A FAftM-HOUSE COBWEB 
 
 S THovel 
 
 BY 
 
 EMORY J. HAYNES 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1895
 
 Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHER* 
 
 All n>U. ratmd.
 
 TO 
 
 MY FRIEND 
 JOHN S. HUYLER 
 
 2061818
 
 A FARM-HOUSE COBWEB 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WE held our singing-schools that winter in the 
 town-hall. For two or three seasons previous 
 Northbrook had been fairly sprinkled over with 
 smaller schools in different parts of the town. 
 As many as four different teachers had gathered 
 small companies, singing their do, re, mes in the 
 North District, at the Meadows, at East Brook, 
 and at Mechanicsville. 
 
 Old Philander Pepper, that veteran, had led in 
 our parts generally. The venerable man had 
 been teaching our grandfathers and grandmothers 
 to sing, up and down the stony hill-sides and vales 
 of Vermont, long before we were born. He was 
 a most worthy gentleman, Philander P., whose 
 voice was now, however, like a scythe much 
 ground, with its thin back and a feathery edge. 
 
 But when this young Dartmouth student fairly 
 began to compete with him by getting up a class 
 in the Centre Village, poor Philander lost popu-
 
 larity rapidly. In fact all the four other schools 
 in our township were to be consolidated this win- 
 ter of 18 at the Centre Village, using the great 
 room of the town-hall, as I have said. 
 
 This handsome, graceful, popular young teach- 
 er's name was Arthur Alfred Felton. Mine is 
 plain Elisha Stone. You see them for the first 
 time together on this printed page. So I used to 
 write them side by side years ago, and then fall 
 to studying them long and with many a heart- 
 ache. As I sat by my solitary wood grate in my 
 farm-house often I wrote them by fancy in the 
 flicker of the firelight, when the candle had burned 
 out. His name looks the best, I am bound to 
 confess. 
 
 I used to wonder if Mary Holyoke ever wrote 
 those two names together and studied them as I 
 did. She was poetess enough to make their two 
 owners dance in the mimic quadrilles of glowing 
 embers in the ample fireplace of her father's li- 
 brary. Yes, quite likely she did this. Would to 
 God she had done no more than that with his 
 name, with his shape in her maiden visions of to- 
 morrow ! 
 
 "Will you go to allow me to escort you to 
 the singing -school this winter?" I had asked 
 Mary Holyoke along in November. 
 
 I remember that I drove my colt Skip up 
 there that day and halted in front of her fathers 
 door. As I could not leave the colt, Mary came 
 round from the back stoop, where she was en-
 
 gaged rinsing off the milk-pails just after strain- 
 ing, to speak with me. Her sleeves were rolled to 
 her dimpled elbows, notwithstanding the frosty air. 
 
 What a picture of graceful health she was ! 
 No doubt I was as nervous as my colt, yet I had 
 an honest and sober purpose in my heart. I loved 
 the girl then. I had loved that child ever since 
 she was born. I was ten years her senior. I had 
 worked as chore-boy on her wealthy father's farm 
 the very summer she was born. Now, however, 
 I owned a fine farm of my own, small but as 
 good land, if I do say it, as ever lay out-of-doors. 
 I had seen her grow up, and I had waited. "When 
 her father sent her to Montpelier to school I 
 bought a few books, and I read and studied in 
 secret while I waited. I tried to keep up with 
 what I imagined she was doing. I carefully 
 measured her attainments as I saw her return, 
 vacation after vacation, more and more a lady. 
 Working all day in the fields, and over books at 
 night, would have broken me down had I been 
 less vigprous. I tried to believe that my vigor- 
 ous health and rugged appearance blotted out 
 the ten years difference between us. I think so 
 still. Maybe I am of a sober vein mentally ; but 
 I must be allowed to confess that my hopes, my 
 spirits, ray generosity of intent, keep me young. 
 There never was a boy in our district who could 
 get me off my feet at snap-the-whip. 
 
 " Whoa ! will you ?" I said, as the mare kept 
 dancing.
 
 Then Mary came up and put her small hand 
 on the tire of my wheel, replying to my invita- 
 tion : " I have subscribed myself this year, but 
 I will be glad to accompany you occasionally." 
 
 Indeed ! Was it so ? The season before Mary 
 had gone in my sleigh to Philander Pepper's 
 school at East Brook school-house all the Thurs- 
 day evenings of the course. This season, how- 
 ever, she had sent her father down to subscribe 
 for the class in the village herself, had she ? I 
 ought to have taken warning then, though I do 
 not think I really did. 
 
 "The first night then, Mary," I answered. 
 "Let me take you the first night. It's going to 
 be a big school ; we shall have a crowd of sleighs 
 thronging and bothering at the door after the 
 class breaks up, and your father is getting along 
 in years." 
 
 " Certainly," she had said ; and we chatted a 
 few words more, when I drove away. I might 
 have put the mare in the barn and spent the 
 evening, but I did not. Still we parted in smiles. 
 What a smile that young creature had, as she 
 stood there, artless, gracious, serving her home 
 with a domestic fidelity so different from the 
 haughty contempt for work that characterizes 
 young girls of her station. She was like some 
 queen in Macaulay of which I had read. Her 
 eyes had a beauty of blue that Byron had never 
 sung in all my reading. She was as good as she 
 was beautiful, and that's a fact !
 
 The singing-school let me get at the descrip- 
 tion of it. I can see the old hall yet on the hill, 
 just beyond the Congregational church. We 
 used the horse-sheds at the back of the church 
 for our teams. That was square with the Lord, 
 for we all sang in the choir. The building was 
 high - lodged, overlooking all the village roofs. 
 The two rows of windows were blazing with the 
 warm light that was laying itself out in rosy tints 
 on the snowy earth of the village green. The 
 new moon hung out, I remember, low down tow- 
 ards her setting over South Mountain, sharp as 
 a harvest sickle. The air was so clear, the night 
 so blue -dark, that the copper of the moon's 
 shadowed part was plainly to be seen, making a 
 curious orb of two colors. 
 
 Ho\v the stars used to laugh in those fond 
 heavens, and seemed in that cold rare air to be so 
 stuck upon the surface of the sky that one could 
 pluck them off with a long apple-picker. 
 
 Here was the union store on the left, there on 
 the right the new tavern, the lamps from their 
 windows flashing in lanes of light that met in the 
 centre of the street by the town pump. Some of 
 the boys watered their colts at the frost-rimmed 
 log trough, but I did not ; my mare was too 
 warm. 
 
 I can see them yet those shapely Vermont 
 Morgans, steaming with their exertion, proudly 
 jingling their bells, which in those days they wore 
 as a shining circlet around the body. What a
 
 procession of us winding up meeting-house bill ! 
 The snow was two feet deep, if one floundered 
 out of the path; therefore every fellow in line. 
 
 "Hollo, Zeek! That you? Catch him, hi!" 
 The cry of warning was passed along from a doz- 
 en mouths. Luckily Ezekiel Blood had left Lucy 
 Tennant at the door. 
 
 There was a bit of excitement as the foolhardy 
 Zeek had tried to turn out in the deep snow, get- 
 ting a tip-over. He would have been wiser had 
 he followed us moi-e sedate mortals on that half 
 sweep round to the horse-sheds. However, the 
 colt behaved beautifully, and stopped, all like a 
 frightened deer, as two or three shouted to her. 
 Poor Ezekiel, as he rises before me a Santa Claus 
 of memory, tugging after the trembling creature, 
 robes on his shoulder, and that precious new whip 
 in his hand. "That was a Boston - bought whip," 
 he said. Ah me, that happy night! Ezekiel died 
 in the wars two years later. 
 
 One by one we filed under the lamp which hung 
 in its iron-bound cage above the door, each sleigh- 
 load of rosy girls and stalwart boys. There was 
 no gaudy awning to hide coy beauties from the 
 peeping moon. There was no lounging officer to 
 impede their springing flight up the steps, as I 
 see in cities before the opera. The winds played 
 with their wraps, buffeting their silvery voices 
 after our retreating sleighs. 
 
 "Good -evening, Hannah." This was Hannah 
 Castlereigh.
 
 " Do tell, Marinda ! I thought you were visit- 
 ing in Boston. Rather be here, had you not, ray 
 dear?" This was Marinda Joslyn. I knew all 
 their sweet voices ; our " set." 
 
 " Indeed we would, my dears," I heard Cynthia 
 Little wood cry, shaking the snow-flakes from her 
 musk-rat furs. Cynthia's fellow' was Horace Park- 
 ridge, from the North District, and never was a 
 more daring horseman or a more perfect jehu of a 
 driver than " Hod," as we called him. There nev- 
 er was a Horace, by -the -way, in all Vermont or 
 New Hampshire who got the use of his whole name 
 or escaped being called " Hod." The boy had driv- 
 en so fast those ten miles that Cynthia was sprin- 
 kled all over her shapely shoulders with crystal 
 frost, and even in her black and shining hair it 
 shone, as in later years I have seen diamond dust 
 sparkling in the tresses of society women at state- 
 ly receptions. 
 
 Can I not hear them yet? The broad entry-way 
 full of charming women, stamping their stout lit- 
 tle boots free of the snow, cooing like a flock of 
 pigeons the latest bits of neighborly gossip, while 
 they waited for us boys till we picked out each his 
 own to escort her up the stairs. We made a good 
 roomful, nigh two hundred of us, all seated and 
 ready to start on a pitch. 
 
 " I shall begin at once," said Felton, almost as 
 soon as we were seated, "with a preliminary sep- 
 aration and location of the four parts. Basses on 
 my left, in the wing seats, please. Promptly,
 
 gentlemen. Tenors take the right; altos here; 
 sopranos here. I see you have done all this be- 
 fore, anticipating me." He stepped down gin- 
 gerly from the platform to the floor with stick in 
 hand. 
 
 We expected this rearranging to suit himself, 
 of course, but rather later in the evening. He 
 was, however, as prompt as a colonel of volun- 
 teers. I had planned it all at my own solitary 
 fireside evening on evening as I sat looking at 
 the shadows and flashings of the fire-log. Since 
 I sung bass and Mary Holyoke sung soprano, 
 there was no good reason why we should not be 
 located side by side. Do you not see? Mary 
 could be the last one on a seat full of sopranos 
 and I the first one of a seat full of basses. I felt 
 sure she was among " the leading voices " that 
 would be there. I was forced to reckon myself 
 nearer a leading bass than I really was, no doubt, 
 plotting my desired place. Except for Arthur 
 Alfred Felton, she would never have thought 
 of objecting to ray plan. She was never more 
 cordial and gracious to me than on that night, 
 from the time I took her up at her father's horse- 
 block till we were seated in that row; so there, 
 if I do say so ! 
 
 " Let us try ' Federal Street,' " began the mas- 
 ter, " and get our voices in trim." 
 
 The majestic old melody moved off at once, 
 noble as a march of an army with banners. Two 
 hundred good voices there were, mostly youthful,
 
 though gray-haired men, not many women gi'ay- 
 haired, were here and there in the throng. 
 
 Old Deacon Landers had sung in our choirs 
 among the tenors for fifty years. Whether his 
 kind blue eyes looked through his spectacles on 
 the page or over it always puzzled us to tell. 
 The deacon and his life -long friend 'Kiah Low- 
 rey, always together in every singing-school since 
 I could remember, sat side by side. And why 
 not? For they knew more than any master whom 
 we ever had, 'Kiah being expert with the bass 
 viol and the deacon the church chorister of thirty 
 years. These two of heavy foot ; each would in- 
 sist always in beating time with the boot. 
 
 The deacon, moreover, relied upon his tuning- 
 fork to catch the pitch even after we had the pi- 
 ano. "Twang -hum -do, re, me." But as both 
 these gentlemen were among the wealthiest farm- 
 ers in our parts, and always heavy subscribers to 
 new music, to the oyster supper at the end of the 
 term, and present of a new baton to the master, 
 what mattered about their old-fashioned way? 
 
 "'Hebron!'" cried Arthur Alfred Felton, in his 
 rich deep tone. "And now, as we come to that 
 natural in the upper staff, ladies, do not be afraid 
 of it !" 
 
 We start, we are rapped to silence, we get fur- 
 ther explanation. We get agoing on "Hebron" at 
 last to suit his exacting ear. 
 
 But he was handsome though, as he stood forth 
 there dressed in city-cut garments, six feet tall,
 
 10 
 
 broad-shouldered, black and wavy hair, low wide 
 brow, hazel eyes, a side-whisker sweeping long 
 and low for one so young, and exposing his full 
 lips free to use their smiles. And manly, too, one 
 might confess. It was a frank, honest air he wore 
 at least. He made friends even among men. The 
 small boys liked him, and kept silence in the side 
 settees at his slightest request. As a rule, our 
 singing teachers had no end of trouble with the 
 
 o o 
 
 boys, often ejecting them, scolded at the whis- 
 pering spectators, and not unfrequently ended up 
 with unpopular orders that " no spectators should 
 be admitted," expect the village minister, the 
 judge, and a few dignitaries. 
 
 But there was a spell in Arthur Alfred Fen- 
 ton's slightest request. "Let us have attention. 
 We are glad to welcome our friends, but they will 
 see the necessity of silence." That was enough. 
 
 Were you ever at a country singing -school 
 when the vital air without was twenty degrees 
 below zero? When the boreal light, arching 
 the sky, made each singing mortal thrice vital ? 
 When, within, the huge box-stove, throbbing red, 
 fought with the chill till the windows were cov- 
 ered with steam, and faces of man and maid flushed 
 high? When, with each added tune, the heart 
 beat quicker as the music grew in grace ? Majes- 
 tic song ! A world of it, in the outer air, in the 
 room, in our hearts. Mighty words, the hymns 
 of the ages, the aspirant prayers of saints, full of 
 praise and promise, life, death, sorrow, joy, and
 
 11 
 
 the immortal life. Not a solitary ditty, not a 
 line of doggerel, but great swelling numbers of 
 the soul's best wish towards God. 
 
 Who, who could go through two hours of it, 
 and not be a better man therefor? We laughed, 
 of course, and between times chatted small talk, 
 passed candy to the girls, and cast sheep's-eyes. 
 But, for all that, we were exalted. It was a strange 
 commingling of heavenly and earthly emotions. 
 
 May Heaven forgive me if I did a sacrilegious 
 thing ; but, after all those years of waiting, then 
 at last, my very soul amid the clouds, I brought 
 myself to the point of the momentous question. 
 We were singing Anna Barbauld's hymn to the 
 tune " Zephyr," from Bradbury's new book. The 
 first stanza ran, 
 
 "How blest tbe sacred tie that binds, 
 In union sweet, according minds/' 
 
 As we paused at the end of the line I could not 
 say that I turned my head upon my shoulders to 
 look directly at Mary; but I was conscious of 
 some subtle, psychic perception I think that's 
 the word that told me that she was instinct with 
 the apt meaning of the couplet. A smile stole 
 over her dear face ; it parted her trembling lips 
 till the white pearl showed their two full rows; 
 and as the air climbed upward on the opening of 
 the last couplet, 
 
 "How swift the heavenly course they run, 
 Whose hearts 'whose faith, -whose hopes are one,"
 
 12 
 
 she turned and looked on me. I was nearly over- 
 whelmed! As I am writing these annals for no 
 eyes but my own and those of my most intimate 
 friends, I need not be ashamed to confess my emo- 
 tion. I remember fearing Arthur Alfred Felton's 
 rap to order over some error in execution ; fear- 
 ing some wicked halt, a chiding that would com- 
 pel us to forego the next stanza, when there would 
 be a silent, an awkward pause. What, then, should 
 I say to Mary ? how should I act ? But, no, it was 
 correctly sung; Arthur Alfred smiled, nodded, 
 bent forward with his whole body, struck up and 
 down the two-two time ; we swept on, as a fairy 
 cloud in summer gales, over skies of blue ; on, on 
 went the melody, bearing upward the next stanza : 
 
 "To each the soul of each how dear, 
 What jealous love, what holy fear, 
 How doth the generous flame within 
 Refine from earth and cleanse from sin." 
 
 As I recall it all, after the flight of years, in my 
 ecstasy I drop the pen and seat myself to touch 
 again the piano to the tune "Zephyr." The re- 
 production is complete! I live it all over again. 
 Would any chance kinsman, reading this histo- 
 ry, understand me fully, let him either sing or 
 play or imagine the old and stately numbers of 
 that tune, freight the harmony with Miss Bar- 
 bauld's words, and so catch the other meaning 
 that they had to our young hearts. Else he 
 may judge me foolishly profane.
 
 13 
 
 " Last stanza !" shouted Arthur Alfred, with a 
 stamp of his foot and features illumed with de- 
 light. 
 
 "Nor shall the glowing flame expire 
 When Nature droops her sickening fire ; 
 Then shall they meet in realms above 
 A heaven of joy, because of love." 
 
 " That was fine ; we are doing gloriously !" 
 cried the master. " Ten minutes' recess." 
 
 I turned my eyes fully now on the sweet face at 
 my side. Surely none of the dark shadows that 
 have since intervened between that face and me, 
 no threatenings of the tragedies that have since 
 clouded it from my view, were visible then. We 
 two did not, for a brief moment, rise, as others 
 were doing, in happy confusion, all about us. 
 Strange to say, our hands were clasped, and we 
 knew it not. It seemed a happy eternity, those 
 mere instants of time that we sat there, till sud- 
 denly we were interrupted by the master ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 " Good - evening. Miss Holyoke, I believe?" 
 Mary snatched her hand free from mine, and 
 sprung to her feet blushing. God help me to 
 believe that he had not detected our hands 
 clasped. I want to think as well of him as I can. 
 Heaven knows that he is in much need of char- 
 ity, wherever in the universe he wanders. No ! 
 He had but rarely met me before, for I had only 
 occasionally attended upon his school, being a
 
 14 
 
 pupil of Pepper's the preceding season. I have 
 recorded, however, that I frequently left Mary 
 Holyoke at his school at East Brook district 
 school-house. He must have known that. 
 
 "Mr. Felton !" murmured Mary, in recogni- 
 tion; but really she gave him no further wel- 
 come than any lady might properly have accord- 
 ed a comparative stranger. I am sure of that, 
 am I not ? God help me, I cannot tell ! I have 
 thought of this so much that at times my memo- 
 ry seems like a fire burning in the woods, as I 
 have seen it in late October, turning everything 
 into little black scrolls or heaps of ashes. The 
 man did not address me, surely. Mary noticed 
 this, and attempted, like a true lady, to insist 
 upon an introduction. 
 
 "This is our neighbor " 
 
 " Miss Holyoke," he persisted, " you must sit 
 here on the left of the main aisle after recess. 
 Really, your voice is as sweet as" But he did 
 not quite dare to finish his soft compliment. 
 There was something in her aspect that made 
 him pause. I could have told him that that was 
 not the way, by bold assault, to approach her 
 heart. On the pause she pulled me in again. 
 
 "Our neighbor, Mr. Elisha Stone, Mr. Felton." 
 
 He turned a sharp glance on me, which was yet 
 not rude, and tossed to me. 
 
 " Glad to know you, Mr. Stone. Let's see; you 
 are a bass voice, I believe. Gentlemen turn out 
 pretty well at this school, better than in most in-
 
 15 
 
 stances. The ladies are usually in the large ma- 
 jority. Reside in this district, Mr. Stone ?" 
 
 Yet all the while, had it been written on his 
 brow, I could have read it no more plainly that 
 he was measuring me, and I now believe had 
 been thinking about me, at the side of this bright 
 lady, for the last hour. I felt it all now. Of 
 course he had. He had certainly marked her 
 presence, with inward satisfaction, from the very 
 first moment of calling the school to order. He 
 had resolved to make much of the little previous 
 acquaintance with her promptly on recess. No 
 wonder at that, for she was the fairest in the 
 room a fine voice and a rich man's daughter. 
 Had he not instantly stepped down from the plat- 
 form to take her hand ? Had he not brushed by 
 the committee, who even now were standing at 
 his back, awaiting him with some important busi- 
 ness of this first night of the school ? 
 
 Still I was not a fool, but a patient, strong 
 man ; confident, too, after my many years waiting 
 by my faith in her. That is, almost confident, I 
 say. We had not actually spoken the word; no, 
 no, that is true; let me do them both justice. It 
 was only the music and hymn that had spoken. 
 
 " The school supplies a social want in a rural 
 community," I answered, taking up the idea ex- 
 pressed by him, and we shook hands. "We shall 
 have a fine winter with you, I trust, Mr. Felton." 
 
 He did not respond to me; I would not like to 
 say that he ignored me, but he dropped my hand,
 
 16 
 
 placed his own two hands wide apart, on the back 
 of the settee in front of us, and wearing a charm 
 in his fine face, which came like a flash of the sun- 
 rise the moment his eyes turned to hers, he re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " We shall certainly expect you, Miss Holyoke, 
 to allow us your leadership. Nature has gifted 
 you; and in many ways pardon me. I shall not 
 take no for an answer ! On the main aisle, please, 
 after recess. Remember that I am master here," 
 he rounded up, laughing playfully, " and my word 
 is law." 
 
 " You certainly must excuse me." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind," he answered. " Now 
 that is settled first of the sopranos." 
 
 " But Miss Cynthia Littlewood had that post 
 of honor in your school at this hall last season. 
 I am a new-comer. See, Miss Littlewood is 
 watching us now with a jealous eye. She has sat 
 at the first place all this evening. Did you not 
 put her there ?" 
 
 Arthur Alfred Felton turned to look. A 
 thoughtful, puzzled expression thickened on his 
 face. It was all a matter of last winter's history. 
 I confess I knew very little about it. He was re- 
 viewing it all in that one moment as he looked at 
 Cynthia Littlewood. There stood the girl, twenty 
 feet away, tall, black and glossy hair, complexion 
 of marble, dark eyes, flashing one moment and 
 softening the next, regarding us. 
 
 Horace Parkridge, her escort, was in vain talk-
 
 17 
 
 ing to her pretty ear that was towards him. 
 Here had been a history; the village had talked 
 of it. Some said there would yet be a tragedy. 
 I remember that I told " Hod " Parkridge to be- 
 ware; that a girl's first love was likely to burn 
 long, like smouldering fire in spring turf. But 
 the summer had followed, and the student teacher 
 had gone back to his months of books at the col- 
 lege. At the June training and the Fourth-of- 
 July ride that we had Cynthia had accepted 
 Horace's invitations. Would to heaven they had 
 been wed, as at one time it was supposed they 
 would be, at Thanksgiving ! 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Littlewood, indeed." And Fel- 
 ton put his long white forefinger to his lips; then 
 throwing up his hands in a fine gesture, he con- 
 tinued, decisively, "No, that is all right. You 
 are the first soprano; I want you near; I can ar- 
 range everything in a moment." And, shaking 
 both his hands in front of him deprecatingly, he 
 moved over to offer his first welcome of the even- 
 ing to Miss Cynthia. Instantly her marble face, 
 at his approach, was as warm as a sunset in hay- 
 ins: time.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 " WHAT in chain lightning does the fellow want 
 of both of them ?" growled Horace Parkridge as 
 soon as we were called to order again and fairly 
 seated. We had not had time to open our books 
 before he had accosted me. 
 
 " Hush, Hod," I whispered back to him behind 
 my raised Bradbury as he sat in the next row. 
 
 " I am leaning forward so that no one but you 
 can hear," he fairly hissed. His breath was hot 
 as he spoke. " Tell me what his power is that he 
 can gain their consent like that. There is Miss 
 Holyoke in Cynthia's place and Cynthia on the 
 next seat in the second place as submissive as a 
 lamb. He has tact or some wonderful power, has 
 he not?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, wait till some other time. Do not 
 say anything more, Horace. I myself advised 
 Miss Holyoke to take her place." 
 
 "Gosh! You did!" 
 
 An hour later Parkridge and I were buttoning 
 on our buffalo coats and descending the stairs with 
 the other men to get our teams. As we stepped 
 into the lower hall, through the open door, it 
 struck us full in the face the storm.
 
 19 
 
 " Here it comes, a regular mountaineer !" cried 
 Parkridge, lowering his head. 
 
 "You at least ought not to complain of this 
 after your winter at the north pole," I replied, 
 catching breath. 
 
 The boy had served two years at Annapolis ; 
 but for some prank he had fallen into disgrace 
 and our Congressman had got the poor cadet a 
 place on Captain Kane's last polar expedition. 
 Let's see, have I mentioned this before ? I think 
 not. And did I put it on record that he was 
 our minister's son ? Elder Parkridge was both 
 preacher and farmer, so when Horace came home 
 from the polar expedition, worn and starved to a 
 skeleton, and his gentle mother had taken him 
 again in her arms, as if he were a baby, it won the 
 wild boy's heart anew; for his mother's sake, at 
 any rate, he had turned farmer, and sobered down 
 to work the old place. He might well do so, be- 
 ing the parson's only child. But how long he 
 would continue in such a quiet life I had often 
 doubted. He had almost a possession of the 
 devil as we went down-stairs together. 
 
 " This is going to be as hard a storm as ever 
 struck us beyond the North Cape, my neighbor," 
 said Horace. " I know these Vermont mountains ; 
 I have predicted this for the last two days of 
 clear weather. Did you ever see such transparent 
 air and brilliant sunlight as we have had ? That 
 means the mischief to pay. This morning also 
 the northern lights, as I went out to fodder the
 
 20 
 
 sheep, made the whole heavens luminous. Such 
 tongues of white fire ! Such rushing and snap- 
 ping in the zenith, till the sheep looked up fairly 
 frightened. I knew what such signs meant." 
 
 " Let us keep together on our way up the north 
 road," said I, as we ducked our heads and ran for 
 the horse-sheds. 
 
 " Certainly," he replied, while we were unhal- 
 tering. " Now look at the horses: they shake and 
 start with fear. It is animal instinct foretelling 
 what a night we are to have. Wish you were in 
 your warm stable, don't you, Princess," patting 
 his sorrel filly on the neck. " See here," the boy 
 added, holding in his curb as a moment later we 
 were seated in our sleighs and the horses were 
 rearing to get off "see here, Stone, our first duty 
 is, of course, to get home, but I want to thank 
 you for your invitation up to your apple - paring. 
 I'll be there ; and now I have some serious things 
 to counsel with you about, as a shipmate. Our 
 farms are side by side; that is, father's and yours. 
 Now, my boy, this gentleman, Felton " 
 
 "Not now, Hod. We want to get through this 
 storm." 
 
 " Whoa ! Yes, sir. But it is now, neighbor ! 
 In the teeth of this gale I want to speak and say 
 what's on my heart." 
 
 "No; we are fools to wait five minutes." 
 
 " Well," he shouted, as I began to move off, 
 " is he going to try the drive to West Village 
 depot to-night ?"
 
 21 
 
 " Yes, siree !" came singing on the wind in pat 
 reply as the gayest sleigh in all the county 
 backed out of the shed just behind us. 
 
 " It is Felton !" I exclaimed, under my breath, 
 pulling up my team to warn Horace against talk- 
 ing too loud. " Felton has a livery team from 
 the hotel at the West Village. Quick he is. 
 Don't catch him napping for the sake of cour- 
 tesies and good-byes on such a night." 
 
 " Was he alone?" bawled Horace. 
 
 " Yes, alone to-night," the same voice cried, as 
 its owner, having turned around, dashed away, 
 the runners cutting the crust like the tearing of 
 cotton cloth. 
 
 " Do you know what that hotspur will dare ?'' 
 asked Horace of me. 
 
 "Try to slip across the Round Pond," I answered. 
 
 "Yes, and perish !" I caught from Horace's lips 
 as we parted to go around to the front. There 
 was savage exultation in his tone. Heaven for- 
 give the boy; and a preacher's son, too ! But do 
 not lions rend each other for the sake of the mate 
 that one of them would steal ? Nothing so 
 rouses the fierceness of a man's nature as to be 
 crossed in a love affair. 
 
 The menacing roar of the wind gave me little 
 time for moralizing. I soon had Mary Holyoke 
 springing over my sleigh robe to my side. 
 
 "Can we ever face this wind?" asked Mary, 
 as we tucked ourselves into the sleigh, snatching 
 at the robes which the gale disputed.
 
 22 
 
 " Still we must if we are ever to get home," I 
 answered, trying to be cheerful about it, but I 
 now record here that in all my life I had never 
 confronted such a whirlwind in snow. 
 
 As we were creeping along in front of the 
 hotel through the haze I heard a voice shouting 
 out for general information apparently and the 
 pleasure of telling startling news : " Telegram at 
 the post-office! hurricane no trains- Albany 
 buried," and similar direful tidings as I was able 
 to catch it through the crying of the storm. 
 There were knots of excited villagers gathered on 
 the steps of the hotel already, as along the sea- 
 coast the hardy fishermen gather to watch for 
 distressed sails. 
 
 " Who says ' telegraphic news ?' " demanded a 
 ringing voice behind me. 
 
 " Hod Parkridge, is that you ?" I asked, recog- 
 nizing him. "See here, old fellow, you and I 
 simply must, on our lives, keep together up this 
 road." 
 
 " True, 'Lish, but let's get this bulletin here. 
 You know I have been in the government service, 
 and something weighty has come over the wires 
 even to our little village. Say, men, there ! 
 Give us the latest despatch." 
 
 " 'Tis a special to the Gazette" yelled a voice 
 from the piazza in response. 
 
 The Gazette was our little village news sheet. 
 It was made up for the most part of the record of 
 big potatoes, weddings, and engagements, with a
 
 23 
 
 precious small lot of news from the outer world. 
 It rarely had any telegrams, except when our vil- 
 lage autocrat, the politician in those parts, paid 
 for election news. Therefore a telegram at other 
 times indicated a national sensation in shape of 
 some great calamity abroad. The officious vil- 
 lager waddled down to the sleigh readily enough, 
 partly because he wished to be obliging, and also 
 because, if we were to hear him at all the little, 
 fat, wheezy fellow he must come to the side of 
 our vehicles, and then gasped out to us the general 
 information that a telegram had been received 
 from the West Village that there were no trains 
 up from White River Junction since noon, there 
 were no Boston mails, and that a regular hurri- 
 cane was stretching all the way from here to New 
 York, Albany, Buffalo, " and Timbuctoo," as he 
 said. He, moreover, went on to declare that 
 " 'Twas one o' them things that his boy Jack, out 
 West, called a bluzzard. Then he added, between 
 wheezes : " Better stop and put up the gals here 
 in town, for you never c'n get hum." 
 
 " Oh no, never !" exclaimed Mary. 
 
 " No, certainly not," put in Cynthia. " Let us 
 drive on. We girls are Vermonters." 
 
 "You will need to be polar bears, my dears,'' 
 said Parkridge, thoughtfully, "to endure the 
 north road six or seven miles on such a night as 
 this. Still" 
 
 "G'over to my house, friends," said the kind- 
 hearted villager, in a neighborly way. " I know
 
 24 
 
 how particler folks is about talking, and no doubt 
 'twon't ever do for the girls to stay here away 
 from home." 
 
 " Oh no, no ? What would father and mother do 
 if I didn't come home?" urged Mary. " Let's take 
 all the risks. We certainly can make the road. 
 Your colts, boys, are the best in the county." 
 
 That touch as to the colts brought the mettle 
 both to my arms and to Horace's, I am sure. Of 
 course our colts were able. In another instant 
 we both had reached over and just laid a touch 
 of the whip with the slightest caress on the flanks 
 of our two mares, and we were off. My colt, I 
 am sure, had never felt more of the lash than that 
 in her life, and I doubt if she ever had so much, 
 except upon one occasion, since she was broken. 
 Ah, how we sprang out into those drifts ! But it 
 was impossible to keep that pace for five rods in 
 the face of the gale. It would slow down a steam- 
 engine. 
 
 " It is hard to breathe," gasped Mary, as she 
 leaned towards me behind her muff. 
 
 I threw the great black bear-skin robe clean 
 over her shapely head, and drew her up close to 
 me. It made my heart leap wilder than the colt 
 to be conscious of her precious self so near to my 
 person. 
 
 " Better walk," bawled Horace a few minutes 
 later from behind. The nose of his filly was 
 spouting steam on our shoulders, and the red skin 
 in her nostrils seemed bursting its blood-vessels.
 
 25 
 
 The moon's full yellow light, behind this thick 
 bank of cloud and snow, loaned to the whole 
 weird night an ashen gray color, which was 
 ghastly, so that it was by no means dark. It 
 was worse than dark ; it was that hobgoblin 
 light which one only sees in storms when the 
 moon is behind a cloud. 
 
 "No, Horace; we shall perish walking. The 
 wind is in our backs. We certainly can try to 
 trot," I urged; and we both speeded up a little. 
 
 "So many ghosts in the air. This is simply 
 sublime !" whispered Mary. The girl was gamy, 
 and kept trying to talk. 
 
 The sweep of the snow was highly exciting. 
 One lost his consciousness of danger once in a 
 Avhile in watching the streamers of white that fell 
 like handfuls of grain flying out of a sower's 
 hand in the furrows ; handfuls on handfuls of 
 this cutting powder, as if the Almighty himself 
 were sowing the earth these furrowed hills and 
 vales with the chill of death. The cold came 
 down on us by handfuls, colder, colder, every 
 minute. 
 
 "I hear the roaring of the pines," murmured 
 Mary, just below my ear. "That is two miles 
 certainly, and only four miles more to home. 
 But is it not fearful, the voices of the old 
 trees ?" 
 
 "If the chestnuts in among those hemlocks 
 will only keep their precious branches to them- 
 selves, they may bellow all they please."
 
 26 
 
 " Look out, there !" Horace shouted. " Heavens, 
 see that old chestnut come down !" 
 
 "And the hemlock just behind it !" cried Cyn- 
 thia's shrill voice. " God protect us ! Boys, we 
 must not attempt to go through the woods. Turn 
 down the left towards the lake, and we will get 
 under the cliff." 
 
 " Right, my lady ; we have no choice, for the 
 road is blocked," I answered. " But it is a seri- 
 ous question if we can turn around." 
 
 Indeed, it was no easy matter. It seemed at 
 first simply impossible to turn back to the south- 
 west and confront this tornado. The instant I 
 threw my foot clear of the robe to get out, the 
 wind stripped the bear-skin from the sleigh. There 
 was a shower of sparks and the flash of fire. Our 
 new-fashioned foot-stove was overturned. The 
 lamp in it a new-fangled patent thing not half 
 so good as the warm soapstone or brick had 
 ignited the fur of the robe. The next moment 
 the robe was three rods away on the wind, and 
 as I leaped after it to catch it, where it had been 
 swept into the branches of a fallen hemlock, I 
 heard a shriek behind, and looked to see that my 
 sleigh had been overturned. 
 
 " I have got your colt," yelled Horace, and the 
 dear fellow had promptly sprung to save my 
 mare. 
 
 " Can you hold the two horses?" I answered ; " I 
 will be there in a minute." And, indeed, I was 
 as back quickly as I could bound. I got the
 
 27 
 
 mare by the nose. "Now slowly, Mary. Are 
 you hurt?" 
 
 "No; all right, Whoa!" 
 
 "Cynthia, you can rein my horse around. Easy, 
 easy. There, hold her. Here Elisha," and Horace 
 handed me the lines of my animal. I righted my 
 sleigh and hung to my horse. Mary flew back to 
 her place, and nestled under the covers. Then we 
 began that most trying quarter of a mile of re- 
 treat along the edge of the woods the most try- 
 ing, I say, in my remembrance of any contest I 
 ever had with nature. 
 
 " The windward of these woods is not as quiet 
 as the lee would be," yelled Horace he tried 
 to be good-natured and keep up the conversation 
 "but it is better than the open; breaks the wind. 
 Courage; just as soon as we get down by the cliff, 
 even the windward of the rocks will be quite 
 bearable." 
 
 That was true enough, as we soon experienced, 
 but the gigantic drifts were now more appalling 
 almost than any other object we had met upon 
 the way. The masses of the pelting snow, hurled 
 back from the black front of the rocks, piled at 
 their feet so high that it was simply out of the 
 question to attempt to keep to the highway. 
 Far up the front of the craggy masses, on shelf 
 and shoulder of the ledges, wreaths and festoons 
 in fantastic shapes of white reminded me of the 
 stories that I used to hear about these cliffs by 
 Round Pond when I was a boy. They said the
 
 28 
 
 eagles made their nests there, though I had never 
 seen an eagle in my day. In the ashen light a 
 score of eagles seemed bending their beaks and 
 flapping their wings, ready to swoop down upon 
 us with some uncanny salutation. 
 
 As the gale went roaring over the tops of the 
 cliffs it uttered peculiar cries, almost human 
 moans, and these frightened the girls all the more, 
 and almost cowed our hearts. 
 
 "What shall we do?" asked Mary, piteously; 
 " perish here not four miles from home?" 
 
 " I say !" cried Horace, just then. 
 
 " Well !" I baAvled back to him, at my wit's end, 
 I confess. 
 
 " I will get out and lead your horse. You take 
 mine by the bridle over the back of your sleigh, 
 and I will show you Crocker's lane. We'll turn 
 down through that and over the railroad when 
 we come to the pond. Well then is your horse 
 sharp shod ?" 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 " So is Princess. Then, of course, we will be all 
 right. We'll have a highway swept clean of the 
 snow all the way to West Village, where we'll 
 probably have to spend the night." And prompt- 
 ly the Polar explorer began his task at the head 
 of my animal. 
 
 It was half an hour's good work to get down on 
 the railroad, and from that to the ice, but we did 
 it at length. Once on the surface of the lake our 
 track was clear. A blue-black surface, transpar-
 
 ent as still water is when frozen, lay before us, 
 swept as a turkey's-wing duster would sweep it. 
 Nothing but a calked shoe would have held on 
 that road. The storm pushed the sleighs at an 
 angle as the horses pulled them forward. The 
 right runner spun sideways along the track. I 
 was in constant apprehension of some nodule, 
 some roughness, or a crack. To strike that " side 
 on," as Horace expressed it, would be instant de- 
 struction, for we should be hurled to the icy pave- 
 ment with the force of a cannon-ball. However, 
 no such untoward event transpired, and we were 
 quite felicitating ourselves upon our escape when 
 suddenly Horace cried out: 
 
 Look there !" 
 
 It was one of those fierce vocal sounds which a 
 man utters rarely in a lifetime, freighted with 
 terror and alarm and heart sympathy. The boy 
 was rising up in his sleigh and pulling at the lines 
 with all his might to bring Princess to a halt. I 
 shot to his side like a flash of light ; before I could 
 begin to rein in, our sleighs locked at the rave, 
 and we slewed into the drift along the bank to- 
 gether, the colts in a tangle, and we stopped. 
 
 "There's Felton's sleigh what is left of it!" 
 yelled Horace, pointing with his big gloved fore- 
 finger through the gloom ahead. 
 
 " Yes," I gasped; "he has caught his runner in 
 that crack. We narrowly escaped it. But where 
 is the trotter that he drove ?" 
 
 "Sure enough, where?" asked Cynthia, uncov-
 
 30 
 
 ering her head, her whole heart in her tone of 
 alarm. " And where is the teacher ?" 
 
 I did not myself fancy the tone of too tender 
 solicitude in which the girl spoke, but the effect 
 on me was as nothing in comparison with its effect 
 on Horace Parkridge's quick ear. Still my turn 
 was to come. Mary Holyoke now unhooded her- 
 self to the blast, asking, in pretty trepidation : 
 "Boys, can we not find him ? Is he? do you? It 
 cannot be that he has perished in the drifts." 
 
 "What is that white mound in its winding- 
 sheet of snow ?" asked Cynthia, her dark eyes full 
 of a lustre that I feared her heart inspired. 
 
 In a twinkling Horace was running ahead tow- 
 ards the object designated. With a few quick 
 strokes he uncovered it. Simultaneously a low 
 but piteous moan came faintly through the mist, 
 and I recognized it as the cry of an animal in 
 pain. I was prepared to hear him call out: " It is 
 his horse, with a broken leg." 
 
 "Almost better if it were himself," was Cyn- 
 thia's plaintive comment. " Where is the rnan ? 
 Off there alone, struggling to cross the pond ? If so, 
 is he slowly dying, and no human helper near him?" 
 
 Returning to the sleighs, Horace stood thought- 
 fully kicking heel against toe, and peering off 
 into the waste of the lake at our left. Nothing 
 was said, yet I knew that he was regarding both 
 Cynthia and Mary fully as much as he was scan- 
 ning the ice, though lie seemed to be looking past 
 both of the girls.
 
 31 
 
 "Boys," exclaimed Cynthia, at length, "you 
 will make some effort ? You will not sit here and 
 allow a fellow-man to perish without an effort for 
 his rescue ?" 
 
 " What about two pretty girls, daughters of our 
 neighbors, whom we have invited to go to the 
 sino-insr-school, and who will need rescue if we halt 
 
 o o * 
 
 here five minutes more in this death blast?" 
 Horace replied, sternly, resolutely. 
 
 "Oh, never mind us," she replied; "we can 
 both creep along down to old Crocker's cottage. 
 One of you Elisha, for instance would be will- 
 ing to lead one of the horses, and we could both 
 of us occupy one of the sleighs." 
 
 I did not speak. In fact, I knew too well the 
 futility of any skill of mine in that hurricane. If 
 anybody could do anything it was this man, 
 trained amid northern wildernesses of the winter. 
 The silence seemed long. Horace was still stand- 
 ing, his fur cap now removed, however, and his 
 handsome forehead bared to the wind, as if to 
 cool its fever. 
 
 At length he said slowly, answering Cynthia 
 Littlewood: " I will do anything in the world for 
 you. Do you, indeed, wish me to make the haz- 
 ardous attempt to find Felton?" 
 
 There was such a world of meaning in his tone 
 that the girl might for the honor of human na- 
 ture she might have interpreted it. Perhaps she 
 did; but if she did in her heart, she did not in her 
 speech. She w,s not good enough for the large-
 
 32 
 
 hearted fellow, the black-eyed beauty. She turned 
 towards Mary and myself, and asked, in a weak 
 way, " What do you say, Mary Holyoke ?" 
 
 "It seems a terrible thing to ask any human 
 creature to do," was Mary's response, "yet " 
 Then she too paused. 
 
 We waited in silence again, and we bent to the 
 storm. It was not long, however, but in such 
 times moments seem ages. Looking up in a des- 
 perate way, Cynlhia cried: "Yes, go if you " 
 
 Horace put up his hand as he dropped his cap 
 upon his head, and gravely insisted on finishing 
 her sentence " If I love you." Then, with a 
 quick movement, this heroic minister's son and 
 friend of mine lifted Cynthia bodily from his 
 sleigh into ours. I leaped out upon his motion to 
 make way for her, and stood at the head of my 
 horse. In another moment he had haltered his 
 own horse, and handed the strap to Cynthia for 
 leading the animal behind my sleigh. Then he 
 caught his robes out, threw them in front of the 
 girls, sprang back, snatched his lantern from under 
 the seat, shouted " Good-bye, God help you and 
 me," and stole away through the gloom out on 
 to that desolate icy surface. 
 
