son* 
 
FROM THE LAND OF THE SNOW-PEARI^ 
 
FROM THE LAND OF 
 THE SNOW-PEARLS 
 
 TALES FROM PUGKT SOUND 
 
 By ELLA HIGGINSON. 
 
 NKW YORK 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 CONDON: MACMIM.AN & Co., I/TD. 
 
 1902 
 
Copyright, 1896, by 
 THE CAI/VERT COMPANY 
 
 Copyright, 1897, by 
 THE MACMII^AN COMPANY 
 
ri 
 
 TO 
 
 RUSSELL GARDEN HIGGINSON 
 
 M637363 
 
fcome of the stories in this book appeared 
 originally in McClure s, LippincoWs, Les 
 lie s Weekly, Short Stories, The Black Cat 
 and The New Peterson. I am indebted to 
 the publishers of those periodicals for the 
 kind permission to reprint them. 
 
 E. H. 
 
 This book was first published under 
 the title of "The Flower that Grew in the 
 Sand." To the present edition, two stories 
 have been added. 
 
 The Publishers. 
 
Puget Sound lies in its emerald setting 
 like a great blue sapphire, which at sun 
 set, draws to its breast all the marvelous 
 and splendid coloring of the fire-opal. 
 Around it, shining through their rose-col 
 ored mists like pearls upon the soft blue 
 or green of the sky, are linked the great 
 snow-mountains, so beautiful and so dear, 
 that those who love this land with a proud 
 and passionate love, have come to think of 
 it, fondly and poetically, as "the land of 
 the snow-pearls." 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND .... 1 ~ 
 
 ESTHER S "FOURTH" 21 
 
 THE BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 31 
 
 THE TAKIN IN OF OLD Mis I/ANE 41 
 
 THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 67 ^ 
 
 A POINT OF KNUCKLING-DOWN 79 <- 
 
 THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 141 
 
 ZARELDA 183 
 
 IN THE BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 207 
 
 PATIENCE APPLEBY S CONFESSING-UP 217 
 
 THE MOTHER OF "PILLS" 243 
 
 MRS. RISLEY S CHRISTMAS DINNER . 263 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE 
 SAND 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE 
 SAND 
 
 Dernaris opened the gate and walked up the 
 narrow path. There was a low hedge of pink and 
 purple candytuft on each side. Inside the hedges 
 were little beds of homely flowers in the shapes 
 of hearts, diamonds and Maltese crosses. 
 
 Mrs. Eaton was stooping over a rosebush, but 
 she arose when she heard the click of the gate. 
 She stood looking at Demaris, with her arms 
 hanging stiffly at her sides. 
 
 "Oh," she said, with a grim smile; "y u > is 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes," said the girl, blushing and looking 
 embarrassed. "Ain t it a nice evenin ?" 
 
 "It is that; awful nice. I m tyin up my rose 
 bushes. Won t you come in an set down a 
 while?" 
 
 "Oh, my, no !" said Demaris. Her eyes went 
 wistfully to the pink rosebush. "I can t stay." 
 
 "Come fer kindlin wood?" 
 
 "No." She laughed a little at the worn-out 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 joke. "I come to see f you had two or three 
 pink roses to spare." 
 
 Why, to be sure, a dozen if you want. Just 
 come an help yourself. My hands ain t fit to 
 tech em after drggin so." 
 
 She stood watching the girl while she carefully 
 selected some half-open roses. There was a look 
 of good-natured curiosity on her face. 
 
 "Anything goin on at the church to-night?" 
 
 "No; at least not that I know of." 
 
 "It must be a party then." 
 
 "No not a party, either." She laughed 
 merrily. Her face was hidden as she bent over 
 the roses, but her ears were pink under the heavy 
 brown hair that fell, curling, over them. 
 
 "Well, then, somebody s comin to see you." 
 
 1 No; I ll have to tell you." She lifted a glad, 
 shy face. "I m goin on the moonlight excur 
 sion." 
 
 1 Oh, now ! Sure ? Well, I m reel glad. 
 
 "So m I. I never wanted to go anywheres so 
 much in my life. I ve been most holdin my 
 breath for fear ma d get sick." 
 
 How is your ma ?" 
 
 "Well, she ain t very well; she never is, you 
 know." 
 
 "What ails her?" 
 
 "I do know," said Demaris, slowly. "We ll 
 get home by midnight. So f she nas a spell 
 
 2 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 come on, pa can set up with her till I get home, 
 and then I can till mornin ." 
 
 "Should think you d be all wore out a-settin 
 up two or three nights a week that way." 
 
 Demaris sighed. The radiance had gone out 
 of her face and a look of care was upon it. 
 
 "Well," she said, after a moment, Til have a 
 good time to-night, anyhow. We re goin to have 
 the band along. They re gettin so s they play 
 reel well. They play Annie L,aurie an Rocked 
 n the Cradle o the Deep, now." 
 
 The gate clicked. A child came running up 
 the path. 
 
 "Oh, sister, sister ! Come home quick !" 
 
 What for ? said Demaris. There was a look 
 of dread on her face. 
 
 "Ma s goin right into a spell. She wants you 
 quick. She thinks she s took worse n usual." 
 
 There was a second s hesitation. The girl s 
 face whitened. Her lips trembled. 
 
 "I guess I won t want the roses after gettin 
 em," she said. "I m just as much obliged, 
 though, Mis Eaton." 
 
 She followed the child to the gate. 
 
 "Well, if that don t beat all!" ejaculated Mrs. 
 Eaton, looking after her with genuine sympathy. 
 "It just seems as if she had a spell to order ev ry 
 time that girl wants to go anywheres. It s noth- 
 in but hysterics, anyway. I d like to doctor her 
 
THK FXOWKR THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 for a while. I d souze a bucket o cold water 
 over her ! I reckon that u d fetch her to n a 
 hurry." 
 
 She laughed with a kind of stern mirth and re 
 sumed her work. 
 
 Demaris hurried home. The child ran at her 
 side. Once she took her hand and gave her an 
 upward look of sympathy. 
 
 She passed through the kitchen, laying her 
 roses on the table. Then she went into her 
 mother s room. 
 
 Mrs. Ferguson lay on a couch. A white cloth 
 was banded around her head, coming well down 
 over one eye. She was moaning bitterly. 
 
 Demaris looked at her without speaking. 
 
 "Whereon earth you been?" She gave the 
 girl a look of fierce reproach. "A body might 
 die, fer all the help you d be to em. Here I ve 
 been a-feelin a spell a-corain on all day, an yet 
 you go a-gaddin round to the neighbors, leavin 
 me to get along the best way I know how. I 
 believe this is my last spell. I ve got that awful 
 pain over my right eye ag in, till I m nearly 
 crazy. My liver s all out o order." 
 
 Demaris was silent. When one has heard the 
 cry of * wolf a hundred times, one is inclined to 
 be incredulous. Her apathetic look angered her 
 mother. 
 
 "What makes you stand there a-starin like a 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 dunce ? Can t you help a body ? Get the camfire 
 bottle an the tincture lobelia an the box o goose 
 grease ! You know s well s me what I need when 
 I git a spell. I m so nervous I feel s if I c u d 
 fly. I got a horrible feelin that this 11 be my last 
 spell an yet you stand there a-starin s if you 
 didn t care a particle !" 
 
 Demaris moved about the room stiffly, as if 
 every muscle m her body were in rebellion. She 
 took from a closet filled with drugs the big cam 
 phor bottle with its cutglass stopper, the little 
 bottle labeled tine, lobelia," and the box of 
 goose grease. 
 
 She placed a chair at the side of the couch 
 to hold the bottle. "Oh, take that old split- 
 bottom cheer away!" exclaimed her mother. 
 * Everything upsets on it so ! Get one from the 
 kitchen the one that s got cherries painted on 
 the back of it. What makes you ac so ? You 
 know what cheer I want. You d tantalize the 
 soul out of a saint !" 
 
 The chair was brought. The bottles were placed 
 upon it. Demaris stood waiting. 
 
 "Now rub my head with the camfire, or I ll go 
 ravin crazy. I can t think where t comes from ! 
 
 The child stood twitching her thin fingers 
 around a chair. She watched her mother in a 
 matter-of-course way. Demaris leaned over the 
 couch in an uncomfortable position and commenced 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 the slow, gentle massage that must continue all 
 night. She did not lift her eyes. They were full 
 of tears. 
 
 For a long time there was silence in the room. 
 Mrs. Ferguson lay with closed eyes. Her face 
 wore a look of mingled injury and reproach. 
 
 "Nellie," said Demaris, after a while, "could 
 3 ou make a fire in the kitchen stove ? Or would 
 you rather try to do this while I build it?" 
 
 "Hunh-unh," said the child, shaking her head 
 with emphasis. "I d ruther build fires any 
 time." 
 
 "All right. Put two dippers o water n the 
 tea-kettle. Be sure you get your dampers right. 
 An I guess you might wash some potatoes an 
 put em in to bake. They ll be done by time pa 
 comes, an he can stay with ma while I warm up 
 the rest o the things. Ma, what could you eat ?" 
 
 "Oh, I do know" in a slightly mollified tone. 
 "A piece o toast, mebbe f you don t get it too 
 all-fired hard." 
 
 "Well, I ll try not." 
 
 Nellie went out, and there was silence in the 
 room. The wind came in through the open win 
 dow, shaking little ripples of perfume into the 
 room. The sun was setting and a broad band of 
 reddish gold sunk down the wall. 
 
 Demaris watched it sinking lower, and thought 
 how slowly the sun was settling behind the 
 6 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 straight pines on the crests of the blue mountains. 
 
 "Oh," said Mrs. Ferguson, "what a wretched 
 creature I am ! Just a-sufferin day an night, 
 year in an year out, an a burden on them that 
 I ve slaved fer all my life. Many s the night I w* 
 walked with you n my arms till mornin , Demaris, 
 an never knowed what it was to git sleepy or tired. 
 An now you git mad the minute I go into a spell." 
 
 Demaris stood upright with a tortured look. 
 
 Oh, ma, she exclaimed. Her voice was harsh 
 with pain. "I ain t mad. Don t think I m mad. 
 I can t cry out o pity ev ry time you have a 
 spell, or I d be cryin all the time. An besides, 
 to-night I m so disappointed." 
 
 "What you disappointed about?" 
 
 "Why, you know." Her lips trembled. "The 
 exctwsion." 
 
 Mrs. Ferguson opened her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I d clean fergot that." 
 
 She looked as if she were thinking she would 
 really have postponed the spell, if she had re 
 membered. "That s too bad, Demaris. That s 
 always the way." She began to cry helplessly. 
 "I m always in the way. Always mis rable my 
 self, an always niakin somebody else mis rable. 
 I don t see what I was born fer." 
 
 "Never you mind." Demaris leaned over sud 
 denly and put her arms around her mother. 
 "Don t you think I m mad. I m just dxsap- 
 
FLOWER THAT GREW 
 
 pointed. Now don t cry. You ll go and make 
 yourself worse. An there comes pa; I hear him 
 cleanin his boots on the scraper." 
 
 Mr. Ferguson stumbled as he came up the steps 
 to the kitchen. He was very tired. He was not 
 more than fifty, but his thin frame had a pitiable 
 stoop. The look of one who has struggled long 
 and failed was on his brown and wrinkled face. 
 His hair and beard were prematurely gray. His 
 dim blue eyes had a hopeless expression that was 
 almost hidden by a deeper one of patience. He 
 wore a coarse flannel shirt, moist with perspira 
 tion, and faded blue overalls. His boots were 
 wrinkled and hard; the soil of the fields clung 
 to them. " Sick ag in, ma?" he said. 
 
 "Sick ag in! Mis rable creature that I am! 
 I ve got that awful pain over my right eye ag in. 
 I can t think where it comes from. I m nearly 
 crazy with it." 
 
 1 Well, I guess you ll feel a little better after you 
 git some tea. I ll go an wash, an then rub your 
 head, while Demaris gits a bite to eat. I ve 
 plowed ever since sun-up, an I m tired an hun- 
 gry." 
 
 He returned in a few minutes, and took De 
 maris s place. He sighed deeply, but silently, as 
 he sat down. 
 
 Demaris set the table and spread upon it the 
 simple meal which she had prepared. "I ll stay 
 & 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 with ma while you an pa eat, * said Nellie, with 
 a sudden burst of unselfishness. 
 
 "Well," said Demaris, wearily. 
 
 Mr. Ferguson sat down at the table and leaned 
 his head on his hand. "I m too tired to eat," he 
 said; "hungry s I am.* He looked at the un- 
 tempting meal of cold boiled meat, baked pota 
 toes and apple sauce. 
 
 Demaris did not lift her eyes as she sat down. 
 She felt that she ought to say something cheerful, 
 but her heart was too full of her own disappoint 
 ment. She despised her selfishness even while 
 yielding to it. 
 
 "It does beat all about your ma," said her 
 father. "I can t see where she gits that pain 
 from. It ain t nothin danger s or it u d a-killed 
 her long ago. It almost seems s if she jests gits 
 tired o bein well, an begins to git scared fer 
 fear that pain s a-comin on an then it comes 
 right on. I ve heard her say lots o times that 
 she d been well a whole week now, but that she 
 w u dn t brag or that pain u d come on an 
 inside of an hour it ud up an come on. It s 
 awful discouragin ." 
 
 "I wish I was dead !" said Demaris. 
 
 Her father did not speak. His silence re 
 proached her more than any words could have 
 done. 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 i 
 When she went into the bedroom again she 
 
 found her mother crying childishly. 
 
 "Demaris, did I hear you say you wished you 
 was dead ? 
 
 "I guess so. I said it." 
 
 "Well, God Almighty knows I wish I was! 
 You don t stop to think what u d become o me 
 f it wa n t fer you. Your pa c u dn t hire any 
 body, an he s gittin too old to set up o nights 
 after workin hard all day. You d like to see t 
 all come on your little sister, I reckon." 
 
 Demaris thought of those slim, weak wrists, 
 and shivered. Her mother commenced to sob 
 and that aggravated the pain. 
 
 Demaris stooped and put her arms around her 
 and kissed her. 
 
 T m sorry I said it, she whispered. * I didn t 
 mean it. I m just tired an cross. You know I 
 didn t mean it." ^ 
 
 Her father came in heavily. 
 
 "Demaris," he said, "Frank Vickers is comin 
 round to the front door. I ll take keer o your 
 ma while you go in an see him." 
 
 It was a radiant-faced young fellow that walked 
 into Demarts s little parlor. He took her hand 
 with a tenderness that brought the color beating 
 into her cheeks. 
 
 "What?" he said. "An you ain t ready? 
 
 Why, the boat leaves in an hour, an it s a good, 
 
 . -~ r 1 
 
 10 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 long walk to the wharf. You ll have to hurry 
 up, Demaris." 
 
 "I can t go." 
 
 4 You can t go ? Why can t you ?" 
 
 She lifted her eyes bravely. Then tears swelled 
 into them very slowly until they were full. Not 
 one fell. She looked at him through them. He 
 felt her hand trembling against the palm of his 
 own. 
 
 "Why can t you, Demaris?" 
 
 "My mother s sick just hear her moanin clear 
 in here." 
 
 Young Vickers s face was a study. 
 
 "Why, she was sick last time I wanted to take 
 you som ers to a dance, wasn t it?" 
 
 "Yes I know." 
 
 "An time before that, when I wanted you to 
 go to a church sociable up n String Town." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why, she must be sick near onto all the time, 
 accordin to that." 
 
 "She is pretty near." She withdrew her 
 hand. There was a stiff-looking lounge in one 
 corner of the room. It was covered with Brussels 
 carpet, and had an uncomfortable back, but it 
 was dear to Demaris s heart. She had gathered 
 and sold strawberries two whole summers to pay 
 for it. She sat down on it now and laid her 
 hands together on her knees. 
 ii 
 
FLOWER THAT GREJW IN THIC SAND 
 
 The young man followed and sat down beside 
 her. 
 
 "Why, my dear," he said, very quietly, "you 
 can t stand this sort of thing it s wearin you 
 out. You never did look light an happy like 
 other girls o your age; an lately you re gettin 
 a real pinched look. I feel as if t was time for 
 me to interfere. He took her hand again. 
 
 It was dim twilight in the room now. De- 
 maris turned her head aside. The tears brimmed 
 over and fell fast and silently. 
 
 "Interferin won t do no good," she said, res 
 olutely. "There s just two things about it. My 
 mother s sick all the time, an I have to wait on 
 her. There s nobody else to do it." 
 
 "Well, as long s you stay at home it ll all come 
 on you. You ain t able to carry sech a load." 
 
 "I ll have to." 
 
 "Demaris, you ll just have to leave." 
 
 "What !" said the girl. She turned to look at 
 him in a startled way. * L,eave home ? I couldn t 
 think of doin that." 
 
 He leaned toward her and put his arm around 
 her, trembling strongly. "Not even to come to 
 my home, Demaris ? I want you, dear; an I 
 won t let you kill yourself workin , either. I ain t 
 rich, but I m well enough off to give you a com 
 fortable home an some one to do your work for 
 you." 
 
 12 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 There was a deep silence. Each felt the full 
 beating of the other s heart. There was a rose 
 bush under the window, an old-fashioned one. 
 Its blooms were not beautiful, but they were very 
 sweet. It had flung a slim, white spray of them 
 into the room. Demaris never smelled their fra 
 grance afterward without a keen, exquisite thrill 
 of passion, as brief as it was delicious. 
 
 "I can t, Frank." Her tone was low and un 
 certain. "I can t leave my mother. She s sick 
 an gettin old. I can t." 
 
 "Oh, Demaris ! That s rank foolishness !" 
 
 "Well, I guess it s the right kind of foolish 
 ness." She drew away and sat looking at him. 
 Her hands were pressed together in her lap. 
 
 Why, it ain t expected that a girl ad ought 
 to stay an take care o her mother forever, is it ? 
 It ain t expected that she ought to turn herself 
 into a hospital nurse, is it ? 
 
 Her face grew stern. 
 
 "Don t talk that way, Frank. That ain t re 
 spectful to my mother. She s had a hard life an 
 so s my father. You know I want to come, but 
 I can t. It s my place to stay an take care o 
 her. I m goin to do it hard s it is. My leav- 
 in em u d just take the heart out of both of em. 
 An there s Nellie, too." 
 
 "Demaris he spoke slowly; his face was 
 pale "I m goin to say soinethin to you I never 
 
 13 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 thought I d say to any girl alive. But the fact 
 is, I didn t know till right now how much I think 
 o you. You niarry me, an we ll all live to 
 gether?" 
 
 Her face softened. She leaned a little toward 
 him with uncontrollable tenderness. But as he 
 made a quick movement, she drew back. 
 
 "No, Frank. I can t I can t ! It won t do. 
 Such things is what breaks women s hearts !" 
 
 What things, dear?" 
 
 "Folks livin together that way. There s no 
 good ever comes of it. I d have to set up with 
 mother just the same, an you d be worryin all 
 the time for fear it u d make me sick, an you d 
 be wantin to set up with er yourself." 
 
 "Of course," he said, stoutly. "I d expect to. 
 That s what I mean. I d take some o your load 
 offo you." 
 
 Demaris smiled mournfully. "You don t know 
 what it is, Frank. It s all very well to talk about 
 it, but when it comes to doin it you d be tired 
 out n a month. You d wish you hadn t married 
 me an that u d kill me !" 
 
 "I wouldn t. Oh, Demaris, just you try me. 
 I ll be good to all your folks just as good s can 
 be, dear. I swear it." 
 
 She leaned toward him again with a sob. He 
 took her in his arms. He felt the delicious 
 
THE FI/3WER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 warmth of her body. Their lips trembled to 
 gether. 
 
 After a while she drew away slowly and looked 
 at him earnestly in the faint light. 
 
 "If I thought you wouldn t change," she fal 
 tered. "I know you mean it now, but oh " 
 
 "Sister," called a thin, troubled voice from the 
 hall; "can t you come here just a minute?" 
 
 Demaris went at once, closing the door behind 
 her. 
 
 The child threw her slim arms around her 
 sister s waist, sobbing. 
 
 4 Oh, sister, I forgot to get the kindlin wood, 
 an now it s so dark down cellar. I m afraid. 
 Can t you come with me?" 
 
 "Wait a few minutes, dear, an I will. Frank 
 won t stay long to-night." 
 
 "Oh, won t he? I m so glad." Her voice 
 sunk to a whisper. "I hate to have him here, 
 sister. He takes you away from us so much, an 
 ev ry thing goes wrong when you ain t here. Ma s 
 offul bad to-night, an pa looks so tired ! Don t 
 let him stay long, sister. He don t need you as 
 bad s we do." 
 
 She tiptoed into the kitchen. Demaris stood 
 still in the hall. The moon was coming, large 
 and silver, over the hill. Its soft light brought 
 her slender figure out of the dark, and set a halo 
 above her head bending on its fair neck, like a 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 flower on its stem. Her lips moved, but the 
 prayer remained voiceless in her heart. 
 
 A moan came from her mother s room. 
 
 "Oh, paw, you hurt my head ! Your hand s 
 terrable rough ! Is that girl goin to stay in there 
 forever ? 
 
 Demaris lifted her head and walked steadily 
 into the poor little parlor. "I ll have to ask you 
 to go now, Frank; my mother needs me." 
 
 "Well, dear." He reached his strong young 
 arms to her. She stood back, moving her head 
 from side to side. 
 
 "No, Frank. I can t marry you, now or ever. 
 My mother comes first." 
 
 "But you ain t taken time to make up your 
 mind, Demaris. I ll wait fer n answer." 
 
 "It s no use. I made up my miad out n the 
 hall. You might as well go. When I make up 
 my mind it s no use in try in to get me to change 
 it. I hadn t made it up before." 
 
 He went to her and took her hands. 
 
 Demaris, he said, and all his heart-break was 
 in his voice, "do you mean it? Oh, my dear, 
 I ll go if you send me; but I ll never come back 
 again; never." 
 
 She hesitated but a second. Then she said 
 very gently, without emotion Yes, go. You ve 
 been good to me; but it s all over. Good-bye." 
 
THE FLOWER THAT GREW IN THE SAND 
 
 lie dropped her hands without a word, and 
 went. 
 
 She did not look after him, or listen to his foot 
 steps. She went to the cellar with Nellie, to get 
 the kindling wood, which she arranged in the 
 stove, ready for the match in the morning. 
 
 Then she went into her mother s room. She 
 looked pale in the flickering light of the candle. 
 
 "I ll take care of ma, now, pa," she said. 
 "You get to bed an rest. I know you re all 
 tired out plowin ever since sun-up ! An don t 
 you get up till I call you. I ain t a bit sleepy. 
 I couldn t sleep if I went to bed." 
 
 She moistened her fingers with camphor and 
 commenced bathing her mother s brow. 
 
ESTHER S " FOURTH " 
 
ESTHER S "FOURTH" 
 
 It was the fourth day of July, and the fourth 
 hour of the day. Long, beryl ribbons of color 
 were streaming through the lovely Grand Ronde 
 valley when the little girl awoke so suddenly 
 and so completely that it seemed as if she had not 
 been asleep at all. 
 
 "Sister!" she cried in a thin, eager voice. 
 "Ain t it time to get up? It s just struck four." 
 
 "Not yet," said the older girl drowsily. 
 "There s lots o time, Pet." 
 
 She put one arm under the child affectionately 
 and fell asleep again. The little girl lay motion 
 less, waiting. There was a large cherry tree out 
 side, close to the tiny window above her bed, and 
 she could hear the soft turning of the leaves, one 
 against the other, and the fluttering of the rob 
 ins that were already stealing the cherries. In 
 nocent thieves that they were, they continually 
 betrayed themselves by their shrill cries of 
 triumph. 
 
 Not far from the tiny log-cabin the river went 
 singing by on its way through the green valley; 
 hearing it, Esther thought of the soft glooms 
 under the noble balm trees, where the grouse 
 
 21 
 
ESTHER S "FOURTH" 
 
 drummed and butterflies drifted in long level 
 flight. Esther always breathed softly while she 
 watched the butterflies she had a kind of rever 
 ence for them and she thought there could be 
 nothing sweeter, even in heaven, than the scents 
 that the wind shook out of the balms. 
 
 She lay patiently waiting with wide eyes until 
 the round clock in the kitchen told her that an 
 other hour had gone by. Sister, she said then, 
 "oh, it must be time to get up ! I just can t 
 wait any longer. 
 
 The older girl, with a sleepy but sympathetic 
 smile, slipped out of bed and commenced dress 
 ing. The child sprang after her. Sister, she 
 cried, running to the splint-bottomed chair on 
 which lay the cheap but exquisitely white under 
 garments. "I can t hardly wait. Ain t it good 
 of Mr. Hoover to take me to town ? Oh, I feel 
 as if I had hearts all over me, an every one of 
 em beating so ! " 
 
 "Don t be so excited, Pet." The older sister 
 smiled gently at the child. "Things never are 
 quite as nice as you expect them to be," she 
 added, with that wisdom that comes so soon to 
 starved country hearts. 
 
 "Well, this can t help bein nice," said the 
 child, with a beautiful faith. She sat on the strip 
 of rag carpeting that partially covered the rough 
 floor, and drew on her stockings and her copper- 
 
 22 
 
toed shoes. Oh, sister, my fingers shake so I can t 
 get the strings through the eyelets ! Do you 
 think Mr. Hoover might oversleep hisself ? It 
 can t help bein nice nicer n I expect. Of 
 course," she added, with a momentary regret, 
 "I wish I had some other dress besides that buff 
 calico, but I ain t, an so it s reel pretty, any 
 ways, sister, ain t it? " 
 
 "Yes, Pet, 5> said the girl gently. There was 
 a bitter pity for the child in her heart. 
 
 To think o ridin in the lyibraty Car ! con 
 tinued Esther, struggling with the shoe strings. 
 "Course they ll let me. Paw knows the store 
 keeper, and Mr. Hoover kin tell em who I am. 
 An the horses, an the ribbons, an the music 
 an all the little girls my age ! Sister, it s awful 
 never to have any little girls to play with ! I 
 guess maw don t know how I ve wanted em, 
 or she d of took me to town sometimes. I 
 ain t never been anywheres except to Mis Bun- 
 nels s fun ral, when the minister prayed so long," 
 she added, with a pious after- thought. 
 
 It was a happy child that was lifted to the 
 back of the most trustworthy of the plow-horses 
 to be escorted to the celebration by "Mr. Hoover, 
 the hired man. The face under the cheap straw 
 hat, with its wreath of pink and green artificial 
 flowers, was almost pathetically radiant. To that 
 poor little heart so hungry for pleasure, there 
 
ESTHER S 
 
 could be no bliss so supreme as a ride in the vil 
 lage "Libraty Car" to be one of the states, pref 
 erably "Oregon ! " To hear the music and hold a 
 flag, and sit close to little girls of her own age who 
 would smile kindly at her and, perhaps, even ask 
 her name shyly, and take her home with them to 
 see their dolls. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, grasping the reins in her thin 
 hands, "I m all of a tremble ! Just like maw on 
 wash days ! Only I ain t tired I m just glad." 
 
 There were shifting groups of children in front 
 of the school house. Kvery thing even the white 
 houses with their green blinds and neat door- 
 yards seemed strange and over-powering to 
 Esther. The buoyancy with which she had sur 
 veyed the world from the back of a tall horse 
 gave way to sudden timidity and self-consciousness. 
 Mr. Hoover put her down in the midst of the 
 children. "There, now," he said cheerfully, "play 
 around with the little girls like a nice body while 
 I put up the horses. 
 
 A terrible loneliness came upon Esther as she 
 watched him leading away the horses. All those 
 merry children chattering and shouting, and not , 
 one speaking to her or taking the slightest notice 
 of her. She realized with a suddenness that 
 dazed her and blurred everything before her 
 country eyes that she was very, very different 
 from them why, every one of the little girls was 
 
 24 
 
dressed in pure, soft white, with a beautiful 
 sash and bows; all wore pretty slippers. There 
 was not one copper-toed shoe among them ! 
 
 Her heart came up into her thin, little throat 
 and beat and beat there. She wished that she 
 might sit down and hide her shoes, but then the 
 dress was just as bad. That couldn t be hidden. 
 So she stood awkwardly in their midst, stiff and 
 motionless, with a look in her eyes that ought to 
 have touched somebody s heart. 
 
 Then the "Liberty Car" came, drawn by six 
 noble white horses decorated with flags, ribbons 
 and rosettes, and stepping out oh, so proudly in 
 perfect time with the village band. Esther forgot 
 her buff calico dress and her copper-toed shoes in 
 the exquisite delight of that moment. 
 
 The little girls were placed in the car. Each 
 carried a banner on which was painted the name 
 of a state. What graceful, dancing little bodies 
 they were, and how their feet twinkled and could 
 not be quiet ! When Oregon" went proudly by, 
 Esther s heart sank. She wondered which state 
 the} 7 would give to her. 
 
 The band stopped playing. All the girls were 
 seated; somehow there seemed to be no place left 
 for another. Esther went forward bravely 
 and set one copper-toed shoe on the step of the 
 car. The ladies in charge looked at her; 
 then, at each other. 
 
 25 
 
ESTHER S "FOURTH" 
 
 "Hello, Country !" cried a boy s shrill voice 
 behind her suddenly. "My stars! She thinks 
 she s goin in the car. What a jay ! " 
 
 Esther stood as if petrified with her foot still 
 on the step. She felt that they were all looking 
 at her. What terrible things human eyes can 
 be ! A kind of terror took hold of her. She 
 trembled. There seemed to be a great stillness 
 about her. 
 
 "Can t I go? " she said to one of the ladies. 
 Her heart was beating so hard and so fast in her 
 throat that her voice sounded far away to her. 
 "My paw knows Mr. Mallory, the store-keeper. 
 We live down by the river on the Nesley place. 
 We re poor, but my paw alwus pays his debts. I 
 come with Mr. Hoover; he s gone to put up the 
 horses." 
 
 It was spoken the poor little speech, at once 
 passionate and despairing as any prayer to God. 
 Then it was that Esther learned that there are 
 silences which are harder to bear than the wildest 
 tumultc 
 
 But presently one of the ladies said, very kind 
 ly "Why, I am so sorry, little girl, but you see 
 __e r a ii the little girls who ride in the car must 
 er be dressed in white. 
 
 Esther removed her foot heavily from the 
 step and stood back. 
 
 Oh, look . cried Oregon , leaning from the 
 
 26 
 
ESTHER S " FOURTH " 
 
 car. "She wanted to ride m here \ In a yellow 
 calico dress and copper- toed shoes ! 
 
 Then the band played, the horses pranced and 
 tossed their heads, the flags and banners floated 
 on the breeze, and the beautiful car moved away. 
 
 Esther stood looking after it until she heard Mr. 
 Hoover s voice at her side. "W y, what a funny 
 little girl ! There the car s gone, an she didn t 
 go an git in it, after all ! Did anybody ever see 
 sech a funny little girl ? After gittin up so airly, 
 an hurryin everybody so for fear she d be late, 
 an a-talkin about ridin in the I^ibraty Car for 
 months an then to go an not git in it after 
 all!" 
 
 Esther turned with a bursting heart. She 
 threw herself passionately into his arms and hid 
 her face on his breast. 
 
 "I want to go home," she sobbed. "Oh, I 
 want to go home ! " 
 
THE BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
THE BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
 The hands of the big, round clock in Mr. Jen 
 kins s grocery store pointed to eleven. Mr. Jen 
 kins was tying a string around a paper bag con 
 taining a dollar s worth of sugar. He held one 
 end of the string between his teeth. His three 
 clerks were going around the store with little 
 stiff prances of deference to the customers they 
 were serving. It was the night before Christmas. . 
 They were all so worn out that their attempts at 
 smiles were only painful contortions. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins looked at the clock. Then his 
 eyes went in a hurried glance of pity to a woman 
 sitting on a high stool close to the window. Her 
 feet were drawn up on the top rung, and her thin 
 shoulders stooped over her chest. She had 
 sunken cheeks and hollow eyes; her cheek-bones 
 stood out sharply. 
 
 For two hours she had sat there almost motion 
 less. Three times she had lifted her head and 
 fixed a strained gaze upon Mr. Jenkins and 
 asked, "D yuh want to shet up?" Each time, 
 receiving an answer in the negative, she had sunk 
 back into the same attitude of brute-like waiting. 
 
 It was a wild night. The rain drove its long, 
 31 
 
BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
 slanting lances down the window-panes. The 
 wind howled around corners, banged loose shut 
 ters, creaked swinging sign-boards to and fro, and 
 vexed the telephone wires to shrill, continuous 
 screaming. Fierce gusts swept in when the door 
 was opened. 
 
 Christmas shoppers came and went. The 
 woman saw nothing inside the store. Her 
 eyes were set on the doors of a brightly lighted 
 saloon across the street. 
 
 It was a small, new "boom" town on Puget 
 Sound. There was a saloon on every corner, 
 and a brass band in every saloon. The "estab 
 lishment opposite was having its opening that 
 night. At home cards in square envelopes had 
 been sent out to desirable patrons during the 
 previous week. That day, during an hour s sun 
 shine, a yellow chariot, drawn by six cream-col 
 ored horses with snow-white manes and tails, had 
 gone slowly through the streets, bearing the mem 
 bers of the band clad in white and gold. It was 
 followed by three open carriages, gay with the 
 actresses who were to dance and sing that night 
 on the stage in the rear of the saloon. All had 
 yellow hair and were dressed in yellow with white 
 silk sashes, and white ostrich plumes falling to 
 their shoulders. It was a gorgeous procession, 
 and it "drew." 
 
 The woman lived out in the Grand View addi- 
 
 32 
 
BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
 tion. The addition consisted mainly of cabins 
 built of "shakes" and charred stumps. The 
 grand view was to come some ten or twenty 
 years later on, when the forests surrounding the 
 addition had taken their departure. It was a full 
 mile from the store. 
 
 She had walked in with her husband through 
 the rain and slush after putting six small children 
 to bed. They were very poor. Her husband was 
 shiftless. It was whispered of them by their neigh 
 bors that they couldn t get credit for "two bits" 
 except at the saloons. 
 
 A relative had sent the woman ten dollars for a 
 Christmas gift. She had gone wild with joy. 
 Ten dollars ! It was wealth. For once the 
 children should have a real Christmas a good 
 dinner, toys, candy ! Of all things, there should 
 be a wax doll for the little girl who had cried for 
 one every Christmas, and never even had one in 
 her arms. Just for this one time they should be 
 happy like other children; and she should be 
 happy in their happiness like other mothers. 
 What did it matter that she had only two calico 
 dresses and one pair of shoes, half-soled at that, 
 and capped across the toes ? 
 
 Her husband had entered into her childish joy. 
 He was kind and affectionate when he was sober. 
 That was why she had never had the heart to 
 leave him. He was one of those men who are 
 
THE BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
 always needing, pleading for and, alas ! receiv 
 ing forgiveness; one of those men whom their 
 women love passionately and cling to forever. 
 
 He promised her solemnly that he would not 
 drink a drop that Christmas so solemnly that 
 she believed him. He had helped her to wash 
 the dishes and put the children to bed. And he 
 had kissed her. 
 
 Her face had been radiant when they came into 
 Mr. Jenkins s store. That poor, gray face with its 
 sunken cheeks and eyes ! They bought a turkey 
 and with what anxious care she had selected it, 
 testing its tenderness, balancing it on her bony 
 hands, examining the scales with keen, narrowed 
 eyes when it was weighed; and a quart of cran 
 berries, a can of mince meat and a can of plum 
 pudding, a head of celery, a pint of Olympia 
 oysters, candy, nuts and then the toys ! She 
 trembled with eagerness. Her husband stood 
 watching her, smiling good-humoredly, his hands 
 in his pockets. Mr. Jenkins indulged in some 
 serious speculation as to where the money was 
 coming from to pay for all this blow-out". He 
 set his lips together and resolved that the blow 
 out should not leave the store, under any amount 
 of promises, until the cash paying for it was in 
 his cash-drawer. 
 
 Suddenly the band began to play across the 
 street. The man threw up his head like an old 
 34 
 
THE BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
 war-horse at the sound of a bugle note. A fire 
 came into his eyes; into his face a flush of excite 
 ment. He walked down to the window and 
 stood looking out, jingling some keys in his 
 pocket. He breathed quickly. 
 
 After a few moments he went back to his wife. 
 Mr. Jenkins had stepped away to speak to an 
 other customer. 
 
 "Say, Molly, old girl," he said affectionately, 
 without looking at her, "yuh can spare me 
 enough out o that tenner to git a plug o tobaccer 
 for Christmas, can t yuh? " 
 
 "W y I guess so" said she slowly. The 
 first cloud fell on her happy face. 
 
 "Well, jest let me have it, an I ll run out an* 
 be back before yuh re ready to pay for these 
 here things. I ll only git two bits worth." 
 
 She turned very pale. 
 
 " Can t yuh git it here, Mart? " 
 
 "No," he said in a whisper; "his n ain t fit to 
 chew. I ll be right back, Molly honest. " 
 
 She stood motionless, her eyes cast down, 
 thinking. If she refused, he would be angry and 
 remain away from home all the next day to pay 
 her for the insult. If she gave it to him well, 
 she would have to take the chances. But oh, her 
 hand shook as she drew the small gold piece from 
 her shabby purse and reached it to him. His 
 big, warm hand closed over it. 
 
 35 
 
THE BIyOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
 She looked up at him. Her eyes spoke the 
 passionate prayer that her lips could not utter. 
 
 * Don t stay long, Mart," she whispered, not 
 daring to say more. 
 
 "I won t, Molly," he whispered back. Til 
 hurry up. Git anything yuh want. 
 
 She finished her poor shopping. Mr. Jenkins 
 wrapped everything up neatly. Then he rubbed 
 his hands together and looked at her, and said: 
 "Well, there now, Mis Dupen." 
 
 "I jest lay em all together there on the 
 counter," she said hesitatingly. "I ll have to 
 wait till Mart comes back before I can pay yuh." 
 
 "I see him go into the s loon over there," 
 piped out the errand boy shrilly. 
 
 At the end of half an hour she climbed upon 
 the high stool and fixed her eyes upon the saloon 
 opposite and sat there. 
 
 She saw nothing but the glare of those win 
 dows and the light streaming out when the doors 
 opened. She heard nothing but the torturing 
 blare of the music. After awhile something com 
 menced beating painfully in her throat and tem 
 ples. Her limbs grew stiff she was scarcely 
 conscious that they ached. Once she shuddered 
 strongly, as dogs do when they lie in the cold, 
 waiting. 
 
