TON BRISCOE
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 JIMTY
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 MARGARET SUTTON BRISCOE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 W. T. SMEDLEY AND A. B. FROST 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 1808
 
 Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights resen-td.
 
 PS 
 
 1111 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 JlMTY I 
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 51 
 
 AN ECHO 80 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 98 
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS . . . 133 
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 155 
 
 PRINCESS I-WouLD-I-WoT-NoT 182 
 
 IT is THE CUSTOM 201 
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 247 
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 278 
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 292 
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 308 
 
 1694353
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 JIMTY Frontispiece 
 
 MONSIEUR LE MART Facing page 2 
 
 MADAME THE PROPRIETRESS " " IO 
 
 " 'THUS IT WAS THAT i HEARD THE MA 
 JOR'S STORY'" . " " 22 
 
 " 'MR. STONE IS NOW A SEMI-PROFESSIONAL 
 
 RACONTEUR'" " "48 
 
 " ' THEY SAY EF YOU COMBS YER HADE AT 
 
 NIGHTS, YOU FERGITS ' " ..... " " 168 
 
 "'ALL DECENTLY CLOTHED'" " " 288 
 
 IN THE GARDEN PATCH " " 2Q2
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 JIMTY 
 
 " BUT, Major," I whispered, " why is the 
 bridegroom wearing an old coat ? That cut is 
 out of date." 
 
 The Major's eyes twinkled. " I wondered if 
 you would notice it," he replied. " It's what I 
 brought you here to see. If you will go to 
 luncheon with me wherever I choose to take 
 you directly the wedding is over, I'll tell you 
 the story of that coat." 
 
 Half an hour later the Major and I were sit 
 ting together at a little table in a small cafe 
 within the borders of that quarter of our city 
 known as Bohemia. The cafe was Parisian, un 
 mistakably, from the door-sill, on which a thin 
 layer of white sand was spread in lieu of a mat, 
 to the back of the room, where, perched on a 
 dais fenced off like a proscenium-box, madame 
 the proprietress presided behind her, a set of 
 narrow shelves holding tier after tier of multi-
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 hued bottles ; before her, a row of neat glass- 
 cases exhibiting different brands of cigars, va 
 rious cheeses, or tasteful plates of arranged 
 fruits, comfits, and moulded jellies. Monsieur 
 le mari was absorbed in tending the foliage- 
 plants of his show-window as we entered his 
 establishment. He was turning the earth with 
 a hair-pin, evidently borrowed from madame, 
 and looked up to gravely bow to the Major, 
 not removing his little black silk skull - cap. 
 Later, his hands clasped behind his broad back, 
 he wandered with apparent indifference about 
 the room, chirping occasionally to the caged 
 canaries that hung high among the green vines 
 trained to grow upon the walls. Madame 
 bowed to the Major also, with the same grave 
 respect, and the Major called the waiter by his 
 Christian name as he hurried forward to meet 
 us and take our order. Evidently he was at 
 home. " Just glance about you," said the Major, 
 with a certain proprietary pride. " It is easy 
 enough to understand how in a great cosmopo- 
 lis like this we have only to walk a block and 
 turn a corner to travel from Jerusalem to Bag 
 dad, but I have never known the very aroma 
 of an imported country so perfectly preserved 
 as in this little cafe. Those art students over 
 there, for instance aren't they having a good, 
 innocent, Parisian kind of a time ?" 
 
 I looked across the room through the thin 
 blue mist of cigarette and cigar smoke. The
 
 *&> - 
 
 ; < ; fo 
 
 MONSIEUR LE MAKI
 
 JIMTY 
 
 ventilation was good, so the air was only cloud 
 ed, not heavy. From her box madarne was 
 smiling her reserved smile upon a party of 
 young men who had just entered and were 
 rather noisily improvising a banquet-board in 
 the centre of the floor by setting a number of 
 the little wooden tables which the cafe afforded 
 side by side in a row. As loudly greeted addi 
 tions to the party came dropping in, more 
 tables were drawn up, until the board waxed 
 long and the mirth high. 
 
 " Now you and I," said the Major, " old 
 stagers as we are, know just how much or how 
 little all this means. We know those perhaps too 
 loudly called for, dissipated-looking little pint 
 bottles contain pink water and sugar chiefly ; 
 and we know, too, that the young fellow over 
 yonder smoking three cigarettes at once, one 
 in each ear and one in his mouth, is but an in 
 nocent party buffoon, and not in the least tipsy. 
 Indeed, I never saw but one tipsy fellow here 
 in all my experiences, and madame pounced 
 down upon him from her perch like a ruffled 
 dove. ' Qu'est ce que c'est ? Qu'est ce que 
 c'est?' I had thought her a fixture up there, 
 somehow, until that moment. You and I know 
 all this. We even understand this grim little 
 fine for the water-drinker. See it ?" And the 
 Major passed me the carte, set in a wooden 
 frame with a handle like a looking-glass, his 
 finger on these words at the head of the menu : 
 3
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "5 c. en plus pour tout diner sans vin ou biere." 
 " Cheaper to drink thajn to abstain, you com 
 prehend ? Of course we comprehend it all ; but 
 fancy a green country boy, born since the days 
 when his father's cellarette adorned the dining- 
 room, looking in on such a scene for the first 
 time, and you have an idea of what Jimty's ex 
 pression must have been when one day, about 
 eighteen months ago, sitting at this very table, 
 I looked up to see him standing rooted in that 
 doorway." 
 
 The Major cast a reminiscent eye at the cafe 
 entrance, and paused for a moment to openly 
 overhear and as openly laugh over a story 
 which was being told at the banquet - table 
 by the triple smoker : some nonsense about a 
 farm belonging to the narrator's uncle, where 
 there were three hundred cows at pasture 
 "all girls." 
 
 The Major indicated the noisy banqueters 
 with a wave of his hand. " There was much the 
 same order of party in the centre of the room 
 the day Jimty arrived," he said, "only more 
 noisy if anything ; and, as it happened, one of 
 the number had just told a stale story, so the 
 rest were stoning him to death with bread- 
 crusts as the door opened. I think the boy be 
 lieved he had stumbled into a den of iniquity, 
 until he saw me sitting here laughing." 
 
 The Major laughed again at the recollec 
 tion. 
 
 4
 
 JIMTY 
 
 " Are Jimty if that is the name and the 
 bridegroom one and the same man ?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh yes ; didn't I tell you so ? Jimty ! I 
 suppose the name strikes you as odd. It did 
 me when I first heard it. Later I understood 
 that it was but a natural evolution. James 
 Tarleton Stone was the family name, so when 
 it descended to my young friend, every distin 
 guishing abbreviation had been previously en 
 gaged. He was therefore given the whole title, 
 James Tarleton, which speedily degenerated 
 into James T., then Jimmy T., lastly boiling 
 down to Jimty. I learned all that over this 
 same table, partly from Jimty, partly from his 
 father ; and over this board, too, old Mr. Stone 
 first told his now historic anecdote of the Glass 
 Snakes and Transparent Mocking - Birds. I 
 don't believe I could properly sing you the 
 song of Jimty and his coat outside of this 
 room, for everything here recalls to me some 
 incident connected with him. And yet here 
 comes our luncheon before I have so much as 
 begun. Well, you must let me digress my own 
 way, and I'll sandwich the coat and Jimty in 
 somehow between the courses." 
 
 Thus it was that while eating a luncheon, 
 which included snails, and drinking a bottle of 
 the red wine so affectionately jeered at by my 
 host, I heard the Major's story. 
 
 " I can't very well even now," said the Major, 
 " touch at once on the coat ; for the first time 
 5
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 I ever saw the boy he was not only minus that 
 garment, but every other as well, naked as the 
 day he came into the world, which statement 
 requires as immediate an explanation as pos 
 sible. 
 
 "One spring season about two years ago it 
 happened that I was on a business trip in Vir 
 ginia, and found that I had to make a stage of 
 my journey by a steamer already overcrowded 
 with a large country excursion party. Luckily 
 for me, as it chanced, I hate a crush above all 
 things, so I stood a little aloof from the press 
 of passengers crowding out on the pier. Sud 
 denly, with no warning whatever, I saw that 
 mass of human beings irresistibly shelved to 
 one side, and I found myself borne back and 
 down in a wild rush for the shore. I suppose 
 my senses were crushed out of me, for I saw 
 and heard nothing more after that until I real 
 ized that I was leaning against a pile of lumber 
 on the land, unhurt. Some one I never knew 
 who had dragged me out of the metie. My 
 first conscious thought was that I had surely 
 died, and waked among the sounds of Hades. 
 As I opened my eyes I saw only too clearly 
 what had happened, but well, I won't dwell 
 on the appearance of the broken pier and dis 
 turbed water. The sight matched the hearing 
 enough to unman me. I closed my lids again 
 involuntarily, still faint and sick with the hor 
 ror. At that moment the confusion of noises 
 6
 
 JIMTY 
 
 seemed to focus into a boyish voice near me. 
 Even then I noticed the peculiar freshness of 
 its quality. 
 
 " ' Father,' it cried, ' shall I strip before the 
 women and children ?' 
 
 " An older voice answered like bugle to bu 
 gle : 
 
 " ' Strip, man, strip, and go in as God made 
 you.' 
 
 " I looked up to see standing quite near me 
 the most magnificent specimen of young man 
 hood I ever beheld. I believe you thought 
 Jimty as bridegroom handsome as a man need 
 be, but to-day he was a circumstance to the 
 Jimty I first saw as God made him body and 
 soul ; for if ever a man's soul was in his face, 
 it was in that boy's as he leaped by me, stark 
 naked, into the water. It brought me to my 
 feet, and out into the water after him I went 
 only to my neck, for I can't swim a stroke. 
 
 " The boy's father and I worked side by 
 side. We two old fellows had all we could do 
 to drag ashore the bodies, alive and dead we 
 could not stop to distinguish that Jimty 
 brought us. 
 
 " I thought we were laboring there for hours. 
 It seemed so, though it must have been min 
 utes only. Each time the boy dragged to us 
 a new burden and swam undauntedly back 
 into the horrible confusion of struggling forms 
 I never expected to see him return. 
 7
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " They say misery makes strange bedfel 
 lows, but peril surely makes bed - brothers of 
 strangers. I don't believe the father suffered 
 much more anxiety than I in those moments 
 of waiting. Over and over I heard him mur 
 muring in my ear : ' The boy sha'n't go out 
 again.' 'He has done enough.' 'This is the 
 last.' And I would answer, ' Yes, this time we 
 will stop him.' But whenever Jimty neared 
 us nothing of the kind was ever said. There 
 was something sacred in the remote purpose 
 of his face that no man even a father could 
 venture to question. We stood shoulder to 
 shoulder, straining our old eyes to distinguish 
 the one white body weaving its dangerous way 
 among the dark ones. To many of them he 
 must have come as a white-robed angel of de 
 liverance. 
 
 " The boy's strength lay in his nakedness. 
 With strong men, as there were, drowning all 
 about him, clutching at straws in the fear of 
 death, the fact that he had his body alone to 
 protect from their grasp was everything. 
 
 "At last, after a long space of waiting, in 
 which I fairly gave up hope, we distinguished 
 Jimty, far off on the water's surface, springing 
 high like a tired water - dog, and with each 
 stroke shaking the drops from his eyes. He 
 was panting heavily, with evident difficulty 
 dragging in his load. It was the body of a 
 woman. We waded out to meet him as far as 
 8
 
 JIMTY 
 
 we dared ; but as the boy's feet touched the 
 shallower bottom he shifted his burden into 
 his arms, wading ashore past us as if he had 
 never seen us. We hurried ashore also, to find 
 him already working hard over the body, which 
 he had laid on a tablelike board of the lumber- 
 pile. I touched his bare arm, and he turned 
 sharply, asserting as a man asserts what he 
 only half believes that the woman must still 
 be alive, for she had spoken to him twice on 
 the way in. 
 
 " ' No,' said his father, after a brief examina 
 tion ; ' she is quite dead now, poor child.' 
 
 "As I looked at the face of the young girl 
 laid out there as if for her last rest, I also be* 
 lieved that she had found it. So many all about 
 us were in need of immediate attention that it 
 seemed a waste of precious moments to spend 
 them on this hopeless case ; but Jimty insist 
 ing in his belief, we worked over the senseless 
 body, pressing air into the passive lungs in 
 fact, doing all that our inexperience knew to 
 call back life until an almost imperceptible 
 quivering of the muscles, proving the boy right, 
 made us redouble our efforts. At last the girl's 
 eyelids began to flutter, and Jimty, in great 
 excitement, caught up his coat from among 
 his little heap of clothing still lying by the 
 lumber-pile. He was wrapping the girl care 
 fully in the coat's folds, when his father grasp 
 ed his arm. 
 
 9
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 ' ' Stand back, boy,' he said ; ' she's coming 
 to, and you'll frighten her to death. This isn't 
 the Garden of Eden. You'd better put a coat 
 on yourself, or hide in the bushes, as your bet 
 ters did before you.' 
 
 "Jimty started back with an exclamation, 
 which proved that he had as wholly forgotten 
 his body's nakedness as he had its peril a short 
 while before. He snatched up his clothing, 
 and, just as the girl opened her eyes, vanished 
 so swiftly around the end of the lumber-pile 
 that his father and I burst out laughing a 
 jangled kind of laughter. Did you ever hear 
 men laughing after a heavy strain ? It's not 
 a pretty sound. It seems to jar loosely from 
 the lips somehow, because it has no root in 
 the heart, I suppose." 
 
 The Major's story waited while he thrust his 
 hand into his pocket and drew out the coppers 
 necessary for the purchase of a newspaper 
 presented by a tattered, bareheaded, black - 
 eyed little fellow, who had entered the cafe 
 noiselessly, slipping from table to table. He, 
 too, was evidently an habitut ' ; for all those 
 whom he drew near, with his half -sly, half- 
 frightened smile, had a humorous or teasing 
 word to throw him, whether they bought or 
 not. 
 
 I, the Major's guest, began to feel myself 
 the only unknown quantity in those four walls. 
 The Major was evidently a regular customer,
 
 MADAME THE PROPRIETRESS
 
 JIMTY 
 
 for without question the boy stood waiting, a 
 paper ready in his grimy hand. 
 
 " Italian, isn't he ?" I asked. 
 
 " I don't know," the Major answered. " Ask 
 him." 
 
 " Who I ? No, no. My mova she Amer- 
 icaine. My faver ? Ho ! I don' know." 
 
 A shrug, a quick, impish glance of intelli 
 gence, conveyed but one meaning, which was 
 to his weird precocity as a neat little jest of 
 life upon himself, and perhaps upon his mother 
 also. 
 
 " Here," said the Major, "take your money, 
 gamin, and go. Good Lord, what a travesty 
 on childhood ! And yet, do you know, even 
 precocity like that has its uses, as Jimty and I 
 learned. That little fellow's shrewdness once 
 saved us a world of trouble. I don't mean it 
 was worth the price, though. Poor little imp !" 
 
 He looked thoughtfully after the child of the 
 pavements. 
 
 " Major," I said, recalling him, " is that all ? 
 Of course, as an old novel-reader, I know the 
 coat and the rescued girl are the same coat 
 and the same girl I saw with Jimty to-day, but 
 am I also to fill in the time from then to now 
 from my own imagination ?" 
 
 The Major shook his head and laughed. 
 
 " You couldn't do that, for old Mr. Stone oc 
 cupies a large part of the space, and I defy any 
 imagination less fertile than Madame Nature's 
 ii
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 to produce him. He was one of her unique 
 masterpieces. I haven't sketched him in for 
 you yet, because I was not particularly inter 
 ested in him myself, until a little incident oc 
 curred which drew my attention to the father 
 almost as warmly as it had been engaged by 
 the son. No, I must begin again where I left 
 off at the back of the lumber -pile, Jimty's 
 dressing-room, where Mr. Stone and I followed 
 him with the news that our patient had been 
 borne away, board and all, by a physician, who 
 had arrived with his staff of assistants. The 
 girl, though not yet wholly conscious, had been 
 pronounced safe enough. Hers was but an 
 obstinate faint, after all, which we had lacked 
 experience to recognize. Indeed, Mr. Stone 
 and I began to fear that we had devoted atten 
 tion to the girl at Jimty's direct expense. He 
 had dressed himself, and was sitting limply on 
 the lumber-pile, shaking with the throes of a 
 heavy chill brought on by reaction and ex 
 posure. It was rather early in the season for 
 river bathing. Despite his chattering protests, 
 Mr. Stone grasped Jimty by one arm, I by the 
 other, and between us we walked him into a 
 little tavern of the town close by, where we 
 summarily got him into his own bed. It was 
 there, it appeared, that the father and son were 
 temporarily lodging. 
 
 " While I poured whiskey down our new pa 
 tient's throat, Mr. Stone dragged out from a
 
 JIMTY 
 
 corner what he called his travelling-bag a 
 curious affair covered with rusty brown wool 
 len laid in stiff plaits that drew in or out at 
 will. Until he opened the clasp and took out a 
 large bottle of powdered quinine and a tooth 
 brush, I thought he had there his grandfather's 
 old accordion, and wondered what on earth he 
 meant to do with it. After we knew each other 
 better he often urged me to buy such a bag 
 for my own use, but I always told him I never 
 anywhere saw one like it, which was the exact 
 truth. 
 
 " To my treatment with whiskey Mr. Stone 
 added a more carefully apportioned dose of 
 quinine from the bottle. At least it was care 
 ful from his stand-point, and the measure was 
 evidently his accustomed one a neat little 
 heap of the powder on the end of his flat-han 
 dled tooth-brush twice administered. The 
 amount would have killed me ; but Jimty at 
 once fell into a natural sleep, and though the 
 accident had occurred but a short time before 
 sunset, and it was then but a little after, old 
 Mr. Stone and I, quite worn out, followed his 
 example, retiring to our respective beds. 
 
 " It was not until deep in the next morning 
 that we all three awoke, but little the worse 
 for our experiences. Jimty, indeed, who had 
 most excuse for consequences, showed no traces 
 of his exertions beyond a few bruises. That's 
 what it means to be young. I might as well 
 13
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 mention here that Mr. Stone was plain Mr. 
 Stone. He had no title, military or otherwise, 
 which rather surprised me in an old Virginian. 
 He seemed conscious himself that the fact re 
 quired explanation, and before we parted 
 which was almost immediately, for I had to 
 hurry on my belated way he took pains to 
 mention casually his sorrow that he had never 
 been strong enough to give his country active 
 service of any kind. The thinness of his hooked 
 nose, his nervous gestures, and the delicacy of 
 his skin, especially where it was stretched tight 
 ly over his temples, verified his statement, even 
 if I had been inclined to question his courage, 
 which I was not. His frail appearance was 
 what made me think of him as an old man, I 
 suppose. In reality he was about my age. 
 Jimty was as unlike his father as two men could 
 well be, except that both had the same pleasant 
 freshness of voice, and that both had blue eyes. 
 The boy was deliberate in all his movements, 
 even to the slow turning of his eyes. His hair 
 had a queer, childish way of standing straight 
 up from his brow, which added to his proper 
 six feet two. Altogether he struck me as a 
 wholesome boy a beautiful boy. He was then 
 about twenty -one. Before parting with my 
 twelve-hour acquaintances I breakfasted at the 
 same table with them, and we lingered a few 
 moments afterwards in the tavern smoking- 
 room, which faced the street. It was there 
 14
 
 JIMTY 
 
 the little incident occurred which, as I told you, 
 first drew my attention to Mr. Stone. We were 
 all three standing at the large front door, 
 struggling into our light top-coats and fitting 
 on our hats, when Jimty, who was nearest the 
 pavement, paused, and uttered an exclamation 
 which made our eyes follow his out into the 
 street. There a common sand-cart jolted along, 
 driven by a countryman, who was stoutly be 
 laboring his old work-horse in an evident ef 
 fort to hurry away the unseemly burden. Un 
 seemly was a mild word to apply to his load. 
 The landlord had told us that all the suitable 
 covered vehicles of the village had been called 
 in to carry away the dead and wounded from 
 the broken-wharf to their homes, and still there 
 were not enough. It had been a carnage too 
 terrible to meet with the ordinary decencies 
 which life pays to death. The bodies of two 
 women lay in the sand - cart, with distorted 
 faces and twisted limbs uncovered to the street. 
 As I turned away involuntarily from the spec 
 tacle I saw that both of my companions were 
 still facing the street, standing with their hats 
 held at their breasts, and their bared heads 
 bowed over them, as if assisting at the funeral 
 of a dignitary. I uncovered my head quickly, 
 with a sense of shame. Mr. Stone looked up 
 again at the cart. 
 
 '"God forgive me they are women!" he 
 cried. 
 
 15
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " In a moment he was out in the street, a 
 white cloth caught from the dining-room table 
 in his hand. By this the bodies were at least 
 hidden during the rest of their last journey. 
 
 "Though it was six months or more before 
 I was to meet Jimty or Mr. Stone again, when 
 ever they recalled themselves to me it was as 
 I turned from the smoking - room door that 
 morning to see them standing behind me, fa 
 ther and son, their heads reverently bowed over 
 their hats held high on their breasts. And in 
 after-times, when I felt, as I too often had just 
 cause to feel, that old Mr. Stone was the most 
 exasperating of human beings, I had only to 
 remember this little incident in the smoking- 
 room to soften to him. In some way, too, he had 
 managed to transmit and teach to his boy all 
 that was best in himself of chivalry and rever 
 ence. For this alone much had to be forgiven 
 him." 
 
 The Major here interrupted his own tale with 
 determination. While not over-garrulous, he 
 loved to talk, and though no gourmand, he duly 
 enjoyed the flesh-pots. I had for some minutes 
 been watching with amusement the struggle 
 between his two appetites. The flesh-pots fi 
 nally conquered. 
 
 " My next meeting with the Stones," said the 
 
 Major, " brings me back to this cafe again ; 
 
 but before I go on any further I mean to take 
 
 a little recess and eat some luncheon. I never 
 
 16
 
 JIMTY 
 
 could understand why our physical economy 
 has not provided us with one mouth for eating 
 and another for talking. Here am I starving 
 over a full plate, you politely playing with 
 your bread to keep me company. What kind 
 of an arrangement is that ?" 
 
 While the Major, still grumbling at Provi 
 dence, made reparation to himself for his phys 
 ical limitations, I spent the time in taking an 
 inventory of the cafe's guests, and saw with 
 some surprise that at the little tables there 
 were a number of refined-looking women, with 
 and without escorts. When, after a considerate 
 delay, I pointed out their presence to the Ma 
 jor, he laughed, and explained : 
 
 " Oh, that's all right. Art students chiefly ; 
 but Una could lunch here and leave her lion 
 outside the door-sill awaiting her in the sand. 
 Madame chaperons the occasion sufficiently. 
 She is quite a dragon, is madame. I could tell 
 you but no, this is the story of Jimty, and I 
 won't be led astray. Do you know, it was the 
 innocent presence of these very women you 
 speak of that on his first appearance here held 
 Jimty in check at the door, where I recognized 
 him, and rose from my table to meet him, 
 reassure him, and lead him in. I found after 
 wards that he and his father were in search 
 of a restaurant where 'only men were admit 
 ted.' Old Mr. Stone was just behind Jimty. 
 I have often wondered how those two ever 
 B 17
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 lived through their first six months in this 
 great, unwashed city. It was Colonel New- 
 come and Clive over again. Anything that so 
 much as implied the degradation of women was 
 horrible to them both. This was the father's 
 teaching. If he had not upheld his standard 
 stoutly, Jimty was young enough to have 
 learned in six months to ignore a great deal, 
 as most of us do sojourning in our dear Sodom. 
 "Asking advice of no one, and moving as 
 they had from cheap cafes to others yet cheap 
 er in search of the minimum of living, they 
 must have stumbled on some odd and to them 
 most painful experiences. They had grown 
 suspicious of everything, even of such a scene 
 as this; yet here was just where they belonged. 
 Cheap, clean, easy - going, eminently respect 
 able, and, above all, really fine French cooking 
 served in steaming hot dishes. When Jimty 
 settled himself in the seat opposite me, which 
 you now have, and his father sank into a chair 
 at the side of the table, I knew they had joined 
 madame's constant following from that mo 
 ment. I saw Mr. Stone looking at these white 
 table-cloths and the bright, wooden - handled 
 knives with a smile of perplexity at their qual 
 ity, but great satisfaction in their cleanliness. 
 I could see that the nai've habit our waiters 
 have formed when not too busy they never 
 neglect any one of joining, with broken Eng 
 lish, in our political discussions rather startled 
 18
 
 JIMTY 
 
 him, but he soon came to like it. We all do. 
 Occasionally, very occasionally, when we talk 
 French, even monsieur himself wanders up to 
 the table, and, his hands behind him, joins in. 
 But he remains a remote individuality. 
 
 " As regards Jimty, after the door-sill of the 
 cafe was once crossed, he had no scruples of 
 any kind to overcome. He settled into his 
 place, almost purring like a lost cat by an 
 adopted hearth, and we met here almost daily. 
 That is, Jimty and I did. Mr. Stone, as a more 
 restless spirit, sometimes wandered. 
 
 " It was not at once that I found out all I 
 have told you, or knew how long my two friends 
 had been in the city. This was because I ques 
 tioned Mr. Stone first, and it was some time 
 before I realized that he always refused me a 
 direct reply. It takes more tact than courage 
 to say no, I think. Mr. Stone had a fine tact 
 that let him deliver the point-blank negative 
 so disguised that the recipient could not possi 
 bly recognize it. I have never encountered 
 such command of language as was his, nor a 
 more adroit power of choosing a word which 
 would not express his real meaning. While he 
 seemed to be baring his very heart to you, you 
 might be sure after you grew to know his 
 ways that the information you were seeking 
 and he meant to keep was wrapped away some 
 where in the flow of speech. So soon as I 
 made this discovery I waited for my chance, 
 19
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 and one night when Jimty was dining here 
 alone with me I put the direct question to him, 
 ' How long have you been in this city ?' ' We've 
 been here over six months,' said Jimty. Though 
 a man, and so large a one at that, Jimty had 
 still a country lad's habit of standing as it 
 were ' at gaze ' when a question was suddenly 
 asked him. He would not only turn his eyes, 
 but his whole body, to his questioner. Bucolic 
 as this was, it always attracted me. As he an 
 swered my abrupt and evidently embarrassing 
 question he faced me fully, as usual, flushing, 
 as he had reason to ; for, when we parted after 
 the wharf accident, I had given my card with 
 my address to Mr. Stone, urging him to seek 
 me out if ever in my city. I had noticed at 
 the time that he only answered by telling me 
 that he had just the week before sold his old 
 home in Virginia, but that he would be glad 
 to have me accept the hospitality of his rela 
 tions' homes if ever in his county, where the 
 taverns were poor. I must mention that later 
 on, in a second business visit to Virginia, I did 
 use the card of introduction Mr. Stone then 
 gave me, and was passed from house to house, 
 from hand to hand, as a precious parcel. I 
 came back having covered miles of my journey 
 without a hotel bill in my pocket ; and then, 
 and not until then, did I reach an adequate 
 understanding of the loneliness my two Vir 
 ginia friends must have suffered when first lost
 
 JIMTY 
 
 in the toils of my home city, which is not a city 
 of homes. 
 
 " ' Why haven't you looked me up ?' I asked 
 Jimty. ' Did you know any one here ?' Jimty 
 had not his father's squirrel-like gift of secre 
 tion. The nuts he would fain have hidden in 
 his jaws were easy to draw out. I discovered 
 that they had purposely stayed behind at the 
 tavern where I left them after the wharf acci 
 dent, and followed on my very track by the 
 next train. To a mind not drilled by old Mr. 
 Stone this avoidance of me was inexplicable 
 and fairly offensive. I implied as much to 
 Jimty. 
 
 " ' But we had been through something to 
 gether,' he explained, ' and father felt it would 
 have been presuming on that to have told you 
 we were going to your city. You see we had 
 not a single friend here. You might have felt 
 us on your mind. We meant to hunt you up 
 as soon as we were on our feet.' 
 
 " Only then did I know that they were not 
 ' on their feet,' though I had before suspected 
 it. By degrees I won the whole story from 
 Jimty,' told with no sense of humor ; he was 
 as deficient in that as are most country-bred 
 boys. The returns from the sale of their home 
 had been nominal, owing to old mortgages ; 
 and the father, or rather the son, had been 
 trying every plan to husband this small stock 
 of money which they had brought with them
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 to the city, where both hoped to find employ 
 ment. 
 
 " ' We took one room at first, and while I was 
 out looking for work, father cooked our meals 
 over our open fire,' said Jimty. ' We found 
 that much less expensive ; but we had only one 
 frying-pan, and father would throw the grease 
 from it into the fire. Once he burned his hand 
 badly, and once he set fire to the mantel-piece. 
 I was always afraid I'd find him seriously hurt 
 when I came home.' 
 
 " ' Why did he keep on doing it ?' I asked. 
 
 " ' Oh, I don't know,' said Jimty. ' Father's 
 very apt to keep on doing anything he does 
 once. Finally our landlady stopped our " light 
 house-keeping," as she called it, and I was glad 
 of it.' 
 
 " ' Jimty,' I said, ' you asked her to stop it. 
 You know you did.' You see, I had not been 
 studying the boy's methods of dealing with his 
 father for nothing. 
 
 " ' Yes,' he answered, quietly; ' I had to. It 
 was the best way. Then we went from place 
 to place for our meals, each worse than the 
 last. Then ' his eyes lit up ' then we came 
 here.' 
 
 " By his honest, good - looking face, appar 
 ently, for he had no other introductions, Jimty 
 had won for himself a fairly good business po 
 sition, with better prospects ahead, but he was 
 now worrying over his father. The money they
 
 JIMTY 
 
 had brought with them was dwindling rapidly. 
 Mr. Stone was living upon it exclusively ; he 
 would not touch a penny of Jimty's earnings. 
 
 " ' When that little is gone, and he has to call 
 on me, I don't know how he will stand it,' said 
 Jimty, in distress. ' If only father were a little 
 less proud !' 
 
 " ' Is he too proud to work ?' I asked. 
 
 " Jimty eagerly assured me he was not ; that 
 he would do anything but live on charity, even 
 his son's which seemed to me laudable enough, 
 and not just what I had expected. 
 
 " Mr. Stone was a man of curious contradic 
 tions. 
 
 " ' What work has your father done before 
 this ?' I inquired, and the query seemed to ren 
 der Jimty desperate. 
 
 " ' That's the first question every one asks,' 
 he said. ' Of course father has never done any 
 work at all. He had no reason to before the 
 war, and since ' He paused, with an embar 
 rassed look at me, which I did not then under 
 stand. 
 
 " ' Since then,' I said, ' I suppose you have 
 been living on your land alone.' 
 
 " ' You can't eat land,' said Jimty, gloomily. 
 ' Nobody can eat land. We had to eat. No ; 
 the truth is, father made a terrible mistake a 
 few years after the war. He married again, 
 a rich New England woman. They lived to 
 gether wretchedly for about fifteen years, but 
 23
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 now they are separated entirely. Father only 
 married her for my sake. He didn't know how 
 I should hate it as I grew older.' 
 
 " ' Was she a step-dame to you ?' I asked, cau 
 tiously. Jimty was blurting out his facts with 
 a freedom I did not wish to disturb. 
 
 ' ' Oh no,' he replied, quickly. ' She was very 
 good to me too good. Her money smothered 
 me. She would give me anything before I 
 knew I wanted it, and seemed to grudge every 
 thing to father. They were so different. She 
 kept account of every penny, while father never 
 kept a book in his life. I know it was hard on 
 her sometimes, but if father had owned any 
 thing it would have been entirely hers, and he 
 never could understand her feeling differently.' 
 
 "This was one of the cases where Jimty's 
 sense of humor failed him. I managed to reply 
 sympathetically, but my heart was on the side 
 of the second Mrs. Stone, married for the boy's 
 sake alone. I had already learned something 
 of Mr. Stone's business methods, and a strain 
 of thrifty blood in me responded to her trials in 
 dealing with a husband whose keeping of per 
 sonal accounts was (as he had once jovially 
 confessed to me) confined to 'knowing to a 
 cent how much he spent, as he always spent 
 every cent he had.' 
 
 ' ' What finally separated them ?' I asked. 
 
 " ' I did,' said Jimty, shortly, ' Just as soon 
 as I was old enough I remonstrated with her. 
 24
 
 JIMTY 
 
 She told me then to my face that it was for 
 my sake alone she had stood my father so long 
 as she had, and "an old Virginia gentleman 
 was a luxury she could not afford." ' 
 
 The Major set down his lifted wine-glass and 
 laughed aloud at his own narrative. " Poor 
 lady !" he said, shaking his head "poor lady ! 
 I never met her, and probably never shall, but 
 if ever woman had my respectful sympathy, 
 she did. Think how she must have loved that 
 boy to have endured for his sake the kind of 
 life I know she led for fifteen years or more ! 
 Her New England soul must have died daily, 
 and yet at her one and only recorded outburst 
 to Jimty the boy whirled away insulted, with 
 his father on his back, to seek their fortunes. 
 Their fortunes, forsooth ! I failed to see how 
 Jimty was to afford the luxury Mrs. Stone had 
 groaned under. 
 
 " ' Is there no possibility of reconciling them ?' 
 I asked Jimty, but he crushed the hope. 
 
 " ' None. Of course not. They parted three 
 years ago. Mrs. Stone went back to her own 
 people, and father and I tried to keep up the 
 old place with what we had left. She did offer 
 to leave us an allowance ; indeed, she begged us 
 to take it and it was a liberal sum too. We 
 parted kindly enough, but of course father re 
 fused her money. When we found the old 
 home could not be kept up we sold it out and 
 came up here.' 
 
 25
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " So far as I could discover from all this, Mr. 
 Stone had, in the term of life granted him, 
 made but two serious attempts to earn his 
 bread first by matrimony, next by cooking 
 both efforts ending with the fat deliberately 
 thrown in the fire by his own obstinate hand. 
 Neither experiment exactly yielded a record 
 with which to approach a business man ; yet, 
 when it became evident that without influence 
 Mr. Stone could never gain a position, I vent 
 ured with some misgivings, I confess to use 
 a little present power which I happened to 
 possess with a business acquaintance by per 
 suading him to try Mr. Stone in a vacant cleri 
 cal position in his office. The salary was a 
 very small one, but it was something, and the 
 duties were light. They did not include ac 
 counts. 
 
 " Now I don't know that you have noticed 
 it," went on the Major, glancing about the 
 room, " but it is our custom in this cafe" to 
 openly overhear any good story that is being 
 told at one of the other tables. As it is the 
 custom, there is nothing rude in it. So soon 
 as he had settled into his business position, 
 Mr. Stone, to my surprise, shot at once into 
 the place of raconteur of the cafe. We had 
 never possessed before, and never shall again, 
 any one else who is capable of improvising 
 such irresistibly comic stories with so little 
 point, or such rippling fancy interlarded with 
 26
 
 JIMTY 
 
 as inimitable negro dialect. Mr. Stone had 
 only to lift his far-reaching voice, wonderfully 
 clear and youthful for a man of his age, with 
 ' Now I'll tell you a true story ; you mayn't 
 believe it, but ' and the whole room was at 
 tentive. 
 
 " There was one delightfully idiotic tale of 
 Glass Snakes and Transparent Mocking-Birds 
 for which he became quietly famous. Some 
 day I will tell it to you, or Mr. Stone shall. 
 This was the first story he ever gave us, and 
 it immediately assured his position. His tal 
 ents in this line had been so unsuspected by 
 me, and their expression was so evidently the 
 outcome of the man's happiness, that I felt re 
 proached in not having realized before how his 
 failure to gain work had preyed on his spirits. 
 
 " ' Ah !' he said to me, ' I tell you, Major, it's 
 not the dinner he eats that fattens a man ; it's 
 knowing where to-morrow's dinner is to come 
 from.' 
 
 "But through Jimty I learned that his fa 
 ther's satisfaction had yet deeper roots. He 
 had confessed to his boy a passionate pride in 
 the fact that he an old and ruined Southern 
 gentleman was yet proved capable of taking 
 up his life where it had broken off and begin 
 ning over again in the world. This was another 
 of the odd, half-veiled nobilities of the man's 
 character disclosing itself. To me, watching 
 these two grown men made blissfully happy 
 27
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 with a bare living income between them was 
 painful. It gave too significant a hint of their 
 past. 
 
 " Contented as they were, it was not entirely 
 plain sailing for my two friends. Jimty could 
 not always control his father's eccentric econo 
 mies, as expensive in the end as his occasional 
 bursts of extravagance, but he met such emer 
 gencies with a dogged kind of courage, taking 
 them apparently as but a part of his day's work. 
 He reminded me in those times of a sturdy little 
 horse uncomplainingly digging its way up a 
 steep hill. Mr. Stone must have been a heavy 
 burden to carry, and close as was the relation 
 between the two, as father and son, it was also 
 anomalous. As for Mr. Stone himself, he seem 
 ed to harbor no further misgivings regarding 
 anything in life. His oyster was opened wide. 
 When he was not telling his stories, which he 
 seemed able to draw in limitless stores from a 
 bosom as eternal as Abraham's, he would re 
 lieve his feelings by leaning back in his chair 
 and humming to himself over and over two 
 lines of an old-fashioned hymn tune which ran, 
 
 ' But when I am happy in Him, 
 December's as pleasant as May.' 
 
 This was all, and the air never varied. 
 
 " I am afraid ' him ' meant Jimty, for he al 
 ways looked at the boy as he sang. Under these 
 circumstances you may imagine my feelings 
 28
 
 JIMTY 
 
 when, one morning, among the letters on my 
 desk I found a rather curt note from Mr. Her- 
 rick my acquaintance and Mr. Stone's em 
 ployer informing me that, much as he had 
 desired to serve me, it was impossible for him 
 to continue with Mr. Stone's services. It was 
 not difficult to read between these lines that 
 Herrick, along with the second Mrs. Stone 
 poor lady ! had found an old Virginia gentle 
 man a luxury too expensive. I confess I was 
 a coward. I could not face Jimty with the 
 news. I sealed up the letter, with a line from 
 myself, and sent it to him by a messenger. I 
 thought I should see him and his father at the 
 cafe that night, but at the last moment I was 
 called away from town for several days, and 
 when I returned I was still reluctant enough to 
 be a little late for dinner. When I did arrive 
 here I lingered at the door, rubbing my feet 
 in the sand on the threshold and peering over 
 at our table. There was Mr. Stone leaning 
 back in his chair, looking at Jimty, as usual, 
 and the first thing I heard as I drew nearer was 
 his contented, bumblebee-like droning : 
 
 ' But when I am happy in Him, 
 December's as pleasant as May.' 
 
 Jimty was sitting at his side of the table with 
 a couple of little books laid by his plate. 
 
 " Mr. Stone hailed me jovially at once. Un 
 like his boy, he rarely moved his head except 
 29
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 to throw it back in talking, but his roving blue 
 eyes saw everything. 
 
 " ' Welcome, stranger ; you've come back just 
 in time. Jimty is about to draw the first check 
 he ever made out in his life, in the first check 
 book he ever owned. It's a great moment, I 
 assure you isn't it, James T. ?' 
 
 " I looked from Mr. Stone to Jimty's smiling 
 face, and sat down, wondering, while Mr. Stone 
 went on to tell me how he had always hated 
 check-books himself, as he liked 'to feel the 
 money slip through his fingers.' 
 
 " ' Jimty here,' he went on, ' hates so to see 
 good money go out he means to charge every 
 thing and pay in checks, only to spare his feel 
 ings.' 
 
 "I suggested gently that check-books had 
 some value also as a kind of record, but Mr. 
 Stone gave vent to his usual contempt for any 
 thing like the keeping of accounts. 
 
 " ' I never felt any need of records,' he said. 
 ' When I went travelling, for instance, I used 
 to take the sum I had to spend and put half 
 in my right-hand pocket and half in my left. 
 When I had used up all my right-hand pocket, 
 I turned around and came home on my left- 
 hand pocket. I call that sensible and careful 
 enough.' 
 
 "Far from the depression I had feared to 
 find, it seemed that Mr. Stone was in highest 
 spirits. When, late in the evening, a cafe ac- 
 30
 
 JIMTY 
 
 quaintance joined us at our table, and Jimty 
 made his father tell that idiotic story of the 
 Transparent Mocking-Birds and Glass Snakes 
 for the hundredth time, I listened, and, in spite 
 of myself, laughed out of all proportion to the 
 story's point. I had never heard Mr. Stone 
 handle the tale better. Nor could I detect any 
 underlying anxiety in Jimty's manner. 
 
 " Indeed, the new bank-book lying by his 
 plate lent such an air of prosperity, I began to 
 think my letter of ill tidings must have mis 
 carried. But, as we were leaving the cafe, Jimty 
 managed to fall behind for a moment with me. 
 
 " ' It's all right, Major, thank you,' he whis 
 pered ; ' don't let father suspect anything. I 
 was lucky enough to have a rise of salary the 
 day I got your letter. I saw Mr. Herrick about 
 it, and was able to arrange to pay him very 
 nearly what he pays father. It was the best 
 way. I think it would have killed father to 
 lose his position.' " 
 
 The Major sat silent, as if recalling some 
 thing he liked to dwell on. 
 
 " Did you ever hear anything to equal that ?" 
 he asked. " Paid Herrick to retain his father's 
 useless services ; and you would have thought 
 he was telling me of the simplest business ar 
 rangement ! Ah, my dear friend, I won my 
 spurs fighting against the South in the sixties, 
 but it was brother against brother, if ever war 
 was. I am, in fact, Southern on one side of the 
 31
 
 J1MTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 house, but I never no, not when I recognized 
 my own first cousin across the battle - line 
 felt the tug of my Southern blood and sinew 
 claiming me as when I stood by that cafe door 
 and heard Jimty explain why he stinted him 
 self to feed his father's child -like pride. Do 
 you know, the South and its people have always 
 seemed to me somehow as a deep river that, in 
 contradiction to every law, still persists in mur 
 muring and flinging up spray and foam like 
 a shallow brook. The best stuff of the South 
 flows deep down in a common undercurrent. 
 Their Lees and their Stonewall Jacksons and, 
 yes, their Jimtys, rise only as occasion calls. 
 Meantime those who are nothing but the foam 
 on the top of the waves pass for the general 
 type of the South. They are, of course, one 
 type, but only one the most conspicuous, the 
 least valuable. Oh yes, delightful enough, ex 
 cept to live with. I could not have lived a 
 week with old Mr. Stone." 
 
 I ventured to draw the Major from general 
 ization back to narrative. The cafe was be 
 ginning to empty slowly. I wished to have the 
 thread of the tale I was hearing unreeled to 
 the shuttle on the spot where it had been 
 wound. 
 
 " But old Mr. Stone," I asked, " was he so 
 easily deceived ?" 
 
 " Of course. But not for long, though Jimty 
 took every precaution. He had opened his 
 32
 
 JIMTY 
 
 private bank account chiefly in order to pay 
 Herrick by a monthly check, which he sent 
 through the mail. You know it is impossible 
 to keep a secret like that. One night Jimty 
 came into the cafe, looking white and scared, 
 to tell me that his father had disappeared. He 
 walked up to my side and stood there in his 
 usual direct way, as a child comes in trouble. 
 There was nothing childish about him but his 
 surface ways. He brought a short note from 
 his father to show me. He had found it a few 
 moments before, awaiting him in their room. 
 As I remember, it ran, in substance 
 
 " 'You should have known me better, dear boy. I must 
 earn my own bread. If I am in sickness or need I will send 
 for you. I forbid you to look for me. God bless you! 
 
 "' Your devoted FATHER.' 
 
 " Mr. Stone had taken away with him just 
 half to a penny of their small remaining 
 capital, the accordion-bag, and his own cloth 
 ing ; nothing more. At first Jimty, and I too, 
 believed that Mr. Herrick must in a moment 
 of impatience have betrayed the secret. Yet 
 it was unlike him. I had reason to believe that 
 his word, once given, became a law unto himself. 
 On the other hand, knowing him as a practical 
 business man to the backbone, his retaining 
 Mr. Stone so long in his office, even at no ex 
 pense to himself, had all along been rather a 
 matter of surprise to me, though I recalled 
 c 33
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 how Mrs. Stone, at considerable expense, had 
 borne with the father during fifteen weary 
 years for the sake of the same advocate. Un 
 der all the circumstances I thought our first 
 and wisest move was for me to see Herrick 
 alone, and gain from him what further informa 
 tion I could ; so I left Jimty at his desolated 
 room, and went on up town to Herrick's house. 
 
 " Herrick received me in his private library. 
 He is a large, heavily built, strong -featured 
 man, with a hard voice and a good - natured 
 laugh. He was laughing when I came in, and 
 seemed to know at once what I was there for. 
 
 " ' Old Stone, I suppose ?' he said. ' Major, I 
 don't think I deserved that Old Man of the 
 Sea of you. Socially, I don't doubt, he's de 
 lightful, but he certainly has the business 
 equipment of a jackass. That's a fine boy of 
 his, though ; nothing of the jackass there. I 
 was glad to accommodate you, of course, by 
 keeping the old man (on the boy's terms), yet 
 I tell you now frankly, I wouldn't have kept 
 him on any terms for you or anybody else if 
 I hadn't been really touched by his son's ex 
 traordinary offer. It's not often you run on 
 anything like that in business life. You know 
 how he came to leave me, of course ? No ? 
 Well, my book-keeper carelessly left young 
 Stone's check open on his desk, and old Mr. 
 Stone's magpie-like eyes saw it in passing. His 
 mind is every bit as quick as his eyes. It 
 34
 
 JIMTY 
 
 works like a back stitch in a matter like that. 
 He went on his way past the desk straight to 
 my private room, and taxed me with deduc 
 tions I could not deny. He resigned his posi 
 tion on the spot.' 
 
 '"And has since disappeared,' I added. 
 Then I told Herrick of the letter and its con 
 tents. 
 
 "'No!' he said, easily ; 'you don't say so! 
 Well, so much the better for the boy ; that is, 
 if the old man doesn't bring his debts back 
 with him when he comes. Mark my words, as 
 soon as his money runs out he will run in. 
 Oh, you needn't bother to look for him. Some 
 times I think vice is easier to deal with than 
 worthlessness. At least it can be depended on 
 to take care of itself.' 
 
 " Herrick's manner vexed me, but as I want 
 ed his help in the matter, I answered moder 
 ately that I thought he missed seeing certain 
 qualities in Mr. Stone which made me fear he 
 would starve before bending his pride and re 
 turning unsought. ' In the mean time,' I 
 urged, ' the man was wholly unfitted to care 
 for himself.' 
 
 " I had never before met Herrick on anything 
 but business terms. I knew of him only as a 
 self-made man, but of his family and home 
 life nothing whatever. I was entirely unpre 
 pared for it when he flung out towards me an 
 arm as strong as a horse's leg, with 
 35
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " ' Major, any man who has his two arms free 
 can put bread in his mouth and a roof over 
 his head if he chooses to. If not, let him go. 
 Suppose he does have to sleep in a field once in 
 a while why not ? He has all fate promises 
 him. If you were to come to me telling the 
 story of a man with a child clinging to his 
 hand and the wife he loves hampering his 
 arms, then I should know what you meant. 
 It's when he has given hostages to Fortune 
 hostages to Fortune there were never strong 
 er words that he learns how to suffer. You can 
 starve your own tough flesh and let your own 
 bones go cold, but when the flesh of your flesh 
 and bone of your bone are suffering for what 
 you would kill yourself to give them God 
 knows, sometimes I hate the sight of the luxu 
 ries about me ! If I could have commanded 
 them earlier, my wife would be with me.' 
 
 "He got up and walked across the room, 
 leaving me overwhelmed. This was the man 
 behind the hard voice. 
 
 " I had nothing to say. What could I say ? 
 Bodies were not made to talk with naked souls. 
 At least mine was not. 
 
 " Herrick came back to his chair frowning. 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon,' he said. ' I don't know 
 what has upset me this evening. My wife has 
 been gone only a year, and left us about this 
 time. She lived to enjoy some years of luxu 
 ry, so I ought not to resent things as I do, I 
 36
 
 JIMTY 
 
 suppose ; but I have always been confident 
 that her early hardships were what really 
 caused her death. One little plunge in cold 
 water would not have killed a strong woman 
 it did her.' 
 
 " ' Herrick,' I said, ' do you mean she was 
 drowned ?' 
 
 " ' Yes,' he answered, ' I suppose you might 
 say so. Shock, the doctors called it. She was 
 only in the water a moment before I dragged 
 her out. A wharf we were standing on set 
 tled and sank. There was terrible loss of life. 
 My only child was saved as by a miracle, poor 
 little girl !' 
 
 " While he was speaking I was as sure as you 
 are at this moment that the accident had taken 
 place in Virginia, that I had been a witness of 
 it, and that Herrick's daughter was the girl 
 Jimty had saved. In his expansive mood it 
 was not difficult to lead Herrick on. When I 
 left him that night it was too late to see Jimty 
 again, but the first question I asked the boy as 
 he entered the cafe for breakfast was not con 
 cerning his father, but, 'Jimty, what kind of 
 coat did you wrap about the girl you pulled 
 out of the water at the Virginia wharf ?' 
 
 " ' A new corded black,' he answered, looking 
 at his rubbed coat sleeves ; ' and I wish I had 
 it now. She can't want it, and I do, badly.' 
 
 " ' There were plenty of corded black coats 
 there, and plenty of women wrapped in them, 
 
 37
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 I suppose,' I said. ' What had you in the pock 
 ets?' 
 
 "I don't remember anything but a green 
 housewife and a little old corn-cob pipe. I have 
 missed that pipe more than the coat. Why do 
 you ask ?' 
 
 ' ' Because,' I answered, ' if your coat was a 
 new corded black, and had a housewife and a 
 corn-cob pipe in the pockets, the girl you saved 
 was Herrick's only child. He has advertised 
 for you and been looking for you ever since. 
 He showed me your coat last night. He keeps 
 it carefully folded away among his own, and 
 says he means to until he finds the man to 
 whom it belongs. You have only to walk up 
 town to slip into it and your fortune.' 
 
 ' ' Well, I certainly sha'n't,' said Jimty. And 
 from this position I was not able to move him 
 an inch. In vain I argued that I had not in 
 tended he himself should claim the laurels 
 Herrick had plaited and waiting. As soon as 
 he understood me Jimty sternly exacted a 
 promise of silence, and, indeed, I had now no 
 right to speak to Herrick without his permis 
 sion, though I devoutly wished I had been less 
 reticent when the coat was first shown me. 
 Unfortunately I had waited to verify my sus 
 picions. For days I wrestled with Jimty on 
 this question. It was our sauce with each 
 meal. He knew as well as I what Herrick's 
 mere interest would mean for him in the busi- 
 38
 
 JIMTY 
 
 ness world, but he was, as it seemed to me, un 
 reasonably, foolishly obstinate. Finally I had 
 a chance to bring the girl herself forward as 
 argument. 
 
 " ' Jimty,' I said, ' I do think you are a fool. 
 You don't know a woman in this city except 
 ing madame, and there's as sweet a child as 
 any man could ask for ' she was quite Jimty's 
 age, but they were both children to me ' sim 
 ply waiting to receive you. Her father called 
 me across the street to-day to meet her. He 
 has a right to be proud of her. She's as pretty 
 and pink as a bonnet rose. You would never 
 have known her for the dead-looking girl we 
 laid out on the board by the water.' 
 
 " Then my young man blushed blushed un 
 til I saw I had somehow hit near the real cause 
 of his obstinacy. 
 
 " ' I did recognize her,' he said. ' Mr. Her- 
 rick sent for me the other day to explain to 
 me himself how Father came to leave him. 
 She stopped in at the office for a moment 
 while I was there. But if you think I am ever 
 going to be led up to any woman as the man 
 who saved her life stark naked you are mis 
 taken. I have been mortally ashamed of that 
 ever since it happened. The amount of it was, 
 I lost my head ; but why in the world Father 
 didn't make me keep on something I can't see 
 yet. It was perfectly ridiculous unnecessary 
 theatrical.' 
 
