OF THE BLESSED ISLES IRVING-BACHELLER THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES IN MEMORY OF PAUL TURNER, U.S.M.C.R. KILLED IN ACTION, SAIPAN JUNE, 1944 Then, for a moment, silence and the ticking of the clocks. See fiagf 2t>? SPECIAL LIMITED EDITION gZ3>(&*&><52^^ D ARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES B Y IRVING BACHELLER AUTHOR OF JEBEN HOLDEN &RI AND I CANDLE-LIGHT, Etc. ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR I. KELLER GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK IP I! ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL NortoooB J. S. Cubing & Co. Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mtwe., U.8.A. . \ the Memory of my Father 810862 PREFACE THE author has tried to give some history of that uphill road, traversing the rough back country, through which men of power came once into the main highways, dusty, timid, foot sore, and curiously old-fashioned. Now is the up grade eased by scholarships; young men labour with the football instead of the buck-saw, and wear high collars, and travel on a Pullman car, and dally with slang and cigarettes in the smoking-room. Altogether it is a new Re public, and only those unborn shall know if it be greater. The man of learning and odd character and humble life was quite familiar once, and not only in Hillsborough. Often he was born out of time, loving ideals of history and too severe with realities around him. In Barrel it is sought to portray a force held in fetters and covered with obscurity, yet strong to make its PREFACE way and widely felt. His troubles granted, one may easily concede his character, and his troubles are, mainly, no fanciful invention. There is good warrant for them in the court record of a certain case, together with the inference of a great lawyer who lived a time in its odd mystery. The author, it should be added, has given success to a life that ended in failure. He cares not if that success be unusual should any one be moved to think it within his reach. A man of rugged virtues and good fame once said : " The forces that have made me ? Well, first my mother, second my poverty, third Felix Holt. That masterful son of George Eliot became an ideal of my youth, and uncon sciously I began to live his life." It is well that the boy in the book was nobler than any who lived in Treby Magna. As to " the men of the dark," they have long afflicted a man living and well known to the author of this tale, who now commits it to the world hoping only that these poor children of his brain may deserve kindness if not approval. NEW YORK CITY, March, 1903. CONTENTS PRELUD FAGS CHAPTER I. The Story of the Little Red Sleigh . 13 II. The Crystal City and the Traveller . 17 III. The Clock Tinker . . ' > - IV. The Uphill Road . . * . V. At the Sign o 1 the Dial . . . 38 VI. 61 VII. Barrel of the Blessed Isles . .- 7i VIII. Dust of Diamonds in the Hour-glass . 79 IX. Drove and Drovers . . . , . 91 X. An Odd Meeting ... . ICO XI. The Old Rag Doll . . . . 105 XII. The Santa Claus of Cedar Hill . . 119 XIII. A Christmas Adventure . . . . 132 XIV. A Day at the Linley Schoolhouse . . 146 XV. The Tinker at Linley School . x . 160 XVI. A Rustic Museum . . * ; . 165 XVII. An Event in the Rustic Museum . 179 XVIII. A Day of Difficulties * . . 187 XIX. Amusement and Learning . . 201 XX. At the Theatre of the Woods . * . 213 CONTENTS CHAPTER XXI. Robin's Inn . XXII. Comedies of Field and Dooryard XXIII. A New Problem . XXIV. Beginning the Book of Trouble XXV. The Spider Snares XXVI. The Coming of the Cars XXVII. The Rare and Costly Cup XXVIII. Darrel at Robin's Inn . XXIX. Again the Uphill Road XXX. Evidence . ...;.. XXXI. A Man Greater than his Trouble XXXII. The Return of Thurst Tilly . XXXIII. The White Guard . .. XXXIV. More Evidence > ... ... XXXV. At the Sign of the Golden Spool XXXVI. The Law's Approval XXXVII. The Return of Santa Claus . BARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES BARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES Prelude YONDER up in the hills are men and women, white-haired, who love to tell of that time when the woods came to the door-step and God's cattle fed on the growing corn. Where, long ago, they sowed their youth and strength, they see their sons reaping, but now, bent with age, they have ceased to gather save in the far fields of memory. Every day they go down the long, well-trodden path and come back with hearts full. They are as chil dren plucking the meadows of June. Sit with them awhile, and they will gather for you the unfading flowers of joy and love good sir ! the world is full of them. And should they mention Trove or a certain clock tinker that travelled from door to door in the olden time, send your horse to the stable and God- ii 12 DARREL speed them ! it is a long tale, and you may listen far into the night. " See the big pines there in the dale yon der ? " some one will ask. " Well, Theron Allen lived there, an' across the pond, that's where the moss trail came out and where you see the cow-path that's near the track of the little red sleigh." Then the tale and its odd procession coming out of the far past. I The Story of the Littk Red Sleigh i T was in 1835, about mid winter, when Brier Dale was a narrow clearing, and the horizon well up in the sky and to anywhere a day's journey. Down by the shore of the pond, there, Allen built his house. To-day, under thickets of tansy, one may see the rotting logs, and there are hollyhocks and catnip in the old garden. He was from Middlebury, they say, and