 At twelve o clock Mr. Jenkins touched her 
 kindly on the arm. She looked up with a start, 
 
THE BLOW-OUT AT JENKINS S GROCERY 
 
 Her face was gray and old; her eyes were almost 
 wild in their strained despair. 
 
 "I guess I ll have to shet up now, Mis 
 Dupen," he said apologetically. "I m sorry " 
 
 She got down from the stool at once. "I can t 
 take them things," she said, almost whispering. 
 "I hate to of put yuh to all that trouble of doin* 
 em up. I thought but I can t take em. I hope 
 yuh won t mind very much." Her bony 
 fingers twisted together under her thin shawl. 
 
 "Oh, that s all right," said Mr. Jenkins in an 
 embarrassed way. She moved stiffly to the door. 
 He put out the lights and followed her. He felt 
 mean, somehow. For one second he hesitated, 
 then he locked the door, and gave it a shake to 
 make sure that it was all right. 
 
 "Well," he said, "good night. I wish you a 
 mer " 
 
 "Good night," said the woman. She was 
 turning away when the doors of the saloon opened 
 for two or three men to enter. The music, which 
 had ceased for a few minutes, struck up another 
 air a familiar air. 
 
 She burst suddenly into wild and terrible 
 
 laughter. "Oh, my Lord," she cried out, 
 
 "they re a-playin Home, Sweet Home ! In 
 
 there! Oh, my Lord! Wouldn t that kill 
 
 yuh!" 
 
THE; TAKIN J IN OF OI<D MIS I,ANB 
 
THK TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS 
 
 1 Huhy ! Huhy ! Pleg take that muley cow ! 
 Huhy!" 
 
 "What she doin , maw?" 
 
 "Why, she s just a-holdin her head over the 
 bars, an a-bawlin ! Tryin to get into the little 
 correll where her ca f is ! I wish paw d of done 
 as I told him an put her into the up meadow. 
 If there s anything on earth I abominate it s to 
 hear a cow bawl." 
 
 Mrs. Bridges gathered up several sticks of wood 
 from the box in the corner by the stove, and 
 going out into the yard, threw them with power 
 ful movements of her bare arm in the direction 
 of the bars. The cow lowered her hornless head 
 and shook it defiantly at her, but held her ground . 
 Isaphene stood in the open door, laughing. She 
 was making a cake. She beat the mixture with 
 a long-handled tin spoon while watching the 
 fruitless attack. She had reddish brown hair 
 that swept away from her brow and temples in 
 waves so deep you could have lost your finger in 
 any one of them; and good, honest gray eyes, 
 and a mouth that was worth kissing. She wore 
 a blue cotton gown that looked as if it had just 
 
TAKIN IN OF OI,D MIS 
 
 left the ironing- table. Her sleeves were rolled to 
 her elbows. 
 
 " It don t do any good, maw," she said, as her 
 mother returned with a defeated air. "She just 
 bawls an shakes her head right in your face. 
 Look at her!" 
 
 "Oh, I don t want to look at her. It seems to 
 me your paw might of drove her to the up 
 meadow, seein s he was goin right up by there. 
 It ain t like as if he d of had to go out o his 
 way. It aggravates me offul." 
 
 She threw the last stick of wood into the box, 
 and brushed the tiny splinters off her arm and 
 sleeves. 
 
 "Well, I guess I might as well string them 
 beans for dinner before I clean up." 
 
 She took a large milkpan, filled with beans, 
 from the table and sat down near the window. 
 
 " Isaphene," she said, presently, what do you 
 say to an organ, an a horse an buggy ? A horse 
 with some style about him, that you could ride or 
 drive, an that u d always be up when you 
 wanted to go to town !" 
 
 "What do I say?" The girl turned and 
 looked at her mother as if she feared one of them 
 had lost her senses; then she returned to her 
 cake-beating with an air of good-natured disdain. 
 
 1 i Oh, you can smile an turn your head on one 
 side, but you ll whistle another tune before long 
 
 4 2 
 
THE TAKIN* IN OF OLD MTS* 
 
 or I ll miss my guess. Isaphene, I ve been savin* 
 up chicken an butter money ever since we come 
 to Puget Sound ; then I ve always got the money 
 for. the strawberry crop, an for the geese an 
 turkeys, an the calves, an so on. Your paw s 
 been real good about such things." 
 
 "I don t call it bein good," said Isaphene. 
 "Why shouldn t he let you have the money? 
 You planted, an weeded, an picked the straw 
 berries ; an you fed an set the chickens, an 
 gethered the eggs ; an you ve had all the tendin 
 of the geese an turkeys an calves to say nothin 
 of the cows bawlin over the bars," she added, 
 with a sly laugh. " I d say you only had your 
 rights when you get the money for such things." 
 
 11 Oh, yes, that s fine talk." Mrs. Bridges 
 nodded her head with an air of experience. But 
 it ain t all men-folks that gives you your rights ; 
 so when one does, I say he deserves credit." 
 
 " Well, I wouldn t claim anybody d been good 
 to me just because he give me what I d worked 
 for an earned. Now, if he d give you all the 
 money from the potato patch every year, or the 
 hay meadow, or anything he d done all the work- 
 in* with himself I d call that good in him. He 
 never done anything like that, did he ? 
 
 "No, he never," replied Mrs. Bridges, testily. 
 "An what s more, he ain t likely to nor any 
 other man I know of! If you get a man that 
 
 43 
 
TAKIN IK OF OLD MIS 
 
 
 gives you all you work for an earn, you ll be 
 lucky with all your airs !" 
 
 "Well, I guess I ll manage to get my rights, 
 somehow," said Isaphene, beginning to butter 
 the cake-pan. 
 
 " Somebody s comin ! " exclaimed her mother, 
 lowering her voice to a mysterious whisper. 
 
 "Who is it?" Isaphene stood up straight, 
 with that little quick beating of mingled pleasure 
 and dismay that the cry of company brings to 
 country hearts. 
 
 " I can t see. I don t want to be caught peepin . 
 I can see it s a woman, though ; she s just passin 
 the row of hollyhocks. Can t you stoop down 
 an peep ? She won t see you way over there by 
 the table." 
 
 Isaphene stooped and peered cautiously through 
 the wild cucumber vines that rioted over the 
 kitchen window. 
 
 "Oh, it s Mis Hanna!" 
 
 " My goodness ! An the way this house looks ! 
 You ll have to bring her out here n the kitchen, 
 too. I s pose she s come to spend the day she s 
 got her bag with her, ain t she?" 
 
 "Yes. What 11 we have for dinner? I ain t 
 goin to cut this cake for her. I want this for 
 Sund y." 
 
 " Why, we ve got corn beef to boil, an a head 
 o cabbage; an these here beans ; an , of course, 
 
 44 
 
THE TAKIN* IN OF OI,D MIS* I<ANE 
 
 potatoes ; an* watermelon perserves. An you 
 can make a custerd pie. I guess that s a good 
 enough dinner for her. There ! She s knockin . 
 Open the door, can t you ? Well, if I ever ! 
 Ivook at that grease-spot on the floor !" 
 
 Well, I didn t spill it." 
 
 "Who did, then, missy?" 
 
 41 Well, /never." 
 
 Isaphene went to the front door, returning 
 presently with a tall, thin lady. 
 
 " Here s Mis Hanna, maw," she said, with the 
 air of having made a pleasant discovery. Mrs. 
 Bridges got up, greatly surprised, and shook 
 hands with her visitor with exaggerated delight. 
 
 "Well, I ll declare ! It s really you, is it ? At 
 last ! Well, set right down an take off your 
 things. Isaphene, take Mis Hanna s things. 
 My ! ain t it warm, walkin ?" 
 
 1 It is so. The visitor gave her bonnet to Isa 
 phene, dropping her black mitts into it after 
 rolling them carefully together. "But it s al 
 ways nice an cool in your kitchen." Her eyes 
 wandered about with a look of unabashed curios 
 ity that took in everything. "I brought my 
 crochet with me." 
 
 "I m glad you did. You ll have to excuse 
 the looks o things. Any news?" 
 
 " None perticular." Mrs. Hnnna be?an to cro- 
 
 45 
 
TAKIN IN OF OI,D MIS* I.ANE 
 
 chet, holding the work close to her face. "Ain t 
 it too bad about poor, old Mis Lane?" 
 
 "What about her?" Mrs. Bridges snapped a 
 bean-pod into three pieces, and looked at her vis 
 itor with a kind of pleased expectancy as if al 
 most any news, however dreadful, would be 
 welcome as a relief to the monotony of existence. 
 "Is she dead?" 
 
 "No, she ain t dead; but the poor, old crea 
 ture d better be. She s got to go to the poor- 
 farm, after all." 
 
 There was silence in the big kitchen, save for 
 the rasp of the crochet needle through the wool 
 and the snapping of the beans. A soft wind came 
 in the window and drummed with the lightest oi 
 touches on Mrs. Bridges s temples. It brought all 
 the sweets of the old-fashioned flower-garden with 
 it the mingled breaths of mignonette, stock, 
 sweet lavender, sweet peas and clove pinks. The 
 whole kitchen was filled with the fragrance. And 
 what a big, cheerful kitchen it was ! Mrs. Bridges 
 contrasted it unconsciously with the poor-farm 
 kitchen, and almost shivered, warm though the 
 day was. 
 
 "What s her childern about?" she asked, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Oh, her childern !" replied Mrs. Hanna, with 
 a contemptuous air. What does her childern 
 amount to, I d like to know." 
 
THE TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS I,ANE 
 
 "Her son s got a good, coinf table house an* 
 farm." 
 
 "Well, what if he has? He got it with his 
 wife, didn t he? An M lissy won t let his poor, 
 old mother set foot inside the house ! I don t say 
 she is a pleasant body to have about she s cross 
 an sick most all the time, an childish. But 
 that ain t sayin her childern oughtn t to put up 
 with her disagreeableness." 
 
 " She s got a married daughter, ain t she?" 
 
 "Yes, she s got a married daughter." Mrs. 
 Hanna closed her lips tightly together and looked 
 as if she might say something, if she chose, that 
 would create a sensation. 
 
 "Well, ain t she got a good enough home to 
 keep her mother in ? 
 
 * * Yes, she has. But she got her home along 
 with her husband, an he won t have the old soul 
 any more n M lissy would." 
 
 There was another silence. Isaphene had put 
 the cake in the oven. She knelt on the floor and 
 opened the door very softly now and then, to see 
 that it was not browning too fast. The heat of 
 the oven had crimsoned her face and arms. 
 
 " Guess you d best put a piece o paper on top 
 o that cake," said her mother. "It smells kind 
 o burny like." 
 
 " It s all right, maw." 
 
 Mrs. Bridges looked out the window. 
 
 47 
 
TAKIN IN OF otD MIS I,ANE 
 
 Ain t my flowers doin well, though, Mis 
 Hanna?" 
 
 "They are that. When I come up the walk 
 I couldn t help thiiikin of poor, old Mis I^ane." 
 
 "What s that got to do with her?" Resent 
 ment bristled in Mrs. Bridges s tone and look. 
 
 Mrs. Hanna stopped crocheting, but held her 
 hands stationary, almost level with her eyes, and 
 looked over them in surprise at her questioner. 
 
 11 Why, she ust to live here, you know." 
 
 " She did! In this house ?" 
 
 * Why, yes. Didn t you know that ? Oh, they 
 ust to be right well off in her husband s time. I 
 visited here consid rable. My ! the good things 
 she always had to eat. I can taste em yet." 
 
 " Hunh ! I m sorry I can t give you as good 
 as she did," said Mrs. Bridges, stiffly. 
 
 " Well, as if you didn t ! You set a beautiful 
 table, Mis Bridges, an , what s more, that s your 
 reputation all over. Everybody says that about 
 you." 
 
 Mrs. Bridges smiled deprecatingly, with a slight 
 blush of pleasure. 
 
 * * They do, Mis Bridges. I just told you about 
 Mis I^ane because you d never think it now of 
 the poor, old creature. An such flowers as she 
 ust to have on both sides that walk ! I/ark-spurs, 
 an sweet-williams, an bach lor s-buttons, an* 
 mournin -widows, an pumgranates, an all kinds. 
 
THE TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS 
 
 Guess you didn t know she set out that pink cab 
 bage-rose at the north end o the front porch, did 
 you ? An that hop-vine that you ve got trained 
 over your parlor window set that out, too. An* 
 that row o young alders between here an the 
 barn she set em all out with her own hands ; dug 
 the holes herself, an all. It s funny she never 
 told you she lived here." 
 
 "Yes, it is," said Mrs. Bridges, slowly and 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "It s a wonder to me she never broke down 
 an* cried when she was visitin here. She can t 
 so much as mention the place without cry in ." 
 
 A dull red came into Mrs. Bridges s face. 
 
 " She never visited here." 
 
 "Never visited here!" Mrs. Hanna laid her 
 crochet and her hands in her lap, and stared. 
 "Why, she visited ev ry where. That s how she 
 managed to keep out o the poor-house so long. 
 Ev rybody was reel consid rate about invitin her. 
 But I expect she didn t like to come here because 
 she thought so much o the place." 
 
 Isaphene looked over her shoulder at her 
 mother, but the look was not returned. The 
 beans were sputtering nervously into the pan. 
 
 "Ain t you got about enough, maw?" she 
 said. " That pan seems to be gettin hefty." 
 
 "Yes, I guess." She got up, brushing the 
 strings off her apron, and set the pan on the 
 
 49 
 
TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS 
 
 table. " I ll watch the cake now, Isaphene. You 
 put the beans on in the pot to boil. Put a piece 
 o that salt pork in with em. Better get em on 
 right away. It s pretty near eleven. Ain t this 
 oven too hot with the door shet ? 
 
 Then the pleasant preparations for dinner went 
 on. The beans soon commenced to boil, and an 
 appetizing odor floated through the kitchen. The 
 potatoes were pared big, white fellows, smooth 
 and long with a sharp, thin knife, round and 
 round and round, each without a break until the 
 whole paring had curled itself about Isaphene s 
 pretty arm almost to the elbow. The cabbage was 
 chopped finely for the cold-slaw, and the vinegar 
 and butter set on the stove in a saucepan to heat. 
 Then Mrs. Bridges * set " the table, covering it 
 first with a red cloth having a white border and 
 fringe. In the middle of the table she placed an 
 uncommonly large, six-bottled caster. 
 
 " I guess you ll excuse a red tablecloth, Mis 
 Hanna. The men-folks get their shirt-sleeves so 
 dirty out in the fields that you can t keep a white 
 one clean no time." 
 
 " I use red ones myself most of the time," re 
 plied Mrs. Hanna, crocheting industriously. " It 
 saves washin . I guess poor Mis L,ane 11 have 
 to see the old place after all these years, whether 
 she wants or not. They ll take her right pasl 
 here to the poor-farm." 
 
 5 
 
TAKIN IN OF OI,D MIS 
 
 Mrs. Bridges set on the table a white plate 
 holding a big square of yellow butter, and stood 
 looking through the open door, down the path 
 with its tall hollyhocks and scarlet poppies on 
 both sides. Between the house and the barn 
 some wild mustard had grown, thick and tall, 
 and was now drifting, like a golden cloud, against 
 the pale blue sky. Butterflies were throbbing 
 through the air, and grasshoppers were crackling 
 everywhere. It was all very pleasant and peace 
 ful ; while the comfortable house and barns, the 
 wide fields stretching away to the forest, and the 
 cattle feeding on the hillside added an appear 
 ance of prosperity. Mrs. Bridges wondered how 
 she herself would feel after having loved the 
 place riding by to the poor-farm. Then she 
 pulled herself together and said, sharply : 
 
 "I m afraid you feel a draught, Mis Hanna, 
 a-settin so clost to the door." 
 
 "Oh, my, no; I like it. I like lots o fresh 
 air. Can t get it any too fresh for me. If I didn t 
 have six childern an my own mother to keep, I d 
 take her myself." 
 
 "Take who?" Mrs. Bridges s voice rasped 
 as she asked the question. Isaphene paused on 
 her way to the pantry, and looked at Mrs. Hanna 
 with deeply thoughtful eyes. 
 
 "Why, Mis Lane who else? before I d let 
 her go to the poor-farm." 
 
 5* 
 
TAKIN IN otf.oij) MIS 
 
 * Well, I think her childern ought to be made to 
 take care of her!" Mrs. Bridges went on setting 
 the table with brisk, angry movements. * That s 
 what I think about it. The law ought to take 
 holt of it." 
 
 " Well, you see the law has took holt of it," 
 said Mrs. Hanna, with a grim smile. "It seems 
 a shame that there ain t somebody in the neigh 
 borhood that u d take her in. She ain t much 
 expense, but a good deal o trouble. She s sick, 
 in an out o bed, nigh onto all the time. My 
 opinion is she s been soured by all her troubles ; 
 an that if somebody u d only take her in an be 
 kind to her, her temper ment u d emprove up 
 wonderful. She s always mighty grateful for 
 ev ry little chore you do her. It just makes my 
 heart ache to think o her a-havin to go to the 
 poor-house !" 
 
 Mrs. Bridges lifted her head ; all the softness 
 and irresolution went out of her face. 
 
 "Well, I m sorry for her," she said, with an 
 air of dismissing a disagreeable subject; "but 
 the world s full o troubles, an if you cried over 
 all o them you d be a-cryin all the time. Isa- 
 phene, you go out an blow that dinner-horn. I 
 see the men-folks av got the horses about fod 
 dered. What did you do ? she cried out, sharply. 
 "Drop a smoothin -iron on your hand? Well, 
 
TAKIN IN OF OI<D MIS 
 
 my goodness ! Why don t you keep your eyes 
 about you? You ll go an get a cancer yet 1" 
 
 " I m thinkin about buyin a horse an buggy," 
 she announced, with stern triumph, when the girl 
 had gone out. An an organ. Isaphene s been 
 wantin one most offul. I ve give up her paw s 
 ever gettin her one. First a new harrow, an 
 then a paten rake, an then a seed-drill an then 
 my mercy " imitating a musculine voice "he 
 ain t got any money left for silliness ! But I ve 
 got some laid by. I d like to see his eyes when 
 he comes home an finds a bran new buggy with 
 a top an all, an a horse that he can t hetch to a 
 plow, no matter how bad he wants to ! I ain t 
 sure but I ll get a phaeton." 
 
 "They ain t so strong, but they re handy to 
 get in an out of specially for old, trembly 
 knees." 
 
 " I ain t so old that I m trembly ! " 
 
 "Oh, my no," said Mrs. Hanna, with a little 
 start. "I was just thinkin mebbe sometimes 
 you d go out to the poor-farm an take poor, old 
 Mis Lane for a little ride. It ain t more n five 
 miles from here, is it? She ust to have a horse 
 an buggy o her own. Somehow, I can t get her 
 off o my mind at all to-day. I just heard about 
 her as I was a-startin for your house." 
 
 The men came to the house. They paused on 
 the back porch to clean their boots on the scraper 
 
 53 
 
THE TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS 
 
 and wash their hands and faces with water dipped 
 from the rain-barrel. Their faces shone like 
 brown marble when they came in. 
 
 It was five o clock when Mrs. Hanna, with a 
 sigh, began rolling the lace she had crocheted 
 around the spool, preparatory to taking her de 
 parture. 
 
 "Well," she said, " I must go. I had no idy 
 it was so late. How the time does go, a-talkin . 
 I ve had a right nice time. Just see how well 
 I ve done crocheted full a yard since dinner 
 time ! My ! how pretty that hop-vine looks. It 
 makes awful nice shade, too. I guess when Mis 
 I^ane planted it she thought she d be settin undei 
 it herself to-day she took such pleasure in it." 
 
 The ladies were sitting on the front porch. It 
 was cool and fragrant out there. The shadow of 
 the house reached almost to the gate now. The 
 bees had been drinking too many sweets greedy 
 fellows ! and were lying in the red poppies, dron 
 ing stupidly. A soft wind was blowing from Pu- 
 get Sound and turning over the clover leaves, 
 making here a billow of dark green and there one 
 of light green ; it was setting loose the perfume 
 of the blossoms, too, and sifting silken thistle- 
 needles through the air. Along the fence was a 
 
 54 
 
TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS 
 
 hedge, eight feet high, of the beautiful ferns that 
 grow luxuriantly in western Washington. The 
 pasture across the lane was a tangle of royal 
 color, being massed in with golden-rod, fire-weed, 
 steeple-bush, yarrow, and large field-daisies ; 
 the cotton-woods that lined the creek at the side 
 of the house were snowing. Here and there the 
 sweet twin-sister of the steeple-bush lifted her pale 
 and fluffy plumes ; and there was one lovely, 
 lavender company of wild asters. 
 
 Mrs. Bridges arose and followed her guest into 
 the spare bedroom. 
 
 When they goin to take her to the poor-farm ?" 
 she asked, abruptly. 
 
 "Day after to-morrow. Ain t it awful? It 
 just makes me sick. I couldn t of eat a bite o 
 dinner if I d stayed at home, just for thinkin 
 about it. They say the poor, old creature ain t 
 done nothin but cry an moan ever since she 
 knowed she d got to go." 
 
 "Here s your bag," said Mrs. Bridges. "Do 
 you want I should tie your veil ? 
 
 "No, thanks ; I guess I won t put It on. If I 
 didn t have such a big fam ly an my own mother 
 to keep, I d take her in myself before I d see her 
 go to the poor-house. If I had a small fam ly 
 an plenty o room, I declare my conscience 
 wouldn t let me sleep nights." 
 
 55 
 
THE TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS 
 
 A deep red glow spread over Mrs. Bridges s 
 face. 
 
 " Well, I guess you needn t to keep a-hintin for 
 me to take her," she said, sharply. 
 
 " You!" Mrs. Hanna uttered the word in a 
 tone that was an unintentional insult ; in fact, 
 Mrs. Bridges affirmed afterward that her look of 
 astonishment, and, for that matter, her whole air 
 of dazed incredulity were insulting. " I never 
 once thought o you, she said, with an earnest 
 ness that could not be doubted. 
 
 "Why not o me?" demanded Mrs. Bridges, 
 showing something of her resentment. " What 
 you been talkin an harpin about her all day 
 for, if you wasn t hintin for me to take her in?" 
 
 1 * I never thought o such a thing, repeated 
 her visitor, still looking rather helplessly dazed. 
 1 * I talked about it because it was on my mind, 
 heavy, too ; an , I guess, because I wanted to talk 
 my conscience down." 
 
 Mrs. Bridges cooled off a little and folded her 
 hands over the bedpost. 
 
 "Well, if you wasn t hintin ," she said, in a 
 conciliatory tone, "it s all right. You kep 
 harpin on the same string till I thought you was ; 
 an it riles me offul to be hinted at. I ll take 
 anything right out to my face, so s I can answer 
 it, but I won t be hinted at. "But why" hav 
 ing rid herself of the grievance she at once swung 
 
 56 
 
TAKIN IN OP OI.D MIS I,ANB 
 
 around to the insult " why didn t you think o* 
 me?" 
 
 Mrs. Hanna cleared her throat and began to 
 unroll her mitts. 
 
 "Well, I don t know just why," she replied, 
 helplessly. She drew the mitts on, smoothing 
 them well up over her thin wrists. * I don t know 
 why, I m sure. I d thought o most ev rybody 
 in the neighborhood but you never come into 
 my head onct. I was as innocent o* hintin as a 
 babe unborn." 
 
 Mrs. Bridges drew a long breath noiselessly. 
 
 "Well," she said, absent-mindedly, "come 
 again, Mis Hanna. An be sure you always 
 fetch your work an stay the afternoon." 
 
 "Well, I will. But it s your turn to come 
 now. Where s Isaphene?" 
 
 " I guess she s makin a fire n the cook-stove 
 to get supper by." 
 
 "Well, tell her to come over an* stay aH night 
 with Julia some night." 
 
 We ll I w iU. 
 
 Mrs. Bridges went into the kitchen and sat 
 down, rather heavily, in a chair. Her face wore 
 a puzzled expression. 
 
 " Isaphene, did you hear what we was a-sayin 
 in the bedroom?" 
 
 " Yes, most of it, I guess." 
 
 "Well, what do you s pose was the reason she 
 
 57 
 
TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS I.ANE 
 
 never thought o me a-takin Mis Lane in ? Says 
 she d thought o ev rybody else. 1 
 
 "Why, you never thought o takin her in 
 yourself, did you?" said Isaphene, turning down 
 the damper of the stove with a clatter. " I don t 
 see how anybody else u d think of it when you 
 didn t yourself." 
 
 " Well, don t you think it was offul impadent 
 in her to say that, anyhow?" 
 
 " No, I don t. She told the truth." 
 
 " Why ought they to think o ev rybody takin 
 her exceptin me, I d like to know." 
 
 4 Because ev rybody else, I s pose, has thought 
 of it theirselves. The neighbors have all been 
 chippin in to help her for years. You never 
 done nothin for her, did you? You never in 
 vited her to visit here, did you ? 
 
 "No, I never. But that ain t no sayin I 
 wouldn t take her as quick s the rest of em. 
 They ain t none of em takin her in very fast, 
 be they?" 
 
 "No, they ain t," said Isaphene, facing her 
 mother with a steady look. "They ain t a one 
 of em but s got their hands full no spare room, 
 an lots o childern or their folks to take care of." 
 
 Hunh ! said Mrs. Bridges. She began chop 
 ping cold boiled beef for hash. 
 
 "I don t believe I ll sleep to-night for thinkin 
 about it," she said, after a while. 
 
 58 
 
THE TAKIN IN OF ou> MIS I,ANE 
 
 " I won t neither, maw. I wish she wasn t 
 goin right by here." 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 After a long silence Mrs. Bridges said-- "I 
 don t suppose your paw d hear to us a-takin her 
 in." 
 
 "I guess he d hear to t if we would," said 
 Isaphene, dryly. 
 
 " Well, we can t do t ; that s all there is about 
 it," announced Mrs. Bridges, with a great air of 
 having made up her mind. Isaphene did not re 
 ply. She was slicing potatoes to fry, and she 
 seemed to agree silently with her mother s deci 
 sion. Presently, however, Mrs. Bridges said, in 
 a less determined tone " There s no place to put 
 her in, exceptin the spare room an we can t 
 get along without that, noways." 
 
 No," said Isaphene, in a non-committal tone. 
 
 Mrs. Bridges stopped chopping and looked 
 thoughtfully out of the door. 
 
 There s this room openin out o the kitchen, 
 she said, slowly. "It s nice an big an sunny. 
 It u d be handy n winter, bein right off o the 
 kitchen. But it ain t furnished up." 
 
 "No," said Isaphene, "it ain t." 
 
 " An I know your paw d never furnish it." 
 
 Isaphene laughed. "No, I guess not," she 
 said. 
 
 "Well, there s no use a-thinkin about it, Isa- 
 
 59 
 
TAKIN IN OF OI,D MIS 
 
 phene; we just can t take her. Better get them 
 potatoes on; I see the men-folks comin up to the 
 barn." 
 
 The next morning after breakfast Isaphene 
 said suddenly, as she stood washing dishes 
 " Maw, I guess you d better take the organ money 
 an furnish up that room." 
 
 Mrs. Bridges turned so sharply she dropped 
 the turkey-wing with which she was polishing 
 the stove. 
 
 "You don t never mean it," she gasped. 
 
 "Yes, I do. I know we d both feel better to 
 take her in than to take in an organ" they both 
 laughed rather foolishly at the poor joke. " You 
 can furnish the room real comf table with what 
 it u d take to buy an organ; an we can get the 
 horse an buggy, too." 
 
 " Oh, Isaphene, I ve never meant but what you 
 should have an organ. I know you d learn fast. 
 You d soon get so s you could play I/illy Dale 
 an Hazel Dell ; an you might get so s you 
 could play * General Persifer F. Smith s Grand 
 March. No, I won t never spend that money 
 for nothin but an organ so you can just shet 
 up about it." 
 
 " I want a horse an buggy worse, maw," said 
 
 Isaphene, after a brief but fierce struggle with 
 
 the dearest desire of her heart. We can get a 
 
 horse that I can ride, too. An we ll get a 
 
 60 
 
THE TAKIN IN OF OI<:D MIS 
 
 phaeton, so s we can take Mis Lane to church 
 an around." Then she added, with a regular 
 masterpiece of diplomacy "We ll show the 
 neighbors that when we do take people in, we 
 take em in all over !" 
 
 "Oh, Isaphene," said her mother, weakly. 
 "wouldn t it just astonish em !" 
 
 It was ten o clock of the following morning 
 when Isaphene ran in and announced that she 
 heard wheels coming up the lane. Mrs. Bridges 
 paled a little and breathed quickly as she put on 
 her bonnet and went out to the gate. 
 
 A red spring-wagon was coming slowly toward 
 her, drawn by a single, bony horse. The driver 
 was half asleep on the front seat. Behind, in a 
 low chair, sat old Mrs. Lane ; she was stooping 
 over, her elbows on her knees, her gray head 
 bowed. 
 
 Mrs. Bridges held up her hand, and the driver 
 pulled in the unreluctant horse. 
 
 " How d you do, Mis Lane ? I want that you 
 should come in an visit me a while." 
 
 The old creature lifted her trembling head and 
 looked at Mrs. Bridges ; then she saw the old 
 house, half hidden by vines and flowers, and her 
 dim eyes filled with bitter tears. 
 
 61 
 
THIS TAKIN IN OF OLD MIS 
 
 "We ain t got time to stop, ma am," said 
 the driver, politely. "I m a takiu her to the 
 county," he added, in a lower tone, but not so low 
 that the old woman did not hear. 
 
 You ll have to make time," said Mrs. Bridges, 
 bluntly. "You get down an help her out. 
 You don t have to wait. When I m ready for 
 her to go to the county, I ll take her myself." 
 
 Not understanding in the least, but realizing, 
 as he said afterwards, that she "meant business" 
 and wasn t the kind to be fooled with, the man 
 obeyed with alacrity. 
 
 " Now, you lean all your heft on me," said 
 Mrs. Bridges, kindly. She put her arm around 
 the old woman and led her up the hollyhock path, 
 and through the house into the pleasant kitchen. 
 
 c * Isaphene, you pull that big chair over here 
 where it s cool. Now, Mis L,ane, you set right 
 down an rest." 
 
 Mrs. I^ane wiped the tears from her face with 
 an old cotton handkerchief. She tried to speak, 
 but the sobs had to be swallowed down too fast. 
 At last she said, in a choked voice " It s awful 
 good in you to let me see the old place once 
 more. The I/)rd bless you for it. But I m 
 most sorry I stopped seems now as if I just 
 couldn t go on." 
 
 "Well, you ain t goin on," said Mrs. Bridges, 
 while Isaphene went to the door and stood look- 
 62 
 
TAKIN IN OF ou> MIS 
 
 Ing toward the hill with drowned eyes. This 
 is our little joke Isaphene s an mine. This ll 
 be your home as long as it s our n. An you re 
 goin to have this nice big room right off o the 
 kitchen, as soon s we can furnish it up. An 
 we re goin to get a horse an buggy a low 
 buggy, so s you can get in an out easy like an 
 take you to church an all around." 
 
 That night, after Mrs. Bridges had put Mrs. 
 to bed and said good-night to her, she went 
 out on the front porch and sat down ; but pres 
 ently, remembering that she had not put a candle 
 in the room, she went back, opening the door 
 noiselessly, not to disturb her. Then she stood 
 perfectly still. The old creature had got out of 
 bed and was kneeling beside A it, her face buried 
 in her hands. 
 
 " Oh, lyord God," she was saying aloud, " bless 
 these kind people bless em, oh, I^ord God ! 
 Hear a poor, old mis rable soul s prayer, an bless 
 em ! An if they ve ever done a sinful thing, 
 oh, lyord God, forgive em for it, because they ve 
 kep me out o the poor-house " 
 , Mrs. Bridges closed the door, and stood sobbing 
 as if her heart must break. 
 
TAKIN IN OP OI,D MIS* 
 
 "What s the matter, maw?" said Isaphene, 
 coming up suddenly. 
 
 " Never you mind what s the matter," said her 
 mother, sharply, to conceal her emotion. You 
 get to bed, an don t bother your head about 
 what s the matter of me." 
 
 Then she went down the hall and entered her 
 own room ; and Isaphene heard the key turned 
 in the lock. 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYEERT 
 
 "Why, mother, where are you a-goin , all 
 dressed up so ? 
 
 Mr. Sybert stood in the bedroom door and 
 stared at his wife s ample back. There was a 
 look of surprise in his blue eyes. Mrs. Sybert 
 stooped before the bureau, and opened the middle 
 drawer, taking hold of both handles and watch 
 ing it carefully as she drew it toward her. Some 
 times it came out crookedly; and every one knows 
 that a drawer that opens crookedly, will, in time, 
 strain and rub the best bureau ever made. From 
 a red pasteboard box that had the picture of a 
 pretty actress on the cover, Mrs. Sybert took a 
 linen handkerchief that had been ironed until it 
 shone like satin. After smoothing an imaginary 
 wrinkle out of it, she put it into her pocket, set 
 her bonnet a little further over her forehead, 
 pushing a stray lock sternly where it belonged, 
 adjusted her bonnet-strings, which were so wide 
 and so stiff that they pressed her ears away from 
 her head, giving her a bristling appearance, and 
 buttoned her gloves with a hair-pin ; then, hay 
 ing gained time and decided upon a reply, she 
 said, cheerfully, "What s that, father?" 
 
 67 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 
 
 "Well, it took you a right smart spell to 
 answer, didn t it? I say, where are you a-goin , 
 all dressed up so?" 
 
 Mrs. Sybert took her black silk bag with round 
 spots brocaded upon it, and put its ribbons 
 leisurely over her arm. "I m a-goin to see 
 Mis Nesley," she said. 
 
 Her husband s face reddened. " What s that 
 you say, mother? You re a-goin to do what? 
 I reckon I m a-goin a little deef." 
 
 "I m a-goin to see Mis Nesley." Mrs. Sybert 
 spoke calmly. No one would have suspected 
 that she was reproaching herself for not getting 
 out of the house ten minutes sooner. He 
 never d a heard a thing about it," she was 
 thinking ; but she looked straight into his eyes. 
 Her eyelids did not quiver. 
 
 The red in Mr. Sybert s face deepened. He 
 stood in the door, so she could not pass. Indeed, 
 she did not try. Mrs. Sybert had not studied 
 signs for nothing during the thirty years she had 
 been a wife. * * I reckon you re a-foolin , mother, 
 he said. "Just up to some o your devilment !" 
 
 "No, I ain t up to no devilment, father," she 
 said, still calmly. You d best let me by, now, 
 so s I can go ; it s half after two. " 
 
 "D you mean to say that you re a-ne rnest? 
 A-talkin about goin to see that hussy of a Mis 
 Lesley?" 
 
THB MANEUVERING OF MRS. 
 
 " Yes, I m a-ne rnest, " said Mrs. Sybert, firmly. 
 "She ain t a hussy, as I know of. What you 
 got agin er, I d like to know ?" 
 
 "/ ain t got anything agin er. Now, what s 
 the sense o you re a-pretendin you don t know 
 the talk about er, mother?" Mr. Sybert s tone 
 had changed slightly. He did not like the poise 
 of his wife s body; it bespoke determination 
 a fight to the finish if necessary. "You know 
 she s be n the town talk fer five years. Your 
 own tawngue hez run on about er like s if t was 
 split in the middle an loose at both en s. There 
 wa n t a woman in town that spoke to er" - 
 
 "There was men, though, that did," said Mrs. 
 Sybert, calmly. "I rec lect bein in at Mis 
 Carney s one day, an seem you meet er opposite 
 an take off your hat to er bowin an scrapin 
 right scrumptious like." 
 
 Mr. Sybert changed his position uneasily, and 
 cleared his throat. "Well, that s diff rent," he 
 said. "I ust to know er before er husband 
 died" - 
 
 " Well, I ust to know er, then, too," said Mrs. 
 Sybert, quietly. 
 
 "Well, you hed to stop speakin to er after 
 she got to actin up so, but it wa n t so easy fer 
 me to stop biddin er the time o day." 
 
 "Why not?" said Mrs. Sybert, stolidly. 
 
 " Why not !" repeated her husband, loudly ; he 
 
 69 
 
THK MANEUVERING OF MRS. 
 
 was losing his temper. "What s the sense o 
 your actin the fool so, mother ? Why, if I d a 
 set myself up as bein too virtjus to speak to er 
 ev ry man in town u d a be n blagg ardin me 
 about bein so mighty good !" 
 
 "Why s/2 VdfoV you be so mighty good, father ? 
 You expect me to be, I notice." 
 
 Mr. Sybert choked two or three times. His 
 face was growing purplish. 
 
 " Oh, damn /" he burst out. Then he looked 
 frightened. "Now, see here, mother! You re 
 aggravatin me awful. You know as well as me 
 that men ain t expected to be as good all their 
 lives as women " 
 
 " Why ain t they expected to?" Mrs. Sybert s 
 tone and look were stern. 
 
 " I don t know why they ain t, mother, but I 
 know they ain t expected to an I know they 
 ain t as good, ither." This last was a fine bit 
 of diplomacy. But it was wasted. 
 
 " They ain t as good, aigh? Well, the reason 
 they ain t as good is just because they ain t ex 
 pected to be ! That s just the reason. You can t 
 get around that, can you, father?" 
 
 Evidently he could not. 
 
 "An now," continued Mrs. Sybert, " that she s 
 up an married Mr. Nesley an wants to live a 
 right life, I m a-goin to see her." 
 
 " How d you know she wants to live a right 
 life?" ?0 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 
 
 "I don t know it, father. I just reckon she 
 does. When you wanted I sh u d marry you, 
 my father shook his head, an says * lyucindy, I 
 do know what to say. John s be n a mighty fast 
 young fello to give a good girl to fer the askin / 
 but I says Well, father, I reckon he wants to 
 start in an live a right life now. An so I reckon 
 that about Mis Nesley." 
 
 " God A mighty, mother !" exclaimed Mr. Sy- 
 bert, violently. That s diff rent. Them things 
 ain t counted the same in men. Most all men 
 nowadays sow their wild oats an then settle down, 
 an ain t none the worse for it. It just helps em 
 to appreciate good women, an to make good 
 husbands." 
 
 "Well, I reckon Mis Nesley knows how to ap 
 preciate a good man by this time," said Mrs. 
 Sybert, with unintentional irony. I reckon 
 she s got all her wild oats sowed, an is ready to 
 settle down an make a good wife. So I m goin 
 to see er. Let me by, father. I ve fooled a ha f 
 an hour away now, when I d ort to a be n on 
 the road there." 
 