 39
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " He tramped out of the cafe, hot and angry, 
 leaving his dinner half eaten. After that I let 
 Master Jimty alone. While I reserved to my 
 self the right to believe that Miss Herrick 
 would have indubitably followed her mother 
 but for the thorough measures which Jimty 
 now characterized as unnecessary and ridicu 
 lous, I am quite old enough to avoid argument 
 with a young man whose self-consciousness is 
 wounded, and also to hold my laughter in check 
 until the door closes between him and me. 
 
 "During this time a search for Mr. Stone 
 was being quietly made in every direction by 
 Jimty and myself. To my satisfaction, it also 
 developed that Herrick seemed to feel a certain 
 responsibility in the matter. He sent for Jim 
 ty at his office several times to ask what news 
 he had, and finally, as the days went by with 
 no news whatever, went so far as to offer to 
 engage a private detective at his own expense. 
 This Jimty refused decidedly. 
 
 " ' Father would never forgive it,' he said. 
 
 " ' You needn't tell him,' Herrick suggested. 
 
 " But Jimty shook his head, remarking, in his 
 serious way, that he had ' tried not telling father 
 once too often.' 
 
 " Herrick laid his big hands down on the 
 table and laughed. He had followed us here 
 to the cafe to make this offer, and was dining 
 with us. Jimty's seriousness always seemed 
 to amuse him. 
 
 40
 
 JIMTY 
 
 " ' Your father's general habits of life ought 
 to give us a hint to begin with,' he said, looking 
 at the son with a question in his eye. 
 
 " ' Father never sprees,' said Jimty, in his 
 own vernacular, and Herrick laughed again. 
 
 " ' Well,' he said, ' if that's the case, and it's 
 to be a still - hunt, you can count me in. I'll 
 find him for you. I never made up my mind 
 to get anything on this earth that I didn't gain 
 it sooner or later sometimes too late.' 
 
 " I knew he was thinking of his dead wife. 
 Herrick was in his way as curious a mixt 
 ure of feeling and harshness as Mr. Stone of 
 worthlessness and nobility. 
 
 " From that time on Herrick's spirit of com- 
 bativeness seemed roused, and it was his in 
 domitable will and plotting mind that convert 
 ed the search for Mr. Stone into an organized 
 effort, such as Jimty and I could never have 
 made it. I saw then how the man had forced 
 his way up through the world. His powers 
 were only strengthened by failures, and we 
 kept failing all along the line. Every trail we 
 followed ended in a lost scent. Finally, after 
 all our labors, it was left to that miserable lit 
 tle newsboy to give us the clew. He knows 
 his city as a rat its holes. One night, when the 
 three of us were dining here together (Herrick 
 had formed the habit of dropping in occasion 
 ally on his way home), I saw madame glance 
 over at us from her perch. Now madame, as a 
 41
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 fixed rule, keeps her expressive eyes to herself. 
 They are generally behind her lowered white 
 lids. She was talking to the newsboy had 
 drawn him into her proscenium-box, in fact 
 and was standing with her hand on his shoul 
 der, evidently questioning him, for he was 
 squirming uneasily. The gamin hates ques 
 tions, as does any other man of the world. 
 Madame raised her lids again, and with her 
 eyes beckoned monsieur, who came to her at 
 once. They whispered together, still holding 
 the child. Then monsieur's hand replaced ma- 
 dame's on the boy's shoulder, and he was steer 
 ed unwillingly towards our table. They are 
 the most discreet couple I ever met, monsieur 
 and madame. I had not known that madame 
 realized Mr. Stone's disappearance. She had 
 never shown any consciousness of his presence 
 as an established guest, barring the grave bow 
 she gives to all regular comers. Monsieur, I 
 knew, was more or less interested in our search, 
 for he had singled out Jimty as the one being 
 on whom to bestow more than an impersonal 
 and business-like attention. The boy had a 
 wonderfully unconscious power of attracting 
 his fellow-beings of all classes and kinds, wit 
 ness Mrs. Stone, Herrick, monsieur, and my 
 self. Every day, as monsieur passed our table, 
 he would pause an instant at Jimty's side, and 
 with his hand behind his back, ask, in a low 
 voice, if he had any news ; then, at Jimty's 
 42
 
 JIMTY 
 
 answer, he would cluck sympathetically in his 
 throat and pass on. I don't know how he di 
 vined our anxiety over Mr. Stone, for we had 
 cooked up a fable concerning his absence with 
 which to meet inquirers at the cafe. I think 
 now that madame was monsieur's informant. 
 I have gained faith in her sphinx-like omni 
 science since the night she sent the little news 
 boy travelling down the room to us under 
 monsieur's hand. 
 
 ' This child has seen him,' whispered mon 
 sieur, and with Gallic breeding instantly re 
 tired. The boy stood blinking at us, and Her- 
 rick fell on him at once with brusque questions, 
 to which he got sulky, half-scared replies. Yet 
 the child insisted, with funny little noddings 
 of his head, that he had seen Mr. Stone the 
 night before. 
 
 " ' Ze gentleman like zis,' he said, and set his 
 crooked little forefinger over his stubby nose, 
 which immediately became Mr. Stone's beak. 
 Herrick roared with laughter. Jimty reached 
 past him, and drawing the boy to himself, whis 
 pered to him, and gave him some coins, at 
 which the child looked full in his face with his 
 black eyes and said : 
 
 " ' Yes, I seen him at ze zeatre-house when I 
 sells ze papers. He was ' he darted a glance 
 across at Herrick and went on glibly ' he was 
 selling ze tickets at ze door.' 
 
 " While Jimty was trying to arrive at the 
 43
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 location of ' ze zeatre,' I leaned towards Her- 
 n'ck. 
 
 " ' That child is lying,' I whispered. 
 
 " ' Of course,' he answered ; ' but we may as 
 well look there as anywhere. I know the place 
 he means, or know of it. It's a kind of beer- 
 garden.' 
 
 " To the kind of beer-garden we went, Jimty 
 walking between Herrick and me, an impatient 
 half-step ahead. The strain of his father's dis 
 appearance had changed him in some ways for 
 the better. His face was thinner, and had in a 
 measure lost its boyish look, and he was more 
 alert in body and mind. As we neared the 
 building he left us and ran forward, pushing 
 open the big double door of the beer-garden 
 entrance, and walking up to the ticket -win 
 dow, where I think he was as confident of 
 looking through the opening into his father's 
 face as if he had already seen him. When we 
 came near, it was to discover an individual 
 as wholly unlike Mr. Stone as was Jimty him 
 self, raking in the admissions with soiled, fat 
 hands. He rapped on the window-ledge cross 
 ly at the boy, who stood gaping. Herrick laid 
 a note on the ledge, and held up three fingers 
 over Jimty's back. 
 
 " ' The little boy lied,' he said, gathering in 
 his change. ' I thought so. But we might as 
 well go in.' 
 
 " Inside we found a large, gaudily tricked- 
 44
 
 JIMTY 
 
 out room, with small round tables scattered 
 about holding beer -glasses and lounging el 
 bows. Men, women, and children were pres 
 ent, but the greater number of the last two 
 were crowded on rows of benches set before a 
 green-curtained platform. Some performance 
 was evidently about to begin. We chose a re 
 mote table, gave an order for beer, and waited, 
 Herrick and I looking about us carefully. Jim- 
 ty dully followed our lead. His disappoint 
 ment at the ticket - window seemed to have 
 deeply depressed him. 
 
 " ' I still think that child was telling half the 
 truth,' said Herrick. ' I frightened the other 
 half away from him. We'll get some clew here, 
 if nothing else.' 
 
 " But Jimty glanced about the room, shak 
 ing his head ; and while I agreed with Herrick 
 in thinking the newsboy was concealing some 
 thing he was afraid to tell, I also agreed with 
 Jimty in thinking that Mr. Stone could have 
 no part or lot in such an assemblage, composed 
 chiefly of German-Americans, respectable, bour 
 geois, and just escaping vulgarity. The enter 
 tainment provided, while harmless in its way, 
 was in touch with the audience. There was a 
 great deal of cheap music and shifting colored 
 lights and general buffoonery. The first rising 
 of the curtain revealed a skirt-dancer, a Made 
 moiselle La Ree, ' creatress of all she does,' as 
 the programme assured us. The girl danced 
 
 45
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 well and gracefully, changing herself at will 
 from a misty butterfly to a writhing serpent 
 or a kaleidoscopic figure by a twirl of her vo 
 luminous skirts. I knew Jimty had never seen 
 a skirt -dancer before, but it failed to rouse 
 him. Herrick, it appeared, had never seen one 
 either. His daily life of business excitement, 
 he said, made domesticity his chosen relaxa 
 tion. He watched Mademoiselle La Ree with 
 contemptuous interest. She was followed by 
 the dullest and dreariest kind of songs and 
 dances, of varying nationalities ; but we sat 
 through it all, and were rewarded at last by 
 what brought a smile even to Jimty's gloom. 
 Six negro minstrels stepped out on the stage. 
 The deception of the blacking and general 
 make-up was so clever I thought them all Afri 
 cans, until Jimty, more experienced in the race 
 look, pointed out to me that the two end men 
 were white. After the usual passing of songs 
 and jokes, one of the end men told a foolish 
 story, challenging the other to cap it, so the sec 
 ond man stepped forward and began to speak 
 in a droning, irresistibly comic singsong. Her 
 rick and I looked across the table at each other. 
 Jimty rose to his feet. It was the story of the 
 Transparent Mocking-Birds and Glass Snakes. 
 
 " ' That's my father's story,' said Jimty. ' He 
 is here somewhere.' 
 
 " On either side we caught Jimty's arms and 
 forced him back in his chair. 
 46
 
 JIMTY 
 
 " ' Where are you going ?' said Herrick. 
 
 " ' To ask where my father is, of course. 
 There's the back door ; let me go.' 
 
 " I could not find words or heart to tell him. 
 Herrick blurted it out. 
 
 " ' Be still, boy,' he whispered ; ' that is your 
 father.' 
 
 " I felt Jimty start and quiver under my 
 hands. 
 
 " ' It is not !' he exclaimed ; but he sat quiet, 
 staring at the platform. 
 
 " The story was rising from absurdity to ab 
 surdity, the audience applauding with wild cat 
 calls and shrieking with laughter. There was 
 but one being in the world who could tell that 
 particular story in that particular way. Dis 
 guised as he was by paint and wig and black 
 ened face, this delight of a third-rate audience, 
 the evident drawing-card of the management, 
 the end man of a negro-minstrel troupe, was old 
 Mr. Stone. 
 
 "Jimty's head bent lower and lower. An 
 expression of pitiful humiliation was creeping 
 like a blush over his face. 
 
 "'Well,' said Herrick, finally, 'the old man is 
 doing the only thing on earth he knows how 
 to, and, by George ! I respect him for it.' 
 
 "Jimty turned away, dropping his arms on 
 the table and hiding his face in them. For a 
 while we sat silent. I signed to Herrick to let 
 him be, but he would not, and bent forward. 
 47
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " ' This is all nonsense,' he said ; ' don't take 
 it so hard. There is no shame in it, my boy ; 
 and if there were ' for the first time I heard 
 his hard voice soften ; he laid his great arm 
 across Jimty's shoulders 'if there were, I 
 have a cloak waiting for you at home that 
 would cover everything.' 
 
 " That's all," said the Major. " You have 
 heard the whole story now, and you saw 
 the finale at the church this morning. Ad 
 dition /" This last to his waiter, who hur 
 ried off, calling "Addition!" in his turn to 
 madame, who made out the account at her 
 stand. 
 
 But I objected. "Major," I said, "you have 
 not told me all. How did Mr. Herrick know 
 the coat was Jimty's unless you betrayed 
 him ?" 
 
 " I ? Oh no. The girl recognized him at a 
 glance as she passed him in the office, and told 
 her father. I believe women see more with 
 their eyes half shut than we with ours wide 
 open. Jimty was such an innocent it was easy 
 for a man like Herrick to get enough corrobo 
 rating testimony from him without his realiz 
 ing it. That was the cause of Herrick's sudden 
 interest in the search for old Mr. Stone. He 
 waited for his own time to speak. That was 
 like Herrick. What of the old man ?" The 
 Major laughed. "Well, do you know, : t was a 
 month before we could persuade him to leave 
 4 8
 
 '/MR. STONE IS NOW A SEMI-PROFESSIONAL 
 RACONTEUR ' "
 
 JIMTY 
 
 his minstrel company. He insisted that from 
 never having a dime in his pocket he now had 
 dollars, and that he liked his new-found inde 
 pendence. The truth is, backbone was a heri 
 tage in that family. Mr. Stone had only mis 
 laid his for threescore years or so. * I couldn't 
 help respecting his resolution from his point of 
 view. Herrick would only laugh and cheer the 
 old man on, but Jimty was so distressed we 
 finally hit on a compromise. Jimty persuaded 
 his father to meet us half-way, while Herrick 
 and I arranged the sordid details. Mr. Stone 
 is now a semi-professional raconteur, rather the 
 fashion for select half-literary entertainments. 
 You may stumble on him some night. If you 
 do, make him tell the tale of the Glass Snakes 
 and Transparent Mocking-Birds. It was that 
 story, by-the-way, which gained him the place 
 in the minstrel troupe. The manager over 
 heard him telling it at the cafe, and made over 
 tures. Do you know, my friend, that we are the 
 only guests left in this room, and that madame 
 is growing restless ?" 
 
 It was true. I saw madame's eyes. They 
 were expressive. We rose and wound our 
 way among the little tables towards the 
 door. 
 
 " My hat, Jean," said the Major. " Good-day, 
 madame, monsieur." 
 
 Our feet grated on the sand at the door-sill. 
 I looked back from the pavement to see 
 D 49
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 madame following monsieur to the open vesti 
 bule. Together they set in place the little 
 wire grating that proclaimed the luncheon hour 
 over.
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 " Turn, good wheel, with humming sound." 
 
 The Flying Dutchman. 
 
 IN a corner near my fireplace stands an old 
 spinning-wheel, on the body of which two large 
 letters are carved " D. W.," the mark of the 
 maker. The wheel is silent and decrepit, its 
 useful days long past. Spin it never will again ; 
 yet whenever I look at it standing there in its 
 corner, the foot-worn treadle rises, the wheel 
 hums, and for me spins this : 
 
 " Oh, Reuben," said Mrs. Grey, " ef that sight 
 don't make my very blood boil. No, don't you 
 look. Keep yer eyes on the mare, and I will, 
 too ; then maybe Sarah will think we didn't 
 see her. Drive fast, Reuben, and don't look." 
 
 Reuben Grey fixed his eyes on his mare's 
 ears, and gingerly beat her lazy back with his 
 worn-out whip. 
 
 " Say somethin' to me as we pass, Reuben," 
 whispered Mrs. Grey ; " it '11 look more nach- 
 eral."
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Reuben's mouth worked foolishly, but no 
 words came. 
 
 " Now we have passed her," said his wife, 
 with a breath of relief as the buggy jogged 
 on ; " but yer didn't say a word, Reuben." 
 
 " To save my life, I couldn't think o' any 
 thing ter say. I never can when folks come on 
 me sudden." 
 
 " Then you might ha' said that. What I didn't 
 want yer to look at was pore Sarah. Dan'l Whip 
 has got her settin' up beside him on the roof 
 of Mr. Buzzard's house while he's mendin' the 
 chimbleys. It's a shame, it is." 
 
 Reuben turned around in his seat to look 
 back. 
 
 " Now, Reuben," cried Mrs. Grey, " yer've 
 done it after all, and o' course she saw yer !" 
 
 Reuben was shaking the buggy with his 
 laughter. 
 
 " Ef that don't beat all !" he cried. " I heard 
 Dan'l Whip was doin' that to Sarah, but I didn't 
 ha'f b'lieve it. Got her h'isted up there on the 
 roof, sittin' in a chair at her knittin'! Oh, 
 my!" 
 
 He beat his knee gently with his huge, 
 doubled-up fist, which was no larger than his 
 big heart. " Pore Sarah," he said ; " pore Sarah ! 
 An' 'tain't as ef he did it for fondness." 
 
 " Fondness ! He jes does it to be hateful, 
 Reuben. I al'ays feel 'bout him jes like I do 
 of a bat, that ain't bird nor beast, but a kinder 
 52
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 crawlin' vermin. Dan'l Whip certainly ain't a 
 man." 
 
 " That ain't any fault o' his. He was born 
 like that, Mary, honey all humped together. 
 I've been thinkin' these years here lately that 
 he's been gettin' shorter, an' it ain't onreason- 
 able that his temper should shorten, too. I 
 don't hold Dan'l Whip full respons'ble." 
 
 Mrs. Grey shook her head. " I ain't so sure, 
 Reuben. He's cute enough 'bout thinkin' up 
 new ways to be hateful. This haulin' pore 
 Sarah up onter roofs when he's chimbleys to 
 mend, now, who'd 'a' thought o' that but Dan'l 
 Whip ? The only holiday she had was when 
 he was up on roofs ; while he's makin' spinnin'- 
 wheels at home he has her under hack all the 
 time. What in the world made her marry him 
 I don't know." 
 
 Reuben stretched out his hand to catch a 
 wisp of sweet hay that hung on a low branch. 
 The road was narrow, and ran between intrud 
 ing bushes. The fingerlike twigs had snatch 
 ed part of its load from a passing hay-wagon, 
 which could be heard rumbling on ahead. Se 
 lecting a juicy-looking straw, Reuben took it 
 between his teeth, chewing its sweetness as 
 meditatively as a cow might. He leaned back 
 in the buggy, bracing his feet against the worn 
 dash - board, which showed marks of having 
 thus braced them for years. The reins fell in 
 loops from the horse's neck. 
 53
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " When Dan'l Whip married," said Reuben, 
 " folks talked the other way. His body warn't 
 much, to be shore, an' his head was 'bout as 
 big as the biggest watermillon you ever saw, 
 like it is now, an' his eyes was just as squeeched 
 up. But talk ! He could talk like a book. We 
 all thought he'd be a somebody, and Sarah 
 warn't nothin' but a field-hand. She was reap- 
 in' in my father's field when Dan'l first saw her. 
 ' Dan'l Whip,' says my father, ' what on airth 
 are you goin' to marry a girl out the field fur?' 
 You see how folks felt about it. ' I'm sick o' 
 boardin',' says Dan'l. ' I want a home - table. 
 She re'p' like a man, an' I'm goin' to marry 
 her.' " 
 
 Mrs. Grey's soft brows knit. " She's as strong 
 as a man now, Reuben ; that's what gets to me. 
 Dan'l don't more 'n come up to her waist ; she 
 could pick him up under her arm an' walk right 
 off with him." 
 
 "Well, she don't do it, nor nothin' like it," 
 said Reuben. He lowered his voice : " Mary, 
 did you ever hear that story 'bout Dan'l Whip 
 an' Sarah an' a table ? I jes pooh-poohed it at 
 the store when I heard it, but it do seem kinder 
 cur'ous, the way Sarah jumps an' runs an' 
 tumbles over herself whenever Dan'l Whip says 
 ' Come." " 
 
 Mrs. Grey pursed up her lips. " Reuben, 
 you know I ain't one to gossip. That I knew 
 this thing for weeks, and said nothin' 'bout it 
 54
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 to yer, shows that. My cousin Lyddy ain't one 
 to gossip either. She oughtn't to ha' told her 
 husband, an' then it wouldn't 'a' leaked out at 
 the store." 
 
 Reuben looked up, his blue eyes full of inter 
 est. " That come from Lyddy, did it ? Then 
 it's got to be true." 
 
 " It's as true as sin, an' more disgraceful. 
 Lyddy says she saw Sarah walkin' roun' an' 
 roun' that table, cryin' kinder sof and wringin' 
 her hands, while Dan'l Whip stood in the mid 
 dle beatin' her with a leather strap." 
 
 Reuben's jaw dropped. " My goodness, Mary ! 
 that's a' awful thing. Somebody ought to stop 
 it. But what I don't see is why Sarah don't stop 
 it herse'f. What made her walk ?" 
 
 " That's what I ast Lyddy. She says at first 
 she believed he must 'a' had her held by a hal 
 ter ; but there warn't nothin' at all holdin' 
 Sarah but Dan'l Whip's will. Ain't that awful, 
 Reuben ?" 
 
 " Ha-a," said Reuben, moving his feet un 
 easily/' it makes me crawl. But, Mary, honey, 
 I'm 'fraid yer '11 think I'm sorter heartless, for 
 I do think I'm goin' to laf in a minit. Sarah 
 she's so everlastin' big, and Dan'l he's little 
 enough to have ter crawl on a table ter reach her. 
 Don't you see yerse'f it's sorter funny, Mary?" 
 
 His clean-shaven lip twitched as his laugh 
 ter came and possessed him. Mrs. Grey looked 
 at her husband unsmilingly. 
 55
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " I don't see nothin' to laugh at, Reuben Grey. 
 Lyddy wasn't laughin' any ; she said it was a 
 sight to cry over." 
 
 " What I'm studyin' over is how Lyddy saw 
 it," ruminated Reuben. 
 
 " Lyddy," said Mrs. Grey, with a slight em 
 barrassment, " was on her way to see Sarah ; 
 but when she got to Dan'l Whip's, an' heard 
 this kinder cryin' sound, she didn't like to 
 knock. There's a slat out o' one o' Dan'l 
 Whip's shutters on the left side the house, an' 
 when Lyddy once looked through that crack 
 she didn't want to do any knockin'. Don't 
 you reckon it's water that mare's wantin', 
 Reuben ?" 
 
 The mare was turning her head longingly 
 towards the road - side, where a weak little 
 stream, trickling down the hill and under the 
 matted underwood, was led by a split log into 
 a half-sunk barrel. There was no check-rein 
 to the rope-pieced harness. Reuben had only 
 to sit still in the buggy and give the mare her 
 way. As it was a warm day, she drew in the 
 water gratefully with deep, whistling sounds. 
 
 " Mary," said Reuben, turning to his wife, 
 his face working with laughter, " I've been 
 kinder keepin' somethin' 'bout Dan'l Whip to 
 myself, but I can't keep it no longer. You re 
 member the mornin', a week back, when he 
 came out from town in sech a hurry to see 
 me ? Well, what yer s'pose he wanted ? ' Mr. 
 56
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 Grey/ says he, whisperin', ' will you kindly lend 
 me twenty dollars ?' " 
 
 "La, Reuben," Mrs. Grey interrupted, "what 
 did he want it fer ?" 
 
 " That was what I ast him, an' you could ha' 
 knocked me down with a feather when he tol' 
 me he wanted to buy a divorce from Sarah." 
 
 " Sarah !" repeated Mrs. Grey. " Why, she's 
 the only thing keeps folks anyways decent to 
 him. Dan'l Whip must be losin' his mind." 
 
 " Egzactly what I says to him. ' Dan'l,' I 
 says, ' Sarah's shorely been a good wife to you." 
 ' I know,' says he, still whisperin' ; l but there's 
 a lawyer parsin' thro' town, an' he tells me he 
 can make a divorce for twenty dollars. Ain't 
 that the cheapest thing, Mr. Grey? I'll never 
 get a bargain like that agin,' says he ; ' an' I 
 want you to lend me the money for it. I'll pay 
 you back.' " 
 
 ' ' No, Dan'l Whip,' says I, ' you certainly 
 won't, fer I ain't goin' to lend it to you first. 
 You ought to be 'shamed o' yerse'f,' I says ; 
 but I laffed so he went off ragin'. There must 
 be somethin' kinder ridic'lous to me in ev'ry- 
 thing Dan'l Whip does, Mary. I laffed to my 
 self all the week at that, an' it makes me laf 
 now to think o' it. Buyin' a divorce jes 'cause 
 it's cheap! Like that stovepipe hat you got 
 fer me some ten years back 'cause it was sech 
 a bargain. It's been in the garret ever sence, 
 'ain't it?" Reuben pulled the flapping felt hat 
 57
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 he always wore deeper over his brows, beneath 
 which his eyes twinkled. 
 
 " I don't see nothin' alike between 'em," said 
 Mrs. Grey, stiffly. 
 
 Her husband tightened the reins and " cluck 
 ed " to his mare. " Maybe there ain't, honey," 
 he said, as they wound down the river-side road 
 again. 
 
 Between the little town of Riverton, which 
 the pair were leaving, and their farm ran the 
 South Branch of the Potomac, brawling, noisy, 
 and rapid, ever quarrelling with its banks, too 
 often rising in wrath to sweep over them, 
 carrying destruction for lines of high corn and 
 low-lying wheat-fields. If the South Branch, 
 with its rich alluvial banks and wealth of 
 fishes, were more his friend or his enemy, 
 Reuben Grey had yet to decide. He was 
 thinking of this as he looked down at the 
 waters rushing by on the right side of the 
 road. On the left bank the great gray " hang 
 ing rocks" arched high above them, holding 
 in every crevice where earth could gather the 
 hanging plant of the region, its gay pink head 
 drooping and swinging against the gray wall 
 with every wind. A hundred feet beyond the 
 hanging rocks lay the ford, good or bad as the 
 South Branch willed. On this day the ford 
 happened to be kind, but Mrs. Grey breathed 
 more freely as the mare emerged dripping on 
 the other side. 
 
 58
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 " It seems like I never can get used to that 
 gratin' sound of the wheels on the pebbles 
 when the current gets to pullin' so hard mid 
 stream, Reuben," she said. "The mare's real 
 frisky to-day, ain't she ? Why, whatever ails 
 her now ?" 
 
 " She's scared of that thing comin' down the 
 road," answered Reuben. " Wo', Molly ! It 
 ain't nothin', you foolish woman. I'm blessed 
 ef I know what it is myself though, Mary." 
 
 Straight down the road a feather-bed, topped 
 by some pillows and colored comforts, seemed 
 to be speeding directly towards them, and with 
 no perceptible means of locomotion ; but as it 
 drew nearer a pair of unsteady, bandy legs 
 could be distinguished sticking out from the 
 bottom of the pile. 
 
 " Oh, my !" said Mrs. Grey, wofully ; " I know 
 what it is. It's Uncle Sam moving into his 
 cabin again." 
 
 As she spoke the object turned, and, waver 
 ing as one of those tormented beetles over 
 whose backs children delight to clasp pea-pods, 
 moved from the road to a tiny log cabin set in 
 the bushes. Through the open door of the 
 cabin, after much backing and pushing, the 
 feather-bed vanished. When the buggy passed 
 the door was closed. 
 
 " There," sighed Mrs. Grey ; " he's shut in 
 again for days, I s'pose, an' all his work lyin'. 
 I wisht to mercy your mother was alive, Reu- 
 59
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 ben ; or else I wisht she'd taken off all the old 
 negroes with her. To this day I ain't anythin' 
 but the ' young mistis ' to them, an' they don't 
 heed a word I say. I'm gettin' perfectly sick 
 of it. You ought never to have let Sam build 
 that cabin, Reuben." 
 
 " Oh, it don't matter any. You take the ole 
 niggers too hard, Mary, honey. Sam he likes 
 to have a kinder hole o' his own to crawl inter 
 when he gets mad." 
 
 " I don't see how that cabin's his any more 'n 
 his room at the house is, Reuben. He's made 
 it outer your timber, an' set it on your land." 
 
 " What's started him now ?" 
 
 "There hasn't anythin' happened but jes 
 what he deserved. He's taken to lyin' in bed 
 here lately deep inter the mornin', an' when he 
 chooses to get up, Ozalla she will cook a red- 
 hot breakfast for him. To-day I jes stopped 
 her, an' put by some cold victuals for Sam. He 
 was as impident when he saw the plate ! He 
 went r'arin' 'roun' the kitchen, tellin' me he 
 warn't goin' to make a gobbige-box of his stom- 
 mick for nobody." 
 
 " I jes hope you ran him out with nothin'," 
 said Reuben, indignantly. 
 
 " I had ter ; but I always feel as if your 
 mother was lookin' down at me when I scold 
 Sam. I can't bear to interfere with the old 
 negroes, they was here so long before me." 
 
 " Makes n' odds," said Reuben, easily ; " I've 
 60
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 known Sam to keep mad for a week after he'd 
 clean fergot what started him. He'll come 
 home ter - morrow, maybe. The reapin'-ma- 
 chine's lef more or less grass over there in 
 that field, Mary, 'ain't it ? I reckon I'll take 
 that scythe there in the fence corner and trim 
 off the stray locks. I never did think much o' 
 machines anyhow. You can drive the buggy 
 on to the house. Holler for one of the little 
 niggers to take it when yer get there." 
 
 The horse taken to the stable by a " little 
 nigger," the locks of grass shorn, and supper 
 in the farm-house eaten, Reuben Grey and his 
 wife sat together happily on the vine-covered 
 porch in the twilight. Down on the river-bank 
 the frogs sang loudly, following their shrill 
 leader. The farm-yard creatures were almost 
 silenced for the night, and Reuben Grey him 
 self was wrapped in content. His feet, clad 
 only in their stockings, were resting on the 
 rungs of his chair, which was tilted back against 
 the side of the house, his pipe was in his mouth, 
 his wife was by his side. What more could 
 man desire? 
 
 " Reuben," said Mrs. Grey, looking up from 
 the knitting which she did not need to see, " I 
 do think I hear somebody hollering at the ford." 
 
 " Reckon not," Reuben answered, drowsily ; 
 but as he raised his head to listen his chair 
 dropped forward with a jerk ; he reached 
 quickly for his boots. 
 
 61
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " It sounds to me kinder like a lady," he said, 
 drawing his boots half-way on, then rising to 
 stamp his feet deeper in before he hurried to 
 the ford. To keep a lady waiting was not in 
 Reuben's code. Mrs. Grey could hear the sound 
 of the pole scraping on the boat, and knew later 
 by the voices on the road that Reuben must 
 be bringing some one back with him. As the 
 two figures advanced through the dusk she 
 could not at once recognize the face of the 
 new-comer, who seemed to hesitate at the steps, 
 as if doubtful of her welcome. 
 
 " Here's Sarah Whip, wife," said Reuben ; 
 and Mrs. Grey rose at once. 
 
 " Well, Sarah Whip, I didn't know yer for a 
 minit, I was so surprised ! I'm real glad. You 
 haven't been on this porch sence I do' know 
 when. Have yer had yer supper ?" 
 
 " No," answered Reuben ; " she 'ain't had 
 any. Jes get her some, Mary. Set down 
 and wait out here in the cool, Sarah Mary 
 won't be a minit. Do you take tea or cof 
 fee ?" 
 
 " Coffee in general," answered Sarah, dully ; 
 " but I ain't particklar, Mrs. Grey." 
 
 " Mary's got both," said Reuben. 
 
 He followed his wife, whose hospitality had 
 already sent her to the kitchen. "Mary, 
 honey," he whispered, "don't you hurry with 
 that supper. Somethin's happened, and Sarah 
 Whip's got it on her min' to tell. Jes let her 
 62
 
 get through oncet, and make her some strong 
 coffee, pore thing." 
 
 He rambled out to the porch again with a 
 step always purposeless, however direct his aim. 
 
 "Well, Sarah, chile," he said, as he seated 
 himself. 
 
 Sarah looked up. She was a tall, fair woman, 
 with high cheek-bones, gentle blue eyes, and 
 a deprecating expression. Her face began to 
 work suddenly, and she flung her blue apron 
 over her head. 
 
 " I knowed there was trouble as soon as I 
 saw you," said Reuben. "Jes set there and 
 let it bile over, honey. What's he bin doin' to 
 yer 'sides settin" yer up on roofs ?" 
 
 Sarah rocked her body to and fro, talking 
 through her apron. " I tol' him you saw me 
 on that roof I tol' him so. I can't stan' it no 
 longer. When I runned out here to the river 
 jes now I didn't know ef it was to th'o' myself 
 in or to holler to you. Then I seemed to hear 
 him runnin' after me, an' I hollered." 
 
 " You oughter 'a' hollered long days before 
 this, Sarah. Now you take that thing offer yer 
 head an' listen to me. I ain't goin' to do any 
 talkin' round to yer, but straight at yer. You 
 tell me ef this thing I hear 'bout you and Dan'l 
 Whip and a table an' a strop 's true ?" 
 
 Sarah dropped the apron as one trained in 
 obedience, but she wrung her hands and rock 
 ed as she poured out her story. 
 63
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "Yes ; it's true whenever he gets mad at me. 
 I'm 'mos' crazy with it all. Ef I didn't know 
 jes when he was goin' to do it, it wouldn't come 
 so hard. But no matter how early in the day 
 he gets mad at me, ef it's right after breakfast, 
 he don't say not one word till night. He jes 
 waits till after supper, when I've took the cloth 
 off the table an' folded it an' put it in the 
 dresser drawer. Ef I hear a scramblin' behind 
 me, then I know it's him gettin' up on the 
 table ; nor he don't say a word then, but jes 
 waits for me to turn round from the dresser. 
 Sometimes it's as much as five minutes, it 
 seems to me, before I kin turn. I jes keep 
 prayin' there, ' Lord, help me ; help me to 
 bear it, Lord'; but nothin' don't help me." 
 Her voice rose to a wail. "Ef I don't walk 
 right around that table like I know he wants 
 me to, he 'most kills me when I do come. Oh, 
 I don't see how I can stan' it any more! I had 
 ter run away ter-night, an' I reckon he will 
 kill me ter-morrow night for doin' it." 
 
 Reuben Grey was moving restlessly in his 
 chair. " Sarah," he cried out, " you ain't called 
 on to stan' it ! Now you look here. I ain't one 
 to run ag'in Scripture ; I'm believin' the wife 
 should be subjec' to her husband ; but, honey, 
 I've bin livin' in this world some time, an' one 
 thing I've come to see. I've come to see it so 
 true that I've done what I reckon yer '11 call 
 awful audacious. I've made a kinder proverb 
 64
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 of it, and in my Bible I've added it to the 
 proverbs of Solomon in pencil. It's jes this : 
 ' An' the price o' peace may be wa-ar may be 
 wa-ar,' " he accented with his earnest forefin 
 ger. " I ain' tellin' you to do anythin' that's 
 wrong when I tell you this : the nex' time you 
 know Dan'l Whip's mad, an' you hear him 
 scramblin' on to the table behin' you, Sarah, 
 don't you pray like yer've been a - prayin' 
 'Lord, help me to bear it'; you pray like this: 
 ' Lord help me not to bear this ondecent thing; 
 for the price of peace may be wa-ar, O Lord, 
 wa-ar !' You pray that way, Sarah, an' then you 
 turn roun' an' carry out the will o' the Lord 
 as He puts it inter yer heart ter act. Now the 
 best thing you kin do is to eat yer supper. I 
 hear Mary carryin' it in." 
 
 Mrs. Grey was a good woman. She set the 
 supper on the table, and busied herself about 
 Sarah, watching without a question the poor 
 soul eat and choke and wipe her eyes. With 
 the good food, the warm coffee, and the warm 
 er kindness, Sarah gradually took heart to 
 relish what she ate. A contagious peaceful- 
 ness pervaded all of Reuben Grey's surround 
 ings. 
 
 " Eat, honey, eat," he urged. " Mary an' me 
 love to see people eat. Eat till you bu'st I 
 wisht yer would." 
 
 He laughed himself so heartily that Sarah 
 had begun to join timidly in his mirth when, 
 
 E 65
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 with a nice morsel half lifted to her mouth, she 
 dropped her fork on her plate. 
 
 " What was that ?" she asked, trembling. 
 
 As the others listened the sound which she 
 had heard was repeated a cry too shrill for a 
 man's voice, too deep for a woman's. 
 
 " It's Dan'l at the ford," said Sarah, desper 
 ately, rising with a moan, as beaten children 
 turn at call to run screaming towards the fate 
 they dare not escape. 
 
 " Sit still there, Sarah," said Reuben, sternly; 
 "it's me Dan'l Whip's callin', an' it's me he'll 
 get." 
 
 He stretched out his hand for the flapping 
 hat, and strode from the room. The two 
 women followed him to the porch. Standing 
 there, they could hear through the darkness 
 the beat of Reuben Grey's heavy footsteps 
 on the road, then his powerful voice : " Who's 
 callin' ?" 
 
 Every word he spoke came to them clearly. 
 From his replies they could guess at the mean 
 ing of the rabbit-like cries from the other side 
 of the river. Sarah grasped Mrs. Grey's arm, 
 a liberty she would not have dared to take at a 
 less crucial moment. 
 
 "Yes, she's here!" shouted Reuben. 
 
 The inarticulate cries answered. Then Reu 
 ben's voice rose again : 
 
 " No, Dan'l Whip ; I can't pole over fer you 
 to-night ; the boat's up." 
 66
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 " I tell yer she is pulled up." 
 
 " Well, I ain't goin' to, then." 
 
 " I'll drive Sarah in fust thing ter-morrow 
 mornin'." 
 
 " I don't care ef yer do swim ; yer won't 
 drown anybody but Dan'l Whip. There ain't 
 no use bleatin' at me like that, Dan'l. I said I 
 won't, and I ain't." 
 
 " Ef yer do, yer '11 grow to the stone yer set- 
 tin' on, that's all. Good-night to yer." 
 
 When Reuben returned, Sarah was waiting 
 for him, tremulously standing in the wedge 
 of light which the open house - door let out 
 into the dark porch. Reuben came into the 
 light also, his eyes smiling, his head turning 
 from side to side as in some keen enjoyment. 
 He was holding his closed hand close to his 
 nose. 
 
 " Hoi' out yer han', Sarah," he said. As 
 Sarah stretched out her shaking arm, he laid 
 a brown, velvety blossom on her palm. 
 
 " There warn't but five shrubs lef ' on the 
 bush. I'm goin' to give you two, Sarah, an' 
 keep three fer myself. Shrubs jes suit my 
 smell. I don't know nothin' that substitutes a 
 shrub after it gets all hot and smelly in yer 
 han'. Come along, Sarah ; you finish yer sup 
 per, then ye 're goin' right to bed fer a good 
 night's rest." 
 
 Sweet, homespun, chivalric soul ! Reuben 
 Grey on his mountain -side, hoeing his fields, 
 67
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 knew a fine code that only nature had taught 
 him. 
 
 The following morning, after the early farm 
 breakfast, the buggy which was to take Sarah 
 into Riverton was brought to the gate before 
 the porch. Reuben Grey's eyes dwelt with full 
 satisfaction on the dilapidated vehicle, the half- 
 groomed horse, and the makeshift harness, but 
 not upon Ozalla's boy, who stood at the horse's 
 head in the place which Sam should have occu 
 pied. 
 
 "You, Henery? Where's yer grandad?" 
 asked Reuben. 
 
 Henry's already large upper lip swelled with 
 the smile it dared not express. He ducked his 
 head into his breast. 
 
 " Gran'fa's down in hes cabin," he answered. 
 
 That Sam was in his cabin, and why, was 
 known to the smallest darky on the farm. 
 Mrs. Grey, who was just within the door, pack 
 ing a basket of fresh eggs for Sarah, stepped 
 out to the porch. Her soft brow was puckered 
 and her kind face troubled. 
 
 " Reuben," she said, " Sam didn't come to the 
 house fer his dinner nor supper yestiddy, nor 
 his breakfast to-day. I declare, it do worry 
 me so. I can't bear to think of anything on 
 this place bein' hungry." 
 
 Reuben laughed at her. " Mary, honey, you 
 air so sof 'bout them ol' negroes. Don't you 
 bother 'bout Sam. Ain't there potatoes in the 
 68
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 field, an' 'ain't he only got to dig 'em ? Ain't 
 the chickens walkin' round as tame, an' 'ain't 
 he only got to knock 'em in the haid? Sam's 
 a-takin' keer o' himse'f, don't you fret. Air 
 you ready, Sarah ?" 
 
 Sarah was waiting to bid Mrs. Grey a fare 
 well piteous in its tearful resignation. Mrs. 
 Grey patted her reassuringly on the shoulder 
 with her motherly hand. 
 
 " Pick up heart, Sarah," she said ; " an' come 
 again some time when there ain't no reason at 
 all fer it, jes to talk a bit." 
 
 This was her only reference to Sarah's 
 trouble. The mountain folk can show a re 
 serve fine and delicate as their cliff flowers. 
 
 Sarah climbed into the buggy, and, Reuben 
 following her, they jogged down the road tow 
 ards the unbroken line of green trees that 
 wound through the farms, marking the river- 
 course. 
 
 " When Sam and I was boys," said Reuben 
 Grey, thoughtfully, talking half to himself and 
 half to Sarah, " I kin jes remember worryin' 
 for a whippin', an' my mother warn't one to 
 spare the rod neither. Many's the hot switch 
 Sam and me stood up to together. She gen 
 erally licked us in pa'rs ; fur ef one was bad, 
 she could be pretty nigh shore the other put 
 him up to it, ef he didn't do more. But there 
 war times when I'd get kinder tired, an' didn't 
 want ter go on bein' bad ; but havin' got 
 69
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 started, I warn't goin' to stop short o' a lickin', 
 an' then I jes wearied fer it before it come to 
 halt me up. I use' t' think, Why on airth don't 
 they hurry up an' lick me an' make me stop ? I 
 kin remember thinkin' that as well ! It's help 
 ed me a lot in dealin' with folks sence, Sarah. 
 It's kinder made me tol'rant when they're too 
 outrageous. I jes think 'bout them ol' days, 
 an' my blessed ol' mother, an' that dear ol' 
 peach-orchard back the house, full o' switches, 
 an' then I says to myself, ' Don't you be too 
 ha'sh, Reuben ; all that pore soul wants is a 
 good lickin' ;' an" then, ef I kin. I up an' give it 
 to him, sometimes one way, sometimes an 
 other. Now, Sarah, you come along here with 
 me ; I got somethin' to show yer before yer go 
 home." 
 
 They had entered the green belt edging the 
 river. The trees, arching over the road, framed 
 in the ford and the farther bank, where the 
 broken road rose again out of the water. Near 
 the ford, set in the dingle, stood Sam's cabin 
 with its sulkily closed door. Reuben Grey 
 flung the reins over the back of his mare, and 
 drew from its socket the stubby whip. 
 
 u W'o', Molly," he said. 
 
 Molly stood quiet while her master descend 
 ed, followed by Sarah, wonderingly. Reuben 
 walked straight to Sam's cabin. He lifted the 
 butt of his whip as if to beat upon the door, 
 then changed his mind. 
 70
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 " Sam," he called, in a quick monosyllable ; 
 "Sam!" 
 
 As if drawn by an invisible string, an unwill 
 ing, shuffling step approached the door, which 
 opened a crack. A white, rolling eyeball peered 
 out. Reuben made an impatient side motion 
 with his head, and the door swung wide, expos 
 ing a figure that might have come off the end 
 of a haymaker's fork. Sam's clothing, never 
 neat, was that of a scarecrow ; his gray locks 
 were a tousle. He stood with his dark lips 
 swelled out, his head thrust forward, his shifty 
 eyes opening and shutting sulkily. The little 
 white goatee that stuck out from the side of 
 his chin was as crooked as his temper. Reuben 
 scanned him over. 
 
 "Well, Sam," he said, "you do look " 
 
 Sam swallowed resentfully, drawing his feat 
 ures closer together after the manner of a ter 
 rapin retiring into its shell. 
 
 " You see this, Sam," said Reuben, raising 
 the whip he held. Sam drew back a step, 
 blinking. Reuben went on sternly : " What 
 I'm standin' here considerin' is ef I ain't called 
 on right now to haul yer out o' there an' give 
 yer the worst lickin' yer ever had sence yer 
 was a boy. 'Tain't as ef I was hankerin' to do 
 it ; it's kinder hot to be whippin' to-day. But 
 I don't seem able to decide ef I ain't neglectin' 
 a dooty in parsin' it by. There's jes one thing 
 yer kin be shore of, though : ef, when I come 
 71
 
 J1MTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 out from town, I stop here an' do fin' yer in 
 this cabin, hot nor nothin' else won't help yer. 
 Min', I ain't sayin' I ain't goin' to lick yer any 
 how ; but ef yer are here when I come out, 
 why, it '11 be right then an' there, an' with this 
 very whip, yer '11 get your lickin'." He cut 
 the stock through the air in emphasis. " I'm 
 goin' to hev peace, an' nothin' else, on this yere 
 farm." 
 
 Reuben's whip punctuated forcibly for him 
 once more as he stalked away. He did not 
 deign to turn his head as he moved to his 
 buggy ; but Sarah, following with less dignity, 
 saw Sam's exit from the cabin. At a right 
 angle to his master's footsteps, with the swift, 
 loping run of his race, which even in his age 
 he retained, Sam was making for the shelter of 
 the house. 
 
 " Look, Mr. Grey," said Sarah. Reuben look 
 ed, and a smile in which there was no surprise 
 and no unkind triumph spread over his feat 
 ures. 
 
 " Sarah," he said, stopping short to speak, 
 " what did I tell yer ? Don't you see how the 
 price o' peace may be wa-ar, honey, may be 
 wa-ar ?" 
 
 Peace had indeed returned to the farm when 
 Reuben came back from his journey to River- 
 ton. The river was sparkling in the sun, his 
 own fields lay smiling before him, Sam was 
 crooning over his work, and Mrs. Grey wore 
 72
 
 \ 
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 her most placid face. But Reuben himself 
 was disturbed. All through the day this dis 
 turbance grew upon him, and late in the after 
 noon it found utterance. 
 
 " Mary," he said, " I'm jes thinkin' I'm goin' 
 to ask yer to make supper a' hour earlier this 
 afternoon. I'm considerin' goin' back to River- 
 ton. I feel kinder worried 'bout Sarah an' 
 Dan'l Whip." 
 
 Mrs. Grey laid down her knitting to look 
 up. "Why, Reuben, it ain't like you to be 
 interferin' with man an' wife. What kin you 
 do ef Dan'l chooses to beat Sarah, and Sarah 
 lets him ?" 
 
 " It don't seem like I could do nothin'," an 
 swered Reuben ; " but I reckon I'd like supper 
 early, Mary." 
 
 " Didn't you say Dan'l Whip warn't onpleas- 
 ant this mornin' ?" 
 
 " He was pleasant enough, all but his eyes. 
 He was settin' there, workin' away on his spin- 
 nin'-wheels. He didn't say nothin' at all 'bout 
 Sarah runnin' off last night. I'd 'a' liked it bet 
 ter ef he had. I reckon I'll have supper early, 
 Mary." 
 
 There was a mild obstinacy about Reuben 
 which his wife rarely opposed, Before dusk he 
 was on his way to Riverton, and he reached 
 the village by the time the lamps began to 
 shine through the windows into the streets. 
 Checking his mare before the town store, Reu- 
 73
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 ben tied her at the horse-rack in company with 
 half a dozen other nags and buggies of similar 
 dilapidation. As he entered the store, ever 
 more or less crowded, answering to the club 
 of a higher civilization, his advent was loudly 
 welcomed ; but on this occasion Reuben con 
 fessed himself hurried. He ordered a list of 
 groceries, to be packed in his buggy against 
 his return, thus giving explanation for his visit 
 to the populace waiting to receive this state 
 ment as their due. His account rendered, he 
 was more free for his mission, which led him at 
 once to Daniel Whip's home. The Whip cot 
 tage stood a little apart from the village, on a 
 side road. 
 
 " Here 't is," said Reuben to himself, as he 
 reached the house and paused before it thought 
 fully. All the shutters were closed, but a bright 
 light from within came streaming through the 
 cracks. 
 
 " Was it the lef side Mary said ?" murmured 
 Reuben, hesitating on the road. " Yes, 'twas 
 the lef." 
 
 He walked softly to the left side of Daniel 
 Whip's house. There, towards the bottom of 
 one of the windows, a broader band of light 
 burst through the shutter, from which a slat 
 was missing. 
 
 " Lyddy must ha' seen real well. There warn't 
 no reason she shouldn't," thought Reuben, as 
 he bent his head and looked into the house. 
 74
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 The one lamp, which was in the centre of the 
 supper-table, lighted the small room brilliant 
 ly. The china on the shelves, Daniel Whip's 
 half-finished wheels in the corner, his tools near 
 by everything, in fact, except Whip himself 
 Reuben could see plainly. Directly opposite 
 the window, at the head of the supper-table, 
 sat Sarah. 
 
 " White and scared as a rabbit," sighed Reu 
 ben to himself. He looked at the supper, and 
 thought that the poor soul must have made 
 an effort to have it especially good. A high- 
 backed arm-chair was placed opposite Sarah, 
 with its back to the window where Reuben 
 stood. There, he judged, the master of the 
 house must be ; for dish after dish was depre- 
 catingly pushed by Sarah towards this chair, 
 and they seemed to disappear in its recesses. 
 Sarah's own plate lay face down before her; 
 she had not so much as turned it over. 
 
 No word was being spoken. To the genial 
 soul at the window this was the darkest feat 
 ure. Finally, the dishes which had been disap 
 pearing full into the chair began to come back 
 empty, and Sarah rose to clear the table. She 
 went to her work slowly, with faltering foot 
 steps. When all the dishes had been taken 
 away, she seemed to hesitate, and stood with 
 the centre crease of the cloth held in her fin 
 gers for a full minute before she jerked it off, 
 
 There was still no sign of life from Daniel 
 75
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 that Reuben could see. Close by the window 
 stood the dresser. As Sarah approached it to 
 open the drawer and lay the cloth away, Reu 
 ben was looking through the broken slat full 
 into her despairing face. She was standing 
 quite still, listening, and he held his breath lest 
 she should hear him. At that moment came a 
 sound that blanched the woman's cheeks and 
 made the watcher's back crawl. It was Dan 
 iel Whip scrambling up on the table. Reuben 
 could not see him, for Sarah blocked his view ; 
 but he could imagine him standing there, with 
 his " watermelon head," his " squeeched - up 
 eyes," his " humped-together body," the cruel 
 strap ready in his hand. He knew Sarah was 
 mentally seeing the same sight ; for her figure 
 was bent despairingly, and it seemed to Reu 
 ben that she was looking out through the bro 
 ken shutter straight into his eyes, while her 
 eyes were growing fixed and strange. Her lips 
 were moving. 
 
 'Lord help her!" thought Reuben; "she's 
 prayin' !" 
 
 Suddenly Sarah's eyes lighted up ; a dash of 
 bright red came over her cheek - bones. She 
 wheeled so abruptly that Reuben Grey started 
 back. He heard a scuffle, one rabbit-like cry, 
 and when he regained his post of observation 
 Daniel Whip was not on the table. 
 
 Sarah was standing by the arm-chair, look 
 ing down into its recesses. She held a heavy 
 76
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 leather strap in her hand, and spoke in a high, 
 excited voice, mechanically as a parrot. 
 
 " Well, Dan'l Whip, you do look !" She went 
 on rapidly, yet as one feeling for words. The 
 thong was raised waveringly. 
 
 " You see this, Dan'l ? What I'm standin' 
 here considerin' is ef I ain't called on right 
 now to haul yer outer there an' give yer the 
 worst lickin' yer 've had sence sence I mean 
 a worse lickin' than you ever give me with this 
 strop. 'Tain't as ef I was hankerin' to do it ; 
 it's kinder hot to be whippin' ter-day; but I 
 don't seem able to decide ef I ain't neglectin' 
 my dooty in parsin' it by. Min', I don' say I 
 ain't goin' to lick yer anyhow ; but there's jes 
 one thing you kin be shore of : ef I ketch yer 
 again on this table, hot nor nothin' else won't 
 help yer. It'll be right then and there, an' 
 with this very thong yer '11 get yer lickin'." 
 
 She made the strap whistle through the air 
 as she spoke, and jumped herself at the sound, 
 but went on doggedly : 
 
 " I'm goin' to have peace, an' nothin' else, on 
 this here farm house, I mean." 
 
 The thong whistled again in her hand ; but 
 this time Sarah seemed to find a certain pleas 
 ure in the sound, for she repeated it, looking 
 from the stinging lash to the chair. 
 
