THE MANSE AT BARREN ROCKS 
 
 ALBERT BENJAMIN CUNNINGHAM
 
 THE MANSE AT 
 BARREN ROCKS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALBERT BENJAMIN CUNNINGHAM 
 
 
 NEW HIPJPYORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1918, 
 By George H. Doran Company 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 THE MANSE AT BARREN ROCKS 
 
 2134882
 
 Prologue 
 
 x 
 
 WEST VIRGINIA! What that name calls up! In 
 the early days but an extremity of a great com- 
 monwealth, in the mighty upheaval it was separated and 
 became an independent state. 
 
 For long after the separation, it remained a country 
 of narrow valleys and forbidding hills, little sought after 
 and little desired. But when its timber found ready 
 market, when the hidden lakes of oil were discovered and 
 the long rich veins of coal were found, it became the 
 point of interest for a type of keen and calculating mind. 
 The promoter, the money-getters, hordes of self-seekers, 
 invaded its territory, laid low the mighty trees and disem- 
 bowled the hills. It became a workshop, grimy, black, 
 outraged. On the mountains the whine of the mills; 
 in the valleys the clatter of drills, and everywhere the 
 dust from the coal. . 
 
 But West Virginia's sons know her as a different land. 
 To them she is not befouled by the commercial age. 
 They know her as a land of peace, a land where blue 
 rivers serenely flow between the fragrant hills to make 
 the valleys green. To them she is ever the same : white 
 mists hanging over the waters, straight trees unblack- 
 ened by smoke, shoals murmuring over rounded peb- 
 bles, the after-glow shot myriad fingered into the sky, 
 the path of the moon on the waters ! She is the land of 
 dreams and of laughter and of love. 
 
 Down near the centre of West Virginia, where the 
 
 7
 
 8 Prologue 
 
 railroad has not yet reached nor the appraising eye esti- 
 mated the natural values, just up beyond the second range 
 of hills, is the little village of Barren Rocks. It is a 
 quaint, quiet little place of a dozen houses or so, nestled at 
 the foot of the mountains. During the warm summer, 
 the creeks go dry, and even the river is rift with white 
 sand bars; here the sand briers grow low and prickly, 
 and off in the valley and on the mountain side the bees 
 drone monotonously on the wild flowers. The boys go 
 barefoot, the men go about their work with genial lazi- 
 ness, and the women rule the home with calm-eyed 
 serenity. Small gardens surround the houses, and the 
 hillsides are ploughed with the shovel plough, planted in 
 corn and hoed by hand. 
 
 But in the winter time the habits change. The sun 
 grows cold and distant, and Winter soughs among the 
 hills her old and plaintive cry. Great trees are cut down 
 with an axe for fire wood, and the broad fireplace built 
 of natural stone supplies warmth, a place for roasting 
 chestnuts, and light for the evening lessons. Neigh- 
 bours gather for checkers, quiltings and the Virginia 
 reel! Spelling matches draw the neighbourhood to the 
 schoolhouse, trapping and fox hunting lure the men to 
 the open, and the mountains along the river echo with 
 the gay laughter of the skater. 
 
 It is the free simple life of the hills. 
 
 In days not so long gone by, nestling at the foot of 
 the hill where Little Creek flows sturdily out into Elk 
 river, was the old Baptist Manse. It was built of broad 
 oak planks, unpainted and unplaned, boarded up and 
 down. The cracks where they came together were cleated 
 over with narrow strips of weather-boarding, also up 
 and down. The roof was of clapboards, and in many 
 places where they were frayed and rotting, tiny specks 
 of moss had put in appearance. Inside was the living
 
 Prologue 9 
 
 room, and in it the great fireplace; opening off the liv- 
 ing room, two bedrooms, and at the back the kitchen, a 
 lean-to, long and low of ceiling. Outside, the yard was 
 green with grass and plantain; in one corner was the 
 great chestnut tree; while beyond the paling gate and 
 the narrow road, Elk river flowed blue and serene. 
 
 In this old Manse lived Peter Rhodes, strong of 
 body, clear of eye, a great horseman, an infallible shot 
 with the long rifle, big of heart and full of human sym- 
 pathy. Affectionately he was called the Parson by the 
 people round about. And then, Anne Rhodes, the mis- 
 tress of the Manse, frail, delicate, sweet- voiced ; and 
 the children, Henry, Margaret, Ben and Little Anne 
 and this is the story of Ben.
 
 THE MANSE AT BARREN 
 ROCKS 
 
 Chapter i 
 
 AT first it was not so bad. A great yellow dog, its 
 toes flaring wide as it forged stubbornly on, its 
 tongue out and lips slithering foam, had gone up the 
 road past our house. Up by the store, Grouchie Mc- 
 Rand's dog had attempted to block his way, only to have 
 its nose and lips slit wide by his terrible teeth. 
 
 That was about all there was to it at first. A few 
 loungers at the store had noticed the dog, but they paid 
 little attention to him at the time. It was only later that 
 they remembered that he had hardly swerved from the 
 centre of the road, that his eyes were glazed and terri- 
 ble, and that after biting Grouchie's dog, he had kept 
 on up the lonely path that led into the sombre hills be- 
 yond. 
 
 But we were soon to find out that it had been no com- 
 monplace thing. The next afternoon, as Essie Evans 
 and I were playing down in the road, two men stopped 
 at our gate. They both carried rifles, and looked as if 
 they had travelled far. Father went out to talk to them, 
 and leaving Essie in the road, I went up to them also. 
 
 "Seen anything of a big yaller dog go by here?" one 
 asked. 
 
 ii
 
 12 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "No, I think not," father answered. "Lost one?" 
 
 "Mad dog. Been on the road for days, and bitin' 
 everything he sees." 
 
 While the one man talked to father, the other stood 
 near by. His gun stock rested on the ground, and he 
 was leaning easily on it. Suddenly he stood up, rigidly 
 erect, and gazed sharply up the road. I followed his 
 gaze, and saw, up beyond Essie, and bearing swiftly 
 down on us, the unmistakable form of a great yellow 
 dog. 
 
 "God ! Tom, there he comes now," cried the man, ter- 
 ror in his voice. 
 
 Father and the man called Tom whirled quickly about 
 and looked up the road. In some way the dog had 
 turned about, and was doubling on his course of the 
 day before. He was coming straight towards us. With 
 long loping gait, swinging his head from side to side 
 and snapping as he ran, yet seemingly heedless of all he 
 passed, he came swiftly on. There was something so 
 wild, so terrible in the looks of him, that for a moment 
 we all stood as if petrified. Father was the first to re- 
 cover. 
 
 "Good Lord, and the child is right in his path," he 
 cried. 
 
 I was simply beside myself with fear, and the sight of 
 Essie right in his path made it all the worse. I just 
 shrieked at her. 
 
 "Essie! Come here quick." 
 
 Perhaps if I had spoken in a matter-of-fact way, just 
 as if nothing were wrong, she would have come. But 
 it was one of my old tricks to try to fool her by calling 
 as if something awful were about to happen, and then 
 when she ran up scared and breathless, to yell "fooled" 
 at her. She evidently thought that was what I was 
 trying to do now, for she made no move to come.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 13 
 
 "There's a mad dog coming," I said again, but she was 
 unimpressed. 
 
 "Ain't neither," and she turned her little nose up at 
 me. 
 
 But father did not wait to parley. The great yellow 
 dog was coming straight toward us, and there was no 
 time to lose. 
 
 "Come, Essie," he cried, running toward her. 
 
 "No danger, Parson," Tom spoke up reassuringly. 
 "When he gets a step nearer I'll fetch him down," and 
 he raised his rifle to his shoulder. 
 
 But father took no chances. Quickly covering the 
 distance, he snatched Essie up and hurried back. Even 
 before he had reached us, there was the sharp report of 
 a rifle. 
 
 I expected to see the dog fall over, for I knew how 
 those muzzle-loading rifles could be loaded to shoot. But 
 he made no sign that he had been hit. Unswerving he 
 came on. Another shot, and this time a slight whine. 
 
 He was near us now, very near, and he did not seem 
 badly hurt. Both guns were empty. Our rifle was too 
 far away to be of any advantage. Things were begin- 
 ning to look serious. 
 
 "Get something! Get something and hold him off 
 while I reload," Tom cried, his fingers shaking as he at- 
 tempted to pour the charge of powder into the muzzle 
 of his gun. 
 
 There was a heavy oak bar lying near the gate. Father 
 seized it and lifted it high. I could have screamed with 
 terror, for I was sure he would be bitten. But he stood 
 out well to the centre of the road, and as the great dog 
 came within reach, the heavy bar descended with terri- 
 fic force. With another slight whine, he fell over, and 
 after a few convulsions was dead. 
 
 To this story of his death, there were soon added
 
 14 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 others of what had been done before his savage rampage 
 was ended. He had bitten cats, dogs, even horses 
 and somebody, but we could not find out who it was. It 
 was not long before the mad dog scare was almost an 
 epidemic, and I was afraid as I had never been afraid 
 before in my life. 
 
 Grouchie's dog was led off and shot, and that evening 
 he came down to sit with me out on the river bank. We 
 did not say much, but now and then he would look down 
 beyond the mouth of Little Creek, and I knew what he 
 was thinking about. They had buried Rover down that 
 way. 
 
 I didn't say so, because I thought it would not be 
 just the thing, but I was mighty glad old Bounce had 
 not been bitten. He was my dog, and he was big and 
 lean and scarred. His muscles were hard and he was 
 a great fighter. I had raised him from a little pup. 
 From the time he was a wee little thing with a small 
 soft muzzle and innocent playful eyes, we had been the 
 greatest friends. He soon grew big and strong and 
 could whip any dog in Barren Rocks, but he never 
 snapped at me. I could put my fingers in his mouth. I 
 had done it many times. I had even played doctor with 
 him, and had let on that I was pulling his teeth. He 
 didn't like it very much, for he often looked disgusted. 
 But he never offered to bite. And because he was a great 
 fighter and was my dog and wouldn't bite me, I thought 
 he was wonderful, and was glad he had not been bitten. 
 
 But it was over three weeks after the big yellow dog 
 had passed through Barren Rocks, that something very 
 queer happened. It was Sunday. Father had gone to 
 the River appointment, and mother had gone with him. 
 That meant that Margaret was keeping house over Sun- 
 day for Hen and me. And when Margaret kept house
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 15 
 
 for us, we usually had a big time. We were having a 
 big time this day. 
 
 Several of the boys and girls had come down to spend 
 the afternoon with us, and we were out in the bottom 
 above our house playing blackman when Grouchie sud- 
 denly called out excitedly to me. 
 
 "Look at Bounce, Ben. What's he doing?" 
 
 I looked down next to the house and saw him. He 
 was standing with his legs stiff and rigid, his eyes glazed 
 and glassy, and snapping for all the world as if he were 
 lapping water, only he did not stick out his tongue. 
 
 I ran down to him, and called his name. He did not 
 seem to recognise me. The others had stopped playing 
 and circled round to see what the matter was. 
 
 "He's mad," Ed Rainey said with conviction. 
 
 Henrietta McRand screamed, and all fell back a few 
 steps. I was angry. My dog mad? Of course not! 
 
 "Huh ! he's not mad. He has something in his throat," 
 and I went up to him. 
 
 I ran my hand down his back, and was surprised that 
 he was so rigid. And underneath his skin the muscles 
 seemed to be twitching violently. 
 
 "Come, Bounce," I said encouragingly, snapping my 
 fingers above his head. 
 
 "Let him alone, Ben, and come on down to the house," 
 and Margaret and the other girls ran away. Some of the 
 boys did too. I appealed to Hen. 
 
 "Come here, Hen. He has something in his throat. 
 He's choked." 
 
 Hen came and bent over him. 
 
 "What you want to do?" 
 
 "You hold him while I run my finger down and get 
 what he's choking on." 
 
 Hen put his hands on Bounce's back, and I held his 
 head. He was still snapping viciously, and I had a hard
 
 16 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 time getting my fingers in his mouth. But at last I 
 succeeded, and felt all around for the bone I was sure 
 was there. But I found nothing. Twice, three times, I 
 tried to find it, but failed each time. 
 
 Before very long he quit snapping, and went off to the 
 fence and lay down. While we were still talking about 
 him, word came from Grouchie's mother that hogs were 
 in their corn; and he asked us to go and help him put 
 them out. 
 
 I jumped at the chance with eagerness. The razor- 
 backs that roamed the woods were forever getting into 
 the corn fields, and one of my biggest tasks was to keep 
 our field clear of them. In this work I had trained old 
 Bounce. Take him to a field and point out a hog, and 
 he knew at once what was expected of him; and he 
 did the job with a thoroughness that left little to be 
 desired. 
 
 So calling to him quickly, Grouchie and I started up the 
 hill to the corn field. Bounce followed stupidly. There 
 was none of his old dash about him. On ordinary occa- 
 sions, he would have run ahead of us, sniffing eagerly 
 for game, barking and yelping. But he followed along 
 behind, as if too weary to exert himself. Once his foot 
 slipped, and he slid far down the hill. I stopped to call 
 him back, but Grouchie went on. 
 
 "That dog's mad, Ben. Come on and leave him 
 alone." 
 
 "You'll see when we get up to the field," I answered. 
 
 Bounce did chase one hog out, almost with all his old 
 dexterity. But when we tried to get him to chase an- 
 other, he simply would not do it. This filled me with 
 greater alarm than anything else could have done, for I 
 knew how he had loved the task. Grouchie and I put 
 out the rest, and then ran for home as hard as we could
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 17 
 
 go. I myself had come to believe that there was some- 
 thing wrong. 
 
 When we got down, we told Hen what had happened. 
 He got a long stout rope, and when, a little later, Bounce 
 walked wearily into the yard, he tied one end securely 
 around his neck, and the other end to a stake near the 
 corner of the house. 
 
 He did not seem to mind being tied up. He walked 
 slowly under the edge of the house and lay down. He 
 was still there when we went to bed that night. 
 
 Early the next morning I went out to see how he 
 was getting along. He was not there. The rope had 
 been gnawed in two. I called and whistled, but he did 
 not come to me. 
 
 When father and mother came home that afternoon, 
 we told them all about it. Father looked grave. 
 
 "How did he act when you thought he was choking?" 
 
 We told him. 
 
 "He was in a fit, boys." 
 
 I shuddered. To think of putting my hand into the 
 mouth of a mad dog! That evening he was not back, 
 nor the next. Father made a rule. 
 
 "Children, you must not go out of the house after 
 dark, and even in daylight you must not go far away." 
 
 Mother told us what they heard up at the River ap- 
 pointment. The yellow dog had bitten many others, and 
 some of them were gone. A few had been killed, but 
 many had got away before their owners realised that 
 they were mad. 
 
 To make the matter worse, it was dog days. Every 
 summer, along about the middle of July, the weather 
 was still and warm. The creek almost dried up, and 
 the river was nearly stagnant. We were forbidden to go 
 in swimming while dog days lasted, for father said there 
 was danger.
 
 18 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 He told us about dog days: told us that at that time 
 the dog star was in conjunction with the sun ; that during 
 the period of the dog days, sores would break out easily, 
 maladies were frequent, and dogs were liable to go 
 mad. The way he talked about the great Dog Star 
 filled me with superstitious terror, and when night would 
 shut us in, I needed no commands to keep me indoors. 
 
 The third day Bounce had not returned, and when I 
 went to bed I was literally shaking with terror. I im- 
 agined a mad dog under the bed, and jumped so quickly 
 that a slat fell out and clattered on the floor, frightening 
 me all the more. I covered up my head, and almost suf- 
 focated. 
 
 When at last I went to sleep, I dreamed that old 
 Bounce had come back, and that he was not mad at all. 
 He was out on the river bank, lying there in the moon- 
 light. He was greatly hurt that he had been tied up, 
 watched with suspicion. I thought I saw him there on 
 the bank, his head on his paws, looking down the river. 
 And I felt a great pity for him, and resolved to go out 
 where he was and let him know that he had one true 
 friend. 
 
 Still in my dream, I thought I got up from the bed. I 
 tiptoed quietly to the door and peeped into the living 
 room. Father and mother were asleep. I went cau- 
 tiously to the front door and lifted the latch. 
 
 It was beautiful outside. The moon was high, and its 
 soft light plashed gorgeously against the house. I walked 
 down the steps, and out to the gate. Opening it, I 
 went out to the river bank. 
 
 But here the dream went a little awry. Bounce was not 
 there as I had thought. I was disappointed. Perhaps 
 he had gone away, and never would return. I felt as 
 if I should like to cry. Poor old Bounce, to be driven 
 from his home ! I felt I had been a traitor to a friend.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 19 
 
 And then something happened. With a rush my facul- 
 ties awoke. I was chilly; my feet were wet and cold. 
 This was all I noticed in the first instant of wakefulness. 
 The dream had been so real that the reality did not seem 
 so strange. I looked down the river, down to the big 
 bend where it was swallowed up by the hills. 
 
 I realised with a sudden pounding terror that I was 
 awake, and that I was out on the river bank. At first 
 I was stupefied with fear. I did not want to move, 
 lest my movement attract attention. I felt that some 
 vague danger lurked near me. The blood pounding in 
 my ears made me light-headed. I looked over at the 
 house. It was closed and quiet, the dew sparkling on 
 the roof in the moonlight. 
 
 I saw something by the gate. I looked closer. It was 
 irregular and dark. It was Bounce. He stood there im- 
 movable as a statue, looking steadily in my direction. 
 I wanted to scream, to cry out I wanted to call for 
 father, but when I tried it, my voice stuck in my throat. 
 Instead of a cry, there was nothing but a hollow rattle. 
 
 Bounce never moved. I thought he stood there an 
 eternity. Then like a well regulated machine, he turned 
 and trotted off up the road. I watched him until the 
 night swallowed him up. 
 
 It was not until he was out of sight that I sprang up 
 and ran wildly for the house. As I went through the 
 gate, mother opened the front door. 
 
 "O, sonnie, sonnie, I dreamed about it/' she said rap- 
 idly. 
 
 I ran straight to her arms, sobbing and shaking with ter- 
 ror. She carried me into the house, and put me in the 
 bed beside her. 
 
 It was a long time before I went to sleep, and when 
 I did, it was only to toss restlessly. The next day we
 
 20 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 got word that Bounce had been seen up in the mountains, 
 and that night he came home. 
 
 Father saw him run under the house at dusk, for our 
 house, like most all the others, stood up off the ground. 
 He turned a white face to mother. 
 
 "Anne, I saw that dog run under the house." 
 
 "O, Tommy, what will we do," and she cast a quick 
 look around. We were all inside. 
 
 "I'll have to go up to the store and get some men." 
 
 "Do be careful, Tommy." 
 
 He went out, and we huddled together in the room. 
 I thought he would never come back. While we were 
 waiting, we heard something bumping against the floor 
 under the house. 
 
 "He's in another fit," Hen said. 
 
 Soon the bumping ceased, and all was still, save the 
 crying of the whippoorwill up in the mountains. Soon 
 we heard steps approaching. 
 
 "Now, boys, he's right under there," we heard father 
 say. 
 
 "Got a lantern?" some one asked. 
 
 Mother sprang up, and when father opened the door 
 she gave him the lantern. For several minutes we could 
 hear nothing. They were evidently trying to locate him. 
 
 The whippoorwill cried out again from the darkness. 
 Then, 
 
 "There he is, boys. Right back there. See him?" 
 
 There was a shuffling, silence, and then the report of 
 a revolver. The sound was terrific in the room, and, 
 putting my hands to my ears to shut it out, I ran to 
 mother. 
 
 We waited again. And again there was a period of 
 silence, broken only by the cry of the whippoorwill. 
 There was another shot, then another and a fourth. 
 
 At last we heard the men leaving, and father came
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 21 
 
 in. He went into the kitchen and remained there for 
 
 some time. He came out, drying his hands on the kitchen 
 
 towel. 
 
 "Did you get him out, Tommy?" mother asked. 
 "Yes. Out behind the fence. Bury him to-morrow." 
 I went out the next day to see him buried. He 
 
 looked horrible, and I was glad when he was out of sight.
 
 Chapter 2 
 
 THE news of Bounce's death and the dramatic way 
 he met it, travelled far and was so enlarged upon 
 that when it came back to us we hardly recognised it. 
 But as time went on and no further horrors appeared in 
 the way of mad things to feed the general thirst for de- 
 tail, the mad dog scare died out. 
 
 For me it was completely overshadowed by the mo- 
 mentous fact that I was to start to school in the fall. I 
 had never attended before; and the accounts that had 
 been brought home by Hen and Margaret filled me with a 
 great eagerness to begin. When I said anything about 
 being in a hurry to get started, Hen had some remark to 
 make about my soon getting enough of school. But I 
 could not believe it. 
 
 Father had been in Flatwoods during the summer, and 
 had brought back a big primer for me. The leaves were 
 of cloth instead of paper, and the letters were printed on 
 big red blocks inside. I studied over them by the hour, 
 trying vainly to get some meaning from them, but fail- 
 ing utterly. When I would ask Hen to help me out, he 
 would say that I would learn about it all in school. 
 
 Consequently it was a big day for me, when, grasping 
 my big primer firmly in my hands, I started off with 
 Margaret. When we arrived, books had already taken 
 up, and we went in to encounter the stares of all who 
 had got there before us. I sat down with Margaret. 
 
 The teacher soon came over and asked Margaret her 
 
 22
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 23 
 
 name. I thought it very strange that any one should ask 
 her such a question, but she answered as though it were 
 the most natural thing in the world. Then he asked me 
 for my name. I hesitated. I did not want to say my own 
 name before all the school. But he pressed me, and at 
 last I told him, very low. 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "Ben," I repeated, a little louder. 
 
 "Ben what?" 
 
 "Ben Rhodes." 
 
 He wrote it down in a big book, and went back up 
 front. 
 
 Outside of that one thing, I never could remember 
 just what happened on that first day, or on many follow- 
 ing days, for that matter. It was all a confused jumble 
 of strange experiences. 
 
 But the teacher was the strangest of all. As time 
 went on, I got used to the lessons, the other scholars, 
 and especially to the games we played, but I never got 
 used to the teacher. He did not look like anybody I 
 had ever seen. He was tall, his legs were very long 
 and ended finally in a body that was more like a badc- 
 log than anything else I knew. His neck was long and 
 red and thin, and his head bobbed around on it as if it 
 were set plumb. And it was this head that struck me as 
 the queerest. Of a certainty I had never seen anything 
 like it. His chin was pointed, his cheek bones stuck 
 out, and his great hook nose seemed designed as a shel- 
 ter for the long red hairs that grew straight down out 
 of it. Red hair grew not only on his head, although it 
 grew there in great mane-like confusion. It grew all 
 over him. Where his wrists hung down below his coat 
 sleeves it was so profuse that it gave his long arms a 
 gorilla-like suggestiveness. And when he opened his 
 uneven red mouth in a grin, I felt as if I were beholding
 
 24 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 in reality the laughing hyena that was said to be terror- 
 ising the country. 
 
 It mattered little to me what others might think of 
 him. In fact, I had more than once heard mother say 
 that she was glad he had our school that year, because, 
 aside from being very smart he was also very striking 
 in appearance. And Minnie McRand told Margaret that 
 he was tall and very handsome. 
 
 But I had to piece out an opinion of him from the 
 scanty material that was furnished by my limited ex- 
 perience, and the result certainly was not so very flat- 
 tering. I compared his hair to the reddish pelt of a cer- 
 tain wild boar that father had shot up in the mountains. 
 His mouth I likened to the terrifying hyena which I had 
 never seen, but which I was able to picture fully from 
 the ample and horrible accounts I had had of him from 
 the other boys, and especially from Hen, for he con- 
 sidered the monster an imminent peril, and took me home 
 of an evening with my hair standing almost straight up 
 from fear that it would pounce upon us from every laurel 
 bush we passed. And I thought the teacher's arms 
 looked very much like the monster gorilla that was hon- 
 oured with a full page on the chart. 
 
 From these diverse sources I built up my conception 
 of him. He came to be a general synthesis of hyena, 
 gorilla and wild boar, with perhaps an added cunning 
 that was given him by his shrewd white lashed eyes. 
 And I think I feared him about as I would have feared 
 the combined presence of all these monsters. 
 
 I told father about it, but he laughed and said I would 
 get used to him in time. But I did not. As time went 
 by he appeared even more frightful than he had at 
 first, and I began to dread the day which I was sure 
 would come when I should encounter his wrath. 
 
 On a certain afternoon in late Indian summer he stood
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 25 
 
 up in the centre of the room, his legs wide apart and his 
 thumb nails nervously digging into the ends of a pointer 
 he held in front of him. He glowered around at us, 
 and I just sat and shivered with terror. He looked par- 
 ticularly at me, as though to single me out as an offender 
 above all others, and then let his eyes roam over the 
 room. 
 
 "Students," he began, "I hear you have been abusing 
 the privilege of playing in the laurel. You must under- 
 stand that if you disobey my orders you bring the pun- 
 ishment on yourselves. After this no student will be al- 
 lowed to play in the laurel patch either at noon or at 
 recess." 
 
 He sat down, cleared his throat further, and looked out 
 of the window. 
 
 His words were a blow to me, for if I loved anything, 
 it was to be the fox out in that great patch of laurel, 
 with the other boys as dogs, and try to elude them and 
 keep them from finding me. The laurel grew so thick 
 that the sun never reached the ground beneath it. It 
 came together overhead like a tangled hedge. The brown 
 bark fell off the twisted stalks and carpeted the ground 
 as with pine needles. And through this tangle there were 
 little circuitous paths worming here and there in the most 
 baffling manner. In the game of fox and dog, I would 
 be given a start while somebody counted fifty, and at 
 the end of that time, amidst much braying and snarling, 
 the whole pack would start in pursuit. It was always 
 my hope to hide so cleverly that books should take up 
 without my hiding place being found. 
 
 And now that this one absorbing game was out of 
 the question, what should we do? I knew all too well 
 why we were forbidden to play in the laurel. Floyd 
 Hankerton had smelled too strongly of tobacco the day 
 before to leave any grounds for doubt as to the reason.
 
 26 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 I sat with Ed Rainey. 
 
 "What will we do now?" I whispered. 
 
 "Go anyway." 
 
 "He might see us." 
 
 "What if he does?" 
 
 It mattered to me whether he did. I feared him too 
 much to want to run any risks. But when we went out 
 at noon it certainly was a temptation. The sun was 
 warm, and I knew how delightful it would be under 
 the laurel. 
 
 Hen got a sandwich from our lunch and slipped over 
 to 'where Charlie Snowden was eating. The two talked a 
 moment in an undertone, looking frequently toward the 
 school house door, and then toward the laurel patch. 
 
 Then they and several of the older boys started off 
 down the hill. 
 
 "Where you going, Hen?" I called. 
 
 "O, just down here," he called back carelessly, at the 
 same time beginning to walk faster. 
 
 I knew where he was going. The ground would be 
 soft and warm under the laurel. I wished Hen had not 
 gone. He didn't pay much attention to what the teacher 
 said, and I was always afraid he would get whipped ter- 
 ribly. I wanted to go to the laurel patch as badly as he 
 did, but I was too scared of the teacher. 
 
 With all my fear of him, I wanted the teacher's ap- 
 proval. I wanted him to say that I had got a good lesson, 
 or written a good copy, or obeyed orders commendably. 
 It made little difference what it was for, I wanted him 
 to say that I was a model pupil. So when I saw all 
 the boys slinking off down toward the laurel patch, I 
 virtuously went out and played ball with the girls until 
 the bell rang. Then I went piously in to my seat and 
 sat down. 
 
 When the boys stormed in a little later, scraping their
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 27 
 
 feet on the floor and coughing loudly, I was at my seat 
 industriously engaged with my lessons. 
 
 Ed Rainey fell into the seat and knocked my book 
 out of my hand. It fell with a clatter to the floor, but 
 I looked up at the teacher hoping he would see that I 
 was trying hard to obey him in spite of what any one 
 else did, but he was not looking at me. 
 
 He sat at his desk looking around the room. The other 
 boys had not got quiet yet, but I was poring over my 
 book with knitted brow. I thought surely he would soon 
 see me and commend me. Perhaps he would do it be- 
 fore the whole school, and hold me up as an example. 
 I hoped he would. 
 
 Then he saw me, and for some time looked intently 
 in my direction. I felt his eyes upon me and became 
 much confused. Yet I felt a glow within. Virtue was 
 to receive its reward. Once I looked up at him and 
 smiled understandingly, as if there were some common 
 bond between us which each knew and understood. 
 
 He got up and came slowly over toward me. He ap- 
 proached until he stood at my side, looking down at my 
 book. My heart nearly smothered me, for I knew so well 
 what he would say. He had said the same thing about 
 Minnie (McRand once, when he told the whole school 
 that they could well copy her example as a student, and 
 although she was the oldest girl in school and Margaret 
 said he was wanting to go with her, I felt that she had 
 not been a bit better than I had been, and just knew that 
 the teacher would say the same thing about me. He 
 would clear his throat loudly, and begin. 
 
 "I asked the boys not to play in the laurel to-day, but I 
 see I was not obeyed. Not a student did as I told him, 
 except Ben here," and he would lay his hand familiarly 
 on my shoulder, "and I wish before the whole school 
 to acknowledge " and I rushed on, mentally pictur-
 
 28 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 ing the whole scene. I half wished that in addition to 
 commending me, he would hold the others in at recess 
 while I roamed at large. 
 
 The minutes flew but nothing happened. I looked up 
 and smiled. He was standing directly at my side. Then 
 he stamped his foot angrily, and brought his pencil down 
 rap ! rap ! upon my head. 
 
 "Keep your eyes on your book, Ben. You must obey 
 what I tell you," and he marched back over toward his 
 desk. 
 
 My face got hot. I held the book up in front of me, 
 but it was of little use. I could not see a word. I 
 wanted to hide so no one could see me. Charlie Snowden 
 tittered. I never put in a more interminable afternoon, 
 and when school was out I went home with Margaret. 
 
 When we got home father was reading a great book 
 and looked very severe. I didn't say a word to him, for 
 I knew he was getting up his Sunday sermon. I went 
 out to the kitchen instead. Mother was there, romantic 
 and bright as ever. 
 
 "There he comes," she called out as I entered, "and 
 how did my boy get along to-day?" 
 
 I hesitated only for an instant. Mother always under- 
 stood everything, and I thought I couldn't keep the thing 
 in my heart another minute. I told hef all about it. 
 
 "Bless my little boy," she said, and came over and 
 gave me a great hug. That was all she said, but all at 
 once every thing seemed to brighten. 
 
 When I went back into the living room Hen was not 
 there. I went out into the front yard and looked around. 
 He was not in sight. I ran around the house and called 
 for him. Just then I saw him up in the woods. He 
 stooped over quickly at sight of me, straightened up and 
 put his knife in his pocket. 
 
 "What you want!" he called down impatiently.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 29 
 
 "What you doing?" I asked as I hurried up to him. 
 I saw shavings scattered around on the ground. He had 
 been whittling. 
 
 "Nothing," he said, starting toward the house. 
 
 I could not imagine what he had been doing, yet it was 
 something he wanted to hide from me. I made as if to 
 gather up some round stones such as we used for 
 "skating," intending to wait until he was gone and then 
 try to find what he had been working at. 
 
 "What you want?" he called down impatiently. 
 
 "Getting some stones to skate." 
 
 "No good stones here. Why don't you go down to the 
 sard bar?" 
 
 "These are better," and I kept on gathering them. 
 
 "Let's go down to the river and see if we can find any 
 fish," he proposed in a wheedling ' tone. 
 
 "Huh-uh. Water's too cold," and I kept on. 
 
 "Look then if you want to. I give you leave. You 
 can't find it." He sat down on a rock to wait. 
 
 I looked everywhere, but found nothing. Finally I 
 gave up. 
 
 "Tell me what it is, Hen," I pleaded. 
 
 "Huh-uh. It's not done yet. If you go home now and 
 let me work on it to-night, I'll show it to you to-morrow 
 when we get home from school." 
 
 I tried to coax him, but in vain. I gave it up and 
 went home and watched him from the kitchen window. 
 He whittled for a long time. Then he came down to 
 the wood-pile and looked it over. Every now and then 
 he would roll his eyes up and look to see whether I 
 was watching, without appearing to look for me. He se- 
 lected a small piece of hickory and went back up. That 
 gave me an idea : He was either making a bow or a pop- 
 gun.
 
 30 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 We were nearly home from school the next day before 
 I could induce him to talk about it. 
 
 "Did you get it done?" I asked as indifferently as I 
 could. 
 
 "Get what done?" But I could see he knew what I 
 meant. 
 
 "Huh ! Maybe you were not making anything." 
 
 "You wait till you see it." 
 
 "Maybe I don't want to see it. I've seen them before." 
 
 "Seen what?" 
 
 "O, what you were making." 
 
 "You don't know what it is." 
 
 "I don't, don't I? How do you know?" 
 
 "Then if you've seen it I won't need to show it to 
 you. You can feed the pigs while I look at it." 
 
 Instantly I saw I had gone too far. 
 
 "I said maybe," and I smiled feebly. 
 
 "No, you didn't." 
 
 "Honest, Hen, I haven't touched it." 
 
 He seemed mollified and we hurried on. We stopped 
 at the house just long enough to throw our books on a 
 chair, and hurried out and up the hill. Just then father 
 called. 
 
 "Boys, come here a minute." 
 
 We went back reluctantly. 
 
 "Henry, you go to the store and get me a Spencerian 
 pen point. Remember the name, now. S-p-e-n-c-e-r-i-a-n. 
 It will cost a penny. Here it is. Now hurry back. Ben, 
 you take that basket and go up and pull a basket of pars- 
 ley for the hogs. Get it clear full. Now hurry, both 
 of you." 
 
 I got the basket and trudged wearily up the field. 
 Looking back over my shoulder I saw Hen dart off for 
 the store like a whirlwind. To go there was a great 
 thing. The smell was fine, and pieces of poplar boards
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 31 
 
 might be picked up anywhere and used for making pad- 
 dles and dead-falls. But to pull parsley for the hogs! 
 That was the most despised job of all. While I was 
 filling the basket with the fat reddish stuff I was in a 
 nervous fear lest Hen should get back before me and 
 take what he had made and leave again. I pulled fu- 
 riously, and in much less time than seemed to me, was 
 back again. Father saw me coming and smiled approv- 
 ingly. 
 
 "You did well, Bennie. Now you can carry in some 
 stove wood. Henry is not back yet." 
 
 While I was carrying in the first load Hen came back. 
 He gave the pen to mother and hurried up the hill. I 
 threw down the load in the wood box and hurried after 
 him. Father's voice called me back. / 
 
 "Bring in another load, son. That one is not enough." 
 
 I could have cried. While I was carrying in wood Hen 
 was up there doing goodness knew what! When I 
 joined him he was sitting calmly on a rock. It was the 
 one he had sat on the day before while I had searched. 
 He saw that I was panting and grinned. 
 
 "Why didn't you slip out?" he inquired in a cunning 
 tone. 
 
 "I did, but he made me come back." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell mother? She would have car- 
 ried in the wood." 
 
 "Where is it?" I demanded. 
 
 "Here." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Under this rock." 
 
 He got up and calmly rolled the stone away. Un- 
 derneath he had burrowed out the earth, and in the hol- 
 low was the treasure. It was a pop-gun, and before I 
 had admired it, I admired Hen. He had had the fore- 
 thought to introduce a new fashion. No use to forbid
 
 32 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 us to play in the laurel again that year. When that pop- 
 gun appeared in school the next day, every boy would 
 spend the noon along the creek banks looking for elders 
 to make pop-guns out of. 
 
 And this pop-gun was a beauty. Somewhere Hen had 
 found the biggest piece of elder I had ever seen. This 
 he had carefully peeled and scraped and rounded until 
 it glistened. After he had shoved the pith out, he had 
 hollowed the breech out slightly to facilitate loading. 
 He had carefully whittled a ram rod out of the stick of 
 hickory stove wood, and had left a big square head on 
 the end of it to hit with the hand. 
 
 "What you think of it?" he asked. 
 
 It was some little time before I answered. I just stood 
 and looked with my mouth open. 
 
 "Let me feel it," I asked, stretching out my hand 
 eagerly. 
 
 He drew back. 
 
 "No. You might break it. I'll show it to you." 
 
 Then he began didactically. 
 
 "See this ramrod? Notice I left a square head on 
 it so you can hit it harder and it won't hurt your hand. 
 Most of them are round. Now notice it here at the 
 breech. See how it is hollowed out. That's so you can 
 load it quicker. See?" 
 
 Did I notice it ? Did I ! Again my admiration for 
 Hen grew above my admiration of the gun. He had 
 made an invention. No one ever made a pop-gun at 
 Barren Rocks after that that did not have the breech 
 hollowed out after the fashion of Hen's new invention. 
 Hen was smart. At that moment I thought he was won- 
 derful. But he soon got overbearing about it. 
 
 "You couldn't make a pop-gun like that. No one 
 around here could." 
 
 I knew it, but there was no use for Hen to say so.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 3$ 
 
 "Maybe it won't shoot," I insinuated. 
 
 "Won't shoot? Won't shoot? Y,ou just watch and 
 see. Watch me shoot that that " he looked around 
 him, "that pig up there." 
 
 He pulled a piece of newspaper out of his pocket, 
 crammed it into his mouth and began to chew on it 
 feverishly. When he had reduced it to a pulp he pulled 
 out a piece and forced it through the gun until it stuck 
 out at the front end. He put his thumb over it and 
 pushed it back tight. Then he shoved another wad in 
 at the breech and pushed it about half way down. 
 
 He grasped the gun firmly in his left hand and looked 
 around. Off a little piece was a sand coloured pig nos- 
 ing around for mast. It grunted inquiringly as we 
 turned toward it, blinked at us and twitched its little 
 spiral tail. Hen took aim. He drew back his right arm, 
 palm open and rigid, and brought his hand around 
 sharply against the ramrod. There was a sharp pop! 
 and the little ball of wet paper shot straight for the 
 hog. It took it square on the ham. The hog grunted 
 sharply, kicked its leg and walked disgustedly away. 
 
 "Won't shoot, won't it?" smiled Hen superiorly. 
 
 "What you going to do with it?" 
 
 "Take it to school to-morrow," and he made for the 
 house. 
 
 On our way to school the next morning I noticed a 
 large bulge in Hen's hip pocket. It filled me with fore- 
 bodings. He would be sure to get in trouble with the 
 pop-gun, and again my old terror of what the teacher 
 might do to him arose to make me wretched. I wished 
 Hen would be more careful. 
 
 "What you going to do with it in school?" I asked 
 him. 
 
 "Wait and see," was the sinister reply. 
 
 Books had taken up at noon and there had been no
 
 34 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 trouble so far. I began to have hopes that for once Hen 
 would act sensible and not try to do anything that the 
 teacher did not want him to do. I felt greatly relieved. 
 But almost as the sigh of relief escaped me I looked at 
 Hen and was filled with consternation. 
 
 Hen didn't have a regular seat mate. He was one 
 of the older pupils, as the teacher called them, and they 
 sat about where they pleased. Sometimes Hen would 
 sit alone for a week or two, then he would sit with 
 Charley Snowden or Grouchie McRand, and he had even 
 been known to sit with Floyd Hankerton, although very 
 few would sit with him. Nearly every one avoided 
 Floyd. His clothes were always horrible. He would 
 eat his dinner, get apple-butter on his hands, and wipe 
 them on his clothes by the simple but practical method 
 of placing them open on his sides and rubbing them down 
 over his shirt and pants as far as he could reach. His 
 hands were usually in fair condition and left little to be 
 desired, but his clothes made him a rather sticky seat 
 mate. But Hen sat with him once. That was like Hen. 
 Take it into his head to do a thing, and he would do it. 
 
 But this day he sat with Bill Hunter. As I looked 
 over at him I saw the two with their heads down looking 
 intently at something on Hen's knee. Hen was chewing 
 a piece of paper cautiously, working his fingers over his 
 face so the teacher couldn't see what he was doing. I 
 couldn't see the actual act from where I sat, but I knew 
 well enough when he shoved the first wad of paper into 
 the pop-gun. I saw him look all around and commence 
 a second operation, and from the absorbed look on Bill's 
 face I knew the matter had proceeded to a very acute and 
 interesting stage. 
 
 I was filled with panic. Why, I kept asking myself, 
 did Hen always manage to do something which he knew 
 the teacher wouldn't like? Couldn't he see he was sure
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 35 
 
 to be found out and wasn't he afraid of the teacher? I 
 could not see for the life of me how any one would dare 
 to cross him, but evidently Hen was not at all nervous. 
 There he sat loading his pop-gun, and his very absorp- 
 tion gave the teacher a chance to slip up behind him and 
 catch him red-handed. Once the teacher moved in the 
 back of the room, and I wanted to shout a warning. 
 
 But I looked on as if fascinated. Hen looked slowly 
 and cautiously around the room. Bill grinned, cleared 
 his throat, straightened up and began to study in the 
 most industrious manner. He was working on his read- 
 ing lesson, and from where I sat I could hear him pro- 
 nounce the words as he read them: 
 
 But his little daughter whispered 
 As she took his icy hand, 
 "Isn't God upon the ocean, 
 Just the same as on the land?" 
 
 Just then Hen straightened up in his seat. Three seats 
 in front of him sat Henrietta McRand. Henrietta was 
 fat, and a lot of her neck was exposed as she bent duti- 
 fully over her lesson. I divined Hen's intention even be- 
 fore he made a move. I could have cried aloud. The 
 teacher was standing in the open doorway looking down 
 the road. I knew Hen didn't like Henrietta. The girls 
 called her Hen and we called Henry Hen, and Henry 
 and Henrietta were called the Barren Rocks leghorns. 
 This made Hen very mad. He raised his left hand and 
 in it was the awful pop-gun. He aimed it squarely at 
 Henrietta's bare neck. He drove the ramrod hard, and 
 the paper ball struck her square. 
 
 The report of the gun and Henrietta's scream came 
 so near together that I did not know which caused the 
 teacher to turn. She looked around, more frightened, I
 
 36 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 believe, at her own scream than because of what had hit 
 her, and the whole school broke into a babble. 
 
 "Silence!" the teacher thundered, glaring around. 
 "What is this I hear?" 
 
 I looked nervously over at Hen. He and Bill were 
 the only studious ones in the room. They were even 
 clever enough to simulate interest in the uproar around 
 them before they began to look suspicious. Margaret 
 said afterward that my eyes were fairly popping out of 
 my head and that I was bouncing around on my seat. 
 The teacher fixed a cold eye on me. 
 
 "Ben, do you know anything about this?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 I managed to stammer out that I did not. Ed Rainey 
 tittered. 
 
 "Be quiet, Ed," the teacher said, and, "Return to your 
 studies, students, and let me hear nothing more out of 
 you this day." 
 
 For some time I did not look in Hen's direction. When 
 I did he and Bill were still hard at work. I had not 
 watched them long before I noticed that the tension was 
 relaxing. I knew Hen so well that I could tell every 
 move he made. When he looked at Bill and winked, I 
 knew that their success had been so complete that they 
 would try something more. When Bill winked and nod- 
 ded encouragingly, I knew some further devilment was 
 being contemplated. 
 
 Once more Hen got out his pop-gun and loaded it. 
 This time he seemed to have no particular mark in view. 
 He simply let the ramrod rest on his knee while he 
 looked about him innocently at the walls, at the teacher, 
 out of the window. How it happened he never could 
 explain. Perhaps in looking around he forgot the gun 
 in his hands, and let the weight of his arm rest too heav- 
 ily upon it. At any rate it went off, not a sharp, clear
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 37 
 
 report, but a sickly feeble pop, and the paper wad went 
 up straight, hit the ceiling and stuck. 
 
 He had the presence of mind to put the gun in his 
 pocket, but the teacher was keen to note the direction 
 of the sound. Perhaps he had seen more than we knew. 
 It sometimes happened that way. At least he strode 
 directly to Hen's seat. He spoke first to Bill. 
 
 "Bill, did you shoot off that pop-gun?" 
 
 "No, sir," Bill answered promptly. 
 
 "Do you know who did?" 
 
 Bill did not answer. The teacher stood for a mo- 
 ment, then looked up at the ceiling where the wad 
 stuck. It was directly over Hen's head. He went around 
 to Hen. 
 
 "Give me that pop-gun," he demanded shortly. 
 
 Reluctantly, sheepishly, Hen handed it over. He took 
 it up and laid it on his desk. 
 
 "Now, Henry, you can go up and stand behind the 
 chart. I am going to dismiss school early to-day, but 
 you can stay until four o'clock." 
 
 Shortly afterward, school was dismissed, and we filed 
 out more serious than usual. I looked back over my 
 shoulder as I went out the door. Hen was behind the 
 chart. But instead of standing meekly behind it, he was 
 tiptoeing up until his head stuck up above it, and when 
 any one looked back at him he would draw down his 
 mouth and stick out his tongue in a horrible grin. I 
 shuddered.
 
 Chapter 3 
 
 CHRISTMAS was over a month off, but my desire 
 was so overpowering that I wanted to take all pre- 
 cautions. Ed Rainey had wanted a pair of boots the 
 Christmas before, but when he asked his mother a few 
 days before Christmas whether he would be apt to get 
 them or not, she said she didn't expect he would, as he 
 had not asked for them soon enough. She said Santy 
 had his presents already made up, and that Ed had waited 
 too long. 
 
 I simply would not run the risk of being too late 
 in asking for what I wanted. It was too important. 
 Mother was in the kitchen washing the supper dishes 
 and I went quietly in to talk the whole thing over with 
 her. Father was in the living room, but I felt easier 
 in going first to mother. To be sure father never was 
 very cross, and was always careful to be just with us, 
 but it was a lot easier to come to an understanding with 
 mother, although he usually had the final authority. 
 
 I sat down by the kitchen table. It was covered with 
 oil cloth made up like a big checker board. I didn't know 
 just how to begin what I had to say. My heart was 
 beating pretty fast, and I wanted to wait until it stopped 
 so that it wouldn't click in my throat as it sometimes 
 did when I was very excited. I let on that one square 
 in the table cloth was a trap, and that my hand was a 
 bear. I walked the bear up a row of squares until he 
 
 38
 
 39 
 
 stepped unwittingly in the trap and was caught safe, and 
 by that time I felt better. 
 
 "Have you heard anything from Santy yet, mother?" 
 I began. 
 
 "Not yet, sonnie. Is my boy thinking about Santy?" 
 
 "I was just wondering." 
 
 "And what is my boy wondering about?" 
 
 "Santy brought Grouchie McRand a gun last year." 
 
 She became very serious. 
 
 "But my boy must not expect too much of Santy." 
 
 "But I am not too young to carry a gun. I shoot 
 Grouchie's, and I killed a squirrel with it, too," I burst 
 out passionately. 
 
 "I know, sonnie, but sometimes poor people don't get 
 very much from Santy." 
 
 "But why should Santy care whether we are poor 
 or not? I could keep the ground squirrels out of the 
 corn, too, if I had a gun," I added, cunningly. 
 
 "I know, sonnie. But sometimes the churches get 
 behind and " 
 
 "But what difference does that make with Santy? He 
 don't have to buy the presents. They just come." 
 
 "Maybe you had better ask your father about it," she 
 suggested. 
 
 "You ask him for me ! Maybe he will say I can have 
 one if you ask him." Father was always fair to us, but 
 I dreaded to ask him for anything. When mother 
 asked him for me I usually ran and held my ears until 
 she was through. 
 
 "We will see about it," was all she would say. 
 
 A week or so later I went into the living room. She 
 was sitting before the fire. She looked at me a long 
 time without saying a word. I was leaning against the 
 jamb looking into the fire, but I knew she was looking 
 at me. Then I looked at her.
 
 40 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Why, mother, you are crying," I said, going over 
 toward her. She laughed in her low petting way. 
 
 "No, I'm not, sonnie." 
 
 "You are, too. I see tears in your eyes." 
 
 "It is the fire. It hurts my eyes." 
 
 "It don't hurt mine," I persisted stubbornly. 
 
 "That is because you are a little man. Come and sit 
 on my lap." 
 
 I went over and she pulled me back against her. 
 
 "We have heard from Santy," she began. 
 
 I didn't move. I didn't even breathe. 
 
 "He he said maybe we couldn't have a gun this 
 year." 
 
 I looked up into her eyes a long time. She looked 
 into mine. Then I got up and went into the kitchen. 
 
 For several days I did not know what to make of it. 
 Then I went to mother again. 
 
 "Will Santy bring us anything, mother?" 
 
 She patted my head. 
 
 "Santy never forgets good boys. You wait and see." 
 
 For a whole week before Christmas everything was 
 abustle at our house. Great quantities of round brown 
 sweet cakes were baked and stored away. Big fat layer 
 cakes were put together and the top sprinkled with red 
 cinnamon drops. Pies of all sorts were baked, and 
 mother made little rabbits and Indians and baskets out 
 of the pie crust. She made me a great steel trap out 
 of some, and put a fox in it. 
 
 Christmas came on Friday, and father and mother 
 went to town on Wednesday. They rode back after 
 night, mother in her long black riding-skirt and father 
 in his big high leggings. It was bitter cold outside, and 
 we had a roaring log fire in the fireplace when they 
 came in. Hen went out to put the horses in the stable, 
 but he made us promise we wouldn't open a thing until
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 41 
 
 he got back. Hen told me he did not care how long" 
 it was until Christmas, but he kept the frost thawed off 
 the window while he watched for father and mother 
 that night. 
 
 When they got their wraps off, father got me under 
 the arms and held me clear up to the ceiling. Mother 
 was all pink and glowy, and her eyes shone like stars. 
 There were any number of packages, all tied up in red 
 and brown paper. Father got these all together and 
 started into the kitchen. I made after him. 
 
 "No, you go back, son. I must put these things in 
 where they won't thaw out." 
 
 He went into a little room that opened off the kitchen, 
 that we used to store things in. When he came back 
 in he looked greatly pleased. 
 
 "You children must not go into the back room any 
 more," he said. 
 
 Then he picked up the saddle-pockets and began to 
 unbuckle the flaps. But loyal Margaret spoke up. 
 
 "Hen is not back yet. We promised not to open any- 
 thing until he got back." 
 
 We all waited until he came in. 
 
 "Hurry up, Hen. We are waiting for you," I cried 
 eagerly. 
 
 "No hurry," he drawled. "What you bouncing around 
 for, Ben?" 
 
 "You let my little boy alone," mother said, and drew 
 me over to her. 
 
 Then father opened the saddle-pockets. First he drew 
 out a package and untied it carefully. It was filled with 
 long, striped sticks of peppermint candy. He carefully 
 gave us each a stick. 
 
 "O Tommy, give them the bananas. Let's see what 
 they think of them," mother broke in eagerly. Father's
 
 42 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 real name was Peter, but mother always called him 
 Tommy when there was no company around. 
 
 "Bananas?" we all echoed blankly. None of us had 
 ever heard of them before, and had no idea what they 
 were. We were so far from the railroad that things 
 had to be brought to the Barren Rocks store in canoes, 
 and the storekeeper did not keep anything but the 
 "staples." 
 
 "The banana, children, is a fruit that grows on trees," 
 father explained. "They grow something like paw-paws, 
 only in bunches. Here they are. You peel them like 
 this and then eat them." He gave Hen and Margaret each 
 one, but he broke me off a piece of the third, and ate the 
 rest himself. 
 
 I took a little bite and chewed on it a long time. It 
 was sticky, and had a sweetish flavour unlike anything 
 I had ever tasted before. Hen and Margaret finished 
 theirs, but one bite was as far as I got. I took it over 
 and gave the rest to mother. 
 
 "Don't you like it?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "I will lay it up for you and you can eat it to-morrow," 
 and she put it up on the fireboard. But I never finished 
 it. 
 
 I thought Christmas never would come. I sat by the 
 fire the day before and counted off the hours as they 
 were ticked off by the big clock that stood on a shelf 
 against the wall. And when I finally went to bed I 
 could hardly go to sleep at all. We had been told to shut 
 the bedroom door tight so as not to frighten Santy 
 away. 
 
 It was not long before we heard movements in the 
 living room, and I asked Hen in a whisper if it could 
 possibly be Santy. For answer he got up, tiptoed to the 
 door and cautiously opened it about an inch. He sat
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 43 
 
 there with his eyes glued to it for a long time. Finally 
 he came slowly back to bed. 
 
 "Go to sleep, Ben," he said as he covered up. 
 
 I wanted to go to sleep so morning would hurry and 
 come, but for some reason I could not at all ... I lay 
 a long time ... I began to count imaginary sheep as 
 they jumped over the fence. Mother had said that was 
 a good way to get to sleep . . . one, two, three, four 
 . . . seven, eight, nine ... I thought I was in the field 
 watching a great line of sheep that kept coming on and 
 on ... twenty, twenty-one . . . there was a big one. . . . 
 
 "Wake up, Ben ! Wake up ! Christmas gift !" 
 
 I sat up with a start to behold father in the doorway, 
 his face looking red and distorted in the light of the great 
 log fire. I cleared the bed at a bound, and made for my 
 box. Hen was before me, so was Margaret. 
 
 "Run to your box, Ben, and see what Santy brought 
 you," cried father. 
 
 He was standing in the middle of the floor, his red 
 flannel nightshirt reaching about to his knees, his feet 
 bare, with a great smile on his face. 
 
 "What did he bring you, Ben? Come over and show 
 me !" he cried. 
 
 I was excited to death. I carried my box over to him, 
 and we went through it together. He picked up each 
 thing at a time, speaking eagerly, hurriedly. 
 
 "See ! The pop corn. Nice big bunches. And sugar 
 on it. And the parched corn. My! my! parched corn, 
 nice and salty. Um-um-um. Will you ever eat it up? 
 And look at these fire-crackers ! Real fire-crackers. And 
 what's this ? A candy cane ! Think, a candy cane. Won't 
 it be good! Um-um. And, O Ben, what's this? Look. 
 What's this? Look here. A knife. See the big blade? 
 And a little blade! A real knife, and it's yours." He 
 held me up and looked at me searchingly.
 
 44 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 I wriggled down, so excited I could hardly breathe. 
 I gathered my treasures together and made for the kitch- 
 en. Mother was busy with the breakfast. When she 
 saw me, she put down everything and came toward me. 
 
 "Bless my little man! What did Santy bring my 
 boy?" 
 
 I held out my box and she looked at it delightedly. 
 
 "What nice things! Isn't Christmas fine? And here 
 is another Christmas gift for my boy." So saying she 
 knelt down on the floor and held out her arms. I 
 climbed right into her lap. She turned my face up. 
 "Here's one, and here, and here!" she said, kissing me 
 each time. "Now give mother a Christmas gift." I 
 wound my arms around her and gave her a mighty 
 hug. "Now run back to the fire," she said, and I was 
 off. 
 
 All that morning we spent in the house, snug by the 
 fire, eating our candy and pop corn, lighting fire-crack- 
 ers in the fireplace and running to throw them out 
 doors. How they cracked, and what delicious fun we did 
 have. 
 
 Almost before we knew it, mother called us in to din- 
 ner. The kitchen floor was bare, and our boots and 
 shoes clattered on the floor in a great noise. Father had 
 made the table himself, and this day mother had put 
 her big snowy cover on it. It was the only linen table 
 cloth she had, and she thought the world of it. Some 
 one had given it to her at the River appointment. As 
 we trooped into the kitchen she stood proudly at the 
 end of the table. Hen and I made a great rush for our 
 places. We had hardly got settled when mother gave 
 us a warning look. Father was going to return thanks. 
 We thought it took him a long time to get through, but at 
 last he finished, and we began our dinner. We had 
 chicken and rabbit and squirrel. There were boiled
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 45 
 
 potatoes, and sweet potatoes, and plenty of squirrel 
 gravy to go over them. 
 