 "Now, see here, mother. You ain t goin a 
 step. The whole town s excited over a nice man 
 like Mr. Nesley a-throwin hisself away on a no- 
 account woman like her, an you sha n t be seen 
 a-goin there an upholdin her." 
 
 Mrs. Sybert looked long and steadily into her 
 
 7J 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 
 
 husband s eyes. It was her policy to fight until 
 she -began to lose ground, and then to quietly turn 
 her forces to maneuvering. I reckon, she was 
 now reflecting; "it s about time to begin ma- 
 neuv rin ." 
 
 "Well, father," she said, mildly; "I ve made 
 up my mind to go an see Mis Nesley an encour 
 age her same s I w u d any man that wanted to 
 live better. An I m a-goinV 
 
 "You ain t a-goin !" thundered Mr. Sybert. 
 " I forbid you to budge a step ! You sha n t dis 
 grace yourself, Mrs. Sybert, if you do want to, 
 while you re my wife !" 
 
 Mrs. Sybert untied her bonnet strings, and laid 
 her bag on the foot of the bed. "All right, 
 father," she said, " I won t go till you tell me I 
 can. I always hev tried to do just as you wanted 
 Ish u d." 
 
 She went into another room to take off her best 
 dress. Mr. Sybert stood staring after her, speech 
 less. He had the dazed look of a cat that falls 
 from a great height and alights, uninjured, upon 
 its feet. The maneuvering had commenced. 
 
 Mr. Sybert spent the afternoon at the postoffice 
 grocery store. It was a pleasant place to sit. 
 There was always a cheerful fire in the rusty box- 
 stove in the back room, and there were barrels and 
 odds and ends of chairs scattered around, whereon 
 men who had an hour to squander might sit and 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 
 
 talk over the latest scandal. Men, as it is well 
 known, are above the petty gossip as to servants 
 and best gowns which women enjoy ; but, with 
 out scruple or conscience, they will talk away a 
 woman s character, even when they see her strug 
 gling to live down a misfortune or sin and begin a 
 new life. There are many characters talked away 
 in the back rooms of grocery stores. 
 
 It was six o clock when he went home. As he 
 went along the narrow plank walk, he thought of 
 the good supper that would be awaiting him, and 
 his heart softened to " mother." 
 
 * I reckon I was too set, he reflected. * There 
 ain t many women as good an faithful as mother. 
 I don t see what got it into her head to go to see 
 that Mis Nesley an to talk up so to me. She 
 never done that afore." 
 
 The door was locked. In surprise he fumbled 
 about in the dark for the seventh flower-pot in 
 the third row, where mother always hid the key. 
 Yes, it was there. But his knees shook a little 
 as he entered the house. He could not remember 
 that he had ever found her absent at supper time 
 since the children were married. Some of the 
 neighbors must be sick. In that case she would 
 have left a note ; and he lighted the kitchen can 
 dle, and searched for it. It was pinned to a cush 
 ion on the bureau in the bedroom. The house 
 was cold, but he did not wait to kindle a fire. 
 
 73 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. 
 
 He sat down by the bureau, and with fingers 
 somewhat clumsier than usual, adjusted his spec 
 tacles over his high, thin nose. Then, leaning 
 close to the candle, he read the letter, the com 
 position of which must have given "mother" 
 some anxious hours. It was written with pain 
 ful precision. 
 
 " DEAR FATHER : You will find the coald meat in 
 the safe out on the back porch in the stun crock covered 
 up with a pie pan. The apple butter is in the big peory 
 jar down in the seller with a plate and napkeen tied over 
 it. Put them back on when you get some out so the ants 
 wont get into. There s a punkin pie on the bottom shelf 
 of the pantree to the right side of the door as you go in, 
 and some coffy in the mill all ground. I m offul sorry I 
 hadenttime to fix supper. I hev gone to Johns and Ma 
 rias to stay tell you come after me and I don t want that 
 you shud come tell you change your mind bout Mis Nes- 
 ley, if it takes till dumesday to change it. I aint never 
 gone against you in anythin before, but I haf to this- time. 
 Im goin to stay at Johns and Marias tell you come of 
 yourself and get me. You dont haf to say nothin before 
 John and Maria except just well mother Ive come after 
 you. Then I ll know you meen I can go and see Mis 
 Nesley. 
 
 Well father I reckon youll be surprised but Iv-e been 
 thinkin bout that poor woman and us not givin her a 
 chanse after what Christ said bout castin the first stun. 
 He didnt make no difrence between metis and womens 
 sins and I dont perpose to. There aint a woman alive 
 thats worse than haff the men are when they conclud to 
 settle down and live right and if you give men a chanse 
 youve got to give women a chanse too. They both got 
 
 74 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 
 
 soles an I reckon thats what Gods thinkin bout. I mar 
 ried you and give you a chanse and I reckon youd best 
 do as much fer Mis Nesley. 
 
 If you dont come fer me 111 live at Johns and Marias 
 and I want that you shud keep all the things but the hit 
 and miss rag carpet. I dont think I cud get along with 
 out that. Marias are all wove in stripes and look so 
 com on. And my cloze and one fether bed and pillow. 
 Well thats all. MOTHER." 
 
 " I laid out your clean undercloze on the foot of the 
 bed and your sox with them." 
 
 One fine afternoon the following week Mrs. 
 Sybert, looking through the geraniums in Maria s 
 kitchen window, saw her husband drive up to the 
 gate. She did not look surprised. 
 
 "Here s father come to get me, Maria," she 
 said, lifting her voice. 
 
 Maria came out of the pantry with flour on her 
 hands and arms and stood waiting. Mr. Sybert 
 came in, stamping, and holding his head high and 
 stiffly. He had a lofty and condescending air. 
 
 "Well, mother," he said, "I ve come after 
 you." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Sybert, "set down till I 
 get on my things. I ve had a right nice vis t, 
 but I m glad to get home. Did you find the apple 
 butter?" 
 
 On the road home Mrs. Sybert talked cheerfully 
 about John and Maria and their domestic affairs. 
 Mr. Sybert listened silently. He held his body 
 
 75 
 
THE MANEUVERING OF MRS. SYBERT 
 
 erect, looking neither to the right nor to the left. 
 He did not speak until they approached Mr. Nes- 
 ley s gate. Then he said, with firmness and dig 
 nity : 
 
 " Mother, I ve b en thinkin that you d best go 
 an see Mis Nesley, after all. I changed my mind 
 down at the postoffice groc ry store that same 
 afternoon an went home, meanin to tell you I 
 wanted you sh u d go an see er but you was 
 gone to John s an Maria s. I reckon you d best 
 stop right now an have it over." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Sybert. 
 
 She descended meekly over the front wheel. 
 There was not the slightest air of triumph about 
 her until she got inside the gate. Then a smile 
 went slowly across her face. But her husband 
 did not see it. He was looking out of the corners 
 of his eyes at the house across the road. Mrs. 
 Deacon, the druggist s wife, and all her children 
 had their faces flattened against the window. 
 
 Mr. Sybert s determination kept his head high, 
 but not his spirit. 
 
 " God A mighty !" he groaned. " The whole 
 town 11 know it to-morrow. I d rather die than 
 face that groc ry store after the way I ve went 
 on about people upholdin of her 1" 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 IN THREE PARTS 
 PARTI 
 
 Kmarine went along the narrow hall and passed 
 through the open door. There was something 
 in her carriage that suggested stubbornness. Her 
 small body had a natural backward sway, and 
 the decision with which she set her heels upon 
 the floor had long ago caused the readers of 
 character in the village to aver that Kmarine 
 Endey was contrairier than any mule." 
 
 She wore a brown dress, a gray shawl folded 
 primly around her shoulders, and a hat that tried 
 in vain to make her small face plain. There 
 was a frill of white, cheap lace at her slender 
 throat, fastened in front with a cherry ribbon. 
 Heavy gold earrings with long, shining pendants 
 reached almost to her shoulders. They quivered 
 and glittered with every movement. 
 
 Emarine was pretty, in spite of many freckles 
 and the tightness with which she brushed her 
 hair from her fece and coiled it in a sleek knot at 
 the back of her head. " Now, be sure you get it 
 just so slick, Emarine," her mother would say, 
 
 79 
 
A POINT 
 
 watching her steadily while she combed and 
 brushed and twisted her long tresses. 
 
 As Emarine reached the door her mother fol 
 lowed her down the hall from the kitchen. The 
 house was old, and two or three loose pieces in 
 the flooring creaked as she stepped heavily upon 
 them. 
 
 "Oh, say, Kmarine I" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " You get an* bring home a dollar s worth o 
 granylated sugar, will you?" 
 
 " Well." 
 
 "An a box o ball bluin . Mercy, child! 
 Your dress-skirt sags awful in the back. Why 
 don t you run a tuck in it ?" 
 
 Kmarine turned her head over her shoulder 
 with a birdlike movement, and bent backward, 
 trying to see the offensive sag. 
 
 " Can t you pin it up, maw?" 
 
 "Yes, I guess. Have you got a pin? Why, 
 Emarine Endey I If ever I see in all my born 
 days ! What are you a-doin with a red ribbon 
 on you an your Uncle Herndon not cold in his 
 grave yet! A fine spectickle you d make o 
 yourself, a-goin the length an the breadth o the 
 town with that thing a-flarin on you. You ll 
 disgrace this whole fambly yet ! I have to keep 
 watch o you like a two-year-old baby. Now, 
 you get an take it right off o you ; an don t 
 80 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 you let me ketch you a-puttin it on again till a 
 respectful time after he s be n dead. I never 
 hear tell o such a thing." 
 
 "I don t see what a red ribbon s got to do 
 with Uncle Herndon s bein dead," said Kmarine. 
 
 "Oh, you don t, aigh ? Well, 7 see. You 
 act as if you didn t have no feelin ." 
 
 "Well, goin without a red ribbon won t make 
 me feel any worse, will it, maw?" 
 
 "No, it won t. Kmarine, what does get into 
 you to act so tantalizin ? I guess it 11 look a 
 little better. I guess the neighbors won t talk 
 quite so much. You can see fer yourself how 
 they talk about Mis Henspeter because she wore 
 a rose to church before her husband had be n 
 dead a year. All she had to say fer herself was 
 that she liked flowers, an didn t sense it u d be 
 any disrespect to her husband to wear it seein s 
 he d always liked em, too. They all showed 
 her n a hurry what they thought about it. She s 
 got narrow borders on all her han kachers, too, 
 a ready." 
 
 11 Why don t you stay away from such people ?" 
 said Kmarine. "Old gossips! You know I 
 don t care what the neighbors say or think, 
 either." 
 
 "Well, / do. The land knows they talk a 
 plenty even without givin em anything to talk 
 about. You get an take that red ribbon off o 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 "Oh, I ll take it off if you want I sh u d." 
 She unfastened it deliberately and laid it on a 
 little table. She had an exasperating air of be 
 ing unconvinced and of complying merely for the 
 sake of peace. 
 
 She gathered her shawl about her shoulders 
 and crossed the porch. 
 
 "Emarine!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Who s that a-comin over the hill path? I 
 can t make out the dress. It looks some like 
 Mis Grandy, don t it?" 
 
 Bmarine turned her head. Her eyelids quiv 
 ered closer together in an effort to concentrate 
 her vision on the approaching guest. 
 
 "Well, I never !" exclaimed her mother, in 
 a subdued but irascible tone. * There you go 
 a-lookin right square at her, when I didn t want 
 that she sh u d know we saw her ! It does seem 
 to me sometimes, Emarine, that you ain t got 
 good sense." 
 
 " I d just as soon she knew we saw her," said 
 Emarine, unmoved. "It s Miss Presly, maw." 
 
 " Oh, land o goodness ! That old sticktight? 
 She ll stay all day if she stays a minute. Set 
 an set ! An there I ve just got the washin all 
 out on the line, an she ll tell the whole town we 
 wear underdo s made out o* unbleached muslin ! 
 
 82 
 
A POINT OP KNTJCKLIKO-DOWH 
 
 Are you sure it s her? It don t look overly like 
 her shawl." 
 
 "Yes, it s her." 
 
 " Well, go on an stop an talk to her, so s to 
 give me a chance to red up some. Don t ferget 
 the ball bluin , Emarine." 
 
 Kmarine went down the path and met the 
 visitor just between the two tall lilac trees, whose 
 buds were beginning to swell. 
 
 " Good mornin , Miss Presly." 
 
 "Why, good mornin , Emarine. Z your 
 maw to home?" 
 
 "Yes m." 
 
 "I thought I d run down an 1 set a spell with 
 her, an pass the news. 
 
 Emarine smiled faintly and was silent. 
 
 "Ain t you goin up town pretty early fer 
 wash-day?" 
 
 "Yes m." 
 
 " I see you hed a beau home from church las 
 night." 
 
 Emarine s face flushed; even her ears grew 
 rosy. 
 
 "Well, I guess he s a reel nice young man, 
 anyways, Emarine. You needn t to blush so. 
 Mis Grandy was a-sayin she thought you d done 
 offul well to git him. He owns the house an lot 
 they live in, an he s got five hunderd dollars in 
 the bank. I reckon he ll have to live with the 
 
 83 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 el* lady, though, when he gits married. They 
 do say she s turrable hard to suit." 
 
 Emarine lifted her chin. The gold pendants 
 glittered like diamonds. 
 
 " It don t make any difference to me whuther 
 she s hard to suit or easy," she said. " I ll have 
 to be goin on now. Just knock at the front door, 
 Miss Presly." 
 
 11 Oh, I can go right around to the back, just 
 as well, an save your maw the trouble o comin 
 to the door. If she s got her washin out, I 
 can stoop right under the clo s line." 
 
 "Well, we like to have our comp ny come to 
 the front door," said Bmarine, dryly. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning in early spring. 
 The alders and the maples along the hill were 
 wrapped in reddish mist. The saps were mount 
 ing through delicate veins. Presently the mist 
 would quicken to a pale green as the young 
 leaves unfolded, but as yet everything seemed to 
 be waiting. The brown earth had a fresh, woody 
 smell that caused the heart to thrill with a vague 
 sense of ecstasy of some delight deep hidden 
 and inexplicable. Pale lavender spring beau 
 ties " stood shyly in groups or alone, in sheltered 
 places along the path. There was even, here and 
 there, a trillium or white lily, as the children 
 called it shivering on its slender stem. There 
 were old stumps, too, hollowed out by long-spent 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 flames into rustic urns, now heaped to their rag 
 ged rims with velvet moss. On a fence near a 
 meadow-lark was pouring out its few, but full and 
 beautiful, notes of passion and desire. Emarine 
 paused to listen. Her heart vibrated with ex 
 quisite pain, to the ravishment of regret in those 
 liquid tones. 
 
 "Sounds as if he was sayin Sweet oh 
 Sweet my heart is breaking! " she said; and then 
 with a kind of shame of the sentiment in such a 
 fancy, she went on briskly over the hill. Her 
 heels clicked sharply on the hard road. 
 
 Before she reached the long wooden stairs which 
 led from the high plateau down to the one street 
 of Oregon City, Kmarine passed through a beauti 
 ful grove of firs and cedars. Already the firs were 
 taking on their little plushy tufts of pale green, 
 and exuding a spicy fragrance. Occasionally a 
 last year s cone drew itself loose and sunk noise 
 lessly into a bed of its own brown needles. A 
 little way from the path a woodpecker clung to a 
 tree, hammering into the tough bark with its long 
 beak. As Emarine approached, it flew heavily 
 away, the undersides of its wings flashing a scar 
 let streak along the air. 
 
 As her eyes ceased following its flight, she be 
 came aware that some one was standing in the 
 path, waiting. A deep, self-conscious blush swept 
 over her face and throat. "Emarine never does 
 
 85 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 anything up by halves," her mother was wont to 
 declare. " When she blushes, she blushes /" 
 
 She stepped slowly toward him with a sudden 
 stiff awkwardness. 
 
 " Oh you, is it, Mr. Farmer?" she said, with. 
 an admirable attempt but an attempt only at 
 indifference. 
 
 "Yes, it s me," said the young fellow, with an 
 embarrassed laugh. With a clumsy shuffle he 
 took step with her. Both faces were naming. 
 Emarine could not lift her eyes from their con 
 templation of the dead leaves in her path yet 
 she passed a whole company of spring beauties 
 playing hide-and-seek around a stump, without 
 seeing them. Her pulses seemed full of little 
 hammers, beating away mercilessly. Her fingers 
 fumbled nervously with the fringes on her shawl. 
 
 " Don t choo want I sh u d pack yourumberell 
 fer yuh?" asked the young man, solemnly. 
 
 "Why yes, if you want." 
 
 It was a faded thing she held toward him, done 
 up rather baggily, too ; but he received it as rev 
 erently as if it had been a twenty-dollar silk one 
 with a gold handle. 
 
 " Does your mother know I kep yuh comp ny 
 home from church last night ? 
 
 "Unh-hunh." 
 
 "What id she say?" 
 
 "She didn t say much. * 
 
 86 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 " Oh, not much." Emarine was rapidly recov 
 ering her self-possession. " I went right in an 
 up an told her." 
 
 11 Well, why can t choo tell me what she said? 
 Emarine, yuh can be the contrairiest girl when 
 yuh want." 
 
 " Can I ?" She flashed a coquettish glance at 
 him. She was quite at her ease by this time, al 
 though the color was still burning deep in her 
 cheeks. " I sh u dn t think you d waste so much 
 time on contrairy people, Mr. Farmer." 
 
 " Oh, Emarine, go on an tell me !" 
 
 11 Well "Emarine laughed mirthfully " she 
 put the backs of her hands on her hips this way ! 
 She faced him suddenly, setting her arms akimbo, 
 the shawl s fringes quivering over her elbows ; 
 her eyes fairly danced into his. An she looked 
 at me along time ; then she says Hunh ! You 
 leetle heifer ! You think you re some pun kins, 
 don t you ? A-havin a beau home from meetin . 
 
 Both laughed hilariously. 
 
 11 Well, what else id she say?" 
 
 " I don t believe you want to know. Do you 
 sure?" 
 
 " I cross my heart." 
 
 "Well she said it c u dn t happen more n 
 ev ry once n so often." 
 
 " Pshaw!" 
 
 87 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 "She did." 
 
 The young man paused abruptly. A narrow, 
 unfrequented path led through deeper woods to 
 the right. 
 
 "Emarine, let s take this catecornered cut 
 through here." 
 
 " Oh, I m afraid it s longer an it s washday, 
 you know," said Emarine, with feeble resistance. 
 
 " We ll walk right fast. Come on. George ! 
 But it s nice and sweet in here, though !" 
 
 They entered the path. It was narrow and the 
 great trees bent over and touched above them. 
 
 There was a kind of soft lavender twilight fall 
 ing upon them. It was very still, save for the 
 fluttering of invisible wings and the occasional 
 shrill scream of a blue-jay. 
 
 " It is sweet in here," said Emarine. 
 
 The young man turned quickly, and with a 
 deep, asking look into her lifted eyes, put his 
 arms about her and drew her to him. "Ema 
 rine," he said, with passionate tenderness. And 
 then he was silent, and just stood holding her 
 crushed against him, and looking down on her 
 with his very soul in his eyes. Oh, but a man 
 who refrains from much speech in such an hour 
 has wisdom straight from the gods themselves ! 
 
 After a long silence Emarine lifted her head and 
 smiled trustfully into his eyes. "It s washday/ 1 
 she said, with a flash of humor. 
 88 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKtlNG-DOWN 
 
 "So it is," he answered her, heartily. "An 
 I promised yuh we d hurry up an I alwus keep 
 my promises. But first Emarine " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Yuh must say somethin first." 
 
 " Say what, Mr. Farmer ?" 
 
 " Afr. Farmer! " His tone and his look 
 were reproachful. "Can t choo say Orville?" 
 
 "Oh, I can if you want I sh u d." 
 
 "Well, I do want choo sh u d, Kmarine. 
 Now, yuh know what else it is I want choo 
 sh u d say before we go on." 
 
 "Why, no, I don t hunh-unh." She shook 
 her head, coquettishly. 
 
 "Emarine" the young fellow s face took on 
 a sudden seriousness " I want choo to say yuh ll 
 marry me." 
 
 "Oh, my, no!" cried Kmarine. She turned 
 her head on one side, like a bird, and looked at 
 him with lifted brows and surprised eyes. One 
 would have imagined that such a thought had 
 never entered that pretty head before. 
 
 "What, Emarine! Yuh won t?" There was 
 consternation in his voice. 
 
 "Oh, my, no!" Both glance and movement 
 were full of coquettishness. The very fringes of 
 the demure gray shawl seemed to have taken on 
 new life and vivacity. 
 
 Orville Palmer s face turned pale and stern. 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 He drew a long breath silently, not once remov 
 ing that searching look from her face. 
 
 "Well, then," he said, calmly, "I want to 
 know what choo mean by up an lettin me kiss 
 yuh if yuh don t mean to marry me." 
 
 This was an instant quietus to the girl s co 
 quetry. She gave him a startled glance. A 
 splash of scarlet came into each cheek. For a 
 moment there was utter silence. Then she made 
 a soft feint of withdrawing from his arms. To 
 her evident amazement, he made no attempt to 
 detain her. This placed her in an awkward di 
 lemma, and she stood irresolutely, with her eyes 
 cast down. 
 
 Young Palmer s arms fell at his sides with a 
 movement of despair. Sometimes they were 
 ungainly arms, but now absence of self-con 
 sciousness lent them a manly grace. 
 
 "Well, Bmarine," he said, kindly, "I ll go 
 back the way I come. Goodby." 
 
 With a quick, spontaneous burst of passion 
 against which she had been struggling, and 
 which was girlish and innocent enough to carry 
 a man s soul with it into heaven Kmarine cast 
 herself upon his breast and flung her shawl-en 
 tangled arms about his shoulders. Her eyes 
 were earnest and pleading, and there were tears 
 of repentance in them. With a modesty that 
 
 90 
 
- A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 was enchanting she set her warm, sweet lips 
 tremblingly to his, of her own free will. 
 
 " I didn t mean it," she whispered. "I was 
 only a a-foolin ." 
 
 The year was older by a month when one 
 morning Mrs. Kndey went to the front door and 
 stood with her body swaying backward, and one 
 rough hand roofing the rich light from her eyes. 
 
 11 Emarine ad ought to a got to the hill path 
 by this time," she said, in a grumbling tone. 
 "It beats me what keeps her so ! I reckon she s 
 a-standin like a bump on a lawg, watchin a red 
 ant or a tumble-bug, or some fool thing ! She d 
 leave her dish-washin any time an stand at the 
 door a-ketchin cold in her bare arms, with the 
 suds a-drippin all over her apron an the floor 
 a-listenin to one o them silly meadow-larks 
 hollerin the same noise over n over. Her paw s 
 women- folks are all just such fools." 
 
 She started guiltily and lowered her eyes to 
 the gate which had clicked sharply. 
 
 "Oh!" she said. "That you, Emarine?" 
 She laughed rather foolishly. * I was lookin 
 right over you lookin fer you, too. Miss 
 Presly s be n here, an of all the strings she had 
 to tell ! Why, fer pity s sake 1 Is that a dollar s 
 worth o coffee?" 
 
A POINT OF KNUCEXING-DOWN- 
 
 "Yes, it is; an I guess it s full weight, too, 
 from the way my arm feels ! It s just about 
 broke." 
 
 " Well, give it to me, an come on out in the 
 kitching. I ve got somethin to tell you." 
 
 Kmarine followed slowly, pinning a spray of 
 lilac bloom in her bosom as she went. 
 
 " Emarine, where s that spring balance at? 
 I m goin to weigh this coffee. If it s one grain 
 short, I ll send it back a-flyin . I ll show em 
 they can t cheat this old hen !" 
 
 She slipped the hook under the string and 
 lifted the coffee cautiously until the balance was 
 level with her eyes. Then standing well back 
 on her|heels and drawing funny little wrinkles 
 up around her mouth and eyes, she studied the 
 figures earnestly, counting the pounds and the 
 half-pounds down from the top. Finally she 
 lowered it with a disappointed air. * Well, she 
 said, reluctantly, " it s just it just to a t. 
 They d ought to make it a leetle over, though, to 
 allow fer the paper bag. Get the coffee-canister, 
 Kmarine. 
 
 When the coffee had all been jiggled through 
 a tin funnel into the canister, Mrs. Endey sat 
 down stiffly and began polishing the funnel with 
 a cloth. From time to time she glanced at Em- 
 arine with a kind of deprecatory mystery. At 
 
 92 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKIJNG-DOWlsr 
 
 last she said " Miss Presly spent the day down t 
 Mis Farmer s yesterday." 
 
 "Did she?" said Emarine, coldly; but the 
 color came into her cheeks. "Shall I go on with 
 the puddin ?" 
 
 Why, you can if you want. She told me 
 some things I don t like." 
 
 Emarine shattered an egg-shell on the side of a 
 bowl and released the gold heart within. 
 
 " Miss Presly says once Mis Farmer had to go 
 out an gether the eggs an shet up the chickens, 
 so Miss Presly didn t think there d be any harm 
 in just lookin into the drawers an things to see 
 what she had. She says she s awful short on 
 table cloths only got three to her name ! An 
 only six napkeens, an them coarse s anything ! 
 When Mis Farmer come back in, Miss Presly 
 talked around a little, then she says I s pose 
 you re one o them spic an span kind, Mis Far 
 mer, that alwus has a lot o extry table cloths put 
 away in lavender. " 
 
 Emarine set the egg-beater into the bowl and 
 began turning it slowly. 
 
 " Mis Farmer got mighty red all of a sudden ; 
 but she says right out No, I m a-gettin 
 reel short on table cloths an things, Miss Presly, 
 but I ain t goin to replenish. Orville s thinkin 
 o gettin married this year, an I guess Emarine 
 11 have a lot o extry things. An then she ups 
 
 93 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKI/TNG-DOWN 
 
 an laughs an says I ll let her stock up the 
 house, seein s she s so anxious to get into it. " 
 
 Eniarine had turned pale. The egg-beater fairly 
 flew round and round. A little of the golden 
 foam slipped over the edge of the bowl and slid 
 down to the white table. 
 
 " Miss Presly thinks a good deal o you, Ema- 
 rine, so that got her spunk up ; an she just told 
 Mis Farmer she didn t believe you was dyin to 
 go there an stock up her drawers fer her. Says 
 she I don t think young people ad ought to 
 live with mother-in-laws, any way. Said she 
 thought she d let Mis Fanner put that in her 
 pipe an smoke it when she got time." 
 
 There was a pulse in each side of Kmarine s 
 throat beating hard and full. Little blue, throb 
 bing cords stood out in her temples. She went 
 on mixing the pudding mechanically. 
 
 u Then Mis Farmer just up an said with a 
 tantalizin laugh that if you didn t like the 
 a-commodations at her house, you needn t to come 
 there. Said she never did like you, anyways, ner 
 anybody else that set their heels down the way 
 you set your n. Said she d had it all out with 
 Orville, an he d promised her faithful that if there 
 was any knucklin -down to be done, you d be the 
 one to do it, an not her !" 
 
 Emarine turned and looked at her mother. Her 
 face was white with controlled passion. Her eyes 
 
 94 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG DOWN 
 
 burned. But her voice was quiet when she spoke. 
 
 I guess you d best move your chair, she said, 
 " so si can get to the oven. This puddin s all 
 ready to go in." 
 
 When she had put the pudding in the oven she 
 moved about briskly, clearing the things off the 
 table and washing them. She held her chin high. 
 There was no doubt now about the click of her 
 heels; it was ominous. 
 
 " I won t marry him !" she cried at last, fling 
 ing the words out. He can have his mother an 
 his wore-out table cloths!" Her voice shook. 
 The muscles around her mouth were twitching. 
 
 "My mercy !" cried her mother. She had a 
 frightened look. " Who cares what his mother 
 says ? I w u dn t go to bitin off my nose to spite 
 my face, if I was you !" 
 
 "Well, I care what he says. I ll see myself 
 knucklin -down to a mother-in-law !" 
 
 "Well, now, don t go an let loose of your 
 temper, or you 11 be sorry fer it. You re alwus 
 mighty ready a-tellin me not to mind what folks 
 say, an to keep away from the old gossips." 
 
 "Well, you told me yourself, didn t you? I 
 can t keep away from my own mother very well, 
 can I?" 
 
 "Well, now, don t flare up so ! You re worse 
 n karosene with a match set to it." 
 
 95 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKLING-DOWN 
 
 " What id you tell me for, if you didn t want 
 Ish u d flare up?" 
 
 " Why, I thought it u d just put you on your 
 mettle an show her she c u dn t come it over 
 you." Then she added, diplomatically chang 
 ing her tone as well as the subject " Oh, say, 
 Kmarine, I wish you d go up in the antic an 
 bring down a bunch o pennyrile. I ll watch the 
 puddin ." 
 
 She laughed with dry humor when the girl was 
 gone. I got into a pickle that time. Who ever 
 d V thought she d get stirred up so ? I ll have 
 to manage to get her cooled down before Orville 
 comes to-night. They ain t many matches like 
 him, if his mother is such an old scarecrow. He 
 ain t so well off, but he ll humor Emarine up. 
 He d lay down an let her walk on him, I guess. 
 There s Mis Grisley b en a-tryin fer months to 
 get him to go with her lyily Lily, with a com 
 plexion like sole-leather ! an a-askin him up 
 there all the time to dinner, an a-flatterin him 
 up to the skies. I d like to know what they al 
 ways name dark-complected babies Lily fer ! Oh, 
 did you get the pennyrile, Kmarine? I was 
 laughin to myself, a-woud rin what Mis Gris 
 ley s Lily 11 say when she hears you re goin to 
 marry Orville." 
 
 Emarine hung a spotless dish-cloth on two 
 nails behind the stove, but did not speak. 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 Mrs. Endey turned her back to the girl and 
 smiled humorously. 
 
 " That didn t work," she thought. " I ll have 
 to try somethin else." 
 
 " I ve made up my mind to get you a second- 
 day dress, too, Emarine. You can have it any 
 color you want dove-color d be awful nice. 
 There s a hat down at Mis Norton s milliner 
 store that u d go beautiful with dove-color." 
 
 Emarine took some flat-irons off the stove, wiped 
 them carefully with a soft cloth and set them 
 evenly on a shelf. Still she did not speak. Mrs. 
 Endey s face took on an anxious look. 
 
 "There s some beautiful artaficial orange flow 
 ers at Mis Norton s, Emarine. You can be mar 
 ried in em, if you want. They re so reel they 
 almost smell sweet." 
 
 She waited a moment, but receiving no reply, 
 she added with a kind of desperation " An a 
 veil, Emarine a long, white one a-flowin down 
 all over you to your feet one that u d just 
 make Mis Grisley s Lily s mouth water. What 
 do you say to that? You can have that, too, if 
 you want." 
 
 "Well, I don t want !" said Emarine, fiercely. 
 " Didn t I say I wa n t goin to marry him ? I ll 
 give him his walking- chalk when he comes to 
 night. I don t need any help about it, either." 
 She went out, closing the door as an exclama 
 tion point. 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 Oregon City kept early hours. The curfew 
 ringing at nine o clock on summer evenings gath 
 ered the tender-aged of both sexes off the street. 
 
 It was barely seven o clock when Orville Pal 
 mer came to take Kmarine out for a drive. He 
 had a high top-buggy, rather the worse for wear, 
 and drove a sad-eyed, sorrel horse. 
 
 She was usually ready to come tripping down 
 the path, to save his tying the horse. To-night 
 she did not come. He waited a while. Then he 
 whistled and called " Oh, Bmarine !" 
 
 He pushed his hat back and leaned one elbow 
 on his knee, flicking his whip up and down, and 
 looking steadily at the open door. But she did 
 not come. Finally he got out and, tying his horse, 
 went up the path slowly. Through the door he 
 could see Emarine sitting quietly sewing. He 
 observed at once that she was pale. 
 
 "Sick, Emarine? he said, going in. 
 
 " No," she answered, " I ain t sick." 
 
 "Then why under the sun didn t choo come 
 when I hollowed ? 
 
 " I didn t want to." Her tone was icy. 
 
 Pie stared at her a full minute. Then he burst 
 out laughing. " Oh, say, Emarine, yuh can be 
 the contrariest girl I ever see ! Yuh do love to 
 tease a fellow so. Yuh 11 have to kiss me fer 
 that." 
 
 He went toward her. She pushed her chair 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKIJNG-DOWN 
 
 back and gave him a look that made him pause. 
 
 " How s your mother?" she asked. 
 
 "My mother? A cold chill went up and 
 down his spine. "Why oh, she s all right. 
 Why?" 
 
 She took a small gold ring set with a circle of 
 garnets from her finger and held it toward him 
 with a steady hand. 
 
 " You can take an show her this ring, an tell 
 her I ain t so awful anxious to stock her up on 
 table cloths an napkeens as she thinks I am. 
 Tell her yuh 11 get some other girl to do her 
 knucklin -down fer her. I ain t that kind." 
 
 The young man s face grew scarlet and then 
 paled off rapidly. He looked like a man accused 
 of a crime. " Why, Kmarine," he said, feebly. 
 
 He did not receive the ring, and she threw it on 
 the floor at his feet. A whole month she had 
 slept with that ring against her lips the bond 
 of her love and his ! Now, it was only the em 
 blem of her knuckling-down to another woman. 
 
 "You needn t to stand there a-pretendin you 
 don t know what I mean." 
 
 "Well, I don t, Kmarine." 
 
 "Yes, you do, too. Didn t you promise your 
 mother that if there was any knucklin -down to 
 be did, I d be the one to do it, an not her?* 
 
 1 Why er Kmarine 
 
 She laughed scornfully. 
 
 99 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG- DOWN 
 
 " Don t go to try in to get out of it. You know 
 you did. Well, you can take your ring, an your 
 mother, an all her old duds. I don t want any 
 o you." 
 
 1 Kmarine, " said the young man, looking guilty 
 and honest at the same time, * * the talk I had 
 with my mother didn t amount to a pinch o snuff. 
 It wa n t anything to make yuh act this way. 
 She don t like yuh just because I m goin to marry 
 yuh" 
 
 "Oh, but you ain t," interrupted Emarine, with 
 an aggravating laugh. 
 
 " Yes, I am, too. She kep naggin at me day 
 an night fer fear yuh d be sassy to her an she d 
 have to take a back seat. 
 
 "I ll tell you what s the matter with her !" in 
 terrupted Kmarine. "She s got the big-head. 
 She thinks ev ry body wants to rush into her old 
 house, an marry her son, an use her old things ! 
 She wants to make ev rybody toe her mark." 
 
 "Bmarine! She s my mother." 
 
 " I don t care if she is. I w u dn t tech her 
 with a ten-foot pole." 
 
 " She 11 be all right after we re married, Em- 
 arine, an she finds out how how nice yuh are." 
 
 His own words appealed to his sense of the 
 ridiculous. He smiled. Bmarine divined the 
 cause of his reluctant amusement and was in- 
 
 100 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 stantly furious. Her face turned very white. 
 Her eyes burned out of it like two fires. 
 
 " You think I ain t actin very nice now, don t 
 you? I don t care what you think, Orville Far 
 mer, good or bad." 
 
 The young man stood thinking seriously. 
 
 "Emarine," he said, at last, very quietly, "I 
 love yuh an yuh know it. An yuh love me. 
 I ll alwus be good to yuh an see that choo ain t 
 emposed upon, Eniarine. An I think the world 
 an all of yuh. That s all I got to say. I can t 
 
 see what ails yuh, Eniarine When 
 
 I think o that day when I asked yuh to marry 
 
 me An that night I give yuh the 
 
 ring" the girl s eyelids quivered suddenly and 
 fell. " An that moonlight walk we took along 
 
 by the falls Why, it seems as if 
 
 this can t be the same girl." 
 
 There was such a long silence that Mrs. 
 Endey, cramping her back with one ear pressed 
 to the keyhole of the door, decided that he had 
 won and smiled dryly. 
 
 At last Eniarine lifted her head. She looked 
 at him steadily. " Did you, or didn t you, tell 
 your mother I d have to do the knucklin -down ?" 
 
 He shuffled his feet about a little. 
 
 "Well, I guess I did, Emarine, but I didn t 
 mean anything. I just did it to get a little 
 peace." 
 
 101 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 The poor fellow had floundered upon an un 
 fortunate excuse. 
 
 "Oh!" said the girl, contemptuously. Her 
 lip curled. "An so you come an tell me the 
 same thing for the same reason just to get a 
 little peace ! A pretty time you d have a-gettin 
 any peace at all, between the two of us ! You re 
 chickenish an I hate chickenish people. " 
 
 "Emarine!" 
 
 "Oh, I wish you d go." There was an almost 
 desperate weariness in her voice. 
 
 He picked up the ring with its shining garnet 
 stars, and went. 
 
 Mrs. Kndey tiptoed into the kitchen. 
 
 "My back s about broke." She laughed 
 noiselessly. "I swan I m proud o that girl. 
 She s got more o me in her n I give her credit 
 fer. The idee o her a-callin him chickenish 
 right out to his face ! That done me good. 
 Well, I don t care such an awful lot if she don t 
 marry him. A girl with that much spunk de 
 serves a gov nor! An that mother o his n s 
 a case. I guess her an me d a fit like cats an 
 dogs, anyhow." Her lips unclosed with reluc 
 tant mirth. 
 
 The next morning Emarine arose and went 
 about her work as usual. She had not slept. 
 But there were no signs of relenting, or of regret, 
 
 102 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 in her face. After the first surreptitious look at 
 her, Mrs. Kndey concluded that it was all settled 
 unchangeably. Her aspiring mind climbed from 
 a governor to a United States senator. There 
 was nothing impossible to a girl who could break 
 her own heart at night and go about the next 
 morning setting her heels down the way Kmarine 
 was setting hers. 
 
 Mrs. Kndey s heart swelled with triumph. 
 
 Kmarine washed the dishes and swept the 
 kitchen. Then she went out to sweep the porch. 
 Suddenly she paused. A storm of lyric passion 
 had burst upon her ear ; and running through it 
 she heard the words "Sweet oh Sweet 
 my heart is breaking ! * 
 
 The girl trembled. Something stung her eyes 
 sharply. 
 
 Then she pulled herself together stubbornly. 
 Her face hardened. She went on sweeping with 
 more determined care than usual. 
 
 1 Well, I reckon," she said, with a kind of 
 fierce philosophy, "it u d a been breaking a 
 good sight worse if I d a married him an that 
 mother o his n. That s some comfort." 
 