came west he and his wife in '29. From the top of the hill above Allen's, of a clear day, one could look far across the tree-tops, over distant settle ments that were as blue patches in the green canopy of the forest, over hill and dale to the smoky chasm of the St. Lawrence thirty miles north. The Aliens had not a child ; they settled with no thought of school or '3 H DARREL neighbour. They brought a cow with them and a big collie whose back had been scarred by a lynx. He was good company and a brave hunter, this dog; and one day it was Feb ruary, four years after their coming, and the snow lay deep he left the dale and not even a track behind him. Far and wide they went searching, but saw no sign of him. Near a month later, one night, past twelve o'clock, they heard his bark in the distance. Allen rose and lit a candle and opened the door. They could hear him plainer, and now, min gled with his barking, a faint tinkle of bells. It had begun to thaw, and a cold rain was drumming on roof and window. " He's crossing the pond," said Allen, as he listened. " He's dragging some heavy thing over the ice." Soon he leaped in at the door, the little red sleigh bouncing after him. The dog was in shafts and harness. Over the sleigh was a tiny cover of sail-cloth shaped like that of a prairie schooner. Bouncing over the door-step had waked its traveller, and there was a loud voice of complaint in the little cavern of sail- of the BLESSED ISLES 15 cloth. Peering in, they saw only the long fur of a gray wolf. Beneath it a very small boy lay struggling with straps that held him down. Allen loosed them and took him out of the sleigh, a ragged but handsome young ster with red cheeks and blue eyes and light, curly hair. He was near four years of age then, but big and strong as any boy of five. He stood rubbing his eyes a minute, and the dog came over and licked his face, showing fondness acquired they knew not where. Mrs. Allen took the boy in her lap and petted him, but he was afraid like a wild fawn that has just been captured and broke away and took refuge under the bed. A long time she sat by her bedside with the candle, showing him trinkets and trying to coax him out. He ceased to cry when she held before him a big, shiny locket of silver, and soon his little hand came out to grasp it. Presently she began to reach his confidence with sugar. There was a moment of silence, then strange words came out of his hiding-place. " Anah jouhan " was all they could make of them, and they remembered always that odd combination 16 DARREL of sounds. They gave him food, which he ate with eager haste. Then a moment of silence and an imperative call for more in some strange tongue. When at last he came out of his hiding-place, he fled from the woman. This time he sought refuge between the knees of Allen, where soon his fear gave way to curi osity, and he began to feel her face and gown. By and by he fell asleep. They searched the sleigh and shook out the robe and blanket, finding only a pair of warm bricks. A Frenchman worked for the Aliens that winter, and the name, Trove, was of his inven tion. And so came Sidney Trove, his mind in strange fetters, travelling out of the land of mystery, in a winter night, to Brier Dale. II The Crystal City and the Traveller HE wind, veering, came bitter cold ; the rain hardened to hail; the clouds, changed to brittle nets of frost, and shaken to shreds by the rough wind, fell hissing in a scatter of snow. Next morning when Allen opened his door the wind was gone, the sky clear. Brier Pond, lately covered with clear ice, lay under a blanket of snow. He hurried across the pond, his dog following. Near the far shore was a bare spot on the ice cut by one of the sleigh- runners. Up in the woods, opposite, was the Moss Trail. Sunlight fell on the hills above him. He halted, looking up at the tree-tops. Twig, branch, and trunk glowed with the fire of diamonds through a lacy flecking of hoar frost. Every tree had put on a jacket of ice and '7 i 8 DARREL become as a fountain of prismatic hues. Here and there a dead pine rose like a spire of crystal ; domes of deep-coloured glass and towers of jasper were as the landmarks of a city. Allen climbed the shore, walking slowly. He could see no track of sleigh or dog or any living thing. A frosted, icy tangle of branches arched the trail a gateway of this great, crystal city of the woods. He entered, listening as he walked. Branches of hazel and dogwood were like jets of water breaking into clear, halted drops and foamy spray above him. He went on, looking up at this long sky-window of the woods. In the deep silence he could hear his heart beating. " Sport," said he to the dog, " show me the way ; " but th dog only wagged his tail. Allen returned to the house. " Wife," said he, " look at the woods yonder. They are like the city of holy promise. ' Be hold I will lay thy stones with fair colours and thy foundations with sapphires, and I will make thy windows of agate.' " " Did you find the track of the little sleigh ? " said she. " No," he answered, " nor will any man, foi all paths are hidden." " Theron may we keep the boy ? " she inquired. " I think it is the will of God," said Allen. The boy grew and throve in mind and body. For a time he prattled in a language none who saw him were able to comprehend. But he learned English quickly and soon forgot the jargon of his babyhood. The shadows of mystery that fell over his coming lengthened far into his life and were deepened by others that fell across them. Before he could have told the