 " Dan'l Whip," she cried, suddenly, " don't 
 you dare to speak or move ! Yes, yer may 
 squeeze back in your chair, and stare yer eyes 
 77
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 outer your head. This thong's better to hear 
 than to feel, as I can tell yer. I said I warn't 
 hankerin' to use it on yer, but 'deed I don't 
 know. Now I'm at the right end o' it fer once, 
 I do seem to feel as ef five or six good licks 
 now 'tain't no use your sayin' a word, Dan'l 
 Whip ; sure 's yer do, I'll light right in, an' ef 
 I get started, I ain't sayin' I could stop." 
 
 Reuben Grey, at the window, was clinging 
 to the sill in dismay. Sarah had been like 
 some dumb brute unconscious of its strength. 
 Now that she had learned her power, it was 
 sweet. The weight of an awful responsibility 
 settled on Reuben's shoulders. Sarah was slap 
 ping the strap across her palm thoughtfully. 
 
 "When I grabbed you off the table jes now, 
 and chucked you back in that chair, an' yanked 
 this thong outer yer han', Dan'l Whip, what I 
 meant to say by it was this : I ain't never goin' 
 to walk roun' that table to be licked no more, 
 not one time ; but I can't be shore 'bout lickin' 
 you now with this thong I'm kinder 'fraid 
 of breakin* yer. You ain't big, like I am. I'm 
 just wonderin* how yer ma ever done it 'thout 
 killin' yer." 
 
 A sudden thought seemed to strike Sarah. 
 Her face cleared ; she turned away, and laid 
 the strap on the high mantel-shelf. " Dan'l," 
 she said, returning to stand and look down 
 from her height into the chair, " I've made 
 up my min' clean. I ain't ever goin' ter lick 
 78
 
 THE PRICE OF PEACE 
 
 yer with that thong. It's too crool, an' you 
 so little." Her tone grew almost affectionate. 
 " I know jes how crool it is. Ef leather didn't 
 smell so etarnal bad burnin', I'd th'o' the thing 
 in the fire once fer all. What I'm studyin" over 
 now is, ef I oughtn't to do yer jes as your ma 
 mus' ha' done yer many a time when you got 
 yer ugly tempers on jes like I'd do my own 
 chile ef I had one. I'm considerin' turning you 
 right over my knee an' spankin' yer good ; that 
 couldn't do yer no harm, and it might ach ! 
 Don't you speak a word, Dan'l Whip !" 
 
 Reuben Grey withdrew from the window 
 as softly as he had come. He stepped from the 
 house to the road, and with the same unneces 
 sarily cautious step he crossed the town, seek 
 ing his mare and buggy at the horse - rack. 
 Then he carefully counted over the packages 
 of groceries, to find the number correct. As 
 he drove down the road from Riverton, Reu 
 ben Grey was whistling softly and happily to 
 himself. 
 
 Whether Sarah decided to spank or to spare 
 Daniel Whip, he had no curiosity to learn. 
 "Anyhow," he ruminated, "he knows now she 
 kin and may, an' that's the whole p'int."
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 "WHY doubt my soul, why doubt Je-hovah's a-aid?" 
 
 trolled out a rich voice. 
 
 " That's not a drinking song, Ewey," said the 
 young foreman. 
 
 The mocking notes rolled out again : 
 
 " Thy God, the God of bat-ties, still sha-all prove /" 
 
 The foreman struck his hand on the man's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Ewey ! Aren't those 
 negroes enough ? Hear them howl. Powers ! 
 what a night !" 
 
 " I was preaching to them, sir," answered 
 Ewey. 
 
 " It sounded more like blasphemy. Nothing 
 will quiet them until this storm passes over. 
 Hello, that was a close call ! There go the elec 
 tric lights. The current's cut off." 
 
 A piercing flash of white light had split the 
 
 heavens, followed by a crash, beneath which 
 
 the earth seemed to crouch. The furnace and 
 
 furnace-shed, brilliantly lit by artificial light 
 
 80
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 a moment before, were left in total darkness, 
 from the depths of which came the trampling 
 of hurried feet, howls of mingled fear and ex 
 citement from negro throats, answered by 
 shouts of derision from the white laborers. 
 
 " We shall have a stampede here if this keeps 
 up," said the foreman. 
 
 The rain, driven by the wind, slapped as a 
 flat hand on the roof and the sides of the shed. 
 The lightning and thunder seemed to know no 
 before or after. Within the shed, torches car 
 ried on high by their bearers wandered aim 
 lessly about here and there, dropping a trail of 
 sputtering fire behind them. Each vivid elec 
 tric flash was greeted by another howl from 
 the negroes, drowned the next moment by the 
 thundering cloud-bursts. In the intermittent 
 light the young foreman could see the dim 
 outline of the huddled figures in the shed, the 
 movements of those who held torches, and, 
 above him, looming up in the gloom like a 
 mountain-side, the huge bulk of the furnace. 
 
 "This might be the scene of the Crucifix 
 ion," he said, half aloud. " ' There was a dark 
 ness over all the earth and the earth did 
 quake, and the rocks rent.' " 
 
 Ewey glanced about him. With a coarse 
 oath he assented easily. The foreman turned 
 and looked at him. 
 
 "Are you all ready for the midnight cast?" 
 he said, shortly. 
 
 F 81
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "All up, sir." 
 
 "Then find a torch and light it. We may 
 as well sit here in this corner until the storm 
 passes." 
 
 The oil -torch which Ewey found and pos 
 sessed himself of by right of might was already 
 lit and in the hand of a passing workman. He 
 stuck the flambeau in a crevice of the wall, 
 where it guttered and gasped in the wind, 
 smelling horribly. The storm was a trifle far 
 ther off. The electric lights were reviving, 
 but the corner where the two men settled 
 down was remote and lighted only by the 
 torch. 
 
 The foreman sat on the edge of a wheelbar 
 row, his knees crossed and nursed in his hands. 
 As Ewey flung himself on the ground at his 
 feet he looked down at him carelessly, observ 
 ing the brawny figure, the knotted hands and 
 over-developed shoulders of the day-laborer. 
 
 " Here comes Zanny as if fire were after 
 her," said Ewey. 
 
 A large white and yellow cat came bounding 
 out of the darkness into the circle of torch 
 light. She sprang to the knee of the young 
 foreman, nestling close against him and pur 
 ring loudly. 
 
 "Poor Zanthippe is as scared as the negroes," 
 he said, stroking her. " Did the last litter of 
 kittens go the way of the others, Ewey ?" 
 
 " Bones and all, sir. The rats eat the kittens, 
 82
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 and she eats the rats. She's a cannibal, is 
 Zanny." 
 
 He stretched out his hand coaxingly as he 
 spoke, and the furnace cat descending, curled 
 into his arms, rubbing her head against him. 
 The young foreman, forgetting both man and 
 beast, was looking out at the storm through an 
 open panel in the opposite wall of the shed. 
 
 " When I was a child," he said, simply, " I 
 used to think that God had a gold carpet on 
 His floor, and when the heavens cracked open, 
 as now, the gold showed through." 
 
 Ewey, resting his head against a block of 
 wood, softening his pillow with his interlocked 
 ringers and the palms of his hands, was looking 
 out at the storm also. 
 
 " Why doubt, my soul, why doubt Jehovah's a-aid ?" 
 
 he hummed softly. 
 
 " Where did you learn that ?" said the fore 
 man. 
 
 "At home," answered the workman, still 
 gazing out into the storm abstractedly, and 
 lifting one hand to stroke the cat's long back. 
 "At home. My father made his choir sing that 
 every Sunday until his congregation kicked." 
 
 The foreman started. " His choir his con 
 gregation ?" 
 
 Ewey looked up quickly from under his con 
 tracted brows. 
 
 " Humph !" he said, half - humorously. " I 
 83
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 thought I had gone beyond a storm's loosing 
 my tongue, but it seems not. That's all true 
 enough, as it's said ; but my father and his choir 
 and his congregation are facts that don't seem 
 to dovetail exactly with his son, do they ?" 
 
 " Your father was a clergyman ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They were both silent. For the first time 
 the foreman noted his workman's clean, close 
 ly cut hair, his crisply curling beard and mus 
 tache, the whiteness of the muscular chest ex 
 posed by the carelessly loosened red shirt, the 
 rough beauty of his features, and wondered 
 why all this had never struck him before. 
 
 " You are an Englishman, are you not ?" said 
 the foreman. 
 
 " Yes, I am English." 
 
 "Was your father a Dissenter, or of the 
 Established Church ?" 
 
 Ten minutes before, he would not have 
 believed Ewey could have understood the 
 wording of this sentence. 
 
 "The Established Church? Oh yes. Dis 
 senters are rarely men of position in Eng 
 land." 
 
 " Then your father " began the foreman. 
 He checked himself. 
 
 Ewey rolled over on his side and looked up 
 at his superior. 
 
 "What do you want to know?" He held up 
 three fingers as he spoke. " There is my story
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 a rule-of-three. Given, a younger son of a 
 younger son of an impoverished younger son. 
 Result a poor devil worth thirteen and a half 
 cents an hour, working eleven hours a day one 
 week and thirteen hours by night the next, and 
 twenty-four hours at a stretch in the long turn 
 every other week. This on three meals a day, 
 composed of tin -pail for breakfast, ditto for 
 dinner, ditto for supper. If you want to make 
 money invent a cheap metal that doesn't taint 
 the honest laborer's food." 
 
 The grossness of speech and accent usual to 
 him had partially fallen off. He spoke with 
 those careful inflections and the trained voice 
 that belong to an Englishman of refinement. 
 His companion, looking with the eyes of an 
 imaginative man into the mocking face before 
 him, saw it as the blurred photograph of a 
 finely cut original. He recognized that the 
 defiant blue eyes might once have been only 
 dare-devil and merry, the figure, now over-de 
 veloped by toil, once that of the trained athlete, 
 the too serpentine poise of the head, spirited 
 and aristocratic. 
 
 " Having known a life utterly different," said 
 the foreman, " how do you stand the laborer's 
 world ? I won my present position by a six- 
 months' novitiate as a workman ; but if I had 
 not known that the theoretical knowledge in 
 my head was there as a ladder by which to 
 climb out, I could never have stood it. You 
 85
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 have no such hope ahead. How can you stand 
 it?" 
 
 The workman stretched himself out on his 
 back again and laughed. 
 
 " Why not ? It's exciting work. Battle, mur 
 der, and sudden death are all here. Besides, 
 at a moment I can quit and go away from this 
 as I came ; or at any time I can crook my el 
 bow with the boys and forget it all." 
 
 He raised his hand to his mouth and flung 
 his head back suggestively. 
 
 " I suspended you for that last month," said 
 the foreman. " If I had known all this I should 
 perhaps have been more lenient." 
 
 Ewey raised his hand quickly. 
 
 " I want no favor. You think me unhappy, 
 don't you ? I am not. I was never unhappy 
 but once in my life. Then every night for 
 three weeks I decided to cut my throat, and 
 every morning I woke up laughing." 
 
 He stopped and laughed again, winking his 
 face as in keen enjoyment of some memory. 
 
 " I was held for twenty-one days," he said. 
 
 " In prison ?" 
 
 " No in the ' tangles of Neaera's hair.' Do 
 you happen to know ' Lycidas ' ?" 
 
 " I know that it is by Milton," said the fore 
 man, wondering. 
 
 " I have the advantage of you. I know ' Ly 
 cidas' by heart. It was my father's favorite 
 poem, and he made me learn it as a punish- 
 86
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 ment for pinning a towel to his surplice at the 
 back. I have enjoyed many advantages. I 
 suppose you never had the advantage of find 
 ing yourself in the streets of London without 
 a penny in your pocket either?" 
 
 " No," said the young foreman, gently. " I 
 have never been abroad." 
 
 He was choosing his words carefully lest he 
 should jar an atmosphere in which the man 
 before him had for a time returned to first 
 conditions, and flowed into his proper level as 
 naturally as water obeying its law. 
 
 This foreman had only known Ewey previ 
 ously as a workman who looked him straight 
 in the eye, on whom he could ever depend in 
 a crisis, and to whom he spoke rarely, save to 
 issue an order, then with shortness and deci 
 sion. He knew now that this last had been an 
 unconscious recognition of inability to obtain 
 obedience, except of Ewey's choice. 
 
 " London is not a nice place to find yourself 
 in at night when you haven't a penny," said 
 Ewey. " I suppose I lost my head a little or 
 Neaera wouldn't have caught me ; still, I was 
 pretty green. I think I was the oldest and the 
 youngest and the greenest and the wickedest 
 of the honored sons of my college when I ran 
 away from Alma Mater." 
 
 " You are a college graduate ?" 
 
 " Not much ! I ran away, anticipating a less 
 voluntary exit. But I took my humble degree 
 87
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 in college opinion as a tumbler. I was the best 
 there. A travelling circus accepted me greed 
 ily as such. This thunder to-night is a mur 
 mur to the applause I caught at the perform 
 ances. The manager doubled my salary in the 
 first month." 
 
 "And did no one recognize you ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; besides, I got tired of the life as I 
 shall of this, and ran away again before long." 
 
 " To what ?" 
 
 " Everything. A tumbler knows how to fall 
 on his feet. I had no particular trouble until 
 I met Nea^ra." 
 
 He laughed again, burying his hand in the 
 cat's soft fur, drawing it between his fingers 
 as he rambled on easily through his story. 
 
 " I met Neaera in London. I had about come 
 to the end of things then. I thought I might 
 as well go home for a time and take breath. 
 But I came in on one side of London at ten 
 o'clock at night ; home lay miles out on the 
 other side. My money gave out with my sup 
 per. I suppose you have camped out under 
 hedges ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," said the young foreman ; " many 
 times when a boy." 
 
 " I had been on the tramp for days, but if 
 I didn't long for a hedge to roll under that 
 night ! I thought the population of London 
 must be policemen. I never sat down but one 
 came along. My feet were so sore I could
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 hardly move. I felt as though I had scrubbed 
 them off tramping and was walking on the raw 
 stumps. I have thought I was tired here on 
 the twenty - four hour turn sometimes, but 
 when I remember that night I feel as fresh as 
 paint." 
 
 The young foreman's mind went harking 
 back to some " long turns " he had himself 
 known. He shook his head. 
 
 " I have never known greater weariness than 
 the long turn myself," he said. " In the last 
 six hours of one I have sometimes ceased to 
 care if I lived or died. Where did you go 
 finally?" 
 
 " Straight to Neaera's tangles. I was crawl 
 ing along at a limp when I saw an old church 
 near me with stone buttresses. I decided that 
 it might do to creep behind one of them, where 
 I could sit with my head on my knees, and 
 sleep. I squeezed in behind the stones, and 
 was just about to crouch down in the corner, 
 when I struck against something soft that said, 
 'O ouch!' It was Neasra." 
 
 "A woman?" 
 
 " A woman, and a clever one, I tell you. Just 
 as she screeched I heard the patrolman's steps 
 outside, so I clapped my hand over her mouth 
 and held her. When he had gone I said, ' My 
 dear, I am very sorry to disturb you, but you 
 will have to share your quarters, such as they 
 are, and I hope I haven't hurt you I didn't
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 mean to ; I only wanted the officer to get by.' 
 Then I took my hand from her mouth and let 
 her go. I thought she would yell again, but 
 she didn't. She only said, quite coolly, that I 
 was welcome and no offence taken. I thought 
 she seemed like a good-natured, sensible girl, 
 so I told her as we were both in the same hole, 
 and that not a very big one, two heads being 
 better than one, perhaps we might find a way 
 out of it. ' I'm not a London man,' I said, 
 ' so I know none of the tricks of the trade. Is 
 there any place here where people can sleep 
 for nothing ?' I knew one trick by heart before 
 she got through with me ! 
 
 " ' Yes,' she said, after a minute, ' there is a 
 place, but they wouldn't let you or me in.' 
 
 " ' Why not ?' I asked. 
 
 " ' Well, it's only for married people.' 
 
 " ' Come right along,' I said ; ' who'll know 
 whether we are married or not ?' 
 
 " ' Oh yes, they will know, too,' said she. 
 ' They always ask, and you wouldn't lie about 
 it, would you ?' 
 
 " ' I'd do more than that for a spot to lie down 
 on,' I said. ' Where is the place ?' 
 
 " ' Round the corner from here ; but you'd 
 have to do more than lie and more than I'll 
 do. They'd make us both swear to it before 
 they'd let us in.' 
 
 " I was so worn out, my knees were like water 
 and my head swam. ' Come on,' I said, ' I'm 
 90
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 game for that, too. Come on, like a good girl 
 now.' And, if you believe me, I thought I had 
 a hard time persuading her to it. 
 
 " When we got to the house, she leading the 
 way, we were taken to a kind of office, and 
 there I swore, by all I held, or didn't hold, holy, 
 that Neaera was my wife, and that I, Hugh 
 
 , never mind the rest, was named Joseph 
 
 Daw." 
 
 " Then your Christian name is Hugh , 
 
 not Ewey?" said the foreman. 
 
 " Hugh, Hughie 'Ugh, Ewey. It depends 
 entirely on your station in life. The circus 
 people over there called me ' 'Ughy.' It stuck, 
 somehow, and crossed the water with me in 
 another spelling. 
 
 "Well, to go on, the matron of the place 
 took Neaera off with her down a long corridor, 
 and a janitor carried me off down another long 
 corridor into a room full of beds with sleeping 
 men in them. He pointed out an empty bed 
 to me and I tumbled in, thinking it the easiest- 
 earned bunk I ever slept in. It didn't seem to 
 me that I had been asleep for ten minutes be 
 fore somebody shook my shoulder and woke 
 me. Then I saw that it was early morning, 
 and the men around me were dragging them 
 selves out of their beds. A tall man, with 
 round spectacles and a big nose, had his hand 
 
 on me 
 
 u t 
 
 Joseph Daw,' he said ' Joseph Daw. 
 91
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 That's your name, isn't it ?' I was about to 
 say it wasn't, when he added, ' You came in 
 last night late, didn't you ?' 
 
 " Then I remembered, and thanked the Lord 
 I hadn't spoken, and that he had told me my 
 name, which I couldn't have told him then for 
 my neck. 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' I said. 
 
 " ' Then your wife is doing very well, and you 
 have a fine boy.' " 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the foreman. 
 
 Ewey beat his hand upon the ground in an 
 ecstasy of enjoyment. The tears started from 
 his eyes, which were screwed up with laughter. 
 
 " That's what I said," he cried, between his 
 gasps. "And the doctor ('twas he who came to 
 tell me) laughed in my face and went out." 
 
 " Ewey," said the foreman, " you don't 
 mean " 
 
 " Yes, I do," answered Ewey. " Did you ever 
 hear of anything as clever as that woman ? I 
 sat up on the side of my bed and thought it 
 was a nightmare. I suppose I must have look 
 ed queer, for the man from the next bed asked 
 me if I were sick. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I answered, ' powerful sick. Look 
 here don't tell I asked you but what sort of 
 a place is this, anyway ?' 
 
 " ' How did you get here if you don't know ?' 
 he said. ' It's a Maternity Hospital.' 
 
 " ' A Maternity Hospital ! Then what are 
 92
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 you and I doing here ?' He looked at me with 
 his head on one side. 
 
 " ' Say, you must have been mighty drunk 
 when you came in last night,' said he. 'We're 
 here to work out the doctor's bill and the 
 medicines and the board for the missus and 
 the kid.' " 
 
 The foreman burst into irrepressible laugh 
 ter. 
 
 " Ewey," he cried, " I don't believe one word 
 of it. You are making up this story as you 
 tell it." 
 
 " So help me ! I'm not. That morning I saw 
 the name in big gold letters over the door in 
 the sunlight, and I saw the iron gate and the 
 iron railings around the grounds, too. I can 
 see them now. There I was, and there I had 
 to stay, breaking stones for that hussy and 
 her baby's board for twenty-one days. Afraid 
 to say a word, I was. She fixed that the first 
 thing. They let me go in to see her ' for just 
 a minute,' they said, and showed me the baby. 
 O Lord, it was awful ! She lay there watch 
 ing me like a crab. I just said one word to 
 her through my teeth when I bent my head 
 down over her to fool the nurse. * You little 
 fiend !' said I. 
 
 " ' You perjurer !' says she. ' It's ten years 
 for perjury, you know. You swore you were 
 my husband !' 
 
 " I was scared out of saying another word. I 
 93
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 didn't know what the law was. There I stayed, 
 sir, all those twenty-one days, mad enough to 
 kill her and myself one minute, and my insides 
 all tickled with laughter the next. If it had 
 only been breaking stones, that wouldn't have 
 been so bad, but they let me, let me, as a favor, 
 clean myself up to sit by the bed and see her 
 and the baby ! That was what took the man 
 out of me." 
 
 "And you both played it out to the end?" 
 
 "To the end, sir." 
 
 Ewey had been gradually dropping back 
 more and more into the manner and the ver 
 nacular of the workman. 
 
 The storm was now farther off, the lightning 
 less vivid, the thunder more muttering than 
 threatening. The cat, stretching her legs and 
 arching her back, disengaged herself from her 
 human comrades, walking off with stiff tail. 
 The tenseness of the atmosphere was relaxing, 
 the vague echo of a past which had waked mo 
 mentarily in the workman was dying also. 
 
 "When that twenty-one days ended," he said, 
 "we walked out of the door side by side as 
 man and wife down the long plank - walk to 
 the iron gate of the grounds, she carrying the 
 baby. I saw her watching and watching me, 
 and putting her fingers to her eyes. When we 
 got to the gate, says she, 'Jo,' with a sniffle, 
 ' hold the baby a minute. I want to get my 
 handkerchief out of my pocket.' 
 94
 
 AN ECHO 
 
 " 'All right,' I said, real sweetly. I was watch 
 ing the man at the gate. I began to hold out 
 my arms slowly like, but just as the gate open 
 ed I made one dash. I never stopped running 
 for miles. I could hear her calling after me. 
 She may be standing there calling yet " 
 
 An impatient voice from the other side of 
 the furnace broke in: 
 
 " Here you, Ewey," it growled, " I want you 
 to quit your lying round, sharp, and give a 
 hand on this sledge." 
 
 It was the furnace-keeper, known as Rocky 
 Mountain, from his birthplace and his nature. 
 The cinder was ready to be tapped from the 
 furnace. The other helpers were at work 
 at the cinder - notch. Ewey moved leisurely, 
 slouching to his feet with a carelessness which 
 did not conceal the enormous power of his 
 muscular and nervous force. Rocky Moun 
 tain was not apt to " fool " with Ewey. Once, 
 in a fit of rage, the latter had chased the keeper 
 from the "pig-bed" with a red-hot crow-bar, 
 and the circumstance was not forgotten by 
 either. 
 
 "Comin'," answered Ewey, easily. "Good 
 night, sir." 
 
 He stepped to the other side of the furnace, 
 where a volley of abuse greeted him, which he 
 answered in kind and more. The foreman 
 listened, still sitting thoughtfully in his corner. 
 The busy life of the furnace was again resumed 
 95
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 in preparation for the midnight cast. He could 
 hear Rocky Mountain growling and swearing 
 at his helpers as usual. Under his directions 
 the drill, which was to pick open the tapping- 
 hole and let loose the molten iron, now ready 
 and white-hot inside the great crater, was be 
 ing rammed backward and forward in regular 
 strokes by a number of men. 
 
 They began to sing in a rude melody, keep 
 ing time. Most of the singers were negroes, 
 but a white man's mocking voice, which the 
 foreman recognized, was leading them. He 
 improvised, singing a line alone, which the rest 
 caught up in chorus : 
 
 ' ' Rocky Mountain grumbling /" 
 
 sang Ewey, clearly ; and the negroes followed, 
 gutturally : 
 
 " Rocky Mountain grum-mer-lin ! 
 
 Yes, Lord! 
 
 Rocky Mountain grum-mer-lin ! 
 Yes, Lord ! Drive her in !" 
 
 Again the solo : 
 
 " Better quit your grumbling !" 
 Chorus : 
 
 ' ' Yes, Lord ! Better quit your grum-mer-lin \ 
 Drive her in !" 
 
 Solo (high and derisive) : 
 
 "Ewey, he's a-coming !" 
 96
 
 AN ECHO 
 Chorus again : 
 
 " Yes, Lord !" 
 Solo: 
 
 "His crow-bar in his hand!" 
 
 This sally died away amid roars of laughter. 
 The foreman rose and walked to the tapping- 
 hole. 
 
 Ewey, his arms and chest bared, was work 
 ing at the drill, his great muscles moving with 
 power and regularity. 
 
 " One muck of a hole, boss. She's clean 
 through to the other side," he said, coarsely, 
 and with an oath added. 
 
 He was the workman only. His fellows 
 laughed again. The young foreman looked 
 long at him, and did not reply. 
 
 " God only knows whether Hugh or Ewey is 
 the real man," he thought, as he turned away ; 
 but in his heart he believed that it was and had 
 ever been Ewey.
 
 " THROW up the left jump with the right. 
 Throw up the right jump with the left," 
 chanted Madame Jeanne in time with the 
 music ; and herself suiting the action to the 
 word, she sprang high and twirled low be 
 fore her pupils with the most surprising 
 agility ; for Madame Jeanne was no longer 
 young. 
 
 " Oh no, no !" cried she, still with the music 
 and looking back over her shoulder at her im 
 itators, who paused in confusion. " It is Mrs. 
 Schuyler who is all wrong again." 
 
 The music stopped as madame hurried to 
 seize one of the breathless dancers by the 
 waist, drawing her into proper position. 
 
 " Here is the trouble," said Madame Jeanne, 
 reproachfully. "You have left your corsets 
 on again." 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler reddened and released herself 
 with a petulant little wriggle of vexation. 
 
 "I can't help it, madame. I can't, indeed. 
 I feel too disconnected without them." 
 
 "As you will," said madame, with a shrug. 
 98
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 "Come on, ladies music again. Throw up 
 the left jump with the right." 
 
 After all, it mattered very little if that class 
 never learned its skirt-dance. It was to them 
 but a new amusement, a freak, an excuse to 
 buy a gaudy costume with queer, blunt-toed 
 slippers and round, fluttering skirts. The only 
 good that could ever come of these lessons 
 might be a little added grace and a little 
 healthy exercise. 
 
 " The rich have queer fancies," thought ma- 
 dame, as she wove out the figures before her 
 class ; but then, their money was as good as 
 that of the professional dancers she taught, 
 and if they liked spending it so, why, throw up 
 the left jump with the right. It was all one 
 to madame. 
 
 So madame thought, and Mrs. Schuyler was 
 perhaps the only one of the class who under 
 stood and half resented the retired artiste's 
 unconscious contempt of these amateurs. In 
 her day Madame Jeanne had been a celeb 
 rity ; but now, with her own gray hair un 
 covered and her once beaux yeux hid behind 
 round spectacles, she leaped and bounded in 
 her incongruous gauze and spangles before 
 large classes of both professionals and am 
 ateurs. 
 
 "The old thing actually dignifies her pro 
 fession," thought Mrs. Schuyler, with a smile. 
 " Well, I suppose it is a good thing. I almost 
 99
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 wish I had a profession. How glad she is to 
 be rid of us." 
 
 The clock had struck, and madame moved 
 with waving arms and tripping feet to the head 
 of the room, where she stood kissing her hand 
 and courtesying low to each pupil as she filed 
 out. 
 
 " Ah, my dear little Fairy !" cried madame, 
 in a new voice, springing forward. "Come, 
 come ; I am ready for you." 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler, who had been the last to 
 move, looked back to see a little girl enter the 
 room and run to madame, flinging her arms 
 about the old dancer's neck. Madame Jeanne 
 embraced her pupil with equal effusion. She 
 was a pretty little thing about seven years old, 
 with a vain, foolish little face, as much in keep 
 ing with her spangles and tulle as madame's 
 appearance was out of harmony with hers. 
 Mrs. Schuyler was moved to look, in the dress 
 ing-room glass, at her own black and pink 
 voluminous gauzes, comparing them with her 
 face. 
 
 " It suits, and it does not," she decided. " I 
 am not so frivolous as I look." 
 
 In her heart there was anything but frivol 
 ity. She was, in fact, waiting for the pain 
 which clutched her weak back to subside be 
 fore she began to dress for the street. Not 
 for worlds would she have confessed that the 
 strong corset she obstinately wore was clung
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 to as a support. The relief its clasp gave her 
 might be temporary, injurious in the end, but 
 the pain without that artificial strength was 
 more than she could bring herself to endure. 
 Perhaps, after all, this exercise was bad for 
 her ; still she would try it a little longer, as 
 she had tried everything else. 
 
 She was in no hurry. The rest of the class, 
 laughing and chatting, were in process of 
 change from butterfly raiment to more or less 
 severe street costumes. Some had already 
 gone, but Mrs. Schuyler was still idling. 
 
 " Over again over again over ; fine, fine, 
 my Fairy !" came from behind the curtained 
 door which led to the dancing-hall, and Mrs. 
 Schuyler peeped in through the folds. 
 
 The little pupil was turning like a wheel 
 about the room on hands and feet. Madame's 
 eyes gleamed behind her glasses ; she was clap 
 ping her hands. 
 
 " Poor little dot !" murmured Mrs. Schuyler. 
 
 " I'm tired," said the child, bounding to her 
 feet at last. She walked to the side of the 
 room and there leaned into the arms of an 
 other child who had sat watching her a small 
 boy not very much older than herself, but with 
 an elderly little face. The protecting air with 
 which he received the younger child was posi 
 tively maternal. 
 
 " They should both be in their beds by now," 
 thought Mrs. Schuyler.
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 The boy's face troubled her somehow. It 
 was as a familiar sight to her, or reminded her 
 of well - known features. Yet she could not 
 place him. He. was oddly dressed in a fantas 
 tic plaid suit, ill -made and ill-fitting, which 
 added to the uneasiness of his unchildlike 
 look. The private class, passing out in groups, 
 paused at the hall door outside to watch the 
 little professional. Madame was proud to show 
 off her pupil. 
 
 " You will hear from Fairy," she said, com 
 placently. " She has great talent jump high 
 er, little one higher. An audience helps her, 
 you see higher." Mrs. Schuyler could hear 
 the applause and the thoughtlessly open flat 
 tery of the child. 
 
 " Poor little dot !" she thought again. " I 
 wonder if she has a mother." 
 
 She glanced into the room once more and 
 then turned resolutely away. She had never 
 liked to watch children since the hour she 
 learned that the delicate little blossom she 
 had held in the hollow of her arm for one short 
 day was the only bloom she might ever expect. 
 She was herself too delicate a plant to flower 
 and live. Whenever she was reminded of that 
 one brief day the pain at her heart was so 
 great as to make her vow forgetfulness, and 
 so, as she had taught herself to do, she turned 
 from the sight of the children in the dancing- 
 hall and went back to her toilet. She was alone
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 in the dressing-room when she was finally ready 
 to leave, and as she passed out she paused in 
 voluntarily to watch the lesson, which was still 
 in progress. 
 
 " You are careless," madame was saying, 
 severely. " Now do all that over again." 
 
 " The music's wrong," fretted the child. 
 
 " The music is right. Drop that handker 
 chief behind you and pick it up again." 
 
 Madame stamped her foot and the child 
 whimpered, but, as she was bidden, dropped 
 the handkerchief behind her close to her heels, 
 and bent backward to reach it with her hand 
 thrust over her head until it seemed to Mrs. 
 Schuyler the little spine must break. 
 
 " Oh, but that must hurt her," she cried, ad 
 vancing ; " and she's such a baby." 
 
 Madame laughed. 
 
 " That that's nothing. I could pick up the 
 handkerchief in a flash before I grew old. You 
 like it, don't you, my pet ? and you did it beau 
 tifully this time." 
 
 The child sprang into madame's arms and 
 was caressed. 
 
 " Where is the boy ?" asked Mrs. Schuyler. 
 
 " There," said madame, pointing to the win 
 dow. 
 
 A boy of the same size as the one Mrs. 
 Schuyler had seen was standing at the win 
 dow, peering with childish interest into the 
 street where the carriages were passing. 
 103
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " That's not the same child," said Mrs. Schuy- 
 ler ; " he has on a tweed suit, and the little boy 
 I saw was dressed in plaid. Where is he ?" 
 
 "Here," cried madame, laughing, "show the 
 lady the front of your trousers." 
 
 The little boy obediently came forward at 
 her call, his head hanging, his face scarlet. Ma 
 dame laughed loudly with unthinking cruelty. 
 
 " His mamma," she explained, " is very poor. 
 She had those remnants, each only enough 
 for half a suit, so she asked him if he would 
 rather have one leg of plaid and one of tweed, 
 or have the back and the front of the trousers 
 different ; and he said he'd have it as it is, be 
 cause then people might think he was two 
 boys." 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler could not help smiling, but she 
 looked at the abashed lashes lying on the boy's 
 red cheeks, and sat down in a chair, drawing 
 the child kindly into her arm. 
 
 " That's just what I did think. I believed 
 you were two boys. You were a clever little 
 fellow to choose so." 
 
 " His mother made the suit herself," said 
 madame, in a laughing aside. " She doesn't 
 sew well." 
 
 " The little girl is dressed very differently," 
 answered Mrs. Schuyler, looking at the gor 
 geous spangles and expensive gauze decking 
 the small creature. 
 
 Madame shrugged her shoulders. " That's 
 104
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 another matter. The girl is a genius. She 
 will support the whole family in time. She has 
 danced in a few private houses and at a club 
 dinner already. Between ourselves, the mother 
 is a lazy piece. Any one may support her who 
 will. She would never work." 
 
 " I would have scrubbed before I dressed the 
 poor boy in that clown costume," murmured 
 Mrs. Schuyler, indignantly. " It's cruelty to 
 the child." 
 
 " Oh, he," said madame, lightly ; " he is not 
 the favorite. When the little girl is bad mam 
 ma whips him." 
 
 The aside was not with carefully lowered 
 voice. Mrs. Schuyler saw the boy dart an 
 ashamed look at her, saw his unchildlike gray 
 eyes fall and his mouth twitch. Suddenly she 
 recognized the likeness which had before caught 
 her attention. 
 
 " What is your name ?" she asked him. 
 
 " George," answered the child. 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler started. She turned quickly 
 to the little girl, who hung back, but not with 
 real shyness ; that she had lost, if she had ever 
 possessed it. 
 
 " My name's Fairy," she volunteered. 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler scanned the bold, foolish little 
 face with keen eyes, and apparently did not 
 find there what she sought, but her eyes fast 
 ened on a pair of gold armlets which held the 
 short gauze sleeves in place. 
 105
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "And who gave you these ?" she asked, rising 
 and touching the armlets. 
 
 The boy replied. 
 
 " They were father's once. He wore them 
 put together as a watch-chain." 
 
 The color flew to Mrs. Schuyler's face. 
 
 "Where do these children come from? Who 
 are they ?" she asked Madame Jeanne, abruptly. 
 
 Madame walked to the side of the room, and 
 from among the numberless pictures of pos 
 turing professionals and framed testimonials 
 from managers and patrons, she selected one 
 of the writings, which she brought to Mrs. 
 Schuyler. 
 
 " Blood will tell," said madame. " This is 
 from the manager of that child's grandmother. 
 Ah, she could dance ! I taught her all the last 
 year before her debut." 
 
 The testimonial was a half-jesting tribute to 
 Madame Jeanne as a teacher, and was signed 
 by a well-known manager. " Madame La Coste 
 shows that she has been trained by a master- 
 hand or foot," the writing ended. 
 
 " That," said madame, with pride, pointing 
 to the dancer's name "that is my Fairy's 
 grandmamma, Madame La Coste. You may 
 have heard of her." 
 
 " And the child's mother ?" 
 
 " She also is named La Coste Sara La 
 Coste." 
 
 " La Coste !" repeated Mrs. Schuyler. 
 106
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 Madame raised her eyebrows and turned to 
 hang the testimonial on its nail. 
 
 " I never gossip, I never question, Sara is 
 known to me by her mother's name only, and 
 I teach the little one for the sake of her dead 
 grandmamma. The children live not far from 
 here. They come alone. The boy brings the 
 girl." 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler hesitated for a moment, look 
 ing from one child to the other. 
 
 " I will take them home in my carriage," she 
 said, suddenly, "if you will give me the ad 
 dress and if the lesson is over." 
 
 "As you will," said madame thinking again 
 " the rich have queer fancies." 
 
 Mr. Schuyler was standing before his dress 
 ing-room mirror, trying to fit an old-fashioned 
 white peruke upon his head. His costume led 
 up to the wig, which was the finishing-touch. 
 A painted sketch of George III. in full court 
 dress stood on the toilet-table as a model for 
 frequent consultation. The masquerader, ab 
 sorbed in his toilet, missed hearing a rap at 
 his door, and started when it was more loudly 
 repeated. The door opened before he could 
 reply, and Mrs. Schuyler entered, starting back 
 in turn as her husband faced her. He laughed 
 and came forward, a man seemingly of rather 
 serious mould for a masquerade. In his ordi 
 nary garb he was what might have been term- 
 107
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 ed unimportant-looking, but he had a kindly, 
 sympathetic face. 
 
 " Don't you remember it's ' Old Christ 
 mas'?" he said, pleasantly. "This is our night 
 of misrule at the club. Do I look like a 
 fool ?" 
 
 He turned to the glass, and, receiving no an 
 swer, went on : " If I do, I suit the character 
 of my namesake. I suppose George III. was a 
 fool, wasn't he? ' What what what' that's 
 my catch-word, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Those are the very words I have come to 
 say," replied Mrs. Schuyler. " Yes, I had for 
 gotten 'Old Christmas.' George, I want to ask 
 you a question. Did you ever see these be 
 fore ?" 
 
 Mr. Schuyler turned from the glass quickly. 
 
 " Dear, has anything happened ?" he asked. 
 " You look faint. I am afraid this dancing is 
 bad for you. Sit here." 
 
 He rolled an easy-chair near her, and, as if 
 accustomed to thus caring for her, drew his 
 wife into it and arranged the cushions ; only 
 then would he turn to the armlets she still 
 held out impatiently. 
 
 " These ?" he said, taking the armlets from 
 her. He lowered his voice and hesitated. " I 
 gave these to you, dear, not long ago. You used 
 them for a day." 
 
 "No no," she cried, shrinking. "I have 
 those laid away with the the other things." 
 108
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 Mr. Schuyler turned the links over in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Why, these belonged to James," he said. 
 " We each had a pair exactly alike. They be 
 longed to my mother and her twin - sister. 
 James wore his as a watch - chain. See, here 
 are the marks where they were riveted to 
 gether." 
 
 " I thought I remembered your telling me 
 so," said Mrs. Schuyler. 
 
 " How did you get them ?" her husband 
 asked. 
 
 She only replied, " Tell me something of 
 James's life abroad." 
 
 Mr. Schuyler frowned slightly. " I think you 
 know as much about it as I do. It is not a pleas 
 ant subject. He was too young to have lived 
 abroad alone, but as the younger brother I 
 could do nothing to prevent.it." 
 
 " Did he really marry the woman ?" 
 
 "Yes, that was all regular, fortunately or 
 unfortunately." 
 
 " And her name ?" 
 
 " Was Sara La Coste. She was the daugh 
 ter of a French opera-dancer connected with 
 an English company. James met her in Lon 
 don." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Schuyler. " I thought that 
 was the name. Go on." 
 
 " I can only tell you further that they went 
 to Paris to live and were unhappy together. 
 109
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 They parted after a very few years. I am un 
 der the impression that James settled a small 
 fortune upon her and left her. But I only 
 know that he came home alone, and has been 
 I can't say delicate, but very reticent on the 
 subject. And now tell me why you ask all 
 this." 
 
 " First, had they children ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I imagine so. James was, 
 as I say, reticent over the whole matter. I 
 asked him once if there were children, but as 
 he chose to answer, foolishly, 'Oh, about a 
 dozen or so,' I really don't know what is the 
 truth." 
 
 " I know," said Mrs. Schuyler. " The woman 
 still calls herself Sara La Coste. She is now 
 in this city and very poor. There are two chil 
 dren, and I have them in the library down 
 stairs. No, I am not raving," she laughed, in 
 reply to her husband's anxious look. " I found 
 the two children at Madame Jeanne's, and as 
 soon as I learned their names and saw these 
 armlets I believed I knew who they were, and 
 so I have brought them straight home to you 
 a boy and a girl our own nephew and niece. 
 James can't know all that is happening. The 
 girl is taking charity lessons from madame with 
 a view to the stage and supporting her wretch 
 ed mother. She has already danced in semi- 
 public; and the boy oh, I don't mind about the 
 girl so much, she is like her mother, I know she
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 is but the boy is one of us ; so like you he 
 might have been ours, and he has your name. 
 James must have named him for you. The 
 mother dresses the girl like a princess and the 
 boy like a clown. He is pitiably neglected, 
 and looks so cowed and wretched and ill-treat 
 ed that he made my heart sick." 
 
 She broke down with an excited sob, and 
 rising with a nervous movement looked into 
 the dressing-table mirror. " Oh, why do women 
 who don't deserve them or care for them have 
 children ? If I were only strong, George ! Look 
 at me now. With just a little excitement, a 
 nervous wreck." She looked contemptuously 
 at the reflection of her delicate face " a piece 
 of faded pink calico ; that is what I look 
 like." 
 
 Her husband drew her back into her chair, 
 his arm about her. 
 
 " Pink calico fits my needs better than bro 
 cade," he said, soothingly. "James tried the 
 brocade." 
 
 " But I am so worthless. What do I make 
 of my life or yours ?" 
 
 "You only make me perfectly happy," he 
 answered. " Stop grieving, dearest ; am not 
 I more to you than ten sons ? Come, tell me 
 more of the children. Do I understand you 
 have stolen them ?" 
 
 " Yes, for the time I have. I wanted you to 
 see them. James must be told at once. Some- 
 iii
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 thing must be done. Come with me to the 
 library and see the children yourself." 
 
 They went down the stairs together, and 
 Mrs. Schuyler opened the door. Her husband 
 paused at the threshold, looking in at the two 
 children, who stared at him in turn. 
 
 " Do they look like the children of your 
 brother, or like those of a circus-rider ?" asked 
 Mrs. Schuyler. 
 
 The little ones had thrown aside their outer 
 wraps, and Mr. Schuyler uttered an exclama 
 tion as he looked at the two variegated cos 
 tumes. 
 
 " The girl is as badly dealt with as the boy, 
 if in another way," whispered Mrs. Schuyler. 
 
 " They are both a disgrace. If I can force 
 him here, James shall see them just as we see 
 them now indecent little parroquets." 
 
 "But I am sure he cannot know." 
 
 Mr. Schuyler shook his head. 
 
 " You have more faith in James than I have. 
 It is his place to know." 
 
 " Where shall you find him at this hour ?" 
 
 Mr. Schuyler looked at his watch. " I'll find 
 him at the club by now. He is their chosen 
 king of misrule to-night and his own every 
 other night, I think. This is disgraceful !" He 
 looked again at the children, whom he had not 
 approached. 
 
 " I can't feel that they are of our blood," he 
 said. " They look like little mountebanks."
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 " Not the boy," said Mrs. Schuyler, quickly. 
 
 " No," admitted Mr. Schuyler. " Not the boy, 
 in spite of his clothing." He turned to the 
 door, but his wife intercepted him. 
 
 " You must not leave them alone with me," 
 she cried, tremulously. " The mother might 
 be looking for them. Madame Jeanne would 
 give her my address. I am not able to face a 
 scene. Take the children with you. You can 
 leave them in the carriage outside the club 
 and bring James out to them." 
 
 " Will they go with me ?" asked Mr. Schuy 
 ler. 
 
 " Oh yes," she replied, sorrowfully. " They 
 came with me unquestioningly. They obey 
 any one who orders them, just as little poor 
 children do. Do take them with you." 
 
 Mr. Schuyler still hesitated. 
 
 " There is just the chance that they are not 
 James's children, after all. It seems a risk to 
 run off yet farther with them. I am not as 
 adventurous a spirit as you are," he added, 
 smiling. " I shall never die with my boots on, 
 as you probably will." 
 
 " They must belong to James," insisted Mrs. 
 Schuyler. " Don't you see how like you the 
 boy is ? It makes my heart ache to look at 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, he is like me. I suppose I must follow 
 your plan. If the mother should pursue us tell 
 her I am taking the children back to her. Give 
 H 113
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 me her address, by the way, for if James dis 
 owns them or will not take them, they must 
 go back to their mother, I suppose." 
 
 " How hardly you judge James," Mrs. Schuy- 
 ler interrupted. " If they are >his he will of 
 course take them. James likes me better than 
 he does you. Tell him it was I who found the 
 children, and I who sent them to him. Tell 
 him they are an Old Christmas gift from me 
 to him." 
 
 Mr. Schuyler did not understand children ; 
 he was always shy with them, and having none 
 of his own he was ignorant of their needs. It 
 was, therefore, a somewhat serious matter to 
 him to look across the carriage at his two 
 strange charges, sitting obediently on the nar 
 row seat opposite. He could think of nothing 
 to say to them, and needed to consider how best 
 to approach his brother concerning them ; but 
 when he opened the carriage door and stepped 
 out to the street before his club-house the light 
 from the entrance lanterns streamed in and he 
 began to regret his long silence. 
 
 " Fairy's scared," whispered the boy, point 
 ing to his sister. He himself was very white 
 of face, and his eyes were round and inquiring. 
 
 Mr. Schuyler could see, in the corner of the 
 seat, a tossed mass of gauze and spangles half 
 covered by the coarse wrap the child wore. 
 She was sobbing with terror, and yet, as Mrs. 
 Schuyler had noted, was painfully submissive, 
 114
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 for, supposing she was to be lifted from the 
 carriage, she scrambled down backward from 
 the seat, and, shaken with sobs, turned her wet 
 face to the door, holding out her arms to be 
 taken. 
 
 Mr. Schuyler was a kind-hearted man, and 
 the sight vanquished him. It was impossible 
 to leave the little ones outside and alone in the 
 carriage, nor could he bring himself to give up 
 his mission and return to his wife unsuccess 
 ful. In the end he compromised by ordering 
 that the carriage should be driven about the 
 block until the children were reassured by him, 
 and until he believed the most tardy revellers 
 must have arrived for their night of misrule. 
 Then he made a hasty dash up the club steps 
 with a child clinging to each hand. As an old 
 member every corner of the building was fa 
 miliar to him, and he hurried to a small cloak 
 room, too small for use, he knew, on this 
 crowded night. As he dragged the staring chil 
 dren through the halls lined with Christmas- 
 trees and gay with gilded wreaths, a passing 
 glance in a mirror made Mr. Schuyler hasten 
 his steps. He realized for the first time what 
 a curious group they made, he in his royal 
 dress and the children as fantastically arrayed 
 as if they, too, were part of the Old Christmas 
 revels. They met no one on the way, however, 
 except a smiling servant, who evidently ac 
 cepted the trio as a part of the evening's pag- 
 "5
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 eant. Mr. Schuyler breathed a sigh of relief 
 as he closed the cloak-room door behind him. 
 There was an angry protest in his heart that 
 a man might not sin alone and alone suffer his 
 own consequences, but as these were not the 
 first harvests that the younger brother had 
 reaped for the elder, he smothered his resent 
 ment, and, as usual, did what he could. 
 
 After some coaxing, aided by the boy, who 
 seemed to have regained his wonted self-con 
 trol, Mr. Schuyler persuaded the little girl 
 that she was not afraid to wait for him in the 
 brightly lighted apartment. As soon as he 
 might he left the children together, hurrying 
 to the large hall where he knew his brother 
 would be found. The boyishness which had 
 moved him to plan and dress with genuine 
 pleasure for this night had all been wiped away 
 by the late occurrences of the evening. He 
 now looked down on his costume with disgust, 
 and wondered how he had ever seen amuse 
 ment in such buffoonery. The feeling of dis 
 gust grew on him as he neared the hall, from 
 which he began to hear loud bursts of laugh 
 ter and applause. A crowd of masqueraders 
 gathered about the door met him with genial 
 greetings which he forced himself to return, 
 but it was almost more than his patience could 
 stand to hear on all sides congratulations that 
 he was brother to the man he had come to ar 
 raign with the story of two sadly neglected chil- 
 116
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 dren and a deserted wife. It was evident that 
 James Schuyler was at that moment distin 
 guishing himself in some way most pleasing 
 to his subjects his name was on every lip. 
 Looking up at a stage which had been built 
 at one end of the hall, Mr. Schuyler saw his 
 brother and could have groaned aloud with 
 impatience. There, the life of the evening, 
 the chief actor in a Christmas play written by 
 himself, paraded the king of misrule, witty, 
 brilliant in his improvisations, and glowing 
 with the pleasure of success. 
 
 Mr. Schuyler made his way behind the scenes, 
 and met the triumphant king as he made his 
 exit and the curtain fell. 
 
 " Hello !" said James, genially, as he saw his 
 brother's grave face. " How are you to-night ? 
 I'm just a boy again. Old Christmas comes 
 but once a year. What makes you look so 
 serious, George?" 
 
 " Because I've something serious to say to 
 you," began George, in a lowered voice. 
 
 James laughed. 
 
 " Did I ever see you when you had not ? 
 Worrying over me is what makes your hair 
 grow gray." 
 
 He flicked back a grizzled lock on George's 
 forehead. 
 
 Troubled and hurried as he was, the younger 
 brother could not resist looking up at the 
 black-haired man by him with a half smile. 
 117
 
 J1MTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " We all as a family grow gray early," he 
 said, dryly. "You are peculiarly lucky." 
 
 " None of your sarcasm. I know as well as 
 you do that I dye my hair, but I swear it's not 
 for vanity. It discourages me too much to see 
 the marks of old age creeping on every time I 
 look in the glass. What do you think of the 
 play ?" 
 
 " I have been too troubled to think of it. I 
 must see you alone and at once on a matter of 
 importance." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow," pleaded the king of 
 misrule, " it's utterly impossible for me to talk 
 business now. You must see that yourself. 
 There goes the curtain up again. My cue 
 comes in a moment. Stand here by me," he 
 added, good-humoredly, "and listen a bit. I 
 wrote all the lines for the mummers myself." 
 
 He was as excited as a playwright whose all 
 hangs on the public verdict. In the doubtful 
 passages he gnawed his lip, and where the hits 
 told he rose on tiptoe, his face glowing, his 
 brow triumphant. 
 
 " I can't attend to you now, George. You 
 must see I can't," he repeated, and then brush 
 ing gently past his brother with a courtesy 
 which never failed him, he rushed on the stage 
 as his cue sounded. 
 
 Mr. Schuyler walked back to the body of the 
 hall. It was useless for him to linger there, as 
 he saw, and after the curtain fell for the last 
 118
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 time he had yet to wait patiently and even to 
 make one of the uproarious procession which 
 swept round and round the hall, kept in step 
 by a heavy brass band playing in a balcony 
 overhead. However reluctant, he was forced 
 to the honor of carrying aloft the dish with 
 the old-time boar's-head, while others followed 
 in his train bearing grotesquely inscribed ban 
 ners and high -held dishes containing other 
 emblematic absurdities. Not the least ridicu 
 lous sight in Mr. Schuyler's eyes was that of 
 his own brother being carried in mimic rever 
 ence on a chair at the procession's head. As 
 the procession at last broke rank Mr. Schuyler 
 seized his chance. 
 
 " I must speak with you," he said, resolutely, 
 drawing the king from his throne. "It is im 
 perative. Come away with me quickly." 
 
 " Why not speak here ?" asked James, in 
 dolently. He was vexed at this persistence. 
 " Have you bad news for me?" 
 
 " I don't know what you may call it." 
 
 James Schuyler glanced at his brother with 
 a kind of tolerant affection. " It can't be very 
 bad. Your wife's all right or you wouldn't be 
 here. You show for yourself, so every one I 
 care for is excluded ; and if it's money, it 
 would rather amuse me than otherwise to find 
 myself a pauper. It would give me something 
 to do." 
 
 " Only to ask ' God bless me and my wife, 
 119
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 and my brother George and his wife,' would 
 include more than you do." 
 
 " So," said James, quickly, and with lowered 
 voice. He puckered his lips into a whistle. 
 " Sets the wind in that quarter ? It's Sara, is 
 it ? Go on." 
 
 "This is not the place to speak, but since 
 you insist I must be abrupt. How many chil 
 dren have you, James, and when did you see 
 them last ? I have a reason for asking. Don't 
 evade me as usual." 
 