 .But when she went in she closed the door care 
 fully, shutting out that impassioned voke. 
 
 103 
 
A POINT oF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 PART II 
 
 It was eight o clock of a June morning. It 
 had rained during the night. Now the air was 
 sweet with the sunshine on the wet leaves and 
 flowers. 
 
 Mrs. Endey was ironing. The table stood 
 across the open window, up which a wild honey 
 suckle climbed, flinging out slender, green shoots, 
 each topped with a cluster of scarlet spikes. 
 The splendor of the year was at its height. The 
 flowers were marching by in pomp and magnifi 
 cence. 
 
 Mrs. Endey spread a checked gingham apron 
 on the ironing cloth. It was trimmed at the 
 bottom with a ruffle, which she pulled and 
 smoothed with careful fingers. 
 
 She selected an iron on the stove, set the 
 wooden handle into it with a sharp, little click, 
 and polished it on a piece of scorched newspaper. 
 Then she moved it evenly across the starched 
 apron. A shining path followed it. 
 
 At that moment some one opened the gate. 
 Mrs. Endey stooped to peer through the vines. 
 
 " Well, f I ever n all my natcherl life !" she 
 said, solemnly. She set the iron on its stand 
 and lifted her figure erect. She placed one hand 
 on her hip, and with the other rubbed her chin 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 in perplexed thought. "If it ain t Orville Par 
 tner, you may shoot me ! That beats me ! I 
 wonder f he thinks Kmarine s a-dyin o love 
 fer him !" 
 
 Then a thought came that made her feel faint. 
 She fell into a chair, weakly. " Oh, my land !" 
 she said. "I wonder f that ain t what s the 
 matter of her ! I never d thought o that. I d 
 thought o ev ry thing but that. I wonder ! 
 There she s lied flat o her back ever sence she 
 fell out with him a month ago. Oh, my mercy ! 
 I wonder f that is it. Here I ve b en rackin 
 my brains to find out what ails er." 
 
 She got up stiffly and went to the door. The 
 young man standing there had a pale, anxious 
 face. 
 
 " Good-mornin , Mis Endey," he said. He 
 looked with a kind of entreaty into her grim 
 face. " I come to see Kmarine." 
 
 "Emarine s sick." She spoke coldly. 
 
 1 * I know she is, Mis Kndey . His voice shook. 
 "If it wa n t fer her bein sick, I w u dn t be 
 here. I s pose, after the way she sent me off, I 
 ain t got any spunk or I w u dn t a come any 
 way ; but I heard 
 
 He hesitated and looked away. 
 
 44 What id you hear?" 
 
 " I heard she wa n t a-goin* to get well." 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 I0 5 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 X 
 
 "Is she?" he asked, then. His voice was 
 low and broken. 
 
 Mrs. Kndey sat down. "I do know," she 
 said, after another silence. "I m offul worried 
 about her, Orville. I can t make out what ails 
 er. She won t eat a thing ; even floatin island 
 turns agi n er an she al ays loved that." 
 
 "Oh, Mis Endey, can t I see er ?" 
 
 " I don t see s it u d be any use. Emarine s 
 turrable set. *F you hadn t went an told your 
 mother that if there was any knucklin -down to 
 be did between her an Bmarine, Kmarine u d 
 have to do it, you an her d a b en married by 
 this time. I d bought most ha f her weddin 
 things a ready." 
 
 The young man gave a sigh that was almost a 
 groan. He looked like one whose sin has found 
 him out. He dropped into a chair, and putting 
 his elbows on his knees, sunk his face into his 
 brown hands. 
 
 "Good God, Mis Kndey!" he said, with 
 passionate bitterness. "Can t choo ever stop 
 harpin on that? Ain t I cursed myself day an 
 night ever sence? Oh, I wish yuh d help me !" 
 He lifted a wretched face. " I didn t mean any 
 thing by tellin my mother that ; she s a-gettin 
 kind o childish, an she was afraid Bmarine u d 
 run over er. But if she ll only take me back, 
 she ll have ev ry thing her own way." 
 
 106 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 A little gleam of triumph came into Mrs. 
 Endey s face. Evidently the young man was 
 rapidly becoming reduced to a frame of mind de 
 sirable in a son-in-law. 
 
 "Will you promise that, solemn, Orville Far 
 mer?" She looked at him sternly. 
 
 1 Yes, Mis Endey, I will solemn." His 
 tone was at once wretched and hopeful. "I ll 
 promise anything under the sun, J f she ll only 
 fergive me. I can t live without er an that s 
 all there is about it. Won t choo ask her to see 
 me, Mis Endey?" 
 
 " Well, I do know," said Mrs. Endey, doubt 
 fully. She cleared her throat, and sat looking at 
 the floor, as if lost in thought. He should never 
 have it to say that she had snapped him up too 
 readily. "I don t feel much like meddlin . I 
 must say I side with Emarine. I do think" 
 her tone became regretful " a girl o her spir t 
 deserves a go v nor." 
 
 "I know she does," said the young man, 
 miserably. "I alwus knew / wa n t ha f good 
 enough fer er. But Mis Endey, I know she 
 loves me. Won t choo 
 
 " Well !" Mrs. Endey gave a sigh of resigna 
 tion. She got up very slowly, as if still un 
 decided. " I ll see what she says to t. But I ll 
 tell you right out I sha n t advise er, Orville." 
 
 She closed the door behind her with deliberate 
 
 107 
 
A POINT OP KNITCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 care. She laughed dryly as she went up stairs, 
 holding her head high. "There s nothin like 
 makin your own terms," she said, shrewdly. 
 
 She was gone a long time. When Orville 
 heard her coming lumbering back down the 
 stairs and along the hall, his heart stopped 
 beating. 
 
 Her coming meant everything to him ; and 
 it was so slow and so heavy it seemed ominous. 
 For a moment he could not speak, and her face 
 told him nothing. Then he faltered out Will 
 she? Oh, don t choo say she won t !" 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Endey, with a sepulchral 
 sigh, "she ll see you, but I don t know s any 
 thing 11 come of it. Don t you go to bracin up 
 on that idee, Orville Farmer. She s set like a 
 strip o calico washed in alum water." 
 
 The gleam of hope that her first words had 
 brought to his face was transitory. "You can 
 come on," said Mrs. Endey, lifting her chin 
 solemnly. 
 
 Orville followed her in silence. 
 
 The little room in which Emarine lay ill was 
 small and white, like a nun s chamber. The 
 ceiling slanted on two sides. There was white 
 matting on the floor ; there was an oval blue rug 
 of braided rags at the side of the bed, and an 
 other in front of the bureau. There was a small 
 cane-seated and cane-backed rocker. By the side 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 of the bed was a high, stiff wooden chair, painted 
 very black and trimmed with very blue roses. 
 
 There were two or three pictures on the walls. 
 The long curtains of snowy butter-cloth were 
 looped high. 
 
 The narrow white bed had been wheeled 
 across the open window, so Bmarine could lie and 
 look down over the miles of green valley, with 
 the mellifluous Willamette winding through it 
 like a broad silver-blue ribbon. By turning her 
 head a little she could see the falls ; the great 
 bulk of water sliding over the precipice like glass, 
 to be crushed into powdered foam and flung high 
 into the sunlight, and then to go seething on down 
 to the sea. 
 
 At sunrise and at sunset the mist blown up in 
 long veils from the falls quickened of a sudden 
 to rose and gold and purple, shifting and blend 
 ing into a spectral glow of thrilling beauty. It 
 was sweeter than guests to Kmarine. 
 
 The robins were company, too, in the large 
 cherry tree outside of her window ; and sometimes 
 a flight of wild canaries drifted past like a 
 yellow, singing cloud. When they sank, swiftly 
 and musically, she knew that it was to rest upon 
 a spot golden with dandelions. 
 
 Outside the door of this room Mrs. Endey 
 paused. " I don t see s it u d be proper to let 
 you go in to see er alone," she said, sternly. 
 109 
 
 r 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 Orville s eyes were eloquent with entreaty. 
 " Lord knows there w u dn t be any harm in t," 
 he said, humbly but fervently. "I feel jest as if 
 I was goin in to see an angel." 
 
 Mrs. Kndey s face softened ; but at once a smile 
 came upon it one of those smiles of reluctant, 
 uncontrollable humor that take us unawares 
 sometimes, even in the most tragic moments. 
 She s got too much spunk fer an angel," she 
 said. 
 
 "Don t choo go to runnin of her down!" 
 breathed Orville, with fierce and reckless defiance. 
 
 "I wa n t a-runnin of her down," retorted 
 Mrs. Bndey, coldly. "You don t ketch me 
 a-runnin of my own kin down, Orville Farmer !" 
 She glowered at him under drawn brows. "An* 
 I won t stand anybody else s a-runnin of em 
 down or a-walkin over em, either ! There ain t 
 no call fer you to tell me not to run em down." 
 Her look grew blacker. "I reckon we d best 
 settle all about your mother before we go in there, 
 Orville Farmer." 
 
 " What about er ?" His tone was miserable ; 
 his defiance was short-lived. 
 
 "Why, there s no use n your goin in there 
 unless you re ready to promise that you ll give 
 Emarine the whip-hand over your mother. You 
 best make up your mind." 
 
 "It s made up," said the young fellow, desper- 
 
 no 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 ately. " I^ord Almighty, Mis Bndey, it s made 
 up." 
 
 "Well." She turned the door-knob. "I 
 know it ain t the thing, an I d die if Miss Pres 
 ley sh u d come an find out the town w u dn t 
 hold her, she d talk so ! Well ! Now, don t 
 stay too long. F I see anybody a-comin I ll 
 cough at the foot o the stairs." 
 
 She opened the door and when he had passed 
 in, closed it with a bitter reluctance. "It ain t 
 the proper thing, she repeated ; and she stood 
 for some moments with her ear bent to the key 
 hole. A sudden vision of Miss Presley coming 
 up the stairs to see Kmarine sent her down to the 
 kitchen with long, cautious strides, to keep guard. 
 
 Kmarine was propped up with pillows. Her 
 mother had dressed her in a white sacque, con 
 sidering it a degree more proper than a night 
 dress. There was a wide ruffle at the throat, 
 trimmed with serpentine edging. Kmarine was 
 famous for the rapidity with which she crocheted, 
 as well as for the number and variety of her pat 
 terns. 
 
 Orville went with clumsy noiselessness to the 
 white bed. He was holding his breath. His 
 hungry eyes had a look of rising tears that are 
 held back. They took in everything the girl s 
 paleness and her thinness ; the beautiful dark 
 hair, loose upon the pillow; the blue veins in 
 
 in 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 her temples ; the dark lines under her languid 
 eyes. 
 
 He could not speak. He fell upon his knees, 
 and threw one arm over her with compelling 
 passion, but carefully, too, as one would touch a 
 flower, and laid his brow against her hand. His 
 shoulders swelled. A great sob struggled from 
 his breast. "Oh, Bmarine, Emarine !" he 
 groaned. Then there was utter silence between 
 them. 
 
 After a while, without lifting his head, he 
 pushed her sleeve back a very little and pressed 
 trembling, reverent lips upon the pulse beating 
 irregularly in her slim wrist. 
 
 "Oh, Emarine !" he said, still without lifting 
 his head. I love yuh I love yuh ! I ve suf 
 fered oh, to think o you layin here sick, 
 night after night fer a whole month, an me not 
 here to do things fer yuh. I ve laid awake im- 
 aginin that yuh wanted a fresh drink an c u dn t 
 make anybody hear ; or that yuh wanted a cool 
 cloth on your forrid, or a little jell- water, or 
 somethin . I ve got up n the middle o the 
 night an come an stood out at your gate tell I d 
 see a shado on the curt n an know yuh wa n t 
 alone Oh, Emarine, Emarine !" 
 
 She moved her hand ; it touched his throat 
 and curved itself there, diffidently. He threw up 
 his head and looked at her. A rush of passion- 
 
 112 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKIvING-DOWN 
 
 ate, startled joy stung through him like needles, 
 filling his throat. He trembled strongly. Then 
 his arms were about her and he had gathered her 
 up against his breast ; their lips were shaking 
 together, after their long separation, in those 
 kisses but one of which is worth a lifetime of all 
 other kisses. 
 
 Presently he laid her back very gently upon 
 her pillow, and still knelt looking at her with 
 his hand on her brow. "I ve tired yuh," he 
 said, with earnest self-reproach. " I won t do t 
 ag in, Kmarine I promise. When I looked n 
 your eyes an see that yuh d fergive me ; when I 
 felt your hand slip round my neck, like it ust to, 
 an like I ve b en starvirf to feel it fer a month, 
 Kmarine I c u dn t help it, nohow ; but I won t 
 do t ag in. Oh, to think that I ve got choo 
 back ag in !" 
 
 He laid his head down, still keeping his arm 
 thrown, lightly and tenderly as a mother s, over 
 her. 
 
 The sick girl looked at him. Her face settled 
 into a look of stubbornness ; the exaltation that 
 had transfigured it a moment before was gone. 
 " You ll have to promise me," she said, "about 
 your mother, you know. I ll have to be first." 
 
 "Yuh shall be, Emarine." 
 
 "You ll have to promise that if there s any 
 knucklin -down, she ll do t, an not me." 
 
 113 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKLING -DOWN 
 
 Removed uneasily. "Oh, don t choo worry, 
 Emarine. It 11 be all right." 
 
 " Well, I want it settled now. You ll have to 
 promise solemn that you ll stand by ev ry thing I 
 do, an let me have things my way. If you don t, 
 you can go back the way you come. But I know 
 you ll keep your word if you promise." 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I will." 
 
 But he kept his head down and did not prom 
 ise. 
 
 "Well?" she said, and faint as she was, her 
 voice was like steel. 
 
 But still he did not promise. 
 
 After a moment she lifted her hand and curved 
 it about his throat again. He started to draw 
 away, but almost instantly shuddered closer to 
 her and fell to kissing the white lace around her 
 neck. 
 
 "Well," she said, coldly, "hurry an make 
 your choice. I hear mother a-comin ." 
 
 "Oh, Emarine!" he burst out, passionately. 
 "I promise I promise yuh ev ry thing. My 
 mother s gittin old an childish, an it ain t right, 
 but I can t give you up ag in I can t! I prom 
 ise I swear !" 
 
 Her face took on a tenderness worthy a nobler 
 victory. She slipped her weak, bare arm up 
 around him and drew his lips down to hers. 
 
 An hour later he walked away from the house, 
 
 114 
 
A POINT OF KNUCK UNO-DOWN 
 
 the happiest man in Oregon City or in all Ore 
 gon, for that matter. Mrs. Kndey watched him 
 through the vines. "Well, he s a-walkin knee- 
 deep in promises," she reflected, with a comfort 
 able laugh, as she sent a hot iron hissing over a 
 newly sprinkled towel. " I guess that mother o 
 his n 11 learn a thing er two if she tries any o 
 her back-sass with Emarine. 
 
 Kmarine gained strength rapidly. Orville 
 urged an immediate marriage, but Mrs Kndey 
 objected. " I won t hear to t tell Bmarine gits 
 her spunk back, she declared. When she gits 
 to settin her heels down the way she ust to before 
 she got sick, she can git married. I ll know then 
 she s got her spunk back." 
 
 Toward the last of July Kmarine commenced 
 setting her heels down in the manner approved 
 by her mother ; so, on the first of August they 
 were married and went to live with Mrs. Palmer. 
 At the last moment Mrs. Kndey whispered grimly 
 " Now, you mind you hold your head high." 
 
 " Hunh !" said Kmarine. She lifted her chin 
 so high and so suddenly that her long ear-rings 
 sent out flashes in all directions. 
 
 They had been married a full month when Mrs. 
 Kndey went to spend a day at the Palmer s. She 
 had a shrewd suspicion that all was not so tran- 
 
 "5 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKIvING-DOWN 
 
 quil there as it might be. She walked in un 
 bidden and unannounced. 
 
 It was ten o clock. The sun shown softly 
 through the languid purple haze that brooded 
 upon the valley. Crickets and grasshoppers 
 crackled through the grasses and ferns. The noble 
 mountains glimmered mistily in the distance. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer was sewing a patch on a table 
 cloth. Kmarine was polishing silverware. * * Oh ! 
 she said, with a start. " You, is t ?" 
 
 Yes," said Mrs. Endey, sitting down, "me. 
 I come to spen the day." 
 
 " I didn t hear yuh knock," said Mrs. Palmer, 
 dryly. She was tall and stoop-shouldered. She 
 had a thin, sour face and white hair. One knew, 
 only to look at her, that life had given her all its 
 bitters and but few of its sweets. 
 
 "I reckon not," said Mrs. Endey, "seem* I 
 didn t knock. I don t knock at my own daugh 
 ter s door. Well, forever ! Do you patch table 
 cloths, Mis Parmer ? I never hear tell ! I have 
 see darnt ones, but I never see a patched one." 
 She laughed aggravatingly. 
 
 "Oh, that s nothin ," said Emarine, over her 
 shoulder, "we have em made out o flour sacks 
 here, fer breakfas ." 
 
 Then Mrs. Palmer laughed a thin, bitter 
 laugh. Her face was crimson. "Yaas," she 
 said, " I use patched table- cloths, an table-cloths 
 
 116 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 made out o flour sacks ; but I never did wear 
 underdo s made out o unbleached muslin in my 
 life." 
 
 Then there was a silence. Emarine gave her 
 mother a look, as much as to say What do you 
 think of that ? " Mrs. Endey smiled. " Thank 
 mercy ! " she said. " Dog-days 11 soon be over. 
 The smoke s liftin a leetle. I guess you an 
 Orville 11 git your house painted afore the fall 
 rain comes on, Bmarine? It needs it turrable 
 bad." 
 
 "They ain t got the paintin of it," said Mrs. 
 Palmer, cutting a thread with her teeth. "It 
 don t happen to be their house." 
 
 "Well, it s all the same. It 11 git painted if 
 Emarine wants it sh u d. Oh, Emarine ! Where d 
 you git them funny teaspoons at ? " 
 
 " They re Orville s mother s." Emarine gave 
 a mirthful titter. 
 
 I want to know ! Ain t them funny ? Thin s 
 no name fer m. You d ought to see the ones 
 my mother left me, Mis Farmer thick, my ! 
 One u d make the whole dozen o you rn. I ll 
 have em out an ask you over to tea." 
 
 "I ve heerd about em," said Mrs. Palmer, 
 with the placidity of a momentary triumph. 
 "The people your mother worked out fer give 
 em to her, didn t they? My mother got her n 
 from her gran mother. She never worked out, 
 
 117 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 She never lived in much style, but she al ays had 
 a plenty. " 
 
 "My- 07" said Mrs. Kndey, scornfully. 
 
 " I guess I d best git the dinner on," said Em- 
 arine. She pushed the silver to one side with a 
 clatter. She brought some green corn from the 
 porch and commenced tearing off the pale em 
 erald husks. 
 
 "D you want I sh u d help shuck it?" said 
 her mother. 
 
 " No ; I m ust to doin t alone." 
 
 A silence fell upon all three. The fire rn^de a 
 cheerful noise ; the kettle steamed sociably ; 
 some soup-meat, boiling, gave out a savory odor. 
 Mrs. Bndey leaned back comfortably in her rock 
 ing-chair. There was a challenge in the very 
 fold of her hands in her lap. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer sat erect, stiff and thin. The 
 side of her face was toward Mrs. Bndey. She 
 never moved the fraction of an inch, but watched 
 her hostilely out of the corner of her eye, like 
 a hen on the defensive. 
 
 It was Mrs. Bndey who finally renewed hostil 
 ities. "Emarine," she said, sternly, "what are 
 you a-doin ? Shortenin your biscuits with 
 iardf" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Bndey sniffed contemptuously. "They 
 won t be fit to eat ! You feathered your nest, 
 
 118 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 didn t you? Fer mercy s sake ! Can t you buy 
 butter to shorten your biscuits with? You ll be 
 makin patata soup next !" 
 
 Then Mrs. Palmer stood up. There was a red 
 spot on each cheek. 
 
 "Mis Endey," she said, " if yuh don t like 
 the comadations in this house, won t you be so 
 good s to go where they re better ? I must say 
 I never wear underdo s made out o unbleached 
 muslin in my life ! The hull town s see em on 
 your clo s line, an tee-hee about it behind your 
 back. I notice your daughter was mighty 
 ready to git inhere an shorten biscuits with lard, 
 an use patched table-cloths, an " 
 
 " Oh, mother!" 
 
 It was her son s voice. He stood in the door. 
 His face was white and anxious. He looked at 
 the two women ; then his eyes turned with a 
 terrified entreaty to Kmarine s face. It was hard 
 as flint. 
 
 "It s time you come," she said, briefly. 
 Your mother just ordered my mother out o 
 doors. Whose house is this?* 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 "Say, Orville Farmer! whose house is this?" 
 
 "Oh, Emarine!" 
 
 " Don t you oh, Emarine me ! You answer 
 up !" 
 
 " Oh, Emarine, don t let s quar l. We ve only 
 119 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 b en married a month. Let them quar l, if they 
 want " 
 
 " You answer up. Whose house is this ? " 
 
 "It s mine," he said in his throat. 
 
 " You rn ! Your mother calls it her n." 
 
 " Well, it is," he said, with a desperation that 
 rendered the situation tragic. "Oh, Emarine, 
 what s mine s her n. Father left it to me, but o 
 course he knew it u d be her n, too. She likes 
 to call it her n." 
 
 " Well, she can t turn my mother out o doors. 
 I m your wife an this is my house, if it s 
 you rn. I guess it ain t hardly big enough fer 
 your mother an me, too. I reckon one o us had 
 best git out. I don t care much which, only I 
 don t knuckle-down to nobody. I won t be set 
 upon by nobody." 
 
 "Oh, Emarine !" There was terror -in his 
 face and voice. He huddled into a chair and 
 covered his eyes with both hands. Mrs. Palmer, 
 also, sat down, as if her limbs had suddenly refused 
 to support her. Mrs. Endey ceased rocking and 
 sat with folded hands, grimly awaiting develop 
 ments. 
 
 Emarine stood with the backs of her hands on 
 her hips. She had washed the flour off after put 
 ting the biscuits in the oven, and the palms were 
 pink and full of soft curves like rose leaves ; her 
 thumbs were turned out at right angles. Her 
 120 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG DOWN 
 
 cheeks were crimson, and her eyes were like dia 
 monds. 
 
 " One o us 11 have to git out," she said again. 
 "It s fer you to say which n, Orville Fanner. 
 I d just as soon. I won t upbraid you, f you say 
 me." 
 
 "Well, I won t upbraid choo, if yuh say me," 
 spoke up his mother. Her face was gray. Her 
 chin quivered, but her voice was firm. "Yuh 
 speak up, Orville." 
 
 Orville groaned "Oh, mother ! Oh, Bmarine !" 
 His head sunk lower; his breast swelled with 
 great sobs the dry, tearing sobs that in a man 
 are so terrible. " To think that you two women 
 sh u d both love me, an 1 then torcher me this 
 way ! Oh, God, what can I do er say ?" 
 
 Suddenly Kmarine uttered a cry, and ran to 
 him. She tore his hands from his face and cast 
 herself upon his breast, and with her delicate 
 arms locked tight about his throat, set her warm, 
 throbbing lips upon his eyes, his brow, his mouth, 
 in deep, compelling kisses. "I m your wife ! 
 I m your wife! I m your wife!" she panted. 
 "You promised ev ry thing to get me to marry 
 you ! Can you turn me out now, an make me a 
 laughin -stawk fer the town? Can you give me 
 up ? You love me, an I love you ! I^et me show 
 you how I love you " 
 
 She felt his arms close around her convulsively. 
 
 121 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKTJNG-DOWN 
 
 Then his mother arose and came to them, and 
 laid her wrinkled, shaking hand on his shoulder. 
 "My son," she said, "let me show yuh how 7 
 love yuh. I m your mother. I ve worked fer 
 yuh, an done fer yuh all your life, but the time s 
 come fer me to take a back seat. Its be n hard 
 it s be n ofRil hard an I guess I ve be n mean 
 an hateful to Bmarine but it s be n hard. 
 Yuh keep Kmarine, an I ll go. Yuh want her 
 an I want choo to be happy. Don t choo worry 
 about me I ll git along all right. Yuh won t 
 have to decide I ll go of myself. That s the 
 way mothers love, my son !" 
 
 She walked steadily out of the kitchen ; and 
 though her head was shaking, it was carried 
 high. 
 
 PART III 
 
 It was the day before Christmas an Oregon 
 Christmas. It had rained mistily at dawn; but 
 at ten o clock the clouds had parted and moved 
 away reluctantly. There was a blue and dazzling 
 sky overhead. The rain-drops still sparkled on 
 the windows and on the green grass, and the last 
 roses and chrysanthemums hung their beautiful 
 heads heavily beneath them; but there was to be 
 no more rain. Oregon City s mighty barometer 
 the Falls of the Willamette was declaring to her 
 
 122 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKLING- DOWN 
 
 people by her softened roar that the morrow was 
 to be fair. 
 
 Mrs. Orville Palmer was in the large kitchen 
 making preparations for the Christmas dinner. 
 She was a picture of dainty loveliness in a laven 
 der gingham dress, made with a full skirt and a 
 sjiirred waist and big leg-o -mutton sleeves. A 
 white apron was tied neatly around her waist. 
 
 Her husband came in, and paused to put his 
 arm around her and kiss her. She was stirring 
 something on the stove, holding her dress aside 
 with one hand. 
 
 "It s goin to be a fine Christmas, Bmarine," 
 he said, and sighed unconsciously. There was a 
 fistful and careworn look on his face. 
 
 1 Beautiful ! " said Kmarine, vivaciously. Go- 
 in down-town, Orville?" 
 
 * Yes. Want anything ? 
 
 "Why, the cranberries ain t come yet. I m 
 so uneasy about em. They d ought to a* b en 
 stooed long ago. I like em cooked down an 
 strained to a jell. I don t see what ails them 
 groc rymen ! Sh u d think they c u d get around 
 some time before doomsday ! Then, I want here, 
 you d best set it down." She took a pencil and 
 a slip of paper from a shelf over the table and 
 gave them to him. "Now, let me see." She 
 commenced stirring again, with two little wrinkles 
 between her brows. "A ha f a pound o citron; a 
 
 I2 3 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 ha f a pound o candied peel ; two pounds o* 
 cur uts; two pounds o raisins git em stunned, 
 Orville; a pound o sooet make em give you 
 some that ain t all strings ! A box o Norther 
 Spy apples; a ha f a dozen lemons; four-bits 
 worth o walnuts or a monds, whichever s fresh 
 est; a pint o Puget Sound oysters fer the dressin , 
 an a bunch o cel ry. You stop by an see about 
 the turkey, Orville ; an I wish you d run in s 
 you go by mother s an tell her to come up as 
 soon as she can. She d ought to be here now." 
 
 Her husband smiled as he finished the list. 
 " You re a wonderful housekeeper, Emarine," he 
 said. 
 
 Then his face grew grave. " Got a present fer 
 your mother yet, Emarine ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, long ago. I got er a black shawl 
 down t Charman s. She s b en wantin one." 
 
 He shuffled his feet about a little. "Unh- 
 hunh. Yuh that is I reckon yuh ain t picked 
 out any present fer fer my mother, have yuh, 
 Emarine?" 
 
 " No," she replied, with cold distinctness. " I 
 ain t." 
 
 There was a silence. Emarine stirred briskly. 
 The lines grew deeper between her brows. Two 
 red spots came into her cheeks. * I hope the rain 
 ain t spoilt the chrysyanthums," she said then, 
 with an air of ridding herself of a disagreeable 
 J24 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 Orville made no answer. He moved his feet 
 again uneasily. Presently he said: "I expect 
 my mother needs a black shawl, too. Seemed to 
 me her n looked kind o rusty at church Sun Hay. 
 Notice it, Kmarine ? " 
 
 "No," said Kmarine. 
 
 "Seemed to me she was gittin to look offul 
 old. Kmarine " his voice broke; he came a step 
 nearer " it ll be the first Christmas dinner I ever 
 eat without my mother." 
 
 She drew back and looked at him. He knew 
 the look that flashed into her eyes, and shrank 
 from it. 
 
 "You don t have to eat this n without er, 
 Orville Parmer ! You go an eat your dinner 
 with your mother, f you want ! I can get along 
 alone. Are you goin to order them things ? If 
 you ain t, just say so, an I ll go an do t my 
 self!" 
 
 He put on his hat and went without a word. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer took the saucepan from the stove 
 and set it on the hearth. Then she sat down and 
 leaned her cheek in the palm of her hand, and 
 looked steadily out of the window. Her eyelids 
 trembled closer together. Her eyes held a far- 
 sighted look. She saw a picture; but it was not 
 the picture of the blue reaches of sky, and the 
 green valley cleft by its silver-blue river. She 
 saw a kitchen, shabby, compared to her own, 
 
 125 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKIJNG-DOWN 
 
 scantily furnished, and in it an old, white-haired 
 woman sitting down to eat her Christmas dinner 
 alone. 
 
 After a while she arose with an impatient sigh. 
 "Well, I can t help it ! " she exclaimed. " If I 
 knuckled- down to her this time, I d have to do t 
 ag in. She might just as well get ust to t, first 
 as last. I wish she hadn t got to lookin so old 
 an pitiful, though, a-settin there in front o us 
 in church Sunday after Sunday. The cords 
 stand out in her neck like well-rope, an her chin 
 keeps a-quiv rin so 1 I can see Orville a- watch- 
 in her " 
 
 The door opened suddenly and her mother en 
 tered. She was bristling with curiosity. "Say, 
 Kmarine!" She lowered her voice, although 
 there was no one to hear. "Where d you s pose 
 the undertaker s a-goin up by here ? Have you 
 hear of anybody " 
 
 "No," said Kmarine. "Did Orville stop by 
 an tell you to hurry up ? " 
 
 fYes. What s the matter of him? Is he 
 sick?" 
 
 Not as I know of. Why ? 
 
 " He looks so. Oh, I wonder if it s one o the 
 Peterson childern where the undertaker s a-goin ! 
 They ve all got the quinsy sore throat." 
 
 " How does he look? I don t see s he looks 
 so turrable." 
 
 126 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 "Why, Kmarine Farmer ! Ev rybody in town 
 says he looks so/ I only hope they don t know 
 what ails him ! " 
 
 "What does ail him?" cried out Kmarine, 
 fiercely. What are you hintin at ? " 
 
 "Well, if you don t know what ails him, 
 you d ort to; so I ll tell you. He s dyin by 
 inches ever sence you turned his mother out o 
 doors." 
 
 Emarine turned white. Sheet lightning played 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, you d ought to talk about my turnin 
 her out!" she burst out, furiously. "After you 
 a-settin here a-quar 1 n with her in this very 
 kitchen, an eggin me on ! Wa n t she goin to 
 turn you out o your own daughter s home? 
 Wa n t that what I turned her out fer ? I didn t 
 turn her out, anyhow ! I only told Orville this 
 house wa n t big enough fer his mother an me, 
 an that neither o us n d knuckle-down, so he d 
 best take his choice. You d ought to talk ! " 
 
 "Well, if I egged you on, I m sorry fer t," 
 said Mrs. Endey, solemnly. Ever sence that fit 
 o sickness I had a month ago, I ve feel kind o 
 old an no account myself, as if I d like to let all 
 holts go, an just rest. I don t spunk up like I 
 ust to. No, he didn t go to Peterson s he s 
 gawn right on. My land ! I wonder f it ain t 
 old gran ma Eliot; she had a bad spell no, he 
 
 127 
 
A. POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 didn t turn that corner. I can t think where he s 
 goin to !" 
 
 She sat down with a sigh of defeat. 
 
 A smile glimmered palely across Emarine s 
 face and was gone. " Maybe if you d go up in 
 the antic you could see better," she suggested, 
 dryly. 
 
 "Oh, Kmarine, here comes old gran ma Eliot 
 herself! Run an open the door fer er. She s 
 limpin worse n usual." 
 
 Emarine flew to the door. Grandma Eliot was 
 one of the few people she loved. She was large 
 and motherly. She wore a black dress and shawl 
 and a funny bonnet, with a frill of white lace 
 around her brow. 
 
 Emarine s face softened when she kissed her. 
 " I m so glad to see you," she said, and her voice 
 was tender. 
 
 Even Mrs. Endey s face underwent a change. 
 Usually it wore a look of doubt, if not of positive 
 suspicion, but now it fairly beamed. She shook 
 hands cordially with the guest and led her to a 
 comfortable chair. 
 
 "I know your rheumatiz is worse," she said, 
 cheerfully, " because you re limpin so. Oh, did 
 you see the undertaker go up by here ? We can t 
 think where he s goin to. D you happen to 
 know?" 
 
 "No, I don t; an I don t want to, neither." 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 Mrs. Eliot laughed comfortably. "Mis Endey, 
 you don t ketch me foo!in with undertakers till 
 I have to." She sat down and removed her 
 black cotton gloves. "I m gettin to that age 
 when I don t care much where undertakers go to 
 so long s they let me alone. Fixin fer Christ 
 mas dinner, Emarine dear ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma am," said Emarine in her very gen 
 tlest tone. Her mother had never said " dear " 
 to her, and the sound of it on this old lady s lips 
 was sweet. "Won t you come an take dinner 
 with us?" 
 
 The old lady laughed merrily. "Oh, dearie 
 me, dearie me ! You don t guess my son s folks 
 could spare me now, do you? I spend ev ry 
 Christmas there. They most carry me on two 
 chips. My son s wife, Sidonie, she nearly runs 
 her feet off waitin on me. She can t do enough 
 fer me. My, Mrs. Endey, you don t know what 
 a comfort a daughter-in-law is when you get old 
 an feeble ! " 
 
 Emarine s face turned red. She went to the 
 table and stood with her back to the older woman ; 
 but her mother s sharp eyes observed that her ears 
 grew scarlet. 
 
 "An I never will," said Mrs. Endey, grimly. 
 
 " You ve got a son-in-law, though, who s worth 
 a whole townful of most son-in-laws. Ht was 
 such a good son, too ; jest worshipped his mother ; 
 
 129 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 couldn t bear her out o his sight. He humored 
 her high an low. That s jest the way Sidonie 
 does with me. I m gettin cranky s I get older, 
 an sometimes I m reel cross an sassy to her ; but 
 she jest laffs at me, an then comes an kisses me, 
 an I m all right ag in. It s a blessin right from 
 God to have a daughter-in-law like that. 
 
 The knife in Bmarine s hand slipped, and she 
 uttered a little cry. 
 
 "Hurt you?" demanded her mother, sternly. 
 
 Hmarine was silent, and did not turn. 
 
 " Cut you, Emarine? Why don t you answer 
 me? Aigh?" 
 
 "A little," said Emarine. She went into the 
 pantry, and presently returned with a narrow strip 
 of muslin which she wound around her finger. 
 
 " Well, I never see ! You never will learn any 
 gumption ! Why don t you, look what you re 
 about? Now, go around Christmas with your 
 finger all tied up !" 
 
 "Oh, that ll be all right by to-morrow," said 
 Mrs. Eliot, cheerfully. "Won t it, Emarine? 
 Never cry over spilt milk, Mrs. Endey ; it makes 
 a body get wrinkles too fast. O course Orville s 
 mother s comin to take dinner with you, Ema- 
 rine." 
 
 "Dear me !" exclaimed Emarine, in a sudden 
 fl titter. "I don t see why them cranberries don t 
 
 130 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKLING-DOWN 
 
 come ! I told Orville to hurry em up. I d best 
 make the floatin island while I wait." 
 
 "I stopped at Orville s mother s as I came 
 along." 
 
 "How?" Emarine turned in a startled way 
 from the table. 
 
 I say, I stopped at Orville s mother s as I come 
 along, Emarine." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "She well?" asked Mrs. Endey. 
 
 " No, she ain t ; shakin like she had the Saint 
 Vitus dance. She s failed harrable lately. She d 
 b en cryin ; her eyes was all swelled up." 
 
 There was quite a silence. Then Mrs. Endey 
 said "What she b en cryin about?" 
 
 "Why, when I asked her she jest lafFed kind o 
 pitiful, an said : * Oh, only my tornfoolishness, 
 o course. Said she always got to thinkin about 
 other Christmases. But I cheered her up. I 
 told her what a good time I always had at my 
 son s, and how Sidonie jest couldn t do enough 
 fer me. An I told her to think what a nice time 
 she d have here t Emarine s to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Endey smiled. What she say to that ?" 
 
 "She didn t say much. I could see she was 
 thankful, though, she had a son s to go to. She 
 said she pitied all poor wretches that had to set 
 out their Christmas alone. Poor old lady ! she 
 ain t got much spunk left. She s all broke down. 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKT.ING-pOWN 
 
 But I cheered her up some. Sech a wishful look 
 took holt o her when I pictchered her dinner over 
 here at Emarine s. I can t seem to forget it. 
 Goodness ! I must go. I m on my way to Sido- 
 nie s, an she ll be comin after me if I ain t on 
 time." 
 
 When Mrs. KHot had gone limping down the 
 path, Mrs. Endey said: "You got your front 
 room red up, Emarine?" 
 
 " No ; I ain t had time to red up anything." 
 "Well, I ll do it. Where s your duster at?" 
 " Behind the org n. You can get out the wax 
 cross again. Mis Dillon was here with all her 
 childern, an I had to hide up ev ry thing. I 
 never see childern like her n. She lets em handle 
 things so !" 
 
 Mrs. Endey went into the "front room" and 
 began to dust the organ. She was something of 
 a diplomat, and she wished to be alone for a few 
 minutes. " You have to manage Emarine by 
 contrairies," she reflected. It did not occur to 
 her that this was a family trait. "I m off til sorry 
 I ever egged her on to turnin Orville s mother 
 out o doors, but who d a thought it u d break 
 her down so? She ain t told a soul either. I 
 reckoned she d talk somethin offul about us, but 
 she ain t told a soul. She s kep a stiff upper lip 
 an told folks she al ays expected to live alone when 
 Orville got married. Emarine s all worked up. 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 I believe the L,ord hisself must a sent gran ma 
 Eliot here to talk like an angel unawares. I bet 
 she d go an ask Mis Farmer over here to dinner 
 if she wa n t afraid I d laff at her fer knucklin - 
 down. I ll have to aggravate her." 
 
 She finished dusting, and returned to the 
 kitchen. "I wonder what gran ma Eliot u d 
 say if she knew you d turned Orville s mother 
 out, Emarine?" 
 
