him, received some document from him 
 that was drawn out while he waited, and went to 
 a hotel for a bite to eat. That ended, he again 
 got into the doctor's rig and drove to Couterre's 
 house. As he was driving up to the door he saw 
 "Bill" coming across the fields with the storm- 
 coat on his arm and his oilskin cap in his hand. 
 He had taken a nap and had almost completely 
 sobered up, but his mind was still extremely 
 hazy as to the past twenty-four hours. 
 
 He was astonished, as he came up, to see 
 
 164
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Undertaker Brickett's wagon standing by the door. 
 And there was what had been his barn now 
 a mass of burned and charred timber. And 
 there was Dr. Boosch's rig, with Sheriff Barre in 
 it. What did it all mean ? What had happened ? 
 Was the liquor still in his brain, making him see 
 imaginary things ? No, there they all were, in 
 front of him as he came up close to the house. 
 
 He stepped up to the sheriff and said: 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Barre. What brings 
 you here ? When did my barn burn down ? 
 What has happened ? What does it all mean ?" 
 
 These questions came rapidly to the stolid- 
 visaged sheriff, who said : 
 
 "I guess you know well enough what has 
 happened, William Couterre. And let me tell 
 you right now that I have a warrant in my pocket 
 for you." 
 
 "A warrant ? For me ?" 
 
 "Yes, for you, William Couterre." 
 
 "And what have I done, pray, outside of getting 
 drunk ?" 
 
 "The warrant calls for your arrest for 
 
 He hesitated a moment. He did not like to 
 be too blunt. He wanted to see what effect it 
 would have on Couterre. 
 
 "Well, out with it, Sheriff. What is it ?" 
 demanded Couterre, who was trying to conjure
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 up in his mind what overt act he could have 
 committed while in a state of frenzy under the 
 influence of liquor. 
 
 "You are arrested, William Couterre," dramat 
 ically said the sherifF, "for the deliberate murder 
 of your wife, Louisa Couterre!" 
 
 166
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-FIRST 
 
 MY, my, how events had crowded together 
 those few days! How peaceful and happy all 
 had been but a few days before! And now 
 
 Richard Broakley dead; Myra suffering from 
 shock and grief and married to Jim Carbon; 
 Mary Lash broken-hearted; Jim Carbon gone 
 away; Mrs. Couterre shot to death; William 
 Couterre in jail, charged with the murder of his 
 wife; the good doctor and Mrs. Boosch and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Broakley griefstricken. 
 
 Surely fate had made ravages in that community 
 in a very short time. 
 
 This was the day for the burial of Richard 
 Broakley. At noon carriages and vehicles of 
 all kinds were already being prepared to take 
 their owners to the Broakley home. Mr. Maujer, 
 having slept peacefully throughout the early 
 morning and until late in the day, was astounded 
 to find that it was nine o'clock when he awakened. 
 He hastily dressed and came down stairs just as 
 Sheriff Barre drove off. 
 
 "Good morning, Doctor," he greeted. "And 
 how did you rest last night ?"
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 " Good morning, David. Rest ? Why, I have 
 not been to bed at all. Matters are becoming 
 still more complicated. Mrs. Couterre was shot 
 and killed last night. Sheriff Barre has just 
 gone for a warrant for her husband, charging 
 him with having killed her." 
 
 "What! William Couterre murdered his wife? 
 You don't mean to say, do you, Doctor, that you 
 believe that that is true ?" 
 
 "I am sorry to say, David, that I do believe 
 that it is so. He had quarreled with her, left 
 in a passion, vowing that he would some day 
 end it all, was seen by his wife and daughter 
 coming out of the barn, and immediately there 
 after his wife was riddled with bullets from a 
 shotgun. Couterre then set fire to his barn, 
 evidently, in his drunken frenzy, and wandered 
 off." 
 
 " Has he been seen since ?" 
 
 "I believe not that is, as far as I know. The 
 sheriff is undoubtedly looking for him now." 
 
 "Doctor," said the minister, "I can hardly 
 realize it. Outside of his drinking habits Couterre 
 was a good man. It seems incomprehensible 
 to me that he could commit murder." 
 
 "Yes, Couterre was a hard-working man, 
 good to his family, and had no other great fault 
 than his periodical craving for liquor. I could 
 
 168
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 scarcely reconcile myself to the fact, either, 
 were it not that all the indications are so palpable. 
 He was undoubtedly liquor-crazed at the time, 
 but that does not lessen his responsibility for his 
 act in the eyes of the law." 
 
 "I shall go over and see his children, and see 
 what I can do for them," said Mr. Maujer. 
 
 "His children are here. I brought them with 
 me. I would not think of allowing them to stay 
 in the house alone with their dead mother." 
 
 "May the Lord have mercy on him for desolat 
 ing his home and his children. A good woman 
 was Mrs. Couterre a good woman. I know 
 she bore his weakness with Christian fortitude. 
 And how is Myra this morning ?" 
 
 "She appears to have improved somewhat. 
 I shall be glad when this day is over. I am very 
 much concerned lest the tolling of the church 
 bell down at the Corner bring about a reaction." 
 
 "Well, she must be patient and bear up. I 
 will go and see her after breakfast and have a 
 short prayer with her and advise her to put her 
 trust and hope in God." 
 
 "It will do her good, David, I am sure. Come, 
 breakfast is ready. Mrs. Boosch will join us 
 in a moment." 
 
 They sat down, and when the doctor's wife 
 came in, the minister said grace and they discussed 
 
 169
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the various turns that affairs had taken. There 
 certainly was food for conversation and reflection 
 in the doings of the past few days, and when 
 they had finished the meal all three went up to 
 Myra's room. 
 
 "Good morning, Myra," said Mr. Maujer, 
 cheerfully. " And how are we this morning, eh ?" 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Maujer; good morning, 
 papa and mamma. What a beautiful morning 
 it is," she said, glancing over at the curtained 
 window, through which the sun was beaming, 
 casting its rays upon the case of butterflies which 
 she and Richard had gathered in their happy 
 rambles about the country-side. 
 
 "Yes, it is a lovely morning," said her father. 
 " But what a storm that was last night. I thought 
 at times that the house was fairly rocking." 
 
 "May I sit up to-day, father?" inquired Myra. 
 
 "Yes, for a while this afternoon, if you will 
 promise to be good." 
 
 "I will be good, father," she said, with a faint, 
 sad smile upon her lips. "They are going to 
 to bury Richard to-day ?" 
 
 "Yes, my child," broke in the minister. "He 
 will go to his last resting-place. It is the will 
 of God. Let us pray." 
 
 The prayer was short, but full of spiritual 
 consolation for those whom Richard had left 
 
 170
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 behind. It taught Myra that she must bear 
 her sorrow as He had borne His; that she should 
 remember that we all must some day be gathered 
 to our fathers and ourselves leave others behind 
 to mourn for us; that she must look forward to 
 the future with the thought that the man she 
 loved was with her in spirit, if not in body. 
 
 After the prayer Myra seemed to have brightened 
 up, although the tears were silently stealing down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "Father," she said, turning to him, "I will 
 be brave; I will be strong. My heart is heavy, 
 father, but I will bear up in my faith that we will 
 meet again some day." 
 
 "Well said, my child well said," Dr. Boosch 
 replied, stooping over and kissing his daughter. 
 "You have much to bear, yet, before all will be 
 sunshine again, but it will lie with yourself how 
 soon that time will come. Now, mother, " he said, 
 turning to his wife, "I wish you would stay with 
 Myra for a little while, I want to take a bit of ex 
 ercise with David. I have been so accustomed to 
 my walk after breakfast that I would feel like an 
 old man if I should miss it." 
 
 Dr. Boosch and Mr. Maujer walked along 
 leisurely in the cool of that summer morning. 
 Fast friends were they, and much they had to 
 talk about whenever they met. Both were godly
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 men and had much in common in the interests 
 of the church. They talked of church matters 
 for a while and then the conversation drifted 
 to Richard Broakley. 
 
 "What a pity that so young and healthy a 
 man should be taken away so suddenly," said 
 the minister. "What a blow to his parents. 
 I feel so deeply for them that I am afraid I will 
 break down during the services." 
 
 "Yes," replied the doctor, "they will feel 
 their loss for many years to come. I shall go 
 over to see them often with Mrs. Boosch and 
 give them what comfort I can. They will surely 
 need it." 
 
 "My, what changes there have been since 
 his death and only a few hours ago, too. It 
 seems that everything has gone wrong since 
 then. I wonder where Carbon went to, and if 
 he is still determined to go far away. What a 
 good man he was, Doctor such men are not 
 often met with in a day's walk." 
 
 "No, they are not, David. He will get his 
 reward some day, I am sure. Success cannot 
 fail to come to one who is so honest, so good, 
 so kind, so what more can I say ?" 
 
 "I shall often think of those verses in the 
 Bible which he marked and shall use them for 
 my text in my sermon next Sunday." 
 
 172
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 By this time they had come within a short 
 distance of Couterre's house. 
 
 "Shall we go and see if the undertaker has 
 arrived ?" asked the doctor. 
 
 "As you wish," replied Mr. Maujer. 
 
 They walked on until they came within sight 
 of the house. They saw Brickett's wagon stand 
 ing by the door. 
 
 "Yes, he has arrived," Dr. Boosch said. "We 
 will go in and see him and Tom. Maybe they 
 know what has become of Couterre. Strange 
 how he should have become so frenzied as to 
 commit that awful deed. But, then, there is 
 no knowing what liquor will lead to." 
 
 "You are right, Doctor. Drink is an awful 
 curse. I can never preach too strongly against 
 it, as I feel that had it not been for you, my dear 
 friend, I might have become a victim myself. 
 Oh, Doctor, Doctor, you do not know how much 
 I owe to you how much gratitude I feel toward 
 you. Don't think for a moment that I ever 
 forget." 
 
 "Tut, tut, David. It was His will that you 
 should have been saved to spread His word." 
 
 They entered Couterre's house, after gazing 
 pensively at the ruins of the barn that had held 
 a goodly quantity of grain and farm implements. 
 They were met at the door by Tom. 
 
 173
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Have you heard anything of your father, 
 Tom ?" Dr. Boosch inquired. 
 
 "Yes, he was here. He went away with 
 Sheriff Barre. He has been arrested for murder 
 ing mother." 
 
 Tom sobbed as if his heart was breaking. 
 
 "There, there, Tom," said the man of God, 
 "be brave. Remember that the entire responsi 
 bility of this home now rests upon your shoulders. 
 What did your father have to say ?" 
 
 "He remembered nothing. He fell upon 
 mother's body and broke down completely. He 
 cried out that he was innocent that he could 
 not believe that he was capable of such a deed, 
 no matter how drunk he might have been. He 
 wanted to stay here for a while to arrange for 
 the future, but Barre would not allow him to stay 
 for more than half an hour. Father showed me 
 an affidavit that he had made before Squire 
 Townsend that he would never touch a drop 
 of liquor again in his life." 
 
 "Poor man," said Mr. Maujer, "what a pity 
 that he had not done so long ago." 
 
 "Yes," echoed the doctor, "he might have 
 been happy with his wife alive to-day. Oh, what 
 misery is brought about through the curse of 
 drink! Tom, as long as you live, never take a 
 drop of liquor." 
 
 174
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Indeed, I never shall," replied Tom. "How 
 could I ever forget such a lesson as I have been 
 taught ? My poor mother! My poor mother!" 
 
 "Tom," said the doctor, "do not give way, 
 for you will have to take the place of your father 
 and Alice will have to take the place of your 
 mother. You are both old enough to care for 
 your little brother and sisters." 
 
 The doctor and the minister gave Tom some 
 advice and consolation and encouragement, and 
 then had quite a long conversation with Mr. 
 Brickett, who was also coroner. The latter 
 told them that Mrs. Couterre had been frightfully 
 riddled with shot. It appeared to him as though 
 both barrels of a shotgun had been emptied at her. 
 He said that he would bring his wife after Richard's 
 funeral was over and have her stay until Mrs. 
 Couterre was buried, in order that she might 
 instruct the children how to get along without 
 their mother and to give them such comfort 
 as lay in her power. 
 
 Dr. Boosch and Mr. Maujer then left, as it 
 was almost time for the latter to start with Mrs. 
 Boosch for the Broakley home and the doctor 
 did not wish to remain away too long from Myra. 
 
 Returning to the doctor's house, they found 
 Mrs. Boosch awaiting them in her daughter's 
 room. She was anxious to go to Mrs. Broakley 
 
 175
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and be of service to her. She could console her 
 in this hour of her affliction as no other could. 
 The minister immediately prepared himself and 
 in a short while they drove off. 
 
 Arrived at the Broakley home they found that 
 many persons had already gathered there. Mr. 
 Maujer sought out Mr. Broakley, while Mrs. 
 Boosch went directly to his wife, and those two 
 gave spiritual consolation and comfort to both. 
 
 At the appointed hour Mr. Maujer read the 
 service at the house, and the funeral cortege 
 started for the little country church at the Corner, 
 where the coffin was carried into the church 
 and Mr. Maujer's eulogy began. He spoke long 
 and earnestly. He dwelt on the uncertainties 
 of life as exemplified in the sudden death of one 
 in the prime of life and the full vigor of man 
 hood; he spoke of the grieving parents, beseech 
 ing the Almighty to be with them now and through 
 all time; he reverently committed them, and all 
 present, to the care of the Heavenly Father, 
 and referred to the inscrutable ways of Providence 
 in taking away from the loving parents their 
 only child. Mr. Maujer spoke feelingly, and 
 at times his voice became faint with his emotion. 
 The service closed with the singing by the little 
 choir of "Abide With Me" and "Nearer, My 
 God, to Thee." 
 
 176
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 And so, in the little churchyard, surrounded 
 by the fields of growing grain and the whispering 
 trees of the woodland, they laid away all that 
 was mortal of Richard Broakley. And with the 
 burying of his body they buried the love of one 
 of the prettiest and sweetest women of Monroe 
 County Myra Boosch, now Mrs. James Carbon. 
 
 177
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-SECOND 
 
 WHEN Carbon arrived in New York he went 
 to the Astor House and there was directed by 
 a bellboy to Room i6B. In answer to his knock 
 on the door a voice said, "Come in." He opened 
 the door and saw in front of him the figure of a 
 man seated on a chair, tilted back, with his 
 feet cocked up on the window-sill. He did not 
 even look around to see who his visitor was. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Clinton Eilen ?" asked Carbon. 
 
 "The same," came the reply. 
 
 "I came to see you in answer to your advertise 
 ment regarding a prospecting tour out West." 
 
 "And who are you?" came in a drawl from 
 the figure. 
 
 "Amos Barcon is my name." 
 
 The figure slowly unwound itself from its 
 tangled-up position and raised itself to its full 
 height an even six feet. It extended its hand 
 with great deliberation and drawled: 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Barcon ? So you would 
 like to take a whirl with me at hunting for the 
 metal that makes the mare go, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Jim. "I have no ties to bind
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 me here, and I wanted to go out West, anyway. 
 I have or, rather, I can get five hundred 
 dollars, and if everything is agreeable to you 
 we can start whenever you wish. I need only a 
 day to settle my affairs and get the money." 
 
 "Let's see your fists," said Mr. Eilen. "Um, 
 looks as if you were used to hard work. Do you 
 drink or smoke ?" 
 
 " I have never done either," 
 
 "Ah, model young man, eh? Well, I like a 
 drink once in a while, and as to smoking, why, 
 I wouldn't do without it for a farm. Great con 
 solation, that, when your mind is tangled up 
 kind of clears the fog off the brain. Ever done 
 any prospecting ?" 
 
 "Not much. Only around the mountains of 
 Pennsylvania." 
 
 "Not much in that," drawled Mr. Eilen. 
 "Well, I haven't done much in that line, either, 
 I think we are pretty even on that score. I 
 have studied considerable, however, and if book 
 learning will be of any benefit I will have a good 
 supply on hand. So you want to go away as 
 soon as you can, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Jim. "As I said I have no 
 ties to keep me here my father and mother are 
 both dead." 
 
 "No girl to leave behind ? Or is k a case 
 
 179
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 of the girl not returning your love and that you 
 are going away to show her that you can go away 
 and never, never see her again like in a story 
 eh ?" said Eilen with a smile. 
 
 Carbon gave him a quick glance. He little 
 knew, evidently, how near the truth he had come. 
 All this while they had been standing. Carbon 
 turned around as if he were seeking a chair in 
 order to hide the crimson that had come into his 
 face. 
 
 "Mr. Eilen," he said, "there are some things 
 in a man's life that are sacred. I do not wish 
 to talk about that. I came here in answer to 
 your advertisement. Do you think I would be 
 a desirable person to join you ?" 
 
 "Now, look here, old man, I meant no offense. 
 You are right there are some things that are 
 sacred to us. I shall never mention the subject 
 again. Ever been West before ?" 
 
 "No," replied Carbon. "I have never traveled 
 beyond New Jersey and Pennsylvania." 
 
 "Well, I have, and I want to tell you right 
 now, from the beginning, that we will have before 
 us no easy times. Five hundred dollars apiece 
 will not carry us very far, I can tell you, and we 
 will have to do some tall hustling. It is no 
 picnic we are undertaking, Mr. Barcon, and you 
 can make up your mind that we will have to go 
 
 180
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 through many hardships before we can see our 
 way clear to a fortune if we ever do." 
 
 "I have taken everything into consideration," 
 said Jim. "The greater the amount of work 
 and the harder the task set before me, the more 
 will I be pleased. It is just what I wish for." 
 
 "Well said, my friend. I think you will find 
 me frank and honest in my dealings with you, 
 and I feel sure that I will get the same in return. 
 I like you, old man, and I think we can strike a 
 bargain and call the deal closed. Take a chair 
 and we will have a chat about our plans for the 
 immediate future." 
 
 "Thanks," said Carbon. "I have seen little 
 of the world and will be glad of the opportunity 
 to travel around, even if I have to go through 
 hardships and trials. I feel that we will pull 
 well together." 
 
 He looked Clinton Eilen square in the face. 
 The latter was a man of about thirty years not 
 a handsome man, by any means, but his gray 
 eyes were sharp and keen, his nose was elevated 
 slightly, and his cheekbones protruded. The 
 mouth was set firmly, showing determination, not 
 unmixed with kindness. He was not of an 
 excitable disposition, that was sure, for he drawled 
 when he spoke, and there was a certain drollness 
 in his speech that denoted that he had considerable 
 
 181
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 humor about him and would make an entertain 
 ing and interesting companion. Carbon took 
 a great fancy to him at once, and the feeling 
 was evidently mutual. 
 
 "Now, let me say a word about myself, Mr. 
 Barcon," Eilen said as he pushed a chair toward 
 him. "I was born in New York City nearly 
 thirty years ago My father kept a grocery store 
 and did a good business. We were pretty well- 
 to-do, as things go, and my father was able to 
 send me to college and keep me there until I 
 was twenty-three years old. Then he was sud 
 denly stricken with paralysis and I was called 
 home to attend to the business. But I had never 
 had any fondness for the grocery or any other 
 business that would keep me indoors. Besides, 
 I had no training whatever for that line of business. 
 And so, when my father died, a short while after, 
 I took hold of the store in a half-hearted sort of 
 way and kept things going. But when my mother 
 followed him, two years later, I sold the business 
 and went out West. I spent what money I derived 
 from the sale of the store in traveling around 
 and came back here to collect what was still 
 due me about seven hundred dollars. And 
 here I am. I have no one dependent upon 
 me, never fell in love with a girl, and have been 
 a happy sort of knockabout. Now I am ready 
 
 182
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 for another jaunt and I hope it will be a profitable 
 one, too." 
 
 "I want to say a few words about myself, 
 too," said Carbon. "I was born near Egg 
 Harbor City in New Jersey, a little over twenty- 
 five years ago, and have had only a country 
 school education. I have had to work pretty 
 hard ever since I was a boy. My parents owned 
 a farm, which was heavily mortgaged, and it 
 took them years to clear this almost off. They 
 did not live to see that entirely accomplished, 
 however, for they both died suddenly about five 
 years ago. I left immediately after they were 
 buried and have never been near the place since. 
 My lawyer sold the farm for me and put the 
 money in bank to my credit. I have drawn 
 upon that, instead of adding to it, and as a con 
 sequence have only about six hundred dollars 
 left." 
 
 He did not say that the money he had drawn 
 out was used not for his own personal wants, 
 but to help those in distress. He did not say, 
 furthermore, that there were many in Monroe 
 County who had been beneficiaries of his little 
 all the money that his parents had worked for 
 and saved. Neither did he say that he had 
 often received the prayers and blessings of those 
 who were tided over by him in time of financial 
 
 183
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 storm, and that there were children and parents 
 who had received presents of shoes and wearing 
 apparel at Christmas time from some unknown 
 person, but suspected that they came from James 
 Carbon. 
 
 "And so you see," concluded Jim, "I, too, 
 am anxious for an opportunity to make my way 
 in the world and better my financial condition, 
 Mr. Eilen." 
 
 "Don't call me Mr. Eilen," drawled that 
 person. "Don't call me Mr. Clinton Eilen; 
 don't call me Mr. Clinton Clint will do. We 
 will be together much, you know, and it will 
 be a waste of breath, and we will need all we have 
 of that, I guess." 
 
 "Well, then, Clint, if you will call me Amos 
 we will quit even." 
 
 "All right, old man, Amos it will be that 
 
 O 7 
 
 sounds less formal. You say you want a day to 
 get ready ? All right. We need take very little 
 with us. We can get whatever we need when 
 we get to Chicago. And from there I propose 
 going on to Denver. Then we will take a look 
 around and see how the land lays. I will give 
 up my room after to-morrow and will meet you 
 at the station in Jersey City at, say, two o'clock 
 in the afternoon day after to-morrow. Is that 
 agreeable ?" 
 
 184
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 " Perfectly," replied Carbon. 
 
 He looked out of the window at the seething, 
 busy world rushing hither and thither up and 
 down Broadway. How different from the peace 
 and quiet to which he had been accustomed. 
 A feeling of homesickness came over him. He 
 had become so attached to the Boosches and to 
 his work about the old homestead that it is little 
 wonder that he felt a momentary pang of regret 
 at the circumstance that had torn him away 
 from them. 
 
 Old Trinity was just tolling the hour of three 
 the hour set for Richard Broakley's funeral. 
 He wondered who were there; he wondered if 
 Myra would be able to go; he wondered how 
 Mr. and Mrs. Broakley were bearing up under 
 the trial of the last sad rites to their son; he won 
 dered if "Bill" Couterre's barn had been com 
 pletely destroyed. He had torn himself away 
 so suddenly that it was like a dream to be separated 
 from those he had learned to love and respect 
 and from the scenes that had become so familiar. 
 
 "Well Amos, what are you dreaming about ? 
 Goldfields, and mines, and quartz and lots of 
 money, eh ?" said Clint, after giving Carbon a 
 few moments to himself. 
 
 " In a week or so we will see something entirely 
 different from this," pointing out to Broadway. 
 
 .85
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Yes, and I am anxious to get away. I would 
 rather work hard in the open country than live 
 a life of ease in this great town," replied Jim. 
 "Just look at the way everybody is rushing around 
 like mad. Is it always like this ?" 
 
 "Yes, this is an everyday scene. Everybody 
 seems bent on getting somewhere in the least 
 possible time, as if there was nothing else in life 
 to be attained. I dare say the most of them are 
 hustling and bustling for a bare living. What 
 a great town this is, and yet young fellows like 
 you and I stand a much better chance of winning 
 a fortune out West than here, I think." 
 
 "I hope so," said Carbon. 
 