story, all memory of whom he left or whence he came had been swept away. It was a house of riddles where Allen dwelt a rude thing of logs and ladders and a low roof and two rooms. Yet one ladder led high to glories no pen may describe. The Aliens, with this rude shelter, found delight in dreams of an eter nal home whose splendour and luxury would have made them miserable here below. What a riddle was this ! And then, as to the boy Sid, there was the riddle of his coming, and again that of his character, which latter was, indeed, 20 DARREL not easy to solve. There were few books and no learning in that home. For three winters Trove tramped a trail to the schoolhouse two miles away, and had no further schooling until he was a big, blond boy of fifteen, with red cheeks, and eyes large, blue, and discerning, and hands hardened to the axe helve. He had then discovered the beauty of the woods and begun to study the wild folk that live in holes and thickets. He had a fine face. You would have called him handsome, but not they among whom he lived. With them handsome was as handsome did, and the face of a man, if it were cleanly, was never a proper cause of blame or compliment. But there was that in his soul, which even now had waked the mother's wonder and set forth a riddle none were able to solve. Ill The Clock Tinker HE harvesting was over in Brier Dale. It was near din ner-time, and Allen, Trove, and the two hired men were trying feats in the dooryard. Trove, then a boy of fifteen, had outdone them all at the jumping. A stranger came along, riding a big mare with a young filly at her side. He was a tall, spare man, past middle age, with a red, smooth-shaven face and long, gray hair that fell to his rolling collar. He turned in at the gate. A little beyond it his mare halted for a mouthful of grass. The stranger unslung a strap that held a satchel to his side and hung it on the pommel. " Go and ask what we can do for him," Allen whispered to the boy. Trove went down the drive, looking up at him curiously. 21 22 DARREL "What can I do for you ? " he inquired. "Give me thy youth," said the stranger, quickly, his gray eyes twinkling under silvered brows. The boy, now smiling, made no answer. "No?" said the man, as he came on slowly. " Well, then, were thy wit as good as thy legs it would be o' some use to me." The words were spoken with dignity in a deep, kindly tone. They were also faintly salted with Irish brogue. He approached the men, all eyes fixed upon him with a look of inquiry. " Have ye ever seen a drunken sailor on a mast ? " he inquired of Allen. "No." " Well, sor," said the stranger, dismounting slowly, " I am not that. Let me consider have ye ever seen a cocoanut on a plum tree ? " " I believe not," said Allen, laughing. "Well, sor, that is more like me. 'Tis long since I rode a horse, an' am out o' place in the saddle." He stood erect with dignity, a smile deepen ing the many lines in his face. of the BLESSED ISLES 23 " Can I do anything for you ? " Allen asked. " Ay cure me o* poverty have ye any clocks to mend ? " " Clocks ! Are you a tinker ? " said Allen. " I am, sor, an' at thy service. Could beauty, me lord, have better commerce than with hon esty ? " They all surveyed him with curiosity and amusement as he tied the mare. All had begun to laugh. His words came rapidly on a quick undercurrent of good nature. A clock sounded the stroke of midday. " What, ho ! The clock," said he, looking at his watch. " Thy time hath a lagging foot. Marry, were I that slow, sor, I'd never get to Heaven." " Mother," said Allen, going to the door step, "here is a tinker, and he says the clock is slow." " It seems to be out of order," said his wife, coming to the step. " Seems, madam, nay, it is," said the stranger. " Did ye mind the stroke of it ? " " No," said she. " Marry, 'twas like the call of a dying man." 24 DARREL Allen thought a moment as he whittled. "Had I such a stroke on me I'd I'd think I was parralyzed," the stranger added. " You'd better fix it then," said Allen. " Thou art wise, good man," said the stranger. " Mind the two hands on the clock an' keep them to their pace or they'll beckon thee to poverty." The clock was brought to the door-step and all gathered about him as he went to work. " Ye know a power o' scripter," said one of the hired men. " Scripter," said the tinker, laughing. " I do, sor, an' much of it according to the good Saint William. Have ye never read Shake speare ? " None who sat before him knew anything of the immortal bard. " He writ a book 'bout Dan'l Boone an' the Injuns," a hired man ventured. " ' Angels an' ministers o' grace defend us ! ' ' the tinker exclaimed. Trove laughed. " I'll give ye a riddle," said the tinker, turn ing to him. of the BLESSED ISLES 25 " How is it the clock can keep a sober f ace ? " " It has no ears," Trove answered. " Right," said the old tinker, smiling. " Thou art a knowing youth. Read Shakespeare, boy a little of him three times a day for the mind's sake. I've travelled far in lonely places and needed no other company." " Ever in India ? " Trove inquired. He had been reading of that far land. " I was, sor," the stranger continued, rubbing a wheel. " I was five years in India, sor, an' part o' the time fighting as hard as ever a man could fight." " Fighting ! " said Trove, much interested. " I was, sor," he asserted, oiling a pinion of the old clock. "On which side?" " Inside an' outside." "With natives?" " I did, sor ; three kinds o' them, fever, fleas, an' the divvle." " Give us some more Shakespeare," said the