 There was no reply. Emarine was at the table 
 mixing the plum pudding. Her back was to her 
 mother. 
 
 " I didn t mean what I said about bein sorry 
 I egged you on, Emarine. I m glad you turned 
 her out. She d ort to be turned out." 
 
 Emarine put a handful of floured raisins into 
 the mixture and stirred it all together briskly. 
 
 " Gran ma Eliot can go talkin about her daugh 
 ter-in-law Sidonie all she wants, Emarine. You 
 keep a stiff upper lip." 
 
 " I can tend to my own affairs, " said Emarine, 
 fiercely. 
 
 "Well, don t flare up so. Here comes Orville. 
 I,and, but he does look peakid !" 
 
 After supper, when her mother had gone home 
 for the night, Emarine put on her hat and shawl. 
 
 Her husband was sitting by the fireplace, look 
 ing thoughtfully at the bed of coals. 
 
 133 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 "I m goin out, she said, briefly. You keep 
 the fire up." 
 
 " Why, Bmarine, its dark. Don t choo want I 
 sh u d go along?" 
 
 "No ; you keep the fire up." 
 
 He looked at her anxiously, but he knew from 
 the way she set her heels down that remonstrance 
 would be useless. 
 
 "Don t stay long," he said, in a tone of ha 
 bitual tenderness. He loved her passionately, in 
 spite of the lasting hurt she had given him when 
 she parted him from his mother. It was a hurt 
 that had sunk deeper than even he realized. It 
 lay heavy on his heart day and night. It took 
 the blue out of the sky, and the green out of the 
 grass, and the gold out of the sunlight ; it took 
 the exaltation and the rapture out of his tenderest 
 moments of love. 
 
 He never reproached her, he never really blamed 
 her ; certainly he never pitied himself. But he car 
 ried a heavy heart around with him, and his few 
 smiles were joyless things. 
 
 For the trouble he blamed only himself. He had 
 promised Kmarine solemnly before he married her 
 that if there were any " knuckling-down " to be 
 done, his mother should be the one to do it. He 
 had made the promise deliberately, and he could 
 no more have broken it than he could have 
 changed the color of his eyes. When bitter 
 
 134 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 feeling arises between two relatives by marriage, 
 it is the one who stands between them the one 
 who is bound by the tenderest ties to both who 
 has the real suffering to bear, who is torn and 
 tortured until life holds nothing worth the hav 
 ing. 
 
 Orville Palmer was the one who stood between. 
 He had built his own cross, and he took it up and 
 bore it without a word. 
 
 Kmarine hurried through the early winter dark 
 until she came to the small and poor house where 
 her husband s mother lived. It was off the main- 
 traveled street. 
 
 There was a dim light in the kitchen ; the cur 
 tain had not been drawn. Kmarine paused and 
 looked in. The sash was lifted six inches, for the 
 night was warm, and the sound of voices came to 
 her at once. Mrs. Palmer had company. 
 
 "It s Miss Presly," said Bmarine, resentfully, 
 under her breath. " Old gossip !" 
 
 " goin to have a fine dinner, I hear," Miss 
 Presly was saying. Turkey with oyster dressin , 
 an cranberries, an mince an pun kinpie, an reel 
 plum puddin with brandy poured over t an set 
 afire, an wine dip, an nuts, an raisins, an wine 
 itself to wind up on. Emarine s a fine cook. She 
 knows how to get up a dinner that makes your 
 mouth water to think about. You goin to have a 
 spread, Mis Partner?" 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 "Not much of a one," said Orville s mother. 
 " I expected to, but I c u dn t get them fall pata- 
 tas sold off. I ll have to keep em till spring to 
 git any kind o price. I don t care much about 
 Christmas, though" her chin was trembling, 
 but she lifted it high. "It s silly for anybody 
 but childern to build so much on Christmas." 
 
 Kmarine opened the door and walked in. Mrs. 
 Palmer arose slowly , grasping the back of her 
 chair. "Orville s dead?" she said, solemnly. 
 
 Kmarine laughed, but there was the tenderness 
 of near tears in her voice. " Oh, my, no !" she 
 said, sitting down. "I run over to ask you to 
 come to Christmas dinner. I was too busy all 
 day to come sooner. I m goin to have a great 
 dinner, an I ve cooked ev ry single thing of it 
 myself! I want to show you what a fine Christ 
 mas dinner your daughter- n-law can get up. 
 Dinner s at two, an I want you to come at eleven. 
 Will you?" 
 
 Mrs. Palmer had sat down, weakly. Trem 
 bling was not the word to describe the feeling that 
 had taken possession of her. She was shivering. 
 She wanted to fall down on her knees and put her 
 arms around her son s wife, and sob out all her 
 loneliness and heartache. But life is a stage ; 
 and Miss Presly was an audience not to be ignored. 
 So Mrs. Palmer said : "Well, I ll be reel glad 
 o come, ^marine. It s offul kind o yuh to think 
 
 136 
 
A POINT OF KNUCEXING-DOWN 
 
 oft. It u d a be n lonesome eatin here all by 
 myself, I expect." 
 
 Emarine stood up. Her heart was like a this 
 tle-down. Her eyes were shining. ( All right, 
 she said ; "an I want that you sh u d come just 
 at eleven. I must run right back now. Good 
 night." 
 
 " Well, I declare !" said Miss Presly. "That 
 girl gits prettier ev ry day o her life. Why, she 
 just looked full o glame to-night !" 
 
 Orville was not at home when his mother ar 
 rived in her rusty best dress and shawl. Mrs. 
 Kndey saw her coming. She gasped out, * Why, 
 good grieve ! Here s Mis Farmer, Emarine !" 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Emarine, calmly. "I ast 
 her to dinner." 
 
 She opened the door, and shook hands with her 
 mother-in-law, giving her mother a look of de 
 fiance that almost upset that lady s gravity. 
 
 "You set right down, Mother Partner, an let 
 me take your things. Orville don t know you re 
 comin , an I just want to see his face when he 
 conies in. Here s a new black shawl fer your 
 Christmas. I got mother one just like it. See 
 what nice long fringe it s got. Oh, my, don t go 
 tocryin ! Here comes Orville." 
 
 She stepped aside quickly. When her husband 
 
A POINT OF KNUCKUNG-DOWN 
 
 entered his eyes fell instantly on "his mother, weep 
 ing childishly over the new shawl. She was in 
 the old splint rocking-chair with the high back. 
 "Mother!" he cried ; then he gave a frightened, 
 tortured glance at his wife. Kmarine smiled at 
 him, but it was through tears. 
 
 * Bmarine ast me, Orville she ast me to din 
 ner o herself! An she give me this shawl. I m 
 cryin fer joy 
 
 "I ast her to dinner," said Kmarine, "but she 
 ain t ever goin back again. She s goin to stay. 
 I expect we ve both had enough of a lesson to 
 do us." 
 
 Orville did not speak. He fell on his knees 
 and laid his head, like a boy, in his mother s lap, 
 and reached one strong but trembling arm up to 
 his wife s waist, drawing her down to him. 
 
 Mrs. Endey got up and went to rattling things 
 around on the table vigorously. " Well, I never 
 see sech a pack o loonatics !" she exclaimed. 
 1 Go an burn all your Christmas dinner up, if I 
 don t look after it ! Turncoats ! I expect they ll 
 both be fallin over theirselves to knuckle-down 
 to each other from now on ! I never see !" 
 
 But there was something in her eyes, too, that 
 :;iade them beautiful. 
 
 38 
 
THE CUTTIN OUT OF BART WINN 
 
THK CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 "Lavin-ee!" 
 
 Well?" 
 
 Mrs. Vaiden came to the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " You up there?" she said. 
 
 " Yes, maw. What you want ?" 
 
 "Somebody s comin ," said Mrs. Vaiden, low 
 ering her voice to a tone of important mystery. 
 
 "I guess not here," said L,avinia, lightly. 
 She sat down on the top step and smiled at her 
 mother. 
 
 "Yes, it is here, too," retorted Mrs. Vaiden, 
 with some irritation. "If you couldn t conter- 
 dict a body t wouldn t be you ! You re just like 
 your paw ! She paused, and then added : It s 
 a man a-foot. He s comin up the path slow, 
 a-stoppin to look at the flowers." 
 
 "Maybe it s the minister," said the girl, still 
 regarding her mother with a good-natured, teas 
 ing smile. 
 
 "No, it ain t the minister, either. As if I 
 didn t know the minister when I see him ! You 
 do aggravate me so ! It s a young fello , an he s 
 all dressed up. You ll have to go to the door." 
 
 "Oh, maw !" cried Lavinia, reproachfully. "I 
 just can t ! In this short dress ?" 
 
 141 
 
 r 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 Flie stood up, with a look of dismay, and be 
 gan pulling nervously at her fresh gingham skirt. 
 It was short, showing very prettily-arched insteps 
 and delicate ankles. 
 
 "Well, you just can, an* haf to," said Mrs. 
 Vaiden, shortly. " I ve told you often enough 
 to put a ruffle on the bottom o* that dress, an 
 I m glad you re caught. Mebbe you ll do s I 
 tell you after this " 
 
 She started guiltily as a loud rap sounded upon 
 the door behind her, and began to tiptoe heavily 
 down the hall toward the kitchen. The girl 
 looked after her in mingled amusement and cha 
 grin. Then she leaned forward slightly, drawing 
 the skirt back closely on both sides, and looked at 
 her feet, with her head turned on one side like a 
 bird. When the cessation of her mother s labored 
 breathing announced silently that she had reached 
 the kitchen in safety, L,avinia shrugged her beau 
 tiful shoulders which no gown could conceal 
 and opened the door. A young man in a light 
 traveling-suit stood before her. In his hand was 
 a bunch of her own sweet-peas. 
 
 At sight of her he whisked off his hat in a 
 way that brought a lovely color to her face and 
 throat. For a little while it seemed as if he were 
 not going to say or do anything but just look at 
 her. She was well worth looking at. She had 
 the rare beauty of velvet eyes of a reddish-brown 
 142 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 color, hair wavy and brown, with red glints in it, 
 and a clear complexion, unfreckled and of exqui 
 site coloring. 
 
 lyavinia s eyes went to the sweet-peas, and then, 
 with a deeper blush under them, to his face. 
 
 " Won t you come in?" she said. 
 
 "Why, yes, if you ll let me." The young 
 man smiled, and I^avinia found her lips and eyes 
 responding, in all the lightness of youth and a 
 clear conscience. 
 
 "I couldn t help taking some of your sweet- 
 peas," he said, following her into the parlor. It 
 was a large, solemn-looking room. The blinds 
 were lowered over the windows, but the girl raised 
 one slightly, letting a splash of pale autumnal sun 
 shine flicker across the hit-and-miss rag carpet. 
 There was an organ in one corner and a hair 
 cloth sofa in another. Bight slender-legged 
 hair-cloth chairs were placed at severely equal 
 distances around the room, their backs resting 
 firmly against the walls. All tipped forward 
 slightly, their front legs being somewhat shorter 
 than the others. On the back of each was a 
 small, square crocheted tidy. There were some 
 family portraits on the walls, in oval gilt frames ; 
 and there was a large picture of George Wash 
 ington and family, on their stateliest behavior ; 
 another, named in large letters " The Journey of 
 I<ife," of an uncommonly roomy row-boat con- 
 
 143 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 taining at least a dozen persons, who were sup 
 posed to represent all ages from the cradle to 
 the grave ; in the wide, white margin beneath 
 this picture were two verses of beautiful, des 
 criptive poetry, and in one corner appeared, with 
 apparent irrelevancy, the name of an illustrated 
 newspaper. There was also a chromo of a scantily- 
 attired woman clinging to a cross which was set 
 in the midst of dashing sea- waves ; and there 
 was a cheerful photograph, in a black cloth frame, 
 of flowers made into harps, crosses, anchors 
 and hearts which had been sent at some time 
 of bereavement by sympathetic but misguided 
 friends. A marble-topped centre-table held a 
 large plush album, a scrap book, a book of 
 autographs, a lamp with a pale-green shade, and 
 a glass case containing a feather- wreath. 
 
 "Oh, we ve got lots of sweet-peas," said 
 L,avinia, adjusting the blind carefully. Then she 
 looked at him. 
 
 " May I see Mrs. Vaiden?" he asked, easily. 
 
 " She s busy," said lyavinia, with a look of 
 embarrassment. " But I ll see " 
 
 "Oh, don t," interrupted the young man 
 lightly. They told me at the post-office she took 
 boarders sometimes, and I came to see if there 
 was a chance for me." He handed a card to the 
 girl with an air of not knowing that he was doing 
 it. Her very eyelids seemed to blush as she looked 
 144 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 at it and read the name Mr. C. Daun Diller. 
 I am writing up the Puget Sound country for a 
 New York paper, and I should like to make rny 
 headquarters here at Whatcom, but I can t stand 
 the hotels in your new towns. It s the most amaz 
 ing thing !" he went on, smiling at her as she 
 stood twisting the card in her fingers, not know 
 ing exactly what to do with it. "You go to 
 sleep at night in a Puget Sound village with the 
 fronts of the stores painted green, blue and red, 
 spasmodic patches of sidewalk here and there, 
 dust ankle deep, and no street-lights and you 
 wake in the morning in a city ! A city with fine 
 stone blocks and residences, stone pavements, 
 electric lights and railways, gas, splendid water 
 works," he was checking off now, excitedly, on 
 his fingers, "sewerage, big mills, factories, can 
 neries, public schools that would make the Bast 
 stare, churches, libraries" he stopped abruptly, 
 and, dropping his arms limply to his sides, added 
 " and not a hotel ! Not a comfortable bed or 
 a good meal to be had for love or money !" 
 
 "Yes, that s so," said I^avinia, reluctantly. 
 "But you can t expect us to get everything all 
 at onct. Why, Whatcom s boom only started 
 in six months ago." 
 
 Mr. C. Daun Diller looked amused. "Oh, if 
 it were this town only," he said, sitting down on 
 one of the hair clotb chairs and feeling himself 
 
 MS 
 
CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 slide gently forward, " I shouldn t have mentioned 
 it. But the truth is, there are only three decent 
 hotels in the whole Puget Sound country. But 
 I know" here he smiled at her again "that 
 it s not safe to breathe a word against Puget Sound 
 to a Puget-Sounder. " 
 
 "No, it ain t," said the girl, responding to the 
 smile and the respectfully bantering tone. Then 
 she moved to the door. "Well, I ll see what 
 maw says to it," she said, and vanished. 
 
 Mr. C. Daun Diller stood up and pushed his 
 hands down into his pockets, whistling softly. 
 He walked over to the organ and looked at the 
 music. There were three large books : * * The 
 Home Circle," " The Golden Chord," and "The 
 Family Treasure;" a * simplified copy of The 
 Maiden s Prayer," and a book of "Gospel 
 Songs." 
 
 The young man smiled. 
 
 "All the same," he said, as if in answer to a 
 disparaging remark made by some one else, 
 "she s about the handsomest girl I ever saw. 
 I m getting right down anxious to see myself 
 what * maw will say to it. " 
 
 After a long while Mrs. Vaiden appeared in a 
 crisply-starched gingham dress and a company 
 manner both of which had been freshly put on 
 for the occasion. Mr. Diller found her rather 
 painfully polite, and he began to wonder, after 
 
 146 
 
THK CUTTIN -OUT OF BART 
 
 paying his first week s board, whether he co... 
 endure two or three months of her; but he was 
 quite, quite sure that he could endure a full year 
 of the daughter. 
 
 A couple of evenings later he was sitting by 
 the window in his quaint but exquisitely neat 
 room, writing, when a light rap carne upon his 
 door. Upon opening it he found L,avinia stand 
 ing, bashfully, a few steps away. There was a 
 picturesque, broad-brimmed hat set coquettishly 
 on her splendid hair. 
 
 "Maw wanted I sh u d ask you if you d like 
 to see an Indian canoe-race," she said. 
 
 " Would I ? " he ejaculated, getting into a great 
 excitement at once. "Well, I should say so! 
 Awfully good of your mother to think but where 
 is it when is it ? How can I see it ? " 
 
 "It s down by the viaduck right now," said 
 Lavinia. Then she added, shyly, pretending to 
 be deeply engrossed with her glove: "I m just 
 grin -." 
 
 "Oh, are you?" said Diller, seizing his hat 
 and stick and coming eagerly out to her. And 
 may I go with you ? Will you take me in hand ? 
 I haven t the ghost of an idea where the viaduct 
 is." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I ll show you," she said, with a glad 
 little laugh, and they went swiftly down the 
 stairs and out into the sweet evening. 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF EART WINN 
 
 "You know," she said, as he opened the gate 
 for her with a deference to which she was not ac 
 customed, and which gave her a thrill of innocent 
 exultation, "the Alaska Indians are just comin 
 back from hop-pickin down around Puyallup an 
 Yakima an Seattle, an they alwus stop here an 
 have races with the Dummies an the Nook- 
 sacks." 
 
 Mr. Diller drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Do you know," he said, "I wouldn t have 
 missed this for anything not for anything I can 
 think of. And yet I should if it hadn t been 
 for" he hesitated, and then added "your 
 mother." They looked into each other s eyes and 
 laughed, very foolishly and happily. 
 
 The sun was setting moving slowly, scarlet 
 and of dazzling brilliancy, down the western sky, 
 which shaded rapidly from pale blue to salmon, and 
 from salmon to palest pea-green. Beneath, su 
 perbly motionless, at full tide, the sound stretched 
 mile on mile away to lyummi peninsula, whose 
 hills the sun now touched every fir-tree on those 
 noble crests standing out against that burnished 
 background. A broad, unbroken path of gold 
 stretched from shore to shore. Some sea-gulls 
 were circling in endless, silvery rings through the 
 amethystine haze between sea and sky. The old, 
 rotten pier running a mile out to sea shone like a 
 strip of gold above the deep blue water. It was 
 148 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 crowded with people, indifferent to danger in their 
 eagerness to see the races. Indeed, there seemed 
 to be people everywhere ; on the high banks, the 
 piers, and the mills scattered over the tide-flats, 
 and out in row boats. Two brass bands were 
 playing stirring strains alternately. There was 
 much excitement much shouting, hurrying, run 
 ning. The crowd kept swaying from the viaduct 
 over to the pier, and from the pier back to the 
 viaduct. Nobody seemed to be quite sure where 
 the start would be ; even the three judges, when 
 asked, yelled back, as they clambered down to 
 their row-boat: "We don t know. Wait and 
 see!" 
 
 "What accommodating persons," said Mr. 
 Diller, cheerfully. "Shall we go over to the 
 pier? The tide seems to be running that way." 
 
 "Oh, the tide s not running now," said L,a- 
 vinia. "It s full." 
 
 Diller looked amused. " I meant the people," 
 he said. 
 
 The girl laughed and looked around on the 
 pushing crowd. "I guess we d best stop right 
 here on the viaduck ; here s just where they 
 started last year an the year before. Oh, see, 
 here s the Alaskas camped pretty near under us !" 
 
 As she lifted her voice a little Diller saw a 
 young man standing near start and turn toward 
 her with a glad look of recognition ; but at once 
 
 149 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 his glance rested on Diller, and his expression 
 changed to a kind of puzzled bewilderment. The 
 girl was leaning over the railing and did not see 
 him, but he never took his eyes away from her 
 and Diller. 
 
 There was a long wait, but the crowd did not 
 lose its patience or its good humor. There was 
 considerable betting going on, and there was the 
 same exciting uncertainty about the start. The 
 sun went down and a bank of apricot-colored 
 clouds piled low over the snow crest of Mount 
 Baker in the Kast. The pier darkened and tke 
 path of gold faded, but splashes of scarlet still 
 lingered on the blue water. A chill, sweet wind 
 started up suddenly, and some of the girl s bronze 
 curls got loose about her white temples. Diller 
 put her wrap around her carefully, and she smiled 
 up at him deliciously. Then she cried oufc. 
 4 Oh, they re gettin into the boat! They re 
 goin to start. Oh, I m so glad !" and struck he* 
 two hands together gleefully, like a child. 
 
 The long, narrow, richly- painted and carven 
 canoe slid down gracefully into the water. Bleven 
 tall, supple Alaskan Indians, bare to the wais*, 
 leaped lightly to their places. They sat erect, 
 close to the sides of the boat, holding their short 
 paddles perpendicularly. At a signal the paddles 
 shot straight down into the water, and, with a 
 swift, magnificent straining and swelling of 
 
CUTTIN - OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 muscles in the powerful bronze arms and bodies, 
 were pushed backward and withdrawn in light 
 ning strokes. The canoe flashed under the via 
 duct and appeared on the other side, and a great 
 shout belched from thousands of throats. From 
 camping-places farther up the shore the other 
 boats darted out into the water and headed for 
 the viaduct. 
 
 "Oh, good! good!" cried Lavinia in a very 
 ecstasy of excitement. "They re goin to start 
 right under us. We re just in the place !" 
 
 "Twenty dollars on the Nooksacks !" yelled a 
 blear-eyed man in a carriage. Twenty ! Twenty 
 ag inst ten on the Nooksacks !" 
 
 The band burst into " Hail, Columbia !" with 
 beautiful irrelevancy. The crowd came surging 
 back from the pier. Diller was excited, too. His 
 face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. 
 "Who ll you bet on?" he asked, laughing, and 
 thinking, even at that moment, how ravishingly 
 lovely she was with that glow on her face and 
 the loose curls blowing about her face and throat. 
 
 "Oh, the Alaskas /" cried the girl, striking lit 
 tle blows of impatience on the railing with her 
 soft fists. "They re so tall an fine-lookin ! 
 They re so strong an grand ! Look at their 
 muscles just like ropes! Oh, I ll bet on the 
 Alaskas ! I love tall men !" 
 
 " Do you?" said Diller. "I m tall." 
 
THK CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 They looked into each other s eyes again and 
 laughed. Then a voice spoke over their shoul 
 ders a kind, patient voice. "Oh, l,aviny," it 
 said ; " I wouldn t bet if I was you." 
 
 L,avinia gave a little scream. Both turned in 
 stantly. The young man who had been watch 
 ing them stood close to them. He wore working- 
 clothes a flannel shirt and [_cheap-faded trousers 
 and coat. He had a good, strong, honest face, 
 and there was a tenderness in the look he bent on 
 the girl that struck Diller as being almost pathetic. 
 
 The glow in L,avinia s face turned to the scarlet 
 of the sunset. 
 
 <>: <9^/" she said, embarrassedly. "That you, 
 Bart? I didn t know you was back." 
 
 " I just got back, he replied, briefly. I got 
 to go back again in the mornin . I was just on 
 my way up to your house. I guess I ll go on. 
 I m tired, an I ve seen lots o c noe races." He 
 looked at her wistfully. 
 
 " Well," she said, after a moment s hesitation. 
 "You go on up, then. Maw an paw s at home, 
 an I ll come as soon s the race s over." 
 
 "All right," he said, with a little drop in his 
 voice, and walked away. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" cried I^avinia. "We re missin 
 the start, ain t we?" 
 
 The cano^j were lying side by side, waiting for 
 the signal. Kvery Indian was bent forward, 
 
 152 
 
THE CUT-IN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 holding his paddle suspended above the water In 
 both hands. There was what might be termed a 
 rigid suppleness in the attitude. The dark out 
 lines of the paddles showed clearly in the water, 
 which had turned yellow as brass. Suddenly the 
 band ceased playing and the signal rang across 
 the sunset. Thirty-three paddles shot into the 
 water, working with the swift regularity of piston- 
 rods in powerful engines. The crowds cheered 
 and yelled. The canoes did not flash or glide 
 now, but literally plowed and plunged through 
 the water, which boiled and seethed behind them 
 in white, bubbled foam that at times completely 
 hid the bronze figures from sight. There was no 
 shouting now, but tense, breathless excitement. 
 People clung motionless, in dangerous places and 
 stared with straining eyes, under bent brows, after 
 the leaping canoes. The betting had been high. 
 The fierce, rhythmic strokes of the paddles made a 
 noise that was like the rapid pumping of a great 
 ram. To Diller, who stood, pale, with com 
 pressed lips, it sounded like the frantic heart-beat of 
 a nation in passionate riot. Mingled with it was 
 a noise that, once heard, cannot be forgotten a 
 weird, guttural chanting on one tone, that yet 
 seemed to hold a windy, musical note ; a sound, 
 regular, and rhythmic as the paddle-strokes, that 
 came from deep in the breasts of the rigidly sway 
 ing Indians and found utterance through locked 
 teeth. 
 
CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 A mile out a railroad crossed the tide-lands, 
 ad this was the turning point. The Nooksacks 
 made it first, closely followed by the Alaskans, 
 and then, amid wild cheering, the three canoes 
 headed for the viaduct. Faster and faster worked 
 those powerful arms ; the paddles whizzed more 
 fiercely through the air ; the water spurted in 
 white sheets behind ; the canoes bounded, length 
 ion length, out of the water ; and louder and faster 
 the guttural chant beat time. The Alaskans and 
 the Nooksacks were coming in together, carven 
 prow to carven prow, and the excitement was ter 
 rific. Nearer and nearer, neither gaining, they 
 came. Then, suddenly, there burst a mad yell of 
 triumph, and the Alaskan boat arose from the 
 water and leaped almost its full length ahead of 
 the Nooksack s ; and amidst waving hats and 
 handkerchiefs, and almost frantic cheering the 
 race was won. 
 
 "By the eternal!" said Diller, beginning to 
 breathe again and wiping the perspiration from 
 his brow. If that isn t worth crossing the plains 
 to see { I don t know what is!" But his com 
 panion did not hear. She was alternately wav 
 ing her kerchief to the victors and pounding her 
 small fists on the railing in an ecstasy of triumph, 
 
 154 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 Well?" 
 
 You come right down hyeer an help me 
 em ty this rench in -water. I d like to know 
 what s got into you ! A-stayin up-stairs half your 
 time, an just a-mopin around when you are 
 down. You ain t b en worth your salt lately !" 
 
 The girl came into the kitchen slowly. * What 
 you jawin about now, maw?" she said, smiling. 
 
 "I ll show you what I m a-jawin about, as 
 you call it. Take holt o this tub an help me 
 em ty this renchin -water." 
 
 4 Well, don t holler so; Mr. Diller 11 hear 
 you." 
 
 "I don t care f he does hear me. I can give 
 him his come-up ans if he goes to foolin around, 
 listenin . I don t care f he does write for a 
 paper in New York ! You ve got to take holt o 
 the work more n you ve b en lately. A-traipsin 
 around all over the country with him, a-showin 
 him things to write about an make fun of! I 
 sh u d think Bart Winn had just about got 
 enough of it." 
 
 "I wish you d keep still about Bart Winn," 
 said L,avinia, impatiently. 
 
 "Well, I ain t a-goin to keep still about him." 
 Mrs. Vaiden poured the dish-water into the sink 
 And passed the dish-cloth round and round the 
 pan, inside and outside with mechanical care, be- 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 fore she opened the back door and hung it out on 
 the side of the house. " I guess I don t haf to 
 ask. you when I want to talk. There you was 
 gone all day yeste day a-huntin star-fish, an that 
 renchin -water a-settin there a-ruinin that tub 
 because I couldn t em ty it all myself. Just as 
 if he never saw star-fish where he come from. 
 An then to-day -b en gone all the mornin 
 a-ketchin crabs ! How many crabs d you ketch, 
 I d like to know I 1 
 
 "We didn t ketch many/* said Lavinia, with 
 a soft, aggravating laugh. "The water wa n t 
 clear enough to see em." 
 
 " No, I guess the water wa n t clear enough to 
 see em !" The rinsing- water had been emptied, 
 and Mrs. Vaiden was industriously wiping the 
 tub. " I ve got all the star-fishin an the crab- 
 ketchin I want, an I m a-goin to tell that young 
 man that he can go some ers else for his board. 
 He s b en here a month, an he s just about made 
 a fool o you. Pret soon you ll be a-thinkin 
 you re too good for Bart Winn." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Bart Winn s honest voice in 
 the doorway; "I guess L,aviny won t never be 
 a-thinkin that." 
 
 "Mercy!" cried Mrs. Vaiden, starting and 
 coloring guiltily. That you ? How you scairt 
 me ! I m all of a-trimble." 
 
 Bart advanced to Lavinia and kissed her with 
 
 56 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 much tenderness ; but instead of blushing, she 
 paled. 
 
 "When d you come?" she asked, briefly, 
 drawing away, while her mother, muttering some 
 thing about the sour cream and the spring-house, 
 went out discreetly. 
 
 "This mornin ," said Bart. "I m a-goin to 
 stay home now." 
 
 The girl sat down, taking a pan of potatoes on 
 her lap. "I wonder where the case-knife is," 
 she said, helplessly. 
 
 " I ll get it," said Bart, running into the pan 
 try and returning with the knife. " I love to 
 wait on you, Laviny," he added, with shining 
 eyes. " I guess I ll get to wait on you a sight, 
 now. I see your paw s I come up an he said 
 as how I could board hyeer. I ll do the shores 
 for you an glad to. An , oh, I^aviny ! I 
 most forgot. I spoke for a buggy s I come up, 
 so s I can take you a-ridin to-night." 
 
 "I guess I can t go," said lyavinia, holding 
 her head down and paring potatoes as if her life 
 depended upon getting the skins off. 
 
 " You can t ? Why can t you ?" 
 
 " I why, I m goin a salmon-spearin up at 
 Squalicum Creek, I guess. Salmon s a-runnin 
 like everything now. Most half the town goes 
 there soon s it gets dark." 
 
 "That a fact?" said Bart, shifting from one 
 
CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 foot to the other and looking interested. "I 
 want to know ! Well his face brightened 
 "I ll go down an tell em I ll take the rig to 
 morro night, an I ll go a-spearin with you. 
 Right down in front o Eldridge s?" 
 
 "Yes." A pulse began thumping violently in 
 the girl s throat. Her eyelids got so heavy she 
 could not lift them. "I guess that is, I 
 why, you see, Bart, I got comp ny." 
 
 "Well, I guess the girls won t object to my 
 goin along o you." 
 
 "It ain t girls," said I^avinia, desperately. 
 "It s a it s Mr. Diller; the gentleman that 
 boards here." 
 
 "Oh," said Bart, slowly. Then there was a 
 most trying silence, during which the ticking of 
 the clock and the beating of her own heart were 
 the only sounds l,avinia heard. At last she said, 
 feebly : * * You see he writes for a New York 
 newspaper one o the big ones. He s a-writin 
 up the whole Puget Sound country. An he 
 don t know just what he d ort to see, nor just 
 how to see it, unless somebody shows him about 
 an I ve b en a-showin him." 
 
 "Oh !" said Bart again, but quite in another 
 tone, quite cheerfully. " That s it, is t, Laviny ? 
 Well, that s all right. But I ll be hanged if you 
 didn t take my breath away for a minute. I 
 thought you meant L,aviny ! " a sudden seri- 
 
 158 
 
CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 ousness came into his tone and look "I guess 
 you don t know how much I think o you. My 
 heart s just set on you, my girl my whole life s 
 wrapped up in you." He paused, but L^vinia 
 did not speak or look at him, and he added, very 
 slowly and thoughtfully " I reckon it u d just 
 about kill me, f anything happened to you." 
 
 "I guess nothin s a-goin to happen." She 
 dropped one potato into a pan of cold water and 
 took up another. 
 
 " No, I guess not." He took on a lighter tone. 
 " But I ll tell you what, Laviny ! If that s all, 
 he ain t comp ny at all ; so you can just tell him 
 I m a-goin , too." He came closer and laid a large 
 but very gentle hand on her shoulder. "You 
 might even tell him I ve got a right to go, L,a- 
 viny." 
 
 The girl shrank, and glanced nervously at the 
 door. 
 
 "I wouldn t like to do that, Bart. After his 
 arrangin to go, an a-hirin the skiff hisself. / 
 don t know but what he s got somebody else to go 
 along of us." 
 
 4 Why, does he ever?" 
 
 " Well, I don t recollect that he ever has ; but 
 then he might of, this time, I say, for all I 
 know. * 
 
 There was another silence. Then the big hand 
 patted the girl s shoulder affectionately and the 
 
 159 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 honest eyes bent on her the look of patient tender* 
 ness that Diller had considered pathetic. 
 
 "All right, lyaviny ; you go along of him, just 
 by yourself, an I ll stop home with your paw an 
 3 our maw. I want you to know, my girl, that I 
 trust you, an believe every word you say to me. 
 I ain t even thought o much else besides you 
 ever sence I saw you first time at the liberry so 
 ciable, an I won t ever think o much else, I 
 don t care what happens. Bein afraid to trust a 
 body s a poor way to show how much you think 
 about em, is my religion ; so you go an have a 
 good time, an don t you worry about me." He 
 tucked one of her runaway curls behind her ear 
 awkwardly. "I ll slip down to the liv ry stable 
 now, an tell em about the rig." 
 
 "All right," said I^avinia. 
 
 Her mother came in one door, after a precau 
 tionary scraping of her feet and an alarming 
 paroxysm of coughing, and looked rather disap 
 pointed to see Bart going out at the other, and to 
 realize that her modest warnings had been thrown 
 away. " Well, f I ever ! she exclaimed. " L,a- 
 viny Vaiden, whatever makes you look so ? You 
 look just s if you d seen a spook ! You re a 
 kind o yellow-gray just like you had the 
 ja ndice ! What ails you ? " 
 
 4 I got a headache, said the girl ; and then, 
 somehow, the pan slid down off her lap, and the 
 160 
 
THE CUTTIN - OUT OF BART WIXN 
 
 potatoes and the parings went rolling and sprawl 
 ing all over the floor ; Lavinia s head went down 
 suddenly on the table, and she was sobbing bit 
 terly. 
 
 Her mother looked at her keenly, without speak 
 ing, for a moment ; then she said dryly, Why , 
 I guess you must have an awful headache. Come 
 on kind o sudden like, didn t it ? I guess you d 
 best go up and lay down, an I ll bring a mustard 
 plaster up an put on your head. Ain t nothin 
 like a plaster for a headache specially that kind 
 of a headache." 
 
 Bart Winn walked into the livery stable with an 
 air of indifference put on so stiffly that it deceived 
 no one. It was not that he did not feel perfectly 
 satisfied with L-avinia s explanation, but he was 
 a trifle uneasy lest others should not see the thing 
 with his eyes. 
 
 " I guess I won t want that rig to-night, Billy," 
 he said, pulling a head of timothy out of a bale 
 of hay that stood near. "Ill take it to-rnorro 
 night." 
 
 "All right," said the young fellow, with a smile 
 that Bart did not like. " Girl sick, aigh ?" 
 
 "No," said Bart, softly stripping the fuzz off 
 the timothy. 
 
 "Well, I guess I understan ," said Billy, wink 
 ing one eye, cheerfully. "I ve b en there my 
 self. Girls is as much alike s peas sweet-peas 
 161 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 lie interjected with a hearty laugh " in a pod, 
 the world over. It ain t never safe for a fellow to 
 come home, after bein away a good spell, an en 
 gage a buggy before findin out if the girl ain t 
 engaged to some other fello it ain t noways safe. 
 I smiled in my sleeve when you walked in so big 
 an* ordered your n." 
 
 Bart Winn was slow to anger, but now a dull 
 red came upon his face and neck, and settled there 
 as if burnt into the flesh. His eyes looked dan 
 gerous, but he spoke quietly. " I guess you don t 
 know what you re talkin about, Billy. I guess 
 you hadn t best go any furder." 
 
 Billy came slowly toward him, nettled by his 
 tone by its very calm, in fact. " D you mean 
 to say that Laviny Vaiden ain t goin a-salmon- 
 spearin to-night with that dandy from New 
 York?" 
 
 Bart swallowed once or twice. 
 
 " I don t mean to say anything that s none o 
 your business," he said. 
 
 Well, she s been a-spearin with him ev ry 
 night sence the salmon s b en a-runnin , anyway. 
 
 The strong, powerful trembling of a man who 
 is trying to control himself now siezed Bart 
 Winn. 
 
 " If you re goin to put on airs with me," con 
 tinued Billy, obtusely, "I ll just tell you a few 
 fax / They don t burn any torch in their boat, an 
 
 162 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 they don t spear any salmon ! That s just a blind. 
 They go off by theirselves clear away from the 
 spearers, an they don t come back till they see 
 the torches a-goin out an know that we all s 
 a-goin home. It s the town talk. Not that they 
 say anything wrong, for we ve all knowed Laviny 
 sence she was a baby ; but it s as plain as the nose 
 on a man s face that you ain t in it there since that 
 dood come." 
 
 A panorama of colors flamed over Bart s face ; 
 his hands clenched till the nails cut into the flesh 
 and the blood spurted ; who has seen the look in 
 the eyes of the lion that cowers and obeys under 
 the terrible lash of the trainer will know the look 
 that was in the man s eyes while the lash of his 
 own will conquered him ; his broad chest swelled 
 and sunk. At last he spoke, in a deep, shaking 
 voice. * * Billy, he said, * you re a liar a liar ! 
 Damn you / He struggled a moment longer 
 with himself, and then turned and hurried away 
 as if possessed of the devil. 
 
 But Billy followed him to the door and called 
 after him " Oh, damn me, aigh ? Now, I don t 
 want I sh u d have a fight with you, Bart. I was 
 tryin to do you a favor. If you think I m a 
 liar, it s a mighty easy thing for you to go down 
 there to-night an see for yourself. That s all / 
 ask." 
 
 Bart went on in a passion of contending emo- 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 lieved about me. I wouldn t a believed that 
 much about you." The humor of this remark 
 seemed to appeal to her, for she smiled a little. 
 Then she got up. " But it s all right, Bart. I 
 ain t mad. If that s all, I guess I ll go back to 
 bed. You tell maw I couldn t put them roastin - 
 ears on my head feels so." 
 
 He caught her to his breast and kissed her 
 several times, with something like a prayer in his 
 eyes, and with a strong, but sternly controlled 
 passion that left him trembling and staggering 
 like a drunken man when she was gone. 
 
 After Lavinia and Diller were gone that night 
 Bart sat out on the kitchen steps, smoking his 
 pipe. He stooped forward, his elbows resting on 
 his knees. His right hand held the pipe, and the 
 left supported his right arm. His eyes looked 
 straight before him into the purple twilight. The 
 wind had gone down, but now and then a little 
 gust of perfume came around the corner from the 
 wild clover, still in delicate pink blossom on the 
 north side of the house. The stars came out, one 
 by one, in the deep blue spaces above, and shrill 
 mournful outcries came from winged things in the 
 green depths of the ferns. Already the torches 
 of the salmon-spearers were beginning to flare out 
 from the shadow of the cliffs across the bay. Mr. 
 