 "I'm sorry you don't smoke," said Eilen, 
 reaching over and taking a cigar from a half- 
 filled box. "You would find it lots of comfort 
 when you are camping out in the open. Lots 
 of times when I have been a little down in the 
 mouth I have taken my old pipe, fired it up, and 
 felt then as if I would not change places with 
 the richest man in the world." 
 
 He put a match to the cigar, puffed a few times 
 and blew the fragrant smoke over at Jim. 
 
 "Well, I may take it up some day," replied 
 Carbon, sniffing the odor of the cigar. "I often 
 almost weakened, but thought it was an unneces- 
 
 o 
 
 sary expense, and so held out against it." 
 
 186
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Well, I don't think we could afford as good 
 cigars as these a pipe will have to do for us 
 for some time, I guess. These were given to 
 me, else they would not have been so good, I'll 
 wager." 
 
 And so they continued on talking until about 
 four o'clock, when Carbon suddenly arose and 
 said that he would have to go if he was to catch 
 his train. He wanted to get a good night's rest, 
 too, for he had slept little within the last few days. 
 
 "All right, old man" this phrase seemed 
 to be popular with Eilen "I'll put on my hat 
 and walk with you to the ferry. I have nothing 
 else to do just now. To-morrow I'll do a little 
 shopping for what I actually need for the present. 
 Anything I can get for you ?" 
 
 "Nothing at all," said Carbon. He did not 
 want Eilen to know that he had come to town 
 with no clothes other than what he had on 
 it would create some curiosity on Clint's part 
 and might lead to some questions that he would 
 not like to answer. 
 
 Arrived at the ferry they shook hands and 
 parted. And from that day they became firm 
 and fast friends a friendship that lasted through 
 many years of privation and of prosperity.
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-THIRD 
 
 I WAS ticking away quietly, down here in the 
 hallway, when Mr. Maujer and Mrs. Boosch 
 returned from Richard's funeral. They had 
 come directly to the doctor's house, as his wife 
 knew that he would delay his professional visits 
 until her return; hence they did not go back to 
 the Broakley home. They found Myra sitting 
 by the window and the doctor was reading to her. 
 
 He had remained by his daughter's side during 
 the time that he knew David Maujer was con 
 ducting the service at the house. When the solemn 
 tolling of the bell of the church at the corner 
 made known to the folk thereabouts that the 
 cortege had arrived there, Myra gave a start, 
 as if her heart had been pierced by an arrow. 
 This was the moment that Dr. Boosch had feared. 
 He went to his daughter, put his arms around 
 her neck, and clasped her tightly. 
 
 "Myra, Myra," he said, "be calm. Remember 
 what you promised me. Remember that you 
 said you would put your faith in the good God 
 above and that you would hope to meet Richard 
 in heaven." 
 
 188 

 
 Myra gave a start, as if her heart had been pierced by an arrow
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 But his words were of no avail. His daughter 
 broke into hysterical sobbing and moaning, and 
 were it not for her father's presence would un 
 doubtedly have leaped out of the window. At 
 length, under the influence of his soothing words, 
 she calmed somewhat, and notwithstanding the 
 flowing tears she kept up a brave heart and 
 convinced her father that she had heeded Mr. 
 Maujer's prayer. 
 
 Mary Lash had also returned from the funeral, 
 having gone there in a neighbor's carriage. She 
 immediately sought the Couterre children and 
 began talking to them. There were three besides 
 Alice and Tom two girls and a boy and Mary 
 felt for the little ones from the very bottom of 
 her good heart. 
 
 Jennie, the youngest, three years of age, had 
 been her pet, and it was seldom that Mary went 
 anywhere that she did not go over to the Couterres' 
 and importune them to let Jennie go with her. 
 She told Alice, but not the other children, that 
 the doctor had informed her that their father 
 had been arrested and that he would have to 
 stand trial, probably remaining in jail for many 
 months before that would take place. She tried 
 to assure her, however, that there must have 
 been some terrible mistake and that ultimately 
 he would be cleared of responsibility for the crime.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 She was talking thus to Alice when Mrs. Boosch 
 summoned her to Myra's room. The doctor 
 was timid about leaving his wife alone with their 
 daughter, lest she should burst into uncontrollable 
 grief. He had thought matters over during his 
 wife's absence and had concluded that it would 
 be well to let the fact become known at once that 
 his daughter and Carbon had been married. 
 He knew that many of those present at the funeral 
 must have wondered why Carbon was not there. 
 In fact, frequent were the interrogations as to his 
 absence, the doctor's wife had informed him, 
 as it was well known that Richard and Carbon 
 had been warm friends, and it was little wonder 
 that they marveled at his non-attendance. Mary, 
 when questioned, answered that he had gone 
 out of town, she knew not why. Mrs. Boosch, also 
 questioned, likewise said that he had suddenly 
 gone away for reasons best known to himself. 
 
 And so Dr. Boosch, after a talk with his wife, 
 concluded that it would be best to let the truth 
 become known at once. They decided that Mary 
 Lash should be the first one to be informed, 
 and she could disseminate the news as she saw 
 fit. That it would travel fast after that there 
 was no doubt. 
 
 "Mary," said the doctor, "I wish you would 
 remain here with Mrs. Boosch and Myra until 
 
 190
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 I come back. Between you three you ought 
 to find plenty to talk about. I will not be long, 
 mother," turning to his wife; "I know of no case 
 that I have on hand just now that will detain me 
 very long." 
 
 He came over to kiss her good-bye, as he 
 always did, no matter how short a while he was 
 to be gone, and as he did so he whispered a few 
 words to her, to which she gave a responsive 
 nod of acquiescence. 
 
 After the departure of the doctor they talked 
 about various subjects until finally Myra, tired out, 
 asked her mother to prepare the bed for her, 
 in order that she might lie down again. It was 
 not very long before she was asleep. It was then 
 that Mrs. Boosch saw her opportunity. 
 
 "Mary," she said, "I suppose you know that 
 Carbon has gone away ?" 
 
 "Yes, the doctor told me. He said that he 
 would never return." 
 
 "No, Mary, he will never come back." 
 
 Mrs. Boosch hesitated for a moment, while 
 Mary looked inquiringly at her. It was a crucial 
 moment between those two. The former did 
 not know exactly how to let Mary into the secret, 
 and Mary was full of curiosity, for she felt that 
 Mrs. Boosch was inclined to be communicative. 
 
 Just at this point Myra turned around with 
 
 191
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 a sigh and raised her hand, which dropped limply 
 back upon the cover. Mary's quick eye detected 
 the strange ring upon her finger. Going over to 
 her, ostensibly to smooth out the coverlet, she 
 gave a hasty glance and saw that it was a wedding 
 ring. Quickly it flashed through her mind 
 Richard Broakley and Myra Boosch had been 
 married. That, then, was the secret. But what 
 had that to do with Carbon's going away so sud 
 denly; with his avowed intention never to return ? 
 
 "Mary," said the doctor's wife, "sit down 
 beside me. Myra is asleep, is she not ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Boosch, she is sound asleep. This 
 has been a very trying day for her this day 
 of Mr. Broakley's funeral. I know what her 
 love for Mr. Broakley was " 
 
 "Mary," interrupted Mrs. Boosch, "there has 
 been a misunderstanding a terrible misunder 
 standing. Everybody thought that Richard and 
 Myra were engaged to be married." 
 
 "And were they not?" asked Mary, with a 
 startled look. 
 
 "Well, yes, in a way," responded Mrs. Boosch. 
 She was still groping in the dark groping for 
 a way in which to qualify events without casting 
 any reflection upon Richard Broakley's memory. 
 She well remembered, now, the conversation her 
 husband had had with Jim Carbon and which he 
 
 192
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 had repeated to her. She remembered, also, 
 that he had told her that Carbon had said that 
 the more he would be condemned the lighter 
 would be the burden that Myra would have to 
 bear. 
 
 She glanced over at her daughter, peacefully 
 asleep with the knowledge that her mother was 
 by her side. Yes, Carbon had offered himself 
 as a sacrifice, and such he would have to be, 
 for Myra's sake. 
 
 "Mary," she said, "you have been with us 
 for many years. You know you are as one of 
 the family. And so I will tell you, and you will 
 be the first one to know it, that James Carbon 
 and Myra are man and wife." 
 
 "Richard Broakley, you mean, Mrs. Boosch." 
 
 "No James Carbon." 
 
 "James Carbon!" gasped Mary. 
 
 "Yes, they are man and wife, by the grace 
 of God and a minister ordained." 
 
 Mary Lash looked at Mrs. Boosch for an 
 instant. She doubted her own senses. 
 
 "James Car-bon mar-ried to Miss My-ra ?" 
 she said in monosyllables. " James Carbon mar 
 ried to Miss Myra ? You are mistaken, are you 
 not, Mrs. Boosch ? Surely you mean Richard 
 Broakley." 
 
 "No, my child, I mean what I say James 
 
 " 193
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Carbon. And he has deserted her and has gone 
 away." 
 
 " Deserted her ?" echoed Mary. She reiterated 
 this as if she doubted that she were awake or had 
 heard aright. 
 
 "Yes, Mary. And you must never question 
 any of us regarding the matter. What I have 
 told you is all you or any one else will ever know. 
 You can tell any one you wish what I have just 
 told you, Mary, but be sure to impress upon them 
 that they are not to question any of our family." 
 
 Mary Lash had become ghastly pale. This, 
 it seemed, was the climax of all the dreadful 
 happenings since Richard's death. She arose 
 from her chair, felt the room going around under 
 her feet, and with a cry sank to the floor. 
 
 When she revived she found herself lying upon 
 the cot the doctor had placed in the room for him 
 self. Mrs. Boosch was seated beside her, holding 
 her hand with motherly affection. She looked 
 at the kindly face before her and said sorrowfully: 
 
 "Mrs. Boosch, I am broken-hearted we are 
 all broken-hearted over what has taken place 
 lately. But I never thought I never dreamed 
 that Jim Carbon was anything but one of the best 
 men that the Almighty ever put on earth to win 
 a woman's love. And that he had won from me." 
 
 "Yes, Mary, the doctor told me that. But 
 
 194
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 young hearts like yours will mend in time, as 
 Myra's will have to. Remember, the world 
 is wide and full of good young men." 
 
 "True, Mrs. Boosch, but there is only one 
 James Carbon." 
 
 Mary asked if she could go down for a cup of 
 tea to revive her, to which Mrs. Boosch responded 
 that she certainly could and that she might bring 
 up a cup for Myra and herself. 
 
 When Mary came down into the hallway 
 she leaned her arms against my poor old frame, 
 and the floodgates of her pent-up heart opened 
 and the tears flowed freely, some of them dropping 
 upon my face and rolling slowly down like 
 rain upon the window panes. Dear me, how I 
 felt for that poor girl! She thought, then, that 
 there was no other than Jim Carbon could ever 
 take a place in her heart. She little knew that 
 time assuages all griefs and heals all wounds. 
 
 When she returned with the tea Myra's mother 
 said she could go out that evening, if she wished, 
 as soon as the doctor returned. She had in mind 
 that through the medium of Mary the news 
 would go abroad, and the sooner the gossip was 
 over the better. She knew full well what food 
 it would be for the gossip-lovers, but she knew, 
 also, that it would soon cease, as there was always 
 something new to supply grist for that mill and
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the newer events quickly overshadowed the older 
 ones. 
 
 So, when evening came, Mary went over to 
 Mrs. Transer's and startled her by the news. 
 And later in the evening, when Mary Lash had 
 gone home, Mrs. Transer hastened over to Mrs. 
 Brownson's to tell her. The latter could hardly 
 believe it she was positive there was some 
 mistake. It could not be possible that Jim Carbon, 
 who had been so good to her and her children 
 in their deepest hours of trial, was guilty of such 
 an act. But Mrs. Transer assured her that the 
 story had come from Mrs. Boosch herself and 
 there could be no doubting it. Mrs. Brownson 
 grieved deeply at the news of Carbon's having 
 gone away, for he had been as a brother to her, 
 and she would miss his friendly calls and his wise 
 counsel. 
 
 She could not reconcile herself to the belief 
 that Carbon was capable of doing a wrong act. 
 No matter what others might say, there was one 
 who would never utter a word in condemnation 
 of him and that was Mrs. Brownson. When 
 ever "Hank" Decker (who was prone to belittle 
 others in the eyes of the widow in order that his 
 own good qualities might stand out the more 
 boldly) began to talk in a disparaging way of 
 Carbon, she would say to him: 
 
 196
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Mr. Decker, let us change the subject. If 
 there is good to say of him, I will listen; if not, 
 I do not want to hear it." 
 
 My, how the gossips gossiped! How they 
 put this and that together, and concluded that 
 there always had been something suspicious about 
 Carbon, though none could specify any particular 
 incident that would have made them think so. 
 They spared not Myra, either. They called her 
 a flirt, for having encouraged Richard Broakley 
 when she knew that she could not marry him, 
 and even intimated that he had probably thrown 
 himself from his horse with suicidal intent. 
 
 But in a short while this all died out and another 
 topic had sprung up. 
 
 197
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-FOURTH 
 
 MATTERS in the Boosch household were be 
 ginning to assume their normal condition again. 
 Arthur Boosch had returned for a short stay 
 home before going upon another business trip. 
 He was both grieved and shocked when his father 
 told him all that had transpired during his absence. 
 He said that if he ever met Jim Carbon in his 
 travels he would greet him as one of the best 
 specimens of manhood he had ever met, and 
 that should he be in want he would sell the very 
 clothes off his back to relieve him. He said this 
 earnestly to his father, and when Arthur, a man 
 of few words, spoke thus, his father knew that he 
 meant much. 
 
 Myra had regained some of her old-time self, 
 after a few weeks, and was now beginning to take 
 an interest in worldly affairs again. Her father 
 and mother were with her almost constantly 
 in her walks, in her home, in her moments when 
 her grief made her wish that she were dead and 
 with her Richard. 
 
 But how changed she was! To me, who had 
 seen her daily from the night that the doctor had 
 
 198
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 brought her a new-born infant to me, up to 
 the night when Carbon had brought Richard 
 home, she had always been joyous, happy, buoyant 
 of spirit. How her eyes sparkled when she 
 looked at me they fairly danced with the lightness 
 of heart that made her so rosy-cheeked and 
 healthy. How lightly she tripped across the hall 
 way and out onto the porch, with that quick, 
 springy step I had learned to know so well. How 
 musical her voice had seemed to me, in comparison 
 with my deep-toned note as I sounded the hours, 
 as she gaily called to Richard to be patient, 
 that she was only fixing her hair so that she would 
 not look like a fright as if that could be! And 
 that lithesome figure of hers never had I seen 
 another so perfect. 
 
 And now! She came down the stairs a few 
 days after the funeral and gazed at me as if I 
 were a thing placed there, in the hall, to remind 
 her of the distant, faded past though it had 
 been barely a week since she had last seen me. 
 Her step was halting, as of one who was afraid 
 of stepping into an abyss; her eyes were lustreless 
 and full of sadness; her voice, when she spoke 
 at all, sounded hollow and full of sorrow. Changed 
 indeed, was she! It seemed almost impossible 
 to me, ticking away in the same methodical 
 way that I have through all joy and sunshine, 
 
 199
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 sorrow and storm, that the few days could have 
 wrought so complete a change in her. 
 
 But now she was beginning to brighten up a 
 little as a lamp lightens up after the wick has 
 been trimmed. Youth and a naturally buoyant 
 spirit, added to time, it seemed to me, would 
 overcome the blow that she had received and 
 restore her to her old self again bruised of heart, 
 it is true, but full of hope for the future. 
 
 My, how I watched her each day for many 
 years, and noted with joy as little by little the 
 ring came back into her voice; as her step became 
 lighter; as those eyes, though still tinged with 
 sadness, became brighter and brighter until 
 one day I saw a light come back that I had not 
 seen since the evening of that tragic night. 
 
 Myra, Myra! Could I but have told you of 
 the love that was yours and that I knew so well 
 was yours only. Could I but have told you that 
 the man who was your husband had for you 
 a love as deep as that of one you mourned. Aye, 
 could I have assured you that, though your heart 
 was aching for a dead love, there was a living 
 love that was as strong, as pure, as good, as true, 
 as that of Richard Broakley. But I am only 
 a family clock, and it was only in my province 
 to tick on and watch the developments of time 
 and fate. 
 
 200
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Dr. Boosch went about his professional duties 
 the same as before, and, though no one could 
 say what sadness there was in his heart, tried 
 by his manner to cheer others. Save for the time 
 that he was away on his calls, he was ever by his 
 daughter's side, encouraging and brightening her 
 by his words of cheer and comfort. His love 
 for her, paternal as it had been, seemed to grow 
 stronger and stronger. He never spoke to her 
 of Carbon never mentioned his name. The 
 time would come, he knew, when, the wound 
 having healed somewhat, he could speak to her 
 on that subject when he could lay bare to her the 
 great sacrifice Jim had made the goodness of 
 the man who had stood " ready to be offered." 
 
 Mrs. Boosch, whose faith in the Almighty and 
 her husband was such that she never despaired, 
 no matter how great life's storms, went about 
 as usual, frequently visiting the Broakleys and the 
 Couterre children, spreading by her benign ways 
 what cheer she could. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Broakiey had not recovered 
 from the shock of their son's death it was ap 
 parent that they never would. Had there been 
 other children, the loss might not have seemed 
 so great, but with the only child the only son 
 taken away so suddenly, they practically lived 
 within themselves, seeing no one but Mr. and 
 
 201
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Mrs. Boosch and the minister, and were literally 
 grieving themselves to death. 
 
 David Maujer, minister, was a busy man. 
 His spiritual comfort was needed in many places 
 he was here, there, and everywhere at the same 
 time, it seemed. First he would take a run up 
 to see his dearest and foremost friend, the doctor; 
 then he would steal a few hours from his busy 
 life to see the Broakleys; then he would rob him 
 self of rest by driving up to the Couterre house 
 and advising Tom and Alice and going over their 
 accounts with them, telling them to keep him 
 informed of every move they made; then he would 
 go to see "Bill" Couterre in the jail and pray 
 with him and talk with him and his counsel as 
 to his case, which was soon to come up for trial. 
 Besides all this, there were his parishioners to 
 look after the poor, the sick, the dying, and 
 the dead. Busy man, indeed, was David Maujer. 
 But his work was God's work, and he tired not. 
 
 Mary Lash had walked about for some days 
 in a sort of dazed manner. It was some time 
 before she could realize that Jim Carbon had 
 gone away for good. It seemed to her that she 
 must listen for him at mealtimes, as she did in 
 the days agone. How often and often she had 
 silently wept, as in the evening she sat alone. 
 What a companion he had been to her bringing 
 
 202
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 in the gossip of the neighborhood, reading the 
 news to her as she was clearing off the table, 
 doing all the heavy work for her, and escorting 
 her home from the various picnics and festivals. 
 Small wonder that she missed him! But she, 
 too, was becoming reconciled, though her heart 
 still ached, as did Myra's. 
 
 The Couterre children were managing fairly 
 well. Alice, under the tuition of a kind neigh 
 bor, had become quite a "little mother." Tom, 
 coached and encouraged by the doctor and Mr. 
 Maujer, had taken up the burden and care of 
 the farm, and had proved that he was made of 
 stern stuff. The younger brothers and the little 
 sister were full of grief for their dead mother, 
 but Mary ran over often to cheer them and per 
 form such duties for them as were too much for 
 Alice. She sewed for them, made all of Jennie's 
 clothes, and in other ways atoned in a measure 
 for their loss. 
 
 Couterre was still languishing in jail, awaiting 
 his trial. What that man suffered none could 
 tell. He felt that he was innocent of the awful 
 crime, but there were the facts the circum 
 stantial evidence was so strong that even he 
 himself at times believed that perhaps, in that 
 time that had been a blank to him, he had become 
 so crazed with liquor that he might have committed 
 
 203
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the deed. And so he suffered mental torture 
 that threatened at times to dethrone his reason, 
 were it not for Mr. Maujer's words of hope. 
 
 Matters were quietly and smoothly drifting 
 along until the early days of September, when the 
 cool of the evening and the slight tinges of color 
 in the woodland indicated the approach of autumn, 
 while here and there the fields that had been aglow 
 with the ripening grain were bare and stubbly, 
 for the harvesting had divested them of their 
 richness of color. The barns were fairly bulging 
 with the fruits of the toil of the men of brawn 
 who had worked early and late. The hay lofts 
 were stocked with fodder to keep the animals 
 well nourished through the long winter months. 
 It had been a good season, and those who had 
 sowed well also reaped well. 
 
 It was one of those cool, tranquil evenings 
 when the sun was going down in a lurid blaze, 
 that "Hank" Decker came running up to the 
 doctor's house and informed him that Mr. 
 Broakley wished to see him as soon as he could 
 possibly come over. Mrs. Broakley was not feel 
 ing well, said Decker, and Mr. Broakley was 
 somewhat alarmed. 
 
 "Very well," said the doctor, "wait a moment 
 and I will go with you. I saw her yesterday, 
 and I thought then that she was not looking 
 
 204
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 well in fact, I had advised Mr. Broakley to take 
 her away for a change of scene, but he said she 
 would not listen to any proposition involving 
 her leaving the place where their son was born 
 and raised." 
 
 "She do be a-takin' Richerd's death purty 
 hard," replied Hank. "I hain't seen narthin' of 
 her sence the day he wuz buried ontil terday. 
 An' Mr. Broakley, he be a-neglectin' of his work, 
 too. Ther hain't ben much done on ther farm, 
 I kin tell yer, sence Richerd died." 
 
 "Mother," said Dr. Boosch to his wife, "I 
 must go over to the Broakleys' at once. Decker 
 just came over for me. I have noticed that Mrs. 
 Broakley has been failing fast since the death 
 of her son. There is nothing that I can do it 
 is a disease that no doctor can help it is a disease 
 that only the Almighty can cure a broken heart. 
 I fear the worst." 
 
 He joined Decker in a moment, and they 
 walked briskly over to the Broakleys'. Mr. 
 Broakley met the doctor at the door and told him 
 that his wife was up stairs in her room asleep. 
 He said that she had not felt well all night, com 
 plaining of pains about her heart, but that now 
 she appeared to be resting quietly. He said 
 that what had alarmed him, when he had asked 
 Decker to go for the doctor, was that her face had 
 
 205
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 turned a peculiar purple color, such as he had 
 never seen before. 
 
 They went up to Mrs. Broakley's room and look 
 ing at her Mr. Broakley said: 
 
 "See, Doctor, all the purple has left her face. 
 She is all right now she is sleeping peacefully." 
 
 Dr. Boosch stepped over to the bed and gave 
 a quick glance at the form lying there, and took 
 her hand for a moment. Then he listened at 
 her heart for an instant. He turned around to 
 Mr. Broakley, who was rubbing his hands to 
 gether in seeming pleasure at the change in his 
 wife's condition. Then he walked over to him, 
 took his hand, with the other upon his shoulder, 
 and with a voice that was quivering with restrained 
 emotion said to him : 
 
 "Mr. Broakley, good friend, good father, 
 good husband, your wife is asleep forever!" 
 
 Mr. Broakley looked at the doctor with eyes 
 that were blank. There was no sign of the 
 outburst of grief that he had expected no sign 
 of a tear, even. He released his hand from the 
 doctor's and said softly: 
 
 "Dr. Boosch, it is His will that she should 
 join Richard. It is better thus. I am alone 
 now, am I not ?" 
 
 "Yes no, not alone. The Father up there 
 is with you, my dear friend," answered the doctor, 
 
 206
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 who was alarmed at the utter absence of the 
 breakdown he had looked for. 
 
