Richard Newcomb 
 
 BY 
 S. ELIZABETH SISSON 
 
 CINCINNATI: JENNINGS & PYE 
 NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY 
 THE WESTERN METH- 
 ODIST BOOK CONCERN
 
 TO MY HUSBAND : Without whose 
 kindly co-operation and larger faith this 
 little "home story 11 had not ventured 
 from the quiet of a parsonage closet shelf, 
 this book is lovingly dedicated. 
 
 S. . S. 
 
 2138349
 
 f> 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I. A DOUBLE WEDDING, 7 
 
 II. A WESTWARD JOURNEY PETER CARTWRIGHT, . 18 
 
 III. GETTING SETTLED, 36 
 
 IV. AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS, 45 
 
 V. CHARACTER STUDY, 57 
 
 VT. THE WAR AN ACCIDENT LOUISE AND RICHARD, 70 
 
 VII. ACADEMY LIFE, AND HOME EVENINGS, 82 
 
 VIII. ASBURY'S DECISION THE NEWCOMBS, 92 
 
 IX. A LOVE AFFAIR, AND A MOTHER'S VIEW OF IT, 101 
 
 X. COLLEGE A STUDY OF HOMES, 117 
 
 XI. DEVELOPED CHARACTERS, ....... 126 
 
 XII. RICHARD AND LOUISE, 136 
 
 XIII. THE PREACHER A SOPRANO FLOSSIE, .... 150 
 
 XIV. THERESE BANKRUPTCY, 167 
 
 XV. JOHN, THE YOUNGER, 180 
 
 XVI. A VISIT A RESULT LEAVING THE FARM, . . 193 
 
 XVII. GETTING SETTLED LIFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB, . 206 
 
 XVIII. AN ORATORICAL CONTEST SAD ENDING, . . . 217 
 5
 
 5 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 XIX. "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE," 228 
 
 XX. THERESE ON BOTH SIDES OF AN OCEAN, . . . 243 
 
 XXI. SOME GRADUATES A WEDDING, 255 
 
 XXII. SEPTEMBER A LETTER, 266 
 
 XXIII. A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK, 275 
 
 XXIV. A RETROSPECT A WEDDING DEATH OF 
 
 RICHARD NEWCOMB, 291 
 
 XXV. A FAMILY REUNION GATHERED THISTLES, . . 302
 
 Richard Newcomb 
 
 18 
 
 A Double Wedding 
 
 THE time was away back in the Forties, and 
 the morning was one of the balmiest in blos- 
 som-crowned May, when Lynton, a little Ne\v 
 England village, was strangely astir. 
 
 It was easy to see, upon ever so slight an in- 
 vestigation, that this unusual activity centered 
 in the rustic, ivy-covered village church; for the 
 sound of merry young voices from within was 
 borne out upon the fragrant air through the 
 doors, which stood invitingly open. A glance 
 through them showed a group of the village young 
 people, who, with evergreens and flowers, were 
 making the plain, almost stern walls of the room 
 radiant with beauty. 
 
 This all in preparation for a much-anticipated 
 7
 
 8 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 event, a double wedding. As the wedding-hour 
 is rapidly nearing, it may be well to have an 
 introductory word concerning not only the happy 
 couples who are to be the principals in the event, 
 but the quaint little village of Lynton as well. 
 "Picturesque Lynton" its friends lovingly call it. 
 
 The latter was situated, as has already been 
 said, in one of the New England States. A por- 
 tion of it appeared to half cling or perch upon 
 the rocky hill upon which it was built; the re- 
 mainder stretched on across Hazel Run, a tiny 
 stream, losing itself in the fertile meadow beyond, 
 the only bit of land near about really suitable for 
 tillage. 
 
 In the hill-clinging part, in a very brown, 
 weather-beaten cottage, Rachel Ewing lived with 
 her father and mother, she being the eldest in a 
 large family. 
 
 There is a bit of yard in front of the cottage, 
 scrupulously clean, while a rocky walk, bordered 
 on either side by beds of springing crocuses and 
 gorgeous Easter flowers, leads up to the open 
 door, through which, on this same May morning, 
 the breezes come in unhindered. 
 
 Though the furnishings are very plain, how 
 tidy and homelike' is the little front room! A 
 bright rag-carpet is upon the floor. Filling that
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING 9 
 
 side of the room nearest the fireplace is a long, 
 wooden settee, or "settle," with rockers, which, 
 nearly covered as it is with a great bearskin, 
 hints at a resting-place for the family in its hours 
 of relaxation, or an ever-ready cradle for sleep- 
 ing babyhood. 
 
 Besides this, there are some wooden chairs, 
 and in an opposite corner a stand, upon which 
 we notice a substantially leather-bound family 
 Bible, a Book of Psalms set to music, and a few 
 other volumes, mostly of the sterner religious kind 
 of the day ; for Jacob Ewing was a God-fearing 
 man. Daily had his children seen him take down 
 the Bible, and heard him read, in an awesome 
 voice, lessons for their guidance. 
 
 At the rear of the house stood a great apple- 
 tree, under whose 1 spreading branches, during 
 many a happy hour, the children of the home had 
 found a delightful playground. This to-day had 
 yielded a part of its treasures for the room's adorn- 
 ment. 
 
 On either side of the ancient clock, which 
 stood in the exact center of a very tall, wood 
 mantel, was a bowl of fragrant applerlDlossoms ; 
 while in a little room just back of the one that 
 has engrossed our attention, deft fingers are 
 pinning sprays of the same swe'et blossoms at the
 
 io RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 throat, and twining others in the hair, of fair 
 young Rachel, one of the brides, for whom ever- 
 greens and flowers are gracing the village 
 church. 
 
 The stiff, yet relentlessly exact finger of the 
 old family clock points the hour at which the 
 walk to the church shall begin, and John Steven- 
 son, Rachel's lover, comes in to claim his bride. 
 
 Amid the hurry (yes, and heartaches) of this 
 supreme moment, we turn and speed down the 
 rocky street, and on across the little wooden 
 bridge. Here the houses are, perhaps, not 
 cleaner nor yet more homelike than in the hilly 
 part; but a more liberal use of paint, sliutters at 
 the windows, and here and there a pretentious 
 two-story, tells of greater worldly prosperity. 
 
 At the gateway leading up to one of the' most 
 comfortable of these homes stands an old family 
 carryall, and just now, coming out from her 
 mother's doorway (her father having lain in the 
 churchyard more than a year), is Margaret 
 Allen, leaning upon the arm of William New- 
 comb, whose name she is so soon to bear. 
 
 Now, while the two bridal parties are on the 
 way to the church, there will be time for a hasty 
 glance at the home of Margaret, and to glean 
 something of the history of the two girls.
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING n 
 
 From the day when Rachel Ewing and Mar- 
 garet Allen first trudged off together to the vil- 
 lage school, a peculiar friendship had existed be- 
 tween the two. Though Margaret's father had 
 owned much of the fertile meadow-land beyond 
 the village, while Rachel's could claim as his own 
 but the weather-beaten cot that housed his bairns ; 
 yet so sturdy and common-sense was the New 
 England atmosphere of that day, that because of 
 the honesty of purpose and integrity of heart 
 which Jacob Ewing was known to possess, he 
 stood quite as high in the esteem of his neigh- 
 bors as though broad acres had been his; hence 
 there had not been a thought of anything incon- 
 gruous in the abiding friendship between the 
 girls. 
 
 Together they had sat on the low, wooden 
 benches of the school; later on, their voices had 
 rung out together in song in the church, in whose 
 communion each had been raised. It was fitting, 
 therefore, that to-day they should stand together 
 at its simple chancel, while the mystic words were 
 said that should change them, at a bound, from 
 light-hearted girls into women, looking fearlessly 
 into the face of the future. 
 
 The interest of the entire village had centered 
 in this event; for not only were the young
 
 12 
 
 people well known and loved, but it was further 
 known that, on the morning following the, mar- 
 riage, they were to leave forever their village 
 home, make the long journey westward, and that 
 somewhere on those Western prairies, of whose 
 dangers rumor had much to say, two new homes 
 would arise. The two great covered wagons 
 that were to bear them westward had stood, for 
 the last week, back of the village smithy, objects 
 of supreme interest ; hence it was not strange 
 that at an early hour the church had been filled 
 with an eager assemblage of friends. After this 
 digression, we, too, will join the waiting assembly, 
 and it will not be out of place if, as the wedded 
 pairs slowly pass down the aisles, we turn with 
 the audience for a passing glance. 
 
 John Stevenson and his bride, Rachel, are in 
 front. There is no mistaking the plain, rugged 
 honesty of his face, while the browned hands, and, 
 indeed, the whole bearing, in some subtle man- 
 ner, tells of a life-experience that has been largely 
 a hand-to-hand struggle with a rocky New Eng- 
 land farm. 
 
 Unconsciously to himself, though, there is that 
 in the face which proclaims a victory gained. His 
 eyes rest lovingly upon his bride with an air of 
 fond, trustful proprietorship.
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING 13 
 
 Large of build, rugged, kindly of disposition, 
 the student of human nature sees at once that 
 he will lean upon his wife, consult with her, be 
 influenced by her, as neither she nor he suspects. 
 Thus far, life has held but few joys for him; for 
 his mother had died many years ago, and with 
 her all that might have made his life joyous. 
 Little wonder that he invites the future. 
 
 And she? Beautiful? They who know her 
 best scarcely think of beauty in connection with 
 her; yet there is no plainness in the clear com- 
 plexion, nor in the shapely hands, though these 
 are hard with toil ; but not one in all that com- 
 pany of village folk is thinking of these, but rather 
 the village heart has responded to the loving, help- 
 ful spirit which shines in the large gray at times, 
 almost blue eyes. As she is passing, these ac- 
 cidentally rest for a moment upon the eager, up- 
 turned face of a neighbor's child, and in an in- 
 stant the little heart is gladdened by a smile of 
 recognition; and in the smile and the self-forget- 
 fulness that allowed it, is mutely reve'aled that 
 innate, nameless "something" which draws to the 
 side of the possessor little children, with their 
 childish trials, and dumb animals, that instinctively 
 turn for protection. 
 
 Though a smile so readily comes to the
 
 14 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 mouth, there is a firmness about the clearly-cut 
 lips ; yes, a firmness that it is easy to believe might 
 become akin to sternness. Somehow, as Rachel 
 passes out of the rustic church, we involuntarily 
 recall grewsome stories of young girl martyrs, 
 and we mentally aver, this New England girl- 
 wife will have abiding principles and maintain 
 them. 
 
 If John Stevenson and his bride have proven 
 an interesting study, William Ne\vcomb and his 
 fair Margaret are not less so. The former had 
 come to Lynton but a twelvemonth ago as the 
 manager of a large sawmill, which was fast chang- 
 ing the great forests about Lynton into acres of 
 stumps, which later should give way to waving 
 fields of ripening grain. 
 
 So well had he deported himself that he had 
 not only become a strong factor in the village life, 
 winning the esteem of all, but the love of beautiful 
 Margaret Allen as well. It is easy to see that 
 nature has cast him in an entirely different mold 
 from that of rugged John Stevenson. There is 
 a restless acuteness about the eyes which indi- 
 cate greater business ability, and about him an 
 easy air, in his smart new wedding-suit, which 
 proclaims an acquaintance with the world. 
 
 He is a communicant at the altar of the same
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING 15 
 
 church as are the others ; but seeing him, we 
 can not repress a speculation as to what would 
 be' his course should duty and worldly prosperity 
 clash. 
 
 But John Stevenson's eyes do not rest more 
 lovingly upon his bride's than do William New- 
 comb's upon the fair Margaret. However dif- 
 ferent otherwise they may be, they are one in love 
 for their chosen companions. 
 
 As has been said, Margaret's home had been 
 one of comfort and plenty. Her parents were 
 found each Sabbath among the worshipers, yet 
 to serve God had not been with Richard Allen, 
 as with Jacob Ewing, the supreme motive of life. 
 Much dearer to him than thoughts of God had 
 been his fertile acres, with accompanying flocks 
 and herds. Indeed, in his heart he had fixed for 
 himself a creed, the liberality of which, had they 
 but known it, would have startled the staid people 
 with whom he worshiped. Yet his family under- 
 stood it well, and none better than Margaret. 
 From the time' she could toddle, she had been 
 his chosen companion. 
 
 As she grew older, various traits peculiar to 
 the father appeared in the child, until it came to 
 be a family saying, "Margaret is father over 
 again."
 
 1 6 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 We have already said she was beautiful. As 
 she left the altar on her wedding-day, she looked, 
 indeed, the embodiment of loveliness. Added to 
 rare regularity of features were a beautiful form, 
 graceful carriage, and an almost faultless com- 
 plexion. A wavy mass of brown hair was 
 brushed back from the forehead and coiled about 
 the shapely head. Seeing her, we see a beautiful 
 picture; yet, as with many another picture, there 
 is a sense of dissatisfaction. Can it be that in 
 the graceful curl of those lips, in the poise of that 
 delicate chin, there is a hint of selfishness? Or 
 do the eyes, dark hazel as they are, lack in 
 gentleness? We can scarcely tell. Yet the face 
 is not one we would care to go to with a heart- 
 ache, especially if, to e'ase the ache, self-denial 
 would be required. 
 
 Just now she is strong in the new love which 
 has stirred her heart, and she is bravely going 
 to the hardships of pioneer-life. Indeed, if there 
 are any hardships, they are lost in the strong 
 glamour which love and distance have thrown 
 about that strange new life beyond. 
 
 But the last echo has died out from the 
 church, and each couple are now in separate 
 homes. Many tears mingle with the wedding 
 festivities ; for the covered wagons stand now, one
 
 A DOUBLE WEDDING 17 
 
 at Rachel's and one at Margaret's door; and with 
 an agony the young people can not know or guess, 
 each mother packs away in the roomy rear such 
 articles as space will permit. There are chests 
 of linens, of bedding, jars of home-made sweets, 
 and provisions for the long journey. 
 
 The next day, amid sobs and he'artaches, the 
 home-nest is forever left. Groups of villagers 
 gather at the brow of the hill from whence the 
 road stretches on westward. They look long 
 and earnestly, and finally turn each to their 
 homes. They have seen disappear around the 
 curve the last faint flutter of white. The village 
 home of Rachel and Margaret would know them 
 no more. 
 
 The old, yet ever new, miracle had been re- 
 enacted. The stranger of yesterday becomes more 
 than home, parents, or friends. Strange? No; 
 for centuries before, He foreshadowed this home- 
 leaving when he said, "They twain shall become 
 one flesh." 
 
 2
 
 II 
 
 A Westward Journey Peter Cartwright 
 
 HOWEVER great the sympathy that might 
 bid us linger with those in the broken homes, 
 our interest henceforth lies with those just out 
 of sight, and to them we turn. 
 
 Slowly the great wagons creaked on. Mar- 
 garet, in the agony of the parting, had flung her- 
 self upon an improvised couch, which loving hands 
 had provided for her comfort, and lay there bit- 
 terly sobbing. Rachel, with tear-stained face, 
 kept fluttering a bit of white cambric, as a last 
 adieu, until a bend in the road shut out forever 
 the little village. Presently the last familiar hill 
 or farmhouse was passed. New roadside scenes 
 claimed the attention, and it began to dawn on 
 those brave' young people that the old life was 
 forever gone. Yet a future, fascinating in its 
 very strangeness, awaited them. 
 
 One of the happiest qualities of youth is its 
 elasticity. A wave of sorrow may sweep over 
 it, before which it bows as a sapling before a 
 storm; but such is its natural spring that it 
 
 18
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 19 
 
 speedily rights itself and is erect again. There- 
 fore it is not strange that our young friends were 
 soon intensely interested in the novel experience 
 which was theirs. 
 
 There were meals to be cooked by the wayside. 
 The 1 woods abounded in game. Squirrel leaped 
 among the branches of the trees, and chattered 
 noisily down. There were great flocks of quail 
 and of wild turkeys. More than once, as they 
 came to ford a stream, they would startle' a herd 
 of timid deer. 
 
 There was a brace of trusty "flintlocks" in each 
 wagon, so the meals were always supplied with 
 the choicest meats. Then there' was the novelty 
 of going to sleep with the stars blinking down 
 ever so familiarly. 
 
 Nor were the incidents always of the pleasant- 
 est type. The angry bark of hungry wolves be- 
 came a familiar sound after nightfall. Once, 
 Rachel was awakened by an intruder, which 
 proved to be a large black bear, poking his in- 
 vestigating nose into the wagon ; and again 
 and this proved a real fright being left alone one 
 day for a little while at a nooning, the girl-wives 
 were surprised by a party of Indians. Friendly, 
 and returning from a trading-post this they did 
 not know. Seeing that the women were alone and
 
 20 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 unprotected, and of course frightened, they 
 thought it a good time to indulge in a few war- 
 whoops, which they did, brandishing in the mean- 
 while the most ferocious-looking knives, and 
 giving free exhibitions of their skill with the bow, 
 winding up with searching the wagons for trink- 
 ets and valuables, in which pastime they were 
 interrupted by the return of the men. After some 
 parleying, the unwelcome visitors disappeared in 
 the dense woods; not that they were afraid of 
 the two, but that, even at this early date, they 
 had learned the wisdom of not offending the 
 Washington Great Father. 
 
 As has been said, the journey began in May. 
 Many of the streams were still swollen from the 
 spring rains, and were without bridges. 
 
 The roads in many places were not more than 
 a bridle-path, and were often well-nigh impassable. 
 The plan of the journey was to travel in wagons 
 to Pittsburg, there embark upon flatboats, and 
 journey down the Ohio River as far as Cincin- 
 nati, already a prosperous city. Once there, 
 they expected to make the remainder of the 
 journey westward in their wagons, which would 
 be' comparatively easy, as the route lay mostly 
 over the "National Road," this being a kind of 
 pike or "built" road, under national supervision,
 
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 21 
 
 as its name indicates, which, before the era of 
 railroads, contributed in no small measure to the 
 rapid settlement of the States as far west as In- 
 diana. 
 
 Wonderful stories of the rich prairies that 
 formed so large a part of that great western Ter- 
 ritory known as Illinois had reached their east- 
 ern home. These marvelous tales of the soil's 
 fertility, as well as the unusual business facilities, 
 had made this the objective point. 
 
 So, keeping this end in view, they jolted on, 
 day after day, on this strange bridal journey. 
 
 The modern young husband buys a ticket, 
 and he and his bride whirl rapidly away. They 
 "do" mountain or seaside resort, or tip waiters 
 in European hotels, and return, at length, weary 
 to their homes, already disgusted with life 
 happily if not with each other. 
 
 Our old-fashioned lovers proceeded more 
 slowly. What if now and then the road was 
 rough, or there was a half hour's intense anxiety 
 in crossing a swollen stream? The greater part 
 of the time the skies were blue ; birds, in all the 
 ecstasy of home-building, sang for them their 
 most joyous notes ; flowers, daintier than ever 
 grew 'neath glass roofs, blossomed for them ; and 
 O all-sufficient fact they had each other !
 
 22 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 And what with plans for the homes that were to 
 be, the days were none too long, and Pittsburg 
 was at length reached. 
 
 Good weather attended the travelers in their 
 float down the Ohio. The flatboats in which they 
 journeyed had a kind of sheltered room 
 (cabin) for the passengers, and an inclosed outer 
 deck for the wagons and horses. Black Nell, 
 one of the horses John had driven, rebelled at 
 this new experience, and caused quite a commo- 
 tion one night by an attempt to jump overboard; 
 but at length, like many a human, found it best 
 to become reconciled to the inevitable. 
 
 In all Rachel's life she had not known so much 
 leisure, and it was to her, as well as Margaret, 
 a never-ceasing delight to watch the green, 
 shadowy outlines of the gliding shores, the plash 
 of the water about the boat, and the strange life' 
 about them. 
 
 At Cincinnati they disembarked, and certainly 
 the world was going "west;" for there were 
 many covered wagons like their own, and in 
 company with some of these they again turned 
 their faces westward, this time traveling over the 
 anticipated, well-built National Road. 
 
 They no longer had the' world to themselves; 
 for covered wagons were everywhere. Some,
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 23 
 
 new and smart, like their own. Under flapping 
 canvas were hearts as brave and light as their 
 own. Some were weather-beaten and travel- 
 stained. Some of these held discouraged-looking 
 men and tired women, who strained their eyes 
 toward the west, and hoped it were "better 
 farther on." Behind some of the wagons the 
 family cow was tied, who at times protested at 
 her halter, and bawled for green pastures left be- 
 hind. Beside some of the wagons little children 
 trudged sometimes in the frolicsomeness of 
 childhood, sometimes preternaturally old and 
 tired, or laid themselves down on the hard cot of 
 the wagon in pain and with burning fever. Once 
 our travelers came upon a group by the roadside. 
 No need to ask questions. A little open grave, 
 dug under a friendly beech; a still, baby form; 
 and the agonized sobs of a young mother, for 
 whom the sun would never shine the same again, 
 told the story of hardships that had proven too 
 great. Brave-hearted pioneers ! There is danger 
 that in the completeness of our civilization to-day 
 we forget with what sacrifice the foundations 
 were laid. 
 
 Our friends might have gone, as did many 
 emigrants of that day, the entire journey down 
 the Ohio and then up the Mississippi; but the
 
 24 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 added cost was a barrier; besides, they wanted 
 to judge for themselves of the country and of 
 the best place to locate'. Finally, Indianapolis, 
 then a thrifty young city, was reached; and still 
 the horses' heads were turned westward, till the 
 Wabash Valley was reached. 
 
 "O dear!" groaned Margaret. "Why, what 
 kind of a road is this ?" She might well ask ; for 
 just then the front wheels of the wagon gave a 
 lurch downward, and the horse gave a sudden 
 pull, or Margaret would certainly have been 
 thrown to the ground. These plunges and jerks, 
 amid the worst specimen of mud the travelers 
 had yet encountered, continued throughout the 
 day, causing more discomfort than they had yet 
 known. The delightsome "National" having 
 ended, they were now experiencing a stretch of 
 "corduroy road," which, for the benefit of the 
 modern bicycler on asphalt, it may be well to 
 explain, was made by cutting lengths from 
 trees of various sizes, and laying them crosswise 
 in the slush or mud. Thus a sort of underpinning 
 of saplings was made. As there was no uni- 
 formity in the size of the lengths, and as they 
 became in time pushed out of place, the jolting 
 can be better imagined than described. But bad 
 as the "corduroy" was, it was the best device
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 25 
 
 known to the "fathers" to make these newly 
 cut-out roads through woodland and thicket 
 passable. 
 
 It is little wonder that all rejoiced when the 
 smart young city of Springfield was reached, where 
 they had decided to stop for a time until they 
 could decide upon a location. 
 
 Among the travelets they had fallen in with 
 during their journey were several who were loud 
 in their praises of Burrtonville, a mere stripling 
 of a town on the Illinois River. These 1 agreed 
 that this place must shortly become a manufac- 
 turing center, citing as arguments its superior 
 water-power and the enterprise of its citizens, 
 shown already by the 1 building of a railroad con- 
 necting it with the growing interior towns of the 
 State, and promising on farther westward, 
 bridging the Illinois itself. 
 
 As both Rachel and Margaret needed rest, it 
 was decided that they should remain where they 
 were, while their husbands would join a prospect- 
 ing party of men who would visit Burrtonville 
 and several other points, if it were necessary. 
 
 Once there', it did not take the keen, business 
 eye of William Newcomb long to discover the 
 advantages of the young town. Moreover, there 
 was a chance of steady employment offere'd.
 
 26 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Upon the banks of the river stood a newly-com- 
 pleted flouring-mill, the first and only one' in all 
 that section of the country. Already its great 
 water-whfcel was kept busy churning the water, 
 as it ground the grain of many miles of territory. 
 By a happy chance he secured a position not 
 greatly inferior to that of manager, and so was 
 ready to go back to Margaret with the story of 
 his good fortune. 
 
 The rich, black soil of the gently-undulating 
 prairies that crept up to the water's edge, and 
 upon which the town was built, charmed John 
 Stevenson, used as he had been to the rocky 
 hillsides about Lynton. And he was a happy 
 young man the day he bargained for a quarter- 
 section that lay not two miles from the town 
 happy, though ye'ars of hard work and, as farmers 
 phrase it, "good luck" must be his before he 
 could call these acres his own; happy, although 
 upon the land there was not a roof to shelter 
 either man or beast. 
 
 The question of home's being settled, they lost 
 no time in joining the waiting ones at Spring- 
 field. These, although left for a time alone, had 
 not been unhappy. The last hundred miles of 
 travel had told on each, and they welcomed the 
 rest of their quiet lodging-house. Besides, when
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 27 
 
 they cared to go out, there was much to interest 
 them in the strange, new, western life. v 
 
 Their curiosity and interest were greatly 
 aroused by what they heard concerning a "gather- 
 ing" in the neighborhood new and strange to 
 them; but certainly, from the conversation about 
 them, a feature of the new life. This gathering 
 was called a "camp-meeting," and was well 
 named; for many would come from miles distant, 
 as well as nearer at hand, bring with them a lew 
 articles necessary for their comfort, camp out in 
 the big stretch of woodland called the "camp- 
 ground," and spend days, or even weeks, in re- 
 ligious service. But such strange stories as were 
 told, not only of these services, but of the min- 
 ister in charge ! Indeed, his original sayings were 
 a fruitful theme among their fellow-lodgers at 
 every meal. 
 
 "Well, whatever happens," both Rachel and 
 Margaret agreed, "we must visit these grounds, 
 and see for ourselves before' we go further." To 
 this their husbands, upon their return, readily 
 assented, and the next day they set out to attend 
 an evening service. 
 
 The "camp-ground," as has been said, con- 
 sisted of several acres of heavy woodland, afford- 
 ing plenty of shade for men, women, and chil-
 
 28 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 dren and horses. An attempt had been made 
 to clear out the underbrush and to cut away 
 enough of the trees to allow a central meeting- 
 ground. 
 
 As the party drove into the deep shade of the 
 woods, a weird scene presented itself. Rude 
 shelters were erected by the campers. About 
 some of these, women were busy with the evening 
 meal. Echoes of a camp-meeting song, or the 
 voice of earnest supplication in some neighboring 
 tent (tent by courtesy), told of zealous prepara- 
 tion for the grand evening service. Great flaring 
 tallow-dips, nailed here and there to the trees, 
 lent an uncanny air to the whole, which was not 
 lessened by the glare of burning brush-heaps 
 located in different parts of the grounds, and fed 
 by men and boys, which served a double purpose, 
 as the visitors learned before the evening was 
 through that of lighting the grounds, as well 
 as furnishing an ever-present illustration to the 
 preacher of what awaited those who scoffed at his 
 exhortation: "Turn ye! O turn ye! Why will 
 ye die?" 
 
 The crowd was gathering in the straw-littered 
 inclosure where the services were held, and 
 thither, too, went our friends. The platform 
 upon which the preacher stood had been made
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 29 
 
 by felling two trees of about the same size, cut^ 
 ting away the tops and branches, and arranging 
 upon them a puncheon floor. The utility of the 
 platform was further enhanced by a clapboard 
 roof, the back and sides being formed of closely- 
 interwoven branches cut from trees. 
 
 But the settings of the picture faded into 
 insignificance before the preacher and the preach- 
 ing. Surely there had never before been heard 
 any so forceful or so peculiar in its immediate 
 effects. So, at any rate, thought our little group 
 of New Englanders. 
 
 Pathos, sublimity, caustic wit, scathing rebuke 
 of sin and of sinners, even of individuals, jostled 
 each other on the lips of the preacher, who was 
 none other than Peter Cartwright, one of the 
 most unique personalities of the Illinois of that 
 day. Tall and of rugged build, with hair brushed 
 back in a kind of shock from his forehead, he 
 towered a very giant, who had come to announce' 
 the destruction of the wicked. His eyes, keen 
 and searching, looked out from under shaggy 
 brows, or flashed fire when a miscalculating band 
 of rowdie's thought to intimidate preacher or 
 congregation. What caught and held the atten- 
 tion of our friends was the personal directness of 
 the discourse. The preacher taught and urged
 
 30 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 a distinct work of grace in the heart not to- 
 morrow, not next week, but now and a conse- 
 cration of one's life, whatever be the calling, to 
 the Lord. 
 
 And then, the genuine oratory! There was 
 something about this preacher that held the 
 breathless attention of the people. We call it 
 "oratory," but who could analyze it? There was 
 in it fearlessness, certainly; there was earnest- 
 ness ; and shall we not believe there was a Di- 
 vine gift for the occasion? Whatever the secret, 
 the fact remains that, when the preacher was at 
 his best, the audience became as one great indi- 
 vidual, upon whose heart-strings he played as does 
 the minstrel upon the harp, and they were 
 swayed as is the forest by a great wind. An in- 
 stance of this power had occurred only a few 
 evenings before. The preacher was picturing the 
 terrors of the judgment-day. With the skill of 
 a true artist, color after color was laid on now 
 somber, now lurid, always awful. The congrega- 
 tion became breathless ; the strain, intense. A 
 supernatural stillness reigned, broken only by 
 here and there a suppressed shudder or sob. 
 Suddenly he paused, leaned over, and, in an 
 awed whisper, uttered the one sentence, "List! 
 He cometh!"
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 31 
 
 As it happened, a very short distance from 
 the grounds there was a wooden bridge, with a 
 floor of loose, clattering boards, and as the echoes 
 of the speaker's voice died away, a wagon was 
 driven noisily across. The noise, coming as it did, 
 seemed supernatural. A woman dropped upon 
 her knees, and shouted, "Hear the rumbling of 
 His chariot!" The effect on the audience was 
 overwhelming. Instantly there arose a mingled 
 sound of groans, supplicating prayer, shouts, and 
 sobs; and although the cause of the noise was 
 soon ascertained, fully fifty persons crowded for- 
 ward to the altar, and were converted.* 
 
 But nothing out of the usual course occurred 
 upon the occasion of the' visit of our young 
 friends. The sermon was followed by the usual 
 
 * It was the privilege of a member of the writer's fam- 
 ily to be present at a camp-meeting, in the summer of 1897, 
 when an old gentleman, known alike for his intelligence 
 and culture, as well as for his deep piety, in giving his 
 testimony, related the above incident. He was not unaware 
 of the prevailing spirit of criticism, even in the Church, of 
 anything bizarre or unnatural. He added, by way of testi- 
 mony, that he had personally watched the religious career 
 of the entire number. Many had died in the faith tri- 
 umphant, and all who remained "were happy on the 
 way." He closed his testimony by adding, " Personally, 
 I have always thanked God for the providence of the 
 wagon."
 
 $2 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 "altar service." And such a service ! How they 
 crowded the rude wooden bench, young and old! 
 
 Presently a sister "got religion." 
 
 "Look ! look at her face !" said Rachel, ex- 
 citedly, pulling John's sleeve, that he might see 
 the wonderful transformation; for it was trans- 
 formed. The woman was plain in appearance, 
 and evidently a daughter of toil; but about her 
 face there was a glow that, it is not irreverent 
 to say, brought to mind the story of that other 
 "Transfiguration." She began to shout, and 
 others took up the strain. Back in the congrega- 
 tion, a little knot has gathered about a prostrate 
 form. It is that of a man who has been "seeking" 
 for several days. He lies rigid, motionless, and, 
 to all appearances, dead. His friends, nothing 
 alarmed, sing and pray, and wait for him to 
 "come through," which he does after a time, with 
 shouts of joy. 
 
 Strange, blessed history of the pioneer 
 Church ! The so-called refinement of a later day 
 may smile, and, with delicately-pursed lips, may 
 whisper, "Mere eccentricities !" But, after all, it 
 is borne in upon us that these fathers and moth- 
 ers in Israel really "got" a "something" that 
 lifted them above the hardships of a frontier life ; 
 a "something" that, in many instances, trans-
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 33 
 
 formed the wickedest into the most devout; a 
 "something" that implanted that far-seeing self- 
 denial which founded the colleges and built the 
 churches, which together have made to-day's 
 boasted civilization possible. In short, they 
 "came through" to such a high type' of Christian 
 life that we may well withhold our criticism and 
 be proud to do them homage. 
 
 When John and Rachel Stevenson found 
 themselves alone that night, there was a quiet talk 
 between them, and as a result of the evening's 
 strange service, a consecration of their lives, in 
 a sense different from anything they had ever 
 known, took place. In an adjoining room, 
 William and Margaret, too, discussed what they 
 had heard and seen; but with them a sense of 
 the grotesque, eccentric, and rude held chief 
 place, and furnished not a little amusement. 
 
 The hospitality and welcome accorded to 
 strangers were a marked feature' of the times, and 
 the little party made many acquaintances before 
 leaving the grounds, among whom was Mr. Cart- 
 wright himself. Though his eyes may have 
 flashed fire as he rebuked an offender, there was 
 no mistaking their kindly spirit as he questioned 
 them concerning their plans. Lovingly as a fa- 
 ther might, he urged the immediate duty of identi- 
 3
 
 34 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 fying themselves with Christian people, pointing 
 out that the habits formed in the first years 
 would shape the' whole life. While talking, he 
 drew from the cavernous depths of a pair of 
 saddlebags near at hand some books and a few 
 copies of a newspaper. 
 
 For a moment he paused, while from under the 
 shaggy brows a look, at once' keen and critical, 
 darted from one to the other. Then he continued : 
 "You will want, in the new home, not only relig- 
 ion as a corner-stone, but intelligence, and whether 
 you read, and what you read, will come to mean 
 everything; therefore, however small your in- 
 come, I entreat you, spend a part of it for good 
 books. Further, if the homes you build are to 
 be intelligent in the best sense, you will need a 
 kind of current Christian literature which even 
 books do not supply. Here are a few copies of 
 a periodical designed to meet this ne'ed. Take 
 them ; perhaps their reading may make these last 
 few miles of your journey pleasanter." 
 
 Then, telling them that he would see them 
 again, as Burrtonville was one of his preaching- 
 points, he bade them God-speed. 
 
 The following morning the last stage of their 
 journey was resumed. William had much to tell 
 Margaret of the new home and business, and
 
 A WESTWARD JOURNEY 35 
 
 neither gave more than a passing thought to the 
 kindly advice of their new friend. But in the 
 rear wagon, John and Rachel jolted on, and at 
 times their conversation was as serious as even 
 the zealous Mr. Cartwright could have desired.
 
 Ill 
 
 Getting Settled 
 
 ANOTHER day and night found these emigrants 
 /~V in what was to be their new home, Burrton- 
 ville. When each had grown to be old, they 
 never forgot the strange newness and unfinished 
 appearance of the town. The streets were yet 
 grassy, and such little houses ! Nearly all of logs. 
 Still, there was an air of bustling activity. People 
 went about as if there was a world to build, and 
 but a little time to build it in; and none caught 
 the contagion quicker than William Newcomb. 
 He at once began work in the mill, and in a little 
 cottage, conveniently near, Margaret began her 
 housekeeping. 
 
 This little home was very plain on the out- 
 side, but warm and cozy within, and soon, under 
 the deft touches of Margaret's hands, the "home 
 air" began to grow. 
 
 As for the Stevensons, the season was so far 
 advanced, the staple crop of corn could not be 
 raised on the farm ; so a few vegetables for use 
 were planted, and preparations were made for 
 
 36
 
 GETTING SETTLED 37 
 
 sowing wheat later on. There being no house, 
 John's first care was to build one, in the mean- 
 while renting a room in Burrtonville till it should 
 be completed. Very soon a log-house of two 
 rooms was ready for occupancy, into which they 
 at once moved. This may not have looked invit- 
 ing from the outside; for the logs were rough- 
 hewn, the spaces between the logs or "chinks" 
 were mortar-filled, and the gre'at outside chimney 
 hinted at comfort rather than beauty. But inside ! 
 Ah ! when the great fire began to crackle in the 
 capacious fireplace, as it did in the 1 early autumn; 
 when John, weary of his day's work of digging 
 or plowing, came home late in the evening to find 
 a savory supper awaiting him, and an earnest, 
 strong face that lighted at his coming, you 
 would then have forgotten the rough outside, had 
 you seen this, and would have exclaimed, "I have 
 found a home." 
 
 A rude stable was built for the faithful ani- 
 mals that had journeyed with them ; a well dug, 
 and provided with a gre'at "sweep," which lent a 
 picturesqueness to the scene. With these prepa- 
 rations they considered themselves ready for the' 
 first winter in the West. 
 
 Just two miles distant was the growing, 
 spreading town of Burrtonville, constantly calling
 
 38 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 for workers. Here, when the weather prevented 
 further work on the farm, he worked, that he 
 might have something "ahead" when the spring 
 should call him back to the farm. 
 
 While the young husbands were' busy, each at 
 his choserr work, time might have seemed long 
 and wearisome to the girl-wives had it not been 
 for the old sweet friendship, which wonderfully 
 brightened these first months of exile from 
 friends. 
 
 Often when John was driving out, Margaret 
 would accompany him. Rachel would meet them 
 both at the lane, and proudly escort Margaret to 
 the cozy sitting-room, where, perhaps with 
 laughter, they would recall some incident of the 
 long journey, or with tender regret talk of the 
 dear old homes at Lynton. Before such a visit 
 had ended, Margaret, with the air of a connois- 
 seur, would inspect Rachel's great brood of hens, 
 interesting because they were doing duty, as was 
 evidenced by the goodly sum of "egg-money" that 
 came weekly into their owner's purse; or pay 
 her respects to the family cow, that furnished 
 these farmer folks with butter and milk. 
 
 Then, again, Rachel, with a bit of sewing, 
 would spend a delightful day with Margaret, 
 when much the same program would be enacted.
 
 GETTING SETTLED 39 
 
 But there were stormy winter days and long 
 evenings when each must stay by her own fire- 
 side. 
 
 These hours of enforced idleness might have 
 been productive of what members of a later 
 generation, when thrown upon their own re- 
 sources, wearily designate as ennui. Not so at the 
 farm. To them the earnest preacher had not 
 preached in vain. Already they had begun to find 
 a new world awaiting them in the few books which 
 they owned; besides, they had come to find, as 
 he had suggested, a welcome friend in their home 
 paper. In it were helpful suggestions for farm 
 and home, discussions touching upon every 
 question of Church or State, stories of travel and 
 of biography, besides the weekly bulletin of the 
 great onward march of the Church of Christ. 
 After an evening spent around his fireside, read-' 
 ing aloud to interested Rachel, and talking over 
 with her the subjects discussed, this young 
 farmer went about his tasks in a different spirit. 
 He was no longer the plain, individual John 
 Stevenson, working out his own little problem of 
 existence, but a unit of a great whole, who, by 
 doing the duties of the hour, was unconsciously 
 keeping step with the onward march of that great 
 army which was ushering in a better civilization
 
 40 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 and bringing the world into harmony with the 
 ideal of its Creator. 
 
 More than once, Rachel tried to tell her friend 
 Margaret something of this pleasure ; but the lat- 
 ter would laughingly say : "O Rachel, you are 
 Jacob Ewing's own daughter, thinking more of a 
 creed than of aught else;" for, like some others, 
 she refused to believe that a Christian literature 
 could be other than a creed exponent. 
 
 Perhaps of all the old sweet associations at 
 Lynton, nothing was so greatly missed as the 
 little village church. Upon coming to Burrton- 
 ville, our friends found that the settlers before 
 them had taken pains at once to see that a place 
 for worship was provided. So on a grassy knoll 
 stood a little "meeting-house." This, like most 
 of its associates, was built of logs. It differed in 
 denomination from that in which our frie'nds had 
 been raised, but was one with it in the doctrine 
 of right living. 
 
 Here, every two weeks, came a young and 
 zealous "circuit-rider," and on more state occa- 
 sions "the elder," of camp-ground fame, who 
 preached, as was his wont, of free salvation and 
 the necessity for immediate repentance. 
 
 On the very first Sabbath after their arrival 
 in Burrtonville, four Church letters were handed
 
 GETTING SETTLED 41 
 
 the young minister, and the little congregation 
 almost startled them by the warmth of their 
 Western welcome. "Yes, there are some things 
 different," Rachel was saying to John that night, 
 and her eyes had a far-away look as the vision 
 of the home church arose; "but these people are 
 kind, and this is to be our home', so we can not 
 afford to be critical. Perhaps we can make our- 
 selves of use." 
 
 "Such a queer little church, and such odd 
 people!" was Margaret's comment, as she and her 
 husband together discussed the hearty handshakes 
 and loud "Amens" of the morning. 
 
 "Still, it is a type of this sincere western life, 
 of which we' are now a part," rejoined her hus- 
 band. "And," continued he, "as~we can not have 
 our staid old pastor, nor be a part of his well- 
 ordered flock, neither is it right for us to live 
 out of the Church. Therefore let us hope, after 
 awhile, things will not seem so strange." 
 
 Margaret made no audible reply; but there 
 came echoing through her mind remembrances of 
 many sayings of her father, as together they had 
 tramped about the farm, and in her heart she said, 
 "It amounts to but little after all." 
 
 By this first public step, both the Newcombs 
 and Stevensons became well known. As Rachel
 
 42 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 had said, kind hearts beat beneath the rough ex- 
 teriors, and much interest was manifested in the 
 welfare of the strangers, and on many an occa- 
 sion a helping hand was held out. 
 
 The Newcombs really knew nothing of the 
 privations of frontier life ; for William had a good 
 position, while Margaret's patrimony had at once 
 secured to them a comfortable home. But the 
 Stevensons knew by experience every phase of 
 home-building. Still, they were young, strong, 
 and happy; each worked with a will; and by the 
 time spring had come, bringing the plowing and 
 sowing, the humble log-house had blossomed into 
 a home. Much of the furniture was of the young 
 husband's making. There was a stand, very like 
 the one in Rachel's old home, and on it was a 
 family Bible, very like its New England counter- 
 part. Besides, there was a steadily-growing pile 
 of carefully-read books and papers. 
 
 One feature of the room, purely ornamental, 
 must not be overlooked. Among the treasures 
 Rachel had brought from her home had been an 
 ivy-root from the glossy green which had crept 
 and clung to the walls of the village church. 
 This she planted in a rude earthen pot. Certainly 
 Western soil did not disagree with it ; for it grew, 
 and, guided over the little narrow window, spread
 
 GETTING SETTLED 43 
 
 itself, and growing, covered the rough logs with 
 a living beauty. 
 
 We will now leave our young friends for a 
 time. It will be theirs to fight their own battles 
 with the privations and experiences incident to 
 pioneer life. We shall not look in on them again 
 until many years have come and gone'. We must 
 not fail to chronicle the fact, however, that by 
 the time the old apple-tree back in Rachel's girl- 
 hood home had again scattered its sweet blos- 
 soms to the air, the Angel of Life had knocked 
 at the door of each humble home. At the New- 
 combs' there was rejoicing over a son, which the 
 happy young father pronounced as handsome as 
 his mother. In this he was not alone; for the 
 numerous visitors, competent witnesses all, said: 
 "What a wonderful likeness! Just his mother 
 over again." But his appearance mattered little 
 to the young mother, who, in a happiness of con- 
 tent which she had not dreamed, cuddled close 
 to her heart sweet baby Richard. In the little log 
 farmhouse, Rachel, too, could be found crooning 
 a lullaby to a dear little morsel of humanity, a 
 boy, who had John's own honest eyes, which, even 
 in its very young babyhood, looked about quite 
 as gravely as if life 1 had already proven quite a 
 serious matter. But the mouth that Rachel kissed
 
 44 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 was very like her own, and it was not unlikely that 
 something of her own nature lay hidden there'. 
 "What shall we call the baby?" This question 
 remained unanswered, even till baby Richard be- 
 gan to look knowingly when his name was 
 called. Finally it came the "elder's" time for his 
 quarterly visit. He had already gotten to call the 
 hospitable farmhouse home ; so, of course, he' 
 must admire the sturdy boy. Taking him gently 
 in his arms, he said, "And is this Francis As- 
 bury?" And that night, John wrote in the leather- 
 bound family Bible the chosen name', Francis 
 Asbury Stevenson.
 
 IV 
 
 After Fifteen Years 
 
 FIFTEEN years! How much may happen, 
 what changes -occur, in fifteen years, even 
 when the conditions are settled ! But in a new 
 western town, that length of time may stand for 
 a half-century in an older community. 
 
 Burrtonville had moved forward like a young 
 giant, and the summer of 1858 looked down upon 
 a smart little city, that was already fulfilling the 
 expectations of its early friends. 
 
 Rows of really good buildings lined the busi- 
 ness streets. Comfortable homes, many almost, 
 luxurious, had largely taken the place of the log- 
 cabins of the past. On the knoll, still green and 
 grassy, stood a neat frame church, with slender 
 spire, and rich-toned bell. The little log meeting- 
 house, itself the strongest factor in to-day's pros- 
 perity, has given way to its more dignified suc- 
 cessor. 
 
 As a business center, Burrtonville was attract- 
 ing the attention of many. The Illinois River, 
 upon which it was built, not only furnished a suf- 
 
 45
 
 46 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 ficient water-power for the mills upon its banks, 
 and opened up communications with the rapidly- 
 growing interior towns of the State, but through 
 its outlet into the broad Mississippi brought the 
 markets of the great cities to the doors of the 
 business men of Burrtonville. Besides this, two 
 railroads, with their snorting engines, now con- 
 nected it with the East and North, and were push- 
 ing on to the great Western beyond. 
 
