' '

 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED
 
 HIS DEAR 
 UNINTENDED 
 
 BY 
 
 J. BRECKENRIDGE ELLIS 
 
 AUTHOK OI "FKAN," "LAHOMA," "AGNES OP THE 
 BAD LANDS," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE MACAULAY COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1917, 
 By THE MACAULAY COMPANY
 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 PLATTSBURG COLLEGE DAYS 
 
 The College walls are standing yet 
 
 But broken is every glass. 
 Strange noises down the wide halls steal 
 
 When idle breezes pass. 
 
 The tyrant bell is cobwebbed o'er 
 
 Its former serfs are free. 
 Would it might ring for them again 
 
 Youth's opportunityl 
 
 Upstairs a door swings wide you'd think 
 
 A hand, long stilled, is there 
 Beck'ning the feet from vanished years 
 
 Once more to chapel prayer. 
 
 That stain is where the old clock ticked 
 
 The slow school-hours away; 
 How gladly was their gold exchanged 
 
 For dross of idle play! 
 
 The door bangs dear, familiar sound! 
 
 Do footsteps cross the floor? 
 One half expects the song to rise 
 
 From lips that will sing no more. 
 
 Past is not past in those speaking walls; 
 
 You catch its faint perfume 
 When the shadows take their old, old shapes 
 
 And the yellow roses bloom. 
 
 2135376
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTZK P>GB. 
 
 I. No Study Is Hard if a Young Face Smiles 
 
 Over the Top of Your Book . . . 13 
 
 II. A True Friend Is One Who Loves You With- 
 out Wanting to Change You .... 23 
 
 III. Hold No Woman an Exception to Her Sex 
 
 Save the One You Mean to Marry . . 31 
 
 IV. Generally the Reason You Think One Man 
 
 More Trifling Than Another Is Because 
 You Know Him Better 37 
 
 V. If Not Rich You Must Cling to Respectability 46 
 
 VI. If Some One Dear to You Has Ditched His 
 Life, You Are the More to Blame for Not 
 Keeping Your Train on the Straight Road 54 
 
 VII. There Are Too Many Towns Swelling Them- 
 selves to Be as Big as Oxen When by 
 Nature Frogs 64 
 
 VIII. When Your Hour Comes, Though Life's Game 
 Has But Fairly Begun, Fate Must Sound 
 Her Bell 74 
 
 IX. Often We Shrink Not So Much from the Thing 
 
 as from the Name the World Gives It . 85 
 
 X. You Can't Find Out if You're in Love by Kiss- 
 ing the Wrong Girl 94 
 
 XL If a Man's Work Stops with His Last Breath, 
 It's a Mighty Poor Life That Hasn't a 
 Mighty Big Work to Show for It . . 105
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XII. A Man's Horizon Is Enlarged as the Years 
 Lift Him Up; the Youth Sees Only the 
 Road at His Door, the Mature Eye Glimpses 
 Whither He Is Bound 112 
 
 XIII. The More You Have the Less You Need Pay; 
 
 the Rich Man Can Have the World's Hom- 
 age Without Spending a Penny to Get It 118 
 
 XIV. The Modern Man Cannot Live Close to Nature 
 
 Even in the Garden of Eden There Came 
 
 Up the Question of Clothes . . . .123 
 
 XV. No Matter How Young a Man May Feel, It's 
 
 by His Looks That He Gets Measured . 127 
 
 XVI. You Can't See Far Below a Man's Surface 
 
 When His Sky Is Flooded with Sunshine 138 
 
 XVII. A Man Is Like to Starve When Waiting for 
 the Ravens to Feed Him, Unless He Has 
 Fat of His Own to Draw On . . . 142 
 
 XVIII. Rob a Man of His Chance, and No One Can 
 
 Say What He Would Have Done . . 145 
 
 XIX. You May Live and Die in the Best Set of Thit 
 World with No Assurance of Getting into 
 the Upper Circles of the Next . . .158 
 
 XX. Bend Your Energies to Getting All You Can 
 Out of Life, and There'll Be Mighty Small 
 Leavings for Somebody Else . . . 170 
 
 XXI. Though We Sing and Dance in the Light, 
 Then Pass Away, Other Voices Will Catch 
 Our Songs, and Our Children Will Love 
 the Sunshine on the Grass .... 176 
 
 XXII. If You Don't Believe in a Fourth Dimension, 
 Try to Measure Womankind by Length, 
 Breadth and Thickness 185
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 XXIII. 
 
 We Judge a Man by His Kin, but Ask the 
 
 World to Judge Our Kin by Ourselves . 191 
 
 XXIV. Sometimes You Mistake Something Else for 
 Your Soul, Which Is One Danger About 
 Being a Soul Mate 197 
 
 XXV. Public Opinion May Be Won if You Go Court- 
 ing It with a Full Purse .... 205 
 
 XXVI. It Doesn't Take a Wise One to Call a Man a 
 
 Fool After He's Caught in His Folly . . 213 
 
 XXVII. No One Who Lives to Please Others Is Ever 
 
 Pleased with Himself 217 
 
 XXVIII. To Measure a Man's Promises, Get the Tape 
 
 Line of His Past Accomplishments . . 226 
 
 XXIX. There's More Eloquence in a Yellow Rose 
 
 Than in a Congressional Record . . . 232 
 
 XXX. Watch the Man Who Doesn't Want to Be Seen 241 
 
 XXXI. Feed Them the Same Politics and the Lion and 
 
 the Lamb Will Lie Down Together . . 249 
 
 XXXII. It Doubles Daring to Believe What You Hope 256 
 
 XXXIII. Better Unite Under a Poor Leader Than Fol- 
 
 low a Dozen Wise Counsels . . . . 263 
 
 XXXIV. When a Man Is Wedded to Sorrow, Good 
 
 Luck Seems a Temptation to Unfaithfulness 272 
 XXXV. A Man Is Not Disarmed So Long as He Has 
 
 a Winning Tongue 277 
 
 XXXVI. Man Has Never Understood Woman; She 
 Was First to the Tree of Knowledge and 
 She Picked Out the Apple for Him to Eat 284 
 XXXVII. I Have Never Been So Thrilled as When 
 Alone with Myself, Turning Over a Won- 
 derful Thought 290
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And When I Looked at Her I Loved Her, 
 
 Although There Was a Broom in Her Hand 293 
 
 XXXIX. If an Inherited Tendency Breaks Out in Our 
 
 Lives, It's Because We Left the Gate Open 296 
 
 XL. "Realism" Is to Enjoy the Good Things of 
 Life from the Money You Make by Writing 
 Books to Show That Life Is a Vale of Tears 308
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 No Study Is Hard if a Young Face Smiles Over 
 the Top of Your Book 
 
 THAT night the beat of the rain and the 
 clang of hammers roused such mad echoes 
 from the rafters that the big door opened un- 
 heard. When the rush of warm damp air stopped 
 our work at the anvils, she was already inside, the 
 dusty door shut behind her, and the light from 
 the swinging lantern showing her against the 
 deep-red background as a black wedge of mys- 
 tery, its white bit of laughing face challenging 
 solution. 
 
 We were working so late to catch up with early 
 summer orders that the opening of the horse-door 
 would in any case have been surprising; but for a 
 young girl to blow in at midnight made the sur- 
 prise an Event. I don't know what Bill did, but 
 I poised my hammer as if turned to stone while 
 with all my eyes I tried to take her in which I 
 couldn't do, for all she was so slender. 
 
 13
 
 14 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 She wore what amongst us men goes as a 
 "slicker," though like-enough the name softens 
 to French with change of sex a long rubber wa- 
 ter-proof with a tight neckband. Over her head 
 was a covering of the same, held across her cheeks 
 by her wet hand that nothing might be seen but 
 eyes, nose and mouth. 
 
 For a full minute I left the talking to the driv- 
 ing rain, then asked, "Do I know you, young 
 lady?" 
 
 "Nobody knows me," she gasped with an odd 
 wrinkle of her little nose. 
 
 She might have said more surely more was 
 needful if her breath hadn't altogether failed. 
 With shoulder pressed against the doorpost, she 
 panted hard to get it back again. 
 
 Laying down the hammer I asked, casual, hop- 
 ing by due caution to lead her to the point she 
 had shied from, "Do you want to speak to Bill? 
 He's very busy." 
 
 I was firm but not unkind, for, on first meeting 
 any woman, a man never knows what part she 
 may play in his life. 
 
 "I've nothing to say to her," says Bill, red and 
 defiant, for I'd kept him new and raw as to 
 women, owing my own ease and boldness when
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 15 
 
 thrown among them to my dealings with his poor 
 mother. 
 
 The white line of her face so very white 
 against the red door was turned full upon Bill. 
 I looked, also, and was glad to see him so big 
 and clumsy, and to note how his natural good 
 looks were disguised by grease and tar, and how 
 his bared arms and shoulders and towsled hair 
 were as a bulwark against any maid's fancy. 
 
 "But," she gave Bill, quick and decided, "I've 
 something to say to you, Bill Attum!" which 
 made me turn with the queerest feeling to exam- 
 ine her; and when I caught the sparkle in her 
 dark eyes, fear crept like a chill through my veins. 
 And a thought was shaken down from the tree 
 such as roots itself in every man's brain, reaching 
 up into cloudy spaces. Here was the thought: 
 that she had looked right through Bill's grime and 
 patches to the gold in his lower stratum. 
 
 At her explosion he stared open-mouthed, and 
 under her steady gaze I think he felt pleasure 
 an uncomfortable pleasure, to be sure, bringing 
 his legs to his attention, but making him glad to 
 be there. 
 
 I grew severe, for she was too pretty for half- 
 way measures: "I judge you haven't a name?"
 
 16 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "At times " she moved her shoulder toward 
 me, but gave her eyes to Bill "however, to- 
 night I left it at home." 
 
 I couldn't help smiling at that, and there was a 
 little laugh-shake in my voice as I said, "No use 
 looking at Bill, then, for he carries his about with 
 him, and a very good name, too, if I do say so my- 
 self. When he's of age he means to share it 
 with a certain friend of mine who also has a name ; 
 and as he's nineteen now, I fear youVe come too 
 late!" 
 
 I nodded to Bill to blow up the fire, and as he 
 stumbled only once getting to the bellows, I knew 
 the night-wanderer had as yet done him no great 
 harm. Hammering away, I tried to figure out 
 which of our wild young set she might be for in 
 Mizzouryville the people are separated and 
 marked in sets as distinct as the china in the gro- 
 cery stores. Of course I know all the heads of 
 families in town, but since my poor wife died 
 the only thing she'd done since our marriage, I 
 take it, that she didn't want to do my look and 
 word were for only such women as had husbands 
 I mean, until the time now reached. 
 
 The little stranger said in a pleading tone that 
 if we didn't mind she'd dry her hands at the fur-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 17 
 
 nace; and when Bill saw her coming, the way he 
 scurried to the farthest end of the shop must have 
 pleased any father. As for dear life, he began 
 hammering away, though I knew very well the 
 life had gone out of his horseshoe. 
 
 Burying my bar amongst the glowing coals, I 
 looked disapproval of any girl being out in rain 
 and wind at midnight, no matter from what old 
 settler descended; but without being discomposed, 
 she pulled off her rubber hood, letting it hang 
 down her back, the raindrops glistening in its 
 folds. The furnace-glow smote her in the face, 
 showing a great mass of brown hair that the hood 
 had mussed up just enough to look natural ; it was 
 like finding a friend lingering in the hall after 
 the rest of the company have called good-by from 
 the gate yet I was now sure I'd never seen her 
 before. 
 
 With a quick step I put myself and there's 
 more than two hundred pounds of me between 
 that living picture and my boy. But I wasn't 
 quick enough. Bill had caught sight of her face 
 painted in rose tints by the dusky-edged flames; 
 and against her long cloak, shimmering silver- 
 like where the light spangled it, he could see her 
 little hands seeming to melt smaller, while he
 
 1 8 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 looked, like bits of snow in moonlight. And as 
 straight as ever a man walked, he marched behind 
 our petition-curtain to the water and towels. 
 
 I knew the sound he made was from taking the 
 basin off its nail, but she, thinking it the creak of 
 a back door, looked as disappointed as any 
 child and gasped, "Oh I IVe scared him clean 
 away!" 
 
 "He'll come back cleaner," which she didn't 
 understand till my words were illumined and em- 
 bossed by as bright and handsome a young fel- 
 low's face as Mizzouryville had to show and of 
 other towns I know little. 
 
 She gave him a steady look which did the poor 
 lad no good, then turned to me with, "Stick, 
 you're so sorry I've come 1" Now there was a 
 grace and tenderness in her look and tone that 
 touched my heart, not because she was right, per- 
 haps, but because she was woman, though as to 
 that I've had the feeling that sometimes it's right 
 for a woman to be wrong. Of course I permit 
 none but an old settler to call me by my first name, 
 but I didn't draw into my shell. If a man's bear- 
 ing can't speak louder than shirtsleeves and a 
 leather apron, there's no use throwing "Mister" 
 at strangers. But I gave her these words, very
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED i^ 
 
 clear-cut and rounded that she might catch them 
 easily : 
 
 "I can't approve of eighteen-year-old girls 
 streaking about the country with their names left 
 at home; and while I'm as hospitable as the next 
 man, I must say short that the rain that brought 
 you here won't make you any wetter when it takes 
 you away." And I fell to hammering with all my 
 might, for I couldn't get all my meaning into mere 
 words. 
 
 Bill called out, "She said she had something to 
 say to me well, I want to hear it." 
 
 She pointed her hand at him in a way to make 
 him red and restive, and spoke with snap and 
 push : "I don't want you to spend your life with 
 an apron across your knees. I don't want you to 
 be counted as just one more man in the village. I 
 don't want you shoeing horses for other people 
 to ride. The world needs the best that's in 
 every one, and, Bill, you're not giving it your 
 best." 
 
 She flashed her starry eyes as if to probe his 
 depths, and just then she seemed bigger than Bill. 
 He looked at me, furtive, but I wouldn't bear him 
 a hand. I'd been hurt by her words but I thought 
 they should be duly considered. Of course when
 
 20 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 my time should come to sit on Old Settlers' Bench 
 with my legs crossed and my mind free, I hoped 
 Bill would be running the shop. Yet I had pro- 
 tested when he stopped school, though like-enough 
 not strong enough, since it's hard to argue against 
 one's interests. But this girl had a face that could 
 hare kept him to his books. The upward-draw- 
 ing quality of it would have made the ghast- 
 liest chart in physiology a dream of rosy loveli- 
 ness. 
 
 Seeing I'd deserted him, Bill did what he could 
 alone: "I don't think any work's dishonorable. 
 I got" he was one of the slowest-speaking 
 boys I ever knew "tired of ... school, and 
 tired of ... studying," he changed to his other 
 leg, "and tired of ... books." 
 
 "Tired!" She snatched the word from his 
 mouth and flung it under her feet. But instead of 
 stamping upon it, she walked back to the furnace, 
 her way of moving her body saying, "But what's 
 the use !" which had more weight than a ton of 
 oratory. And until I put the finishing touches to 
 my job, she stood watching the dying embers as 
 if she'd quite forgotten Bill which had more 
 weight with him than the other. 
 
 At my last blow she gave a little short laugh,
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 21 
 
 unwilling but gay enough. "Don't be angry with 
 me, Stick." She sat down on an empty box with 
 the faint glow still on her face. "The work's 
 done and we're not sleepy, are we ? and I hope not 
 very tired." That was a fling at Bill, of course, 
 and it hit him between the eyes, making him blink. 
 "I'll tell you about myself, to make you feel 
 easier. Let's swap heart-secrets!" As she said 
 that her face grew soft and sweet. "Won't that 
 be fine? Doesn't matter what my name is, if I 
 tell you what I am." 
 
 "A spirit," Bill suggested, and I wasn't overly 
 pleased, for he had never been forward in con- 
 versation. He pulled up a bench and so disposed 
 himself that I must needs sit at the farther end, 
 and I took the place with a heaviness not custom- 1 
 ary, for though I am about as tall as Bill, and 
 better filled out in my parts, I seldom make a 
 seat creak as the bench creaked that night. 
 
 It may have been foolish of me to be uneasy 
 about the boy, but she had a look he was not for- 
 tified against. But of course it never occurred to 
 me to put the stranger out the door and carry off 
 Bill to bed. For when you looked at that radiant 
 face with the wavering little wisps of hair burning 
 up from her white brow to fade away in darkness,
 
 22 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 and when you considered the build of her form 
 -every member so serviceable and at the same time 
 so exquisitely slight, so soul-satisfying when she 
 said sit down you had to sit; your knees just 
 crumpled,
 
 A True Friend Is One Who Loves You Without 
 Wanting to Change You 
 
 YES, I'm a spirit," she laughed. "And after 
 we've taken turns telling about ourselves, 
 I'll vanish as a spirit should, never to come back." 
 She looked hard at me "Unless you call me." 
 
 I was so eased to learn that her coming again 
 rested on my call that I dived into a full enjoy- 
 ment of the occasion. "Very good. And since 
 Bill and I stand or fall together, I'll weave his 
 narrative into my own tale." 
 
 "No, father" never in my life had I known 
 Bill so heady "every man to his own tale." 
 
 I rolled my eyes to bring him to order, and thus 
 set forth upon my own journey: 
 
 "I'll not begin with my name, since you seem 
 as familiar with that as myself. After a couple 
 of years on a Mississippi steamboat, I became by 
 
 23
 
 24 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 profession and desire a blacksmith. I can ham- 
 mer out ideas as well as bars of iron, and I pre- 
 fer thoughts welded together without loss of good 
 material, struck quick while hot, and laid by. 
 When Bill was seven his poor mother died, so 
 for twelve years it's been we two against the 
 world, no quarter asked. I've read the smoke- 
 house full of novels but have never found any 
 book so interesting as the living of a single day. 
 There's my story without the lining or buttons 
 on." 
 
 She leaned forward, eager, cheek propped on 
 hand. "Does it ever get so deadly dull that you 
 feel like turning bandit and going out to hold 
 people up, or do anything to make things happen ? 
 Do you ever get so crushed by the loneliness, and 
 
 so starved by the hunger for friendship " She 
 
 waved her hand as if driving her thoughts into 
 the shadows banked up beyond the lantern-glow. 
 "No, you've never felt all this no doubt you 
 have at least one intimate friend to talk to about 
 old times." 
 
 "So I have here he sits by my side. Nobody 
 else knows the whole long column of my nature. 
 Others have a few of the figures, but the sum-total 
 is in only Bill's hands. Years ago there was a
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 25 
 
 man who loved me without wanting to change me ; 
 sorrow drew us together our wives left us at 
 about the same time, what from death, or one 
 thing and another and as each of us had a child 
 we decided they should marry in due time. When 
 my friend died he left his land made over to Bill 
 just as the girl was made over though not so 
 palpable.'* 
 
 She asked, flute-notes in her voice, "How old is 
 Bill's intended?" 
 
 "As to years, she has him beaten, for she's 
 twenty-one; but as to wisdom, I'd call it a tie." 
 
 "If any one loved me" she clasped her hands, 
 ecstatic at the bare idea "I'd give that person 
 double of everything he asked and never complain 
 when he didn't pay me back. ... If I knew he 
 loved me. He needn't tell me so, he needn't make 
 promises, or give me presents, or praise my way 
 of doing. ... If I knew he loved me. It 
 wouldn't matter how poor he was, if I was more 
 to him than anybody else in the world; I'd say, 
 'Take me I'm fortune enough for you I' ' She 
 flung her arms wide in invitation, then remem- 
 bered where she was and laughed, embarrassed, 
 as if we'd heard her talking in her sleep. She 
 apologized: "A girl can't help wondering if
 
 26 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 she's worth caring for, when nobody cares for her. 
 Well," she sighed deep, "it's fine for Bill to know 
 there's a girl waiting for him" and she added 
 with a flash "even if she is older than he is!" 
 
 "In all this," my son spoke gruff and ready, 
 "there's too much Bill, and my turn hasn't come." 
 
 She took up her story: "I live with my uncle 
 and the Companion she's that by the job, not by 
 nature poor, dried-up, always-solemn Compan- 
 ion she never knew how to soak dry crusts of 
 facts for a little girl's taste. Uncle likes nothing 
 but to hide from the world in his downtown office, 
 so I'm alone all day in a big house where there 
 are no trees or birds, where no one ever comes to 
 see me. And all the time I'm longing to be a 
 neighbor to somebody, wanting it so hard that it 
 gives me a deep pain" she touched her heart 
 "down here; but I'm a stranger to all the world." 
 
 "Why not begin on the folks next door?" I 
 asked, reaching for something practical. "As a 
 rule they're no meaner than those around the 
 block." 
 
 "I haven't told you the dreadful thing," she 
 locked her hands about the rubber cloak where 
 it made a silver letter "U" at her knee, and looked 
 at me with wide eyes full of strange, beautiful
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 27 
 
 lights such as are not kindled in Mizzouryville 
 eyes. "There's something in me that my uncle 
 can't understand, nor the Companion for all her 
 languages a craving for anything out of the com- 
 mon." Her voice grew deep and serious. "It's 
 in my blood. Or else it's come from always be- 
 ing shut up in that house with the city calling, 
 calling in a thousand voices. Wherever it came 
 from, it burns like a fever. Once I told Uncle 
 and he was terribly frightened called me wick- 
 ed for putting it into words, as if it were a thing 
 I could help ! But to-night, as Bill says, I'm a 
 spirit, just flitting about. I can see you're un- 
 easy about me, but I'm just as safe in the open 
 as when locked up. And oh, I'm free, to-night 
 I'm free!" 
 
 She started up, swinging her arms, and Bill 
 dodged. That made her laugh and she sat down 
 again, crossing her feet with the sole of one 
 propped against the hard dirt floor, and the other 
 softly playing along it sidewise in a way to make 
 me feel young and no doubt to make Bill feel he'd 
 gathered up the years for himself that I'd cast 
 aside. 
 
 "Uncle let me come to Mizzouryville, knowing 
 it's a dead little place, but there's no place so dead
 
 28 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 that seeds of adventure won't thrive in it. And 
 this is an adventure out of the common, every 
 minute of it I come and go, hugging my free- 
 dom like an escaped prisoner. It makes the blood 
 dance and tingle." 
 
 "Yes, it does," cried Bill, and he worked the 
 bellows till the picture she made was inlaid in 
 yellow gold ; and the prettier she looked the more 
 I marveled that her strict uncle had consented 
 to her wild whim. 
 
 After a silence that was full of the music of 
 gurgling rain, she said low and sad, "Now it's 
 time for the spirit to be laid. Do you wonder, 
 Stick, how I knew I could trust you, or how my 
 adventure began? If you want to know if you 
 want to see me again, just write a line to say come, 
 and I'll come to you." 
 
 "And me," says Bill, lonesome. 
 
 "Come to the campus of the old deserted Col- 
 lege" she very properly ignored Bill "and 
 put your note in the little hollow under the second 
 step of the stone stiles. And it must be in a 
 week's time, for after that I'm going away, never, 
 never " 
 
 "Don't!" cried Bill, desperate. "It seems to 
 end everything when you say that."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 29 
 
 She laughed. "And now, Bill, tell your story; 
 your turn's come." 
 
 "Mine is going to be the longest of all, for I'm 
 full, just brimming full of what I want to say to 
 you." There was no drawl in his voice now as 
 he stood up straight, squaring his broad shoul- 
 ders. I looked at him hard yes, it was Bill, all 
 right; for a second it had come to me that may- 
 hap I was dreaming. He looked so purposeful, 
 so bright and resolute, that for a moment I won- 
 dered if an orator were to be developed before my 
 eyes. Just for a moment, though. He was al- 
 most bursting with what he desired to make clear, 
 but he lacked the cunning. 
 
 Not another word did he say. But instead of 
 laughing at him, the little stranger showed a 
 thoughtful gravity mighty sweet to see on a face 
 so young. And as if she had got his message by 
 tongueless, she met his eyes, but couldn't match 
 them, for hers fell at once and a color came to 
 her cheeks as if she found her adventure good 
 exercise. 
 
 Quick and vivid as a flame she started away, and 
 with a hand outstretched to hold us where we 
 were, darted to the big door and was lost in the 
 night.
 
 30 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 The June rain dashed against the roof and gur- 
 gled in the pipes in the good old sleepy way, and 
 the lights and shadows chased each other among 
 the rafters and along the shavings-littered floor as 
 they had played in my boyhood. The little spirit 
 had come out of wind and rain and was gone with 
 no movement on our part to keep her, and only 
 the damp trail from door to furnace to prove her 
 visit. And yet, oddly enough, the things about us 
 wore a strange look to my eyes, though as fa- 
 miliar as the earth underfoot, for when I stared 
 at Bill a mist seemed floating between us, and 
 there was for the first time in his life a part of 
 him I couldn't see.
 
 Ill 
 
 Hold No Woman an Exception to Her Sex Save 
 the One You Mean to Marry 
 
 THE next morning at breakfast Bill's pleased 
 surprise (an emotion ever denied the 
 cook) showed he'd forgotten we were to have 
 mackerel, though he's seen me put it to soak the 
 night before. That proved his a straying mind, 
 but I seemed to take no notice, just set the dish 
 between us with the fish spread wide, the thin, 
 delicate part next me, and the butter melted to a 
 yellow brook amongst the silvery sandbars. It 
 was when I reached for the piping-hot cornbread 
 without which a mackerel is but a sounding 
 cymbal that I began my discourse, speaking as 
 it were into the air: 
 
 "If plunged over your head in strange experi- 
 ences, seek footing from books of capable and 
 well-worded authors. Son, when an innocent girl 
 
 31
 
 32 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 leaves her home in the books in the smokehouse 
 to seek life or service in the city, the publisher 
 might as well throw in a five-cent handkerchief 
 with his volume for such as have tears to shed. 
 I have a dozen novels to prove that if the girl's 
 young and pretty, to the bottom she must sink 
 when her skirts get heavy in the stream of her 
 adventure. The first flashily dressed young man 
 she meets takes her to a restaurant good-by! 
 Of course if the wanderer is a young man, it's 
 otherwise ; he doesn't get caught up, made love to, 
 and then cast aside. And suppose it were so? 
 He's a male and can go about his business with a 
 free mind. A girl doesn't get a knowledge of life 
 till it's too late for her to use it. Therefore, the 
 less we think about what happened last night, 
 the better for you and me and the world we 
 live in." 
 
 He said with a tremor in his earnest voice, 
 "Remember the look in her eyes?" 
 
 I felt a twinge of remorse as her face seemed 
 to rise before me, but my iron was hot for the 
 forging and I hammered away: "Son, a young 
 girl's feet aren't shaped to make paths for them- 
 selves, but to follow the first bold man who tells 
 her she's pretty and sweet."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 33 
 
 He spoke very slow. "I've been thinking it 
 over. Books I've never read unless forced, so I'm 
 not up on smokehouse principles. But I don't be- 
 lieve the general run of men are wolves; and a 
 sensible girl is no more a helpless lamb than she's 
 an oyster. Which some are as dumb as," he add- 
 ed, not overly happy in his phrasing. He knew 
 he didn't sound just right, but he hurried on, 
 breathless, "If girls are fools as a rule, that girl- 
 out-of-the-common is a shining exception." 
 
 "I'll give you the general rule," I said, seeing 
 I must speak sharp and clean-cut. "Pretty girls 
 can no easier pass through the frosts of life un- 
 wilted, when without family protection, than our 
 early beans can get through the spring uncovered 
 on the coldest nights. More than that, you have 
 no right to think any girl a shining exception to 
 her sex, except the girl you're bound to by sacred 
 engagement. I mean Laidie Hightower, your fu- 
 ture wife." 
 
 "Of course, of course," he agreed, hasty and 
 red. And not another word till he stood to aid 
 me, tea towel in hand. I thought him properly 
 subdued. If not brought to his senses by my ref- 
 erence to Laidie, surely the dish-cleaning was 
 enough to sober him, it being that depressing to a
 
 34 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 mettlesome spirit for woman in the kitchen and 
 man in the shop is nature's law. 
 
 But of a sudden he said, coaxing and soft, just 
 as if all my speech had been wind too high above 
 his head to stir his hair: "And this is what I 
 would like, father: to write her the nice little note, 
 just as she said, and put it under the step of the 
 old College stiles." 
 
 I was so contracted by surprise that the handle 
 of a teacup came clean off in my grip. 
 
 "She's here all alone," he went on, infatuated. 
 "And though she lives with her uncle and the 
 governess, she's felt alone all her life. I'd like to 
 give her an adventure, as that's what she loves. 
 Let's invite her to a little party; it couldn't hurt 
 us, and it'd be kind to her." 
 
 I threw the cup-handle out the door where the 
 chickens came to peck at it with about as much 
 sense as Bill was pecking at his idea. And I 
 pressed my lips tight shut as I went on washing 
 the dishes. 
 
 Such was his desire to cover the ground before 
 I stopped him that he threw himself forward with 
 rare speed, leaping from phrase to phrase as one 
 springs along railroad ties: "And invite Laidie 
 and her grandfather. And have a nice little sup-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 35 
 
 per. Music on the organ, later. And talk and 
 talk and look at the photograph albums and 
 everything ! I want Laidie to know her. I think 
 Laidie will be glad to pick up some ideas. It 
 would simply be great, for me. I'd see how a 
 city girl acts in a parlor. I'd take notes. Father, 
 let me tell you: After our talk last night I felt 
 I'd been lifted up in the air could see farther 
 than I'd ever seen in my life clear beyond Miz- 
 zouryville County." 
 
 "I'm afraid it made you dizzy," said I, pointed. 
 After awhile I swallowed hard and added, "Prom- 
 ise me not to write any such note till I say the 
 word." 
 
 "Why, I'm not going to write that note 
 you're to do it for us both." 
 
 Which made me feel easier, for you could 
 build on Bill's word as on the living rock. As 
 we left for the shop I told him I'd think it over* 
 and asked if it was my way to oppose his 
 wishes. 
 
 "But," he said, "I never before had a wish so 
 deep-bedded and durable. When I get to think- 
 ing of that girl wanting to be a neighbor to some- 
 body, with me right here anxious to be neigh- 
 bored, I get perplexed at the way life keeps wishes
 
 36 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 apart I stayed awake most of last night both- 
 ering over my feelings." 
 
 "Don't bother any more," I said, growing 
 more and more uneasy the choicer he grew in his 
 words and sentiments. "It shall be just as you 
 wish. We'll write to the girl-out-of-the-common, 
 and invite her to our uncommon party." 
 
 For I wasn't so perplexed as Bill about his 
 feelings. And I knew there's nothing such feel- 
 ings feed on so ravenous and nourished as ob- 
 stacles. That's why I said, easy and indifferent, 
 "It shall be just as you wish." I wouldn't leave 
 him any fences to climb. If I had set him to 
 climbing, nothing could ever have stopped Bill, 
 he was that proud of difficulties.
 
 IV 
 
 Generally the Reason You Think One Man More 
 Trifling Than Another Is Because You Know 
 Him Better 
 
 ALL morning we were as busy as could be, 
 and we hurried through dinner (twelve, 
 sharp) and laid the dishes by to be cleaned with 
 those from the supper-table by the bulk for it 
 was never our way to dampen tea towel oftener 
 than needful. As soon as I had Bill safe at the 
 shop, with a horse on three legs demanding of 
 him a bent back and lip steadied between cautious 
 teeth, I took time off to climb the hill. I wanted 
 to learn something about the girl-out-of-the-com- 
 mon and if news had ripened to a full crop I 
 knew it was to be gathered in front of Lane Lac- 
 lede's grocery. Under the big glass window (in 
 which nothing was ever displayed that you wanted 
 to buy) and at the edge of an iron grating in the 
 
 37
 
 38 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 sidewalk (that accommodated a man with a quid 
 in his cheek) there stood as hard and uncomfort- 
 able a wooden bench as ever plagued the human 
 form. From that free bench the day's happen- 
 ings were served forth seasoned to taste, inso- 
 much that I suppose I had not read a county pa- 
 per for fifteen years. 
 
 "Loafers' Bench," some called it, but Old Set- 
 tlers' Bench I like better. There, weather per- 
 mitting, you found Laidie's grandfather, Van Bu- 
 ren Hightower long since we'd balked at the full 
 name, and "B" was all we gave him: and that 
 dried-up, thin-voiced, childless widower, Jim Bob 
 Peterson, his farm going to weeds and rotting 
 fences; and Taggart Gleason, dressed like a pub- 
 lic lecturer, his pretty young wife doing the toil- 
 ing and spinning at her millinery shop whilst we 
 considered how he grew, and his daughter, al- 
 most as young as her step-mother, anywhere but 
 at home. And on that bench you'd find handsome 
 young Lane Laclede unless a customer forced his 
 unwilling legs behind the counter in which event 
 some one was usually ready to grab his place, Doc 
 Snaggs, maybe, or red-headed Curd Tooterflail. 
 
 They or their fathers had helped my father 
 lay out Mizzouryville and I honored them accord-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 39 
 
 ingly. Faults they might have, and grievous, but 
 I swallowed each fault with its man, believing 
 that the reason you find one man in a crowd more 
 trifling than another is mainly because you know 
 him better. Nor must I forget to mention that 
 old reliable, Captain Little Dave Overstreet, 
 whom I generally do forget because he is so old. 
 
 Knowing I could spend but a few moments 
 idling, whereas they took a day for it with no visi- 
 ble means of support, they began at once impart- 
 ing their news. Except for the owner of the store, 
 I was twenty years younger than the youngest on 
 Old Settlers' Bench, but I had so made myself 
 a piece of their cloth, matching myself on the 
 garment of their content, that our colors ran in- 
 timate and similar. 
 
 "Stick," says Taggart Gleason, the only man 
 there who smoked cigars, for his hard-working 
 wife never stinted him, "have you run across an 
 escaped inmate from the state asylum?" And he 
 rubbed his bald place with his hatbrim, always 
 a sign that he'd been forced out of his customary 
 cool, fishy calm. 
 
 "Let me tell it!" piped up Jim Bob Peterson. 
 "Nothing never happens to me and I ain't got no 
 energy to start things. I get so languid when I
 
 40 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 think of working my farm languid was my birth- 
 mark " 
 
 "Shut up," says Captain Little Dave Over- 
 street, good-natured but final. "Cork your bot- 
 tle!" For you either had to stop Jim Bob or 
 leave the bench, his speech was that woody of 
 growth. 
 
 "Last night," Gleason said, seeing in my eye 
 that if he didn't tell it at once, there'd be a gone 
 blacksmith, "while it was raining, which it did 
 
 five-eighths of an inch " He waited to let 
 
 some one dispute it, for he was as strong on 
 statistics as weak on principles, and so loved 
 facts and figures that behind his back he was often 
 called "Old Datty." 
 
 We disappointed him and he went on: "I was 
 on my front porch reproving my wife for not 
 having had the leak in the shingles mended, and 
 as she was sewing in the back room, I raised my 
 voice as a man may to his wife." 
 
 "Now," said I, "your groundwork's laid; go to 
 building." I disliked that man almost as much 
 as Lane Laclede did, but, as he was an old settler, 
 I let him pass. 
 
 "I don't know why it is," says Jim Bob, com- 
 plaining as usual, "but nobody'll ever listen to my
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 41 
 
 stories. By the time my groundplan is laid my 
 listeners is disorganized " 
 
 "Cork up!" sings out Captain Little Dave. 
 There was an old man, but useful. 
 
 "Of a sudden" Gleason kept on rubbing the 
 top of his head "a crazy girl jumped right at me 
 looking awful wild. I thought she was going to 
 tear my eyes out. She poured forth the insanest 
 words I ever heard in my life. Now, statistics 
 tell us, based on the data relative to the demented, 
 that " 
 
 "She told him," spoke up Lane Laclede from 
 the doorway, enjoying himself, "that he crammed 
 himself full of useless data so he could dispute 
 from morning till night. And that it's a shame 
 to the town the way he lets his wife work while 
 he never turns his hand to so much as carrying 
 in a bucket of water." 
 
 "I've lived to be ninety and aim to grow old- 
 er," commented Captain Little Dave, "but apart 
 from the invention of steamcars and telephones 
 what we're made so sick of in Thanksgiving 
 sermons, nothing curiouser ever drifted my 
 way." 
 
 "It's awful strange," said Laclede, who never 
 missed a chance to prod at Gleason's thick hide,
 
 42 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "that nobody heard the girl but Taggart. Not 
 but what we could all swear to the truth of the 
 story, the words of the wild girl being so convinc- 
 ing, such as would never have reached Taggart's 
 mind but from the outside." 
 
 Laidie's grandfather didn't move just looked 
 at me calm and knowing. Ever since his stroke 
 he'd been safeguarding himself from the second, 
 for the doctor said the third would kill him and 
 the doctor was sober when he said it. 
 
 "When I got over my freeze," Gleason went 
 on, "I called for help and ran after the creature 
 to have her put in irons, but she got away. Wait, 
 Stick, I haven't told the worst. This very girl, 
 calling herself 'Miss Cereus,' was one of that bevy 
 of strange ladies who came to town a week ago 
 to take teachers' examination. For that full week 
 she'd been boarding in my house, as tractable as 
 a lamb, yes, sir, eating at my very table. And 
 then of a sudden a screw gets loose and she falls 
 to pieces like that heaping bitter abuse upon me 
 because I'm not at the millinery shop with my 
 wife sitting here on the bench !" 
 
 "She spells her name C-e-r-e-u-a," Jim Bob 
 offered. "Taggart says so." 
 
 "I guess she's Rooshun," said Van Buren, very
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 43 
 
 slow and cautious. "All of them is off, more or 
 less, from the books they write." 
 
 "The word isn't Russian," and Taggart Glea- 
 son cleared his throat and put on his hat and 
 crossed his legs for business. "The etymology of 
 the " 
 
 I went back to my shop. There was a part of 
 Gleason's account that I liked, a part I didn't, 
 proving it true for when a story goes smooth it's 
 because it is in a book, and that book not the 
 Bible. Suppose I invited that girl to come to 
 Bill's supper-party to have her telling each his 
 failing as she'd told Gleason and as she'd told 
 Bill; it might not give Laidie's grandfather his 
 second stroke, but it would surely stir up Laidie. 
 
 When I related to Bill what I'd heard, he 
 laughed and laughed; but he got no spark from 
 me. "It wasn't funny when the shoe was pinch- 
 ing your foot," I said. 
 
 He grew as solemn as a judge. "I'm glad she 
 woke me up I'm glad she roused my ambition." 
 
 I saw I'd gone too far, so I went back without 
 waste of time. "Very well, son, I'll learn to-night 
 from Laidie if she and B. will come to your party; 
 and if so, I'll write the wild creature an invitation 
 for to-morrow evening."
 
 44 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 His face glowed I'd never seen him look so 
 handsome and that drew my attention to the fact 
 that though working in the shop, he was as clean 
 and polished and tuned-up as any fiddle. 
 
 "As you seem to be wearing your Sunday 
 clothes," I was mild but pointed, "you might go 
 along with me to visit Laidie and learn her de- 
 cision." 
 
 "I believe not" that boy always hung back 
 from regular visiting at his sweetheart's house 
 "but I'll be enjoying myself while you're there. 
 I never knew before that I was such good com- 
 pany. And, father," he went on, artful, "when 
 you talk to Laidie, don't call our guest the girl- 
 out-of-the-common, for Laidie despises any sort of 
 mystery. Just say she's one of the new teachers." 
 
 "I very much doubt," said I, "if she'll consent 
 to meet her, however called." 
 
 He sighed, but still looked far too animated 
 to appear natural. "Father, when you don't 
 know what to do, pull in your oars and drift. 
 I've been thinking all day, and there's the result 
 of my worryings." 
 