 Mr. Broakley walked over to his wife's body, 
 kissed her thrice, and calmly went down to the 
 dining-room, where he went to a drawer, took out 
 an envelope, and handed it to Dr. Boosch. 
 
 "Doctor," he said, "my wife asked me that if 
 anything happened to her I should give you this 
 envelope. I know not what is in it I care not. 
 You will make the arrangements for the funeral, 
 will you not, Doctor, and you will be sure that 
 Mr. Maujer conducts the services!" 
 
 This was said as deliberately as if he were 
 making some commonplace business arrange 
 ment. There was no betrayal of emotion, no 
 visible sign of grief, no wavering of the voice, 
 no tear-stained eyes. The doctor glanced at 
 the envelope in his hand. It was simply in 
 scribed "To Doctor Boosch." He carefully put 
 it in his coat pocket and said: 
 
 "Yes, I will attend to everything everything, 
 my dear friend. Mr. Maujer I will send for 
 immediately I know he will come at once. 
 And you you shall go home with me." 
 
 "No, no, no, I will not leave her until they 
 lay her away." 
 
 Still no sign of grief still no tears still no 
 wavering of the voice. 
 
 207
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-FIFTH 
 
 WHEN Dr. Boosch returned home he informed 
 his wife and Myra of the death of Mrs. Broakley. 
 They were both shocked and grieved at the sad 
 news. He went into his study and there opened 
 the envelope Mr. Broakley had given to him. 
 In it was a sealed letter addressed to "Myra 
 Boosch." He called his daughter and handed 
 it to her. It was in Mrs. Broakley's handwriting. 
 She tremblingly opened it, as one who gets a 
 missive from the dead, and read on and on; the 
 tears falling upon the pages, until she reached 
 the end. Then she folded the letter, put it back 
 in the envelope, and without a word to her 
 father went to her room and locked it up in her 
 writing-desk. She fell upon her knees and prayed 
 that the Father who was watching over her 
 Richard would take unto Himself his mother and 
 bring them together in that heavenly home that 
 knows no separation. 
 
 In the evening Myra came to her father, and 
 lovingly putting her arms about his neck, looked 
 into those kindly eyes, and said: 
 
 "Papa, the letter was from Mrs. Broakley." 
 
 208
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Yes, my child," he answered, "I knew that." 
 
 "That dear, good woman in that letter ex 
 pressed her affection for me her love for me 
 was as a mother, she said and in order to show 
 how deep was her love for her Richard she had 
 written to me, and among other things wished 
 to say that she had willed me the pretty little 
 house in town that she owned. You know the 
 house, papa, in East Stroudsburg ?" 
 
 "Yes, I do, Myra it is indeed a pretty little 
 house." 
 
 "Yes, and she wrote that she hoped that some 
 day we would live in it. She expressed the wish 
 that when she had passed into the beyond I would 
 take care of Mr. Broakley and be a daughter 
 to him for he would have no child or relative 
 left. It seems to me, papa, that she felt that she 
 was near the end when she wrote that letter, 
 for it is full of sadness and heartaches for Mr. 
 Broakley, whom she entrusts to my loving care. 
 I shall go to the funeral, papa I shall go. And 
 then we will bring Mr. Broakley home with us. 
 You will make him stay here, won't you, papa ?" 
 
 "Such was my intention, Myra. I wanted 
 him to come with me this afternoon, but he said, 
 'No not until they lay her away.'" 
 
 Two days thereafter the friends and neighbors 
 were gathering at the Broakley house for the 
 
 14 209
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 services, which were to be held at two o'clock. 
 Mr. Broakley had gone about in a manner that 
 was not at all understandable to the doctor. 
 He exhibited no intense grief over the death of 
 his wife, save that he appeared as a man who 
 walked about in a trance. He rarely spoke to 
 any one, and was almost continuously by the 
 side of his wife's body. His face had become 
 haggard and worn and his hair, which had been 
 sprinkled with gray, had become white within 
 those two days. 
 
 Dr. Boosch and his wife, either one or the t 
 other, had been with him day and night, con 
 soling and comforting him, but he listened quietly 
 and merely answered: "It is His will she is 
 with Richard. And I am alone." 
 
 That was all he said when any one spoke to him. 
 Mr. Maujer had called almost immediately after 
 the doctor had notified him by one of the farm 
 hands going to town, and had prayed with Mr. 
 Broakley and urged him to bear with Christian 
 fortitude the awful affliction that had come to 
 him, to which came the one response the one 
 refrain: "It is His will she is with Richard. 
 And I am alone." 
 
 When Myra came with her father and mother 
 all eyes were turned upon her. It was the first 
 time that she had been seen in public since her 
 
 210
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 marriage to Jim Carbon had become known. 
 She passed through the crowd, heeding not the 
 curious and sometimes impertinent eyes that 
 followed her. She immediately sought out Mr. 
 Broakley, who was in the back parlor, and falling 
 upon his neck kissed him time and time again. 
 She had not seen him since Richard's death 
 and was astonished at the change that had come 
 over him how he had aged! It seemed almost 
 incredible to her that such a change could take 
 place in the short time that had elapsed. 
 
 She walked into the room where lay Mrs. 
 Broakley and went up to the coffin. She saw 
 there the face that she had known so well, the lips 
 parted as if she were smiling smiling at some 
 thing Richard had said. How often, Myra 
 recalled now, she had wished she could be 
 where his mother now lay in her coffin and 
 that she might be sitting on the heavenly throne 
 with him. She thought of the letter Mrs. Broakley 
 had left for her and of all that it contained, and 
 a great sob arose and the tears welled up. She 
 returned with faltering steps to Mr. Broakley 
 and remained by his side. 
 
 The last of the mourners were arriving. Mrs. 
 Brownson was one of these. Her delay was 
 occasioned by the artifice of "Hank" Decker, 
 who pretended that something was wrong with 
 
 211
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the harness and that he had better drive slow. 
 This would give him an opportunity to say what 
 he wished to say. The fact that they were going 
 to a funeral did not deter "Hank" for one 
 moment from his resolution that he would find 
 out how the widow looked upon him. 
 
 Shortly after they left the Brown son house 
 Decker, who was driving and was seated alongside 
 of the widow, opened the conversation on a topic 
 that was so near to his heart or to his pocket- 
 book, perhaps. 
 
 "Missus Brownson," he said, letting the reins 
 fall lightly upon the team, "it be er sad mishun 
 we be er a-goin' on ter-day, be'n't it ?" 
 
 "It certainly is, Mr. Decker. It seems that 
 we have been called frequently upon these sad 
 missions recently. There was Aunt Sarah last 
 May, then Richard Broakley, then Mrs. Couterre, 
 and now Mrs. Broakley all within five months." 
 
 "Itbeorful fer Meester Broakley," said "Hank," 
 hedging around to the point he wanted to make 
 loneliness. "It be hard fer er man ter be left 
 erlone, Missus Brownson, but it be moughtier 
 harder fer a 'oman. Er man kin git uset ter 
 bein' erlone, but with er 'oman it be differunt. 
 Be'n't it so ?" 
 
 "You are right in a way, Mr. Decker. A 
 man can get along much better than a woman 
 
 212
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 that is if the children are grown up a little and 
 can help themselves. And, then, he can go out 
 and see other folks and pass the time some other 
 way besides being in the house all the time and 
 feeling his loneliness. A woman should not be 
 blamed for marrying again." 
 
 "Thet be ther pint I were a-goin* ter make," 
 said Decker, evidently encouraged, "thet be ther 
 pint eggsacterly, Missus Brownsun. I hev no 
 ticed thet yer were moughty lonerly now an' 
 agin' an' hev often wondurd thet yer did not sot 
 yer eyes on sum good man thet c'u'd be er com- 
 paneron ter yer an' help yer with ther farm." 
 
 "I have felt lonely at times and have sometimes 
 thought that Mr. Brownson would not want 
 
 O 
 
 me to go through the remainder of my life without 
 a companion." She said this as if she would 
 qualify herself. Decker's face assumed a look 
 of pleased surprise at this sudden admission 
 of the widow that she was susceptible. 
 
 "Missus Brownsun," he said, his face radiant 
 with smiles, "I be moughty tickled ter hear yer 
 talk thet a-way. Do yer know yer air a young 
 'oman yit, an' ther be menny a man as 'd 
 be proud fer ter hev ther honner ter lead yer ter 
 ther altar." 
 
 "Mr. Decker," said the widow, with a blush 
 overspreading her face, "you flatter me. But 
 
 213
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 perhaps some day I may make up my mind to 
 marry again. I know a man who will be good 
 to me and my children and who will take my 
 lamented husband's place in my heart. And 
 he is not far away, either, Mr. Decker." 
 
 "Hank" turned quickly toward the widow 
 and looked at her with his sharp, ferret-like eyes. 
 
 "I be moughty glad fer ter hear thet. Pears 
 ter me thet yer haint got fur ter go ter find a good 
 man, eh ? Ther be lots of 'em aroun' yere. 
 Men thet yer know be good an' true, too, Missus 
 Brownsun. Mought I ast yer who ther lucky 
 man be ?" 
 
 There was no doubt in his mind, now, that she 
 referred to him. He had watched her interests 
 from selfish motives, it is true and had fairly 
 doted on her children when she was around. 
 He felt that "Hank" Decker was a wily and 
 shrewd man. He had played his part well and 
 was going to reap his reward, he thought. He 
 turned to the widow, his eyes fairly dancing 
 with delight. 
 
 "No, I don't mind telling you, Mr. Decker 
 you have been so good to me and have seemed 
 like one of the family, and I feel that you will 
 rejoice when you hear who it is." 
 
 "I suttinly will rejice," said Decker, who could 
 scarcely restrain his delight. He had permitted 
 
 214
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the lines to fall upon the horses and they were 
 going along at a slow gait. 
 
 "Well, it is Mr. Farson." 
 
 "Farson!" fairly yelled "Hank." 
 
 "Yes, you know he and I were school children 
 together. And we were more than that, too, 
 when we were young." 
 
 Decker leaned over, picked up the reins and 
 gave the horses a vicious crack with the whip 
 that startled them into a jump that almost threw 
 Mrs. Brownson out of the carriage. He said 
 not another word until they reached the Broakley 
 house, at full speed. 
 
 When Mrs. Brownson entered the room she 
 was surprised to see so many present. It appeared 
 to her that half the population of Monroe County 
 had come to pay respect to the memory of Mrs. 
 Broakley. She was surprised to see Myra there, 
 also. She went over to her, kissed her affection 
 ately and shook hands with Mr. Broakley, saying 
 a few words of sympathy to him. 
 
 A few minutes later Mr. Maujer arrived. 
 When he came in Mr. Broakley stepped over to 
 Dr. Boosch and said that he wanted to be alone 
 for a few minutes with his dead wife he wanted 
 to bid her farewell forever on this earth. He said 
 this coolly, dispassionately, yet the doctor hesitated. 
 He feared lest Mr. Broakley's seeming calm was 
 
 215
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 merely pent-up grief that might suddenly give 
 way and prove fatal. Finally he said: 
 
 " Mr. Broakley, do not give way to your feelings. 
 We will leave you alone for a few minutes, but 
 you must bear up bravely. Remember, as you 
 said, she is with your son." 
 
 "There is no danger of my giving way," he 
 said, with a sad smile upon his face. "I am 
 strong of will and self-possessed, am I not ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered the doctor, though still fear 
 ful of his calm demeanor. 
 
 Mr. Broakley entered the candle-lit room 
 and the doctor closed the door. When he thought 
 that sufficient time had elapsed for the parting, 
 Dr. Boosch opened the door. As he did so he 
 heard Mr. Broakley cry out: 
 
 "Sweetheart! Sweetheart! Don't leave me 
 alone! Don't leave me alone! Don't leave me 
 alone!" 
 
 It was agonizing, heart-rending, to hear this 
 appeal of the white-haired man leaning over the 
 coffin of his beloved wife of his "sweetheart" 
 still, even in death. He stepped quickly to the 
 side of Mr. Broakley, who gave a gasp as if his 
 heartstrings had snapped asunder. He led him 
 to the old-fashioned horsehair sofa and there 
 worked over him for some time. Finally the 
 doctor emerged from the room, softly closed the 
 
 216
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 door, and hastily sought out Mr. Maujer. They 
 held a hurried whispered conversation. Then 
 the man of God, turning to the assembled mourners, 
 with voice that was low and tremulous, slowly 
 said: 
 
 "Dear friends, kind friends, God Almighty, 
 in His divine wisdom, has taken Mr. Broakley 
 home to his wife and son! That which He hath 
 joined together He let not man put asunder. 
 The funeral of Mrs. Broakley is postponed. 
 Let us pray." 
 
 He paused for a moment that the wave of 
 surprise and sorrow at his announcement might 
 subside, and then began, softly, his voice gradually 
 becoming stronger as he poured out his whole 
 soul in that prayer: 
 
 "Heavenly Father/* David Maujer, minister, 
 began, "we beseech Thee to be with us to-day 
 in this house of death. We ask that Thou wouldst 
 be with all those assembled here. O Lord, we 
 grieve not yea, we rejoice that Thou hast 
 taken unto thyself this father and this mother. 
 We rejoice that thou hast taken this father and 
 husband, that he may not be alone. We re 
 joice that, though he be dead, yet shall he live 
 again, with those that he loved so well. Thou 
 hast called them home, O God, that they may 
 be reunited and dwell in Thy heavenly kingdom 
 
 217
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 together father, mother, and son. Now, Heavenly 
 Father, be with us, that we may learn Thy ways 
 and walk in Thy paths and live in Thy love 
 for we, too, shall some day be called by Thee to 
 that everlasting home. Be with us that we may 
 lead better lives that we may love Thee more 
 that we may be good and strong in Thy faith 
 that we may comfort the poor, the sick, the needy, 
 the widow, the orphan. We ask this in the name 
 of Christ, our Redeemer. Amen!" 
 
 After the prayer Mr. Maujer announced that 
 the double funeral would take place two days 
 thereafter. 
 
 And on the day after the morrow they were 
 laid away, side by side, in the little churchyard 
 at the Corner where slept their Richard. 
 
 218
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-SIXTH 
 
 GRACIOUS me! Here I have been ticking 
 away about the events that transpired for three 
 months after Jim Carbon had gone away, almost 
 forgetting, dear reader, that you would wonder 
 what had become of that good soul that I and 
 you, too, I hope had learned to love. There 
 fore I will not dwell upon the loneliness that over 
 came me, of the void there seemed to be after 
 he had gone. I will not dwell upon how often 
 I had thought that if only Carbon were here, 
 with his cheery manner and his ever-ready, 
 unselfish devotion to those around him, how 
 much lighter would have been the burdens that 
 were borne by those afflicted. For he would 
 have spread sunshine where there was shadow; 
 he would have brought a ray of hope where there 
 was despair, by that bright, fresh, buoyant, 
 hopeful, Christian spirit that pervaded all his 
 doings. 
 
 Ah, me! Perhaps I am dwelling too much 
 upon the goodness of you, Jim Carbon, but 
 I cannot help it. None other knew you and 
 studied you as I did from the time you came here 
 
 219
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to the sad hour when I last saw you pass up the 
 stairs on your final trip to your room. None other 
 knew, then, that though you were absent, your 
 heart was still here, and that I was sure your 
 thoughts were often upon all even including 
 me, the old family clock, that you used to look 
 at so cheerily and hopefully. 
 
 Now, now, now! Here I am, drifting away 
 again. And so 
 
 Jim Carbon and Clint Eilen had met at the 
 appointed hour in Jersey City. They each 
 carried brand-new handbags and were decked 
 out in entirely new suits of clothes. Carbon 
 wore eyeglasses not that he needed them, but 
 they would help somewhat to hide his identity 
 should he by any chance meet some one he knew 
 although that chance was remote. He had a 
 three days' growth of beard black and stubbly 
 for which he apologized to Clint to the effect 
 that he was going to raise a full beard in order 
 that he might look like a "real Western gold 
 digger." They had two hours to wait for their 
 train and adjourned to a restaurant to while away 
 the time in eating and chatting. 
 
 "Well, old man," said Clint, "this is our last 
 meal in the East I wonder for how long ?" 
 
 "It will be my last for all time," answered 
 Jim. "I do not want to come back never." 
 
 220
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Come, come, Amos; some of these days you 
 will have your pockets full of gold, and then 
 you will want to return and show your friends 
 that you know how to spend money as well as 
 make it. That will be the time you will come 
 back." 
 
 "Never. I have made up my mind firmly 
 and determinedly, Clint. There will be no 
 wavering from that, let me assure you. I have 
 no ties here, and should I be fortunate enough 
 to become rich or even fairly well-to-do, I shall 
 travel over the world but come back East again, 
 never." 
 
 "I tell you what, old man, I will wager you a 
 big diamond ring one as big as a dishpan 
 that some day you will be taking a train back 
 here. Is it a go ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Carbon, with a smile; "but first 
 we will have to get the wherewithal to buy one. 
 If I am no better off than I will be after I buy 
 my ticket, it will have to be a very small-sized 
 dishpan." 
 
 "Well, if all goes right the wager holds, does 
 it not ?" said Clint, extending his hand to bind 
 the bargain. 
 
 "It does, Clint, but I am sorry to say that 
 you will lose," replied Jim, taking his hand and 
 sealing the contract. 
 
 221
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "And now let us settle about money matters," 
 said Clint. "We must pool our cash, for it will 
 be a case of share and share alike, whether we 
 win or lose. If all goes well we will draw up 
 partnership papers; if not, we will have to bear 
 the loss equally. Who is to be cashier, you or 
 
 ir 
 
 "I would just as soon have you handle the 
 money you have had more experience than 
 I," said Carbon. 
 
 "But handling the money is not the only 
 thing. There must be a head to this outfit 
 some one must have the right to decide when we 
 are in doubt there must be a leader, in fact, 
 and we must agree to abide by his decision." 
 
 "All right, then, Clint, you will be the leader." 
 
 "No, that is imposing a task upon me that 
 I don't relish. I never did take much stock in 
 my executive ability never saw any one else 
 that did, either. Let's toss up a cent and let 
 that decide and I hope I lose." 
 
 "Agreed," said Jim, "and may you win." 
 
 The coin was tossed, heads Barcon wins, tails 
 he loses. Heads it was, and pocketing the coin 
 as a keepsake, Clint sprang up from his chair, 
 put out his hand, firmly grasped that extended 
 in return, and said: 
 
 "Congratulate you, old man boss, I mean. 
 
 222
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 You are to command and I am to obey. Here is 
 my money," handing over five crisp one-hundred 
 dollar bills and striking a semi-comic, semi- 
 serious attitude, "and if you forsake me 'twill 
 be proper for me to say that for once in my life 
 have I misplaced confidence in one I thought was 
 fair and square." 
 
 "Clint," said Carbon, earnestly, giving him 
 a grip that almost made him wince, muscular 
 man that he was, "no fear of that. I pledge you 
 my honor as a man that you will never regret 
 the day you met Amos Barcon. We shall work 
 together, we shall share hardship and privation 
 together, if need be, and if it is God's will that 
 prosperity come to us, we will not forget this 
 moment, when we swear eternal friendship, 
 eternal brotherhood." 
 
 "Say, old man," said Clint, "you kind of 
 touch me around the heart, you do. Look here, 
 Amos, I want you to feel that you have in me 
 from now on a sincere and earnest friend a 
 brother. God bless you!" 
 
 Those two men grasped hands with a grip 
 that spoke more than volumes of effusive promises 
 and verbose language. 
 
 "I was almost going to ask you to have a 
 cigar, old man, but I remember that you said 
 you don't smoke. However, if you think my 
 
 223
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 smoking won't tempt you when you see how 
 much I enjoy it, I will fire away and puff until 
 I am black in the face." 
 
 "Go ahead, Clint you may tempt me, for I 
 am inclined to think that I will take to a pipe 
 when we get to digging and knocking around in 
 the open." 
 
 "Good boy! Why, when you get started 
 you will rather give up eating than smoking. 
 You just wait until you are laying off under the 
 blue canopy of heaven rather poetical, ain't 
 I, but I read that somewhere with your bones 
 all sore, your muscles aching, discouraged at the 
 prospect. Then pull out your pipe, light her up, 
 and watch the blue rings go up and fill you with 
 new ideas as you see them go up, up, and then 
 fade away like your grouchy feeling does after 
 a few puffs. By the way, Amos, do you know 
 that it must be near train time ?" 
 
 "Why, yes, we have only fifteen minutes," 
 answered Carbon, pulling out his watch. "But 
 it is only a step to the station from here." 
 
 "Oh, just time enough to write a line, isn't 
 there ? Lend me your pencil, old man, and I 
 will drop a line to the sweetest girl that ever " 
 
 "What?" interrupted Jim. "Why, Clint, I 
 thought you told me that you had never fallen 
 in love with any girl." 
 
 224
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 " Did I ? Well, then, I was trying to conceal 
 from a man I knew not well enough to entrust 
 with my life's secret" here he paused, and there 
 was a tinge of bitterness in his heretofore flip 
 pant manner "but I will confess to you, Amos, 
 that I am in love with one of the best girls ever 
 born. But wait a minute until I scribble a few 
 lines. Hardly polite to write with a pencil, but 
 I'll start it off with ' I take my pen in hand,' and 
 maybe she'll not notice it." 
 
 He wrote rapidly for a few minutes, took an 
 envelope from his coat pocket, wrote the address 
 on it, and dropped it into a box at the corner. 
 Meanwhile Carbon had purchased two tickets 
 for Chicago and ten minutes later they were 
 speeding on their way full of hope, of health, 
 and of vigor. When they had seated themselves 
 in the car, Clint resumed: 
 
 "Well, you see it's this way, Amos. As I 
 said before, I am in love with one of the sweetest 
 girls that ever breathed. I am not a jealous man, 
 Barcon" he was resuming somewhat his ordinary 
 frivolous manner " and so I don't mind telling 
 you her name, because I don't think you will 
 ever meet her or, if you do, I am not afraid that 
 you will cut me out, for we wouldn't take a prize 
 at a beauty show, either one of us, would we ?" 
 
 Carbon laughed outright at this frank remark. 
 
 15 225
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "No," he said, taking up the vein of humor 
 that was intermingled with the earnestness of 
 his partner. "I certainly would not be able 
 to cut you out on that score." 
 
 "Well, old man" he could never divorce 
 himself from this favorite expression, it seemed, 
 "the name of the sweetest and best girl is 
 Florence 'Flo* I call her Vercool. Good old 
 Dutch name, isn't it ? She would have said, 
 'Darling, I'm yours,' in a minute, only up steps 
 her guardian, a good, fat, sleek, well-fed pusson, 
 and cries, 'Halt! Young man, the chap that 
 marries Florence Vercool must be able to show 
 a bankbook that will assure me that she will 
 never want for anything/ And down comes 
 his foot and when that foot comes down the 
 earth trembles, and so do I. And that is the 
 reason, Amos, why I am anxious to acquire a 
 neat little bank account. And when I do, old 
 man, you will be my best man, won't you ?" 
 
 "Why, certainly," replied Jim. He was trying 
 to conjure up in his mind where he had heard 
 that name before surely it was not such a common 
 one that one heard it every day. Florence Vercool, 
 Florence Vercool, where had he heard that name, 
 kept constantly revolving in his mind. Suddenly 
 it dawned upon him that a young lady of that 
 name had spent the summer a year ago at the 
 
 226
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Marshall's Falls Hotel. That this person and 
 Clint's "best girl that ever lived" were one and 
 the same never for a moment occurred to him. 
 