 For these reasons, and because of having been 
 first in the field with its mill, Burrtonville had be- 
 come a center of supply for grain and flour. The 
 little flouring-mill, into which, fifteen years ago, 
 William Newcomb entered as an employee, had 
 trebled its capacity. 
 
 Let us for a moment look in upon its counting- 
 room. There at the desk is the proprietor, a keenly 
 alert business min, upon whom his forty years sit 
 lightly. We recognize the employee of other 
 days, William Newcomb, now everywhere spoken 
 of as one of Burrtonville's most enterprising 
 citizens. 
 
 Shortly after his arrival he had grasped the finan- 
 cial possibilities of real estate, and making some for- 
 tunate investments was able to make the first pay- 
 ment upon the mill, which was offered for sale. 
 Once in his hands, he managed its business so sue-
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 47 
 
 cessfully that he became its sole owner, and soon 
 became known as a rich man, to whom the little 
 world of Burrtonville took off its hat in honor, 
 after the manner of the greater world outside. 
 
 About a year before the reopening of our story, 
 on one of the best streets, his new home had been 
 built. It was large and roomy, of brick, and stood 
 in the center of beautiful, well-kept grounds. While 
 a dweller in a modern house might miss some of 
 to-day's luxuries and conveniences, yet comfort was 
 evidenced on every side. Through the center ran 
 a great hall, on one side of which doors opened into 
 the large double parlors, whose side and folding 
 doors were suggestive of merry companies of young 
 people, or statelier and more dignified ones of older. 
 From the other side of the hall, one entered the 
 "living-room," and the large dining-room beyond; 
 and a great oaken stairway Jed on to roomy and 
 sunny chambers above. 
 
 Over all this, Margaret, the girl-wife of long 
 ago, is the presiding genius. In every graceful 
 poise of the well-rounded form, as well as in the 
 still regular features, is seen the maturing of the 
 old girlish beauty. 
 
 Richard, the first born, is now a bright, hand- 
 some lad of fourteen, while a sister Marie has 
 been his playmate for twelve years. Therese, the
 
 48 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 household pet, is a petite little maiden of eight 
 summers. 
 
 If fate has dealt thus kindly with those of the 
 city, we turn with eager expectancy to the farm. 
 
 Though Burrtonville had stretched itself out in 
 nearly every direction, it had not seen fit to encroach 
 upon the farm, so no fortuitous chance circum- 
 stance had come to the help of the inmates, yet 
 by patient, plodding, self-denying hard work on 
 the part of both John and Rachel, every foot of 
 the farm was now their own, and unincumbered 
 by debt or mortgage. 
 
 Any one who has had an experience in building 
 a home, or making habitable a wild piece of landj 
 knows that, ordinarily, it is the work of years. Yet 
 our farmer friends had been patient and willing per- 
 sistently to plod, so necessary outlays were met as 
 they came ; and now, as we have said, the farm is 
 theirs. Necessary improvements have been made, 
 sleek cows graze in the pastures, and a great or- 
 chard back of the house is a source of enjoyment 
 as well as of profit. 
 
 The improvement of the farm itself was more 
 easily visible than that of the house ; for the family 
 still occupied the two original rooms of the log- 
 house, with two others, which their growing needs 
 had made imperative. A new home had been
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 49 
 
 planned ; but the one with farm experience knows 
 that the comfortable home must come last. Yet, 
 though the house was of logs, it was often said 
 that, in all the country, there was not a more home- 
 like spot to be found. 
 
 It is hard to analyze the something that makes 
 a home. Yet it is none the less a verity, which even 
 a stranger may recognize as he' crosses the thresh- 
 old a something that draws alike those with a 
 heartache to its fireside and the romping children 
 of a neighbor as well. But whatever it might be, 
 this farm-home was certainly rich in its possession. 
 
 It may be the happy group of boys and girls it 
 now sheltered contributed not a little to this "home 
 feeling," as they romped over the rag carpet by the 
 great open fire, with its "backlog" and curious net- 
 work of "forelog" and sputtering boughs of hickory. 
 
 Yes, the years had been fraught with changes, 
 and among those apparent to even the most casual 
 observer was the remarkable development of char- 
 acter, especially noticeable in the Stevenson's. Not 
 only for rugged, unflinching honesty was John 
 known among his neighbors, but they had come to 
 know that as he turned a furrow or sowed his 
 grain he did it intelligently, and many in per- 
 plexity learned to find a wise counselor in the quiet 
 man, who betrayed by bis conversation an unusual 
 4
 
 50 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 familiarity with matters outside his daily life. But 
 it was in the little church, which had so long ago 
 heartily welcomed the strangers, that John and 
 Rachel Stevenson had grown to be most loved, 
 most depended upon ; for during all the years, with 
 a regularity equal to the coming of the Sabbath it- 
 self, the faithful team and light wagon bore the 
 family to Church. One of the recent innovations 
 had been the organization of a Sunday-school, and 
 none could be found so capable for leader as the 
 erstwhile timid John. And Rachel, with her years 
 of quiet home-reading, was fitted to become a valued 
 teacher; indeed, had she lived in these later years 
 of woman's organizations she would have been 
 seized upon at once as a "worker." It was curious 
 to note the growing oneness of this twain. With 
 them the Scriptural prophecy was being. rapidly ful- 
 filled. Perhaps the cause of this lay in their quiet 
 farm-life, every detail of which was planned to- 
 gether ; but we are inclined to think it began in the 
 long winter evenings, when, after the roaring, crack- 
 ling hickory fire had begun to throw out its richest 
 glow, the plain walnut stand was drawn out from 
 its corner, the candle lighted, and the reading be- 
 gun. At first, when the children were little, they 
 were each tucked snugly away in their trundlebed. 
 (Years afterward they loved to recall how they
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 51 
 
 would lie awake as long as possible, listening to the 
 rich cadence of their mother's voice, or to the 
 fuller, deeper, yet not less kindly one of their 
 father.) When they became old enough it became 
 their pride, indeed a coveted honor, to take their 
 turn as "reader" for the evening. 
 
 Through these years a determination for the 
 higher education of their children had been grow- 
 ing, and had taken deeper root than even they 
 guessed. Together the parents often talked over 
 the means of attaining this end, and were finally 
 helped in the solution of the perplexing question by 
 a casual written suggestion. Acting upon this they 
 decided that on each child's tenth birthday to pre- 
 sent it with a cow, the sole profits from which, 
 as well as the increase, should form a "college 
 fund," This the parents hoped would not only 
 give the children themselves an interest in the 
 matter, but by the time they needed it, furnish 
 means for an education. 
 
 They and the Newcombs were still friends, but 
 the growing dissimilar tastes of the two families 
 were evident. 
 
 From the first, William Newcomb had been con- 
 sumed by a desire to get on in the world ; to this he 
 bent all his energies. At first, he liked to talk over 
 with his young wife the affairs of the mill ; but she
 
 52 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 laughingly informed him, "It was too dreadfully 
 prosy ;" besides, she had no "head" for business, but 
 would he not admire this delicate bit of her own 
 embroidery she was fashioning for Therese or 
 Marie? Left to himself he grew to live in a rest- 
 less, rushing manner, borne down by the pressure 
 of increasing business. He came hurriedly to his 
 meals, and when he came home at night, often, the 
 family had retired. Unconsciously he grew away 
 from them, and they from him. Margaret, too, had 
 begun to find life a hurried matter; for the social 
 honor and homage paid to the wife of a wealthy 
 and rapidly growing more so business man grew 
 very 'sweet, and society thrust upon her a hundred 
 new duties. The great parlors became the social 
 Center of Burrtonville, and many gay companies 
 gathered there; for as a hostess she had rare 
 charms. Besides, she was really a loving mother, 
 with great pride in her beautiful children, and no 
 hands could fashion so well the dainty apparel as 
 her own. 
 
 What of their Church relationship during all 
 these years? From the first each, and especially 
 Margaret, had been critical of the fervid western 
 style, and this feeling had grown with the years. 
 Had they but kept themselves in touch and sym- 
 pathy, as did the Stevensons, with the great re-
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 53 
 
 ligious world outside, they would have recognized 
 this with which they were connected as but a unit 
 in the great whole, and so had patience with local 
 peculiarities and failings ; but this they failed to do, 
 and so during the years gave less and less of their 
 sympathy, and drew more and more within them- 
 selves. Yet each Sabbath found them sitting de- 
 corously in their pew. They gave of their means 
 for the support of the Church; but as to a self- 
 denying sacrifice to carry forward the work, not 
 one in all the company of worshipers would have 
 expected it. So had they found their place. 
 
 But we have tarried too long with the elders. 
 Let us turn to the children, for with these our in- 
 terest centers. 
 
 Richard Newcomb was singularly like his 
 mother in appearance, with the same beautiful eyes 
 and mobile mouth, and a sunny, happy disposition 
 that made him the joy of the home. From the time 
 he could barely toddle, his greatest delight had been 
 to visit at the hospitable home of "Aunt Rachel." 
 As he grew older, on such visits every nook and 
 corner of the farm would be explored, to say noth- 
 ing of the great roomy cupboard with its possibili- 
 ties, or the cool milkhouse with its jars of rich 
 cream. 
 
 Asbury Stevenson was of his own age, supple,
 
 54 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 strong, and well built, and shy upon the surface. 
 Between the boys there was that indescribable dif- 
 ference that marks the boy reared in the country 
 from him familiar with town or city. Was there 
 no other difference? Time will tell. These boys 
 were good friends; but it was -Louise, Asbury's 
 sister and junior by two years, who was Richard's 
 born comrade, and who accompanied him upon 
 every exploring expedition, no matter how perilous. 
 She was a plump little maiden, with brown hair that 
 rippled back from her forehead, good eyes, and a 
 sunny, cheery face. Yet if she, in her plain ging- 
 ham slip in which her busy mother dressed her, had 
 stood for a moment by the side of dainty Marie 
 Newcomb in her garniture of frills and embroidery, 
 not many would have called her beautiful. 
 
 But her mother knew a strong soul was locked 
 up in the little breast. 
 
 From the first, Louise became the constant play- 
 mate of her brothers. Did they climb the loft to 
 search for the hidden nest of Old Speckle? Louise 
 could spring as nimbly up the ladder as they. Did 
 they play at tops? Louise could make them spin 
 as well as the most expert. She soon mastered the 
 mysteries of "mumble-peg." As for marbles, her 
 shot was as unerring as theirs. A tomboy ? Well, 
 perhaps she was. Yet mother was beginning to de-
 
 AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 55 
 
 pend more and more upon the swift feet that almost 
 flew upon her errands, and her marvelously sweet, 
 low lullaby often soothed the younger ones. 
 
 As has been said, she and Richard were born 
 comrades. When he was but six and she four, they 
 played at housekeeping with all the dignity of 
 elders. In childish disputes, as whether the "house" 
 should be under the old apple-tree or the great elm, 
 Louise's strong will usually won. Sometimes this 
 capricious little girl was well pleased at the result. 
 Again she would say, "What did you give up for?" 
 "Because I had to," retorted Richard. 
 
 "May be if I was a boy I'd give up every time !" 
 Louise would rejoin contemptuously. 
 
 Asbury was from the first a quiet, studious boy, 
 and loved nothing so well as to hear his mother 
 read, or, as he grew older, read for himself. Besides 
 him and Louise, four other children had come to 
 bless the home : Ruth, a quiet little girl of ten ; Ed- 
 ward and John, two sturdy, strong, sinewy little 
 fellows still younger; and baby Rose, not yet a 
 year old, who, accepting the logic of events as any 
 healthy baby in a large family soon learns to do, lay 
 in her crib, crowing at a fleck of sunshine that fil- 
 tered in through the little window, or with a 
 strangely serious air studied a set of pink toes which 
 insisted upon discarding socks a happy, healthy
 
 56 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 baby, requiring and receiving no care beyond its 
 natural wants. Rachel had begun to show the ef- 
 fects of these years of toil and anxious motherhood ; 
 yet such was her executive ability that the domestic 
 machinery moved with less jar than in many less 
 well-ordered homes of smaller family; for each 
 child had its appointed tasks, which were performed 
 without question. 
 
 Therefore by means of method there was time, 
 not only for the demands of the Church, but for 
 the evening with books as well. 
 
 Having now noted the changes wrought by the 
 years, and the influences that are at work to mold 
 the children that gather about each hearthstone, we 
 again leave them for a little space, knowing that 
 the harvest of seed-sowing is rapidly ripening, and 
 the inevitable reaping must quickly begin.
 
 Character Study 
 
 IT was a bright, sunshiny morning in May, 1861, 
 eighteen years from that other May-day, when 
 the two brides had gone out from the village 
 church. In order properly to celebrate the anni- 
 versary of the event, the hospitable farmhouse 
 opened its doors to their old-time friends of the 
 city. So it came about that the two families gath- 
 ered together around the heavily-laden board. 
 
 How the great, long table groaned under its 
 steaming and tempting burdens ! How, after the 
 meal, the children, the younger ones at least, raced 
 and romped over the farm! 
 
 The two older of each family were at school 
 in the academy; but these were out to-day, osten- 
 sibly to do honor to the event of long ago. But it 
 may be questioned if any event of the past could 
 possibly take precedence of or be more than merely 
 a background for the present bliss of a jolly day 
 together on the farm "the farm," which, to the 
 Newcomb boys and girls, stood for everything most 
 to be desired. 
 
 57
 
 58 RICHARD NKWCOMB 
 
 We may as well pause here and explain that 
 the "academy" was an institution in which the peo- 
 ple of Burrtonville were beginning to take a just 
 pride, and which they owed to the far-seeing intelli- 
 gence of the very early settlers. It had grown with 
 the growth of the town, until now it had begun to 
 attract the young people of the country and neigh- 
 boring towns. 
 
 Asbury and Richard at seventeen, and Louise 
 and Marie, at fifteen, have outgrown the old-time 
 scramble down the haystacks, and, instead of the 
 old play at "housekeeping" under the apple-tree, 
 there is the great swing ; and just far enough away 
 for a delightful ramble, is the shady woodland, just 
 now charming with its wealth of spring violets, 
 buttercups, Jack-in-the-pulpits, and Sweet Williams. 
 
 "Let us go to the woods," exclaim the young 
 people; and a little later we find them searching 
 among the gnarled and outlying roots for the 
 "spring beauties" that nestle there ; and we who are 
 watching them observe that it is Richard who gath- 
 ers the choicest of these, and Richard who shyly 
 gives them to the cheery-faced, light-hearted girl, 
 whose voice, as she has walked by his side on the 
 tramp, has gayly caroled snatches of song-, as sweet 
 as that of the thrush on the bough overhead. 
 
 Nor could the elders remain indoors, and little
 
 CHARACTER STUDY 59 
 
 wonder ; for what seems more like a creation fresh 
 from the hand of God than does well-kept mead- 
 ows, green hillsides, and fields of growing grain, 
 after spring breezes have blown over them? So, 
 at least, thought the man of business, as he bared 
 his brow and drank in the quiet rural beauty. 
 Something akin to regret crossed his mind at the 
 contrast between this and the rush and hurry of 
 his own life. But no ; he could never be content 
 with the slow, plodding life of the farm. 
 
 As these two walked, Rachel and Margaret lin- 
 gered in the cozy sitting-room for reminiscences of 
 other days. But each was too busy a woman to 
 dwell long in the past. The growing interests of 
 their homes and children had pushed the past far- 
 ther and farther back. Not that dear old Lynton 
 was forgotten. It still remained as the dearest 
 and most beautiful picture silhouetted forever upon 
 memory. The members of each home circle were 
 yet borne in mind and loved, and at times yearned 
 for ; but to each woman 'had come a very busy life. 
 Each hour brought new duties, and sometimes 
 grave decisions. Just now they are discussing with 
 interest a question about which there is evidently 
 a disagreement. 
 
 "No, I can not consent." It is the clear, firm 
 voice of Rachel that speaks.
 
 60 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 "And why not? What possible harm?" And 
 there is a shade of annoyance in Margaret's tones. 
 
 They are discussing a dancing-school which has 
 lately been opened, in which Mrs. Newcomb has 
 placed, not only Richard and Marie, , but little 
 Therese as well, and she is urging Rachel to do the 
 same with at least her older children. 
 
 "Much possible harm every way, as I see it," 
 rejoined Rachel. "But, Margaret, we have gone 
 over this question, in some shape, so many times 
 together, it is hardly worth while to reopen it. I 
 accord you the right to make your own decisions, 
 to take what I conceive to be your own risks ; for 
 I believe them to be risks. You must allow me 
 the same freedom of choice." Yet Margaret con- 
 tinued : "You know I do not favor more than you 
 the public ball ; but for your children and mine, and 
 perhaps other neighbors' children, to dance together 
 in my home or yours is as innocent as as to 
 swing together," she concluded, as her eye fell 
 upon the creaking swing just outside. 
 
 "If children went no further than their parents 
 intended, Margaret," Rachel calmly answered, 
 "your argument would hold good. But do you re- 
 member Hazel Run, at Lynton, which began in a 
 clump of hazels on your father's farm, but later on 
 dashed a noisy cataract over the cliffs in Rocky
 
 CHARACTER STUDY 61 
 
 Hollow? How can you know but that, when your 
 children are older, and the world bids for them, as 
 it will, remembering that dancing and card-playing 
 bore the stamp of home approval, they may leave 
 your harmless, marked-out, home restraints as 
 surely as Hazel Run left its quiet beginnings ? Be- 
 sides," she continued, "if there were no other reason, 
 the Church by that I mean every orthodox 
 Church has either prohibited such amusements 
 or labeled them 'questionable.' " 
 
 "The Church!" Margaret interrupted vehe- 
 mently. "Such restrictions are obsolete. O true 
 daughter of Jacob Ewing," she continued, half- 
 whimsically, "will you never open your eyes to see 
 that even Church sentiment changes ? Dr. Herron's 
 children attend this questionable school, so do 
 Judge Gibson's ; and how could the Church meet 
 its financial obligations without the aid of these?" 
 
 "It is not for me to judge," responded Margaret ; 
 "but I can reason from results. Has it been your 
 observation that children brought up under the 
 influence of such lax, easy-going practices develop 
 that principle of self-sacrifice upon which the 
 Church of the past has rested? Is it frocn such 
 homes that the ranks of the ministry are recruited ; 
 that missionaries, ready to sacrifice life if need be, 
 go out? True, they may own a sort of Churchly
 
 62 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 allegiance, and may even contribute to its support, 
 realizing, as even the dullest must, that that civil- 
 ization which is the boast of our century is the off- 
 spring of Christian teaching." 
 
 Here the discussion was cut short by the return 
 of the husbands. These had lingered to discuss the 
 site of the new house. The stone for the foundation 
 was already on the ground, and as soon as the crops 
 were laid by, it was expected that the building would 
 begin. 
 
 As they lingered they had also talked earnestly 
 of the gathering war-cloud, now about bursting 
 over the land. Like an electric-shock, but a few 
 weeks before, pale lips had passed on the sentence, 
 "Sumter has fallen!" Even as these two old 
 friends talked, there came the awakening strains of 
 drum and fife, and close behind, as if by magic, an 
 army was springing from workshop and farm. 
 
 The very first blast of the tocsin had been 
 strangely thrilling to John Stevenson. But yester- 
 day there had been a mammoth "pole-raising." He 
 had been the one to float to the breeze at Burrton- 
 ville a bright new flag; and not one in the crowd 
 would have guessed that the still, quiet man, who 
 so steadily adjusted the bit of cloth, was longing to 
 snatch it and rush to the front of the battle. 
 
 But no such wild thoughts disturbed the mind
 
 CHARACTER STUDY 63 
 
 of Burrtonville's confessedly most astute financier, 
 William Newcomb. With the rapidity and cer- 
 tainty of a carefully-trained accountant, his mind 
 at once grasped the financial situation. There 
 would be armies to feed ; for this the Government 
 must buy grain. The calling off of men from their 
 regular pursuits would disturb the question of sup- 
 plies. "This conflict that is just on will last longer 
 than these poor fellows who are enlisting for sixty 
 days dream of. Now," he continued to reason, "if 
 I can buy up grain in these early months, and hold 
 it for the enormous demand and high prices that 
 are bound to come later, then " the pleased, far- 
 away smile told how gratifying was the antici- 
 pation. Through such different glasses did these 
 two men, walking side by side, view what appeared 
 the death-struggle of their country ! 
 
 But to carry out this plan, William Newcomb 
 knew that ready money was a necessity, and, as 
 often happens, his own available assets were already 
 "tied up" in other investments. "Now, if only these 
 beautiful acres were mine," 'he thought, covet- 
 ously a suggestion came ! Bending over, he asked 
 a question of the farmer, a question which brought 
 surprise and a measure of confusion, but to which, 
 after a moment of thought, he replied, "Rachel 
 and I will talk it over." Then, turning, they en-
 
 64 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 tered the house, interrupting, as we have seen, the 
 conversation between Rachel and Margaret. Once 
 there, the all-absorbing "war talk" became general, 
 and continued till the departure of the guests. 
 
 "Mother, I want to join that dancing-class," 
 was the announcement Louise startled her mother 
 with as they were busy about the evening work. 
 
 "What do you know of the dancing-class?" 
 asked her mother, in order to gain a little time. 
 
 Then followed a description of it and its advan- 
 tages, painted in the most glowing colors. But 
 Louise did not say to her mother perhaps she was 
 not herself conscious of it that that which lent a 
 roseate hue to the whole was, thait Richard had 
 paused for a moment, as he was leaving to say: 
 "Be sure to coax your mother to let you go. I 
 want you!" 
 
 "And, mother, Mildred Gibson and Will Herron 
 are going; and you know they are in my Sunday- 
 school class." 
 
 "And my daughter wants to do something be- 
 cause some one else does ?" interpolated her mother. 
 
 Then, tenderly, lovingly, this mother went over 
 with her daughter the reasons why she could not 
 grant her wish.
 
 CHARACTER STUDY 65 
 
 It was not easy for Louise to yield. Besides a 
 good, strong, healthy will of her own that struggled 
 for supremacy, there was a healthy body and an 
 exuberant flow of spirits, that readily responded 
 to what promised a genuine good time. But it was 
 at this juncture that the habit of obedience bore its 
 fruit. Louise had been accustomed to yield her 
 will and trust to the judgment of her mother, and 
 although it was hard, from her angle of fifteen years, 
 yet habit prevailed. 
 
 The conversations of the day show in what direc- 
 tions the young people of the two families are 
 started. Both are communicants at the same altar, 
 yet with what different feelings are they taught to 
 regard the obligations imposed. In one, the re- 
 strictions are considered irksome, to be ignored or 
 condemned as foolish and exacting. In the other 
 family, these same are shown, by the tender voice 
 of the mother and the no less kindly counsel of the 
 father, to be at least safe, and in the end helpful. 
 In the one, self-gratification has been restrained 
 from the cradle, and the happiness -of living for 
 others enforced by precept and example. In the 
 other, a want was but to be made known to be 
 gratified, if possible. 
 5
 
 66 RICHARD NKWCOMB 
 
 But outside of the parents themselves, there was 
 yet another molding influence at work. In the 
 Newcomb home there was an elegant library, whose 
 carved bookcases were filled with handsomely- 
 bound books really a good selection. There were 
 books of travel, books of poetry, some cumbrous 
 volumes of history ; but they stood up so prim and 
 regular, with altogether such a well-kept air, one 
 knew at once that they were unread, unloved. No ; 
 the Newcombs were not a reading family; that is, 
 there was no regularity in their habits to long for 
 a certain book ; to obtain it at last ; to read it aloud, 
 with appreciative listeners ; to come across a choice 
 passage that thrilled one with its beauty and truth, 
 as it is not given to even a Klondike nugget to 
 thrill. Of all this they knew nothing. Perhaps be- 
 cause all this implies a certain amount of leisure, 
 an unknown factor in the city home; for business 
 was coming to claim the father, even of evenings, 
 and society the mother. Indeed, with the years, 
 each child came to have its "engagements," so that 
 few evenings found the family at home. 
 
 But they did read! Ask Marie, ask Therese. 
 Stored away in their drawers, taken to bed even 
 with them, were novels of the most sensational 
 type, which the girls devoured rather than read. 
 Alas for the blindness ! Alas for the hurry ! The
 
 CHARACTER STUDY 67 
 
 pity of it is, that at this formative period in these 
 young lives there had not been one, with the in- 
 clination and leisure, whose happiness it might have 
 been to lead these ready minds out into the great 
 fields of thought, where, feeding, they would have 
 been broadened, deepened, and filled with an appre- 
 ciation of higher things, and bound them, with 
 silken fetters, to the Church of God! What sorrow 
 might have been averted ! 
 
 In that other home with which we have to do, 
 the reader already knows that, humble as it was, 
 books and good "periodicals had, from its begin- 
 ning, been a strong factor. The impress of these 
 has already been noted in the parents. It is be- 
 coming quite as visible in the children ; for, uncon- 
 sciously to one's self, what one reads molds one's 
 habits of thought; and habits of thought are the 
 springs of action. L/ouise, with fier gladsome, 
 buoyant nature, would not otherwise have so readily 
 yielded in the matter of attendance at the dancing- 
 school. It may be her mother was human enough 
 to ascribe this yielding wholly to her own wise 
 counsel ; but back of this, in the heart of this young 
 girl, was a pride in, a love for, and a loyalty to the 
 Church, which even the mother did not suspect. 
 Some way, somehow, she had caught a glimpse 
 of the "miracle" of the centuries; that is, the re-
 
 68 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 sistless growth and spread of God's kingdom among 
 men, of which that which they called the "Church" 
 was the visible sign. In this "plan" there had been 
 the "setting up" and setting down of kingdoms, 
 the transcendently conspicuous work of a few indi- 
 viduals; but even a casual reader could note that 
 the secret of power of this great whole had always 
 lain in the devotion and steadiness of purpose of 
 the individual, the unit; and, strange truth, exem- 
 plified over and over by all 'history, the individual, 
 the unit, had been able to accomplish the most for 
 itself and for the world, as it had placed itself in 
 harmony with this "plan." "Therefore," our young 
 friend reasoned, though she was scarcely conscious 
 of the reasoning, "it were 'better' to be in har- 
 mony. It were r better not/ perhaps after all, to 
 insist one one's own desires." 
 
 ***** 
 Night had fallen upon the sunshiny anniversary. 
 The children of the farmhouse, worn out by a day 
 of unusual pleasure, slept soundly. But the parents 
 lingered to talk over the events of the day, a sur- 
 prising one, of which Rachel now learned, had been 
 the confidential request of William Newcomb that, 
 inasmuch as he desired a sum of money to invest 
 in the immediate purchase of grain, John would 
 become surety for the same. The idea was not
 
 CHARACTER STUDY 69 
 
 relished by either; for anything savoring of debt 
 or obligation was peculiarly distasteful. But there 
 was absolutely no risk ; Newcomb's far-seeing busi- 
 ness instinct had become almost a proverb. 
 
 The conversations of the day had indicated a 
 growing estrangement an estrangement the farm- 
 folk did not relish. Might not this be an oppor- 
 tunity to indicate the real friendliness of their hearts, 
 and thus possibly bridge over the growing chasm ? 
 "Yes, it had better be done," was the decision. 
 
 This matter settled, the conversation drifted 
 back to the threatened war, and its probable length 
 was discussed. Suddenly there flashed upon Rachel 
 a realization of all the heartache involved. With her 
 mental vision she saw the sad farewells of husbands 
 and wives, the going out of brave young boys, who 
 had been the joy and pride of home. Was it strange 
 that she experienced a wave of thankfulness that 
 her eldest was so young? Arising, she went softly 
 to the bed where Asbury lay sleeping, and gently 
 kissed his forehead. "No, my treasures are not de- 
 manded," she said, and was glad. 
 
 O, blind Rachel ! Was there nothing to whisper 
 aught to you of the battle waging in the faithful 
 heart so near you? Can you not read the agony 
 written in the eyes that just now are so anxiously 
 watching you ?
 
 VI 
 
 The War An Accident Louise and 
 Richard 
 
 THE next few months slipped by with startling 
 rapidity. On the farm, heavy crops had been 
 harvested, and lumber was ready for the new 
 house, which John seemed strangely loth to begin. 
 At the mill, William's prophecy had been fulfilled. 
 The business had certainly quadrupled. Instead of 
 the war-cloud blowing over, as many had hoped, it 
 gathered in intensity. And in these first few 
 months the Nation seemed in the throes of (Jissolu- 
 tion, as news of continued defeats flew northward. 
 This be'came the absorbing topic all else dropped 
 into insignificance. 
 
 One evening in the early autumn, John Steven- 
 son sat reading the Daily, which in these troub- 
 lous times had suddenly grown to be a household 
 necessity. Suddenly he' threw it aside, with the 
 remark, "Another call for volunteers." Something 
 in his voice caught his wife's ear. In a moment 
 she was by his side, her arms about him. "You 
 you surely you do n't think " but she could not 
 
 70
 
 THE WAR 71 
 
 finish, only to gasp, "O ! the children !" Ge'ntly 
 he told of his long struggle, how duty seemed urg- 
 ing, nay, driving him to the front. "And what a 
 coward! How the children, and even yourself, 
 would have a right to blush for me if I failed my 
 country in this supreme hour of nee'd!" As he 
 talked, his face lighted and glowed with the thrill 
 of patriotism, and, with breaking heart and ready 
 intuition, the wife perceived how useless would be 
 a prote'st against his heart convictions. 
 
 For answer, she silently bowed her head upon 
 his breast. With a lightning-like flash she saw the 
 weary years ahead. No more sweet counsel to- 
 gether. Upon her alone must rest that burden. 
 Somehow, she must take upon herself the manage- 
 ment of the farm. And then O, dreadful thought ! 
 so many had marched off never to come back. 
 They had died in battle', on the wearisome march, 
 or of wasting disease in hospitals. 
 
 Could she stand it ? Ought she 1 to ? Ah ! but 
 there was the bleeding Nation, and its strong, 
 great-hearted President, calling for brave men ! 
 
 Other women's hearts were breaking ; why not 
 hers ? She lifted her head, and her husband knew 
 her heart had said, "Aye." 
 
 A few days later, at the supper-table, William 
 Newcomb announced, "John has enliste'd." He and
 
 72 RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 his wife talked much of the unwisdom of the act; 
 but in the heart of each there was a respect for the 
 brave soldier which neither cared to acknowledge 
 to the other. "His regiment is about full, and he 
 will go to the front in another week," Newcomb 
 added, as he left the room. 
 
 How readily we adjust ourselves to the inevi- 
 table ! A week ago the sun had shone so brightly ! 
 Rachel remembered, in a dazed kind of way, that 
 she had been so happy when Asbury had come 
 home from the academy but a little while ago, and 
 announced his promotion as a reward for some 
 extra study he had been doing. Could such a small 
 thing ever make her happy again ? With hardly a 
 sigh, the plans for the new house were' given up. 
 So does a greater grief absorb our lesser ones. 
 
 The last few days were given to the hurried 
 preparation of some articles necessary for the com- 
 fort of the dear one. At first, the grief of the chil- 
 dren knew no bounds. Asbury, proud in his 
 seventeen years, begged to accompany his father ; 
 but no the mother was firm that sacrifice had 
 not been demanded of her. 
 
 Louise went to bed, dreaming of hospitals, 
 bandages, and of broken limbs. Could the mother 
 have looked into that warm, impulsive heart, she
 
 THE WAR 73 
 
 would have been surprised at the ambitious plans 
 brooding there. As for Ruth, it was touching to 
 watch her, as she silently followed her father about 
 the house, watching an opportunity to slip her 
 hand in his, or cuddle in his lap. They had always 
 been peculiarly knit together, and for them the 
 parting promised to be hard. 
 
 On the day following his enlistment, he was sur- 
 prised, while at the barn, to hear childish sobs 
 above him. With a swift, silent step, he reached 
 the mow. There, prone on the hay, lay little' Ruth. 
 "Father, O father! we will die without you!" he 
 heard her sob. In a moment he had gathered her 
 to his arms, and tenderly, as though she' had been 
 older, he explained the grave needs of the hour; 
 then added, "And my little girl may help by pray- 
 ing each day and night for my return." After this 
 there' were no tears; but the faithful little body 
 followed him like a shadow. 
 
 The last week slipped by surely, never had a 
 week hurried so. The last morning dawned, clear, 
 bright, beautiful. As Rachel mechanically opened 
 the blinds, she noticed as much, and that the early 
 frosts were scattering the leaves from the great 
 elm. Already there' seemed a pathos in the tossing 
 of the bare limbs. "It is as well," she murmured
 
 74 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 to herself. "Let them toss and moan, if they will, 
 as winter's blasts fall upon them. 'T is but a type 
 of life's emptiness." 
 
 John was to leave before noon ; and before the 
 home adieus were said, he went mechanically to the 
 barn, ostensibly for a last word with the hired man, 
 but in reality to take leave of the animals that 
 for so long had been a part of his life. Black Nell, 
 that had faithfully helped to draw the great wagon 
 westward so long ago, was no more ; but Princess, 
 her daughter and counterpart, stood contentedly in 
 her stall, and gave a low whinny of recognition, 
 and rubbed her nose against the arm of her master. 
 But time was passing, and voices on the outside 
 'were calling. John paused a moment at the stall of 
 "Superb," a great stallion, noted alike for his 
 strength and at times for his viciousness. Why 
 does he chafe so? What is that about his hoof? 
 Ah ! in his pawing he has loosed a board ; and see ! 
 a nail has been thrust in the hoof. To se'e anything 
 wrong, with John Stevenson was but to try to 
 remedy it; so, with a "Stand still, there, Superb," 
 he entered the stall and stooped to adjust 
 
 It was well that the man who was to help on the 
 farm opened the bar-door just then; for a sharp 
 moan went up, then all was still. A few minutes 
 later, Rachel saw them bearing a still burden
 
 AN ACCIDENT 75 
 
 straight to her door. Five minutes later, Black 
 Princess was galloping rapidly to Burrtonville for 
 medical help. John Stevenson was seriously in- 
 jured, if not killed. As he lay back upon the pil- 
 lows, it looked the latter, Outside the door we're 
 grouped the frightened children. Asbury had 
 flown to Burrtonville for the doctor. Louise had 
 grasped little Rose, and, not knowing what she 
 did, began humming a nursery ditty. Poor Rachel, 
 utterly stunned, with a heart that seemed sud- 
 denly to have become lead, walked first to the bed, 
 then to the door to look anxiously down the high- 
 way towards Burrtonville. 
 
 The jaunty blue soldier's cap lay on the floor, 
 where it had dropped from the improvised litter. ' 
 Mechanically she picked it up, and there rushed in 
 upon her a realization of what was to have been 
 and what was. 
 
 But it was left for Ruth timid, yet practical 
 Ruth to go softly to the bed, rub the cold hands 
 and bathe the brow, till a low moan told that he 
 yet lived. 
 
 The physician gravely shook his head. One 
 cruel stroke of the great hoofs had broken a limb, 
 while another had injured the spine, it could not be 
 told how seriously. For a week the father lay be- 
 tween life and death, and while he so lay, the
 
 76 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 company that was to have been his marched away. 
 Two days before their departure, Rachel went to 
 William Newcomb, and, handing him a roll of bills, 
 said : "If my husband lives, he can not go. To do 
 so was his heart's desire. Take this money we 
 had saved it for a new house get two 'substi- 
 tutes' in his place. The country needs them, and 
 the log-house will do." Brave, patriotic Rachel! 
 There were thousands like her. Can we of a 
 younger generation ever appreciate the sacrifices 
 of those terrible days? 
 
 It was found that John Stevenson would not 
 die. He would live but for a time, at best, an 
 invalid. 
 
 While he is being nursed back to health, we 
 must again look in upon the young people, and 
 another visit to the Newcomb home becomes 
 necessary. 
 
 It has been se'en that the older ones of each 
 family were in the academy. But teachers and 
 parents found it hard to hold the young mind down 
 to study. Outside was the roll of drums, and 
 "news from the front" was the all-absorbing topic. 
 In all this, as a matter of course, the boys became 
 intensely interested. In every village, town, and
 
 AN ACCIDENT 77 
 
 hamlet, "companies" were formed, a captain 
 chosen, and the "common" became a drill-ground, 
 where youthful patriotism huzzaed itself hoarse. 
 Burrtonville had its company, and, after its 
 marches and countermarches, usually, its young 
 captain would be led to a goods-box, from which, 
 with youthful fervor, he would orate upon the 
 day's struggle. This captain was Richard New- 
 comb, who seemed born for leadership. Hearing 
 the huzza, even the busy William Newcomb would 
 smile ; for his "dream" lay in his handsome, boyish- 
 faced Richard. The late investments of this man 
 of business had surprised even himself by their 
 quick returns ; but he found fortune a stern mis- 
 tress. He must make no reservations if he would 
 serve her. When his soul rebelled at the bonds, 
 he would comfort himself, saying : "The strain will 
 soon be over. I shall have amassed a great for- 
 tune, and then ." His wife, always a doting 
 mother, as she perceived Richard and Marie slip- 
 ping into manhood and womanhood, determined 
 that they should have every advantage' which the 
 money and social prestige, which were theirs, could 
 procure. 
 
 The young people of Burrtonville had learned 
 to love the great, roomy parlor and spacious din- 
 ing-room beyond; for in them charming evenings
 
 78 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 had been spent now in the "harmless" parlor 
 dance, now at the low whist-tables. Both Richard 
 and Marie had become skillful players at the last. 
 When the proper hour would arrive, Margaret, 
 the gracious hostess, and Marie, daintily gowned, 
 would serve the refreshments. 
 
 The Newcombs' grounds boasted many trellises 
 of the choicest grapes, and, under the' supervision 
 of the mistress herself, each year, casks of home- 
 made wines were stored in the cellar, which were' 
 drawn upon for these same refreshments; and 
 usually it was Marie's own hand that poured the 
 rich liquid. Yes, what with music, dancing, cards, 
 and wine, the' evenings did pass gayly. 
 
 It is true, some parents shook their heads ; but 
 then, "the Newcombs were so eminently respect- 
 able, and besides, Church members." Moreover, 
 as a society leader, Mrs. Newcomb was often 
 heard to express her strong disapproval of public 
 dances ; only could they be allowed in the parlors 
 of home or friends. When one suggested that 
 "cards" belonged by right to the saloon or brothel, 
 her reply was, "Boys had better learn at home, 
 so there would be no temptation to assail them 
 when they were' out in the world." "As for wine," 
 here her lip would curl contemptuously, "as if one 
 could not control their appetite! It would be a
 
 LOUISE AND RICHARD 79 
 
 weak person indeed who could not sip a glass of 
 home-made wine without be'coming a drunkard." 
 Yet even now, could she have caught the whisper, 
 it was beginning to be said outside the home, that 
 the handsome son of this handsome woman, who 
 felt so sure' of the correctness of her views, was 
 already becoming too fond of his cups. 
 
 Margaret Newcomb prided herself upon the 
 fact that she was "progressive." It was a favorite 
 saying of hers that "we ought not to try to hold 
 our young people down to the notions of half a 
 century ago; and as for the Church! well, if 
 the 1 Church would hold its young people, let it 
 modernize." 
 
 It was strange that among the molding influ- 
 ences that shaped this family, the contents of the 
 handsomely-carved bookcase did not exert a 
 greater influence. Strange, too, that among all 
 the elegantly-bound books there was such an utter 
 absence of any specifically religious. No, not 
 strange, if we recall the elder Richard Allen and 
 his seed-sowing, and the truth that the harvest is 
 greater than the sowing. 
 
 But among the' young people of Burrtonville 
 there was one family whose young people had no 
 part in these social evenings at the Newcomb's. 
 We say "young people of Burrtonville," for though
 
 8o RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 the Stevenson farm lay two- mile's distant, yet so 
 closely were the inmates associated with the 
 Church and school indeed, with all the interests 
 of the town that for all practical purposes they 
 were a part of it. 
 
 From the anniversary-day, when Rachel 
 Stevenson had so clearly expressed her convic- 
 tions, it had been understood that, while at other 
 times the Stevenson boys and girls were glad to 
 be at "Aunt Margaret's," on these social evenings 
 they would be absent. We should not be a true 
 chronicler if we were to say that this entailed no 
 hardship upon these wide-awake, fun-loving young 
 people, or that there never were any question- 
 ings, nor hints at rebellion; but we can say, that 
 when a victory has been once gained (as had been), 
 subsequent ones become easier; for a successful 
 life, after all, is made' up of many small victories, 
 rather than one or two great ones. But upon 
 Richard, accustomed to have his own way, this 
 decision fell the hardest; for from the days when 
 he and Louise had played at housekeeping be- 
 neath the elms, she had been his comrade, his boy- 
 ish ideal, nor had dawning manhood changed this, 
 and to be thus peremptorily deprived of his old- 
 time playmate in hfs social life was unendurable.
 
 IX>UISE AND RICHARD 81 
 
 But Mrs. Stevenson remained firm; so, while the 
 Newcombs danced in their lovely parlors, making 
 the evenings gay with laughter and song, Louise, 
 Asbury, and Ruth took turns in reading aloud to 
 their invalid father, or studied the lessons for the 
 
 morrow. 
 6
 
 VII 
 Academy Life, and Home Evenings 
 
 THESE were months of anxiety and care to 
 the Stevensons. 
 
 Let us go back to the day when the father 
 was carried in so cruelly injured. The' broken limb 
 easily healed; but excruciating pain revealed the 
 fact that a serious injury to the back had occurred, 
 and it was months before it was known whether 
 he' would again walk. Twice came the sowing, 
 and twice the reaping, before he crept forth upon 
 his staff, in appearance an old man. 
 
 During the first few months of his invalidism, 
 Rachel suddenly found herself face to face with 
 seve'ral problems which, unlike previous ones that 
 had arisen, could not be settled by mutual coun- 
 sel. One was the question of the farm manage- 
 ment; another, involved in the first, was, should 
 Asbury and Louise remain in the 1 academy ? Each 
 was strong and well-built. Would it not be wise 
 to have their help at home during this emergency ? 
 While others slept, she, wide awake, viewed these 
 questions on each side. 
 
 82
 
 ACADEMY LIFE, AND HOME EVENINGS 83 
 
 "No," she finally said, "they must remain in 
 school at all hazards." So the trusty farm-hand, 
 who was to have staid during her husband's ab- 
 sence, was retained. The younger boys were now 
 sturdy lads, and these, with Ruth, became now, 
 more than ever, their mother's helpers, remain- 
 ing at home during the first winter, reserving, 
 though, a part of the time for study and recitation, 
 either to Asbury or Louise. This was a necessity ; 
 for the invalid required the constant care of his 
 wife. 
 
 Outside the school hours, Asbury and Louise 
 lent willing hands; but they were each near the 
 final year of the course, and their studies required 
 much time. Besides, it was her father's wish that 
 Louise should devote as much time as was pos- 
 sible to her music. Her voice was a rich soprano. 
 Each month appeared to add clearness, strength, 
 and volume to it so said her teachers ; but there 
 was about it an indescribable touch of pathos which 
 touched the hearts of those who heard her sing. 
 
 Richard Newcomb, it may be said, sang too 
 a deep, musical tenor and sometimes, as these 
 well-chorded voices rang out together, as they now 
 often did, from the plain little sitting-room, a 
 curious fear smote Rachel's he'art ; but she brushed 
 it aside. "They are but children, and have played
 
 84 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 together from the cradle." Still, unconsciously, 
 she found herself paraphrasing Rebekah's old la- 
 ment, "What sorrow to my soul, if my daughter 
 take a husband of the sons of Heth!" 
 
 So, with work and with not a few anxieties, 
 the days of John Stevenson's invalidism went by. 
 
 "Rachel," said he one day, while he was yet 
 in bed, "the time for that note to be paid, for 
 which I became security, has passed. Has New- 
 comb mentioned the matter lately?" 
 
 "No ; but I must go in to Burrtonville this after- 
 noon, and will see him." 
 
 An hour later she was interviewing the rich 
 owner of not only the most prosperous mills in all 
 Western Illinois, but the largest dealer in real 
 estate as well. 
 
 Now, while the investment for which Newcomb 
 had borrowed the money had proven successful, 
 still there had come so many wonderful openings, 
 the sum had been reinvested again and again. Just 
 now it was out ; but next week it would lie in the 
 bank, and a stroke of the pen would cancel the 
 note. This much he explained to Rachel. 
 
 "But I would rather it was paid," said John, 
 when the message was given to him. "Go to him 
 again, and say I can not allow my name to re- 
 main longer."
 
 ACADEMY LIFE, AND HOME EVENINGS 85 
 
 Surely, his long confinement was telling on his 
 nerves. Still, the message was taken. William 
 Newcomb bowed in acquiescence, and said, "It 
 shall be as he said." And both John and Rachel 
 felt a relief that it was "settled." 
 
 During the last winter of the convales- 
 cence, an event occurred which, on account of 
 its bearing upon the two families, must not fail 
 of being chronicled. A great religious awaken- 
 ing occurred. Beginning in the church where our 
 friends worshiped, it spre'ad throughout the city. 
 Its effects were particulary noticeable in the acad- 
 emy, nearly the entire school being converted. 
 