 I told him that for so much digging he had got 
 a mighty small nugget. I said, "If you want any- 
 thing in this world, you must plant the seeds to
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 45 
 
 raise it. Drifting won't get you anywhere, and 
 listen to me, son: If that girl with the free 
 tongue and name left at home is anything to you 
 but the beauty of a flower in a stranger's gar- 
 den, the world and your own conscience will hold 
 you to account." 
 
 "When you don't know what to do," he said, 
 grim and tenacious, "just pull in your oars and 
 drift." 
 
 So I pressed my lips tight shut and would not 
 say another word. For when I find a man with 
 that sort of burr sticking to him, I keep clear for 
 the sake of my own coat.
 
 // Not Rich You Must Cling to Respectability 
 
 AS soon as our coal-oil lamps were dispensing 
 that odor you smell in our village when 
 a day is dead, and while those few families who 
 had "put in electric light" were yet sitting in 
 darkness being on meters I sallied forth to 
 invite Laidie and her grandfather to our supper- 
 party. 
 
 They lived at that time on the street that runs 
 downhill from the business center and widens near 
 my shop for the wagon-road to run under the 
 railroad-trestle. Four rooms their cottage had, 
 besides the stand-to kitchen, and no make-believe 
 of sham windows that the attic was anything but 
 empty space to give the roof slant. The yard 
 was so steep that the east end of the front 
 porch was flat on the ground while the other 
 end was as high as a man's head, and many a 
 
 46
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 47 
 
 time as a youth of twenty had I coaxed Laidie 
 then only two or three to jump thence into 
 my arms. 
 
 The porch-door opened directly into the front 
 room, Laidie's folding-bed in a corner, the organ 
 in another, and behind the door, loaded with pho- 
 tographs to keep people at bay, the parlor-chair 
 I had laid by from once tilting myself back on its 
 rear legs. 
 
 I found her sewing beneath the swinging lamp, 
 its dangling prisms making a rainbow halo over 
 her glossy black hair, while in his rocker sat Van 
 Buren Hightower, his spectacles on his forehead 
 and his gaze on the past. I never went there 
 when they weren't glad to see me, and now each 
 cried welcome, the cries ringing true to my heart 
 like familiar bells. 
 
 Van Buren rose slow and cautious, gripping his 
 armchair, and beaming but remembering his 
 stroke. Tall and thin he was with a mass of 
 white hair poorly cultivated and lines on his face 
 such as troubles cut deepest. His outer garments 
 were neat, for Laidie regularly laid them out for 
 him of mornings duly brushed, he getting into 
 whatever came handiest but as to his shirt, in 
 that he slept, therefore beyond her jurisdiction;
 
 48 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 and one could see from his linen that no street 
 sprinkler drives past Laclede's grocery. 
 
 I nodded at B. to sit down again we men of 
 Mizzouryville seldom shake hands then turned 
 to Laidie, feeling that if I didn't prove a natural 
 born ambassador, Bill's cause was lost. She had 
 that air of always being the same, such as puts 
 you at home with wholesome people, and a friend- 
 ly cheerfulness that gives away smiles for noth- 
 ing; and it was because she was so staid and de- 
 pendable that I doubted her willingness to fly a 
 kite in any wind of adventure. Moreover, her be- 
 ing fleshy to a degree that often caused her to re- 
 pine though never to diet, seemed to give her 
 character solidity. Heavy she was not, either in 
 movement or mind; but in form and substance, 
 yes; and in her views of propriety? That I was 
 to learn. 
 
 I said Bill and I were thinking of having a lit- 
 tle supper-party with them at table and only one 
 other guest. 
 
 "Brother Wane?" queried Van Buren, mention- 
 ing our minister. 
 
 "Nay, nay, B.," said I, succinct; "there'll be no 
 bone of discord brought to my table as long as 
 there's any other meat. When the preacher isn't
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 49 
 
 at my elbow begging me to come to Sunday school, 
 he's sending a committee. But I'll never set foot 
 in the church while an organ is being played there. 
 An organ in the parlor and a calf in the barnlot, 
 but neither in the house of God." And my con- 
 science feels so uplifted when church instrumental 
 music is the theme that I could have talked on for 
 an hour. 
 
 He asked, "Is it one of the boys from Loaf- 
 ers' Bench? I hope not Jim Bob or Taggart 
 Gleason or " 
 
 I cut him short, knowing he'd eliminate all the 
 crowd, for it's only on the bench that the old 
 settlers best tolerate each other. 
 
 Laidie gave that gay smile that always made 
 me think of calicanthus-bloom because on the day 
 I discovered that she was no longer a little girl 
 to be lifted in my arms, she wore some dusky red 
 buds pinned to her dress. And she said, "We'll 
 come to your party, even if the other guest is 
 Giles Flitterfled, himself I" 
 
 Giles Flitterfled was the highwayman who had 
 robbed more banks and express-cars than I can 
 remember, yet had never been caught. His fa- 
 ther, long since dead, was one of, our very first 
 settlers, and though we were ashamed of his son's
 
 50 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 deeds, we couldn't help being proud of his es- 
 capes. For there's something within that beats 
 quicker over a successful man in a low line than 
 a failure in a high. 
 
 I told her that the other guest was a young lady 
 a stranger. But when I tried to explain, cas- 
 ual, that we knew nothing of her family, she was 
 baffled. Her eyes opened very wide soft and 
 black they were, to match her hair; she was a per- 
 fect brunette such as I admire, being of that or- 
 der myself. I stumbled on with the little I knew 
 of the girl-out-of-the-common, but with not a word 
 about Gleason's tale, and wound up by offering 
 Bill's opinion that she might like to take some 
 notes of the night-wanderer. 
 
 "You don't know her people, you don't even 
 know her name," Laidie summed up, gentle but 
 firm. "I can't come, Stick, but I'll send Grand- 
 pa." 
 
 "Yes, I'll be there," says B., eager. He was 
 interested. 
 
 "We couldn't have a party with only one lady," 
 I maintained, "for adding a man won't add pro- 
 priety. Bill has taken it greatly to heart that you 
 should join us from the sheer love of adventure." 
 
 "But I don't love adventures," she gave me,
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 51 
 
 uncommonly fixed. From the first I'd felt the 
 blow coming, but Bill's wishes had got into my 
 eyes, half-blinding them to what had to be. I ar- 
 gued away, my words cogent enough, but I didn't 
 dare present the strange girl as one of the teach- 
 ers, lest Van Buren raise his voice about Glea- 
 son's "crazy creature," and I wanted no Old Set- 
 tlers' Bench gossip to make my protegee ridicu- 
 lous. I faced defeat; and when defeat isn't dig- 
 nified it's disgraceful. 
 
 I bore away as soon as I could with politeness, 
 and hurried home, finding the yard almost pitchy 
 dark, as it always is without a moon, it's so far 
 from the corner electric arc; and there was poor 
 Bill, anxious for my news. 
 
 "Son, I had to beat a retreat, but I haven't lost 
 a single man." 
 
 "If she won't come, you've lost everything," he 
 gave me back from a throat so dry that it rubbed 
 his words hard at the edges. 
 
 When I buy a load of corn I'm not to be cheat- 
 ed by a wagon scandalously berimmed with heavy 
 mud; in like manner, in weighing a man's speech 
 I know how to cast aside the extra burden of un- 
 duly-charged emotion, and I answered mild my 
 heart always felt the prick when he got a splinter
 
 52 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 in his hand: "I've lost nothing worth the having, 
 son, for you have Laidie as lovely and kind as 
 ever. As I watched her sewing there, so light 
 of foot and glossy of hair, though too stout, I 
 grant you, for a fashion-plate, I said to myself, 
 'Why go hunting adventures when happiness 
 stands at the door?' Pray heaven she'll have pa- 
 tience to wait for you till you're twenty-one !" 
 
 He returned, impatient and restive, "She'll 
 wait, all right. But what are we to do?" 
 
 "As to which, Bill?" 
 
 "As to seeing the little Spirit again? For see 
 her I must and talk to her, and . . . and learn 
 things." 
 
 Then I spoke plain: "Bill, Laidie was willing 
 to break bread even with Giles Flitterfled, but not 
 with a nameless wandering girl, for some things 
 I mean social things can't be tolerated. Giles 
 is a bandit, a train-robber, a bank-robber, I grant 
 you; but he's a male and there's where nature has 
 drawn the line. You and I, Bill, are bound to 
 keep ourselves within the deadline of Respecta- 
 bility. Within that line you can act however bold 
 and lawless; but across that line you dare not set 
 your foot. If we were rich it wouldn't matter 
 what business we followed; but as we aren't, it
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 53 
 
 does. Our station in the best society comes purely 
 from ours being an old settler's family; that gives 
 us a rank that can't be gainsaid, but we need every 
 foot of ground we've got to stand on, and having 
 no superfluous territory, we can't trim margins 
 like the rich and college-bred. If we don't cling 
 to respectability, we're going to fall." 
 
 "Oh, damn!" he burst out, violent and lusty, 
 "damn respectability!" 
 
 Then a cool little voice smote on our ears like 
 the sharp tinkle of snapping icicles "Wait, Bill, 
 don't say another word." And from the shelter 
 of our giant lilacbush, Bill's "spirit" materialized.
 
 VI 
 
 // Some One Dear to You Has Ditched His Life 
 You Are the More to Blame for Not Keeping 
 Your Train on the Straight Road 
 
 I DON'T know how much you've overheard," 
 I said stiff enough, trying to make out her 
 face in the dark; but I was sorry I'd been uncom- 
 fortable when she answered in a voice that trem- 
 bled almost to breaking: 
 
 "I heard it all. A horrid man saw me slipping 
 past the light on the corner, and he tried to catch 
 me so I hid here in the bushes; and after you 
 got to talking I hoped every minute you'd go on 
 in the house to let me run away, so I kept still. 
 But when Bill began saying things, I didn't know 
 how far he'd go, and I had to speak out. If he 
 hadn't done that, you'd never have known I came 
 to hide in your yard, for when people don't want 
 
 me, I don't want them . . . and " The piti- 
 
 54
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 55 
 
 ful voice, trying so hard to be strong and inde- 
 pendent, broke down completely under its weight 
 of disappointment. 
 
 I didn't know what to do. In the starlight the 
 softness and whiteness of her face brought an 
 ache to my heart, and the girlish slimness of her 
 figure took the breath from my mouth. I'd had 
 ten years of married life and as many of freedom, 
 but it's only in the books in the smokehouse that 
 a man of forty is nerve-killed to the pangs of 
 youth. If it hadn't been for my duty to look after 
 Bill, the tears on her cheeks might have dissolved 
 my last grain of worldly prudence. The way that 
 sweet presence seemed to expand delicious fra- 
 grance though common sense told you it came 
 from the locust trees, and the way that honey- 
 perfume seemed tangled up in the tender young 
 grass at her feet was one of nature's mysteries 
 such as I gave up trying to solve when a mere lad. 
 
 Bill said, husky, but determined, "Somebody 
 does want you. I do. I need you, because I 
 need you because . . ." 
 
 If he could explain that "because," I knew he'd 
 progressed farther than my worst fears. But no ; 
 he was at a stonewall, with no experience to guide 
 him to the gate.
 
 56 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 I stepped closer to the lilacs. "Young lady, I 
 understand that you came to town to try for a 
 teacher's certificate, but left your boarding-house 
 after giving Taggart Gleason a piece of your 
 mind. I think none the worse of you for that; 
 but when a girl roams the world unattended, no 
 matter how maiden-tender and maiden-shy, she 
 wears out other things than her shoes." 
 
 "Somebody does want you. I do." This was 
 Bill putting in his oar. 
 
 I couldn't see her expression, but from her 
 lighter tone I knew Bill had wrought more with 
 his few words than I with my speech. "Then 
 Laidie refuses to meet me because I've left my 
 name at home?" 
 
 "Just so. She'd as soon think of drinking from 
 an unlabeled bottle in a drugstore as taking up a 
 girl without a family label." 
 
 "Is that so? And just to think" her soft 
 voice warned me that a claw was about to scratch 
 "just to think that Bill's Intended is a girl like 
 that, and yet that Bill can say 'damn!' ' 
 
 I began to shake but put on great pressure to 
 hide it, for often my great bulk betrays me when 
 a thin man can hide a laugh behind a face as 
 blank as a cellar-door.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 57 
 
 "Stick" of a sudden her hand was on my 
 arm, and her words were rushing over me like a 
 strong wind "you are no stranger, for I heard 
 of you at my mother's knee. She was one of your 
 schoolmates here, years before the college was 
 closed and I've heard Uncle tell about you. 
 That's why I'm not afraid to trust myself to you." 
 She gave me a pat, then stepped back and said, 
 casual: "But of course I always go well-armed!" 
 
 I couldn't help murmuring, "Great fathers 
 alive!" Just then a thought fell ripe from my 
 thought-tree and burst open into capable words: 
 "My dear, let us take you back home; we'll make 
 it all right with your uncle about your rashness. 
 But if you'd rather we wouldn't know where you 
 live, we'll put you aboard your train, and bid you 
 good-by as good friends." 
 
 "Or better still," Bill spoke up, "we'll go with 
 you to your city, and put you on a street car with- 
 out trying to find out where your uncle lives." 
 Now, at that time, Bill had never been to a city; 
 but he made as bold with his "street car" as if it 
 were a hay-wagon. 
 
 She moved away to rest her elbows on the top 
 plank of the low fence, and Bill absently plucked 
 the grass where she had been standing. She said,
 
 58 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 wistful and despondent, "I wonder if you could 
 understand me? Nobody else does." And she 
 drooped her head. I was glad some lads ran past 
 the gate whooping at fox-and-hound, for their be- 
 ing abroad seemed to lend a sort of sanctity to 
 us three standing, visiting in the dark night. 
 
 Suddenly she raised her head and spoke eager 
 and protesting: "Think of somebody as differ- 
 ent as possible from the Intended; well, that's 
 Me. You might call me the Unintended, for I'm 
 not cut out by anybody else's pattern. Am I to 
 fold my hands and crush myself into a mold that 
 doesn't fit because people think girls should be 
 'maiden-tender and maiden-shy'? I want to 
 branch out and up; I'm as interested in life as 
 if I were a man. What the world thinks a girl 
 should be isn't my concern; my part is to be the 
 girl." 
 
 "And I think you're a success," says Bill, al- 
 most devout. 
 
 For Bill's sake I remained unbending: "All 
 this put into a plain man's words means that your 
 uncle thinks you are taking teacher's examination 
 while you're being chased down dark streets by 
 Taggart Gleason who calls you a mad creature. 
 I don't know who your mother was, but in her
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 59 
 
 name I call on you to give up your wild doings 
 and let me take you back where you belong." 
 
 She wheeled about like a flash and I thought 
 she was going to run straight out of our lives, but 
 it steadied her when she felt the gate-latch under 
 her hand. She halted there, at first looking back 
 at us over her shoulder, but warming up as she 
 spoke, and turning as she warmed, till at the last 
 she was facing us fairly : 
 
 "My mother was terribly wronged, so her fam- 
 ily thought she should die of it and she did, for 
 she lived by the world's opinion she died when 
 I was very young. I was seven before I learned 
 that I was expected to die of it, too. The chil- 
 dren in the streets would cry after me : 'There 
 she goes ! look at her !' And they'd pretend to be 
 frightened, and run away, shouting, 'Don't let her 
 catch you.' I'd find myself standing deserted, the 
 forlornest little wretch that ever stumbled home 
 to cry her heart out. When Uncle started ne to 
 school, the pupils would gather in groups to whis- 
 per about my mother's elopement and about my 
 father till I had to leave to be educated by a gov- 
 erness the Companion. Uncle expected me to 
 be crushed by what had happened before I was 
 born it had crushed him, it had killed my mother
 
 60 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 why not me? What right had I to be happy? 
 And for a time I was living in a stupid, sullen 
 dream. Then I worked out the resolve not to let 
 anything blight my life that other people had 
 done. Of course it's the fashion to let one act 
 make a junkheap of all the years that follow. You 
 may feed a hundred hungry mouths without get- 
 ting the latchkey to society, but steal one loaf of 
 bread and you're banished forever. I tell you, 
 Stick, I've thought of all this for years and years, 
 and I say it's a cruel shame to be made to cringe 
 for what I couldn't help." 
 
 She came to me quivering from head to foot, 
 and grabbed both my hands. "Stick, the first 
 thing I can remember is mother telling me about 
 what you did on the night of the big fire. And 
 Uncle has often spoken of it. That's what made 
 me brave. For I am brave; I'm not afraid of be- 
 ing in the dark or left alone in deserted houses. 
 And whatever my father was, and whatever he 
 did, I'm not afraid even of that, for it's not on my 
 soul. You went through flames when nobody else 
 would venture and you saved fifteen lives, my 
 mother's among them " 
 
 And she poured out words that made me hot 
 and tingling with noble shame of a pliable na-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 61 
 
 ture, relating in detail the history of one night in 
 my early manhood which it would ill become me 
 to repeat. And at the end, changing back to a 
 cool and demure young lady, she added, "My 
 postoffice box is still open under the College stiles, 
 but if you don't want me for your friend " 
 
 "But we do," Bill cried, breathless. 
 
 "So does Stick only he thinks he has to be an 
 example." And she gave a laugh so fresh and 
 gay that it left nothing of me but a boy in the 
 husk of a man. 
 
 "He needn't think it!" Bill looked at me, re- 
 proachful, and I saw that if I lagged in the course 
 of events I was going to be left fatally behind. 
 So I threw off clamps and let the thrill quiver 
 throughout my being. 
 
 "My dear child," I said, shaking her hands and 
 well-enough pleased that all this time she had left 
 them in my keeping, "we want you for our friend 
 and we want you bad. If there isn't a note under 
 the stone step telling you so in my best handwrit- 
 ing, by to-morrow night at furthest, it'll be be- 
 cause Bill begged me to let him do the writing. 
 Sweet and tender you are, whether you will or 
 not; but as to 'shy,' I leave you the last word on 
 that. I can't help being sorry you haven't a
 
 62 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 strong man at your side when you leave us, such 
 being my benighted views of womanhood, but it 
 may comfort you to know that being uneasy about 
 a girl makes her all the more dear. I don't be- 
 lieve any harm will come to you, if you can keep 
 out of Taggart Gleason's path, and I hope none 
 will come to us." For I thought I'd better drop 
 a sly warning to remember Laidie. Bill knew 
 mighty well what I meant, and safeguarded him- 
 self with the remark: 
 
 "I was just noticing the flowers." And that 
 they were unusually forward with their odors I 
 also had observed ever since our little stranger- 
 friend stepped out of the lilacs. 
 
 After that we seemed naturally to drop apart 
 and go back each to his own life with a sweet 
 taste in his mouth flavored by melancholy such as 
 lingers after a loved one has passed through the 
 gate. I could with pleasure have talked to the 
 daughter of my old schoolmate (name unknown) 
 till a much later hour, had Bill been elsewhere; 
 but in every deep joy of life it seems to me there 
 is always a Bill, by which I mean a consideration 
 of respectability to hamper an uprising soul. 
 
 Bill and I went to the front door opening into 
 the sitting room. The house is built in the shape
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 63 
 
 of a horeshoe (my idea) Inclosing flowerbeds and 
 a bit of lawn; and the other front door, on the 
 west, seldom used, and more splendid from its 
 colored glass, leads into the parlor. Suddenly 
 into my mind flashed Laidie's face so ready for 
 smiles, and her form, large and comfortable, and 
 her glossy black hair; and I thought the picture 
 lost nothing from the one we had last gazed upon, 
 which pleased me mightily. Bill's "spirit" in her 
 misty dress, her faintly sketched face like a warm 
 lily in the dusk, was but an incident of the night, 
 while Laidie in her rocking-chair with sewing on 
 her knees, was a permanency for the faithful 
 years. 
 
 I was just about to give voice to this thought 
 when we came into the light of the sitting-room 
 window, and I saw in Bill's hands a few spears 
 of dewy grass, treasured with unusual care. 
 
 I didn't say a word.
 
 VII 
 
 There Are Too Many Towns Swelling Them' 
 selves to Be as Big as Oxen When by Nature 
 Frogs 
 
 THAT same night Bill seated himself to pen, 
 paper, and dictionary, and with legs 
 wrapped about his chair-spindles began a note 
 which did not come to an end till I had reached 
 my pillow. He read it to me, and it was fair and 
 plain, though wordy. The next evening when I 
 was trying to hook my mind, which was drifting, 
 to a book from the smokehouse, Bill brought me 
 the girl's answer: 
 
 "I want to see you as much as you could possi- 
 bly want to see me. I shall give a party Saturday 
 evening at eight o'clock, but you'd better not tell 
 the Intended, for she mightn't let you come. 
 Meet me at the stiles, Stick and Bill, and I'll con- 
 duct you to the Scene of Festivity. I'm making 
 
 64
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 65 
 
 great preparations, and you are the only guests, 
 so if you fail me, there'll be one awfully disap- 
 pointed little girl in Mizzouryville." 
 
 It was hard to lay aside the heavy thoughts of 
 the real world for I'd heard dreadful news that 
 day to handle this delicacy with the lightness 
 such cobweb fairy tales require; so I only said, 
 dry and abstracted, "Very well; and now we'll say 
 no more of such folly, for I have a weighty prob- 
 lem to handle." 
 
 And that problem I broached with no mealy 
 mouth when I found time, the next afternoon, to 
 run uphill to Old Settlers' Bench. "It has come 
 to me, Taggart Gleason," and I fixed the white- 
 shirted loafer with a stern eye, "that you've sold 
 that strip of land overlooking the Mineral 
 Springs, the property in your wife's name, known 
 as the Rockpile." He began to rub his head with 
 his new stiff hat he couldn't meet my gaze. 
 Everybody looked at us, athrill. 
 
 "It's true," Jim Bob spoke up. "He did sell 
 it." 
 
 "Cork your bottle 1" Captain Little Dave 
 warned him. "This isn't your affair and if you 
 don't keep out you are like to be trompled." 
 
 Gleason tilted his gold-banded cigar as if he
 
 66 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 saw no difference between me and a gnat like Jim 
 Bob Peterson, and spoke out pretty rough: 
 
 "I'm going to sell it, all right. Nothing'll grow 
 there except every style of weed known to me 
 and I know all the ordinary varieties." And 
 he'd have begun naming them if I hadn't cut in 
 to ask why anybody wanted it. He gave his wide, 
 fishy grin and said, "Maybe they think it's a fer- 
 tile field for blasting. That's for them to say." 
 
 "Well, this is for me to say" and I know 
 my voice quivered, for I was piping hot "this 
 is a move to try to boom the Springs, for your 
 Rockpile overlooks 'em, and it's location that 
 gives property value, whether a piece of land, or 
 a dollar in pocket, or man in the next world. 
 Now, as I happen to own the lot that the Springs 
 are actually on, they'll find some difficulty but 
 maybe that's what they're hunting." 
 
 "I don't know what they're hunting, but their 
 ready money is in the bank, and the title deed is 
 signed and in my desk-drawer at home, and I'll 
 deliver it when they agree to pay the notary pub- 
 lic. That's the only stumblingblock. I call five 
 hundred dollars for the Rockpile liberal, but I 
 won't be out half a dollar to a green lawyer raised 
 in our midst and not half as smart as I am."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 67 
 
 And I couldn't gainsay that a man is smart 
 who, though able-bodied and only sixty, is kept 
 in good clothes and fragrant cigars by a sweet- 
 faced wife still in her twenties. With such a brain 
 Napoleon made his soldiers think it a favor to die 
 for him. Gleason's brain, of course, was smaller, 
 but you had to measure it by the same yardstick. 
 I tried to reason with the man, to show him what 
 an ill turn he was about to do our town, but I 
 disliked him too heartily to get close to him. 
 However, I do not pretend to reproduce my ar- 
 guments here, for I am no public speaker such as 
 tells you on the spot what he said on such-and-such 
 an occasion, making it all up before your very 
 eyes, yet pretending to draw it from a well-laden 
 memory. 
 
 But this was my substance: No reason could 
 be advanced for booming the Mineral Springs 
 that hadn't been employed, ten years before, in 
 futile efforts to get us a new railroad. And what 
 was the loudest cry? That it would fill the town 
 with strangers, stretching it to city proportions. 
 All the old settlers had fought that railroad 
 scheme; and now Taggart Gleason, just because 
 he saw a chance to get five hundred for nothing, 
 was about to stultify his conscience.
 
 68 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "Heaven knows," said I, "there are already 
 enough small towns swelling themselves to burst- 
 ing to become as big as oxen, though by nature 
 frogs." 
 
 "Right I" cried Captain Little Dave Overstreet, 
 bending over to slap his wooden leg. "When I 
 hobble to the old frame church, remembering how 
 proud and firm I stepped with my wife by my 
 side, it makes me feel just like a boy. Why, I 
 tread the same old string of rattling planks, or 
 others laid similar, and the weeds grow up 
 through the cracks just as they did then, dogfen- 
 nel and the like, so that I never take a walk 
 about town without smelling my youth. If you 
 like cities, go live in 'em, but leave dear old 
 Mizzouryville as I've known it for ninety years 
 where there's not a watchdog that doesn't know 
 the scent of the family next door, or a pig run- 
 ning loose that isn't as safe as if it wore the num- 
 ber of its sty cut on its ear." 
 
 I had never known Captain Little Dave to 
 speak so at length except when telling of his war 
 experiences, and like-enough I've put words in his 
 mouth spoken by me, in my aim to deal fairly 
 with one and all. 
 
 Then Lane Laclede stepped before the bench
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 69 
 
 and faced us with his head up; and when I saw 
 the glow on his young face and the sparkle in his 
 brown eyes, it came to me for the first time that 
 our grocer was an unusually handsome fellow, 
 and that for all his good-natured, easy-going dis- 
 position, there was fire in his heart. 
 
 "It may be" I remember hearing him say 
 this as plain as if I were on the bench of that 
 yesterday, whittling at the same stick, "that I'd 
 sell more groceries if the town were larger, and 
 get big orders from a tourists' hotel, if built at 
 the Springs, and, as men go, I'm not very well- 
 to-do, but I'd rather move along in the same old, 
 quiet way, with just the customers who've seen 
 me grow up from a kid. And I want to say that 
 if Taggart Gleason has persuaded his wife to sign 
 that deed, he's no honor to the bench I've set out 
 here for you fellows to cluster on year after 
 year." 
 
 "If they started up a big new grocery store on 
 yon corner with things at half-price," cried Jim 
 Bob, "I'd still do my trading with Lane Laclede, 
 though as men go I'm as poor as a dog and nearly 
 sixty-five year old." He was really sixty-eight, 
 but I let it pass, knowing all of them were as let- 
 ter-perfect on the ages of each and every one as
 
 70 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 on the standing of the thermometer in the door- 
 way. 
 
 "Well, Jim Bob," said Van Buren, hoping to 
 make peace, for Lane's attitude flurried his heart, 
 "nobody's going to make a living off of you, wher- 
 ever you do your trading." He spoke good-na- 
 tured, but with a knowledge of how accounts 
 stood. 
 
 "Anyhow," Lane persisted, looking at Gleason, 
 "ever since I've boarded at your house, and it's 
 been three years, I know Mrs. Gleason has paid 
 the taxes on the Rockpile; I don't believe she'll 
 permit that deed to leave your desk when I ex- 
 plain to her the plot that's being formed against 
 the peace of this town." 
 
 Gleason grew as pale as ashes, and his voice 
 cut like a knife. "I have a wife that does as she's 
 told, according to Scripture. She signed that deed 
 when I pointed out the line where she was to put 
 her name. You've already done as much 'ex- 
 plaining' to my wife, if that's what you call it, as 
 I mean to stand for, and you can hunt you an- 
 other boarding-place." 
 
 "I suppose you're a man to your wife," Lane 
 said, lazy and soft, "but I doubt if anybody else 
 finds you one. And as I put this bench in front of
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 71 
 
 the store for men, you'll keep off it after to-day." 
 And he sauntered into the building, leaving Tag- 
 gart Gleason like a stone image with a face cut 
 aslant in ugly lines. 
 
 I was so stirred by this scene that I needed only 
 one word from Gleason to loosen my tongue re- 
 garding his contemptible sponging on his wife 
 he and his daughter idling through life and that 
 good woman on her knees to build the morning 
 fires, and with her needle late at night to keep 
 him in fine linen. I walked up and down in front 
 of him several times with my eyes boring on his 
 face, but he wouldn't thrust forward any remark 
 to pry open the door of my just indignation. So 
 I went away dissatisfied, feeling that I was car- 
 rying home a load that did not belong to me. 
 
 Late Saturday evening I saw the lawyer going 
 to Taggart Gleason's, with Jim Bob Peterson in 
 the offing, as usual, after news. Not long after that 
 along came Richard Purly, an upstart newcomer, a 
 man no older than Lane Laclede, who had been 
 amongst us as assistant-cashier at the bank only 
 seven years, having come here from the East, di- 
 rect a young sprig, unmarried, connected in no 
 way with the old settlers, yet having in his head" 
 ideas of what he called "town improvement."
 
 72 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 The instant I saw him trailing after the lawyer, 
 I divined that it was this half-baked "reformer" 
 who, as agent, meant to seize upon the Springs 
 lands for some corporation in St. Louis, Kansas 
 City, or St. Joe. 
 
 I went home brooding over what I had seen, 
 and sank down by the open kitchen window where 
 I go to sit when feeling low, not to be mocked by 
 the smiling politeness of a front room. And 
 there's where I reasoned out that Lane Laclede 
 had grown to hate Taggart Gleason with a dan- 
 gerous hatred because he had grown to like Glea- 
 son's wife with a dangerous liking. And it oc- 
 curred to me that there's a creaking rustiness in 
 the world's turning unmentioned in my geography. 
 
 Out of a maze of forebodings I was suddenly 
 snatched by Bill. "Father, it's time to go to the 
 party!" 
 
 I looked up and gasped. Yes, it really was Bill 
 Attum, and I cast aside the first wild idea that a 
 Committee had come to plague me about one of 
 Brother Wane's new plans for increasing his Sun- 
 day school's attendance. He was so dressed-up 
 that I saw at once the kitchen was no place for 
 him, so I said, brief, "Let us go." 
 
 I had forgotten the party I had forgotten
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 73 
 
 everything but the blow threatening the calm con- 
 tent of my town. But I had agreed to sidetrack 
 from the main course of life for a brief excur- 
 sion into dreamland with Bill, so I coupled on; 
 but I coupled on with a considerable jerk. 
 
 There were neither clouds nor a moon. We 
 headed for the College, several blocks away, and 
 as we cut across the weedy vacant lot by the old 
 brick church, I fancied I could make out a black 
 blur in the darkness that brooded over the campus. 
 
 Bill noticed it, too. "She's waiting for us at 
 the stiles," he said, happy, and started ahead at 
 a smart pace ; but I kept at his side though swift 
 his feet. At first I felt evasive and too large for 
 such sport; but after a time my speed got up my 
 spirit-kite and kept it well in air, until I found 
 my tail flying too high to get trammeled in the 
 branches of any worldly consideration.
 
 VIII 
 
 When Your Hour Comes, Though Life's Game 
 Has But Fairly Begun, Fate Must Sound Her 
 Bell 
 
 ABOUT six feet higher than the level of the 
 bluegrass lawn, the railroad curves around 
 the old stone wall that encloses the College cam- 
 pus; and at the foot of the walk that runs straight 
 down from the front porch the hedge parts on 
 either hand, and the wall is broken by a set of 
 age-eaten stone steps set in the earth and called 
 "the stiles." That's where we found her wait- 
 ing. The stars were bright, but in those days 
 there was a thickset row of maples on either side 
 of the campus walk, with branches interlocked 
 overhead, so all we could make of her face was a 
 sweet blur of possibility. 
 
 "Is that Stick?" she asked, low and cautious. 
 
 "And Bill," put in my son, cordial. 
 74
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 75 
 
 Without another word, she led us between the 
 maple rows. The path was just earth, packed 
 hard by the army of school-children who had 
 marched gaily forth to conquer life, and I knew 
 by my stumbling over knotted tree-roots that 
 stretched from side to side, and by her easy es- 
 capes, that the place was as familiar to the girl- 
 out-of-the-common as it had once been to me. 
 
 Years ago the College had been compelled to 
 close its doors, for such of our people as were col- 
 lege-bent began sending their young away from 
 Missouri, with the idea that the farther you went 
 after a thing the more it was worth. So up 
 through the deserted yard we stole, sinister and 
 heavy of breath, while she in whispers began tell- 
 ing how she had always imagined flashing car- 
 riages and lively music at parties. "I was never 
 at one in all my life, until to-night," she said, so 
 helpless and wistful it made my heart ache. 
 "Have you been, Stick?" 
 
 "Many a time. And I always took Gussie 
 Meade." We were going upstairs there's a 
 porch-staircase on either hand, boxed in, leading 
 to the chapel above, it having been the idea of the 
 builders that though the sexes might mingle on 
 the heights of learning, each had best go up and
 
 76 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 down to itself. "Yes, many a time!" My ac- 
 cent was mellow, as my memory climbed down 
 those same weatherbeaten steps, down, down till 
 I reached young schooldays. But I was so dizzy 
 from the trip, and so uneasy in the far-off life of 
 fresh paint and unfinished lines, that I was glad 
 enough to snatch myself out of the past and put 
 forty years at my back. 
 
 She reached the head of the steps, saying soft- 
 ly, "So she became your wife?" 
 
 "Who Gussie Meade? Lord, no!" Then I 
 remembered Bill and held my tongue. For it 
 was after Gussie Meade had been persuaded to 
 break our engagement and marry one who was 
 not a blacksmith that I more to show myself a 
 man than from any other reason married out of 
 hand, and built Horseshoe House as an emblem 
 of my trade and an object-lesson proof that I 
 was not ashamed of it. Now Gussie was as soft 
 and yielding as her name; but as to Bill's mother, 
 I no more thought of disputing her word than did 
 the dust under her broom, for as sure as I 
 dropped a word, no matter how casual, she nur- 
 tured it to a full crop; and no matter how peace- 
 ful my intent, as thinking I was to bring forth a 
 figtree, she always found it bearing nettles.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 77 
 
 But after her death I realized how good a wife 
 she was, and her monument is as noteworthy as 
 any in the cemetery, though others with more 
 angels. To her I owed the sweet savor of my 
 later years I speak of Bill; and there is a 
 thought in the foliage of my thought-tree, never 
 quite ripe but growing in flavor year by year, 
 that the monument to her was at the same time a 
 stone to our boy. It's a thought hard to handle, 
 and there I leave it, to get back to my party. 
 
 "Be careful," our gallant hostess whispered, 
 gliding to the eastern edge of the upstairs-porch. 
 The big chapel door was of course locked, and 
 I wondered if we were to play Arabs on the floor, 
 with our heels for stools. Around this upper 
 deck, mortised at either end into the brick wall, 
 was a balustrade, and the first thing I knew she 
 stood on the outside of it, such being her dexterity 
 and the darkness, that the poetry of her swal- 
 low-flight must needs be left to our fancy. 
 
 The floor projected but a few inches beyond 
 the balustrade, and on this ledge she hovered like 
 a bird trying its wings. "Follow me," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 Bill was over in a trice and I soon enough, 
 though unwilling for as a boy I had once, in an-
 
 78 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 swer to a dare, climbed this same railing, sidled 
 along the ledge to the brick wall, reached cautious- 
 ly outward to grasp the nearest window-sill (hold- 
 ing the while to the porch-lattice), set one foot in 
 a hole where a brick had been, cast a leg aloft, and 
 thus gained the hall adjoining the chapel. So 
 different life looks to man as his age varies that 
 had every one in Mizzouryville now dared me es- 
 say this hazardous feat, I should have heeded 
 them not so much as by the snapping of my fin- 
 gers. But here was a matter of keeping up with 
 Bill ; and I kept up, silent and grim. 
 
 "It'll be more like a real party after we get in," 
 she whispered, "but even then we mustn't make 
 any noise or the neighbors might hear." 
 
 I said, dry, "Yes, this is a sort of burglars' 
 festival." 
 
 That set her to laughing so hard that she had 
 to grasp the lattice with both hands. "I don't 
 care," she gurgled, "the darkness, and the danger 
 of getting in, and the risk of somebody's catching 
 us I just love it." 
 
 "I love it, too," Bill muttered, vague but posi- 
 tive. 
 
 Gripping the balustrade with her left hand, she 
 stretched her body far out against the wall and
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 79 
 
 groped for the window-sash. It was already up 
 an inch or so, and she pushed it high, showing 
 her strength, for all those windows were large, 
 twelve panes to each sash. 
 
 She panted: "You must put your foot in a 
 hole under the window " 
 
 "Don't you fall!" Bill warned her, breathless. 
 
 " And throw your weight over on that foot ; 
 
 and then and then you get in you'll know how, 
 so you needn't watch me any longer." 
 
 "We couldn't help watching," I said. "I cal- 
 culate there'll be nothing at the party equal to 
 this." 
 
 She laughed, nervous, and withdrew her foot 
 from its exploring after the hole. "Stick and 
 Bill promise me you'll not look. Under this 
 long black waterproof that hides me I have on a 
 white dress and and white slippers and all." 
 
 "We can't help looking," I told her. "You ask 
 what's beyond mortal strength." 
 
 "Then I go through the window last," she de- 
 clared, and last she was; but unless I miss my 
 guess, Bill was more than pleased. For to reach 
 the window he must needs pass her on that scrap 
 of projecting floor twenty feet from the ground, 
 insomuch that the closeness of them was as warm
 
 8o HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 as that of partners waltzing in high life, and sim- 
 ilar, and more necessary. 
 
 Y/hen we were in the hall she closed the win- 
 dow and lit a Chinese lantern, making as little 
 light as might be, unless she had held aloft a 
 glowworm. That mellow ball of red-and-yellow 
 was like a decoration swung on the cloak of dark- 
 ness, and I'd not have been greatly surprised had 
 it melted right out of her little white hand. At 
 the first splutter of the match, her face had 
 leaped to the eye out of the night like a picture 
 cut from a magazine; and the lantern kept it in 
 a dim light-cloud just like the atmosphere of a 
 dream in which you see wonderful things but not 
 clear enough to soothe the ache in the heart. 
 
 At the far end of the long hall, she turned to 
 the door on the left and we were soon in the 
 chapel where I had not stood for many years; a 
 large room, but not nearly so large as I had once 
 found it. I thought it strange that the years could 
 pass away yet leave their smell of blackboard, 
 dusty desks and benches, and empty stove as if 
 it were but yesterday since Gussie Meade and I 
 had cast notes to each other across the aisle. 
 
 Our hostess lighted other lanterns and sus- 
 pended them from a bench just high enough to be
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 81 
 
 clear of the floor. "We can see the light," she 
 explained, "but it won't show through the win- 
 dows, and if anybody gets lonesome in the dark 
 he can go and stand among the lanterns." 
 
 "Where will you stay?" Bill asked; I think he 
 had it in his heated mind that wherever she was 
 there'd be light enough for him ; if so, he couldn't 
 give it tongue. 
 
 She threw up a south window. "Let's sit here 
 and begin the party." And on a recitation 
 bench that faced the window we sat in the follow- 
 ing order: Herself, myself, Bill. And at once 
 she began saying how thoroughly she trusted 
 "Stick" because of the admiration always felt for 
 me by her poor mother and by her uncle ; and she 
 dwelt on the exploits of the night of the big fire. 
 I could not imagine who her mother had been, for 
 in the boarding-house had raged a great con- 
 fusion amongst towngirls as well as those from a 
 distance. Of course I knew our hostess's mother 
 had come from afar, for the people in Mizzoury- 
 ville made little of what I did, never mentioning 
 it if they could help it, fearing I might in some 
 way set myself above my fellows. 
 
 "Don't talk about that affair," I told her, hop: 
 ing she would; and talk she did for a time thril-
 
 S2 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 lingly, and from Bill's restlessness I knew he was 
 longing for desperate deeds into which he might 
 plunge waist-high. 
 