 And so they talked, and read, and dozed, 
 and occasionally they would go into the smoking 
 car together so that Clint could have his "consoler," 
 until they reached Chicago, where they spent 
 several days looking around the town, gazing 
 upon the broad expanse of Lake Michigan, 
 and purchasing some things. From there they 
 went directly to Denver. Eilen had a letter of 
 introduction from Mr. Henry Houston, a mining 
 broker, having an office in New York, to George 
 Pell, proprietor of a hotel and part owner of a 
 silver mine, who had had considerable experience 
 in mining and prospecting, and this proved 
 of vast benefit to the partners. 
 
 Pell was a big, broad-shouldered, muscular 
 man, over six feet in height, and was so constituted 
 that nothing appeared ever to ruffle his calm and 
 deliberate manner. He took quite a fancy to 
 the "boys," as he called Clint and Carbon, and 
 to him they owed much of the success and pros 
 perity that came to them after many years of 
 hardship and privation aye, even of want. 
 
 "Now look here, boys," said Mr. Pell, after 
 reading the letter of introduction, " I want to tell 
 you one thing, and that is, don't think that pros- 
 
 227
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 pecting is a kid-glove affair. You have hard 
 work in front of you and a hard life, too, among 
 hard people. You want to take shooting-irons 
 with you, and make it a rule never to allow a 
 man to get the drop on you. When you see a 
 man reach for his hip pocket, get there first, or 
 else you will be the leader in the procession to the 
 cemetery. You fellows don't want to hang 
 around ginshops, either keep away from them, 
 boys. If you want anything in the line of liquor 
 which is a good thing when you really need it 
 take a jug with you. I am sorry that I am busy 
 to-day, but to-morrow I will give up the whole 
 day to you, for I would do anything for Mr. 
 Houston." 
 
 When Clint and Carbon came around the next 
 day Mr. Pell was ready for them with a two-horse 
 rig and took them for a drive through the country, 
 describing and explaining to them the various 
 mineral locations, going over the beauties of Pike's 
 Peak, and, in fact, giving them all the information 
 that would interest them and be of value to them. 
 
 After stopping in Denver four days, most of 
 which time was spent in purchasing such necessary 
 articles as Mr. Pell told them they would need, 
 they started for Virginia City, whither the seekers 
 after silver had been making their way, and some 
 even returning, disheartened. 
 
 228
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-SEVENTH 
 
 IT WAS in the first week of October that the 
 case of the Commonwealth against William 
 Couterre, charged with the deliberate murder 
 of his wife, Louisa Couterre, was on the calendar 
 for trial in the County Court. When court 
 opened on Monday morning the room was crowded 
 with friends, neighbors, relatives and sympa 
 thizers for Couterre. He had been liked by 
 nearly all, for when sober he was inoffensive, 
 obliging to everybody, and always willing to do 
 a hand's turn for any one in distress. 
 
 He had hired as counsel to defend him a bright 
 young lawyer, Leonard Nash, who had gone 
 over his case with him time and again, but with 
 no other result than that he could prove nothing to 
 offset the overwhelming circumstantial evidence 
 of the Commonwealth. Nash realized the futility 
 of attempting to refute the evidence of Couterre's 
 own children, and had made up his mind to make 
 a powerful appeal to the jury for acquittal on 
 the strength of previous good character and 
 irresponsibility for his act, if such it were, owing 
 to his maudlin condition due to over-indulgence 
 
 229
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 in liquor. He would put his whole soul into that 
 appeal, for if it failed he would be helpless to 
 do further. 
 
 The jury was composed of nine rugged, honest 
 farmers of Monroe and three substantial business 
 men of Stroudsburg. They had all known Cou- 
 terre for many years, but had sworn to render 
 their verdict according to the testimony, regardless 
 of any personal ill or good will toward the man 
 on trial for his life. 
 
 When Couterre was brought in there was a 
 buzz and a hum that was instantly hushed by the 
 rapping of the judge's gavel. Everybody was 
 astonished at the marked change in his appearance. 
 From a ruddy-faced, strong, robust man, his 
 confinement in jail had reduced him almost to a 
 skeleton, while the pallor of his face was in marked 
 contrast to his appearance before his incarceration. 
 He looked around appealingly at his brothers 
 and children and many friends, and sat through 
 out the entire trial with bowed head and trembling 
 lips. 
 
 After the usual preliminary court routine, 
 counsel for Couterre and the District Attorney 
 announced that they were ready to proceed 
 with the case. 
 
 Mr. Nash opened with his argument for the 
 defense. He called attention to the fact that the 
 
 230
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Commonwealth's findings rested entirely upon 
 a suppositious case; no one could swear that the 
 person seen coming from the barn was Couterre; 
 could it not be possible for some one to have 
 a stormcoat and oilskin hat similar to the one 
 worn by Couterre, and could it not be possible, 
 also, that Alice and her mother were mistaken 
 in thinking that it was the prisoner ? He laid 
 particular stress upon the fact that Alice and her 
 mother had not seen the shotgun in his hands, 
 urging upon the jury to allow no theory to sway 
 them that was not directly borne out by evidence. 
 Finally, in closing, he said: 
 
 "Gentlemen of the jury, I must ask you to bear 
 in mind that you are trying a man for his life. 
 I beg of you to remember that this man was a good 
 man, save when drinking, and that he loved his 
 wife and children that he worked hard for them 
 that they might have a good home and enjoy 
 all the privileges of that home. Do not take this 
 man away from those children and leave them 
 fatherless, as well as motherless. I beg of you, 
 gentlemen, I beseech you, I implore you, to restore 
 this man to his little family, that they may have 
 his protection his fatherly care. Think of how 
 much this man's life means not only to himself 
 but to the motherless children who are struggling 
 along against a cold, bitter world. Would you 
 
 231
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 take them away from their best friend in the world 
 their father ?" 
 
 The first witness called by the prosecution was 
 Alice, who, after taking the oath, was examined as 
 follows : 
 
 "Your name is Alice Couterre, is it not ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You lived at home with your father and 
 mother, did you not ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You were present on the day when your 
 father quarreled with your mother and when 
 your mother was shot on the i8th day of June ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I was." 
 
 The District Attorney then told Alice to tell 
 the jury, in minute detail, of what had occurred 
 on that day, recalling to her that she was under 
 oath to tell the whole truth and nothing but the 
 truth, to which she replied in a straightforward 
 way, turning to the foreman of the jury, Mr. 
 Milton Fetter: 
 
 "I arose about half-past six that morning 
 and went to the barn to let the cows out into the 
 field. My father had been drinking heavily 
 for two days before, and as he was usually cross 
 when in that state I hastened back to the house 
 when I saw him going toward the barn. He had 
 hidden several bottles in the barn somewhere, 
 
 232
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and was making trips from the house to the barn 
 every once in a while. He did not come in for 
 dinner, nor did we see anything of him until 
 supper time, when he came into the dining- 
 room and without a word gave my brother Tom 
 a blow on the ear. Tom gave him a shove that 
 seemed to anger him very much and got out of 
 his way. Mother and I went upstairs to keep 
 out of his way, also, but he followed us up, abusing 
 my mother and accusing her of having turned 
 his children against him." 
 
 "What particular remark impressed itself upon 
 your mind at the time ?" the prosecuting officer 
 asked. 
 
 "Father said, 'I'm getting tired of all this 
 my own children are being turned against me 
 some day I'll end it all." 
 
 "He said this as he was going down the stairs, 
 did he not ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And when did you see him again ?" 
 
 "Not until some time after midnight. It was 
 storming fearfully, and mother was getting worried 
 about father. She woke me up I occupied 
 the bed with her that night and we stood by 
 the window for some time, watching the lightning. 
 Finally, during one of the flashes, we saw father 
 come out of the barn." 
 
 233
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "How did you know that it was your father?" 
 
 "I saw, just for a moment, that he had on his 
 stormcoat and oilskin hat." 
 
 "And what occurred thereafter?" 
 
 "We waited for a moment, mother and I, 
 and I was just stepping away from the window 
 to go down stairs to unlatch the door when there 
 was a terrific crash, and a second later mother " 
 
 Alice stopped for a moment to give way to 
 the tears that flowed. Couterre raised his head 
 for the first time, glanced over at his favorite 
 child dressed in deep black, and he, too, burst 
 into heavy sobbing. There were few dry eyes in 
 the court room, even Judge Newman cautiously 
 reaching under his desk in order that he might 
 hide his emotion. When she had calmed some 
 what she resumed: 
 
 "Mother dropped at my feet with a piercing 
 scream. She had been riddled with shot. After 
 I had heard that awful scream and seen mother 
 fall down I fainted away and did not come to 
 until after Tom and the other children had rushed 
 into mother's room. Then brother William went 
 after Dr. Boosch, and when he came he told us 
 that mother was dead. When Dr. Boosch went 
 back home he took us with him, leaving Tom 
 to go for the undertaker." 
 
 Here Alice burst into tears again and there 
 
 234
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 was a repetition of the wave of sympathy for Tom 
 and Alice and the other children. The District 
 Attorney asked her a few more questions minor 
 ones, bearing upon family matters, and then an 
 nounced that he was through with her and called, 
 "Thomas Couterre to the stand." Alice stepped 
 down from the platform and going over to her 
 father, threw her arms about his neck, and sobbed 
 bitterly, until the constable gently led her away. 
 
 Tom then went upon the stand. His testimony 
 was much to the same effect as that of Alice 
 it related to his father's drinking habits, to his 
 father going on the trip to town and returning 
 intoxicated, to his father's quarrel with him 
 and of his leaving the room suddenly in order 
 to get out of his father's way, and then to his 
 mother's awful scream, late that night, bringing 
 him from his bed to her room, to find her and 
 Alice both lying upon the floor. He described 
 Alice's words when she returned to consciousness 
 and how he had placed his mother upon her bed, 
 his brother going for Dr. Boosch, and the burn 
 ing of the barn. 
 
 "Thomas," asked the prosecuting attorney, 
 "your father was in the habit of keeping a double- 
 barreled shotgun in the barn, was he not ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. It was always hanging over the 
 oatbin; it was always loaded and ready cocked." 
 
 235
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Now, Thomas, tell me exactly where the oatbin 
 was." 
 
 "The oatbin was directly by the window fac 
 ing the house, so " 
 
 Here Tom drew a diagram of the house and the 
 window where his mother and Alice stood that 
 night, and of the barn and the window in it. 
 
 "The barn was ninety feet from the house," 
 he said in reply to a question. 
 
 "How soon after you reached your mother's 
 room did you notice that the barn was on fire ?" 
 
 "It was burning when I reached her room." 
 
 "How long a time do you suppose elapsed 
 between the time you heard your mother scream 
 and when you saw the barn blaze ?" 
 
 "It only took me a minute to get to mother's 
 room my room was just across the hall from 
 hers." 
 
 "Did your father come back to the house that 
 night ?" 
 
 "No, he came back the following day, shortly 
 after Mr. Brickett, the undertaker, arrived." 
 
 "When you saw your father again that is, 
 when he came back the following day did he have 
 his oilskin hat and stormcoat with him ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "That will do, Thomas." 
 
 Mr. Brickett was then called to the stand. 
 
 236
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 He testified to the fact that Mrs. Couterre's body 
 was fairly riddled with shot; he was positive that 
 both barrels of a shotgun had been fired at her. 
 He also testified to having seen Couterre when 
 he returned home, and was certain that he had 
 his stormcoat and hat with him. Dr. Boosch and 
 Mr. Maujer were also called and gave testimony 
 that was practically the same. 
 
 Court then adjourned for the day. 
 
 The following morning, when court convened, 
 Mr. Nash attempted by cross-examining Alice 
 to show that she might have been mistaken about 
 the person she saw leaving the barn. It was 
 his intention, evidently, to attempt to prove that 
 some person might have been an enemy of Cou 
 terre's and might have fired at the figure at the win 
 dow, supposing it to be he, but he was not very 
 successful, for Alice, when recalled by the District 
 Attorney, said she was positive that it was her 
 father, for the reason that she had stated. 
 
 The other witnesses were taken up by Mr. 
 Nash, and under direct and redirect examination 
 told practically the same stories that had been 
 elicited by the District Attorney. The remainder 
 of the day was consumed by this, and at three 
 o'clock counsel for Couterre and the prosecuting 
 attorney announced that they were through with 
 the witnesses and would sum up the next day. 
 
 237
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 On Wednesday morning the court room was 
 crowded to the doors and many were unable 
 to gain admission and loitered about the Court 
 House, eager to glean whatever news could be 
 gotten from those near the door. It was rumored 
 that the summing up would be short and that 
 it was likely that Judge Newman would charge 
 the jury and that they would retire for deliberation 
 before nightfall. 
 
 The District Attorney began his summing 
 up immediately after court opened. He called 
 the attention of the jury to the evidence that 
 Couterre had been in the habit of going on period 
 ical sprees, and to the testimony of his children 
 that when under the influence of liquor they were 
 afraid of him, and to the ugly frame of mind in 
 which he was on the night of the crime. He went 
 step by step over every move that Couterre had 
 made during the day and night of the crime, draw 
 ing upon his imagination as he pictured him quar 
 reling with his wife, going out of the house in a 
 passion, going into the barn with his brain fired with 
 anger, taking a drink of whiskey from a bottle he 
 had hidden there, setting fire to the barn, taking 
 the gun from its place over the oatbin, and then, 
 seeing his wife at the window, deliberately taking 
 aim, firing at her, throwing the gun back into 
 the flames to hide the evidence of the weapon 
 
 238
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 with which he had killed her. In closing he urged 
 the jury, in the interest of the Commonwealth, 
 to find a verdict of murder in the first degree 
 as a warning to all men of vicious habits. 
 
 Judge Newman charged the jury as to the 
 law, instructing them to render their verdict 
 impartially on the strength of the evidence and 
 not to be swayed by any emotion created by 
 counsel for either side, and the jury then retired. 
 After four hours' deliberation they sent word 
 that they had agreed upon a verdict. The judge 
 took his seat and told Couterre, who had 
 been brought back to the court room, to stand 
 up. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the judge, "have you 
 agreed upon a verdict ?" 
 
 "We have," said the foreman of the jury. 
 
 " And what may that verdict be ?" 
 
 "We find, your Honor, that Mrs. Louisa 
 Couterre was shot and killed by her husband, 
 William Couterre, and find him guilty of man 
 slaughter in the first degree." 
 
 Couterre uttered not a word, but sank into his 
 chair and sobbed like a child, while his children, 
 their hearts breaking, cried out in agony. The 
 judge then announced that he would pronounce 
 sentence upon Couterre the following Monday. 
 On that day Couterre was again brought into 
 
 239
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the court room, and Judge Newman said to him: 
 
 "William Couterre, you have been fairly tried 
 by a jury of your peers, who have found upon 
 the evidence that you were guilty of wantonly 
 slaying your wife. The sentence of the court 
 is that you be imprisoned at hard labor for the 
 term of your natural life." 
 
 Couterre looked at him blankly for a moment, 
 his emaciated frame shaking like a leaf, extended 
 his hands toward Judge Newman, and cried out: 
 
 "My God! My God! Why did you not kill 
 me and put me out of my misery ?" 
 
 And thus ended one of the shortest murder 
 trials in the history of Monroe County. 
 
 240
 
 TICK THE TWENTY-EIGHTH 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE! Christmas Eve at the Boosch 
 homestead! My, what a flood of recollections 
 that brings back to me! How many of them I 
 had seen in that household where I had ticked 
 off one after another of those Christmas Eves. 
 What gay, joyous throngs assembled there year 
 after year, and at each succeeding year how it 
 pained me to miss one or two of those radiant 
 faces that had been gathered in by the grim 
 reaper. 
 
 Christmas Eve! You who are drifting to the 
 sere of life, what a multitude of memories arise 
 on that night. How well you recall, then, the 
 very odor of the paint on the Noah's ark; 
 bringing back to your mind your childhood days. 
 What a treasure that was to you, with the little 
 sheep, the trees that looked so green as the snow 
 was falling and the wind was howling without; 
 the cows, one of which invariably had one leg 
 broken; the shepherd, with arms glued to his 
 side; the milkmaid, that you tried to marry to 
 the shepherd, only she persisted in falling over at 
 the most inopportune time. 
 
 10 241
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 And then, when the night had waned and 
 you had fallen asleep, how they all passed in review 
 in your dreams the dolls, the ark, the dancing 
 candlelights, the animals, the apples, the cakes 
 and candies, and all the tinsel and glitter of the 
 old-fashioned Christmas tree. You wondered, 
 then, where Santa Claus got all those marvelous 
 things that hung upon that tree. 
 
 And that first set of dishes! How you danced 
 with delight, and invited all the dollies that the 
 neighbors' children brought to that first tea 
 party you held. And what talking and gossiping 
 there was by the mothers of those dollies, while 
 the fathers were in the other room putting on 
 their military regalia and practising on the drums 
 that were to lead the warriors on to victory. 
 
 And the dolls! What dressing and undressing; 
 what trying on of hats that belonged to others, 
 in order to see how much cuter they looked than 
 in their own; how they paid neighborly visits 
 to one another; how they stared at one another, 
 as if jealous of the more queenly raiment that the 
 better-dressed ones wore; how the mothers carried 
 them out into the hallway, so that they could look 
 up at me, ticking away in the full enjoyment of 
 their joy, hoping that I would be running slow in 
 order to prolong that evening of childish pleasure 
 and delight, and said to their dollies: "Children, 
 
 242
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 it is time you were asleep. Come, now, be good 
 children." And those dollies, with a cry of "Ma 
 ma, ma-ma," would obediently close their eyes in 
 slumber, whereat the mothers would be sorry that 
 they had gone to sleep, for this was no night for 
 sleep, and would straighten them up, and behold! 
 all eyes were wide open again. 
 
 And the boys! Johnny, with his first pair of 
 skates, how he wished the night were over that 
 he might go out on the pond the shimmering 
 lights of the tree had lost their glamor for him; 
 and Willie, with his drum, which emitted ear- 
 piercing sounds, to the older folks, but to him 
 and the brave warriors who assembled at its 
 roll it seemed as though it were muffled, hard 
 though he beat it. 
 
 And then the older folks! Here was Uncle 
 Henry, stamping the snow from his feet, unraveling 
 the shawl about his head, and carefully wheeling 
 around as they helped him off with his overcoat 
 lest they should see the parcel that was so flagrantly 
 sticking out of his pocket. And Aunt Em, 
 walking behind him bundled up so that only her 
 nose protruded, like a semaphore on a lonely 
 railroad crossing, carrying a big parcel that she 
 was sure no one could see, for she had it under 
 her wrap, which bellied out like a sail in a 
 storm. 
 
 243
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 And here was Uncle Ichabod, with a sleigh 
 for little Charley, which he had surreptitiously 
 hidden under the back of his greatcoat, so that 
 he looked like a malformed camel; and, again, 
 Aunt Mattie, with the inevitable bed cover, 
 which it had taken her three- years to make, 
 although mathematicians could not figure out 
 how she gave one away each Christmas when it 
 took her three years to make one of them. 
 
 And when the horn sounded, calling you 
 children down to the back parlor, where stood the 
 Christmas tree, radiant with a myriad of candles, 
 how you rushed down the stairs and arrived just 
 in time to see a pair of legs that looked surprisingly 
 like Grandpa's disappear out of the room but 
 they could not be his, of course, for was he not 
 there, out in the hall, at the very end of the proces 
 sion ? What clapping of hands, what dancing, 
 what shouts of delight, as each one received his 
 or her present! "Just what I wanted I wonder 
 how good old Santa knew that ?" they cried, 
 although they had expressed their wish for weeks 
 before to every man, woman, or child who would 
 listen to them. 
 
 What chattering! Mamie was telling Katie 
 that her doll was much larger than she had ex 
 pected, while Katie said that she wished for a 
 doll with black hair, and, sure enough, her wish 
 
 244
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 had been gratified, for there was the doll with 
 hair as black as a raven; Jennie told Mabel that 
 she had wished for a set of blue dishes, and asked 
 her to call upon her and bear witness that she 
 had received the most beautiful blue set that 
 ever was; while Mabel assured her that the coat 
 she had received was exactly what she had wished 
 for, although she had never breathed a word 
 to any one that that was her wish a statement 
 that could be refuted by her father and mother 
 and a dozen others. 
 
 How the parents looked on and enjoyed the 
 cutting-up and the pranks of the children; how 
 they watched every movement, for they saw 
 in that childish gaiety a replica of their own 
 little selves in the years that were agone. And 
 then came the veil that dimmed the eye as there 
 arose the misty past as they saw the spectred 
 hosts of those who had been at those Christmases 
 gone by. Each one could close his or her eyes 
 and see before them, sainted and throned, some 
 loved one looking down upon them from the 
 heavenly realm. 
 
 And so it was at the Boosch homestead this 
 glorious Christmas Eve. All these things and 
 more, too were taking place, just as you, dear 
 reader, have recalled them. It was typical Christ 
 mas weather, too. The snow had been falling 
 
 245
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 since early morning and was now quite deep; the 
 wind whistled and howled as if it would keep in 
 unison with the noise of the horns and drums, 
 though it was not a bitter cold wind; and when 
 the door was opened, how the trees glinted and 
 glistened in the light shed from the room. 
 
 It had been the custom of the Boosches for 
 years to have these Christmas Eve gatherings 
 of all the relatives and even of those who were 
 not related and whom Dame- Fortune had not 
 smiled upon. And this year the party was in 
 creased by the addition of the five Couterre 
 children, who were so delighted to be where 
 there was so much pleasure after the many months 
 of grief and loneliness, without father and mother, 
 that they burst into tears of gratitude to the good 
 doctor and his wife. 
 
 And, also, there were present the three children 
 of "Lew" Felder, a worthless and shiftless citizen 
 of Monroe County, whose time was mostly taken 
 up in wearing out chair seats at the tavern and 
 in talking about how the farmers might do better 
 if they ceased from working so hard and hoarding 
 their money, but spent it as he did when he 
 had it, which rarely happened. How the eyes 
 of those poor children danced as they came into 
 the house, with all the lamps a-going full blaze, 
 What a revelation to them to see something 
 
 246
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 brighter than the clingy, dull little lamp that they 
 had at home. And how those little hearts ached 
 as they tried to hide their feet under the chairs 
 so that the children who were so beautifully 
 dressed, to their eyes, would not see them. 
 
 And when Myra handed them each a pair of 
 brand-new, shining, substantial shoes, how they 
 danced and laughed, and would persist in kissing 
 her over and over again. And when they asked 
 her if they could put them on next Sunday and 
 she had answered, "My dear children, run out 
 to the kitchen and put them on at once, so that 
 you will look as nice as any of the others," how 
 quickly they performed that task and returned 
 with faces fairly shining with happiness and 
 gratitude. How proud they were! And when 
 Mrs. Boosch gave them each a pair of warm, 
 fleece-lined gloves, their cup of happiness was 
 filled, only to overflow when the good doctor, 
 beaming benevolence and kindness, reached under 
 the tree, pulled forth a package, and lo! there 
 was a little muff for "Teenie," a locket and chain, 
 with a wee little cross on it, for Ethel, and wonders 
 upon wonders, what is this sure enough, it is 
 an overcoat a nice, big, warm overcoat for 
 Lewis. Doctor, Doctor, wasn't it worth it all 
 and a thousand times over again to see those 
 faces and hear those shouts of delight ? 
 