 I never felt before that I was consenting to any 
 man's death, but I did then. I upbraided myself 
 then, and I do now, that I did not protest, craven 
 that I was. But my thoughts were not clear. I 
 was either benumbed or maddened by the unmis- 
 takable interest that Mary Holyoke had shown
 
 in this lost Felton, this gay teacher of our singing- 
 school. As I plodded on I tried to excuse her, as 
 if her gentle pity was only natural to a woman 
 who thought of a man as perishing, but my wits 
 told me better. There had been more than mere 
 humane feeling in Mary Holyoke's assent and en- 
 couragement to Horace Parkridge's heroic en- 
 deavor. I felt certain that had she not been 
 jealous of Cynthia Littlewood's interest, if she 
 had not had some springing love for the same 
 man whom Cynthia loved, she would have been as 
 positive as Cynthia in openly urging Horace or 
 myself to go. Was there ever such a mix? And 
 Cynthia recognized that fact in her rival also, for 
 when, twenty minutes later, I got the girls safely 
 into Crocker's warm kitchen, I saw they were 
 jealous of each other, and not disposed to be 
 friendly. In silence we sat together in the warmth 
 of that hut, looking out on that chaotic lake, 
 watching more for the gleam of the lantern than 
 for the breaking of the day. 
 
 " Hod hates the singing-master. I just know he 
 does !" sobbed Cynthia, in her half-hysterical ex- 
 citement, crouching by the window. " I hope they 
 will not get into a quarrel out there in the storm." 
 
 I could have boxed her ears ! The idea of a 
 woman who had sent a good fellow to his death, 
 perhaps, and out of love for her he went, taking 
 tearful pity on his I'ival like that. I rather hoped 
 they would, indeed, have i\, QUt there on the ice, 
 all by themselves.
 
 34 
 
 " Boys are so rough !" echoed Mary Holyoke 
 from her window. " Especially our farm boys. 
 But college boys now, of course, they are more 
 gentlemanly than to fight." 
 
 Then I wanted to box her ears more than Cyn- 
 thia's. 
 
 Towards morning the two girls slept a little, 
 sitting in their chairs. I did not, yet I always 
 supposed a woman's heart was more generous 
 than a man's, and would keep her awake in a kind 
 vigil longer. Perhaps I ought to explain it, how- 
 ever, by saying that I was the strongest of the 
 three; oi', perhaps, a plain man like me did not 
 read that mystery aright a woman's heart. It 
 may have been flirtation, not love at all. At 
 length the day broke. The clouds cleared as se- 
 renely as if they were meshes of rent cobwebs. 
 The sunlight was brilliant and cold. The land- 
 scape was dead. Not a feather's-weight of snow 
 was drifting. I went down at daybreak and saw 
 the sunrise, revealing the further shore of the 
 lake, the factories, the huts of the operatives, 
 the straggling streets, and the church spires, and 
 between them and me the wide waste of uninter- 
 rupted wilderness. 
 
 There were no tidings for my anxious eyes. 
 
 My first duty was, undoubtedly, to return 
 these young ladies to their distressed homes. 
 This I proposed to myself to accomplish by the 
 ox-sleds that broke out the highways. My horse 
 and sleigh would be useless in such drifts, About
 
 35 
 
 nine o'clock I got them both safely home to Mr. 
 Holyoke's. 
 
 "You, Cynthia, must stay here at Mary's 
 house," I said, as they alighted at the familiar 
 horse-block. " The hired man will go over to 
 your father's with the news of your where- 
 abouts." 
 
 "And ycni ?" she asked. 
 
 "You must go," Mary Holyoke interrupted 
 promptly, addressing me; "and tell poor dear 
 Mrs. Parkridge and the elder " 
 
 " Tell them what ?" 
 
 "I see," said Mary; " what can you tell them 
 yet ? Now, let me think. I will hang out a 
 cloth in the window towards their house, and 
 they will send over their man, and we two girls 
 will explain what a hero their son has proved to be." 
 
 This was decidedly upon the supposition that I 
 would not be there. It greatly relieved me. For 
 I knew I ought to be off. 
 
 " His mother will come over herself to learn of 
 her precious boy," remarked Cynthia, uneasily. 
 
 Queer girl she; tender heart and cold heart are 
 in one breast. 
 
 " If I thought she would," said Mary, " I 
 would try to go over there. Dear heart, she 
 should not expose herself to come here. Or, 
 Elisha, you should go." 
 
 " No, give me a cup of coffee and a bit of 
 bacon," I replied, stepping towards the kitchen, 
 " and I must be off to the pond again."
 
 36 
 
 The way I spoke settled it. 
 
 The white cloth was hung out in the window 
 at once, according to the country fashion of tele- 
 graphing, to accomplish whatever it might effect. I 
 had observed all the morning that the strained re- 
 lations between the two girls had increased. They 
 did not converse with each other except through 
 me. They both waited on me with eager hands 
 and impatient. They hurried about. They both 
 evidently wished me to be gone on my errand of 
 rescue. But Cynthia made more haste than 
 Mary, quickly coming with plate and cup, though 
 she was in her neighbor's cupboard and pantry. 
 When I rose to go, I said, as I yielded to a sud- 
 den impulse, and desperately seized Mary's two 
 hands I remember well, both hands. 
 
 " Cynthia, you are witness. Mary Holyoke 
 and Elisha Stone are engaged to be married !" 
 
 It was blunt and farmer-like, I confess ; but I 
 had endured enough of agony during the night, 
 and was sure I knew her goodness of heart. I 
 would save her from any infatuation at least 
 her. The other silly girl might do what she 
 pleased with a passing fancy for a dapper form 
 and bewitching courtier's manner, and repent of 
 it when she must, but this one I would save to 
 her better nature on the spot. 
 
 " Oh, are you ?" and such a gleam of satisfac- 
 tion shone in Cynthia's black eyes, as she ad- 
 vanced as quick as a bird ever hopped off a bough 
 and offered to kiss Mary. This I had not yet
 
 37 
 
 dared to do myself; and no one was to do it, it 
 seemed, for Mary drew back coldly, repelling us 
 both. 
 
 " Engaged, Elisha Cynthia ! Who says so ?" 
 objected Mary. 
 
 " You will say so," I answered. 
 
 Mary averted her face. Cynthia piqued her to 
 assent as adroitly as a fox ever drew a hunter's 
 fire by instantly crying : 
 
 "Well, well,. Mary Holyoke, I always said I 
 knew better. The neighborhood said it would 
 turn out so; but I always said I was wiser, and 
 you wouldn't have any farmer boy." 
 
 " You were very wise, Cynthia Littlewood," she 
 replied, in haughty scorn. For a moment she al- 
 most ceased to struggle with my hands, as if 
 Cynthia's thrust had carried its point. 
 
 " But not wise enough to know your inten- 
 tions ? Humph ! You will not say him yeSj 
 now," said the black -eyed minx. 
 
 " Miss Littlewood !" exclaimed Mary Holyoke. 
 
 It Avould have felled me to the floor to have 
 suffered under that look of Mary Holyoke's eyes, 
 and that tone of her kindly voice. Cynthia 
 laughed, however. She had the most musical 
 laugh of any mortal, but in this case it was as cold 
 as the sunlight that fell about us out-of-doors. 
 She was losing her skill rapidly, for she immedi- 
 ately added: 
 
 " No, tell him, for he is as noble as as Horace 
 Parkridge yes, tell him what I have not yet told
 
 88 
 
 Horace Parkridge, but what you ought to tell Eli- 
 sha Stone that you and I are, like two simple- 
 tons, in love with Arthur Alfred Felton." 
 
 " Cynthia, Cynthia, are you crazy ?" The blood 
 mounted to Mary Holyoke's cheeks as if she had 
 been listening to some vulgar word or insult, and 
 the one hand that I still retained struggled to free 
 itself to fly with the other, which was putting back 
 the straggling locks from her scarlet brow. Per- 
 haps I misinterpreted her. I have thought it over 
 many, many hours since then. I should have un- 
 derstood that this mantling color was the shock 
 to her maidenly modesty. And yet, I do not 
 know. Perhaps after all those patient years I 
 have lost my own patience. But the grain had 
 seemed so ripe for the cutting only fifteen hours 
 before, when we sang the hymn in the school. A 
 thousand, thousand times since then I have been 
 over and over that scene there in the kitchen, and 
 pictured it that, at Cynthia's words, Mary gave 
 me both her dear hands, and looked up into my 
 eyes with her own sweet lips speaking some reas- 
 suring vows, as steadfast as the eternal hills, and 
 so sheltering herself against the indelicacy of her 
 fiery friend's open declaration of an improper 
 thing. I have pictured it over and over that I 
 kissed her lips then and there, that had uttered 
 the vow of my reassurance and my happiness. 
 
 But, no; it was far from that. I replied indig- 
 nantly to the Littlewood girl, and looked only at 
 her:
 
 39 
 
 "You simpletons," I said, "the man is dead I 
 His black curls are under the ice." 
 
 " Never, prophet of evil !" Cynthia exclaimed, 
 her voice even shrill, though it was too sweet 
 ever to be shrill, as she flung herself away to look 
 out of the window, thinking some fresh news 
 might have come. 
 
 Mary, as befitted her more gentle self, said : 
 " Oh, God forbid !" and turned towards the door. 
 
 I stepped with a heavy foot in front of her, 
 opened the door, and left her standing there as I 
 went out. I was no wooer ; I ought never to have 
 gone without her kiss. I was a fool. I strode 
 along past the wood-pile, where the sawyers were 
 at work behind the horse-power, and shouted : 
 
 " Come on, boys, I want you all down on the 
 lake. We have lost the best boy in town, Horace 
 Parkridge, who has perished in the storm." 
 
 A sharp and distressful woman's cry came from 
 the other side of the straggling wood - pile. It 
 made my heart stop. I turned. There was the 
 dear little gray-haired woman, Mrs. Parkridge 
 herself, standing in the path. Her huge, raw- 
 boned, ungainly, honest -hearted husband, the 
 elder, was struggling on behind her. Lifting up 
 her hands, her blue eyes searching my face, she 
 exclaimed, " My precious boy !" 
 
 It shot me through and through. The dear, 
 glorious soul! we all loved her gentle ways. We 
 knew, the whole counti'y-side knew it, the world 
 of sorrow through which she had so patiently
 
 40 
 
 lived by her calm Christian faith. Not a home 
 among us all, where sorrow had fallen, that she 
 had not drawn nigh, and said, "My dears, I know 
 all about it !" and pointed us to her God. All 
 her children, except this one boy slept on the hill- 
 side yonder, where the white wall of marble head- 
 stones would now have been plainly visible but for 
 the landscape in its sheet of snow. 
 
 " Horace, my darling ! Oh, why where " 
 These were some of the other words that she 
 gasped out, her beautiful brow knit with anxi- 
 ety, her wavy gray hair fluttering in the breeze, 
 her two hands clasped pleadingly. As if it were 
 necessary by any prayer of hers to wring from me 
 any word that I could bring to her ! 
 
 " God bless you, dear soul !" I said ; " I am sure 
 Horace is safe." May Heaven forgive me if I 
 told what I did not believe. "He went out to 
 search for Cynthia Littlewood's beau." 
 
 A glance of instant intelligence flashed across 
 her features. It relieved her anxiety apparently 
 in a moment. Her hands fell at her sides. She 
 turned a moment to bestow a look upon her hus- 
 band, who was altogether dependent upon her 
 wits for every guidance when in her company, 
 and then back to me, as she exclaimed: 
 
 " I trust to God that my boy finds Cynthia Lit- 
 tlewood's beau !" It was an inexpressible fervor 
 that accompanied these words, and a sigh of re- 
 lief at the end. There was a double meaning in 
 the words, of course.
 
 41 
 
 "And you do not fear for your son?" I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Most I fear for him if lie does not find the 
 music - teacher alive," she replied. Then she 
 begged for the narrative. She listened quietly 
 to the end, and then said, "Elisha Stone, good 
 neighbor, is she in the house ? " 
 
 "Yes," I answered ; " both of them are in there." 
 
 "Elisha, God only knows the purpose of a hu- 
 man life when once he has given it upon this 
 earth, and its limits. If this Mr. Felton is in- 
 deed alive, and recovered by my dear brave boy, 
 though it means a momentary pang to dear Hor- 
 ace in his folly, it eventually means his salvation, 
 for she will choose the teacher. Please Heaven, 
 it is so oh, please Heaven! But if young 
 Felton has perished, then begins such a melan- 
 choly life of misery for my son. The boy is in- 
 fatuated with her. You know how hearty and 
 strong he is in all his pm-poses. He will storm 
 her heart, such as she has. He will marry Cyn- 
 thia Littlewood. Oh, father, let us go home " 
 turning to her husband "and pray to God to 
 spare the young student music-teacher's life. I 
 could pray for any man's life for his own sake ; 
 but for this one oh, God spare !" 
 
 It took me all aback. I had been half hoping 
 dare I confess it here on this confidential page ? 
 that Felton was under the ice, and for my own 
 reasons. But this woman's ken read the possible 
 future in a different way. I stood silent, trying
 
 42 
 
 to take it in. Then, just as I saw she was about 
 to retrace her steps with her silent husband, I said, 
 
 " Mrs. Parkridge, the devil has been whisper- 
 ing to me quite a different " 
 
 " Yes, my son, yes, I know " she called us all 
 in the parish her sons and daughters " but the 
 Lord speaks a different whisper. If you will ex- 
 cuse me, not only may this young man be alive 
 for his own sake, for I fear he is not prepared to 
 die, but for all our sakes, and especially for 
 Horace Parkridge's sake." 
 
 I can see it all, her meaning of wise foresight, 
 at this distance of time, but not then. I turned 
 away, leading my troop of volunteers for the 
 search over the ice, a weary tramp through the 
 drifts down to the distant lake. All these fellows 
 were kind-hearted men, and they chatted as we 
 walked. 
 
 "This'll kinder spoil your apple -parin' nex' 
 Thursday, Stone," said Tom Calkins, the boss 
 sawyer, whom I knew well. 
 
 " Oh, man," I growled, " it upsets everything 
 for the winter." 
 
 "How's that?" asked Jim Peabody, our cham- 
 pion wrestler. " I wanted a chance with that 
 Dartmouth College feller. They say he's sci- 
 ence in the gumnasium. I say, Stone, what in 
 tunket is a gumnasium, anyhow ?" 
 
 I smiled in spite of myself, I remember, at 
 this ignorance of common things in this son of 
 one of our well-to-do farmers.
 
 43 
 
 " I have no heart to talk, boys," I replied. 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! Those two chaps ain't dead. 
 You'll hev your big time jest the same, neighbor. 
 All the north district is coming."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "HERE'S a crowd off on the Weatherboro 
 Cove !" shouted Sawyer, after we had trudged on 
 for more than an hour. 
 
 " Yes ; and they've found the bodies," I cried, 
 springing forward, for I could distinguish by the 
 grouping of the distant men that they were 
 centred about a particular spot upon the ice. 
 With a wild rush AVC sped over the intervening 
 distance to the spot where a knot of men and 
 boys were gathered, and towards which other 
 searchers were streaming in from different sec- 
 tions of the lake. 
 
 "Hollo, neighbor Stone!" shouted Smith Green, 
 one of our prominent farmers, " I am glad to 
 see that one of your party has an axe. Chop 
 right down here. Come here ! See, that is a 
 human head bobbed up on the under side of this 
 'ere ice. Th' ice is clear as glass here, and mighty 
 thin too. Them pines standin' round here to the 
 southwest allus makes this as gloomy as a grave- 
 yard. I never like to row up here, or skate up 
 here, or come up here, and how in creation a 
 feller could have wandered up here thinkin' he 
 was goin' to West Village is more'n Ic'n under-
 
 45 
 
 stand. Them springs of water alias make it poor 
 freezin' up here. That's my 'xperiunce. There's 
 another head of hair, sure's I'm Smith Green ! 
 God help us, men, we've found both on 'em ! 
 Gloomy old corner of the pond this, anyway." 
 
 While my axe was falling blow upon blow the 
 tin horns of various parties of search were calling 
 the signal well known among us in case of a lost 
 cow or a lost child, telling that the search was 
 ovei*. My honest neighbors were more or less en- 
 joying the luxury of horrible news, each new- 
 comer being informed with a shout : 
 
 " We've got 'em ! Both drowned." 
 
 "Hod Parkridge is dead !" 
 
 " TJie singin'-teacher's drowned !" 
 
 It was hollooed by boys. It was bawled by 
 men. It was screamed by some of the factory- 
 women who had come out over the ice. 
 
 tl Stand back there !" I cried, as my blows began 
 to show the leakage of water, and that I was 
 nearly through. A man reached me a boat-hook 
 as I had fairly broken through the ice, when just 
 at that moment, strong as a bugle note on the 
 frosty air, a voice sounded from the pines above 
 us : 
 
 "Ship ahoy ! What are you fishing for? Our 
 two buffalo overcoats ?" 
 
 We all looked up aghast towards that south 
 wall of green, where the palisade of pine and 
 hemlock was so dense that no pedestrian could be 
 discovered waiting underneath. At that mo-
 
 46 
 
 ment another voice pealed forth, more musical, 
 but not more penetrating, singing : 
 
 " Twas off the blue Canary Isles, 
 
 A glorious summer's day; 
 I sat upon the quarter-deck, 
 And whiffed my cares away," 
 
 "Gee wbittaker !" cried a school-boy, "that's 
 the singin'-teacher." 
 
 " I vum, the first voice was dear old Hod, or 
 his ghost!" cried a neighbor. 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah !" rang upon the air, as we 
 realized that in all probability they were no 
 ghosts, but the men alive. 
 
 "Hush! hear the fellow sing the rest of that 
 song, won't you?" said some one, for we had 
 drowned out his notes with our joyous exclama- 
 tions. But now the crowd hushed itself in quick 
 revulsion of feeling to hear the remainder of his 
 refrain. 
 
 "It was my last cigar it was my last cigar; 
 I breathed a sigh to think, in sooth, 
 It was my last cigar." 
 
 Such was the charm of his rich voice such the 
 witchery of the devil-may-care spirit in the man 
 that still the men waited while the singer, or his 
 ghost, began again: 
 
 "I leaned against the quai-ter-rail, 
 And looked down in the sea, 
 E'en there the purple wreath of smoke 
 Was curling gracefully;
 
 47 
 
 "But what bad I at such a time 
 
 To do with wasting care ? 
 Alas ! the trembling tear replied, 
 It was my last cigar." 
 
 As soon as the echo had died away, and the 
 smiles had begun to appeal- upon the countenances 
 of the men about me, I cried : " Holloo !" And 
 the voice came back : 
 
 " Holloo ! 'Lish, old boy, we are all right," and 
 the next moment the two men emerged from the 
 edge of the forest. 
 
 It is always impossible not to rejoice with life 
 rescued. I sprang forward to grasp my friend's 
 open hand. The crowd stood around worshipfully 
 ogling the two men, who had evidently come back 
 from heroic struggle, if not from the other world. 
 In his frank and open way Horace began to ex- 
 plain, using the most matter-of-fact language, cer- 
 tainly no boasting. 
 
 "You see, I got here just in time, 'Lish. The 
 fellow had broken through the ice. There was 
 nothing for it but for me to go in after him. We 
 both had to strip to some extent, which accounts 
 for our two overcoats, which you thought stood 
 for ourselves, and which I hope you will now go 
 ahead and fish out, for mine cost me forty dollars." 
 
 "Yes," said Felton, in a superior, airy way, 
 "the best of all was that my friend and rescuer 
 here knew the farmer on the bank, who took us 
 in, gave us some good dry clothing, fed us, and 
 here we are, all right. How are the ladies?"
 
 48 
 
 For the first time a cloud fell over the frank 
 and laughing face of my friend. Up to that mo- 
 ment he had been glowing with the consciousness 
 of a good deed well done, and getting his physical 
 equipoise from a night of great exertion. Prob- 
 ably not the slightest mention of what must have 
 been uppermost in each man's consciousness the 
 moment he had come back to the world he lived 
 in had been made till Felton asked, " How are 
 the ladies?" Turning to me, Horace said, in a 
 low tone, which had a sound of severity in it, 
 
 "Get rid of the crowd, Stone; I want you alone 
 to hear what I have to say to Felton, and I am 
 going to say it too." 
 
 The quick ear of the other man caught the re- 
 mark, and he was ready. He volunteered, indeed, 
 to relieve us of the crowd. 
 
 " My friends," he said, with a wave of his hand, 
 "I am very much obliged for the interest you 
 have taken in me. Next spring I intend to wind 
 up one of my singing-schools, probably here in 
 West Village, with a free concert. Remember, 
 you are all invited. You will get your tickets in 
 season. Now, good-bye; I must look after my 
 horse and sleigh what is left of them and the 
 ladies," with a quick, bold glance towards Park- 
 ridge, which was evidently intended to be either 
 defiant or exasperating, as Parkridge pleased. 
 
 We three started off without more ado by our- 
 selves towards the north shore. The crowd 
 yelled, " Three cheers for Horace Parkridge !"
 
 49 
 
 and attempted a fainter one or two for the music- 
 teacher. Whether the significance of the con- 
 trasted cheers was lost upon Arthur Alfred Fel- 
 ton I do not know. I do not think it was needed, 
 this evidence of his strength upon the hill-sides, 
 to nerve the spirit of my friend for what he was 
 about to undertake. We walked on some time in 
 a silence that was almost sullen. I did not even 
 inquire into the particulars of his night's adven- 
 ture, or congratulate either him or the singer, as 
 I strode along at Parkridge's side. We walked 
 until we must have been mere specks on the blue 
 sunlit surface to all spectator's eyes. 
 
 "Now, see here," said Horace, suddenly, "stop! 
 We are alone: God only above us." 
 
 " Oh, don't be so pious about it," laughed Fel- 
 ton. 
 
 I can hear it now, the light and bantering 
 laugh of the handsome man. " We'll forgive 
 you, however, being a preacher's boy," he re- 
 sumed. "I say, Stone, you haven't a flask, I 
 suppose, about you? You are all such temper- 
 ance folks up here in Vermont. If you could 
 only give me some idea where my sleigh is. I 
 say," with a too familiar slap upon Horace's 
 shoulder; " I say, shipmate, there is a splice for the 
 main brace in my bag under the seat of my 
 sleigh, if we could only find it in these drifts 
 along the shore." 
 
 Parkridge endured the banter patiently enough, 
 but silently growing more maddened every mo-
 
 50 
 
 ment as I could see, I knew him so well. Sud- 
 denly he blurted out again : 
 
 " No; this is the time." And he turned square 
 around to confront the other, who was as tall and 
 as muscular as himself. The difference was only 
 in the bronze of the farmer and the pallor of the 
 student. Two finer -formed men I never saw 
 square off against each other. Looking Felton 
 straight in the eye, Horace began : 
 
 " My boy, I know the world. I have seen as 
 much of the world as you, though now I am, in- 
 deed, a plain farmer, for my mother's sake." 
 
 " Oh, come on.; what have you to say ?" replied 
 Felton. " Remember that you have a friend here 
 with you, and that I am alone." 
 
 " My friend is as indignant as I am, though 
 made up on a different pattern, and he is not 
 likely to say all that is in his mind, whereas I am 
 just fool enough to blurt out everything that is 
 in my heart." 
 
 " Well, speak it," said Felton, standing back 
 and filling his chest, his fine-cut lip curling defi- 
 antly. " Remember that you are two to one " 
 
 " And shall take no advantage of that fact, ex- 
 cept to compel you to hear us," replied Horace. 
 "You thanked me last night for saving your life." 
 
 " Well, what more do you want ?" 
 
 " Take that back !" cried Horace, and his right 
 arm bent itself as his great hand forced itself 
 into a fist. 
 
 " No, Horace," I exclaimed, instantly springing
 
 51 
 
 to his side, "he is not to be handled here. It is 
 only that he is to be compelled to listen." 
 
 "You are right, neighbor," said Horace, 
 promptly recovering his self-possession, " I will 
 forgive the insult. Mr. Felton, I did not inform 
 
 O * 
 
 you last night that it was probably the interest 
 taken by two young ladies in your safety that in- 
 spired the necessary courage for my search. It 
 is right that you should know this, lest I take 
 more credit to myself than I deserve, and it is 
 also possibly my right here, arid now, to add that 
 I do not fancy your merely amusing yourself at 
 the expense of us simple country-folk." 
 
 " Man, what are you driving at ?" demanded 
 Felton. 
 
 " You know, and Stone and I know," replied 
 Horace, " rural manners are free, and may the 
 best man win. But, Felton, Stone here wants a 
 wife. I want a wife. It is none of my business 
 it is none of Stone's, I presume whether you 
 want a wife or not; but assuming that you do, 
 you doiibt want two/" 
 
 Horace stepped nearer as he defiantly shot 
 those last four words into the singer's teeth, and 
 his clinched hands were ready at his side as he 
 spoke them. 
 
 For a moment the two roses on the singer's 
 cheeks faded out. But the black eyes shot fire; 
 the next instant, and the wild-cat nature in him 
 triumphed. Cunning and calm, he laughed and 
 coughed out :
 
 52 
 
 "I guess you two boys mean business. Come 
 on, I want to find my wreck," and with that he 
 showed us his back. His movement was so cool 
 that for a moment nothing was said as Hod and I 
 stood staring at each other. It was only for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Then, Felton, we part so, do we?" Horace 
 flung it after him, neither of us having stirred 
 from our tracks to follow, and Horace only turn- 
 ing his head upon his squared shoulders as he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Oh, but," the singer tossed back over his 
 right shoulder, as he flirted the long black curls 
 on that side of his face and turned it towards us, 
 " I will be good. I want no trouble with you. I 
 will meet you at Stone's great apple -paring; I 
 shall not return to college this week." 
 
 Horace's eyes sought mine with a keen ques- 
 tioning gaze. 
 
 " True, I invited him," was my simple reply. 
 
 "Our quarrel is on now, I am certain," said 
 Horace. 
 
 " Ours !" I asked. 
 
 "Well, he dislikes Elisha Stone, and he hates 
 Horace Parkridge." 
 
 "Are you quite sure that is the way it lies?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so," he replied, as we strode on 
 by ourselves towards the northwest. We watched 
 the solitary form of the singer, a mere moving 
 speck now to the northeast. 
 
 "Horace," I remarked, "he will continue his
 
 53 
 
 play with the girls. He pi-obably does it in every 
 one of his schools. It is his manners, his dress, 
 his voice, the fact that he is from Dartmouth and 
 is going to be a lawyer, that charms them." 
 
 " While we are milkers of cows and sheep-rais- 
 ers," said Horace, somewhat bitterly. 
 
 " Tut, tut, my neighbor," I said, reprovingly^ 
 reading his thought. " Mind your mother, boy; 
 that is your duty. Stick to the old farm, and take 
 care of that dear old pair. Then, too, twenty 
 years from now, if we keep to sober industry, we 
 will be better off than this singer. He is too 
 smart." 
 
 " Yes, he has no principle," said Horace, medi- 
 tatively. " He is going to flash and glitter his way 
 through this big, dark world." 
 
 "Right, my lad," I answered. "And do you 
 know what else takes with the girls ? I was try- 
 ing to find the secret of his charm a moment ago." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, I don't know as I can give it a plain 
 name in a single word," I responded, trying to 
 pick out my expressions with care ; " but I can 
 tell you what will rob him of it, and it is in your 
 line, and fair play, too." 
 
 Horace stopped me short with a hand upon my 
 shoulder. He seemed to fairly snatch at my yet 
 unspoken explanation. I saw the eager look of 
 distress grow on him by the instant, as I was try- 
 ing to fashion my sentences before I spoke. I 
 did not dare to be careless, for I knew well the
 
 54 
 
 hot blood in ray friend's generous heart. I did not 
 wish to set him on to assault, Heaven knows. As 
 I saw his bronzed features turn deeper hued in 
 his passion of suffering, I began to realize how 
 much he loved the pretty jade up on the hill-side 
 yonder. His trouble made him resemble his 
 blessed mother ; just as I had seen her a few 
 hours ago, when her boy's love affair was fling- 
 ing its shadows in her face. Putting my arm on 
 his shoulder, I said: 
 
 " Hod, could you throw him at wrestling ?" 
 
 " What !" he exploded. The thought had nev- 
 er occurred to him. 
 
 " Dare you stump him, up at my apple-paring? 
 You know, we always have a champion wrestling 
 match on such occasions, when the snow is right 
 so that no one will be hurt." 
 
 "I see," replied Horace, withdrawing his arm 
 from my shoulder and plunging his hands in his 
 pockets " I see," and he began to walk on as the 
 thought got hold of him and moved him. 
 
 "Throw him, and kill him!" 
 
 "Yes, throw him if I can. That, you mean, 
 would kill him with the girls, who are fascinated 
 by his fine appearance ?" 
 
 "Well, Hod, you know our country girls as 
 well as I do. You know the old stories of the 
 histories and poets, the tournaments with brave 
 knights and fair ladies. It is the same thing." 
 
 Horace began to smile, and pushed his hands 
 still deeper into his pockets.
 
 55 
 
 " And you think that this romance of chivalry 
 survives still to some extent up here among the 
 Vermont hills ?" 
 
 " Think, boy ; I know it ! I tell you, this at 
 least is true. You just throw that fellow with 
 the hip - lock, in sight of all our young people 
 from four districts, in the snow of our front yai'd, 
 and you have killed him. After that he is noth- 
 ing but a singing-schoolmarm, with pretty man- 
 ners." 
 
 "'Lish Stone, I will try it; but are you sure I 
 can do it? Never mind, I will try it. If I fail, 
 you, who are by far the stronger man -" 
 
 " No, no, I am a plain log-lifter. I could kill 
 him mowing or chopping logwood, but he is 
 trained in gymnastics, and nearly as athletic as I 
 am, anyway. You have been a sailor, and have 
 had some experience ; besides, you have got more 
 wind." 
 
 " I will try," Horace said, meditatively. 
 
 Nothing more of interest occurred in that con- 
 versation, for we soon parted at the forks of the 
 road, and Horace went up towards his father's. 
 I went back to give the good news at Mr. Hoi- 
 yoke's that the lost were found.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 " TH' sheruff's up here yisterday nosin' 'roun'. 
 I s'pose yer house-keeper's told yer ?" It was my 
 hired man, Peleg Rumney, who said it, as we 
 were pulling out the coarse remnants from the 
 sheep racks. 
 
 It was Thursday morning, the day of my big 
 apple-paring. 
 
 "The sheriff!" I exclaimed, and turned around 
 on him with amazement. Nothing so alarms a 
 countryman as a visit from that functionary of 
 law. Jack of all trades, he does every kind of 
 work, from serving writs to detective investiga- 
 tions. 
 
 " Eup," responded the little hunchbacked 
 Peleg which vocal sound was his way of saying 
 yes bending again to his fork, " driv up with 
 Deacon Littlewood the day you was drawin' oats 
 to th' village. Deacon Littlewood was roostin' on 
 th' top rail o' the bars, talkin' with me, while the 
 sheruff went inter th' house." 
 
 " Deacon Littlewood, too, that sanctimonious " 
 
 " Cuss, eh ?" chuckled Peleg, lifting his fork- 
 ful. Peleg shared the common prejudice of all 
 sinners and some saints towards the smiling,
 
 57 
 
 black-eyed, shrewd deacon. I caught myself, I 
 think I may safely put it on record here that I 
 caught myself. I did not say the word that 
 Peleg did, for though I was not a member of the 
 Church, and had only been what our folks call 
 thoughtful the preceding winter in the school- 
 house meetings, still I never forgot the fact that 
 Hilary was a member of the Church. 
 
 "Peleg," I demanded, as soon as he had cast 
 his forkful down, " what did the sheriff say to 
 you ?" 
 
 " Wa'al, Mr. Stone," he said, plunging the 
 tines of his fork into the earth, and leaning his 
 arms on the end of the handle, " uv course yer'll 
 ask th' house-keeper 'bout his wantin' ter know 'f 
 when old Bus'orth died, him ez owned the place 
 before yer did, thet night ther' was a chist up'n 
 the attic, which she got out fur th' dyin' man, an' 
 ef she'd know th' chist ef she see it agin', so thet 
 she'd swar to't." 
 
 I hope I didn't turn pale. I had no good rea- 
 son to, except it might be the second reason that 
 Peleg himself surmised. God witness that this 
 farm w r as mine. 
 
 " Don't git scairt, Mr. Stone," Peleg went on. 
 " P'raps it's coz yer mad thet ye turn so white. 
 I don't blame yer, speshully ef yer'd heard whut 
 thet 'ere pious deac'n was cacklin' on th' top rail 
 o' th' bars, yer know, while he's waitin' fur th' 
 sheruff ter cum aout." 
 
 " I'm not scared, Peleg," I answered, assuming
 
 58 
 
 an ease that I did not feel. " Well, what did the 
 saintly man have to say, anyway ?" 
 
 " He sed," went on Peleg, leaning still more de- 
 liberately across the top of the fork handle, and 
 assuming an important air " he sed, gazin' 'roun', 
 ' This is a fine old mansion, Peleg,' sez he. An' 
 sez I, ' It's finer'n 'twas when Sen'tor Bus'orth was 
 alive ; better kep' up 'n th' fields 'n' 'roun'.' ' Yis,' 
 sez he, 'great, noble house ; no wonder it's haunted, 
 considerin' how wicked th' ol' man lived.' An' 
 sez I, ' How was Sen'tor Bus'orth wicked ?' Sez 
 he, ' He was a man of this 'ere present world, lov- 
 in' gain more'n godliness, servin' Satan,' sez he." 
 Then Peleg paused. 
 
 " What about my house being haunted ?" 
 
 " Mr. Stone," replied Peleg, pulling the fork 
 out of the earth and putting it in a new place, 
 " did old Bus'orth have a wife ?" 
 
 "Yes; and she was driven out and died in the 
 almshouse, so they say. I know nothing about 
 it." 
 
 " 'Zac'ly, I vum ! An' a darter ?" 
 
 " No; there was no child, so far as I know. My 
 deed was signed by the Senator's brother, who is 
 a doctor living in Nashua, New Hampshire." I 
 explained this to Peleg more because I was think- 
 ing out loud than because I cared to say anything 
 of my affairs to my hired man. 
 
 " I vum ter Moses ! I know'd yer was sound. 
 But the singin'-teacher's a lawyer, ain't he ?" 
 
 I took the old man's breath away as I ex-
 
 59 
 
 claimed, "What has the singing-teacher to do 
 with all this ?" 
 
 " 'Zac'ly, I vum !" said Peleg, waving his hand 
 over the top of the fork. 
 
 I then remembered myself, and concluded that 
 it was not worth while to think out loud in the 
 presence of this old servant. So I turned to him, 
 and laid it down coolly. " Boy " though his hair 
 was white I always called him boy " this ghost 
 story : don't you ever let me hear a word of that 
 sort of talk from you again, or you can't stay on 
 this place." 
 
 " I know'd it ! I know'd it ! 'tain't so ; an' 
 yit, Mr. Stone, you'd better keep me here 'n ter let 
 me go. Don't yer remember thet night when we 
 fastened up thet door, arter all the furnitoor was 
 moved in the other parts of th' house, 'n' ye'd 
 gone down to sit a while in yer room thet night ? 
 Ye was sure a little later th' hosses was loose 'n 
 th' stable, and comin' up 'n my room 'n th' ell ter 
 wake me; an' how 'n th' hall, even on your fine 
 carpet thet ye bought 'n Boston we heerd a foot- 
 step b'hin' us " 
 
 "Peleg !" I cried, grasping him, "you old Cal- 
 ifornian miner, are you also a coward ? Shut 
 your mouth ! You never heard it again, did 
 you ? And you have slept there four years." 
 All the decency there was in me rose up to 
 scorn such stuff and my momentary long-past 
 weakness. 
 
 "No, no; don't shake an ol' feller's shoulders
 
 60 
 
 so." He winced, pulling away from my hand that 
 had fallen on him. 
 
 "Well, you didn't now give me the truth 
 you didn't by any confessions of your own make 
 my dwelling a horror to the town by telling any- 
 thing of this old foolery to old Littlewood, did 
 you ?" 
 
 " No, no, I didn't. I love ye, Mr. Stone, an' 
 wanter live 'n' die on yer place. Ye've ben kind 
 to me. I hope ter goodness thet ye'll succeed in 
 persuadin' th' hansum Mary Holyoke ter cum 
 over here an' be mistress; an' ef thet purty gal 
 gits in here oncet, all yer trubbles '11 be over." 
 
 I would ordinarily have resented his too famil- 
 iar reference but that I was bent on controlling 
 the little jackanapes. I believed I could trust the 
 old man, for surely I had been a friend to him, 
 and meant to keep him there until I buried him. 
 So I said no more, but strode around to the front 
 of my dwelling, taking the longer walk to cool off, 
 thinking I would seek out my house-keeper. As 
 I stepped up on to the front piazza, how peaceful 
 the mountains towards the west shone in the 
 splendid stretch of winter sunlight that day ! 
 Thirty miles away, how grand the view, how 
 noble the house ! I loved the old place better 
 than I had ever loved it. Opening the door, I 
 entered the broad hall that ran from the front to 
 the back of the dwelling. My house-keeper, Mrs. 
 Polly Cark, met me. She pointed to the other 
 end of the hall where, against the round window
 
 61 
 
 that revealed the mountains on the north, stood 
 dear little Mrs. Parkridge, who had come over 
 early to see if she could be of any motherly as- 
 sistance in preparing for my great occasion in a 
 bachelor's house. 
 
 " It's time for you to get your Sunday clothes 
 on, Mr. Stone," said my house-keeper. 
 
 " Mrs. Cark," I exclaimed, abruptly, " there is 
 a plot against me. Come into my library." 
 
 Promptly she answered, putting up her two 
 hands, "I told Mr. Sheriff I knew nothing about 
 any daughter of old Senator Bosworth." 
 
 "Woman," I continued, intensely, though low- 
 ering my voice so that Mrs. Parkridge could not 
 overhear, " that singing-master has got hold of 
 the old dark tale." 
 
 " What is that to you ?" she asked. By this 
 time we wei*e in the library. 
 
 " This," I replied, as I shut the door : "he will 
 put the deacon up to getting hold of this place 
 you know, and God knows, how unjustly." 
 
 There never was a brighter woman than Mrs. 
 Polly Cark. She deceived me perfectly. With- 
 out asking my explanation of what could be the 
 motive of the deacon and the method, her next 
 apparently frank question to me was : 
 
 "Is Cynthia in love with the singer?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Is the singer in love with Cynthia ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 I think now that I can recall the mere flit of a
 
 62 
 
 shadow over her face. But she caught herself, 
 and resumed : 
 
 "But he makes the deacon believe he is? I 
 see. He has taken the deacon's measure : prop- 
 erty, more property, farm after farm. But Mr. 
 Holyoke will stand behind you, dear Mr. Stone, 
 if you need any money for fighting in the courts. 
 You helped him when his boy took away so much 
 of his money." How sincere a friend she seemed ! 
 
 "Oh, woman, woman !" I groaned, as I turned 
 away and stood with my back towards her, look- 
 ing out of the window on the mountains. The 
 facts were the very reverse of any such possibil- 
 ity on Mr. Holyoke's part. I was still on Farmer 
 Holyoke's notes for a considerable amount of 
 money with which he had bridged over his boy's 
 mad failure down in Boston, and even the funeral 
 expenses with which we laid the boy away up here 
 in the snow I paid. 
 
 Just then there was a sharp rap at the door, and 
 it opened without waiting for my reply. 
 
 " Holloo, 'Lish !" and Horace stood before me. 
 
 " My friend !" I stormed it at him, while he 
 stood aghast to see me, usually calm and cool- 
 headed, so excited " my friend, that singer has 
 been busy for a week around here. He has been 
 stopping over to Littlewood's. He means to ruin 
 me." 
 
 " You?" cried Horace. 
 
 " Yes, my boy. Why is it that your mother 
 does not want you to marry Cynthia Littlewood?
 
 63 
 
 What does your mother know of her? It is 
 something in the past, before our day of remem- 
 brance." 
 
 Quickly Mrs. Cark turned round upon us, as if 
 to remind us she was present, and yet there was 
 a gleam in her face Avhich showed she was not 
 sorry to hear him if he answered my question. 
 At least I have since believed so, as I have pieced 
 things togethei-. But what she said was : 
 
 " Really, Mr. Stone, you must get ready ; you 
 must, you must ! Your early visitors are already 
 driving up." And with that she left the room 
 closing the door behind her. 
 
 " Well," answered Horace, with a sigh that was 
 half a groan, as soon as we were alone, walking 
 slowly and thoughtfully up to the window beside 
 me, leaning his broad shoulder against the oppo- 
 site casement, " I confess I don't know what to 
 advise. I wish this I would to Heaven I could 
 tear my heart out, and wash it clean of any rem- 
 nant of affection that it holds f or Cynthia Lit- 
 tlewood, but I cannot. She is coming over with 
 the singer. I waited on mother, of course, as 
 father had gone to a preacher's meeting, and I 
 knew I could not be Cynthia's escort. Besides all 
 that, the fellow has been visiting the deacon all 
 the week. He will come over with a fine turn-out. 
 You see if he don't. He seems to lack no amount 
 of money." And with that, as I made no reply, 
 Horace left me to go into my own room to make 
 myself presentable to my guests. I thought he
 
 64 
 
 evaded my question as to his mother and Cynthia. 
 I was provoked, but would not press him. 
 
 An hour later everybody was there, or in sight 
 on the hill-side driveway. I had to slip off up 
 stairs, change my clothes, and put away my agita- 
 tion, and appear as happy as an apple - paring 
 party demanded. 
 
 " How radiantly the winter sunset streams into 
 your great hall always!" exclaimed Mary Holyoke, 
 as she entered, with my opening of the door just 
 as I got down to the landing. " See, papa," she 
 cried, as she called the attention of her father to 
 the flood of rosy sunset light that always over- 
 whelmed the house as the sun went down behind 
 the distant Adirondacks. 
 
 " A beautiful home this would make, my child," 
 was the old man's kind reply. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," echoed her ruddy, bustling 
 mother, coming up behind and overhearing the 
 conversation, putting out her hands to greet me 
 with unmistakable cordiality. 
 
 I knew it, of course I had known it before but 
 I knew it beyond the possibility of mistake after 
 that, that both of the old pair were on my side. 
 
 " Good-evening, Cynthia," cried Mary, merrily, 
 as she stepped along down the hall. I turned. 
 I had not noticed before that Cynthia and Felton 
 had already arrived, and were standing beneath 
 the old portrait of Senator Bosworth on the right- 
 hand side of the hall. The light fell softly, and 
 fully revealing the portrait. I had found the
 
 65 
 
 picture in the house when I bought it, stained and 
 old and almost invisible. There being no one to 
 claim it, I had it restored in Boston, and hung in 
 its old place. 
 
 " Now, father," exclaimed Mary's mother to 
 her husband in a low, quick sentence, " the re- 
 semblance !" 
 