 " I will not. I have two children, a boy and 
 a girl. The boy I don't remember particularly; 
 he was a good infant, but profoundly uninter 
 esting, both to his mother and to me con 
 tinually reminded me of you, by-the-way. I 
 named him for you. The girl was a little 
 beauty. The last time I saw her was when Sara 
 decided to leave me in France and return to 
 her people in England." 
 
 " Was it she who deserted you, then ?" asked 
 the younger brother, hopefully. 
 
 James shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " It happened so, but if she had not gone 
 then, I should later. I took my family to the 
 steamer in proper marital fashion, and saw 
 them off. I remember that the little girl 
 peeped out and smiled at me through the port 
 hole. She was like the most exquisite minia 
 ture. I have never forgotten that lovely child's 
 face, framed in the round setting. In fact, she
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 is the only one of the party I ever regretted. 
 Have I told you all you want to know ?" 
 
 "Was that last remark born of fatherly in 
 terest, or artistic feeling only? Would you 
 really care to see the child again ? Good God ! 
 there she is !" 
 
 "Who is?" said James, turning. 
 
 A chorus of shouts drowned their voices, 
 and the band above them had burst out into 
 a tumult of dance-music. The masqueraders 
 were all crowding into the middle of the room. 
 
 " You must pardon me, your Majesty," said 
 one of the revellers, drawing near with mock 
 reverences and mincing steps, "but mirth 
 lagged, and as I by chance discovered the sur 
 prise you were holding back for us, I loosed it 
 at once and here it is." 
 
 "Good God !" muttered George again. 
 
 He drew his brother to the edge of the circle 
 which had formed, and thrust a way through 
 for them both. In the midst of the ring of 
 laughing, admiring spectators he saw little 
 Fairy leaping and twirling, her small feet fly 
 ing, and her eyes glowing with elation, as her 
 father's had on the mummers' stage. The 
 heavy beat of the brass band seemed to stimu 
 late her to something more than the usual im 
 mature grace of childish dancing. The blood 
 of artist dancers in her veins answered hotly to 
 the applause and shouts of " Brava !" The mo 
 tions of her arms and bird-like head and eyes
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 were in such perfect accord with her weaving 
 feet as to make each step a wonderfully har 
 monious movement for the whole body. George 
 Schuyler, aghast as he was, paused fascinated, 
 gazing at the inspired little dancer. Adding 
 a final touch to the fantastic scene, the child's 
 flying feet were followed by the little boy, who 
 was vainly striving to catch and hold her. He 
 pursued her about the circle with clumsy mo 
 tions and groping hands which she easily avoid 
 ed by springing to right or left, light as a but 
 terfly and mischievous as a kitten. The entire 
 left side of the boy's face was masked clown- 
 like by a coating of thick white paint spotted 
 with red, and his odd clothing, half of one 
 color, half of another, carried out too faithfully 
 the clown appearance ; but despite disguise his 
 face as plainly expressed a distressed determi 
 nation to hold his sister as hers a mischievous 
 play to avoid him. 
 
 "You are a princely king of misrule," said 
 the reveller who had spoken before. " The 
 clown is fair, sir king, but the girl is an inspi 
 ration. I ventured to add that touch of paint 
 to the clown's face. We had some difficulty 
 in persuading him to his part until you gave 
 the word, but the girl was wild from the time 
 she heard the music." 
 
 " Be careful," whispered George in his broth 
 er's ear. " Those are your two children !" 
 
 He could not be sure that James had heard 
 
 122
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 him, for at that moment the little boy caught 
 sight of George Schuyler and ran to his 
 side. 
 
 "Oh, did you bring us here for this?" he 
 cried, with the pitiful acceptance of one used 
 to being disposed of as others wished. " They 
 told me you did. I wanted to wait for you, 
 but I couldn't hold Fairy back." 
 
 Before George could answer, the king of mis 
 rule had broken through the circle and picked 
 up the pursuit where the boy dropped it. He 
 seized the little sprite by the waist in one of 
 her bounds, and, lifting her yet higher, set her 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 " Who dares to anticipate my surprises ?" he 
 cried, looking around. " Out of my way, there, 
 subjects." 
 
 He forced his way through the laughing cir 
 cle, and then for a moment hesitated, when 
 George, grasping his purpose, caught up the 
 boy and made his way to his brother's side. 
 
 " This way," he whispered, as, closely pursued 
 by the crew of misrule, they rushed down the 
 hallway and just in time flung to the door of 
 the little cloak-room between themselves and 
 their followers. 
 
 " Now," said James, coolly turning the key in 
 the lock, unmindful of shouts from without 
 and blows rained upon the door. " Now, I sup 
 pose I am in the bosom of my family, if what 
 you say is true." 
 
 123
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Look at them, and tell me what you think." 
 
 James dropped into a chair with little Fairy 
 on his knee and took her flushed face between 
 his two hands. There was admiration, but 
 nothing paternal, that George could detect, in 
 his look. However, he stooped and kissed the 
 child before he set her on the floor. 
 
 " That's the same little face that looked out 
 of the port-hole," he said. " Run off and play 
 with your brother. Th*ere are some chess-men 
 in that box in the corner. Wait a moment." 
 This to the boy, whom he caught by the arm 
 as he passed. He laughed and released him 
 after a brief look at the undaubed side of the 
 boy's face. 
 
 " More like you than ever," he said. 
 
 " So Janet thinks," George answered. 
 
 "Janet? What does she know about the 
 children ? Has she seen them ?" 
 
 Mr. Schuyler remembered his wife's mes 
 sage. 
 
 " It was she who found them, and she who 
 told me to bring them to you with her love as 
 her Old Christmas gift to you." 
 
 " Dear old Janet," said the brother-in-law, 
 with more feeling than he had yet shown. 
 " She is the only woman in the world whom I 
 respect, and she's the only being in this world, 
 I honestly believe, who respects me or expects 
 any good of me. Be sure you thank her for 
 me, George. Don't forget. And now, how did 
 124
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 she find them ?" he asked, curiously. " What 
 are they doing on this side of the water ? Have 
 you got Sara hidden somewhere behind the 
 arras ?" 
 
 It was not very much that George knew, but 
 that little he told with all the quiet passion of 
 his nature, dwelling on his wife's discovery of 
 the unfortunate condition of the children, the 
 neglect and evident unhappiness of the boy, 
 and the education of the girl as a public dancer. 
 He was indignant when, as he ended, James 
 burst into a peal of loud laughter, evidently 
 long suppressed. 
 
 " Oh, Sara Sara," said the amused husband. 
 " It's the same old Sara. Clever is no word for 
 her. And dear old Janet has played straight 
 into her hands. It's queer how strong a weak 
 ness can be. I always had a weakness for Sara, 
 and I feel it again now. You can't understand ? 
 Well, no, you wouldn't unless you knew Sara. 
 She's tired of this way of living and wants me 
 back again, that's all. She's followed me over 
 here. No, she doesn't need money. She ran 
 through all I left her in short season, to be 
 sure, but she's been banking on my lawyer 
 with my permission and connivance ever since. 
 Lately she hasn't asked for money, so I knew 
 some scheme would develop sooner or later. 
 This is it. Mark my words. The girl was sent 
 to Madame Jeanne purely because Sara dis 
 covered that your wife went there. The lesson 
 125
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 was timed to follow hers. It's all a careful 
 plan of Sara's. That boy's clothing, too look 
 at it ! A mere ruse to catch Janet's compas 
 sionate eye. Those are no remnants. Sara de 
 liberately bought the two pieces off the rolls." 
 
 He spoke with a certain pride, which George 
 answered with horror in his voice. 
 
 " Do you mean that you think your wife has 
 deliberately sacrified both your children to a 
 ruse to gain your attention, when she could as 
 well have openly sought you ?" 
 
 "That's about it," said the undisturbed fa 
 ther, " but Sara knows me better than you do. 
 I like cleverness. I might not have been found 
 if sought openly. As it is, the boy she wouldn't 
 have hesitated to sacrifice she never cared for 
 him and the girl will only be improved by 
 knowing how to dance like a fire-fly. I think 
 I never saw such child-dancing." 
 
 He glanced at the corner where the two list 
 less children were obediently pretending to 
 play with the chess-men. Their docility hurt 
 George Schuyler, as it had his wife. 
 
 "What will you do with the poor little 
 things ?" he asked, compassionately. 
 
 The father stood looking at them, thinking 
 with a lazy slowness. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " I have almost de 
 cided to be amiable and play into Sara's hands 
 as meekly as Janet did ? Suppose I were to 
 steal the children to-night and take them home 
 126
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 with me. I can send word to Sara that I have 
 them. I suppose you have her address ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered George, shortly. 
 
 " Good. She will then play the frantic moth 
 er, I the newly awakened father. Neither will 
 be able to bear parting with the children, and 
 so in a day or two, perhaps, we shall all four 
 sail for Europe together, and come back after 
 several years, respectable members of society. 
 What do you think of that programme ?" 
 
 George rose from his chair. 
 
 " I think," he said, " that the whole affair is 
 about as indelicate and unfeeling as anything 
 I ever heard. Why can't you go to your wife 
 and talk with her ?" 
 
 James rose also, with undisturbed good-nat 
 ure, his hands in his pockets. 
 
 " I don't expect you to see it our way," he 
 said ; " but you ought to remember that, after 
 all, Sara and I are not a very delicate or feel 
 ing pair at least, not as you and Janet are. 
 Sara does not know how to come to me or 
 I to go to her. It takes all kinds of men and 
 women to make a world. To be honest, if it is 
 any comfort to you, I have a sneaking feeling 
 of pleasure in thinking of becoming a family 
 man again. I told you I wanted something to 
 do. Neither Sara nor I are so young as we 
 once were. We shall quarrel less, I fancy. I 
 have the idea, from hints my mediating lawyer 
 has dropped, that each of us has been for some 
 127
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 time stabling a calf bursting with the fat of 
 forgiveness, all ready for the other to eat, but 
 each of us, you see, wanted his or her own calf 
 eaten. I know I feel kindly enough towards 
 Sara, and I think she has arranged to avoid 
 eating either calf rather cleverly. I am grate 
 ful to her for it." 
 
 A large clock outside in the hall struck 
 twelve with booming strokes, aided by heavy 
 echoes from the brass kettles of the band. 
 
 James held out his hand to his brother. 
 
 " It's the opening of another year for me," 
 he said. " I am in earnest in my way, George. 
 You can't write clearly on a blotting-pad, and 
 that's the stuff I'm made of. But I am tired 
 of this old leaf, and evidently Sara is also. 
 We'll flutter over a new leaf. I can't promise 
 much for it, either, but we'll try it. I'll purge 
 and live cleanly as a gentleman, and I think I 
 shall enjoy the little girl. She shall dance for 
 me at night, after coffee. Tell Janet I appre 
 ciate her gift." 
 
 " And the boy ?" asked George, still holding 
 his brother's hand. " Janet had more anxiety 
 for him than for the girl. He has not even 
 been taught his letters." 
 
 " Well, if he doesn't even know his a b c's, 
 I think a boarding-school will be best for him. 
 Yes, you can tell Janet that the girl will sail 
 with us and the boy will go to a boarding- 
 school. I hope I play the thoughtful father 
 128
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 to your satisfaction, George. What a pity you 
 lost your boy. You and Janet are born par 
 ents. She has never been quite the same since 
 then, has she ?" 
 
 George Schuyler's face changed. He dropped 
 his brother's hand. 
 
 " Suppose " he began, quickly, then check 
 ed himself. " Never mind. I wish you a good 
 voyage, James, in all its meanings. I will give 
 your message to Janet. Good-night." 
 
 He turned to the door, unlocked it, and went 
 out abruptly. 
 
 For a moment James stood perplexed. " Now, 
 what was George going to say?" he thought 
 aloud. "What upset him?" Suddenly he hur 
 ried to the door and flung it open, calling down 
 the hall, " George George I have something 
 to propose to you." 
 
 Between George Schuyler and his wife there 
 was but one subject of real difference, and that 
 lay in a lower drawer of her bureau, to which 
 she kept the key. More than once, coming into 
 the room hastily, Mr. Schuyler had found his 
 wife dropping tears upon some little garments 
 that lay folded away in that drawer, and more 
 than once he had threatened to turn the lock 
 and keep the key himself. It was before this 
 forbidden drawer that Mrs. Schuyler was sit 
 ting alone when the clock struck twelve on Old 
 Christmas night. On her knees lay one tiny 
 i 129
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 tumbled garment, which she touched now and 
 then with a reverence that was like passion. 
 In the sleeves of the gown were fastened a 
 pair of gold armlets like those little Fairy had 
 worn. The drawer was full of such garments, 
 all white and immaculate ; only this one bore 
 slight marks of wear, and Mrs. Schuyler was 
 sitting with it on her knees as by an open 
 grave. She had so sat since her husband left 
 her, wrapped in her memories. It was his re 
 turning footsteps on the stair outside that at 
 last roused her suddenly. She closed the draw 
 er with guilty haste, looking in the mirror at her 
 flushed face, but had only time to wipe the fresh 
 tears from her cheeks when the door opened. 
 Forcing a smile, she went to meet her hus 
 band. Her voice trembled as she asked, " Did 
 all go well ?" 
 
 Mr. Schuyler did not seem to notice her 
 emotion. He came to her, took her two hands 
 in his, and then she saw the agitation in his 
 own face. 
 
 "What have you there?" asked Mr. Schuy 
 ler, looking down. 
 
 The tumbled garment which had lain on her 
 knees, and which she had forgotten in her 
 haste, fell to the ground between the husband 
 and wife. With a hurt cry Mrs. Schuyler stoop 
 ed to lift it, but her husband held her. 
 
 " Let it lie," he said, tenderly. 
 
 He looked closely at her. " So you have been 
 130
 
 THE CHRISTMAS MUMMERS 
 
 grieving to-night again. Look up at me, dear 
 est. I have something to tell you something 
 to show you. Are you strong enough to be 
 surprised ?" 
 
 Without waiting for an answer he hurried 
 to the door and opened it. On the threshold 
 outside stood the little boy, still in the clown 
 costume, with his small face stained with tears 
 and paint, and his lips quivering as pitifully 
 as when Mrs. Schuyler had first seen him in 
 Madame Jeanne's dancing-hall. He looked up 
 at them with swimming eyes. 
 
 " This is the return Christmas gift James 
 sends you," said Mr. Schuyler, excitedly. " Do 
 you understand, Janet ? James sends him to 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Schuyler glanced from him back to the 
 child, bewildered. 
 
 "To me?" 
 
 " To you," repeated her husband, deliberate 
 ly. " As a free gift to you, offered freely and 
 unconditionally, unless it pains you to accept 
 him as yours. Shall you want to take him, 
 dear?" 
 
 "Oh, do take me !" wailed the child, sudden 
 ly. " Don't anybody at all want me?" 
 
 He was trembling from head to foot with 
 unchildlike emotion, and with a cry of compas 
 sion Mrs. Schuyler fell on her knees, gather 
 ing him into her arms and rocking him like a 
 baby on her breast, taking him to her with
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 broken words that did not need to be articulate. 
 Her husband started as he recognized the 
 mother-note in her voice. Once before he had 
 heard that tone, and believed he never would 
 again. He looked back at the little garment 
 forgotten on the floor, then, moving softly, 
 lifted it and hid it away in the drawer. 
 
 He smiled as he heard his wife's glad voice 
 calling him. 
 
 "Oh, come," she cried. "What are you wait 
 ing for ? I want to share my Christmas gift 
 with you."
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 " BUT, my dear," said the admiral, " your 
 aunt would surely be more helpful to you here 
 than I." 
 
 Marion looked out of the window, across the 
 green grass of the campus, down the terrace, 
 and over the sea-wall, from which the waters 
 of the river spread away like a royal purple 
 mantle, picked out with silver sails of pleasure- 
 boats and straggling sloops. Before she re 
 plied she had mechanically counted over all 
 the sails in sight. 
 
 " I don't know, uncle. I seemed moved to 
 speak to you. But if you would rather 
 not " 
 
 " No, no, my dear ; not at all. I was think 
 ing only of you, and that a woman might bet 
 ter understand how to advise with you. How 
 ever, I will endeavor to be as womanly as one 
 avowedly a man of action may. And so young 
 Arnold covets you, does he? He must have 
 done so almost at first sight. Well, I don't 
 blame him." 
 
 He smiled into his niece's serious eyes, but 
 133
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 her face remained unchanged, and the admiral 
 went on with more gravity : 
 
 " If I had been blessed with daughters of 
 my own, I should know better how to speak to 
 you. As it is, you will have to help me a little. 
 Should I draw you out gently, or straightly 
 question you ? What would you like me to 
 do?" 
 
 " I should like to know all that you can tell 
 me of Mr. Arnold." 
 
 The admiral lifted his eyebrows slightly. 
 His favorite cat had been sitting on the table 
 by his elbow, and he whisked her away with 
 his handkerchief, then straightened the papers 
 which lay before him, and set his stick of seal 
 ing-wax, his pen, and paper-knife in a method 
 ical row. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, dryly, "that the young 
 woman of to-day is more sensible, and that I 
 am an old fogy. In my generation she was 
 the 'lovely burden'; and if the burden some 
 times outweighed the beauty, we at least had 
 the theory of romance. To come to business, 
 Marion, as I warned you on your arrival, I 
 know but little of any one here, my present 
 duty being still new. Regarding Mr. Arnold, 
 I think it probable that you know more con 
 cerning him than I. Had I dreamed of his 
 representing more than one in the dozen hov 
 ering about you, or had he spoken to me first, 
 it would have been different. For his present, 
 134
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 I can only tell you that he has led his class 
 statistically and in spirit, and that he has pass 
 ed through the furnace of a social favoritism 
 unscathed. For his future I can prophesy as 
 useful and brilliant a career as the government 
 permits to an officer of its navy ; but of his 
 past, his people, and his private means, which 
 is just the information I suppose you want, I 
 know nothing whatever." 
 
 As he ended, the admiral looked up at his 
 niece's profile. She was sitting motionless on 
 the couch opposite him, her hands folded on 
 her lap, her eyes still gazing out of the win 
 dow. There was an expression which he did 
 not understand upon her face. The admiral's 
 voice softened. 
 
 " I can, of course, find out all you wish to 
 know concerning Mr. Arnold, Marion ; but, ex 
 cept on one condition, I have no reason, no 
 right, to pry into his affairs, and I am old-fash 
 ioned enough to feel that no one has the right 
 to ask you the question which I must now ask, 
 except the one being to whom your answer 
 means everything. To me a woman is as the 
 sphinx to guess her heart's riddle is to dash 
 her from her heights." He rose to seat him 
 self on the couch by Marion's side. " Your 
 having no father, Marion, and the fact that 
 your mother intrusted you to your aunt and 
 me, only after many misgivings, make me 
 doubly responsible. Therefore will you let 
 135
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 me ask you if you love Mr. Arnold, my dear ?" 
 It was the admiral who blushed. Marion look 
 ed into his face with the same unbroken seri 
 ousness. 
 
 " I don't know, uncle." 
 
 " You do not know ! What does that mean, 
 my dear ? Do you want more time for consid 
 eration, or do you wish first to learn if it would 
 be wise to let yourself love him ?" 
 
 " I already know that nothing on earth could 
 be more unwise for me." 
 
 " Then, as I said, you know far more about 
 him than I. Do you be my informant. Come, 
 help me a little, my dear. I am only a rough 
 old sea-dog, you know. You must teach me 
 to be womanly with you. As an individual I 
 believe in Mr. Arnold. Is it his parentage that 
 is at fault ?" 
 
 "Yes, his parentage." 
 
 The admiral shook his head doubtfully. 
 "Well, then," he said, with a half-smile, "you 
 know just what you would have to face in your 
 mother's opposition. To tell the truth, I should 
 a little dread taking my share of it. 'Thou 
 shalt have ancestry' is her eleventh command 
 ment." 
 
 Marion moved restlessly. " I know. She 
 would never give her consent to Mr. Ar 
 nold." 
 
 The admiral held his gray-mustached upper 
 lip between his finger and thumb, looking out 
 136
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 thoughtfully at his niece from under his white 
 eyebrows. 
 
 " How bad is it, Marion ? After all, the ser 
 vice is a cloak for many sins of birth. I sup 
 pose Arnold himself confessed this shortcom 
 ing to you ?" 
 
 " No ; I learned it from his mother and sis 
 ter." 
 
 " His mother and sister, eh ? Are they here?" 
 
 "They came yesterday for a week's visit." 
 
 "And you have seen them ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I saw them to-day." 
 
 Certain little lines that the admiral had no 
 ticed about his wife's eyes and mouth when in 
 bodily pain he now recognized drawn in Mar 
 ion's face, where they disturbed him. He raised 
 his hand involuntarily as if to smooth them 
 away, but Marion withdrew quickly. Her lip 
 quivered. 
 
 " Not yet, please, uncle." 
 
 " Go on, my dear," said the admiral. "I un 
 derstand. What were the mother and sister 
 like?" 
 
 " It would be easier to tell you that they 
 were unlike anything that might have been 
 expected. You have probably seen them walk 
 ing about the grounds they are conspicuous 
 enough. The daughter is a tall, unwholesome- 
 looking parody on her brother. Her costume 
 this afternoon was a number of ribbon-bows 
 tacked together, apparently. She might as 
 137
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 well have worn a crazy-quilt. The mother is 
 a large woman. She dresses in black, and ev 
 ery article she wears is too small or too short. 
 Her sleeves do not meet her gloves by three 
 inches ; the flesh sticks out between them like 
 red bracelets. Her bonnet is too small also, 
 and is tied tightly under her chin ; her face 
 seems to gush out between the strings 
 
 " Marion !" the admiral remonstrated. " Mar 
 ion !" 
 
 His niece laughed unnaturally. 
 
 " I wanted you to see it all just as I did. If 
 the bare description shocks you so deeply, what 
 do you suppose the reality was to me ?" 
 
 " I think I am more bewildered than shock 
 ed. I did promise you that I would try to be 
 womanly; but not being a milliner, and, indeed, 
 peculiarly ignorant of woman's dress, your de 
 scription conveys about as little to me as the 
 price of the materials would. And then, my 
 dear, I did not expect to have to remind you 
 that dress is not a criterion. These women 
 may be provincial, and yet of good enough 
 standing." 
 
 " I thought of all that, but they are not from 
 the provinces. They come from a large city." 
 
 " You have talked with them, then ? When 
 did you meet them? Tell me your story in 
 your own fashion. I will not interrupt you 
 again." 
 
 " I met them walking in the grounds when I 
 138
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 was strolling this afternoon with Mr. Arnold. 
 They were in a distant path, and he could easily 
 have avoided the introduction. It was of his 
 own seeking. He seemed fond of them." 
 
 " Do you place that to his discredit, Marion ?" 
 
 "I don't know. I am not able to connect 
 him with them as yet ; they seem of another 
 flesh and blood." 
 
 " Is that all that you have to tell me about 
 them ?" asked the admiral. 
 
 His niece had paused. She went on slowly : 
 
 "No; that is not all. One of the officers 
 passed us, and drew Mr. Arnold away for a 
 few moments' talk. While he was gone the 
 sister began telling me how they had planned 
 their visit as a surprise to her brother, and how 
 her father had meant to come with them, but 
 some people ' dropping in ' had detained him 
 at the last moment. I said that I was sorry, 
 and all the rest that I should have said. I real 
 ly behaved well, uncle." 
 
 " I don't doubt that, my dear," replied the 
 admiral ; " I don't doubt that for a moment." 
 
 " I said I thought I should have let the peo 
 ple wait, and then she said no, I would not ; 
 for they had come to negotiate some rather 
 important loans." 
 
 The admiral's face brightened. "A broker ! 
 Come, that's not bad at all. There's nothing 
 disreputable there, anyhow. Even your moth 
 er would have to acknowledge that." 
 139
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " So it seemed to me. I was thinking just 
 that while the girl was speaking. She was men 
 tioning further that her father was a property 
 broker when the mother, who had moved aside, 
 turned back again to tell me of her husband's 
 disappointment, and how his eyes had filled 
 with tears, when they left him behind. They 
 seem an affectionate family. She said he had 
 to stay at home, for " Marion lifted her eyes 
 desperately to her uncle's face. " She said," 
 she repeated, " that he could not leave home 
 because" her voice rose hysterically "be 
 cause ' a couple of folks that couldn't wait 
 dropped in,' - and that a jewelry store was 'a 
 precarious business, anyhow.' " 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the admiral, starting to 
 his feet. "A property broker a jewelry store ! 
 But that can only mean pawnbroking ! it can't 
 be, Marion." 
 
 " It is, uncle. The 'properties' were jewelry. 
 The mother seemed unconscious that she had 
 betrayed a secret, but the daughter was deep 
 ly embarrassed. She tried to pass it all off, 
 but oh, it was horrible ! she only made the 
 truth plainer." 
 
 "A pawnbroker ! And you tell me that his 
 son has dared ask my niece to marry him ?" 
 
 " No, uncle, no ; pray listen to me. You your 
 self could not have been more careful than Mr. 
 Arnold has been of his honor." 
 
 The admiral paced the room, his eyes flash- 
 140
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 ing. His face was on fire ; his hands were al 
 ternately tugging at his white mustache and 
 ruffling his thick white hair. 
 
 "His honor ! What the devil do I care about 
 his honor when my niece is in question ? I beg 
 your pardon, my dear ; I spoke in heat, but, in 
 deed, with provocation. A pawnbroker ! Good 
 heavens !" 
 
 " But, uncle, Mr. Arnold has never asked me 
 to marry him. When he joined me again, we 
 left his mother and sister, and he and I walked 
 on together. He knew nothing of what had 
 passed, but I was foolish and shaken, and had 
 to rest on a bench finally. I said it was the 
 heat. I am afraid I was a little hysterical, for 
 I startled him, and he had let me know that 
 he cared for me before he realized what he 
 was saying. Afterwards he was as dismayed 
 as you are now. Indeed, you must not blame 
 him. He was terribly agitated, and asked noth 
 ing of me except that I would forget all that 
 he had no right to say until he could speak to 
 you. He is coming to you to-night. Uncle, 
 what shall you say to him ?" 
 
 The admiral's walk ceased abruptly. " Say 
 to him ?" he repeated. " Poor boy, what can 
 one say ? If it were anything else on earth !" 
 
 Marion covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " You pity him," she cried, sharply ; " you 
 only pity him ; but I I " She laid her arm 
 on the side of the couch and bowed her head 
 141
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 into it. The admiral paused before her. For a 
 moment his hands hovered irresolutely above 
 her shaken shoulders ; then, throwing his palms 
 outward with a gesture of helplessness, he 
 straightened himself and walked away to the 
 window. His back was still towards the room 
 when he spoke : 
 
 " My child " He cleared his throat and 
 began again " My child, we must take the 
 world as we find it, not as we would like to 
 make it. Mr. Arnold loves you, and if you love 
 him, the question is, What can I do to comfort 
 you ? What can I say to him that is not too 
 cruel ?" 
 
 Facing his niece again, the admiral went on : 
 " You see, I am perilously near being woman 
 ish when I promised you to be only womanly." 
 
 As Marion raised her face, he seated himself 
 on the couch near her, his hands on his knees, 
 his head bent towards her. Though not touch 
 ing her, his manner had tenderness sufficient. 
 
 " If it were any other occupation," he re 
 flected, aloud ; " if it were anything less gro 
 tesque and absurd, less the subject of ghastly 
 pleasantries " 
 
 "You can remind me of nothing that I have 
 not already considered, uncle. It was the hide 
 ous absurdity of it all which made me ill out in 
 the grounds. As I thought of it suddenly from 
 that stand-point, I burst into hysterical laughter 
 and tears. That was the beginning of my weak- 
 142
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 ness and Mr. Arnold's self -betrayal. Oh, uncle, 
 you don't think he ever helped his father, do 
 you? I keep imagining him as a little boy do 
 ing the little things making out the tickets, 
 and arranging the shop-window. Do you think 
 I should ever grow used to those associations, 
 ever be happy in mingling with his family ?" 
 
 The admiral started, and sat very erect upon 
 the couch. 
 
 " Marion," he said, " does this mean that you 
 are seriously considering such a step ?" 
 
 " I don't know, uncle. As I told you at first, 
 I seem to have lost the power of thinking." 
 
 " My dear child, if you have come to me to 
 think for you, I can only repeat your own words 
 to you, and repeat them with most solemn be 
 lief. Nothing on earth could be more unwise 
 for you. It is an impossible position." 
 
 " Yet you said the service was a cloak for 
 many such sins of birth. Other officers have 
 come from the people. This would be our 
 world, and it has seemed to me not over nice 
 in such matters." 
 
 " You have not been here long enough to 
 see what underlies the veneer of official civil 
 ity. Some things might be forgiven or con 
 cealed, but poor Arnold's disability is as a bar- 
 sinister that admits of neither. Your taking 
 such a step is not to be considered. It means 
 misery from the first. You, who are dainti 
 ness itself, and who have been protected from 
 143
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 every wind that blows, can have no conception 
 of the coarseness that you would have to en 
 dure daily. You could not stand it. Your 
 every effort would be to wean your husband 
 from his natural ties of affection, and from the 
 hour you succeeded you would despise him. 
 No, my dear ; it is not to be thought of. If 
 the utter sacrifice of yourself is not a sufficient 
 reason to restrain you, remember your mother, 
 and the blow it would be to her hopes for 
 you." 
 
 Marion's face hardened. "Mamma! Her hopes 
 for me will be blasted at anything far short of 
 a coronet. She has not yet forgiven me that 
 I am not the wife of a possible heir to one, with 
 a sot for a husband." 
 
 " In that matter you had my warm support, 
 Marion." 
 
 " I know I did, uncle. You have always been 
 kind to me. Of course mamma would violent 
 ly oppose Mr. Arnold ; and do you know, I am 
 ashamed that it is so, but the thought of the 
 struggle with her nerves me when I might 
 otherwise falter why, I don't know." 
 
 The admiral drew back a little, scanning 
 Marion's flushed face. Her features were ex 
 ceedingly delicate ; the force with which she 
 had spoken had not brought out a coarse 
 line. 
 
 "My child," he said, "do you mean that? 
 If your love alone does not nerve you to con- 
 144
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 sider this step, nothing else should least of all 
 a mother's opposition." 
 
 " Mamma's opposition would not be for love 
 of me. Mamma ought to have been born a Ce 
 lestial. As it is, I should have been piously 
 sacrificed on -her ancestral altar but for you, 
 uncle, and what she still terms my wilfulness." 
 
 "I know," said the admiral. "And yet this 
 would break her heart, Marion. It cannot be, 
 my dear, both for her sake and for yours. It 
 is quite out of the question." 
 
 He spoke gently, and the words were not 
 commanding. It was a certain finality in his 
 voice, born of long and undisputed authority, 
 that his niece answered with spirit. 
 
 "I think I shall decide to break mamma's 
 altars, at which I do not worship, rather than 
 my own heart." 
 
 The admiral looked up quickly. Their eyes 
 met. He spoke shortly, almost sternly. 
 
 "You have decided, Marion?" 
 
 " I am deciding now." 
 
 She sat with her finger pressed against her 
 lips, her face grave, and her eyes downcast. 
 
 The admiral rose to pace the floor, quarter 
 deck fashion, his arms folded on his breast. 
 His favorite cat, uncoiling herself from a warm 
 corner near the fire, ran to rub her head against 
 his leg, as was her wont. Until her sharp wail 
 roused him the admiral did not know that he 
 had crushed her tail beneath his foot ; even 
 
 K 145
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 then, with an absent-minded " Excuse me," he 
 passed on, absorbed in his thoughts. Marion 
 was wondering if, as it seemed to her, her pres 
 ence was forgotten, when the admiral's walk 
 ceased, and he seated himself at his table, where 
 she had first found him. He spoke without 
 looking up, his fingers occupied with a bunch 
 of keys which he drew from his pocket 
 
 "Marion," he said, "I have been thinking 
 that, while a man attains his majority at a given 
 period, as a rule, a woman comes of age, early or 
 late, with her first heart-burn. You know it is 
 a time-honored custom that a son of the house 
 should be introduced to the ghost or the skel 
 eton of the family the day he comes of age. 
 The rule might as well apply to a daughter. I 
 mean now to show you our family ghost ; but 
 first, can you tell me the special line on which 
 we hang our family pride ?" 
 
 "The Eeliott line," Marion answered, "spell 
 ed with two e's and two t's." 
 
 Her voice was mocking, and the admiral 
 smiled. He had selected a key from the bunch. 
 
 " You know your lesson well," he said, dryly. 
 "The name might as well be spelled with three 
 e's and three /'s, while we are about it. It is 
 the skeleton of the Eeliott family that you are 
 to see. I keep it locked in this cupboard with 
 this key." 
 
 He unlocked the door of a closed compart 
 ment under his table, and drew out a long box 
 146
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 of curious and irregular shape, covered with 
 dull red leather, on which were stamped quaint 
 arabesque figures in burnished gold. The odor 
 of age about the case was strong. Marion drew 
 back as the admiral laid it in her lap. 
 
 " You needn't be afraid," he said ; " it is only 
 a paper ghost. Open the box, Marion." 
 
 The inner-case lining, of heavy, gorgeously 
 tinted silk, decorated with a sprawling pome 
 granate pattern, protected a roll of parchment 
 as yellow as ivory. Attached to the roll by 
 mixed red and silver ribbons were two red 
 seals. Marion touched the faded ribbons soft 
 ly with her finger tips. 
 
 " The Eeliott colors," she said. The admiral 
 tossed them to one side with a short laugh. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated ; " the Eeliott colors. 
 Unroll the paper." 
 
 As she lifted and unrolled the parchment 
 Marion uttered an exclamation. The page 
 shone out with all the glory that emblazoning 
 gives in colors as fresh as the day they were 
 painted. The text, broken here and there by 
 rich initials, was crowned with the royal arms 
 of England, the rose, and the royal ermine. 
 On a corner of the skin, surrounded by festoon 
 ed roses, hung the painted shield of the Eeliott 
 family. Marion looked at the shield critically. 
 
 "Those are surely the Eeliott arms," she 
 said; "and yet isn't there something a little 
 wrong about it ?" 
 
 147
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "A little," said the admiral. "Read the 
 writing, my dear read it aloud." 
 
 Marion read the text from the top of the 
 gorgeous page to the written signatures at the 
 end : 
 
 To all and singular 
 
 to whom these Presents shall come Isaac Heard Esquire Gar 
 ter Principal King of Arms and Thomas Lock Esquire Clar- 
 enceux King of Arms of the South East and West Parts of 
 England from the River Trent Southwards send Greeting. 
 Whereas Marion Eeliott wife of the Honorable Francis Her 
 bert, by Letter to the Most Honorable C D com 
 monly called Earl of A Deputy with the Royal Appro 
 bation to his Father the Most Noble A D Duke of 
 
 C Earl Marshall and hereditary marshall of England re 
 quested the Favor of his Lordship's Warrant for an exem 
 plifying and confirming to her and her Descendants the Arms 
 of her reputed Father John Eeliott, Lord Knight of the King 
 dom of Ireland deceased with such Variations as may be nec 
 essary according to the Laws of Arms. 
 
 And forasmuch as his Lordship did by Warrant under his 
 Hand and Seal bearing date the tsventieth day of March last 
 authorize and direct Us to exemplify and confirm the said Arms 
 accordingly. Kno-M Ye therefore that We the said Garter and 
 Clarenceux in pursuance of the Consent of the said Deputy 
 Earl Marshall and by Virtue of the Letters Patent of our sev 
 eral Offices to each of Us respectively granted under the 
 Great Seal of Great Britain do by these Presents exemplify 
 and confirm to the said Marion Eeliott the arms following 
 that is to say Paly of six argent and gules a Bend Sinister 
 engrailed counter-changed, as the same are in the Margin 
 hereof more plainly depicted to be borne and used for ever 
 hereafter by her the said Marion Eeliott and her Descendants 
 according to the Laws of Arms without the Let or Interrup 
 tion of any Person or Persons whatsoever. 
 148
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 In Witness whereof We the said Garter and Clarenceux Kings 
 of Arms have to these Presents subscribed our Names and 
 affixed the Seals of our several Offices the sixth day of April 
 
 in the twenty year of the Reign of our Sovereign Lord 
 
 George the Third by the Grace of God King of Great Brit 
 ain France and Ireland Defender of the Faith &c : and in 
 the year of our Lord One Thousand and seven hundred 
 and 
 
 The skin rolled itself together strongly, as 
 though it still had life, as Marion laid it down. 
 
 "What does it mean?" she said. "I don't 
 understand a word of it." 
 
 "Your great -grandmother, Marion Eeliott, 
 understood it," said the admiral. " She under 
 stood it so well that she kept this locked in her 
 closet to the day of her death, where I, as ex 
 ecutor, found it. Why she did not burn the 
 document is one of those things which are in 
 explicable. That no one in her lifetime saw 
 it save herself, I am almost positive. Since 
 then I know that my eyes alone have seen it, 
 and now yours." 
 
 "What does it mean?" Marion repeated. 
 
 The admiral bent forward to open the roll. 
 He read a line aloud : 
 
 " ' The arms of her reputed father! Reputed 
 father ! Don't you know what that means, 
 Marion? Your great-grandmother, known as 
 Marion Eeliott, had no such maiden name, and 
 her crest might as well have been a bar-sinister 
 couchant, or three balls rampant, or anything 
 149
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 else she chose to carry. You surely know the 
 meaning of a bar - sinister, my dear. We are 
 not a mushroom family in the maternal line, 
 but toadstool old enough, in all conscience, 
 and poison at the root." 
 
 Marion drew the parchment towards her, look 
 ing again at the emblazoned shield with its fa 
 tal lines from left to right. The color rose in 
 her face. 
 
 " Do you mean, uncle, that we are not not 
 legitimate?" 
 
 " I mean, my dear niece, that on our grand 
 mother Eeliott's side we are not low-born, but 
 base-born. That high name on which we hang 
 our chiefest pride is our shame. That Lord 
 Eeliott was the father of our ancestress is un 
 doubted ; who her mother was, the Lord, or 
 more likely the devil, only knows. Would you 
 care to hear the whole story, Marion, or does 
 this kind of truth shock you ? I thought you 
 rather scornful of ancestry." 
 
 "This is different, uncle. I thought we were 
 at least of honest blood. I want to know all 
 that you can tell me ; but no, I don't like it ; 
 it does shock me." 
 
 "This story," said the admiral, "has also 
 a kind of humor about it, almost as grim as 
 the story of Mr. Arnold's order of bar-sinister. 
 Your namesake and maternal ancestress did 
 not like it, either. She was brought up in her 
 father's American home as his daughter, pre- 
 150
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 siding over his household, and arrogantly foist 
 ed upon the community, who accepted her for 
 their own reasons, I suppose. Probably .they 
 were ignorant of her true position. When I 
 found this document hidden away in the old 
 lady's closet, among her silks and laces, I was 
 sufficiently stirred to look up every scrap of 
 writing bearing on the subject. Among a heap 
 of old letters belonging to Lord Eeliott, I un 
 earthed one from his father, written in Eng 
 land, and rather sardonically urging his son to 
 sow all his wild oats on this side of the water, 
 that the crop might not come up in the old 
 country. Our ancestress was one of those 
 blades. How many others there were of Lord 
 Eeliott's crop, who knows? Before leaving 
 America Lord Eeliott married his daughter to 
 your great-grandfather, with a bribe thrown 
 in of so many thousand pounds down. That, 
 too, I read between the lines of the papers I 
 ran through. Ancestors are not unlike sleep 
 ing dogs, Marion. It is better to let them lie, 
 as a rule. If the first Marion Eeliott had been 
 wise enough to do so, she would have been 
 spared the mortification of this parchment. 
 You have seen her portrait, my dear?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I cannot imagine her humbled. 
 Uncle, are you sure that all this is true?" 
 
 " You have the parchment before you. I 
 have to look at it to convince myself some 
 times, after listening to your mother's talk of
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 our family history on the Eeliott side. Old 
 Marion Eeliott grew to think it could not be 
 true,. and that humility and the pit whence it 
 came were not for such as she. Others had 
 forgotten, and she would forget. After her 
 father's death she evidently conceived the idea 
 of quartering his arms with her husband's. 
 She must have written to England, to the Her 
 alds' College, claiming them. Heaven knows 
 what influences and what money she brought 
 to bear. That the college is incorruptible is 
 well shown here. What do you suppose were 
 her feelings as the covered parchment un 
 rolled ? Her reputed father, and a bend sinister. 
 Do you think she saw the grim humor of it, 
 Marion ?" 
 
 Marion was looking seriously at the parch 
 ment. 
 
 " I cannot tell, uncle. To me it is only shame 
 ful. And so this is what mamma has been wor 
 shipping all these years. Why did you never 
 tell her?" 
 
 "Why should I overthrow her altars? Up 
 to this time there has been no reason for doing 
 so. And so you see no humor in the story? 
 Well, perhaps Mr. Arnold may, as we recognize 
 humor in his. Here, my dear ; you have my 
 permission to use this parchment as you choose. 
 It is your weapon, and with it you are well 
 armed for your battle with your mother." 
 
 He rolled the parchment as he spoke, and 
 152
 
 CONCEALED WEAPONS 
 
 returning it to its box, laid the case in Marion's 
 hands. She received it mechanically, looking 
 up surprised. 
 
 " I what am I to do with it ?" 
 
 " Marry Mr. Arnold, if that is what you real 
 ly desire. Why not, now that you know the 
 truth about yourself? Before you opened that 
 case you had a certain family tradition to live 
 up to; now you are freed. If you care for 
 Mr. Arnold enough to forgive his three balls 
 rampant, and submit your bar-sinister couch- 
 ant for his forgiveness, I don't see that any one 
 can interfere. If your mother opposes you too 
 strongly, you have only to lay this before her 
 to seal her lips." 
 
 Marion lifted her eyes searchingly to the ad 
 miral's face. 
 
 " Uncle," she asked, " why have you done 
 this?" 
 
 The admiral winced slightly. "Why, my 
 dear?" he replied. He rose and laid his hand 
 on Marion's head, meeting her earnest gaze. 
 " Why ? Because I want you to realize that 
 it is wholly in your power to marry Mr. Arnold 
 or not, just as you desire. If he were not a 
 gentleman by nature, I would not have run 
 this risk. He is a gentleman, if to be one is to 
 know what is due to others and to render it, 
 to know what is due to himself and to expect 
 it. Beyond a certain point, parents can do 
 nothing if their child chooses to marry the
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 hangman or the man to be hanged. As for 
 you, Marion, if you wish to marry Mr. Ar 
 nold, what renders it possible lies there in your 
 hands. Take it away with you, my dear, and 
 make your own use of it." 
 
 As he spoke he pointed to the case, which 
 still lay loosely in his niece's grasp. 
 
 Without a word, Marion lifted her eyes, for 
 a moment looking full into his. There was no 
 wavering on either side. With a quick gesture 
 she caught up the box and laid it on the table 
 by her uncle's hand ; yet the movement was 
 curiously deliberate. She did not look up at 
 the admiral as she passed him on her way from 
 the room. 
 
 The admiral sat motionless at his desk, the 
 case before him, and his favorite cat climbing 
 up to his knee. As the door closed he slowly 
 leaned back in his chair, drew a deep breath, 
 and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. 
 
 " 'Twas as I thought," he muttered : " oppo 
 sition was her buoy. A shred of it left her to 
 cling to, she'd have plunged in headlong." 
 
 He laid his hand on the cat's furry head, 
 more as if gaining comfort from the touch than 
 bestowing it. There was a kind of shame in 
 his fine old face. 
 
 "And I promised her to be womanly !" he 
 said, aloud. " I was feline ! Pussy, I crave your 
 pardon. You at least show your weapons in 
 the moment of scratching, don't you ?" 
 154
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 ONCE when I was a little girl visiting my 
 grandfather, his barn on the hill-side caught 
 fire, and I was the first one who thought of the 
 danger to my grandfather's beloved carriage. 
 I can see it now, hideous, lumbering old vehi 
 cle that it was. I rushed to the barn, tore open 
 the great doors, grasped the shafts of the car 
 riage, and started down the hill. For the first 
 ten feet I ran the carriage ; from there to the 
 bottom of the hill the carriage ran me. I have 
 never forgotten the sensation. When my grand 
 father died and the farm fell to Penneniah and 
 me, the carriage episode repeated itself. For 
 some weeks we ran the farm ; from then the 
 farm ran us, until the bottom of the hill and 
 ruin stared us in the face. 
 
 It was all Uncle Elijah's fault ; at least, Pen 
 neniah and I so felt it to be. He knew, and 
 we knew, and all the neighborhood knew, that 
 grandfather had not intended leaving us the 
 farm and no money with which to keep it in 
 order. During the last weeks of his illness a 
 stock company that every one had believed in
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 failed suddenly. When the will was read our 
 portion proved to be the old home farm and a 
 number of valueless stocks in the ruined com 
 pany. Everything else went to Uncle Elijah, 
 who already owned a large farm, which grand 
 father had given him on his marriage, years 
 before. All the neighborhood thought Uncle 
 Elijah would make up the value of the useless 
 stocks to his dead brother's children. Pen- 
 neniah thought he would, and Joseph, Uncle 
 Elijah's step-son, was sure of it. I said nothing, 
 for I was sure of the contrary, and I was right. 
 The only move Uncle Elijah made in the mat 
 ter was to send us a written offer of ten thou 
 sand dollars for the farm. Pen sat looking at 
 the letter in dismay. As the elder sister by 
 fifteen years, she opened our joint letters. 
 
 " Annie Tousey," she said she always gave 
 me the benefit of my full name " Annie 
 Tousey, Uncle Elijah must know that the farm 
 is worth fifteen thousand if it is worth a 
 penny." 
 
 I was feeling very guilty. 
 
 " Penny," I said, " I must confess something 
 to you. I have done a stupid thing. I should 
 have known better. The day that the will was 
 read Uncle Elijah asked me if we should sell 
 the farm, and I said, ' Knowing how grandfa 
 ther loved it, I should feel it dishonest to sell 
 to any one outside of the family.' Now, you 
 see, Uncle Elijah is the only living relation we 
 156
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 have. There is no one to bid against him that 
 we would accept, and he knows it. Penny, I 
 was very stupid, and I beg your pardon for it." 
 
 " You needn't feel so badly," said my sister, 
 " for he asked me the same question and got 
 the same answer. But even if he did buy the 
 farm, he has no one to leave it to but Joseph, 
 and that would be leaving it out of the family, 
 unless, Annie Tousey " 
 
 " He's not going to buy it at ten thousand 
 dollars," I interrupted. " We will write to him 
 that we hold the farm at fifteen thousand, and 
 see what he does then." 
 
 But we did not see ; for Uncle Elijah did 
 nothing, not even replying to our letter. Yet 
 we knew he received it, for Joseph told us so. 
 Penneniah and I talked the situation over, and 
 finally, in the face of advice from all the neigh 
 borhood, decided to try making the farm sup 
 port us, with itself, aided by a small yearly in 
 come which our father had left us. The result 
 was as I have narrated. We and the farm ran 
 steadily downhill. It was long before Penne 
 niah and I would fully acknowledge to each 
 other that our experiment was a failure, and 
 I don't know how long this reserve would have 
 held if it had not been rudely broken. 
 
 Open speech between us came about in this 
 way : We were preparing to go into town and 
 make some purchases for the farm (we pur 
 chased for nothing else by that time), when
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Penneniah came into my room half dressed, 
 with one shoe on her foot and one in her hand. 
 She said, "Annie Tousey, look at this slit in 
 my shoe." 
 
 " Is it on the outside or the inside ?" I asked. 
 " If it is on the outside, wear your left boot on 
 your right foot, and vice versa. I managed my 
 last pair in that way." 
 
 " I thought of that, but they are not reversi 
 ble." 
 
 " Then wear them as they are, and when we 
 get into town we will buy a new pair," I said, 
 desperately. 
 
 " I'd like to know where the money's to come 
 from, Annie Tousey. We must buy chicken 
 feed to-day. The hens have almost stopped 
 laying. I won't buy a pair of shoes until they 
 begin again." 
 
 Penneniah's facts were undeniable. I exam 
 ined the shoe carefully. " Penny," I said," snip 
 off those ravellings sticking out of the slit, and 
 black the white lining. Then, if you wear a 
 black stocking, perhaps the hole won't show." 
 
 Penny listened, and followed my suggestions. 
 By the aid of several like manoeuvres we real 
 ly looked so nice that after our business in 
 town was completed I proposed a visit to the 
 neighborhood of fashion, where lived a connec 
 tion of ours known to Penneniah and myself 
 as the " Favored of Fortune." 
 
 " We had better go now, Pen," I said ; " we 
 158
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 may never have another chance. Dear knows 
 what we may look like the next time we come 
 to town !" 
 
 Pen dislikes remarks of that kind. She pre 
 fers to ignore ignoble particulars, even in the 
 bosom of the family ; but she saw the force of 
 my argument, and assented. Just opposite the 
 home of the Favored of Fortune lies a little 
 park. As we crossed its stone pavement I 
 heard an exclamation of horror from Pen. I 
 turned to see her extended finger pointing to 
 the ground. 
 
 " That," she said, in a tragic whisper " that 
 is toe." 
 
 I looked. There it was, undeniably. It had 
 punched a way through the black stocking, 
 and was poking out from her black shoe like 
 a little white terrapin head. Its expression 
 was so funny that I sat down on a bench 
 and laughed until the tears rained down my 
 face. A sense of the ridiculous is the little 
 hobby-horse that has carried me safely over 
 many a muddy road, but Penneniah will rarely 
 mount him behind me. 
 
 " Annie Tousey," she said, severely, " it is not 
 your toe, or you wouldn't laugh." 
 
 I disagreed with her, but it was not the time 
 to say so. 
 
 " Pen," I said, " you will have to ask the 
 Favored of Fortune to lend you a pair of 
 shoes." 
 
 159
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " I will walk home barefoot first," returned 
 Pen. 
 
 And I knew she would ; she's just that proud. 
 
 " Pen," I said, " what makes you so proud ? 
 I believe the marrow in your bones would stand 
 up alone. If you won't ask help you will have 
 to sit down on this bench and turn your stock 
 ing wrong side out. That will throw the hole 
 on the other side." 
 
 " And have the police speak to me ! Annie 
 Tousey, have you lost your mind ?" 
 
 " He won't see you. I will hold my skirts 
 before you. You'll have to choose between him 
 and the Favored of Fortune, Pen." 
 
 She chose the former. 
 
 " Do you know where I am going now?" she 
 said, when the performance was safely over. 
 " I am going straight out into the country and 
 offer the farm to Uncle Elijah for thirteen 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 "Agreed," I answered, and we went forth 
 with. Daniel, our black factotum, was waiting 
 for us with our carriage (that same that ran 
 me). Daniel was a legacy from our grandfa 
 ther along with the farm. Penneniah reposed 
 an absolute confidence in him and his experi 
 ence. Mine had received some shocks. 
 
 " To Uncle Elijah's, Daniel," said Penne 
 niah, with unnecessary decision, as we entered 
 the carriage. When we reached our uncle's 
 home, Joseph came out of the house to receive 
 1 60
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 us. His mother had died years before, not long 
 after her marriage to our Uncle Elijah, and 
 Joseph lived alone with his step-father. Uncle 
 Elijah had not much patience with Joseph, 
 who openly believed in theoretical farming, 
 and wore gloves. 
 
 Uncle Elijah's creed was that a man should 
 advertise his profession by trade-marks upon 
 his person. 
 
 " When I buy a horse," he would say, " I look 
 at his teeth; with a farmer, I look at his hands." 
 
 Joseph's white hands were as thorns in his 
 step-father's side. 
 
 " Father is on the back porch," said Joseph. 
 " He's buying eggs of a man. Did you ever 
 see father buy eggs ? You'd better take a les 
 son. It's a kind of retroactive thing. The man 
 sells the eggs, and father sells the man." 
 