 166 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 Vaiden was not at home, but Mrs. Vaiden was 
 walking about heavily in the kitchen, finishing 
 the evening work. 
 
 Mrs. Vaiden was not quite easy in her mind. She 
 really liked Bart Winn, but, to be unnecessarily 
 and disagreeably truthful, she liked even better his 
 noble donation claim, which he was now selling 
 off in town lots. Time and time again during 
 the past month she had cautioned L,avinia to not 
 " go galivantin round with that Dillersomuch ; " 
 and on numerous occasions she had affirmed that 
 " she d bet L,aviny would fool along till she let 
 Bart Winn slip through her fingers, after all." 
 Still, it had been an unconfessed satisfaction to 
 her to observe Mr. Diller s frank admiration for 
 her daughter to feel that lyavinia could "have 
 her pick o the best any day." She knew how 
 this rankled in some of the neighbors breasts. 
 She wished now that she had been more strict. 
 She said to herself, as she went out to the spring- 
 house: " I wish I d a set my foot right down on 
 his goin a step with her. An there I started it 
 myself, a-sendin her off to that c noe race with 
 him, just to tantalize Mis Bentley an her troop 
 o girls. But land knows I never dreamt o its 
 goin on this way. What s a newspaper fello 
 compared to a donation claim, /Vlike to know ? " 
 At nine o clock she went to the door and said, 
 in that tone of conciliatory tenderness which 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 lieved about me. I wouldn t 
 much about you." The humor of this remark 
 seemed to appeal to her, for she smiled a little. 
 Then she got up. "But it s all right, Bart. I 
 ain t mad. If that s all, I guess I ll go back to 
 bed. You tell maw I couldn t put them roastin - 
 ears on my head feels so." 
 
 He caught her to his breast and kissed her 
 several times, with something like a prayer in his 
 eyes, and with a strong, but sternly controlled 
 passion that left him trembling and staggering 
 like a drunken man when she was gone. 
 
 After lyavinia and Diller were gone that night 
 Bart sat out on the kitchen steps, smoking his 
 pipe. He stooped forward, his elbows resting on 
 his knees. His right hand held the pipe, and the 
 left supported his right arm. His eyes looked 
 straight before him into the purple twilight. The 
 wind had gone down, but now and then a little 
 gust of perfume came around the corner from the 
 wild clover, still in delicate pink blossom on the 
 north side of the house. The stars came out, one 
 by one, in the deep blue spaces above, and shrill 
 mournful outcries came from winged things in the 
 green depths of the ferns. Already the torches 
 of the salmon-spearers were beginning to flare out 
 from the shadow of the cliffs across the bay. Mr. 
 
 166 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 Vaiden was not at home, but Mrs. Vaiden was 
 walking about heavily in the kitchen, finishing 
 the evening work. 
 
 Mrs. Vaiden was not quite easy in her mind. She 
 really liked Bart Winn, but, to be unnecessarily 
 and disagreeably truthful, she liked even better his 
 noble donation claim, which he was now selling 
 off in town lots. Time and time again during 
 the past month she had cautioned L,avinia to not 
 " go galivantin round with that Dillersornuch ; " 
 and on numerous occasions she had affirmed that 
 "she d bet L,aviny would fool along till she let 
 Bart Winn slip through her fingers, after all." 
 Still, it had been an unconfessed satisfaction to 
 her to observe Mr. Diller s frank admiration for 
 her daughter to feel that Lavinia could "have 
 her pick o the best any day. She knew how 
 this rankled in some of the neighbors breasts. 
 She wished now that she had been more strict. 
 She said to herself, as she went out to the spring- 
 house: * * I wish I d a set my foot right down on 
 his goin a step with her. An there I started it 
 myself, a-sendin her off to that c noe race with 
 him, just to tantalize Mis Bentley an her troop 
 o girls. But land knows I never dreamt o its 
 goin on this way. What s a newspaper fello 
 compared to a donation claim, P d like to know ? " 
 At nine o clock she went to the door and said, 
 in that tone of conciliatory tenderness which 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 comes from a remorseful conscience : * Well, 
 Bart, I guess I ll go to bed. I m tired. You 
 goin to set up for L,aviny ? 
 
 "Yes," said Bart; " good-night. " 
 
 " Well, good-night, Bart." She stood holding 
 a lighted candle in one hand, protecting its flame 
 from the night air with the other. "I reckon 
 they ll be home by ten." 
 
 " I reckon so." 
 
 At the top of the stairs Mrs. Vaiden remem 
 bered that the parlor windows were open, and 
 she went back to close them. The wind was ris 
 ing again, and as she opened the parlor door it 
 puffed through the open windows and sent the 
 curtains streaming out into the room ; then it 
 went whistling on through the house, banging 
 the doors. 
 
 After a while quiet came upon the house. 
 Bart sat smoking silently. The Vaidens lived on 
 a hill above the town, and usually he liked 
 to watch the chains of electric lights curving 
 around the bay ; but to-night he watched the 
 torches only. Suddenly he flung his pipe down 
 with a passionate movement and stood up, reach 
 ing inside the door for his hat. But he sat down 
 again as suddenly, shaking himself like a dog, as 
 if to fling off something that was upon him. No ; 
 I m damned if I will!" he said in his throat. 
 "I won t watch her 1 She said it wa n t so, an I 
 
 168 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 believe her." But he did not smoke again, and he 
 breathed more heavily as the moments ticked by 
 and she did not come. At half-past ten Mrs. 
 Vaiden came down in a calico wrapper and a 
 worsted shawl. 
 
 " Why, ain t she come yet?" she asked, hold 
 ing the candle high and peering under it at the 
 back of the silent figure outside. 
 
 " No," said Bart quietly ; " she ain t." 
 
 4 Why, it s half-after ten! She never s b en 
 out this a-way before. D you think anything 
 c u d a hapened?" 
 
 "No," said Bart, slowly; "I guess they ll be 
 along." 
 
 "Well, I don t want that she sh u d stay out 
 till this time o night with anybody but you. 
 She s old enough to know better. It don t look 
 well." 
 
 " It looks all right, as fur as that goes," said 
 Bart. 
 
 " Oh, if you think so." 
 
 Mrs. Vaiden lowered the candle huffily. 
 
 Bart arose and came inside. He was pale but 
 he spoke calmly, and he looked her straight in the 
 eyes. 
 
 "It s all right as fur as she goes ; I d trust her 
 anywheres. But how about him ? What kind 
 of a man is he ? 
 
 " Oh, I don t know," said Mrs. Vaiden, weakly. 
 169 
 
CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 " How d you expect me to know what kind of a 
 man he is ? He s a nice-appearin , polite sort of a 
 fello , an he writes for a newspaper n New York 
 one o them big ones. But he don t seem to 
 me to have much backbone or stand-upness about 
 him. I sh u d think he s one o them that never 
 intends to do anything wrong, but does it just be 
 cause its pleasant for the time bein , and then 
 feels sorry for t afte ards." 
 
 Bart s brows bent together blackly. 
 
 " But I must say " Mrs. Vaiden s tone gath 
 ered firmness " you might pattern after him a 
 little in politeness, Bart. I think L,aviny likes it. 
 He s alwus openin gates for her, an runnin to 
 set chairs for her when she comes into a room, 
 an takin off his hat to her, an carryin her um- 
 berella, an fetchin her flow rs ; an I b lieve he d 
 most die before he d walk on the inside o the 
 sidewalk or go over a crossin ahead o her. An 
 I can see I^aviny likes them things." 
 
 She put the candle on the table and huddled 
 down into a chair. 
 
 The look of anger on the man s face gave 
 place to one of keen dismay. 
 
 " I didn t know she liked such things. I never 
 thought about em. I wa n t brought up to such 
 foolishness." 
 
 "Well, she likes em, anyhow. I guess most 
 women do." Mrs. Vaiden sighed unconsciously. 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 "Why, Bart, it s a quarter of, an she ain t here 
 yet. D you want I sh u d go after her ?" 
 
 "No, I don t want you sh u d go after her. I 
 want you sh u d let her alone, an show her we 
 got confidence in her. She s just the same as my 
 wife, an I don t want her own mother sh u d 
 think she d do anything she hadn t ort to." 
 
 Mrs. Vaiden s feelings were sensitive and easily 
 hurt ; and she sat now in icy silence, looking at 
 the clock. But when it struck eleven she thawed, 
 being now thoroughly frightened/ 
 
 "Oh, Bart, I do think we d best look in her 
 room. She might a got in someway without 
 our hearin her an us settin hyeer like a 
 couple o bumps on a lawg." 
 
 41 She might a ," said Bart, as if struck by the 
 suggestion. "You get me a candle an I ll go 
 up and see. You stay here," he added, over his 
 shoulder, as he took the candle and started. 
 
 "lyook out!" she cried, sharply, as the blue 
 flame plowed a gutter down one side of the candle. 
 "Don t hold it so crooked! You ll spill the 
 sperm onto the stair-carpet !" 
 
 It was with a feeling of awe that Bart went 
 into the dainty little room. There were rosebuds 
 on the creamy wall-paper, and the ceiling, slant 
 ing down on one side, was pale, pale blue, 
 spangled with silver stars ; the windows were 
 closed, and thin, soft curtains fell in straight folds 
 
CUTTIN - oirr OF BART WINN 
 
 over them ; the rag carpet was woven in pink- 
 and-cream stripes ; there was a dressing-table 
 prettily draped in pink. For a moment the man s 
 love was stronger than his anxiety ; the prayer 
 came back to his eyes as he looked at the narrow, 
 snowy bed. 
 
 Then he went to the dressing-table and saw a 
 folded slip of p&per with his name upon it. 
 
 After a while he became conscious that he had 
 read the letter a dozen times, and still had not 
 grasped its meaning. He stooped closer to the 
 candle and read it again, his lips moving mechan 
 ically: 
 
 "DEAR BART: I m goin away. I m goin with 
 him. I told you what wa n t so this mornin . I do like 
 him the best. I couldn t have you after knowin him. 
 I feel awful bad to treat you this a-way, but I haf to. 
 
 IvAVINY." 
 
 u P. S. I want that you sh u d marry somebody else 
 as soon as you can, an be happy." 
 
 A querulous call came from the hall below. 
 He took the candle in one hand and the letter in 
 the other and went down, stumbling clumsily on 
 the stairs. A great many noises seemed to be 
 ringing in his head, and the sober paper with 
 which the walls of the hall were covered to have 
 172 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 suddenly taken on great scarlet spots. He felt 
 helpless and uncertain in his movements, as if he 
 had no will to guide him. He must have carried 
 the candle very crookedly, for Mrs. Vaiden, who 
 was watching him from below, cried out, petu 
 lantly : There, you are spillin the sperm ! 
 Just look at you! * But she stopped abruptly 
 when she saw his face. 
 
 " Why, whatever on this earth !" she exclaimed, 
 solemnly. "What you got there? A letter?" 
 
 "Yes." He set the candle on the table and 
 held the letter toward her. " It s from I/aviny." 
 
 From Laviny ! Why, what on earth did she 
 write to you about ?" 
 
 He burst into wild, terrible laughter. She 
 wants I sh u d marry somebody else as soon as I 
 can, an be happy." These words, at least, 
 seemed to have written themselves on his brain. 
 He groped about blindly for his hat, and went 
 out into the shrill, whistling night. The last 
 torch had burnt itself out, and everything was 
 black save the electric lights, winking in the 
 wind, and one strip of whitening sky above Mount 
 Baker, where presently the moon would rise, sil 
 ver and cool. 
 
 It was seven o clock in the morning when he 
 came back. He washed his hands and face at the 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 sink on the porch, and combed his hair before a 
 tiny mirror, in which a dozen reflections of him 
 self danced. Mrs. Vaiden was frying ham. At 
 sight of him she began to cry, weakly and noise 
 lessly. * Where you been ? she sniffled. * You 
 look forty year old. I set up till one o clock, 
 a-waitin for you." 
 
 "Mrs. Vaiden," said Bart, quietly, "I m in 
 great trouble. I ve walked all night, tryin to 
 make up my mind to t. I ve done it at last ; 
 but I cu dn t a come back tell I did. I m sorry 
 you waited up." 
 
 " Oh, I don t mind that as long as you re get- 
 tin reconciled to t, Bart." Mrs. Vaiden spoke 
 more hopefully. " You set right down an have 
 a bite to eat." 
 
 " I don t want anything," he replied ; but he 
 sat down and took a cup of coffee. It must have 
 been very hot, for suddenly great tears came into 
 his eyes and stood there. Mrs. Vaiden sat down 
 opposite to him and leaned her elbow on the table 
 and her head on her hand. "Bart," she said, 
 solemnly, "I don t want you sh u d think I ever 
 winked at this. It never entered my head. My 
 heart s just broke. To see a likely girl, that c u d 
 a had her pick anywheres, up an run away with 
 a no-account newspaper fello when she c u d 
 a had you!" The man s face contracted. 
 " Whatever on earth the neighbors 11 say I don t 
 know. * 174 
 
THE CUTTIN - OLT OF BART WINN 
 
 " Who cares what neighbors say ?" 
 
 11 Oh, that s all very well for you to say ; you 
 ain t her mother.* 
 
 "No," said Bart, with a look that made her 
 quail ; " I ain t. I wish to God I was ! Mebbe 
 t wouldn t hurt so !" 
 
 11 Well, it ad ort to hurt more !" retorted the 
 lady, with spirit. "Just s if you felt any worse 
 n I do!" He laid his head on his hand and 
 groaned. " Oh, I know it s gone deep, Bart " 
 her tone softened "but s I say, you ain t her 
 mother. You ll get over it an marry again 
 like Laviny wanted that you sh u d. It was good 
 o her to think o that. I will say that much for 
 her." 
 
 "Yes," said Bart; "it was good of her." 
 Then there came a little silence, broken finally 
 by Mrs. Vaiden. Her voice held a note of pee 
 vish regret. "There s that fine house o your n 
 most finished two story an a ell ! An that 
 liberry across the front hall from the parlor ! 
 When I think how vain Laviny was o that li 
 berry ! What 11 you do with the house, now, 
 Bart?" 
 
 "Sell it ! " he answered, between his teeth. 
 "An there s all that fine furnitur that I,aviny 
 an you picked out. She fairly danced when she 
 told me about it. All covered with satin robin- 
 egg green, wa n t it?" 
 
 75 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 "Blue." The word dropped mechanically from 
 his white lips. 
 
 " Well, blue, then. What ll you do with it ? " 
 
 " I guess they ll take it back by my losin my 
 first payment," he answered, with a kind of 
 ghastly humor. 
 
 "Well, there s your new buggy all paid for. 
 They won t take that back." 
 
 "I ll give that to you," he said, with a bitter 
 smile. 
 
 " Oh, you ! " exclaimed Mrs. Vaiden, throwing 
 out her large hand at him in a gesture of mingled 
 embarrassment and delight. "As if I d take it, 
 after L,aviny s actin up this a- way ! " 
 
 He did not reply, and presently she broke out, 
 angrily, with : 
 
 "The huzzy ! The ungrateful, deceitful jade ! 
 To treat a body so. How do we know whether 
 he s got anything to keep a wife on ? I ll admit, 
 though, he was alwus genteel- dressed. I do 
 think, Bart, you might a took pattern n that. 
 T wa n t like as if you wa n t able to wear good 
 clo es an I^aviny liked such things." 
 
 "I wish you d a told me a good spell ago 
 what she liked, Mrs. Vaiden." 
 
 "Well, that s so. There ain t much use n 
 lockin the stable door after the horse s gone. 
 Oh, that makes me think about your offerm me 
 tkat buggy s if I w u d !" 
 176 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 " I guess you ll have to. I m goin to leave on 
 the train, an I ll order it sent to you." 
 
 " Oh, you ! Why, where you goin , Bart? " 
 
 "I m goin to follow him!" he thundered, 
 bringing his fist down on the table in a way that 
 made every dish leap out of its place. "I ain t 
 goin to hurt him unless talk hurts but I m 
 goin to say some things to him. I ain t had a 
 thought for three year that that girl ain t b en in ! 
 I ain t made a plan that she ain t b en in. I ve 
 laid awake night after night just too happy to 
 sleep. An now to have a a thing like him take 
 her from me in one month. But that ain t the 
 worst ! " he burst out, passionately. " We don t 
 know how he ll treat her, an she ll be too proud 
 to complain " 
 
 " I can t see why you care how he treats her," 
 said Mrs. Vaiden, "after the way she s treated 
 you." 
 
 "No," he answered, with a look that ought to 
 have crushed her, " I didn t s pose you c u d see. 
 I didn t expect you to see that, or anything else 
 but your own feelin s the way the thing affex 
 you. But that s what I m goin to follow him 
 for, Mrs. Vaiden. An when I find him I m 
 goin to tell him" there was an awful calm in 
 his tone now " that if he ever misuses her, now 
 that he s married her, I ll kill him. I ll shoot 
 him down like a dawg !" 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 "My I/ord !" broke in Mrs. Vaiden, with a 
 new thought. "What if he ain t married her ! 
 She never said so n her letter. Oh, Bart !" be 
 ginning to weep hysterically. * * Mebbe you c u d 
 get her back. 
 
 He leaped to his feet panting like an animal ; 
 his great breast swelled in and out swiftly, his 
 hands clenched, his eyes burned at her. 
 
 "What!" he said. "Do you dare? Her 
 mother / Oh, you you God ! but I wish you 
 was a man !" 
 
 The whistle of a coming train broke across the 
 morning stillness. He turned, seized his hat and 
 crushed it on his head. Then he came back and 
 took up the chair in which he had been sitting. 
 
 "Mrs. Vaiden," he said, quietly, "d you see 
 this chair? Well, if he ain t married her " 
 
 With two or three movements of his powerful 
 wrists he wrenched the chair into as many pieces 
 and dropped them on the floor. 
 
 After a while Mrs. Vaiden emerged from the 
 stupefaction into which his last words had thrown 
 her, and resumed her breakfast. 
 
 "Well," she said, stirring her coffee until it 
 
 swam round and round in a smooth eddy in the cup, 
 
 11 if I ever see his beat ! Whoever d a thought 
 
 he d take his cuttin -out that a- way ? I never d 
 
 178 
 
THE CUTTIN -OUT OF BART WINN 
 
 V thought it. Worry in about her, after the vva> 
 she s up and used him ! A body d think he d 
 be glad if she was treated shameful, and hatto 
 lead a mis rable life a-realizin what she d threw 
 away. But not him. Well, they say still water 
 runs deep. Mebbe it s ungrateful to think it after 
 his givin me that fine buggy (How Mis Bent- 
 ley will stare when I drive roun to see her !" she 
 interjected with a smile of anticipation.) "But 
 after seem how he showed up his temper just 
 now I ain t sure but I^aviny s head was level 
 when she took the other *n. F only he had a 
 donation claim 1" 
 
 179 
 
ZARKUXA. 
 
ZARKlyDA 
 
 " Reldy ! Say, Reldy ! Za-r<?Ady ! " 
 
 The girl was walking rapidly, but she stopped 
 at once and turned. She wore a cheap woolen 
 dress of a dingy brown ,color. The sleeves were 
 soiled at the wrists, but the narrow, inexpensive 
 ruffle at the neck was white and fresh. Her thick 
 brown hair was well brushed and clean. It was 
 woven into a heavy, glistening braid which was 
 looped up and tied with a rose-colored ribbon. 
 Her shoes were worn out of shape and "run 
 down at the heels, and there were no gloves on 
 the roughened hands clasped over the handle of 
 her dinner-bucket. 
 
 Oh, you ? she said, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, me," said the other girl, with a high 
 color, as she joined Zarelda. They walked along 
 briskly together. "I ve been try in to ketch up 
 with you for three blocks. Ain t you early? " 
 
 "No; late. Heard the whistle blow fore I 
 left home. Didn t you hear it? Now own up, 
 Em Bracket*. " 
 
 "No, I didn t honest," said the other girl, 
 laughing. " I set the clock back las night an 
 forgot to turn it ahead ag in this mornin ." 
 
 This young woman s dress and manner differed 
 
 83 
 
from her companion s. Her dress was cheap, but 
 of flimsy, figured goods that under close inspec 
 tion revealed many and large grease spots ; the 
 sleeves were fashionably puffed; and there were 
 ruffles and frills and plaitings all over it. At 
 the throat was a bit of satin ruffling that had 
 once been pale blue. Half her hair had been cut 
 off, making what she called her "bangs," and 
 this was tightly frizzed over her head as far back 
 as her ears. Her back hair coarse and broken 
 from many crimpings was braided and looped 
 up like Zarelda s, and tied with a soiled blue rib 
 bon. She wore much cheap jewelry, especially 
 amethysts in gaudy settings. She carried herself 
 with an air and was popularly supposed by the 
 young people of factory society to be very much 
 of a belle and a coquette. 
 
 Zarelda turned and looked at her with sudden 
 interest. 
 
 What in the name o mercy did you turn the 
 clock back for?" 
 
 Km tossed her head, laughing and blushing. 
 
 * Never you mind what for, Reldy Winser. 
 It ain t any o your funeral, I guess, if I did turn 
 it back. I had occasion to that s all. You 
 wasn t at the dance up at Canernah las night, 
 was you ? she added suddenly. 
 
 " No, I wasn t. I didn t have anybody to go 
 with. You didn t go, either, did you ? " 
 
 184 
 
11 Unh-hunh; I did." 
 
 Km nodded her head, looking up the river to 
 the great Falls, with dreamy, remembering eyes. 
 * * We had a splendid time, an the walk home 
 along the river was just fine." 
 
 "Well, I could of gone with you if I d of knew 
 you was goin . Couldn t I ? Maw was reel well 
 las night, too." 
 
 She waited for a reply, but receiving none, re 
 peated rather wistfully " Couldn t I ? " 
 
 Km took her eyes with some reluctance away 
 from the river and looked straight before her. 
 
 "Why, I guess," she said, slowly and with 
 slight condescension. "At least, I wouldn t of 
 cared if my comp ny wouldn t; an I guess" 
 with a beautiful burst of generosity "he wouldn t 
 of minded much." 
 
 "Oh," said Zarelda, "you had comp ny, did 
 you?" 
 
 " W y, of course. You didn t s pose I went up 
 there all alone of myself, did you? " 
 
 "You an me ust to go alone places, without 
 any fellow, I mean," said Zarelda. A little color 
 came slowly into her face. She felt vaguely hurt 
 by the other s tone. " I thought mebbe you went 
 with some o the other girls." 
 
 " I don t go around that way any more." Km 
 lifted her chin an inch higher. " When I can t 
 have an escort" she uttered the word with 
 
 185 
 
some hesitation, fearing Zarelda might laugh at 
 it " I ll stay home." 
 
 Then she added abruptly in a reminiscent 
 tone " Maw acted up awful over my goin with 
 him. Thought for a spell I wouldn t get to go. 
 But at last I flared all up an told her if I couldn t 
 go I d just up an leave for good. That brought 
 her around to the whipple-trees double quick, I 
 can tell you. I guess she won t say much agen 
 my goin with him another time." 
 
 Goin with who ? " said Zarelda. Km looked 
 at her, smiling. 
 
 For the land o love ! D you mean to say 
 you don t know? I thought you d of guessed. 
 W y, that s what made maw so mad she was 
 just hoppin , I tell you. That s what made her 
 act up so. Said all the neighbors u d say I was 
 tryin to get him away from you." 
 
 In an instant the blood had flamed all over Za 
 relda s face and neck. 
 
 " Get who away from me, Km Brackett ? " 
 
 4 As if there was so many to get !" said Km, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Who are you a-talkin about?" said Zarelda, 
 sternly. Her face was paling now. What of I 
 got to do with you an your comp ny an your 
 maw s actin -ups, I d like to know. Who was 
 your comp ny?" 
 
 "JimSheppard; he" 
 
 1 86 
 
"Jim Sheppard !" cried Zarelda, furiously. She 
 turned a white face to her companion, but her 
 eyes were blazing. "What do I care for Jim 
 Sheppard ? Aigh ? What do I care who he takes 
 to dances up at Canemah ? Aigh ? You tell your 
 maw, Km Brackett, that she needn t to trouble to 
 act up on my account. She can save her actin - 
 ups for somebody that needs em ! You tell her 
 that, will you?" 
 
 "Well, I will," said Em, unmoved. "I m 
 glad you don t mind, Reldy. I felt some uneasy 
 myself, seein *s how stiddy he d been goin with 
 you." 
 
 44 Well, that don t hender his goin with some 
 body else, does it? I ain t very likely to keep 
 him from pleasin hisself, am I?" 
 
 "Don t go to workin yourself up so, Reldy. 
 If you don t care, there s no use in flarin up so. 
 My ! Just look at this em raid ring in at Shindy s. 
 Ain t that a beaut ?" , 
 
 "I ain t got time." Zarelda walked on with 
 her head up. " Don t you see we re late a ready ? 
 The machin ry s all a-goin , long ago." 
 
 The two girls pushed through the swinging gate 
 and ran up the half-dozen steps to the entrance 
 of the big, brick woolen mills. A young man in 
 a flannel shirt and brown overalls was passing 
 through the outer hall. He was twirling~a full, 
 crimson rose in his hand. 
 
As the girls hurried in, lie paused and stood 
 awkwardly waiting for them, with a red face. 
 
 "Good mornin ," he said, looking first at Km 
 and then, somewhat shamefacedly, at Zarelda. 
 
 "Good mornin , Jim," said Zarelda, coolly. 
 She was still pale, but she smiled as she pressed 
 on into the weaving-room. The many-tongued 
 roar of the machinery burst through the open 
 door to greet her. Km lingered behind a moment ; 
 and when she passed Zarelda s loom there was a 
 crimson rose in her girdle and two more in her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Five hours of monotonous work followed. Za 
 relda stood patiently by her loom, unmindful of 
 the toilers around her and the deafening noise ; 
 she did not lift her eyes from her work. She was 
 the youngest weaver in the factory and one of the 
 most careful and conscientious. 
 
 The marking-room was in the basement, and in 
 its quietest corner was a large stove whereon the 
 factory-girls were permitted to warm their lunches. 
 When the whistle sounded at noon they ceased 
 work instantly, seized their lunch baskets, and 
 sped pushing, laughing, jostling down the 
 stairs to the basement. There was a small, rick 
 ety elevator at the rear of the factory, and some 
 of the more reckless ones leaped upon it and let 
 themselves down with the rope. 
 
 Zarelda was timid about the elevator ; but that 
 188 
 
ZARKI.DA 
 
 noon she sprang upon it and giving the rope a 
 jerk went spinning down to the ground. As she 
 entered the marking-room one of the overseers 
 saw her. "What!" he exclaimed. "Did you 
 come down that elevator, Reldy ? I thought you 
 had more sense n some o the other girls. Why, it 
 ain t safe ! You re liable to get killed on it." 
 
 "I don t care," said Zarelda, with a short, con 
 temptuous laugh. "I d just as soon go over the 
 falls in an Indian dug-out." 
 
 "You must want to shuffle off mighty bad," 
 said the overseer. Then he added kindly, for he 
 and all the other overseers liked her " What s 
 got into you, Reldy? Anything ail you?" 
 
 "No," said the girl ; " nothin ails me." But 
 his kind tone had brought sudden, stinging tears 
 to her eyes. 
 
 She went on silently to the stove and set her 
 bucket upon it. It contained thick vegetable 
 soup, which, with soda crackers, constituted her 
 dinner. She sat down to watch it, stirring it oc 
 casionally with a tin spoon. Twenty other girls 
 were crowding around the stove. Km was among 
 them. Zarelda saw the big red rose lolling in 
 her girdle. She turned her eyes resolutely away 
 from it, only to find them going back again and 
 again. 
 
 "Hey! Where d you get your rose at, Em 
 Brackett?" cried one of the girls. 
 
 189 
 
" Jim Sheppard gave it to her," trebled another, 
 before Km could reply. I see him have it pinned 
 onto his flannel shirt before the whistle blew." 
 
 "Jim Sheppard! Oh, my !" 
 
 There was a subdued titter behind Zarelda s 
 back. She stirred the soup without lifting her 
 eyes. "She went livid, though, an then she 
 went white !" one of the girls who read yellow 
 novels declared afterward, tragically. 
 
 "Well," said Matt Wilson, sitting down on a 
 bench and commencing to eat a great slice of 
 bread thinly covered with butter, who went to 
 the dance up at Stringtown las night ? 
 
 All the girls but two flung unclean hands above 
 their heads. There was a merry outcry of "I 
 did! I did!" 
 
 " Well, I didn t," said Matt. " My little lame 
 sister coaxed me to wheel her down town, an* 
 then it was too late." 
 
 "Why wasn t you there, Zarelda Winser?" 
 cried Belle Church, opening her dinner bucket 
 and examining the contents with the air of an ep 
 icurean. 
 
 For a second or two Zarelda wished honestly 
 that she had a lame sister or an invalid mother. 
 Then she said, quite calmly " I didn t have any 
 body to go with. That s why. She turned and 
 faced them all as she spoke. 
 
 With a fine delicacy which was certainly not ac- 
 190 
 
quired by education, every girl except Matt looked 
 away from Zarelda s face. Matt, not having been 
 to the dance, was not in the secret. 
 
 But Zarelda did not change countenance. She 
 sat calmly eating her soup from the bucket with 
 the tin spoon. She took it noisily from the point 
 of the spoon ; it was so thick that it was like eat 
 ing a vegetable dinner. 
 
 " Didn t have anybody to go with?" repeated 
 Matt, laughing loudly. "I call that good. A 
 girl that s had steady comp ny for a year ! Com- 
 p ny that s tagged her closer n her shadder ! An 
 I did hear" she shattered the shell of a hard- 
 boiled egg by hammering it on the bench, and be 
 gan picking off the pieces that your maw was 
 makin you up a whole trunkful o new under- 
 clo s all trimmed up with tattin an crochet an 
 serpentine braid with insertin two inches wide 
 on em, too. You didn t have anybody to go 
 with, aigh ? What s the matter with Jim Shep- 
 pard?" 
 
 Zarelda set her eyes on the red rose, as if that 
 gave her courage. 
 
 " He took Em Bracket!" 
 
 "Not much!" said Matt, turning sharply. 
 " Honest? Well, then, he only took her because 
 you couldn t go an ast him to take her instid." 
 
 "Why, the idee!" exclaimed Km, coloring 
 angrily and fluttering until the rose almost fell 
 191 
 
out of her girdle. * Zarelda Winser, you tell tier 
 that ain t so!" 
 
 "No, it ain t so," said Zarelda, composedly, 
 finishing her soup and beginning on a soda 
 cracker. "He didn t ask me at all. He asked 
 Kmhisself." 
 
 " My !" said Net Carter, who had not been giv 
 ing attention to the conversation. "What larra- 
 pin good lunches you do have, Km Brackett. 
 Chicken sandwich, an spiced cur nts, an cake ! 
 My !" 
 
 Km Brackett looked out of the cobwebbed win 
 dow at a small dwelling between the factory and 
 the river. " I wonder why Mis Allen don t hide 
 up that ugly porch o her n with vines," she said, 
 frostily. In factory society "larrapin" was not 
 considered a polite word and a snub invariably 
 awaited the unfortunate young woman who used 
 it. The line must be drawn. 
 
 When the whistle blew the girls started leisurely 
 for the stairs. There would be fifteen minutes 
 during which they might stand around the halls 
 and talk to the young men. Zarelda fell back, 
 permitting all to precede her. Km looked back 
 once or twice to see where she was. 
 
 "Well, if that Reldy Winser ain t grit !" whis 
 pered Nell Curry to Min Aster. * Just as good 
 as acknowledgin he s threw off on her, an her 
 a-holdin up her head that way. There ain t an- 
 192 
 
other girl in the factory c u d do that without 
 flinchin , too." 
 
 When Zarelda reached the first hall she looked 
 about her deliberately for Jim Sheppard. It had 
 been his custom to meet her at the head of the stairs 
 and going with her to one of the windows over 
 looking the Falls, to talk until the second whistle 
 sent them to their looms. With a resolute air she 
 joined Em Brackett, who was looking unusually 
 pretty with a flush of excitement on her face and 
 a defiant sparkle in her eyes. 
 
 In a moment Jim Sheppard came in. He hesi 
 tated when he saw the two girls together. A dull 
 red went over his face. Then he crossed the hall 
 and deliberately ignoring Zarelda, smiled into 
 Em s boldly inviting eyes and said, distinctly 
 "Em, don t you want to take a little walk? 
 There s just time." 
 
 "Why, yes," said Em, with a flash of poorly 
 concealed triumph. " Reldy, if you re a-goin 
 on upstairs, would you just as lieve pack my 
 bucket up?" 
 
 "I d just as lieve." Zarelda took the bucket, 
 and the young couple walked away airily. 
 
 This was the way the factory young men had 
 of disclosing their preferences. It was considered 
 quite proper for a young man and a young woman 
 to "go together" for months, or even years, and 
 for one to "throw off" on the other, when at- 
 
 193 
 
tracted by a fresher face, with no explanation or 
 apology. 
 
 "Well," whispered Belle Church, "I guess 
 there ain t one of us but s been threw off on some 
 time or other, so we know how it feels. But this 
 is worse. He s been goin with her more n a year 
 an then to stop off so sudden !" 
 
 " It s better to stop off sudden than slow," said 
 Matt Wilson, with an air of grim wisdom. "It 
 hurts worse, but it don t hurt so long. Well, if 
 I ever ! Just look at that ! " 
 
 Out of sheer pity Frank Haddon had sidled out 
 of a group of young men and made his way hesi 
 tatingly to Zarelda. " Reldy," he said, " don t 
 you want to want to take a walk, too ? " 
 
 The girl s eyes flamed at him. She knew that 
 he was pitying her, and she was not of a nature 
 to accept pity meekly. " No ! " she flashed out, 
 with scorn. " I don t want to want to " mim 
 icking his tone take a walk, too. If I did, I 
 guess I know the road." 
 
 She went upstairs, holding her head high. 
 
 When Zarelda went home that evening she 
 found the family already at the supper table. The 
 Winsers were not very particular about their home 
 manners. 
 
 * We don t wait on each other here, Mrs. Win- 
 ser explained, frequently, with pride, to her neigh 
 bors. " When a meal s done, on the table it goes 
 194 
 
ZARB3.DA 
 
 In a jiffy, an* such of us as is here, eat. I just 
 put the things back in the oven an keep em hot 
 for them that ain t on hand." 
 
 Zarelda was compelled to pass through the 
 kitchen to reach the stairs. 
 
 "Well, Reldy," said her mother, "you re 
 here at last, be you? Hurry up an wash your 
 self. Your supper s in the oven, but I guess 
 the fire s about out. It does beat all how quick 
 it goes out. Paw, I do wish you d hump yourself 
 an git some dry wood. It u d try the soul of a 
 saint to cook with that green stuff. Sap fairly 
 oozes out of it !" 
 
 " I don t want any supper, maw," said Zarelda. 
 
 * You don t want any supper ! What ails you ? 
 Aigh?" 
 
 " I don t feel hungry. I got a headache." 
 
 She passed the table without a glance and went 
 upstairs. Her mother arose, pushing back her 
 chair with decision and followed her. When she 
 reached Zarelda s room, the girl was on her knees 
 before her trunk. She had taken out a small 
 writing-desk and was fitting a tiny key in the 
 lock. Her hat was still on her head, but pushed 
 back. 
 
 She started when the door opened, and looked 
 over her shoulder, flushing with embarrassment 
 and annoyance. Then, without haste or nervoos- 
 
 195 
 
ZAREXDA 
 
 s 
 
 ness, she replaced the desk and closing the trunk, 
 stood up calmly and faced her mother. 
 
 "Why don t you want any supper?" Mrs. 
 Winser took in the trunk, the desk, and the blush 
 at one glance. " Be you sick ? " 
 
 " I got a headache." Zarelda took off her hat 
 and commenced drawing the pins out of her hair. 
 She untied the red ribbon and rolled it tightly 
 around three fingers to smooth out the creases. 
 
 "Well, you wasn t puttia your headache n 
 your writin -desk, was you? " 
 
 "No, I wasn t." 
 
 "Now, see here, Reldy," said Mrs. Winser, 
 very kindly, coming closer and resting one large 
 hand on the bureau ; "there s somethin ails you 
 besides a headache, an you ain t a-goin to pull 
 any wool over my eyes. You ve hed lots an lots 
 o headaches an et your supper just the same. 
 What ails you?" 
 
 "Nothin ails me, maw." 
 
 "There does, too, somethin ail you. I guess 
 I know. Now, what is it ? You might just as 
 well spit it right out an be done with it." 
 
 Zarelda was silent. She began brushing her 
 hair with a dingy brush from which tufts of 
 bristles had been worn in several places. Her 
 mother watched her patiently for a few moments, 
 then she said "Well, Reldy, be you goin tp 
 tell me what ails you ? " 
 
 196 
 
ZAREXDA 
 
 Still there was no reply. 
 
 " You ain t turned off in the fact ry, be you?" 
 
 Zarelda shook her head. 
 
 4 Well, then," said Mrs. Winser slowly, as if 
 reluctantly admitting a thought that she had 
 been repelling, it s somethin about Jim Shep- 
 pard." 
 
 The girl paled and brushed her hair over her 
 face to screen it from her mother s searching gaze. 
 
 1 Have you fell out with him ? 
 
 "No, I ain t fell out with him. Hadn t you 
 best eat your supper before it gets cold, maw ? 
 
 "No, I hadn t best. I ain t a-goin to budge a 
 blessed step out o this here room tell I know whal 
 ails you. Not if I have to stay here tell daylight." 
 After a brief reflection she added " Now, don t 
 you tell me he s been cuttin up any ! I always 
 said he was a fine young man, an I say so still." 
 
 " He ain t been cuttin up any," said Zarelda. 
 At least, not as I know of. 
 
 She laid down the brush and pushing her hah 
 all back with both hands, fronted her mother sud 
 denly, pale but resolute. 
 
 " If you want to know so bad," she said, "I ll 
 tell you. He s threw off on me." 
 
 Mrs. Winser sunk helplessly into a chair. 
 " Threw off on you ! " she gasped. 
 
 "Yes, threw off on me." Zarelda kept hei 
 
 97 
 
ZARKI.DA 
 
 dry, burning eyes on her mother s face. " D 
 you feel any better for makin me tell it ? " 
 
 Certainly her revenge for the persecution was 
 all that heart could desire. Her mother sat limp 
 and motionless, save for the slow, mechanical 
 sliding back and forth of one thumb on the arm 
 of her chair. 
 