 "And now," she said finally, "the program of 
 my party is this: first, we'll enjoy the delicious- 
 ness of May" and she breathed deep of the lo- 
 cust-fragrance wafted through the window on rip- 
 pling wings, "while each tells something close 
 to his heart, such as he wouldn't tell to a stran- 
 ger; then, refreshments. Then we'll act a little 
 play I've made up, reading our parts because 
 there's no time to memorize them. And then 
 we'll say good-by. For I've decided to go back, 
 after this party, to the dead house in the city 
 of strangers where I left my name at home." 
 There was nothing in what she said to bring a 
 tear to my eye, it just came there uninvited as 
 happens at times in the opera house at a tone of 
 voice or a look on a woman's face. 
 
 "I'll tell my heart-secret first," Bill said. "It's 
 this that I don't want you to go away. If you 
 have to go, you must come again. Because I 
 want you to know what your coming here has 
 meant to me. You won't tell me the way to 
 where you live, but you know the way to me. 
 Talk about what is close to the heart well, that's
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 83 
 
 the closest to mine ! I wish I could explain better, 
 but everything seems so dark, somehow, so dark 
 and lonesome . . ." 
 
 "Then, Bill," I spoke up, warningly, "you'd 
 best go stand amongst the lanterns." 
 
 "You stay right where you are, Bill," and she 
 reached behind me to pat his shoulder. "Yes, 
 I promise to come back some day, to find what 
 my coming has meant to you. But, oh, dear! 
 the adventure will all be gone, then no hiding 
 in this old building, living off grocers' tins, sleep- 
 ing on my cloak, listening for footsteps . . . 
 Stick, when I came here to take the examinations, 
 I'd no intention of ever becoming a teacher it 
 was to get away from home for a little freedom. 
 During the week I boarded at the Gleasons' I 
 learned what a dear, sweet woman she is, while 
 he's the coldest-blooded man! He couldn't ap- 
 preciate his wife, he lacks the nature to feel her 
 fineness but her boarder knows her worth, and 
 that's the thing nearest my heart. Stick, you're 
 so brave and ready to sacrifice yourself, couldn't 
 you do something to prevent a tragedy in that 
 house? Every day Lane Laclede passed under 
 the roof he saw how Taggart Gleason was squeez- 
 ing out his wife's heart's blood, drop by drop,
 
 84 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 while Mrs. Gleason's step-daughter treated her 
 with open contempt. Now that Lane is boarding 
 at another place, he'll brood over what he knows 
 until one day he'll forget himself, and then . . ." 
 After I'd done my best to reassure her (though 
 my own heart was none too light), she went back 
 to the prospect of having to go home. "Oh, 
 Stick, this breath of freedom has not been very 
 good for me, after all ! Isn't there any way for 
 me to stay alive? You are so big and strong 
 won't you stop Cinderella's clock?" 
 
 "My dear child, when the hour comes, fate 
 must strike the bell." Although I deemed her 
 enterprise unbecoming a true woman whose 
 place is beside her own hearthstone her sadness 
 overflowed her bosom and filled mine. Such is 
 the witchery of southern breezes and a maid's 
 face softened in summer gloom, that it came to 
 me with a bitter pang that it's cruelly unkind of 
 fate to sound her bell when hearts are young.
 
 Often We Shrink Not So Much from tkt Thing as 
 from the Name the World Gi^et It 
 
 I KNEW that what lay nearest my heart 
 couldn't interest a young girl fond of ad- 
 ventures, so in as few words as possible I recited 
 my foreboding of a tourists' hotel to be built on 
 the Gleason Rockpile overlooking the Mineral 
 Springs, thus raising from its grave that old spec- 
 ter of a new railroad. I painted the unrest that 
 comes to a village when, ashamed of its size, it 
 longs to set up factories to vomit smoke in the 
 pure air. 
 
 My point of view was too high, for she had 
 always supposed that a small town, like a small 
 boy, lusts for growth. 
 
 "This is nearest my heart," said I, "that the 
 peace of Mizzouryville is threatened. But I'll 
 speak of it no more, for a speaker is tuccessful 
 
 85
 
 86 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 only when he gives out what folks want to hear 
 so change your program." 
 
 She rose. 
 
 "Wait," said Bill. 
 
 She sat down again. 
 
 "Something has been on my mind a long time," 
 he said. "It is this: How can a person tell 
 when he is in love? And when I say 'love,' I 
 mean such as a man ought to feel for for 
 
 I thought when he commenced that he would 
 run aground, and I thought true; but I must 
 admit I'd been struck too hard to steam to his 
 rescue. 
 
 But she helped him off the sandbar. "Do you 
 mean the Intended?" 
 
 "Yes. And this is a serious thing. I ought 
 to know." 
 
 She said, constrained, "Can't you tell by the 
 way you feel when you're with her?" 
 
 "I don't feel nothing," says Bill, letting go his 
 moorings, and driving so hard that his grammar 
 was a total wreck. "I don't feel nothing." 
 
 "Bill," I reproved him, "this talk ought not 
 to be." 
 
 "I don't feel nothing," he maintained, dogged; 
 "with her, or without her."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 87 
 
 "Yes, you do," she got up quick and impatient. 
 "When you kiss her " 
 
 "I never did!" And though in the dark, I 
 knew he was as red as a morning sky. 
 
 "That's the way to find out and I'm going 
 after refreshments; and when I come back," she 
 said, conclusive, "there mustn't be any more of 
 that." And when she was gone, I gave Bill a 
 piece of my mind, seeing he hadn't sufficient of 
 his own. 
 
 Neither he nor Laidie had ever hinted that 
 their marriage might not take place, and I was a 
 living illustration of the truth that mutual love 
 has less to do with conjugal happiness than a 
 similar taste in meats and vegetables. "Nor 
 would I have consented to this night's doings," I 
 told him, low and gruff for when my voice is 
 lowered, it rasps at its bonds "had I imagined 
 you'd show any wavering." 
 
 "I'm not a-wavering," he said, hasty, "I'm just 
 wondering over the mystery of my feelings." 
 
 "All the people I've ever known," said I, "who 
 married without considering property advantage 
 or family station, soon wore holes in the back of 
 their romance; and the characters who marry for 
 love only, and have only love to go on yet stay
 
 88 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 happy to the last line, are in the books in the 
 smokehouse." 
 
 "I'm not a-wavering," he pleaded, fearing she 
 might return and hear us. 
 
 Presently the refreshments were spread where 
 the lanterns hung low, and we crouched there, our 
 backs to the windows, strange shadows flickering 
 over the calcimined ceiling, and the candles threat- 
 ening to catch their flimsy paper envelopes afire. 
 
 I do not remember what we ate, by which I 
 know there were no solid victuals; but everything 
 was pretty and small, each sandwich offering 
 divers conflicting tastes, no particular flavor riding 
 above the others to give it a familiar name. 
 While eating, our talk flowed low and mellow, 
 and little memories I had thought dead came 
 creeping out into the sunshine of the girl's hearty 
 good-fellowship one never knows whether cer- 
 tain memories are dead or torpid, till spring 
 comes again. Also, Bill seemed to germinate. 
 But I could no more repeat our talk in that clan- 
 destine dining-boudoir than name the sights and 
 odors of an April day when the plow turns up 
 the garden soil and the children come whooping 
 home from school, and the doves catch their long 
 note for soothing summer harmonies.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 89 
 
 She was the spring the lantern-glow on her 
 face, and on her bosom some yellow roses from 
 the scraggy old rosebush by the college well, its 
 roots bedded under rocks that had protected them 
 half a century. Because of the delicate fragrance 
 I felt steeped in the days when that same rose- 
 bush had grown sister-roses to those now bloom- 
 ing roses for me from Gussie's hand. And right 
 then a thought began to bud its leaves in my 
 thought-tree of which more must be said anon, 
 and under its influence I grew young as Bill grew 
 old. 
 
 When the feast was ended "Now for the 
 play!" And she drew forth three manuscripts, 
 one for each. "It's an allegory," she went on, 
 producing candles set in square boxes with a side 
 of each removed, that the light might shine out 
 upon the paper in the manner of dark-lanterns. 
 "I am Wisdom, and Bill is Youth. I stand on the 
 platform, and Bill at the farthest corner of the 
 room, because Youth is very far from Wisdom. 
 But gradually he comes closer " 
 
 "That's great," says Bill, gratified. "Do I get 
 you at last?" And he marched away with his 
 candle-box, examining the end of his manuscript, 
 eager.
 
 90 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "And Stick is Prejudice," she explained, "which 
 is found everywhere, so he can move all around 
 as he pleases. But he must take pains to keep 
 getting between Youth and Wisdom." 
 
 "I'll surely keep you two apart," said I, de- 
 termined. 
 
 The play began with Bill's reading off in a 
 round voice that his father's ways were good 
 enough for him, and of course I, as Prejudice, 
 cheered him on ; but Wisdom always had the last 
 word and the best and soon Bill began to doubt 
 the advantages of plowing with a stick, and the 
 like, and every time he conceded a point he took 
 a stride toward the platform. I was given argu- 
 ments against progress so flimsy and foolish that 
 I grew ashamed to read them, and every time 
 Wisdom checked them off, Bill's voice would ring 
 out hearty praise, till presently he was very close 
 to the wise goddess. Unluckily my directions 
 read that I must "stand to one side, looking dark 
 and forbidding." When I thought of Laidie, it 
 was not difficult for me to look dark, but I was 
 where no light could reveal my darkness. 
 
 Bill, at the foot of the platform, read out in 
 triumphant tones, "Thou art right, fair goddess 
 of Wisdom, and I grasp thee by the hand!"
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 91 
 
 And with that he reached up and caught her 
 hand, though she had meant no such thing, but 
 had written in a figure, for goddesses may not be 
 touched by mortal fingers. 
 
 "Hold on there, Bill," I warned him, starting 
 forward, very uneasy, "that is not down in the 
 play." 
 
 She caught sight of my face then, and seeing 
 that it was truly "dark and forbidding," was set 
 off in merry peals of laughter, delicious though 
 aggravating. 
 
 Bill turned to me with "All right, father, I'm 
 a-holding on I" 
 
 I knew the longer she kept laughing the longer 
 he would keep holding, but the more I scowled 
 the harder she laughed, till at last the sparks from 
 her merriment kindled a blaze in my own breast 
 and I laughed in the general illumination. And 
 nobody enjoyed it more than Bill. 
 
 "Help me down," she gasped, from the height 
 of the platform, shaking unsteadily from her hys- 
 terical mirth. He reached up his arms and he 
 did help her down, tender and slow. 
 
 But hardly had her white slippers touched the 
 floor when a crash came directly under the spot 
 where we were standing, sending strange clap-
 
 92 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 ping echoes from remote walls of the lower story. 
 
 No laughter now ! she snatched away her hand 
 and ran to blow out the lantern. 
 
 "Whoever it is, let 'em come!" cried Bill, 
 cocked and primed to prove himself a hero. 
 
 "I mustn't be found here," she gasped. "Don't 
 you understand?" And out went all the lights. 
 
 I understood, for all of a sudden it came to 
 me how very odd was our situation up there, and 
 how much odder the community would hold the 
 affair. Now, there are a thousand things of a 
 wondrous sweetness which, if spread to the public 
 taste, must needs leave bitterness in the mouth 
 and here was a thing that simply must not be un- 
 covered. To my dying days I would be regarded 
 in a shifted light, but what was far more to me 
 Laidie's opinion of Bill would become discolored, 
 and Bill was always the butter on the bread of 
 my content. 
 
 "Listen 1" Bill ordered, hoarsely for like 
 myself, he couldn't whisper. 
 
 There was a stumbling footstep on the hall- 
 stair. 
 
 "He's coming up," said the girl-out-of-the- 
 common. "Must have broken in a window, down- 
 stairs guard the doors; keep him out of the
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 93 
 
 chapel till I've locked myself up in the little place 
 I've been using as my bedroom." And she began 
 to feel her way toward the northwest chamber, 
 which in old days had been the music-room. 
 
 The chapel had two doors on the east, both 
 opening into the hall, one at each end of the 
 long blackboard. Bill and I braced ourselves 
 against them as up the stair at a great speed, and 
 with much noise of boots, came that intruder, 
 equally unwelcome to Wisdom, Youth and Preju- 
 dice. If he found entrance, the girl would be 
 gone; but how were we to explain the fragments 
 of our sandwich-barbecue and those romantic lan- 
 terns? At the very best we would be set down 
 as fools. And if the girl were found . . . What 
 I dreaded was the name of the thing. 
 
 My suspense was fraught with such nerve- 
 racking dangers, and found itself so helpless to 
 invent plans while those footsteps were pounding 
 up the stairs, that the last line on one of life's 
 closely crowded pages seemed to hare been 
 written.
 
 You Can't Find Out if You're in Love by Kissing 
 the Wrong Girl 
 
 THE next half-hour was the quickest-actioned 
 barring the time of the big fire I have 
 ever known. Bill and I held each a door against 
 the coming of the unknown man, with our hostess 
 hovering on our flank; and when he reached the 
 head of the hall-steps I braced myself with all my 
 strength and thanked God I was a blacksmith. 
 
 But the man hurried down the hall with no 
 intention of exploring the chapel and up the 
 attic staircase sped his eager feet till suddenly 
 silence fell, and we knew that in the wide, un- 
 plastered space above, his form was crouching. 
 I heard our hostess whisper, "Stick where are 
 you?" For without the candles, nothing was to 
 be seen but ghost-lights swimming before the 
 windows. 
 
 94
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 9$ 
 
 "Here / am," Bill called, low but penetrating. 
 
 Softly as a leaf blown down the street, she went 
 to him and I hastened to join them, very uneasy. 
 
 "I must say good-by!" She caught my arm, 
 nervous and hasty. "I can never stay here after 
 a spy has come to watch. I must go this very 
 hour and go all alone. Good-by good-by . . . 
 Oh, Stick, you've given me something to think 
 about as long as I livel" And I think she took 
 Bill's hand. 
 
 "Yes better go quick," I said, "for I hear 
 men's voices in the yard and don't forget that a 
 true woman stays at home with a good lock on 
 her door." 
 
 "Dear old Prejudice 1" She drew me down 
 and kissed me heartily. 
 
 Bill asked, wistful, "When are you coming 
 back to see what I've made of myself?" There 
 was silence, and a pause; then, like a bird, she 
 skimmed along the wall where the blackboard 
 was painted on the plastering, and out into the 
 hall through the door I had deserted. 
 
 "Father," Bill said in a muffled voice, "I'm 
 afraid that plan to find out my feelings for Laidie 
 isn't going to work." 
 
 "What do you mean?" I was uneasy.
 
 96 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "Why, well, you see, father I've gone and 
 kissed the wrong girl!" 
 
 "Bang!" came a noise from overhead, and the 
 plastering rained down upon the floor; evidently 
 the fugitive in the attic had stepped off a beam 
 upon mere lath-and-mortar. This lime-shower 
 came as a counter shock to Bill's words, and as 
 one violent motion destroys another like the 
 waves in my book on physics my mind went per- 
 fectly blank. 
 
 Into my blankness then burst the uproar of 
 swift feet and angry voices from below, proving 
 that the creature in the attic was hiding from 
 men in full cry. 
 
 I recognized the harsh, vindictive tones of Tag- 
 gart Gleason so different from his ordinary oily 
 smoothness: "Look in the dining-room!" He 
 meant a long inner chamber where once school- 
 boarders had been served. 
 
 "Or in the little closet under the hall-stairs," 
 came the lazy, unruffled voice of Lane Laclede, as 
 if he found it good sport. 
 
 "No, no," shouted a third, "he wouldn't stop 
 down here upstairs, boys!" This was an 
 offshoot of our highest family. Educated at 
 Missouri University, Lancaster Overstreet had
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 97 
 
 brought back the mental stores of a fairly good 
 lawyer, and the natural greenness that he had 
 carried there. It was he and that assistant 
 cashier (Richard Purly) who had gone to Tag- 
 gart Gleason's, a few hours earlier, after the title 
 deed to the Rockpile, and I wondered if the pres- 
 ent chase had ought to do with that matter. 
 
 While they were on their way upstairs, the 
 fugitive, panic-stricken, decided to come down 
 and down he came in a great hurry, sending up 
 dust and plastering in choking clouds. It hap- 
 pened all so quick that the girl had not been given 
 time to reach the hall-window; and she stopped 
 helpless as the pursued man leaped in front of 
 her and grabbed at the closed sash to push it up. 
 
 "There he is!" came a shrill voice from the 
 yard, causing the man to pause, rigid. His dis- 
 coverer was Cadwitch Beam, a man who never 
 could have been elected sheriff had he not always 
 voted the straight ticket, therefore must needs be 
 voted for. "There he is at the south hall window 
 upstairs!" 
 
 At the keen-edged cry, some nine men came 
 swarming up the stairs with lanterns of good 
 clear glass and sturdy wicks showing the startled 
 girl midway of the hall, with the man at the win-
 
 98 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 dow blocking off her escape, yet himself too timid 
 to essay it. 
 
 All this I saw through a cautious crack of the 
 door; and having waited for the pursuers to get 
 well forward, Bill and I slipped out in their wake 
 as if we had been with them from the beginning. 
 So triumphant were they at cornering their man, 
 yet so dumbfounded at sight of the girl, that they 
 gave us no heed, but stood stock still in a daze. 
 And the man at bay, with his back to the open 
 window he, too, stared at the girl, and at the 
 group of us men huddled behind h'er, as if 
 petrified. 
 
 Richard Purly was the first to come to life. 
 Dashing past the girl, he grabbed the fellow by 
 his sleazy old coat. "You fool" and he tore 
 away what he was holding to "give up that title- 
 deed!" Then I saw that the fugitive was Jim 
 Bob Peterson. Well, yes,' he was a fool not 
 only that night, but every day in the year; but to 
 hear him so called by a newcomer was too much 
 for me, and I strode between them with a light in 
 my eye. It was plain that Jim Bob had shoul- 
 dered a load too heavy for him to carry, but I 
 let Purly know plain and simple that if an old 
 settler was to be termed Fool, the task did not
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 99 
 
 fall te a raw assistant cashier, but seven years in 
 our midst. 
 
 "Jim Bob," Gleason roared, but not daring to 
 cross my path, "give back my title-deed or Dick 
 Purly'll have the law on you." 
 
 And Lancaster Overstreet coaxed, "I'm bound 
 to tell you, Jim Bob, as your friend, and as Purly's 
 lawyer, that you've committed an actionable of- 
 fense." 
 
 "In plain words," Gleason snapped, "you're a 
 scheming old thief!" 
 
 "I haven't got that deed," Jim Bob mumbled; 
 *'search me and see." 
 
 In the meantime, the girl finding herself caught 
 in a trap, thrust her hand into her bosom in a 
 nervous way that brought to light a slip of 
 paper. 
 
 "She's got it!" shouted Lancaster Overstreet 
 who, less lawyer than youth, had watched her 
 more closely than he had Jim Bob. "That lady 
 has the deed!" 
 
 "If you dare touch me " she said, low and 
 
 fierce, standing with back to wall. 
 
 Bill would have interfered right then, but I 
 gave him a warning shove. If we showed ac- 
 quaintance with the girl-out-of-the-common, it
 
 ioo HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 would have been none the better for her and I'm 
 not saying, now, what it would have been for us. 
 
 "Young lady," said Lancaster with a polite 
 bow, feeling of the middle part in his hair, and 
 smoothing at his tie lest it be riding his collar, 
 "we know Jim Bob has slipped you the title-deed 
 to keep for him, but I'm sure you weren't told that 
 it's stolen property. Jim Bob took it from Mr. 
 Gleason's desk; it's a deed Mr. and Mrs. Gleason 
 signed more than a week ago, making over some 
 land at the Springs to my client, Mr. Richard 
 Purly." 
 
 He stopped to swallow as was his wont when 
 his mouth was full of words. "It wasn't recorded, 
 for we couldn't agree about the fee until this 
 evening. I know Jim Bob was following us, and 
 when we went into the garden he must have 
 slipped into the house. As soon as we found it 
 gone, Mrs. Gleason, to our amazement, said she 
 regretted having ever signed the deed, and she 
 refuses to sign a duplicate." 
 
 "My wife," said Gleason with an ugly look at 
 Lane Laclede, "has been influenced by fool argu- 
 ments about what's for the good of the town, and 
 it shames me to have to admit that she sets up 
 her opinions against my authority."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 101 
 
 "Young lady " Lancaster coaxed, smooth- 
 ing his hair-scallops. 
 
 "I've never met the gentleman you call 'Jim 
 Bob'," she spoke clear and cold, "and I know 
 nothing about the title-deed. But I do know how 
 Taggart Gleason loafs about town with his hands 
 in his pockets while Mrs. Gleason is working her 
 fingers to the bone. And I glory in her spirit, 
 that for once she dares have a mind of her own." 
 
 "It's the crazy school teacher!" Taggart 
 shouted, his eyes green with spite. "Boys, Jim 
 Bob has persuaded a poor mad girl to cover up 
 his theft, the same girl that boarded at my house 
 till she lost her mind and raved at me I've been 
 trying to remember where I'd seen her." 
 
 "Well, / never see her before," said Jim Bob, 
 helpless. 
 
 "Jim Bob," I demanded, stern, "where is that 
 title-deed?" 
 
 He looked at me, reproachful. "I'm not a-talk- 
 ing, Stick Attum." 
 
 Purly interrupted: "We all saw that it's hid- 
 den in her dress." 
 
 Desperate, she snatched the paper from her 
 bosom "Take it!" 
 
 Snatching it from her fingers he ran wrth it to
 
 102 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 the nearest lantern, and Bill, looking over his 
 shoulder, read aloud: "I perceive, O Youth, that 
 thou art very near Wisdom . . ." It was a part 
 from our play. "That's no deed," said Bill, show- 
 ing it about, then putting it into his pocket as a 
 souvenir. 
 
 "But where is the deed?" Taggart Gleason was 
 beside himself with disappointment. "Sheriff, I 
 demand that you arrest both of them on the spot." 
 
 "Easy now, Taggart," Sheriff Beam said, "re- 
 member our jail is being repaired and couldn't 
 hold a man, even Jim Bob; and there's no place 
 to put a lady. Just let Jim Bob tell us where he 
 put the deed " 
 
 "I'm not a-talking, Cadwitch Beam." Jim Bob 
 had found a phrase to his taste, and kept his 
 tongue to it: "I'm not a-talking." 
 
 "The girl's got it," snarled Gleason, "and by 
 
 I will have it !" And he made a rush at her. 
 
 But the next moment, in his recoil for he was 
 too old he went down in a heap; and there 
 stood our plucky hostess with a light in her eye 
 and a pistol in her hand. She had the best of the 
 argument, as Wisdom always should, by right. 
 
 "Look out, boys," and I lifted my arms high, 
 pretending to be scared to death, "put up your
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 103 
 
 hands, or you're dead menl" Bill imitated me, 
 and it proved contagious. Even Gleason, huddled 
 on the floor, raised palms above ears while 
 propped upon his elbow. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Jim Bob Whoever-you-are," she 
 said, unkind, motioning her pistol at my inade- 
 quate old friend, "go over there and join your 
 own crowd, for you don't belong to mine." 
 
 As he slouched amongst us, thus clearing her 
 way, she slowly stepped backward to the window, 
 saying, crisp and cold, "If I knew where that title- 
 deed was, I wouldn't tell." 
 
 I don't know how she did it: one moment she 
 was covering us with her pretty silver-mounted 
 weapon ; the next, she was skimming through the 
 window and was gone. 
 
 "And she's got that title-deed!" Gleason 
 groaned, seeing the money for the Rockpile melt- 
 ing away. "Hasn't she got it, Jim Bob? Hasn't 
 she?" 
 
 Jim Bob rolled his eyes, desperate. "I'm not 
 a-talking," he gave us. 
 
 "After her, boys!" called Purly springing to- 
 ward the window with me close behind to check 
 him, though I did stop on the way to swing Tag- 
 gart Gleason to his feet. He had cut a sorry
 
 104 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 figure, truly, but, after all, he was old and had 
 spent his years in Mizzouryville, and had mar- 
 ried a girl very dear to me. 
 
 On being lifted up, he darted after Purly like 
 a toy horse that spurts forward when first wound 
 up and set with wheels to the floor; and they two 
 were almost at the wide ledge when in a flash 
 there was the girl-out-of-the-common with her 
 pistol leveled through the open window, looking 
 uncommonly capable. I don't believe I ever saw 
 a lovelier sight, not in an animated way. 
 
 "I forgot to say good-night," she murmured, 
 aiming straight at Purly's temple. 
 
 He reeled back with his hands before his face, 
 and down again on the floor went Taggart Glea- 
 son, his terrified eyes rolling toward me as if to 
 ask why I had ever picked him up. 
 
 She looked down at him and said, "God help 
 the woman who swore to obey you until parted by 
 death!" She didn't sound angry or scornful, but 
 sort of prophetic, I thought. After a silent min- 
 ute, she looked over at Bill with a special gleam 
 in her eye like the last dance of a candle before it 
 says farewell. Then she vanished to go back to 
 the world where she had left her name.
 
 XI 
 
 // a Man's Work Stops with His Last Breath, 
 It's a Mighty Poor Life That Hasn't a Mighty 
 Big Work to Show for It 
 
 r~ | ^HE events of that night are as closely linked 
 J_ together in my memory as if I held the 
 chain in my hand. But after that, sharpness of 
 vision is blurred by a number of overlapping im- 
 pressions such as faintly picture the average days 
 of one's life, and out of all nothing stands forth 
 with notable persistence. 
 
 After Bill found the title-deed hidden away 
 in the attic, no one thought less of Jim Bob's 
 judgment or execution, because less couldn't be 
 thought. The recovered paper did not clear the 
 strange girl from dark suspicions; for the Chi- 
 nese lanterns and scraps of food found in the 
 chapel put her in a bad light as one flying the 
 earth with no place for the sole of her foot. 
 
 105
 
 106 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 At Taggart Gleason's expense (or, to be ex- 
 act, at Mrs. Gleason's) there followed an orgy 
 of detective work, conducted by our young law- 
 yer Lancaster Overstreet more often called 
 "Lanky." Every time I visited Old Settlers' 
 Bench, I was relieved to find that none of Lan- 
 caster's "working hypotheses" for the finding of 
 the little wanderer had wrought a finished job. 
 I was content that she should never be heard of 
 again, for though charming, she was disturbing 
 to a settled man. I was built to ride in a safe 
 harbor, and never find myself blown out into an 
 uncharted sea without straining my eyes for 
 familiar land. And as to Bill, did he not have 
 Laidie in prospect? 
 
 But when some one comes into your life and 
 touches your soul, you can never be just as you 
 were before and Bill had been touched to the 
 depths. There were times when I considered with 
 bitterness the lines of our divergence, we who 
 had always traveled parallel. . . . Such a small 
 household just the two of us! I had always 
 thought the shop would be for Bill when I was 
 gone; not only the hull of a building, but the 
 memories he should inherit along with the prop- 
 erty. When I made the discovery that he meant
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 107 
 
 to be no blacksmith, I looked ahead and seemed 
 to see the end of my lifework. It would stop 
 with me. When the anvil should ring with that 
 music that's fuller of meaning than any on con- 
 cert program, the hands of a stranger would strike 
 the blows. Times came when I'd suddenly stop 
 in my labors to ask myself, Why go on building 
 up a business that my arm alone must sustain? 
 
 But at first, like Jim Bob, I wasn't saying any- 
 thing. When I'd come upon Bill in some corner 
 with his forehead wrinkled and a scabby textbook 
 in his strong hand, I would make as if it were no 
 more to me than a fly on the ceiling. I had op- 
 posed his stopping school, for though too much 
 learning will sink a man unless of stout bottom, a 
 moderate amount helps keep him afloat; but when 
 stop he would, I gave him fair wages in the shop. 
 For, as I see it, the money that your work yields 
 is the honey in the flower. 
 
 I had dismissed a steady hand to give Bill his 
 chance, so he didn't feel it honorable to ask re- 
 lease, yet I found him restive in the harness, his 
 heart lagging behind his feet. In the early hours 
 and late at night, he made bold with his books. 
 
 Of evenings we had been accustomed to rise at 
 the stroke of nine, to close the day's history. I'd
 
 io8 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 lay in its niche my unfinished novel while Bill 
 would stand on end that guitar for which, in an 
 evil hour, he had taken a liking and it was 
 "good-night," and each to his own chamber, with 
 the breeze rippling over the bed and only the sun- 
 rise to tell us we had been asleep. 
 
 Now all was changed. When he at first began 
 to mutiny against bedtime, I'd prop my eyelids for 
 an extra chapter, unless my book said, "And now 
 let us return to so-and-so," in which case I could 
 never bear another word. But when I found that 
 no matter how I might bivouac with him about the 
 lamp, he could go me an hour better, as having 
 the brace of youth to his back, sometimes I'd art- 
 fully lay out the guitar for him to stumble over. 
 He, however, was not to be coaxed upon his 
 "Spanish Fandango," of which I had formerly had 
 more than enough. As he labored under his self- 
 imposed slavery, I knew just as well that the his- 
 tory, rhetoric, or what not was giving him pains, 
 as if a doctor had just mounted his horse to ride 
 away, a glass of medicine left on the table covered 
 with an old letter, a spoon atop to hold it there 
 when the door should open. And when at last he 
 found himself floundering in mire too deep for his 
 length of leg, I knew our minister would get him.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 109 
 
 Brother Wane was a good man, though 
 wooden; and such was his zeal to get people out 
 to meeting (though handing them but little when 
 they came save warmed-over foodstuffs) that he 
 would go a mile to persuade a man churchward 
 his visits acting upon me contrariwise. He, honest 
 soul and learned, gave Bill many a pull to his feet 
 that landed him in the pew of Sundays, no doubt 
 thinking to lure me thither. But too well did I 
 know what would be my portion there; for to 
 such a degree did Brother Wane exhaust and 
 strain himself to keep going the church machinery 
 his committees working upon each other like 
 cogs of neighboring wheels, and his couriers sent 
 flying on special missions such as Flowers, the 
 Sick, Transients, Stay-at-homes and Sunday school- 
 pupils whether Red Button, Blue Button or 
 simply Banner there was, I say, nothing left of 
 the man when in the pulpit but a physical reac- 
 tion. But of course it was chiefly the organ that 
 kept me at home to my Sunday newspaper, for 
 when there's no obstacle but a dull sermon, I can 
 sit at bay as well as another, and feed my belly 
 with dry husks. 
 
 In the meantime, I was kept uneasy over Tag- 
 gart Gleason's expulsion from Old Settlers' Bench.
 
 no HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 To be sure, when there he was little but a dispute ; 
 but knowing little else was to be expected, we had 
 borne ourselves accordingly. After the quarrel 
 he became a permanent figure in the Bank Corner 
 crowd, and there would he abuse Lane Laclede 
 to whosoever would listen which means every 
 man not stone deaf. For though the Bank Corner 
 men preferred to discuss the market prices of corn 
 and cattle, they were ready for a tale highly sea- 
 soned, and abuse was welcomed, not from ill- 
 nature, but as seeming more meaty than kind 
 words. 
 
 It was about this time that Gleason took up 
 what he had laid aside the year before his mar- 
 riage I mean, the habit of drinking. Not being 
 able to carry it so well as in younger days, he 
 grew loud-mouthed about his wife, charging her 
 new-born freedom of mind to unfaithfulness, and 
 laughing without mirth because in spite of her 
 disloyal refusal to sign a duplicate deed, and in 
 spite of her pleading that the original deed, when 
 found, be destroyed, the Rockpile hers by in- 
 heritance was now the property of Richard 
 Purly, with the purchase-money in the bank to 
 Taggart's account. 
 
 Lane Laclede heard what was being said on
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED in 
 
 Bank Corner, and though he gave no sign of 
 heeding, his deep calm did not deceive those who 
 knew him best. I remember hearing Captain Lit- 
 tle Dave Overstreet whisper one day, as he 
 crossed his legs with the aid of both hands, "Lanie 
 is a generous creditor, but Taggart Gleason will 
 have to pay the reckoning." And whenever that 
 old soldier got his wooden leg crossed over the 
 other, it was like drawing black lines to under- 
 score his words. It's small wonder that the girl- 
 out-of-the-common faded from my mind. 
 
 But Bill remembered, and the drought of that 
 August did not put an end to his mental growth. 
 I knew if I took notice of him openly he'd stand 
 in his pillory till he dropped. I tried to find com- 
 fort in my own experience in such bouts for at 
 the beginning of everything, there is a certain 
 ease but however beguiling a book of learning 
 may begin, as, "The world is round like a ball," 
 before you know it, you've been sent in quest of 
 some name on a fine-print map that proves your 
 world no smooth rolling. 
 
 But when September came, the clench of Bill's 
 teeth had not relaxed. So, one Sunday afternoon, 
 I asked him into our shop, to open up the subject.
 
 XII 
 
 A Man's Horizon is Enlarged as the Years Lift 
 Him Up; the Youth Sees Only the Road at 
 His Door, the Mature Eye Glimpses Whither 
 He Is Bound 
 
 BILL " I began . . . and somehow I 
 seemed to have said all. The shop had the 
 cool, unusual smell of a holiday, being tight- 
 closed but for one wooden shutter that made of 
 the sunlight a yellow ladder stretched across the 
 dirt floor. Bill was all dressed up and looked 
 mighty fine, having, since breakfast, been Sunday- 
 schooled and churched and choir-practised, and 
 yet having before him his weekly call on Laidie, 
 a young people's society, and Brother Wane at 
 night laboring in a sea of rhetoric. 
 
 Bill turned a trifle pale, feeling a struggle 
 coming, and I thought I had never seen him so 
 straight and handsome and determined. I had 
 
 112
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 113 
 
 a blind impulse to wave my arm at the anvils, the 
 rows of horseshoes, the wagonbed on its trestles, 
 the wheels against the wall, with the warm gloom 
 cut by the golden light mellowing all. But what 
 was the use? He was looking beyond these 
 things; they were never again to catch at his 
 heart. 
 
 I walked to the workbench and looked under 
 it just to gain time, for I knew my voice had 
 slipped anchor and would drift in a gale; but 
 when I came back, I was, as far as he could see, 
 the same old Stick Attum talking to the same old 
 Bill. "Son, are you as bent on getting an educa- 
 tion as once you were set on getting rid of the 
 little you had?" 
 
 He smiled and was relieved, though what he'd 
 expected, I cannot say. It's a law of nature that 
 no young person can look back at himself from 
 what he'll be in twenty more years, to marvel at 
 his greenness. "More," he said, resolute. "When 
 you can find a man to take my place, I'm going 
 to law-school. Every summer I'll earn enough to 
 carry me through the next school-year ; you'll give 
 me a job, won't you, father? And when I've 
 graduated, you'll close up shop and come to live 
 with me in the city."
 
 ii4 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 He had thought it all out, planning as young 
 people do building a nest for his parent out of 
 the stuff of his own dreams. Leave the shop, or 
 live anywhere but in Mizzouryville, I never 
 would while the heavens were above me, but as to 
 that I said nothing. Let bright visions glow be- 
 fore young eyes ; they fade all too soon. 
 
 Suddenly I asked, penetrating, "Not a-waver- 
 ing, Bill?" 
 
 "Of course not," he answered, dry and hasty. 
 Presently he quoted the speech Purly had taken 
 from the girl-out-of-the-common ; he knew all of 
 it by heart: "I perceive, O Youth, that thou art 
 very near Wisdom. Develop that which is within 
 thee, work to the utmost the true metal in thy 
 being, separate it from the dross be a Man." 
 And at the last his words rang as in a public 
 hall. 
 
 The silence was broken only by the shavings 
 rustling under my feet as I went here and there. 
 At last I could speak quite steady. "Bill, I'm a 
 Man, ain't I?" 
 
 "Best going," says Bill. "And I want to make 
 good, too. You've worked your metal to a finish 
 and I want to work mine. I don't believe a young 
 man ought to imitate another, but to develop
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 115 
 
 himself. I could be a blacksmith, of course, but 
 there's other metal here" he struck his breast 
 in utter unconsciousness, for never would he have 
 made a gesture on purpose. "It isn't that I think 
 a lawyer is better than a blacksmith, but I can't 
 be a true man any other way, and, father, I mean 
 to be a true man like you." 
 
 I went over to the empty furnace and worked 
 the bellows aimlessly. Somehow, the way Bill 
 talked filled me to the brim ; and when he named 
 me a true man, it seemed as if my heart were 
 flooded with a sort of calm glory. But he never 
 knew of my sensations just thought, like-enough, 
 that I was looking to see if the ashes had been 
 emptied. As to that, I left him untroubled. Had 
 I tried to explain myself, I'd have been but the 
 foreign tongue of middle age to the untrained 
 ears of a young man. 
 
 He went on, his head up: "There's something 
 in me to be worked, and I'm going after the metal. 
 I'd like to meet the little Spirit some day, just to 
 let her know she didn't make a mistake, the night 
 she located my mine." 
 
 "Well, if you never meet her, it won't matter, 
 as she's not one of the share-holders. But I 
 want a few shares, son, such as you can spare
 
 ii6 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 from Laidie ; and to back up my claim, I mean to 
 invest right now. I have enough money in the 
 bank to stake you, and if it's lost, I can stand it 
 that's the only system for lending to kinfolks. 
 And you're not to come back home next summer 
 to work for college-money. Make the first stay 
 till Christmas after next." 
 
 He shook his head. "No, father, I mean to be 
 independent." 
 
 "Bill, Mizzouryville is full of independent 
 folks, some of 'em Job-poor. Why, blacksmiths 
 are a thousand times more independent than law- 
 yers. No, son, if independence is what you're 
 after, go and sit on Old Settlers' Bench. What 
 you want is success in a city. Well, to get that, 
 you must have polish, and I don't mean the kind 
 you can buy in a bottle. What avails the strength 
 of a horse if kept in the stall? Likewise, a law- 
 yer is stalled without clients, which I claim as a 
 flower of speech," said I, "though possibly of no 
 higher degree than a sunflower. Now, to get 
 clients, you must make friends which you can't 
 make by being independent, for while friendship 
 quickly springs from the surface, it strikes deep 
 only with the forbearance of years which is a 
 century-plant at your service." And I made him
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 117 
 
 a low bow out of an engraving that ct him 
 laughing. 
 
 "Now get your hat," said I, succeeding fairly 
 well in a cheerful manner, "for on my thought- 
 tree there's fruit grown ripe for the plucking; 
 fruit that will feed me a lawyer in the Attum 
 household, unless I am much mistaken." 
 
 So we went at once to the big brick mansion 
 after expert advice the only house in Mizzoury- 
 ville with three stories and a cupola.
 
 XIII 
 
 The More You Have the Less You Need Pay; the 
 Rich Man Can Have the World's Homage 
 Without Spending a Penny to Get It 
 
 THIS was the fruit of my thinking: to seek 
 advice of Mrs. Peggy Overstreet who stood 
 on the topmost rung of our ladder of rank. She 
 always greeted me kindly enough though never 
 cordial, being heavy from the weight of impor- 
 tance. For her husband, Big Dave Overstreet, 
 was as near a millionaire as was ever seen in our 
 town; and Mrs. Peggy, in consequence, took no 
 delight in any one who, like myself, refused to 
 bend the knee. As guardian of Gussie Meade, 
 she it was who broke off our engagement to have 
 her marry a man who was not a blacksmith; and 
 as aunt and patroness of Lancaster Overstreet, 
 she was now standing between the young lawyer 
 and Taggart Gleason's daughter. 
 