 We found Uncle Elijah on the back porch 
 with a basket of eggs before him. A wooden 
 ring was in his hand. Any egg which would go 
 through the ring he rejected ; only the eggs 
 which stuck came up to his standard for buy 
 ing. Uncle Elijah nodded to us, and went on 
 with his purchasing. 
 
 " Penneniah," I whispered in her ear, " ask 
 him twelve thousand five hundred for the 
 farm, not thirteen thousand." 
 
 "Annie Tousey," Penneniah replied, in the 
 same tone, " you said on the way out that you 
 wouldn't come down a single penny."
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " I hadn't seen that ring then," I answered. 
 " Pen, I really think you'd better say twelve 
 thousand." 
 
 "Very well," she answered ; and when Uncle 
 Elijah was ready to give us his attention, that 
 was the offer Pen made him. Uncle Elijah had 
 one habit of awful fascination to me. Whenever 
 he talked on business matters he remodelled 
 his features with his fingers, one after the 
 other, in a kind of innocent, pensive way, not 
 to his personal advantage. 
 
 He remodelled his nose and lips on this occa 
 sion, but not his heart. He would only repeat 
 his offer of ten thousand, which Pen refused as 
 absolutely. 
 
 The interview was short, and conducted on 
 my sister's side with some asperity, which Un 
 cle Elijah met with forbearance as aggravat 
 ing as it was unyielding. On these terms we 
 parted. 
 
 " Penny," I said, when we reached home, 
 " what on earth are we to do ? Of course we 
 can't sell the farm outside of the family, as 
 Uncle Elijah knows too weli, but how are we 
 to keep, not rings, but gloves on our fingers 
 and shoes on our toe " 
 
 " I wish you would not refer to that again, 
 Annie Tousey," said Pen, with dignity. 
 
 " Very well," I answered, " I won't ; but we 
 must have some ready money or starve our 
 selves and the live-stock too, which is worse. 
 162
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 Suppose we reduce the live-stock, Penneniah ? 
 We might sell off half of what we have and 
 feed the rest on the proceeds. We'll see what 
 Joseph thinks of it." 
 
 Joseph happened in the next day, and not 
 only thought well of it, but offered to be auc 
 tioneer for us, so Pen and I decided to have a 
 sale. 
 
 " There's a good deal to sell, you see," said 
 Pen. "We don't want all these farming im 
 plements ; we have about forty head of cattle, 
 plenty of ducks and chickens, and, above all, 
 the Berkshire pig, with her nine young ones." 
 
 Now this pig and her young ones were the 
 pride of Pen's heart. I believe she prized 
 their pedigree more than her own. Theirs 
 certainly was the longer, but it came more 
 trippingly from her tongue. As the day of 
 sale drew near, Pen visited the sty daily, lavish 
 ing every attention on the inmates. She ex 
 pected to realize more from them than from 
 anything else. Alas ! it was not to be. 
 
 One morning my sister rushed into the house 
 with the announcement that there were but 
 six little Berkshires in the sty. 
 
 " In my opinion," said Penneniah, " the fox 
 has taken them. It might be possible." 
 
 "Are you sure it was not a mink ?" I asked, 
 satirically. 
 
 Earlier in the year, Pen, assisted by Daniel, 
 had arrived at the conclusion that it was a 
 163
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 mink which nightly entered the chicken-house 
 to steal the chickens bodily. She persisted in 
 this belief in Daniel and the mink, even when 
 faced by an old almanac found in the garret 
 which defined a mink as " a small animal of the 
 weasel species, that sucks the blood of its vic 
 tim and leaves the carcass." No carcasses 
 were left in our hen-house. 
 
 But the present fact to face now was that by 
 some agent the little pigs were gone also, and 
 the next day three of their brethren followed 
 them. Pen and I stood by the sty looking sad 
 ly at the three remaining relics. 
 
 " I am sure it is a fox," said Pen. 
 
 " How can you be so foolish ?" I replied. "If 
 it is a fox it is a two-legged one named Daniel. 
 The little pigs have gone the way of the chick 
 ens. Do you really suppose, Pen, that the old 
 pig would let a fox walk off with her young 
 ones ? She has teeth, too, hasn't she ?" 
 
 Alas ! she had. Pen, poking about in the 
 straw with the point of her parasol, found an 
 unexpected answer to my question. The mur 
 der was out. Daniel was vindicated, but the 
 cherished Berkshire was a cannibal. Under the 
 straw lay the half-eaten scraps of her children. 
 Pen was made ill by this discovery, and not 
 only from a moral point of view. 
 
 " She ain' no mo' use as a breeder, Miss Pen," 
 said Daniel. "After they wonst tas'es peeg, 
 they's a-goin' t'eat 'em ev'ry time." 
 164
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 I remembered having heard something of the 
 same sort told by missionaries, and began to 
 say so, when Pen begged me to stop. 
 
 "I suppose it's only one of Daniel's lies," 
 I said, encouragingly. " You remember the 
 mink " 
 
 " It might be possible," Pen interrupted ; and 
 when Joseph came to talk over the inventory 
 he said it was not only possible, but certain. 
 
 " Then it would be dishonest not to mention 
 the fact at the sale," said Pen, sadly. 
 
 " No farmer would buy her if you did," said 
 Joseph. 
 
 " It must be mentioned," replied Pen, with 
 the air of a Roman father. 
 
 I followed Joseph into the hall when he left. 
 " Look here," I said ; " about that pig. So you 
 mention the fact of the eating, it won't matter 
 how you express it, I suppose. If you say that 
 part of the litter were killed in the last snap, 
 would that do ?" 
 
 Joseph looked at me, and I looked at Joseph. 
 The corners of his mouth approached his ears. 
 " Yes, Annie," he said, " that will do somebody," 
 and we parted with a mutual understanding. 
 Pen is honest always. I am as honest as the 
 times permit. 
 
 The morning of the sale came at last, and 
 
 was like a nightmare. The live-stock would 
 
 not be collected ; and when they finally were, 
 
 they would not stay where we put them. First 
 
 165
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 the chickens got out. Those for sale had been 
 locked in the hen-house the night before. In 
 the morning Pen gave the key to Daniel's boy, 
 with repeated instructions to " feed the chick 
 ens in the hen-house." Half an hour later Pen 
 opened the trap -door of the hen-house and 
 peeped in curiously. 
 
 " Hen, hen, hen," she called. Pen would never 
 say "Chicky, chick." She thought it vulgar. 
 But it made little difference, for there was not 
 a chicken present in the hen-house. 
 
 " 'Deed, Miss Penneniah, you done tol' me 
 ter feed de chickens what ware in de hen-house, 
 an' I let urn out an' fed um," said Daniel's own 
 son. " I 'ain' done nothin' but what you 
 said." 
 
 Pen admitted that " it might be possible," 
 and for the rest of the morning the little darky 
 had the delightful and previously forbidden 
 occupation of chasing chickens. 
 
 For the ducks, every one supposed the other 
 had locked them up the night before. " I seen 
 um dis mornin'," said Daniel's son. "A-head- 
 in" up de stream dey was. Dey's got a feedin'- 
 groun* 'way up de country yander. 'Tain' no 
 kin' of use lookin' fur um." 
 
 To crown these discoveries came another. 
 An Alderney calf, aged twenty-four hours, was 
 missing, and the mother was lowing wildly in 
 the stable. 
 
 " Hit sartinly was shet up las' night wid de 
 1 66
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 res','' asserted Daniel; "jes as shore as you 
 live, ladies, de bull eat it." 
 
 " I never heard of such a thing," replied Pen, 
 tentatively; "did you, Annie Tousey ?" 
 
 Daniel took serious umbrage at my reply. 
 
 "Excuse me, miss. I don' like to contradic' 
 you, madam, but indeed, miss, I hev known 
 bulls what eat calfs." 
 
 " It might be possible," said Pen, and Daniel 
 looked at me reproachfully, supported by her 
 faith ; " and if he has," Pen went on, " he will 
 be as useless as the Berkshire, I suppose." 
 
 " Daniel," I said, " if you are too lazy to hunt 
 the calf yourself, let that poor cow out of the 
 stable, and she'll find it fast enough. It was 
 no more locked up last night than the ducks 
 were." 
 
 Daniel departed, swelling with injury. 
 
 " Pen," I said, " how can you be such a fool ? 
 I wouldn't trust Daniel tied with a string. 
 Who ever heard of a bull eating a calf ?" 
 
 " Annie Tousey, you know nothing about it. 
 If a pig eats her young, it might be possible to 
 a bull. You hurt Daniel's feelings just now." 
 
 A little later Daniel appeared in the door 
 way. He was rolling a bit of straw about in 
 his lips sheepishly. He generally carried a 
 sample of the crop in season in his mouth. 
 
 " De calf done foun', Miss Penneniah," he 
 said ; " hit's ma went right to it. Hit ware out 
 in de parsture, jes as snug under de bushes 
 167
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 where she done hid it las' night. How come I 
 ter furgit it is 'cos I bin combin' my hade at 
 nights here lately. They say ef you combs yer 
 hade at nights, you fergits. That's what's got 
 to me." 
 
 ''Well," I said, " you were very careless, Dan 
 iel, but I am thankful the calf is found and 
 safe." 
 
 " 'Tain't safe," said Daniel, solemnly. " Hit's 
 done foun' dade." 
 
 With all my dismay, this was too much. The 
 sublimity of our misfortunes rose to the ridic 
 ulous, and I laughed until Pen became really 
 angry. 
 
 I will not dwell longer on the confusions of 
 that morning. Despite the ill luck which seem 
 ed to pursue us, we had everything fairly in 
 order when Joseph arrived, and, passing all over 
 into his hands, Pen and I retired to the house, 
 where we awaited results impatiently. 
 
 When the sale was over, and most of the 
 people gone, Joseph came in to tell us that he 
 really thought he had done rather well for us. 
 "All the farming implements you wanted to 
 sell are gone," he said ; " but, best of all, the 
 greater part of the live-stock has been bought 
 in by one man, named Smith." 
 
 Pen bounded from her chair. 
 
 " Frank Smith !" she cried. " Did he pay 
 cash ? If not, he mustn't have one of them." 
 
 Joseph said the man gave his note, and 
 168
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 added that he thought "a bird in the hand 
 was worth two in the bush." 
 
 " In the case of Smith, his note represents 
 the bush birds," I replied. "Joseph, you can't 
 mean to say you didn't know that Smith has 
 no credit in the county ? Well, I see why you 
 irritate your poor father." 
 
 I really had reason to feel troubled ; for, 
 with Smith refused a3 a purchaser, when the 
 ducks came back at nightfall, there was almost 
 as much live-stock cackling and quacking and 
 lowing about us as there had been before the 
 sale. 
 
 That night Pen and I sat again looking at 
 each other despairingly. 
 
 " Pen," I said, at last, " this is a crisis. We 
 have been working the farm together ; now I 
 suggest that you take what small proceeds 
 there are from the sale, wear my shoes into 
 town to-morrow" (she had been wearing rub 
 bers over hers to hide the hole), " buy yourself 
 a pair of shoes, and the things we must have 
 to live, while I stay here trying to think out a 
 plan." 
 
 Pen consented, and went into town the next 
 day. All that morning I sat thinking, and all 
 that afternoon I still thought, seeing before 
 me more and more plainly but one hateful 
 conclusion to sell the farm to Uncle Elijah 
 for two-thirds of its value ; yet by the time Pen 
 came home the problem was solved otherwise. 
 169
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Well, Annie Tousey," she said, " has any 
 thought come to you ?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied. " It didn't come until late 
 in the afternoon, Penny, when I was sitting 
 alone on the front porch ; then it opened the 
 gate and walked up the path, with a bucket of 
 paint in each hand. Now, Penneniah, before 
 I tell you anything I want to make a bargain 
 with you. You know we decided that working 
 together we had made a failure. I want you 
 to promise me that you will not interfere with 
 any of my decisions about the farm for a 
 month. Then if I have not succeeded I will 
 turn the farm over to you, and you can do 
 what you like for a month. If we both fail we 
 will hand it over to Uncle Elijah for his ten 
 thousand dollars. Will you agree ?" 
 
 "Yes," said my sister ; "that seems fair." 
 
 " No interference for a month, mind, no mat 
 ter what I do. Do you promise that ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Pen, and I knew she would 
 keep her word that's Penneniah. Then I said : 
 
 " I will tell you what I have done. By noon 
 to-morrow the roof of this house will be crying 
 out in large letters, white upon a red ground, 
 ' Use Camphorated Compound Cramp Cure.' 
 As we are on a hill and near the railroad, hun 
 dreds of people will have read it before night 
 fall, and we shall have one hundred dollars in 
 our pockets." 
 
 Penny dropped into the nearest chair. She 
 170
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 did not speak ; but it would have been a waste 
 of breath her face was enough. 
 
 " I am glad you remember your promise," I 
 said, quickly. " I was afraid for a moment that 
 you were going to forget it. The man came 
 up the path to say that if I would let him paint 
 his advertisement on the roof of the barn he 
 would pay me twenty-five dollars. I told him 
 no of course not. He was going away, when 
 a thought struck me, and I called him back. 
 
 " 'What would you pay me,' I said, ' if I let 
 you paint it on the roof of the house?' He 
 looked from one roof to the other, and said, as 
 they were of about equal size, he would pay 
 the same. ' No, you won't,' I told him. ' You 
 know you never advertised on the roof of a 
 handsome stone house before. You will pay 
 me three times as much as for the barn, or 
 none at all.' I wished I had asked him more ; 
 for he grabbed at it, and the bargain is closed 
 twenty-five dollars for the barn and seventy- 
 five for the house one hundred dollars in all, 
 where we had nothing." 
 
 Penneniah burst into tears. "As I promised, 
 of course I can say nothing," she sobbed, " but 
 I shall never forgive you, Annie Tousey 
 never." 
 
 " I am very sorry you feel so badly about 
 it," I said. " It seems to me best conscien 
 tiously best, Pen. But, you know, I am to have 
 but thirty days as my share of the manage-
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 ment, and so I only rented the roofs for that 
 term. Then you can have them painted over 
 if you desire." 
 
 "The first day," sobbed Pen "the very first 
 day of my term." 
 
 " It may be possible to paint them over 
 before then," I said. " Something may hap 
 pen." 
 
 But as Pen would not be comforted, and as 
 I was not moved sufficiently to withdraw from 
 my decision, our relations became a little 
 strained. In fact, I had to stand quite alone 
 in the matter. The next day, when the white 
 letters glared out on the red roof, and all the 
 neighbors checked their teams at the gate to 
 stare and laugh, Pen shut every window-blind, 
 and would not cross the door-sill. 
 
 " I said I will not interfere, and I will not," 
 she said, " but I feel exactly as if a demon were 
 sitting on the roof." 
 
 Even Joseph saw fit to remonstrate with me 
 on the subject. 
 
 "Annie," he said, "upon my word, I don't 
 wonder Pen feels badly. I can't think what 
 you're doing this for. It's not worth it." 
 
 " Joseph," I replied, " I advise you to go home 
 and pull your thinkers up by the roots and 
 plant them again. That's what I did the day 
 Penny went into town. They got a new start 
 that way. What does Uncle Elijah say ?" 
 
 " He's pretty angry, Annie. And, to tell the 
 172
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 truth, I don't blame him for it or Penneniah 
 either." 
 
 This was the first day. The second day 
 Joseph came again to tell me that his step 
 father had been to see his lawyer. 
 
 " He came home more outraged than ever," 
 Joseph said, gravely. Then he began to laugh. 
 " By -the -way, Annie, last night, after I went 
 home, I did what you told me to. I pulled up 
 my thinkers by the roots .and planted them 
 again. They are growing very fast now." 
 
 " What did you say ?" asked Penny, wiping 
 her eyes. She had been wiping one eye or the 
 other ever since the " Compound Cure " had 
 brooded over our roof. 
 
 " Nothing important," Joseph answered. "All 
 the neighbors called on father to-day, Annie 
 casually, you know, just to pass the weather. 
 You girls and the roof were mentioned by each 
 one incidentally." He began to laugh again. 
 
 "Joseph," I said, sharply, "you had better 
 not aggravate your father by coming to see us 
 just now." 
 
 Joseph shook his head solemnly. " He'll be 
 here himself before long. You see if he isn't. 
 You had better be mixing your war-paint and 
 collecting your feathers, Annie." 
 
 With this warning he left me. 
 
 " I can't think what ailed Joseph," said Pen, 
 when he had gone. " He is usually so consid 
 erate and sympathetic. He must have seen 
 173
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 I was in trouble to-day, yet he kept bursting 
 out laughing in the oddest way at nothing at 
 all. It was not like Joseph. Do you think 
 Uncle Elijah is really coming here, Annie Tou- 
 sey ?" 
 
 On the third day of the reign of the " Com 
 pound Cure" on our roof Pen's question was 
 answered by Uncle Elijah himself. Joseph was 
 the first to see him, from the window, coming 
 up the path to the house door. 
 
 " Annie," said Joseph, " are you ready ? He's 
 here." 
 
 Both Penneniah and I knew whom he meant. 
 Penny was sewing, and as she dropped her 
 work and her hands together on the table by 
 which she was sitting, her thimble positively 
 rattled with apprehension. 
 
 "Joseph," I said, " I don't want Uncle Elijah 
 to find you here. You have just time to slip 
 out of the back door." 
 
 Joseph shook his head emphatically. " When 
 I have been hanging about here for three days 
 to see this ! No, indeed, Annie ; you can't 
 make me go." 
 
 " Stay, Joseph," pleaded Pen ; " I should feel 
 safer. Annie, let him hide in the closet. Do, 
 Joseph." 
 
 " I will if I may have the door on a crack," 
 
 said Joseph. And to this I had to consent, for 
 
 Uncle Elijah was already knocking at the front 
 
 door. I went to let him in myself, and when 
 
 174
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 I brought him back to our sitting-room with 
 me only Pen was to be seen, sewing at the table 
 with stitches which had all to be picked out 
 afterwards ; but the closet door was ajar. 
 
 " Penneniah," said Uncle Elijah, deliberate 
 ly, as he entered he had ignored me, save for 
 a brief greeting in the hall " Penneniah," he 
 repeated, standing accusingly before her, " I 
 have come to speak to you regarding the in 
 decent way you are treating the home of your 
 grandfather and your own father. Both would 
 turn in their graves " 
 
 " No, Uncle Elijah," I interrupted Pen was 
 already dissolved in tears " Penny didn't do 
 it ; I did." 
 
 Uncle Elijah turned to me. "You, Annie 
 Tousey?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied. " Penny is the elder, of 
 course, but you know how we keep our word 
 when we once give it, and she has promised 
 me that I shall run the farm, and that she will 
 not interfere with anything I choose to do." 
 
 " Only for thirty " Pen began to sob. 
 
 " Penny," I cried, " hold your tongue ! You 
 agreed not to say one word. Now keep your 
 promise." 
 
 And my sister bowed her face into the white 
 work she had been sewing. 
 
 " Uncle Elijah," I said, " if you have any 
 thing to say, please say it to me. I am in 
 charge. Won't you take a chair ?" 
 175
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Uncle Elijah looked from the seat I offered 
 to me, and then back again to the chair, into 
 which he finally sank. I sat opposite him, and 
 we looked silently at each other, until he had 
 to begin. 
 
 "Annie Tousey," he said, "when you first 
 told me that you would not sell the farm out 
 of the family, I supposed you had some feeling 
 for the old place." 
 
 " So I had, Uncle Elijah," I answered, "and 
 so I have. That's why I rented the roof out 
 to the 'Compound Cure' rather than sell it." 
 
 My uncle put his hand in his pocket and 
 drew out his check-book. 
 
 " Now, Annie," he said, " it's not worth while 
 for me to tell you that this is a great personal 
 inconvenience to me, nor to enter into a talk 
 on values. You have one mind as to the price 
 of this farm, I another. I have offered you 
 ten thousand dollars down for the property ; 
 you have offered it to me for twelve thousand. 
 I came over this afternoon prepared to make 
 a compromise. Get me pen and ink. I will 
 write you out a check for eleven thousand, 
 which will split the difference." 
 
 He laid his check - book on the table and 
 opened it. 
 
 " Uncle Elijah," I said, without moving, " I 
 am very sorry you feel it so about the ' Com 
 pound Cure.' I had tried everything else to 
 make the farm pay before I came to that. And 
 176
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 I am sorry, too, that I must refuse your eleven 
 thousand dollars ; but I am in charge of affairs, 
 and I wouldn't feel it just to Penneniah." 
 
 Penny took her head out of her work to open 
 her mouth, but I frowned it shut again. 
 
 " I must absolutely refuse, Uncle Elijah," I 
 said. 
 
 " Very well, then," he answered ; " if you are 
 so obstinate over one thousand dollars, Annie 
 Tousey, I will yield it." 
 
 He got up from his chair, found pen and 
 ink for himself, and brought them back to the 
 table with him. 
 
 "What are you going to do, Uncle Elijah ?" 
 I said, as he drew the check-book towards him. 
 Uncle Elijah looked up at me and began to 
 remodel his features. 
 
 " I accept your offer," he answered ; " but it 
 is a large sum to pay out, Annie Tousey." 
 
 " What is a large sum ?" I asked. 
 
 " Twelve thousand dollars." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " I can't sell the farm at twelve thousand, 
 Uncle Elijah. I can't conscientiously do that." 
 
 Uncle Elijah laid down the pen and stared 
 at me. 
 
 " What do you mean, Annie Tousey ? That 
 was your own offer. Penneni " 
 
 " No, Uncle Elijah," I said. " Pen has prom 
 ised to leave all this to me, and you know she 
 will. We did offer you the farm at twelve 
 
 M 177
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 thousand, but that was before we or rather 
 I had developed this advertising industry. 
 We can afford to hold the farm now, and I 
 mean to hold it at its full value fifteen thou 
 sand dollars." 
 
 Uncle Elijah closed his check-book with a 
 snap, which his eyes and mouth seemed to 
 imitate. 
 
 " Then you can hold it," he said ; " but un 
 derstand, Annie Tousey, no matter what straits 
 and what disgrace you run yourself and Pen- 
 neniah into, don't look to me for anything, for 
 I wash my hands of you." 
 
 " We won't get into any straits, Uncle Eli 
 jah," I answered, firmly. " I see plain sailing 
 ahead of me. I have thought out ever so many 
 plans for developing an advertising industry. 
 Our being near the railroad and on a hill is a 
 great deal in our favor. I have decided to run 
 a flagstaff up the side of every chimney we 
 have, and rent out the flags. Of course wood 
 en scantlings set up in the fields are nothing 
 new, but that will yield something. I have a 
 crowning plan of setting a scantling on the 
 top of the house as high as it is safe. We live 
 on a hill, but we don't have heavy winds. I 
 mean to create here an advertising farm that 
 people will come from far and near to see. I 
 shall ask fancy prices for the advertisements, 
 and I shall be inventing original and startling 
 methods all the time." 
 
 178
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 Uncle Elijah lay back in his chair staring at 
 me. I did not dare to look in Pen's direction. 
 
 "Annie Tousey," said Uncle Elijah, "do you 
 actually mean to do this disgraceful thing on 
 the old home-place ?" 
 
 " Uncle Elijah," I answered, solemnly, " I 
 pledge you my honor I mean every word of 
 it. I am sick of spending every penny we get 
 on the farm. Now the farm has got to do 
 something for us. If you can think of any bet 
 ter paying plan, short of selling the farm out 
 of the family or selling it for less than fifteen 
 thousand dollars, I should be delighted to hear 
 of it. Otherwise this advertising industry will 
 go on. I can see no help for it." 
 
 My uncle forgot to mould his features ; he 
 forgot to dip his pen in the ink until he found 
 it would not write in his check-book. 
 
 " Here, Annie Tousey," he said, tearing out 
 the check he drew up, and laying it loose on 
 the table before me, " do you go and have a 
 deed of this farm made to me. Of all the dis 
 graceful things I ever heard, this is the most 
 disgraceful. Get me the deed, I say, and two 
 witnesses." 
 
 I looked at the check. It was for fifteen 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 "Annie Tousey," said my Uncle Elijah, as I 
 
 took the check and he rose to go, " I will do 
 
 you the justice to say that I believe you do 
 
 not realize what you have done. As a woman, 
 
 179
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 you cannot understand how it appears, but if 
 you were a man, Annie Tousey, I should say, 
 without a moment's hesitation, that you had 
 deliberately played a very close and a very 
 doubtful game. Annie Tousey " 
 
 What my uncle saw written on my face I am 
 sure I do not know. I opened my reticule 
 quickly, and shut his check inside. When I 
 looked up again my uncle was vigorously mod 
 elling his features, and watching me so curi 
 ously that I was glad to glance at Penneniah. 
 Pen was also looking at me, with an expression 
 of doubtful awe. At that point it seemed to 
 me that I heard a distinct and suppressed 
 chuckle. I glanced at the cupboard door anx 
 iously, but the sound did not come from that 
 direction. As it was repeated, I turned invol 
 untarily towards Uncle Elijah. He was no 
 longer modelling his features, but they wore 
 an expression quite new to me. 
 
 " Annie Tousey," he said, slowly, " you ought 
 to have been a man " ; and when he said that 
 I knew that he felt himself paying me the 
 highest compliment in his power, and also that 
 in pocketing my uncle's check I had pocketed 
 his respect. 
 
 " I am very sorry, Uncle Elijah " I began, 
 but he stopped me. 
 
 " No, you ain't, Annie Tousey. You needn't 
 think I bear you a grudge, though, for I don't. 
 Lord, it's a pity you ain't a man. It makes 
 1 80
 
 ANNIE TOUSEY'S LITTLE GAME 
 
 me sick when I see what ought to be a man 
 having to walk about this world in woman's 
 skirts, but it makes me sicker to see what 
 ought to be a woman in man's trousers. Now 
 there's my wife's Joseph By-the-way, Annie 
 Tousey, I have thought " 
 
 The closet-door creaked, and I broke in : 
 " Never mind about Joseph, Uncle Elijah. I 
 am glad you don't feel hardly towards me, and 
 we can move away in a week, if that will suit 
 you." 
 
 Uncle Elijah held out his hand. There was 
 a curious smile on his face. 
 
 " It was a close deal, Annie Tousey," he said ; 
 " but as a deal it was square, and I can't com 
 plain. I'll tell you what, though, I'd rather 
 have you on my side than on the other. You 
 needn't think of leaving this farm for very 
 long. I look at it this way : It takes two 
 halves to make a whole, but you can make it 
 out of three quarters and Joseph. He Well, 
 I wouldn't take away the big pieces of furni 
 ture, Annie Tousey."
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 " IT isn't as if I cared for any one else. I 
 think you know that. It's only that I " 
 
 " That you don't care for me." 
 
 " You put words into my mouth. I had not 
 meant to say exactly that still, if you prefer 
 it should stand so " 
 
 " I do, if you are thinking of our long row 
 home, and so are tempering the wind for my 
 shearing. Won't you speak with brutal frank 
 ness ? When a woman has refused a man di 
 rectly and indirectly as often as you have me, 
 he may suffer each time a gamut of emotions, 
 but really he ceases to be embarrassed." 
 
 The woman who had spoken flushed a little. 
 
 " That was not a nice speech. I have al 
 ways been honest with you." 
 
 " Yes, but never quite so far from covert. 
 If I were not I, and you you, the prospect ahead 
 might be awkward for an hour or so, and awk 
 wardness means anguish to your mind. You 
 are a symphony of social accords. I have never 
 yet made a discordant scene, I think, but be 
 ing repeatedly refused with such unfailing tact 
 182
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 and courtesy is having its effects on my nerves. 
 I am more irritable than I used to be. It would 
 be easier if you were rude to me." 
 
 " I know it." The answer came quickly. 
 " It is all wrong between you and me. May I 
 speak very plainly ?" . 
 
 " I beg that you will. I think I have almost 
 the right to demand it ; and you can speak 
 the naked truth and still be artistic, you know. 
 I learned that early in my art career. One 
 day, when we were all in the studio painting, 
 my old master came behind me and leaned 
 over my shoulder to find that I had boyishly 
 draped my figure in a floating gauzy veil. ' Mr. 
 Satterly,' he said, ' if you want to paint draped 
 figures, paint them, and if you want to paint 
 nude figures, paint nude figures, but spare me 
 shimmerettes !' Won't you spare me shimmer- 
 ettes to-day, Annette ?" 
 
 Satterly looked up, smiling, and his compan 
 ion laughed, but she was still uneasy, as her 
 very attitude showed. The two were sitting 
 together in a deep stony hollow formed in some 
 wave -smitten rocks, which were at once the 
 breakwater and rugged bluff of a small island 
 that lay green with its pine-trees in the midst 
 of a deep cove. The site was too exposed to 
 winter gales for verdure, but in place of grass, 
 nature, fertile in expedients, had laid down 
 matted pine-needles season after season, until 
 the net-work underfoot was more dense than 
 183
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 the prickly boughs crossing overhead. Winds 
 and storms had filled all the nooks and corners 
 of the red crags with this fodder-like pine, mak 
 ing a veritable rookery of warm nests in among 
 the rocks. It was in one of these nests that 
 Annette and Satterly were sitting. 
 
 " I and my shimmerettes seem to offend you 
 to-day," said Annette, after a long pause. " Do 
 you know that we close our cottage to-morrow ? 
 I asked you early in the summer to give me 
 quiet freedom while I stayed here to think it all 
 over, and I meant to be decided when these 
 last days of October came. I have tried to be 
 so all along, but I hoped you understood why 
 I could not be too vehement in my denials." 
 
 There was a genuine sweetness and an un 
 usual softness in her tone and manner that one 
 less a lover would have found hard to resist. 
 Satterly moved to lay his hand closely on the 
 hand of the woman he loved, with a quick 
 touch which had in it so much earnestness and 
 so little of a caress that she did not withdraw 
 from him. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said, " if I am soured ; in 
 deed it is not your fault. However this talk 
 between us ends and I feel that there are to be 
 finalities in it you must believe that I acquit 
 you of any blame whatever. You have been 
 most exquisitely patient, womanly, and kind 
 to me from Alpha to Omega, if Omega it is to 
 be. Now, while I can speak calmly and with 
 184
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 unbiased truth, I want you to write it in the 
 tablets of your memory that I told you this. 
 Don't you let anything anything that I may 
 be provoked to say or do hereafter make you 
 believe that I really think differently." 
 
 He was sitting at her feet, and could see, as 
 she looked down at him, all the little flecks of 
 warm brown in her eyes that on near view 
 made them seem hazel. Her lips were parted 
 and quivering slightly. To Satterly her face 
 perfectly expressed her character as he had 
 learned to know it. Her underlying nature 
 was as the tendernesses of her beauty those 
 brown lights of the eyes, those soft curves of 
 the lips visible only when studied as Satterly 
 was then devoutly studying them. She turned 
 a little from his fixed gaze on her face, and 
 looked over the waters at the low wintry sun 
 hanging red above the red rocks. The move 
 ment drew her hand softly, as if unintentional 
 ly, from Satterly's grasp. He fell back with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Everything you do is characteristic of you. 
 Here you have let me sit as another woman 
 would not have dared trust a man madly in 
 love with her, but you know exactly to a math 
 ematical nicety the line of safety. Did you 
 know that for two foolish moments just now, 
 because a squirrel in the tree made you start, 
 and again because the sunlight shifted on your 
 face, I half believed that your fingers caught 
 185
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 mine, or that your expression altered ? Was 
 that why you drew your hand away? No 
 pardon me another woman would have done 
 that you only let it melt from mine." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, frankly ; " and you are 
 thinking, too, that my horror of ' scenes,' as 
 you call them, is the cause of whatever is wrong 
 between us. No, don't stop me. Something 
 is wrong ; but my real inability to decide and 
 end this finally one way or the other has been 
 due to my inexperience " 
 
 Satterly laughed outright. " Inexperience ! 
 In what, pray, are you inexperienced men or 
 manners ? Dear one, don't be troubled to find 
 reasons. You don't love me that's all and 
 enough. Why should you ? Because I can't for 
 get you things stick in my heart as in a dog's 
 is no reason that you should be annoyed." 
 
 " I am glad you are willing to understand," 
 she said, gently, " but you don't quite do so 
 yet. I mean what I say of my ignorance. 
 Most women of my age I am no longer an 
 immature girl have some experiences to guide 
 them, but I have never really cared for any 
 man in my life ; and as a woman has to be a 
 little well susceptible herself, you know, to 
 thoroughly enjoy playing at love, I have never 
 even had flirtations to teach me. I have come 
 nearer to both love and flirtation with you 
 than with any one else." She paused, as if 
 doubting the wisdom of such plain speech. 
 186
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 "Go on," he answered ; "this is just what I 
 wanted." 
 
 "You see now why I asked you for these 
 free months. I have had nothing by which to 
 gauge myself. Other men have loved me. 
 You know that, so there is no harm in my say 
 ing so. I have been ashamed that I could hear 
 them with not even a throb of answering emo 
 tion. With you it has been a little different. 
 Sometimes I have thought that I did care for 
 you because I hate to make you suffer, and be 
 cause I can talk to you well, as I am talking 
 now. But neither of these is love. I want to 
 ask you an odd question. How did you know 
 that you loved me?" She flushed under his 
 look of amusement, but did not explain further. 
 
 " How do I know I love you ?" 
 
 "That was not what I asked. The tense 
 makes all the difference. I said, how did you 
 know. I think I can understand diving deeply 
 after plunging, but plunging in, it is quite an 
 other matter." 
 
 "Yes," he admitted, "it is. I have often 
 wondered how women got the impulse to dive 
 into marriage, lacking the stimulus of the 
 chase." 
 
 Annette looked her assent. 
 
 "You understand me wonderfully well. It 
 
 must be partly your artistic temperament that 
 
 teaches you how a woman feels. You could 
 
 never have sent me a Japanese oak, for in- 
 
 187
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 stance, though you do think me a worldling. I 
 think I want to tell you about my Japanese 
 oak, and how I almost married the man who 
 gave it to me. It was a long while ago. I was 
 little more than a debutante then, but I thought 
 it high time I married. The idea of never 
 marrying had not then occurred to me." She 
 waited again for Satterly to speak ; but he was 
 silent, and she went on : "I was never real 
 ly engaged to the man I decided to marry. 
 Something held me back from the final step ; 
 but he had reason to believe it would soon 
 come to that, though I never pretended to love 
 him at all ; and his first gift to me, a young, 
 sensitive girl, was what do you think ? a mor 
 bid Old World plant a Japanese oak ! Did 
 you ever see one ?" 
 
 " I think so. They look like weary, wizened 
 old men don't they ? and never grow larger 
 than a little bush." 
 
 Annette spoke with suppressed feeling. 
 "They don't grow because you deny them 
 every natural condition. You keep them in 
 a pot too small for them, with cruelly little 
 water, too little sun, and too little air. They 
 live for a century, and cost, I forget what, but 
 small fortunes. It was a gift I was very proud 
 of for a day or so. Then I began to hate it, and 
 the man who thought I could be hard enough 
 to enjoy it. I was, as he had reason to know, 
 a rather cold woman, but not then, or now, I 
 188
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 hope, a hard one. I set the poor thing in a 
 great pot of earth, and put it in a south win 
 dow, and drowned it with water, and flooded it 
 with air. Of course it died. When I broke my 
 engagement, if I can call the half-agreement 
 such a name, I said that I did so because the 
 oak had been made a gift to me, and because 
 that proved an utter lack of comprehension of 
 me. But that was not my whole reason. I did 
 not tell him how I had learned to realize that 
 if I married without love I should grow, or 
 rather stop growing, just like that miserable, 
 starved little tree. He had unconsciously given 
 me an object-lesson, you see, and I have never 
 forgotten it. Worldly, as you and he yes, 
 both of you think me, the ghost of that oak 
 has again and again stood between me and a 
 loveless marriage." There was a long pause. 
 Annette broke the silence, speaking slowly, as 
 if feeling her way to an understanding with 
 herself as well as with her listener. " I am not 
 a cold woman, whatever I seem. If I were, I 
 should have married long ago. A marriage of 
 love, genuine, tender love, is what I call beauti 
 ful, and I will have nothing less lovely. But 
 how is one to know? How am I to know, for 
 instance, that you can give me the sunshine, 
 space, and free air of a love - marriage ? I 
 know all this is hard for me to say that I 
 shall never marry any one if I do not engage 
 myself to you to-day, for I can never again ex- 
 189
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 pect to meet a man whose comradeship I so 
 enjoy or with whom I feel such freedom, and 
 who it is even harder to say than I thought 
 who so nearly stirs my heart." Satterly looked 
 up quickly, but she would not meet his eyes. 
 She had to steady her voice to go on, and the 
 words came more firmly. " I confess I shrink 
 from the thought of parting with you finally ; 
 yet, I do not, no, I do not feel that irresistible 
 impulse to bind myself more closely to you 
 which, I suppose, would mean that I really loved 
 you. I don't know how better to test my heart, 
 and you don't help me." 
 
 She ended with a little catch in her breath 
 and more emotion than Satterly had ever seen 
 her show. He replied instantly. 
 
 " Frankly, don't you think you are rather un 
 reasonable? How am I to test your heart for 
 you? As I understand, you paraphrase the old 
 agnostic's prayer : ' O Love, if you be my Love, 
 touch my heart, if I have a heart.' Perhaps 
 you don't realize that you are asking me to 
 teach you exactly what I have been vainly 
 striving and slaving to make you learn, lo, 
 these many moons. What more can I do ? I 
 do melt my own tested heart for you to drink 
 as Cleopatra did her pearl. But that hasn't 
 taught you, my Princess Princess I-Would-I- 
 Wot-Not." 
 
 Annette's face changed. She looked down 
 with a quick turn of her head. 
 190
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 " Princess I - Would - 1 - Wot - Not," she re 
 peated " I-Would-I-Wot-Not." She recited 
 the title over and over, as if it fascinated her. 
 " Is that descriptive of me ? Yes, I suppose it 
 is. How discontented and fretful and peevish 
 the name sounds I would I wot not!" She 
 interrupted Satterly's murmured protest. " I 
 don't mind ; it's entirely true. But don't you 
 know that I would give the world to wot what 
 I do want to know my heart as others know 
 theirs as you do ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Satterly, dryly, " there's no doubt 
 whatever about my knowing. I am not intro 
 spective enough to be a doubter. I'm simply 
 an old-fashioned lover on one knee before you 
 offering my simple heart for what it is worth as 
 frankly and as perpetually as an old-fashioned 
 valentine picture. I have known unfortunate 
 ly well just what I wanted not ever since I 
 first met you I am not practised enough to 
 pretend I have always loved you. I don't think 
 I quite liked you when we first met, did I ?" 
 
 " No," said Annette, laughing ; " you thought 
 me a worldly woman, and once deliberately told 
 me so. I don't think I have ever had to com 
 plain of what you call ' shimmerettes ' with 
 you." 
 
 " You never will, I hope. The first time it 
 ever occurred to me to love you was when we 
 were walking one day under a grove of pine- 
 trees just like these, and the ground was springy 
 191
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 in the same way with the old and new shed 
 needles. Do you remember that walk ? I don't 
 suppose so, but I was as I thought making my 
 self agreeable to you, and talking cynically of 
 what money could do, what I knew my own 
 money had bought me of the world's favor, when 
 you stopped short and dug the point of your 
 parasol into the mat of pine-needles. ' Bah ! 
 You haven't the money that would buy a carpet 
 like this !' you said, scornfully, and you could 
 have knocked me down with one of those same 
 needles. I looked at you, and then somehow 
 it seemed to me that I saw your beauty for the 
 first time. I thought, ' Why, this is a woman 
 to love !' But frankly it wasn't the first time 
 I had thought that of a woman, and, according 
 to experience, it seemed to me an unimportant 
 discovery. Only I thought it again shortly, 
 and again in a segregated kind of way, until at 
 last the thought dropped down so often it grew 
 as this pine-needle carpet must have grown, 
 slowly but surely overlapping everything 
 else. I can't tell you how I know I love you 
 any more than the pine-needles know what 
 made them fall, or why they keep on fall 
 ing." 
 
 Satterly was speaking with apparent calm 
 ness, but, as Annette looked aside, the excited 
 contraction of his eyes told a different story. 
 Annette had been listening earnestly, now she 
 leaned her hand on the stone by her, and with 
 192
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 a restless gesture rose to her feet. She spoke 
 slowly. 
 
 " I have always dreamed that if I ever fell in 
 love it would be so deeply and overwhelmingly 
 that I think I may have been, and perhaps I 
 am now, afraid to loosen my hold on myself. 
 That may be the trouble. But whatever the 
 reason is, that hold is still there, Mr. Satter- 
 ly. You have taught me nothing, and I am 
 still my own. If I had to marry you" she 
 turned to Satterly with a smile so sweet and 
 so frank that his heart sank in his breast 
 " I believe I could make you fairly happy, and 
 you me, but I can be sure of nothing more 
 ideal than that, and that is not very ideal, is 
 it ? As I said, if I had to marry you, I think 
 it would be in all probability best and happiest 
 for me ; but marriages can't be made in that 
 way, and as it has to be deliberate, and as the 
 last word has to lie with me, I cannot take the 
 responsibility of making it yes it must be no." 
 
 She paused in a sudden embarrassment, look 
 ing away from Satterly over the edge of the 
 rocky nest down on the curved beach at the 
 foot of the bluff. As she stood she shivered 
 slightly. 
 
 " It grows very cold," she began, convention 
 ally. Suddenly she interrupted herself, crying 
 out in another voice, " Look ! look ! our boat !" 
 
 Satterly sprang to his feet beside her. He 
 had left their flat-bottomed sharpy beached on 
 N 193
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 the sands with the oars drawn into it ; now it 
 was floating free on the water, each moment 
 drifting farther, and already some distance 
 away. The stealthy tide, rising and falling 
 softly and rapidly, had washed off the light 
 shell. They both stood staring helplessly af 
 ter it. 
 
 " Can we do nothing ?" cried Annette, aghast. 
 "We might as well be in a prison with our key 
 drifting away." 
 
 In answer Satterly flung back his head sud 
 denly, looking full in her face with wide-opened 
 eyes that fairly spoke, though she failed to 
 read the thought behind. An overwhelming 
 sense of something trembling in the balance 
 seized her, but a moment later he had turned 
 from her as if with a wrench of will-power, and 
 began to climb from the deep nest to the rocks 
 above. His foot was on the upper ledge when 
 Annette, following him, caught his arm. 
 
 "What are you thinking of?" she cried, 
 sharply. Her upturned face was suffused with 
 color, her lips were quivering, her eyes terri 
 fied. Satterly had never seen her so beautiful 
 or so womanly. 
 
 "The boat," he answered, simply, looking 
 down at her. " I can overtake it." 
 
 " You must not try. I implore you ! These 
 
 waters are always bitterly cold. Now they are 
 
 icy. They will send out a search-party from 
 
 home after nightfall, so we have only to wait," 
 
 194
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 she went on, resolutely, as his arm seemed to 
 stiffen under her grasp. " I am not afraid, and 
 I am woman enough, Mr. Satterly, and proud 
 enough, to be indifferent." 
 
 Satterly broke from her hold. 
 
 " I am not," he said. " Go to the back of the 
 rock. For God's sake don't follow me with 
 your eyes ! If I should fail, you could do noth 
 ing whatever to help me." He drew himself 
 up and over the edge. His footfall sounded on 
 the hard stone fainter and fainter. Annette 
 stood for a moment motionless, then dropped 
 down into the hollow, crouching against the 
 wall, her face hidden, her eyes and ears sealed 
 waiting. 
 
 A half-hour later the low sun, hanging like a 
 red disk over the water, shone blindingly into 
 Annette's face as she sat in the stern of the 
 boat facing Satterly, who was rowing. She 
 was utterly silent, and he noticed that the glow 
 in the sky, sea, and air failed to warm her 
 pallor. Her face was grave, her manner se 
 rious. 
 
 "I am sorry," said Satterly, apologetically. 
 " It was a careless trick on my part. I should 
 have remembered what a thief the water is ; 
 but, indeed," he went on, laughing, " you need 
 not take it so solemnly. Except for your sad 
 fright and a little wad of wet underwear in the 
 locker, there's no harm done. It was not so 
 195
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 bad at is looked. The tide was with me, and 
 the water was not too cold." 
 
 Annette dropped her hand over the side of 
 the boat, trailing it in the water, and drew it 
 out again blue with the chill. Her voice was 
 shaking, but she spoke with a cold precision. 
 
 " You risked your life. The tide could have 
 swept you out and the cold have cramped you. 
 It is a marvel that neither happened. I shall 
 never as long as I live forget those moments I 
 spent crouching down among the pine-needles 
 at the back of that rock. I was afraid to see 
 or hear, I tried to bury myself alive." 
 
 " I know," said Satterly ; " I had almost to 
 shake you awake when I came back. It was 
 like a disappointment, wasn't it, with such 
 preparation for horrors ?" 
 
 The recollection of her terrors and his light 
 manner seemed to double Annette's annoy 
 ance. 
 
 "What right had you to impose such an ex 
 perience on me? I am not speaking of any 
 duty to yourself." 
 
 Satterly did not answer. She went on rest 
 lessly: 
 
 " I can't forgive you for any of it. I am 
 weighed down by the obligations you persist 
 ently thrust on me. It is not generous." 
 
 Then he looked up, his brow reddening. 
 
 " On the contrary," he answered, quickly. 
 He rowed less strongly, and the tide swept 
 196
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 heavily against the bow of the boat until his 
 face was in the sunlight, and Annette could 
 see plainly his look of indignant repudiation. 
 " On the contrary, you are now under no ob 
 ligation of any kind. You are not Princess 
 I-Wot-What-I-Must, as you might have been. 
 You are still Princess I-Would-I-Wot-Not." 
 
 Annette's head rose proudly. 
 
 " You think, then, that I did not mean it 
 when I told you on the island I was willing to 
 wait for rescue ?" 
 
 " You thought you meant it ; but as I was I, 
 and you you, if the chance of escape had been 
 one in a million, and I had but half a life to 
 risk, I ought to have risked it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 But Satterly had already regained his com 
 posure and his usual easy good-humor. 
 
 " I refuse to answer," he said, laughing. " Just 
 now you stung me into saying a great deal more 
 than I should." 
 
 " You may as well go on, as you have said 
 so much. You think, in a word, that with the 
 publicity, the hue -and -cry of a search-party 
 looking for us, I should not have been exactly 
 in a position that forced me to marry you, but 
 where it would have been more comfortable to 
 my worldly-mindedness to do so, and so, world 
 ly to the end, I would have married you as a 
 mere escape from annoyance." 
 
 Satterly showed that he braced himself for
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 what he saw had to come. " It is what you 
 would have done," he said, firmly, "and what 
 indubitably I should have grasped at your do 
 ing, and far better have died than been party 
 to. You are very angry with me, I see. I don't 
 wonder. I hardly think it will mend matters 
 for me to tell you that I worship you just as 
 you are, worldly-mindedness and all. You are 
 not worldly at the core of your heart, but you 
 have you can't deny it you have lived and 
 outlived some things that other women have 
 yet to fathom. You know, for instance, exactly 
 how valuable the world's opinion is, and what 
 it means to run even a little counter to it. I 
 mean to tell you the whole truth now ; it is 
 better. When I saw the boat drifting off, I re 
 membered that you had just told me you could 
 marry me if you had to do so, and be fairly 
 happy. I knew forgive me that you would 
 consent to marry me because of that accident, 
 of wind and tide, and deep down in my heart 
 I knew all in a moment that I should not be 
 strong enough to resist such a temptation. 
 My only salvation was to plunge in at once, 
 and come back with the boat, or never come 
 back to you at all. You must see that." 
 
 "You risked your life, then, to save me from 
 yourself ?" 
 
 Satterly laughed, and shook his head. " I 
 don't know. I am getting out of my depth now. 
 I tell you I haven't the kind of mind that un-
 
 PRINCESS I-WOULD-I-WOT-NOT 
 
 tangles metaphysical confusions. I only know 
 that I love you, and I stand now where I stood 
 before the boat drifted away with a fair field, 
 but no favor whatever." 
 
 " You risked your life to save me from your 
 self," Annette repeated. Her voice was hard 
 and mechanical. " You knew me better than I 
 knew myself. Yes, I would have married you. 
 It was very nobly done." 
 
 Satterly replied by silence only, which An 
 nette made no effort to break. He bent to his 
 oars, rowing strongly, while the sun sank and 
 twilight settled on the waters. It was dark 
 when the homing boat with its two silent occu 
 pants wove its way through the shipping and 
 touched at the landing -pier. They could see 
 the old weather-worn boat-master standing on 
 the floating wharf with his lantern lit, peering 
 out over the harbor, waiting for them. He had 
 heard the splash of oars, and this was the last 
 boat out. Satterly took the lantern from him, 
 crossing the seats to the stern where Annette 
 sat. As he lifted the light, and it fell full on 
 her face, he paused in amazement, his hand ex 
 tended to help her. It was Annette who spoke 
 to the boatman, bidding him bring her some 
 wrappings from the boat-house. 
 
 The man turned away, and she rose, taking 
 the hand Satterly was still mechanically offer 
 ing. As she stood beside him, the lifted light 
 showed plainly her flushed and tear- wet cheeks. 
 199
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Her voice was soft with emotion, low with 
 earnestness. All the tenderness of her beauty 
 shone on Satterly as through a mist. It was 
 the same imploring face that had looked up at 
 him from the rocky nest. 
 
 " I sent him away on purpose, because I can't 
 let myself leave this boat without speaking. 
 Don't try to help me. I ought to say it alone. 
 I know I am not worthy of a man like your 
 self no, don't speak. But I have learned one 
 thing from you to-night, and you'll teach me 
 more. I know now that I never shall learn 
 what love is except by loving and sacrificing 
 as you do. It is with you that the last word 
 lies, but you must never again call me Princess 
 I-Would-I-Wot-Not, for now, though I don't 
 know just what it means, just as you do, I wot 
 what I want." 
 
 The old boatman, limping down the pier 
 with the wrappings, broke into a run as he 
 heard a crash and saw the light fall and dis 
 appear from the rowboat. When he reached 
 the wharf, Satterly was stumblingly helping 
 Annette over the broken glass of the lantern 
 and the seats of the boat. They were bcth 
 groping and laughing. 
 
 " Lost your light, sir ?" came the unnecessary 
 question. 
 
 And Satterly's voice, strong and exultant, 
 rang out from the darkness : " I ? Oh no ! 
 I've only just found it."
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 A TRUE STORY OF LITTLE RUSSIA 
 
 IT seems a far call to the village of Evan- 
 ovka, in the heart of Little Russia, and a far 
 ther call yet to the heart of the Little Russian 
 moujik living there ; but, while the sun rises in 
 the east and sets in the west, there will be 
 nothing new under the sun. 
 
 All the youth and jollity of Evanovka 
 Heaven knows there is little enough of the 
 latter are assembled together in a one-room 
 isba which it will not tax the eyes of the imag 
 ination to see. It has but one door and one 
 small window, both cut in the same wall. A 
 great oven, built of stone, juts out from the 
 opposite side, its chimney, also of stone, rising 
 from floor to ceiling, almost a wall in itself. 
 The furniture consists of a rudely made table 
 and a couple of long wooden benches. The 
 light of the home-made tallow candles, which 
 stand on the table stuck in old bottles or with 
 only their own drippings as candlestick, falls 
 on a circle of young girls variously employed.
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Some are weaving bits of carpet which they 
 will wear as skirts, others are spinning coarse 
 linen, and others again cutting and sewing the 
 linen into garments. There is not an article 
 of dress worn in the room which is not in a 
 state of reproduction under busy fingers. 
 
 By law of comparison, the day of labor is 
 over. This work does not prevent laughter 
 and jesting with the young men of the village 
 who have crowded in and sit on the floor or 
 where they can. They are mere boys of eigh 
 teen or nineteen, but grinding poverty and un 
 remitting work may induce maturity even more 
 rapidly than the sunny side o' the wall. 
 
 Each wears his high fur cap and is wrapped 
 in his sheepskin schuba, the untanned skin and 
 rough stitches on the outside, the fur in. 
 