boy, smiling. The tinker rubbed his spectacles thought fully, and, as he resumed his work, a sound- 26 DARREL ing flood of tragic utterance came out of him the great soliloquies of Hamlet and Mac beth and Richard III and Lear and Antony, all said with spirit and appreciation. The job finished, they bade him put up for dinner. " A fine colt ! " said Allen, as they were on their way to the stable. " It is, sor," said the tinker, " a most excel lent breed o' horses." "Where from?" "The grandsire from the desert of Arabia, where Allah created the horse out o' the south wind. See the slender flanks of the Barbary ? See her eye ? " He seemed to talk in that odd strain for the mere joy of it, and there was in his voice the God-given vanity of bird or poet. He had caught the filly by her little plume and stood patting her forehead. " A wonderful thing, sor, is the horse's eye," he continued. " A glance ! an' they know if ye be kind or cruel. Sweet Phyllis ! Her eye lids are as bows ; her lashes like the beard o' the corn. Have ye ever heard the three prayers o' the horse ? " of the BLESSED ISLES 27 "No," said Allen. "Well, three times a day, sor, he prays, so they say, in the desert. In the morning he thinks a prayer like this, ' O Allah ! make me beloved o' me master.' At noon, 'Do well by me master that he may do well by me.' At even, ' O Allah ! grant, at last, I may bear me master into Paradise.' "An' the Arab, sor, he looks for a hard ride an' many jumps in the last journey, an' is kind to him all the days of his life, sor, so he may be able to make it." For a moment he led her up and down at a quick trot, her dainty feet touching the earth lightly as a fawn's. "Thou'rt made for the hot leagues o' the great sand sea," said he, patting her head. " Ah ! thy neck shall be as the bowsprit ; thy dust as the flying spray." "In one thing you are like Isaiah," said Allen, as he whittled. "The Lord God hath given thee the tongue of the learned." " An' if he grant me the power to speak a word in season to him that is weary, I shall be content," said the tinker. 28 DARREL Dinner over, they came out of doors. The stranger stood rilling his pipe. Something in his talk and manner had gone deep into the soul of the boy, who now whispered a moment with his father. " Would you sell the filly ? " said Allen. " My boy would like to own her." " What, ho, the boy ! the beautiful boy ! An' would ye love her, boy ? " the tinker asked. " Yes, sir," the boy answered quickly. "An* put a ribbon in her forelock, an' a coat o' silk on her back, an 1 , mind ye, a man o' kindness in the saddle ? " " Yes, sir." " Then take thy horse, an' Allah grant thou be successful on her as many times as there be hairs in her skin." " And the price ? " said Allen. "Name it, an' I'll call thee just." The business over, the tinker called to Trove, who had led the filly to her stall, " You, there, strike the tents. Bring me the mare. This very day she may bear me to forgiveness." Trove brought the mare, of the BLESSED ISLES 29 " Remember," said the old man, turning as he rode away, " in the day o' the last judg ment God '11 mind the look o' thy horse." He rode on a few steps and halted, turning in the saddle. " Thou, too, Phyllis," he called. "God '11 mind the look o' thy master; see that ye bring him safe." The little filly began to rear and call, the mother to answer. For days she called and trembled, with wet eyes, listening for the voice that still answered, though out of hearing, far over the hills. And Trove, too, was lonely, and there was a kind of longing in his heart for the music in that voice of the stranger. IV The Uphill Road F & OR Trove it was a day of sow- ing. The strange old tinker had filled his heart with a new joy and a new desire. Next morning he got a ride to Hills- borough fourteen miles and came back, reading, as he walked, a small, green book, its thin pages covered thick with execrably fine printing, its title "The Works of Shakespeare." He read the book industriously and with keen pleasure. Allen complained, shortly, that Shakespeare and the filly had interfered with the potatoes and the corn. The filly ceased to take food and sickened for a time after the dam left her. Trove lay in the stall nights and gave her milk sweetened to her liking. She grew strong and playful, and for got her sorrow, and began to follow him like a 30 DARREL 31 dog on his errands up and down the farm. Trove went to school in the autumn " Select school," it was called. A two-mile journey it was, by trail, but a full three by the wagon road. He learned only a poor lesson the first day, for, on coming in sight of the schoolhouse, he heard a rush of feet behind him and saw his filly charging down the trail. He had to go back with her and lose the day, a thought dreadful to him, for now hope was high, and school days few and precious. At first he was angry. Then he sat among the ferns, covering his face and sobbing with sore resentment. The little filly stood over him and rubbed her silky muzzle on his neck, and kicked up her heels in play as he pushed her back. Next morning he put her behind a fence, but she went over it with the ease of a wild deer and came bound ing after him. When, at last, she was shut in the box-stall he could hear her calling, half a mile away, and it made his heart sore. Soon after, a moose treed him on the trail and held him there for quite half a day. Later he had to help thrash and was laid up with the measles. Then came rain and flooded flats that 32 DARREL turned him off the trail. Years after