 With the Stevetisons, each child had in its in- 
 fancy been presented for baptism ; and later on, 
 after careful instructions in Church doctrines and 
 usages, had been received into full membership in 
 accordance' with the plan of their Church. To 
 neither of these children had it occurred that any- 
 thing further was necessary. Yet, again and again, 
 came the reiterated message from the lips of the 
 earnest preacher, "Ye must be born again," fol- 
 lowed by the strange altar scenes, where, amid 
 tears, prayers, and songs, a face would suddenly 
 brighten, and glowing with a strange light, would 
 exclaim, "It is finished!" 
 
 Louise had never doubted that she was a
 
 86 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 child of God, as indeed she was, yet she was the 
 first among her brothers and sisters to feel the need 
 of something which as yet she had not possessed ; 
 and in her own impulsive way, without a word to 
 the home-folks, she knelt at the altar, where she 
 poured out her young soul in prayer. Presently a 
 strange peace stole into her heart. ' She remained 
 yet a little while upon her knees, then arose, with 
 the joy born of the consciousness of Christ's Spirit 
 within illuminating her face. 
 
 O, young, impulsive, warm-hearted Louise! 
 Could you have seen the weary years and heart- 
 aches ahead, the heavy trials that await you, the 
 work He has for you, you might perhaps have 
 lingered even longer, to pray that through it all 
 this new-found joy and peace might always be 
 yours ! 
 
 It was a matter of comment between the father 
 and mother during these meetings that Asbury 
 took little or no interest in them. For awhile he 
 had been regular in his attendance, but finally con- 
 trived to stay away upon one pretext or another. 
 One night, after the family had come home from 
 church and had fallen asleep, Rachel was awakened 
 by a noise' in the little bedroom where Asbury 
 slept, and a voice calling, "Father, mother, come 
 here!" Each hastened with a fear of sudden ill-
 
 ACADEMY L,IFE, AND HOME EVENINGS 87 
 
 ness. What was their surprise to find Asbury up 
 and dressed, and in tears, and to be met with the 
 exclamation, "I must have this question of 'salva- 
 tion' settled now." 
 
 With tender and tactful inquiries, both parents 
 sought to find the difficulty. Born, baptized, and 
 brought up in the Church, taking a delight in her 
 worship, well-read in her literature, grounded in 
 her doctrines, still there was a hungering in the 
 soul, a burden on the heart. The hortatory style of 
 the preacher had aroused a conviction of personal 
 unworthiness. For weeks the burden had grown 
 heavier, till now it was unbearable. Fortunately, 
 from earliest childhood, religious talks between 
 children and parents had been common; so there 
 was none of that shrinking timidity which at such 
 times frequently drives the seeker to some other 
 than the family. Grasping the situation at once, 
 the father got his Bible, and both he and the 
 mother began to point out the Scriptures, making 
 plain the wondrous plan of salvation, showing, 
 however exemplary the life, there yet re'mained 
 necessary the individual surrender of self, and the 
 acceptance of a personal Savior. 
 
 Suddenly there came an illumination of the 
 mind. The wondrous simplicity of it all dawned 
 upon the struggling youth, and while his mother's
 
 88 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 voice was yet petitioning the Throne, he exclaimed 
 "I see it all ! 
 
 'The great transaction's done; 
 
 I am the Lord's and He is mine.' " 
 
 And now it was John and Rachel Stevenson's 
 turn to be surprised. Could this be their quiet 
 and reticent boy, who, with beaming face, was 
 shouting aloud, praising God, till the brown old 
 rafters fairly shook with the echo? 
 
 Old-fashioned ? Yes, perhaps ; but it was that 
 blessed "old-fashion" that, throughout the ages, 
 has made the Church strong and stalwart; that 
 has implanted and nourishe'd such clear conviction 
 of right and wrong; that, at a word, armies have 
 sprung into existence to do battle for the right! 
 The same "old-fashion" that has sent pioneer 
 preachers and teachers to the western wilds till, 
 to-day, they blossom as the rose, has sent out 
 missionaries till, from heathen lands to-day, is 
 wafted news of a nation being born in a day ; and, 
 quite as necessary as any of those' "greater" rje- 
 sults, has planted in every Church, no matter how 
 humble, those who cheerfully become the "bur- 
 den-bearers," and in their daily lives exemplify the 
 Master's power to save. 
 
 During the remaining weeks of the meeting,
 
 ACADEMY LIFE, AND HOME EVENINGS 89 
 
 none were more faithful, none more earnest, and 
 none quite so successful as a personal worker as 
 the erstwhile timid Asbury Stevenson. 
 
 Nor were the Newcombs left unmoved. With 
 the religious feeling as intense as it was, it could 
 not have been otherwise. 
 
 Asbury's conversion was hardly less a source 
 of joy to the Stevensons than was Richard New- 
 comb's. Indeed, Rachel seemed to rejoice more 
 than his mother, who said, carelessly, "Certainly, 
 I expected that the children, as they grew older, 
 would identify themselves more closely with the 
 Church. Religion is right and proper. It is the 
 'extremes' that are disagreeable." 
 
 A word about Richard Newcomb and his 
 mother. It is one of the strange things which we 
 meet with in life that a mother frequently allows 
 herself to become absolutely blinded as to her 
 children's morals and habits. Now that Richard 
 was nearing manhood, his mother did not appear 
 to realize that for her son the old home-evenings 
 had lost their charm, and more and more, upon 
 one pretext and another, he was coming to spend 
 these evenings outside of the family circle. At 
 first, he made a feint of going to his father's office ; 
 but there was little to interest him there, as he 
 knew nothing of the business. Besides, in the
 
 90 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 last few months, his father was growing nervous 
 and irascible, and to wear a haggard and worn 
 look, and seemed ready to find fault, upon little 
 or no provocation, with his pleasure-loving son. 
 Yet if home was tiresome, the office atmosphere 
 unpleasant, he did not need to seek far for hearty 
 good-fellowship. 
 
 Burrtonville had changed much since the old 
 days of log-houses and stumpy streets. It had al- 
 ready begun to ape metropolitan airs in many 
 ways, and also to reproduce city vices with start- 
 ling exactness. 
 
 So, in the' brilliantly-lighted rooms, where the 
 clink of glasses was often heard, together with 
 the coarse laugh and jest, and the steady click 
 of the billiard balls, Richard, at first, occasionally 
 dropped in for an "evening." The "occasions" 
 became frequent, till, at the date of which we 
 speak, he was scarcely ever at home; and worse, 
 Marie, whose rooms adjoined his, knew that at 
 times he came home staggering, maudlin. Was 
 this all unknown to the mother? No one knew. 
 If so, pride kept her silent; but it is more likely 
 that faith in the devil's choicest saying, "Let him 
 alone ; he must sow his wild oats," formed a large 
 part of her creed at this juncture. 
 
 Yet, if his mother kept sealed lips, Dame
 
 ACADEMY L,IFE, AND HOME EVENINGS 91 
 
 Rumor did not, and it became current among his 
 acquaintances that "Young Newcomb was going 
 to the bad." Bits of this rumor could not fail to 
 reach the Stevenson home, where it appeared to 
 carry more dismay than to his own home. 
 
 Louise, with the old, imperious stamp of her 
 foot, declared it all false, a shameless specimen 
 of gossip. She had known Richard always, and 
 knew the kindliness and honor of his soul, the 1 
 loftiness of his ideals. That he should fall be- 
 low these, degrade himself by becoming a common 
 drunkard her loyal heart spurned the thought! 
 So Rachel carried a double burden: Real sorrow 
 over the misdeeds of one who had grown up as 
 her own misdeeds in which she was compelled to 
 believe; and an awakening misgiving conce'rning 
 that one of hers who was so ready to defend the 
 sinner. Therefore it was with extreme satisfac- 
 tion that she and hers beheld the zeal, and watched 
 the glow and fervor of Richard Newcomb in these 
 days of his early Christian life. They had yet to 
 learn, as do we all, that while grace does much 
 for a soul, it can not take the place of careful 
 training and settled Christian principle 1 , and that 
 the modern Christian sower finds, as did the one 
 in Galilee, that not a little of his work withers 
 away in the heat of every-day temptation.
 
 VIII 
 
 Asbury's Decision The Newcombs 
 
 EIGHTEEN hundred and sixty-five! What 
 memories are yet evoked in the hearts of 
 many by the bare mention of this date ! 
 
 During all these years, since John Stevenson's 
 company had marched away without him, the 
 great, bloody conflict had been waging. The Na- 
 tion had lived at fever-heat. The ordinary affairs 
 of life were forgotten in the excitement of "news 
 from the front." Slowly, though, within the last 
 few months, the war-cloud had been- lifting. 
 Rumors of peace were afloat. Finally came the 
 news of Lee's surrender, and soon the steady 
 tramp of thousands of returning brave men shook 
 the streets of cities and aroused country hamlets. 
 
 How the lusty cheers went up from many 
 throats as groups of bronzed veterans came march- 
 ing down the streets ! Usually the fleet telegraph 
 had announced their coming; then a proud and 
 happy citizenship welcomed them with the wildest 
 enthusiasm. Alas! that in the midst of this joy, 
 grief had a right to intrude ! Amid the joyous, 
 
 92
 
 ASBURY'S DECISION THE NEWCOMBS 93 
 
 welcoming crowd there were many black-robed 
 figures, who wept because not all who had so 
 bravely marched away were among the return- 
 ing ones. 
 
 At such times, Rachel Stevenson's heart ached 
 for her husband ; for the pallor of his face and the 
 tightening of the lips told how great the trial of 
 invalidism instead of active service had been. 
 
 We have seen that the Stevensons were pa- 
 triotic; therefore they were intensely interested 
 in the close of the war. Still, this interest could 
 not wholly overshadow the events which were oc- 
 curring in their own family events of great mo- 
 ment, both for the present, and for the' years to 
 come. In June, Asbury was to be graduated from 
 the academy. It had been hard, during the closing 
 years, to hold him down to study. Once, when 
 a specially urgent "call" for troops was made, he' 
 insisted upon going. To this his mother emphatic- 
 ally said: "No; you are too young for efficient 
 service ;" adding, "There are as truly great battle- 
 fields ahead. God would have you prepare' your- 
 self, that he may use you where he will." 
 
 As his graduation drew near, he and his parents 
 were, each in their way, giving much thought to 
 his immediate 1 future. It soon became known to 
 the "home-folks" that Asbury was carrying a
 
 94 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 "burden" which he had not yet shared with the 
 family. 
 
 Like many another mother, Mrs. Stevenson had 
 found that there is an age when it is not wise to 
 follow a boy or question him too closely. Be- 
 sides, this son of hers had inherited from his father 
 a trait which made him more difficult of access; 
 that is, concerning that which he felt most, he 
 said least. 
 
 Therefore, she felt that at this juncture he 
 would be stronger if some questions were settled 
 without word of hers. 
 
 It was a source of comfortable thought to 
 know that the "college fund," dating back to the 
 plan of the gift of the cows, when each child in the 
 family came to the age of ten years, had now 
 grown until there was on deposit sufficient to give 
 each two or three years at a university. That 
 much assured, somehow the rest would come. 
 
 But to return to Asbury. One day, about a 
 month before his graduation, he surprised his 
 mother by coming home during school-hours. 
 
 "Why, how does it happen that you are home 
 at this hour? Are you sick?" was the natural 
 query. "No;" and vouchsafing no further reply, 
 he passed into his room remaining there till called 
 for the evening meal. Later, at evening prayer,
 
 ASBURY'S DECISION THE NEWCOMBS 95 
 
 after a bit of natural hesitation, he said, "Now we 
 are all together, I want to tell you that it is settled." 
 "What is settled?" came in chorus from his 
 brothers and sisters. But his mother, who had 
 watched his struggle with an anxiety all unknown 
 to him, arose, and, putting her arms about him, 
 said, "That you are to preach the gospel, is it 
 not ?" For answer came a tightening of the hand- 
 clasp, tears fell from his eyes, and his head bowed 
 assent. 
 
 Yes ; from the memorable night of his conver- 
 sion, he had carried about with him, as he told 
 them, the constantly-increasing burden, "Woe is 
 me if I preach not the gospel." Now he had rolled 
 it off in unquestioning obedience. 
 
 How quickly affairs adjust themselves to suit 
 new conditions! Within a week after Asbury's 
 decision, it had been determined that, after a sum- 
 mer spent in helping on the farm, he should en- 
 roll as a student at a university in another State. 
 This university, in addition to its excellent theolog- 
 ical course, had a comprehensive and thorough 
 course, open alike to young women as well as 
 young men. After much consultation, it was 
 further decided that Louise should forego her last 
 year in the academy and accompany him, an ar- 
 rangement in which the young lady cheerfully
 
 96 RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 acquiesced, but hardly with the enthusiasm her 
 parents would have been glad to have seen dis- 
 played. 
 
 ***** 
 
 This being an interwoven history, we must now 
 return to Richard Newcomb, with whom we have 
 not had to do since his conversion, three years 
 ago. 
 
 During all this time his life had been exem- 
 plary. But who can estimate' the force of habit, 
 or thwart the power of molding influences upon 
 childhood ? One of the greatest hindrances which 
 he and his sisters encountered in their efforts to 
 live Christian lives was a lack (unconscious per- 
 haps, yet none the less truly a lack) of reverence 
 for the Church and respect for its teachings. This 
 was wholly the result of their bringing up. Dur- 
 ing their entire 1 life they heard criticisms concern- 
 ing it, and had heard its requirements scoffed at 
 and seen them disregarded. Besides, though not 
 one member of this proud and cultured family 
 would have been willing to acknowledge it, they 
 were really all wofully ignorant in regard to this 
 one matter. The glorious past of the Church, with 
 its splendid line of achievements, was utterly un- 
 known. To them, the organization at Burrton- 
 ville was the Church. If one of the good deacons
 
 ASBURY'S DECISION THE NEWCOMBS 97 
 
 deviated from the strait and narrow path, or if 
 his wife were shrewish and took an undue inter- 
 est in her neighbors' affairs, this at once became 
 an argument against the Church. If at time's 
 certain of the members displayed more zeal than 
 culture, these aesthetic young people smiled, in a 
 patronizing way, and gave "the Church" a dis- 
 credit mark. 
 
 With the' well-read young people of the farm 
 it was otherwise. They knew that, back of these, 
 was a long line of illustrious scholars, poets, and 
 statesmen indeed, almost the entire scholarship 
 of the world who had been proud to give their 
 allegiance to this same Church. 
 
 As for its current history, the Newcombs knew 
 less of it than of the most trivial political affair 
 in their own land, or indeed of the nations of the 
 earth. It could not be 1 otherwise; for the books 
 upon the library shelves covered almost every field 
 except that of religion. The magazines, which 
 monthly loaded their reading-table, were' rich in 
 serials, portraying life, whether among the great 
 or lowly, picturing its loves and hates with skill- 
 ful touch; but of the Church they were silent, 
 save as, perhaps, some one of its philanthropies 
 touched the world. 
 
 Looking back to the weeks when these young 
 7
 
 98 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 \ 
 
 people started, in a deeper sense, to live a Chris- 
 tian life, it seems strange that it did not occur 
 to either this father or mother that their children 
 needed now, particularly at this crucial time, a 
 helpful Christian literature. Mr. Newcomb could 
 not have imagined himself living without his favor- 
 ite political paper; Mrs. Newcomb had her own 
 specialities in the newspaper and magazine world. 
 But that there was needed, as a factor in the family 
 life, a paper devoted to the Church, giving its 
 current events and discussing its questions of in- 
 terest, was not thought of or conside'red. 
 
 There was yet another hindrance that made a 
 Christian life hard, and that was the habits of 
 these young people. Their fe'et were nimble in 
 the dance, and their hands were skillful with cards. 
 They loved the taste of their mother's rich wines, 
 and had been taught to believe this right. It is 
 little wonder that, erelong, Marie and Therese, 
 though retaining a nominal membership, relapsed 
 into the old way. 
 
 What of Richard, "handsome Richard," as his 
 mother fondly called him? Is he able to stand 
 where others fell? To answer this question will 
 be one of the provinces of the following pages of 
 this "home story." We have seen that since his 
 conversion his life has been exemplary. His was
 
 ASBURY'S DECISION THE NEWCOMBS 99 
 
 really a noble nature, and his heart was full of 
 lofty ideals. Nature had, indeed, richly endowed 
 him. He was a "born comrade;" for added to 
 his fine physique was a hearty, genial manner that 
 drew all hearts to him. 
 
 He and Asbury Stevenson were classmates, 
 and it was plain, even to Rachel, that where As- 
 bury plodded, Richard easily soared, so graciously 
 did knowledge unfold herself to him. We have 
 seen him, during his boyhood, as the boyish orator, 
 firing the hearts of his "military company." We 
 see him now, in the closing years of his academic 
 life, the easily-recognized leader in all debate. Nor 
 were there any better informed than he upon the 
 great questions that were just then threatening 
 to rend the nation in twain. 
 
 One of the great events of his boyhood had 
 been a debate, held in his native town, between 
 the two great sons of Illinois, Abraham Lincoln 
 and Stephen A. Douglas. He was captivated by 
 the sturdy common sense, keen wit, and irresistible 
 logic of Lincoln. He followed the speaker's every 
 movement, and edged his way, through the great, 
 huzzaing crowd, quite to the speaker's side; and 
 no gray head watched with more interest the flash 
 of the kindling eye, or noted more accurately the 
 deep conviction which lighted up the plain, rugged
 
 ioo RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 features. From that hour the political questions 
 of the day were of supreme interest to him. 
 
 Little wonder that, as his academic life drew 
 to its close, many predicted a brilliant future for 
 this favorite. Remembering the time, not so long- 
 in the past, when this same loved student had been 
 anything but studious, and when rumor had been 
 rife with his name, many said, "What a reforma- 
 tion!" Such did not know, neither did keen-eyed 
 Rachel suspect, that, stronger than the attractive, 
 beckoning finger of future usefulness and fame, 
 stronger even than his love to God, was the grow- 
 ing and deepening love between himself and 
 Louise, and that this was the slender, silken cord 
 which was drawing him away from the evil into a 
 sincere desire for the good.
 
 IX 
 
 A Love Affair, and a Mother's View of It 
 
 DIMLY the old brick walls of Burrtonville 
 Academy loomed up that June evening in 
 the dusky shadow of the moon. The trees in the 
 campus were laden with their heavie'st foliage, and 
 the drooping branches cast shadowy outlines upon 
 the winding walks, over which little groups of 
 students, mostly in twos, sauntered in the moon- 
 light. It was Commencement-week, and the even- 
 ing of the college social. The walk led up quite 
 near to the building, where it divided, leading up 
 to the two entrances, le'aving a triangular bit of 
 ground, filled with the choicest flowers. Just now 
 the air was heavy with the rich wealth and fra- 
 grance of masses of June roses. Among the 
 shadows, on the great stone steps, sat a young 
 girl and her companion. In her lap lay a cluster 
 of roses she had gathered in passing, the petals 
 of which she aimlessly scattered, as the low, earnest 
 tone's of her companion fell in sweet cadence upon 
 her ears.
 
 102 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 It is the old, yet ever new, sweet story, which 
 shall never lose its freshness till the last son and 
 daughter of Adam have quitted this earth. 
 
 "Listen, Louise ." Ah! it is Richard, elo- 
 quent, love-stirred Richard, who is speaking. 
 
 "You must hear me, for this may be our last 
 opportunity together ; for I am sure your going to 
 college is but a plan to separate us. I know too 
 well I am not a favorite in your home. How can 
 I be, when our family notions of life' are so differ- 
 ent !" And then, with all the hot, impassioned fer- 
 vor of youth, he pleaded his love, and for the sweet 
 promise that should indissolubly link their lives 
 together. 
 
 Little 1 need, Richard, had you but known it, for 
 all this eloquence. The treasure you seek is yours. 
 The link you ask for has been forging through the 
 long, happy hours of childhood. The opening years 
 of young manhood and young womanhood have 
 strengthened it. Indeed, who shall say that in the 
 great councils of your creation and hers it was not 
 said, "What God hath joined together, let not man 
 put asunder?" 
 
 As his words died away, a little hand crept 
 shyly into his. The June breezes murmure'd softly 
 around the stern old walls. The flowers, but a 
 step away, lightly touched their heads together as
 
 AFFAIR 103 
 
 if in knowledge of the sweet secret, but the young 
 pair were silent; for vain are words to voice the 
 tumult of a soul. 
 
 They could linger but a little while ; for during 
 the evening Louise was to sing. Poor Louise! 
 How could she face the audience? Surely her 
 precious secret must be read by every one, and it 
 was in a strange, bewildering maze of happiness 
 with which, presently, she joined with Richard in 
 the long promenade of the hall. And Richard, 
 happy, audacious Richard; more than once he 
 looked down into the bright face at his side and 
 boldly whispered, "My darling !" 
 
 Once on this promenade they passed Rachel, 
 who sat chatting with some friends. Something in 
 the air of the couple suddenly arrested her atten- 
 tion, and sent a momentary pang to her heart. 
 "They are but children," she said to herself. 
 "Louise will forget all this in the coming year at 
 school." Presently the rich voice of her daughter 
 rang out in song. The selection was a light, joy- 
 ous one 1 , and surely never did lark or linnet, on 
 swaying bough, warble so joyously, nor did ever 
 an upturned, feathered throat anywhere so surely 
 sing of joy and peace. 
 
 Rachel listened in wonder, as did the audience'; 
 but no voice whispered to her soul of the new ex-
 
 104 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 perience of her daughter. How strange that we 
 are so slow to read the hearts of our own ! 
 
 This mother had watched this young girl grow 
 from her own arms first, into the toddling, willful, 
 vivacious child; afterwards, into the loving light- 
 ener of her own care's ; and later, into the peculiar 
 sunshine of their home. 
 
 She had grieved, at times, over the imperious 
 will, and had rejoiced when she had deemed it laid 
 low at the Cross. Yes, she knew her so well, every 
 trend of her mind ; yet had one hinted to her that 
 this child might carry a woman's heart in her 
 breast, she would have resented the idea. Still 
 more would she have been appalled could she have 
 guessed that this same heart had awakened and 
 responded to that strong, strange emotion whose 
 coming is but nature's signal that the gates of 
 childhood are forever closed. 
 
 As for Richard "Boyish Richard!" she had 
 said to herself more than once lately, as his fond- 
 ness for Louise's company became more marked 
 had it not been his delight all his life to rummage 
 her cupboards in search of cookies and toothsome 
 sweets ? Had not he and Louise led in mad pranks 
 all over the old farm ? No ; it was but the veriest 
 nonsense to think of him as her daughter's lover. 
 Yet, following uncomfortably close upon this con-
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR 105 
 
 elusion, came the remembrance of the lover-like 
 looks which had startled her, and against her will 
 she found herself, surrounded though she was by 
 music, flowers, and a gay crowd, calming her 
 newly-aroused fears with arguments why Richard 
 Newcomb should not be her daughter's lover. 
 
 Not only the half-hushed whispers of his own 
 personal shortcomings swept in upon her, but the 
 worldly, irreligious life of the family. It had been 
 to her a source of real regret that the old sweet 
 ties of friendship had been gradually yet so surely 
 loosened, that now each family had come to be 
 well content to "gang their ain gait." That 
 which one family held most dear and sacred, the 
 other considered not at all worth the while of 
 people of culture. Indeed, it had often seemed 
 of late that Mrs. Newcomb took special pains to 
 parade her own easy notions of home-life in con- 
 tradistinction to the sterner code of the farm. 
 
 "There can be but one end for all this," Rachel 
 had more than once said to herself, "and that is, 
 complete shipwreck of the Christian faith, a 
 complete ingulfment in the vortex of a purely 
 worldly life. No, it must not be!" and her lips 
 closed; and they who knew her best would have 
 known an appeal from that decision would have 
 been useless.
 
 io6 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 During the homeward drive, John Stevenson 
 and his wife talked of the music of Louise's song, 
 of the heavy, growing crops on either side of the 
 highway ; but never once did Rachel think it worth 
 while to mention her newborn fears. Besides, if 
 there were a growing affection between the two, 
 happily she had decided how it could be best man- 
 aged. That very evening she would await 
 Louise's coming; would calmly, lovingly point out 
 the possible dangers, and insist upon a halt in the 
 boy-and-girl friendship. "How glad I am I 
 thought of the danger in time!" was her self-satis- 
 fied comment, as, with book in hand, she sat alone 
 to await Louise's coming. 
 
 Meanwhile the two lovers were loitering on the 
 homeward drive. We shall not obtrude. Let the 
 soft sheen of that same old moon which has lent 
 its witchery to so many such scenes, and the 
 wafted perfume of June roses and leafy verdure, 
 be the only setting, to this old yet ever new story 
 which ardent youth pours into willing ears. 
 
 Lofty plans are made for the future ; for hides 
 there in all the world an obstacle which does not 
 vanish on the approach of that old magician, 
 Love? So says all the fairy lore of the past; so 
 believes the youthful pair who so slowly ride on. 
 It is well that the illusion is so complete; for in
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR i&j 
 
 the coming years one weary heart, at least, will 
 pause in its tireless work for others' weal, and in 
 remembrance whisper, "Surely heaven can be no 
 sweeter." But there is a patient watcher, whose 
 strained ear just now catches the rumble of wheels, 
 then the sound of a low "good-night" at the door, 
 and Louise has entered the room. 
 
 As her feet crossed the doorway, involuntarily 
 the watcher's lips quivered slightly, then tightened. 
 She was firm. 
 
 "Why, mother, are you still up?" the musical 
 voice called out. 
 
 How beautiful she was that moment ! Even her 
 mother, burdened though her he'art was just now 
 with a perhaps unpleasant duty to perform, could 
 not but let her eyes dwell on the dainty picture. 
 The soft folds of her simple evening dress fell 
 about her. In stature she was undersized; but 
 her form was perfect, and had a willowy supple- 
 ness that lent a peculiar charm. But it was in the 
 mobile earnestness of the face, which portrayed 
 every passing emotion, and in the liquid softness 
 of the eyes, wherein lay the greatest charm. 
 
 As she stood, looking down at her mother, she 
 caught the wistful, tender look which, unawares, 
 had stolen into the upturned, questioning face. 
 Ah ! how many times she had been cuddled in those
 
 io8 RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 faithful arms ! How many times that work- 
 seamed hand had smoothed away her troubles! 
 Why should she not now tell of her new happiness ? 
 Dropping suddenly upon her knees, in her old im- 
 pulsive, childish fashion, she laid the soft white 
 hand in that of her mother's, exclaiming, brokenly, 
 "O mother! Richard I am so happy!" and the 
 brown head nestled in her mother's lap. 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at her feet, Rachel 
 could not have been more surprised. A half hour 
 ago she had sat waiting kindly yet firmly to point 
 out a future possible, undesirable result, and now 
 that dreaded result was a fact. 
 
 What should she say? Should she call up her 
 motherly prerogative of reproof and forbid the 
 affair entirely? Ah, she knew the strong, unyield- 
 ing will too well for that ! Swifter than did ever 
 a modern telegraph ring out an alarm, the cry 
 for help went straight to the Throne, and with 
 the cry was borne in the message, "Take time." 
 Yes, she must have time time to think it all over, 
 to use all the tactful resources of her nature. 
 
 For answer, she kissed the sweet, young face, 
 saying, "Another time we will talk it over; just 
 now I can not take in your evident meaning. 
 Surely, 't is but a boy and girl fancy." 
 
 "Mother !"
 
 A LOVF, AFFAIR 109 
 
 The young girl, catching the unfriendly tone, 
 had arise'n. In that one word, Rachel, in weari- 
 ness of heart, recognized that the child was for- 
 ever gone, and a woman, with whom she must 
 battle, was in her stead. 
 
 "You must sleep now," she said ; "another time 
 we will talk it over," and putting her arms gently 
 about her, led her to the little plain room she 
 shared with Ruth. 
 
 It was long before either slept. With Louise, 
 her mind dwelt first on her new-found happiness, 
 and again on her mother's strange reception of 
 it. "She thinks us children! O mother!" and 
 the very tone of the thought implied a constancy 
 that boded ill for Rachel's plans. 
 
 And Rachel? For hours she tossed upon the 
 bed, and feverishly asked herself the question, 
 "How can this foolish boy-and-girl affair be 
 stopped?" for tha,t it must be stopped was as 
 clear to her as noonday. But how? And until 
 the early morning hour she still asked herself, 
 "How?" 
 
 The next day bade fair to be an uneventful 
 one. The mother still felt herself unequal to the 
 task of discussing the matter. She had not even 
 yet told her husband. Louise, in the shyness of 
 young girlhood, avoided all mention of it. The
 
 no RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 shadows of the afternoon had already begun to 
 slant when Rose, still the baby pet, who liked 
 nothing better than a rojnp with Richard, came 
 in and triumphantly announced that "Richard had 
 come, and was talking to father." 
 
 The hot crimson blood surged up to the very 
 roots of Louise's hair ; for, on the evening before, 
 Richard had told her that before another day 
 closed, he meant to stand before her family as 
 her accepted lover. "It will be so much better," 
 he' had said, "to have the matter clearly under- 
 stood." The plans for the future of the young 
 pair were yet misty. Richard had already, in a 
 desultory manner, begun the study of law, his 
 chosen profession; but lately he had thought 
 much of a position with his father in the mill, and 
 a cozy home for his young bride. But even if 
 the future was not settled, in his frank way he 
 was determined his new relationship to Louise 
 should be known. 
 
 Hearing he had come, Louise sought refuge in 
 her own little room, and Rachel nerved herself; 
 for she felt that a crisis was at hand. The door 
 opened, admitting her husband and Richard. On 
 the first face was written perplexed surprise, with 
 not a little alarm. On the other, O what a meta- 
 morphosis! Strong, manly resolution had sue-
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR in 
 
 ceeded the boyish smile. It dawned on Rachel 
 that the "fancy" had taken deep root. 
 
 "Mother," her husband always spoke thus 
 when a matter of importance was being dis- 
 cussed "can you guess what Richard has asked 
 of us?" 
 
 Rachel cast a swift, searching, almost pitying 
 glance upon the eager, bright face. 
 
 There was no fear of her in Richard's heart. 
 All his life she had been to him a kind of second 
 mother. He had gone to her with a want as read- 
 ily as to his own. True, he had said to Louise 
 that, on account of different family views of life, 
 he was not a favorite; yet love had made him 
 bold. Surely there could be no re'al opposition 
 from her who had known him all his life. 
 
 So in an instant he had gone to her side. 
 "You know I have always loved Louise. I 
 thought it only right to tell you that we have 
 pledged our mutual love, and we' shall be happy 
 with your blessing and good will." An oppressive 
 silence followed, broken at length by Rachel, 
 whose voice sounded strange and husky. 
 
 "You know, Richard, that we would willingly 
 make any sacrifice for Louise''s good ; but I am 
 surprised that you should seriously ask this. 
 You must kpow that you are each far too young."
 
 ii2 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Richard made a gesture of impatience. "Your 
 education is incomplete; so is hers. You have 
 made no plans for the future. It would be' a posi- 
 tive unkindness to you both for us to consent to 
 what you ask. In a few years you will each laugh 
 at this passing folly." 
 
 A flood of anger rose to the young man's face 
 at these words. 
 
 Just then he caught the flutter of a dress in 
 the room beyond. In a moment he was by 
 Louise's side. "Come, my darling, we must settle 
 this together," and impetuously he led her into the 
 room where sat her parents. What was it that 
 caused her to seek her father's side? Mayhap, in 
 that swift instant, she read a growing heart- 
 tetiderness. Certain it is, from her mother she 
 expected no pity. 
 
 "Passing fancy!" It was Richard who spoke. 
 "I tell you I verily believe this love was born in 
 me. I could give up life easier than I could give 
 up this. As for further education, Louise's love 
 will be an inspiration. As for life's plans, we will 
 be willing to wait, if we must; but such men as 
 have had a loving heart by their side are those 
 who have made the greate'st success of life." 
 
 How well he pleaded his cause, Rachel could 
 but think !
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR 113 
 
 "Can I ever be happy can my daughter ever 
 be happy if she takes a husband from a careless, 
 worldly family? Aye, if reports be true, a hus- 
 band who has already learned to love sin, the 
 first flush of love's young dream over, would he 
 not grow weary of her sterner morals? Ah! 
 might not these morals tone themselves down to 
 the lower plane?" No, this alliance must never 
 be. She must speak plainly. 
 
 "Richard, your notions of life are different from 
 ours, as are your ideals. What to us is the most 
 sacred, to you is a subject for jest. When Louise 
 is older, she will see this for herself. Until then, 
 I must think for her." 
 
 This young man, in all his life, had known but 
 little opposition, and now to have this supreme 
 wish disregarded was unbearable; besides, Ra- 
 chel's last words had touched him as the others 
 had not. 
 
 "And for such a cause you would part us? 
 And yet I am to admire such religion! Louise," 
 and he turned to the young girl, "have you not 
 a word to say?" For answer, without looking 
 at her mother, Louise arose and walked to her 
 lover's side, and calmly put her hand in his, turn- 
 ing such a look of unutterable love upon him 
 that a wave of happiness swallowed up his anger. 
 8
 
 ii4 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Rachel bowed her head, while a very storm 
 swept over her. Was this the reward of mother- 
 hood? Was it for this she had known no other 
 law than that of uncomplaining self-denial? 
 And she knew that in this clash of wills she was 
 right. Thus far the father had said nothing, 
 though keenly alive to every phase of the disputed 
 question. 
 
 Turning to his daughter, he asked, "How old 
 are you, Louise?" 
 
 "Eighteen, my last birthday." 
 
 "Mother," said he, "time has been cheating 
 you; Louise is no longer a child. Just so old 
 were you when you left your father's roof to build 
 this humble home with me." 
 
 His wife could scarcely believe what she heard. 
 Certainly he did not approve what to her seemed 
 unendurable. Louise quickly appealed, "Father, 
 we are willing to wait if you think best ; but help 
 us to settle this, that there be no estrangement." 
 
 "It seems to me, mother," added he, gently, 
 "this need not be settled definitely now. The 
 young people have said they were willing to wait. 
 Let Louise go with Asbury, as we have planned. 
 Let Richard prepare himself for life; and then 
 mother, after all, this is something each heart 
 must settle for itself."
 
 A LOVE AFFAIR 115 
 
 The'se words seemed so reasonable that even 
 Rachel, as well as Louise and Richard, felt it was 
 best to acquiesce. 
 
 It was hard for matters to drop back into the 
 old groove ; indeed, Rachel feared more than once 
 that the old sweet intercourse between herself and 
 Louise was forever gone. Richard, with lover- 
 like boldness, did not make his visits to the farm 
 fewer, but insisted on coming and going with his 
 old freedom. Meanwhile there' was a growing 
 good comradeship between Louise and her father. 
 
 But to be fully employed has been a cure for 
 many a heartache. So the busy days at the farm- 
 house served to tide over what might have been 
 an embarrassing time. Asbury was doubly busy; 
 for his father depended largely upon him and the 
 younger boys for harvesting the' crops. Besides, 
 he was studying, that he might enter an advanced 
 class at college. Louise, too, had her full share 
 of work. So the summer went by. 
 
 Richard had yet another experience after 
 his first interview with Louise's parents, the de- 
 tails of which he could not unbosom even to 
 Louise, but which had given him much food for 
 private reflection. Straight from the farm he had 
 gone to his father's office. He had gone with 
 a vague expectation of asking for a partnership
 
 u6 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 in the busine'ss or for a position with a salary. 
 Entering the office, to which he had grown more 
 and more a stranger, he caught sight of his father 
 at a desk. How weary and careworn he looked! 
 How hot and stifling the air! 
 
 Somehow, after a sight of the bowed figure, 
 it was not so easy to begin. Yet, after a few com- 
 monplace remarks, he began his story. Rachel 
 Stevenson's surprise did not exceed William 
 Newcomb's. But yesterday he might have an- 
 swered him gruffly; but to-day, with that hand- 
 some, glowing face' before him, how could he? 
 But a partnership? No, alas! A position with 
 a salary? No. Father and son talked long and 
 earnestly over the ledgers, and at the close of the 
 conversation the father went back to his accounts 
 with a sigh. The son passed into the sunshine 
 with a preoccupied air. When he next saw Louise, 
 he told her he believed his father's advice best, 
 and that he would enter a school of law that com- 
 ing autumn.
 
 College A Study of Homes 
 
 IAZILY the first hint of September breezes 
 y played in and out of the open door of the 
 
 farmhouse. 
 
 / 
 
 Within there was far more hurry and bustle 
 than was common to this well-ordered home. 
 Rapidly the mother moved about, placing now 
 and then a forgotten package in one or the other 
 of two trunks which stood almost ready for the 
 final straps. Outside, by the gate, champing their 
 bits impatiently, stood Princess and Nell, with the 
 familiar light wagon which was to bear Asbury 
 and Louise to the train, which in turn was to 
 whirl them to that world of new experiences, the 
 university. 
 
 As their father drove up, an involuntary pain 
 clutched at their mother's heart. How often this 
 selfsame team had driven up in their childhood to 
 carry them to church, to school ! And now they 
 were going, was it forever? 
 
 The morning prayer had been full of pathos 
 at the parting, and rich in pleading for Divine 
 117
 
 n8 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 care. Yet this mother could not see them go 
 without a personal prayer for each. So alone in 
 the little chamber she knelt, first with Asbury, 
 and then with Louise. With trembling voice she 
 prayed, first, that life and health might be spared, 
 and that each should make the most of the oppor- 
 tunity that was to be theirs to fit themselve's for 
 wherever duty might call. 
 
 Then followed a hurried parting, and soon the 
 footsteps died down the gravel walk, and the two 
 had gone out from the home. 
 
 How strangely silent the house seemed to 
 Rachel, who was left alone! While their going 
 was the fruition of her hopes, still it was borne 
 in upon her, as she listlessly went about setting 
 things to rights, that her children, as children, 
 were gone forever. If their lives were spared, 
 they would return only to go out again, and 
 finally to take their places among life's toilers. 
 
 She recalled their childhood, their peculiar dis- 
 positions, and their probable future. How her 
 he'art thrilled as Asbury's exemplary life arose! 
 How clear his brain! how studious his habits! 
 how unflinchingly he had walked in the path of 
 duty! 
 
 And Louise she had been a good daughter. 
 Throughout her whole life, her willing hands and
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OF HOMES 119 
 
 feet had lightened her own cares, while 1 her 
 cheery, bright ways and sweet voice had made 
 much of the home-music. As for Richard, with 
 her husband she had come to think that that had 
 best be left to time, and surely time would settle 
 it aright. He had left the week before for a 
 college farther east, and she trusted that new 
 faces and new associations would break the tie. 
 
 A few hours, and the family had returned, and 
 the routine of work and study was resumed. 
 Ruth and Edward were each in the academy, while 
 John, a sturdy lad of thirteen, with little Rose, 
 attended the school nearer home. So the house, 
 much of the time, was strangely quiet and very 
 unlike the old patter and bustle of busy feet. 
 
 On the farm, matters were assuming a more 
 cheerful financial outlook. The rich pastures were 
 flecked with cattle. The' dark prairie-soil har- 
 vested good crops. Long ago good barns had 
 been built, which now, in the autumn fruitage, 
 were filled to overflowing. 
 
 One of the maxims of this family had been the 
 Scriptural injunction, "Owe no man anything." 
 So now, as the father had gotten much stronger 
 and the younger boys were old enough to relieve 
 him not a little, the Stevensons rightfully looked 
 forward to a greater leisure; for the farm, while
 
 i2o RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 not a means of rapid wealth, is surer than most 
 others. 
 
 Since the abandonment of the new house at 
 the opening of the war, the subject had not again 
 been broached, only as something in the indefinite 
 future'. But now it was planned that when As- 
 bury and Louise should come home for the sum- 
 mer vacation, they would be welcomed to the new 
 home nothing pretentious, but added room, which 
 would make household cares less burdensome. 
 
 So much time has of late been given to the 
 farmhouse, that it is high time we were turning to 
 the more pretentious home of the Newcombs. 
 We have already seen the old friendship wavering 
 under the 1 strain of growing uncongenial tastes. 
 In addition but perhaps they fancied it both 
 John and Rachel thought, since the refusal to re- 
 main longer on the note as security, Mr. New- 
 comb had been strangely reserved, even to the 
 point of avoidance. Moreover, Rachel's known 
 hostility to the affair between Richard and 
 Louise touched Margaret as perhaps nothing else 
 had; for in Richard's love for this sweet, blithe 
 girl, her mother-heart perceived his strongest 
 safeguard, and her selfishness could see nothing 
 amiss in the sacrifice of innocent young girlhood 
 upon the altar of a hoped-for reformation.
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OP HOMES 121 
 
 Yet, if a growing fear lurked about her heart, 
 the years saw no change in her home-life. Home- 
 wines were still found in the cellar. She refuse'd 
 to see danger lurking in the amber-colored, 
 quivering jelly, which bore the pungent flavor of 
 choice old Burgundy, nor in the 1 brandied peaches 
 upon her cellar shelves. 
 
 Nor did she think it worth while, now that 
 there were young Christians in the family, to at- 
 tempt new reading habits. Another might have 
 argued that these' should be supplied with a liter- 
 ature which in itself would foster and develop the 
 new experience, and bind them irrevocably to the 
 new life. Not she. She" had lived a life of moral 
 rectitude, why not her children? She did not ask 
 more than a moral life for them ; so she knew no 
 regret when Marie and Therese lapsed into the 
 old worldly life, nor but little uneasiness when 
 Richard, at long intervals, came down to the 
 morning meal with aching head and dull eyes. 
 Had not even some great men been a little wild 
 in their youth? She received with extreme satis- 
 faction his ready acquiescence in his father's 
 wishes for a college and law course. She was sure' 
 he would come home crowned with honor. 
 
 Marie had yet another year in the academy. 
 She had always been a beautiful child, and was
 
 122 RICHARD N^WCOMB 
 
 growing into a lovely young womanhood. Her 
 heart and impulses were good. In a humbler 
 or Christian home she might have developed into 
 a strong womanhood; as it was, she became a 
 type of thousands who sacrifice everything to the 
 demands of dress and society. She could "play" 
 a little on the pianoforte; but of music as an art, 
 a life study, she had not dreamed. Had she 
 known the first elements of hard work and pa- 
 tience, she might, in time, have done something 
 as an artist; as it was, she was content to paint 
 what her young friends styled "perfectly lovely 
 pictures," and then smiled. 
 
 Like her type, she would probably marry early. 
 Indeed, in the home-circle, her "engagement" to 
 Charlie Hudson, "a good fellow," and, what was 
 better, the son of Banker Hudson, was already 
 acknowledged ; but the marriage was not to occur 
 for a year. Once married, she would become, in 
 all likelihood, a conventional society woman not 
 unlike her mother. 
 
 Therese was something of the same pattern, 
 yet there was a certain dash about her that gave 
 one a sense' of uneasiness akin to that which a 
 restless team imparts, not knowing exactly what 
 turn it may take. She was a winsome girl, about 
 the same age as Ruth Stevenson, and between
 
 A STUDY OF HOMES 123 
 
 these two a warm friendship existed. From ear- 
 liest childhood she had been inordinately fond 
 of reading. She it was who eagerly cut the 
 magazine pages to devour its monthly dish of 
 "serials." She had a keen literary perception, and 
 had she had a faithful guide into the sweets of 
 poetry or the wealth of history, or had she been 
 directed even to the better class of fiction, how 
 much of sorrow would have been averted! As 
 it was, she was left largely to follow her own 
 inclinations. To do her mother justice, when she 
 perceived this growing and absorbing taste, she 
 did try to check it. As well try to dam a stream 
 and leave the fountain untouched. So Therese 
 grew to live more and more in the realms of fancy, 
 often imagining herself the heroine of whose 
 woes she was reading. No wonder she found the 
 Church irksome, the home dull, and the plodding 
 studies of school-life unendurable. 
 
 Standing in life "where the brook and river 
 meet," unconsciously to herself, she was begin- 
 ning to long for an exciting experience akin to 
 that of the heroines whose exploits she' found so 
 thrilling. 
 
 Before we leave the Newcombs to look after 
 the students, whom we left rapidly whirling 
 collegeward, we must look in upon Mr. New-
 
 124 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 comb himself. To do this it will be necessary 
 to seek the office; for he is seldom at home, ex- 
 cept to hurried meals and at late hours for slumber. 
 
 Though scarcely fifty years of age, his hair is 
 rapidly whitening, the old-time sprightliness of 
 step is gone, yet the eyes maintain the old alert- 
 ness, with the 'addition of certainly a trace of fever- 
 ish anxiety. 
 
 Since the days of his first speculation in Burr- 
 tonville real estate, he had lived a restless life. 
 Through the troublous days of the war, he had 
 so successfully managed his large intere'sts that 
 his fortune had doubled and trebled. 
 
 Within the last year, Mrs. Newcomb noticed 
 with anxiety that he was becoming more and 
 more absorbed in his business, and taking on a 
 haggard and preoccupied air. She had never been 
 lacking in wifely devotion, and it was with fore- 
 bodings she began to expect a breaking-down of 
 his health, and to urge him to take time for re- 
 cuperation; but instead he 1 seemed to apply him- 
 self even more closely. 
 