 According to a time -honored custom, the 
 young people have come together to spend the 
 night in work and play. They meet thus in 
 this isba, which is set apart for the purpose, 
 once or twice a week during the winter months, 
 as did their fathers and mothers before them, 
 and as will their children after them, and 
 think no evil. 
 
 As the voices and laughter merge together 
 occasionally in a swinging peasant chorus, the 
 curious rhythmic air always in the minor key 
 is supported by a full contralto voice ; and it 
 is the same voice, almost guttural in depth, 
 but singularly rich, which creates an audience
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 whenever it is raised to speak. This is Neila, 
 the village beauty. She is speaking now. 
 
 " I tell you it is true that the Princess works, 
 and as hard as I do, Masha, or you." 
 
 In answer to the general laughter which fol 
 lowed her remark, Neila dropped her sewing in 
 her lap, leaned her elbows on the table, and 
 rested her chin in her hands, overlooking the 
 room with her large brown eyes. 
 
 " I tell you it is true," she repeated, deliber 
 ately. 
 
 A young moujik, who was sitting on the floor 
 near her, did not join in the laughter. This 
 lowly attitude at the feet of their women had 
 its root in convenience, and began and ended 
 in its literalness with the young peasants of 
 Evanovka ; but Dimitri, better known as Mitia, 
 the diminutive of Dimitri, was an exception, 
 as Neila well knew. 
 
 " Who has told you that the Barina works, 
 Neila ?" he asked. 
 
 Neila dropped her eyes on him for a moment. 
 Apparently she was never conscious of Mitia's 
 exits and entrances, but when she wished to 
 single him out there was no hesitation in her 
 glance, however crowded the room. 
 
 She answered his question to the company 
 at large, and with an air of indifference. 
 
 " The Barina told me herself." 
 
 As they stared at her, open-mouthed, Neila 
 explained further. " It was like this. It was 
 203
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 in a warm week in the last summer, and the 
 Princess would bring her papers into the gar 
 den, and she would sit in the shade of the 
 apple-tree just by the flower-bed I was weed 
 ing, and she would write, and she would write 
 and write." 
 
 With a quick motion the peasant girl lifted 
 her work from her lap and folded it in book- 
 shape on the table, scribbling over it with an 
 imaginary pen which she dipped into an im 
 aginary inkstand. Her companions watched 
 her with absorbed attention. 
 
 " Every day I would weed the bed and make 
 the end in each line run close by her Excel 
 lency's side. Every day I thought I should 
 like to ask her what she was writing and 
 writing about." 
 
 She paused for an effective moment, and 
 helped herself to a dried sunflower seed which 
 she selected from a pile which Mitia had poured 
 on the table before her. 
 
 "You asked the Barina that, Neila!" ex 
 claimed Mitia. 
 
 " I did," ansAvered Neila, cooly blowing the 
 husk of the seed from her lips. "I said one 
 day, 'Will your illustrious Highness pardon 
 me for approaching you, but will your High 
 ness tell me what you are writing?' And the 
 Barina was pleased to smile at me most gra 
 ciously, and told me what I did not understand, 
 and so, of course, you cannot. She said, ' I am 
 204
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 writing my diary.' ' What is diary ?' I asked 
 her. 'I write down in this book all that I do ev 
 ery day,' she replied to me ; and then I said, as 
 you have said, ' But your Highness does noth 
 ing,' and she laughed a long time before she 
 answered me at all. At last she asked, ' What 
 is your name ?' and when I told her she ex 
 plained to me that, although she did not weed 
 and dig and water as I do, she also worked in 
 ways which she would tell me of, and she told 
 me for a long time ; but if it took the Princess 
 herself to make me understand, it would be 
 useless for me to try to explain to you. Yes, 
 the Princess works, I tell you, only she works in 
 her own way, which is not our way not at all." 
 As she ended, Ne'ila caught up her sewing 
 again, and while her audience discussed her ex 
 perience with true moujik heaviness and delib 
 eration, she stitched on with marvellous rapid 
 ity as if unconscious of the sensation she had 
 caused. She had thrown aside her schuba, and, 
 thus unencumbered, her strong, graceful fig 
 ure, a little above middle height, showed freely 
 as she moved. Masha, the girl seated nearest 
 to Ne'ila, sighed enviously as she looked at her. 
 Neila's kaftan was trimmed with rows of gay 
 ribbons, her skirt was of bright calico, and her 
 heavy braids of brown hair were tied with three 
 ribbons where Masha's were tied with but one. 
 Masha fingered discontentedly the clumsy car 
 pet-strips which hung from her waist. 
 205
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "Why is it that you will not wear carpet 
 skirts as I do, Neila?" she asked, aggrievedly. 
 
 Neila moved restlessly. She stretched out 
 her booted feet, kicking them a little. It was 
 an added aggravation to Masha that the boots 
 had bright red tops. 
 
 " I like to be free, and if I can work fast and 
 make money, I may buy what I choose." 
 
 Masha sighed again as she watched the swift 
 fingers. Neila could drop her work and hold 
 the attention of the entire room, and yet she 
 had more finery for the present, and more laid 
 by for her trousseau, than any girl in the village. 
 She was then decorating a Sunday rubasJiki (a 
 garment which serves as chemisette and skirt) 
 with drawn-work at the top and bottom, and 
 about the neck and sleeves. There were no 
 patterns to copy. Neila was designing for her 
 self, drawing out some threads and catching 
 others together with a button-hole stitch. The 
 every day rubashki she wore was embroidered 
 simply with the national embroidery a cross- 
 stitch in blue and red thread on the white linen. 
 
 " Is that for your trousseau, Neila ?" asked 
 Masha, nodding her head towards the new gar 
 ment. 
 
 Every peasant girl expects to marry, and 
 prepares her trousseau accordingly. For what 
 else is she born ! 
 
 Neila replied, with a shrug of her strong 
 shoulders, " I shall not marry at all !" 
 206
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 She lifted her work as if to examine the pat 
 tern, with the candle-light behind it. Through 
 the network of threads Mitia's blue eyes sought 
 hers, reproachfully and sheepishly. Masha and 
 the other girls looked at him and laughed. 
 They were fond of laughing at Mitia. He 
 was the water-carrier for the garden where 
 they worked in summer, and they had even 
 seen him take Neila's water-pot from her hand 
 and water her part of the flower-beds after his 
 own labors were over. They had not been 
 spoiled by such civility themselves. It struck 
 them as amusing. 
 
 " No one ever comes for me," sighed Neila, 
 coquettishly "no one. In the name of all 
 the saints, what is that ?" 
 
 She half rose, pointing with extended arm 
 towards the little window cut near the door. 
 All eyes turned in the same direction. Framed 
 in the sash, and pressed close against the glass, 
 they saw a bearded face surmounted by the in 
 evitable high fur cap of a Little Russian moujik. 
 
 The light of a lantern which the intruder 
 held in his uplifted hand showed his features 
 with ghostly dimness, and also showed that he 
 beckoned with his free hand. 
 
 " It is you he calls, Neila," whispered Masha, 
 crossing herself, fearfully. " You have wished 
 for some one, and he has come for you." 
 
 Neila, braver, but not less superstitious, 
 crossed herself also with pious fervor. 
 207
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " May the Mother of God forbid ! It is only 
 a monjik ; but his look is not true. It is you 
 that he beckons, Mitia, not I." 
 
 Later, Masha's words were remembered. 
 Fatalism is religion with the moujik. Ask him 
 why he makes no effort to contest his small 
 plot of land with the locust when that scourge 
 sweeps his all from him, and he will reply to 
 you, raking his heavy fingers through his 
 heavy hair as if to stir the heavy brain be 
 neath, " God sends it let it be so." 
 
 In response to Neila's suggestion, Mitia rose 
 from her side and approached the window. 
 As he opened the little glass door cut in the 
 inner part of the double frame, he found him 
 self face to face with the new-comer. The 
 corresponding door in the outer frame was al 
 ready unlatched and open. 
 
 With an exclamation, Mitia wrapped his 
 schuba more closely about him, pressed his fur 
 cap down over his ears and hurried from the 
 door. 
 
 "How have you come here, Trophime?" he 
 called. The figure moved from the window 
 and joined him. Both men removed their 
 caps and kissed each other on the lips in greet 
 ing. 
 
 " I have been to the horse-fair, Mitia. Un 
 less you will take me in for the rest of the 
 night, I must walk over thirteen versts to Ra- 
 gazan." 
 
 208
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 Mitia welcomed the belated wanderer heart 
 ily. Visitors were a pleasant novelty ; for life 
 was given for work, and the villages lay very 
 far apart. Ragazan was called a near neigh 
 bor. 
 
 "Wait for me here," said Mitia. "I must 
 say one word inside first, and then we will go 
 to my father's hut together." 
 
 Trophime checked him, glancing again 
 through the window. 
 
 " Why should we go yet, Mitia ? They are 
 having a good time in there, those others." 
 He jerked his thumb towards the isba as he 
 spoke. Mitia hesitated. 
 
 " If I took you in there they would be angry. 
 You know it is not allowed to a stranger." 
 
 " Who knows what is allowed until he tries ? 
 You were always bragging of your girls last 
 summer. Let me see if they are as pretty as 
 ours." 
 
 The challenge told. Mitia still shook his 
 head. " They will never allow it," he repeat 
 ed, but he opened the door and made the at 
 tempt. Neila's voice rose above the discus 
 sion which followed his proposition. 
 
 " What does he wish to come in here for ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Mitia looked at her consciously. 
 
 " He is a good fellow. I worked a field with 
 him on the farm last summer. He wants no 
 harm." 
 
 o 209
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Neila glanced at him with a quick, sidelong 
 look. 
 
 " How do you know that ? What does he 
 want, then ?" 
 
 Mitia removed his cap and scratched the 
 mat of fair hair which he wore combed straight 
 down over brow, ears, and neck. It was use 
 less to contend with Neila. She turned his 
 soul inside out as easily as he did his schuba. 
 
 " He wishes to see if our girls are as pretty 
 as the girls of Ragazan," he blurted out, red 
 dening. 
 
 " Oh, let him come," replied Neila, dryly. 
 
 Seemingly, she lost further interest. Her 
 needle flew under her ringers. The question 
 lay with the rest. Finally the permission was 
 granted, and Mitia brought in Trophime. 
 
 Dazzled and blinded by the lights after the 
 darkness outside, the stranger stood for a mo 
 ment in the centre of a circle of curious eyes. 
 He was a handsome young peasant, magnifi 
 cently animal, with his powerful frame, strong 
 jaw, full eyes, and coarse, vigorous hair. As 
 his vision cleared, the first object it held was 
 Neila, yet the other girls had all looked up 
 from their various employments. 
 
 Her eyes alone remained glued to her work. 
 One sleeve was pushed back to the elbow, per 
 haps for greater convenience, and the bare, 
 well-moulded arm moved backward and for 
 ward, following the needle.
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 Trophime stood gazing at her blinkingly. 
 Neila looked up. Her eyes were as brown as 
 berries, and her teeth, as her lips parted over 
 them unexpectedly, were like young corn. 
 
 Trophime crossed the room and sat down on 
 the floor by her side. 
 
 One by one, as the night wore on, the occu 
 pants of the hut rolled themselves up in their 
 schubas and stretched themselves on the top 
 of the stove, where they soon fell asleep in the 
 warmth. When the stove was full, the others, 
 less fortunate, laid their wearied limbs on the 
 floor, but as the floor would probably have 
 been their bed at home, they did not com 
 plain. 
 
 Trophime and Neila alone talked on and on ; 
 a dull excitement was taking the place of sleep 
 in Trophime's light -gray eyes, and Neila's 
 brown eyes shone on him like the stars in the 
 night he had left outside. 
 
 For Neila, a new conquest was a new con 
 quest. She could sleep to-morrow. 
 
 Mitia had watched with them for a time, but 
 the conversation had resolved itself into a dia 
 logue, and the dialogue into whispers. His 
 body was tired after his day of labor, and his 
 soul was not much troubled. It was nothing 
 new to see Neila coquet with other men, To 
 morrow she would smile in his face again, 
 would be his partner if there were dancing, 
 eat sunflower seeds from his pocket, and at the
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 next meeting in the hut she would let him sit 
 at her feet and look up at her as he sang his 
 love-songs. And then, if the coming harvest 
 were good and he could prove to old Anton, 
 her father, that he was able to support a wife 
 why, then Mitia was fast asleep in his 
 schnba. 
 
 "Let him sleep," whispered Trophime. "My 
 God and my Lord ! are the men of this vil 
 lage without eyes, that you are yet unmar 
 ried ?" 
 
 " God has given them eyes to see their hands 
 with, and hands to do their work with," Neila 
 replied, sharply, pushing away Trophime's en 
 croaching arm. 
 
 He drew back, laughing. 
 
 " Tell me who he is, then. Which one of 
 them here has asked you to fix the day ?" 
 
 Neila lowered her lids. Beneath her long 
 lashes she looked down on Mitia's slender, sin 
 ewy figure stretched out on the floor near 
 them. 
 
 " No one," she replied, smiling " no one. I 
 I am too ugly." 
 
 Trophime laughed loudly. Neila hushed 
 him with lifted hand. 
 
 " Be quiet ! You will wake the others. Why 
 are you laughing ?" 
 
 Trophime drew nearer to her, whispering: 
 " Come now, my beauty, suppose I should ask 
 you to fix the day ?"
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 Neila threw back her comely head with a 
 smothered laugh, which she caught in her 
 throat with her hand. The rows of beads 
 twisted there on the warm skin, above the 
 loosely gathered rubasliki, clattered together. 
 
 " It is very well," she said, nodding with 
 mock solemnity. " Very well, indeed ! We 
 will fix the festival of Christmas. It is two 
 weeks off, and you are not to forget me when 
 the time comes." 
 
 " That would be likely, indeed ! But a bar 
 gain is no bargain without the seal." 
 
 He caught her arm as he spoke and bent his 
 face towards her for a kiss ; but strong as the 
 young moujik was, he had not reckoned on 
 the unexpected force with which Neila met 
 his advances. 
 
 "Take that !" she cried, warningly, as her 
 vigorous arm sent him staggering back against 
 the table. The jar shook down one of the bot 
 tle candlesticks, which rolled over and over 
 and fell to the floor with a crash of breaking 
 glass. The sleepers started up, complaining 
 and muttering. 
 
 Mitia, roused also, rose and spoke with a 
 rude dignity. 
 
 " My father's hut is close by, Trophime. We 
 will finish the night there. Come." 
 
 Trophime turned from him angrily, but, in 
 the face of the general discontent, submitted in 
 sullen silence. Neila would not glance at him 
 213
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 again. As he bade her good-night she turned 
 her shoulder to him, muttering a proverb 
 " Measure the cloth ten times before you cut it 
 once." 
 
 Mitia heard. His face softened ; he touched 
 Neila's hand awkwardly, as it hung by her 
 side near him. 
 
 " May you sleep well, Ne'ila !" he whispered, 
 and went out, followed by Trophime. 
 
 The next morning, before the village was 
 astir, Trophime, his brief visit over, had set 
 out on foot for his home. 
 
 One noonday, a week before the coming fes 
 tival, old Anton, the head herdsman of the 
 Prince, sat in his isba contentedly eating his 
 dinner. He felt that he had reason to be con 
 tent. He had earned it. His hut had two 
 rooms, and in the inner room there was a bed 
 stead covered with blankets and sheepskins 
 where he might sleep if he wished. It hap 
 pened that he preferred the top of the stove, 
 but that was of choice. 
 
 The isba was a model of neatness ; the table 
 and benches were scoured thoroughly, and the 
 stove was newly whitewashed, ready for the 
 Christmas festival. The kasha (a thick gruel 
 of grits) which he was eating, the black rye- 
 bread, the sour cabbage-soup, and the salted 
 cucumbers were all prepared to a nicety. 
 True, it was Nastasia, his wife, whose work 
 214
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 this was, but had it not been he who had se 
 lected her for this purpose ? 
 
 In regard to Neila, his only child, Anton telt 
 that he had done well also. Not because she 
 was the handsomest girl in the village, but be 
 cause she knew how to work and earn money, 
 of which she gave him a faithful proportion. 
 What he had himself laid by in the pouch hid 
 den in the patron image was nobody's affair 
 but his own. There was, however, one matter 
 which, while not exactly troubling him, lay on 
 Anton's mind to arrange. He was thinking of 
 this when he looked up at his wife with his lit 
 tle sunken eyes. 
 
 " Where is Neila ?" he asked. 
 
 " I hear her coming now," answered Nasta- 
 sia, quickly. 
 
 She watched her husband's eyes always with 
 the timid, fluttering manner of a bird which a 
 cat fascinates. She looked threescore, and was 
 in reality scarcely forty years old. But in this 
 there was nothing unusual. 
 
 The footsteps which Nastasia heard outside 
 paused at the door, and were followed by a 
 loud knock. 
 
 " Go to the door," said Anton, and his wife 
 obeyed with a start. Lifting the latch, she 
 peered out timidly through the crack of the 
 door. 
 
 " Does Anton live here, Matiouska f" said a 
 voice outside. 
 
 215
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "That is my name. Who is it that wants 
 me?" answered Anton himself. "Open the 
 door wide, Nastasia ; he is not the wind, to 
 come through the key-hole." 
 
 Nastasia threw open the door hurriedly, and 
 Trophime, bending his tall head, entered. He 
 walked straight up to old Anton's chair, and 
 bowed low before him. 
 
 " Batushka" he said, " I have come to ask 
 your daughter's hand of you. She has prom 
 ised to marry me after the Christmas festival. 
 I am here now to answer whatever questions 
 it pleases you to ask." 
 
 Anton looked the bold speaker over from 
 head to foot. Trophime's schuba was evident 
 ly quite new, and was belted in with a new 
 scarf. His fur cap was new also, and his 
 boots creaked loudly as he walked. He bore 
 inspection. 
 
 Anton pushed a wooden spoon towards his 
 guest and pointed to the large wooden bowl in 
 the centre of the table. From it he and his 
 wife were dipping the cabbage-soup. 
 
 "Sit and eat with us. Talking is hungry 
 work. What is your name ?" 
 
 Trophime dipped his spoon into the bowl 
 and ate without hunger. He did not wish to 
 save his breath for his porridge. 
 
 " My name is Trophime E vanov. I live at Ra- 
 gazan, and have an isba of two rooms as large 
 as these to take my wife to. My mother is dead. 
 216
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 There is no woman there to quarrel with. My 
 father is old, but not much trouble. The land 
 is rich, and, by the help of God, I have saved a 
 little. Now you know how it is with me." 
 
 Anton's little eyes grew smaller, and almost 
 disappeared in his wrinkled, parchment skin. 
 His large, white teeth, perfectly preserved by 
 his diet of rye-bread and salted cucumbers, 
 glistened curiously as he smiled. 
 
 " You are Evan's son, then," he said. " I re 
 member him and his isba and his land very 
 well. You look as strong as your father was 
 before you. We will talk it over." 
 
 Nastasia was eating nothing. She withdrew 
 to the stove and sat there trembling and 
 watching the door. The two men were talk 
 ing together with loud-voiced satisfaction. 
 
 She alone heard when the latch lifted, and a 
 strong, full voice on the threshold cried out 
 some laughing defiance to a companion who 
 passed on. 
 
 Neila pushed open the door and took one 
 step into the room. The poor bent figure by 
 the stove trembled yet more. Neila stood still 
 in surprise, the smile yet on her lips, as Anton 
 and Trophime looked up at her. 
 
 " Neila," said Anton, rapping the table with 
 his short fingers at each word, "this is your 
 husband." 
 
 Neila stood looking from one to the other, 
 but she was no longer smiling. 
 217
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Trophime rose and advanced towards her. 
 
 " You remember our bargain, Neila," he 
 said, holding out his hand. " I have come." 
 
 Her brown eyes alone answered him. Tro 
 phime quailed a little, but held his ground. 
 Neila passed him and strode to her father's 
 side. 
 
 " What has he told you ?" she asked, huskily. 
 
 There was no quailing on either side here. 
 Old Anton's gimletlike eyes fastened on his 
 daughter's piercingly. He boasted that he 
 never needed to beat his women. 
 
 " My word is my word," he said, shortly, 
 stroking his long, square beard as he spoke, 
 " and yours shall be yours. You marry at 
 Christmas." 
 
 Neila turned fiercely on Trophime. 
 
 " You are a liar !" she cried. " A black 
 hearted liar ! That is what you are. If I 
 have promised any one it is Mitia, and Mitia 
 alone." 
 
 Anton laughed in her face. 
 
 " Mitia ! with his old father and mother, and 
 the children like fleas in a sheep's wool, all set 
 tled on his back !" 
 
 He pointed to Trophime, his stubby fingers 
 spread out. 
 
 " There stands your husband ; you under 
 stand me ?" 
 
 Nelia's passionate eyes were the only color 
 in her face. 
 
 218
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 "You may kill me," she muttered. "Kill 
 me, but I will not marry him." 
 
 She glanced at her mother as she ended. 
 Nastasia half rose from the bench with an im 
 ploring gesture, then sank back again. Her 
 trembling seemed to communicate itself to her 
 child. Neila fell on the floor at her father's 
 feet. Anton turned away indifferently, leaving 
 her prostrate. 
 
 " She is yours, Trophime ; take her," he said, 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 As Trophime approached her Neila rose 
 slowly. There was no trace of tears on her 
 face. Neila was never known to weep. She 
 motioned to Trophime to follow her, and went 
 out of the room. When he joined her outside 
 she was leaning against the wall of the hut, 
 her body pressed close against the rough logs, 
 her hand curled into a crevice supporting her. 
 The bright red of the kerchief on her hair 
 seemed repeated in the depths of her eyes 
 and in the ragged patches of color on either 
 cheek. 
 
 As Trophime laid his hand on her arm she 
 shuddered closer into the wall. 
 
 " You know well that it was a jest," she said, 
 hoarsely. " How have you dared to come for 
 me?" 
 
 " It is no jest to me, Neila. Listen to me. 
 You shall live like a princess. You can set 
 your foot on the neck of every girl in Ragazan. 
 219
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 A hut with two rooms, and you the only woman, 
 is surely better than " 
 
 Neila turned on him fiercely, wrenching her 
 shoulder from his hand. 
 
 " Once for all, Trophime, hear me. I would 
 rather live with Mitia in a barn than with you 
 in the great house of the Prince. I will marry 
 Mitia, or no one." 
 
 Trophime's face altered. " Gently, gently, my 
 beauty," he said, warningly. 
 
 He took a step nearer to her, and bent until 
 his lips almost touched her ear. She could feel 
 his hot breath on her neck. 
 
 The wind, which had been blowing down 
 little showers of dry snow from the roof above, 
 had teased a strand of Neila's straight hair 
 from under her kerchief and twisted it in a 
 dark line about her throat. 
 
 Trophime caught the hair necklace in his 
 finger, drawing it closer. " Like that I have 
 you, my little bird," he whispered. " You know 
 well I can say that of you which will keep you 
 from being wife to any other man." 
 
 Neila flung back her head scornfully. Her 
 throat arched as a serpent's about to strike. 
 
 " I !" she cried, " I can call a dozen to wit 
 ness for me a hundred " 
 
 She checked herself suddenly. Trophime's 
 eyes were fastened on hers with a triumphant 
 question. As if reflected there, she saw the 
 scene in the isba at their first meeting : the 
 
 220
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 sleeping figures ; even Mitia unconscious at 
 their feet ; saw, with a quick, terrifying fore 
 shadowing, her father's credulity and fury, a 
 marriage arranged within the hour, and herself 
 thrust into Trophime's sledge on the road to 
 Ragazan before the sunset. 
 
 The hair necklace at her throat seemed to 
 tighten chokingly, although Trophime had 
 withdrawn his finger. She fell against the wall 
 with closed eyes. 
 
 " But come, now, my little queen," urged 
 Trophime. " Marry me quietly and all will be 
 well. You will never repent it. Tell me to 
 come back at Christmas, Neila." 
 
 Neila looked up. 
 
 "Christmas is a week off," she thought, rap 
 idly, " and to-day is to-day. I will say yes, and 
 trust in God and Mitia." 
 
 She dragged herself to her feet and moved 
 away from the wall. 
 
 " Shall it be Christmas. Neila ?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, deliberately, "it shall 
 be Christmas." 
 
 " I may tell Anton that it is all arranged ?" 
 
 " You may tell him." 
 
 As Trophime stretched out a covetous hand 
 towards her, she avoided his touch, and, doub 
 ling like a hare, passed him, gained the open 
 road, and broke into a swift run. 
 
 Trophime returned to Anton's hut slowly, 
 hesitating, and watching her over his shoulder.
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 "Where is she off to?" he muttered, but 
 Ne'ila herself could not have told him. When 
 she stopped running she was in a large field, 
 far from the isba, with a vast expanse of white 
 all about her and a dull leaden sky above. 
 There were tall, shadowy pines standing out 
 in occasional groups. At the other end of the 
 field stood an ox-sledge, the tracks of the wide 
 runners and the feet of the oxen marking their 
 way in the snow. 
 
 Ne'ila followed blindly in the same path. 
 There was no one with the oxen when she 
 reached them, and she stood before them look 
 ing into their great brown eyes and wondering 
 dully of what they reminded her. Suddenly 
 she recollected how Mitia had once told her 
 that her eyes were like those of the oxen he 
 drove, and how angry she had been. She re 
 membered, too, that he had said he would 
 be working in this field all day, and then she 
 woke to the realization of what she had flown 
 from and to whom ; she turned, and saw that 
 Mitia was close beside her. 
 
 Ne'ila spoke without preface. 
 
 " Mitia, Trophime has come to marry me." 
 
 The blood rushed over Mitia's face. 
 
 " What have you said, Ne'ila ?" he asked, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Trophime has come to marry me. He says 
 he had my promise." 
 
 " You gave Trophime your promise !" 
 
 222
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 " No, it is a lie." 
 
 Mitia turned to his sledge, and swung him 
 self up into the seat. He bent down, holding 
 out his hand to Neila. 
 
 " Come," he said, shortly. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " We are going to find him," he answered, 
 between his teeth. 
 
 Neila did not move. 
 
 " I have more to tell you. He is with my 
 father, and my father consents." 
 
 Mitia sprang from the sledge to her side. 
 
 " Mother of God ! Anton consents ! Neila, 
 what more ?" 
 
 " I have said I will marry him at Christmas, 
 and I love thee ! I love thee as I hate him." 
 
 Defiant, coquettish, alluring, and evasive he 
 had known her. Now that she confessed her 
 self his, the present was enough. 
 
 Mitia's hand trembled as he smoothed her 
 ruffled hair with awkward tenderness. 
 
 " If thou lovest me, Neila, thou art mine 
 mine, I say. No one shall claim thee. Why 
 hast thou promised this to Trophime ?" 
 
 As he drew her to him, Neila turned away, 
 hiding her face. 
 
 " Wait, Mitia," she panted. " I promised, to 
 gain time ; but wait and listen first." 
 
 Mitia bent his ear closer. As he heard her 
 broken whispers, he started violently and his 
 open face darkened. 
 
 223
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Go on," he said, hoarsely, as she faltered 
 once ; and Neila went on. 
 
 " They will believe it all in the village, Mitia. 
 I have no witness to speak for me. My father 
 will take Trophime's word ; but thou, Mitia, 
 as thou hopest for mercy from thy God, be 
 lieve in me." 
 
 Mitia did not speak. Neila knew that he 
 had lifted her face in his hands and that his 
 gaze was devouring her features. Her lids 
 were weighted down over her hot eyes. 
 
 Mitia's lips touched her quivering mouth. 
 
 "What I know, I know, Neila. The De 
 cember snow is not more pure than thou, and 
 thou art mine alone." 
 
 It was the final touch. As the strain lifted, 
 Neila burst into a passion of weeping. Mitia 
 rocked her in his arms, comforting her. 
 
 "We have a week yet, Neila, my heart's 
 blood. We will bide here together until Tro- 
 phime leaves the village, and to-morrow we 
 will go to the church, and as soon as the serv 
 ice ends I will go to the pope and tell him all. 
 I will throw myself on my knees before him 
 and pray him to marry us at once. Take 
 courage, my little pigeon, my little dove ! And 
 for Trophime but no one will believe his base 
 story." 
 
 Neila shook her head. 
 
 " Some would be glad to help blacken my 
 name," she said, simply. " My tongue has been 
 224
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 as sharp as my needle, and my laugh as ready 
 as my trousseau. Mitia, if I have worked my 
 trousseau for Trophime I shall tear it in 
 pieces." 
 
 Mitia wiped the tears from her face with the 
 back of his toil-worn hand. 
 
 " It shall not be, Neila. Come, what shall I 
 say to the pope ? Do thou be the Batushka 
 now, and let me plead with thee ; then I shall 
 know better what to say, and be less frightened 
 when the time comes." 
 
 Neila smiled through her tears, throwing 
 herself into the part with quick reaction. 
 
 " Yes, I will stand here," she said, " with my 
 arms folded, and the back of the sledge shall 
 be the door, and thou must come in there, 
 Mitia, and fall at my feet. Yes, that is well ; 
 and now what wilt thou say ?" 
 
 " Batushka, I love Neila devotedly, and she 
 adores me " 
 
 " Who said that I adore thee ?" 
 
 " And Neila loves me." 
 
 " Yes, that is better." 
 
 " Let me get on, Neila." 
 
 " I will, but could I let thee begin with a lie 
 to the little father?" 
 
 " Neila loves me, and is waiting in the church, 
 but unless you will marry us now, Anton will 
 marry her to a black-hearted devil " 
 
 "Art thou mad, Mitia? The pope will ex 
 communicate thee forever ! Thou must say, 
 p 225
 
 J1MTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 , I entreat and implore you to marry 
 us. I will live on the ground at your feet. I 
 will fast forever. I worship Neila next to the 
 holy images and yourself, Batushka, and she 
 worships me.' " 
 
 " Is that true, Neila ?" 
 
 " Never mind now. The little father will 
 hold out his hand thus, and thou must kiss it 
 but not so many times, Mitia. Thou mightest 
 vex him. He will say, ' Come, then, my son, I 
 will marry you as you wish, and she wishes ; 
 for Neila has always been a good girl,' and 
 then they will hold the silver marriage-crowns 
 over our heads, and they will sing 'Isaiah, 
 enter into happiness.' And now begin all over 
 again, Mitia." 
 
 They were not unhappy. They loved each 
 other and had confessed it. God was very good, 
 and if they made their prayers to him and to 
 the saints, what might not happen in seven 
 days ! 
 
 Again and again they repeated their rehear 
 sal until Mitia was perfect in his part, with 
 Neila as priest and prompter, the snow-covered 
 field as stage, the sledge as setting, and the 
 brown-eyed oxen as audience. 
 
 The next morning they were kneeling side 
 by side in the church, praying the same prayer 
 that the silver marriage-crowns might be 
 resting above their heads within the hour. 
 
 The little church where the services were 
 226
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 held was built near the house of the Prince, 
 and was connected with it by a private avenue, 
 down which, as on this morning, the Princess 
 often walked to take her part in the prayers. 
 
 She knelt apart in the corner railed off for 
 the Prince's family : for the building was the 
 orthodox Greek Church, and the worshippers 
 stood or knelt ; there were no pews. 
 
 She lingered a little after the service to pray 
 before the gorgeous patron image of her house 
 hold, and she paused again at the door, speak 
 ing, with kindly condescension, to a mother 
 who had brought her baby to church with her, 
 its little bekerchiefed head sticking out of the 
 folds of her schuba. 
 
 The avenue had been swept free of snow, 
 and the Princess, a graceful, fair-faced woman, 
 walked slowly up the path, looking idly at the 
 snow-hung trees above her. Even the little 
 twigs carried each a frozen load, which the 
 wind rocked to and fro heavily. 
 
 Suddenly the Princess started and looked 
 down. 
 
 A flying figure had darted noiselessly across 
 the snow, and now lay on the ground before her. 
 
 " Who is it ?" said the Princess, gently, " and 
 what do you wish ? Ah, I remember your 
 name now. It is Neila. What do you mean by 
 this, my girl ?" 
 
 Neila rose to her knees and humbly kissed 
 the white hand extended to her. 
 227
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Will your Excellency ever pardon me ? It 
 was the holy image that belongs to you that 
 sent me to you. I was kneeling in the church, 
 striking the ground with my forehead in my 
 grief, when I caught sight of it, with the beauti 
 ful shining stones hanging all about it, and I 
 remembered that when the Barin was talking 
 with Death even, the pope had only to carry 
 the image to his bedside and he was cured, 
 and then I prayed to it ah, how I prayed ! 
 and then the thought came to me quickly, ' Go 
 to the Princess,' and so I have come. I have 
 not stopped for a moment. If your Highness 
 will only deign to help me !" 
 
 " What is your trouble, Neila ?" asked the 
 Princess, gravely. " Stand up and tell me. Is 
 it one where I can help you ?" 
 
 Neila blushed and hung her head. The 
 Princess encouraged her kindly. 
 
 " You need not be afraid to speak now. You 
 may walk by my side to the house ; but, first, 
 have you asked advice from the pope ?" 
 
 " The pope, your Excellency !" Neila's lips 
 opened, and the story of her troubles rushed 
 forth : Trophime's ill faith her father's cruelty 
 Mitia's love. " And for the pope," she ended, 
 bitterly, " first, your Excellency, he has asked 
 Mitia what fee he could offer for marrying us, 
 and Mitia has nothing. Then he has said that 
 without my father's consent he will not marry 
 us, for it would be wrong." 
 228
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 The Princess turned away her head. Her 
 short upper lip curled irresistibly. She did 
 not herself love the little father. 
 
 " He is your pope, Neila," she said, reprov 
 ingly, "and your father is your father. He 
 has the right to your obedience." 
 
 Neila bowed her head respectfully. She was 
 watching the gentle, thoughtful face and the 
 slow-moving figure intently. 
 
 "And are you sure that you really love Mitia, 
 my child !" 
 
 Neila's shyness returned. She burrowed 
 into her schuba until little but her reddened 
 brow was visible. 
 
 " Eli-heh" (yes), she replied, in a smothered 
 voice. 
 
 The Princess smiled. Her own marriage 
 was a love-match. 
 
 "Very well, then," she said. " I will send for 
 your father, and will myself speak to him for 
 you. You may go now." 
 
 She held out her hand and smiled again as 
 Neila covered the jewelled fingers with passion 
 ately grateful kisses. 
 
 There was not a year's difference in the ages 
 of the two women ; both were beauty's daugh 
 ters, and both had learned their own hearts. 
 But those were the only points in common. 
 In reality they were as far apart as the cold 
 North and the warm South. 
 
 Perhaps the suggestion of such a thought 
 229
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 visited the mind of the Princess as she stood 
 watching the girl's light figure walking easily 
 down the path despite her heavily booted feet. 
 Still thoughtful, she moved to the house and 
 dispatched a messenger for the head herds 
 man, bidding him come to her in the avenue, 
 where she continued her walk. 
 
 The summons reached Anton in his isba, 
 and he listened with respectful surprise, but 
 his piercing eyes rested on his daughter with 
 instant suspicion. Nevertheless the event was 
 an honor, and he appeared before his mistress 
 weighed down with servility. 
 
 The Princess cut his salutation short. 
 
 "Anton, I hear that you are forcing your 
 daughter to marry a man from another village. 
 Have you had opportunity to know him?" 
 
 Anton again bowed himself before her. 
 
 "Your Highness is too good to take this in 
 terest in our humble affairs," he said, slowly. 
 
 The Princess continued : 
 
 " Are you sure that this stranger is a good 
 man ?" 
 
 " He is a thrifty moujik, your Highness, and 
 he has no family to speak of. He will make 
 me a good son in my old age I, who have only 
 a daughter." 
 
 "But will he make your daughter happy, 
 Anton ?" 
 
 Anton dropped further pretences. It was 
 evident that his mistress knew all.
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 " Your Highness, it is time the girl married, 
 and that Mitia has nothing to offer her, nor 
 can he have anything until the next harvest, 
 and the good God above knows what may 
 happen by that time !" 
 
 "Anton, Trophime cannot be a nice peasant 
 to force the poor girl into marrying him in this 
 way. He will make a bad husband, and your 
 child will be miserable." 
 
 Anton took off his fur cap and scratched his 
 matted hair before he answered. 
 
 " Every man has his way of courting a girl, 
 your Highness. She will get used to Tro- 
 phime's way. Girls must not have their own 
 heads too much ; they must abide by their 
 father's word ; and your Highness knows well 
 that peasant girls cannot let a comfortable two- 
 room isba and a rich bit of land slip through 
 their ringers for nothing. That is not offered 
 every day." 
 
 " And the pope, have you spoken to him ? 
 Does he approve this, Anton ?" 
 
 Anton wet his lips with his tongue, and 
 spread out his short hands deprecatingly. 
 
 " He knows how it is with us poor peasants, 
 your Highness," he said, with elaborate inno 
 cence. " He will approve when he understands 
 all. Mitia is a beggar. Trophime can give twice 
 the corn and potatoes that Mitia could give as a 
 marriage fee. But if your Highness disapproves, 
 it is enough. Your Highness has but to speak." 
 231
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 The old man bowed low again. The Princess 
 hesitated. What she had already done was 
 without precedent, and opened a wide door. 
 Anton was only following the peasant rule of 
 life. Neila's story had been that of hundreds 
 of others, and would be again. None ever 
 dreamed of enlisting the sympathy of the 
 Princess. They all submitted was it not the 
 custom ! 
 
 Anton was watching his mistress keenly be 
 tween his protestations and prostrations. He 
 knew what was passing in her mind. Paternal 
 authority was a creed not to be lightly over 
 turned. The Princess moved away, waving her 
 hand in haughty dismissal. 
 
 " It is on your own head, Anton," she said, 
 sternly. 
 
 Anton raised his bowed figure and looked 
 after her, laughing in his beard. Even the 
 Princess had her limitations, and recognized 
 them. Custom was custom, and iron to high 
 or low. 
 
 On Christmas Day Mitia and Neila met once 
 more in the field where they had first ex 
 changed their vows. They walked hand in 
 hand, leaning against each other. Neila's face 
 was white and tear-stained, Mitia's gloomy and 
 drawn. 
 
 " God will not let it be, Mitia," Neila was say 
 ing. " I have prayed and prayed my heart out 
 to Him. Something will happen yet." 
 232
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 Mitia shook his head. 
 
 " No, God wills it to be so, Neila. He will 
 not let the pope help us, nor the Princess. 
 What can we do ? When misfortune enters, 
 throw the door wide open." 
 
 " God is good, Mitia. Trophime may not 
 come." 
 
 " He will come and then, Neila " 
 
 Neila shuddered. 
 
 " Mitia, if he comes, thou wilt promise me one 
 thing thou wilt not follow us to the church." 
 
 Mitia struck his hand violently on the trunk 
 of the tree by which they had paused. He 
 muttered a curse under his breath ; his eyes 
 turned desperately about him over the land 
 scape, a frozen plain. Did they steal away to 
 gether, where could. they go, to what, and with 
 what means. There was no escape. 
 
 " May God kill him like a wolf !" he cried, 
 savagely ; " and He will. I pray for it night 
 and day." 
 
 Neila crossed herself hurriedly. She laid her 
 fingers on Mitia's lips. 
 
 " May God forgive thee, Mitia ! What art 
 thou saying?" 
 
 " The truth only, Neila. I will work my 
 fingers to the bone. I will never marry. Re 
 member, I shall be always waiting for thee, and 
 always ready." 
 
 Neila's answer was a new outbreak of grief. 
 One by one their plans had failed, and they 
 233
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 walked on over the frozen field supporting and 
 consoling each other with vague hopes, which 
 each knew had no foundation. 
 
 The day after Christmas, punctual to the 
 appointed hour, Trophime drove into the vil 
 lage dressed in his new schuba, belted in at the 
 waist with a bright green scarf. The sledge 
 in which he rode and the horse which drew it 
 were both his own. He stood up, driving him 
 self. When he reached Anton's hut he flung 
 the reins on the horse's back, and, descending, 
 rapped loudly. 
 
 Anton himself opened the door and came 
 out. 
 
 " Is it you ?" he said. " You are in good 
 time, and welcome." 
 
 He was followed by the nuptial godfather 
 (the master of ceremonies), who, after exchang 
 ing greeting with the groom, at once took pos 
 session of him and drove him in the sledge to 
 the church. Anton stood looking after them, 
 until some girls who were passing pointed at 
 him and whispered indignantly together. Then 
 he turned and re-entered the hut. 
 
 No one had seen Neila since the day before. 
 The door of the isba had been bolted from the 
 early morning, and only the nuptial godmother 
 (the mistress of ceremonies) had been allowed 
 to enter. Anton walked into the inner room, 
 where the nuptial godmother was putting the 
 234
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 finishing touches to a wreath of paper roses on 
 the bride's hair. She had dressed Neila in all 
 her finery, her beads and ribbons and red-top 
 boots, unassisted and unhindered. 
 
 Nastasia was rocking her withered body to 
 and fro in the corner, but the girl herself sat 
 like a stone. 
 
 " Come," said Anton, shortly. " Trophime 
 has gone to the church." 
 
 The nuptial godmother helped Neila to her 
 feet and led her from the hut. Anton and 
 Nastasia followed behind them. Neila moved 
 on slowly, her eyes fixed before her. When she 
 entered the church she glanced about her once 
 fearfully, as if seeking some one, and then sank 
 into apathy again. 
 
 Trophime had met her at the door, but she 
 had not looked at him. He stood by her side 
 at a table set below the altar. On it the priest's 
 cross and books lay ready. As the door of the 
 Holy of Holies opened, the congregation pros 
 trated themselves. The priest entered and 
 moved towards the bridal party at the table 
 and began the ceremony. At the same mo 
 ment two of the young peasants came forward 
 with the silver marriage-crowns, holding them 
 high above the heads of the bride and groom. 
 It was then only that Neila seemed to rouse 
 for a moment from her trance of despair. She 
 shrank from under the crown and again pros 
 trated herself on the floor before the priest. The 
 235
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 ceremony went on monotonously, and she rose 
 again as she had fallen. She followed the ser 
 vice through, blindly, a mere automaton. With 
 a scarf twisted about her wrist, binding it to 
 Trophime's, she was led three times around the 
 table by the pope. Trophime placed a silver 
 ring on her ringer, she kissed the cross extended 
 to her, and she and Trophime were man and 
 wife. 
 
 " Neila will have her white veil," whispered 
 Masha, to her companions ; " no girl in the vil 
 lage has been more virtuous, but I could al 
 most wish the nuptial godmother would deny 
 it to her. Then we should see old Anton dis 
 graced. It would be fine to see him driven 
 through the village with a halter about his 
 neck, if they would let poor Nastasia off. Ah, 
 but I would help to scoff at him, brute that 
 he is!" 
 
 Brandy and gingerbread were set out in 
 plenty in Anton's isba, but with this spirit in 
 the air towards the host, and with the bride 
 sitting like a statue in the corner under the 
 image of the patron saint, not even replying 
 when spoken to, appetite was lacking. It was 
 customary and proper for a bride to weep, but 
 this was something else. 
 
 One by one the guests dropped away, and the 
 wedding party was left to make merry alone, 
 with what merriment they had. Trophime rose 
 and stood before Neila. 
 236
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 " What has my wife to say to me before I go ?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Neila's eyes darkened. She looked at him in 
 silence. Trophime was about to seat himself 
 beside her, but Anton drew him away. 
 
 "Come," he said, "why should you talk with 
 a woman ? Let her be. When you come back 
 for her at the week's end you may do as you 
 choose ; but now, if you wish to be home before 
 morning, you had best be starting out." 
 
 Trophime withdrew reluctantly. As he look 
 ed back again from the door Anton laughed at 
 him loudly. " Your turn will come," he said, 
 pushing his son-in-law before him. " Come, to 
 your sledge with you, and home. In a week 
 I shall expect you to fetch her." 
 
 During this last week in her father's home, 
 no one in the village saw Neila's face. She 
 shut herself in the inner room of the isba, and 
 would not be comforted. As for Mitia, he had 
 disappeared from the village on the morning of 
 the wedding, and his whereabouts were not 
 known. 
 
 At the end of the week, when his son-in-law 
 came driving into the village again, Anton, 
 angered at the failure of the wedding feast, 
 would make no second attempt at a merry 
 making, but a few of the more curious peasants 
 straggled into the isba, unasked and unwel- 
 comed. Trophime left his sledge standing at 
 the door while he hurried through the final cer- 
 237
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 emonies, pouring a handful of copper coins on 
 the table, and setting beside them a loaf of 
 black bread and a dish of salt. He glanced 
 eagerly about the room, but Neila had not yet 
 appeared and Nastasia was absent also. 
 
 The sound of a woman's weeping came from 
 the inner room. 
 
 The dislike and curiosity in the faces about 
 him irritated Trophime. 
 
 " There is the price of my wife, and there lie 
 my witnesses that I will support her, and her 
 parents too, if need be," he said, impatiently. 
 " Now for your part, Anton." 
 
 Anton rose in silence and went to the inner 
 door. As the nuptial godmother appeared 
 leading Neila, whose face was buried in her 
 hands, a murmur of sympathy ran around the 
 room. Anton attempted to carry off the scene 
 with a high hand. 
 
 " That is well," he said, loudly. " It would 
 be a disgrace for a girl to leave her father's 
 house laughing. Take her, Trophime." 
 
 He flung open the door as he spoke. Tro 
 phime stepped forward and set his powerful 
 hands on the waist of the weeping girl. He 
 lifted her from the floor and swung her into 
 his sledge as lightly as he might have lifted a 
 child. 
 
 " There's a man for you !" said Anton, look 
 ing around. 
 
 In spite of himself his voice was defiant. 
 238
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 Neila's bowed head fell against the side of the 
 sledge. Her hands were still clasped to her 
 face, and the tears dropped through her fin 
 gers. The nuptial godmother climbed into the 
 sledge beside Trophime. 
 
 Anton threw two patron images, which the 
 pope had previously blessed for him, into her 
 lap. He had provided these for the home of 
 the new couple, as a pious parent should. 
 
 Trophime jerked the reins, and they slid 
 rapidly out of the village. 
 
 The Princess was walking in the village 
 street, talking with her husband, on whose 
 arm she leaned, when the sledge passed them. 
 
 Trophime and the nuptial godmother both 
 saluted respectfully, but the Princess did not 
 respond. She had seen beyond them a beauti 
 ful tear-stained face, and two helpless, implor 
 ing hands that were stretched out towards her. 
 She pressed her husband's arm and uttered an 
 exclamation of pity. 
 
 " Oh, see, my husband, it is poor Neila ! I 
 told you her story." 
 
 The Prince glanced after the sledge indiffer 
 ently. . 
 
 " It is the custom," he replied, with a slight 
 shrug. " She will accept it by to-morrow." 
 
 He drew his wife with him down the road, 
 and returned to their interrupted subject ; 
 but the Princess, looking back over her shoul 
 der, did not hear him, and Neila's last vision 
 239
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 in the village where she left her girl life was 
 the pitying face that watched her until out of 
 sight. 
 
 The next day even the nuptial godmother 
 deserted her, for, having settled her charge in 
 her husband's home, her task was over, and 
 she returned to Evanovka. 
 
 Neila was left alone with Trophime and his 
 father and her new duties. 
 
 " She is a fine wife for you, Trophime," said 
 the old father, after a few days of trial. " You 
 have chosen well. She has been with us but a 
 little while, and the isba is as clean as the snow 
 when it falls; and for her cooking !" 
 
 The old man smacked his lips. He loved his 
 creature comforts, and his wife had been dead 
 a year. 
 
 " Yes, you have done well," he repeated. 
 " She is a good girl, too The pope gave her 
 the white veil at the church to-day." 
 
 Trophime shook his head. He was not so 
 satisfied. He went into the hut and left the 
 old man sitting on the bench outside. 
 
 Neila, with the white veil of purity still on 
 her hair, which was now coiled close as a mar 
 ried woman's, was sitting by the table, her 
 head resting in her arms. Trophime went up 
 to her, frowning. As he touched her shoulder 
 she raised her head, but did not speak. She 
 drew a bowl of potatoes towards her and be 
 gan to prepare them for cooking. Trophime 
 240
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 stood looking at her, still frowning. Neila's 
 face had altered in those few days. 
 
 " What is it ?" he said, harshly. " What are 
 you fretting for ? You have more than any 
 girl in Evanovka, or Ragazan either, for that." 
 
 Neila glanced around the comfortable isba 
 indifferently. 
 
 " I told you how it would be," she answered, 
 listlessly. 
 
 Trophime sneered. 
 
 " So that is it. You would rather live in a 
 rabbit-warren ?" 
 
 Neila's eyes flashed. He knew how to rouse 
 her. " Then I might be able to breathe," she 
 muttered ; " here I am choked and smothered." 
 
 She moved her hands as if pushing away the 
 walls about her. Trophime advanced towards 
 her threateningly. 
 
 " Have a care !" he said, warningly. " Thou 
 swimmest in shallow waters." 
 
 Neila rose to her feet before him. She 
 spread out her arms. 
 
 " Strike !" she cried, passionately. " Beat 
 me to death. Then I might breathe." 
 
 Trophime lifted his hand, advancing yet 
 nearer. She stood unwincing, her eyes defy 
 ing him. With a quick movement, before she 
 realized his intention, Trophime, laughing 
 loudly, flung his arms about her. 
 
 "Aha ! my wild hawk, I know how to tame 
 you. What ! must a husband fight for a kiss?" 
 Q 241
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Neila struggled violently. 
 
 " Let me go !" she panted. " Let me go be 
 fore I kill you !" 
 
 From the doorway the old man laughed a 
 dry, cackling laugh. 
 
 "Fighting already !" he wheezed, in his crack 
 ed, high voice. " Does a peasant girl love her 
 man until he beats her ? No." 
 
 Trophime again laughed loudly. 
 
 " Do you hear that ? Mother of God ! how 
 strong my wife is ! Have done, I tell you !" 
 
 "What did I say?" croaked the old man. 
 
 He was a Little Russian moujik, and had his 
 own ideas of humor. " Beat her, Trophime, 
 and she will kiss your boots." 
 
 Trophime raised his hand, still laughing bois 
 terously. He struck Neila a sharp blow on the 
 arm, and she ceased struggling instantly. 
 
 " That fetches love, does it ?" said Trophime, 
 triumphantly. He bent his face to hers as he 
 spoke, but with the same unexpected vehe 
 mence with which she had repulsed his first 
 kiss at that fatal meeting in the isba, Neila 
 placed her hands on his breast, thrust him 
 staggering from her, and fled from the door. 
 
 At the back of the town grew a thick wood, 
 pierced by a path which led through it wind- 
 ingly. It was.into this refuge that the flying 
 figure plunged. She ran like the wind any 
 where, so that it was away from the hated isba 
 and Trophime. 
 
 242
 
 There was no pursuit ; she did not expect it. 
 Trophime knew as well as she that every fly 
 ing step must be retraced. Yet Neila ran on 
 and on, her white veil fluttering in the wind. 
 The sharp report of a gun and the sharper 
 cry of animal pain checked her suddenly. In 
 the path, almost at her feet, lay a brown hare, 
 its limbs twitching in death. A man's figure 
 broke from the brushwood at the side of the 
 path and came towards her. 
 
 It was Mitia. 
 
 His gun fell from his hand, he stretched out 
 his arms, and with a cry like that of the 
 wounded hare Neila flung herself on his 
 breast. 
 
 Mitia spoke first. His face was as altered as 
 her own. 
 
 " I have found work on a farm not a verst 
 away." His voice sank to a whisper. " Neila, 
 how is it with thee ?" 
 
 Neila withdrew herself from his clasp, her 
 face inflamed with fury. She struck back the 
 sleeve from her arm with a passionate gesture 
 and held it towards him. The arm above the 
 elbow was bruised and angry. Mitia caught 
 her back to him, uttering a stifled cry. 
 
 His arms trembled as they held her, drawing 
 her closer to him. 
 
 The white veil, loosened from its fastenings, 
 fluttered from her head to the ground, where 
 the blood of the hare stained and soiled it. 
 243
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " I hate him !" she whispered, fiercely. " God 
 in heaven ! I hate him !" 
 