he used to say that work and weather, and sickness and distance, and even the beasts of the field and wood, resisted him in the way of learning. He went to school at Hillsborough that winter. His time, which Allen gave him in the summer, had yielded some forty-five dollars. He hired a room at thirty-five cents a week. Mary Allen bought him a small stove and sent to him, in the sleigh, dishes, a kettle, chair, bed, pillow, and quilt, and a supply of candles. She surveyed him proudly, as he was going away that morning in December. " Folks may call ye han'some," she said. " They'd like to make fool of ye, but you go on 'bout yer business an' act as if ye didn't hear." He had a figure awkward, as yet, but fast shaping to comeliness. Long, light hair covered the tops of his ears and fell to his collar. His ruddy cheeks were a bit paler that morning ; the curve in his lips a little drawn ; his blue eyes had begun to fill and the dimple in his chin to quiver, slightly, as he kissed her who had been as a mother to him. But he went away laughing. of the BLESSED ISLES 33 Many have seen the record in his diary of those lank and busy days. The Saturday of his first week at school he wrote as follows : " Father brought me a small load of wood and a sack of potatoes yesterday, so, after this, I shall be able to live cheaper. My expenses this week have been as follows : Rent 35 cents. Corn meal . . . . 14 " Milk 20 Bread . . . . . 8 Beef bone . . . 5 " Honey 5 " Four potatoes, about . . i " 88 cents. " Two boys who have a room on the same floor got through the week for 75 cents apiece, but they are both undersized and don't eat as hearty. This week I was tempted by the sight of honey and was fool enough to buy a little which I didn't need. I have some meal left and hope next week to get through for 80 cents. I wish I could have a decent necktie, but con science doth make cowards of us all. I have committed half the first act of ' Julius Caesar.' " 34 DARREL And yet, with pudding and milk and beef bone and four potatoes and " Julius Caesar " the boy was cheerful. " Don't like meat any more it's mostly poor stuff anyway," he said to his father, who had come to see him. " Sorry I brought down a piece o' venison," said Allen. " Well, there's two kinds o' meat," said the boy ; " what ye can have, that's good, an' what ye can't have, that ain't worth havin'." He got a job in the mill for every Saturday at 75 cents a day, and soon thereafter was able to have a necktie and a pair of fine boots, and a barber, now and then, to control the length of his hair. Trove burnt the candles freely and was able but never brilliant in his work that year, owing, as all who knew him agreed, to great modesty and small confidence. He was a kindly, big- hearted fellow, and had wit and a knowledge of animals and of woodcraft that made him excel lent company. That schoolboy diary has been of great service to all with a wish to understand him. On a faded loaf in the old book one may read as follows : if the BLESSED ISLES 35 " I have received letters in the handwriting of girls, unsigned. They think they are in love with me and say foolish things. I know what they're up to. They're the kind my mother spoke of the kind that set their traps for a fool, and when he's caught they use him for a thing to laugh at. They're not going to catch me. " Expenses for seven days have been $1.14. Clint McCormick spent 60 cents to take his girl to a show and I had to help him through the week. I told him he ought to love Caesar less and Rome more." Then follows the odd entry without which it is doubtful if the history of Sidney Trove could ever have been written. At least only a guess would have been possible, where now is cer tainty. And here is the entry : " Since leaving home the men of the dark have been very troublesome. They wake me about every other night and sometimes I wonder what they mean." Now an odd thing had developed in the mystery of the boy. Even before he could dis tinguish between reality and its shadow that we see in dreams, he used often to start up with 36 DARREL a loud cry of fear in the night. When a small boy he used to explain it briefly by saying, " the men in the dark." Later he used to say, "the men outdoors in the dark." At ten years of age he went off on a three days' journey with the Aliens. They put up in a tavern that had many rooms and stairways and large windows. It was a while after his return of an evening, before candle-light, when a gray curtain of dusk had dimmed the windows, that he first told the story, soon oft repeated and familiar, of " the men in the dark" at least he went as far as he knew. " I dream," he was wont to say in after life, " that I am listening in the still night alone I am always alone. I hear a sound in the silence, of what I cannot be sure. I discover then, or seem to, that I stand in a dark room and trem ble, with great fear, of what I do not know. I walk along softly in bare feet I am so fearful of making a noise. I am feeling, feeling, my hands out in the dark. Presently they touch a wall and I follow it and then I discover that I am going downstairs. It is a long journey. At last I am in a room where I can see windows, f the BLESSED ISLES 37 and, beyond, the dim light of the moon. Now I seem to be wrapped in fearful silence. Stealth ily I go near the door. Its upper half is glass, and beyond it I can see the dark forms of men. One is peering through with face upon the pane ; I know the other is trying the lock, but I hear no sound. I am in a silence like that of the