 247
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 It was about half-past eight when the folks 
 began to arrive. First came Uncle "Si" Boosch, 
 brother of the doctor, with his family all girls, 
 five of them there were: Laura, and Mattie, and 
 Emma, and "Jo," and Anna and a mighty 
 pert lot of girls they were, too, let me tell you, 
 full of life and fun and frolic. Then the sleigh- 
 bells announced that another party was coming, 
 and presently in came Cousin Hattie and her 
 children, and then Cousin Edith and her husband 
 and children, and then Cousin Austin and his wife, 
 and then but, my gracious, they kept coming 
 so fast that I really couldn't enumerate them all. 
 
 Arthur Boosch, who had come home for the 
 holidays, constituted himself a "Reception Com 
 mittee of One" and stood by the door, shaking 
 hands with the men and kissing all the women 
 and girls showing favoritism, I thought, as he 
 kissed them in front of me, when a particularly 
 pretty and vivacious forty-second-or-something 
 cousin came in, shaking her light curls, wiping 
 the snow from eyes that sparkled like jet, 
 and pursing up her red lips when Arthur said: 
 "Well, well, Cousin Frances, how glad I am to see 
 you, I will have to kiss you, too, the same as all 
 the rest." 
 
 And how she wiggled and squirmed to get out 
 of the clutches of that man, who was strong 
 
 248
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 enough to toss her over the barn, it seemed to 
 me. My! I wish you could have seen her face 
 when he released his lips from hers I have never 
 seen anything like it, except the harvest moon. 
 And how saucily she exclaimed : 
 
 "Arthur Boosch! How dare you? Don't you 
 ever dare if it wasn't Christmas Eve I would 
 She seemed unable to say further, owing to her 
 (feigned, I was sure) indignation. 
 
 " What would you do ?" asked Arthur, laugh 
 ingly, compelling her to answer. 
 
 "I would tell mother." 
 
 "Well, then I would have to kiss her, too," 
 he said, and as that person came into the hall 
 just at that moment he kept his word. 
 
 Dr. Boosch was the "Inside Reception Com 
 mittee," and greeted them all as they came into 
 the back parlor, while Mrs. Boosch showed them 
 upstairs, where Mary Lash had formed a sort 
 of check room for the cloaks, and hoods, and 
 bonnets, and what not ? Then Arthur got the 
 men together in the kitchen, and there they 
 smoked and drank cider and talked, while the 
 women folks sat in the parlor and talked of clothes 
 and hats and meeting-house affairs and sang a 
 few hymns. 
 
 Hello, hello, who is this coming now ? Why, 
 I thought everybody was here. Well, upon my 
 
 249
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 soul, I had really forgotten David Maujer how 
 could I ever have forgotten him ? but, then, 
 there were so many about me, out here in the hall, 
 that it is little wonder that I did not miss one per 
 son. How he mingled in with the jollity and 
 almost became a child again. How he romped 
 with the children and joined with them in their 
 games and their play, sitting down on the floor 
 and pushing the railroad train around and leading 
 the procession of the armor-clad warriors going 
 to battle. 
 
 The children were all in Mary's room, feverishly 
 and anxiously awaiting the call for them to come 
 down to see the tree and receive their presents. 
 And when Uncle "Si" blew his nose in his red 
 bandanna handkerchief, what a time Mary had 
 to convince them that it was not Santa's signal! 
 How long the time seemed to those children until, 
 finally, the real signal came, and they went down 
 the stairs helter-skelter, like sheep following the 
 leader. And then but it is beyond me to de 
 scribe the joy, the happiness, the childish dancing 
 and romping, such as never was before. 
 
 Myra did not get up from her chair very often 
 she was tired out with the preparation, she said, 
 and did not feel well. I knew how full of sadness 
 was her heart for one who was present last year, 
 but was now absent. She was trying to keep 
 
 250
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 up as long as possible, for the children's sake, 
 but I could see her, directly across the room 
 from me, and knew that it was a hard matter 
 for her to do so. 
 
 Then they sang, and talked, and had a cup 
 of tea and some sandwiches and cake, until 
 my hands were pretty close to twelve when Myra 
 told her father that she could stay up no longer 
 and would have to retire. Immediately there 
 after the sleighs drew up to the door, and one by 
 one, and two by two, and three by three, they 
 shook hands all around, wished the doctor and 
 all a merry Christmas, and departed, their laughter 
 and shouts ringing in the midnight air. It was 
 almost two o'clock before the last ones left. Dr. 
 Boosch went immediately to Myra's room, while 
 his wife and Mary Lash turned out the lights, 
 and thus for that year ended Christmas Eve. 
 
 The full moon was out now, shining down upon 
 the peaceful valley, keeping vigil until relieved 
 by the sun. And the glorious sun, rising on 
 the morning of that day commemorating the birth 
 of our Saviour, peering down upon the snow- 
 clad fields, turned them into millions of scin 
 tillating diamonds, while pendent from the trees 
 hung iridescent icicles like prisms hanging from 
 the chandelier. 
 
 And Mister Sun, creeping higher, peered through 
 
 251
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the curtains of Myra's room and saw her in bed, 
 peacefully asleep. And then the same Mister 
 Sun, becoming curious, rose higher and peeked 
 closer into her room, as if to dispel all doubt in 
 his mind as to what he saw there, until he burst 
 forth into a blaze of glory and smiled benignly 
 as his rays spread over something nestled close to 
 Myra's breast her new-born child, her daughter. 
 
 252
 
 TICK THE TWENTr-NINTH 
 
 FIVE YEARS later, on the eighteenth day of June, 
 the fifth anniversary of the passing out of existence 
 of James Carbon, there was seated in the office 
 of the Cornelia Mining Company in Denver, 
 deep in thought and gazing out upon the throng 
 that was passing to and fro, the president, Mr. 
 Amos Barcon. The office was substantially fur 
 nished and was in the Cornelia Building, which 
 was devoted entirely to the offices of the com 
 pany. Ascending the wide marble stairway, 
 a few steps up, to the right, one was confronted 
 by two doors. On the frosted glass of one was 
 painted in plain black letters "Amos Barcon, 
 President," on the other "Clinton Eilen, Vice- 
 President." 
 
 Amos Barcon was thinking of the past. He 
 went to the door, locked it, and gave himself 
 up to reverie. His thoughts drifted back to his 
 early childhood and youth on the farm; he pictured 
 himself as a happy farmer's boy, with never a 
 care and having a constitution that enabled 
 him to perform the hard work his struggling 
 parents were compelled to call upon him to do. 
 
 253
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Then his memory carried him on to the death 
 of his father and mother and the breaking up 
 of the home and to his drifting about until he 
 finally came to the Boosch homestead. Ah, 
 what a happy day that had been for him, and 
 how many other happy days had followed. 
 
 Then his mind drifted to the various episodes 
 that had taken place during his stay there of 
 how he had worshiped the very ground that 
 Myra Boosch had trod. His heart beat rapidly 
 as he thought of her kind, loving ways, of her 
 graciousness to him, hired man only though he 
 was, and of the love that had sprung up in his 
 heart, unbidden by him, for one he knew was 
 to be the wife of another. He thought of good 
 Mary Lash and the many pleasant evenings they 
 had spent together after the toil of the day was 
 over; he thought of the strawrides, of the festivals, 
 the prayer meetings, the sleighing parties, and 
 of the boys and girls who attended them. He 
 wondered if Tom had married Jane, if Robert had 
 married Laura, and so on; he wondered if Bessie 
 Newton, the little rogue who was responsible 
 for all the pranks that had been played at the 
 various outings, had become a sedate matron 
 and had been married to Charley Walker, who 
 was forever in trouble on account of her frivolity. 
 What gay times those had been ! 
 
 254
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 He thought of good Dr. Boosch and of Mrs. 
 Boosch; he hoped they were well and happy, as 
 they deserved to be, if ever mortals did; he 
 thought of Arthur and his goodness to him when 
 he first came to the Boosches, full of grief over 
 the loss of his parents of how he had been a 
 companion to him, ever ready with a word of 
 cheer. He wondered how Mrs. Brownson was 
 getting along and if she had married again, and 
 if so, was it "Hank" Decker who had won the 
 prize. He smiled as he thought of Decker's 
 aspirations and of his reference to his own good 
 looks and his youthfulness, on that day when he 
 had last seen him. He gazed pensively as they 
 passed in review in his living memory. 
 
 He heaved a sigh as the vision of the tragic 
 death of Richard Broakley rose up before him. 
 What changes were caused by his death how 
 it had changed his own life and career. And 
 Richard's parents, how had they survived the 
 awful shock of his sudden taking away ? He 
 hoped that God had been merciful to them and 
 had healed the wound and that they were ending 
 their days in peace and prosperity. How well 
 he remembered the last sight he had of Mr. 
 Broakley, as he saw him tottering from the barn 
 to the house to break the news to his wife. And 
 from that on his memory went to the night that 
 
 255
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 he drove to town for Mr. Maujer and of the 
 wedding. What a storm that was he had been 
 in many a storm since then, but none compared 
 with that one. He remembered, as if it were 
 but yesterday, how he had stood on the porch 
 steps, hesitating whether he should knock at the 
 door and ask for his stormcoat. All these things, 
 and more, too, were passing through the mind 
 of the man gazing out at the hurrying throngs. 
 
 Then he thought long of his marriage to Myra 
 Boosch Mrs. James Carbon. He had steeled 
 himself had hardly permitted himself to think 
 of her lest he might some day wish to go back 
 and see the old place and the old faces again; 
 he saw before him her sweet face, radiant with 
 joy and happiness at the sight of Richard as he 
 drove up the lane on the afternoon of that eventful 
 day; .his heart ached as he thought of her cry 
 of agony when the doctor had announced to Mary 
 Lash and himself that Richard Broakley was 
 dead. How had she recovered ? When had she 
 secured her divorce from him, and would she ever 
 marry again ? Had she been blessed with a son 
 or a daughter ? These and a hundred other 
 questions arose in his brain. 
 
 And his room and his Bible ? Had the good 
 doctor given his things to some poor and needy 
 person ? He hoped so. He felt sure that the 
 
 256
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 doctor would keep his Bible for him some 
 day, perhaps, in the far future, he would send for 
 it. 
 
 Mr. Amos Barcon stepped over to a drawer 
 in the oak desk and took from a box a cigar 
 a luxury that Jim Carbon had never indulged 
 in. He returned to his seat by the window, 
 lighted the cigar, and puffed away with evident 
 relish. As the wreaths of smoke ascended he 
 saw Clint Eilen and himself meeting at the station 
 in Jersey City and then traveling westward; 
 he saw them working and slaving for three years 
 afterward grubbing, digging, tunneling, working 
 in mine shafts day after day, week after week, 
 month after month, with heart-breaking unsuccess; 
 he saw them struggling along, penniless, after 
 their funds had given out, hungry and in want 
 sometimes, while around them were men becoming 
 affluent, wealthy, rich as nabobs, in a night, 
 almost, from some newly discovered vein; he 
 saw them working away, on the advice of George 
 Pell, on a blind lead near the Comstock lode, 
 on the outskirts of Virginia City blasting, shovel 
 ing, picking; he heard Amos Barcon, discouraged, 
 pleading with Clinton Eilen to give up the quest 
 for silver and to go elsewhere and secure work 
 at something; he heard Clinton, with his "Flo" 
 ever in his mind, cheerfully say, "Old man, I 
 
 2 57
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 came here to make enough to win over ' Flo's * 
 guardian, and I'm going to do it or die here." 
 
 Mr. Amos Barcon, his thoughts flitting over 
 the past, had smoked so rapidly that his cigar 
 had burned almost to the end. He again arose, 
 took out another, reseated himself, and once more 
 the wreaths ascended and the flow of memories 
 continued. He saw, again, picking up his vein 
 of thought, Amos Barcon, one day in October of 
 the third year of their mining, stooping over and 
 with an exclamation picking up a handful of 
 dirt, mixed with red clay black decomposed 
 dirt it seemed to him at first but upon closer 
 and microscopic examination it exhibited a thick 
 sprinkling of " native " silver; he saw Clinton 
 Eilen dance a war dance and heard him emit 
 a whoop as they ground the handful of dirt up 
 in a mortar, washed it out in a horn spoon, and 
 when they saw the result they had thrown their 
 arms about each other's necks and had wept 
 from sheer joy, for they were sure that the Cornelia 
 Mine, which they had located and which was 
 named in memory of Barcon's mother, would be 
 the means of making them rich men. 
 
 And Amos Barcon, smoking on, saw in the 
 wreaths of smoke, Clinton Eilen and himself 
 gradually selling stock at what would have seemed 
 to them fabulous prices months ago, but retaining 
 
 258
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 sufficient to give them the controlling interest 
 in the Cornelia Mine. What joy Ellen had 
 exhibited at the prospect of claiming his "Flo!" 
 And when the mine was sufficiently developed 
 and in such good working condition that they 
 could entrust it to a well-paid superintendent 
 and they had decided to have the main office 
 of the company in Denver, what rejoicing on the 
 part of those two for they had wearied of the 
 scenes of their hard work and many days and 
 months, even years, of disheartening failure. 
 
 And now now that he had become a well-to-do 
 man what had he worked for, what had he 
 endured hardship for ? Who cared whether Amos 
 Barcon was dead or alive ? Whose heart would 
 break if the Master should take him home ? 
 How often he had envied, almost, his dear friend 
 and partner, as he saw him, sitting by the dull 
 glare of the cabin lamp, writing to his darling 
 "Flo." No one had he to write to no one to 
 whom he could pour out his discouragements, 
 his ambitions, his hopes. Could he but have had 
 the pleasure, the joy, of knowing that some true, 
 faithful heart was waiting for his success, how 
 much lighter would have been the labor, how much 
 more pleasurable would have been the reward 
 that he was reaping. 
 
 Mr. Amos Barcon, President of the Cornelia 
 
 259
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Mining Company, awoke from his reminiscent 
 mood and gazed upon the desk beside him. He 
 saw there stacks of correspondence that needed 
 attention, reports of the various foremen that 
 were to be examined and filed away, routine work 
 of all kinds that required checking up, requisitions 
 to sign, payrolls that needed his signature, but, 
 above all, pre-eminent, rose the beautiful face 
 of Myra as he had seen it on the day that she 
 had welcomed him at the old homestead and had 
 wished him many days of happiness therein. 
 
 How it pleased him the thought that with 
 the first thousand dollars he possessed he had sent 
 a draft to a certain firm in the city of New 
 York, drawn in the name of George Pell in order 
 that there might be no revealing his whereabouts 
 even to strangers, with instructions to erect a 
 monument in the little churchyard at the Corner 
 in Monroe County, Pennsylvania, the monument 
 to bear simply " Erected to the Memory of Richard 
 Broakley." And in one corner, in small letters, 
 was to be "For Her Sake." He wondered what 
 it looked like and if Myra and Richard's parents 
 would ever for one moment suspect that it had 
 been placed there by Jim Carbon's orders. 
 
 Then he arose with a sigh, went over to his 
 desk, looked over his mail, picked out one letter 
 that bore in the corner the legend, "If not called 
 
 260
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 for within ten days return to William Wright, 
 Attorney, William Street, New York." He knew 
 full well from whom that letter came Florence 
 Vercool's guardian for had he not answered Mr. 
 Wright's letter requesting information as to how 
 Clinton Eilen was progressing, for Clint had re 
 ferred him to Amos Barcon ? How strong he had 
 made his answer, with all the thought of the wel 
 fare of his dear friend and partner! He had 
 written that Clinton Eilen was one of the best 
 and truest men in the world, that he had worked 
 hard for years and that he was now in a position 
 to support in comfort the woman for whom he 
 had expressed such deep love and who had been 
 his dream by day and by night. 
 
 He pushed all the other letters back they 
 could wait. It was of paramount importance 
 that he should know what the answer to his plea 
 for Clinton was. He tore open the envelope, 
 and seating himself in his revolving chair by the 
 desk, read: 
 
 "My Dear Mr. Barcon: I have just received 
 yours of the ninth and hasten to reply. It was 
 with great gratification that I read your letter, 
 and assure you that I have no hesitancy whatever 
 in giving my consent. I have this day forwarded 
 a letter to Mr. Clinton Eilen, which I trust will 
 set at rest whatever qualms he might have as 
 
 261
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to my ultimate decision. You may rest assured, 
 that after reading your reply to my interroga 
 tions, I felt that it was the culmination of what I 
 had desired and hoped for to instil ambition 
 and enterprise in one who, I felt sure, were it not 
 for the fact that there was a certain goal to reach, 
 would have fallen into a groove of inaction and 
 lethargy. I thank you for your kindly interest 
 in the matter and trust that we may some day 
 have the pleasure of meeting in person. With 
 kindest regards, believe me to be, dear sir, most 
 sincerely yours, 
 
 William Wright." 
 
 After reading the letter Amos Barcon walked 
 over to the window of his office, his hands in his 
 trousers pockets. There was a cloud upon his 
 brow. The news of the capitulation of the 
 enemy "Flo's" guardian would bring joy to 
 the heart of Eilen, but Barcon feared that it would 
 mean a separation of those two who had been 
 inseparable for so many years Eilen and Barcon. 
 How lonely he would feel without the cheery 
 voice of Clint, who could dispel with a word any 
 gloom that might be cast over them by discourage 
 ment and failure. He had become attached to 
 him; he honored him, respected him, and though 
 he rejoiced at his coming happiness, yet he felt 
 a sense of desolation to think that he would go 
 
 262
 
 Pardon me, Madame, but did you drop your handkerchief ? '
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 away, the happiest man in the world, and leave 
 him, for some time, at least. 
 
 It was at this moment that he stepped over to 
 the window, and looking out, suddenly gave a 
 start as if an apparition of the dead and gone 
 had appeared before him. His eyes fairly blazed. 
 Doubting his very senses and his eyes, he seized 
 his hat, unlocked the door, and rushed out into 
 the street. He hurried along until he caught up 
 with a lady walking down the street. Dropping 
 his handkerchief as a subterfuge, he picked it up, 
 and extending it toward her, said: 
 
 "Pardon me, Madame, but did you drop your 
 handkerchief?" 
 
 She turned toward him a pair of eyes that 
 revived memories of the past. And when she 
 answered him, the voice dispelled all doubt in 
 his mind. 
 
 "Thank you kindly," she said, "but I do not 
 think it is mine." 
 
 As she said this she looked up at the black- 
 bearded man, with eyeglasses, and courteously 
 bowed to him. 
 
 Amos Barcon, trembling like an aspen leaf, 
 walked hurriedly away from her, muttering 
 under his breath: 
 
 "Great heavens! Mary Lash in Denver!" 
 
 263
 
 TICK THE THIRTIETH 
 
 WHEN Amos Barcon returned to his office 
 he dropped into his chair and gazed blankly 
 at the wall. 
 
 " Mary Lash here ! What in the world brings her 
 to Denver ?" he asked himself over and over again. 
 
 Were it not that he had heard her voice and 
 looked into her eyes he would have thought 
 that Mary Lash had a double. That she had not 
 recognized him was a certainty he felt a sense 
 of relief at that, to know that his disguise was 
 complete, for surely if she had not recognized him 
 no one else would. He was so overcome with 
 surprise that he scarcely knew what course to 
 pursue in order to find out the reason for her 
 presence in Denver. He was perplexed, over 
 come, by the discovery. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened and in bounded 
 Clinton Eilen, holding aloft a letter. Eilen danced 
 about the room as if he were a youth of fifteen, 
 his face wreathed in smiles. He dropped the 
 letter on the desk in front of Amos Barcon and 
 fairly yelled: 
 
 "Hooray! She's mine!" 
 
 264
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Yes," quietly said Amos, "I know that." 
 
 "You know it? How did you find out?" 
 
 "I, too, have a letter from Mr. Wright. He 
 told me what his decision was." 
 
 "Say, old man," said Clint it was the first 
 time he had used his favorite expression in address 
 ing his partner since they had attained the dignity 
 of office "can you spare me for a few weeks 
 or so ? I want to start to-morrow morning for 
 the East." 
 
 "I think we can arrange that, Clint," said 
 Amos, smiling at the impetuosity of his friend. 
 "You can stay away for three weeks, and when 
 you come back I, too, shall take a vacation and 
 go away probably to California." 
 
 He arose, put out both hands to Clint, and 
 giving him a hearty, earnest shake, said to him: 
 
 "Clinton Eilen, my dear friend, it gives me 
 much joy to congratulate you upon having won 
 your ' Flo.* You cannot feel how much happiness 
 and pleasure I wish you. Words cannot express 
 how much and how often I have prayed for this 
 day, when you would come to me and tell me that 
 you had won your prize. May God bless you 
 both and may your days of married life be long 
 and fruitful." 
 
 "Thanks, Amos, I know what you say comes 
 from the bottom of your heart. I only hope 
 
 265
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 that some day I'll have the pleasure of con 
 gratulating you." 
 
 "No fear of that, Clint," he answered, with 
 a sad smile. " That day will never come." 
 
 "You can't tell, old man. Some day you will 
 meet a bright, loving young lady who will make 
 you change your mind." 
 
 "Where are you going to meet your sweetheart ?" 
 asked Barcon, changing the subject. 
 
 "She is stopping at the Delaware Water Gap, 
 in Pennsylvania, and I am going there to marry 
 her and spend a little while roaming around that 
 part of the country." 
 
 "Delaware Water Gap!" exclaimed Barcon, 
 visibly affected. 
 
 "Why, yes," said Clint, who had noticed the 
 agitated manner of his friend; "have you ever 
 been there ?" 
 
 "I have heard of it," Barcon answered coldly, 
 evading the question and blaming himself for 
 permitting his surprise to become noticeable. 
 
 "You see, Amos," continued Clinton, "I have 
 an uncle living in Stroudsburg, Justice Henry 
 Eilen, an old chap almost seventy. He took a 
 great fancy to 'Flo' when I first introduced her 
 to him, and they have been warm friends ever 
 since. She likes to run over from the Gap and 
 visit him, for he takes her out driving and gives 
 
 266
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 her a good time generally. I have been at the 
 Gap several times, and a mighty pretty place it 
 is, too, Amos. You ought to take a run up there 
 and see it, sometime, when you go East." 
 
 "Yes," answered Barcon, who had now shown 
 no further visible surprise at the fact that his 
 friend and partner was no stranger to those parts 
 that he had left five years ago, "when I do I shall. 
 And when that time comes, don't forget that 
 you are to get a diamond ring from me. But 
 I am afraid that you will never get it, Clint." 
 
 Little did Eilen suspect that the man he was 
 speaking to had traveled about that region for 
 years and knew practically every road, crossroad, 
 yes, even the lanes thereabouts. 
 
 "Clint," he resumed, "I shall miss you while 
 you are away, I can assure you. We have been 
 together now for five years and during that time 
 we have been firm and fast friends we have 
 been like brothers. I am sorry to see you go, 
 for I know I shall feel lonely while you are away, 
 and were it not that you are going upon such 
 a happy mission, I would almost feel constrained 
 to ask you to abandon your trip. But, of course," 
 he continued, smiling, "I couldn't do that under 
 the circumstances. However, let me tell you how 
 happy I shall be to welcome you and your bride 
 when you return." 
 
 267
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Thanks," said Clint, as they shook hands 
 again, "I'll see you to-morrow morning at the 
 station ?" 
 
 "You certainly will. I shall be there to wish 
 you good-bye and Godspeed." 
 
 "Well, au revoir until to-morrow. I want to 
 do a little shopping and packing and there is 
 something, above all, that you can be sure I 
 won't forget, and that is a plain band of gold 
 for her dear ringer. Good-bye." 
 
 He fairly danced out of the door, his face 
 beaming with joy and happiness. As soon as the 
 door had closed Barcon wheeled around to his 
 desk, hastily wrote a letter, sealed it with wax, 
 and ringing a call-bell, gave it to the boy who 
 responded. 
 