 118
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 119 
 
 When we were shown in as carefully as if I 
 did not know the way we found Zenia Gleason 
 Taggart's daughter as small and pretty and 
 useless as usual, and, as usual, worshiping Mrs. 
 Peggy with all her eyes; and I told myself that 
 Zenia, by servile homage, thought to feed her 
 social cravings from the crumbs that fell from the 
 great lady's table. Even at that early day it was 
 my judgment that Zenia cared less for the body 
 and soul of poor Lanky than for the fact that the 
 Overstreets threw the shadow the Gleasons walked 
 in for if there was ever a Gleason worth five 
 thousand dollars, I never heard of him. 
 
 Mrs. Peggy knew very well I'd no more think 
 of coming to her mansion for a social call than 
 she'd visit my shop to be shod; but my mother 
 was an Overstreet, therefore it was not the same 
 to her as if I were a blacksmith clean through to 
 my backbone. As soon as I said "private busi- 
 ness," she turned and dismissed Zenia Gleason 
 
 "Run along, child," she said, just as if Zenia 
 were a pink-faced, golden-haired infant, "and you 
 needn't come back until I send for you, for I'm 
 afraid Somebody has been seeing too much of you 
 lately, anyhow. And I, myself, need a rest from 
 your foolish chatter.'*
 
 izo HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 And Zenia went away smiling, sweet and inno- 
 cent, as if she'd just had her hand kissed. But I 
 said to myself that if there was as much of Tag- 
 gart in her as I thought, she'd make Mrs. Peggy 
 pay for such treatment if she ever got the whip- 
 hand. But to be fair I must admit that, at the 
 time, how she was to get the whiphand never en- 
 tered my mind. 
 
 As I explained my affair Mrs. Peggy listened 
 with head propped on jewelled hand, her white 
 jiair lending her beauty that touch of softness 
 she'd lacked until time took her in her turn. 
 
 When I had finished, "It seems strange," said 
 she, "that you should ever come to me for ad- 
 vice." And I knew she was thinking of the 
 day I last stood in that room, twenty-one years 
 before, when she had tried to bend me from my 
 trade. 
 
 "In my business," said I, "I stand or fall by 
 my own judgment. When outside my line, I seek 
 expert advice. I don't know how to make the 
 kind of man Bill wants to be, though I know 'em 
 on sight. My money will pay his board, the 
 school will give him law, but for his outer coat- 
 ing, where is the brush?" It was on my tongue 
 to amplify thus that Bill wanted to be curried
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 121 
 
 and rubbed down till there should not be a loose 
 Missouri hair to his hide; but when I looked 
 about on the appointments of the room, I saw 
 that was no fit place in which to drop my meta- 
 phor, so merely added: "I want it to be so that 
 when people fall in his way, they will see sky- 
 scrapers and breathe Fifth Avenue." 
 
 She asked, "Do you mean for him to locate in 
 New York City?" 
 
 "No; as I place it, that would be but to add 
 one more paving-stone for the feet of the East- 
 erners." 
 
 "And you expect him to spend summer vaca- 
 tions here at home?" 
 
 I shook my head. "Two months in Mizzoury- 
 ville," said I, "would loosen all the nails they 
 could drive abroad in ten months' time. I ask 
 for him only at Christmas holidays, that I may 
 note his progress, having him at concentrated 
 gaze." 
 
 All this time Bill was doing himself and me the 
 greatest service in his power; for he stood with- 
 out one word, his eyes fixed, his body erect like 
 the lady-statue on the corner pedestal though, of 
 course, with more clothes. So well did Mrs. 
 Peggy think of his silence which she set down
 
 122 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 to awe of her high state that she was won com- 
 pletely over. 
 
 A week from that day Bill was embedded in 
 the nest of a St. Louis family, the head of it a 
 widow and none other than Mrs. Peggy Over- 
 street's sister. She had refused to speak to me 
 ever. since I built Horseshoe House, therefore was 
 suitably high-minded, while having but sons for 
 children, she offered no danger to Laidie's hap- 
 piness.
 
 XIV 
 
 The Modern Man Cannot Live Close to Nature 
 Even in the Garden of Eden There Came Up 
 the Question of Clothes 
 
 SINCE that Christmas was too near at hand 
 to break in upon Bill's development, it was 
 the Christmas Eve following ere he stepped from 
 the train into my arms, but from the hug he gave 
 me I knew that as yet St. Louis had not scratched 
 far below his surface. 
 
 "Jove ! but it's good to be back home," he cried 
 gaily, side-stepping to slap on the back our old 
 station-master who bore it well considering how 
 he despised to be touched, or even questioned. I 
 was content. His "Jove" a word that could no 
 more thrive in the air of Mizzouryville than a 
 banana-tree was the word of Esau; but his 
 heartiness was that of Jacob. 
 
 As I walked him homeward over the rattling 
 123
 
 124 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 sidewalks (to show that however he'd educated 
 himself to taxis and jitneys I was in my natural 
 state of leg) I told him of the big dinner Laidie 
 was to give us on the morrow, and he groaned 
 at the prospect. For every year at Christmas 
 time Laidie set us down to table with Taggart 
 Gleason and wife because Dahlia Taggart's 
 wife had been one of my pets since her infancy. 
 This annual dinner was about the only enjoyment 
 Taggart still permitted his wife, as I reminded 
 Bill in reproving tones: and I went on to call to 
 his mind how, ever since Dahlia, an orphan of 
 three, had toddled through the shop door with 
 her, "I love oo, Stick," she had ever come to me 
 for advice in all her affairs until, alas ! her time 
 of husband-getting. 
 
 Bill sighed. "Maybe Old Datty will let her 
 come without him," he said, but not hopeful. 
 "Has he done much drinking and blowing around 
 since I left home?" 
 
 "He's drunk deep and blown loud. But after 
 his sprees he's sane enough to know there's never 
 been anything between Dahlia and Lane Laclede." 
 
 "Do you know, father," he raid, easy and su- 
 perior, "I've learned a good deal in the city 
 about the pressure that drives husband and wife
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 125 
 
 apart, and I'm not so sure that Laclede and 
 Mrs. Gleason " 
 
 I interrupted, dry, "And the minister is invited. 
 You'll be sorry to hear, Bill, that Brother Wane's 
 time with us is dubious; it seems the church ma- 
 chinery he's been at such pains to set up threatens 
 to grind him to powder." 
 
 "Father, I wish you wouldn't call me 'Bill.' ' 
 
 "Which?" said I, groping. 
 
 "William," he says, succinct. "It's 'William 
 Attum' in the Bible and I prefer 'William' in the 
 open." 
 
 I asked, short, "And do you want your last 
 named changed to Molecule?" 
 
 He laughed and laughed till by-and-by I must 
 needs smile, for I'd said something, and knew it. 
 But I wouldn't cross him. There seemed more 
 life in "Bill," and more art in "William," and 
 of course naturalness was what he wished to 
 outgrow. For after all is said, only savages do 
 as they please the closer a man is to nature, 
 the less he cares who sees him put knife in 
 mouth. 
 
 When we stood on the lawn closed in by the 
 arms of Horseshoe House where we had once 
 talked to the girl-out-of-the-common, I asked, ab-
 
 126 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 rupt, and just like this, "Son, have you ever seen 
 her?" (Call him "William," I wouldn't.) 
 
 He knew exactly whom I meant. "Never, 
 father," says William for so he must now be 
 called, as say the books in my smokehouse when 
 the hero turns out to be the duke's son. Then he 
 added with an air so condescending that I was 
 dumbfounded "What a charming little thing she 
 was! So unsophisticated, with her games and 
 plays ha, ha I Well, father, my city experience 
 tells me that in spite of her wanderings, she was 
 pure as gold. I'd like to meet her again. Jove 1" 
 
 "Don't do that too often," said I, hasty. "Let's 
 go in by the parlor-door." And having him that 
 evening all to myself, I sounded him well, to find 
 if my plummet would show a depth in his cur- 
 rents over my head. But as yet, no.
 
 XV 
 
 No Matter How Young a Man May Feel, It's by 
 His Looks That He Gets Measured 
 
 I DON'T think Laidie was ever busier than on 
 the next day. To say nothing of acting host- 
 ess, she had to keep the resentment of her cook 
 (who despised company) from bursting into 
 flame, and she had to hide her deep affection for 
 Dahlia, and aggrandize Taggart Gleason in order 
 to keep him in a good humor. Miss Lindy the 
 cook wouldn't open the door to guests, lest her 
 spirit of independence catch cold in the draught, 
 so it was Laidie who met us, all excitement, with 
 cheeks bright-red just the sort of roses to set 
 off her fine raven hair. I was so moved at sight 
 of her that I muttered to William, "Say 'Jove' if 
 you want to!" 
 
 It was a turkey dinner with oyster dressing that 
 Laidie had made herself the gravy not thin and 
 
 127
 
 128 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 whitish, nor greasy, though rich with giblets, and 
 at the end of the long vista of good dishes there 
 were mince and pumpkin pies, a slice of each to 
 every man with no talk of which he preferred, and 
 a glass of thick yellow cream alongside. But on 
 that table everything tasted of Taggart Gleason. 
 There he sat, cold and out of place, like a block 
 of salt in the ice cream of our holiday. 
 
 At his side, poor Dahlia cowered, timid and 
 dumb, her pretty young face composed in lines of 
 dutiful submission; and the rest of us trembled 
 behind our plates as he gave us Washington City 
 in statistics. I had a brief hope that William 
 after fifteen months in St. Louis might be backed 
 up against this bore, but when I saw the lack- 
 luster gaze in his eye, I knew my son had fallen 
 under the old spell. 
 
 This Influence, this breath of Alaska, had so 
 much to do with what happened that night, I 
 cannot make too much of it yet I hold my hand. 
 For what boots it how carefully I round my tale 
 if it be not read? Now, Taggart Gleason had 
 been born in Washington City, therefore, as we 
 supposed, had picked up his facts and figures with 
 his own hands, whereas we had no connection 
 with the place save to help send men there who
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 129 
 
 in return sent us packets of ill-advised garden- 
 seeds. 
 
 William, indeed, made one attempt at our res- 
 cue. As Taggart closed his account of the Treas- 
 ury Building and was about to lead us to the 
 Patent Office, my son called on me to tell the 
 anecdote of Curd Tooterflail and the red rooster. 
 I have a store of anecdotes, all selected and tried 
 as being good for more than one laugh, and Wil- 
 liam was proud of them. He loved to have me 
 open up for the entertainment of friends and on 
 state occasions would cry, "Now, father, tell 
 about so-an<l-so"; and he would be the very first 
 to smile. But when I caught Taggart's cold, 
 hard-boiled eye, I knew I could never get the red 
 rooster thiough with a feather to his tail, so 
 shook my head. 
 
 "You referred to the Patent Office," says 
 Brother Wane, patient and I will say this for 
 the minister, he was a man who turned the other 
 cheek. 
 
 After dinner William, as guest of honor, was 
 placed in a corner to be surfeited on data, while 
 the minister hovered on the outskirts, and in this 
 way, Dahlia was given a breath of freedom. We 
 took her here and there, staying out of the room
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 as long as we dared, to breathe the snow-laden 
 air. William knew if he failed to show deep in- 
 terest, Taggart would look about for his wife and 
 grow resentful toward us for trying to make her 
 happy,' so he stood to his duty; and as he sat 
 under the Influence, his city surface began peeling 
 off him till, by dusk, he seemed as small and piti- 
 ful as if he had crawled back on all-fours to his 
 early boyhood. 
 
 Laidie's grandfather, in his Sunday suit cleaned 
 and brushed by Laidie, passed a troubled day. 
 B. had taken a mean advantage of her by cling- 
 ing to his undershirt and such was its length of 
 arm and dinginess of woolen wristlets that one 
 or the other was constantly showing itself, caus- 
 ing me to think of his nicely starched cuffs as 
 whited sepulchers full of what should have been 
 buried. The efforts B. made to tuck back those 
 soiled wristlets unbeknown to Taggart Gleason, 
 were enough to bring on the second stroke, yet 
 I knew he would take no lesson from his plight, 
 age and sloth had that grip on his being. 
 
 Ah! With what alacrity we skipped to our 
 feet when Brother Wane said if we didn't hurry 
 we'd be late to services, church always begins at 
 seven of winter nights lest the dark catch us
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 131 
 
 amongst deceitful sidewalks with their pitfalls of 
 missing planks. 
 
 "Stick," says Gleason, clinging to his easy chair, 
 and all forgeful of our past differences over the 
 
 Rockpile, "if you don't care to go to meeting " 
 
 And I sensed the Post Office with all its ramifica- 
 tions in the terrible memory of the man. 
 
 "But I am going," I gave cry, searching for 
 my hat; now, at that moment, the organ in the 
 meeting-house seemed to me no bigger than a 
 flea. "But if my son " 
 
 William melted through the door like a dis- 
 solving view in a lecture on Famous People I 
 Have Met, and in the confusion of setting forth 
 I heard a sly sound from the dining-room to tell 
 me he and Laidie were each clapping a slice of 
 cold turkey between the halves of biscuits, prop- 
 erly buttered, with a pickle as outrider. It made 
 me hungry, not for food (Sunday evenings, I 
 never take a morsel) but for the youth that sea- 
 soned those sandwiches, for the youth that quick- 
 ened their steps as they darted down an alley 
 toward the church, for the youth that made their 
 eyes glow as they sat side by side on the back 
 bench. 
 
 I might feel just that young, but no one would
 
 132 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 believe it of me, seeing me so large and palpable. 
 I took my seat where I hadn't sat for three years 
 and as I looked at the organ I spoke to myself 
 thus: If Taggart Gleason could drive me hither 
 to hear a gum-chewing stripling churn wind for 
 melody, with one note never still, it, although un- 
 touched, sounding forth no matter what other 
 notes came and went what might not William 
 do, in his joy of escape? Laidie must appear to 
 him as a dream of beauty and peace; and I felt 
 sure that the reaction would land him safe and 
 sound in the bonds of a formal engagement. 
 
 The main bulk of the singing was done by the 
 choir, they looking down from the platform with 
 disfavoring eye upon any in the congregation ven- 
 turing to lift a timid voice, it being part of the 
 church machinery for a group of youngsters to 
 specialize on the hymns, whilst the rest sat at 
 gaze. To-night, the young people being away 
 at their festivities for in another church-house 
 there was a Christmas Tree the choir was 
 formed of true-hearted ladies of an age when 
 spectacles do not come amiss yet are not publicly 
 used, being regarded as monuments to departed 
 youth. Therefore, conversant with their tunes, 
 but seeing not their words, they lifted their voices
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 133 
 
 in smothered cries, as in distress. Laidie and 
 William I could hear singing away in great force, 
 and from them, occasionally, I got a key to the 
 mystery in the forecastle and, more than that, 
 a key to their hearts, for well enough I knew 
 what such singing betokened, call it "religion" if 
 you will. 
 
 Brother Wane found himself in the strange 
 case of facing a packed house, for all those not 
 believing in a Christmas Tree on Sunday night 
 had flocked to hear him. Anxious to offend no 
 one of conflicting views, he was afraid to handle 
 the Word of God lest it pierce a neighbor's opin- 
 ion, so gave us a discourse on the Greatness of 
 Man. 
 
 Flip (Laidie's dog) had followed Van Buren 
 Hightower to church, though not discovered till 
 found lying at ease by the old gentleman's feet, 
 therefore not removed; for if Flip did not fall to 
 scratching (his elbow pounding the floor like 
 some housewife beating steak for breakfast) it 
 were far better to endure the silent offensiveness 
 of him than stop the sermon with his yelps. In 
 such general terms did Brother Wane address us 
 and so insufferably dull his droning, telling us 
 that we had intellects and the like whereas ani-
 
 i 3 4 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 mals are otherwise, that at last from my thought- 
 tree a thought came sailing down like a leaf un- 
 duly ripe and like-enough of as little value it was 
 this: that however great man may be and how- 
 ever wideawake his intellect, I saw where Flip 
 scored a point over him just then. For old Flip 
 just lay there peaceful, never wrinkling his eyes 
 except at such odd moments as B. remem- 
 bered his wristlets and plucked them back, auto- 
 matic. 
 
 But when, on the way home, I referred to the 
 sermon as probably the last I should ever hear 
 Brother Wane deliver 
 
 "Why?" William exclaimed, rousing himself. 
 
 "I thought it pretty good " And he just from 
 
 the city! I didn't say anything; I'd learned that 
 from Jim Bob ; but I knew what was coming 
 
 "Father!" he laid his hand on my shoulder 
 as we walked along. "It's settled; Laidie and 
 I are to be married when I finish my studies." 
 He went on, calm and superior-like : "She's a 
 fine girl. She'd make any man a good wife. 
 When a fellow starts out in life to win his way 
 among strangers he couldn't do better than to 
 have a sensible, capable girl like Laidie." 
 
 When we reached Horseshoe House I took a
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 135 
 
 good look at him as he lit the parlor lamp: just 
 as cool as a cucumber, he was. 
 
 "Do you know," he smiled, "down there in St. 
 Louis I got afraid that she might not fit into my 
 scheme of life, don't you know." 
 
 "Then you should change your schemes," I 
 told him, flat. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't change that," he cried, hasty. 
 "But it's all right. She'll fit in. She's such a sub- 
 stantial girl just what I'll need. Well, it's set- 
 tled: a year from next June it's to be, and in the 
 meantime I won't have to bother my head about 
 it. I'll just put the whole thing out of my mind; 
 one can work to better advantage so. Of course 
 I'll write to her occasionally. I hate to write 
 letters with nothing in 'em. Our wedding's 
 to be exceedingly plain. And, father" he 
 smiled again "we'll leave Taggart Gleason out 
 of it." 
 
 "To my mind," I said, dry, "Old Datty ought 
 to be the best man ; he's done considerable to bring 
 this thing about." He shrugged his shoulders; 
 it was the first time I'd ever seen anybody do it, 
 but I knew it at once by the books in the smoke- 
 house. 
 
 Of course my meaning had gone clean over
 
 136 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 his head. As to that, the full meaning of win- 
 ning such a wonder as Laidie had been lost in 
 air. William sat down before the fireplace as if 
 expecting the backlog to crawl in from the wood- 
 pile to its own funeral pyre. When he presently 
 saw me coming with the wood, up he jumped, 
 prompt enough it was simply that he had for- 
 gotten some of the old ways. He took it from 
 me to place on the flames, and, finding soot on 
 his hands, looked about, helpless. He may have 
 been seeking a lavatory, I don't know, I paid 
 no attention. 
 
 When the fire was dancing merrily we settled 
 back in our chairs, and how we did talk! And 
 wonderful things he related. But none of them 
 seemed to me so wonderful as his sitting there 
 fairly bursting with interest in his own affairs, 
 and Laidie quite forgotten not even a remorse- 
 ful twinge left because he had chosen me for his 
 night's companion, leaving Laidie to go home 
 from church with her grandfather and the dog. 
 It wasn't so much that he failed to realize his 
 tremendous good fortune, but that he couldn't 
 have been made to understand the sadness of his 
 spiritual lack. 
 
 At one time my mind showed itself so far
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 137 
 
 afield that he brought up, reproachful, with 
 "What are you thinking about, father?" 
 
 "Flip," said I. 
 
 It was about an hour later the clock had just 
 struck eleven when we were startled by run- 
 ning footsteps on our yard-path. Something fell 
 against the door, giving it a jar that made the 
 knob rattle; then I recognized Dahlia Gleason's 
 voice, high and strained 
 
 "Let me in, Stick let me in oh, let me in!" 
 just as, in the old days, she used to run to me 
 with each fresh hurt. 
 
 But well I knew, before I could get to the door, 
 that something had befallen that night not to 
 be soothed away by the touch of a friend's hand.
 
 XVI 
 
 'You Can't See Far Below a Man's Surface When 
 His Sky Is Flooded with Sunshine 
 
 AS soon as I let her through the door she 
 pushed it shut and stood with her back 
 against it, but being out of breath from running 
 and weak from fright, she would have fallen 
 if I had not caught her in my arms. "He'll kill 
 me if he gets to me," was all she said. 
 
 William's face went dark as he sprang to the 
 door. I eased her to a chair and we waited with 
 held breath, not looking at each other, and some- 
 where a dog began howling an unearthly sound 
 in the icebound night, to make one's flesh creep. 
 
 This was the first time Taggart Gleason, in 
 drunken fury, had ever driven his wife out of 
 doors, and not knowing it was to be the last, I 
 felt black anger against the smooth-faced tyrant, 
 who, a few hours earlier, had been so soft of 
 
 138
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 139 
 
 voice and flabby of hand. While we waited in 
 silence for I did not know what, a shot rang out, 
 as startling in the dead stillness as the sting of 
 a knifeblade, and a cry followed shrill and quaver- 
 ing, losing itself in the dog's howl. 
 
 Then William and I looked at each other, but 
 neither at Dahlia, who, but for her tightened grip 
 on my arm, gave no sign of having heard. 
 
 Down the street, windows were flung up, and 
 hoarse voices mingled with the upper notes of 
 excited women. Then some one ran across our 
 yard, stumbling through the newly-fallen snow 
 that edged the path, and beat upon the door. 
 
 "Open this door I" You would have thought 
 us guilty of some crime for having it shut. 
 
 Dahlia murmured with a shiver, "It's Zenia." 
 
 At that William drew it open and Taggart's 
 daughter rushed in, her face like the snowdrift, 
 but her eyes like the blaze on the hearth. Her 
 bosom was heaving with emotion so violent that 
 it made her seem larger, somehow, because she 
 was small of bone, and gave a greater force to 
 her small face because it was framed in the gold 
 of her picture-hair. And the feeling I'd always 
 held that she was like a doll faded forever as 
 she cried out
 
 i 4 o HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "Father's dead he's been murdered. . . . 
 You can go home, now, mother and be happy I" 
 She looked at her stepmother as if minded to 
 strike her in the face, and Dahlia fell back as if 
 she had been struck. 
 
 I've often sat and thought of suitable words 
 that might have been flung back at the grief- 
 crazed girl, and I reckon I've gathered as many 
 as a bushel. But at the time of need all grew 
 too high for my reach, so I could only look at 
 her, stricken dumb. Then out of the door she 
 flung, and we could hear her rushing through the 
 street right down the middle of the road 
 through snow and all screaming that her father 
 had been murdered. 
 
 "For God's sake don't let the murderer es- 
 cape," we heard her cry. "Take him with the 
 
 blood on his hands " And other words too 
 
 dreadful from a young girl's lips. 
 
 But I've always been glad I heard her that 
 night calling for a rope around Lane Laclede's 
 neck, for I'd never have understood her, else. 
 For you can't know people if seen only in calm 
 weather, for depth of character must be meas- 
 ured by the stress of one's passionate hour; and 
 in that hour I learned that Zenia Gleason crying
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 141 
 
 for revenge was stronger than Dahlia fainting 
 in her chair. 
 
 Like a flash William had sped away to send 
 me help and here came Laidie like a breeze off 
 a rose-garden and maybe I didn't breath her 
 deep ! For a minute life had seemed to stop dead 
 still, but at sight of her eyes it went right on 
 ticking. She took Dahlia in her capable hands, 
 being free to minister to her as one woman with 
 another, I having been baffled by the mystery of 
 sex, and some good time lost. 
 
 After I had lifted her to bed and Laidie had 
 nodded my release, away I darted, meaning to 
 get to the marrow of the matter and suck it to 
 the dry bone. But just as I grabbed the top of 
 the back fence to vault over, I was brought up 
 stockstill by footsteps running toward me from 
 the alley that leads across from the shop. Some- 
 body stopped, breathing hard, and then a voice 
 
 "Is that you, Stick?" 
 
 Although it was so dark nothing but snow- 
 light and although I had heard that voice but 
 a few times and had thought never to hear it 
 again, I didn't have to ask who she was. It was 
 the girl-out-of-the-common, she who had left her 
 name at home.
 
 XVII 
 
 A Man Is Like to Starve When Waiting for the 
 Ravens to Feed Him, Unless He Has Fat of 
 His Own to Draw On 
 
 I WAS spellbound, but it took her a mighty 
 short time to lift the spell. 
 
 "Stick, if they find Lane Laclede they'll hang 
 
 him sure " She spoke as if she'd been among 
 
 our people all her life. "He must be kept out 
 of sight, for Taggart Gleason's daughter has set 
 the whole town crazy. The truth of the killing 
 will never be known they'll not listen to one 
 word while they're in their red mood not if they 
 come across him to-night. That girl just runs 
 from street to street, her hair streaming and her 
 eyes " 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me Lane Laclede has 
 run away? He'd never do it!" I was so taken 
 out of myself by her words that I made nothing 
 
 142
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 143 
 
 of my surprise at finding her at my back gate. 
 
 She spoke so fast that her voice reminded me 
 of wind running over dead leaves. "He gave 
 himself up to the sheriff as soon as it happened, 
 but the sheriff doesn't dare take him to the jail 
 the mob would break it open and murder the 
 prisoner. You must help, Stick, and there isn't 
 a second to lose, either." 
 
 I climbed over the fence. Leap it I couldn't, 
 for I hadn't enough spirit in my legs just then 
 to have jumped me over a blade of grass. She 
 drew me along back up the alley. I followed 
 without a word, for when I have no plan of my 
 own, I go with one who has till I find where it 
 leads. We could hardly see, for the snow was 
 only like a sort of pale lining to the velvet dark- 
 ness of the night, but she knew the way to the 
 rear of the shop as well as I did. It was cold 
 enough to stiffen the snow, but the crunching of 
 our feet passed unheard because of the wild ex- 
 citement on Main Street so presently we were 
 safe inside the back-end of the blacksmith shop 
 without the neighbors being any the wiser. 
 
 Here in the inky darkness we found the sheriff 
 Cadwitch Beam was just as incompetent as by 
 daylight, not having been lifted to a man's size
 
 144 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 by the night's crisis, but crouching against the 
 workbench as one waiting for the ravens to come 
 to feed him, though himself no Elijah. 
 
 In a breath I learned the state of affairs: by 
 the sheriff's advice, Lane Laclede had slipped 
 out of town, purposing to conceal himself in my 
 cottage down at the Mineral Springs (three miles 
 distant), there to wait for the officer. It was 
 Cadwitch Beam's intention to carry him thence 
 by stealth to the next county jail, for it was known 
 that Lane had given himself up, and it was just 
 as important in the meantime that one of them 
 should be kept hidden as the other; for if the 
 mob, egged on by Zenia Gleason, found Cad, they 
 would soon pry open his mouth. 
 
 In the meantime, William had gone for horses 
 for Cadwitch, himself and myself, we latter as 
 sheriff's deputies, that we might reach the cot- 
 tage and take Laclede. And it was very strange, 
 waiting there in the stillness of the shop whose 
 familiar smells all seemed unfamiliar, trying to 
 think of a way out of the day's tangle and won- 
 dering what William had said to the girl-out-of- 
 the-common, when they met.
 
 XVIII 
 
 Rob a Man of His Chance, and No One Can Say 
 What He Would Have Done 
 
 IN a very short time a signal at the big door 
 warned us to open it without noise. William 
 rode in, slipped to the ground, gave the bridle to 
 me and his hand to the girl-out-of-the-common. 
 She thought it wonderful that he should be able 
 to pick up beast and saddle and ride through town 
 unsuspected, and was not backward with her 
 words, praising him as heartily as she did every- 
 thing, and making as much of him as of me. 
 
 Three times he came with a saddled horse and 
 each time he had her hand to clasp, so at the 
 third horse I cried enough. 
 
 "One more, Stick," says the girl, with a tease 
 in her voice, u the Unintended is going along with 
 you." And she explained that there must be an 
 extra horse for Laclede to ride when Cad and 
 
 145
 
 i 4 6 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 Bill took him to the next county. "And as for 
 you," said she, "you and I will ride back double, 
 unless you make me walk." 
 
 "You see, father," says William, eager, "if 
 we led along the horse for Lane, its saddle empty, 
 people would know in a minute what's up; but 
 if she rides it, nobody'll suspect that we're going 
 for the prisoner." 
 
 "It's not to be thought of," I told them. "This 
 is men's business and there was never a girl yet 
 except those in the books in the smokehouse 
 who could play a man's part." 
 
 "Father," says William, "it's evident we can't 
 lead an empty saddle out of this shop, so the 
 young lady will have to go with us. But as to 
 her coming back, if you think you'd be too heavy 
 to ride with her double, you can go on with 
 Cad and Lane, and /'// come back home with the 
 young lady, riding double." 
 
 Of course I told him there should be no such 
 thing; and as soon as he had gone after the fourth 
 horse I turned upon the girl in no peaceful mood 
 with, "When did you come to town, and why are 
 you here? Does your uncle know of this?" 
 
 She didn't want to tell me, so said that if we 
 conversed our voices might be overheard by the
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 147 
 
 ^archers. She was right; and when one is in 
 the right and at the same time is having one's 
 own way, no amount of arguing is going to put 
 him in the wrong. 
 
 When the fourth horse, came, we mounted, for 
 though it would have been safer on other counts 
 to wait under cover till the mob had scattered, we 
 knew a neigh or whinney would bring people to 
 the door. William rode with Cad Beam down 
 the alley past Horseshoe House, under the rail- 
 road trestle and by the old mill to the outskirts 
 of town, while I with the Unintended cut right 
 across Main Street. I planted myself well-rooted 
 in the public eye, calling out lustily that I was 
 looking for Lane Laclede and was determined to 
 get him. There were curious glances at my com- 
 panion, but she, all in black with head well hid- 
 den, was supposed to be Mrs. Taggart Gleason, 
 since everybody knew Dahlia had always been 
 one of my pets. Just west of the far depot the 
 four of us came together and galloped along the 
 Browntown road, that if we be observed, our 
 destination might not be guessed. 
 
 I had nothing to say to the girl as we sent 
 the snow flying behind us, and William, heavy at 
 having to ride beside the sheriff, wouldn't open
 
 148 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 his mouth, so for about a mile we were speech- 
 less. And we were just nearing the branch road 
 which would take us in a roundabout way to the 
 south road leading to the Springs, when we heard 
 hoofbeats other than oui own, and found our- 
 selves being hotly pursued. 
 
 I fell back to shout to Cad: "It's McFeeter's 
 mare !" Plunging ahead, we looked keenly about 
 for cover, knowing we couldn't keep ahead of that 
 racer, for there was no animal in the county the 
 equal of McFeeter's mare, and that is why Mrs. 
 McFeeter made him sell it. Having been bought 
 by Richard Purly, it was but fair to guess that 
 the assistant cashier was even now upon its back, 
 as violent to capture Laclede as he had been to 
 buy the Rockpile. 
 
 Pretty soon William called: "There's more 
 than one!" True; behind the racer came a sec- 
 ond, and behind the second, others. Afterwards 
 we learned that Zenia, seeing me and the Unin- 
 tended, had suspected the truth, and had sent 
 the fleetest to overhaul us. Whether or not she 
 thought the black dressed figure on horseback 
 her stepmother, she believed the enterprise un- 
 der way meant the rescue of Laclede. 
 
 On either side of the road rose high banks
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 149 
 
 that continued so far we dared not hold to the 
 road, so we took the steep at a run meaning to 
 hide in the woods; for here ran an arm of Mid- 
 way Forest in which Giles Flitterfled once succeed- 
 ed in hiding from the whole county. Cadwitch 
 Beam, finding he couldn't make his horse climb, 
 slipped off and scrambled up after us, leaving his 
 sorrel snorting in the snowdrift to call attention to 
 our whereabouts. 
 
 "Well," said I, very angry, when he dashed 
 among the trees to where I waited with the Unin- 
 tended safely screened from view, "well, Man- 
 Ostrich, how do you dol" 
 
 William gave me his bridle to hold, and off he 
 jumped, and I knew that once he had Cad's horse 
 between his legs the old sorrel would come up 
 that wall like a fly. But when he had him up 
 so much good time had been lost that he was 
 espied by Richard Purly, dark though it was, 
 before he could get behind the snow-laden trees. 
 Purly, on his racer, took the bank like the swift 
 opening of scissor-blades, crying for us to give 
 up Lane Laclede. 
 
 William called to me in that underground tone 
 that always gave warning something was about 
 to happen "Sit tight!" And we retreated far-
 
 150 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 ther back in the woods. I never knew what he 
 did to Richard Purly; I never felt curious enough 
 to ask him, and Purly never volunteered the in- 
 formation; whatever it was, it made Purly his 
 enemy for life, but not a dangerous enemy. At 
 any rate, William kept him perfectly silent till 
 his companions, thinking he'd raced on along the 
 west road, passed us on their course to Brown- 
 town. 
 
 After that we didn't draw rein till we reached 
 the bridge over Midway Creek on the south road. 
 Here at our slowing up, William, by some de- 
 vice, brought himself alongside the Unintended 
 and in spite of all I could do, kept with her, 
 knee to knee, the rest of the journey, so that I 
 must needs ride ahead with Cad. From time to 
 time, I could hear their voices, not swung in 
 minor chords to harmonize with the night's trag- 
 edy, but ringing clear and free like soaring bird- 
 notes. Ah, well, it's youth for wings to keep 
 in air when troubles are laying snares for lagging 
 feet old age may hop with a brave heart, but 
 must hop on the ground. What could those two 
 have found to talk about? Cad and I were like 
 deaf-mutes. 
 
 I judged that by the time we reached the
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 151 
 
 Springs cottage, William and his Unintended 
 would be better acquainted than if they had be- 
 longed a week to the same singing class at any 
 one of our seven churches; and the way he lifted 
 her from her horse at the journey's end put a 
 seal on my judgment. It confused me to have 
 their friendship developing before my eyes at the 
 very time I should have been free to give all my 
 thoughts to Laclede's plight; for having tethered 
 our horses and crept into the unfurnished cottage 
 with only the snow-light to show palely at star- 
 ing windows, I felt numbed to Laclede's sorrow 
 from thinking of the danger to Laidie's peace of 
 mind. 
 
 He was walking up and down the bare floor 
 when we went in, and he never stood still a mo- 
 ment after that. We couldn't see each other 
 distinctly, of course, and yet I perceived somehow 
 that Lane Laclede was an altered man. The old- 
 time good-natured and easy going slackness of 
 our handsome young citizen was gone, and, un- 
 less I was very much mistaken, would never 
 return. 
 
 "I didn't mean to kill him," he jerked out the 
 words. "He said he'd have my life. ... I wish 
 to God he had."
 
 152 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 Cadwitch broke in: "Don't commit yourself, 
 Lane; don't make a statement." 
 
 "I just happened to be passing his house," Lane 
 paid him no attention; "I often go by that house 
 I used to board there, you know. I wasn't 
 thinking about anything especially and Dahlia 
 came running out of the door; well, yes, I had 
 been thinking about her, a little. So somehow 
 I didn't seem surprised. But in a second I saw 
 that she was scared half to death, and there was 
 a man behind her with a hatchet and he was crazy- 
 drunk. It was Taggart. 'You stand there,' I 
 said to him and he stood there. It must have 
 been something in the way I spoke, I guess, for 
 I remember I was surprised when he stopped. I 
 was afraid he'd rush past me. Dahlia ran on, 
 never looking back. Then he said he'd have my 
 life. And he started to throw the hatchet at 
 my head. That is, I thought he made a move- 
 ment to throw it. He did make the movement, 
 but it might have been just to bluff me. He might 
 never have thrown It at me, after all. Do you 
 think he would have, Stick? You knew him pretty 
 well do you think he would have?" 
 
 Cadwitch cried out, "There shouldn't be a word 
 of all this. I'm bound to report all that I hear."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 153 
 
 "I don't care what happens to me," Lane went 
 on in his lifeless tones. "I'd have let the fellows 
 take me and do what they pleased, only it would 
 break Dahlia's heart for me to die that way. 
 She'd want me to have fair play. I'm not car- 
 ing. I felt sure he meant to split my head open 
 with the hatchet, but that wasn't what made me 
 do it. Of a sudden it came over me what Dahlia 
 had endured all these years, only to be driven 
 out of her house at last. It was too big for me. 
 I just shot him down where he stood. I aimed at 
 his heart, and I shot him through the heart." 
 
 "Come!" cried the sheriff, rough and hard-set, 
 "we must get out of this before the boys follow 
 our tracks." 
 
 Lane grasped my arm and tried to make out 
 the expression on my face. I was glad it was 
 dark, and I tried as hard as ever I tried anything 
 in my life to keep from the least shrinking under 
 his touch. He said: "I told myself, Til kill the 
 hell-hound!' I never dreamed I could feel as 
 I did such raging hate! And the next thing I 
 knew he was dead with his blood all over the snow 
 and I didn't hate him. I had no more feeling 
 for him than for one of the bare trees. Except 
 to wish that it had been the other way with me
 
 154 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 on the ground and him to walk away and hide. 
 If Taggart was alive now my God!" But he 
 didn't cry out the words, just spoke them one like 
 the other, slow and flat. 
 
 The Unintended spoke, very quiet and sooth- 
 ing: "Suppose he were alive, Lane, and you saw 
 him strike Dahlia?" 
 
 There was a wild flare in his voice: "I'd do 
 it again I" 
 
 When Cadwitch and William had taken him 
 away, I was for dragging in a wornout stove 
 from the rubbish pile of the last tenant, for it 
 had grown colder. But the girl wouldn't hear 
 to it and presently we were riding double back 
 to town. We didn't talk at first, for her man- 
 ner of parting from William had not left a word 
 on my tongue. Her first speech was about Lane 
 Laclede 
 
 "It's made a man of him!" 
 
 I said, "Never a happy man, to his dying 
 day." 
 
 She caught me up with, "What of that? Life 
 has nobler gifts to offer than happiness." 
 
 After awhile I asked, "Did Bill tell you of his 
 engagement to Laidie?" 
 
 "Yes, he told me everything." Her voice was
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 155 
 
 very soft. She laughed a little, breaking off with 
 a curious sound in her throat. Then she drew 
 her horse closer so she could pat my arm, mur- 
 muring, "Never fear, Stick I'm just his dear 
 Unintended. Bill's a real man, too; he's not 
 wavering." 
 
 After crossing the red bridge we took a seldom- 
 used road back to town, and on the way 
 she explained her presence in Mizzouryville. 
 Learning from the county paper to which she 
 was now a subscriber that William was ex- 
 pected home from city training, and being eager 
 to see how well he had progressed, she had 
 yielded to the lust of adventure, hoping to pass 
 the night at Dahlia Gleason's. Knowing both 
 Taggart and his daughter would make objections, 
 she hoped to gain Dahlia's private ear and be 
 stowed away until early morning in the room she 
 had once occupied, with the rest of the family 
 none the wiser. Zenia was spending Christmas 
 day with Mrs. Peggy Overstreet, serving as a 
 sort of upper servant to help entertain Mrs. 
 Peggy's house party of high champaign people 
 from Kansas City. Taggart, after his big dinner 
 at Van Buren Hightower's, had ensconsed him- 
 self in the rear of Walrus's drugstore for, since
 
 156 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 our last election, Santa Claus was afraid to bring 
 whisky down a front chimney. Mrs. Gleason, be- 
 ing thus to herself when the Unintended called, 
 agreed to the plan not only because of real liking 
 for the girl, but from horror at the thought of 
 her being without shelter through the winter 
 night. 
 
 All might have gone well had not Mrs. Peggy, 
 tiring of Zenia, sent her home earlier than ex- 
 pected; whereupon Zenia, in spiteful mood, 
 stopped at the drugstore to force her father from 
 his flowing cups. On reaching home in confu- 
 sion, the guest's presence was discovered, and the 
 sight of her caused the drunken man to remem- 
 ber the true words she had once cast in his teeth. 
 I have always believed Taggart would have 
 killed his wife had not Lane Laclede happened 
 along. 
 
 "And what's to become of you?" I asked my 
 little friend as we entered town. I believed 
 Horseshoe House filled with women gathered 
 about Dahlia; but had it been empty it would 
 have been still less suitable for sheltering a young 
 girl. I felt keenly her folly in venturing out of 
 her uncle's ken, but said no more on that head, 
 deeming it sufficient punishment for her to re-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 157 
 
 fleet that had she stayed at home, the killing might 
 never have taken place. 
 