 "Quit bouncing up and down, Ben," Hen admonished. 
 "Your turn will come." 
 
 "I'll fix sonnie's plate," mother said, and began to put 
 things on it. When it would hold no more she set it 
 down in front of me. I at once began. "Wait, now, 
 sonnie, till we get ready," she said. 
 
 She fluttered around, helping first one and then an- 
 other. Her cheeks had little red spots on them, and her 
 eyes were soft. She looked proud also, and I was proud 
 of her. 
 
 "Be careful of the table-cloth, Tommy," she cau- 
 tioned. 
 
 It didn't take us nearly so long to finish after we once 
 got started as it had taken us to get ready. In what 
 seemed to be but a minute or two I was beginning to 
 look about helplessly. There were stacks of pies and 
 cakes left, but I had lost interest. I ate slowly, indif- 
 ferently, and was glad, when Hen got up, to slip out 
 with him. 
 
 Soon Margaret, Hen and I went out to play. We 
 went off down the river bottom, and it was not long 
 until Essie Evans came out and joined us. Essie had 
 big dark eyes and curly hair. She wore her hair in 
 little spirals that hung down around her shoulders. 
 
 I liked Essie better than anybody else. She was so 
 clean and dainty that I always liked being around where 
 she was. Margaret said one day that it would be a nice 
 thing if Essie and I could be married some day. I thought 
 it would too. 
 
 When she came up to where we were playing, I 
 showed her a square piece of candy Santy had brought 
 me. It was made in three layers, the outside ones green, 
 and the middle one white. I thought it was very fine
 
 46 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and let Essie hold it. She wanted a bite of it, but I 
 gave her a bite off my cane instead. 
 
 We ran races up and down the bottom for a while, 
 then climbed up a little tree and jumped out, but it was 
 too cold to have much fun out where the wind blew so 
 hard. Hen suggested that we build us houses out of a 
 big pile of cord wood, and play that we were grown up 
 and lived in a city. 
 
 We went to work immediately. By laying the ends of 
 the wood together in a square we could build easily, and 
 the wind did not blow nearly so hard inside. When we 
 were down to the last layer of wood, Hen picked up a 
 stick and a great grey rat jumped out from under it, and 
 with tail sticking straight out, scampered nimbly out 
 across the field. We all took after it. It could run 
 much faster than we could, but Hen happened to hit it 
 with a stone and stunned it. When we got up to it it 
 was helpless, and he held it up by the tail and hit it 
 over the head with a stick. Still holding it firmly by the 
 tail he started back toward our play houses. 
 
 "What you going to do with it, Hen?" asked Essie. 
 
 "Don't know yet." 
 
 "I'll tell you what," said Margaret excitedly, "let's 
 cook it and play we have company for dinner." 
 
 "And get chips for plates and have candy too," sug- 
 gested Essie. 
 
 "Where would we cook it ?" asked Hen practically. 
 
 "Why, build a fire in one of our play houses," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 "I'll tell you a better thing than that," Hen suggested 
 seriously. "Why not marry Ben and Essie and cook the 
 rat for a wedding feast?" 
 
 The suggestion was just like Hen original, bold. Be- 
 sides, I liked the idea immensely. I wanted to marry 
 Essie. But Margaret was so taken aback by the daring
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 47 
 
 nature of the plan that it was some little time before 
 she could reply. Then she agreed enthusiastically, and 
 she and Hen went about making all things ready. 
 
 Hen went off to our house, and returned in a little 
 bit with two bundles. He laid these down and went over 
 to Margaret. 
 
 "Here is a match. You build a fire and cook the rat. 
 I'll marry them over by that stump, and then we will all 
 come back over for the feast." 
 
 He came over and picked up one of the bundles. It 
 was mother's long black riding skirt. 
 
 "Essie, you put this on for your wedding dress, and 
 get in the house here. Ben will go in and get you and 
 bring you over to the stump where I will marry you." 
 
 When she started in Hen picked up the other bundle. 
 It was one of father's long Prince Albert coats. He 
 put it on and it reached nearly to the ground. From 
 the pocket of it he got a book entitled, "Pastor's Ideal 
 Vest Pocket Ritual.." 
 
 "What's in the book?" I asked gleefully. 
 
 "That's what you get married out of. I will go over 
 to the stump. You go in and get Essie and come over." 
 
 When I got to the play house I found Margaret and 
 Essie struggling with the riding skirt. It was way too 
 long, but Margaret had solved the difficulty by offering 
 herself as train-bearer. 
 
 "I'll walk along behind and hold it up for you," she 
 explained. 
 
 "Come on, Essie. Hen's ready." I offered her my 
 arm and felt very proud and important. 
 
 She laid her hand on my arm and we marched out. 
 Margaret walked solemnly behind holding up the skirt. 
 Hen was standing gravely up on the stump, his right 
 hand shoved part way into the breast of the Prince Al- 
 bert, and the Ritual in his left hand Father's character-
 
 48 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 istic attitude. As we approached he called out in father's 
 best voice, 
 
 "Who comes here?" 
 
 This unexpected question took us so by surprise that 
 we halted abruptly. I didn't know just what Hen ex- 
 pected us to say. But I suddenly remembered a story 
 father had told us about the war. When a sentry saw any 
 one coming toward him he called out, Who comes there? 
 and the person would answer, A friend. So when Hen 
 sternly repeated his question, I said, 
 
 "A friend." 
 
 "It is well," he said. "Approach ye." 
 
 We stopped directly in front of him, and he opened to 
 the marriage service, knitted his brow and began. 
 
 "Dearly beloved brethren, we have gathered together in 
 the sight of God and of this company," and he looked 
 impressively about him. But just then the wind blew the 
 pages over and he lost the place. He began to look for 
 it hastily, but it seemed he couldn't find it. He got red. 
 I could see his anger mount. Hen hated to appear at a 
 disadvantage. He looked up aggressively. 
 
 "Any way," he finished, "I pronounce you man and 
 wife forever. Now hurry and get that thing off Essie, 
 and we will go and eat the rat." 
 
 Margaret had cooked the rat on the fire. It was smoked 
 quite a bit, but she had divided it neatly into four pieces, 
 and we each had one served on a chip. I had a hind leg 
 and picked it up gingerly. Margaret had the other hind 
 leg, but she did not pick it up. She sat looking at us 
 with an "I won't believe it until I see it" expression on 
 her face. She had cleaned the rat. I bit off a bite and 
 relished it. It was good. Aside from the taste of wood 
 smoke, it tasted about like rabbit. It was Essie that 
 started it. 
 
 "Ugh!" she exclaimed, and threw her piece as far as
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 49 
 
 she could send it. "I wouldn't eat a RAT!" and she 
 shuddered. 
 
 "Neither would I," Margaret said calmly. 
 
 "Did you eat any of it, Ben?" Essie demanded. 
 
 I had sheepishly hid my piece. 
 
 "Huh ! Do you think I would eat a rat ?" I said indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 "Listen," Margaret said suddenly. "There's mother 
 calling for us. We will have to go home now. Come on, 
 Ben." 
 
 Off we went. When we neared the house Margaret 
 saw mother. 
 
 "What do you want with us?" she asked. 
 
 "We want you in the house." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Come on, now," mother said in a low voice. 
 
 "Oh !" Margaret said understandingly, and we went in. 
 
 Father sat before the fire looking grave. We all sat 
 down and were very still. Mother's hands were folded 
 in her lap. Father turned to me. 
 
 "Ben, do you know whose birthday this is ?" he asked. 
 
 "Ytes, sir," I replied promptly. "Grouchie McRand was 
 born on Christmas morning. He has a little pup, too. 
 Old McRand just got it for him yesterday." 
 
 "Never say Old McRand, Ben. Say Mr. McRand. 
 But I didn't mean somebody around here. Who was born 
 on Christmas day away back yonder?" 
 
 Then I knew what he meant, and in a low whisper told 
 him. 
 
 "That is right. Now before we go out I want to read 
 something." 
 
 He produced a worn Bible, turned through it rever- 
 ently, found the place for which he was looking, and 
 read.
 
 50 
 
 And there were in the same country shepherds abid- 
 ing in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 
 And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the 
 Glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they 
 were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, fear 
 not: for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, 
 which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this 
 day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the 
 Lord. And it shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall 
 find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a 
 manger. 
 
 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude 
 of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory 
 to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will 
 toward men. 
 
 After he had finished reading we all sat for some time 
 in silence. Finally I heard Hen whispering to mother. 
 
 "Ask him, mother," he wheedled. 
 
 "Wait awhile." 
 
 He waited a minute or two. Then he began again. 
 
 "Ask him." 
 
 "Tommy, Henry wants to know if you will go rabbit 
 hunting this afternoon," she finally said. 
 
 "O-ho," he said jubilantly. "O-ho. So that's what 
 you are after, is it?" 
 
 He got up and went to the fireplace. Up over it, rest- 
 ing on two wooden pegs that had been driven into auger 
 holes in the wall, was the long squirrel rifle. It was a 
 big heavy gun. The stock was made of curly maple, and 
 shone a deep dark red. The shoulder-piece had long 
 metal tips at top and bottom, and there was a little cup 
 with a tiny lid, in the side of the stock for tallow. The 
 bore was so large I could run my finger down the muz- 
 zle, and I could see the deep rifles twisting down the 
 barrel. The outside of the barrel was octagon, the sight
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 51 
 
 was narrow and fine, while the bead was made of silver. 
 Father took the gun down and looked it over carefully. 
 
 "Maybe, we had just as well go out for a little while. 
 We might get a rabbit or two. Who knows ?" 
 
 He took down the shot pouch also. The great crooked 
 horn that held the powder was scraped so thin that the 
 powder could be seen through it. It was a little over 
 half full. He lifted the flap of the thick cowhide shot 
 pouch and ran his hand inside, pulling out caps, tow and 
 cloth. There were also a few bullets. He counted them. 
 
 "Only six, Henry. You get the lead and mould some 
 more while I clean out the gun." 
 
 Hen lost no time in obeying. He got the heavy iron 
 bullet moulds that worked like a pair of pincers and were 
 hollowed out into a mould the size of the gun bore. He 
 found the ladle, put about half a bar of lead in it, and 
 put it on the kitchen stove. Soon the lead began to flat- 
 ten out, and under the dull brown coating on top it ap- 
 peared a shimmering white. Hen then began to pour the 
 lead into the moulds, opening them and knocking out each 
 bullet, while I stood at one side clipping off the necks. 
 We made nine and went back into the living room. 
 
 Father was still cleaning out the gun. He had wrapped 
 some tow on the long wooden ramrod, and was slowly 
 wiping it out. When he had finished, he slung the shot 
 pouch over his shoulder, and we were ready to start. 
 
 As we went out of the door, we found Ponto on hand, 
 ready and eager to go along. A member of the Oakum 
 Mills Church had given him to father not long after old 
 Bounce went mad, and we thought a lot of him. He 
 looked a lot like Bounce, and was a fine dog. Of course 
 I did not think quite as much of him as I had of Bounce. 
 I was sure no other dog could ever take his place. And 
 yet well, Ponto was all right ! 
 
 He jumped up when he saw us coming, and when he
 
 52 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 saw the gun also, he became even more excited. He 
 whined eagerly and jumped up to lick our hands. Then 
 yelping with great delight he ran off toward the woods. 
 
 But father called him back. 
 
 "You go back, Ponto. We don't want you to-day." 
 
 At the sound of father's voice his tail dropped. But 
 he looked up as if he certainly had been mistaken as 
 if it could not be true. 
 
 "Go back, sir. Go back. Not to-day." 
 
 His whole body drooped. His tail fell pathetically, 
 and he trotted off toward the house. He sat down at 
 the corner and looked after us. I glanced back to see 
 what he was doing, and he evidently thought there was 
 still hope, for he laid back his ears and wagged his tail. 
 But I shook my head and he dropped back down again. 
 
 We went up the hill back of the house, crossed the old 
 brush fence that surrounded our corn field, and struck di- 
 rectly into the woods. It was a cold day, but to me the 
 woods always seemed warm and friendly. The timber 
 had never been cleared off the land, and the great trees 
 flung high their mighty trunks. The little saplings be- 
 neath them grew trim and clean. 
 
 We came to a deep cavity in the mountain-side where 
 in years long gone by some primitive dweller in the land 
 had digged for ore. Little indicated that it was there 
 now, save the mound of earth at one side. The cavity 
 itself was filled with leaves. In a spirit of deviltry I 
 jumped from the mound at the side over into the hole. 
 I lit in the soft leaves, and sunk far in. 
 
 Then beneath me there was a great upheaval. The 
 leaves began to move as though some sleeping monster 
 beneath had been aroused by my ill-timed action and were 
 getting up preparatory to summary revenge. I was terri- 
 fied, and began frantically to climb out of the pit. I called 
 loudly to Hen who stood off a little ways, mouth agape,
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 53 
 
 looking on in amazement. To my great surprise father 
 began to laugh, and as my struggles increased, so did 
 his laughter. He fairly roared, and then began to shout 
 facetious directions. 
 
 "Jump a little higher, Ben. Grab a root. That's 
 it. Now heave." 
 
 I finally succeeded in getting out, and then turned 
 to see what strange monster I had aroused. There was 
 still a great shuffling of the leaves. Soon a small slim 
 razor-back darted out of the leaves and ran nimbly 
 down the hill, followed by another and yet another. I 
 was deeply chagrined. 
 
 "Scared them out of their nest, Ben," father said. 
 
 "I didn't know they slept in places like that," I an- 
 swered him. 
 
 "Sure they do. You will find them in lots of places 
 just like that. And it's not bad, either. Wouldn't mind 
 to try it myself, sometime." 
 
 I thought the same thing. Undoubtedly it would be 
 cosy to burrow down into the dry leaves, out of reach 
 of the wind, and snuggle down to sleep. 
 
 Then father told us something about the doings of that 
 primitive people who, long ago, had lived around Bar- 
 ren Rocks. From the many arrow-heads found scat- 
 tered over the country it was pretty clear that they were 
 Indians. And yet the hieroglyphs found carved on the 
 cliffs about, made it clear also that they had advanced 
 farther in the use of the alphabet, at least, than is 
 usually thought. For these hieroglyphs were evidently 
 of the phonetic and not the ideographic kind. They 
 stood for sounds, and not for isolated objects. Fur- 
 ther than this, the many ore pits on the mountains 
 testified to a crude form of mining ores. 
 
 From these facts father built up his conception of 
 those primitive peoples. Not warriors, but hunters,
 
 54 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 mainly; not altogether savage, but possessed of a rude 
 form of civilisation, more like a decadent grandeur than 
 an embryonic culture. And they were strong men 
 and daring. None but the strong could have left the 
 marks they had left; none but the daring would have 
 hung out over the cliff's edge to chisel a message to 
 those that would follow. 
 
 And listening to him my imagination was fired by 
 pictures of that long past day. I peopled the hills 
 with sturdy hunters ; saw the white smoke of a hun- 
 dred camp fires ; and heard the shouts of ancient revels. 
 
 But Hen was not so interested. He had heard it all 
 before. I had too, for that matter, for father had a 
 way of telling a thing over and over again. But I 
 never failed to be interested in the stories of those 
 whose home ours had been in earlier day. 
 
 Hen, however, was not greatly impressed. While 
 father talked to me, he had gone on in front, looking on 
 all sides for some signs of game. Soon he stopped. 
 He looked back at us, and motioned mysteriously. With 
 great care, we made our way up to him. He pointed 
 to the foot of a gum tree that stood not many yards 
 away. We saw a big rabbit sitting there, humped up 
 into a compact ball. It looked very funny and stupid, 
 with its big pink ears sticking up. Father put the rifle 
 to his shoulder and took careful aim. Simultaneously 
 with the report of the gun, the rabbit jumped high into 
 the air and fell back limply to the ground. Greatly 
 excited, I ran and picked him up. 
 
 We had travelled in a circle, and were on our way 
 (jack home. In front of us a grey squirrel hurried up 
 a big chestnut oak. He climbed clear to the top, where 
 he stopped, hugging the limb closely. The wind flirted 
 with his tail, doubtless to his great dislike. It was a 
 long shot, and difficult, but father walked off a little dis-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 55 
 
 tance and took aim. I looked steadily at the squirrel. 
 When the gun went off, I saw him bulge out from the 
 vlimb, hang for an instant by one of his front toes, and 
 then fall to the ground. 
 
 Father came down laughing. 
 
 "Well, now, that was a pretty good shot," he said. 
 Then after a moment's examination, "Suppose we go 
 home now, boys. We have had our little hunt, and by 
 the time we get there it will be time to do up the work." 
 
 As we were nearing home, I crossed over a dead log 
 and noticed tracks in the soft earth at one side. 
 
 "Father, here is a 'possum's track," I called. 
 
 He came over and examined the track closely. 
 
 "How do you know it is a 'possum's track?" 
 
 "Because it is heavy at the heel." 
 
 He grinned. 
 
 "Sure enough. That's just what it is. Henry, call 
 Ponto. He may be able to track it to its hole if the 
 scent isn't too old." 
 
 "Not much danger," Hen said, but he called Ponto 
 nevertheless. 
 
 Hen did not think much of Ponto. He claimed that 
 he was no good, and lost no opportunity of declaring 
 his conviction. Father, on the other hand, stoutly stood 
 up for the dog, and he now waited for him with an air 
 of conviction. 
 
 Soon he came bounding through the bushes in a very 
 delirium of excitement. 
 
 "Here he is," Hen said contemptuously. 
 
 "Here, Ponto," father called, and pointed to the tracks. 
 
 He sniffed nervously around for a moment, whined 
 eagerly, and stopped. 
 
 Hen snorted. 
 
 "I knew it." 
 
 "Hunt him up, Ponto," father urged.
 
 56 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 Again he sniffed at the tracks, and this time, after 
 circling around a time or two, started off at a business- 
 like trot. 
 
 "I knew it," father cried in great glee, and we made 
 after him. 
 
 Up the hill, across a hollow, over some rocks and 
 then we lost sight of him. But pretty soon we heard 
 him bark, and went in the direction of the sound on the 
 run. He was at the side of a big flat rock when we 
 found him, biting at some frozen roots and vainly try- 
 ing to dig his way in. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" and father was jubilant. 
 "That's it, Ponto. Dig him out." 
 
 Ponto redoubled his efforts and threw the dirt in a 
 veritable hail behind him. Occasionally he stopped, 
 crowded his head into the hole and snuffed forcibly. 
 
 Father cut a long stick, left a heavy fork on the small 
 end, and punched into the hole. For several minutes 
 he punched carefully, and then he began to twist. 
 
 "Boys, I've got him," he cried. 
 
 He twisted more, and still more, and then began to 
 pull toward him slowly. From within the hole came a 
 dull noise, as of something making a desperate effort to 
 resist being pulled out. 
 
 "Get ready, Ponto," father urged. 
 
 But Ponto needed no urging. He heard the noise, 
 and as it drew nearer, he tried to wedge himself into the 
 hole. He stood there, tongue out, eyes snapping, wait- 
 ing. 
 
 And when at last the big white 'possum was pulled 
 out, it gave up all resistance, and lay as if dead. Ponto 
 had his reward, and did the rest. 
 
 Proudly carrying the rabbit, the squirrel and the 'pos- 
 sum, I went ahead of the others home. I went in and 
 showed mother what we had got, and she was delighted.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 57 
 
 Hen and I did up the work, while father dressed the 
 game. When we got through it was dark. I was ter- 
 ribly hungry, and so was Hen. When we went into the 
 living room to warm, he did not stop long, but slipped 
 out to the kitchen. Before long he returned, a bewil- 
 dered expression on his face. Mother sat before the fire 
 rocking, and he looked at her quizzically. 
 
 I sat for a few minutes longer, and then I went out 
 to the kitchen. It was cold and dark. There was no fire 
 in the stove, and not the slightest sign of supper. I felt 
 over to the safe, but it was closed. I was greatly dis- 
 couraged. Going back into the living room, I encoun- 
 tered Hen's troubled gaze, understood, and returned it. 
 Margaret also was sitting by the fire, seemingly without 
 a thought. Hen came over to me. 
 
 "Did you see anything?" 
 
 "Not a bite." 
 
 "Maybe we won't have any." 
 
 My heart sank. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, where is it?" he demanded, and I had no an- 
 swer. 
 
 Father came in then, and looked at Hen and me with 
 a smile. 
 
 "Well, boys, after our big dinner, we have decided 
 not to have any supper. We must let mother rest, you 
 know." 
 
 Hen looked as Lucifer must have looked when he 
 heard that a greater had been set above him. Gearly 
 the idea was not to his liking. 
 
 "I am sorry, boys. But you see how it is," father 
 continued. 
 
 I did not say anything, but went over to mother. The 
 last word had to come from her before I gave up. She 
 looked at me and laughed.
 
 58 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Now, Tommy, you go and get that basket," she 
 directed. 
 
 Father went out into the little room off the kitchen 
 and soon came back with a big basket. It was filled with 
 potatoes, eggs, apples and chestnuts. He was clearly 
 having the time of his life. 
 
 "Now, boys, here is where we have some fun. As 
 soon as the fire dies down a little more, we will roast 
 these potatoes and eggs and chestnuts in the ashes. 
 Mother will bake a pone in the oven there, too, and we 
 will have a big time." 
 
 My, my, what fun it was. That was just like mother. 
 It was ever so much more fun than just eating at the 
 table. She made a place in the ashes for the big earth- 
 enware oven, filled it with the corn dough, put on the lid 
 and covered it over with the red coals. While it was 
 baking, we put the potatoes and chestnuts in the ashes, 
 and also the eggs, first pouring water over them so 
 they would not burst. 
 
 They were all done about the same time, the potatoes 
 taking a little longer than the rest. When mother opened 
 the old oven, the hot brown pone filled the room with a 
 delicious odour. We dragged the eggs out and peeled 
 them, turning them over and over to keep from being 
 burned. Then came the potatoes, and the feast was com- 
 plete. 
 
 My, how good it was. And when we had eaten the 
 pone and the eggs and the potatoes, we raked out the 
 big hot chestnuts and ate them too. Last of all came 
 the apples, which father had got out of the big hole in 
 the garden the day before. They were mellow and 
 cold, and we ate until we couldn't hold any more. 
 
 After we were through, I took off my boots and sat 
 down on the floor near the fireplace. Father began to 
 tell us one of those wonderful stories he had doubtless
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 59 
 
 got from his own mother, for she was a wonderful story- 
 teller. 
 
 It was about the Lost Boy. The little fellow had gone 
 off into the woods in search of flowers, and had failed 
 to return. 
 
 "After an hour or two his mother missed him, and 
 went out into the yard and called. He did not answer. 
 She went out to the stable and looked for him, but he 
 was not there. Then she became frightened. There 
 had been stories of tramps passing through the coun- 
 try, and she shuddered to think what might have hap- 
 pened. Her husband was away, and would not be home 
 until evening. . . ." 
 
 I tried hard to rouse myself to listen, but it was cosy 
 and warm down where I sat. ... I closed my eyes. . . . 
 "And at last he came home. She told him that Jimmy 
 was lost; that he had been gone for hours. He looked 
 everywhere, and at last blew the conch shell for the 
 neighbours . . . the search party scattered in all direc- 
 tions . . . two shots from a gun meant he was 
 found. ..." I heard the words as if they came from 
 far away. Father's voice sounded unreal . . . maybe it 
 was not father at all ... "and she stood in the door to 
 listen for the shots. . . . Would she never hear? . . . 
 Then from far over the mountain, one shot . . . she 
 waited . . . one shot meant trouble . . . would the other 
 never be fired . . then another. .
 
 Chapter 4 
 
 THE teacher was standing in the centre of the room, 
 leering about at us. His great uneven red mouth 
 was spread in what he doubtless intended for a jovial 
 smile. 
 
 "The school is about over for the year, students," he 
 began, clearing his throat with such vehemence that I 
 looked to see the top of his head fly right off. "We 
 have had, on the whole, a very successful year. With 
 but few exceptions, the scholars have advanced as well 
 as I had expected. We now want to begin to prepare for 
 the last day of school. Talk it over with your parents 
 to-night, and if any student can find a good selection to 
 recite, bring it around to-morrow. We want to make 
 the last day a fitting close for the year." 
 
 The last day of school! That was the time when 
 Barren Rocks paid its tribute to education. Everybody 
 for miles around came in. Few drove, for the roads 
 were too bad for much driving. Many walked, but most 
 everybody rode horseback. And on the last day of 
 school they would come from up the river and from 
 down, from the ridges and from far back among the 
 hills. The men galloping along ahead, running races 
 and trading horses ; the women in their long black riding 
 skirts sedately bringing up the rear! And by the time 
 they all arrived, the playground would resemble the 
 closing days of a big meeting. There would be recita- 
 tions, dialogues, reading; addresses by the minister and 
 
 60
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 61 
 
 the teacher; and early in the afternoon a great dinner, 
 usually out under the pines. And after the dinner, the * 
 women would visit while they gathered up their knives 
 and forks and spoons, while the men played baseball, 
 leap-frog, and ran races. Finally the untying of horses, 
 a few loudly-called good-byes, and each faced the long 
 path back home. 
 
 I went home in a transport of joy, and told mother all 
 about it. Father also listened, and when I was through 
 he broke in. 
 
 "It is too far off to think much about it yet a while, 
 son. You don't want to get excited over it so soon." 
 
 But mother did not seem to hear him. There was a 
 glow in her cheeks. She pulled me over to her excit- 
 edly; and we went into the kitchen. 
 
 "It's great, sonnie," she began. "We will all be getting 
 ready for it. And I can maybe get a dress of that sateen 
 and have it ready to wear. Margaret will wear her good 
 gingham. Tommy can wear his new Prince Albert." 
 
 "And I will speak a piece," I put in. 
 
 "Yes, you can speak a piece, and Henry and Mar- 
 garet will get up a dialogue." 
 
 "I know what I want to say," and I danced around 
 her. I usually bounced around when I got excited. 
 
 "What is it, sonnie?" 
 
 "The one that goes, 'Come, little leaf, said the wind 
 one day.' " 
 
 "Just the thing. And Henry and Margaret can get 
 Amiel's Dialogue on Hell. How fine it will be ! I must 
 go and see about that sateen." 
 
 She went in where father was while I explored the 
 safe. We had no cupboard in our house, but we had a 
 big safe made of oak. It was not nailed together, but 
 fastened with wooden plugs. The doors were made of 
 tin, all gouged full of holes. Down in the lower cor-
 
 62 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 ner where I could reach easily, there was always sure 
 to be something good. Mother said I should eat only at 
 meal time, but always when I came home from school 
 there was something tucked away in that corner of the 
 safe. This time it was a big apple and some biscuit crust 
 soaked in coffee. We called it soak, and it was one of the 
 things we liked best of all. After I had eaten the apple 
 and the soak, I went into the living room. Mother was 
 sitting on father's knee looking out of the window. 
 
 "You think it can't be done, then?" she sighed, and 
 I thought her lips quivered. 
 
 "I wouldn't say that, honey. You know they always 
 run behind in the winter time. Nearly all I have re- 
 ceived in over a month has been in wheat and corn. 
 I don't object to that, for we need it. But it pinches 
 us just a little." 
 
 "But it's a month away yet." 
 
 "That is just what I mean. I don't say it cannot be 
 done. Maybe something will turn up yet. I go to the 
 River appointment in two weeks, and I might get some- 
 thing then. Don't give up hope." 
 
 Mother looked at him quickly and kissed him. 
 
 "Tommy!" she said. 
 
 The next few days were a whirl of excitement. At 
 school we took two hours off every afternoon to get the 
 programme ready, and at home we were working on our 
 pieces. It was at school that it was most real. 
 
 Ellie Herbert was to speak a piece called, "Diamonds 
 in the Rough." She spoke it every afternoon, when 
 her name was called, just as it would be on the last day. 
 It ended up, 
 
 It ain't the britches or the coat you'll find that makes the man. 
 There's many a real jewel, too, though a diamond in the rough.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 63 
 
 Ellie drawled her words out through her nose, and 
 would drawl the last lines out with a kind of triumphant 
 whine. Rude Hamilton was married and lived just 
 across the river from us. When she heard how Ellie 
 said her piece she said to mother: 
 
 "That's all right enough now. But I'll bet the time 
 comes when she will be glad to get any man, whether 
 he's a diamond in the rough or not. I wonder what 
 makes them Herbert children so mortal ugly, Sister 
 Rhodes?" 
 
 Grouchie McRand had a long piece of poetry entitled, 
 "Just To Be Kind." It started off, 
 
 Just to be kind is my only thought; 
 
 Just to be kind and true. 
 I help in distress wherever I ought, 
 
 Just to be kind and true. 
 
 Hen said a girl ought to have that piece, and Grouchie 
 did look funny when he stood up and snarled it off. 
 
 Hen's and Margaret's dialogue was fine. There was 
 one place in it that never failed to work me all up. 
 Hen said, in a sceptical disdainful way, "There is no 
 hell." 
 
 Then Margaret replied desperately, waving her arms 
 as if to implore the universe to be her witness : 
 
 "No Hell? There's Deacon Skinflint 
 
 With his mortgages and rum, 
 Destroying widows' houses 
 
 And driving them from home!" 
 
 She said the last line in such a heart-broken voice that 
 I always boiled with indignation against Deacon Skin- 
 flint, and wondered how Hen could be unmoved. 
 
 One evening but a few days before the last day of 
 school the teacher walked home with us. He said he 
 wanted to see father and mother. I knew what he
 
 64 The Manse at Barren Bocks 
 
 wanted with father, for father was always asked to ad- 
 dress the students, but I couldn't think what he wanted 
 to see mother for. To find out I hung around the room 
 while they were talking. After asking father to make 
 an address, he cleared his throat as he always did before 
 introducing a new subject. 
 
 "And Sister Rhodes, I would like for you to help us 
 out." 
 
 "Why, what could I do?" mother asked surprised. 
 
 "I thought maybe you would sing for us." 
 
 There was a silence. I was looking at mother. I hoped 
 she would sing, for I loved to hear her. When she sang 
 it wasn't dry like it was when father preached. His 
 voice was hard and measured, and I did not like to hear 
 him, only occasionally when he got all worked up. But 
 when mother sang everything was still and her voice 
 got all soft and mellow, and I would feel warm inside. 
 
 "Why, Brother Willet, I don't know whether I could 
 sing well enough or not," but I could see the old ro- 
 mantic glow in her eyes, and she looked inquiringly at 
 father. 
 
 "Of course she will sing," put in father. "She can 
 beat anybody I ever heard sing," he finished. 
 
 "Now, Tommie !" mother said and blushed, but I could 
 see she was pleased. 
 
 "But what will I sing?" she inquired. 
 
 "I thought you might sing 'The Ninety and Nine/ " 
 the teacher said. 
 
 Shortly after that he left, and what with the great 
 excitement, the Last Day quickly came round. It was 
 a balmy day, the latter part of April. I was tickled that 
 it was warm, for then I could go barefoot. I had worn 
 my boots all winter, and although I had rubbed them 
 carefully with tallow the .night before, I was greatly re- 
 lieved that I did not 4iave to wear them.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 65 
 
 We were close enough to the schoolhouse that we 
 walked. Father walked a little in advance. Hen and 
 Margaret came behind, practising their dialogue as they 
 came. I walked by mother. She looked dainty and 
 neat in her nice calico dress. She said she had fixed 
 it over until it looked as good as any sateen dress could. 
 And father declared she looked the best he ever saw 
 her. 
 
 I had to sit up in front on a bench where all the others 
 sat that were going to recite, but I looked back at mother. 
 She smiled up at me. 
 
 The small children spoke first. When it was close 
 to my turn I began to smother. I thought wildly for 
 the first line of my piece, and was seized with panic 
 when I couldn't remember it. The voice of the teacher 
 recalled me. 
 
 "The next on the programme is a selection by Master 
 Ben Rhodes." 
 
 I got up numbly and went forward. As soon as I 
 began to move my composure returned and I felt com- 
 plete master of myself. But when I made my bow and 
 looked up, panic again came upon me. All I could see 
 was a great field of eyes, and every one seemed fixed 
 on me in a horrible glare. I got cold. Then I heard 
 mother's voice. 
 
 "Come little leaf " it prompted gently. 
 
 That seemed to release a dynamo of pent-up energy 
 within me. I recalled the whole piece, but not line for 
 line in the natural order. It came to me all at once, 
 in bulk, so to speak. And my greatest desire was to 
 empty myself of the whole thing in the quickest possible 
 manner. I began in a torrent, and the words fairly 
 rushed out. No one could understand a word I said, I 
 am sure of that. But my business was to get through 
 the lines, and I did it. Before the last line was finished
 
 66 
 
 I was on my way headlong to mother's seat. But my 
 very panic saved the day. It amused the people, and 
 before I was off the platform they were clapping their 
 hands and roaring with laughter. Maybe it was not a 
 compliment. Certainly it might be looked at as denoting 
 something altogether different. But I got a lot of com- 
 fort out of it, anyway. 
 
 When I sat down I at once began feverishly to recall 
 each word and line. How had I said this particular 
 part ? and had I left out anything ? I was still racking my 
 mind trying to answer these questions when I was re- 
 called to the present. Hen and Margaret were giving 
 their dialogue. 
 
 I had heard them give it so many times that I knew 
 just what it was about. Hen declared in the opening 
 lines that it was not a bad thing for a man to drink rum if 
 he wanted to. But here Margaret disagreed with him 
 absolutely. She further said that every one that had 
 anything to do with the business would go to hell sure. 
 This was Hen's cue to say, in a very condescending tone, 
 that there is no hell. And from that on the conversa- 
 tion was magnificent, ending with Margaret's horrible 
 declaration that she would like to poke the fire when old 
 Deacon Skinflint at last arrived in Pluto's realm. 
 
 They went up on the platform and bowed low. Hen 
 thrust his hands far into the pockets of his jean trou- 
 sers and curled his lip in a supercilious smile. Father 
 had coached him long on that smile, and Hen had it down 
 to perfection. Margaret, her blue gingham coming down 
 well below her knees and her hair tied at the back with 
 a big black ribbon, assumed an air of patient virtue. 
 Father had worked with her, too, and she acted the 
 part superbly. 
 
 With his supercilious leer, Hen made his initial declara- 
 tion. At once Margaret took him up as one determined
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 67 
 
 at all costs to rid the world of mistaken ideas. She de- 
 clared forcefully that not only is it wrong for the man 
 that actually drinks, but it is also wrong for the man 
 who has anything to do with the business. And as 
 though clinching her argument by an incontrovertible 
 fact, she declaimed tragically that all such traffickers 
 would end up in hell. Then came Hen's most leering 
 rejoinder. 
 
 "There is no hell." 
 
 Margaret looked both shocked and indignant, as if 
 she considered him not only as trying to justify evil, 
 but also as doubting divine revelation. She waved her 
 arms over her head and looked up at the ceiling as 
 if imploring high heaven to be her witness. 
 
 "No Hell? There's Deacon Skinflint 
 With his mortgages and rum, 
 
 Destroying widows' houses 
 And driving them from home." 
 
 "Huh!" Hen answered her, scoffing, "it is not true." 
 
 And then Margaret took up her lines as a spirited 
 charger answering the bugle's call. With Hen cringing 
 under her terrible invective, she denounced him and his 
 kind, and made a last terrible reference to the absent 
 Deacon Skinflint, by ending, 
 
 "When you go down to hell, old man, I'd like to 
 poke the fire." 
 
 There was wild applause. And so realistic had been 
 the acting that I observed some casting scornful glances 
 at Hen, as if he should be openly rebuked for taking the 
 side of the ungodly. 
 
 Old Bill Herringer declared it was the best thing he 
 ever heard, but Rude Hamilton later put a wet blanket 
 on the compliment by asserting that he was half drunk 
 when he said it.
 
 68 The Manse at Barren Bocks 
 
 It came time for father's address, but I paid little 
 attention to what he said. I sat waiting impatiently for 
 mother's song. And when at last she stood up, I thought 
 she was wonderful. She looked tall and very slender 
 as she stood up by the teacher's desk. Her neck was 
 soft and white and round as it raised above her dress, 
 and the great masses of her golden hair were piled 
 high upon her head. She looked at me and smiled be- 
 fore she began, and I smiled back at her. 
 
 She was to sing The Ninety and Nine. Everybody 
 liked it, for she had often sung it at the protracted meet- 
 ings. When she began the first verse her voice was 
 indescribably sweet and sad, and following the words I 
 pictured to myself a fold in which the ninety-nine lay 
 snug and comfortable, while far off on a bleak hill there 
 was one that was lost. I could see it huddled up, cold 
 and wretched, while the storm raged in fury about. 
 But then the One braved the elements, climbed the moun- 
 tain in the storm, found the lost sheep and brought it 
 back to the fold. 
 
 Her low pitched voice filled the little room, and the 
 words of the beautiful old hymn, rendered with great 
 simplicity and pathos, filled us with a sense of the trag- 
 edy of an everlasting love. When she finished, her eyes 
 were moist. 
 
 As she sat down by me I glanced over at the teacher. 
 All was very still, and he was fingering his programme 
 nervously and looking hard out of the window. When 
 he got up to conclude the programme with his speech, his 
 voice shook, and I knew why it was. Up to that time I 
 had been unable to understand him, and I had feared 
 him more than any one else in the world. But I under- 
 stood him then, and ever afterward he was a different 
 person in my eyes. 
 
 When the exercises were over, a great crowd pressed
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 69 
 
 around mother. She was the centre of the group, and 
 one after another told her how the song had been en- 
 joyed. Father went over to her and towered above her, 
 his whole face beaming with the pride that was in him. 
 Father always said that mother would have been a great 
 singer if she had not tied herself down to a little place 
 like Barren Rocks, but she always answered by saying 
 that she was satisfied with her bargain. 
 
 Henry Tolliver joined the group. Father often said 
 that he was the best man that ever lived. He was old 
 and white-headed and very kind. He took father by the 
 hand. 
 
 "Well, well, Brother Rhodes. Shake hands with me. 
 And Sister Rhodes, too." 
 
 Like the benign old saint that he was, he stood there 
 holding both their hands. He was deeply moved, and 
 seemed struggling with his emotion. Finally he spoke. 
 
 "Sister Rhodes, I never expect to hear that song sung 
 like that again until I hear the angel choir up yonder," 
 and he looked up to the sky. 
 
 Mother did not speak, nor did father. But I noticed 
 him grip Henry Tolliver's hand tighter, and look at him 
 gratefully. 
 
 But the group soon broke up at the call of dinner. 
 
 The men had fixed up a long table out under the pines, 
 and at the conclusion of the programme the women had 
 hurried out to it with their heavy baskets. At the call 
 that all was ready, we went out. Father went up to 
 the head of the table, and mother and I stood at his left. 
 I looked down over the table with watering mouth. 
 Great snowy cloths had been spread over the planks, 
 and on these had been placed every conceivable delicacy. 
 I fixed my eye upon a huge platter of chicken that was 
 up near our end, and only waited a word from mother. 
 
 But just as I was poised for immediate action, father
 
 70 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 began to return thanks. His clear sonorous voice boomed 
 out rounded and distinct, and I though he never would 
 get through. He asked for a blessing upon the school, 
 and the teacher; and he returned thanks for all our 
 bounteous mercies until I almost despaired of his ever 
 finishing. But when at last he did quit and mother took 
 her hand off my arm, I fell to with an abandon that 
 called forth more than one scandalised protest from 
 mother. 
 
 In the midst of the meal, mother looked out and saw 
 Esther Olliver coming slowly toward the table. Esther 
 and her mother lived all alone in a little cabin up among 
 the hills. They were very poor. People said they had 
 to go out in the morning and gather greens for break- 
 fast in the summer, and in the winter no one knew how 
 they did manage to live. 
 
 Esther came slowly toward the table. She wore a 
 dress of bright red, and her cheeks were almost bright 
 enough to match it. Her hair was done up very high 
 in front and made her face look very long. Her neck 
 was thin, and I could see the leaders standing out on 
 either side of it. 
 
 When mother looked out and saw her, her face soft- 
 ened. She spoke to father in an undertone. 
 
 "Tommy, there is that poor Olliver girl. She may be 
 
 too timid to come up to the table, but I know she must 
 
 be hungry. You go out and invite her here with us." 
 
 Father went out and cordially pressed her to join us. 
 She came rather defiantly. 
 
 "Come on here, Esther, and help yourself with us," 
 mother greeted kindly. 
 
 Esther came up and stood by the table. It was simply 
 loaded with good things, and I wondered what she would 
 take first. She looked thin and famished, and I was 
 eager to watch her eat. She stood for a moment, took-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 71 
 
 ing boldly over the table from end to end. Then she 
 sniffed contemptuously and turned her back on us all. 
 
 "Huh!" she snapped. "There ain't nothin' there I'd 
 tat." And with that she marched haughtily away. 
 
 "Poor girl," was all mother said, and she followed her 
 retreating figure with her eyes. Father shook his head. 
 
 "It is too bad," he said. 
 
 After dinner was over the men all went down to the 
 playground for some contests. There was a ball game 
 with the old men against the young; then there was a 
 jumping contest, the standing jump, the run and jump, 
 and the hop, step and jump. But the big thing for us 
 was the running contest. 
 
 Of course I was not in it, for I was too little. But 
 Hen was in it, and he had set his heart on winning. He 
 was long-legged, and he said that would count in his 
 favour. He had been undecided for a long time as to 
 whether to take short steps and many of them, or long 
 steps and fewer. But he finally decided that with his 
 long legs it would be better to take long steps and fewer 
 of them. 
 
 He had been practising on it for weeks, and he had it 
 figured down to a fine point. He was to roll his trousers 
 up, take off this boots and run barefooted. And he had 
 worked out an ingenious gait. He was to shut his fists 
 and stiffen his arms, and then as he would take his long 
 strides he would swing his arms from the shoulder. He 
 said that by swinging his arms in this way he could take 
 much longer steps. Long before the time set for the run- 
 ning contest he had prepared for it. Taking off his boots 
 and rolling his trousers up to his knees, he was swinging 
 around the playground in his grandest style. I thought 
 it was just marvellous the way he could cover the ground, 
 but I was a little doubtful about it when I saw Bill 
 Hunter begin to practise.
 
 72 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 Bill was lean and short and supple, and he ran with 
 the short step. The way he could tear down that field 
 was awful. Hen watched him closely, but I saw he was 
 not afraid. When he got his body swinging properly, 
 his strides were enormous. 
 
 It was time for the race, and the teacher marked a 
 line for the starting place. They were to run to the 
 lower end of the playground and back. All was ready. 
 The two toed the line. Hen, stiff arms sticking out; 
 Bill crouched low on his wiry little legs. 
 
 "Go !" the teacher shouted, and they were off. 
 
 Bill made a quicker get away, and for a little ways 
 he was in the lead. 
 
 "Got him beat a mile," some one pronounced pessi- 
 mistically. 
 
 "Don't you think it," I spoke up. 
 
 I knew that when Hen got to swinging properly he 
 would catch up. And sure enough they had not gone 
 more than halfway down when he began to gain. His 
 long arms swung wide and hurled him forward with 
 mighty strides. When they reached the far end of the 
 playground, they were even. But it was in the turning 
 that things began to look bad for Hen. He had been 
 going at such a terrific gait that he couldn't stop at once, 
 and ran on past the line. When at last he turned about 
 and started back, Bill had a pretty good lead. 
 
 "Hurry, Hen, hurry!" I yelled frantically. 
 
 And I could see that he was hurrying. He was put- 
 ting up the race of his life. Stiff-legged, arms swing- 
 ing, each swing catapulting him forward enormously, he 
 certainly did hurry. I saw the veins standing out on his 
 neck. His breath came in quick gasps. 
 
 But it was too late to cut down Bill's lead. Humped 
 up and running as though for dear life, he shot past the 
 line a full yard ahead of Hen. Hen didn't say much,
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 73 
 
 but I could see he was greatly disappointed. He went 
 off to one side and lay down on the ground. 
 
 The race was the last of the contests. Already it was 
 beginning to get chilly. The sun had gone down over 
 beyond Barren Rocks mountain, and the shadow of the 
 mountain was flung over the playground. Far off up 
 Little Creek the mountain fastnesses were becoming 
 gloomy and sombre. 
 
 "Guess it's time to be getting home," some one said, 
 and others expressed themselves in like manner. 
 
 Those that were walking began to leave first, and on 
 the various mountain paths they soon could be seen, 
 walking slowly, small pygmies of the great hills. Horses 
 were unhitched, and, with man on in front and woman 
 on behind, they were turned toward home. 
 
 We were among the last to leave, and when we topped 
 the hill above the playground we stopped and looked 
 back. A few papers here and there, out where the table 
 had been; the schoolhouse shuttered and closed; an old 
 bat out by the home plate ; the grass worn off the play- 
 ground at the bases ; the laurel patch dark and deserted. 
 
 I felt very lonely. Everything seemed strange, unnat- 
 ural, forsaken. The sun had gone down; the shadows 
 were deepening. There was a permeating chill in the 
 air. I had been glad that it was the last day of school. 
 I had thought eagerly of the long summer days with no 
 lessons to study; no hard problems to solve. But as I 
 looked down on the deserted playground, I was not so 
 sure. 
 
 Father's voice recalled me. 
 
 "Well, Ben, are you glad it's out?" 
 
 I nodded my head. 
 
 Then he went over and got mother by the hand. 
 
 "Anne, it was a great success," he declared.
 
 Chapter 5 
 
 THE warm beautiful summer was passing like a golden 
 dream. The first few weeks after the closing of 
 school, I was content to wander aimlessly about, doing 
 little in particular but revelling in my freedom and re- 
 newing acquaintance with the myriad forms of summer 
 life. Father had early made a plough stock out of a 
 piece of seasoned oak, and spent many of the days plough- 
 ing with the shovel plough on the steep hillside. I fol- 
 lowed along in the furrow behind him sometimes, gath- 
 ering up fish worms and mulligrubs, but as soon as I had 
 found a few, I would go off to the mouth of the creek 
 to fish for the big sun fish and goggle-eyes that lay 
 lazily in the water. 
 
 The big chestnut in our yard was out in bloom, and 
 the long white pencils of fuzzy blossoms fell upon the 
 ground like a carpet of down. The river had lost the 
 muddy hue of early spring, and was so blue I could 
 see the gaping mouths of the mussels far down on the 
 bottom. Occasionally I paddled around in our cut-off 
 and poked a long slender stick into their mouths. As 
 soon as it went in, they would close tightly on it, and hold 
 on until I lifted them into the boat. Then I explored 
 for pearls. And of these I had a growing and marvellous 
 collection. 
 
 One lazy afternoon I crossed the creek and climbed 
 slowly up the side of the mountain toward Buzzard 
 Roost. Buzzard Roost was a great out jutting cliff that 
 
 74
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 75 
 
 stood at the intersection of Little Creek and Elk River. 
 On one side Little Creek had eroded the mountain until 
 the naked rock stood out bold and bare ; and on the other 
 side Elk River had done the same. The result was Buz- 
 zard Roost. Shaped like a triangle lying prone with the 
 base toward the hills, it pointed out like a giant wedge. 
 Once reaching the base at the top, one could travel 
 slowly out toward the point. The cliff itself was at 
 best but a few feet in width, and the erratic little path 
 that wormed out it sometimes disappeared altogether, 
 and at others clung perilously near the edge of the cliff. 
 In the dry shallow ground on the top there was just 
 depth enough to support a few straggling huckleberry 
 bushes, and here and there a low scrub pine. 
 
 I reached the base after a long hard climb up the 
 mountain, and began my slow and precarious journey 
 out to the point of Buzzard Roost. Here I would have to 
 jump down off a ledge where the surface was uneven; 
 then I would have to climb up onto a higher level. At 
 one place I had to hold to a small pine while I leaned 
 clear out over the ledge in order to get by. But I had 
 been out that way so many times that I had no nervous- 
 ness whatever. 
 
 When I had come to the end I jumped down to a lower 
 shelf of rock, and for the thousandth time dreamed over 
 the curious marks cut into the stone. Father said that 
 in the early days the Indians had used Buzzard Roost 
 as a lookout, and had cut these figures in the stones as 
 a means of communication. Here was one that we took 
 to be the figure of a dog, although its straight legs looked 
 more as if they belonged to a wooden horse than to any- 
 thing else. Then there was a queer series of circles, 
 starting far down on the rock and decreasing in size as 
 they came up. Hen said an Indian had cut a circle on the 
 rock every time he had killed a man, and I would sit
 
 76 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 long thinking of the bloody struggles that had clustered 
 about the place. 
 
 The end of Buzzard Roost was the place for dream- 
 ing dreams. Looking straight ahead in the direction that 
 it pointed, I could see Elk River winding snake-like up 
 between the hills. Far away was Johnson's Gap where 
 there was a break in the ridge, and when the sun would 
 get down behind it the red oaks would stand out in tall 
 fantastic columns like some mighty tribe of forgotten 
 giants. 
 
 I was sitting there in the sunlight watching the aerial 
 wanderings of a great eagle. It was high up in the heav- 
 ens, and winged its way toward Johnson's Gap, and then 
 described a great circle and returned to the pine topped 
 summit above Buzzard Roost. I thought of the stories 
 that mother had told of the bald-headed eagles carrying 
 off little pigs and lambs, and even children, and I was 
 glad that I had grown too heavy for one to carry. 
 
 I saw father over on the hillside stop at the end of the 
 field nearest home, unhitch the horse from the plough, 
 and start toward home. I also got up to go, for it was one 
 of my chores to ride the horse to the river after the day's 
 work and let him drink. I put my hands on the ledge 
 of rock above me to draw myself up, when I heard a 
 smooth purring sound almost under my left hand. I 
 glanced around quickly, and saw a great yellow rattler 
 slowly contracting its body. I jerked my hand away 
 quickly, but further than that there was little I could 
 do. The ledge on which I stood was little more than 
 three feet square, and save in the direction of the rattler 
 there was a sheer drop on every side. The cliff dropped 
 almost perpendicular clear to the water below. 
 
 There was little I could do save to stand in numb fasci- 
 nation and watch the rattler slowly coil itself up to strike. 
 I knew it could not strike me where I was standing, but
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 77 
 
 to watch the thing coil itself up was terrible. It twisted 
 itself up layer on layer until its little slick head pointed 
 in my direction and its rattlers nestled in the centre. Its 
 eyes were hard and cold, and while they did not wink, 
 there was about them a deadly glitter that made me 
 shiver. 
 
 I wanted to call for help, but even if I could have 
 been heard at home from where I was, I did not have 
 the courage for one moment to take my eyes off that 
 snake. I was beginning to get dizzy and it seemed to 
 me, I was leaning ever closer to those little glittering 
 eyes. 
 
 Just then there was a flutter and rustle of wings, and 
 I had just time to see a long sleek neck and two long 
 talon-like claws fasten themselves into the body of the 
 snake. When I looked up in amazement I saw the eagle 
 which I had observed before flying rapidly toward the 
 pines on Buzzard Mountain, and hanging from its talons 
 like an inverted U, was the limp body of the rattler. 
 
 When I reached home, faint and sick, I thought it best 
 not to say anything. I had found it was not best to tell 
 even mother everything. 
 
 One afternoon a few days later I walked lazily up 
 from the river toward the house. The bumblebees were 
 droning monotonously on the little white flowers on the 
 sand briers. The long white pencils were falling from 
 the chestnut tree. The river was placid and blue. Every- 
 thing presented the lazy indolence of a warm summer 
 day. 
 
 When I entered the front yard, I found father and 
 Hen there busily engaged. The sight of them banished 
 all laziness from my body, for I knew too well the por- 
 tent of what they were doing. A great heap of carpet- 
 rags was on the ground. Hen was tying the pieces to- 
 gether, while father rolled them into a big ball.
 
 78 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "What you doing, Hen?" I asked breathlessly. 
 
 "Making a ball for the light." 
 
 "What light?" 
 
 "Going gigging to-night." 
 
 "O, father, can I go too?" I implored. 
 
 He carefully made eight or ten circles around the ball, 
 drawing each string tight. Then he spoke, much more 
 emphatically than usual. 
 
 "Yes, sir, you most surely can go. Do you know 
 whose birthday this is?" 
 
 "It's mine !" I shouted. 
 
 "It is. And this trip is for your birthday." 
 
 "O, daddie," I spluttered, so tickled I hardly knew 
 what to do. We had been taught to call him father be- 
 cause it sounded more dignified when we went with him 
 over his circuit, but when I got excited I sometimes 
 called him daddie like I had when I was very little. 
 
 "Father," he said. 
 
 "Father," I corrected. "Who is to go with us?" 
 
 "You are to go, and sit up in the bow by the light. 
 Samuel Aked and I will do the gigging, and Henry will 
 guide the boat." 
 
 "Won't that be fun!" and I hurried away to talk it 
 over with mother. Samuel Aked was the greatest gigger 
 on the river. He had a long-handled three-pronged gig, 
 and could hit a fish farther than any other man. Father 
 came next, and he had a long two-pronged gig, with 
 sharp beards on it. When the two of them got together, 
 there was sure to be plenty of fun. 
 
 Just before dark Samuel Aked came into the yard 
 carrying his gig. 
 
 "Ready, Brother Rhodes?" he called out in his big 
 voice. 
 
 "Ready we are," father answered. "Fine night for 
 them too still and warm. Ought to see them to-night."
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 79 
 
 "Reckon we will see them all right. Too bad Ben 
 can't go," he finished sadly. 
 
 "But I am going. This is my birthday, and I am to 
 sit up by the light and watch you gig them. 
 
 "O well, then, that's fine. I was afraid you couldn't 
 go with us," and he winked at father. 
 
 The great rag ball was soaking in a bucket of oil. 
 Father got it, and his gig, and we all started down to the 
 river. He took the ball out of the bucket and laid it 
 dripping in the holder that stuck out over the front end 
 of the boat like a landing net. I got in and sat down 
 on father's coat in front. Hen got in behind and took 
 up the paddle, and father and Mr. Aked stationed them- 
 selves on either side, up near the front. The boat was 
 pushed off. 
 
 "Paddle down toward the shoals, Hen. When we get 
 to shallow water I'll light the ball," directed father. 
 
 Hen paddled down to the top of the shoals. Father 
 stuck a match to the ball, and the light flared away up, 
 little drops of burning oil falling into the water. Each 
 drop as it struck the water made a little lead-coloured 
 spot that spread out in a circle. I looked down into the 
 water and could see the yellow sand and the rocks for 
 several yards on either side. Father was on the left side 
 facing the front. I could see him look keenly at the 
 stones and the small pieces of black wood that lay on the 
 bottom. He held his gig with both hands, left down, and 
 when the boat would tip over a little, the long black 
 prongs of his gig would cut the water like a knife. Mr. 
 Aked stood in a somewhat similar position on the other 
 side. 
 
 Suddenly father's gig was jerked back quickly and 
 quick as light was buried in the water. 
 
 "Ho, ho!" he cried a moment later. "How's that for 
 the first shot?"
 
 80 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 While he spoke he pulled up the gig. There was a great 
 splash and confusion as it reached the surface, and he 
 drew toward the boat a big red-fin that whipped its stocky 
 body stubbornly. He drew it in to me. 
 
 "Pull him off, Ben. See him wiggle. How much 
 will he weigh, Sam ?" 
 
 "Nigh to five pounds, I reckon," Mr. Aked calculated. 
 
 I gleefully grasped the great fish on either side the 
 gig and pulled it off. It was about the biggest red-fin I 
 had ever seen. 
 
 "Don't grow much bigger than that," Mr. Aked al- 
 lowed. 
 