 "Take this at once to the Pinkerton agency 
 on Market Street and give it Mr. Charles Marks. 
 If he is not in, wait for him do not give it to any 
 one else. Remember, no one else." 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the boy, as his hand 
 closed on the coin that was put into his palm. 
 Barcon then went to his luncheon, and when he 
 returned he cleaned up his desk of the mass 
 of correspondence and routine and detail work 
 that was lying about. 
 
 The following morning Barcon and Eilen 
 met at the station, said many "Good-byes," 
 
 268
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and as the starting signal was given Carbon 
 handed Clint a small parcel containing a diamond 
 sunburst, which he asked him to give to Mrs. 
 Clinton Eilen as a wedding present from his dearest 
 friend and well-wisher, Amos Barcon. He sadly 
 watched the train as far as he could see it, and with 
 a sigh returned to the office of the Cornelia Mining 
 Company. 
 
 Three days later Barcon was seated at his desk 
 in his office when a boy brought in a card bearing 
 simply the name Charles Marks. He told the 
 boy to show him in at once and not to permit 
 any one to disturb them. 
 
 Mr. Marks, a thin-faced, sharp-eyed, clean 
 shaven man of about forty, bustled into the office, 
 bowed, put his hat on the desk, dropped into a 
 chair alongside of Barcon's, and blurted out: 
 
 "Well, sir, here I am." 
 
 "Good," said Amos; "I trust that you got 
 the information that I desired. You, of course, 
 understood from my letter that the matter was 
 strictly confidential between us ?" 
 
 "I did," answered Mr. Marks, who spoke in a 
 quick, jerky manner. 
 
 "Very well, let me hear what you have learned. 
 You smoke, do you not ?" passing over a box 
 of cigars. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I do everything. When I am in 
 
 269
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the company of gentlemen I smoke cigars; when 
 I want information from thieves I smoke cigarettes, 
 and when I have a detail among miners I smoke 
 a pipe." 
 
 He reached over, took a cigar, lit it, puffed a 
 few times, watched the smoke roll up, as if re 
 freshing his memory, pulled out a small memoran 
 dum book, and began: 
 
 "The person about whom you desired informa 
 tion Miss Mary Lash has been in Denver 
 a year, eleven months, and two days 
 
 "Nearly two years!" interrupted Barcon, unable 
 to conceal his surprise. 
 
 "You will find that to be correct absolutely," 
 said Mr. Marks, referring to his memorandum 
 book. "She came here from Pennsylvania 
 from the vicinity of a place called East Strouds- 
 burg, I should judge, for she receives letters 
 bearing that postmark." 
 
 Barcon merely nodded for him to go on. 
 
 "To begin at the beginning," continued Mr. 
 Marks, "it appears that Miss Lash had an aunt 
 here who was alone in the world, was in poor 
 health, and received a pension for the loss of her 
 husband in the army. The aunt, Mrs. Ann Hart, 
 had written to her niece, asking her to come on 
 to Denver to comfort her declining years. 
 She did so and lived with her until the let me 
 
 270
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 see" (here he again consulted his memorandum 
 book). "Oh, yes, here it is the twenty-third 
 day of last January, when she died." 
 
 Mr. Marks paused for a moment while he ran 
 over some entries in his book. Barcon had taken 
 a cigar and was smoking and listening with intense 
 interest. 
 
 "And then ?" he said, to urge the detective on. 
 
 "And then," resumed Mr. Marks, picking up 
 the thread of his investigation, "Miss Lash found 
 herself almost penniless, for what little money 
 she had was used up in providing comfortably 
 for her aunt and in giving her proper burial. 
 I understand that she has seen some very hard 
 days since then, Mr. Barcon." 
 
 "That is exactly what I want to find out," 
 said Amos. "But how did you get this informa 
 tion so quickly ?" 
 
 "From the landlady with whom Miss Lash 
 and her aunt had boarded or rather from the 
 landlady's husband, who is a shiftless sort of 
 cuss and will talk as long as you buy liquid refresh 
 ment for him and I can tell you that I bought 
 as long as he would talk. Hardly the right 
 thing, I suppose, but it's in the line of my business." 
 
 "You say she has seen some pretty hard days. 
 Tell me, was she ever really in want ?" asked 
 Barcon eagerly. 
 
 271
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Not that anybody positively knew, but from 
 the inference of Bucher, her landlady's hus 
 band, I surmise that there were times when 
 she wanted for food." 
 
 " I thought you said she boarded with them ?" 
 
 "Yes, she did for a while after her aunt's death. 
 But I guess her funds were getting low, for she 
 hired a little store with a room in the back and 
 started a millinery shop with what little capital 
 she had left. It didn't pay well, for she had 
 little money and most of her stock was er, 
 pardon me cheap and shoddy. It seems that 
 she has a proud spirit and would rather starve 
 than ask any one for assistance, although she 
 could have gotten that quick enough from Herman 
 Ridden" 
 
 Barcon had been leaning back in his chair, 
 puffing away, his mind set on a certain purpose. 
 When the detective mentioned that name he fairly 
 leaped out of his chair and anxiously asked: 
 
 " Herman Ridder ? What Herman Ridder ?" 
 
 Mr. Marks eyed him curiously, smiled com 
 placently, leisurely raised his cigar to his lips, 
 removed it, blew a cloud of smoke in the air, 
 as if he would keep Mr. Amos Barcon in suspense 
 for a moment, and then said, with a gleam of 
 satisfaction at the interest he had aroused: 
 
 "Why, Herman Ridder, Superintendent of 
 
 272
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the Cornelia Mine your mine, Mr. Barcon." 
 
 "And what in the name of heaven," heatedly 
 asked Amos, as he dropped back into his chair, 
 "has he to do with Miss Lash ?" 
 
 "Why, your superintendent is very much in 
 love with Miss Lash. And as far as I could learn 
 from Bucher, she thinks a great deal of him. 
 I found out that he is in town " 
 
 "I know he is," interrupted Barcon. "He 
 was here an hour ago." 
 
 "And in order to prove some things to myself 
 I took one of our stenographers, representing that 
 she was my wife, and bought her a hat in Miss 
 Lash's store. Ridder was there, and it didn't 
 require an experienced detective to see that those 
 two are very much in love." 
 
 "And why doesn't he marry her, if she needs 
 some one to help her, if she is in want ?" 
 
 " Because, Mr. Bucher tells me, Herman Ridder 
 is one of the most bashful men in the world and 
 would rather lose his life in a powder explosion 
 than propose to the woman he wants to be his 
 wife." 
 
 "So that is the sum and substance of it, I take 
 it Miss Lash is in love with Ridder, who hasn't 
 the courage to ask her to marry him, while she 
 is actually in financial need ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, that is the truth of the matter. Do 
 
 273
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 you wish any further information, Mr. Barcon ?" 
 " No, that will be all. I am very much obliged 
 
 to you, sir, for your promptness. If you will 
 
 send your bill to me I will see that it is paid at 
 
 once." 
 
 He shook hands with Mr. Marks, and when 
 
 he had gone he sat for some time in deep thought. 
 
 Suddenly he took up his pen, wrote for a few 
 
 minutes, called a boy and told him to take the 
 
 letter he handed to him to Miss Mary Lash, 
 
 milliner, on Lawrence Street. 
 
 There was a self-satisfied smile on the face of 
 
 Mr. Amos Barcon as the boy started off with the 
 
 note. 
 
 274
 
 TICK THE THIRTT-FIRST 
 
 MARY LASH, seated in her little "millinery 
 parlor," was anxiously awaiting customers. The 
 store was deserted. There was a look of anxiety 
 upon her careworn face, for her rent was overdue 
 and business was anything but promising. In 
 the rear of the store was her dining-room, 
 bedroom, and kitchen, all in one. She arose at 
 intervals and walked back and forth from the 
 store to the back room, thinking of Herman 
 Ridder, who had gone only an hour before. 
 She was wondering why he did not make her 
 happy by asking her to be his wife and relieving 
 her of this struggle for existence. She was wonder 
 ing thus when the store door opened and a bright, 
 neatly clad boy entered and handed her an 
 envelope. 
 
 This was such an unusual occurrence that 
 Mary was surprised. She hastily tore open the 
 envelope, glanced at the printed letterhead, and 
 knowing that Herman was employed by the 
 Cornelia Mining Company, she was startled, 
 for the thought entered her mind that some 
 accident might have befallen him. She exhibited 
 
 275
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 astonishment when she read the letter, which 
 was very brief, and merely asked that she come to 
 the office of the company the following morning 
 at eleven o'clock on a matter that concerned her. 
 It was signed "Very respectfully yours, Amos 
 Barcon." 
 
 "What on earth can they want of me ?" she 
 asked herself. What "matter that concerned 
 her" could have to do with the Cornelia Mining 
 Company ? Surely she had never heard of Amos 
 Barcon before what could he, a stranger, want 
 to see her about ? Perhaps the building in which 
 was her store was owned by the company and they 
 wished to know why the rent had not been paid 
 to the agent. However, there was the request, 
 and she would satisfy her curiosity and close the 
 store for an hour to-morrow it would not matter 
 much, if business were no better than it was now. 
 
 That evening Herman called again to see her. 
 She did not mention about the letter, as she did 
 not wish him to know of her financial embarrass 
 ment that her rent was unpaid. They had 
 supper together and when they parted she went 
 to her little room and there spent a restless night. 
 Early in the morning she arose and arranged her 
 toilet with extreme care. She endeavored to 
 assume a bright and cheerful air, but the lines 
 of care were upon her brow. She locked the door 
 
 276
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 of the store at half-past ten and walked rapidly 
 down Lawrence Street to Forty-second Street 
 and then turned into Arapahoe Street, where stood 
 the Cornelia Building. 
 
 Ascending the short flight of steps, she walked 
 up to a door bearing the legend, "Amos Barcon, 
 President." In response to her timid knock 
 the door was opened by a heavy-bearded man, 
 with eyeglasses. 
 
 "You are Miss Lash, I believe ?" said Barcon 
 in a deep bass voice as he extended his big, brawny 
 hand. 
 
 "Yes, sir, that is my name. I received a letter 
 from you yesterday asking me to be here at eleven 
 o'clock to-day." 
 
 She put out a gloved hand Barcon was quick 
 to detect how worn the glove was and smiled 
 as- she continued: 
 
 "I was surprised to receive a letter from you. 
 Is it in regard to the rent for my store ?" 
 
 "Why, no," answered Barcon. "It is a matter 
 of entirely different import, Miss Lash. I asked 
 you to come here for a purpose what that purpose 
 is will reveal itself later. Would you mind sitting 
 behind that screen there ? Here is a magazine 
 to while away the time until I call you." 
 
 Mary Lash walked over behind the screen 
 and sat down. She was very much puzzled. 
 
 277
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 She was wondering what it could all mean when 
 the door opened and in walked a broad-shouldered 
 man, towering over six feet. 
 
 "Why, how do you do, Mr. Pell," said Barcon, 
 grasping the hand of his friend, "I am glad 
 you came, and I think when you are through you 
 will say the same. All I want you to do is to sit 
 there as if you were my lawyer and say nothing 
 unless I should ask you a question. That is 
 easy enough, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Why," laughingly said Mr. Pell, "that's 
 the easiest thing in the world for me, being a 
 man, to keep my mouth shut " 
 
 Just then he glanced up and saw Miss Lash 
 as she settled gracefully in the arm-chair Barcon 
 had placed behind the screen for her. She sat 
 in full view of Mr. Pell, but could not be seen 
 from Barcon's desk. Mr. Pell was on the verge 
 of breaking his promise when he saw Mary there. 
 He, too, was beginning to wonder what it was 
 all about. Barcon was rubbing his hands in 
 apparent glee and was expectantly watching the 
 door. There was silence for a moment, which 
 was broken by a sharp knock at the door. Barcon 
 arose, opened it, and exclaimed, in assumed 
 surprise: 
 
 "Oh, that you, Herman? Come in. I see 
 you keep your appointments promptly. Mr. 
 
 378
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Pell, my superintendent Mr. Ridder, Mr. Pell. 
 I have asked him to meet me to-day to talk over 
 some business matters." 
 
 "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Pell," came 
 from a set of lips that betokened kindness and 
 firmness. And he gave Mr. Pell a grip that, 
 though he had done some mighty hard work in 
 his time, convinced him that his muscles were 
 becoming soft. George Pell, reseating himself, 
 looking over at the arm-chair, saw a lady half 
 rise at the mention of Ridder's name, while he 
 saw also the cheeks of the same lady change from 
 the color of a peach to well, there is no description 
 save that of the plain word red. 
 
 "Sit down, Mr. Ridder," began Barcon in 
 that slow, methodical way that Herman had 
 become accustomed to when Barcon and Eilen 
 were weighing some heavy problems, "I have 
 sent for you on a matter that concerns us both 
 deeply. To make the matter clear to you I must 
 first state that I am worn out by business cares 
 and have been notified by my physician that I must 
 take a rest or break down completely. As you 
 well know, my business interests require close 
 attention, particularly as Mr. Eilen is not likely 
 to devote as much time to them in the future as 
 he has in the past." 
 
 He paused for a moment, evidently to map out 
 
 279
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 some plan he had in mind. Herman remained 
 silent, waiting for him to resume. 
 
 "Well, the upshot of the matter is," continued 
 Barcon, "that I am going to appoint a manager 
 to look after my interests here in Denver and place 
 a new superintendent at the mine in Virginia 
 City. Now, I don't want you to think for a 
 moment that I have not appreciated your services 
 in the past, but you will readily understand me 
 when I say that I cannot trust my many and 
 complicated interests to the care of any one who 
 is er, irresponsible, in a way. Mind, I do not 
 mean to imply that I do not place the strictest 
 confidence in you, but I mean in the sense that a 
 young man without family ties is hardly the person 
 to whom to entrust my affairs. So I tell you 
 candidly that I have come to the conclusion to put 
 married men in the places of manager and superin 
 tendent. I am sorry, Herman, but you will see 
 for yourself that it is for the best." 
 
 Barcon wheeled around in his chair as if to 
 look in his desk, but to Mr. Pell it was evident 
 that the motive of the move was to give Ridder 
 time to grasp Barcon's meaning. Mr. Pell glanced 
 over toward the figure behind the screen, from 
 whom there came a muffled, choking sob. He 
 then looked at Ridder, whose strong-featured 
 face was white, but impassive. Not a movement 
 
 280
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 of the muscles was there to show that he felt 
 any regret not a sign of the bitterness that was 
 working underneath that big chest. 
 
 Barcon wheeled around again and faced Her 
 man. He looked at him for a moment and then 
 said: 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Of course, Mr. Barcon," came from Herman, 
 in a calm, measured manner, "you are the judge 
 of what is best for your business interests. I 
 have always endeavored to serve you well to 
 safeguard your interests as if they were my own. 
 I have had dreams that some day I might be more 
 to you than a superintendent. I knew that you 
 were breaking down from business cares, and I 
 have tried to prepare myself for the duties that 
 I thought would devolve upon me should you 
 retire for a time from the active management of 
 your properties, for I knew that Mr. Eilen would 
 not care to be burdened with them. But probably 
 you are right. A married man may be more 
 reliable, but I am sure not more faithful, than I 
 have been." 
 
 There was silence for a moment a silence 
 that seemed unbearable to Mr. Pell. He glanced 
 again toward the figure behind the screen. Mary 
 Lash had drawn a dainty handkerchief from her 
 handbag and was suspiciously wiping her eyes. 
 
 281
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Why she should feel interested in the matter 
 was beyond him. 
 
 "Mr. Barcon," said Ridder, breaking the pall 
 of solemnity that seemed to pervade the room, 
 "when shall I retire in favor of my successor?" 
 He said this quietly and resignedly. 
 
 "At once. But, of course, you will remain 
 in my employ/* 
 
 "Not at all, sir," said Herman. "I have no 
 ties to bind me here. I shall go away at once 
 for good and for all." 
 
 Here there was an audible sob from behind 
 the screen. Mr. Pell, looking up, saw the hand 
 kerchief doing double duty. He glanced over at 
 Barcon, who he knew was possessed of an iron 
 will, when need be. He knew, also, that if he 
 had resolved upon the course he was pursuing 
 it would be futile for him to appeal on Ridder's 
 behalf. But he did not know why that visible 
 smile was playing about those lips of Barcon, 
 which opened to deliver this: 
 
 "Herman Ridder," said Barcon, as he arose 
 from his chair and stood in front of that person, 
 his voice rising as he became enthusiastic nay, 
 almost dramatic "Herman Ridder, are you a 
 fool ? Do you mean to tell me that you are going 
 to let the opportunity of your life slip by ? Do 
 you mean to tell me that there isn't a lady in this 
 
 282
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 town who loves you enough to marry you ? Do 
 you mean to tell me that you aren't in love with 
 one of the sweetest and best girls that you ever 
 set your eyes on ? Do you mean to tell me that 
 you haven't got courage enough to ask that lady 
 to marry you in order that you may hold your 
 position with me ?" 
 
 Barcon paused for breath. It was a study 
 to watch Ridder's face. It turned all the various 
 gradations from white to purple. He was dumb 
 founded. A light seemed to dawn upon Mr. 
 Pell, who saw the figure by the screen rise up 
 suddenly, her face scarlet, and leaning forward 
 as if in doubt whether to emerge from her seclusion 
 and reveal herself. 
 
 Barcon had regained his breath. He resumed: 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me, Herman Ridder, 
 that because you are too bashful to ask that lady 
 to become your wife I am going to let you go ? 
 Do you mean to tell me that you are not going 
 to get married and take that cottage I own on 
 Larimer Street and which I will give you as a 
 wedding present ? No, sir, Mr. Herman Ridder, 
 you are not going to play me that way, and I 
 know the lady is not going to allow you to lose 
 your opportunity simply because you are a single 
 man. Miss Lash, will you kindly step this way ?" 
 
 To describe the look of surprise that came over 
 
 283
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Ridder's face as the trim little figure emerged 
 from behind the screen is beyond words; much 
 more difficult would it be to picture Herman's 
 absolute astonishment and crestfallen manner 
 as Miss Lash stepped over to Mr. Amos Barcon, 
 President of the Cornelia Mining Company. 
 
 "Now, look here," continued Barcon, a broad 
 smile overspreading his countenance, "this little 
 lady needs the protection and love of a great big 
 fellow like you. Do you think it is right to let 
 her battle against a cold, heartless world alone, 
 while you big, strong, healthy man that you are- 
 go about caring only for yourself?" 
 
 It seemed as if Barcon had reached the extent 
 of his vocabulary. Miss Lash, blushing, looked 
 appealingly first at him and then at Mr. Pell. 
 Herman Ridder was entirely at a loss how to act. 
 Mr. Pell, unable to contain himself any longer, 
 sprang up from his seat, went over to Mary Lash, 
 kissed her as fair as ever fond father kissed daugh 
 ter, and yelled out, in almost childish glee: 
 
 "Bully for you, Amos Barcon! If he doesn't 
 marry this dear little lady, let him go. And 
 if he does, why, I will furnish the house for them. 
 What more do you want, eh, Mr. Ridder Miss 
 Lash ?" 
 
 This outburst seemed to delight him so that 
 he fairly danced with joy. Barcon, becoming 
 
 284
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 inoculated with the spirit of enthusiasm took 
 Mary by the hand and led her over to Herman, 
 and made them join hands. 
 
 "What do you say," said Barcon, turning to 
 Herman, "are you going to be Miss Lash's 
 protector for life ?" 
 
 "I certainly will be, if Miss Lash consents," 
 emphatically declared Herman. 
 
 "I consent," she said, blushing. 
 
 "Now, then, you two listen. To-morrow 
 morning you are to be wed. Miss Lash is to 
 close up her store, Herman Mr. Herman Ridder, 
 Manager of the Cornelia Mining Company, 
 if you please. We will meet here to-morrow 
 morning at eleven o'clock you, Miss Lash; you, 
 Mr. Ridder, and, of course, a minister. And 
 you will be here, too, won't you, Mr. Pell ?" 
 
 At which George Pell performed a terpsichorean 
 feat that would have done credit to a premiere 
 danseuse and cried out: 
 
 " I will be the first one here." 
 
 What handshaking there was! How Ridder 
 hung back in order to give vent to his feelings, 
 his gratitude to Amos Barcon! 
 
 And Mary Lash! Didn't she go up to the 
 bronzed, bearded man and smack him squarely 
 on the lips and declare him to be the "best, 
 dearest, loveliest man that ever lived ?" 
 
 285
 
 TICK THE THIRTT-SECOND 
 
 THE following morning, Herman Ridder and 
 Mary Lash, all smiles, appeared at Mr. Barcon's 
 office. Barcon and Pell were there George 
 Pell had arrived at half-past nine, the office boy 
 informed his employer. But wasn't he dressed 
 up to kill ? Underneath his iron-gray chin 
 whisker was a flaming red tie that would have 
 flagged an express train. In the aforesaid tie 
 there was a diamond that would have answered 
 for the headlight of the said express train. His 
 mustache had been carefully curled and his hair 
 was pomaded until it glistened like a looking- 
 glass. What a hearty handshake he gave Herman ! 
 And didn't he kiss Mary three times and tell 
 her that she was as pretty as a picture and looked 
 too sweet for anything ? One would have thought 
 that he had known Mary for years. 
 
 Promptly at eleven o'clock the Reverend Joseph 
 Morris and his wife arrived in a carriage. There 
 were introductions all around, and the minister 
 then performed the ceremony, Mr. Pell acting as 
 best man and Mrs. Morris doing duty in place of 
 a bridesmaid. Mr. Barcon gave the bride away. 
 
 286
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 When the minister ended with those words that 
 Barcon had heard five years ago, "That which 
 God hath joined together, let not man put 
 asunder," what kissing there was, and hand 
 shaking, and congratulations. How happy those 
 two were. And George Pell! Why, one would 
 have thought that he was the bridegroom. He 
 laughed and sang, slapped Herman on the back, 
 and congratulated the couple over and over again. 
 
 After the ceremony they all went to Mr. Pell's 
 hotel for dinner. Mr. Barcon had informed Her 
 man that he would give him two weeks' vacation 
 and the happy couple had decided to spend their 
 honeymoon at Colorado Springs. Mr. Pell said 
 that he would keep his word and have the cottage 
 that Barcon had given them for their wedding 
 present furnished for them when they returned. 
 No wonder they were so happy when they said 
 good-bye to their benefactors. No wonder that 
 the lines of care that had been on Mary's brow 
 had suddenly been dispelled. 
 
 As Mary Mrs. Herman Ridder said good 
 bye to Mr. Amos Barcon she slipped a dainty 
 little envelope into his hand. Of course Barcon 
 knew what it contained it would be full of words 
 of gratitude to him. He put it in his coat pocket 
 and walked slowly back to his office. What a 
 flood of memories rushed through his mind 
 
 287
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 during that walk. Being in the company of Mary 
 for a few hours had removed the gap of years since 
 he had taken the train at East Stroudsburg. 
 When he arrived at the office he found a stack of 
 letters and bills and other business to be attended 
 to. For three hours he worked assiduously 
 and then closed his desk. It occurred to him 
 now that he had not read Mary's letter. He took 
 it from his pocket, opened it, and read: 
 "Mr. Amos Barcon 
 
 Dear Sir: I do not know how to express my 
 gratitude to you for your kindness to Mr. Ridder 
 and myself. I shall not attempt to do so. But 
 I want to say that you are the noblest, kindest, 
 best man that ever lived. And, furthermore, let 
 me tell you one thing, Mr. Barcon and that is, 
 that if you only knew it, you could win the love 
 of one of the best and truest hearts that ever beat 
 the love of one of the sweetest and prettiest 
 women in the country. And some day you will 
 find that out, too, you dear, kind, good Jim 
 Carbon! 
 