grave. I try to speak. My lips move, but, try as I may, no sound comes out of them. A sharp terror is pricking into me, and I flinch as if it were a knife-blade. Well, sir, that is a thing I can not understand. You know me I am not a coward. If I were really in a like scene fear would be the least of my emotions ; but in the dream I tremble and am afraid. Slowly, silently, the door opens, the men of the dark enter, wall and windows begin to reel. I hear a quick, loud cry, rending the silence and falling into a roar like that of flooding waters. Then I wake, and my dream is ended for that night." Now men have had more thrilling and re markable dreams, but that of the boy Trove was as a link in a chain, lengthening with his life, and ever binding him to some event far beyond the reach cf his memory. V At the Sign o' the Dial was Sunday and a clear, frosty morning of midwinter. Trove had risen early and was walking out on a long pike that divided the village of Hillsborough and cut the waste of snow, wind ing over hills and dipping into valleys, from Lake Champlain to Lake Ontario. The air was cold but full of magic sun-fire. All things were aglow the frosty roadway, the white fields, the hoary forest, and the mind of the beholder. Trove halted, looking off at the far hills. Then he heard a step behind him and, as he turned, saw a tall man approaching at a quick pace. The latter had no overcoat. A knit muffler covered his throat, and a satchel hung from a strap on his shoulder. " What ho, boy ! " said he, shivering. " ' I'll 38 DARREL 39 follow thee a month, devise with thee where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us, an' we o' thee.' What o' thy people an' the filly ? " " All well," said Trove, who was delighted to see the clock tinker, of whom he had thought often. " And what of you ? " " Like an old clock, sor a weak spring an' a bit slow. But, praise God ! I've yet a merry gong in me. An* what think you, sor, I've travelled sixty miles an' tinkered forty clocks in the week gone." " I think you yourself will need tinkering." " Ah, but I thank the good God, here is me home," the old man remarked wearily. " I'm going to school here," said Trove, " and hope I may see you often." " Indeed, boy, we'll have many a blessed hour," said the tinker. " Come to me shop ; we'll talk, meditate, explore, an' I'll see what o'clock it is in thy country." They were now in the village, and, halfway down its main thoroughfare, went up a street of gloom and narrowness between dingy work shops. At one of them, shaky, and gray with the stain of years, they halted. The two lower 40 BARREL windows in front were dim with dirt and cob webs. A board above them was the rude sign of Sam Bassett, carpenter. On the side of the old shop was a flight of sagging, rickety stairs. At the height of a man's head an old brass dial was nailed to the gray boards. Roughly lettered in lampblack beneath it were the words, " Clocks Mended." They climbed the shaky stairs to a landing, supported by long braces, and whereon was a broad door, with latch and keyhole in its weathered timber. " All bow at this door," said the old tinker, as he put his long iron key in the lock. " It's respect for their own heads, not for mine," he continued, his hand on the eaves that overhung below the level of the door-top. They entered a loft, open to the peak and shingles, with a window in each end. Clocks, dials, pendulums, and tiny cog-wheels of wood and brass were on a long bench by the street window. Thereon, also, were a vice and tools. The room was cleanly, with a crude homelike- ness about it. Chromos and illustrated papers had been pasted on the rough, board walls. " On me life, it is cold," said the tinker, open- of the BLESSED ISLES 41 ing a small stove and beginning to whittle shavings. " ' Cold as a dead man's nose.' Be seated, an' try try to be happy." There was an old rocker and two small chairs in the room. " I do not feel the cold," said Trove, taking one of them. " Belike, good youth, thou hast the rose of summer in thy cheeks," said the old man. "And no need of an overcoat," the boy answered, removing the one he wore and pass ing it to the tinker. " I wish you to keep it, sir." " Wherefore, boy ? 'Twould best serve me on thy back." " Please take it," said Trove. " I cannot bear to think of you shivering in the cold. Take it, and make me happy." " Well, if it keep me warm, an' thee happy, it will be a wonderful coat," said the old man, wiping his gray eyes. Then he rose and filled the stove with wood and sat down, peering at Trove between the upper rim of his spectacles and the feathery arches of silvered hair upon his brows. " Thy coat hath warmed me heart already 42 DARREL thanks to the good God ! " said he, fervently. " Why so kind ? " " If I am kind, it is because I must be," said the boy. " Who were my father and mother, I never knew. If I meet a man who is in need, I say to myself, ' He may be my father or my brother, I must be good to him ; ' and if it is a woman, I cannot help thinking that, maybe, she is my mother or my sister. So I should have to be kind to all the people in the world if I were to meet them." " Noble suspicion ! by the faith o' me fathers ! " .said the old man, thoughtfully, rubbing his long nose. " An' have ye thought further in the matter ? Have ye seen whither it goes ? " " I fear not." " Well, sor, under the ancient law, ye reap as ye have sown, but more abundantly. I gave me coat to one that needed it more, an' by the goodness o' God I have reaped another an' two friends. Hold