 "I'm going away on the midnight freight," she 
 presently answered; "for I've got what I came 
 for," she added soft and low. 
 
 I didn't ask what William had given her I 
 was afraid. So without words we rode to the 
 far depot, and walked the platform when the 
 red-hot stove drove us out of doors, and listened 
 to the singing of the telegraph-wires, and watched 
 where the roads had pushed their bare black arms 
 through the snow. 
 
 She was the only passenger to board the train. 
 "Take care of her, Jim," I said to the brakeman, 
 "she's worth lots more than she knows." She 
 knew mighty well what I meant, and gave me 
 a smile, slow and wistful. 
 
 The last I saw, she was standing on the rear 
 platform of the caboose, a slight black muffled 
 figure, with the gleam from the green lantern 
 palely touching her cheek, and showing the wide 
 sweep of her arm as she waved good-by.
 
 XIX 
 
 You May Live and Die in the Best Set of This 
 World with No Assurance of Getting/ into the 
 Upper Circles of the Next 
 
 OF my parting from the Unintended. I made 
 for William but a brief tale, after which 
 she was not mentioned between us till he went 
 back to his city hothouse to be forced to early 
 flowering. But there was so much noise over 
 the murder that one scarcely noticed if one or 
 more keys on the organ went mute. Mizzoury- 
 ville had not known a tragedy since the Civil 
 War, and when what you read in the papers 
 comes to your very door, it makes you a for- 
 eigner to yourself. That's why the mob, driven 
 mad by Zenia's thirst for vengeance, sought Lane 
 Laclede the whole night through, swearing he 
 must be hung to the nearest tree yet at sunrise 
 there wasn't a man in town who would have 
 
 158
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 159 
 
 harmed a hair of his head. The very men who 
 had been fierce to stretch his neck now wanted 
 to grip his hand. 
 
 In safe time he came back and stood his trial 
 with credit, coming out a bigger man than when 
 he went in. We had all liked Lane, but as he'd 
 ever taken himself at very modest value, and 
 as a man should know best about himself, he had 
 been set down as worth that much and no more. 
 But now people thought a great deal more of his 
 life because he'd killed a man to save it. 
 
 When William was gone, and after all that 
 could be said about Taggart's death and Lane's 
 trial had been hashed up so often that there was 
 no taste left to the gravy, I began to be terribly 
 lonesome. More than fifteen months I had lived 
 alone, and though friends came in and out, some 
 to borrow, never returning, and others dividing 
 loafing-time between me and the Bench it wasn't 
 the same as if William had been there. Just to 
 have had the bulk of him at his anvil would have 
 cheered me more than a dozen clacking tongues 
 at the door. At first it was bitter hard to ac- 
 cept the truth that this was never again to be; 
 but if I must wear a yoke that doesn't fit, I try 
 to square my shoulders to it as best I can.
 
 160 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 Therefore, seeing how it was like to be with 
 me the rest of my days, I began casting my eyes 
 abroad. First, I went straight to Laidie's grand- 
 father's to engage three meals a day (but only 
 two of Sundays) ; they needed the income, and 
 now that William was as good as a man of the 
 house, I had, of course, a kinsman's footing 
 there. Second, to town I went and bought the 
 highest priced and I presume the best suit of 
 clothes in Mizzouryville, tailor-made; and thus 
 accoutered I stepped into the barbershop to bid 
 my beard farewell. Third, I went to the Lac- 
 lede Grocery. 
 
 Where the Bench had stood all summer was 
 drifted snow, but well enough I knew it was to 
 be found behind the hot stove in the back-end, 
 with the old men on it, their overcoats steam- 
 ing. Sure enough, there were Van Buren High- 
 tower, who didn't speak, as I'd seen him once 
 before that day, and Captain Little Dave Over- 
 street and Jim Bob Peterson; also Curd Tooter- 
 flail who had fallen heir to poor Taggart's place. 
 And listening to their tales of dead old settlers 
 was Lane Laclede with his wistful smile and 
 that sudden occasional jerk of the arm I'd never 
 noticed till just lately.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 161 
 
 Knowing that what I dropped there would 
 soon sprout up through every way and byway 
 of the village, I said, succinct, that I was cast- 
 ing my eyes abroad, and that by Christmas fol- 
 lowing I expected to be a married man. Though 
 I spoke in jest, they were not so blinded by my 
 wit as to lose sight of my meaning, and Jim Bob, 
 meaning to rise to the subtlety of it, leapt up as 
 if to dance nimbly to the festive idea. He would 
 have capered like a boy but rheumatism took 
 him, so that he only lifted one leg and was glad 
 enough to sit down again. 
 
 Leaving it to work, I went home, and con- 
 stantly wore my best clothes when upon the street, 
 and was at every church dinner and bazaar. 
 Presently I found myself invited to little gather- 
 ings and became once more a man of note, I 
 having been accepted during the solitary months 
 of my home cooking and laundry work, as a 
 family horse turned out to die. It had ceased 
 to occur to my best friends always except B. 
 and Laidie to invite me to their spreads, I be- 
 ing set down, like enough, as too old to care 
 for fried chicken and jollity; but now I was 
 placed on the lists of the very strangers within 
 our gates.
 
 1 62 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 But it's one thing to decide to marry and a 
 different one to find the woman. There were 
 faces that pleased and voices that soothed, but 
 whenever I thought of accepting any particular 
 hand and placing my broom in it, so well bul- 
 warked was I by experience with William's poor 
 mother, that broom swept out of my brain all 
 prospects of a peaceful future. So the summer 
 left me unsuited, though hard sought after, as 
 having a good house, a good business, and money 
 in the bank. 
 
 That summer was memorable for my sale of 
 the Mineral Springs property to Big Dave Over- 
 street. It had always been a burden to me, the 
 rent never paid except the first month's advance, 
 the tenants continually breaking up my fencing 
 or snatching the very lathes off the walls in des- 
 peration of winter coldness and perennial sloth. 
 Now, Big Dave was buying up the half-dozen 
 huts and cottages thereabouts to turn a penny by 
 the rents, believing he could make tenants pay, 
 knowing himself hard and capable, and knowing 
 they would more readily yield up their money to 
 a man already rich. I felt my conscience free in 
 thus ridding myself of the incubus, for I knew 
 Big Dave Overstreet would never part with the
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 163 
 
 land to any Improvement Company but I didn't 
 look far enough ahead. 
 
 Mrs. Patty had died that spring; yes, had left 
 the best set in Mizzouryville for a less fashionable 
 circle in the other world. She was not old, she 
 had no chronic complaint, and if anything but silk 
 got next to her skin it was because she preferred 
 satin. I grieved for her sincerely as knowing her 
 to be so well suited in this world, and hardly to- 
 have given thought to picking out her place over 
 yonder. And Big Dave was so loud of grief, 
 so sure his heart was broken well, he hypno- 
 tized me. But when I heard, the week after I 
 told him the Springs land three months after 
 his wife's death that he'd married Zenia Glea- 
 son, I foresaw just how things would turn out. 
 
 Nothing had ever gotten the better of Big 
 Dave until that year. Farm hands who idled 
 on other farms lost ftesh on his. If the corn- 
 crop was poor, he'd staked all his chances on 
 wheat, and when the cattle market was high 
 he was ready to sell. He could squeeze water 
 out of the bottom of a dry well. Mrs. Patty's 
 death was his first big jolt, but he soon found 
 himself in the running with a wife twice as young 
 as his first, the prettiest blond in the county
 
 1 64 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 took her right away from his nephew. And as 
 between the green lankness of poor Lanky and 
 the old age of Big Dave, I saw where Zenia was 
 wise. 
 
 But that fall Big Dave met something he 
 couldn't turn out of doors, something he couldn't 
 cut on the price. And shortly after the funeral, 
 which came three days after his fall from the 
 McFeeter mare, it grew current that all his prop- 
 erty was in his wife's name, therefore safe from 
 lawyer's toll. Then came the dreadful news that 
 the young widow had sold the Mineral Springs 
 and adjoining territory to Richard Purly. I dare 
 say she looked upon it as a pious act to finish the 
 work her father had begun ; and she knew it would 
 harass her stepmother; and I don't know which 
 makes you feel the more religious to carry out 
 a loved one's wishes or to give a prod to some- 
 body you deem at fault. 
 
 Days followed that I cannot recall without dis- 
 tress of mind. Well do I know that our Mineral 
 Springs boom is of interest too local to make 
 wide appeal, but one or two items concerning 
 it must be set forth, else I might as well empty 
 out my ink and give place to the books of other 
 men.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 165 
 
 A boom started a quick growth on stony 
 ground with no chance for the taproot to strike 
 downward. Transfer of land always creates a 
 stir amongst us, being unsettling to our minds, 
 and now followed fast the report that the Col- 
 lege had been sold to whom, no one could find 
 out, for the owners had recorded the deed as the 
 sole property of Jim Bob Peterson, having 
 learned, no doubt, his fixed principle, I mean 
 that of not talking. Ostensibly, the College now 
 belonged to Jim Bob, though every one knew he 
 had nothing but his rundown farm and his seat 
 on the Bench. Also, talk of a new railroad be- 
 gan to float about our heads, and it was whis- 
 pered that the College would be the depot. Like 
 a snake warmed out of torpor the old water- 
 works proposition came to life, and the hue and 
 cry about building a new high school was re- 
 born. And those who had replaced their wooden 
 sidewalks with granitoid agitated the idea of forc- 
 ing the more conservative to follow suit. On 
 Thanksgiving Day, Lancaster Overstreet, with 
 a new sweetheart by his side, came into town in 
 his shiny new automobile, driving it himself. It 
 was the first auto ever to enter our town except 
 those of strangers, and it made a noise and a
 
 1 66 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 smell that scared every horse along Main Street 
 so that it was at least an hour before a team of 
 mules could be got close enough to haul it to 
 Lanky's woodhouse, now his garage (it having 
 gone dead before the courthouse and impeding 
 traffic). 
 
 In consequence of this turbulent state of af- 
 fairs, Mizzouryville found itself divided into two 
 parties, one opposed to enlargement, the other 
 craving an influx of strangers. Old-time friends 
 ceased speaking, though as to that, we seldom 
 speak when we meet unless with something to 
 say, even if friendly which as a rule we are 
 not to any great extent. On the other hand, 
 people with the same idea of "civic improve- 
 ment" were drawn close together, even if a church 
 quarrel had kept them at bitter odds for years 
 the fire burning as hot as at the beginning though 
 like enough it had forgotten the kindling that 
 started it. 
 
 Of course, as Christmas grew on, I had an 
 other interest besides fighting so-called "improve, 
 ment" the return of William. His letters had 
 grown far between, but were still affectionate to 
 me and polite to Laidie, and by comparing them 
 we kept track of his movements, though far in
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 167 
 
 his rear. From the amount of work he turned 
 out, we grew fearful for his health. 
 
 But when I laid eyes on him, at the station, I 
 perceived that his trouble was only of the mind. 
 There was a six-inch snow on the ground, and 
 as much, of course, on the sidewalks, there be- 
 ing an ordinance touching its removal, but always 
 a street commissioner with a strong pull on the 
 courthouse gang and a wide slackness in his 
 work for the public. 
 
 William plowed along through the drifts never 
 choosing the best way, and his tone of voice 
 showed he didn't care how deep he got in. 
 "Father, there's a matter to be settled before I 
 can sleep." 
 
 "In good time, son " For his voice called 
 
 for a bright lamp on the table and all my eyes 
 on guard. I didn't know what was amiss, but 
 something darted through my mind giving the 
 same thrilling shock I'd experienced on hearing 
 that the College was sold. He was in a hurry 
 to "tell his story," as say the books in the smoke- 
 house, but I wouldn't hear a word till the fire 
 was built up in the parlor with the curtains drawn, 
 the lamp set in the midst of my Christmas pres- 
 ents, and easy chairs pulled close together.
 
 1 68 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 Then, instead of making a beginning, he raised 
 between himself and his trouble a pretended in- 
 terest in my presents the pretty razor made to 
 catch the eye and pull the hair and divers orna- 
 mental booklets like "The Psalm of Life," set 
 forth in wavery letters hard to read, a picture 
 here and there, and no new matter. 
 
 We talked for a time about these gifts in the 
 manner of men holding bad news out the door. 
 The year previous I had been given not so much, 
 as the wrappings of my little finger, for a con- 
 tagion had spread of giving only to the very 
 poor. Having, therefore, hunted out the few 
 shiftless, good-for-nothing families which, accord- 
 ing to prophecy, we've always had with us, upon 
 their dazed and tousled heads were poured the 
 blessings of the holiday season and not so much 
 as a "Merry Christmas I" to a man with two 
 coats. But now since I had begun to cast my 
 eyes abroad it was with me otherwise. 
 
 William paid little heed, but my feeling of 
 coming disappointment faded in satisfaction over 
 his face and form and city bearing. Already he 
 was as much at odds with the young blades of 
 Mizzouryville as would have been the Eads 
 Bridge swung across Midway Creek. I named
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 169 
 
 him a success. Just as a city is larger than a 
 village, so a city-man should be larger than a 
 countryman if he make any display on the horizon 
 of other men's minds. And William was already 
 too big for our town though like-enough not yet 
 big enough for New York. 
 
 "Father! " 
 
 Then I knew it was coming. 
 
 But it came hard. "Father, I must tell you 
 something before I sleep . . . it's going to be 
 difficult for you to grasp it ... very difficult." 
 
 There came the same shock that had thrilled 
 me on our way from the depot though up till 
 then if I'd had nerves I'd never known it. And 
 in a flash I saw that the one thing I would not 
 let myself think, the only thing that ought not 
 to happen, was about to be put into spoken words.
 
 XX 
 
 Bend Your Energies to Getting All You Can 
 Out of Life, and There'll Be Mighty Small 
 Leavings for Somebody Else 
 
 AS I sat speechless, William tried again, des- 
 perate: "It's about Laidie. I " He 
 
 couldn't say it with my eyes on his, and began 
 to walk about the room. 
 
 "William, I'm afraid you've always stopped 
 right there." 
 
 He checked himself to ask my meaning. 
 
 "I mean with your '/.' T has always come 
 first in your affair, hasn't it, William?" 
 
 And I gave him his choice of names, grim 
 enough. 
 
 He walked back and forth. "Perhaps so." 
 He moved about. "And shouldn't it come first, 
 when it's a matter of life and death?" A minute 
 later: "It's self-defense, it's a law of nature." 
 
 170
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 171 
 
 "A gentleman defends his wife first of all." 
 
 "I shall never have a wife." 
 
 At that my blood burned, and I was upon my 
 feet. "Then you are no gentleman," I said. 
 
 "Father!" He was as pale as a living man 
 can be. 
 
 But I went on: "You'll find that what we in 
 the country call dishonor is called dishonor in 
 the town." I didn't raise my voice; it sunk 
 lower and lower till it sounded like that of a 
 strange man. "When one breaks his word, his 
 character is forever after nothing but a shat- 
 tered pane of glass." I think I fell back in my 
 chair then, though it may have been later. Not 
 a muscle of his face moved. I think he kept 
 walking about. We were silent for about half 
 an hour, it seemed, though it may not have been 
 five minutes. 
 
 The flames of the fireplace were so cheerful 
 on this, the most cheerful season of the year, but 
 their glow only made the heart-shadows darker. 
 
 "I'll never be able to look Laidie in the face," 
 I heard myself saying. "Nor anybody else. The 
 men in the shop. The boys on the Bench." 
 
 No answer. I think he did not hear. 
 
 After a time: "Have you written of your
 
 172 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 changed mind to Laidie " And my voice 
 
 broke at all that the dear name stood for. 
 
 He answered, low and constrained, "I've 
 waited to tell her face-to-face. I realize that I 
 don't love Laidie and never have; and never 
 
 can." 
 
 "What's the name of the girl that taught you 
 this?" 
 
 "I told her good-by at the Springs; I've never 
 seen her since, or heard of her, and I don't know 
 her name, or how to go to her. I suppose we'll 
 never meet again. But I learned from her that 
 love doesn't mean Laidie." 
 
 "You care nothing about breaking her heart?" 
 
 "Hers isn't the kind that's broken. But this 
 is what I mean to do, father explain just how 
 I feel, then, if she's willing, go ahead with it. 
 That'll break my heart all right, but nobody'll 
 hear me murmur " And he clenched his fists. 
 
 Never had I spoken to him as on that night, 
 but something within urged me to strike still 
 harder blows; a curious feeling I had, and dread- 
 ful, as if I'd breathed flames to the bottom of 
 my lungs. I know I was standing at last, for I 
 remember we looked at each other with our eyes 
 on a level, and about us a great stillness. It was
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 173 
 
 hard for me to realize that he was no longer a 
 boy. But with that white face turned upon me, 
 I stumbled to the truth that here was a man 
 who must choose his own courses and sign his 
 own checks on life's bank, to draw out, from 
 time to time, only such as he had put into it 
 with his own hands. 
 
 Suddenly I saw everything different. This was 
 no longer our home, but mine; and his marrying 
 or not marrying was not our future happiness or 
 sorrow, but his, his alone for all time. My young 
 bird, wings grown strong, would not take so much 
 as a straw from the parent-nest to use in making 
 his own. 
 
 It was William who broke the deathlike still- 
 ness: "Father, under the circumstances, this is 
 the only honorable thing to do: tell her I don't 
 love her and leave it in her hands. Surely you 
 will agree to this?" 
 
 "Under the circumstances yes." I had to 
 say it. 
 
 There came a yearning look in his eyes. 
 "Father, I think any son of yours after passing 
 all his life with you, must be a gentleman." 
 
 "At any rate," I made answer, "you have 
 proved yourself one." And until we went to bed,
 
 i 7 4 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 we sat before the hearth in deep silence, broken 
 only when I rose to put wood on the fire. From his 
 set face I knew he would tell Laidie on the mor- 
 row. Well, there's a good deal in knowing a 
 thing simply has to be it takes the springs from 
 under the bed and you know before you lie down 
 that you're going to lie flat. My bitterness was 
 gone though not my sorrow; yet even that sor- 
 row was slowly mellowed like a black cloud when 
 the sun begins boring its way through. For how- 
 ever much a man to himself, here sat my boy; 
 and however headstrong, he'd been away twelve 
 months and would soon be gone again. 
 
 The clock struck. 
 
 "It's nine," I had to tell him, for, fresh from 
 city ways, he thought like enough that the evening 
 was but begun. 
 
 He gave a start and drew a long breath, then 
 turned. And when he saw my face a mist sprang 
 to his eyes, and his mouth trembled ever so 
 slightly. 
 
 I reached him my hand; all I said was "Bill!" 
 
 And then he told me that he loved me as much 
 as ever although I had spoken cruel words. And 
 he said he was sorry to hurt me, but felt it his 
 duty. And he promised that after this great
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 175 
 
 trouble was settled, life should be as peaceful and 
 happy for me as he could make it. 
 
 All this he told me, though not one word did 
 he speak just said it by the grip of his hand. 
 Seemed like we couldn't bear any sort of con- 
 versation then except mind-talk. So, still hold- 
 ing each other's hands, we rose. I walked with 
 him to his old room to make sure he had every- 
 thing he needed as if I hadn't seen to all a' 
 dozen times that day! and coming softly back, 
 I covered over the fire. 
 
 The ashes left a small hole at the top so all 
 the air wouldn't be excluded, and when I had 
 taken the lamp to my room and slipped back 
 to see that all was trim for morning, a tiny gleam 
 came out of the blackness showing the shadowy 
 forms of the two chairs before the hearth and a 
 bit of the glass cover of the clock. Even so was 
 the darkness of the future somewhat relieved. 
 Whatever happened, my boy still loved me. I 
 had seen it by something not often seen in a 
 man's eyes; I had felt it in the crushing grip of 
 his hand when I called him "Bill."
 
 XXI 
 
 Though We Sing and Dance in the Light, Then 
 Pass Away, Other Voices Will Catch Our 
 Songs, and Our Children Will Love the Sun- 
 shine on the Grass 
 
 DURING William's stay I had arranged to 
 have our meals at home; but it was little 
 we sat down to, the next morning, for I could 
 not think of cooking as I went heavily about the 
 early tasks. All the joy was taken out of the 
 glad day; in a sort of dumb misery William fol- 
 lowed me here and there to get what warmth of 
 cheer there might be from the closeness of my 
 presence. 
 
 The snow was so deep that paths were to be 
 dug from door to gate and crosswise to the hen- 
 house where all the chickens were huddled with 
 necks drawn down amongst the feathers. The 
 coalhouse, too, must needs be opened up. But 
 
 176
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 177 
 
 as William and I worked at the snow shovels 
 there was no shouting back and forth, and such 
 neighbors as passed with merry calls got small 
 comfort from either of us. 
 
 At last I called on him to desist, knowing that 
 the more heated and full of life he became the 
 harder would presently be his fall; for if a great 
 sorrow be ahead, the friend who meanwhile makes 
 you smile does you no good turn for it's not 
 grief but the shock that breaks a man. 
 
 When we set forth for the Christmas dinner 
 at Laidie's, I thought we'd have borne ourselves 
 much the same if going to her funeral. At the cot- 
 tage, Van Buren met us with idle talk about our 
 coming at a "fashionable hour," meaning we were 
 late thus trying to be suave and light of tongue 
 despite a shirt-bosom to prove he'd dressed be- 
 fore Laidie was up. She met William with a 
 pretty blush and hesitation, he showing just as 
 much hesitation, but holding his head stiff and 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 His part was hard to play because she noticed 
 nothing amiss. Laidie was too practical to be 
 watching how heads were held when there was a 
 big dinner to serve and a cook unwilling to bear 
 a hand. I don't think she took a good look at
 
 178 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 him till we were seated at table, then laughed 
 about his having studied too hard. 
 
 "It's not that," says William, reminding me 
 of himself at seven years of age when if out of 
 sorts he wanted me always to know the real 
 reason so he could have what he wanted. 
 
 I said, in rebuke, "He needs Taggart Gleason 
 to come back from the other world to cheer him 
 up." There were other times for his heart- 
 secrets, but no other hour for that steaming tur- 
 key and bronzed potato-volcano and old country 
 ham and slaw with its slices of boiled egg cooked 
 to dry mealiness, not of that damp gluey yellow 
 found in all slaw that ever I saw unless made 
 by Laidie. Working our way through dinner, I 
 talked a good deal, describing the hubbub over 
 so-called "town improvement" ; and Van Buren, 
 who had heard of a new sale of land told it again 
 and again, the louder because I hadn't heard the 
 news, so that William's silence was not remarked. 
 
 He brought himself sharply to the fore by sud- 
 denly lifting his head to ask: 
 
 "Didn't Lane Laclede get married?" And as 
 Lane Laclede had nothing to do with our con- 
 versation we knew his mind had been afield ever 
 since I'd mentioned Taggart Gleason's name.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 179 
 
 "Son," I reproved him, "such a question can 
 mean only one thing, and I take it ill-advised 
 of you to drag Bank Corner gossip to the 
 table." 
 
 "I only asked," cried William, ready to fight 
 about the first thing at hand, "if Lane Laclede 
 is married. Of course if it's a secret, I've no 
 more to say." 
 
 "I've known Dahlia from a child at knee," 
 I told him with warmth. "The sweetest little 
 girl, and the best woman, that ever I knew, for 
 I never knew any other human so set upon and 
 uncomplaining. Before Taggart was shot, she 
 was too true a woman to let herself care for any 
 other man, and since his death she's been too true 
 a woman to let herself fall in love with the man 
 who killed her husband." 
 
 William looked at me with baffled eyes as if 
 he hardly knew what I was talking about, and 
 said, desperate, "All I asked was, Is Lane Lac- 
 lede married?" 
 
 "William," piped up B. Hightower, "no, Wil- 
 liam, no, he is not." 
 
 This was all William contributed to our party 
 till we had retired to the parlor. There, without 
 waiting for us to take chairs, he asked Laidie to
 
 i8o HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 give him a few minutes in another room as he had 
 something very important to tell her. 
 
 B., with the cocksureness of old age regarding 
 sentimental people, took for granted a little court- 
 ing was to be had, and from Laidie's face, she 
 thought the same. "Wait until we have a little 
 singing," says B. "As to another room, the cook 
 is eating in the dining-room and she allows no 
 one in the kitchen where could you sit? No, 
 sir, we'll first have some singing; then I'll walk 
 over to Horseshoe House with Stick, and leave 
 you young people together." 
 
 "Correct," said I, looking reprovingly at Wil- 
 liam, whose ideas had become so enlarged from 
 city life that he seemed to think the cottage might 
 brood under its wings a hundred apartments. 
 
 Laidie sat down to the organ. From Wil- 
 liam's gray, set face I knew he'd go through with 
 it or strangle on a high note, so I settled back in 
 comfort and nodded approval of Van Buren's 
 call for "Annie Laurie." 
 
 Poor William! How often he'd sung that 
 song, supplying to Laidie's sweet voice a round 
 ringing bass, just as, in times past, I'd built the 
 groundwork for Gussie Meade's slender soprano, 
 and just as B. if we could credit his memory
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 181 
 
 had, in his day, boomed out in the same duet 
 with his sweetheart. High in air soared Laidie's 
 voice, while William with his made a ladder to 
 prop against her high position "Gave me her 
 promise true . . ." 
 
 Gussie Meade had given me her promise with 
 kisses and with tears, for the keeping of which 
 it had seemed not too much to lie down and die. 
 But she'd married a man who was not a black- 
 smith and for a time it had seemed that life 
 couldn't go on, yet things had turned out some- 
 how, and so it would be with William. And I 
 began to take comfort. After all, a successful 
 life depends no more upon mutual love than on 
 a similar taste in vegetables and meats; and Wil- 
 liam, while losing the finest girl in the country, 
 might find another who would suit him better. 
 But how he could hope it was beyond me, as I 
 admired her blooming cheeks and listened to her 
 tones, they being as smooth as satin, never hav- 
 ing been trained to shake notes like clothes on the 
 lines in a high wind. Also, as I sat there, a 
 sadness came over me, as comes sometimes when 
 you gaze upon a very lovely girl, and this thought 
 was blown out of my thought-tree: that after 
 all of us had been laid in our graves that song
 
 1 82 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 would lift itself up as free and sweet and young 
 as if it had not come down out of the past with 
 the hearts of dead men for stepping-stones. 
 
 They were on the last verse and I had al- 
 ready made up my mind that at the last meas- 
 ure I'd carry off the old gentleman, thus snipping 
 short my reflections which, however long-drawn 
 out, could avail nothing. And suddenly the door 
 opened and through that door it leading di- 
 rectly in from the porch two people stepped 
 pointblank into our lives. 
 
 We looked up, startled, thinking there must 
 be a mistake. For even if, as at hazard I set 
 them down, they were the new owners and ten- 
 ants of the College, therefore a part of the gen- 
 eral conspiracy to turn the town upside down, 
 surely they would not go about from house to 
 house, besieging the old settlers without knocking 
 for admittance. 
 
 Straight toward us they came, closing the door 
 behind them, and I rose as B. tried to do not 
 wishing to be drowned in the overflow. Laidie 
 turned round on the stool, as William looked 
 very close, thinking to place the intruders among 
 his city friends, for they had not our air. 
 
 The strange woman cried out, delighted, "Ade-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 185 
 
 laide!" And she threw her arms about the 
 amazed girl and kissed her on both cheeks. 
 "Adelaide, how stout you have grown!" 
 
 Right then I knew who she was, for only one 
 person in the world had ever called her "Ade- 
 laide," though that was Laidie's name in the 
 Bible, but such a name as could never hold to- 
 gether in Mizzouryville but must needs break 
 apart from very weight. 
 
 The newcomer swiftly wheeled about, light of 
 foot and wonderfully tight-laced, and dainty-hued 
 as to underskirts and the like, and she made a 
 dive at Van Buren. 
 
 "Don't you do that!" cries B., feeble and eva- 
 sive. 
 
 "I will, too, you old goose!" And she em- 
 braced him, though somewhat gingerly. "Don't 
 you know your own daughter ? And mercy, what 
 a horrible shirt you are wearing, this Christmas 
 day!" 
 
 "It's Sylvia!" he gasped. "Stick, it is Sylvia 
 come again !" 
 
 She floated from him like a zephir and seized 
 my hand "Welcome, welcome, friend Stick! 
 Can that wonderfully handsome young man with 
 your hair and eyes be "
 
 1 84 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "Yes, 'em, M says William, all his St. Louis 
 knocked out of him. 
 
 "Now, one and all," cries the lady, very gay, 
 "let me present Mr. Selwyn." 
 
 "Your husband?" I queried, after a deep 
 breath. 
 
 "Yes," she smiled at me one of those angelic 
 smiles on a tapestry, "in a sense." 
 
 It occurred to me that if Laidie's grandfather 
 and Sylvia's father was ever going to have 
 that second stroke, now was his time; but he 
 just sat there, wide-eyed and dumb-driven. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn, a splendid looking man, dark and 
 tall and serious, shook hands all around while 
 none of us even pretended to rise to the situa- 
 tion. Our hands were given limp and cold and 
 as such he took them each in turn, with the same 
 genial smile, his words soothing, as cautious lest 
 he scare us to cover; and wild of mien I make no 
 doubt we were.
 
 // You Don't Believe in a Fourth Dimension, 
 Try to Measure Womankind by Length, 
 Breadth and Thickness 
 
 I HAVE before said nothing about Laidie's 
 mother, nor should I ever have referred to 
 her had she stayed away, for when a woman runs 
 off from her husband, leaving him to die of a 
 broken heart, and her infant to be tended by 
 those who will, it is not for me to bring her 
 back by so much as a twist of memory. For 
 Sylvia to come back after nineteen years, bear- 
 ing herself as gay as a May morning, was more 
 than I could swallow without showing that it 
 tasted bad. Therefore, announcing that I had 
 been on the eve of taking my departure, I took 
 it, close followed by William, with Van Buren 
 sending wistful glances after us as wishing him- 
 self of our party. 
 
 185
 
 1 86 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 On the way home there was no talk of a fate- 
 ful interview to be held by William and Laidie 
 in any sequestered room. Rather, he plied me 
 with questions, for until now Laidie's mother 
 had been a subject forbidden in my house. I 
 would rather not have talked of her even now, 
 but as she had thrust herself upon our page of 
 life in large letters, it behooved me to serve as 
 a fine-print note, serving out names and dates. 
 And I took up as little space as might be, but 
 every word was pregnant. 
 
 To go back: Van Buren Hightower, as every- 
 body knew, had been carried off by an actress 
 and married against his wishes and his plighted 
 troth, he then being in his suppleness, and, to 
 judge by the daguerreotype in the bureau drawer, 
 a fine looker, in those days, and a fastidious 
 dresser. This actress had lived long enough to 
 tire of the fruits of her victory and was looking 
 about, in my opinion, for other fruitbearing trees 
 (having, in a word, spent about all B. possessed), 
 when a low-neck dress and slippers in a draught 
 brought on pneumonia which carried her off. One 
 child was left, Sylvia, the only person of the 
 name, either male or female, ever seen in our 
 county, to the knowledge of Old Settlers' Bench.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 187 
 
 Sylvia, growing up, was as unlike our village 
 girls as a redbird hopping in a poultry-yard. She 
 could sing, not so well as she believed, but better 
 than her schoolmates; and knowing that her 
 mother had been an actress (though not of the 
 high class that get into the magazines with their 
 teeth) she took life at a gallop, and while very 
 young vaulted the fence of matrimony with no 
 clear notion of what was to be found on the other 
 side. She lived with her husband, my intimate 
 chum, just long enough to name the bady "Ade- 
 laide" and was off. 
 
 William asked, sharp and cold, "With another 
 man?" 
 
 "To say 'Yes,' son, might give a wrong im- 
 pression." 
 
 "Then I hope to the Lord you can say 'No'!" 
 
 I told him it was neither yea nor nay with such 
 complicated characters as Sylvia. She was no 
 more to be explained than the purple bloc n of 
 a morning-glory after you've planted nothing but 
 pink. Everything about her husband had 
 strained at her nerves. David was quick to judge 
 cattle and slow to estimate men. He was fond 
 of a joke if it wasn't too new, and he stood ready 
 to argue any opinion you might advance, and
 
 188 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 he didn't want to hear any news from you unless 
 he'd heard it first and knew more about it than 
 you did. He liked to live plain and save his 
 money and stand on Bank Corner of Saturday 
 afternoons in a blue shirt and yellow suspenders, 
 talking about the mistakes of the President. 
 
 "She just went off, son. There never was any 
 divorce. A young man from the city used to 
 come down here to train her voice and later she 
 began taking trips after musical culture, now to 
 Kansas City, and even as far east as Chicago. 
 But I never thought that young man meant any- 
 thing to her. That is, no more than his just 
 being a man. She was always partial to that 
 order. Sometimes it has come to me that Sylvia 
 is a character strayed out of the books in the 
 smokehouse." 
 
 "And in the smokehouse she should have 
 stayed!" William declared. "However, as her 
 husband is dead, of course she's free to marry 
 whom she pleases. But what could she have 
 meant by saying that old Pomposity is her hus- 
 band 'in a sense'?" 
 
 "No telling," and I shook n:y head. "But be- 
 lieve me Sylvia never, even from a child, dropped 
 words that didn't have seeds in 'em."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 189 
 
 On reaching home, we built up the fire and 
 what from mental activity, and from much pacing 
 up and down the room, we found that our Christ- 
 mas dinner would not serve till morning, so 
 cried out that we must either assemble something 
 cold, or devise some hot dishes. Twilight had 
 caught us, and I was for lighting the lamp, 
 but 
 
 "No," says William, "let's sit by the fire until 
 six o'clock and then I'll cook supper like old 
 times for to tell the truth, I hardly tasted a 
 bite of what I put in my mouth at Laidie's, and 
 I'm as hungry as a bear." And he laughed out, 
 boyish and hearty, at the mere thought of what 
 was before us. Yes, and I laughed, too. 
 
 And just then, as might have been expected, 
 there came a click of the front gate latch. 
 
 "It's Sylvia," I cried, hasty. "There was just 
 one click when the latch pushed open. Sylvia 
 never did shut a gate in her life. Quick light 
 the lamp!" 
 
 "Surely," says William, spell-bound, "she 
 wouldn't come here!" 
 
 "Light that lamp, son Sylvia is no woman to 
 be meeting in the dark." 
 
 He seemed desperate as not knowing which
 
 i 9 o HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 way to flee. "Father, she wouldn't come here, 
 not on top of that jolt she's just given us." 
 
 "While you're arguing about it," I said low 
 and penetrating, "I'll go let her in the door." 
 
 That put his match to the wick. For at times 
 there's a power in my voice that lifts a man's arm 
 to the set task.
 
 XXIII 
 
 We Judge a Man by His Kin, but Ask the World 
 to Judge Our Kin by Ourselves 
 
 THERE was more bulk than I expected at 
 the swinging open of the door, for it was 
 not Sylvia, but Sylvia's daughter. I fell back as 
 if pushed against the wall as she came in with 
 slow, uncertain step her features were drawn 
 as if to hold back the cry from a cruel hurt; I'd 
 never have supposed cheeks so round and rosy 
 could look so pinched. 
 
 Seeing William with the lamp chimney still in 
 his hand beside the newly lighted wick, she went 
 straight toward him, her eyes never changing in 
 their steady blackness. 
 
 "William," she said, slow and distinct, "I've 
 come to ask my promise back." 
 
 Leaning against the wall, I looked from one 
 to the other, feeling that it was not for me to 
 take any part. 
 
 191
 
 1 92 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "What do you mean, Laidie?" His hand 
 trembled so as he turned the wick that he put out 
 the light. 
 
 She answered out of the darkness: "I mean 
 that our engagement must be broken off." While 
 he was religming the lamp, I could hear her 
 breath coming heavy, and when the chimney was 
 in its place, she said, quick: "Everything is 
 changed." 
 
 He turned from the table to look at her very 
 straight, and he asked with a little emphasis on 
 each word: "Laidie, have you changed with 
 everything?" 
 
 ^*Oh" her voice quivered, and she flung out 
 her hand "don't you see? I'm a part of every- 
 thing." 
 
 He drew a chair close, and spoke in a tone 
 that I recognized as my very own in speaking to 
 little children, "You are tired. Sit down and tell 
 us about it." 
 
 She leaned on the back of the chair. "No, I 
 must hurry home. I just wanted you to know 
 that we can never marry. Of course I shall never 
 marry anybody. You know, I have thought all 
 this time that mother was dead. Grandfather 
 let me believe that. And nobody in Mizzoury-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 193 
 
 ville knew anything different. And and and 
 so well, that's why I want my promise 
 back." 
 
 "Laidie," he said, with a gentleness in his 
 voice you would never dream could fyave mellowed 
 it. I just stood there with my eyes down, a great 
 ache in my heart. 
 
 Presently he added: "Time doesn't change the 
 truth, we know; but it softens it." 
 
 "This truth" she bowed her face in her 
 hands with her elbows on the back of the chair 
 "it's the kind that nothing can soften but death. 
 Oh, I should have been told, it was a mistake tljfrt 
 I was not told! Grandfather did wrong Stick, 
 you did wrong not to tell me." She 'cried out, 
 dry-eyed and passionate, "Will it seem any dif- 
 ferent to you or to me fifty years from to-day 
 that my mother is not married to the man she 
 lives with?" 
 
 The room was so still I could hear my heart 
 beating. I could not feel sore at her blaming me 
 though it was the first time in my life that she 
 had ever turned upon me so. I wouldn't have 
 blamed her then for anything she could have done 
 or said. I waited waited for something to hap- 
 pen, almost sure it would; but the small part of
 
 194 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 my mind that wasn't sure made a terrible coward 
 of me just then. 
 
 At last Laidie raised her head, and the wonder 
 I had felt when she came through the door 
 returned to me at sight of her dark, drawn face. 
 "I will go, now," she said, very calm and quiet, 
 and with that turned away. "Good-night good- 
 night, Stick." 
 
 But William laid his hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 "Laidie, do you love me as much as ever?" 
 
 "But it isn't a question of that," she faltered. 
 
 He went on, grave and kind: "When I come 
 home in June, we'll marry; and if it's possible, 
 I'll make your life happy." 
 
 She cried out, her composure all gone, that it 
 could never be. 
 
 "Answer me this," he said, taking both her 
 hands and watching her face: "Do you love 
 me?" 
 
 "You know," she answered, protesting, "that 
 ever since I can remember " 
 
 "That's enough. And now tell me before I go 
 back to St. Louis for I'm going sooner than I 
 expected in the morning, I think tell me that 
 our engagement stands. Tell me you will be my 
 wife."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 195 
 
 She searched his eyes to find if he really wanted 
 it, and the drawn tension of her face relaxed. 
 The crimson dyed her cheeks as long as I've 
 known her, I've never again seen the look she 
 wore when first she came through the door out 
 of the night. 
 
 She drew away from him and came to me. 
 "But, oh, Stick, ought I to let him sacrifice him- 
 self? Tell me, tell me, am I doing right?" And 
 then the tears came. Shaken by sobs she clung to 
 me, repeating, "Ought I? Is it right?" 
 
 When she was calmer, she murmured, still 
 clinging to my neck: "Do you remember that 
 strange girl you wanted me to meet at your party? 
 I wouldn't come because we knew nothing of her 
 mother but suppose she had known about mine I 
 She would have been the one to refuse. It seems 
 a punishment sent upon me But what am I to 
 do ? Stick, you used to know how to comfort me 
 in my troubles oh, what am I to do?" 
 
 She held up her dear face, and her sweet lips 
 formed themselves for a kiss. I bowed my head 
 to rest my cheek against hers. But I did not kiss 
 her. 
 