 He had always been a loving husband and in- 
 dulgent father. Nothing that money could devise 
 to make the home happier was lacking, hence 
 there never was a thought but that the family 
 purse was unlimited.
 
 COLLEGE A STUDY OP HOMES 125 
 
 Mrs. Newcomb and her daughters were still 
 punctilious in their attendance upon the' morning 
 services at the church, but it had come to pass 
 that Mr. Newcomb scarcely ever accompanied 
 them. Indeed, he found no day so free from in- 
 ^rruptions, consequently none so well adapted 
 for work on his ledger. So, Sabbath after Sab- 
 bath, 'this overworked man of multiplied cares 
 sought to untangle the chaotic threads of the past 
 week's work. 
 
 But were they chaotic? Not once did Mrs. 
 Newcomb suspect this ; but such ugly rumors were 
 rapidly gaining credence! As a drowning man 
 rapidly divests himself of any burden which hin- 
 ders his life-struggle, so it was apparent that Will- 
 iam Newcomb was drawing his business affairs 
 into a narrower circle. 
 
 Still the ponderous wheels of the great mill 
 swung around with lightning rapidity. The fur- 
 nace fires glowed brightly, and the huge chimneys 
 were black with the cloud which overhung them 
 night and day. 
 
 There were certainly no signs of decay about 
 that busy hive, and if aught of the rumors were 
 true, it was compelled to remain a rurflor; for 
 the lips of the proprietor were closely sealed, and 
 his bearing as self-confident as ever.
 
 XI 
 
 Developed Characters 
 
 IT was with mingled feelings that Asbury and 
 Louise found themselves at the last moment 
 hurried from the quiet of the home upon the 
 journey which was to open to them the coveted 
 ne\v life. Keen regret was felt as the reflection 
 obtruded itself upon their young minds, as it had 
 upon their mother's, that the old home-life was 
 forever gone. 
 
 But just ahead lay that wonderful future called 
 "life," whose successes and failures so surely 
 awaited them, and before which intervened a few 
 coveted years of college life. And as each re- 
 called the self-denial of the family life, the hard- 
 working father and mother, it seemed marvelous 
 that the dream of years was being realized. So 
 it might be forgiven them if, with the natural 
 regret, was mingled not a little proud exhilaration 
 and joyous expectancy for the life ahead. 
 
 This was particularly true of Asbury. All his 
 life he had been naturally studious. The quiet 
 
 home evenings had been rich in their implanting 
 
 126
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS 127 
 
 in his mind of broad plans for the future ; for dur- 
 ing these had been developed an intimate ac- 
 quaintance with men and women whose lives had 
 shaped Church and State, and as the acquaintance 
 grew, his young heart had beaten in unison with 
 their struggle's and triumphs, and unconsciously 
 had grown up the desire also to live for a purpose, 
 making some little corner of the world better for 
 his having lived in it. Then had come his con- 
 version. Again, the still, solemn promptings of 
 the Spirit, which kne\v no rest till he had given 
 his life to the service of his King. And now he 
 was about realizing his desires. Little wonder that 
 the past rapidly melted into the glorious future. 
 
 Louise, though in a different way, shared his 
 enthusiasm. The parting between herself and 
 Richard had been full of mutual hope's and 
 pledges for the future, and though years should 
 intervene before the fruition of their hopes, still 
 they were young and strong in each other's love; 
 therefore the parting was without bitterness. 
 
 And though she began her collegiate course 
 with a tumult of heart of which staid Asbury 
 knew nothing, yet it was with re'al girlish enthusi- 
 asm that she, too, found herself journeying college- 
 ward. 
 
 The journey occupied a day and a night, and
 
 128 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 after a few hours the dainty lunch was gotten out. 
 How welcome the flaky bread ! how delicious the 
 home butter! and what motherly remembrances 
 had been exercised in preparing some specially- 
 liked delicacy ! 
 
 About dusk the following day, the travelers 
 found themselves at the end of their journey. 
 
 They experienced a momentary shade of dis- 
 appointment as they stepped into the fitful, weird 
 light of the platform. How small the town ! But 
 each remembered it was the university they had 
 come to seek, and the great noisy crowds of young 
 men and women proclaimed it a university town. 
 Trunks came tumbling off by the dozen. Old 
 friends, jolly comrades of the past, called out to 
 each other in noisy and exuberant greeting. Yet 
 if the many were thus at home in their surround- 
 ings, not a few stood hesitatingly, not knowing 
 just which way to turn. Among these last were 
 Asbury and Louise ; but not long. They soon 
 found temporary lodging for the night, and the 
 next day found them settled Asbury to room 
 near the college, and Louise in a home farther 
 away. Acquaintances were' rapidly made, the col- 
 lege course was studied, each was classified, and 
 student life began. 
 
 It was indeed a delightful experience to awaken
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS 129 
 
 in the morning absolutely free from care. No 
 waiting, insisting breakfast to be gotten; no hur- 
 rying, that the burdensome dishwashing might 
 be gotten rid of before school; no lowing stock- 
 to be fed and watered ; no horses to be curried ; 
 in short, perfect freedom from the old, exacting 
 cares, with time to study, time for exercise, with 
 the environments constantly tending to bring out 
 the best there was in one. Here was an entire 
 community of young people, all, with hardly an 
 exception, earnestly at work. At home, in the 
 acade'my, both Asbury and Louise had been 
 known as the "best students ;" but here they soon 
 found that if the old order of supremacy was to 
 be maintained, hard study was before each. 
 
 Perhaps in no place in which one finds him- 
 self is the aristocracy of intellect so apparent as 
 in a college. Wealth, social position, even the 
 cut and material of one's clothes, matters but 
 little; but the essential question is, "Are they 
 good students?" It took but little time for our 
 young friends to demonstrate this question to the 
 satisfaction alike of Faculty and students, and 
 they were soon received into the inner sanctum 
 of good favor and fellowship. 
 
 So well had Asbury improved his time at home', 
 that after his examination he found he would have 
 9
 
 130 RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 but three years in the college. He hoped for an 
 additional year or two for special preparation for 
 his life-work. 
 
 Louise, it will be remembered, had yet another 
 year in the academy, so she felt well satisfied upon 
 being admitted to the freshman class, where she 
 soon became known as a hard-working student. 
 Her sunny disposition, that had made sunshine 
 in the old farmhouse, as well as her ready helpful- 
 ness, soon made her de'servedly popular. Added 
 to these traits was her clear, rich voice, which 
 soon made her presence at social gatherings much 
 sought after. 
 
 No, Louise Stevenson did not go to college as 
 a recluse, to dream of nothing but her absent 
 lover, but rather as a clear-brained, wide-awake 
 girl, who meant to get as much as possible out 
 of life. She made many friends; but her most 
 intimate ones soon came to know that there was 
 a reserve, a sort of inner sanctuary, into which 
 none entered; for Louise was faithful to her ab- 
 sent lover. 
 
 Though her mother was building much on the 
 new scenes that were to break the fatal spell of 
 early love, with Louise such scenes could come 
 she could even grow to be a strong factor in these 
 associations yet even as the needle points irre-
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS 131 
 
 sistibly towards the North Star, quite as surely 
 did the soul of this earnest and sincere' girl cleave 
 to the absent. Poor, anxious mother-heart ! You 
 may as well know now that there is nothing which 
 will sever this tie! Nothing? Hold! There is 
 a pure, brave heart in that girlish breast; there 
 is clear knowledge of right and wrong; more, a 
 hatred of wrong ; and there is a will strong enough 
 to lay down a life or a love if right should so de- 
 mand. Closely should the absent lover watch his 
 actions, lest they be the power that breaks the 
 sweet tie. 
 
 Among the new friends Louise had made, her 
 room-mate, Emma Ward, grew to be one of the 
 dearest. Her home was in a distant Eastern city. 
 About it was that rare atmosphere the union 
 of wealth with true Christian culture; and rarer 
 still, she had seen this wealth held simply as a 
 means providentially given to help in the problem 
 of the world's betterment, and one of her earliest 
 lessons had been that the possession or non-pos- 
 session of wealth by the individual was often a 
 mere accident of circumstances ; but that lack of 
 this, in determining friendships, should be the 
 solid rock of personal worth and character; and 
 hence, although in the Ward mansion the petty 
 economies and hard work with which the Steven-
 
 132 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 son young people were so familiar were unknown, 
 yet the ideals were the same. In the mansion, 
 quite as truly as in the farmhouse, was God 
 loved and served. Therefore it was not strange 
 that a warm personal friendship sprang into ex- 
 istence, a friendship that came to be far-reaching 
 in its effects upon Louise. 
 
 Emma had been in the college the previous 
 year, so had not about her the shyness of the new- 
 comer. She was known as a good student, yet 
 not particularly brilliant. Moreover she was of 
 a bright, fun-loving disposition. From the first 
 hour of meeting, she was strongly attached to the 
 shy country girl, and when, one Sunday evening, 
 in the privacy of their room, Louise began, with 
 her marvelously sweet voice, to sing some of the 
 Church hymns so familiar in both homes, the 
 work was done Emma's homage was complete 
 from that hour. As for Louise, the friendship 
 proved to be the one touch necessary to draw her 
 out of herself, and teach her the delights of the 
 social side of college life. 
 
 But there is yet another student in whom we 
 are interested. Richard Newcomb had left for 
 college with emotions far different from any he
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTEBS 133 
 
 had before known emotions little guessed by any 
 of his home circle, save his father. To under- 
 stand these, it is necessary to go back to that 
 morning when, angry at the unexpected opposi- 
 tion of Louise's mother, he strode out from the 
 farmhouse, determined to lay his plans before 
 his father. It will be remembered that after this 
 interview he had gone out silent and oppressed, 
 willing to abide by his father's suggestions. Let 
 us go back to that interview. As this prema- 
 turely old, care-engrossed man, who, like many 
 another, had lost his family in a sea of business, 
 looked into the handsome, glowing face, there' 
 swept into his heart a vision of the old days at 
 Lynton, when he had wooed and won the beauti- 
 ful Margaret. Patiently he heard the story to the 
 end, but the remorselessly keen eyes gave no 
 trace of tenderness as he sternly said: "You are 
 barely twenty-one, not yet out of school. You 
 have no profession and notions of business that I 
 have ever been able to discover." 
 
 Richard winced. Yes, he had often declaimed 
 against the irksome confinement of the office. 
 
 "Do you think it wise to take a wife to pov- 
 erty?" 
 
 "But, father, I see' my folly. Give me a small, 
 humble place in your business."
 
 134 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 "My business!" bitterly interrupted the elder. 
 "Come with me;" and there in the curtained al- 
 cove, the place where Mr. Newcomb spent so 
 much time with his books, Richard caught his first 
 glimpse of the bankruptcy which, like a threaten- 
 ing sword, hung over the entire Newcomb in- 
 terests. 
 
 The young man was stunned, bewildered ; for 
 while rumors of "JSiewcomb's changing luck" had, 
 within the years, been passed from lip to lip, and 
 far-seeing business men, foreseeing the end, were 
 carefully withdrawing their own capital from 
 enterprises he still considered safe, yet this all was 
 wholly unsuspected by the family, and fell upon 
 Richard with the force of a thunderbolt. 
 
 "We may avert it for a year," continued the 
 father ; "but if you are wise you will go to college 
 while you can, get a profession, and be ready for 
 life." 
 
 "Yes, it is the inevitable," thought the stunned 
 Richard. "I will go." 
 
 The college selected was one of the oldest, and 
 carried the proud pre'stige of being one of the most 
 influential in all America. Long lists of its alumni 
 were holding positions of honor and trust through- 
 out the country. While this remained true, yet 
 some other matters were not so satisfactory.
 
 DEVELOPED CHARACTERS 135 
 
 While there was a class of hard-working, pains- 
 taking students, who were making the most of 
 their opportunities, there was a large "crowd," or 
 several "crowds," who spent their evenings in 
 bacchanalian revelry, and among the unsatisfactory 
 results was the fact, well known and widely com- 
 mented upon, that many students went out from 
 this proud institution utterly wrecked in morals. 
 
 Richard, upon his entrance, was soon a favor- 
 ite. He entered with energy upon his studies. His 
 fine physique and manly appearance won for him 
 many favorable comments; for even at that day 
 athletics were coming into prominence. Then 
 he had a certain boyish artlessness or frankness, 
 which strongly appealed to the heart. His natural 
 oratorical powers soon came out in the society 
 meetings; so it was not long till it was decided 
 that he' would be an addition to any "set." 
 
 He had gone to college with such strong reso- 
 lutions to bring out and develop the best that 
 was in him. Perhaps these latter might have been 
 helped had he' chosen a college or rather, if his 
 parents had chosen for him one which had cared 
 less for prestige and more for the morals of its 
 students, one that did not fear to stand before 
 the world as a distinctively Christian institution. 
 But of this we shall see.
 
 XII 
 
 Richard and Louise 
 
 "TT is a fact that in every college, however 
 1 small or great, there are at least two 
 'crowds' or 'sets,' oftener more, and much of a 
 student's success depends upon the set with which 
 he becomes identified." So wrote a wise editor, 
 and so, one morning shortly after her arrival, 
 read Louise; and reading it, she laid the paper 
 down to speculate upon the truth of the state- 
 ment. Yes, it was true ; even her short experience 1 
 told her as much. There was even here, she rec- 
 ognized, though held in check by the high moral 
 character of the institution, a set, bound by ties 
 of congeniality, whose watchword was "fun and 
 a good time." If they could only have fun, no 
 price was too dear to pay for it. Yet thete was 
 another, and these made up the 1 majority, who 
 were hard-working and painstaking, reaching re- 
 sults not attempted by the gayer crowd. 
 
 Into which had these young friends of ours 
 fallen? They had been hard-working at home; 
 they were not likely to choose idleness now. Their 
 136
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE 137 
 
 sweetest associations, outside of their home-life, 
 had be'en found in the Church. They naturally 
 turned to it now, and erelong these two became 
 known, not only as careful students, but con- 
 sistent Christians as well; Louise, in the mean- 
 while, helped and broadene'd, as it is not hard for 
 us to guess, by the companionship of that re- 
 fined, cultured young Christian, Emma Ward. 
 
 Asbury naturally took his place among the 
 young theologues. His room-mate, Earnest 
 Warren, was, like himself, a divinity student, yet 
 from his predilections it seemed not unlikely that 
 he might eventually find his niche as a teacher 
 of the sciences he loved so well. His home was 
 in the State of Ohio, and his family of the "plain 
 people," who had economized that their son 
 might have that lever denied to them, an edu- 
 cation. After this glance at the associates of As- 
 bury and Louise, with whom it is safe to leave 
 them, we turn to ask, What of those of Richard 
 Newcomb ? 
 
 Among the great body of students was one, 
 Will Braceton, a fellow of rugged, robust build, 
 and withal of a good mind. He might have easily 
 led his class in any study had he chosen; but he 
 chose to be the leader of a set which was itself 
 a leader in most of the mischief which a wild, fun-
 
 138 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 loving crowd of unrestrained young fellows could 
 devise. Had they been contented with harmless 
 fun, or even mere mischief, all might have been 
 well; for neither is Dame Fortune nor yet the 
 world such a churl but that it condones the harm- 
 less exuberance of youth. But it was not uncom- 
 mon for them to gather in Braceton's room, or 
 some place of his appointment, drink wine, and 
 carouse till the early morning hours. Yet this was 
 not known outside of the company, and, with many, 
 Braceton stood for much that was good. 
 
 A few weeks after the opening of the school- 
 year, at one of these "evenings" in Will's room, 
 he suddenly said: "I tell you what, boys, that 
 Richard Newcomb is all right. We must show 
 him every possible attention, and win him for our 
 crowd." 
 
 From that hour, Richard had no need of home- 
 sickness; for there were patronizing friends at 
 every turn, and very soon the character of the new 
 friendships became too evident. Richard's past 
 experiences instantly warned him of the danger 
 lurking in the proffered friendship, and he was 
 brave and firm in his determination that he would 
 allow nothing to interfere with the steady course of 
 hard work he had marked out for himself. Ah! 
 had it not been for that caged demon of appetite,
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISK 139 
 
 which, having been fed and pampered into exist- 
 ence, angry at its whilom confinement, revenged 
 itself now by wild periods, when it clamored to 
 reassert itself! 
 
 Yet without special incident the months of the 
 college-year sped by with astonishing swiftness, 
 and the summer vacation began to look entranc- 
 ingly near, not only to Richard, but to Louise and 
 Asbury as well. 
 
 One day, perhaps a month before Commence- 
 ment, Louise and Emma had gone to their room 
 from a rehearsal of some music for Commence- 
 ment, when Emma, who had been balancing her- 
 self upon the edge of the bed, said, "Louise, I tell 
 you, you have a fortune in your voice." 
 
 "A fortune!" and Louise's lips curled a bit at 
 the thought. "And so, Miss Thrifty, I suppose I 
 had better go on the stage." 
 
 "O, you need not be so uppish about the mat- 
 ter," Emma replied, with school-girl freedom. 
 "There might be a fortune and still no stage. Our 
 Church pays Mrs. Stanton twenty-five dollars each 
 Sabbath, which is a fortune not to be sneered at, 
 with no stage to bother a conscientious little Puri- 
 tan." 
 
 "Twenty-five dollars for a few songs," mused 
 Louise when alone. "Twenty-five dollars, Sab-
 
 140 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 bath after Sabbath, even for a few months, how 
 many comforts such a sum would buy for the 
 home-folks! Yes, how far such a sum would go 
 towards defraying the heavy college expenses!" 
 Louise resolved in her heart to study even harder 
 to bring out every possible quality of her voice; 
 and if yes, if the future should ever bring such 
 an opportunity, she might be prepared to grasp it. 
 How strangely are the mingled threads of our 
 destiny , interwoven ! On the day following this 
 conversation, Emma broke the seal of a letter from 
 home. Among other items of home news was the 
 casual one that Mrs. Stanton, the soprano, was in 
 rapidly failing health, and had been ordered to the 
 mountains. The next mail home, unknown to 
 Louise, carried a letter extolling Louise's singing, 
 citing references if desired, and urging her father 
 to secure the position during the summer for 
 Louise. And strange to say (no, not strange 
 either, for Emma's father was the one person in 
 the Church who had this matter almost solely in 
 charge ; besides, he not only had great faith in his 
 daughter's judgment, but had grown to feel a great 
 interest in the sweet-voiced girl of whom she wrote 
 so enthusiastically), a letter came, offering the va- 
 cant place to Louise for the summer, with the same 
 salary as that paid to Mrs. Stanton, with the added
 
 RICHARD AND I,OUISE 141 
 
 assurance that, if desired, a class of music pupils 
 could be secured. This seemed almost like an 
 offer from a fairyland to Louise. She wanted to 
 accept it; but, then, how hungry she had grown 
 for the expected visit home, and this would mean 
 another year's absence! 
 
 With realistic vividness the loved farmhouse 
 arose to view; but the picture was not without 
 its touch of pathos. There were father and mother, 
 worn and becoming bent with toil ; then there were 
 the boys, pretty soon they ought to be knocking 
 at a college door; and there was Ruth and little 
 Rose. Yes, the family needs were imperative, and 
 certainly this was a providential duty ; but she must 
 write the home-folks and get their sanction. And 
 we, too, will follow the letter bearing this ques- 
 tion to its destination, the farm. 
 
 June, with its rare wealth of beauty, had come. 
 The great rose-climber, which yearly changed the 
 whole south side of the Stevenson home into a 
 bewildering maze of beauty, hung full of rich 
 clusters of lovely roses. 
 
 Within the home, Ruth and her mother were 
 busy about the morning tasks. The great fireplace 
 seems a bank of coolness ; for Ruth, with an artistic 
 touch, has filled it full of tall, fringe-like boughs of 
 full-grown asparagus, and upon the red bricks of
 
 142 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 the hearth stands a great, old-fashioned bowl of 
 roses. Just now she is placing another in the win- 
 dow-ledge. As she does so she is saying to her 
 mother: "I can hardly realize that within a very 
 few weeks, Asbury and Louise will be here. Dear 
 me, how we will welcome them !" A tender smile 
 played over the mother's lips as she replied, "And 
 we must try not to think how few the weeks of the 
 vacation will be." 
 
 Just then the sound of brisk hoofs echoed from 
 the shady lane, and Edward soon came in, saying, 
 "A letter from Louise!" 
 
 Mrs. Stevenson sat down to read, and read with 
 growing wonder the offer of the distant Church. 
 Father soon came in, and together the wonderful 
 news was discussed. "No, they could not consider 
 the offer. Give up Louise for another year?" 
 But an hour ago, life had seemed richer, fuller, as 
 the memory of the sweet girl had brightened the 
 little room. So said Rachel, so thought the father, 
 and so said the brothers and sisters. Rachel took 
 the letter to again read, in the quiet of the little 
 back porch. What a tempting offer it was, after 
 all ! Just then her eyes lighted upon her husband, 
 who, lost in thought, had leaned, half wearily, 
 against the well-curb. Yes, he was growing old, 
 if not in years, at least in toil. How bent the
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE 143 
 
 form ! The plain working-garb gave no hint of 
 the strong, honest heart which throbbed under- 
 neath this uncouth covering. A sense of the su- 
 perior advantages the children were having swept 
 through her heart ; and she turned again to a 
 paragraph in Louise's letter: 
 
 "At first I could not think of this, I want so 
 much to see you all; but when I remember how 
 hard you all work, and how soon the other chil- 
 dren will demand an education, I am forced to 
 believe this offer is a providence, and that I ought 
 to go." 
 
 Rachel was glad the inexorable dinner claimed 
 her attention, that she might rid herself in action 
 of this new question that clamored for a settle- 
 ment. And it was settled. Another day a letter 
 went to Louise, bidding her God-speed, and say- 
 ing perhaps it was best that she should go. 
 
 Emma, in true school-girl fashion, almost went 
 wild over the decision ; for it had been her greatest 
 wish that Louise should accompany her home, and 
 now it was coming about as she had wished. And 
 she gave expression to her delight by waltzing the 
 highly perturbed Louise about the room in the 
 most approved school-girl style.
 
 144 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Asbury had known nothing of all this, as yet. 
 On the very day this home letter had come to 
 Louise, Emma met him on the college walk (by 
 the way, we have not had time to mention it be- 
 fore, these young people were getting to be ex- 
 traordinarily good friends), and forthwith pro- 
 ceeded to tell him the wonderful piece of news. 
 He, of course, was more than surprised, and with 
 the surprise was mingled a queer feeling he could 
 not define. He knew it was a trial for Louise to 
 give up her visit home ; a trial to the home folks to 
 give it up. Still it was such rare good luck, why 
 wasn't there anything he could do? But no; his 
 duty seemed plain. He must go home and help 
 through the summer on the farm. 
 
 Louise dreaded most of all to tell Richard; for 
 they had counted so much on the summer to- 
 gether. But while she hesitated, a letter came from 
 him, telling her his father wanted him to take a 
 western trip, as soon as vacation had come, and 
 look after some land, which would take perhaps a 
 month or longer; but that on his way home from 
 college he would stop for a visit. Poor Louise! 
 She must not be thought lacking in loyalty to the 
 home-folks if, after this letter, there came a greater
 
 RICHARD AND L,OUISE 145 
 
 reconciliation to the loss of her vacation. These 
 few remaining weeks were given to hard study; 
 for she determined to make herself worthy of 
 Emma's strong commendation. 
 
 One day, as she was returning from practice, 
 Emma came rushing out to meet her, saying a 
 stranger had called, and before she had time to 
 think, she was ushered into the presence of Richard 
 Newcomb, who, having finished the year's exam- 
 inations, and caring nothing for the closing exer- 
 cises, had come on, again to be in the presence of 
 her whom he had so truly loved. Ah, the all-suffi- 
 ciency of those hours ! The skies seemed bluer and 
 brighter than ever before ; the lazy flecks of white 
 clouds floated above in a dreamy sort of way, 
 strangely indicative of the present completeness of 
 the life of each. Let heartaches cease! let fore- 
 bodings for the future be still! Simply to be to- 
 gether was happiness enough in itself. Richard 
 found that the shy country girl he had loved and 
 won had in a year become such a perfect woman 
 that any man might feel proud, even of a glance. 
 Hard study and cultured surroundings had done 
 their work well in rounding and developing the 
 person as well as the mind. 
 
 But his greatest surprise came when he heard 
 her sing. Yes, that was the same old sweet voice
 
 146 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 which had joined with him in many a duet in that 
 far-off time, their childhood, or in the later years 
 of their academy life; but how changed! Had he 
 ever dreamed of anything so full and rich? And 
 with a thrill of pride, he said over and over to him- 
 self, "And she is mine; that true heart is mine 
 forever." 
 
 The wealth of Croesus is none too great to lay 
 at the feet of such a peerless creature! How an- 
 noying the fate that had brought his father to 
 such financial straits! O well, he had tided 
 through a year; perhaps in another, his feet would 
 be on firm ground again. If not, this woman he 
 loved would value wealth of mind and of heart 
 higher than of purse, and nothing should deter or 
 hinder him in climbing the highest intellectual 
 heights. 
 
 Such were his thoughts, such his meditations; 
 but why, just here, did he pause, or why the sud- 
 den mantling of his cheek? O, not for the world 
 would he have Louise know the cause of this 
 blush that, in the purity of her presence, there 
 had rushed over him a realization of the coarse- 
 ness of the Braceton set, of which he was now 
 a fully-accredited member. How he despised 
 himself and his weakness as he remembered the 
 wild, hilarious evenings, when, with wine and
 
 RICHARD AND I,ouiss 147 
 
 cards, he and the fellows had had a "time !" Look- 
 ing now into Louise's clear eyes he saw the 
 danger a danger which, to tell the truth, had 
 often suggested itself during the collegiate year, 
 but which he had silenced by the argument : "Why 
 should I not belong to this crowd ? They all come 
 from families that represent wealth and culture; 
 besides, they are all good fellows, and mean noth- 
 ing more than the enlivenment of the dull routine 
 of college-life." What if there were wine and 
 cards? He did not expect to become a total ab- 
 stainer; even now, in his father's cellar, were bot- 
 tles of choice, rich, home-made wines ; and as for 
 cards? Yes, there were people strangely prej- 
 udiced against them ; but the shapely, white hands 
 of his mother had first taught him skill in their 
 use. Of course, with all this, as she had said, "dis- 
 cretion" must be used, and he prided himself upon 
 the possession of this valuable quality. 
 
 Yet would he have had Louise know this "dis- 
 cretion" had more than once failed him during 
 these closing weeks, and that he had been taken 
 to his room the worse for wine? 
 
 When he had first gone to college, the Sab- 
 bath bells awakened thoughts of Louise and of 
 God. He then regularly attended church; for 
 while there he had seemed nearer her whom he
 
 148 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 loved. But with the flight of the months, and 
 under the influence of his new companions, he 
 had gone less and less. Yet now, looking into the 
 pure eyes of Louise, he was conscious of a desire 
 for a different life. What if, after all, the Steven- 
 son theory of life were the correct one? What if 
 Aunt Rachel were not the fanatic he had so often 
 called her? 
 
 Yet he could not allow such uncomfortable 
 thoughts to mar this week of great happiness ; so 
 he resolutely brushed aside the obtruding thought. 
 There was the usual crowding, into one little week, 
 of sermons, lectures, and addresses. To all such 
 it became his pleasure to accompany his be- 
 trothed. 
 
 One evening there was a lecture before one of 
 the ladies' literary societies. The subject of the 
 speaker was the old one of a "Woman's King- 
 dom," which, after a few complimentary prefatory 
 remarks concerning women as philanthropists, re- 
 formers, et al., the speaker proceeded to show was 
 the home. One sentence burned into the brain 
 of Richard Newcomb. It was this: 
 
 "There can be no such thing as happiness 
 when husband and wife find themselves with un- 
 congenial tastes. The home is a superstructure 
 depending for its success upon the complete union
 
 RICHARD AND LOUISE 149 
 
 of two hearts, and this union can not exist be- 
 tween persons of tastes diametrically opposed." 
 
 "O, that is all nonsense!" Richard had said to 
 himself, as the speaker, continuing, urged caution 
 upon a young girl of religious habits who found 
 herself coming to care for a man who did not 
 possess them. 
 
 But down in his heart he acknowledged the 
 truth of what he was hearing by resolving to 
 eschew the friendships that were surely leading 
 him to "tastes diametrically opposed" to those of 
 the sweet girl by his side.
 
 XIII 
 
 The Preacher A Soprano Flossie 
 
 THE week passed all too quickly. Soon, As- 
 bury and Richard had turned their faces 
 toward the home of their childhood, and Louise 
 was journeying Eastward in her new capacity of 
 wage-earner. 
 
 Asbury received a warm welcome home, though 
 the joy, like many another joy, had its bitter edge ; 
 for the bright young girl who should have accom- 
 panied him was miles away, and many months must 
 elapse before she would brighten the home with 
 her presence. 
 
 He showed at once how utterly unspoiled he 
 was by going to work on the farm with all the 
 energy of his nature, spurred on, it must be con- 
 fessed, by the secret thought that, work hard as 
 he might, dainty, girlish Louise was doing more 
 than he. 
 
 What a comfort he was to his father, and how 
 
 that father grew to lean upon and to place more 
 
 and more upon those broad, manly shoulders the 
 
 burdens of the farm ! As for Rachel, never did 
 
 150
 
 THE PREACHER 151 
 
 Hannah, in the sweet old Bible story, feel more 
 genuine mother-pride in her priestly son than did 
 this modern mother in this her first-born, chosen 
 of the Lord. 
 
 His influence, too, was felt outside the home- 
 circle; for he became a wonderful inspiration to 
 the young people of the Church. It has never 
 been estimated how much good even one intelli- 
 gent, thoroughly-consecrated young man can do 
 in influencing and holding to the right other young 
 people of less well-established principles. 
 
 During the summer an event occurred which, 
 throughout his whole life, served to bind him to 
 the home Church; that is, he was licensed to 
 preach. It occurred in this wise: At a meeting 
 of the Church officiary, the pastor had presented 
 his name, and the necessary papers were prepared 
 Which gave him an accredited right to preach the 
 gospel, his mother knowing nothing at the time 
 of the intention. 
 
 When his father returned from this meeting, 
 he went at once to the kitchen where she was at 
 work, and thinking to surprise her said, "Mother, 
 you must have a little extra for dinner ; the preacher 
 will dine with us." And she, taking the matter 
 seriously indeed, knowing no reason why she 
 should not replied, scarcely looking up, "Well,
 
 152 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 catch me one of those plump chickens out at the 
 barn." Willing to humor the joke, John went out 
 to the barn, and soon a chicken lay quivering in 
 a vessel on the table. Leaving the dressing to 
 Ruth, Rachel slipped on a fresh apron, and went 
 in for a word of greeting with the guest. Greatly 
 to her surprise no one was about. 
 
 "They have gone out on the farm to discuss 
 the growing crops and stock." So saying to her- 
 self, she went out to the kitchen, and soon an 
 appetizing dinner was spread. In response to the 
 dinner-call, her husband, with Asbury and the rest 
 of the family, promptly presented themselves. 
 
 "Why, where is the preacher?" asked Rachel, 
 looking about. 
 
 "Here!" and John Stevenson laid his sun- 
 browned hand upon the broad shoulders of his 
 first-born. 
 
 Happy mother! Though for more than a year 
 she had known this was to be, yet the announce- 
 ment of the finality thrilled her unaccountably. 
 He was near her when his father bore the news, 
 and she bent forward with a kiss, saying, "Having 
 put your hands to the plow, see to it that with 
 you there shall be no turning back." 
 
 The words seemed prophetic. Years after, 
 when the way was especially rough, the remem-
 
 A SOPRANO 153 
 
 brance of this home scene and his mother's words 
 held him closely to his work. 
 
 Richard Newcomb found little to interest him 
 with Louise away. In a private talk with his 
 father, he learned that the financial outlook had 
 not improved, and that unless something unfore- 
 seen should occur, the inevitable must soon be 
 faced. Mr. Newcomb, a victim of that strange 
 cowardice that often affects men of his stamp, had 
 found it impossible to acquaint his family with the 
 threatened disaster; and Richard, knowing it all, 
 looked with a bitterness akin to anger upon the 
 luxuries on every side. For upon his return, he 
 found preparations were being made on a lavish 
 scale for Marie's wedding, which was to occur 
 in the early July, to allow of a western and moun- 
 tain tour. 
 
 Her betrothed held a good position in his 
 father's bank, and there was no reason why 
 the wedding should be longer delayed. So, at the 
 appointed time, amid a great deal of eclat, Marie 
 went out from her father's home. 
 
 The Stevensons were among the invited guests, 
 but only Asbury and Ruth were present. These 
 returned with glowing accounts of the elegance of
 
 154 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 the lunch, the richness of the bride's trousseau, 
 and the value of the presents, among the last being 
 a deed from Mr. Newcdmb for one of the hand- 
 somest residences in the town. 
 
 After the departure of the bridal party, Richard, 
 too, took a western train, carefully instructed by 
 his father, who assured him that upon the value 
 of some western investments depended freedom 
 from disaster. But before he went, a long letter 
 bore to Louise an account of the wedding, and 
 assurance of his undying love. 
 
 ***** 
 
 In a large city, not far from -the steady plash 
 of ocean's wave, on a lovely June Sabbath, a 
 young girl awaited with a beating heart the hour 
 for service in the great aristocratic stone church 
 which faced one of the loveliest avenues in that 
 great city. One does not need to be told that 
 this is our young friend Louise. She had known 
 before coming that Emma's home was one of lux- 
 ury, and that the church in which she was to sing 
 was one of the best in the city; yet, country raised 
 as she had been, she had not dreamed of such 
 magnificence. The rich mellow light stole in and 
 was filtered through the translucent mosaic of the 
 windows. The very echo of her footfall, as she 
 had glided up the aisle, had been caught and held
 
 A SOPRANO 155 
 
 imprisoned in the soft, yielding plush of the car- 
 pet. The pews, indeed every appointment of the 
 church, betokened luxury and wealth. 
 
 Could she hope to satisfy so critical an audi- 
 ence as worshiped there? 
 
 Emma was sure that she could, yet Louise had 
 never in her life been self-confident, and it was 
 little wonder that she trembled in anticipation of 
 the ordeal. 
 
 She had taken her place early, and as the audi- 
 ence gathered, she saw more than one curious 
 glance towards the new soprano. The great organ 
 pealed forth its most sonorous melody, then died 
 away into a gentle accompaniment. She was 
 about to sing. The book she held was open at 
 that matchless solo, "I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth." With the first note of the organ had gone 
 up a whispered prayer. For answer came, with 
 wonderful distinctness, a vision of home and the 
 sweet home faith of her parents, and of the plain 
 home church where she had knelt and received 
 knowledge of sins forgiven. Ah yes; she knew of 
 a truth what she was about to sing, and without a 
 falter the clear young voice took up the refrain, 
 and bore it aloft, and sang it so feelingly that the 
 audience, with a first gesture of surprise, settled 
 itself to simple enjoyment. She had wonl
 
 156 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 As she sat down, the tremulous plume on Mrs. 
 De Manderville's bonnet nodded by far too vig- 
 orously to suit the usual calm poise of that lady, 
 as she whispered to Mrs. Millionaire, just at elbow 
 touch with her, "A wonderful voice; yes, a won- 
 derful voice!" 
 
 "Yes, and a wonderful amount of heart too," 
 Mrs. Millionaire had telegraphed back, and if any 
 one had a right to recognize this last-named qual- 
 ity, certainly it was this same lady ; for a great many 
 of the poor of her city and the interests of her 
 Church accused her of a like possession, and 
 blessed the thousands that accompanied it. 
 
 Louise had expected on coming that with 
 Emma's or her mother's help she would secure a 
 good boarding-house; but this both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ward would not allow. Their house was large and 
 roomy, they said, and to allow Emma's friend to 
 seek a home elsewhere could not be thought of. 
 So, throughout all the long, delightsome days of 
 that summer, Louise was an inmate of this luxuri- 
 ous home. For the first time in her life she came 
 to know the meaning of the word "leisure;" but 
 her industrious soul could not brook the enforced 
 idleness. So she talked with Mrs. Ward about 
 securing a class of music pupils. Now the Wards, 
 though among the most wealthy and cultured of
 
 A SOPRANO 157 
 
 the great congregation which gathered in the aris- 
 tocratic stone church, and with a little touch of 
 perhaps excusable pride could look back on several 
 generations of ancestors possessing like qualities, 
 yet no dwellers in cottage or country farm were 
 ever more sensible, nor held more exalted notions 
 of the true dignity of labor, and instead of dis- 
 couraging Louise, rejoiced in her disposition to 
 work. Mrs. Ward -went at once to Mrs. Millionaire 
 about the matter, and very soon Louise had a good, 
 paying class. 
 
 Nor did this young Christian fail to identify 
 herself with the active work of the Church. She 
 found that this particular Church, luxurious though 
 it was, undertook and carried on much practical 
 Christian work. Under the especial fostering care 
 of Mrs. Millionaire was a band of young girls who, 
 even so many years ago as that, made for their 
 special object the study of the great work of foreign 
 missions and the raising of funds for the same. 
 Into this, Louise entered with all her heart. Years 
 ago her interest had been awakened by letters from 
 the girl-wife of a missionary. With such a foun- 
 dation, she developed such an intelligent interest 
 that Mrs. Millionaire learned to depend more and 
 more upon her. A passing glance at this lady may 
 not be out of place.
 
 158 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Though her purse and bank account were alike 
 heavy, yet her re'al wealth lay in her active, clear 
 brain, her philanthropic nature, and her true con- 
 secration to her Master's cause. She had been for 
 years (this was before the era of separate mission- 
 ary organizations in each denomination) a valued 
 manager in the Woman's Union Missionary So- 
 ciety, and of her great wealth she held herself to 
 be but a steward. She felt that her best brain- 
 work must be done in using this for the advance- 
 ment of Christ's kingdom, and was never happier 
 than when she found a young, enthusiastic per- 
 son who evinced an interest in these matters that 
 lay so near her heart. Little wonder she seized 
 upon and grew to love the bright-faced, earnest 
 young soprano. 
 
 Thus the summer passed happily. Her sing- 
 ing gave great satisfaction, and her class of music 
 pupils gave her full employment. 
 
 The Ward family consisted of a brother and 
 sister younger than Emma, besides a married 
 daughter, a Mrs. Herron, the mother of two sweet 
 little children. These lived in an elegant home in 
 the same block. But mother and children were 
 often at the paternal home. 
 
 From Emma she learned that Mr. Herron was 
 a lawyer, his father, Judge Herron, being one of
 
 FLOSSIE 159 
 
 the most highly and favorably known men in the 
 State. 
 
 Of course, Louise had no wish to intrude into 
 the privacy of home affairs, but in an intangible 
 and indefinable manner it was borne in upon her 
 that there was something wrong with this home 
 that should have been so happy. The young wife 
 would at times remain for days in her father's 
 home, shut in her own room. If seen, her eyes 
 were red with weeping. 
 
 Once, as Emma was driving her about the 
 city, upon one of the fashionable streets, the eye 
 of Louise was caught by a large and beautiful 
 building. 
 
 Upon inquiring the use or name of the struc- 
 ture, Emma responded, with more bitterness than 
 Louise had ever seen her manifest, "The devil's 
 gateway." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean?" 
 
 "Just what I say. It is a fashionable club- 
 house, and there Tom Herron imbibes the demon 
 that is killing my sister. Yes, I believe it will kill 
 her!" 
 
 Louise was silent. Could young Herron be a 
 common drunkard? 
 
 Emma continued: "O, I hate it! I hate it! 
 hate it! I hate everything that wine touches. I
 
 i6o RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 would as soon marry an Asiatic leper as a man 
 who takes a single glass." 
 
 Why did Louise start? Why did her heart 
 sink so suddenly? Ah, but Richard! It was all 
 false ! He had never drunk ! She would lay down 
 her life on that certainty! Still, the vehement 
 words of Emma rankled in her heart. 
 
 This question had always seemed so far off, 
 so remote, so associated with people in another 
 world from her own. She thought of her good 
 father, of her brothers, and rejoiced that they 
 were safe; but could it be possible that this ser- 
 pent could wind its sinuous way into a Christian 
 home as it surely had into the Wards' ? 
 
 Perhaps a month passed, and the shadows 
 seemed almost gone from pretty Mrs. Herron's 
 face, when, one night, Louise was awakened by 
 a noise at the street door. 
 
 "O, let me in! Do let me in, quick!" 
 
 "It is Lucy's voice," said Emma, springing up 
 to go to the door. Her father was before her, and 
 in a moment the trembling, weeping woman, this 
 daughter of wealth, entered, herself half clad, and 
 with sweet Baby Flossie in her arms and Master 
 Harry by her side; these two in their night- 
 clothes, as she had snatched them from their cot. 
 
 There was no attempt now to hide the family
 
 FLOSSIE 161 
 
 skeleton. Lucy told them that for weeks, as in- 
 deed they had known, her husband had been sober 
 and repentant. As usual, he had made many 
 promises of reform; but O, the dreadful appe- 
 tite! How like a caged wild beast! "An hour 
 ago," she continued, "a cab brought him home 
 from the club, wild, beside himself with frenzy, 
 threatening to kill both himself and me; and O, 
 I was sure he would [at another time he would 
 have laid down his life for this woman], when I 
 fled through the door with the children." 
 
 Just then there was a scramble at the door. 
 Louise drew back in horror as a wild-eyed, reeling 
 man, revolver in hand, entered. Could this be 
 the elegant Mr. Herron, usually the marvel of 
 good breeding? Yes, having missed his wife, and 
 dimly realizing in his frenzy that she must have 
 gone to her father's, he had, in his drunken fury, 
 followed her. Before any one could know or guess 
 his design indeed, it all occurred in less time 
 than it has taken to record it he aimed the 
 weapon at his wife, who, upon his entrance, had 
 stood stock still, with Flossie in her arms; then, 
 placing the muzzle to his own heart, fired, and 
 fell forward dead. 
 
 Mrs. Herron, too, lay upon the floor; but 
 whether killed or not, not one knew in that awful 
 
 IX
 
 i6s RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 hour. ' Emma was the only one who retained her 
 self-possession, and she stooped to take, from 
 the arms so tightly clasping her, little Flossie, 
 when she suddenly cried out : "God help us ! 
 Flossie is killed!" 
 
 It was true. The bullet intended for his wife 
 had in an instant stilled the infant life, but the 
 mother was unhurt. Hers was the harder fate, 
 to awaken to a knowledge of what had occurred. 
 Words can not picture the woe and desolation of 
 that hour. 
 
 Soon the bleeding body of the self-murdered 
 man was borne to the home of his father, but a 
 few blocks away. The young wife and mother, 
 in a darkened room, moaned in the wildest delir- 
 ium, and sweet Baby Flossie lay a mute sacrifice 
 upon the altar of strong drink. 
 
 Later, as Louise, with a heartache she had 
 never before known, sang the sad chant over the 
 little murdered victim, she said down in her heart: 
 "Yes, Emma is right; I, too, hate it! hate it! 
 hate it! I will have nothing to do in all my life 
 with any one at all connected with this horrible 
 evil." 
 
 Ah, Louise! It is well for you that Mother 
 Nature gave you, from out her rich storehouse, 
 a will so strong that had you lived in an earlier
 
 F^ossm 163 
 
 day you could have stood unflinchingly, if duty 
 so demanded, amid the pile of lighted fagots, else 
 in the heavy ordeal of the future you had not 
 been able to abide by those words. 
 
 When Louise had . gone for the summer to 
 Emma's home, it was with the confident expec- 
 tation of spending the last two weeks at home; 
 but in the coming of the sudden catastrophe' new 
 qualities of heart were developed. The stricken 
 family came, in after years, to look back upon 
 those dreadful days and say, "How could we 
 have lived if it had not been for Louise?" 
 
 She had that rare faculty that instinctively sees 
 and does the right thing. Her helpfulness was 
 not that obtrusive, bustling kind, which annoys 
 while it helps; but, in her gentleness, she it was 
 who could best soothe, and to Mrs. Ward she 
 came to be a tower of strength. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Herron lay for days in delirium, 
 and then settled down into a stony, tearless 
 apathy, from which nothing would arouse her. 
 Her friends feared insanity. 
 
 One day, as Louise sat in the music-room, she 
 saw her glide down into the room beyond, and 
 throw herself upon the spot where little Flossie's 
 coffin had stood. Her attitude betokened extreme 
 and hopeless dejection.
 
 164 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Shall I do it?" whispered Louise to herself. 
 "I can but try," and seating herself at the piano, 
 her clear, rich voice rang out: 
 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in thee." 
 
 Tenderly came the words: 
 
 " Leave, O leave me not alone ! 
 Still support and comfort me." 
 
 Could it be possible? Yes, the heartbroken 
 woman was sobbing. 
 
 In an instant, Louise was with her, pouring 
 forth words of comfort, and gradually she was 
 won back to an interest in life by the sweet power 
 of Christian song. 
 
 It was with sorrowing hearts that Mr. and 
 Mrs. Ward watched the train as in the early 
 September it bore Louise and Emma back to 
 school. 
 