 My ear caught the word and the idea. Strange 
 that I had never thought of it before. I turned 
 and looked on the face of the girl and the pict- 
 ured face of the old man on the wall. It did seem 
 to me that I saw a resemblance between the iron 
 countenance and the dark beauty. I remember 
 that I thought I would try and compare them 
 again some time during the evening. But as 
 Felton led Cynthia away towards the great kitch- 
 en even before I had a chance to come up and 
 greet them, I could not get the pictured old face 
 and the young face in flesh together again ; and 
 it is singular that this was the last time for many 
 a day that Cynthia Little wood was ever under that 
 roof. 
 
 It was not very long before my great kitchen 
 was full. In pairs the boys and girls and men 
 and women were at my baskets of apples. 
 
 " I will run the parer," exclaimed Felton to 
 Cynthia, reaching for the machine, as they seated 
 themselves at a table; "you quarter and core." 
 He had skilfully arranged their positions where 
 Mary Holyoke could be tantalized, if so disposed, 
 by every attention that he bestowed and he did it
 
 66 
 
 lavishly upon Cynthia. Mary had been inspect- 
 ing a half-bushel of popped corn which I had or- 
 dered Peleg to deposit at her feet. He brought it 
 in just as Felton arranged his position with Cyn- 
 thia. I saw the change from white to scarlet 
 flash a moment in Mary's face. I came to the 
 rescue and attracted her attention. I said, " Here, 
 Horace, you and Mary go at these apples," and I 
 pulled a basket to her feet. " I have to be every- 
 where, as I am master of ceremonies." 
 
 " And I will string them with you, Mrs. Holy- 
 oke," said pretty Lucy Tennant, with her white 
 arms bared and astringing-needle in her hands, as 
 they joined the group. " We old folks, Mrs. 
 Holyoke, aren't anxious to blacken our hands 
 with either the paring or the quartering knives." 
 And as Horace pulled his chair round that made 
 up the circle. 
 
 A little while later, as I was kneeling down be- 
 fore the great fireplace to knock the coals out for 
 popping the corn, I contrasted the hilarious jollity 
 of a country good time with the darkness in my 
 own heart ; all the more as the laugh of some gay 
 heart rose up, and cries for " more apples !" 
 " philopena !" and what not, filled the room with 
 merry music. 
 
 " Name it !" I heard Felton cry to Hannah Cas- 
 tlereigh " name my apple-seeds." 
 
 "Of course I'll name it Mary Holyoke," an- 
 swered the plague. I was myself startled at the 
 girl's penetration. Felton flushed, Cynthia paled.
 
 G7 
 
 Felton protested a moment, and then as the seeds 
 were laid out carefully on Cynthia's rosy palm he 
 bent over and began to sing in a low tone as he 
 counted : 
 
 " One I love, two you love, three I love I say, 
 Four I love with all my heart, and five I cast away, 
 Six she loves, seven he loves, eight they both love, 
 Nine he comes, ten he tarries, 
 Eleven he courts, and twelve he marries." 
 
 "Twelve it is ! Yes, yes !" cried Hannah Cas- 
 tlereigh, as she seized the shapely hand to make 
 sure of no trick. " There are twelve seeds, Cyn- 
 thia, twelve. Mr. Felton marries the name." 
 
 "Miss Holyoke will exonerate me, I am sure, 
 for any complicity in this conspiracy against her 
 future liberty," said Arthur Felton, in an airy way. 
 He leaned back to bring Mary into the scope of 
 their circle. "This is Miss Castlereigh's non- 
 sense." 
 
 It was explained in a way, however, as I could 
 detect, to pique Mary. His tone caressed her 
 while his words seemed to put her aside. As for 
 Cynthia, she showed prompt resentment at the 
 fates, and helped the game Felton was playing on 
 Mary's jealousy by saying: 
 
 "No ; the fates will have it so. You better go 
 and pay court to your future destiny." 
 
 "Not at all, ray pretty lady," cried he, gayly. 
 " Come," as he pushed his chair back, " you are 
 tired, let's put aside this business. Let me loop
 
 68 
 
 your string over the pole, and then let's dance. It 
 is time, and the violins are tuning up." 
 
 He caught Cynthia's festoon of apple quarters, 
 holding it out at arm's - length, several yards in 
 all, and flung it over the pole that crossed the 
 ceiling nearest him, and then sprung out into the 
 room, crying : 
 
 " First set." 
 
 But no one responded. I went on popping the 
 corn. I did not look to Mary. I did not need 
 to study Horace's face. I felt sure he, at least, 
 saw through it all. It was Felton's plan to dis- 
 tress Mary, if she had the slightest fondness for 
 himself, by the most exclusive attention to Cyn- 
 thia and neglect of herself. 
 
 " We haven't earned the right to dance to 
 Farmer Stone's music yet," protested Ezekiel 
 Blood, pulling Lucy Tennant into the chair va- 
 cated by Felton, and taking Cynthia's place. 
 This seemed to be the general sentiment, with a 
 dozen baskets of my fruit left. And so, while 
 the forty people, old and young, went on with 
 their tasks, Cynthia and Felton started off into 
 the hall for a stroll through the other rooms of 
 the house, arm in arm ; they only reappeared now 
 and then to snatch at the work, for the next hour 
 bothering others more than they helped. They 
 succeeded in starting considerable gossip about 
 themselves, and a by-play of criticism, which I 
 knew Cynthia gloried in, tossing her shining head. 
 
 " Miss Mary," I said at length, " we are going
 
 69 
 
 to clear the room now for the dance. _You and 
 Horace " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she replied, nervously glancing up, 
 the roses on her cheeks glowing as she spoke, 
 showing the mental excitement under which she 
 had been laboring for the evening ; " but I am 
 not ready yet." 
 
 "I see," I said; "it is a race between you two 
 and Marinda Joslyn and Tom Calkins to see who 
 shall get the last apple out of the last two bas- 
 kets," and I left them at their contest. 
 
 " Neighbor Stone," said Deacon Littlewood, 
 approaching me, " if you'll excuse me, I think I'll 
 go hum. Mrs. Littlewood and I will now retire. 
 I do not 'bject altogether to sich vanities, and yit 
 I can't stay to the dance. Such worldliness 
 breaks up the sperit of solemn things, which we 
 hope fur in the school-house meetin's this winter. 
 Oh, my dear young man, when will you young 
 folks think on the latter end ?" 
 
 " Pardon us if we don't to-night, deacon. Af- 
 ter all, we are a meeting-going neighborhood, I 
 believe. There's no one here, so far as I see," 
 looking round and turning him by the shoulder 
 for the -same purpose, " who don't go to one of 
 the three churches except it may be our friend 
 the singer." I fixed my eyes on him to study the 
 effect of the last words. 
 
 " True, alas ! for him. He's been stoppin' tew 
 our h'us. He's powerful smart on psalmody and 
 and makin* a dollar." Then the man laughed.
 
 70 
 
 It was such a startling laugh. There was no fun 
 in it. It was like a clinching argument without 
 words. When he had no more that he wished to 
 say, or when he thought he could overwhelm you 
 with empty sound, Deacon Littlewood always 
 laughed. 
 
 " But, my dear neighbor, this is no wicked ball 
 a mere country-home jollification. You surely 
 do not object to that ?" 
 
 " No, no," with a wave of those hands that al- 
 ways reminded me of bird-claws, " but you'll ex- 
 cuse me, I have to be so keerful;" and out he 
 glided, his eyes, so black that they seemed all 
 iris, twinkling as if he had seen the evil one, to 
 say nothing of me. This excellent man unified his 
 sinful tendencies. One evil was sufficient for him 
 to support, especially such as his inordinate greed. 
 
 " There are always two opinions about dancing 
 among our'country folks," playfully remarked the 
 venerable Abner Holyoke. " It does me good, 
 I'm sure, once in a while." 
 
 It did me good always to see this gracious old 
 man warm up to the occasion, about the fourth 
 set of Virginia-reel, his squeaky boots tiptoeing 
 down the centre of the kitchen floor, starting up 
 the aged splinters from the yellow paint, his 
 rather solemn face beaming beneficence as his 
 kind eyes were turned towards the ceiling. He 
 held his partner's hand so high on this occasion 
 that little Lucy Tennant seemed mere airy noth- 
 ing, all in white, at his side.
 
 71 
 
 "Are we really to have a wrestling match, 
 Elish-a ?" asked Mary, a little later on, when I 
 thought they had danced enough, and I had be- 
 gun to set in motion the out-door rounding up of 
 our sports. I was passing her wraps to her for 
 the veranda as she asked the question. 
 
 " Yes ; you know that is the rural notion," I 
 replied. 
 
 " You don't think it is too commonplace, then ?" 
 she rejoined, looking up into my face. " But, of 
 course, you have to follow the fashion in provid- 
 ing for your guests," and she made ready to ac- 
 company me, moving on with the throng. 
 
 This question of Mary's put a new face on 
 things. I realized that she had in many respects 
 outgrown some of our district habits, our country 
 ways and manners. I had, however, resolved my- 
 self not to be drawn into the athletics, which, no 
 doubt, at that time were far from being as wel- 
 come among the fashionable woijjd as in later 
 years, but they were fashionable enough then 
 among our country people. 
 
 " Glorious moon !" exclaimed young Tomlin- 
 son, a student for the ministry, who had enjoyed 
 the rest of the festivities well enough, but who 
 had stolen away to hide himself among my books 
 while we danced, and yet he had no scruples 
 about witnessing " snap - the - whip," " fox - and - 
 geese," and the wrestling in the snow from the 
 piazza. 
 
 There they -stand on the trodden snow the
 
 72 
 
 wrestlers. Did you ever witness that fun ? It 
 stirs a man's boyhood soul the recollection of it. 
 The young men in a circle, but the fair spectators 
 on the piazza and under the porch having full 
 view where the circle is broken up on one side. 
 Coats and hats are off as the proud giants, robed 
 in white to the waist, are silvered over by the 
 cold spectator moon. Their blood is up from the 
 other games, such as snap -the -whip, goal, etc., 
 which has warmed them till the little puffs of hot 
 breath halo both wrestlers and spectators alike 
 as they stand expectant. 
 
 "Who is it?" asks some of the women, as I 
 pass out another chair. 
 
 " Hush ] they are getting their hold," answers 
 the eager Tennant girl, full of the spirit of the fun. 
 
 " It is Horace Parkridge and James Peabody," 
 I explain. " James is our champion, you know, 
 in these parts," and I then stepped down into 
 the throng near the contestants. 
 
 The men screw their great palms on each other's 
 shoulders, with their thick fingers fastening the 
 grip like a vise. The alternate grasp is on the 
 elbow. Scarlet necks throb deeper red above 
 their white neckbands, collars stripped off that 
 the heavy breaths may heave the more freely. 
 
 "Aye ! That is a blow of the foot to knock a 
 hitching post down," some one exclaims, as Pea- 
 body's heavy boot strikes at Horace's right. 
 
 " But that leg was rooted like an oak," another 
 answers, " and didn Vbudge an inch."
 
 73 
 
 Thud ! thud ! I hear the blows, and recognize 
 them as Horace's doughty foot in return. But 
 nothing comes of it. I am apprehensive for the 
 boy ; I want him to live out the contest, and be 
 ready for the singer next. I have no ambition 
 to grapple with him myself ; and unless Horace 
 shall succeed in this bout, then he will lose his 
 own golden opportunity, and Peabody will wres- 
 tle with the singer. 
 
 "Hurrah !" some one cries. 
 
 "No! no ! no !" are the answering shouts. These 
 are partisan cries. 
 
 I am walking about. I say under breath to Hor- 
 ace : "Steady, my boy, don't fail," but I get no 
 answer. I cannot endure to see them bend each 
 other like withes, and I walk back all sus- 
 pense towards the old folks and the girls un- 
 der the porch. The singer is seated there be- 
 tween Mary Holyoke and Cynthia Littlewood. 
 He accosts me with his ringing voice as I ap- 
 proach : 
 
 " The sailor is the smaller man of the two by 
 an inch, I should say, and has a hard road to 
 travel. How will he do it ?" 
 
 " By my wits !" shouts Horace on the frosty 
 air, half savagely, for he has overheard it. 
 
 "Then he will travel cheap enough," rejoins 
 the singer, in a low tone ; and I notice that Cyn- 
 thia laughs, though Mary does not. 
 
 " Heigh ! Heigh !" I turn. They are in the 
 grapple. We all hold our breath. It seems an
 
 74 
 
 age. It is but a minute, and it is over. Down, 
 down Horace throws the champion ! 
 
 I am the first to take my friend's hand as he 
 approaches. There is a silvery hurrah from the 
 piazza, a waving of handkerchiefs in the flash of 
 moonbeams. I do not know who is in the cheer 
 from that group yonder, I would give a good deal 
 to know ; it would tell the trend of sympathies. 
 
 "Who will take him? Who will take him?" 
 cries Peabody, as Horace is offering to put on his 
 coat. "No, no, you are the best man. Who will 
 take him?" And the vanquished giant grasps 
 him by the shoulder. 
 
 " I will take him," answers the fine firm tone of 
 the singer voluntarily, as he stalks along across 
 the snow, casting off his garments as he strides 
 towards us. I, of course, carry his clothes back, 
 and deposit them at the feet of the women. 
 
 " Oh, my boy is too weary," protests Horace's 
 mother. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," answer the women. Still they 
 have small pity, being at fever heat of excitabil- 
 ity. When had fair lady at a race-course ever 
 pity for the colt that carried her wager, or in the 
 coliseum, or in the old days of the tourneys of 
 which Scott has told us ? There are no wagers 
 here, to be sure, but the hopes that are hanging, 
 the pride of friendship, are equally pitiless in 
 their urgency. 
 
 Meanwhile the men are linked and playing their 
 stern foils and bluffs.
 
 75 
 
 " What do you think, boy?" asked Father Hoi- 
 yoke, as I am turning in and out nervously, and 
 finally start to go back towards them. 
 
 " It is Horace's breath," I answer. " It is only 
 a question of his breath, I think." I attempt to 
 stand where I am. I dare not trust myself to go 
 down towards the athletes. My interest is so in- 
 tense that I know I could not hold my tongue. I 
 fear that my turn will come next. I must not 
 forfeit the good-will of my guests by showing 
 my secret partisanship, so I fold my arms across 
 my breast, and lean against the trunk of the 
 little cherry on the right of the step. After a 
 while I cry: "Don't spend time in skirmishing, 
 Hod." 
 
 I cannot help shouting it. I regret it the mo- 
 ment it has passed my lips, for Cynthia Little- 
 wood reads me as she whispers: "Shame, Mr. 
 Stone ! Have you bet on our neighbor ?" 
 
 "If there are bets Mary Holyoke begins 
 to protest. 
 
 " No, no, girls ; there are no wagers." I toss 
 this over my shoulder, not withdrawing my eyes. 
 " Can't an old school friend wish to see his next- 
 door neighbor hold up the honors of the North 
 District against a stranger?" 
 
 My word has helped Horace. They twist at the 
 arms, they hasten to the grapple; they strain each 
 other, as a heavy wind sweeps over the trees 
 when they are full-leaved. I walk down nearer 
 to them, arms- still folded, striding on step by
 
 76 
 
 step, my eyes seeing nothing but the contestants. 
 I read Horace's face, especially as I notice that it 
 has grown pale. It is that question of the breath 
 of which we spoke. Oh, if he were not a smoker ! 
 That comes of his sea life. The back of the neck 
 is bursting with color, the cheeks grow whiter 
 still. His pulls are terrific, and fairly lift the 
 other man, but his foot blows are feebler. 
 
 "Horace," I murmur, in a low tone, as I fore- 
 see that his nerve is failing, "you cannot do the 
 thing you are thinking about." 
 
 But I am too late. Horace tries it, the hip- 
 lock ; as he half turns for the throw the singer 
 strikes at his left foot, which is to be the fulcrum. 
 Oh, oh, it slips! He reels is down! Hurrah, 
 hurrah, the singer is victorious ! 
 
 " Stone, St " Horace cries it at me with what 
 breath he can gather, as soon as he- is upon his 
 feet. I see how death-like the dear face looks. I 
 feel such a surge of vengeful strength rush along 
 my bony arms ! I am ready for the victor, but I 
 wonder at my own boldness. 
 
 " Not yet," cries the crowd, taking the part of 
 the victor; "give him breath." But I regard it 
 not, I am so eager ; I throw my garments on the 
 back of my friend. This shall be a truthful biog- 
 raphy, cost me what it may to always confess my 
 own secret heart. 
 
 Horace answers, " The singer has as much rest 
 as I had." But I suddenly bethink me, and I re- 
 spond, "Still, I will give him time to breathe."
 
 77 
 
 It is difficult for me to resist the impulse of my 
 heart, but I insist upon it. 
 
 " Yes ; give him rest. I will take a bout with 
 Peabody to equalize myself. Then let me try the 
 chainpion, Mr. Arthur Alfred Felton." Jim comes 
 to me, and we are at it. I need not recount the 
 narrative of this unimportant contest, as it was 
 only to put me on an equality with the cham- 
 pion. I am surprised by my own strength. I am 
 ashamed to confess it, but I write this story for 
 the truth in all particulars : I assert, and I may as 
 well confess it, that there is a sense of anger in 
 my heart. All the time that I am struggling with 
 Peabod} r I imagine that I am grappling with the 
 singer. I cannot forget all the plotting on which 
 I have stumbled where he has sought nothing 
 short of my ruin in the last busy week of his cun- 
 ning life. After a few moments I break Peabody 
 over. Then I cry, " Come on now !" I excitedly 
 stretch out my arms towards Arthur Alfred Fel- 
 ton. " Come on," I say. I am panting like a 
 war-horse. 
 
 " He comes, eagerly " Horace says it to me 
 under his breath. I can to this day feel the 
 swelling muscles of that shoulder and that sub- 
 tle elbow under my clutch. We look each other 
 in the face just once before we bow to it, and in 
 that stare, all smiling though it be, I see his mal- 
 ice. We are to strive, and we seem to know it, 
 for the very ground beneath our feet. Yes, for 
 home, for plaoe among men, for friendship and
 
 7S 
 
 for the loyalty of woman's love. Instantly be 
 steps upon my toe and pulls me forward. I an- 
 swer him. I come on him like a log-heap. 
 
 " Heavens, man ! You are an avalanche !" 
 
 " And you are a panther !" 
 
 It is gymnast and ploughman. He knows a 
 .score of little tricks that I have never learned. 
 As I twist at him he breaks bis hold. It is un- 
 fair, but there is no umpire except the public 
 opinion of the homely neighbors. They, how- 
 ever, cry out, " Oh ! oh !" It is a derisive cry, 
 and against the singer. 
 
 "Man," he protests, "your fingers are as coarse 
 as spikes." 
 
 I have no doubt of it, for I feel even now his 
 flesh where my corn-husking fingers have worked 
 through his garments to that white shoul- 
 der, his skin like satin drawn over iron. But 
 I must not let him play another foul trick upon 
 me. 
 
 It is lurch and labor, it is tug and strain and 
 stand fast. It is many a thundering thump of 
 my cowhided right foot, and return of lightning 
 stroke from his patent-leather his left foot is as 
 well trained as his right. As we work our eager 
 way in the excitement of the contest nearer and 
 nearer to the house, I hear Cynthia Littlewood 
 exclaim : 
 
 " Of course he will. He is the finer make of the 
 two." I know it is a compliment to the singer, 
 and full of hope for his victory.
 
 79 
 
 "It is too exciting," answers Mary Holyoke. 
 " I wish' it were over." 
 
 "It will soon be, my dear ; but it is just splen- 
 did!" rejoins the dark woman in reply. 
 
 I remember that I see the Cark woman among 
 the other maids at the corner of the house. Her 
 gray eyes are like fire. I think at first that it is 
 in sympathy with me that her eyes are so kindled. 
 As the years pass on I learn to know better, do I 
 not? 
 
 For the second time this man attempts to maim 
 me. He grinds his small, tapering heel on my 
 toe. 
 
 " Foul," I growl ; and, strung up to my utmost, 
 I turn my right side. I call all within me to the 
 pillared strength of my left limb which he is pin- 
 ning down, and I take him oh, the memory of 
 it! I take him over my right hip. It is an awful 
 twist of main strength. He lifts! He is clear of 
 the ground! I have him! Over, over thank 
 Heaven, the thud with which he falls to the snow ! 
 
 "Curse you," he mutters, white with rage, " I 
 will throw you in another way yet !" 
 
 I am upon the point of rising, as I ought to do, 
 when he spits his venom at me ; but I am indig- 
 nant and I do not let him go, though I do not reply. 
 I silently grind him into the snow, my right and 
 my left hand upon the shoulder make the com- 
 plete touch-down yes, I grind him into the snow ! 
 
 I can write no more to-night at least I will 
 not, lest I put^on the paper how often since then
 
 80 
 
 I have wondered in my innermost thoughts if it 
 had been for the happiness of us all had I unwit- 
 tingly killed him by his fall. God witness that 
 until he cursed me I had no thought of harming 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "You manifested unmistakable anger, Elisha 
 Stone," said Mary. It was two weeks later that 
 I was calling at the house of my neighbor. Mean- 
 while I had been to Nashua to have my interview 
 with old Dr. Bosworth, the brother of the Sena- 
 tor. My lawyer, Ashael Keep, had been with me. 
 
 "Mary Holyoke," I replied, " you know some- 
 thing of my provocation. I knew on that day 
 that this mischief-maker in our once happy circle 
 here was intending to attempt my ejection from 
 my dwelling and place among men." 
 
 "Your home, Elisha Stone?" There was a 
 coldness in her tone that froze me to the bone. 
 
 " Yes, before God, it is my home ! I put five 
 thousand dollars of my own into that old place. 
 I do not come here to-day to build up the broken 
 dream of all the years since first I knew you, a 
 pretty child, Miss Holyoke. I have not been ut- 
 terly uninformed of all the events which have 
 taken place since my apple -paring in this neigh- 
 borhood. Probably all that fond old dream, as I 
 have called it, is over forever. But I do come 
 here to save my own good name and yours." 
 
 "Mr. Stone, be careful !" said Mary's mother,
 
 82 
 
 excitedly, stamping her foot. " Mary's good 
 name, say you ?" 
 
 I caught her rolling ball of yarn and passed it 
 back to her; and then standing in this house, un- 
 invited to be seated, where two weeks ago the 
 easiest chair was mine, I continued : 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Holyoke, you shall all hear me. 
 That fellow Felton is the moving spirit of this 
 lawsuit to defend, as he boasts, an orphan girl's 
 rights, forsooth," and I did not quite suppress my 
 sneer. 
 
 "You must have known that Cynthia Little- 
 wood was Senator Bosworth's child." There was 
 something killing in the calmness with which 
 Mary Holyoke charged this fatal knowledge upon 
 me. 
 
 "God forgive you, how could I know it? I 
 declare to you that I never knew it." 
 
 " Well, it is said that you have just been to see 
 her uncle, who fraudulently inherited her prop- 
 erty," added Mary. 
 
 " I have, indeed, been down to see old Dr. Bos- 
 worth. Into his hands I paid the purchase money 
 for the place. My savings-bank book will show 
 that the money went that way, every dollar to 
 him." 
 
 "But would it show what he paid you back?" 
 Mrs. Holyoke said this. I could hardly believe 
 my senses that in so short a time this home, which 
 had always been friendly with me, was bristling 
 with so much opposition and cruel doubt of me.
 
 83 
 
 "Madam can you believe that cursed lie?" I 
 cried. "I know this Felton's case. He proposes 
 to prove, does he, that I was in collusion with 
 a man I never met until I offered to buy the 
 place, which I was told he inherited, and which I 
 had always desired to possess. He proposes to 
 prove that this stranger gave me rebates, as they 
 are called, of nearly half the purchase money, 
 upon consideration that I should help him to con- 
 ceal the fact that Cynthia Littlewood was his 
 brother's; that is, the old Senator's child?" I am 
 a slow talker, and when I am excited I cannot 
 make long sentences. My indignation and my 
 sorrow choked me, and I stood silent. 
 
 "Well, we know that the Littlewood's never 
 had any children of their own, and adopted this 
 one," said Mrs. Holyoke. 
 
 "That may be," I resumed, "but I never knew 
 it until now. Whether the rest of the young 
 singing lawyer's plot is true, I am equally igno- 
 rant. I propose to try proofs with him. He 
 makes the grasping deacon think that he can 
 prove that the night on which poor Mrs. Bos- 
 worth was driven from her home she being a 
 young thing, the old tyrant great man's child- 
 wife that she left a little baby behind her, 
 that the Senator forcibly detained it." 
 
 "Well, it is true, we know" Mr. Holyoke, for 
 the first time taking a part in the conversation, 
 sadly put in this" Mrs. Parkridge and the elder 
 also kpow that Senator Bosworth's wife died in
 
 84 
 
 the almshouse, from the exposure of that night 
 of her Hagar - like flight. It was in the winter 
 of" 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Holyoke interrupted, "the next 
 night or two the Senator sent her baby after her. 
 Mrs. Cark obliged him by undertaking the shock- 
 ing business from first to last. It was the same 
 night that the old scamp died of delirium tre- 
 mens, it is reported, which is bad enough, but 
 Mrs. Parkridge and the elder whispered to me 
 that it was more likely of mind horrors that the 
 old wretch died." 
 
 " I am obliged to you," I remarked. " Whether 
 you really wish it or not, you are helping me. 
 These facts are some of them new to me, and I 
 do not think that my lawyer knows them either." 
 
 "And the Cark woman took the child in a 
 wooden chest," resumed Mrs. Holyoke; "she left 
 it at the almshouse, not knowing that its poor 
 dear young mother was lying stark dead at that 
 very moment. The Cark woman supposed that 
 the mother would claim it ; but as it was un- 
 claimed, the matron of the almshouse called it 
 " the little wood-chest brat." That is how it got 
 to be called Littlewood. And that is the way it 
 attracted the deacon's wife's attention. That is 
 the way, don't you see ? Otherwise they never 
 would have adopted it. And I think the elder 
 tried his successful tongue at persuading the 
 selfish pair. He was always trying to empty the 
 poorhouse. But I don't think to this day that
 
 85 
 
 the deacon and his wife ever heard the explana- 
 tion of her birth from Elder Parkridge and his 
 wife." 
 
 Mr. Holyoke turned away, the memory of those 
 old days stirred his heart, and his eyes moistened 
 with feeling. 
 
 " Whether the deacon and his wife knew it at 
 the time, they know it now, as they think, from 
 Mr. Felton, and are eager for my acres." 
 
 " Your acres?" objected Mary, her glorious 
 eyes looking a world of mournful reproach 
 upon me. 
 
 I turned to her ; I had thought that my heart 
 had surrendered her image, but to be misjudged 
 like this was terrible. All my love for her was 
 suddenly re-enforced by my wounded self-respect. 
 Confronting her as if she were alone in the room 
 I said : 
 
 " Mary, Mary, I can't endure this. If you tell 
 me that you love this man, and I have little doubt 
 that he at least wants to marry you, I shall pray 
 God to give you what happiness you can get yoked 
 in with him, but I pray the great God above us 
 to help me that you shall not count me a dis- 
 honorable man." 
 
 "Elisha Stone, I don't think I have given you 
 any right to speak to me of my possible marriage 
 with him or any other person." 
 
 "Hear me. Whatever you do," I resumed 
 "whatever you do, I shall live from this hour 
 not feeding on"any straw of hope of your love in
 
 86 
 
 return, but eating the fat grain of my self-respect, 
 which I am bound you shall regard. I will live 
 to show you that I am an honest man. I could 
 give up the home. It is naught to me if you are 
 never to be its mistress." 
 
 "How can you be right, Mary? It can't it 
 can't be !" The words fell from Abner Holyoke 
 with a sob, as the old man rose up and started 
 towards the door to the kitchen. 
 
 " Father," protested his wife, in her alarm go- 
 ing after him in his feebleness, "let's not open 
 our lips again. Ain't our Mary the wisest person 
 in this house ? Ain't we given her an eddica- 
 tion of the best?" In her great excitement the 
 little polish she had gained rubbed away, and 
 the vernacular of her girlhood returned. 
 
 So the old pair went out, and we were alone. 
 Mary rose to confront me. It seems but yester- 
 day as I look back upon it all now ; the sun 
 shining softly in at the farm-house window that 
 new bay-window which I had myself planned, 
 where the dear child's geraniums and roses out- 
 lived the winter ; the window that looked across 
 the hills to my own, the window towards which I 
 had turned so often, saying, " She is away at 
 school. Next week, day after to-mornow night, 
 the lamp will be burning longer." I say, she 
 stood there in the rosy beams of the sunshine, so 
 fair, and yet so resolute against me. I forgive 
 her. In her mind I know that I was at that mo- 
 ment a base man. I was a schemer who had won
 
 87 
 
 my acres by conniving to the basest fraud of 
 taking them from an orphan's hand. 
 
 "Elisha" her voice trembled "I do not love 
 Mr. Felton. His gallantry may have pleased -me 
 for a passing moment. I was foolish, but I have 
 put that all away. I might have loved him but 
 for one thing." 
 
 " What say you ?" I asked, eagerly. 
 
 " But for this one thing, that he has been the 
 instrument in the hands of Providence of shat- 
 tering my ideal of a true man. Could a woman 
 ever love an executioner, however just his office, 
 and especially the executioner of one whom she 
 had revered ?" 
 
 " O God, give me patience ! Dear girl, why, 
 his destruction of me is his argument to gain 
 your favor." 
 
 She flashed it out at me : " He should marry 
 Cynthia Littlewood." 
 
 "Never!" I replied. 
 
 " He has as good as asked her hand." 
 
 "And will break her heart as soon as he has 
 got me out of the way." 
 
 "Poor Elisha," she replied, "I am most pained 
 to hear you so persistent in your deception of the 
 neighborhood and me. Oh, Elisha, why do you 
 not go at once ?" 
 
 "Go!" 
 
 "Yes ; if you stay you may be arrested any 
 moment imprisoned, possibly." 
 
 For an instant I could not realize her words.
 
 88 
 
 I bad not thought the fellow could do all that. 
 I stood there a great, awkward, shaking moun- 
 tain above this little woman's pretty head. She 
 put her two hands at length upon mine, which 
 were clinched. She stroked my bony knuckles, 
 and still I did not answer. My head was dizzy. 
 She allowed her right hand to creep up on my 
 shoulder, as a dove might flutter on a stone wall. 
 As I did not speak, her long white fingers caressed 
 my shoulder. " Go !" she resumed. Her upturned 
 eyes showed such tenderness, but it was the ten- 
 derness of pity and grief, for she immediately 
 continued : " Go, and begin life elsewhere anew." 
 
 I broke from her without reply. My misery 
 and the madness of despair that has made many 
 an honest man dumb, this she had misinterpreted. 
 When my rage at the changeless fate of things 
 drove me forth speechless she still further misin- 
 terpreted me. 
 
 At the horse-block her father was standing. 
 "Elisha, poor boy," he sighed, "I have known 
 you as an honest lad when, without father or 
 mother, you came to the farm to work. I have 
 been to you like a father all the years since. I 
 still believe in you." I heard the old man, his 
 eyes swimming, his voice trembling ; I did not 
 reply. What was the use ? Besides, I am not a 
 man of words. I have no fit words with which to 
 write this tale, much less have I words to speak 
 when the heart is full as a barn bursting with hay. 
 " My dear boy, can I not help you ?" he asked me.
 
 89 
 
 " You helped me when I was in trouble. I have 
 no money, I can't to-day help you with money, 
 but I will mortgage my farm to help you. I 
 would do anything to help you." 
 
 " Does Mary know I am on your notes ?" I 
 stammered out. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Promise me not to tell her." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 "You said you would do anything to help me. 
 Now, promise me you will not tell her this." 
 
 " I see, I see," he said, again misinterpreting my 
 mind, "but I believe you thought you had prop- 
 erty when you put your name on those notes." 
 
 "Swear it to me !" 
 
 "I swear it to you." 
 
 I did not tell him that I had bought those notes 
 and burned them to save the house over his head. 
 I did it the day before. He would never know it 
 until the first note fell due. It took the last thou- 
 sand dollars I had in the world money paid for 
 wool and crops. I did not tell him, I say. I 
 sprang into the saddle and rode away.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 FOUR weeks of unbroken sunshine since the 
 great storm had clothed the earth with a snowy 
 crust stiff enough to bear up a horse at full canter. 
 It was the most remarkable crust on record in the 
 sixty years of old 'Kiah Lowrey's weather tables, 
 kept at his little law office in the village. 
 
 As the colt felt my spur she bounded. " I won- 
 der how long I am to be free like this," I said to 
 myself, talking to the westering day; "free to go 
 where I will." It was a glorious sense of liberty. 
 My spirits rose with the motion through the brill- 
 iant air. Sti'aight out over the fields I took my 
 way. I avoided the highways. I did not care to 
 meet my farmer neighbors, drawing oats and prov- 
 ender to and from the village, with here and there 
 a load of cord -wood, creeping along slowly be- 
 tween the fencing walls. I would not even re- 
 turn home now. 
 
 " Let's go to Round Top, Kitty !" I shouted to 
 my animal ; " Heaven knows if I will ever go there 
 with you again." This was a favorite point of 
 outlook up the side of one of the Green Moun- 
 tains. On summer Sabbaths I often rode up 
 there. On winter evenings, after reading in my
 
 91 
 
 homespun way some book on astronomy, I would 
 snatch up my little telescope and trot up there to 
 view the stars. And, besides, each vacation that 
 pile of rocks had been an oft-sought resting-point 
 for Mary Holyoke and myself while our horses 
 stood tethered below at the oak. Years ago we 
 had cut our childish names in the bark. The 
 letters were entirely overgrown now, but I knew 
 what the scars meant, folded in out of sight near 
 to the oak's great faithful heart. 
 
 " Holloo !" a voice rang out, clear as a bell- 
 call, above the little crashes of my horse's hoofs 
 upon the crust. I did not note it at first, for 
 riding makes the ears throb in the wind. I looked 
 around and could see nothing. Presently I heard 
 the whack, whack, of a wood-chopper's axe. 
 
 " Ah, yes, Kitty," I said, " it's Hod Parkridge, 
 in his own woods yonder. He thinks I don't hear, 
 and has fallen to work again. Holloo, Hod ! I'll 
 come in !" and I turned into the edge of the ma- 
 ple and beech forest. 
 
 "Come to my fire, neighbor, and let's hear the 
 latest," was Hod's salutation, dropping his axe 
 with a sticking blow into one side of the great 
 chip on the log. He threw on his long blue wool- 
 len frock, and walked at my saddle-bow three or 
 four rods further till we came to his sugar- hut. 
 There was a fire smoking down to duluess on the 
 cobblestone hearth, where a few months later 
 sap-pans would be steaming. He replenished the 
 fire.
 
 " I will hitch Kitty under the shanty out of the 
 wind and throw on this blanket," I was saying, 
 when the boy sprang up suddenly, crying out, 
 
 " Good-afternoon, Cynthia !" 
 
 I turned. There sat the girl in the saddle. She 
 had approached from the other side of the knoll 
 about the same time that I did. We had not 
 seen each other. I stepped back into the con- 
 cealment of the shed. 
 
 "Why, good -afternoon, Horace ! I have just 
 come from your mother." Her beauty lost noth- 
 ing by being horsed. This peerless creature and 
 her animal seemed to fill the great aisled solemn 
 woods with a sudden flash of splendor. Her horse 
 was smoking, and nosed her, as much as to say, 
 " Oh, let me stop and breathe !" She stripped off 
 her fur mitten and patted the animal's neck. The 
 sight of her shapely hand knocked Hod over. I 
 saw him almost snatch at the hand ; but instead 
 he put his own hand into the deep pocket of his 
 overfrock, as if to keep it respectful. Then, too, 
 immediately the witch smiled on him. She was 
 after something, I felt convinced, she was beam- 
 ing on him so. My thought was, as I watched 
 them both over the back of my colt, myself un- 
 observed : 
 
 "Why don't the singer take her? To such a 
 man this sparkling, brilliant woman must be far 
 more charming than my great-hearted, thought- 
 ful, slow -moving Mary. Mary's face has the 
 beauty of a July noon ; this face has the beauty
 
 93 
 
 of a sparkling, dewy May morning." I leaned 
 on my saddle, and, hidden there, studied her. I 
 pitied her. She was too beautiful to be made a 
 cat's-paw for my destruction, and then herself 
 to be rejected by that scoundrel Felton. In my 
 compassion for her imagined fate I almost for- 
 gave her any injury she might have lent herself 
 to regarding me. 
 
 "Why don't you ask me to your fire, Hod?" 
 she said, freeing the stirrup-foot at the same time. 
 Then she put down that wonderful hand on his 
 shoulder. Instantly Horace dropped on one knee, 
 and gave her small foot a chance to pounce on 
 the horse-block which he made of the other knee. 
 
 " He is her perfect slave," I commune with my- 
 self, " and the man who comes between him and 
 his heart's mistress will suffer. Where will all 
 this end?" 
 
 The pair stepped along the snow to the fire. I 
 was concealed still, and the love - mad boy had 
 forgotten, probably, my existence. 
 
 " Yes," she remarked, clutching back her rid- 
 ing-habit, and pushing her stout little boot against 
 the front log till the sparks shot up about her 
 and made her spring back to save her skirts, " I 
 have been over to Mother Parkridge's. I love to 
 go there. She is the best soul in the country-side. 
 She is good to everybody." 
 
 " It has been a long time since you thus favored 
 us," Horace replied. He stood because she stood. 
 If she had sat he would have sat down at her side.
 
 94 
 
 "I confess it, Horace, but " and then she sank 
 on the slab bench in front of the fire. Down he 
 sat also, but at the end of the bench, his hand 
 half bearing his weight and his form bent towards 
 her reverentially. His fine massive face was fair- 
 ly reverential I am sure that is the word I want. 
 I recalled that remark of his made in my library 
 made the evening of the apple-paring, "I wish 
 I could tear my heart out and wash it clean of all 
 love for Cynthia Littlewood, but I cannot." And 
 now I believed him. 
 
 "I know my mother made you welcome," the 
 host resumed. " Have you been surprising her 
 and father by staying to dinner?" 
 
 " Yes ;" and she seemed to me to be hunting 
 for the best way to begin her selfish errand. 
 
 "I wish I had been there, Cynthia," blurted 
 out the honest boy. How completely real hon- 
 est love does prostrate a man ! Here was a mag- 
 nificent fellow, well off in the world, with a great 
 noble heart to give, a loyal friend of mine, and 
 himself persuaded that this handsome girl was 
 plotting my destruction, conscious that he him- 
 self had been made the laughing-stock of the 
 town by her at the singing - school and at my 
 apple- paring, by her giving him the mitten and 
 choosing the singer, yet now, with one swoop of 
 the splendid bird down on him, ready to sigh like 
 that " I wish I had been there, Cynthia !" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, demurely. Then sudden- 
 ly, in a most business - like way, she sparkled it
 
 95 
 
 out to him, pursing up her lips : " Have you lost 
 any sheep lately by the wolves ? Father wanted 
 me to ride over and ask you what you young 
 men who owned rifles were going to do about it?" 
 
 Horace's countenance fell. It was a mere mat- 
 ter-of-fact errand like that, was it? It meant, 
 would the young men of the neighborhood or- 
 ganize a hunt and "clean out those varmints," 
 whether wolf, bear, or dog, which were poaching 
 on our upland barns ? 
 
 " Is that it?" exclaimed Horace. 
 
 "Yes, and" But she did not finish. I felt 
 sure that the important part of her errand was 
 hidden behind that silence, but she only cut the 
 snow with her riding-whip in circles a little near- 
 er and nearer to his person every stroke. 
 
 "They are possibly catamounts," remarked 
 Horace, in an absent-minded manner, with a tinge 
 of disappointment in his tone. " Every long 
 winter, when snows are as deep as this year, and 
 the cold is severe, we get these wolfish dogs or 
 wild-cats, which creep down southward into the 
 States. They come from Canada and the Adiron- 
 dacks. It is too bad. Has your father lost 
 many sheep ?" 
 
 " Why, night before last our open barn, under 
 the shelter of Round Top, where father has so 
 much hay and keeps one flock well, four lambs 
 in one night and two ewes." 
 
 "This is indeed serious. We will try the rifles 
 to-morrow. I will get Elisha Stone "
 
 96 
 
 Her dark face turned pale at the mention of 
 my name. Such a subtle spirit could for a time 
 mask her purpose and deceive any one, much 
 more Horace ; but she could not control her 
 mantling blood, and her tongue proved traitor, 
 for she exclaimed, "I hate him!" 
 
 " Don't say that, for it hurts me." 
 
 Thank him for so much. I wonder that he 
 had the self-possession in his passion to say even 
 that for his friend, and his tone trembled as he 
 said it. 
 
 " I wonder that you care now, Hod Parkridge, 
 whether I hurt you or not. I have treated you 
 shamefully lately." By this meek confession she 
 had him again instantly, and she followed up her 
 advantage. Leaning over towards him in an en- 
 gaging way, graceful in every movement and fas- 
 cinating, with great emphasis she finished her real 
 errand, 
 
 "Why doesn't Elisha Stone marry Mary Hoi- 
 yoke and done with it ?" 
 
 " I wish to Heaven she would have him ; but 
 you know why he does not." The man's voice 
 had got its sternness all in an instant. The neigh- 
 borhood trouble stood before him like a full-armed 
 hobgoblin. 
 
 " No; I don't know why," she wheedled, soft as 
 music. " I am Mary's friend ; I hope she is 
 mine. I have taken this journey upon myself for 
 the sake of all of us. I have been over to see 
 your mother. You know it is said that I am
 
 97 
 
 wronged out of some property by Elisha Stone. 
 Papa wishes me to push my claim, but I don't 
 want law, law, law. I am too fond of enjoying 
 life and having a jolly time. I only want to be 
 happy, and I want others to be, and I will give it 
 all up, this fight about property, if only Elisha 
 will go and marry Mary ; otherwise " and her 
 eyes flashed ; she lifted up her small hand, and it 
 was iu the shape of a fist "otherwise I will send 
 him to prison !" 
 
 Alas, for the poor boy ! Why could not 
 Horace have seen through it all? But no ; he 
 was as ready to be blind as she was to blind 
 him. Springing to his feet before her, he 
 said : 
 
 "And if I will help this wish of yours, or if I 
 make sail for your friend Mary, and of course my 
 friend too, for everybody likes her far and wide, 
 by trying to bring Elisha to the point of popping 
 the question " 
 
 " Then why, then, you shall have my everlast- 
 ing blessing, Hod ! I will love you as the best, 
 the dearest neighbor, the noblest fellow in all the 
 country round." 
 
 She put both her hands out towards him and 
 grasped one of his. Then she gave him the full 
 look of her black eyes. But it was either too 
 much or too little, such an assertion of thanks. 
 The dear boy returned her such a truthful look, 
 forgiving all and yet asserting all, that she 
 quailed. He Deemed to ask what this meant so
 
 honestly that she looked up and then around, and 
 started back alarmed. Releasing her hands, she 
 cried, 
 
 " Oh, oh, it is sunset ! We are talking too long. 
 I must hasten home. Help me to mount. What 
 if I should meet some of those hungry beasts?" 
 and away she flew to her horse. 
 