 "Not much," agreed father complacently. "I thought 
 at first it was the end of a log." 
 
 Time and again the sharp gigs zipped through the 
 water, and about every time there was work for me to 
 do. Soon I had a great pile down in front of me 
 suckers, red-fins, a few catfish and one pike. Mr. Aked 
 had got the pike. It was in gigging fish like that that 
 he beat father. Father was perfect when it came to 
 the slow fish, but the pike and perch were too swift for 
 him. 
 
 I had been looking at a great round rock on the bot- 
 tom that threw a long shadow over the sand. As I was 
 curiously watching it I saw a long pointed flash dart 
 away from it. It was a great pike. 
 
 "Look," I began, but Mr. Aked's gig was swifter than 
 my eyes. The fish was pretty far away, too far to al- 
 low him to hold to his gig handle. So he threw the 
 whole thing clear out of his hands. It went through 
 the water like a needle and then came to the surface 
 bobbing nervously. 
 
 "Row over, Henry. I believe I got him," he said. 
 
 I could see he was nervous. If he had got that pike 
 he had made history. Never before had we known a man
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 81 
 
 to gig a pike when it was so far away he had to let his 
 gig go out of his hand. Sure enough, when he leaned 
 out and got hold of the handle he gave a grunt of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "Well, well, so you really got him," exclaimed father in 
 genuine admiration. 
 
 "Guess I did. Reckon he beats the red-horse, too," and 
 he poked it down in front of me. 
 
 "Put your fingers in his gills so he won't flop away 
 from you. I just hit him with one prong, and he's pretty 
 lively, I allow." 
 
 I ran my fingers up in his gills from behind, and with 
 the other hand grasped him tightly around his long 
 slender body. I laid him down, and then began to ar- 
 range all we had got in heaps, according to their size, 
 when I heard father exclaim: 
 
 "Look out, Ben !" There was a swish across my face 
 and I looked up to see a long snake-like eel writhing 
 and coiling around father's gig. It was a monster, and 
 its slick body glistened in the light. I knew what it was, 
 but the suddenness of the thing and its glistening body 
 frightened me until I screamed. 
 
 "Take it off, Ben," laughed father. 
 
 "No. You take it off." 
 
 "Take it off. It won't hurt you," he persisted. 
 
 "I'm afraid of it." 
 
 "Hand it over here. I'll take it off," ordered Hen from 
 the other end of the boat. 
 
 Father complied and the eel described a writhing arch 
 overhead. Hen got the eel in his hand, but when he went 
 to pull it off his hands were empty, and the tail of the 
 eel flapped his face. 
 
 "Huh," he grunted in mortification, and grasped it 
 again. Father roared with laughter, and Mr. Aked al- 
 lowed that the thing must be pretty slick.
 
 82 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Grip it," father directed. 
 
 Hen gripped it, but his very grip shot it out of his 
 hand. 
 
 "Take it," he said shortly and picked up the paddle. 
 
 "Why, Henry, you don't give it up?" and father seemed, 
 greatly shocked. 
 
 But when Hen made no answer, he stood the gig up 
 in the bottom of the boat, ran his foot down along the 
 prongs, and the eel slipped off. Father seemed greatly 
 satisfied. 
 
 "Well, let's go home. We have had our fun. What do 
 you say, Ben?" 
 
 "I'm willing," for I was getting sleepy. 
 
 The next day I saw Grouchie McRand up at the store. 
 
 "Went gigging last night," I said indifferently. 
 
 "Get anything?" he asked, also indifferently. At least 
 he attempted complete indifference. 
 
 "Thirty-one." 
 
 "Little ones, though." 
 
 "Big ones, and we got an eel." 
 
 "Bet they were not so big before you cut 'em up." 
 
 "They are not cut up. Come down and see them." 
 
 We went down home, and around back of the house 
 where we had them in a tub. He looked them over care- 
 fully, fingering them for a long time. He picked up a 
 little sucker and laid it to one side. Then he stood up, 
 for all the world like a little old man. His expression 
 was not pleasant. 
 
 "You ought to a put that little one back," he said. 
 
 "But what about the others?" 
 
 "O, right fair." 
 
 For Grouchie never could see a triumph when it was 
 not his own.
 
 Chapter 6 
 
 MARGARET was tall and slim and blue eyed. Her 
 feet were ever so much smaller than mine, though 
 she was much taller and older. Her ankles were soft and 
 slender, and in the summer when she went barefooted, 
 Hen and I called her slim legs. Her hair wasn't red, al- 
 though at times it did look red. It was a lot like mother's, 
 so I thought it was very nice. 
 
 Father called Margaret a dreamer. She read lots of 
 books, though where she got them I never knew, for they 
 were love stories "trashy novels," father called them, 
 in such a voice that I wondered how on earth she could 
 find anything to interest her in such awful things. But 
 she would read them every one she could get hold of 
 and would sit for hours after finishing one looking dream- 
 ily out over the eastern hills. 
 
 We had a place down under the water-core apple tree 
 where she and I went whenever we could get out to play 
 together. She would sit up under the tree and read one 
 of her books, while I made dams across the hollow. 
 When the water had backed away up she would sit and 
 flip little dried up apples down into it, and tell me all 
 about what was in the book. Once it was about a girl 
 who had lived all her life far back in the mountains 
 with no one but her old father in the family with her. 
 She had had but little to read except the Bible, so what 
 she said was filled with quotations from it. One day a 
 handsome stranger came up among the hills, and met her 
 
 83
 
 84 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 quite by accident. He was charmed by her simple dress 
 and manner, and by her beautiful ways of expression that 
 she had copied from the Bible. He was so interested that 
 he staid with her father for quite a while; and finally 
 they were married and went away. Margaret got all 
 excited when she told me about it. Her eyes glowed, 
 and she looked a long time at the waves where she had 
 flipped the little apples. But I was not much impressed. 
 
 "Who cooked for her old father after she left?" I 
 asked sternly. 
 
 "Why he he he, you see, what else could she do?" 
 she answered. 
 
 "I don't think it was very nice of her to leave her old 
 father up there all alone." 
 
 "But she could go back," she brightened up, "and bring 
 him all sorts of wonderful things." 
 
 I couldn't just think of any answer to this, but I was 
 determined to do all I could. I felt very just. 
 
 "Maybe he would starve to death before she got back." 
 
 She considered a long time. I could plainly see she 
 was troubled by this aspect of the case. She also seemed 
 aggravated that I should suggest such things when she 
 was still stirred by the beauty of the story, but she finally 
 settled me with a poser. 
 
 "But the man was wealthy, and he would leave her 
 father well provided for." 
 
 I couldn't see any way around this, so I directed atten- 
 tion to my dam. 
 
 "See how far the water has backed up. When I get 
 this big piece of sod fixed in here where it is leaking, it 
 will go still higher. Wouldn't it be nice to have a lot 
 of fish to put in it?" 
 
 "Wouldn't it be nice, Ben, if some one should come to 
 Barren Rocks like that, and would come to our house, 
 and and," she looked dreamily off toward Johnson's
 
 85 
 
 Gap. Presently she got up and went slowly toward the 
 house. 
 
 I was surprised the next winter when several of the 
 older boys began to come to our house and sit around 
 the fire of evenings. At first they said they had come 
 to see Hen, or they wanted to arrange to go hunting 
 some night, or they wanted father to help them with 
 their arithmetic. But they didn't take Hen out, and they 
 would never fix any very definite time for the hunt. 
 And often while father worked away at the problems 
 they sat around and talked about something else. 
 
 Herb Ellanger came more often than any of the rest, 
 and this was a matter of surprise to me. During my 
 first year in school Herb had been as mean to me as he 
 knew how to be. He would hide my hat, hit me with 
 Uie ball when I was running bases, snatch my books out 
 of my hands and say he was going to burn them up. 
 But he now seemed altogether different. He got very 
 good to me, and once even went so far as to bring me a 
 twenty-two long cartridge for my arrow. And I got to 
 liking him very much. 
 
 I went up to the store one day and he was there by 
 the big Burnside stove. I went right up to him. He was 
 nice, and in a little while got me a big stick of candy. 
 Grouchie McRand saw him, and I could see he was mad. 
 He swaggered up to me, and leered into my face. 
 
 "So. Margaret's beau has got to getting her little 
 brother candy, has he?" he said so loudly 'that every one 
 in the store heard him. 
 
 There was a general laugh, and I felt so ashamed that 
 I slipped out as soon as I could before he had a chance 
 to say anything more. I went home and hunted up 
 mother. 
 
 "Mother, is Herb Ellanger coming to see Margaret ?" 
 I demanded.
 
 86 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 Mother laughed nervously. 
 
 "I don't know, sonnie. Why?" 
 
 " 'Cause Grouchie McRand said he was." 
 
 "When did he say that?" 
 
 "Up at the store." 
 
 "You mustn't listen to those boys up there, sonnie." 
 
 "But I couldn't help it." 
 
 "Then don't pay any attention to them. Come now and 
 see what mother has for you," and she led the way to the 
 kitchen. She had opened the apple hole that morning 
 and got out some big red apples. 
 
 "Here's one for you, sonnie. Now run out and play." 
 
 I went out, but I was too perplexed to play much. 
 Why any one wanted to go with Margaret was more 
 than I could understand. I could see why Hen liked to 
 go to see Herb's sister, Jane, for she was tall and pretty, 
 with pink cheeks and she wore pretty clothes. I liked 
 to visit at her house myself. But why Herb wanted to 
 be coming to see Margaret was more than I could under- 
 stand. Why, she was almost like me. She would run 
 races and climb trees, and wash the dishes. And I knew 
 every dress she had. I liked to see Jane in her good 
 clothes for they were soft and pretty, and I had never 
 seen many of them but once. But as for Margaret, I 
 knew every dress she had, and I knew all about her. I 
 could not see why any one wanted to go with her. 
 
 But I was still more surprised a few days later. 
 Brother Hall was another minister that lived away up 
 the river, and one day he was visiting father. They 
 were sitting by the fire and arguing about Revelations. 
 Father said that the Beast in Revelations was not the 
 same one as that mentioned by Daniel, but Brother Hall 
 said it was, and that by comparing the two he could 
 tell almost to a day just when the world would come 
 to an end. I sat and listened with shivers of terror run-
 
 87 
 
 ning up my back, for the one thing that I dreaded above 
 all others was the Judgment Day. Brother Hall said it 
 could easily be shown that the end of the world was 
 nigh. 
 
 As they were talking about it, Margaret came in. She 
 took off a shawl that she had had around her shoulders, 
 courtesied to Brother Hall and went out to the kitchen. 
 Brother Hall looked after her a long-time after she had 
 gone. There was a sad reminiscent look on his face. 
 
 "How beautiful!" he murmured. Then turning to 
 father he exclaimed fervently, "Brother Rhodes, if I 
 had that girl ten million worlds wouldn't take her away 
 from me." 
 
 "Margaret is quite a girl. She is a lot like her mother," 
 and father's voice was very soft. 
 
 I went out to think it over. Margaret beautiful? 
 Somehow I had never thought of her like other girls. 
 She was just our Margaret. But other people seemed 
 to look at her differently. When I went into the kitchen 
 she was sitting by the stove reading a book. I went up 
 to her, disgusted. 
 
 "So, missy, you have a beau," I jeered. 
 
 "Have not," she replied vehemently. 
 
 "Herb Ellanger. Huh!" 
 
 "Mother make Ben stop," she cried. 
 
 "Rich stranger coming in and finding a backwoods 
 girl. Huh ! You can't even quote the Bible, either." 
 
 "I can, too." 
 
 "Do it." 
 
 "Mother, make him stop." 
 
 "That will do now, sonnie. Run out and play." 
 
 The next Sunday was father's day at Oakum Mills 
 appointment. He always left Saturday afternoon, for 
 his churches were far apart, and the ride was long and 
 hard. This time mother was to go with him, and Mar-
 
 88 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 garet was to stay at home and keep house for us. They 
 left early in the afternoon, father riding old Bill and 
 mother riding Bird. 
 
 How mother could ride ! She was so supple she could 
 put her hands on the horns of the side-saddle and jump 
 into the seat from the ground without help. And she 
 could ride all day without being tired. She looked so 
 pretty and slim up in the saddle, too. 
 
 When they were out of sight, we all demanded that 
 Margaret get supper. She looked her outrage, and said 
 we had just had our dinner. That made no difference 
 to us, for when mother was away we had things about 
 like we wanted them. Margaret indignantly complied, 
 and made us a big pot of potato dumplings. We ate them 
 down to the last mouthful. 
 
 This done we proceeded to explore the house. There 
 were places where we were strictly forbidden to go. 
 Father's book desk, we never were allowed to open. 
 Mother had a drawer in the press that she kept shut 
 from us at all times. But when both were away we 
 would go through everything, down to the last nook and 
 cranny of the house. After everything had been ex- 
 plored and we were convinced we had not missed a 
 thing, we killed two chickens for Sunday dinner. Then 
 we went off into the woods to play. 
 
 Sunday morning we lay in bed as long as we wanted 
 to, and only got up because we were so hungry. Mar- 
 garet baked a big pone of corn bread and we ate it with 
 the cane molasses somebody had given father at the 
 River appointment. 
 
 After breakfast Hen spent a long time in the kitchen, 
 with father's razor. He wouldn't let me come in, and 
 after he had finished in there he went into the bed- 
 room. I could hear him whistling and brushing. When 
 at last he came out, his hair was slicked down all over his
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 89 
 
 head, and his new jeans pants were brushed up in fine 
 shape. He had on a collar that mother had done up. 
 She always wrinkled them somewhere when she ironed 
 them, but Hen had made the most of this one. He 
 started out carelessly. 
 
 "Where you going, Hen?" I asked after him. 
 
 "O, guess I'll go down to see Herb," he answered back 
 indifferently. 
 
 "Can I go with you?" 
 
 "No. You had better stay at home." 
 
 When he got out nearly to the road he called Mar- 
 garet. I could not hear what he said to her, but what- 
 ever it was caused her to flare right up. 
 
 "No. I won't have it." 
 
 "Aw, Marg, why not? He said to ask you." 
 
 "I don't care if he did. I won't have it." 
 
 "I'll tell him all right," and he started off. 
 
 "You do and I won't let him in the house." 
 
 "What difference does it make to you? And it would 
 mean a lot to him." 
 
 "I don't care. I won't have it," she repeated stub- 
 bornly. 
 
 "All right, then. You will wish some day you had." 
 He started off. 
 
 The day was beautiful for winter. It was clear and 
 still. The sun was off in the south, but it fell warm and 
 cheerful around us. Margaret came in and stood looking 
 out of the window. She had on an old green calico dress 
 that did not come quite to her shoe tops. She had had 
 it a long time, and only wore it now to do work in. 
 The dresses she had got of late were much longer. Her 
 back was toward me. Her right hand she held up against 
 the window jamb. I had never noticed before how slen- 
 der and white it was. She had not done up her hair yet 
 for the day, and little wayward curls of it were falling
 
 90 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 about her neck. Her ankles below her skirt were firm 
 and trim, proud in the first pair of button shoes she had 
 ever had. I looked at her almost in amazement. She 
 had changed somehow, and instead of being like she was 
 the first year I went to school, there was something 
 shrinking and appealing about her now. It made me feel 
 sad. I went over to her and put my arm around her. 
 She was so slim I could reach around her easily. 
 
 "What you thinking about, Margaret ?" 
 
 ."O, nothing," she answered lazily. 
 
 She turned round facing the room, shut her fists, put 
 them up near her cheeks, and slowly extended them in 
 a long lazy yawn. Her movements lifted her skirt still 
 higher, she stood on her tiptoes, and seemed for a mo- 
 ment like some nimble, graceful elfin poised for flight. 
 
 "Let's play house," she suggested suddenly. 
 
 "All right," I agreed. I loved to play house with 
 Margaret. 
 
 "I will live over here," she said, indicating the right 
 side of the fireplace, "and you will live in the bedroom. 
 I am old and you are coming to chop wood for me 
 to keep me from freezing." 
 
 This plan offered possibilities, but too often it had been 
 made real by my being sent out to cut some stove wood. 
 I didn't think Margaret wanted any wood brought in, 
 and yet I did not want to take any chances. I suggested 
 something else. 
 
 "No, let's play something else. I have it. You be 
 sick with the fever and I will be the minister coming 
 to see you." 
 
 I had gone with father to visit a sick woman a few 
 days before, and the awful solemnity of it had given me 
 many a thrill. I longed to play the part of father and 
 do as he had done.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 91 
 
 "All right," Margaret agreed. "You go into the bed- 
 room while I get ready." 
 
 When I came back out with a Bible under my arm, 
 Margaret was lying on the floor in her corner looking 
 very feeble. Her whole body sagged with weariness, 
 and when she moved she moaned wretchedly. I knocked 
 softly on the back of a chair. 
 
 "Come in," she called weakly. 
 
 I walked in and sat down beside her. 
 
 "My dear Sister Evans, I am grieved to find you in 
 this condition," I announced. 
 
 "Yes, but of course we never know," she smiled wanly. 
 
 "You are right. We are often made perfect through 
 our suffering." 1 
 
 I picked up her hand and stroked it encouragingly. 
 It lay limply in mine. 
 
 "You must bear up bravely, Sister Evans. The Lord 
 knows best." 
 
 With a great effort she carried her handkerchief to 
 her eyes and covered them gently. 
 
 "Perhaps we had better have a word of prayer," I 
 suggested, moved profoundly. 
 
 I knelt down soberly, cleared my voice, and was just 
 ready to begin a prayer "for the afflicted sister" (I re- 
 membered father's words vividly) when there was a 
 sharp rap on the door. 
 
 Margaret sprang up as if electrified, all the weariness 
 vanishing like a flash. She ran to the door and flung 
 it open. Herb Ellanger stood outside. He smiled in his 
 sickly manner. 
 
 "Morning, Margaret. Hen said you were expecting 
 me." 
 
 She gave one despairing glance at herself, looked 
 around the room nervously and then back at Herb.
 
 92 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Good morning, Herbert," she said in a constrained 
 voice. "I am glad to see you. Won't you come in ?" 
 
 "Thanks," he said awkwardly, and walked in. 
 
 " 'Lo, Herb," I called out. 
 
 He seemed vexed at seeing me. 
 
 "Morning, Ben. How are you to-day?" 
 
 "Fine. We were just playing doctor when you came 
 in." 
 
 Margaret looked hard at me, but I continued glibly. 
 
 "Yes, Margaret let on she had the fever, and I was 
 the minister coming to see her. She was " 
 
 "Excuse me a minute, Herbert. I'll be back in a min- 
 ute." And she disappeared into the bedroom. 
 
 Herb was silent for some time. 
 
 "Got any traps set this winter, Herb ?" I inquired. 
 
 "No. I'm not trapping any this year." 
 
 "I got a lot set." 
 
 "Caught anything?" 
 
 "Not yet. But I look to have something to-morrow." 
 
 I could not get him to talk freely. He seemed dread- 
 fully nervous. His face resembled one of the old Egyp- 
 tian paintings in the back of father's big Bible, in that 
 both his forehead and his chin receded sharply, leaving 
 his nose the most prominent part about him. His chin 
 was very small. There was really nothing from his nose 
 down, until his Adam's apple was reached. It was simply 
 enormous. When he talked it had a way of bobbing up 
 and down like a bobber on a fish line. 
 
 Hen went with Herb's sister, Jane, and Herb wanted 
 very much to go with Margaret. He was afraid to ask 
 her. She hated him because of his Adam's apple. He 
 must have sensed it, for he seemed very much afraid 
 of her. He even sent Hen to ask her whether he might 
 call. And Hen had lied about what she said, perhaps to 
 make Jane think better of him.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 93 
 
 Margaret came out of the bedroom before long, and 
 I could see she was mad clear through. For when she 
 got real fighting mad, there was a little white circle all 
 around her mouth. And when she came out of the bed- 
 room she was white all over her face. But she was a 
 little whiter around her mouth than anywhere else. She 
 had put on her best dress and done up her hair nicely, 
 and I could see that she was determined to treat him 
 just as nicely as possible. But even that wouldn't be 
 very much ; and I had some idea what was in store for 
 Hen. 
 
 They talked very little. I wondered whether I should 
 go out and leave them alone. But Margaret kept hold 
 of my hand most of the time, and I took from that that 
 she wanted me to stay. I really didn't care, for I was 
 getting interested. I hoped she would fly mad and send 
 him home, or do something else terrible. 
 
 He told about an extension they had made to their 
 barn ; and she said she hoped it would hold their crops 
 now. He reckoned it would, although they were prepar- 
 ing for bumper crops the next year. Then there were 
 long periods when nothing was said. He swallowed 
 hard frequently, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and 
 down. Occasionally he put his finger inside his collar 
 and stretched his neck to one side, as if trying to get a 
 little more room. 
 
 Margaret seemed greatly relieved when it was time 
 to get dinner. I went out to the kitchen with her. I 
 hoped she would break into a tirade, and she did al- 
 most. 
 
 "You just wait until Hen comes back here. I told him 
 I didn't want him. And I thought Herb Ellanger could 
 have seen I didn't want him to stay for dinner! You 
 just wait until he comes home." 
 
 But she got a good dinner. She cooked the two chick-
 
 94 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 ens we had killed, made a fine pie, and mashed some 
 potatoes. She also got out a can of mother's apples. 
 I was glad of this, because those canned apples were not 
 an every-day thing at our house. 
 
 When everything was ready she sent me for Herb. 
 He came out awkwardly and sat down in father's place. 
 I sat at his left, close up to the dish of apples. Margaret 
 looked terribly upset when we had sat down and were 
 all ready to begin. Then she asked Herb to return 
 thanks. 
 
 We never thought of eating at our house without re- 
 turning thanks, but I had often heard father say that 
 he was afraid Brother Ellanger was not setting the ex- 
 ample before his children that he should. When Mar- 
 garet called on Herb to return thanks, he looked ut- 
 terly nonplussed. Then he swallowed, and his Adam's 
 apple shot back with a jolt. But he folded his hands 
 in his lap, leaned over until his hair nearly got in the 
 gravy, and mumbled a few words that I could not un- 
 derstand. 
 
 As soon as he looked up, I got the dish of apples in 
 both hands. I was a little uncertain what to do, but since 
 father was gone I felt that something was expected of 
 me. I held it over right under his mouth. 
 
 "Have some apples, Herb," I urged cordially. 
 
 He took the dish from me, and swallowed. But Mar- 
 garet had the chicken in her hands, and silently passed 
 it to him. He took it with his other hand, and sat there 
 helplessly, the apples in one hand, and the chicken in the 
 other. He seemed hopelessly confused. 
 
 "Just set the apples down, Herbert, and help yourself 
 to the chicken," Margaret suggested. 
 
 He seemed greatly relieved, and did as she suggested. 
 After that everything went off fairly well. But when he 
 and I had gone into the living room, it took Margaret a
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 95 
 
 long time to get through with the dishes. Herb had be- 
 gun to fidget long before she appeared, and when she did 
 come in he said it was time for him to go. 
 
 "I have the stock to feed, so I guess I better be going." 
 
 He got up and reached for his hat. Margaret stood 
 by the fire watching him. 
 
 "You all come over, Margaret," he said. 
 
 "Thank you, Herbert, we will," she said firmly. 
 
 She closed the door after him. 
 
 She came back into the room and walked the floor 
 like a caged panther. The little white circle was very 
 prominent about her mouth. 
 
 "Are you in love with Herb, Margaret ?" I queried. 
 
 She stopped walking the floor and glared at me. 
 
 "No, I am not. And when Hen comes home I will tell 
 him a few things, and don't you 'forget it." 
 
 Hen stayed away later than usual. When he did open 
 the door and step inside, he faced us with a propitiatory 
 grin. 
 
 "Honest, Margaret, it was all right," he began at once. 
 
 "I don't care if it was all right. I didn't want him 
 around." 
 
 "Did he tell you about his barn?" 
 
 Margaret almost choked. 
 
 "Yes, and about the chickens and the cows," and she 
 burst into wild laughter. 
 
 I was frightened, but Hen was not. He continued to 
 grin. 
 
 "Did you notice his Adam's apple ?" 
 
 "Now, Hen, you shut up. I just won't stand it," and 
 she fled to the kitchen.
 
 Chapter 7 
 
 WE were all sitting in by the fire when there was a 
 sudden rap on the door. It was a dark night, 
 and we supposed Rude Hamilton had come over to spend 
 the evening with us, as she was afraid to stay alone in 
 their house, and her husband was away for days at a 
 time. We didn't expect it to be a stranger, for when 
 strangers came around, they usually sat on their horses 
 out in front and called "Hello" until father went out to 
 see what they wanted. When we heard this knock father 
 called out, "Come in," without even getting up. 
 
 The door opened and a stranger entered. He was tall, 
 dressed in black, and looked very handsome. He looked 
 at us a moment, and advanced toward the fire. Father 
 got up. 
 
 "Good evening, stranger," he said. "Come up to the 
 fire. Right cold out to-night." 
 
 "It is that," the stranger replied easily, advancing and 
 rubbing his hands. "I have just come down from Big 
 Town, and it is right chilly on the river." 
 
 "Come down a horseback?" 
 
 "No. I had some luggage, and a man brought me 
 down in a boat. Pretty cold in a boat." 
 
 "Drummer?" I hoped he was a drummer, for they 
 came to the store and told stories and smoked cigars. 
 They usually staid all night with old Alex McRand, but 
 maybe this one had come to stay with us. Father knew 
 
 96
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 97 
 
 a lot of the drummers because he sometimes staid in 
 the store when the regular men were away. 
 
 "No, not a drummer, quite. Fact is, I have been ex- 
 hibiting around the country the great invention that you 
 have doubtless heard about, the graphophone. I wanted 
 to give an exhibition at Barren Rocks, and the people I 
 put up with at Big Town said you would be the man 
 to see about getting permission to give it." 
 
 "Did you bring it with you ?" father asked. I could see 
 he was excited about it. Father was always greatly 
 interested in things that went on "outside," as mother 
 called the world beyond Barren Rocks. She often said 
 she was sorry he could not be in a big city where he 
 would come more in touch with things. 
 
 "Yes, I have it outside. I thought I wouldn't trouble 
 bringing it in, for I will have to hunt some place to stay 
 all night yet." 
 
 "You will stay all night right here. Where is your 
 graphophone? We will bring it in, and perhaps you are 
 not too tired to explain it to us." 
 
 "Thank you very much for letting me stay with you 
 over night. This is better fortune than I expected. We 
 will go out and get my luggage." 
 
 I had never heard any one thank another for letting 
 him stay all night. That was something that we took 
 for granted. No one ever asked if it would be all right. 
 People just came in and sat down to stay and that was 
 the end of it. Nevertheless I thought it sounded nice in 
 this man, and when he and father had gone out I spoke 
 to mother. 
 
 "Isn't he nice, mother? And, mother, what is a 
 graphophone ?" 
 
 Mother was excited too. 
 
 "It is a talking machine, sonnie. It is a thing that will 
 sing and talk like a person."
 
 98 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Is it a parrot, mother ?" 
 
 "No, sonnie. It winds up like a clock, and then sings 
 and plays." 
 
 "Did you ever see one, mother?" 
 
 "No, but I have read about them. They are wonder- 
 ful. Here they come." 
 
 Father and the man entered. They carried between 
 them a long box, and put it on the floor. 
 
 "So this is a graphophone ! Well, well. Does it really 
 talk ?" father asked. 
 
 "O yes. This is the latest make. Sometimes it don't 
 do very well, but usually it is clear. They are a won- 
 derful invention." 
 
 "Ask him to open it, mother," I implored. 
 
 "Be quiet, sonnie. He will open it if he wants to." 
 
 The man heard what I said. 
 
 "Of course I'll open it. You give a hand, Mr. Rhodes, 
 and we will soon have a concert all to ourselves." 
 
 I became greatly excited. 
 
 "Do keep still, Ben. Quit hopping around," Henordered. 
 
 The graphophone was in a box with a hinge top. The 
 man unfastened the catches, and turned back the lid. 
 He then lifted off a covering of black oilcloth. I gasped 
 at what was revealed. There was a great horn such as 
 I had never seen before. From its small base it flared 
 out to an enormous size, and was painted green with gold 
 trimmings. There was also a little box-like affair which 
 the man lifted up and put on the reading table. He 
 wound at it, and then fastened the horn to it, suspending 
 it like a derrick, from an ornamented gold chain. All the 
 time he worked at it he explained to father, who stood 
 by the most interested I had ever seen him. Finally 
 the man looked up at us with a smile. 
 
 "Now we are ready to play," he said, as he bent over 
 the machine and made some adjustments.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 9& 
 
 Then he stepped back. There was a low squawking 
 sound from the graphophone, a strident hectic noise that 
 was like the squeak of a rabbit or the cry of the chicken 
 hawk. There was also a muffled grating such as Hen 
 made by drawing his fingernail over the rough parts of 
 the blackboard. Then the machine stopped suddenly. 
 
 "Huh !" grunted the man. "Must be a little tight from 
 the cold. I'll just wind it up again. Maybe it will go 
 better the next time." 
 
 He worked at it for a few minutes, made some fresh 
 adjustments, and stepped back. Again there was the 
 squawking and the grating. But this time there was 
 something more. Faint at first and unintelligible, there 
 was a medley of sounds as of confused voices. Then 
 the general hubbub subsided, and a lone voice issued from 
 the instrument. It was low and ridiculously small, like 
 the voice of some wee dwarf straining to his utmost to 
 produce the effect of a full grown man. It was going 
 at a frightful speed, and it was impossible to tell what 
 was said. 
 
 Now, I felt downright ashamed. At first I had been 
 all curiosity, and as he had made his adjustments, I stood 
 with mouth, eyes and ears open, determined not to 
 miss a single thing. But when the little dwarf began to 
 bray forth his hybrid air, a feeling came over me that 
 all was not as it should be. 
 
 I looked at the man. He was standing in triumph 
 over the machine, looking as though every word that is- 
 sued from it were a compliment to him. I had thought 
 there was some mistake ; that the instrument was not per- 
 forming properly. But his air of triumphant satisfaction 
 made it clear that the fault was with me, and not his 
 beloved graphophone. 
 
 Next I glanced over at father. He sat like a graven 
 image, his head to one side and his brows puckered, as
 
 100 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 if carefully weighing the merits of the great invention. 
 And I could see that he was impressed. 
 
 Then I looked at mother. Her attitude was not one 
 of absorbed attention. She looked over at father just as 
 I looked at her. And when her eye caught mine, it held 
 a merry twinkle. I tittered. She motioned to me, and I 
 went over to her and sat down on her lap. When the 
 selection was finished, there was a moment's silence. 
 
 "Isn't it a funny thing, mother?" I asked. 
 
 But father's voice, as he discussed the merits of the 
 wonderful invention, completely drowned my own. Ac- 
 cording to Mr. Gardner for that was the man's name 
 it was the most wonderful triumph of modern times; 
 and father agreed with absolute conviction. 
 
 There were a few other selections, all in the same 
 squawking voice, a few more explanations and comments, 
 and the entertainment was over. It was arranged that 
 father and Mr. Gardner should go to the trustees of the 
 school the next day, to arrange for having the entertain- 
 ment in the schoolhouse. 
 
 The next morning we started out, for I had got per- 
 mission to go along. We crossed the river to go to see 
 old Herb Ellanger first. He was big and fat and crabbed. 
 He usually wore an old faded blue shirt, and stuffed his 
 jeans pants into his boot tops. There was something 
 wrong with one of his eyes, although it looked all right. 
 But he couldn't see out of it, and when he talked to a 
 person he turned his head to one side and glared bale- 
 fully out of the good eye. 
 
 We found him out at the barn. 
 
 "Good morning, Parson," he said with as much grace 
 as he could muster. 
 
 But he did not speak to Mr. Gardner. Rather, he 
 fixed on him his one sound eye and contemplated him 
 steadily with a fixed and pessimistic stare. Mr. Gardner
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 101 
 
 had seemed very versatile and resourceful at our house, 
 but he coloured under old Herb's gloomy gaze. He 
 seemed greatly relieved when father took upon himself 
 the task of explanation. 
 
 "A graphophone, hey ? And what do them there things 
 do?" 
 
 Father told him explicitly and with considerable de- 
 tail, but old Herb seemed unenthusiastic. 
 
 "And what is to be the price for gittin' in?" 
 
 Mr. Gardner here spoke up, eagerly. 
 
 "Only fifteen cents for adults, and ten for children." 
 
 A cunning look came into the sound eye. He rolled 
 it up and looked at the sky meditatively. 
 
 "And what about the trustees, hey ?" 
 
 "Why, I'll let you and your family in free, of course. 
 That is for the use of the schoolhouse, you know." 
 
 "Well, I don't know as I keer nothin' much about 
 them things, but I guess you might as well go ahead and 
 give it." 
 
 We left him standing just outside the barn, his hands 
 in his pockets, looking fixedly after us. 
 
 Our next man was Alex McRand. He was short and 
 bald and stolid. I heard father tell mother once that the 
 surest way for him to get the blues was to talk for an 
 hour with Alex McRand. His eyes were cold, his nose 
 blunt, and he was heavy jowled. His mouth set in a 
 hard line, and when he talked he jerked out his words 
 in cold, dispassionate sentences that made me lose all 
 my enthusiasm whenever I heard him. Father said, 
 though, that you could not expect much more from an 
 Advent. But he held to his faith in the same cold way 
 that he held to his store. It made father mad when he 
 closed up on Saturday. And on Sunday mornings as we 
 went by to church, he sat in the door of his store and 
 watched us go by with his hard, impersonal stare.
 
 102 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 With him, Mr. Gardner undertook the explanations. 
 He listened without a word, looking stolidly at Mr. Gard- 
 ner's mouth as he talked, as if estimating the number 
 of movements his lower jaw made. When he had fin- 
 ished, it was some time before he spoke. 
 
 "You are a stranger in these parts?" he asked, in a 
 tone that implied that a stranger in these parts should 
 be watched with suspicion. 
 
 "I regret that I do not live here," he answered with 
 a smile. 
 
 "Regret it? Why do you regret it?" 
 
 "Why, I I merely meant that that " 
 
 Father interrupted. 
 
 "It is really a wonderful thing, Brother McRand. I 
 heard it last night. It would be well to have the people 
 hear it." 
 
 "I'll let you have the schoolhouse, provided I don't 
 have to pay to get in," he said to Mr. Gardner. 
 
 "Certainly, Mr. McRand. That always goes without 
 saying. Thank you." 
 
 Estil Hankerton was the last, and I knew he would 
 consent. He always consented that is, if his wife al- 
 lowed him. His sandy moustache drooped down and 
 hid his wavering mouth ; but what he lacked in the way 
 of resolution his estimable wife made up, and with 
 interest. 
 
 He greeted us with an apologetic smile, and gave his 
 consent without protest. But as we were leaving for 
 home, he came out and called to us. We waited until 
 he came down. He smiled feebly. 
 
 "My wife that is she will want to come, and " 
 
 '^Certainly, Mr. Hankerton. I'll see that she gets in." 
 
 "Pretty shrewd at bargaining, aren't they?" father 
 asked as we went on toward home. 
 
 Mr. Gardner smiled.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 103 
 
 "Always. And it may look more that way to-night." 
 
 "You mean " 
 
 "Wait and see." . ' 
 
 It was almost noon when father and I got back. Mr. 
 Gardner stopped with Alex McRand for dinner. 
 
 "Is it all right?" mother asked. 
 
 "Yes. All right, but," he added with a smile, "they 
 made him promise to let them in free for the privilege." 
 
 "I knew Mame Hankerton wouldn't let thing like " 
 
 But father looked at me and then at her and she checked 
 herself abruptly. "I hope they have a good entertain- 
 ment," she finished. 
 
 "How much is the admission to be?" Hen wanted to 
 know. 
 
 "Fifteen cents for adults and ten for children." 
 
 "Will we go?" 
 
 "Certainly we will go." 
 
 Father always said he was willing to support anything 
 that was for the good of the community. 
 
 It was always a mystery to me how news spread about 
 over the country. There were no telephones, no trains, 
 and the mail came usually once or twice a week in good 
 weather. But news did spread. 
 
 That afternoon people came by our house and stopped 
 to talk about the great entertainment. And long before 
 dark stragglers began to gather at the store, where they 
 would stay until time to go to the schoolhouse. 
 
 Before dark Hen rowed the boat across the river and 
 climbed the hill toward Ellangers'. In about an hour he 
 came back, looking greatly elated. Herb Ellanger came 
 with him. But he stopped at the gate while Hen came 
 on into the house. Margaret was out in the kitchen, and 
 Hen went on through. 
 
 A little later I heard the kitchen door close, and Mar- 
 garet appeared from around the house. She went out
 
 104 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and shook hands with Herb. From my point of vantage 
 at the window, I could see them easily, although I could 
 not hear what was said. 
 
 Herb looked up and down the river, scrutinised the 
 heavens rapidly, and swallowed hard. I saw his Adam's 
 apple bob up and down, and imagined that Margaret was 
 watching this same organ with a critical eye. Herb was 
 very nervous and his neck was red. But at last he man- 
 aged to say something. Margaret shook her head de- 
 cidedly a time or two, but he persisted, evidently urging 
 upon her the advisability of a course of action. But their 
 parley ended and she came slowly into the house. Hen 
 met her. 
 
 "Did you?" he inquired. 
 
 "No, I didn't did you!" and she went back to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 We got ready before it was time to start, and started 
 before it was time, but father always liked to get to 
 places early so he would have time to talk to the people. 
 
 But there was no one to talk to when we got to the 
 schoolhouse. There were only a few boys standing out- 
 side. So we did not stop there, but went directly in. 
 Father and mother sat in one seat, well up toward the 
 front, and Margaret and I sat just behind them. The 
 teacher's desk had been moved to the centre of the plat- 
 form, and on it the graphaphone had been placed, the 
 great horn pointing back toward the benches. 
 
 Before long there was quite a commotion outside. 
 Some one was coming in. I turned to look, and saw 
 Hen and Jane. Jane looked much excited, and her face 
 was very red. But Hen was as cool as a cucumber. 
 He marched Jane up to a seat just behind us, and they 
 sat down. I thought Hen looked handsome. His hair 
 was slicked down over his head, and there was a mark 
 where his hat had been. Hen looked smart, too. The
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 105 
 
 way he puckered his brows and looked about, made him 
 appear extremely intelligent. And he was. 
 
 We could soon tell from the noise outside that others 
 were coming. Mr. Gardner was standing at the door to 
 collect the admissions. He had got six admissions from 
 us, although I came in for ten cents. When Hen had 
 asked for some money, father said that he ought to try 
 to get in for ten cents. But Hen got very angry, and 
 said he would try nothing of the kind. So he and Jane 
 came in as adults. 
 
 Estil Hankerton and his family were the next to ar- 
 rive. Mrs. Hankerton came first, and importantly 
 brushed by Mr. Gardner, saying nothing about admission. 
 He put his hand out in front of her, and she regarded 
 him coldly. I don't know what she was going to say, 
 for Estil came meekly up and explained. Now Estil 
 Hankerton was old, and he and his wife lived at home 
 by themselves. But he had three married daughters and 
 two married sons. Between them the daughters had 
 eleven children, and the sons seven. That made twenty- 
 nine in the family, all told. 
 
 They were all out in force. Mrs. Hankerton swept 
 grandly up front, followed by Estil, meek and apologetic. 
 The children and the children's children filed in after 
 them. Mr. Gardner put his hand out in front of the 
 first son: 
 
 "Admissions, please," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Hankerton, Senior, heard him, just as she was 
 settling in her seat. She got up with great dignity, and 
 walked back to the door. She confronted Mr. Gardner. 
 
 "Mr. Showman, these are my children, and the trus- 
 tees and their families gets in free," and she swept back 
 to her seat. 
 
 With an apologetic bow, Mr. Gardner stepped back
 
 106 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and motioned them to enter. They filed in and filled 
 up a large section of the seats. 
 
 Two boys came in next, and paid their ten cents hur- 
 riedly, saying they were under twelve. I knew they 
 were not, for Ed Rainey was thirteen, and Bill Hunter 
 was seventeen. 
 
 Old Herb Ellanger came next, and in addition to his 
 family he brought some of his wife's friends from over 
 the river. But none of them paid. He fixed his sound 
 eye coldly on Mr. Gardner. 
 
 "Well, we are here," he announced with a frosty smile, 
 and waved his hand toward those that were with him. 
 
 "Glad to see you out," Mr. Gardner murmured as they, 
 passed by him, but the smile that he summoned to his 
 face was twisted. 
 
 Mother leaned over and whispered something in 
 father's ear. I was getting greatly interested, for I be- 
 gan to see what the man had meant when he told father 
 the folks were not done driving bargains. 
 
 A few others came in. One woman carried a big boy 
 as if he were a baby, so she would not have to pay for 
 him. But I was not so much interested in them. I 
 was waiting for old Alex McRand. He was the richest 
 man in the country, and I was wondering what he 
 would do. 
 
 Soon Grouchie swaggered up to the door, said he was 
 the son of a trustee, and darted for a seat. Following 
 him were old Alex and his wife, their daughter and her 
 husband, and an older son. None of them paid. 
 
 The house was well filled when the entertainment be- 
 gan. The graphophone did not perform very well. The 
 little dwarf tried in vain to get his voice to soar, but 
 it was a pretty discouraging effort. Mr. Gardner ex- 
 plained before each selection, just what it was to be. 
 And by imagining hard I was able to get a fair effect;
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 107 
 
 but the audience muttered frequently, and from the tone 
 of their whisperings it was plain that they were disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 The entertainment broke up amidst a general hubbub. 
 Father clapped his hands in a vain effort to create some 
 enthusiasm, but the effort was not a success. He went 
 over and shook Mr. Gardner's hand. 
 
 "Well, sir, that was very good. I am glad you came 
 around. We don't have enough things like this up here." 
 
 As he was speaking Alex McRand came up. His 
 mouth was set in the usual hard lines, and his look was 
 surly. 
 
 "Well, stranger, if that's what you call your wonderful 
 invention, I'm glad I didn't invent it," and he walked 
 stolidly away. 
 
 Estil Hankerton started up, a look of mild interest on 
 his face, but his wife laid a hand on his arm. 
 
 "Come, Estil. We have no more time to waste here." 
 
 Mr. Gardner heard, and again he smiled the twisted 
 smile. He turned to father. 
 
 "Well, anyway," he said, "we took in a dollar and 
 eighty cents." 
 
 "A dollar and eighty cents?" father said, surprised. 
 "Why, there must have been near a hundred here." 
 
 "There were," Mr. Gardner answered, still with the 
 twisted smile.
 
 Chapter 8 
 
 BARREN ROCKS was beautiful in June. Even very 
 early in the spring the woods were dotted white with 
 the dogwood; and a little later the redbud flamed out its 
 contribution to nature's picture. And when the service- 
 trees lifted their long white branches out, we knew that 
 summer was in the air. 
 
 But by June, everything was out. The leaves were 
 full, and the warm sun drew from the hills a savoury 
 woodsy smell that brought a great peace. It was along 
 in June, too, that the river began to go down, and deep 
 white sand bars cut in here and there where the yellow 
 waters had swirled swiftly during the winter. Little 
 Creek dried up in many places, and the stones on the 
 bottom were white and hot. The fish went into the deep 
 holes and got in the shade of the big rocks. It was 
 real summer. 
 
 We had had an early spring. In the middle of April 
 father got out the shovel plough, and I followed along 
 behind him in the furrows, burrowing my bare feet into 
 the warm earth, picking up rounded and curious stones, 
 and looking for mulligrubs. We had cleared off a piece 
 of new ground during the winter, and it ploughed up 
 black and fallow. The plough jerked along through it, 
 pulling out the tender sumac roots. I liked the new 
 ground. There were no fish worms or mulligrubs in it, 
 only little wriggling bugs with short legs and pink backs. 
 
 108
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 109 
 
 But the ground was fragrant and soft. And it was rich. 
 Corn planted in it soon shot up a rich dark green. 
 
 We ploughed our garden early, too. And we had hauled 
 many loads of rotten leaves from the creek bed and scat- 
 tered over it. Then in the rich warm earth we planted 
 our garden radishes and cucumbers, beans, corn and all. 
 The rains came just right, and father declared that every- 
 thing was bound to grow that spring. 
 
 But one day in late June it was very hot and very still. 
 The little white oaks up on the hillside were standing 
 very still, their white furry leaves drooping with the heat. 
 The big trees on the mountains were still, and only at 
 times did they stir. Even then it was only in certain 
 places, as if some fitful breeze had singled them out for 
 special favours. Waves of heat radiated from the dry 
 stones on the dry creek bottom. It was very hot and 
 dry and calm. 
 
 Along in the afternoon the wind rose slightly. It 
 blew in warm unsteady gusts, bending the trees down for 
 a moment, and then dying down again. 
 
 The sky became slightly overcast, then more so, and 
 far over in the south-west it took on a sickly yellow hue. 
 This spread rapidly, and soon great yellow clouds came 
 bellying up, carried swiftly along by the gathering wind. 
 They became more general and the wind rose higher. 
 
 It was not long before they looked angry and malig- 
 nant. As the wind blew them along, little spirals shot out 
 from the main body like swift scouts reconnoitring the 
 way. And always the sickly yellow. 
 
 We were standing in the yard watching. Father spoke. 
 
 "Henry, you and Ben go to the stable and see that 
 everything is safe. Margaret, you put down all the win- 
 dows, and we will get inside. There is going to be a ter- 
 rible storm, and it will be hail too, if I know anything 
 about it."
 
 110 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 When Hen and I returned the others were inside. 
 The windows were down and it was dreadfully hot. But 
 father said it was safer that way. 
 
 It was not long before it came. Looking up the bot- 
 tom, we first saw a number of big round drops fall 
 heavily to the ground. They came nearer, until they 
 splashed noisily about the house. I saw them fall on the 
 white stones, making big black spots where they fell. 
 When they fell on the road little pencils of dust shot up, 
 only to fall back and curl up in small wet discs. 
 
 The rain increased. Up the bottom we saw it coming 
 in great white sheets, and where we could catch glimpses 
 of the river we saw the drops bound back as they hit the 
 water. It gave the appearance of some great infuriated 
 monster shaking and snarling and snapping to free itself 
 from the stings of a deadly insect pest. 
 
 And the water was lashed into white foam. 
 
 We thought we saw the hail coming, but it was not 
 until it struck on the clapboard roof that we were sure. 
 Then we saw it falling in the yard. Great white balls 
 hit the ground and bounded high into the air. It fell 
 harder and harder. I was so interested in watching it 
 that I did not notice father until I saw mother look at him 
 anxiously. He was standing at the side window looking 
 out toward the garden and the corn field. He met 
 mother's glance, and his face was drawn. 
 
 "I'm afraid it's all up, honey," he said. 
 
 He drew mother over toward him, and they stood look- 
 ing out. 
 
 I ran to the side window to see. The great pieces of 
 hail were falling on the garden and corn field and shat- 
 tering everything they fell upon. The corn stalks were 
 stripped almost bare. They were bent and twisted where 
 they stood at all. For the most part they were bent far
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 111 
 
 over, and the few stringy blades that were left were 
 being beaten into the earth. 
 
 For over an hour the storm continued, and never for 
 a moment did it abate. The heavy yellow clouds heaved 
 up like gigantic monsters freighted with plague, dropped 
 their destructive burdens and lumbered on, making room 
 for the others that were to follow. Ragged blotches of 
 mist swirled fantastically under them, and the angry 
 tendril scouts shot down the sides of the mountains. 
 
 When it was over the sun, hanging low over John- 
 son's Gap, shot its rosy rays down upon a world of ruin. 
 We hurried out to look. The garden was a shamble. 
 Everything was stripped bare, and as if that were not 
 enough, great piles of hail were banked up against the 
 tender roots, and before they melted even the roots were 
 killed. It was clear there would be no gathering of crops 
 that fall. Our garden, our corn all that we had, was 
 ruined. 
 
 The next day every one that went by our place had 
 the same story to tell. The storm had been general. 
 Up the river, over on the ridges, down the river, and 
 back among the hills, the storm had visited each place 
 with impartial fury, and the work of the year had been 
 destroyed after it was too late to begin over again. 
 
 The atmosphere at the church the next Sunday was 
 sombre. Long before time for the service the people 
 gathered, the women going inside and talking excitedly; 
 the men staying outdoors, sitting on fallen logs and 
 stumps, whittling carefully and telling of the catastrophe 
 in exact appraising voices, each of which seemed to con- 
 tain an element of triumph in being able to make more 
 graphic and terrible than the previous, every incident 
 that had befallen. 
 
 But underneath .all there was the feeling of terrible 
 loss. Back in the mountains where we lived each man's
 
 112 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 little farm was his principal source of supply. The out- 
 side world was distant and unreal, and even had it not 
 been, there was no money with which to buy. This storm 
 then meant a hard winter, how hard we were all in time 
 to find out. 
 
 When father appeared at the church he seemed hag- 
 gard, like some one who had been wrestling with secret 
 and unknown powers. And while he sat and talked with 
 the men as usual, opening his great bone handled knife 
 and whittling at a splinter he had broken off a twisted 
 tree, there seemed about him some secret undercurrent 
 that made the conversation somewhat constrained. Final- 
 ly he got up and shut his knife with a snap. 
 
 "Well, brethren, it's time for us to go in." 
 
 One after another the men got up, straightened them- 
 selves out awkwardly, and filed solemnly into the church. 
 
 The church was built of logs long pine trees that 
 had been cut in the hills, hewn out with the broad-axe, 
 notched at the corners and laid together. The benches 
 were made of the same material, the under side round, 
 some even having the bark still on them, the top side 
 hewn smooth. On each side of the room was a great 
 burnside stove, now rusty and cold, with the inside filled 
 with twigs and leaves. Father went up into the pulpit in 
 front, which was a slight platform with a small wooden 
 pulpit in front. 
 
 He got up and looked over the congregation slowly. 
 Usually his face was somewhat hard, and his voice as he 
 spoke had a metallic sound that made me think of ice or 
 cold iron in the winter time. But to-day his haggard look 
 made him seem more sympathetic, and his voice made 
 me feel that he understood very much about things. 
 There was only one song book in the church and he had 
 it. He announced the first hymn, read the first two lines, 
 and commanded us to rise and sing.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 113 
 
 Without an organ, without books, with only the read- 
 ing of the words to help us remember them, we started. 
 Mother led, and her voice was clear and sweet as it fol- 
 lowed in a slow undulating manner through the pleading 
 lines of the old song: 
 
 Come, thou fount of every blessing, 
 Tune my heart to sing thy grace ; 
 
 Streams of mercy, never ceasing, 
 Call for songs of loudest praise. 
 
 When we had finished this part we all stopped, and 
 father read the second part of the first stanza, and so 
 on until we had sung the whole hymn. When the time 
 for the sermon came, the men leaned back in the benches, 
 and stretched out their legs, scraping the floor with their 
 boots as they did so. 
 
 Father took as his text, "The Lord is merciful and 
 gracious, slow to anger and plenteous in mercy." There 
 was a tightening of tension over the whole church as he 
 spoke the words. The women's faces wore a patient look, 
 but the men seemed rather defiant, at least non-com- 
 mittal. 
 
 "Brethren," father began earnestly, "these words are 
 true. We have just recently passed through a very try- 
 ing experience, but these words are true, and are a very 
 present help in time of trouble." 
 
 Slowly and with measured words he spoke to us, his 
 voice seldom lifted very high, but always throbbing with 
 an awful conviction. A man was making bricks on a 
 certain farm, he told us, and wanted the sun to come out 
 and bake them hard. He prayed for warm and dry 
 weather. A second man living near was raising corn, and 
 he wanted abundant rain to make his corn grow. He 
 prayed for showers. Now, could the Lord please them 
 both? To satisfy one would be to deny the other. So
 
 114 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 maybe what had been a calamity for us had been a bless- 
 ing to some one else. We must not doubt the providence 
 of God. Also, we were limited in our understanding. A 
 man saw but the corner of a great painting. He thought 
 it was but an unsightly blotch of paint. But when the 
 cover was removed and he saw it all, it was a thing of 
 symmetry and beauty. So if we could see all, we would 
 understand the place of the storm in the divine plan. 
 
 There father paused and his face blazed with a terrible 
 conviction. There was another point, he said. Israel's 
 calamities had come upon them as the result of sin. They 
 had been unfaithful, had forsaken the true God, and were 
 punished as a result. Perhaps there were sinners in our 
 community that had brought upon us this terrible thing 
 as a result of their wrongdoing. And he closed with an 
 appeal for men to repent and flee from the wrath to 
 come. 
 
 After the benediction the people stood around uncer- 
 tainly, waiting. A drummer who had been delayed in 
 Barren Rocks over Sunday had come out to church, and 
 after the sermon he hurried up to father. 
 
 "An admirable discourse, Doctor," he said holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 Old Jud Brian, a giant mountaineer from back among 
 the hills came up and elbowed him away roughly. He 
 stuck out his great hand and gripped father's tightly, 
 shaking it up and down slowly. His eyes grew moist. 
 
 "Come home with me for dinner, Brother Rhodes," he 
 said. 
 
 Father accepted and I was wild with delight, for Mrs. 
 Brian was little and friendly and laughed a lot, and al- 
 ways had loads and loads of good things to eat. 
 
 Mother went around among the women shaking hands. 
 Rude Hamilton edged up to her mysteriously. 
 
 "I tell you, Sister, there was a lot of truth in that ser-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 115 
 
 mon. If some people I know would forsake the evil 
 of their ways and repent, there wouldn't be storms like 
 the one we have just had." 
 
 Mother looked around helplessly, and just then some 
 one came up, and she began shaking hands anew. Mrs. 
 Hamilton turned away disappointedly, but soon bright- 
 ened, and made her way toward father. 
 
 "I am glad you said what you did, Brother Rhodes. 
 There is altogether too much wickedness among our 
 people. If they don't mend their ways I am afraid of 
 what might happen." 
 
 "The Lord knows best, Sister. We must leave all to 
 him." 
 
 "I know. I know. But sometimes I think we ought 
 to take a hand in it ourselves." 
 
 We went home with 'Mrs. Brian, and after dinner I 
 spent the glorious afternoon out in the fields. 
 
 As the summer passed the results of the storm be- 
 came more apparent. When we went to cut our corn we 
 had to straighten up what few crooked stalks remained 
 and cut them with the cutter. It took us but a day, while 
 it otherwise would have taken a long time. When we 
 husked it out and put it in the crib, it filled only one 
 corner, where it usually filled the whole crib. What we 
 did have was little nubbins such as we usually sorted out 
 for the cow. The fodder was so filled with sand that 
 it was practically worthless. How we could winter a 
 cow and two horses on it was the problem that worried 
 father. 
 
 Usually mother put up a lot of canned fruit, berries, 
 apples and the like. She had a big built-in cupboard by 
 the fireplace where she kept it. In ordinary years it 
 was full, but this fall she had but one shelf half filled. 
 She would sometimes look in at it, then look around at us 
 and sigh.
 
 116 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 Father had a way about him when he was in the blues 
 of walking the floor and whistling a mournful tune the 
 words of which ran: 
 
 "O bury me not on the lone prairie," 
 These words came low and mournfully 
 From the pale lips of a youth that lay 
 On his dying couch at the close of the day. 
 
 The air was low and melancholy and sad, and dragged 
 the words out until the whole scene on the lonely prairie 
 was pictured as one of indescribable longing and desola- 
 tion. As the early frosts began to turn the leaves, he 
 would walk the floor for hours and whistle this tune until 
 mother would beg him to stop. 
 