 Mrs. Herman Ridder I will be when you read 
 this, but I still sign myself 
 
 MARY LASH." 
 
 Amos Barcon uttered an exclamation when 
 he read his real name the name which he had 
 not seen since that memorable day when he had 
 
 288
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 taken the one he now bore. Mary, then, had 
 discovered his identity, notwithstanding his self- 
 assurance that his disguise had not been pene 
 trated. He felt, however, that she would not 
 betray him of that he was sure. But what did 
 she mean when she wrote that he could "win 
 the love of one of the prettiest and sweetest 
 women in the country" ? He tried to conjure up 
 all the pretty women he had met since he had 
 become a man of some standing in the community 
 for the president of the Cornelia Mining Com 
 pany would have been considered a very desirable 
 "catch" by many a fond mamma. But he was 
 not vain enough to believe that any woman would 
 fall in love with him, for he was anything but a 
 handsome man he knew that. 
 
 She evidently meant no woman in particular; 
 she meant in a general sense that he could win 
 the love of "one of the best and truest hearts that 
 ever beat." However, when she returned from 
 her honeymoon he would have a heart-to-heart 
 talk with her and beg her not to reveal that he 
 was Jim Carbon, who had so suddenly disappeared 
 from Monroe County not even to her husband. 
 He wondered if she received letters from Myra; 
 he wondered if he would dare ask her if she had 
 heard when Myra had been divorced from him; 
 he wondered if she would tell him all the news 
 
 289
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 about the dear old place, if she had been in com 
 munication with Myra; or would she, not knowing 
 why he had gone away so suddenly and believing 
 him to have forsaken Myra, avoid his questions 
 and declare that she knew nothing whatever ? Mr. 
 Marks, the detective, had told him that she received 
 letters postmarked East Stroudsburg, and he felt 
 sure that she was fully informed of the doings 
 of those he had left behind. 
 
 Amos Barcon was a busy man the ten days 
 following Eilen's departure for the East, for upon 
 him devolved double duty that of his own office 
 and that of vice-president. He was thoroughly 
 worn out and looked forward to the return of his 
 partner and Ridder in order that he might lay 
 aside business cares and take a much-needed 
 and well-earned rest. He had worked inde- 
 fatigably these five years, and the strain was begin 
 ning to tell upon him. He had received a letter 
 from Clinton, and with that letter was one from 
 Mrs. Florence Eilen, in which she expressed her 
 thanks for the beautiful present and said that 
 she looked forward to the day when she would 
 meet Mr. Barcon in person. Clinton, her dear 
 husband, she said, had made her promise that 
 she would give him a sisterly kiss, for she would 
 be as a sister to him, for had he not been a brother 
 to her Clinton ? 
 
 290
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Clinton's letter was full of happiness and 
 worship for his "Flo." He told when and where 
 they had been married and said they were stopping 
 with his uncle, Judge Eilen, who could not do 
 too much to make their honeymoon trip one 
 ever to be remembered. He wrote of the long 
 drives they took and described the beauties of the 
 Delaware Water Gap and the surrounding country. 
 Reading further down the page, Barcon read that 
 the minister who had married them had called 
 often to visit them, for he was a friend of Uncle 
 Eilen, and spoke of the oddity of his name one 
 like which he had never heard before. Turning 
 over the page to read on, he uttered an exclama 
 tion of surprise, for the minister who had joined 
 Clinton Eilen and Florence Vercool in the bonds 
 of matrimony was none other than David Maujer. 
 
 Barcon gave himself up to meditation when he 
 had finished reading the letters. What a com 
 bination of circumstances had happened lately 
 to kindle anew the feelings that he had for those 
 dear folk he had left behind these five years agone 
 feelings that he had studiously quelled until 
 they had become as dead ashes upon the smolder 
 ing fire. First, his discovery that Clinton Eilen 
 was going to the place where he had passed so 
 many happy days; then the sudden awakening 
 to the realization that Mary Lash, whom he had 
 
 291
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 thought thousands of miles away from Denver, 
 was actually here; then to see his own name 
 again Jim Carbon, how sweet that sounded 
 to his ears how much more euphony there was 
 in it compared with Amos Barcon; then to hear 
 again of that dear friend, that good man of God 
 David Maujer, who had made Myra Boosch Mrs. 
 James Carbon, only to "let man put asunder." 
 
 Herman Ridder had written often to him 
 and to Mr. Pell, and each letter was full of grati 
 tude and prayers for the welfare of both of his 
 benefactors. He looked forward anxiously to the 
 time when he would take up his new duties, for 
 it had been the dream and ambition of his life, 
 and it would be such a pleasure to him to relieve 
 Mr. Barcon and have him go away and recuperate 
 without any concern as to his properties. Mary 
 had written frequently to Mr. Pell and each time 
 that he received a letter he would rush over to 
 Barcon's office and chide him for not being able 
 to "capture the ladies and have them write to 
 you like they do to me," for Mary had not written 
 a line to Amos since she had handed him the 
 letter on the eve of their departure. 
 
 Four days later Herman Ridder and his wife 
 returned from their honeymoon. They bustled 
 into Barcon's office, full of happiness and en 
 thusiasm. Mary went directly up to him and 
 
 292
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 kissed him as if he were her father, while Herman 
 looked on with evident delight at the exhibition 
 of gratefulness his wife had shown to the man 
 who had made their lives so full of joy. As 
 soon as they entered Barcon summoned his office 
 boy and told him to go to Mr. Pell's hotel and 
 inform him that he wanted to see him at once, 
 for Ridder had returned. 
 
 In a very short while Mr. Pell, bearing a large 
 picture of himself, arrived. What a fuss he made 
 over the couple. Sit down for a while ? Well, 
 I guess not. Go they must, at once, and see how 
 prettily their cottage had been furnished. And 
 so they did. Mary's eyes fairly danced as they 
 went from room to room and admired the tasty 
 manner in which everything had been furnished. 
 How in the world could Mr. Pell ever have man 
 aged and planned every room just as she had 
 pictured in her mind she would have it ? And 
 Mary herself, standing on a chair, with Herman 
 holding her up in great trepidation and fear, 
 personally hung the picture of George Pell, which 
 in later years gazed down upon the little Ridders 
 as they arrived and grew to maturity. Often 
 did they beg Mr. Barcon to have his picture 
 taken, so that he, too, might adorn the wall and 
 occupy the place of honor alongside of that of 
 his esteemed friend but no, he never would do 
 
 293
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 so, no matter how strongly they urged him. 
 
 Time and time again Barcon tried to have a 
 moment's private conversation with Mary, but 
 she had diplomatically managed it so that, when 
 ever he called, her husband or some one else was 
 present. She was aware that he would ask her 
 some questions that she, for obvious reasons, 
 just at present did not care to answer. She was 
 anxiously, expectantly, feverishly awaiting some 
 development of a little scheme of hers which she 
 hoped each day would blossom and bear fruit. 
 She had something on her mind, that was certain, 
 for had not Herman noticed lately that she had 
 betrayed some agitation whenever they spoke of 
 Amos Barcon ? 
 
 Clinton had written that he would return on 
 the coming Saturday, and Barcon was looking 
 forward to that day. He had so arranged his 
 affairs that he could go away the following Mon 
 day. It was on Friday afternoon that Mr. Amos 
 Barcon, seated in his office, with a stack of mail 
 in front of him, was dreaming, as he had often 
 done, of late, of the past, and was nonchalantly 
 running his eye over the envelopes in front of 
 him, when his eyes fairly bulged in astonishment 
 at a letter, addressed in a feminine hand that 
 seemed to him familiar and that bore the post 
 mark of East Stroudsburg. His hands fairly 
 
 294
 
 'Merciful God! Can this be true, or am I dreaming?"
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 trembled as he broke open the seal; and for a 
 moment he appeared as one stunned as he drew 
 his hand across his forehead, while the letter 
 fluttered to the floor. 
 
 It was some time before Amos Barcon recovered 
 himself. When he did, he raised his eyes to 
 heaven and exclaimed: 
 
 "Merciful God! Can this be true or am I 
 dreaming ?" 
 
 295
 
 TICK THE THIRTT-THIRD 
 
 AMOS BARCON picked up the letter from the 
 floor and let his eyes rest on the signature. True 
 enough, he was not deceived. There it was, as 
 plain as he had ever seen anything in his life. 
 He walked over to the door, locked it, and then 
 reseated himself, laying the letter on the table 
 as if in fear that his trembling hands might tear 
 the precious missive apart. He read slowly, 
 as if in dread that he might miss one word, almost 
 spelling each one out to himself. And this is 
 what Mr. Amos Barcon, President of the Cornelia 
 Mining Company, read: 
 "My dear Husband: 
 
 I have just received a letter from Mary Lash, 
 who tells me that she is about to change her name 
 to Ridder, and in which she tells me of the kind 
 and generous act on your part toward her husband 
 and herself only one more added to the many 
 noble and self-sacrificing deeds that will ever be 
 cherished by so many who have cause to bless you. 
 My father long ago told me of the sacrifices 
 you have made, my dear husband, and I am 
 proud to tell you that I have long ago learned 
 
 296
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to love one who could be so good, so noble, so 
 generous, so self-sacrificing what woman would 
 not learn to love so good a man ? 
 
 My dear husband, do you think you could 
 learn to love me a little ? Do you think that I 
 could win just a little bit of your love ? I will 
 be a good wife to you, true as I have been to your 
 name, which I still bear and always will until 
 death separates us. Were it not that father is 
 getting old I would come to you and plead in 
 person, but I cannot leave him now, and mother, 
 too, needs my care. Will you come to me and let 
 me try to win your love ? Remember, my dear 
 husband, as your mother's Bible, which you left 
 behind and which you quoted, says: * There is 
 laid up for you a crown of righteousness, which 
 the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give you on 
 that day.' 
 
 I shall anxiously await a word from you, 
 giving me some hope that you will come to me 
 and that we may end our days in happiness and 
 in the warmth of a true love that should belong 
 to so good a man as you. Give my love to Mary, 
 and tell her that I thank her for her letter, else 
 I should probably never have heard of you again. 
 She has done a Christian act in notifying me at 
 once of your whereabouts, for I have prayed to 
 God day and night that He would lead me to you, 
 
 297
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and at last my prayer has been answered. 
 
 May the Almighty watch over you and guard 
 you day and night is the prayerful wish of your 
 loving wife, 
 
 MYRA." 
 
 When Amos Barcon had finished reading 
 the letter he dropped upon his knees and for fully 
 five minutes he prayed silently and earnestly. 
 He thanked the Master for His goodness to him, 
 for His watchfulness over him, for His leading 
 him into the paths of righteousness, for His 
 blessing him with prosperity, and for His offering 
 opportunity to right his respected name in the 
 little community he had left five years ago. 
 
 When he arose there were tears in the eyes of the 
 big, scrawny man tears that were honest and 
 came from the very depths of the soul of that good 
 man. Aye, tears that no man would be ashamed 
 to acknowledge had been shed. 
 
 He paced up and down his office with the 
 letter in his trembling hands, as if he were afraid 
 lest he might awaken only to find it had all been a 
 dream. Over and over again he read: "My 
 dear husband, do you think you could learn to 
 love me a little?" Learn to love her a little? 
 Learn to love her a little, the woman whose picture 
 was ever before him, try as he would to forget it, 
 for her sake ? Learn to love her a little, the 
 
 298
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 woman who had won his love so many years ago 
 and which love the years had not dimmed, even 
 though he had known it to be a hopeless one ? 
 Learn to love her a little, she who had owned the 
 only love he had ever known for living woman ? 
 Learn to love her a little his love, which had been 
 hers so wholly and fully at the time when she 
 dreamed that there could be no other love than 
 that of Richard Broakley's ? 
 
 He read the letter over again, raised it fervently 
 to his lips, replaced it in the envelope, carefully 
 put it in his pocket, and sat down to dream and 
 think, and think and dream. He sat there for 
 an hour, heedless of the mass of work in front of 
 him, oblivious of the existence of the Cornelia 
 Mining Company. Then there came a knock 
 at the door, and brushing his hand across his 
 brow, and making sure that the letter was safe 
 in his pocket, he opened the door. The office 
 boy stood there, and behind him was Mary Ridder. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Ridder," said Barcon, in a voice 
 that was now unassumed and that was clearly 
 Jim Carbon's, "how do you do? Step into the 
 office. Where is Herman ?" 
 
 "He is in Mr. Eilen's room. I told him I 
 wanted a few minutes' private conversation with 
 you and that he needn't be jealous, for he would 
 dance with joy when he found out what it was all 
 
 299
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 about. Do you know, Mr. Barcon" she laid 
 great emphasis on that name each time she gave 
 utterance to it "that I have had dear Herman 
 worried because every time he started to talk 
 about you I would change the subject ? Why, 
 he thought I had taken a great dislike to you. 
 What do you think of that ?" 
 
 Barcon laughed. "Why, I certainly would not 
 have you dislike me, Mrs. Ridder." 
 
 "Oh, please don't call me Mrs. Ridder. I 
 am married now, and you are married, too, and 
 we are old friends and can call each other by 
 something less formal than Mrs. Ridder and 
 Mr. Barcon. I have always called you Jim 
 Carbon before and it sounds so good and so like 
 the old times at the Boosches when everybody 
 knew you as Jim Carbon that I just can't help it." 
 
 "Well, then, so be it, Mary," replied Amos, as 
 he extended his hand, "for the little time we will 
 see each other we will dispense with formality 
 and be old friends again only no more drying 
 dishes for you and escorting you home from 
 festivals, eh ?" 
 
 " Little time we will see each other ? What 
 do you mean, Jim Carbon ? You certainly are 
 a man of mystery." 
 
 "I mean that I am going away from here and 
 
 "Going away from here!" Mary gasped, as 
 
 300
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 she had five years ago when he had made the 
 same announcement. 
 
 "Yes, Mary," said Barcon, with a slight 
 twinkle in his eyes; "yes, I am going back to my 
 wife to prove to her that I am not so good a man 
 as you have tried to convince her that I was." 
 
 Mary dropped into a chair in open-mouthed 
 wonderment. But only for a moment, for pres 
 ently she bounded out of it and cried out: 
 
 "I knew it! I knew it! Didn't I tell you that 
 you could win the love of one of the best and 
 prettiest women in this country and that woman 
 your wife although I didn't tell you that at the 
 time ? Don't I know that she has been pining 
 for you, and that if you will only go back and be 
 a good boy you can win back her love ? Didn't 
 I write to her and tell her how good you are " 
 
 "Yes, Mary, I know that. I have a letter 
 from Myra." 
 
 "Oh, you have, have you? And you won't 
 let me see it, I suppose ?" 
 
 "No, Mary. It was intended for no eyes 
 other than mine. Myra wanted to be remem 
 bered to you and I have you to thank and bless 
 for that letter, haven't I ? " 
 
 "Well, yes, in a way, I suppose but, then, 
 you know, one good turn deserves another." 
 
 Mary stood in front of him, put out her hands, 
 
 301
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 and looked up into those eyes that she had so 
 loved in years gone by, and with a simple, straight 
 forward frankness said to him: 
 
 " Jim Carbon, you are going back to your wife 
 and daughter to take care of them, aren't you, 
 you dear, good, kind, old Jim Carbon, you." 
 
 Barcon gave a start. Daughter! Myra, then, 
 had been blessed with a daughter. He looked 
 as frankly into those eyes looking so appealingly at 
 him and said softly, pressing the hands he held: 
 
 "Yes, Mary, I am." 
 
 "God be praised!" said Mary. "I knew you 
 were not the bad man some people thought you 
 were, and I don't believe Myra thought so, either. 
 I am sure she never spoke ill of you for deserting 
 her she always told me that perhaps some day 
 you would return to her a better man and make 
 amends for the past." 
 
 Amos Barcon thought it well to change the 
 course the conversation was taking. 
 
 "On Monday, Mary," he said, "Amos Barcon 
 will pass out of existence, for I leave then for 
 East Stroudsburg. Amos Barcon will never return 
 to Denver, but perhaps Jim Carbon may some 
 day, for a visit. But I will insist that you and 
 Herman shall come and see us every summer, 
 for I shall never forget how much I owe to you, 
 Mary. You are at liberty to tell Herman all, and 
 
 302
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 to-morrow night I shall call at your house and 
 you can then tell me everything that has happened 
 since I left the dear old place." 
 
 "Oh, what a delightful time we shall have," 
 said Mary, gleefully. "Just think, telling Jim 
 Carbon all that happened while I was there after 
 he had gone and all that I heard from letters I 
 received from Myra. It seems like a dream. 
 Why, it will take me all night, almost." 
 
 "So much the better," answered Amos, "for 
 that will help pass the time." 
 
 "Good-bye until to-morrow, then," said Mary 
 as she bounded out of the loom and joined her 
 husband. 
 
 Amos hurriedly went through the mass of work 
 in front of him and put his affairs into such shape 
 that he could give Clinton power of attorney to 
 act for him in his absence. 
 
 The following day was a busy one for him. 
 First he went to see Mr. Pell and told him that 
 he was going East. That dear old soul fairly 
 wept at the thought of parting. He had been as 
 a father to Amos and loved him as a son. He was 
 no longer a young man, was Mr. Pell, and could 
 not bear parting with one so dear to him without 
 a pang, for with the advancement of years one 
 does not look forward to meeting again in this 
 world with the same hopefulness that is inspired 
 
 303
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 by youth. But he promised that he would take 
 "a run East" and see Barcon soon, for he was 
 going to give up his various business affairs and 
 retire. 
 
 In the afternoon Clinton Eilen and his "Flo" 
 arrived. My! what a happy couple they were. 
 And what a time "Flo" made over her new 
 "brother." Amos did not wonder, now, why 
 Clinton should have been so anxious to win such 
 a prize. While she was not a remarkably pretty 
 woman, she certainly had a disposition that would 
 have captivated any man's heart. They had a 
 late dinner together, and after that Amos asked 
 "Flo" if she could spare her husband for a while, 
 as he had many things to tell him. He took them 
 over to Ridder's cottage and "Flo" and Mary 
 immediately formed a friendship that lasted for 
 a lifetime. 
 
 Barcon and Eilen went to the office of the 
 Cornelia Mining Company together, and there 
 Amos told his friend all how he had married 
 Myra Boosch and deserted her; how he had gone 
 away suddenly and had never heard from her 
 until the day he had seen Mary Lash; he told 
 of having advanced Herman to the position of 
 manager and of his marriage to Mary Lash. 
 Then he confessed that his real name was James 
 Carbon and that he was going back to make 
 
 304
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 reparation to his wife, who had remained true to 
 him, scoundrel though he had been. He did 
 not spare himself. When he had completed his 
 story and had informed Eilen that he would sell 
 out his interest to him and would go back to 
 East Stroudsburg, Clinton's heart fairly broke at 
 the thought that they should have to part com 
 pany after these years of brotherly companionship. 
 
 Long and earnestly those two men conferred, 
 and when they arose as it was time to go back to 
 Ridder's, for Clinton had promised his "Flo" 
 that he would take her to some friends, and Amos 
 remembered Mary's promise to tell him what 
 had transpired at the Boosch homestead and 
 thereabout they had formed a compact that 
 meant the passing out of the firm of Barcon & 
 Eilen, for Clinton had resolved that he, too, would 
 sell out his interest, but would remain long enough 
 to settle up everything and make provision with 
 the new owners of the mine that Ridder was to 
 be retained for life. They were fairly well-to-do, 
 those two free from all danger of ever knowing 
 want again, and Clinton had resolved to return 
 East and live somewhere near his dear friend., 
 so that all could be happy together. 
 
 When they arrived at Herman's house Amos 
 put his hand in his vest pocket and took therefrom 
 a diamond ring which he passed to Clinton, saying 
 
 305
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "My dear Clinton my dear friend I now 
 pay the bet I made five years ago, for I am going 
 where I thought I would never go again in my 
 lifetime East." 
 
 "It was a long time ago that we made the bet," 
 Eilen said as he slipped the ring on his finger, 
 "and I hope our friendship will long outlast the 
 ring." 
 
 Happy indeed was " Flo" when Clinton informed 
 her that they were going to Pennsylvania to spend 
 the remainder of their days there, and Mary was 
 sad to think of their going. She and her husband 
 would keep their promise and take the long 
 journey to visit them, and hoped they would all 
 come out to Denver together and stay with them 
 for a long time. 
 
 That evening and far into the night Amos 
 Barcon, seated in Herman Ridder's parlor, listened 
 to Mary's recital of the events that had transpired 
 since that night when he had gone out into the 
 storm and darkness with the avowed intention 
 of never returning or of being heard of again. 
 Herman sat with them and took great interest 
 in the story as it unwound itself from Mary's 
 lips. It thrilled Barcon to listen to the old, 
 familiar names and to the touches of pathos Mary 
 lent to the narrative as she described the funeral 
 of Richard Broakley and the subsequent death 
 
 306
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 of Mrs. Broakley and then of Mr. Broakley's 
 sudden passing away, to be buried on the same 
 day as his wife. She had a good memory, had 
 Mary, and when she wound up by saying, "And 
 that is all, Jim Carbon," she had given him a 
 vivid description of the events that had taken 
 place in the interim between his departure and 
 the present day. Only one thing did she forget, 
 and that was that "Bill" Couterre was serving 
 a life sentence for the murder of his wife. 
 
 It was two o'clock in the morning when Amos 
 emerged from Ridder's house, after saying many 
 hearty and affectionate farewells to that happy 
 pair. 
 
 307
 
 TICK THE THIRTT-FOURTH 
 
 IT WAS one of those hot, sultry, listless days 
 in July that I was ticking away the hours alone 
 here in the hallway of the Boosch homestead. 
 Dr. Boosch and his wife and Myra and her 
 daughter also named Myra were seated on the 
 porch. The good doctor was asleep in his arm 
 chair, with the big Newfoundland dog Rover by 
 his side. Mrs. Boosch was reading a paper, her 
 head drooping now and then, as if she, too, were 
 drowsy. Myra had her work basket in her lap, 
 and was sewing a frock for her little daughter, 
 now four and a half years old, who was prattling 
 by her side and building houses with some wooden 
 blocks that bore the letters of the alphabet and 
 pictures of various animals. 
 
 A spirit of content pervaded the very atmosphere. 
 The sky was cloudless and there was scarcely a 
 ripple in the air, save now and then when a slight 
 breeze would lift up the dust from the road and 
 gently twirl it around like a miniature inverted 
 cloudburst, only to die out again and leave the 
 sun beating relentlessly down upon the landscape. 
 In the distance the mountains were veiled with 
 
 308
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 the peculiar haze that characterizes a hot summer 
 day. 
 
 Myra, whose beauty the years of sorrow could 
 not mar, had blossomed into full womanhood. 
 As she sat on the porch in her rocker, with the 
 trailing trumpet vine as a background, sewing 
 and humming a tune, she made a picture one 
 could not readily forget. She had grown a trifle 
 stouter, and the supple lines of girlhood had 
 given way to the well-developed proportions of 
 motherhood. Her eyes sparkled as brightly as 
 ever, though tinged with sadness at times, and 
 her cheeks, fanned by the listless breeze, were as 
 rosy as in former years. 
 
 She was gazing in an abstracted manner down 
 the lane, now, her work basket lying idly in her 
 lap, dreaming of the past, when suddenly she 
 gave a start, and with a cry to her father and 
 mother, called their attention to a familiar figure 
 swinging steadily up the main road. Nearer and 
 nearer he came, his eyes fixedly set upon the 
 homestead, until with steady tread the big, scrawny 
 figure swung into the lane. 
 