 She had been careless of the colt, and the grace- 
 ful beast was trembling with the chill of depart- 
 ing day ; but Cynthia was soon in the saddle, with 
 the help of Horace's hand. 
 
 " If I had my horse here you should not vent- 
 ure over Round Top alone ; and if you will return 
 with me to my barn, I will saddle at once and ac- 
 company you home." 
 
 "Oh, it is unnecessary. I shall get over into 
 Brookfield lane before the after-glow has faded, 
 no doubt." And so, very abruptly, she cantered 
 away. 
 
 Horace stood gazing after her for some min- 
 utes. I did hot interrupt him. Then he turned 
 to me, and said : 
 
 "Elisha, come out. That colt of hers is stiff. 
 I am afraid he will fall. Now, you cannot follow 
 her; she says she hates you, but I must. Through 
 the woods there it is possible there is danger. I 
 lost a calf last night. It is a pack of those Can- 
 ada dogs. We do not often have them. Now, 
 you go down and get my horse and canter after 
 me, and let me take your own." 
 
 "Certainly," I said, stripping Kitty ; " but, boy,
 
 99 
 
 do you know who she is probably going to meet 
 over at the Brookfield road ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, it is the teacher who is going to her 
 house to supper, and then to his Brookfield sing- 
 ing-school." 
 
 He settled himself down in the saddle, his chin 
 dropped, and he was buried in thought. I did 
 not deem it best to help him think his way 
 through all that I had said, though he was evi- 
 dently reviewing the scene. He was having the 
 struggle over again, doubtless, trying to " tear that 
 heai't out." A big heart was that to be torn out. 
 He lost precious time, however. The woods were 
 beginning to turn ashen gray, and blue shadows 
 were deepening on the hills. A winter's night 
 falls quickly. There is almost no twilight. At 
 length, starting up from his reverie, he said : 
 
 "I know she is not quite safe. If I meet that 
 other wolf well, I saved his life once, and I will 
 not let him prevent my saving her life now," and 
 he galloped away to the west. 
 
 By the time I had saddled Horace's Princess at 
 his distant stable it was full fallen night. I got 
 away quietly, without disturbing the elder's fam- 
 ily, to go after the boy and girl. Only starlight 
 fell feebly over the darkened hills. Still that is 
 a considerable light in our northern world, and I 
 got on fast. From the sugar-camp I struck for 
 the dim masses of Round Top. The rising waves 
 of the rolling land climbed upward from the el-
 
 100 
 
 der's farm quite rapidly to a moderate height. 
 After some time I stopped and hollooed. The 
 echo was the sole reply. 
 
 Did you ever start an echo in the open night 
 and open fields and hear the skirting forests take 
 it up, passing it on and over and under till it dies 
 away? If you never did you never yet felt ab- 
 solute solitude yes, felt it, I say. On the third 
 or fourth cry of this " Hod Parkridge, Parkridge, 
 'arkridge, 'ridge," fading fainter, fainter, and gone, 
 I thought I heard a cry. It did not seem like an 
 honest human cry. I listened until Princess's 
 blowing seemed lighter than a deep breath of 
 wind. 
 
 " I say, Hod !" I shouted. 
 
 " Hod, 'od, 'od, 'od," ran from hill to hill and 
 rolled faintly along the dark blue valley. 
 
 The night was so still in the foothills that I 
 could hear the deep roar from the hemlock for- 
 ests, on the wind-swept heights over on the Green 
 Mountains, beyond the river. The winds always 
 blow up there. There are townships over there 
 that are solid hemlock. To hunt or fish there is 
 perilous. There is no path. There are precipices 
 hidden away. 
 
 " Go on, Princess." But instead the pretty 
 beast sprang to the left, turned her head sharp 
 around to the right, and a tremor ran through her 
 like a shock. Her ears, at least, had detected 
 something that I had not heard. The horse has 
 the keenest instinct for physical danger of any
 
 101 
 
 animal except the deer. Both deer and horse seek 
 to escape danger. Horses have poor weapons for 
 a fight. 
 
 " What is it, Princess ?" patting her neck I 
 asked. The same tremor was her reply, then a 
 restless effort to bound away. 
 
 " Hark !" 
 
 "Bark! bark! 'ark!" 
 
 That was no echo. It was a wavering sound as 
 from a moving thing. I strained my ears. I 
 heard it again. Now it was unmistakable, the 
 snapping, snarling whine of a hungry savage 
 beast. 
 
 " My God !" I yelled it as if the boy and girl 
 might hear it. My tone trembled with my fear. 
 " It is a pack of them, the Canada wolves !" But 
 there was no human creature in sight to hear my 
 cry of alarm. 
 
 Straight on like an arrow we flew. It was that 
 hard winter, and it was those deer preserves in 
 the Adirondacks that had given the savage scamps 
 a lingering home so nigh to civilized folks ! Our 
 last town-meeting increased the bounty to twenty- 
 five dollars for every wolf's pelt, but I had never 
 known them quite so venturesome as this before. 
 Why, this was not eight miles from my own dwell- 
 ing. When I overheard the girl's story at the 
 sugar-camp I smiled to myself at her words. I 
 only thought it possible we were being attacked 
 by stray dogs or an occasional wolf. But here 
 was real danger, for neither Horace nor I was
 
 102 
 
 armed. Oh, for ray rifle, standing behind the 
 door in my library ! 
 
 My library ! I had forgotten my o\vn troubles 
 for a moment, but the memory of the cosey libra- 
 ry, with all my bachelor traps, rifles, fishing-rods, 
 sticks, desk, books, and Mary Holyoke's portrait 
 on the mantel my library, indeed! Should I ever 
 enter it again ? The thought made me desperate. 
 Heretofore it had been Horace Parkridge who had 
 done all the brave things in these parts. Why 
 should I not throw away my life and done with 
 it, here, meeting these hungry dogs ? They were 
 evidently on my scent. Horace and Cynthia 
 might by this time be clean over the hill and 
 beyond any danger from these red mouths, 
 unless Cynthia's horse had yielded to that 
 chill. 
 
 I pulled up on the top of a yet higher knoll in 
 Farmer Hampden's pasture, and dismounted that 
 I might hear the better. The bark of the wolves 
 was now plainly audible, borne on the silent frosty 
 night. The sound angered me. The late moon 
 was lifting her sickly last half above the eastern 
 mountains. By stooping down I got the light 
 right, and, straining my eyes, I saw them the 
 heavy thick gray bodies skirting the woods 
 away back there. They had not yet broken into 
 the open. I wished they would ; I might then know 
 the numbers of this uncanny pack.* There, they 
 now slip down from the maple covers. They 
 come one, four, six, one more, seven, another lag-
 
 103 
 
 gard down from the woods, eight, yet another 
 gaunt fellow, nine. 
 
 " Princess, we'll show them our heels," I cried, 
 and sprang back into the saddle. " Now, then, 
 over the rail-fence, my beauty." 
 
 But the mare had lost her spirit or self-com- 
 mand. She struck the top bar and fell. She was 
 up and away before I could get her. Heavens ! 
 the fool ! She ran down the hill towards the 
 pack. Horses ai - e such fatalists in danger : they 
 will return to a fire after you have led them out, 
 if left at liberty. The poor beast had hurt her 
 knee. She fell in the valley ten rods back, and 
 the wolves pounced on her two minutes later. 
 Perhaps I was equally foolish. I could not en- 
 dure the sight. Wrenching a i*ail from the fence, 
 I ran down the hill, and leaped in among the pack. 
 But a fang is the worst thing to fight except with 
 rifle and powder. 
 
 I would not dwell on this but that I wish to 
 leave on record a truthful experience, so rare in 
 New England, that many a modern reader will 
 not believe it. In two minutes the horse was 
 ruined. She diverted the pack, however. Half- 
 dog as the creatures were, they seemed, moreover, 
 to shrink away from a man. But their ribs 
 showed under their mangy gray coats. They 
 were starved to desperation. 
 
 Oh, sickening sight to see two frothy jaws tear 
 at the pretty flanks of the prostrate filly ! 
 
 " Out of life, you beast ; and you, and you !" I
 
 104 
 
 cried, as I wielded ray rail. Yelp and snarl, 
 whack of blows : it was pandemonium of growls 
 and thwacks. Crack ! Heaven help me ! My 
 fence-rail snapped. I felt a strange sensation a 
 rending, piercing, tearing of the leg just above 
 my boot-top. I knew enough of anatomy to fore- 
 tell what would come. I should faint soon from 
 the loss of blood. I ahvays carried a sheathed 
 pruning - knife in the pocket over my hip. I 
 reached for it, and the sheath slipped off. The 
 dog's fangs that held it scratched my hand, but 
 I used the knife once, twice, a third time. And I 
 used something better than a knife, my human 
 cry. 
 
 " Hod, Hod, help, help, for God's sake !" Will 
 he hear? I remember now the echoes, how they 
 flew. I can see now the alarmed stare of some 
 of those beasts' eyes as they looked up while the 
 echo run and resounded. Then, too, they had 
 somewhat satisfied their hunger. They were not 
 Siberian wolves. The American creature is less 
 desperate and more wild. They began to slink 
 away at the resonance of the echo. The leader 
 leaped out first, then bounded off. The pack les- 
 sened, so I thought. Then I heard the crack of 
 a rifle. 
 
 Death by loss of blood is like going to sleep, 
 so they say. I slept, looking last, with a prayer, 
 up to the three stars in the belt of the Orion.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 " You must lie very quietly, Elisha." These 
 were the first words that I heard on regaining 
 consciousness, and the sweet full lips of Mary 
 Holyoke spoke them. 
 
 My head was swimming, and I believed I was 
 recovering from a faint, there on the snow-crust. 
 Mary was a dream. 
 
 " Hod," I whispered, starting to rise up on my 
 elbow, "has the Littlewood girl escaped?" 
 
 "It is not Horace. He had just gone home for 
 a night's sleep." It was the real flesh-and-blood 
 Mary Holyoke who replied to me. "It is I, 
 Elisha," she continued, bending over me. "You 
 must obey me, and lie down again." She pressed 
 me back again on the pillow. A fragrance as 
 from a summer land seemed to salute me as this 
 quiet woman touched me with her compassion. 
 
 I obeyed her ; indeed, I fell back, conscious of 
 my faintness. After a little I got my breath to 
 ask, "Did Cynthia escape?" I thought I would 
 thus feel my way back into the living world once 
 more. 
 
 " From the wolfish dogs? Yes." 
 
 " What do.you mean, Mary ?"
 
 106 
 
 "But from the elegant-tiger, no." 
 
 " Please do not trouble my poor bead, sweet 
 neighbor," I protested, putting my hand to my 
 brow. 
 
 " Hadn't you better tell him more particularly 
 about things ?" said a soft low voice from near 
 the window, Avhich I recognized as Mrs. Park- 
 ridge's. She sat near the window, through which 
 the twilight colors fell. As she spoke she gath- 
 ered up her knitting-work and rose to her feet, 
 more feeble than when I saw her last. 
 
 " I must now think of returning home," she 
 continued ; "the night is gathering. I will speak 
 to your father, Mary, or to Mrs. Cark. Tell him 
 some things that have happened in these weeks, 
 then beg him to be quiet. He will be better sat- 
 isfied with a few words, I am sure, from you than 
 from anybody else. Moreover, the doctor thought 
 it wiser to help his returning intelligence." And 
 she left the room, casting a beaming maternal 
 gaze upon me. 
 
 Very promptly Mrs. Cark entered. I do not 
 know what spiritual warning prompted me, but 
 she reminded me of a great cat. 
 
 " Tell her to go out," I protested. My house- 
 keeper heard it, and without other orders retreat- 
 ed. As soon as her spark - like eyes were gone 
 the lamp seemed to burn brighter, and the room 
 to glow. Cats' eyes hasten the gloaming. 
 
 Mary then sat down by the bedside, leaned for- 
 ward and touched my head, putting back the
 
 107 
 
 straggling locks of hair. To think of it ! That she 
 was under my roof again, that was enough. But 
 no, she was in my own room. She was there as 
 an angel to minister to me, and her cool soft 
 strong palm was falling on my forehead again, 
 again, again, ceaselessly. My brows, you know, 
 resemble an acre in a rough pasture, and are as 
 homely ; moreover, now they were swept by 
 storms of pain till she touched them. But I lay 
 there speechless, and daring to dream that my 
 plain features might have some comeliness under 
 the flutter of that hand. 
 
 "You have been very ill, Elisha." 
 
 " Yes ? How long ?" 
 
 " It is now the sixth of February." 
 
 "Two months of oblivion. Impossible," I 
 sighed ; and the pain came back again in my 
 head. 
 
 "You were sadly hurt, Elisha," she replied, 
 soothingly " you were bitten by those dogs, the 
 wolves." 
 
 " Who fired the rifle ?" I asked. 
 
 " Who but your own ever true friend, who 
 loves you dearly, and would die for you ?" 
 
 " God bless him, Horace Parkridge. He must 
 have had a rifle then at his sugar-camp, and re- 
 turned to get it." 
 
 The tears came to my eyes, I was so weak. 
 Then I added once more : " I suppose Cynthia 
 got safely home ? Horace left her there ?" 
 
 " Yes, Horace left her," she replied. Her great
 
 108 
 
 brown eyes had such a pity on my feebleness as 
 she went on : 
 
 " Elisha, I think you must know more of what 
 has happened since you have been ill. You have 
 had a long delirium, the result of the virus of 
 those fangs, perhaps ; but you will recover now, 
 we hope, though it will require some time. I 
 want you to ask God's help to bear what I now 
 have to tell you. I have myself oh, so cease- 
 lessly ! prayed to Him for you ; and dear papa, 
 who loves you like a son, has knelt many a night 
 here by your bedside praying for you." 
 
 The tears that swam in her eyes lent them a 
 lustre that I had never seen in them before. 
 Whether it was pity or love, I could not say. I 
 raised my feeble hand to clasp her own. She 
 suffered it, and, pressing my hand hard, returned 
 to her task. 
 
 " You must try to be brave. Can you endure 
 what I must now tell you ?" 
 
 A sick man is cowardly weak. Half-frightened 
 by her portent, and yet resolved by God's help 
 to be worthy of her ministry, I answered, " What 
 has happened ?" 
 
 " Cynthia and Mr. Felton are to be married." 
 
 I drew a long breath of relief. " Is that all ? 
 Well, Heaven send Horace a worthier love !" 
 
 " Ma) r He, indeed !" she breathed it fervently. 
 Then she resumed, "they are to be married in this 
 house." 
 
 " Great God ! has the case been to court ?" I
 
 109 
 
 sprang up in bed as I spoke the appeal to Heaven, 
 and glared at the gentle creature till she moved 
 to the door and softly called : 
 
 " Papa, will you come in ?" And the dear old 
 soul entered, sinking down upon the side of my 
 bed, and trying by many words which I cannot 
 now set down to soothe my excitement. 
 
 " The surrogate has decided, for his part, that 
 the will brought forward by Mrs. Cark 
 
 "Heavens, man! Cark my old witch of a 
 house-keeper?" I began to gasp for breath from 
 very weakness, and that pain in my head at the 
 base of the brain returned as if a hot iron were 
 being thrust in there. 
 
 "Try to bear up, Elisha," urged Abner Hoi- 
 yoke. " God help him, Christ help him to bear 
 up ! for you must be removed to my farm-house 
 at once." 
 
 " You are innocent of all intentional fraud, in 
 our minds," Mary hastened to resume, arguing 
 her way for my reassurance. "Say what they 
 will in this neighborhood taught by Mr. Little- 
 wood, for his own defending, of course say 
 what they will, we believe that you are innocent 
 of any intentional wrong." She fanned these 
 words upon me as if each dash of air were her 
 benediction. 
 
 " Innocent ?" I groaned ; " I shall go mad !" 
 
 " The surrogate himself " earnestly old Abner 
 said it " and the elder and Mrs. Parkridge went 
 before the grand jury and prayed that no indict-
 
 110 
 
 ment should be brought in, and God's holy spirit de- 
 fended you. It is enough that you lose your home." 
 
 " Oh, merciful God !" I cried, " if there be a 
 God can there be a God, and this old grasping 
 hypocrite be blessed in his scheming ? Can there 
 be a God, and this young scamp, who says that 
 there is no God known to science, be himself the 
 winner in this black fraud against me ?" Then 
 that pain returned at the base of the brain. I 
 grew too confused to trust my tongue. I over- 
 heard Mary sobbing, and, as I did not speak, say- 
 ing to her father : 
 
 "Papa, papa, I love him ! But see ! his mind 
 is a complete wreck. Will he ever recover? We 
 ought not to have told him. Oh, we could have 
 removed him just as well without." 
 
 Her father was on his knees, holding my hands, 
 praying in one breath, speaking soothing words 
 to me in the next, and saying: "Yes, yes; 
 he will recover. Such a giant frame, such tem- 
 perance, and such a bride to live for ! O God, 
 with Thee all things are possible ! He will re- 
 cover ; but, Mary, remember what the doctors 
 said open air, and a long time." 
 
 Now, I recall all this perfectly. Then I thought 
 I slept. From my sleep about midnight I thought 
 I awoke, and found myself walking in the upper 
 hall of my house. I was carrying at arm's-length 
 the huge old portrait of Senator Bosworth, study- 
 ing it as I strode along. I went on towards the 
 closed room in the wing.
 
 Ill 
 
 " Come on, Peleg !" I cried to my man. 
 
 "I dassent," whispered Peleg. "I vurn, I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 " Get your axe, you old Californian !" I or- 
 dered. " Open that door ! Felton is to be mar- 
 ried here. We want the whole house illuminated. 
 Come on, Felton; I will show you every room in 
 it." It was a most circumstantial dream. 
 
 " Catch hold of him restrain him !" I heard 
 Felton cry it distinctly. "He has escaped from 
 his chamber he is in his delirium." 
 
 Then, with a powerful grasp, I thought I caught 
 Peleg around the body, and hurled his little, hard, 
 gnarled person against that closed door. It burst 
 open. Instead of cobwebs and old boxes, dust 
 and emptiness, there stood a creature luminous 
 in white. The room was furnished in luxury. 
 Who was this ghastly shape ? And yet, while I 
 asked who it was, I seemed to see Mrs. Cark I 
 said so. " Cark ! Cark ! I detect you under your 
 disguise. I now understand you have nested in 
 this quarter of my house. Your room connects 
 by the back stairs in the tower." 
 
 At the same time the figure made no reply, and 
 it was transparent the stars shone through it. I 
 saw out of windows the flush of breaking day, 
 and the rich red colors along the east were per- 
 fectly visible through the strange form.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 " LET them breathe, Elisha. The sun is getting 
 warm. Ease up on your yoke, there. Brindle, 
 back, sir. Steers don't know how to work, any- 
 way." 
 
 This is the next thing that I remember with 
 any degree of clearness. Horace spoke it to me 
 in a kindly way much as a father would speak 
 to a child. There I stood in the field. It was 
 early May. We were just below Elder Park- 
 ridge's farm-house. I was in the act of driving 
 oxen for Horace to plough. Then the dear fellow 
 pointed at me with one lifted arm while with the 
 other he beckoned to two ladies who were sitting 
 under the old elm by the garden gate. Evidently 
 there was something about me to excite surprise 
 that, visible to others, was as startling as my 
 strange sensations of returning intelligence were 
 to my own consciousness. 
 
 " Mary, mother, come here !" he cried. " Elisha 
 has broken his melancholy at last !" 
 
 Then he flew over to me and stood staring me 
 in the face, saying, " Smile again, old boy. Thank 
 God, to see you smile! I would give a hundred 
 dollars if you would laugh outright."
 
 113 
 
 "Hod," I protested, "what is the matter with 
 you ? Let me alone. What does the deacon want 
 yonder? I see him climbing up on the highway 
 Avail. There is his carriage halted, with his wife 
 sitting holding the lines. Attend to him, and get 
 rid of him. Mrs. Littlewood will be impatient. 
 Then come, and we will talk. My head is clear- 
 ing." 
 
 It seems that my remark concerning these vis- 
 itors was the first connected sentence that had 
 fallen from my lips for many weary weeks. It 
 is impossible to attempt a description of that 
 strangest consciousness that perhaps mortals ever 
 have on this footstool the recovery from syn- 
 cope, or brain injury. 
 
 Oh, that last clear consciousness of that Feb- 
 ruary night ! The figures of my delirium, the 
 sufferings of my mind, as I walked through those 
 three months in cloud and mist, struggling to 
 break the darkness that shrouded me ! Then, the 
 next I knew, here I stood, myself again, in the 
 bursting of the May morning. A winter's night; 
 a summer's day ! I knew not what had passed in 
 that long interim, yet evidently I had eaten and 
 slept, and gone about my daily task under the 
 kind care of my watchful friends. 
 
 Horace turned away from me, and ran to meet 
 Mary Holyoke and his mother, who stopped a few 
 moments, like two startled deer, on the other side 
 of the ploughed furrows, and gazed at me with 
 clasped hands. For some reason they came no
 
 114 
 
 nearer. I caught the last part of the sentence 
 that he flung across the furrows to them : 
 
 " True, himself again. But don't mortify him ; 
 don't notice." 
 
 " Yis, brethering " Mr. Littlewood was shout- 
 ing it out to us as he stood there, just on the top 
 stone of the highway wall, north of the field 
 " I'm afeerd I sh'll tumble daown some o' yer 
 loose stun wall." The next instant he had done 
 so, nearly tumbling flat himself too, crying out: 
 " Barked my heel a little !" and holding up his 
 foot to rub it. 
 
 I remember that it was that small avalanche of 
 cobble-stones rattling after the springing deacon, 
 as he jumped down among the brambles and net- 
 tles, which awoke my laughter from its long sleep, 
 and seemed to give my lucid moments a stability 
 once more a good hearty laugh. 
 
 Then approaching us, holding his neat, broad- 
 brimmed straw in hand, and mopping his red 
 brows, Deacon Littlewood began his usual ora- 
 tory, addressing himself to Elder Parkridge main- 
 ly, though Abner Holyoke stood by, he having 
 been working at laying out the garden-beds. 
 
 "Brethering, this is jest splendid," Littlewood 
 sang out at the top of his voice. "Abigail, toss 
 me my ambrell from under the seat. Brethering, 
 so much business lately has gin me the headache, 
 and I must be keerful of the sun, but we must 
 'member 
 
 '"There'll be no more sorrow there.'
 
 115 
 
 "I jist druv over this splendid weather to see 
 yer. The hevings is now droppin' blessin's on 
 th' airth by the cart-load. Sich blessin's soak me 
 thru and thru. To be out in sich showers o' bless- 
 in's as this May weather brings 's 'nuff ter stir a 
 man's thankful heart." 
 
 His all-black eyes twinkled in a snaky way as 
 he went on : " Brethering, look raoun' at th' 
 hills. 'As th' mountaings is raoun' abaout J'roos- 
 lem.' When I left hum I thought we's ter hev a 
 blessid thunder-shower. Them clouds," turning 
 his head on his round-shouldered, thick, well-pre- 
 served body, and then dropping his sentences with 
 his glance, "but it's all the same to any man who's 
 humble V livin' right. I kin smile at Satan's rage 
 in a reg'lar rippin' tearin' roarin' storm, sich 's 'ud 
 tear the linin' outer Natur's beautiful spring gar- 
 mints o' praise, when I know I'm doin' my 
 dooty." Then he gave us that cracking laugh 
 of which I have spoken before. By this time 
 he was near enough to Horace to poke the boy 
 with his lisle-thread gloved finger in the side and 
 ask : 
 
 "How's he?" with a dark glance and a move- 
 ment of his chin in the direction of his thumb, 
 indicating me. Horace frowned, but answered 
 politely enough : 
 
 "We trust he is improving. Mr. Littlewood, 
 what can we do for you to-day ?" 
 
 "Very mysterious complaint, neighbor. I'll 
 speak ter him."
 
 116 
 
 "Don't!" 
 
 " Why not ? I only done ray dooty." 
 
 "Mr. Littlewood," said Horace, sternly, "if 
 you regard your course as duty, that is between 
 you and your God; but don't risk further injuring 
 a man whom you and your family have savagely 
 wronged, however legally. Don't approach him : 
 that would be further injury." 
 
 " Oh, jist as you say, 'xactly. I guess any the 
 rest on yer'd ha' done the same ef yer darter had 
 a five-thousand-dollar farm at stake. Bizness is 
 bizness an' religion's religion. I keep 'em sep'- 
 rit. That's th' only way 't yer kin keep 'em both 
 safe. Religion's too sacred a thing to be mixed 
 up with this ere airth. It gets easy siled 'f a man 
 ain't keerful of his religion." 
 
 For myself, I was yet standing in a dreamy 
 awakening. I was drinking in the sunlight, the 
 sweet air, the breath of flowers ; and the faces of 
 my dearest earthly friends were beaming on me 
 there. I scarcely noticed Littlewood until, hop- 
 ping nearer, in a moment more he was bending 
 over the plough -handles in front of me. He 
 cried out to Horace : 
 
 " Let 'em go. I want t' talk t' yer. Yer take 
 the whip 'n I'll take th' handles. Let our friend 
 stand aside. Git up there, Brindle." At the same 
 time he prodded the nigh beast with the closed 
 umbrella, which he also clutched in the same hand 
 that was holding the plough. The steers started as 
 if they were shot. The plough caught an apple-
 
 117 
 
 tree root, and the handles knocked loudly at the 
 old man's ribs. 
 
 "Dan -net! Why, we're all roots here, boy. 
 Easy, Brindle." A fluff of May wind caught his 
 umbrella and opened it. The unusual sight of 
 Littlewood's broadly flaring linen duster and this 
 spread umbrella skipping towards the steer drove 
 the little good sense that the creature usually had 
 utterly out of his head. Away he started, pull- 
 ing his mate with him over the fields, the plough 
 skipping like a doctor's gig. 
 
 " Why, dan-net, boy !" yelled Mr. Littlewood ; 
 " they're goin' ter thunderin' lightnin' good 
 Lord ! inter them brambles !" 
 
 Horace and I sprang after the cattle. There 
 were three heifers feeding quietly in the next lot 
 to the west. I smile, even now, over my paper 
 as I recall that scene. When those three skittish 
 young milkers, frightened by the yoke -rings' 
 clangor and the wild charge of the steers, went 
 
 O O 7 
 
 over the wall into the highway, with bleating 
 voices and tails in- air like pennants, I laughed 
 aloud and long. 
 
 " Thank God, oh, thank Heaven !" cried Hor- 
 ace, stopping in his tracks and gazing at me. 
 " Now look, old friend, and laugh again ; it will 
 be your cure. You cannot understand what I 
 mean; but one of these days you will know, when 
 you are told how long men have listened in vain 
 for your laugh, and have not seen even a smile." 
 
 I looked aS his hand pointed, and I began again
 
 118 
 
 to shake my sides with laughter. The speckled 
 heifers made a dash past the deacon's wife, sit- 
 ting so demurely in the carriage on the highway, 
 the lines lying idly on her lap, and her knitting- 
 work over her fingers. The horse gave one tre- 
 mendous sudden shy and bolted. 
 
 " Why, dan-net to dannation, Abigail !" yelled 
 Mr. Littlewood, scrambling up towards the wall 
 through the tangle of brambles and nettles. "Ab- 
 bie, saw his mouth ! saw him ! Pull the bit right 
 and left; and light out, my gal, and get him by 
 the head, or you'll go to kingdom come !" At the 
 same time he began to climb the wall. The next 
 moment his exhortation was muffled by the bram- 
 bles under which the devoted old man lay prone. 
 Mrs. Littlewood was equal to the occasion, how- 
 ever, so far as her duty was concerned, and sawed 
 the bit promptly enough until she had her beast 
 under control. 
 
 Horace and the great long -limbed elder both 
 reached Mr. Littlewood about the same time, and 
 began as gently as they could to extract him from 
 the briers. I was simply useless with laughter. 
 There, while I was leaning against the bar -post, 
 as I shook and doubled, a strange sensation of re- 
 turning life came over me. The whole of the 
 Creator's bright world of living men and women, 
 of fair fields and glorious sun, was perfectly un- 
 veiled to me once more. The luxury of it that 
 never-to-be-forgotten laugh! The night of hor- 
 rors, the oblivion of life, the melancholy of that
 
 119 
 
 blackness fled away, and memory of men and 
 things and events, and courage, hope, and life 
 yea, existence coming again with every 
 breath. 
 
 " Easy, brethering, easy !" scolded Littlewood 
 to his rescuers. "Them blackberry bushes o' yourn 
 's mighty caressin'. Don't tear my duster all ter 
 tattereens. You pull 's if I's a tarnation stump in 
 a burnt piece." 
 
 The gigantic elder was chewing his tongue for 
 dear life to prevent unfraternal remarks in return. 
 But finally he straightened up his unfortunate 
 parishioner, in about the same way that I have 
 forty times seen him settle a meal bag on the barn 
 floor, with a thump. 
 
 " Thank the Lord ! Why, elder, I'm all net- 
 tles. That was pesky near " then, scratching his 
 smarting hands, and caressing himself gently 
 "near to why, I'm all opedilldock burrs in my 
 hair near to costing me twenty-five dollars fer 
 repairs on Cynthy's new buggy. Thank th' Lord ! 
 Brethering, I'm always more thankful when I 
 save a penny than fer all my other fleetin' bless- 
 in's here below. We must be keerful of our 
 pennies. Horace, you and th' other young folks 
 don't know th' value of those pesky things, dol- 
 lars. Money's only for this brief sphere of onr'n, 
 and therefore we oughter be more keerful on't 
 while we have it." 
 
 Our neighbor was going on with this homily as 
 he pulled himSelf again into shape, and got down
 
 120 
 
 to business in his own thoughts. He was feeling 
 his way back as promptly as could be, to cover 
 his chagrin, towards that serious errand that had 
 brought him here among people whom he knew 
 had every reason to dislike him. 
 
 "Now, Littlewood, see here," said the elder, 
 picking the burrs off his neighbor's clothing, 
 " you're well escaped out of that misfortune. You 
 ought to be kindly disposed towards all your fel- 
 low-creatures. You've got a suit of dispossession 
 on Holyoke's farm also. To be sure, you say 
 your notes ain't all quite paid, but if that boy there 
 hadn't been involved in this mysterious dispensa- 
 tion of Providence, he'd have paid all that Abner 
 owed you, as he did at the bank for him. Now, 
 let Holyoke go easy. You don't want his goods 
 and chattels, and we'll keep him over here in our 
 house, for it's large enough for him and his darter. 
 Don't beggar two neighbors." 
 
 "What do I hear?" I demanded, confronting 
 the two men with amazement. 
 
 The elder bent on me a pitying gaze, which 
 was brightened somewhat with surprise and hope. 
 Then he began slowly to address me, his kindly 
 eyes studying the effect of every word : 
 
 " Elisha, bless God, dear boy, you appear more 
 like bein' clothed and in yer right mind than for 
 many a long sad day. Come here." He leaned 
 one long arm on my shoulder, while he used the 
 other to draw the venerable Abner Holyoke into 
 the trio. We thus confronted Mr. Littlewood.
 
 121 
 
 " This frugal neighbor of our'n," the elder went 
 on, with a nod of his head towards Deacon Little- 
 wood, "has in his clus way foreclosed a mortgage 
 given in lieu of Abner's note. Littlewood is a 
 righteous man, very righteous. He has got a 
 title to Abner's acres." 
 
 " But that don't pay me his debt in full," snap- 
 ped out Littlewood. 
 
 "His debts, man !" I exploded. " I I paid his 
 debts, as far as I knew, and got releases. I burned 
 the notes." 
 
 The old creditor rubbed his chin and smiled 
 one of those guileless grimaces of his, which 
 would perhaps have disarmed a stranger. " Yis, 
 but, poor lad, yer checks was wuthless. You 
 meant to be kind to make a show of it, at least, 
 fer his darter's sake, no doubt ; but the doctors' 
 commission sot on yer mental state, and let yer 
 off as bein' of unsound mind in the upper story. 
 The judge seed as how yer farm was my darter's, 
 and there was nothin' yourn. Yer crop money in 
 th' bank I trusteed." 
 
 " Yes ; but, you most grasping neighbor, how 
 came there any mortgage on Abner Holyoke's 
 homestead ?" 
 
 "He gin some ter the savin's-bank, and one to 
 me." 
 
 "Man," I raged, "I had paid his notes and de- 
 stroyed them, and cleared his property." 
 
 "Yis, yer poor cretur," swinging his lisle-thread 
 finger at me, *'but I trusteed your bank account;
 
 122 
 
 in th' int'rest of jestice I done it, and yer checks 
 war'n't wuth nothin'." 
 
 I lifted my band to smite this old hypocrite. 
 
 That instant I felt something give way at the 
 base of the brain. It was not a pain no, not that 
 old sensation of a black cloud shot through with 
 chain-lightning, which I had so often felt. It was 
 rather as if the last hillock of a mountain had 
 been finally lifted from my neck, and I stood 
 erect. It was an ecstasy ! Oh, it was an infinite 
 relief, a repose, a joy ! It was health, not only 
 coming back again, but established forever. My 
 laughter had been the first sign of its return. 
 The poison blood-clot from the wolf's fang that 
 rabies, against which my poor giant frame had 
 struggled so long, and which would have crushed 
 a feebler man to the earth was gone ! 
 
 " Gone, kind Heaven, I thank thee !" I fervent- 
 ly exclaimed, and with my hands to my brow I 
 sank upon my knees. " I praise Thee, Lord God 
 Almighty," I fairly sobbed. " It is in answer to 
 Mary Holyoke's prayers, the prayers of her godly 
 father. There is a Supreme Ruler there is, there 
 is!" 
 
 "Elisha, dear Elisha" with measureless com- 
 miseration Horace spake it, as he sprang to me 
 and began lifting me "this is too much for you. 
 I could curse that old fellow who has plunged 
 you back again into your Come, let's get on 
 our feet and go up to the house." 
 
 " Mary, come over here !" shouted the elder to
 
 123 
 
 the ladies, who were still on the other side of the 
 furrows. 
 
 " I will go and explain why we want her, or she 
 might shrink from encountering our friend here," 
 said her father, with a glance towards the deacon. 
 I noticed for the first time how feeble and broken 
 the lovely old man had grown. 
 
 "Yes, go," the elder added; "he will obey her 
 in his most wilful moments." Meanwhile Mr. 
 Littlewood was squared off, his hands splayed out 
 on his hips,his shaven visage and blank stare, with 
 the lips apart, turned up to the zenith. In a curi- 
 ous kind of groan which he had, and which indi- 
 cated surprise, he uttered, "A-w!" 
 
 A miserable consciousness of shame, dashed with 
 anger, swept over me. Fully alive once more to 
 all this splendid world, I remember I asked my- 
 self, in consideration of their estimate of my ac- 
 tion, "Is this then the pitiable plight of depen- 
 dence in which I have been living before my kind 
 neighbors of late?" I thought of King Lear in 
 Mary's favorite play. Not that I was ever king- 
 ly; though every man is a king, Heaven knows, 
 who has his senses, and an honest man's place 
 among his fellow-men. 
 
 "Don't you dare to pity me, Deacon Little- 
 wood!" I exclaimed, bounding to my feet. " Hod 
 God bless your true heart ! take your hands off 
 me. I am perfectly myself again. I am Elisha 
 Stone once more. It is gone, that hideous dark- 
 ness. I am calm and self-possessed, only I have
 
 134 
 
 the pent-up wrath of a mill-dam when I see that 
 man's foul wrong to us all." 
 
 " Heaven knows, I believe him, father," re- 
 sponded Horace, and tears were beginning to 
 streak down his dusty cheeks. "We haven't 
 seen that appearance in his eyes for many a day." 
 And he wrung my hand, but held it fast in both 
 of his. 
 
 The elder shook his head dubiously. "I fear 
 it will not last. This excitement is bad. But 
 there she comes," said he, turning his head tow- 
 ards the path through which Mary Holyoke and 
 his good wife had taken their way to come to us. 
 
 " Yes," I protested ; " there she comes, God's 
 good angel ! It is such as she, and this dear 
 family here, Mr. Littlewood, which keep man's 
 faith in God that it fly not up from the earth 
 like frightened larks that never mean to return. 
 But you, man, you robber, with whining cant, 
 you are like I will say it, for you are too old 
 to grapple with you are like a crow that feeds 
 on the carcasses which others have slain. Your 
 * amens ' sound to me like ' caw, caw, caw.' Now, 
 go get into your vehicle while you may." I 
 walked near enough to enforce my order on the 
 next instant. 
 
 "Why, why, dan-net!" exclaimed Littlewood, 
 stepping back. "The boy must go to the asy- 
 lum, elder ?" he whispered, with a faint laugh ; 
 and yet there were both anger and fear in the 
 sound.
 
 125 
 
 " Go !" I insisted, striving like Samson, all my 
 strength returning to free my hand from Horace's 
 fetter. I sprang a step or two forward as I loosed 
 my hand. Mr. Littlewood went through that bar- 
 way like a jumping-jack on a pole at the county 
 fair, and tumbled with a sprawl on his wagon- 
 seat. Grasping the reins, he whipped, up and 
 drove away. I stood and watched him a moment, 
 until a few rods farther up the highway he turned 
 in at the granite gateway of what had been once 
 my home. 
 
 " Does Cynthia live there ?" I demanded. 
 
 "Don't tell him," protested the elder, with a 
 quivering lip and uncertain tone. 
 
 " Hod ?" I turned to him to insist on a reply. 
 
 " I pray you not to cherish any anger against 
 Cynthia," the boy answered. " We all see plainly 
 enough now, even mother sees, where the girl has 
 got her promptings and guidings for the course 
 she has taken." 
 
 "Tell me, has she gotten possession? Is she 
 married to that fellow, the singer?" I was re- 
 lentless in my demand. 
 
 "Don't ask don't think of our wrongs now, 
 Elisha," exclaimed a woman's voice. I had felt her 
 approach at my left much as, I suppose, a stone 
 ledge must feel the advance of daybreak, though 
 it has no eyes, for I had no eyes towards anything 
 except that retreating vehicle in the highway. 
 
 But now I turned to greet Mary Holyoke. She 
 pulled my folded arms apart, she clasped my
 
 126 
 
 great soiled knuckles with her long twining fin- 
 gers of white. 
 
 " Elisha, my son " this voice was that of that 
 dear motherly soul Mrs. Parkridge, who was also 
 at my side now " we did indeed know that our 
 Heavenly Father's love was loving kind long be- 
 fore this ; but now that He lias restored you, oh, 
 how good He is !" 
 
 " Most gracious lady," I answered her, " my best 
 friend's loving mother, I don't wonder that you 
 can lead Horace with a touch of your finger. You 
 are the nearest to a mother that I ever knew." I 
 was in such a softened frame of mind that I 
 stooped over the little creature, and just where 
 the white hairs parted on her forehead I kissed 
 her. 
 
 Beaming on me, she asked : "Mother, did you 
 say, Elisha? did you think of me as mother, child? 
 I knew your mother, child ! See she sleeps 
 yonder amid those graves of my own kin." Her 
 thin trembling finger pointed away up the hill-side, 
 where the white marble shone in her own private 
 God's acre. 
 
 "My mother?" 
 
 " His mother?" echoed Mary. 
 
 " Elisha's mother ?" chimed in Horace's deep 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes, children," she resumed; "a fatherless, 
 motherless little lad, I laid this lone boy in my 
 cradle long ago. It was along this very road that 
 the dying woman wandered. It was a weary night
 
 127 
 
 in harvest. I bad seen her passing and repassing 
 with her baby you, Elisha in her arms all the 
 afternoon. As it grew dark she sank down by the 
 stone gate-post of the Senator's driveway there. I 
 could not endure the sight without helping, and 
 went to her. She sat leaning her head against 
 the granite. Her eyes were closed, her face was 
 surpassingly beautiful. She was a large noble 
 woman of five-and-thirty years. She wore rich 
 garments, but they were all in tatters and travel- 
 stained. Her hands were soft, and unused to hard 
 labor, I am sure. She was dead, and you were 
 sleeping in her embrace." 
 
 We younger people drank this all in with silent 
 wonder. I saw at a glance that it was as much news 
 to Horace and Mary as to me. Only the features 
 of the two men, Mr. Holyoke and Elder Park- 
 ridge, revealed recognition of the story. You 
 may be sure that, for the moment, I could not 
 speak. 
 
 "Her simple funeral was yonder at our own 
 house," added the elder, fervently. 
 
 "And you reared the baby?" I at length got 
 woi-ds to add, with unspeakable emotion. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 After a further silence, when all this came fully 
 upon me, and I had some measure of apprecia- 
 tion of its height and depth of meaning, I broke 
 the sacred stillness, saying, "For that I ought to 
 thank you, and I do, that you reared me. But 
 more, I bless you that these kindly hands," taking
 
 128 
 
 hers in my own, "composed my mother for her 
 burial. For that oh, for that anything ! While 
 I breathe will I hold myself a slave to do for you 
 and yours." I kissed her good hands over and 
 over again. 
 
 "Then obey me, will you?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, foster-mother, I covenant before God 
 I will always obey you." 
 
 "Then promise me that you will seek no re- 
 venges on the unhappy Mr. Littlewood, his daugh- 
 ter, or Mr. Felton." 
 
 I was not prepared for that no, not for that. 
 Yet I managed to say, 
 
 "I promise you. Only justice; I may seek 
 justice?" 
 
 " No vengeance. Leave that to God." 
 
 "Yes, but justice." I was eager, no doubt. 
 
 " True, in due time I will help you to that. Per- 
 haps the law will help you too." 
 
 "Now tell me more of my mother," I was 
 quick to demand. 
 
 " Elisha, what if my telling you of your mother 
 were to rob Horace of his mother ?" 
 
 This quite took my breath away. After a mo- 
 ment I answered, "I can't understand you, dear 
 lady." 
 
 "Horace is passing through the severest trial 
 of his life," she resumed. " If I were to die and be 
 at rest however sweet and grateful, oh, Heaven, 
 that would be, so long have I carried this burden 
 if I were to die, the boy would break away from
 
 129 
 
 all good. It is for me that he stays here on the 
 farm, for my sake that he has turned his back on 
 the evil ways that he learned in the great cities." 
 
 " Yes, yes," I interposed ; " but my mother, how 
 does your life depend on your keeping from me 
 what you know of her ?" 
 
 "Because" I couldn't bear what would come 
 to my own if justice were just now done to the 
 guilty. I couldn't bear it and live ! But it shall 
 come; justice a little later. Wait until I am a 
 little nearer to my natural limit of life ! For 
 Horace's sake will you not wait and let me live?" 
 
 "A thousand years, if need be," answered I. 
 " Let anything happen to me, it is all the same, 
 if nothing evil happens to you. I loved you all 
 before ; but now, for what you have told me of 
 your deed to her who sleeps yonder, I would give 
 my life for you and yours !" 
 
 Just then the long winding call of the dinner- 
 horn, blown by the hired girl from yonder farm- 
 house stoop, echoed in the sultry air. It was a 
 most unpoetic and abrupt breaking-in on a scene 
 the most intense in all my life thus far. I can 
 feel it yet the cooling splash of that water on 
 my burning cheeks. 
 