 As father returned Monday after Monday from his ap- 
 pointments he began to look more harassed and con- 
 cerned. Usually when we wanted meal and flour all we 
 had to do was to go to the mill and get it, for the people 
 at the appointments would usually bring a grist in for us 
 when they brought their own load to the mill. But they 
 had little to bring this year, and there was none for us. 
 Early in the fall we quit having biscuits for breakfast, 
 and that was the first effect of the storm upon us. 
 
 The next came when it was time to get our winter 
 clothes. We got none. Mother made me a pair of pants 
 from an old pair Hen had worn the winter before, made 
 him a pair from one of father's, and father went without 
 his customary new outfit. Margaret went with a made- 
 over, and mother sighed when there was no sateen for 
 her new dress. 
 
 My boots had been almost worn out the winter before, 
 and they leaked badly now. Hen had to wear his old 
 ones, too, but he said he was going to school if he had 
 to go barfooted. Hen was going to be a Doctor, and 
 he said he had to have an education. 
 
 Our cow and horses got poor and bony, for the corn
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 117 
 
 and fodder had been gone for a long time. All they had 
 to eat now was straw that Hen and I carried on our 
 backs to them from a straw stack a mile and a half 
 away. The horses got so poor that father would start 
 to his appointments earlier on Saturday in order to give 
 them more time to make the trip. 
 
 We ate the fruit that mother had put up, before the 
 holidays, and aside from corn meal and a barrel of kraut, 
 there was absolutely nothing in the house to eat. Hen 
 went to school without taking his dinner, for he said he 
 was ashamed to take corn bread and kraut. Margaret 
 and I staid at home. 
 
 Day after day father would go out into the woods, old 
 Ponto with him, his long rifle over his shoulder, and 
 tramp all day looking for game. Usually it was quite 
 easy to find, but the hard winter had driven others out to 
 hunt it, and between them it was scarce. It was only 
 the fact that father was a wonderful shot that saved 
 us. As it was he would come in along toward dark with 
 a squirrel or a rabbit or two. 
 
 My, those suppers ! Hot pone baked brown ; squirrel 
 cooked with plenty of hot gravy, and everything warm! 
 Father would take the head and a hind leg as his share, 
 and the rest would be divided up among us ! The great- 
 est thing was the gravy. The pone would crumble up, 
 and with the hot gravy over it, I thought it was the best 
 thing that could be possibly desired. 
 
 All around over the hills I would track rabbits, and set 
 rabbit boxes where I thought they had holed up for the 
 night. Bright the next morning I would slip out and go 
 over my traps. Sometimes there would be nothing, but 
 usually I would have one somewhere. And rabbit meat, 
 while not as good as squirrel, tasted very good to us that 
 winter. 
 
 Then about every week we went out on a 'possum hunt.
 
 118 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 Old Ponto could be trusted to find a 'possum if there 
 was one within the radius of our ramblings, and his bark, 
 however far away it might be, was a signal for us to start 
 running and yelling to get to him. Sometimes we could 
 see Mr. 'Possum sitting up in a little tree, and by shaking 
 the tree he would fall out and Ponto would do the rest. 
 But one time, I remember, he had climbed high up in 
 a beech tree, and on sighting him I was sent up to shake 
 him down. I climbed up to the bough on which he was 
 sitting and shook hard. He fell, but caught by his tail 
 to a lower limb. I climbed down to it and shook again, 
 but as he fell he caught to a limb still lower. The third 
 time I climbed carefully down and shook. Ponto's im- 
 mediate uproar was entirely sufficient to inform me where 
 the 'possum was. 
 
 When we would get home with a 'possum, we would 
 skin it carefully. The skin we would pull down over a 
 pointed board and hang up to dry, for a 'possum's skin, 
 properly dried, brought us twenty-five cents. But the 
 'possum itself would go to the kitchen, and the next day 
 we would have fresh meat for dinner. 
 
 But despite all our efforts there were days when there 
 would be neither rabbit nor squirrel. And hunt where 
 we might, there were nights when Ponto's bark would 
 never be heard. And the next day mother's eyes would 
 be red and father's face would be drawn. It did seem 
 to take so much to go around, and when there was so 
 little it just seemed as though we never could get enough. 
 
 And then I got sick. It began one night, after I had 
 gone to bed without much supper. I dreamed that I 
 stood on a high hill, and looked down into an abyss 
 so deep that I could see no bottom. For a moment all 
 was dark below, and then it was suddenly illuminated 
 with a light so brilliant that I thought my head would 
 burst with the glare. And suddenly there was a narrow
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 119 
 
 belt stretching from my feet right down into the white 
 depth beneath me. I stepped on the belt, and immediately 
 began to slide at an incredible speed along it. I could 
 look off on either side, into spaces so vast that my mind 
 reeled at thought of them; behind me the incline was so 
 sharp that I realised I could never draw myself up again. 
 I must go down, down, forever down. And then in a 
 twinkling I was at the bottom, and the belt was bearing 
 me upward. Far up, a million miles or more, I saw a 
 great white sphere on which the belt was revolving. 
 Now the incline was so steep that I knew I must clutch 
 the belt to keep from falling into the never-ending spaces 
 on either side, only to realise in a wild terror that there 
 was no place to hold to. 
 
 It seemed that I had been on this belt for ages, hurled 
 from one white sphere to another in a glare that fairly 
 burst my eyes, when I felt a terrible pressure on my leg 
 that hurt me. I put down my hand to see what it was, 
 and it rested on father's arm. I opened my eyes. 
 
 I was on a pallet by the fire. Father was bending over 
 me, one hand holding tightly to my leg, and the other 
 pressed against my chest. I saw mother walking wildly 
 about the room, and Hen and Margaret with white faces 
 standing looking down at me. I struggled to get free, 
 but father pressed me down again. 
 
 "O, daddie, let me up," I implored. 
 
 "O, my boy !" and mother sprang toward me, pushing 
 father aside as though he were a straw. She gathered me 
 fiercely into her arms and kissed me over and over again. 
 I was greatly bewildered. 
 
 "What is it, mother?" I asked weakly. 
 
 "Do you remember anything, honey?" she asked. 
 
 Then I remembered, and clutched her tightly in terror. 
 They told me that I had been sick for nearly a week, that
 
 120 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 I had cried out, and fought so fiercely that father had to 
 hold me ; I found that I was very weak. 
 
 Father soon went to bed and slept for a long, long 
 time. Mother never left my side. The second day I 
 remembered I was very hungry. 
 
 "Mother, can I have something to eat?" I whispered. 
 
 She looked at Hen who had come in but a little while 
 before, and he shook his head. Then she went in the 
 room and got father up. He dressed, and I soon saw 
 him go out with the rifle. Hours later he came back, 
 and, coming over to where I lay, showed me a large 
 grey squirrel. 
 
 "See that, Ben? You will soon have all you want to 
 eat." 
 
 Margaret had water boiling in the kitchen, and soon 
 she put before me a big bowl of gravy and a piece of 
 pone. I took little bites so it would last longer, and ate 
 on and on. Then I slept. 
 
 That night mother went to bed. 
 
 The next day she placed a rocker in front of the fire, 
 put a warm comfort in it, and set me down in it. I 
 sat and drowsed and slept. When she had time, she 
 sat and nursed me by the hour; and when father came 
 in he would take me in his arms and nurse me. 
 
 He had an old song that he sang to me over and over 
 again. The words were queer, and the tune was queerer 
 still, and very old, but it rested me a lot, the way he 
 sang it : 
 
 And another dear blessing Mary had, she had the blessing of 
 
 three, 
 To know that her son Jesus could set the poor sinners free. 
 
 It went on and on, a verse for every number up to 
 twelve. It was number seven that I liked best, and I had 
 him sing it many times :
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 121 
 
 And another dear blessing Mary had, she had the blessing of 
 
 seven, 
 To know that her son Jesus could unlock the doors of heaven. 
 
 He confided to me that he had learned it from his own 
 mother when he was just a little boy ; and he told me all 
 about his boyhood in the great log house at Big Bend. 
 
 Day by day I got stronger, for I had plenty of good 
 things to eat. It was only when I was up and around 
 that Hen told me how mother had done without her 
 squirrel in order to give it to me. He declared fiercely 
 that he wished he might get sick, and get all the good, 
 things. 
 
 But even after I was well, the hard winter was still 
 on. Again I took up with the others the same old 
 struggle. 
 
 But one day a letter came for father and it changed 
 it all.
 
 Chapter 9 
 
 HEN had gone for the mail. Even during the sum- 
 mer it came but twice a week, being brought by 
 horseback from Flatwoods, miles and miles away. But 
 during the winter we were lucky to get it at all. For 
 often the carrier would start out, get about half way, 
 and be balked by a flood or a storm. He would then 
 stop and leave the bag at the last house he could reach. 
 Now the people at this house, whoever they might be, 
 were just dying to know what was in this or that 
 package (for the carrier always opened the bag so any 
 one who might ride over could get his mail) and often 
 their curiosity so far got the better of them that the 
 mail never reached its rightful destination. But when 
 it did come through, it would be a red letter day at the 
 store. Father had sent Hen up on this particular day. 
 
 He came back with a number of papers, two or three 
 back copies of the Journal and Messenger which Mar- 
 garet fairly clawed out of his hands, for she was read- 
 ing a continued story and a letter. Father held the 
 letter in his hand and looked it over and over. Mother 
 regarded him impatiently. 
 
 ''Open it, Tommy," she commanded. 
 
 He tore it open, and read it. He folded it deliberately, 
 took it by the corner, and flipped his boot with it; 
 opened it, and read it again. Then he handed it to 
 mother without a word. She read it, glanced up quickly, 
 and went over to him. 
 
 122
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 123 
 
 "O, Tommy, isn't it just splendid !" 
 
 "I thought it would come sooner or later," he said 
 proudly. 
 
 "O, I know. But now", of all times ! O, I am so 
 happy." 
 
 She looked it. Mother usually looked happy, but now 
 she just glowed. And within a day or two I knew the 
 reason so well that I could recite it off by heart as glibly 
 as the Lord's Prayer or the Apostles' Creed. It was 
 this: 
 
 DEAR BROTHER RHODES: 
 
 The West Virginia Baptist Association meets this year 
 at Flatwoods, and at a meeting of the Programme Com- 
 mittee held yesterday it was decided, in recognition of 
 your past services to the Kingdom, to have you give the 
 closing address of the Association. 
 
 As in past years, this honour will carry with it your 
 expenses to the Association, as well as a free-will offer- 
 ing at the close. 
 
 Affectionately your Brother, 
 
 A. H. HAMMON. 
 
 In three weeks the great Association was to be held. 
 A few days after the letter came, father received a 
 programme. It was the first time he had ever been 
 asked to deliver so important an address, and little else 
 was talked of around our house. Father wandered aim- 
 lessly through the woods for hours at a time, and when 
 he returned to the house he would explain each new point 
 to mother. She was excited to death over it, and they 
 would talk over every detail and weigh each word. 
 When the great day came, the two of them went off 
 together on horseback to the railroad. Mother waved 
 back to us from the last bend and I felt very lonely, 
 for they were to be gone for four days.
 
 124 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 The time passed somehow, and on the evening of the 
 fourth day we were all wedged up against the window 
 watching the bend in the road. First we saw old Bill 
 in the gloom turn the bend, and next Bird. I could hardly 
 see mother, she looked so small from that distance, but 
 I knew very well she was there, and that she had man- 
 aged to slip something into the saddle-pockets that I 
 would like. 
 
 The horses seemed to move like snails, and when we 
 couldn't stand it any longer we rushed through the door 
 and down to meet them. Father called out a big "Hello" 
 but I made straight for mother. She jumped down out 
 of the saddle and told Hen he could take the horse. 
 ,We walked home side by side. 
 
 Father was in great good spirits, and after taking 
 off the saddle-pockets, told Hen to put up the horses. 
 Hen edged around to mother. 
 
 "Mother, tell him not to open the saddle-pockets until 
 I get back," he said hurriedly, in the hope that I would 
 not hear. 
 
 "I heard you, smarty." 
 
 "Don't care if you did," he answered back. 
 
 When he got back father had the saddle-pockets on 
 his knee. He drew out a large poke and handed it to 
 me. It was full of peanuts, and I began forthwith to 
 sample them. He handed Margaret a long limp pack- 
 age, and she flew to the fireplace to open it. It was 
 cloth for a dress, the prettiest dress Margaret had ever 
 had. She began to measure it around her, and stick 
 out her foot to see how far down it would go, and 
 how it looked falling around her. Next he held out a 
 box to Hen. When Hen opened it he looked long and 
 earnestly without a word. Then he caught his breath. 
 It was two linen collars and some ties. Hen had been 
 wearing father's collars, which were much too big for
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 125 
 
 him. Father then drew out a bag of mixed candy which 
 he passed around to all. 
 
 "That's all, children," he said, turning the saddle- 
 pocket upside down and shaking it. "But no. Bless me, 
 there must be something in the other side. It feels 
 heavy," and he looked slyly at mother. 
 
 "I don't know what it could be," she said seriously. 
 
 "Why, here is a bundle. What could it be? Here is 
 a name on it, as I live, honey. Mrs. Anne Rhodes, I do 
 declare." 
 
 "You give that here, now sir," mother said, all rosy 
 and nervous, as she snatched the package out of his 
 hands. 
 
 "Open it and let's see what it is," father ordered, 
 as though he were greatly perplexed as to what the con- 
 tents might be. 
 
 Mother picked at the cord nervously, eagerly, and at 
 last it gave. She unwrapped the paper hurriedly, and 
 then caught her breath in a sob at what fell out on her 
 lap. It was a dress of pink sateen, all shining and soft 
 and beautiful. Mother caught it up and buried her 
 face in it and flung herself in father's arms. 
 
 "You old dear. And you never told me a thing about 
 it. O Tommy, Tommy!" Mother cried, and father's 
 eyes got dim, and he got up and pushed her away from 
 him roughly. 
 
 "Get away from here," he laughed. "Go and put it 
 on and we will see how you look." 
 
 "Not now, Tommie. I'm not fixed for it." 
 
 "Of course you are. We want to see you in it." 
 
 She tripped laughing into the bedroom and was gone 
 for a long time. We did not hear her open the door, 
 and the first we knew she was ready was when she 
 spoke from the door. 
 
 "Well, how do you like it?"
 
 126 The Manse at Barren Hocks 
 
 We turned and saw her. Sfie was standing there slim 
 and straight. The dress fell down around her, and there 
 was an arch roguish look on her face that made her 
 very good to look at. Father reached her in a bound, 
 gathered her up in his arms and brought her up and 
 set her down in front of the fire. O, it was a happy 
 night. We looked at her from every angle. She seemed 
 to be getting more curious all the time. She turned to 
 father. 
 
 "Now tell me how much was in the collection, Tom- 
 mie." 
 
 "Indeed I don't know. I had all these things picked 
 out beforehand, and when the service was over I went 
 out and paid for them out of the collection. We came 
 away in such a hurry that I have not counted what was 
 left." 
 
 "Tommy, that was extravagant of you. Count it 
 now." 
 
 From the saddle-pockets father drew a large cloth 
 bag. It was almost full of money. He poured it out 
 in his lap and counted for a long time. There were pen- 
 nies, nickels, dimes, quarters, half-dollars, dollars and a 
 few bills. He counted and counted, laying each dollar 
 in a little heap by itself. When he finally finished, he 
 seemed almost astonished. 
 
 "How much?" mother asked. 
 
 "How much would you say?" he answered. 
 
 "Twenty dollars?" 
 
 "More than that." 
 
 "Thirty?" 
 
 "More yet." 
 
 "Tell me." 
 
 "Forty dollars left, after our expenses have been paid, 
 and what I bought paid for." 
 
 Forty dollars ! It was the most money I had ever seen
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 127, 
 
 at once in my life. And forty dollars at Barren Rocks 
 would go so far ! Our hard winter was over. It meant 
 shoes and warm clothes and sugar and biscuits! 
 
 That night at prayers father prayed a long time. My 
 feet got tired kneeling, and the side that was toward the 
 fire got too hot, and the side farthest away got cold. 
 I thought he never would get through, but I thought it 
 was very nice that he closed it up like he did. He said : 
 
 "And we thank thee, O God, that thou hast never 
 forsaken us, but hast always kept us as under the shadow 
 of thy wing."
 
 Chapter 10 
 
 NO doubt a cow is a very essential piece of prop- 
 erty. I never did like butter, and could not bear 
 sweet milk. I liked fresh buttermilk, but we did not 
 have it very often. For what I got out of it, I would 
 gladly have dispensed with a cow altogether, but we had 
 one, partly, I suppose, because every one else had. 
 
 The wildest enthusiasm could not find anything of 
 beauty in our old cow. She was black, coal black all 
 over, and very poor. She had large ears, a boney head, 
 and was knock-kneed. 
 
 Cows are usually spoken of as mild-eyed and docile. 
 And what is more, the average cow really seems to be 
 a tame innocent inoffensive creature. But our old black 
 cow was none of these. Her eyes were hard, and the 
 look of them was one of mocking hate. The very way 
 her legs bowed in gave a suggestion of braggart swag- 
 ger that was extremely offensive. And she had a way 
 of switching her long burr-knobbed tail that was like 
 waving an insolent challenge to all creatures. Her name 
 was Boss. 
 
 Now Boss had no regular pasture in which to graze. 
 There were no regular pastures around Barren Rocks. 
 There was no cleared place big enough for one, except 
 the corn fields, and nothing grew on them but weeds. 
 The people let their cows run at large in the woods, 
 and browse. Most of the cows when turned out in the 
 spring would not go very far from home. They would 
 
 128
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 129 
 
 browse on the trees near at hand, and usually manage 
 to be near by when milking time came. But it was here 
 that old Boss showed her originality, if not her down- 
 right fiendishness. The farther she got from home the 
 better she seemed satisfied. She really seemed built for 
 long distance travel, for instead of being fat and closely 
 put together like the other cows, she was lean and 
 rangy, and no distance was too great for her to cover. 
 
 Father declared to mother one evening that the cow 
 was possessed of a devil, and while I didn't know exactly 
 what he meant it sounded so awful that I was ready 
 to agree with him on the spot. For, you see, it was my 
 job to hunt the cow when she had wandered off,* and 
 bring her back for milking time. Since she wore a bell 
 that could be heard for quite a distance, this might not 
 seem at first blush such a difficult undertaking. But she 
 had mile after mile to wander in, and aside from roam- 
 ing at will, she had an uncanny prescience in certain 
 matters, and seemed to know when I was near in search 
 of her. For she would stand without moving for hours 
 so the bell would not ring. And at such times it was 
 only by the merest accident that I would be within hear- 
 ing distance when she swung her head around to lick 
 off the flies. But when she did this, the bell clattered 
 for an instant, and gave her away. 
 
 I had been told somewhat sternly that when I went 
 to get the cow I went to get the cow, and that I was 
 not to come back without her. Father was like that. 
 When he said a thing there was an air of finality about 
 it that made it seem perfectly hopeless. 
 
 There were two places where old Boss usually went 
 when she ran away. One was the Hingle Place. It 
 was about three miles up the river. The path to it led 
 along the river bank, through water weeds, nettles, and 
 the pink crawling vines that rode the weeds down in a
 
 130 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 tangle. It was this vine that we broke off to find out 
 how long it would be until we should get married. Each 
 tiny tendril running out from the main vine meant a year. 
 Minnie McRand usually broke hers off short, for she 
 was getting well on. 
 
 There were snakes along this path, too. Great water 
 moccasins crawled up from the river and stretched out 
 their dark stubby bodies to warm in the sun ; and copper- 
 heads from the hills crawled down to the water in the 
 dry seasons. Even where there were no snakes to be 
 seen, the bark that fell off the sycamores curled up in 
 long brown strips and looked enough like snakes to 
 make one jump back when he should see it fleetingly 
 through the weeds. Hingle Place itself was a regular 
 nightmare along about dusk. There was a clearing all 
 grown up with high weeds, an old apple tree near the 
 lower end, and in the centre a dilapidated old house, with 
 the roof falling in and the windows simply naked holes. 
 Rude Hamilton told me that two old people had one 
 time lived there; that the old woman had died, and the 
 old man, broken hearted, had stabbed himself and died 
 at her side, and that they had simply lain there without 
 being buried. Every time I went up that way after our 
 old cow, I thought I could see the bones of the old couple 
 bleached and twisted near the old fireplace. 
 
 Honnells Gap was the other place where I usually 
 looked for Boss when she was not at the Hingle Place. 
 There was nothing very frightful about Honnells Gap, 
 only it was farther from home than the Hingle Place, 
 and when I had to go there it was usually dark when 
 I got back home. 
 
 There was another circumstance that made cow hunt- 
 ing a terrible thing for me. It was said there were mad 
 dogs running about wild. Now if there was one thing 
 I dreaded above all others it was a mad dog. To think
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 131 
 
 of meeting one on some lonely path, and see it come 
 loping toward me, its mouth open and slavering and 
 driveling hectic froth, its eyes hot and feverish, simply 
 made my blood run cold. I had seen a great footprint 
 as of an enormous dog on the top rail of the fence near 
 our house, and. I pictured the brute mad and running 
 wildly about over near the Hingle Place. 
 
 So one afternoon when I started out to bring old 
 Boss home, it was with no anticipation of a beautiful 
 ramble through the sylvan shades, as father sometimes 
 called the woods in his sermons. It was with a com- 
 bined image of copperheads, water moccasins, mad dogs 
 and twisted -skeletons that I fared forth. 
 
 I had not gone very far when I saw Grouchie McRand 
 slouching along in front of me. My heart gave a great 
 leap of relief, for it was sometimes possible to inveigle 
 him to go along with me. But he now seemed more bent 
 on avoiding being seen than anything else. I was mysti- 
 fied, for of all the boys I knew Grouchie was the last 
 one to avoid attention. He usually sought it, and was 
 never more in his element than when the centre of con- 
 versation at the store. 
 
 " 'Lo, Grouch," I called ingratiatingly when I was 
 near enough. I would have done anything to win him 
 to going with me. 
 
 " 'Lo," he muttered shortly. 
 
 "Where are you going, Grouch?" 
 
 "Nowhere; where you?" 
 
 "After the cow. Want to go along?" 
 
 "Guess not ! Did you hear of the fight between a mad 
 dog and a lynx up next the Hingle Place last night ?" 
 
 I felt the hot blood running up to my face. I was 
 almost smothered. 
 
 "Don't, believe it." 
 
 "Don't have to. But you will if you go up there and
 
 132 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 see the blood on the ground where they fit. You will 
 pass right by it on your way up." 
 
 "I ain't afraid," I lied stoutly. "Dare you to come 
 along." 
 
 "Huh, I got something better'n that to do." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Won't tell." 
 
 "You are afraid." 
 
 "I'll tell you if you promise not to tell." 
 
 "Cross my heart, and hope I may die." 
 
 He held out four long black stogies and some matches. 
 
 "See that? How would you like to have one?" 
 
 I looked all about me quickly to make sure no one was 
 in sight. 
 
 "Where did you get 'em?" I asked eagerly. 
 
 "Store. Want one?" 
 
 For answer I closed my fingers eagerly over one. I 
 had never smoked before. Besides, mother said it was 
 wicked for boys to smoke, and father had said he would 
 punish me severely if he ever heard of my smoking. 
 And he had said it with such a hopeless inevitable air 
 that I expected nothing less than to be skinned alive, 
 just like the pictures said the martyrs had been, if he 
 ever caught me at it. But we were away up the river, 
 and I knew father was at home. And besides, I never 
 wanted anything in my life like I wanted that stogy. I 
 wanted to stick the end of it in my mouth, and light 
 the other end and puff out great clouds of smoke in 
 the most manly and up-to-date fashion I could conceive. 
 
 Grouchie took one also, and we carefully bit the ends 
 off. He struck a match on a rock and held it out to 
 my stogy. I drew back. 
 
 "You do it first," I suggested. 
 
 He looked about him again. Then he started up on 
 the bank.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 133 
 
 "We better get out of sight, for fear some one comes 
 along." 
 
 Together we climbed up the bank and sat down be- 
 hind a big rock. Then we both lit our stogies and began. 
 The smoke that I drew into my mouth was stronger 
 and stung more than I had expected, but it was a great 
 thing, even at that. I looked over at Grouchie. He 
 sat humped up, his brows puckered, pulling at his so 
 furiously that it made great hollows in his cheeks. 
 
 "Draw hard, Ben. You don't make half the smoke 
 I do," he scoffed. 
 
 I was determined not to be outdone. Grouchie and 
 most of the other boys had a fashion of making fun of 
 me at times. I guess it was because I was younger 
 than they were, but I was determined that I would 
 smoke as hard as he did, even if I was younger. To- 
 gether we pulled, and so steadily that the first two 
 stogies were soon gone. I felt a dull sensation up above 
 my eyes, and would willingly have quit at that, but when 
 Grouchie suggested that we finish the other two, I de- 
 clared that it would be the greatest fun in the world. 
 We lit them and started in headlong. But we began to 
 slow down before they were more than half finished. 
 
 Grouchie laid his up on the side of the rock, and looked 
 at me searchingly. I held mine off at arm's length and 
 looked critically at the business end of it. 
 
 "Believe it's gone out," I suggested nervously. 
 
 Grouchie got up and straightened himself out. His 
 pants came down a few inches below his knees, and 
 as he stood up they were all wrinkled and puckered about 
 his knees. He placed one hand over against the rock, 
 and leaned on it heavily. Then he sat down and his 
 body relaxed. 
 
 "How do you feel ?" he asked. 
 
 "Fine," I answered.
 
 134 The Manse at Barren Bocks 
 
 "Stand up," he said. 
 
 I stood up. As I unbent, my eyes seemed to dance 
 giddily, and I also leaned over against the rock. This 
 gave me fair support, but there came a vacant feeling 
 at the pit of my stomach that was anything but pleas- 
 ant. I sat down quickly. 
 
 "Feel funny ?" Grouchie asked. 
 
 "Some," I admitted. 
 
 We sat a long time in silence, looking dully about 
 us. Grouchie got up again and looked about him. 
 
 "There's some paw-paws," he said suddenly, "all ripe 
 and black. They will fix us up," and he made for the 
 tree. 
 
 He brought back three. They were large and black, 
 but they were warm, since they had been lying in the 
 sun. They tasted warm and sickly sweet, but Grouchie 
 declared they were just what we needed, so we finished 
 them bravely and flipped the black seeds away. Then we 
 waited. 
 
 Grouchie was the first to speak. 
 
 "Believe I'll take a nap," he suggested, and lay down 
 limply on the ground. His face was white, and his eyes 
 rolled about until they looked all white. 
 
 I lay down too. There was a turbulent rolling sen- 
 sation inside that made me glad to stretch out. But 
 stretching did not seem to do much good. We lay there 
 a long time, and finally Grouchie got up and dragged 
 himself weakly down toward the road. 
 
 "Guess I'll go home," he announced. 
 
 I lay with my hands under my head and watched him 
 out of sight. He looked wretched and forlorn as he 
 went away, and I wondered idly when he would get 
 home. 
 
 It was not until the long shadows of the trees began 
 to fall over the river that I realised where I was and
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 135 
 
 what I had been about. I sat up suddenly and looked up 
 toward the Hingle Place. It was already a sombre place, 
 the long evening shadows falling gloomily over it. I got 
 up and started toward it on a dead run. My legs were 
 wabbly and I felt wretchedly weak, but I held myself 
 rigidly on. 
 
 I imagined I could see a fat pouchy snake under every 
 weed, and my only safety seemed in running wildly 
 along. When I reached the Hingle Place I was out of 
 breath but determined. I stopped a moment and listened 
 for the cow bell. It was not to be heard. I waited a 
 moment longer, thinking perhaps old Boss would throw 
 her head back to lick off the flies and give herself away, 
 but there was no sound. 
 
 In nameless terror I climbed up over the rock cliffs 
 and started toward Honnells Gap. At every cliff I 
 imagined a great bear or lynx or that most nameless 
 horror of all, a catamount But I reached the Gap safely, 
 and searched in every conceivable spot. But no Boss. 
 
 Then I started home. From Honnells Gap I could 
 not go back home by the river path. Bad as was this river 
 path my present route was worse. It lay along the 
 ridge for a mile or more through the woods, then it 
 crossed a deep hollow, and the last part lay down the 
 long steep hill, covered with laurel and ivy, thick in dense 
 undergrowth, and crisscrossed with endless grape vines. 
 It was this part that I dreaded most, although the other 
 was bad enough. 
 
 I went more in a run than at a walk. Over fallen trees, 
 round thick clumps of bushes and through the dark 
 woods I went at a furious pace. 
 
 I was almost to the last stretch when an ominous 
 sound in front and to the left caused me to halt abruptly. 
 Something was lumbering noisily through the under- 
 brush, emitting low threatening growls at intervals. I
 
 136 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 knew before I saw it just what it was. But one glimpse 
 of its grisly body made me absolutely sure. It was an 
 enormous grisly bear. The evidence of sight would 
 have been sufficient to confirm this opinion, but when 
 sound was added, all the evidence that could possibly 
 be desired was furnished. I asked for no more, at least. 
 
 Filled with a terror that flung all caution or fore- 
 thought to the winds, my only impulse was to reach home, 
 and to do that one thing in the quickest possible man- 
 ner. The nearest way home was as the crow would fly, 
 and I took that route. Heedless of the direction of the 
 path, I followed my instinct and made for home the 
 most direct way. My first movement was to jump, and 
 I jumped straight toward home, as though hoping to 
 clear the distance at a single leap. The hill was very 
 steep, and the jump carried me quite a way, but brought 
 me down on top of a laurel bush. I scrambled up and 
 made another flying start for home. And it was in this 
 way jumping over logs, tearing through the grape vines, 
 falling, rolling, running, that I went home. When I got 
 there I burst into the house almost in hysterics. 
 
 No wonder I gave them such a fright, for I was pale 
 as a sheet, my clothes were torn, and I was covered with 
 blood from scratches on my hands and face. But I 
 did not know of this at the time. I simply danced about 
 and waved my hands and shouted that a great grisly bear 
 was after me, full tilt. 
 
 There was a general hubbub. Hen looked scared, 
 mother was trying to quiet me, and father looked grave. 
 
 "Where did you see it, son ?" 
 
 "Right at the top of the hill," I cried. 
 
 "Are you sure it was a bear?" 
 
 "Of course I am," I chattered. "Didn't I see it and 
 hear it growl ?" Then I began to cry, partly at helpless
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 137 
 
 anger from not being believed. For I could see that 
 father was inclined to doubt what I said. 
 
 "We will get the gun, Henry, and go and see what 
 we can find," he announced more solemnly. "Anne, 
 wash the boy's face and get him ready to go along 
 back with us." 
 
 We soon started. Father had reloaded the big rifle, 
 and had put a double charge of powder in it. I bristled 
 with pride, for I knew the great bullet, hurled with such 
 a charge of powder, would crash through the forehead 
 of any bear. I had seen it shot before when it was 
 filled like that. The only thing I feared was that the 
 bear would be gone. I should never get over it if it 
 was. for Hen could never let me forget it, and father 
 would say I had been mistaken. Hen 'held old Ponto 
 to a leash, to keep him back for an emergency. When 
 we got near the top of the hill I could see him straining, 
 and I knew he smelled something that excited him 
 greatly. 
 
 We reached the place where I had first seen it. I 
 pointed out the e^act spot to father. He looked around 
 cautiously, then listened. There was no sound. My 
 heart sank within me, but rallied again when I heard 
 a movement in the brush over to our right. 
 
 "Hear it ?" I asked eagerly. 
 
 Ponto growled savagely. 
 
 "Something over there," father conceded. "Hen, 
 loose Ponto." 
 
 Hen untied the leash. Ponto sprang fearlessly toward 
 the sound. We waited. Soon he came back, panting 
 slightly and looking up at us expectantly. 
 
 "Can't understand it," father muttered. 
 
 "Maybe he's seen what it is, and has come back afraid 
 of it," was my interpretation.
 
 138 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 Then there was a low growl from the woods, and then 
 another and another. 
 
 "Hear it?" I encouraged. 
 
 Father listened sharply for several minutes, then 
 broke into a loud laugh, and laughed on and on for a 
 long time. 
 
 I was furious. 
 
 "What you laughing at?" I demanded. 
 
 "Come and see your bear, Ben," he answered. 
 
 He started off fearlessly in the direction of the sound. 
 
 "Better watch out," I cautioned, holding back. 
 
 "Come on," he laughed. 
 
 As we drew nearer there was another growl, but 
 this time there seemed something familiar about it. 
 My heart sank within me. Father hurried ahead and 
 threw the bushes apart. 
 
 "Here's your bear, Ben," he announced. 
 
 As I looked I heard Hen laugh scornfully, and wished 
 the earth would open and swallow me up. Standing 
 contentedly before us was one of our own large sandy 
 razor-backs.
 
 Chapter II 
 
 HEN had always been a great student at school. 
 He did not work much harder than several of the 
 other older pupils, but he was always far ahead of 
 them. He just seemed naturally to get along better than 
 they did. Year after year the teachers came down to 
 visit us, and they never failed to say that Hen was a 
 great student; at times they even went so far as to 
 declare that he had a promising future before him. 
 
 Outwardly Hen himself did not seem to pay much at- 
 tention to these remarks. But occasionally when we went 
 up on the hill to drag down fodder for the cow and 
 horses, he became confidential, and told me of all the 
 wonderful things he meant to do when he grew up. 
 On such occasions his eyes smouldered with a strange 
 fire, and he squared his shoulders as if in the presence 
 of some immediate antagonist. 
 
 Of late months he and father had got in the habit of 
 taking long walks through the woods. They would start 
 off and wander about aimlessly, but all the while talking 
 in an absorbed manner about something that I was 
 unable to understand. After such a trip, they made 
 many mysterious references to higher education, to the 
 power of knowledge, and to the demands of the new 
 age. 
 
 It was all very mysterious to me. I had been the 
 baby in the family for so long that everybody seemed 
 
 139
 
 140 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 to look upon me as very immature ; and I was : Their 
 thinking it made me so. 
 
 But one day the whole matter was cleared up by the 
 appearance of a stranger. He was Professor Notting- 
 dale, he told father, and had come in response to a 
 recent communication, whatever that was. 
 
 He and father walked out to the river bank, and stood 
 talking for a long time. I did not go out, for I thought 
 father did not want me. When it came time for Pro- 
 fessor Nottingdale to leave, he seemed very cordial. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I'll see to that. And we will do our best 
 for him." 
 
 "I thought as much. Well, well, good-bye. The twen- 
 tieth, did you say? That's all right. He will be on 
 hand." 
 
 I stood and watched Professor Nottingdale cross the 
 river and disappear down the bend. Father came into 
 the house and called mother. 
 
 "Well, it is all arranged," he said. 
 
 He seemed greatly pleased. But mother did not seem 
 so happy about it. 
 
 "Is he to go?" she asked. 
 
 "To start in, the twentieth of September. That is 
 a great chance for the boy." 
 
 "What is it, mother?" I asked. 
 
 "Henry is to go to Sistersville to the Seminary," she 
 said listlessly. 
 
 "What is a Seminary?" 
 
 "The Calhoun Seminary. It is a school for young 
 men," father said. 
 
 "And is Hen to go there?" 
 
 "He is, and he starts the twentieth of next month." 
 
 So that was it. That was the cause of the long walks ; 
 the mysterious references to higher education and the 
 demands of the new age.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 141 
 
 "But I thought Hen had finished school," I persisted. 
 
 "He just finished the school here. He will go to 
 Calhoun four years, and then on to college, and then 
 still on." 
 
 "What will he study about?" 
 
 "Henry is going to be a doctor," father said with con- 
 viction. It seemed that that fact settled the whole mat- 
 ter in his mind. 
 
 Hen came in later, and when father told him the 
 arrangement that had been made, he was jubilant. 
 Mother was the only one that did not seem impressed. 
 She left us soon and went into the little back room off 
 the kitchen where we stored the odds and ends. When 
 she came out to get supper her eyes were very red. 
 
 I saw, and instantly realised that something was 
 wrong. I went up to her in a protecting way, as I 
 always did when there was anything the matter. But 
 to my great amazement she pushed me away roughly. 
 
 "Do go away, Ben, and let me alone." 
 
 I was thunderstruck. Mother had never spoken to 
 me that way before. I felt greatly abused. It was as 
 if my thoughtfulness had been unappreciated. And I 
 went away feeling that I never could forgive her. 
 
 At supper she was a little more cheerful, but she did 
 not eat much. I thought to make it plain to her that 
 she had hurt me deeply, and decided to be very cold. 
 But to my chagrin, she did not seem to notice me at 
 all. And she made matters all the worse by bestowing 
 upon Hen completely unnecessary attention. She saw 
 to it that he got all he could eat of everything on the 
 table; and when he was not looking at her, she looked 
 long at him. 
 
 During the ensuing weeks, she did little else but fix 
 things for Hen to wear. She made him shirts, knitted 
 warm socks for him, and a pair of heavy gloves. She
 
 142 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 mended and fixed up all his clothes, and pampered him 
 so indulgently that I was outraged. 
 
 Nor was that all. She had father get a big yellow 
 suit case for him. This she took into the little storage 
 room, and, as she finished something for him to wear, 
 took it in and packed it neatly away. 
 
 The great day arrived at last. I was to take Hen to 
 Monroe where he should catch the train for Sistersville. 
 Breakfast over (and at breakfast mother pressed Hen 
 so persistently to eat all he wanted that I was completely 
 disgusted) I went out to saddle the horses. 
 
 That was another thing. Of late I had had to do all 
 the hard work, while Hen prepared to "enter his class- 
 es." It was a fine thing for him, for he sat lazily 
 about and read while I broke my back with the stove 
 wood. But it was not nice for me. I went to mother 
 about it. I hated to go to her, for I had not forgiven 
 her yet for the way she had treated me. But I was 
 willing to swallow my pride if I could get Hen out to 
 help me with the work. 
 
 "Mother, make Hen come and help me," I demanded. 
 
 "O, run along, Ben. You will not hurt yourself." 
 
 I went along, all right, but not in a very happy frame 
 of mind. To make it all the worse, I passed Hen on 
 my way to the wood pile. He was sitting out in the 
 shade, lazily reading a book. As I passed him, he looked 
 up and grinned. 
 
 "Run along, son. The wood must be in on time," 
 he said. 
 
 How I wished that I were as big as he! If I had 
 been, I should have gone right up to him and had it 
 out with him. But as it was I went on out and chopped 
 the wood. 
 
 So when the morning arrived on which he was to 
 leave, I had to go out and saddle the horses while he
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 143 
 
 put on his fine clothes. Father had got him a store suit, 
 and when I came back leading the horses, he was 
 dressed in it. He did look splendid, but I wouldn't 
 have said so for the world not after the way I had 
 slaved for him. 
 
 I was to ride Bird and Hen was to ride Bill. Father 
 came out of the house carrying the suit case. He took 
 it over and strapped it securely to Bill's saddle. 
 
 "I guess that will hold you," he said. 
 
 Then he went up to Hen. He took his hand and 
 gripped it hard. 
 
 "Well, my boy, good luck to you, and God bless 
 you." 
 
 Margaret stood on the steps, slim and miserable. 
 Mother was not in sight. 
 
 Hen got on old Bill, settled himself in the saddle, and 
 waved a cheerful good-bye. I got on Bird, and looked 
 back over my shoulder. Margaret and father were 
 standing watching us and at the bedroom window, 
 mother stood. With one hand she held back the cur- 
 tain ; and she was looking after Hen as he trotted away, 
 in a way that made me intensely jealous. As I turned 
 away, she put a handkerchief up to her eyes. 
 
 For the moment, I wished that I were going away, 
 never to return; or that I were in some great peril. 
 For the attention that Hen was receiving made me 
 almost hate him. 
 
 But as we rode on across the creeks, up the moun- 
 tains, along the ridges and through the vast forests, I 
 felt the old resentment breaking down, and in its stead 
 a sense of companionship such as I had never felt for 
 him before. We had grown up together, I thought; we 
 had always played side by side, and he had always 
 fought for me. And as the hours wore away our talk
 
 144 
 
 * 
 
 became more intimate, more considerate, more de- 
 lightful. 
 
 It was when I got well along on my return trip the 
 next day that a great loneliness came upon me. I had 
 tied old Bill's halter to the horn of my saddle, so that I 
 would not have to lead him. And when Bird struck 
 up a trot, he lagged behind and the halter sawed across 
 my leg. It was irritation at old Bill's laziness that 
 first made me wish Hen were along. But as the day 
 passed, I wanted some one to talk to. When I passed 
 by the place where we had eaten our lunch the day 
 before, a lump came into my throat. 
 
 And when, late in the evening, I reached home, I 
 found a great gloom there. Father sat musing, and 
 mother looked up frequently from her work and sighed. 
 Even Margaret seemed affected. And again the sharp 
 pang of jealousy shot through me. But as the long 
 evening wore on, I missed Hen too, and became silent 
 like the others. 
 
 But if Hen's going had changed somewhat my status 
 at home, I was soon to learn to my sorrow that it had 
 made a difference away from home. Hen had been big 
 and hard, and when any of the older boys picked on me, 
 he usually dealt with them in such a summary manner 
 that they were willing to meet any terms he might im- 
 pose. 
 
 But the first time I met with the boys after he went 
 away, I noticed a subtle change. Little was said, but 
 Ed Rainey snatched an apple from me, bit a huge bite 
 out of it, and passed it on. When at last it returned 
 to me, it was little more than the core. I was thunder- 
 struck, and looked about me helplessly. To no one in 
 particular, I cried out, 
 
 "Aw, make them give me back my apple." 
 
 It was not so much for the literal return of the apple
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 145 
 
 that I cried, as for summary vengeance upon those who 
 had robbed me. But to my amazement, there was no 
 reply save a general laugh. Ed Rainey even called out 
 something about a coward, and the crowd moved on 
 toward the swimming hole. 
 
 Arrived there, we speedily undressed and jumped in. 
 Now there was one thing that I did not like in the 
 water. I could swim, all right. All of us could swim 
 from the time we could remember. But if any one 
 should slip up on me and duck me, I would strangle. 
 And it had been generally understood that I was not to 
 be ducked. But no sooner had we got fairly cooled off 
 than Ed Rainey slipped up behind me, put his hand on 
 the top of my head, and pushed down hard. I went 
 away under. When I came up I was strangling and 
 coughing. I swam jerkily to the bank and glared at 
 Ed. He laughed. And every one else laughed. I put 
 on my clothes and went home. 
 
 But I couldn't stay at home all the time. And yet 
 whenever I went out it was the same. If we went fish- 
 ing, some one would break my pole or throw my bait 
 into the water. If we went hunting, all the boys would 
 try to run off from me. And wherever or whatever it 
 was, my life was a nightmare. 
 
 Father had been very clear in his teaching. It was 
 wrong to resist. If an enemy hit one cheek, the other 
 was to be turned. And by overcoming evil with good, 
 coals of fire would be poured on the sinner's head. All 
 this was rather mysterious to me. In the first place, 
 Ed Rainey and Floyd Hankerton and Grouchie McRand 
 and Bill Hunter and the rest of them could not be 
 called my enemies. I felt some way that they were really 
 friends. And as to the coals of fire, I agreed most 
 heartily to the method, and admired the ingenuity of 
 the one who had thought it out, but it seemed so remote
 
 146 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 from realisatipn that it did not serve as a very tangible 
 hope. 
 
 But father had been straightforward about it. No 
 doubt could be entertained as to the meaning he had had 
 in mind. 
 
 "If you fight away from home, you will get another 
 whipping when you come back," was exactly what he 
 had said. 
 
 But I felt somewhat certain that it was because I did 
 not fight that the boys were taking such liberties with 
 me. " Traid," "coward," "won't fight," were the most 
 frequent words I heard from them. But it was real 
 facts that finally brought me to a decision. 
 
 We were all up the creek one Sunday afternoon. 
 We had been going along the banks hitting flat stones 
 with others that we picked up, to see how many chubs 
 and horny-heads we could kill, when Grouchie McRand 
 shoved me into the water. I got out quickly, and started 
 for home. But while the others jeered, Grouchie came 
 after me, caught up, and commenced to pound me furi- 
 ously. He hit me on the head, in the stomach; he 
 scratched my hands and face, and kicked me on the 
 shins. I commenced to howl, and ran with all my might 
 toward home. 
 
 I pondered long that night. Why did they always 
 pick on me? Why didn't Grouchie and Ed fight? Why 
 was I the only one they jumped on and bullied? It 
 was a poser, but at last I thought I saw the light. 
 Grouchie did not fight Ed because he was afraid of 
 getting licked. They all fought me because they knew 
 I wouldn't fight. And I drew a conclusion. The only 
 thing for me to do was to fight back, and fight hard. 
 When I thought of what father had said I was halted, 
 but only for a moment. Father was nothing compared
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 147 
 
 to the boys. I would rather take a licking from him 
 than from them. 
 
 But I didn't know how to fight. And with that I began 
 a course of education, somewhat deficient because of the 
 absence of paraphernalia, it is true, but entirely rugged 
 and effective as far as it went. I got a bag half filled 
 with bran, and suspended it from the beams of the 
 stable. And I stood by the hour pounding that bag. 
 My arm got tired, my knuckles raw, but I pounded on 
 with a fierce joy and a growing sense of triumph at 
 every savage punch. Then my arm got so it didn't get 
 tired, and my knuckles got hard and rough. Following 
 the prevailing fashion, I let my finger-nails grow long, 
 and practised scratching the bag with them until it 
 was worn thin. At last one fine day I tfiought my train- 
 ing finished, and bided my time. 
 
 It came. We had all gone back on the hill to the 
 persimmon tree, and found that they were not quite ripe 
 yet. We bit into a few, but the task, was not a very 
 pleasant one; and we were just turning to go home in 
 disgust when I saw a cunning look flit over Grouchie's 
 face. He went over and whispered to Ed Rainey. Ed 
 grinned and nodded his head. 
 
 "Come here, Ben," Grouchie called. 
 
 "What you want?" 
 
 "Come and see," he said. 
 
 I went. When I got up to him, he threw his hand 
 around back of my neck and pulled my head suddenly 
 forward. He stabbed a green persimmon at my mouth. 
 He missed and he stabbed again. 
 
 "Eat it," he snarled. "Eat it." 
 
 I side-stepped neatly and sprang away from him. He 
 came for me headlong. And as he came I mentally 
 pictured the bran bag in place of his head, and whaled 
 away. In my wildest dreams I had never hoped for
 
 148 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 anything quite so complete and satisfying. I landed 
 squarely between his eyes, and he reeled back both in 
 absolute surprise and with a howl of pain. 
 
 Then I lost my head altogether. Up to this time I 
 had been perfectly calm, acting with the precision I 
 used on my bran bag. But with Grouchie's cry went 
 my composure. I trembled in every limb and began to 
 whimper in a silly maudlin way. But it was not with 
 fright. It was with a kind of miniature berserk rage. 
 Whimpering and shaking, I sprang at my dumbfounded 
 victim and began to claw him, pummel him on the 
 head, and kick him wherever he was exposed. It was all 
 too much like a whirlwind to give him time to recover. 
 He tried a bluff. 
 
 "Aw, Ben, I didn't mean nothin'. Quit your hittin* 
 me." 
 
 "Say 'nough," I yelled shrilly. "Say 'nough, an' I'll 
 quit." 
 
 He made some feeble show of resistance, but I was 
 completely beside myself. I hurled myself on him like 
 a fury, bore him to the ground, and kept up a rain of 
 blows. 
 
 "Say 'nough," I demanded. 
 
 " 'Nough," he said weakly. 
 
 I got up. Bill Hunter whirled me around facing him. 
 His face was flushed and his black eyes snapped. 
 
 "Great stuff, Ben. Shake." He stuck out a dirty 
 hand and I shook it. That was a signal for every one 
 to begin talking at once. 
 
 "Fine," "never saw anything to beat it," "knew he 
 had it in him if he would only let out," and other like 
 ejaculations fell on my disturbed soul like sweetest mel- 
 ody. I puffed out. 
 
 "If he wants any more he knows where to get it," I 
 pronounced savagely, shaking my fist at him.
 
 The Manse at Barren Hocks 149 
 
 But he wanted no more. Bill Hunter laid his arm 
 over my shoulder in a friendly fashion, and we started 
 toward home. 
 
 "Guess it's time to go home, boys," he said. 
 
 Together we walked away. The others followed, and 
 there was in their voices as they addressed me a new 
 note. It was of respect. From that time on I took 
 Hen's old place. It was a place of full fellowship.
 
 Chapter 12 
 
 THE biggest event of the year at Barren Rocks was 
 the annual protracted meeting. It usually started 
 a little after Christmas, and lasted anywhere from two 
 to seven weeks, or as long as the seekers continued to 
 come to the altar. 
 
 The crowds were enormous. Every family living near 
 the church would arrange to keep company, and they 
 were not disappointed. For from all over the country 
 the people would pour in. From up the river we al- 
 ways had a regular crowd ; from down the river they 
 were less reliable, but some one always was on hand. 
 No one around Barren Rocks thought of missing a serv- 
 ice ; and from far back among the hills the men in their 
 tall caps and limber boots, and the women with their 
 cheerful red faces would come in such numbers that 
 the church would be crowded for standing room. 
 
 It was in the big meeting that I liked to hear father 
 preach best. He never failed to warm up, and running 
 from side to side of the pulpit, he would denounce the 
 strongholds of Satan, and implore the sinners to seek 
 salvation while it was yet day. But it was when he got 
 over in Revelation, or took his text from Daniel that 
 he was at his best. It is in Daniel and Revelation that 
 the future is foretold, and pale horses ride out of 
 heaven, and great beasts rise up out of the ground, and 
 plagues are scattered about, and there are wars, and 
 trumpets blown, and finally the Judgment Day. And 
 
 150
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 151 
 
 when father preached from one or the other of these 
 books, I always settled down to a period when I would 
 be alternately frozen with the very horror of the thing, 
 or lifted clean out of myself by an imaginary song of 
 Moses and the Lamb. And how father would run ! And 
 how he would hit the pulpit, and finally how the sinners 
 would rush forward to shake his hands and kneel at the 
 altar to be saved. And then some good Brother would 
 start to pray and another to shout and confusion worse 
 confounded would prevail. It surely was the big time of 
 the year! 
 
 When father announced one Sunday, that, Providence 
 permitting, the protracted meeting would start at early 
 lamplighting the next Sunday night, there was a general 
 stir. 
 
 "Now, brethren, we want to do all we can to make this 
 a great outpouring of grace. I want to ask now, that 
 if there are those in the congregation who would like 
 to be remembered in the prayers of the saints ; or if 
 there are any of the household of faith who wish their 
 dear ones remembered, they make their requests pub- 
 licly known now." 
 
 He sat down. There was a great quiet in the room. 
 One man looked at another, and the other looked away 
 quickly, trying not to appear self-conscious. I saw 
 Rude Hamilton from where I sat. Her jaw was set, and 
 I could see her eyes snapping. She stood up. 
 
 "The Lord bless Sister Hamilton," father said sol- 
 emnly. Many others murmured low "Amens." 
 
 "I just want to say, Brothers and Sisters, that we 
 can't expect a revival in this church unless there is 
 prayers among the elect. 'Where two or three are gath- 
 ered together in my name there will I be in the midst 
 of them.' Now unless we gather ourselves together we 
 can't expect no divine outpouring. I think one need is
 
 152 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 more converted church members." She sat down vig- 
 orously, and looked about her. Nobody moved. 
 
 "Are there others?" father's voice broke in encourag- 
 ingly. 
 
 Then Henry Tolliver stood up. He was clearly ner- 
 vous, and he looked about him timidly before he began. 
 Every one loved him. He was white haired, and his 
 voice was soft and kind. He was one of father's great 
 friends. 
 
 There was a solemn hush, and all eyes turned toward 
 him. He cleared his throat nervously and began, his 
 soft kind voice filling the room like music. 
 
 "It is twenty-eight years that I have been living in 
 this way, and in this time I have not seen the righteous 
 forsaken or his seed begging bread. It is a glorious 
 way. But Brothers and Sisters, I have one great sor- 
 row, and when I heard Brother Rhodes announce the 
 meetin' for next Sunday I thought maybe the Lord's 
 time had come at last." He stopped and looked about 
 uncertainly, as if fearful to begin again. "Brothers and 
 Sisters, I have a wayward son. I am not saying who 
 is to blame. We are all sinners, and maybe I have left 
 something undone that I might have done, but, O Broth- 
 ers, I want you to pray for my son. Pray for him that 
 he may be found before it is too late." 
 
 He sat down, and people all over the church began 
 to wipe their eyes. Mother was looking out of the 
 window and the tears were running down her cheeks. 
 There was a moment's silence, and from somewhere back 
 in the church a weak quavering voice was raised in a 
 hymn. Soon the others joined and it was sung to the 
 end. 
 
 "Let thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering 
 heart to thee," and the hymn closed with a lonely quaver- 
 ing sob. And the revival was on.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 153 
 
 "There are others who ought to say the same thing," 
 was Rude Hamilton's comment as we went home. 
 
 The following Sunday night the church was full, and 
 the air was hot and close. The snow had melted off 
 the boots, and gave a moist odour to it. The saved were 
 occupying seats directly in front of the pulpit, and back 
 near the door a noisy crowd of sinners jostled each 
 other and talked good-naturedly. It was the usual be- 
 ginning, the curious were out for a thrill; the church 
 workers were in deadly earnest to win some sinner from 
 his peril; and the sinners for the most part took it all 
 in good-natured tolerance, as if perfectly willing to be 
 the objects of general solicitation, since all were bound 
 to have it so. 
 
 v. 
 
 It was a good week before things got warmed up 
 properly. There had been considerable coldness and in- 
 difference among the members of the church, and father 
 was untiring in his insistence that there could be no 
 revival as long as such a condition prevailed. There 
 were exhortations, prayers, and finally the speaking meet- 
 ing. It was in the speaking meeting that things were 
 usually straightened out. When they would get up to 
 give their experiences, and tell how they had enjoyed 
 the Way, it usually happened that one after another 
 would be stricken by remorse, confess to some secret 
 sin, or ask a Brother for forgiveness, and the meetings 
 would begin to thaw out until real revival fervour 
 prevailed. 
 
 It started on Tuesday night of the second week. 
 Sister Gordon got up. She was tall and thin, and her 
 nose had a fashion of twitching up and down when she 
 was excited. On this occasion it twitched more than 
 usual, and her beady black eyes blinked strangely. 
 
 "Brothers and Sisters, I don't want to be the cause 
 of holdin' up the work of grace in this meetin'. And
 
 154 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 as I have set here day after day and seen how cold and 
 dead it is, I have often felt I had ought to git up and 
 make things right about myself. One of us can't talk 
 about another, for we are all about as bad off as any 
 one. But I just know that I ain't been a doin' right the 
 past year. There has been whole months that I ain't 
 spoke to Ellie Hanson nor her family, and I know it ain't 
 right. And I just want you to pray that the Lord will 
 forgive me." She said the last words as she was sitting 
 down, and she felt about confusedly for her handker- 
 chief. 
 
 When she had got up Ellie Hanson's face was hard and 
 her eyes were hard also, but as Sister Gordon finished, 
 her face softened, and she stood up quickly. 
 
 "I don't want Sister Gordon to take all the blame. I 
 done just as much as she did, and it is all my fault. I 
 been a feelin' bad about it myself all this time. Why 
 should me and Lucy not speak? Here we are neigh- 
 bours, and had ought to be the best of friends." She 
 said this while going rapidly over toward Sister Gordon. 
 And arriving there, the two women threw their arms 
 about each other and sobbed. 
 