 They arrived a few hours before the train 
 which was to bring Asbury. How vividly Louise 
 recalled the time when, a year ago, she had come 
 as a stranger. Now it seemed everybody knew 
 her. Grave seniors called out, "All hail!" Pro- 
 fessors gave warm greetings, and in the gladness
 
 FLOSSIE 165 
 
 of her welcome the pangs of homesickness, that 
 she had felt at not being able to see the home- 
 folks, melted away. And then came Asbury, big, 
 brown Asbury, fresh from the farm. Louise 
 thought he had never looked so handsome, he of 
 the broad shoulders, and countenance as free from 
 guile as her own. 
 
 Then there were the innumerable questions to 
 be asked. 
 
 "Yes, father and mother are well. Father not 
 very strong, though." 
 
 Ruth? She and Edward have gone 1 back to 
 the academy. Ruth was taller than her mother, 
 and Edward was almost as tall as his father, and 
 as fond of books as ever. Yes, the new house 
 would be finished in a short time. 
 
 O yes; Marie and her husband had just got- 
 ten back, and settled down to elegant house- 
 keeping. 
 
 Therese had a French music-teacher, who 
 squinted, wore glasses, and, rumor said, made 
 love to his pupils, Therese in particular. 
 
 Mr. Newcomb was said to be growing richer; 
 some western speculations had proven especially 
 good. "But I would rather have our own father 
 and mother," said Asbury, "rich as they are in 
 their good qualities, than the wealth of a nabob."
 
 166 RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 All this, and more, Asbury poured into the ears 
 of his sister. 
 
 She had yet one surprise before settling down 
 to study, and that was the sudden arrival of Rich- 
 ard, who had decided to stop on his way back to 
 his college. 
 
 How full of joy the hours were! How full of 
 plans for the future that future which seemed 
 at this juncture unusually bright; for those 
 "western investments" of his father had turned 
 out better than had been feared. Mr. Newcomb 
 had contrived to have a well-written-up "local" 
 concerning the same in the city papers, reading 
 which, more 1 than one said, "Newcomb will pull 
 through yet." "A loss of fortune may mean much 
 to the elderly," Richard reasoned; "but I shall 
 soon have my profession and Louise," he added, 
 softly. 
 
 So, full of hope and good cheer, the lovers 
 parted for the year.
 
 XIV 
 Therese Bankruptcy 
 
 TEAVING the students to become adjusted to 
 I* another year's work, we again turn to the 
 home-life of the two families. Some of the news 
 so briefly epitomized by Asbury deserves more 
 than passing mention. The year on the farm had 
 been reasonably successful, and while the col- 
 legiate course abroad and the academic one at 
 home had entailed extra expense above what each 
 had deposited from his or her "college fund," yet 
 the growing family made such an imperative de- 
 mand for more room that Rachel and Ruth saw, 
 with extreme satisfaction, the lumber arrive that 
 represented two good front rooms one with a 
 bay window for Ruth's flowers, and a dining- 
 room, where the reunited family should gather the 
 next summer, and two greatly-needed sunny 
 bedrooms; and in a few days the welcome noise 
 of saws and hammers broke the stillness of the 
 country air. 
 
 Ruth and Edward were again in the academy. 
 Ruth was now, as Asbury had said, taller than 
 167
 
 1 68 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 her mother. It seemed startling how she had 
 shot up to womanhood. From her earliest child- 
 hood she had been of a quiet and loving disposi- 
 tion. The busy, hard-working life the Steven- 
 sons led had a tendency in itself to throw each 
 child on its own resources, and particularly the 
 care of the younger children upon the older. 
 Was a little brain puzzled over a lesson? None 
 so patient, so ready to help, as Ruth; indeed, 
 none so capable; for she had the gift of making 
 another understand whatever was plain to her 
 own mind. Since Louise and Asbury had gone, 
 she had become the family reader, and many an 
 evening was made enjoyable as her low, well- 
 modulated voice read from the current literature 
 in which the family were interested; for though 
 the old house had remained small, the library had 
 grown with the family, until now it was of really 
 respectable dimensions, and each book showed 
 marks of frequent reading. There was one work 
 in the collection which marked an epoch in the 
 life of Edward, who, the family laughingly insisted, 
 had gone plant-mad. It all began in a little para- 
 graph which had caught his eye in the early 
 spring, which, in an entertaining way, told its 
 young readers the pleasures of seed-knowledge, 
 suggesting that some seeds be placed to soak,
 
 THERESE BANKRUPTCY 169 
 
 and the result watche'd. Edward followed the sug- 
 gestion, and for a time the various cups and sau- 
 cers that sat around holding sprouting seeds were 
 a trial to his mother and Ruth. From this 
 simple beginning he had become really well versed 
 in the subject of plant-life. 
 
 There was also a volume on mineralogy, 
 which had guided in the gathering of quite a 
 valuable collection of geological specimens. 
 
 Fiction was not lacking in this home library; 
 but this was selected with the greatest care, and 
 from the best authors. It was held to have a 
 proper place in the family, perhaps in the ratio 
 of sweetmeats to the staples of the table. 
 
 Perhaps the reader asks, "How did this plain, 
 hard-working man and woman come to have such 
 rare taste and judgment in literature and the 
 children such fondness for it?" Does it seem 
 unreasonable? Had Rachel herself been ques- 
 tioned, she would have insisted that it was all the 
 direct outcome of those first quiet evenings, when 
 she and her young husband had read together by 
 the blazing fire, and that their eccentric friend 
 of the camp-ground had builded better than he 
 knew. Then there had been present in all that 
 they read a quiet sermon, pleading for higher edu- 
 cation, though of this they had scarcely been
 
 170 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 aware, a sort of undercurrent, which bore them 
 most surely on till they had been led to plan for 
 their children's introduction into the fascinating 
 fields to which knowledge is the gateway. 
 
 It is high time we were becoming better ac- 
 quainted with the younger children of this house- 
 hold. Edward was like, and yet unlike, Asbury. 
 There had never been a time when it was not the 
 latter's delight to throw aside his book and help his 
 father in harvesting a load of hay or reaping a 
 field of wheat; but it early became evident that 
 Edward had no such desires. He did his tasks 
 conscientiously, but there was no pleasure to him 
 in the work. 
 
 When a task was given him, he hurriedly fin- 
 ished it to get off with a book, and in some quiet 
 spot, perhaps the haymow, he would lie for hours, 
 oblivious of everything else. In this way he fol- 
 lowed the conquering Alexander around the 
 world, and read of the triumphs of Cyrus. How 
 he reveled in Irving's "Conquest of Grenada," 
 dreaming by day, if not by night, of old Moorish 
 castles and buried treasures, or became a living 
 companion *of Rip Van Winkle and Ichabod 
 Crane !
 
 THBRESE BANKRUPTCY 171 
 
 John often asked Rachel what they would do 
 with the farm when the boys seemed to care more 
 for books than plowing. "But you will be fa- 
 ther's right-hand man," he would wind up by say- 
 ing, as he laid his hand on the sunburnt, honest 
 face of the young John, who now proudly made 
 a "hand" by the side of his father. 
 
 "Mother," said Ruth one evening, when, upon 
 her return from school, she had donned a work- 
 apron and was helping about the evening meal, 
 "you have no idea how silly some of the girls 
 are about Monsieur Les Page, the French music- 
 master; and Therese why, I believe Therese 
 actually imagines herself madly in love with him." 
 
 "Impossible !" replied her mother. "Why, she 
 knows nothing of his past life. Besides, he is so 
 much older than she; nearly old enough for her 
 father." 
 
 "Well, all that may be true, but she talks of 
 him constantly; and, what is more, I am sure 
 there is a sort of clandestine correspondence be- 
 tween them." 
 
 "O, surely not! Therese is young and fool- 
 ish, I know. Her mind is filled with false ideas, 
 and she doubtless has her 'dreams' the result of
 
 172 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 the world of unreal and morbid fiction in which 
 she has lived; but I do not believe a Newcomb 
 would stoop to anything dishonorable." 
 
 Ruth smiled rather incredulously, and contin- 
 ued: "Well, only ye'sterday, Therese came from 
 her music lesson quite excited, and showed me 
 a closely-written note from the monsieur, which 
 she would allow no one but me to see, and no 
 one to read, saying though, rather triumphantly: 
 'And Edith Lancaster thinks she is the profes- 
 sor's favorite. O, if she could only read this !' " 
 
 A shade of questioning anxiety crossed Mrs. 
 Stevenson's face. "No," she said, softly and 
 sadly to herself, "I would not dare." A wave of 
 remembrance of the old Lynton days had swept 
 over her. Should she go to Margaret with a 
 word of warning? No; Margaret would not 
 brook it. Each woman had chosen her line of 
 action in regard to her own family, and each must 
 abide by the result. Besides, after all, while there 
 might be foolishness, there might be' really no 
 danger; for it was getting to be an open secret 
 that the professor was no longer giving satisfac- 
 tion to the authorities of the academy, and his 
 speedy relief from duty might soon be expected. 
 
 The next morning, about an hour after Ruth 
 and Edward had started for the academy, Mrs.
 
 THKRESS BANKRUPTCY 173 
 
 Stevenson caught sight of Ruth coming hurriedly 
 up the lane. Her first thought was of an acci- 
 dent to Edward, and hastily running to meet her, 
 she aske'd: "Edward? Where is he?" 
 
 "O mother!" Ruth almost gasped, "Therese 
 and Monsieur Les Page have gone!" 
 
 "Gone?" echoed her mother. "What do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 Soon she had learned the meager little there 
 was to learn. Therese had gone, the evening be- 
 fore, ostensibly to spend the night with a friend. 
 Not returning the next morning, her family 
 thought nothing of it, supposing she had gone 
 directly to the academy. Early in the morning, 
 however, a startling rumor became current that 
 Monsieur Les Page had quietly left the city dur- 
 ing the night. This in itself would not have been 
 at all strange had not rumor further said that 
 he was accompanied by a lady closely veiled. Not 
 one of the Newcomb family would have ever 
 thought of connecting this "veiled lady" with their 
 own Therese; but, going to her room for some- 
 thing, they found it in disorder, and, dropped on 
 the floor by the dresser, lay the tell-tale note 
 from the monsieur the one which Ruth Steven- 
 son had seen, but not read in which that base 
 man had indulged in lofty panegyrics concerning
 
 174 RICHARD NKWCOMB 
 
 his love for her, and wound up by urging her to 
 fly that very night with him. 
 
 And she, poor, foolish child, scarcely in the 
 dawn of womanhood, a child of luxury, tenderly 
 cared for since her birth, had gone out from her 
 home at the bidding of an adventurer, who had 
 proven his baseness by taking advantage of his 
 position to win the love of a romance-fed young 
 girl ! Not that he valued this love, but the wealth 
 of Mr. Newcomb more. 
 
 To attempt to picture the sorrow, the chagrin, 
 of the family of Therese would be useless. The 
 stricken mother, in an agony of sorrow, entered 
 her own room, closed the shutters, shut out the 
 sunlight and friends, and with closed lips, essayed 
 to bear it alone. 
 
 For a week or more, Mr. Newcomb was in al- 
 most constant telegraphic communication with 
 Richard, who, in the impetuosity of youth, had 
 flung himself into the search for the missing 
 couple. But however vigorous the search, and 
 however skilled the detectives employed, it really 
 seemed as if the earth had opened and swallowed 
 them up. 
 
 Fully a month after their departure there came 
 to Mrs. Newcomb the first ray of light that had 
 penetrated the gloom. It was a letter from
 
 THERESE BANKRUPTCY 175 
 
 Therese, written from that great human ocean, 
 New York City. She wrote of their marriage 
 a theatrically-glowing letter, such as one of her 
 cheap heroines might have written and of her 
 great happiness, and closed with the modest 
 request that her father allow her patrimony! 
 This latter was, of course, a suggestion of the 
 monsieur's, who was clever enough to know what 
 would best help his cause ; and he also sent with 
 the letter the legal certificate of that ceremony 
 which had forever linked the life of young, 
 thoughtless Therese Newcomb with his own older 
 and sin-stained one. But thus linked, we must 
 leave them for a time. 
 
 Enough cause, and to spare, for anxiety and 
 sorrow ; but by no means was this all that tugged, 
 these days, at the weary brain and heartstrings 
 of Mr. Newcomb. From the earliest pages of this 
 story of homes, the business ability of this man 
 has been duly observed. It has been seen, too, 
 that for years he' had not been content with the 
 slower, though sure, gains of the great mills which 
 bore his name, but that he had speculated much 
 now in eastern, now in western stocks; now he 
 became the controlling stockholder in a great rail-
 
 176 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 way scheme, or in a mine, whose output promised 
 fabulous returns. It has been further seen that 
 the outside world (which is never, after all, far 
 wrong in its judgments, but which, with its keen 
 eye, takes one's correct measure, mentally, 
 morally, and financially, no matter how closely 
 we hug to our hearts the delusion that we are 
 known only to ourselves) has for some time been 
 shaking its head doubtfully over many of these 
 same speculations. It now becomes proper for 
 us to inquire more closely into the true con- 
 dition of affairs. It goes without saying that 
 most, if not all, of this speculation was upon bor- 
 rowed capital, which, as long as the returns were 
 on the right side of the ledger, was all right. 
 
 But there came a change. Stocks that he had 
 excepted to rise, suddenly fell, and kept falling, 
 involving great losses. These he tried hard to 
 keep from the prying world, but in this succeeded 
 poorly. The "western investment," the occasion 
 of Richard's western journey the summer before, 
 was a promising mine. This for a time yielded 
 well. But somehow he missed the hour when 
 he might have sold and gained. During these 
 months of anxious struggle, the mills continued 
 prosperous; but in comparison to the larger 
 amounts involved, this was as nothing. It seemed
 
 THERESE BANKRUPTCY 177 
 
 on every hand that the toils were tightening, and 
 promising ventures melted into thin air. 
 
 It may be indeed, it is more than likely that 
 the sad fate of his blithe, winsome young daugh- 
 ter was the last touch needed wholly to weaken 
 the strong heart, and to cause the nerveless hand 
 to sink to his side, and the lips to form the hope- 
 less words: "It is no use to struggle further. I 
 may as well yield now." 
 
 At any rate, in just three months from the de- 
 parture of Therese he wrote Richard : 
 
 " In another week all will be over, and the world will 
 know me as a bankrupt. God knows, I have tried to avert 
 it, and tried in vain. For myself I do not care; but for 
 the heartache this will cause others, I would, I believe, 
 give my life to ease. 
 
 "I have secured to you certain stock (I did this over 
 a year ago), which I trust will be sufficient to enable you 
 to complete the course of study you have begun. 
 
 "You will now see, more than you did when I first 
 urged it, how necessary for you to arm yourself with an 
 education aud a profession. Years ago, when this trouble 
 first threatened, I secured the home to your mother; in- 
 deed, it was really hers from her father, as was the home 
 I gave Marie. What will be the fate of poor Therese, 
 when Les Page learns that she is penniless, I do not 
 know. 
 
 "I can struggle no further. I must lay the burden 
 down. Do not come home. Bear this in mind : You are 
 young and strong. It is my greatest comfort to-day to 
 believe that you can succeed where I have failed. 
 
 12 " FATHER."
 
 178 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 A week later there was an item in the great 
 city papers which announced the failure of Will- 
 iam Newcomb, of Burrtonville, owner of large mill- 
 ing interests. But few who glanced over it gave 
 it a thought. "A failure a mere episode! Men 
 failed every day." But not so with the local press 
 of Burrtonville. His enterprise was enlarged 
 upon, and the regret expressed was sincere; for 
 no one man had contributed more to the growth 
 of their city than he who to-day stood before the 
 world, as he thought, disgraced. 
 
 Satisfaction was felt on all sides that the beau- 
 tiful home, so long one of the local centers of 
 hospitality, was the property of Mrs. Newcomb. 
 All else, Mr. Newcomb had honorably placed 
 in the hands of the creditors. 
 
 Mr. Newcomb, after the news had become 
 public and the first stab of disgrace was past, ex- 
 perienced a feeling of relief. The effects of a 
 blow are often easier to be borne than the dread, 
 and if it had not been for the erring Therese and 
 two other facts, William Newcomb might have 
 been happier than he had been for years. One of 
 these was, that his wife had sunk beneath the 
 blow. It had come upon her suddenly, and fol- 
 lowing her daughter's ill-assorted marriage, it had 
 proven more than she could bear. In a heavily-
 
 THERESE BANKRUPTCY 179 
 
 curtained upper chamber she was fighting the 
 battle of life and death. 
 
 The other reason? Ah! when it obtruded it- 
 self into the sick-room or followed the sorrowing 
 man to his couch (and when, during the past years, 
 had it not?) involuntarily he cast his eyes in the 
 direction of the farmhouse, where this" very night 
 he knew a peaceful family had gathered, with.no 
 other feeling in their hearts than generous com- 
 passion for the misfortunes of an old-time friend 
 and neighbor. 
 
 Read on, sweet-voiced Ruth! Unconsciously 
 to you, you are the central figure in a sweet home 
 group. Father sits contentedly in his easy-chair; 
 the knitting in mother's hands does not hinder the 
 close attention she always gives when you read. 
 The brothers are grouped near the plain old 
 table. Read on ; it will be many a day before this 
 same group will gather so contentedly again.
 
 XV 
 
 John, the Younger 
 
 IT was a blustering wintry day. A heavy snow 
 had lain for weeks on the ground ; then had come 
 a warm wind, a few days of sunshine, and it had 
 melted, save a few patches on the hillsides. This 
 had been followed by another freeze, and now, this 
 morning, the winter wind blew across the empty 
 meadows and whistled noisily about the farmhouse. 
 
 Ruth and Edward were each at the academy ; 
 Rose was at the country school. John, the young 
 prototype of his father, had begged to remain at 
 home, asserting that Madam Blanche, a portly 
 Berkshire dame, needed his assistance in moving 
 her large family of baby v Berkshires into better 
 quarters. 
 
 After the morning chores, Rachel went, where 
 she was soon joined by her husband, to look over 
 again those wonderful rooms, now ready for occu- 
 pancy, and into which they expected to move next 
 week. 
 
 "How Louise will love this sunny room !" 
 
 Rachel was saying. "She can share it with Ruth; 
 
 180
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER 181 
 
 and if she brings her friend Miss Ward home with 
 her, we can at least make her comfortable." 
 
 "Dear me !" said she, in a reminiscent mood, 
 "how sad was that terrible tragedy in the Ward 
 home!" 
 
 "Yes," replied her husband, who was with her, 
 "and think of Newcomb ! We have so much to be 
 thankful for, in that sorrow has never yet knocked 
 at our door." 
 
 Ah ! but dear hearts, have ye not read : 
 
 "Into each life some rain must fall; 
 
 Some days must be dark and dreary?" 
 
 Care, such as you have never known, is already 
 close at hand. 
 
 Just then, Rachel passed the window. "Why, 
 father, who are those strangers near the barn?" 
 
 Looking out, John saw two men walking leis- 
 urely about, taking a careful survey of the premises 
 and belongings. 
 
 "Probably some men looking for stock. I '11 
 walk out and meet them." 
 
 So saying, he took his hat and started to meet 
 the strangers, and Rachel being left alone busied 
 herself about the dinner. 
 
 But the strangers, whoever they were, seemed 
 to have no business with Mr. Stevenson ; for by the
 
 182 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 time he reached the barn they were letting down 
 the pasture bars and going toward the woodland 
 beyond. 
 
 "Father," said younger John impetuously, as 
 they surrounded the supper-table, "who were those 
 two men who were walking over the farm this 
 morning, acting as if they owned it" 
 
 "I am sorry I can't tell you," responded his 
 father. "I supposed they were stock men, and 
 went out to see them, but they had gone over 
 toward the woods." 
 
 "Well, they came along where I was at work 
 penning up Madam Blanche, and asked me a lot 
 of questions they had no business to. I guess they 
 didn't get much out of me." 
 
 "I hope you remembered to be polite," inter- 
 posed his mother. 
 
 "I guess I was polite enough; but when the 
 thin chap with spectacles asked me if there was 
 any mortgage on the place, I told him no; and if 
 there was, I guessed we could pay it." 
 
 Ruth and her mother were yet busied with the 
 after-supper work when there came a knock at the 
 door, and from tfie kitchen Rachel could see the 
 visitors were none other than the two strangers of 
 the morning. 
 
 A forboding of evil, she scarcely knew what,
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER 183 
 
 seized her, and both she and Ruth hastened that 
 they might know the import of the strangers' visit. 
 
 No need, for in a few minutes her husband, 
 white and trembling, appeared at the door and re- 
 quired her presence. Ruth mutely followed. 
 
 "Mother," said John Stevenson, with uncon- 
 scious, rugged dignity, "this gentleman," indicating 
 a florid, rather large man, evidently ill at ease, "is 
 Mr. Hardin, one of Mr. Newcomb's creditors. 
 This," indicating evidently the "thin chap with 
 spectacles," "is his lawyer, Mr. Nevins. Did you 
 not, years ago, take my message to William New- 
 comb that I could not longer remain as security 
 with him on the note^" 
 
 "Certainly," replied Rachel. "He consented to 
 the change, and assured me the name would be re- 
 moved at once." 
 
 The lawyer took from his pocket a leather book, 
 and from its folds took out a yellow bit of paper. 
 With a blur over his eyes, John Stevenson read the 
 fateful words: 
 
 , "I promise to pay the sum of ten thousand dol- 
 lars with interest from date," etc. Signed. There 
 was the pen flourish of Mr. Newcomb, and the un- 
 mistakable, cramped, plain "John Stevenson;" and 
 the flourished "William Newcomb" was as worth- 
 less as the yellow paper on which it was written!
 
 184 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 A moment of choking stillness followed. The 
 old clock on the high wooden mantel ticked on 
 loudly and bravely, as if it would fain avert the 
 coming disaster. 
 
 The hickory fire that glowed in the great fire- 
 place snapped and sputtered, but the living actors 
 in this home tragedy stood or sat like figures of 
 carved marble. 
 
 John Stevenson looked in mute appeal into the 
 faces of the two men, both of whom were fidgeting 
 and moving around in an uneasy manner ; but there 
 was no pity, no relenting. They were there to 
 have their "pound of flesh." 
 
 "There must be some awful mistake," almost 
 gasped Rachel. "Certainly, William Newcomb 
 could not be guilty of this awful crime. He told 
 me, when I took the message, that the note was 
 then in a bank, placed as collateral ; that he would 
 redeem it at once, by depositing in its stead certain 
 stock; and upon my second visit, he assured me 
 it had been done. O that friendship had not blinded 
 me, and I had asked myself to see the note de- 
 stroyed !" 
 
 Ruth, with clenched hands, was crying pite- 
 ously as she leaned with one arm over her father's 
 chair. Edward stood in silent wonder; but no one 
 had noticed the fiery young John, who suddenly
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER 185 
 
 sprang to his feet, and with eyes blazing like coals 
 and a face with the pallor of death, save for the 
 rugged tan, placed himself in front of his father 
 and said: 
 
 "Father, what does all this mean? What right 
 have these men," and boy as he was they were 
 forced to wince at the scorn in his voice, "to come 
 here and annoy you ?" 
 
 "It means, my son," and the father's voice 
 seemed as if the heartache of a lifetime was 
 crowded into a second, "that years ago, for old 
 friendship's sake, I became security to William 
 Newcomb for a sum of money which, with the in- 
 terest, will take every foot of ground belonging 
 to the farm to pay. He assured me at the time 
 he would only need my signature for a year, and 
 afterwards assured your mother that it was paid." 
 
 "O the scoundrel ! But it is n't right, it is n't 
 just. Think how they have lived, while we have 
 worked hard day after day! Go!" and he turned 
 in youthful fury to the two men, and flung wide 
 open the outside door. "Let the Newcomb's pay 
 their own debts." 
 
 The men arose to leave, glad to escape from an 
 interview so embarrassing, preferring to leave their 
 cause to the surer officers of the law. 
 
 Both the father and mother were so over-
 
 i86 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 whelmed with this calamity that they scarcely 
 realized John's brusque speech, and were only top 
 glad to be left alone. 
 
 Long they sat and talked; but talking brought 
 little relief, only serving to emphasize the direful 
 fact more plainly that William Newcomb had made 
 a promise to Rachel which he had not fulfilled. 
 
 "O !" moaned Rachel, "if I only had not trusted 
 him had insisted on seeing for myself that the 
 note was paid as he said!" 
 
 And now for this, her mistake, they were to be 
 homeless. Carefully she recalled every incident of 
 her call at the Newcomb office. Mr. Newcomb 
 had told her again, what she already knew, that 
 "the money thus secured had been used as an in- 
 vestment in the rapidly-changing financial scenes 
 in the early days of the war; it had brought good 
 returns, and had been invested again and again." 
 Yes, he had admitted it had been an act of busi- 
 ness carelessness that the original note had not 
 been paid. As she desired, he "would write a 
 check that very day." 
 
 And she had believed him ! For herself she did 
 not care so much; but there were the years of 
 hardships borne by her husband. He had never 
 been strong since the hour ot the accident. No, 
 he could never make his way again.
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER 187 
 
 The afternoon wore away, night came; though 
 they retired, neither could sleep. There were the 
 children! Rachel sobbed as she thought of them. 
 It was true, each had his own college fund. How 
 she blessed the writer of the stray paragraph which 
 had contained the suggestion! Yet unless it was 
 annually added to, it would prove insufficient. 
 Would they finally have to give up and come home ? 
 
 Following these sad reflections came the 
 thought : "Asbury is the Lord's own. He will care 
 for him someway." 
 
 Ah ! if that is true of Asbury, why not of Louise, 
 of Ruth, of each one? God's own are not all min- 
 isters. He will have his servants in all walks of 
 life, and the first prayer that had crossed her lips, 
 now rose for sustaining grace to bear this trial if 
 it came. 
 
 God is always waiting, longing to comfort if 
 asked, and even as she prayed, peace came. 
 
 They were all the Lord's. He was pledged to 
 care for them. The word, "I will never leave thee 
 nor forsake thee," still stood, and David's experi- 
 ence as recorded, "I have been young, and now am 
 old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, 
 nor his seed begging bread," might be hers if she 
 would grasp it. "Commit thy way unto the Lord; 
 trust also in him." Aye ! she had done this. Now
 
 i88 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 came the harder act of faith, to believe that He 
 would bring to pass that which was best. 
 
 Reaching out her hand ah! it had long been 
 wrinkled and hard she clasped the still browner 
 one of her husband, and whispered : "John, be com- 
 forted. God reigns, and he will care for us." 
 
 "O !" groaned John, "it was our own foolish 
 act, and God can not save us from the effects of 
 such. We should not have allowed the years to 
 pass without knowing that what Newcomb had 
 promised was done." 
 
 "But God can and will help us bear it," she 
 urged, and so comforted, after a weary while, they 
 slept. 
 
 Before the old farm-horn had blown the dinner 
 summons the following day, two 'things had hap- 
 pened. One was an interview on the part of John 
 Stevenson with the man who had so cruelly 
 wronged him, where he learned the truth of his 
 worst fears. Yet he had come away with a queer 
 feeling akin to pity for the wretched man; for he 
 said to himself, "I can stand before the world an 
 honest, if it must be, a penniless man, and there is 
 a world of satisfaction in a clear conscience." 
 
 And it was true, William Newcomb was an ob- 
 ject of pity ; for over and over again he had learned 
 the gruesome, unwelcome lesson that the way of
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGKR 189 
 
 the transgressor is always hard. For months he 
 had been cowering before the hour when the Ste- 
 vensons must know of his dishonesty. 
 
 At first he had not dreamed of a dishonest act. 
 He had fully expected to cancel the note, even 
 before Rachel's visit, and certainly to fulfill his 
 promise to her ; but even then the web of entangle- 
 ments had begun to enwrap him, and as fate would 
 have it, on the very day of her call, news reached 
 him of the sudden decline in price of grain, which 
 he had contracted for in large quantities. "Well, 
 the very next week I will do it," was the promise 
 be made his conscience when his last available 
 check was given, not to free the farm-folk, but 
 other more clamorous creditors. 
 
 But affairs were no better "next week," and so 
 he had lived on, the note becoming the property of 
 a bank, whose managers were wise to recognize 
 the value of the plain, cramped signature. During 
 the last five years he had not entered upon a specu- 
 lation without promising himself to redeem the 
 hated note with the margin, but it had been impos- 
 sible. Thus often do the results of our actions 
 widely exceed our intentions. 
 
 During the interview, he had sat cowed and 
 shrunken. Where was the old-time alertness, the 
 ready joke, the hearty good-fellowship? Yes, such
 
 190 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 are to be pitied "who sow to the wind, for of the 
 wind they shall reap destruction." Thinking this, 
 John Stevenson left him to his own sad thoughts. 
 
 How misspent now seemed the years that had 
 been given solely to the getting of wealth! How 
 fatal the mistake that had made him merely a 
 "source of supply for his family!" He groaned 
 aloud as thoughts of his children intruded. Could 
 he hope, dare he hope, for Richard, handsome 
 Richard, though possessing talents that ought to 
 make him a leader among his fellows ? He ac- 
 knowledged now, in those hours of bitterness, that 
 the whole bent of his boy's training had been such 
 it would be nigh impossible for 'him to resist the 
 temptations with which he was surrounded. 
 
 And Therese, blithe, headstrong Therese, there 
 could be nothing but sorrow and failure in her life. 
 And Marie? Perhaps here was a grain of comfort. 
 
 No! He frowned. Who could feel pride in a 
 vapid society woman? And to crown his sorrow, 
 upstairs lay the mother, his beautiful Margaret, 
 tossing in delirium, not yet conscious of the loss 
 that had come to their old-time friends. We re- 
 peat, he was to be pitied. 
 
 When John Stevenson arrived home after the 
 interview, he learned of the second event we have 
 mentioned. A legal notice had been served, de-
 
 JOHN, THE YOUNGER 191 
 
 manding the immediate payment of the note and 
 the interest from date. 
 
 Why go over the details of those trying days? 
 Rachel's strength of character had never been 
 tested till now. With her own hand she penned a 
 letter bearing the terrible news to Asbury and 
 Louise, telling them to remain at college for the 
 present, that their presence at home would not help. 
 
 To her husband she became a tower of strength. 
 When he would have sunk, she comforted him by 
 reminding him that the family were well-nigh 
 grown; but somehow, food and shelter and the 
 equally pressing needs of an education would be 
 supplied. 
 
 No one guessed the tempest that raged in the 
 heart of sixteen-year-old John. Of all the children, 
 none loved the farm as he. While Asbury had 
 dreamed of a pulpit, and Edward had followed a 
 conquering hero around the world, John had found 
 his study out under the blue sky. He knew every 
 foot of ground, and could give the name and his- 
 tory of each and every animal about the place. A 
 flock of sheep "ba-a-a-ed" at the pasture bars each 
 night ; to each one he had given a name, and it had 
 been with impatience he had listened to the state- 
 ment "that all sheep looked alike." To give up 
 the farm, and under such circumstances! With
 
 192 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 swelling heart he determined to see Mr. Newcomb 
 himself. "Father's too easy," the children had 
 often said. 
 
 Soon chance favored his purpose; for he was 
 sent to Burrtonville on an errand, and once there 
 lost no time in making his way to the Newcomb 
 residence. The angry blood surged through his 
 veins as he trod the beautiful, well-kept lawn, and 
 beheld the elegant luxury of the home. A servant 
 answered the bell, and went to call Mr. Newcomb. 
 "No, he could not be seen." 
 
 "But tell him I must see him," said John. 
 Again word was brought back that he could not 
 be seen. 
 
 "Where is he?" asked John. 
 
 "In his wife's room," replied the servant. John 
 walked out as if leaving, and the servant went back 
 to her work. 
 
 He well knew each room of the great house, and 
 little thinking of the sick one, he turned and sought 
 the room where he knew Mr. Newcomb was. Soon 
 his low knock summoned the surprised man to the 
 door.
 
 XVI 
 
 A Visit A Result Leaving the Farm 
 
 " I HAD to see you," explained John, who swal- 
 1 lowed back the involuntary pity which rose 
 as he caught sight of the haggard man. 
 
 "It is a part of my punishment/' the tired man 
 said to himself, as he wearily led the way to a 
 room where, since his trouble, he had kept some of 
 his papers. 
 
 "Well?" he said interrogatively, as the door 
 closed behind them. 
 
 As the boy had gone about the farm yesterday, 
 and as he had ridden in this evening, he had longed 
 to meet the author of their trouble face to face. 
 How he would upbraid him ! Ah ! he had felt as if 
 he only lacked opportunity to meet him ; but as he 
 beheld the pinched face, somehow the invectives 
 died on his lips. 
 
 Yet a glance upon the elegant appointments of 
 the room recalled him. "He ought to sell this, 
 part with every comfort; for the debt was his." 
 All this passed through his mind almost before the 
 echo of the questioning "well ?" had died away. 
 13 i93
 
 194 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 "I came to ask," and the sunburned face of this 
 boy, clad in his working clothes, shone with the 
 righteousness of his request, "if you would do noth- 
 ing to save my father and mother from being home- 
 less, all for friendship to you?" 
 
 "I would gladly do it if I could, but I can not," 
 and there was a hopeless ring in his voice. 
 
 "But it is so monstrous, so unjust," and the 
 boy's face flushed at the thought. "Can you sit 
 here in this home, with all this about you?" and 
 he swept his hand to indicate the luxurious sur- 
 roundings. "Can you allow Marie to retain her 
 home, and see my father, now growing old, lose 
 that for which he has worked through these long 
 years, for you?" 
 
 Mr. Newcomb was silent, then said, " I can not 
 control Marie's home. Once I might; not now." 
 
 "But this home," persisted John, "you can easily 
 sell it." 
 
 Said Mr. Newcomb, with a touch of impatience 
 in his voice: "Boy! this one debt for which your 
 father is security is but one of many. If I would 
 sell this home and all its belongings, it would not 
 pay the thousandth part." 
 
 Poor John began to realize the hopelessness of 
 his appeal. "But surely there is something you 
 can do ; something left of all your great property."
 
 REAVING THE FARM 195 
 
 "Nothing; all is in the hands of the creditors." 
 Then he half started, as if a sudden remembrance 
 had come to him. 
 
 "Then, Mr. Newcomb," and John drew himself 
 up, "I call you to remember there is a God, and he 
 is the God of my father and mother," and with 
 that he left the presence of the man who had 
 caused so much trouble in his home. 
 
 The youth paused for a moment in his home- 
 ward ride. Before him stretched the loved acres 
 of his childhood's home his no longer. Back of 
 him, on the banks of the Illinois, towered the great 
 mill, which had been such a source of wealth to its 
 owner. 
 
 "Well, old farm, go from us for a time if you 
 will, but some day I '11 win you back ! Yes, and 
 more," and, through the not unmanly tears, he 
 looked squarely at the mill, which was just now 
 being lighted by the evening sun. Then touching 
 Beauty he cantered home. 
 
 William Newcomb watched the boyish figure as 
 it recklessly strode down the graveled walk. 
 
 "Yes, it is hard for them," he said, softly. 
 "Could I buy peace of conscience if I gave them 
 the deed to the one thing left me? So poor, that 
 the hungry creditors did not care to bother with it. 
 Those acres of arid waste in Arizona; I thought
 
 196 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 they would have yielded me gold. 'T was but an- 
 other bubble. At any rate, they shall see that I 
 have done all that I could." 
 
 So saying he went to a drawer, drew out an 
 envelope, and, with a few strokes of the pen, made 
 John Stevenson the owner of a tract of desert land 
 in Arizona. 
 
 Putting it into an envelope, he wrote a note to 
 John Stevenson, telling him he hoped that in the 
 years to come he would thing differently of him. 
 
 Just then a servant called him to his wife's bed- 
 side. 
 
 She was dying! 
 
 About the hour that the Stevensons received 
 William Newcomb's communication, they also re- 
 ceived the news that Margaret, his wife, had passed 
 beyond the pale of human praise or censure. 
 
 "No, it is worthless, absolutely worthless; you 
 may as well toss it into the open grate." John 
 Stevenson, like a drowning man catching at a 
 straw, had gone to a lawyer, asking him to accept 
 for the debt the deed of the Western land, and 
 received for reply the above answer. 
 
 With a heavy heart he turned to leave. Sud- 
 denly a sense of the hopelessness of his cause 
 swept over him, and a despair he had not known 
 seized him, and in a moment the worthless paper,
 
 I/EAVING THE FARM 197 
 
 which had brought him this fresh disappointment, 
 lay upon the smoldering coals of the grate. 
 
 So burdened was he that he did not observe that 
 his youngest son, who had accompanied him, as 
 quickly stooped, and removing it from its perilous 
 position, placed it in his own pocket. But the law- 
 yer did, and smiled at the boy's independence of 
 action as well as at the shrewdness displayed. 
 
 Rachel awaited his return, and read the result 
 of his visit in his face. 
 
 It was, "We must find another home !" In after 
 years they wondered how they ever lived through 
 the trying days. 
 
 Added to the thought of leaving their home was 
 the pertinent query, Where should they turn? 
 What should they do? It had been hard to make a 
 living on the farm, to rent one seemed a doubtful 
 experiment. 
 
 It was found that while they would lose the 
 farm, they would be able to keep the stock. 
 
 These it was decided to sell, and if possible get a 
 home in Burrtonville. And then, how should they 
 live? This question both Rachel and John turned 
 over again and again in their minds. 
 
 Jerome Mills was a member of the same Church 
 as the Stevensons, and was the grocer in Burrton- 
 ville with whom the family had always dealt.
 
 198 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 He was possessed of a great longing to live in 
 the country, which desire became intensified by the 
 sight of golden rolls of butter, the baskets of fresh 
 eggs, and other farm produce, which Rachel was 
 wont to bring in each week in exchange for gro- 
 ceries. 
 
 Hearing from Lawyer Nevins that the Steven- 
 son farm was to be rented, he at once went to see 
 if they could not make a trade. 
 
 They soon arrived at a conclusion. The stock, 
 excepting that belonging to the children, should 
 remain on the farm, the property of Mr. Mills, 
 while the Stevensons should take his grocery busi- 
 ness and rent his house an untried venture; still, 
 it might prove successful. 
 
 John Stevenson was not a man to delay matters ; 
 so when he abandoned all hope, he at once made 
 preparations for the inevitable, and a few days later 
 two large wagons stood in the grassy lane, into 
 which the household effects were packed. 
 
 Poor Rachel! But a month ago, with a light 
 heart, she had planned to move into the new rooms ; 
 but now strangers would enjoy the comfort she 
 had never known! Yet it was not for these she 
 most sorrowed. Here, in the great kitchen, at the 
 table, the merry group of boys and girls had gath- 
 ered and spent the meal-time in laughter and repar-
 
 LEAVING THE FARM 199 
 
 tee. Here, about this hearth, her little children had 
 played. In that little bedroom, Asbury had been 
 converted. But why call up the past ? 
 
 Like as unto the Israelites of old the command 
 had come to go forward, she could trust that now, 
 as then, there would be a pillar of fire to lead; 
 so without a tear (for her husband's sake), brave 
 Rachel Stevenson went out from the home of her 
 early wifehood and motherhood. 
 
 All were ready to go; but the boy John could 
 nowhere be found. 
 
 Guided by a mother's instinct, Rachel went her- 
 self to the barn, and there in the manger of Beauty's 
 stall, with his arms about the wondering animal's 
 neck, poor John was giving way to the wild aban- 
 donment of grief. 
 
 The sight moved his mother as nothing else, 
 and, putting her arms about him, they wept to- 
 gether. But time moves inexorably on and pays 
 little heed to tears, and the pawing teams were 
 ready to start; so at last they rose to go, when 
 John, every inch a hero, even in his blue shirt and 
 cotton pants, said, "I '11 have it back, every acre of 
 it every acre of it!" 
 
 A few days after they had gotten settled, they 
 were surprised by a call from the director of what 
 had been their home-school. He soon made his
 
 200 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 errand known. It was, that their township had 
 requested the services of Ruth to teach the spring 
 school. This young lady at first demurred on ac- 
 count of fancied inability, but yielded, and erelong 
 seemed to have found her niche in the plain little 
 schoolroom. 
 
 Edward remained in the academy, while John 
 found enough to keep him busy helping his father 
 get adjusted to the new work of the store. 
 
 Like a patient mother-bird that sees its nest 
 broken and despoiled, yet patiently goes to work to 
 repair the breach, so this other mother began the 
 work of building a new home, under surroundings 
 so different from the past. 
 
 The task was not so hard after all ; for had they 
 not each other? And it was with genuine sorrow 
 that they thought of the lonely man in the great 
 house, who weeks before had sadly followed his 
 beautiful Margaret out from the door of her luxuri- 
 ous home to the stillness of the grave. 
 
 Richard had come to his mother's burial, and 
 after coming home from the last sad rites, he 
 learned for the first time of the Stevenson's loss. 
 He was shocked, overwhelmed, and felt this more 
 than the loss of his father's entire fortune. 
 
 How could Louise forgive this ? Would not the 
 very name of Newcomb be the synonym for every-
 
 LEAVING THK FARM 201 
 
 thing despicable? How he longed in the few days 
 of his stay to go to the farmhouse and express his 
 sympathy and sorrow, but he durst not! He re- 
 solved, though, as it seemed best for him to finish 
 his collegiate year, that on his return he would stop 
 at the university, and learn his fate from the lips of 
 her who, now that such sorrows had swept in on 
 him, seemed all that was left of life. 
 
 His heart yes, and his pride mourned for 
 Therese; for she had been his favorite. He could 
 have borne without a murmur the mere loss of 
 property; for youth is strong, brave, and hopeful. 
 But then came the death of his mother, that beau- 
 tiful, gracious being whose life had been the one 
 question, "What will make my children most 
 happy ?" 
 
 She may have erred in answering the question ; 
 but kindness, love, and gentleness had marked her 
 rule, and over her coffin, Richard first tasted the 
 bitterness of sorrow. 
 
 It would be hard to depict the sorrow, the indig- 
 nation, and the anxiety which both Asbury and 
 Louise carried in their hearts in these days. 
 
 To give up the home, the fruit of honest toil, for 
 another, and to go out into the world well-nigh 
 penniless! Imagination refused to take in the 
 thought that now, at this very time, the family were
 
 2O2 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 leaving the old home. Each felt that to remain in 
 school was out of the question. If they were home, 
 surely they might help in some way. This they 
 wrote. 
 
 Promptly came the message from father and 
 mother : "The one bit of silver lining to this cloud 
 is, that you are each so nearly ready for your life- 
 work. If you love us, stay -where you are, and 
 make the most of each day. This thought will 
 bear us up as nothing else will." 
 
 The wisdom of this was apparent. But they 
 could scarcely study harder than before; for they 
 were already among the best of the university. 
 
 As Louise was going to her room from recita- 
 tion one day, about a week after the receipt of the 
 news from home, a note was handed to her. It 
 read: 
 
 "Louise, I have been to my mother's burial. 
 I can not go back to school without seeing you. 
 You have a right to hate our very name; but will 
 you not see me? RICHARD." 
 
 Louise read, wondering: "Could it be? His 
 mother dead, and he in town? And he thinks I 
 blame him. Poor, unhappy Richard ! No ! What 
 had he to do with this? Nothing." And with a 
 longing to look into his face, she wrote: 
 
 "DEAR RICHARD, Come."
 
 LEAVING THE FARM 203 
 
 An hour later, these two, the current of whose 
 lives had flown together since childhood, and which 
 in these later years had been indissolubly knit to- 
 gether in that strange tie, stronger than death itself, 
 which, for lack of a better word, we call "love," 
 were together. 
 
 Richard had been moved deeper than he knew 
 by the sad succession of events of the past few 
 weeks, and it was no unmanly thing that, on catch- 
 ing sight of the bright, true face so dear to him, 
 and just now radiant with the divine light of sym- 
 pathy, he should sink into a chair and weep again, 
 as he had over his mother's coffin. 
 
 Then began the divine ministry of woman's love 
 to bind up the bruised and broken-hearted. 
 
 Tenderly she drew from him the story of his 
 mother's death, of which she had not heard. With 
 tact she made him understand that she imputed no 
 intentional wrong to the sorrowing father, who 
 now was certainly an object of pity to the most 
 careless. 
 
 With a hope she hardly dared feel, she pictured 
 the future of her own father and mother, and urged 
 him to make the most of himself by making the 
 most of the remaining months in college. 
 
 How she longed to ask him if in these sorrows 
 he had gone to the great Source of comfort! But
 
 204 RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 she remembered that if such matters were not act- 
 ually scoffed at, they were held with indifference 
 by members of the Newcomb home. 
 
 Well, in later years, he should learn and share 
 her own sweet faith ! 
 
 Foolish Louise! A thousand unhappy wives 
 would bear testimony to the futility of that hope. 
 
 Listening to her, Richard felt his dejection slip- 
 ping away. Yes, life was still rich; for it held 
 Louise. 
 
 He told her how, in another year, he would enter 
 a law-office. "And, Louise," said he, "believe me, 
 my first care shall be to see that this loss of yours 
 shall be made good." 
 
 As he read in her eyes the devotion of her heart, 
 a great sense of shame swept over him that he was 
 not more worthy of her. Looking into her eyes, 
 how easy seemed the right! how disgusting the 
 wrong ! 
 