 I did not trust myself to go till evening. I re- 
 member that after dinner I got Mrs. Parkridge 
 to describe particularly to me the location of my 
 mother's mound on the hill there. Then I went 
 back to my work in the furrow. But when we 
 had done milking, just about sunset, I started off
 
 130 
 
 in a straight walk back of the barns, and went to 
 stand by that grave. 
 
 I have heard that all men honor such a spot, 
 but it is not so. Here all about me were neglect- 
 ed mounds. Had these sleepers no children? Oh, 
 how it gnawed my heart out to see the mound 
 sunken, overgrown with wild grasses, and all un- 
 marked ! I stooped down and reaped away the 
 grasses with my fingers, I smoothed and caressed 
 the turf till it was clean-shaven as a rich man's 
 lawn, and I watered the stubble with my tears. 
 I brought fresh earth in my hands, holding the 
 cold soil against my breast as I did it. I fash- 
 ioned the grave with these hands over my mother. 
 I would have done all this, if I had had to carry 
 the earth a thousand miles. I had little money, 
 but I vowed a headstone for the next sweet Sun- 
 day. It should be there by Sunday, when next 
 the people came to walk there. I would sell 
 clothing if Fordham, the stone-cutter, would not 
 trust me. I would give my wages that I must 
 have earned. I had such a crushing sense of 
 shame upon me, to think of it my mother in an 
 unmarked grave ! 
 
 When it was all done as best I could do, then I 
 stood with folded arms over it, the sunset warm- 
 ing me till it slipped from the mound and from 
 trie. She was beautiful, they told me. I had no 
 faintest memory of her face. She held me in 
 her fainting arms, alone and desolate herself, and 
 sheltered me from the blazing harvest sun as we
 
 131 
 
 crouched at the very gates of my future home. 
 My big bony frame shook with the emotions that 
 took hold on me. All the childlike in me, which 
 it is taught must return again to every man who 
 enters into the kingdom of heaven, got mastery 
 over the man. I flung myself down and cried like 
 a child. I prayed as I wept prayed for my 
 rights on earth, for a home, and for Mary. When 
 at length I rose up, I went and told Horace Park- 
 ridge that tears had furnished what laughter only 
 begun. I was once more a man among men.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE next morning, as we rose from the break- 
 fast-table, Mary said to me, " Elisha, walk along 
 towards the school-house with me." 
 
 " You are the teacher this term, then, I take it," 
 I answered. 
 
 " Yes ; that seemed to be necessary, and I am 
 very thankful that I can earn the money. Come ; 
 I want to talk with you on the way." 
 
 " Certainly ; I am to be planting corn there in 
 the field this side of the school-house," I answered. 
 Shouldering my hoe, we started off together. We 
 went out into the highway on the north, and be- 
 fore much more was said were fairly opposite the 
 entrance to my property. I still thought of it as 
 my property, for by rights it was mine. 
 
 "The noble old house is always majestic in the 
 morning light," I remarked, somewhat sadly. Al- 
 ways now I seemed to see my mother crouching 
 there in her beauty and sorrow. 
 
 "Always beautiful," echoed Mary, cheerily. 
 " Everything is beautiful on such a morning as 
 this to an innocent and honest heart, Elisha." 
 Then, after a brief silence, she asked, with much 
 more meaning than her words expressed, "The
 
 133 
 
 world appears bright to you, does it not, this glo- 
 rious morning ?" 
 
 Instead of answering, I said, " Do you fear for 
 me, then ?" 
 
 " No ; I don't fear for you, I trust for you." 
 Yet I should have read her fear, despite her as- 
 surance. 
 
 " I am well once more," I insisted, " be sure of 
 it. I didn't sleep last night. I came out here 
 and walked all about old Bosworth Place, and 
 took my resolve anew. You don't expect me to 
 submit while there is a breath of life in me to 
 this miserable wrong, this robbery ?" 
 
 "No; I am sure that would not be manly; 
 but" 
 
 " Hear me, Mary " I spoke with gathering 
 earnestness " many things unspeakably sad have 
 transpired since we sang that hymn together in 
 the town-hall at the singing-school. I am now a 
 defrauded and penniless man, but I am more cer- 
 tain than ever that you love me." 
 
 " Elisha !" but the rich blood was flushing 
 her neck and cheeks. 
 
 " Yes ; and we might marry " 
 
 " If " and she was silent. 
 
 " If what, you precious girl ?" 
 
 " Provided I do confess that I do love you more 
 than any mortal, may I tell you what I mean by 
 if?" 
 
 I stopped her in the path. She did not now 
 throw my arm'away a caress that I had not giv-
 
 134 
 
 en her since we were romping children together 
 on the farm. 
 
 " Yes ; say anything you wish, my girl." 
 
 "If, then, Elisha Stone, you were sure of your- 
 self. It has been a terrible malady." 
 
 How hard it was to hear that no one can know 
 but he who has once passed under the shadow of 
 a mental malady. It is fearful ! It is a ghost 
 that haunts you from morning to evening with 
 the awful menace of some sudden return. Your 
 friends do not return to confidence. You read 
 their apprehension in their eager questions, in 
 their searching glances, in their sudden starts 
 and turnings towards you. You reach the very 
 depths when you detect that your dearest kin 
 are afraid to be left alone with you. No ; there 
 is a deeper depth still : it is your own con- 
 scious struggle to appear calm that you may vin- 
 dicate yourself, to do no unnatural thing, to 
 give no free rein to such indignation as great 
 provocations like mine would naturally excite 
 in other men, lest you should be judged mad 
 again. 
 
 " Did I not show my self-control, Mary, when 
 I last night walked all about the old house by 
 such light as a quarter-moon bestowed, patted 
 my old dog on the head he knew me and licked 
 my hands gazed into my own windows, behind 
 which I had dreamed you would sit, and saw the 
 piled furniture of another, new house-keeping, and 
 yet did not rage over that sight of the boxes and
 
 bales of Cynthia Littlewood's new elegance on 
 the front stoop ?" 
 
 "Perhaps even yet they will never be married," 
 mused Mary. 
 
 " I think it is tolerably certain now," I laughed 
 in a hard way. " Felton is opening the new village 
 store that he has set up on her money, is he not?" 
 
 "You surprise me, Elisha. Who told you all 
 this news ?" 
 
 " Peleg, the faithful old soul." 
 
 " Then you found him on the old place last 
 night ?" 
 
 " Certainly, and devoted as ever. He was at 
 first shy of me, but when he saw that I was my- 
 self again he almost bowed down to me. He says 
 the wedding is to be in two weeks. Felton 
 divides his time between the new store and his 
 new home. There he is now, crossing the east 
 wheatfield among the stubble." 
 
 She searched me with her glances as I was gaz- 
 ing at the approaching man. Then she added this 
 test: 
 
 "Yes, I see that is Felton. And what if I told 
 you that he has frequently been at the school- 
 house of late ?" 
 
 I could not endure it. I felt that I should 
 grapple the man if we met, but I also knew that 
 the girl was putting me to the proof. I turned 
 to the wall, put my hand on the rail above the 
 stone, and vaulted into the cornfield without a 
 word to go to* work.
 
 136 
 
 " Elisha Stone ?" 
 
 " I do not distrust you, Mary, but really here 
 is where the rows begin, and I may as well con- 
 fess that I cannot trust myself to meet that man 
 here. Elsewhere ; let it be elsewhere. I am ar- 
 ranging my plans I am not afraid to meet him, 
 but not here. Something might happen. It is 
 nearly nine o'clock, Mary." 
 
 I fell furiously at work at the planting, when 
 Felton sprang on the bars at the other side of the 
 highway shouting out : 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Mary; I have come to 
 say good-byes." 
 
 " Why, sir ?" she responded, turning upon him 
 in a half-frightened way. 
 
 " I am going to war. "When I return I will be 
 Governor." At the same time he threw off a 
 light outer garment, and there he stood, an appari- 
 tion, a soldier in full uniform, sword at side. Only 
 a painter could do justice to that moment: to the 
 handsome lady, on whose astonished features dis- 
 like thawed away in dawning admiration; to the 
 fluttering groups of school-children, stopped all 
 agog and hardly daring to chirp their unbounded 
 amazement ; and to my homely self, leaning on 
 my hoe, and wondering if I were in possession of 
 my senses. 
 
 " Yes, sweet lady " advancing, while the sword, 
 a real sword, shining brightly, clanked as he 
 walked "the great war for the Union is on 
 you know. We fight for glory and the nation's
 
 137 
 
 life. You have read all the news, of course, these 
 days?" 
 
 He utterly ignored me, as time and the great 
 world's mighty history had surely also done of 
 late. Those mighty events of the winter of '61 
 had hardly a faint belonging to my life. 
 
 " But but your wedding, sir." 
 
 That Mary would condescend to speak to him 
 at all showed me how much this vast war theme 
 must have occupied everybody's attention. I also 
 recalled the Holyokes' intense patriotism. That 
 this fellow would actually offer himself to fight 
 for his country had instantly redeemed him to a 
 certain degree, so that this pure- hearted girl 
 would address him words of courteous reply. 
 
 "My wedding? Well, it must wait. Miss 
 Cynthia and I have almost had a quarrel," pull- 
 ing out his sword an inch or two, and thrusting it 
 back with a tiny clang. 
 
 " Indeed," quite coolly Mary replied. Then she 
 offered to go on with her children, who flew 
 towards her. 
 
 "Yes," he interposed; "Heaven only knows, 
 Miss Holyoke, what will transpire while I am 
 away on the field of proud adventure," and he 
 stepped before her like a cavalier. "I go at 
 once. I have put some money into the regiment, 
 and shall go as colonel. Of course, being an edu- 
 cated man, I could not think of serving in the 
 ranks. The position itself might be considered 
 highly gratifying to any gentleman. At my store
 
 138 
 
 a company is forming to-night, which will be a 
 part of my regiment. I have put some money 
 into that also." 
 
 " Money, Mr. Felton ?" objected Mary, with a 
 disdainful toss of her head. 
 
 " Oh, I know what you refer to," he fenced. 
 "To be sure, the Littlewoods have profited by 
 my legal acumen, and have paid me large fees. 
 I regard it in the light of fees." 
 
 " Sir, I do not wish to discuss these matters 
 with you," answered Mary. " Quite likely we 
 shall not meet again ; but w r e simple country- 
 folks, may I be allowed to say, consider that you 
 owe your store and now, you confess, your ability 
 to get official position to Cynthia Littlewood's 
 money ; and ill-gotten gains of hers they are, too." 
 
 " Sweet lady, hear me," resumed he, removing 
 the jaunty military cap by the visor and dropping 
 it upon the shoulder, where an eagle gleamed 
 upon the strap, "shall I reward Cynthia by mar- 
 rying without loving her ?" 
 
 Mary's brown eyes simply stared at him. 
 
 "And shall I not be permitted, even for the 
 last time, probably, to protest to you that I would 
 put my honors and they may be many before 
 my hairs are gray all my success at your feet? 
 Think of it! if I live, if I return to this village, 
 if I enter the political arena, laying aside the 
 sword, what might I not hope for amid these 
 rustics ? Let me at least dream, upon the strick- 
 en field, of you with some slight hope."
 
 139 
 
 To write it down as I do now makes such boast- 
 ing seem incredible, yet it was not by any 
 means disgusting to hear him say it in his fine 
 way. 
 
 " Elisha !" The words Avere those of alarm. I 
 bounded across that fence like a deer. The fel- 
 low, seeing me advance, actually drew his weapon 
 with a fencer's skill. I raised my hoe, and in a 
 moment more I think I could have brained him, 
 when he suddenly bethought himself, and hissed, 
 speaking to himself : 
 
 " Fie ! to fight with an imbecile !" and he low- 
 ered his sword. 
 
 The wrath of weeks swelled within me. My 
 arm throbbed with pain as I poised the hoe in 
 air. But that word " imbecile," and Mary's cry, 
 "Heaven help us !" was enough. I was to prove 
 to the girl that I was a strong man, as strong as 
 the strongest^that I was no dangerous monoma- 
 niac. And how I thanked God, after an instant 
 of second thought, for this opportunity of show- 
 ing my self-control. I lowered the hoe into the 
 dust, and said, calmly : 
 
 " Arthur Alfred Felton, allow this lady to pass 
 on!" 
 
 " Good-bye, Miss Holyoke," he said, in a court- 
 ly way at once, ignoring me again, though I saw 
 that he could not believe his senses when I did 
 not rave like a madman. " I wanted to have said 
 more," he added. " I can I have the desire, in- 
 deed to reinstate your father in his old home "
 
 140 
 
 " Come, Elisha," Mary said, shuddering as she 
 drew near to me. 
 
 "And I beg of you," Felton flung after us, 
 "not to take too seriously what I said about my 
 quarrel with the Littlewood lass. If you tell her 
 what I have confessed to you she will not believe 
 you." 
 
 " What do you say, Mary ?" I asked, as the mil- 
 itary form disappeared over the rail -fence and 
 behind the blackberry-bushes. 
 
 " I fear he is right. There seems to be a fatal- 
 ity in his power over her. But this is the forks 
 of the road with her that is, when we inform her 
 of what he has this day said ;" and she lapsed 
 into deep thought. His parting words seemed to 
 linger on the summer air "If you tell her what 
 I have confessed to you she will not believe you." 
 Perhaps the man was right. At any rate, he had 
 safely hedged, and so parted from us. 
 
 Mar} 7 , walking on to the school, gathered her 
 children to order, and when they had been fairly 
 started upon their tasks she sat down with me 
 on the broad stone door-step of the porch. She 
 could there keep an eye upon her little brood, and 
 also give me attention. She narrated to me with 
 glowing eloquence all the stirring events in our 
 national life which had occurred in the last few 
 weeks. It was a lucid, sympathetic, and graphic 
 history. When she had concluded she added : 
 
 "And now, my brave knight, I congratulate 
 you on the possession of yourself again, for none
 
 141 
 
 but a sound heart and steady head could have 
 kept itself as you did a few moments ago under 
 such terrific provocation." 
 
 " Then," I answered, rising to my feet with ex- 
 pectancy, "will you trust yourself to marry me 
 now, or shall I also enlist first and help my coun- 
 trymen mow this heavy swath?" 
 
 " They will not take you for your country's 
 service yet," she answered. "Mr. Littlewood has 
 slandered you all through the town, and means 
 even worse things for you possibly. You must 
 stay and outwit him. You must prove yourself 
 to be yourself once more. Horace will go, for he 
 is a broken-hearted man." 
 
 " And I promised, did I not, to do anything in 
 the world for the little mother who served my 
 mother at the last ? You are right : some one 
 must care for her, and the elder is not strong. It 
 may be that if Horace goes it will kill his mother. 
 Have you really heard Hod say whether he was 
 going or not ?" 
 
 I dreaded to hear her reply. Under the glow- 
 ing history of public events from this fair narra- 
 tor's lips I had become excited to the highest 
 pitch. To go to escape these small flies of 
 miseries that buzzed about one in the coun- 
 try - side to do the manly, heroic thing, and 
 that, too, in any possible position : as a mere 
 musket-carrier, if necessary these were my im- 
 pulses. 
 
 "Yes; speaking of Horace," Mary answered, "it
 
 142 
 
 has been all talked over. Horace is going to enlist 
 to-night at the Union store." 
 
 This was weighty news. It was hard to rea- 
 lize. 
 
 It came over me like a revelation after a mo- 
 ment more of thought for we interspersed our 
 conversation with long pauses of serious medita- 
 tion the wisest, manliest thing, the sudden open- 
 ing of duty, which comes to all men, I believe, at 
 times, like a sudden flash of light on a dark path. 
 " Mary Holyoke, if I stay here our marriage must 
 wait also. I could die for you, as you know, but 
 I could not ask you to lower your high standard 
 of what you think is manly and womanly. It 
 would not do for us to be happy at home while 
 he whom we love has gone to suffer, and he whom 
 we have reason to despise is masquerading also as 
 a hero in behalf of our country." 
 
 "Oh, you great brave loyal heart, Heaven bless 
 you !"she answered. "I do thank you for saying 
 that. I am glad that you should have said it first, 
 and without promptings from me. No, indeed, we 
 could not take each other now, seeking our own 
 happiness selfishly, while I am under Horace's 
 roof and my father and mother are the guests of 
 their benevolence." 
 
 She arose, putting out her hands as a clasp on 
 my folded arms. I saw the woman's devotion for 
 the man of her choice in her long and restful gaze. 
 She added: 
 
 "Now, then, can you take up this plain, inglori-
 
 143 
 
 ous task among us sorrowing women and old peo- 
 ple, and Avait ?" 
 
 "I will, God helping me," I answered. And, 
 saying that, I started back to my work in the 
 field, while Mary entered the school-room. How 
 little we knew in this play of youthful enthusi- 
 asm and heroism what a world of risk we as- 
 sumed. We had no adequate understanding of 
 the many things that might happen between the 
 present and the moment of our glad union, the 
 wedding-day which seemed then not far away.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 " WHOM will you have for captain, men ?" Col- 
 onel Felton was standing on a dais by the end of 
 his little private office in the Union store. Cyn- 
 thia was caged within the wire fencing, leaning 
 an elbow on the open ledger ; but her eyes were 
 on the colonel, not on the page of accounts. She 
 wore a hat and coat, as if she had just come in from 
 driving. Her eyes showed traces of weeping and 
 her face was flushed. The yellow lamplight from 
 over her head, fighting with the twilight of the 
 summer evening, lent her face deep lines that did 
 not belong there ; or else she was angry, and pas- 
 sion had scarred her features. 
 
 The ancient rambling room of the country store 
 was capable of accommodating perhaps two-score 
 men; but a hundred were now trying to get in, or 
 were already crammed within its narrow quarters, 
 when Horace and I came up. 
 
 "Open the doors and throw up the windows," 
 cried Felton ; " that will give us the piazza, 
 also." 
 
 This building had for years been the very heart 
 of the village. All its tide of life beat in and out 
 here with every impulse of excitement, of pleas-
 
 145 
 
 ure, of gossip, of buying and selling, of politics 
 and religion, sooner or later. Everybody came 
 here for business or for loitering. 
 
 " I ain't nothin' on swappin' bosses to - nigbt, 
 Isik," I overheard one farmer say to another. 
 
 " 'Pears like politiks is throbbin' with a pooty 
 quick pulse. Some on us has got to go an' fight," 
 was the comment of a second man. 
 
 " D'yer see th' new sign ?" was wise old farmer 
 Kipling's reply to them both. I turned and saw 
 that it was my next-door neighbor on our road. 
 " He's rubbed out Maher Ashe's letterin', what's 
 ben thar fifty year; but ye k'n see 'em in shadder, 
 as if the dead old man's ghost was peepin' through 
 to see what his successor's doin' ARTHUR AL- 
 FRED FELTON, showin' bright in new gold, but th' 
 old letters dodgin' raound. They say that old 
 Ashe's heirs will get fifty thousan' dollars when 
 th' old man's 'state 's settled." 
 
 "New paint an' fixin's 's all well 'nuff, neigh- 
 bor, but this young daown-country feller can't be 
 no sech reg'lar father 'n Isr'el 's Maher was. No 
 doubt Maher's gone to a better place, though." 
 And my neighbor seated himself on the counter 
 while he lighted his pipe. 
 
 "Where's he hid his codfish ?" asked Job Stout, 
 whose open jack-knife blade was ready in his hand 
 for the accustomed pickings. 
 
 " Guess it's gone after the sugar bari'el. Vurn 
 ter Moses, but that ain't no way ter get tra.de," 
 growled Peleg "Rumney.
 
 146 
 
 " An' th' plug terbaccer's skipped in back, too," 
 was the further comment of Kipling, whose emp- 
 ty pipe was twirling in his fingers. " Mighty 
 stric'ly bizness, ain't he, on Littlewood's money ?" 
 
 " 'Tain't Littlewood's money ; it's Cynthy's." 
 
 " Wa'al; but it's the deacon's idees of savin', jist 
 the same." 
 
 " He'll save th' money, won't he," sneered an- 
 other, " powerful smart sight ! Then that 's th' 
 cunnel's uniform, is it ?" glancing up at Felton, 
 who stood fully revealed on the dais. " Don't 
 that beat Gunnel Robbins's old-fashioned honest 
 Vermont uniforms all ter thunder ? Cost a dozen 
 of Cynthy's sheep, I bet yer." 
 
 "But he's cuttin' a swath," growled Jack Stout. 
 
 It was evident that Felton had lost standing in 
 the estimation of my neighbors, and also equally 
 evident that Deacon Littlewood was decidedly 
 unpopular with our honest farmers, who had kept 
 fully informed of his recent sharp practices for 
 the gaining of extra acres. On the other hand, 
 there was a searching look of pity and question- 
 ing in every man's face that met me, which seemed 
 to be in kindly contrast. Horace and I kept to- 
 gether and wedged our way in and in, closer to 
 the counter, where, at Cynthia's right, young 
 Charlie Lane, a school-boy, with a clear ringing 
 voice, was reading to the assembled crowd the 
 New York Tribune and the Boston Journal. 
 There was some horse-play and jesting, and an 
 occasional hurrah over a passage or two in the
 
 147 
 
 speech of our Congressman ; but, for the most 
 part, a deep seriousness held the compact mass of 
 countrymen in silence. 
 
 " Whom will you name, gentlemen ?" shouted 
 Felton again, as the reader paused to turn his 
 paper. " We have eighty-three names of North- 
 brook boys on the roll," holding it up, " all these 
 a nomenclature of great names." He sounded 
 forth that swelling word with proud impressive- 
 ness. 
 
 " What 'n tarnation 's that ?" grunted Tom Cal- 
 kins. 
 
 Unmindful of the saucy interruption, Felton 
 went on, " Calkins', I think you would make a 
 good captain." 
 
 " Hod Parkridge's a handsomer boy to be 
 dressed up in regimentals. Besides, he's been in 
 a blue coat before." 
 
 " Yes ; Parkridge ! Parkridge ! " resounded 
 through the room. 
 
 "But, gentlemen " 
 
 " Parkridge the sailor Parkridge Hod 
 Parkridge !" a perfect storm of it. 
 
 " I say, gentlemen," angrily interposed Felton 
 again, " I am to be the colonel of this regiment. 
 Northbrook only furnishes one company." 
 
 " What of that ? You don't own us." 
 
 The colonel's face grew paler. " But there are 
 reasons why it might not be altogether agreeable 
 to me, as the superior officer, to have Mr. Park- 
 ridge "
 
 148 
 
 " Yes, I should say so," came derisively from a 
 man sitting astride a crockery crate in the corner; 
 at which many laughed, and the colonel grew a 
 trifle paler still. 
 
 "Hod, take it," I urged, in under-tone, as I saw 
 him making ready to protest. " Don't you see 
 that it is only his money at the capital that has 
 bought him the place, and he will resign in no 
 time? You will be in the line of promotion. 
 You, old boy, will come back a colonel of the 
 Vermont." 
 
 Cynthia overheard me, for in the movement 
 and wedging of the crowd we had now been 
 pressed up very near to the bookkeeper's cage. 
 She flashed her black eyes on him. As yet she had 
 not given him any sign of recognition, but already 
 I could see her comparing him with her colonel. 
 
 " Read all the names and let us vote," came 
 from a man who had mounted the box-stove and 
 was swinging his straw hat in the air till it touched 
 the low ceiling. The cry was taken up and be- 
 came a shout. Felton heard it become a roar, and 
 still refused to yield, and began making up the 
 enlistment roll into a cylinder in his hand. The 
 roar became a perfect babel. 
 
 " Here, let us vote. Parkridge, Parkridge for 
 captain from Northbrook !" Everybody was say- 
 ing it. 
 
 With an angry toss Felton flung the roll down 
 on the desk before Cynthia. We overheard him 
 spit it out :
 
 149 
 
 " Curses on these bucolics ! They mean to 
 shove this fellow into my regiment as captain. 
 Cynthia, there is no help for it. You will have to 
 read, and let them vote." 
 
 Cynthia was almost at the point of weeping 
 with the excitement. How surpassingly beautiful 
 she was, as I remember her then! The girl was 
 wretchedly unhappy. I was sure of it. Did she 
 not say it in the woods, that she only wanted to 
 be happy ? Turning towards Horace, with an im- 
 pulsive quiver, there was the faintest flavor of 
 old-time recognition in her tones as she asked : 
 
 " Have you ever enlisted, Horace ?" That was 
 just enough, the mere trace of any interest in him 
 lingering in her tone, and he yielded in a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes ; this forenoon," he answered, warmly. 
 That was all, and commonplace enough, you would 
 say. But the sound of his voice, which she had 
 not so much as heard for weeks, must have struck 
 some old chord in the girl's heart. Perhaps her 
 quarrel with Felton had prepared the way. And 
 perhaps, too, nature made these twain for each 
 other. 
 
 " And as a private, too ?" She beamed it on 
 the paper, and said it to the page, not to him, and 
 yet she knew, of course, that he would hear. 
 "Ybit have not bought your honors, but you shall 
 have them just the same." 
 
 I am sure of this much, that she meant to use 
 this nobility of his as a whip over her high-stepper,
 
 150 
 
 for she spoke the last part of her sentence loud 
 enough for Felton also to hear it. He did hear it, 
 and answered her with a sarcastic smile of one 
 who felt secure in his mastery. She was piqued 
 by his expression, and began reading the names" 
 promptly in a silvery ringing tone. From A to 
 Y, voice after voice, hoarse voices, clear voices, 
 boyish voices, manly voices, answering, "Park- 
 ridge " Hod " " Hod Parkridge " " the sail- 
 or" "the preacher's boy." At least seventy- 
 nine names present and voting, as I kept the tally 
 on a piece of wrapping-paper, which lies before me 
 now as I write about it, all for Horace. 
 
 "I will not announce it," growled Felton in 
 low tones to Cynthia. 
 
 " I will," I answered, reaching my hand for the 
 tally. 
 
 " Why, 'Lish Stone," exclaimed Cynthia, for the 
 first time noticing me, " are you here ? Are you 
 well? Ought you to be here?" But she gave 
 me the paper on which she had the tally never- 
 theless. I called for silence, and as it was coming 
 slowly over the uproarious crowd Cynthia re- 
 marked, in plainly audible words, leaning towards 
 the wicket till her red lips almost touched Hor- 
 ace's ear : 
 
 " I am glad, brave man I am glad for you. I 
 have not forgotten how handsome you used to 
 look in your sailor's uniform." 
 
 " In the happier days, Cynthia," the boy turned 
 to say, scarce allowing her to finish her sentence
 
 151 
 
 " before he came between us. Are you going to 
 marry him ? Tell me, for I shall not likely see 
 you again, if that is the case. Is it not God's 
 providence, which father tells us so much about, 
 that is just now in season separating you from 
 him ?" 
 
 " Don't ask me now," she answered. " I am com- 
 ing over to your house to-morrow to say good- 
 bye." 
 
 Felton, whose attention had been momentai'ily 
 attracted to another part of the room, managed 
 to catch the mere ends of this conversation, a-nd 
 he glowered on her, though he could not quite 
 terrorize her into silence. This seemed to anger 
 him as she went on whispering. 
 
 " The result is," I cried to the crowd, " that 
 Horace Parkridge is elected captain of Company 
 C of Regiment of Vermont Volunteers." 
 
 Then the cheers, the hats in air, hurrah on hur- 
 rah, and anything and everything that could be 
 thrown up to the low ceiling flung against it to 
 the storm of cheers ; while out on the stoop any- 
 thing and everything that could be thrown up 
 was tossed with deafening huzzas towards the 
 darkening summer sky. These men of the fields 
 are phlegmatic until a great excitement seizes on 
 them, then they are wilder, more irresistible, than 
 any other people, as runaway oxen are far more 
 destructive when they get started than runaway 
 horses. 
 
 " What do you want of him ?" demanded Fel-
 
 152 
 
 ton, as he slipped over through the gateway to 
 Cynthia's side. 
 
 She drew back. " What I please, sir." 
 
 " How is that, my lady, since you are wearing 
 my ring ?" 
 
 " Here !" she flung back at him, snatching the 
 ring from her finger. But then, she paused. 
 " Why should I ? My money bought it." 
 
 I overheard this ; but of course the crowd did 
 not, for cheer on cheer was still being flung 
 against the ceiling, and cheer on cheer broke out 
 beyond the doors, mingled with a cry : 
 
 " There's his father and mother the dear old 
 parson and Mother Parkridge driving up !" 
 
 The uproar prevented my hearing the further 
 conversation of Felton and Cynthia after her home 
 thrust. The crowd prevented Horace and me 
 moving had we wished. The boy, seeing a gleam 
 of hope in Cynthia's sudden attempt at rebellion 
 from the long fatal spell which the singer had 
 thrown over her, whispered to me, 
 
 " 'Lish, lay hold !" And he knit his fingers 
 into the wire fencing. He was like a tiger. A 
 moment more and he would have torn a way to 
 the girl's side and her defending. But just at 
 that moment the crowd, with the fickle move- 
 ments of a throng, took him up bodily on their 
 shoulders with a yell of adulation, and began 
 passing him out over their heads that he might 
 greet his parents and receive their blessings. It 
 was out there in front of the store, in the dim
 
 153 
 
 twilight of that May evening, that over the head 
 of his son, who stood at the carriage-wheel, the 
 elder made that great war speech. Everybody 
 in Northbrook has heard of it. Its traditions 
 live still in all the country-side. 
 
 Felton took advantage of the diverted attention 
 of the people to manage this troublesome situa- 
 tion with Cynthia. 
 
 " I ask your forgiveness." It came as quick as 
 shadows flit. 
 
 " I don't know whether I will give it to you or 
 not," she answered. 
 
 " But all the crowd are turned away from us," 
 he went on. " Don't disgrace me by manifesting 
 our quarrel so unmistakably to these people who 
 know us." 
 
 " You are not sincere," she responded. " I have 
 been half persuaded for some weeks that I ought 
 to tell you so, even if we parted." 
 
 " Do you wish to break the engagement to 
 ruin one whom you hold in your power ?" he 
 pleaded. Then he seemed to me to bethink him- 
 self of another weapon, for he exclaimed, some- 
 what sternly, "I am his colonel." Now his feat- 
 ures manifested unmistakably his malevolence as 
 he went on : " Do I not know that you have small 
 love for me of late? Were it not for the deacon, 
 your father, you would have broken this engage- 
 ment when I resolved to put my own personal 
 happiness second to the great call of my suffering 
 country's need, adjourning the wedding."
 
 154 
 
 " Indeed ! the call of your suffering country, 
 colonel and future Governor!" She laughed scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Then we part so ?" And now his anger was 
 wholly unmasked. "I am his colonel," with a 
 nod of his head towards Horace out-of-doors. 
 " Yes ; I will confess that your money made it 
 possible for me to raise this regiment. He has a 
 company in my regiment. I will put him where 
 death is falling thick enough to mow grass." 
 
 As he spoke to her I had a new illustration of 
 his spell over her by the use he made of his voice. 
 He was an orator. He could throw into the eye, the 
 features, and most of all the voice, the very soul 
 of meaning. Under his threat the girl quailed, 
 starting back, crying : 
 
 " Can you, indeed, do that ? Oh, I suppose you 
 can. We girls know nothing of war. Spare him, 
 spare him, and I will replace the ring. I do not 
 love him." And she fairly pleaded with the man 
 for a return to his amiable mood. 
 
 " Very well," he said, " you do not love me, but 
 you shall not ruin me," and he smiled with a self- 
 satisfied air of one who was sure of his victory. 
 
 "Arthur Alfred Felton" I spoke it hotly; I 
 could have shaken down the frail partition that 
 separated us as I saw his abuse of the girl "I 
 will pin you to the wall, and staple your throat 
 with my fingers, if you push the girl further with 
 your terrors !" 
 
 " You !" He gave a startled stare ; I knew
 
 155 
 
 what it meant. In another instant he would 
 alarm the crowd outside by proclaiming me a 
 madman. " Are you at large yet ? I had for- 
 gotten that I had seen you here," he added. 
 
 Again my penalty was on me, I turned from 
 him and went out, and with an iron composure 
 which surprises me now as I recall it. Does any 
 one wonder how I was able to keep myself? 
 Think of Mary's God and her prayers. I found 
 myself a little later hurrying over to my lawyer's 
 office, repeating the expressions of a prayer as I 
 walked along, and as I stood upon the door-step 
 of his office the prayers that I had often heard 
 her use for self-control. There is something in 
 this calling upon God. Whoever reads this, let 
 me assure you, however your brain may whirl 
 with intense passion at times, there is something 
 in prayer that can hold a man. I remember, more- 
 ovei', that I thought of Ashael Keep's bare cob- 
 web-strung office as a good place to cool off an 
 angry man's fever. 
 
 The little lawyer pulled down his feet from the 
 window-sill as I entered. He had been watching 
 
 O 
 
 composedly from his office windows the bonfire 
 on the common that the enthusiastic villagers had 
 now set blazing. That accounted for the red in 
 his usually pale face. War or peace, it was all 
 the same to the shrewd yet surely honest old 
 bachelor, who seemed to neither love nor hate 
 Ashael Keep. But even he had managed to get 
 some heat in his blood over my own personal
 
 156 
 
 wrong, for catching sight of me he sprang up 
 and said: 
 
 " My boy, glad of it," and he extended his lit- 
 tle hand, "glad you are all right knew you 
 would be ain't goin' to war, are you? Hod's 
 goin' you'll have to stay an' aim bread for the 
 folks up there, and give 'era care. Too bad ! No 
 glory for you ! Ha, ha ! No case at Nashua 
 against the doctor, either, who gave you the war- 
 ranty deed on the Senator's place. Bad-luck, boy. 
 He died a month ago. No estate. Wuthless son 
 in Chicago had spent all he had. Come in and set 
 down. That sickness o' yours been very unfor- 
 tunate. Lots o' things happened sence you were 
 sick. Been expectin' you every hour sence I heard 
 you'd become yourself again." 
 
 "But," I said, taking a chair, after all this out- 
 burst of the usually reticent man, " if I have no 
 case against the doctor, I certainly have against 
 Deacon Littlewood for defamation of charac- 
 ter." 
 
 " Yes, sir-ee, go in ! It's time that man was 
 brought to book." 
 
 "And since there is a just Ruler on high, I 
 must have a case in a righteous court with re- 
 gard to my property, if I could only patch it to- 
 gether." 
 
 The man shook his head and tilted back in his 
 chair. 
 
 "Keep, see here, where is Mrs. Cark?" I de- 
 manded, leaning towards him, and going directly
 
 157 
 
 to the marrow of the errand that I had really had 
 in mind for the last forty-eight hours. 
 
 "Up there taking care of the Bosworth place, 
 I suppose," he answered, gnawing his thumbs. 
 
 " Who is she ?" 
 
 "Who? You ought to know. What's up?" 
 And he began to show interest and hope in my 
 case at once. 
 
 " I found her there when I went there, and I 
 kept her, expecting that I would be rid of her in 
 some charitable way when Mary came to live with 
 me. Now, see here, Keep, that woman must know 
 something about my childhood; and moreover Mrs. 
 Parkridge, I discover, knew who my mother was. 
 Mrs. Parkridge knows something about Cynthia's 
 nativity and her childhood days." 
 
 The little lawyer bit his thumbs in silence. 
 
 I waited a time, while the bonfire's glow flashed 
 higher just in front of the liberty pole, not ten 
 rods from the window, watching the lawyer's face. 
 It seemed a very long time, and I had shot out 
 pretty much all that I had in my pouch. It was 
 just to say these few simple things that I had lain 
 awake half the night resolving upon this errand 
 to the lawyer, but it seemed to have made com- 
 paratively little impression upon him. He gnawed 
 the corner of his lip and his thumbs, but made me 
 no reply. 
 
 While we were gazing out of the window El- 
 der Parkridge .moved his horse and buggy out 
 from the crowd, where he had been speaking.
 
 158 
 
 Horace brought the dear little mother along from 
 Widow Hopewell's millinery and dress - making 
 shop, which was next house in the corner of the 
 lot to the south. The red light flashed on the 
 group. 
 
 " My duty is, Mary says, to care for them while 
 he is gone to be a hero," I remarked to Keep. 
 
 "Your duty is to follow out that!" and the 
 lawyer let his tilted chair drop with a crash to 
 all fours, and quick as a hound upon the scent, 
 with hand and head thrust forward, he pointed 
 out of the window towards this group of people. 
 
 There, side by side in the fitful flashes of the 
 light, stood two women the woman whom all 
 the township loved, and the woman whom not a 
 soul of us in the township ever knew much about 
 or cared much about Mrs. Parkridge and Mrs. 
 Cark. Mrs. Cark was speaking to Mrs. Parkridge. 
 I do not remember that I ever saw them standing 
 side by side before, or, if I had, it was not in silent 
 picturing like this. Two sisters may resemble each 
 other ever so closely in feature and form, but the 
 moment they speak the contrast of soul is shown. 
 Here, however, in silence the two women stood up 
 for our observation. 
 
 " How much alike they look !" exclaimed the 
 lawyer. The keen perception and the quick rea- 
 soning of that attorney has not ceased to be an 
 astonishment to me to this day.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 " I WISH it were any other day but Sunday that 
 I am to say good-bye," said Horace, mournfully. 
 How quickly we did things those times ! Elected 
 captain on Thursday night, off to the war on Sun- 
 day. 
 
 " But what a gorgeous day for our hero," Mary 
 Holyoke broke the silence for us all. " The val- 
 ley was never so lovely ! What a vision of the 
 sleeping mountains ! That sheen on the lake, the 
 miles on miles of farms, all bathed in the sacred 
 Sabbath repose !" We were a family group on 
 the elder's piazza. 
 
 "Thank you, dear heart," said Horace, bright- 
 ening up. " You, at least, could not keep silence 
 any longer without trying to say a word of 
 cheer." And he forced a laugh. 
 
 " We need not whip up our smiles, my boy, as 
 if there was nothing to smile about," remarked 
 the elder. " We have ever so much to be thank- 
 ful for. You go on Heaven's own errand much 
 to be thankful for. We are all in good health," 
 and then his vision of blessings seemed suddenly 
 to have been foreshortened, for he did not recount 
 any added ones in sight.
 
 160 
 
 "You remind me, father," at length Hod re- 
 marked, " of Peleg Rumney's errand over here 
 this morning. He had evidently been repairing 
 the harness. He had an old horse - collar on his 
 arm. 'I vum, Mr. Horace,' said he, 'that's a 
 good collar if only Miss Cynthy 'd hev a harness 
 made to V " 
 
 " Speakin' of Cynthia, there she comes to bid 
 you good-bye," quavered in the voice of Mr. 
 Holyoke feebly from his seat on the doorstep. 
 
 " I sh'd think sh'd want to come here," pro- 
 tested Mrs. Holyoke, with a sigh, as she sat just 
 behind the veranda trellis and hidden from sight. 
 At the thought of Cynthia's approach she drew 
 herself still further in hiding towards the farm- 
 house wall. 
 
 " Let's all be gracious and forgiving on my 
 son's last day at the homestead," urged Horace's 
 mother, rising from her chair and walking down 
 towards the well-curb to be ready to receive her 
 guest. 
 
 " I felt sure she would come here, Hod," I said, 
 rising from the grass, where I had thrown myself 
 beside Horace. We had been snipping the dan- 
 delions that starred the little lawn. When we 
 rose up, Mary, all in white, tripped down the 
 steps to us, took three or four dandelions from 
 my hand, and began to fasten them on the blue 
 field of Horace's uniform. 
 
 " I will keep them, you good angel to us all," 
 he said, submitting. " They shall outlast these
 
 161 
 
 brass honors about which you pin them, though 
 they are so frail." 
 
 " I dare say that it is the brass and blue she 
 has come over here to see and compare ;" ungra- 
 ciously Mrs. Holyoke flung this out through the 
 vines. 
 
 "Compare whom with whom, and what with 
 what ?" asked Horace. 
 
 " Why, her colonel, of course, in his uniform 
 compared with the captain in his uniform," the 
 unhappy lady sent him back reply. 
 
 " Her colonel, indeed, Hod," I said, slapping 
 him on the shoulder. "Remember what I told 
 you of the last end of the fracas down in the 
 store." 
 
 The fellow flushed, and the memory brightened 
 his countenance as no effort on his part to be 
 cheerful had yet done. We walked down to the 
 block that stood by the fence, and he helped 
 Cynthia to alight. 
 
 " I thought I ought," she said, as she gave her 
 foot to his hand and sprang to the ground. " Do 
 you go soon ?" 
 
 " In about an hour," he responded. Then fol- 
 lowed greetings more or less cordial all round. 
 
 " Oh, it seems just horrid !" exclaimed the tall, 
 dark girl, clutching her riding-habit with a grace- 
 ful fling, and managing to put herself beside 
 Horace "dreadful, dreadful, to think how such 
 fine -looking me as are going out of the valley 
 may suffer and be abused before they are returned
 
 162 
 
 to us again. I am simply too unhappy to live 
 any longer !" 
 
 " Only our gracious Father on high can help us 
 to endure all these things that it is our duty to 
 endure," fell from Mrs. Parkridge's lips and 
 mingled with her " good - afternoon." It sounded 
 like music, there was so much genuine faith in her 
 tone. 
 
 " Very kind of you to come over," interrupted 
 the elder, as he strode along over to the grass- 
 plot, holding out his tremendous hand. The us- 
 ual cheerfulness with which he greeted everybody 
 was gone from his tone. " Mother," he said, tak- 
 ing his wife by the arm, " the boy's bag is on 
 the kitchen table for your last lookin' and tuckin' 
 in," and very abruptly led her back towards the 
 house. 
 
 "I am going to drive you down to the train, 
 Hod," I volunteered, seeing that he wanted to be 
 alone with Cynthia, " so I'd best go and harness 
 up." 
 
 The pair, thus left to themselves, strolled down 
 by the gai'den gate, and sat for twenty minutes 
 of the last precious hour that the boy was to have 
 with us on the bench under the elm. What was 
 said I never knew. They were conversing ear- 
 nestly. They rose up and walked over to the ma- 
 ple at the end of the path ; then they paced back 
 and forth. I watched all this from the stable as 
 I was making ready. 
 
 The elder finally came over to the carriage-
 
 163 
 
 house, and, with a choking voice, said : " 'Lish, 
 drive up ; that'll break her off. 'Tain't no good, 
 anyway. God defend the boy if he goes off this 
 time with a sore heart and no hope of the hand- 
 some gal ! But I'm afraid, I'm afraid. Then, too, 
 I'm afraid his mother won't outlive it. Heavenly 
 Father, how hard Thou art ! He's our only one. 
 'Lish, what have I said ? No, God is not hard ; 
 He is good. Forgive me, kind Heaven ! It's ter- 
 rible hard, though. I say, 'Lish," and then he 
 paused, as if to gather up his courage. I had 
 never seen the old man so rattle-brained. He was 
 always able to express himself with such homely 
 clearness. " 'Lish," he resumed, "you haven't seen 
 anything ?" And then he stopped and gnawed his 
 gray whisker, lifting it off from his breast and 
 'tucking it between his lips. 
 