 The effect was electrical. From the pulpit father 
 started, "Blest be the tie that binds," in his wavering 
 uncertain way, and looked imploringly at mother to help 
 him through. That was like father. He couldn't be 
 depended upon to carry a tune, but when he got stirred 
 up in a meeting he simply could not help starting some 
 song. But mother usually helped him out. She did on 
 this occasion, and the hymn was finished nicely, although 
 father did get entirely off the tune about midway, and 
 soared up and down in the most random manner. 
 
 That was the real beginning of the big meeting, the 
 biggest we ever had at Barren Rocks. Nearly every one 
 confessed to something or other; and by the time the
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 155 
 
 confessing was finished, everybody felt the joy that comes 
 from confessing a fault and getting it out of the system, 
 as father said, and also was cheered by the fact that 
 he had been noble enough to forgive a Brother that had 
 sinned against him. Old enemies that had not spoken 
 in years clasped hands up near the mourner's bench, 
 and amidst shouts of hallelujah and fervent amens the 
 work of grace swept on. 
 
 I wouldn't have missed a service for anything in the 
 world. To me there was something terribly gripping 
 in it all. I didn't care so much for what the younger 
 people said and did. Father called them the younger 
 brethren, and urged upon them the need of personal 
 work, but their doings did not make much of an appeal 
 to me. Young Zed Newton would walk boldly back 
 among the unsaved, put his hands on their shoulders, 
 and smilingly talk to them about their duty to live a better 
 life. And Jane Ellanger would sometimes shut her mouth 
 tightly and walk back nervously, as though she were 
 walking blindfolded across a board into she knew not 
 what. She always looked as if she doubted whether she 
 would ever come back, but was determined to do her 
 duty whether she did or not. 
 
 These younger people did not make much of an im- 
 pression upon me. I often thought young Zed was put- 
 ting on a lot ; and Rude Hamilton said Jane was work- 
 ing simply to impress Hen. I didn't pay much attention 
 to that, but for other reasons I remained unimpressed. 
 
 It was when the old ones got worked up that I was 
 pleased. The older the better ; and if they had white hair 
 and beard they were all the more impressive. I thought 
 old Uncle Henry Tapps best of all. He was not my 
 Uncle. He was not any relation at all. But father 
 called him old Uncle Henry, and I thought the name 
 suited him very well. He was very, very old. His hair
 
 156 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 was white as snow, and grew away down around his 
 shoulders. He had a long white beard also, and his 
 voice, while somewhat shrill, was nevertheless very pene- 
 trating. I did think it would have been much better if 
 he could have roared a little in a great deep voice. 
 But as it was, he did it very well. 
 
 When he got up to give in his testimony, he would jerk 
 out his words and his beard would bob up and down as 
 he opened and shut his mouth. He would shake his 
 head, and his long hair would rise and fall about his 
 shoulders. And every little bit he would wave his arms 
 and hold them out imploringly while beseeching sinners 
 to repent and turn from the error of their ways. At 
 such times he was truly magnificent. 
 
 But when he prayed he was at his best. He would 
 kneel down, but he did not bend over forward like most 
 of the men did. He would kind of sit back on his 
 heels, throw back his head, and as he prayed, wave 
 back and to. When he said Father, he pronounced it 
 in a funny way, like we pronounced the first part of 
 waver, and as he got warmed up to it he would draw 
 one foot up from under him and place it in a different 
 position. How he did it I never could tell, although I 
 got up near him many times to watch, and at home I 
 would practise it faithfully but never succeeded in doing 
 it. But in some way he would bring his heel up and 
 down on the floor until it sounded just like a woodpecker 
 driving a rapid fire against a dead limb. It was at 
 these times that I wished the meetings would last for 
 ever. For with his heel beating a rapid tatoo upon the 
 floor, his hair and beard waving and his arms pawing 
 wildly through the air, he presented the most engrossing 
 spectacle I had ever seen. 
 
 Sometimes during a lull in the meeting, father would 
 call on him to pray. If I happened to be on the other
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 157 
 
 side of the church from him at the time I would hurry 
 over and get as near as I could. Sitting there, I would 
 watch in a kind of awed wonder, and when he was 
 through I would experience a pang of genuine regret. 
 
 One crowded night the church was full, but there was 
 a difference. Abel Tolliver was there. He was Brother 
 Tolliver's wayward son. He had not been to church 
 before during the meeting. He did not usually attend 
 church, and this was one reason he was such a great sin- 
 ner. There had been many prayers since the meeting 
 started that the Lord would bring him out to the serv- 
 ices. And when the workers saw him there on this 
 night there were many significant nods exchanged be- 
 tween them. It was looked upon as an answer to prayer, 
 and I heard one man whisper to another that already 
 Abel looked like he was under strong conviction. 
 
 During the sermon father made reference to those 
 who were bringing the grey hairs of their fathers with 
 sorrow to the grave, and called upon all such to repent 
 while it was yet day. And when he gave the invitation, 
 there were twenty-four who crowded forward and knelt 
 at the mourner's bench. But Abel was not with them. 
 Personal worker after personal worker went back and 
 talked with him. He listened to all with a smile, and 
 to one and all shook his head negatively. There was 
 no moving him. 
 
 Many thought that if he did not come forward to- 
 night he would never come. It was even rumoured that 
 he had already sinned away his day of grace. And it 
 was not long until it could be acutely felt that the whole 
 effort of the service centred around him. And then, 
 after several of the seekers had sprung up from the 
 altar with shouts of joy, there was a sudden lull. It 
 was as if all minds were focused on Abel Tolliver. 
 
 Father called upon Uncle Henry Tapps to lead in
 
 158 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 prayer. It was quite the most exciting moment in my 
 life. I could feel a tingling at the roots of my hair. 
 My mouth got dry, and I swallowed desperately. Then 
 edging my way over as near Uncle Henry as I could, 
 I knelt down in strained expectancy. As usual he began 
 by leaning back on his heels. Then he implored the 
 Fayther for mercy upon all sinners. And after waving 
 his arms about in the wildest manner, he drew up his 
 knee and began to beat on the hollow floor with his heel. 
 There were cries of "Amen," "Lord Grant," "Yea, 
 Lord," and "That's right, that's right," from all over 
 the house. 
 
 And then something that had never occurred before 
 happened. Old Uncle Henry, still sitting on his heels, 
 began to hop back through the aisle of the church. Back 
 he went, nearer and nearer to Abel Tolliver, until he got 
 to the seat in the end of which Abel sat, looking interest- 
 edly through his fingers at what was going on. Here 
 he stopped, and facing the pulpit, continued to pray. 
 With his left hand he still pawed the air, but with his 
 right he gripped Abel. And then he prayed for Abel's 
 salvation. 
 
 It was too much. At first he tried to smile it off. Then 
 he attempted to withdraw himself from old Uncle Hen- 
 ry's grip. Failing in this, he looked frightened, and then 
 tremendously moved. He gulped ; he bent his head down 
 behind the seat in front of him; at last he straightened 
 up, squared his shoulders, arose, and walked resolutely 
 down the aisle toward the mourner's bench. He got 
 there and fell down on his face praying for mercy. 
 
 After supper that evening, before we had started to 
 church, mother remarked that she felt very tired. After 
 a little when she got up to go and change her dress for 
 the service, father said it was no use to take the trouble 
 to put on a different dress.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 159 
 
 "You look all right just as you are, honey," he said. 
 
 "O, I don't feel as though I ought to go looking like 
 this," and she surveyed herself with many misgivings. 
 
 "Sure, now, that is just all right," father continued, 
 convinced. 
 
 "It would save a lot of trouble," mother conceded, and 
 looked around inquiringly. 
 
 "That's what it would. You sit down and rest till 
 time to start." 
 
 With one last troubled look she sat down. 
 
 "I'll sit down near the stove and not move, and no 
 one will notice me," she decided hopefully, and settled 
 back in her chair. 
 
 True to her resolution, she sat down back of the stove, 
 where it was hard for her to be seen. I sat with her 
 for some time, but when things began to loosen up I 
 simply had to get out and keep my eyes open so as not 
 to miss anything. But mother had remained in the 
 shadow. 
 
 I saw her next when Abel Tolliver fell down at the 
 mourner's bench. She raised up from her seat, looked 
 over toward him as though she could not believe her 
 eyes, and gave one tremendous shout. 
 . "It is an answer to prayer," she shouted, and eyes 
 aglow and face flushed, she moved about shaking hands 
 with all she met until she was completely exhausted. 
 When she finally sat down it was not in the obscure seat 
 by the stove, but up in the pulpit with father. And 
 she sat there where all could see, and never once thought 
 of her dress, as she afterwards remarked in the greatest 
 chagrin. 
 
 Abel Tolliver was saved, and nothing would do Uncle 
 Henry but we should all go home with him and stay 
 until the following day. 
 
 It was during the great ingathering that followed that
 
 160 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 father preached his never-to-be-forgotten sermon on the 
 Last Day. "But go thou thy way till the end be; for 
 thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the 
 days." That was the text; and with both Burnsides 
 drawing noisily and the room filled with the moist odour 
 of snow from the wet floor, he preached it to a record 
 congregation. From end to end of the pulpit he ran; he 
 knocked the desk with his clenched fists. He pictured 
 the evils of the present world, gave a horrible picture of 
 sinners cowering before the great white throne, and 
 closed with a terrible picture of them staggering away, 
 muttering, "Lost, lost, lost through all eternity." 
 
 When he finished he gave the invitation, "perhaps the 
 last that will ever come to some of us," and there was 
 a veritable stampede to the altar. 
 
 That night Naomi Alleau and Esther Olliver were 
 saved. They were both great dancers, and constant agi- 
 tation for a dance hall, and their going about over the 
 country to dances wherever they were held, had given 
 them a very black reputation. The church was bit- 
 terly opposed to dancing, and because of this they had 
 seemed to flout their iniquity in the very face of the 
 sanctuary. 
 
 But they came to the altar together, and were soon 
 up and shouting all over the church. They undulated 
 nimbly over the floor, dodged in and out among the 
 crowd like nymphs, and were to be heard first in one 
 place, then in another, shouting and praising God. 
 
 Rude Hamilton edged up to mother. 
 
 "You could tell they danced. I do believe they are 
 just putting on airs, that's what I think," and she snapped 
 her mouth shut viciously. 
 
 "O Sister, you should never say things like that," moth- 
 er said, horrified. 
 
 "I know it sounds like I doubt divine grace, but you
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 161 
 
 just wait and see," and she walked quickly away, mut- 
 tering. 
 
 It was a day or two after that that I began to get 
 terribly worked up. Father had preached on sinning 
 away the day of grace, and had told of men who had 
 passed beyond a fatal dead-line, where the spirit no more 
 should strive with them. I thought it was horrible. And 
 there began to weigh upon me the secret and terrible con- 
 viction that I was lost; that I had sinned away my day 
 of grace; and that hell had enlarged herself to swallow 
 me up. 
 
 The more I thought the more positive I became that 
 such was the awful fact. I prayed feverishly, but seemed 
 unmoved, and father had said that this stolidity in the 
 face of spiritual truths was one of the surest signs. A 
 great gloom encompassed me. I wished desperately that 
 I had never been born, for then I could not have been 
 lost. But hopeless as I knew the case to be, I resolved 
 to present myself at the mourner's bench at the next 
 opportunity so as to leave nothing undone that I should 
 do. There always seemed to be that terrible chance of 
 having left undone something, or of having chanced to do 
 something else. 
 
 Consequently when, the next night, father gave the in- 
 vitation, I was on hand. It had cost a mighty effort, for 
 I shrank from the altar as from a plague, but I nerved 
 myself for the ordeal. Trembling in every limb, I set 
 my teeth and went up and knelt down. 
 
 Contrary to what I had expected, no one seemed to 
 take any notice of me. And my first emotion was one 
 of resentment that these people who seemed to be so 
 eager for the lost to come forward should neglect to 
 pay adequate attention to me. I knelt there feeling that 
 they were putting on much of their eagerness, and were
 
 162 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 not at all what they wanted to appear, when I felt a 
 tug at my elbow. 
 
 "What are you doing, son?" 
 
 It was father's voice, and it did not have in it the 
 melting desire for helpfulness that I felt my soul de- 
 manded. It was matter-of-fact. 
 
 "I am lost," I said resentfully. 
 
 "You are what?" 
 
 "Lost. I have sinned away my day of grace." 
 
 "O no, you have not. Come up here in the pulpit 
 with me." 
 
 I felt that my case had been dismissed far too lightly, 
 but I had always liked to sit with father in the pulpit. 
 It was a point of great advantage, for from it everything 
 that happened in the church could be easily observed. 
 So feeling that I was lost anyhow, and that to tarry at 
 the altar would be worse than useless, I skipped up into 
 the pulpit and began to look around.
 
 Chapter 13 
 
 SEVENTY-FOUR was the total of the great ingather- 
 ing that following the protracted meeting. The num- 
 ber represented all ages, from little Tim Rainey up to old 
 Harrison Applebee. And the same two might be used 
 as samples of the wealth of the new converts, for while 
 Tim's folks were poor as church mice, old Harrison Ap- 
 plebee was rich. 
 
 After they had all presented themselves for member- 
 ship in the church one Sunday morning, the important 
 question of Baptism came up. Of course there was no 
 discussion as to the method to be employed. There was 
 but one method where father was concerned, and that 
 was by immersion. He called any other form of baptism 
 a sacrilege. So all that was to be settled was the time 
 and place. 
 
 It was agreed to have the ceremony take place in a 
 big hole down in Little Creek, where the creek made a 
 sharp turn around a giant boulder, and the water was 
 deep. There was also a good sloping bank on one 
 side, and father always looked out for things like that. 
 
 As to the time, there was a bitter disagreement. Father 
 said it made no difference whatever to him, and he would 
 leave it entirely with the candidates. Rude Hamilton, 
 although she was not to be baptised, since she was a 
 member of long standing and had been baptised long 
 ago, nevertheless was assuming a rather important part 
 
 163
 
 164 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 in the arrangements. She said that the sacrament ought 
 to be carried through at once. 
 
 "If we have been converted, the quicker we are bap- 
 tised, which is simply an outward and physical symbol 
 of an inward and spiritual act, the better it looks for 
 our faith," was the way she put it. 
 
 I could see that there was at least a considerable 
 opinion in many quarters that she was too severe. 
 
 "I have been converted, all right," old Harrison Ap- 
 plebee said, in his rugged forehanded way, "but that 
 crick is cold at this time of year, and don't you forgit 
 it." 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton sniffed. 
 
 "Cold or no cold, if you have faith it won't hurt 
 you." 
 
 "That may be, but again it may not be. I don't allow 
 faith would help my rheumatism much if I got in that 
 crick and contraried 'er some." 
 
 The situation was getting ticklish. Brother Applebee 
 had been converted, all right. He had declared as much 
 with stubborn conviction. But he had bossed people 
 around for so long that it was hard for him to get the 
 Christian attitude of humility. He didn't just take to 
 the idea of letting Rude Hamilton boss him around. 
 
 On the other hand, Rude thought that the fact that 
 she had been for long of the household of faith ought 
 to count for something. It gave her opinions a weight, 
 a prestige, over the opinions of one who had been for 
 many years an unbeliever. 
 
 But father saved the situation. He was good at saving 
 situations. Mother often called him Buckwheat, for she 
 said he was like a buckwheat seed : He could fit into any 
 corner. He fit this corner exactly. He made his way 
 over toward Brother Applebee, and held up his hand for 
 attention.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 165 
 
 "Perhaps, brethren, we had better put it to a vote," 
 he began mildly. "We can either have the baptism next 
 Sunday, or put it off until the weather breaks up in the 
 spring. All who favour putting it off, please lift the 
 right hand." 
 
 Nearly every hand went up. 
 
 "It is so ordered. I will announce the date later." 
 
 Brother Applebee looked over at Rude Hamilton with 
 a triumphant smile; while she backed away with the air 
 of one having done all she could to prevent a disgrace, 
 but now that it had come in spite of her, people would 
 have to take the consequences. She had delivered her 
 soul. She went up to mother. 
 
 "If I said what I thought, Sister Rhodes, it would 
 be that a lot of them as has joined the church don't have 
 the faith of a grain of mustard seed." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" mother asked. 
 
 "They will be backslid." 
 
 "O, I don't know." 
 
 "You jest wait and see." 
 
 Esther Olliver and Naomi Alleau were great dancers. 
 They never missed a dance, if they could possibly get 
 to it. Their one lament was that there was no pavilion 
 at Barren Rocks. Other towns, they declared, had pa- 
 vilions, and Barren Rocks had none. And such a pavilion 
 was an essential to any up-to-date town. 
 
 Their duty, therefore, was clear. They must collect 
 funds for the erection of a suitable dancing pavilion. 
 They undertook the task the fall before the protracted 
 meeting. And they were very successful. When they 
 first began their task, father smiled and said they could 
 never get the money. He said he knew what they had 
 undertaken better than they did. But he evidently had 
 overlooked something, for it was not long until they 
 announced that they had enough to put up the pavilion.
 
 166 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 The church was greatly exercised over this announce- 
 ment. Father did not say much, but he virtually agreed 
 with Rude Hamilton when she said that Satan was in 
 the project. 
 
 The pavilion was to have been erected at once, but 
 winter set in, and the work was put off until spring. 
 And then Esther and Naomi were converted at the big 
 meeting. Father was jubilant; mother was silent; and 
 Rude Hamilton pessimistic. Of course no one could be- 
 long to the church and have anything to do with danc- 
 ing. But the question was: Would Esther and Naomi 
 cling to the church and give up dancing; or would they 
 return to their old habits and forsake the church? 
 Would they remain faithful, or backslide? 
 
 They themselves were very positive in their statements. 
 They were resolved to forsake their sins and to cleave 
 unto righteousness. The old garment of the flesh, they 
 had put aside; and had put on the new robe of salva- 
 tion. They even backed Rude Hamilton up in her effort 
 to have the baptismal service in dead winter, for so great 
 was their faith, and so eager were they to cut free from 
 the old life, that they did not want to wait for the crown- 
 ing sacrament until spring. 
 
 No one shouted during the big meeting like they did. 
 They got the thing down to a fine art, and it was 
 really a treat to see them thread their way through the 
 crowds, shouting hosannas. And no convert made more 
 inclusive professions than they made. For them the 
 work of grace had been complete; they were saved to 
 the uttermost. 
 
 Consequently, when some one sounded them on their 
 future attitude toward the pavilion, they were vehement. 
 No dancing pavilion should be built in Barren Rocks. 
 Nay, they would strike a match to the lumber that had 
 been hauled to the site before they would suffer it to be
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 167 
 
 used for such a purpose. For had they not forsaken 
 the world and the flesh and the devil? 
 
 But despite these sweeping avowals, there were those 
 who doubted the outcome. Rude Hamilton was openly 
 derisive. She hooted at the bare mention of it, stoutly 
 claiming that it were an utter impossibility for the leopard 
 to change his spots. And many others were sceptical. 
 
 Would it be the church, or the dance ? That was the 
 question. 
 
 When they had declared that the pavilion should not 
 be built, they had reckoned without the consent of sev- 
 eral who had been connected with the enterprise, and who 
 had not been converted. Ash Hayes, for example, was 
 a partner in the enterprise, and he declared that the 
 pavilion would go up as soon as the weather broke in 
 the spring. Others who had been interested said the 
 same thing. It looked as if it would go up, even without 
 the support of Esther and Naomi. 
 
 "And you just see, Sister Rhodes, if them two don't 
 join in when it gets up," Rude prophesied. 
 
 "O, I don't know." 
 
 "Wait and see," and she shook her head wisely. 
 
 Sure enough Ash Hayes and a few others started work 
 on the pavilion as soon as the weather broke up in March. 
 I was more interested in the pavilion itself than in Esther 
 and Naomi, and I hung about most of the time. It was 
 to be a big smooth floor, covered, but with the sides left 
 open. I had never seen a dance on a pavilion, but I se- 
 cretly resolved that I would be on hand for the first one 
 on the new floor. 
 
 Ash Hayes and I got to be great friends while th*, 
 pavilion was being built. He was heavy and strong, and 
 I marvelled at the beams he could lift. There was also 
 an atmosphere of romance about him that gave me many 
 a thrill. He had spent seven years in the penitentiary,
 
 168 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and for that reason I looked upon him as a hero. He 
 walked like a soldier, and he often stopped work to teach 
 me to march. 
 
 I was surprised to find him so friendly. Father had 
 declared that he was an enemy of the light, and that all 
 his works were works of darkness. I had expected to 
 find him an evil, terrible creature, and for many days I 
 did not have the courage to go near him. But as I kept 
 seeing him every day, I got to be less afraid, and finally 
 we got well acquainted. I came to think that father must 
 have been mistaken when he said that Ash was so wicked. 
 
 Father announced that the date set for the baptising 
 was Sunday the seventeenth of May. It was to be a 
 great day. Services were to be held in the church in the 
 forenoon ; dinner served on the ground ; and in the after- 
 noon we were to go down to the big hole in Little Creek 
 for the baptising. 
 
 I loved to see people baptised. Father walking out in 
 his shirt sleeves and sounding the bottom with a pole; 
 the "candidates" ranged up on the bank in solemn rank ; 
 and everywhere, on both sides of the creek, in trees 
 around the hole and perched up on the rocks, the spec- 
 tators ! And it never failed to happen that some one got 
 happy and began to shout. Then would ensue a great 
 outpouring of grace, when all believers were edified. O, 
 it was a sight well worth seeing. 
 
 We made great preparations for the seventeenth. 
 Mother made Margaret a new dress to wear; father 
 pressed his longest Prince Albert ; even Hen was to come 
 home early from the Seminary in order to be on hand. 
 And with every day the excitement increased. 
 
 It so happened that the very day selected for the bap- 
 tising was selected by Ash Hayes for the opening dance 
 in the new pavilion. Father was greatly troubled that 
 such a thing had been done. Mother was more indignant
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 169 
 
 than she usually allowed herself to get. While Rude 
 Hamilton looked upon it as the first step in a series that 
 she had predicted from the beginning. 
 
 "I tell you, it is the work of the devil," she declared. 
 "And when the day comes, where will Esther Olliver 
 and Naomi Alleau be then? Will they be for us or 
 against us? Will they be up there getting baptised, or 
 down in that bottom? I know." 
 
 I wasn't so much interested in that aspect of the mat- 
 ter, although so much had been said that I was curious 
 as to the outcome. Secretly I thought Esther and Naomi 
 would stick to the church. But I did not worry about it, 
 one way or the other. 
 
 What provoked me was that both events came on the 
 same day. I did not want to miss the baptising. But I 
 was bound to see the dance. Both came on the same 
 afternoon, and I was troubled. 
 
 I finally decided to stay away from the baptising to 
 see the dance. I had seen people baptised before, but 
 had never seen a dance. Therefore, the decision. 
 
 My plan was to slip down by the river bank just before 
 time to start to church ; let them go off without me ; and 
 then roam at will over around the pavilion. True, father 
 had forbidden mfe to go near it. He called it the gateway 
 of Sodom, and declared that no child of his should go 
 near. But I counted on his being too preoccupied to 
 think of me ; and in his preoccupation lay my safety. 
 
 The momentous day dawned warm and beautiful. I 
 took care not to attract father's attention in the morn- 
 ing. And just before it was time to start to church I 
 slipped down under the river bank to wait until he was 
 gone. But, fateful sound! I heard his voice. 
 
 "O Ben ! Where are you ? It's time to start, son." 
 
 I climbed up. He was standing in the yard, all dressed 
 and ready.
 
 170 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "I'll be there," I evaded, hoping against hope for some 
 loophole. 
 
 "You come on now, son, and go with us." 
 
 I went. And after the service was over and the bas- 
 kets had been made to disgorge their wonderful contents, 
 I was exceedingly glad I had come along. There was 
 plenty of cold fried chicken, and that was very dear to 
 me. 
 
 When we had finished dinner, we started off for the 
 deep hole. There were ever so many people out. They 
 had come from all over the country, and not a home for 
 miles around but was represented. They walked, they 
 rode horses and mules, and one man had brought his 
 family in a rickety old wagon pulled by a yoke of oxen ! 
 
 When we reached the big hole there was a scramble 
 for vantage points. There was a great rock on the 
 western side of the creek, whose sides sloped gradually 
 up to a high sharp peak. Men and boys lined the sides 
 of this rock until it looked like a solid wedge of human 
 beings; and it was my great good luck to scale up to 
 the highest 'pinnacle, where I sat the topmost one of all. 
 From this point of vantage I could command a complete 
 view of the whole scene. 
 
 I looked down into the deep hole below me; saw the 
 blue water, and, far down on the bottom in the deepest 
 place, a drift of leaves. I hoped father would keep out 
 of those leaves, for they were awful places for leeches. 
 People were crowded on both banks, and many of the 
 boys had climbed up the sycamores that grew not far 
 away. Mother stood down near the water in a little 
 space that had been reserved for her. She was to lead 
 the singing. And behind her, ranged in three long ranks, 
 were the candidates for baptism. Some were very sol- 
 emn; others were clearly frightened; while a few were
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 171 
 
 undoubtedly conscious of the important part they were 
 to play in the programme of the hour. 
 
 And hemming us in on three sides were the quiet 
 and beautiful hills. 
 
 At a signal from father, every voice was hushed. He 
 began the service with prayer. Then he nodded to 
 mother, and she began the song. It was "Abide with 
 Me." She carried the first two lines alone, her voice 
 lifting like the plaintive cry of the turtledove. 
 
 Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide. 
 The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide! 
 
 But as she started in on the next line, father joined 
 in. And then Margaret, and others, more and more, 
 until all who had come, whether religious or otherwise, 
 had joined in. 
 
 Old Uncle Henry Tapps, well over to one side, joined 
 his quavering voice with the others ; Harrison Applebee 
 sang in a deep bass ; and somebody from a near-by syca- 
 more joined in with a beautiful tenor. O, it was won- 
 derful. Echo cliff was near there, ruined and red in the 
 sun, and it took up the tune and flung it back to us. 
 
 Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; 
 Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies; 
 Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee, 
 In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me! 
 
 And after we had finished, like an unseen choir from 
 the spirit world, Echo cliff flung the music back to us. 
 
 And then came one of the most breathless moments 
 of all. Somebody handed father a long stick. H took 
 it and measured it with his hands. Then he began to 
 wade slowly out into the water, feeling the bottom with
 
 172 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 the stick as he. went. Very slowly, with measured step, 
 thumping the bottom with the stick, he waded out until 
 the water came up to his waist. He circled about, still 
 exploring the bottom, and finally went back to the bank, 
 his trousers clinging to his legs. 
 
 Four candidates in the front rank were standing a 
 little apart, hand in hand. Father went up to the one 
 on the right and took Lis arm. Slowly he led them out 
 into the water out until it came up to his waist again, 
 and then they stopped. 
 
 He put his arm around the waist of the man he had led, 
 gripped the hands that he had folded on his breast, looked 
 dreamily off into the heavens and pronounced the old 
 and terrible formula. Then he baptised him. 
 
 This same thing he did with the other three, and led 
 them back to the bank. Four others he led out, bap- 
 tised and led back again. And four more, and still more. 
 
 The tension tightened. I could feel it in the air. 
 There would be an outburst sooner or later. I felt it. 
 Little shivers ran up my back. 
 
 From the outskirts of the crowd there was a broken 
 cry. There was a rapid movement, as of some one 
 forcing his way desperately through the throng. All 
 eyes were turned in the direction of the commotion. 
 
 Thomas Hamilton forced his way through the crowd 
 near the bank. He was barefooted and disheveled. He 
 fell on the sand at father's feet. 
 
 "O brother, I am a sinner saved by grace. I have 
 resisted the spirit these many years. But I have yielded. 
 Baptise me with the others." 
 
 He was Rude Hamilton's husband, and he had been a 
 great sinner. He went down the river every few weeks, 
 where, nobody knew, but he always came home drunk, 
 and abused Rude cruelly. When she first saw him come 
 out of the crowd she looked amazed. But as he spoke
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 173 
 
 the wonderful words her face softened. Quickly she 
 elbowed her way over to him, and fell down by his side. 
 
 "O Tommy, Tommy!" she sobbed. "How I have 
 prayed to see this day." 
 
 She flung her arms about him and sobbed wildly. 
 
 Then mother started a hymn : 
 
 Blow ye the trumpet, blow! With gladly solemn sound, 
 Let all the nations know, to earth's remotest bounds, 
 The year of jubilee has come, the year of jubilee has come, 
 Return, ye ransomed sinners, home! 
 
 With wild enthusiasm the whole throng joined in, and 
 the chorus was flung to the hills, and by the echoes taken 
 up and flung back again. The baptismal outpouring that 
 I had sensed in the air had come at last. 
 
 When the service was over, Rude Hamilton, with 
 shining eyes, walked home with Thomas. It was not 
 until I saw them going happily down the bottom that I 
 thought of Rude's baleful prophecy and stopped short. 
 
 Esther and Naomi had not been present. 
 
 Leaving the others behind, I made for home as hard 
 as I could run. When I turned the bend in the creek 
 and came in sight of the new pavilion, I was met by a 
 medley of sounds. Ribald laughter, high pitched voices, 
 mingled with the tang of the banjo and the swift music 
 of the fiddle. Back and to over the new floor the 
 dancers swayed, and in the swaying throng Esther and 
 Naomi. 
 
 Rude had been right. 
 
 I was not sure whether father looked angry or hag- 
 gard when I told him that evening. For the crowd had 
 dispersed before he reached the pavilion on his way from 
 the baptismal service. But I do know that his lips
 
 174 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 sagged when he heard it, and there were weary lines 
 around his eyes. 
 
 Before the supper dishes had been cleared away, Rude 
 came over. She looked happier than usual, but she still 
 had that wise confirmatory look about her. 
 
 "Just thought I'd drop in a minute," she explained. 
 
 "Glad you came over. O, I'm so glad," mother said. 
 
 "I thought he would see the light some time," and she 
 nodded sagely. "It's an answer to prayer." Then after 
 a moment, "I tell you, Brother Rhodes, baptism is a very 
 important thing that is, by immersion." 
 
 "Yes, it is," father answered. Rather cautiously, I 
 thought. 
 
 "And there are some as are just as well off without it, 
 too." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," wearily. 
 
 "I guess you heard?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "They was at the dance." 
 
 "Yes, I heard." 
 
 I could see she wanted to enter more fully into details, 
 but father was looking out of the window, and mother 
 sat looking into her lap. She got up awkwardly. 
 
 "Well, I guess I better git back."
 
 f 
 
 Chapter 14 
 
 THE wonderful success of the big meeting had in- 
 creased father's popularity enormously. There 
 never had been such a meeting in all Braxton county. 
 And a few of father's best members were proud to think 
 that it had been in the Baptist church, for some of the 
 other churches sprinkled their converts, and of course 
 such a procedure was erroneous to an extreme degree. 
 
 And the people said there never had been such preach- 
 ing in all that part of the country. Father had responded 
 to the occasion even more capably than was usual with 
 him. And I thought I never would forget the sermon 
 from Daniel. I still thought he had been magnificent in 
 that sermon, especially when he had pounded the pulpit 
 with his clenched fists. The running had appealed to me, 
 and the way he roared was good; but that beating the 
 pulpit was the best of all. 
 
 I knew the members were feeling mightily pleased, but 
 it was some time before I learned just what they were 
 planning to do. I heard about it up at the store, and 
 had to promise that I would not tell a soul about it. 
 They were going to have a pound party for us. 
 
 Now the pound party was a custom to which I agreed 
 with all my heart. When it was even a remote possi- 
 bility, I was stirred by thoughts of mysterious packages 
 containing many unknown articles, any one of which 
 might be anything from a package of raisins to an over- 
 coat. 
 
 175
 
 176 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 For pound parties were like that. Each one that came 
 was supposed to bring a package weighing not less than 
 a pound hence the name of the custom. And since 
 there was absolute freedom in the selection of articles, 
 the result was more than likely to be a variety that of- 
 fered boundless occasion for speculation. 
 
 It was an awful strain on me to keep the promise I 
 had made not to tell any one about this pound party. I 
 really did not have to make the promise, and I wished 
 devoutly many times that I had not. Even as it was I 
 am afraid mother surmised it, really, although she did 
 not say so in so many words. 
 
 But I told her that I knew of something that was 
 going to happen, and when she asked me what it was 
 I vowed that I would not tell under any circumstances. I 
 am not positively sure that she guessed it, but from the 
 very complete going over the house got that day, and 
 from the immaculate condition in which she kept it from 
 that time on, I feared I had been just a little indiscreet. 
 
 As for father, I never could tell just what he knew 
 and what he was letting on. He had an uncanny way 
 of finding out things, but he also had a way of keeping 
 still about them. One year, I remember, when they gave 
 a pound party for us, I was certain he knew about it for 
 a long time before the night set. I had slipped into the 
 kitchen and heard him telling mother all about it. 
 
 But when the people arrived and began to carry on, 
 and act as if they were going to do goodness knew what, 
 he pretended to be greatly taken aback. He laughed and 
 stamped about and scratched his head as if he had been 
 caught entirely unawares and unprepared. 
 
 So I really did not know whether he had heard about 
 it or not. But mother she did not let an afternoon go 
 by that she did not set the house in order. Father often 
 said that we should never let a day go by without get-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 177 
 
 ting everything ready so that if the end of the world 
 should come during the night we would be ready for the 
 Judgment. That was about the way mother fixed up the 
 house. She had everything ready. 
 
 It was very still and hot when the evening came. 
 Mother and Margaret finished the supper dishes and came 
 into the living room. We had not lit the lamp, for we 
 thought it might be a little cooler without it. It was 
 hardly dark enough for it, anyway, for in the summer 
 the twilight was long. 
 
 Father was sitting over by the window, looking off 
 up the river, and whistling some old tune. He looked as 
 though he might be meditating upon some very difficult 
 problem, like the Trinity, for the Trinity troubled father 
 quite a little. He could not seem to get it straightened 
 out in his own mind. I thought he might be working 
 on it this evening, he looked so preoccupied. 
 
 I went over near him and looked him over, although I 
 let on I was looking up the bottom. And would you be- 
 lieve it? He was aH dressed up. Not with his Prince 
 Albert, of course. But he had shaved, and his shoes 
 were polished. We polished our shoes by turning up a 
 stove lid and using the soot on it for polish; and I re- 
 membered that he had been working in the kitchen that 
 afternoon. 
 
 Yes, sir, he knew they were coming. He knew it as 
 well as I did. And I just went back over to the reading 
 table and waited to see how he would act when the 
 people really came. 
 
 When the first sounds were heard outside he looked 
 up, listening intently. And when Rude Hamilton opened 
 the door and walked in, he nodded to her as if welcoming 
 her for a quiet evening. 
 
 She came in first. She wore her blue calico dress and 
 looked long and lean as she entered. Her face was
 
 178 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 pleasant, pleasanter than usual, but as she took a step or 
 two inside she jerked her head from side to side quickly, 
 and there was a searching, ferret-like look in her black 
 eyes as she took in every detail of the room. Then she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Well, Brother Rhodes, we are here." 
 
 Father looked genuinely surprised. And as one after 
 another filed into the room, he looked even more per- 
 plexed. 
 
 "Well, I declare, if there isn't Brother Tolliver, and 
 you, Brother Ellanger, and Brother McRand. Well, well. 
 What " 
 
 "Just a little party, Brother," some one said. 
 
 Then father seemed to comprehend, and broke into a 
 merry laugh. 
 
 "A little party ? Well, upon my word !" 
 
 O, he was clever about it ! 
 
 As each one came in, there was a sly trip over to the 
 bed, and a great mound of packages soon appeared. To 
 this I soon directed my whole attention. I was a little 
 curious to see the people, but I was far more curious 
 to see the packages. I knew I could not open a single 
 one until every one was gone. But at least I could 
 look at them and try to guess what was in them. 
 
 I knew at a glance that the long package on top was 
 coffee. I was sorry, too, for coffee is such a common- 
 place thing. But a little package out to one side offered 
 greater possibilities. It really looked mysterious. It 
 might be soda, of course. It might be soup beans. And 
 then it might be brown sugar. I hoped devoutly it was. 
 For brown sugar was just about as good as real candy, 
 especially if it had big lumps in it. And even if it did 
 not, I knew it was a comparatively easy matter to reach 
 into the poke and so grapple for it that my fingers would 
 bring out a fair sized pyramid of it.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 179 
 
 I could not resist the temptation to lean over and feel 
 the poke, for if it was not brown sugar I did not want 
 to go on thinking it might be and then be disappointed. 
 While if it was, I wanted to know it sure. 
 
 But mother hurried over to me. 
 
 "Ben, you come away from there," she whispered scan- 
 dalised. 
 
 And as if afraid that I might not execute the com- 
 mand quickly enough, she got me firmly by the hand 
 and led me away. And the only thing I could do 
 from that on was to walk aimlessly about and speculate 
 in my own mind. I thought the time never would come 
 for them to go. 
 
 When they had been there hours and hours, Brother 
 Tolliver got up. He smiled about him, and began to 
 speak. I always thought he was nice when he spoke. 
 His voice was so soft. 
 
 "Brother Rhodes, you have done us great service. 
 You have staid up here and worked among us when you 
 might have gone out into the world and done wonderful 
 things. We can't do much, for we are kind of poor. 
 But we want to do what we can. This little package," 
 and he held up a little square package that immediately 
 fired my imagination, "is not worth much in money. But 
 it comes as a little token, and maybe it might please ye." 
 
 He handed it over, and father unwrapped it. He drew 
 out a big silver watch. There was a silver chain at- 
 tached, and on it the watch key was hung. Father looked 
 long at it, and then got up as if to speak, but Brother 
 Tolliver motioned him to sit back down. He began again. 
 
 "And we can't forget Sister Rhodes. We all think 
 a lot of Sister Rhodes, and we want to give her this." 
 
 He gave her a big, heavy package. It was a big pair 
 of white woollen blankets, so I was not at all interested in
 
 180 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 it. But I did want to see the watch. Maybe father 
 would give me his old one ! 
 
 They staid on for some time after that, and I began 
 to get impatient again. Would they never go home? I 
 went over in the direction of the bed again, but mother's 
 eye was on me, and I dared not go very close. 
 
 At last they did go, all with some particular word to 
 say. I could see that father was in high spirits; and 
 mother was too, only she looked as if she wanted to cry 
 more than anything else. 
 
 When they were gone, I turned impatiently back into 
 the room. Rude Hamilton was standing in the centre 
 of the room. She seemed on the point of going, yet hesi- 
 tated. She spoke to mother. 
 
 "Of course I think they are all right," she said, in a 
 way that made it plain that there was, nevertheless, plenty 
 of room for improvement. "But I do think people some- 
 times take advantage of them." 
 
 "O, I think it is beautiful," mother said. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. But it's not so beautiful when 
 some one that could bring more slips in something they 
 want to get rid of." 
 
 "O, I don't think they do that." 
 
 "That's just because you don't know 'em like I do. 
 Now take that pile there. I wonder what's in it ?" 
 
 She went over toward it hopefully. 
 
 "I'm sure it's just full of nice things," mother said. 
 
 "I wonder now," and she looked at the bed. 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 She turned to father. 
 
 "Well, I guess I better go." 
 
 "Don't hurry off, Sister," he said cordially. 
 
 "Guess I ain't been. Funny package, that," and she 
 went over toward the bed again and glanced at a long 
 package.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 181 
 
 "Yes, we never can tell what is in them until we open 
 them. I just love to go through them." 
 
 "Must be right smart interesting." 
 
 "Very interesting," father said emphatically. 
 
 "I suppose so?" and she lingered. 
 
 I thought she never would go, and I wished father 
 would quit being so cordial. Maybe she might go sooner 
 if he did. But he seemed in no hurry, and talked on 
 and on. 
 
 Then there was a silence, and she went back to mother. 
 
 "Well, I must go, Sister Rhodes. I hope you can use 
 the things as was fetched." 
 
 "O we can, all right. Don't hurry off, though." 
 
 "Guess I must go," patiently. 
 
 She backed slowly toward the door, stood for an in- 
 stant looking at us, cast a last glance over the bed, and 
 went out. 
 
 For the next few days it was possible to lay my hand 
 on a package of soda in almost any part of our house. 
 We had not really needed any, even a little. But we got 
 it, and got it good and plenty. Nine packages in all and 
 all were not in pound pokes. Some had gone beyond the 
 letter of the law of pound parties, and brought much 
 heavier packages of soda. Coffee stood next in abun- 
 dance. It was put up in long red packages, and as one 
 after another was sorted out, I reflected gloomily that it 
 would take a long time to grind it all in our old coffee 
 grinder. The knob on the crank of our coffee grinder 
 was broken off, and it was hard to turn. And it was one 
 of my regular jobs to grind the coffee. I wished the 
 people had not brought so much. And then there was 
 the rice. As father sorted over poke after poke of rice, 
 even he was appalled, and said we would have to speak
 
 182 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 in Chinese after that. I did not know what he meant, 
 but it evidently had something to do with rice. 
 
 And there was one pound of brown sugar. There was 
 some granulated, but it was too much like sand to eat. 
 
 When we had prayers that night I really could not see 
 how father had the heart to thank the Lord for all that 
 soda, but he did. Maybe he got out of it by bulking 
 everything together and giving thanks for the bulk. 
 
 And after that rice had been used up, I was never 
 again so positive in my conviction that pound parties are 
 unmixed blessings.
 
 Chapter 15 
 
 MOTHER had been sick -for a long time, and the 
 house was never a very pleasant place when mother 
 was sick. Of course Margaret did the cooking, and she 
 was really very good at it. She was also pretty handy 
 at keeping things straight about the house. But when 
 mother was sick, everything was gloomy. The blinds 
 had to be down in the room where she was, things got 
 in an awful muss in spite of Margaret, and it was neces- 
 sary to be absolutely quiet. 
 
 That was very bad. As a usual thing, when I went 
 into the house I did not walk in quietly. I much pre- 
 ferred slipping up to the door, opening it noiselessly, and 
 then bounding far into the room with a roar. This never 
 failed to produce a marked effect on those within. But 
 with mother sick, this was entirely out of the question, 
 not only because the noise would make her worse, but 
 also because it was not a very safe thing to burst into 
 the room like that when father was in it alone. 
 
 So I had practically abandoned the house except for 
 meals and at night. I came in for dinner and supper, 
 but slipped out again as quickly as possible. 
 
 A peddler had passed through our way not many days 
 before, and had displayed a marvellous device. There 
 was a big wheel, a small wheel, and a very little wheel, 
 all on one base and connected by belts. By turning a 
 crank the big wheel revolved; and when it revolved the 
 smaller wheel revolved also, only much faster. And with 
 
 183
 
 184 
 
 the turning of the small wheel, the very little wheel per- 
 formed wonders. It just tore around. And by making 
 a curve on the axle bar of this little wheel, a small sharp 
 drill shot back and to with enormous force. 
 
 Of course father did not buy the machine from the 
 peddler. But I had looked it over for a long time, and 
 had figured out just how it was made. And while mother 
 was sick I was trying to make one of the things. I used 
 our big grindstone as the first wheel, sawed off the end 
 of a gum tree for the second, and used a spool for the 
 third. It was not all easy work, and the results were 
 slow. Our grindstone was worn off too much on one 
 side and was very wabbly. When I tried to get up much 
 speed it zigzagged around and threw the belt off in spite 
 of all I could do. And it was extremely hard to make 
 a curve on the axle bar of the little wheel that would 
 draw the drill back properly. It was forever getting 
 hung up and throwing things out of gear. But I worked 
 long and patiently, and soon had the thing rigged up 
 until it worked with a speed and smoothness extremely 
 pleasing. 
 
 I was working at it one morning when Margaret called 
 me. 
 
 "Ben, come here, quick." 
 
 She spoke in a low frightened tone, and I did not even 
 stop to ask what she wanted. I knew something was 
 wrong. 
 
 "What is it ?" I asked as I hurried up. 
 
 "Father wants you, quick." 
 
 I ran in. Father motioned for quiet. I tiptoed up to 
 him. 
 
 "Ben, you saddle Bird and go over to Big Bend and 
 get Mother. If you hurry you can get there to-night. 
 Put the horse up and feed her, and you and Mother start 
 back early to-morrow. Hurry, now."
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 185 
 
 J^Is mother worse?" 
 
 "Yes, and much worse. She may not live if you fail to 
 get back on time." 
 
 I hurried out as fast as I could run. I knew some- 
 thing terrible was the matter if Mother had to be sent for. 
 She was father's mother. We called her Mother, and 
 mother's mother Grandma, so as not to get the two mixed. 
 Mother was a great hand to take care of sick people. 
 She knew just how to tend them and what to let them 
 eat. And she would do all the housework. Whenever 
 anybody was just very bad sick, Mother was sent for. 
 
 I put my little light saddle on Bird, broke off a switch 
 from a birch tree, got on and started. It was almost 
 noon, and I would have to ride hard all day and far into 
 the night to get to Big Bend. But I knew every minute 
 counted. Bird seemed to understand it, too, for when- 
 ever the road was level enough she broke into her short 
 choppy rack and never slowed down while the road was 
 good. 
 
 My, how I did love to ride. From as far back as I 
 could remember I had ridden horseback. At first it 
 was behind father, and when the horse trotted he held 
 the bridle with one hand and with the other got tight hold 
 upon my leg and kept me steady. But because there 
 were so many places I had to go alone, I soon learned 
 to ride alone. And there was no horse that I had ever 
 seen that I could not ride. None could throw me, for I 
 knew just how they jumped, and when they would balk, 
 and how they would lunge from side to side. 
 
 And the horses always took to me. Maybe it was 
 because I usually fed them ; or maybe it was because they 
 could see I was not afraid of them. But they would 
 always whinny when I came near, and stick out their 
 noses to be rubbed. And Bird was my favourite. She
 
 186 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 was grey and plump, with a round soft back, and slim 
 legs. 
 
 And as we travelled over the road to Big Bend I 
 would stroke her mane, and pat her back of the saddle 
 and talk to her. She would lay back her little ears and 
 listen understandingly to all I had to say. And when 
 we got to a place where the road was straight and 
 level I would touch her with the whip lightly. She 
 understood, and stretching out her neck she would lope 
 rapidly along, her feet clattering on the ground and the 
 trees flying past. 
 
 I had brought nothing to eat, and along in the after- 
 noon I got very hungry. I decided I could do without 
 anything until I reached Big Bend, but as the sun went 
 down I became famished. I began to look for a house, 
 and after a long time saw one up in a clearing not far 
 from the road. I reined in and called, 
 
 "Hello," I called at the top of my voice. No answer. 
 
 "Hello," I called again. 
 
 I saw a little girl slip cautiously around the corner of 
 the house and look down at me. 
 
 "Anybody at home ?" I yelled at her. 
 
 She stood looking at me for a moment, and then turned 
 and ran back round the house. Soon a tall woman, with 
 light hair hanging down about her face, came round the 
 corner. She wore a faded blue dress that came down 
 almost to her ankles, and was barefooted. 
 
 "Could I get something to eat here ?" I called to her. 
 
 "Where you from?" she answered back. 
 
 I told her. I told her all about myself, who I was, 
 where I was going and why. She knew both father and 
 mother, and thawed out on the instant. 
 
 "I hain't got nothing much in the house, but I guess 
 we can find something. Nellie you go git five years of
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 187 
 
 corn fer the horse. Git big yaller years. Come on up, 
 Bennie, and we will see what we can find." 
 
 I didn't want to stop, but I was hungry and I knew 
 Bird ought to be fed. So I went up. Nellie came down 
 with the corn, and I laid it down on the grass and took 
 the bits out of Bird's mouth, and let her eat it. The 
 woman went inside, and soon came out with a big hunk 
 of yellow pone and a cup of sweet milk. I ate it with 
 great relish while she stood leaning up against the door 
 watching me. When I had finished I sprang up and went 
 over to Bird. She had not finished her corn, and was 
 struggling to bite it off the cob. I picked up the un- 
 finished ears and shelled off the corn so she could eat it 
 quicker ; and she, sensing the need for haste, lipped it up 
 in great mouth fuls. 
 
 "So Anne be sick, eh?" the woman asked me. 
 
 "Yes, she's very bad. I must get back with Mother 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 "Hain't ye afeerd to ride by yourself at night?" 
 
 Now it happened that I was afraid, most horribly 
 afraid, for Mother had often told us of panthers jump- 
 ing off limbs onto the horse's back while she had been 
 riding under trees at night. One reason we all liked so 
 well for Mother to come to our house was that she would 
 sit knitting until long into the night, and with us gath- 
 ered round her, would tell us all sorts of stories. Some 
 were funny, and others were awful. I liked the latter 
 best when she was telling them, but the stories of those 
 panthers had haunted me all day. But I wasn't going to 
 tell her so. 
 
 "No, I ain't afraid. Nothing to be afraid of." 
 
 "Hain't ye afeerd of painters?" 
 
 "Huh, there are no panthers any more." 
 
 "I have hearn tell of whole dens of 'em." 
 
 "I ain't afraid."
 
 188 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "What's wrong with Anne?" she asked suddenly. 
 
 "Don't know. She's just bad sick." 
 
 "Sick of what?" 
 
 "Nothing. Just sick." 
 
 "How many air there in your family?" she asked 
 pointedly. 
 
 "Three." 
 
 "Air you the baby?" I thought she laughed slightly, 
 and I did not answer. Bird had eaten her corn by this 
 time, and putting the bits back into her mouth I swung 
 up into the saddle. 
 
 "Good-bye," I called over my shoulder, and was gone. 
 
 I rode on and on and on. I got so tired sitting in the 
 saddle that I would stand up in the stirrups, then on one 
 foot, and then slip back out of the saddle. And as a 
 last expedient I would throw my leg up over the horn of 
 the saddle and ride aside like a woman. 
 
 There was a long twilight, when the trees stood very 
 still and the crickets chirped by the side of the road: 
 Then it got dusk, and the stumps and fallen trees looked 
 uneven and ghostly. And finally it got dark, very dark. 
 When I could see the sky the stars looked very dim 
 and distant ; and when we went through thick woods I 
 could see absolutely nothing. At such times I would give 
 Bird her head and allow her to choose her way. 
 
 And panthers! In my imagination every overhanging 
 bough concealed one, and every noise of the night I 
 imagined was the soft beat of one's tail as it patted 
 stealthily while preparing to spring. But as the night 
 wore on, nothing happened, and just as a little disc of 
 a moon peeped above a dark silent mountain, I reached 
 Big Bend. 
 
 They were all in bed, and I sat on the horse in the 
 yard while I called out to them. Soon the door opened 
 and Uncle Benjamin stepped out. He had on a short
 
 189 
 
 rought night-shirt that Mother had made for him, spin- 
 ning the material herself. He was so tall that he had 
 had to stoop slightly when he came through the door, 
 and he stood there on the porch barefooted, a very moun- 
 tain of a man. He was even bigger than father. 
 
 "Who's there?" his big voice boomed out at me. 
 
 "It's Ben. I've come for Mother," I said. 
 
 "Who is it? Ben?" and I heard Mother's voice from 
 within. Soon she came out, wearing a trim white little 
 night-cap and with a large shawl engulfing her. 
 
 I knew just how she looked before she came out and 
 peered up into my face. She had not changed a bit. 
 Mother was always tidy. 'Father told her once she would 
 stop to fix up before she went out if the house were on 
 fire. And she looked it. Always neat, her white hair 
 coiled up on her head, her voice slow and comfortable, 
 with a little purr in it. And then there was her 
 little chin. It was a funny little thing, sticking out 
 rakishly from her soft throat. O, I liked Mother all 
 right. 
 
 "Why, if it isn't Bennie," she cried delightedly, pulling 
 me down from the horse. "Come right in, and I'll fix 
 you a big bowl of mush and milk. My, how you have 
 grown. O, and what's wrong?" she stopped suddenly. 
 
 "Mother is bad sick, and father sent me after you." 
 
 "Anne sick ? And what ails her ?" 
 
 "Just sick." 
 
 "Poor Anne. I must go to her at once." That was 
 Mother. She took right hold of a thing the minute she 
 knew about it, and nothing ever lagged when she was 
 around. Outside of mother herself, I would raiher have 
 her in the house than anybody else. 
 
 We went inside while Uncle Benjamin put up Bird. 
 Mother soon had me a great bowl of hot mush and milk, 
 and I ate until there was no more in sight. Then I was
 
 190 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 very sleepy; and soon I was in a cool fresh bed, from 
 which I never stirred until called to breakfast the next 
 morning. 
 
 It was still early. The road down by the river bend 
 was damp and cool as we rode over it. The river mur- 
 mured over the shoals, and the mist had lifted from it 
 and was just clearing the mountains. Paw-paw bushes 
 grew by the road, and their green leaves glistened with 
 the dew. I breathed the cool sweet air down into my 
 lungs and was glad for the long road that lay before us 
 that day. 
 
 We seldom talked. Mother rode on ahead of me on a 
 big bay horse. It took long steps, and as it stepped 
 along Mother would sway back and to in the saddle. 
 Her long riding skirt trailed down and hid the saddle 
 girth; and she kept her head steadfastly to the front. 
 
 We were within a few miles of home when we met a 
 man who had been by our house that morning. He said 
 he had inquired about mother. 
 
 "Don't say a word!" Mother said to him, so sharply 
 that I was astonished at her. 
 
 "I understand, Mrs. Rhodes," he said gently. 
 
 "If it's bad news," she explained nervously, "I must 
 be where I can lay right down. I couldn't stand it. 
 O, I couldn't stand it," she wailed. 
 
 When we turned the bend and saw our house, we 
 saw father standing like a statue by the gate. He saw 
 us, but for some time he continued to stand like an 
 image. Somehow I didn't feel at all anxious. I never 
 had really been alarmed about mother. Deep in my heart 
 I was convinced that she would get well all right. But 
 Mother was plainly nervous. She didn't hurry her horse 
 forward, but as it walked along and she swayed back 
 and to, there was a wild anxious look about her that 
 spoke far louder than words. When we crossed Little
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 191 
 
 Creek, father came rapidly toward us. And when I saw 
 his face, I knew that I had been right all along. For 
 he was all smiles, and there was a spring and jauntiness 
 about his step that certainly was not there when I went 
 away. 
 
 "Hello, Mother," he hailed us. "Hello, Ben. My, 
 what a trip you must have made. Back before dark!" 
 
 "Well, well, now, if it isn't Peter," Mother called to 
 him, her soft voice gurgling with delight. "And how 
 is she?" 
 
 I really didn't listen to what father said. I didn't 
 need to. I knew from the way he acted that she was 
 all right. It struck me first as terribly comic to hear 
 Mother call him Peter. Most men called him Brother 
 when speaking to him, and the Parson when he wasn't 
 around. I was used to that, and also used to hearing 
 mother call him Tommy. But Peter ! I wanted to laugh 
 right out. And then I was puzzled by the way father 
 acted. It wasn't as if mother were better. From the 
 way he laughed and jumped around she might have been 
 right out there with him. 
 
 "Everything is all right now, son. You put the horses 
 away and feed them, and then come back. I want to 
 show you something." 
 
 I went out and put the horses away, and came back 
 slowly. Father met me at the door. He smiled and 
 pulled me into the room. 
 
 "Come here, son." 
 
 I followed him in. On the bed over in the corner 
 mother was lying, and at the foot of the bed, her little 
 chin almost hid by her smiles, Mother was standing. I 
 went up to the bed. Mother smiled wanly. Then she 
 put out her hand for me to hold. I got it, and looked 
 down at her. For a moment I stood there, not saying a
 
 192 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 word, until father reached over my shoulder and pulled 
 back the covers slightly. 
 