 Dr. Boosch and his wife had started up at 
 Myra's cry and were intently watching the figure 
 coming up the road. Myra stood as one trans 
 fixed until the figure came into full view of the 
 house. When the face of the man became visible 
 
 39
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Myra sprang from her chair and cried out to her 
 parents: 
 
 "Father! Mother! It's Jim Carbon my hus 
 band!" 
 
 Myra bounded from the porch and darted down 
 the lane. Dr. Boosch and his wife, uttering an 
 exclamation of surprise, followed her, with little 
 Myra and Rover in close pursuit, in full enjoy 
 ment of the ecstatic pleasure that was shown 
 by the gray-haired couple. An instant later 
 Jim Carbon and Myra, his wife, were locked 
 in each other's arms, Myra weeping from joy, 
 and Carbon, his eyes lifted to heaven, offering 
 up a prayer of thankfulness for this moment of 
 bliss that he had never even dreamed was to be. 
 
 It is beyond me to describe that meeting of 
 those so long separated. What earnest, heartfelt, 
 sincere joy there was in the welcome from the 
 good doctor and his good wife. Never was 
 prodigal son so welcomed upon his return. How 
 the doctor's kindly eyes beamed as he stroked 
 the big, rough hand of Jim Carbon, while Mrs. 
 Boosch, her face aglow with the happy content 
 of one who has heard a prayer answered, was 
 unable to contain herself and had to give vent to 
 her supreme joy by kissing them all, giving Jim 
 twice as many as the others got. 
 
 My, my, my! Is it any wonder that I ran 
 
 310
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 way ahead of time when I heard that familiar 
 step upon the porch stoop that I had not heard 
 for years ? Little wonder, I say, that I did not 
 stop altogether for a time when I heard the voice 
 of Jim Carbon again after these many years. 
 And to see him, with his arms around Myra's 
 waist and her eyes looking soulfully in admira 
 tion of the big, scrawny fellow who had willingly 
 offered himself as a sacrifice was enough to 
 recompense me for all the sadness that I had seen 
 in those beautiful eyes of Myra's. He was the 
 same Jim Carbon as of yore his clean-shaven 
 face not handsome, by any manner of means, 
 I am not ashamed to say lighted up with love 
 and kindliness, shone to-day, when he stood in 
 front of me, with a lovelight that was pure and 
 good. And his wife, his Myra, returned that 
 lovelight with one that had been ripened and 
 mellowed by the years of knowledge that the 
 man she had wed was one of the truest and noblest 
 
 of men, even though he had been only "the hired 
 
 
 man. 
 
 After their transport of joy had abated some 
 what the good doctor insisted upon Carbon going 
 up to his room, which, he told him, would be 
 found exactly as when he had left it. He went 
 up with him, unlocked the door, pulled up the 
 shades, opened the windows for the first time in
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 five years, and there was the room precisely as 
 it was on that memorable night when Jim Carbon 
 and Myra had been married and when he had last 
 seen it. After a long talk together, Dr. Boosch 
 sitting on the edge of the bed and Jim sitting on 
 the chair by his side, the doctor related how Myra 
 had gradually recovered from her grief at the 
 death of Richard Broakley and how he had tried 
 to instil in her mind the noble sacrifice Carbon 
 had made, and then gradually urging on the 
 respect and love that were beginning to grow in 
 her heart for him. Carbon listened in silence 
 to the good doctor's words of praise, and when 
 he had finished he narrated all that he and Eilen 
 had gone through in the five years that had passed. 
 They returned to the porch, and there, seated 
 by Myra's side, Carbon related to her the experi 
 ences he and Eilen had had, dwelling lightly 
 upon the hardships they had undergone, but 
 speaking at great length of the goodness of Clinton 
 and his ambition to win his Florence. They sat 
 there, chatting and laughing, until supper time. 
 Dr. Boosch had dispatched one of the farmboys 
 on horseback to bear the tidings of Carbon's 
 return to Mr. Maujer, and when he arrived he 
 lost little time, I can tell you he awoke again 
 the rejoicing that had taken place in the afternoon. 
 My, but wasn't he glad to see Jim Carbon the 
 
 312
 
 Jim and Myra, arm in arm, like lovers, walked in the cool 
 of the evening
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 man he considered one of the very best of men! 
 I thought they would never stop shaking hands. 
 And when he said grace at the table didn't he 
 sing a paean of praise for the good man who had 
 returned to them and for whom he asked, again 
 and again, God's blessing ? 
 
 After supper Jim and Myra, arm in arm like 
 lovers, walked in the cool of the evening over the 
 paths they had so often gone before, but not thus 
 linked together, and during that walk he told her 
 of the love that had been hers from the very day 
 that her father had introduced him as the "new 
 man to help about the farm." He spoke deeply, 
 passionately, did Jim Carbon, telling her that 
 his love was as unselfish as it was unbidden. He 
 told her how his heart had throbbed when he 
 had received her letter, and prayed that they 
 would live many years to enjoy the fruits of his 
 toil and bask in the sunshine of each other's love. 
 Like lovers those two walked along, and when 
 they returned little Myra ran up to greet them. 
 Carbon picked her up in his strong arms and 
 tossed her in the air and romped and played with 
 her, and a deep affection for the counterpart of 
 his wife sprang up in that big heart of Carbon's 
 but who could help loving that bright, pretty, 
 vivacious little child ? 
 
 After little Myra had been put to bed by her
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 grandmother, who would not relinquish that 
 precious task to any one else, they all sat in the 
 parlor together, discussing various matters con 
 nected with themselves and with the neighbors, 
 when Mr. Maujer asked Carbon if he had heard 
 about " Bill" Couterre, to which Jim replied that he 
 had not what had happened to him ? Mr. Maujer 
 then related the whole affair to him. Carbon 
 listened intently, and when the minister had 
 arrived at that stage describing how Couterre 
 had come from the barn in his stormcoat and 
 oilskin hat, that night of the i8th of June five 
 years ago, in that terrific storm, and that a moment 
 thereafter his wife had been shot and the barn set 
 on fire, Carbon started as if seized with a sudden 
 inspiration. He questioned the minister closely, 
 and as Mr. Maujer explained the evidence on which 
 Couterre had been convicted, Jim cried out: 
 
 "My God, that man is as innocent of that crime 
 as I am! I was the man who came out of the 
 barn that night, having borrowed Couterre's 
 storm outfit. And when I turned down the 
 road I saw the barn ablaze. Why, it couldn't 
 have been Couterre," continued Carbon, heatedly, 
 "for I met him in East Stroudsburg; he could 
 not have walked there, in the condition he was in, 
 in less time than I could, for I went at a pretty 
 good pace. There is some dreadful mistake."
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 "Let us hope so," said Mr. Maujer, a hope 
 in which Myra and the good doctor and his wife 
 joined. There was silence for a while, Carbon 
 remaining in deep thought. Suddenly he sprang 
 from his chair. 
 
 "I have it! I have it!" he emphatically 
 declared. "Couterre always kept his gun ready 
 loaded and cocked, and that stroke of lightning 
 set the gun off, and it was hanging pointed toward 
 Mrs. Couterre's window. That's what happened. 
 Great heavens! And Couterre has languished in 
 jail all this time without my knowing it. Doctor 
 Mr. Maujer to-morrow I must set to work to 
 right one of the greatest wrongs that was ever 
 perpetrated." 
 
 Carbon at once mapped out a plan for securing 
 Couterre's release at the earliest possible moment, 
 and said that on the morrow he would go to the 
 judge and each member of the jury and secure 
 their signatures to a petition asking for his im 
 mediate pardon. He would hire the best of 
 counsel, that justice might be done at once. 
 
 The following morning Myra, radiant with 
 delight, and Carbon by her side, beaming with 
 joy and happiness, started on their drive to visit 
 the various members of the jury that had con 
 victed Couterre. What a lovely morning it was, 
 and how Carbon's eyes drank in the scenery to 
 
 315
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 which he had been a stranger for so long. Passing 
 by the little churchyard where lay Mr. and Mrs. 
 Broakley and Richard, Carbon heaved a sigh, 
 which was echoed by Myra. She knew now who 
 had placed that monument there, towering above 
 the little tombstones, inscribed "For her sake." 
 She said nothing, but the look in her eyes as she 
 turned toward her husband spoke volumes of 
 gratitude for his veneration for the dead. 
 
 On the way to town they stopped at the Broakley 
 Farm, now occupied by Mr. Charles Farson, 
 husband of the former widow Brownson. And 
 maybe she wasn't surprised and glad to see Jim 
 Carbon. Maybe she didn't go up and kiss him 
 right in front of his wife and in front of her hus 
 band, too. And maybe Mr. Farson didn't con 
 gratulate Myra upon the return of her husband, 
 who had been such a kind friend to his wife when 
 she was so sorely in need of spiritual and financial 
 help, for she had ever sounded his virtues to her 
 husband when all others were condemning him. 
 And maybe Myra wasn't proud of the big, husky 
 fellow who handed her in and out of the carriage 
 as if she were the most precious of all things. 
 And maybe she wasn't prouder still at the hearty 
 greetings that were accorded them as they drove 
 along and passed by the neighbors at work on 
 their farms or driving to town. 
 
 316
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 My! but how the news spread that Jim Carbon 
 had returned and a rich man, too! When 
 Carbon explained and made clear to the jurymen 
 that Couterre was an innocent man and secured 
 their signatures asking for his pardon, they drove 
 to the judge's house and presented the signed 
 petition, and that man of justice, after listening 
 to Carbon's lucid explanation of the whole affair, 
 promised him that Couterre would not remain in 
 prison one moment longer than he could help. 
 
 In the evening Myra wrote to Mary Ridder, 
 telling her how full her cup of happiness was 
 and how she longed to see her again, while Jim 
 indited a long letter to his dear friend Clinton, 
 in which he told him to give his " regards to Amos 
 Barcon if he saw him," and urging him to settle 
 up his affairs and come home to "God's country" 
 as soon as he could. He did not forget to write 
 to Mr. Pell, either, you may rest assured it was 
 the longest letter that that good soul ever received, 
 I am sure, and at the end were a few lines from 
 Myra, in which she stated that though she had 
 never seen him, her dear husband had so im 
 pressed her with his goodness that she would 
 welcome the day when she could personally 
 thank him for his many kindnesses to her Jim. 
 
 Carbon's devotion to Myra was the talk of 
 Monroe County, for he was ever by her side, and 
 
 317
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 many there were who wondered how so good a 
 man could ever have been so wicked as to have 
 deserted so true a woman as Myra. It was rare 
 that one went without the other, and the love 
 that had grown in Myra's heart for Jim Carbon 
 in his absence had so ripened that she idolized 
 the big, awkward, scrawny man. And when 
 Arthur Boosch suddenly came home from one of 
 his trips he was the most astonished and happiest 
 man in the country to shake hands with him 
 again. It made Jim smile when Arthur told him 
 that he had met "Hank" Decker in Philadelphia, 
 where he was working in a canning factory, and 
 that he had delivered such a tirade against feminin 
 ity in general, and widows in particular, as could 
 only emanate from a man whose highest hopes 
 had been blasted. 
 
 Such a roundelay of pleasure trips followed 
 Carbon's return, each one vying with the other 
 to do honor to him and to his pretty wife. What 
 a lot of company they had all the young couples 
 and lovers in the county seeming to enjoy the 
 romance of the Carbons. And more and more 
 attached to each other became Jim and little Myra, 
 so much so that when she was taken ill and her 
 life despaired of for a time, he never left her side, 
 day or night, but kept vigil with Myra until the 
 crisis had passed. 
 
 318
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 A month later Couterre came home a free man 
 white-haired and broken down in health. Who 
 can realize the sufferings that he had undergone ? 
 Who can understand the joy that was in the hearts 
 of his children when he returned ? Jim Carbon, 
 feeling that he was in a measure responsible for 
 the great wrong that had been done Couterre, 
 made reparation by settling upon him a comfort 
 able annuity that freed him from financial worries 
 for the remainder of his life. 
 
 The following summer Clinton Eilen and his 
 wife and Mr. Pell came the former to make 
 their home permanently in East Stroudsburg and 
 the latter only for a visit. Surprised, indeed, 
 was Myra when she found that Clinton's wife 
 had been Florence Vercool, for Jim had never 
 mentioned her maiden name. They had met 
 before, years ago, when Florence had stopped 
 at the Marshall's Falls Hotel. Those two became 
 as sisters, and scarcely a day passed that they did 
 not see each other. 
 
 Herman Ridder had left the employ of the 
 Cornelia Mining Company and had gone out to 
 California, where he had established himself as a 
 prosperous fruit merchant. He had promised 
 that the following year he and Mary would come 
 East for a long visit and bring with them little 
 Herman. Mr. Pell remained for a month, and 
 
 319
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 when he left it was with the determination to return 
 as soon as he had settled his affairs, as he had 
 no ties to bind him to Denver and wished to end 
 his declining years near his dearest friends. 
 
 It was in the fall of that year that there was a 
 great commotion in the Boosch homestead, for 
 unto James Carbon and Myra a child had been 
 born unto them a son was given. And it was 
 not so very long after that that the good doctor 
 had decided to give up the old homestead and 
 live with his daughter, for they had improved 
 the house in East Stroudsburg that Mrs. Broakley 
 had willed to Myra and had urged the good doctor 
 and his wife to live with them to end their days 
 in peace and comfort. 
 
 And so, with the passing from the old Boosch 
 homestead, I, too, the old family clock, was moved 
 to East Stroudsburg, where I was placed in the 
 spacious spare room in the attic, to tick away 
 my remaining days of usefulness. 
 
 320
 
 RUNNING DOWN 
 
 AND now, ticking away up here in the attic, 
 I see before me, as the memories of the past arise, 
 sweet Myra and honest Jim Carbon seated upon 
 the verandah of their new home, surrounded by 
 the good doctor and his wife, and Arthur, and 
 Clinton and Florence Eilen, and Mr. Pell, and 
 Herman Ridder and Mary, who had come to visit 
 them, watching the play of the children little 
 Myra and her baby brother, James Richard, 
 and little Herman Ridder. There are peace 
 and happiness depicted upon all as they rock 
 to and fro, the men smoking contentedly and the 
 women chatting and laughing at the sallies of wit 
 from Clinton. 
 
 I see before me now, as I did in the years agone, 
 passing in review in my refreshed memory 
 
 The good doctor and Mrs. Boosch, living 
 contentedly and happily with their children and 
 grandchildren, spending their days in that tran- 
 quility and peace that is apportioned to those 
 whose lives have been useful and whose mellowing 
 years are blessed with the fruits of pure and 
 righteous living.
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Arthur Boosch, married to the pretty, lively, 
 little forty-second-or-something cousin, Frances 
 Transer, who had become indignant when he had 
 kissed her so flagrantly before the merry party 
 assembled at the Boosch homestead that Christmas 
 Eve. Settled down is he now, one of the promi 
 nent, substantial business men in Philadelphia, 
 but spending much of his time with his dear 
 sister and Jim Carbon. They have two sons, 
 and Arthur rejoices thereat, for in them lies the 
 hope of perpetuating the name of Boosch. 
 
 Clinton and Florence Eilen, whose love for 
 each other is as deep as ever, the streaks of gray 
 in their hair betokening the advancing years. 
 Childless are they, but the love for Myra's children 
 fills to some extent the void they feel. Ever 
 faithful to Myra has been Florence, and of Clin 
 ton's friendship for Jim Carbon it may be said 
 that it rings true as steel. 
 
 George Pell, that man so beloved by all for his 
 generosity and charity to the unfortunate, basking 
 in the sunshine of the deep friendship of all who 
 knew him, particularly Jim Carbon and Clinton 
 Eilen, living a life of comfort and ease, spending 
 his days wandering about the country and his 
 nights with his dear friends. 
 
 David Maujer, minister, man of God, devoting 
 his life to Christian work and spreading the Word, 
 
 322
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 ever grateful to Dr. Boosch for his uplifting, succor 
 ing the poor and needy, encouraging the afflicted, 
 rejoicing with those whose lives had been blessed 
 with health and prosperity and praying for those 
 whom misfortune and death had overtaken. It 
 was a lifework of yours, David Maujer, and when 
 the Father of us all calls you home He may well 
 say, "Well done, good and faithful servant." 
 
 William Couterre, stanchest of Jim Carbon's 
 many friends, whose lips have never tasted a drop 
 of liquor since that memorable i8th day of June, 
 living a peaceful life, free from toil, and regaining 
 by degrees the vitality that had been sapped by 
 five years of solitary confinement. Ever green 
 is the grave of his wife, and his daily visits to it 
 make him feel that she is still with him and is full 
 of forgiveness for the hours of sorrow he caused her 
 by his periods of dissipation. Alice is married 
 now, but still lives with him and helps to brighten 
 his life, while Tom and the other children never 
 forget that though he had been harsh to them 
 when under the influence of liquor, he had been 
 the kindest of fathers when sober. Never a 
 week passes that Jim Carbon and Myra, with 
 Mr. Maujer, do not drive out to see him and the 
 children and cheer and encourage them. 
 
 Mrs. Farson, ever grateful to Jim Carbon for 
 his goodness to her when she was the widow 
 
 323
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 Brownson, living a happy life with her second hus 
 band, the second brood of children getting along 
 famously with the first. Stout has she grown, 
 and when she steps into the carriage it sags very 
 much to one side until Mr. Farson also steps in, 
 when it is equally balanced, for he, too, has gained 
 in weight under the good care and good cooking 
 of his dear partner. 
 
 And as they pass in review there looms up in 
 my dimming vision Mary Ridder Mary Lash 
 that was most devoted wife and mother. I 
 hear again your infectious laugh, I see again your 
 ruddy, sunshiny face. Time has passed, my 
 Mary, but time has not withered the flower that 
 has blossomed with the ripening years and as the 
 petals of the departing seasons drop off one by 
 one they have left the flower more beautiful in 
 the surroundings of the buds it has brought into 
 the world your two sons and two daughters 
 radiating loving kindness and devotion. A worthy 
 husband has been the man, now silvery white, 
 who knew no love but yours who knew no joy 
 that could not be shared by you, whose closing 
 eyes will see no one but you your dear husband 
 and protector through life, Herman. 
 
 Often and often, in the twilight hour, on your 
 visit here to your dear friends, have I heard you 
 two recount the days when the mine superin- 
 
 324
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 tendent loved the little milliner, and then well, 
 there comes from your lips an earnest, sincere, 
 heartfelt thankfulness to the man to whom you 
 owe so much of your well-deserved happiness 
 Jim Carbon. 
 
 And as the years flit by, I see again before me 
 the good doctor, grieving over the passing into 
 the great beyond of his good wife, but putting 
 his trust, as ever, in the Almighty, living in the 
 hope of that meeting in the heavenly kingdom. 
 I see again before me, in after years, the good 
 doctor sitting on the verandah, in the twilight 
 hour, a peaceful smile upon his lips. I see him 
 there, in his big armchair, gazing out upon the 
 lawn at his grandchildren with the contentment 
 that follows a life well lived, and with the sinking 
 of the sun in the western hills I see him, with his 
 eyes closed, that smile still upon his lips, but now 
 of death, for as his life had been lived so in 
 the tranquility of the evening the Reaper had 
 taken him away, and so there had passed away 
 peacefully, without pain, without struggle, a man 
 of whom it was said that he personified the highest 
 ideal of manhood a man who was honest with 
 himself, honest with his friends, and, above all, 
 honest with his God. 
 
 I see again before me, you, my dear Myra, 
 leaning against my wornout old frame, alone 
 
 325
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 here in the attic, your eyes suffused with tears, 
 sobbing as if your heart were breaking, giving vent 
 to the grief that was yours upon the taking from 
 you of your dear, kind, loving father than whom 
 none better ever lived whose every care was for his 
 daughter, whose every thought was of her, whose 
 whole life seemed wrapped up in her. Oh, how 
 he loved you, my Myra, from the day when he 
 said to me, "A daughter, eh, Mister Clock?" 
 Such a warm, deep, paternal love was that 
 such a love as shines refulgent above all other 
 earthly loves, whether of brother, lover, or hus 
 band. I see your dear husband, Jim Carbon, 
 coming up the stairs to find you here, alone with 
 me, and with the warmth of his love dispelling 
 the tears and lightening the grief that was yours, 
 as he put his arms about your neck and folded 
 you to his breast. 
 
 And now that I am running down and beginning 
 to feel that my days of usefulness are over, I con 
 jure up before me sweet Myra, who comes up to 
 see me often, for she still loves the old family 
 clock that has ticked so faithfully through the 
 storms and sunshine of her life. I see her before 
 me now, her face still beautiful, though crowned 
 with hair that is becoming silvery; her eyes, still 
 sparkling as of old ; her form as erect as ever, full 
 of love for her husband and children. There is a 
 
 326
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 smile of peace and contentment upon her lips, 
 for after the tempestuous days her ship of life is 
 riding upon smooth waters, guided by the faithful 
 love and trust of her dear husband. Her daughter, 
 now grown to womanhood, is ever by her side, 
 and when she comes up to look upon my face I 
 see before me the Myra of olden times, for she is 
 the exact counterpart of her mother. Her son, 
 James Richard, a young collegian, is the pride 
 of his father and mother, and often in the evening, 
 when home for vacation or for the holidays, he 
 sits by his father's side and listens to the story 
 of the struggles Clinton Eilen and Jim Carbon 
 had to win their fortunes in the far Western 
 country. A big, strong fellow is he, and his affec 
 tion for his parents and sister is deep and pure. 
 
 I see before me again you, Jim Carbon, man 
 whom I loved, whose voice was as music to me, 
 whose ever-smiling face dispelled the gloom and 
 darkness in those days of tribulation, whose very 
 step I had learned to know. Oh, that the world 
 were peopled with more such men as you, Jim 
 Carbon so good, so kind, so true, so manly! 
 I see your big figure, now a little bent with age, 
 loom up before me, as you pass your hand through 
 your whitened hair, and gaze upon me, your 
 thoughts running through the past, uttering a 
 prayer of thankfulness for the love that is yours 
 
 327
 
 A KNIGHT IN HOMESPUN 
 
 that of your good wife, Myra. Deep and lasting 
 has been your affection for her, I know, and 
 worthy of all the happiness and content that has 
 been yours have you been, Jim Carbon. May 
 the Father, when He takes you home, grant you 
 the highest seat upon the throne of grace, and 
 may you have by your side the one you so loved. 
 And now, ricking softer and softer, up here in 
 the attic, there arise the notes of that favorite 
 song of Myra's, and I hear your voices, though 
 tremulous, blending in sweet harmony, singing: 
 
 "When your eyes so bright have lost their light, 
 Your voice so dear no longer here; 
 When you're called home and I'm alone, 
 I won't know what to do. 
 If the Master knew how Pd miss you, 
 I wonder if He'd take me too ? 
 Twould break my heart if we should part, 
 For I've grown so used to you." 
 
 Ah, me! My tale is told I have told it in my 
 plain, old-fashioned way and now I feel that 
 I have run down, for with each succeeding tick 
 it has become more and more laborious until, with 
 a pulsating, tremulous, vibratory effort to keep 
 on, I cannot do so any longer, and so I, the old- 
 fashioned family clock, pointing to the midnight 
 hour, have stopped forever. 
 
 328

 
 Date Due 
 
 JUN 1 1 
 
 980 
 
 RECD JUN 
 
 \ 
 
 PRINTED IN U.S.*. CAT. NO. 24 161
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 000318060 1