 Alas ! Undisciplined, half-civilized, unmoral 
 rather than immoral, could there be but one 
 ending ? The whispers which soon crept about 
 the village became open rumor, the rumor cer 
 tainty, and popular sympathy was with Mitia 
 and Neila. 
 
 There were some who believed that Trophime 
 might have made a good husband had that been 
 permitted him ; however it may have been, 
 curses and blows seemed to render Neila but 
 more openly reckless. 
 
 In the Greek Church divorce is not allowed ; 
 however wronged the husband, however guilty 
 the wife, they must live out their lives the 
 mockery of a unit. 
 
 One cold day in the following autumn, as 
 old Anton stood in his doorway, he saw a wom 
 an's figure come toiling over the snow tow 
 ards the isba. She did not speak, but fell on 
 her knees before him, with trembling, uplifted 
 hands. 
 
 It was Neila. She had walked over the thir 
 teen versts from Ragazan alone and through 
 the snow. Was this the same Neila who had 
 left that door not a year before ? Anton had 
 not recognized her. 
 
 " Back you shall go !" he cried, furiously. 
 " Myself, I will throw you in the cart and drive 
 you back." 
 
 244
 
 IT IS THE CUSTOM 
 
 Neila did not reply. She closed her eyes and 
 shuddered. 
 
 Nastasia came out from the hut and whis 
 pered entreatingly to Anton. 
 
 She lifted her child from the snow and led 
 her in. 
 
 That night Neila's child was born. 
 
 God is very merciful. When the spirit is 
 high and will not bend or break, however 
 bruised and tortured by man, He will often 
 render the body frail, and open a way by which 
 the overtaxed soul may escape. 
 
 With the morning, the whole village knew 
 that Neila lay dying in her father's isba. Word 
 was sent to the other village, but Trophime 
 did not come. 
 
 Later in the day, Mitia crept into the room 
 and sat by the bedside, his face buried in his 
 hands. He had run over the thirteen versts 
 which Neila had toiled through the day before, 
 and he was in time. 
 
 " Let them be," whispered Nastasia ; " what 
 harm now ?" 
 
 But Anton, shaking his head obstinately, laid 
 a rough hand on Mitia's shoulder and pointed 
 to the door. The young peasant raised his 
 face for a moment and Anton moved away 
 from him into the outer room. 
 
 Mitia did not stir from the bedside. 
 
 When the end came, Neila's last breath was 
 breathed in his arms ; her eyes were set on his 
 245
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 face. Mitia laid her back on the sheepskins 
 and staggered from the door. 
 
 He stood before old Anton and spoke thickly. 
 
 "Anton, if you and Nastasia will keep the 
 child, I will pay you for it. Is it agreed ?" 
 
 " It is agreed," Anton answered. He knew 
 then that all was over. 
 
 When the funeral procession wound through 
 the fields it was followed by all the village, 
 and Trophime was walking after the coffin as 
 chief mourner ; but it was on Mitia that all 
 eyes were turned with sympathy, and Tro 
 phime was looked at askance. 
 
 He saw, and resented sullenly. When the 
 poor body was prepared for burial, marks had 
 been found upon it as damning to the husband 
 as the writing on the wall. 
 
 With no word spoken to him, and himself 
 speaking to no one, Trophime mounted his 
 cart and drove to his home. 
 
 There he married shortly after, with little 
 trouble. 
 
 Mitia has never married. Broken and old 
 at twenty, he lives, but lives only to minister 
 to the wants of Neila's mother and Neila's 
 child. 
 
 Thus the story of Neila ends, to be forgotten 
 in time among a hundred others more or less 
 similar. 
 
 246
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 AND so, sister dear, you want to hear the 
 whole story of our boy Hal and Wilhelmina ? 
 I don't see why I should not tell it to you, as 
 the years when it hurt us all are far behind. 
 For a long time I couldn't even think of it 
 with any composure, but now if I had known 
 that I should ever feel able to tell the whole 
 history to you, actually smiling over parts of 
 it, I suppose I should have felt less bitterly at 
 the time. And yet I don't know. It never 
 comforted me very much, when a child, to be 
 told that a cut finger wouldn't be hurting by 
 the time I was twice married. Pain is pain. 
 While it lasts it hurts, even if you do forget 
 some of the pangs by to-morrow. 
 
 In the case of Hal and Wilhelmina, I was 
 doubly distressed by the miserable feeling that 
 I had, as it were, cut my own finger ; and you 
 know to be suffering with only yourself to 
 blame makes everything just so much harder 
 to bear. 
 
 Of course, though you have never heard all 
 the story, you know that Wilhelmina was, at 
 247
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 one period, our cook. Time does much for us, 
 my dear, but it cannot and does not spare me 
 a pang as I make this plain statement. Yes, 
 she was our cook ; and while my share of the 
 blame came later, the engaging of Wilhelmina 
 Schroder as a servant of our house seemed at 
 the time the right thing to do. It came about 
 in this wise : 
 
 Wilhelmina's father was a plain, thrifty, Ger 
 man farmer. He lived up the county road on 
 his own farm quite prosperously until he in 
 dorsed a note for a friend. The friend failed, 
 and Schroder was called upon to pay heav 
 ily. The first thing he did on hearing this 
 bad news was to drive down to our farm and 
 ask counsel of my dear husband ; for, as you 
 know, everybody in the county comes to him 
 for advice when in trouble. Schroder wanted 
 to mortgage his farm and work off the claim 
 by degrees, but my husband does not believe 
 in mortgages. 
 
 "Make your sacrifice now, Schroder," he 
 said ; " don't think of mortgaging. You will 
 never catch up with life again if you do. Sell, 
 and buy a smaller house somewhere in the 
 neighborhood. You can then hire out yourself 
 and your team by the day. Don't spend the 
 little capital you have." 
 
 I was afraid he might have offended Schro 
 der by suggesting that he should work as a 
 hired man ; but my husband said that Schro- 
 248
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 der was too sensible for that, and so it proved. 
 Within a week he had moved into a little 
 house not far away from us, and not only 
 was he at work himself, but we heard that his 
 three daughters were also looking for what 
 they called "service places." Schroder had 
 no sons. 
 
 As it happened, shortly after Schroder's vis 
 it I received a letter from my Mary, telling me 
 that she and her children were coming to stay 
 with us for a time ; and the very day the letter 
 came my cook gave warning. 
 
 When the cook gives warning in the country, 
 you know what that means. I felt quite dis 
 tracted. 
 
 Then I thought of Schroder's girls, and won 
 dered if one of them would answer as a cook. 
 When I suggested this plan to my husband, 
 his amendment was that we should take all 
 three of them into our service. 
 
 "As they have never lived out before, it 
 would be easier for them to start together," he 
 said. " Our second girl has been unsatisfac 
 tory ; send her away, and turn over the whole 
 establishment to the Schroders." 
 
 " That would mean taking an extra woman," 
 I said ; "can you spare the money ?" 
 
 " Better than Schroder can," said my hus 
 band, laughing ; " and, besides, you won't find 
 three women any too many after Mary's chil 
 dren come." 
 
 249
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 So it was settled, and my husband drove 
 down to the little house, engaging the three 
 girls that same afternoon. They were very 
 glad to come, and I to have them. In fact, I 
 was never so comfortable in all my house-keep 
 ing as when I had those girls with me Wil- 
 helmina as cook, and her sisters working about 
 the house. They had been splendidly taught. 
 I really had to raise my own standards of 
 cleanliness to meet theirs, and pretend that I 
 was used to the furniture being moved out and 
 swept under, in place of being only swept up 
 to you know what that means. My husband 
 says I actually cried when Mr. Schroder came 
 over some months later and very abruptly 
 took his girls away from me. He was "on 
 his feet again," he said, and able to keep his 
 daughters at home, where their mother, who 
 was ill, needed their services. I have never seen 
 Mr. Schroder but that one time. He talked 
 with a strong accent, and was a round-faced, 
 honest - looking Dutchman, with large, rumi 
 nating, blue eyes. Wilhelmina inherits her eyes 
 from her father, but not her beauty that 
 comes to her from her mother, whom I never 
 saw but once either. She chanced to hear one 
 day that Wilhelmina had hurt her finger and 
 so could not milk the cows, which was one of 
 her duties, and her pleasure as well. Neither 
 of the other girls understood milking. Know 
 ing this, Mrs. Schroder came over, very kindly 
 250
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 offering to help us by undertaking the milking 
 herself. She proved a beautiful milker, my 
 husband said, and I could see that she had 
 been a remarkably pretty woman, but had 
 grown stout and heavy and stupid. That is 
 the only time I ever saw her closely. Even 
 then I was glad to note that Wilhelmina had 
 not the same tendency to heaviness, though I 
 almost believed her beauty could stand a 
 greater handicap. 
 
 So much did I admire her that, while she 
 was with me in the capacity of cook, I was so 
 foolish as to find excuses for myself to visit 
 the kitchen. She did look so pretty at her 
 work. You know, dear, what a weakness I 
 have always had for beauty. You remember 
 how long I bore with a certain other cook, the 
 one who drank, just because she had such a 
 pretty face. It was the same way with Wil 
 helmina. I don't mean that there was any 
 reason for dissatisfaction with her, for she was 
 a treasure in every way. Indeed, she had and 
 still has a lighter hand for pastry and cake 
 than I myself. I loved to watch her, with her 
 sleeves rolled up to her pretty white elbows, 
 kneading dough or sweeping, with her light 
 curly hair twisting out from under her mob- 
 cap, her blue eyes earnest as if she were always 
 saying her prayers. 
 
 I shouldn't have felt blameworthy if I had 
 kept my admiration of Wilhelmina to myself, 
 251
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 but my old tongue was so long, what must I 
 do but prate of her beauty to others ! 
 
 I told you it was her duty to milk the cows ; 
 and she had a healthy farmer's-daughter en 
 joyment of the barn-yard. I used to note the 
 little added spring in her gait when she stepped 
 from the kitchen door-sill to walk down the 
 barn-yard path to the open-air work she loved. 
 My own Mary was pretty enough, yet I knew 
 that she could not compare with "V^ilhelmina. It 
 was not only that the girl's face was beautiful, 
 but her lithe, noble walk was something that 
 to see simply delighted your eyes. 
 
 The barn-yard path passes near our old west 
 porch, you remember, where we used to sit to 
 gether an hour or so after supper to watch the 
 sunset, the boys and my husband smoking and 
 all of us chatting over the past day. Every 
 night sitting there I used to watch Wilhelmi- 
 na's feet tripping by, helping to wear the path, 
 and see her figure cross the setting sun. Ev 
 ery night I used to say, " Oh, Mary, my child, 
 I do wish you had Wilhelmina's figure," and 
 then they would all laugh at me. 
 
 How foolish I was to do this I never awoke 
 to realize until one night, only a week before 
 Schroder came so unexpectedly to take his 
 daughters home, I looked up to see Rowland 
 also craning his neck around a porch pillar to 
 see Wilhelmina pass. Of course I never called 
 attention to her after that, but I felt vaguely 
 252
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 troubled. Hal was sitting beside Rowland on 
 the night I speak of. I noticed that he did not 
 even raise his eyes. They rarely do the same 
 thing, my two dear boys ; there were never 
 two sons born of one woman so unlike as mine. 
 
 People have always said that Hal was my 
 husband's favorite. That was only because he 
 was so little a favorite with others. He has 
 ever been shy, and hated company of any kind, 
 as you know. " He is inarticulate only," my 
 dear husband used to say, and he always re 
 proved our Mary seriously when she grew 
 vexed with her brother or called him stupid, 
 as she would at times girls think so little. 
 
 Hal's greatest joy was to be riding about the 
 farm with his father ; that was enough to con 
 tent him. 
 
 My husband used to say laughingly that I 
 loved Rowland best because he was beautiful ; 
 but you, my dear sister, know that was not 
 true. Rowland has always been a great favor 
 ite with every one because he has pleasant 
 ways, and is genial and undeniably handsome ; 
 while my dear Hal is heavily built and slow 
 yet good-looking enough in his way. 
 
 Rowland's quickness and grace have been of 
 great disadvantage to his older brother, by 
 reason of the contrast. You know how dis 
 couraged you'd feel yourself with some one 
 near you always brighter and gayer and more 
 of a favorite, no matter how hard you strove. 
 253
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 But to go back to Wilhelmina. Before she 
 and her sisters left me, something else hap 
 pened which again made me vaguely uncom 
 fortable. 
 
 One evening, after we had all left the sunset 
 porch, I thought I would go down to the barn 
 yard to look at the new Alderney calf, which I 
 had not seen. Perhaps, too, I wanted a glimpse 
 of Wilhelmina with her skirts caught up from 
 her pretty feet, her face happy and flushed as 
 it always was when she was working among 
 the farm animals. I waited until the milking- 
 hour was over, for my husband never liked 
 any one but Wilhelmina about the yard then. 
 He said confusion distracted the cows, and 
 then they did not give milk so well. Under his 
 rules ours certainly do give a great quantity. 
 
 When I reached the yard I thought at first 
 I was too late, and that no one was there ; then 
 I saw Wilhelmina leaning against the closed 
 lower half of the stable door. The upper half 
 of the door was wide open. I was about to 
 call to her when I realized that Wilhelmina 
 was speaking to some one just inside the sta 
 ble. Her back was half turned from the open 
 ing, and her head was bent. The moment I 
 saw Wilhelmina's attitude and her drooping 
 face I recognized something unmistakable. I 
 said to myself in my sentimental old heart : 
 
 " I am going to lose the best cook I ever had, 
 for Wilhelmina is surely listening to a love- 
 254
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 story, and she does look too pretty for any 
 thing." 
 
 Though I longed to know who was the man, 
 and hoped it was not our second coachman, for 
 he was unworthy of her, I was slipping off 
 softly when Wilhelmina caught sight of me. 
 She stepped forward quite quietly. 
 
 " Did you come to see the new calf ?" she 
 asked ; and before I could answer, the lower 
 half of the door swung open and my Hal 
 walked out ! 
 
 Oh ! sister dear, I suppose Hal showed me 
 the calf ; but when I got back to the house I 
 could not have told if it were red or white, had 
 any one asked me. My first thought was to 
 go at once to my dear husband and tell him 
 what I had discovered ; but on thinking it 
 over in the quiet of my room I soon saw that 
 I had discovered nothing. Wilhelmina had 
 stood by, calm and just like herself, while Hal 
 showed me that wretched calf. He had been 
 rather silent, to be sure ; but if Hal had been 
 garrulous, that would have been unusual for 
 him. Altogether, the only evidence I had of 
 a secret between those two lay in the look of 
 conscious happy listening which I thought I 
 had caught on Wilhelmina's face. This was 
 no evidence at all, coming as it did from a 
 foolish, sentimental old woman like myself, 
 I therefore said nothing to any one, but, watch 
 ing closely, never saw a word or look pass be- 
 255
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 tween Hal and Wilhelmina from that time to 
 a week later, when her father came to take 
 her and her sisters home. Their abrupt leav 
 ing was inconvenient to me, of course, and un 
 der other circumstances I should have resented 
 it. As it was, far from crying, as my dear 
 husband believed (how little our best -loved 
 know us !), it was the greatest relief to me to 
 see the Schroder team drive out of our gate 
 with Wilhelmina on the front seat by her fa 
 ther's side. 
 
 How mistaken I was to rejoice in that sight ! 
 
 Not two months after, as I was sitting one 
 morning placidly sewing in my bedroom, my 
 husband came in, and, taking a chair beside 
 me, began turning over the contents of my 
 work-basket. You know that he is not what 
 one could call a " fidgety " man. If I find my 
 work-basket in disorder, I know something has 
 sorely troubled my husband, and that he has 
 been turning over the matter in his mind, 
 along with my spools and scissors. No one 
 else ever dares touch my work-basket. 
 
 "What is it, dear?" I asked; and he answered : 
 
 " Have you noticed that Hal has been much 
 away from home of late?" 
 
 My heart sank unaccountably. " I thought 
 he was out on the farm with you," I said. 
 
 My husband turned over my spools a little 
 more, then said, slowly : " No, he has not been 
 with me. Can you guess where he has been ?" 
 256
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 I was shaking like a leaf as I answered, 
 " With Wilhelmina Schroder. Oh, my dear 
 boy !" 
 
 " Have you suspected something there ?" 
 asked my husband. 
 
 And then I told him of the scene in the barn 
 yard, saying that I had not mentioned it be 
 fore, because it seemed such a straw to build 
 fears upon. 
 
 " I am afraid your straw showed the way 
 the wind was blowing," said my husband, and 
 then he told me something which he in turn 
 had been keeping from me. 
 
 A few days before, one of the neighbors had 
 met my husband and mentioned to him seeing 
 Hal at Farmer Schroder's. 
 
 He spoke so significantly that my husband 
 asked him outright, " Have you a motive in 
 mentioning this?" 
 
 Our neighbor, who is also ah old friend, said 
 frankly that he had, and added : 
 
 " Hal visits the Schroders frequently ; I 
 think you ought to know it." 
 
 My husband shook his head when I urged 
 that Hal might have been consulting the farm 
 er about the crops. 
 
 " I think you had better hear all," he said. 
 " I have more evidence at hand. To-day I 
 learned something from Schroder himself. He 
 was walking on the roadside with a friend, and 
 did not hear my buggy-wheels on the soft 
 R 257
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 earth. He was talking loudly of his good pros 
 pects, ending, as I came up, with : ' An' den, 
 t'ank Gott, Wilhelmina ish besphoke !' " 
 
 My husband laughed a little as he quoted 
 this, but I burst into tears. 
 
 " It does look rather badly," said he. 
 
 I thought it looked wretchedly, yet, knowing 
 that Hal loved his father as he loved no one 
 else on earth, I did not feel hopeless, and im 
 plored my husband to speak to the boy. " If 
 you forbid it he will give her up," I cried. " I 
 know he will !" 
 
 " I know it, too," answered my husband, 
 " but I cannot forbid this, my dear. Once be 
 fore Hal entangled himself in a love affair of 
 this same kind, and I interfered ; he has never 
 been happy since." 
 
 " I was not told of that !" I cried. 
 
 " It was not necessary to trouble you," said 
 my dear husband, " for Hal was very young 
 then. The girl was of the same rank of life as 
 Wilhelmina Schroder. Evidently that is Hal's 
 taste, and he is a man now, he should be able 
 to decide. I do not think he would be happy 
 with a woman of his own rank of life. Has he 
 ever been happy with his sister and her friends ? 
 They are all too cultivated, too dainty, for 
 him. Hal has a slow, uncultured nature. He 
 is frightened by the refinements even here in 
 his own home. We must thank God that the 
 boy's tastes are not low, as they well might be 
 258
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 in his case. Hal wanted to honorably marry 
 the first girl ; nothing else occurred to him. 
 We can't drive him too far ; he is no boy now." 
 
 My dear sister, what could I say ? This was 
 a long, long speech for my husband, and he 
 was right in every particular, but where did 
 our boy get a nature that only a Wilhelmina 
 Schroder could satisfy? I began to feel as if he 
 were a cuckoo in our nest, though I don't be 
 lieve the mother bird ever pushed the change 
 ling out of the home tree and heart, do you ? 
 Some father birds would, I know. My husband 
 was not of that kind. 
 
 " Let me speak to Hal," I urged ; but no, my 
 husband would not consent to that either. 
 
 " I dare not interfere," he said ; " nor ought 
 you to do so. We must watch and wait and 
 be silent. The boy will speak to me before 
 long ; and, after all, he might do worse, far 
 worse, than marry Wilhelmina Schroder." 
 
 Of course I cried out at this, as any mother 
 would. In the bitterness of my heart I said a 
 wicked thing ; comparing my two boys, and 
 crying : 
 
 " Oh, if Hal were but like Rowland !" My 
 husband smiled. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," he said, "Rowland may be 
 more like Hal than you know, and Wilhelmina 
 must have great natural refinement, or I should 
 not have been obliged to go to Schroder and 
 tell him he must take his girls home. A coarse 
 259
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 woman would not have attracted Rowland. It 
 is all safely over now, and Schroder came for 
 his girls, as you know ; but you did not know, 
 did you, that Rowland came to me in sore dis 
 tress, entreating that Wilhelmina might be 
 taken out of his sight before it was too late ? 
 Like Rowland, was it not? Careful as Hal is 
 careless." 
 
 Sister dear, imagine my feelings ; learning 
 in the same hour that both my boys had fallen 
 victim to my to Wilhelmina ! 
 
 For the moment I was very angry ; and yet, 
 as Rowland had honorably spoken to his fa 
 ther, stamping out his passing passion, my 
 husband was right in telling me of this. It 
 did comfort me to have it so proven that Wil 
 helmina was not wholly unrefined ; for Row 
 land is almost too fastidious. The girl he has 
 since married is dainty as a flower, body and 
 mind. 
 
 It must have been Wilhelmina's beauty that 
 first singed Rowland's heart ; and then she 
 did have a wonderfully quiet, queenly man 
 ner. 
 
 I say that I found some comfort in my hus 
 band's argument ; but that is as I now look 
 back on it. In those hard days it seems to me 
 I found comfort in nothing. I could only sit 
 in my room, weeping and weeping over the ut 
 ter sacrifice of my boy. My judgment quite 
 forsook me. I could only give myself up into 
 260
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 my dear husband's hands and do whatever he 
 bade me which was to do nothing. 
 
 As his father had prophesied, Hal's confes 
 sion soon came. Perhaps the sight of my un 
 explained sorrow hastened it. He spoke to 
 his father as they rode over the farm together 
 one morning, and was told that, while it was 
 impossible for his parents to approve such a 
 marriage, nothing would be done to oppose it. 
 
 " You are now twenty-six years old," said 
 my husband. " You refused the yearly allow 
 ance I offered you on your coming of age. I 
 will now increase that sum, and offer it again 
 to you on your marriage-day, with the one pro 
 vision that you and Wilhelmina make a home 
 for yourselves." 
 
 When my husband repeated this speech to 
 me, I was as nearly angry with him as ever in 
 our married life. It seemed to me that he 
 was simply smoothing the way for our boy to 
 run down-hill. 
 
 " Do you want Hal and his wife settling with 
 the Schroders ?" asked my husband. " Marry 
 they will, one way or another. Do you want 
 our grandchildren brought up as a part of that 
 family ?" 
 
 He was right, as always, dear sister ; but I 
 could hardly see it so when Hal came to my 
 room, where I was then spending the greater 
 part of my days, and told me that, owing to his 
 father's generosity, he was able to marry at once. 
 261
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " I won't ask you or father," he said, " or 
 any of our family to be present at my wed 
 ding. You wouldn't want to come. It is to 
 be as quiet as can be, in the old church where 
 you and father were married, and where we 
 children have all been baptized." 
 
 Oh, what memories those words brought to 
 me ! This was a long speech from Hal, and I 
 knew to have made it he must have been feel 
 ing deeply ; so I tried to answer, but could 
 only kiss him and cry foolishly. He seemed 
 to be satisfied, however, and this was all he 
 told us of his plans. 
 
 Though Hal did not mention when his mar 
 riage was to be, we knew the date, as families 
 do know these things by instinct. We learned 
 afterwards that at Hal's request none of the 
 Schroders were present at the ceremony ei 
 ther. In all but the one vital point he proved 
 unusually careful. His only witnesses were 
 our clergyman's wife, the sexton, and whom 
 do you think? our old, old coachman, who 
 taught Hal to ride, and his father, too, for that 
 matter. He has been like a member of the 
 family so long that he had the same power to 
 divine the day and hour of our boy's marriage. 
 There he was when Hal reached the church, 
 a wedding-favor in his button-hole, a nosegay 
 in his hand, ready to open the door, bow his 
 young master through, and respectfully follow 
 him and Wilhelmina up the aisle. My hus- 
 262
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 band said that Hal had tears in his eyes when 
 he told him of this. We were all touched by 
 it. But to think that our eldest son should 
 have had as groomsman only a faithful servant 
 following him ! 
 
 Still, it was best so. We could not go to 
 that wedding, and Rowland would not. He 
 was very angry with his brother. I knew he 
 had yet another reason for this than family 
 pride alone. He had trampled out that same 
 fire, and believed his brother could have done 
 so with as little cost. I don't know myself. 
 Hal has few roots ; those are strong and go 
 deep. 
 
 Rowland was married before the half-year 
 was out ; such a satisfactory marriage in ev 
 ery way. It was a great comfort to us in 
 our trouble to have this joy come breaking 
 through ; for although we thought ourselves 
 unhappy before Hal's wedding, it was after 
 its accomplishment that the real trials began. 
 How were we to meet Wilhelmina, and she us ? 
 Remember, my dear sister, my last parting 
 with her had been at my kitchen door. 
 
 Fortunately, I had little time to think of the 
 meeting. A short while before the marriage 
 my husband had bought a little cottage some 
 miles down the road which passes our farm. 
 He asked me to help him in furnishing it from 
 garret to cellar. I knew, of course, without 
 asking, why this cottage was bought, and for 
 263
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 whom ; but my husband said nothing, and I 
 could not bring myself to open speech. We 
 used to call the place " the little cottage " when 
 we talked over the arrangements. 
 
 I think if I had not had the furnishing of 
 that cottage to distract me I should have lost 
 my mind during the interval between Hal's 
 confession and his wedding. Perhaps my dear 
 husband knew this ; he understands most of 
 those things taught by tenderness. 
 
 It was hard work to have all in order by 
 the date my husband set, Hal's wedding-day, 
 but we did; and when it was done, tired as I was, 
 I wished I had it all to do over again carpen 
 tering, furnishing, painting so restless was I. 
 
 The last nail was driven, the last curtain 
 hung the morning of the marriage ; and that 
 night, for the first time, my husband called the 
 " little cottage " by its true name. 
 
 I could see that he, too, was somewhat rest 
 less, walking from window to window and look 
 ing out into the moonlight. 
 
 "Come," he said, at last, turning to me ; "it's 
 as bright as day outside ; suppose we have the 
 colt harnessed to the buggy and drive down 
 to Hal's cottage to meet them, get it over, and 
 go to sleep in peace." 
 
 We did not talk much during that drive ; 
 the colt always behaved badly in harness, 
 which engrossed us both ; I knew my husband 
 had selected the colt intentionally. 
 264
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 I don't like to dwell on that meeting, my 
 dear. We were received by my boy and his 
 wife ; and though it was their home, it was we 
 who showed them through it, opening every 
 room and cupboard. When we came to the 
 store-closet, which I had filled with preserves 
 and groceries from my own stores, Wilhelmina 
 turned gratefully to me. She was about to 
 speak, but either I shrank back or she faltered, 
 so not one direct word passed between us that 
 night. My husband and Hal talked for four. 
 
 When I dared look at Wilhelmina, I could 
 see that she had been crying. Her eyelids still 
 kept swelling with unshed tears which she 
 would not let fall. She showed great self-con 
 trol, was quiet and subdued in manner, yet not 
 without dignity. It was a trying half-hour to 
 us all. 
 
 When we left them at last, my husband laid 
 his hand on Wilhelmina's shoulder, saying what 
 I had been trying to say all the while. 
 
 " This cottage is your wedding-gift from us, 
 my child. May you be very happy here, and 
 God bless you !" 
 
 Wilhelmina broke down then and covered 
 her face with her hands. I liked her for it, 
 but it was none the less bitterly hard to see 
 my boy, so undemonstrative with his very 
 own, comforting this stranger as I never would 
 have dreamed he could. 
 
 I found that my husband felt this also. 
 265
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Hal will make her a good husband," he said, 
 with a sigh, on the way home. " She under 
 stands him ; perhaps we have been to blame 
 that we never have." 
 
 " Yes," I said, bitterly ; " we have not been 
 Schroders, and our friends are not of that kind." 
 
 " Our friends," repeated my husband, 
 thoughtfully. " I had not considered them." 
 
 " No," I answered ; " I suppose not. But 
 there is not a woman in this county who is not 
 to-night considering whether she shall or shall 
 not call on Wilhelmina." 
 
 "It is for us to settle that," said my hus 
 band, still more thoughtfully ; and then I wish 
 ed heartily that I had held my tongue. But 
 if I wished so then, I wished it again and more 
 strongly the next day, which was Sunday. 
 
 Hal was married on a Saturday afternoon, 
 and on Sunday morning about sunrise I was 
 awakened by hearing some one moving stealth 
 ily in my room. Opening my eyes, I saw my 
 husband standing by my bed. I was startled 
 for a moment, thinking he must be ill, until 
 he said, " There is nothing wrong," and added, 
 " I have been lying awake, Mary, thinking over 
 the social question you mentioned last night. 
 I am now about to ride down to Hal's cottage, 
 and, if you approve, tell him we wish him to 
 bring his wife to our pew to-day. I think that 
 will settle everything in the eyes of the neigh 
 borhood." 
 
 266
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 I knew it would, and I knew, too, in my 
 wicked old heart, that I did not want matters 
 so settled. I suppose I think entirely too 
 much of what my neighbors do and say. It 
 seemed to me that I could forehear the whis 
 pers and see the smiles of our best friends 
 for best friends will do that when calling 
 upon poor Wilhelmina, whose manners were 
 nil, and whose English was remarkable at 
 times. 
 
 I did not urge my husband against doing 
 what he suggested, simply because I knew it 
 would be useless, if he had lain awake and 
 decided that it was right. Also I knew his de 
 ferring the question to me was but a matter 
 of courtesy, which he never forgets or omits. 
 Then, too, if it were really right, I suppose I 
 wanted it done ; but, oh, dear sister, when Wil 
 helmina and Hal walked up the aisle to our pew 
 that Sunday morning, and I saw the bonnets 
 turning and moving and meeting in every pew 
 in the church, I thought I should die. 
 
 I noticed gratefully that Wilhelmina was 
 dressed simply. She was quiet and stately in 
 appearance, looking rather pale and proud with 
 her lowered lids. She has pretty, white eyelids. 
 I don't think outsiders would have suspected 
 anything wrong, but you know there are no 
 outsiders in a country congregation. 
 
 My dear husband knew the world better 
 than I. He was again proven right. All the 
 267
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 old county families called on Wilhelmina dur 
 ing the following week, and it was far better so. 
 
 Wilhelmina told me of these calls simply. 
 She astonished me, too, by saying, humbly, 
 that she had refused herself to every one of 
 her visitors, as she " did not feel ready yet." 
 
 Touching, was it not ? I felt so sorry for her, 
 and grateful, too. She did indeed have much 
 to learn before receiving any one, or returning 
 calls either. All that could wait. Wilhelmina 
 was a fine, sensible woman in many ways. I 
 think I should have admired her immensely 
 had she been married to somebody else's boy. 
 She was clever, too, and determined. When 
 she found that she was a little old to unlearn 
 the poor but distinct English she spoke, she 
 deliberately dropped into a really pretty Ger 
 man accent, literally translated idioms, and so 
 on. It covered a multitude of sins. One for 
 gives so much in a pretty foreigner. This 
 clever move of Wilhelmina's ought to have 
 amused me then, as it does now, but the sub 
 ject was a little too tender. I had not much 
 sense of humor at that time. 
 
 " She is wonderfully plucky," said my hus 
 band. I knew she was, and as time went on 
 and I found in her other virtues as well, I was 
 at the cottage more frequently than I had ever 
 thought it possible I could be. 
 
 I always chose hours when I would not meet 
 the Schroders, though I knew they were there 
 268
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 but little, as they were hard-working people 
 and lived at some distance. And yet, with all 
 my care, a meeting there was. One unfortu 
 nate day I came in unexpectedly and went 
 straight up the stairs to Wilhelmina's bedroom, 
 which I had never done before. As I stood 
 on the threshold, I heard a little scurry inside 
 the room, and, opening the door, I caught 
 a glimpse of a heavy figure hurrying out of 
 my sight by another door. I recognized Mrs. 
 Schroder's broad back. 
 
 Wilhelmina came to me with an unusual 
 color in her cheeks ; she was subdued and 
 depressed in manner. Somehow the whole 
 episode made me feel sick, disgusted, and de 
 graded. When I went home, which was soon 
 after, you may be sure, I told my husband of 
 my encounter, with tears of self-pity. He only 
 said, " Poor child !" and at first I thought he 
 was speaking of me. I did not like it when I 
 found it was Wilhelmina he meant. 
 
 " We separate her from her own kind, and 
 are but little to her ourselves," he said ; " I 
 feel sincerely sorry for her." 
 
 I tried to look at it in the same way, but I 
 was dreadfully sorry for myself. The only 
 comfort I could see was that the Schroders 
 were soon to move yet farther away, and that 
 Hal was really perfectly happy in his marriage. 
 He still assisted his father on the farm a 
 business arrangement it had become and as 
 269
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 the farming season grew busy, we saw more 
 and more of him and less of Wilhelmina. I 
 dreaded visiting my daughter-in-law after that 
 chance encounter with her mother, and Wil 
 helmina came to see us very seldom. I am 
 afraid I liked it thus ; for so matters stood, 
 and had been standing for weeks (to my shame 
 I say it), when one day, in the height of the 
 wheat season, my husband came to me looking 
 troubled. 
 
 " My dear," he said, " Hal has not complained 
 at all, but something he has said very little, 
 though evidently from a full heart has made 
 me realize that his duties are keeping him here 
 with us constantly, that Mrs. Schroder now 
 lives too far away to be anything to Wilhel 
 mina, and the child must be living in a lonely 
 cottage on an unfrequented roadside by her 
 self, day in and day out, except for her negro 
 servant. It is very bad for her. When did you 
 see her last ?" 
 
 I had the grace to be ashamed to tell him, 
 but I did. 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear, dear !" answered my hus 
 band. 
 
 Then I knew that he was almost angry with 
 me, for that's as harsh a word as I ever re 
 ceive from him. 
 
 In the same afternoon I went to see Wilhel 
 mina, and was shocked to find her looking ill 
 and depressed. She was almost repellent in
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 her manner to me, though perfectly respect 
 ful. She was "quite well," she said. You know 
 the proud way a woman refuses sympathy 
 sometimes. 
 
 I could not blame her, for I had not striven 
 to win her confidence ; but I went home and 
 lay awake a greater part of the night full of 
 trouble. In the morning, the first words I 
 said to my husband were : 
 
 " I cannot stand this. I don't know what 
 we ought to do, and yet we must do some 
 thing. Wilhelmina is fretting her heart out." 
 
 "You can't stand what?" asked my husband ; 
 " having Wilhelmina so far away, or bringing 
 her nearer? Have you thought of the old 
 Lodge Cottage, my dear ?" 
 
 " Oh, don't !" I cried ; " oh, don't ! As if that 
 Lodge Cottage has not been haunting me all 
 night !" 
 
 "Well, after all, it is a gloomy old place," 
 said my husband. 
 
 "It wouldn't be, if you sacrificed a few 
 trees," I answered ; " but it has too few win 
 dows. '' 
 
 " I could easily have a few more eyes poked 
 in it," my husband argued, " and run up a porch 
 or so. But the Lodge is very near the house, 
 my dear. It would bring Wilhelmina and our 
 boy close to us in every way. It is for you to 
 consider and decide." 
 
 I did not need to ask my husband what his 
 271
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 wish was. His voice told me when he spoke 
 of our oldest boy being close to us. Yet I could 
 not bring my mind or my heart to consent to 
 that closeness with Wilhelmina. 
 
 " I dare not risk it," I said. " We must leave 
 matters as they are, and I will try to see Wil 
 helmina more constantly where she is." 
 
 So we arranged to drive down to Hal's cot 
 tage that night as a good beginning. It was 
 a brilliant moonlight evening, almost as bright 
 as the night when we first had introduced Hal 
 and Wilhelmina to their new home, months 
 before. I was reminded of that past unhappy 
 time in other ways also, as we drove rapidly 
 down the familiar road. Wilhelmina had be 
 come again as a stranger to me. I felt un 
 easily that I was to meet her on a new and 
 unfamiliar footing. 
 
 Nothing turns out just as we expect, does 
 it, my dear? Why we should plan and plan 
 as we do I cannot imagine, when but one little 
 touch of the kaleidoscope changes all the scene. 
 As I imagined things were to be, I had a little 
 speech composed to repeat to Wilhelmina. It 
 was, as I now remember it, coldly kind, a little 
 reproachful, and all that it should not have 
 been. This is what happened as things were 
 in reality. 
 
 Hal met us in the road as we turned into 
 his gateway, and stopped me as I held out my 
 hand for him to lift me to the gro nd. 
 272
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 "No, mother," he said, gently; "we heard 
 the wheels and saw you coming. Wilhelmina 
 sent me out to meet you. She says she can't 
 see you to-night. Don't get down, mother, 
 don't get down. Wilhelmina is far from well. 
 She is getting everything ready for me to take 
 her to her mother's house to-morrow for a long 
 visit. Mrs. Schroder was here yesterday, and 
 had made me anxious. Mother, did you think 
 my wife looked so very ill ?" 
 
 What a jealous old woman I am ! I looked 
 at my own boy's face, flushed and quivering, 
 and my first thought was a deep resentment 
 that never in his life with us had I seen him 
 so deeply moved. Wilhelmina alone was able 
 to stir those waters. 
 
 I have always been very grateful to my good 
 angel that at least my second thought was for 
 Wilhelmina. Absurd as it was, I resented also 
 that Mrs. Schroder should dare to claim her. 
 
 I caught the hands which Hal stretched out 
 to restrain me, and by them helped myself to 
 the ground. Hal was ever slow of motion. I 
 ran straight past him into the house and up 
 the stair to Wilhelmina's bedroom. I did not 
 wait to knock, but turned the handle of the 
 door. It was locked. I could hear a step pacing 
 back and forth, back and forth, inside. It was 
 a sound that made me anxious. 
 
 " Wilhelmina," I said, "open the door. I want 
 to speak to you." Then I realized, with a shock, 
 s 273
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 that I had not a single familiar endearing name 
 by which to call my son's wife to me. What 
 I had said sounded as cold as death, showing 
 the tones with which I must always have ap 
 proached her. 
 
 " My dear, my dear child," I cried, desper 
 ately, "open the door to me." 
 
 There was no answer, but I could hear choked 
 sobs, and the footsteps ceased. My heart was 
 in actual pain, what with sympathy for the 
 poor lonely child and with the lashes of my 
 own accusing conscience. 
 
 " Oh, my dear," I urged, " at least come 
 nearer to the door and listen to me." 
 
 But only the sobs answered, and it seemed 
 to me that I could stand it no longer. I burst 
 into tears myself. " I don't blame you," I cried. 
 " I have been cruel to you, Wilhelmina, cruel ; 
 but I didn't mean to be. It has been terribly 
 hard on us both, but now I am Hal's mother, 
 I ought to be with you, and I can't stand be 
 ing locked out." 
 
 Then the key turned in the door, and Wil 
 helmina fell forward into my open arms. 
 
 Oh, my dear sister, it was not only the door 
 of her room that the dear child then unlocked 
 to me ; all that was pent up in her poor proud 
 heart came rushing out. 
 
 " My dear," I said, when I could speak, " you 
 must come home with me to-night, and stay 
 with us until the Lodge Cottage is made ready. 
 274
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 You and Hal are to live there in the future. 
 This is too far away from us ; we came to-night 
 to tell you so." Which was not in the least 
 true, my dear, as you know ; yet, indeed, at the 
 moment, I somehow found myself honestly be 
 lieving that it was. 
 
 Perhaps you don't understand my sudden 
 change towards Wilhelmina ; I could never 
 quite account for it myself. I only know that 
 from that hour to this Wilhelmina and I have 
 known and loved each other. Far from sep 
 arating me from my boy, she has been to me 
 as the key of his heart, which I could never 
 unlock ; for Hal never loved me, save as a kind 
 of matter of course, until his wife became an 
 interpreter between us. Yes ; I am very fond 
 of Wilhelmina (in your ear, my dear, fonder 
 than of Rowland's wife, who is a trifle too per 
 fect for my every-day mind). She is a dear 
 daughter to me, a sweet wife to my son, and 
 a good mother to his children. The little ones 
 are almost overflowing the Lodge Cottage, 
 which is not gloomy at all, but a real sun-trap. 
 There they live quietly and happily under our 
 parent wings, the only ones of our nestlings 
 building near us. Wilhelmina does not care 
 for society, and goes out very little, though she 
 might if she wished, as she has spent much time 
 and labor in learning those things which seem 
 ed needful. She was pathetically humble over 
 her deficiencies, yet proud, too, in a nice way. 
 275
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 After that first peacemaker baby was born 
 in the Lodge Cottage, I took Wilhelmina with 
 me to return all the county family calls which 
 she had allowed to wait. She looked charm 
 ingly pretty, and was so modest and shy as to 
 disarm unkind criticism. 
 
 And what a difference dress makes ! I de 
 signed Wilhelmina's calling costume myself. 
 In fact, on that night when she unlocked to 
 me her door and her heart in one, I said to her : 
 " Take the worry of the sewing off your mind, 
 my dear ; I will attend to all that for you." 
 Then I added : " I only promise for this one 
 time, you know just to start you. I want you 
 to learn to do all such things for yourself." 
 
 I said this because I was afraid that I might 
 spoil her ; but since then, though Wilhelmina 
 is not in the least spoiled, she hardly knows 
 what she or her children are to wear from sea 
 son to season. 
 
 " Still starting Wilhelmina ?" says my hus 
 band, when he sees me absorbed with the seam 
 stress ; but I know that he loves to find me 
 thus happily occupied. It keeps me young. 
 
 You can see from all this, dear, what a united 
 household we are, and also how nearly we es 
 caped something widely different. When I 
 think that these dear little grandchildren of 
 ours might have grown up apart from us and in 
 surroundings most painful to us ; that our eld 
 est son might have been wholly alienated from 
 276
 
 SALT OF THE EARTH 
 
 us and our old age have found us sorrowing, 
 I am filled with gratitude for what we have 
 and for what we are spared. I don't even now 
 pretend to say that it was not a hard, hard 
 trial that we passed through. But see what it 
 has brought for us. I have gained a new-made 
 son, a tender, grateful daughter, and, better 
 than all, I can look at my dear husband and 
 know I owe the whole to him ; but for his kind 
 heart, wise head, and strong hand, the wrong 
 would never have become the right. He was the 
 salt that flavored the bread of bitterness I was 
 forced to eat, and I do constantly thank God 
 first that he has created those who are as the 
 salt of the earth, and next that he has granted 
 such an one to me. 
 
 And now, my dear, you know the whole 
 story.
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 " LOOK up, Martin Pope," I said. " Well 
 met. How is Lydia the Fair ? and what in the 
 name of all goose-chases are you about now ?" 
 
 Martin and I understand each other. Nei 
 ther of us ever evinces surprise on finding that 
 he has been followed by the other ; but though 
 I had often sought and found my friend in 
 strange places and most strangely occupied, I 
 had never before seen him quite so curiously 
 employed as when I stood on that green bank 
 overhanging a dusty highway and looked down 
 on Martin skilfully driving a flock of geese be 
 fore him by aid of a long willow switch. 
 
 I thought the creatures were geese, though 
 I could not be sure, as each of the queer wad 
 dling objects was swathed in a gray jacket, 
 close-fitting, and patterned somewhat after the 
 blankets worn by lapdogs. 
 
 Beyond a welcoming wave of his switch, 
 Martin made no reply to me until he had care 
 fully driven his charges into the rich pasture 
 of the fence corner behind us. 
 
 "Sit down," he said, hospitably waving me 
 278
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 to the grass, as one might offer a drawing-room 
 chair ; so we sat on the turf together, and 
 without further greeting Martin began : " I 
 suppose, as usual, you want to hear the whole 
 story, from the moment I left town till now." 
 
 " Usually I do prefer your stories begun at 
 the beginning," I answered, " but in this case, 
 my dear boy, I shall have to ask you first what 
 those creatures in the fence corner may be, 
 and what you have to do with them ?" 
 
 " They are geese," said Martin " dressed 
 geese ; but they are the very end of my story, 
 and as it's the best tale you or I have ever yet 
 lived and we've lived some pretty good ones, 
 eh ? I'd rather take things as they come." 
 
 "Then do so," I answered. "The last I saw 
 of you was when you boarded the train which 
 followed Lydia into this wilderness, and the 
 last I have heard is a single rhapsodical letter, 
 written chiefly concerning the veins on Lydia's 
 temple, and the beauties of the homestead 
 where you have secured lodgings near your 
 charmer." 
 
 " She lives just a little way up that road." 
 Martin pointed up the highway to a point where 
 the road forked. " The right-hand road leads 
 to Lydia," he said, " and the left to my present 
 home and Peachy." 
 
 "Who's Peachy?" I asked. "You did not 
 mention her in your letter." 
 
 " Because she was then away visiting a 
 279
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 neighbor. Her father, a primitive degenerate, 
 whose ancestors once owned about all of the 
 country around here, is a lazy farmer, who adds 
 to his cash by now and then taking in a stray 
 artist boarder or a wandering fisherman, or a 
 loafer like me. He sent for Peachy as soon as 
 I arrived. As I was eating my breakfast one 
 morning I heard a cooing voice on the porch 
 outside the dining-room window. These were 
 the first words I heard Peachy speak : 
 
 " ' You, Joey, I thought I told you I wouldn't 
 have potatoes planted there. You thought I 
 was away, did you ? Well, I'm home now, and 
 you can just dig them right up. The first 
 thing I plant in my own garden is my own 
 foot, and I want you to remember it.' 
 
 " I heard a resolute stamp from the member 
 referred to, and I rose and looked out to see 
 Peachy. Oh, my poor heart !" 
 
 "What! that old thing?" I said, crossly. 
 " Don't ask sympathy from me for your bat 
 tered heart, Martin. I believe you're invent 
 ing all this, anyway." 
 
 More than once, when there was no story to 
 tell, Martin had invented one with which to 
 meet me ; though, in truth, the actual experi 
 ences he managed to fall into were generally 
 stranger than his fiction. 
 
 " This time it's all true," said Martin. " You 
 can ask Lydia." 
 
 " Does Lydia know of Peachy's existence ?" 
 280
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 Martin's eyes twinkled. " I am coming to 
 that. The first morning after meeting Peachy 
 I helped her to pick the currants in her 
 garden. I spent the afternoon with Lydia. 
 The next day I spent the morning with Lydia 
 and the afternoon with Peachy. So the week 
 passed, and by the time Sunday came the don 
 key between two bundles of hay wasn't a cir 
 cumstance to me. I lost pounds running 
 around that fork yonder, going from one house 
 to the other and back again. You see, when 
 ever I was with one, I was afraid I wanted to be 
 with the other. 
 
 " On Sunday, after long doubt, I decided 
 that it was Lydia I wanted to take to the 
 country church, and, as luck would have it, 
 there sat Peachy in the pew before us. A 
 white muslin a little open at the neck, a string 
 of White River shells about the w r hitest throat, 
 and little gold curls about the nape of her 
 neck to creep into the shells ! 
 
 " That was Peachy. Lydia gave a gasp of 
 delight at the vision there's nothing mean 
 about Lydia ; she has her faults, but she's not 
 mean. No man could have sat behind Peachy 
 that morning with any safety if she hadn't 
 worn something else. You've seen those 
 ghastly imitation-gold daggers shop-girls stick 
 in their hair? Well, Peachy wore one, and 
 that same dagger was my salvation. I riveted 
 my eyes on it as a counter-charm, and in a 
 281
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 fatal moment Lydia's glance followed mine. 
 From that moment her fingers began to twitch 
 in her lap. You know how an inartistic effect 
 hurts Lydia. That dagger was to her as a 
 discordant note perpetually sounded. It hurt 
 her. 
 
 " ' I can't stand it,' I heard her murmur ; 
 and then she swiftly dealt with the dagger as 
 she does with you or me, or whatever offends 
 her. I pledge you my word, she coolly plucked 
 it out leaned forward and drew it from 
 Peachy's hair. My blood ran cold as I sat 
 there. It didn't make matters any better that 
 she smiled and nodded into Peachy's astonished 
 face, nor that she replaced the dagger with a 
 shell pin from her own hair. That dagger was 
 the only thing which had protected me. When 
 that was gone, it was good-bye, Martin Pope. 
 That night Peachy cried for an hour on a 
 bench in the arbor, while I argued with her 
 through the vines. She wouldn't let me in. 
 The next day I took Lydia's shell pin back to 
 her, and I brought back to Peachy her own 
 hideous dagger, with one of those charming 
 notes which Lydia alone can write. Lydia 
 laughed as only Lydia can laugh when I ex 
 plained to her that the family were not moun 
 tain folk exactly, but decayed gentlefolk, and 
 then she explained to me how she fiad to take 
 out the dagger explained it so that I admired 
 her more than ever. I don't know how she 
 282
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 managed it, but she did. Lydia can explain 
 anything on earth." 
 
 " Martin, can Lydia explain you ?" said I. 
 " Are you lingering here for the sake of Lydia 
 or Peachy ?" 
 
 " The Lord knows !" said Martin. " I wish I 
 did but then," he added, becomingly, " both 
 Peachy and Lydia may refuse me." 
 
 " Oh, Martin," I groaned, with a spasm of 
 truth, " well do we all know that Lydia could 
 never bring herself to refuse you and what is 
 yours. She may play with you for a time, but 
 she'll marry you in the end." 
 
 " If Peachy doesn't marry me first," said 
 Martin, placidly, " and I pledge you my honor 
 I'm not sure she would. Which road do you 
 advise me to try, old friend the left to Peachy, 
 or the right to Lydia?" 
 
 I looked at Martin, and saw that for one of 
 the few times in his scatter-brained life he was 
 in earnest. For my own good reasons, which 
 are no man's affairs, I did not reply at once. 
 Martin laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 "Honestly," he said " you have always been 
 my mentor which is best for me ?" 
 
 " Lydia !" I burst out. " Lydia, of course, 
 unless you've been breaking a country heart. 
 Lydia is the only wife for you ; she's as irre 
 sponsible as yourself. You have the money 
 and she has the brains. You were made for 
 each other. She doesn't love you ; I won't 
 283
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 pretend she does ; but she'll make you per 
 fectly happy. On the other hand, if you don't 
 marry her, she'll put up contentedly with some 
 one of us, and make that one and herself equal 
 ly happy. How matters stand with Peachy I 
 don't know, of course, but you've got to decide 
 it one way or another, Martin." 
 
 " I'm going to decide to-day," said Martin. 
 "In fact, I've got to decide this hour. That 
 flock of geese represents the crisis." 
 
 " So we have come to them at last, have 
 we ?" said I, with a glance towards the fence 
 corner, where the ridiculous flock still fed. 
 
 "A week ago to-day," said Martin "and 
 don't interrupt me again, for the story runs 
 right on from this I helped Peachy to clean 
 the cellar. In these weeks I've learned how to 
 clean a house from top to bottom, and to work 
 a garden from potatoes to pease. Well, turn 
 ing over the rubbish, I stumbled on a stray 
 bottle of rum, that had lain there since the 
 days when the place was a wine-cellar, I sup 
 pose. I knew the old man had never found it. 
 
 " ' Don't tell father,' said Peachy ; ' he'd sell 
 it ' (the old man would sell his soul for a dol 
 lar). ' Don't tell father. Let's make a rum 
 punch, after my great-great-grandmother's re 
 ceipt.' 
 
 " Peachy has all the tastes that prove an in 
 heritance from gouty generations. It appeared 
 that part of the rum-punch receipt called for 
 284
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 setting the mixture in the hot sun for half a 
 day, so Peachy and I busily made punch, leav 
 ing the punch - bowl on the hot grass, our 
 selves sitting in the cool arbor. So nearly 
 as I recollect, the punch - making ran like 
 this : 
 
 " I : ' Why do they call you Peachy ? That's 
 not a name.' 
 
 " Peachy : ' Some of father's nonsense 
 because my face is all red and white, he says. 
 I'm sure I wish it wasn't. It makes me look 
 like a doll-baby. I'd like to have proud feat 
 ures and mournful big eyes, and dark hair and 
 an oval face. I've done everything to make 
 myself look like that. I've visited sick people 
 and taught in Sunday-school, but I keep on 
 looking just the same frivolous doll-baby.' 
 