 Soon after that, she went away and there was 
 a lightness in her step she had not brought into
 
 196 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 the house. And there was a whispering in the 
 leaves of my thought-tree to this purpose: that 
 her heart was brightened not by William's love 
 in itself, but because he had stood the shock of 
 her disgrace. 
 
 When she was gone, William looked at me 
 with deep seriousness as if facing a tragedy; and 
 I make no doubt that at his age it always seems 
 a tragedy to contemplate marriage without love. 
 But he faced it like a man, saying, with a grim 
 line of humor drawing down the corner of his 
 mouth to make a twisted smile, "Father, I'm not 
 a-wavering!" 
 
 I think I was as proud of him that night as 
 ever was father proud of son, and I wanted him 
 to know it, and, although contrary to my habit 
 and my philosophy, I resolved for once to give 
 him unstinted praise. So I grasped his hand, and 
 I said, "Son, you'll do 1"
 
 XXIV 
 
 Sometimes You Mistake Something Else for 
 Your Soul, Which Is One Danger About Being 
 a Soul Mate 
 
 AS soon as William was back in St. Louis, I 
 set about finding out exactly what Sylvia 
 had meant by having a husband "in a sense." I 
 needed no wise man to tell me that she could 
 explain it better than any other, but when one has 
 set himself forth as a marrying man, he cannot 
 be too particular; and knowing that all Mizzoury- 
 ville was looking askance at the newcomer, I 
 deemed it best to be seen with her only when safe- 
 guarded by the presence of others. Selecting, 
 therefore, a time when not only Laidie, but Van 
 Buren would be housed in the same room, I 
 sought her accordingly. 
 
 Though she'd been at the cottage but twenty- 
 four hours, Sylvia had turned everything upside 
 
 197
 
 198 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 down as she always contrived to do with people's 
 lives. The lumber had been carried from the 
 lumber-room to the woodhouse, and the lumber- 
 room was now a "library," though without books. 
 The front room was so changed that where had 
 been my favorite nook was a four-legged con- 
 veyance loaded with heaps of sofa-pillows, re- 
 minding me of a spring wagon coming from the 
 mill. I found a seat near the door, and not at 
 first perceiving that it was the same chair I had 
 once ridden down from stress of my weight on 
 its puny legs, I sat thereon, my hat between my 
 knees. 
 
 Poor Laidie, her face bent low over her sew- 
 ing, scarcely raised her eyes from her needle. 
 Her grandfather, cleaned and starched till all 
 the original Van Buren seemed washed away, sat 
 bolt upright with his eyes glued to the paper de- 
 signs, as if he could see his second stroke in a 
 handwriting on the wall. 
 
 Sylvia was here, there, everywhere, and as I 
 followed her floating movements I marveled at 
 her youthfulness, grace and fluffiness. She was 
 almost as old as myself, but she made a great gap 
 between our ages, treating me as if she had to 
 feed me on ground-up corn. And though my
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 199 
 
 purpose held, to get to the bottom of the case, 
 I was that timid and abashed before her long- 
 practised arts, that, like Jim Bob, I had not a 
 frisk left to my legs. Her man was nowhere 
 about which, at any rate, was a comfort. 
 
 "How fine of you to visit us, Stick I hope it 
 didn't tire you to climb the hill," said she, as if 
 I were a hundred. And she perched upon the 
 organ-stool as if she were nine or ten, swinging 
 her little feet clear of the floor, and clearer of 
 her skirts, so that there was much you must needs 
 see, and seeing could not but admire. "You used 
 to visit us just so when I was a young thing 
 ages ago." She turned her head to cry out in 
 warning, "Pa!" The old gentleman had essayed 
 to beguile his tedium with a toothpick, but he 
 thrust it back into his pocket, hasty. Sylvia gazed 
 pensively out the window. She knew she had my 
 full attention, therefore need not exert herself to 
 hold it, for I suppose there was not in Mizzoury- 
 ville County to be found a pair of stockings of 
 such bewitching and lively hues. 
 
 "And as in those good old days," said I, giving 
 a start as she jumped to the floor to dart toward 
 a picture that had sagged out of plumb, "my time 
 for visiting is brief. I wouldn't inquire into your
 
 200 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 private affairs, Sylvia, were it not that my son 
 and your daughter are to be married next June, 
 therefore I consider my interest warranted, and 
 you, like-enough, amenable, and all as between 
 friends of past days therefore," said I, growing 
 vaguer the nearer I came to the point. 
 
 She climbed on a chair to straighten the pic- 
 ture, looking at me over her shoulder. "Ask 
 whatever you please," she called gaily. "What 
 you can't read in the papers, I'll tell you." 
 
 "Then you've been in the papers, Sylvia?" 
 
 "Yes, but under my stage-name. Why, it's me 
 that keeps the papers from going broke!" 
 
 I was depressed, knowing that this was no such 
 matter as "Stick Attum Sundayed in Hannibal," 
 or "Captain Little Dave Overstreet had his weeds 
 cut the first of the week." I asked, dubious, 
 "With pictures?" 
 
 "A trunk full; I'll show youl" And she was 
 for darting away. 
 
 "I can't wait, Sylvia. Now, as to this Mr. 
 Selwyn " 
 
 "Yes, it's natural that you should want to know 
 about him. Well, in what capacity?" 
 
 I looked down, perplexed, but there was no 
 inspiration in my hat.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 201 
 
 She came back to the organ-stool. "As a busi- 
 ness-man, Stick?" 
 
 "No," said I, groping, "as a lady's man." 
 
 At that, she began to sing a little song, stand- 
 ing before me and lifting her skirts first to one 
 side then to the other with dancing steps at the 
 end of each verse, which in each case was foreign. 
 
 "So," said I, dry, "you are not married, 
 Sylvia?" 
 
 She showed her teeth at me, and they were 
 well worth showing, had this been but a matter 
 of teeth. And she cried out in pleased surprise, 
 "Why, Stick! So you understood my little song. 
 I didn't know you had learned French." 
 
 "I'm no great scholar," said I, "but when a 
 lady is asked about her husband, she doesn't an- 
 swer with a song. In my experience, married 
 people dabble but little in music, closing the piano 
 with the days of their maidenhood. If you will 
 kindly make the affair a little more succinct, I'd 
 be obliged." 
 
 "Of course I'm delighted to explain. In my 
 opinion, Stick, matrimony which means legal re- 
 straints, and chains for the soul, chafes one's 
 higher nature. I married when I was too young 
 to understand this. Knowledge came to me."
 
 202 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "Yes 'em," said I, indecisive. 
 
 She sat down on the stool, crossed her knees 
 with locked hands about them, and began to 
 chant her sentences in a curious sing-song voice 
 that was agreeable enough, only it seemed to me 
 she should have been in the city hall at a public 
 gathering: "I came into the light. Then I knew. 
 Then I sensed the truth. And what I knew, I 
 knew for all time. For truth is eternal." 
 
 "That's so," I said. "And some lies have gray 
 hairs, too." 
 
 She went on chanting, looking mighty uplifted 
 and of a drawing-power hard to overestimate. 
 "So I knew that in marriage-bonds . . . the soul 
 cannot expand . . . cannot be free. Far better 
 to meet and love and part than to be tied hand- 
 and-foot ... to an uncongenial partner." 
 
 "Soul mates?" I asked. 
 
 "My soul is mated ... his soul is mated by 
 mine . . . But I would not have thought you'd 
 know what I meant . . . What do you know of 
 soul mates?" 
 
 "There are some of 'em in the smokehouse," 
 said I, dreadfully depressed. "Do your souls aim 
 to mate together for some time?" 
 
 At that she came out of her trance. "Why,
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 203 
 
 my dear Stick! what are you talking about? Of 
 course Mr. Selwyn and I shall live together as 
 long as we live. That is, if we remain congenial ; 
 which we expect to do. We're just as tightly 
 bound as if by legal ties. I'm sorry Adelaide feels 
 so distressed about us, for we are to all intents 
 and practical purposes man and wife. We are 
 just like any other comfortable couple in the 
 village." 
 
 I laid upon her an appraising eye. "Sylvia, 
 how long has this present mating lasted?" 
 
 "It is three years next spring since we pledged 
 our souls." 
 
 Hearing my chair squeak and feeling it quiver 
 all over, I rose, hasty, to carry away what I had 
 gathered. "Sylvia," I put on my hat, "I hope 
 you won't find life here unpleasant, but Mizzoury- 
 ville is terribly conservative. An attempt to force 
 granitoid walks on the citizens has led to great 
 bitterness, and I'm afraid the innovation you de- 
 scribe will rouse considerably stronger opposition 
 than the new walks." 
 
 She laughed. "Dear old Stick, I know exactly 
 what you mean, though you are trying to relieve 
 my feelings with your little jest. Don't worry. 
 All Mizzouryville will be trailing after me and
 
 204 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 my Mr. Selwyn. First the town will shy from 
 our bait, then it'll creep closer to nibble, then 
 we'll cage it I" 
 
 Then she began singing a song in a tongue not 
 native, but, if my suspicions are correct, French 
 like the other. And still singing, she closed the 
 door behind me, and went back to her task of 
 making over her family.
 
 XXV 
 
 Public Opinion May Be Won if You Go Courting 
 It with a Full Purse 
 
 HAVING heard what our soul mate had to 
 say for herself, my next care was to hear 
 what the town had to say; and there being no 
 better quarter for the retailing of wholesale opin- 
 ion than Old Settlers' Bench I went to hear it, back 
 in the rear of the Laclede Grocery whither cold 
 weather had driven my men. I joined the bunch 
 about the roaring fire and they, knowing my time 
 always brief for whittling, tossed the news back 
 and forth without fumbling for the ball. 
 
 Ordinarily they would have opened up with 
 good-natured jibes about my wife-seeking, such as 
 a man, though he say, "Tut! tut!" is well enough 
 pleased to hear. However, on the present occa- 
 sion I escaped because Van Buren was kept close 
 at home these days by Sylvia, and naturally we 
 
 205
 
 206 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 took advantage of the absence of any one to dis- 
 cuss his affairs to a frazzle. 
 
 "Not even a justice of the peace did they have," 
 says Captain Little Dave, stamping his wooden 
 leg. "I'm old. And I'm so accustomed to the 
 human frame from living in one over ninety-two 
 years that I'd just as lieve discuss bowels as eye- 
 brows and feel just as elevated, which will show 
 you that I'm beyond false modesty. Sometimes I 
 sit and wonder if there's any subject that could 
 make me feel like blushing, and I bring up one 
 after the other and study 'em. But I stay cold. 
 All appertaining to flesh cuts no figure, for 
 everything is so soon to crumble to dust. But 
 what I've heard about B.'s daughter is beyond 
 me. Gentlemen, I'm ashamed gentlemen, I'm 
 ashamed 1" 
 
 "This is how I place it," says Jim Bob, speak- 
 ing as if fighting mad. "If it had been me, taking 
 up with a pardner without a minister or nothing, 
 you wouldn't of let me come back here to squat. 
 Town wouldn't of held me till morning. That's 
 because I'm dog-poor and never had no luck and 
 less energy." 
 
 "Cork your bottle 1" Captain Little Dave repri- 
 manded him. "You don't know that we'll let this
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 207 
 
 Selwyn stay here he and B.'s daughter I'm 
 ashamed!" 
 
 "No, I won't cork up," cries Jim Bob, lifted to 
 a spirit beyond himself by the injustice of the 
 thing. "You just let me Jim Bob Peterson 
 bring an affinity to Mizzouryville and put up at 
 a hotel in fine linen. You'd set the dogs on me." 
 And he bristled with fight. "I'd like to try it 
 once to show you fellows that you'll let the Four 
 Hundred do what you wouldn't take from me. 
 It's because Sylvia was a Hightower, and them 
 and the Overstreets always did think God made 
 'em out of irrigated soil. If I was to slip out 
 and bring back a strange woman to wave in your 
 faces and tell you it was all right, she was a New 
 Woman, I'd be rode on a rail. It's because I 
 ain't got no fine clothes nor gold rings, but am 
 just an average American. That's what I call 
 myself an average American, too languid for 
 actual work languid was my birthmark ... Is 
 this what you call equality before the law that we 
 bled and died for back yonder in '76?" 
 
 "Go get your woman," Curd Tootcrflail cried, 
 stung to desperation, and standing his red hair 
 up all over his head; "I dare you to!" 
 
 "Gentlemen," said one of us, I'll not say which,
 
 208 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 one, "sometimes the wind blows wisdom into the 
 mouth of a fool, and for once Jim Bob has said 
 something. Society will go to pieces if we don't 
 keep the marriage-bonds tight-knotted. The way 
 Sylvia and Selwyn are living together is an insult 
 to every right-minded man and woman in this 
 community." 
 
 All of us looked serious, for such plain words 
 would never have been given out, if the public 
 pulse hadn't been found to beat to their tune; if 
 Mizzouryville resolved to rid itself of the Sel- 
 wyns, the thing was as good as done, and the 
 thought of Laidie turned me cold. Just then in 
 came Sheriff Cadwitch Beam, not as officer but 
 as gossiping man, though in either character, of 
 no great weight. 
 
 "Boys, have you heard the news?" he asked, 
 ravenous to tell it. 
 
 "Don't tell any more," I told him; "we're full." 
 
 "Go ahead, Cad," Jim Bob pleaded, "go ahead 
 and slop us over." 
 
 "Men," he said, his voice reminding me of 
 what I have read about compressed gas and ves- 
 sels bursting, "the mystery's explained. It has 
 come out." Then he went on hoisting his voice 
 at each phrase till at the end it went up like a
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 209 
 
 sky-rocket in a shrill whistling gasp. "I can tell 
 you who bought up Taggart Gleason's Rockpile, 
 and Stick Attum's Springs cottage, and all the land 
 thereabouts once owned by Big Dave, and the old 
 College, and the whole creation and who's going 
 to build a big tourist's hotel, and run a railroad 
 right through our gardens and front yards con- 
 necting us to civilization and property going up r 
 and thousands of newcomers pouring in, and 
 everybody getting rich, with factories and down- 
 trodden factory-girls and child labor and sa- 
 loons " 
 
 Then he gulped for breath, and I said: 
 
 "Blow off, Cad, and buck up!" 
 
 He struggled for breath and filled himself and 
 went on: "That Richard Purly over at the bank 
 was never anything but a lay figure, just like Jim 
 Bob here, with the College deed in his name, and 
 him never telling us a word. But the mystery's 
 explained. The thing's out. Octavius Selwyn is 
 the trust, combination, corporation, capitalist, pro- 
 moter. . . . And Octavius Selwyn has organized 
 a company and named it, "Bigger Mizzouryville 
 Company"; Richard Purly is the secretary and 
 treasurer of course Octavius Selwyn is the presi- 
 dent. They're going to open up a fine office over
 
 210 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 the Tidlin butchershop the fixtures are already 
 ordered from the city. A meeting is to be held 
 at the courthouse to-night for the selling of shares 
 and the blocking off of town lots around the Min- 
 eral Springs." 
 
 Then he drew from his pocket a handbill 
 sticky black from the press, whence he had gleaned 
 all his particulars, and which he hadn't dared 
 show us first, else his tale would have lost its 
 telling. Lane Laclede, who had turned pale at 
 the mention of Taggart Gleason, stood as he had 
 stood since then, clutching his right hand with his 
 left to steady it, and from where he stood he 
 read the lines aloud as Cadwitch held up the 
 smeared paper. 
 
 I turned on my heel and left the store, bitter 
 enough. As plainly as if the future were a book 
 of my own writing, I foresaw that Selwyn would 
 foment discord in our midst as long as the busi- 
 ness men thought there was profit in his scheme. 
 Contrary to our religion he might be, but we put 
 money interests first, that seeming to have more 
 to do with regulating the world than the rules and 
 precepts of a better land. When we climb our 
 spiritual heights on a Sunday holiday, we love to 
 hear the Sermon on the Mount; but after trudg-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 211 
 
 ing down to the levels of our daily lives, we want 
 tools fitted to our hands for human use. 
 
 I was thinking these thoughts on my homeward 
 way when Lane Laclede came hurrying after me. 
 "Stick!" he called, breathless, "I want your ad- 
 vice. We both of us want it." Then he broke 
 off with a wild look, wringing his hand and hold- 
 ing it as if it would never keep still unless held. 
 He caught his breath, and looked queer, and mut- 
 tered, "But I can't stay away from the store. 
 Are you going to be busy Friday night?" 
 
 His eyes made me feel all tingly, and I knew 
 if ever there was a man in mortal anguish, he 
 stood before me then. His fingers began crunch- 
 ing together so hard and fast that I was glad I 
 could put him off. I told him I was going to leave 
 town Thursday night to be gone a week, the shop 
 left in capable hands, and Horseshoe House 
 closed. 
 
 "Then I'll come Friday night week," he said, 
 "somewhere around eight o'clock. Will you be 
 at home waiting for me promise you'll be all 
 alone, for I ... because we think or at least 
 
 at least " And he looked at me as ashen pale 
 
 and as full of seeming terror, as if he found me 
 some frightful ghost.
 
 212 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 I told him I'd be at home on the evening named, 
 that I would be waiting for him, and that I would 
 be alone. And as soon as I'd given my word, he 
 turned back up the hill staring straight before him 
 like a man in an evil dream.
 
 XXVI 
 
 It Doesn't Take a Wise One to Call a Man a 
 Fool After He's Caught in His Folly 
 
 THURSDAY, the Bigger Mizzouryville 
 Company was installed over Tidlin's 
 butcher-shop ("Meat Market" on the sign) with 
 handsome furniture and appetizing circulars and 
 a black man in livery heretofore known amongst 
 us as "Tuck." Shares in the New Railroad were 
 offered, a dollar a share, in blocks of fifty, half 
 to be paid down when the road was surveyed, the 
 second half when the cars were in operation. It's 
 easy to say now that men were fools to grab at 
 such an offer, but they generally are when taken 
 in the lust of sudden gain. The sight of survey- 
 ing parties with chains and wagons and dogs start- 
 ing first one way, then another, set some of the 
 Improvers nearly crazy. Lots around the Min- 
 eral Springs were auctioned off like hot cakes, no 
 
 213
 
 2i 4 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 man knowing whether he was drawing a slat out 
 of the old creek bed, or a wedge of Missouri sky 
 propped on a Gleason Rockpile. 
 
 I did what I could to pull down the hopes my 
 neighbors were rearing on shifting sands, getting 
 frowns for my pains, so that at last my mere ap- 
 proach was enough to stampede the light-feeding 
 cattle, they growing leaner the more they browsed 
 on Octavius Selwyn. 
 
 Of course I ate at restaurants, these days, for 
 set foot in Van Buren's cottage I would not till 
 a few lines covering his daughter's relations to 
 Selwyn were on court record; and this enforced 
 absence from Laidie drove my longing for Wil- 
 liam's company to the bone. 
 
 Friday morning came. I was giving last in- 
 structions to ray hired man and was about to leave 
 the shop for the station, when at the open door 
 Laidie stopped to smile at me. I felt like I hadn't 
 seen her for six months, and that I might never 
 see her again the most satisfactory feeling I'd 
 ever experienced, to be so short-lived; and in a 
 breath I said knowing no more what I was going 
 to say than you do I said how like home she 
 looked with the market-basket on her arm, and 
 how blue and sodden I'd grown from great loneli-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 215 
 
 ness, and that I had thrown up my hands to fate 
 and was leaving town to get me a companion. 
 
 "I've been casting my eyes abroad," I told her, 
 "for now going on two years, but there's not a 
 woman in Mizzouryville I'd give for a curl of 
 your little finger. So I'm off to Higginsville where 
 my old sweetheart lives, now ten years a widow, 
 and no Mrs. Patty to step between. There she is 
 with ten thousand dollars and three children and 
 not a man in the house, and at the end of the 
 week I can tell you more." 
 
 I'll never forget how Laidie put both hands on 
 my arm, the empty basket slipping back to the 
 crook of her elbow, and looked right up into my 
 face with her big earnest eyes. 
 
 "I want you to be happy," she said, "and I 
 want you to have whatever will make you happy." 
 Then she kissed my hand and said, "That's for 
 luck." 
 
 I wouldn't have cared how long she stood there, 
 for her hand always was able to soothe the hurt 
 in my heart. But the first thing I knew, she was 
 going up the brown and green road with its 
 splashes of yellow light, the sun at her back turn- 
 ing the lacings of her basket to links of gold, and 
 pouring such wonders of pearly light on the side
 
 216 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 of her face, that her hair was left in midnight. I 
 stood there and watched until the last flutter of 
 her skirts had passed on to gladden somebody 
 else's world. I nearly missed my train, that time.
 
 XXVII 
 
 No One Who Lives to Please Others Is Ever 
 Pleased with Himself 
 
 NOT making myself known in Higginsville, I 
 strolled to the quarter where people live 
 who live on ten thousand dollars, and, by good 
 fortune, saw at the window she who had been 
 Gussie Meade before marrying a man not a black- 
 smith. So, having looked well, I went back to my 
 hotel. Every day that week, and on some days 
 more than once I saw her and at church, also, 
 during a long sitting. But she looked ever the 
 same; so, in the end, I fared back to Mizzoury- 
 ville, divining that after all is said, there are 
 harder conditions than that of living single. 
 
 This news greeted me, in tones of high tri- 
 umph: the first payment on the New Railroad 
 would soon be made, fifty thousand dollars from 
 Mizzouryville, and as much again from nearby 
 
 217
 
 2i 8 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 jumping-off places, most of it coming out of the 
 pockets of men who could afford it least. The 
 road had been surveyed, the right of way thumbed 
 under options, and in early June there was to be 
 given by the Selwyns a great Celebration Ball. 
 Yes, and those who danced might feel that they 
 were not only tripping it toward fortune, but 
 flinging a foot at those "mossbacks" who, in truth, 
 remained the repository of common sense in Miz- 
 zouryville County. 
 
 When first landed in town, you would not have 
 supposed Sylvia and her soul mate could have 
 gathered together sufficient people to hold a cele- 
 bration, for no one was mealy-mouthed in express- 
 ing their indignation, much as all held Van Buren 
 Hightower in respect. But sometimes I have sat 
 down to consider with amazement what people 
 can accustom themselves to. A man and woman 
 unmarried, yet living together, give rise to head- 
 lines so contrary to decency and order, that one 
 would spend his last nickel for the paper setting 
 forth the details. But when you meet such on 
 your streets just like anybody, carrying a tin 
 bucket to fetch milk from the very old settler who 
 sells to you (and will not deliver) it's different. 
 When people are thrown with you in daily living,
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 219 
 
 they lose their gloss. Therefore I did not doubt 
 that the Celebration Ball would bring the town 
 to the promoter's feet. 
 
 Add to this that we are chary of giving dinners 
 and entertainments, being practical folk, not dis- 
 posed to spread our victuals as a banquet for birds, 
 sharing rather with kinsmen and that none too 
 often, though loud in eulogy of the hospitality of 
 our forefathers. Times come when the church, 
 with an idea of promoting friendliness amongst 
 its members of whom there are always some at 
 deadly feud, though the cause, like-enough, for- 
 gotten the church plans a series of "socials," the 
 first always at the minister's, and there, an end. 
 But the Selwyns had thrown Van Buren's cot- 
 tage wide open and had even built on a room, 
 and there were dances for the young, a sitting- 
 around for the old, musicales for the idle, and 
 spreads for the hearty. 
 
 In speaking largely I have gone ahead of my 
 story and must now narrow the view to the night 
 of Laclede's appointment. At home I was wait- 
 ing for him when, to my surprise, Dahlia came 
 knocking at the door. I knew only a pressing mat- 
 ter could have brought her there alone, but felt 
 obliged to warn her that Lane was expected and
 
 220 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 that the time was his. While making it clear, I 
 was all the time thinking: "What a pity some 
 good man did not win her for his wife ! Seems 
 unfair for that rounded form to hide a disap- 
 pointed heart . . . those soft, pretty cheeks never 
 to know the touch of love!" 
 
 "I knew about Lane," she said, and came on 
 into the house, pale and nervous. It touched my 
 heart to see one so young looking so worn, like a 
 flower that has folded up because the light has 
 died out of her sky. 
 
 I didn't know what I ought to do for it wasn't 
 the same as if she were seated beside an elder 
 brother. People passing could not have seen my 
 brotherhood; but I didn't pull down the blind, just 
 sat straight in my chair with my most fatherly ex- 
 pression. And I said as plain as if there were no 
 dimple in her chin that she shouldn't have come. 
 
 Thereupon she began to talk fast, but without 
 bearings, finding herself tossed from point to 
 point and exceedingly hard to follow, giving me 
 in general what I had long since guessed. The 
 shot that had put an end to Taggart Gleason had 
 not made a scratch on the debts he left, and the 
 widow had shouldered all of them, sacrificing her 
 home and her millinery shop and slaving from
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 221 
 
 morn to night for the main reasons, as I be- 
 lieve, that her stepdaughter might not suspect her 
 glad of being widowed. Of course Zenia be- 
 lieved her glad, and that made Dahlia work the 
 harder. When Zenia married Big Dave Over- 
 street, she took her stepmother to live with her 
 in the mansion where poor Mrs. Patty had laid 
 down the scepter. 
 
 Being a man, and hearty, I do not pretend to 
 understand the duel waged between the two 
 women. Zenia, as passionately fond of her father 
 as ever was woman of worthless man, kept an 
 unwinking eye upon Dahlia lest she put forth 
 leaves of healing. And Dahlia, determined that 
 no one, least of all Zenia, should think her capable 
 of enjoying her liberty, which would mean she was 
 glad Lane had killed her husband, she, I say, 
 hugged her mourning, and if there had been any 
 blacker in the shops, she'd have bought it. And 
 yet, all the while, Dahlia wondered if Zenia knew 
 how she rejoiced at being rid of her chains, and 
 Zenia was wondering if there was the least shadow 
 of repentance or sorrow in her stepmother's heart, 
 or if she and Lane had not plotted Gleason's mur- 
 der. 
 
 "I can't bear it any longer," Dahlia cried out
 
 222 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 in smothered tones. "If I had a spot of my own, 
 however humble, I'd never set foot on Zenia's 
 place again. Her deceitful politeness is killing 
 me. And yet I wouldn't dare leave her roof. 
 If she couldn't watch me all the time, she'd think 
 Lane and I are meeting. I've got to live by her 
 side all my life where she can watch me. She's 
 jealous of my thoughts. She asks what I'm think- 
 ing about. We never mention him. But she talks 
 about Lane how he did it. And I have to listen, 
 and seem not to care. She knows I care." She 
 looked at me, dry-eyed. 
 
 I asked her why ruin her life because of what 
 Zenia might suspect. She said that was some- 
 thing I could never understand, not being a 
 woman. I talked a long while said everything. 
 She was just where I'd found her when I 
 started. 
 
 "I must live where she can watch me," she re- 
 peated dully. "She must know, must know ab- 
 solutely, that Lane and I do not meet. Stick, 
 you know what Zenia thinks well, it isn't all 
 false. One night when he was drunk he was so 
 terrible that I could have killed him, almost. 
 And I told Lane about it. And he said to call 
 for him if he were ever that way again. I didn't
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 223 
 
 call for him, but he was that way again and and 
 Lane did it." 
 
 I tried to drive these mad delusions from her 
 mind. 
 
 She looked down at her clasped hands and her 
 manner changed. "Stick," she said, very slow 
 and faint, "I understand you are looking for 
 some one to cheer your lonely life and serve you 
 faithfully until death. And I've always come to 
 you in my troubles, ever since I was a little girl 
 and well, and that's why I came to-night." She 
 started up hurriedly and looked at me with un- 
 steady eyes. "Don't you understand that I must 
 have shelter, or die?" 
 
 I took her by the hand and led her to the door 
 with these words: "My dear, I have it from 
 Jim Bob that the people who bought the Col- 
 lege are moving in and want me I don't know 
 how they know of me to recommend a house- 
 keeper. I'll recommend you; with plenty to do 
 you'll quit torturing yourself with wondering 
 what Zenia thinks. For good work is the best 
 shelter from the unkind thoughts of the world. 
 Good-night, my dear; always come to me in time 
 of need." 
 
 So I sent her away looking as if she did not
 
 224 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 rightly understand whether she'd got what she 
 came for or not; and soon after Lane Laclede was 
 at the door, gray of face, desperate hard of eye. 
 And 
 
 "Has Dahlia been here?" he asked. 
 
 "Just as you two planned," said I. 
 
 He stretched out his arm: "I'd give my body 
 to make that woman happy." He added under 
 his breath, "I've already given my soul. What 
 did you say to her?" he jerked out, his face 
 slowly turning a dull crimson, and his right hand 
 clenching and quivering, then spreading wide its 
 fingers as if to drop something upon the floor 
 doing this over and over, while the color deep- 
 ened in his gaunt cheeks. 
 
 "The new owners of the College," said I, "want 
 a housekeeper. I'm going to get Dahlia the place. 
 It'll help take her mind off her troubles. That 
 was all I could do for her, but I believe it'll work. 
 If she stays much longer with Zenia, she'll lose 
 her mind." 
 
 There was a slender iron bar on the table, and 
 he took it up aimlessly, holding it in both hands, 
 his head bowed. I'll never forget that look on 
 his face. It made me feel that all the troubles 
 I had ever known and all the disappointments I
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 225 
 
 had let rankle in my breast were but as grains 
 of dust in a summer wind compared to the ter- 
 rific forces that shake the earth in a hurricane. 
 He said in a keen voice that was drawn with such 
 ruthless force from his inner self that it shook 
 him from head to foot 
 
 "My God ! how I love her I" Then he flung the 
 bits of iron upon the table; for he had broken 
 the bar in two. 
 
 "Even as she loves you, and would sacrifice 
 herself for your sake." 
 
 He nodded. Perhaps he stayed an hour after 
 that, but not another word did we exchange. In 
 the end, he simply got up and went away with- 
 out looking back; and when, next day, we met 
 at Old Settlers' Bench, there was nothing except 
 that movement of his right hand to show that 
 he was not the same handsome, easy-going, in- 
 different Lane Laclede we had always known and 
 loved.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 To Measure a Man's Promises, Get the Tape- 
 line of His Past Accomplishments 
 
 IT was nearly time for William to come home 
 to marry Laidie before I met either of the 
 Ludlow sisters, both single, the new owners and 
 tenants of the College. Dahlia had been serving 
 them as housekeeper for a couple of months 
 when, one morning, I started to take the cross- 
 cut from the railroad to the old sawmill, this 
 cut leading from the front stiles across the cam- 
 pus. I don't know that I was ever more indig- 
 nant than when a woman's voice, pleasant enough 
 as to quality, cried out from the locust grove in 
 the yard 
 
 "Don't you walk on our grass! This is pri- 
 vate property, now. You go around, will you? 
 That's what the public road is for, isn't it?" 
 
 I stood stock still with plenty to say, but none 
 226
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 227 
 
 of it suitable. I'd taken that short-cut since the 
 closing of the College -doors; and to have a brace 
 of newcomers, two old maids from nobody knew 
 where, talk in this wise to an old settler was 
 enough to make the blood boil. But everything 
 that came to my mind was too heavy to cast 
 at birds, so I turned heel and marched off, 
 dumb. 
 
 Over this I was stirred up all morning, my 
 mind showing a wonderful activity that endured 
 past dinner. I think it was about two o'clock as 
 I stood in my shop cutting out a block of tin 
 (though that was a tinner's business, hence pure 
 accommodation, therefore small thanks received) 
 when suddenly, I never knew why, unless of the 
 morning's affront, a thought fell from my thought- 
 tree. It wasn't a stray leaf, but full-grown fruit, 
 ripe and heavy. I finished the tin-cutting and 
 closed my shop it was Saturday afternoon 
 and made for the public square, where the horses 
 ringed around the courthouse told me the farm- 
 ers were in town. 
 
 Finding some of the wealthiest at Bank Cor- 
 ner, I beguiled them by signs of secrecy to the 
 courthouse wall that shuts in the yard where there 
 was no danger of our being overheard unless by
 
 228 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 tenants of the county jail. In all its nakedness 
 I laid my plan under their eyes. Octavius Sel- 
 wyn with his railroad scheme had not sprung out 
 of the ground, I argued, from any dragon's tooth. 
 Find if, at his last lighting-place, he had not 
 foisted just such another proposition upon the 
 people, leaving them with the bag to hold. Even 
 if too late to save our citizens from the first pay- 
 ment, our probing into Selwyn's past might at 
 least rid ourselves of his pestiferous cries for a 
 new high school, waterworks, a Bigger Mizzoury- 
 ville and what not. 
 
 I didn't know a farmer who lay down at night 
 with five hundred acres under him who would 
 have given a snap of his fingers for electric lights 
 or grand opera over the hardware store (where 
 our opera house is) every night in the week. The 
 men I was talking to owned each about a thousand 
 acres, and they took hold readily. We made up 
 a purse to send our school superintendent in quest 
 of Selwyn facts, he being a man of intelligence 
 as became one in his business, and needy, as hav- 
 ing followed it most of his life. His school was 
 out, for we were in the middle of May, hence 
 he was free to kill time till autumn, such being 
 the privilege of this rather idle trade.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 229 
 
 Two weeks he was gone, coming back stocked 
 with information on the very train, as it chanced, 
 that brought William home from St. Louis. 
 
 It was about ten on a bright moonlight night, 
 when our "accommodation" stopped at the plat- 
 form, the steers bellowing from the attached cat- 
 tle-car, and the chickens squawking from the ex- 
 press car, and the passengers fighting to get off 
 before a stream of eager travelers could squeeze 
 themselves on. William, of course, first claimed 
 my attention, but scarcely less important, in view 
 of his mission, was our superintendent, whose 
 name I cannot recall. After my son's embrace, 
 the teacher grabbed my hand with: "I think we 
 have all we need about Octavius Selwyn!" 
 
 Even at that confusing moment, I found my 
 attention caught by a third man tall, slender, a 
 handkerchief tied to hide one eye and a slouch 
 hat pulled low over the other as if to avoid recog- 
 nition. At first I took him to be Si Cobwalter, 
 who, some years before, had moved to Chilli- 
 cothe, and as such I hailed him, not from friend- 
 liness, but to show that my memory worked. I 
 would give no encouragement as seeming glad 
 to have him back, for we want those who move 
 away to stay away, it being unsettling to our
 
 230 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 minds not to know what to expect, once they 
 begin skipping from pillar to post. 
 
 But the man with the handkerchief was not 
 Si Cobwalter, and when he gave me a look, odd 
 but fleeting, there was a great rush of wind in 
 my thought-tree, dislodging the idea that I'd seen 
 that man in circumstances dark and sinister. He 
 walked rapidly down the track, disappearing in 
 the shadow of the tank. I speak of him thus as 
 if he were a mystery; and I should be dealing 
 without fairness if I spoke otherwise. 
 
 Hurriedly explaining to William the important 
 business on foot "I'll walk home with you," 
 said I, "and in the meantime this gentleman" 
 (calling the teacher by name) "may telephone to 
 the farmers to assemble at our appointed place, 
 where I'll join them without loss of time." 
 
 So William ordered his suitcases and trunks 
 to be delivered the next morning there's not a 
 transfer man in Mizzouryville who can be induced 
 to do business after sundown and we set forth 
 to follow the railroad track to town. 
 
 I had just brought up the subject of Laidie, 
 finding him docile enough, when the College came 
 in sight, after which he could give me nothing 
 but yes and no, so I divined of what he was think-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 231 
 
 ing. To clear his mind off its sandbar, I began 
 telling how the new tenants had ordered me out 
 of the yard and I put as much heat into the cook- 
 ing of the tale as I could coax from kindlings 
 that had already been charred; but when I had 
 come to the end of it, he was still fast aground.
 
 XXIX 
 
 There's More Eloquence in a Yellow Rose Than 
 in a Congressional Record 
 
 AS we neared the steps leading from the rail- 
 road to the top of the wall whose coping is 
 on a level with the bluegrass campus, we dis- 
 covered a seated figure. Since no lights showed 
 from the brick building, we thought it strange 
 that any of the family should be there at half- 
 past ten, with small chance of a cry for help -being 
 heard from the far end of the avenue. The stiles 
 and root-veined path were blurred by overhang- 
 ing branches, but the moon found its way to the 
 young woman's face, making me think of a lily 
 floating in pearly mist and making William 
 think of a spirit; the same spirit which, since a 
 certain rainy night three years ago, had haunted 
 his life. 
 
 I stopped deep-rooted with a gasp "It's the 
 232
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 233 
 
 girl-out-of-the-common 1" But William didn't 
 stop. The next thing I knew, she was standing 
 on the topmost ledge, while he, several steps be- 
 low, was holding both her hands; and as he tried 
 to tell her how rejoiced he felt over this miracle 
 of a meeting, she, glad but not surprised she'd 
 been waiting for us threw in how she'd ven- 
 tured back to Mizzouryville for a last glimpse 
 of him before his marriage. And I held it wrong 
 of her to have come for this last view, since it 
 was not as if she were gazing upon a painted 
 form, he being very much alive. She tried to 
 draw away, but he made nothing of my being 
 there, insomuch that I scarcely knew which way 
 to look. 
 
 "If I loosen my hold on you, you'll vanish," 
 he said, so happy that my heart ached. "I must 
 tell you all you've meant to me this long while 
 but if you escape, how can I call you back? I've 
 no name for you except the one in my heart." 
 
 She looked over his shoulder at me, big-eyed, 
 and asked, breathless, "Stick, may he call me 
 by the name in his heart?" She was all aglow. 
 
 I tried to hang a pound weight to each of 
 my words: "If he thinks Laidie wouldn't mind," 
 said I. At that William stepped aside, and I
 
 234 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 shook hands with her, speaking of the last time 
 we'd met, the night of Taggart Gleason's death. 
 But those two made little of my words, so full 
 of sheer delight that they cared not whose eyes 
 were blinded if they felt anything for me, it was 
 that condescending pity that young years feel 
 for a wise head. They wouldn't have traded 
 those few minutes of being together for as many 
 years lived apart, for youth is a poor bargainer 
 with old Father Time, and is like to be cheated 
 out of a comfortable future by the lure of a little 
 love. 
 
 "Let's sit here where we met to go to my 
 party," she said, just as eager as he, "and talk 
 and talk everything we want to say must be said 
 to-night. Do you remember when I first came 
 to Mizzouryville as a teacher, I gave my name 
 as 'Miss Cereus'? That's because the cereus is 
 a night-blooming flower and must close up with 
 the dawn. This time it's to be for good and all." 
 
 "But why?" he pleaded, sitting at her feet. 
 "Little Night Bloomer, it shall not be for good 
 and alll" And his voice rang with command. 
 
 I cleared my throat. William never would 
 have been the high-graced ambitious fellow he 
 was but for her, yet when his voice sounded soft,
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 235 
 
 not like a man's, and his eyes glowed as they 
 did now, I looked for the reason in the moon, and 
 saw ahead when the sun would be in the sky 
 and Laidie at the altar. 
 
 "I have always wanted to know," William 
 murmured, "if you were really angry with me in 
 the chapel when Jim Bob broke up our party." 
 
 "You were so bashful and awkward," said she, 
 "I never could understand how you dared." 
 
 "I was inspired. When you kissed father " 
 
 "But dear old Stick why, he's a regular pa- 
 triarch!" 
 
 "It was all my soul had to live on till we met 
 again," he told her. 
 
 She shook back her hair, looking down at him 
 from under half-closed lids so that her eyes were 
 almost hidden. There was in her expression 
 something so remote and yet so near that for a 
 moment or so he just forgot what they were talk- 
 ing about, and stared with beating heart stared 
 at the long dark lashes, the eye-gleams, like lights 
 turned down low beside one's hearth, the pensive, 
 softly-molded lips he had once dared kiss. 
 
 His voice sounded gruff because, I think, he 
 feared to show his feeling: "Answer my ques- 
 tion!"
 