 After a while Zarelda resumed the hair-brush 
 ing, calmly. Then her mother revived. 
 
 " Who who in the name of all that s merci 
 ful has he took up with now ? she asked, weakly. 
 
 "EmBrackett." 
 
 "What!" Mrs. Winser almost screamed. 
 "That onery hussy! Reldy Winser, be you 
 a-tellin me the truth?" 
 
 * Yes, maw. He took her to the dance up at 
 Canemah las night, an she told me about it this 
 mornin !" 
 
 "The deceitful jade. Smiled sweet as honey 
 at me when she went by. You d of thought 
 sugar wouldn t melt in her mouth. I answered 
 her s short as lard pie-crust I m glad of it 
 now. Has he took her any place else?" 
 
 "He took her walkin at noontime. Stepped 
 right up when she was standin alongside o me 
 an never looked at me, an ast her right out 
 loud so s all of em could hear, too." 
 
 "Well, he d ought to be ashamed of hisself ! 
 After bein your stiddy comp ny for more n a year 
 198 
 
well onto two years an a-lettin all of us 
 think he was serious !" 
 
 " He never said he was, maw." 
 4 He never $aid he was, aigh ? Reldy Winser, 
 you ain t got enough spunk to keep a chicken 
 alive, let alone a woman ! He never said he 
 was, aigh? Well, ain t he been a-comin here 
 three nights a week nigh onto two year, an 
 a-takin you every place, an never a-lookin at 
 any other girl? An didn t he give you an 
 amyfist ring las Christmas, an a reel garnet pin 
 on your birthday? An didn t he come here one 
 evenin , a-laffin an a-actin up foolish in a great 
 way an holler out Hello, maw Winser? 
 Now, don t you go a-tellin me he never meant 
 anything serious." 
 
 "Well, he never said so," said the girl, stub 
 bornly. 
 
 "I don t care if he never said so. He acted 
 so. Why, for pity s sake ! You ve got a grease- 
 spot on your dress. I never see you with a 
 grease-spot before you re so tidy. How d you 
 get it on?" 
 
 "Oh, I don t know." 
 
 "Benzine 11 take it out. Well I m a-goin 
 to give him a piece o my mind !" 
 
 Zarelda lifted her body suddenly. She looked 
 tall. Her eyes flamed out their proud fire. 
 
 "Now, see here, maw," she said, "you don t 
 199 
 
ZARE^DA 
 
 say a word to him not a word. This ain t 
 your affair ; it s mine. It s the fashion in fact ry 
 society for a girl an a fellow to go together, an 
 give each other things, without bein real en 
 gaged ; an she has to take her chances o some 
 other girl gettin him away from her. If he 
 wants to throw off on her, all he s got to do s to 
 take some other girl to a dance or out walkin . 
 An then, if he s give her a ring or anything, it s 
 etiquette for her to send it back to him, an he ll 
 most likely give it to the other girl. I don t think 
 it s right, an I don t say but what it s hard " 
 her voice trembled and broke, but she conquered 
 her emotion stubbornly and went on " but it s 
 the way in fact ry society. There ain t a girl in 
 the fact ry but what s had to stand it some time 
 or other, an I guess I can. You don t want me 
 to be a laffin -stawk, do you ?" 
 
 " No, I don t." Her mother looked at her in 
 a kind of admiring despair. " But I never hear 
 tell of such fashions an such doin s in all my 
 born days. It s shameful. Your paw an me 
 d set our minds on your a-marryin him an get- 
 tin a home o your own. It s been a burden off 
 o our minds for a year past " 
 
 "Oh, maw!" 
 
 " Just to feel that you d be fixed so s you could 
 take care o your little sisters in case we dropped 
 off. An there I ve went an made up all them 
 
 200 
 
ZAREI,DA 
 
 tmderclo s !" She leaned her head upon her 
 hand and sat looking at the floor with a forlornly 
 reminiscent expression. "An put tattin on 
 three sets, an crochet lace on three, an serpen 
 tine edgin on three. An inserting on all of em ! 
 That ain t the worst of it. Iv e worked his initial 
 in button-hole stitch on every blessed thing !" 
 
 " Oh, maw, you never did that, did you?" 
 
 "Yes, I did. An what s more, I showed 
 em all to old Miss Bradley, too." 
 
 "You might just as well of showed em to the 
 whole town !" said poor Zarelda, bitterly. 
 
 "They looked so nice I had to show em to 
 somebody." 
 
 " Sister," piped a little voice at the foot of the 
 stairs, " Mis Riley s boy s come to find out how 
 soon you re a-comin over to set up with the sick 
 baby." 
 
 "Oh, I d clear forgot." Zarelda braided her 
 hair rapidly. "Tell him I ll be over n a few 
 minutes." 
 
 "Now, see here, Reldy," said her mother, 
 getting upland laying her hand affectionately on 
 the girl s arm, "you ain t a-goin to budge a 
 single step over there to-night. You just get to 
 bed an put an arnicky plaster on your fore 
 head" 
 
 Zarelda laughed in a kind of miserable mirth. 
 
 201 
 
11 Oh, you can laff, but it ll help lots. I ll go 
 over an set up with that baby myself." 
 
 "No, you won t, maw." She slipped the last 
 pin in her hair and set her hat firmly on the 
 glistening braids. "I said I d set up with the 
 baby, an I will. I ain t goin to shirk just be 
 cause I m in trouble." 
 
 She went out into the cool autumn twilight. 
 Her mother followed her and stood looking after 
 her with sympathetic eyes. At last she turned 
 and went slowly into the poor and gloomy house ; 
 as she closed the door she put all her bitterness 
 and disappointment into one heavy sigh. 
 
 The roar of the Falls came loudly to Zarelda 
 as she walked along rapidly. The dog-fennel 
 was still in blossom, and its greenish snow was 
 drifted high on both sides of her path. Still 
 higher were billows of everlasting flowers, undu 
 lating in the soft wind. The fallen leaves rustled 
 mournfully as she walked through them. Some 
 cows were feeding on the commons near by ; she 
 heard their deep breathing on the grass before 
 they tore and crushed it with their strong teeth ; 
 she smelled their warm, fragrant breaths. 
 
 She came to a narrow bridge under the cotton- 
 woods where she saw the Willamette, silver and 
 beautiful, moving slowly and noiselessly between 
 its emerald walls. The slender, yellow sickle of 
 the new moon quivered upon its bosom. 
 
 202 
 
ZAREXDA 
 
 Zarelda stood still. The noble beauty of the 
 night all its tenderness, all its beating pas 
 sion shook her to the soul. Her life stretched 
 out before her, hard and narrow as the little path 
 running through the dog-fennel a life of toil 
 and duty, of clamor and unrest, of hurried break 
 fasts, cold lunches and half-warm suppers, of 
 longing for knowledge that would never be 
 hers the hard and bitter treadmill of the factory 
 life. 
 
 A sob came up into her dry throat, but it did 
 not reach her lips. 
 
 "I won t!" she said, setting her teeth to 
 gether hard. "I hate people who whine after 
 what they can t have, instead o makin the best 
 o what they ve got." 
 
 She lifted her head and went on. Her face was 
 beautiful ; something sweeter than moonlight 
 shone upon it. She walked proudly and the dry 
 leaves whirled behind her. 
 
 203 
 
IN THE BITTEK ROOT MOOTTTAIKS 
 
IN THE BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 " Go slow, boys, for God s sake ! If we miss 
 this landing, we are lost. The rapids begin just 
 around that bend." 
 
 Four men stood upon a rude raft, and with 
 roughly -made oars and long fir poles were trying 
 to guide it out of the current of the swollen Clear- 
 water River into a small sheltered inlet. 
 
 Both shores of the river rose abruptly to steep 
 and terrible mountains. Not far above was the 
 snow-line. 
 
 The men s faces were white and haggard, their 
 eyes anxious, half desperate. Huddled upon a 
 stretcher at one end of the raft was a young man, 
 little more than a boy, whose pallid, emaciated 
 face was turned slightly to one side. His eyes 
 were closed ; the long black lashes lay like 
 heavy shadows upon his cheeks. The weak 
 November sunshine, struggling over the fierce 
 mountains, shone through his thin nostrils, 
 turning them pink, and giving an unearthly 
 look to the face. A collie crouched close be 
 side him, shivering with fear, yet ever and anon 
 licking the cold hand lying outside the gray 
 blanket; occasionally he lifted his head and 
 
 207 
 
IN THE BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 uttered a long, mournful howl. Each time the 
 four men shuddered and exchanged looks of de 
 spair, so humanly appealing was it, and so 
 deeply did it voice the terrible dread in their ovrn 
 hearts. 
 
 It was now two months since they had left Se 
 attle on a hunting expedition in the Bitter Root 
 Mountains in Idaho. For six weeks they had 
 been lost in those awful snow fastnesses. Their 
 hunting dogs had been killed by wild beasts. 
 Their twelve pack-ponies had been left to starve 
 to death when, finding further progress on land 
 impossible on account of the snow, they constructed 
 a raft and started on their perilous journey down 
 the Clearwater. 
 
 The cook had been sick almost the entire time, 
 and their progress had been necessarily slow and 
 discouraging. They had now reached a point 
 where the river was so full of boulders and so 
 swift that they could proceed no farther on the 
 raft. 
 
 For several days the cook had been unconscious, 
 lying in a speechless stupor ; but when they had, 
 with much danger and excitement, landed and 
 made him comfortable in a protected nook, he 
 suddenly spoke, faintly but distinctly. 
 
 "Polly," he said, with deep tenderness, "lay 
 your hand on my head. I guess it won t ache so, 
 then." 
 
 208 
 
IN THE BITTKR ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 The four men, looking at him, grew wrr -~r. 
 They could not look at each other. The dog, hav 
 ing already taken his place beside him, lifted his 
 head and looked at him with pitiable eagerness. 
 
 "Oh, Polly !" there was a heart-break in the 
 voice, "you don t know what I ve suffered! 
 The cold, and then the fever ! The pain has been 
 awful. Oh, I ve wanted you so, Polly I ve 
 wanted you so ! . . . But it s all right, now 
 that I m home again. . . . Where s the baby, 
 Polly? Oh, the nights that I ve laid, freezing 
 and suffering in the snow, just kept alive by the 
 thought o you an the little man ! I knew it 
 u d kill you f I died so I wVafoVgive up ! An 
 now I m here t home again. Polly " 
 
 "We must fix some supper, boys," said Dar 
 nell, roughly, turning away to hide his emotion. 
 "Let s get the fire started." 
 
 "We ve just got enough for one more good 
 meal," said Roberts, in a tremulous voice. 
 "There s no game around here, either. Guide, 
 you must try to find a way out of this before 
 dark, so we can start early in the morning." 
 
 Without speaking, the guide obeyed. It was 
 dark when he returned. The men were sit 
 ting by the camp-fire, eating their supper. The 
 dog still lay by his master, from whom even hun 
 ger could not tempt him. 
 
 The three men looked at the guide. He sat 
 
 209 
 
IN THK BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 down and took his cup of coffee in silence. 
 11 Well," said Darnell, at last, "can we go on ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the guide, slowly; "we can. In 
 some places there ll be only a few inches foot 
 hold ; an we ll hev to hang on to bushes up 
 above us, with the river in some places hundreds 
 o feet below ; but we can do it, f we don t get 
 rattled an lose our heads." 
 
 There was a deep and significant silence. Then 
 Brotlierton said, with white lips, "Do you mean 
 that we can t take him ? " 
 
 "That s what I mean." The guide spoke de- 
 ftberately. He could not lift his eyes. Some of 
 the coffee spilled as he lifted the cup to his lips. 
 "We can t take a thing, cept our hands and 
 feet, not even a blanket. It ll be life an death 
 to do it, then." 
 
 There was another silence. At last Darnell said : 
 "Then it is for us to decide whether we shall 
 leave him to die alone while we save ourselves, 
 or stay and die with him ? 
 
 "Yes," said the guide. 
 
 There is positively not the faintest chance oi 
 getting him out with us ? " 
 
 "By God, no!" burst forth the guide, pas 
 sionately. It seems like puttin the responsi 
 bility on me, but you want the truth, an that s 
 it. He can t be got out. It s leave him an save 
 ourselves, or stay with him an starve." 
 210 
 
IN THE BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 After a long while Roberts said, in a low voice : 
 " He s unconscious. He wouldn t know we had 
 gone." 
 
 "He cannot possibly live three days, under 
 any circumstances, said Brotherton. Mor 
 tification has already begun in his legs." 
 " Good God!" exclaimed Darnell, jumping up 
 and beginning to walk rapidly forth and back, 
 before the fire. "I must go home, boys! My 
 wife when I think of her, I am afraid of losing 
 my reason ! When I think what she is suffer 
 ing " 
 
 Brotherton looked at him. Then he sunk his 
 face into both his hands. He, too, had a wife. The 
 guide put down his coffee ; large tears came into 
 his honest eyes. He had no wife, but there was 
 one 
 
 Roberts got up suddenly. He had the look of 
 a tortured animal in his eyes. " Boys," he said, 
 " my wife is dead. My life doesn t matter so 
 much, but I ve three little girls! I must get 
 back, somehow ! " 
 
 The sick man spoke. They all started guiltily, 
 and looked toward him. "Yes, yes, Polly," he 
 said, soothingly, " I know how you worried about 
 me. I know how you set strainin your eyes out 
 the window day an night, watchin fer me. But 
 now I m home again, an it s all right. I guess 
 you prayed, Polly ; an I guess God heard you. 
 
 211 
 
11* TILE BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 . . There s a boy fer you ! He knows me, 
 x>." 
 
 The silence that fell upon them was long and 
 terrible. The guide arose at last, and, without 
 speaking, made some broth from the last of the 
 canned beef, and forced it between the sick man s 
 lips. When he came back to the fire, Darnell 
 took a silver dollar out of his pocket. 
 
 * * Boys, he said, brokenly, * I don t want to 
 be the one to settle this, and I guess none of you 
 do. It is an awful thing to decide. I shall throw 
 this dollar high into the air. If it falls heads up, 
 we go ; tails we stay. 
 
 The men had lifted their heads and were watch 
 ing him. They were all very white ; they were all 
 trembling. 
 
 * Are you willing to decide it in this way ? * 
 Each answered, Yes. 
 
 " I swear," said Darnell, slowly and solemnly, 
 that I will abide by this decision. Do you all 
 swear the same?" 
 
 Each, in turn, took the oath. Trembling now 
 perceptibly, Darnell lifted his hand slowly and 
 cast the piece of silver into the air. Their eyes 
 followed its shining course. For a second it dis 
 appeared ; then it came singing to the earth. 
 
 Like drunken men they staggered to the spot 
 where it had fallen, and fell upon their knees, 
 staring with straining eyes and bloodless lips, 
 212 
 
IN THE BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 "It is heads," said Darnell. He wiped the 
 cold perspiration from his brow. 
 
 At that moment the dog lifted his head and 
 sent a long, mournful howl to die in faint echoes 
 in the mountains across the river. 
 
 At daylight they were ready to start. Snow 
 lay on the ground to a depth of six inches. But 
 a terrible surprise awaited them. At the last mo 
 ment they discovered that the cook was conscious. 
 
 "You re not going to leave me?" he said, 
 in a whisper. His eyes seemed to be leaping out 
 of their hollow sockets with terror. 
 
 " Only fora few hours," said Brotherton, husk 
 ily. " Only to find a way out of this, to make 
 a path over which we can carry you. 
 
 "Oh," he said, faintly; "I thought but 
 
 you wouldn t. In the name o God, don t leave 
 me to die alone ! " 
 
 They assured him that they would soon return. 
 Then, making him as comfortable as possible, 
 they went, without hesitation, without one 
 backward look. There was no noise. The snow 
 fell softly and silently through the firs ; the river 
 flowed swiftly through its wild banks. The sick 
 man lay with closed eyes, trustfully. But the 
 dog knew. For the first time he left his master. 
 He ran after them, and threw himself before them, 
 moaning. His lifted eyes had a soul in them. 
 
 13 
 
IN THB BITTER ROOT MOUNTAINS 
 
 He leaped before them, and upon them, licking 
 their hands and clothing ; he cast himself prone 
 upon their feet, like one praying. No human 
 being ever entreated for his life so passionately, 
 so pathetically, as that dog pleaded for his mas 
 ter s. 
 
 At last, half desperate as they were, they 
 kicked him savagely and flung him off. With a 
 look in his eyes that haunted them as long as 
 they lived, he retreated then to his master s side, 
 and lay down in a heavy huddle of despair, 
 still watching them. As they disappeared, he 
 lifted his head, and for the last time they heard 
 that long, heart-breaking howl. 
 
 It was answered by a coyote in the canyon 
 above. 
 
 A week later the Associated Press sent out the 
 following dispatch : 
 
 "The Darnell party, who were supposed to have per 
 ished in the Bitter Root Mountains, returned last night. 
 Their hardships and sufferings were terrible. There is 
 great rejoicing over their safe return. They were com 
 pelled to leave the cook, who had been sick the entire 
 time, to die in the mountains. But for their determined 
 efforts to bring him out alive, they would certainly have 
 returned a month earlier." 
 
 The world read the dispatch and rejoiced with 
 those rejoicing. But one woman, reading it, 
 fell, as one dead, beside her laughing boy. 
 214 
 
PATIENCE APPIfBByS CONFBSSHTO-UP 
 
PATIENCE APPI,EBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 " It must be goin to rain ! My arm aches me 
 so I can hardly hold my knitting needles." 
 
 "Hunh!" said Mrs. Wincoop. She twisted 
 her thread around her fingers two or three times 
 to make a knot; then she held her needle up to 
 the light and threaded it, closing one eye entirely 
 and the other partially, and pursing her mouth 
 until her chin was flattened and foil of tiny 
 wrinkles. She lowered her head and looking at 
 Mrs. Willis over her spectacles with a kind of 
 good-natured scorn, said "Is that a sign 
 rain?" 
 
 * It never fails." Mrs. Willis rocked back and 
 forth comfortably. "I,ike as not it begins to 
 ache me a whole week before it rains." 
 
 * * I never hear tell o such a thing in all my 
 days," said Mrs. Wincoop, with unmistakable 
 signs of firmness, as she bent over the canton 
 flannel night-shirt she was making for Mr. Win- 
 coop. 
 
 "Well, mebbe you never. Mebbe you never 
 had the rheumatiz. I ve had it twenty year. 
 I can t get red of it, anyways. I ve tried the 
 217 
 
Century liniment the one that has the man 
 riding over snakes an things and the arnicky, 
 and ev ry kind the drug-store keeps. I ve wore 
 salt in my shoes tell they turned white all over ; 
 and I kep a buckeye in my pocket tell it wore a 
 hole and fell out. But I never get red o the 
 rheumatiz." 
 
 Mrs. Wincoop took two or three stitches in 
 silence; then she said " Patience, now, she can 
 talk o having rheumatiz. She s most bent in 
 two with it when she has it and that s near all 
 the time." 
 
 The rocking ceased abruptly. Mrs. Willis s 
 brows met, giving a look of sternness to her face. 
 
 1 That s a good piece o cotton flannel," she 
 said. "Hefty! Fer pity s sake! D you put 
 ruffles on the bottom o Mr. Wincoop s night 
 shirt ? Whatever d you do that fer ?" 
 
 "Because he likes em that way," responded 
 Mrs. Wincoop, tartly. "There s no call fer re 
 marks as I see, Mis Willis. You put a pockel 
 n Mr. Willis s, and paw never d have that 
 never ! firmly. 
 
 "Well, I never see ruffles on a man s night 
 shirt before." said Mrs. Willis, laughing rathei 
 aggravatingly. * But they do look reel pretty, 
 anyways. 
 
 "The longer you live the more you learn." 
 Mis. Wincoop spoke condescendingly. "Bui 
 218 
 
PATIENCE APPLEBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 talking about Patience have you see her lately ? 
 
 "No, I ain t." Mrs. Willis got up suddenly 
 and commenced rummaging about on the table ; 
 there were two red spots on her thin face. " I d 
 most fergot to show you my new winter under- 
 clo s. Ain t them nice and warm, though? 
 They feel so good to my rheumatiz. I keep think 
 ing about them that can t get any. My, such 
 hard times ! All the banks broke, and no more 
 prospect of good times than of a hen s being 
 hatched with teeth ! It puts me all of a trimble 
 to think o the winter here and ev rybody so hard 
 up. It s a pretty pass we ve come to." 
 
 " I should say so. I don t see what Patience 
 is a-going to live on this winter. She ain t fit to 
 do anything ; her rheumatiz is awful. She ain t 
 got any fine wool underclo s." 
 
 Mrs. Willis sat down again, but she did not 
 rock ; she sat upright, holding her back stiff and 
 her thin shoulders high and level. 
 
 " I guess this tight spell 11 learn folks to lay by 
 money when they got it," she said, sternly. "I 
 notice we ain t got any mortgage on our place, 
 and I notice we got five thousand dollars in 
 vested. We got some cattle besides. We ain t 
 frittered ev ry thing we made away on foolishness, 
 like some that I know of. We have things good 
 and comf terble, but we don t put on any style. 
 I,ook at that Mis Abernathy ! I caught her 
 
 219 
 
PATIENCE APPLEBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 teeheeing behind my back when I was buying 
 red checked table clo s. Her husband a book 
 keeper ! And her a-putting on airs over me that 
 could buy her up any day in the week ! Now, 
 he s lost his place, and I reckon she ll come down 
 a peg or two." 
 
 "She s been reel good to Patience, anyways," 
 said Mrs. Wincoop. 
 
 Mrs. Willis knitted so fast her needles fairly 
 rasped together. 
 
 "She takes her in jell and perserves right 
 frequent. You mind Patience always liked sweet 
 things even when her n lyizy was girls together, 
 Eunice." 
 
 It was so unusual for one of these two women 
 to speak the other s name that they now ex 
 changed quick looks of surprise. Indeed, Mrs. 
 Wincoop seemed the more surprised of the two. 
 But the hard, matter-of-fact expression returned 
 at once to each face. If possible, Mrs. Willis 
 looked more grim and sour than before the un 
 wonted address had startled her out of her com 
 posure. 
 
 "Well," she said, scarcely unclosing her thin 
 lips, * I reckon she had all the sweet things she 
 was a-hankering after when she was a girl. I 
 reckon she had a plenty and to spare, and I ex 
 pect they got to tasting pretty bitter a good spell 
 ago. Too much sweet always leaves a bit rish 
 220 
 
PATIENCE APPLEBV S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 taste in the mouth. My religion ie do what s 
 right, and don t wink at them that does wrong. 
 I ve stuck to my religion. I reckon you can t 
 get anybody to stand up and put their finger on 
 anything wrong I ve done nor any of my fam- 
 bly, either." Mrs. Wincoop put her hand on her 
 chest and coughed mournfully. " I/et them that s 
 sinned," went on Mrs. Willis, lifting her pale, 
 cold eyes and setting them full on her visitor, 
 make allowance fer sinners, say I. Mis Abei- 
 nathy, or Mis Anybody Else,*can pack all the 
 clo s and all the sweet things they ve got a mind to 
 over to Patience Appleby ; mebbe they ve sinned, 
 too /don t know! But I do know that I 
 ain t, and so I don t pack things over to her, even 
 if she is all doubled up with the rheumatiz," un 
 consciously imitating Mrs. Wincoop s tone. And 
 I don t make no allowance for her sins, either, 
 Mis Wincoop." 
 
 A faint color came slowly, as if after careful 
 consideration, to Mrs. Wincoop s face. 
 
 "There wa n t no call fer you a-telling that," 
 she said, with a great calmness. "The whole 
 town knows you wouldn t fergive a sin, if your 
 fergiving it u d save the sinner hisself from being 
 lost ! The whole town knows what your religion 
 is, Mis Willis. You set yourself up and call 
 yourself perfeck, and wrap yourself up in your 
 self" 
 
 221 
 
PATIENCE APPIvKBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 11 There come the men sh !" said Mrs. Willis. 
 Her face relaxed, but with evident reluctance. 
 She began to knit industriously. But the temp 
 tation to have the last word was strong. 
 
 "It ain t my religion, either," she said, her 
 voice losing none of its determination because 
 it was lowered. " I d of fergive her if she d a-con- 
 fessed up. We all tried to get her to. I tried 
 more n anybody. I told her" in a tone of 
 conviction "that nobody but a brazen thing 
 u d do what she d done and not confess up to t 
 and it never fazed her. She wouldn t confess 
 up." 
 
 The men were scraping their feet noisily now 
 on the porch, and Mrs. Willis leaned back with a 
 satisfied expression, expecting no reply. But 
 Mrs, Wincoop surprised her. She was sewing 
 the last pearl button on Mr. Wincoop s night 
 shirt, and as she drew the thread through and 
 fastened it with scrupulous care, she said, with 
 out looking up "I don t take much stock in 
 confessings myself, Mis Willis. I don t see just 
 how confessings is good for the soul when they 
 hurt so many innocent ones as well as the guilty 
 ones. Ev ry confessing affex somebody else ; and 
 so I say if you repent and want to atone you can 
 do t without confessing and bringing disgrace on 
 others. It s nothing but curiosity that makes 
 people holler out * Confess-up now 1 Confess- 
 222 
 
APPI^BY S CONFSSSING-UP 
 
 up now. It ain t anybody s business but God s 
 and I reckon He knows when a body s sorry 
 he s sinned and wants to do better, and I reckon 
 He helps him just as much as if he got up on a 
 church tower and kep a-hollering out Oh, 
 good grieve, I ve sinned! I ve sinned! so s 
 the whole town could run and gap at him ! Mis 
 Willis, if some confessing-ups was done in this 
 town that I know of, some people u d be affected 
 that u d surprise you." Then she lifted up her 
 voice cheerfully "That you, father ? Well, d 
 you bring the lantern ? I reckon we d best go 
 right home ; it s getting latish, and Mis Willis 
 thinks, from the way her arm aches her, that it s 
 going to rain." 
 
 Mrs. Willis sat knitting long after Mr. Willis 
 had gone to bed. Her face was more stern even 
 than usual. She sat uncomfortably erect and did 
 not rock. When the clock told ten, she arose 
 stiffly and rolled the half finished stocking around 
 the ball of yarn, fastening it there with the needles. 
 Then she laid it on the table and stood looking at 
 it intently, without seeing it. "I wonder," she 
 said, at last, drawing a deep breath, " what she 
 was a-driving at ! I d give a pretty to know." 
 
 "Mother, where s my Sund y pulse-warmers 
 at?" 
 
 223 
 
PATIKNCK APPI^BY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 " /don t know where yourSund y pulse-warm 
 ers are at. Father, you d aggravate a body into 
 her grave ! You don t half look up anything 
 and then begin asking me where it s at. What s 
 under that bunch o collars in your drawer ? 
 L,ooks some like your Sund y pulse- warmers, don t 
 it? This ain t Sund y, anyways. Wa n t your 
 ev ryday ones good enough to wear just to a 
 church meeting ? 
 
 Mr. Willis had never been known to utter an 
 oath ; but sometimes he looked as if his heart 
 were full of them. 
 
 "I reckon you don t even know where your 
 han ke cher s at, father." 
 
 1 * Yes, I do, mother. I guess you might stop 
 talking, an* come on now I m all ready." 
 
 He preceded his wife, leaving the front door 
 open for her to close and lock. He walked stiffly, 
 holding his head straight, lest his collar should 
 cramp his neck or prick his chin. He had a con 
 scious, dressed- up air. He carried in one hand a 
 lantern, in the other an umbrella. It was seven 
 o clock of a Thursday evening and the bell was 
 ringing for prayer-meeting. There was to be a 
 church meeting afterward, at which the name of 
 Patience Appleby was to be brought up for mem 
 bership. Mrs. Willis breathed hard and deep as 
 she thought of it. 
 
 She walked behind her husband to receive the 
 
 224 
 
PATIENCE APPI<KBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 full light of the lantern, holding her skirts up 
 high above her gaiter-tops which were so large 
 and so worn as to elastic, that they fairly ruffled 
 around her spare, flat ankles. Her shadow danced 
 in piece-meal on the picket fence. After a while 
 she said 
 
 " Father, I wish you wouldn t keep swinging 
 that lantern so ! A body can t see where to put 
 their feet down. Who s that ahead o us?" 
 
 " I can t make out yet." 
 
 " No wonder you keep swinging that lantern 
 so ! Father, what does possess you to be so aggra 
 vating? If I d of asked you to swing it, you 
 couldn t of b en drug to do it !" 
 
 Mrs. Willis was guiltless of personal vanity, 
 but she did realize the importance of her position 
 in village society, and something of this impor 
 tance was imparted to her carriage as she followed 
 Mr. Willis up the church aisle. She felt that 
 every eye was regarding her with respect, and 
 held her shoulders so high that her comfortable 
 shawl fell therefrom in fuller folds than usual. 
 She sat squarely in the pew, looking steadily and 
 unwinkingly at the wonderful red velvet cross 
 that hung over the spindle-legged pulpit, her 
 hands folded firmly in her lap. She had never 
 been able to understand how Sister Wirth who 
 sat in the pew in front of the Willises, could al 
 ways have her head a-lolling over to one side like 
 
PATI3NC3 APPI^BY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 a giddy, sixteen-year-old. Mrs. Willis abomi 
 nated such actions in a respectable, married 
 woman of family. 
 
 Mr. Willis crouched down uneasily in the cor 
 ner of the seat and sat motionless, with a self- 
 conscious blush across his weak eyes. His 
 umbrella, banded so loosely that it bulged like a 
 soiled-clothes bag, stood up against the back of 
 the next pew. 
 
 At the close of prayer-meeting no one stirred 
 from his seat. An ominous silence fell upon the 
 two dozen people assembled there. The clock 
 ticked loudly, and old lady Scranton, who suffered 
 of asthma, wheezed with every breath an4 whis 
 pered to her neighbor that she was getting so 
 phthisicy she wished to mercy they d hurry up or 
 she d have to go home without voting. At last 
 one of the deacons arose and said with great 
 solemnity that he understood sister Wincoop had 
 a name to propose for membership. 
 
 When Mrs. Wincoop stood up she looked pale 
 but determined. Mrs. Willis would not turn to 
 look at her, but she caught every word spoken. 
 
 1 Yes, said Mrs. Wincoop, I want to bring 
 up the name of Patience Appleby. I reckon you 
 all know Patience Appleby. She was born here, 
 and she s always lived here. There s them that 
 says she done wrong onct, but I guess she s 
 about atoned up for that if any mortal living 
 
 226 
 
PATIENCE APPI,EBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 has. I ve know her fifteen year, and I don t 
 know any better behaving woman anywheres. 
 She never talks about anybody " her eyes went 
 to Mrs. Willis s rigid back "and she never 
 complains. She s alone and poor, and all crippled, 
 up with the rheum atiz. She wants to join church 
 and live a Christian life, and I, fer one, am in fa 
 vor o us a-holding out our hand to her and help 
 ing her up." 
 
 " Amen !" shrilled out the minister on one of 
 his upper notes. There was a general rustle of 
 commendation whispers back and forth, nod- 
 dings of heads, and many encouraging glances 
 directed toward sister Wincoop. 
 
 But of a sudden silence fell upon the small as 
 sembly. Mrs. Willis had arisen. Her expression 
 was grim and uncompromising. At that moment 
 sister Shidler s baby choked in its sleep, and cried 
 so loudly and so gaspingly that every one turned 
 to look at it 
 
 In the momentary confusion Mr. Willis caught 
 hold of his wife s dress and tried to pull her down ; 
 but the unfortunate man only succeeded in rip 
 ping a handful of gathers from the band. Mrs. 
 Willis looked down at him from her thin height. 
 
 You let my gethers be, she said, fiercely. 
 "You might of knew you d tear em, a-taking 
 holt of em that way !" 
 
 Then quiet was restored and the wandering eyes 
 
 227 
 
PATIENCE APFI^BY S CONFKSSING-UP 
 
 came back to Mrs. Willis. " Brothers and sis 
 ters/ she said, "it ain t becoming in me to 
 remind you all what Mr. Willis and me have done 
 fer this church. It ain t becoming in me to re 
 mind you about the organ, and the new bell, and 
 the carpet fer the aisles let alone our paying 
 twenty dollars more a year than any other mem 
 ber. I say it ain t becoming in me, and I never 
 d mention it if it wa n t that I don t feel like hav 
 ing Patience Appleby in this church. If she does 
 come in, /go out." 
 
 A tremor passed through the meeting. The 
 minister turned pale and stroked his meagre whis 
 kers nervously. He was a worthy man, and he 
 believed in saving souls. He had prayed and 
 plead with Patience to persuade her to unite with 
 the church, but he had not felt the faintest pre 
 sentiment that he was quarreling with his own 
 bread and butter in so doing. One soul scarcely 
 balances a consideration of that kind especially 
 when a minister has six children and a wife with 
 a chronic disinclination to do any : ig but look 
 pretty and read papers at clubs and things. It 
 was small wonder that he turned pale. 
 
 " I want that you all should know just how I 
 feel about it," continued Mrs. Willis. " I believe 
 in doing what s right yourself and not excusing 
 them that does wrong. I don t believe in having 
 people like Patience Appleby in this church ; and 
 
PATIKNCE APPI^BY S CONFKSSING-UP 
 
 she don t come in while Pm in, neither. That s 
 all I got to say. I want that you all should un 
 derstand plain that her coming in means my going 
 out." 
 
 Mrs. Willis sat down, well satisfied. She saw 
 that she had produced a profound sensation. 
 Every eye turned to the minister with a look that 
 said, plainly " What have you to say to that?" 
 
 But the miserable man had not a word to say to 
 it. He sat helplessly stroking his whiskers, try 
 ing to avoid the eyes of both Mrs. Wincoop and 
 Mrs. Willis. At last Deacon Berry said Why, 
 sister Willis, I think if a body repents and wants 
 to do better, the church ad ort to help em. 
 That s what churches are for." 
 
 Mrs. Willis cleared her throat. 
 
 " I don t consider that a body s repented, Dea 
 con Berry, tell he confesses-up. Patience Apple- 
 by s never done that to this day. When she does, 
 I m willing to take her into this church." 
 
 * Brothers- and sisters, said Mrs. Wincoop, in 
 a voice that held a kind of cautious triumph, "I 
 fergot to state that Patience Appleby reckoned 
 mebbe somebody u d think she d ort to confess 
 before she come into the church ; and she wanted 
 I should ask the meeting to a point Mis Willis a 
 committee o one fer her to confess up to. Pati 
 ence reckoned if she could satisfy Mis Willis, 
 ev rybody else u d be satisfied." 
 
PATIENCE APPI,EBY S CONFESSING- UP 
 
 "Why yes," cried the minister, with cheer 
 ful eagerness. " That s all right bless the 
 I^ord ! " he added, in that jaunty tone with which 
 so many ministers daily insult our God. * * I know 
 Mrs. Willis and Patience will be able to smooth 
 over all difficulties. I think we may now ad 
 journ." 
 
 "Whatever did she do that fer?" said Mrs. 
 Willis, following the lantern homeward. "She s 
 got something in her mind, / know, or she d 
 never want me a p in ted. Father, what made you 
 pull my gethers out? D you think you could 
 make me set down when I d once made up my 
 mind to stand up? You d ought to know me 
 better by this time. This is my secon -best dress, 
 and I ve only wore it two winters and now 
 look at all these gethers tore right out ! 
 
 " You hadn t ought to get up and make a fool 
 o yourself, mother. You d best leave Patience 
 Appleby be." 
 
 "You d ort to talk about anybody a-making a 
 fool o hisself ! After you a-pulling my gethers 
 clean out o the band right in meeting ! You d 
 ort to tell me I d best leave Patience Appleby be ! 
 I don t mean to leave her be. I mean to let her 
 know she can t ac scandalous, and then set her 
 self up as being as good s church folks and Christ 
 ians, m give her her come-uppings ! " 
 
 For probably the first time in his married life 
 230 
 
PATIENCE APPLEBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 Mr. Willis yielded to his feelings. " God- 
 a mighty, mother," he said; "sometimes you 
 don t seem to have common sense ! I reckon 
 you d best leave Patience Appleby be, if you 
 know when you re well off." Then, frightened 
 at what he had said, he walked on, hurriedly, 
 swinging the lantern harder than ever. 
 Mrs. Willis walked behind him, dumb. 
 
 The day was cold and gray. Mrs. Willis 
 opened with difficulty the broken-down gate that 
 shut in Patience Appleby s house. "And no 
 wonder," she thought, "it swags down so ! " 
 
 There was a foot of snow on the ground. The 
 path to the old, shabby house was trackless. Not 
 a soul had been there since the snow fell and that 
 was two days ago ! Mrs. Willis shivered under 
 her warm shawl. 
 
 Patience opened the door. Her slow, heavy 
 steps on the bare floor of the long hall affected 
 Mrs. Willis strangely. 
 
 Patience was very tall and thin. She stooped, 
 and her chest was sunken. She wore a dingy 
 gray dress, mended in many places. There was 
 a small, checked shawl folded in a "three-cor 
 nered" way about her shoulders. She coughed 
 before she could greet her visitor. 
 
 231 
 
PATIENCE APPIyEBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 " How d yoti do, Mis Willis," she said, at last. 
 " Come in, won t you ? " 
 
 "How are you, Patience?" Mrs. Willis said, 
 and, to her own amazement, her voice did not 
 sound as stern as she had intended it should. 
 
 She had been practicing as she came along, 
 and this voice bore no resemblance whatever to 
 the one she had been having in her mind. Nor, 
 as she preceded Patience down the bare, draughty 
 hall to the sitting-room, did she bear herself with 
 that degree of frigid dignity which she had al 
 ways considered most fitting to her position, both 
 socially and morally. 
 
 Somehow, the evidences of poverty on every 
 side chilled her blood. The sitting-room was 
 worse, even, than the hall. A big, empty room 
 with a small fire-place in one corner, wherein a 
 few coals were turning gray; a threadbare car 
 pet, a couple of chairs, a little table with the 
 Bible on it, ragged wall-paper, and a shelf in one 
 corner filled with liniment bottles. 
 
 Mrs. Willis sat down in one of the rickety 
 chairs, and Patience, after stirring up the coals, 
 drew the other to the hearth. 
 
 "I m afraid the room feels kind o* coolish," she 
 said. " I ve got the last o the coal on." 
 
 "D you mean," said Mrs. Willis and again 
 her voice surprised her "that you re all out o* 
 coal?" 
 