 He was not going until a late evening train. 
 There was to be an open-meeting of the literary 
 society to which Louise belonged, and to change 
 the sad drift of his thoughts she insisted that he 
 attend. She had promised a song for the occasion, 
 and for more than a week had been practicing the 
 high, warbling notes of a solo in a new popular 
 opera. Scarcely had the last note died away when
 
 THE FARM 205 
 
 the vigorous prolonged encore gave her the oppor- 
 tunity she had coveted, and the rich clear voice 
 took up that blessed hymn of comfort which has 
 soothed so many sorrowing ones, "Come, ye dis- 
 consolate." As she sang, 
 
 "Earth has no sorrow that heaven can not heal," 
 
 little wonder that the company listened in awe at the 
 pathos ; for with every note there was a prayer that 
 her lover might test this truth for himself. Sitting 
 there, unconscious of the prayer, Richard resolved 
 to do this very thing, and from this very hour to 
 live an earnest Christian life. Alas! had it not 
 been for Braceton ; alas ! had it not been for the 
 inexorable reaping from the sowings of the past.
 
 XVII 
 
 Getting Settled Life in a College Club 
 
 SPRINGTIME had come, and other hands than 
 the Stevensons' were sowing the home acres. 
 It is always hard for a man late in life to change 
 his business. It was doubly so for John Stevenson. 
 
 Brought up on a farm, spending his life there, in 
 that place he was at home ; but as for a "store," he 
 felt out of place, awkward, having scarcely any 
 adaptability for it. But something had to be done, 
 and this had seemed to be the "something" that 
 offered. 
 
 If this were true of himself, it was hardly so with 
 the boys. Edward had remained in the academy, 
 it being his last year ; but there were the long morn- 
 ings and evenings, which he took largely to famil- 
 iarize himself with the new business, and gradually 
 the whole of the book-keeping fell into his hands. 
 
 John became in this new business his father's 
 most valued helper. At first he chafed at the 
 confinement, and groaned in his soul as he longed 
 to be on the farm again. But he soon began to 
 
 develop genuine business instinct, and, young as he 
 
 206
 
 GETTING SETTLED 207 
 
 was, his father learned to rely upon him as the pur- 
 chaser of supplies. Known to all his acquaintances 
 as a man of sterling honesty, having their sympathy 
 in his loss, it was not strange that customers flocked 
 to the new venture, and that erelong the mere ques- 
 tion of an honest living was assured. 
 
 Nor did the wife find the task of adjusting her- 
 self to the new home a difficult one. It will be 
 remembered, the coveted new rooms at the farm- 
 house had been unoccupied. The Mills' home was 
 a new and well-built cottage, with much more room 
 and many more conveniences than she had known. 
 "But, alas!" thought both she and her husband, "to 
 live in a home that is not our own!" 
 
 Yet the home-touches were not long in assert- 
 ing themselves, nor the living-room in taking on a 
 cozy home-air. There were two good-sized south- 
 ern windows, which, before many months, what 
 with hanging vines and blooming flowers, were 
 marvels of beauty. Between these were arranged 
 the shelves for books. And from these, their old, 
 worn friends the books of the years' gathering 
 soon greeted them, and their greeting seemed well- 
 nigh human. Ah! they had not lost all. Indeed, 
 though everything else should have been swept 
 away, the past, with its rich associations, was for- 
 ever theirs. And with that past, indeed one of its
 
 208 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 strongest factors, were these same silent friends, 
 who had now followed them into the uncertainties 
 of the present. 
 
 In a corner of the room, Edward's individual 
 tastes asserted themselves. In a cabinet of his own 
 making, with a plain glass front, was his collection 
 of botanical specimens. One more deeply skilled 
 than he might have called many of these worthless ; 
 but in their broadening, educating influence upon 
 the boy himself, in the sweet spell which their col- 
 lecting had thrown over him, keeping him from 
 possible rude associates, and in opening to him the 
 riches of nature, one would have been slow to pro- 
 nounce the most insignificant as worthless. 
 
 Accustomed on the farm to much "outside 
 work," the home-keeping in the Mills' home 
 seemed a very light affair, and it was well ; for the 
 years, together with the events of the last few 
 months, were telling plainly on the strong factor 
 of the whole, the house-mother. 
 
 As for the college students, it had been hard for 
 them to remain at their post amid all these harrow- 
 ing changes ; but the home commands were impera- 
 tive. Yet each felt something must be done. But 
 what? Asbury's expenses were already at a mini- 
 mum, thanks to the student club of which he was 
 a member; but Louise, with Emma, had found
 
 IN A COLLEGE CLUB 209 
 
 a delightfully congenial home, which had opened its 
 doors to the students, and where she had remained 
 during her entire stay in the college. But why 
 should she not try Asbury's plan ? That which she 
 most dreaded was the losing of Emma's sweet 
 companionship; for without the slightest need for 
 economy, there would be little use for her to take 
 any discomfort upon herself. 
 
 Among the worshipers at the same church with 
 Louise was a very tall, angular woman, with that 
 peculiar snappy kind of black eyes which seem to 
 be continually upon the lookout 'for a fault. Her 
 husband had grown tired of life years before, and 
 left her with the care of a large family, all girls, 
 and a bit of property in the country. She had 
 sold her country property and invested in an old, 
 rambling house in the town, whose only recommen- 
 dation was the great number of rooms it con- 
 tained. She had hoped to earn her livelihood in 
 the time-honored way of keeping boarders ; but 
 there were so many cheery homes open, was it any 
 wonder the students passed by this sharp-visaged 
 woman and her roomy house? Her latest am- 
 bition had been to organize a "girl's club," whereby 
 college expenses might be considerably lessened 
 for girls as well as their brothers. Indeed, at the 
 time when Louise began to cast about for a plan 
 14
 
 2io RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 to economize, a small club of the kind was already 
 in operation. 
 
 Perhaps it may be as well to state here that, 
 owing to the wise foresight of her father in his 
 plan for the "college fund," this was fortunately 
 not necessary, yet, with the air of a martyr, Louise 
 went on a tour of inspection, feeling very grand 
 and self-sacrificing. The outlook at Mrs. Hoy son's 
 (the club manager) seemed dreary enough, even 
 for the most pronounced martyrdom; but this 
 suited her present mood better than sunshine and 
 cheer, and as she might have signed her own 
 death-warrant she made the arrangements for the 
 change. 
 
 There remained yet one task, itself of no small 
 magnitude, and that was to acquaint Emma with 
 her decision. 
 
 That evening the girls were sitting in their cozy 
 room, apparently busy in the lessons for the next 
 day. After Louise had gotten up the seventh time 
 to punch. a fire that was already glowing brightly, 
 and had walked several times to the window and 
 beaten a tattoo on the panes, Emma tossed her 
 book aside and said : "You might as well out with 
 it, whatever it is. Have you, in a sudden gust 
 of passion, murdered some one, and is the wraith 
 making you uncomfortable ? Come, unburden your
 
 L,IFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB 211 
 
 heart to the one that loves you." Emma had struck 
 a mock-heroic attitude, and seemed to be listening 
 intently for a confession she expected would chill 
 the very marrow in her bones. 
 
 Louise smiled, a kind of wan smile, it must be 
 admitted. How she began and how she ended she 
 never knew. But in some way or other an idea of 
 the proposed change began at length to dawn upon 
 Emma, and really, if the "marrow" was not frozen 
 as she had expected, she was quite as much excited, 
 as if such an event had really occurred. 
 
 "Can it be possible/' thought she, "that the old, 
 sweet companionship is to be broken up?" No, 
 never; and greatly to the surprise of Louise, after 
 her excited room-mate had taken two or three turns 
 about the room, she stopped squarely in front of her 
 and announced her intention of accompanying her. 
 A swift vision of the plain, meagerly-furnished 
 room she had just secured passed rapidly before 
 her, and mentally she contrasted it with the luxuri- 
 ous one in Emma's own home. Then there was 
 the vinegarnish Mrs. Hoyson, the new landlady. 
 Louise wearily acknowledged to herself that in all 
 probability herein would lie the greatest trial of the 
 new life. No, Emma must not make this sacrifice ; 
 thus much she said, but Emma remained firm. 
 
 "Now you need not say a word ; my mind is fully
 
 212 RICHARD NKWCOMB 
 
 made up. Let me tell you something. Do you 
 remember last summer, at one of the meetings of 
 the Missionary Band, Mrs. Millionaire was urging 
 us to exercise self-denial in our gifts, showing so 
 plainly that the Lord took a special delight in such 
 giving? I remember to have felt a sense of shame 
 that in all my life I had not known what it was 
 really to do without something I wanted in order to 
 get money to give. Now here is my opportunity. 
 I will go with you to the club, and every dollar so 
 saved (and I will keep an exact account) shall go 
 to that new mission in the interior of China. Now 
 it is settled. You are not to have a monopoly of 
 heroics on self-sacrifice." 
 
 And so it was. A few days later found the 
 friends unpacking their "penates," as in school-girl 
 fashion they styled their trunks, and a few other 
 belongings, in one of the grim, bare rooms belong- 
 ing to Mrs. Hoyson. 
 
 A square of rag-carpet ornamented the floor of 
 this room, while a bed, a washstand, a plain table, 
 and two chairs comprised the furniture. The win- 
 dows were small, and nearer the ceiling than the 
 floor. The views from neither were inspiring. In 
 front, some busy men, in a cooper-shop, kept up 
 a rat-tat-tat on some barrels the whole day long, 
 while from the rear the view was excellent of a
 
 IN A COI^BGB Cl,UB 213 
 
 cemetery about a block away. Far from this being 
 an occasion of worrying, however, it became the 
 subject of many an odd remark from Emma; and 
 notwithstanding the dreariness of the place, not a 
 day passed without the sound of happy girlish 
 laughter. Looking back upon their college lives in 
 after years, two sober women, each seriously intent 
 upon performing the duties with which their lives 
 became singularly full, were wont to smile as epi- 
 sode after episode of this happy supremely funny 
 club-life was recalled. 
 
 If Mrs. Hoyson had one feature predominant 
 above another, that feature was neatness. Her 
 white aprons were always smooth and glossy in 
 their stiffness, and woe to the unlucky roomer who 
 left things "lying around." Emma and Louise took 
 turns in "straightening." One morning, it being 
 Emma's turn (Louise was at her practice), that 
 young lady concluded she would hurry up her fire, 
 and took some oil from the lamp to do so. Great 
 was her dismay to find a large oil-spot on the floor. 
 What would Mrs. Hoyson say ? Now, Emma really 
 knew nothing of housework, and as she stood con- 
 templating the spot, "Why not burn it off," some- 
 thing seemed to suggest. Well, in the next minute 
 she learned a thing or two about how not to re- 
 move a grease spot. The "fire" was promptly
 
 214 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 put out, but not until the girls had gathered from 
 the different rooms, with Mrs. Hoyson, grim and 
 severe, at their lead. Poor Emma! she hardly 
 knew which was most to be dreaded, the "O my's" 
 of the girls, or the stony displeasure of Mrs. 
 Hoyson. 
 
 The plan of the present campaign of economics 
 was, that there should be one of their number who, 
 in her turn, should do the purchasing of supplies, 
 and it became a matter of rivalry to see which 
 could bring their expenses down to the lowest pos- 
 sible figure, and yet maintain a good bill of fare. 
 However, it became tacitly understood, if either 
 of these points was to be sacrificed, the uncom- 
 plaining latter should be the victim. That year, 
 as if to get ready for such emergencies, nature had 
 sent a bountiful crop of potatoes, and never before 
 had either Louise or Emma dreamed of the possi- 
 bilities of this one mealy, jacketed tuber. 
 
 It became quite an experience with Emma to go, 
 with pencil and note-book in hand, and with an air 
 of importance, make the -acquaintance of grocers 
 and butchers, and exchange animated remarks 
 upon the lowest possible price of vegetables or 
 meat, and none learned quicker than she the possi- 
 bilities of a soup-bone or the satisfying qualities of 
 a breakfast of batter-cakes.
 
 LIFE IN A COLLEGE CLUB 215 
 
 This last knowledge came from a remark of 
 Mrs. Hoyson herself, with whom Emma was ar- 
 ranging the breakfasts for her week, and discussing 
 the merits of the various breakfast-dishes proposed, 
 always of course with an eye to economy. Mrs. 
 Hoyson, to help matters along, ventured the re- 
 mark, with her peculiar nasal drawl, and without 
 much regard to grammar or pronunciation, "You 'd 
 better try pancakes ; pancakes is mighty fillin'." 
 This, Emma, with her inimitable sense of humor, 
 related for the benefit o-f the club, and pancakes 
 became the order of the day. 
 
 Having tasted the sweets of economy, Emma 
 began to carry it into her private expenses, as the 
 following will show: They were all seated at the 
 table, when Louise happened to remark, "I wish we 
 had a barrel of apples, say of Belleflower or of 
 Winesaps, from the home orchard." 
 
 "O dear!" returned Emma, "apples are dread- 
 ful dear ! I priced some on the way to school this 
 morning, and they were three for a dime. I wanted 
 some so badly, though, I told the boy I would 
 take five cents' worth." A peal of laughter followed 
 this announcement, and it took Emma a whole 
 minute to discover that there was anything funny 
 in the proposed purchase of half an apple. "No 
 wonder that the boy looked perplexed and busied
 
 216 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 himself with another customer," she admitted to 
 herself. 
 
 A full account of all these exploits, Emma 
 "wrote up" in her weekly letter home. At first, 
 these letters were a source of great amusement, 
 and much interest was felt in "Emma's latest freak." 
 After a while, however, the fear came that perhaps, 
 for the sake of health, the girls were carrying the 
 matter too far ; and so, upon the receipt of the apple 
 episode, done up in Emma's most melodramatic 
 manner, Mrs. Ward said emphatically : "Well, I 
 have wanted to visit Emma for a long time. I am 
 going at once." 
 
 A few days after, as the girls were sitting down 
 to one of their plainest dinners, they were greatly 
 surprised by seeing a cab drive up, and in another 
 moment, Emma was in her mother's arms. It did 
 not take that lady long to decide that both Emma 
 and Louise would be better off back in their old 
 cozy home. Mr. Ward sent a message to the effect 
 that he would see that Mrs. Millionaire and the 
 mission did not suffer in this decision. Louise con- 
 curred, with a bit of exultation in her heart, it must 
 be confessed. Besides, had she not had an "experi- 
 ence" as well as the home-folks?
 
 XVIII 
 
 An Oratorical Contest Sad Ending 
 
 IN pleasanter quarters the year passed, arid never 
 perhaps had more genuine hard work been done. 
 Commencement-week was hastening; but preced- 
 ing this by a fortnight an event was to occur in 
 which the interest of all centered. 
 
 Their university was a member of an inter- 
 collegiate oratorical association, and had been 
 chosen as the place where representatives of the 
 different colleges should meet and contest for the 
 honor of supremacy. 
 
 With a thrill of pride, Louise received from 
 Richard the message that he had been chosen to 
 represent his college. Ah, if he should win ! And 
 her blood hasted and her cheeks glowed as she 
 imagined him the hero of the occasion. Little else 
 than the contest was talked of. At length the day 
 came. 
 
 As the representatives from the different col- 
 leges began to gather, it was easy to see that they 
 were all picked men, the pride of their institutions. 
 
 Many were accompanied by some of their particu- 
 217
 
 218 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 lar friends, who desired to witness the success, as 
 each one hoped, of their "man." 
 
 Among them came Richard Newcomb, who lost 
 110 time in calling upon her for whose sake he was 
 most anxious to succeed. From him, Louise 
 learned that a company of his friends, among 
 whom was a Mr. Braceton, had accompanied him. 
 
 The next few hours seemed like a dream, they 
 were so full of feverish anxiety. At length came 
 the, packed hall, the flutter of college colors, the 
 din of college yells, and then the genuine eloquence 
 of each contestant. 
 
 Presently a clear, rich, well-modulated voice 
 began. Ah; how well Louise knew each tone! 
 See, the audience is growing still, is bending to 
 listen. 
 
 The chosen theme is one that touches the heart, 
 and the great heart of the audience responds as 
 the earnest, impassioned sentences fall from the 
 speaker's lips. 
 
 The orator at length sits down amid a storm of 
 applause. There were others yet to speak; but 
 Louise felt that her lover had won, and it was 
 true. 
 
 Later the prize was given to him, a lovely sil- 
 vered head of the great Demosthenes, crowned 
 with a golden crown of laurel, the latter of such
 
 AN ORATORICAL CONTEST 219 
 
 fine and beautiful workmanship that the delicate 
 leaves seemed to quiver before the slightest breeze. 
 Louise could not trust herself to offer the custom- 
 ary congratulations before so many curious eyes. 
 
 Leaving a message with Asbury to the effect 
 that she and her room-mate, Miss Ward, would 
 call in the morning, she quickly sought the privacy 
 of her room. 
 
 In the after years of her life she was wont to 
 look back upon the delirious joy of that evening as 
 of an experience in the life of another, one of whom 
 perhaps she had read, so far away and unreal did 
 it come to seem. 
 
 Her first thought on awakening the next morn- 
 ing was, "Richard has won !" How proud she 
 felt of him ! What might she not expect from the 
 future, in which the world must recognize his 
 ability? 
 
 In front of her window stood a great tree, always 
 a favorite trysting-place for robins and the other 
 birds of the locality. As she threw open the sash, 
 she noticed a robin swaying to and fro on one of 
 the topmost boughs. As she looked, she saw him 
 throw back his head, and in an ecstasy of delight 
 burst into such a flood of melody that the quiet 
 stillness of the morning seemed suddenly to become 
 one great anthem of praise. This accorded well
 
 220 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 with her own present emotions, and she said softly 
 to herself, "The bird is not happier than I." 
 
 The song finished, the happy songster flew up 
 yet a little higher, and perched upon another limb, 
 not yet leaving the shady tree. Suddenly there was 
 a whirr from a bow and arrow in the hands of a 
 neighbor's boy, and his sweet song was hushed 
 forever. 
 
 Shocked, and with her heart filled with pity at 
 the tragedy, she hastened to where he lay gasping; 
 but as she stroked the ruffled plumage, there was 
 no voice to whisper that her own happiness might 
 be wrecked as quickly. 
 
 As she knew that in all probability many would 
 call at the victor's rooms during the morning, she 
 arranged that hers should be as early as possible, 
 and so, as the silvery chimes of ten o'clock rang 
 out, she, with Asbury and Emma, started for the 
 hotel where he was stopping. 
 
 Let us for a moment go back to the victor. 
 Flushed with excitement, congratulated on all sides, 
 the idol for the time of the college friends who had 
 accompanied him, Richard Newcomb went to his 
 rooms happier, having lately known such sorrow, 
 than he could have dreamed possible. 
 
 Students from the different colleges began to 
 gather in his room and offer congratulations.
 
 SAD ENDING 221 
 
 Later, when the number had narrowed down to 
 perhaps a half dozen, Braceton suggested that they 
 should celebrate the victory in some sort of style. 
 
 Richard demurred. More than once in Brace- 
 ton's own room he had gone beyond the bounds, 
 and none knew as well as he the danger that men- 
 aced him. But Braceton insisted, and finally a 
 bottle of champagne was brought. 
 
 "No, no ! not here !" Richard said, as the spark- 
 ling glass was handed him. 
 
 At this arose a laugh, a laugh which was de- 
 cisive. It is easier for some to stand before a bullet 
 than before a laugh. So the glass was drained; 
 then another. Other bottles were brought, and 
 soon the walls echoed with foolish laughter and 
 jest. 
 
 With the second draught, all control of himself 
 passed from young Newcomb. Gone were the 
 memories of a mother's death, a father's trouble ; 
 gone even the memory of Louise; and not until 
 the early dawn did he fall into a drunken stupor, 
 dressed as he had come from the hall, and so he 
 was lying when Louise crossed the threshold. 
 
 The parlors of this hotel were on the second 
 floor, and the room Richard and Braceton occupied 
 was only a door distant. 
 
 On the arrival of the visitors the porter knocked
 
 222 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 at the door, and handed the card to Braceton, who 
 had answered. (It was a peculiarity that the drink 
 that would affect the quick, nervous brain of New- 
 comb, Braceton would hardly feel.) 
 
 As he took the card, he read aloud the name. 
 Was it the magic of the name that broke the 
 drunken stupor ? At any rate, Richard slowly arose, 
 looked wildly around, saying, "Where am I?" 
 
 "Pull yourself together, old fellow," said Brace- 
 ton. "You have callers that I think you would 
 like to see, though you had better say you 're out 
 till you 're in better shape." 
 
 "What do you say?" and as he seized the deli- 
 cate card in his hand, somehow, through the be- 
 fogged brain, was borne the fact that Louise was 
 waiting, and without a moment's hesitation he 
 started to go to her. 
 
 Perceiving this, Braceton took hold of him to 
 hold him back. Then came the sound of a thick, 
 incoherent, angry voice, echoes of which floated 
 over the open transom into the parlors. Emma 
 started, and Louise grew pale with apprehension. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened, and in walked Rich- 
 ard, with hair wildly disheveled, eyes bloodshot, 
 his whole attire bespeaking a night's carousal. 
 
 Muttering something in an incoherent, unsteady 
 manner, he essayed to walk across the room to
 
 SAD ENDING 223 
 
 where Louise sat, the strong odor of wine preced- 
 ing him. 
 
 Like a flash upon the startled girl came the 
 memory of that dreadful night when Baby Flossie 
 lay dying, and a drunken husband had ended his 
 own miserable life ; and with this flash came a real- 
 izing sense of Richard's condition. 
 
 With a low moan, and a startled, appealing 
 glance toward Asbury and Emma, she fled through 
 the open door. 
 
 O ! to be home, to be in her own room, to be 
 anywhere, that she might hide her shame and dis- 
 grace ! 
 
 A few minutes later, returning homeward, she 
 entered the gateway, and just by the door the body 
 of the dead robin still lay. Mechanically she 
 stopped as she said, "O ! little bird, I am brought 
 as low as you; your happiness is not more surely 
 ended than is mine." 
 
 Passing to her room, the disgrace of the scene 
 she had so recently witnessed well-nigh over- 
 whelmed her. With it came the conviction, slow 
 but sure, that the various whispered rumors which 
 had reached her during the years, and to which she 
 had so vehemently refused credence, were true. 
 Then came the pain and the heart agony as the 
 idol came to be torn out ; for "torn from her heart
 
 224 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 he should be," she said to herself. An hour ago 
 she had been so proud of him ; but now ? Yes, the 
 dream was over. Little Flossie had not died in 
 vain. 
 
 The next day the great panting engine rapidly 
 bore Louise on her homeward journey, yet it could 
 not go fast enough to suit the wild tumult in her 
 heart. After what seemed an age, the familiar 
 home depot was reached. She had half expected 
 that her father or one of the boys would meet her, 
 else how would she get out to the farm ? 
 
 A sudden remembrance of the change swept 
 over her. Ordering a carriage, she was soon being 
 driven rapidly to the new home. 
 
 Rachel had been unusually busy that morning, 
 and had just sat down in an easy chair for a few 
 minutes' talk with her husband, who had entered 
 when hearing the noise of wheels at the gate, and 
 glancing out she caught sight of the carriage which 
 carried passengers to and from the trains. 
 
 "Why, who can it be ?" and she looked curiously 
 at the strangely familiar figure now coming up the 
 walk. 
 
 As Louise stepped upon the porch she raised 
 her veil as if in search of something familiar. As 
 Rachel looked on the face, and recognized it as her 
 daughter's, a sudden fear swept over her.
 
 SAD ENDING 225 
 
 "Louise! Louise! my child! speak, tell me, are 
 you ill?" for Louise was now sobbing the first 
 tears since that dreadful morning. 
 
 "Yes, mother, sick of life, sick at heart." 
 
 Gently, Rachel unloosed her wraps and removed 
 her hat, and with motherly tact soothed her while 
 she told the dreadful story. 
 
 "Mother," said Louise, after the storm had 
 spent itself, and she had been soothed by the sym- 
 pathy of both father and mother, "it is all over. 
 Henceforth he must be to me as if he had never 
 been. I can never forget poor little Flossie." 
 
 At this, though her face betokened naught but 
 true sympathy with the grief of her daughter, a 
 song of thanksgiving arose in the mother's heart. 
 Curiously enough, even as she held her in her arms 
 and comforted her, the night of her own agony in 
 the farmhouse came vividly back. How, torn with 
 doubts and fears, she had tossed upon her bed, 
 saying over and over to herself, "It must be broken 
 off; but how?" Alas, that in the answering there 
 should be so many ruined hopes and so much of 
 sorrow ! 
 
 To do her justice, it must be said that she was 
 grieved to hear of Richard's fall. She had not ex- 
 pected it to come in so gross a manner. She had 
 yielded at last a tacit consent to the marriage 
 15
 
 226 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 which seemed inevitable ; but with all her intuitions 
 on the alert, she could see nothing but unhappiness. 
 Better a thousand heartaches at present, she said to 
 herself as she noted Louise's grief, than that the 
 entire life should be wrecked, and trusting to the 
 elasticity of youth, she hoped that all would yet be 
 well. 
 
 After the first greetings, and the first pangs of 
 shame and grief over, Louise quickly detected the 
 changes time had brought about. Her father 
 looked old and careworn, and there came a realiz- 
 ing sense in her heart of all the dear ones had 
 suffered; and the hope was born and grew that, 
 though her own happiness was as she believed 
 wrecked forever, still there might remain the joy of 
 lightening their burdens. 
 
 The greatest change was in her brothers and 
 sisters. She could hardly connect the old, quiet 
 playmate Ruth with the tall, slender, girlish woman, 
 who ruled with a sway of gentleness in the little 
 schoolhouse just back of the farm. 
 
 Edward and John seemed suddenly grown up, 
 the latter a counterpart of his father. Indeed, some- 
 times as he walked down the yard, there was that 
 in his carriage that brought back strangely to 
 Rachel the old days at Lyntan, when a shy, rugged 
 farmer had become all in all to her. He had his
 
 SAD ENDING 227 
 
 father's strict notions of honesty and his mother's 
 unquestioning faith, and with the advantage of a 
 modern education, he bade fair to make a widely 
 useful man. But it was a matter of regret 
 that he seemed less inclined to study than the 
 others. There had been so much hard work on 
 the farm, always something for which he seemed 
 especially fitted; so it was not strange that he was 
 not the student that either of the older ones was. 
 
 A letter soon followed Louise from Asbury, in 
 which he stated that he had received an offer to 
 take charge of a congregation in the State where 
 the university was situated. So, with his parents' 
 leave, he would not be home during the vacation, 
 and Louise was the more readily reconciled to this, 
 because, while he sympathized with her in the mor- 
 tification which she had endured, yet, with his strict 
 notions of right and wrong, he had always agreed 
 with his mother that there could be nothing but 
 unhappiness from the marriage, and really he felt 
 that no price was too dear to pay for release from 
 such a bondage. 
 
 The father and mother began, though, to won- 
 der if their children would ever be at home together 
 again.
 
 XIX 
 
 "Farewell, Life Choice" 
 
 I OUISE soon found her niche in the household. 
 I/ She had lost none of her old helpfulness, and 
 as Ruth's school was just closing, the mother would 
 say, jesting, that with two grown daughters her 
 occupation was gone. 
 
 She found the family still sore over the loss of 
 their home, yet bravely trying to make the best of 
 life. As for herself, she did not dare let them 
 know how much she missed the dear old home and 
 the farm, with the many associations of her child- 
 hood, nor how much of a stranger she felt herself 
 to be in the smart new cottage they were beginning 
 to call home. 
 
 In those days she did not look far into the fu- 
 ture. The past had been so bitter, perhaps it might 
 be given her in the every-day life of the present to 
 be of some practical use to her brothers and sisters. 
 So, with as much zeal as though her livelihood 
 depended upon it, she began giving Ruth instruc- 
 tion in music. Edward's rapid development had 
 228
 
 "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE" 229 
 
 startled her, and it was with genuine prfde that she 
 noted his well-defined literary taste. She often 
 said to her parents, as she noted his unerring judg- 
 ment of the literature which came into the home, 
 that certainly, somewhere and somehow, he would 
 find his life-work among books ; but how should 
 she interest John, rugged, plain-spoken, practical 
 John, upon whom the family were coming to lean 
 more and more ? For that he must be interested in 
 books and in study she felt very sure. 
 
 Now fortune favored her. Quite a bit of local 
 interest was manifest just now in the application of 
 certain phosphates to a stretch of alkaline lands 
 which ran up to one side of the city, and none were 
 more interested than John in the outcome. This 
 gave her an idea. Might he not become interested 
 in chemistry itself? She approached the question 
 with tact, and erelong it came to be the usual 
 thing to have an "experiment" on hands. One 
 victory won, she planned another. She had many 
 interesting episodes of her class studies in geology, 
 with which she regaled him, as they took tramp 
 after tramp, of her planning, together. Yes, they 
 really littered up the house, and brought home 
 much that was worthless ; but a nature hitherto deaf 
 to the persuasive voice of study was surely awaken- 
 ing, and Louise, fresh from a realm where learning
 
 230 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 and culture were sovereign, felt no trouble too 
 great if that goal could be reached. 
 
 It was not strange that occasionally on these 
 tramps their feet should turn toward the old farm. 
 One day, as they sat together on the edge of the 
 woodland Louise remembered so well, John re- 
 counted for his sister's benefit the whole history 
 of those dreadful weeks. So vivid was his por- 
 trayal that she seemed to live over the scene, and 
 could almost hear the creak of the wagons that 
 bore the family and belongings away. 
 
 "But I tell you, sister mine, I '11 have every acre 
 back," and as he spoke his glowing face and flash- 
 ing eye showed that this promise, which he had 
 made to himself and his mother in the midst of their 
 trouble, had taken deep root in his heart. Louise 
 watched the strong face, and began to question him 
 as to his plans. These she found were as yet very 
 vague; but here was her opportunity, and in a 
 kindly way she showed that in order to cope with 
 the world an education was necessary. "But I '11 
 never go to college," insisted he. 
 
 "Well, you need not if you so choose ; but a cer- 
 tain amount of education you must have. Take 
 mathematics, for instance 
 
 "Do n't mention that study. It is the prince of 
 all evils," interposed John.
 
 " FAREJWEXI,, LIFE CHOICE" 231 
 
 "By no means ; rather, this science is mankind's 
 best friend," and she went on to tell him, among 
 other things, of the wonderful array of facts that 
 would be absolutely unknowable without this exact 
 science. His interest was aroused, and before an- 
 other week had passed he had gotten the key to 
 successful study he was interested. Then began a 
 companionship which, in after years, when an ocean 
 came to roll between these two, became a blessed 
 memory. Nor did this gifted sister, with all the 
 later work that she was permitted to do in after 
 years, ever value aught of that so highly as she did 
 these few weeks spent with her brother. 
 
 A few weeks after Louise's return, an event 
 occurred which, in order properly to chronicle, we 
 shall have to return to the university, so suddenly 
 and unceremoniously left. 
 
 Never did Esau of old sorrow more over the loss 
 of his birthright than did Richard Newcomb when 
 he came to himself and realized what had occurred. 
 
 Shame, mortification, self-condemnation, and 
 anger at his false friends, raged in his breast. With 
 intellectual, laurel-crowned brow, his "Demos- 
 thenes" gazed solemnly at him from the mantle. 
 How he hated the unoffending silver ! What were 
 a thousand prizes, if disgrace ruled supreme and 
 Louise were lost?
 
 232 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Braceton flippantly bade him "cheer up." To 
 Richard's credit, be it said, he angrily turned on 
 him and bade him begone ; he wished never to see 
 him again. 
 
 Was all lost? Gradually the hope grew upon 
 him that it was not. He knew that Louise's great 
 love had stood firm in the other great trials. Might 
 he not hope it would yet stand? He turned this 
 over, and at last resolved to go and throw himself 
 upon her mercy. He knew of her sudden flight 
 home, he could guess her mortification ; but "there 
 was but one hope in life left him. He would see 
 her, would plead his case, and give her his solemn 
 pledge that he would never again touch wine hi 
 any form. 
 
 How clearly he now saw, with her, that this was 
 for him the only safe course! 
 
 One day in the early summer, Louise was star- 
 tled by the appearance of her lover. She dared not 
 look at him, lest the sight of his abject sorrow 
 might turn her. 
 
 "Never again would he fall so low," came the 
 promise straight from the heart; for the pleader 
 knew that for him it was a matter of life or death. 
 
 With her by his side, he was sure he could 
 stand ; without her, he was lost. But no ; she could 
 not listen. She had to bid him go ; for a dead baby-
 
 ' FAREWELL, I,IFE CHOICE" 233 
 
 face looked out from a bank of flowers, bidding her 
 remember that "a drunkard is a slave." 
 
 So these two parted. The one, to go to her 
 room, to throw herself upon the hard floor in agony, 
 to moan, to pray, and finally, from her knees, to go 
 out bravely into life to take up such duties as He 
 might give. The other ? As Adam left Paradise, to 
 that may this other going be likened. Behind were 
 love and happiness, and, he told himself, success. 
 Beyond? But he could get no further; for despair 
 lay at his heart. He knew he was lost. 
 
 Did she do right ? Was not her place at his side, 
 if in happiness? Well, if in suffering, still the 
 same? Ought she not to have thrown her pure, 
 strong self in the breach in an effort to save this 
 erring, brilliant young man ? 
 
 Ask the drunkard's child, who begs at your 
 doorway, half clad, hungry, often diseased in body, 
 an imbecile in mind; ask the drunkard's wife, as 
 hungry, beaten, bruised, she pitifully stoops on the 
 common to gather a few sticks to warm her babes, 
 while she goes to beg charity that they may be fed. 
 Ask, if you still doubt, the murdered Flossies (and 
 they are many), and in one strong chorus the an- 
 swer comes, "She did right!" 
 
 After Richard's departure, until near the close 
 of the summer, the days went by without incident.
 
 234 RICHARD NEWCOMB' 
 
 Louise, with the old imperiousness all gone, anxious 
 for a work that might help her to forget her sor- 
 row, entered heartily into the duties of the home. 
 She often contrasted this summer with the last 
 that so full of the world, and this of home quiet. 
 One day, toward the end of August, a letter came 
 to her from Emma's home, but the superscription 
 was not Emma's. 
 
 She broke the seal, and read with growing in- 
 terest and surprise, then handed it in silence to 
 her father. 
 
 It proved to be from Mrs. Millionaire, who 
 wrote, not only in loving remembrance, but in re- 
 ferring to the pleasant acquaintance of a year ago, 
 said: "You will remember my brother William, 
 who was in theological school when you were here. 
 He and his wife have been accepted as missionaries 
 to a province in China. The Woman's Union Mis- 
 sionary Society is earnestly calling for a conse- 
 crated young woman to go with them to teach in a 
 school. Indeed, I shall have to say plainly, to build 
 up from nothing a girls' college. I have had you 
 in my mind as a suitable person. Will you go? 
 Shall I present your name as a candidate?" 
 
 The letter dropped from John Stevenson's hands 
 as he finished reading it aloud to his wife. How 
 often about their hearthstone had foreign mission-
 
 "FAREWEU,, LIFE CHOICE" 235 
 
 aries been earnestly prayed for! Many were the 
 sacrifices that had been made that they might have 
 more for this beloved cause. But to give a daugh- 
 ter, and her one who had throughout her life been 
 in a peculiar sense the brightness, the sunshine, the 
 music of the home! How could it be? And 
 Louise? See her as she stands there by the win- 
 dow ledge, her face a study of emotions. So reso- 
 lutely had she thrust away her cup of proffered 
 happiness, and so uncomplainingly had she busied 
 herself about the home, that not one of the house- 
 hold had realized the real depth of the blow under 
 which she staggered. 
 
 It is a strange fact that parents are often slow to 
 ascribe the same depth of feeling to their children 
 which they themselves possess. To illustrate: 
 Rachel Stevenson's children never tired of hearing 
 her tell of the dear old village of Lynton, of the 
 old sweet days when she and their father became 
 all in all to each other, of their wedding-day, and of 
 the strange journey westward. As the boys and 
 girls grew older, often one would say to the other, 
 "How much mother must have loved father to have 
 left her friends and home forever!" and, though 
 Rachel had not seemed to suspect it, just such a 
 love had Louise felt for Richard Newcomb. 
 Thoughts of him had entered into every phase of
 
 236 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 her life. When she had practiced a song, running 
 all through and giving zest to the practice had been 
 thoughts of her bonny young lover. Ah, how 
 brilliant he was ! How hard she must work for his 
 sake! This self-abnegation of true love must al- 
 ways remain one of the wonders of the human 
 heart. Yet loving him so, she had relentlessly, at 
 duty's bidding, uttered the words that had parted 
 them forever. She was too brave and sensible, 
 though, to allow her life to become a failure ; so she 
 had thrown herself, with all her energies, into the 
 duties that had happened to He nearest. But O, 
 the heart hunger, the ache, and the pity ! The one 
 cry of her heart had been for work, absorbing 
 work, and now came this call. Was it of God? 
 Was she worthy? Her heart bounded at the 
 thought. If these two questions were but settled, 
 how gladly she would go! She had told her par- 
 ents much concerning her work and study, dur- 
 ing the past summer, as a member of the mission 
 circle. Could it be, they thought as they noted 
 her eagerness to go, that that had been a providen- 
 tial school, sent before by the Father to prepare this 
 child of his for service? If so, no. But it could 
 not be settled without help ; but the Help so freely 
 promised for every need was given, and after a 
 week, in what seemed in its heart-agony to be an
 
 LIFE CHOICE" 237 
 
 echo of Gethsemane, this Christian father and 
 mother were able, through their tears, to say, "Go." 
 
 Perhaps never did weeks slip by as did these 
 few intervening between the date fixed for her de- 
 parture. Asbury hastened home, that they might 
 all be together again. So, with aching hearts, 
 father and mother saw the dawn of the day that 
 was to take their darling away, yet not one would 
 have uttered the word "Stay" 
 
 Louise never forgot the last morning, as they 
 gathered for family prayers. How old, how bent, 
 seemed her father, as with trembling voice he be- 
 gan to read those matchless words of David, "He 
 that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High 
 shall abide under the* shadow of the Almighty!" 
 From the beginning, John and Rachel Stevenson 
 had been so careful about nothing as that they and 
 theirs should so dwell; therefore he had a right to 
 pray, as he now did : "Make good thy promises, O 
 God ! We have sore need of thy sheltering wings. 
 Infold this dear child!" Little wonder the prayer 
 died down in sobs, and remained unfinished. Ah, 
 well! He knew. Have little fear, brave girl; the 
 Sheltering Wings will cover thee, and the Everlast- 
 ing Arms will be underneath. 
 
 A few hours later she was gone gone, with her 
 cheery ways, her sweet voice, and her sunny pres-
 
 238 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 ence. Asbury accompanied her as far as New 
 York. Had the journey been a quarter of a cen- 
 tury later, they would, of course, have sailed from a 
 western port ; but arrangements had been made that 
 she should sail with an English party from Liver- 
 pool. 
 
 A week later, in one of the largest churches 
 of New York, a "farewell meeting" was announced 
 for some outgoing missionaries who were about to 
 sail. The hour was filled with prayer and testimony 
 and songs of praise. The missionaries had mostly 
 spoken of their interest in the work, and how 
 willingly they had given themselves to the cause; 
 but the audience was chiefly interested in a young 
 girl, especially gifted, who was leaving, so it was 
 said, a loving home-circle, having consecrated her 
 life to this work. 
 
 Anticipating the natural wish of the audience to 
 hear her, the kindly presiding officer, bending over, 
 spoke a few words in her ear. She arose, stood a 
 moment, and then the wondrously rich voice began, 
 in song, "Nearer, my God, to Thee," with the 
 words : 
 
 'E'en though it be a cross 
 
 That raiseth me, 
 Still, all my song shall be, 
 Nearer, my God, to Thee; 
 Nearer to Thee."
 
 LIFE CHOICB" 239 
 
 The audience was moved to tears. Yet none of 
 them guessed the story of the cross which had 
 brought the singer so wondrously near the Divine 
 One. 
 
 * * :)< H * 
 
 "Did you see that strange, poorly-clad woman 
 in the rear of the church" said one to another, as 
 they slowly wended their way homeward after the 
 services. 
 
 "That one who seemed to be so much affected 
 with Miss Stevenson's song?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Doubtless she was some one who had dropped 
 in off the street." 
 
 Later the bell rang at the home where Louise 
 was stopping, with her dear friend Emma, who 
 had come to see her sail, and a poorly-clad woman, 
 carrying a baby, asked to see Miss Stevenson. 
 Louise went at once to the room where she was 
 waiting, and after eagerly scanning the visitor's 
 face, with a start of surprise, cried out, "Therese 
 Newcom'b !" 
 
 Yes, it was she. In some way the poor, home- 
 sick, unhappy child had heard of the meeting and 
 of Louise, and she had yielded to an irresistible 
 desire to see her. She had not expected to make 
 herself known ; -but the song had broken up the
 
 240 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 fountains of her heart, and she had been impelled to 
 seek her out. Nor did she even now expect to 
 whisper aught of the sadly-humiliated life she was 
 living, nor to speak of the cruel treatment of him 
 for whom she had left home and friends, who, fail- 
 ing to realize the money he had expected, vented 
 his ill-will upon the innocent, foolish young girl. 
 
 But before she knew it, Louise had taken the 
 puny, creeping babe in her arms, the young mother 
 had pillowed her head on her shoulder, and was sob- 
 bing out the whole story. 
 
 "But you must go home." 
 
 "O Louise, I can not go back. I must live out 
 my wretched, miserable life. I have sinned away 
 every opportunity of my life. When I heard of my 
 mother's death, I thought I should surely die, and 
 I wanted, so much, to go home; but he " and 
 she shuddered at the name. "O, I dared not go! 
 Then he was more angry than ever when we heard 
 of father's loss of property. No, I dare not go," 
 she moaned. "I believe he would follow me and 
 kill me." 
 
 And was this abject, cowering creature the old- 
 time, happy, sprightly Therese ? 
 
 Louise shuddered as she thought of the treat- 
 ment she must have received to have brought her 
 to this.
 
 "FAREWELL, LIFE CHOICE" 241 
 
 "But you must go," she rejoined ; and then she 
 told Therese of her father, of his solitary vigils in 
 the old home, and how, as the weeks lengthened 
 into months, his grief seemed to grow heavier. 
 Therese was greatly touched at the recital, and 
 amid her tears consented to make an attempt to 
 escape her present miseries. Perhaps, notwith- 
 standing her grievous fault, there might yet be love 
 and a welcome in the shattered home. 
 
 That night, Asbury Stevenson helped a scared- 
 looking woman into a western-bound train, and 
 placing a ticket in her hands, bade her be of good 
 heart; yet she trembled each time a heavy footstep 
 passed through. Had she but known it, she had 
 little need for fear. Even that morning the evil 
 man whose cupidity had wrecked her life, realizing 
 that the wealth he had expected to obtain through 
 her had slipped from his grasp, had put into exe- 
 cution a plan, long nurtured, and had sailed for 
 his own France. Both mother and babe were de- 
 serted. 
 
 The following morning, as the missionary party 
 were being driven to the pier, Emma, who sat with 
 Louise's hand clasped in hers, said, almost in a 
 whisper, "Louise, before you go I must " We 
 lose the whispered story, if story it is, but catch 
 Louise's outspoken, half-deprecatory comment, 
 16
 
 242 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 "Sly Asbury !" Whatever the communication was, 
 it must have been a pleasant one; for suddenly 
 Emma was gathered close in Louise's arms. 
 
 In a few hours the outgoing party saw the 
 shores of their native land recede, and weeping, 
 waiting friends turned slowly about to gather up 
 again the broken threads of their busy lives
 
 XX 
 
 Therese On Both Sides of an Ocean 
 
 THE rapidity with which the events have shaped 
 themselves has made it quite impossible to re- 
 turn to the stricken man whom we left by the grave 
 of his beloved wife. Though Marie would gladly 
 have had him come to her, he preferred to return 
 to his own home, where, during all this time, he 
 has lived in great loneliness. The greater part of 
 the large house was shut up, the few rooms needed 
 for his use being kept in order by a housekeeper. 
 The only gleams of happiness that fell across his 
 path in these dark days were when Marie's little 
 Margaret would toddle to him, climb upon his 
 knees, and in sweet, baby fashion rub her little soft 
 hand over his careworn face. At such times his 
 face would light up", but the light would as quickly 
 fade away. He seemed, as Louise had told Therese, 
 to be settling into a hopeless melancholy. 
 
 His business had finally been "settled," which 
 term, by a strange misnomer, had been chosen to 
 indicate the final adjustment of property between 
 a bankrupt and his creditors; and save for this 
 
 243
 
 244 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 house, which had been the property of his wife, he 
 was penniless. The peculiar misfortunes which had 
 befallen him in his family affairs had brought him 
 much sympathy, and when a new company opened 
 the "mills," he was offered the position of manager, 
 with a good salary. 
 
 Had he, like his old friend John Stevenson, had 
 his family about him, he might, with his rare busi- 
 ness qualities, by steering clear of the rock of specu- 
 lation, have yet done well, but Margaret, the joy 
 of his home, was gone. Therese, that blithe, bright 
 girl, who had nestled so close to his heart, was, he 
 felt sure, somewhere, perhaps in want of the neces- 
 sities of life, paying the price of her folly. 
 