 " I, with a start : ' But if you looked like 
 that, you'd be you'd be Lydia, and then what 
 would I do ?' 
 
 " Peachy, innocently : ' Does Lydia teach in 
 Sunday-schools and visit sick people ?' 
 
 " I, quickly : ' On the contrary.' 
 
 " Peachy, vehemently : ' I hate her ! I do hate 
 her, and I hate her because she's more beauti 
 ful than I, and better dressed, and knows more, 
 and because my dagger was hideous and she 
 knew it and I didn't. I know it's hideous now ; 
 don't you see I never wear it ? Did you think 
 it hideous ? Tell me the truth.' 
 
 " I, reluctantly : ' Yes, I did.' 
 285
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Peachy : ' I knew you did. Of course I 
 hate her.' 
 
 " Here Peachy thrust her hand in her pocket 
 and drew out a package of dress samples. ' I 
 want you to choose my winter gown for me,' 
 she said ; ' you know all about these things 
 no, you needn't match the samples against my 
 hair.' 
 
 " So we continued to make punch. 
 
 " ' But I can't buy my winter gown,' said 
 Peachy, ' until I sell my flock of geese. My 
 poultry-yard buys me all my clothes. Now 
 my flock of geese ought to bring me ' 
 
 " As if answering to its name, a large goose, 
 one of the flock, staggered to the arbor door, 
 turned round in its tracks, cackled feebly once 
 or twice, then fell gasping on its side. Peachy 
 rushed out from the arbor, and I heard a cry. 
 I followed quickly. On the grass before us, in 
 various stages of reeling or collapse, we be 
 held all the promising flock of geese. The 
 punch-bowl, empty and upset, told the story. 
 What represented Peachy's winter gown lay 
 all about us, tipsy as any ancestor of the house 
 on the old rum. Peachy lifted her voice and 
 wept aloud, while I dashed water over the 
 fainting fowls. In vain they one by one 
 twirled over on their backs and lay motionless, 
 claws up. 
 
 " ' It's no use,' sobbed Peachy. 'They are all 
 dead or dying ; and I was so fond of them !' 
 286
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 Then, practical in her grief, ' Go tell Joey to 
 pick them before they get cold ; at least I'll 
 sell the feathers.' 
 
 " There and then I would have thrown my 
 self at her feet, offering myself and any num 
 ber of wardrobes, but and I was grateful to 
 her for it Peachy fled to the house, sobbing as 
 if her heart were broken. 
 
 " I called Joey, and together we plucked 
 those geese. When Peachy at last returned, 
 we had quite a consolatory heap of feathers to 
 show her. 
 
 " ' But they won't buy a whole gown,' she 
 said, sorrowfully ; ' and, Joey, these geese won't 
 be fit to eat either. You can bury all of them 
 in the bottom of the garden.' 
 
 " Joey got a wheelbarrow, and packing the 
 bodies within, wheeled them away, Peachy's 
 eyes following the hearse, filled with tears. 
 Suppose we go to the funeral, I suggested, as 
 distraction. But when Peachy and I arrived 
 at what was to have been the graveyard, we 
 found there was to be no funeral. Terror- 
 stricken Joey was backing away from the 
 wheelbarrow, where a poor stripped goose was 
 quacking feebly, stiffly yet unmistakably mov 
 ing its bare legs and wings. Soon the whole 
 pile was in motion. They had only been boozy, 
 after all, and the long cool drive had refreshed 
 them, as it would any other gentlemen in like 
 condition. The scene was indescribable as the 
 287
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 denuded fowls disengaged themselves from 
 each other and flapped from the wheelbarrow 
 to the ground. Peachy laughed and wept al 
 ternately, but a brilliant idea came to me. 
 
 " Behind you, in this fence corner, my friend, 
 you see the result of applied literature. I led 
 Peachy to the house, where I selected Cranford 
 from the old bookcase and read aloud those 
 immortal pages where the clothing of the 
 singed cow is described. A hint is enough for 
 Peachy. By nightfall the shamelessly naked 
 flock were as good as ever for market purposes, 
 and all decently clothed in the gray uniform in 
 which you now see them browsing." 
 
 I looked at the feeding geese, and ridiculous 
 enough they were ; but again, for my own rea 
 sons, my face was grave. 
 
 " When I told this story of the dressed geese 
 to Lydia, she didn't sit on the grass and blink 
 on me solemnly. Not at all," said Martin. 
 
 " ' I'd give anything I possess for that flock 
 of geese,' said Lydia, when she could speak for 
 laughing. 
 
 " That ought to have warned me, but it did 
 not. Peachy and I went out fishing the next 
 morning, and when we came home the old man 
 handed twenty-five dollars to Peachy. 
 
 " ' There's your winter gown,' he said. ' I 
 sold your dressed geese for you for a fancy 
 price.' 
 
 " If you believe me, Lydia had been over and 
 288
 
 "'ALL DECENTLY CLOTHED
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 bought the whole flock and driven it away her 
 self. 
 
 " The dagger episode wasn't a circumstance 
 to this. 
 
 " ' You/ said Peachy, turning to me in a 
 rage, ' must have told her of my geese ; she 
 couldn't have known of them unless you did. 
 You can take back this twenty-five dollars to 
 her and bring my geese, or you can go away 
 and never let me see you again.' 
 
 " Here's the twenty-five dollars," said Mar 
 tin, drawing a roll of notes from his pocket, 
 " and, as you see, here's the crisis. 
 
 " ' If you take my geese away from me,' says 
 Lydia, ' you may follow them and never come 
 back to me.' 
 
 " For a week I have vibrated around this 
 fence corner. Neither Peachy nor Lydia will 
 yield. They have made it a test case. It's 
 under which king speak or die? And then 
 to-day, if I didn't meet the geese free and 
 browsing on the roadside ! They have es 
 caped from Lydia's keeping and are in my 
 hands. So now, old friend, to whom shall I 
 take them ? Shall I drive them up the right- 
 hand road to Lydia, or the left to Peachy ? I 
 leave it to you. This must settle Martin 
 Pope." 
 
 I looked at Martin and I looked at the 
 grotesque geese, and I looked into my own 
 soul. 
 
 T 289
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Why don't you settle your fate for your 
 self ?" I said, angrily. 
 
 " Because you've always done it for me," 
 said Martin, and I looked again desperately at 
 the geese. 
 
 A brilliant thought suddenly seized me. 
 " Why not let them decide ?" I said. " They've 
 been fed for a week at Lydia's the chance is 
 as good that they'll return there as that they'll 
 go to Peachy. Drive them to the fork and let 
 them lead you." 
 
 " I will," said Martin. He started to his feet 
 and herded the noisy geese into the roadway. 
 " Stand there and watch," he shouted. " It's 
 the corner of my life. Shoo shoo !" 
 
 I stood on the bank watching him. I am 
 older than Martin, and I have known him for 
 years. I can never tell, however, how much is 
 earnest with him and how much jest, how much 
 truth he is telling me and how much of lies ; 
 but, foolish as his story had been, I had seen 
 that it hid an unusually real feeling, for what 
 or whom I could not decide. My heart beat 
 hard as Martin reached the fork of the road. 
 I wondered if he would subtly direct the flock 
 one way or the other ; but no, he was rigor 
 ously just, keeping the absurd cackling creat 
 ures well in the midst of the highway. At the 
 crucial moment he even dropped his stick and 
 stood with arms folded. The geese browsed 
 a moment at the grass on the fork's wedge, 
 
 2go
 
 A GOOSE-CHASE 
 
 then with slow, deliberate waddle the leader 
 turned into the right-hand road the road to 
 Lydia. 
 
 " Stop that !" shouted Martin. " Stop that, 
 I tell you ! Shoo out of that shoo !" 
 
 The willow rod came down on the back of 
 the leader with a whack that drove him 
 squeaking into the left-hand road, followed 
 by the brood. With shouts of laughter, and 
 one mischievous backward look at me, Martin 
 drove them mercilessly before him. Had he 
 always meant to take that road ? Did he 
 guess something ? I did not stop to wonder. 
 With a spring I leaped up from the bank and 
 walked no, ran on my own goose-chase up 
 the right-hand road
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 " No, sir, I don't think so. I'm judgin' 'em 
 by my own feelin's. If I was to keep climbin' 
 up to a third story to find a meal, and be 
 poked down to the street just as I got a nibble, 
 I'd be too discouraged to do anything but set 
 on the curb-stone and starve. I shorely would. 
 That's jest the way I think these pertater-bugs 
 feel. Kill 'em ? No, I know I ain't doin' that, 
 but I certainly am discouragin' 'em. Yes, kill- 
 in' would be more final like, I suppose, but 
 then I'd have to lug the water and cans and 
 poison-stuff 'way from the house down here. 
 It ain't hardly worth while, an' it's kinder 
 cruel anyhow. Every farmer has his own way 
 o' doin' things." 
 
 Martin Pope stood leaning on the garden 
 fence, watching Farmer Esip at his arduous 
 labors. The old man was dressed like a retired 
 preacher from his waist up, wearing a long 
 solemn-looking black coat and an old stove 
 pipe hat, but on his legs were a pair of farm 
 er's overalls, worn to an artistic pale blue. He 
 held a little stick in his hand, and moved with 
 292
 
 ^rT/^ffh 
 
 { i ' ^ 
 
 ^^ r & 
 
 ^ - . ( \x- ^ 
 
 IN THE GARDEN PATCH
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 lazy patience from plant to plant discouraging 
 the potato-beetles. This was Peachy's father. 
 Martin had wished to ask his permission be 
 fore making open love to his daughter, which 
 he meant to do within that hour, but somehow 
 Mr. Esip's occupation and costume did not 
 strike Martin's artistic sense as exactly suitable 
 for such an occasion. Therefore he only said : 
 
 " You ought to use a longer stick, Mr. Esip. 
 Then you wouldn't have to bend your back 
 like that. Take mine. I've done with it." 
 
 " It's more trouble to hold your back up, 
 seems to me," said Mr. Esip, after using the 
 long stick on several plants. " Guess I'll go 
 back to my old way. Where's my little 
 stick ?" 
 
 Martin found it for him, and with grave de 
 light watched his efforts towards extermina 
 tion. There was nothing Martin Pope would 
 not do to enjoy new experiences and a new 
 sensation. His bohemianism was a true strain 
 that in verity knew no law. It had led him 
 into this wilderness, held him loitering in the 
 farm-house, and made him now look on this 
 prospective father-in-law as to costume and 
 character with no more serious feeling than 
 delightful amusement. 
 
 " Father ! Father !" 
 
 It was Peachy's voice. She was standing 
 looking at her sire with a face that expressed 
 more than her indignant tone. Mr. Esip 
 293
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 jumped, and then was plainly angry with him 
 self for doing so. 
 
 " I wisht you wouldn't walk so soft," he said, 
 testily. " I've been working to knock one bee 
 tle down these five minutes. He's the most 
 set I ever struck, and now I've lost him." 
 
 " I call it a shame," said Peachy's clear tones, 
 "bothering those poor bugs. It doesn't help 
 the potatoes one bit, and just worries the bee 
 tles to death. No, not even to death. It don't 
 do that much good." She looked her father 
 up and down with a sidelong glance of disap 
 proval. " Father, you do look dreadful !" she 
 said. 
 
 Mr. Esip moved on to another swarming 
 plant. " I calculate to sometimes," he said, 
 with calm obstinacy. 
 
 Martin laughed aloud. Peachy flushed an 
 offended pink that in Martin's fond eyes glori 
 fied the whole garden, not excluding Mr. Esip. 
 
 " Father," said the daughter, slowly, " you 
 go to the house and take off those overalls and 
 put on your broadcloth trousers, or take off 
 that coat and hat and put on your working- 
 blouse. I don't care which you do, but it's got 
 to be one or the other. I won't have you go 
 ing about looking like this." 
 
 Mr. Esip nodded his head sidewise rapidly 
 and angrily. " I actually I actually believe 
 you think you run this house ?" 
 
 " I do run it," said Peachy, firmly. 
 294
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 Mr. Esip took off his silk hat with one hand, 
 and with the other scrubbed his hair over his 
 head, as if perplexed between what ought to 
 be and what was not. " Well, I guess you 
 do," he admitted, pleasantly, and trudged off 
 to his house his in name only. 
 
 " Peachy," said Martin, leaning far over the 
 fence, and half whispering " Peachy, I've 
 brought home your geese. Here they are, and 
 Peachy, do you love me?" 
 
 Peachy ran to the fence, in her eagerness 
 leaning out as far as her lover had leaned in. 
 She was very close to him. Martin could see 
 every little curling golden hair on her neck and 
 temples. Lydia wore her dark hair off her 
 brow, showing the bluest veins in her temples. 
 It was a shock of pure joy to Martin to know 
 in that moment that he preferred the golden 
 tendrils to the blue veins. 
 
 "Are they all there ?" cried Peachy. 
 
 " Every one," said Martin, "just as they left 
 you. I wanted to have their jackets cleaned 
 and pressed before I brought them back, but I 
 thought I wouldn't wait." 
 
 Now the history of these geese, and the 
 cause of their wearing flannel jackets, is a long 
 story aforetold, and not necessary to the pres 
 ent tale even in rdsumtf. Suffice to say that 
 the safe return of this straying flock had been 
 made by Peachy the key to her favor, and here 
 they were. 
 
 295
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Yes," she said, rapidly counting them over. 
 " Yes, every one," and she turned and beamed 
 on Martin with her blue eyes. 
 
 " Now, Peachy, do you love me ?" 
 
 " Come into the garden," said Peachy. 
 " Drive the geese into the paddock, and I'll 
 meet you at the gate." 
 
 She was holding the garden gate ajar for him 
 when he came back, and Martin entered, feel 
 ing like the first man in the first garden. He 
 murmured something of the kind to Peachy as 
 the gate creaked open. 
 
 " Adam," said Peachy, coolly, " had an easy 
 time in the garden : don't you think so ? All 
 his work was done for him, every way. With 
 only one woman in the world, it was easy to 
 choose, wasn't it ?" 
 
 Then Martin knew that Peachy had guessed 
 far more than he had ever told her about 
 Lydia. 
 
 " Peachy," he said, ignoring the insinuation, 
 " do you love me ?" 
 
 " That's not what you ought to say first, is 
 it ?" asked Peachy. 
 
 " You know I love you, Peachy," he replied. 
 
 " No, I don't ; and what's more to the point, 
 I don't believe you do," said Peachy. 
 
 " I do," he retorted, warmly. 
 
 " How do you know ?" 
 
 Martin began to laugh. " I'll tell you," he 
 said. " Come sit in the old arbor with me, 
 296
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 and I'll tell you just how I know I love you. 
 You see, my mother once gave me a receipt for 
 knowing. An old maid that got married some 
 how told her how she found out she loved, and 
 it was a good enough test for anybody's use. 
 This was the way she knew : ' Tilly Pope,' she 
 said that was my mother's name 'Tilly 
 Pope, when I look up in the sky, Nicholas Gray 
 is there ; when I walk out in the woods, 
 Nicholas Gray is there ; when I look out in 
 the dark, Nicholas Gray is there. In fact, 
 Tilly Pope, Nicholas Gray is perfectly identi 
 fied with me.' " Martin flung back his head 
 and laughed until the arbor rang. Then he 
 grew suddenly serious. " It is a good test, 
 though, and I ought to know, because that's 
 exactly the way I am about you, Peachy. 
 When I look " 
 
 "How about when you look at Lydia?" 
 said Peachy, dryly. 
 
 The laugh died out of Martin's eyes ; he 
 looked depressed. He gazed at Peachy judi 
 cially. She was sitting on the arbor seat, 
 where the sunlight fell on her twisting golden 
 hair. Her blue eyes were in shadow ; they 
 looked a deeper blue than usual as she glanced 
 up at Martin. Yes, decidedly she was worth 
 it. Martin revived. He began again, this 
 time with a sweet candor. 
 
 " I suppose I may as well own up, as you 
 seem to know all about it ; but you might let 
 297
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 me alone a little, I think. It was hard enough 
 to decide, without your trying to shake my de 
 cision after I think it all done. It's been just 
 like playing ' King William,' Peachy. I swear 
 it has. You know how they play it asking 
 what you want, ices and cake, or locusts and 
 wild-honey, or some such things. I always did 
 hate to decide ; it takes me forever. But, dear, 
 really this time I have chosen. I can't say I 
 don't want the ices and cake, for that man 
 isn't born who could say he didn't want Lydia. 
 But I know I want the locusts and wild-honey 
 most. Isn't that enough ?" 
 
 Peachy turned away her head, but she left 
 her hand in Martin's grasp. 
 
 " I don't understand you. Why don't you 
 talk like other people ?" she asked. 
 
 " Because I can't. Peachy, do you love me ? 
 I'm not sure I understand about the locusts 
 myself, but I do know wild-honey when I see 
 it ; and as for the taste of it " He thought 
 he had her hand at his lips, but Peachy was 
 gone. Martin followed her out into the gar 
 den, and caught up with her at the potato- 
 patch, where she lingered a little, looking 
 down, frowning at the stripped stalks and rid 
 dled leaves of the potato plants. 
 
 " How's a man to prove anything to you if 
 you won't sit still ? I say these modern days 
 are hard," urged Martin. " Here am I, Mar 
 tin Pope, pining to prove my love for a wom- 
 298
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 an, and the only thing I've been able to do for 
 her is to herd geese ! Now if I could rid you 
 of a dragon or so, Peachy, you'd believe I loved 
 you, wouldn't you?" 
 
 Peachy was still looking down, disconso 
 lately. " I'd a good deal rather you'd rid me 
 of potato-beetles. Just look at this patch ! I 
 declare, it makes me heart-sick." 
 
 Martin stood gazing from the potato plants 
 to Peachy and back again. It seemed to him 
 that his brain worked like fire. 
 
 " Peachy," he burst out, " I'll make a bar 
 gain with you. I can't kill a dragon for you, 
 because I can't find one, but if I rid you of 
 these potato-bugs, and do it in two days' time, 
 will you marry me ?" 
 
 Peachy flushed to the roots of her hair. 
 
 " How can you be so absurd ? You couldn't 
 do it, in the first place. Nobody could." 
 
 " All the more glory if I do and the less 
 risk for you. Is it a bargain ?" 
 
 " Of course not. It's too ridiculous to think 
 of ; and then father's awfully tender-hearted. 
 He won't have anything on this farm poisoned." 
 
 " I don't care," said Martin, obstinately ; " if 
 you'll take the risk of marrying me, I will take 
 the risk of losing you. We'll call it a final 
 test. I'll rid you of the potato-bugs or or 
 Martin Pope by the mid-day after to-morrow 
 night, and I won't use poison either. Is it a 
 bargain ?" 
 
 299
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Peachy laid her finger ponderingly on her 
 lips. They were half pouting, half laughing, 
 and she was evidently half angry, half dis 
 quieted. " How dare you mix up love and 
 potato-bugs !" 
 
 " That's all right," said Martin, radiantly. 
 " If that's all that bothers you, you haven't 
 any case at all ; for, you see, you don't marry 
 me unless I kill off the bugs, and that disposes 
 of them before the love comes, doesn't it ? 
 Peachy, don't be stiff-necked about it. Can't 
 you see ? it gives you a chance to yield grace 
 fully, if you find you want to. And look here, 
 dear, just in a whisper between you and me and 
 the beetles : if I lay every beetle dead at your 
 feet, and then you find you don't want me, you 
 can kick me away, and I won't say a word. 
 Only, if I am to be kicked, my dear, I shall 
 wish to Heaven that the foot doing it wasn't 
 so extremely tiny. I always did dote on a 
 small foot, and yours is the very smallest 
 No, no, Peachy. Oh, no, no ! Of course you 
 know it. Then why have you called on me to 
 tie your shoestring three times this day ?" and 
 so on and so on, until the potato-beetles seemed 
 wholly forgotten; but in the end Martin had 
 his way, and they were finally made the pivot 
 on which was to hang his fate as a bachelor. 
 
 On the day set for Martin's experiment, the 
 potato - patch was a most remarkable - looking 
 field. In the first place, about its not very 
 300
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 large area ran a wall made of a bolt of un 
 bleached muslin. One end of the muslin was 
 tacked neatly to the trunk of a flowering plum- 
 tree, and the other end to a twin brother of the 
 tree that grew but a few feet away. Stakes 
 driven in the soft earth at intervals supported 
 the muslin walls beyond the trees. The nar 
 row space between the two trunks was a natu 
 ral door. Inside this enclosure lay rows and 
 rows of prostrate potato plants, each stalk 
 pinned firmly to the earth by innumerable 
 hair-pins supplied under protest by Peachy. 
 Furthermore, with the sweat of unwonted labor 
 on his brow, Martin had by entreaties and ex 
 hortations so wrought upon Peachy's mind 
 that she had actually lent him not only hair 
 pins, but the services of Joey, the hired man ; 
 and lastly, when Martin, so absorbed in his 
 work that he seemingly forgot what was the 
 prize he worked for, rushed into the house im 
 ploring, nay, demanding Peachy's added assist 
 ance, she really hesitated to remind him of the 
 delicacy of her position, and hastily followed 
 him into the potato enclosure. There, unques- 
 tioningly, and for no possible purpose that 
 her imagination could conceive, she feverishly 
 helped him and Joey pin down potato stalks, 
 running a race with the summer light, and beat 
 ing it by half a row of potatoes. 
 
 " We've done it !" shouted Martin, rising, 
 sunburnt and weary, from the last plant. 
 301
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Peachy, we've as good as won Ho, I've 
 no well, it doesn't matter." He looked hard 
 at Peachy, and his eyes suddenly began to 
 twinkle. 
 
 Peachy made no reply. She walked into the 
 house in silence, and Martin did not see her 
 again until the next morning. That crucial 
 day found Martin an excited and very tired 
 man. He had told Peachy that he wished, for 
 the furtherance of his plans, to have in his 
 hands the control of the whole farm for the 
 time being, and to this she consented the more 
 easily because there was no control to hand 
 over. Farmer Esip, as he said, had his own 
 ways of farming. He did not know of the 
 change of dictatorship, because a county fair 
 had required all his attention from noon to 
 night the previous day; but on the fateful 
 morning, after early breakfast, from which Mar 
 tin was absent, he sought Peachy, hidden in 
 the cool recesses of the dairy, and announced, 
 from the open door : 
 
 " Honey, maybe you don't hold it cruel to 
 starve dumb folks, but I do. I don't say it 
 wasn't smart, but I do say it was bitter hard on 
 the fowls, and hard on the beetles too. There's 
 nothin' that's more a lesson to me than perta- 
 ter-bugs busy as yaller jackets all the time, 
 eatin', breedin', workin', trudgin' all the way 
 from Colorado to here, and nobody wantin* 'em 
 there or here or anywhere. There's such a 
 302
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 thing as bein' entirely too enterprisin'. All the 
 way from Colorado to here to be eat up by 
 ducks and geese and hens and keats and tur 
 keys ! There won't be a bug in that field by 
 noon." 
 
 " Peachy !" It was Martin's voice at the 
 doorway. A great pan of milk slipped from 
 Peachy's hands, and a white wave splashed 
 across the floor to Martin's feet. 
 
 " My soul, honey!" said Mr. Esip, and Peachy 
 sat down on the milk -bench and burst into 
 mingled tears and laughter. " What's a pan o' 
 milk ?" said her father, wondering. " 'Cept for 
 the trouble o' wipin' it up. It's nasty to clean 
 up, milk is. I guess you've been in this dark 
 hole too long, honey ; I'll tend to this mop- 
 pin'. Take her to the pertater - patch, Mr. 
 Pope, and show her what's goin' on. It's a 
 murderous sight, but it's mighty interestin'. 
 I don't know how you ever thought o' such a 
 thing." 
 
 Peachy stood between the two flowering 
 plum-trees and looked into the enclosure. 
 There, scrambling from prostrate vine to vine, 
 cackling, crowing, gobbling, quacking, hissing, 
 but eating beetles all the time as if life de 
 pended on hurry, was every beaked creature 
 on the farm, a great flock, including the jacket 
 ed geese. The noise was deafening. 
 
 " They've had nothing to eat, nothing at all, 
 for twenty -four hours," said Martin, compla- 
 303
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 cently. "You see, I remembered that there 
 were more fowls on this farm than anything 
 else, including potato vines. It was a simple 
 question in arithmetic and hunger." 
 
 Peachy stood staring for a moment, then 
 she suddenly began to laugh ; she laughed un 
 til the tears ran down her face, and she had to 
 lean against the trunk of the plum-tree for sup 
 port. Martin regarded her anxiously. 
 
 " It's nothing," gasped Peachy, wiping her 
 eyes, "only it's so absurd. Don't you know 
 how to be anything else ?" 
 
 " I must have worked you too hard yester 
 day," said Martin, tenderly. He spread his 
 coat under one of the plum-trees and insisted 
 that Peachy should rest upon it, while he lay 
 at her feet, resting also. Joey, his eyes popped 
 with amazement, stood in the plum-tree door 
 way. Thus they watched the murder of the 
 beetles. 
 
 Mr. Esip was right ; before the clock struck 
 twelve those beetles were no more ; or, rather, 
 so few remained in the patch that it would 
 have been hypercritical to mention their exist 
 ence. At Martin's word, Joey drove the re 
 plete fowls from the enclosure and away to the 
 barn-yard, while Martin himself rolled up the 
 muslin. It was a long white bundle when he 
 brought it back to Peachy, now standing un 
 der the plum-tree, and laid it at her feet. 
 
 " Here is the shroud of the beetles," he said, 
 304
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 significantly, as he bent one knee on the mus 
 lin and bowed his head, waiting. 
 
 "Can't you be sensible for once?" said 
 Peachy. There was something wistful in her 
 tone, though she was laughing. 
 
 " No, I can't. This is the way I am made ; 
 and if you like me at all, you ought to like 
 what I am." 
 
 " Well, I don't," said Peachy. 
 
 Martin looked up quickly. For a brief mo 
 ment his face was as serious as could have been 
 asked. Then he saw Peachy's irrepressible 
 blushes and dimples against the white blossoms 
 above her. Martin's gaze was fixed upward ad 
 miringly. 
 
 " By George ! if women knew how becoming 
 a flowering plum-tree is, there'd be one grow 
 ing in every drawing-room." 
 
 But Peachy turned her head away. " Couldn't 
 you just just for one moment be like other 
 people ?" 
 
 " Suppose I was " 
 
 " Why, then " a hesitating sigh, half serious, 
 half comical " why, then I might If only," 
 she cried out " if only I were sure about 
 Lydia !" 
 
 " I know just how you feel," said Martin, with 
 sympathy. " I was just that way myself." 
 
 There were no more blushes and smiles un 
 der the plum-tree. 
 
 "I think," said Peachy, haughtily, "that this 
 u 305
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 had better end. I don't really care for you, 
 Mr. Pope, and won't pretend I do. I wish you'd 
 stop kneeling there. Perhaps Lydia " 
 
 " There she is now !" said Martin. 
 
 Yes, there she was, sitting in a carriage that 
 was slowly passing the farm-house. By her side 
 was an old friend of Martin's. They both beck 
 oned to him. The carriage stopped, and Mar 
 tin sprang up and ran out into the road. 
 Peachy watched them from the garden, saw 
 them talking earnestly, and then Martin sud 
 denly began shaking the hand of one and the 
 other, then the other and the one, over and 
 over. At last they drove off, and Martin came 
 slowly back to the garden. 
 
 " They're engaged," he said, shortly. " Lydia's 
 engaged to my best friend. She told me her 
 self. She said you looked like one of those plum 
 blossoms dropped from the tree. Lydia never 
 was mean. I always said that for her. Now 
 she's engaged." 
 
 "What did you say to her?" asked Peachy. 
 Her voice was forced, but Martin seemed not 
 to notice it. His gloom deepened. 
 
 " I told her you were a heartless girl. Haven't 
 you let me do everything to win you from 
 herding geese to killing potato -bugs? And 
 now you say calmly you don't care anything 
 for me. I believe you have been laughing at 
 me all the time." 
 
 " Did you tell Lydia that too ?" 
 306
 
 AN ENTOMOLOGICAL WOOING 
 
 "Yes, I did," said Martin, savagely. " I told 
 her you had ruined my life and you have ; 
 that you didn't care a pin for me, and you 
 never had, and you never would. I told her 
 all that too." 
 
 " You did ? Oh, Martin, I love you !" 
 
 Peachy was stretching out her hands to 
 him with a dazzling smile and fascinating 
 abandon. 
 
 " I do love you," she repeated. 
 
 Martin turned with a smile as radiant and a 
 laughing triumph in his eyes. 
 
 " There !" he cried. " I knew that would set 
 tle it ! Of course we love each other." And 
 they did in their way.
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 " I DON'T know why any of us ever expected 
 anything different," said Lydia. " Nothing of 
 a usual nature ever happens to them. Why 
 shouldn't their baby be a freak child ?" 
 
 " Lydia," I said, gravely, " under all the cir 
 cumstances that's not a wise way for you to 
 talk of the Popes. If you had said that to any 
 one but me, it might have been thought you 
 had some private animus." 
 
 "I wasn't saying it to any one but you, and 
 if you mean any one might think I wanted 
 Martin Pope myself, why I certainly did, and 
 would have had him, too, if Peachy's geese 
 hadn't saved Rome. The way they altered 
 events was a salvation for us all, wasn't it ?" 
 and Lydia turned on me one of those glances 
 that are still her own, and hers only. 
 
 " Don't look at me like that," I said ; "you 
 melt me like butter. You can't call the Pope 
 baby a freak. It isn't one. It's only phenom 
 enally tiny." 
 
 " Didn't you tell me Martin had been both 
 ered out of his life by enterprising showmen ?" 
 308
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 " Yes ; he has had some startling offers for 
 the child humiliatingly startling." 
 
 Lydia began to laugh provokingly. 
 
 " And then you tell me it's not a freak baby." 
 
 " I tell you it's not a freak," I retorted, 
 warmly. " It's only very undersized, and it's 
 not nice of you to laugh at the poor thing's 
 misfortune. Probably they are thinking a half 
 loaf is better than no bread." 
 
 Lydia was silent for a moment, while I be 
 gan to repent of my harshness, for we ourselves 
 had no offspring of any size. " I might put up 
 with half a loaf," she said, at last, as if consid 
 ering the matter, " but a quarter loaf, and par 
 ticularly a quarter-loaf baby, I never could 
 stand. Why, I really never remember hearing 
 of a freak baby in one's own class of life ; did 
 you, dear?" 
 
 " No, dear," I said, meekly, " I never did un 
 til Martin's freak baby came." Then we looked 
 at each other and laughed. The train was 
 drawing us into a station of the town where 
 the Popes were then living. It was this cir 
 cumstance that had turned our thoughts to 
 them and their affairs. 
 
 " I suppose you are right," said Lydia, gen 
 erous when her point was gained. " It's only 
 a preternaturally small child, and not a freak 
 at all. Why, do look ! Isn't that Mr. Pope 
 now? The one with the little champagne- 
 basket in his arms. It is Mr. Pope." 
 309
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 I looked where she directed. Yes, there was 
 but one Martin Pope, and that was he. As I 
 saw him I burst out laughing shamelessly. 
 
 " My dear Lydia, as sure as you live, he's got 
 the baby in that basket." Lydia pressed her 
 nose flat against the glass in her eagerness. 
 
 " Why it can't be ! yes, he is carrying it as 
 if he had something alive in it. Oh, nonsense, 
 it's his cat or a dog." 
 
 " Look behind him," said I. " Does that go 
 with a cat or a dog ?" Close on Martin's heels, 
 and with eyes fixed on the little basket walked 
 an evident nurse-maid, cap, apron, anxious air, 
 and all. ' Lydia flung herself back in her seat 
 and choked with laughter. 
 
 " Oh, if it were anybody but Martin Pope it 
 would have a chance to be pitiful. But it's so 
 it's so distractingly appropriate. How can 
 I help laughing ?" cried Lydia. 
 
 I certainly could not show her how to help 
 it. Indeed there had been something too ex 
 quisitely ridiculous, though what we could not 
 exactly state, even to ourselves, in that pass 
 ing glimpse of Martin paternally hugging a 
 champagne-basket, and followed by a nurse. 
 It was not until the train had steamed out of 
 the station that we recovered nerve. 
 
 " Well," said Lydia, " I see now what a far- 
 seeing genius a showman is. I should have 
 said I dreaded nothing more than having Mr. 
 Pope come into this car with his I don't know 
 310
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 what to call it exactly and now I am con 
 sumed with an unholy and unquenchable curi 
 osity to see inside that basket." 
 
 Absurd as Martin had looked in that passing 
 glimpse, the old-time friendship had stirred 
 warmly in my heart at sight of him. 
 
 " Lydia," I said, irritably, " I do wish you 
 would stop talking in that way. I tell you. 
 Martin's child is only undersized. He wrote 
 me that it might take a start and grow any 
 day." 
 
 Lydia stared at me. "Well, if you aren't 
 unreasonable. As if you didn't laugh too." 
 
 " I knew where to stop. When you insist 
 on laughing at everything and everybody, it 
 makes you extremely difficult to deal " 
 
 " Then why don't you shuffle me ?" inter 
 rupted Lydia, with imperturbable good-humor. 
 
 " I prefer to cut you at present," I retorted, 
 and then I whirled my chair around with ju 
 dicious haste before she could possibly reply. 
 
 The sharp movement swung me a little too 
 far ; so much so that before I could stop my 
 self my foot had struck smartly against the 
 knee-cap of a man who was hurriedly entering 
 the compartment carrying a little glass of 
 white liquid in his hand. The blow felled him 
 instantly. The glass and the liquid landed in 
 Lydia's lap, where the man himself would have 
 followed but that Lydia, with her wonted 
 promptness, caught his arm and held him up. 
 3"
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 Before I could pick up the debris of my own 
 scattered wits or come to my wife's rescue, I 
 heard her high, cool voice. 
 
 "Walk right in, Mr. Pope," she said, pleas 
 antly. " Walk right in. Milk ? Yes, I sup 
 posed so. It doesn't make the least difference. 
 My dear, aren't you going to apologize to Mr. 
 Pope ?" 
 
 Apologize ! Martin and I were on each oth 
 er's neck, and not altogether metaphorically 
 either. 
 
 " You'd like to see the baby, wouldn't you ?" 
 said Martin, beamingly. He was still affec 
 tionately holding my hand, and I feared he 
 would surely feel my apprehensive start. I 
 looked quickly at Lydia, and saw an honestly 
 frightened look on her usually composed feat 
 ures. I felt much the same way myself. 
 
 " I was getting some water to weaken her 
 milk when I met your foot," said Martin. 
 " She's in the end compartment with her nurse. 
 Don't you want to go back with me now and 
 see her both of you ?" 
 
 Lydia gripped the arms of her chair convul 
 sively, looking up to me with imploring eyes, 
 but I braced her with a glance. 
 
 " Yes, indeed we do," I said, cheerfully : " of 
 course we do. Come, Lydia," and I dragged 
 my wife to her feet and drove her before me 
 and after Martin, heartily wishing that there 
 was some strong man back of me again to per- 
 312
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 form for me a like office. Martin led us to the 
 door of the compartment, chatting all the way. 
 
 " Just excuse me a moment," he said, over 
 his shoulder ; " I'll see if she looks nice," and he 
 slipped within the door, closing it after him. 
 
 " Now run," said Lydia, turning and pushing 
 me back with both hands. " I can't go in 
 there I can't, and I won't." 
 
 "You must," I said, sternly, but my own 
 heart was beating with an absurd force. 
 
 " If you make me look at it, it's ten to one 
 I'll laugh right out. We can't risk it." 
 
 I set my teeth. " In we go," I said, " and if 
 we laugh we laugh." 
 
 Lydia collapsed in my hands. 
 
 " Then hold my hand tight," she said. " I'm 
 just as crazy as ever to see it, but I'd give all 
 I possess to be able to run away." 
 
 I grasped her hand in mine, and the door 
 opened for us. My own position was not easy. 
 Martin was an old and dear friend, and the 
 next moment might separate us forever. 
 
 " Did he tell you anything about baby's 
 size ?" asked Martin of Lydia as we entered. 
 
 " I told Lydia that the baby was small," I 
 said, weakly. 
 
 "Small!" said Martin, scornfully; "do you 
 call that small?" He turned and lifted a light 
 veil that covered the little champagne-basket, 
 and there lay something that brought Lydia 
 with a rush to her knees beside it. 
 313
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " Oh !" she cried. " Oh !" 
 
 "That's what I knew you'd say," said Mar 
 tin. " Now don't wake it. The last person 
 that saw it I sent into the nursery alone, and 
 she came out and said the baby wasn't there 
 there was only a French doll in the crib." 
 
 " Doll !" said Lydia, scornfully ; " there never 
 was a doll in the world like this." 
 
 I peered gingerly over her shoulder and saw 
 something that neither small nor doll ade 
 quately described. It was a baby so tiny that 
 one hardly dared breathe lest it might be blown 
 away, and yet it was so perfect and plump and 
 rosy, a microscopic vision, that I held my 
 breath for quite another reason. 
 
 " Oh !" cried Lydia again, " do you think it 
 will have to grow ?" 
 
 "Not for some time, I hope," said Martin, 
 delightedly, " though she may take a start and 
 grow any day. I don't want to be selfish about 
 it, though personally she fascinates me just as 
 she is. But she wouldn't like it herself, you 
 know, as she grows older. It wouldn't do at 
 all to keep on carrying her in a closed basket, 
 and that's what has to be or she'd draw a mob ; 
 and besides there are other dangers." His 
 whisper grew solemn. "Do you know, that 
 little thing is worth thousands as she lies 
 there. We are in constant terror of her being 
 stolen. She's never left a moment alone, day 
 or night, and I have to take a whole compart-
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 ment for her when we travel. The smaller they 
 come the more they cost like Blue Points." 
 
 "Get me out of this quickly," breathed a 
 smothered voice in my ear. I looked down, 
 and on seeing my wife's face, acted hastily. 
 A chair that was not secured to the floor was 
 near me, and I kicked it over. The wee-est 
 and the most fairylike of screams immediately 
 pierced the air. Martin rushed to the cham 
 pagne-basket, and Lydia and I fled. 
 
 When we were once more installed in our 
 own chairs outside, I looked over at my wife. 
 
 " Well," I said, " what were you going to do 
 in there, please laugh, or cry, or faint? I 
 couldn't tell which." 
 
 " Neither could I," said Lydia, from the 
 depths of her handkerchief. " It was the most 
 serio-comic thing I ever went through. Why, 
 he loves it dearly. And yet I know he's going 
 to exhibit it sooner or later. I know it. He 
 couldn't be Martin Pope and not do it." 
 
 " Exhibit it !" I repeated, amazed and indig 
 nant. "How could Martin do such a thing?" 
 
 " He couldn't," whimpered Lydia, " and that's 
 why I am so sure it '11 be done. He never 
 yet did anything he could. It makes me feel 
 dreadfully to think of that lovely little baby in 
 a show." 
 
 " Don't be silly," I said, severely ; and then, 
 resorting to Martin's formula, " Evidently the 
 child is soon to take a start and grow." 
 315
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 " You only have Mr. Pope's word for that,' 
 said Lydia, emerging from the cambric. " Mark 
 my words, that child will live to be exhib 
 ited." 
 
 " Have it your own way," I answered ; and, 
 as usual, Lydia's way it went, though not quite 
 as even she had expected it to go. 
 
 There was something wrong with the Popes. 
 Lydia recognized that there was, and so did I ; 
 but neither of us could imagine what it might 
 be. They had moved to the metropolis where 
 we lived shortly after our meeting in the cars, 
 but though they had spent the whole winter 
 not many squares away from our house, the 
 families saw little of each other. Women can 
 make distance as absence and absence as dis 
 tance in questions of family intimacy. Martin 
 and I met, as it were, by stealth now and then ; 
 but there could be little real intercourse. Then 
 one day late in the winter Mrs. Pope herself 
 suddenly appeared in my office. I am not 
 using the word suddenly in any rhetorical 
 sense ; it was a fact that I looked up from my 
 writing to find her sitting by my desk. 
 
 "Mr. Griffin," she said, abruptly, "did you 
 ever have an obsession ? Do you know what 
 they are ?" 
 
 " Not as well as you must," I answered. 
 
 " When I want occult or psychic information 
 
 I know to which sex to go for it in these days. 
 
 To what cult do you belong, may I ask ? My 
 
 316
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 wife belongs to five." But Peachy was not to 
 be dashed. 
 
 " I only found out about obsessions the other 
 day," she said, gravely. " I have one. That's 
 what I wanted to consult you about." 
 
 I looked anxiously at Peachy's flushed and 
 pretty features, but could not find there or in 
 her innocent eyes anything to justify alarm. 
 
 " There are all kinds of obsessions," she 
 went on, " and one is a kind that makes you 
 want all the time, and want dreadfully, to do 
 something that you know you ought not to do 
 at all, and wouldn't do for the world if you 
 could help yourself ; but you can't. My ob 
 session is wanting to exhibit the baby." 
 
 It was not unnatural that I should have 
 started in my chair and exclaimed aloud be 
 fore I could control or check myself, but as 
 she heard me two great tears rose in Peachy's 
 eyes and rolled down her face. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Pope," I said, taking her 
 hand in mine, " Martin is the dearest friend I 
 have in the world. Now what can I do for 
 his wife?" By which words it will be seen 
 that an ardent appreciation of feminine emo 
 tion does make me lose my head in a crisis. 
 
 " You are very kind. I knew you would be 
 when I came to you," said Peachy, wiping her 
 eyes. "You see, the temptation is terrible. We 
 do need money so horribly." 
 
 I breathed easily again. It was nothing 
 317
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 abnormal after all, but a complaint more or 
 less common to all flesh. How they had con 
 trived to attain such a position with Martin's 
 known means of supply was what I could not 
 comprehend, though he spent money like wa 
 ter. Peachy explained it all to me. It seemed 
 that Martin was most peculiarly placed. He 
 had no income. His moneys dropped in to 
 him not yearly, but in large lump sums at ir 
 regular intervals, wholly contingent on his 
 good behavior. The bulk of his property was 
 to be handed over to him on his thirtieth 
 year, which was not far off, if before that date 
 Martin had not contrived to disgrace the fam 
 ily name. In the latter case he was to re 
 ceive nothing. The full power of disburse 
 ment and dispossession lay in the hands of an 
 eccentric old uncle of Martin's, and the will 
 was made by Martin's father. After this hear 
 ing it did not seem to me difficult to account 
 for Martin's peculiarities. In the past I had 
 always tried to lay them at the door of his 
 artistic genius, but that had not adequately 
 supported them. This explanation did. 
 
 " You see now," said Peachy, " how impor 
 tant it is for us that Martin should be able to 
 meet a note for five thousand dollars that will 
 fall due to-morrow. If we don't meet it, Uncle 
 Pope may call that a disgrace. One of the 
 hard things about Father Pope's will has been 
 that Martin never knows what Uncle Pope may 
 318
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 call a disgrace. He wasn't sure he wouldn't 
 be angry at his marrying me ; and then, when 
 the baby came and was so little, we were 
 afraid he might call that disgraceful. Martin 
 says he knows he'll call it perfectly disgraceful 
 and extravagant for us to have a note falling 
 due for five thousand dollars to-morrow and 
 nothing ready to meet it. Do you think he 
 will ?" 
 
 " Well," I said, " I'm afraid he might view it 
 so." 
 
 " We can scrape about one thousand dollars 
 together," sighed Peachy, " and that's all." 
 
 " Of course, under the circumstances," I said, 
 " you can't call on your uncle for an advance, 
 as you don't want him to know your need, 
 but I should think it would be easy enough to 
 arrange for an advance of four thousand dol 
 lars from any one on such expectations as 
 Martin has. It's pretty late in the day, but I 
 think I can negotiate a loan for him by noon 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Why, no, you can't," said Peachy, practi 
 cally, "because we haven't any security to 
 offer." 
 
 " Well, I can only try," I said, at last. " I 
 wish I had the money myself, Mrs. Pope." 
 
 " Oh, I knew you hadn't a cent, or I wouldn't 
 have come to you," said Peachy, with delight 
 ful frankness. " I'm afraid you think we have 
 been awfully extravagant ; but, you see Mar- 
 319
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 tin miscalculated. He thought we had plenty 
 to last until he was 1,hirty, but it all seemed to 
 go suddenly. You know how it is with money. 
 And then the baby's an awful expense. We 
 have to guard her so carefully. She is watched 
 all day, and we keep a night nurse sitting up 
 with her with the door locked on the inside. 
 I suppose it's foolish, but we still keep getting 
 such offers for the poor little thing it makes us 
 awfully nervous." 
 
 " I don't call it foolish at all," I replied. " I 
 should go still further and keep the nursery 
 door bolted on the outside, and the key in my 
 own pocket. A nurse might be unfaithful. 
 But you haven't told me about your own ex 
 hibiting obsession, Mrs. Pope." Peachy looked 
 a little embarrassed. 
 
 " Well, I really haven't one, you know. I 
 just said that to open the conversation. I 
 didn't know how to open a business talk, and 
 so I tried to think how my husband would 
 probably begin, and that's about the way I 
 thought he would. You won't tell any one I 
 came to you, will you ? I got desperate after 
 Martin left me to-day, so I came to you my 
 self." 
 
 " Of course I'll do all I can, but don't feel too 
 hopeful," I answered. " Expect me at your 
 house rather late. I shall be kept very late 
 at the office to-night." 
 
 But I did not keep my promise of going to 
 320
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 the Popes that night, because, just as I was 
 preparing to seek them with the distressing 
 news that I had nothing and could get noth 
 ing for them, my office door burst open and 
 Peachy hurried in, crying like a hurt child. 
 
 " Here it is," she sobbed, trembling, and 
 drawing forth from under her wide cloak a 
 tiny basket. In its depths I recognized the 
 infinitesimal hope of the Pope family, sound 
 asleep as usual. And then I saw a strange 
 sight. I had in my varied experience seen 
 maternal emotion lavished on a fair - sized 
 child, but in this case I was to see what was 
 more like going through with the motions 
 than anything else. The baby was far too 
 small to receive Peachy's wild caresses, and 
 the basket got the most of them. 
 
 " Oh," sobbed Mrs. Pope, " she's been exhib 
 ited every night for weeks and weeks ever 
 since we've been in this city ! My baby, my 
 little, little baby. Oh, that wicked woman ! 
 If you hadn't suggested it I'd never have 
 thought of it. You saved my baby." And 
 down she went on her knees and kissed my 
 hand. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Pope," I said, " do get up 
 and tell me what has happened." But Peachy 
 was sitting on the floor by the basket examin 
 ing that sleeping little Quarter Loaf all over 
 to its very finger-nails, and would not answer 
 until she had assured herself that in every 
 x 321
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 particular it was exactly as it should be ex 
 cept for size. 
 
 " It's all right," she sighed, at last. " I've let 
 the woman go, but I hope you won't think it 
 weak of me. She was dreadfully frightened, 
 and she was only that wretched man's tool. 
 He confessed that himself. He was dreadful 
 ly frightened too. I'm afraid I made a terri 
 ble scene." 
 
 By slow degrees I came to understand what 
 had happened. My words of the morning had 
 roused Peachy's fears, and on that night, af 
 ter the baby and night nurse were seemingly 
 locked in together, she had gone to the nur 
 sery door and demanded entrance, obtained it 
 with difficulty, and the baby was gone from 
 the cradle. I could imagine that Mrs. Pope 
 might be quite formidable, when roused, in the 
 way that a brooding bird is formidable if its 
 young are attacked. Apparently she had flown 
 at the nurse with such fury that the woman 
 confessed all on the spot. She had been 
 hiring the baby to a showman for an hour or 
 so each night, smuggling it out of the house 
 to one of his myrmidons and back again un 
 noticed. 
 
 " I made her get in a carriage with me," said 
 
 .Mrs. Pope, "and drive right to the show, and 
 
 I rushed in and grabbed up my baby and ran 
 
 in here with it. It's right around the corner 
 
 from here, a miserable poor little show ! Oh, 
 
 322
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 my little abused baby !" And she fell to kissing 
 the basket again. 
 
 Now I have not lived as a legal adviser in 
 my native town some forty odd years and read 
 three newspapers daily for nothing, so what 
 Mrs. Pope said opened a window in my mind 
 and let in light upon some old newspaper in 
 formation stored there. 
 
 " Round the corner, did you say, Mrs. Pope ?" 
 I asked. "Was the show called the ' Eureka,' 
 and did it have life-size portraits of all kinds of 
 freaks outside the door ?" 
 
 Peachy shuddered her assent, drawing her 
 baby closer, but I had no time to mince words 
 just then. 
 
 "My dear lady," I said, "the man that owns 
 that show owns dozens like it in as many 
 towns. That's his horrid business and it 
 yields him enormous profits, on which he 
 lives in this city. His offence against you is 
 a serious one, and it's not his first offence of 
 the kind either. It would go hard with him if 
 he were hauled up. Did you promise his show 
 man anything?" 
 
 " I ? Good gracious, no. They were prom 
 ising me everything, and I just ran away from 
 them all as I told you." 
 
 " Where's Martin ?" 
 
 " Out trying to collect that wretched four 
 thousand ; he'll never get it." 
 
 " No," I said, " he won't, but he may have it 
 323
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 gotten for him." I disengaged Mrs. Pope from 
 the baby and led her to my desk. " Now sign 
 this," I said, and a moment later I had her 
 name tremulously written beneath these words : 
 " Mr. Griffin is fully empowered to act for me 
 in this matter." 
 
 Now what I did with this slip of paper I 
 shall never tell. It's not a transaction that I 
 am proud of, and as a struggling lawyer it is 
 not an episode that I care to publish. It was 
 a fair case both of love and war love for Mar 
 tin and war for the showman. Suffice it to 
 say that I drove away furiously in Mrs. Pope's 
 carriage, bidding her wait for me in my office ; 
 and when I at last came back to her I had in 
 my hand another bit of paper, oblong in shape, 
 which I did not show to Mrs. Pope. I locked 
 it away carefully in my desk, and for it sub 
 stituted a check torn from my own check 
 book, and made out for the sum of four thou 
 sand dollars. With this I turned to Martin's 
 wife. 
 
 " I have been more successful in raising that 
 sum we were talking of to-day than I thought 
 I could be," I said, " and here it is, Mrs. Pope ; 
 you can tell Martin that those who sent it to 
 him didn't want their names to appear. They 
 feel themselves under obligations to him, and 
 are glad of the chance to settle them. He can 
 pay the money back when he is thirty years 
 old if he then wants to, but there's no need 
 324
 
 THE QUARTER LOAF 
 
 whatever to do so." I held out the check, 
 which Mrs. Pope took from me in an absent- 
 minded way. She was hanging over the baby 
 with an eager interest on her face. 
 
 " Have you an inch measure here ?" she ask 
 ed, with such suppressed excitement in her tone 
 that I knew something important was about to 
 happen. 
 
 I produced the measure, and with evidently 
 practised fingers Peachy lifted that mite of a 
 baby and .laid it flat on my desk, face down. 
 Then she measured its back from end to 
 end. I bent over the measure as eagerly as 
 she. 
 
 " Has it taken that start ?" I asked ; and as 
 she saw the figure reached by the back of the 
 baby's little heel, Peachy dropped the measure 
 and looked up at me, with her big eyes swim 
 ming in tears. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Griffin !" she cried. 
 
 What had come to pass may be gathered 
 from a little scene that took place one day not 
 many years later, when my wife and I met 
 Peachy and her first-born walking together on 
 the street. 
 
 " Lydia, my dear," I said, " look ; yon's the 
 Quarter Loaf"; and Lydia walked straight up 
 to the pair and held out her hand to the daugh 
 ter with her most radiant smile. 
 
 " Why, my dear," she said, looking up, and 
 Lydia is not short, " allow me to congratulate 
 325
 
 JIMTY, AND OTHERS 
 
 you. Mrs. Pope, the next time I see your 
 daughter I only hope she won't have grown as 
 much again as she has since the first time I 
 saw her." And this wish was a kindly one, so 
 meant and so accepted. 
 
 THE END
 
 BY WILLIAM DEAN HO WELLS 
 
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