 " What is it, my dear sir?" I ventured, reverent- 
 ly, for he was shaking so that as he leaned on the 
 dasher of the buckboard the whole wagon felt the 
 thrill of his emotion. 
 
 " Well," he struggled it out, " you c'n under- 
 stand don't ever let him know I asked you but 
 you haven't seen anything like his indulgin' in his 
 cups agin' sence he had his trouble with th' hand- 
 some witch yonder, have you?" And he empha- 
 sized each word of the sad question with a trem- 
 bling forefinger pointing towards them. 
 
 "Why," I answered, "he stopped all that, out 
 of love for his itfbther." 
 
 " Yes mother and the young lady," he replied.
 
 164 
 
 " He said she never asked him to ; but he told me 
 she was such a pretty flyaway that if he had her 
 he must be sober and strong, and be able to put 
 the brakes on the team. That's 'fore anybody 
 came between 'em." 
 
 "And that is as noble as it is true, elder. 
 Heaven bless the boy !" I could not make up 
 my mind to evade the truth further in my reply, 
 and neither could I reassure him, the weary, anx- 
 ious-hearted father. Heretofore in this story I 
 have scarcely more than hinted at the wayward- 
 ness and folly of Horace Parkridge's earlier years. 
 And even now I cannot bring myself to put down 
 on paper what I had lately seen of the spectre's 
 return. So, after trying to turn the father's 
 suspicions aside without telling a lie, I gath- 
 ered up the lines and rattled out of the carriage- 
 house. 
 
 The old preacher bowed, and, silently studying 
 the ground, followed after me. "Shoo! shoo!" 
 I heard him cry to the cackling geese behind me ; 
 " don't quack, quack our grief all over the neigh- 
 borhood." There was something unspeakably sad 
 as he talked to the geese. 
 
 As I drove up Cynthia was standing by the 
 stile, about to mount. Horace was saying : 
 
 " I thank you for what you have told me. 'Lish 
 heard what he said as well as you. No doubt 
 death will be thick enough down there, but he 
 must take his chances with the rest of us, or prove 
 a poltroon."
 
 165 
 
 " I do hope God will return you to us," she con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " You haven't answered my question," he per- 
 sisted ; " tell me that, and I will tell you whether 
 I hope God will return me safely or not." 
 
 For what seemed a long time she made no re- 
 ply. Then, with an impulsive little start and 
 sigh, she said : " Well, I wear it still ;" and she 
 pulled off her glove for the first time, showing 
 Felton's ring flashing in the sunlight. 
 
 "That is enough. Good-bye, and forever!" 
 groaned Hod. 
 
 She hesitated a moment, bit her red lip, cast 
 down her eyes until the black lashes rested on 
 her cheeks, then pulled on the glove once more, 
 and by his help was in the saddle without another 
 word. "Without further word to any of us, in- 
 deed, she wheeled her rearing colt, shot into the 
 highway in a cloud of dust, and disappeared over 
 the hill. He turned promptly to me. 
 
 " Well, 'Lish, time to go? Ah, she's gone ! I 
 don't care what becomes of her she isn't worth 
 a heart-throb ! And yet she is she might be. 
 Wasn't she lovely, now, in appearance? But let 
 her go I say it anew ;" and all this was uttered in 
 low tones only for my ear. " I care not what be- 
 comes of her, or what becomes of Hod Parkridge !" 
 
 " Oh yes, you do," I protested ; " for their 
 sakes you care," pointing with the horsewhip 
 tOAvards the house guests and his parents, who 
 were then approaching us.
 
 166 
 
 Just then the clang of the great clock, standing 
 so tall by the open bedroom window, sounded the 
 hour. 
 
 " I was born in that room," remarked Horace. 
 
 "And you will sleep there many a night yet 
 Avhen your head is whiter than mine, so I pray 
 for you, my only boy," said the elder, fairly shak- 
 ing with his emotion, as he came up. 
 
 " Father, you have been a tender, loving parent 
 to me. I have cost you many anxious prayers to 
 Heaven." 
 
 "All of which are laid up on high," answered 
 the mother, calmly. He did not find any word of 
 fitting reply ; his eyes alone answered her. Then 
 in a desperate way he pushed past them, and 
 walked up the path a little towards the house, 
 saying to Mr. and Mrs. Hoi yoke : 
 
 " Good-bye, kind friends; and you, Mary, good- 
 bye. Write me, won't you? I know 'Lish won't 
 object to it. I shall want to see a woman's hand 
 now and then. You and Mother Holyoke write 
 me often. It will help me to be a decent man 
 and a true soldier." 
 
 Mary had no reply upon her trembling lips as 
 she bowed her promise, but she gave him her 
 hand, and then returned with her parents to the 
 stoop, leaving the young man alone with his 
 father and mother. They seemed utterly to for- 
 get roe, seated in the buckboard. 
 
 " Everything is in here," remarked his mother, 
 as the elder lifted the small bag to the top of
 
 167 
 
 the stile. " Being an officer, you'll have some 
 privilege of baggage, they say. You'll find " 
 
 " Don't, mother, don't !" the boy pleaded, put- 
 ting her hands back and gently forcing the bag 
 to close. 
 
 " Well, well, I won't," wiping her eyes, and 
 showing for the first time her relieving tears ; 
 " but you won't be careless of yourself, my pre- 
 cious boy, will you ? There is the little medicine- 
 case that the church gave me at the time of our 
 silver-wedding." 
 
 " Don't mother !" pleaded Horace, choking. 
 
 " No, mother," interposed the elder, taking her 
 hands away from the bag, " the boy can't stand 
 it. He'll remember how everything in here has 
 been sprinkled over with your tears, and he'll re- 
 member how much we dote on him and on his re- 
 turn as an honorable man. He'll put this in his 
 pocket it may stop a bullet," whipping out a 
 Testament from his own pocket. " It '11 shield you 
 from Satan's darts. It's the one your old father's 
 used in the parish nigh on to forty years. May- 
 be a text in it, you'll find marked, you'll be able 
 to hitch some of my sermons on to poor old ser- 
 mons." 
 
 The man could not finish his little homily. As 
 for Horace, he was speechless. He put the book 
 in his pocket. 
 
 "And now good-bye; and may the God of bat- 
 tles keep you all we have in this world!" The 
 elder's eyes were glorious as his hands stretched
 
 168 
 
 out over his son's shoulder in his parting benedic- 
 tion. 
 
 " Mother my God, father, she has fainted !" 
 
 " No," faintly gasped the lady. But the strong 
 young arms lifted the little woman as if she were 
 a child, and carried her all the way up to her 
 easy- chair under the vine -clad veranda. He 
 placed her there as softly as she had placed him 
 in his cradle years ago. 
 
 " Good-bye, my darling, go," she faintly com- 
 manded; " God will be with us and you." 
 
 He bent down to her, and kissed her over and 
 over again. Then he bounded away. Indeed, it 
 Avas time. He came springing down the path, I 
 remember. I whipped up, and off we drove as 
 rapidly as we could. Mary told me afterwards 
 how, as the sun went down, and the gloaming 
 fell over all, the old preacher went up and stood 
 by the chamber door where his son had slept 
 from boyhood until manhood, and prayed and 
 sobbed and committed him to God. Well he 
 might, could he have foreseen the peril of his 
 manhood's betrayal.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 I DO not know that any eye except my own 
 will ever read this narrative. In fact, I am a 
 plain man, wholly without literary ambition. I 
 am no artist. Let me jot down the marked 
 events, in the order of the time, just as they 
 came. 
 
 It was at Deacon Littlefield's husking. It was 
 on my own barn floor, but I was not master of 
 ceremonies. During the summer, after Horace 
 went off to the wars, Littlefield had ventured to 
 act on the decision of the judge of probate, or 
 surrogate, and had actually taken possession of 
 my farm in his adopted daughter's name. Not 
 that she had moved into the dwelling. But some- 
 body must take care of the crops and stock, of 
 course, and this the sharp deacon had proceeded 
 at once to do. He had invited his neighbors to a 
 husking-bee. I went over. All this interval I 
 had not been idle. But on dear Mrs. Parkridge's 
 account, and by her mysterious assurances that 
 my time would surely come, the crisis when she 
 could and would help me to justice, I had kept 
 silent. I had worked hard carrying on the elder's 
 farm, and so really supporting the family. Hor-
 
 170 
 
 ace also sent his wages home, and that helped his 
 father out to a degree. 
 
 We were gathered on my great barn floor that 
 autumn evening. You may be sure my heart 
 was fuller than the bursting barns, but I was si- 
 lent and retired. I got over near Peleg Rumney, 
 my hired man of former days. We both passed 
 the time of day pleasantly, and bent down to the 
 shocks between our knees. As we stripped the 
 ears, I suddenly demanded of the old man : 
 
 " Peleg, where is Mrs. Cark ?" 
 
 " I vum ter Moses, Mr. Stone, I dunno," was his 
 reply. "Ask him," with a nod of the head, indi- 
 cating Mr. Littlewood on the other side of the 
 barn floor, where he sat husking at a shock of 
 corn, as busy as any of his guests. 
 
 " Peleg," I insisted, in a low tone behind my 
 shock, " I have waited all summer patiently. 
 You know how ill the elder and his wife have 
 been. I couldn't do anything but watch and wait 
 on them. I haven't for months crossed the high- 
 way to come to this dwelling. Come now, old 
 man, I always treated you well. There is going 
 to be a sharp fight right off about my property. 
 Which side are you on ?" 
 
 But the skilfulest wheedling of kindly tones 
 and smiles did not avail. In fact, it had been so 
 all the sad and busy season whenever I had made 
 an attempt to see the fellow. Deacon Littlewood 
 had kept a detective's eye on Peleg night and 
 day. We called the agent, who occupied a room
 
 171 
 
 in the Bosworth house, a spy. That was the 
 usual countrymen's name for this Mr. Sheriff 
 Hooker. All such proceedings but added to the 
 heavy load of unpopularity under which the Lit- 
 tlewoods now staggered. Cynthia had been spir- 
 ited away ostensibly sent on a visit to Troy, New 
 York, with Mr. Littlewood's brother. Every one 
 said it was a mere ruse to keep her rebellious 
 tongue still until the colonel could come home 
 after some of the brave battles, and stay long 
 enough to marry her, whether she would or not. 
 In fact, I don't think any one would have at- 
 tended this husking -bee of his at Bosworth's 
 barn except that the patriotic neighbors re- 
 flected : " Well, let's go. One thing is true : Fel- 
 ton's fightin' fer his country and half the corn is 
 to go to the fair." 
 
 " Brethering," the deacon announced, " an' 
 frends, ye understan' thet I gin bush'l fer bush'l 
 to th' Sanitary Fair." 
 
 This patriotic promise, which had been widely 
 proclaimed by posters, written by the deacon's 
 own hand, at the cross-roads, had its softening 
 influence, and probably had secured the invita- 
 tions the grudging welcome that brought to- 
 gether a score of farmers. When now, squat be- 
 hind a bundle of corn, the host was springing to 
 his task with the utmost exertion by way of 
 thrifty example, the farmers heard his reitera- 
 tion of benevolejit intent with significant smiles, 
 as much as to say : " Oh, we know you"
 
 172 
 
 " You don' hear no good news f'm Cap'n Park- 
 ridge, I vum ter Moses, eh ?" whispered Peleg to 
 me. 
 
 " He's never been hurt thus far," I answered, 
 evasively. 
 
 " No ? The big cunnel, I vum, sez the boy's 
 a-drinkin' hard, an' th' dekin's pious sorry. 
 When we got them letters yer know I'm over 
 ter his place a good deal o' th' time he sez, sez 
 he to 's wife, ' Yer see, my dear, haow foolish 
 Cynthy 'd ben, sez he, ef she'd a-taken thet feller. 
 The cuss o' th' Almighty's on th' elder's boy; an' 
 sez he, my cuss '11 be on Cynthy ef she don't 
 come back f'm Troy an' stop givin' th' mitten 
 thet she's ben offerin' t' our cunnel, an' upsettin' 
 all our plans.' " 
 
 Then the little old man chuckled to himself to 
 think how much wiser he apparently was as to the 
 real situation than I, and fell to husking with all 
 his might. 
 
 " Peleg, I beg you not to spread abroad this 
 story of Captain Hod's drinking," and I snapped 
 off an ear decisively and whipped it into the bas- 
 ket. "It will kill his father and mother, as 
 surely as I hit that basket with that ear, if the 
 disgrace of his unhappy slip gets abroad. Heaven 
 knows the poor old pair suffer enough now." 
 
 " Wa'al, ain't it so ?" asked he, speaking quite 
 loudly. 
 
 " Hush !" 
 
 "Neow, Peleg," called Littlewood, uneasily
 
 173 
 
 eyeing us, though I attempted to seem more en- 
 gaged with Eliphalet Hood on my left than with 
 Peleg " neow, Peleg, keep 'em all a-goin'. You'll 
 hev ter shin up among th' dove-cotes on th' high 
 beams, and toss daown more stalks." 
 
 "Yis," was the ready response, as the man 
 promptly ran up the ladder, and began his task 
 above us, merrily shouting : 
 
 " Haow's thet ? sez he an' how's thet ? sez he," 
 pitching down the bundles with a resounding 
 crash upon the floor. " Ez the boy sed abaout 
 th' doughnuts, sez he, nevertheless I've eaten 
 three, likewise they're very good; I'll take another 
 also, sez he, I vum." 
 
 When he had clambered down again at my 
 side, I resumed : 
 
 " Peleg, how much does the deacon pay you ?" 
 
 " Powerful lib'ral." 
 
 " Do you like him better than you did me ?" 
 
 "He's a powerful pious man, Mr. 'Lisha." 
 
 " That doesn't answer my question. Xow, 
 Peleg," I said, balancing a bright red ear on my 
 finger as I spoke, "count all the kernels on this 
 ear, give that venerable man a year in prison 
 for every kernel, and it will be less than he really 
 deserves." 
 
 Peleg was alarmed at so much as a mention of 
 the word prison. I saw that in his startled look. 
 
 " Peleg, now answer me," I continued ; " if you 
 don't want to be implicated with him and share 
 his fate, has the deacon not warned you to keep
 
 174 
 
 out of my sight, and out of the sight of any one 
 from the elder's house ?" 
 
 " But Mrs. Parkridge was over here less'n a 
 week ago, lookin' so pale, and try in' ter find 
 Polly Cark." 
 
 "Yes ; where is Polly Cark?" 
 
 "I dunno, Ivurn, sez I." 
 
 "You do," I said savagely. "Tell me, or I'll 
 pitch you now on to the horns of the cattle !" 
 The little old fellow had probably never seen me 
 so desperately in earnest. His lower lip dropped 
 and he shrank away in among the corn-stalks, 
 putting up his crooked hands by way of defence. 
 I followed up my advantage, and circumstances 
 favored me. Mr. Littlewood had gotten the at- 
 tention of the rest of the company diverted to 
 a husking contest. The yellow ears were flash- 
 ing through the air from three huskers on a side. 
 The strife was to see which trio would first fill 
 either of the two baskets at which they shot their 
 husked ears. Laughter and shout resounded. 
 Littlewood was urging them on with the keenest 
 relish of a thrifty master of ceremonies. He saw 
 work rapidly being turned off by this means, and 
 fairly dancing up and down in front of them, he 
 shouted them to the contest. At this rate the 
 big barn would be well cleared by ten o'clock. 
 
 I pushed Peleg further into concealment. I 
 had two firm hands on his shoulders. 
 
 " Peleg, why do you suppose I consented to 
 come over here to work on crops that that re-
 
 175 
 
 spectable thief has stolen from my acres as he 
 has the acres themselves ? Boy, do you not see 
 that we are not even on speaking terms ? I have 
 come here because I have got down to hard work 
 now with my lawyer. We are ready for battle. 
 I must have your help. I can't find Mrs. Cark. 
 She seems to have disappeared for months from 
 the neighborhood. I want her. You know where 
 she is. Tell me, or I will do with you, as a Bible 
 king did with Daniel, you old ingrate I'll toss 
 you over in with the Durham bull in ten seconds !" 
 
 " Mis' Cark, she was driv outen house an' home 
 by th' ghost !" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The ghost what hants th' ol' house !" 
 
 " Ghost, poor fool ? There is no such thing 
 on God's green earth." 
 
 "Yis, th' is. No feller can't stan' it but Mr. 
 Hooker, an' he sleeps with pistols. I sleep in th' 
 carriage-house when I stay here at all." 
 
 "Quick !" I pursued him. "Have it so then, 
 but where is Cark gone ?" 
 
 "I vum ter hellylooya, ez sure's I'm passin' 
 through the valley 'f Jehosaphat, ez sure's I ever 
 sailed roun' Cape Horn an' bed th' fever 'n th' 
 diggin's, I dunno. She's a goner !" 
 
 I held him a moment, gazing hard at him to 
 make sure that he was telling the truth. I didn't 
 become convinced of his sincerity as against my 
 suspicions. 
 
 " Peleg, that wtman is in the mansion. If she
 
 176 
 
 is not, the ghost has flown away with her, and it 
 will fly away with you yet if you don't turn an 
 honest man. In other words, Littlewood has 
 sent her off to get rid of her if she is not in that 
 dwelling, and he will get rid of you if you do 
 not quit him. He will trump up some charge. 
 He'll get hold of some of your Calif ornia scrapes'." 
 " I vum, d'yer spose he ever heerd 'f thet man 
 in th' Isthmus?" The little bent fellow was 
 suddenly turned into a coil of springing wire. 
 All his senile drivellings left him. In one shud- 
 der he squirmed out of my grasp, and stood 
 erect in quite a manly fit of anger, his eyes glow- 
 ing like coals in the dim light that fell from the 
 three swinging lanterns. I had never seen the 
 tiger in the man but once before. That was 
 several years gone by, when he brought me one 
 day a newspaper advertisement which was the 
 description of himself, accompanied with an of- 
 fered reward. Then he told me his story. There 
 had been an adventure on the Isthmus, when a 
 weary party of beggarly miners were marching 
 from sea to sea, before the days of the railroad. 
 He confessed enough to make me sure that in a 
 desperate moment he had done a desperate deed. 
 All the evil in the man's nature was aroused that 
 day. I remember it was with difficulty I calmed 
 him. It had seemed to me, upon reflection at 
 the time, to be a merciful and proper deed to 
 shield a penitent old wreck of a life which was 
 trying to conduct itself decently at its close. I
 
 177 
 
 had never referred to the subject from that day 
 to this, but it was now ray hold upon him. 
 
 " Ef I thought he was deep 'miff fer thet " the 
 man slipped a knife from a curious sheath in his 
 boot-leg, and held it aloft. 
 
 " Fool, no ! Let's rather put him in prison, 
 where he belongs. You don't want to put your- 
 self there. Peleg, to-night you must go over the 
 house with me and find Cark. She is there." 
 
 " When shall we start ?" He sprang out ea- 
 gerly. 
 
 " After the cider and apples and singing and 
 fiddling and jigs begin," I answered. With that 
 I released him and took ray place with the circle 
 of workmen. 
 
 "Hurrah! Northbrook forever !" burst at that 
 instant in a rattling shout from twenty throats. 
 It indicated that the husking contest had resulted 
 in victory for three farmers on our road. 
 
 " Peleg ! Dan-net, where is the little raskil ? 
 More stalks !" shouted Mr. Littlewood, as he 
 pawed away the breastwork of stalks behind 
 which we were temporarily hid. The charcoal 
 eyes, the shaven face, the round-shouldered fig- 
 ure appeared to us. He was ready with a mouth- 
 ful of scolding, but the moment he caught sight 
 of Peleg, the knife still gleaming in his hand, 
 Littlewood whipped off his frown, and masked 
 himself with that charming smile which he al- 
 ways had at convenience. Most singular, most 
 pious, most shrewd man ! Never was another 
 
 12
 
 178 
 
 combination of angel and devil in one person as 
 in him, and so perfectly self-possessed ! 
 
 " Ab, boy," he said, addressing Peleg in tones 
 of kindly alarm, " did he attack you ?" with a nod 
 of his head towards me. "He's harmless, though 
 he'd orter be in th' 'sylum. May break out any 
 moment." 
 
 "No, sir, yer ol' hypercrit, I vum; it's yeou I 
 meant it fer." 
 
 "Me !" Little wood started back. Then he be- 
 thought himself, wily as a cat, of the softening- 
 influences of the feasting, perhaps remembering 
 Peleg's weakness for such things, for he cried 
 out: 
 
 "Peleg, it's time fer the cider. Go get the 
 cider and the pies. Ten mince-pies, and ten pun- 
 kin-pies, a pan o' doughnuts, and the cheese curd. 
 Wa'al, they're all over ter th' house." 
 
 " Littlewood," I said, " who made your pies in 
 that empty house ?" 
 
 "Why, dan-net " At that moment the cattle 
 burst forth in one of their bellowing choruses. 
 This time the bleating, the bellowing, the rattling 
 of shining horns tipped with brass buttons clash- 
 ing against one another and striking against the 
 stanchions, the bovine alarm and protest against 
 such midnight intrusion by human revellers, was 
 more pronounced than it had been at all. Any 
 one who ever attended a husking-bee will recall 
 these occasional uproars made by cattle. A busy 
 millionaire railway president once said to me :
 
 179 
 
 "When I am wholly worn out in the office, I 
 sometimes close my eyes and go back again to 
 hear the music of forty head of cattle bellowing 
 to the light of a late lantern, swinging at my boy- 
 ish hand, in front of a stanchion on a barn floor." 
 
 The noise was an excuse for Littlewood and 
 me to break off our encounter that promised no 
 good to either of us. The noise let Peleg slip 
 out, scampering away to fetch the refreshment. 
 It was an accompaniment for the cleaning up the 
 floor with brooms. At all events, enough work 
 had been done to match the late hour, and men 
 were ready to eat and drink and be jolly. 
 
 " It's 'leven o'clock, neighbors an' brethering," 
 shouted Littlewood. " You've done well fer the 
 fair. Neow, let's hev some new cider with no 
 drunk in 't, and nice pies. They're a-comin'." 
 
 At that moment the last bullock at the far end 
 of the stables sighed out his regrets, perhaps, that 
 he and his did not eat pies. Just then, too, 
 tripped into the centre of the group of cross- 
 legged huskers, as they sat around the floor 
 who? 
 
 " Cynthia Littlewood !" Everybody exclaimed 
 it. 
 
 " Good-evening, neighbors," she saluted us. 
 
 There was a thrill of genuine pleasure which 
 stirred us all with that laughing salutation. She 
 was never more beautiful, though I thought pale 
 and thin, as I saw her under the lantern's light. 
 She was dressed like the milkmaids in the plays
 
 180 
 
 that I have seen since white apron, pretty bare 
 hands carrying the plates, her dark hair adorned 
 with some autumn spray, I think a bit of golden - 
 rod, and all about her graceful self a witchery 
 that no man could resist without the clapping of 
 hands and cheers. She had such a welcome as 
 only honest hearts can give a lovely woman. 
 
 " She ain't party to 't," I overheard an old 
 farmer whisper to his neighbor. 
 
 " No ; she wants ter undo 't all, and jilt th' 
 cunnel, and gin up the lawsuit." 
 
 This rumor of Cynthia's changed disposition 
 had got abroad, and was perhaps something of a 
 factor in the partial toleration of the Littlewood 
 family in the neighborhood of late. 
 
 " Wa'al, wa'al," exclaimed several voices, "and 
 the other beauty too !" 
 
 True enough, Mary Holyoke walked in just be- 
 hind Cynthia, carrying a basketful of tumblers, 
 and evidently the girls were in friendly accord. I 
 saw immediately that Deacon Littlewood was 
 taken very much by surprise. The two pretty 
 dears had met since the morning, and had come to 
 know each other's minds, that I saw, and it set me 
 to thinking upon my problems so hard that I for- 
 got to rise and greet the young lady, who had 
 just returned from her visit at Troy. But she did 
 not forget me, and coming over to me, she ex- 
 claimed, " We miss the boys, don't we, Elisha ?" 
 as she handed me my plate. " Times are sad in- 
 deed. Look on this barnf ul of gray heads and
 
 181 
 
 mere lads. No merry dancing to-night," and she 
 tried to laugh for cheer. 
 
 " You'll see the men dance, my pretty," laughed 
 out old Ichabod Hobbs, who sat near me and 
 overheard her. " Wait till they've had a nip of 
 your father's new cider." 
 
 When Mary rustled along near me I asked, 
 eagerly, " What's in the wind now ? what have 
 you two witches been up to since I left the 
 house ?" 
 
 " Oh, the strangest of all strange things. Cyn* 
 thia rode over this afternoon, to our infinite sur- 
 prise, and invited me to help her here to-night, as 
 the guests were to be all men. That was the ex- 
 cuse. Then we had such a long talk together, all 
 about the sad news from Horace, and she actual- 
 ly cried over him. She is in love with him. She 
 doesn't wear Felton's ring," with a shake of her 
 pretty finger at me. "She expects him home, 
 though, on a furlough any time, and at almost 
 any moment. I am afraid there is to be such 
 a scene then. She declares she will never keep 
 her engagement with him, that she has practical- 
 ly broken it now. The best of all, she is fully in 
 sympathy with us in securing your rights. She 
 has discovered that she is not Mr. Bosworth's 
 child." 
 
 " What !" But before I could snatch another 
 word with Mary, Mr. Littlewood himself pushed 
 in between us with some empty compliment to 
 the young lady, and it was quite an interval
 
 182 
 
 before I could again get Mary's ear. Was it pos- 
 sible that a righteous Providence was bringing 
 me this girl, Cynthia, at last for an ally? I 
 picked away at my food in silence, reviewing 
 what my lawyer had sketched out for me. The 
 next opportunity that I could secure I said to Mary : 
 
 " Did Cynthia talk with Mrs. Parkridge ?" 
 
 " Yes, she told her that we must now find Mrs. 
 Cark ; that that was the next step." 
 
 " Exactly. Did poor Mrs. Parkridge did you 
 were you present while they conversed?" I 
 asked, quite losing my self-possession in the ex- 
 citement of a sudden culmination to many long- 
 formed plans by Ashael Keep and myself. 
 
 "Yes; and poor sick woman, she was very much 
 overcome by the fact that Cynthia had voluntari- 
 ly visited us. She said that her end was nigh. 
 She had carried some secret as long as she could, 
 that Horace's present wrong-going was breaking 
 her heart quite, and she had no desire to live 
 longer. She kissed Cynthia, and asked her for- 
 giveness I don't quite know for what, neither did 
 Cynthia and she made Cynthia pledge herself to 
 write Horace. The poor girl eagerly gave the 
 promise, asking if Horace would indeed be glad 
 to hear from her. Mrs. Parkridge directed her 
 to begin her letter by saying ' in obedience to a 
 promise made to your dying mother.' " By this 
 time the fiddle was tuning, and the men were 
 thumping the floor with their cowhide boots, and 
 becoming decidedly jovial.
 
 183 
 
 "What then, Mary? I cannot let you go," I 
 cried, " till you answer me. Tell me before you 
 and Cynthia leave." I held her by the long white 
 string of her apron. 
 
 " I don't know just what else was said, for they 
 two wished to be alone. When Cynthia came 
 out into the kitchen after some minutes she was 
 nearly hysterical. She only said, ' Where do you 
 suppose Papa Littlewood Mr. Littlewood, rath- 
 er stamping her foot, has sent Mrs. Cark ?' " 
 
 "That is what I will find out before I sleep!" 
 I exclaimed. "Peleg shall help me Peleg must 
 be true to me," I vowed, with a blow upon my 
 knee, as the girl sped away from me, flinging her 
 " Heaven prosper you !" after her retreating form. 
 
 The uproarious jig of these farmers I think I 
 witnessed, but I was not amused by it. For the 
 first time in my life I sat apart from the jollifica- 
 tions of my hearty neighbors ; I kept my position 
 there, upon the floor, amid the husks. I was con- 
 tinually thinking, "I must have Peleg." The lit- 
 tle old man was not to be seen. I waited for him, 
 watched for him. I would soon go to search for 
 him if he did not reappear; but he was still not to 
 be seen, and Mr. Littlewood was missing also.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 STEPPING out into the night, I encountered Lit- 
 tlewood talking with his factotum, Hooker, of 
 whom I have made mention, giving the name that 
 he was known by among the farmers the spy. 
 
 " Where's Peleg ?" demanded Little wood. " I'm 
 goin' hum. Cynthia must go with me. Where is 
 the gal? The mansion seems to be shet up. I 
 allus retire when th' hilarity begins. It's very 
 worldly. Strange, strange that men kin git so jolly 
 on nothin'. That there cider is only a month old." 
 
 "You must allow something for custom and 
 great animal spirits and good cheer," responded 
 Hooker, in his cold dry way. " It's only the 
 good spirits of good fellers who think they've 
 done a good deed to the fair for the soldiers, and 
 they are having a shout at the end." 
 
 "Yis, yis. By-the-way," replied the deacon, 
 bustling into the carriage - house and returning 
 with a bushel-basket in his hand, " I brought this 
 over. If they get to wantin' to measure up the 
 corn fer the fair, use this; it's stronger." 
 
 "And smaller," chuckled Hooker, with a poke 
 in his employer's ribs. 
 
 "Nothin' of the sort," was Littlewood's un-
 
 185 
 
 abashed reply. "It's th' sacred bushel I allus use 
 in dealin' with the Lord's cause. I give Him a 
 tenth of all ray income, V am glad ter git off so 
 cheap. Now, let Peleg shet up th' buildin's when 
 they're through. Ah ! here he is with the hoss. 
 Where's Cynthy ?" 
 
 "She went over to the elder's for the night," 
 answered Hooker. 
 
 "It mustn't be!" exclaimed Littlewood, excit- 
 edly; "I'll drive over 'ri' git her t' oncet. Good- 
 night," and he was about to whip up his animal. 
 His solicitude about Cynthia's unexpected visit 
 made him quite forgetful of any possible warning 
 that he wished to leave with Peleg about having 
 further conversation with me. Perhaps, indeed, he 
 did not see me, as I stood under cover of the tool- 
 house shed. 
 
 " Mr. Littlewood," the man Hooker spoke very 
 decidedly ; so sharply, indeed, that the farmer 
 pulled up his horse instantly. 
 
 "Well, what's wrong?" 
 
 "I sha'n't stay in that mansion another night !" 
 
 " Whew !" whispered the deacon, dropping the 
 lines across the dashboard. " Come up ter the wag- 
 gin." 
 
 Hooker obeyed, saying: "I'm good for any 
 number of flesh- and -blood thieves, Littlewood, 
 but spirits from another world is raore'n I bar- 
 gained to keep guard against." 
 
 " Cracky ! But you ain't seen no angels," 
 laughed Littleivood.
 
 186 
 
 "Angel or devil, I've seen and heard enough 
 in the two months I've occupied that house. I'm 
 all worn out. When a feller can't sleep at night, 
 what's life worth? So pay me to-night, and let 
 me ride down to the four corners with you. I'll 
 walk the rest of the way to the train at West 
 Village." 
 
 " Oh, pooh, pooh ; not ter-night," protested the 
 deacon, evidently in the greatest perplexity. 
 
 " Yes, siree, to-night ! Sit along. I've got my 
 bag. Last night was enough for me." 
 
 " ^Yhy, man, man, I know what 'tis. 'Tain't 
 nothin'," urged Littlewood, fairly whining out his 
 pleading protest. 
 
 " I don't care what 'tis. Sit along ! Let Peleg 
 keep guard from his room in the stables. If the 
 old Californian were asked to sleep in that library 
 where I have slept of late, he'd lose all the hair 
 that's left on his old bald pate before two nights 
 were passed. Sit along !" And Hooker at once 
 with no more ado climbed over the front wheel, 
 giving his travelling-bag a sling into the back of 
 the buggy. 
 
 Littlewood sat in blank dismay. He managed 
 to say, 
 
 " But but dan-net, the gal, my darter." 
 
 "Let her spend the night with the preacher's 
 folks. She is there already. Drive out of here be- 
 fore that old moon gets mooning any higher on 
 the old pile," responded Hooker, with a thorough- 
 ly frightened glance over his left shoulder.
 
 187 
 
 When a brave man once gives way to his fears 
 his courage melts as fast as a snowbank in June. 
 Hooker's blood had all turned to water evidently. 
 I confess to a certain contagion of his terror as I 
 witnessed it, it was so abject. Yet I was so 
 thankful for the unexpected Providence of a 
 clear coast, and escape from the need of playing 
 burglar, that I could scarce refrain my lips from 
 crying out my gratitude. 
 
 " Well," meditated Mr. Littlewood, in ugly de- 
 cisiveness, " nothin' frightens me except my 
 woman's tongue," with a chuckle. " If 't warn't 
 fer her, I'd stay myself, V let Cynthy sleep at 
 th' elder's. Old Lady Parkridge's pooty sick, 
 but she'll not say nothin' yit. Peleg !" he 
 shouted at length, and as the little old man 
 obediently dodged from the stable into a broad 
 bar of moonlight his employer gave his orders: 
 " Hooker's sick, orf ul sick, got ter take him t' th' 
 doctor's ; yer look arter things all raound till I 
 come over 'n the mornin', or perhaps sooner. 
 G' lang, Dob," and with a slap of the thin black 
 lines across the horse's hips away the pair rattled 
 out over the shining gravelled driveway. I re- 
 member that distinctly do I not? that he re- 
 marked, " Old Mrs. Parkridge '11 say nothing 
 
 yet." 
 
 For myself, I climbed up on the seat of a mow- 
 ing-machine in the black shade of the tool-house 
 shelter. The flood of silver from the moon, just 
 on a level with the horizon, lay like a glistening
 
 188 
 
 carpet along the frosty earth. I sat there, think- 
 ing, till the last farmer had at length come out 
 from the husking hilarities, and had gone with his 
 chattering fellows various ways over field and 
 highway. Peleg at length began to shut his 
 doors. I heard them bang and bang one after 
 another. Then, as the old miner issued forth from 
 the barnyard gate, I slipped down and suddenly 
 confronted him. 
 
 " All ready, my brave fellow ?" 
 
 "Master Stone, what is it?" he cried, with a 
 look of pretended surprise. 
 
 "All ready to go upon our search for Mrs. 
 Cark Polly, our excellent Polly who must have 
 left some line, some farewell message of direc- 
 tion for her few friends, as she departed to re- 
 gions unknown. We must look for her, old boy, 
 or for a line in reference to her, in yonder," point- 
 ing towards the residence. 
 
 " I won't !" He spoke decisively enough, but I 
 could see that he was fairly white with fear. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you will. Go get the extra key that 
 is doubtless hanging in the harness-room. Come, 
 be quick, man ; this is not as hard a night's work 
 by any means as you have undertaken in the 
 course of your somewhat checkered career." 
 
 I threw him one significant glance, and then let 
 him off upon his errand. He went, oh yes. He 
 obeyed. He had better ! He was gone a long 
 time. I kept my station in the solemn, deserted 
 yard in the rear of the mansion. The effect of
 
 189 
 
 the great golden harvest moon, as yet so low 
 down that its huge sickle seemed to threaten the 
 gable of neighbor Kipling's hill-top barn, was to 
 fill the broken country with stalking shadows 
 everywhere, and shadowy things seemed to be 
 creeping away from me as the light mounted 
 higher. The cone-shaped shadows of the firs by 
 the garden wall, the cobweb of my windmill, 
 which at first lay about my feet in a tangle, and 
 the menacing finger of the stumpy spire on the 
 carriage-house among the trees slipped away all 
 of these slipped away from me farther and far- 
 ther, and left me standing in the light. 
 
 7 O O 
 
 " Like my unhappy days and troubles," I medi- 
 tated, speaking aloud to the night. 
 
 The wide brick dwelling burst slowly into 
 grace and glory in glaring contrast with its aspect 
 of neglect by peeling dingy paint, as seen of late 
 in the glare of day. 
 
 " Perhaps, at last, after all this laying of plans, 
 light is coming on my way," I said, still talking 
 to the night. 
 
 I fell into such a reverie that I forgot my man. 
 Moving around a little to the left, I studied the 
 tall, dark windows, each one of which seemed 
 sealed so closely that I found it hard to believe 
 a living human being was hiding behind any one 
 of them. I saw again the old Senator in mem- 
 ory, as I can just dimly recall him, by the great 
 front door, leaning on his stick, consulting his 
 morning weather-gauges. I was often sent over
 
 190 
 
 here on errands. Doubtless it was the tinkling 
 of the thin streams in the iron fountain what a 
 shame to leave the water on so late in the fall ! 
 sounds of splash and tinkle, I say, that suddenly 
 seemed a voice. It resembled so startling] y the 
 Senator's whisper and wheeze between his coughs 
 and his call : 
 
 " Boy, how are the folks over to Holyoke's ? 
 What's your errand? Let us. have it, and then 
 go. I like boys best when a good ways off." 
 
 Then, friendless little farm-hand that I was, 
 not knowing what day kind Abner Holyoke 
 might say he had got through haying and the 
 tedder-boy might find another job, still I used to 
 stare back at the grim, stately old Senator, and 
 console myself with the thought, 
 
 " I'm glad he is not my father." 
 
 As now I stealthily crept around the corner of 
 the dwelling the silent knoll where my mother 
 slept came in full view, on a straight line through 
 the stately pillars where the Senator should have 
 been standing if alive. I don't know why, but 
 somehow I connected the two for the first time 
 in my life ; doubtless because both had passed 
 on into that impenetrable mystery suggested by 
 the fair head-stones on the hill. The Senator's 
 ashes, however, did not rest yonder. That much 
 I knew. Where they were buried I do not think 
 I knew. 
 
 Still I lingered and dreamed inactive, waiting 
 for my man's return. I do not think in all my
 
 191 
 
 days I had ever given that rich old lord of the 
 hills so much thought as now. I could have eas- 
 ily imagined him watching me, fully revealed by 
 some strange function of memory; and when I 
 contrasted my present stature with my boyish as- 
 pect those years gone by, this most curious 
 mental impression suddenly seized upon me, 
 namely, I was sure that I had grown to resemble 
 that tall, broad-shouldered gentleman. I had my- 
 self, in turn, come to man's estate, as he was 
 when I remembered him in his prime and day of 
 honors. 
 
 " The outrage of it is, sir " I found myself 
 apostrophizing the former owner, standing there 
 " the outrage of it is that all this was, is, the 
 once friendless boy's property ; purchased, these 
 acres, by his thrift and savings. And this man- 
 sion, once yes ah, I burn so, old sir, when I 
 think of it, how I have been defrauded by some 
 curious fatality, that I have kept myself from 
 even crossing the highway for months lest I 
 yield and set a torch to the pile !" 
 
 "Here is the key." 
 
 I turned, in astonishment, to confront both 
 Mary Holyoke and Cynthia Littlewood ! They 
 had approached me from behind, so noiselessly 
 flitting along their way as I stood near the grass 
 border that I had heard not even the fall of a 
 footstep. They were clinging timidly together, 
 and Mary at once placed her hand within my arm. 
 The night, now breathing mists, had sprayed their
 
 192 
 
 faces with diamond -powder, which glistened in 
 the soft moonlight. 
 
 " This is wrong, girls." 
 
 " It is right," answered Mary. 
 
 " Peleg has turned coward ; but he brought 
 the key over to the elder's, if he would not bring 
 it to you," Cynthia chimed in. 
 
 "How is the sick woman?" 
 
 "Much worse the excitement of dear Cyn- 
 thia's coming," answered Mary. "We were sitting 
 in her chamber. I suppose Peleg saw the light, 
 and brought us there the key and his lantern." 
 
 "Not only my coming, I fear, has affected 
 poor dear Mrs. Parkridge," Cynthia explained, 
 clutching closer Mary's arm as Mary clung closer 
 by the second to me, "but that again there is no 
 Thursday's letter from Horace, so she says. Three 
 weeks now what can have happened? And all 
 the more strange, because the regiment is cer- 
 tainly in New York city to quell some rioting if 
 it should occur. I know this, because I am any 
 moment expecting to see Colonel Felton here, 
 running up from New York. He wrote me to 
 that effect." 
 
 I made them no reply regarding Horace. My 
 own heart was too full of forebodings, and of the 
 probable explanation of his silence, but I asked, 
 abruptly : 
 
 "Do you really wish to enter on this search 
 with me, and probably meet Mrs. Cark, at this 
 hour of the night?"
 
 193 
 
 " Certainly," responded Mary ; " Mrs. Parkridge 
 herself has directed us to do so." 
 
 " And my lawyer, Keep, urges that there must 
 be no further delay." 
 
 "And especially now that I inform you of Col- 
 onel Felton's probable reappearance at any in- 
 stant," added Cynthia. 
 
 " Come on !" I promptly replied. 
 
 We crossed the yard to the broad flight of 
 shallow stone steps. An owl remonstrated from 
 some lawn tree to the northward. A bat darted 
 out to greet us with a sinister circle, leaving her 
 concealment under the stone cornice above the 
 great door. A gust of wind from the north hills 
 the first stir of air in all this still night thus far 
 gently folded a mass of river fog about us, ob- 
 scuring the moon in its ghastly veil. But we 
 pushed straight on now, and the next moment 
 entered the house. 
 
 " What a clang to that great door ! how it 
 echoes !" Suddenly Cynthia spoker it, while I 
 paused in the heavy air of the hallway to strike 
 the lantern light. "What is that?" she ex- 
 claimed, as two sharp strokes of an alarm-bell sa- 
 luted her ears. 
 
 "Why, it's Elisha's own clock on the stair," 
 answered Maiy. 
 
 "Two o'clock at night, November 28, 18 . 
 Hooker has kept the venerable timepiece faith- 
 fully wound, has he not? Please God, the old 
 clock shall mark many a happy hour here yet for
 
 194 
 
 us and ours and all our friends," I answered, my 
 spirits rising as theirs seemed to fall. 
 
 Crossing the great hall we began to ascend the 
 stairs, when Cynthia turned back to survey in the 
 dim light the confusion of the littered apartments. 
 Rolls of new carpeting, boxes of furniture, and 
 several ungainly shapes of sacking, which seemed 
 almost human and ready behind us to start troop- 
 ing after up the winding stair. 
 
 " All this reminds you of a narrow escape from 
 an unhappy what would surely have been an ex- 
 ceedingly unhappy life ?" asked Mary. 
 
 " If I only were escaped !" was the dark girl's 
 reply, and with that she darted on before us. At 
 the head of the stair she stopped short, turned to 
 the right, uttered a little shriek, which ended in 
 a low, trembling wail. The echo of that voice 
 thrilled me, and my nerves are pretty steady, too. 
 
 Mary stopped and clutched my arm vigorously; 
 then gasped, " What is it ?" But instantly, like 
 the reasonable woman she is, she recovered her 
 good common -sense, and flung my arm away from 
 her as she flew up to the landing, and bent to lift 
 the half-fainting Cynthia, who was pointing tow- 
 ards the left wing of the building. 
 
 A peculiar light fell and fluttered over her, 
 with alternation of shadow and glow, somewhat 
 like the effects that I have since seen produced in 
 tableaux. A man's stride is slower than a wom- 
 an's flight, and I had full opportunity to witness 
 this as I was stumbling upward towards the girls.
 