PATIENCE APPUSBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 "All out." She drew the tiny shawl closer to 
 her throat with trembling, bony fingers. But 
 Mis Abernathy said she d send me a scuttleful 
 over today. I hate to take it from her, too ; her 
 husband s lost his position and they ain t overly 
 well off. But sence my rheumatiz has been so 
 bad I can t earn a thing." 
 
 Mrs. Willis stared hard at the coals. For the 
 life of her she could think of nothing but her 
 own basement filled to the ceiling with coal. 
 
 "I reckon," said Patience, "you ve come to 
 hear my confessing- up?" 
 
 "Why yes." Mrs. Willis started guiltily. 
 
 " What s the charges agen me, Mis Willis ? " 
 
 Mrs. Willis s eyelids fell heavily. 
 
 "Why, I reckon you know, Patience. You 
 done wrong onct when you was a girl, and I 
 don t think we d ort to take you into the church 
 tell you own up to it." 
 
 There was a little silence. Then Patience 
 said, drawing her breath in heavily " Mebbe I 
 did do wrong onct when I was a little girl only 
 fourteen, say. But that s thirty year ago, and 
 that s a long time, Mis Willis. I don t think I d 
 ort to own up to it." 
 
 "/think you d ort." 
 
 1 * Mis Willis, Patience spoke solemnly. 
 "D you think I d ort to own up if it u d affec 
 somebody else thet ain t never b en talked about ? " 
 
 233 
 
PATIENCE APPLEBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 "Yes, I do, said Mrs. Willis, firmly. "If 
 they deserve to be talked about, they d ort to be 
 talked about." 
 
 * Even if it was about the best folks in town ? " 
 
 Yes. Mrs. Willis thought of the minister. 
 
 "Even if it was about the best-off folks? 
 Folks that hold their head the highest, and give 
 most to churches and missionary ; and thetev ry- 
 body looks up to ? " 
 
 " Ye-es," said Mrs. Willis. That did not de 
 scribe the minister, certainly. She could not 
 have told you why her heart began to beat so 
 violently. Somehow, she had been surprised out 
 of the attitude she had meant to assume. Instead 
 of walking in boldly and haughtily, and giving 
 Patience her " come-uppings, " she was finding it 
 difficult to conquer a feeling of pity for the 
 enemy because she was so poor and so cold. She 
 must harden her heart. 
 
 "Even" Patience lowered her eyes to the 
 worn carpet "if it was folks thet had b en 
 loudest condemin other folks s sins, and that had 
 bragged high and low thet there wa n t no dis 
 grace in their fambly, and never had b en none, 
 and who d just be about killed by my confessing- 
 
 up?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Willis, sternly. But she 
 paled to the lips. 
 
 " I don t think so," said Patience, slowly. " I 
 
 234 
 
PATIENCK APPIKBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 think a body d ort to have a chance if they want 
 to live better, without havin anybody a-pryin 
 into their effairs exceptin God. But if you don t 
 agree with me, I m ready to confess-up all I ve 
 done bad. I guess you recollect, Mis Willis, 
 thet your L,izy and me was just of an age, to a 
 day?" 
 
 Mrs. Willis s lips moved, but the words stuck 
 in her throat. 
 
 4 And how we ust to play together and stay 
 nights with each other. We loved each other, 
 Mis Willis. You ust to give us big slices o 
 salt-risin bread, spread thick with cream and 
 sprinkled with brown sugar I can just see you 
 now, a-goin out to the spring-house to get the 
 cream. And I can just taste it, too, when I get 
 good and hungry." 
 
 " What s all this got to do with your a-owning 
 up ? " demanded Mrs. Willis, fiercely. " What s 
 my Lizy got to do with your going away that 
 time ? Where was you at, Patience Appleby ? " 
 
 "I m cornin to that," said Patience, calmly ; 
 but a deep flush came upon her face. " I ve at- 
 toned-up fer that time, if any mortal bein ever 
 did, Mis Willis. I ve had a hard life, but I ve 
 never complained, because I thought the L,ord 
 was a-punishin me. But I have suffered. . . . 
 Thirty year, Mis Willis, of pray in to be fergive 
 fer one sin ! But I ain t ever see the day I could 
 
 235 
 
confess-up to *t and I couldn t now, except to 
 Lizy s mother." 
 
 An awful trembling shook Mrs. Willis s heart. 
 She looked at Patience with straining eyes. " Go 
 on, she said, hoarsely. 
 
 " Lizy and me was fourteen on the same day. 
 She was goin to Four Corners to visit her a nt, 
 but I had to stay at home and work. I was 
 cryin* about it when, all of a sudden, lyizy 
 says " Patience, let s up and have a good time 
 on our birthday ! 
 
 11 Well, let s," I says, "but how?" 
 
 "1*11 start fer Four Corners and then you run 
 away, and I ll meet you, and we ll go to Spring- 
 ville to the circus and learn to ride bareback " 
 
 Mrs. Willis leaned forward in her chair. Her 
 face was very white ; her thin hands were clenched 
 so hard the knuckles stood out half an inch. 
 
 "Patience Appleby," she said, "you re a 
 wicked, sinful liar ! May the I/>rd A mighty fer- 
 give you /won t." 
 
 " I ain t askin you to take my word ; you can 
 ask Mr. Willis hisself. He didn t go to Spring- 
 ville to buy him a horse, like he told you he did. 
 lyizy and me had been at the circus two days 
 when she tuk sick, and I sent fer Mr. Willis un 
 beknownst to anybody. He come and tuk her 
 home and fixed it all up with her a nt at Four 
 Corners, and give out thet she d been a-visitin 
 
 236 
 
PATIENCE APPLEBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 there. But I had to sneak home alone and live 
 an outcast s life ever sence, and see her set up 
 above me just because Mr. Willis got down to 
 beg me on his knees never to tell she was with 
 me. And I never did tell a soul, Mis Willis, tell 
 last winter I was sick with a fever and told Mis 
 Wincoop when I was out o my head. But she s 
 never told anybody, either, and neither of us ever 
 will. Mr. Willis has helped me as much as he 
 could without your a-findin it out, but I know how 
 it feels to be hungry and cold, and I know how it 
 feels to see I/izy set up over me, and marry rich, 
 and have nice children ; and ride by me n her 
 kerriage without so much as lookin at me and 
 me a-chokin with the dust off o her kerriage 
 wheels. But I never complained none, and I ain t 
 a-complainin now, Mis Willis ; puttin L,izy 
 down wouldn t help me any. But I do think it s 
 hard if I can t be let into the church." 
 
 Her thin voice died away and there was silence. 
 Patience sat staring at the coals with the dullness 
 of despair on her face. Mrs. Willis s spare frame 
 had suddenly taken on an old, pathetic stoop. 
 What her haughty soul had suffered during that 
 recital, for which she had been so totally unpre 
 pared, Patience would never realize. The world 
 seemed to be slipping from under the old woman s 
 trembling feet. She had been so strong in her 
 condemnation of sinners because she had felt so 
 
 237 
 
PATIENCE APPI^EBY S CONFESSING-UP 
 
 sure she should never have any trading with sin 
 herself. And lo ! all these years her own daugh 
 ter her one beloved child, dearer than life itself 
 had been as guilty as this poor outcast from 
 whom she had always drawn her skirts aside, as 
 from a leper. Ay, her daughter had been the 
 guiltier of the two. She was not spared that bit 
 terness, even. Her harsh sense of justice forced 
 her to acknowledge, even in that first hour, that 
 this woman had borne herself nobly, while her 
 daughter had been a despicable coward. 
 
 It had been an erect, middle-aged woman who 
 had come to give Patience Appleby her * * come-up- 
 piugs ; " it was an old, broken -spirited one who 
 went stumbling home in the early, cold twilight 
 of the winter day. The fierce splendor of the 
 sunset had blazed itself out ; the world was a 
 monotone in milky blue save for one high line 
 of dull crimson clouds strung along the horizon. 
 
 A shower of snow-birds sunk in Mrs. Willis s 
 path, but she did not see them. She went up the 
 path and entered her comfortable home ; and she 
 fell down upon her stiff knees beside the first chair 
 she came to and prayed as she had never prayed 
 before in all her hard and selfish life. 
 
 When Mr. Willis came home to supper he found 
 his wife setting the table as usual. He started 
 for the bedroom, but she stopped him. 
 238 
 
PATIENCK APP^BY S CONF2SSINOUP 
 
 "We re a-going to use the front bedroom after 
 this, father," she said. 
 
 Why, what are we going to do that fer, 
 mother?" 
 
 I m a-going to give our n to Patience Ap- 
 pleby." 
 
 "You re a-going to what, mother ?" 
 
 "I m a-going to give our n to Patience Appleby, 
 I say. I m a-going to bring her here to live, and 
 she s got to have the warmest room in the house, 
 because her rheumatiz is worse n mine. I m 
 a-going after her myself to-morrow in the ker- 
 riage. She turned and faced her husband sternly. 
 " She s confessed-up ev ry thing. I was dead set 
 she should, and she has. I know where she was 
 at, that time, and I know who was with her. I 
 reckon I d best beattoning up as well as Patience 
 Appleby ; and I m going to begin by making her 
 comi terble and taking her into the church." 
 
 "Why, mother," said the old man, weakly. 
 His wife repressed him with one look. 
 
 "Now, don t go to talking back, father," she 
 said, sternly. "I reckon you kep it from me fer 
 the best, but it s turrable hard on me now. You 
 get and wash yourself. I want that you should 
 hold this candle while I fry the apple-fritters." 
 
THK MOTHER OF 
 
THE MOTHER OF 
 
 " Pills ! Oh, Pills ! You Pillsy !" 
 
 The girl turned from the door of the drug -store, 
 and looked back under bent brows at her mother, 
 who was wiping graduated glasses with a stained 
 towel, at the end of the prescription counter. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn t call me that," she said ; 
 her tone was impatient but not disrespectful. 
 
 Her mother laughed. She was a big, good- 
 natured looking woman, with light-blue eyes and 
 sandy eyebrows and hair. She wore a black dress 
 that had a cheap, white cord-ruche at the neck. 
 There were spots down the front of her dress 
 where acids had been spilled and had taken out 
 the color. 
 
 "How particular we are gettin ," she said, 
 turning the measuring glass round and round on 
 the towel which had been wadded into it. * * You 
 didn t use to mind if I called you Pills, just for 
 fun." 
 
 "Well, I mind now." 
 
 243 
 
The girl took a clean towel from a cupboard 
 and began to polish the show-cases, breathing upon 
 them now and then. She was a good-looking 
 girl. She had strong, handsome features, and 
 heavy brown hair, which she wore in a long braid 
 down her back. A deep red rose was tucked in 
 the girdle of her cotton gown and its head lolled 
 to and fro as she worked. Her hands were not 
 prettily shaped, but sensitive, and the ends of the 
 fingers were square. 
 
 "Well, Mariella, then," said Mrs. Mansfield, 
 still looking amused ; " I was goin to ask you if 
 you knew the Indians had all come in on their 
 way home from hoppickin ." 
 
 Mariella straightened up and looked at her 
 mother. 
 
 " Have they, honest, ma?" 
 
 " Yes, they have ; they re all camped down on 
 the beach." 
 
 " Oh, I wonder where !" 
 
 * Why, the Nooksacks are clear down at the 
 coal-bunkers, an the Lummies close to Timber- 
 line s Row ; an the Alaskas are all on the other 
 side of the viaduct." 
 
 4 Are they goin to have the canoe race? " 
 
 " Yes, I guess so. I guess it ll be about sun 
 down to-night. There, you forgot to dust that 
 milk-shake. An you ain t touched that shelf o* 
 patent medicines 1 " 
 
 244 
 
THH MOTHER OF "PIU3" 
 
 She set down the last graduate and hung the 
 damp towel on a nail. Then she came out into 
 the main part of the store and sat down comfort 
 ably behind the counter. 
 
 Long before Mariella was born her father had 
 opened a drug-store in the tiny town of Sehome, 
 on Puget Sound. There was a coal mine under 
 the town. A tunnel led down into it, and the 
 men working among the black diamonds, with 
 their families, made up the town. But there was 
 some trouble, and the mine was abandoned and 
 flooded with salt water. The men went away, 
 and for many years Sehome was little more than 
 a name. A mail boat wheezed up from Seattle 
 once a week ; and two or three storekeepers 
 Mr. Mansfield among them clung to the ragged 
 edge of hope and waited for the boom. Before it 
 came, Mr. Mansfield was bumped over the ter 
 rible road to the graveyard and laid down among 
 the stones and ferns. Then Mrs. Mansfield run 
 the store. The question " Can you fill perscrip- 
 tions ? was often put to her fearfully by timid 
 customers, but she was equal to the occasion. 
 
 "Well, I guess I can," she would say, squar 
 ing about and looking her questioner unwaver 
 ingly in the eye. "I guess I d ought to. I ve 
 been in the store with my husband, that s dead, 
 for twenty years. I m not a regular, but I m a 
 
 245 
 
practical an that s better than a regular any 
 day." 
 
 "It s not so much what you know in a drug 
 store as what you look like you know," she some 
 times confided to admiring friends. 
 
 It is true Mrs. Mansfied was often perplexed 
 over the peculiar curdled appearance of some 
 mixture being as untaught in the mysterious 
 ways of emulsions as a babe but such trifles 
 were dismissed with a philosophical sigh, and the 
 prescriptions were handed over the counter with 
 a complaisance that commanded confidence. The 
 doctor hinted, with extreme delicacy, at times, 
 that his emulsions did not turn out as smooth as 
 he had expected ; or that it would be agreeable 
 to find some of his aqueous mixtures tinged with 
 cochineal ; or that it was possible to make pills 
 in such a way that they would not so to 
 speak melt in the patient s mouth before he 
 could swallow them. But Mrs. Mansfield invari 
 ably laughed at him in a kind of motherly way, 
 and reminded him that he ought to be glad to 
 have even a * practical " in a place like Sehome. 
 And really this was so true that it was unanswer 
 able. 
 
 So Mrs. Mansfield held the fort ; and as her 
 medicines, although abominable to swallow, never 
 killed any one, she was looked upon with awe 
 
 246 
 
TH3 MOTHER OF " 
 
 and respect by the villagers and the men in the 
 neighboring logging-camps. 
 
 Mariella was brought up in the drug-store. 
 She had the benefit of her mother s experience, 
 and, besides that, she had studied the * dispensa 
 tory" a word, by the way, which Mrs. Mans 
 field began with a capital letter because of the 
 many pitfalls from which it had rescued her. 
 
 "Mariella is such a good girl," her mother 
 frequently declared ; she got a real good educa 
 tion over at the Whatcom schools, an she s such 
 a help in the drug-store. She does make a beau 
 tiful pill." 
 
 Indeed, the girl s pill-making accomplishment 
 was so appreciated by Mrs. Mansfield that she 
 had nick-named her " Pills " a name that had 
 been the cause of much mirth between them. 
 
 Mariella was now sixteen, and the long-deferred 
 "boom" was upon them. Mrs. Mansfield and 
 her daughter contemplated it from the store door 
 daily with increasing admiration. The wild clover 
 no longer velveted the middle of the street. New 
 buildings, with red, green or blue fronts and non 
 descript backs, leaped up on every corner and in 
 between corners. The hammers and saws made 
 music sweeter than any brass band to Sehome 
 ears. Day and night the forests blazed backward 
 from the town. When there were no customers in 
 the store Mariella stood in the door, twisting the 
 
 247 
 
THE MOTHER OF " 
 
 rope of the awning around her wrist, and watched 
 the flames leaping from limb to limb up the tall, 
 straight fir- trees. When Sehome hill was burn 
 ing at night, it was a magnificent spectacle ; like 
 hundreds of torches dipped into a very hell of 
 fire and lifted to heaven by invisible hands while 
 in the East the noble, white dome of Mount Baker 
 burst out of the darkness against the lurid sky. 
 The old steamer Idaho came down from Seattle 
 three times a week now. When she landed, Mrs. 
 Mansfield and Mariella, and such customers as 
 chanced to be in the store, hurried breathlessly 
 back to the little sitting-room, which overlooked 
 the bay, to count the passengers. The old colony 
 wharf, running a mile out across the tide-lands 
 to deep water, would be " fairly alive with em," 
 Mrs. Mansfield declared daily, in an ecstasy of 
 anticipation of the good times their coming fore 
 told. She counted never less than a hundred and 
 fifty ; and so many walked three and four abreast 
 that it was not possible to count all. 
 
 Really, that summer everything seemed to be 
 going Mrs. Mansfield s way. Mariella was a 
 comfort to her mother and an attraction to the 
 store ; business was excellent ; her property was 
 worth five times more than it had ever been be 
 fore ; and, besides when her thoughts reached 
 this point Mrs. Mansfield smiled consciously and 
 blushed there was Mr. Grover I Mr. Grover 
 248 
 
kept the dry-goods store next door. He had 
 come at the very beginning of the boom. He was 
 slim and dark and forty. Mrs. Mansfield was 
 forty and large and fair. Both were "well off." 
 Mr. Grover was lonely and * dropped into Mrs. 
 Mansfield s little sitting-room every night. She 
 invited him to supper frequently, and he told her 
 her that her fried chicken and cream potatoes 
 were better than anything he had eaten since his 
 mother died. Of late his intentions were not to 
 be misunderstood, and Mrs. Mansfield was already 
 putting by a cozy sum for a wedding outfit. Only 
 that morning she had looked at herself in the 
 glass more attentively than usual while combing 
 her hair. Some thought made her blush and 
 smile. 
 
 You ought to be ashamed ! she said, shak 
 ing her head at herself in the glass as at a gay, 
 young thing. "To be thinkin about gettin* 
 married ! With a big girl like Pills too. One 
 good thing : He really seems to think as much 
 of Pills as you do yourself, Mrs. Mansfield. 
 That s what makes me so happy, I guess. I 
 believe it s the first time I ever was real happy 
 before. She sighed unconsciously as she glanced 
 back over her years of married life. "An I don t 
 know what makes me so awful happy now. But 
 sometimes when I get up of a mornin I just feel 
 
 249 
 
as if I could go out on the hill an sing foolish 
 as any of them larks holler n for joy. 
 
 " Mariella," she said, watching the duster in 
 the girl s hands, "what made you flare up so 
 when I called you Pills ? You never done that 
 before, an I don t see what ails you all of a sud 
 den." 
 
 "I didn t mean to flare up," said Mariella. 
 She opened the cigar-case and arranged the boxes 
 carefully. Then she closed it with a snap and 
 looked at her mother. * But I wish you d stop 
 it, ma. Mr. Grover said " 
 
 "Well, what id he say?" 
 
 " He said it wasn t a nice name to call a girl 
 by. Mariella s face reddened, but she was stoop- 
 ing behind the counter. 
 
 Mrs.- Mansfield drummed on the show-case with 
 broad fingers and looked thoughtful. 
 
 " Well," she said with significance, after a 
 pause, " if lie don t like it, I won t do it. We ve 
 had lots o fun over it, Pills, ain t we I mean 
 Mariella but I guess he has a right to say what 
 you ll be called, Pi my dear." 
 
 " Oh, ma," said Mariella. Her face was like 
 a poppy. 
 
 "Well, I guess you won t object, will you? 
 I ve been wond rin how you felt about it." 
 
 "Oh, ma," faltered the girl ; " do you think, 
 honest, he he " 
 
 250 
 
THE MOTHER OF " PIU.S " 
 
 "Yes, I do," replied her mother, laughing com 
 fortably and blushing faintly. " I m sure of it. 
 An I m happier n I ever was in my life over it. 
 I don t think I could give you a better stepfather, 
 or one that would think more of you." 
 
 Mariella stood up slowly behind the counter 
 and looked stared across the room at her 
 mother, in a dazed, uncomprehending way. The 
 color ebbed slowly out of her face. She did not 
 speak, but she felt the muscles about her mouth 
 jerking. She pressed her lips more tightly to 
 gether. 
 
 "I hope you don t think I oughtn t to marry 
 again," said her mother, returning her look with 
 out understanding it in the least. " Your pa s 
 been dead ten years " - this in an injured tone. 
 
 * There ain t many women Oh, good mornin , 
 
 Mr. Lester? Mariella, 11 you wait on Mr. fes 
 ter? Well" -beaming good naturedly on her 
 customer * how s real estate this mornin ? Any 
 new sales afoot ? 
 
 " Are there ?" repeated that gentleman, leaning 
 on the show-case and lighting his cigar, innocent 
 of intentional discourtesy. " Well, I should smile 
 and smile broadly too, Mrs. Mansfield. 
 There s a Minneapolis chap here that s buyin 
 right an left ; just slashiri 1 things ! He s bought 
 a lot o water-front property, too ; an let me tell 
 you, right now, that Jim Hill s behind him ; an 
 
 25* 
 
THE MOTHKR OF " PII,I,S " 
 
 lim Hill s the biggest railroad man in the U. S. 
 to-day, an the Great Northern s behind him!" 
 
 "Well, I hope so." Mrs. Mansfield drew 
 a long breath of delight. Mr. fester smiled, 
 shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, and 
 sauntered out with the air of a man who has the 
 ear of railroad kings. 
 
 "Are you goin to the canoe races to-night, 
 Mariella?" began her mother, in a conciliatory 
 tone. 
 
 " I don t know. Might as well, I guess." 
 
 The girl was wiping the shelf bottles now ; her 
 face was pale, but her back was to her mother. 
 
 "Well, we will have an early supper, so you 
 can get off. Mercy, child ! Did you break one 
 o them glass labels ? How often V I told you 
 not to press on em so hard? What one is it? 
 The tincture cantharides ! Well, tie a string 
 around it, so we ll know what it is. There ain t 
 no label on the aconite bottle, nor the Jamaica 
 ginger either an them settin side by side, too. 
 I hate guessin at things in a drug-store spe 
 cially when one s a poison. Have you scoured up 
 them spatulas?" 
 
 "Yes m." 
 
 "Well, I ll go in an do up the dishes, an 
 leave you to tend store. Don t forget to make 
 Mr. Benson s pills." 
 
 But Mr. Benson s pills were not made right 
 252 
 
THE MOTHER OF " PIU<S " 
 
 away. When her mother was gone, Manella got 
 down from the step-ladder and leaned one elbow 
 on the show-case and rested her chin in her hand. 
 Her throat swelled in and out fitfully, and the 
 blue veins showed, large and full, on her temples. 
 For a long time she stood thus, twisting the towel 
 in her hand and looking at the fires on the hill 
 without seeing them. Some of their dry burning- 
 seemed to get into her own eyes. 
 
 Mr. Grover, passing, glanced in. 
 
 " Mariella," he said, putting one foot across 
 the threshold, * * are you goin to the canoe 
 races ? 
 
 The girl had darted erect instantly, and put on 
 a look of coquettish indifference. 
 
 "Yes, I am." Her eyes flashed at him over 
 her shoulder from the corners of their lids as she 
 started back to the prescription-case. " I m goin 
 with Charlie Walton! * 
 
 When Mariella had gone to the races that 
 night, and customers were few and far between, 
 Mr. Grover walked with a determined air through 
 Mrs. Mansfield s store and, pushing aside the 
 crimson canton-flannel portieres, entered her 
 cheerful sitting-room. On the floor was a Brus 
 sels carpet, large-flowered and vivid. A sewing- 
 machine stood in one corner and Mariella s organ 
 in another. The two narrow windows over-look 
 ing the sound were gay with blooming geraniums 
 
 253 
 
THE MOTHER OF 
 
 and white curtains tied with red ribbons. There 
 was a trunk deceptively stuffed and cretonned 
 into the semblance of a settee ; and there was a 
 wicker-chair that was full of rasping, aggravating 
 noises when you rocked in it. It had red ribbon 
 twisted through its back and arms. Mrs. Mans 
 field was sitting in it now, reading a novel, and 
 the chair was complaining unceasingly. 
 
 Mr. Grover sat dow r n on the trunk. 
 
 " Mrs. Mansfield," he said, looking squarely at 
 her, "I ve got somethin to ask of you, an I m 
 goin to do it while Mariella s away." 
 
 "That so?" said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 The color in her cheek deepened almost to a 
 purple. She put one hand up to her face, and 
 with the other nervously wrinkled the corners of 
 the leaves of her novel. She lowered her lids 
 resolutely to hide the sudden joy in her eyes. 
 
 "I guess you know what I ve been comin 
 here so much for. I couldn t help thinkin , too, 
 that you liked the idea an was sort of encouragin* 
 me." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield threw one hand out toward him 
 in a gesture at once deprecating, coquettish and 
 helpful. 
 
 "Oh, you!" she exclaimed, laughing and 
 coloring more deeply. There was decided en 
 couragement in her honest blue eyes under their 
 sandy lashes. 
 
 254 
 
THE MOTHER OF 
 
 " Well, didn t you, now ? Mr. Grover leaned 
 toward her. 
 
 She hesitated, fingering the leaves of her book. 
 She turned her head to one side ; the leaves 
 swished softly as they swept past her broad 
 thumb ; the corners of her mouth curled in a tremu 
 lous smile ; the fingers of her other hand moved 
 in an unconscious caress across her warm cheek ; 
 she remembered afterward that the band across 
 the bay on the long pier, where the races were, 
 was playing "Annie L,aurie," and that the odor 
 of wild musk, growing outside her window in a 
 box, was borne in, sweet and heavy, by the sea 
 winds. It was the one perfect moment of Mrs. 
 Mansfield s life in which there had been no 
 moments that even approached perfection ; in 
 which there had been no hint of poetry only 
 dullest, everyday prose. She had married be 
 cause she had been taught that women should 
 marry ; and Mr. Mansfield had been a good hus 
 band. She always said that ; and she did not 
 even know that she always sighed after saying it. 
 Her regard for Mr. Grover was the poetry the 
 wine of her hard, frontier life. Never before 
 that summer had she stood and listened to the 
 message of the meadow-lark with a feeling of ex 
 altation that brought tears to her eyes ; or gone 
 out to gather wild pink clover with the dew on 
 it ; or turned her broad foot aside to spare a worm. 
 
 2 55 
 
Not that Mr. Grover ever did any of these things ; 
 but that love had lifted the woman s soul and 
 given her the new gift of seeing the beauty of 
 common things. No one had guessed that there 
 was a change in her heart, not even Mariella. 
 
 It was well that Mrs. Mansfield prolonged that 
 perfect moment. When she did lift her eyes there 
 was a kind of appealing tenderness in them. 
 
 "I guess I did," she said. 
 
 Well, then," Mr. Grover drew a breath of 
 relief "you might s well say I can have her. I 
 want it all understood before she gets home. I 
 want to stop her runnin with that Walton. Once 
 or twice I ve been afraid you d just as leave she d 
 marry him as me. I don t like to see girls galli 
 vant with two or three fellows." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield sat motionless, looking at him. 
 Her eyes did not falter ; the smile did not wholly 
 vanish from her face. Only the blood throbbed 
 slowly away, leaving it paler than Mariella s had 
 been that morning. She understood her mistake 
 almost before his first sentence. While he was 
 speaking her thoughts were busy. She felt the 
 blood coming back when she remembered what 
 she had said to Mariella. If only she had not 
 spoken I 
 
 " Well," she said, calmly, " have you said any 
 thing to Mariella?" 
 
 " Yes, I have ; lots o times. An I know she 
 256 
 
THE MOTHER OF " 
 
 likes me ; but she s some flirtish, and that s what 
 I want to put a stop to. So, with your permis 
 sion, I ll have a talk with her to-night." 
 
 "I d like to talk to her first myself." Mrs. 
 Mansfield looked almost stern. "But I guess 
 it ll be all right, Mr. Grover. If you d just as 
 soon wait till to-morrow, I d like to be alone and 
 make up my mind what to say to her." 
 
 Mr. Grover got up and shook hands with her 
 awkwardly. 
 
 "I ll make her a good husband," he said, earn 
 estly. 
 
 "I don t doubt that," replied Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 Then he went out and the crimson curtain fell 
 behind him. 
 
 When Mariella came home her mother was sit 
 ting, rocking, by the window. The lamp was 
 lighted. 
 
 " Pills," she said, " I want you to stop goin 
 with that fello ." 
 
 The girl looked at her in silence. Then she 
 took off her turban and stuck the long black pins 
 back into it. 
 
 " I thought you liked him," she said, slowly. 
 
 " I do, but Mr. Grover wants you an I like 
 him better." 
 
 "Wants me /" Mariella drew up her shoul 
 ders proudly. 2 
 
THE MOTHER OP " Piles * 
 
 "Yes, you," replied Mrs. Mansfield, laughing. 
 The humor of the situation was beginning to ap 
 peal to her. " He says he d told you. You must 
 of laughed after I told you he wanted me." 
 
 " Oh, ma, does he want me, honest ?" 
 
 " Yes, he does." She was still laughing. 
 
 " An don t you mind, ma ?" 
 
 "Not a mite," said the widow, cheerfully. 
 "I d rather he d marry you than me; only, I 
 thought he was too nice a man to be lost to the 
 fam ly." 
 
 "Oh, ma!" 
 
 "Well, get to bed now. He s comin in the 
 mornin to see you." 
 
 She took up the lamp and stood holding it ir 
 resolutely. 
 
 " Pills," she said, looking embarrassed, " You 
 won t ever tell him that I that I " 
 
 "Never, ma!" exclaimed the girl, earnestly ; 
 "as long as I live." 
 
 " All right, then. Look out ! You re droppin 
 tallo from your candle ! Don t hold it so crooked, 
 child ! I wouldn t like him to laugh about it. 
 Good-night." 
 
 As she passed through the kitchen she called 
 out: "Oh, Pills! Mr. Jordan brought in a 
 mess of trout. We ll have em fried for break 
 fast." 
 
 258 
 
The girl came running after her mother, and 
 threw her arms around her. 
 
 " Oh, ma, are you sure you don t care a bit?" 
 
 "Not a bit," said Mrs. Mansfield, kissing her 
 heartily. 4< I just thought he ought to be in the 
 family. I m glad it s turned out this way. Now, 
 you go to bed, an don t forget to roll up your 
 bangs." 
 
 She went into her room and shut the door. 
 
 2 59 
 
MRS. RISLKY S CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
MRS. RISLEY S CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 She was an old, old woman. She was crippled 
 with rheumatism and bent with toil. Her hair 
 was gray, not that lovely white that softens 
 and beautifies the face, but harsh, grizzled gray. 
 Her shoulders were round, her chest was sunken, 
 her face had many deep wrinkles. Her feet were 
 large and knotty ; her hands were large, too, with 
 great hollows running down their backs. And 
 how painfully the cords stood out in her old, 
 withered neck ! 
 
 For the twentieth time she limped to the window 
 and flattened her face against the pane. It was 
 Christmas day. A violet sky sparkled coldly 
 over the frozen village. The ground was covered 
 with snow ; the roofs were white with it. The 
 chimneys looked redder than usual as they 
 emerged from its pure drifts and sent slender 
 curls of electric-blue smoke into the air. 
 
 The wind was rising. Now and then it came 
 sweeping down the hill, pushing a great sheet of 
 snow, powdered like dust, before it. The win 
 dow-sashes did not fit tightly, and some of it 
 sifted into the room and climbed into little cones 
 on the floor. Snow-birds drifted past, like soft, 
 dark shadows ; and high overhead wild geese 
 
 263 
 
MRS. RISLEY S CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 went sculling through the yellow air, their mourn 
 ful " hawnk-e-hawnk-hawnks " sinking down 
 ward like human cries. 
 
 As the old woman stood with her face against 
 the window and her weak eyes strained down the 
 street, a neighbor came to the door. 
 
 Has your daughter an her fambly come yet, 
 Mis Risley?" she asked, entering sociably. 
 
 "Not yet," replied Mrs. Risley, with a good 
 attempt at cheerfulness ; but her knees suddenly 
 began shaking, and she sat down. 
 
 "Why, she d ought to a come on the last 
 train, hadn t she? " 
 
 "Oh, I do know. There s a plenty o time. 
 Dinner won t be ready tell two past." 
 
 "She ain t b en to see you fer five year, has 
 she ? said the neighbor. * I reckon you ll have 
 a right scrumptious set-out fer em ? " 
 
 * I will so, said Mrs. Risley, ignoring the 
 other question. " Her husband s comin ." 
 
 " I want to know ! Why, he just thinks he s 
 some punkins, I hear." 
 
 "Well, he s rich enough to think hisself any 
 thing he wants to." Mrs. Risley s voice took on 
 a tone of pride. 
 
 " I sh u d think you d want to go an* live with 
 em. It s offul hard fer you to live here all alone, 
 with your rheumatiz." 
 
 Mrs. Risley stooped to lay a stick of wood on 
 the fire. 
 
MRS. RISI^Y S CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 "I ve worked nigh, onto two weeks over this 
 dinner," she said, " a-seed n raisins an cur nts, 
 an things. I ve hed to skimp harrable, Mis 
 Totnlinson, to get it; but it s just perfec*. 
 Roast goose an cranberry sass, an cePry soup, 
 an mince an punkin pie, to say nothin o 
 plum-puddin ! An cookies an cur nt-jell tarts 
 fer the children. I ll hev to wear my old under- 
 clo s all winter to pay fer t ; but I don t care." 
 
 "I sh u d think your daughter d keep you 
 more comf terble, seem her husband s so rich." 
 
 There was a silence. Mrs. Risley s face grew 
 stern. The gold-colored cat came and arched her 
 back for a caress. " My bread riz beautiful," 
 Mrs. Risley said then. "I worried so over t. 
 An my fruit-cake smells that good when I open 
 the stun crock ! I put a hull cup o brandy in it. 
 Well, I guess you ll hev to excuse me. I ve got 
 to set the table." 
 
 When Mrs. Tomlinson was gone, the strained 
 look came back to the old woman s eyes. She 
 went on setting the table, but at the sound of a 
 wheel, or a step even, she began to tremble and 
 put her hand behind her ear to listen. 
 
 * It s funny they didn t come on that last train, 
 she said. "I w u dn t tell her, though. But 
 they d ort to be here by this time." 
 
 She opened the oven door. The hot, delicious 
 odor of its precious contents gushed out. Did 
 
 265 
 
MRS. RISI^KYS CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 ever goose brown so perfectly before ? And how 
 large the liver was ! It lay in the gravy in one 
 corner of the big dripping-pan, just beginning to 
 curl at the edges. She tested it carefully with a 
 little three-tined iron fork. 
 
 The mince-pie was on the table, waiting to be 
 warmed, and the pumpkin-pie was out on the 
 back porch, from which the cat had been ex 
 cluded for the present. The cranberry sauce, 
 the celery in its high, old-fashioned glass, the lit 
 tle bee-hive of hard sauce for the pudding and 
 the thick cream for the coffee, bore the pumpkin- 
 pie company. The currant jelly in the tarts 
 glowed like great red rubies set in circles of old 
 gold ; the mashed potatoes were light and white as 
 foam. 
 
 For one moment, as she stood there in the savory 
 kitchen, she thought of the thin, worn flannels, 
 and how much better her rheumatism would 
 be with the warm ones which could have been 
 bought with the money spent for this dinner. 
 Then she flushed with self-shame. 
 
 I must be gittin childish, she exclaimed, 
 indignantly ; "to begredge a Chris mas dinner to 
 Lizy. S if I hedn t put up with old underclo s 
 afore now ! But I will say there ain t many 
 women o my age thet c u d git up a dinner like 
 this n , rheumatiz an all." 
 
 A long, shrill whistle announced the last train 
 
 266 
 
MRS. RISLKY S CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 from the city. Mrs. Risley started and turned 
 pale. A violent trembling seized her. She could 
 scarcely get to the window, she stumbled so. On 
 the way she stopped at the old walnut bureau to 
 put a lace cap on her white hair and to look anx- 
 iotisly into the mirror. 
 
 " Five year ! " she whispered. " It s an offul 
 spell to go without seein your only daughter ! 
 Everything ll seem mighty poor an shabby to her, 
 I reckon, her old mother worst o all. I never 
 sensed how I d changed tell now. My ! how no- 
 account I m a gittin ! I m all of a trimble ! " 
 
 Then she stumbled on to the window and 
 pressed her cheek against the pane. 
 
 "They d ort to be in sight now," she said. 
 But the minutes went by, and they did not come. 
 
 " Mebbe they ve stopped to talk, meetin folks," 
 she said, again. "But they d ort to be in sight 
 now." She trembled so she had to get a chair 
 and sit down. But still she wrinkled her cheek 
 upon the cold pane and strained her dim eyes 
 down the street. 
 
 After a while a boy came whistling down from 
 the corner. There was a letter in his hand. He 
 stopped and rapped, and when she opened the 
 door with a kind of frightened haste, he gave her 
 the letter and went away, whistling again. 
 
 A letter ! Why should a letter come ? Her 
 heart was beating in her throat now, that poor 
 
 267 
 
MRS. RIS^Y S CHRISTMAS DINNER 
 
 old heart that had beaten under so many sorrows ! 
 She searched in a dazed way for her glasses. 
 Then she fell helplessly into a chair and read it : 
 " DEAR MOTHER, I am so sorry we cannot come, 
 after all. We just got word that Robert s aunt has been 
 expecting us all the time, because we ve spent every 
 Christmas there. We feel as if we must go there, be 
 cause she always goes to so much trouble to get up a fine 
 dinner; and we knew you wouldn t do that. Besides, 
 she is so rich ; and one has to think of one s children, 
 you know. We ll come, sure, next year. With a merry, 
 merry Christmas from all, EI/IZA." 
 
 It was hard work reading it, she had to spell out 
 so many of the words. After she had finished, she 
 sat for a long, long time motionless, looking at 
 the letter. Finally the cat came and rubbed 
 against her, "myowing" for her dinner. Then 
 she saw that the fire had burned down to a gray, 
 desolate ash. 
 
 She no longer trembled, although the room was 
 cold. The wind was blowing steadily now. It 
 was snowing, too. The bleak Christmas after 
 noon and the long Christmas night stretched be 
 fore her. Her eyes rested upon the little fir-tree 
 on a table in one corner, with its gilt balls and 
 strings of popcorn and colored candles. She 
 could not bear the sight of it. She got up stifSy. 
 
 "Well, kitten," she said, trying to speak 
 cheerfully, but with a pitiful break in her voice, 
 " let s go out an eat our k Christmas dinner." 
 268 
 
BOOKS ON NATURE 
 
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 The University of California expressly commends this to its 
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"A*. IDuAL o^ ON NATUK*. STUDY." 
 
 CITIZEN BIRD 
 
 Scenes from Bird Life in Plain English for Beginners. By 
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FIRST BOOK IN 
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 ELEMENTARY 
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 41 But the attraction of Mr. Potts book is not merely in its record of the 
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