 I was completely dumfounded by what I saw. In 
 the crook of mother's elbow was a little red wrinkled 
 baby ! Its little eyes were almost covered by the wrinkles 
 that seemed the most prominent part about it, and it 
 moved slightly in an aimless way. I looked closer and 
 saw that its nose was not red and wrinkled like the rest 
 of it, but looked white and soft, almost transparent. 
 
 I looked up at mother. She was regarding me and the 
 baby by turns, and as her eyes rested upon it, they seemed 
 to glow with a soft and steady fire. Her face was 
 so soft and tender that it made me feel ashamed. 
 
 For my first emotion had been surprise, but this had 
 quickly changed to disgust, and to disgust had been added 
 resentment when I saw how mother looked at the baby. 
 I wanted to get out, away from the horrible little thing. 
 
 "What do you think of her, Ben?" father asked jovi- 
 ally. 
 
 "Her?" I asked in some perplexity. 
 
 "Sure. Her. The baby. It's a girl. What do you 
 think of her?" 
 
 I simply could not think what I thought of her. But 
 in my heart I knew she was the ugliest creature I 
 had ever seen. 
 
 Mother leaned down over the bed and picked her up. 
 She kicked out a little red foot and waved chubby arms 
 awkwardly. 
 
 "How like Anne she js," Mother said, holding her close 
 and then off at arms' length as if to get a more accurate 
 appraisal. "Just Anne over again. How is you, little 
 Anne ?" and she hugged her closely. 
 
 And Little Anne she was ever called
 
 Chapter 16 
 
 MOTHER had been with us a week before we could 
 persuade her to tell us any stories. In her mild 
 way she made it perfectly clear that there were things 
 she had to do that could not be put off. 
 
 "Well, well, now, it beats all how things have run 
 down since Anne got sick. Here the yard is all cluttered 
 up with trash ; the kitchen is a sight ; and the whole house 
 looks like it had never been swept." 
 
 And from the way she started in to clean up, all she 
 said and more might literally have been true. 
 
 Margaret had heard all, but without resentment. She 
 had had such a hard time of it that she could feel only 
 relief that another had taken the burden off her shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 "She can say what she pleases, as long as I don't have 
 to do the work," she told me candidly. 
 
 And Mother took hold like a general. 
 
 She first sent father out into the yard with instruc- 
 tions to clean up everything. She emphasised the last 
 word by an inflection all her own, that made father un- 
 derstand that everything whatever was to be set in order. 
 And I was glad she did, for he was forever preaching 
 about not leaving undone anything that ought to be done, 
 and it tickled me to have the tables turned. She called 
 him Peter, and that tickled me most of all. 
 
 But what amazed me most was the way she ordered 
 him around. It was just like he ordered me around.
 
 194 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 But the surprising thing about it was, that he did every- 
 thing she said. Sometimes when she spoke sharply to 
 him, like an officer whipping out a command the way Ash 
 Hayes said officers did, I held my breath for fear of 
 what he might do. But he took it as a matter of course, 
 and did just what she told him. 
 
 She herself started in the kitchen. She turned up a 
 stove lid and made some blacking out of the soot, and 
 polished the stove until it shone like enamel. Then she 
 got down on her knees and went thoroughly over the 
 floor. It looked darker and worse than ever just after 
 she had finished it. But it soon dried, and then it was 
 white and sweet. She took a whole day for the dishes 
 and pots and pans and kettles. She scoured the dish 
 pans and the coffeepot last, and by a clever twist of 
 her finger against their surface she made them look as 
 if they were set with stones. 
 
 And after everything in the kitchen had been done, and 
 she had surveyed the result to make sure there was noth- 
 ing more to do, she started in on the rest of the house. 
 To begin with, she piled most of the furniture out in the 
 yard. Father came up just about that time. He cast 
 one look about him and went in where mother was. 
 
 "Anne, several of the people up at the River are sick, 
 and I am afraid I shall have to go up and spend a day 
 or two with them." 
 
 He looked greatly downhearted at having to go. 
 
 Mother was a lot more like her old self, for her eyes 
 twinkled as father spoke. 
 
 "I am sorry, Tommy. But don't be gone any longer 
 than you can help," she said. 
 
 It was Wednesday, and father declared he would hurry 
 back just as soon as possible. He went out in the yard 
 where Mother was at work. He was jovial.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 195 
 
 "A fine work you are doing, mother. But you have a 
 big job on hand. How long will it take to finish it?" 
 
 "Three days, at the least," she answered, vigorously 
 shaking a rug. 
 
 "Well, if any one calls for me, I am up at the River. 
 I have to go up there to visit some sick people." 
 
 She regarded him closely for a moment, and went on 
 shaking the rug. 
 
 Between Margaret and Mother as housekeeper during 
 those first few days, I would have chosen Margaret with 
 alacrity. The way Mother scattered things about was 
 a nightmare. And when father started off to the River 
 appointment, I also slunk out to the grindstone to work 
 on my drill. 
 
 But she espied me just when I counted myself safe. 
 
 "Bennie, you come here and help beat this rug." 
 
 I went back reluctantly, and went to work. 
 
 My, those days that followed! Most of the furniture 
 piled out in the yard; not a rug in the house, except in 
 mother's room, but was taken out and beaten. The 
 bedding was out in the sun to air; floors were mopped 
 up; and last of all an enormous washing done! Then 
 the process of rehabilitation was begun. O, Mother was 
 thorough ! 
 
 But by Saturday morning everything was straightened 
 up. The living room was clean and fresh; the kitchen 
 was immaculate ; even the little storage room was in per- 
 fect order. The windows were open, and the white cur- 
 tains were fanned by the fresh breezes. It was then that 
 I decided Mother was a better housekeeper than Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 Along in the forenoon father came back from the 
 River. All the sick people were getting on nicely, and 
 his spirits were high. And late that afternoon he started 
 for Oakumi Mills for Sunday.
 
 196 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 Saturday evening Mother finished the supper dishes 
 and put everything in order. She seemed very happy and 
 contented. Along about dusk she lit the lamp on the 
 reading table. She had boiled the burner and scoured 
 the globe, and it gave a bright cheerful light. She got 
 her knitting and settled comfortably for the evening. 
 
 That was the time I had been looking forward to. 
 Margaret and I went over and sat down close to her. 
 
 "Tell us a story, Mother," I implored. 
 
 "Do, Mother," Margaret seconded. 
 
 "What will I tell you about? 3 ' 
 
 Her voice was soft and purring. 
 
 "Anything. Just anything !" 
 
 "About eagles?" 
 
 I thrilled. 
 
 "Yes. Eagles, or bears, or anything." 
 
 "Or fairies." 
 
 "Or wildcats or catamounts." 
 
 "Or princes." 
 
 Her knitting needles flew rapidly around the heel of 
 a heavy yarn sock. Her face wore a look of deep re- 
 pose and contentment. 
 
 "Well, well, now. Let me see. I'll tell you about 
 Dead Man's Cave, and what became of your Uncle Rob- 
 ert. Will that do?" 
 
 "Do tell us," we both exclaimed at once. 
 
 And she began the tale. I had heard something about 
 it before, but had forgotten how it came out. 
 
 "Well, it was a long time ago. We lived a long way 
 up the river then, and your Uncle Robert was just a 
 year older than I. He had a very close friend, whose 
 name was Harry Duffield. Now, neither Harry nor your 
 Uncle Robert had ever been out in the world, and they 
 wanted to go. A drummer from the city had stopped 
 at our place over night once, and had told them many
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 197 
 
 things about the life out there. They could get a dollar 
 a day for work; and people wore good clothes all the 
 time. They wore white collars every day. And from the 
 time he was there, they had wanted to go away. They 
 began to save up their money, and at last they had 
 enough to start on. 
 
 "Away back in the mountains from where we lived, 
 an old Indian lived alone in a little cabin. His name was 
 Nigro. When his people had gone on out west, he had 
 refused to go along, and had remained behind, living all 
 alone in his little cabin. 
 
 "He was tall and brown. He seldom wore any clothes 
 above his waist, and his lean brown body was bare from 
 the waist up. His nose flattened out on his face, and 
 his long black hair fell in oily curls about his head. 
 We never knew just what he did for a living, except 
 that he trapped a lot in the winter time, and took people 
 down the river in his canoe in the summer. 
 
 "When Harry and your Uncle Robert were ready to 
 go out into the world, they hired old Nigro to take them 
 down to the Kanawha. It was a long trip, and he charged 
 a lot, for when he should come back up the river alone 
 he would have to wade up the shoals and drag the canoe. 
 But there was no other way of getting down, so they 
 had to get him. 
 
 "My, my, I did not want Robert to go away. He was 
 just a year older than I was, and he was that cheerful 
 with his happy blue eyes. We had been together as 
 far back as I could remember, and the thought of losing 
 him made me sick and lonely. 
 
 "And then there was Harry. We were both seven- 
 teen, and he had been coming to our house a lot. He 
 and I ' 
 
 "But, Mother, how could Robert be my Uncle if he 
 was your brother?" I interrupted.
 
 198 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "He was your Great Uncle, but we just called him 
 Uncle," she explained. 
 
 "Well, they started. I can remember yet just how it 
 looked the morning they went away. We had got up 
 very early. The ground out by the river was damp from 
 the heavy dew. The river was grey and still. The fog 
 had just lifted, but everything was still damp. The dew 
 was heavy on the big water birches that grew by the 
 river, and it kept falling into the water with big heavy 
 splashes. 
 
 "And then they shoved the canoe off. Old Nigro sat 
 about the centre, and just back of him was their bag- 
 gage, covered over with a black oilcloth. Harry sat in the 
 back, and Robert up front. They waved us good-bye, 
 and Nigro paddled away. 
 
 "They were to take their time going down. Your 
 Uncle Robert loved to fish, and they had decided to stop 
 whenever they felt like it, and camp and fish for a few 
 days. And there were good places to fish down that 
 way. 
 
 "Nigro did not care how long they stopped, for he 
 was getting his board free, and that was about all he ever 
 seemed to care about. So when they came to a place 
 where the fishing looked good, your Uncle Robert would 
 tell him to stop, and they would land and camp there as 
 long as they felt like it. One day they were in the canoe 
 and Nigro was paddling rapidly along, when your Uncle 
 Robert saw a place that looked like a very good spot to 
 camp, and the river looked deep and inviting. 
 
 " 'How is that, Nigro ? A good place to try our luck, 
 I am thinking. Suppose you pull in.' 
 
 "Contrary to his usual good-natured obedience, Nigro 
 paid no heed, but paddled stolidly on as though he had 
 not heard.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 199 
 
 " 'Did you hear, Nigro ? I said that was a good place 
 to put in.' 
 
 "Nigro half turned in his seat until he faced the land- 
 ing. He looked at it intently, and then slowly lifted his 
 eyes until they rested on a great crag that jutted out 
 from the mountain-side in a curious resemblance to the 
 upper part of a human skull. His eyes shifted uneasily, 
 and he faced squarely down the stream. 
 
 " 'That Dead Man's Cave. Me no stop,' he said 
 shortly. 
 
 " 'But I say you will stop,' your Uncle Robert said, 
 rising. 
 
 "The Indian paid no heed whatever. Your Uncle 
 laid his hand on the paddle. Nigro turned swiftly in his 
 seat until he faced about. His body was bare from the 
 waist up, and under his copper-coloured skin his muscles 
 tightened. He fixed upon Robert a look of steady men- 
 acing resolve. 
 
 " 'That Dead Man's Cave. Me no stop/ 
 
 " 'Better let him go on, Bob,' Harry said nervously. 
 'Plenty of good places farther down.' 
 
 " 'O, all right, if he wants to act that way about it,' 
 and he sat down." 
 
 I liked the way Mother told her stories. She would 
 get so interested herself that she tried to make her voice 
 sound like the people she was telling about ; and she would 
 use big words without stopping to tell us what they 
 meant. Father would sometimes tell us stories, but when 
 he used a big word he would ask us if we knew what it 
 meant. Of course we did not, and he would stop so 
 long to explain its meaning that we forgot a lot of the 
 story. But not so with Mother, and while we did not 
 always know what the words meant she used, we could 
 easily understand what she was saying. So she went 
 on.
 
 200 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Well, that night they camped a mile or two further 
 down the river. After they had eaten their supper, your 
 Uncle and Harry were alone. 
 
 " 'What did you think of the old boy up there ?* your 
 Uncle asked. He had been much mystified by the way 
 Nigro had acted. 
 
 " 'Don't know what to make of it. Little off up here, 
 I guess/ he answered, tapping his forehead significantly. 
 
 " 'Never heard of it before. What do you say we 
 pump him about it?' 
 
 " 'He looked mighty all-fired solemn when you spoke 
 to him about it up there. You know, Bob, we can't 
 afford to contrary him now/ 
 
 " 'I know we can't. But I'm going to find out what 
 he got so uppish about, just the same/ 
 
 " 'Better go easy. They are treacherous, those In- 
 dians/ 
 
 " 'Never you fear/ 
 
 "It was not long before your Uncle got a chance to 
 speak with Nigro. 
 
 " 'By the way, Nigro, what's this about that Dead 
 Man's Cave?' 
 
 " 'It just that, Dead Man's Cave. Men die/ 
 
 " 'What do you mean, that men die. Is there some 
 one there that kills them? Speak out, man/ 
 
 " 'Indian go, him no come back. White man go, him 
 no come back. It Dead Man's Cave.' 
 
 "And that was absolutely all he would say. 
 
 "Robert's curiosity was aroused. He had heard of 
 Indian superstition before, but he had never known a 
 concrete case of it. Evidently the Indians had made up 
 some legend about the mountain, and it had got such a 
 hold upon them that they had come to believe it. 
 
 "And he meant to look into the matter. Partly be- 
 cause he was curious, and partly also because he was
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 201 
 
 vexed with Nigro and wanted to show his superstition 
 groundless. 
 
 " 'I'm going up there and see what there is in it,' he 
 said to Harry, bright the next morning. 
 
 " 'What's the use to get worked up over it ? Fishing's 
 good here.' 
 
 " 'O, I'm just curious. Come along?' 
 
 " 'No. I saw the bass jumping out in that deep hole 
 there. Guess this spot is good enough for me.' 
 
 " 'Maybe Nigro will go.' 
 
 " 'Better not try him/ and Harry smiled. 
 
 "But your Uncle did try him. 
 
 " 'Nigro, I am going up on Dead Man's Cave this 
 morning. Want to go along?' 
 
 "He looked at Robert a long time, showing great emo- 
 tion. He came over and put his hand on his shoulder. 
 Robert had never seen him so moved before. 
 
 " 'Him good father. You no come back. Not go.' 
 
 " 'Sure my father's all right, but I'll come back. Have 
 the fish fried brown, Harry,' and he hurried down to 
 the river. 
 
 "He untied the canoe and pushed off. Harry watched 
 him paddle easily up the river and turn the bend. Then 
 he was lost from sight. 
 
 "Harry fished for an hour or more in the deep pool 
 under the shade of the mountain, and with good luck. 
 Five great black perch and a blue cat. And as the sun 
 peeped up over the mountain and lit up the blue depths, 
 he strolled slowly up to the camp. 
 
 " 'Cook 'em brown, Nigro. Bob will be starved after 
 climbing that hill.' 
 
 "But at dinner time your Uncle Robert had not re- 
 turned. They waited one hour, then two, three. Still 
 he was not back, and they ate their meal in silence.
 
 202 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 " 'Guess he's old enough to take care of himself,' said 
 Harry easily. 
 
 " 'Him no come back. Dead Man's Cave,' answered 
 Nigro stolidly. 
 
 " 'Nonsense, Nigro. You have that cave on your 
 brain,' for Harry was plainly irritated. 
 
 "But when evening came on and Robert had not re- 
 turned, he was plainly uneasy. 
 
 " 'Of course there's nothing to the Indian's cave story, 
 but something must be wrong. Bob likes fried fish too 
 well to stay away all this time,' and he smiled. 
 
 "He sat up until long in the night, and his pipe made 
 a solitary glow in the darkness by the river. He looked 
 up at the mountains around him, the mountains silent 
 and mysterious, their sides covered with trees that did 
 not so much as stir. He listened to the distant murmur 
 of the shoals. And he felt very much alone and lonely. 
 Off up the river to his left he heard the loud shrill cry 
 of a wildcat. The air became chill, and the dew lay heav- 
 ily about him. There was a rustle behind him and he 
 jerked quickly about. It was only some night thing. 
 
 " 'Pshaw. I'm getting fidgety as an old woman,' he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "He got up and shook himself impatiently and went 
 to bed. 
 
 "The next morning he went to Nigro impatiently. 
 
 " 'Now see here, if you know anything about that cave 
 that you have not told us, it's time you out with it.' 
 
 "Nigro threw up his hands. He had evidently passed 
 a restless night. His face was drawn and deep leathery 
 wrinkles had appeared above the corners of his mouth. 
 
 " 'No one come back. Me no tell,' he said desperately. 
 
 " 'Well, I know one that will go and come back,' and 
 -Harry started off toward the river. 
 
 "To his surprise Nigro laid a hand upon his shoulder.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 203 
 
 And his grip was so tight that his fingers sunk into the 
 flesh and made Harry wince. 
 
 " 'You no go,' he implored. 
 
 " 'Go hell/ Harry returned fiercely. 'Do you think I 
 will sit around here without trying to find out what is 
 the matter?' and again he made off. 
 
 "I forgot to tell you that Nigro had a little dog along 
 with him," Mother explained suddenly. "Yes, he never 
 went anywhere without that little dog." 
 
 "Was he as big as Ponto ?" I asked. 
 
 "No, not quite. He was little and yellow." She 
 stopped for a moment and sighed. Then she settled her- 
 self more comfortably, and her knitting needles flew 
 around each other. 
 
 "Well, Harry took the little dog and set out up the 
 river. What had kept Robert away? he asked himself 
 over and over. He could have no object whatever in 
 staying away so long. But what had happened? Was 
 there, after all, some truth in the legend of Dead Man's 
 Cave? Was it superstition, or was there some secret, 
 terrible and bloody, up there at the dead-head crag? 
 
 "Just before he turned the bend in the river he looked 
 back toward the little camp. Old Nigro, tall and bare 
 from his waist, stood by the water's edge, his arms 
 folded, looking intently after him. He looked sombre and 
 prophetic as he stood there watching. It was as if he 
 were saying good-bye. 
 
 "When Harry reached the place where Robert had 
 wanted to stop on the way down, he found the canoe, 
 securely tied to the root of a water birch. It had swung 
 around against the bank, and had evidently been in that 
 position for a long time. There was something terribly 
 suggestive about it. 
 
 "Harry looked at it a moment, examined the rope with 
 which it was tied, rose, and looked slowly up at the moun-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 tain. Layer upon layer it reared its mighty bulk, cov- 
 ered by an uneven growth of pine; up and up and up 
 to the very summit, where towered Dead Man's Cave, 
 which, with an inscrutable smile, seemed to be keeping 
 death-watch over the surrounding hills. The indescrib- 
 able grandeur of the lonely place filled him with awe and 
 dread in spite of himself. But he snapped to his dog 
 and started up. 
 
 "For an hour they climbed, over fallen trees and un- 
 even rocks, now slipping in the moist loose soil, now 
 balancing dangerously on the loose stones. They reached 
 the summit. The dog was running importantly here 
 and there, smelling at the roots of trees and sniffing 
 curiously in holes. But as they began to go out toward 
 Dead Man's Cave, he came up to Harry, and the two 
 went along together. And together they reached the 
 mouth of the Cave. 
 
 "The sight that met their eyes was terrible. Bones 
 on all sides, to the right, to the left, bones. Bones of 
 animals, and bones of men. Dead Man's Cave was real. 
 The dog sniffed the bones curiously, and trotted into the 
 cave. While Harry stood looking about him with a hor- 
 rible fear and nausea stealing over him, the dog returned. 
 It ran to the edge of the precipice, looked over toward 
 the river, turned and whined piteously. Then it fell over 
 in a paroxysm. Harry stood and watched in a daze. 
 The dog kicked out jerkily, rolled over and over, then 
 threw back its head and gasped. In another moment it 
 was dead. 
 
 "Harry felt a cold sweat breaking out all over him. 
 He looked around him in panic, and felt a strong desire 
 to break and run. But by an effort he pulled himself 
 together and peered into the cave. A few feet ahead of 
 him he saw a familiar shape. Something recognisable 
 lay sprawled out on the floor of the cave. He approached
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 205 
 
 it cautiously, his eyes not quite accustomed to the dim 
 light. He was right. It was your Uncle Robert. He 
 was dead." 
 
 Mother stopped for a moment. With a vacant look in 
 her eyes she sat rocking to and fro. I was wildly curi- 
 ous. 
 
 "And then?" I prompted. 
 
 "O!" she said. 
 
 "Well, and then he was seized with panic. He backed 
 out of the cave and looked about him desperately. But 
 nothing was in sight. He stood for a moment, and then 
 stepped resolutely back into the cave. Walking cau- 
 tiously, he reached the body of your Uncle Robert. He 
 stopped and listened intently. 
 
 "And then he heard a noise. It was a gliding, writhing 
 sound, as of wet leaves being torn apart. Then he saw 
 and sprang back. He had seen what it was." 
 
 "And what was it?" I asked eagerly. 
 
 "A den of copperheads." 
 
 "And did they get him?" 
 
 "No, but they got you r Uncle Robert." 
 
 "Was he dead?" 
 
 "Yes, he was dead." 
 
 "And what did he do to the snakes?" 
 
 "He filled the cave with brush and set fire to it." 
 
 "Were they killed?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 For a long time she was silent, rocking to and fro. 
 Her knitting was forgotten. I sat pondering. She 
 sighed. 
 
 "Did Harry go on to the Kanawha?" I asked at last. 
 
 "No, he came back home." 
 
 "And what did he do then ?" 
 
 She brightened, looked at us happily, and smiled. 
 
 "O! He is your grandfather!"
 
 Chapter 17 
 
 BY the end of the second winter, I had got used to 
 Hen's being away. At first it had been hard. When 
 I went to school by myself, I missed him dreadfully. 
 And when I went up on the hill alone after fodder, I 
 got very lonesome. Besides, I had to make two trips 
 after fodder, where, when he had been at home, I had 
 made only one. But as the second winter wore away, 
 I got used to doing the work myself and really didn't 
 think much about him any more. 
 
 But one beautiful spring day father announced that 
 Hen was coming home. I thought I had grown quite in- 
 different to him. But when father said he was coming 
 home I felt greatly elated. And a few days later, when 
 I got on Bird and tied old Bill's halter to the horn of 
 my saddle and started to meet him, I was all eager- 
 ness. I wanted to see Hen. 
 
 If I had not been bothered by old Bill, I would have 
 looked forward to the ride to Monroe. But it was not 
 very much fun to ride with old Bill pulling along behind. 
 Whenever Bird broke into a trot he lagged along behind, 
 stretching out his neck and pulling back, trotting only 
 when he had to in order to keep up, and even then 
 jogging along in a lazy ambling way. Once or twice I 
 cut him over the neck with my switch, hoping to stir 
 him up in that way, but he only pulled back the harder 
 and shied off to get out of reach. And when he did that 
 
 206
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 207 
 
 the halter sawed so over my leg that I gave up in 
 despair. 
 
 But it was a great trip, aside from that. In many 
 places men were out burning brush on the hillsides they 
 had cleared during the winter, and as I passed along I 
 could see the brush heaps burning, the green limbs curl- 
 ing and singing as they burned. Occasionally when a 
 half burned heap fell in, the red flames shot up and 
 little white flakes of ashes floated lazily in the air. 
 
 The road lay along the creek in many places, and by 
 many deep holes boys were sitting, holding big crooked 
 poles in their hands and waiting vainly for a bite. Old 
 rusty bait cans and charred logs were scattered about 
 profusely. Sometimes the boys looked at me in silence 
 as I rode by. And at one shallow hole a little fellow 
 not more than nine had just got a bite, and was sitting 
 tense and eager, holding his pole in readiness. 
 
 I rode along by fences, and more than once fat grey 
 squirrels jumped off the ground with a great chattering, 
 looking at me nervously for a moment, and then went 
 tearing away down the fence, their big bushy tails stream- 
 ing out behind them. And often on the lower rails little 
 brown chipmunks sat up on their haunches, alert but 
 motionless. 
 
 I passed by one place where they were having a log- 
 rolling, and men from far and near were gathered to- 
 gether in the field. The trees had been cut and trimmed 
 up. Boys were dragging the limbs and piling them in 
 heaps to be burned; men with long handspikes were 
 rolling the logs together. I stopped for a moment to 
 watch a giant young fellow try to roll a big log alone. 
 There must have been some bet up, for the others did 
 not offer to help him, but crowded around to watch. He 
 went up, cleared the dirt from under the log so he could 
 get his handspike under, and then bent his shoulder to
 
 208 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 it. Setting his feet, with legs slightly apart, he began 
 to lift. His great shoulders humped up as his legs began 
 to straighten out. I saw his face get red, and the veins 
 on his neck stand out. But slowly the log moved, and 
 then with one mighty final effort he snapped his body 
 straight, and the big log rolled clumsily down the hill. 
 
 "Fine work, that, Bill," a number cried, and turned to 
 their work. 
 
 But I did not stop long. I was too eager to get to 
 Monroe. Monroe was a little place, father said, com- 
 pared to the cities where there were as many as seven- 
 teen telephone wires on the poles, but it was a wonderful 
 place to me. The board sidewalk was wonderful. It was 
 that above all things that impressed me. I loved to walk 
 on it. Hen had written that it was easy to keep step 
 with any one on a board walk, because he could hear 
 his feet as they struck the boards. I was barefooted, but 
 I could walk on it just the same, and I wanted to try to 
 imagine how it would sound if I did have shoes on and 
 were trying to keep step with some one. 
 
 But I was doomed to disappointment. When I got 
 within a few miles of town I met Hen. He had got 
 there before me, and had not waited, but knowing by 
 which road I would come in, had started out to meet me. 
 He was carrying his suit case, and it seemed heavy, for 
 he was all pulled over to one side. But when he saw me 
 he yelled out. 
 
 "Hello, Ben." 
 
 "Hello," I answered, forgetting any disappointment at 
 not getting in to town. 
 
 Hjen had changed someway. He had grown a lot, and 
 was much taller than when he had left home. But 
 it was not that altogether. He had on a pair of long 
 pants, his shoes were neat, and there seemed to be an 
 .air about him that had not been there when he left home.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 209 
 
 His hair was cut, and that made a big difference. Father 
 had always cut our hair, and while he never failed 'to 
 get it off, it often looked funny when he got through. 
 But Hen's was even and neat. Hen always had looked 
 different from the other boys, but he looked more so 
 now. 
 
 He seemed very eager to get started back home. He 
 tied the suit case on old Bill's saddle, got on himself, and 
 we started briskly back. 
 
 "How is every one at home?" he asked. 
 
 "Fine. Ed Rainey got his leg broke by a log rolling 
 on him, but he is better now." 
 
 "What work did you have in school this year ?" 
 
 "O, same old things. Arithmetic, Fifth Reader and 
 Grammar." 
 
 "Did you like the new teacher?" 
 
 "You bet ! He took me up home with him over Sun- 
 day once." 
 
 "How does he teach the school?" 
 
 "O, he just teaches. But he's not hard like Aaron Wil- 
 let. He Says scholars must look off their books at times 
 because they can't stand it to study all the time." 
 
 "Does he whip the scholars any?" 
 
 "Some. He whipped Bill Hunter and Charlie Snow- 
 den hard once for waylaying Minnie McRand and rock- 
 ing her." 
 
 "Did they get mad ?" 
 
 "Some. How did you like your school?" 
 
 "It was fine." 
 
 "Did they let out at four?" 
 
 "They didn't do that way. You just came and re- 
 cited, and then went back home." 
 
 "Didn't you have to stay in the schoolhouse and 
 study?" 
 
 "No, we just went there to recite. The last class I
 
 210 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 had was physics. It came at two and lasted till three." 
 
 "Physics? What's that?" 
 
 "O, that tells you why water won't go up when you 
 pour it out of a bucket, and things like that." 
 
 This was a poser for me. Of course I knew that water 
 would go down to the ground, but I never had thought 
 what made it do it. I had supposed it just fell. I 
 pondered for a long time. 
 
 "Well, why is it?" 
 
 "The law of gravitation." 
 
 "Does it do it?" 
 
 "Sure. Just pulls it right down." 
 
 I didn't know what the law of gravitation was, but 
 the explanation was entirely satisfactory. We rode on 
 in silence. 
 
 It was nearly dark before I asked a question that had 
 been puzzling me for a long time. 
 
 "Where will we stop for the night, Hen?" 
 
 "We won't stop. Go on home to-night." 
 
 I was very tired, but I was willing to go on home. 
 I never liked to stay away from home at night. It was 
 all right until about time to go to bed, and then I got 
 terribly homesick. It was never nice to sleep away from 
 home. 
 
 It was along about midnight that we turned the bend 
 and came in sight of our house. We couldn't really see 
 the house, for the fog was thick over the river, and it 
 spread up around our house like white soft down. But 
 as we got nearer and nearer, the outlines of the house 
 began to stand out indistinctly. All was very quiet. 
 
 Old Ponto came out growling as we approached. But 
 I drew my breath in between my puckered lips in a 
 kind of low squeak. He recognised me at once and 
 commenced to bound around, whining eagerly. Then
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 211 
 
 Hen spoke his name, and Ponto stopped and pricked 
 up his ears. 
 
 "Come on, Ponto," Hen said again encouragingly, as 
 he got off old Bill. 
 
 I thought Ponto would go crazy. He ran up to Hen, 
 his whole body writhing and undulating from side to 
 side, and his tail wagging so furiously that it almost lifted 
 his hind feet from the ground. He licked Hen's hands, 
 jumped up impulsively and licked his face, and then 
 started running in little circles about him, jumping up, 
 turning, and keeping up a series of little yelps. 
 
 "Nice old doggie," and Hen grabbed him and hugged 
 him. Ponto broke loose and kept up his general ju- 
 bilations. 
 
 The door opened quickly, and a flash of white ap- 
 peared. Just a moment it lingered, peering eagerly for- 
 ward, and then it made straight for Hen. I was amazed, 
 for we had made but very little noise. When Hen had 
 talked to Ponto it had been in an undertone. But there 
 mother stood, her arms about Hen, clinging to him as 
 though she would never let loose. 
 
 Again I felt the old pang of jealousy. Mother seemed 
 to think more of Hen than she did of me. And again I 
 wished that I might go away, far away, and be in great 
 peril. But even as I thought, mother broke away from 
 Hen, stood limply for a moment, and started toward the 
 door sobbing. I was amazed, but in some way I at- 
 tributed it to Hen. 
 
 "What did you do?" I demanded fiercely. 
 
 "Nothing," Hen answered nonplussed. 
 
 As she reached the door father appeared. He saw 
 her and put his arm about her. 
 
 "Here, here, honey. You are all upset," he said sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 "O, Tommy, it's too good to be true," she sobbed.
 
 212 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 For a long time we sat up before going to bed. A 
 single lamp was burning in the room, and near it Hen 
 sat. Mother sat a little distance from him, looking at 
 him tenderly, her eyes -resting on every movement of 
 his face as he talked proudly of his work in school. 
 And father walked around aimlessly, running his fingers 
 through his hair and saying, "Pshaw," "Well, I declare," 
 and things like that, to no one in particular. 
 
 And when at last Hen and I went off to bed, mother 
 followed and helped him off with his clothes, taking 
 his collar from him as he took it off his neck, pulling 
 his shirt-sleeve down over his hand. It was warm, but 
 when we got into bed she hovered around, asking 
 whether he wanted another cover, and if he felt per- 
 fectly comfortable. 
 
 And I was bitter with resentment. I remembered 
 a story father had told in a sermon, of a prodigal son 
 who had gone away and had a fine time, and spent lots 
 of money, and of another son who had staid at home and 
 done all the work. But when the prodigal came back 
 home, every one made over him, and no one thought of 
 thanking the son who had staid at home and worked the 
 farm. I thought that was like it was with Hen and 
 me. And I wished fiercely that I could go away and 
 come back home and have everybody making over me. 
 
 The next morning we had a late breakfast. Mother 
 had been in the kitchen a long time when Hen and I got 
 up. It was her moving about that had wakened us. I 
 got out of bed and slipped into my old blue shirt and 
 brown pants that mother had made me. I watched 
 Hen closely, for I wondered whether he would put on 
 his store clothes. But he didn't. He put on an old pair 
 of pants that mother had made him, too. 
 
 "Putting on your old britches, Hen?" I asked. 
 
 "You don't want to say britches, Ben. It's breeches."
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 2ia 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "I learned that over at school. No one said britches 
 there." 
 
 He put them on, any way, and we tumbled out to the 
 kitchen. Mother was fussing about the stove, very bus- 
 ily engaged. She soon called out that all was ready. 
 
 Father sat at the head of the table, and mother at the 
 other end. Hen and I sat on one side. Margaret was 
 alone on the other. Father returned thanks in his most 
 awful voice, and after saying all that he usually said, 
 he thanked God that he had kept our ranks unbroken. 
 I didn't know what he meant by our ranks, and couldn't 
 see how a rank could be broken, for we usually called 
 things rank when they had a terrible smell. But mother 
 seemed to understand, for she said "Amen" under hep 
 breath when father finished. 
 
 We had big hot soft biscuits, baked with buttermilk, 
 and fresh cane molasses, and bacon and eggs. And there 
 was a great plenty for all of us. I thought then that 
 it was nice, even if it was all done for Hen, because I got 
 just as much to eat as he did. And when we went out 
 behind the house after breakfast, I was tickled still more, 
 for there was a chicken's head by the wood-block. 
 
 Hen and I wandered about the place for a long time. 
 He wanted to go to the stable and look round, and go 
 up on the hill and see the corn field, and down to the 
 creek and see whether the bank swallows had built their 
 nests in holes dug in the creek bank. We went down 
 to the river and looked at the cut-off, and went out on a 
 big log-raft and sat down with our feet in the water. But 
 at last he said he thought he would go up to the store. 
 I wanted to get a fish hook and see whether I couldn't 
 catch some of the big fish we saw swimming under the 
 raft, so I did not go with him. 
 
 Margaret was out in the yard when I went up after
 
 214 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 the fish hook. She had grown very tall the last year or 
 two, and while she was very slim, she nevertheless looked 
 very plump and round. Before Hen had gone away to 
 school, Margaret and I had not gone around together 
 much, because I always went with Hen. But when he 
 left, Margaret got to going places with me, and we had 
 come to be very great friends. She did not make fun 
 of the things I said and did, as Hen had always done. 
 So I told her many things that I had never thought of 
 telling him. How, for instance, I wanted to set up a 
 store, and be a big storekeeper when I grew up ; or how 
 I meant to go off to school and get an education and 
 come back and be a big man in Barren Rocks, like old 
 Alex McRand, or Ash Hayes. She always heard me 
 seriously, and when I had finished, would say that she 
 knew I could do it, and that she would be very proud 
 of me when the time came. 
 
 And then she would tell me what she wanted to do. 
 First she intended to have a big millinery store, and make 
 beautiful hats, and sell them to fine people. And she 
 intended to save up a lot of money and get some beauti- 
 ful clothes for herself, more beautiful than anything we 
 had ever seen. They should even be finer than the pic- 
 tures in the Journal and Messenger. And when she had 
 everything fixed up, she would be sure to meet some- 
 body some fine handsome person, like father, for in- 
 stance, only young and cheerful. 
 
 She was usually very indefinite along toward the end, 
 as though she had not thought out yet just how every- 
 thing should end up, but always there was the fine hand- 
 some somebody, and in some way that was not exactly 
 clear to me, everything would be all right as soon as he 
 appeared. 
 
 Because we had got to be such good friends, I liked
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 215 
 
 to have her with me. When I saw her out in the yard, 
 I went over. 
 
 "Come and go down with me to fish, Margaret." 
 
 "Where is Hen?" 
 
 "Gone to the store." 
 
 "All right. Go and get the poles." 
 
 Together we went down. I caught some crickets by 
 turning up some old boards and stones that lay near the 
 water, and putting one on my hook I let it sink down 
 between the logs. For a long time I sat there, waiting 
 for a fish to bite, but I felt no pull. I drew up the hook, 
 and the cricket was still on, with the water dripping off 
 its slim glossy legs. I lay down on the raft and looked 
 down between the logs. Occasionally I could see a big 
 pink sucker swim lazily by. But when I dropped the 
 hook back in, there was no bite. 
 
 I got discouraged after a while, and laid the line down 
 on the log. 
 
 "Guess they won't bite." 
 
 Margaret was sitting on the upper end of the raft, 
 her feet drawn up under her, looking dreamily off up 
 the river. When I went up to her she did not move. 
 She seemed to be looking at an overhanging water-birch 
 away up the river, but I knew from the far-off expres- 
 sion on her face that she did not see it. 
 
 "What are you thinking of, Margaret?" 
 
 "O, just thinking." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "Ben, do you know Brooks Hollingshead ?" she asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Sure, I see him every time I go to the store." 
 
 "Does he ever say anything when you see him?" 
 
 "Sure he does. He's fine." 
 
 "Did you see him at church Sunday?" 
 
 "Sat over by the stove."
 
 216 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Did you notice how wavy his hair is?" 
 
 "Don't like curly hair. What you thinking about 
 him?" 
 
 "O, nothing. Do you like him?" 
 
 "Sure. We all like him. He gives us peanuts and 
 cinnamon bark." 
 
 "And did you notice his eyes? how nice they are?" 
 
 "Eyes? Where?" 
 
 "At church. He leaned back in his seat and looked 
 around, so," and she leaned back on the log and looked 
 keenly about. 
 
 "More like this," and I tried it. 
 
 "After the service he came up to father and talked 
 to him. Father introduced me to him," she added 
 dreamily. 
 
 "Did he shake hands with you?" I wanted to know. 
 
 "Yes, like this," and she took my hand and moved it 
 ever so slightly up and down. It was not at all like we 
 shook hands. People usually took each others' hands, 
 gripped them tight and shook them up and down vigor- 
 ously. And when they wanted to make it more emphatic, 
 they would shake around and around. 
 
 "Funny way to shake hands," I said meditatively. I 
 had never known anything like it. 
 
 "But it was nice. And he is coming down to see us 
 some evening." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "O, he said he wanted to get acquainted with us. He 
 said he belonged to the church at home, and wanted to 
 get in touch with this one." 
 
 "Where is his home?" 
 
 "In Sistersville." 
 
 "Maybe Hen knows him." 
 
 "Why, so he might," said Margaret, springing up sud- 
 denly. "Where is Hen?"
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 217 
 
 "At the store. What do you want?" 
 
 "Nothing. Guess I will go back to the house." 
 
 That night at supper Hen seemed to remember some- 
 thing. 
 
 "What do you think of Brooks Hollingshead ?" he 
 asked father. 
 
 "A fine, promising young man, I should say," father 
 answered. "Why?" 
 
 "Knew him in Sistersville. In school last year. He's 
 a fine fellow." 
 
 "Is his home there ?" mother asked. 
 
 "Yes. I've been there. Fine big house. I didn't know 
 he was here until I stepped into the store." 
 
 "How nice that you know him," mother said. 
 
 And that evening Brooks Hollingshead came down to 
 see us. Hen was out at the gate when he arrived ; and 
 the two talked out there for a long time. I had always 
 thought that Hen was the most handsome man around 
 Barren Rocks, but when I saw him and Brooks Hollings- 
 head together, I was not so sure. Hen was fair, and his 
 hair was a light brown. He had nice eyes, and was big 
 and strong. But Brooks was different. He was not quite 
 as big as Hen, but he was very dark. He had dark eyes, 
 and hair that was almost black. When he laughed he 
 had a way of throwing back his head that was very 
 pleasant. And when he did so, he showed his teeth. 
 They were nice teeth. 
 
 When it got dark, Hen brought him into the house. 
 Father had been sitting reading a commentary on He- 
 brews, but he laid it aside and got up when Brooks came 
 in. Mother shook hands with him also, and said she was 
 glad to have him come down. He looked at her with his 
 pleasant smile, and I could see he was taken. But who 
 wouldn't be with mother! 
 
 Margaret sat over by the reading table and hardly
 
 218 The Manse at Barren Bocks 
 
 opened her mouth all evening. She had on her green 
 gingham, and I thought she looked very pretty in it. 
 It had white cuffs and a white collar, and the collar made 
 her look very sweet and fresh. When I saw how nice 
 she looked, I hoped she would talk a lot, and do things 
 to draw attention to her. And I was greatly disappointed 
 that she sat there without saying hardly a word. But 
 we did have a very pleasant evening, for all that. 
 
 After that, Brooks came down to our house very often. 
 It was very lonely, he said, up at the boarding house, 
 with no one to talk .to, and he liked to come down and 
 talk to us. He and Hen were very good friends ; had 
 known each other at Sisters ville ; and found no end of 
 things to talk about. 
 
 Father and he also talked a lot. He asked father all 
 sorts of questions about the Bible, and inspiration, and 
 the Second Coming. And in answering him father usu- 
 ally got deadly in earnest. Drawing little diagrams on 
 the floor with his finger, to represent times and periods 
 and ages, he eliminated one after another of the ages 
 that stood from the beginning to the end of time, and 
 narrowed down the number until one only was left. 
 And that was our age. Father was sure the end of the 
 world was close at hand. And he pictured it all out 
 until I felt again the horror of the Judgment Day. 
 
 He stopped to explain every big word he used, such 
 as apocalyptic and anthropomorphic, and he did it so 
 well that I understood the whole thing. Brooks listened 
 to him so closely that I wondered at times whether he 
 was not afraid he had sinned away his day of grace. 
 But when I caught him on many occasions looking slyly 
 over at Margaret, I ceased to worry about his salva- 
 tion. 
 
 And then one Sunday evening he walked home with 
 Margaret from church. Not that he went up and asked
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 219 
 
 her, or anything like that. It looked natural enough, 
 for we were all along. But he walked with her, all right, 
 and he took her arm when they came to a rough place 
 in the road. When we reached home he stopped at the 
 gate and said good-night to us all together. But I could 
 see that it was Margaret he meant. 
 
 There came quite a change over Margaret. She got 
 up early of a morning, and worked about the house dur- 
 ing the day singing little meaningless songs she had 
 learned here and there. She laughed at the least little 
 thing. But usually of an evening she slipped out to the 
 high bank above the river and sat looking off toward 
 Honnells Gap, a dreamy look in her eyes. 
 
 But then well, who wouldn't?
 
 Chapter 18 
 
 MY, my, how the time did fly! If I looked back 
 over the months to an event that had taken place 
 somewhere in the past, it seemed ages away. But at the 
 time of its passing, no day was long enough to hold the 
 thousand delights that could have been crowded into it, 
 had there been time. I was worried absolutely not at 
 all. I had no regrets for the past, because it was as I 
 would have had it again. I regretted the passing of each 
 day only because I would fain have had more of it. 
 But I knew there would be another on the morrow, and 
 I lived constantly in present delights and future anticipa- 
 tions. 
 
 It was a great life ! The lazy summer droned on, with 
 its warm days, when the bumblebees hummed on the 
 sand briers and the river stood blue and still. And the 
 nights were nights of pleasantness and of peace, when the 
 fog hung like eiderdown over the water, the whippoor- 
 wills called to each other on the mountainside, and the 
 lightning bugs made dots of yellow light off in the bot- 
 toms. And following the summer slowly came golden 
 autumn, when the hoarfrost lay white on the grass, the 
 chestnut burrs curled open and the big brown fat nuts 
 dropped to the ground. Then winter came, and school 
 opened up an entirely new life. After school of eve- 
 nings there were such myriad things to do traps to set, 
 deadfalls to go over, rabbits to track up, that no day was 
 sufficient. And even the nights, with great logs burning 
 
 220
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 221 
 
 in the fireplace and chestnuts to roast in,the ashes, were 
 never long enough. And spring came on, and summer 
 arrived again, almost before I knew it. 
 
 Our school was over ; Hen was home for the summer ; 
 and I had my first suit of store clothes, before I really 
 stopped to take note of the quickly passing time. It was 
 the suit of clothes that made the epoch, I think. I had 
 for a long time wanted some clothes that were all made 
 up when they left the store. Mother had always made 
 my clothes, and they were all right, of course. But they 
 did not look like the clothes bought at the store. The 
 seams in my pants often puckered in down at the bot- 
 tom, and my coats were terribly funny up at the collar. 
 I didn't mind it for a long time, but it got to seeming as 
 though I simply must have a suit of store clothes. And 
 one day I saw a golden opportunity. Old Herb Ellan- 
 ger was rafting his logs down at the mouth of Little 
 Creek, and he wanted a dozen white oak saplings to nail 
 across them. I was at the store when he came in and 
 said what he needed. Five cents a sapling he was willing 
 to pay, and the amount looked fabulous to me. I offered 
 to have them on the creek bank by noon, and hurried 
 home in a fever of delight. 
 
 Away back up on the hill I went with our big poleaxe, 
 and cut the saplings we had climbed over for many a 
 summer. The few little limbs were easily cut off, and 
 after the top had been cut out, I dragged the poles in 
 piles of four, butt ends together, and went home after old 
 Bill. With his single harness on, I threw the single- 
 tree and snake-chain over my shoulder, and rode him 
 up on the hill. Three trips I made, riding Bill and snak- 
 ing the saplings down the hill. It was a little after noon 
 when I got the last load down. Old Herb was standing 
 on the bank when I arrived, his great silver watch in his 
 hand.
 
 222 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "It's a little after noon, Ben," he said, his heavy face 
 breaking into a hard smile. "I'll have to dock you five 
 cents on the lot." 
 
 "No, but you didn't have to wait any !" 
 
 "But you were to have them all here by noon. Here 
 is the fifty-five cents," and he handed me the money. 
 
 "But I ought to have sixty," I said angrily. 
 
 "That will learn you to keep a contract," and he started 
 off toward the mouth of the creek. 
 
 I felt deeply that he had been unjust, but there was 
 nothing that I could do. He had the reputation of driv- 
 ing sharp bargains, and I was afraid if I said anything 
 more he would want to take back some of the fifty-five 
 cents. So I took old Bill home, unharnessed him, and 
 made for the store. 
 
 I knew what I wanted. There was a brown suit of 
 clothes there that I had looked at longingly for many a 
 day. I would get it. It cost a dollar and a quarter, but 
 I had hopes of being able to get Brooks Hollingshead 
 to fall in the price some. If he would come down to a 
 dollar, I could pay the fifty-five cents, and get the rest 
 some way. 
 
 "I would like to see that brown suit over there, 
 Brooks," I said eagerly, pointing to it. 
 
 When he had laid it on the counter I felt of it, and my 
 hands were very nervous. It seemed more desirable than 
 ever, now that it looked as though I really could get it, 
 but I shrank from asking him the price, and then asking 
 him to credit me for the amount above fifty-five cents. 
 
 "How much is it?" I asked nervously. 
 
 "One dollar and a quarter," he said in a business-like 
 way. 
 
 "Could you come down on it some?" 
 
 "I'll tell you, Ben. I'll make it to you for one dollar, 
 cash."
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 223 
 
 My heart sank. Cash meant all the money down, and 
 I didn't have all. 
 
 "I'll pay you fifty-five cents down and the rest some 
 time soon," I offered, not very confidently. 
 
 "Does your father know you are getting it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Where will you get the money to pay the balance?" 
 
 "I'll get it somewhere," I said fiercely. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "All right. Take it." 
 
 I counted out the fifty-five cents carefully, and then 
 my fingers closed over the suit. Holding it in my arms 
 I started for the door. 
 
 "Don't you want it wrapped up, Ben?" 
 
 I didn't answer. I was afraid to let it out of my hands. 
 It seemed I might never get hold of it again if I let go 
 of it for a moment. I ran all the way home, rushed in, 
 and showed it to mother. 
 
 She seemed sufficiently impressed. She took it from 
 me, ran her fingers in the coat sleeve, and looked at the 
 cloth critically, then held it up to the light. 
 
 "Where did you get it, son?" she inquired. 
 
 "At the store. I hauled some poles for Herb Ellan- 
 ger's raft, and he paid me fifty-five cents for them. The 
 suit cost a dollar. I owe forty-five cents on it yet, but 
 I can get that somewhere." 
 
 "Try it on, and let me see how it will fit." 
 
 That was precisely what I wanted to do, and I was not 
 slow in doing it. ,My, how it did fit ! The seams of the 
 pants were straight, and the legs were pressed neatly. 
 The coat fit perfectly, and I liked the smell of the cloth. 
 It had a strange smell, different from any clothes I had 
 ever worn. 
 
 Sunday had always been a day more to be dreaded tfian 
 desired by me, for while I liked to go to church and see
 
 224 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 everybody, there were so many things we could not do 
 on Sunday that we had to be very careful. But now I 
 wanted Sunday to come, and come quickly, so I could 
 wear my new suit. 
 
 Essie Evans was always there, her curly hair falling 
 down round her shoulders, neat and nice as ever, al- 
 though much taller than she used to be. And while she 
 was always friendly with me, I thought she liked to go 
 about with Tim Tahune too much since he had got his 
 new store suit. She had told me she didn't like Tim, 
 but he did look fine in his new suit, and she would 
 go down to the spring with him before Sunday School, 
 almost every Sunday. I went along, but someway Tim 
 seemed to amount to more than I did. 
 
 And this Sunday I was to wear my new suit. I knew 
 just how I would fix myself. I would wash my feet and 
 legs good, wash my neck, and comb my hair up in a 
 high roach that I thought made me look much like Brooks 
 Hollingshead. 
 
 Very early Sunday morning I started out. When I 
 went by Tim Tahune's, he was out in the yard washing 
 his face. 
 
 "Early, ain't you, Ben?" 
 
 "Not much," I said, extremely self-conscious as he 
 looked me over. 
 
 "Say, where did that come from ?" he asked seriously, 
 giving a finishing touch to his face with the towel, and 
 coming over to inspect me closely. 
 
 "Bought it at the store," I said, with an effort to be 
 careless. 
 
 "Looks all right," he conceded heartily when he had 
 finished. 
 
 His frank admiration was hugely gratifying, and when 
 he expressed it so frankly, I was inwardly ashamed of
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 225 
 
 the envy and jealousy I had so often directed at him. 
 But I didn't say so. 
 
 "How soon will you be ready to go?" I asked him. 
 
 "Haven't fed the horses yet. I won't be ready for 
 near an hour." 
 
 "Guess I'll go on, then." 
 
 When I got in sight of the church I saw a lot of the 
 girls playing out in front. People got to church early 
 in Barren Rocks, sometimes an hour or more before the 
 service would begin. And after it was over, they would 
 stay and visit until far into the afternoon. 
 
 When I was near I saw the girls stop and look to- 
 ward me. I was a little uncertain just how I should 
 walk in order to appear at my best. All the way to the 
 meeting-house I had been practising a stride that would 
 suit me best, and had finally decided on one, but I was 
 still a little uncertain about it. I had concluded that it 
 wouldn't be best to walk along easily, swinging my 
 arms like I usually did. That would look too frivolous. 
 So I had decided to walk slowly, with measured step, 
 my arms hanging gracefully at my sides. And when I 
 walked I was to lean forward slightly at each step, as 
 a clerk that used to be at the store had done. 
 
 In this measured dignified manner I approached the 
 meeting-house. I looked for Essie Evans to run out to 
 meet me and declare that she would like for me to be 
 her partner in the games that we were to play. But 
 she did nothing of the kind. The girls simply stood and 
 looked at me a moment, as though uncertain who I might 
 be. Then one called out, 
 
 "O, it's Ben Rhodes," and they all ran away together 
 to play. 
 
 I was greatly chagrined, but did not entirely give up 
 hope. I would just wait until the other boys came, and
 
 226 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 when the girls saw us all together, I was sure they would 
 be impressed. 
 
 But when Tim Tahune arrived, he wore, in addition 
 to his suit, which looked unusually neat, a beautiful pair 
 of tan shoes. Now I had no shoes. I had always gone 
 barefooted in the summer time, and had worn boots in 
 the winter. None of us boys had ever thought shoes 
 an essential thing in the summer. For girls they might 
 do, but as for us, we had no need of them. But al- 
 though I would have been glad to think otherwise, I had 
 to admit that Tim's shoes looked not at all out of place. 
 Rather, his stockings matched his pants so nicely, that 
 he seemed more finished and complete more like the 
 pictures in the Journal and Messenger than I did. And 
 when we started over to the spring to get some water, 
 Essie Evans went with him. 
 
 I did not go clear to the spring; There seemed no 
 room for me in the crowd. Rather, in a brooding frame 
 of mind, I went back to the meeting-house, and sat down 
 on the steps. I wanted to think things out. The one 
 thing that would admit of no compromise was that I 
 must have a pair of shoes. But how to get them? 
 That was the question with which I wrestled all during 
 the service, and all the way home. 
 
 But that afternoon all such thoughts were banished 
 from my mind. We had no more than finished dinner 
 when Brooks Hollingshead arrived. He came in cheerily 
 and sat down by the window. 
 
 "What do you say to going for some birch?" was al- 
 most his first question. 
 
 "Nothing would suit me better," Hen declared. 
 
 "Won't that be fun," Margaret said. "We will go 
 over toward Honnells Gap. There are ever so many big 
 birches over that way." 
 
 Now, that suited me as well as it did any of them.
 
 The 'Manse at Barren Rocks 227 
 
 To go out in the woods and cut down a young birch tree, 
 peel off the bark in big pieces, and with a sharp spoon, 
 scrape off the sweet sap and eat it that was about as 
 fine a thing as could be done. 
 
 I had already taken off my suit and put on my old 
 clothes, and while Margaret went out to the kitchen to 
 get some spoons to scrape the sap with, I went out to 
 get the poleaxe. 
 
 Hen put on his hat and went out. When I returned 
 with the axe he was not to be seen, and it was a long 
 time before he came back. Jane was with him when 
 he did. 
 
 And when we started off up the bottom, Brooks walked 
 easily along beside Margaret. Hen and Jane were in 
 front of them, and I walked importantly along ahead of 
 them all. 
 
 The afternoon was glorious. We climbed the hill above 
 our house, and the laurel bushes were freighted down 
 with immense big white and pink flowers. Mountain- 
 tea, with its little green leaves and red berries, grew 
 along the ground like a carpet. And when we got on 
 top of the hill we looked off over one chain of hills 
 after another, into the far distance where the blue of the 
 hills seemed to meet the blue of the sky. And I thought 
 as I had often thought before, that out there was the 
 end of the world. 
 
 We climbed down the hill on the opposite side, down 
 into the deep moist hollow, where the leaves had been 
 gathering for years and the sun seldom shone. We had 
 all reached the bottom, and I was exploring around on 
 all sides when I found my big patch of sang. Sang we 
 all called it, but father had often explained that the real 
 word was ginseng. Ginseng or sang, I had found a big 
 patch of it, and my heart leaped with the possibilities 
 it offered.
 
 228 The Manse at Barren Bocks 
 
 I said no word to the others, but let them go on, 
 while I hastily cut a limb from a bush and sharpening 
 the end of it, began feverishly to dig. It was not long 
 before I heard the resounding strokes of the axe on the 
 mountainside, but I paid no heed. On and on I dug 
 until my pockets were full and bulging with the stringy 
 uneven brown roots. It was only after the last root was 
 dug, and I had looked carefully around for more, that I 
 started toward the direction of the sound of the axe. 
 
 The little slim birch tree fell, and we peeled off 
 great strips of the tough bark and scraped the white 
 juicy sap out of the hollow troughs with our spoons. 
 I ate all I wanted, and then began to scrape the sap out 
 in long strips and plat them together to take home and 
 dry. It was very good dried. 
 