to thy course, boy, thou shalt have friends an' know their value. An' then thou shalt say, ' I'll be kind to this man because he may be a friend ; ' an' love shall increase in thee, an' around thee, an' bring happiness. of the BLESSED ISLES 43 Ah, boy ! in the business o' the soi 1, men pay thee better than they owe. Kindness shall bring friendship, an' friendship shall bring love, an' love shall bring happiness, an' that, sor, that is the approval o' God. What speculation, hath such profit ? Hast thou learned to think ? '* " I hope I have," said the boy. " Prithee think a thought for me. What is, the first law o' life ? " There was a moment of silence. " Thy pardon, boy," said the venerable tinker, filling a clay pipe and stretching himself on a lounge. " Thou art not long out o' thy clouts. It is, 'Thou shalt learn to think an' obey.' Con sider how man and beast are bound by it. Very well think thy way up. Hast thou any fear ? "' The old man was feeling his gray hair,, thoughtfully. " Only the fear o' God," said the boy, after a moment of hesitation. " Well, on me word, I am full sorry," said the tinker. "Though mind ye, boy, fear is an excellent good thing, an* has done a work in the world. But, hear me, a man had two horses the same age, size, shape, an' colour, an' one- 44 DARREL went for fear o' the whip, an* the other went as well without a whip in the wagon. Now, tell me, which was the better horse ? " "The one that needed no whip." " Very well ! " said the old man, with empha sis. " A man had two sons, an' one obeyed him for fear o' the whip, an' the other, because he loved his father, an' could not bear to grieve him. Tell me again, boy, which was the better son ? " " The one that loved him," said the boy. "Very well! very well!" said the old man, loudly. "A man had two neighbours, an' one stole not his sheep for fear o' the law, an' the other, sor, he stole them not, because he loved his neighbour. Now which was the better man ? " "The man that loved him." " Very well ! very well ! and again very well ! " said the tinker, louder than before. "There were two kings, an' one was feared, an' the other, he was beloved ; which was the better king?" " The one that was beloved." 44 Very well ! and three times again very of the BLESSED ISLES 45 well ! " said the old man, warmly. " An' the good God is he not greater an' more to be loved than all kings ? Fear, boy, that is the whip o' destiny driving the dumb herd. To all that fear I say 'tis well, have fear, but pray that love may conquer it. To all that love I say, fear only lest ye lose the great treasure. Love is the best thing, an' with too much fear it sickens. Always keep it with thee a little is a goodly property an' its revenoo is happiness. There fore, be happy, boy try ever to be happy." There was a moment of silence broken by the sound of a church bell. " To thy prayers," said the clock tinker, ris ing, "an' I'll to mine. Dine with me at five, good youth, an' all me retinoo maids, warders, grooms, attendants shall be at thy service." " I'll be glad to come," said the boy, smiling at his odd host. " An' see thou hast hunger." " Good morning, Mr. ? " the boy hesitated. "Barrel Roderick Darrel " said the old man, "that's me name, sor, an' ye'll find me here at the Sign o' the Dial." A wind came shrieking over the hills, and 46 DARREL long before evening the little town lay dusky in a scud of snow mist. The old stairs were quiv ering in the storm as Trove climbed them. " Welcome, good youth," said the clock tinker, shaking the boy's hand as he came in. " Ho there! me servitors. Let the feast be spread," he called in a loud voice, stepping quickly to the stove that held an upper deck of wood, whereon were dishes. " Right Hand bring the meat an' Left Hand the potatoes an' Quick Foot give us thy help here." He suited his action to the words, placing a platter of ham and eggs in the centre of a sn.all table and surrounding it with hot roast potatoes, a pot of tea, new biscuit, and a plate of honey. " Ho ! Wit an' Happiness, attend upon us here," said he, making ready to sit down. Then, as if he had forgotten something, he hurried to the door and opened it. " Care, thou skeleton, go hence, and thou, Poverty, go also, and see thou return not before cock-crow," said he, imperatively. " You have many servants," said Trove. " An' how may one have a castle without ser vants ? Forsooth, boy, horses an' hounds, an' of the BLESSED ISLES 47 lords an* ladies have to be attended to. But the retinoo is that run down ye'd think me home a hospital. Wit is a creeping dotard, and Happi ness he is in poor health an' can barely drag himself to me table, an' Hope is a tippler, an' Right Hand is getting the palsy. Alack ! me best servant left me a long time ago." " And who was he ? " " Youth ! lovely, beautiful Youth ! but let us be happy. I would not have him back foolish, inconstant Youth ! dreaming dreams an' see ing visions. God love ye, boy! what is thy dream?" This rallying style of speech, in which the clock tinker indulged so freely, afforded his young friend no little amusement. His tongue had long obeyed the lilt of classic diction; his thought came easy in Elizabethan phrase. The slight Celtic brogue served to enhance the piquancy of his talk. Moreover he was really a man of wit and imagination. " Once," said the boy, after a little hesitation, " I thought I should try to be a statesman, but now I am sure I would rather write books." " An' what kind o' books, pray ? " 48 BARREL " Tales." " An' thy merchandise be truth, capital ! " ex claimed the tinker. " Hast thou an ear for tales?" " I'm very fond of them." " Marry, I'll tell thee a true tale, not for thy ear only but for thy soul, an* some day, boy, 'twill give thee occupation for thy wits." " I'd love to hear it," said the boy. The pendulums were ever swinging like the legs of a procession trooping through the loft, some with quick steps, some with slow. Now came a sound as of drums beating. It was for the hour of eight, and when it stopped the tinker began. "Once upon a time," said he, as they rose from the table and the old man went for his pipe, " 'twas long ago, an' I had then the rose o' youth upon me, a man was tempted o' the devil an' stole money a large sum an' made off with it. These hands o' mine used to serve him those days, an' I remember he was a man comely an' well set up, an', I think, he had hon our an' a good heart in him." The old man paused. of the BLESSED ISLES 49 " I should not think it possible," said Trove, who was at the age of certainty in his opinions and had long been trained to the uncompromis ing thought of the Puritan. " A man who steals can have no honour in him." " Ho ! Charity," said the clock tinker, turn ing as if to address one behind him. " Sweet Charity ! attend upon this boy. Mayhap, sor," he continued meekly. " God hath blessed me with little knowledge o' what is possible. But I speak of a time before guilt had sored him. He was officer of a great bank let us say in Boston. Some thought him rich, but he lived high an' princely, an' I take it, sor, his income was no greater than his needs. It was a proud race he belonged to grand people they were, all o' them with houses an' lands an' many servants. His wife was dead, sor, an' he'd one child a little lad o' two years, an' beauti ful. One day the boy went out with his nurse, an' where further nobody knew. He never came back. Up an' down, over an' across they looked for him, night an' day, but were no wiser. A month went by an' not a sight or sign o' trim, an' their hope failed. One day the father 50 DARREL he got a note, I remember reading it in the- papers, sor, an' it was a call for ransom, money one hundred thousand dollars." " Kidnapped ! " Trove exclaimed with much interest. " He was, sor," the clock tinker resumed. "The father he was up to his neck in trouble, then, for he was unable to raise the money. He had quarrelled with an older brother whose help would have been sufficient. Well, God save us- all ! 'twas the old story o' pride an' bitterness. He sought no help o' him. A year an' a half passes an' a gusty night o' midwinter the bank burns. Books, papers, everything is destroyed. Now the poor man has lost his occupation. A week more an' his good name is gone ; a month, an' he's homeless. A whisper goes down the long path o' gossip. Was he a thief an' had he burned the record of his crime ? The scene changes, an' let me count the swift, relentless years." The old man paused a moment, looking up thoughtfully. " Well, say ten or mayhap a dozen passed - or more or less it matters little. Boy an' man. of the BLESSED ISLES 51 where were they ? O the sad world, sor ! To all that knew them they were as people buried in their graves. Think o' this drowning in the flood o' years the stately ships sunk an' rot ting in oblivion ; some word of it, sor, may well go into thy book." The tinker paused a moment, lighting his pipe, and after a puff or two went on with the tale. " It is a winter day in a great city there are buildings an' crowds an' busy streets an' sleet in the bitter wind. I am there, an' me path is one o' many crossing each other like well, sor, like lines on a slate, if thou were to make ten thousand o' them an' both eyes shut. I am walking slowly, an' lo ! there is the banker. I meet him face to face an ill-clad, haggard, cold, forgotten creature. I speak to him. " ' The blessed Lord have mercy on thee,' I said. " ' For meeting thee ? ' said the poor man. * What is thy name ? ' " ' Roderick Barrel.' " ' An' I,' said he, sadly, ' am one o' the lost in hell. Art thou the devil ? ' 52 DARREL " ' Nay, this hand o' mine hath opened thy door an' blacked thy boots for thee often/ said I. ' Dost thou not remember ? ' " ' Dimly it was a long time ago,' he an swered. " We said more, sor, but that is no part o' the story. Very well ! I went with him to his lodg ings, a little cold room in a garret, an' there alone with me he gave account of himself. He had shovelled, an' dug, an' lifted, an' run errands until his strength was low an* the weight of his hand a burden. What hope for him what way to earn a living ! " ' Have courage, man,' I said to him. ' Thou shalt learn to mend clocks. It's light an' de cent work, an' one may live by it an' see much o' the world.' "There was an old clock, sor, in a heap o' rubbish that lay in a corner. I took it apart, and soon he saw the office of each wheel an' pinion an" the infirmity that stopped them an' the surgery to make them sound. I tarried long in the great city, an' every evening we were together in the little room. I bought him a kit o' tools an' some brass, an' we would of the BLESSED ISLES 53 shatter the clockworks an' build them up again until he had skill, sor, to make or mend. " ' Me good friend,' said he, one evening after vre had been a long time at work, ' I wish thou could'st teach me how to mend a broken life. For God's sake, help me! I am fainting under a great burden.' " ' What can I do ? ' said I to him. " Then, sor, he went over his story with me from beginning to end. It was an impressive,