 236 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 Roused from deep musing, she looked anxious, 
 as if wondering how she had offended him. "Did 
 you ask something?" She touched his arm with 
 fluttering fingers: "Tell me what you want me 
 to say." 
 
 "That you are glad I kissed you." 
 
 Her face changed so quick from troubled doubt 
 to radiant understanding that I think he had all 
 his eyes could bear. She asked, like a playful 
 child, "Shall I tell him, Stick?" 
 
 I was dumb. 
 
 Then to William, with wonderful gravity: 
 "Before answering, I must give you fair warn- 
 ing that the Unintended always goes armed." 
 Her cheeks burned. "The answer is, Yes," she 
 said. 
 
 Behind them the campus with its dark masses 
 of interlocked trees, their outer fringe painted 
 white; before them an old brick church, and a 
 sleeping cottage like a silver picture set against 
 the blue sky; and within reach of my foot, the 
 gleaming rails from the world that's real, where 
 people are not out of the common, and where 
 everything and everybody has a name. 
 
 A man came briskly along the railroad, his 
 tall, slim figure clear-cut against the, moon. A
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 237 
 
 handkerchief hid half his face, a drooping hat 
 shaded his brow. Keen as knifeblades were his 
 darting glances as he gave us "Good evening," 
 in a deep bass voice. 
 
 The girl responded impulsively, "A beautiful 
 night!" 
 
 He almost stopped. "Thank you," he said, 
 finding it hard to go. 
 
 She asked William, "Did you feel queer? 
 What a kindly stranger! And he has walked 
 out of our lives. People are always walking 
 out of our lives who might be good friends if 
 they would stay." She sighed. 
 
 I told her I'd seen him get off the train, and 
 the superintendent had told me he'd asked a thou- 
 sand questions about our New Railroad scheme. 
 
 "But why did he thank me?" she wondered. 
 
 "Because you spoke to him," said William. 
 "Just as I thank you because you look at me." 
 
 "William," said I, "shall we be going?" 
 
 She turned on me so quick that I caught my 
 breath. "Stick," she said, in a broken voice, "I 
 am just for this once and Laidie is for a life- 
 time." She paused till the long drawn-out wail 
 from the night freight died away like the cooing
 
 238 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 of a dove, then whispered, "Give us only the time 
 till the train has passed by." 
 
 I knew the freight would stop to switch be- 
 fore it came through town, but I said nothing. 
 Somehow her tone had caught my throat in a 
 
 grip- 
 
 Then William spoke, and his voice was broken 
 just like hers: "If you'd been thinking of me 
 the years I've been thinking of you and if things 
 were different while we were the same I'd call 
 you by the name in my heart; and there'd be no 
 parting after the train has passed by." 
 
 She didn't stir till we heard the whistle for 
 the bridge at the edge of town. "Uncle died a 
 year ago," she murmured. "The Companion is 
 the only rope I have by which I swing to con- 
 ventionality when she's gone, goodness knows 
 what'll happen ! I'm so frightened at having no 
 one to sit in authority that I keep her you re- 
 member how the frogs had a log for their king? 
 That way. I'm afraid of myself so full of wild 
 schemes and daring I want to fill my pockets 
 and go out after adventure; but the more I want 
 to roam, the tighter I cling to the Companion. 
 I couldn't help breaking loose to-night because 
 the paper said you were coming home, and I
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 239 
 
 knew you'd pass the old stile. But I mean to 
 put strong chains on my demon of unrest and 
 finish my adventures with this meeting. And 
 why not? I've seen how you've turned out." 
 
 He took her hand: "And how do you like your 
 job?" 
 
 "Just finel" 
 
 He held her hand upon his breast and asked, 
 deep and low, "Can you guess what I've kept in 
 this pocket since we first met?" 
 
 After a little hesitation, she whispered, "A 
 yellow rose?" 
 
 "The one you gave me in the dark. And a 
 few blades of grass where you stood in our 
 yard." 
 
 She started up swiftly as if to escape her grief; 
 for she was crying. "The old rosebush is still 
 by the well," she faltered, "full of roses . . . and 
 I know the family wouldn't hear us ... Would 
 you like a fresh one?" 
 
 So they vanished up the path between the ma- 
 ples and I waited, heavy at heart, but still con- 
 fident that after she had gone her ways, he would 
 grow used to Laidie, telling myself that the lit- 
 tle night-wanderer could be for him no fitting
 
 2 4 o HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 mate, though a fair enough picture in a moon- 
 light dream. 
 
 When they came back she was walking hur- 
 riedly; it may have been because the long groan- 
 ing freight train had drawn up the grade and 
 the yellow caboose was creeping past the stiles 
 at a snail's pace as if for a moment fate were 
 slowing down for her or it may have been be- 
 cause in the darkness, beside the fragrant rose- 
 bush, he had called her by the name in his heart. 
 
 Evidently they had agreed upon no more fare- 
 wells, for she caught my hand to press it, then 
 darted down the stiles and swung herself aboard 
 the caboose. He stood on the top of the wall 
 gazing with all his might, and she held her face 
 toward him in the moonlight that he might see 
 clearly, and she would have given him a long 
 look, only the tears were falling so fast she could 
 not keep them brushed from her eyes.
 
 XXX 
 
 Watch the Man Who Doesn't Want to Be Seen 
 
 I TOOK William from his dream at the Col- 
 lege stiles to my business at the Old Log 
 School House about three miles out in the coun- 
 try, where the superintendent had agreed to as- 
 semble the farmers. We found half a dozen 
 there; and after our emissary had related all he 
 knew of Octavius Selwyn, we had him write it 
 out for next day's circular distribution. And after 
 we had thrown out that which was not essential 
 to his tale he being a hundred times more 
 grieved over what we cut out than pleased over 
 what we left in it was still so early, I remem- 
 ber, that the shadows of ragweeds growing across 
 the dusty road spangled the side of the school- 
 house as high as the row of windows. 
 
 Here is what we learned: Before coming to 
 Mizzouryville, Selwyn had operated a railroad 
 
 241
 
 242 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 scheme in Arkansas similar to the one offered 
 us. On the road being surveyed, and the right 
 of way obtained, stockholders had paid down 
 half; whereupon our promoter, instead of going 
 ahead, had slipped away with the cash in his 
 bags. Now, this was the dawn of the day that 
 called for half payments in Mizzouryville ; and 
 before a penny had been paid down, our facts 
 were in the possession of every business man in 
 the county, either in cold print or by heated tele- 
 phone. 
 
 I closed my shop that day to work in the peo- 
 ple's interests, drawing such pay as usually falls 
 to the lot of a man working in that cause many 
 frowns and little thanks. In my part of the 
 country, when you give your time and strength 
 for the public, it turns them cold, they suspecting 
 that you have some hidden way of "getting some- 
 thing out of it"; whereas if you make it plain 
 that you're after office for your own pocketbook, 
 sometimes they'll cheer you on. 
 
 Hard as we strove to bring the people to rea- 
 son, news came to Old Settlers' Bench and to Bank 
 Corner that payments were being made right 
 along. For holders of certificates to have ad- 
 mitted possibility of fraud would have been to con-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 243 
 
 fess themselves unwise in entering the scheme; 
 and it's easier for a man to continue in the way 
 of a fool to the end of his days than by facing 
 about, admit that he has been one. Therefore 
 they called us old fogies and abused us as being 
 opposed to progression. To strengthen their 
 hands, Selwyn gracefully admitted our superin- 
 tendent's statements, claiming that he meant to 
 return to Arkansas and complete that railroad as 
 soon as he had ours under way, he to put a big 
 corporation behind both, as finding it cheaper to 
 build railroads in the bulk than piecemeal. 
 
 But there was a reason still stronger for 
 prompt payment the law, as expounded in loud 
 mouthings by Lancaster Overstreet. In black and 
 white stood the agreement to pay down before 
 six o'clock of this day, and those certificates, the 
 same as personal notes, would begin drawing in- 
 terest at seven per cent., and would run on and 
 on, railroad or no railroad, with no legal remedy 
 to stop the flux. 
 
 So paid it all was, Selwyn cashing every check 
 as it came in, so that by six o'clock he had over 
 serenty-five thousand dollars in his steel safe over 
 Tidlin's "Meat Market" (the butcher-shop). 
 
 That was the night of the Celebration Ball. It
 
 244 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 would be idle for the most rabid advocates of 
 a "Bigger Mizzouryville" to claim that our super- 
 intendent's circular was without effect. On the 
 contrary, there was a quick feverish pulse fn town 
 all day which by night was beating above a hun- 
 dred. People felt that their fates depended upon 
 Octavius Selwyn, who had their money and, in 
 exchange, had given them nothing. He must be 
 kept in good humor; and an invitation to his ball 
 was like a king's request to the characters in 
 some of the books in the smokehouse. 
 
 Since Van Buren's cottage was too small for 
 the festivities, the last Mrs. Big Dave Overstreet 
 I mean Zenia proffered the use of her man- 
 sion. Time was when our best set wouldn't have 
 put foot in Taggart Gleason's place, unless to 
 buy a new bonnet, but now Zenia was the bell- 
 wether of the flock of fashion, with the Over- 
 street brand on her forehead and the Overstreet 
 estate for her horn of plenty. And hers was a 
 fitting scene for the celebration, since our great 
 trouble would never have befallen us had she not 
 sold the Springs property inherited from her hus- 
 band. ("Poor papa would have wished it," she 
 said, very pious. "It nearly broke his heart when 
 mother refused to sign a duplicate deed for the 
 
 r*
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 245 
 
 sale of the Rockpile. Papa loved this town, and 
 everybody loved him who knew him. Papa was 
 the father of the progressive movement," said 
 she.) 
 
 "Of course," I told William, "I shall not go 
 to this ball, but with you it's another story. The 
 town may have forgotten that Sylvia is not a law- 
 fully wedded wife, but Laidie never forgets, and 
 if you stay away you'll hurt her cruelly. Now 
 that the Unintended has ridden out of your life, 
 it's for you to act as if she had never come into it." 
 
 "I want to stay at home with you," he pleaded, 
 futile. 
 
 I was determined he should be at that ball with 
 every eye set upon him as upon a man bespoken, 
 marked out from his fellows. The Chinese lan- 
 terns in the yard might remind him of the girl- 
 out-of-the-common, but Laidie would be hanging 
 on his arm looking her best, with her mother's 
 foolishness to draw them close together. I was 
 pleased at the prospect, and glad, too, that Zenia's 
 stepmother would be spared the ordeal, safe at 
 her post as housekeeper for the new College folk 
 I could almost forgive them for ordering me 
 off the grass when I thought of the pain they 
 were sparing Dahlia.
 
 246 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 After supper I went up town, my mind busy 
 with the picture of William making himself fit 
 for the ball only, instead of him, I seemed to 
 see myself, for I felt as young as he looked; and 
 because there was such a contradiction between 
 my years and my feeling, my heart was heavy. 
 I have lived as heartily as another, sopping up 
 the juices of content with a clean platter to show 
 for it; but I hadn't had enough of youth, and 
 that night I was feeling my hunger. 
 
 It was some relief but very little to sit on 
 Old Settlers' Bench beside others so much older 
 and smaller than myself. Of course Captain Lit- 
 tle Dave wasn't there, he being too wise to bring 
 out ninety-three years to sit in the falling dew. 
 But there was Jim Bob Peterson, chewing his 
 tobacco and missing the holes in the sidewalk- 
 grating; and Van Buren who had been let off 
 from the ball and was trying to ease himself in 
 his stiff shirt; and Curd Tooterflail, who had 
 made a name for himself when young by the 
 keeping of a fighting cock, but done nothing of 
 note since, yet was old enough to be my father 
 (though if capable of producing a son so nimble, 
 with no evidence to prove it) ; and, to complete 
 the row, there was Sheriff Cadwitch Beam, of my
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 247 
 
 age, but infinitely removed by a tortoise-shelled 
 brain. In the doorway stood Lane Laclede, and 
 it struck me that I'd never seen him so thin since 
 he got his height, and that, somehow, he looked 
 about as old as the rest of us. 
 
 We were not full of talk because Doc Snaggs 
 was driving the glass coach past on every trip to 
 and from the ball; and such was its novelty 
 it having been brought overland all the way from 
 St. Joe by our best set that it gave us almost 
 as much pleasure seeing it empty as filled. When 
 its newness had begun to wear upon us, I descried 
 a man wandering about like a lost ghost. It was 
 Brother Wane, who, being a minister, could not 
 be called to the ball and who, as one desirous of 
 holding his place, was not expected to refer to 
 dancing from the pulpit, he being by the nature 
 of his calling and poverty debarred both from 
 the delights of participation and denunciation. 
 
 Divining that in his zeal to win attendance to 
 his Sunday school he would shake hands with us, 
 beginning at one end of the Bench and so down 
 the line without the loss of a man up I started, 
 as having remembered an errand. As I whisked 
 around the corner, Jim Bob was writhing in his 
 iron grip.
 
 248 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 Beyond the corner, I found the street deserted 
 except for one man who seemed to want to escape 
 being seen, and as I sometimes have that desire 
 myself, I was for slipping back to Brother Wane 
 and to all that might befall me. But as the man 
 not seeing me darted into the broad band of 
 moonlight that ribboned the middle of the street, 
 I found him to be the stranger I had first taken 
 for Si Cobwalter of Chillicothe, he who later 
 passed the College stile and thanked the Unin- 
 tended for her pleasant word. He no longer 
 wore the handkerchief over one eye, nor was his 
 hat pulled down to hide his face, and as he leaped 
 through the moonlight like a flame's shadow I 
 recognized that tall, slim figure, that granite face. 
 
 He was the man whose name had terrified many 
 a heart, whose hand had brought death to not a 
 few our world-famous highwayman, Giles Flit- 
 terfled.
 
 XXXI 
 
 Feed Them the Same Politics and the Lion and 
 the Lamb Will Lie Down Together 
 
 BEFORE I could have cried a warning, the 
 highwayman leapt to the outside staircase 
 that clings to the side of Tidlin's butcher-shop. 
 Up he went like a squirrel while I, in a breath, 
 dived back to Old Settlers' Bench. Though of 
 great weight, my speed was rapid, and, thanks 
 to Brother Wane, I hadn't been missed. "Boys," 
 I heard him say, "I'd like to see all of you out to- 
 morrow at Sunday school " And seeing me 
 
 standing apart, "Brother Attum," says he, "tell 
 'em it'll do 'em good; I'm sure you can move 
 them." 
 
 "Yes, I think I could," said I, sitting down be- 
 tween Curd and Cad, my knife open in one hand, 
 and my other hand reaching for a stick to whit- 
 tle. "I believe I could move 'em rapid." Then 
 
 249
 
 250 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 giving Cadwitch a poke in the side "Mr. 
 Sheriff," said I, "there's a man breaking into the 
 Bigger Mizzouryville office this minute you'd 
 better get busy." 
 
 He stared at me as if I were the moon, and 
 Jim Bob asked, feeble, "What on earth are you 
 driving at?" 
 
 "There's nothing," said I, "between that rob- 
 ber and some seventy-five thousand dollars but 
 the walls of a steel safe. His name is Giles Flit- 
 terfled." And I got up, still whittling. 
 
 The next second that Old Settlers' Bench was 
 as bare as the back of my hand. First I had 
 frozen them stiff, then melted them away. Jim 
 Bob slopped right down under the Bench behind 
 my legs, and I never did know what became of 
 B., he not stopping to debate between the chance 
 of a second stroke or of being run over by the 
 safe-blower. When it came to a choice of evils, 
 old Uncle Van Buren Hightower clung to some- 
 thing chronic. Only Cadwitch Beam stood his 
 ground, but he was shrewd enough to select the 
 ground at the head of the alley a handy exit in 
 case of fire. 
 
 Just then, hearing wheels approaching at a tre- 
 mendous rate, Cadwitch drew his gun and clenched
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 251 
 
 his teeth. A buggy whizzed past us like mad, 
 and nearly turned over as it rounded the corner 
 toward the butcher-shop. 
 
 "It's Octavius Selwyn, driving alone I" Cad- 
 witch gasped. "He couldn't have got a tip that 
 his office was being robbed, now could he? Then 
 why has he come away from his Celebration 
 Ball?" 
 
 Jim Bob stuck his head out from under the 
 bench and quavered, "His buggy's stopped right 
 in front of Tidlin's. I know the sound of a wheel 
 when it grinds on that iron spike in the gutter. 
 He'll go up there and run across Flitterfled. 
 They'll fight. I'll bet Flitterfled has got his gang 
 guarding the square from every street. There'll 
 be bullets flying. And dead men." 
 
 "Stick," Cadwitch asked, desperate, "what 
 would you do?" 
 
 "I'd get my posse. You'll find a ballroom full 
 of men at Zenia Overstreet's." I didn't si. my 
 more to him what was the use? In those few 
 seconds I had grasped several startling truths, and 
 as one big truth is enough to fill a man, I felt 
 light-headed. Why had Selwyn converted his 
 checks into cash that day? Evidently all the time 
 he had meant to drive for the money while the
 
 252 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 town was at his wife's ball, and skip with the 
 cash. 
 
 Of course a thousand lawyers couldn't have 
 taken that money from his "Company," but a 
 few determined citizens are ofttimes stronger than 
 the law. Therefore, had he driven so furiously 
 to the meat market, little suspecting that, up 
 above, our celebrated highwayman was examin- 
 ing his safe. And how did it chance that Flitter- 
 fled was there on this night of all others? It 
 was no chance. Having met on the train Mr. 
 What's-his-name (our superintendent), he had 
 engaged him in chat because from the home of 
 his fathers. Giles had wormed from our teacher 
 (sharp in books but dull-edged to common sense) 
 all about the Bigger Mizzouryville Company and 
 that had been enough to inform any intelligent 
 man with the instincts of a wild bear that he'd 
 find money in the tree. 
 
 I have been asked why I didn't raise the hue 
 and cry on first seeing Flitterfled. Here is my 
 reason for all men to take or leave, as it suits 
 them: knowing our citizens had been robbed of 
 their money with no hope of recovery, I preferred 
 having it carried off by a bandit professed. 
 
 There we stood waiting, Cadwitch afraid to
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 253 
 
 call for help and I not wanting help to come, when 
 suddenly an explosion of dynamite from the di- 
 rection of the butcher-shop told its story in big 
 print. It broke the glass in Laclede's Grocery, 
 and brought Jim Bob with a scream out from 
 under the Bench, which was the last I saw of him 
 that night. Cadwitch Beam sprinted down the al- 
 ley after his posse. Shots rang from the next 
 street and there was a cry of pain. Around the 
 corner, mad with fright, came Selwyn's horse, and 
 I stood ready for him, my two-hundred-odd 
 pounds towering like a high rock in his current. 
 Be my metaphor mixed, be it assorted, my pur- 
 pose was single and under my grip that snorting 
 roan was no more than a dog in its collar. 
 
 Before I could spring into the buggy, the shoot- 
 ing stopped. I drove around the corner, raking 
 the four points with one gattling-gun glance, but 
 nothing was to be seen alive save Curd's head 
 thrust over the eaves of the Mizzouryville Bank 
 roof, his arm signalling me to look toward the 
 outside stairs of the meat market. Thither I 
 drove, the horse prancing with fright. 
 
 On the pavement at the foot of the steps lay a 
 man's body out of the moonlight, but I could 
 make out the blood that trickled across the planks
 
 254 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 to the gutter. The face was turned away, but 
 there was no mistaking Octavius Selwyn. Be- 
 side him lay a carpetbag. It was empty. 
 
 I called to Curd Tooterflail, peeping cautiously 
 from his elevation: "Come down, you old fool, 
 and stop his bleeding while I get the doctor." 
 And not waiting to make sure whether Selwyn 
 were dead or alive, or if Curd would obey, I put 
 whip to the roan. 
 
 Down Osage Street I plunged, I praying that 
 I might find the doctor sober than whom, if sober, 
 no man is better in an emergency, I care not 
 how many diplomas holding, nor how many 
 trained nurses held in leash. I had rounded into 
 Main Street where it cuts Locust to slide down 
 past the power house, when a horseman came 
 plunging up the steep in the full glare of the moon, 
 almost running into me. He had a six-shooter 
 in one hand and a heavy bag in the other and 
 his bridle-reins were between his teeth. 
 
 As he swept by like the wind, I yelled, "Have 
 you got it, Giles?" 
 
 He, looking back over his shoulder, and seeing 
 an old play-fellow, began to smile. But before 
 his smile could reach from one corner of his 
 mouth to the other (that being always his fash-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 255 
 
 ion of mirth) he was out of sight. It had been 
 fifteen years since we'd met; but such is my per- 
 sonality, and such was his memory for a man 
 of build, he'd made no mistake. He knew my 
 pistol would never be turned against him, so 
 bitterly had he and his family been wronged dur- 
 ing the War for the sake of the very political 
 convictions that fit me like a glove.
 
 XXXII 
 
 // Doubles Daring to Believe What You Hope 
 
 I GOT Dr. Mclntyre to Selwyn's motionless 
 form on the sidewalk where, in the mean- 
 time, Curd and others had been doing what they 
 could. After a thorough investigation, Dr. Mc- 
 lntyre straightened himself up with: "I give him 
 ten minutes to breathe his last," very impressive. 
 
 Then I knew Selwyn had a chance for his life, 
 for if he hadn't he'd have been pronounced dead 
 already, our physician always making out the case 
 worse than it is to reap by-and-by a richer tri- 
 umph. 
 
 "I'm glad," said I, from a full heart, "that 
 Selwyn has this bullet in his wing to stop his 
 flight." 
 
 "You are glad?" cried Doc Snaggs, very hot, 
 stopping the glass coach in the street to glare 
 at me he was the twin who had studied medi- 
 
 256
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 257 
 
 cine, getting nothing out of it but the title. He 
 was angry because a heavy investor in the New 
 Railroad, and he saw no hopes of his paradise 
 of sudden wealth without the guardian angel. 
 Men were carefully carrying away Selwyn's mo- 
 tionless form, followed by the doctor as master 
 of ceremonies, grand and pleased. 
 
 "You are glad!" echoed Buck Snaggs, the other 
 twin, more gifted than Doc, able to put into speech 
 what stopped dead cold on the hackman's tongue. 
 "You are glad Selwyn is killed, and yet your 
 son is about to marry the daughter of Selwyn's 
 wife!" 
 
 "It's on Laidie's account that I'm glad," I ex- 
 plained, patient. "Nothing but shed blood could 
 ever have convinced the town that Selwyn wasn't 
 in Giles Flitterfled's scheme to carry off the 
 money." And turning on my heel I left them 
 to digest my words, with Selwyn's empty car- 
 petbag serving as sauce to my meaning. 
 
 In the meantime, the face of events had 
 changed. Before blowing up the safe, Giles must 
 have tied his horse down by the mill, but after 
 securing his booty, evidently had changed his 
 mind about escaping toward the north. Retracing 
 his steps had lost him time and when he came out
 
 258 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 upon the south road leading toward the Mineral 
 Springs, many of the Celebration Ball guests had 
 already secured weapons. 
 
 When his horse suddenly burst into the moon- 
 lighted road, somebody fired no one ever knew 
 for certain who it was, though many claimed the 
 shot. Down came the big black horse, a bullet 
 in his foreleg. To the ground fell Giles but 
 upon his feet. All was like the quick flashing of 
 pictures coming and going before the mind could 
 clearly grasp them Over the barbed wire fence 
 a crashing through undergrowth of the deep 
 woods, the heavy bag in one hand, a blazing re- 
 volver in the other and the scared, white faces 
 
 
 of the men as they dodged the bullets and the 
 screaming of the wounded horse; and after that, 
 dodging black forms, humped-over close to the 
 earth, pursuing in dress suits the crashing of 
 firearms, the scattering of leaves on the breeze- 
 less air and an uneasy silence. 
 
 Somewhere in the woods that stretched un- 
 broken for a mile or two beyond the Mineral 
 Springs, he was hiding a forest in places sev- 
 eral miles wide, with Midway Creek winding 
 throughout its length, and a road not often used 
 crossing it at one point over a high red bridge
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 259 
 
 and, at another place, meeting it at a shallow 
 ford. 
 
 Our townsfolk were in a frenzy. Well they 
 knew that Giles Flitterfled had their New Rail- 
 road in his bag, and they fancied for what they 
 hoped they believed that could the money be 
 restored to Selwyn (who was no more dead than 
 you or I) , the New Railroad would eventually get 
 itself transferred from blue prints to green 
 earth. 
 
 Our plan of procedure was as follows: By 
 telegraph, telephone and messengers we spread 
 the news to all nearby towns and school- and 
 meeting-houses, and, in due course, had a line 
 of watchmen strung around the forest, each vil- 
 lage supplying its volunteer guards. Fortunately 
 the woods extended into the next county, there- 
 fore we had the assistance of a sheriff who knew 
 black from white. While he, capable and will- 
 ing, guarded the southern angle, and while Cad- 
 witch Beam did as we told him (I classed myself 
 with my fellows in this search, rising or falling 
 with the fortunes of Mizzouryville), it seemed 
 certain we must soon starve Flitterfled into the 
 open. 
 
 Nor were we content with a still-hunt. Al-
 
 26o HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 ways there was a party of resolute men exploring 
 the interior, while the outer cordon held itself 
 taut. These exploring parties relieved each other 
 so that those desirous of coming to close grips 
 with the fugitive might always be fresh, and 
 each have his chance at glory. 
 
 But because we had never learned whether or 
 not Giles Flitterfled was working single-handed, 
 we feared to venture in deep places except in 
 goodly numbers, for if with him were three or 
 four of his hardy campaigners, a dozen of our 
 desk-and-counter-men would be at great disadvan- 
 tage. 
 
 The night after the safe-blowing, the passenger 
 train brought many strangers to town, and by 
 noon there were so many automobiles in the streets 
 that we walked through each other's yards. Re- 
 porters came from St. Louis, Kansas City, St. Joe, 
 Hannibal, Springfield, Joplin, even from cities out- 
 side the state. 
 
 What days those were I Life became a camp- 
 ing-out, a perpetual suspense and excitement. 
 Some took lunches from home, others built fires 
 at the margin of the forest and there cooked 
 what they could find, and always there were peo- 
 ple sleeping on the ground by day and by night.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 261 
 
 Long articles appeared in city dailies with pic- 
 tures, some of them plain enough to be made out, 
 and the legend of the "Boy Desperado" was 
 cooked over till the taste was lost I mean the 
 rumor that a young boy had been seen carrying 
 food into the forest to keep alive the highway- 
 man. Once a watchman, waking from deep slum- 
 ber, found in his pocket a missive signed "Giles 
 F." couched in language such as may not be put 
 into a book, though it was never yet poured into 
 a man's ear that it did not arouse the most lively 
 and pleasing emotions. But I cannot reproduce 
 that letter here let not my pen halt with any 
 such purpose. 
 
 Several times, exploring parties found where 
 the fugitive had eaten, and, to judge from odds 
 and ends of mince and pumpkin pies, had fared 
 sumptuously. Had the "Boy Desperado" actu- 
 ally a place in reality? I could never find any 
 one who had seen him all was hearsay. But 
 somebody, whether boy or man, must be slipping 
 through the lines, causing us cruel loss of time 
 and sleep, otherwise the highwayman would be 
 making a dash for freedom, since he was no man 
 to live off redhaws, pawpaws, blackhaws and the 
 like.
 
 262 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 It was a Saturday night when my turn came 
 to venture with a search-party into the heart of 
 the forest for I had held back, not wishing to 
 be the man to lay hands upon Giles Flitterfled. 
 Yet I was resolute to do my duty by my town 
 if he crossed my path, and William felt as I did. 
 We were sure he had not escaped, and it seemed 
 certain that at the end of the week he must be 
 a good deal weakened by the strain and his priva- 
 tions. 
 
 "Let's hope for the best," I whispered to 
 William, as we joined the party, "and that is, 
 that he fall not into our hands."
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Better Unite Under a Poor Leader Than Follow 
 a Dozen Wise Counsels 
 
 AS we slipped into the woods, William and 
 I formed the compact to keep close together 
 in case of a charge from the enemy his number 
 unknown. We were for taking Giles Flitterfled 
 alive and, if possible, unharmed, and with us in 
 this intention stood Lane Laclede and Curd 
 Tooterflail and our sheriff. On the other hand, 
 Richard Purly was blood-thirsty because his sal- 
 ary as secretary of the Bigger Mizzouryville 
 Company (very handsome in prospect) had 
 been bagged; and almost as fierce was Lancaster 
 Overstreet, the company's lawyer. Pern Hoochins 
 spoke fair on both sides, telling me Giles should 
 be spared for his political integrity, and whis- 
 pering to Purly that he should be shot down on 
 sight; but from what he said, you could never 
 
 263
 
 264 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 rightly know where Pern stood, though in action 
 I never yet failed to find him on the wrong side. 
 
 "I'm for shooting him like a dog," Buck Snaggs 
 muttered as we crawled under the bushes off the 
 main road. And his twin who was but his echo, 
 his view of life having been constricted by his 
 narrow scene of daily action the driver's seat 
 on the village hack this twin, Doc Snaggs, 
 growled, "Shoot him like a dog!" 
 
 Whereupon, "Halt!" whispers Cadwitch Beam. 
 And after we had drawn about him in a circle, 
 there was a low-voiced but violent argument 
 as to how we should use Giles Flitterfled when 
 captured. We were twelve men, all told, two 
 of them non-committal Jim Bob by nature, 
 and Dr. Mclntyre by profession. Reason pre- 
 vailed, for if we did not obey our sheriff, all would 
 be at cross purposes, however poor our leader. 
 And a poorer than Cad Beam, where could one 
 be found? 
 
 Having pledged ourselves to take Flitterfled un- 
 scratched if possible, we plunged deeper into the 
 wilderness, making toward the spot where had 
 last been found remnants of the outlaw's feast. 
 All about the lonely spot we prowled and sniffed 
 with no better idea of which way to turn than
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 265 
 
 the high-priced bloodhounds when brought down 
 on the Sunday night accommodation to dabble 
 their paws in Midway Creek, then to be taken 
 back to Jefferson City, well-fed and sleek as fire- 
 side cats. 
 
 Stretching out, Indian file, we worked south- 
 ward, examining every bush and tree by the way, 
 quick-motioned because the moon would soon be 
 up to reveal us to any watchful eye. When we 
 came to the big red bridge we trod softly, and 
 several were already across when Jim Bob 
 stopped at the railing to peer fixedly at heavy 
 shadows along the opposite bank. At first I gave 
 no heed, believing that if aught was to be seen 
 he would be the last to lay eyes upon it. But 
 as I came up, he plucked my sleeve 
 
 "Look!" he whispered; "what's that at the 
 edge of the water?" 
 
 So dense was the wood on either side of the 
 bridge, we could hardly see each other, much less 
 distinguish objects down below. Midway Creek 
 is never clear, and for weeks it had been mud- 
 died and thickened from rains washing our rich 
 farmlands; and yet I fancied something blacker 
 than the overhanging grasses and pawpaw bushes 
 was pointed out by the old man's shaking finger.
 
 266 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "What do you take it to be?" he asked under 
 his breath. 
 
 "A skiff," I answered "the skiff." For there 
 is only one boat on Midway Creek, and it's never 
 used save in times of picnics, the balance of the 
 year finding it tied up to whatever tree came 
 handiest to the last disembarking couple. 
 
 By this time, three or four had gathered at 
 the railing; but those in front, hearing nothing, 
 went on their way, supposing us at their heels. 
 
 "It's moving," William whispered. "You fel- 
 lows stand back, or you'll be seen." 
 
 "It's nothing but a shadow," Lanky Overstreet 
 declared. "Just a shadow, and we're losing time 
 stand back, Uncle Jim Bob, or you'll fall over." 
 
 "I'll not fall over nothing," Jim Bob hissed, 
 so puffed up at having seen something first, that 
 he was like to burst. "Shadow your grand- 
 father! I tell you it's a-moving. It's creeping 
 right under the bridge. What did I tell 
 you " 
 
 Then he gave a curdling shriek. He has al- 
 ways declared that one of us gave him a push 
 while he leaned over the railing; but if so, some- 
 body lied. In my opinion, he was so eager to 
 discover his America while we were still crying
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 267 
 
 that there was no hope of land, that he leaned 
 too much of his physical man on the prop of 
 his ambition. At any rate, over he went, heels 
 up, a drop of more than twenty feet into a 
 stream so shallow that if the bottom didn't fall 
 out of the creek his head certainly cushioned itself 
 in oozy mud. 
 
 Now was the time for quick action across the 
 bridge we dashed, no one for a moment deeming 
 that Jim Bob could get out of his predicament 
 unaided. Those who had gone serenely on ahead 
 were petrified by the shriek, the splash, and the 
 thud of our boots across the rattling planks. Back 
 they came, their tongues bristling with questions, 
 and no man with time to give answers. And 
 when they saw us plunging down the bank which 
 at that place is as steep as a barn roof, they bared 
 their gums in a sort of panic of curiosity. 
 
 All through that part of the county I had coon- 
 hunted as a youth, an ax over my shoulder, dogs 
 running before, and in my pocket a big red onion 
 with plenty of salt. Therefore, I slid over the 
 upper ridge of the bank as a sailor who knows 
 his chart, and setting my heels rigid, let myself 
 drive hard. But not as a youth went I down 
 that long slope in the pitchy darkness, for though
 
 268 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 my mind was alert to every need, my muscles re- 
 fused to flex at will, and my two-hundred-odd 
 pounds gave me a momentum confusing to be- 
 hold. 
 
 Skidding along at a tremendous rate, I, by great 
 good fortune, drove into Curd Tooterflail who, 
 lighter of foot, had almost reached the water's 
 edge, and Splash! into the creek I sent him, 
 the bluffs echoing back his frantic cries, unseemly, 
 yet cogent enough. I, like a great ship driven 
 upon a sandbar, stopped short, quivering from 
 beam to stern while from above came fresh de- 
 mands for an explanation of what was going for- 
 ward. 
 
 Out of the blackness between the banks came 
 a ringing, sonorous voice "Throw 'em in one 
 at a time, boys, one at a time!" 
 
 Straining my eyes, I made out the skiff in mid- 
 stream, and the pale blur of a man's face. 
 
 "Giles Flitterfled!" shouted Cadwitch Beam. 
 "I know you by your voice, and as sheriff of 
 this county I call on you to come ashore and sur- 
 render." 
 
 To which I added, reasoning, "There are 
 twelve of us, Giles; you can't escape; and we 
 don't want to do you any harm."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 269 
 
 Curd cried out, choking, "Give me a hand, 
 somebody. First thing you know, I'll be drown- 
 ing here." 
 
 Richard Purly blustered, "You can't get away, 
 Flitterfled. We've got you at last!" 
 
 "Boys," came the deep bass voice, "you think 
 so. But remember that chap who fell off the 
 bridge; well, I'm holding him right across my 
 breast, and if you shoot you'll murder your friend. 
 Stick Attum, if I were you, I'd pull that wet fly 
 out of the water that's buzzing over there at 
 the edge." 
 
 "Yes, pull me out," chattered Curd. I did it; I 
 owed him that much. 
 
 "Now, boys," said Giles, calm and deliberate, 
 "I'll not hide from you that this pard is in a bad 
 way. Nothing'll save him but rolling on the 
 ground, and that mighty quick. I'll row him to 
 shore if you fellows agree to let me go free. And 
 if you hesitate he's going to strangle to death." 
 
 The others were struck dumb. I asked him if 
 he'd set his liberty against a human life. 
 
 "If this is murder," he said, "you boys are 
 the murderers. There's still time to save his life, 
 and I guess it's something that I'm willing to 
 trust to your word of honor."
 
 270 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 "We won't harm a hair of your head," called 
 Buck Snaggs, desperate. "Bring him ashore. 
 We'll give you a good start, then catch you 
 again." 
 
 Doc Snaggs echoed, "Give you a good start 
 catch you again !" 
 
 "Let the sheriff swear for his men," Giles stipu- 
 lated. 
 
 It was well he landed when he did, for Jim 
 Bob was almost gone. I would not have believed 
 a man could swallow so much water, though if 
 any man, Jim Bob, certainly. We worked with 
 him long and desperate, taking turn about, and 
 Giles made one of us, toiling like a trooper. At 
 last we were rewarded by seeing him take up re- 
 luctantly the burden of life he'd never known how 
 to adjust to his shoulders. 
 
 As soon as Jim Bob could be propped against 
 a tree, I whispered Giles to go, for it seemed 
 to me he had a trust too great in his fellow man. 
 Purly was glaring at him in a cold fury: suddenly 
 he snarled "Where have you hid that money?" 
 
 Flitterfled just laughed, and said, his whiskers 
 quivering with enjoyment, "Jim Bob always did 
 strike a rock or something when he went diving. 
 That bridge was too high for him."
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 271 
 
 "Yes," sounded Jim Bob's feeble voice, "I was 
 never no figure at a man's work. I'm too slow." 
 
 "Take him back home, boys," Giles urged, 
 "or he won't last seventy years old, isn't he?" 
 
 "Only sixty-five," Jim Bob protested, weak and 
 watery, "but mighty harrowing years." 
 
 Then Pem Hoochin and Dr. Mclntyre helped 
 him across the bridge and down the road to town, 
 while Curd followed in his dripping clothes. The 
 moon was rising as we stood watching them defile 
 around the curved bluff, the first beams painting 
 their heads and shoulders with a broad white 
 brush. When they were gone, we stood very 
 still for a few moments, while something told me 
 that Giles had waited too long, and that trouble 
 was ahead.
 
 XXXIV 
 
 When a Man Is Wedded to Sorrow, Good Luck 
 Seems a Temptation to Unfaithfulness 
 
 STICK" Giles stepped backward, hands in 
 pockets, as if to make a dash for it "do 
 you remember about Curd and the red rooster?" 
 
 William called out, "You ought to hear father 
 tell that story!" 
 
 Giles looked at me hard, moving backward very 
 slowly, though I motioned him to hurry. "Do 
 you mean to tell me, Stick Attum, that you're 
 the father of this fine strapping fellow?" Then 
 his voice grew wistful: "Mine has been the devil's 
 own life but there's no going back, boys, there's 
 no going back." 
 
 He was about twenty feet away, near the top 
 of the bank when Purly, who had edged away 
 from us, suddenly covered him with his gun, at 
 the same time giving a backward spring, to gain 
 
 272
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 273 
 
 the advantage of the bridge's elevation. "If you 
 take your hands out of your pockets," he grated, 
 "you're a dead man. Now tell where that money's 
 hid or I'll shoot not to kill, but to wing you for 
 life." 
 
 I'll never forget the contempt in Giles's eyes, 
 but he knew he faced a desperate man, and stood 
 very still, saying, deep and scornful, "I guess 
 you wasn't raised in this part of the United 
 States!" 
 
 Purly was crazed by the loss of rich prospects, 
 but even so, this stab touched him to the quick, 
 and he muttered, "A forced promise isn't bind- 
 ing." Then he shouted, "Where's that money? 
 
 Quick, or " And no one doubted he would 
 
 shoot. 
 
 With my ideas blown about in a tempest, I 
 tried to gather together the threads of reason 
 to hem them around the border with the old sub- 
 stantial binding of time and place and all in a 
 daze I started for Purly with words that must 
 have covered another man with shame ; but I think 
 he'd have gone naked all his life before he'd have 
 put on that garment. 
 
 "Let 'em fight it out," Buck Snaggs muttered 
 and Doc echoed the words, jumping directly in
 
 274 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 my path. Purly, seeing me checked, called to 
 Giles 
 
 "Take your choice: where's the money or a 
 bullet through your leg!" His eyes grew wilder 
 "I'll give you until I count three and I'm 
 counting now; and this is one" He was not only 
 desperate he was afraid; and it's the coward 
 with power in his hand who is most to be feared. 
 