 195 
 
 Once by their side, I saw at the farther end of 
 the hall what I expected the wrinkled witch, the 
 object of my long search the wished-for sight of 
 a person whom Keep and I had considered neces- 
 sary for our suit during many a day. 
 
 " Mrs. Carle ! Polly, you poor deceiver !" I 
 cried, " the jugglery of your Pamp and your gro- 
 tesque dress cannot deceive us. You certainly 
 have succeeded in making yourself look frightful, 
 but we recognize you. What is your purpose ?" 
 
 I addressed her at such length as to give her 
 small opportunity to play any of her graveyard 
 tricks upon us. She listened ; she lowered the 
 lamp, a curious flambeau that her own ingenuity 
 had produced, and her eyes paused on me move- 
 less till I ceased. 
 
 " I have had a long imprisonment," she sighed. 
 " I am not sorry to see you, though I bear no love 
 for you, Elisha Stone, nor for Mary Holyoke." 
 
 "What have you to say of me?" asked Cyn- 
 thia, pleadingly.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE haggard raasquerader regarded Cynthia 
 Little wood a moment with a fixed stare, a stare 
 which softened and hardened by turns. There 
 were for a moment the tenderest emotions strug- 
 gling in the features of the unhappy woman, then, 
 as over the valleys amid the mountains a cloudy 
 day brings forbidding gloom, a darker look filled 
 her countenance and forbade all loving ap- 
 proach. 
 
 " I would walk around the world to save your 
 feet, Cynthia, a single step too many." She 
 spoke very abruptly. "But nothing seems to 
 save you. You will not save yourself." She 
 ceased speaking without approaching us. 
 
 Remember that I knew nothing of what Mo- 
 ther Parkridge had been saying to Cynthia. 
 
 "Do you say so?" answered Cynthia, offering 
 to draw near her. I was astonished by the girl's 
 tones of tenderness. "Let me come and kiss 
 you, poor lady. What does all this shutting up 
 here mean ? How dreadful all this ghostly busi- 
 ness is in our quiet neighborhood. Why are you 
 here ? What do you know about me ?" 
 
 She rained such questions as these upon Cark,
 
 197 
 
 one after another, until poor Polly seemed to be 
 dazed by them and by their eagerness. 
 
 "Stop! Don't come near me, Cynthia!" she 
 protested. " I couldn't go on with my part if I 
 were once to hold you in my arms." 
 
 "There is no reason under heaven, woman, 
 why you should stay here and play the lunatic," 
 I put in. "Why have you kept yourself hidden 
 away from our sight ?" 
 
 " Ask Deacon Littlewood," she answered. 
 
 " What has he to do with you ?" I demanded, 
 as I alone made bold to walk over to her side. 
 
 "It was a choice between this and the asylum 
 or prison," she answered. 
 
 " Explain further." I said. 
 
 "In an unfortunate moment of great joy, as I 
 then thought, and such a moment is rare to me, 
 when I learned that his daughter Cynthia was to 
 be married, in order that I might keep my old 
 place and be near I would say, continue to earn 
 my bread I allowed myself to say something to 
 Mr. Littlewood and Mr. Felton one day that I 
 ought never to have said." Then she paused so 
 long that I must needs prompt her. 
 
 " Well, why ought you not to have said it, and 
 do you mind telling us what it was that you 
 should not have said ?" I asked. 
 
 " I ought not to have said it, Elisha Stone, be- 
 cause when one begins with a falsehood in early 
 life, after a time the lie becomes a devil, a very 
 demon, a monster from hell, and one must needs
 
 198 
 
 die standing by her lie, or the truth, if spo- 
 ken, will take some one's life whom you hold 
 dear." 
 
 " Whose life ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Parkridge's, for one." 
 
 " You are mistaken now, Polly," I said ; " for 
 she, too, has been seeking you in vain, and urged 
 us most pathetically to find you and hear some- 
 thing that you had to say. Tell her," with a 
 motion of my head towards Cynthia, " whose 
 child she is." 
 
 " I knew Cynthia's mother." 
 
 " Oh, tell me of her," pleaded the girl, sweep- 
 ing forward and falling on her knees as she 
 caught the retreating woman and held her fast. 
 " When some years ago I first knew it, I felt it, 
 that Mrs. Littlewood was not my own mother, 
 the lonely thought began to distress me so ! 
 Whose child am I? I have known of late that 
 Mr. and Mrs. Littlewood have been using me to 
 further their own fortunes. And I am not Mr. 
 Bosworth's child, am I ? " 
 
 " Woman !" I suddenly cried, addressing Polly, 
 "be careful of that torch ; it is leaking fire on 
 the girl's dress." 
 
 She righted her camphene torch for a moment, 
 while I sprang to the left and scuffled my heavy 
 boots over the flaming spots that darted a dozen 
 tiny tongues up at me from the floor. The in- 
 terruption and fright were profitable for our 
 greater familiarity, and we fell after it into a
 
 199 
 
 more natural posture all around, as became flesh- 
 and-blood beings in a natural world. 
 
 " I knew your mother, too." Mrs. Cark ad- 
 dressed me now. 
 
 "No doubt of it, Polly. But first as to Cyn- 
 thia." 
 
 Again the gaze of tenderness was bent on the 
 beautiful young Avoman who had sunk once more 
 at her feet. It was a loving look for a moment ; 
 but then, as if by some powerful resolution, or 
 suddenly stung to its death by an ugly memory, 
 the softened look changed into a hard, unfeeling 
 stare as before, and she answered me : 
 
 " Does Mrs. Parkridge consent that I may re- 
 ply to your questions ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," interrupted Mary, coming forward 
 and putting a caressing hand on the woman's 
 shoulder ; " she says it is time to do right, time 
 that we all began to act sensibly. Here is Elisha 
 defrauded of his property by unwilling Cynthia." 
 
 "Unwilling?" shaking off Mary's touch. 
 
 " Certainly she does not wish to marry Felton, 
 nor to possess this property. It is by his prompt- 
 ing." 
 
 "And I will not, oh, I will not marry him!" 
 cried Cynthia, springing to her feet and daring 
 to throw herself on Polly's breast. 
 
 The clear ringing tones of the girls could un- 
 doubtedly have been distinctly understood in the 
 lower hall of the building. The echo of their 
 stout protest was yet sounding and enforcing its
 
 200 
 
 silence on us all when we heard a masculine voice 
 ascending the stairs. 
 
 " That's her lie to me !" It was Arthur Alfred 
 Felton's voice which came up through the dark- 
 ness. Immediately after it came this other voice, 
 saying : 
 
 "Darter, darter, Heaven '11 smite th' disobe- 
 dient !" 
 
 Mrs. Cark lifted her sputtering torch with a 
 snatch and jerk into the air. I held aloft my 
 lantern. Colonel Felton and Mr. Littlewood were 
 promptly revealed on the upper landing. With- 
 out waiting their nearer approach I asked Little- 
 wood : 
 
 "How much did you pay Hooker and Peleg 
 for the treason that gave you this information ?" 
 
 " Never mind I diskivered yer. Yer liable 
 yer liable fer breakin' V entering NeoW, Polly, 
 we want yer. Come, git yer traps. Yer ain't 
 told nothin', I hope ? Remember) th' All-Seem' 
 Eye 's on yer." 
 
 He came directly on, as if to seize her. I of- 
 fered to step between them. 
 
 " Stand aside !" the wild woman hissed like a 
 fury. " I need no defender against that man !" 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, be careful of that torch !" 
 I expostulated ; for she swung it like a dreadful 
 weapon, and the dropping little tongues of flame 
 streaked the darkness, imperilling us all. 
 
 " Let Stone take it, Polly," said Littlewood, per- 
 suasively, using that smile of which I have made
 
 201 
 
 mention, as he started back a step for fear of 
 some spatterings of fire. 
 
 " I have other use for it," she answered, gath- 
 ering the staff of her torch in both her hands. 
 
 Again I busied myself with extinguishing the 
 flaming drops upon the floor, at the same time re- 
 assuring by a whispered word the frightened 
 girls who stood clinging to each other behind 
 me. 
 
 "Let's be reasonable, my dear madame," ex- 
 claimed Colonel Felton. 
 
 " Stop !" she cried. " Cynthia, step here face 
 him ! Do you wish to marry this man ?" 
 
 Gliding to Mrs. Cark's side, and yet half-shield- 
 ing herself behind the woman, the girl was about 
 to answer, when Felton, with an oath, sprang at 
 her with every sign of personal assault ; but be- 
 fore he could advance I stood on the intervening 
 boards of that floor promptly enough, you may 
 be sure. 
 
 " Cynthia Littlewood," he shouted, "unless you 
 keep your faith with me, I suppose you wish to 
 engage yourself to that grand specimen of a man, 
 Major Horace Parkridge, cashiered officer, dis- 
 graced outcast, wandering about the saloons of 
 New York City ;" and he laughed derisively. 
 
 "O God, it cannot be so!" moaned Cynthia, 
 clasping her hands, as I have seen a marble 
 statue in a cathedral over a tomb, and her cheeks 
 were as bloodless as that marble. 
 
 " Don't believe it !" cried Mary Holyoke, spring-
 
 202 
 
 ing to her side. " Oh, don't believe it, my dear ! 
 Even if it were so, God is great and good, and can 
 save to the uttermost." 
 
 " Speak, my girl!" demanded Mrs. Cark, in shrill 
 tones ; " here in my presence give him his reply." 
 
 " I have written you, Colonel Felton," resumed 
 Cynthia,- raising her great eyes to gaze fully upon 
 him, and speaking with most impressive dignity. 
 " I wrote you that I believed you were an adven- 
 turer ; that I had ceased to love you, if indeed I 
 ever did ; that I prayed God to forgive me for my 
 wrong to Horace Parkridge, and the mischief that 
 my coquetry had wrought. Beyond that, it is 
 none of your business to know what my heart may 
 prompt me to do with regard to the dear boy. 
 But, sir " and she grew more beautiful by her 
 high resolve each instant "I here charge you 
 with his ruin. You, you put the cup to his lips 
 anew. You knew the sad story of his frailty in 
 the past, and availed yourself of it for his eternal 
 destruction, if possible. You, who could not de- 
 stroy him in battle, nor give him a position where 
 courage would win him anything but added hon- 
 or, you tempted him. I say in the presence of 
 these all, what you boasted to me in your letters 
 which came in reply to my own, like a cruel taunt. 
 You said, ' Take him, then ; I have succeeded in 
 getting his old habit grafted on the lovelorn 
 wretch once more !' " Then, turning to Deacon 
 Littlewood, the brave girl went on : " Oh, sir, to 
 think I ever should have to bring my lips to
 
 203 
 
 charge it on the man who fed them in their in- 
 fanc} r ! But I have many other things to say to 
 you at another time this is enough now. As a 
 professor of the religion which you have taught 
 in the church where you are an officer, how can 
 you longer co-operate with this man Felton in 
 the gi-eat wrong he is doing to others in this 
 community ?" 
 
 "My dear child, I can't 'low yer t' lose all these 
 fine acres," the old man began to protest. 
 
 "I am not your child, nor Senator Bosworth's 
 child." 
 
 Mr. Littlewood gasped, stammered, coughed, 
 and looked around, but made no reply. In fact, 
 Felton gave him short opportunity to reply, for 
 with an added curse, which I will not record, 
 turning to me savagely, he said : 
 
 " So, you cowardly stay-at-home, you have been 
 working out all this while your betters have been 
 engaged in nobler things ; but you will fail, Lit- 
 tlewood," flinging the explanation over his shoul- 
 der towards him without looking at him, and all 
 the while blazing at me, his hands clinched, his 
 feet bringing him by the inch nearer and nearer 
 with every word, "We have fixed that. She 
 signed the marriage deed." 
 
 "Oh, I never did never, never!" protested 
 Cynthia, stepping forward almost to meet him. 
 " You prepared a legal paper. You said, ' When 
 we are man and wife, may I be master of the 
 Bosworth place, as you will have the Littlewoods'
 
 204 
 
 property in your own right?' I replied, 'Yes; 
 when we own it, and also when we are actually 
 wed.' 'True,' you assented, 'but see how easily 
 I could put your name in here.' " 
 
 The literal and circumstantial details of this 
 history seemed to put even Colonel Felton's as- 
 surance out of countenance, and for a moment he 
 was silent, which gave me my opportunity to say: 
 
 " Forger, you have since done it ! You have 
 put her name in there, if you have any such paper." 
 
 " Look for yourselves," he cried, instantly pro- 
 ducing the deed and quickly pulling it open, while 
 he pointed to Cynthia's name in the proper blank. 
 
 "U-h-m," groaned Deacon Littlewood, exult- 
 ingly that peculiar groan which I have tried be- 
 fore to describe, and presume no language can 
 depict. " How is that ?" 
 
 We were now drawn into a knot of heads, ex- 
 cept the two white heads, Polly's and Deacon 
 Littlewood's, to study the instrument in ques- 
 tion and examine it critically. I held the lantern 
 high above them all. Felton kept the paper in 
 his clutch meanwhile. The signature was so ac- 
 curate that Mary and I were dismayed. As we 
 all started away from the fateful paper, I said to 
 Cynthia : 
 
 " That signature, if genuine, makes you a crim- 
 inal, poor girl." 
 
 " But it is not genuine," she answered, not of- 
 fended by my words, lofty and immovable in de- 
 fiance of her accuser ; " and if it is not genuine,
 
 205 
 
 as it is not, it makes him a criminal. That is 
 what you are," with a menace of her graceful 
 forefinger at him. 
 
 " Certainly," was my quiet comment. 
 
 The words had scarcely left my lips when the 
 man slipped a revolver from his breast. I knew not 
 which of us he menaced, nor did I wait to dis- 
 cover. I hope he meant me. Let it be so put on 
 paper. The most dastardly deed of a coward we 
 will not write against him. He would not have 
 shot a woman, young, lovely, and once nearly his 
 bride. I happened to be holding the huge door- 
 key in my hand, such a door-key as the lock- 
 smiths of a former generation wrought to move 
 the great bolts of heavy oaken portals. It was 
 like a hammer. I threw it with the aim that only 
 a farmer's boy ever acquires. It struck Felton's 
 hand. It was done as quick as a flash. The re- 
 volver fell and exploded as it struck the floor. 
 No one was harmed. I was on him in a moment, 
 and bore him down with a fall that shook the 
 building. 
 
 It was just then, in her wild misery, that Polly 
 Cark whirled her camphene torch, like a veritable 
 Witch of Endor, and flung it God only knows 
 why, but obedient to some wretched impulse 
 crashing and spurting inextinguishable flame 
 through the doorway of that room in the L. It 
 was her room, her grotesque den, filled with com- 
 bustible trinkets, hung with tattered lace curtains 
 and gewgaws that were food for a conflagration.
 
 206 
 
 " Fire ! fire ! Why, dan-net to dannation, th' 
 hag's set th' old pile on fire !" yelled Mr. Little- 
 wood, as he turned his back on us and began 
 scampering towards the stairway with all his 
 might.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A BUKNIXG farm-house is the most helpless 
 thino- on earth. It is left to burn. Who shall 
 
 O 
 
 help it, poor thing ? Not the trees which fling 
 their shrivelling arms and lash themselves in 
 such a passion of pity, as they resolve at length 
 to die with the roof that they have so long 
 shaded. Not the robber winds that suddenly 
 spring out of the valleys, massing from the four 
 quarters of heaven at once in the stillest land- 
 scape, whistling to each other, these mischief-lov- 
 ing winds, as they congregate, " Lo, here is 
 sport !" and then snatching the crumbling shingles 
 piecemeal, and bearing them aloft with many a 
 whirl towards the defenceless out-houses, stables, 
 and haystacks. 
 
 Help, oh, help ! But who can ? What can ? 
 Not the late flocking wild-geese journeying south- 
 ward that night to escape the winter's cold, who 
 fell into the fierce heat, with the purple doves 
 from their cot in the northwest tower. It was 
 terrible when we had escaped and stood watching 
 what no human hand could defend, as it crumbled 
 in the hot flame.and fell into its own red throat. 
 Nor could the bellowing cattle help the unhappy
 
 208 
 
 dwelling, nor the bleating sheep, nor the horses 
 that struck their hoofs in protest, neighing from 
 the stables, " Help, help !" 
 
 The farmers came tramping through the fields, 
 and one by one threw their legs over the fences, 
 each armed with his useless pail. The gables of 
 the neighboring farm-houses for four or five miles 
 away blushed in the red light, and the window- 
 sashes gleamed as if in their own conflagration. 
 There were no engines, no bells to call to neigh- 
 bors, only the faint, far-going cry of neighbor 
 after neighbor, as each, aroused from his slum- 
 bers, sprang across his threshold and cried to the 
 black night : 
 
 " Fire ! fire ! fire !" As if we did not all know 
 it. What is the use of calling like that, unless it 
 be that it is a form of prayer. 
 
 We all stood there, mute, motionless. I felt 
 the hot tears run down my cheeks. I held Mary 
 by the hand and spoke to her hoarsely : " My 
 darling, so go up in this mountain cloud of cin- 
 ders all my dreams of this home with you. I am 
 so glad now that I lingered long the night before 
 when it was in its beauty calm and glowing in 
 the moon, and made a picture forever of the old 
 dwelling on my brain." 
 
 The man Felton sat on the garden wall, his fine 
 features ugly with a smirk. The deacon was in 
 his buggy out on the drive towards the gates, de- 
 termined at least to save the beast and the vehi- 
 cle, and apparently careless of Cynthia, who
 
 209 
 
 crouched beside Mrs. Cark, about whose bony 
 shape she pityingly wrapped her own shawl. 
 We continually retreated, little by little, before 
 the increasing heat, till we were half-way to the 
 gates, when Elder Parkridge came running out to 
 meet us. 
 
 " I dared not leave her to come sooner," he 
 shouted on before him. " I fear this will be the 
 last straw to break her back. But, 'Lish, it's only 
 the L that's on fire yet. There's a brick parti- 
 tion between that part and the main dwellin'. If 
 you could save the roof from sparks now that 
 this wind is from the east it will help you to live 
 up there." 
 
 I sprang up, crying : " Thank you ; I am a dull 
 and slow fellow, but I am no craven. The lad- 
 ders, the ladders !" I yelled my appeal as I 
 leaped towards the barns. 
 
 A score of men rushed to help me. We raised 
 the ladder and I went first, as I ought. We 
 formed a line of men and women ; Mary, Cynthia, 
 the farmers' daughters and wives, even poor frail 
 Polly Cark helping to compose this line. The 
 elder stood at the fountain and dipped in the 
 pails. From hand to hand they flew, the dripping 
 pails. We men stood in our blue woollen stock- 
 ing-feet on the roof. All the boys were with me 
 there, except the hardiest and strongest, who 
 were away at the wars. It was a long fight. 
 The ghostly ligfrt of morning was visible in the 
 
 east at last, and, thank Crod and his angels, we pre- 
 14
 
 210 
 
 vailed in the end. Breathless, yet vigilant, erect 
 there upon the gable, I remember that I stood 
 watching, while catching my breath, the day as 
 it grew lighter and lighter with a sweet, pure 
 white radiance ; watching as the dull red of the 
 dying conflagration grew fainter and fainter. At 
 last the sun burst in his brightness over the moun- 
 tains. In his beams I lifted myself up, and while 
 they cheered faintly, that little band of my neigh- 
 bors, I lifted my cap and reverently said : 
 
 " My God, I thank Thee for the favoring 
 winds, for the kindly help of loving friends, and 
 for strength." 
 
 The entire main edifice was intact, but smoke- 
 grimed, cruelly injured, and most pitiable under 
 the strong light of the sun. 
 
 " The part where th' ghost lived 's a-goner, 'n' 
 th' ol' house '11 be th' sweeter fer 't," cried Farmer 
 Kipling up to me from the yard. That recalled 
 my thoughts. At length as I descended the lad- 
 der, and mingled with the group upon the grass, 
 I missed the elder and Mary. 
 
 " They have gone to the house," explained 
 Cynthia. 
 
 " That forged paper !" I whispered to her. "It is 
 all-important if we are to pursue his punishment." 
 
 "Oh, oh," exclaimed Cynthia; "but, of course, 
 it was burned." 
 
 " It fell on the floor," I ejaculated. " That 
 was this side of the doorway," and without 
 another word I strode off upon my search for it.
 
 211 
 
 As I entered the lower hall I caught a glimpse of 
 Felton on the stairs descending. He threw him- 
 self out quickly at the round window half-way 
 down. He must have seen me, for the light from 
 the open door behind me would have revealed 
 me. Evidently he thought himself concealed by 
 the murky, smoke-laden air that filled the man- 
 sion. Perhaps I imagined it his laugh of ex- 
 ultation. He had preceded me in the search. 
 Had he found the fatal paper, and, therefore, 
 laughed derisively at my defeat, or had he as- 
 sured himself that it was destroyed, and never 
 could be produced against him and the deacon ? 
 I did not then know. Groping my way up the 
 stairs, I saw at a glance the futility of all search. 
 The entire end of the structure towards the west 
 was open to the day, and the east wind was 
 sweeping up from the lower hall across the floor, 
 carrying out the smallest particles of dust into 
 the abyss of smoke and dying embers. 
 
 " Come on, yer smai't feller," Mr. Littlewood 
 was saying, as a few moments later I stepped 
 from the- door ; "yer, Colonel Felton, with all yer 
 brass buttons on, I mean. Come on, 'n' go hum 
 'th me." He had turned his vehicle round and 
 was headed towards the barns. 
 
 " Some thanks are due the men for saving our 
 property," said Felton. 
 
 "Wa'al, neow, whose property 's this ? I guess 
 we'd better settle that question fust," growled the 
 shrewd deacon.
 
 212 
 
 Felton pondered the question a moment, bit his 
 lip, threw me a look, half defiance, half fear, and 
 then got in with the old man. They turned to 
 the rear farm drive, passed the barns, and so dis- 
 appeared without the need of further meeting 
 with the groups of neighbors around the fountain. 
 
 As I approached the group of honest fellows, 
 my kind neighbors, some one proposed three 
 cheers, " 'N' may yer yet git yer own, fire and 
 fraud not countin' !" 
 
 When the cheers had ceased, I said, " Friends, 
 I'm sui'e I don't know how to thank you." I got 
 so far with my speech, when, looking casually to 
 my right, I descried Mary Holyoke running like 
 a deer out at a distant farm gate of the Parkridge 
 place. I paused to look at her. On, breathlessly 
 on, she came, till at the granite posts of our en- 
 trance she paused, put her hand to her side and 
 leaned hard by the stone for support. Others 
 had been watching all this with me. 
 
 " Somethin' happened. Th' gal's outer breath," 
 cried a boy. 
 
 "I'll go meet her. She's been workin' passin' 
 pails o' water here with the rest on us," quickly 
 echoed another. 
 
 But it was I who went to meet her, outstrip- 
 ping boys and men. "What is it, Mary?" I 
 shouted, before I had reached her. 
 
 " Oh, quick !" she gasped, pressing her heart, 
 and for the first time in her life Mary Holyoke's 
 cheeks were colorless.
 
 213 
 
 As soon as I reached her I said : " Lean on 
 me, dear heart, and walk slowly. Never mind 
 telling me the message. I know it is something 
 wrong over there. We will go and see." 
 
 But she insisted on resuming her tidings be- 
 tween her gasps. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Parkridge, we fear, is dying the 
 fire shock was enough but when Polly Cark 
 came in that was more. Polly fell on the pil- 
 low, sobbing and caressing her. The worst was 
 when the poor, imprudent, well-meaning Polly 
 moaned out that deplorable tale about Horace 
 which Felton brought us." 
 
 " Great God !" I cried to Heaven, " can you 
 forgive that in addition to all the rest of her mis- 
 chief?" 
 
 "Wait. Then Horace's mother rose up in 
 bed. With a face full of intense maternal dis- 
 tress she cried out: 'Where is Elisha Stone? 
 Call him. He promised to ' And then she fell 
 back insensible." 
 
 We went directly to the chamber of the in- 
 valid, whom we all loved so dearly. The moment 
 I entered the room Mrs. Parkridge, who had re- 
 vived, cried out to me in strong tones : 
 
 " Elisha Stone, you once solemnly promised to 
 obey me. Leave all, and go seek Horace. He is 
 in the den of lions." 
 
 " I will go," I answered, reverently, pausing at 
 the foot of the bed. " God give you ease of mind, 
 dear soul."
 
 214 
 
 " And I want you to go with him, my husband," 
 she directed, lifting her thin hands to clasp him 
 about the neck as he stood beside her bed. 
 
 The tall clergyman bent lower, yielding to her 
 caress, and kissed her; but though he did not 
 speak any dissent to her wishes, his countenance 
 indicated a protest. I came near, and she drew me 
 down, giving me at once this message for Horace: 
 
 " Tell him that his mother will not die till she 
 sees him once more. Tell him, how like the dear 
 light of heaven is the love his mother cherishes 
 for him. Tell him that no shame, no misstep and 
 its anguish, no wandering from the true and right 
 way, can ever avail against the forgiving grace 
 of God and a mother's love. As his. father will 
 be with you, he will say what only a priest of 
 Christ can say when he is a father and the sinner 
 is his only boy. But bid him return here. Here 
 is health of body and soul. Here is Cynthia yes, 
 tell him Cynthia waits, and that a mother's bless- 
 ing waits to pour itself out on their two heads." 
 
 " Dear loving heart," exclaimed Cynthia, enter- 
 ing to hear that last. And then the dark girl gave 
 me a message, quick as thought, to add to the 
 mother's, as I went my way for the erring. She 
 seemed for an instant as she opened her lips to 
 be struggling with some maidenly reserve ; but 
 then, remembering the duty she owed them all, 
 she said, quickly: 
 
 "Tell him to come quickly back here to the 
 hills. It is all sorrow without him ; it will be all
 
 215 
 
 joy with his coming. Tell him I confess my 
 wrong, and want to right it." With that she 
 broke away from us, hiding her blushing face be- 
 hind her hands .as she left the room. 
 
 " What time does the Montreal Express pass 
 south through West Village, Abner?" asked the 
 elder of Mr. Holyoke. 
 
 I saw that that settled it. In less than an hour 
 we were seated in the buckboard, with Mary to 
 drive and return the team. At the station I said 
 to Mary, 
 
 " You will see Ashael Keep ?" 
 
 " Yes, everything is left at loose ends, I know, 
 but I will do my best. Let's see," and she whipped 
 out her tablet and pencil, " See Keep. Watch the 
 next move of Littlewood and Felton," and she 
 pencilled down memoranda of conversations she 
 had heard that eventful night. 
 
 " Try to have Cynthia remain at the elder's." 
 
 "Yes, and Mrs. Cark shall she talk, or wait 
 until you return?" 
 
 " That depends on the action of our enemy." 
 
 " Have we all the money we want for the 
 journey?" asked the elder, suddenly arousing 
 himself from the lethargy of heartache. 
 
 Mary gave me a look commanding silence. I 
 only reassured him. In fact, I had the most of that 
 dear girl's wages for the school-teaching of the 
 summer in my pocket-book for this journey. She 
 had pressed it upon me. " Take it. It is for the 
 service of their son. Have they not given us a
 
 216 
 
 roof for months?" I had also the money from 
 three tons of the elder's hay, sold at the village 
 scales two weeks before. How strange it seems 
 to me to-day to write down such penury and close 
 counting of dollars in that hard time of duty, 
 but we were wretchedly poor. 
 
 " There comes the train," cried Mary. " Tele- 
 graph the first news you hear. God speed you." 
 
 We spoke no further good-byes. As the wheels 
 began to move I looked at my watch. It was 
 only ten o'clock. "The smoke of my half-burned 
 home must be about as large in volume as ever," 
 I remarked to the elder. 
 
 " It seems all a dream, so quick, so many things 
 since ten o'clock yesterday. O God ! spare her 
 life till we find him. Boy," addressing me di- 
 rectly, " when you are married, and have children, 
 you will find a strange state of things in your 
 heart. At first you love the woman you wed the 
 best of all the earth. Then the children seem about 
 as dear. As time creeps on, however, the chil- 
 dren come and go, here and there ; but the wife 
 oh, the wife, the companion heart, and the mate 
 to your own life, she is the most precious she re- 
 mains. I don't know as I ought to say so either, 
 yet I go because I love my boy, don't I ? Yes, 
 but I go mostly because I love her, and to find 
 him will bring her up from her bed of languish- 
 ing," and he hid his face behind his hands, while 
 his distress relieved itself apparently in prayer. 
 
 I telegraphed back at White River Junction,
 
 217 
 
 asking Dr. Brown to answer us at Springfield how 
 Mrs. Parkridge bad passed the day. In the gloom 
 of a rainy night I groped around that since famil- 
 iar old station until I got my reply: "She will 
 live until you find the boy." 
 
 As the train rattled on the elder would not try 
 to sleep he wished to talk so I gave up the at- 
 tempt myself, and offered what consolation a lov- 
 ing listener might. These are some of the things 
 he said : 
 
 " I would like to take Hod Parkridge on my 
 knee and spank him most to death ! Then I 
 would bury him in my heart, dear child. 
 
 " Pai'ents know that it is full as important that 
 a boy's wife be a good girl as that a daughter's 
 husband be a good man, because boys are more 
 naturally wild. If a husband wrecks your daugh- 
 ter's life, she will come home to you, and you 
 can heal her heart ; but if another woman wrecks 
 your boy's life, where will he go, following Satan? 
 
 " What pay does a fellow get in serving Satan 
 to compensate him for his mother's losing her 
 pride in him ? 
 
 " If Hod could suffer all alone, I would let him. 
 I don't know but I could stand my part of it ; but 
 when I see his mother suffering, my sorrow is just 
 doubled up, and I can't stand it. It chokes me 
 to death, because I loved his mother when she 
 w r as the fairest daughter of Eve that the sun ever 
 shone upon. 
 
 " I believe Hod's mother loves him better than
 
 218 
 
 she loves me, and I'm glad of it. She loves me as 
 she loves herself. That is the Lord's rule, and all 
 man can ask; but she loves him better than she 
 loves herself, and that is divine. 
 
 " No doubt Hod would give up his life for me, 
 but would he give up his bad habit of drink for 
 me ? It is more than life when it gets hold of a 
 fellow. Only Christ can shake off that grip of a 
 bad habit. 
 
 "I believe God loves poor Hod better than he 
 does the cool scoundrel Felton, who never drinks, 
 who says there is no God, who has never known 
 any God but self. 
 
 " I'm sure there are lots of good angels this 
 moment looking and watching over Hod, but I 
 am afraid the angels have got scared off from 
 walking around Mr. Little wood latety. Profes- 
 sions ain't possessions." 
 
 When at last he slept I watched the white- 
 haired clergyman as faithfully as he and his wife 
 had watched the night through, according to the 
 country custom, with my mother's lifeless form 
 years before.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 " Now, then, to look for a needle in a haymow," 
 sighed Elder Parkridge, wearily, as we stepped 
 from the cars in New York. Those were in the 
 old days when the trains were dragged through 
 Fourth Avenue by horses. Then the street-cars 
 took us down to the vicinity of the City Hall. 
 
 " Suppose We look for a bite of something to 
 eat first," I answered, reassuringly. We jostled 
 along among the hurrying crowd of passengers, 
 most of whom seemed going in the great city as 
 straight as a rifle-ball to its mark. 
 
 After we had broken our fast we began that 
 weary thing, a search. A search for a lost person 
 is the utmost contradiction of words. You have a 
 definite object before you, yet, in fact, you have 
 nothing before you. You think of a single face; 
 you are conscious of a sea of faces. Your tongue 
 is ever ready to exclaim, "I have found you !" 
 Your thought is ever forced to exclaim, on second 
 look of the eyes, "I do not want you." 
 
 " Have we nothing whatever to guide us, no 
 clew at all ?" asked the elder, as we walked down 
 Broadway. 
 
 "Yes, we will go down to a place called the
 
 220 
 
 Battery. That is a city park. His regiment is 
 in camp there. I do not believe that he has been 
 cashiered, as Felton calls it; that is, discharged 
 from the army." 
 
 " God forbid that ! No, no, but Felton may 
 have set such a scheme in motion." 
 
 "Then he will be under arrest there," I replied. 
 
 "But no; in that case Felton ought to be pres- 
 ent, for Horace is a major of his regiment brevet- 
 major, you know," the elder explained, and I tried 
 to review our home discussion of what brevet 
 meant. 
 
 " But he was still in command of his com- 
 pany ?" 
 
 " Yes, I understand so." Then we jogged on 
 with occasional original commands from my com- 
 panion, such as " One man is of no great account 
 amid so many, 'Lish, as are crowding along these 
 sidewalks. So would you think unless you stopped 
 to think again that the sparrows are often as thick 
 on an oat-field as the men and women are on 
 these pavements, and not one of them falls with- 
 out our Father. There ain't any home-feeling 
 about such a crowd of money-getting, pushing, 
 scrambling, flock-of-sheep-over-the-wall human- 
 ity, and they all act as if the dogs were after 
 them. Still they're human like the rest of us; I 
 count 'em as a whole all men and women. I 
 always assure myself by saying that." 
 
 He kept up this quaint moralizing to stay his 
 fainting heart, no doubt. And as we came in
 
 221 
 
 sight of the custom-house, in walking down Wall 
 Street, the elder exclaimed: "It's the same Uncle 
 Sam, our Uncle Sam," pointing to the flag with 
 his umbrella, which he insisted on carrying. 
 
 " Can you direct us to the Battery ?" I asked 
 of a policeman. The man could not literally look 
 down on one of my stature, but mentally he did. 
 I was a countryman in his eye evidently. He 
 pointed but did not otherwise direct the way. 
 Having turned about by the man's direction, we 
 trudged on. 
 
 The tremendous sti'ides of my companion at- 
 tracted the attention of the people as he walked 
 down the thoroughfare, half a pace ahead of me 
 at my best, his black satchel a swinging balance 
 in his left hand. People smiled, I observed, until 
 they noticed his noble head; the fine features, 
 the shapely brow with its fringe of white hair, 
 and the pathos in his tender eyes, which were 
 searching, searching on every side, commanded 
 respect. It was curious to study how the smart 
 city man's smile at the rustic faded into a look of 
 serious, unfeigned interest as he caught sight of 
 the old preacher's countenance. 
 
 "That is like war," he exclaimed at length, 
 as the tents of the encampment started into view 
 amid the trees and the flashes of the bay be- 
 yond. Approaching the gate, I asked the sen- 
 try: 
 
 " Can you tell us where we may find Major or 
 Captain Parkridge, of the th Vermont ?" The
 
 222 
 
 stiff guardsman rather overawed the elder. The 
 sentry made me, in fact, no reply, but turned his 
 face, rimmed by the patent-leather strap under his 
 chin, to the left, and spoke to the officer of the day. 
 This official stepped smartly towards us, and to 
 him I repeated my question. 
 
 "The th Vermont ? Why, that regiment has 
 gone back to the front; left Jersey City in the 
 other brigade yesterday. They were only here 
 for a day or two." 
 
 "To the front? It is too far," exclaimed the 
 elder, in absolute distress. "'Lish, before we can 
 get to him she will die !" He dropped his bag, 
 laid his umbrella against it, removed his tall hat, 
 and commenced rubbing his brows. 
 
 "You are distressed, sir," kindly rejoined the 
 lieutenant, as if he knew not what else to say, but 
 wished to offer some sympathy to the venerable 
 man. 
 
 "I want my boy. I'm a preacher. My wife 
 lies at the point of death, and I have come to get 
 my boy to go up on a furlough long enough to re- 
 ceive her parting blessing." 
 
 " What is his name ? Is he an officer ? If so, 
 you can undoubtedly reach him by telegram 
 easily enough." 
 
 "Horace Parkridge." 
 
 " Parkridge ?" exclaimed a brother officer, who 
 had been leisurely advancing down the company 
 street ; and, indeed, two or three others made up 
 quite a group of officers about us in a few mo-
 
 223 
 
 ments " Parkridge ? Why, that's the fellow with 
 one arm." 
 
 "No; my boy Hod had two arms when he left 
 home no, that can't be the one," replied the 
 elder, disposed to be relieved. 
 
 The officers smiled, yet a trace of pity was in 
 their smiles as one of them ventured an explan- 
 ation : " He may have had two good arms when 
 he left home, my dear sir, but many things happen 
 to us after we leave home in these days of battle 
 you know." 
 
 " Elder," I interrupted, " it would be just like 
 Horace to conceal a glorious deed by which he 
 had lost an arm. He would be the last one to tell 
 us of it, and especially to worry his mother with 
 such tidings. I am sure that is the man we want," 
 turning to the officer. 
 
 "Yes," responded the lieutenant, "the man is 
 breveted major for his fine action when he lost 
 his arm. I say but you informed me that you 
 were a clergyman. Step this way, you, friend of 
 the minister," and he approached me. Then, in a 
 by-talk, he asked: "Was the major always just 
 right ? I don't want to unnecessarily pain his 
 father, but this Major Parkridge that I have in 
 mind is down here on a furlough, and is he's 
 the best fellow in the world, as brave as a lion, 
 but is a bit given to crooking his elbow, eh ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid that is he," I replied, soberly. 
 
 "He was in camp here not more than an hour 
 ago, and, I think, even then under the influence
 
 224 
 
 of liquor," replied the lieutenant. "You'll find 
 him," and again he lowered his tone, "at Fore- 
 kyte's. Do you know Foreky te's ?" 
 
 " Of course I don't, sir." 
 
 " Exactly. You are from the country. So am 
 I; but, unfortunately, since I have been stationed 
 within reach of it, I have learned to know Fore- 
 kyte's with many another unlucky officer. It is a 
 
 place on Street, where army officers break 
 
 over rules ; but I doubt if you can get in there," 
 and as he said this his voice was raised sufficient- 
 ly for the elder to hear. 
 
 " What is that?" he demanded, eagerly. " Got 
 trace of him ? Got track of him ? Know where he 
 is and we can't get to him ? I would like to see a 
 place I couldn't follow my boy into that is, in 
 this world, I mean." And he replaced his hat, 
 lifted his umbrella in one hand and his satchel in 
 the other, wide apart, and then brought them to- 
 gether in front of him with a resounding whack. 
 
 " If you happen to have any bottles of medicine 
 in that bag of yours, elder," laughed one of the 
 lieutenants, "your collars and cuffs will smell of 
 liniment after such another blow as that." 
 
 But the troubled gentleman was too serious for 
 the slightest response to pleasantry. "Tell me 
 tell Mr. Elisha Stone, his life-long friend," he 
 continued, " and me, his father, where is Captain, 
 or Major, Horace Parkridge ? There are no doors 
 that can withstand us two if we put our shoulders 
 against them."
 
 225 
 
 But the reply was not forthcoming. After a 
 brief consultation among the officers, in which I 
 caught the words, " Only get his head broken 
 high-steppers, full of liquor and high play " at 
 length one of them gave us the direction to Fore- 
 kyte's Hotel, and we started once more on our 
 search. We wandered considerably, but at length 
 we arrived in front of that once famous hostelry 
 
 in Street, the elder remarking, as we stood 
 
 gazing up into the great windows: 
 
 "Now, those arm-chairs up there behind that 
 wide glass are full of blue-coats, and Horace would 
 be mortified to death if I came in after him as if 
 he were a truant school-boy. 'Lish, you go in, and 
 tell him I'm out here waitin' for him." 
 
 " Mr. Parkridge," I replied, " we have reason 
 to fear that your son has forgotten somewhat, 
 temporarily, at least, his self-respect, or he would 
 not be lounging around in a place of that du- 
 bious character. You may as well go in with 
 me." 
 
 "It is dreadful to think on my son, once so 
 clean, so true, who would have put his duty be- 
 fore any play, and especially play in a place that 
 brought a smirch upon his good name. It is the 
 great city that does it, that ruins the boys, and 
 yet it is not the city. A man ruins himself, 
 wherever he is ruined. But I feel none the less 
 as if I should drop to the earth, to think that 
 those officers back there had to be ashamed to 
 tell us where my boy was loungiri' away his time 
 
 15
 
 226 
 
 on a furlough. But come on. I will have him !" 
 
 o 
 
 And he uttered the last with a tone of tremendous 
 resolution, as if all his soul was rallied to the de- 
 termination. 
 
 "Don't unnecessarily give yourself away now," 
 I warned him. " You must not go in there with 
 the purpose of preaching any sermon." 
 
 "Let go my sleeve," he answered. "It was 
 only a moment ago that you were beggin' me to 
 come, and now I am ready to go in. Let go ! I 
 need no caution. I know my duty. I will thunder 
 the whole place down. I would like to take my 
 stand by one of those billiard-tables and proclaim 
 the everlasting " 
 
 "Now, see here, elder, that won't do. You 
 must go in quietly, say nothing to anybody ex- 
 cept our boy, if we find him. If he is there we 
 shall not have to wait for him ; he will discover us 
 almost as soon as we open the door, and he will 
 come straight for us." 
 
 " Unless, oh, unless he is not himself. If I find 
 him under the influence of the prince of the pow- 
 er of the air, I shall certainly bear my testimony 
 against this Sodom and Gomorrah combined. It 
 is no use to dissuade me, and you and I are not 
 afraid of any Belials who snare young men to 
 their ruin, if they march on us like the Amale- 
 kites in battle array." 
 
 "No, no, not afraid, but it will do no good 
 your preaching in there." I had to pass these 
 words over the good man's shoulder as he now
 
 227 
 
 pushed open the red leather doors before him and 
 strode into the gaudy bar-room. 
 
 "Stand here a minute and look the landscape 
 o'er," whispered the elder. " Here's more'n a 
 hundred fair young men, most of them weai'in' 
 their country's shoulder-straps, wastin' their time 
 guzzlin' liquors, and leanin' over them foolish 
 tables, and lookin' on to see other fellows waste 
 their time rollin' them balls about." 
 
 He went on in this vein of reflection and de- 
 scription of the place, which my own eyes could 
 see for themselves, for a moment or two, when 
 he was promptly interrupted by a waiter, who 
 stepped in front of us swinging his hands and 
 saying : 
 
 "Seats for refreshments in the next saloon, 
 through the door, gentlemen." 
 
 "My young friend, see here," quickly respond- 
 ed the elder, bringing his huge hand down in a 
 fatherly way on the waiter's shoulder; "see here, 
 don't be in a hurry. I want to speak with you. 
 We don't want any refreshments, and probably 
 you don't want any of my moralizing. What we 
 want, however, is my son, Captain, Major Hor- 
 ace Parkridge, of the th Vermont Regiment, 
 United States Volunteers. If you are the pro- 
 prietor, or his son, now, perhaps, which is more 
 likely, being so young evidently, you probably 
 know Horace, for unfortunately he would be very 
 familiar, and get acquainted with the proprietor 
 of any tavern where he was stopping right off.
 
 228 
 
 Everybody likes him, and he makes friends. Do 
 you know him !" 
 
 "Your hand's heavy, old boy," protested the 
 waiter, and his smile of derision had begun to 
 give way to an angry growl through his white 
 lips before the elder's explanation was half fin- 
 ished. "Let up on me, and go and get your 
 drinks, if you want any." 
 