 It was while we were on our way home, laughing, chat- 
 tering, telling funny stories and having a great good 
 time, that it dawned on me with a suddenness very sur- 
 prising, that Margaret had grown up. I had not really 
 thought much about her, except simply as Margaret, 
 since the winter day a few years before when she stood 
 looking meditatively out of the window. I had thought 
 somewhat hazily then that she had changed, but I had 
 thought nothing more about it. But to-day she seemed 
 like a different Margaret from the one I had always 
 known. Father had called her a tomboy when she was 
 growing up; and later he had said she spent too much 
 time moping about when she ought to be helping mother. 
 But it struck me as we all walked home together that 
 Margaret was not at all like she used to be. Her hair 
 did not hang down her back in a big plat, for one thing. 
 But that was not it. She had been putting it up on her 
 head for a long time, and it didn't seem to make much 
 difference. The skirts she wore were longer. The blue 
 one she had on to-day came to her shoe tops.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 229 
 
 But it was something more subtle than these, and yet 
 it was all very contradictory. She seemed frailer than 
 she used to be, but she was not. There was something 
 soft and appealing about her, but she was as jolly and 
 sharp-witted as anybody. 
 
 She. stood up on the trunk of a great oak tree that had 
 fallen so long ago that it was rotting away, and tiptoed 
 up to look into a bird's nest that was slung jauntily to 
 an overhanging bough. And as she stood there, graceful, 
 charming, with an evasive resemblance to mother in the 
 way she arched her head and smiled, I thought, as I had 
 thought once before, that she looked like some nimble 
 graceful elfin poised for flight. 
 
 All at once I felt very, very lonely. It was as though 
 Margaret had moved on into another world and had 
 left me to wander behind. And I knew, as I had known 
 so many things before, not because I had been told or 
 had any assurance from without that they were so, but 
 simply because I knew from within that they were in 
 this way I knew that Margaret and I would never again 
 be the great companions we had been. She had passed 
 beyond me, and whither she had gone I could not follow. 
 Then and there I gave her up, and it was with more re- 
 gret than was the case when I said good-bye to Hen as 
 he left to go to school, for I knew he would come back, 
 but I knew equally well that Margaret would never 
 return. 
 
 But when I put my hand into my pocket to get my 
 knife, all thoughts of a gloomy nature vanished before 
 the fact that I had in that selfsame pocket enough 
 sang to pay the balance on my suit and go a long way 
 toward buying a pair of shoes. I thought happily of the 
 shoes. They should be tan, not like Tim's, for that 
 would look as though I had picked shoes like he had. 
 They should be darker than his, and the soles should be
 
 230 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 a little thinner. And I ran home to spread my sang 
 out to dry. 
 
 After a week of impatient waiting for it to dry, I 
 took it eagerly up to the store. My shoes would be a 
 dollar and a half, and I owed forty-five cents on my 
 suit. That meant a dollar and ninety-five cents in all, 
 and I hoped ardently that the sang would bring that 
 amount, for I knew it sold for four dollars a pound. 
 
 It came to a dollar and seventeen cents. I hung 
 around the scales while it was being weighed, and hag- 
 gled with Brooks for a few more cents, but he was 
 obdurate. A dollar seventeen was all he would give, and 
 while I was disappointed, I asked him if he would give 
 me the two cents' worth of candy, and allow me to pay 
 the rest on a pair of shoes. He looked at me quizzically 
 and said he guessed he would risk it. And carrying the 
 coveted shoes, I went home at a dead run. 
 
 And the following Sunday I went straight up to Essie 
 and asked her to go down to the spring with me after 
 water. She looked at me with her brightest smile. 
 
 "Come on, Ben. We will run away from that Tim 
 Tahune." 
 
 I was perfectly willing to run away from him, not 
 that I feared him, for I believed that with my new suit 
 and shoes I did not need to fear any one. But I was 
 glad to take Essie down over the big bank, where we 
 were out and away from the others. 
 
 We had a glorious time. I pulled a big leaf off of a 
 little oak sprout and made a cup for her to drink out of. 
 She held it daintily out from her as she drank, and her 
 beautiful curls fell down around her shoulders. 
 
 "Is it all right, honey?" I asked her. 
 
 My new shoes had given me a confidence and a bold- 
 ness I had never known before. I felt equal to any 
 emergency.
 
 The Manse at Barren Hocks 231 
 
 She looked at me an instant, as though she were pre- 
 paring to be very angry. My heart thumped against my 
 ribs while she was hesitating. But she evidently thought 
 better of it. She smiled, and a little dimple snowed it- 
 self in her right cheek, and her dark eyes held a look 
 of great companionship. 
 
 "Yes, dear," she said, softly. 
 
 She started rather quickly up the bank, and I followed, 
 trying to catch up with her. She slowed down when we 
 got near the church, and together we went inside. 
 
 I just felt that after that I could go with her any time.
 
 Chapter 19 
 
 T TNCLE CHARLES SHAUDER was mother's broth- 
 V-/ er. He was a very large man, very fat and cheer- 
 ful. I liked very much for him to come to visit us, 
 for he was so big and happy that he made us all have 
 a good time. He never had the blues, and when he 
 got up of a morning he roared out some funny greeting 
 to each one of us as we appeared, and started the day 
 off with such funny jokes and so much laughter that 
 we forgot all about having the blues. 
 
 He was a minister, too, only he was a Methodist. 
 Mother had been a Methodist before her marriage, but 
 when she married father she joined the Baptist church, 
 for father said it would never do for a minister's own 
 household to be divided. But Uncle Charles was a 
 Methodist, and I had early promised him that I would 
 be one too when I grew up, for I thought if all Meth- 
 odists were big and cheerful like him, it surely would be 
 a jolly church to belong to. 
 
 Uncle Charles was always trying to persuade father to 
 join the Methodist church. He said father was such a 
 big preacher that he would soon be made a Presiding 
 Elder if he were a Methodist; and he further declared 
 that he ought to get out of the woods and go somewhere 
 where he would be appreciated. Father had always said 
 that he simply could not consider such a thing, and the 
 subject was dropped. 
 
 But once Uncle Charles came to see him about a very 
 
 232
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 233 
 
 important matter. They went on a long walk, and talked 
 seriously all the way. I went along with them, but 
 father told me to run ahead and play, so I did not hear 
 what they said. But that evening I came on father and 
 mother in the kitchen alone. They were talking very 
 seriously, and looked exceedingly solemn. 
 
 "He said all was arranged," he was saying, "and that 
 I could be assigned to it right away. It is a big church, 
 a station right in the city." 
 
 "Would you be contented there, dear?" mother asked, 
 softly. 
 
 Father looked troubled. He walked up and down the 
 room a long time. 
 
 "I don't know," he said finally. 
 
 "You know, dear," mother went on, still softly, "the 
 size of the church isn't everything. And neither is the 
 money. You could get more money here if you should 
 ask for it." 
 
 "O, I know. But it is not so much that, Anne. It's 
 the children. They are growing up, and maybe they 
 ought to have the advantages of the city." 
 
 "We will go if you think best, dear. But our children 
 are all I want. We have been greatly blessed with them 
 all." 
 
 "That's all true. But conditions are changing. We 
 must fix it so they can take their place in the world." 
 
 "And what of the churches here?" 
 
 Father again looked troubled. He sat down in a chair 
 and laid his head over on the table. 
 
 "I don't know," he said simply. 
 
 "When do you have to decide?" 
 
 "Before he goes back." 
 
 "That gives us a week. We will decide one way or 
 another by that time." 
 
 And they decided on a plan. Father should visit the
 
 234 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 four churches of the circuit; talk with the members 
 about the matter, and if they seemed willing to consider 
 a change, we should move. 
 
 It was a busy week for him. He spent a day among 
 the members at the River appointment, and came home 
 looking more troubled than ever. He next rode over 
 to Oakum Mills, spent two days, and again returned 
 with a haggard look about his eyes. Then he went to 
 the Shoals, and finally visited around among the people 
 at Barren Rocks. 
 
 "Well, what have you decided?" mother asked him, 
 smiling wanly, when he had finished. 
 
 "I have not decided." 
 
 "But there are only two days more. You must decide." 
 
 "I suppose I must." 
 
 But he wandered vacantly about the house that eve- 
 ning, as if vainly endeavouring to make up his mind. 
 Uncle Charles pressed him for an answer. 
 
 "Don't be so squeamish about it, Peter. The time has 
 come in this day when a man must grasp his opportu- 
 nities as they come to him. And a big thing like this 
 does not turn up every day." 
 
 "But what about the churches here?" 
 
 "Why, let them go. You can't afford to spend your 
 whole life cooped up here. Ybu are getting old, man. 
 And these people can find another man that can take 
 your place." 
 
 "I suppose so. Well, I'll let you know before you 
 go back." 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock the next morning that a 
 member of the River appointment rode slowly down the 
 bottom, and hitched his horse to the fence. Soon there 
 was another, and still others, until six men from the 
 River had arrived. They hitched their horses to the 
 fence and stood awkwardly about.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 235 
 
 And then from up over the hill, they began to arrive 
 from Oakum Mills. Tall silent men, slouched down in 
 the saddle, their white cotton socks showing above their 
 heavy shoes where their pants had been worked up by 
 the stirrup strap. They came down the hill, hitched 
 their horses to the fence, and joined the others. 
 
 Men from the Shoals also came, some riding, some 
 coming in a boat. And then people who lived around 
 Barren Rocks : Henry Tolliver, Herb Ellanger, and many 
 more. 
 
 We were greatly mystified at their appearance. It was 
 not a surprise party, for there were no women along. 
 And there was something so serious in the way they 
 came up and stood around, that I knew they had come 
 on important business. 
 
 Father joined the group, and tried his best to talk with 
 the men, but they were not talkative. Clearly they had 
 something on their minds, and were in no mood for con- 
 versation until it was off. 
 
 When there were no others in sight, and it was clear 
 that all had come who were to be there, they came 
 through the gate and stood in an uneven circle about our 
 front door. Mother stood in the doorway watching 
 them; father came up and sat down on the step. 
 
 Henry Tolliver disengaged himself from the others, 
 and walked well over to the centre of the circle. He 
 faced father. 
 
 "Brother Rhodes," he began in his mild way, glanc- 
 ing first at father and then at the silent group that stood 
 about, "we hear that you have got a call to leave us. 
 That is, you told us about it when you visited with 
 us. We have been expectin' this. We all knowed that 
 you would some day be took from us. But we had our 
 hopes. That is, we thought maybe we thought as 
 how you might stay. And we don't want you to go. We
 
 236 The Manse at Barren Bocks 
 
 will pay ye more. We will see that ye never want. But 
 it ain't that. A lot of these here," and he waved his 
 hand to include the circle, "a lot of these here have been 
 converted under your preachin'. Ye have married us and 
 baptised us, and," his voice shook and he hesitated feebly, 
 "and ye have buried a lot more as would like to be here, 
 but could not because God took 'em. And Brother 
 Rhodes, we have come down to see whether you won't 
 stay on with us." 
 
 He walked over and joined the circle. The men 
 looked patient, serious, troubled. There was about it 
 all an undercurrent of deep emotion. All eyes were 
 fixed on father. 
 
 I had never seen father cry but once, and that was 
 when the Doctor said mother could not live. He had 
 gone into the little storage room to pray. He cried 
 then. But now his eyes grew very misty. He looked 
 up at mother, who all the time had been standing in the 
 doorway. She nodded to him, and stepped down beside 
 him. 
 
 He stood up, looked into the faces before him, smiled, 
 and opened his mouth to speak. He closed it and swal- 
 lowed hard. Then he sat back down on the step and bur- 
 ied his face in his hands. 
 
 There was a movement in the group about him. Some 
 cleared their throats noisily, others turned their faces 
 away. Tears were in many eyes. Slowly the group 
 melted away. Horses were unhitched, men vaulted into 
 the saddle, and soon we were alone. 
 
 Mother sat down beside father, and put her hand in 
 his. 
 
 "Tommy, the Lord has spoken." 
 
 He looked up at her. His eyes were wet, but his face 
 shone with a great light. He pressed her hand. 
 
 "The Lord has spoken," he said.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 237 
 
 And I knew then, just as I knew so many things with- 
 out being told, that we should always live at Barren 
 Rocks. But I was not sorry. I never wanted to leave. 
 
 But when Hen heard what had happened, he was fu- 
 rious. He said it was wrong to let big opportunities 
 slip by ; that with a big church there were greater oppor- 
 tunities; and that father might not have another chance 
 to go out into the world and really count. Uncle 
 Charles agreed with Hen, I knew, although he never 
 said a word. Only as he was leaving, he turned to 
 speak to father. 
 
 "I guess it is settled, is it?" 
 
 "It is settled, Charles," father replied. 
 
 When I asked Margaret what she thought about it, 
 she smiled. 
 
 Uncle Charles was not married, and he was going to 
 see his girl on his way back. It seemed very funny to 
 hear Uncle Charles talking about going to see his girl. 
 Of course, he was not so very old, but his being so big 
 and fat made it seem almost comical to hear him talk 
 about a girl. 
 
 Her name was Amy Dedson, and she lived about 
 twenty-five miles down the river from our house. Uncle 
 Charles had to go by there on his way back to Midvale, 
 where his church was, and he was to stop a day or two. 
 
 From the excited way in which he and mother had 
 talked of the visit, something very important evidently 
 hinged on it. They were out under the chestnut tree the 
 day before he left. 
 
 "And you think she is willing?" mother asked ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 "I don't know, Sis," he responded gloomily. "I don't 
 seem able to worm a thing out of her. She is so con- 
 founded elusive." 
 
 "But you "
 
 238 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 "Sure. But then it is hard to tell. But one thing sure, 
 I'm going to have it out with her this time." 
 
 "And do let me know the minute you find out," 
 mother made him promise. 
 
 And from the eagerness with which she watched for 
 the mail for the first few days after he left, I surmised 
 that something important was afoot. 
 
 It was almost a week after he left us that mother got 
 the letter. She flew at it with great eagerness, and 
 tore it open instantly. She read it through once, then 
 went back over it and read it again. 
 
 Father had been regarding her with a tolerant smile. 
 
 "Well, did she have him ?" he grinned. 
 
 Mother did not read it all out loud, but she read this : 
 
 And, Sis, I popped the all-important question ! It 
 staggered her for a bit. I guess I talked so fast and 
 looked so wild that she was afraid I would fall on her. 
 But in the end she accepted yours truly, and everything 
 went off with a flourish. The date is set for the twen- 
 tieth, for I could see no need for delay. All we need 
 now is the assurance that good old Peter will be on hand 
 to do the job. 
 
 Mother got all worked up over it, and made endless 
 preparations. The wedding was to be at Amy's home, 
 twenty-five miles down the river. Father and mother 
 were to start the nineteenth so as to be there in good 
 time. My, the way she did fix for it. Of course she 
 would need but two dresses, the one she should ride down 
 in and the one she should wear at the ceremony. But I 
 do believe she made over every dress she had. 
 
 But on the sixteenth it began to rain. And on the 
 seventeenth, it fairly poured. And by the nineteenth, 
 Elk River was a yellow flood. It raced past our house 
 like mad, high and swift in the centre, with a constant
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 239 
 
 stream of driftwood swirling down it. And it was im- 
 possible for mother to go. For the road was terrible 
 in good weather, crossing the river in many places. 
 While at high tide there was no other way than to let 
 the horse wade as far out as he could at the fords, and 
 swim the rest of the way across. 
 
 Mother had to stay at home. She was more vexed 
 than ever I had seen her before. She stood at the win- 
 dow biting her lip and watching the muddy flood sweep 
 by. 
 
 "I NEVER wanted to go anywhere that something 
 didn't turn up," she declared tearfully. "I might have 
 known it." 
 
 And when father was ready to start she gave him his 
 marching orders in a firm voice. 
 
 "Now, Tommy, you notice everything. EVERY- 
 THING," she repeated impressively, shaking her finger 
 at him. "Don't miss ANYTHING. And remember it 
 all, too. And come back here and tell me all about it." 
 
 He promised solemnly to do so. 
 
 "Now remember," she warned him as he rode away. 
 
 He was back in record time, and she flew to the door 
 to meet him. 
 
 "Well, how did she look?" was her first question. 
 
 "Now, Anne, just wait a minute till I get these things 
 off," and he began to unfasten his long leggings. It took 
 him a long time. 
 
 Mother stood by impatiently. 
 
 "Was the house decorated?" she asked when she 
 could restrain herself no longer. 
 
 "House? What house? Why, let me see. Ton my 
 word, I forget whether it was or not." 
 
 "I knew it," mother cried, greatly exasperated. "Do 
 you remember ANYTHING?" 
 
 "I had to use that Methodist ritual after all," father
 
 240 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 declared in a tone that made it all too clear that the cere- 
 mony would have been much more satisfactorily per- 
 formed had he used the Baptist formula. 
 
 "O, that! But Amy. How was she dressed?" 
 
 "I didn't just notice what she had on, but really she 
 is a sight." 
 
 Mother was all interest. 
 
 "A sight? What do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, she is long and lean. Flat as a board. And 
 she has a long red nose." 
 
 "Really?" mother encouraged. 
 
 "Fact. Red as a beet." Father was evidently en- 
 joying himself. 
 
 "I can hardly believe it. Tell me more about her." 
 
 "Well, she is taller than Charles, and walks like this." 
 
 Father bent over and made his way awkwardly across 
 the room. 
 
 "Go on. Tell me everything." 
 
 And then father went on to tell everything. The trip 
 he had had down the river; the fords Bill had swum; 
 the mud. And always he returned to the Methodist 
 ritual. That had evidently aggravated him more than 
 anything else, for he made constant reference to it. And 
 Amy he took great delight in telling just how she had 
 looked. 
 
 It all interested me very much. When mother got a 
 letter from Uncle Charles not so many weeks later, say- 
 ing that he 'and Amy were coming up for a visit, I was 
 filled with curiosity to see his new wife. Mother was 
 too, for she went all over the house and gave it a good 
 cleaning. 
 
 But when the day arrived, Uncle Charles came alone. 
 His wife's home was between our house and Midvale, 
 and she had stopped there while he had come on up. 
 We were greatly disappointed.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 241 
 
 That night we were all sitting comfortably around the 
 table. Uncle Charles, in his big cheerful way, had been 
 telling us of his trip, of the church, and last of all, of 
 his wife. He ended abruptly and called me over to him. 
 
 "Come over and sit beside me, Ben." 
 
 I went over. It was fine to be around Uncle Charles. 
 He put his arm across my shoulder and pulled me close 
 to him. 
 
 "And what do you think of my wife ?" he asked. 
 
 "I never saw her, Uncle Charles." 
 
 "But what did your daddy say about her?" 
 
 "I won't tell," I answered quickly. 
 
 I realised that complications of some terrible sort were 
 imminent. But when he spoke again his voice was 
 friendly, and I took courage. . 
 
 "Sure you will tell me. Now what did he say?" 
 
 I was reassured by the tone of his voice, for if he 
 meant to take it all so goodnaturedly, there could be no 
 danger in telling him. Besides, I saw no way out of the 
 difficulty. 
 
 "Now what was it?" 
 
 "He said she was tall and lean." 
 
 He looked around quickly. 
 
 "Was that all?" 
 
 "And had a long red nose," I went on. 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 Now I just felt that there was something wrong. I 
 felt it in the air, something ominous, terrible. I looked 
 up. Margaret sat looking at me as if fascinated, ab- 
 sorbingly interested. Mother's glance was shifting fe- 
 verishly from me to father and back again. And father's 
 glance was bent upon me in a cold frown. It was his 
 eye that fairly froze my blood. I stopped speaking ab- 
 ruptly, got up and slunk out to the kitchen.
 
 242 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 I expected something awful to happen when I saw 
 father alone, but he never said a word. 
 
 When Uncle Charles went back, father and mother 
 went with him part way. They intended to go part way 
 with him, and then turn off for a visit to their own peo- 
 ple over around Big Bend. They took Little Anne with 
 them and left Margaret and me at home. Rude Ham- 
 ilton was to stay with us and keep house while they 
 were away. 
 
 Rude had a pretty hard time of it at home, alone so 
 much. For a long time after Thomas was baptised, 
 he had kept pretty close home. But he had developed 
 some new interests down the river, and they kept him 
 away quite a bit of the time. He never came back 
 drunk any more. He very rarely came back at all. And 
 Rude was that lonesome, she was always glad to stay 
 with us any time we needed her. So she came over to 
 keep house for Margaret and me while father and mother 
 were away. 
 
 It was along about that time that I developed a great 
 tendency for bartering. I wanted to trade, and it made 
 little difference what the object was, just so a trade could 
 be made. I just loved to dicker over a bargain, and so 
 heckle the other party that I would come out ahead. 
 I had originally started with a large barlow knife, and 
 had traded it for arrowheads, cartridges, horseshoe nails, 
 and finally ended up with a fine jew's-harp. Anything 
 that I had I stood perfectly willing to barter away, pro- 
 vided I stood a good chance of disposing of it at its true 
 value. 
 
 And then there was another thing. In the Journal 
 and Messenger from time to time there were advertise- 
 ments from big stores out in the world, offering fine 
 prizes to any one who would sell certain articles for 
 them. In some cases they allowed the agent to keep back
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 243 
 
 part of the money received from the sale of the articles 
 as a commission for the work. 
 
 I was not long in sensing the opportunities offered by 
 these concerns, and I soon sent off for their wares. 
 Once I got a package of gold nugget stick pins, claimed 
 to have been secured directly from the Klondyke. I filed 
 into one to test its genuineness, and discovered that it 
 was brass clear through. But the things were so heavy, 
 and looked so much like pure gold that I had little dif- 
 ficulty in selling them. In fact, when I wore one out 
 to church one Sunday, all the boys were wild about them, 
 and the money just poured in for a few days after that. 
 Some one told father that I was outside selling nuggets 
 while he was preaching, and I got an awful talking to 
 about it. But the nuggets sold, just the same. I kept 
 part of the receipts as my commission, sending the bal- 
 ance in to the Company. And the success fired my am- 
 bitions. 
 
 I got some salve, and had but little trouble dispensing 
 with it. All the boys went barefooted in the summer, 
 and they got so many stone bruises on their feet, that 
 their mothers were only too glad to have some good rem- 
 edy handy. And when I discovered that stone bruises 
 were the chief affliction, I played up that part in great 
 shape. 
 
 My being a minister's son helped a lot. The people 
 hated to say anything mean to me, for they knew it would 
 get to father in time, and they all wanted him to think 
 they were perfect. So more than once they bought the 
 salve just for the effect it might have on father. And 
 then, too, when they simply could not buy it, they were 
 so nice about it that I didn't really mind. 
 
 But when the other boys saw what a harvest I was 
 making, they sent away for things also, and the market 
 was fairly glutted. Sometimes three boys went to the
 
 244 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 same house in one day. This spoiled it all for me. And 
 it was at a very unfortunate time, for I had just got in 
 a large supply of bluing. Twenty-four packages, to sell 
 at ten cents a package, and the market glutted ! It was 
 good bluing, coated on little squares of paper. I had 
 been sent a sample package with which to demonstrate 
 its value, and it certainly worked wonders, but it would 
 not sell. I was desperate, for the company was nagging 
 me for returns, but the case seemed absolutely hopeless. 
 
 I was in this desperate condition when Brooks Hol- 
 lingshead came to see Margaret. For he had got to 
 coming to see her regularly, whether there happened to 
 be anything to go to or not. When he came down on 
 this particular night, Margaret was not just ready to see 
 him, and I staid in the room to entertain him while she 
 fixed up. We couldn't think of very much to say, so in a 
 lull I went out and got my bluing. I got a little cup of 
 water also, to use in demonstrating the bluing to him. 
 I went back in where he was. 
 
 "I have something here I want to show you, Brooks." 
 
 He looked up, very much interested. 
 
 "What is it, Ben?" 
 
 "It's bluing. See how it works," and I dipped a cor- 
 ner of the sample in the water. As soon as it touched 
 the surface, little blue streaks began to spread out in 
 the water. In a very little bit the whole cup was blue. 
 
 "See how good it does the work?" I asked him. 
 
 "It surely does," he answered enthusiastically. 
 
 "See, it comes in these little packages," and I held one 
 up. "There are ten sheets to the package, and half of 
 one sheet is plenty for a big washing." 
 
 "That surely is fine. Where did you get them?" 
 
 "Sent off for them. I am selling them." 
 
 "You ought to be able to sell them, all right."
 
 245 
 
 I didn't want to say that I could not sell them, for fear 
 he would think the bluing was no good. So I said : 
 
 "Maybe you would want a package, Brooks." 
 
 "Me? No, I don't have any use for it" And he 
 laughed. 
 
 "But you could send it home," I argued. 
 
 It was at this rather awkward time that Margaret 
 came in. Brooks got up quickly, and advanced to meet 
 her. 
 
 "Good evening, Brooks," she said softly. 
 
 "Good evening, Margaret," and he took her hand. 
 
 She sat down, and he followed her example. They 
 started up a rather brisk conversation, entirely ignoring 
 me. I was greatly ve;xed that Margaret had come in 
 just when she did, for I thought Brooks was beginning 
 to yield when she broke in on us. I waited and waited 
 for a good time to interrupt and reopen negotiations, 
 but there seemed absolutely no occasion. I sat on and 
 on. At last there was a lull, and Brooks looked over 
 at me curiously. 
 
 I saw my opening. 
 
 "You see, Brooks, you might send it home as a pres- 
 ent." 
 
 "O, the bluing," and he laughed wanly. "How much 
 did you say it was?" 
 
 "Ten cents a package." 
 
 He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a quarter. 
 
 "I don't seem to have any change, Ben. Maybe if 
 you will go up to the store and get this changed, I will 
 take two packages." 
 
 "Is there anybody there now ?" 
 
 "Yes, somebody always stays when I am not there." 
 
 My fingers closed over the quarter and I started eag- 
 erly up. I looked back at Brooks as I went out the
 
 246 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 door. Hie was looking toward the lamp, a slight smile 
 on his face. 
 
 And by demonstrating the bluing to him time and 
 again, I succeeded in selling him the whole lot. I did 
 think along toward the end that he was getting too much. 
 For, as the women said where I had tried to sell it, a 
 little bluing went a long way. But I didn't say anything. 
 And anyway, his mother got good value, for it was 
 good bluing.
 
 Chapter 20 
 
 FATHER and mother were to be gone three weeks, 
 and I had planned for a solid holiday covering the 
 whole period. For when they were away, I did just 
 about as I pleased. 
 
 Not long before they went away, we had papered our 
 living room. Now, we never used regular wall paper, 
 such as old Harrison Applebee used, when we papered 
 our house. When we papered our house, we made the 
 paste out of flour, and used the back numbers of the 
 Journal and Messenger for wall paper. 
 
 For this reason it was a very interesting thing to go 
 around a room after it had been papered, looking at the 
 pictures. Not the ones we purposely hung up, but the 
 ones on the wall paper. In the room where I slept there 
 were any number of such pictures; one, in particular, 
 that I looked at almost every day. A big grouchy look- 
 ing man was the principal figure in it. He was bent far 
 forward, and behind him was a wheel. From the wheel 
 big boots stuck out, and their soles were full of sharp 
 tacks. The wheel was supposed to be revolving rapidly, 
 and as it did so, the boots kicked the old man hard. 
 Below it was written, "Kicking himself for not using 
 schnapps tobacco." 
 
 So when we papered a room, it was a fascinating thing 
 to go around and look at the new pictures on the walls. 
 It took weeks to see them all and know what was writ- 
 ten under each one. 
 
 247
 
 248 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 After father and mother left, and things were pretty 
 still about the house, I spent many hours walking around 
 and looking at the new pictures. And it was the second 
 or third day after they went away that I found the ex- 
 citing one. It was almost entirely in red. A reddish 
 man was standing on a porch, holding out a beautiful 
 rifle to a boy who was running wildly toward him. There 
 was a little loop out from the man's mouth, and in it, 
 "Take this, son, and keep your eye steady." It was a 
 full page picture, of wonderful attractiveness. Below 
 and at the sides were little inserts of guns of various 
 types, with prices printed beneath them. I thought it 
 was the most wonderful picture I had ever seen, and 
 I looked at it by the solid hour. I tried to imagine how 
 it would feel to get hold of such a gun, to carry it on 
 my shoulder, and to go hunting with a gun all my own, 
 and watch for squirrels and rabbits when I had some 
 chance of shooting them myself. 
 
 The picture was on the wall behind father's bed, and 
 I was lying across the bed looking at it, when father and 
 mother themselves arrived, a day sooner than we had 
 expected. 
 
 The first intimation I had of their arrival was when 
 father called out to me : 
 
 "Come here, Ben, quick." 
 
 I sprang from the bed and hurried out. Margaret had 
 heard them too, and came running in from the kitchen. 
 I knew by father's voice that there was something un- 
 usual on foot. He didn't call to me in that vibrating way 
 when I was merely to put up the horses. So I ran out, 
 my eyes searching them as I ran. 
 
 "Look here, Ben, what I've got," father yelled. 
 
 I saw it, and simply could not get my breath for a 
 long tir~ j. It was a rifle, a twenty-two, a breech-loader, 
 octagon-barrelled, and the stock was glistening oak, var-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 249 
 
 nished until it shone. My knees got so weak I thought 
 they would just crumple up beneath me, and for a mo- 
 ment I could not lift up my arm to get it. I just stood 
 weakly and stared. It was too good to be true, and com- 
 ing as it did after I had been looking for so long at the 
 picture on the wall, it seemed like some impossible ending 
 of a beautiful dream. Father's voice recalled me. 
 
 "Here, Ben. Come and get it. It's yours." 
 
 I cleared the distance between us at one bound, 
 grabbed the gun out of his hand and hugged it. I pulled 
 back the hammer and sprung the little lever that ejected 
 the shells. I held it off from me and gazed at it, and 
 put it to my shoulder and sighted out over the bead. 
 I was almost delirious. Again father's voice brought 
 me back to earth. 
 
 "Where is Henry, Ben ? Take it and show it to him." 
 
 I whirled on Margaret. 
 
 "Here, Margaret. Take it. I'll go and get Hen." 
 
 He was at the store, and I started off on a run. I 
 never once stopped until I reached the store. I found 
 Hen outside making darts out of pine boards. I ran up 
 to him and clutched him eagerly. 
 
 "Come home, Hen. They have come back, and brought 
 a gun," and I broke toward home as hard as I could go. 
 
 Hen followed, but a little more slowly. I got there a 
 little ahead of him, ran in and got the gun and met him. 
 
 "Here it is. See the hammer, and here is the way the 
 shells are thrown out," and I showed him. 
 
 "Well, don't go clear crazy, Ben. Let me have it." 
 
 He took it, and I at once felt greatly ashamed of my- 
 self. I tried to breathe normally, and stiffened up in 
 the hope that my heart would not pound so furiously 
 against my ribs. I could see it beat, and flutter my shirt 
 as it did it. I hoped Hen would not notice it.
 
 250 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 And that night I slept with the gun hugged tightly up 
 to me. 
 
 After that, my days were one wild delight. Long 
 before the fog lifted off the mountains of a morning I 
 was there, haunting the beech and the hickory, watch- 
 ing for squirrels. And as they began to stir, and jump 
 from bough to bough with the heavy dew splattering 
 down on the leaves beneath, I was on hand. The gun 
 was not meant for long-distance shooting, and more shots 
 went wild than hit the mark, but the excitement never 
 abated, nor did the joy decrease. And in the evening 
 during the long twilight and until after dusk, I dogged 
 the rabbits through the fields, whistling when they ran, 
 creeping up on them when they stopped. While here 
 also more shots were wasted than true, it was more for 
 the joy of the chase than for the material reward. 
 
 So absorbed was I that Hen had gone away for his last 
 year in school, our own school had taken up, and golden 
 October had arrived, before I marvelled at the passing 
 of time. 
 
 We had all been invited to an apple-cutting at Harri- 
 son Applebee's, and Rude Hamilton had come over to 
 talk it over with mother. 
 
 "I do think," she was saying, "that with all his money, 
 old Harrison Applebee would cut his own apples and 
 not have the neighbours come in and do it for him. But 
 that's the way with the rich. As soon as they get a little 
 they want the world." 
 
 "O, but they do it merely to have a good time," mother 
 protested. 
 
 "I know that's what they say. But you know, Sister 
 Rhodes, them young people waste more apples than they 
 cut. And they never take any pains with 'em." 
 
 "But we must have something going on for the young 
 people."
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 251 
 
 "Why don't they come to church?" she snapped. 
 
 "They do, mostly," said mother uneasily. 
 
 "And what do they come for? Not for worship, but 
 merely to gad around together." 
 
 "We were all young once," mother replied easily. 
 
 "I don't think the wicked and indifferent need to have 
 any excuse made for 'em, Sister," and Rude looked very 
 severe. 
 
 "O, no. Maybe not. How is your toothache lately?" 
 Thus the subject was turned. 
 
 Margaret and I were ready to start before Brooks got 
 to our house. Mother had torn up her pink dress that 
 father got her at the Association, and had made it over 
 for Margaret. Mother said she was afraid to ride in it, 
 anyway, for if she got mud on it it would be ruined, so 
 she would just make Margaret a pretty dress out of it. 
 It was pretty, very soft and clinging. And Margaret 
 looked pretty with it on. Her face was pink to match 
 it, and to-night there seemed to be more of a flush on it 
 than usual. She sat with her hands in her lap, her fingers 
 holding a small square of a handkerchief she had not 
 yet unfolded. When there was a knock on the door she 
 got up all flushed, and started to open it. Mother inter- 
 cepted her, and putting her hands on Margaret's shoul- 
 ders, looked searchingly into her eyes. Margaret smiled 
 uncertainly, and Mother kissed her. Then Margaret 
 opened the door and stepped out. 
 
 We three walked along together for perhaps half the 
 way. Then Brooks spoke to me. 
 
 "You be the scout of the party, Ben, and travel on 
 ahead and let us know if there are any trees across the 
 road, or mud puddles or things like that." 
 
 The idea appealed to me strongly, and I strode im- 
 portantly ahead. I looked sharply for trees across the 
 road, for overhanging branches that might be dangerous,
 
 252 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and for treacherous places in the road. Clear up to the 
 house I piloted them. I had found nothing. 
 
 "Didn't find a thing, Brooks," I said disappointedly. 
 
 "You looked all right, though. If there had been any- 
 thing you would have found it." 
 
 "You bet I would." 
 
 We went into the house. A number had got there be- 
 fore us, and they all called out cheerily as we went in. 
 In the centre of the living room there was a great pile 
 of red apples, and when I went into the parlour I found 
 the same thing there. We were to peel all these, take 
 the cores out and quarter them, and finally, with needle 
 and thread, string them on strings about a yard long, so 
 they could be hung up to dry. They were usually hung 
 to the rafters in the kitchen, and along in the winter 
 they would be cooked as dried apples. 
 
 All the young people for miles around were there, and 
 after we got started with the apples it was great fun. 
 The peelings were put in big dish pans, and the quarters 
 were put in water buckets until time for stringing. We 
 had a big time. We talked and laughed, and one would 
 slip some of his unpeeled apples over to another, and 
 when the trick was discovered there would follow a great 
 argument. Cores were thrown about the room; peelings 
 were hung up in garlands ; and every one was privileged 
 to eat any good apples that might be found in the lot. 
 
 Old Harrison Applebee sat over in one corner, looking 
 on at everything. He wore a broad grin, and seemed to 
 take delight in everything that went on about him. His 
 wife sat with him most of the time, but when there was 
 need of more pans or buckets, or when some that had 
 been brought in needed to be emptied, she flew about 
 rapidly, keen to see that the work was put through. 
 
 After all the apples were peeled and quartered and 
 strung, we moved into the parlour. The floor was
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 253 
 
 cleared, and the chairs put back against the wall. And 
 then the real fun began. 
 
 We started with the Virginia Reel, and ended up with 
 the Needle's Eye. We usually began with the Virginia 
 Reel, for as a thing to get up real enthusiasm right off, 
 it cannot be beat. For one thing, everybody knew it, and 
 there had to be no explanations. And there was so much 
 movement in it, such a good chance for pairing off, that 
 we always welcomed it. 
 
 But the most exciting was Needle's Eye. It was ex- 
 citing because it kept us all guessing. Who would be 
 caught while going through the needle's eye, and whom 
 would she kiss, after she was caught? For in Needle's 
 Eye a boy and a girl made an arch by facing each other 
 and holding hands above their heads. We all caught 
 hands, and filed through the needle's eye in a circle. And 
 if the needle's eye should close on a girl while she was 
 passing through it, she had to kneel, and as we sang, 
 "As you rise, do confess, kiss the one that you love best," 
 she got up and kissed the boy she loved best. Or, if it 
 were a boy, he had to kiss the girl he loved best. 
 
 I liked it best of all, for it gave me a chance to find 
 out just what girl each boy was in love with. And it 
 surely was a dead give away to the girls. 
 
 We were all filing through the needle's eye, and I was 
 watching to see it come down. I was really hoping 
 that I might be caught, for I had my mind all made up. 
 But it did not come down on me, although I looked up 
 hopefully about every time I went through. 
 
 It came down first on Henrietta McRand. Henrietta 
 had grown a lot the past year or two, but she had grown 
 in both directions. She had got pretty tall, but she was 
 also very broad. She was very fat, especially her neck, 
 for it always bulged out behind. When the arch came 
 down on her, she kneeled meekly while we finished sing-
 
 254 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 ing. As she knelt she folded her hands as if in prayer, 
 and her neck was a broad expanse as she inclined her 
 head forward. When the arch was lifted she arose, 
 glanced defiantly around the room until she located 
 Brooks, and walked over and gave him a good big kiss. 
 We all laughed, but she joined the circle and started on 
 around. Twice afterward she was caught, and, as if her 
 mind were entirely made up, she did the very same thing. 
 It tickled us very much, but Brooks looked very un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 I was amazed at the duplicity of Margaret. Now, I 
 just knew that she thought the world of Brooks. And I 
 supposed, of course, that when she was caught she would 
 go to him immediately. But instead, she walked over 
 and kissed Herb Ellanger on the cheek. He was the only 
 one who did not see the fun in it, for he blushed mis- 
 erably. 
 
 It was after midnight when we started back home. I 
 again set out as guide for Brooks, for the idea appealed 
 to me. To stalk grandly along in front, keenly alert for 
 fallen trees, treacherous places in the road, or even night 
 prowlers of one kind or another, was a task for which 
 I felt pre-eminently fitted. I knew Brooks thought so, 
 for he called to me when I lagged behind, to keep a sharp 
 eye on the road. 
 
 I thought once or twice that something had happened 
 to him and Margaret in spite of my vigilance. I stopped 
 at every fence that we had to cross, and waited for them 
 to catch up. And once or twice they were so long coming 
 that I felt sure they had got into trouble of some kind 
 in spite of all my efforts. As it was, it took us a long 
 time to get home. 
 
 When we finally did arrive, there was a light in the 
 living room. I could not think what it meant, except that 
 father had come to the conclusion that we had staid
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 255 
 
 out too late, and was waiting up to talk to us about it. 
 In that case, I did not want to go in alone, so when Mar- 
 garet and Brooks stopped at the gate, I waited for them 
 over near the door. 
 
 But they stood there so long that my curiosity finally 
 got the better of me. I wanted to learn the meaning of 
 that light. I went in. Mother got up from a chair by 
 the table. 
 
 "Where is Margaret?" she asked. 
 
 "Out at the gate. Why?" 
 
 "O, nothing," and she sat back down. 
 
 When Margaret opened the door and saw her sitting 
 there, she flung the door to with a bang, and just ran 
 over and fell into her arms. She lay there for an instant 
 perfectly still. Then she sobbed. Tears came into 
 mother's eyes. I simply could not understand it. Folks 
 seemed to cry when there was no earthly reason for it. 
 
 "Mother, what's the matter?" I asked. 
 
 "Run on to bed, Ben," she said. 
 
 I went reluctantly, leaving them there alone. Mother 
 was stroking Margaret's reddish hair the last I saw of 
 them. 
 
 The next morning I surprised father and mother in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 "When did it happen?" he was asking, a broad smile 
 on his face. 
 
 "Last night on the way home." 
 
 "But the girl is so young, Anne." And he sobered. 
 "She is so very young." 
 
 "How old were you and I, Tommy?" mother asked 
 him, softly. 
 
 "That's so!" father said.
 
 Chapter 21 
 
 MARGARET'S wedding was set for the following 
 June, partly because Hen would be at home then, 
 but mainly because Margaret herself was determined that 
 it should be in June. Hen could have come home any 
 time, for the matter of that, and everything else could 
 have been arranged. But when it came time for a final 
 decision, she developed a stubbornness that amazed me, 
 and said that the wedding had to be in June, and that 
 was the end of it. 
 
 I could notice a big change in Brooks as the winter 
 wore on. At first, when we were just beginning to get 
 acquainted with him, he had been very frank and open. 
 But he was just like most of the people that came to 
 visit us just cordial and nice and friendly. But after 
 he had gone with Margaret for a while as a settled thing, 
 he seemed to get more distant. There was a restraint, 
 sometimes real embarrassment, in his attitude toward us. 
 He talked to father, just as he had always done, and 
 father warmed up to him more and more. But there 
 seemed to be something about him that prevented a real 
 understanding of him. And then, when he and Margaret 
 got engaged, he changed again. But this time it was a 
 change toward greater intimacy. Not a frank friendship, 
 such as at first, nor a strained awkward relation, such 
 as followed. This time there was something very inti- 
 mate about him, that made him very easily understood 
 
 256
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 257 
 
 and talked to. I even felt sorry at times that I had sold 
 him all that bluing. 
 
 He came down to our house much oftener than he 
 ever had. He sat around the fire and talked to us just 
 as if he were one of the family. He and mother got to be 
 great friends, and talked about many things together. 
 And father, while he did not commit himself very often, 
 nevertheless made it clear that he thought Brooks a very 
 promising young man. 
 
 But the biggest change of all was in Margaret. When 
 she got up of a morning, it was to sing like a mocking 
 bird as she dressed. And in the kitchen, when mother 
 gave her lessons about "running her own house," her 
 laughter filled the house like the tinkle of sleigh bells on 
 the mountain. There was something so irrepressible, so 
 irresistible, so rompish, about her that she was never re- 
 buked and forever indulged. 
 
 "I declare, Anne, I can't realise that she is our girl," 
 father said to mother one day. 
 
 "How quickly they are gone!" and at that moment 
 mother looked older than she had ever appeared before, 
 and infinitely weary. 
 
 "I have always thought of her as just a baby," father 
 continued. 
 
 "So have I." 
 
 "I wonder where they will live?" 
 
 "In Sistersville. Brooks is going in business with his 
 father." 
 
 "Nice thing for Henry." 
 
 "Yes, he will live with them if he goes back. How 
 far was that church Brother Charles spoke about, from 
 Sistersville?" 
 
 "Not very far. And it was on the railroad, too." 
 
 Mothei sighed. 
 
 "It is all for the best, I reckon."
 
 258 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 It was so soon as the river went down in April that 
 mother and Margaret went on a mysterious trip to Flat- 
 woods. They might be gone two days, mother said. But 
 to my inquiries as to the purpose of their going, she 
 gave no satisfactory answer. 
 
 "We want to get some things," she said vaguely. 
 
 Even after they returned it was not very clear to 
 me what they had done that kept them away for two 
 days. But it was clear that from that time on our house 
 was never the same. If I started to sit down on a 
 chair, I was told to watch out that I did not sit down on 
 "that pattern." If I made as if to toss my hat on the 
 table, it was to "be careful that I didn't muss up some- 
 thing." If I opened the door it would be to shut it 
 quickly lest something should blow away. Even to walk 
 across the room was a hazardous undertaking, for I 
 was in danger of stepping on something. 
 
 As a result of all this commotion, my disgust of the 
 whole proceeding grew daily more intense. A wedding, 
 in itself, was all right, I reflected liberally. And if Mar- 
 garet wanted to have a fine one, she was entitled to it. 
 But for it to be the one absorbing thing of the whole 
 household, for it to upset all routine, and turn the house 
 into a shamble, where meals were uncertain as to time 
 and more uncertain as to preparation when they did 
 appear, was to my mind carrying the thing a little too far. 
 
 When Hen came home he was so interested in it all 
 that my admiration for him dropped to a very low point. 
 I had always considered Hen a pretty safe pattern to go 
 by, and had thought that if I did the things he did I 
 should be pretty sure of myself. But the way he threw 
 himself into the preparations for the wedding made me 
 feel that in some very powerful way the outside world 
 had changed Hen, and that not at all for the better. 
 
 He was to be best man. While I was not absolutely
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 259 
 
 sure what that meant, I concluded that it must have ref- 
 erence to the rating of the people on the day of the 
 wedding. I reflected that on an occasion of this kind, it 
 would be only fair for the man who was to be married 
 to be rated best man. Certainly he might be said to be 
 the principal figure of the occasion; and for Hen to set 
 himself up as best man and thereby force Brooks into 
 a secondary place, seemed little short of an outrage. And 
 once the thing was started, somebody else might take it 
 into his head to be second best man, and force Brooks 
 down even lower. 
 
 It turned out that Brooks had a sister named Grace, 
 and it was decided that Grace should be bridesmaid. I 
 had no difficulty here. I understood perfectly what that 
 meant. In a story that had run in the Journal and Mes- 
 senger for a whole year, there was constant reference to 
 a maid who did all the hard work for the heroine. I 
 thought it very proper in this case for Margaret to have 
 a maid to do all her hard work on the day of the wed- 
 ding, so that she could have plenty of time to enjoy 
 herself. 
 
 Of course father was to perform the ceremony, and 
 he said more than once in a triumphant way, that this 
 wedding should be according to the Baptist ceremony, 
 with no high church frills about it. I slipped up on him 
 one morning out in the barn. Some one was evidently 
 with him, for I heard voices as I approached. Then I 
 peeped through the door. Father bowed low, stepped 
 back slightly, and waving his hand toward an empty 
 stall, said in his warmest voice, 
 
 "And now allow me to present my daughter, Mrs. 
 Hollingshead, and her husband." 
 
 I understood. He was rehearsing the ceremony. For 
 he closed every wedding in just that way. He always 
 stepped back slightly from where he had been standing
 
 260 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 during the ceremony, bowed low, and waving his hand 
 toward the bride and groom, introduced first the bride 
 and then her husband. 
 
 But I was amazed that he practised things like this 
 beforehand. I had supposed he always knew just what 
 to do, and how things ought to be done. He fell in my 
 estimation. He was not the original daring resourceful 
 man I had thought him to be, after all. 
 
 I stood in the shadow of the door watching him for 
 some little time. 
 
 His face spread into a silly smile. He advanced to- 
 ward the empty stall. 
 
 "My dear boy, let me call you my son. You have 
 taken my greatest treasure." 
 
 Then he looked resigned and greatly broken up, and 
 very sorry. He looked as if he were almost ready to 
 simper. 
 
 "Ah, yes. I know, son," he said as if in response to 
 a reassuring speech. "Well, I give her to you, my boy." 
 
 This was too much. I stepped into the doorway. 
 
 "What you doing, father ?" I asked. 
 
 He jumped, and whirled about, looking very much 
 confused. His face reddened. Then he recovered him- 
 self and frowned coldly. 
 
 "What are you doing here, son?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Then you go back to the house," he commanded 
 severely. 
 
 I went back to the house, and into the living room. 
 
 "Why don't you go out and play, son. You are in 
 the way here," mother complained fretfully. 
 
 I went out, started to the stable, bethought myself, and 
 went to the garden to dig some bait. Putting some fish 
 worms into an ancient tomato can, I went off to the 
 creek.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 261 
 
 The day before the wedding, Margaret and Brooks' 
 and Hen and I went up on the mountain to gather laurel, 
 Margaret had decided that laurel should be used for 
 the decorations. And in this I agreed heartily, for there 
 were bushes so loaded down with it that they formed 
 veritable thickets of bloom. Great round blossoms, with 
 little shoots running out, pink at the base and shading 
 into white at the tip! And the broad fat leaves were 
 green and tender, and smooth as velvet. Each of us 
 carried down a great load, and Margaret and Brooks, 
 flushed with the mountain climb and the joy of life, 
 turned our house from a staid old manse into a bower 
 of Eden. 
 
 That evening Margaret stood watching the sky to see 
 whether it might indicate the next day's weather. The 
 sun sunk like a golden ball behind Honnels Gap, and 
 little streamers of yellow light were flung back across 
 the heavens for long afterward. She turned to father. 
 
 "Do you think it will rain to-morrow, father?" she 
 asked nervously. 
 
 " 'And he answered and said unto them, when it is 
 evening ye say it will be fair weather, for the sky is 
 red/ " he quoted. 
 
 "Then it simply CANNOT rain to-morrow?" 
 
 "Absolutely," for father believed in verbal inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 Margaret skipped into the house, a great weight off her 
 mind. 
 
 The great day arrived at last, and no one but had to 
 admit that as far as nature was concerned, everything 
 was perfect. Margaret had been plainly nervous about 
 the weather, for Rude Hamilton said it was a fact, and 
 she knew of many cases to substantiate it, that if a girl 
 were married on a rainy day she would cry every day 
 of her married life.. And notwithstanding the sober
 
 262 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 testimony of Scripture to assure her of a fair day, Mar- 
 garet was up at the peep of dawn, eagerly scanning the 
 sky. I knew it, because she made such a clatter with 
 her window that we all knew it. 
 
 The fog was heavy that early, and she was greatly 
 concerned. But only for a little while. For soon the 
 sun lifted above Buzzard Mountain, cleared the pines, 
 and dispersed the fog like the sword of the Lord and of 
 Gideon. His roseate rays revealed a perfect world. Dew 
 sparkled on the grass and stood in little beads on the 
 gate post. A great red bird from a wild cherry on the 
 hillside called imperiously his morning song, and was 
 answered by a modest note from the water birch. It was 
 a glorious day. 
 
 The first guest to arrive was Rude Hamilton. She 
 got there at ten o'clock, although the wedding was set 
 for one. She came in her best black dress, her black 
 hair drawn sharply back from her forehead. She had 
 the appearance of being extremely hawk-eyed and capa- 
 ble as she marched in with jaws set. But poor Rude! 
 It was many a day afterward that we learned that she 
 had cried almost all night because she had to wear that 
 slick black dress ; and little did we know that her heart 
 was almost bursting with anxiety lest she appear awk- 
 ward and out of place among the wedding guests! It 
 was only the shadow of death that drew these things 
 from her. As it was, she marched into the room, jaws 
 set and hawk eyes peering about. And I would not have 
 been one whit surprised had she picked up the broom, 
 driven us all from the house, and proceeded to give it 
 a thorough cleaning. 
 
 But the house needed no such cleaning. It had got 
 it. It had got such a going over that I wonder the very 
 walls did not cry out in protest. All the back num- 
 bers of the Journal and Messenger had been used in
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 263 
 
 papering; every thing movable had been out and beaten 
 and sunned; even the stones in the fireplace had been 
 scrubbed. There was no cellar in our house, and there 
 was no garret, either. But had there been, it could have 
 been said in all truth that from cellar to garret it was as 
 clean as a pin. 
 
 At eleven o'clock Albert Hollingshead, his wife, and 
 Grace arrived. Grace was beautiful. She was a little 
 fairer than Brooks, but looked a lot like him. Her 
 mother was a little white-headed old woman, as mild and 
 gracious and sharp eyed as could be imagined. 
 
 Albert Hollingshead was a large man, very dignified 
 and very impressive. He wore a white vest under his* 
 black coat, and it made him look very imposing and 
 terrible. I was almost ashamed for father when I saw 
 how big and important looking Mr. Hollingshead was, 
 for I was afraid he would look insignificant beside him. 
 But when father towered over beside him, his long 
 Prince Albert falling to his knees, and looked him stead- 
 ily in the eye while shaking hands, I just wanted to 
 cheer right out. No one could get ahead of father ! 
 
 Uncle Charles and his wife came next. He ran right 
 up to Margaret and greeted her as Mrs. Hollingshead. 
 Every one laughed, including Brooks and Margaret her- 
 self. And Aunt Amy did not have such a long red nose, 
 after all. It was just a little long, but she was nothing 
 like the ogre I had pictured her. Her eyes were very 
 soft and kind, and I felt sure that she would under- 
 stand things just like mother. 
 
 The people from Barren Rocks came in one by one, 
 and after the first excitement of their coming wore off, 
 the whole affair began to pall on me. It was all too 
 stiff, too clean, to be comfortable. Mother had told me 
 to put on my good clothes, but I had not done it, and in 
 the general excitement she had not noticed my neglect.
 
 264 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 So when things began to get too stiff; when there was 
 nothing new to see, I slipped out the back door and went 
 out to the stable. I had had enough of the wedding. 
 
 Idly I picked up a spade and shoved it into the soft 
 earth. When I turned up the soil, great fat fish worms 
 were sprawling about in it. I looked at them, at the 
 sky, at the creek, and my day was decided. Hurriedly 
 I hunted up an old can and put the worms in it. I got 
 my pole from behind the house, and started. 
 
 As I was passing the end of the house, I looked 
 through the open window into the little back room that 
 we used as a storage room. It had been converted into 
 an emergency pantry, and the sight that met my eyes set 
 my mouth watering. Boxes had been turned into tables, 
 and on them were big cakes of all kinds, all kinds of pies, 
 and pudding and roast chicken. I stopped. I knew I 
 would not be allowed to eat at the first table, even if I 
 staid at home. But I knew also that if I were gone 
 long I might miss everything. I had been to weddings 
 before. 
 
 Temptation was strong on me. I thought I would just 
 look a little closer. I put down the can and pole. The 
 window was not very high, and I went over to it. Then 
 I climbed in. I suddenly decided to make a very com- 
 plete selection, getting a liberal portion of many things. 
 But just then I thought I heard a suspicious movement 
 in the kitchen outside. I knew if I were discovered I 
 should be lost. A great custard pie was the first thing I 
 could lay my hands on, and I laid them on it, none too 
 gently. I vaulted the window sill and was gone. 
 
 It was hard work carrying the bait and pole and 
 pie, and the pie suffered somewhat as to symmetry and 
 general outline. But when I reached the security of the 
 creek bank I put down the bait and pole, and turned my 
 whole attention to the pie. In breaking up it made some-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 265 
 
 what of a muss, but luckily it was on a plate. I ate 
 it all, to the last crumb. 
 
 But the fish did not bite. Perhaps the sun was too 
 bright. As the time wore on, I began to get restless. 
 My mounting hunger had a lot to do with it, for the pie 
 had not done its work with the thoroughness I could 
 have wished. It had been good, mighty good, but it 
 had lacked in some essential, for I was hungry in spite 
 of it. 
 
 I decided to go home. If Rude Hamilton were around 
 she would give me something to eat, for while she was 
 forever grumbling, I had learned that I could wheedle 
 almost anything out of her. 
 
 I didn't want to throw the bait away, for I might want 
 to come back later. Neither did I want to leave it sit- 
 ting in the sun, for it would dry. But I did not want 
 to bother with the can. So I got some big paw-paw 
 leaves, wrapped the worms carefully in them, and put 
 them in my hip pocket. Then I started for home. 
 
 They were all in the living room when I arrived, and 
 everything was still. Father's deep voice made the only 
 sound. I was curious, and slipped around to the window 
 where I could peep in. The people were standing about 
 the walls, very rigid and tense. Father's back was to- 
 ward me, and he stood facing Margaret and Brooks. 
 Hen stood proudly up by Brooks, and Grace was by 
 Margaret's side. Brooks looked very striking in his 
 black suit, and Margaret well, I hardly knew her. She 
 was dressed in sheer white, and held in her hands a 
 large bunch of white roses. Her reddish hair was piled 
 high on her head. She looked very dainty, very beauti- 
 ful, and as I looked I thought she swayed slightly to- 
 ward Brooks. 
 