 I hated to blacken Doc Snaggs's eye he was, 
 as I have said, only his brother's echo; but of 
 course when an echo is physical and gets in the 
 way, it must be removed by physical means. He 
 was clinging about my middle, but I shed him like 
 a feather, just as Purly roared 
 
 "And this is two, with just one more coming!" 
 
 I stopped stock still above the prostrate form 
 of Doc, holding my breath, knowing that if I 
 made one move forward Purly would cry 
 "Three!" and shoot down the outlaw. There was 
 no time to form a plan. My thought-tree was 
 heavy and sodden as if overgrown with sappy 
 watersprouts; and as for the rest of the company, 
 they wouldn't have interfered if they could. 
 
 With one exception for that one was about to 
 show us a strange thing. For just as Purly, with 
 murder in his eye, was about to cry his fatal num-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 275 
 
 her, Lane Laclede, by a wonderful leap, put him- 
 self between the outlaw and danger, and stood 
 looking at Purly just as calm and indifferent as 
 if behind his counter, except for heavy breathing 
 for the jump had been the limit of his strength 
 and skill. You'd have thought he'd always been 
 standing right there, looking into the barrel of 
 Purly's gun in idle curiosity. And to Giles, he 
 said, brief and dry "Better hide out, partner." 
 
 "Three!" yelled Purly. He couldn't have meant 
 to shoot Laclede, yet he might have known the 
 bullet would reach the highwayman only through 
 Laclede's body. I suppose he didn't reason at 
 all just saw red and fired. And it seemed to 
 me I had never heard so loud a report. 
 
 "Bang!" went the weapon, and crash! went 
 Giles's body as he threw himself backward, heels 
 over head. Down the embankment into the black 
 gulf of the ravine splash! into the water then 
 silence as long as it takes a man to draw a good 
 breath; and when the smoke cleared away, we 
 saw Laclede standing with his hand pressed to 
 his heart. 
 
 Purly, thinking he was holding back the life- 
 blood, threw down his gun with a cry of horror, 
 but Laclede, with that sort of smile that ban-
 
 276 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 ishes smiles from the faces of others, drawled, 
 "You didn't touch me, old man. I was just feel- 
 ing a a sort of inward pain." 
 
 We were so relieved at finding him unhurt, but 
 so little used to showing emotion of the softer 
 sort, that we didn't know which way to look, 
 and were mighty relieved when Cadwitch shouted 
 "To the chase, boys! We've given Giles his 
 start, and that's all we promised." 
 
 Laclede has always been blamed by some for 
 saving Flitterfled at the expense of the town's 
 money, but of his critics I am not one ; and I think 
 he never cared two straws for the censure. For 
 the sheriff had put us on our honor. And honor 
 comes first, and after that the praise or blame 
 of men. 
 
 As we again took up the search, finding myself 
 with William close beside Laclede, I said, by 
 way of showing my approval of his action, at the 
 same time being careful not to make my praise 
 too sweet for a strong man's appetite: "They 
 didn't get you that time, Laniel" 
 
 He looked into my eyes, and the moonlight 
 showed wrinkles on his face I'd never noticed 
 before. 
 
 "No such luck," was all he said.
 
 XXXV 
 
 A Man Is Not Disarmed so Long as He Has a 
 Winning Tongue 
 
 ABOUT half an hour after Flitterfled's 
 escape, finding a chance to speak to William 
 and Lane Laclede apart from the others, I gave 
 them what for some time had been working in 
 my mind. I believed the outlaw would never 
 have been found in that skiff except to bring down 
 provisions from some outer point to his retreat; 
 and as this rendezvous must be upstream, I sug- 
 gested that we search the hills, where Midway 
 Creek enters Midway Forest, for traces of the 
 "Boy Desperado." If we could capture that mys- 
 terious enemy to the town's peace, and thus cut 
 off the bandit's food supply, we would soon have 
 him in our net. 
 
 Rising to my idea, and praising it, as having 
 none of their own so good, they kept close to 
 
 277
 
 278 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 my heels and in no great time we had left the 
 other searchers at a distance. In the course of 
 an hour we reached the rough country and there 
 found the stream unguarded, it being held im- 
 possible that Flitterfled should seek escape in a 
 water-soaked boat by a channel hardly deep 
 enough to keep it off the bottom. As the moon 
 was too bright for us to hope to find our quarry 
 in the open places, we, with due caution, began 
 beating among the hills. 
 
 Never have I known one of my ideas to be more 
 signally justified; for hardly had we begun to 
 weary of the search when William gave a cry 
 of triumph, dived into a hollow or small cave 
 time had scooped from a hillside, and dragged 
 forth the fugitive by a wildly resisting leg. 
 
 "I've got him," he called, and sat down upon 
 the squirming form as cool and solid as a rock, 
 paying no manner of attention to the groans and 
 gasps of his prisoner. 
 
 Laclede and I ran up; and at the smothered 
 cries of "You're killing me!" we hoisted William 
 to his feet, for the captive was puny and with- 
 out wind, a mere smooth-faced lad. To judge 
 by his besmeared and painted face and clay-dyed 
 hands and wrists, he was of Indian breed. But
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 279 
 
 I set him down and so declared as a romantic 
 schoolboy deeply read in such adventurous books 
 as litter my smokehouse, trying to carry out a role 
 that sounds easy enough on printed page. He 
 wore a shapeless gray hat which was bound se- 
 curely to his head by a red bandana, as if he 
 sought the picturesque, but balked at sticking 
 feathers in his locks. 
 
 "Now," says William, after a brief breathing 
 spell, "give an account of yourself in double quick 
 time, or I'll use you for a cushion till the sheriff 
 brings his handcuffs." And he gripped him by 
 the arm till he whined from pain. "Where are 
 you from?" 
 
 "Higginsville," he piped. 
 
 "Why did you run off from school to disguise 
 yourself in this silly way?" 
 
 "I heard Giles Flitterfled was being starved 
 to death." 
 
 "And what of that? What is he to you, or you 
 to him?" 
 
 The answer came in firmer tone, and prompt 
 enough: "I admire him I tell you he's a brave 
 man." 
 
 "Brave enough; but don't you know he's a rob- 
 ber with a price set on his head?"
 
 280 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 The youth retorted, ready and impudent, 
 "That price'll never have to be paid!" 
 
 "How many men are hiding with him in the 
 woods?" 
 
 "He's all alone." 
 
 "How many are with you?" 
 
 "I'm alone, too." 
 
 "Good! Then we'll clap you in jail and see if 
 the birds will feed him," said I, taking a part. 
 "Lanie, you and William go get the sheriff, and 
 while you're gone I'll keep watch over this babe- 
 in-the-wood." 
 
 After a brief discussion as to the probable 
 whereabouts of Cadwitch Beam and his party, 
 Laclede struck east, advising William to try the 
 contrary direction. But after the other was out 
 of sight, William lingered, uneasy. 
 
 "Father, that kid is as slippery as an eel. I 
 don't believe I'll more than get my back turned 
 before he'll slide from between your fingers. He'll 
 beg, and you'll let him go." 
 
 I gave him my superior laugh but he wasn't con- 
 vinced. 
 
 "Get back into that hole," he ordered our pris- 
 oner, motioning toward the little cave; and as the 
 youth hesitated, he gave him a shove that sent
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 261 
 
 him sprawling. Then to give satisfaction^ I sat 
 down before the opening, blocking it up with my 
 notable bulk. 
 
 Still he lingered, and as his mind, relieved 'at 
 sight of my durability, no longer turned on a band 
 of practical direction, it went whirring round and 
 round, aimless and distracting. 
 
 "Father," he said, very gloomy, "when Lane 
 Laclede jumped between Dick Purly and Giles 
 Flitterfled, he hoped a bullet would put an end 
 to him. He wanted to die. There are no two 
 ways about it he wanted to die!" 
 
 I said nothing. The thing was too obvious. 
 
 He started away, after standing with his eyes 
 on the ground the prisoner all forgotten and 
 as he went I heard him say to himself in a hol- 
 low voice, "I know just how he felt." 
 
 I wasn't looking for that. The words seemed 
 to run right through me, leaving a sort of in- 
 ward bleeding, and after his footsteps in the leaves 
 had died away, I don't know how long it was, I 
 came to myself to find my hand doubled up and 
 pressed against my heart. 
 
 Then I heard the prisoner's squeaky voice 
 "You're Stick Attum, aren't you?" 
 
 I didn't give him a syllable.
 
 282 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 He said, plaintive, "Somebody in Higginsville 
 thinks a lot of you!" 
 
 I gave a great start and said before I thought, 
 "You're not Gussie Meade's son, I suppose?" 
 
 "I can't tell you who I am, it would spoil my 
 mystery. I want to be known always as the Boy 
 Desperado. But there's somebody in Higgins- 
 ville who thinks you're just about all right." 
 Something in his voice struck on my memory- 
 strings, making pleasant harmony. 
 
 "You are Gussie Meade's son," I declared, and 
 for answer got 
 
 "I don't say I'm not, sir; but I want to stay 
 a mystery." While I was trying to suit this new 
 morsel to my palate, he went on : 
 
 "If you'll let me go just this once, I'll never 
 run away from school again, or read books to 
 make me wicked, or try to be mysterious." 
 
 "It's not to be thought of," I declared very 
 firm. And after he had begged and begged, I 
 was as adamant. "I can't let you go say not 
 another word What would William think?" 
 
 "I'll promise by anything you please," he 
 wheedled, "never to interfere after to-night to 
 help Giles Flitterfled in any way. I'll admit I've 
 been bringing him things to eat he would row
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 283 
 
 up here every night to get the basket. But I'll 
 never do it again, never. Stick Attum " 
 
 "No!" I cried out as loud and sharp as a pistol- 
 shot. 
 
 He jumped and then began to sob and moan 
 exactly like a girl. It brought up before me the 
 time when Gussie Meade had wept her heart out 
 upon my bosom because Mrs. Patty would not 
 hear to our marriage. Gussie was nothing to 
 me now, but the memory of her girlhood was 
 still dear, and that her son, though a weakling, 
 should suffer at my hands was not to be borne. 
 
 "No, he didn't escape," I told William when 
 he came with the sheriff and half a dozen men. 
 "I gave him his parole. He's done all the harm 
 he's going to do, and he'd better be back at school 
 than pining away in the jail under the courthouse. 
 Of course, if we catch him at it again, we'll show 
 him no mercy." 
 
 "I looked for this," William remarked rather 
 dully, as if he didn't greatly care one way or the 
 other; and as he failed to specify what it was 
 he had looked for, I was content to hold my 
 peace. As for Sheriff Cadwitch Beam, he knew 
 better than to say anything.
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Man Has Never Understood Woman; She Was 
 First to the Tree of Knowledge and She Picked 
 Out the Apple for Him to Eat 
 
 IT was between two and three in the morning 
 when, leaving William to spend the rest of 
 the night at the margin of the woods, I tramped 
 homeward. I hadn't been in bed for three days 
 and nights, and I was come to an age when my 
 elasticity was hard tried by a horse blanket on 
 the ground; I was pretty well exhausted, too, by 
 deep thinking, so was glad to meet not so much 
 as a dog on the way, and to see not a light at 
 any window, and to hear not so much as the 
 crowing of a cock, insomuch that I had the feel- 
 ing that there was nothing moving in the world 
 except myself going through the dead moon- 
 light. 
 
 But just as I reached the brow of the hill that 
 284
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 285 
 
 runs down past the railroad to the sawmill, I 
 heard something that hadn't sounded in the old 
 town for more than fifteen years; and I stopped 
 as still as a mouse, wondering if I were in a white 
 dream like the rest of the world. But no. I've 
 heard hundreds of bells but none of them has 
 the tone of the one that used to call me in at 
 recess with the ball-game at its hottest, and I, 
 like-enough, at the bat. What could this ringing 
 of the College bell signify? 
 
 Without waiting longer to come to grips with 
 the mystery with my mind, I hurried to take my 
 body to it, feeling just then as if I could have 
 stayed awake a thousand years. Down the slope 
 and along the track I darted then up the College 
 stiles and along the walk between the maple rows 
 to the front porch I'd have gone right on into 
 the house if some one sitting on the stone step 
 hadn't started up to face me. It was Dahlia Glea- 
 son with the moonlight on her pretty, sad face 
 and young brown hair. 
 
 The bell had by this time stopped ringing, and, 
 a good deal eased by her calmness, I asked, doubt- 
 ful, "Was there a fire?" 
 
 "Yes yes," she said in some confusion, "it 
 everything's all right."
 
 286 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 I stared at her, fanning myself with my straw 
 hat, for I was greatly heated. "You're all dressed 
 up," I commented. "Was it you who rang the 
 bell, or one of the old maid sisters who live here? 
 And did they station you on the step to keep 
 people away? Was it a false alarm? What 
 does it all mean, Dahlia?" 
 
 "It was yes, it was one of them." She stood 
 twisting her skirt between her fingers exactly as 
 she used to do in her little-girl-days when she 
 wanted something and was too bashful to ask for 
 it. "Everything's all right, Stick. You mustn't 
 bother. Good-night, Stick." 
 
 "The same to you," said I, not moving a foot. 
 
 "Yes, I know it's late," she kept on twisting and 
 untwisting her dress. "But I couldn't sleep. And 
 it's so pleasant and peaceful out here, alone. 
 Good-night, Stick." 
 
 "I understand you want me to go," said I, "and 
 one of the new owners has already ordered me 
 off the premises. But I've something to say to 
 you, and I'll say it now." 
 
 Her face was so wan and pitiful that I forgot 
 all about the bell. I was in the presence of some- 
 thing big, something that took hold of me, that 
 dragged me out of the beaten paths of my daily
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 287 
 
 thinking. "Look here, Dahlia," I plunged into 
 it, blind, "I've always felt like a father to you, and 
 always shall, so speak with a father's privilege. 
 You and Lanie love each other marry and be 
 
 happy " And I went on to argue that neither 
 
 of them would ever be happy unless they did. 
 "There's a book in my smokehouse," said I, "that 
 says it takes two to make one happy. That's 
 true in your case, and in his." 
 
 "I can't talk about it," she gave me, short and 
 breathless. 
 
 "I didn't think," I admitted, "that it would do 
 because of you know why. But that was just 
 a sentiment. This is a matter of eternal truth." 
 
 "I can't talk about it " She was very pale, 
 
 but her voice was firmer. 
 
 I tried to make her see the waste that would 
 wreck their lives if they kept apart and at last 
 she said in a sort of cold desperation that it was 
 mainly because of her stepdaughter because of 
 what Zenia would think. 
 
 "She never liked you," I said. "Before Tag- 
 gart Gleason died, she made your life as miser- 
 able as she could. And you can't love her. Will 
 you break Lanie's heart and your own for the 
 opinion of a woman you've never respected?"
 
 288 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 Then I told how Lane had courted death that 
 night because he found life only a burden. 
 
 She listened with parted lips and a look in her 
 eyes that any man might have been proud to bring 
 there. I believe she would gladly have died with 
 him but she wouldn't live with him in the main, 
 because of what Zenia would think! 
 
 I waved my hand toward the building: "Then 
 you prefer staying here as a housekeeper for 
 newcomers to going out West to a big country 
 as the wife of the man who loves you?" 
 
 She said again that she couldn't talk about it, so 
 I gave her good-night and left, marveling how 
 one woman will cut her life along the bias of pub- 
 lic opinion, while another snaps her fingers at the 
 world. And as I left the campus, something 
 seemed to rise and inflate my chest with a won- 
 derful sense of thrill because it had pleased na- 
 ture to produce me as a man. 
 
 I had reached the street branching off to Horse- 
 shoe House when I was overtaken by several men 
 from the woods who had been sent to inquire 
 the meaning of the bell-ringing. "It was a scare 
 of fire," said I, "which came to naught." They, 
 thinking I held the facts, returned to the watchers 
 satisfied. I, too, was well content with my ex-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 289 
 
 planation, though, as it presently developed, the 
 ringing of the College bell was in the nature of 
 a signal to Giles Flitterfled, which I might have 
 guessed had I not been satisfied over the first the- 
 ory that strayed through my mind. This has been 
 a lesson to me, advising me that no matter how 
 plausible and water-tight a supposition may ap- 
 pear, if facts rest on another bottom that suppo- 
 sition is worth no more than the wildest flight of 
 fancy.
 
 XXXVII 
 
 / Have Never Been so Thrilled as When Alone 
 with Myself, Turning Over a Wonderful 
 Thought 
 
 BUT I soon forgot the College bell and Dah- 
 lia's sad case in thinking about William. 
 When a man with his wedding day close at hand 
 speaks of death as William had spoken, what 
 could it mean but one thing? I'd been plagued by 
 wormy doubts before, but had shed them off, 
 spreading my leaves to a hopeful breeze. But 
 a tree, after withstanding a hundred storms, may 
 fall at one lightning flash; and when my son, in 
 referring to Lane Laclcde, had said, "I know just 
 how he felt," my heart had been touched by fire. 
 When Horseshoe House came in sight, I was 
 half-suffocated by a vision of my pillow, so turned 
 toward the smokehouse to pick out a likely tale. 
 But feeling myself to be more interesting than 
 
 290
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 291 
 
 any book, I roamed down the alley to the shop, 
 feeling as strange to myself, somehow, as if meet- 
 ing Stick Attum for the first time. 
 
 I was never so thrilled in my life as at that mo- 
 ment, just standing there alone with myself, turn- 
 ing over and over a wonderful thought that was 
 spreading its wings of beauty, forever leaving be- 
 hind the old shell of a doubt-grub. I was so 
 engrossed that I never knew whether or not there 
 came a faint sound to bring my mind to its door 
 to look outside of itself. 
 
 At any rate, I felt the sudden need of stealth 
 and moved with caution to the crack that had been 
 \eft at the front entrance. But two-hundred-odd 
 pounds can't poise on brittle odds and ends with- 
 out a snapping, and I was overheard; for a low 
 voice called cautiously from within 
 
 "Father?" 
 
 At that I pushed the door wide open, -nd the 
 moonlight fell upon a young lad or so it seemed 
 standing near my anvil, holding by the bridle a 
 horse built for speed a horse I had never seen 
 before, his eyes flashing with mettlesome spirit, 
 his hoof stamping the ground, impatient to be 
 off. Seeing it was not the one expected, the 
 watcher cried out in alarm.
 
 292 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 I said, soft and soothing, "It's only Stick At- 
 
 tum " And I closed the door almost shut, 
 
 just as I had found it, and tiptoed away, whisper- 
 ing, "Good-night, little Mystery!" 
 
 I couldn't stay there I didn't care for home 
 the smokehouse had lost its charm; and of course 
 at four in the morning all was still at Old Set- 
 tlers' Bench. I didn't know what to do with my- 
 self, I was so brimming full of great thoughts. 
 
 I said to myself, "At sun-up let's go around to 
 see Laidie I"
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 And When I Looked at Her I Loved Her Al- 
 though There Was a Broom in Her Hand 
 
 AT break of day, that is, at a little before five 
 o'clock, I found myself before Van Buren's 
 cottage. About an hour earlier, Sylvia had left 
 in a carriage with her Octavius on a sort of lit- 
 ter, meaning to get him mended at a Kansas 
 City hospital, thirty miles away, and for that 
 purpose taking him in the cool of the day. Of 
 course I had known of the plan else would I 
 never have gone nigh the place; now, just 
 as I had expected, I found the front gate open 
 and the neighbor's chickens getting into the 
 yard. 
 
 On the front porch was Laidie's grandfather, 
 cleaned and starched, for Sylvia had kept him as 
 thoroughly polished as was the outside of her own 
 platter. The poor old gentleman, like a ruffled 
 bird, was stalking about on his thin legs to get 
 
 2Q3
 
 294 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 himself wider awake. Long had it been his habit 
 to rise at dawn and by yawnings, coughings and 
 groans get his granddaughter astir; but to be 
 ousted out before the stars were in was enough 
 to make him fear a stroke. 
 
 Just then, however, I had no occasion for 
 grandfathers, so with a nod I went right on into 
 the cottage, finding Laidie in a little room built 
 off to itself which, since Sylvia's coming, had gone 
 by the name of "Library" just that; just "Li- 
 brary," the only apartment so styled, to my knowl- 
 edge, in Mizzouryville, unless having some other 
 name when company was gone, such as "parlor," 
 or the like. 
 
 Laidie stood at the window with the first ten- 
 der sunbeams flickering through maple leaves to 
 laugh on her hair and in her hand there was a 
 broom. She looked surprised. Well, it was early 
 for a call, to be sure, but she was glad, as always 
 when we met, and it suddenly struck me with 
 wonder that I had in all confidence counted upon 
 that very look in her eyes. 
 
 I had something of great weight to put into 
 words, and while trying to frame the best convey- 
 ance, I made sly passes at my hair and plucked 
 at my cuffs, as if I had fallen into B.'s methods.
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 295 
 
 The night had put such a strain on me, and what 
 was about to happen loomed so large, that I'd 
 thought nothing of my personal appearance; but 
 it was brought uppermost by the sight of her sweet 
 readiness of eye, that welcoming light that had 
 always made her Laidie to me. And a pretty girl 
 is better than a looking-glass to remind a man 
 to stand straight. 
 
 "What is it, Stick?" she asked. And her voice 
 was like the maple leaves shaking their fringed 
 dresses for the morning dance in the sunbeams. 
 
 I forgot my hair and my cuffs and I can't re- 
 member one word I said. Somehow I managed to 
 pass her the idea that though I'd sought a wife for 
 two years, Somebody's face had kept floating be- 
 tween my eyes and all others' and that there was 
 only One in the world for whom I'd give all the 
 rest of the world there was only One upon whom 
 I could look with longing and unquestioning peace 
 she held a broom in her hand.
 
 XXXIX 
 
 // an Inherited Tendency Breaks Out in Our 
 Lives, It's Because We Left the Gate Open 
 
 WHEN I reached Horseshoe House it was 
 half-past six, and William was coming up 
 the path heavy from want of sleep and slack- 
 nerved from a brooding brain. There was only 
 one medicine to reach his case, so without stop- 
 ping to offer useless specifics, I went on into the 
 kitchen; and in my thought-tree the birds were 
 singing. 
 
 In due time I set him down to a breakfast of 
 eggs boiled to the degree of his liking, potatoes 
 fried in long narrow strips which melted on the 
 tongue, leaving nothing behind but a pleasing 
 memory, piping hot cornbread as brown and ten- 
 der as properly cooked fish; while in their train 
 came a choice of strawberry preserves or real 
 maple syrup with a glass of yellow cream to all 
 of which, of course, coffee, incidental. 
 
 296
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 297 
 
 I had never seen William so downcast as when 
 we met at table, but he couldn't stand out against 
 a breakfast like that, but relaxed, body and soul. 
 
 "Enjoy yourself," said I, calm, "for I don't lay 
 to do much cooking after this morning." 
 
 He didn't ask what I meant young folks have 
 little curiosity as to their elders' meanings. 
 
 When he had pushed back, I said: "Let's talk 
 awhile about the Unintended." 
 
 He turned red, then pale, then started up 
 with "I can't. God knows it would have been 
 better for us both if we'd never met." 
 
 "I saw her last night," I remarked, casual. 
 
 He stopped and laid down the hat he had 
 picked up. 
 
 "And I understand," said I, "that she'll be at 
 the College about this time. I mean to call on 
 her and I think she'd enjoy my call if you were 
 alongside." I looked at him steadily and added, 
 "I know you are to be trusted." 
 
 He knew that, too, so he didn't say anything, 
 except "If you think I ought. . . ." Although 
 he was a man, and felt the world's burden on his 
 shoulders, he had much the same attitude toward 
 me as when I used to bid him bring in wood and 
 water. It was his instinct not only to obey, but
 
 298 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 to trust me with responsibilities he'd never have 
 gone to see the Unintended if left to his own con- 
 science, but that I should deem it proper cleared 
 his face as no ham or cream in the world could 
 have done. 
 
 So we went to the College without his once 
 asking about my having seen her on the previous 
 night not a question from him ; just a bright shin- 
 ing of the face. He must have felt a good deal 
 like a condemned man who has been reprieved 
 for one more day, a feeling, I take it, pitched 
 low with no flags flying; true he may live this 
 one day but it's the morrow that hope feeds 
 upon. 
 
 At the big front door, it was she who met us 
 she must have been expecting me all the while, 
 but William's presence she had not anticipated, 
 and was troubled thereby. I think they did not 
 exchange more than the barest of nods, after 
 which she looked away quickly, though I had never 
 thought him handsomer with his pale face and 
 thrown-back head, he seemed grand to me. 
 
 Seeing a sofa in the hall opposite the door, I 
 went in to sit down, motioning her to follow, and 
 leaving William to shift for himself. Not a word 
 did she speak, not knowing how much I had
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 299 
 
 guessed, or what William had found out I was 
 the only one there at ease. 
 
 "Are the old maids at home?" I asked; "and 
 Dahlia, is she on the job?" 
 
 She murmured, reproachful, that after her part- 
 ing from William, she would not have thought 
 he'd come again. 
 
 "Father said it would be all right," William 
 hazarded, his eyes fixed upon her with the look 
 of a desert-traveler bidding an oasis farewell. 
 
 If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget the 
 quiet, snug satisfaction those few words gave me. 
 He was unconscious of the compliment had be- 
 come a boy again my boy ! But not by the bat- 
 ting of an eyelash would I have shown my pride 
 in him; she didn't look at him, either; at least, 
 didn't seem to but that may have been to let him 
 look his fill, for though her eyes were upon the 
 floor, I remember that she sat three-quarters to- 
 ward him. 
 
 The warm June breeze came through the open- 
 ing, and as I stared across the time-worn floor 
 of the porch, and inhaled the perfume of yellow 
 roses, I thought of the many young feet that had 
 tripped upstairs to the chapel, or lingered on the 
 cracked stone step? and it was for me, just for a
 
 300 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 moment, a sad thought how those young feet had 
 flitted through sunshine and shade, and how many 
 years ago that had been. But though the thought 
 was sad, like a cool shadow creeping over a sun- 
 lit meadow, it fell from a small cloud and soon 
 passed away. 
 
 Rousing myself, I asked if she meant again to 
 order me off her grass, at which she smiled faintly, 
 and began to talk. On the death of her uncle, 
 she had resolved to buy the College and live in 
 Mizzouryville at least until William was married, 
 so she had Jim Bob act as go-between, and she 
 had brought along the Companion as her "sis- 
 ter." "I ordered you off the grass," she ex- 
 plained, "because I knew if you came near you'd 
 recognize me." I laughed a little and patted her 
 arm, admitting that until I found out who she was, 
 the thing had rankled and that I'd found out 
 only the night before, from the ringing of the 
 College bell. She tried to tell but her voice 
 was dulled what an adventure it had seemed to 
 her, living in disguise in our midst, keeping house, 
 and all. I think nobody else ever found it adven- 
 turous to live in Mizzouryville. 
 
 William was listening in complete bewilder- 
 ment, picking up what we so carelessly tossed
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 301 
 
 down. She turned to him: "I pretended, that 
 night, to ride away from your town on the freight 
 train; but I slipped back from the station, of 
 course, for I was living here." Suddenly she 
 turned as red as a rose and I fancy she was re- 
 membering how he had called her by the name in 
 his heart. "I thought if you married at church, 
 I'd be there. It's so strange to meet now, when 
 everything that could be said has been said I 
 waiwed you to think of me as riding away from 
 you forever. Now I'll have to leave Mizzoury- 
 ville in earnest, unless you promise to keep my 
 secret, a\d agree never to come back." 
 
 "I'll never come again," he told her, his voice 
 low and steady. 
 
 "No, you never, never " And her voice 
 
 broke with sudden sobs. 
 
 "And yet," said I, staring out the doorway, 
 "he's a likely young fellow, if I do say sol" 
 
 She laughed out, and then began to cry so vio- 
 lently that I was frightened. It was too much 
 for William he just went down on his knees 
 beside her and put h& arms about her shaking 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Here, son," said I, "take my place." And 
 I got up.
 
 302 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 And he took it. That boy always had minded 
 me. 
 
 She looked up at me, the tears streaming down 
 her face, and her cheeks as red as a sunset a 
 good deal redder than they would have been, like- 
 enough, had I been at home. And she gasped out, 
 miserable and happy, "Oh, Stick, how could you, 
 how could you do this and after our terrible 
 wrench of parting ! And Laidie so good, so nuich 
 better suited to make a helpful wife " 
 
 "Yes, I think with you," said I, "and that's 
 why I mean to marry her." 
 
 William ceased to press her head to \m bosom. 
 He was paralyzed. 
 
 She fastened upon me those wonderfully keen 
 and penetrating eyes, her lips parted, her chin 
 slightly thrust forward. No wonder William had 
 fallen in love with the Unintended. If her form 
 had been fuller, and her eyes black, you couldn't 
 have beaten her in the State of Missouri. 
 
 It was she who came first to the surface because, 
 it may be, women do not dive so deep as men. 
 "Stick," she cried out, her voice breaking into a 
 million little quivers of scintillating joy, "you abso- 
 lute darling!" 
 
 "But what did he say?" gasped William, look-
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 303 
 
 ing as if he feared his father had let age go to 
 his brain. Such was the turbulence about me from 
 the storm of emotions they had thought never to 
 give free play, that I sat there like a rock in the 
 spray; and the higher they were wrought up, the 
 calmer and more judicial my speech : 
 
 "I intended for William to have Laidie as his 
 wife because I've always meant for him to have 
 of the world's best; and when I know what's best 
 for him, I don't stop to ask if he wants it. But 
 from a few words he dropped last night I learned 
 that he'd never be happy except with the Unin- 
 tended. ^Just as soon as I had grafted that idea on 
 my thought-tree, everything was clear. 'Laidie 
 may not care for me,' I told myself, 'but for 
 years she's been a preventative to my marrying.' 
 I'd tried to tear the feeling out of my heart, and 
 the deeper it burned for Laidie, the more fixed I 
 was that William should have her. But this morn- 
 ing I went to break the news to her that William 
 loved another, knowing he'd never tell her, and I 
 found that she had held to him only through a 
 sense of duty and from thinking it my wish. And 
 the minute I held out arms big enough to hold 
 her, she came right into them " 
 
 "Father!" cried William, leaping to his feet;
 
 3 o 4 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 and, grabbing me about the middle, he gave me 
 a man's hug. Tears were in their eyes, and such 
 smiles on their faces as brought tears to mine. 
 They couldn't sit still; but when they stood up, 
 they sat down to stand up again. Stick Attum 
 was a great man, just then! For awhile there 
 was a deal of breathless talk and happy excite- 
 ment and after we'd quieted down, a realization 
 of the true state of affairs brought on another 
 delirious storm of questions and explanations. 
 
 But presently, the light faded from the Un- 
 intended's face, and her lips began to quiver when 
 she said: "And now I must tell the name that 
 I left at home, and, oh, I wonder how much dif- 
 ference it'll make, when you hear it?" 
 
 I stood before them, with my arm outstretched. 
 "Let me spare you, my dear," I said. "I'll tell 
 your story in a few words, and as it's all un- 
 known to William, I challenge you to watch him 
 while I speak, and learn just what manner of man 
 he is." 
 
 William looked from me to her in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "When I found you in the shop last night," 
 said I, watching her as she watched William, "I 
 saw in a flash that you were the 'Boy Desperado'
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 305 
 
 who had so cunningly and artfully escaped me in 
 the woods. You held a horse unknown to me, 
 therefore brought from a distance. And when 
 you said "Father?" I knew you were waiting there 
 for the outlaw; that you were his child; and that 
 Flitter/led was the name you had left at home. I 
 asked myself how the outlaw would know when 
 to come for the horse, and remembered the ring- 
 ing of the College bell, which told me that you 
 were the new tenant of the College. I threw my 
 mind back into the past, and remembered that 
 Giles Flitterfled had married one of my old school- 
 mates, and that he had been divorced when she 
 learned what he was. You were ashamed to be 
 known as Flitterfled's daughter, and, inheriting 
 his lust of adventure, you came here to escape the 
 looks people cast at you who knew of your origin." 
 
 "The truth killed my mother by inches," she 
 whispered. "It made a tragedy of my girlhood; 
 it embittered my uncle for life. Yes, that's why 
 I couldn't tell you my name I was ashamed." 
 
 "I'll give you a name nobody was ever ashamed 
 of," says William, speaking like a true Attum, 
 and making no more of what I had said (at least 
 so far as we could see) than of the breeze in the 
 maples.
 
 306 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 She had drawn far away from him, but now she 
 crept back with a pitiful little sob, saying, "I in- 
 tended never to marry. I was afraid his nature 
 might break out in me I am so like him. But 
 when I heard how he was being starved, I risked 
 everything to take him food and a disguise but 
 not until he was about to ride away did he learn 
 who I am. Then I told him there at the shop 
 door and he broke down and made prom- 
 
 ises. 
 
 M 
 
 In my opinion," said William, "nothing breaks 
 out in our natures unless we leave open the gate 
 to it. Your father holds people up, while it con- 
 tents you to capture hearts " 
 
 "Just one," she protested, brightening wonder- 
 fully under his common-sense treatment of the 
 case. 
 
 "And you love to wander " 
 
 "But not from you never from you I" And 
 then she demonstrated, paying no more attention 
 to me than if I had been the cedar tree under the 
 south window. She went on, muffled, "Uncle was 
 always afraid my father would discover a trace 
 of me; that's why we lived such secluded lives. 
 My father you may say what you please and 
 I know it's dreadful, but he's a man, all right!"
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 307 
 
 And her eyes flashed. She laughed a little 
 shakenly at his look, then grew very still. 
 
 "Last night," said William, "when I thought 
 you a troublesome boy, I threw you down pretty 
 hard, I'm afraid. Did I hurt you very much?" 
 
 "It doesn't matter," she laughed. "You 
 strained my ankle a little, so that I limp when I 
 forget but that's nothing." 
 
 "Which ankle?" he asked, filled with contrition; 
 and he knelt down at her feet. 
 
 I stepped outdoors to look at the birds.
 
 XL 
 
 "Realism" Is to Enjoy the Good Things of Life 
 From the Money You Make by Writing Books 
 to Show That Life Is a Vale of Tears 
 
 WELL, there's nothing duller to me than 
 the explanations of the mysteries in the 
 books in the smokehouse books that have held 
 my hands gripped to their edges through a sea of 
 printed words. For during the voyage, with noth- 
 ing between the reader and dullness save that il- 
 lustrated volume, one clings to it as to a saving 
 friend; but on making port, one wakens to the 
 fact that the characters never lived save in the 
 brain of some man or woman seated at his type- 
 writer, making one hero rich and another poor by 
 merely knocking upon the keys. 
 
 But in real life, explanations are sweet morsels 
 on the tongue. When the Unintended became the 
 Intended why, that morning was one of the most 
 
 308
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 309 
 
 interesting that ever I drew out of time's scrap- 
 bag. 
 
 The interest promised to last, too. When your 
 son marries into a family that may wake up any 
 morning to find itself in three columns on a front 
 page, there's no cut-and-dried future in store. But 
 Giles Flitterfled, as Giles Flitterfled, was never 
 seen after the night he rode from my shop on 
 the horse procured for him by the girl-out-of-the- 
 common. 
 
 It has often hung in my thought-tree half-ripe, 
 therefore not ready to be handed out in spoken 
 words, that out of remorse and out of pity for 
 his daughter, he turned over a new leaf (taking, 
 however, his stolen booty to help him wet his fin- 
 ger) and that he went to a new country, and fol 
 lowed honest and uninteresting ways, losing him 
 self amongst the millions who do not blow them' 
 selves to fame with dynamite. 
 
 We have always been sure that the wedding 
 present from "Unknown" came from the ex-out- 
 law. It was just a scrap of poetry on a bit of 
 paper with sentiment to the effect that while 
 "Well Wisher" was barred from being of active 
 service to William and bride, he had the negative 
 satisfaction of knowing that never, so long as he
 
 310 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 lived, would he do them any harm. If "Un- 
 known" was her father, no doubt he told himself 
 that any present sent in the form of gold or silver 
 or precious stone, might stir up untoward reflec- 
 tions upon property rights. And while not put- 
 ting myself forward as a literary judge, I am 
 persuaded that the stanzas were neither borrowed 
 nor stolen, but honey out of his own wax; for his 
 cunning was lost when he laid aside his gun for 
 his pen; but the sentiment, noble. 
 
 Let it be said at this place, that it be not held 
 to leave a bad taste in the mouth, that Octavius 
 Selwyn no more died than have other characters 
 such as one might wish would, but took his soul 
 and his soul mate to more lucrative fields for 
 Mizzouryville was sucked as dry as a bone. We 
 were two thousand then, but at this day some 
 years later are only fifteen hundred, a third of 
 these negroes, but more than enough whites, there 
 being a few (but not monied men) who still cock 
 their ears when a New Railroad is mentioned. 
 
 When William married, Dahlia Gleason went 
 to keep house for the young couple in their city 
 home, and has never come back even on a visit. 
 It must be a satisfaction to her for Zenia to know 
 she and Lane Laclede never see each other; to
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 311 
 
 her mind, it's a continuous proof of her inno- 
 cence as to Taggart's death. I don't know if Lane 
 has given up the thought of one day persuading 
 Dahlia to be his wife, but I do know that he is 
 the oldest-looking man for his age I ever met. 
 However, they all look old on Old Settlers' Bench, 
 and it isn't because the street-dust is always blow- 
 ing over them, either; it's from the pure passage 
 of years. There's old Captain Little Dave Over- 
 street nobody thought he'd be living at this day; 
 but he is, and says he aims to make his hundred. 
 
 William has kept the old College for his sum- 
 mer outings. Once a year he and his wife come 
 down to spend six weeks, and there are great 
 doings, they running into Horseshoe House at any 
 hour (turning it upside down) and Laidie making 
 as free over there, though no great roamer. On 
 Sunday afternoons, we join in expeditions to the 
 Mineral Springs and explore the arrogant weeds 
 and impudent blackberry bushes that have over- 
 run the "streets" and "parks" of the once-imag- 
 ined "Bigger Mizzouryville." To hoist any sort 
 of boom in our town nowadays would call for a 
 kind of block-and-tackle not yet invented. 
 
 Sometimes I sit beside my hearth while our lit- 
 tle boy (trained from the cradle to be orderly)
 
 3i2 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 
 
 is gathering up the toys William's young hopeful 
 has scattered from garret to cellar, while Laidie 
 folds up the towels and papers and what not that 
 William's wife has strewn in her wake and the 
 birds in my thought-tree begin singing one of na- 
 ture's hymns. 
 
 It's a great old world if you have eyes for its 
 greatness, and it'll treat you just about as well as 
 you treat it. There are books in the smokehouse 
 that say otherwise, but take it from Stick Attum, 
 a rose is just as real as a mud-puddle, and funeral 
 dirges are no truer to life than the silver chimes 
 of a wedding anniversary. 
 
 Our little fellow is named Bill. It was my first 
 son's name, and we have simply picked up what 
 he laid aside. William's son is Aristarchus. He 
 says the child was named after me, but I've never 
 been able to find "Stick" in that wilderness of let- 
 ters. Speaking of names I've never heard Wil- 
 liam call his wife anything but some joking nick- 
 name, such as "Despy," for Desperado, or "Cer- 
 eus" for night-bloomer; and when he comes seek- 
 ing her, he's apt to call, "Where's that girl-out-of- 
 the-common?" or, "Have you seen anything of 
 Miss Wisdom?" But when they are alone, I 
 fancy he grows tender with the name that is in
 
 HIS DEAR UNINTENDED 313 
 
 his heart. For it's just so with me as my wife 
 and I go walking in the fields, or down the village 
 streets in the cool of the evening, I give her other 
 names than "Laidie" and Adelaide is not one of 
 them. 
 
 THE END
 
 474 7