 Through the first months of his sorrow he had 
 clung to Richard as his chief prop. How his 
 heart had bounded as the telegraphic message, sent 
 as soon as the result was known, told him of his 
 oratorical victory ! But all this died out as the mis- 
 erable story of the evening's subsequent work 
 reached him, and also the knowledge of his es- 
 trangement from Louise. He had seen him leave, 
 to seek his fortune in the West, with but little hope 
 that he would be able to withstand the temptations 
 sure to be placed before him. 
 
 A few days after the burial of his wife an event 
 occurred which did much to comfort him. This
 
 THERESE 245 
 
 was no less than a visit from John Stevenson. 
 Neither of the men said much ; but there was that 
 in the hearty hand-grasp which told the sorrowing 
 man that the past was forgiven, and that for him 
 there was no other feeling than that of genuine 
 sympathy. Indeed, the Stevensons had come to 
 feel that the intention had never been wrong; but 
 rather that, in the hopeless task of unraveling the 
 entanglements, hoping vainly that each week would 
 set matters right, their own little fortune had gone 
 down with his greater one. 
 
 But more appalling to them than loss of prop- 
 erty seemed the scattering of the family. Even the 
 death of Margaret, they felt, could have been borne 
 alas ! many a wife and mother has had to be lain 
 away had the children all been present to comfort 
 and sustain the afflicted man. In comparison, their 
 own lives seemed strangely full of blessings. So it 
 was with no feigned sympathy that John Stevenson 
 had gone to his old friend. Yet even the sympa- 
 thy of an old friend could not take the place of his 
 own ; so after Richard's departure for the West, he 
 had drawn entirely within himself, and with a grow- 
 ing chill at the heart, his friends feared his mind 
 might give way under accumulation of sorrow. 
 
 Sometimes of a night, when the house was still, 
 he would wander aimlessly from room to room.
 
 246 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Usually, upon such a trip, he would go to a drawer 
 where a few valuables were kept, open it, take from 
 its depths a laurel-crowned silver head, gaze fondly 
 at it, and then with a sigh turn wearily away. 
 
 On one such night he was sitting gloomily by 
 the fire which had been kindled in the grate for the 
 evening was chilly when the door-bell, now so sel- 
 dom used, suddenly rang. Answering the summons 
 himself, what was his surprise to see upon the 
 doorstep a woman, ill clad, with a wailing babe in 
 her arms, and to hear a voice, strangely familiar, 
 call out: "Father, father! I have come back to 
 home and to you! You will not turn me away?" 
 
 It was Therese, who had made the long journey 
 back to the home from which she, in her foolish- 
 ness, had fled. 
 
 What if her poor little life had been overshad- 
 owed by a mistake? So had his. With out- 
 stretched arms he welcomed her back to his deso- 
 late home, and Therese knew, for the first time 
 since her foolish marriage, the value of the homely 
 comforts of food and shelter. 
 
 It had not yet been two years since she had 
 gone; but how she had aged! It seemed hardly 
 possible that this haggard, worn woman could be 
 identical with the merry, fun-loving girl who had 
 danced through these great halls.
 
 THERESE 247 
 
 When her return became known, Ruth Steven- 
 son soon sought her, and to her, for the sake of 
 the sweet friendship of other days, reticent as she 
 might be to a curious world, Therese told her sad 
 story, and in this tender and sympathetic friend 
 she came to find her greatest comfort. 
 
 Before Louise sailed, she had found time for a 
 hurried letter to Ruth. Referring to Therese, she 
 said : "We must remember that she has been more 
 sinned against than sinning. It is not ours to judge 
 harshly ; and looking back now over the years, it 
 seems that the events that have so crushed her, 
 and others as well, were but the inexorable reap- 
 ing of the careless sowing of other days. Be it 
 yours, dear Ruth, to lead her back to happiness 
 and a Christian faith. Remember, she is scarcely 
 yet a woman in years. Life may hold much for 
 her yet." Thus the gentle ministry of love began, 
 which we must leave to the years. 
 
 Strangely enough, it was left to Louise to be the 
 bearer of a message that, though startling in itself, 
 brought in reality the first breath of freedom whi"^ 
 Therese had known since the miserable night of hi 
 flight. The message told of the death of her hus- 
 band. He had died on shipboard. There was not 
 the possibility of a mistake. A ship from America 
 was being held in quarantine, owing to the death
 
 248 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 of several of its passengers. In the printed list of 
 the dead was the name of "Monsieur Martin Les 
 Page, of New York, returning to France after an 
 absence of years." Therese was free. 
 
 A few weeks later a little grave was made by 
 the side of Mrs. Newcomb's, and the young mother 
 grieved anew for a little life gone out. 
 
 During all these weeks of intense feeling in 
 their own home-circle, the Stevensons had also been 
 keehly alive to an event of great importance about 
 occurring in what they were pleased to call "their 
 home church" in Burrtonrille. This event appealed 
 most strongly to all who had worshiped years 
 ago in the little log-house. Not only had that been 
 outgrown, as we have seen, but also the "frame" 
 structure which superseded it; and now a really 
 elegant "stone," with all the modern conveniences 
 of lecture, Sunday-school, and class rooms, stood 
 ready for dedication. And more, Dr. Blank, an 
 t e itor, who was well known to this people by the 
 mpting dish of mental viands which he weekly 
 served, was to preach the dedicatory sermon. 
 There were many homes in Burrtonville that would 
 gladly have opened to the honored guest ; but as it 
 happened that this editor knew of the brave young
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF AN OCEAN 249 
 
 girl who but so lately had gone from the Stevenson 
 home, and had met and talked with the son who was 
 preparing himself for his chosen life-work, what 
 more natural than that he should desire to know 
 the father and mother? He proved an eloquent 
 preacher in the pulpit, and a sharp student of 
 human nature in the home. Indeed, he had really 
 entered this home as a searcher after a cause. He 
 had seen the effect in the two young lives just 
 mentioned. "Did some unsuspected talent," he 
 asked himself, "exist in this plain father and 
 mother, which, perhaps being smothered by the 
 meager educational facilities of their early life, had 
 reappeared in their children ?" But he had not been 
 in the home a day till he thought he had discov- 
 ered the secret. The book-shelves between the 
 flower-filled windows had gently whispered in his 
 ear, calling his attention to the well-selected vol- 
 umes with which they were filled. Glancing the 
 titles over, he found they had been culled from 
 every realm, and touched upon every topic vital to 
 the interest of a soul, and each book bore the 
 marks of careful reading. 
 
 From his first entrance into the home, he had 
 been strongly attracted toward Edward, and think- 
 ing to push the acquaintance with the shy, reticent 
 lad, he suggested a drive over the prairie. Under
 
 250 RICHARD NKWCOMB 
 
 such circumstances the acquaintance progressed 
 rapidly; for as the shyness wore off, Edward 
 proved himself so well informed, and withal such a 
 good conversationalist, that the genial editor began 
 to feel as though he was in company with one of 
 his compeers rather than a country lad. Just as 
 they were nearing the edge of a bit of woodland, 
 Edward suddenly drew rein, and unceremoniously 
 handing the lines to his companion, sprang out, and 
 began at once to carefully remove from the soil a 
 plant growing by the roadside. Lovingly he 
 brought his treasure back. "It is," said he in 
 explanation, "a good specimen of the Lymegrass. 
 I needed just this to make my collection of grasses 
 complete for this locality." 
 
 Now if Dr. Blank had one hobby above another, 
 it was the study of plant-life, and these two, under 
 the influence of this new bond, soon became fast 
 friends, the doctor waxing eloquent in the discus- 
 sion of his favorite theme, and the boy listening as 
 under a spell, and when, the next day, the guest was 
 leaving, he quietly wrote in his private reference- 
 book the name of his young friend, Edward Ste- 
 venson. 
 
 Thanks to Louise's tact and influence, John, at 
 the opening of the year, was ready and glad to join 
 Ruth and Edward in the academy ; but, practical as
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF AN OCEAN 251 
 
 of old, he insisted on "picking" his studies, and 
 laughed to scorn the suggestion of such studies as 
 he deemed of very little use in the actual battles 
 of life. 
 
 "Baby Rose" was a baby no longer, but was 
 fast becoming her mother's chief helper. She was 
 a quiet, home-loving child, very like her brother 
 John in appearance. When people saw her they 
 were apt to say, "She will make a sensible, prac- 
 tical woman," and, noticing her deft movements, 
 would be inclined to say that, some day, in a home 
 of her own she would find her sweetest joy. She 
 is not destined to thrill the worlcf with her music ; 
 but like her sister Ruth, her voice and touch chord 
 wonderfully well with the simple home-tunes, and 
 hearing her, her father vaguely recalls his own 
 mother, who is but a shadow of memory, so 
 strangely are voice and form, yes, and mind and 
 soul characteristics, handed down from one gener- 
 ation to another. Perhaps, of all the family, none 
 grieved so much as she for Louise. 
 
 She was not old enough, as were the others, to 
 comfort herself with the nobleness of the action, nor 
 yet to realize how much good she would do across 
 the sea. She had been so proud of her when she 
 had come home from the college, and listened won- 
 deringly at the rare sweet music of her voice, her
 
 252 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 private opinion being that the angels made no such 
 music. And now she was gone, gone out of her 
 life forever, and the loyal little heart refused to be 
 comforted. Before her going, Louise had taken 
 her in her arms and told her of the many homeless 
 little girls whom she was going to work for ; but no 
 matter how dark she painted the picture, the result 
 was the same, Rose clung almost wildly to the 
 sweet sister who was going. 
 
 Indeed, the home hearts all ached. They were 
 happy in the thought of her usefulness; but that 
 ill took the place of the sunny, living presence. 
 
 As soon as it had time to reach them, a letter 
 came, which depicted the life so plainly, and was 
 so rich in expressions of love, that with its reading 
 the absent one seemed nearer. 
 
 Perhaps we can not do better than to look in on 
 the writer. 
 
 The long, wearisome ocean journey was at last 
 ended. The missionary party consisted of Mr. 
 Winters and his bride and the English stranger. 
 "It was a good thing," Louise wrote, "that these 
 last were of the party; for Mr. and Mrs. Winters 
 were so dreadfully absorbed in each other, I might 
 as well have been sailing in another ocean." A 
 mission was already started in the city of Foochow, 
 and they were to go there, stay awhile, get an ink-
 
 ON BOTH SIDES OF AN OCEAN 253 
 
 ling of the language, and then push on to the 
 interior province which was to be their work. 
 
 Had it not been for that wonderful "something" 
 that years ago, at the plain altar of the little home 
 church, had come in and wondrously filled this 
 young heart, her soul must have fainted within her 
 as she first looked upon the unspeakable degrada- 
 tion of those she had come to help. As she went 
 through the narrow, reeking streets, hunting for 
 days for a lodging-place, and for weeks for a room, 
 however small, to begin the school, she began to 
 experience the trial of her faith; but there is One 
 who has promised that "he will never leave nor for- 
 sake his children," and in those dark, early days of 
 her missionary life, he wonderfully verified the 
 promise. After a time she learned the language 
 sufficiently to be able to tell the simple "old story," 
 but it was not always possible to get listeners. 
 
 One day a miserable creature, a woman, had 
 pushed her out of the room where she had gone to 
 talk with her. About the door swarmed a crowd 
 of dirty children. Suddenly the misery and 
 wretchedness of it all swept through her mind, and 
 yet Christ died for these; and his gospel, if al- 
 lowed to come into these lives, would uplift them, 
 and cleanse, not only their souls, but their polluted 
 bodies as well. With a yearning perhaps akin to
 
 254 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 that of the Master when he wept over Jerusalem, 
 this brave young girl longed to help these wretched 
 ones into a better life. As she paused, suddenly 
 the words and music of a home Sunday-school 
 hymn came into her mind, and scarcely conscious 
 of what she did, that sweet, rich voice, that had in 
 other days held entranced the most cultured audi- 
 ences, rang out on the stifling hot air. The little 
 children stopped their play, wretched women 
 peered out from the doorway of what they called 
 home, laborers stopped in the narrow, dirty street, 
 and many followed the "foreign lady" to hear her 
 sing. 
 
 No need afterwards to hunt an audience, for the 
 audiences sought the singer. And yet in the home- 
 land there had been those who had grieved over 
 this buried talent ! 
 
 About the time that Commencement roses had 
 again begun to bloom in the college campus, rich 
 in associations to both Asbury and Louise, a little 
 room in the most crowded part of that great 
 Chinese city had been obtained, and Louise, as the 
 teacher of five little Chinese girls, felt her life-work 
 had begun. The Girls' College of Interior China 
 had been founded.
 
 XXI 
 
 Some Graduates A Wedding 
 
 THE same June that witnessed the planting of 
 the "mustard-seed" across the ocean was un- 
 usually fraught with interest to the Stevenson 
 home. In the very first weeks, Edward and Ruth 
 went out from the halls of the home academy, 
 and it was conceded that among all the long list 
 of honorable alumni which this growing institution 
 was beginning to boast, there had not gone out 
 more thorough students than this brother and sis- 
 ter. The future plan was that these both should, 
 in the fall, attend the college Asbury was just 
 leaving. 
 
 While their graduation was of great interest to 
 the home, yet it was overshadowed by something 
 that had lately been whispered about in connection 
 with the closing days of Asbury's school-life. 
 
 About the last of June he would receive the bit 
 of parchment, the visible sign of that for which he 
 had been striving. Then, instead of coming at 
 once westward, he was to make the journey east, 
 and in the same rich old church where perhaps the 
 255
 
 256 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 echoes of his sister's voice still lingered, Louise's 
 dearest friend Emma was to become his wife. 
 
 These were busy days for both Rachel and 
 Ruth. There were so many tidying touches to be 
 given here and there before the sweet young bride 
 should arrive, and it was little wonder that, as they 
 worked, often the tears would fall as they thought 
 of the absent one who, far away, amid surroundings 
 they fek sure their home eyes could not picture, 
 had in a manner died to the joys of the home. 
 
 "O yes," thought Rachel, "if Louise were only 
 here, she, in her own peculiar way, would lend a 
 charm to the humble home." It must not be 
 thought this mother gave her eldest daughter 
 grudgingly to the Lord's service. No, she would 
 not have uttered the words that would have held 
 her back; but the mother-heart ached, and some- 
 times the mother-arms seemed unconsciously to 
 again clasp this loved one to her breast, and per- 
 haps after all, He who planted the mother-love did 
 not think less of the sacrifice because it was offered 
 amid the throes of an aching heart. 
 
 The morning of their expected arrival at last 
 dawned clear and bright. The little cottage really 
 wore quite a holiday air. Surveying her finished 
 work, practical Ruth gave the keynote to the 
 family feeling when she said, "We may do what we
 
 SOME GRADUATES A WEDDING 257 
 
 will, and yet our home can never be anything like 
 the home Emma is leaving, and the most we can 
 do is to be our own true selves and give her a 
 hearty welcome." And they did, and Emma, child 
 of the city as she was, thought in all her life she had 
 seen nothing so beautiful as the cheery home-room, 
 with its flutter of white curtains and odor of home- 
 grown flowers. 
 
 Emma was her old sprightly self. Not a few of 
 her city friends had drawn somber-shaded pictures 
 of the privations that would be hers as the wife of 
 a Western itinerant. To all this banter she replied 
 in the same vein, adding she had nothing to fear. 
 Had she not run the entire gamut of economy dur- 
 ing the days of her club life? And if everything 
 else- failed, she had understood that the West was 
 noted for its fine potatoes. 
 
 Yes, she was going willingly to share, as the 
 future might prove, the joys or sorrows, triumphs 
 or failures, of this young student. After all, we 
 opine that there will be but few failures. 
 
 Asbury is a close student. He has strong con- 
 victions of right and wrong. Aside from his colle- 
 giate education, his whole home-life has been one 
 long school, in which the lessons of loyalty and 
 devotion to the Church, as well as intelligence con- 
 cerning her history and scope, have been well 
 17
 
 258 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 learned. Moreover, the "fathers" say he can 
 "preach." His chosen companion has both graces 
 of mind and of person; besides, too, her natural 
 sprightliness of disposition offsets well the sterner 
 gravity of his nature. 
 
 One thing time can never touch or efface, and 
 this is, the deep, invincible hatred which she has in 
 her heart towards that great evil which in our 
 modern times is, like the fabled Gorgon, living by 
 devouring our young men. Along with this hatred, 
 born as we know of a bitter experience, is a tender, 
 pitying love for the victims. It will not be surpris- 
 ing if the future holds some special work along this 
 line for her. 
 
 They are to go at once to a far Western State, 
 and amid scenes new to each are to begin the solv- 
 ing of their own life-problem. How happy they 
 are ! How many lofty dreams for the future ! The 
 college orations have been so full of such flowery 
 terms as "whitened fields," "awaiting the sickle," 
 and such like, that they imagine the future as a 
 smiling goddess, coming more than half way to 
 meet them, her arms full of bundles labeled "Suc- 
 cess." Well, they are young! We who are older 
 may smile, knowing well that time will brush away 
 many of these illusions; yet we would not have 
 youth one whit less hopeful.
 
 SOME GRADUATES A WEDDING 259 
 
 Among the guests who came to do honor to the 
 wedding occasion was Earnest Warren, Asbury's 
 dearest friend during all his collegiate years. He 
 found the sweet home-life of the cottage very at- 
 tractive. He has yet another year in college, and 
 Ruth, too, expects to begin in September. We 
 should not be a bit surprised if . 
 
 On the morning of the departure of Asbury and 
 his young wife, Edward was surprised to receive a 
 communication which showed his honored friend, 
 the editor, had not forgotten him. There was an 
 expedition which an association of scientists were 
 sending out, made up of two or three professors 
 from so many colleges, whose object was to classify 
 and study the flora of certain parts of the North- 
 west. He had asked for and obtained a place on 
 the expedition for Edward. He well knew how 
 much this would mean to the boy, not only the 
 association with the learned men, but an oppor- 
 tunity to push his studies in plant-life. 
 
 Indeed, nothing would have pleased this staid, 
 gray-haired man himself better than to have joined 
 the expedition and taken the tramp with the party ; 
 but how could he, with his great, clamorous "read- 
 ing family," who would never have consented that 
 their mental purveyor should have gone off junket- 
 ing and left them to fare as best they might? But
 
 260 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 he felt a real boyish thrill as he sent the welcome 
 news to Edward. 
 
 And Edward? If he had suddenly stumbled 
 upon that pot of gold which tradition has assigned 
 to the end of the rainbow, he could not have been 
 more surprised and delighted. Being the "boy" of 
 the party, he was assigned certain chores, which, if 
 done, paid all expenses, and allowed him time for 
 the prosecution of his favorite study. Within a 
 week after the receipt of the letter, he had com- 
 pleted his arrangements and was off. 
 
 How strangely still the house was during all 
 that summer! Only three children left of the old, 
 romping, noisy half-dozen, and of these three, John 
 and Rachel could not hope that time would spare 
 them much longer; for, like a hurrying stream, it 
 was bearing them rapidly to the responsibilities of 
 life. During this summer, Ruth and Rose greatly 
 relieved the mother of the cares of the house, while 
 John the younger became almost the sole manager 
 of the "store." There had never been a regret 
 over this last venture. It provided an income suffi- 
 cient for the needs of the family. The home was 
 not yet their own, but the future seemed hopeful. 
 
 Relieved of care, the father and mother began 
 to find time for a renewal of the old companionship 
 which, during the busy days of the last few years,
 
 SOME GRADUATES A WEDDING 261 
 
 had been largely lost in mutual anxiety for the wel- 
 fare of their children. It came to be a very usual 
 sight for them to be seen sitting either in the 
 shadow of the vine-covered porch or under the 
 heavy boughs of the maple in the back yard. 
 
 Once, as William Newcomb went by hurriedly, 
 he saw them thus. A bitter wave of feeling swept 
 over him. Why was his home so desolate, his 
 beautiful wife gone, and his son, the idol of his 
 heart, a wanderer? He knew that as this con- 
 tented pair talked together, more than likely their 
 conversation was of their children, who bid fair to 
 be the crown of their old age. But his heart an- 
 swered this question. The Creator of each could 
 not be charged with partiality. Centuries before, 
 the warning had been sounded, "Whatsoever a man 
 soweth, that shall he also reap." 
 
 "Yes," he bitterly acknowledged to himself, "we 
 were wrong, all wrong, from beginning to end ; and 
 they of the farm were right. Life should mean 
 more than a struggle for riches, and there are pleas- 
 ures more real, more lasting, than are those which 
 appeal to the senses, or upon which 'society' 
 stamps her approval." 
 
 The quiet summer afforded an opportunity, too, 
 for Ruth and Therese to get their friendship back 
 upon the grounds of loving comradeship.
 
 262 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 Poor Therese ! It took many loving words from 
 Ruth to convince her that her life was not irretriev- 
 ably ruined. She could readily see her coming had 
 been a blessing to her father ; for though the home 
 could never again take on its old cheery air, yet it 
 was growing brighter. The human heart hungers 
 for its own, and William Newcomb found his life 
 happier as the strangely quiet woman who had 
 come back to him, in place of the old, gay, romping 
 Therese, went about the rooms, giving them here 
 and there a home-touch. Thus far, as she recog- 
 nized her usefulness to her father, she was glad; 
 otherwise she was wont to say she would better 
 never have lived. Her sister Marie, conscious of 
 her own upright life, the honored wife of one of 
 Burrtonville's wealthiest young men, happy in her 
 own home, proud of her two sweet little children, 
 had not met this young sister with outstretched 
 arms ; indeed, there was that in her haughty manner 
 which always reminded Therese of her disgrace. 
 She had put on the heaviest mourning for "poor 
 mamma," had felt shocked over "papa's failure," 
 and now, to have Therese come straggling in, and 
 bring the matter back fresh into the minds of all, 
 seemed too much. Better, much better, would it 
 have been, she thought, if Therese had borne her 
 troubles in silence. Let us not judge of her
 
 SOME GRADUATES A WEDDING 263 
 
 harshly. She was only a selfish society woman, 
 eager for the praise of her little world, as vapid as 
 herself. 
 
 "No, no, Ruth," Therese was saying, as she and 
 Ruth talked together; "you know all about it. I 
 can not undo the past; my life is ruined. I am 
 really fit for nothing. I have no education. I have 
 learned a little smattering of several things, but I 
 know nothing thoroughly. I never learned even 
 to do housework as you did. For such a person, 
 I see now all too clearly, there is no place in all this 
 busy world. Even if it were not for my miserable 
 marriage, I should have to write 'failure' over my 
 life." 
 
 And the hopeless manner in which she folded 
 her arms, and looked over toward the gleaming 
 stones in the not far-distant cemetery, spoke more 
 eloquently than could words of the despair she felt 
 in her heart. 
 
 Ruth had no words for reply; but she gently 
 kissed her, and said, as she was leaving: "You may 
 feel thus now, but nevertheless I am sure there is a 
 future for you, and in it you will find your work 
 and your happiness ; and in the years to come you 
 will look upon these unhappy years as a dream." 
 
 That evening, Ruth gave the substance of the 
 conversation to her mother. Rachel was lost in
 
 264 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 thought for a time. Finally she said : "Therese is 
 right in one thing. She has not sufficient educa- 
 tion for a successful life. I do not mean the mere 
 knowledge one gains from text-books ; for there are 
 those whom circumstances have kept them from 
 the schools who, by perseverance, have largely 
 made up for this lack, and have given themselves a 
 broader and truer outlook of life. Something of 
 this kind is what Therese needs, something that 
 will lift her out of herself. Do you remember the 
 strategy Louise used, to interest John, and how 
 thankful we all are of the result?" 
 
 We can not stop to detail the steps with which 
 Ruth began at once to bring about this result. She 
 carefully selected the books she hoped would in- 
 terest Therese, and read her paragraphs from them. 
 All this judiciously, that she might not suspect 
 her design. Finally, when she thought the time 
 ripe, she suggested a home-course of study, this 
 under cover of a desire to review some of her 
 own studies, and before Therese realized it, the 
 horror of the old life was slipping away, and her 
 active young brain was awakening to the interests 
 of the great throbbing world, which from the days 
 of Adam has ever found a place for each earnest 
 worker that has knocked at its portals. Aside from 
 the educational need, Ruth felt sure Therese would
 
 SOMB GRADUATES A WEDDING 265 
 
 never fully drop her burdens till they were lost in a 
 living Christian faith. Here again, if she would be 
 successful, she dared not be obtrusive; but before 
 the summer ended, a slight, shrinking little figure, 
 heavily clad in black, was found each Sabbath by 
 Ruth's side in the Stevenson pew, and to the gentle 
 ministry of this young Christian, who, years ago, 
 in the little log-church, had found how sweet it 
 was to lose her life in His, we may safely leave 
 for a. time this childhood friend, trusting her to 
 impart something of her own simple faith.
 
 XXII 
 
 September A Letter 
 
 SEPTEMBER is always a busy month. During 
 its days the summer idlers, as well as the sum- 
 mer resters, return the one, to listen again to the 
 alluring yet wearying calls of society; the Other, 
 to take up the burdens of life afresh in the office, 
 the pulpit, or at the desk. 
 
 The schoolhouses that, during the hot, dusty 
 months, have stood with their doors closed, now 
 have them flung wide open, and from all over the 
 land, in country, town, and city, a long procession 
 of little feet take up the march, and in a twinkling, 
 these empty, gaunt, sentinel-like buildings, wear- 
 ing an hour ago an air of complete desertion, are 
 teeming with life. 
 
 The quickening life-blood, too, pulsates through 
 the great halls of the colleges, and homes are yield- 
 ing to them their choicest treasures. If it were 
 possible, they would gladly retain them longer. 
 But no ; there is nothing so necessary as that they 
 be prepared for the inevitable future. So they bid 
 them God-speed, sending, as a charge to the college 
 
 266
 
 SEPTEMBER A LETTER 267 
 
 that receives them, this message from the poet- 
 king: "See to it that our sons may be as plants 
 grown up in their youth; that our daughters may 
 be as corner-stones, polished after the similitude of 
 a palace." 
 
 Edward Stevenson returned from his summer 
 jaunt of work and pleasure as rugged and brown 
 as though he had been harvesting on the old farm 
 acres. These weeks had meant much to him, 
 much in the every-day association with men of 
 education and culture. He had also been a careful 
 student, and had often surprised the other mem- 
 bers of the party by his accurate knowledge of 
 plant habits. During the summer he was of great 
 use in classifying and arranging the flora of the 
 localities they studied, and in addition brought 
 home a really excellent collection of his own. 
 Something else happened, which, because of its 
 bearing upon his future, deserves mention. This 
 was the publication of his first article. His editor 
 friend had said to. him : "Now, if this jaunt has any 
 interesting incidents that you think would read 
 well, write them up and send them to me. I won't 
 promise to publish; but you know," with that 
 twinkle of the eye Edward had come to know, "we 
 are always after the best." 
 
 To Edward the whole seemed full of interest, so
 
 268 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 he wrote up a modest little account of a few days' 
 work, naming his brain-child, "After Some 
 Flowers," and in course of time it was published. 
 He managed to live through the sensation of first 
 seeing it in print, and (though he would never have 
 supposed it) life went on quite as usual. Of course, 
 Mother Rachel read it, and like another mother, 
 as she thought of his future, "she kept these things 
 and pondered them in her heart." 
 
 But now he was home ; yes, and his belongings, 
 as were Ruth's, were packed, and as Asbury and 
 Louise had gone years ago, so these were going to 
 the same college. How vividly that other Septem- 
 ber came back, as, with a hurried benediction and 
 prayer, these two left the home! 
 
 Rachel had been called to the gate by the de- 
 parting party to answer a question. As she started 
 to return to the house, a sharp gust of wind rattled 
 the great tree by the path, and blew from its 
 branches a nest which in the spring had been a 
 perpetual source of delight, with its wealth of young 
 bird-life. "Ah, well; perhaps it is only natural," 
 thought Rachel through her tears, "that young 
 birds should fly; but how desolate they leave the 
 nest!" 
 
 And desolate, indeed, seemed the home. It was 
 useless to put on a mask and feign a cheerfulness
 
 SEPTEMBER A LETTER 269 
 
 neither parent felt. Yes, the young birds were 
 flying, and with them much of the cheer of the 
 home-life. Edward and Ruth had left in the morn- 
 ing, and as they gathered about the small table for 
 the noon meal, the mother broke down, and gave 
 up trying to hide her sense of loss. As she lay on 
 the couch in the room, her youngest son said : 
 
 "Mother, do n't grieve. You have at least one 
 child who will remain at home. I never intend to 
 leave." 
 
 "Nor I," chimed in Rose; and they kept their 
 word. 
 
 John had yet another year in the academy. The 
 last few months had witnessed a wonderful change 
 in the sun-browned boy of the farm. He was not 
 the same pattern with his ministerial brother As- 
 bury, nor yet of the closer student Edward; but 
 in his own practical way was likely to be as useful 
 as either. 
 
 The boys and girls of this family were all of 
 good physique, well formed, and with suppleness of 
 grace that indicates the sensibly-reared family of 
 young people. This was particularly true of John. 
 He was a great, tall, broad-shouldered fellow, with 
 dark eyes and hair to match. The latter, with its 
 soft, wavy curl, would have been the envy of a 
 modern belle. His voice was very like his- father's,
 
 270 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 with a gentle cadence that made it peculiarly ac- 
 ceptable either in sickness or anxiety, and his 
 touch was as gentle as a woman's. Like Louise, 
 he had always been particularly helpful, indoors as 
 well as out. About every home there are always 
 numberless little "turns" by which, if willing to do 
 them, a man can wonderfully lighten the household 
 cares. Those in the Stevenson home came natu- 
 rally to be left for John. It was understood, when 
 this last academic year was finished, he would as- 
 sume the entire management of the "store." 
 
 He was also fast becoming of great use in the 
 Church, though naturally shy. As the result of a 
 conversation with Louise before her going, he had 
 begun using his talents, and was developing as only 
 young Christians who can do this, yet his practical 
 views of life were shown here as elsewhere. About 
 a year before this he had heard a sermon on "Giv- 
 ing," which greatly impressed him. As a result he 
 resolved to keep a careful account of his expenses, 
 and "pay over," as he termed it, the tenth. When 
 the question of finances came up in the Church, his 
 views were always so correct, that unconsciously 
 these matters came to be left more and more to 
 him, and though the problem of Church finances 
 was often perplexing, yet he came nearer its solu- 
 tion than any one else.
 
 SEPTEMBER A LETTER 271 
 
 While we have been lingering thus long, taking 
 a final peep at the home that has so interested us, 
 the students have been adjusting themselves to the 
 year's work. 
 
 They did not enter the college as strangers ; for 
 their elder brother and sister had left a fragrant 
 memory, and they were not long in finding their 
 own niche in this busy hive of workers. 
 
 Edward's tastes inclined him to pay special heed 
 to the sciences. As for Ruth, she continued the 
 same thorough, painstaking student the home acad- 
 emy had known. 
 
 This year, with its routine of study, proved un- 
 eventful, but was none the less successful on that 
 account. 
 
 The latter part of the winter was remarkable for 
 a religious awakening, which spread until nearly all 
 of the several hundred students who were not al- 
 ready professing Christians were converted. None 
 who went through these strange weeks could ever 
 forget them. The "fathers" might tell of the old- 
 time camp-meeting, with its rapturous shouts and 
 fervent Amens ; yet this more modern movement, 
 having its birth and carried on amid those who 
 were nothing if not cultured, was not vastly differ- 
 ent. There was the old-time conviction of sin, and 
 if one might judge from the radiant faces, there was
 
 272 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 the old-time realization of one's own personal ac- 
 ceptance. 
 
 During all these weeks, Edward Stevenson was 
 strangely wrought upon. For years he had never 
 questioned his personal relationship to his Savior; 
 but his tastes and inclinations were quiet, and he 
 had never taken an active part in the Church. But 
 now perhaps it was the result of the wonderful 
 prayer-meetings among the young men ; perhaps it 
 was the influence of his favorite professor, who 
 made it a point to bring out and interest every 
 young man within his reach (alas ! that in his col- 
 lege days, Richard Newcomb had not known such 
 a friend), but whatever the cause, he suddenly de- 
 veloped genuine leadership, and until the close of 
 the meetings his voice was constantly heard in 
 prayer and exhortation, so much so that a short 
 time after their close he was given a .license to 
 preach. When this news was carried home, his 
 father and mother could scarcely credit it. "No, I 
 can not take it in," was his mother's comment; 
 "yet I should be glad if this should prove his life- 
 work." But John said: "The idea! If Edward 
 should happen to have a book on hands he was in- 
 terested in, he would certainly forget any appoint- 
 ment to preach which he might have." 
 
 Thus fraught with duties, the weeks went by
 
 SEPTEMBER A LETTER 273 
 
 until the coming of June, when the home at Burr- 
 tonville again smiled a welcome to its student in- 
 mates. Edward came home only for a brief visit, 
 as he had been offered work in an editorial office. 
 This did not promise to be nearly so interesting as 
 his last summer's jaunt ; but though he little 
 thought it, this became the ground-work upon 
 which his future largely rested. 
 
 Before Ruth's return, she wrote her parents that 
 she had something to tell them which she could 
 not write. They easily guessed her sweet secret, 
 and it took only a glance at the plain gold band 
 which she wore upon her return to confirm their 
 suspicion. This had been Earnest Warren's last 
 year in college. It was little wonder that he desired 
 to win for himself this young girl, whose gentle, 
 gracious ways, as he had seen, had made her pres- 
 ence in her father's home a benediction. He had 
 expected to enter the ministry, but he had been 
 offered a position as teacher in a young college. 
 This seemed to suit his present inclination, and it 
 was arranged that in a year or two he would claim 
 his bride. 
 
 The memory of Ruth's successful school-term 
 still lingered in the home neighborhood, so much 
 so that she was offered a position as one of the 
 
 teachers in the home academy. She finally reluc- 
 18
 
 274 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 tantly concluded to forego another collegiate year, 
 yet she did not mean her education to cease; for 
 she began a course of home-study and pursued it 
 unweariedly. 
 
 Very often at this time the thoughts of both 
 Ruth and her mother turned with a new tenderness 
 to that brave one so many miles away. Until now, 
 Ruth had not realized what the anguish of Louise 
 must have been when she had seen her happiness 
 shipwrecked; but this realization began to dawn 
 upon her when, in answer to a letter telling of 
 her new-found happiness and plans, there had at 
 once come one from Louise, breathing earnest 
 wishes for the continuance of her happiness. Al- 
 though she spoke hopefully of her work, and wrote 
 touchingly of the degradation about her, yet amid 
 it all there was an undertone of sadness, as if the 
 writer had looked into the coffin of a dead joy, 
 and this the mother recognized, and yearned afresh 
 for the blithe "singing bird" of the home ; but she 
 said over and over again in her heart, "She did 
 right; yes, she did right." But alas! for the pity 
 of it!
 
 XXIII 
 
 A Kansas Preacher His Work 
 
 IF one who happened to be of a speculative turn 
 of mind had chanced to find himself on a certain 
 western-bound passenger train one day, two sum- 
 mers before the events of the last chapter, he would 
 have looked with considerable interest upon a 
 young pair who seemed very much at home amid 
 their surroundings. There was about each a quiet, 
 well-bred air, and a something that proclaimed 
 them fresh from their books. In addition to this, 
 there was also an air of well, if not exactly self- 
 complacency, at least of self-satisfaction. Further, 
 if the onlooker, bearing the proper credentials in 
 his face, had, with the freedom of travelers, engaged 
 the young man in conversation, he would have 
 learned that the pair in whom he was interested 
 was the Rev. Asbury Stevenson and wife, late of 
 an Eastern college; that during the last weeks of 
 the college year a presiding elder of one of the 
 frontier districts in Kansas had written the Faculty 
 to name a young man who could take charge of a 
 small "station" (considerable emphasis on that 
 275
 
 276 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 word) on his district, "where the principal work 
 would be to build up the charge, even to the 
 church-building itself," and from that correspond- 
 ence had come this journey. Their destination was 
 Falls City, which city, the young divine explained, 
 took its name from being built upon a river by 
 that name. 
 
 "Ahem ! and have you ever built a church ? 
 Know anything about it?" the interrogator might 
 have asked. 
 
 "No; but " Here the Rev. Mr. Stevenson 
 would have paused, and in some inexplicable way 
 one would have gotten the impression that half a 
 dozen such undertakings would be a matter of 
 small importance to this brave youth. 
 
 We, too, will watch these young travelers 
 awhile. In a little while their train has reached that 
 young stripling of a city, which to the traveler 
 seems only the place where all the inhabitants of 
 the nation are all at once engaged in the frantic 
 effort to change cars and make no mistake, but 
 which the native residents tell us is really one of 
 the finest cities in the world, hence call it Kansas 
 City. Here two alternatives were offered: They 
 might continue their journey westward at once 
 on a freight-car, or they might remain until morn- 
 ing and take a "passenger." Life thus far had held
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 277 
 
 no freight-car experiences, so they continued their 
 journey at once, and as a result of their decision 
 continued it for many long wearisome hours, even 
 until they of the later "passenger" had jauntily 
 passed them by. 
 
 They were to go to a "young city" (they had 
 left the "towns" all east of the Mississippi), west of 
 Topeka, and thence south fifty miles in a stage. 
 
 "The whole country looks as if it were unfin- 
 ished," was Mrs. Asbury's comment, as she peered 
 out of the car-window. And so it did. There were 
 miles and miles of green prairie, with not a single 
 trace of a living being, unless one should make an 
 exception of the colonies of that queer nondescript 
 animal, the prairie-dog, who, from his point of van- 
 tage, barked sharp, emphatic little protests against 
 the lumbering, cumbersome engine, which puffed 
 and snorted on its wearisome way, protesting, in 
 its turn, over the task set it of dragging up a steep 
 grade a train of cars none too few for two of its 
 kind. 
 
 The sun beat remorselessly down, with not a 
 tree in sight. Once in a while they of the caboose 
 would catch in the distance a sight of a sort of 
 green fringe, and the accommodating brakesman 
 (who had recognized a fine specimen of the genus 
 "tenderfoot") would volunteer the information that
 
 278 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 "we were coming to the 'timber,' " or that we were 
 crossing Blank River. But the utmost straining 
 of the eye revealed only a growth of underbrush 
 and some very scrubby "scrub-oaks." Of the old, 
 spreading beeches, the stately oaks, and the grace- 
 ful maples and poplars, there were none. And the 
 "river" the modest "creek" back of the Stevenson 
 farm would have rippled and plashed in disdain at 
 a hint of equality. 
 
 At intervals there would be a little cluster of 
 unpainted, box-like houses, that stood out upon the 
 prairie, with the tall grass waving in the very door- 
 way. About these were invariably clustered a pa- 
 thetic group of women and little children. About 
 the little station were men in very broad-brimmed 
 hats, who eyed the passing train with such an air 
 of proprietorship, that one would have supposed 
 they lived but for the one object of seeing it pull in. 
 
 At last the railway part of the journey came to 
 an end, and as the Rev. Asbury was leaving the 
 freight, he looked rather lugubrious as he did some 
 careful brushing of his lovely "silk tile." But the 
 real pleasure began with the stage-ride. Such 
 beauty! The grass was so green, and was as soft 
 as any of Mrs. Ward's elegant carpets. One novel 
 feature was the undulating swells of the prairies, 
 which were not unlike the waves of the ocean.
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 279 
 
 Here and there great herds of cattle pastured, and 
 O, the flowers ! They were of every form and hue, 
 and before the journey was half completed, both 
 of the young people were in love with their adopted 
 State. 
 
 "It seems to me it is rather a windy day," re- 
 marked Emma, as she drew her wrap about her. 
 The driver smiled, and murmured something about 
 "Kansas zephyrs," which phrase she grew to know 
 more about later on. A little purple cloud lay very 
 innocently in the western sky, upon perceiving 
 which, Asbury noticed that the driver whipped up 
 his ponies, and kept them at a break-neck pace, 
 eyeing the cloud in the meanwhile. 
 
 At last, in a relieved tone, he exclaimed, "We '11 
 make it!" Half an hour later they were clattering 
 up the streets of what seemed a very tiny village, 
 that had lost itself in immeasurable distances. The 
 wind was blowing quite a gale ; but the driver man- 
 aged to say, "There is our new court-house, and 
 there our schoolhouse." There was something in 
 the very tone which implied expected admiration; 
 but it was now growing dark rapidly. As the trav- 
 elers started to go from the stage to the hotel, a 
 great wind lifted the elegant "tile" from the head 
 of the Rev. Asbury and sent it whirling down the 
 street. It was useless to follow it, though he half
 
 s8o RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 started to do so. Afterwards he called this his first 
 "concession ;" for the next morning he purchased a 
 regulation, broad-brimmed "slouch," and it was 
 many a day before he owned a counterpart of the 
 first. 
 
 They were barely housed when the rain was fall- 
 ing in torrents, and the thunder nothing like it 
 had ever been heard before. They afterwards 
 learned this was a peculiarity of the climate. Na- 
 ture was wont to act as if she had an extra amount 
 of work, which must be accomplished on schedule 
 time. The rain would fall in torrents, thunders 
 crash, and lightning play in a most terrific manner ; 
 but in an hour the earth would be bright and smil- 
 ing after her bath, and the roads as hard as a floor. 
 
 Perhaps, though, the loyal "old inhabitant," 
 who stood on the veranda of the little frame "Con- 
 tinental Hotel" enjoying the Rev. Asbury's sur- 
 prise, held the true solution to the matter when he 
 said : "There 's a heap of folks who jist won't have 
 any faith in Kansas, and about so often nature has 
 to git up a spree like this jist to let all sich know 
 she's all right." 
 
 Early the next morning the young minister 
 hunted up the "brethren," in order to arrange the 
 preliminaries for getting to housekeeping in shape. 
 In connection with this "hunt" he had an experi-
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 281 
 
 ence which he did not soon forget. He had 
 
 brought a letter of introduction to a Brother D , 
 
 who had been represented as one of the "pillars" 
 upon which the whole church edifice, spiritual and 
 temporal, was supposed to lean. To find Mr. 
 
 D became, then, his first care. Perhaps his 
 
 inquiry was misunderstood, and perhaps he became 
 the victim of a Western joker (there were such) ; 
 at any rate, instead of going to the business-house 
 of the respectable and highly-recommended 
 Brother D , he made his way to the grocery- 
 store of another Mr. D , of similar name, who 
 
 could scarcely be called a "Church pillar," but who 
 was a good type of a hustling, godless, business 
 man, not uncommon at tihat date, upon whose lips 
 profanity was at home. 
 
 Now it so happened that this gentleman 'had 
 been in a towering passion, ever since the storm of 
 the evening before, over a consignment of grocer- 
 ies that were being "teamed" from the railroad, 
 and which 'had arrived that morning thoroughly 
 soaked. The air about him was just becoming a 
 little clarified, though here and there a streak of 
 sulphur remained, when the youthful minister pre- 
 sented himself, and, sure of a welcome (remember- 
 ing, perhaps, the welcome his parents were wont 
 to give their ministerial callers), advanced with
 
 282 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 smiling countenance and outstretched palm, and 
 announced himself as "Your preacher." Mr. 
 
 D rose from the box of wet starch he was 
 
 opening, scanned the face for a moment, and ex- 
 claimed, "My preacher!" But the Rev. Asbury's 
 ears were polite, and so are my reader's ; but in one 
 little minute all of Rev. Asbury's preconceived 
 notions of a "Church pillar" went toppling. Ex- 
 planations were finally made, and in course of time 
 
 the right Mr. D was found. Perhaps it might 
 
 not be amiss to say in passing that the "joke" got 
 out, and for a long time the Rev. Asbury was 
 
 pointed out as "Old Jo D 's preacher." "Old 
 
 Jo" himself (he really was n't old only in sin) 
 came to feel a sort of proprietorship in the evidently 
 sincere and zealous young man. 
 
 With this possible exception, both Rev. Asbury 
 and his wife received a hearty greeting from all. 
 It came to be a little amusing, when it was observed 
 that, with each new presentation, before the con- 
 versation closed, the invariable question was asked, 
 "You have of course seen our new court-house 
 and school-building?" and the tone implied that 
 not to have done so and be able to admire was 
 unpardonable. It appeared that one of the first 
 acts of the baby city had been to vote bonds, and, 
 utilizing the fine building-stone that abounded in
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 283 
 
 every hill, had built a really fine court-house and 
 school-building, which stood on the actual prairie, 
 the pride of every man in the city, who looked upon 
 them as the forerunners of the great city that was 
 to be. They also served other purposes than those 
 planned in the original. Done in lithographs, they 
 tickled the fancy and unloosened the purses of 
 Eastern capitalists. Besides these, the town con- 
 sisted of a business street and a few of the box-like 
 houses they had noticed along the railway. 
 
 During the forenoon the Rev. Asbury, with a 
 volunteer guide, a member of his Church, started, 
 with considerable expectancy, to the site of the new 
 church. The letter describing the enterprise had 
 read something like this : "We are not strong 
 numerically, but the imperative need is a church- 
 building. This we must have to hold our share of 
 the incoming population. Such an enterprise has 
 been begun, but abandoned. We have the finest 
 site in the city. The foundation is laid, a part of 
 the building material is on the ground, and we 
 must have an active young man to push the work." 
 It all sounded so well, and this ministerial fledgling 
 started out fully expecting to find the workmen 
 hammering away upon a building that would match 
 the court-house and school. 
 