 I looked on until father stepped back slightly, bowed, 
 and turned to the guests with his silly smile. And I
 
 266 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 waited to hear no more. I had heard it; knew exactly 
 what he would say and how he would say it. I slipped 
 into the kitchen. 
 
 Suddenly there was a great hubbub inside. All began 
 speaking at once, or so it seemed to me from the general 
 chattering. And then mother opened the door and 
 stepped in. 
 
 "Ben!" she exclaimed in a horrified whisper. "You 
 look a sight. Now you go in and put on your clothes 
 and hurry out here." 
 
 She snapped out her words in a way foreign to her. 
 
 "But I can't go through there." 
 
 "Go out and climb through the window. Hurry, now." 
 
 I turned wretchedly away, and started out. 
 
 "Ben, what in the world is that falling out of your 
 pocket. Ben, do come here !" 
 
 I went toward her in a daze. She looked both per- 
 plexed and terrified. I could not think what the matter 
 was. She turned me around sharply, ran her hand into 
 my hip pocket, and jerked it out again with a grasp. 
 
 "Ben, what have you got in there !" 
 
 I looked miserably down at the floor, and saw one of 
 the big fat fish worms crawling aimlessly over the floor. 
 It stretched out until it became very thin, waved its 
 head vaguely, and then bunched up its body and crawled 
 along. I stooped over and picked it up, the while clutch- 
 ing my pocket. 
 
 "It's just some fish worms." 
 
 "Well, you get them out of here! Goodness! What 
 would they say if they found worms crawling about 
 over the floor!" 
 
 I caught a fleeting glimpse of myself in the little glass 
 as I hurried out. My pants were streaked with mud; 
 there was mud on my feet and legs; and there were 
 blotches of custard sticking to my shirt.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 267 
 
 Quickly I crawled through the window and put on 
 my best clothes, suit, shoes and all. By the time I was 
 ready, all were in at dinner. They seemed in great good 
 humour, but the longer they staid in there, the lower my 
 spirits sank. It was only after everybody had finished 
 that I finally got in. 
 
 When I came out, some had gone, and the others were 
 getting ready. For many had a long way to go, and had 
 to get home before dark. 
 
 It came time for Margaret to go. She had changed 
 her white dress for a dark blue suit. Her face was a 
 study in mingled happiness and regret. For Albert Hol- 
 lingshead was to take Margaret and Brooks back with 
 him, and she was to leave us. Brooks was jubilant. He 
 laughed and talked, and promised to come back every 
 week or two. He wrung father's hand and kissed mother 
 good-bye. 
 
 Margaret went up to mother. She laid her hands on 
 mother's shoulders. Mother's arm stole about her. They 
 looked into each other's eyes for a long time. 
 
 "Good-bye, honey," mother said. 
 
 "Good-bye, Mammy," and her voice broke over the 
 name, for it was what we had called her when we were 
 all young together. 
 
 Mother stood in the doorway until she had got in the 
 little spring wagon, waved her hand in farewell as they 
 drove down the road, and then went out to the kitchen. 
 She seemed utterly broken. She went into the little 
 storage room and closed the door.
 
 Chapter 22 
 
 MOTHER aged greatly during the next few weeks, 
 in spite of the bubbling letters we got from Mar- 
 garet. Margaret was wholly absorbed in the task of 
 furnishing her new house, and from the accounts she 
 gave us, it certainly gave promise of being a wonderful 
 place. But even this did not serve to cheer mother up 
 much. Of late she had a way of sitting by the open 
 window and looking far off down the river. She sighed 
 more often than in the old days. She looked older, too, 
 much older than she had a few years back. She did 
 not flush up so rosily any more, and her eyes had lost 
 a lot of their old glow. 
 
 Father also fell into the habit of walking the floor and 
 whistling his dolorous tune. Really, it got to be terrible 
 about the house, and it was all because Margaret had 
 gone. Those last few months she had been so perennially 
 buoyant, that when she left it was like lifting a shaft of 
 sunlight out of the house. Everything got darker. 
 
 I do not know what would have become of me if 
 it had not been for the circus. There never had been a 
 circus in Barren Rocks before, because we were too far 
 from the railroad and the roads were bad. But along in 
 the early part of August, an important looking man ar- 
 rived in town. 
 
 I saw him when he first arrived at the store, and knew 
 he was a stranger. For one thing, he wore store clothes 
 on a week day, and that set him apart as a marked man. 
 
 268
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 269 
 
 And instead of having a bunch of walnut leaves stuck 
 in the top of the horse's bridle to keep the horseflies 
 off, little nets were on the horse's ears. That was an- 
 other strange thing. 
 
 He drove up to the hitching pole, got out, hitched his 
 horse, and went into the store. 
 
 "Are you the boss here, stranger?" he asked Jess 
 Harver. Jess had taken Brooks's place in the store. 
 
 "I guess I be that," Jess said. 
 
 "I am advance agent for the Modern Railroad Shows. 
 What do you say to my putting up some posters about 
 here?" 
 
 A cunning look came into Jess's eyes. 
 
 "That had ought to be worth something, I reckon." 
 
 "Sure. I'll give you five tickets for the show." 
 
 "Will they admit any five I want to bring?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "Give 'em to me." 
 
 The man pulled a bunch of tickets out of his pocket, 
 snapped off a rubber band that held them together, and 
 counted off five. 
 
 "Here they are. Now where will I post 'em up?" 
 
 Jess walked to the door. Across the road there was 
 a little house where flour and corn where stored. It was 
 long and low, and right by the side of the road. Jess 
 pointed to it. 
 
 "Over there." 
 
 The man asked no more questions. He went out to 
 his buggy, lifted out a bucket and a long handled brush 
 and carried them over to the building. He made a trip 
 back and got out a bundle of paper I had noticed earlier. 
 Carrying it over to the building, he laid it down on the 
 ground and unfolded it. What I saw almost took my 
 breath away. There were pictures of men in tights, turn- 
 ing handsprings, walking on their hands, walking wires
 
 270 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and ropes, swinging wildly in trapeze. And there were 
 women, also dressed in tights, lying on their backs and 
 kicking big balls into the air. There was one wonderful 
 picture of a ventriloquist, throwing his voice into two 
 little wooden babies he held on his knees. 
 
 With wonderful skill the man balanced these pictures 
 on his brush and slapped them against the side of the 
 building. When he had finished, the whole side of the 
 building was one bewildering vision of colour and marvel. 
 Feats I had never dreamed possible were actually pic- 
 tured before me. And at the bottom, in white letters 
 on a red background, were the words, "Modern Rail- 
 road Shows, Barren Rocks, August 10." 
 
 I ran home in a fever of excitement. 
 
 "Mother, there's going to be a show up in the school- 
 house bottom the tenth of August!" 
 
 "What kind of a show?" 
 
 "A regular show, actors all dressed up to walk wires 
 and ropes and turn handsprings, and everything." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "A man has just been here and put up bill-posters 
 about it." 
 
 Mother was delighted, and I asked her whether I 
 could go to it. 
 
 "You will have to see your father about that," she 
 said. 
 
 That was the one thing I did not want to do. I never 
 could tell how a thing would strike father. When I 
 had got my first pair of tan shoes without paying for 
 them in full, I expected he would make an awful scene, 
 but he seemed delighted, and said it was a great thing 
 for me to do. But when I had a fine chance to trade 
 my gun for one with a silver bead, one that looked 
 better than mine, and would really shoot farther, he
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 271 
 
 seemed greatly enraged, and said absolutely that I should 
 not make the trade. 
 
 I did not know how to take him. He might be as 
 excited over the show as I was, but again he might 
 think it wrong to go to it, and not only refuse to buy 
 me a ticket, but forbid my working for admission. But 
 mother said I would have to ask him if I went, and ask 
 him I did. 
 
 "We will see about it, son. There is time enough 
 yet." 
 
 That was worse than nothing. If he had said flatly 
 that I could not go, I would have been nearly killed, 
 but at least I would have known what to expect. To say 
 that he would see about it meant that he could put off 
 telling me anything until the very day of the show, and 
 then decide that I had better not go. 
 
 This made it terribly uncertain, but it did not prevent 
 me from looking at the pictures on the building. I stood 
 in front of them by the hour, and got to know them so 
 well what when I went to bed at night I could shut my 
 eyes and see them. 
 
 The tenth of August arrived at last, and bright and 
 early I was up and around. I might not be able to see 
 the show, but I could watch the wagons as the show 
 arrived, and be up on the playground to see the tents 
 go up ! That might not be much, but it would be some- 
 thing well worth while. 
 
 I saw the first wagon as it came slowly up the river. 
 Two great horses were pulling it. It was covered with 
 a dirty canvas that had once been white. Behind it were 
 three other wagons, all heavily loaded. And behind the 
 four wagons were a number of people riding horses. 
 One of them, a boy, was riding a small pony. He saw 
 me as he galloped by, and straightened importantly in his 
 saddle. Striking his pony sharply with a switch, he
 
 272 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 went by with a flourish, looking back at me arrogantly 
 over his shoulder. I knew very well he was trying to 
 show off, but my only thought was that if I could have 
 a pony like that and belong to a show, nothing else in 
 all the world would matter. 
 
 The big tent was hoisted up on the playground, and 
 burly men with heavy sledges drove in the spikes that 
 made it fast. Two would drive a spike at the same 
 time, hitting alternately and grunting shortly at each 
 stroke, and I watched them as though they were creatures 
 from another world. They were heroes, mighty men, 
 like Gideon and his three hundred. When one of them 
 called to me to get busy and hand him a spike that was 
 near me, I was flattered beyond words, and would have 
 died for him then and there. 
 
 I went home in dread. I had not spoken to father in 
 the morning, for fear he would not let me even go and 
 watch the preparations. But I had to speak to him about 
 the show proper, because the admission was fifteen cents, 
 and if I got in he would have to give me the price of a 
 ticket. 
 
 But I found him in great good humour. He was stand- 
 ing in the door as I came up, and he had on his white 
 shirt, just like it was Sunday. He called out heartily. 
 
 "Hurry up, Ben, and get ready. We are all going to 
 the show." 
 
 If he had said that he had inside information to the 
 effect that I had not sinned away my day of grace, but 
 on the contrary was absolutely certain to go to heaven 
 when I died, a load of somewhat long standing would 
 have been lifted from me. But my gratitude in that 
 case would have been very mild compared to the wild 
 joy that surged over me at his words. I felt light, and 
 instead of coming down heavily on my feet when I 
 walked, it seemed as if only my toes, and but the tips of
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 273 
 
 them, touched the ground. I skipped into the house on 
 air. 
 
 Mother came out of the bedroom with her mouth full 
 of pins, and told me to wash my face good and comb 
 my hair. Slight matters, these, when I knew I was to go 
 to the show, and not only stand outside and watch the 
 men at work, but go inside the big cool tent, with its 
 tiers of seats and mysterious contrivances in the centre, 
 and sit there through all the gorgeous performance ! 
 
 On the way up to the playground I stopped at the 
 poster to take one last glance at the pictures, anticipating 
 each wonder as I saw it pictured. And then we went on 
 up. A great crowd was gathered about. A man was 
 selling lemonade under a big umbrella, and calling out 
 hoarsely that the price of two glasses was but a nickel, 
 five cents or half a dime, as the purcheser might desire. 
 I felt as though I could drink not only two glasses, but 
 all he had in the great jar at his side, but I knew that 
 I had only two cents, and it was in a big two-cent piece, 
 mouldy with age. I wouldn't have had it, but they re- 
 fused to honour it at the store for more than one cent, 
 explaining that the two-cent pieces were no longer made. 
 And since I had got it in a bargain with Bill Hunter for 
 a gold nugget stick-pin, I vowed that I would not part 
 with it except at face value. 
 
 There were so many things to see, and being deter- 
 mined not to miss one slightest thing, I made good use 
 of sight and, smell and hearing. The cries of the vend- 
 ers, mingled with the loud imperious voice of the ticket 
 seller for the main show, made noise enough even for me. 
 The smell of roasted peanuts, the tent, straw spread on 
 the ground as well as others that were new to me made 
 a combination that provided me both with the joy of 
 recognition and the baffling pleasures of smells unknown. 
 And while it is properly a gastronomic state rather than
 
 274 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 an ocular, the only fitting description is that my eyes 
 were gorged. Gorged with the sight of familiar faces 
 of people standing about and staring as I did, and gorged 
 with sights never before beheld! 
 
 Perhaps it would not be possible to say with abso- 
 lute accuracy that a boy of more than medium height 
 could, without any previous thought of the feat in- 
 volved, bound suddenly into the air as high as his head 
 would be if he were standing flat-footed. But if such 
 a thing is possible, then I can say with a dead cer- 
 tainty that I did it, and without the slightest premedi- 
 tation. I was standing watching with open mouth a 
 clown up near the ticket seller, distorting his body out 
 of all resemblance to the normal human form, when 
 there occurred an explosion that seemed to me to sur- 
 pass in violence anything I had ever heard. Even the 
 explosion of a stick of dynamite in the big fishing hole 
 were as nothing compared to it. And it was when this 
 unexpected sound struck my ears that I performed my 
 record high jump. Before I hit the ground, a second 
 explosion followed; and all eyes were turned in the di- 
 rection of the sound. 
 
 "What is it, father?" I cried, simply terrified. 
 
 "Come on, son. It's the band 1" and we edged forward. 
 
 I learned that the explosion had been caused by the 
 beating of a big drum, a form of musical instrument I 
 had never seen before, and of whose musical properties I 
 have ever since been suspicious. But the band as a whole 
 was a wonderful affair. My interest centred especially 
 in a large fat man who was busily engaged in blowing 
 into the mouthpiece of a great horn. His cheeks puffed 
 out perilously, and as they puffed out his eyes receded 
 into his head until they were scarcely visible. I stood 
 rooted to the spot, expecting him to burst at any minute,
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 275 
 
 and resolved that when he did I should be on hand to see 
 the sight. I was greatly disappointed when the band 
 ceased and he still remained whole, although puffing 
 rapidly. 
 
 The women who played in the band were unlike the 
 women in Barren Rocks. Their dresses were short, the 
 heels of their shoes were slender and very high, and 
 their waists were very, very slim. Their faces, where 
 not unusually white, were very pink. They fitted nicely 
 my conception of what the wonderful women from out 
 in the world should look like. But Rude Hamilton did 
 not share my opinion. She elbowed over to mother. 
 
 "It's scandalous, Sister. Just look at the hussies with 
 their painted faces !" 
 
 "Hush, Sister," and mother shrank away from her. 
 
 I heard a man calling at the top of his voice. 
 
 "Ladies and Gentlemen, before the big show opens in- 
 side, Charles O'Down, the great tight wire walker of 
 the world, will give us his wonderful open-air exhibition. 
 Make way," and his voice indicated plainly that in our 
 midst was one of the wonders of the world. We made 
 way. 
 
 There was a wire stretched from a stake out on the 
 playground up to the centre pole at the top of the big 
 tent. When the crier finished speaking, a wonderful 
 figure in tights, with a beautiful purple girdle about his 
 waist, ran nimbly out of the big tent and to the base of 
 the wire. He carried a long polished pole in his hands, 
 and when he reached the stake, he bowed to us and 
 smiled. He grasped the pole firmly in both hands and 
 started up the wire. He walked clear to the top of the 
 tent, turned, and came back down. Now he stopped, 
 bent his knees until both touched the wire, and straight- 
 ened up again. Or he stood on one foot and stuck the
 
 276 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 other far out in the air. I thought it simply wonderful. 
 When he had finished, he re-entered the big tent, and 
 there was a rush for admission after him. 
 
 The show was all that could be desired. I sat on a 
 bench and watched until my eyes ached. Wonderful 
 men performed on trapeze; stout women laid on their 
 backs and kicked highly coloured balls into the air; and 
 the ventriloquist, after much worry and patience, finally 
 succeeded in getting his little wooden babies to spell 
 Constantinople. During an exciting performance on the 
 trapeze, the actor stopped suddenly, clutched his side and 
 fell to the ground. There was an excited gasp from the 
 onlookers. I thought the man had fallen and hurt him- 
 self badly, and many started toward him. But the mild 
 voice of old Henry Tolliver recalled them. 
 
 "Don't be excited. He's done it every day yit," he 
 said with great relish. 
 
 "Have you seen it before ?" some one asked. 
 
 "I've been a follerin' 'er now fer four days," he said 
 complacently. 
 
 When the show was over we all jostled outside. The 
 men who were selling peanuts and lemonade took up 
 again their hoarse cry. I edged over toward the lemon- 
 ade stand. The price was down. Three glasses for a 
 nickel, five cents or half a dime, still as the purchaser 
 might desire. I edged closer, clutching my big two-cent 
 piece. 
 
 "How much will you give me for this?" I asked the 
 man, holding it out toward him. 
 
 "Two glasses," he answered promptly. 
 
 "Pour it out." 
 
 He filled a large glass, and I began to drink it down. 
 There was no ice in it by this time, and it was warm, but
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 277 
 
 it was good. I held back the empty glass to have it re- 
 filled. He poured it full. I looked around. Ed Rainey 
 was standing near me, his eyes'bulging. I put the glass to 
 my lips and drained the last drop. 
 
 "Great stuff, Ed," I said, wiping my moutK.
 
 Chapter 23 
 
 THE day after the show, all of us boys were up at 
 the swimming hole. Charlie Snowden got up on 
 the rock to dive into the water. Just as he was nicely 
 balanced, with his hands stretched high above his head, 
 Hen stopped him. Again Hen showed his originality. 
 
 "Try to turn a handspring like the man yesterday, 
 Charlie. It won't hurt in the water if you don't go over." 
 
 Charlie took to the idea. He readjusted himself, waved 
 his arms to get the proper motion, and leaped awkwardly 
 into the air. He lit in the water on his back, and we 
 all laughed at him. But every one tried the same thing. 
 
 That was the beginning of our own show. 
 
 At first, our efforts were somewhat vague. Each felt 
 at liberty to try anything that appealed to him, and fail- 
 ing in one thing, tried another. But each early began 
 to manifest special adaptabilities. Charlie Snowden 
 could turn handsprings better than anybody else; Hen 
 developed an ability at clog dancing that beat anything 
 I ever saw; Bill Hunter could walk a rope, a little un- 
 certainly, it is true, but nevertheless with considerable 
 dexterity; while I walked on my hands with ridiculous 
 ease, from the start. Ed Rainey made a fine general 
 actor. Grouchie could not do anything well, for he was 
 frightfully awkward. So we decided to make him a 
 clown. He did look funny as a clown, sprawling awk- 
 wardly about. And he never wanted to be left out of 
 anything. 
 
 278
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 279 
 
 We practised for a few days up at the swimming hole, 
 for even when we did fall, it didn't hurt in the water. 
 But when we became more confident, we moved on 
 down the creek to a level place near a great fallen syca- 
 more. We chose this place because the limbs of the 
 sycamore afforded a good place for skinning cats and 
 doing other things like that. And also the sycamore 
 made a rather comfortable place for spectators to sit. 
 For Hen afterwards told me that he had planned the 
 whole thing along big lines, all along, though he would 
 not shoulder the responsibility for everything that hap- 
 pened. 
 
 It was great fun. We stretched a big rope from one 
 tree to another; put up a trapeze and a horizontal bar; 
 and erected a little platform for Hen's clog dancing. 
 And here we practised every spare hour we could get. 
 
 There was but one thing lacking to make everything 
 perfect a band. Of course we could not get a real 
 band, but Hen found a way around the difficulty by 
 persuading Herb Ellanger to play his banjo for us. 
 
 And after we had practised everything until there was 
 nothing more to learn ; and after Herb had worked over 
 his banjo until he could rattle off tunes fast enough for 
 Hen's fastest dance, we announced our first public per- 
 formance for the following Saturday afternoon. " 
 
 We planned an elaborate programme. I was to walk 
 on my hands ; Hen was to dance on the platform where 
 his feet would crack ; Bill Hunter was scheduled to walk 
 the big cable; and Charlie was to turn his handsprings, 
 and also hold by his toes on the trapeze. In some un- 
 usual way he was able to hold himself up with his 
 toes, and so amazing was his success that we featured 
 him in this act. Grouchie was to be clown, and we were 
 to paint his face with poke berries, and dress him up 
 in Henrietta's old dress.
 
 280 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 We were all on hand after an early dinner. And 
 about three the spectators began to arrive and line them- 
 selves up on the big sycamore. The performers were 
 hid from the public gaze, out behind a clump of elders, 
 and as time should come for each one's act, he was to 
 run nimbly out in close imitation of the great Charles 
 O'Down. 
 
 Herb Ellanger tuned up his banjo, broke raucously 
 into the "Sourwood Mountains" and the show was on! 
 Charlie Snowden came first on the programme, and as he 
 ran nimbly out, was greeted with wild applause. Jump- 
 ing up and down a few times as if testing the solidity 
 of the earth beneath him and finding it as desired, he 
 swung agilely backwards, describing a wide arch, and 
 turned completely over and lit on his feet. The specta- 
 tors agreed as one man that it was good, and instantly de- 
 manded more. He turned more handsprings backward, 
 and turned handsprings forward. He was red in the 
 face and apoplectic, but he was clearly drunk with ap- 
 plause. He performed on and on. Hen finally stepped 
 from behind the elders and waved frantically for him 
 to go on to his act on the trapeze. Charlie saw and un- 
 derstood. He walked to the trapeze like a conquering 
 hero. He swung nimbly up, fell over forward, and 
 caught by his toes. He hooked his long bony toes over 
 the trapeze bar, straightened out his knees, and bent his 
 body up to look at himself. The crowd was delighted. 
 Then he dropped down and trotted nimbly back to the 
 elders. 
 
 In order not to have all the good acting coming at 
 once, we had arranged for some funny acts in between. 
 One of these was by Grouchie and me. He was to be 
 a dentist, and for this purpose had borrowed a giant pair 
 of tongs of the blacksmith. I was to go to him to have a 
 tooth pulled, and had provided myself with an uneven
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 281 
 
 wooden tooth. And to make the scene more realistic, 
 I was to fill my mouth with red apple jelly. We figured 
 that, if I filled my mouth with it, I could make an awful 
 scene when my tooth was pulled, by letting the red 
 apple juice run out of my mouth. 
 
 Just before the act I filled my mouth with it and the 
 wooden tooth. It was hard work to keep all the juice 
 in without swallowing it, and when I wanted to say 
 something I had to turn back my head and gurgle. But 
 I managed it someway. 
 
 When the time came, Grouchie went out and sat down 
 by a wooden block. I soon followed him, walking un- 
 steadily, as if in great pain. I sat down and laid my 
 head on the block. Grouchie wasn't very careful with 
 the tongs, and they grated terribly over my real teeth. 
 But he managed to get them fastened firmly on the great 
 wooden tooth, and yanked it out. I groaned horribly, 
 and turned over on my side so every one could see my 
 face. 
 
 Grouchie stood over me, tongs in his hand, watching 
 intently. But as the apple juice ran out of my mouth, he 
 bent over quickly. 
 
 "Get up, Ben," he whispered. "It's not running out 
 red, at all." 
 
 I got up hastily, and we ran out behind the elders. 
 
 Hen's clog dance came last. By nature he was fitted 
 for the part. His legs were long, and when they were 
 weighted down by his long shoes, the way he could wave 
 them around was a show in itself. He could relax his 
 body until every part of it seemed to join in the dancing. 
 
 He stepped out on the platform, bowed, and stood for 
 a moment, as if getting ready. Herb started in on "Sour- 
 wood Mountains" at a pace that fairly reeled. Then Hen 
 really woke up. 
 
 His whole body relaxed, his long legs began to shuf-
 
 282 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 fle to the music, and the big shoes came down on the 
 boards in a veritable uproar. He waved his arms wildly 
 over his head, his body swayed from side to side in wild 
 abandon, he reeled to and fro like a drunken man, but 
 ever his feet came down in rhythmic time with the banjo. 
 
 I had never seen him acquit himself with such marvel- 
 lous skill. I stood watching him in fascination. At first 
 the spectators from the sycamore looked on unmoved; 
 then they began to take a more personal interest ; and at 
 last they swung down from the seat, hugged each other, 
 and began to dance. Over and above it all, the rhythmic 
 and contagious clatter of Hen's big shoes could be heard ; 
 and Hen himself, looking on the wild demonstration as a 
 tribute to his own art, redoubled his efforts. 
 
 The whole show broke up amidst the wildest con- 
 fusion. Some shouted their exuberance to the heavens ; 
 others hugged each other in maudlin joy. While some 
 went so far as to declare soberly that we should go on 
 the road with the show. 
 
 We took up a collection just at the -proper moment, 
 and got enough to buy a uniform for each actor. We 
 got the material, and had the uniforms made during the 
 ensuing week, and were on hand for a second perform- 
 ance the following Saturday afternoon. 
 
 For a few weeks the crowd was good, and the collec- 
 tions encouraging. Some faithful ones came every Sat- 
 urday, and spread the news so widely that new spectators 
 lined the sycamore at each performance. But it was not 
 long until attendance dwindled, and the sycamore was 
 almost bare. We did all we could to keep up interest, 
 but we worked at heavy odds. 
 
 One of Harrison Applebee's old cows had seen fit to 
 wander out behind the sycamore and die. A protest was 
 made to Harrison that he ought to drag the animal away 
 and bury her. And he declared that he would do just
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 283 
 
 that, if she were on anybody's private land. But the 
 spot happened to be on an unclaimed tract that skirted 
 the sandy bars of the creek, and he therefore consid- 
 ered himself absolved from any responsibility in the 
 matter. The members of the show met and discussed 
 the proposition, and decided as one man that it would 
 represent a policy of enlightened self-interest to bury the 
 cow. But while each one favoured the general idea 
 strongly, none seemed willing to take the initiative in any 
 definite steps. 
 
 And as the weather continued to be very warm, it was 
 perfectly evident that some one had neglected his duty. 
 The sycamore tree could not truthfully be called a 
 pleasant place to spend a warm afternoon. 
 
 There were other complications. And it was Hen's 
 dance that made them. Perhaps, if taken by itself, there 
 could have been nothing about it to which exception 
 would be taken. He was a trifle wild, of course, but not 
 more so than his liberties as an actor would justify. 
 
 But it was the effect his act never failed to produce 
 upon the spectators. It seemed to carry them clear off 
 their feet, and be the general signal for a free-for-all, 
 old-fashioned dance. It might have made some difference 
 if Hen had not been the minister's son. But as it was, it 
 got to be whispered around that the show was getting to 
 be the meeting place for the wicked and unregenerate 
 element of the country, and Hen's name was mentioned 
 among the ringleaders. 
 
 The result was that father took him aside one day 
 and had a very long and very pointed conversation with' 
 him. I watched them, and saw Hen shaking his head, 
 as if in strong disavowal. But from that day the show 
 lost two of its performers, and soon dwindled away.
 
 Chapter 24 
 
 HE crickets and katydids had been silenced by Jack 
 A Frost before our school began, but on the opening 
 day I gathered up the books that Hen had used, and 
 Margaret after him, and went to school alone. 
 
 The teacher assigned the seats on the first day, and 
 when he gave me mine, I was struck by the fact that it 
 was the one Hien had called his own during my first year 
 in school. The thought was not altogether pleasant. It 
 turned my mind back over the years to the day I had 
 first entered the house as a scholar. How different 
 many things now were, and how alike were others! 
 There were the same pine benches, hewn from the 
 straight trees that grew so near the playground. Smooth 
 on top where they had been carefully gone over with the 
 broad-axe, they were rough underneath where the knots 
 had been smoothed off. The blackboard was the same. 
 Three men had been hired to make it years before. They 
 had gone to a slate quarry down the river, picked out 
 a great ledge of slate, and sawed a piece from it. It 
 was this piece that made our blackboard, and it was 
 rough where the saw had cut into it. Even the same 
 eraser was used that had been procured during my first 
 year in school. It was a rough piece of sheep skin that 
 an old scholar had got at home. 
 
 But while these things were the same, as well as the 
 great stove in the centre of the room, red with rust 
 and cracked down the lower front, hardly anything else 
 
 284
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 285 
 
 was the same. There was a new teacher, a young man 
 that the trustees had brought in to teach our school. 
 This was his first year, and he went at his work in a 
 different way from that to which we had been accus- 
 tomed. Hen was gone. He had been away to school 
 for four years and was now on his fifth. He was likely 
 to be a teacher himself next year. Margaret was gone 
 and the seat she had occupied in the years gone by was 
 empty now. It was back near the water bucket, and 
 when I saw it was empty, I thought of Margaret with 
 a wave of homesickness. 
 
 Ed Rainey, Bill Hunter and Charlie Snowden had 
 dropped out the year before. They had said they were 
 too big to go to school any more, and had staid at home 
 to help with the work. 
 
 As it was, I was now one of the "older pupils." How 
 I had envied the older ones on my first year ! And how 
 I had coveted their privileges, and been jealous of their 
 intimacy with the teacher! But now I found myself 
 almost alone, one of the oldest boys in school, without a 
 seat mate or any one to play with at noon except the 
 smaller scholars. As I thought, I grew more lonely, and 
 simply could not put my mind to my studies. 
 
 It was also lonely at home when winter set in. During 
 the summer when I could get out whenever I wanted to, 
 I had not missed Margaret at all. But she had had a 
 habit of reading to us out of the books Brooks would 
 bring her, and I found myself missing her and her read- 
 ing on many a long winter evening. 
 
 But I was not entirely alone. There was Little Anne. 
 At first my feeling toward her had been of dislike. She 
 was so little and ugly that I could not bring myself to 
 think kindly of her. But as she grew older, this feeling 
 changed to one of mild curiosity. The way she wad- 
 dled about when she tried to walk was really funny.
 
 286 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 And I could also see that she did look cute when she 
 had just one tooth in all her mouth. It was very white 
 and round, and when she smiled it looked very nice. 
 She had a way of doubling up her fists and striking out 
 wildly, that amused me. Altogether she was a curiosity 
 that I welcomed as one of the very interesting things in 
 life. 
 
 But as she got older she developed into a veritable 
 nuisance. She was always on the point of falling into 
 the fire, or swallowing a knitting-needle, or rolling off 
 the bed, or any one of a thousand very dangerous and un- 
 reasonable things. Now, mother couldn't watch her all 
 the time. She had to make the beds and get dinner, 
 and do any one of a number of things. And since father 
 was away quite a bit, especially in the winter when he 
 had so many meetings to hold, it fell to my lot to take 
 care of Little Anne. I complained to mother on one 
 occasion that the child was positively devilish, and con- 
 trived all these heathen practices solely to aggravate and 
 worry us. Mother was shocked, and explained with 
 some heat that the baby did not know any better, and 
 that I had been as bad if not worse when I was little. 
 But without some positive evidence to this effect, I was 
 inclined strongly to disbelieve her. 
 
 Little Anne had a way of getting into the kitchen and 
 fingering the dead ashes in the cook stove. Nor was she 
 content merely with feeling them. She had an insane 
 desire to try to eat everything she got her hands on, 
 and the ashes were no exception. Now dead wood 
 ashes, properly distributed over a moist skin, will pro- 
 duce an effect that for genuine dirt leaves little to be 
 desired. And when Little Anne would get to the stove 
 in spite of my vigilance and smear herself over thor- 
 oughly, she was simply awful. 
 
 And there was another thing. When mother had a
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 287 
 
 large tablecloth on the table, the corners of it would 
 hang down pretty low. While she seemed to have no 
 definite object in view, Little Anne would invariably make 
 for the corner of this tablecloth, seize it firmly and 
 pull and saw on it for all the world like a young pup 
 a-hold of a horse blanket. And if I did not reach her 
 in time there was danger of her pulling both the cloth 
 and the dishes on it off on the floor. 
 
 She seemed to understand that I had been set over her 
 as a protector, and from complete incorrigibility at first, 
 she developed a kind of stubborn affection for me. She 
 began to follow me around. This made matters very 
 awkward. When I used to start off with Hen and he 
 did not want me to go, he would say that I had to go 
 back to the house, and I went. But Little Anne was 
 not old enough to understand properly what was said to 
 her, and try as I might, I was unable to make her see 
 that I did not want her toddling around after me. If 
 she could have kept it up independently I would not 
 have minded so much. But that was the trouble. She 
 would start out briskly, follow me for quite a distance 
 in' spite of my protests, and then invariably she would 
 fall down. And when she fell down and began to 
 scream, there was but one thing for me to do. I either 
 had to carry her back to the house and stay there with 
 her, or carry her with me wherever I went. 
 
 The boys got to noticing it. They did not say much, 
 for some of them had had to do the same thing. But 
 I knew matters could not go on like this indefinitely 
 without something being said. And I was right. They 
 took to calling me Mother Ben, and it was not until I had 
 whaled the life out of a few of them that the affair 
 was hushed up. 
 
 Little Anne was the greatest cross I ever had to bear. 
 It was only after the supper dishes were washed, and
 
 288 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 mother had come into the living room for the evening, 
 that I could get any lasting relief. By that time it was 
 usually too late to go anywhere for the evening. Even 
 had it not been, I was so harried by the intolerable pro- 
 tectorship of the day that I felt more inclined to go 
 wearily to bed than to do anything else. 
 
 Our school was not graded. The only progressive 
 studies were the readers. There were six of them. The 
 pupil started in the first and went on to the sixth. And 
 when he had read McGuffy's Eclectic Sixth Reader, he 
 was through with school. Grammer, of course, changed 
 some. There was a primary and an advanced text, but 
 the time of leaving one for the other was indefinite. As 
 a rule though, the student kept on with the primary until 
 he could recite the lessons without any effort whatever, 
 and then he was put in the advanced class, where he re- 
 mained until he left school. The same was true of arith- 
 metic, geography, history and physiology. There were 
 two books in each subject, the primary and the advanced, 
 and on leaving the primary one kept on with the ad- 
 vanced until through with school altogether. And be- 
 sides these studies there were no others. 
 
 I had not taken to school as Hen had. It seemed the 
 very breath of his life. He would sit up at home until 
 long into the night working hard on his arithmetic. And 
 he knew his history and grammar and physiology almost 
 by heart. But the books did not seem to interest me 
 greatly. Physiology was fair, and I thought it great 
 fun to trace all the muscles and blood vessels of the body. 
 I could name all the bones in the body as glibly as I 
 could say my own name, but I was greatly exercise3 
 over an apparent division of opinion as to the number 
 of bones in the body. My book said there were two 
 hundred and six, and I knew the name of every one of 
 them. But the teacher had explained that this point was
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 289 
 
 not finally settled; that there might, in short, be two 
 hundred and eight bones in the body. I could not for 
 the life of me see how any one could make a miscount 
 in such an important matter; and wondered why the 
 authorities did not get a skeleton and go over the bones 
 together. But the teacher threw as much doubt over 
 the whole question as he could. 
 
 There was another thing about the physiology that 
 got me into difficulties. At the end of each chapter, 
 whether that chapter dealt with the muscles or the teeth 
 or the nervous system or what not, there was a long 
 paragraph or two setting forth the injurious effects of 
 tobacco upon that particular part of the body. The case 
 was made pretty strong the heart, arteries, veins and 
 capillaries being particularly susceptible. And a tobacco 
 chewer was liable to about every kind of horrible disease 
 we had ever heard of, from toothache and cancer of 
 the mouth to quick consumption. 
 
 I had smoked a little before, but had not chewed. 
 Chewing never appealed to me as a very enjoyable thing, 
 and it was apt to be a little bit dirty, especially for a man 
 with a beard. But the physiology would not let a day go 
 by without opening up the whole question of tobacco in 
 every form. And at last my curiosity was aroused. 
 What did the stuff taste like, anyway? It must surely 
 be strong, to cause such terrible results. 
 
 I knew where to find some at home. Back in the little 
 storage room there were eight or ten long twists of the 
 natural leaf. Harrison Applebee grew tobacco on his 
 farm, and he had given father some of it The leaves 
 had been stemmed carefully, and the twists made. They 
 were big at one end, and tapered down to a point at the 
 other. I slipped one of them out and went up on the hill 
 to experiment. I held the twist in my hand at first, feel- 
 ing it over curiously. Then I smelled of it. It was dry
 
 290 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and as I whiffed it some of the little powdered pieces 
 snuffed up my nose. I coughed violently. 
 
 The first sensation when I took a chew of it in my 
 mouth was that it was hot. It seemed to burn my lips. 
 I rolled it around with my tongue. I hoped the first time 
 I should spit that it would be a rich, dark brown. But it 
 was not so. And by the time I had succeeded in pro- 
 ducing the proper shade of colour, my interest in the 
 whole affair had waned noticeably. I felt a churning sen- 
 sation in my stomach, and a light giddy dancing just 
 above my eyes. I groaned, but that did not help matters. 
 The world became dark and sombre; and objects that a 
 few minutes ago were bright, had changed to a dull yel- 
 low. I locked my fingers and put my hands against my 
 stomach, in the hope that I could still the tempest that evi- 
 dently was raging there. I doubled up, bringing my 
 knees and chest just as close together as possible. My 
 head swam. I thought I should die immediately, and it 
 did not help any when a thought of my future state 
 flashed through my mind, to reflect that it was wrong 
 to chew tobacco. My stomach did not cease its gyrations, 
 but rather became more insistent. It seemed to be beat- 
 ing against its confining boundaries, struggling to liberate 
 itself into a more comprehensive field. One of its lunges 
 for liberty was straight in the direction of my mouth. 
 The fury of the thing bent me over double, but I had 
 the presence of mind to open my mouth and set the 
 prisoner free. 
 
 When I at last stood up, the whole question of poise 
 that I had mastered when learning to walk, and since 
 relegated to the purely habitual forms of action, had to 
 be taken up again. I was unsteady on my legs; and 
 familiar objects had a way of side-stepping nimbly when 
 I went to place a hand against them. When I would 
 put my foot firmly down to advance, it would not neces-
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 291 
 
 sarily go where I had intended it. Just as likely as not 
 it would shoot far out to one side, throwing me com- 
 pletely off my balance. Objects that in my saner mo- 
 ments had always been fixed, reeled around with such 
 fantastic abandon that I was completely bewildered. 
 
 But at last the external world began to take on a 
 more stable form, and the world inside fell back into the 
 old rut. I was myself again. Carefully I made my way 
 to the back room, and slipped the remainder of the twist 
 back with the others. When I laid it down, a heavy 
 odour of strong tobacco smote my nostrils. I felt again 
 the terrible symptoms. Straightening up quickly, I fled 
 out of the room. 
 
 And the next day, when I read in the physiology that 
 tobacco has a tendency to stiffen the arteries, I knew 
 that tobacco has a tendency to do many other things not 
 mentioned in the book. 
 
 The school year was drawing to a close when we got 
 a very interesting letter from Hen. He had finished 
 the Seminary the year before, and had gone back for 
 another year to take a normal course, since he could live 
 with Margaret and it would not cost much. He was in- 
 tending to teach a year or two, and then go on to col- 
 lege. He was to be a Doctor, father said. The letter 
 we got was jubilant. He had just heard from the trus- 
 tees that he had been given the High Hill school for 
 the following year. 
 
 The High Hill school was not far from our house, 
 and Hen could teach it and board at home. It was the 
 school Jane Ellanger had attended when she went to 
 school. 
 
 Jane was at our house when the letter came. She 
 had taken to coming down to our house almost every 
 day that winter. She said it got so lonesome up at home 
 that she just had to get out somewhere. Mother liked
 
 292 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 to have her do"wn, for while she never said much, I could 
 see she had never got used to Margaret's being away. 
 And Jane helped some. 
 
 Jane's cheeks were naturally red, but they got redder 
 when father read the letter from Hen. I thought her 
 fingers trembled a little as she stitched away on some- 
 thing she was making. 
 
 And mother's spirits went up from that hour. Her 
 face even flushed up as it had in the old days, and her 
 eyes had a little of the old glow in them. And she and 
 Jane were together even more than ever after that. 
 
 The day before our school closed, I gathered all my 
 books together to carry them home. We never left them 
 until the last day, for there was such confusion then 
 that it was never safe to leave anything around loose. 
 I got my reader, grammar, geography, history, physiology 
 and arithmetic. Then there were my slate and tablet. 
 The slate and geography were very broad, and were hard 
 to carry. But I got all my things together, and started 
 home. 
 
 I had been looking forward a little to finishing school 
 for good, for it was hard to stay inside and study when 
 everything outside was so interesting and beautiful. But 
 as I walked out of the door, it struck me with new force 
 that I had spent my last year in the old schoolhouse. I 
 should never again return as a scholar. 
 
 I walked down the playground, past the little mound 
 where the pitcher stood, on to the high bank down which 
 we slid at the last recess, down to the narrow foot log 
 over Little Creek across which we had had to coon on 
 icy mornings. And it was not such a gladsome farewell 
 as I had expected. 
 
 A few days later, Hen came home, looking tall and 
 handsome. I was very proud of him as he stood in the 
 living room, with his hair neatly cut, and brushed closely
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 293 
 
 down against his head. He looked very smart and in- 
 telligent. And Jane quit coming down. 
 
 One day not long after he came home, Hen went up 
 for Jane and took her out for a boat ride. They were to 
 go far up the river, with him rowing while she trolled. 
 It was a beautiful afternoon when they set out; and I 
 stood on the bank and watched them until they disap- 
 peared round the bend. 
 
 It was only a few hours afterward that the sky be- 
 came overcast and lowering, and not long after that there 
 came up one of the swift, terrible storms that swooped 
 down upon us at times. In great rolling sheets the rain 
 swept down the bottom, and soon the little rivulets came 
 roaring down the mountainsides, and emptied their mud- 
 dy contents into the river. 
 
 In the midst of the downpour Hen and Jane came 
 home. They were both dripping wet, but hilariously 
 happy. Their muffled laughter reached us long before 
 they were at the landing. Hen took Jane straight home, 
 and came back himself in a little while. His lips were 
 blue and a little drawn, but his spirits were high. 
 
 "Did you get very wet, son ?" mother asked anxiously. 
 
 "Do I look it ?" and he brushed the water from the end 
 of his nose. 
 
 "I hope Jane didn't get chilled." 
 
 "Not so that I could notice it." 
 
 He seemed greatly elated, and mother glanced over at 
 father significantly. He grinned back at her. Hen went 
 into the bedroom and changed his clothes. When he 
 came back out he still seemed tremendously elated, as if 
 at the possession of some secret information. 
 
 But when he came back from Ellangers' the next af- 
 ternoon, he looked greatly disturbed. 
 
 "Jane's not feeling so well," he said to mother. 
 
 "Is she sick from getting wet ?"
 
 294 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 He nodded, and went quickly out. 
 
 It was a week afterward that Herb came to our door. 
 
 "Wish you would come up and see Jane, Mrs. Rhodes," 
 he said. 
 
 It was late afternoon, but mother hurried away. 
 Father got supper that night, and after supper he went 
 up, also. I was in bed when he came back, and it was 
 not until the next day that I learned what the trouble 
 was. 
 
 Pneumonia. Poor Jane! For weeks she lay at the 
 point of death, sometimes raving in delirium, sometimes 
 so still that her breathing was hardly perceptible. It was 
 in her delirium that she called loudly and persistently 
 for Hen. At such times he would go in and sit down 
 by the bedside, but she never seemed to recognise him. 
 
 When at last she was able to be up, she was but the 
 shadow of her former self. And as the lazy summer 
 wore on, she did not seem to get much stronger. She 
 was very poor. Her hands were very white, and so 
 thin that one could almost see through them. Her face 
 was pale, except for the bright red spot on either cheek 
 bone. Her eyes were bright, unnaturally bright, and the 
 look in them came to be terrible. She coughed fre- 
 quently. 
 
 We went up to have dinner with the Ellangers one 
 Sunday, and the thing most noticeable about Jane was 
 her eyes. They seemed unusually large and prominent, 
 and the look of them haunted me for days afterward. 
 One day not so long before, we had been up on the 
 hill cutting wood. Old Pbnto was sniffing importantly 
 around, and as father was felling a big beech tree, he 
 noticed Ponto right in the path of it. He called fran- 
 tically to him ; and Ponto made a desperate effort to get 
 clear. But he was too late. One of the crooked limbs 
 caught him across the back. He was not killed, but he
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 295 
 
 dragged himself painfully out when father pried up the 
 limb. Very sadly, father sent me home after the rifle. 
 My heart was just pounding in my throat when I came 
 back with it and handed it to him. Then I stuck my 
 fingers in my ears and ran aimlessly up the hill. But not 
 before I took a last look at Ponto. He seemed to under- 
 stand, for he stood there, licking his lips and looking 
 patiently at father. And the look that was in his eyes 
 was the look that was in Jane's eyes. 
 
 In some desperate way, she seemed to be trying to 
 avoid something. But there was about her that which 
 suggested that she understood that in spite of all her 
 struggles the case was hopeless. 
 
 Of course she never came to our house any more. 
 She was too weak to walk that far. But mother often 
 went over to spend the day with her, and on many such 
 occasions I accompanied her. 
 
 In a low voice Jane often talked about the good times 
 she had had. And at such times the bright spots on her 
 cheeks were brighter still. Now and then she would 
 refer to the good times she expected to have when she got 
 over her "cold," and always at such times she looked 
 eagerly at mother as if for confirmation. 
 
 And it was on just such a lazy lovely day as late Au- 
 gust often brought to Barren Rocks, that the word which 
 we had been dreading finally came. Herb came down, 
 and in a few broken sentences explained all. 
 
 Very slowly, very deliberately, father went into the 
 little back room for his hatchet and saw. Very slowly 
 and very deliberately he crossed the river and went up 
 the hill. And I knew what it meant. He was going to 
 make Jane's coffin. Some broad, heavy oak planks, care- 
 fully measured and carefully sawed; some black cloth 
 tacked carefully over it; a few screws fitted in place
 
 296 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 that was all. For father was always both undertaker and 
 minister. 
 
 And it was on another one of those lazy, beautiful days 
 that mother and I set out for the little cluster of pine 
 trees that grew down below the Ellanger homestead. 
 When we got there, many people were standing about, 
 for the funeral should be conducted there. Old Herb 
 Ellanger came down before we had been there long, and 
 leaning heavily on him for support, was Sarah, his wife. 
 He still appeared awkward and clumsy, his head drawn 
 to one side, but there was that in his attitude toward 
 Sarah that was infinitely considerate and kind. And as 
 father talked in a low voice, standing at the side of the 
 rough casket, Sarah Ellanger stood like Rachel weeping 
 for her children and refusing to be comforted because 
 they were not. 
 
 And then a slight trip to the back of the farm, where 
 were other graves than the one newly dug ; a few words 
 committing ashes to ashes and dust to dust ; a final pray- 
 er and it was over. Jane Ellanger was no more. 
 
 It was many a day after the funeral of Jane before 
 we settled back into our accustomed ways of life. For 
 long a shadow seemed to have fallen which could not 
 be lifted. Mlother spent days at a time with Sarah El- 
 langer, trying to give her what comfort she could. Hen 
 never said so much as a single word, but he seemed for 
 a long time strangely silent and preoccupied. It was as 
 if his mind were struggling to adjust itself to new con- 
 ditions which he could hardly realise. 
 
 But it was not long until he began his new school, 
 and his mind was occupied by the unaccustomed duties. 
 He enjoyed it very much, and it was not long before 
 one after another expressed himself to father, that Hen 
 was a great success as a teacher. 
 
 Along toward spring, father and Hen got to taking
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 297 
 
 long walks together, as they had done years before. 
 They were discussing Hen's future, I felt sure, for 
 father had his heart set on Hen's being a doctor. But 
 there was one thing I did not realise, and that was that 
 now I figured largely in their planning. 
 
 For some reason it had never occurred to me to think 
 that I should grow up and follow the same course that 
 Hen had taken. Barren Rocks seemed completely 
 sufficient for me, and it never entered my mind to plan 
 for anything which would take me away. But father's 
 plans had run far ahead of mine, and his hopes for us 
 all were more than we realised. 
 
 But if a lightning flash had stunned me I could not 
 have been more dumfounded than I was with the infor- 
 mation father finally imparted to me. 
 
 "How would you like to go to Sistersville to school, 
 Ben?" was the way he began. 
 
 For a time I was unable to answer. I was wholly un- 
 prepared to cope with the idea. 
 
 "I don't know," I finally answered. 
 
 "We have decided to send you there this fall," he 
 said. 
 
 I was nonplussed. And for many days I could not 
 fully comprehend the meaning of his words. I go away 
 from Barren Rocks : Go off to the Seminary ; leave home, 
 and go among strangers? But finally, when by Hen's 
 graphic descriptions I was enabled to realise more fully 
 what it all meant, I was wholly delighted. To leave 
 Barren Rocks and go out into the world ; to get an edu- 
 cation and I had been taught that a good education 
 stood next in importance to saving my own soul ; to live 
 in a town where there were street lamps, and sidewalks, 
 and stores where bananas were kept all winter; to go 
 where men wore white collars every day to do all
 
 298 
 
 this, I finally believed, I was privileged beyond my 
 wildest dreams. 
 
 Hen spoke of debating societies. He told me of a 
 great debate over at Sistersville, in which he had par- 
 ticipated. Calhoun Seminary had debated Wade Semi- 
 nary; there was a great audience; judges waiting to 
 render decision as to the winning side! My imagina- 
 tion kindled. I resolved fiercely that I should be a 
 great debater; and perhaps, when I grew up, a crimi- 
 nal lawyer. I was not just clear as to the duties of a 
 criminal lawyer, but the name sounded so important that 
 I determined to be one. 
 
 And he told of awards for scholarship; how the best 
 scholar in the school was always given a medal at com- 
 mencement; and I resolved to win the medal or die. 
 
 Late in the summer father and I went to Flatwoods. 
 He wanted to get me a respectable outfit, he said. And 
 he certainly did. He got me a new suit and an extra 
 pair of pants ; a new hat and a cap and three store shirts, 
 and some stockings and a pair of fine shoes. I had 
 never had so many clothes in my life, and the knowledge 
 that they were really mine was very comforting. 
 
 And mother worked to get all my things ready just as 
 she had worked for Hen. She saw to it that all my 
 clothes were mended, and washed and ironed. Every lit- 
 tle thing was gone over carefully. And she packed a 
 suit case for me back in the little storage room, only it 
 was not the suit case that Hen had used. He had worn 
 his out with many trips, and father had got a new one 
 for me. 
 
 The morning on which I was to start found us up 
 bright and early. Mother had prepared one of her 
 famous breakfasts : Big hot biscuits baked with butter- 
 milk, cane molasses, eggs and bacon. She hovered 
 around my chair, helping me to everything. And she
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 299 
 
 urged me to eat another egg when I was already full to 
 bursting. 
 
 Hen went out to saddle the horses. He came back 
 riding Old Bill and leading Bird. Father tied my suit 
 case firmly to the saddle horn and took my hand. He 
 gripped it hard, and his eyes were very kind and sad. 
 
 "Write to us often, son," he said. 
 
 Little Anne climbed timidly down the steps and held 
 out her little hand. 
 
 "Good-bye, Bennie," she said. 
 
 And I was stricken with remorse for all my angry 
 thoughts concerning her. 
 
 We rode slowly down the road. The road was damp 
 and dark with the dew, and as the horses' feet struck 
 it the dust flew up in little ragged balls. We got to the 
 bend, and I looked back over my shoulder. Father was 
 standing at the gate. He faced the east, and the morn-' 
 ing light fell strongly upon him. He was absolutely mo- 
 tionless; and his face looked thoughtful, meditative, 
 sad. 
 
 I looked about for mother. She was not to be seen. 
 And suddenly I remembered where she had stood on 
 that day years ago when Hen had first left home: 
 In my mind I pictured her standing by the window, 
 holding back the curtain with her hand, looking toward 
 me. 
 
 I jerked my head about, and rode on. In spite of my- 
 self my mind ran back to that first day, when I had left 
 to take Hen to the station. I recalled the pang of 
 jealousy that had shot through me, at the attention he 
 was receiving. I remembered also that I had wished 
 to be in his place, and have all the concern for myself. 
 But now that our positions were reversed, I found it 
 almost intolerable. Gladly would I have given up all 
 hope of an education, all the excitement of Sistersville
 
 300 The Manse at Barren Rocks 
 
 and the unknown pleasures that I had anticipated, if only 
 I could have turned Bird around and ridden back home 
 to stay there forever. 
 
 When we came near the Evans home, I thought I saw 
 some one standing out by the road. When we approached 
 nearer, there was no mistaking it. It was Essie. Her 
 hair was done up on her head now, and her blue dress 
 came well below her knees. I thought she looked very 
 tall and straight and dainty as I stopped beside her. 
 
 "I have come out to say good-bye, Ben," she said. 
 
 "I'll be back soon," I said, almost roughly. 
 
 She held out a little square package. 
 
 "Open this when you eat your lunch, Ben," and she 
 gave it to me. 
 
 "Is it something good dear?" I asked boldly. 
 
 Again she smiled, as she had one other day, long be- 
 fore. But this time there was no hint of anger. 
 
 "Yes honey. I made it for you." 
 
 I shook the bridle reins and started off at a trot. 
 
 "Don't forget to come back, Ben," she called after me. 
 
 "Don't you fear," I answered back. 
 
 Hen was intending to make the round trip that day. 
 It would take him far into the night, but he said he 
 would rather ride until late than stay somewhere over 
 night. 
 
 When we stopped for lunch on a grassy knoll topping 
 a great mountain, I opened the package Essie had given 
 me. It was a little box filled with fudge. It was a little 
 hard, and inclined to be brittle, but it was very good. 
 
 At last we reached the depot. It was a little red build- 
 ing, and stood well on the outskirts of Monroe. It 
 looked very lonely and deserted. But I looked with 
 wonder on the small man in the ticket office, thinking 
 that his grasp of the big outside world must be very 
 complete indeed.
 
 The Manse at Barren Rocks 301 
 
 Hen untied my suit case and set it down on the little 
 cinder platform. He went into the depot with me to 
 get my ticket, and then, as the train was not due for an 
 hour, and he wanted to make home that night, he said he 
 would start back at once. 
 
 He untied the horses, let out the stirrups to my saddle, 
 and got on Bird. He tied old Bill's halter to the saddle 
 horn, and started off. 
 
 "Good-bye, Ben," he called back, with a broad grin. 
 
 "Good-bye," I answered, rather feebly. 
 
 I stood and watched him as he jogged down the road. 
 Once when Bird broke into a trot old Bill hung back 
 lazily, and I knew that the halter was sawing over Hen's 
 leg. Down the road they went, getting smaller and 
 smaller, until at last the hills swallowed them up. 
 
 I looked on ahead in the direction they were taking. 
 As far as the eye could see, the mountains stretched 
 themselves out, ridge after ridge. And I knew that, far 
 off over there, past the ridges and across the river, down 
 by the mouth of Little Creek, was the old Baptist Manse. 
 
 I turned away slowly, my eyes filled with tears. It 
 was the first time I had ever been homesick, and the 
 strange poignant emotion almost overpowered me. 
 
 But in what seemed a very short time, I heard my train 
 whistle up the track. Soon the little engine came puffing 
 importantly around the curve. I had never been on board 
 a train in my life, and the excitement of the moment 
 blotted out all other thoughts. A brakeman in blue uni- 
 form called out: 
 
 "This train for Hamilton and Sistersville. All 
 aboard!" 
 
 Sistersville ! I heard him say it, and my thoughts ran 
 on ahead. Sistersville the outside world an educa- 
 tion a future and Margaret! I should soon be with 
 Margaret. I settled down in my seat with a happy smile.
 
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