 "Old boy, do you say!" exclaimed the elder. 
 " That's what you call a clergyman in New York, 
 is it ?" 
 
 " Clergyman ! You are a clergyman, are you ? 
 A clergyman from up country, I suppose. You 
 object because I called you old boy ? Excuse me, 
 but I would rather see the old boy than a minis- 
 ter. Let go of me. Let go of my shoulder !" he 
 bawled out. 
 
 "Elder, see, every head in the room will be 
 turned towards us in a moment. We must cer- 
 tainly avoid a disturbance. We don't want them 
 all eying us." 
 
 "Yes, let 'em, let 'em look this way," he said, 
 lifting his fine countenance, and raising his hat, 
 " then I can see if the face that I love best is here 
 among them all." The clear ringing voice that 
 could sway a camp-meeting sounded like a trum- 
 pet-call through the rooms. Perhaps, after all, it 
 was about as appropriate an assault as two unso- 
 phisticated persons like ourselves, and one of 
 them a clergyman, could make on such a place. 
 Perhaps there was more method in this mad nat-
 
 229 
 
 uralness of my companion than I at first sup- 
 posed. At any rate, he made no attempt what- 
 ever to use any caution, but spoke and acted as 
 he would in any assembly of our country village 
 where he was universally revered. Unoccupied 
 men pushed back their chairs and crowded tow- 
 ards us. The smoking spectators of the various 
 billiard matches, who filled the long luxurious 
 leather benches on either side of the room, saw 
 the prospect of something more exciting than a 
 lazy game between amateurs. They began to 
 muster around us. 
 
 " Be careful, gentlemen. Remember the neces- 
 sary quiet of a gentlemen's club, especially of 
 army officers." It was the quick, sharp tones of 
 the head-waiter, the major-dorno, as he dropped 
 down into the midst of us from somewhere. 
 " What's the matter, Augustus?" addressing the 
 waiter whom we had encountered first. "What's 
 the country gentleman hanging on your shoulder 
 for ?" 
 
 " I let go promptly," the elder volunteered ; 
 " I just wanted to detain him for a moment as 
 being a representative of the establishment, and 
 I wanted to question somebody." 
 
 " Curse you !" growled the waiter called Augus- 
 tus, squirming loose, and smoothing his ruffled 
 linen over his shoulder, and then he flung another 
 oath at the clergyman. 
 
 " Fined for that," promptly noted major-domo ; 
 " swearing at customers now," and he whipped
 
 230 
 
 out a note-book, on which he evidently recorded 
 the incivility of the unfortunate Augustus. 
 
 " I'll lose my posish for the sake of swearing at 
 that Yankee country priest," angrily continued 
 Augustus, and he began to indulge again his pro- 
 fanity. 
 
 " Discharged," coolly added Mr. Major-domo, 
 writing on another leaf of his book, which he 
 tore off and thrust into Augustus's face. 
 
 " Why, then, I may as well punch him, too," 
 yelled Augustus, livid with rage, as he sprang tow- 
 ards the elder. 
 
 " Oh, my poor deluded brother in Adam," ex- 
 claimed the elder, as he caught Augustus's wrist 
 in that tremendous clasp of his brown and bony 
 fingers. " No, 'Lish," he said, throwing the words 
 to me, " I can manage him. All right, gentle- 
 men. Heaven forgive the boy ; he cannot hurt 
 me," and Mr. Parkridge held the fellow in such a 
 vise that the next moment he fairly yelled for 
 mercy. 
 
 " Hurrah, hurrah, for the countryman !" burst 
 from a dozen lips, most of whom had not under- 
 stood the clerical character of my companion as 
 yet. 
 
 " What in perdition is all this about ?" That 
 is the way I write it. Perdition was not the 
 word used by the sleek proprietor, who, alarmed 
 by the sound of the cheers, now pushed his swell- 
 ing way in among us. 
 
 " I want my boy. Is this Mr. Forekyte ? My
 
 231 
 
 name is Parkridge, from Northbrook, Vermont. 
 I am a preacher. This is Mr. Elisha Stone, one 
 of my most respected neighbors, and the true and 
 loyal friend of my dear boy Hod. Hod, I am 
 afraid, sir, is stoppin' a few days at your tavern 
 here." 
 
 " My tavern ! This is a rendezvous for army 
 officers, my friend. You are afraid, you say, that 
 your boy is a guest here. Afraid of what, rev- 
 erend, sir ?" 
 
 " Well, now, we will not discuss that. I will 
 skip the word, if you don't like it; and, if you 
 don't mind, without further interruption for I 
 don't like attention over much I'll commence to 
 stir round and see if I can't find Hod in some of 
 these rooms." 
 
 "No, "replied Forekyte, stepping in front of 
 us, " you will neither discuss nor will you look 
 about. You will give us your room rather than 
 your company. That's what you'll do, my cleri- 
 cal friend. My guests don't come here for 
 preaching, nor to meet clergymen who are all 
 well enough, I suppose, if they only keep in their 
 place." He said this with a broad grin flung out 
 over his flabby roll of neck fat at the crowd. 
 But, to his surprise, evidently his feeble attempts 
 at ridicule did not meet with a ready response 
 among the men who were standing amid his glit- 
 ter, especially as they saw at nearer view the ven- 
 erable white head in the centre of their muster. 
 
 " I will not inflict any more of an old father's
 
 232 
 
 kind words on you, boys," the elder resumed, pa- 
 thetically. His eyes ignored wholly the bluster- 
 ing Forekyte, but rested with a caressing gaze 
 upon the group of officers now so close about 
 him. Then he suddenly caught the nearest youth- 
 ful captain by the arm, and asked, abruptly, 
 
 " You, now, my lad, where are you from ? 
 Where's your home ?" 
 
 " From Maine, sir," answered the officer, with 
 the utmost respect. 
 
 "And you, now?" grasping another, with the 
 same blunt question. 
 
 " I'm from New Hampshire, elder ?" answered 
 the young fellow, who happened to be a lieuten- 
 ant of the th from that State. 
 
 " I thought so up-country blood ; and I pre- 
 sume it is true with most of you. God bless 
 you, boys, every one ! You look like good, sen- 
 sible fellows enough, only you've got into a bad 
 place in the great city. That's what your father 
 would say up in Maine. And your mother on 
 the granite hills, my lad, is probably thinking 
 about sitting down when Saturday night's sun 
 has sunk a little lower, and your father has 
 brought in the milkin', and writin' you a dear 
 good letter. Well, God bless her letter to you. 
 Don't stay here, my dear children, I could al- 
 most call you." 
 
 " Now, see here, you venerable owl," bawled 
 Forekyte, with savage interruption, quite forget- 
 ting his usual skill in managing his place, " you
 
 233 
 
 can just step outside these doors and drop all the 
 tears you want; but you can't stay whining in 
 here, where men come to be happy and forget the 
 Avoes of life." 
 
 " Take that back, Forekyte, or I'll choke you 
 worse than your ewn fat neck !" It was a lieu- 
 tenant-colonel from Lamoile County, in our own 
 State, as I afterwards found out, who threw his 
 hot protest into the proprietor's face, as he pushed 
 his way in front of him menacingly. 
 
 At that moment a bell tinkled sharply, and in- 
 stantly three or four burly fellows seemed to come 
 up out of the floor, or step from the wall, or drop 
 from the ceiling. I did not know from whence 
 they came, but there they were, advancing on us, 
 clubs in hand, though they did nor wear the uni- 
 form of policemen. 
 
 " Make way here," commanded one of these 
 men, just behind me. 
 
 " No you don't, my hearty," I answered him, 
 as I still kept in the way of his advance. " No 
 man must lay a finger on that harmless old gen- 
 tleman while I live." 
 
 " You ox-driver," groAvled the fellow, in a low 
 tone, and lifted his club. I could not wait for the 
 club to descend, of course, that would not have 
 been prudent. I regret the blow that I gave him. 
 It was unnecessarily heavy. He was too much 
 swollen with beer-drinking to need so hard a blow 
 for doubling him together. 
 
 " 'Lish, dear child," protested the elder, moving
 
 234 
 
 towards me, his long arras parting the throng with 
 a gesture such as one makes in swimming, "don't 
 strike any one. God forbid. Push them one side, 
 this way," and he renewed the swinging motion 
 of his tremendous arms. " Remember that they 
 that take the sword shall perish by the sword." 
 
 "But these are the clubs of rowdies, poor gen- 
 tleman," exclaimed one of the officers. "There 
 must, however, be no more of this violence, Fore- 
 kyte. Come, boys, left dress and hollow square 
 around the clergyman and his adjutant." 
 
 A dozen uniforms made such a solid wall about 
 us in the next moment that Forekyte had an op- 
 portunity to collect his wits, as he saw the im- 
 possibility of reaching the disturbers. Smiling 
 as if he would make the best of the situation, he 
 cried : 
 
 " Hands off, all ; silence ! we'll have the patrol 
 in here in a second more if you don't hush. Now, 
 reverend gentleman, what is it that you really 
 want ? Excuse me. I probably did not under- 
 stand your errand. I don't want any sermons., 
 but anything that you want, why, get it and go 
 quietly, won't you ? I offer you my apology." 
 
 "I want," replied the elder, straightening up, 
 as he still held my hand as a precautionary meas- 
 ure in his own ; he began in that same camp- 
 meeting tone, clear and ringing : " I want my 
 boy, Horace Parkridge. Is he here ? Horace, 
 my dear son ?" 
 
 The voice was raised to its highest pitch, and
 
 235 
 
 given its full compass. It echoed through the 
 long rooms and up the brass-carpeted stairways, 
 helped on by a hush to which all contributed, and 
 which fell over not only those in our immediate 
 apartment, but evidently far down the suite of 
 rooms among the confusion of mirrors, " Horace, 
 my dear son !" 
 
 Scarcely had the words left his lips before there 
 came back : " Father !" 
 
 "There, at the head of the stairs," answered the 
 elder, stretching out his arms over lesser men's 
 heads, while a look, the like of which I have seen 
 given to some colossal divinity in marble, gleamed 
 in the old man's yearning face. 
 
 "Make way, gentlemen," some one cried, and 
 the throng parted in a lane. As Horace descend- 
 ed the stairs his emotion sobered him somewhat 
 and gave him the command of his footsteps. His 
 tangled legs grew straighter by the instant as he 
 dropped along down by the help of the banister, 
 and when he touched the sawdust-sprinkled floor 
 where we stood he walked erect, quickly advan- 
 cing over the hundred feet or so that separated him 
 from his father's embrace. 
 
 " God forgive me, father, what's the matter ?" 
 he cried, as he yielded his one hand. " And 
 'Lish !" and he moved the stump of an arm yet 
 bandaged in an empty sleeve to indicate that he 
 could not give me the other hand. 
 
 "Mother's dying, Hod !" and the elder, appar- 
 ently oblivious of us all, at any rate with a natu-
 
 236 
 
 ralness which melted us all, bent down and kissed 
 his son's scarlet forehead as if he had been a 
 school-boy running into the home door-yard after 
 a truancy. 
 
 " O God, have mercy on her and on me ! Is 
 there no time, no hope ?" The broken voice, qua- 
 vering with unspeakable emotion, the handsome 
 face written over with such agony, the one hand 
 left him put up on his father's shoulder, and the 
 remnant of the other arm laid upon the preach- 
 er's broad breast and across his patriarchal beard 
 of white, the wayward boy hid his face in his fa- 
 ther's clasp. It was all done so quickly, and I 
 think the crowd must have been made up of 
 home-loving, home-sick, up-country soldiers, near- 
 ly every one ; for the spectacle swept a tender- 
 ness over us like a bit of April weather, and ev- 
 ery fellow's cheeks were wet in no time. There 
 was not a click of a billiard-ball to be heard. 
 
 "By George !" I overheard the Lamoile Coun- 
 ty colonel say, as he moved by me to hide his 
 emotion, " a fellow never has but one mother. I 
 hope they'll get right off./' 
 
 " Father, let's go at once." 
 
 "The three - o'clock "New England," some one 
 shouted out. 
 
 I record an actual fact. Forekyte himself 
 touched a bell, and respectfully said : " There's a 
 carriage at the door, reverend sir, at your dis- 
 posal. You have an hour easily. But if you 
 will won't you eat something first ?"
 
 " No, father," protested Horace. " Thank you, 
 Forekyte. Come, 'Lish,I have a month's furlough 
 on account of this," holding up his arm. " There's 
 no reason why we shouldn't get right off. Boys," 
 turning to his brother officers, " I'll not forget 
 any man who is in this crowd as soon as I get 
 back to the army. If I can ever do you a ser- 
 vice " 
 
 " That's all right," they answered, in a score of 
 voices. 
 
 "Don't waste any more time on us, major," 
 urged some one. 
 
 " Hurrah for Major Parkridge, of the th Ver- 
 mont !" cried another. But there were no cheers. 
 
 "I would just like to say a word to you, boys," 
 resumed the elder, one arm half around Horace's 
 neck, and the other lifted as if he held blessings 
 to shower on us as his closed fist was opened into 
 five branching fingers. " 'T'aint more 'n once in 
 a lifetime that a preacher has such a chance as 
 this. No doubt your chaplains give you lots of 
 sermons." Some of the men smiled at this, I no- 
 ticed. "But mine is lik.e a loaf of brown -bread 
 just baked in the old home oven. Now, listen to 
 me, boys : get out of this. Excuse me, Mr. Pro- 
 prietor, but you get out of this, too. Boys, you're 
 away from home on an errand fit for angels. 
 We're praying for you, night and morning and 
 noon, up among the hills. May the power of the 
 Most High have you all in his precious keeping ! 
 If you were my own dear children, I couldn't
 
 238 
 
 mean it more'n I do now. Come, let's shake 
 hands. Good-bye." 
 
 Reverently, with many a word of blessing, 
 man after man of that company came up and 
 grasped that old clergyman's extended palm. 
 
 "You're a good man, sir. If the world only 
 had more of such Christians we would all fall 
 in," said one. 
 
 " I'm not ashamed to ask you to remember me 
 in your prayers," said another, as he passed. 
 "But don't you think us all little devils ; we are 
 riot so bad as we seem. We know a Christian 
 when we see him, which is not too often." 
 
 " Come, father," groaned Horace ; " you said 
 she was dying." 
 
 "Yes, yes, my son ; but she says she will live 
 until she sees you again. Yet we mustn't tempt 
 kind Providence by missing that train." 
 
 In the carriage Horace utterly broke down 
 with his sense of shame. 
 
 "You mustn't take on so," his father contin- 
 ually reassured him. " God is good. You can 
 be a man yet ; and Cynthia sent word What 
 was it, 'Lish?" 
 
 I began to tell the major the message that the 
 girl had sent, but he stopped his ears. Then he 
 begged me to go on again, and when I had fin- 
 ished my piecemeal narrative we were well on 
 towards the station. Weak with his wound, and, 
 I could also see, broken with the effect of some 
 days of evil-doing, he gave us deep solicitude by
 
 239 
 
 the time the carriage stopped. I was not pre- 
 pared, however, after I had returned with tick- 
 ets, to hear him say calmly words which better 
 befitted a mind unhinged : 
 
 "Father, take them my love to my mother 
 and to Cynthia. Ask them to forgive me every- 
 body in the old village and forget me, for I can- 
 not endure the shame. I cannot go home. My 
 life must end at once on the battlefield, if I can 
 by searching find an honorable death there." 
 
 We stood facing each other on the platform. 
 
 " 'Lish " with great solemnity the elder ad- 
 dressed me, and yet it had all the authority of a 
 command ; he dropped again that gripsack to 
 the platform, and laid his umbrella deliberately 
 through the handle '"Lish, grasp him !" and he 
 once more swung those long arms, this time mak- 
 ing a shackle about his son's body. 
 
 "Father, don't force me to resist you!" pro- 
 tested Horace. 
 
 "Xo ; you needn't resist if you don't want to," 
 replied the elder. " But, resist or not, it don't 
 make any difference, my boy; you're goin' home, 
 if I can take you." 
 
 It would have been no less than a struggle 
 amounting to assault if Horace had carried out 
 his purpose to resist his father. He yielded. In 
 fact, broken in spirit and in body, he was more 
 like a child than a man. In a few minutes more 
 the train was carrying us away towards the fond 
 old hills of Yankeeland.
 
 340 
 
 Of the soothing ministry which that good priest 
 of high heaven lavished upon his own son all the 
 journey through I cannot write it would take an 
 inspired pen. It was old, yet ever new ; and there 
 is a power in the ancient faith that that good 
 man preached to cure a soul wounded to the 
 death. Of that I am sure. Of that this young 
 scapegrace stood a living proof.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IT was the sunny afternoon of an Indian-sum- 
 mer day when we were met by Mary Holyoke 
 in West Village. What a soft frame of mind 
 Nature seems to fall into in a Vermont Indian 
 summer of the late autumn ! 
 
 "Is she yet living?" was the first question that 
 fell from Horace's lips, and he was' the first to 
 speak. 
 
 "Yes ; and may revive, the doctor says, if her 
 mind can be brought to help her body. He is 
 sure that there is something troubling her that 
 has brought on this attack of prostration." It 
 was the depot - keeper, good neighbor, who said 
 this, significantly eying Horace. 
 
 The glory of that autumn air could not avail 
 to stimulate our anxious hearts to further speech. 
 For the most part we crawled up those rugged 
 hill-sides in silence. An hour later Horace ex- 
 claimed again : 
 
 " Here are my feet once more on the old door- 
 step, father. I am very thankful. Only your 
 healing faith'could have brought this all about. 
 I never meant to have walked under the branches 
 of these maples again." 
 
 16
 
 242 
 
 The change that had come over him in self- 
 possession, in calmness of spirit, and, indeed, in 
 physical strength, was refreshing to us who had 
 seen him prostrated in New York. He was still 
 evidently suffering much pain from his arm. 
 
 "That is about the way some of the Virginia 
 ruins look," continued Hod, pointing to the Bos- 
 worth place, from which a laggard wreath of 
 smoke still occasionally arose from the confla- 
 gration of a few days before. 
 
 "Never mind, children," said Mr. Holyoke, hob- 
 bling along upon his staff to greet us ; " there's 
 good news afore you. You'll hev it yet, 'Lish ; 
 and you and Mary '11 soon build a nest again 
 among those ruins, if Polly Cark does her duty." 
 
 "Polly is here? didn't run away, the wild 
 creetur?" asked the elder. 
 
 "She's been here every hour since you left, 
 faithfully at your wife's side." 
 
 " How do you do, Horace ? Welcome home !" 
 Cynthia said it as she stepped forward from the 
 sitting-room. 
 
 "Cynthia Littlewood !" exclaimed Horace; and 
 for a moment, as they grasped hands, they looked 
 in each other's faces, and then he led her at once 
 back into the sitting-room, closing the door behind 
 him. 
 
 "Ah, well!" sighed the elder, as, with a blank 
 look of disappointment, he saw his son depart 
 through that door rather than the door into his 
 mother's chamber, " young love ain't old love ;
 
 243 
 
 but he knows his mother is better, and after we 
 old folks are gone the young love may keep him 
 while the old is but a memory." 
 
 Then he threw off his own coat and walked into 
 the chamber of the invalid. 
 
 "Can we go in at once and see mother?" in- 
 quired Horace, reappearing but a few moments 
 later. 
 
 "It's all right, my dear, I guess," whispered 
 Mary Holyoke to the flushing Cynthia, as she 
 flew like a bird to her side. "Settled so soon 
 as that?" 
 
 " It must be all right, that which bid fair to 
 cause years of agony. We simply said, ' For- 
 give.' ' I forgive,' " was Cynthia's whispered re- 
 ply. My heart gave a jump as I overheard it. 
 
 And then Mary's " So glad," as we all moved 
 towards the invalid's chamber. 
 
 " We mustn't all go in," I protested. 
 
 "Indeed we may," cried Mary; "she is going 
 to get well. Polly Cark has cured her; Polly 
 and your telegram from New York. These have 
 cured her." 
 
 " Polly Cark ! What has she done ?" 
 
 " Wait and see or hear. Remember, it is a 
 miracle, in a few days." 
 
 Horace opened the door. His mother was sit- 
 ting up in the^bed to receive him. 
 
 " Mother dear !" 
 
 " My dear child ! God is good and true." And 
 the two were folded in each other's embrace.
 
 244 
 
 Horace then knelt at the bedside; with her 
 transparent hands on his dark hair, she said : 
 
 " O Saviour of mankind !" her voice was so 
 clear that we all wondered at its cadences "save 
 him ever, as thou hast thus far !" 
 
 I remember how the glory of the dying day 
 fell through that west window -sash upon the 
 white head and the brown, and the old clock that 
 months before had struck a parting hour now 
 struck the hour of greeting. Then, lifting her- 
 self up with astonishing strength, Mrs. Parkridge 
 said : 
 
 " Polly, my own sister, bring your own daugh- 
 ter here. Let us give our own children our bless- 
 ing." 
 
 I relate these astounding revelations, so abrupt- 
 ly made, in the exact order of their occurrence, 
 and without any attempt at embellishment, for I 
 am no artist. At that word Polly Cark ran to 
 Cynthia, and as Cynthia put out her arms in sur- 
 prise or defence against her assault, or yet, pos- 
 sibly, to prevent the little woman's sinking to the 
 floor, Polly cried, with an exceeding pathos : 
 
 "My own child, Cynthia Cark !" 
 
 Cynthia did not speak ; I believe she could 
 not if she had tried. 
 
 " Horace, she will fall, too," I warned him. 
 But the boy's one arm was of small avail to sup- 
 port the girl, and I was glad I had two good 
 arms to help my old house-keeper to a chair. 
 Cynthia, pale as none of us ever saw her, turned
 
 245 
 
 to her lover and fell upon his shoulder in a pas- 
 sion of weeping, that refuge of women. I swow, 
 I thought she would cry herself to death ! But 
 Hod held her hard, and said, at length, 
 
 "You have not kissed your mother." And 
 with that he led Cynthia over to Mrs. Cark's 
 chair. 
 
 " Are you indeed my mother ?" asked the beau- 
 tiful girl, still clinging to Horace's shoulder with 
 one hand, while she slowly put out the other till 
 at length it ventured to stroke the thin gray 
 locks of Polly's bowed head. " How strange, 
 when one has never had that filial love, to try 
 to awake it ! If I cannot love you as I ought, my 
 mother, God help me, I will at least try," and she 
 stooped down to kiss Polly's brow. Still she 
 clung to her lover. 
 
 " Don't reprove her," the elder began ; " poor 
 Polly has suffered enough, God knows." The 
 man's tones trembled till he could hardly pour 
 the message from his heart. 
 
 "My dear," the elder continued, addressing his 
 wife, "can you endure more excitement? Shall 
 I explain to these young people?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, let us do right now. All this comes 
 from the worship of money, and from the mis- 
 taken rule of doing wrong that good might come 
 of it. And God will now forgive us." Mrs. Park- 
 ridge spoke with difficulty, and 3 T et persisted, in 
 spite of her exhaustion, in finishing her comment. 
 
 "You see, children," the elder resumed, "when,
 
 246 
 
 years ago, Samuel Cark, honest man, your father, 
 Cynthia, failed to come back from a whaling voy- 
 age he was lost at sea we got Polly a place as 
 house-keeper for the Senator. Mother was glad 
 to do that for her own sister. Your birth took 
 place under this roof of ours, and Polly left you 
 here, Cynthia, a babe of a few weeks, to go work 
 at the Senator's. That was the time the hard rich 
 man was quarrelling with his last wife. Mrs. 
 Bosworth's child was born then, and for a week 
 or two the little new-comer seemed to have some 
 hold on the hard old man, but he was too far 
 crazed with dissipation, and the soul within him 
 was eaten out by his high life, and he never 
 was himself long. That baby died. Polly, poor 
 soul" 
 
 " Out of pity for the sick lady," exclaimed Pol- 
 ly. " She was sure that her baby was her only 
 hold on her husband and her home. Make sure 
 that was my first motive." 
 
 "Yes," resumed the elder, accepting the inter- 
 ruption, "out of pity, I believe, Polly came over 
 and got you, Cynthia, her own baby, and put you 
 in the poor lady's arms in place of the dead 
 child." 
 
 " And when it was once done, it was done !" 
 excitedly Polly shot the words out. "It was a 
 lie ; it was a crime. Oh, what falsehood we had 
 to use! We buried the dead child secretly 
 just to think of it, going to the cemetery alone ! 
 But Mrs. Laura, that was the Senator's wife was
 
 247 
 
 mistaken in her expectations. Nothing could con- 
 trol him long in those bad days, when he was go- 
 ing to pieces. In his next fury he expelled her 
 into the night, and he insisted oh, what a night 
 of horrors it was ! that the baby, that is you, 
 my precious child, should be bundled after its 
 mother. As he said, ' Put it into the chest and 
 take it after her !' I could not believe he meant it. 
 I was sure Mrs. Bosworth would be recalled in a 
 few days, with you." 
 
 " You were nearly crazed !" Mrs. Parkridge of- 
 fered, in palliation, from her pillow. 
 
 " Yes ; no one here knew what I had done till 
 days had passed," resumed Polly, snatching at 
 the narrative. "But that chest went out of the 
 mansion with the lid propped, so that you could 
 breathe, my baby ; and once we were in the old 
 shay I took you out and held you in my arms, 
 and at the almshouse I gave you carefully into 
 the nurse's arms, though I left the wooden chest. 
 Peleg knows this much, for he drove the shay. 
 I was tender and careful with my own baby that 
 wicked night when I parted with her." 
 
 "And when we were informed," interrupted 
 the elder, " you flew into such a state of mind 
 relating it ; we feared for your brain as you told 
 to us what you had done, but we, too, burdened 
 our souls with your secret, for which, perhaps, 
 God has punished us. But we watched the child 
 till Deacon Littlewood's wife adopted it. In- 
 deed, we actually persuaded her to take it to her
 
 248 
 
 home. Then we were more at ease, because we 
 thought of the deacon's wealth and Polly's pov- 
 erty. May God forgive us if we thought too 
 much of the money." And as his eyes rested 
 upon Polly, he seemed giving utterance to her 
 thoughts and plannings rather than his own, 
 though he was too generous to charge it upon 
 her. 
 
 "But I knew a lie would never prosper, and 
 urged it day by day," whispered Mrs. Parkridge. 
 " I knew it wasn't the way to do evil that good 
 might come. I yielded for my own sister's sake, 
 but only day by day, as it were. I feared the 
 righteous Ruler of all things would have his way. 
 Indeed, I ought to say, I hoped He would, and I 
 claimed at least the right to defend my own son 
 from getting into this cobweb of Satan." 
 
 " Which your righteous God overruled, mother 
 dear," Horace could not help saying, with a fond 
 glance into Cynthia's eyes. Then after a little of 
 that silence, which the utmost astonishment often 
 imposes, I ventured to ask : 
 
 " You, Polly Cark, told all this in exact truth- 
 fulness to the singer and Deacon Littlewood when 
 you thought Cynthia was about to marry Fel- 
 ton ?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "I wanted to prevent 
 any more wrong being done to you, in this in- 
 stance." 
 
 " Oh, but they ha.d gone too far," I remarked, 
 thinking aloud.
 
 249 
 
 " Certainly, and they are more guilty than yet 
 appears," answered Mrs. Parkridge. 
 
 " You, Elisha Stone," the elder took up her sen- 
 tence, "are Senator Bosworth's child, the child of 
 the wife who followed him here from the South, 
 and died at his gate. She was a Creole from New 
 Orleans." 
 
 As the silence of a deeper astonishment hushed 
 us all once more, I thus took my place with Cyn- 
 thia in that small company among earth's mill- 
 ions, who have the strangest of mortal experi- 
 ences, the discovery of parents. I could not 
 make any comment. I stood dumb !- The old 
 Senator, then, was my father, the very relation 
 which I once was so thankful was not mine. 
 
 "You are to thank Ashael Keep, the lawyer," 
 resumed the elder, " for the full proof of all this. 
 He came here almost as soon as Horace left for 
 the war. Had it not been for mother's nerves 
 she said it would kill her to have all this old mat- 
 ter about Polly spread over the hill-sides among 
 our neighbors we should have told you what we 
 were doing in the meanwhile." 
 
 " But I protested that I was ready to die, if 
 need be, that my duty might be done," with some 
 excitement Mrs. Parkridge urged it. "When 
 you, dear Elisha, paid your money for the place, I 
 should have spoken had I the proof that you were 
 the proper heir. Then, however, I only had the 
 bare idea. When the singer and Mr. Littlewood 
 wronged you, and then when, later on, you were
 
 250 
 
 hurt so in the woods, I said if you ever recovered 
 I would sell the clothing from my back, provided 
 we could not otherwise afford the expense, to fer- 
 ret out the proof of what I have now told you. 
 The wool money of this fall finally paid Ashael 
 Keep's expenses in his investigation. He went 
 West and hunted up the proof from the doctor's 
 son, whose dissipated life has since come to its 
 end. That Nashua doctor knew of the will I 
 mean the Senator's aged brother." 
 
 At this juncture good Dr. Brown stole into the 
 room. With a quick eye he searched us all, from 
 the patient to the latest talkative intruder. With 
 uplifted hands he said : 
 
 " Now you must go out, all of you. Shoo, shoo ! 
 She looks brighter. She will recover ; but you 
 must be careful. Go out. Horace, how is this ?" 
 and he took the arm which Cynthia was clinging 
 to, while he gave the half empty other sleeve a 
 professional tap of inquiry with his forefinger. 
 
 We obeyed the physician's injunction, while 
 Horace gave him some scanty narrative of the 
 brave deed by which he had lost his arm. As 
 soon as we were congi'egated in the great sitting- 
 room, and the doctor's inquiries were ended, I 
 said : 
 
 " Now, then, we must act with despatch. Send 
 for Keep. I do not care so much for my own 
 rights even however gratefully I acknowledge 
 my debt to a kind overruling Providence that I 
 am likely to get my home again as I care for
 
 251 
 
 the punishment of that singer, who* has caused us 
 all so much suffering." 
 
 "It is nightfall of a wonderful day of mercy," 
 protested the elder ; " let us remember mercy to- 
 day. To-morrow, wait till to-morrow. Justice will 
 keep." 
 
 " Let's behave reverently," whispered Mary in 
 my ear. " Come, put on your coat, Elisha Stone 
 Bosworth, and let's you and I walk over by the 
 twilight to see what we can do in the way of re- 
 pairs to our home. We may need it soon," and she 
 flushed the red roses of her cheeks to a brighter 
 hue as she spoke it. 
 
 "No one hears you but me, and I have a right 
 to hear it, Mary," I remarked, reassuring her mod- 
 esty. 
 
 "You remember I was to speak next," she said, 
 and with that two happier people never walked 
 this dull earth than the pair that, with a hasty 
 snatch at hats and outer garments from the pegs 
 in the hallway, walked down that path by the 
 well-sweep. 
 
 "You see, Mr. Bosworth," said Mary, dancing 
 and tripping along at my side, " or I can see, that 
 Major Parkridge must marry Cynthia Littlewood 
 Cark oh, how we have those names mixed up, 
 have we not? before he returns to the wars. 
 They must have the house. You and I must 
 move into our own, and that, too, very soon," 
 pointing to the gray edifice, whose main outlines 
 were preserved about in their original shape tow-
 
 252 
 
 ards the east, notwithstanding the fire that had 
 eaten away upon the other side. 
 
 " Why, you child," I replied, "there is nothing 
 to hinder making a home next week. Shall it be 
 next week?" And I got my answer in the old 
 way of all humanity, too happy for words. 
 
 An hour later, as we wandered back to the Park- 
 ridge house, Mary exclaimed, " Why, thei'e's 
 Ashael Keep's gig!" 
 
 "That's akerit," asserted the little lawyer, 
 stepping from behind the well-curb, where he had 
 been taking a farewell whiff at his pipe, and he 
 rapped it against the stone at the base of the 
 curb, " an' you young folks wanter be married on 
 this very evening o' November. If you ain't, it'll 
 be a weddin' delayed." 
 
 " What?" we both of us exclaimed. 
 
 " About this. The deacon aforesaid has got 
 out an indictment against you, Stone pardon 
 me, Mr. Bosworth for breakin' an' enterin'. 
 The sheriff '11 serve it early Monday mornin'. 
 Better she's your wife, because you want to move 
 right in and get settled and livin' happily afore 
 you have any lawsuits to attend to. Then, too, 
 there's that indictment against Felton for for- 
 gery," he began again, reading from a legal paper 
 which he held in his hand. "But, what's the 
 use ?" he suddenly exclaimed, folding up the pa- 
 per. "You don't care to hear all this legal lingo 
 rehearsed. It's only for my own gratification, 
 sort o' revengeful, I fear; I like to read it over.
 
 253 
 
 I've been waitin' to fill up this blank so long, that 
 now it's filled up by the Grand Jury I kinder 
 like to read it over." 
 
 " But can we prove it ?" 
 
 "You have that paper," he replied, with a 
 slight twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "No," I answered. " It was lost in the fire." 
 
 "Are you sure? Wait and see. Cark's a 
 shrewd one. But don't stan' here in the cold. Go 
 in and stan' up before the minister and be mar- 
 ried. What are you waitin' for ?" 
 
 Within the next hour we had obeyed the law- 
 yer's injunction. Our long waiting was over. It 
 seems so strange that I should write the consum- 
 mation of so many waiting hours in this single 
 line. As we were receiving the greetings of the 
 little home company, some one exclaimed, 
 
 "Now, Horace." 
 
 " Wait till we get through with Littlewood and 
 Felton," put in the lawyer. " That'll be soon 
 enough." And it was so agreed.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 " I LIKE it everything !" exclaimed my wife, 
 as we stood in the hallway of the old Bosworth 
 house, surveying the effects of our ingenuity 
 towards making the habitable parts homelike 
 once more. We had been wedded three weeks 
 now. 
 
 " Let me get that money from that Nashua es- 
 tate and I am a rich man," I explained. " I shall 
 be the only heir, the Chicago scapegrace of a son 
 of the doctors' being dead." 
 
 " But I thought there was nothing in Nashua," 
 observed Mary, her brown eyes lifted in wonder at 
 my declaration that I was likely to be a rich man. 
 
 " True, it was supposed so. The land taken by 
 the railroad, however, turns out to be very valu- 
 able. I shall get at least one hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars from that sale." 
 
 "Oh, wonder of wonders!" She clapped her 
 hands and flew in to get ready for our drive to the 
 village. The colt was even then standing at the 
 door behind me. As she reappeared her first 
 word was, 
 
 "Now, you must let me do what my heart 
 prompts me, you rich man, Mr. Bosworth."
 
 255 
 
 " What is that ?" I asked, as I helped her in 
 behind my dear Skip, with which this story took 
 its first ride. 
 
 "Let's pay Cynthia twice what this furniture 
 cost her." 
 
 "Agreed. Go, Skip." 
 
 " And more," she pursued, as we spun down the 
 highway. "Let's be munificent. Father and mother, 
 of course, get our home back from Mr. Littlewood." 
 
 " Yes ; he has begged to be allowed ' in the 
 Lord's marcy, brethering,' to count that whole 
 business as a great mistake, and has receipted 
 your father's debt." 
 
 " Well, why not sell all the land below the hill, 
 just keeping the house, our old home, for father 
 and mother, and give to Cynthia the product of 
 the sale ?" 
 
 " Is that business ?" 
 
 " Indeed it is not, you selfish. Don't you now 
 fall into the greed of gain that has been the de- 
 struction of so many others, just because you have 
 so much." 
 
 "Well, God help me," I responded, with genu- 
 ine feeling, "it shall be as you wish. Besides, 
 Cynthia, now being cast off by Littlewood, really 
 has nothing." 
 
 " And Horace has nothing except the elder's 
 farm," Mary resumed. " He thinks he can hard- 
 ly marry yet. I got this out of Cynthia. Horace 
 is talking about what he will possibly save from 
 his army pay."
 
 256 
 
 "But if we get this singer, Felton, into prison 
 or the Legislature, Horace can go back as colonel. 
 Governor Trimbull assures the elder that he will 
 commission Horace colonel as certain as Felton 
 is out of the way." 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear," sighed Mary, as we rose and 
 fell along the glorious drive, and such happiness 
 was in our hearts, "I do wish that Horace did not 
 need to go back to the war." 
 
 "I don't agree with you," I answered. "In 
 fact, I rather think I ought to go myself." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 "Why not?" And my bride of three weeks 
 did not reply. 
 
 "Do you know where we are going now?" I 
 asked at length, to break in upon her silence. 
 
 " You are going to that town-meeting, are you 
 not ?" she asked. " Oh, suppose they elect you 
 to Montpelier?" 
 
 I smiled in spite of myself, but answered : " It 
 wouldn't make Felton laugh if he were disap- 
 pointed in his eagerly -sought -for election now, 
 would it ?" 
 
 "He is a candidate ?" 
 
 "Yes; that is why he has returned at this time 
 from the army that and his anxiety about the 
 Bosworth place." 
 
 " Yes," Mary resumed ; " and I suppose he 
 thinks he has placated all the country-side by his 
 boastful surrender of your estate. That card of 
 his, now, in the Saturday Evening Gazette, setting
 
 257 
 
 forth that it was all a most unfortunate error, and 
 all that." 
 
 " But Ashael Keep has a blow for him." 
 
 " What is that ?" she asked. 
 
 "Now, your woman's curiosity must wait," I 
 answered. 
 
 A little later, leaving Mary at the union store 
 for some shopping, I soon found myself in the 
 town-hall, that same room where this narrative be- 
 gan a little over a year previous. The assembled 
 farmers were gathered in excited knots, discuss- 
 ing the candidacy of various persons. 
 
 As the moderator had not yet called the meet- 
 ing to order, it was proposed to have a speech 
 from Colonel Arthur Alfred Felton, the foremost 
 candidate for town representative ; that is, if you 
 could reckon what he had said of himself in his 
 abundantly displayed hand-bills. 
 
 "A speech, a speech," rang through the hall. 
 Felton was ready, and rose to reply. He nev- 
 er made a finer appearance in all his life than 
 he did standing there before his fellow-towns- 
 men. 
 
 " That is just where he stood about a year ago 
 now, 'Lish," whispered Horace, as he came up be- 
 hind me, and surprised me with a touch of my 
 elbow. 
 
 " Here's our hero. Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for Ma- 
 jor Parkridge, the wounded soldier." The boy had 
 scarcely crossed the threshold and shown his face 
 before this hearty greeting met him, and it was 
 
 17
 
 258 
 
 entirely spontaneous, in striking contrast with 
 Felton's wire-pulling cheers. 
 
 "He don't like it, Elisha, does he?" said Hor- 
 ace, as the cheers rose for himself. "See him 
 struggle to hide his anger under that handsome 
 face." 
 
 " Fellow-citizens." The words had hardly fall- 
 en from the colonel's lips in that clear, persua- 
 sive tone, of which I have often spoken, before he 
 had compelled the listening of us all. Men were 
 always charmed when he spoke. The honest 
 towns-people seemed to forget their prejudices 
 and their scruples; and, besides all that, have I not 
 uniformly confessed that he was a handsome fel- 
 low, engaging, and of fine speaking ability'? 
 
 Into the midst of his first five minutes of glow- 
 ing address Ashael Keep and the sheriff wedged 
 their way as an iron wedge is sometimes driven 
 into a maple log. Keep finally stepped upon the 
 platform, and drew near enough to put out his 
 hand and touch the orator upon the shoulder. 
 I happen to know just what the whispered words 
 were that fell into the speaker's ear. 
 
 "Felton," said Keep, "we have that forged 
 deed. Polly Cark preserved it." 
 
 Quicker than any word can describe it the 
 colonel turned and said, " You lie, you little dried- 
 up lawyer !" 
 
 Instantly the hush of expectation fell upon the 
 assembled countrymen, notwithstanding the mo- 
 mentary commotion of movement towards the
 
 259 
 
 platform. Such words were not common in our 
 quiet political meetings. 
 
 " That's a serious charge, townsmen," whined 
 little Ashael, a quiet smile of conscious power 
 working over his face. " This man's a forger, and 
 I can prove it." 
 
 " That's so, br feller-citizens," cried Deacon 
 Littlewood, who, from some surprising conceal- 
 ment, began to push his way towards the plat- 
 form. " My conscience won't let me keep com- 
 pany wi 1 this son o' Belial any more ; I'm too 
 much a lover o' righteousness. Jveep's got th' 
 forger in his fingers." 
 
 Felton turned pale as marble, but glanced a 
 moment at the fatal paper, then at his white-haired 
 partner in the game, thus turned State's evidence, 
 then his dark eyes wandered in almost pitiable 
 search over the sea of faces until they rested on 
 Horace and myself, when they flashed a fire of 
 defiance. 
 
 " Come, get your bail," commanded the sheriff, 
 as Felton did not offer to move. 
 
 " I will, and I'll return," he said, confidently, as 
 lie stepped down from the platform to accompany 
 the lawyer and the officer out of the room. 
 
 Why should I dwell upon the picture? He 
 never did return. When he had served out his 
 five years in th*e State's prison Arthur Alfred 
 Felton went to South America. It is said he ac- 
 cumulated a fortune there. 
 
 Within an hou,r of the time when Felton left
 
 260 
 
 the hall, by one of those strange and popular 
 movements that no one can explain, I was elected 
 the representative to Moutpelier in his place. 
 That was the beginning of my political career, 
 which has never taken me higher than lieutenant- 
 governor of my own State. 
 
 Horace and Cynthia were married on Christmas 
 day. By the beginning of the new year he was 
 back again at the front, where he served in hon- 
 orable position, using a brigadier-general's sword 
 eventually with his one arm. He has valued poli- 
 tics higher than I, and is now a representative at 
 Washington. I hope that he may eventually sit 
 in my father's seat in the Senate. Mrs. Park- 
 ridge recovered from the illness that bore her so 
 near to the grave, and only a year ago this writ- 
 ing passed on with her beloved husband, the two 
 almost joining hands for the transit across the 
 dark river. Even as I write I can look from my 
 library window over the russet fields to the 
 marble headstone which marks the spot where 
 this venerable couple sleep beside my own 
 mother's. 
 
 Polly Cark lives on. Her great age does not 
 dim the dark eyes that gleam yet with some of 
 their old fire. But the peace of her present life 
 has made her gentle in her daughter's home. 
 And, I am glad to record, there is no one she 
 loves better than ray own oldest daughter, who 
 often acts as the staff of her tottering feet, for 
 she cherishes only good-will to mine and me.
 
 261 
 
 Of Mr. Littlewood it is enough to say that he 
 is himself even in his age; and as he is now alone 
 in the world, the sole occupant of his solitary 
 farm-house and his own companion, that is punish- 
 ment enough. 
 
 So now, the afternoon sun being low down tow- 
 ards the mountains, let the twilight fall. The 
 countryman's story is told. It is our home mus- 
 ter hour. Let the night thicken later, for we 
 have shelter under the protection of the good 
 God, who has had his own way in our lives, as He 
 always does with all in this world. I have noth- 
 ing to dread when the next day's sunrise breaks 
 in upon Bosworth House. 
 
 THE END.
 
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