 As the walk progressed, and house after house
 
 284 RICHARD NBWCOMB 
 
 was left behind, his anxiety increased. Finally he 
 struck what seemed the open prairie; but had he 
 been familiar with the map of the city he would 
 have known that he still was in its very heart. At 
 last his companion stopped, exclaiming, "Here we 
 are!" "Here is what?" Asbury asked. "The 
 church-building." Involuntarily he rubbed his 
 eyes. In front of him was a tall, rank mass of what 
 seemed bushy weeds, which he had already learned 
 was the native sunflower. Peering through these, 
 he saw that an excavation had been made and a 
 few foundation-stones placed in position. From ap- 
 pearances it perhaps had been begun, and most cer- 
 tainly abandoned. The "building material on 
 hand" was represented by a pile of native stone, 
 also sunflower overgrown. 
 
 "You have your subscriptions all right?" As- 
 bury asked, in a voice that sounded strange even to 
 himself. 
 
 "Umph ! that 's what we sent for you for. Now, 
 young man, do you think you can build this 
 church ?" and his interlocutor turned a critical look 
 upon him. "Because if you can't, you had better 
 take the first stage east." 
 
 Asbury did not answer, but on the walk back 
 he did some hard thinking. Strangely enough, this 
 was something even his young wife could not help
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 285 
 
 him to decide. To sum it all up, he saw clearly 
 what was expected of him. He was to preach 
 twice each Sabbath, a formidable undertaking in 
 itself; take a subscription of strangers; many of 
 them not connected with any Church ; and person- 
 ally superintend every detail of a work he knew 
 nothing about. 
 
 As his chronicler, I am glad to write that at this 
 point what in the home neighborhood was known 
 as the "sturdy common sense of the Stevensons" 
 asserted itself. Things were not as he had ex- 
 pected; "but God helping him, he would not fail." 
 Sweeping through his mind came innumerable in- 
 stances, of which he had read, of the heroic efforts 
 of others to plant the Church elsewhere. Indeed, 
 was not his own sister meeting every day discour- 
 agements far greater than any that could confront 
 him? He remembered how, as he had sat about 
 the glowing fire in the comfortable farm home, he 
 had been thrilled as he had read of the heroic en- 
 durance of those who had braved Indian dangers 
 on the frontier. It had all seemed so grand then. 
 Should he yield till every known means had been 
 tried ? 
 
 "No!" and though the little handful who called 
 themselves the "Church" little guessed it, their 
 coveted new church was as- truly built in that hour
 
 286 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 of introspection on the part of the young pastor as 
 it was a year later, when a delighted audience gath- 
 ered to hear the dedicatory sermon. 
 
 At length a little house, very much of a pattern 
 with the rest, was procured, and the home-life be- 
 gun. There were a few elegant "touches" from 
 the old luxurious home of Emma ; but after the last 
 piece of the plain furniture was in place, Emma 
 exclaimed, "Now, if Louise and I had only known 
 it, Mrs. Hoyson's home was elegance itself." But 
 what if it was plain? They were rich in love for 
 each other, rich in hope for the future and in con- 
 secration of their young lives to the work. 
 
 Emma never forgot her first Sabbath. A kind 
 of hall above one of the business houses was being 
 used as a place of worship. By the side of it stood 
 a one-story building, which had been covered with 
 a tin-roof (lumber was a luxury to be used as spar- 
 ingly as possible). She had never heard her young 
 husband attempt to preach, and felt a wifely anxi- 
 ety that he should favorably impress his hearers. 
 The wind was sweeping down the street with a 
 momentum that carried everything not securely 
 fastened before it. During the service the tin roof 
 beneath kept up a monotonous rise and fall, with a 
 harsh grating noise not unlike the wail of impris- 
 oned spirits. As for the preacher himself, he had
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 287 
 
 gone to this service feeling entirely unable to meet 
 it. He had never so realized his insufficiency be- 
 fore. As he arose to announce the hymn, and he 
 beheld the questioning, critical, yet not unfriendly 
 faces before him, a wild desire to flee through the 
 door, which stood invitingly open, seized him. But 
 no, he half-argued with himself, he could not be 
 mistaken. That conversion of his, years before in 
 the little room of the log-house, had been a very 
 real occurrence, yet none the less so than the sub- 
 sequent still but persistent voice which had led him 
 into the ministry. Clearly, as though a voice had 
 spoken, came the promise, "Lo, I am with you." 
 A sudden agonized prayer for help went up, and 
 the sermon began. An hour afterwards he could 
 not have told what he preached, whether the words 
 were lame or otherwise; but certainly the Spirit 
 inspired them. A strange awe fell upon the little 
 assembly. Many had come in curiously for a 
 glimpse of the "new preacher/' but melted before 
 his earnestness. At the close no less than five came 
 forward to unite with the Church. 
 
 The next morning he promptly began the work 
 of obtaining subscriptions. Finally he had a suffi- 
 cient amount to begin. The details of the various 
 steps of this undertaking need not be recounted ; 
 but he soon found he must personally superintend
 
 288 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 each one. Besides, funds were scarce, and every 
 dollar must be made to count, and so, though 
 Emma, remembering the stately and dignified Dr. 
 Eloquent, of the home Church, winced a little as 
 she saw her husband, in working attire, making a 
 "hand," and once, when out upon an errand, she 
 came across him selling out a load of watermelons 
 on the street (they had been donated from Old Jo 
 
 D 's own "patch" for the new church if they 
 
 could not be turned into money, but in reality to 
 test the mettle of the young preacher). She 
 thought it time to draw the line ; but she at length 
 grew reconciled to the new order of things. 
 
 There was one unexpected feature of the new 
 life which charmed each, and that was the remark- 
 able general intelligence of the people. It was no 
 unusual thing to find, rolled up and laid away upon 
 one of the "general utility shelves" of the box 
 houses, a diploma, bearing the seal of some good 
 college, while its owner busied herself with the 
 humbler duties of homekeeping. Men above the 
 average stood behind the counters, or edited the 
 "hustling" newspapers, or doctored one when the 
 native malaria got too deep a hold. 
 
 The cosmopolitan character of the new home 
 was shown in the fact that in a single afternoon 
 there were callers whose homes, from which none
 
 A KANSAS PREACHER His WORK 289 
 
 had been long away, had been in New York, Vir- 
 ginia, Ohio; and, indeed, nearly every State in the 
 Union was represented in the Sunday congrega- 
 tion. 
 
 The new church was to be of stone. Ten miles 
 distant was a ridge of hills which took their name 
 from a beautiful stone found there in great quan- 
 tities. This was to be used for the front and fin- 
 ishing, and hither the young preacher took many 
 a trip, where he lent a hand in the quarrying. 
 
 At last, after more than a year of hard work, the 
 building was completed, and a lovely Sabbath saw 
 its dedication. The deep "Italian" sky, in the lan- 
 guage of the local poets, was never bluer than now. 
 The gentle "zephyrs" toned themselves down to 
 suit the occasion as they left the green sward of the 
 prairie, and perhaps there never was a happier con- 
 gregation than that which gathered that day. 
 
 The young pastor, to whom all acknowledge is 
 due the present success of the enterprise, has lost 
 the "student air," and now would be known any- 
 where as the keenly-alive Western "preacher." He 
 does not consider his work done with the com- 
 pletion of the building; he is now as keenly alive 
 to the spiritual upbuilding of 'his congregation. 
 
 Nor will this last prove a less easy task. Indeed, 
 no pastor, either Bast or West, will say that it ever 
 19
 
 290 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 is; yet on the frontier is is especially hard. There 
 is the rush to become established in business, and 
 the temptation to forget God in the hurry is always 
 present. Besides, vice takes on certain more em- 
 phatic forms, and happy the leader of a flock that 
 successfully copes with all these ; yet in this last 
 work, Asbury Stevenson will not stand alone, for in 
 the heart of his young wife is as strong a hatred of 
 sin as in his. So, leaving them for a time, we bid 
 them God-speed, and adieu.
 
 XXIV 
 
 A Retrospect A Wedding Death of 
 Richard Newcomb 
 
 IT has been many years some wearisome, some 
 joyous since the group of watchers stood upon 
 the brow of the hill at quaint, picturesque Lynton, 
 and waved us a last adieu, as with the two happy 
 pairs in the great canvas-covered wagons we left 
 its winding, shady street forever. We have since 
 seen the terminus of that long journey, the then 
 western wilds, develop and come to teem with life 
 and a marvelous civilization. 
 
 It has been ours to see and note the struggles 
 in the founding and guidance of the homes which 
 were established, that May-day, in the village 
 church at Lynton, and the working out of the in- 
 dividuals' problem of worldly prosperity. 
 
 In these two homes, as in every home, there has 
 been constant sowing of seed, either good or bad. 
 The harvest of some has already been garnered ; 
 but all seed does not ripen in a year, nor yet in a 
 decade, and as the patient husbandman, having 
 seen to it that his seed possesses the true germinal 
 291
 
 292 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 principles of life, having planted them, leaves them 
 in perfect faith to the sure offices of nature to effect 
 the growth, and in its season, with unerring sure- 
 ness, gather the harvest, so we, having watched this 
 daily home-sowing, sometimes with joy, as often 
 with dread, must leave to the years the final gath- 
 ering. 
 
 It will be ours therefore to drop the curtain, nor 
 will it be raised until such a number of years has 
 passed that the fruits of the home growing will 
 be easily recognizable. We hold it yet a moment 
 to note one or two events of interest to us. 
 
 The cottage home at Burrtonville again wears a 
 holiday appearance, and we find that Earnest War- 
 ren has come to claim his bride, and gentle Ruth 
 Stevenson is to go out from the home forever. Her 
 loss is going to fall heavily upon both father and 
 mother, and as the preparations for the wedding 
 festivities progress, their hearts grow heavier; for 
 from the time that her father had held her in his 
 great strong arms, she a wee winsome babe, she 
 had nestled very near his heart; indeed, in many 
 ways, she was his own counterpart. She had al- 
 ways been so unselfish in her life, an offset in many 
 instances to the more impetuous nature of Louise 
 and of her brothers, it was hard to imagine the 
 home without her.
 
 A WEDDING 293 
 
 Yet there was much comfort in knowing that he 
 who was to be her husband was so worthy. He 
 had already won for himself an enviable name as a 
 teacher in the college to which he had gone when 
 his own school-days had ceased. But he desired to 
 pursue still further certain branches of study. An 
 opportunity had offered itself for him to go abroad 
 for a year or two, and he desired that Ruth should 
 accompany him. 
 
 Ruth had been, as we know, loth to give up the 
 final years of her college course; but the home 
 needs had seemed to make imperative the accept- 
 ance of the position offered her in the academy, so 
 it was with genuine pleasure she looked forward to 
 a year or two of further study with her husband in 
 one of the cities of Germany. 
 
 The wedding-day at length dawned. Asbury 
 and his young wife honored it by making it the 
 occasion of their first visit home. Their coming 
 has been heralded for weeks, and there is an under- 
 tone of excitement which strikes us as very strange. 
 John the younger, proud of his commission, has 
 driven to fetch them from the train ; and see ! they 
 are at the gate! Ah! now the mystery is plain. 
 Grandmother Rachel is herself at the carriage, and 
 her great bearded boy has held her in his arms for 
 an instant as he gives her the greeting kiss; but
 
 294 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 she hardly notices it, she is so eager and enrapt 
 with the strange, dainty bundle of white cambric 
 and flannel motherly Emma is handing out. Now 
 they are in the house, and O, strange sight! when 
 the little face is uncovered, and she bends to kiss 
 it, she suddenly breaks down, and as her own tears 
 fall fast, no eye of all in the room is dry. Clasping 
 the wondering babe to her breast, she has sobbed 
 aloud, "Sweet, sweet baby Louise!" So has the 
 absent one been remembered. 
 
 The student Edward has also come from his 
 books. 
 
 The hours fly swiftly, and soon the event which 
 has summoned them is a thing of the past. And 
 Ruth is gone. 
 
 Asbury lingered for a few days' visit, of course. 
 The pulpit of the new home church was offered 
 him, and old neighbors and interested friends, who 
 had known him all his life, gathered to hear him 
 preach. 
 
 Among them, hardly daring to look up, sat 
 Father and Mother Stevenson. There are some 
 things which can only be imagined ; among such is 
 the quiet, thrilling happiness which filled these 
 faithful hearts as they heard their first-born "ex- 
 pound unto them the things of God." But could 
 this strangely earnest, free, and at all times really
 
 A WEDDING 295 
 
 eloquent young speaker be their own quiet, shy 
 child? 
 
 Ah, brave hearts, it was yours in the years you 
 had, not only him, but his brothers and sisters as 
 well, with you in the little plain log home, to lay 
 the foundations of the character each is developing. 
 You, indeed, builded better than you knew with 
 your own simple faith ; but there came a day when 
 your last molding touch was given and you yielded 
 them to others. In your own humble lives you 
 little guessed the breadth of soul, the enlargement 
 of vision, that should come to each through the 
 study and associations of their college life. And in 
 the case of this your first-born, within the last years, 
 God has been his teacher in the school of experi- 
 ence, and as you hear his burning words you may 
 well say humbly, "What hath God wrought!" 
 
 A few days, and the visitors are gone. Of the 
 many that once gathered about the table, but John 
 and Rose are left, and the father says, "We must 
 all love each other the more." 
 
 We hold the curtain yet a little longer, this time 
 to catch a glimpse of a procession that, with a sable 
 hearse and nodding plumes, slowly winds its way 
 to the city of the dead. Before we join in its
 
 296 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 measured tread we shall have to take a glance 
 westward. 
 
 Following the marriage of Ruth, Asbury had 
 been back in his Western pastorate perhaps about 
 two years. These had been spent in hard work. 
 Falls City was not a very promising field for a 
 teacher of morality. It is true his beautiful church 
 was a standing invitation to all who would to enter 
 and worship, yet it took all the efforts of the watch- 
 ful and alert young pastor to withstand the steady 
 attacks of sin and vice which in the first years of 
 every Western town contended for mastery. 
 
 That plague-spot of civilization, the open drink- 
 shop, flourished unrestrained by law. There would 
 be days and nights when, from the adjoining 
 ranches, "cowboys," as those having charge of the 
 great herds of cattle there were called, would gather 
 in, drink, gamble, and hold a carnival of sin. At 
 such times the terrified inhabitants could only close 
 their doors and windows, and listen in dread to the 
 crack of the pistol, which told of the summary 
 settlement of some fancied insult. 
 
 Because of all this, it was not with a great deal 
 of surprise that, on a morning following a "cowboy 
 raid," Asbury received a hasty summons to visit a 
 man who had been shot in some kind of a tnelee 
 during the night, and was said to be dying. Yet if
 
 297 
 
 the message gave him no surprise, a bit of infor- 
 mation volunteered on the way did. It was to the 
 effect that the wounded man had particularly asked 
 for him by name. Who among all the wild men 
 gathered there knew him? 
 
 Soon he was shown into a little, narrow, low 
 room, where, upon a bed, lay could he be- 
 lieve his eyes? his once brilliant playmate and 
 friend, Richard Newcomb. 
 
 Asbury Stevenson had learned something of his 
 Master's tenderness during these years of trial. 
 His old rigid notions had insensibly softened ; he 
 had been growing, in these latter days, to look 
 beyond the sinner to the causes that made him 
 such, and now Louise could not herself have knelt 
 more tenderly than did he, nor could her touch 
 have been gentler than was that of this elder 
 brother of hers, who was filled with ineffable pity 
 as he beheld his old-time comrade. 
 
 The wounded man was still conscious. "No, 
 he can not live," said the physician, "nor will it 
 hasten his end if he is carefully removed." This 
 in answer to an anxious question of Asbury. In 
 an hour, Richard was lying in the cool, little spare- 
 room of the parsonage, and Emma was ministering 
 to his needs. 
 
 After intervals of pain, fragments of his story
 
 298 RICHARD NKWCOMB 
 
 were gleaned, and piecing them together the Ste- 
 vensons guessed the last few months had been full 
 of dissipation, spent somewhere further west. 
 There he had learned of Asbury's residence here, 
 and a longing desire to look on them seized him. 
 He had not yet fully decided whether or no he 
 would make himself known, and had gone to the 
 hotel. He had but lately lost his all at the gam- 
 bling-table, and that night he thought he saw his 
 opportunity to win back a part of his loss. Some- 
 how, at the cards he could not tell how trouble 
 had arisen, and he knew no more. 
 
 After he had told this much, he sank into a 
 stupor, from which nothing could arouse him. Some 
 time during the next day, as Emma was perform- 
 ing some little office at the bedside, Baby Louise 
 toddled up, and stooping to take her in her arms, 
 Emma called her by name. Suddenly the great 
 dark eyes of the stranger opened, and lighted up 
 with something of their old-time beauty, and bent 
 a questioning look, first upon the child and then 
 upon the mother. Divining his thought, Emma 
 bent and whispered : 
 
 "Yes, we named her for Louise." 
 
 A wistful look grew in the eyes, which Emma 
 thought she understood, and bending she smoothed 
 a place and laid the little Louise beside him. To
 
 DEATH OF RICHARD NEWCOMB 299 
 
 her surprise the child did not shrink, but with her 
 baby hands gently stroked his face. And thus he 
 died. 
 
 Ah, little Louise! was it some subtle influence, 
 of whose laws we as yet know nothing, that, com- 
 ing from the great heart of her whose name you 
 bear, caused this baby act that comforted the dying 
 man? Who can tell? 
 
 "No, he must not lie in a western grave. With 
 our going, there will be none to bear him in re- 
 membrance. His body must lie by his mother's, at 
 home." It was Emma who had spoken, as she, 
 with her husband, stood over the lifeless clay, 
 which lay with the old-time beauty restored in 
 every feature. 
 
 "And she" and Asbury's voice grew very ten- 
 der, and his eyes instinctively turned toward the 
 Orient "would not want him to go to his grave 
 unattended." 
 
 In a few hours, all that was mortal of Richard 
 Newcomb was being carried eastward, and a soli- 
 tary, saddened man accompanied it. Very content 
 was he in his humbleness to leave the spirit with the 
 Great Judge, who knoweth the soul environments 
 of us all, and in his judgment has promised to re- 
 member that we are dust. 
 
 And it is this body we have seen borne to the
 
 300 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 grave. It had lain in the old home over night ; but 
 once was the covering removed. The watchers in 
 the adjacent room were startled by the sound of 
 footfalls. Quietly looking, they saw an old man, 
 bent, yet not with the weight of years, go slowly 
 to the bier, lift the lid, and place therein a silver 
 head. No, they could not be mistaken; for the 
 delicate golden leaves of laurel glistened even in 
 that dim light. Having placed it, he bent a mo- 
 ment over the still rarely beautiful face, and with 
 a groan turned away. 
 
 A few weeks later another grave was made, and 
 William Newcomb was no more. Poor Therese 
 must have died under all these cruel blows had it 
 not been for the Christian faith she had learned. 
 But her future seemed, indeed, without a ray of 
 promise. So at least it seemed to her, as in her 
 sister's elegant room it was impossible for her to 
 remain alone in the great house she sat rocking 
 Marie's baby, William. Was there any use, after 
 all, for her to try ? She had tried, O so hard, and 
 just when her own and her father's heart seemed 
 knitting in the closest sympathy, these last trials 
 had come; and now he, her last friend, was gone. 
 No, it was no use to try. 
 
 Just then the door opened, and the housemaid 
 entered and handed her a letter. "It is from Ruth,"
 
 DEATH OP RICHARD NEWCOMB 301 
 
 said she, as she broke the seal. Yes, it was from 
 Ruth, who wrote such gracious, tender words of 
 sympathy that poor Therese wept as she had not 
 during all these dreadful days. Then followed 
 words of comfort. Who has not realized that there 
 are times when the most comforting thought that 
 can come is, that "there is somebody else who 
 cares ?" Finally came the glad news that they were 
 to return shortly, and the half-playful, half-in- 
 earnest injunction to keep up her studies, and that 
 Earnest was very sure he could find a place for her 
 as teacher. 
 
 "And, mind, you are to live with us." 
 Wise Ruth; she knew Therese's surest means 
 of happiness lay, as does every one's, in work. A 
 grief that folds its hands is soon well named de- 
 spair; hence she sought, and did arouse her to 
 action ; for as she finished the letter, she said, with 
 an air of decision, "No, I will not give up." 
 
 But our curtain refuses to remain longer, so we 
 leave, not only Therese, but all the others, in whom 
 we have grown interested, to the tender mercies of 
 the years.
 
 XXV 
 
 A Family Reunion Gathered Thistles 
 
 EIGHTEEN hundred and ninety-three! How 
 much may happen in a decade ! Yet if we add 
 to that, one, yet another, as we must, since we last 
 looked in upon our friends, the changes may be 
 startling. If this is true of a family, it is none the 
 less so of a nation. 
 
 With the rapid march of the years, almost the 
 last trace, except in the hearts that still ache, of the 
 dreadful war which threatened at one time to de- 
 vastate both North and South, has been wiped out. 
 During these years, cities have been planted, or, 
 already existing as little more than villages, have 
 grown with a rapidity that would startle even Alad- 
 din himself. 
 
 The new forces of steam and electricity have 
 revolutionized the commonest affairs of life. One 
 can now whiz by on a car, drawn, as the ancients 
 would have said, by magic; or, by a trick of the 
 same conjurer, talk with a friend a thousand miles 
 away, recognizing the very intonations and peculiar 
 inflections of the voice; and yet staid history as- 
 302
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 303 
 
 sures us that this wonderful land, which has shown 
 such a marvelous capacity for development, was but 
 four short centuries ago unknown to civilization; 
 but at that time an intrepid mariner sailed out from 
 the known into the unknown, and after a journey 
 of which every detail is now hunted and made much 
 of, he was able to lay at the feet of the old civil- 
 ization this New World, brimming over, as he him- 
 self little guessed, with possibilities for the future. 
 
 Of course, its great rivers were then as yet un- 
 known, its great inland seas unsuspected, and its 
 cities unbuilt. Still, its mere finding was a great 
 event, and therefore it is little wonder that the na- 
 tions of the earth, looking back through the cen- 
 turies, resolved to celebrate the anniversary of its 
 finding, and, to do so, had arranged to bring the 
 choicest products of their civilization and exhibit 
 them on 'a scale of magnificence hitherto unat- 
 tempted. The winds caught up the story of this 
 coming splendor, and wafted it across meadow and 
 hill, heather and steppes. The current carried it 
 beneath the waves, and whispered it to the dwell- 
 ers in the region beyond, and the eyes and thoughts 
 of the world turned America-ward. 
 
 Among the many little knots or groups who, 
 under their own sky and in their own tongue, dis- 
 cussed the wonders that were to be seen by a
 
 304 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 journey across the ocean, there is but one that in- 
 terests us. 
 
 In a well-built mission-house in one of the in- 
 terior cities of China a little group of missionaries 
 has lingered, evidently to talk over "something." 
 A large company of comfortably and neatly clad 
 girls have just marched out of the chapel; for the 
 "mustard-seed" has taken deep root, grown, and 
 spread itself, not unlike its Scriptural ancestor. In- 
 stead of the erstwhile narrow, dirty little room in a 
 wretched part of the city, now, on one of the 
 choicest knolls, with grounds enough about them 
 to give the inmates a breath of God's pure air, 
 stands a cluster of buildings, upon which they who 
 planted in tears, look with genuine pride. Besides 
 the comfortable home for the missionaries, there is 
 a roomy school-building, in which is the chapel we 
 have just seen. The dream of a "girls' college" is 
 a reality. 
 
 Let us glance for a moment at the missionary 
 group. Most of them are reinforcements from 
 the home-land, hence strangers to us ; but we are 
 at once attracted to a bright, happy yes, happy, 
 though it seems a happiness born of pain face of a 
 woman whose brown wavy hair is beginning to be 
 thickly sprinkled with silver. She has left the 
 organ, over whose keys her fingers have been idly
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 305 
 
 straying, and is joining the little group who are 
 eagerly discussing some question. As she comes 
 up, one speaks, evidently for all, "No, we can not 
 all go, much as we would like to ; but one can be 
 spared from the work, and that one must be our 
 brave, cheery worker, Louise, who in all these years 
 has never been to the home-land." "Yes, so say 
 we all." 
 
 Louise Stevenson for it is she s-tands for a 
 moment strangely disconcerted. For months, they 
 of the mission-house have been reading of the won- 
 derful happenings at home ; but better to each than 
 sight of sculptor's dream in marble or of artist's 
 sublimest conception would be to look again into 
 the dear faces at home, or to sit at the ingleside 
 where mother was wont to hum a lullaby, and for 
 weeks, as the world's procession of travelers 
 America-ward grew, this thought has taken root 
 and grown at the mission-house, "Can not at least 
 one of us go?" And it was this they had lingered 
 to discuss, and their decision we have heard. 
 
 At length, Louise spoke, and her voice trem- 
 bled : "Well, I do n't want to seem selfish" at this 
 they, knowing her peculiarly unselfish life, smiled 
 "but it seems strange that father and mother should 
 still live. Sometimes it seems that I must see them 
 again, and then I can contentedly return, and " 
 20
 
 306 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 But she did not finish the sentence with her voice, 
 but involuntarily her eyes sought a little, sacred 
 spot, visible from the chapel window, where, dur- 
 ing the years, workers had one by one lain down 
 to rest. So it was settled. Louise, the hard-work- 
 ing missionary, was going home, and an outgoing 
 steamer carried the news homeward the very next 
 day. 
 
 Again and again, during all these long years, 
 she had expected to go ; but the needs had been so 
 urgent, and she had seemed so well adapted to the 
 work ; besides, her health had been good, while that 
 of other missionaries had failed, and when they had 
 been ordered home for rest, she had always been 
 able to fill up the breach. And none knew better 
 than the group of missionaries in the chapel in- 
 deed, the whole Board of Missions as well, who 
 proudly pointed to "our college" that its incep- 
 tion and its steady march towards success was due 
 to the clear brain and indomitable perseverance of 
 her who was now to take her first vacation. 
 
 From that hour when she had held entranced 
 with her voice her first unclean, half-clothed audi- 
 ence, she had known no rest. She had used her pen 
 vigorously, and, in response, welcome donations 
 came in for the proposed college. The fame of her 
 voice grew until it reached and captured the ear of
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 307 
 
 many of the better class. Nor was that her sole 
 secret. Her cheery face won friends, and her com- 
 plete self-abnegation indeed she seemed to have 
 lost all thought of self, and to be lost in her work 
 with her instinctive sympathy and helpfulness, won 
 the hearts of all who came in contact with her. 
 
 The peculiar rescue-work of the mission some- 
 times uncovered such loathsome cases of misery, 
 that occasionally one less brave than she would 
 shrink. Sometimes the girls who came to them 
 were little tiny tots, who had come into the world 
 only to suffer at the hands of parents or friends. 
 Such Louise would take into her own arms, bathe, 
 and clothe. 
 
 And now she was going home ! The news flew, 
 and when the day came for her to sail, she passed 
 through long dusky ranks that had gathered to do 
 her honor; but alas for overstrained nature, in the 
 stress some of these forgot their studied parts, and 
 could only wail aloud in true Oriental style ! 
 
 As the ship bears Louise homeward, we pause 
 to gather up a few broken threads of the past. 
 
 "Louise is coming home!" With strangely 
 blurred eyes, an old man had sat down to read 
 aloud the letter, bearing the strange foreign post-
 
 308 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 mark they had come to know so well, and the first 
 few lines he read told the story. 
 
 Grandmother Rachel was sitting in her easy- 
 chair by the windows of the "new rooms" she had 
 planned so long ago. Her joy at hearing the glad 
 announcement must be imagined. Later, as she 
 wiped her glasses, she said, "And the other children 
 must come too, and we will see them all together 
 again before we go hence." But before that joyful 
 gathering, we shall have to ask why we find them 
 sitting so contentedly in the old home. 
 
 Their youngest son had made good his boyish 
 vow, registered over the glossy mane of his favorite 
 "Beauty." Perhaps a rapid sketch of his life would 
 not be amiss. 
 
 William Newcomb, in his brightest days, had 
 not possessed a greater desire to "get on in the 
 world" than did this country boy; but there was 
 this difference : The lad was God-serving and God- 
 fearing, and, as we have seen, in his earliest years 
 began by rendering back unto God a part of all his 
 gains, yet withal he possessed true business acute- 
 ness. He was greatly fascinated by Asbury's 
 stories of western life, and resolved to visit that 
 marvelous country at the earliest opportunity. He 
 had a reason for this that he was not yet ready to 
 share with any one. That Arizona land haunted
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 309 
 
 him like a nightmare. He had read and studied 
 with interest everything that came in his way since 
 he had had the "worthless deed" in his possession. 
 Once he had read that copper had been found, yet 
 not in quantities that would make its "reduction" 
 profitable. "What if" and this was 'his own little 
 dream, that lightened many a homely task these 
 days "what if this particular bit of land should 
 possess the valued metal?" Therefore he could 
 scarcely conceal his satisfaction when one July 
 morning found him journeying west, with a whole 
 month at his disposal. Once in Asbury's home, 
 he was not long in making his plans known, and 
 a week later he had started on a tour of personal 
 inspection. 
 
 The land was easily located. Instead of being a 
 part of a continuous plain, as he had supposed, he 
 found it broken, with here and there great rocky 
 fissures, and not greatly distant from the moun- 
 tains. He did not fail to feel the pulse of local 
 opinion concerning its value. "Arid," "worthless," 
 the precise terms used by the lawyer years ago, and 
 his own observations, as he wearily tramped over 
 it, confirmed the verdict. 
 
 The old scene in the lawyer's office came back 
 to him, and though he could not have explained 
 why, he experienced a new sense of loss. Until
 
 3io RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 now he had not guessed how much he had builded 
 upon these acres. In his tramp he had neared a 
 gulch, and being wearied in body he sat down upon 
 a ledge of rock, and sitting there gave vent to the 
 disappointment he could not but feel. 
 
 "How useless this part of creation, anyway!" 
 That mountain over there, he had been told, con- 
 tained, not only copper, as he had read, but metals 
 even more precious, but worthless, all because coal 
 'had to be brought from such a distance. 
 
 "But what is that?" As he half lay, half sat, he 
 had been mechanically kicking at an unoffending 
 stone that lay a little looser than its fellows. In- 
 stantly his old lessons in geology with Louise 
 flashed upon him. "I believe that is a surface indi- 
 cation of coal!" What if it were? His heart 
 bounded, for that very morning he had been told 
 how profitable copper-mining would be if there 
 were only coal. 
 
 He examined more closely, then returned to his 
 stopping-place, and later returned with pick and 
 shovel, and soon became convinced of the proxim- 
 ity of coal. How much he did not know; this he 
 left for those of more experience. 
 
 He anxiously watched the workers for the next 
 two days, and heard, almost as an echo of one of his 
 dreams, "It is a good paying vein!"
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 311 
 
 The news spread. With characteristic western 
 push, a company was formed, and within a week he 
 had received an offer that equaled in value the old 
 home farm. 
 
 John suddenly lost all interest in a further 
 western trip, and hastened home with the surpris- 
 ing news. We shall make no attempt to depict the 
 surprise of the home-folk. The offer was too 
 gladly accepted, and was used at once in the re- 
 purchase of the old farm ; and with characteristic 
 honesty, the few hundreds in excess of what was 
 needed for this was given to Theresd" for her father's 
 sake. 
 
 This was the beginning of solid wealth for John 
 junior; for his parents rightly said the farm ought 
 to be his. In this his brothers and sisters con- 
 curred, so the transfer papers were made out. He 
 thought so well of the coal-mining company that 
 had been formed, that he persuaded his father to 
 loan him a few hundred dollars to buy stock. In 
 less than two years it had paid for itself and more ; 
 but this was his last "speculation." He decided 
 the business too fraught with anxieties. 
 
 The log-house had gone the way of the earth; 
 but the added rooms, in which the younger Rachel 
 had taken such a pride, were still good, and after 
 being remodeled would make a cheery "evening
 
 312 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 place" for the father and mother; and it was here 
 we saw them at the reopening of this story. In 
 the course of time, John had built his own great, 
 roomy house by the side of these indeed, con- 
 nected by a door and here, at the reopening, he 
 lives with his wife and growing family of boys and 
 girls. 
 
 A swift successor to Beauty carries him back 
 and forth to his business ; for the. old mills, remod- 
 eled and rebuilt, have been his for many a day. A 
 steady business man is he, recognized in the home 
 Church as one of its thoroughgoing, truest friends. 
 
 "Louise is coming home !" The news flew. All 
 agreed in the wish of their mother that they should 
 celebrate her coming by a family gathering. She 
 would arrive about the first of May. Happy 
 thought ! Why not celebrate the fiftieth anniversary 
 of the wedding that occurred in Lynton in 'forty- 
 three ? 
 
 The broad acres of the old farm had never 
 looked more beautiful than they did that bright 
 May morning, when the great farmhouse seemed 
 literally alive with guests and children. Rose had 
 not far to come ; she was the wife of the prosperous 
 farmer who owned the acres adjoining. Her own 
 and her brother John's young people had been 
 jealously watching the great orchard, that for more
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 313 
 
 than a week had been a snowy mass of bloom. 
 Grandmother had told of the old, sweet wedding 
 decorations, and it had been their wish to reproduce 
 them. "Would the blossoms fade too soon?" was 
 the absorbing question. A row of Winter Green- 
 ings answered by delaying their bloom two whole 
 weeks after the others, and, when the anniversary 
 dawned, were radiant in their beauty. Great bowl- 
 fuls stood in every nook and corner, and Rose's 
 eldest, a sweet lass of twelve, named Rachel, capped 
 the climax when she pinned a spray at her grand- 
 mother's breast, and arranged a smart, modern 
 boutonniere for her grandfather's lapel. 
 
 The Rev. Asbury and family had arrived. His 
 hair is whitening rapidly. It is yet an interesting 
 question in psychology whether or not one grows 
 to be so affected by his profession or calling that it 
 becomes in a sort of a way a kind of badge. At 
 any rate, you would have taken this man for a 
 preacher anywhere, and a Western one at that. 
 Perhaps the unconventional style of his dress and 
 demeanor suggested the latter, or it may have been 
 his ready utterance and earnestness in regard to 
 sins both private and national. There is not really 
 a hint of conservatism in his whole make-up. 
 
 God has been very gracious in his dealings with 
 this our erstwhile young minister, and he has be-
 
 314 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 come a strong factor in both Church and State. 
 The word "State" is used advisedly; for during 
 these last twenty years a great moral triumph has 
 been won, and when the tocsin of war sounded, he 
 and his brethren to a man girt on their swords of 
 ready argument, convincing logic, and prayer of 
 faith. They spoke while standing on goods-boxes 
 on the open streets on week-days, and within pul- 
 pits on the Sabbath. Every schoolhouse became 
 an orator's platform from which this new move- 
 ment was heralded. There could be but one result. 
 To-day, in all that State, there is not a legalized 
 place like that in which Richard Newcomb received 
 his death-wound. 
 
 Those were heroic days! The younger chil- 
 dren, even now, love to gather while Aunt Emma 
 tells of burning churches, of threatened lynchings, 
 and sometimes of bloodshed. 
 
 Edward, the quiet scholar, the ready writer, and 
 apt scientist, is also here. His "maiden article" was 
 followed by many others. To-day he is a valuable 
 contributor to many of the current periodicals. 
 Contrary to his mother's expectations, he, too, en- 
 tered the ministry, but under circumstances very 
 different from those of his brother Asbury, for his 
 first charge was a city mission. He did most excel- 
 lent service here for two years, and it was here he
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 315 
 
 found his bride. She had grown up in a parsonage. 
 His ministerial prospects seemed unusually bright; 
 but just at this juncture his Alma Mater gave him 
 an urgent call to teach in its halls, offering him, 
 what he most loved, the Sciences. Finally he 
 yielded. It was as well, for time has proven him a 
 rare educator. To-day he is a recognized authority 
 upon botany. Go into your high school, and more 
 than likely the authorized text-book on that science 
 will bear his name. 
 
 Ruth Warren and her husband, with their chil- 
 dren, have come from the far West. For years he 
 has been president of a Western college that is tak- 
 ing front rank among its more pretentious Eastern 
 sisters. It would take a great deal of time and 
 space to tell the half of Ruth's life-successes. She 
 has been the companion, fellow-student, and in- 
 spiration of her husband. She is an intelligent 
 factor in the Church, and a sweet and gracious 
 mother; in short, her womanhood is but the fruit- 
 age of the promise of her girlhood. 
 
 But the center of attraction to all, even to the 
 elders as well as the younger ones, was a sweet- 
 faced elderly woman, with frost-sprinkled hair, of 
 whom at first the younger ones stood a little in awe. 
 How could they think a missionary, whom they had 
 never seen, a bit of common flesh and blood like
 
 316 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 themselves ! But a few cheery laughs from the 
 missionary, and that vanished. And how proud 
 they were of their own Aunt Louise, of whom each 
 had heard all their lives ! Is it true, or do we imag- 
 ine it, that sometimes her gaze rests most lovingly 
 upon that other sweet young Louise Stevenson, the 
 babe of twenty years ago, who has just completed 
 the course at her "Uncle Earnest's college," or 
 that with a peculiar fondness she caresses the soft 
 white hand that lies in her lap? Perhaps, though, 
 it is all our fancy, for she is the life of the gather- 
 ing. What marvelous stories she tells of far-away 
 China and of the mission life! It all sounds so 
 grand, that half the younger ones are secretly re- 
 solving to become missionaries. 
 
 We had not noticed that in this group there are 
 two strange faces not strange, either, for we have 
 seen them before. One of them is sitting near 
 Ruth Warren. It is the quiet, happy face of The- 
 rese, with the heartache all gone. 
 
 All of Ruth's written promises were fulfilled. 
 After she and her husband had returned and he 
 was settled in his work, he did interest himself in 
 her behalf and secured for her a position as teacher. 
 So it came about that she made her home with 
 Ruth as was suggested. Ruth greatly encouraged 
 her to active Christian work, and in her heart
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 317 
 
 grew up the peaceable fruits of righteousness, and 
 the dreadful past slipped away. Finally, when one 
 of the best and most prosperous business men of 
 the city asked the really handsome Mrs. Les Page 
 to share his name and home, she consented. There 
 was little romantic fervor about this second mar- 
 riage, but Therese was as well satisfied. Since 
 that day her life has been a constant joy, and a 
 happy circle of boys and girls is growing up around 
 her hearthstone. 
 
 That remarkably handsome lad over there, who, 
 with a careless grace, has just thrown his arm 
 about Aunt Louise, somewhat to the discomfiture 
 of the latter's own nieces and nephews, is Therese's 
 eldest. She calls him Richard. 
 
 Marie, too, is here to honor the day. She and 
 her daughters are resplendent in elegant clothes. 
 She is quite as dainty and pretty as ever. Her 
 husband is a careful business man, and there is no 
 reason to think that life will ever be otherwise than 
 what it is, a succession of luxuries ; but she feels 
 strangely out of place among those to whom, 
 though neat and well-dressed, clothes are only a 
 necessary adjunct, and whose conversation runs en- 
 tirely upon questions and topics of which she has 
 scarcely heard. 
 
 Poor Marie ! she has lived and is living her nar-
 
 318 RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 row little life. The prevailing styles and petty local 
 society triumphs have been her horizon. She reads 
 a little of the daily papers, especially that part 
 which describes society's doings, indulges in a 
 novel occasionally; but of the great world of 
 thought and of the day's moral battles she is igno- 
 rant. Pity for poor Marie and her kind! 
 
 Her daughters have neither her beauty nor her 
 dainty ways. Indeed, as we catch the startling 
 slang that falls from their lips, we fear they border 
 on rudeness. Margaret, the eldest, is older than 
 Asbury's Louise. She is already a blase young 
 lady, who has quaffed every cup of pleasure society 
 has to offer. She, with her younger sisters, finds 
 this gathering very "stupid/' although the young 
 folks have planned bicycle races up and down the 
 shady, graveled lane, and are performing miracles 
 of grace with Indian clubs and dumb-bells, and 
 have even, after a great deal of trouble, erected a 
 tennis court in the grassy meadow beyond. "But 
 such things are so childish." 
 
 We have spent so much time in noting the 
 guests, we can hardly look in at the groaning table, 
 nor pause to offer our congratulations and well- 
 wishes to the aged pair whose hearts are so happy 
 to-day. Nor can we stop to listen to the fun of the
 
 A. FAMILY REUNION 319 
 
 younger ones, nor even study the characteristics of 
 any of this younger generation, except to say that 
 all bear the imprint of health. The mother of each 
 set of children, whether in college town, Kansas 
 parsonage, or of the free life of the farm, has made 
 physical culture a specialty. Their clothes are made 
 for a purpose, rather than for an end. Though one 
 or two of the group have reached and passed the 
 twentieth year, yet the talk is still of study; so we 
 infer they are all walking closely in the paths of 
 their elders. But the day is waning; Marie has 
 gone to her home, and Therese and her children 
 have accompanied them. 
 
 The brothers and sisters gather in the dusk in 
 the great parlors, and mugh of the family history is 
 recounted. Reminiscence follows reminiscence, 
 and it is not strange that often the hearty laugh 
 rings out. But the reflections are not all thus 
 cheerful; for that other happy couple, who began 
 life also fifty years before, is remembered, and all 
 grow hushed in genuine pity as the name is men- 
 tioned. Nor can much be said, for that sorrow lies 
 too close to the heart of one of their own. 
 
 This aged couple has indeed reason for thanks- 
 giving. As their children gather about them, each 
 comes as a servant of the King; and what matters
 
 32O RICHARD NEWCOMB 
 
 it whether the world ever bestows its plaudits, the 
 consciousness of an honest, upright life is sufficient 
 reward ! 
 
 "To have acted well our little part 
 There all the honor lies." 
 
 In the dusk of that same evening, a solitary 
 figure, that of a woman, might have been seen 
 picking her way among the older graves of the 
 city cemetery. Presently she paused beside a 
 sunken one, and leaning upon the plain shaft which 
 marked it, she murmured the one word, "Richard !" 
 
 During this day of rejoicing, brave Louise Ste- 
 venson had gone about with such an ache tugging 
 at her heart as her family little guessed. 
 
 When the tall and well formed lads and lasses 
 had gathered about her and begged for a song, or 
 the younger ones with greater freedom had clam- 
 bered upon her knee, she had realized anew the 
 depth of her loss, in that woman's richest crown of 
 wifehood and motherhood had been denied her. 
 Further, it had been borne in upon her that she was 
 a stranger in her own land, and though her family 
 held her dear, yet they had learned to do without 
 her. She had lost her place among them ; plainly 
 her "niche" was no longer here, but across the sea.
 
 A FAMILY REUNION 321 
 
 In a short time she must turn her face east- 
 ward. A few more years of work, and then her 
 body would rest, not here, as might have been 
 its right, but there, in a mission "God's Acre." 
 Abandoning herself to her grief, she knelt by 
 the grave of her youthful lover. The past came 
 back so plainly. How beautiful he had been ! how 
 generous ! how warm the impulses of his heart ! 
 how gifted! To what heights might he have 
 climbed! But kneeling there, as with lightning 
 flash, she saw the fatal web that had been woven 
 about him from his very boyhood. She heard 
 again the mazy tread of the home dance, caught 
 the sparkle of the home wines, and listened to the 
 cynical sneer concerning things holy. 
 
 She beheld the web tighten as the temptations 
 of college-life assailed him, and recalled the proud 
 boast of his chosen college, that it was "broad, 
 liberal, and unhampered by the narrowness of 
 creed." 
 
 "My Darling Richard!" she moaned in her 
 agony. "It is indeed true, men can not gather 
 grapes from planted thistles, and your wrecked life 
 was after all but natural fruitage." 
 
 But alas, that the harvest should be so bitter! 
 
 21
 
 The Wedding 
 Garland. 
 
 Compiled by Louise Dunham Soldsberry. 
 
 An exquisite book. Bound in white leatherette and 
 watered silk. Embossed title in silver. Size 6 u x 8 ' 4 
 inches. 24 pages. Silver edges. 15 beautiful and 
 symbolic designs, lithographed on fine bristol-board. 
 Marriage Certificate. Places for 2 photographs, and 
 4 pages for autographs of guests, and appropriate se- 
 lections from Longfellow, "Whittier, Shakespeare, 
 Mrs. Browning, and others. 
 
 List price $1.50. 
 JSoxed and sent, post-paid, for 
 25
 
 The 9Tew 
 
 oAlbum 
 
 Is undoubtedly the most exquisite Wedding Souvenir 
 that has been produced* Bound in white leatherette 
 and watered silk. Size 7/4x9/4 inches* 24 pages, 
 enameled boards, each set on linen hinge* 24 beauti- 
 ful floral and appropriate designs* Marriage Certifi- 
 cate. Pages for honeymoon notes and the autographs 
 of guests, etc. The color work on this Album can 
 never be surpassed* The lithographic artist has herein 
 produced his BEST. 
 
 oJSoxed. Price, post-paid, $2.00. 
 23
 
 3NA1. LIBRARY FACILITY 
 III 
 
 A 000127514 8